Abnormally Normal People: A Day In The Life Of Karen

I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 11:52:41 GMT

Lately, it feels as though my life is some sad cry in your beer County & Western song. The only thing missing is some two-timing womanizing jerk...thank God for small miracles! It's hard to motivate myself to even begin to write about my days MIA. I do appreciate all the messages and emails I've received while I've been in this dark cave eating Oreos by myself (just a silly metaphor). Most of you, seem like gentle, patient people who understand how life can really throw zingers a person's way. Those of you who nudge me gently...thank you and those who have been demanding and rude...get a life! For Christ sake, life does not revolve around blogging or the internet. Yes, writing is an excellent outlet and blogging is a great way to get to know people who you might otherwise never get to know...BUT sometimes sharing is just too painful especially when the wound is fresh. Sometimes the words just aren't there. So how do you capture a tear? Or share a broken heart? How do you convey that being alone is what you need even though everyone says being alone is the worst thing in the world? No, the worst thing in the world is having to watch something you dearly love slowly waste away and die. The worst thing in the world is not being able to help... And in the end the worst thing in the world is not really knowing if what you loved so dearly knew how deeply you felt or how much that they will be missed.

The pain is fresh and I'll be back when I can focus on topics other than my own sadness.

That's Life!

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 23:26:04 GMT

What a month this has been! Not only has my back been giving me problems, but my diabetes has as well…when it rains, it pours! My back actually started easing off to the point of being bearable about the time my stepfather fell and fractured his shoulder last Friday. At 86 years old and being a dialysis patient, means he’s what most would consider very “frail”. Since I’m caregiver to both he and my mother, having a hurt back just didn’t seem to have a place in the grand scheme of things. If nothing else, those people who take on the task of being a caregiver to any elderly person knows that many times it requires putting your own needs on the backburner. I can say, I’ve been thankful for the painkillers and muscle relaxers, but truthfully no matter what I take, there are times that the drugs do practically nothing. At that point it becomes mind over matter…

I’ve read through all the comments that have been left for me. I’ve also read my email and messages…I do intend to answer everyone, but I have to voice some concern here about the people who don’t seem to get that I have a life which includes having a full time job, taking care of my two elderly parents, having some serious health problems myself and every now and then having days that resembles everyone else's . Most of you seem to understand that my blog is my way to relax…writing is probably my closest friend right now. I would like to apologize for my lack of free time which is the reason why I am the neglectful twit some of you think I am. If I did have free time, I guess I might search for some creative, wonderful mid-life crisis or go out and do something fun like find myself a hot 35-year old lover…and yes, I would definitely answer each comment, message, and email sent my way and spend countless hours writing witty things on everyone else's blogs! There will be no apologies from me for me being me, but I can and will apologize for not having the time to jump into this blogosphere with both feet and give it my all. I’m afraid that this is as much as I have to give of myself and if that falls short of anyone’s expectations, then cest la vie…

How Valuable Am I?

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 05:24:41 GMT

Tomorrow is a turning point for me. I have to admit I'm alittle nervous about the decision I've made, but I feel this decision is the right thing to do. After spending many days of the last two months being sick, I've finally decided to ask to be classified as a part-time employee. I think working less hours will not only give me a chance to slow down and not feel like I'm always pushing myself past my limits, but it'll also give me more time to care for my elderly parents whose health is steadily declining. So first thing tomorrow morning when I go into work, I'm requesting a meeting with the office administrator to discuss what options I have available to me. My decision might mean I'll have to seek employment elsewhere, but I'm hoping I'm considered a valuable asset to the company for which I work and they won't want to lose me altogether.

Love Is A Battlefield

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 09:26:30 GMT

Death is an unpopular topic. It's something we spend our entire lives trying to avoid, yet it's something we all must face. I remember my first encounter with the Grim Reaper. He had paid a visit to my family and had decided to choose my great grandfather as a companion. My mother reluctantly agreed to allow me to attend the wake only because Plan B meant I'd be removed quickly if I showed any signs of becoming upset. The vivid memory I carry with me to this day is one of the few truly peaceful moments in my life where I remember my family coming together as one. No one fought. No voices were raised. People hugged each other warmly as they said good-bye to a man I barely had come to know. At five, I already had discovered how having a healthy curiosity about life had often times gotten me into trouble. Even at that young age, discipline rarely curbed my urge to explore. Instead, it only made me bolder and more aware of my surroundings. As I "explored" the building and observed everyone who was present, I silently maneuvered myself through the crowd until I was standing next to my great grandfather. His eternal sleep was void of the usual snoring all men seemed to make as they slept. He looked peaceful and although I didn't want to disturb his sleep, I instinctively touched his hand and whispered good-bye. As I turned to walk away, I noticed all eyes were on me, but the Grim Reaper hadn't been so scary afterall!

Death is final. Yes, I had learned that at an early age, but I never was disturbed by death until it was a death of a friend. We all expect our elderly relatives to die. We use logic to soften our grief saying "they lived a long, full life". Those of us who lose loved ones to a long illness sometimes feel a certain type of relief when death finally comes. That person no longer suffers and their pain ceases as their memory lives on in each of us. The hardest deaths to accept are those of people who die suddenly or unexpectedly. When children or someone who hasn't had a chance to live a long full life die, we question the fairness of death. At those times, we realize how random and unannounced death can be. For me, the death of a friend was what made me come to terms with my own mortality. Those who live in the fast lane, usually die young. I first started losing friends to their lifestyle choices at the tender age of 18. The first was my bestfriend, Charlene who died from a methadone overdose and the last friend I lost almost 3 years ago was Michael who died from complications from having AIDS.

The day after my daughter's wedding, the friends I had invited who lived out of town decided to stick around. It was nice having alittle time to visit with them because it seems as we get older the only time reunions happen are at important events like weddings, graduations and funerals. Although Jill and Sandra had

never met, by the time they left Pensacola, they were friends. What started as a simple day of exploring downtown Pensacola turned into a spiriual afternoon of remembrance starting with a trip to The Wall South.

[Follow the two links in this entry to read more about Michael]

Tears ran down my cheeks as I ran my hand over the black granite panels housing the names of people who had lost their lives in the Viet Nam War. I slowly walked along the Wall South like I have done so many times in the past, but this time was different...this time I was sharing the experience with two people I dearly love. The Viet Nam War like the war in Iraq had claimed the lives of many young Americans. Gazing at their names in their entirety is overwhelming and as I gazed and wept for those who had died, I prayed that the list of names now will never be as long as the ones engraved on The Wall. Being here, made Sandra want to visit her brother, Michael. She hadn't returned to Pensacola since his funeral a few years ago and wanted to put flowers on his grave.

I typed Michael's name into the grave locator at Barrancas National Cemetery, then printed out a map for Sandra to keep. The uniformity of the landscape at first made our search seem difficult until we realized the grave markers were numbered. Our aimless wandering almost seemed like some dumb blonde joke in the making. How many blondes does it take to find Michael? Of course, the answer was three and I felt somewhere Michael was chuckling as we finally figured out the schematic of the cemetery. There he was resting between two older World War II veterans in a picture perfect impeccably manicured cemetery. We scattered red rose pedals overs his grave and placed the fresh cut flowers in a vase. Instinctively, we all sat by Michael and began talk, laugh and cry. We introduced Jill to Michael, but I think she felt like she already knew him by listening to the various stories we had told her as we drove to NAS Pensacola where the cemetery was located. The whole afternoon had seemed veiled in a surreal peacefulness and my thoughts kept dancing back and forth between the past and the present until they became one. Sandra wept for the brother she loves and misses and I wept for the friend who still remains with me everyday.

Love is a battlefield and death is its victor.

My First Blonde Moment of 2008

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 21:04:33 GMT

My last entry was probably an excellent way to start the New Year. Instead of making a bunch of useless resolutions only to break, having a few bad ideas is definitely the way to go and you know why? Well, because the only place to go from there is UP! Therefore, with that said, my newest venture appears to be learning how to be fickle and to be more aloof and mysterious. My aim is not to appear to be totally brain dead.

Hey, what can I say...I'm a blonde now and I have a certain image to uphold. I guess I'll hang out here with the abnorms and meander over to One Voice every now and again when I feel philosophical or intellectual...or better yet when I feel like being a glutton for punishment and need to be reminded how flawed people really are. OMG...people can be such wankers at times!

Geez, what better way to accomplish my goal than my talking about politics or religion...or by falling in love again? LOL Hmmmm...now there's a truly bad idea. Perhaps after having a truly serene break from passion and matters of the heart, I'm ready to take the leap again. I've licked my wounds for a few years and have managed to stay blissfully unattached. I’ve forgotten what the pain of being broken-hearted feels like…but I’ve also forgotten what that magical high feels like that only the chemistry of love can produce. maybe some well meaning friend or relative will fix me up with what they feel is Mr. Wonderful or perhaps Mr. Righter than Wrong is right here lurking in the underbrush of cyberspace. To be quite honest, i know I joke around about matters of the heart, but in those moments of truth, it probably would be a nice thing to have happen again. That or winning the lottery...I wonder which has the better odds of happening.

So what does 2008 have in store for me? Perhaps nothing or perhaps one new adventure after another. I'll have to roll the dice and see...

A Step In The Right Direction

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 05:51:23 GMT

The big question as I begin writing this is whether or not I should use real names??? Hmmmmmm...tempting, but not a smart thing to do, so for now I'll just let the truth remain faceless. What can be said about changing jobs that isn't dripping with hate and discontent? Okay, I can honestly say I'll miss most of the people I left behind in that cloud of dust that is quickly becoming the ruination of a thriving medical practice. I'd like to say I've gotten wiser with age and I left because it was the right thing to do, but I think the truth lies more in saying that the fight this time just wasn't worth my continued effort. What would I actually be winning by staying? For once, sticking with something just out of principle didn't seem worth the amount of stress I felt each day or the sacrifices I was making. I was beginning to feel like a sell-out by supporting a situation I loathed. You see, when a new boss makes Attila the Hun look like a saint and wears a "bitch" badge like an expensive piece of jewelry, you know the road is only going to get longer and bumpier. When going to work each day becames a struggle and you begin to feel the same things as a person trapped in an abusive relationship, it's time to leave.

Eventually when that brief moment of clarity comes, an inner voice finally shouts loud and clear that life is too short to waste it working for someone who has no respect for anyone and is clueless when it comes to measuring an anyone's worth, it's time to type a short resignation letter giving two weeks notice. It's time to leave before your annual evaluation because the measly amount of money offered as a raise would only add insult to injury. When you can see how you feel reflected in all the faces of your co-workers and you know that it isn't within your power to change anything, it's time to say good bye and good luck.

As fate had it, just as I got to the end of my rope, someone threw me a much needed lifeline. My old boss offered me a job...more money, better benefits and much better working conditions. The downside of changing jobs is having to learn a whole new system. I knew all the aspects of the billing department for a large nephrology practice (kidney specialist) and know absolutely nothing about the same size surgical practice...but I'll learn. And the stress felt from the learning process is nothing in comparison to the weight that was lifted from my shoulders the last day I clocked out.

I began to seriously wonder if "Attila" suffers from an untreated psychiatric disorder due to her erratic, explosive behavior, but I knew I didn't want to stick around to find out just how outrageous she'd get during her infamous feeding frenzies. She is clearly a power hungry, Type-A, control freak suffering from some bizarre form of what I call "business" tourette's syndrome because her behavior is a classic example of unacceptable managerial behaviors. She takes credit for everyone's accomplishments as her own, tries to buy people's loyalty, micro manages everything instead of focusing on the big picture, compulsively lies in order to cover her mismanagement blunders, makes wild false accusations effecting people's professional reputations, thrives on gossip, treats people with no respect, is convinced she knows everything, is never wrong about anything, has explosive tantrums with threatening overtones, creates misery and discontent throughout the workplace and runs all the good employess off and replaces them with "yes" people who are barely one step above being bonafide idiots.

Wow! I just had a comforting thought...it's not my problem and tomorrow when I go to work, I'll be at a place much different than the place I was a month ago. HIP HIP HORRAY!!!

The Art of Cropdusting

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 05:59:55 GMT

Once again, the refrigerator at work smelled like something had died in it and had started to decompose. This time I completely disassembled the inside carefully scrubbing each drawer and shelf with industrial strength disinfectant cleaner followed by throwing out almost all the "must goes". When I had finished and let the inside completely air out, I decided this was my last time being the chump. My job description as a Medicare Billing Specialist did not include doing housework.

I found the unwelcomed culprit had been some shrimp gumbo that had been spilled and had started to mutate at the bottom under the vegetable crisper. The remnants were dark, sticky and rudely pungent. Everyone who walked by commented on how disgusting the refrigerator smelled, but no one offered to get their hands dirty by helping me clean it out. All I got were "better you than me" looks!

I grumbled silently promising myself this would be the last time I would clean up after a bunch of ungrateful slobs as I filled two trashcans with the contents of the refrigerator. Nothing pissed me off more than people bringing their lunches to work and letting the food sit there for months until it was unrecognizable. The only thing that came close to kind of disgust was each time a drug rep (no, not the local neighborhood pusher someone like the main character on Weeds) would order lunch for the office as a courtesy while they tried to dazzle the doctors with some new wonder drug. The remaining food would always sit on the table waiting for some dumbass to clean it up. Everyone, meet the dumbass who always went in after everyone was finished eating to put the leftovers away, to wash what utensils that were used and to make sure the conference room looked decent again. Being anal is a hard job and someone has to do it!

This time was different. This time after scrubbing out the inside of the refrigerator and then putting it all back together (less the 20 bottles of salad dressing with expirations dates from 2005 and the assortment of bulging yogurt containers) I noticed that the aroma was still alive and well inside the refrigerator. How could that be?

This time I turned off the refrigerator, pulled it out away from the wall, took apart the freezer, and cleaned inside where the fan was housed and where the tubing acted as a drain to a pan underneath the refrigerator. I forced hot water laced with the strongest smelling cleaner I could find through the tubing until it ran clear into the pan. Since I had no baking soda or charcoals at work, I put a cup of fresh unused coffee grounds in both the freeze and in the refrigerator. Finally, the smell was gone! SUCCESS! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

A few weeks later I had brought a 12-pack of Minute Maid lemonade (Lite of course...my diabetes has been a real bitch lately) to have at work. Since becoming diabetic, I have discovered that the world caters to healthy people and most drink machines don't have a wide selection of sugar free drinks. When I opened the refrigerator to put my drinks inside, I was actually surprised to discover that it didn't smell raunchy and it actually was still fairly neat as well. I smiled like a proud parent discovering that their child is not brain dead after all and as I bent over to put my drinks on the bottom shelf, I cut the cheese. Now this cheese was a rare blend of aged Limburger meant to take a person's breath away and bring tears to their eyes. Yep, it was a truly special cheese and because it was delivered silently. This meant I could walk away and be fast at work as the stench dissipated. I wouldn't have to die a thousand deaths from being embarrassed for being a "cropduster".

Nope, I wasn't that lucky...I'm sure this situation falls under one of Murphy's Laws, but I'm not sure which one it is...perhaps "Mother Nature is a bitch"! Just as I started to walk away, the office manager approached the refrigerator. She opened the door before the silent, but deadly cheese invaded her nasal passages. Just as her facial expression started to change, I spoke up and said, "that damn smell is back again and I'm not cleaning out the refrigerator again" She quickly called her assistant to do a sniff test. Then several others were asked to sniff around and to see what they thought. It was confirmed...the smell was back. What does one do in that situation? Like any smart person, they pass it off as residual refrigerator stench and tell the truth about it months later at the appropriate time to get people to laugh so hard they almost wet themselves! Oh no! Not another mess for Karen to clean up!

Now that I've changed jobs (more money and better benefits), one question haunts my thoughts…will I be missed? Wait a minute...of course, I won't be missed. The same person who was my office manager is my new office manager. Some people are just gluttons for punishment and you know what? I really do feel loved!

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Sat, 27 Jan 2007 14:55:46 GMT

For those who come here in hopes to see a new post, the reality of having a full plate has caught up with me. The easy solution would be to shut down this blog altogether, but that would almost be like cutting off one of my limbs. Needless to say, I'm rather attached to all my appendages, so the solution for now is to do the things in life that require my full attention in hopes that I will be able to return one day and finish my story of Kinsman Hall along with the many other adventures in my life I'd like to share. I do want to thank everyone for their comments and support. Maybe now, I'll have a few minutes to do something I haven't had time to do in a very long time...visit your spaces.

Intermission 3 - Blind Justice By Judge Patricia Kinsey

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 04:33:02 GMT

Just when I thought justice had finally been served, justice developed a new twist. This twist even comes with a price tag and is shaken, not stirred. Many of you who read my blog on a regular basis are aware of the identity theft case in which I was involved not long ago. The outcome came as a total surprise because the final judgment was a favorable one which vindicated me completely. The judge determined I had been a victim of identity theft. I knew I was innocent, but the burden of proof is not an easy undertaking especially when a person is without counsel. When I presented my evidence to prove that I was not the person who had obtained the credit card in question, I was told by the judge that I could pick up all my evidence after she had made her judgment.

I never considered presenting copies of original documents. I just brought the originals and presented them in good faith that I would get them back as the judge had told me I would. The whole case and everything involving it has worn deeply on my emotions, so retrieving my evidence was put on hold for several reasons. The first reason was simply that I just needed some time to let my feelings cool off. Next, I get off from work after the courthouse is closed. I could leave work early, but doing so isn't an easy feat for a variety of reasons and taking yet more time off regarding this case just agitates all the negative feelings I already have regarding this matter. My feelings and the stress related to this case is biggest reason why I haven't retrieved what I presented to the judge yet. Just thinking about the case even though I had won it makes me furious because this is the second time the same person has stolen my identity. Anything anyone can say or think about this situation has already been said and thought by me many times over.

It’s one of those situations that seem so easy to solve until it's a personal problem. Everyone seems to be an expert on the matter with tons of sound advice, yet no attorney locally handles cases like this. All the red tape and solutions aren't quite as easy as people are made to believe and each step of the way, the victim is scrutinized as being the guilty party. As Murphy Laws dictate...things are never as easy as they may seem. One person may tell someone to do one thing and someone else to do something else, but when all things are done as advised, the damage that cases like this cause isn't repaired quickly or easily and the emotional scars never heal totally. It’s an unfair struggle and one that will break even the strongest of people.

I picked today to go to the courthouse to retrieve my rather large packet of paperwork containing certified bank documents, 15 years worth of income tax returns and a array of other documents to prove where I have lived for the last 15 years, what my signature looks like and what jobs I have held in that timeframe and where they were located. I have to be honest and admit I have been severely stressed lately due to some other personal problems and that I've been feeling lousy as a result of that stress. The problems with my neck/back are to the point where every time I lay down to go to sleep, I'm woken up every hour or so because I’ve lost the feeling in both of my arms. In order to regain the feeling, I have to stand up and walk around. This repetitiously happens throughout the night and gives me very broken sleep with little actual rest. Simply changing positions in bed doesn't seem to ease the numbness. Needles to say, my broken sleep is wearing on me during the day and staying focused on my job is getting difficult. Also, the lack of sleep and the stress I'm experiencing is making my blood sugar elevated, my pulse and blood pressure erratic once again and the chronic pain I experience much worse.

When I walked into the clerk of the court's office today as instructed by the judge as the place to go to retrieve my paperwork, I handed the woman behind the counter the paperwork from my case so she'd have the case number and any other information she might need. After examining the papers, she told me since the judge did not write in the final judgment that I could have the evidence back, I'd have to write a motion to reopen the case and pay $50 to reopen it. I looked at the woman like she was crazy and questioned what she had just told me. I thought maybe she had misunderstood what I wanted. All I wanted was MY documents that I presented in MY case which I had won. Nope...she said the judge did not decree it in her final judgment, so I couldn't have my stuff back unless I reopened the case and petitioned her to let me retrieve the evidence.

It’s unbelievable but true! The justice system has shown me every step of the way that if you're a "nobody" like me, then you have to fight all the harder to have things go the way they should go so justice really will prevail. Some might say, the judge simply forgot to include what she had told me in her final judgment. I say she forgot because it wasn't important to her and this was just some poor fool trying to defend herself in a case that wouldn't get any real attention. My case wasn’t some high profile local case that might stand a chance of making the newspaper or television, so why bother being efficient? I know that sounds cynical, but it's the way I feel. The judge inspected all the evidence I presented because she mentioned doing so in her final judgment, yet when she was done with the documents, she simply put them back in the package they came in and sent them to the clerk of court to be stored away. As she wrote the final judgment, my property, which was obviously unimportant to her was sealed away and forgotten about. I understand how it could happen and resent the fact that people like me are at the mercy of such a twisted way of doing things. I know $50 isn't that much money, but it's the principle behind the whole matter that carries the greater, more expensive price tag. Thank you, Judge Patricia A, Kinsey!

When The Yellow Duckling Quacks

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 05:15:45 GMT

I sat on the deck next to the hot tub gazing off into space. My thoughts were focused on how good life can be at times. The day seemed almost perfect...warm, low humidity (a rare thing for Florida), a slight breeze and positive thoughts. It’s been awhile since I've allowed myself to have any positive thoughts (for those who understand...it's a self-imposed penance), and I'm still not comfortable with looking too far into the future or making plans (that probably never will change). I function better on a one day at a time basis and definitely have a clearer head when not involved in relationship. While love feels great, so does getting high...for me, they both seem to be as detrimental to my welfare and general happiness. It's weird because part of me misses intimacy especially the physical intimacy the goes along with a relationship, but I know that I'll never actively search for someone to love ever again and the odds of some "wonderful" guy coming up to me and announcing that he's here to sweep me off my feet is slim to nil. So here I am...just me and my positive thoughts sitting on the deck with the sunshine tenderly kissing my face.

I had just finished wiring the outside speakers on the deck to the sound system inside the house so the whole hot tub experience could be enhanced with music. The radio was on to make sure everything was working properly and as I sat there listening, I became lost in thought. The day would be complete if they played something by Pink Floyd...but which song should they play? All of a sudden "Wish You Were Here" came on the radio and I smiled. What a great selection and I wanted to send a cosmic thank you out to the person who was on the same wavelength as me. Was it randomness or was someone somewhere reading my thoughts and giving me just a little bit of what I needed just for a moment? Just another taste of how good "good" can feel! Probably not! But it felt wonderful to feel connected to the words that were being sung and to know that I wasn't alone:

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here
~Pink Floyd~

Adventures In Paradise

Sun, 10 Sep 2006 09:29:07 GMT

I think my new drug of choice might be a hottub. Tonight was the first night after moving in; I braved the elements and took a relaxing dip in the tub filled with 100-degree water. My day started with draining the tub, scrubbing it and then refilling it with fresh water. It wasn't until later before I discovered how to use all the bells and whistles and most important, where the heater was located and how to turn it on. The tub is located in the backyard with a deck built around it and is enclosed by a wooden privacy fence to keep nosey neighbors from scrutinizing my new habit. Tomorrow's project is to hook up the outside speakers so I can listen to music while enjoying my new guilty pleasure.

While my tub drained this morning, I took a visit to the beach. Since summer is officially over in NW Florida, the spot I picked was deserted except for a few seagulls. New construction was evident that people were finally recovering from Hurricane Ivan which hit almost 2 years ago, but here and there houses torn apart from the fury of storm still stood as a reminder of what a bitch Mother Nature can be at times. Yes, I live in "hurricane alley", but fortunately I live in a state where the response time to natural disasters is relatively speedy, yet the recovery process is an ongoing affair for many years after a direct hit. And speaking about natural disasters...

Last week I celebrated my "35th" birthday! I got caught up in the moment by thinking back and realizing how different my life would have been if my choices had been rational ones rather than being motivated by the wild hair that tickled too often. Sometimes I feel as if I crammed too much life into my younger years which has left a noticeable void during my middle years. I find myself often times longing for someone to share the scrubbing of hottubs and quiet moments at the beach with, yet my boldness that prevails in most things wanes when it comes to matters of the heart. What was once fearless, I find has been replaced with caution and doubt. Moments of taking a chance, of taking it to the limit and of losing myself in reckless abandonment have been replaced with acts of responsible behavior.

Just the other day while at work, I was in a hurry to deliver some important papers to ADU (adult dialysis unit) in the hospital, when a voice out of nowhere started talking to me. I turned to see a typical "Karen" man walking next to me. He made a remark about my shoes and asked me if I knew where the cafeteria was located. As I led him to his destination it became obvious that our brief encounter had the potential going further than parting ways at the elevator. Yet when he indicated his dissatisfaction in the fact that I was going up and he was going down, I smiled and continued on my way knowing that in times past I would have explored the possibilities. That day just knowing I had been noticed was enough.

Movin' On Up

Sat, 19 Aug 2006 15:10:45 GMT

The theme from "The Jeffersons" has been playing in my head over and over again as I prepare to pull up stakes and move. For the next couple of weeks, I'll be absent from the blogging scene while I do all the moving "musts" leading up to the grand finale. As soon as normalcy is restored, I'll return (hopefully, in one piece and still subtly sane).

The Summer Of Love - The Quest For God Part 2

Mon, 14 Aug 2006 05:05:42 GMT

The summer of bible camp was "the summer of love". How ironic I thought, while others everywhere were tuning in, turning on and dropping out, I was trying to understand basic human nature and to find out if God really does exist. From a child's perspective, I grew up thinking if the people who claim they love me and want to protect me will hurt me, then what will the rest of the world do to me? The funny thing about it is that I've gone through life waiting and wanting someone to prove me wrong. My logic says since people are human and humans are flawed, anyone is bound to hurt/disappoint someone else, but on a deeper level...one still filled with idealism and good things that can't be destroyed by this cesspool called life, I choose to hold onto the belief that love is a good thing and in many situations is the only thing that keeps us afloat.

After that summer when I fell short of receiving God's grace, I turned to trying to understand evil instead. When the Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey was hot off the presses, I purchased one and read it from cover to cover hoping for a lightbulb moment. Needless to say, it was just another book filled with words written by man and it didn't explain the great mysteries of life any more than The Bible had. My spiritual journey I suppose some would say was corrupted by my inability to believe what I couldn't see. Instead of blindly believing I questioned instead. If God loved us so much then why does bad things happen to good people? Where are the miracles? Why are there wars, fathom and disease? No one seemed to be able to adequately answer these things through the verses they would throw my way. I needed more than words on a page to swallow anything I was told about God.

Eventually my salvation was found in my experimentation with drugs. As that experimentation deepened, I found certain drugs had a numbing effect. That feeling was one my whole body craved.... especially my emotions. Nothing bothered me as long as I stayed high, so by the age of 14 I stayed high all the time. I could easily sit back and blame my choices on my genetic background. I'm sure the long line of alcoholism that runs on both sides of my family would be enough of reason to say I didn't stand a chance not to be a substance abuser, yet somehow I know that's not why I changed the path I had walked as a small child. You see, I actively sought out finding something that would make me numb. It took me many years to realize that without drugs I would have been a much uglier statistic. I choose drugs. They didn't choose me.

Looking back on it, I call the next 16 years of my life "my leap of faith". They say God looks out for fools and drunks, but I think He/She has a special fondness for all addicts. Addictions, whatever they may be, cause an emotional bankruptcy in the person. No love is greater than that of a person and their drug of choice. When I say "drug", I include food, sex, gambling, shopping, work or whatever it is a person uses to escape. All other things in life come second regardless of what we tell ourselves or everyone else. That moment, at the climax when nothing else matters, I found freedom from pain and a facade that made me think nothing could hurt me again. Many years later, when the truth stared me in the face daring me to look elsewhere, I realized the truth would set me free.

I Will Fear No Evil - The Quest For God Part 1

Sat, 12 Aug 2006 23:34:45 GMT

My first exposure to religion was as a child. At the age of 5, I was baptized into The First Congregational Church. For all those not familiar with the Congregational Church, a quick history lesson should refresh your memory. Does the word Puritan mean anything to you? It was a quaint church over looking the river. The beautiful stain glass windows illuminated the interior as the morning sun rose in the sky. I went to church with my family on Sundays, sat quiet and very still on the pew mimicking what the others did when they did it, yet I can't remember a word of what was ever preached in that church. My only memory is the feeling that there was more to it than what I was being told. I wanted to be touched by the hand of God.

By the time I was 11, often times I walked to church alone or with a friend who I asked to accompany me. Her mother was dying from Hodgkin's disease, so she sought comfort elsewhere during that time in her life. One Wednesday night she asked me to go to church with her. But it was Wednesday...who goes to church on Wednesday? I soon found out. The Baptist preacher bellowed from the pulpit condemning all sinners to burn eternally in the flames of Hell. As he spoke and thumped his fist on the pulpit to drive home his words, I knew he was speaking to me personally. I was doomed to burn in Hell if I didn't seek out Salvation. When my friend asked me to attend Bible camp with her during that summer, I eagerly accepted.

We met in tents outside the church for various religious classes and activities. We were expected to memorize a new Bible verse each day. When the feat wasn't accomplished, off that person went to see the preacher. They would return subdued and repentant. When they upped the verses from 1 to 2, I seemed to have trouble focusing and remembering the words. I froze when asked to stand and say my verses. My mind went blank and the interior of the large tent seemed darker and filled with impending doom. I felt shameful as I walked to the preacher’s office inside the church. I remember my long, slender legs shaking and feeling weak as I entered his office after knocking. I stood before him looking down at the floor.

At first he spoke softly and I lifted my eyes to meet his. He peered into my soul and I shivered. He stood and walked around me, then laid his hand on the back of my head. I trembled as he prayed for me and it seemed my fear ignited something in him. His voice slowly became louder and louder until it filled the whole room. I was a sinner and was going to burn in Hell. The tears ran down my face and when I was instructed to kneel, I felt almost relieved. I cried and prayed and asked God's forgiveness. My pleading was frantic. I asked God to enter me and fill me with His Spirit. I truly wanted His Grace, but the only grace I would receive that day was being bent over a desk and being told to bare myself. As he spanked my bare bottom, his voice trembled as he prayed for me. Each time his hand met my flesh, it lingered for a moment. When he finally stopped, he stood behind me while I repeated the verses. I could feel the intensity of his eyes gazing down upon me. Each time he said "say them again", his voice trembled and his breathing quickened. Suddenly his voice changed and the words that came from him were ones I had never heard before. And then silence. It was finally over! By the time I pulled my panties and shorts up to cover myself, my skin was so tender it hurt to have the fabric brush across my skin.

As I walked back to the tent, the realization that something had just happened filled me. Was this realization God? It wasn't until many years later when I awoke screaming from a nightmare that I realized what had happened and I wondered how many others had been filled with God via the good Pastor Williams.

Curiosity Killed The Cat

Wed, 09 Aug 2006 05:13:02 GMT

When the moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars all sorts of anormalies occur. MSN may have heard the message being broadcasted across the great cosmos before creating Spaces. "Build it and they will come..." As one who heard the calling and came, I joined what grew into being a gathering of many kindred spirits. We sought each other out and became this dysfunctional family. I often wondered where old hippies, freaks of all kinds and black sheep go to die, but now I know. They turn into bloggers baring their souls for all to read. Through typed text we have the opportunity to peer inside each other and sometimes to see mirror images of ourselves. Now, many months later we stand naked in that 7th house, wondering why the cyber gods seem to be so restless.. so discontented. Should a sacrifice be made? Oh, great MSN hear our cries!

As the exodus from Spaces becomes more wide spread, even I have looked for new places to call home. Recently, I have been contacted by several people whose message have similar themes. Their words make me wonder if leaving Spaces is something I should do.

Taken from a past comment:

One thing that has always bothered me is the fact that you've never been chosen as MSN favorite. You and I know why, and so it's not a big thing, but I'd much rather read someone who has real insight, instead of bland whitebread that MSN loves to serve up to the masses. It's a shame a few hell, damn and fucks get in the way but, truly, who wants to be whitebread? Not me, not you.

Taken from a recent email:

MSN indicated that they have wanted to feature you because they love your site but yes, there's some obviously content and language issues. Too bad because so few bloggers talk about real issues or string a sentence together.

I want to thank those people who expressed their opinion regarding my lack of recognition on MSN Spaces. I realize that while my blog doesn't met the criteria for being chosen as being a featured site, I have to wonder why MSN never created an option allowing bloggers to classify their blog as an "adult" site. With all the other bells and whistles MSN has created to keep us amused, they overlooked one of the most important things of all...our freedom of speech. Censorship has been used to protect those people who aimlessly wander the blogosphere as self-appointed morality police trying to impose their values upon the rest of us.

I've never been much of a conformist, so I knew from the start I'd probably be red flagged for something. People like me go through life getting used to being passed over because we're too out spoken and we always test the limits to see where the boundaries really are. Soon after Spaces birth, some of us found out what would trip the censorship alarm making the cyber police come crashing in on us with the warning "our way or the highway". If the truth were to be known, I've probably spent the better part of my time on Spaces teetering on the edge and loving every minute.

Business Trip

Mon, 17 Jul 2006 03:34:42 GMT

So inquiring minds won't think I dropped off the face of the earth, was abducted by aliens or have given up on blogging, my absence is due to a business trip to Tampa. I'll be back in a week.

Stay gold and write lightly...

The Silver Lining

Fri, 09 Jun 2006 04:35:25 GMT

"They" say God works in mysterious ways and whether it was God who has had his hand in the events of this week or whether it was just some strange twist of fate, I have to admit that what seemed to start out as a very stressful week has ended on a note filled with a great prognosis.

Monday started with my mother having surgery to remove her right breast. The surgeon, a compassionate man with a great bedside manner reassured me that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to my mother. He explained the surgery in detail and then took her into the O.R. to do what we all hoped would be a surgery that would completely remove all the cancer. The surgery was slotted to last 2 hours and almost 2 hours to the minute, the surgeon reappeared telling us that the surgery went without any complications and shortly my mother would be in her room after coming out of recovery.

My oldest son and his wife, a nurse waited patiently with me until we could go in to see her. Shortly thereafter, I suggested that they go home and get some sleep because they had worked all night. I could see the fatigue in their faces. A few minutes after they had left, my mother started feeling nauseous, so the nurse gave her something in her I.V. to alleviate the nausea. The side effect is drowsiness which in this situation was good because my mother needed to rest. It was evident she was fighting sleep, so I gave her a kiss and told her I would be back later.

Shortly after I left her room, two close friends arrived to give me some moral support. Within minutes, my daughter arrived with her grandfather. She had taken him to dialysis, a procedure that takes about 4 hours to complete and then immediately brought him to the hospital. On the days he has dialysis, his strength is zapped, so the plan was to bring him in to see my mother then take him home so he could rest. We all lingered in the waiting room, to give my mother a chance to take a quick nap.

Suddenly the surgeon appeared and told us that he needed to rush my mother back into surgery because she was bleeding and her blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. We all rushed to see her for a few seconds as they wheeled her out of her room. A few minutes later a nurse came and asked me to go upstairs to the O.R. and sign a permission form so they could do surgery. As I walked back to where my family was waiting, the reality of the situation hit me. I may lose my mother even though the surgeon had told me earlier that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. It seems the unexpected always happens...sometimes it's exciting and fun, but this time the unexpected was an unwelcomed event.

All the people I had called less than an hour earlier with a brief synopsis of how the surgery had gone, I had to call back with bad news. This time the minutes crept by as we waited. What had just started out with just a few people being there grew into being all the local relatives and my brother and his wife who live in Mississippi on their way to be there also. The ones that couldn't be there were with us in spirit and if nothing else was obvious that day, the fact that many people love my mother came across loud and clear. I could see the worry in everyone's eyes and as the surgeon stepped back into the waiting room, we all held our breath in anticipation of what we would hear. He had stopped the bleeding and also cauterized several other small arteries that may have had the potential of breaking and bleeding like the other one had. Because he wanted her closely monitored, he put her in Intensive Care as soon as she left the recovery.

Earlier today, my mother was discharged in good spirits and in remarkable condition. The doctor had given her the best news of all by telling her the pathology report had come back showing that the cancer had not spread to any lymph nodes. He had removed it all, therefore she most likely wouldn't have to go through any chemotherapy or radiation treatments. While he showed my daughter how to care for the incision and what to look for as the wound healed, she revealed her hopes of being accepted into med school upon graduation from college. To my daughter's surprise, he offered her the opportunity to do rounds with him and get her feet wet by having him mentor her. He said the job didn't pay much, but he felt she'd benefit from the experience. As he handed her his business card with instructions to call his office and tell them who she was, he told her he had done this type of thing once before for another student who was also interested in pursuing a career in medicine.

The more she has thought about the offer, the more of a golden opportunity she sees it as being. Not only will she experience things first hand, but she'll have no problem obtaining 3 letters of recommendation to accompany her applications to medical school. Suddenly what started out as a bleak week has turned into one filled with great promise. My mother's prognosis is better than what any of us had hoped it could or would be and the man who helped make that prognosis possible has offered my daughter an opportunity of a lifetime.

Words

Sat, 13 May 2006 06:15:45 GMT

I remember the sound of his voice as he spoke to me. If I "flow" with the moment instead of trying to fight it, I can remember the instance the words were said and what kind of impact they had on me. I can remember how those particular words felt like a slap in the face. It was a well-deserved slap, but at that moment it felt like he was kicking me while I was on the ground bleeding.
Words do many things, but what I've found most intriguing about them is how some words have the ability to stick with a person. I have to admit that some words I wish I could forget. I wish I could pretend that they were never spoken and forever remain as thoughts until they fade away completely. I remember too well the sting my oldest brother’s words had on me as I lay in a hospital bed wondering what my fate would be. As he entered my room, he stopped and looked at me. The only thing he managed to say before abruptly leaving was 'the next place you're going to land is on a cold slab in the morgue". No hug! No “I’m so glad you’re alive“! Just reality or "straight talk" as he came to call it many years later. The moment was brief, yet it has lasted a lifetime. His words were true, yet alittle harsh for a 14 year old to hear, especially one in the process of shutting down emotionally. I remember how his words played over and over again in my head until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to admit he was right even though that admission was never heard by anyone, but me. The reality of his words scared me. It scared me enough to make me break away...to leave and only look back when I was caught and caged.
Many years later that same brother once again gave me words that I know will also stay with me the rest of my life. When the truth finally dug its way out of the nasty little grave buried deep within me, when my erratic behavior during my teenage wasteland years all of a sudden made sense to him, how I was perceived immediately changed. All the rebellion and defiance, now seemed like a journey that was meant to happen. I was a just another victim and not a perpetrator. I no longer was the black sheep. Suddenly, I became a helpless lost lamb...
At the point of truly understanding something, when empathy crowds out all logic and a person truly feels someone else's pain, the only words spoken are those of acknowledgement. He acknowledged my pain by asking me how I have dealt with it all these years. My life quickly passed before me and I knew I hadn't handled it very well, but I was still alive. I had survived the emotional holocaust. He wanted to know because the truth hadn't set him free, but had imprisoned him in realizing that the few minutes he had known the truth were a few minutes too long. Mine had been a lifetime of living with the truth! He didn't want to have to handle the truth, yet there it was staring at him making him want to run away. Pain dulls in time, but the words remain...always! For a moment he was just my brother before retreating back into the psychologist mode where it was safe to view the ugliness of life. Yet what he didn't know was that the moment he had given me of true empathy, of just being my big brother more than made up for the slap in the face he had given me many years earlier.
That same brother amused me by his epiphany about me a few years ago. After a period of contemplation, he revealed that he had really expected me to be backpacking across Europe or doing something equally adventurous during my “empty nest” period. I thought about how he perceives me and at that moment I saw myself clearly. The next morning I flew to Alaska just because! It seems I've spent my entire life exploring, searching and running away, yet the only place I've ever called ' home" is Maine. I often wonder if all my years of exile have been just another self-destructive act.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

~Bob Dylan~

When Justice Prevails

Sat, 06 May 2006 14:54:35 GMT

I've all, but lost faith in the "system" over the years. That comes as no surprise to those of you who read my blog on a regular basis. I've watched many situations throughout my life where justice could prevail and should prevail, but it didn't. It always seemed that justice was slanted in favor of whom had more money and not who was innocent. I know that seems cynical, pessimistic and as slanted as I see the justice system to be, but when all signs say the sky is blue and that's the color I also see when I look skyward, then the sky must be blue!

I truly believed as I walked out of court on April 25th, that the judge was going to rule in favor of the credit card company regardless of how much proof I presented showing that the credit card obtained in my name was not obtained by me. At first the judge seemed on the same page as me and then something happened... I never quite figured out what it was, but as I left the courtroom, I felt certain she would rule against me when she reviewed all the evidence and made her final judgment. By the time I got back to work the reality of the situation had set in. I knew I couldn't talk about it without displaying some raw emotions and the workplace isn‘t the place for that type of thing. I knew saying nothing to anyone was the way I had to handle it...at least for the time being while I was on the edge.

The whole issue was like some nightmare and each time I thought about it, I felt physically ill. Staying silent and trying to stay busy so I wouldn't think about it seemed what worked best for me. So as my family and friends asked questions, I just politely told them I couldn't talk about it now.

To my surprise when I opened my mail yesterday when I got home from work, I had the final judgment in my hands. I thought the process would take alittle longer than it had. At first I couldn't bring myself to read it because I knew how angry and upset I would be upon the outcome. I was trying to prolong the inevitable. I have to admit that this is one time I'm glad I was wrong. The case was found to be one of identity theft. I was so stunned that I read the judgment several times because I thought my eyes had played tricks on me or perhaps I wasn't reading the legalese correctly, but each time the bottom line read the same...this time justice prevailed!

HALLELUJAH

Identity Theft

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 06:14:32 GMT

In 2000, I received a similar summons as the one I received Saturday. It was from a corporation I had never heard of, so I immediately called the lawyer listed on the summons to find out what was going on. It turned out that someone had gotten a few credit cards in my name and had maxed them out. Of course, the credit card company came looking for me when no payments were ever made since my name and social security had been used. I insisted that they send me the original credit agreement with my signature on it. I told them I wouldn't appear at the pretrial conference unless they provided me with the documents I requested beforehand. I never received the documents, so I didn't attend the pretrial. By not appearing, I later found out that I had defaulted and the corporation got a judgment against me at the pretrial conference. Shortly after that, I received paperwork concerning the judgment. I was furious, but ignorance holds no weight nor is a valid excuse as far the law is concerned. I was up the proverbial creek without a paddle!

At that point, I hired an attorney to see what I could do because the debt wasn't mine. My attorney advised me to take the short and easiest path by filing for bankruptcy since the debt was now mine by having the judgment granted against me. Pursuing the "identity theft" option would be costly and if I did choose to take that path, while the case was being investigated, I would have to start paying the judgment against me. Wage garnishment wasn't something I felt I could afford nor did I feel I could afford a costly court battle. I sucked it up and did what my lawyer advised. I have to admit I was devastated, humiliated and outraged that this happened. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do something like this to anyone. Having your credit ruined has such long-term effects. Not only does it prevent me from making any large purchases, but bankruptcy has a stigma attached to it. Try explaining "it's not my debt" to someone and see the reaction you get. It's easier for most people to believe that a person has taken out a few major cards, maxed them out and then just refused to make payments than it is for someone to believe a person has been the victim of identity theft. I can't even begin to express the kind of nightmare life seems like in this situation.

In the process of going through the steps of filing for bankruptcy, I had to have my credit report run several times. Each time I did that it made me physically ill, but it wasn't until I started scrutinizing the report closer that I saw that several things weren't right on it. Like most people, I never had a need to see my credit report, so I really was clueless as to what was listed on it. The accounts that were actually mine had good scores and the accounts that had been fraudulently obtained had low scores. My address was listed as an address I had lived 10 years previously and my place of employment was listed as me being in the military. I've never been in the military! I looked at when the accounts were opened. The dates were all in a 2-month period. Suddenly I thought I knew who was the culprit. Each account was opened just a few months after my husband and I had separated. Due to his other illness driven behaviors, I felt in all likelihood it was him, yet I had no hardcore proof. It was just a hunch. For some reason, I never saw what was obvious at that time. It wasn't until many months later when I had gone over everything a hundred times or more when it came to me. I was still receiving mail at that old address. It wasn't my ex-husband who had done this. It was "the Anti-Christ"! He believed in revenge served cold and I had seen him mess with many people during the 5 years we were together. This was just his style. Many times he told me I could run, but I couldn't hide. He claimed he could find me no matter where I went. I never knew how true that was until now.

I'll be honest and say that the man scares me. He's dangerous, vindictive and cruel. I can't describe the feeling I got when I read the papers I received Saturday. My only saving grace this time is that the corporation included a copy of the credit agreement with my signature. Guess what? It's not my signature...in fact, I recognized the writing as being his. It amazed me that after 16 years, my address is still being listed as a place I haven't lived since 1990.

What I would like to do is bring a class action lawsuit against the credit card companies for sending preapproved applications for credit cards in the mail. I did not solicit them for this application. They just checked my credit and sent it to an address in which I hadn't lived in years. With identity theft being such a major issue now, I would view the unsolicited sending of preapproved credit application out to potential clients as an act of enabling identity theft to take place. All one has to do is sign on the dotted line and send the application back. When the credit card arrives, the person can make online purchases, purchases via mail and telephone and never has to prove they are the person listed on the credit card.

Many might wonder why I'm not all gung ho to go after the person responsible for ruining my credit. I would like nothing more than to do that and if I can get past my fear of him, I most likely will pursue having him prosecuted because if I don't do something this will just keep happening for the rest of my life. That thought makes me ill. It enrages me to the point of wanting to take this matter into my own hands and settle the score once in for all. I know that kind of thinking will get me nowhere, but in serious trouble so I'm trying to stay calm and rational. I know I need to sleep and get past all this. I know I need to be strong and believe that the system isn't totally corrupt, but to know firsthand how easily identity theft can happen and how difficult it is for the person who has had their identity stolen to straighten it out makes me cynical, pessimistic and almost paranoid. The system seems stacked against people. Creditors are more apt to send out the pre-approved application for a credit card than they are to help someone when they have been a victim of this horrible crime, even when the person can supply proof that they aren't guilty of fraud. Try getting information regarding an account that has been opened in your name. Try getting any information at all. Once something is on your credit report it's like God has spoken and no matter what you do, the information will not be changed. Errors can and do go on many people's reports, only to stay there without detection or correction for 7 years.

Today, I found out that "identity theft " isn't an area of specialization by lawyers or at least not by the lawyers in my corner of the universe. Today, I found out the local Lawyers Referral Line is only open Monday through Friday. I guess people aren't supposed to have legal issues on weekends! Today, I realized I'm a dumbass because I went shopping and for 90 minutes I wandered around the store not knowing why I was there. I sat down on a bench and felt totally lost and bewildered. Tomorrow, I'll have to try to find someone who will represent me. This will be fun because I'll have to make all my phonecalls from work.

Blah, blah, blah and now I need to attempt to sleep, but I feel the nightmares approaching even before I close my eyes...

One last thing before I go, my horoscope today says:

"It's tough to stick to your guns when you're only one, but it's imperative that you stand by your principles now. Defend what you know is right, and your detractors will soon have to admit that they were wrong."

Is There A Lawyer In The House?

Sun, 19 Mar 2006 12:39:38 GMT

In my previous post, I was about to embark on the two year journey of a residential drug rehab program. Since that story is rather complex and deserves my full attention, I don't feel I can do it justice at this time. Yesterday my whole life was abruptly and rather rudely diverted from anything that resembles normal or pleasant to having to deal with what appears to be unfinished business.

Upon returning home from seeing Failure To Launch with a co-worker yesterday afternoon, I was greeted with a court summons. After reading the papers, I felt both physically ill and mentally unbalanced. It was as if I was having some cruel nightmare in which there was no waking or escape. When I realized that it wasn't a dream, but very much a reality and one that I was going to have to face very soon, I impulsively wanted to strike out and do some horrible act of violence. In the eyes of many any act of violence on my part would be very just and long overdue, but unfortunately in the eyes of the law that kind of retribution on my part would land me in prison and probably on death row. I sat here stunned and speechless as I reread the summons many times. Karma? Penance? Some sick, twisted cosmic joke? Or was it just another case of my own stupidity catching up with me?

Many years ago, I got involved with a man who I came to refer to as "The Anti-Christ". That name may seem rather harsh, but to all who knew him the name didn't adequately express the kind of torment he enjoyed inflicting upon others or the evil he exuded. Over the course of my life, I have made many mistakes that I take full responsibility for, but in this case, I have to wonder if I had met him at some other time in my life, I would have just walked away unintrigued by his initial facade . Of course, this is something I'll never know for sure. I can only speculate and maybe that speculation on my part is an act of kindness towards myself. It allows me to not beat myself up over and over again for my involvement with this man. It allows me to feel good about the day I finally packed what I could in my car and drove away to safety. It allows me to understand and have compassion for women who are afraid to get out of unhealthy, dangerous relationships. But most of all it allows me to feel sane, rational and serene.

The year was 1985 and he came into my life when I was weak and defenseless. Most people can't envision me as being "weak and defenseless" because I cover it well. Addicts cover many things well and in the face of regaining my life and becoming a whole person, I made a mistake far greater than using drugs. I had finally made a committment to getting straight and staying straight. Giving up drugs left a huge void in my life. Instead of seeking help, I found my path into sobriety the same way I did everything else in my life... "my way" which always translated into "the hard way". Sal became my drug of choice. Often times, addicts just switch addictions. In my case, I became a workaholic and also suffered from being whatever a person is called who is addicted to disastrous relationships! Foolish? Self-destructive? Impulsive? Yes, I was all 3 and more!

My summons is for April 5, 2006 at 1:30pm. Sixteen years after leaving the man, he still has the ability to reach out and effect my life in ways that are long term. Sixteen years later, he still has the ability to give me a slap on the hand for leaving. Tonight has been a sleepless night. Each time I close my eyes, I drift back into those days. A sudden jolt snaps me awake again with my pulse racing and my mind going in a hundred directions at once. I have to find a way to get through this, but I feel afraid and very alone. I can't handle this like I did last time. I have to find a way to end this once and for all. I have to be strong and ask for help because I know this is something I can't do by myself. When I regain my composure and I'm not quite so rattled, I'll continue this and explain the details of the summons. Hopefully, someone somewhere can give me some beneficial advice and I'll be wise enough to listen...

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

Sat, 18 Mar 2006 07:28:28 GMT

I don't know when it happened or how. All I know is that it did happen. As far back as I can remember, I felt different. Not the kind of different that gets a person labeled as someone to be avoided, but different in the sense that I knew and understood myself from a very early age. Some things I knew that were hard to accept and others seemed almost like a bad dream or some chaotic prophecy waiting to be fulfilled. Some might say I walked right into it without reservation. While others might speculate that mine was a path chosen for me. Whatever the real reason for all the how’s, the why’s and the when’s paled in comparison to the experience, insights and education I gained along the way. Afterall isn't it said that it's not really the destination that's important but how one gets there?

Of course, it all must have started on some dark and stormy night, but weren't they all dark and stormy nights during that period? That inner instinct that made me eventually flee was like a compass. Although my actions may have seemed erratic and my course without any direction, that facade slowly crumbled away to reveal that all steps forward were aimed at a slow self-destruction. I never blamed others for my plight even when it was obvious that the avalanche started when I was young. Perhaps the “it” was a product of being a member of a dysfunctional family.

They tell me I was a shy child and wouldn't talk to anyone, but my family before age 5. I don't remember that, but wish I could. I was told that I blossomed once I started school. When I discovered I had a voice, I got dubbed as being "chatty" or "gabby" and then turned sarcastic with a witty twist...just enough to get a well timed laugh at the most inappropriate moments. Every class needs a clown, doesn’t it? Most of my early behaviors were aimed to see what reaction I could get. I remember times when I sailed smoothly through everything and then later wondered if I was clever or if others were just blind or stupid or perhaps apathetic. I always took everything one step past its limit ...just because I could. In my youth, before it got too out of control, I would defy rules. For example, if a person skipped school for one day, I would skip school for 3 weeks. Why? I suppose it was a combination of things, but the why isn't important now. The why stopped being important as soon as things got complicated and reality set in.

When you play, you pay! One payday came abruptly when I gallivanted home during one of my periods of not feeling like I wanted or needed to attend school. Waiting to greet me were my mother and the truancy office, Mrs. Thibodeau sitting at the kitchen table. They obviously had been chatting about "what to do with Karen". In those days, it seemed like that was such a hot topic and one in which many people had brainstormed for an effective solution. Often times I felt as if I was a disease with no cure. I was examined, prodded, probed, quizzed and carefully scrutinized. Times of remission did occur, but those periods were getting shorter and less frequent.

As soon as I entered the house through the kitchen door, I was asked to take a seat and was interrogated for answers to those same questions I was asked so frequently.

How?

Why?

When?

And let’s not forget “where?”

"Not today, ladies!", I thought as I drifted into deep thought contemplating the swirls in the Formica tabletop. The acid I had dropped a few hours earlier gave a surreal feeling to the reality of being interrogated. As the acid peaked, all I really wanted was a serene place to listen to some music. Tune in! Turn on! Drop out! My wish was granted when I was sent to my room to await my penance.

The Story Of Carol

Fri, 10 Mar 2006 04:59:16 GMT

Seldomly do we meet people in life that can give their friendship without a price tag. I was fortunate to have found a friend at such an early age that not only loved unconditionally, but also withheld making judgment calls as well. Carol was a true free spirit. Yes, she had faults and it was one of those faults that heightened the danger factor of our friendship and made our time together an adventure.

I've always tended to gravitate towards the edge. It’s where I feel most comfortable. Maybe it's the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that makes teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days. The day I met Carol, we headed to Panama City to have some fun. The guy Carol was with had a friend, so the pairing off was a given. I usually don't do prearranged dating set up by a friend, but I was bored, so WTF? It wasn't until the next day that I found out that the guy Carol was with was not only married, but was married to a legendary bitch in those parts. Rumor had it that Peggy would just as soon shoot you as look at you. Yes, birds of a feather flock together and just as free spirits (aka "saucy tarts") tend to seek each other out and form alliances, the psycho bitches of the world do the same.

I saw the writing on the wall soon after our association began. Although I was not guilty of whole married man thing, in the eyes of many I was just as guilty as Carol because I knew what was going on. That type of thinking seemed to escape my way of viewing things and I decided early into my Vernon experience that I'd have some fun with my guilt by association. Peggy sent her minions out to do some feather ruffling one day. Carol and I had stopped at the local generic hamburger joint to grab some lunch. While Carol was inside, a fiery, fierce little force about 8 inches shorter than me approached me while I was sitting in Carol's car finishing my lunch. When she announced that she needed to talk to me, I looked up at her and smiled sweetly. I told her that I don't like being disturbed while doing 3 things. For future reference so she would know my do's and don'ts, I was courteous enough to list them for her. I explained the "don't disturb me while I'm sleeping, eating or fucking" rule of thumb and let her know if she had something to say to me she was going to have to wait until I was done eating and then we'd talk. She left in a huff! Later, I got mixed revues on what many thought was a foolhardy action but I can say I didn't get my head blown off for my little power play that day. Risky? Maybe! But it was definitely satisfying, too. By the time Carol returned to the car, harmony was restored and the potential volatile situation was diffused for the moment...

One of my most memorable moments with Carol was when she introduced me to The Cat's Eye one evening. The Cat's Eye was a local bar. It was the only place adults could go locally for entertainment, but in doing so one stepped into the arena of barroom fights and many other things. What I didn't know when we entered the bar, Carol had an agenda. She scanned the bar and then quickly introduced me to a pleasant Southern hippie with long curly blonde hair and a gorgeous smile, then announced she had to go meet someone, but would be back before closing. She assured me that I was in good hands and asked Ricky if he minded babysitting me. He made some cute remark about hanging out with Yankees and how it might ruin his reputation, but he'd make an exception this one time. Carol quickly disappeared after enlisting Ricky help for the evening, but didn't return as promised.

Ricky and I hunted for Carol after closing. We found her car, but naturally it was locked. I left a note on her windshield telling her to pick me up at Lucas Pond where Ricky lived, but I didn't expect to see her until the next day. During the course of the evening, Ricky and I had discussed a wide array of topics and he seemed pleasantly surprised that a long legged 18-year-old hottie had a brain. He confessed that he had a preconceived notion about me before he met me and that he had been wrong. I was surprised by his confession. Rarely do men reveal things like that especially when they're hoping to get laid. You see, I had a preconceived notion also...I thought getting in my pants was his motive for being nice to me and was even more convinced of that when we went inside his cabin on the pond.

Kindred spirits inhibited all the cabins on the pond. The only late night sounds on the pond were that of the rural surroundings and of a low melodic hum that came from the music within each cabin. Ricky's cabin was silent...dark, mysterious, yet inviting all the same. I tried to imagine what lurked within and was immediately amused by his "conversation piece" hanging on the wall. Before me was a collection of women's panties arranged into a huge collage. He noted my amusement as he asked me to select what music I wanted to hear. It wasn't long after I had arrived, when Carol showed up the cavalry (the guy she had gone to meet earlier) to "rescue" me. She seemed surprised that Ricky and I were totally engrossed discussing music when she arrived and not in the throes of passion. Eventually, the four of us fell asleep on the floor with Goats Head Soup playing in the background. That was just one of many nights spent in the peaceful solitude on the pond.

The Fishbowl

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 04:23:18 GMT

It's difficult fitting in when the fishbowl in which you live is one filled with unfamiliar territory and the faces of strangers. Being 18 and having the honor of being the new kid on the block wasn't exactly the position I wanted; yet this position definitely had its advantages. I could tell by the inquisitive looks people gave us as they road by my brother, Brian's place that they hadn't quite figured out who belonged with whom and what was going on onside. This was something I was used to by now and always liked the initial reactions I got when the truth finally came out. And the truth always did come out...eventually! But for the time being I was going to savor the looks I was getting and just sit back and let people wonder. Being the object of speculation sometimes can have very interesting outcomes and in this case, the outcome was not only interesting, but a lasting one as well.
Brian liked the game. He liked being admired. I laughed when he set up his weight lifting equipment outside in the front yard. I knew what would follow. Not long after he started his daily workouts, the drive-bys increased. The brave ones did walk-bys and even waved hello occasionally. We'd been there several days, when early one evening Brian decided it was time to take a walk "uptown". We strolled through the center of what seemed to be a one-horse town...post office, grocery store, small cafe and a gas station. A group of locals were congregated around a bench placed outside the post office. As we approached, the noise died down in anticipation. When we reached the group, Brian stopped and we introduced ourselves to the handful of people who seemed quite memorized by our presence. We chatted long enough to show them that Yankees could be friendly.
The ice had been broken and now I was anxious to see what would follow. In the following few days I met another female who became my first real friend. Carol was from Miami and like me, she had found her way to Vernon under unusual circumstances. Maybe the fact that we were outsiders, was what gave us an immediate bond. From the moment we met, it seemed like we had been friends forever and at our age that title came with the subtitle of "partners in crime". We were two new females in a very small town. I had a hunch that our time in Vernon was going to be a learning experience. How right I was because I can honestly say that my time there changed my life forever.

[To be continued with "The Story of Carol"]