Saturday, February 16, 2019


Nearly three years since I've been here...

I have since learned to cook.


It's edible.

Since then our country has been trapped in a nightmare partially of our own making, the making of power-hungry pigs, the making of a foreign adversary and the making of the dimwitted who dove willingly into the cesspool of cognitive dissonance.

That shit's a powerful drug.

Since then, I still struggle with letting go of my last brutal heartbreak. Instead, I have cocooned.

Since then, a fellow musician and (I thought) dear friend I loved very much told me how he/she really felt about me, completely dismissed my life-long struggle with depression and anxiety as if it isn't a real thing and wounded me deeply.

We haven't spoken again.

Since then I've sung publicly once.

I *think.*

My voice is trashed from continuous sinus infections and accompanying non-productive coughs. So I just...don't.

I can still teach because I'm a great fucking talker.

The good news is I've seen an allergist and maybe we'll finally get somewhere.

My baby sister had her first (and likely only) baby. Ruby Clementine. My Shmooberry. I absolutely worship her despite the fact that she's a full stop slobber and shit machine. I am so grateful that she is responsible for moving her mommy and daddy closer to me. I live for her smile and "baby walking dead" sounds.

My baby brother also had his first baby. Benjamin William (William after my grandfather). He is adorable. He has his daddy's curls, his mommy's blazing blue eyes and a perfectly round belly, so my nickname for him is Butterball B. They are clear across the country, so I haven't met him.  They never seem to have time to Skype with me, as they're three hours ahead and busy with his wife's side of the family who are all right there nearby. It breaks my heart to pieces that my nephew may never know me. I'll just be "That aunt I have in L.A. that I've never met."

My other sister, who will hate me mentioning this, messed up her back really badly at work and is in the middle of all that recovery, healthcare, government, worker's comp drama. I am helpless. I can do nothing to make her life better or take care of her. Absolutely nothing.

Since the last time I was here, I screamed (censored) number of years worth of pain and anger at my mother (just a few weeks ago) and I've probably irreparably damaged whatever it was that we called a relationship.

I am remorseful that I hurt her, but I am not remorseful for the points I was making. Every accusation is the truth.

I grieve the mother I wanted so badly. The one who comforts, is proud of me, is happy to see me, that I can talk to about anything. But I never had that mother. She has never been my soft place to fall and I've finally given up that she ever will be.

And I'm sure she's given up wishing I'd be the daughter she wanted, too. I guess we'll both have to come around to being okay with that.

Dad and his wife seem to be okay. New retirement home that's like a cruise ship on land. There's something, I suppose.

Since then I had to put my DangerPickleKitty to sleep. It started with a bum thyroid and progressed from there. I just couldn't take care of him like he deserved. But I wouldn't let him suffer.

I swear I hear his little nails clicking behind me on the hardwood floors sometimes. I am free of the burden of caring for a pet I never would've chosen to have in the first place.

And I miss his sweet little face.

I am broken in ways I cannot explain. Physically, spirtually, emotionally, politically, intellectually, musically. I am desperate for healing. Desperate to find my way at long last. Desperate to change the belief. Desperate to succeed, to quit shooting myself in the foot, to stop sabotaging myself on every level. Desperate to leave this world a better person than I came into it, desperate to live a directional life, desperate to evolve while I'm here.  Desperate to sing out loud, at 100% like I used to, full-throated, with impeccable technique and endless truth-telling, tearing it from my withered guts, forcing it from my misery-infested soul, regurgitating it from my utterly decimated heart...just so that I don't full on scream right now and never, ever stop.

My mother would tell me to stop being so dramatic. Of course.

But I can't. That's who I am.