Edited From Previous Journal Entry:
(I edited this out of my last journal entry because it seemed too… Pathetic. But I promised myself that I would be open and honest here — it’s not like I have that many readers here, and nobody I actually know can read my pathetic “love me” thoughts or crazy rants. So here it is:)
I remember my stepmother saying, whenever I complained about technology (my computer, with Windows 1.0 then 3.0, was always a hand me down from my dad to my stepmother to me), “Pen and paper. Never fails.”
I miss her.
I met her when I was 5; she married my dad when i was 6; at 15 she spoke of legally adopting me since I was emancipated from my biological mother and she, my stepmother, had always been more if a mother to me anyway.
Less than a year later, my stepmother stopped talking to me because she thought I was on my dad’s side in their divorce.
I wasn’t. (The divorce was called, “The Messiest Divorce of The Year” by The NY Post and “NY’s MessiesweDivorce” by Penthouse Magazine).
I contacted her about five years ago. She met my son, we had a dinner (with my son) and maybe two lunches and that was it.
She had remarried shortly after the divorce and had two other stepchildren.
I was a screw-up; a reminder of her past.
Even my son wasn’t enough to make her want to be a part of my life. It hurt; a lot.
I wasn’t looking for money or to use her “connections”.
She had been an awesome stepmother to those two kids because I had “broken her in” as a secondary parent.
But, to me, she was my “mom” from when I was a kid to when I thought I was an adult.
I guess, since my biological parents had never “been there” for me, I wanted some kind of relationship with someone who had “been there” for me.
I understand that she has her “new” (to me) family — even though they’d been her family longer.
I guess the fact that she never offered to introduce me to her husband or stepkids made me feel like I was a tumor that she wanted removed. An embarrassment. So I stopped contacting her.
It hurt enough when she turned to me, at 15, playing with our pup Pookie, and said, “I know you’re on his side.” And I wanted to say, “No! I’m not! Take me with you!” Instead, I hooked up my dad’s two VCR’s and made a video of “Falling to Pieces” by Faith No More repeating over and over for two hours. I would lie on the living room floor and play it, hoping that one if my parents would listen to the lyrics. Neither of them did.
But I was my dad’s biological kid and in order to become emancipated from one parent at 13 (mother) the other (father) had to agree to take care of me until I was 18. They had never had any children, unless you count the dog, Pookie. Yet it still hurt when I saw she had petitioned for custody of the dog saying that since the divorce was 50/50, and my dad was getting me, she should get the dog.
There have been many times that I have wanted to contact my ex-stepmother. But I don’t want her to think I want anything from her although I guess I do — I want to be friends with her. I want to meet her at House of Vegerarian for lunch. Or dinner with my son, her husband and even her stepkids.
I know my “getting fat so guys won’t hit in me” makes me an embarrassment, but she was a major part of my chilhood… Although, I guess for her, at 50+ years old, ten years is nothing. Just like I am to her.
I will add that if she and my dad were drowning and I could only save one, I’d save her.
I’m reading The Dead That Walk: Flesh-Eating Stories on Scribd. Check it out: https://www.scribd.com/book/257547650
Yes, another zombie book filled with excellent stories. Unlike the Zombie book from my previous post, this book deals with The Walking Dead-type of zombie. Mostly.
We begin with Where There’s a Will by Richard Matheson & Richard Christian Matheson. If the name sounds familiar, it is because the father in this father/son duo wrote I Am Legend which has been made into a film four times. Where There’s a Will starts off with what is one of my greatest fears — waking up in a coffin. That has been burried under six feet of soil.
The Crossing of Aldo Ray, by Weston Ochse, shows the lengths a father will go thru to get his son back. Obsequy, by David J. Schow, is about a little town that finds out moving the graves from one side if town to the other is not a good idea. Bobby Conroy Comes Back From The Dead, by Joe Hill (born Joseph Hillstrom King, son of Stephen King) is a great story about high school sweethearts meeting up again as extras on a George Romero zombie film.
We do not have much ammunition left, and I doubt that we will be lucky enough to stumble on any before what we do have runs out completely. This is rural England not downtown Los Angeles.
(From: Dead to the World, by Gary McMahon)
I’m not sure why I am so fascinated by the whole zombie genre. My son and I live in a six-story building with a pharmacy downstairs. I’ve told my son that if the zombie apocalypse does happen, we will wipe out the pharmacy and use the pills as currency. What I don’t think my son wants to admit is that I will not survive very long in a zombie infested world: my disabilities and dependence on medication would slow me down. I plan on finding someone trustworthy to take care of my son, handing over the meds, and taking a bullet to the brain.
Unfortunately, my son has said that if I get bitten, he will have me bite him so we can “be together”. I do not approve if this, although if he gets bitten I would have him bite me, though not before tying us together at the waist so we will “be together”.
I’m also slowly working on zombie short stories, held together by the thread of a main character who is in her first trimester of pregnancy when all hell breaks loose. She is saved by a nurse who takes her to a compound the nurse’s father has set up. (This is where se meet the other characters and hear their stories.) The problem is that the nurse is hiding a secret — her father, who spends his time in his lab working on a cure, is one of the scientists who created the virus in the first place. *dum dum duuuum*
I’ve posted a couple of these Zombie Bits, like Zippo and Apocalyptic B.S..
One Final Comment: Be Grateful. Not just because there is always someone worse off than “you” — the general, all-encompasing “you”, not the specific, “you”. (By your standards as we’ve all been through different experiences that make something easy for one person but traumatic for another.)
If someone holds the door for you, say thank you, even if it’s not in their language — your smile will get the message across.
If someone gives up their seat, let’s you go ahead of them on line, swipes their Metro card so you save money, say, “Thank you.”
Since I ride the buses and trains so much, it is less expensive for me to buy a 30-day unlimited card than pay $2.75(?) each ride. After a swipe, there is a 17 (or 18 depending on whom you ask) minute wait, unless you are going from train to bus, or vice versa. But that also means that if I get off at a stop, and see someone I know can’t easily pay, I can and will swipe them on.
There is a guy I do this for a couple of times a week and have over the last few months. I see him as I am getting off the train, so it’s really no trouble.
Last Thursday he saw me and said he was “waiting for someone” but would “only be a minute or two”. I nodded amd left.
Friday he came up to me and asked if I had “understood” what he meant.
Why, yes. Yes I did. He wanted me to wait while he illegally bought prescription pills from someone and then have me swipe him in.
Instead if pointing out that he was risking me getting arrested, I simply said I had been in a hurry.
“You couldn’t wait a couple of minutes so that you could swipe me in?” he asked. My son and i looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Waiting for him to realize what he had said. He looked confused so we walked away.
Call me selfish, but I will never swipe him again. Legally, you are allowed to swipe people on with your card you nust cannot ask for money or anything else in return. I’m fine with that. I’ve swiped people I don’t know and people I do know and never expected anything in return. But this guy, whom I’ve swiped over 50 times, expecting me to wait for him while he makes a drug buy — is he joking? Usually when I see him he’ll say he saw me earlier that morning with my son but didn’t want to come up to me while I had my kid with me. Now he’s coming up to me, with my son, and wondering why I didn’t wait for him to buy pills and then swipe him, as if he deserves to be swiped — as if he’s doing me a favour by letting me swipe him?
Sorry, dude, but you get no more swipes from me. Call me a bitch, but he needs to find someone else. I’m done.