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You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
20 November 2013 @ 11:12 pm
I don't wish losing a parent on anyone.

My mom died a year and some change ago. June of 2012, to be exact. Her birthday was/is November 18th, so this week has been particularly hard on me.

It's extra difficult because my dad has moved on with his life, and now has a live-in girlfriend. (Odd to use the term 'girlfriend' with a parental figure, but it is what it is...)

My mom and I had a difficult relationship, mainly because the disease that was killing her (Multiple Sclerosis) was also killing her mind, and stealing every one of our memories, and every maternal instinct she ever had. In my mind, I know that she didn't mean the things that she said and did to me in her final years. I know that deep down, in the part of her that was still HER, she loved me. But, since she's died, all that I've been able to feel has been the pain, hurt, loss, and anger of the final few years we shared.

However, recently, I've started remembering things from the past. Things I'd forgotten about, like the Red Rose Tea figurines she collected for me from a woman she worked with. The My Little Ponies she'd always managed to find for me on every birthday and Christmas, whether they came from Goodwill, the Salvation Army, or any garage sale she'd stumbled upon. The cookies we made together when I was barely big enough to stand and stir the giant bowl of dough.

This holiday season feels so much more painful than last, which surprises me, since it's not the first that I've been without my mother. I figured things would be easier as time moved on, but that's just simply not the case. 
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
17 November 2013 @ 02:20 am
My heart is hurting tonight, but I cannot say anything about the cause. So, TEA. Drink tea. This time of year, peppermint is delicious. And hug your children. Whether they are FOSTER or ADOPTED or BIOLOGICAL, it doesn't matter. Just call them your CHILDREN, without the caveat, without making them feel less-than-worthy-of-your-heart. LOVE them. And never, ever, EVER, use the word REAL to describe a biological child. Because those of us who are adopted feel the searing pain of not being so real.
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
16 November 2013 @ 11:12 pm
Sooo... I have no idea if any of my friends are still out there.

It's been a long time since I've used this journal. But, I think I'm really going to like coming home to it!

Is anyone still alive out there? ::calls in a Titanic-y voice::
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
21 January 2009 @ 12:34 am
I wake up and roll over in the streaming sunlight. My room is filled with the smell of humidity and gasoline; I left my window open overnight to try and combat the stale, musty air of of the air conditioning.

I roll to my left where my radio is blaring too loud for me to ignore. It's early, and I have a morning class today. There's no way I can skip, I have a paper due, and this teacher brings new meaning to the word unforgiving.

I reach out to slam my snooze bar down. My fingerprints have worn a hole in the writing on the alarm; it now reads SN^^>E, but the tone in the DJs voice catches my ear. I normally don't have it on this station. Doc Holliday (Doc and Johnny Morning show) grates on my nerves. His caustic, misogynistic attitude is no way to start the day. But I snoozed to LoveLine last night, and they share a station.

They must be jokingCollapse )
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
19 January 2009 @ 07:55 pm

(Please be warned, there will be spoilers for the entire Twilight Saga throughout this piece. If you haven’t had the opportunity to finish the story yet and don’t want the ending ruined for you, please don’t click the link. )


Twilight. It’s everywhere. From books, to movies, to merchandise, to screaming fans, chances are you at least have a passing knowledge of this cultural phenomenon. As with nearly every cult hit, both the series of novels and the current and upcoming films have generated an intense level of controversy. Fans of both have divided themselves into camps, crying “Team Edward” or “Team Jacob”, but the conflict runs much deeper than the anticipated victor at the end of the saga. The Twilight Series of novels as much about the collision between traditional values and modern expectations as it is the battle between werewolves, vampires, and humans.


Part One: Intimacy and SexualityCollapse )
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
03 November 2008 @ 05:31 pm

The Old Man and his Dog

An old man and his dog were walking along a country road, enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to the man that he had died. He remembered dying, and realized, too, that the dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road would lead them, and continued onward.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall, white arch that gleamed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He was pleased that he had finally arrived at heaven, and the man and his dog walked toward the gate. As he got closer, he saw someone sitting at a beautifully carved desk off to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, but is this heaven?"

"Yes, it is, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The gatekeeper gestured to his rear, and the huge gate began to open.

"I assume my friend can come in..." the man said, gesturing toward his dog.

But the reply was, "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought about it, then thanked the gatekeeper, turned back toward the road, and continued in the direction he had been going. After another long walk, he reached the top of another long hill, and he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate. There was no fence, and it looked as if the gate had never been closed, as grass had grown up around it. As he approached the gate, he saw a man just inside, sitting in the shade of a tree reading a book. "Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a well over there," the man said, pointing to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in and make yourself at home."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"He's welcome too, and there's a bowl by the well," he said. They walked through the gate and, sure enough, there was an old-fashioned well and a bowl next to it on the ground. The man filled the bowl for his dog, and then took a long drink himself.
When both were satisfied, he and the dog walked back toward the man, who was sitting under the tree waiting for them, and asked, "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is heaven," was the answer.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "It certainly doesn't look like heaven, and there's another man down the road who said that place was heaven."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates?"

"Yes, it was beautiful."

"Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it offend you for them to use the name of heaven like that?"

"No. I can see how you might think so, but it actually saves us a lot of time.   They screen out people who are willing to leave  their best friends behind.

You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
06 October 2008 @ 05:30 pm


After a crazy-busy day at work, (trying to prep everything that we would need for Monday, since I was taking Friday off), I picked Jill up at SeaTac at around 6:30. JillyBean had kind of a hectic flight down, so she was ready for a break. I took Jill out to this fabulous little Italian restaurant and wine bar, Toscanos. Absolutely amazing food at decent prices (I had a first date there awhile back, and fell in love with the restaurant). We all ordered something fantastic and shared a bottle of Pinot Noir while we caught up. Afterwards, we came back to my place and shared a bottle of Merlot and rested up, knowing that we were about to step into a whirlwind.


Spent the day shopping for decorations. Found a fabulous 80's costume for the bowling event tomorrow. You won't believe the size of my skirt, lol, I can't believe we ever wore that much Tule. Ah, the 80's. Rodney came over and helped Jill, Liz and me decorate for the party tomorrow. I swear, they've hidden spiders everywhere just to make me scream. They're evil! But the place looks FABULOUS, we're all set for Halloween!

Tonight we went out to the Crystal Saloon, where Johnny works. It was Jill, Me, Liz, Rod, Roger and Brett...and guess who showed up? Eric and Kristina! Screw the REAL high school reunion, ours was so much better. I haven't seen Kristina since she was just his fiance, and now they're married, awww. We hung out at the Crystal for awhile, did our share of booty-shaking on the dance floor, and spent more than a few minutes making catty comments about the couple who were attempting to bump and grind. Well, SHE could bump and grind but he...well, he needed to keep a chair behind her so he could dip her.

Later, we went down to the Riverside to sing some Kareoke. We ran into Rob and Shasta and a group of their friends. Unfortunately, also ran into some people from the high school reunion, which I really should have seen coming, but damn. One guy was really great; we were friends in high school, and he's grown and changed, but he's still fantastic. It was fun hearing about his life now that he's a grown-up and married, and back in WA. However, I ran into someone else who shall remain nameless, but he's moved out of state and has become a "Hollywood Type" and you should have SEEN the way he looked down his nose at me. Damn. I've seen some stink eyes in my day, but that man has snobbishness down to a science.

What really pissed me off though? The girl who took over the reunion and I used to be pretty tight back in the day. We went to the same church and were in the same choir. I haven't talked to her in years, but I figured all was cool. Ran into her, said hello, and she totally went "Oh hey! Great to see you! I've gotta run to the bathroom, but I'll be right back to catch up!".

She never came back and later that night, I walked by her seated at the table with asshole guy mentioned a few minutes ago. I guess you really do forget who your friends were. Oh well. She was kind of a snob back then, too, so I shouldn't be too hurt by it. Still. You think people would grow up at some point.

After we left the second bar, everyone came over to my place to drink and hang out for awhile. People were here until 4 in the morning, lol. The best reunions are the ones you make, I've decided. I got to see most of the people that I love and have missed since high school, and I didn't need to pay ridiculous amounts of money to go bow
ling and eat nachos at the reunion.
You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
20 September 2008 @ 05:29 pm

I'm a woman with a lot of titles. Friend, sister, daughter, photographer, administrator, girlfriend, adventurer, homeowner, college student...

The hardest title I've ever had to admit to, let alone come to terms with was Rape Victim. Scratch that. Rape Survivor.

I intimately know the fear that comes along with telling. I know the panic, the judgment, the excuses. I've heard or experienced the backlash, the comment, and the reverse-accusations.
"You were drinking, you were asking for trouble."
"Well, when you dress like that, what do you expect?"
"Come on, it's a guy thing, you can't get us started and expect us to stop!"
"Everyone knows you don't walk to your car alone, seriously, what did you think was going to happen?"

When a person who has been sexually assaulted makes the choice to remain silent, I can fully understand their decision. Unfortunately, we live in a world where the victim has to prove that they didn't have it coming; didn't deserve the assault. Trials of those accused of rape are as much about the victim as the attacker.

Think about it;
 A person who gets mugged after leaving the ATM is not repeatedly ask what he was doing taking money out of the bank
A car thief is not let off because the driver left the keys in the ignition.
A bank robber is not released when the teller reveals she gave the money up because she thought she was in danger, but didn't see a gun.

Why are rape victims (scratch that, survivors) continually asked to prove that a crime was even committed?

It's come to light that Sarah Palin, in her capacity as Mayor of Wasilla, AK, enforced a ridiculous law which charged rape victims for their own forensic evidence kits. While the law had been in place for many years prior, the previous mayor did not actually enforce the law.

While I'm beyond incredulous that such a law was ever written, I'm in complete and utter disbelief that it could ever be enforced...and by a woman, of all people!

When a police officer investigates a home invasion, he does not charge the homeowner for the print dust, lifters, microsil and film. Yet, rape victims are forced to pay for their own investigation. Unbelievable.

Worse, the enforcer of this abomination could well be on her way into the White House.

No, Wasilla is not the only county to do this. It's just the only one in Alaska. There are a few others scattered across the US, and I find it just as despicable there, but their mayors aren't potentially creating new legislation regarding my rights as a woman, (or lack thereof).

More Articles:

New Evidence: Palin had direct role in charging rape victims

USA Today -Palin's Town used to bill victims for rape kits

Official City of Wasilla AK Budgets and Records

Under Palin, Wasilla charged rape victims

You are the soul that haunts my dreams.
16 September 2008 @ 05:28 pm
I think one of the hardest parts of Multiple Sclerosis is that it robs a person of their ability to communicate. Words sound so perfect inside your head, but somewhere between the head and the mouth, the connection gets lost.

My mom called me tonight and left a message that it was important that I call her at 10:00pm. There was no explanation attached, but that's usually how our conversations go these days. She's able to ask me to call. So I did.

When she got on the line, she told me that it was very important to have her phone at 10 o'clock, and that she needed her phone somewhere around 10 o'clock every night, so it was good that I had called her. She also told me that they couldn't find her phone last night, and so she didn't have her phone, and it was important that she have her phone, so thank you for calling. (If that was difficult for you to read, please think about how difficult it is to hear. This is what this disease has done. )

I say "you're welcome, and I love you..." and take a breath. I know that phone means something very different to her, but I haven't a clue...and then it hits me. Her medication. She's been approved for a third brain surgery, and they've adjusted her meds. She needs her medicine at 10:00pm every night.

Phone = medicine. Tonight, anyway.

It's like a few weeks ago when she called my grandmother to tell her that my cat had died. Unfortunately, her brain replaced "Jupiter" with "Keelyn"...so what she said was "Keelyn died tonight."

Fortunately, she misdialed and called me instead.

I don't wish that on anyone. Having your mother declare you dead...well...that's...an experience.

This fucking disease is the worst game of charades.