I’m Not A Writer – It Finally Happened

Monday, September 19, 2005
9:10 PM

I just walked in the house from the therapist’s office. I left at 2:15pm but had to wait 2 hours for a cab home. You know, I didn’t have this problem with cabs until my friend told me how others wait forever at the office to get a Medicaid cab home.
Note to self: curse out friend next Monday for jinxing the cab rides.
So when I finally got home at 7pm I found that I was again locked out of the house. I sat in the thunderstorm waiting for Barney to get home and let me in. When the rain first started coming down I thought it was just going to sprinkle but NOOOOOOOO, I was locked out so it had to be a deluge. I didn’t even get a rainbow out of it. I feel so gypped. Well, Beer Belly had me come over to his house while waiting for Barney to get here. We played darts again. I won AGAIN. I think it was only because he was drunk. LOL. He was sloshed. The man needs AA big time. Right now Cappy is lying asleep. He hates thunderstorms and this one was loud and hard. I was already exhausted when I got home around 7pm. To wait 2 hours for Barney to get home was just too much. By the time he got here I was manic big time. I was all over the place. I went I and made some dinner and jumped on here to write this all down before it leaves my head.

Therapy went okay. I read an entry out loud. I’m usually very nervous about doing that but I wanted her to hear my voice saying these things about September 21st. I read over it and it read like a novel. It didn’t even seem real to me. Every single part of it was real and accurate but I was so removed from it that it seemed like fiction. My hope was that she listened to the words and wasn’t distracted by the writing. She says I’m a good writer. That’s all fine and good but I’m not in therapy to hear that I write well. I need her to hear the words. Later, with someone else, she can talk about the style of writing and book deals and what not. That just irritates the hell out of me. I kept quiet thought because she didn’t go on and on about it. I could write fiction but the problem with writing about my life would be my living family and friends of mine that might have a dominant part in the book. My ex-wife would not really want to be in the book and to tell you the truth, nine years with the same person is a significant part of life, to leave that out would take away from the full truth. How do I talk about my mother and her family while they are still living? I could write fiction, but I have to admit, I don’t want to.

Today will be over soon. I lived through it. I managed not to lose myself too much. Today at the hospital I ran into someone I use to know. I believe it was a family member. They called me by my birth name. I didn’t even turn around. They called to me but I just kept walking forward and didn’t even look over my shoulder. I didn’t jump, flinch or anything that I thought I might do if I ran into them in public. I just kept walking. They stopped calling me as I walked into the hospital. If it was my sister or even a cousin, they would not have gotten out of the car to greet me because they’re afraid of dogs, especially big dogs. Leave the house is often difficult because I fear running into my mother or anyone from her family. I shop on the opposite side of town that she lives on. I don’t even go near her side of town. When I go to Wal-Mart I fear seeing her. When I leave my property I fear seeing her. I look over my shoulder. I look in the distance. I’m scared. At the age of 34 I’m still scared of that woman. I have reason to be but it’s still upsetting that my level of fear has not dissipated.

I’ve got to go cuddle with the Austin Gang.
The ex is coming over tomorrow to spend a few nights with us. I’m not sure how that will work out. Joan of Arc
Inside Morton’s Pride