Thursday, December 17, 2009

Let's Hope it's a Good One

I will join the march here at Blogger. Lamenting how this month has been overwhelming. I still write every day. Even if it is handwritten in a journal I constantly write things down. Lyrics to a song that resonate somehow or a funny commercial or blurb from a movie or TV show. The brain never stops. Just my motivation to form it in to something worth writing about.

December is a hard month. I know it is for so many. I watched an episode of M*A*S*H last night, where BJ tried in vain to save a soldier from dying before midnight, December 25th. He didn't want his family to always think of Christmas day as the day their daddy died. All I could think was, it didn't matter what day it was. Christmas is an entire season,dude. Kids will think of their dad the moment they walk in to WalMart and see Christmas trees in fucking September.

My now ex husband and I separated two weeks before Christmas. I finally threw him out when he showed up at a Christmas party that I was attending, sloppy drunk. Ironically, it was the first time we all met Dru's husband. It was her first "meet my friends" date. Tom still talks about that night. I can laugh now, but I know how horrible that final decision was. That first Christmas was even worse. I kept his wrapped presents that I had already bought before the separation, for over a year. One of them was custom made saddle bags for his motorcycle. His name was engraved in the leather. I couldn't return them and I didn't know any other men with bikes who spelled their name the same way my ex did.I finally did give them to him when a couple years later we tried to get back together. I broke it off for good when he joined a biker gang. A member of the gang who I knew who had served time in the past for armed robbery, knocked on my door looking for the husband. It didn't look like he wanted to have tea. I filed for divorce the next day. Hmmmmm, that was on Easter. Another holiday memory ruined. Never in a million years did I think walking down the aisle that the guy I married, who owned a Japanese motorcycle, would go on to buy a Harley and join a gang.

Christmas is a crazy time of year in the salon. It is our absolutely busiest time and there is no room for a catastrophe to happen. I came to work the day after I threw my husband out. I knew if I called out I would screw my over-scheduled book. I came to work the day after Prick assaulted me. I come to work every day. Period.

It was six days before Christmas that my friend Coleen committed suicide. Her sister called me at work to give me the news. I have no memory of what client was in my chair. I have no memory of how I finished my day. As always, I trudged through somehow. When I told my boss at the end of the day, he patted me on the back. In his warped way I knew he was thanking me for finishing out the day and not letting on what I was feeling inside.

It was a whirlwind week of funeral plans and combing through every single letter she had ever sent me, trying desperately to see if their was any clue that she would do what she did. Her last letter to me was on November 20th, 2007. She was planning to come visit in the new year. She asked if I would pick her up at the train station? I read that letter a thousand times. It is now well worn from being in my purse for so many years. I still cannot read one hint of what was to come in that letter. I have finally come to the realization that Coleen may not have known this was her last letter to me. That she may have possible woken that day with the intention of trudging on through like any other day. I will never know what finally snapped. But I know before her suicide she did what we all do every day without much thought. She woke up and walked the walk of life.

I guess that is the point of this blog. These are two examples how in the midst of what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year (according to an overly cheery Christmas song) is a world of people who know that life has a way of pulling out the rug from under us, no matter what day of the year. We wake up and do what we gotta do. No clue if disaster is waiting around the corner. We go on a first date with the hope that this is a nice person. We walk down the aisle with the intention of a life long commitment. We hug a loved one, thinking there will always be more to come down the road. I could probably write ten pages of past holiday disasters if I really wanted to. I don't. In spite of the stress and sadness I feel this time of year, I want to keep fighting the darkness.

So as always, I put up my tree. I decorate the house. I buy presents. I watch Christmas movies. I attend Christmas parties. I planned a Christmas party of my own. I invited a boatload of people to fill my tiny house with cheer. I sing John Lennon, and so this is Christmas for weak and for strong, knowing that the war is never really over no matter how badly we want it to be.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Enjoy the Silence

True silence is the rest of the mind, and is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment. ~William Penn

A funny thing about our Higher Selves. Sometimes, they need to physically give us a swift kick in our spiritual ass to see what is good for us. Somehow, I managed to end up with pneumonia. I was actually shocked when I was told this by my doctor. I went to her office solely to renew prescriptions. I did complain I was feeling more tense than usual but blamed it on too much work and not enough daylight. Stupid me, I thought she would just up my Prozac or write another prescription for Xanax. After listening to my lungs she ordered an x-ray and blood work. Both confirmed that my lungs were screaming.

Now that I have been forced in to bed rest, I have had enough time and solitude to see what I was doing for the past several months. I was working and staying out of the house in fear of being depressed. The funny thing is, now that I have been home alone for three days straight, it seems exactly the opposite happened. I regained my love of silence and solitude. I would only drag myself out of bed to feed the cats and move to the sofa where I would sit with a cup of tea and watch the birds and the falling autumn leaves fly outside my window.I never turned on my television and only occasionally checked my emails.The battery went dead on my crackberry and I am yet to charge it. Friends are actually calling my home line to check in. I would rasp out an "I'm OK" and immediately get off the phone. I just wanted quiet.

When I wasn't sleeping, I sat in bed or on the sofa, listening. What I heard for the first time in months was peaceful murmurings in my head.I would sit and look around at my surroundings. I was reminded of what I like about my home. I have surrounded myself with items and photos of things that are special to me. I forgot how much stuff I have accumulated over the years. Little finds in thrift shops or in my travels with the horse shows. Actual bits and pieces of equipment or items that just have sentimental value only to me. The vibration in my little place has started to shift.I started to feel the good energy come back from those items and feel comfort in being home.

For the first time since Prick's latest arrest, I left my storm door open for the cats to sit and watch the squirrels. Even though the door has a lock I still had not felt safe enough to not have the heavy steel door with three locks bolted when I was home alone. It was nice to sit and feel the sunlight spill in to my living room through the glass storm door and watch the cats follow the sunbeam as it moved across the hallway throughout the day.Such a small victory to some but it was huge for me. That glass door represented a lot.It was as if my Light came back all around. Even after the sun set I left it open while I sat on the sofa reading a book. My neighbors pass by while walking their dogs and I can glance outside And see that they all have their heavy steel doors open. I had forgotten that openness of my neighbors. When the weather is nice we don't feel the need to shut each other out. I was so glad to be reminded of another reason why I have chosen to stay where I am.

It took a couple of days but I think I finally felt like something has started to heal. Along with my lungs, it was my heart. It was worth that swift kick from my Higher Self.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

There's Got to be a Morning After (reposted)

There's Got to be a Morning After
I had originally wrote this draft in August of 2008 but never posted it. So often things are too painful at the time for me to actually hit the post button. I am glad I write. It really helps a year and a half later for me to see how far I have come since writing this. Tonight is the interview with Rihanna about her assault from Chris Brown. The excerpts I have seen so far have brought up some of these memories. So, I am choosing to just post this without editing it. Sometimes it is better to see it the way it was the first time around.

Once again, it is more telling that there is a huge gap since my last entry. Usually, when I am on vacation, I'll write like a crazy woman. This is the first of anything besides an email or two. I haven't even written much in my journal. Most entries start with the word exhausted.

I had written before about the little house here in Ship Bottom that I am renting for the week. It is the same house that I had rented for Prick and I, a year ago. I ended up coming here alone after Prick's arrest for assaulting me. While he was in jail, I came to beach and found out my internal sentence had begun serving it's own jail time.

I know I have blabbed a lot about the legal aftermath between Prick and I. What I hadn't realized until I came and sat in this same tiny cottage by the Atlantic Ocean, is how very emotionally broken I had already become before the assault. I was so numb from the mind fuck, that I had no idea until his toxic energy was away from me, how much damage was already there.

So,I knew I had to come back to the same place again this year. The full circle of a shitty year. I should point out that as crappy as I have felt at times, this was an amazing year of healing. Thanks to the legal issues and the insurance hell in dealing with a lump in my breast, I grew a pair of balls along the way. When you are single and have little parental support, you either sink or swim. Like the ill-fated Poseidon, I went belly up and learned to crawl through the bottom to get to the top. (do you have that crappy Maureen McGovern theme song in your head now?)heehee. I love to do that. Get a crappy 70s song stuck in someone else's head.
So,irony that last year I picked the one borough in Long Beach Island that I never rented in before. Ship Bottom was aptly named after an overturned shipwreck washed up on it's beaches and a lone woman was rescued from the hull. I had no idea how the town got it's name until I came here alone, last year. I found a book about the island that explained all of it's history. Ship Bottom was a perfect place to come alone, overturned and wrecked.
Location,location,location. I am the third house from the beach and as I type I am watching a stormy sunrise outside.It stormed in the early hours and I know if my sister were here with me,she would be glued to the window watching the forks of lightening over the water and listening with electric glee at the wind howling and slamming against my house.
Mornings like this, I can see why so many boats have wrecked on LBI's shores. The water is white capped and wild. I can see that from here at my kitchen table. Location,location,location.
The weather this week has been outstanding. Last year it took me over four hours to drive what usually takes about two and a half. It was pouring rain outside and I was pouring tears the whole way. My boss called me just as I was driving over the causeway on to the island, to see how I was. All I could do was wail,"I should of worked today and came after hours...and there's LIGHTENING!!!!" I think he was so proud of himself that he finally got me to see his point of view of all work before any play. Personally, the crappy weather mirrored my internal storm.
It ended up raining two more of the days later in the week and I lost two days to court proceedings that I had to come home for. One of which was taking out the restraining order when I realized that changing my phone number would not be enough to keep Prick's poison away from me.
The first sunny day was so hot and the beach was full of green head flies. I sat in the air conditioned house,curled up in a fetal position after downing half a bottle of Vox to myself for lunch.
I had spent most of my relationship with Prick sober. Attending Al Anon meetings, while he was in an AA meeting. I felt that it was my right to finally get so stinking drunk after supporting someone who never could stay sober more than eight weeks.My drunken confessions came when my best friend called having no idea what had happened other than what I told her before leaving the shore. "I am going alone. I broke up with Prick," was all I had told her. She hated him almost immediately after I started dating him.I knew that even though she was making sympathetic noises she was glad I seemed to have finally broken it off for good. She knew there would be no way I would go away alone if I wasn't final in my decision.
Like most women in abusive relationships, I immediately took the defense and began withholding all info. Covering up for him was really my way of covering up for myself. It was when I was stinking drunk that I finally told my best friend what had really happened. I then said the worst thing a best friend can say.
"I guess you would be happy to say I told you so."
I could tell from the silence on the other end of the receiver that she had no such thoughts other than wanting her friend to stop letting someone hurt her anymore. I was immediately ashamed.
What an awful thing to say to the one person who has always been there for me. Prick was one of many bad relationships. Mich was the one person who could always help me find the humor in my bad choices after the fact. She was the one who had sat with me in the windowsill of our high school because my sophomoric teen crush of a senior boy had asked a junior to his prom. The said junior, was a track star. Even before Tanya Harding, it was Mich who offered the services of her dad's mafia family to break this girl's knee caps. The fact that Mich can't kill a fly made this incredibly funny. Our long term friendship was sealed.
I thought of how far we had come as she held my hand at Prick's arraignment. She accompanied me to the Domestic Violence Center and stayed with me in the halls of the court house for the four hours we had to wait for the temporary emergency restrain order. No wonder so many women don't take one out or follow through for the permanent one.
Most people who didn't know me very well were stunned when I went away by myself. My closest friendds and family knew it was what I needed. I had to have only my own voice screaming inside my head to figure out what the hell just happened to me. I needed to do it in the one place in the world I love more than a barn.
After the Vox and phone call I finally steeled myself up to examine the bruises that were on my back and thighs. Most were hidden in places that only myself and later Mich who was with my attorney when she photographed them the next day for evidence. The bruise on my hip and butt were the worst. Luckily, boy short, tankini bathing suits were in fashion last summer. There was enough material to cover the deep blood bruises. I sat on the beach nursing the pulled muscles in my neck and back. I could care less how awful I must of looked. I just knew how awful I felt. It would take two months for the deeper bruises to finally fade away. The day I saw that there was only a shadow left where they once were black and blue, gave me hope that my heart could also heal.
Posted by Evanesco at 5:48 AM August 2008

Friday, November 6, 2009

Take Another Trip Around the Sun

I have to start out this blog by telling my emailers that I loved your responses to the sexting blog. I literally was laughing out loud at some of your own booty call stories...or lack It is a strange world out there and it doesn't seem to fade any with age. I wonder if I will be one of those creaky old ladies in the nursing home who is still trying to figure out what some 45 year old man wants from me? I'm sure it still won't be for my money. I am also pretty certain that I will still be bitching about the same old games people play, only now with wheelchairs and oxygen.

The past month was a blur of parties, dinners, horse events and even a Flyers hockey game that included a day of tailgating with crazy Phillies fans beforehand. To say this month was a blast would be an understatement. In between great fun with my friends, who I adore, I found myself back in a funk. I am fine if I am out of my house but as soon as night falls and I am alone at home, the black cloud descends. I have found myself on weeknights staying out at the barn until the latest possible hour.

Today was the first day of my "stay-cation." Work at both of my jobs had been non-stop busy for the past two months. This week had finally slowed down enough for me to be brave enough to ask my boss at the salon for a couple days off. I was pleasantly surprised when he complied. Originally, I was going to go to Penn State to see friends. Skinny was even going with his own crew. I had a giggle at the thought of all of my gay boyfriends at PSU hanging out with his overly male-hetero group of football frenzied, friends. I decided last week it would be a wiser choice after this month of over-partying to have a weekend of some solitude and dry out my liver. Penn State is not exactly the sort of town to stay sober in.

I spent this first day just trying to get my closet sorted out. I have lost enough weight to know it is time to let go of the larger clothes. I took them over to The Domestic Violence Center, along with a box of newly bought toiletries and samples of hair products from our salon. It just helps me to feel like I give back to the one place that has helped me so much these past couple years. It is hard to believe I just typed that: a couple years. I know the only reason I have had to still rely on them is because Prick keeps dragging me back there with court hearings over the stalking issue. As hard as I try, I still find myself feeling at times, that I am unable to cope with my own demons from this issue. I still have the nightmares, the panic attacks and the depression. I know it is a hell of a lot better than it was two years ago but I get discouraged that it never seems to go completely away.

Anyhoo, I plan to spend the rest of my stay-cation close to home. I plan to clean out some scary clowns that have been lurking under my bed and in the dark corners of my closets. I think there might even be one in the closet, under my stairs. Bastard needs to go! I found the best way to clown removal is to find music of hope. They hate that shit. The rest will be catching up with some reading and writing, hanging out at the barn and dinner with friends. When I am here at home and feeling the black cloud descending or the scratching claws of scary things, I will sing the mantra; hang on world,'cause I'm not jumping off.

Artist: R.E.M.
Album: Around the Sun
Title: Around the Sun

I want the sun to shine on me
I want the truth to set me free
I wish the followers would lead
with a voice so strong it could knock me to my knees

Hold on world 'cause you don't know what's coming
Hold on world 'cause I'm not jumping off
Hold onto this boy a little longer
Take another trip around the sun

If I jumped into the ocean to believe
If I climbed a mountain would I have to reach?
Do I even dare to speak?--to dream?--believe?
Give me a voice so strong
I can question what I have seen

Hold on world 'cause you don't know what's coming
Hold on world 'cause I'm not jumping off
Hold onto this boy a little longer
Take another trip around the sun

Around the sun
Around the sun
Around the sun
Let my dreams set me free.
Believe. believe.
Now now now now now now

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Operator, Can You Help Me Place This Call?

Halloween is fast approaching. Another one of those hellidays from my childhood. I know it would be shocking to my readers that Evanesco was quite shy as a wee wizard. Back then, I was wishing the vanishing spell on myself. I obviously got over it. Truthfully, if I am in a social situation with strangers it takes a while for me to warm up. But, among friends or people I like, it can be non-stop chatter...almost entirely on my part.
So, this newest form of communication sometimes has me surprizingly baffled. Texting.
I am guilty as charged in this department. I found that it is a fun and easy way throughout my busy day to touch base with friends or loved ones to let them know I'm thinking of them. I don't have many that I text with. Just a select few who either "get" my texts or I cannot freely telephone and actually converse.

My fellow single, co-workers are younger than I. They mainly communicate via the texting. One, who is closer to my age,shares my view of texting: a quick and easy way to share fun but I would rather talk to you for real. It was when this friend asked what was new with one of my recent male "friends" that it hit me what was new. So, it was she who I knew I could confess my latest annoyance, "He is a sexter." My friend rolled her eyes with understanding. Sexting should be self explanatory. If you do not understand this term...move along and read another blog.
Recently, I encountered someone of the opposite sex who feels texting is the only way to communicate. I probably did not help this by communicating back to him this way. In my own defense I said right to his face once, "you could call me,you know." which he complied for a whopping two times. What has evolved since then is something incredibly annoying. I text what I feel is an open line to communicating on an actual friend level and he replies with sext. Ummm, I should be flattered that I even receive a sext at my age but I admit it baffles me when it never goes any further. I guess it's like porn to me. Why watch strangers doing what I would rather do with a real live man? If you are going to sext me, you better have something to back it up, buster. Back in the dinosaur age of telephones you used to get the 4am, drunk booty call. I guess if you had enough balls to actually pick up a phone and speak in to it, you already committed to wanting some booty. But sexting is the least personal of the booty calls.This is coming from a person who will admit that she herself has a problem with a real relationship. In my mind I am the perfect girlfriend for the commitment phobe. I love you and only you~ but do not be up my ass 24/7. But, on that note: If you can't make an effort to talk to me, then don't expect me to booty you, ok?
Rant of the day over.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

There Can't be a Fire Unless There's a Flame

"Maybe this is my answer of what I should do?" I had actually posed this more of a statement than a question. Shoe Man and I went to dinner after he trimmed Sydney and Romeo's feet. Once again, I have found myself in a quandry and unable to come to peace with the decision I would make.
Things have been coasting along. I can't say for certain what I am feeling. An undercurrent of unease would probably sum it up best. I can't quite put a finger on it but I sense there is some implosion waiting in the wings. I just sit back and wait to see how hard it comes crashing down.I never really feel at peace knowing that whatever Prick-free time I have is only temporary. In the meantime, I keep riding Veritas as much as possible and my equine massage business has exploded. I am actually turning horses away because I don't have enough time to get them all in. I have recently encountered working with a vet from New Bolton who has given me referals all over Chester County. My ego is happy but it has put me back to working seven days a week with little free time for my own horses or friends. The only friend who seems to roll with the crazy schedule is Skinny. He makes his own hours so it is nothing for him to come meet me ten o'clock at night for dinner or a movie. Once again, are we dating? I have no clue. I am left with the feeling we missed that romantic window. We have been friends too long. I am done questioning it and I just embrace the convenience of always having a hetero person to be my date. Just about every weekend until December I have social functions that require a date. I found that Skinny will go anywhere without question... besides,"Dude, what do I need to wear?" Luckily, he dresses well without a fight about it. Another advantage? He has known me since I was 17 years old. This also means he knew every single one of my exes. Skinny can do a dead on imersonation of my ex husband that always get me in to side splitting giggles. This advantage means I never have to explain why I am so messed up as a 43 year old woman in the romance department. Part of me thinks Skinny knows all too well why he should steer clear of my romantic side. He has seen it first hand for too many years. *sigh*
So, back to Shoe Man. We had dinner yesterday and we did our usual six week "let's catch up." Recently Brit had contacted me. He found a position in a barn in Lexington, Kentucky. He had called me to offer me a job as head groom for their driving operation. On the surface it would be a dream job. It is also an opportunity to permanently get away from Prick and Pennsylvania. It would also mean giving up my life that I have worked so hard for here in PA. I would be leaving the horses and my friends. For the millionth time in my life I would wonder why I couldn't just have an easy solution to life? Fifteen years ago, I would of been moved before I could hang up the phone. My favorite saying of "it's a dollar short, a day late" tumbled out of my mouth. Shoe went on to assure me that working for Brit would be a disaster.I am too free-spirited next to his rigid British ways. Working shows for a week at a time was one thing. Full time would probably be my noose. I am grateful to hear his assurance that I made the right decision in saying no. We both agreed that Prick can stalk me anywhere. The most hateful things he has done was on the Internet. Moving to Kentucky won't protect me from that.
I came home after dinner in to my empty house. I wandered around, straightening up and dusting things off. I started to feel that black cloud descend. Just as I was contemplating going to bed the phone rang and heard the familiar voice on the other end, "Duuuude! Phillies are playing tonight. You wanna pretend you care and watch the game here, in my crib? You still have to tell me about your weekend with your brother."
I stood there with the phone at my ear. I picked up a framed picture of Brit and I riding on a coach at the Devon Horse Show 15 years ago. A lot has changed since then. Not all that bad.I still have my own horses. I still find comfort that I make a living massaging them. Maybe there is no fame or glory in it but the vets call on me to work. That is a huge step. Prick is away for at least a few more months.I can embrace 15 years ago with someone who was there to see it the first time around. "I'll be over," and I hung up the phone. Life goes on.

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Don't Cry
Don't be so hard on yourself.
Those tears are for someone else.
I hear your voice on the phone.
I hear you feel so alone.
My baby.
Ohh my baby.
Please my baby,
My baby,
When we were young,
And truth was paramount.
We were older then,
And we lived our life without any doubt.
Those memories,
They seem so long ago.
What's become of them? When you feel like me I want you to know.
Don't cry.
You're not alone.
Don't cry,
Tonight, my baby.
Don't cry,
You'll always be loved.
Don't cry,
My baby.
Today I dreamed,
Of friends I had before.
And I wonder why.
The ones who care don't call anymore.
My feelings hurt.
But you know I overcome the pain.
And I'm stronger now,
There can't be a fire unless there's a flame.
Don't cry.
You're not alone.
Don't cry,
Tonight, my baby.
Don't cry.
You'll always be loved.
Don't cry oh...
Limousines and sycophants,
Don't leave me now,
Cause I'm afraid what you've done to me.
Is now the wolf.
In my bed,
In my head.
In my head.
In my head.
The challenges, we took were hard enough.
They get harder now.
Even when we think that we've had enough.
Don't feel alone,
Cause it's I, you understand.
I'm your sedative,
Take a piece of me whenever you can.
Don't cry.... you're not alone.
...don't be so hard on yourself...
Don't cry.... tonight my baby
...Those tears are for.....someone else...
Don't cry.... you'll always be loved
...I hear your voice on the phone...
Don't cry.... tonight sweet baby
...I hear you feel... so alone.
Don't cry... don't cry... don't cry... don't you cry...
Cry... Don't cry...
Cause you still be loved
Don't cry
Don't cry tonight
My baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby
my baby my baby my my baby my baby my baby my baby mymy baby my baby my baby
My baby....
Don't cry tonight
You'll still be loved

~ Seal

Thursday, September 24, 2009

I Want to Fly and Never Come Down

Some of us are lucky to have tough love friends. I actually have a two and they also happen to be married to each other.

When Dru's husband called a month ago telling me that they bought my airline ticket and I had to go to Florida with them I am sure my outside friends would think I have incredibly nice friends. While it is true they are incredibly nice and they are very good friends, the ulterior motive was to get me away from what they knew was brewing in to a bad situation.

I have spent the past two years of my life numb. I have had my moments of crying and laughing and a steady hum of some form of contentment but when it came to the romance side of life~nothing.

Recently, I have found myself spiraling right back in to that pattern. The sad part is that when this happens, I am too numb to see it. Most of my friends buy my crap lines of inner peace and I am happy. Dru, and her husband, are not those friends.

"You know this will only come back to bite you down the line." This statement was from Dru's husband. I was teetering on the edge of being involved with the wrong person. I knew he was right. If a man is telling you that another man is bad news, you know they are right. When it comes to getting some, most men will stick together. Dru's husband is by no means sappy or sentimental but he is honest. I had that moment of "he is just not that in to you" from a dude. *sigh*
So, the real reason for my trip was to get me out of Dodge. Just like years ago when I would hit the road with the horses, the Tough Love Team knew that the best way to see what a relationship is~ or isn't~ is to remove me physically from the scene of the crime. That is good friendship.
It is strange when you have been alone for so long. You eventually become so used to it you no longer know what a real relationship feels like.
It seems it happens every time. I go for long periods of solitude to being overwhelmed by too much romantic male company. The thing is, it has never has worked for me. For the life of me, I cannot juggle. I am the circus freak who can only juggle one ball. I don't know if it's because I work so much, have too many friends I already socialize with, or maybe my psyche hates sharing, but I could never master dating several men at once.

Dru called me early on the morning of the 13th. The retirement farm for horses, where I worked for several years back in the 90s, had a barn burn down to the ground. "Quick, put on channel 6, Tommy* is being interviewed."

There he was. It had been at least six years since I last saw him. Shoe Man had continued to work as a farrier at the farm even after I left. One of the many strange twists of my life that would leave friends baffled as to how and why I live life the way I do. Tommy and I had kept in sporadic touch after I left the farm. Like a lot of old relationships, it eventually faded away without any fanfare.
Occasionally, Shoe would tell me that Tommy asked for me and said hello.

It was one of the highest points in my life when I took that job. I was the first female barn manager in the one hundred and twenty year history of the farm. I was proud that I came in to a male dominated facility and could keep up with the men in the physical aspect of running a farm with 108 horses. What I didn't count on was being the only female would put me in that position of male attention. Most of it came from a very married Tommy.

It started out innocent enough. We all drank a lot at the farm. After long hours of farm work, we would end the day by sitting in lawn chairs overlooking the pastures, drinking beers and making each other laugh. There were four of us. Three men and myself. It was Tommy who I hit it off with the most. I guess I shouldn't of been surprised when he finally in a drunken stupor proclaimed love. I knew he was a man who would never leave his kids. I chose to walk away from starting a relationship with a married man. We both ignored his drunk confession and continued to stay friends and coworkers.

During this time I was just beginning to date Shoe Man. He was a friend of a friend. I can't say I was head over heels with him, but he was a nice guy who was always there for me. Even Tommy admitted that he would be a good guy for me. So, what did I do? I found myself sucked in to a wild affair with another guy at the farm. This man was also Tommy's best friend since high school. He was supposedly separated from his wife and followed me around like a lovesick puppy. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking getting involved with this guy. Hindsight, I think it was my way of saying to Tommy, "this is what could happen if you left your wife."

The only thing I achieved was breaking up their friendship and having this guy's teenage daughter call me on the phone demanding to know if I was sleeping with her father? Apparently, he was not separated and his wife after all. Tommy was livid. He had known his friend was playing me. He struggled with who his loyalty was to. It turned out to be to me. This turned in to weeks of drunken phone calls and further proclamations of love. He would leave his wife, he would be there for me...blahblahblah. In no time, all of the hard work and respect I achieved at the farm, went down the drain. I handed in my resignation, told Tommy and the other man I wanted nothing romantic from either of them and had Shoe Man move in with me. We were together for seven years. Not once in those seven years, did we ever discuss the triangle that occurred at the farm that he, himself, was still working at.
"Tommy says hello," Shoe would say.
"That's nice, tell him hello back for me," I would respond. Shoe was a good guy that way.

I was quite shocked when three years ago, while I was with Prick, that Tommy called me 11:00 at night in a drunken stupor. "I left her and I have never, ever, stopped loving you." Crap. Why do men do this??? It had been ten years by that point! Needless to say, Prick, did not take this phone call too well. I had to endure the last few months of our relationship with him tormenting me with a barrage of questions of who Tommy was?

As I watched the news, I picked up the phone and dialed Tommy's office. Ten years later I knew the number off the top of my head. His machine came on and I left a message.
"You have to burn down a barn to get me to call you? Whassup wi' dat?"

He called me back an hour later.

"Did you get my letters?" he asked. Oh shit. I immediately felt my stomach drop. I actually felt my heart start to pound in anxiety. "When did you send them?" I asked although I knew already when he sent them. "Right after I called you. Ness, I am so sorry I hurt you all these years. I wrote to apologise for calling you drunk. You didn't deserve that. I figured that you hated me when I never heard from you after I sent you the birthday card."
I never got that card along with any letters. It was as if Prick had kicked me again. I knew immediately what had happened. Right after Tommy's first drunk call my mailbox key disappeared. I had a spare one so I used that until after a month that one disappeared. It took me over a week to get a new lock and key for my mailbox. By then Prick was drinking heavily and we were spiraling closer to our demise. It never occurred to me that he was tampering with my mail. Two years later I should not be shocked, right? Yet, here I was, dealing with the fact Prick once again crossed a boundary and fucked with my life and my own decisions.

"I am leaving for Florida on Wednesday," I told Tommy. He had asked if he could see me? He has been single now for three years. "I've been alone since that night I called you. Are you seeing anyone?I still think about you."

It was then I realized that I recognised something in Tommy's voice. It was 11am and he was drunk.

Dru and her husband had been talking to me about a situation I had recently got myself in to with another man.Whatever it was,I know it was not dating. This situation made me actually think about Skinny. Are we dating? He texts and calls me every day. Am I that clueless in dating? Ummmm, yes. I have no clue what the hell I am doing. I have no clue what the hell these men are doing. I knew Dru was correct. I needed to get the hell out of Dodge and get my ass to Florida, far away from all three of them.

"No," I told Tommy, "for now, it is the best thing. I am still very confused from what I have been through and know I am not ready to be dating anyone. I don't think it's a good idea to see you. I just wanted to say hello and see how the horses were doing."

It is better to be lonely, than to be with someone and still feel alone. Being alone is tangible~I can explain that. Being with someone who always makes me feel confused is the worst kind of loneliness.

I spent the next five days in Florida with my Tough Love Team. I was able to see exactly what I was doing. I had somehow recreated the same scenario in my present, with three men from my past. One has a girlfriend, one has a drinking issue and one is a hell of a nice guy that I have zero romantic interest in. But, this time around, I have something I didn't have back then. I have that insight of what bad decisions will do for my future well being.

So, like a baby bird who was kicked out of the nest by it's loving parents, Dru and her husband made me take my first flight and away from those who were clipping my wings. I never want to come down.

*name changed to protect privacy

We Never Change

I want to live life, and never be cruel
I wanna live life, and be good to you

And i wanna fly
I'll never come down
And live my life
And have friends around

We never change do we no, no
We never learn do we
So i wanna live, in a wooden house
I wanna live life, and always be true
I wanna live life, and be good to you

And i wanna fly
But never come down
And live my life
And have friends around

We never change do we
We never learn do we
So i wanna live in a wooden house
And making more friends would be easy

Oh, and i don't have a soul to save
Yes and i sin every single day
We never change do we
We never learn do we

So i want to live in a wooden house
Where making more friends would be easy
I wanna live where the sun comes out


Thursday, September 3, 2009

किम्बा थे व्हाइट लिओन इस थे ओने

I have been blogging since 2005. It is funny to see how prolifically I wrote at Non-stop, almost daily, blog chatter about television and what is going on in the world. I still maintain a couple other blogs elsewhere, but they are strictly equine oriented or less "heavy" like the blogs I write here. I have kept my one guide at but finally walked away from blogging at CNET entirely when Prick's girlfriend started stalking online for him, while he was in jail. It was the proverbial last fucking straw.

I didn't come here to write heavy blogs. I came here to hide from Prick. He had invaded every other blog site that I posted under my original screen name, Kimba. It actually took me a long time to start writing under the name Evanesco. I chose a new name that was a vanishing spell from the Harry Potter series. It seemed to fit what I was feeling when I finally had to leave Kimba behind. Anyway, I did not come here planning to become some champion of domestic violence. Somehow that seems to have happened. My light banter of other blog sites is something that just doesn't carry over here. Judging from my private email following, there are a lot of us out there who have had some heavy shit put upon us. I wish so much I could go back and write as Kimba. Not in the name but in that person.

Recently, I started editing and transferring some of the CNET blogs. The one thing that always stands out so clear is how open to interpretation blogging is. I read comments from my readers and have a giggle. I am glad that I reach them in some way but I am often puzzled that they read in to a blog a completely different emotion than what I feel when I am writing it. Normally, I respond to my readers comments the same way the comments come to me;private email. I have spent the last couple years hiding my online identity so thoroughly that I forget that not everyone sees the hidden responses to my blogs as I see them. So, I feel it is time to address some responses here in a public blog form. There would be too many emails and too many emotions to cover in the past few blogs.
Part of the issue is that I only convey to a reader what is typed. The last two blogs have proven that a slight omitting of details changes what a reader thinks I am feeling or doing.
Example:I Write the Songs
In this blog I speak of Prick's letter. From the numerous responses I received, it became apparent that I somehow led people to believe that this letter was addressed to me,personally. It wasn't. Prick's latest literary ramblings were solely addressed to his probation officer. The reason his probation officer made me aware of the letter writing (there have been more since then) was because they may be used for future court proceedings.He didn't want me to be shocked that there were even letters to be addressed to the court. I appreciated that Prick's PO has chosen to take my feelings in to consideration. More than anyone else, he has shared what is to come in color with the black and white facts that follow legalities. Hence; Kodachrome. Prick's PO gave me something in color. It is where in my Kimba world I would rather be. The shredding and then disposing the black and white printing on a letter was my way of embracing the colors of feeling again. Not sure if that makes sense to a blog reader but I felt I should at least point out that I am not "hung up" on Prick's ramblings or hurt by the PO showing me the letter. My reading and then disposing the letter was actually a way I chose to mourn for Guinevere. The point I was trying to convey was that it was what Prick chooses not to write that angers me. It is no secret what transpired the night he assaulted me. What bothers me is what he doesn't focus on is his actions since the assault. He seems to think he is being persecuted for one night. Reading that letter was proof to me that he will never admit to the extremes he continues to take to get to me. That includes him taking the life of my horse. So,the disposal of the letter was a healing for me. Kodachrome, gives us those nice bright colors.

Second was my recent blog:That's the Way it Oughtta Be

I had a really good laugh when I kept getting emails congratulating me on my new romance. Boy, did that one get misconstrued! Kudos, to my Kiwi friend Julie, who "got" what my puking off of Skinny's deck was probably about. I also give a special shout out to her for actually getting what my inclusion of songs and lyrics are about and how they are tied in to what I am feeling.
Soooo, no romance with Skinny. What I had omitted was the fact that I had recently put a toe in the dating water and found the water was still too cold. Skinny has a girlfriend in another state. He is now at a crossroads of sorts and was bonding with me on the out-of-state dilemma. I thought my own recent dip in the dating pool was no big deal. The fact that this discussion with Skinny made me vomit...well let's have a field day with interpreting that Ness-O-Matic is still struggling in the romance department.
Anyway, my own interpretation of what I wrote is this: Often when we date or marry we lose our connections to ourselves aka friends. I don't know how or why it happens, but often it does. When we lose or pull away from old friends it seems we lose a vital part of what we really are. What ends up happening is an empty or shallow relationship with the partner who makes you lose that connection. It is my theory on why couples like Mich and her husband have made it this far. Mich has stayed true to herself and has retained that part of herself that was before her husband but has included him in with us. Skinny and I have both made that mistake. We tried to be different people for someone and it back-fired. My puking off his deck was a our life coming back around full circle. His fancy house, my fabulous hair that he grumbled about, one thing was the same... he held back my hair and let me puke just like we did in our friendship years ago. So, am in love with Skinny? Of course. Just as I was when we were 15. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends who has helped me reconnect with our original selves. Romance? If hanging out and drinking beer until I puke is wonder I suck at dating. So, as much as I love Skinny, I am not in love with Skinny. Nice try though, folks. It would be a much neater ending than the one I seem to be working on that made me puke.

Finally, Romeo has continued to recover. We have had some further set backs but plain and simple...he is old. It is something we are going to have to face and this year seems to be making that fact seem closer. Thank you so much for all of the prayers and White Light you have sent my way. It does mean a lot.

Well, I think that is it for blog response. Being a Gemini, I will probably reinterpret everything differently tomorrow. Maybe you, my readers, see what I can't. Dunno. Maybe, I just wander with words the same way I do after midnight when the Sandman abandons me. I am just grateful for your emails and support over the years. Even if it comes across in a different way than what I intended, if it helps someone else embrace the Light, I can sleep at night knowing that.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

That's the Way it Oughtta Be

"So, dude. Whassup w' da hair?"

This question was posed to me on Sunday afternoon from my long time friend,Skinny.He was trying to hold back my hair and made the mistake of doing so from the scalp.

"They are extensions..." I mumbled, as I proceeded to hurl again over his deck.

"I don't like them," was all he muttered back and he patiently held the fake hair out of vomits way.

I know how to really make an impression with my friends. Somehow six years had gone by and Skinny's McMansion was ignored by his friends. It's not that we didn't like his wife. She always seemed friendly to least to our face. It just seemed as their ten year marriage went on, his wife became a less frequent visitor to our events and Skinny was usually stag. Their lives became so seperate that he took to asking me to go to events with him such as friends weddings or Christmas parties. The sad part? I was also in the same kind of relationship.

Now that he has been divorced for a year, Skinny was finally refurnishing his huge empty house. It is one of those cookie-cutter, mini mansions that seem to be the rage in this part of PA. Cathedral ceilings and rooms galore. I pictured myself in my midnight wanderings in my two bedroom townhouse with no basement. I could wander here for days.

This was actually one of the places I hid out when Prick was still running around free. Skinny and I would sit in his basement. He would watch old Flyers videos and I sat staring in to space, numb from what was happening in my real world. We would reminisce about our youth. We have known each other since we were 15 years old. Somehow the question of; how the hell did we get here? never came up. At least, until Sunday.

"Ness-O-matic, you are a mess-O-matic." Spoken like a true Philly dude. We all have nicknames for each other. Skinny was skinny once. Now it is like calling a bald guy Curly. Skinny takes the true Rocky Balboa Philly-speak to it's highest art form. It is incredibly rare to have any kind of "serious" talk about anything with Skinny. When I stayed in his McMansion, hiding from Prick, I stood at the landing of his stairwell. It looked in to his family room that had cathedral ceilings. I sang the opening line of Evita, "don't cry for me Argentina..." and he snarfed his beer through his nose. For 28 years we have made each other laugh.

It's not the first time I hurled in front of Skinny. Hell, it's not the first time I hurled on the poor guy or vice versa. He went to the same college as my best friend. We went through clubbing and beach houses together for years. Drinking was a huge part of our friendship. I rarely drink anymore. Skinny is not skinny mainly due to a good beer gut on him. I should of known better when Mich, her husband and I went to visit him in his big empty house on that Sunday. He wanted to show off the new dining room set he bought.

It started like any other visit. I don't know why the beer tasted better than usual. Skinny has a bar with a tap. Maybe it was the frosted mug. Maybe I really deep down wanted to get plastered on three beers. Maybe the laughter was too much. Who knows? All I remember was one minute being fine and then the next moment I was outside with Skinny standing over me, holding back my fake hair puking off his beautifully stained deck on his perfectly manicured lawn.

"How the hell did we get here?" I asked him. We grew up outside of Philly. We went to school, we worked, we got married, we moved all over the place and here we were. He was alone in his big house and I was puking off his deck. For once there was no jokes coming from either one of us. After he asked me how my extensions came out he carefully helped me pluck each weft from my head and threw them on his picnic table.

"Ness-O. We keep being too nice to the wrong people." I leaned over and threw up a third time and started to cry.It was a lot easier for him to hold my real hair back.

"I just thought it would be different by now," was what I said as he crushed me in a hug.

"It is different," he replied. "We both know that it is better to be alone than to be alone with someone who makes us feel lonely even when they are sitting right there."

No matter how sick or drunk I was, I knew Skinny just made a profound statement that nailed it right on the head.

I spent most of the day yesterday, green at the gills. I did ride Veritas in the morning. He was kind enough to not bounce me around too bad.

At 5:00pm Skinny sent me a text:

"Nessi,U need to wrk on building more beer muscle. Training begins @ Camp SkinMan. K/p lttng UR real hair dwn."

I had a good giggle and ran my fingers through my real hair. My head still hurt too much for fake hair.

Song of the day:
That's the Way~Led Zeppelin

I don't know how I'm gonna tell you, I can't play with you no more,
I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me, My friend, the boy next door.
I can't believe what people saying, You're gonna let your hair hang down,
I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long, You're in the darker side of town.

And when I'm out I see you walking, Why don't your eyes see me,
Could it be you've found another game to play, What did mama say to me.

*That's The Way, Oh, That's The Way it ought to be,
Yeah, yeah, mama say That's The Way it ought to stay.

And yesterday I saw you standing by the river,
And weren't those tears that filled your eyes,
And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying,
Had they got you hypnotized?

And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
But all that lives is born to die.
And so I say to you that nothing really matters,
And all you do is stand and cry.

I don't know what to say about it,
When all you ears have turned away,
But now's the time to look and look again at what you see,
Is that the way it ought to stay?

That's the way... That's the way it oughtta be
Oh don't you know now, Mama said.. that's the way it's gonna stay, yeah.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

I Write the Songs

There is a constant of songs in my head. It's why my blog is what it is. When life is handing me it's daily adventure I begin to hear the hum of a tune in my head to accompany the story. Sometimes a song gets stuck. Like the old vinyl days when the record skips in a groove. You hear the same line over and over.

I had a brief reprieve of numbness after the hearing. A glimmer that life is still on a smooth groove. Unfortunately the scratches are there in between this LP of life. Little pops and clicks with the occasional full scratch that catches the tune in an endless repetition of a line in a song.

What kind of world is this we're living in if you can never win? *

That was two blogs ago, that David Gray song. Usually, if I write out whatever song is stuck in my head, it will move itself along. This one got stuck in the groove on that line. Here I am, several blogs later, stuck in a groove.

I'm sure it is just the timing of everything that has thrown me full tilt back in to my state of numbness. I have had enough counseling to know why I put the wall up. It still sucks to know that internally I feel the need to put it up at all.

I'm sure he thought he was doing me a favor. It is what he does for a living. One would become immune to exactly what emotions are really behind what is on the pieces of paper in the file in front of them. Not everyone lives in my Kodachrome world where everything looks worse in black and white.

Prick has taken to writing letters while he is in jail. His parents, his ex wife, his daughter, his fellow AA acquaintances. I have known about this for years. My answer was always the same when someone would contact me, asking if I wanted to hear it? I would always say no.

One of the things they don't explain to you when you finally get the balls to take out a restraining order is that zero contact goes both ways. I knew the moment I signed that original copy of the PFA that I was also giving up my right to ever defend myself verbally to Prick's ramblings. Unlike Shoe-Man, I can never just pick up the phone and say, "what the fuck were you thinking?" The worst was when Prick began invading my blog sites writing such blatant lies or even worse~ taking things that I have said or done out of context and twisting them in to such a hateful way.

Shoe and I have come a long way in our ten years together. We can call each other on our bad behavior and can explain ourselves in a reasonable manner. Afterwards, we still can come out of it respecting each other. I never knew how rare of a gift that is, to move on and not have hate thrown back at you.

Two years later I still had to verbally go over the whole nightmare while sitting in a room full of men. I had to meet with the DAs office before the hearing. Post Traumatic Stress made me block out a lot of my relationship with Prick. If it wasn't for my diarrhea of the fingers that compels me to write, I'm sure most would be forgotten by now. Not always a bad thing, right? Even the assault itself I will never write or say what exactly transpired that night. Face it, we have all have had our share of knock down, over dramatized, unbelievably stupid fights with our partners. Usually you can laugh it off years later. I wish I could file that last night away in that file. Just an ugly but necessary break up. But the one thing you can never explain is how I would rather he have punched me than the the replay of the sound in my head, when Prick ripped my very soul right out of my body. The ugly scar it has left behind is something I can never explain to a room full of strangers. Shit, or even to my best friend. What makes that sound even worse is that it took him 17 days to finally complete the job of what he started that night on August 1st.

So, it is his job. I never asked if this is something that other inmates do. For some reason Prick has taken to writing his probation officer. For some reason I accepted the copy of the letter he wrote. Everything looks worse in black and white.

Kodachrome. Give us those nice bright colors.*

My girlfriend read it and said what I already knew. "you don't want to read this crap." I took the letter from her and stuck it in the folder with the other Prick ramblings and legal stuff.

There is a reason for everything. Even the sound of my soul getting sucked out of me, is in there for a reason. The good and the bad. I embrace that it makes me what I am. Somehow I have to believe it is for the better.

It was not the smartest of my moves. I chose to finally read the letter on the weekend anniversary of when I lost Gwen. There was nothing new in there. The usual~ place the blame on everything but what it really is. I can accept that. What I could not accept is what he didn't write. That he is so bent on being right, that I was such an awful person, that it is OK to take the life of my horse. There. I said it. The fucker killed my horse because I was fucked up enough to date him in the first place.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough

I never slept that night. My world will never be the same. I know that. I accept that. It doesn't stop me from wandering around my home, sleepless, clutching the strand of Gwen's tail that Dru had cut for me after the vet finally relieved her of her suffering and before my uncle buried her.

By 4am, I gave up. I read the letter one more time. I put it through the shredder and put the paper in a bag. I grabbed a few more supplies and I drove the two hours in the dark, to Long Beach Island. I watched the sun peek through the dark and over the ocean. I took numerous photos. I felt my inner peace break down a couple bricks that have been building back up. I finally took out the bag of shredded paper. It is someones job to have to read this stuff. I said a prayer of thanks that it is not mine. I thanked the Higher Powers that I do not have the last word to someone who will never deserve one. I walked out to the end of the jetty and watched the surf pound and swirl around the rocks. I emptied the contents of the letter in to the swirling of the ocean.

Kodachrome. Gives us those nice bright colors.*

* Lyrics from:
Simon & Garfunkel, Kodachrome
David Gray, My Oh My

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Could You Please Knock Me Off My Feet For a While?

At least The Sandman came at all. After yesterday's court hearing my best friend and I had lunch. We had a drink on top of the ativan my boss had given me the night before. I came home and finally slept for four hours straight. I think that was the first solid sleep in awhile. Prick made it easy for me and plead guilty. He usually does which makes me think in the back of my mind he really does want to stay in jail. I can't stand more than one rainy day inside the house, so jail is beyond my comprehension. Of course the one thing I have come to learn through the years that no matter what the outside location, it is in your own mind where freedom matters the most.
Romeo has taken a turn for the worst. The poor old guy has had a rough time with all of the rain. His weakened hoof walls had began to crumble with all of the torrential rains and mud. He developed another abcess a couple weeks ago. Shoe-Man came and drained it and packed the crevice with sugardine. I walked him back to his rig and I knew by his face.

"He's old, Ness."


I buried my face into his chest when he pulled me in for a hug. I breathed in that familiar scent of horses and leather. I felt nothing. When you have come this far there is not much else to feel.I told Shoe the same thing I always say when this time gets close at hand.

"I don't know what to do."

How many horses have I lost in the past decade? For the millionth time I wonder why I couldn't take up a hobby like tennis or golf?
My aunt Jan never calls me unless it is bad. I was trying to soak up the last rays of light at the lake when her panic call came in. Seems Romeo got down in his stall and couldn't get back up. As I drove to the farm I called the vet to have the private talk without my aunt Jan's presence. Tony was already there at the farm and was trying to decide if we should try and hoist him up with ropes. I drove through the winding roads and felt that familiar safety net wrapping it's way around me. I am numb. I glanced in to my rear view mirror and was certain the grim reaper was hunched down in the back seat, hiding under the cover of darkness of the waning daylight.I could feel his grin start to burn a hole in the back of my neck.
I parked my car behind the vet's rig. The lights were on in the barn and Blackie began winding herself around my feet the moment I stepped out of the car.
I stepped in to the barn and saw Romeo looking at me over his stall wall. He let out a huge nicker. Jan said the moment he heard my car he got up. Tony stood there with a handful of ropes that we obviously didn't need.
The vet spent the next hour digging out another abcess. This one is closer to the coffin bone. Jan stood by Romeos head with tears streaming down while I silently watched Tony work.
Afterwards I walked the vet back to his truck. I asked him if it's time? We both stood there and could see inside the lit barn, Romeo standing up with his ears forward and eating hay. Just the strange rocking back stance of his body to relieve his front laminitic feet being the only clue of the pain he was in.
Tony said it was more of a question of what we were willing to do to keep him going? The hard part is Romeo is owned by Jan. Technically it is her decision in the end. We decided to wait it out and see how this abcess drains. As always, somehow you do know when it is finally time and right now Romeo is still there and fighting.
I finally left Jan's when Sydney and Romeo seemed settled for the night. My heart was heavy at the thought of going home in such a state of numbness. I found myself driving down to see Veritas. The horses are turned out at night in the summer. As I hiked up the hill of his pasture I had no clue where I was walking to. It was dark enough that I couldn't make out any shapes of the horses. When I finally got to the top of the hill I saw a dark shape walking towards me. I didn't need my eyes to tell me it was Veritas. For the first time in this stressful day the tears started falling. I buried my face in his mane and glanced up and saw a shooting star.

The stars light a sky
On a galaxy of emptiness tonight
Though I'm happiest
When there's no reason for me to be

With no one's expectation to weigh heavy on my heart
And so much hope it sometimes tears me all apart
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole galaxy of emptiness tonight
A galaxy of emptiness tonight

The stars light a sky
On a gutter full of broken dreams tonight
Though I'm not content, that's the way it seems to be
Still, I've been fighting all week
Though I don't know what for
Hoping someone else, somewhere near knows the score
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

And there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
There's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole galaxy of emptiness tonight

Monkey see, monkey do
I spent my whole life surrounded by people like you
With all that expectation to weigh heavy on your heart
But no ideas to later tear it all apart
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Beware the galaxy of emptiness tonight
'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Yeah, there's a galaxy of emptiness
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Beware the galaxy of emptiness tonight
(A galaxy of emptiness)
(A whole galaxy of stars)

~Galaxy Of Emptiness, Beth Orton

Sunday, August 9, 2009

If a picture Paints a Thousand Words

My week long vacation is winding it's way down. Normally this is the week I always rent a beach house in Long Beach Island. For the first time in years I didn't rent a place. I don't know how the summer flew past me so quickly. Now that I have had time to sit back and actually begin to breathe again I can see I stopped breathing the moment Prick got out of jail. I think in the back of my mind I knew that it would be the same this summer as it was the past two. Police reports and court dates. Now that the week is coming to a close I can reflect that this was probably the best thing to do. I spent the week cleaning out my closets, riding Veritas, writing and I even read three books in a row. I also started to transfer old blogs that I have written in other sites over to here. I saw friends just about every day. My fear of continually spiraling in to a depression if I am not working 7 days a week have proven to be wrong. I can honestly say I have not thought much about the past two years or the upcoming court date next week. I found some semblence of my old self coming back and it's been a really long time since I felt that for more than a few fleeting moments. The fact that I could extend it to almost an entire week seems like a fucking miracle.

One of the days was too humid and hot to ride. My boss was at the Jersey shore already and called to tell me that there was only a land breeze and a million green head flies. I decided instead of heading to the shore for the day, I would head up to the mountains. I forgot my camera's battery. The whole reason to head up there was to take photos. I hiked up to a peak and just sat. Before I knew it, two hours had passed before a voice startled me back in to the present. A group of photographers were setting up their cameras for the late afternoon and early dusk. One of the photographers had approached me to tell me he took a photo of me sitting there. He thought I looked peaceful. I had an internal giggle on that. God, if he only knew how long it has been since that look has been on my face. He asked if he could send me a copy? and I told him no thanks. I don't need to see it. I feel it with my heart.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

My Oh My

What on earth is going on in my heart?
Has it turned as cold as stone?
Seems these days I don't feel anything
Less it cuts me right down to the bone
What on earth is going on in my heart?*

Anniversaries. Those days that landmark something or another. For myself, August 1st is going in to it's 3rd year of anniversary hell. It should actually be a faded memory of the final assault Prick inflicted that night. No need to go back there, right? Apparently, Prick continues in his quest to try.
Just as it did two years ago, July seems to be the month his rage begins to eat away inside him. The stalking began and my world froze again.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end
My oh my*

I wish it didn't happen again, but there it is. Another implosion within my family. When my father sat crying in his Lazy Boy chair, crying that his greatest fear was that he would have nothing but grief to leave to his children, I think I did all the right things. I assured him I would try and help him the best I could. I gave him cash to help pay for whatever mess his finances were becoming because of other family members. I spent an hour cleaning up dog shit all over the house. I took the dog for a walk and assured her that I would never abandon her. I held my dad's hand while he sat helplessly in his chair with tears running down his face. While he was crying I sat and stared down at my shoes. It wasn't until that moment I saw how swollen my ankles were from a busy week at the salon. Crap. I wondered if my feet would fit in to my barn boots and if I would have time to ride tonight?
I finally got in to my car and drove home. It was a half hour later and half way there, that I realized I didn't even have the radio on.
Aaaaah, here it comes again. I am truly numb. No tears. No panic. Nothing.

What on earth is going on in my head
You know I used to be so sure
You know I used to be so definite
Thought I knew what love was for
I look around these days and I'm not so sure*

The next day I packed everything I could think of. Clothes, makeup, shoes...gotta have my shoes. I was wearing towering platform Beverly Feldman shoes as I walked back and forth between my car and the parking lot of my development. It's a far walk, especially in 5" heels. It never occurred to me that this was a possibly dangerous thing to try and do. It was on my last trip back to my house that my neighbor stopped me with, "how the hell do you walk in those things?"
I looked down at my feet and saw blood coming from my pinkie toe. A beyond-blister mishap. It wasn't until that moment I felt it.
"I'm OK." I know that what I am really saying is~ I am OK because it is better to look good on the outside than to feel what is going on the inside.

It was two years ago this strange odyssey of my life began. My friends have stood by me through thick and thin. Even when I am shutting down they know when to bring me back to reality. After the initial assault I was numb. I was moving but had no idea how. It lasted for months. I hate that I have spiraled back down in to that well, drowning in cold numbness to whatever it is that is drowning me.

I finished packing my car and drove to my friends to hide from Prick who was once again on the prowl and ready to try and knock me off my fabulous shoes. My neighbors would care for the cats and rabbits. I told them I was taking a weekend vacation.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end*

When I went to court to have the PFA drawn, Prick had hired himself a lawyer. The man had obviously no idea of what legalities were entailed at a PFA hearing. My lawyer was patient in talking him through it. My best friend sat and held my hand as I tried to make as little eye contact where Prick sat down the hall, waiting. As his lawyer walked away my attorney and my friend began laughing. I sat there baffled until they both sputtered out, "where did he find that guy? What is up with those shoes?" I leaned forward and watched the man as he walked away. He was wearing two completely different shoes. I laughed for the first time in weeks. It was a genuine one,too.

My oh my you know I just can't win
I burn it down it comes right back again
What kinda world is this we're living in
where you never win
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love these days
To keep your heart from freezing
To keep your spirit free*

I have never valued my time with Veritas more. It is the one time in my life that being numb doesn't work. If I don't pay attention or start to tune out, he just stops. My Light is his gas. For the millionth time in my life I ponder why that doesn't work for humans? By the time we leave the farm and cross over to the fields, the internal fog seems to lift. From his back I can see the wind wash over the grass, making it move like a green ocean. I see hawks glide silently across the sky and giant thunderheads form in the distance. Like those clouds, I want to feel that there is a powerful storm brewing in myself. It is just far away and waiting to come pouring down. For now, they just float silently, within sight, but not quite ready to release.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough*

"Are you OK?"

I realized the death grip I had on my best friend's hand. She had come with me to court yesterday, just as she had two years ago.
I looked down at her hand in mine and saw that is so tiny in comparison to mine. I'm sure I was accidentally crushing it as the elevator in the courthouse opened on to our floor.
Without me even asking, she peeked down the hall and assured me Prick was not waiting outside the courtroom. I asked her who was? As she described them to me I knew that it was the detective and Prick's probation officer.

"They look like two nice guys sitting there... and Nessie,good news... their shoes match."

We both collapsed back against the wall in giggles. It took me a minute but we managed to compose ourselves and walked down the hall.

"Are you OK?"

This time the question was from Prick's probation officer. I looked down and saw my hands were shaking. I stole another glance down to his shoes. A perfect matching pair. I said a silent prayer of thanks and couldn't help but smile.

I knew I would be just fine.

It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end
My oh my it just don't stop

* Lyrics~
My Oh My, David Gray

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Give Peace a Chance

I was informed that I am woefully behind in my blogging. I have had a case of the spring fever. It keeps me outside for most of the day when I am not working and I collapse in to bed at night with a head full of pollen.
I actually have written a lot. I am either writing in a journal by hand or I have several unfinished drafts that I never bothered to complete. My Gemini self has reared it's head. I tend to start things and not finish. *sigh* Let's see how far I get today...

The one good thing is work at the salon has been the busiest ever. There may be a recession but for us we have been raking in more cash than ever. My theory is this: people are stressed about their jobs, therefore, want to look good. It's the American way. It's not how you feel but how you look that is important. 24 years of cutting hair made me come to that conclusion. The other factor is that the over-priced salons in Center City and The Main Line. Clients won't stop getting their hair done but they will stop paying exuberant amounts of money for a service they can get elsewhere, for less. That's us. We are just off the Main Line so our prices reflect that. Suddenly I have found myself booked 6 weeks in advance! That is a huge boost to my wallet and my ego. I have managed to book record high totals and I am turning clients away to the other girls. For the first time I am coming out a bit ahead at the end of the month. My bills are being paid on time, I am able to maintain my car and I still have a bit to play with for the horses.
The downside of this is the long hours have taken their toll. Long hours of standing with raised arms has left me both physically and mentally drained. After a long thought out processing of what would be best, I gave up my massage business almost entirely. I have a couple of long-standing clients that I chose to keep but have let everyone else go. The plus side of this is that my neighbor and good friend finally took the Equissage course at my urging. She is a Native American Shaman so it fits in perfect for the type of service I provided. I did so much with Reiki and Therapeutic Touch along with Perelandra Flower Essences. She was the perfect person to pass the torch to. My clients took the transition pretty well which made me feel better. The ones who are more clinical and not wanting the energy work I refer to a girl who is...well... clinical.

It was a really hard decision because I love my work with the horses but after 16 years I have to concede that it is better to keep a few and do better work than to spread myself thin. The end result was not fair to the horse if I am too exhausted to put out the energy needed.

I took a little time off at the salon to work The Devon Horse Show. Although I enjoyed the week of horses I have to admit I finally reached a point in my life where I accepted my pay and thought, "that wasn't worth it."

I also had to admit that I needed some down time for myself. This is the hardest for me. I found that these past years that if I have time on my hands I tend to spiral in to depression. It's hard to admit that. I did find myself lost those first few Sundays off. After taking care of Romeo and Syd I found I would have an entire day open. It was too cold and rainy to head for the beach or to ride. I found myself actually shopping in stores instead of online two o'clock in the morning. I have finally gotten comfortable going out in to crowded stores again. That was one of the residual effects of my PTSD. Shopping had become a nightmare of panic attacks. They have finally started to fade. Most of the time I head to Dru's and play with the rescue puppies and hang out with the volunteers. I have also found comfort in the huge two story Barnes and Noble by my house. There is something about being in a bookstore on a cold rainy day that brings peace to my over thinking brain.

It has rained just about every week in May and is raining again,today. I haven't been riding nearly as much as I would like to. The one great thing is the daylight is longer this time of year. I love that more than anything.Rain or no rain. Light is good.

No signs of Prick since his release. We did have an incident last Friday with his brother at my salon. He tried to come in and talk to me about his brother. My boss blocked him and told him to leave. John put up an fight and the police ended up coming.
I am not sure what John could possibly want to talk to me about. The two of them were estranged as far as I know. Prick's brother was never my favorite person even before the break up. I just can't take that chance of Prick using him as a third party contact. I filed a report with the police to let them know of a possible parole and PFA violation. It was upsetting and embarrassing to have the police come to my work. The only thing I can say is that it passed quickly and life moves on. I am finally getting comfortable with the fact that I always have one ear and eye cocked behind me. I have to say I was relieved to see how proactive my boss was. He finally had the locks at the salon changed so that we can now lock the door from the inside. That was my pet peeve working at night. Not just because of Prick. Our shampoo girl is in there by herself early in the morning. No one should be in there by themselves without a locked door.

So, that's about it for May. Life is coasting along. I appreciate all of the beautiful thoughts and prayers after my last blog. They really helped in my moving forward. It's been a long road since that August. I have had to rethink my stance on forgiveness. I can go on and live life and try to regain my inner peace. It doesn't mean I am less of an enlightened person if I find someone's cruelty unforgivable.I can still find peace elsewhere in my head. There is obviously a lot of room in there for different compartments. I can't say I am 100% happy but who really is? Part of life and the learning process is coming to peace with that. I am finally finding peace with the fact that things are what they are. I can go on and live life in spite of them. I still have more rooms in my head to discover. I just hope they are not filled with scary balloon-carrying, clowns.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Let Your White Birds Smile Up

Big gaps of nothing. I'm not sure why I lose the blog mojo from time to time. Probably it is because blogs are my bitching place. That safe haven to spew to virtual strangers and fellow blogsters. It prevents me from picking up the phone and crying my eyes out to family and friends.
The past month I really had nothing to bitch about. Spring has sprung, the horses are shedding out the last of their winter fuzz and my social life took a turn for the better. Better weather means better riding weather. My equine clients have returned from the southern show circuit and I am back to riding a lot. Veritas is starting to lean out and gain muscle. Life is good.
The winding down of Prick's sentence is looming over me. I received a call from the adult probation that his release date is May 10th. My first initial reaction was fear that is the same weekend as Winterthur's Point to Point race. It isn't. I'm not sure why it would matter. Like my best friend said,"there will never be a good time for the asshole to get out."
May is the beginning of weekly races and horse shows. I am trying to make every weekend filled with friends and fun. I was surprised when my cell phone rang Saturday night. I had just ended a call with a friend and thought he was calling back to bitch some more about the Flyers losing the playoffs. Instead it was the detective who handled Prick's arrest for the PFA and probation violation. He had contacted me earlier in the week after he was also contacted by probation concerning the upcoming release. For the first time I have had interactions with really pro active law enforcement. Not one of my fears of Prick's release has been brushed off. I was encouraged when both agencies confirmed that after reviewing the case file,they felt I had grounds for an extension of the PFA. The probation officer had expressed it perfectly. My county was not letting him get away with any further violence. Prick's past record has proven that he will most likely continue his pattern of stalking and even more likely escalate with more violence. The detective assured me they were treating past suspicions and police reports seriously. It was what the detective said next that left me speechless. He wanted me to know that he had spoken to the officer in the town where my aunt lives and who had taken the original report I filed after I lost Gwen. He said out loud what I deep down have always known but could never prove. They did believe that Prick had something to do with Gwen's demise but there was nothing to go on except a vet's suspicion, a cop's instinct, and a woman's intuition. He wanted me to know that they would be keeping a close eye on my development and to know that they were there for my protection. My protection would also include both properties where my horses are. All I could muster up was continual whispered thank yous. After I ended the call, I sat in silence, staring in to space, for what seemed hours. My brain just flat lined at that point.
I think the confirmation that I am not crazy or paranoid just made these past two years seem somehow better. I just wish it was never there to be confirmed in the first place. Knowing that they were willing to protect my horses was such a huge relief.
We have had record high temps for April. It feels like summer and I love it. All of the trees have burst into bloom and petals of their flowers have been drifting down in the soft breeze that has come with the heat. I rode Veritas early on Sunday. He really is such a great trail horse. He has no separation anxiety when I take him out alone. I have to confess, I dislike riding with other people or horses. Tas is like me. He enjoys the sights and sounds of nature. Maybe, it is my negative energy he picks up on, but when we ride with others, he gets cranky and distracted.
After I rode Tas, I drove to my aunt's. I brushed more winter hair out of Sydney and Romeo. It has been a little easier with the heat. I think they are literally sweating their hair out. After I was done, I walked over to Gwen's grave. I see it every time I come to the farm. Even after two years, I feel pain when I see the sunken area where my uncle buried her. We have five horses buried in that field. God, knows how many cats, rabbits and dogs are buried throughout the property. I had always felt comforted that they are all in a place so beautiful and close to me. I feel their spirit grows in to the surrounding trees, the carpet of wildflowers and grass. Except, for Gwen's spot. It is the only grave that still instills so much pain in me. It came to represent what evil can do to a soul. The fact that someone extinguished her Light with their hate was unforgivable to me. For the life of me, I had not been able to find peace with what happened to her. The fact that some well meaning friends tried to brush my suspicion off as my own self imposed guilt made it even worse. I felt guilty for feeling guilty. No win. I have learned to never speak of it and I think even I began to believe that it was a tragic coincidence.
I saw purple violets have finally begun growing across Gwen's grave. It was comforting to see something so pretty in this spot that elicits so much pain. I know that the detective's call really helped. For the first time I could feel Light coming from this spot. I am grateful that God keeps sending me people to remind me of the Light. There will never be justice for what happened to her but that call of acknowledgment was enough to remind me to keep fighting to keep the dark away. For the first time I have come to find some sort of peace with Gwen.
I think she deserves that.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Alive and Kickin'

I am dreadfully behind in everything. I have a stack of half read books next to my bed and a slew of half written blogs that I have never bothered to complete. I guess that is where my brain is right now. Half full.
Today is St. Patrick's Day. Normal people just think it is no big deal. That is, unless you live in the surrounding suburbs of a North East city of the USA. Since last Saturday a school bus pulls up daily to the pubs across the street from my shop. A sea of green attired drunks pour out and take part of a bar crawl known as the Erin Express. Today will be no exception. It amazes me how many people I know from my home town will take vacation days today and tomorrow to partake in this event. I don't have a speck o' Irish in me so I guess that's why this Canadian just doesn't get it.
I am even behind in my training with Veritas. The weather has been erratic and rainy. I feel the next onslaught of depression looming over me. I need sun and warmth to get it's ass over here before I fall back in to a funk.
The one really positive thing going on is that I finally found a miracle drug for my allergies. Singulair. I had no idea how shitty I was feeling until I started this medication a few days ago. I now suspect that is why my head is always so fuzzy. It was filled half way with histamine. It is also why I have been getting cold after cold this winter. My poor lungs just can't take it without some help. It goes against my grain to rely on the meds but I have to concede to the fact that my profession is filled with toxic fumes. My lungs are in sad shape from years of hair dressing.
No real point to my ramblings today. Just wanted my e-mailers to know that yes, I am alive and I am doing fine. The horses are fine, the cats are fine, the rabbits are always fine. (hmmmm, why do I suffer from allergies???) I am finally breathing~for real. Life is good.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Silent Snow

I decided it was the perfect opportunity for a covert operation. Snow. A lot of snow.
We got dumped with a nor'easter. By 7 am we were in a lull. I was supposed to have an appointment with my neurologist this morning but the cancellation came while I was clearing the 4 inches of snow off my car. This was a dry, powdery snow. The forecast was predicting the second half of the storm to hit my area by 9am.I had at least two hours to out on the road before the predicted white-out conditions would hit.
It's been coming for awhile. I usually am forced to wait until the weather breaks in the spring to perform this dreaded task. Washing the horses blanket liners. After months of being encased in their waterproofed coverings, the inside liners get incredibly stinky and full of hair. The spring shedding out of hair actually starts in mid February. Every time I remove Syd and Romeo's liner a small foal-sized clump of hair seems to come with the liner.
I checked my watch and looked up at the sky. The sun was peeking through the clouds and the decision was made. I drove through empty roads to the barn. Being a Monday in March it seems every school had a snow day. It was obvious many were not going to work today. I love snow. Especially the kind that coats the trees. Driving the empty winding road to the barn made me feel exhilarated. It was as if the world stood still and only the birds and myself were out and about.
I ran in to the barn and stripped Sydney and Romeo of the offending liners. I put on their lighter sheets knowing that they would be in for the day due to the high winds that were predicted later that morning.I loaded the liners in to the back of my car and began my trek to the laundromat. Half way there I had to roll down my window because the heat of the car made the smell of wet horse that much more pungent. I pulled up to the laundromat and made sure the coast was clear. Thanking the snow gods for making the roads a state of emergency which seemed to keep the place empty. I loaded each liner in to it's own washer. I set the washer to heavy duty wash, said a prayer and sat back to watch for any disasters. It's been awhile since I have killed an industrial washer but one never knows. It's not so much the weight of the blankets it's the hair in them that can kill a machine. I confess there are at least two laundromats in Pottstown that I am banned from. I think they even have a poster at the door with my face on it. "Wanted: Serial Washer Killer!"
I forgot my book. I sat and watched the snow start back up again. It was falling in huge flakes that were drifting down so slow it reminded me of the fake snow in the Nutcracker at The Academy of Music. As I watched for any shaking or smoke coming from either machine, my mind started to wander. I thought back to snows of the past. Why it always seems so peaceful on the inside but causes so much chaos in our outside daily lives. I thought of the Conrad Aiken story Silent Snow,Secret Snow. Watching the snow start to swirl outside the window reminded me of so many other times I sat looking out a window, wondering how to find peace with the reality I have chosen. I feel I am happy but I sometimes wonder if the outside person looks in and thinks how sad my choices in life have been. Am I the young Paul? Descending in to madness with no clue as to what the real world is?
The liners made it through both the washer and dryer without too much shaking. I ran the washers through a clean cycle to wash out any hair that might be left. I drove back out to the barn and the wind had begun to kick up in full force. By the time I got to my aunt's the snow was falling sideways. As I put the newly washed liners on each horse I was overwhelmed by the peacefulness in the barn. The wind was slamming against the sides of the barn yet here we were, safe and enveloped in warmth. Syd reached around as I strapped her liner on. She took a long whiff of the clean cloth. It was still warm from the dryer. She let out a heavy sigh and nudged me before she went back to eating her hay.
I decided right at that moment that I like the secret snow in my head. It sure beats the reality that has been trying to blind me these past couple years.
I trudged up to my aunt's house and she ushered me in with a cup of hot chocolate. Apple wiggled her doggy greeting to me and we curled up next to the wood stove and snuggled. I watched the white snow swirl around the window and allowed myself one more thought of madness. I really love the snow.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

What I Hate About You

It's funny how the perception of time shifts day to day. Sometimes I feel like my life is in slow moving turtle speed and then other times I can look at a calendar and think, "how did I get three months behind?"

It began when Shoe-Man called and asked if we could meet for lunch. Shoe-Man is the nicer of my ex boyfriends. We have worked hard to stay nice in our split. His current wife doesn't seem to appreciate this so I was rather shocked he wanted to meet.

"We need to talk."

Oh crap. I hate that statement. It never bodes well when someone says they need to talk. I asked him why we couldn't just talk while he was trimming Syd and Romeo's feet?

"What the fuck Nessie? Can't a man just buy you lunch without you finding a reason to run for the hills?"

I was stunned. First because Shoe-Man is one of the more patient men in my life and second...well, he is right.I hate that. It is my self preservation that screams, "run for the hills! The man wants to *gasp* talk!" He called me on it.

Yesterday, he came down to trim the horses feet and then we went to lunch. It hit me funny that he chose the place that was our first date. I don't think that crossed his mind. Like most men he doesn't process that fact beyond than it's a place he likes to go.

After we ordered our food he made a bunch of small talk. Being a hairdresser for 23 years I think I am fairly good in this department. I confess though, it often makes me insane. I get mad at myself for repeating what clients say all day. "Crazy weather,eh?" to the more irritating, "how 'bout them Eagles?" I finally had enough.

"Shoe, just spit it out what you want from me."

I instantly regretted that statement. The look on his face said it all. I always go for the jugular and assume the worst. *sigh* No wonder I am single.

He then went in to a long explanation about his current wife's younger son and how violent he was becoming. His step son finally punched the mother in the face and he suspects he killed his mother's cat. They had to go to court and now he lives with his dad, blah,blah, blah.

"Kathy is really having a hard time. I thought you could talk to her."

I sat silent.For the first time in years I wished I had a cigarette.

This woman was still married to someone else when Shoe met her. I knew her as one of our mutual clients. Shoe was her farrier for her four horses and I massaged a couple of them. I would be lying if I told you I wasn't horrified that he chose to move on with a married woman who I knew as a client. The worst part was most of our mutual clients knew before I did. I was even more horrified that this woman chose to tell people some private things about me in her justification as to why Shoe and I broke up after 7 years. To put it bluntly, I wanted to kick her cheating ass. But that was then.

After she divorced her husband and they bought a farm together, Shoe and I came to a sort of peace. His wife on the other hand chose to embrace hating me. I was very baffled at this. I mean, we socialized before she started sleeping with my ex. She would chat my ear off while I massaged her horses. Funny how once she became an adulteress I was the enemy. Freud would have a field day. It came to the point that Shoe-Man still shoes my horses but the wife doesn't know. Even his mother,who I have stayed in touch with, admitted she keeps me a secret. Whatever. I have more important things to sweat over. I figured his new marriage was already based on a lie. Let him face the consequences and bad karma of that lie.

I was sad that this man who I once loved very much had talked himself in to believing that I am the only person his wife could talk to. I was also sad that this is how people now define me. Some champion of domestic violence who dispenses hope to others. The truth is I rarely go to the shelter anymore. I made a decision that now is the time to remove myself from that label of victim or survivor. After Prick's last hearing I realized the only way to move on is to accept that this is as good as it gets when dealing with someone Else's bad behavior. Shoe-Man's request just made me look hard at the time-line of my life. I feel like my situation was eons ago. I guess that's a good thing.

I asked him if Kathy knew he was still in touch with me? He stammered out a no.
"Shoe, that's your answer. How can you possibly explain why I am suddenly there to help her when she doesn't even allow you to trim my horses feet? I have to say, no."
I tried to fill him in on Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome which she seemed to be experiencing. I gave him some thoughts on how he as her spouse could help her. Long story short I tried to be the better person and help this man who has no clue that he still depends on me to bail him out of situations he can't handle.

After our lunch he thanked me for his help. I didn't feel like I did but,OK. As I walked to my car I was struck by how funny life is. This woman hates me so much and has no clue how alike we really are. Or, maybe she does and that's why she hates me.
Dunno. Just another pointless blog about ironies of life.