Ooh, I did the whole "drink chalk and x-rays" bit when I was about 4. It's not fun. But good job on the missing school part. Abby had to get her blood taken between her knuckles. Yuck.

Whee!

Whee!

So yesterday we call the doc and my mom pokes me in the guts a lil' bit...they say ulcer, come in and we'll diagnose you. And they threatened some pills that would make me vomit up blood for about three weeks, during which I can only eat green...shit.

So today, I got in there right after school. Somehow I've become this uber-being doc model since I was last there...some sort of epitome of health...o except that hole in the guts thing. For some reason they ask a lot of weird questions these days, like GPA. They asked how old I was at least ten times, no joke.

But then...the doctor was prodding my guts and she happened to hit the very spot where it kills...it was a thousand thousand colours, it was incredible. So she said Upper GI (gastro-intestinal) for tomorrow...I get to miss school, yip!, well some of it...which basically means I get to drink chalk and get about three hours of X-rays in the process, so they can make sure I have something to talk about. And if I do, that means I've had an ulcer for the last six years of my existence, and I could see where that could have caused some of those stomach problems I've had over the couple of months.

NOT TO MENTION taking a topical medication that is highly inflammatory to the guts since about the same time! WHEE! So blah...I get to go to another clean place tomorrow, and I don't deal with doctor's offices really well innately. But then they say, "We need to get some blood work, 'k hun?" Little girly laugh after.

I haven't had blood taken since I was a lot smaller, before I was able to be stuck in the arm...and what worse, I don't take to needles more than I don't take to doctor's offices. And these people...for crying out loud...the blood room's in the basement, they already have Halloween decorations up...and they're the scariest frickin' things in the universe. And it smelled funny...much like places full of skin, blood, and piss samples will smell like.

But I have veins like tree trunks so it was all good. She stuck me with the biggest needle in the known universe, and get this: as soon as she started drawing the blood, I laughed. Sadist? I suppose. But I laughed out loud and she laughed with me, for some reason. And thusly shaken, I went to the bathroom and lo, what should be sitting there on the sink counter but a sticker! It's of a weasel, and it's from Canada! Huzzah for moi! Stickin' that sucker on the guitar as soon as I write my report here...ya know...the one for Calhoun that I never did...that's right kids! Doing it right now. I have to try and remember how many quotes per chapter, the length of the essay, and what it's even about...*cry*. But I just thought I should tell you all about my little experience and hopefully you'd all get a good laugh out of my fear of being impaled.

Bon voyage.

Thanks for that, Linds.

I'm beginning to think that this whole Glen thing really isn't bothering me. Speaking of empathy, this has a lot to do with my resentments and inner quarrels more than that. My mother being there or not...there isn't much I can do about that. It's to the point that no matter what I say, I can't change a damn thing about her never being here, and I've come to accept that. It would have to come to the point of me failing a suicide attempt to get that attention. I know because...

Well here's where it gets tricky. I know this because of my dad's little deal back in ninth grade...he didn't give a shit either way about us in the midst of that wonderful rendezvous. When he broke up with that girl he even went so far as to blame me for it, to make me feel guilty and rub it in my face; that's how far gone he was...and that's a lot of reason why I haven't forgiven him entirely. This situation with my mom is reminiscent of that one; not that Glen is a bad person, but that my world is enveloped by him, regardless of what I think I can do about it, Glen is a part of my life and I refuse to accept him entirely...out of fear.

Out of fear of losing it again and going back into those wonderful days of rain and dark black and Slipknot and suicide and general fear of everything, want of love that wasn't there: finding a replacement love and finding out all too late it was the wrong kind.

I don't think it would be that drastic this time around...it's happened before, and I have some definite positive reinforcement this time around...but it's like being able to sense danger...it's an instinct. It's being able to feel the rain coming from a once-broken bone, to feel the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, to smell a gas leak and think "Peligro!" (en espagnol!). It's insecurity and it bugs the crap out of me.

But this is all going to go ok because I have Abby, who provides that love that so happens to be the right kind this time around, I have this BLog and all of it's wonderful inhabitants, and I have a self-assurance this time, I have learned that I don't have to kiss ass 24/7 just to have people like me: I have bad days like everyone else, fuck the ones who can't cope with the fact that I may just be having a pretty bitter existence at the moment.

I wrote all that because I was scared and I ran to the BLog looking for the answer...but the BLog can't come to the answers, only I can; we, ourselves, are the only ones that can answer our own questions and straighten our own affairs, we are the ones that need to decide the here and now. Advice is good for directing us at the right answer...but the fact remains, resolution is always better than vacillation.

JD (drum teacher) heard our CD today...well, mine. Stranglebox is genuinely falling to pieces. I'm pretty sure I'm letting go of Alex and trying to assimilate Nick...but that's another story.

JD first listened to I'm Just A Bastard after screwing with a few of the preliminary tracks, he just sat with his head down and listened. Then I started singing and his head darted up and he said, "I like that effect on your voice, man," and he looked like I had just started some f-ing revolution. He said to go to 4, Painpainted, and noted that I was peaking out at first (that's a bad thing), but as the song went he started laughing to himself...he flipped out on this one. "Did you do the drums?...Yea?...They're badass...You're a really good vocalist, man...I'm digging those harmonies...You're an incredible songwriter..." and on and on and on.

And yes, I'm showing off a little. The reason this is really landmark, however, is that when he heard My Solution way back he was sort of unimpressed. He liked the way the song was written but it needed some serious work. This time he was bugging out. He about pissed himself during Broken Me in that cool little off-time drum section, and the part before the off-time drum section, and most of the song, for that matter. Altho he said it wasn't sonically "rockin'" yet, I'm pretty sure he was more than damned impressed by all of that. So maybe he'll produce us? That would be awesome considering the guy is a genius.

So I'm really tired and I hate making frickin' big posts, altho I know that every time I post I always make a huge one...sorry all. Kinda why I don't get on as much anymore.

But whatever. Here's lookin' at you, kids.

Wait, why do I type the advice and you don't?

WOW.

And THAT is why Linds types the advice and I don't.
*hugs* all ( even though zabeth doesn't like them =P) and take care. ASAP I want to talk to you both ...after i get my life back in tis neat package. Love you all.

I vaguely remember a friend telling me that "...being a parent means putting up with some shit. Don't think for a minute that your mom (in your case, dad) doesn't know exactly what it's like; nor should you think that she [he]
wasn't exactly the same at your age, because I'd bet nine of my own legs (and somehow I'd make that possible, but I'd win the bet anyway...keep reading) that she [he] was." That advice really helped me out a couple months ago. Thought I'd pass it back. Otherwise, *hug* cause that's about all I can do right now. I also have a slight bit of empathy for this situation, as all teenagers do, I must add. Anybody that ever comes across this blog will be able to relate, because it's something we all feel, or have felt, perhaps not the same situation, but similiar feelings are derived, I have no doubt. I got really depressed about that whole "giving your parents so much trouble" topic back in June.

As for the whole thing with Glen...there is not one thing I can possibly say to make that better, which is really odd for me, cause I'm usually good at that stuff. I've never had to go through anything like, nor do I want to, but talk to your mom, I guess would be the best thing I could tell you. Plan to take her out to dinner one night or something so that you have some time with her if that's what you think you're upset about. Don't sacrifice your mother's happiness for your own, but at the same time, don't sacrifice your happiness for your mother's. Get your feelings out there, or one of you will end up resenting the other if things do get more serious.

*Hug*

You are perfectly right, Z. I could probably safely say we derive our angers from the same source, albeit in different ways, but it is all the same, nonetheless. But it should be ok...either you adapt or you die, whether you witness it or not.

But anyway..."pwned" is the L337 (a Counter-Strike language) version of the word "owned"...notice the "p" 's relationship in position to the "o". It was misspelled so much (and I probably just mispelled "mispelled"...eagh) that the kids adopted it. Thus, the holy word, P\/\/|\|3|). Some people are able to type whole sentences like I just spelled "pwned" really frickin' fast.

So anyway...here's lookin' at you, kidz.

O not much Z...the usual insanities. Getting pwned / etc.

And now for something wholly depressing. And that is, not having a mother.

Well yes, I do, biologically, in that she, in fact, did give birth to me and still has a pulse and respirates.

But the problem lies in Glen, her "boyfriend", I suppose would be the term...akk not for my mother, heheh. But yes, that's the best term. So the dillio is, she's been going out with him every day for the last three or so weeks, not getting back til the small hours of the morning. The other day she had Glen pick her up and left me the car and her bank card, so as to get money so as to be nourished. Which I did, in having Wendy's, which was really good.

It started out nice enough, and then it just spiralled out of control, I guess.

It's not that I don't like Glen; I do. Not that I really know him, but I don't see anything bad about him immediately. He's got a lot of money, he doesn't call me "sport" (I said I would de-spinalize him if he did, right off, along with "tiger", "ace" and other such diminuitives), and he was the dumped one in his last relationship, when his wife cheated on him and his evil empire of money (well, not "evil", per se, but it sounded good) collapsed and he was left...not in the dregs of poverty, really. He had enough to start over and has. He's insightful enough, and moreover, he's not an asshole, and that's always a good thing.

So all that good junk, why am I so pissed?

It's not like I'm so dependant on my mother for everything, it's just the abscence therein that's causing me some pretty heavy grief, and it shows in the way I write stuff. This all came up when I was suffering PMS (Pre Monday Syndrome) yesterday, and sort of made me think of things the way they are for a change (my world is my own, a little euphoric bubble of unadulterated bliss most of the time), and I must say, I didn't like it.

One...my dad. And he's reading this but I don't really give a shit. It's mine so blah. He's been really sick lately, some kind of bug, he's having heavy debt problems, so much shit, and somehow I've never been able to muster much pity. It's been this way since Becca, I haven't been able to be kind with him for very long. My mom once said that "once someone's broken your trust it never comes back". I attributed this to why I was always angry with him until the day I discovered that I am the only one that can make my world better.

I never tried to, though, to make it better.

And yesterday I asked him to come listen to my CD in my room. He laid out across the bed while the first track was going, and I went downstairs to get some tea, then I came back up and stood in the doorway...he didn't hear me come in. He was looking at his hand and he kept flexing it and looking at it, for the duration of the song, mostly (5+ minutes, I guess). I came and sat down next to him after a while.

He then told me that he was "so blessed to have such wonderful children who would help him through all of this"...and then he cried, silently but I noticed, I always do, but this time....I couldn't take it, I just couldn't stand the fact that he referred to me as so good when I feel like I harbour such hate and mistrust all the time. And then I looked into his eyes and I saw the lack of sleep around them...under his eyes was a heroin-wasted purple and gray, like he hadn't slept in years, and the eyes themselves, bloodshot with tears and long nights awake.

That picture stuck with me, and his words...his unshakable faith in me, acting like I'm such a great person while I feel like I don't even give a fuck half of the time...all of this has worn me down to the point that I made a great long emotional post (been a while eh?).

I fear so much that I cannot control. I fear his dying, I fear losing my mother, I fear the school as much as I'd like to say I fight it and win all of the time. Most of that fear came with watching Linds feeling blown in fourth today, hearing the schedules she keeps up. Been having such wonderful dreams lately...one about Abby that was funny, other than that, I've been dissected and forced to watch, raped (that was a weird one), I've had to bounce around a city because every time I jumped gravity would lose it's force...the problem was the landing, which actually hurt in the dream, and that gut-wrenching feeling you get while being thrown around on a roller coaster to boot. The endless homework...it isn't bad but for crying out loud, I'd like to have a life...not that I'm going to do it anyway, but lives=good.

So now that I've been a post-adolescent baby once again, I feel a lot better...thanks for putting up with this as it comes all.

Ciao friends.