!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> Jen's Dirty Thirties

diarrhea of the fingers, clickity clack go the keys

2006-04-24 / 12:27 a.m.
sorry for the delay friends. vin got us a new computer, and i had the password saved on the old one and had to have DL resend me my password so i could make entries again. i could have also summed up my excuse in two words: i'm lazy.

i would have written, i'm fucking lazy, but that would have taken extra effort.

my sixth grade teacher mrs. wilson, always hounded us students about having "diarrhea of the mouth". this entry is going to kind of be that way, except i'm not really talking--i'm typing. i beg of you readers to bear with me. i'm out of sorts.

anyway, passover is over and the first thing i did at 9:00 on 4/20 was eat a #6 with cheese at wendy's. it tasted really good. i think i moaned a few times on the way home in extacy.

i'm kind of in a funk right now. i don't have much to do with my mom, dad, and brother because my family is extremely:
a) dysfunctional is too much of an umbrella term and varies from person to person.
b) toxic sounds too much like therapyspeak
c)i already use the "f" word too much
d)like watching guests on the jerry springer show

if you picked "d" you win!

your prize: nothing.

my brother calls me to tell me that my mother had an accident and dislocated her shoulder. this is her third accident in a year. she broke her nose after a nasty fall a few months ago, then re-broke it when some crazy assed meth head tennant-(she more or less runs a flop house) of hers hit her when she confronted them about one of her nonsensical idiosyncracies, no doubt. he proceeds to pour some germy negativity into my healing wounds with a rant about "why i don't talk to dad anymore, and i really should because he is, after all my father".

i WANTED to tell him why. i wanted him to understand that everything i am today that is positive and good results from keeping HUGE boundaries and limited contact with all three of them. i wanted to explain to him that i **really** love dad, and i have this treasure box of 4-5 good memories of him that i hold onto because the rest of him has been eaten away with alcoholism. i didn't get to articluate much of anything, because he continuously cut me off in conversation. someting that drove me even nuttier.

my dad, the one memory: a well fed toehead who loved to sing don mclean's "american pie" is now a shell of a man with no hair, two of his original teeth, and makes my heart feel like grizzle and my stomach feel full of bile. he's a zombie. instead of moaning "brains" he's just drunk. i couldn't drive it through my brother's head that no one in their right mind can have a relationship with a parent who is in that state, no one.

as for my mom, i love her. i hate finding out she's been hurt. i know she didn't take real good care of me, but i feel somehow responsible for her living situation. i know in my brain this isn't true, but depression always manages to somehow take the lunch money away from my common sense. follow me? for the record, i know i am not responsible for my parent's life choices.

my brother is also a piece of work. to give you an idea as to how he thinks, he had an intestinal parasite about a year or so ago that he didn't fully take care of because he liked the fact he had lost weight! how fucked up is that?

me....you all know me. nutty and loveable. on the 19th of this month i celebrated 13 years of abstinence from alcohol and drugs. unfuckingbelievable. it doesn't seem that long, honestly. some days i feel like i'm just learning to crawl.

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