Captain’s Log…August 18, 2014
Yesterday morning the baby crawled into the Dad’s room and promptly found a marijuana pipe to play with. I found him with it. I alerted the sleeping Dad, took the pipe away from the baby, and said to the baby, “Let’s go wash your hands.”
The Dad scoffed. “Alcohol is worse,” he said as if I were over-reacting by washing the baby’s hands. Alcohol may or may not be worse. That is a difficult and many-tiered argument. However, I would have washed the baby’s hands if he had been playing in a puddle of vodka. He wasn’t. He was playing with a pipe with marijuana residue on it. I don’t know how or if it would affect him, but I do know that washing his hands will not hurt him.
So far I have had to take a marijuana pipe away from Shrieking Pee-bot, twice, and the baby, once. I have also, twice, found one just left on the stairs up to our apartment where the kids keep their scooters & helmets.
Close to everyday there is one sitting on the counter. Often they are left, face down, on the cutting board.
I drink some. I drink beer, and occasionally, I drink whiskey. I keep my bottles of alcohol out of reach—empty or full—as well as my glass when I am drinking. I know a little beer probably won’t hurt them, but better safe than sorry. When I asked the Dad not to leave his pot & pipes on the kitchen counter, he replied, “You have a bottle of whiskey in your bedroom!”
“Yes,” I replied—confused, “that is the safest place for it because they get on the counters; they get in the cabinets. They do not get on top of my dresser.”
I do not understand his reality. I’m not sure we are on the same planet, much less the same page.
Captain’s Log…August 23, 2014
My family legacy, like a lot of families I suppose, is one of abuse.
Captain’s Log…September 3, 2014
I should be writing. I should always be writing. Why am I not writing?
I am back in school. Watercolor & Extinction of Species. Should be fun.
Captain’s Log…September 5, 2014
The Darkness descends once more.
I have had several good days. But lately I am weepy again. Disheartened again. Feeling lost. Feeling a failure. Having those, “Why even try?” feelings again.
Maybe because of housing situations. I found a house. A three bedroom with a den. A backyard. A full basement with washer & dryer. In the neighborhood I want to live in. A landlord who is willing to work with me. A landlord who is offering to let me borrow his chicken coop and chickens.
A landlord who is asking a better than reasonable rent.
But my roommate is waffling on me.
And I am trying to figure out how I will survive.
And I worry that I will end up having to ask the Dad to move with me just so I can afford the place and because he is that good at manipulating his way back in when I am pushing him out with all my might.
And then he will take my dream house as his own. Like he took the co-op I found to live in. Like he took this apartment I found to live in. And my life will belong to him again. And I will be lost.
to be continued….
I say “no” & “stop” & “go away” so much to poor Thing Two. I worry about the damage I am doing to him. He is so overwhelming to me. He is so much chaos. So much chaos. I try to embrace it. Sometimes I succeed. Other times I send him this message that something is wrong with him. I don’t want to send him that message! He is perfect. He is.
Our stupid neighbors have been complaining about him to the apartment management. In a perfect—or even half-decent—world, they would talk to me. They would tell me what is happening. Then I could work on it with Thing Two. Instead, they complain to management that then tells me I have to “supervise my children until they are old enough to behave.” That’s fucking helpful. And what crap-ass, two-faced neighbor of mine doesn’t have the decency to think, “She has her hands full with a baby and a toddler. Maybe I can’t help her, but the least I could do is not make her life more difficult”?
And it’s not as if he is the only problem child out there. He isn’t. We have several naughty children in the mix. But Thing Two gets targeted.
I’ve seen this happen before.
People either get him…or they really don’t. Much like his mama, he is often misunderstood. There are the people who celebrate him. There just needs to be more of them.
Thing Two rocks. He is incredible. How do I prepare him for a life of assholes who don’t get him and then reward him for their own ignorance with negative re-enforcement and criticisms aimed at him? How do I build him up so they don’t crush him?
I could try my own mother’s tactic, tell him, “They’re just jealous,” every time he comes to me in tears for an unjust interaction with some asshat.
Would that work on him?
I think I kinda believed it.
Captain’s Log…September 14, 2014
Here’s a poem I just wrote:
your brother is sleeping!
your brother is sleeping!
your brother is sleeping!
This morning I tried to explain to the Dad—thinking that if I opened an avenue of communication we could go somewhere—I tried to explain to the Dad why I am grumpy when I come home from an outing with the kids, at 10 pm, to find he has company over & the baby is awake. I wasn’t trying to make excuses for my behavior that is known far & wide for it’s anti-social tendencies. I was merely trying to explain myself. I told him. I told him I am an introvert and it is very difficult for me to deal with people I am not comfortable around being in my home. I need time to adjust. I need time in order to not be rude. And maybe a beer.
The Dad, however, told me I was rationalizing and added onto his already lengthy list of why I suck.
But at least there was a parade. In Madison, Wisconsin there is always a festival nearby and today was my favorite. A parade of freaky east-siders. I am a freaky east-sider. And I love a parade.