Saturday, April 29, 2006

Reality enters.

Yeah, so Dave and I officially had our first fight.

We had disagreed in the past, and always kept it level... yesterday was a different story. It allllll came out.

Details don't matter - like all small arguments we've ever had, it was based upon miscommunication. So it's all good now. The playing field is once again level and uncluttered.
And I believe it will bring us closer. And not just cause of make up sex, although that was a nice touch too. hahaha!!!

I was in a very precarious emotional position, where I was ready to call off the apartment hunt entirely, but after a good night's sleep (I didn't wake up ONCE - this never happens) I woke up and made us three appointments to look at apartments - one that is realistic, one in the middle, and one really fucking nice one, where we would have our own loft bedroom. I'm thinking door number one is the most realistic, and I'm okay with that. As long as I feel safe, and there aren't the fucking methheads that we live with now over there I'm good.

Anyway, my first inclination is to emotionally "check out" when I'm scared, and I decided to stick my middle finger up at that idea. Because not only is he worth it, *I* am worth it. I may end up crashing and burning, but it won't be because I didn't throw my whole heart into it. I hope to be pleasantly rewarded.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Crazy is a Crazy Does.

The latest dad round. This is therapeutic for me. I need to get it out. I'm stressed beyond belief and just on the verge of tears. Feel free to skip over and read someone else's happy blog.

Last night he was getting pissed off at me, because I wouldn't buy into his fantiasies/hallucinations - telling me "I'm not crazy!!!" He's never been angry at me before...

It's amazing what they WON'T tell you at the VA, unless you ask.

Like I found out today he's on yet another medication - Heperin - for strokes/clots and that he was anemic and his platelets were shot when he got there initially. Have any of the doctors bothered to tell me any of this? Of course not. GRR.

His hallucinations continue. He's been seeing people "steal his newspaper" and seeing "spiders on the ceiling," according to the nurses there. He also has been telling people that his wife is dead and that he's a widower. LOL.

The social worker (AKA "My team") agrees with me that his dementia isn't bad enough to put him over in the dementia ward of the facility. I explained to this that if they want him to start acting out on his suicidal tendencies that putting him in the dementia ward was the surest way to ensure this.

I know that a lot of this is temporary, a lot of this has to do with his meds being jerked around and things, because it wasn't NEARLY this bad before the VA got ahold of him. The social worker agrees there can be come improvement. Now it's up to us to convince the rest of the "medical team" that this is in his best interest. He isn't ready for that wing at his apartment place, I know it... I know it in my gut. I have a meeting next Friday over there to convince the rest of them this.

He is not making very good progress Occupational Therapy-wise, and they are very concerned over his level of assistance at this point. So that's not good news. He will need a lot of help, and getting him to accept it is going to be the difficult part. I think I need to basically threaten him with "You do what they say or they are going to make you stay here."

I'm worried about a number of things - the main two being

1. He's mentally ill enough to warrant the dementia ward, and I'm not seeing it. I really don't think this is the case. I hope he can still get somewhat better.

2. If he doesn't get better I'm going to have to go to court to get guardianship over him, financially and otherwise, because if he can't be labeled coherent enough to give me power of attorney I'm going to have to do this, and without this I can't have access to his funds to help him pay bills, etc.

I feel nauseous. I have no idea how to do all of this, and I'm trying not to panic here. I don't know if I try to reason with him, tell him he needs to trust me, or if I just get brutal with him and tell him how it is and have him get pissed off. I don't know what to do, and I hate it.

Friday, April 7, 2006


I've decided that the weirdest feeling I've thus experienced, in my adult life, is the feeling I got a short time ago as my boyfriend's ex wife kept checking out my rack. Again and again.

She is foul in every sense of the word, from her saccharine over-excitedness to talk to me down to her stained 1980's tennis shoes. It is poetic justice when someone's outsides match their insides. Karma in action, if you will.

She talks so rapidly that it took all of my composure not to shove my fist into her larynx. The horror of her stained "mom" jeans (the high waisted, camel toe enhanced sort - not that her camel toe was visible under her massive roll of stomach fat... I'm not skinny, but I'm just saying...) paired with the debacle of her plaque encrusted teeth and her ratty hair, badly in need of a trim and with three days worth of grease and oil soaking it was only matched by her boyfriend - a stench so ripe that my cat would cover him up at the beach, with salt and pepper balding greased locks of his own, complete with zero personality (she obviously does the non-stop talking) and the crowning jewel of his totalitarian white trashed-ness: the Child Molester glasses.

It's apparent that she has indeed met her match.

The children are glad to be home. Dave of course is glad they are, and I am too. Because they deserve so much better than what pathetic attempt of nurturing she has to offer them. And it has nothing to do with poverty - it has to do with basic hygiene and self respect. It has to do with the fact that she returned them two days before the end of their spring break because of the fact that they wanted to attend a swap meet, and they are staying at her friend's house, and this friend's significant other is a registered sex offender. It has to do with the fact that she can't send her measly child support check on time, or call her kids more than once every three weeks.
In a way I'm grateful she checked out though, as her influence obviously is better off being minimal.

So yeah, go ahead and check out my rack, bitch. I won't deny you the small pleasures of life. In the mean time I'm busy loving the man you treated with disrespect in the worst manner possible, and thanks to your supreme shittiness he appreciates more than just my rack. It's hard to believe you ever had anything to offer him.

Monday, April 3, 2006

The Gift of a Perfect Day

I woke up snuggled,
like a kitten,
in the arms I can't
and won't
imagine living without

Kissing on the train downtown
how only I notice
his eyes softening
as he whispers in my ear
the only words that matter
and we Are love.

Absorbing the city
where I lost and found myself
arm in arm
we laugh as we walk
noticing our strides are in unison
mirroring our hearts and minds
I feel safe and warm
as if I'm wrapped in velvet.

This was a day
that I will remember
with a bursting heart
when I am tired and old
and savor like a fine wine
that some people are never
lucky enough to taste.