Wednesday, April 27, 2005
He wanted to go into the VA down in Florida, and that would require him having a roommate, which he will fucking hate. He called me at 6:30 in the morning today acting all weird, telling me he put his house on the market, that he's sending me money all this shit. All of a sudden 6 months out from the home turned into "2-4 weeks". What the hell?
So I called his cousin today, who is around the same age, but in good health, and said, "I think Dad's having some issues, mentally and otherwise." He agreed and told me that he was trying to talk dad out of the VA but that my dad wants to go there so that he can leave me money! I'm like, whhhaaaat? I don't care about that, I don't want a fucking dime, I just want my dad's last few years to be good... so then I started bawling, at the thought that my dad would put himself someplace he hated because he thought it would help ME.
His cousin said I need to get out there asap, because a. he's worried my dad is going to kill himself, and b. if he doesn't kill himself he's going to end up in the shitty VA even though he (cousin) and I BOTH are wanting him to get in a private facility, and that c. it isn't my imagination, the Parkinson's related dementia has started, in his opinion also. He's been getting weird phone calls too.
He said when I fly out, he will pick me up, and he and I will both go talk him into it, and bring him home with me. So I call my dad back, and tell him, "Look, don't be mad at me, I'm not trying to meddle or anything, but I talked to Clark (cousin) and we both think you should be up here with me, and that you should be in a place where you can have your own room." He hems and haws, talks about how much money it will cost, blah blah, and I'm like, dad, even at $50K a year in care that gives you five years worth of assets you have - and you told me yourself you don't have 5 years."
He hems and haws some more and is like, well some of its tied up, blah blah, I'm like you don't need it all right NOW. I point out to him that he and I are too independent to have roommates, how he hated it when he had one when he had his last hip done, how he and I need our alone time - its just who we are. And he agreed... If there's one thing my dad and I are it's alike...
Then I tell him, look, worst case scenario, the money does run out. You still get your $2K injured soldiers money a month, you've got an annuity maturing for $50K in 5 years (another year of care) and at that point then we could put you in the VA, you won't end up on the street. They don't put people on the street due to lack of funds...
What I didn't tell him, but thought, is by then his mind will be gone, and the shell of his body can be cared for and he wouldn't require the privacy and independence a private facility would provide him... and I can still be there, to talk to him, to hold his hand, to at least be there, whether he was aware of it or not.
I think I made some headway. I made him promise not to do anything drastic for a couple of days, to let me see what I can find here as far as homes, would he consider it? And I got him to agree to it... I tell you, I am a very spiritual person, and I do pray... but tonight it was so on a higher level. I've been a practicing Buddhist for like 6 years, and I came home, collapsed in a heap on the couch, sobbing, just praying to God or whoever to help me get my daddy out here, and help his last few years be okay.
They say people turn to religion in desperation - I guess I'm there. I'm a mess. I don't think I've cried this much since I left my ex. But I've mobilized, Left posts on Parkinson's boards about advice, left messages on local Parkinson's research networks, have some numbers to call. I will do this if it kills me. He deserves it. I just feel like shit he wants to go rot somewhere for MY benefit. Having him here would be the biggest gift... I love him so much I can't even explain.
Everyone loves their parents, but my dad is ME. I mean, we look alike, aside from the obvious gender differences our bodies are the same, our minds are the same... he's where I came from 100%...he's always had my back...ALWAYS. Never judged me. No matter how much I fucked up, how many times I got sidetracked, he never let me forget the lesson...
Why am I writing about him like he's already gone??
This just reinforces why I should never ever have kids, who wants to put people through this shit? I've fucking iced my ankle all night, half my calf is bruised now, its most definitely sprained, and I have to hit the courthouse tomorrow. I DON'T feel sorry for myself, I just wonder when the time will come when I'm not dealing with a crisis? Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful for what I have, I'm very lucky on a number of very important levels... I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust that it will all be okay. Fuck. I need vicodin and sleep. Right now.
Anyway, I was really in the mood to dance in a big sweaty sea of sexy people and ended up dancing with like 4 other people, and that was just weird.
On the way out to the car I fucking fell over NOTHING (I was NOT drunk, not even close) and today I think I sprained my ankle. Nice and swollen and purple. Lovely.
I get a call at 6:30, I giggle, thinking its Brie making sure I'm up to make it to work because I was whining about worrying about it. Wrong-o. It's my dad.
It's never a good thing to get calls this early from him, especially when you talked to him 2 days ago. Something happened, I don't know what, but now his going into a nursing home is kicked into full gear. He's telling me 2 - 4 weeks! Some place in Lake City Florida. Now he says his cousin will take him there, I don't "have to do it." HAVE TO DO IT? What the fuck? He's my DAD and I so want to be there to help him.
Last week he's talking about him coming out to Oregon to go into a home and now apparently he's staying? yes he tells me, "I'm not sure if that's where I'm going to end up yet, but here's the contact information". Then he tells me he's going to send me a little money because the nursing home will tie it all up and so I have money to fly out and see him or some shit.
I'm really upset right now, and 4 hours of sleep isn't enough for me to deal with this right now. I should be on the next plane to Florida to find out what the fuck is going on.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Every time I can't sleep
and the moon winks at me
through my bedroom window
I think about
the Promise of Us
Does it mean that I love you
Or are you just
A bad case of
You are like
A terminal cancer
eating my heart
Suffocating me from
so many miles away
All you've ever offered
of when I watched you sleep,
our bodies intertwined
like wild vines,
how your eyes
could level me without even trying
We are like stunted seeds
born without a chance
from a garden we dared not explore
Monday, April 25, 2005
For my job I have to be professional, look professional. When I don't bad things happen. It's a conservative office, a conservative industry. Last Friday I forgot my watch and my wrist tattoo (which is TINY, like an inch square) was visible. Granted it is RED, and stands out a little. I got so much crap for this it wasn't even funny. Everyone thinks it was a "end of relationship crisis" inking. Its like dude, it was done clear last year, you have no idea what you are talking about.
So its like I'm schitzophrenic. I have this boring middle class existance from 8-5, Monday through Friday, I hit school 2-4 nights a week depending on my course load, I go out and party my ass off on Friday and Saturday, do laundry Sundays, and I'm totally exhausted all the time. Its like living two parallel lives.
I have 8-5 friends, who have mortgages, and kids, and husbands, and wives, and watch football and listen to the Beatles and are honestly good people. Then I go out on the weekends and feel like an alien sometimes in a club, and the feeling of me being in my element there, who I truly AM, the music and lifestyle I really thrive in is almost like a tease. Its like, nah nah nah, you gave this life up when you gave the club up to marry someone "normal".
Then this "normal" person makes you feel comfortable with this schizo lifestyle, until it becomes a threat to them, until the intensity of connecting with artistic and passionate people becomes something that they can't deal with, and then they try to squelch it out of you, smother you, and then things turn really ugly, and then you leave. And you continue to walk this line.
I got burnt out on the "scene" when I lived back in Boise, the old club days. I got tired of fake friends who tried to be nice just because they wanted in the club for free, or wanted to meet their favorite band, blah blah. It only took me two years of doing it to want out, but I miss it every day.
I miss waking up at 4pm and wandering downstairs and blasting Sisters on the sound board and rocking out. I miss waking up in a mess of guitars and 8 tracks and drumkits and demos. I miss creating every day of my life. I miss insisting on renting a 2 bedroom so I can have a studio. And now in Portland, sometimes I feel like since very few people in the industry know me on a personal level they assume I don't get it.
I'm not particularly bold, I don't have pink hair anymore, and they think I'm not one of "them." And so I don't connect with them, I'm on the fringes, and I refuse to try to sell myself. I'm too old for these B.S. games now. I have issues when I connect from afar with these people, with what they are doing, and I can tell by their reactions to me when I try to smile or start up a conversation that they have no idea what kind of a soul I have, they think I'm some groupie piece of shit. Fuck you, I WAS the fucking band.
People in clubs aren't particularly friendly, smiles aren't returned, people don't B.S. with you while you are in the drink line here. I can sit and talk to anyone and enjoy it, and connect with just about everyone on some level. Because I'm quiet am I assumed to be a snob? And why is it when I meet someone I know I can connect with, I suddenly become SHY, and I hate it! I'm babbling. All I know is I feel totally fucking trapped by this boring job, I really like the paycheck this job brings, it supports me and gives me enough fun money that I can really do what I want to do, but I have very few people to do it with. And on Monday morning I'm totally exhausted, and I didn't even do anything fun last night.
But at least I'm still out of Boise! HA!
Sunday, April 24, 2005
its fucking 3 am and i now just got trashed. fucking christ tonight was a cluster. okay, so today i went and bought some new shit, clothes and stuff, was feeling kinda seeeexy which is always nice, given my state of mind as of late, and so I got all gussied up to meet heather at some club over by PSU. So i got lost on the way there, but found it.
Got there, was alright. Live music - bluesy, groovy, danced my ass off last night so I was down with just listening and chatting with her. So its total meat market, right? I wore my glasses on purpose, as they usually dissuade a lot of the men just looking for an easy lay, which I am not. I may be a good lay but I am not an easy lay. Anyway.
Dude asks me to dance. Sure. Someone has the balls to ask me to dance, I dance with them. God knows I'm too chickenshit to even fucking talk to people I find attractive unless I'm liquored up, so I figure, kudos to them for fucking sucking it up.
First dude - from Ethiopia. Real nice. Engineer. Something to do with computers, name I couldn't pronounce sober. Whatever. Nice guy. Well apparently I made an impression on him because he kept coming back. No biggie. Was very polite, no problems here.
Second guy aka the Crotch master. White dude, typical middle class blah blah, not my type again. No biggie, he asks, sure. So we go out there and within like 3 fucking seconds he's grinding me against the wall. What the fuck? Like I want to feel his huge fucking boner and I was like, "Whoa dude, you need to back up a little" (polite, mind you) he just wasn't fucking hearing it and grabbed my hand harder and starts grinding. Fuck you horn dog! The song blessedly ends and I escape and he has the balls to say "We can keep dancing, you know?" I say "Sorry, that isn't dancing in my world."
Next comes Giovanni. He wanted to start a band with me. I'm not kidding. I've never used the fact that I play guitar to pick up guys. File away for future use. So he was from Buenos Aires and verrrry touchy feely, but not in that perverted way. (maybe it was the accent) Found out I play and wanted me to feel the calluses on his fingers, proof he plays too. Wanted my number, told him sorry dude, don't give out my number to men.
Which is true. Unless I really like you and know you aren't a psycho.
Anyway, Mr. Ethiopia kept coming back and chatting, which was alright with me. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. The only person I had anything in common with in the whole bar was the guitarist, who I chatted up - totally innocently - not my type again - to his girlfriend's bitter chagrin. A discussion about his pedal apparently set her off. What is it with fucking jealous people?
Then at like 1:50 the lights went on and it was fucking hilarious to see people run to each other like fucking cockroaches to try to hook up and take someone home. hahahaha. I had four attempts. Sorry dude, I'm horny but I cope. I want a little meaning to my lays. And yes, I'd like to have a low maintenance monogamous friend to spend time with, but I'm picky. If we can't even enjoy the record that's playing while we do it it won't work out for me. yes, I like to have sex to music, its a requirement in my bedroom. Moving on... (damn i'm drunk - this is almost as funny as my convo with Brie about swallowing last night while we waited for our 7 layer burritos - Taco Bell is only good when hammered)
Anyway, I obviously couldn't get lit because I was driving, but that didn't stop me from taking a wrong turn and ending up on 5 South to fucking Lake Oswego at 2 in the morning. So I finally got home, reeking of some dudes cheap cologne and stale bar cigarettes and decided I needed a fucking stiff drink, because everyone I know is either sleeping or doing something I don't know about (like each other).
FUCK. And there's a snag in my new pin stripe pants I just bought today I'm really glad i threw away all my clove cigarettes last December cause i'd so be chain smoking right now. what else is a girl to do at 3:19 am while she listens to bauhaus and pickles herself with bacardi? good night my loves. i hope you are all sleeping well and dreaming of sexy people. i may watch the sun rise. can't remember the last time i did that when i was alone.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
I was dripping sweat, and all I could think about is the heat... think about how your mouth would taste - what was it you were drinking? Would it mix with my Bacardi? You smelled like lemons. I'm not sure what it is about you. You're tall, your shoulders are wicked, I would feel small in your arms. I heard your voice tonight. I touched you three times... three times while we were dancing, next to each other, in the same bubble... did you touch me on purpose?
Why can't I just say "hi?" One syllable, and I'm paralyzed at the thought of it. How retarded! I hate it that I'm so shy around you. If I didn't have to drive home I could drink enough that it would put me over the edge, I would get "over it" and finally talk to you. Then at least I would know if the spark was mutual. It's getting ridiculous. I want to know you. I want to know how you smell. I want to know if we connect. We may not have anything, but you move me in a way that I haven't felt in a while, and yet I'm not sure why! I missed my turn driving home down Burnside as I was thinking about tonight on the way home.
I feel like I'm back in high school, trying to get the popular boy to notice me. So do you?
Monday, April 18, 2005
Sunday, April 17, 2005
He talked to them about going into a VA facility, i.e. a nursing home, somewhere down in North Florida. He seemed okay with this, he's made peace with it. He asked me if I would come down and help him get settled in there, I said of course, thank you for asking for my help, I love to be able to be there for you. We hung up.
And I started thinking. If its to the point where he has to be in a home, why does it have to be in a home down in Florida, 3200 miles away? When he originally retired there, before he got sick, it made sense - he golfed, he liked to be out in the sun, he bought a house for a reasonable price. If he sells his house and is in a home, why there? There's nothing there.
Maybe he would want to come HERE. So I get online and I research the VA Hospital in Portland. And wouldn't you know they have a HUGE Parkinson's clinic/program here. 15 minutes from my apartment. And so I called my Daddy back, and I asked him if it was important for him to be in Florida, because if he still wanted to be there I understood. But if it wasn't important to him, why should be be down there, alone, when he could be up here, with me? His only child? Who would love to be able to visit with him whenever we wanted, who would love to be able to take him to his doctors appointments, who would love to get to know her Daddy better before he goes.
He told me to get more information from the VA here, to call them and see what it would take for me to go and get him and bring him here. This makes me so very happy on so many levels... on the soul level. I could be here for my Daddy. Just like he was here for me. I love this.
I just need to find how to make it happen, and get him here, where I can make the last months or years of his life good, where he won't have to go and die alone. I'm very emotional over this. I know he will die, and it will be within the next two years more than likely. And this is hard, but I won't be sad when he goes, because he's suffered through this B.S. disease for years, and for someone as proud and as strong as he was Parkinsons IS several slices of hell. And he's stuck it out.
So tomorrow I'm going to make some phone calls. And hopefully I can go get my Daddy.
Friday, April 15, 2005
1. You are my hot boyfriend and want sex.
2. You heard something really really cool, like George Bush died, or Daniel Ash is coming to Portland to play.
3. You have a really extravagant gift for me - like a Fender Stratocaster with a sunburst finish, princess cut pink sapphire earrings, or a trip to Jamaica.
4. You are Courtney Taylor. You can wake me up just because. If you don't know who Courtney Taylor is google it.
If its a situation other than this, you should use extreme caution in waking the wrath of a 4 am Sarafina (chances are I may have just passed out).
With that in mind... At 4:19 am "dingdongdingdongdingdong" - rapid fire ringing of my door bell. I'm in a dead sleep, the dog freaks out also and starts barking. I spring out of bed, grab my glasses, and it rings again ... "dingdongdingdongdingdong".
I have one of those little hinged window thingys on my front door, instead of a peep hole. I open it. Upon first glance, in my grogginess I think it might be Mr. Hot Neighbor from next door. Why Hellllooooo there. Then I notice the stocking cap, and the bike, and that this guy isn't hot.
"Yeah?" I ask "
Um Maam, please don't call the authorities, they know I'm out this morning."
"It's 4:00 in the morning."
"Yes Maam, it is." Does he know how much I HATE being called "Maam"? Makes me feel like a fossil.
"What is it that you want?"
"Well, your light was on."
"Your light - it was on, I thought you were awake."
I leave my small kitchen light on when I sleep. It illuminates the back porch. Yes, thank you stalker ex for making me a wuss.
"You woke me up at 4:00 to tell me my light was on?" I ask. I'm irritated as hell now and he knows it.
"No Maam... well, see, I'm 1500 miles away from home..."
"Um, I need four dollars for..."
I cut him off. "You WHAT? You are panhandling me at my OWN HOUSE and woke me up out of a dead sleep at 4:00 am to do it?"
"Well, your light was on."
"Your light... so I know its early, but I'm 1500 miles from home and..."
"NO!" I slam the window and lock it. Only in Portland, dudes.