The Clutter Offensive

You know how you just get sick and tired of being sick and tired and you get sick of looking at the same crap day in and day out? Well, that's where I am with regard to my crafting supplies. Yesterday, I moved my scrapbooking cabinet out of the laundry room and into the dining room for now until I can move it into it's new resting place in the kitchen where it will become a new food pantry.

Today, I bought 9 Jet Max Storage Cubes that I will place in the kitchen on top of the desk area (where you see everything stacked up right now). I decided to move the old bar area out into the dining room too and make it into a storage area/buffet. LOL!


Yes, an eBay, Craigslist extravaganza is in order for my New in Box and Gently Used scrapbooking items that I haven't had time to fuss with lately. Standby for listings.

All this because of my new Black Friday/Early Christmas gift to myself.

BEHOLD THE CRICUT EXPRESSION!!!!
eta: I just ran across this on YouTube! Now, I can return my New in Box cartridges and download this software and BAM! I'm in bidness.

Thanksgiving 2008

I am grateful for a new outlook on life, new love, my health, my wealth (as it were), my freedom, my peace of mind, my family, my friends, my home, my kitty and my yarn stash. As long as I have those I am happy. No matter how hard things may seem remember things can be worse and thank God for what you have and pray for what you truly need.

eta: Yes, I know Laura and me are on there twice, but eh...I'm too lazy to fix it AGAIN...'sides she needs an extra dose of the loves.

He Put Me Back In My Shell

Imagine that a turtle really could leave its shell. Now, imagine me as a turtle floundering along the shoreline of a beach without my protective shell...bare naked open to any and all predators.

Trudging rather haphazardly along that shore, he spotted me there and knew right away that something was amiss. "Why would a turtle be without its shell? Surely, it must be here somewhere." Taking a closer inspection of the surrounding, he spotted my shell in the offing and ventured to pick me up and put me back in it. But, before abruptly bending down to pick me up, he sat down on the shore and considered how best to proceed...after all turtles do snap and bite. So, he took some time to observe me and forge a bond and trust. Some might have sat and observed only long enough to figure out the best way to maim or torment me (as many have in the past), but his only intention was to restore me to my natural state. A turtle in its shell.

For the better part of a decade maybe even longer, despite all the outward appearances of vim, vigor and voraciousness, I had been furtively self harming (quite unbeknown to me) because I had plainly and naively laid bare my vulnerabilities to those cunning enough to see and manipulate them. Instead of using a razor or a bottle, I allowed any and all predators to see me there on the shore laid bare to do what predators do. Use and Abuse. But, no more. He has shown me what it is to live in my shell and use my natural defenses to shield myself from those who would do me harm. Thank You. You saved me.

The Calm After the Surge

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply feeling the cold air tinge my nose, tongue, throat then lungs. Breathing in slowly, deeply but surely I snuggle down into the warmth of my sofa and blanket and imagine what it must be like to stand and look out over the aftermath of a typhoon or hurricane. What it must be like to witness the storm clouds and tides moving out and away.
My initial thoughts must be some sense of relief knowing the worst is over and that I have survived. I would be grief stricken by loss, but comforted by all that remains realizing at some point that the only left to do is to clear away the rubble and rebuild.

That's what I feel like at present. It's been a little over a month since my mama drama and I am left standing witness to my own mine field of emotion. Undertaking the weary, back breaking work of sifting and sorting through everything that has brought me to where I am today. With the help and support of my dear Darren, these past few weeks, I have traversed a significant swath of my emotional mine field and defused much of what was making me so unhappy. I am finally allowing myself to FEEL and come to terms with many issues that I have expertly managed to deny, avoid and tuck away in the recesses of my mind. These past few weeks have been exhausting and somewhat painful, but necessary in order for me to move forward.

Shortly after returning home from seeing my mom, there were a couple weeks where I was a complete blubbering wreck. I remember one night, in particular, when I was wrenching and crying and wishing I could stop, but I couldn't. My mind and body were on autopilot and I was along for the ride whether I wanted to or not. Guess you can only hold it sh!t in so long before you mutiny. Point taken, lesson learned. I have laid much of my past to rest and have made significant discoveries about some of my past behaviors and actions. I have a lot yet to learn, but I am optimistic.

I feel very content, serene, secure right now. Best I've felt in a very long time.

Beware Fortune Cookie Mandarin Lessons!

So, we were all sitting around opening our fortune cookies, after a rather delicious and decadent knit night dinner a couple weeks ago, when I noticed the Chinese PinYin was totally and utterly messed up on each our our fortune cookies. I was ranting a bit about how the "Learn Chinese" portion of the fortune cookies was completely illiterate and I could see my friends nodding and smiling trying to look vaguely interested as they enjoyed their sweet treat, but it kind of irked me since some people may actually try to learn chinese from their fortune cookies. :: gasp! ::
To you all, I say "BEWARE FORTUNE COOKIE CHINESE! IT WRONG! VERY WRONG!"
So wrong that I spent a chunk of time to scan, print, correct and post about it. :)
The characters are traditional Mandarin and are correct, but the pinyin is crap. BEHOLD the corrections above.

Speaking of messed up Chinese translations. I've also started taking note of Chinese in American pop culture, like fashion, domestic items (artwork, rugs, flatware), even cartoons.

It's funny to go back and translate what animators sneak into our cartoons like Family Guy or the Simpsons. LOL! I strongly suggest taking your time before getting ink too. So many people are walking around with what they THINK is a really cool tattoo when in reality it could be utter gibberish or worse yet something quite derogatory. :: facepalms ::

Good Will Healing

He says I am the Skylar to his Will.
If you've seen "Good Will Hunting" then you will understand the significance of that statement.
Speaking with him the other day, he made reference to his movie. It's one of his favorites.

Everything began as they always have. We met online. I peeked at his profile. He peeked at mine. Reading the prose in his profile, I knew right away that he was someone special. His intellect piqued my interest and I was keen to know more of him. Outwardly, looking at us, one wouldn't think we had anything in common. Especially looking at his profile pictures, he is a tall, handsome, Caucasian man brazen and tattooed with partially shaved head and nose ring. I found myself visiting his profile frequently to peer at his photos and he visited my profile to peer at mine, too. Obviously the physical attraction is strong for both of us.

We first began our interactions while I was down South tending to my mother as a result of her most recent health emergency. I was adrift in a sea of emotion and trauma. Seemingly, this would not be the best time to meet someone, but as it happens, it was the perfect time for us to meet.

We first chatted intermittently the first couple days to test the waters as it were. But, quite innately, I felt something deep within that told me it was okay to confide in him...to believe he is genuine. Soon, I began to reveal small glimpses into my present dilemma and he proved to be a fount of knowledge and support. He is the one who gave me the final puzzle pieces to solve the mystery of my shattered past and present misery. For once, I found a man with who I could be completely real and vulnerable. I didn't have to pretend to be someone who was always in control, pert and pure. I could fall apart.

Gradually, we both began to shed layers and retract that virtual long arm of safety. We began to really SEE each other and a bond was growing that was quite scary and inextricable. I had never been this emotionally intimate with any man and he had never opened up so much to one woman. Soon, we probed and prodded and tested each other. Sometimes, we played a game of chicken to see who would run first, but neither of us turned to run. The die was cast.

We are emotionally intertwined.
He sees me and I see him. Bruised bits and all. For the first time, I am apparent.
Visible. Vulnerable. Real. Ready. Available.

Thus far, I liken our courtship to what it must be like to awaken from a long coma.
In my mind, I see myself standing there on the outside, I see my body laying there listless and frail. Flashes of light and dark spots flutter around as my eyes struggle to focus and the rest of my senses follow suit. Sight, Hearing, Smell, Touch, Taste.

Awakening from a lifetime emotional coma is much the same.
Pain, Fear, Vulnerability, Anger, Guilt and Resentment bubble then erupt through tears seeping from my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I can feel and it is awesome and frightening at once. Fortunately, for me I have a kindred spirit to guide me through the rough terrain of repressed feelings and experiences. He is just like me. Wounded.

Don't get me wrong. We are not co-dependent pain junkies. We don't revel in it. We see it, recognize it and respect it. We, each of us, seeks to understand the source of the pain and mend the wounds, not to repeatedly open the same wound over and over again.

We have chosen to learn from our past, learn from each other and grow as individuals and as a unit. Chosen to cast off the shackles of the past and journey forward together. Each knowing that there will be pitfalls and obstacles but are resolute to reach the final destination.

We see a light at the end of the tunnel and have chosen to ascend to it. Chosen to help each other overcome the past and run head first towards a bright future. How rare and special a journey is this? Incredible, absolutely incredible. To choose to harness one's pain and ride upon a chariot of hope to salvation.

He is Darren and he knows me better than I know myself, sometimes. Better than any man before.

More Tales from the Dark Side...

:: deep cleansing breath ::

I liken my memories of last week's events like the fast whir of the outside scenery outside from inside a moving train. Like when you are in a subway train and the posters and concrete wall swoosh by fast and silent. It seemed like an eternity while I was down there, though. Sunday couldn't arrive soon enough, yet the events unfolded so rapidly and so erratically.

I suppose I should start from the very beginning of the ordeal...start where I left off as it were.

So, after a long night of preparation and little sleep, I dragged myself out of bed the next day and began to gather my things and put them in the car. Miss Kitty had been sleeping on my suitcase all night and was slinking about in a rather agitated state. She knew I was about to leave her again and she was sad. I was sad. I dreaded what lay ahead. The long monotonous unknowing journey to see a woman for who I had little, if any, regard. Had it not been for my grandmother's pleas, I would not have gone.

Funny story. I stopped at a neighborhood gas station on my way out of town. I pulled up and parked my car at a pump, got out and was about to start the transaction when a creepy, greasy, snaggle tooth little old man snuck up behind me and said "You have to pay before you pump, you know." I turned around and looked at him. He was standing there with a fist full of cash looking up at me with this rather impish grin. I could tell he wasn't quite right. I dismissed him and simply said, "Yeah, I'm using a credit card." He smiled and retreated to the truck that I now noticed was parked behind me. I focused my attention on pumping the gas and chuckled to myself. "You gotta pay before you pump..." struck me as quite ironic and funny. GET IT? HA!

All gased up, I hit the open highway with my trusty iPod to keep me company.
The actual trip down there went as it usually does. Hours and hours of mind numbing highway intermingled with a few phone calls to break things up. I had ample time to think about a lot of things going on at the time as I listened to the music blare. One album in particular struck a deep chord with me, Fearless by Jazmine Sullivan. It was as if she knew all the same pain and strife that I did. A kindred spirit in womanly heartache and pain. As I drew closer to my hometown and the awaiting doom, I played one song "Lions, Tigers & Bears" over and over again and I wept for many miles listening to it and reveled in the lyrics she sang so soulfully. I was and still am afraid to love. I never learned how. That's something you learn, isn't it?




Another song that perfectly illustrated my station in life at that time was "My Foolish Heart" by Jazmine Sullivan. Story of my life. Unrequited love or what I thought was love. Obviously, I don't know what it is and I cried for fear that I never would know. I hadn't heard from him in a week again. William, the second. He did it to me again and I felt so low and undesirable. Wounded and I knew better, but I couldn't help how I felt.



8 hours of driving, thoughts, regrets, fear and tears, I arrived at the hospital where she was again. I parked and slammed the car door as I exited and headed for the hospital entrance. I was pissed. I didn't want to see her again. I had nothing to say and I felt nothing for her, but my brother was there and I knew he needed me. I called my brother to get the hospital room and composed myself on the way up. I steeled myself.

My brother had just left to take his kids to their football & cheerleading practices. So, I was left alone with her.

Entering her room, she lay there looking pitiful. Just as she had planned all along. I was pissed. I knew right away this was all a ploy. "MY BIRTHDAY! SHE WANTED ME TO COME HOME FOR MY BIRTHDAY and I wouldn't so she threw a big fucking hissy fit and made herself sick.", that's what went through my mind as I stood there next to her bed. She gestured at some lip balm on the hospital tray and ordered me to put some on her lips. I complied. Then, she requested a sip of water and I held the cup up to her lips so she could sip. Then, she wanted me to cut up some dill pickle into small pieces making sure to remove the skin and feed them to her. I complied. I remember feeling disgust and I placed the small chunks on her lecherous tongue and watched her suck and gnaw at it like a lizard. Soon, a nurse entered and took her vitals and did what nurses do. I sat quietly and cast on for an afghan with some stash yarn I brought with me. Nothing spectacular, just something to pacify me. I noticed she hadn't touched her dinner tray. She hadn't been eating. The nurse left and came back in holding a protein shake and begged her to drink it. He held the cup to her lips and she sipped and took furtive glances over at me. I knit and fumed...I knew what was about to happen. The nurse informed her that her blood sugar was low and that she had to eat something. Just so happens that they had come to take her uneaten tray of food away a few minutes earlier. They looked at me and I said, "Alright. Well, what would you like to eat, ma? I'll run and go get you something." She thought for a minute and said, "I want some Taco Bell. You know a taco salad with sour cream and..." The nurse looked relieved. I hadn't even been there 30 minutes yet, fresh off of an 8 hour trip and I was back in the car again to fetch her something to eat. Just like old times! I picked up my purse and my knitting bag and left. Getting back into the car, I started the engine, let out a great sigh, blared my angry music and drove to the one Taco Bell in town that made the salad just the way she liked. Swiftly returning to the hospital, I noticed the nurse kneeling beside my mother's bed as she sat with the "big air" oxygen mask on her face. I didn't think anything of it....taking both my bags down with me to the car, but unbeknownst to me at the time, she had launched into yet another hysteric fit while I was gone thinking I had abandoned her like before. I placed her food on her table and began to lay everything out just how she liked it. The nurse was relieved to see I had returned. She had told him how I left her before and how she was afraid I wasn't coming back. My face burned with rage and embarrassment, but I restrained myself and sat back down with only my knitting bag this time. I explained that I wanted to leave one of my bags in the car that's all. I was back. No harm no foul. She began to eat and I could see that she was letting go of the pitiful act she had been feigning and was returning to her normal selfish self. She grabbed that spork and began to shovel the food down like it she was snorting a line of cocaine. I starred blankly at the tv and knit. Soon, she began to talk in that weak tortured voice she has now. She wanted to talk about why I had abandoned her. She wanted to know what she had done. I grimaced and simply said I wasn't ready to talk about it. How could I? I knew that she'd fly into hysterics again and they'd have to run in there with a crash cart or something. I refused to talk about it. I couldn't. I wouldn't. She probed and prodded and begged and I stood solid. Resolute not to divulge my most inner feelings about the woman I hated. Why bother. She would never understand or care anyway.

It was time for Monday Night football. Finally, something to look forward to. My brother had returned and we all sat in the room and watched tv for a while. Intermittently speaking. It was awkward to say the least. Knowing but not willing to talk about the big BLACK elephant in the room. I could see that my brother was absolutely exhausted. He hadn't slept in over 36 hours I think. He'd been up all night driving and had been at the hospital and running errands and seeing after our grandmother, his kids and ex wife all day. I told him to go home and rest. I'd stay at the hospital with her and keep her company for the rest of the night. He was relieved and left us. I knit and glanced up at the tv from time to time. She nodded off to sleep here and there and made small talk. I grunted a few words here and there, but mainly just knit.

Soon, it was 11:30 PM and I was completely drained. I said good night and informed her that my brother wouldn't be coming back that night to sleep in that uncomfortable hospital recliner. He had been up for so long that it wasn't safe for him to drive. She didn't say anything. I made the short drive to the house where they lived, my mom and my grandmother, Nanny. My brother answered the door. He was sleep walking basically. He grumbled something about going back to the hospital and I admonished him to go back to sleep that she would be ok. "I told her you're not coming back tonight. I told her you haven't slept in 36 hours." He looked relieved and flopped back onto the sofa where he had crashed earlier.

I peeked in on my grandmother. She was fast asleep. I found my way to the room, my mom's old bedroom, where I would sleep. I closed the door behind me, turned off the light and fell into bed. I lay there looking up at the moonlit window above me and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, I woke to a flurry of activity. I managed to sleep in a little late, 9 AM and my brother was off to run errands and take my mother some breakfast. I called his mobile to make sure he called to get her breakfast order. I knew all too well that she had already made up her mind exactly what she wanted earlier that night. I got myself composed and sat in the living room and talked to my grandmother for a while. I had to get the real story of what happened that weekend. She let out a deep sigh and began to recount the events of that weekend.

She explained that my mother was upset that I chose not to come home that previous Sunday. The day after my birthday. My mother had called me that Sunday morning and I told her rather plainly that I WAS NOT was coming down that day. She cried and said, "WHY YOU DOING ME LIKE THIS! I told folks you were coming home. They are expecting you to be here." I had no response other than to say I was tired. I hung up the phone. Then, my aunt and uncle called and asked if I would be going home. I said, "NO! I don't feel like it." Apparently, my mom had been calling and crying to my aunt who in turn lamented to my uncle who in turn called me to no avail. So, that prompted my mom to as we say down South "throw a fit". Nanny said that she has been unbearable all day and managed to make her nerves bad enough that her heart rate raced up into the 200 bpm. Interestingly enough, my mom had instructed my grandmother to pack her hospital bag and call 911. Then, as they were loading her into the ambulance, Nanny said that my mom saw a car similar to mine drive by and asked the EMT if that was her daughter driving up. Nanny went on to recount how miserable and mean my mother had become and how badly she had treated her. How tired and worn down she was and that she was happy that we came to see about our mother. She told me that the previous morning when she and my brother arrived at her hospital room that my mother had another "fit" and they had to bring in a crash cart to settle her down. I sat and shook my head. I looked at my grandmother and said, "So, this whole mess is because I didn't want to come down here for my birthday!?" She looked at me then at the ground and said, "Well, you know how she is...if she don't get her way..." Tears began to well up in my eyes and my face burned and my stomach turned and I wanted to burst into a million pieces. How much can you hate one person? I told her that the reason I left was because I had a breakdown. I lost it. I didn't know what to do and I knew I had to escape. My grandmother nodded. She said she had never seen me like that. EVER. but, she knew what her own daughter was capable of. How she can drive someone completely insane. My eyes teared up as I blurted out how I was the one that raised my little brother. How my mother never cared about us. How she left us to fend for ourselves. I was the strong one. The one that never asked anyone for anything EVER! My grandmother nodded. She remembered how when I was only 19 I purchased my own car by myself and how I put myself through college and never asked anyone for a penny. She contrasted that with my mother who never took responsibility for anything. Never saved her money, never really made anything of her life. She said how proud she had always been of my accomplishments and even though I left in such a flurry of emotion that she knew I was strong and that I'd be ok.

My grandmother and I lingered a while and talked and caught up on recent affairs. It was nearing noon and I knew she would want to eat again. I called my brother to see what she wanted to eat. This time it was pizza. I wanted to run by Taco Bell and get one of those taco salads for myself, then I would have to run across town to get the pizza. She was trying to make me remember where this particular pizza place was and I heard my brother in the background say "I know where it is mama, I'll go get it." Then, she added that she wanted a chocolate shake from McDonald's. Yeah, a whole 'nother place to stop. So, the work was divided. I would go get myself something to eat and run a couple errands and my brother would fetch the food.

Arriving at the hospital with my food, I encountered my brother sitting in one of the waiting rooms. I heard him call out my name and I joined him there and began sitting out my food to eat. He explained that the nurses where doing something with mom in the room and she requested he leave. So, we sat and talked. We pondered what to do about her. He expressed frustration and guilt about this whole situation. About dealing with our mom, his ex wife, his kids and his current love interst. All the while, knowing he'd have to leave in a day to go to Africa.
Soon, she sent him a text mesasge with the all clear and we joined her in her room. We sat and watched tv and chit chatted. Some time later, a doctor came to visit and informed her that she was ready to be discharged from the hospital. She didn't know who this doctor was and insisted that she speak directly to her regular doctor. She completely discounted anything he said. I could see that he was frustrated by her indignant attitude and he left promising to return with her regular doctor so he could reassure her that everything would be ok. Later, her regular doctor came to visit with the new doctor in tow. He sat down and began to explain her new medications and my brother and I began to ask questions. I wanted to know if all this was because she had a big ole hissy fit. The doctors didn't really answer that only saying that she needs to comply with her diet and exercise in order to get better. That she could live a few years longer if she wanted to. That her new symptom of the racing heart was not unfounded and had to be treated, but there was an issue. She had fallen out with the local cardiologists and refused to see them saying they were unreliable and unfriendly and she doubted their judgement. She feels they dropped the proverbial ball, but in fact, their assessment was correct, it wasn't just her heart that was causing all her problems and after many weeks of testing they found the real culprit was her lungs. At any rate, now the issue remains of finding her a reputable local cardiologist. 'sigh Every now and then, I'd glance over at my brother and could see the fear and loathing in his eyes. He was beginning to see just what was going on. That we had been bamboozled. She wasn't dying. She was lying. Yes, she really is sick. I get that, but at the same time she's not taking responsibility for her illness and she's making everyone miserable and crazy. She's pissing off the doctors and nurses and well, everyone right now and she doesn't give a rat's ass. She informed her doctor that she wasn't ready to be discharged yet and began to make hints towards another "attack" coming on. She said she needed some time, at least another day, to accept the idea of leaving the hospital. The doctors obliged and made their way out of the room.

As the doctor's made their way out of the room, my brother followed and talked to them in private out in the hallway. He had to make a decision right then. Would he stay or would he go serve his country? He was racked with guilt and uncertainty. He texted me from across the room many times inquiring what he should do. I told him to go. Do what he had to do. She'd be fine and it she wasn't there was nothing we could do to change her fate. He feared he'd be so far away when she did die and feared the guilt of not being there. After talking to the doctors, he disappeared for a while and when he returned to the hospital room gently broke the news that he had decided to stay. That his commanding officer gave him permission to stay. We sat for a little while longer and then it was time for my brother to go pick up his kids and deliver them to their football and cheerleading practices.

I was alone with her again. We sat and watched tv and I knit some more, then she began to ask the questions again. Why did I leave? What happened? This time I answered. I told her that she drove me away. That she broke me. I had to escape from her. I told her that I didn't want to come home for my birthday because I didn't like being around her. That she made me crazy. She asked me about my childhood. I told her I needed a MOTHER not stuff. She looked confused and hurt at once. She apologized and began a long diatribe about her own broken childhood. She told me stories about my grandmother. How my grandmother had treated her and the rest of her siblings growing up, saying "We don't come with instruction manuals. You just make do. You do the best you can with what you know. I didn't know any better growing up. I treated you the same way I was treated. I did the best I could and besides if I hadn't given you those things growing up would you be the person you are today? If you didn't have the computer and the like, would you be where you are today?" I thought about it. I wondered if that had any merit. Would it have made a difference? I conceded that maybe it would have made a difference, but that I made myself who I am today. I chose not to be like her.

** more later, I'm sick of writing **

It's G'on Be, What It's G'on Be.

That's what my grandmother said this evening. "Well, it's just g'on be what it's g'on be. We can't do no more. She just ain't g'on act right. I don't know what else we can do."

There's nothing else we can do. It's all up to her whether or not she pulls herself up by the proverbial bootstraps and reclaims her life.

There's so much to write about, but I'm virtually brain dead right now.

I'll leave you with this though. Thanks to my new friend, Darren. I, now, have a label to slap on the insanity.

So called "Mother" thy name is

"Toxic Narcissism"

How can you recognize a narcissist?

Recognizing and Coping With Narcissistic Abuse

Further Down The Guilt Trip Expressway

:: facepalms ::

I'm still awake and my stomach is burning again...kinda like when Atlanta burned to the ground.

She's back in the hospital AGAIN! 'deep sigh
She had just gotten out of the hospital last Monday and now she's back in again. One week later.
This time with a blood clot. Ironic since she had a miracle healing on Thursday. HA! I guess all that praying and hollering and shouting didn't fix it after all. I'll blog about that one later.

My grandmother called me earlier tonight to beg me to come down there. She's at her wits end. I've never heard her sound like this before. It shook me. She told me I had to come. I had to find a way to get down there.

I held the phone for a second and promised I'd find a way to get down there tomorrow even though I'm broken, broke and tired. I'll scrape together enough to get me down there, I guess.
As soon as I hung up from her, I called Adrian. "She's back in the hospital again.", I said in a somber voice. He exclaimed, "What! She told me she was doing ok. I can't believe this. I'm kinda pissed that she never tells me what's really going on. I'm supposed to leave for Africa this Friday. I'm broke and I don't know how I'm going to get there to see her before I leave the country. 'sigh I can't believe this."

From there a slew of phone calls back and forth to my Aunt, my Uncle, my Cousin Kim, my Grandmother. We were all at our wits end trying to find out what to do.

My brother called my mom during this time and she cried and begged him to come see her. He managed to get an emergency leave from the Air Force base, hopped in his truck and began to drive in the middle of the night.

Meanwhile, I began assembling and packing and cleaning and dreading. As I was washing up some dishes, I began to sob. I reared back my head and screamed. I'm pissed. I feel like I'm being poached. Like a hunting party has corned me and thrown a net over my head and they are going to drag me off to the nearest zoo habitat. I don't know if my mom is really drawing close to the end or if this is another thinly veiled attempt to garner our attention and sympathy.

I wonder if this was truly the end, why my other uncles haven't shown up. Why isn't Aunt Effie driving back in the middle of the night to be at her side? Why only Adrian and me? I don't think she really even intended for Adrian to come see her. I've been the main target. They (Aunt, Uncle, Grandmother, Mother) have been hounding me for a solid week to come down there.
I don't want to do it. I fear what lay ahead. I fear that I will never make it back the same again. That she will clutch and tear at me and devour my very being.

MY BIRFDAY!

Many thanks to my friends who were able to spend some time with me Saturday.
I needed the knitter girl TLC!

Thank you all for your birthday wishes, presents and presence!

eta: not pictured, but certainly not forgotten
The monogram necklace that Beth K made for me.
The cool Alaska and Canadian magnets that Mrs. NotSo got for me during her honeymoon.
The vino that Gingie brought
...and the totally awesome pink daisy cupcakes that Ambah brought! They makes me happy.

I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!

Please Don't Look Into the Light...

Yet!

This past Friday night, my phone rang and I could see it was my mom calling. As has been my custom lately, I let it go to voice mail, then 15 minutes later another call from my mom. This time, I answered. I knew something had to be wrong and I was right. It was Wayne, a close family friend, calling to say that my mom was in distress and might die that night. He handed the phone to my mom, struggling for breath she said, "I just wanted to hear your voice. I almost died tonight." She handed the phone back to Wayne who explained that there was a problem with her oxygen tank and that she was having problems breathing. Calmly, I said, "Well then, she needs to go back to the hospital right away, right?" There was some commotion going on in the background and I could hear my grandmother talking and there was shuffling and Wayne mentioned they would try to fix the oxygen tank and abruptly ended the call.

I placed my phone back on the sofa arm rest where I had been watching tv, I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. My mind began to race and I wondered if I should start to pack up my stuff and head down that way again just in case this really was the end. So many things had to be done. I didn't have any decent clothes to wear to her funeral. I had to get my hair done and do something with the house and the cat and my job and the list went on and on in my head. Then, I began to feel the crushing guilt wash over me. Knowing that I hadn't spoken to her and maybe I should have said something sooner. Then, I remembered that there wasn't anything to say. What could I say? I still feel numb. I'm not angry anymore, but somehow she still doesn't feel like my mom. She's like a stranger. I have a hard time really feeling anything for her other than basic human compassion that you might feel for anyone who is dying.

Sometime went by and Wayne called me back to say that she was stabilized and spouted off some of her vitals to me. I didn't realize it at the time, but she had been readmitted into the hospital. Wayne handed the phone to her and she began to sputter on about how much better she was doing already and that she was scared earlier and thought she might die.

I've known for a while that she doesn't really have that much longer to live. It's only been 3 weeks and she's back in the hospital. I doubt she is released anytime soon this time. I called my brother (#1 brother Adrian) after I hung up from my mom and let him know she was back in the hospital. I wondered if he might be able to get leave to visit her before he is deployed to the middle east in a few weeks. I could hear the fear, loathing and guilt in his voice as he explained that he's broke and his vehicle is having issues. How would he make it home in time to see her? I didn't pressure him. I just let him know the basics and will leave the rest to him.

Late Saturday afternoon, I finally got around to listening to the initial voice mail my mom sent on Friday night when I sent her to voice mail. She said, "I almost died tonight. I wanted to talk to you. Call me. I love you." I deleted the voice mail and thought about what to do. I called her immediately after listening to the voice mail. She began to cry when she heard my voice. The doctor had just left her room and she said she might get out of the hospital in the next couple days after they have removed some of her excess fluids. Once again, I read between the lines and knew she wouldn't be getting out anytime soon. I remember looking into her doctor's eyes when I was there and how he looked at her. He knows. She knows. I know. She's going to die very soon. Just when is the question now.

I have to admit that the thought crossed my mind that she might die on my birthday this Saturday, October 11 and how I pray that she lives just one extra day so that my own birth is not marred by her death. I secretly resent the notion of this one last coup de grace by her to ruin my very existence.

I took the day off from work yesterday to begin preparing for her impending demise. First thing yesterday morning, I got my hair done. Talking to my stylist/little sister Ashanti I recounted the story I laid out here and she told me to think positive. Don't think the worst. Don't go looking for funeral clothes just yet. Think positive thoughts that she lives a little while longer.
I conceded. I nodded my head, closed my eyes and thought good thoughts. I wouldn't go to Macy's just yet, but I would pack a bag with just regular old clothes and necessities and put it in my car for a quick last minute escape.

That was my intention yesterday, but I still haven't packed a bag yet. I need to call her again today and see what's what. Maybe she won't look into the light just yet. Maybe.

Shawty Grind 2008

This one is for my homie, PlazaJen!

Kansas City Knitters for Knockers

PlazaJen, the little girl Jo, Jo Major, Jennie Jen, SarahLois, Amber and I were hanging out at MisKnits last Saturday and somehow we got on the subject of mammograms and breast cancer. Amber mentioned that she had some of the TitBit kits put together by Lisa aka KnitWench for the Kansas City Knitters for Knockers project and I was inspired to take 4 of them.


Pattern: TitBits, Knitty Fall 2005
Ravelry Project Page: Mocha Boobies
Yarn: Lion Brand Microspun Colorway: Mocha
Needles: Hiya Hiya Double Point, US 4 / 3.5 mm
Started: September 30, 2008
Finished:
Project Details:
Using KFB, instead of M1.
Making the one piece version.

For the one piece version, you just purl two rows at the end of the front piece, then start decreasing (k2tog) one stitch before the end of each needle, essentially reversing the front shaping. Stop when you have 12 sts left. Cut the yarn, leaving a LONG tail. Thread the tail through the remaining sts. You can then stuff it through the hole and draw the stitches closed.

For our donated boobs, we leave the hole open so that the women can do a fitting and then seam it shut themselves.

Feeling Freedom

Since my last post, I feel like I have emerged from a 37 year old cocoon. Feeling the sun and air on my newly transformed body. No longer a larva. I'm a beautiful Monarch butterfly. I'm not quite ready to fly off into the distance. I'm still examining myself and my immediate surroundings. Getting comfortable. Getting ready.

Writing my last post was so cathartic. It is so freeing to share those most intimate of details with close friends and even complete strangers. To show to others that you can shake off the shackles and free yourself. It is possible, but many people never get there. May never have the luxury to vanquish their demons and break free from the past.

I haven't talked to my mom since I left her hospital room.
I know this may read as cold or uncaring to most, but I only recently have gotten to a point where I can, literally, communicate on any level. I have come to the conclusion that when I do talk to her, I'm not going to mention what really happened. Why I really left. It won't matter. She's got her own version of the past and I know she will not admit or acknowledge or validate anything that I have to say. It won't happen so why even bother. Better to let her die with some measure of self worth and dignity than try to get her to see things from my perspective. I don't need it anyway. I don't need her to make me feel ok. At some point, hopefully, before she dies, I will talk to her.

I'm Functioning, Thanks.

That's the response that I give when people ask how I'm doing lately.

Today, it dawned on me that I need to be more honest about where I'm at.

The accepted response is usually to reply "I'm good, thanks or I'm fine and you?", even if you feel like crap a la mode. It's one of those unwritten social mores that I have decided to break. I'm not going to do it right now, not going to put on the "I'm great!" disguise and shuffle along.

I've been opening up to my close friends and disclosing more intimate details about my life. I'm starting to accept their invitation for friendship and have retracted my "long arm". The reaction has been positive and eye opening. All of a sudden, more things make sense, it seems, and they seem to be putting pieces of a puzzle together that even I didn't see where they fit or that the puzzle piece even existed for that matter. It's reassuring to hear other people's experiences and input into where I'm at right now.

Where is that?, you might ask.

Well, this brings me to my most recent life altering revelation.

September 11 will forever be my day of reckoning and personal freedom.

Like EVERYONE on the planet, I have my own stories of whoa and dismay about my childhood.
We all do, don't we? I reckon there should be a scale of 1 to 10. 10 being along the lines of a completely feral child raised by a pack of dogs to 1 being along the lines of some kind of nirvana perfect childhood with cherubim and harp music.
edited to remove the original "fairies and pixie dust" analogy because they can be rather "impish".

I rate the first half of my life up until Sept. 11 2008 as something around a 5.5...rounded up to a 6 even.

Not quite feral, but not great.

To look at my "mom" one would think she is sweetness and light and all things good, but the reality is much darker and sinister. For most of my life, my mother has been the bane of my very existence. From outward appearances, my brother and I had the good life. We were well mannered, clean, intelligent, we had it all. We did have the best or near best in everything back then in comparison to those around us. Nicest house, nicest cars, nicest clothes, nicest TV, the latest greatest toys, packed refrigerator of food. What we didn't have was a "mother" or a "father" for that matter. But, let's concentrate on her right now.

My "mother" never treated me like a person. She never showed me any love or caring. NEVER! Quite the opposite, in fact. I put "mother" in quotes because she never fulfilled the actual role of being a mother. She only gave birth to me. The rest, besides the obligatory roof over my head food and clothes and things, was left to me to sort out. I can say I was lucky with regard to the superficial. But, what does all that mean? It's just superficial bullsh!t. That's not LOVE! It's just stuff. I would have gladly traded all the superficial crap for a real mom who baked cookies and kissed my ouchies and hugged me and read bedtimes stories to me and told me I was pretty and special and that she LOVED me.

Instead, I shared a house with this woman, my mother, who smoked, drank, partied, worked when she wanted to and cheated on my dad A LOT. She was/is completely self absorbed. Oblivious to my needs as a person; as her daughter.

My whole life it seemed that I was nothing more than a "pack mule". A tool. A something that does something. Not a daughter. Not someone deserving of love, guidance and care. I was a thing to be used for her personal service, amusement and abuse. My nickname used to be "Cinderella", but I never got to go to the ball or find Prince Charming. Just clean up the messes and keep quiet.

I was always a daddy's girl. My dad was my hero and my salvation. Well, when he was around he was. My dad was an officer in the military and he was frequently away on assignment and would leave us (my brother and me) with her for months at a time. Those were truly some of the darkest times. Left alone with the woman that I feared and loathed. I hated her for all the secrets I had to keep. All the deceitful, dirty things she did while he was away. He never knew. I never told.

One incident comes to mind. I think I was in the 3rd or 4th grade. It was lunchtime and I was quietly sitting in the cafeteria, ALONE (Yes, I was painfully introverted back then), eating lunch and a school counselor approached me. She could tell that I was depressed and I was. It was clear to anyone who saw me. Later that day, the counselor called my mom (who was a school teacher at another school) and informed her that I needed help. That evening after school, my mom came home absolutely enraged. She was embarrassed. I made her look bad. She insisted that I wasn't depressed and she'd make sure of it by beating it out of me. She pummeled me with her fists and cussed at me for what seemed like an eternity. Afterwards, I resigned to my refuge. My room. Without dinner. Without hope. Again.

There are more stories like this, some more disturbing, but nonetheless you get the picture.

For decades, I had been repressing and denying so many feelings. Going along with the program. Being the good daughter. Trying to make her love me. Trying to impress her. DESPITE and TO SPITE my mother, I made a good life for myself. Graduated college, got a good job, traveled the world. All of which she is only too happy to take credit for. : /

Fast Forward to Thursday, September 11, 2008.

As had been the custom, my mom called me that morning to make sure I picked up her lunch order. She wanted Mexican food. It was only 10:30 AM. It was already a hectic work day. One conference call after the other. I had explained to my mom the day before that Thursday was going to be a busy day for me because I had a lot of work related things to attend to, but that I would bring her lunch and have to leave to go back home and work. She called the order in around 11:00 AM. The order would be ready in 15 minutes. Never mind work. But, before I could go pick up the food, I had to stop at the drug store to pick up some things for her then go across town to pick up the food order and schlep it like a good girl to her hospital room. It's around 11:45 AM when I arrived at her hospital room, I see her hospital food tray sitting in front of her untouched AGAIN. She refused to eat the hospital food. I cleared it away to make room for her Mexican food on her table. Even though, I explained that I couldn't stay because I had a noon meeting, she asked me to sit with her while she eats. I obliged, knowing that I would be in bit of trouble for missing this particular conference call. No, I couldn't conduct the call from the hospital room. Too many interruptions, the TV, my mom talking on the phone, nurses in and out, you get the picture.

As I'm sitting there (she has her back turned to me as she ate), an aide came in to retrieve her hospital food tray. My mom beamed. It was one of her newly adopted daughters that she had befriended while in the hospital. "Here's my sweetie. Isn't she pretty?", she said to me. She's got such a cute little shape and her hair is so pretty. (My mom never taught I was pretty growing up. I was too fat, too black, too this and too that. She often took pleasure in belittling me and frequently compared me to some of her skinny Latina students.) Noticing yet another untouched tray of food, the aide commented how lucky my mom was that she didn't have to eat the hospital food and that she was lucky to have such a good daughter. I smiled and mentioned that I really should be going because I needed to get back to the house to be on another conference call. The aide said that my mom should let me go get my work done and that she'd come back and hangout with her later. My mom, with her back still turned to me, says "HMPH! It can wait. She don't have to leave just yet. I ain't done eating. I'm not going to choke down my food so she can leave." Why is work so important? No vacation time left. I work or I don't get paid. If I don't get paid, then I don't have money to pay for all her meals, run around town paying her bills and getting her laundry list of crap. Makes sense to me that she might cut me some slack, right? WRONG! Right about then, a nurse walked into the room and made some comment about the Mexican food. "My! Aren't you lucky! I love that restaurant. Your daughter brings you food everyday doesn't she? You are so spoiled." My mom replied, "Naw! I'm not the one who is spoiled. She's spoiled. (meaning me) She had the good life growing up. Had all the best toys. Had one of the first computers ever made. Shoot! She had it good. She's the one who is stuck in her ways. She's spoiled." My eyes began to swell up with tears, but she can't see that because her back is turned to me and she's still eating.

The gig is up! You see, my mother claims to have found religion some years ago. So, for the past few years, it seems she's been playing the role of the good Christian woman. She wasn't quite as toxic as she had been and we had even began feigning a mother/daughter relationship. But, just then, it was as if she had ripped off a disguise. And, she was as she had always been. That woman I hated. I flashed back to when I was a little girl. I felt trapped. I needed a refuge. Some place to escape. The aide smiled an uneasy smile and left with the tray. The nurse went about her business in the room then left. It was an awkward moment. Alone, I said to my mom, "Is that what you think? That I had a good life?" She replied, "Yes! You had a great life. You had the best of everything." I stood and headed towards the door, I said, "I had a sh!tty childhood. Enjoy your food." and left. Just like that. I flung the door open and started to flee.

In the hallway, it seemed like the entire floor had come to screeching halt. No, we didn't yell. I didn't raise my voice once. But, passersby in the hallway could tell by looking at me that something wasn't right. That I was in distress. I walked as fast as I could to the elevator. There stood an orderly and a patient. I stood for a few seconds and waited for the elevator to arrive, but I knew I was going to lose it at any moment. So, I took the stairs. I bounded down the stairs as fast as I could and hoofed it out of the hospital as fast as my legs would carry me. My head was flooded. I was fleeing. I felt trapped. I had to get away. It was like it always had been. Only difference is now, I see it. I see who she is. I get it and I realize that I don't have to put up with her. Yes, she's sick. She's in the hospital, but what about me. Do I stay and let her devour me? Do I leave and save myself? Those were the thoughts and questions going through my head as I sped away towards the house where I was staying.

Pulling up in the driveway, I wished that my grandmother would be sitting on the sofa near the front door and see me. Ask me what was wrong.

Upon entering the house, she's not right there. She's cleaning out my mom's room. Clearing out years of crap that had accumulated in there. Preparing it for her return home.

I didn't say anything. I went into the den and sat on the sofa in front of my computer. Where I was supposed to be working. Sobbing quietly. 'shrug. Can't worry about work now. That's already gone to h3ll. I sat there with my head in my hands, crying, thinking, pondering, remembering, weighted down with sorrow. After a few minutes, I lurched from the sofa and stomped down the hallway past my grandmother to fetch my things from my old room. "Screw it! I'm outta here!", I said.

I began feverishly grabbing my stuff and throwing it into my car. My grandmother tried to intervene and ask what was wrong, but I couldn't articulate anything. I wandered around the house gathering my things, sobbing and ranting.

I remember saying something about "Why can't she just be nice! and Yeah, I'm the ungrateful one, that's right!" That's all I remember saying. As I said my goodbye and walked out the door, I remember seeing my grandmother perched on the sofa near the front door looking distraught and small and pitiful. In my whole life, my grandmother had never seen me like that. Never seen me break down and cry. Certainly, not sobbing like I was. I hated to leave her like this. I know she needed me, but I wasn't me just then. I needed me!

She broke me. I had had enough. I was finally going to do something I could never do before. I was going to leave. Not be the good daughter. Think about myself for once.

Within 15 minutes I was gone. Back on the highway to MY home. Putting time and distance between me and her. The one who was supposed to be my mom. The one who never loved me and didn't care that she was destroying me little by little each day. I had no choice but to escape.

Thursday, September 11, 2008 was my Independence Day.

The Prognosis Is...

Congestive heart failure and pulmonary fibrosis.
After many weeks of exhaustive exploratory testing, this is what the doctors have deduced.

A lot happened while I was down there looking after my mom and grandmother.
I had a minor breakdown and ended up leaving town abruptly after my mom obliterated my last remaining nerve. I've been contemplating a more in depth post detailing my feelings and what not, but this will have to suffice for now.

Yes, I Would Love It...

...If You Made It Easy on Me, Mom."

That's the last thing I said as left my mom's hospital room and rushed back to "the house" this morning to attend to a pressing work issue.

It was barely 10:00 AM. I had just arrived at her hospital room pushing my grandmother in a wheelchair. No sooner had I sat down, my mother was already worrying about lunch. Of course, she picked at her breakfast. Barely ate any of it. My phone rang and I had to leave the room. It was a customer calling to follow up on a problem from friday. Returning to the room, mom informed me that I was going to go pick up a Ribeye Steak dinner from the Bonanza and had asked my grandmother if she wanted something, too. Nanny said, "NO! I don't need anything to eat from Bonanza. I can fix me something when I get home." Then, mom says, "Don't make it easy on Carmen, Mama. She can go get us something to eat and bring it back when the Bonanza opens up at 11:30 AM." I was pissed. That's when I said, "Yes! I would love it if you made it easy for me, mom. That would be great." I grabbed my purse and hightailed it back to "the house" because I had forgotten my work laptop as my grandmother and I rushed out of the house that morning 9:30 AM to make a deposit at the bank. I left Nanny there with my mom to visit for a while longer.

Fortunately, the type of work I do can be done remotely, but it's been a challenge convincing my mom that I need to work during business hours. Not that I can work in her hospital room anyway. I tried that last week and ended up having to go back to "the house" so I could concentrate. You see my Aunt used to stay with her ALL DAY EVERYDAY from dawn til dusk fulfilling her every desire. I'm not in the position to do that. I can't stay there all day with her. Especially when she has 50 million errands for me to run and I have to fetch meals and see about my grandmother and WORK! I think my mom thinks I'm just playing around on the computer, even though, I got several calls from customers while I sat there in her hospital room. One day, while trying to work in her room, I showed her the list of issues I had to deal with immediately. I tried to explain that my work can be like a virtual computer related emergency room triage. She grunted and proceeded to tell me to go fetch something. I explained that if I don't work that it is very visible and that people will escalate on me in a heartbeat to executives. I explained that I don't have anymore vacation time. I have to work. She got mad and told me to just go back home (Kansas City) if I had to work. GUILT TRIP! My stomach burned and my head pounded.

I didn't come here to run errands all day for her. She refuses to eat the hospital meals and calls for me to bring her meals from local restaurants and fast food places. So, the phone starts ringing around 8 AM and doesn't stop until late in the evening. "Where are you? What are you doing? What y'all eating? Where is your grandmother? What is she doing? Is she cooking? I want some blah blah and blah blah from such and such place and stop by such and such place and pick me up some blah blah on the way to the hospital. Ask Nanny what she wants for lunch. See if Nanny needs to go to the store." :: sigh! :: Meanwhile, my manager has contacted me via IM and email to handle an irate customer situation and there are a crap ton of tickets that need to be addressed before 12 noon. My head hurts and my stomach burns and I haven't slept more than 4-6 hours in days. I'm tired and pissed off. I came here to see what was going on with my mom and be with her in the hospital, but on my own terms. I don't need her to plan my days and work me down to the bone. My Aunt (GAWD BLESS HER SOUL!) narrowly escaped this past Saturday after being here for 4 weeks and returned to her home and family. She had been suffering from a bad tooth and was in excrutiating pain for days, but promised my mom she wouldn't go home for a while after I had arrived. So, for a few days last week, both of us were at my mom's beck and call. Fetching, cleaning, primping, fluffing, schleping. Both of us exhausted and gut wrenched, but determined to give my mom what she wants when she wants it the way she wants it. Sure, she's in the hospital and she's sick, but she's making me miserable and I'm reminded why I really don't enjoy visiting her. She's a task master and now that she doesn't work anymore, she wants to manage me, my grandmother, my brother, his kids, his ex wife, her friends, the neighbors, the neighbor's dog, whatever and whoever she can. HA! I'm grown. I'm quite capable of managing my own life and daily agenda. THANK YOU!

After I left the room this morning, I'm pretty sure my grandmother admonished my mom for being so demanding and difficult while she's been in the hospital. That she is being unreasonable and that she's lucky to have family like us. Most people aren't so lucky.

This past week has been exhausting. Mentally, Physically, Emotionally and Financially.
No, brother #1 can't help. He's being deployed to Iraq in a couple weeks. No relief.
Brother #2 is already in Afghanistan, but he's not a blood relation to her.

I hope they release her from the hospital soon! I hope she makes a full recovery so she can do for herself again and stop running us into the ground.

What's Really Going On?

I STILL have no REAL idea. I arrived here Tuesday afternoon and came straight to my mom's hospital room right off the highway. As I entered her room and she saw it was me, she perked up and was so happy to see me.

Thankfully, my aunt (her older sister) had come to visit about a month ago and hasn't left her side yet. She saw that my mom (her little sister) was a wisp of the woman she once was and that her health was rapidly deteriorating. She was jaundice and weak. At her sister's behest, she submitted herself again to medical probes. By my best estimates, she's been in the hospital for the last two weeks for exploratory testing to see what in the heck might be wrong with her. Nothing has come back yet, so I guess that's good, but then again what's wrong? Of course, I only found out this past Sunday that she was in the hospital. : / As I sit here in her hospital room, I think to myself. This is not my mommy. She doesn't look the same. She's so frail.

Mother's Day 2007

Gut Wrenched Again...

Just found out that my mom is back in the hospital. :: sigh! :: She called from her hospital bed yesterday. They had conspired NOT to let on that anything was awry until they had no choice but to call at let me know what the hell is going on. My brother and I were trying to reach her Saturday and had called my grandmother to find out why she wasn't answering her phone. My grandmother was acting weird and said that maybe she just forgot to charge her cellphone. Then, when my ex sister in law dropped the kids off to visit and asked where my mom was, my grandmother said the she was going to be gone for a few days. Of course, ex sister in law called my brother and told him, then my brother called me all freaked out and when I called my grandmother she said that my aunt and my mom had gone out to run errands for a while. I was ok, then my mom called from her hospital room the next day. I guess my grandmother was tired of making excuses and told her to call me and tell me a few tidbits. She's still not telling me everything that's going on. I heard my aunt in the background tell her not to tell me EVERYTHING. My mom only told me that she's in the hospital for "exploratory" testing. WHATEVER THAT MEANS! I KNEW IT! I knew all week that something wasn't right. You know when you know something isn't right, but you can't put your finger on it. I had been an emotional wreck. Breaking down. Dragging. Crying. Weeping. Totally not myself. I had already been preparing to leave town this holiday weekend. I wanted to make sure to batten down the hatches as much as possible before leaving, but now I'm on my way out of town again to be at her side not caring much more than making sure Miss Kitty has some food, water and relatively fresh kitty litter. I'm just going to throw some clean clothes, laptop and a bunch of knitting in the car and go. LITERALLY. Not even going to pack a suitcase. More details as I find something out, but I fear that the end is near since my aunt (her older sister) hasn't left her side for going on 4 or 5 weeks now. I just called my brother to let him know that she is in the hospital again and he told me that when he was there to drop off his kids with is ex wife and to visit our mom that about a month ago (about the same time that my aunt arrived) that mom was mumbling about wanting to die. I've wrapped up as much as I can here and am ready to hit the road in the morning. I'm gut wrenched at what awaits me.

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz

You Are Ernie

Playful and childlike, you are everyone's favorite friend - even if your goofy antics get annoying at times. You are usually feeling: Amused - you are very easily entertained You are famous for: Always making people smile. From your silly songs to your wild pranks, you keep things fun. How you life your life: With ease. Life is only difficult when your friends won't play with you!

The Sesame Street Personality Quiz