Pure Bliss (FloydFest X)

This weekend was amazing. I heard music and danced in the dark until long after midnight. I played in the rain. I sweated like a pig in weather hotter than it should have been. I left my purse, wallet and all, completely unsupervised under a canopy in a crowd of 20,000 people, and didn't worry for a moment. My cell phone's only function for four days was a clock, and we only used the computer for a few moments each morning, to check the weather. Complete strangers offered me several types of drugs, and even though I turned them all down, I still felt completely high. It was a freeing experience, unlike anything I'd ever felt. It was blissful. It felt like childhood, only as an adult. No responsibility, no long-term thoughts. I was completely in-the-moment for the whole weekend.

I don't think I could live like that permanently, or in any long-term sort of situation. It's a relief to be back home. But I understand now. I understand why people make stupid mistakes. Because at the time, they aren't thinking about what'll happen next week. I've always "known" that, in my head, but now, I understand it. I've felt what it is to not be aware of future consequences. Until this past weekend, I can't remember a time where I've ever been so completely in the moment. It's a little scary.

When people offered me drugs, I didn't say "no" because I remembered all the addicts that I knew, or because I remembered what they taught me in school. It wasn't because I feared being arrested, or failing a drug test at work. I said no because the music and the dancing and the darkness already made me feel high. I didn't need the drugs to get the feeling, so I just laughed and said "Thanks, but no thanks." It's scary to look back on. I was totally in the moment and consequences and futures didn't exist for me then. If I had been in another mindset, I could have said yes. I could have ruined everything I ever worked for. But then I remind myself that, if I had been in another mindset, consequences would have existed and I would have said "no" anyways.

There isn't any action that I took this weekend that is different from what it would have been, if I had thought things through. I keep reminding myself of that, telling myself "You didn't do anything wrong. Just enjoy the memory of that pure bliss you felt," and yet, I fear and I worry.

If I lived in that mindset constantly, I could turn into my mother.

H is for Home (or lack there of)

When I moved into my apartment last month, I was so excited. Glad to finally have my own space again, my own home. Somewhere that I simply loved, was proud of. The apartment is everything I wanted in on. Counter space in a kitchen (not even a kitchenette, but an actual kitchen), a good sized bedroom, and a bigger living room. The bathroom is pretty big, so far as bathrooms go. I have 4 closets.

But after living there for a month, unpacking, settling, it still doesn't feel like "home" to me. My apartment in Radford last year felt like home. I don't know what I'm doing differently. Is it because we aren't totally settled yet? Because our pictures aren't up on the walls? Is it because I haven't spent enough time there to really let it grow on me? Is it because when I am there, Jeffrey and I never sit down and do stuff together, it's always one of us or the other doing stuff? Is it because my upstairs neighbor is super-loud so I hear everything going on in their life, and it doesn't feel private, like my own corner?

I don't know what it is. I don't know why my home isn't... homey. I want it. I want to sit on my couch and feel totally at home there. Totally comfortable. I just don't. I wonder why, I think about how to fix it. We planned on living in this apartment for two years. It's the perfect location. 5 different school DISTRICTS within a one hour commute, for when Jeffrey gets his teachers certification, it's near-enough the highway that we can get on it easily, but far enough that we aren't listening to it. It's right near my college. Right near the mall. Right near several grocery stores. Everything is right there. It's perfect.... but it's not. And I don't know why. and it bothers me.

C is for..... everything!

C is for Crazy, which I am. C is also for the Classes I take, and C is for Chelsea, my best friend. C is for coffee and chocolate, and cream. It's for custody. For children. For College. For Creativity.

I don't know what to write about today. There are so MANY things I could write about. Of all those C words, Custody is the one that jumps out at me the most, but my feelings on it right now are so.... vague. So up in the air, that I don't know what to do.

Two and a half weeks ago, I was looking up what the requirements were for foster homes, and what the rules were about fostering a child from another state. I was contemplating my schedule, seeing what I could change and how it would work. I was re-writing budgets, and mentally re-arranging furniture to make room for my sister in my home.

Something vague happened and she ended up out of her foster home. She was sent to a temporary foster home for the night. That's normal-ish. She woke up the next day and was brought to the DCF office, to wait while they looked for a permanent foster home for her. Again, normal.

No one wanted her.

No foster family would take in a girl with several hospitalizations in the past year. So that night, she went to another temporary house, and the next day, back to the office. And again the day after. And the day after.

Our mother couldn't take her. Her father wouldn't take her. My aunt can't handle her. My father doesn't meet the requirements. Our grandparents can't. Who else does she have left? Just me. So here I was. 20 years old and trying to get temporary custody of a 13 year old.

I was trying to figure out how to squeeze her in between my classes, or how to fix my work schedule so I had time to help her. Or at least time to give her a good morning and good night hug. It just wasn't working. I couldn't figure it out. Every time I found a solution to a problem, another one cropped up.

Do I make enough money to feed her? Pay her electric bill? Do I have the space for her? Does a futon couch count as a bed for her? Is the living room a suitable sleeping arrangement? Can our closet hold her clothes? How will I get her to school? Or will DCF insist on her having her home schooled like she is now? Will she be okay home alone all day? Does she need a private tutor?

and the kicker: I'm 20 years old. Will I be able to make her look at me as a guardian, or just a sister? Do I know enough to do a decent job at steering her in the right direction, for now?

Before I managed to find a suitable answer to my questions, they found a foster home. I was relieved, in a way that I now feel guilty for. I don't think I'm ready to be a parent. I already don't know how I did it when I was at home. Certainly, 20 years old isn't old enough to parent a teenager. Her foster family don't speak much English, and its lonely with no one to talk to in the house. But she's somewhere at least. I can't imagine how much emotional pain she must have been in, and is still in, knowing that, at 13, no one wanted her. I know how much it hurt me when my mom kicked me out at 16. But I still had one other parent to take care of me. She had no one. And I was older. She's in that awful stage that is the beginning of being a teenager. God, I hated being 13.

My mother gets out of her thing (more on that lateR) in a few weeks, and will get my sister out of foster care. The other is still with the family who will adopt her. That's the plan right now.

Located: Lauren. Updated.

As of 4:27 (which is 14 minutes ago, as I type this) I know where Lauren is. I got a text message from a number I didn't recognize. Turns out its my littlest sister's best friend, and my sister is living there. She hasn't answered my text messages because her phone is broken. This is both good and bad.

Good because:
I know where my sister is, obviously.
I know the family well, and trust them. Also, Lauren loves them.
My sister has phone access, (although not right now because shes still working on her homework, and she has to finish it before she uses the phone) so I can talk to her later.

Bad because:
Only Lauren is there. She and Manda aren't together, and I know that being together was important to them.
I still don't know where Manda is
Or why Manda hasn't texted me.

But none the less, I'm relieved to know where one of my sisters is, and glad that she's in a familiar place, with people she loves who will take good care of her. Plus, they live in the same town, which means Lauren doesn't have to switch schools or anything, even though she isn't at home anymore.

Also, earlier I finally got up the guts to text my mother but she responded that she was furious with me. Apparently, this is all my fault. Awesome.

UPDATE: Located: Manda.
Two hours after this was posted I got a text message from Manda. Apparently I misunderstood earlier. She's staying there too.  Relief.

Cell Phones

It's now Thursday. I still haven't heard from my sisters. I've called them a bunch, texted them an assload, and still nothing.

I've come to the (obvious) conclusion that they have had their phones taken away. The question now is by whom? Both my mother and DCF are likely to have taken their phones away. I haven't been able to talk to them; I don't know where they are. My father hasn't returned my calls (the area he's in has no cell phone service. He may not even have gotten my calls) My aunt has no idea what's going on. I can't seem to get a hold of their social worker, and whoever answers the phone at DCF either doesn't know, or can't tell me. I'm not speaking to my mother.

Oh that's something I never mentioned before. I'm not speaking to my mother. I'm tired of letting her bring me down. There are three situations right now, where I'd be okay with talking to my mother, and two of them revolve around the girls, and would only be temporary situations. If she called right now to give me an update, I'd answer, but I wouldn't let the conversation move beyond that. If she did something to/with the girls that seemed beyond horrible (kicking them out, for example, although I pray she never does that again) I'd call and yell at her. And the third situation is if something bad happened to her, health wise. I love her, and I'd be there for her if she needed me. But right now, I think my presence in her life is hurting more than helping. I think I've become some sort of enabler, by always telling her that things will be fine and will work out. I think I've eased her of too much of her responsibility for what's really happening. It's hard to fix a problem if you think that it'll fix itself. And its ending up hurting us both. So I wont do that anymore.

Right now, most of my anger has gone away. But my worry still hasn't. I want to know what's going on with my sisters. I want to know that they're okay, and that they might just be happy.

Virginia

Everything blew up. I'm going back to VA.

It happened so fast, that I'm not sure I even know what happened. Jeffrey's job fell through. I found out that for-sure I can't go to my college this semester. I got angry with my mom.

I can't afford to support us on my own. Cost of living is too high. More than twice what I make, just for one person. Never-mind for two. We have no apartment anyways.

And we're leaving. Only, now I don't know what to do. I told my boss, but now what? I don't know how to tell my family and my friends. I'm a little ashamed of giving up. Of going back. So now the plan is, move in with his grandmother. Find jobs. Move out. I plan on applying to Hollins, which is right near there, and going there in the spring. At this point, it no longer matters to me where my degree is from, so long as I get it. I need to be able to survive, more than I need to go to Lesley. Maybe I'll go to Lesley for my masters. Right now though, I just need to get out of here, to a place that we can afford.

I feel guilty. I promised my sisters I wouldn't leave them. I promised my dad I'd be back in Massachusetts. I promised my aunt that she could visit my college with me. I'm breaking promises, and in my mind, that's the biggest show of disrespect there is.

But I think that this is what I need to do. I'm sad. I'm guilty. But I need to take care of myself. Every hour I change my mind. Some I want to cry, others I'm glad.

Right now, I'm neither sad, nor glad. I'm just contemplative..... and hungry.

My Apartment

Weekly Positives this week are canceled due to:
hardly any time to breath.

Tonight is my last night in this apartment. I still remember the first night. We got here really late, and didn't have anything but ourselves, some clothes, a sleeping bag and an inflatable twin-sized matress. We both squeezed into the sleeping bag on the twin-matress. When we woke up, I was on the floor with the sleeping bag, and he was still on the bed, with just the edge of the sleeping bag clutched in his hand. I was so happy.

Tonight I'm a little more melancholy. It's been a wonderful amazing year, and a part of me doesn't want to leave. I will love being near my sisters, but I'm not looking forward to my moms house. Too much bad stuff has happened there. Here though, in our cozy little apartment, things have been lovely.

This past year, I was living with the man I love. I was living with someone who was actually nice to me. I was able to do my own thing. I didn't get in trouble for doing things a different way than my mother does. I was living in a home that was small enough for me to take care of. I didn't have to deal with my family stress every moment of every day. School was good. Food was good. I got to cook. We decorated, its' a pretty little apartment.

Or at least, it was. Right now it's awful. Between boxes on the floor, and the disassembled parts of our futon, there is literally 3 feet of floor space outside of the bathroom. I'm sitting on a chair (dont like chairs. much prefer couch or floor..... or bed but if I sat on the bed right now I'd fall asleep) about two inches from Jeffreys shoulders. It's quiet. its comfortable. It's private and sweet.

I'll really miss this. All of this. It's become home to me. I'm tagging this as thankful, too, because I really am thankful for this past year.

One Week

Officially, there is one week left. We have to be out by the 25th. Meaning our last day must be the 24th.
Unofficially, we have less than that. We're just waiting on my Dad to come down with his truck and trailer.

This post is a lot about helping me keep track of things.  Feel free to skip it, if you don't feel like reading.

Somehow my dad insists that we don't have that much stuff and I'm scared he wont bring his trailer. He keeps insisting we only have furniture and 3 boxes worth of stuff. I don't know where he got that idea, but we definitely have more than three boxes of stuff. We have 5 boxes of just books. Plus another larger box and a half of miscellaneous stuff. I haven't even started packing the kitchen or bathroom yet. My desk had two very small boxes of stuff. We haven't packed any of the things on the book shelf in the living room yet (movies, spare paper, tools, ankle and hand weights, small electronics). I had to empty the contents of my filing cabinet into boxes, because the drawers aren't removable and the cabinet was unliftably heavy. We have another two cases of paper. Then of course, we have all our clothes and all our linens in the bedroom closet.

Methinks that a bit more than three boxes.

Yes, I have been dying to use "methinks" for a while now.

Today also marks day 7 of when our bathroom ceiling started leaking. It started with just a little drip, barely filled up an old paint tray in 24 hours. Now, we are emptying a 6-quart stock pot three times a day. (and yes, I did just look up the size of my pan. haha) We notified the owners when the leak started, and they told us that it would be a few days and they weren't sure when it'd be fixed. We reminded them today, and they said they thought it had been fixed. Nope. We've been dripping all weekend, and it's now coming down in two spots (however one of the leaks is directly over the toilet so we don't have to worry about putting a pot under that one. It does however, suck to pee because I can't help but get dripped on)

This is posing a problem. For one, its just annoying. More importantly, however, is that the bathroom now smells like mildew. I don't want to go in there. We're keeping the door to it closed. I have to clean in there before we move out. It's really hard to clean a room you don't even want to breathe in. Sucks.
Plus, how am I going to clean the floor if I can't get the floor to stay dry and clean? The water dripping from the ceiling is NOT clean water. It's sort of brownish-rust-colored. The water, even with the pot, splashes. We have towels down on the floor, but its going to be really hard to clean them.

But outside of that, everything is great. Things are getting packed up, the kitchen at least, is alright for cleaning, and the bedrooms. I have a giant cleaning to-do list before we move, which was given to us by the apartment management. A list of what they expect us to do, which is nice because it saves me the trouble of trying to figure out what they want from us. I'm packing up. I still don't know when my dad plans on getting here, but I'm waiting for him to call me back and let me know. Things are good.

Oh, and apparently, you're supposed to wear gloves when you use oven cleaner. I wish I had thought of that, or someone had told me. My fingers sorta sting a bit now, though not as much as they did an hour ago. The can at least, should have some sort of warning. If they have to put "WARNING: CONTAINS NUTS" on a can of peanuts, they ought to put "hey, you should probably wear rubber gloves" on a can of oven cleaner. Yay Harsh Chemicals (I guess I really should have thought of that. Looking back, it seems to be something common-sense-ish.)

Happy Baseball Season

I do not like Easter. I have had quite a few bad experiences on Easter, and the one good Easter memory I have is more of a "springtime" memory than anything. It could have happened on any day. So instead I'll talk about the reason that today is a special day for me anyways.

It is the first day of Regular Season Baseball. I refuse to watch, listen to, or follow spring training, so this is really my first baseball day! I've been a Red Sox fan since I was a little girl. I went to my first game at 3 years old. Since then, my dad has taken me to at least one game a season. It has always been the Patriots Day game, which is also Marathon Monday. A lot of the time, my Dad and I will go to a second game later in the season. Once or twice we've even been to three games in a season.

He and I have never been to a losing game together. Not once. I remember one year, 2007 I think, when we were sitting behind (okay WAY behind) home plate. We were down in the 9th, but only by one run. We already had two outs. The guy sitting next to us was talking about rally caps, and how we need the luck to win. My Dad pointed to me and said "You see this girl? She's never been to a losing game. Today wont break that pattern." I don't remember who was coming up to bat, or what sign my dad pointed to, but he told the man that the first two pitches would be strikes and that on the third, he'd hit a home run, aimed right at that sign.

Strike.
Strike.
And then suddenly the ball was soaring, going far away right towards the sign my dad had pointed at. We had a man on second, and he got home. Our batter was still running. He made it. And we won by a run. The man sitting next to us told us we had to get season tickets.

This year, we wont be going to the Patriots Day game. Patriots Day is only recognized in New England, I'm told, so for those of you who don't know, it's the 3rd Monday in April. I will be in Virginia and my father will be in Florida. It's really sad for me to break this tradition. This is my absolute favorite. My father and I have a lot of traditions, and this past year I've broken them. This one is the one that I might just cry over. My Dad, The Sox, and heading out after to watch part of the Boston Marathon. Stopping on the way home (sometimes more than once) at Dunkin Donuts for drinks, and maybe a snack.

Woops, I got caught up in memory lane. I could go on but I'm sure you don't care to hear about every Sox game I went to.

Today is the first game of Regular Season Baseball. The only regular season game today is the Sox Home Opener. It's a Yankees game. The date today is 4/4. My lucky number is 4. I'm taking that as a really good omen, both for the game tonight, and for the season as a whole. I can't wait. I'm pumped. And good luck to all the Non-Red Sox teams this season too.

So Happy Easter, for those of you who don't hate the holiday. And Happy Baseball Season, to anyone who cares about baseball.

Mall Parents, a letter

Dear Mall Mothers and Fathers,
I have been told that I have no right to judge parents, because I am not a parent myself. But I do. I can’t help it. Some of the things I see you do seem so wrong to me. I’ve seen actions that make me want to throw things at you. I’ve overheard conversations that make my stomach turn. Maybe it’s not my place, and not my right, to tell you that you’re wrong. But I’m going to anyways, even if you never see it.

When your small child drops a single french fry, screaming at them and smacking them isn’t acceptable behavior. That’s a huge overreaction. It was ONE french fry. If you react that strongly over something so small, I’d hate to see what you do when they do something seriously wrong. If you are that crazy in public, I’d hate to see how you act in private.

When your 15 year old daughter buys a phone, you should not smash it, just because you don’t like the ring tone. I know that ring tone. It was the default tone. And from the shouting match that followed, I am even more certain you were being unreasonable. Your young teenage daughter pays you rent, buys her own food, buys her own clothes, and pays her own phone bill. She saved up for apparently 3 months to buy that phone. I was on her side when she demanded you buy her a new one. But you called her greedy, got up, and walked away from her. No, She shouldn't have yelled at you. You are the parent, and that's really disrespectful. But I think I know where she learned that from....

When you are in the mall, you need to keep an eye on your toddler. It should nto be up to a stranger to save your child from walking into a busy parking lot. And when someone DOES stop your child from walking in front of a car, you shouldn’t yell at the ‘rescuer’ because it’s “inappropriate” to touch other peoples children.

When your son is walking calmly by your side, on his kid-leash, you shouldn’t suddenly
grab the leash close to him and yank. He will fall down. And when he does fall, and when he starts crying, you shouldn’t laugh and say to your friend “I love this thing!” You just HURT your CHILD who wasn’t doing anything WRONG. And you are LAUGHING about it? I almost thought I had imagined it.

You shouldn’t insult your child by calling them fat and a cow, and a slob, and then buy them ice cream to ‘cheer them up’ when they start crying. That isn’t how things work.

You shouldn’t scream at your newborn to “shut the fuck up” when they cry. I know that sometimes it’s tough, when you haven’t gotten much sleep. But if you haven’t slept, why are you at the mall anyways? There isn’t anything that needs buying here. Just clothes. I can’t imagine a situation where clothing takes priority over sleep. Maybe I am being unreasonable on this one. I’ll admit that.

And then today’s event. Your daughter, looked to be about 3 or 4, was happy. Twirling around, giggling. And I looked up at you, parent, and smiled. She was adorable. For once, I was proud of a mall-family.

Up until the point where you came over to my table and threatened to call security over because I was being threatening and creepy. Up until you pulled your daughter aside, pointed to me and told her that I was the reason she shouldn’t talk to strangers.

Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s a great thing to teach your kids. But to personally target me as the “threatening stranger” because your daughter happen to dance directly in my line of sight? That’s ridiculous, and also insulting. If you don’t want people to acknowledge your daughters existence, don’t bring her out of the house.

Signed, Boat
The non-parent who is concerned for your children.

St. Albans

So my internet has been a bit spazzy lately, which in Boatkickerland means its been broken more than its been working. Thanks Verizon! I really appreciate all the times you’ve stood us up, and I just love that we’re paying for a service that works LESS THAN HALF THE TIME! It’s great!

Okay. All done being bitter. Mostly because I’m not home right now, and the internet here at the mall is just fine. It’s hard to be angry at non-working-internet when you have great internet.

Jeffrey invited me to go to one of his classes with him yesterday, because they were having a medium come in. The class was Religion and Death, incase anyone was wondering.

Anyways, I thought it was pretty cool. Some of the stuff the medium said was really interesting. Other parts, in my opinion, were total crap. Do I think spirits might be hanging around any given place at any given time, sure. I’m cool with that. Do I think scribbling on the mirror is going to call evil spirits into my home? Nope, that seems ridiculous. And unlikely, considering how many scribbles have been all over my own mirrors over time. If random marks called evil sprits in, I’d have had a lot more problems to deal with in my life.

Oh. Wait. Maybe that explains everything. Hahaha.

The medium (I’ve forgotten his name. Woops.) mentioned this place near here called St. Albans. Apparently it used to be a mental hospital and before that it was a boys school. The building is, as far as I know, standing empty right now. Local legend says its haunted. The medium described a room that is covered in papers with kids hand prints all over, finger-paint style. He said he was creepy. A student in the class confirmed that it was a creepy room, and mentioned some hallway that “seemed out of place” in the building. The medium then told a story about how he met with the spirit of a former student in the attic/bedroom area and the boy was looking for his mother and playing on a dumbwaiter.

Does this sound like an awesome setting for a book? For some reason, despite all the medium said, and the supposed “Creepiness” of the hand print room, it doesn’t feel like a horror story to me. Of course I’d have to go there myself to be sure, but Jeffrey said he might take me there. I think that would be totally awesome. I’d love to see the hand print room. The whole place seems like it would be interesting. I plan on doing a little research on the place sometime this evening. I tried to last night, but the internet was down. This place had definitely sparked my interest. I have a thing for old buildings. :)