Just another day in my life

1) Happy first birthday, new boobies!

2) Not every story has a happy ending, nor all they all supposed to.

3) That’d be me at the Christmas party: dancing nude with just a Santa hat and bells

4) Does anyone know if Violet ever got her sandwich?!?

You knew he’d write back…

And I don’t care if you tell me to take a hike 10 more times, I’ll always want you in my life… ALWAYS

In memory of / mom and dad / miss you - tam

mom and dad :: wickham park, ct :: 1963 - 1965 ?

Remember when I was all full of The Ick?

Youknowwho’s letter was part 1. Part 2 was a brick I purchased at Wickham Park.

Wickham was an important part of my childhood, and I made a very specific point to hang out there for a while during one of my trips to CT. That’s when I found out about the brick program… I’ve had the donation form and that photo in my inbox forever. Just never ready to make my move, so to speak.

I have a hard time reconciling who I think people are with who they actually are, and that’s caused me a metric shit ton of pain my entire life. (That’s m-e-t-r-i-c newword s-h-i-t newword t-o-n. (Boy Wonder joke. I love our staff meetings!!!))

At any rate, Teh Drama between my mother and myself has been well documented in a thousand places, including here. It’s practically impossible for me to reconcile the woman my father loved with the abusive bitch I grew up with. So, when I was at WP, I kept thinking of this picture of my parents, which was taken in the Oriental Garden. I can’t say I achieved clarity or any closure while I was sitting there at the duck pond, but something happened. Maybe it was because of the squirrel that wouldn’t leave me alone. (J’s mom LOVED squirrels. It’s safe to say that damn thing might have been a sign from the universe…)

I saw the thing for the brick and I became obsessed with buying one. I even knew what I was putting on it.

Surprised the shit out of me.

I certainly wasn’t expecting the following handwritten note with the receipt:

What a lovely tribute to your parents. Our staff really enjoyed the photo you sent. So many of them have been here for decades and enjoy seeing what the grounds looked like “back then”.  The Director feels the photo was taken between 1963 and 1965 based on the plantings in the Oriental Garden.

Did you ever hear someone say they thought your mom looked like the actress Mary Steenburgen? I know the photo is kind of far away from her face, but that’s the first thing I thought of when I looked at it. What a great picture; they look very happy.

Thank you for your gift to the park in their memory.

Another bit of weight off of my shoulders.

Clarity, closure, and cookies, bitches.

That’s just how I’m rollin’...

Scabs are temporary. Pain is forever.

That letter I wrote last weekend to youknowwho was a long time coming…

It took a few life-altering conversations with two drunk boys, an emailed short story, and an outside conversation with the someone who makes me feel vulnerable.

I’m still not sure if I should kick one of those people in the shins or not. That smile I get greeted with when I see them always tempers the urge to shin-kick, so I guess I’ll never kick them. But I am annoyed. Maybe. Not really. I don’t know.

It really does feel like a weight was taken off of my shoulders. That much is fact.

I’m sure that now that the weight of wanting to reach out to him is gone, it will be replaced by the painful reminder that I opened this wound. Again.

That I can’t deal with his baggage. Again.

I don’t know how to find the strength to do this, but I will find it.

I’m so good at protecting myself, shoving people out of my life, locking the door behind them and letting them back in on my terms.

Putting myself out there, again, and allowing him unlimited access to me, again, is fucking scary.

There is no halfway - it really is all or nothing - and that terrifies me more than I can ever put into words.

I can tell you, these are NOT my terms.

My brain has been giving me signs for a long time that I need to get over this, over HIM, but at the same time, the universe and, more importantly, my heart, are giving me a completely different set of signs…

I think I need to get to Albany, find me a $1 PBR special somewhere, and let the two drunk boys tell me how to live my life a third time.

They’re a lot smarter than I am.

Maybe this is why I ship Violate so hard

I don’t think it’s possible to save someone from themselves… but you might be able to give them enough of a lifeline so that they can save themselves.