Kicked in the chin

Ha.  Try to go between two people you love.  Both are fighting.  Try to break it up.  Forget about it.  Both sides insist I didn't give them enough support.

"I stick my neck out for nobody."

Good advice.  I'll follow it.

I feel betrayed by my daughter and her friend.

The door's open, but only the wind's whistling through.

Haiku

The door is open
Just the wind's whistling through
Stopped with a slam-click.

I was hospitalized at Mary Lanning back in November of 2014, on the Sunday before Thanksgiving and Black Friday.  I felt like committing suicide after having a nasty fight with Paul and dealing with the fallout afterwards.

Dear friends and family, please ask me how I'm doing.  I won't lie to you if I say, "I feel lousy," instead of saying, "I'm fine."  Don't assume fault.  There is none.

-------

I quit drinking alcohol because I realized I'm a binge drinker.

I stopped drinking alcohol because I would binge drink.

I stopped smoking because I would chain smoke.

I don't drink soda pop because I don't like its sweetness.

3 positives:
I'm strong enough to quit drinking alcohol.
I'm strong enough to quit drinking soda pop.
I'm strong enough to stop smoking.

DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW MUCH I FUCKING HATE CONSERVATIVE TEABAGGERS AND RETHUGLICANS?

Letters of Note: She doesn't answer the phone

Letters of Note: She doesn't answer the phone

Mrs. Betty Bowers - Best of 2014

Dreams

• Became part of a singing group.  After publicity pictures, one of the group members (female) tells me she'll give me a ride home (or to the nursing home, not sure about which one).  We drive through cobblestone streets, and there are big holes at street intersections, and the holes are ringed with orange cones.  My driver goes through an intersection; the intersection is blocked by a cone but she drives on the sidewalk (also cobbled).
• Old people are walking on the sidewalks - they say nothing, they're walking single file.They don't react to each other or us.
• The car disappears and I'm with a small group of friends.  (2 guys, 3 girls if you include me).  We go enter a beat-up Victorian house.  The stairs morph into institutional crete-n-steel steps, and the landing/hallway we go into looks like a dorm room.  The smell is a cross between old wet basement and nursing home.
• We walk down another set of steps into the basement.  It looks like a swamp set from a 50's Z-grade monster movie.  The smell is overpowering.  Here and there you see laundry drying on wire clotheslines.
• We leave the basement and walk upstairs - we open the door to a very full, shabby, Victorian-style parlor.  The residents are sitting in rows.  The residents are not reacting to each other or to with anyone else.  The aides are pushing plastic carts around the outside of the square, just wheeling around and around the outside.  (The aides are women; they're dressed in pink scrubs.)
• The reception desk is behind a counter; the counter has a wire glass window.  The receptionist is dressed in a traditional nurse's uniform.  I ask her where my mother is, and before she can reply, a hallway appears to my right.  I walk quickly down the hall and I arrive at a parlor - nice furniture, nice walls (furniture is Victorian - white couch, red lamps with gold swag, two white chairs).  In one of the chairs an old man (not sure if he's dead or sleeping) sits wrapped in a green blanket.  The old man looks like my father, but it's hard to tell because he's covered in cobwebs.
• I run out of the room, and the receptionist behind the wire glass tells me that my mom is in that room I was just in.  I tell her no, there's an old man in there.  I've lost my group.  I stop one of the nurse's aides as she's wheeling around the square of old people, and I ask her where my mother is.  She asks me what my mother's name is, and I say, "Claire Doxtator."  The aide says, "Oh, hon, we don't have a resident by that name."