Fright.

Last night. I slept. I woke up and he was so afraid, it made me so afraid.
I met his family in the middle of the night. I laughed about it later today.

Relief in subtle victories. Maybe that is what I am writing about.

Driving angrily down busy streets in Massachusetts.
Matt changes the songs on his ipod to something that will cheer me up.

Matt and I sit in the crowded bar, drowning everyone else out.
A break or two for a car bomb... or two.
Mid-conversation a song breaks the tension.
"You don't know me, you don't even care, oh yeah,
She said you don't know me, and you don't wear my chains... oh yeah,
She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life"
And I, of course, break into tears.
As many times as the world has heard that song
I doubt it's words have ever said so much.

Now I am drunk.

Matt told Jon he looks at Upstate and remembers all of the negative. All of the loss.
He told Jon and now he tells me.
He says, "I cannot go back to New York to see Shannon in a casket."

It is always a little strange to hear your own name in a dialogue that you are one half of.
Starving for something, so I starve myself.
I have no answers. Just irrational and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Although, it is not all bad.
I am closer to stable than I have ever been.
I see less and less reason to run, to move, to change.

I think I like where I am, who I am, and who surrounds me just fine.

This really is enough, it is just fine.

And to Oswego: I love you. You feel more like home than anything I've ever known.

Bah!

Headache. Manchester Orchestra at work. Hobo dead. I feel like a giant, a giant ready to explode (or maybe implode, I never know).

when I took the blame
we layed in ruins trying to quote your phrase
we're yelling, "someone's got the answers,
but I'd rather think there's nothing to be found"

I owe money to a lot of people. I think the bad guys are going to break down my doors any day now. They'll drag me out by my ankles; through the street and into their van. You might find a bloody fingernail stuck in the carpet. I'll try, but it won't be enough.

Congratulations, Nation. You've won this round. Congratulations New York State. Always stickin' it to the little guys. I have had enough.

I can hardly see what's in front of me these days, those days too.

Haven't you had your fill?

February 15th(s)

Sitting outside, on the railing. My 11:45 smoke break. Pasty, upstate-New York ankles shine just bright enough to blind the melting snow. A rabbit chews on a single patch of brave blades of grass; they have forced their way through cascades of white in a backyard tundra. I sat, trying to remember if I have ever had a "bad" February 15th. On the drive in this morning I thought that February 15th might be my favorite day of the year, for no reason in particular. A pessimist, by nature, I am trying to find negativity. Not today. The sun is so warm on my flushed face.

Aside from a brief lapse of sanity, I had an amazing night. Aside from waking up a little bit too early for my late-night self, I am having a fantastic day. I smiled on the drive down to Manlius. I said, "Isn't it beautiful out?" She said nothing, pouting in her usual way. I smiled. Joked. Laughed at myself for having the jitters from too much coffee, too fast. As I dropped her off, she smiled and said, "see you in an hour?" It seems so small, but if you knew the whole situation the smile would be significant to you, too.

Now, forcing memories, I remember a February 15th when I was 14 or 15. It was just like this, with less responsibility. I walked down the bike path by my parents house. I snuck into the woods and climbed over the same, old fence. Down to the creek. I sat for two hours by the melting ice. Disappearing snowmobile tracks. If I could, I would drive the 2 hours to that bike path right now. I'd sit there all day, feeling this way.

Relief.

I cannot wait to walk the break wall. I cannot wait to jump into the frigid water. I am aching to scootch my lazy ass across the narrow cliff and fly a kite. Let the defrost begin.

Hums and Whistles

The soundtrack to my night. The clock on the wall ticks, almost silently. The occasional buzz of the radiator. This house is frightening at night. I am intimidated by the 4 men sleeping in their rooms. I am afraid of the cars that drive by. I've checked the lock 50 times in an hour.

The baby monitor spews a whistle, here and there. Autism is a beautiful and frightening thing. I hear a whistle louder than the last followed by a groan. Innate, maternal instincts kick in. I run up two flights of stairs to the dark hallway. The floor creaks, I am trying to be quiet. My shoes are wet from the rain, I had to smoke that cigarette. The door squeaks. The little blue LED light is just enough to see him hunched over. Panic ensues. Creeping closer, I reach down and put one hand on his back. He breathes, heavy and louder than I have ever heard. I blame it on the silence. Relief. He is sleeping. My anxiety is at an unhealthy level.

ANXIETY.

"Please stay. Please stay by me and see me through this."
"It's not right. It's right though, for me. I've never known such a bitch."

Last night, on yet another psychotic drive down the 690, I screamed. Then I cried. Then I cried for my mom and I screamed again. Child-like. My "behaviors" are child-like. I regress because it is all I know of normalcy. I am learning the causes for that.

My earliest memory: unknown. Somewhere between age 4 and 5. I remember sexual abuse. I remember learning about rape. I remember being an introvert and my family ostracizing and teasing me for that. She was a cute, little thing. Staring out windows with big, brown eyes. So inquisitive but so quiet. Where did you go?

I imagine myself crazy.

Is it enough to come home, just a little bit late from work, to a leaking ceiling and a sad, sick best friend? I think it is. Right now it is enough. Soaking wet towels again, heavier than I am... on a really bad day. Throw them in a big machine, it will wipe the musty odor away. Wash it away. Dance across the kitchen, you vibrating and unbalanced, washing-robot.

I sometimes wonder if inanimate objects are really so inanimate. We are not made of metal or plastic. We are not wooden, so who the hell decided they knew what it was like to be a lump of coal? I think I have enslaved my washing machine robot. Poor thing.

Fried Green Beans

Are the most delicious things in the world. Seriously. I feel like my brain consists of fried green beans tonight.

Work has been crazy. Down time? What down time? We do not get lunch hours, this is not a normal job. I work 10 hour days. I have 3 smoke breaks. I manhandle (that's right, manhandle) all of the finances for the house. That consists of filing paystubs with SSI, accounting for every cent (with receipts to back it up) compiling and editing ledgers, balancing check books, balancing monthly budgets, and filling out the most annoying form in the world with all of the financial information summarized. I have to forward a million copies of a million things to a thousand different people. To top it all off, I have 2 days at the first of the month to finish everything. How about that monthly summary? Oops. It is the end of the day, it is the 2nd of the month. I have to come in to work early tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am still going about my typical day. Taking people to appointments, working on goals, cooking dinner, cleaning bathrooms, cleaning human beings, crisis intervention, staying sane, listening to 6 people talk at the same time, filling the car with gas, grocery shopping, returning library books, passing meds, checking med passes, clipping toenails, checking weights, filing worts, smoking a cigarette, showering someone, listening to someone while they cry, listening to someone else while they scream, finishing laundry, doing the dishes, taking out the trash, forgetting to eat, forgetting to smoke, forgetting to think, realizing that my back hurts, my knee hurts, and my head is about to explode.

Just another day, in case any one wondered what my work day was.

Megan just sent me a text that simply said "love you poop mouth." Laughing out loud when I am alone is one of the most satisfying experiences. Laughing out loud when I am alone and seconds away from insanity is even more satisfying.

Eat it, Governor Patterson. I do deserve more money. Stop with the budget cuts. Stop cutting my pay and my mileage reimbursement, stop taking away my holiday bonus. My voice will be heard, you son of a bee sting.

If you made it through that, you are a champ and I owe you a drink.