Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Binge and Purge...

Well, it's a binge of information for YOU and a purge of years of insanity for me. I want to write about something I never ever write about or speak about for that matter.

My real father.

I suppose the only real way is to go back to the very beginning.

I could hear them arguing again. That's all they did. I was probably 6. My bedroom was right next to theirs so I had to be stealthy. I took all my stuffed animals and most prized possessions and stuffed them into my Garfield sleeping bag. I packed up my parakeet and it's cage. I carefully misspelled every word on my note that told them I was leaving until they could stop yelling. I headed out towards the pasture. I hadn't quite worked out how I could carry a bird cage in one hand, a FULL sleeping bag in the other, and still ride my pony to grandmas house, but apparently the note slipped under the door alerted them to my plans and they stopped fighting for the night.

I never EVER faulted my mom for asking for a divorce. Even at 7 I'd say it was the best day of my life. Not that I understood anything, but I did know the yelling would stop. At 7 you still think everything is your fault and you still trust your daddy even if he's an asshole. After they separated, once he came to the door and I answered. Mom was outside (We lived in the country) and he said he wanted to come in. I innocently didn't know any better. He used me to get in the house and while telling me "daddy loves you" type things, he stole a spare key off the fireplace mantle. He used that key to come back to the house when we were gone and rob the house. My mom had always been a stay at home mom and we had no money. She often went without food so that I could eat. He used me and I thought it was my fault because I let him in the house.

Before visitation had been settled he once came to the house demanding to see his daughter. He had been drinking. I was in the bathtub. He kicked the door in. He pushed my mom down and beat her with a frying pan. He ripped all the phone cords out of the walls. I ran in the spare office, locked the door, and called 911. He ran away before they got there. For YEARS I felt guilt over calling the police on my own father. I thought it was all my fault because he just wanted to see me.

When he got his own apartment in town, he always said my mom tried to keep him from me. She never EVER let me miss a weekend. She actually forced me to go. He had no furniture and 2 yellow striped twin mattresses laid on the ground in 1 bedroom. He would force me to sleep in the room with him, but I didn't get to sleep. He would keep me up all night telling me all the awful things he thought about my mother. What a bitch and whore she was even though she was neither of those things. I will not forgive him for stealing my innocence. For doing everything textbook wrong. He put all of his adult problems on my small shoulders and I carried those for years.

When I was 12 I wrote the courts and was granted permission to make my own decisions regarding visitation. My parents (my mom and step-dad) still made me go so that he could never complain. My dad moved to a town about 30 minutes away. Since my visitation was on the weekends, it really cramped his social life. He would go to the bars downtown and lock me in the car until closing time. It wasn't the best art of town. I've never been so scared. I felt bad for being a burden to him.

(As a side note you should know my father is an alcoholic and also a paint sniffer. Ok, well kinda. He owns a body shop and does custom paint and body work along with specializing in firetrucks, school buses, planes, and diesel trucks. He used to brag that he didn't need to wear a mask. That's called getting high in my book. I'm sure he's just "not quite right" because of that.)

He often antagonized my fears. He openly mocked me for being afraid to fly for the 1st time. After my family was in a debilitating car wreck (My step-dad broke his neck, my mom dislocated her hip and was in a hospital bed for months, and I broke my back) my real father and I went to Carmel for a weekend. I was probably 16? He took the scenic route back and told me it was time to face my fears. He proceeded to cross over the yellow line and drive on the wrong side of the road. Turn after turn on that winding mountain road I screamed and I cried and begged for him to not do this. He called me weak and said I needed to get over it. I finally hit him and yanked the wheel. RIGHT then a diesel truck came around the corner and we skidded off the road, barely avoiding the mountain. He cried like a bitch at our near death experience and I'll never forgive him for that.

Sometimes he would hit me with an opened up wire hanger. I don't even remember why, but he was often physical like that. When I cried he would tickle me. I'm EXTREMELY ticklish and even though it's painful it makes me laugh. Even though I was crying, he would say "See, you're laughing, quit being a baby, everything is fine" To this day, I don't allow people to tickle me. 1/2 way through I always freak out and feel like I'm being manipulated.

During my summers I would stay at his house. He admitted he never wanted a girl. I had to sleep on the floor and get up at the crack of dawn. To wake me up, he would shove me with his foot and them make me fix breakfast for him. Then I would go to work painting and sanding at the body shop. On my breaks he wanted me to go back to the house and bake cookies for him and his workers. It was a weird mix between having to be the boy he always wanted, but needing to know my role as the good little woman. I hated it.

Although he RENTED a 700 square foot apartment that literally used to be a cow barn, when I got my first apartment, he came to my house and white gloved the entire thing. I'll never forget what started out as pride in establishing myself and ended in humiliating disappointment and failure.

When I announced my engagement he DEMANDED to be the one to walk me down the isle. I had asked my (step)DAD. My father made such a stink, my dad stepped aside and said, let him walk you. I told my father, I don't want you to touch me and there will be NO kissing on the cheek. He showed up early, tapped the keg, got wasted, drug me down the isle with such a tight grip on my arm I had bruises on my inner arm and you should see the look on my face in the picture where he's kissing me on the cheek. Fucking drunk asshole.

When I was divorced and disfellowshipped, the BEST thing that ever came from that exile was him not being allowed to talk to me. He would still call. He asked me if I had "fallen to drugs?" (No dad, sorry, my life's quota for drunk paint sniffing losers has already been met) Did I have an STD yet? I don't even know what to say about that one. I'm in the middle of a divorce, I just had to sell my newly built house, my ex kept the dogs and even the bread maker, and none of my friends or family are allowed to speak to me and I AM TRULY at my most vulnerable and alone and you call with your reassuring words that I'm a whore? Fuck you... F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.!

Time and time and time and time again, I told myself Marisa, that is your father. You have to love him. What sort of horrible person are you to not be a part of his life? I subjected myself to insults about my looks, my hair, my weight, my friends, and my home and I took it and I went back for more so that he could never fault me for denying him his right to be my father. There were moments where I thought he had changed. We would have a nice dinner, a lucid (and possibly) sober conversation, and I would immediately default to the THE GLASS IS HALF FULL mentality and think it would be different, he would be better... In between everything I've typed I thought that. I doubted myself. I gave him a million chances. But I can't do it anymore. I have always had trouble setting boundaries. I have always doubted myself. I didn't want anyone to think I was mean or wrong or bad. He loves me so much he says. He misses me he says. He wants me to be a part of his life he says.

After my reinstatement (He remarried about 10 years ago) he and his wife invited me over for dinner. I begrudgingly went and I fell right back into the same trap. He looked old. He looked sad. I experienced INTENSE guilt over my own bitterness and negative feelings towards him. Maybe he's different now..? I shouldn't feel like I do. I wouldn't want someone to feel about me the way I feel about him. I should make more of an effort...


And you know what's sick? As I re-read this, I keep thinking I shouldn't post this. What if he reads this? His feelings would be so hurt! I'm doubting again as I type this.


Sorry dad - I can't do it anymore. My life has to be on my terms now. I have to protect myself and my sanity. Do it to me once, shame on you, do it to me twice (or a thousand times) and it's a shame on ME...

I've now written the longest blog ever documenting a LIFETIME of mental, emotional, and physical abuse that cannot and should not be forgotten OR forgiven.


So I popped onto Amazon.com today to purchase something and saw the "Daily Deals" button or whatever specials they have. Just guess what was on sale?

I know! Dr Quinn - Medicine Woman. I used to LOVE that show. I used to work taking care of my grandparents back in like 1996... They had tons of health problems and my experiences there I should write about soon. If you've never wrestled your pill poppin, oseteoporosis riddled, emphysema oxygen tube wearing grandma down off a kitchen chair to stop her from trying to find the alcohol so she can make herself a "highball" then you haven't lived, that's for sure! (RIP grandma...)

Anyways, my grandpa couldn't really say much other than "chicken" and "egg" after his heart attack and many salt induced strokes (RIP grandma) but boy did he LOVE watching Dr Quinn - at FULL volume mind you - AS IN... concert quality - hello officer - go take another valium grandma, FULL volume... and it was awesome.

Every day I'd come home from my college classes, and grandpa would yell - Where's the girl? (That's me) I wanna watch the chicken! (That's Dr Quinn) and grandma would yell - "God Dammit LLOYD - Turn that down!" and everything would be right in my world.

I remember it like yesterday and I remember it fondly. :)

Monday, December 29, 2008

Uhhh, Houston - We have a problem...

Well, I don't know. I'm happy... does this look like a problem to YOU?

During times of economic distress, they stop taking your trash out. Apparently this can lead to a very interesting discovery. I'm a junkie. A Mountain Dew and Sugar Free Rockstar loving fool!

Anyone wanna have 15 conversations at once, right now?

Can you see it?

Today I had the realization that I will never be good enough. I am wholly undeserving of the kindnesses given to me. I am beyond touched at others thoughtfulness. And no matter what I do, I don’t think I could truly convey my heartfelt appreciation for the GOOD people I have in my life.

Actually, I am undeserving because I’m not a very good daughter and I’m an even worse friend... I could spend 10 years trying to do something thoughtful and it would never be as nice as what my friends do for me. I let people call me, I don’t call them. All I do is work and I don’t bring much interesting stuff to the table. Maybe a sarcastic story or at least a distraction when I fall down, but in return I’m surrounded by the most stellar group of people I’ve ever met. My friends and family are pricelessly valuable and treasured by me.

The one person I haven’t figured out yet is my mother. I struggle EVERY day with my own contradictions, but now I can 100% tell you, those traits came from her! She’s confusing. I know she loves me, but I’m pretty much positive she hates me as equally with a white hot passion. Read back to Thanksgiving and I posted a picture of a dress I wanted, but they didn’t have my size. I showed up at her house a week ago and she had ordered that dress for me! I think I actually cried when I opened the box! That was SOO thoughtful. SOO nice. We made a lunch date out of it and we went and had it tailored. (I pick it up tomorrow!!!) We get along great at times. Last week we went and had pizza at a fancy new place that’s all organic and environmentally friendly. She buys me little prizes and tries to cater to my every whim. She’ll cook dinner if I’ve had a long day and I call her crying. She’s offered her home to me should I lose my job and need to move back in. She compliments my outfits... and I love SOO MANY things about her. She’s well read, she knows every episode of Judy Judy and Dr Phil. She’s funny and at times thinks I’m funny. We can talk about alternative medicines and NO ONE is a better green thumb. Ask her about any plant and she knows it. She has awesome decorating skills and if you want any help planning a party, she better be the 1st one you call! I love my mother, and despite the price I have paid for the love blood “should” bring unconditionally and for free, I’m so happy to have my family back, it makes me tear up just typing this.

Over Christmas we went to Magic Mountain and their generosity was again so undeserved. They even re-upped my season pass for me. However, in an RV, I don’t know if the 2 of us do so well living in essentially a big giant hallway. Now I can see that my mom does not like ME at all. I just sat there and I saw... I saw it so clearly - I will NEVER be good enough for her. NEVER. All my desperate need for approval stems from right here. She may compliment sometimes, but inside she critiques always. I see... I see it in her eyes. I am a dirty, sloppy, messy, manipulative, disease riddled, rigid, pagan, time wasting, disappointment to her - and that’s all there is to it.

I am 30 years old. Any of you who know me will know I am a fairly clean and organized person. I have a decent amount of common sense and many varied good qualities. Come to my home. My house is clean, even my drawers are organized. I shower and shave and brush my teeth EVERY day. Change my sheets and towels every week. My receipts are filed. I am a functional adult. Yesterday I took apart, cleaned, and put back together my entire refrigerator shelving system - just because... But that’s not good enough. Under her watchful eye, I was copiously reminded of my failings. I sleep in my own filth because I choose bathe in the morning and not before bed. I left my toothbrush on the counter, didn’t rinse a spoon IMMEDIATELY, decided to not wear socks even though it was cold outside. One time I walked through with my shoes on! Also, I basically set up a mobile brothel in the motorhome because I brought along the PG-13 Casino Royale movie to watch and my brother isn’t old enough (16) to watch that type of pornography. I even talk to the dogs wrong.

Once, I almost.. ALMOST.. set my backpack on a part of the bed where it may have touched her sheets. My god woman, I am not the enemy, I AM NOT a Philistine! I take too long to get ready. (No one gave me a time I had to be ready, you know. And last time I checked it was my vacation too... But apparently I almost ruined the trip because my brother wasn’t in line when the park gates opened. He could have gone without me, but he chose to wait. Yet after LITERALLY 10 comments about it {one involving a phone call from a friend in another state!} I was like - tell me how you really feel mom! She doesn’t even ride roller coasters, so I don’t even KNOW what that was about. When I got totally bent about it, then she tries to tell me to lighten up and that she was just kidding... UH NO... you don’t say something 100 times in a row and then get to claim it was a joke... NO. OK, moving on)

I cannot stand being controlled and micromanaged. It grates on me so badly and all my good qualities go flying out the window and I do become a bad person. I look back and I see the error of my ways... I lock up. I snip back. I roll my eyes. I judge. I get mean and dismissive. I see a side of me I don’t like come out.

Really, you see, all of this is about fear and hurt. I try to remind myself that she must be scared inside and that’s where her need to control comes from. That she put herself aside for so many years, now she’s just trying to reclaim some semblance of order for her. And she must have to be extra strong to do it with my dad and brother. They are both fast talking and strong willed, and I’m sure not the neatest or most tidy. In fact, they do need A LOT of direction when it comes to daily life... HOWEVER, that’s not me.

The worst part is... she doesn’t see. She doesn’t see the love and acceptance I have for her. That no matter what she says, NO MATTER WHAT she does, I still love her the same. I still come around to see her. I still want and need her in my life. Even though I know she can’t do that for me in return, I love her. I see the big picture, but I don’t know if she can see it. I see her efforts, her heart, her kindness, but does she see?

If she knows nothing else, hopefully she knows that I love her. I love her even though I disappoint her. I love her even though I hurt her. I love her even though I’m different than her. I love her even though I’m not good enough for her. I love her and NOTHING.. no statement, no injustice, no act of god, no religion, no divorce, no swear word, no amount of time, no announcement, NO NOTHING will change that.

I read this book “The Cult of Perfection” and it said some interesting things. It talked about friends and how “people like me” hold ourselves to this unattainable standard of perfection. We’re ALWAYS trying to be enough... yet, we wouldn’t dare hold anyone else to that same standard. And it SO true. I LOVE the uniqueness of my friends. I love them even more FOR their tragic flaws. Change them? NO WAY... That’s how I know they are true. When you can look at someone and know what their issues are and love them just the same, that’s how you know it’s real. Only thing that I ask is that you do the same for me. Show me that one kindness. That it’s ok to not be perfect and that you still accept me. That’s it’s okay to not be exactly the same. To understand, TO SEE, that everyone does things their own way, for their own reasons... and that’s o.k.

Always with the yen/yang. Always with the questions. Always with the contradiction. See...?

Tuesday, December 23, 2008


There is a conflict inside me all the time. Something so good, so bright, so happy that could never be stopped, lest I turn around and see I’m followed closely by something equally as bad and dark and sad! And all with a measure of confidence and doubt added in, nothing is ever easy for me.

I spend A LOT of time trying to really figure out who I am. Not just what the voice in my head says, because she will flip flop on you - trust me, but where my true heart is. I’m always evaluating my intention, my motives, but I never seem to land on solid ground. Every question leads me to another question.

For the holiday’s I decided to bake... (I’ll add my own real pictures later...)

I made these:

and I bought these:

and I spent hundreds of dollars and SO MANY hours baking and wrapping and taking care of every detail in the ingredients and carefully placing every piece of tape and ribbon and I poured my little heart into it (You know, I can only cook with love) I left one for my housecleaner, and I made enough for almost everyone at work... and I passed them out today...

And then I came back to my office and I cried. Cried that everyone would roll their eyes at me for going overboard. Cried that I made THIRTY and was still 10 short. Cried that some might think the motivational book was pushy and presumptuous. Cried that 1 guy is diabetic and I didn’t take the extra time to get him something special. Cried because sometimes people hate me no matter what I do. Cried because I thought my motive was one of warmth and giving and doing something for them that I would want them to do for me, and then realizing my true motive was probably a sad and desperate plea for people to like me - and NO ONE will ever like a sad and desperate girl. UGH...

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Confessions of a Klutz

Well, actually - that is the confession. I’m a klutz. A terrible, flailing, bumbling, falling down, spill on myself, CRY ALL THE TIME ABOUT IT - klutz. I’m sure everyone dislikes something about themselves, but mine is so not fixable.

If I had a big nose I could get surgery.
If I was fat I could exercise.
If I was stuck in 80’s perm land, I could get a make over.
Wrinkly people get Botox.
Wine-o’s have Rehab.

But poor sad Marisa...?? NOTHING

I’m the one who turns around from my dresser and walks right into my bed.
I’m the one who takes a drink and immediately dribbles a drop on my new shirt.
I’m the one who bangs her shins on the dishwasher every time the drawer is down.
Tell a funny story and I’m the one who may spit out my drink.
Let me tell the story and I’ll wave my arms around and probably hit you.
I even walk into the occasional door frame.
I twitch and I make funny faces and I snort and I HATE. EVERY. LAST. SECOND. OF. IT.

You want a current story? How about this morning...? Every day I drive about 20 miles to work and I put my make up on. (There’s a certain part leading up to the FWY onramp that is NON moving - so it’s not THAT dangerous) I have on a new all white skirt. I just ask for trouble actually. (WHAT?? I look good in white!) and the mascara wand just flies out of my hand and slow motion bounces across my lap. REALLY? I can’t think of a time this has ever happened - but today, with a white skirt, I have unremovable mascara on it.

I try to be still, calm, slow, and methodical because inside, I JUST KNOW Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn is DYING to come out and say hello. I dream of being the elegant graceful girl that people look at and go WOW. They may say that about me for a second, but then I literally slide like a baseball player slides for home plate right under someone’s table at a Mexican Restaurant or I fall FLAT on my knees in a bar when a friend teasingly pushes my shoulder. Hell, I’m so talented I can fall up AND down a flight of stairs.

Haven’t you read my past stories of when I broke my arm trying to snowboard after some cute boys and fell on a jump? Or when I tried to learn how to spin on my roller blades and broke my elbow? Or when I ran over that lady on my bike, but wound up breaking MY OWN leg instead?

Seriously, I grieve over having to give up the dream of ever being thought of as statuesque or nimble. I talk to my close friends about it and they say “No, Marisa - we love that about you... Your spontaneous and excitable and you tell your stories with such passion and your face shows such expression!” “No no, Marisa, don’t change, that’s who you are, what we know you for!”

OH MY GOD, what? That’s what I’m known for? You think of me and the first thing of endearment that comes to mind is that I’m... THE ABOVE LIST OF TRAGEDY? Is now an appropriate time for sobbing?

I guess when you are in denial of something it sticks with you, so I’m fessing up and hopping this yucky, klutzy, clumsy, goofy side of me will give up the fight and just go away.

GO ON, GET... NO ONE LIKES YOU... NOW SCRAM... and don’t let the door hit you on the wa... well, actually it did just hit you... yep yep, ok that had to hurt, that’s gonna leave a bruise... SIGH - nevermind, come back inside - Let me get the first aid kit...

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Feeling the PINCH me this can't be happening...

You know it’s not good when your controller walks into your offices, sits down, and says... “Marisa, at 10 minutes to 12, I need you to come to the conference room...” and then walks out.

O. M. G.

On a regular day this would have sent me into a fit of nauseous tears, but I already know what’s coming.
The boom.
The hammer.
The guillotine.

Yeah, lets see how peppy people are NOW. haha My post yesterday was well timed, eh? I’m sneaky like that. HA!

Everyone’s wages are being docked across the board - and not a little, A LOT. UGH - punch in the stomach is a little strong, but YOWZA - I feel the pinch. I know they don’t want to, but they HAVE to.

Damn you ECONOMY!

How do you pinch MORE? Christmas doesn’t matter to me. Hair and nails matter don’t matter to me. Brand new designer clothes matter don’t matter to me.

BUT my precious precious Sylvia? (My House Cleaner) WHY ECONOMY?!? WHY?!?!

My TiVo!?!? NO NO, I can’t breath... TiiiiiVooooo!? Say it ain’t so!

My unlimited everything iPhone plan... And all this time I prayed to you Steve Jobs, god of all the nerdy cool people... Sniffle - this tear I shed - not for me - but for YOU... your most loyal customer will have to tithe just a little bit less each month to you now, I’m SO SO SORRY!

I know I know... life’s not so bad - and yes I am SOOO still smiling! Putting down that pettiness, when others have real problems, helps me keep it in perspective.

I’m still sad. Things I’m comfortable and VERY happy with are changing. I still feel the pinch, in fact, this one might leave a bruise... but anyways...

Hi, how are you?

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Times is tough... And so's maintaining my composure!

Yeah, things are rough these days. I know it. I feel it. I can hear it in their voice over the phone... I see it in their eyes....

And they don’t even know HALF of what I know. Of what’s coming. But I walk around and I smile. You know why? Because I can and I should! Let me tell you, life gets A LOT worse than it is right now. I know a family who has everything. A Yacht, a plane, RV’s, speed boats, new cars, luxury cars like a Viper and Ford GT... EVERYTHING... Do you think that any of that will cure their 16 year old daughter from cancer? NO. Life is about people, not things. About memories and experiences, not money. About time, not status.

I like to pay attention to my interactions with others.

Have you ever been through the checkout line at the grocery store and left thinking, OH MY GOD, that person hates their life! When people walk by and don’t smile back. When they noticeably exhale and sigh to themselves because they are consumed with negativity? SUCKS HUH? How long do you want to hang around them?

But, what about the person who has a little spark in their eye. Who still takes the time to FEEL, to show concern, to have a positive moment of small talk, maybe share a chuckle? Doesn’t it change EVERYTHING? Don’t you leave feeling good about your experience with them.

I’m talking about friends, workmates, or even the stranger in line in front of you at the airport. Which one would you rather talk to or be around? Which one would you like people to think you are? Life is too short to spend all day sighing and grunting and groaning and complaining. I avoid those people because you can never cheer them up, but they can certainly bring you down... BLECH!

It’s weird because I’m walking around thinking about how much worse things are getting. I’m trying to button down the hatches in my finances because it’s not gonna be pretty. I’m not shopping. I’m not getting my hair and nails done. HarMar doesn’t go to the groomers - he gets a “mom cut”. I dont’ eat out. I’m not doing much. I could REALLY get into a funk over my situation, trust me.

But last night at the grocery store my mind started working and I thought: “ I don’t want to be in a funk, I want to be happy. BUT I can’t be happy if everyone around me is miserable. But, Dr Phil says - “This relationship needs a hero...” and he’s right. I can’t walk around saying YEAH, you be happy so I can be happy. NO, I have to choose to be happy. BUT it’s a lot of work goddamnit! Yeah, but if I have that realization, then I have the responsibility to step up. I can’t sit here complaining about what others do, I have to DO. I want to be the difference, the reason, that people smile. To show little tokens of my appreciations. To treat others how I want to be treated.”

And then I stopped thinking and I just let my pure and honest intention take over... I bought a card with glitter and bumble bees on it and wrote a short note about my sales manager Jeff’s good qualities and gave it to him. Do you know he cried? OMG (I think it was a happy cry... LOL) No 40 year old man who talks with a Brooklyn accent and who spent many a year in prison cries over a glittery bumble bee card... But apparently they do when it’s heartfelt. I took 5 seconds out of my busy schedule and $2 out of my wallet to do something nice and you know what happened? *** I *** WOUND UP FEELING GREAT! A random act of kindness turns out to be almost selfish. I’m not writing that story for Kudos. I only mention it because if you have goodness in your heart and you let it out the universe always rewards you 10 fold. In fact, now I’ve got a million thoughts about what to do next.

How awful to go through life being a good person and never letting anyone else know it! I watched on Oprah last night about secrets to live well into old age. Know what one of them is? GIVE BACK. Be a part of something you believe in.

So, I’m mostly writing this for me... Sort of... I put it out there so you guys can catch me being a moody bitch and remind me of all the stuff I said and shame me back into acting right.

Monday, December 1, 2008

TRULY thankful for the strangest things...

So I re-read my post from the other day and realized it wasn't really a typical post about the things I'm thankful for. And then I realized I'm not thankful for the normal things. (Well, that's not true, I am thankful for EVERYTHING - for every breath - for every smile - for every good intention - every ray of sunlight - for every beautiful sight and sound and smell - for every feeling of good energy - for every still moment, but anyways...)

I can easily get wrapped up in badness, so I keep a gratitude journal. I believe that every day has 1 thing that makes that day worth waking up for. Some days I'm thankful for how happy I am when using my gel pens, for singing in the car when a good song comes on, for the 1st drink of my Mt Dew in the morning, for an unexpected email or text from a friend...

But times are tough for everybody...

What am I thankful for?
I'm thankful that I don't have children and I'm not burdened with the responsibility of another.
I'm thankful that I am not hooked on cigarettes or gambling or booze - whatever is an extra expense to daily living.
I'm thankful that I don't own my home. I've owned homes before, but in this economy and with my job hanging in the balance, I find some sick comfort in being able to pick up and walk away.
I'm thankful for the truly wonderful people that surround me. There are some genuinely good souls in this world and I know I've met most of them. My roommates and my best friend and my pirate and my cousin Sunny and... you know who you are...
I'm thankful for awareness. As contradictory and hypocritical and depressing as it may be... I'm thankful for the light.

I just don't know what the future holds, but I'm thankful for my past. I'm thankful that I know I can survive on my own. That I'm capable. That I know I can start over and be okay. That I'm somewhat smart. That I wasn't hit with the ugly stick. That while I struggle to know what will happen next, that I know it doesn't matter cuz everything will be okay.

I'm thankful for HarMar.
I'm thankful for being healthy and vegetarian and active.
I'm thankful for reuniting with my family.

Now it's 11pm and I'm ready for bed.

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