I Can't Get Used To It, No Matter How I Try. . . .

Destiny - or something like it. . Januray 10,2012

If I could only make you see and undertand, I feel a change and scream your name. . . .

For all that I have given and all that you and the farm has taken from me. . . you left me with nothing.

You died on my brothers birthday. . . I have, no matter how painful, done as you have asked for the last 49 years of my life. . . I don't know how to live without your frequent visitation in my head and our every constant communication;

Remember the Jones place, you asked me while we were mowing the yard 'You shouldn't let what you see bother you, it's Gods' way of protecting our family.'

You told me that you and Mamma Cook were the same. . .and I would learn to accept and interpret what I felt and saw. . .

Mamma Cook is gone, your gone and my husband thinks I am crazy. Why could you not have given me an outline , , , ,some kind of guideline as to how to navigate once you left me. . .

Uncle Johhny and I were the ones that fell apart at your funeral, just like he and I were the only ones that fell apart when Todd died. . .I don't know what the rest of them are made of. . . but like you once told me. . .I ve the Backbone of a McFarland and the Balls of a McDaniel.

On December 29th, you were gone one month. Until now, I have had no time to grieve. I guess that's what I am doing now. I didn't have the privicy to go through your things with that bitch KAREN watching me like a halk. I could smell you everywhere, but you were nowhere because they tried to erase your presnce.

I will never stop loving you, missing you or hoping that you will give me guidence in some way, shape or form. . .

Feeling Hellish. . . you can always make 'MEATLOAF'. . .

July 31, 2011

Data Enty - 38

Mr. Haversham. . .

While I have not been in the mood to write for a very long time, the one thing that stirs my soul, is Meatloaf.

Raw, dangerous, sexual, and full of angst.  The angst. . . is for oneself, to decide.  There in lies the beauty of his lyrics. . .to all of his songs.   It is to each of us, a meaning that is, within itself. . . full of longing, time passing, circumstances and the enevitable outcome of one's actions.

The older I get, while I do have some regrets, most are not of my making.  Odd as that may seem, and do not mistake me when I say that I have none, but those that were the folly of others, is what I have been forced to live by, and I do so now, as I always have, and always will. 

"On a hot summers night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses". . . .it was yes then, and it will always be yes.

Why? Because, that wolf, although he does not know it, mated for life. That is the nature of the beast.

And while 'two oughta three ain't bad', confessions of one soul mate to another by the 'dashboard lights' as it you go faster, faster, faster and oh so much farther. . . goes a long way. . .and while 'objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they seem' . . '.a kiss is a terrible thing to waste'. . .

So now I am prayin for the end of time. . . where it was long ago and far away and so much better than it is today. . .

I would do anything for love, but I won't do that. . .

How do you know?  Have you ever asked yourself that question?  I mean, while you were really in-love, not just in-lust, or in-sexed based frenzy, what would you do?  How do you know what you would or would not do for the real love of another?  The truth. . . you don't, until you are faced with that scenerio.

Once you made that step, you would never be able to turn back. . . think about the people you would hurt, yourself is not a consideration as you have already made that decision.  Can you hurt those that depend on you and walk away from a lifetime that was filled with 'woulda, shoulda, coulda'. . .for the sake of 'what if, maybe, and I coulds'. . .

To you my friend, to grasp the other side, is to hold sand in your hand until it runs out.  You will never be young, for you, were born old and an old soul. . . is a restless one.  To look farther afield, is to fuck up your tri-focals and spend more at the optomologist than it is worth. . .

I will always love you, but perspective has taught me that you cannot re-capture what was once beheld and then lost. . .

Mrs. Jones

Diary Entry - 37

Movies and Music. . .

We all hear it, see it, touch it, remember it. . .  for some, more than others, it plays an integral part of who, what and where we were when certain pieces appeared while certain memories were made.  The two, are often.  .  .  inseperable.

The torn, lovelorn youth and first loves . . . we all have been privy to.  What makes some more important than others . . . MEMORIES. . .

To our psychological self. . .every moment of our being, we associate with what music which was prevelent at the time that the memory was made, what movie you saw or some other social and media theme prevailed during your 'moment' , which resembles your relationship. . .

We all have 'moments', some of them last a lifetime, others last a few days, months or years. . . .

Few movies,  have rarely touched the real psychy of  angst that real deepth of a soul connection captures.

One for me is ' Splendor In The Grass ' it is the most vaunerable to the pschy and to the touch of what it really feels like to be totally encompassed by someone. . to survive it. . .and come out on the otherside. .  not quite yourself, but at least you are passable, in every day society.

Time. . .

Diary Entry - 36

They say 'time heals all wounds',  'with time, you will get through this', 'time has a way of making one forget'.

Is it really possible that time does heal all your wounds, that it enables you to get through things that you never thought you would be able to endure and that it has a way of making you forget?

What if 'TIME' didn't exsist?  What if we just 'WERE'?  Who decided that 'time' is what all things, dreams, wants and desires. . . are decided and measured by?

The most important thing that I have learned. . . is that I am NOT some scary, crazy bitch that imagined a life, previous to what I live now.  . . .

How many of us get to have that acknowledgement?  How many of us can embrace what others have shund?  How many of us can say.  .  .  I have loved, truly, madly, and deeply. . .in my lifetime?

Tomorrow. . .is another day

Diary  - Entry 35?

After a restless night, I again, dreamed of him.

I have a recurring theme to my writing. . .the past, needs to always be present.  Why?  I do not know.

The song; Lost by Michael Buble keeps playing in my mind.  If only the words ever really rang true. . .

I have made up my mind in one direction. . .  I am, once this wedding nonsense with Danielle is over, once Hugh is healthy enough to make such a change and I have found where I will be transferred to, I am leaving Memphis.  I cannot tolerate it here any longer. 

The weather is dismal, repressive and terrifying with all the tornadoes.  I hate the cultural climate (a serious lack of. . .is more appropriate).  The politics are a farce and middle class families suffer at the hands of everyone.  Not to mention that I am in a minority. . .in every way imaginable.  It was a horrendous mistake to move back here.  I don't know what I was thinking.. . except possibly, I wasn't.

I do not know if my husband will come with me?   He likes Memphis.  I feel suffocated.  Maybe it is marriage that suffocates me, maybe it's me, maybe it's him, maybe it's this fucking situation that I can't escape. . .

In the last two years I have lost my mother, my brother, a really wonderful sister-in-law, a great friend, my mother-in-law and somewhere along the way. . .my own ability to see things clearly. 

All the while, I have wondered why I am where I am. . . I would like to say I don't remember getting to this point, but you would know I am lying.  Stress, pressure, lack of cooperation, misunderstandings, and being a complete and uncompromising bitch is a good start.

My husband thinks I am beautiful, my clients think I lie when I tell them I am almost 50, my mother hated me, my stepmother was jealous of me and my kids. . .well some know more than others, if they know anything at all.

My friends. . .on the other hand, think I am a Diva.  Some refer to me as "Delta", a few of them call me , affectionatly, "BooBaby" (I have no idea why_ other than the fact that they find me scary?) and then there are those that scream at me as "You fucking bitch". . .affectionatly, of course.  While I answer to all of them, my license plate on my Benz says it all.

Are the moons to bright?  Are the chains to tight?  The beast won't go to sleep. . . .

Once, was never enough. . . not even for me

Diary Entry - 34

I haven't written in quite a while, simply because I have had no time, no. . .that isn't true.  I simply have been too withdrawn to manage this blog in any real way. 

Life can show no mercy, make you feel like you have gone crazy and then the very next breath, lift you up while spreading the wings of memories as if they were tiny feathers in a pillow. 

I am without  a doubt on the cusp of a few major decisions.  Yet, as always, I cannot seem to go forward without looking back. . .why, I have no idea. . .

I spent the week in Florida, on the beach, with a friend.  I soaked up the sun, watched the surf pound the beach . . .over and over again and drank wine as the sun went down.  The sounds were soothing, familiar and intimate. . . all at once, like that of a long lost lover that time has not forgotten, no matter how hard you try.

I was on Facebook earlier tonight.  The longer I am on there, the more of my past, I see.  Tonight, I was looking through old pictures, a friend had posted.  One in particular moved me to write. . .it was of his farmhouse, burning to the ground, some 25 years ago. 

I thought of that house, the hundreds of times that I had been in it, the memories of. . .the people who lived there, the family that was, in so many ways, mine. . .for however brief a time.    I thought about all the love that had been made. . . in just about every room by the two of us and naturally, I thought about how time had changed everything, everyone and all the choices, decisions and different paths that had flowed since I was a girl in the livingroom of that house, facing parents that I did not know, but that welcomed me with open arms and had such a major impact on me.

The Indian culture have a belief that when someone is born to be the mate of someone, no matter the circumstances, that the mating is for life and that everyone has that one person that they "imprint" on.  Others say, love comes and goes or that you can love more than one person at a time.

I don't know.

How do you know?  Is it possible to truly love more than one person?  Is it possible to find love more than once in your lifetime, and I mean the kind of love that criples you, is gut wrenching, unbearable, euphoric and has a passion that is unequaled?  Is it possible to ever let that imprint fade into something other than the ever constant reminder that your heart was never really given back to you?  If it doesn't, how do you reconcile the finality that you are living as a shell, of what you could have been. . .or should be?  How do you keep those that love you from being hurt by your indifference?

I don't know.

He changed me, irrevocably.  I know that now, just as the choices that were made for me and those that I made myself, did the same.  They all shaped the view I have of life, love, sex, passion, lust, family and friends.  Could I go back and change it, would I? 

I don't know.

He is always with me.  No matter where I am, who I am with, what I am doing.  It has been that way all my life.  Will it always be so?

I don't know.

The Heiress Of Emptyness: I was only joking. . .

The Heiress Of Emptyness: I was only joking. . .

I was only joking. . .

Diary Entry - 33

If nothing is what is seems, where the fuck does that leave me?  I am listening to my mother's LP's that I have converted to cd. . .the main topic. . .Rod Stewart.  You would be amazed at the difference between LP and CD. 

Anyway, it wasn't the quality so much as time era.  My own time "era" has changed in my lapse of writing since September.  Had time been on my side, along with Billy and Patty, perhaps. . .my own point of view would not have been changed.

Death, no matter how you look at it. . .changes you and those around you. . .those that really cared, anyway.

This particular LP, reminds me of my mother and her incessant and compulsive need to be. . . .even in death, that bitch controlled every fucking thing about it. Hence, while it was my least favorite of all his work. .  . it did hit home the voracity of parental influence. . .or to some of you. . .lack of there of.

All this was brought home to me in the modern version of "Black Swan". . .

Yes absolutely, Natalie Portman was, incredible.  For everyone who has ever lived with an over bearing, Psycho, manipulative, narrssistic, yet under-achieving mother. . .this is a movie for you.....  After you see it, run, don't bother packing your bags. . .send her a post card from Montazuma. . .

Am I fucked up. . ..absofuckingloutley. . .do I want to run naked through the streets of Memphis. .  where my mother was  a debute, who loved Elvis and believed that every family should have one.

I have been brought to my knees, pulled myself up and landed on my feet more times than a cat has lives... why, because you, haven't seen the last of me. . .  Survivors, we all share the same mark.

Cracks In The Crystal Ball. . .

Diary - Entry 32

When I started out writing this diary, it was for several reasons, to honor my brother, to lay bare the sins of my family (as I see them) and to relate my own feelings about the past and my chronological existence.

While I boldly strip the flesh from that of my family, friends and lovers. . .I cannot help but expose my own indiscretions, madness, mistakes, and things I wish I could have done differently. Tonight, I am shooting single malt whiskey. . . .which I never drink hard stuff, but the writing is taking me to a place that I have not visited in more years than I can count and I hope it dulls the pain.

My worst regret, one that will remain with me till the day I die. . .is the existence of my son, that I gave up for adoption.  His  father was married and this was the result of an afternoon in Illinois.  When I called to tell him, he told me that his wife was pregnant (something that he had wanted for a long time), therefore, I did not tell him I was going to have a baby as well.

It broke me into a million pieces to give him up, but I wanted him to have the things that I could not give him (as I was a traveling photographer at the time),  especially since his father was now ecstatic over the impending birth of his "first" child, which was actually his second.  Our son, was blond headed and brown eyed, with finely arched eyebrows and full lips.  To this day, I still remember every detail of him,including the intense pain of separation that I went through when I met his adoptive parents and he was handed over to them, without ceremony.

The records were permanently sealed by the courts. 

That put the final nail of niceness in my own coffin of buried memories.  I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of really anything, I can cut you into pieces when my heart is broken. . . . .that is a line from a Pink song that  says what I feel at the moment. . .

Men, they have the inability to only see what is in front of them at the moment, not what is good for them. . .

Good Night.