On balance

My parents would tell you I have none. That my life is spiraling crazily our of control, I am self-destructive and an adversary to the well-being of my children. But it is moments like this present one that help me know, let me continue believing that there is a yin to my yang, an up to my down, a white to my black. No Prozac limping me thru this one. Gave that one up months ago. No drugs at all, in fact. No alcohol for... Well I can't remember how long. And here I am : happy. Ecstatic. Content. Full of unjustified faith and hope. One more shift on a long overdue fire. En route to what will potentially be the most truly epic TAB show of all time. And then Wednesday, I get Halle home. Just in time for her highschool registration event. Then a day off, to get everything else squared away. It's finally coming together. Just when I thought I would fracture into brittle pieces from the stress, things fall into place. Halle and Kiz got transfer approvals into the bend schools. Aspens eyes are clearing up. Nat has school supplies to organize. I have work. Overtime even. For now.

The only obstacle left is the DUI. Three beers and I didn't use my turn signal. Now I am criminal status. I've got it mostly cleared up, preemptively checking off the steps the court will order for a diversion. There remains only the matter of not being able to drive. And the burning brand of the DUI that complements my bankruptcy status and fulfills my parents sordid fantasies of my debauchery. Is it ridiculous that Paris hilton's cocaine related arrest made me feel less miserable, inexplicably? I have learned my lesson, no doubt. No question. Never again will I entertain the notion that I can handle even one beer and drive. I am terrified. Being in jail, even for a few hours, was hands down the worst experience of my life. I would rather be in perpetual maternal labor. But maybe I've forgotten how bad that is. Or maybe the incessant pain I have lived with has hardened me to it.

Speaking of pain - I am in daily shock at how much healthier I feel. Like a new person. My back hurts like it always has, but the overpowering sense of being unwell, with no end or relief in sight, is gone. I can't believe it when a day goes by and I forgot to take pain killers. Because I didn't need to. This is ecstasy. Sometimes i almost appreciate, and bask in the burning in my back, it's like a reminder that nowhere else hurts. Everything else feels good, and alive. Silly as it sounds, I feel radiant.

People (mostly guts that I know) tell me I am grouchy. I think I am not the frivolous flirt they have known, and it puzzles them. I am preoccupied with survival. I can't look to those boys for the temporal rush that entertaining them has provided in the past. It males me sad, all of it. Those boys. My aloneness. So I have closed off that part of myself for now. Becoming a crabby old spinster. Until my time comes. And the boy who can provide a sustained smile for my heart.

Now I should focus on my driving.

Sent from my iPhone

Just when

I thought I was on top of it. I was gonna keep going. I was getting ahead of the game. So I tried to rewire my own dryer. And apparently forgot everything I ever knew about electricity. I'm feeling shaken, stupid, and lucky to be alive. For my next boyfriend I think I will date an electrician. What was I thinking? And now my poor landlords have to deal with replacing the whole panel. At least the house didn't burn down. Good lord. Tomorrow is Sunday. I was supposed to go work. But that would mean leaving my kids to muddle through with no power and my landlords to fix the mess on their own. I really can't do that to them. Oh man. Somehow I'd really love to get some overtime in. Someday. Stupid girl.

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note to Aunt Lynn

I am a little overwhelmed. But it seems to be getting better. It's just the mess that I can't get on top of. The girls try to help, but end up frustrating me when they ask me where to put stuff and I don't know. And I just haven't had time to preclean the places we're sleeping and stuff, which grosses me out, but I just keep assuring myself that no one will die. It's still cleaner than my ex mother inlaw's, where they spent all summer. It's a constant internal conversation in my head. "It's not the kids, they're being good. Just breathe, in a couple weeks all this stress will be hard to remember. We have food, a roof, a place to sleep (even if we don't have beds yet) and a paycheck coming. I have work through October at least. Things will work out. Child support is coming again, consistently, and more than before, even if it isn't the full amount. We will make it." I go through this at least 500 times a day in my head. My spinning, aching head. I was going to work today, overtime, but woke up at 5:38 in tears because I was so tired so I called my supervisor and said I couldn't. Which was fine. But $220 I could have made. Oh well. I slept til 11, apparently I needed it. And then I have gotten so much done, little stupid things that were swirling in my mixed up head. changed addresses, visited all the girls schools (which opened a whole new can of confusing worms), finished cleaning my room at the old house, all moved out of there... it was a productive day. Now I get to make a whole new list for tomorrow and monday (working sunday), and try to get a million more little things done. 

Tomorrow I want to take the girls up to Crater Lake, so they don't feel like this whole Bend thing is a big crock of nasty mom business. We drove up to the top of lava butte last night after another load from storage. The butte sits smack dab in the middle of town, so the sun was just setting and the lights of Bend were twinkling like a million pixies in the pink light. It was really pretty. The girls loved it. It smelled like sage and juniper. I think that is my favorite thing about this place. The smell, it's everywhere. Not great for allergies, but in the summer time sometimes there's some smoke from the big fires and then I am really happy. :) 

Our yard has aspen trees. There aren't a ton of Aspen trees here so it's cool that our yard has them. Aspen of course thinks that's why we live here, or the trees are here, because we are. It all makes sense to her. They've been organizing their play house, and Natalee has invented a new art medium of leaves and sap and rocks. They're pretty little pieces. I was a little outraged at the pitch in Aspen's hair, but oh well, it happens, in the name of artistic endeavor. 

Obviously I need to make some friends so I don't randomly gush everything out at you. I usually blog this stuff. Maybe I will copy and paste so that the other two people who care about us can read it, and my mom who secretly reads my blog and won't admit it until I write something that really pisses her off. But I am glad that she can keep up with us even when she's pretending not to. And I like to imagine that not everything I write is offensive to her. :) 

Ok, gotta make another run to the storage unit. My back is doing so much better that I think I will try to get my 500lb table into my tahoe, just so I can complain again. But if it won't fit there's still plenty of other garbage that I can't believe I moved here. My old roommate (from last week) has said I can have a yard sale at his house in town. which will be good. 


-L 

ebb and flow

statistically, things aren't getting any less stressful, but I must be adapting in a charming darwinian fashion to the chaos level of my life these days, because it is beginning to feel manageable. We stopped at the storage unit tonight and I realized that it will take me approximately 15-20 more trips with my tahoe to get it all, if I do two trips each day after work, that is about 10 days worth of moving, which brings me right up to my deadline to be out of my storage unit, and makes me so tired I want to throw up. I am thinking one good day with Trent (new and best landlord ever)'s trailer, I could possibly do it in 5-6 trips, and that is only mildly exhausting. Assuming I can figure out how to load and move the table that three guys struggled with by myself. Well, with Kizzie.

Stephanie C. is coming to save me. For $30 a day, god willing subsidized by the state, I will have someone to herd the kids around, maybe help to get us settled in, and get the school year off to a rolling start while I cram as much overtime in as possible before the end of the federal fiscal year. Again, exhausting, especially when I think about my school starting at the end of this month, any kind of after school sports for the kids, and finding an EMT class to squeeze in somewhere. No wonder I kept falling asleep today. At work. I mean, when else would I sleep?

Aspen's pink eye is finally starting to clear up. Just as I was preparing myself mentally for another trip to the urgent care. I think we might have it under control. Please god. Kiz has been a big help to me, even though I am still stressed and crabby. I will have to think of a way to make it up to her. Halle is in DC, and grudgingly finally responded to my worried texts that she had in fact arrived safely after traveling cross country alone. More good news: Truck is super happy here. His face is happier. It's weird. He still gets stressed when we drive away, but he's starting to figure it out that this is home now. But he seems like such a different dog. Maybe it's having the kids back too. Anyway he's a peach.

Just another month or so of major social, financial, technical stressors and we should be in the clear. I am really really excited about the morning I get to sleep in. Not sure when this will be, exactly, but I am excited nonetheless. But now my eyes won't stay open...

There is no try

Even though I feel like I can't, now there's no option. I've sealed my Fate signed my destiny. Made my bed. There is no one to run to. Not one shoulder to cry on. It's just me. The girls. The dog. And the god who is there.

Mom says I blog because all of the people who "sing my praises" for the things I write give me a false sense of affirmation. I write because I feel better after I do. It's been that way since before I can remember. All of my writing used to be repentance and apologetics and pleas for forgiveness. Now I find myself doing all of that after I write, or because I write. I still haven't decided which side of that coin is less painful. I guess I'm much happier now, since I continue to do it and it seems to alienate all of the people who have always required repentance and apologetics from me. Except god. Funny how he's still there even when I'm not painting sunlight and roses with my words. He doesn't need me to live in happyland unreality to be around me.

As much as I want, and sometimes try to pretend that my life is a beautiful happy dreamland, the truth is that right now, for the past several years, and for the foreseeable future, this road is long, hard, and exhausting. Not that we don't have fun along the way, I tend to make sure of that in my own selfish ways, but it is an unnatural lifestyle. One of me, four of them, a shittanked economy, no marketable skills from my widely varied background, and a lot of emotional baggage. If I could just decide where to start. I think I gave up on the baggage after my counseling attempts just left me more bitter. So it's focusing on those hard to find marketable skills that still leave me time to raise the outnumbering quartet. But the hard thing is, like dating, in the job world, it's the whole package, kids, baggage, fat dog and all. It's terribly inconvenient, and downright frightening for most prospective boyfriends/employers. So my new tactic is omitting unnecessary details when I'm pitching myself. Until they become necessary. Which is usually a bit early in the conversation than I had hoped.

But I'm coming to terms, albeit grudgingly, with the fact that I am, and will, for an undetermined and predictably lengthy period of time, single. I am truthfully working on being happy by myself. Well, ok, not really alone, but without a confidant or a friend or a someone to lean on. Sometimes I catch myself wanting to lean on the girls, and reprimand me for my selfishness and neediness. So
Every time I start to think poor me, nobody wants a frumpy mother of four with dubious contributable traits for any kind of relationship, I instead try to focus on how strong this is making me, and healthy, and prepared for anything. Ok. It sucks. But I will not be desperate and I will make the best of it.

And this whole family thing, being the blacksheep and all. Destroying the perfect harmony of the extended family. I am finally working through the guilt of not "honoring" my parents, a deadly and unforgiveable sin, according to the patriarchal Nazi with no wife or family, bill gothard. I have never allowed myself to consider being angry with them for the way I was raised, the grooming for marble, the pounding down of my worth as a human being since I was born female, useful only to bear children, stumble men into wickedness, and manipulate the world around me. I couldn't judge them, or condemn. They are my parents. I owe them honor. But then again, according to those laws I should be dead. So should my parents. My kids. Everyone. I'm kinda over it. I mean, it's already been established they I'm going to hell. Why am i trying so hard to save my soul by redirecting my parents for the effort they made is raising me as righteously as possible, even at the expense of my mind and soul. It's not that I think they Ever intended any of this to go so far south, but when it did (ie marble, david), they ran so fast and so far from responsibility it was a triple whammy of guilt, self condemnation, and rejection all rolled into a self righteous display of finger pointing and image preservation. It all adds up really. I remember getting the image lecture about representing the family when we would go out for hamburgers in Portland. I couldn't have been more than six.

I don't know. The more I think I learn, the more I find out I don't know, and never will. We only get one shot at this life and I've done my performing and Ass kissing. Probably more than my share. It's time to move on. To teach my girls to take it on the chin and push through, and don't slow down for the doubting thomases and the denying peters. Time will tell. Truth will prevail. Day will come, sun will shine and we'll be fine.

(assuming the spiders in the new house don't eat us.)

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Plan of Attack:

So I have the kids now. Well, three of them. And that hugely overwhelming sense of anxiety is back, that I had a couple weeks ago when bank account A was overdrawn $2000 and my only hope of a paycheck was lost in the mail. The paychecks, and possibly even the child support payments, have settled into a predictable rhythm (into bank account B), that gives me hope that the financial desperation is over. The anxiety stems from the fact that I have a ginormous refrigerator and a washing machine that I cannot lift by myself, to move. Sweet, sweet Jessica has offered to help, and I know that I can con ricker and maybe even Nate into helping me, but my back has been so bad these last few days that for some ridiculous reason the thought of moving the big things is giving me panic attacks. Maybe that's what I am pinning the panic on, when really it has more to do with the pure, unadulterated upheaval of our lives, and the intense longing I have for us to be settled into a rhythm of work and school and peace and productivity. Long term. But I fear that just as soon as we get into the swing of things I will find myself laid off. This is where I am on my face before god, in whatever form he exists, and I plead for mercy. Let me find favor with the powers that be and let me stay employed this winter. For the sake of my children, please.

But I am trying to focus, not on the 5.5 foot pile of misc crap in my small room at Ricker's, that I am sure stresses him out as much as me, but the fact that the whole pile will soon be in our new house, and will be put away, or maybe sold, or thrown away, within the next couple of weeks. But I am so tired. I want, once again, the fairy godmother. who apparently decided I am too much work and went on permanent hiatus. So, tomorrow morning, I will load as much sh** into the rig as possible, go up to Tumalo and offload said sh**, hook up to the trailer, and begin the perilous journey of relocation, yet again. As much as you have all heard me say it time and time again, I would just as soon burn down the entire house, complete with all my earthly possessions, as I would move again, any time in the foreseeable future.

There is so, so much to do. I am in complete physical disarray, and keep trying to snap myself into clear functionality. But until this fall when I can finally end the constant torment that my uterus provides, I will keep having to push through the misery and pretend I am fine.

On the up side, we floated the river today, got a tinge of sunburn, and watched the Bend Elks make a poor showing at the league championship game. It wasn't a bad day, and I kept trying to remind myself of that when I was fighting the urge to pass out and/or cry. Just my body against me now. The rest is cake.

So how to approach this next phase of life: without the aid of prozac, I will be proactive, confident, and I will not give up or let down until we have a life that all 5 of us can live with. Ok, granted, Natalee will not have her own room, in spite of the fits, and they will all be fighting about some aspect of the sleeping and living arrangements, but that just comes with the territory of having 5 girls in one house, right? It will be great. No TV to melt our brains, no video games to turn us into zombies, plenty of things to fight about, though, bathroom usage, disappearing hairbrushes, etc. It will all be just like home in no time at all.

dear mom:

quit reading my blog.

on finding rest.

So I got it out, the anger. It has subsided to a dull ache that I can easily confuse for the herniated disk in my lower back or the giant cyst on my left ovary. All bearable in perspective. I have decided to go get my kids this weekend and I am so excited. I know within two weeks I will be complaining about the stress, but it's a better stress than this out-of-reach helpless kind of stress.

Today I moved the very first things of mine into the new house. Trent (the landlord with the suspiciously un-idahoan accent) is replacing the downstairs shower, a nice surprise. I really cannot wait to get moved. This weekend will begin the craziness, I am actually looking forward to it. Of course this weekend we have to fit moving in around the Elks championship game (which is totally worth bringing the kids home for) and the First Multi-Annual Snow Creek Crew Barbeque/ campout. it will be delightful, in an exhausting way.

The neighbors next door had a screaming, rage out fight last night at about 2:30 AM, which made me embarrassed that I have ever fought or raged out at any point. How silly and small of me. It is so sad and ugly. It made me ashamed of the anger that I have inside of me, and made me all the more determined to work it out. Interesting, as if to challenge my new resolution, when I got to work this morning and volunteered to take on a site monitoring job for my boss, I was harshly told that she wouldn't let me do it because I am not a "professional" archaeologist. Smackdown. It makes me wonder why I am getting paid to do archaeology work if she really thinks my lacking a little piece of paper makes me that incompetent. I am still reeling a little. Even though I have monitored and surveyed and done all of these things at least as much, if not more than the rest of my crew. But they have their pretty little diplomas in anthropology and I am garbage. But I have work, so I will set my will and eat my pride and do whatever mindless work she seems to think I can handle. Photocopies, etc. And I will not tell her off. Yet.

getting it out.

Tonight was the last Elks game of the season. This tradition of $2 Tuesdays and other random nights selected usually for their respective promos has become a thing I love. It is a cheap excuse to scream and yell and sing and dance, all the while, being socially acceptable. So the Elks suck. But Statler and Waldorf provide the back row entertainment with their "back to the team" silent strikes towards the end of the games when the Elks really suck. And Ricker trudges up and down the aisles crowing "CoooLd BEEEER Heeerre", in a very serious and business like manner, basking in the glory of his cash on the side and strenuous physical workout. And Kale always gives me the first on one the house, because he is Kale the beer man, and he can, and he is good. And I have become one of the chorus of press box hecklers in Pierre's Posse, memorizing all of the appropriate burns and zingers to shout at Jared and the radio announcers at the appropriate times. All of these things are good. So good. I sit with my crew and plot the next weeks oddball adventures and reminisce about the totally un-job-related happenings throughout the past week at work. And it is good.

But even so, I come home and I am angry. So, so angry. So frustrated, not knowing where to turn for help, where to find a shoulder to cry on, and wanting so much to not have reason to. I desperately want to be the strong shoulder for everyone else, the help to turn to, but at this point in my life I need more help than I can offer. Things are working out all right. The rent is slowly getting paid, The ominous threat of financial ruin hanging over my head is receding, and I know things will work out. And still I am angry. Mostly I am angry at my family, and yet I can't say anything because it will be interpreted as hate and bitterness and all of the unhealthy things that I loathe. More than ever before I feel so violated, abandoned, and mocked by my family. The ones who helped to get me here, where I am, and now have nothing to offer me but constant reminders of how much in jeopardy my life is, the life with my children. Their nieces and grandchildren. It is one thing to be written off, but it is by far another to be shunned and charged for unproved sins on top of it. I don't know what to do with the anger. Except to get it out. I don't want to throw up any more emotion on anybody else. But how do I get it out. I have been praying, repenting, forgiving, resolving, evolving. Every thought I have been earnestly working to "take captive", to replace bitterness and ingratitude with thankfulness and joy in the path I am on. I fight every minute to change every negative vibe that comes after me with something good, and happy, and right. I have even been trying to tell good and happy stories of my life and past and family. Remembering the good times, trying to outshine the shadow of this moment of time.

Money really is the root of all evil. Even though we paint it with morals and ethics and standards and philosophies, it really is behind all of the worst parts of humanity. It is money between me and my sister. Phone bills unpaid, three wheelers of questionable ownership and investment, gas money that I simply have not had yet to contribute to their trek across the state pulling my trailer. It's money that my parents see me expressing my apparently twisted values with, spending the dollars I need for rent on beer, concerts, designer jeans. Filing bankruptcy, the ultimate shirking of responsibility, that casts a shadow of shame across the family. Money that I owe them, that I borrowed to try to claw my way out of the quicksand that ultimately I succumbed to. If I had even several thousand dollars, my family would be happy with me again. If my rent was paid through the winter, we would all have peace. If I had the money, I could go to a doctor or a chiropractor and get my back fixed. I could take the time off work to get a hysterectomy, to write the book I desperately need to, and to get better than a 2.73 GPA in school. All if I just had some money. Crazy thing is, I don't even want it. I don't want the money. I want a home. I'd rather never see a dollar and know that there was no threat of eviction this winter. I'd like a car, even a piece of crap, that I know will get me to work, my kids to band practice. I'd just as soon not be involved with buying it at all. I just want it to be. I want to know my kids will be fed, clothed, get their teeth fixed and their yearly check ups. I think that is why I have come to peace with being on food stamps (yes, the shame!) - it doesn't involve the exchange of money. It is charity, food provided when we could not other wise afford it. I am fine with that. I am sorry to those of you who pay taxes, I know you feel used. But I promise you, even if you didn't pay the taxes, our miraculous government would somehow find a way to provide food for us. Maybe I have bowed down to Baalaam, and I have forgotten the laws of my ancestors. But there is no one in my world who seems interested in helping us survive, other than that ridiculous puppet show of a ruling body.

This is where the anger kicks in again. If I had a husband. If the father of my children would provide for his kids. We can't live on thin air, but when there is no work, after countless interviews, odd jobs, minimum wage gigs, struggling to get by, don't you dare lecture me about what I am doing wrong. Don't you tell me I have been the cause of our financial ruin. Don't you dare say it is my lack of trying. Leeroy would call me a lazy piece of shit, he always did. My parents call me reckless and irresponsible. My sister is simply a mercenary, a hereditary trait I see in myself as well, but fight to overcome. Oddly enough, my ex husband may be my greatest ally in this turmoil. As negligent and derelict in his obligation as he has been, I understand the struggle, and I see at least some effort. I know he has external motivating factors (a new fiancee), but recently he told me, without bitterness, that he trusts me to do the right thing for the kids, when it comes to finances, and that gave me the reassurance that eventually, someday, he will follow through. I just pray to god it won't be too late. In the mean time, there is no charity, no welfare, that I will turn down. We will go to food banks. I will beg. I am growing accustomed to it. The bottom line is that we must have a roof over our heads. We must, we will, stay housed. Right now it is a black hole that I see, the future of our rent. I don't know how. But we will. Somehow. I know there is nothing I will not do to make sure we have a place to sleep at night. God help us, we will.

15 years ago, when I got married, as an idealistic 18 year old, the thought of struggling for such basic things would have been laughable. Of course, we lived in a similarly idealistic community, where family and friends just pitched in and made it work. Here, in a new town, I am working to build that community, but already I have made friends who have extended themselves in ways that humble me completely. Ricker, Karen, so many of my TAB friends. The ones that my family consider the most superficial and non-consequential. These are the people who have stepped up. Co-workers I have just met, facebook friends I haven't seen in years offer me the support that I once got from my family and religious circle. I never cease to be amazed at the love and generosity of human beings, when you get to know the right ones.

Every day is a choice. Every minute is a struggle. Happy for sad, thankful for angry, faith for despair. Every week is healing and evolution. Always learning what is the most important, which choices are right and wrong and why sometimes the wrong ones must be made. I am so flawed and in need of repair, and yet everyday I see more reason to believe that this is fixable, that I am fixable.

This weekend I will go get my girls, and then the intensive healing can begin. We will find peace and stability and rest at last. No, dear family, it is not my "loose canon" lifestyle that has caused this instability. It is not my recklessness, the sin in my life, my broken relationship with god (because that is far from broken). It is not me floundering to come to terms with who I am. More than ever before I know who I am, what I am. But you can't get blood from a turnip, or make a father pay child support, or live on absolutely nothing for two years. You just can't. Yes, we are unstable. We have moved a thousand times and we, all five of us, are crying out for home. But it wasn't in Tumwater, it wasn't in Northport, and god willing it is here in Bend. If you don't have a solution to offer, help to extend that is actually help, and not condescension masquerading as input and advice,  I will gladly take it. Counsel, direction, solutions that I have not thought of to a seemingly helpless situation... I am all ears. But I don't need help identifying the problems. They are very real, very obvious, very painful. So feel free to share with me a better way to fix this than I can see now, something better than bankruptcy, better than begging, depending on the welfare system... I am all ears. As silly as it sounds, the thing I keep chanting over and over in my head is one of Disney's gems: "if you can't say something nice.." and when I find that I have nothing to say for some time, I realize I need some realignment. But as much as I try to not let it out, the bad thoughts and words, I try just as hard not to let them in. So I will turn a deaf ear to non-constructive and misinformed lectures. I have no room for them in my very tired and overwhelmed soul. I have only space for survival, hope, and resolution. That is all.

on moving (again)

I've spent the better part of this week helping my friend Cassie sell ALL of her earthy possessions so she can move to Florida to go to marine archaeology school with only what she can fit in her car. For the average (just turned) 24 year old, it seems like it wouldn't be that complicated. But Cassie has a different story. When she was 11, her mom was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. She resolved to see her two daughters graduate from high school, and after years of struggle as a single mom who put herself through school and raised two free thinking and powerful daughters, she passed away last year a few months after her youngest daughter graduated. Cassie was left with the accumulation of her mother's life, all of the furniture, knick-knacks, dishes, even the mini van. So, following the counsel of her aunt, Cassie set out to get rid of everything, ruthlessly sifting through photographs, family heirlooms and basic life necessities that were a bittersweet link to her mother and their past. The last two days has been the final push. Moving sale. Cassie leaves on Monday and we have yet to move the biggest pieces of furniture and appliances. God willing they will sell today at the yard sale, but if not, we have to figure out how to get them out of Cassie's house and where to take them...

All of this has given me pause. As I have been helping Cassie I have been imagining my life, or the life of my children, in this scenario. Maybe the years of knowing what was coming helped, but I can't wrap my brain around how this must have felt for Cassie and her sister. I am so spoiled, I have a healthy mother (in spite of what she thinks) and a father who has always provided for us, my family doesn't know want on the desolate level of limited time. While we say we know that life is short and at any minute we could lose a love one, to have it that close to you, so much reality in your face, I feel like it would have rendered me disfunctional. But Cassie is strong, she is competent, she is capable, and she is pursuing her dream. Cassie may be one of my heroes. It makes me thankful on a whole new level for my quirky and ridiculous family, because while with them, I am frustrated and irritated, without them, I would be lost. And I am ashamed of how we take for granted the time we have with the people who made us who we are.

I know that my parents think I am somehow disconnected with who I am, or who I am supposed to be. They think the turmoil in my life is the result of my rejection of my upbringing and they believe I have no internal peace. I wish there was a way to communicate the solidness of who I am now. That through the way they raised me, through my experiences with David, my life at Marble, I have tried to glean all of the best of those and infuse my own beliefs and purposes with them, to create a life for me and the girls that I can get behind and believe in. I don't expect my family to get behind it, to believe in it, but I would for all of the world have them know that in spite of the ridiculous situation I am in, barely able to support my family, literally struggling to stay housed and employed, I firmly believe we are on the right path, and I sincerely hope for the day where the external struggle subsides and collides with the internal peace and all five of us can breathe relief. I wonder whether Cassie's mom ever found that place, or whether the knowledge of her limited time churned constantly in her soul. I have felt that frustrated discontent of feeling like I can't get to where I need to be before my time runs out, but how much more intense it must have been for her. There are so many things I want desperately to have in place for my girls, regardless of when my time comes, and while Cassie has had many burdens to bear, her mom did make some provisions for the girls, and refusing to go before they were independent adults was probably her biggest success. Mad props to you, Linda Vesper, if I have to go, may I leave my children with the solidarity that you did.

In a way,  not knowing how much time we have left is a mercy. But in a way, it allows us to live complacently, ignoring the harsh reality of our relational failures and sweeping messes under the rug for another day. But god only knows how many days we have left. I pray that each day we do the thing that makes that day worth being. I know that doesn't make sense, but I feel like I have lived days that simply didn't matter, days that wouldn't be noticed if they disappeared from history completely. No day should be disposable. Each day should somehow affect the days before and the days after it. Somehow. Maybe this is the destructive idealism that my dad was referring to that keeps me from settling. But if only he knew how much I want to settle. To never move again, and to make all of my days important from one home base. And the standard of what makes a day important may be one of the most subjective things ever, much to the chagrin of my parents. The things that are life changing to me are frivolous to them, and their life priorities seem completely absurd to me, so I guess it all evens out. If disneyworld is the thing that makes each day important, then by all means, go get it! But for me... well, you all know what I find meaningful. Some silly little band from north carolina that speaks ages of wisdom in their lyrics. As blasphemous as it is to my parents, the music I listen to is my church. It is where I hear truth and guidance and find my solace. I would apologize for the lack of pink pews and hymnals and overhead projectors and fill in the blank sermon notes, but I am not sorry, nor would I ever consider trading it back. But that's just my take on it...

Beer Me

I need a cold one. I am overheated, overtired, and tottering precariously on the brink of hysteria. So I finally get a check yesterday - David's whole tax return. Awesome. $1200. I of course rush to the bank to get it in so I can start paying bills. Luckily I got the $230 in cash I owe Ricker, because the ridiculous bank put a 4 day hold on my check - from the State of Washington. "Well, you never know what can happen!" says the too-well-scripted-over-nice bank lady with the polynesian accent on the phone. "We are just protecting your interests." Apparently the State of Washington is bouncing checks like me lately. Well at least we have that in common. Stupid banks, stupid money, stupid brokeness. Oh well, she said my funds would be available to me tomorrow. Isn't that nice?

On a less crappy note, we surveyed about three hundred thousand acres today, and found two unrecorded prehistoric sites. For those of you who are not privy to the world of dorkyology, that means there were cool arrowheads (totally inappropriate and politically incorrect reference), obsidian pieces (flakes) and other tools, that all looked like bits of broken glass to me but apparently bring a cool dime on the black market, which is why you will never learn the location from me. And because I have no idea where the heck we were. I was busy making yard sale signs for Cassie in the back seat on the way out, and sleeping on the way in.

Tally: things that are going RIGHT: tomorrow, I might have access to my money. Eventually, I have two paychecks from the forest service that will find their way to me. My redcard was printed today. That means fire time. God Willing. And I know he is. The Enterprise archaeology team here in Bend is already fraternizing with my boss's boss to recruit me as soon as my boss runs out of funding for me = work in the fall. I GET MY KIDS BACK IN THREE WEEKS!!!!!! Aunt Lynn (god bless her) bought me and her fam (and their new exchange student) tickets to a Keith Urban, John Mayer, and THE AVETT BROTHERS show at the gorge, that I was so woefully bemoaning missing. It was requiring all of my willpower to not steal money to buy a ticket.

So now, after a cool shower, which highlighted my sunburn like a radiant beacon of outdoorsiness, I am going to drag my fat hound dog to the park and hang yard sale signs. Oh crap, my car is out of gas. And my money is frozen in time. For the love of pete. calculate... It's about 5 miles to the park, in addition to the five or six I did today, all uphill and all in heavy timber... ew. I am just too lazy to do it. Plan F (it's easiest just to skip to that one) make BBQ chicken, huge potato salad, brownies, etc for Cassie's going away party, drink wine and feel sorry for myself. Ok, scratch the last part: drink wine and solve all of the worlds problems. And DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE.

new leaves

and turning them over. How is it always so very, very hard? I made my southward break full of optimism and hope, believing beyond anything that I was on the right track. The most ridiculous thing of all is that I still feel that way. With EVERYTHING going against me, and bad luck courting me at every turn, it is truly a wonder that I haven't done something drastic, like start smoking, or drink more, or maybe even curse. But actually, in spite of all of the mayhem and mischief that life throws at me in some manic quest for entertainment, I still believe somehow, someway, it will work out. It has to. Sure my paycheck got lost in the mail just when I was $2000 overdrawn, but you can always open a new bank account somewhere far far away. Sure I went to see my kids a few weeks ago and had no gas money to get home, but my bestie bailed me out and I love her forever. Sure my car is tottering on the brink of repossession and I can't make my very first rent payment on the only chance of a home me and my kids will have this fall, but I got lucky enough to find a sucker of a landlord who has faith in me as a person after only a couple of meetings. (gogogadget personality!) Sure I don't have money for groceries, gas, toilet paper or tampons, but thank god for Ricker's newspaper subscription. Sure my back feels like it's broken and hurts me worse than I ever imagined, but I have become a firm believer and advocate for veterinarian liniment gel. (Thank you Christy B.) Sure my car got impounded for some tickets that I have no idea how I will afford or when I will contest them, but my heckuva guy roommate loaned me the $230 I needed to get it out, even when I was a month behind on my rent.

I've received some flack lately for my negativity, and the downfall of exposing my children to the unstable and insecure life we are faced with. The flack giver(s) are so free and generous with their criticisms, all the while offering no constructive counsel. If you see a Way Out, by all means, show me!!!  I am floundering on a see of yes, instability, and yes, insecurity, but when the father of one's children decides not to support said offspring for two successive years, and the job market is anything but hospitable even with the best of resumes, which I certainly do not have (however entertaining my resume may be), one will do what one must to survive, and to see to the survival of her kids. And she will mess up, big time. And she will eat dirt, repeatedly. But she will get back up, trudge on in pain and humility, and work every minute to be grateful, hopeful, and positive. So please don't read despondent hopelessness into my words, I believe it will work out. It doesn't make the pain-filled process any less pain-filled, and it certainly doesn't put money in the bank, not all the hoping and even praying. I have tried. But the leaves are turning, ever so slowly, and will be new again soon.