My Dad is Gone

I don’t exactly miss him but I do feel sad that his life ended, his time ran out. But, I also feel a little angry that he let it happen. Not that he could have done much differently at the end, when it was already too late. But, he could have done something far earlier about his heart. You don’t get 80% blockage over night. He also had diabetes yet still ate pretty much the same sugar and grease as always. He made his choices. He didn’t get the doctors to really checkhis heart until he was having chest pains every day. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter any more. You can whine about spilled milk but it won’t put Humpty Dumpty back together.

It’s strange to know he is dead but not feel it. Also, last night, I had creepy feelings that I would see him (as he looked in the hospital) in the hall at the house. Standing there looking dead. Silly, but that’s what happens to you when you are alone in the house of renovations and have far too much imagination.

As far as I know the only one of us to get any memorable last words from him was my brother. Dad told him not to feel bad about all the lifting and such he had done. Maybe even Dad was able to look outside himself enough to see that Graham would be thinking about that, feeling guilty and wondering if he could have done things differently. Not that he could. Dad liked to be the martyr, poor me. He would tell other people all about how he had to do it all himself. Never mentioning that he never asked for help, let anyone know he was doing anything that he could use help with. He’d only announce that he needed help when he was done and then he would only tell us to blame us for not being there.

Anyway, no memorable last words for me. Unless you count the usual stuff about how useless I am, how ugly I am and how I will never do well. Ne’er do well. That could be engraved on my tombstone. It feels like my middle name by now. So, that stuff can’t count as last words since it became pretty much standard, a given each time he was around me.

I used to wonder if there was some kind of final judgement. I think for each person who believes in each god and religion you do have the kind of final wind up that you are expecting. Not even cause it’s real just cause you play it out for yourself. Maybe even before you are fully dead. Of course no one will ever proove that theory. Anyway, I used to wonder if for Dad’s final judgement someone would show him how all his words affected his family. Me in particular of course, but not only me. I wondered if he would regret his words and his actions. I’d like to think that he would if he ever could finally understand how difficult he made things for each of us. How hard it was to be his daughter.

Not that I want to sound like a whiner or speak ill of the dead. But, he was my Dad, not yours. So you can’t sit in judgement of me cause you don’t know. I do seem to feel the need to please more than I would like. But, I find that when I break from that other people act like I am horribly nasty. It’s as if nice people have to be door mats and let the world run over them. But I think you can be nice and not be stupid or a door mat either. Being nice is not the same as being simple or stupid.

It’s now 4:07 AM. Not a lot of sleeping lately, one way or another. I’m at my sisters house tonight, sleeping on the couch with a view of the street. I like the view, the lights and the darkness. It’s peaceful and relaxing at night when there is no traffic. Just the the birds, soon. They aren’t even awake yet but they will be soon.

Zack accidentally bent the frames of my glasses, twice yesterday evening. So aggravating to feel like I’m looking out of fishbowl now. I hope to find some place open to fix them today. But, it’s a holiday here so likely I will have to stick with them as is till Tuesday. I hear young Zack up now. Too early but he is a kid. I used to be an extra early riser too. I guess I still am but now I’m old enough to put myself back to bed.

Words Hounding a Page

I haven’t been too chatty lately. For the past week I felt I was losing my rockers. My Dad is having a quadruple by-pass, tomorrow they say it will be now. It was going to be Monday then he had some more heart attacks and they had him on a nitro drip. So then it was going to be today but now I hear it will be tomorrow. They told him he had 80% blockage. You don’t get that by living sensibly. Is it cruel and insensitive to say he deserved it? I am his daughter. Who can be cruel and insensitive if not your daughter?

He has always been stupid about his health. He eats garbage and he loves to yell and spaz at us. It’s definitely cruel to say that some part of me is saying “nah, nah, nah” all the time in the back of my mind. I once wrote about calling the men in your lives ‘bastard!’ and I know I was thinking of him as much as my ex-husband. I’m not sure who I was angrier at then. Now the ex is fading into the past. But, my Dad is always lurking around. Ready to snap at me, blame me, tell me what a loser I am. Anyway, nah nah nah! Bastard.

Yes, it’s horribly rude, cruel and disgraceful of me. But, there you go. I never aspired to perfection. Being perfect would be boring and lonely and far too much work. So I will happily be imperfect and partially messed up.

I can live with it.

He might die. We don’t know anything for sure. I don’t wish for him to die. But I admit I do like the idea that he is going to get a little misery back for all he has inputted all these years. I wonder what will happen next time he tries a spaz attack. Usually his eyes bug out, his face turns red then purplish and his voice blows hot wind over your general environment. Pollution, the pollution of years of violence suspended. No, he seldom hit me or us. But the verbal abuse was more than enough pollution. I can’t fully get over it. No matter how much I tell myself nothing he said matters, that he never got to know me so his opinions carry no weight. Still, it all sunk in too deep too long ago. I can’t get over it or around it and I can’t seem to get past it.

I don’t know if you can make yourself believe in yourself just cause you say so, to yourself. It does seem there has to be someone else to back it up. Not even that. Cause anyone who tells you how good you are gets qualified. Your brain is geared up for qualification so well, it can do it on auto pilot. Tell me how well I write and I know I’m only faking it, or I’m not getting paid or I’m really not even putting my full effort into it. So, how well am I writing really. Qualifications make the grrl drag on. I don’t get things done, I procrastinate cause I’m afraid to even start to try.

It’s all so silly cause I know I can do it. I know I can write. I love to write. I love watching my words take shape on the keyboard. I love the sound of my own words as they fly out on the page. I love words and I love writing them, giving them order, purpose and style. My style!

So, what holds me back. I’m not always sure. Fear of failure, fear of having someone confirm that I really am just a phoney after all. For, once someone does that, there will be no hope at all. How can I overcome someone confirming what I’ve been afraid really is true all along.

What a lot of words on a page. Isn’t that the whole point of a journal? A chance to let your brain stop holding back and just release the hounds! Let them see what they can catch today. So the hounds were out there. I don’t think they caught much. But it will be interesting to see what kind of soup it will make when it all gets cooked up.

Happy day!

PS- Today I found out that I did get the days off to meet Eric in Ottawa! Great news. Now I can start being happy again and planning the trip. 🙂

From Eric

Take my hand.
Let’s travel life together…
but let’s take time
to savor where we go.

We’ll measure distance,
not in miles but kisses.
We’ll pack our smiles
and leave our cares behind.

Instead of postcards,
we’ll collect embraces,
and I’ll memorize your face
on moonlit nights…

We’ll leave the road
for meadows, beaches, cafes,
and secret places
only we will know.

Life’s too short
for us to ever finish
a journey that explores
our heart’s desires,
so let’s go now…

We won’t regret
one minute
of traveling life together
hand in hand.

Alarie Tennille

Travel Life Together

Take my hand.
Let’s travel life together…
but let’s take time
to savor where we go.

We’ll measure distance,
not in miles but kisses.
We’ll pack our smiles
and leave our cares behind.

Instead of postcards,
we’ll collect embraces,
and I’ll memorize your face
on moonlit nights…

We’ll leave the road
for meadows, beaches, cafes,
and secret places
only we will know.

Life’s too short
for us to ever finish
a journey that explores
our heart’s desires,
so let’s go now…

We won’t regret
one minute
of traveling life together
hand in hand.

Alarie Tennille

Heart of Fire

Heart of Fire

What is Your Heart REALLY Made of?
brought to you by Quizilla
You’re Elemant is Wind. You’re light-hearted,
care-free, kind, sensative, and mysterious. You
have friends and most absolutely love you. You
can be calm and soothing one minute and ragging
in anger the next so no one wants to get on
your bad side. You’re beauty is inspiring and
magical.

What’s Your Element(girls)? (PICTURES)
brought to you by Quizilla

Eric is Coming for Spring Break

Just typing this is hard. I almost feel telling people about someone new in my life is like brushing up against the curse of instant destruction. Self inflicted demolition. Spontaneous, irreconcilable combustion. Kablam!

I think I’m happy. It’s just a bit overwhelmed with the past. When I married Todd I had real, true optimism. I was sure it would be great. Whatever misgivings I had, whatever fears about the immigration process and living in another country knowing no one… all those were fairly easy to ignore. Cause I was sure of my own abilities to make things work and I was sure that people wouldn’t lie to me about their deepest feelings. Why would they?

Now, time has passed and there have been a few other relationships. Not many, none of any length and even I admit I can’t really take a cyber, virtual, long distance only relationship too seriously. Is it a real realtionship if you’ve never seen him smile, if you’ve never felt him touch you, never smelled his breath after too much garlic? These finishing touches make it real. They matter, they bring the words we pass around in email to life.

But it still hurts to have your heart ripped out and shredded, even virtually. Not so much the heart I think. More the trust and the hope you feel each time you try to start again with a new person. It takes trust and hope to try again. Is there an allotment of those which we have? When are they used up and can they be a renewable resource? I don’t know. I do feel mine are a bit misused and slightly bent out of shape and beginning to wear thin in places.

Eric is full of happiness and joy to be coming here. I’m mostly paranoid, afraid, outright gloomy. To even say “will it work” seems a bit too shiny and bright. Like the glare of the sun in your eyes driving home after work. It’s too bright. Someone needs to find a shade to pull down.

It hurts my heart. I’m like a stone statue trying to cry. I want to be happy, to be loved. But, I just can’t quite give it my full faith. At some point the glaring flaw in me will take over and this too will pass. I’ll be left, a wounded soldier, trying to hold my guts in while they slip out through the spaces between my fingers. Again.

But, some part of me is still left from that old girl. The one who thought I had enough guts, enough wit and enough creative genius and inventivness to make it work. The one who moved to another country to marry a friend. What a fool she was, I sometimes think. Why didn’t she listen to her naysaying instincts. But, I know why. I know there is hope eternal inside of me. I can’t kill it. It’s shrunken down and a bit deformed now. But it’s still there. It’s not ugly, it’s a thing of beauty. If I give it just a bit of hope and trust to grow on, it will grow.

So Eric is coming to meet me during the Spring break, March 14th he will be here. I’m going to try. I’m pitifully emotionally turbulent. Yes, I’m happy and excited. Yes, I’m trying to keep afloat and have faith. It feels a bit like a race between his visit, the impending crushing defeat I’ve come to expect and that happy, sunshine land of happily ever after I thought I’d find once upon a time.

But I Really Don’t Like Rabbits

Sleep is more intimate than sex. — Milan Kundera



You’re Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you’re
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You’d
be recognized as such if you weren’t always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.


You’re
the United Nations!
Most people think you’re ineffective, but you are trying to
completely save the world from itself, so there’s always going to be a long
way to go.  You’re always the one trying to get friends to talk to each
other, enemies to talk to each other, anyone who can to just talk instead of
beating each other about the head and torso.  Sometimes it works and sometimes
it doesn’t, and you get very schizophrenic as a result.  But your heart
is in the right place, and sometimes also in New York.

face=”Times New Roman”>Take the Country
Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

Pebble in Her Shoe

I’m tired. I did some pay day shopping today. Bought new boots for winter, men’s boots cause they fit nicer and give toe wiggling room. Also, you can buy a size 7 instead of an 8. Silly, but kind of nice.

I bought some things for my sister’s mother-in-law’s birthday party on Saturday. I have Saturday off!!! That doesn’t happen often. Nice to be going to a party for Rhoda. She is a lovely lady, very generous of heart. It surprises me that someone can be like that. People say I’m nice but I would never be as nice and generous as Rhoda is. Sometimes I think I’m too broken to be that open any more.

My Mother is doing the controlling thing again. If I opted for a lobotomy she could just sweep me along and I’d do everything the way she wants, when she wants and how she wants. If only I could stop all these urges to try to be a person. How silly of me. Ugh! How can you tell your Mother she’s overly controlling? Especially when I have no where else to go? Of course, I can always be that bag lady I know I can be. I’m already in training for the part. Just look at my car. Full of stuff my Mother decided to get rid of for me. How kind, how can I ever …. I don’t even know. Too bad you can’t just stop things for awhile and think. Time just keeps flowing on, you’re really just a pebble in it’s way.