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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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3:39 p.m. - 2012-03-23
I've started at least five entries since the last post but nothing is coming out right. I'm in that odd 'no words' place, even my night world is a jumble of images instead of its usual (if often scary and harsh) narrative. I know part of it is that I'm back to a 15 day menstrual cycle. Don't ask me how this shit happened, I thought I was tapering off nicely. During that tapering stretch some months ago I got a taste of what it'll be like when it's finally all over...and boy howdy is it great! Clear thinking. Proportionally sane emotional responses. Beauty. In an effort to stamp down my extreme frustration at being back on the cotton pony rodeo circuit I am hanging onto the memory of what it was like when my nasty ovaries shut up for a long stretch and let me be. Marking it as an "It will happen" and not as a "Sure, maybe someday..." pipe dream like traveling and having grandchildren are. Odds are I'll never hold a grandbaby or ever get across the pond, but if I'm stuck spending the rest of my days in a too quiet house in the Hudson Valley at least I know I'll die sane. Because of the Wall St smash and the instability of long-term investments my trust fund is performing miserably. I shot off a reply to the flunky at BoA about the other rellies' mealy mouthed plea that I blow off dividend payments and said in no uncertain terms I want my annual check, too bad about having to bite into the principal. The others in the trust are fricken millionaires- because unlike me they were included in the much larger share from my grandfather's and my mother's estates. Both of whom took fiendish delight in cutting me out of the big boodle. Since my grandmother still cared enough to put me on the list of her own private trust the others can go whistle if they think I'm going to forfeit my one guaranteed source of income 'for the good of everybody'. Fuck you. The rest of the trust members spend more on shoes every year than what my annual check comes to, they can be 'frugal and long seeing' about Grandma's trust if they want to, I have a house to fix up and a kid to feed. I know, I know. A pauper with a trust fund. Really what I get from my grandmother's trust isn't much, I think I net as much by returning my deposit bottles, but dammit I need the dough. The others don't. In that crowd of Porsche and Bentley owners I am the only one driving a 13 year old Ford Escort. Such is the fate of the lone black sheep. A black sheep who voluntarily cut herself off from the sick-o, drug abusing, money grubbing, soul-less, willfully ignorant drunkard flock. By making a life apart for myself I might have lost out on a cushy lifestyle but I gained much in self-respect. My Chanel grandmother understood this, at least in the end, and she didn't punish me for being myself. Amy (she and I are sharing a delicious mental symbiosis right now; the way good friends do, don'tcha know) has spoken a lot recently about how being an oddball is both a blessing and a curse. And that thanks to the internet it's a bazillion times easier for like to find like. That those who might be strange glared-at outsiders in their physical environments are finding each other in the bloggy neighborhoods of the web and how great this is. (I think so too. Mwah!, my dear one.) I think about my seriously overcrowded high school and how even the strangest of the strange had a bunch of buddies to hang with. Being a loner at Hometown High during the late 1970s/early 1980s was nearly impossible. No matter what your gig was: jock, brainiac, stoner, middlin', gay, straight, somewhere in-between. No matter how popular or socially inept, no matter how smelly or pretty, offbeat or regular, smooth or geeky you were there was a gang o' friends there for you. By cramming an extra 1200 students into the joint the powers-that-be had skewed the popularity/commonality strata and inadvertently foreshadowed the societal shakedown of the web. A place where physical proximity means dick and like minds find one another and we greet our compadres with glad cries and cyber hugs. My high school was just too damn crowded to waste a lot of time ostracizing, hectoring, and punishing the weirdos, we had plenty of good friends of our own caliber and interests to be busy with, so has the wide open space of the internet given room for nearly everyone to find spirit buddies. Folks who recognize you and see things as you do, as we do. Of course unlike my too busy high school here on the web there's plenty of mean mouthed assholes who get a stiffy from sniping from the shadows. Cretins, nay-sayers, just plain mean folk who never in a million years would have the guts to say something to your face yet feel safe and powerful behind the relative anonymity of trolling to give vent to their hateful bile. For every good (finding friends) there is a bad (trolls). (*Hi, PJ!!!*) Wowzers, for someone having trouble with words I've surely found a lot to say. I've also been spinning things to the positive as best I can. Good tunes. Supporting local businesses. Eating right. Staying away from the downers and the melancholy. Keeping on the go. Reading, reading, reading. HA! The other day while Wolf was in with his counselor I sat in a shady corner outside and read a book. A passerby waggled an admonishing finger and declared I needed an e-reader. I told her I owned a Nook but preferred actual books and she goggled at me like I was a crazy person. Excuuuuuuse ME for liking stories that don't need WiFi or recharging. I get the convenience of e-readers and would never tell someone else how to read, (PLEASE read! No matter the venue!), I just like paper books and don't mind toting them along on my rare excursions out into the bigger world.
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