One week

One week since my dad passed away.

He didn’t want a funeral, neither do I.

He wanted to be cremated, as do I. I want to be made into a tree though but my family doesn’t like the idea as much as I do. They want me to use my plot in Pines Cemetery so that they can come visit but I say.... how realistic is that though?? Who is going to go to Spo-kane, Washington for nothing more than seeing a gravesite? Seems like an expensive and depressing vacation. 

Anyway.... I called the Second Family and they didn’t know when my dad was going to be cremated and they aren’t putting an obituary in the paper.

1. How do you not know when your husband will be cremated??? I’ve left STRICT instructions that one of my family be AT the crematorium while I’m being cremated to make damn sure that it’s JUST ME in there and not some chatty old lady too. That’s the last thing an introvert needs!
2. You can’t even do an obituary???? You literally have nothing else to do. You can’t type out a few lines??

I wrote one and sent it to the Spokesman-Review, my own damn self.  I’m not sure that I did it correctly because it’s not something that I’m used to doing and I think the paper is going to call to check out the details.... not sure but people do it everyday right? Except the funeral home helps them. I’m just crying over a keyboard and hitting SEND. 

I had a bunch of stuff to tell you about our trip. Seems so different now. I’ll write about it. Probably tomorrow. I am beat.

Tracy

I have so much to tell you guys. Like everyday new stuff that I think... I should write that... but I’m so overwhelmed with the shadow of my dad’s death and lack of communication from “second family” that it’s consuming me.

I’m feeling a lot of anger. Besides sadness, my number one emotion that’s bubbling and simmering and burning me is pure rage. 

Towards whom?

I don’t know. 

Everyone. 

Strangers...

Or my fucking cousin for sending me a jerky email when I was being kind to her about her hiding her daughter’s “illegitimate pregnancy” ( her mother’s words) or the drunk driving cunt that hit the drivers side door of my car with my daughter (YM) in it or waking me up from the good ten minutes of sleep I managed to cry myself into to tell me that you have a credit card deal for me or William/Bill for having the goddamn balls to post on my close friend’s page about how much BS the the #metoo movement is.  Or the fact that not one single family member, extended, and just two people I call friends, have managed to call me or even text me about my dad dying. I guess that a Facebook emoji with praying hands has taken over for kindness and.... Empathy. And what is empathy? The most important quality in humans. In loved ones. In strangers. In family. In friends. In people who.... Love you.

So caught up in finding toilet paper that it barely registers. So busy posting about paper towels and chicken breasts to spare just one moment to say I love you, I’m thinking of you, can you sleep? Are you taking care of yourself? Hot baths, music, candles, sad songs, food... Are you remembering to eat? 

Rage. 

Pain.

Pain = Rage ?

This too will pass “They” say

And it will

Time heals all pain except it doesn’t. You just learn how to keep moving. How to smile when your heart is broken.... Then one day you will laugh and that darkness cracks a bit until a tiny sprout grows through the crack and you see the sunlight and you wish they saw it too but you know that maybe just maybe, hope against hope, that they are seeing it too.

This song because it’s good to cry too. 

Je t’aime 

Me

Heads up..

My new post is below.... I typed it on my phone and Blogger won’t let me edit. My bad.

Read below

Part three. He’s not there..

Part three

In 2006 my dad and I finally landed on common ground. I loved politics and he loved politics.

Now, I’d been raised Republican. Not because of some bullshit pretense that Republicans are the “Christian” party but because my grandparents were wealthy, therefore they voted Republican and because of that, so did we.

I had zero idea what that meant when I was little and poor. We vote like rich people because someday we might be rich? ( For the record, I figured that out at eight. I know grown ass adults that vote against their own best interest in case the somehow, someway, become millionaires and when they do they don’t want that 2% extra tax, or whatever the case may be, because they want that money and they don’t want it to go to..... Right! Ding ding, the people they are now..... )off the soapbox

But when I got to being able to add two and two politically speaking, I didn’t like the so called Christian party and their every man for themselves political stance. It just didn’t feel much like Jesus, you know? I kind of liked helping our neighbors in tough times, taking care of our water supply, keeping the air clean type of shit that felt like voting in the best interest of myself and my child....

Come to find out, my dad has had the same epiphany. When the least among us rise, we all rise. 

So we spent hours talking politics which led to many deep conversations and when he’d come visit I’d feel comfortable enough to say things like... “ You were a shitty parent and between you and my bio father, every bad choice I ever made in a man was choosing the ones that would never choose me... Like... My Fathers.... “ see how these things play out?

And he’d say... “I was shit. I do take the blame and responsibility and all the hurt and anger you have because of it” And we had that conversation in different forms as many times as I needed to until I didn’t need to anymore and he allowed that without anger or annoyance but with grace and love.

When I told him about my mother he was furious and in pain. He told me that he wanted to kill her... but, you know, she was dead... but the protective father with the red face and tears in his eyes was something I’d never had before.

Just before my mom died her and I were at a crossroad in our relationship. I was leaving Washington and her mental illness was at its peak. She was vile and mean and lashing out at me. I called my dad and said... “ I wish she’d die”

She did four days later. The first thing my dad did was say... “Listen, an abused is an abuser whether it’s a stranger or your mother and there’s nothing wrong with wishing the person who beats you dead. You never have to feel guilty about wishing to be free from abuse. She is not now nor ever will be a saint and don’t you let your temporary guilt turn her into something she was not and she was not the mother you deserved or even the human you should have had to raise you”

And my life changed. I let go of the guilt and instead embraced that I’d been able to say what I’d needed to say to her and left it all on the field. No regrets or I wish I’d said....

We talked about religion and medicine and politics and sports and my kids and he told me all the time how proud he was of me as a human and a daughter and he thought I was brilliant and insightful and funny and exceptional. He thought my children were masterpieces and he was so very proud.

He listened to me when I’d be in the valley of depression and rather than tell me to get sleep or shake it off or tomorrow is a better day he’d say “ oh , honey, stay strong. We need you”

A few years ago he began to say I love you every time we hung up or every time he left a voice message. 

The last time he was here I had this nagging feeling. He was here to watch the boy in a National Tournament. So proud. We stayed in a lovely hotel with a quiet and beautiful bar with a view of downtown Dallas. I asked if after dinner I could ask him questions about his life. Where was he born? Go to high school? First girlfriend? Tell me how to piece the memories I have from childhood. Mom miscarried on the bathroom floor? Why did I stay with strangers sometimes? With your sisters too? Who was the strange man with mom who gave me the money for the ice cream truck? 

She had affairs

Kept trying to kill her self

And the puzzle started to become clearer. Caught her with the guy she married after my dad. That was why he left.

And with the twinkling of the city lights I got to know the things about him that I’d never asked. I got to know him. I knew I’d never see him again. I stared for long periods of time to engrave his face into my brain. I’ve saved ever voicemail for two years. “Love ya, Honey”

I lost my dad. I had a dad. A dad who was proud of me. A dad who was protective of me. A dad who loved me.

I lost my sparing partner. My world problems solver. Someone I could go to when I was mad or happy or worried or sad.

I want to call him now to tell him how sad I am. So deeply sad and lonely.

But he’s not there.

Part Two

Part two

For many years my dad and I had the worst relationship possible. In fact, it’s safe to say that I hated him. He was emotionally abusive and tried to hide insults in “jokes” where as I am more blunt and didn’t try to hide my response in anything other than hate and loathing.

It might be fair to say he at least didn’t like me if not hated me right back and my mother drove those emotions. He could say any shitty thing he wanted like, he’d look at 5ft 6 inch me at 106 lbs and tell me that I was fat, how ugly my athletic thighs were, that I was unattractive etc.... My mother let those words sit and fester as I’d cry.... “fuck you you fucking piece of shit”

She didn’t want me to have a safe harbor in the storm and I didn’t.

People have asked if I blame him for me being abused and I don’t in anyway. We may have lived under the same roof but we couldn’t have been further apart. 

When my mother told him that I was pregnant he hugged me. That’s all. No digs. No insults. No getting a good shot in. Just hugged me.

He stopped being such a dick and I stopped having to react. Did I like him? Probably not. Years of water under the bridge by then. 

When my parents divorced he took my brother. I was alone with my abuser and her verbal and emotional abuse was never higher. 

Then my dad instantly got remarried as did my mother and I was in the sea in a tiny canoe with my son and zero family support. I couldn’t live with my mom, she kicked me out because, and I kid you not, her new husband gave her orgasms. Yes. Imagine being taken out for pie and being told that....

My dad’s wife had three kids and my dad wouldn’t let me and my son live with him.

We struggled to build a relationship but when push came to shove, it was my dad that I told that I was getting an abortion and there are moments in our relationship that stand out more than others. Moments where he really came through as a dad when I really needed a dad and that was one of those times. He was concerned about me, my feelings, my health and so fucking pissed at the dad that he insisted that he was going to confront him and his family and his neighbors and the people he stood in line next to at the grocery store and the woman who cut his hair and..... You get the idea.... it felt good..... And I had to beg him to let me handle it. For the first time in my entire life I had a man who felt protective of me,a father,  who wanted to protect me, and I was in the position that I had to ask him, beg him, to let me continue to take care of myself.

That was an anger that he never let go of. Not towards me but FOR me and I let him feel that way because.... A dad should...

We continued to struggle to grow a relationship. He took me out for my 19th birthday because I could legally drink in Idaho. He taught me how to put gas in my car because my mother refused to ever pump her own gas. We tentatively took tiny baby steps.

He would tell me much much later that I was the source of many fights between him and his wife. She didn’t like having a reminder around that he’d been married and she went so far as to tell him that adopted children aren’t your real children.

He never let her get in the way and if that meant that on Christmas Eve she wouldn’t come into the room with us then so be it. 

That struggle went on, as far as I know, until current times. His wife had a stroke a month ago and I’d call and ask how she was. The day we left for Arizona I spoke to my dad and I asked him then if she knew that I asked about her and his replied indignantly “ damn right she does. I always tell her”

There are many other examples of him stepping up to be my dad, me sitting in my car crying during a time when my oldest and I weren’t speaking, and me saying... “ I need you to be MY DAD right now!” And he was.

At one point when we first moved to Arizona I sent him a letter, like, in. The. Mail. Which told him that he had two options. If he wanted to continue to put his second family first, not see his grandchildren, forget our birthdays, have one foot in, then I was, with all the kindness I could muster, allowing him to walk away no questions asked. No hard feelings. Or, be all in and be a dad and a grandpa and if he ever tried the one foot in thing again he’d essentially be torching every bridge back.

Two days after he got the letter he called and said.... “I’m all in. I’m sorry”

That was a real turning point. He came nearly every year to see us and made a point of remembering birthdays. 

Next, the end of the rough times....

I’m so sad. There’s no bitterness towards my dad and I know that if he were here he’d feel so so deeply sad about making me feel heartbroken. That’s the dad we’re going to get to next...

Tracy

Part one:

My dad:

When my mom first married my dad I thought he was fantastic. He built castles from washing machine boxes and wrestled. He work a night shift and didn’t come home until after midnight. This is one of the few good memories of my childhood.... My mom didn’t like waiting for him alone so she’d let me stay up with her until he got home. She’d put pizza rolls in the oven and back in the olden days they made egg rolls the same as they do the pizza rolls and those were my favorite. 

We’d wash my hair, heat up our snack, watch some show like Starsky and Hutch and then the Tonight show and then there were just a couple really late shows and we’d watch those. We’d cuddle on the couch under a blanket and when my dad came home he’d get into his coat pocket and hand me a sandwich baggy with four or five candies in it.

If you are at all familiar with Spokane wa, then you know that there is a Rosauers  grocery store in Five Mile. Well, back when we had dinosaurs as pets there was a drugstore there as well and in the parking lot a Penny Candy Store.... 

Yes, it just slapped me that I am fucking old. That entire last sentence sounded like “ And gee, Buffy, maybe we could stop by the soda shop and share a malt too!”

Anyway... Back to my story....

My day always, ALWAYS, made sure to bring me a few penny candies that he’d buy with his tips from driving a taxi.

One school year we were short the money for new school clothes. My grandparents, being the, pick yourself up by the bootstraps, kind of loving Christians they were, told my dad that they’d purchased a new property downtown and it needed cleared of rocks. They ever so graciously paid my dad $1.50 an hour to work in the scorching hot sun to pick up rocks by hand for days. I remember this because my mother helped him and my brother and I sat in our car watching them.

He once had to ask my neighbors if my brother and I could eat dinner with them because he’d quit the taxi job and was hired to drive city bus but there was a couple missed paychecks as the city paid every two weeks. He and my mom ate onions between two slices of bread with ketchup and mustard.

I wasn’t old enough to appreciate how humiliating these last couple of things must have been and my dad has never told me that he wished he hadn’t done them.

He adopted my brother and I when my bio dad wanted to give me away for not calling his new wife mom. 

For years we’d go to what we considered a fancy restaurant at the Spokane International Airport to have dinner to celebrate “Adoption Day”

When he got the bus job.... I knew then that we were....

Rich!

Then....( dark clouds roll in, tumble weeds blow across the deserted street)

I got a brain. You know, like an eleven year old brain that knows everything and huffs and rolls the beings eyes to the backs of their head.

And he got... well, let’s just say, more than he’d bargained for.

My mother was batshit crazy.

My mother began to be sure that he and I had no relationship lest when her evil plans came together I’d have no one to help me.

My brother, good Lord, my brother. A serial killer in the making... lying, fire starting, animal torturing thief of a fucking asshole.

And me. A fuck you, you aren’t my dad, don’t even try it, motherfucker, and lift a hand to me, I dare you, do it, my mom will slit your throat. He’ll no I’m not obeying YOU! ( ya, a wee bit of an anger issue with my actual bio dad throwing me away and literally paying this guy to take us. That was painful and took years to untangle.)

And him.... pushed to the very brink.

Part two coming soon. I’m broken.

My Dad Passed Away

I’m so sad. My heart is aching.

Post coming!!!

I’m home! I have a lot to talk about!!

Brown and beige

Arizona

Ah, I remembered something early Saturday morning.... I can’t stand Arizona. So colorless. So bland. Such a massive lack of personality and individuality. Beige and brown for as far as the eye can see. Houses are identical, we used to have to describe our house as the first two story on the left. There was few other ways to say, light brown with lighter brown trim or darker brown than the identical home next to it but it’s barely noticeable so look for the one with the goldish gecko decoration rather than the turquoise one... ya, it’s like it’s crawling up the wall next to the brown door.

And 80 degrees here feels like hell because all the concrete and asphalt absorb the heat and turn the place into an oven. 

However, Carne Asada and Horchata do soften the blow.

Seeing the grand baby is something I’ve never experienced before. Seeing parts of you in a child that isn’t yours is life changing. You go on and on and on and on in other people’s dna long after you’re forgotten.

I’m 52 years old today and this past year has punched me in the face with the reality of my own mortality. I’m going to die. Not decades from now. Like, in the grand scheme of history, in the next few minutes. It’s grabbed me by the throat and I totally get why guys go by a red corvette because I need one so badly!!

I’m dying. So are you and you and you and maybe my body’s reluctance to enjoy a good antibiotic will contribute to my demise but maybe it’s my autoimmune disorder that is so out of its lane right now that my doctor called me in a panic. That never makes things go down easier. This trip is so dangerous for me. I’ve doubled medications and started new ones and that’s all trying to keep me from veering off a cliff, not to heal me or bring me back to normal-ish and the reality is.... this was stupid. I know because I was told so nicer terms but not much nicer.

I needed this trip though. To see my son being a father. To see my grandson look at me and for the first time ever, even though he has FIVE grandmas ( some lesbian stuff. ) say, Grandma... or... gama! Which is mutter fucking heart breaking in the very best way!! Ah!!!!! It’s the coolest. 

I have more but have to go.

Luvs to you,

Me

A Shiny Happy Place takes a left down memory lane

Hi

I’m in our truck headed to Arizona.  We left our home five hours ago and still have probably 12 hours left including stops for gas.

Road trips are therapy for me. I have my earbuds in and I’m listening to my favorites playlist. My taste is all over the map so it’s like buckle up buttercup, Nazareth, Billie Eilish, Bon Jovi, Bright Eyes, Marilyn Manson, Bryan Adams, The Charlie Daniels Band, Dua Lipa, Disturbed, Garth Brooks..... there isn’t a feels that isn’t felt and I love music for that. For walks down memory lane and for skipping down a shiny happy place to reaching into the dark places to travel through your heart and mind while peeling off the stress and worry and shit. Just me and what stimulates the pieces of my soul.

I go over conversations I wish I’d done differently or had. Unpack baggage leaving the weight of those things blowing along the dark highways. A new mile comes with new freedom, lightening the mental load.

I love it. I love the rollercoaster of emotions and how quickly they change so you don’t get too mired down in any one emotion.

“Tell me what’s been on your mind” the music begins, and the brain responds, the heart beats the words, the soul sings the emotions. The body moves to the thump of the bass and you’re suddenly any one of the personalities we all carry with us.... crooner, sexy, sadness, rock, lullaby, brilliant, deep, fun.... slip into this version of you and enjoy the moment.

It’s raining hard. I can’t hear the drops, the music pulses, the rain washes away the layers as Father Figure begins.

Ps:Medical update coming soon. It’s not good. I’m taking a minute off to concentrate on seeing my son and grandson. I made lots of arrangements and promises to get me docs to let me go on this trip. Worth it.

Tracy

The Low Point...

Ok

So.... ugh, let’s be open about this health journey of mine.... close your eyes if you already know too much about me...

It’s gonna be real hard for me to type with my eyes closed.

Took a shower today, good for me, sat on my NEW grey and WHITE quilt( which I love love love. It’s not new anymore if I got it in December though, right? Anyway) and when I stood up.....

Blood.

There is absolutely NO reason for there to be blood from parts. None. I don’t even have a uterus or stuff like that so..... Kidneys? 

I panic, naturally, take a picture of it (!) call my husband and say “ I’m sending you a picture!! Wtf!! What’s going on? “

Meanwhile the other half of my brain is screaming NOT ON THE WHITE!!!! Like, oh shit, your kidneys might be so fucked right now but this shit is gonna stain! 

Ps: hydrogen peroxide gets out blood like a boss! 

I was checking all the places plus I’d shaved my legs and could I have somehow, some very strange and awkward way, cut my vag??? Like, I’d notice that right? I mean, there’d have to be something different from all the other times in 52 years that I’ve been shaving my legs and surely one would have noticed that???

Also josh heard me freaking, I have a robe on, he asks if he can come in, he sees the blood and he’s like.... How did that get there?

Omg. 

Can we not have this conversation please?

Did I figure it out? No. I do have a urologist apt at 9:40 in the morning and I’m going to get blood taken.... AGAIN, and if something is wrong, I literally have two days to spare. Yes, you can admit me to the hospital but I have to be out by Thursday... sound good? Or... hey, like if I have ovarian cancer, that can wait a week or so, ya? 

Life is the best.

On a completely different note, for some reason I will never understand, my husband got a karaoke app and just out of the blue, gets Alexa to start the music to some song and it’s the time of night that I like to refer to as “ I have my headphones on for a reason.” And he makes me sit through him singing and the longer the song goes the more I want to kill myself.

Ok, so he gets done..... Great job. Exciting! 

Puts headphones back on because I think... This is a very clear clue, right? We are now done with the entertainment part of the evening, goodnight.

But.... No.

One more song.

Kill me.

Then he’s all... you try it!

No

Try it!

No

Come on!!

Ok, fucker, listen, I’m willing to bet a large amount of money that nobody ever sang karaoke at an AA meeting and you want to know why??? Because it’s just not fun unless you’re drunk and that includes, both singers and listeners. Now, I can’t explain why this guy thinks this is fun while he’s sober but I do know that I’m sober and back go my headphones.

In 30 seconds the son is flashing his phone’s flashlight at me to get my attention. I see it. I ignore it....

Mom! Listen to me!!

Dear Lord in Heaven... I can’t say no to the kid, right?

So he chooses one of my favorite songs.

Uh oh.

Shit.

I google the lyrics real quick. I know them but there’s a really quickly sang verse and I want to make sure it’s right and God Damn it....

I sang it with him. Not only with him but I bulldozed over him and he could barely be heard. My right hand was going all Christina Aguilera to the low and high notes and I belted this thing out like I was live on stage at the Grammy’s.

Then I sang two more songs.

It was a low point in my life, not gonna lie. 

Have to go my cattails and Bears

Tracy

The one where she whines a lot.... Again

 Ahhh!!!

We’re going to Arizona this week and that means that my anxiety ramps up exponentially!

I am a list maker.

I also pack a LOT of.... what if? Just in case, and, you never know, items.

Let me tell you something. I have used so many of those on vacations that I can’t not take them. 

Can we buy them there?

No. Some things we can but I also take prescription eye medication or skin medication or migraine medication and you can not buy those things. 

I’m a friggin pharmacy. 

And people may laugh but when they start puking they are grateful for prescription nausea meds. I can tell you that!

Plus I obsess over making sure everyone’s prescriptions are filled and you need clothes for hot days and cold days and do I need a skirt? Dress? High heels, sandals, flats, runners, slip ons?????

I have to have my own pillow and I sleep with this blanket like it’s a body pillow and I have to have that.

You guys, it’s stupid. Plus it doesn’t matter if it’s for two days or two weeks. Same same.

Then, we plan where we are going, what we will do and where we will eat.

I’m also a planner.

I have a box full of my oldest son’s baby things. His footprints, first outfit, the hat they put on him, the notes that timed my contractions while in labor!!! I’m going to give him those. Bitter sweet. I’m so glad that even at the age of 16 I knew to keep those

It’s been raining and cold here for weeks and the entire time we’re gone it’s suppose to rain too. I hate to miss it! It’s going to be hot as the surface of the sun soon so I’m enjoying the cold and gray so much.

I’m glad we will be in Arizona before it’s too hot. I just can’t stand southern Arizona. I hate everything about it. It’s just one big beige blur. I hate stucco. I hate gravel yards. I hate homes with two different shades of beige or browner beige. I hate that when it rains it’s a sauna. I hate that you hide during the day so you can come out during the only a bit less than blazing evenings. 

I only miss the real Mexican food. That’s it. I do love northern Arizona but that’s because it’s basically a different state. 

I haven’t been back to Casa Grande since we moved 11 years ago and I only feel dread. I mean, I am thrilled to see that baby and my family but the place is dark and unhappy for me. I think that’s causing me some anxiety as well. It must be because I’m planning as much, not being in casa grande, as possible. I begged the son to let us rent a cabin in Flag or showlow or Pinetop... but no. They don’t want to stay in a cabin.... come on!! In the mountains???? With trees????? NOT in Casa Grande???? Ugh.

Yes. I’m whining. 

Just concentrate on being happy about the family. Deep breaths. 

We will go visit trees. And we’re going to hang out in New Mexico on the way home so, I do love it there. So beautiful!

Aren’t you glad you came today?

I bought a gorgeous new palette today and I keep opening it up and staring at it. That’s good!

I went to Wichita Falls last week for a doc appointment and took YM and the boy with me. We met  with om for a meal and we had the best time. The drive is about 5 hours all together and we laughed the entire time. They are funny people!! I was suppose to edit videos while YM drove but I actually got nothing done and I didn’t care. That was very nice.

On the flip side, my urologist has lost not one, not two, but THREE complete blood work ups on me. Three. And now I’m going for my fourth on Tuesday. Does that make you feel like you’re in good hands??? Right. Me either. I did kind of a little bit lose my shit.

I need this test before I leave. Cross your fingers!

I have to go. 

Talk soon.

Me

The part where we smell like cats..

Second

So, by the time we pulled into my building, with the exception of a few hours of sleep, and I hadn’t had any, the most anyone had gotten was 3 hours, we’d been up for 32 hours and had had a break to stop by Taco Bell. No one could eat. We saw the long night on the horizon and anxiety was the driving factor. We knew that if we sat for more than 10 minutes, we wouldn’t get up!

I’d never seen our loft other than video. We backed the truck up to a ramp that is long and turns twice before getting to the locked door of the elevator room. Then you get on the elevator, go to our floor and walk into our loft. That walk would soon turn into the Green Mile. 

However, on the very first trip in.... my husband and YM’s boyfriend were carrying a heavy piece of furniture when the boyfriend’s hand got pinched between the wood and the granite countertop and BROKE two fingers, he dropped the furniture without warning my husband who then had his back twisted, dropped the furniture and broke three toes.

The husband couldn’t sit up in a sitting position let alone move any furniture, the boyfriend was rolling on the floor asking us to shoot him.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I had a double kidney infection and was septic... I just knew that I was feeling like death warmed over.... looking at the 16 year old boy( at the time) and the 21 year old YM. Lord, we are fucked.

The boyfriend gets his fingers wrapped and I boss everyone around... pillowcase of dishes? Kitchen! And I put them away etc.... I’m only putting minor stuff away because I am really feeling the sepsis at this point.....

The husband tries walking and helping and his eyes water from pain... that spreads like wildfire. The boy comes in the loft, lays on the floor of the only room with carpet, my bedroom, and loses it. He’s breaking down... in Comes YM... she’s crying, her boyfriend is red faced and trying not to cry and they are fighting.

I’m crying because I feel like I am dying, plot twist!!! I AM.

We smell like dead cats.

I brilliantly decide at 3:00am that I need to find a Walmart to get a shower curtain, bath mats, dish soap, you get it..... plus, we have no idea where our towels are and my weighted blanket just burst open in the moving truck and clear marbles and bouncing and rolling all over the area and into the parking garage. 

I envision many serious accidents in the near future but go to Walmart anyway, by myself.

I literally zombie walk, sweating like race horse ( sepsis!!) through the store grabbing cleaning supplies, toothpaste, garbage can for the bathroom and pull off six towels from the end cap and as I grab the towels an old Indian man in a Walmart vest walks towards me and in a very slow motion and distorted sounding voice asks.....”Are you alr.......” and I say “ I think I’m gonna fai....”

I hit the floor, knees first, then manage to put my hands exactly where my face hit next. Boom.

Everything is black.

Just taking a nap. Nothing to see here. All black...

Until it isn’t and I wish I had died because now I’m horrified that I just fainted in Walmart and shit, did my knees and forehead hurt.

This man helps me up, I grab the shower curtain and cling to the towels as we need these things worse than those pussies on Survivor and he sets me down, gets my card from me, gets me water, pays for my things and I just want to get the fuck out.

I know that walking is not something that I’m going to be good at right now but I need to get to my car so he helps me and I fake good walking until I sit in my car and he loads up my stuff.

I wait and wait and wait.... nope. Driving is not an option (ps: I had no idea that literally across the street, like if my head was working, I would have seen the hospital I’d be admitted to shortly)

I try to get my husband to answer his phones. Nope. I call YM and when I hear her angelic voice I say (imagine a voice which is both whining and scared) HELP ME! I FUCKING FAINTED IN FUCKING WALMART and this nice Indian man took my card and bought my bathroom stuff and gave me water and helped me get to the car and.....

My husband gets on the phone....

Why aren’t you answering the fucking phone?! I fainted in fucking Walmart and this nice Indian man help get my card and....

You get the idea....

He came to get me and brought YM so she could drive my car.

9:30 am.... over fifty hours into this we devour a meat and cheese platter from Whole Foods, crackers, more water than humanly possible and yes, some chocolate.

The showers begin. Our mattress is on the bedroom floor. The entryway looks like a homeless site under a bridge. Boxes, pillowcases, garbage bags, 30 blankets..... just.... omg.

I take a shower at 11am.... at 11:30 I lay face first on the mattress, in a towel, no pillow and sleep for 12 hours.

Wanna know how many days it took us to dig into the pile at the entryway? The next weekend. We couldn’t even look in its direction. Flashbacks from the war. Bullets flying over our heads as we huddled in the rice paddies, pulling leaches off our leg, the screams of poor YM as she yelled... “ if I don’t get to take a shower next I’m cutting a bitch....” looking at us with her wild eyes.

So, that’s our moving in story. We laughed. We cried. We broke bones. We fainted and then we kept crying for a bit more. 

Every single time I see a U-Haul now I feel sorry for those people!!

Gotta go, Luvs

I haven’t been able to paint lately. Soon though!

Tracy