Dig a little deeper and you'll realize all I'm building up you're tearing down.

It's official. I have PMS and I'm irritable and crampy and confused and frustrated and not at all rational for the next week or so.

Now that I've got that out of the way I'm ready to write. I'm old. Or at least that is how I feel after this weekend. I drank a lot of Friday night and I think it's official I need to lay off the shit. I never vomit or get hangovers and it happened. It means I'm old and don't you dare argue with me. I know my body. Only old age would make it respond that way. To be fair to my feeble body though it did hold a lot of vodka that night. And to be extra fair to it I took shots of some disgusting shit. I'm only equipped for vodka, that's it, the end. But the truth is I'm not even so sure about that anymore.

I've decided to be kinder to myself. I have been more abusive to myself than anyone could imagine. I'm a mess. My body is a mess. I think I'm finally tired of it. I don't know how it happens.

Little by little over the past few years I have opened up about my past. Shit, if you don't count those college kids at work everyone I know has had a rough childhood. Most of the people I know had it a lot worse than I did. But I let mine stick with me, a lot. Emilie and I chatted about it a little the other day.

I can't count the ways that I let the abuse in my childhood take over my adult life. It's there and each time I peel a layer of it off I find another crusty layer underneath. I don't blame anyone. Who's fault could it be? We all have so many issues. Perhaps my parents shouldn't have been aloud to reproduce but I am glad that I was born, that I am living. I'll take this life even if it means dealing with everything that did happen when I was a child.

It's funny. Today I was sitting in the living room just staring at a picture of my dad. He was so handsome in that picture. It's only been in the past year or so that I could look at his picture and not feel hate. Now I just wonder about him. If he can see me, is he okay with what I've become? I used to ask myself if he had the capacity to feel sorry for what he put us through. I think, if he were alive and well that he would feel sorrow for his actions. Though I don't think he ever wanted to hurt his children it can't be denied that he abused us and that he let us be abused. We got good at dodging his hand and learned to be silent when the hands of his shady friends and son would travel to my sister and I.

I know this is a bit serious. It's the mood I'm in. That picture of him is beautiful though. I think because I've finally forgiven him I can say that. I can also say that I miss him. I really want to see his grave again. I want to sit there and talk to him and leave him flowers. I'm going to take a road trip sometime when Abi is old enough to be without me for four or five days. I hope that wherever he is it is peaceful because he was never at peace when he was alive. I can remember when he was alive that we were never aloud to wake him up when he was sleeping. He had nightmares constantly and they were violent. I never thought about how hard it must of been for him, how hard his life must have been. And through all of his bullshit there really were some moments of clarity and peace. There were moments where I know he loved me and was proud. He always used to make me come to the dining room and would pull out my mom's huge chapter books when I was in kindergarten and first grade and would ask me to read for everyone. Because he couldn't read or write, he was so impressed that I could at such a young age.

I think that is why I've always held on to reading. He died when I was in second grade but I knew that me reading always made him proud. Not because I could at such a young age but because he never could. He left me with some fucked up memories but I find if I dig a little deeper I can find some okay ones. They aren't much but I'm holding on tight to them.

The issues that I have spent so much time running and hiding from really have taken a toll on my body. There are coping mechanisms that kick in when you need them that you don't realize. Obviously food has been one for me as well as selective memories. It took awhile to let myself deal with all the bad memories. I firmly believe that some children block out the really bad abuse until they can handle it. Those memories...they trickle out here and there. Good or bad, they are still part of me.

I've never tried to be a victim about any of it. I hate when abuse makes people attention seeking. But I'm sure it's happened here or there. I don't know. I think I'm setting out to find some new ways of coping. This shit that I do to myself just isn't working anymore. It's not for me or I'm not for it. Something like that.

Besides, I think I'm being a bit hypocritical at this point. It's getting really hard to teach my clients when I won't take any of my own advice. I hate hypocrites. I never plan on being one. It just happens.

That's it. Hopefully my blog never strays this direction again. I'm so not one of those girls, I swear. Hell, I try to be the furthest thing from sappy female there is. Just forgive me for this one.

There are no words for that kind of dumb but I'll try my best.

Oh this blog. I see where it's headed. I am powerless over it's current road. You don't have to tell me. I know that there is a lot more inside of me than pent up anger resulting from work. Just let me sift through the anger people. I'm sure there is something worthwhile underneath.

I'm a pretty ignorant person. I really am. There is so much that I can learn that I haven't and there is so much I need to learn about. Hell, I can't even speak a complete sentence out loud without sounding dumb and mixing everything up. And when it comes down to writing I don't do it that well either. So before I go on and start sounding like a judgemental asshole I just wanted to point that out. I know I'm an asshole. I know I'm judgemental. But it's not going to stop me from complaining about dumb coworkers. Shit, I'm writing to an audience of one here and she doesn't mind so why not?

It's been a rough couple days at work kids. It will be that way until after next week. I'm dealing the best I can which would be impossible without Emilie. Even my boss is starting to feel it. You know something bad is going on when your boss starts the bitch session for the day and buys you a cookie afterwards. Mmmm...cookies.

We survive. What choice is there? As far as my shift goes we are all fucked. That would be all three of us. That's three people doing the job that it normally takes six people to do. That's counting the nurse we haven't had for ages though. We make it work though. One may be suprised to hear that we make it work without bribing the clients to be good and do what they are supposed to do.

I was pretty proud of that. When our crisis staffing situation started Emilie and I talked to all the clients and told them what was going down and how it would all be played out. We made sure they knew that unlike techs of the past there would be no bribing or laziness involved on our part. They would be expected to do what they needed to do to participate in their treatment and for that we would work our asses off to make sure we are providing them with what they need while maintaining high levels of respect on both sides. It's not unrealistic. It's actually worked okay.

Well, that is if you don't count the client who's really sick and has been refusing meds. But we've been there before. We agreed that he would not recieve extra's until he started self medicating again. It's not an easy conclusion. It means we've been through a couple days of name calling and mild threats because he's not getting what he demands. But we decided to stick to the plan. This morning he took his meds so he was able to start receiving coffee again. It's a small step.

Then evening shift comes in toting gifs to bribe him into doing what they want him to. I'm not trying to be an ass here but doesn't that totally undo every fucking thing we were trying to accomplish. God damn morons. That's right, I said it. And no I don't fucking feel bad about it.

Then I hear that they spent all last night trying to bribe him with extra food to get him to do stuff. We've been here before. There was a group of boys that gave him whatever he wanted. When we don't do that he eventually becomes violent on our shift. I know. Emilie and I have dodged the plates he decided to throw when his demands didn't pan out.

I remember those evening shift morons saying that it was always the boys giving him what he wanted and they would never do that. Now the fuckers are dazzling us during passdown with tales of all the things they have been trying to bribe him with.

I won't lie. I'm pretty close to being okay with telling them off. Why didn't I just do that today? And where do we find these people at? I'm starting to think that human resources scans the mall offering applications to all the little college kiddies who just can't stop spending their dads money and desperately need their own cash flow just so they can say "I have a job".

Are you fucking kidding me? Someone, anyone yell "PSYCH" right now and tell me this has all been a joke. Tell me that I'm not leaving my precious clients fate in the hands of a bunch of attention seeking idiots each day at three pm.

And tell me why in the fuck do the dumb ones always seem to outnumber me? How can there be that big of a group of morons in one work place? And how in the fuck do they all manage to be working the same shift together?

I'm pretty sure my anger is valid. Maybe not. In any case it feels better to get it out. Let's move on. When I finally wash my hands of someone's ignorance and decide I'm not going to let it affect me anymore I celebrate by writing a short poem about them. I shall now share a few of them with my loyal reader. This Emilie, is for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

S.G

Fancy words don't make you cool.

Snide comments make you the fool.

Your insecurities put me at ease.

Are you really going to stop talking?

Oh please don't tease!

You bitch about everything you see.

Life really isn't as bad as you make it out to be.

Get up, grow up, move on with your life.

Laugh a little don't take everything in strife.

Here's an idea how about trying to be a little nice?

Oh wait, that's right, you don't want my advice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M.A.T

I see you queen bee.

Waiting for your pollin gossip at the top of the tree.

Your workers march on giving you everything you want.

Behind your back they call you a silly cunt.

You rule your sheltered world watching everyone below.

Did you ever dream you could be so low?

Don't worry little one I'll just set back and see,

The look of frustration on your face because you know you can't affect me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If none of those initials resemble yours than you can rest assure that I probably think a few nice things about you. As we all know. My opinion is of the upmost importance.

I do tend to write. Not a lot of people know that. I fear though most of my attempts at "poetry" only make sense to me. So I only share the silly little diddies. My other stuff is just thoughts in the forms of attempted poetry that survived some of the darker times in my life.

What's that? Now you can't sleep without hearing more? I'll tell you though I wasn't always the pleasant ball of sunshine that you know today. I'll leave you with one more. This one is from a dark time in my life. It's hard to believe that I ever thought that way but that was before I met my hero. I don't think I was every really alive before I met Mike. I seem to have grown up a lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suicide

I can't take the shit that's weighing me down.

A few more days and you will read about how I drowned.

No one know's what's going on.

Move me around, I'm your can't lose pawn.

Don't think I'll do it?

It's in my head it won't go away.

I just took a wrong turn, I think I'll kill myself today.

It doesn't matter you can pretend you really knew me once I'm gone.

Wasn't she sweet?

Let's let her memory live on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That one kind of makes me laugh now. No kiddies, suicide is not funny. But making it to the point where you can look at those empty threats and laugh your ass off at your insanity is slightly refreshing and something to be celebrated. I'm adding a point to my self esteem stockpile for being a person with some depth.

Well, that was nice.

I love sex. I bet you can't guess where I'm going with this one. Now don't jump to conclusions. I won't be blogging simply about my healthy appetite for sex. That would be rude for those of you out there who aren't getting any.

There have been times in my life where sex was neither here or there. If it happened, great. If it didn't then I was okay with that to. I'm a bit to selfish to have that nonchalant attitude these days. Lucky for me my husband wants to just as much as I. I think if I weren't married I could very possibly be a slut. I'd be okay with that as long as I enjoyed the sex and it wasn't just the male scoring.

When I think back to days of sex long before Mike arrived it makes me giggle, a lot. How naive was I? I don't miss those days though there were quiet a few of them. I can remember the first time I had sex. My boyfriend at the time was a bit older than me. I was pretty passionate and expecting a lot. I ended up being very dissapointed. Apparently I was all the rage during that sexual experience or at least his comments during the act led me to believe so. Afterwards, he kept asking if I was okay. Sure I said. But where the fuck was the orgasm? I wasn't dissapointed because I gave away my virginity; I don't see it as much of a gift or a prize. I just wasn't satisfied. If ever I were in that same position now I would have most definately told him off. If you don't notice that your partner didn't get off then you just don't deserve to have sex. If you did notice but don't care then you are an asshole. I've never faked an orgasm. I refuse to.

There were experiences after that but I never really understood the beauty of sex until Mike. It doesn't matter how much sex is had between us. I can never get enough. When I think about it I just feel bad for other women. Perhaps there is some other woman out there thinking the same thing about her partner. I'm sure people do but it seems hard to believe that people can enjoy each other as much as Mike and I do.

Today I commented to Mike that it's amazing we find the time to have sex as much as we do. It's not uncommon for it to happen several times a day and that's after six years of marriage and nine years of being together. It's still not old and it's still never enough. We work opposite shifts and have no days off together. We find the time though. I just go to work sleepy, a lot.

I don't mean this to sound dirty really. Although during the act there are some pretty dirty things said. But I think it's beautiful. Most likely because we are so attentive to each other during the act. At least I hope I am.

This shall most likely make Mike blush if he comes across it. It has to be said.

And please women, don't fake orgasms. It's not healthy. If you don't want to have sex then don't. But I would advise you to explore why you don't want to. If you do want to have sex and are just faking because you aren't satisfied then stop now. Tell your partner. They probably know you are faking anyway. If not then you have gotten really good at it and have been faking for far to long. Don't demean yourself that way. It's sad. It makes me want to cry for you. Don't make me cry. Go now, go get yourself and orgasm.

No Moron, you couldn't possibly understand. Here's a clue...go find some compassion.

And so here it is. I've been waiting for this one for awhile. It's been building just waiting for a safe place to explode. I'm going to have to talk about work here for a bit. Hell, if I didn't work where I work I wouldn't need a fucking blog in the first place.

It's hard not to get attached to my mentally ill clients. I love them. I do. We all have our certain ones that we get attached to more than others. We go home and think about them and worry about them and wish against everything that they can live as normally as possible someday.

But you know what? Beyond all that I spend most of my time being frustrated as hell. Because what do we do for them? I can offer them groups and talk to them but I can't offer them everything they need....and the people who can don't seem to give a shit sometimes.

I love Subacute. You can't imagine. There have been times when I wanted to leave but couldn't leave the clients. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. It was a hard blow the first time a former client died from Subacute. I loved her, she was a favorite.

I remember the day she walked out that door. I knew she was going home to an abusive husband and I knew that she didn't want to go. This client was one you wouldn't expect to be a client. Her husband was a professor at one of the top technical universities. Of course he expected her to look her best at all times and was very critical of her.

I had a long talk with her that day before he showed up. I remember telling her she didn't have to go with him she had other options. But her god damn therapist and everyone else pushed her to go. They kept saying "You can't stay at subacute forever..."

So he came. I didn't let her walk out the door without taking her head between my hands and telling her right in front of her abusive husband how beautiful and smart and amazing she was. She left tearful. I walked back in tearful. She went home and hung herself in her garage.

It hits me at ood times. The last time I lost it over her was pre-flood. I had just dropped Abi off and was on my way to work. I couldn't control the grief I felt. I had to pull over and get myself under control.

Another client, same story. I can't give her name. Her story is much worse to me. She was so much more neglected I feel by the place that was supposed to be working with her. She was a severe alcoholic. I feel in love with her bad ass attitude. We bonded probably more than was appropriate. Because I keep pictures at work she came to know my daughter. She became to attached to stories about Abi and how she was growing and how she was behaving. Constantly she was trying to give me money to give to Abi and when I wouldn't she would go on pass and by her something that I couldn't give her. I always pretended to take it home but it never made it to her. This blog is perhaps the raciest thing I've done against work. In all other areas I've followed their rules beautifully.

One day I sat her down and talked to her for a long time about why I couldn't accept her gifts for Abi. I don't think she ever understood that it wasn't appropriate. Midway into the talk it all clicked. I never realized that she was reaching out to Abi because she wanted to reach out to her own children. Abi was a safer bet. Her own children had suffered through their child years with her as a roaring alcoholic. She was afraid that they could never forgive her. I could relate. I told her how it took an impossibly long time for me to forgive my own mother and father. But I told her it's not an impossible thing and she had to try.

She didn't have a lot of fans as far as techs were concerned. She gave everyone to much hell. I watched her so many times throwing things and threatning and cussing at her peers and us. I don't know about the others but she always apoligized to me. I always told her that the next day was a new day and we start off on the right foot then.

It came time for her to move out. I was upset over the lack of services we had offered her. Wait, we hadn't offered her shit. I felt that someone who was as severe of an alcoholic as she was should have been going to AA meetings her entire stay at Subacute and should be followed heavily and been set up to attend AA meetings upon her discharge. It never happend. Some techs supplied her with as much information as possible to get her to those meetings.

She moved out. She died. All I know is they found her dead on her apartment floor surrounded by empty beer bottles. They think she fell and hit her head. My boss called me at home to tell me. I didn't let it sink in then, I had company.

When I got back to work after all this I about killed every one I came across. Everyone was playing the victim card acting so upset (Funny enough one tech was so upset when she received the call that she had to be taken outside, this is the same one that treated this particular client like shit most of the time...whatever....attention is attention I guess) but not one person was questioning if we did enough for her. So I started to.

When I asked why she was never set up with AA meetings I got the reply that she would have never went. What? Could you be more pretentious? This isn't a decision about your child's piano lessons this is someone's life. Can you really not offer someone a service they need because you assume they won't go?

I heard it all. I heard how sad everyone was...."I had to move her into her apartment, I cried when I heard the news..", "I was so upset Lenae had to take me out to smoke...I couldn't stop crying", whatever. It's a bunch of bullshit. The fucking morons couldn't possibly understand the hole that her death has left in this world. I can actually feel her gone. Everyday I wake up knowing that I didn't demand enough for her, knowing that I didn't make her demand enough for herself. Save your stories of grief for someone who actually believes them. She was just another annoying client to you assholes.

And the worst of all....all she got was a cremation. She didn't have enough money for a burial, for a service. Even if I was fucking rich I wouldn't be allowed to provide that for her but you can bet that the company that was supposed to be watching out for her won't hand over any of their precious money to provide that service. Sometimes I feel like rounding up the few people I know who cared about her and making my own service. She deserves that fucking much at least.

It hits me, a lot. My birthday was a really hard day to deal with her memories. For some reason every other second a memory of her would pop up. I didn't push it back. She would be sadistic enough to torture me on my birthday like that...dead or alive :)

Simple isn't always so simple.....

I've had a lot of thoughts running through my head today. It's hard to chase down one of them and parlay it into a suitable blog entry. I'm no blogger. But I'll give it a go.

My family and I spent some time at our flooded house today. It's coming along. I can't imagine a point when we will be able to live there again but our contracter assures us that it is possible. She sure does have a lot of enthusiasm for someone who hasn't been paid yet. That makes me weary.

I've put a lot of thought into going back home. I feel like the flood was so much more than just a flood. Actually it wasn't even a loss. It was cleansing....a wake up call. I can handle everything that was lost. I thought I couldn't at first but I haven't persished yet. If I have to stay with my family much longer that may not be the case though.

I'm a simple person. My emotions are pretty complex, I'll give myself that. But I live simply. That's my goal when I get back home, to live as simply as possible. I was eager this year to grow my own garden and can like crazy. I made my own jelly last year. I picked the fruit myself and did all the canning. I won't say I didn't have a mentor in that area but I did the work. It was spectacular. Best of all was that Mike loved it. We rationed the jars of jam like crazy knowing I couldn't can anymore until this spring. I seriously almost cried when I had to throw that last jar out because it was contaminated by the flood waters. Next year I suppose.

I don't want much. If I had to make a short list it of wants it would go something like this: I want clean clothes drying on the line outside my house. This happens while Abi is playing in her tree fort and I'm laying in the grass reading a book. Mike is inside cooking. No joke. I can't cook. He loves to.

Is all that blog worthy? I don't know. Perhaps blogs are nothing more than an online diary that can be customized to the extreme. It's still refreshing.

I'll never be invited to sit at the cool table.

I have been pondering the idea of a real blog for the longest time. When I say real blog I do mean a blog in which I can say whatever I want without offending anyone. That can only mean a select few people will be able to handle reading this. And even if I have to narrow that select few down to zero...I'm okay with that. I agree with Emilie when she said this would be a breath of fresh air. I like Emilie, she doesn't expect much from me.

That's something to think about. I feel people just expect to much from each other. It's binding really. Can't we just be who we are? I feel I've spent to much time being a different person for different people. I'm to tired and to old. Or could it be that I'm just grown up now?

To really understand my position on this I'm going to have to dive into my wonderful work enviroment here. I love my work. No, really I do. Lucky for me I'm lucky to work with a select few very cool people. I won't lie here....Emilie is probably my favorite. And I don't say that lightly.

The relationships between my coworkers are maddening at times. I won't lie. Most of them are a bunch of spoiled brats skating through college on their parents money but are still somehow stuck in high school clique mode. Disgusting. Each week there are new alliances and break-ups between friends. I can't keep up. I don't care enough to. When there is not quiet enough drama someone will eventually send out a shitty email to everyone that singles out one person (this is done in a meant to be "discreet" manner which is to say it is as indescreet as possible). Now when this happens one must choose sides asap. If you don't choose sides then you will be deleted or not added as someone's friend on facebook just to show you that the clique will always prevail. Again, I stopped caring.

While I won't say that I've never been caught up in that drama I will say that I am a drama free girl these days. And that's why I like Emilie. It is, in fact, hard to believe she is a girl. Though I've not seen it personally I am pretty sure she is equipped with a vagina. One wouldn't be able to tell though because drama won't associate with that girl. But this isn't the coolest thing about her. Perhaps the most enlightning thing about her is that she can work with the drama queens peacefully without feeding into their drama. I didn't think it could be done! And so she has won my respect.

I usually am not bothered if someone doesn't like me. Actually it's a relief...then they don't expect so much from me; you know conversation etc. But I have this chip in me that makes it painful for me to know that I've hurt someone elses feelings by not liking them. I tried to remove the chip by just saying whatever I felt whenever I felt like it. That removal (which didn't work) left a lot of scars. I won't try again...but a not so public blog couldn't hurt, right?

Let me urge you to just let people be who they are; even if it makes them annoying to you. Just don't foster a relationship with them if it makes you ill to be around them. But do find a few people you can appreciate and celebrate what they bring to your life. Take that and hold onto it for all it's worth to you.

I don't know what I think about friendships. I'm a loner where my free time is concerned. I appreciate it to much to crowd it with people and obligations to those people. But I do think you should appreciate the good people. The one's who let you be you and encourage your individualality with a force that is a bitch to be reckoned with.