I’ve been having some weird cravings and thoughts lately. I want to give oral to Dennis, but I don’t know how to tell him this. I want us to cuddle and snuggle, but again, I’m not sure how to go about asking for this. I’m sure if I just came out and said something, we could play around, but I don’t know. Something is holding me back. I kind of like this feeling. *all smiles*
Some times I just want to send the kids to the movies with my father in law or mother in law and just have us to ourselves. Or perhaps just run away to the ocean and collapse into each other’s arms in the warm sand with the waves crashing above us.
But I can’t do that. I can’t abandon Zinnia yet, and I have to get Chloe’s school to give me her information about where her school pictures and yearbook went to, James is sick with an ear infection that goes down his throat and Ashe wants attention, dammit! I just can’t keep up with them these days, and I know that I deserve a vacation, but I just can’t do that right now. I’m lucky to go out tonight and see the stars. I’m lucky to sneak a kiss every so often.
After the rain is gone tonight, we’re supposed to have a starry night, and I want to sit outside and wax poetic under the stars with Dennis, whilst deep in love.
I have chemically induced amnesia. It’s apparent in most of my posts that I dare stay awake after popping my pill for the night, that I am under the influence of something, but this medicine seems to have no mercy. No matter how long one has been on this medicine, it induces amnesia, there is no building up a tolerance, and the amnesia comes at irregular intervals.
Last night’s entry is the perfect example of that.
Part of me wishes that I had spent that time working on my new Theme because that was a fairly frustration for me. I’m trying to make a theme that matched my old MoveableType layout, but so far I have had no luck.
I also, apparently, ate a bag of potato chips and have no recollection of doing so. The positive side? I don’t have any guilt in inhaling a bag of potato chips, simply because I don’t remember doing so!
I’m planning on seeing my doctor at 4:30pm today. Happy thoughts for me? Warm thoughts? Prayers? I want to be healthy for a change!
The Second Night
The stronger Vicodin made me sleepy. I fell into a strong, deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I dreamt of running from gangsters and monsters in downtown Manhattan. I dreamt of monsters that were my family members and my other personal demons. I couldn’t face them, so I ran from them. I woke up in the mid-afternoon, having a low blood sugar. There was a persistant knocking at the door to the suite. A note that had been lain on my chest tumbled to the floor when I sat up. More knocking. “Alright!” I called out. I stumbled from the bed to the doorway, and opened the door. S was there. “How’d you find me?” I asked, dizzy from the low glucose. “It’s not that hard. You okay?” he asked. I shook my head. “Got any more of that Vicodin?” “I brought six more, but…” he held out another ziplock baggie. I snatched it, said I’d be back, and shut the door.
Stumbling to the mini bar, I wolfed down something sweet and sticky. I barely chewed it. I just had to get it down my throat and into my blood stream. I felt disassociated. The room was crooked. That annoying knocking had returned to the door. “Don’t make me talk through a door! C’mon, let me in. I promise not to cross any borders,” S called in to me. “I’m not well,” I called back. “Come back in an hour,” I finished, looking for more sweet, sticky food. S tried to reason with me, but I wouldn’t answer him anymore. I had drank an entire bottle of ice cream topping and I was still shaky.
Getting up off the floor, I sat down on the bed and checked the time. It was well after 5pm. I had slept over eighteen hours. At least. I saw the note on the floor, picked it up, and read the two lines that Dennis bothered to leave me: Kids with groups. I’m out till ten. Hm. I wadded up the paper and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Why didn’t he wake me up?
I vaguely remembered getting up this morning, taking my meds, and then climbing back into bed, mumbling something about having awesome dreams and not wanting to be disturbed. Maybe that is why he continued without me? Why was I even there? Once again, I felt the tightening in my throat, indicating that I was about to start crying again. No. Not tonight. Tonight I wasn’t going to sit around, feeling sorry for myself. I pulled on a clean tee shirt and some jeans, tossed the Vicodin in my clutch and opened the door to the suite to find S standing outside the room. “That was quick,” he commented. I smiled. “Want to go pass through some more bottles of wine?” I asked. He nodded, and we went down to the wine room of the resort.
The room was noisy but not with the same chatter that was in the dining halls. Once again, I was racing through a bottle of white wine. I wanted to be drunk more than anything else in the world. The more I drank, the more I poured out my irritations to S and the more I insinuated that I wanted to fuck him. He took the clues pretty well. We talked about all the groupies that he had over the years, then we talked about my conquers. Who was the best, why they were the best. What I liked, what I wouldn’t do. I remember I went through two bottles of wine tonight. The night was young, and I hadn’t eaten, once again, and as I staggered back to the suite, I mentioned that there were no condoms in the suite. S shrugged. “I don’t carry, either. How can a groupie not carry?!” I had to laugh at that. I was a groupie coming out of retirement. Why not? There was so much to gain from this. I know that things happened on Dennis’ days on the road. In the beginning, I ignored them. I assumed that some day we would over come them when we had children or got married. But children and marriage doesn’t change a person’s core. If you’re bisexual or a bi-groupie when you get married, you will be one after you get married.
On the ride in the elevator, a thousand memories came flooding back. Marilyn Manson concerts, Ozzfest, Billy’s failure back a few years ago. Oh wait, that wasn’t voluntary.
I remembered all the back stage mischief. I remember the fun. I remember the photos that Michelle had snuck of James Hetfield that night Metallica played at the BOK Center. Out of all of the metal and rock concerts that I have attended, the one that people question me the most is … that Davy Jones concert I attended in October 2003. Thinking about that, I burst out laughing for no reason in the elevator. S gave me a funny look. “I was thinking about things,” I said. He smiled.
Stepping off the elevator onto the floor where our rooms were, I checked the time on my phone. It wasn’t quite ten yet, but it was too late to do anything sexual. I sighed and explained the time stress to S, and he walked me to my suite. I wasn’t sure if the kids had been tucked in or not, but I invited him back in. Fumbling with the door card, I dropped my phone. The photo of me holding baby Everly was on the wallpaper. S picked up the phone. “Is she your’s?” he asked. I didn’t reply. I was still fumbling with the credit card door key that did not work. “She’s pretty. She looks like you..” I snapped the phone back. “Her middle name is Miracle, but it should be Mistake,” I mumbled. “Why?” “Kids screw up relationships. Or they did mine. I’m not an equal partner anymore, but a baby factory. A baby maker and raiser. It sucks,” I replied. The door finally opened. S took my hand and placed four more Vicodins in the palm of my hand. “You have a lot of pain. I hope these help,” he said. I wanted to melt into the butterscotch-y rug in that hall way. Human contact, how I missed you! Understanding, where have you been?! With another smile, he turned and left me there in front of my suite. I watched him leave.
Entering the suite, a nanny was watching TV inside. I told her she could leave, as I sat down on the bed and began pulling off my shoes. I placed the Vicodin on the nightstand and finished getting undressed. I was able to slip into my pajamas and settle down on the couch, popped a few Vicodins to help me sleep. And here I am. And Here I Am. Dennis isn’t back yet and I sit here, plucking at a computer while heavy narcotics flutter through my blood stream. Sleep has not come to me yet. I’m not even shaky from not eating tonight. Hoping that I run into S again tomorrow. Maybe we can go to the dance hall. Human contact and Understanding does much for me. I crave it constantly, and now that I was given a little taste of it, I want it all the time. I want it now, but I know the best I can hope for is one of the kids to need me in the night. Such is life.
Oh. We’re doing SOPA again? Didn’t that end last Wednesday?
I was in a relatively good mood today. The weather was nice once again, and I got to talk to Nick about what we were all going to be doing when I get to the Golden Coast. I still want to make that perfume I mentioned in yesterday’s post. I want to gather the wildflowers by the seaside in Sydney. Those flowers are in full bloom right now, and they will be so nice for the next four months. I want to get to the batch in the mid-summer, so they will put out better, stronger scents. I have a feeling I will be doing this the Friday before we leave. I hope Mandy likes them!
I’m still cleaning up after my harasser. The lies were against me eleven years ago, after a two-year tango with my harasser lying to me. Ten years. That’s too long to be thinking about things like this. I should have let it go. I was doing so great, even though said racist harasser commented nearly fifty times an hour, for twenty-four hours from the same IP and computer. Damn. I attracted a shut in! But today, all of that is gone, forgotten. I am saddened that I lost all of my first round of archives. I’m going to print out some more pictures that my mother wanted and hope that she doesn’t destroy this batch. I’m unusually tired tonight and it’s not even 8pm yet. What is wrong with me?! Speaking of my mother, this is probably the last batch I do for her for a long time. I found out that she stole more of my medicine for her meth-addict sister, so I get to go to work suffering.
I called Nick in tears over this, and he said that he would get me another bottle or two of the syrup, and we could be together on the plane going over. Just us and Chloe. I could sip or chug as much of that syrup that I could take. I smiled at that thought.
When we get home from this magically summer ride, we’re supposed to start prepping to go to Las Vegas! Another road trip! Good thing I am up for these things! I feel so lucky and so blessed, even if I am one kidney short and my heart is still weak, and I am exhausted. I will get to Las Vegas and I will see Mandy. Those are just two of the things that I want to do now that the only thing holding back is my own tight grip on the railing to the stairs. If I leave, my place will get robbed, my pets killed, and my house trashed; possibly burned down. Or maybe the fire won’t happen, and someone comes in and steals our computers, DVD-R, flat screen HD TVs, Wii, you know, all the stuff we worked very hard to have and got with in a few years of being motivated.
I keep thinking about seeing my friend there with me in Las Vegas. Maybe Dallas. I have a seminar there about blood cancers, what treatment worked best for me, what to expect, and what parents and care givers can expect when their child is on chemotherapy. I usually hate these seminars, but this time, I am looking for an excuse, any excuse to get out of the house for a little while, drive down town and come home. I’ll feel like I’ve had a “real job” as my harasser says. Because a job should never be something one enjoys to do for larger salaries than some boring cashier at a video store. But I guess they truly value their child-hating cashier who laughs hysterically when kids get hut in the store. Make snide observations and then check their name when the pull out their credit card, to see how much more money they have. Strange that for someone who was running the family into poverty but was going to be the World’s Next GOD, they never finished their degree. They just got a professional degree and they’re working in a Blockbuster video along side people who are physically 16, 17, 18, 19, not just mentally.
Yes, the person who made fun of me for working at Arby’s when I was 16, is in their 40′s today, and they still work as a drone in a Blockbuster store, where they have been since 2003. It’s great, right? I got a PhD while they were on the web making me look bad. I ignored them. They lost their jobs, lost their schooling, their spouses, and here I am, independently working on my own research, research that was unique to the University before I came here. I have been doing work like that since I was thirty. My learning days and test taking seminars are over. I teach at those now. I have three to go and teach at, get my complimentary meals, snacks, and I can leave without cleaning up. Perfect. 
Not as perfect as being on the Golden Coast, but I’ll take it. *all smiles*
It Felt Like Springtime
It was beautiful out today. It felt like spring time in January. The wind was a little strong, but I loved it anyway.
I didn’t venture out, but stayed inside with the windows and doors open, letting the warm breeze sweep though the house, cleaning out the dirty air, and replacing it with fresh air. The zing zing made working on anything a little harder. I feel like my foot is swollen, but I don’t believe it is.
With all the good things that happened to me today, I am still dreading next week and the start of dialysis. Dialysis is what caused the septic infection that eventually led to Jess’ death. His body couldn’t fight off the infection, so the doctor did not supply any antibiotics. They went ahead with the transplant, though. Smooth move, doc! There’s that tiny thought in t he back of my mind that I may or may not end up like Jess. In so much pain from sepsis that I swallow too much codine or too many Percs and I don’t wake up. Champ offered to bring me over some barbs. No thanks. I have enough to worry about, with how I could fight off the pain, should I get an infection.
All that being said, I am excited to get the first dialysis over with, because that means I can board the plane to the Golden Coast and nothing will stop me from being with my man and family. It’s summer in Australia right now. Where I am is about to get covered with several feet of snow. I still have plenty of time off, and nothing to occupy my mind. I have read Chloe every book that is appropriate for her, played dolls and video games with her, read just as many books to the boys, and played hide and seek with them, letting them win a few times, of course, that the three kids are tired of playing. Ashe asked me if I was going to start dinner soon because he wanted his supper and to go to bed! How many other people have the luxury of their four year old asking them for bedtime?! Didn’t think so.
I myself am going stir crazy. I finished my spiral notebook that I started back in October, I started a new journal, and even ordered a new one from Amazon. I’ve done all I can do with this site and the design. I have looked through more layouts, chosen one for March, and then I actually turn off my computer. I have watched every single show on cable in HD several times over. I am bored with everything. Bored and brilliant is a really bad combination. When I get those two together, I usually end up having a seizure and wake up sucking some stranger’s cock in the men’s room of the Cherry pub, stoned off my ass on a narcotic or two, in the early stages of alcohol poisoning, only to stagger out and be informed by Champ that I had a fourth man who wanted to take a turn. Whoa. I have called all the friends I have numbers for. I brushed the dog. The kitchen is spotless. I have an open bottle of Jack Daniels here, and I have had several drinks from it. Oh downward spiral, take me on another magic carpet ride…
Nick finally called me last night. He said they weren’t going to take me out of the filming. I was secretly relieved. I really wanted to work on that with him. The director is just going to shoot some other scenes that do not include me. I really want to go back to the gardens there in Sydney. I want to relive the beautiful flowery trails, collect wildflowers and have them pressed and made into perfume. That’s always been a favourite thing for me to do in Australia. I want to make a bottle for my friend Mandy, too. I hope she likes it!
While I was going through my meds this morning, I noticed that my fentanyl was gone. A whole five patches. I found out that my loving mother gave them to her drug addicted sister because she “needed them more than I did”. What? Really? All that is wrong with my aunt is she’s a chronic drug abuser. I really have a broken back and tumors that are causing me horrible pain. After the argument, I locked my med box in the trunk in the closet. Double locked, I might add. Let’s see anyone break into that! She started to tell me that maybe I should move out and earn my own money for my medicine myself. What kind of a selfish bitch was I to totally rely on my husband to work and support me and my ‘drug habit’ I had because of my cancer diagnosis. Wow. I’m not allowed to rely on my husband to buy my meds and work to support the household? I should move out of my own home? What the hell is wrong with her family!
That trip cannot get here fast enough. Have a great rest of the weekend, everyone! I have some pictures to upload after a while from when I tore apart my TimeCapsule and old iMac and harvested their drives. Now if I can only get some USB cords and connect them, I can get my data back. I’ll be so glad to get it, too. Never ever rely on media that you cannot connect to your main computer. I learned that the hard way.
I’m off to finish the bottle of Jack Daniels!
Hope you guys like the new layout! I certainly do. Looks a tad more professional. I’m going to go lay down before this seizure hits full
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Keep watching the skies! Santa’s bound to be out there somewhere!
The Cleaning Up Process
The good part of wanting to get somethings cleaned up in my real life, I have some scans that I can put here in the next few days. Ok, in the next day or so. I have photos from the painted desert from my trip in August 2001. Open house trips to where my dad worked before he retired. Senior photos of a girl that I miss so very dearly. All of these are prints from film, so I assume I’m going to have to spend some time with the scanner, just not tonight. Tonight I am very sleepy. But I promise you the wait is worth it. These pictures were taken back before every body had scanners and we didn’t fear the photo would go belong the family photo album, and possibly friends and family would see them.
Then comes the digital age of people putting all their pictures on the internet to show and to keep their images safe. somewhat.
I’m a little stoned and tipsy as I’m writing this, so the words aren’t coming out as well as I would like them to, but keep in mind that I can dig out and scan these images and have them ready for my next post. In my condition I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try to haul down a wooden box of pictures and stand in front of the furnace as I scan them. Even as wasted as I am, I can see that’s a bad idea.But I have a list of pictures to search for! Go me!
G’nite kiddies! See you in the morning!
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