What I will do, what I won't do.

Alright, I just have to get this out there. I am not a wimpy girl who can't handle the truth. It is interesting to me everyone's perspectives.. but I am a big proponent on the delivery of the truth. I appreciate anyone who actually reads my writing, but really.. it is more like a journal of thoughts, some happy, some miserable.. I'd just like to ask a couple of things if you want to read my things.

You can't make everything better by "just kidding," "don't take this the wrong way," "with all due respect," etc.
Please read ALL of mys tuff..go down to the kidney stone story, or the pee'ing in a cup going down 95 one night at 3 am. See my happy stuff, my confused stuff.. If I'm having a bad day, whatever, let me have it-without judgement. To say things out of love is one thing, to say them out of condemnation, whether you mean them or not is not accepted here on Black and white.

Listen, I am not going to explain myself to look better in anyone's eyes. I am not going to try to convince you I'm a contributing member of society.
What I am is a mother of 3 beautiful children, a wife, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I am facing something in the past 6 months that I have never faced before. I have 37 years of issues that I am trying to confront and deal with. I'd appreciate the help, even the honesty, compassion..etc. What I don't need is judgement. I won't do it to you, you don't do it to me. If you feel the need.. just.. leave. It's so very easy to do, click that little x right up there in the corner, and you never have to read my truth again. I'm not here to defend myself. I am here to write my feelings so I can get them out where they won't destroy me. If you choose to say I'm immature, that I push and I pull and all those other things, fine, just don't say them here, where my healing is happening.
I seriously doubt that I can go back to the way I was. I was NUMB. I had no feelings finally for the woman who gave birth to me. I never wanted to meet her. I didn't want anything to do with her after I grew up. Now I do, so give me a break. Give me the same compassion each and every adopted child MUST FIND in their heart to search for his or her first mother.

Because trust me on this one: you'd have issues too if you thought the one person on the whole planet who was supposed to love you through ANYTHING didn't love you enough to keep you.

so I lied again.

In the last post, I said I wanted to find my mother to see if I had inherited psychotic problems-while that would be nice to know, I want to find my mother because I love her even though I have never laid eyes on her. Even though "they" say she never wanted to see me. (That hurt, I just can't get past it, even though well-meaning people tell me it could all be lies, it just hurts me so much.)
I miss her. I miss what I never got. I want to know she misses me too. I don't want to have to tell her if I'm ever lucky enough to find her (PLEASE GOD LET ME BE LUCKY ENOUGH-PLEASE SAY IVE DONE SOMETHING GOOD IN MY LIFE THAT WARRANTS THIS WISH) that she did the right thing, and "thank you." I don't want to have to thank her bc it will be a lie. And I want her to be like some other firstmothers I've met-that ache for their babies they gave away. Please God, let her have ached, let her be alive, let her have missed me all these years. Please. Please. Please.

there was a time when I had grown up to be everything I thought I should be. I had done well in college, graduated with a 3.78. I got married to a respectable man and I had 3 beautiful kids. Well, actually, I had 1 beautiful kid, then got married to the respectable man and had 2 more beautiful kids. I ended up moving to a small town, making friends with all the minivan driving mothers at the elementary school where my each of my children went. They never had to move around like I did..they've been in the same home most of their life. I thought I did it all correctly.I was so "lucky to be able to be a SE Teacher, meanwhile, it crushed the very life out of me. I lost myself to that person I thought everyone thought I should be.Actually, I guess I couldn't lose myself-I've never found myself if you would like to know the truth.
I grew up to be a PTO President who was afraid to speak in public-that is when I got a taste of Xanax, which helped me stand up on that stage that night as I mumbled something about thanking the parents for giving up a whole goddamned 20 minutes of their Thursday night-it showed how loyal they were to their kids education. Seriously, I said that shit. Meanwhile, I had worked my fingers to the bone for 6 years doing fundraisers, spring flings, raising money so we could get stuff for our classrooms, all the while with this stupid 1000 mega watt smile on my face thanking THEM.
Oh, yeah, I am adopted.
I'm sure I even threw the word 'grateful' at them at least once.

These days, I am no longer that person I pretended I was. Eventually, I just burned out. I was tired of being friends with other women who were nothing like me. The good southern ladies who went to church, would never consider being friends with someone "like me." I never told anyone my husband had adopted my oldest child. I just always added a year to my anniversary and hoped none of my kids would speak up when I was lying. I, myself, should have known the damage that could do to my child, but I was selfish. Ashamed.
None of them like me anymore, anyway. A couple are on my FB friends list, but I think that's more to do with the fact that they would like to keep up with the scandalous person I have become. Yeah, I really have. So, I hide in my house, having no real friends anymore. And I really was a good friend to people. I gave EVERYTHING to be a good friend. I'd take care of one of my friends for over a year when she got so sick she couldnt take care of her own family. I'd take care of her while she was in bed (i'm not exaggerating when I say a year, either), played with her 3 year old so this poor little girl wouldn't feel ignored. I'd make them dinner, clean up their house, BATHE her children bc her husband didn't want to, and then travel over to my house at night to do it all again with my own family.
Eventually, that wore me out, of course and our friendship faded.. She still is sick, 4 years later. I won't get into it. Some mysterious 'disease' that no one has labeled yet. I've got your disease.
Why did I feel the need to be that friend? Was it bc I was trying to gain points, so that if I ever needed anything, I'd have a person that owed me? I mean, I loved them and all.. but why did I do that? Was I afraid they would leave me if I didn't kiss their butts?

I don't know.
I do know that the way I eventually treated all of my friends was what I abhor most in others when they do it to me. The number one fear in my entire life is being left. By men, by women, by anyone. I have no problem, though, just cutting people out of my life ..feeling guilty for a little while about it, but eventually, just ducking my head under the covers and just forgetting it all. Is it selfish? Yeah. Or is it self-preservation? Hurt them before they hurt me kinda deal?
Why is it that I am destroyed when people leave me? (redundant.)
It's always been this way. If I feel like I have to say goodbye, I'm FINE if I'm the one leaving.. I don't think twice about treating others poorly. (Funny, bc I'm such a compassionate sort of girl..my heart bleeds for other people-animals-lost souls, whatever, it bleeds, so I know I'm not a sociopath or anything[i think])
Godforfuckingbid someone dismisses me or leaves me. I get suicidal. I swear to God I do.
I'm there now. Well, maybe suicidal isn't exactly it. It's not like I have the guts to hurt myself. I want to be a pretty corpse, anyway, and I'm afraid to die. I just want to die, I don't want to be here anymore. I wish I never was.
So sad, bc I'm a pretty fucking amazing person. Just the inside, all dark and oozing just hurts too bad. It trumps the amazing and makes me feel like I just want to go.
I want to run, get out of here. I just have no where to go.
That stupid college education really didn't help me any since I "chose" to stay home and end my career prematurely. Who wants a dumb broad that's convinced she has Alzheimers bc she can't remember things? Nobody, trust me.
I have my pride, too, I'm not that woman who can go work in a gas station to make ends meet. I won't do it. I'll stay in my pretty house with my pretty kids.. And I'll be miserable probably the rest of my days.
I just truly want to find my mother, so I can at least find out if I'm insane legitimately or if I'm just in pain, or even if that would help me.
I just can't go on like this.
Don't worry if you're reading this, you don't have to call 911 or do an intervention or anything. These thoughts are bi-weekly, since I was oh..11.

..

Happy Father's Day-where ever you may be..

who, where,what,why (are you?)

I want to write about..her. The one woman who has been with me (albeit only in my head and my heart) my entire life. I want to, but I can't. Not today. I'm so tired-I've been emotionally steamrolled and I want to get back up;can't, won't..not today-soon.

pull the trigger(ed)

Triggered. I've only recently come to understand how this word is used in association with a deep psychological issue, and it's spot on. Perhaps it's because I live in the south, where progressive thinking is slow to come, if at all. Maybe I just haven't paid attention-which would mean I am paying attention now. Whatever the case may be, I now have a word to describe what happens to me (to all of us) when just sitting around minding my own business and bam, I'm destroyed by an offender.

I'm not really sure why the social worker deemed it necessary to write some of the things she did in my non-identifying information. What was left out from a few posts before was the emotional things she typed and gave me. (According to those in the know, what I received COULD be all lies. Where does that leave me? I don't know.Maybe lies are all I'll ever have.. Are lies better than nothing at all? Lies on paper are AT LEAST tangible.)
Four things (maybe Five or Six, we will see):
1. "your birthmother didn't EVEN name the father on the bc." (that 'even' part just pissed me off)
2. "your birthmother didn't EVEN want to see you." (again..could she have at least refrained from typing that word? Why was it necessary to EVEN put that [see? its just a word that could technically just be 4 exclamation points] in the mix?) (Try doing a diagram of THAT sentence.)

I digressed. I usually do.
According to the lies (or truth) of the tangible evidence I do have, though, something incredible has come out of it-but it's left me distraught, like a child, wondering how in the world to change my thinking. Perhaps I shouldn't change my thinking just yet, but how can I not think about it? Wrapping my brain around these whammies leaves me anxiety-filled. I don't know what to do.
You would think these are bad things I am talking about-not at all, if they are true.

The first significant positive was that my ffather wanted to marry my fmother when he found out she was pregnant. She blew him off. He moved out of state. That made me cry. Not for the loss, necessarily, but because he actually KNEW (and knows.. ) that I existed. I'm not a huge proponent of getting married "just because of a pregnancy," so an 'atta girl to my fmother for that one-again, if it's true. Just to know though, that he knows about me fucks my head all up. I've ALWAYS been under the impression that he "probably" didn't even know. If he did know, he "probably" didn't care.

Second was a story about the foster (father? not really sure what to call him..) who took care of me in the 6 weeks my fmother had to change her mind about giving me away. The day he and his wife were taking me to meet my "parents," it said he was quiet and had no words to describe how he was feeling. It said he was gentle as he placed "the baby" in the carseat and said "they better do right by her." That made me cry.

Third, and perhaps most important, although, I really don't know why it's important to me, because I know my dad loves me is that on the day before my parents took me home, they came and "met' me. "They each held her in turn, and her adoptive father found it hardest to let her go." That was really heartbreaking to hear. My dad has never ever been emotional with me except maybe once or twice, or when a Little House on the Prairie episode makes him cry. He's stoic. He's unemotional, to a point where it's always been maddening for me. Absent, a lot of my life-his career was most important. He was gone a lot. He would do TDY in Korea for a month at a time. He always came back and it would freak me out.
Once, I got off the school van when I was in Pre-K in Myrtle Beach, SC. I was 4. A man who looked like my dad was standing across the street, but how could it be him? He had a mustache and he was tan and smiling. He scared me, I had never seen him with a mustache. I was shy-why I remember that, I don't know.
I always had issues with my dad growing up. He's a brilliant, brilliant man. He is so incredibly brilliant and the way he interacts with people is condescending. I don't think he knows he does it-but if I didn't understand something he was trying to teach me, he'd get the little baby voice that's slow and try to explain it. Like that helped. That just made me feel dumber than I already felt. "Now, Rachel..."
In my teenage years, when I needed my dad the most, I felt like he wasn't there. I felt like he was ashamed of me. My sister (in my mind-people try to tell me even now that it was just my perception-I don't believe it to this day) was the goddamned golden child. Everything she did was gold. Everything I did was tarnished brass. I try to shock people to this day, especially the family on my mother's side by referring to myself as the black sheep of the family. I WANT them to know that I KNOW.
Anyway, I love my daddy in spite of all of this. I try to put myself in the "daddy's girl" category but somehow always fall short of actually feeling it. I know he loves me. I know he loves my kids. He just has a weird, harsh way about him, unemotional. I hate that.

Recently, while waiting for the non-id stuff to get here, I was having lunch with my family. I had assumed (not really sure why) that my fmother all these years had been 17. My mom got indignant with me that day saying she was 19 and why in the world would I think she was 17? Like I was a crazy person (well, this remains to be unproven..). Anyway, I just couldn't believe, when my dad shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion, threw his hands up in the air, and said "I don't remember" when I started asking questions about what the social worker had actually told them. How could he NOT KNOW that this was important to me? How in the FUCK could he think that those memories shouldn't be important?
I ran out of the restaurant in tears. Ten years ago, I would have walked back into the restaurant, gathered up my kids and haul ass back home. That day I didn't, maybe I'm growing up. Who knows. When I got back to the table, he apologized, told me whenever I was ready he would tell me what he DID remember from that day. That surprised me, my dad has never been one to apologize.

I'm making my dad out to be some monster. He isn't. Before I actually put a label on all of this emotional turmoil in my life, I really did think that a lot of what I did, and the choices I made were because I didn't have the emotional support from the man in my life, my dad. I've always thought teenaged girls (most importantly) should have a strong father, to show them the way, to show them that they are special, and worthy. While he would meet dates at the door and scare the living hell out of them (boys always were scared to ask the Thornburgh girls out on dates, they had heard..stories), he would also be the one sitting in the chair in the living room with a baseball bat waiting for me when I would sneak out of the house citing "Well, you never know who youre going to try to sneak back in with." Which was just an asshole thing to say, in my very humble opinion.
I could go on for hours, but I won't.
My point is this: When I got the info I realized (again this being my truth for it's all I have right now) is that the first THREE men in my life(although, the first, at least thought I was important enough to marry some fat chick who was apparently a bitch to him according to this bitch of a social worker who deemed it necessary to put her two cents in) apparently thought I hung the goddamned moon. I have been oppressed in some relationships (one particularly..) because I am a very weak woman. I've always attributed that to the fact that I felt like no man should love me, because I'm a royal fuck up. What do I do with all of this now?
The one sentence about my dad just broke my heart, and I don't know why. I feel like I've lost years with this man who found it the hardest to let me go back to that social worker. I want to believe that is how he still feels.
I'm sobbing as I write this, and I don't even know where the hell it's coming from. I have a picture-of me when I was about 1, a tiny little baby..15 pounds at a year, on my daddy's shoulders. It personifies what a relationship should be like for a little girl and her dad. It's so false, to me, but I cherish it. I think because I WANT so bad to believe , I want so bad to have that bond with my parents. I just don't. I want it so bad, I can't even explain how much I do. I just feel like I can't though,not really, because it's not a natural bond. If I ever find that first guy, will I automatically have a bond with him? I've heard conflicting stories-the jury is still out. I don't know if the jury will ever actually walk in the room and give me my verdict. Am I strong enough to handle it if they come back in and tell me I will never ever have a bond with any of my parents? Am I royally fucked by this game called adoption? Do I NEVER get a bond with anyone? I'm 37 christ killing years old and this shouldn't be an issue-I'm an adult. Inside, though, I'm still dealing with that oppressive, night-marish feeling that I just can't shake.

Whatever the reason for the trigger-it started sometime yesterday afternoon- I'm in a funk. That picture of my dad holding me is blown up to an 8x10 and sitting on my kitchen table in a beautiful frame ready to be mailed. In beautiful calligraphy on the mat " Each held her in turn, but her adoptive father found it hardest to let her go."
I hope it makes him cry. I need him to cry for me.
Since I've started the process of finding out all my truth, I have a hard time, because I've always suppressed my emotion-buried it.. never dealing with it. This is such a foreign thing to me, to be dealing with it , talking about it, FEELING all of it . I am living with this pain , 37 years worth is finding it's way out of me, so quickly. It wears me out. It is prohibiting me from lending emotion to anything else in my life. I can't seem to make anyone realize how much I need to do this. However, I can't do this AND be expected to be in the present with all of the regular day to day stuff that needs my attention. I feel like I'm between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Do I address this pain, emotion, with everything I have, or do I take care of those around me? I just have a hard time doing both. While my usual take on life is to just cross the bumps in my road with very little thought, just take it for what it is and keep moving, I can't do that this time. Deal with it now, or deal with it later. The dealing with it now thing has never happened before, so this is all a different concept to me.
I'm in a vast ocean, it is dark. My sail is broken, I have to get out of here, I need to be rescued. There are sharks in the water;I've hit an iceberg;I have no way of calling out for help;I have no emergency beacon.
This is the first Father's Day that I realize I actually do have a 'real' father, and another 'real father." What the hell am I supposed to do now?

i don't understand "TMI"--I have no filter, I tried to tell you

on coming home..(may, '07)

Saturday evening, my sister and I got back to Rhonda's house around ten. I had missed the exit and wanted to cry because all I wanted to do was get back and get in bed, had to have the rental car (cheaper to rent an entire vehicle plus gas than to put gas into my guzzler) back on Sunday morning by ten.

After getting in bed, I realized that something was attacking me..I think it was sand fleas. God, I love Florida. Or chiggers, perhaps. All I knew was that I was itching and there was no way I'd be able to sleep for a few hours before I had to get up.. so..I got up. 12 a.m. Took a shower, hoping that whatever was eating me alive would get washed down the drain, got a huge cup of coffee and hit the road at 12.30. Now, if you know me, you know that I haven't been awake at that time in oh.. years. All I wanted to do was get home to my babies for Mother's Day and sleep in my own non-sand flea bed.

It started out innocently enough, I had my phone charged (but who could I call? hot coffee right beside me, gum in reach, and a pop tart in case I got terriblly hungry. The only thing I really hadn't thought through was that I'm a decent looking enough female that I probably shouldn't be wandering into rest stop bathrooms by myself in the middle of the night in Florida. Hmm.

So, after going through an hour and a half of smoke so thick that people had pulled over and had hazard lights on.. (I should have stopped right then and there..Florida is on fire!), I got to Jacksonville having the entire huge cup of coffee sitting in my bladder pounding with it's fists that it had to come out. What to do at 2 am when you have to pee so bad, you wish you'd worn a diaper? Well, you do what any normal person would do..you contemplate the cup where it came from in the first place. You probably shouldn't be wearing jeans when you attempt this, though. After figuring out that any trucker would see all my girl parts if I peed in the cup driving 80 through Jacksonville, I decided I'd pull over and try to pee off an exit. (Why, my sister asked TOO MUCH later, didn't I go to a well-lit gas station? I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, I just had to pee..).

So, I pulled off the exit, drove into an Applebee's parking lot, picked a spot where no one would see me, and took the seatbelt off. I can do this, and be back on the interstate in 44 seconds, I told myself. Until the guy pulled up beside me and said "Hey baby." I almost fainted. Sooooooo..I put my seatbelt back on, while tearing out of that parking lot for dear life (still having to pee..) and got back onto the interstate at 95 m.p.h. I was being chased!! The guy followed me! He caught up with me after about a mile..got beside me, stared me down, then got in front of me. I had the phone, I was going to call 911..(and tell them this story, of how I had to pee..) when blessed be, he got off at the next exit. Needless to say, I didn't follow him.

Still had to pee , though. After that, I figured I'd just pee in my jeans, better than being killed by a stalker. No, really, who wanted to sit another 6 hours in wet jeans? Not me, so I got the cup out again. Truckers be damned, I had to go. Putting all my weight on my left foot to hold me up the 8 inches that I needed to clear the giant coffee cup, I dropped my speed to the safe speed for peeing and driving at the same time, and precariously drove and peed. Fine. I felt bettter. Until the cup overflowed. Who knew my bladder was bigger than your average traveling mug? We do now. Panic ensued as I wondered just what to do. Well, I stopped the stream, tiniest bit too late, who am I kidding, WAY too late, put the cup where all full cups go, in the cup holder, and tried to shimmy back into my wet jeans (so they hadn't been pulled down far enough, I was scared the truckers would see my girl parts, I already told you that!). Shimmying into wet jeans is about as hard as it sounds.

After getting back into my pants, thanking God for saving my life, and the adreneline got back to normal, I really thought about the predicament I was in. I had wet jeans, I had a giant coffee cup of Rachel pee, and I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was get home. Still had way too long to drive, so I formulated a plan. I'd stop in Savannah and sleep next to my parents car. Wouldn't wake them up, though, that'd be rude. So, I drove, knowing I could park there, and lay my tired head on my pillow just for a second, dump the cup, and then drive the rest of the way home.

Except that, as soon as I got there, 2 guys felt the need to park there, as well. I dumped the pee, prayed that I wouldn't have another episode like Jacksonville, and didn't move, hoping those drunk guys would go inside or leavve, or do whatever normal guys do at 4.am. in the morning.

No such luck, they stayed. Now I was faced with having to pee again. (My sister asked me , again, MUCH TOO LATE, why i didn't just knock and wake my parents up. That'd have been rude, I said.) Sooo.. I filled the cup again, this time, not overflowing, dumped it and left.

Got home at 7, took off my (still wet) jeans, cried, peed in a real toilet, cleaned the (rental) car seat, cried some more, kissed my family and went to bed. Slept all of Mother's Day away.

Now, I'll go take a shower and get to work. What a drive.

kidney stones, thanks for the update on medical info, "mom." pfft.

this will be my 3rd and final attempt at writing the story on kidney stones.

but first, things that are going on in the life of rachel in no particular order of importance (don't front, you know you're interested..)

kays in my closet playing dress up. im sure that it will require 3 hours of cleaning as she is now in the shoe department pretending she's a cast member of high school musical..

i now only communicate with casey in the mornings via emails and comments on myspace. he has not learned that you are supposed to say goodmorning before going back to his underground cave filled with myspace and an xbox 360.

a girl ive worked with and known for 7 years lost her son thursday night. dont forget to show your loved ones how much you love them, you never know if it will be the last time. (perhaps i should go tell my son, instead of emailing him..hmm.

save ten cents a gallon with a "green" car and the fuel made out of corn, pay an extra 2 dollars for milk and beef per pound. logical.

if i sound like a republican, perhaps on some issues. dont forget, however, that one of my best friends ever is gay. I love her more than life, itself. My nephew has a great view of all this, so in case i get any judgment comments, i will refer you to him to set you straight. (straight..yuk yuk)

I absolutely hate my ex brother in law. I won't get into it, though.

My mama and I had the most amazing conversation the other night.

now, onto the kidney stones, because that is what you have been waiting for..

Last Tuesday evening, I went to bed like any normal evening (ive decided right now to throw out all punctuation and grammar skills, for the sake of time), 7 oclock on the dot, EB had the kids taken care of for the evening, and I was trying my hardest to get over a wicked lung infection that had left me tired, ornery and coffee. coughie. coughey. coffee. hmm.

I woke up, 'round 2.. had to pee, but it was different, I hurt. Now, anyone that knows me, probably just my sister and those other girls i think of as sisters, knows that i have been plagued my kidney issues my entire adult life. coincidentally, i drink mountain dew every day and a glass of water A WEEK is about as much as i can stand. I figure it has something to do with me being too lazy to actually take time out of my day to go to the bathroom. besides, i always end up turning around tocheck my butt out, and that always depresses me, anyway.

I proceeded to get up, take some motrin and try to get ready for work. I knew i couldnt have a kidney infection, because i had just gotten off the antibiotics for the wretched black lung disease. as i was putting on my fake up, i knew my time was up. I woke the kids up, begging them to get ready that day with no problems, as I figured i had about 30 minutes left before i was full on in the fetal postion sucking my thumb like the baby i truly am and drove myself to the ER.

well, i got there 'round 7.12 (i guess that would be "precisely," wouldn't it?) parked beautifully (i drive the biggest gas-guzzlin' SUV ever made. pay attention, this will matter soon..) and went into the medical facility lexington dares to call a medical facility.

the first person who met me was the security guard. he and i would later have an intimate encounter, but for now, he informed me that they wouldn't be able to see me until 8, perhaps id like to wait? i told him id rather stick a fork in my eye, i didnt have time to wait, and thought that if i drove down to the doc in a box down the street, theyd throw me in an ambulance and id get priority treatment.

what a bad bad idea. i got a block down the road and turned around. i felt like i was about to deliver Jesus Jr. (as that is what i would have named any [seemingly] 22 pound baby that was at that moment giving me labor-esque like pains, but you can call me "Mary,mother of baby kidney stones," if you wish.)

I pulled in the big green monster.. thought i was doing a fabulous job at parking, and got stuck. at this moment, ididnt even CARE that i was stuck and contemplated just leaving the car right where it was and crawling back inside. i did, however, realize that this was a bad idea, even in the state i was in,and gunned my v10 like i was ...gunning a v10. went inside, told my new security guard friend that i would, indeed like to stay if they'd have me, as polite as you please, and then proceeded to tell him that i just made mince-meat pie out of that shiny new 2008 dodge ram parked next to me.

that'llteachyoutodriveaford.

I crawled to the seat to wait, where the nurses took me in via wheelchair. I gave the guy an expired (who knew?) car insurance card, and proceeded to weep my way back to some room where they took my next insurance card. ahh,the day i was grateful i have insurance on everything.

After i was in a bed, and the morphine was in full progress running through my veins, helping everything BUT my pain, the police officers arrived. i was still writhing in pain (can you believe the morphine didnt even work? i was shocked..), but had enough sense (not really) to wonder if they'd give me a DUI since i was totally drugged up. later , i figured out theyd figure out i got the morphine from the doctor, but thats when i had sense again.

did i mention that i had to take my clothes off and get in a gown that showed everything but my 4th rib on the right side? well, that and some socks. my nurse was kind enough to bring me some socks because as i took off my shoes and examined my pedicure in the flourescent lights, i panicked, thinking back that i had been so sick the week before that i missed that step, and would have to wear heels with my gown. i think she felt a little sorry for me and (perhaps) thought i was a tad..on the vain side,and went and fetched me some socks.

so..police officers and security guard in my room, me on morphine, halfway 'nekkid' and wearing borrowed socks. "oh, thats right, the little accident. it was what? a brand new truck i hit? oops. it was a rental car? oops. i guess ill claim responsibility,and SURE you can have my keys, just go dig them out of my purse, thats right, right next to the xanax , there you go, sure you can go get in my car and get my real insurance card and registration. document all the stuff i cant see, and what? oh sure, you can blame every scratch on the rental car on me!! thats fine,no, really, i totally understand! have a nice day, 'occifer."

dumb. dumb. dumb. now eb probably was wishing he had gone on ahead and met me at the hospital, heck, even driven me would have been okay, since he pays for the insurance on that car. hes thinking now that hes a sucker and should have stopped paying that bill when i got my current job.

anyway, for the sake of time, as my fingers are getting tired ( i swear if myspace deletes all this, i will delete my account in protest, THAT will teach Tom.), after a CAT scan, it was revealed that Jesus jr. was not on the way, that i was, indeed passing kidney stones, poor poor rachel.. they gaveme dilaudid, took me to the potty and taught me how to strain my pee, and sent me on the way. EB did , in fact, come to save the day, anddrove me home, and got the medicine and took care of the kids for thenext few days. i was a mess. no body told me you get violently ill passing kidney stones. let that be a lesson to you all.

anyway. im resting. comfortably, thank you very much to vicodin. have a great day,enjoy the fair if you are going, if its colder than a witches tit where you are (that'll teach you to say that particular saying, as i will then proceed to ask you when the last time you can remember taking the temperature of a certain witches boobie..), then throw a scarf on and enjoy the day.

kayley, matthew and pine trees-broken backs for the lot of ya!

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. I know it seems as if I have a lot of drama in my life, and while it's true, I directly attribute it to the fact that I have 3 kids, a lot of people walk in and out of our lives , so we have so much going on at all times.

Please know in advance that what I'm about to write is very scary, if December 12 brings bad memories, please stop reading. If you do choose to keep reading, even though you know that date as the day you lost your precious child, know without a doubt, his memory lives on in my mind as it did 3 years ago, and will continue to do so as long as I live. I loved that little boy.

Wednesday was almost like any other day. Almost. Except that it was specifically Dec. 12. The day that our tight-knit community and one of my greatest inspirational friends lost her precious baby boy who went to heaven too early. He was 7. He had the most beautiful brown eyes, and I can still remember his voice. I made a promise to myself that I'd never be flippant about this specific date, and no matter where I was, or what I was doing, every Dec.12, I'd visit his grave, so his family would know how much he influenced me and how important he was.

I didn't get there.

My friend Lori had her 2 daughters and my little K on Wednesday. After school, they went to Sonic, got something yummy to drink, then headed back home. They passed the church where Matthew is buried, all knowing that we would all be going back later that evening to pay our respects. As soon as they passed the church, Lori veered into the other lane (was talking to the girls, turned her head for an instant, and bam), hit a huge Ford 350..broke his axle, flipped him a couple times, she ran into a retaining wall and was stopped by a pine tree.

All of this and I have no phone, no way for them to get a hold of me. Finally I went home to use the house phone, I knew something was wrong.

We ended up getting to the ER (this makesFOUR trips to the ER this fall.. helllooooo), they checked Kay out, told her she'd have some amazing bruises, and hurt like the dickens for a couple days and released her. Lori's girls are the same. Lori broke her back.

her back-yeah, totally serious. her spinal cord isn't damaged, though, so she's in a lot of pain, but she's not paralyzed, thank GOD.

Everyone I have talked to that saw the wreck can't believe no one died. Everyone was extremely lucky.

Anyway,. you're probably wondering how Matthew fits into all of this.. well, 3 years ago on the very night of Lori and the girl's car accident (down to the exact hour), we were all there in the ER. After we finally got Kay released, we walked through the ER, and as I looked to my right, there was the trauma bay where we all stood vigil 3 years ago. I just stared, kept my composure and asked God to ask Matthew to understand why we couldnt get out to the cemetary that night. God, in his own little way, still allowed us to feel closer and remember, and for that, I am truly thankful.

fires and mindfucks

Alright, I still want to blog about the fire story, but it's just not so funny anymore, I think I waited too long. I was cleaning and (who knew there were little screws you could unscrew the vent off the mircrowave so you didn't start fires whilst trying to get all that filthy grime out of the vent??) Bleach started an electrical fire, I saw black smoke-knew that wasn't good, and opened the microwave door and bam, fire. okay, that sounds exaggerated, and it is, but if you know me, you know this is par for the course. I panicked, of course, got the INDUSTRIAL sized fire extinguisher and proceeded to empty the ENTIRE contents into my little broken microwave and kitchen. um. not a grand idea. Now, because I'm not schtupid , I knew I should turn off the breaker, but then how could i call 911 and wait for 9 rings while Zelda was returning from her smoke break? Firemen came, I was made an honorary Red Bank Firefighter, because damnit, I can put out some fires, boys, and then cried on my bed for the next 20 minutes thinking of cleaning that mess up. Ever seen how messy that is after you extinguish a fire? ME, and MT, CK, I know ya'll do bc , well, experience and all, but if you don't know, trust me, you never want to find out. 2 weeks post-op and I was having a nervous breakdown. Anyway, 3 hours later it was alll cleaned up, thanks to my saving grace who called and calmed me down and Rachel stood up and got it done, boys.

Now on to my rants of the day, in no typical form or fashion, and none more or less important. ***WARNING-if you are a child (biological or not) , niece, nephew, mama or daddy of mine, stop reading now because I just MIGHT drop the F bomb.***

i gave you your warning why are you still reading this, nosey?

I'll make it short, sweet and to the point.
..
I am as loyal as they come. You F with one of mine, I turn redbankredneck on your ass. I grew up in Americus, Ga. I know how to do that. In like..2.2 seconds if need be.

2 things.
1.you mess with my best friend and mind F*ck her (and not in the good way, I've learned recently there is a good way), I'll have your balls charbroiled and feed them to the dogs.I promise one of them is so big he won't even have to chew, he just swallows 'em down whole. The other one will play fetch for a while, then get bored and gnaw on them for about 20 minutes. Ouch. Got it? You better, you little weeenie.

2. you mind F*ck my kid to the point where she has to wonder whether you love her or not and you will be cut off forever. I'm not bullshitting. I've done it before, I'll do it again. My child is precious, and priceless and if you can't or won't see that, then I have zero left to say to you. Why, as adults, do we let children down so we can do whatever it is that we want to do?

I even edited the F bomb. go me.

I'm done. Rant/Over/Chh.

alright, another light one, happy tuesday

Things I’ve learned this week in no particular order

Drunk dialing is out. Drunk texting, on the other hand, is totally the way to go.

When you're awake at 2a.m. you assume everyone else should be, as well.

The ladies in the mall who work at makeup counters seriously think they are the most cosmopolitan women in all the land. Come on, you work at a mall for christ sake, quit being so snotty. Besides, Loreal is more expensive than Clinique these days, you bitch.

It takes my body 2 weeks to metabolize an entire loaf of pumpkin bread.

I talk louder than I think I do. No scary biker dude likes to be looked at, pointed at, and laughed at while someone is telling her friends that his beard looks like pubic hair. I don't recommend this unless you have a man who has a gun sitting in close proximity to you and is willing to use it.

The term "beer shits" makes me laugh. It always reminds me of Rhonda's feet hanging out of a bathroom stall while hearing her moan. And not in pleasure, if you know what I mean.

People who shop at WalMart later than 12 a.m. usually are the freaks who have a gimpy leg.

Christmas shopping doesn't get done by its self.

My cousin had a baby in October. I still have the present in my trunk right next to the beach chair.

Linen closets can be made to look like they are really clean if you fold the top layer of linens really niceley to cover things up.

Once you dust the fan blades and scrub the floors, your mother in law will call to tell you she doesn't want to come. At least I get a clean fridge out of the deal.

Shorts in December is a stupid look. Shorts in December with Ugg boots is even worse. I seriously don't care that your legs are gorgeous, you look ridiculous.

No matter how quiet I am on the mornings I just want to sneak out of the house to get the grocery shopping done, my little one will hear me and want to go. Waking her up for school, on the other hand, takes an act of congress to get her out of the bed.

Most cars will move for a crazy woman in an Excursion when she's uptight and in Christmas traffic.

No matter how much I yell with my head out of the open window while stuck in school traffic, it will not make the trip faster. Especially if I throw the F bomb out with it. It actually has the opposite effect and makes asscracks let more people out in front of them.

My mother just told me that Santa isn't real. wtf, you were pretending???

I still can't watch Frosty or Rudolph. It seriously makes me cry. Stephie can't either. Maybe now I know the reason, my parents scarred us by telling us there wasn't a Santa..

I can, however, watch the Christmas Story for 24 hours straight. You'll shoot your eye out!

I still love Britney. I know, I know.

I plan on watching Psycho and eating farm raised shrimp for New Years. Yes, I know I suck.

Liquids can't turn to solids while passing through intestines.

PO boxes are the closest things to engagement rings.

Wool sweaters seem like a good idea when it's freezing out. Not such a good idea when you're huddled with the masses in the mall and have claustrophobia and huge fake boobs.

Huge fake boobs make you sweat.

Upon further inspection, it has been deemed by me that there is no nice word to describe that thing that hangs down on obese men..you know, the thing that starts at the waistline and ends at their..knees. I seriously want to know how they pee.Hoist? Lever? Pulley system? What.FOPA!

Never try to thin out your own hair. Your hairdresser can and will chastize you for screwing up your hair.

On the days that I have to get a shower and scoot out of the house, one of my children can and will sneak in before me and take all the hot water.

Legs don't shave well when you're sitting in half an inch of lukewarm bathwater.

I never have bandaids in the house when I need them.

It really is more windy at Lake Murray.

Coach really makes tennishoes. How tacky.

If you own a zebra striped bag, don't admit it. You and every other woman out there. Good Lord. Especially if it's not really D&B. Flea markets aren't really reputable, know what I mean?

Condensed version of non-identifying information. I hate this shit.

I hate being adopted. Oh, I love my family alright, but this is bullshit. Word. to your frickin' mother. or to mine.
Birth took place in a "local hospital" (Kinston has only been confirmed via adoptive parents and LCDSS says they can't give me anymore on that bc that is considered identifying..) Born on 12-9-1972. Full term, 7 lbs. 3oz. APGAR-10. Nothing remarkable. Birth mother lived with her paternal grandparents, after they adopted her at age 3. Barely had a relationship with her own parents, but did write her mother a letter informing her she was pregnant. Saw her father from time to time, but he lived in a different state. Had not actually seen her mother since she was young. Both of her parents had multiple marriages and divorces. Pregnancy was entirely concealed from everyone but Birth father (and letter to her own mother) until the moment she was taken to the hospital in labor.Grandparents were "shocked." Birth father wanted to get married, but she refused, citing that would be a mistake. He moved to another state, and she did not maintain contact with him. (Because of her own adoption and seemingly sad life, she stated she wanted better for her baby, and had wished that instead of her grandparents adopting her at age 3, she would have been given to an agency for adoption.) There was no prenatal care. In the hospital, a social worker was contacted. Birth mother did not see me, and did not want to. She showed very little emotion at signing consent forms. She repeatedly stated this was the best thing for her infant daughter. Birth mother / Birth mother Family Details: 19 at the age of giving birth. Graduated highschool in ?-?-1971. Had previously worked in a shirt factory, but had not worked during the pregnancy. She had plans of going back to that job, or to start a cosmetology course at a local community college. She was overweight, and was 5'1" weighing 180lbs. She had a pretty face, reddish-brown (Mine is considered Auburn...) hair, green eyes and a fair complexion. History of Hay Fever, frequent bronchitis as a child. Family Dr. suspected asthma, but was not on any medication. One of her grandparents (unknown) had diabetes. (Please note: I had stated in my info for the registry that she had Diabetes-incorrect.) As stated previously, she lived with her paternal grandparents. Her (P) grandfather was a cotton mill worker, (P) grandmother, a housewife. They lived in a modest frame house located next to the cotton mill. Mothers Parents (my maternal grandparents): (M) mother 5'1" and 130 pounds. Dark hair, brown eyes. High school education and worked in a shirt factory. (M) father was 6 feet tall and had a medium build.Black hair, green eyes. He was a carpenter and had a high school education. Birth father / Birth father Family Details: (Birth father's name was not revealed) 6 ' tall, weighed about 175 lbs. Black hair, dark brown eyes and dark complexion. (I'm assuming an Italian look, I look like I'm straight from Sicily.) He had one year of college and was planning to eventually return to school . At the time he was operating a steam business. His parents -(P) father-deceased. (P) mother was described as being short and stout with a ruddy complexion in good health. Birth father had 3 brothers and 2 sisters; all of which had dark hair. All are described as tall, except for one brother who was short. Placed in foster home from hospital on 12-13-1972. 12-19-1972 Adoption Committee made a match with adoptive parents (Charles and Georgianne who resided in Goldsboro, Wayne Co.) Wayne Co. is the amended birth county on amended BC. 1-19-1973 Placed with adopted parents. He was a fighter pilot, USAF, aged 25. She was a homemaker -25. They had previously been foster parents themselves

rage

ive figured something out. ive figured that i only use perhaps 3% brain capacity when interacting with others. or myself. or day to day life. there is so much more just skimming the surface. its like i have a brain degenerating disease that has taken over my mind, locked it in a little box.

click.

everything is right there, straining against the lock to get out. my hopes, my fears, the words i really want to say, to write, but wont. where does the anger come from? is it locked in my brain along with the alphabet i learned when i was 5? is it sitting next to the abilities shelf, shoved up against my knowing how to tie a shoe or make a bed with no wrinkles? perhaps its closer to the window ledge that holds memories. that would make more sense. i suppose you cant get angry if you dont remember why you are angry. will the lock break under the strain if there is too much in there? seemingly, it seeps out slowly, giving me bitch status at all the right moments. how can others know where the key is, and let it all out? open the damn window. i need it out. let me spew forth my venom obliterating, if just for a moment, the facade you have come to know and love. why can you tell me whats wrong with you, but i cant tell you whats wrong with me? why can you tell me whats wrong with me, but i cant do the same?

perfect moments come out clearly enough. sitting in inky blackness, my ankles itching every now and then. i try to see how long i can go without scratching that itch. not very long.. i dont have the fortitude to endure very much pain. the inky sky is punctuated with little pinpoints of light, bigger than all of us put together, and we focus on something else, entirely man-made, reminding of us to love one another, when we can't even love whats so beautiful around us. the wind is softly playing with my hair, more sensual than a lover, because i actually let myself feel. its taking that little curl that i hate so much and try to straighten, and teases my eyelashes. keeping at a safe distance , so at just the right moment, when i go to swat it away, it moves effortlessly away from me, mocking me. i know it will happen again. when the wind died, and the lights came on, that perfect moment was sucked back in through the little crack .. put on the ledge to remember for another day.

punctuated anger is now back with a vengeance-i hate the scratching on the door.. i hate that you wont help me. i hate that i have 16 days to do all im supposed to do, and do properly, and expected to do more. i cant give more. leave me alone. i want to drink out of the hose, and not come back in the house until the street lights come on. i want to scream and have everyone listen that im not going home. take a rock and break that window and have everything dark and ugly ooze over the ledge..and just run back to where i feel the wind, maybe this time ill let it play with my hair without getting anxious. maybe im safer in the dark, with my eyelashes being tickled and my ankles itching..

click.

in no particular order..

fighter..lonely...need new furniture...want..i hate my dog..she needs prozac..i love you.. hated you for so long..don't leave me.. the color of the sky at this precise moment is what I wanted for the accent wall...why can't I take a picture..let me go..never let me go..new best friend..old soul..wrap you in my arms and never let you go..let go..get a job so i can quit mine..i hate my dog...unorganized.. too organized...make me forget..help me remember...i do too much...i dont do enough.. you do too much..you do enough..reckless abandonment.. when will it be all about me..when will it not be all about me..italy...hawaii is sinking, forget california..you should see my new shoes..vera bradley is my new favorite..it covers my ass its so huge..i want to write..i cant write shit..i hate that dress that i love..i hate what it stands for.. im going to burn it soon..lets have a dress burning party..write all the things you want to do before you die..life is the book you write.. dont grow where youre planted..that sucks..its settling..dont settle..i hate weeds.. i miss the L's..i miss what my parents never were..i miss what they've given me..horrible child.. lovely child.help me find my MOTHER.beautiful women..hurting so much.. just let me laugh again..those arent laugh lines, my dear..i cant believe you all didn't wait for me..dont leave her..not now..she didn't give you permission..you cant go..talk..damnit, talk to her..fight...you look horrible..youre beautiful..stop not giving a shit..dont sit back and let me make all the decisions..im not old enough to do this.. im too old to do this..inspire..ill wash your hair in the bathtub if it means youll get up and stop smiling..your smile does not hide it all, m'dear..i know different..let me see you cry..aha..i saw it for a second.. lets go to walmart and pretend everythings okay for a minute..the world doesnt stop when we are in pain..it should..just for a moment..i like the pumpkins..ive never seen green ones..or white ones..still hating my dog, but not so much..if i keep wearing yellow on fridays, ill have to dye my hair..it doesnt match..did he find the phone..is she in trouble..ive got to go grocery shopping..someone help me..someone save me..i cant save myself..fight

Juxtaposition-the 2 Rachels side by side

she huddled in the rain, thinking that nothing was worth this addiction she had. i kept telling her she really should just quit, as the water puddled beneath her , pelting her in the face every now and then-shes so strong-willed with all of that. I told her by christmas that she should try to quit, she answered back with all her excuses(which really did make entirely good sense), and I just stopped arguing with her and let her get back to it. so cold.. nothing is worth this, i thought. she gave me that all-knowing stare, eyebrow cocked like it so often does-i didn't get to see it, but i knew it was there, and i backed off.

pain from a few different places. maybe a dozen. compartmentalize.. just do it. dont think about it, just do. she tries that, and usually succeeds. sometimes, though, in the black of the night, she doesn't succeed so well.. she thinks that if it would just end, and she didn't have to think anymore, it would be okay. she has her escape, she goes often enough-its never enough for her, though. shes so attuned to the absolute fear. she cant get warm. she cant escape it, no matter how fast she tries to run. she used to dream, years ago, of not being able to run.. mired down by something that made her long limbs feel as if they were weighted down-she couldn't get her feet off the ground to just run. one night, she finally ran, and has been running ever since.

until now.

the elusive quick-sand-like feeling has taken over, once again. she tries so desperately to rest in the knowledge that life is already planned..since the beginning (and before) of time.He knew every hair on her head before she even was..(how about those 23 gray ones she picked out last Sunday with those great tweezers she bought?).

How is it that life can continue, and she is supposed to be okay with all of this? surely there is some strength that only comes with the help of divine intervention that she isnt aware of. shes been told shes strong..when will she believe it?

the one person she loved so desperately is gone. not in body, but already in spirit, and soon enough (today? has it already happened and she just doesn't know it yet? would she instinctively know when it had happened, that she wouldn't even have to be told?) left behind in his wake are 2 beautiful people. one girl, one woman. proof of life. she loves them both so much it hurts her. how can she possibly protect them from what is coming? how can she possibly protect herself? two women.. one who possesses his soul, one who possesses his heart.

then there is her rock..her strength, her source of comfort for 34 years almost to the day the one who chose her.(none of the other stuff matters, but that one minute in time where she looked upon that sleeping child in the hotel room..it was january..it should have been cold in there.. and said:"i love her already, of course i want her") the one person she runs back to each and every time, no matter what has happened, no matter whats been said. the woman that made her life what it is..for good and for bad, she cant imagine or even comprehend what it would be like to lose her.

so she puts on a good face, wipes the tears that make her face more wet than when she was outside a few minutes ago, tells herself she will NOT claim any of this, and that a higher power, God? is still in control. she will save her mother ,no matter the cost. she will save her family from this qucksand.. because that is what she does. its what she is good at, no matter that she might lose herself in the process.

I always remind her that I'm still here, and I'll help her ..i won't let her get lost, entirely.One day, soon enough, she will run again.. not away..but to, and i'll be there, at the finish line to tell her i told her so.

feb 1 2007-transported blog

I've gotten kindof shy about putting my words down on here. Maybe it's because I have crawled into my hermit shell again, or maybe it's because I have reconnected with some friends from long ago-maybe I'm insecure about people thinking I've gone a little nutty. I worry too much about what people think, perhaps.

I'm still trying to keep my head above water these days. I'm still so worried about one person in particular who shall remain nameless (if you know who I'm talking about, please just drop in and check on her from time to time..).

I'm in a spot where I want to reach out and connect with people who care, but just can't seem to bring myself to do so. I've got friends calling that I haven't spoken with since August. Are they being nosey, or do they just care enough to love me in spite of myself? Can't they understand that I just can't talk about any of this anymore?

I've learned that sometimes it's okay to be sad, angry, hurt, happy, stupid, and silly all in the same day. I've learned that no matter how much you might want life to be wonderful, sometimes it just isn't. I've learned that I'm a good mom even if I sometimes forget to get McFlurries on Fridays. I've learned that my parents did the very best job they knew how. I've learned that family isn't just blood related. I've learned that even if you do carry the same DNA, it doesn't automatically mean someone will love you forever. I've learned that time is so very precious. I'm still learning to have patience. I'm learning that I'm as strong as people think I am. I'm learning that somedays I'm weak, and it's okay. I'm learning that life goes on, even when it should stop for a little while and let us get our bearings. I've learned that there are people out there who are fake, and wish only horrible things on people. I've learned that these people usually prove their true colors, eventually. I haven't learned to not let this bother me. I've learned that there are adults out there that act cruel, because they are. I've learned that there are adults out there who don't act cruel, also.

It's interesting. I have gone back to the place where I spent my formative years. I found that some things have stayed entirely the same. I have also learned that some people have grown up to become such amazing people. It's so weird to see people almost 20 years later who haven't changed. At all. I sound bitter. I'm not so necessarily bitter, as sad. There is a great big world out there and it seems some people haven't figured that out yet. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much, but it does. To the kind hearts, and the ones who figured out what life is all about, you have my ultimate respect.

I guess I just needed to get some things out. It's all seeping out, slowly, but if it comes out, that means it's not inside, threatening to destroy me, right?

I need to go to the beach, it heals me.. I think I'll close this,now, and see if I can get a little house in the Keys for Spring Break. I'm not sure I can take another SB at Disney World this year.

Another 4 a.m. Rachel blog. What would you do without them? :)

TB-Las Vegas (entirely light post, it was needed)

Home is where you leave your heart-or something to that effect, glad I'm home.

Things to know about LV, in no particular order:

"it's hotter than 2 rats fucking in a wool sock" (thanks, Rhonda, I stole that)

If you plan on going out there and you live anywhere east of the Mississippi, where you complain about humidity, stop complaining and cancel your trip. fast. humidity is a friend. i now realize this.

If you have any type of eye allergies, cancel your trip fast.

Looking like you have extreme pink eye in both eyes for the duration of the trip tends to make you feel like an idiot. Especially when you are wearing sunglasses at night. I don't make this crap up.

Benadryl in LV is 20 dollars. I don't make this crap up.

Bring your own eyedrops if you do go. Make sure they work. Eyedrops in LV is 8 bucks. (times 3, none of them work, don't waste your money.)

I rock on the slots. Even with Satan eyes.(I work out.)

Trip was paid for by yours truly with Wheel of Fortune. ( I work out.)

I was too big of a wuss to play roulette.

If you are going to take the walking walkway thingie, freaking walk. you don't stand there, you fat tourist, that's how you got that way in the first place. Come to think of it, take the stairs next time.

Old women (and by old, I mean my age) should never go to the pool and dance to any sort of music in a bathing suit and think you are cool whilst doing so. They invented alcohol to make fools out of you. Your cellulite does bounce when you dance. "Trust me." Being loud and obnoxious also takes some of the points away from your coolness factor. I, on the other hand, just observed and did none of the behavior I just mentioned. Score one point in the cool factor-I needed that point.

Noses bleed in the desert.

Should have brought the humidifier I bought at WM last night

If you are lucky enough to ever fly with me, know I attract the mutants. Know that if you sit anywhere close to me on an airplane, you will be bothered by the fat guy behind me who coughs and can't sit still and has to grab on my headrest to get up to go to the bathroom 20,0000 times. Or, by the woman who propositions old rich guys to come to her hotel when he lands in Vegas. She . didn't. shut. up. for. 3 . hours. I wanted a plastic knife so I could stick it in my ear and pop my eardrum.

Back in Lexington, have seen my babies, all but one, get to see him today, missed them all like a crazy person misses their lithium. Oh and my puppies, I get to see them today, too. I'm sure I'll complain about the humidity again, probably in the near future when I get some curl going right after I spend an hour straightening my hair, after all, I am Rachel. I can't go a day without complaining about something, and if I can't find anything, I'll make myself trip and skin my knee or whatever.. or make stuff up. Minus one on the coolness factor.

Lord, I'm tired, but glad to be back. Glad to be in a place where everyone knows my name. Glad I can talk with a southern accent and not get looked at like I'm missing chromosomes. Glad I can drop the "g" of words ending in "ing," and say "ya'll" again.

Next stop, Mexico.Adios.

transported blog 2

"When are you going to the store?"

"When you get ready."

"Can I sleep for, like.. 5 more minutes?"

"Yeah."

In my head, I tell her to sleep for 5 more hours. I don't want to "go to the store." Like it's some big event that we have to put our finest clothes on, layer our eyelashes with vast amounts of mascara. Just so the "people at the store," like they are an entity that we must be afraid of , or worried about, will think we are halfway human.

I sip my second cup of coffee, hoping my right hand will soon enough get warm, so it will soon get the feeling it has been used to for so long. Fall is coming. It reminds me of so many falls before. Another season so many are excited for, until we get into the midst of it, once again, and hope for spring, believing that it might never come.

I take my shoes off once I sit down. I'm attached to the wall because I've drained the lifeforce from my laptop. As the dog pushes her dry nose into the even more dry water bowl, I wish to myself that she had hands, so she could take the waterbowl over to the sink and fill it, as I just got somewhat comfortable. I look down, to find my shoes- I won't walk across the floor without them-and begrudgingly haul myself up to retrieve her water. She thanks me by sniffing my feet and licking my pink sweatpants just once. Surely she can't smell anything on them, as I just found them in the bottom of a drawer where they had been sleeping the entire summer. Just waiting on fall like I have been. Like you have been.

I look around the small room as I try to figure out this strange feeling that has been with me since I opened my eyes to the dark room around me. We went to the mall last night. So..normal. I tried to explain in my best mother voice, why we had come all the way to the mall on a Saturday afternoon to get 'winter' clothes. If they had wanted short sleeves, to look in places they already knew existed. It didn't make very much sense to them. We trudged out of the mall with mostly short sleeves. I lost that battle. I'll remind them of my efforts the next chilly morning. Today won't be that day. Today, the need for a warm sweatshirt is only because I'll be stomping through the grocery store, trying to figure something that resembles good parenting, something to feed them so they won't have to feed themselves. Something in the frozen food section, I'm sure, while debating with myself the merits of frozen vs. fresh vegetables.

I remember a time when I was normal. When I gathered my babies, after having bathed them all, made sure they were bright and shiny and clean, just to take them outside to plant some sunflower seeds on a bright February afternoon. Paul Bunyans.. that was the name of the seed. Indeed, they finally grew to taller than an average man, poking their little yellow heads towards the bright sunlight of August. That same February, I gathered up my sleepy babies after hearing there would be a meteor shower, and threw them in robes and coats, hats and mittens and stuffed them warmly beside me in between heavy layers of blankets on the driveway. We laid there, them and I, and watched the night's sky as hundreds of meteors zoomed toward the earth at lightning speed. Each a miracle, just like those snuggly warm chubby bodies lying next to me.

I have a hard time believing they are still them, and I am still me. Time has made me disbelieve my reality. Who are these people whose limbs have grown longer than mine? Who are these people who laugh at me and tell me I would just never understand? Who are these people who forgot that night in the driveway? Should I remind them, or just let them be? When they tell me I'm just old, should I believe them? Should I forget my hope and dreams because another generation thinks I should? Should I stop and become so complacent, like so many mothers that I abhor? Should I give in, gain a bunch of weight and just drive a mini van because I don't matter anymore? Should I buy those fresh vegetables and stand at a hot stove and stir away until they resemble a green mush just so I can feel pacified that I'm doing the 'right thing?'

Eventually, the one person you never thought would tell you that you are crazy, does. Eventually, you ask yourself if they are right. The problem with this, though, is this: Once that person tells you so, you try to go above and beyond proving them wrong, which in turn makes you seem even more crazy.

Then one day, you wake up, after a normal night at a mall and you remember memories as vivid as they used to be. You remember how you felt when life wasn't so bad. You breathe in the same chilly air outside on a fall morning. You remember that it isn't the first time your hand was so cold it was numb. You look around the dark room and remember painting it that color. You remember all the reasons why you've come to this part of your life. You remember that he was always closer than you never knew until he reminded you. You wish he would have peeked over that new fence and walked up that driveway. You realize you still matter, and you realize that you never again have to worry about those layers of mascara. That mall trips are still normal. That you really aren't crazy after all, that you're just human. That dreams can still come true, no matter what the next generation selfishly tries to have you believe. You and your mother can still have a decent conversation and your sister is still your best friend. You realize you have come a long way in 20 years, even if you're the only one who knows that to be true. You finally realize that you're still a good person sitting there in pink sweatpants. You realize that it's okay to start over because you are valuable and worth finding happy. You realize that all those bad habits that you've kicked really are worth it. You realize that some people claim to know you, but never really did. You realize when the sunbeams hit your eyes like a long lost love coming home from the battle, that life is worth it. You realize you've found your muse, and that book is ready to be written. You stop reading other's stories, and find time to write your own.

"Whatcha doin, Mister?"

"I'm passing the time until she realizes I'm never leaving."

Transported blog

This is what I do. I write. When I'm happy, sad, melancholy, whatever, I write. When I am in pain, I do not have any other recourse but to get it out of me through tapping my fingers on the keyboard. Writing has always been cathartic for me, for my soul. If it's out of me, it doesn't threaten to destroy me..

They had been searching for him for hours that clear night in December. It was so quiet out, she could hear her children at the back of the neighborhood calling for their lost friend, companion over the years-the one who anchored an entire family together. The one who was always in the kitchen ready to greet them when they would return home. The one who forgave without question when he wasn't able to go "bye bye" after the little yellow lab came along because it was too much work to take both dogs anywhere. The one who licked wounds, mended broken hearts, kept cold feet warm by laying on them, cheerleader, protector throughout their lives/

She whistled his whistle. She knew if he could hear it, he'd come bounding up any second now. She was already wondering how many signs she could make by morning, thinking of how big the reward should be. She worried about waking the neighbors, it was, after all, the middle of the night. After ten whistles, she knew it was too late. She saw the big truck pull back into the driveway. When the driver got out and sat on the ground and wept, she knew it was time to call the children home.He had taken his last ride in this big truck they bought especially for him because of all the room in the back.

They buried him under the hammock in the backyard. His backyard, but not really where he spent most of his time. He wasn't an outside dog. He was a part of this family. He slept in this home for almost ten years. He was treated like a friend, not an animal. He saw each of these children finish elementary school. Most years, he went each and every day to take them to and from school. He loved getting his kids. When Chloe came along, he stopped going for rides as often, but he didn't mind. He had another new best friend. His giant Lab heart could love so much, always ready for someone else to greet happily, merrily wagging this giant tail that could have been a weapon on any other animal.

The children came home, got in bed with their mama, while their friend was being laid in the ground with plenty of blankets to keep him comfortable in his final resting place. She let them cry-wail, really. Scream into pillows and fall asleep with tears running down their faces. Chloe wasn't really sure what was going on. She had always looked to that giant black dog for understanding. It seemed as if she was always asking him what she should do now, because she was so much younger than he, the wise old guy with the gray specking his beard.

She didn't really understand that night why her tears didn't come. She had picked that dog out especially from an entire litter. She had brought him home after years of waiting for him.Waiting lists for this lineage of dogs from a farm out in the country. Bred shorter in the front so they could get into boats faster while hunting ducks. He hated water. The only time he ever jumped in willingly was when she was already in the water and called to him twenty times before he trusted her enough and jumped in towards her.

They taught him everything. He knew hand signals and commands. He didn't stray from the yard. He went on trips and vacations and drive thrus at Wendy's. He had the best possible life a dog could ask for with this family. He shouldn't have died alone. He shouldn't have been out there in the first place. The only thing they could figure out was that he had wandered off because he smelled a female. She hadn't had him fixed because he was so majestic, so beautiful, she wanted puppies one day.

She cried soon enough. The next morning, while coming through the house as softly as she could so she wouldn't wake up those sleeping children who had fallen asleep to get away from their nightmare just hours ago, she waited for the sound of the giant tail hitting the refrigerator like it had done every day for almost a decade. She turned on the light, started her coffee and leaned against the counter. She looked at Chloe, who was waiting for the usual routine of eating before they went outside-if it was raining, she'd take the umbrella and walk with them so they wouldn't get soaked, and as the cruel and harsh reality smacked her in the face, she knelt down and fed the little yellow dog who had just lost her best friend, too, as they both wondered how life would ever be the same.

Night, Buddy. See you guys in the morning.

I can't believe I haven't written anything real in 3 years. I've hidden from a lot, from the pain. It eventually manifested itself outward, which is why I am here, at this place in my life right now. I'll post what has happened soon. Too tired to do it today. Incredibly tired.