The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Not sure why I am not believed.

I said it clearly enough, I never said "I love you" to them, never gave them my physical address - which should have been a clue that they were on probation. I had nothing to lose, but if they wanted to have contact, I was willing to give them a chance. One solid, fair chance, that they took for granted and abused or neglected.

It was not a blank check, not carte blanche.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Trusting my gut, and deleting like mad.

Long ago, when I had two trolls, and fed them a while - unwisely, a fellow blogger with a much larger following gave me wonderful advice. If a comment just doesn't feel right, delete it, no question, no need to defend the feeling. Someone has been commenting on the other site, then on this one, and I just don't like what she says, her tone, her attitude, something hard to express, but she's not welcome, but very persistent.

She has finally been marked as spam, and I still think she hasn't gotten that none of her comments are anywhere on this site.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The year of living actually

She wrote, "lightning rod (and sacrificial lamb) who drew the monster's wrath and made their existence more comfortable. Is it any wonder they will not (dare not) acknowledge your pain?" And I sense the rightness, that their words belied, but their lack of questions revealed. No one asked me, "why did this happen? What did you see, were you ever happy, did you feel unsafe, what can we do to make it better?" They don't ask me questions, they don't want to know the answers. Of course they don't.

Any real father would have begged them to reach out to me, at the last, as he lay dying. Of course, he didn't because he hated me, as I hated him. No one could even come up with a lie about him asking for me. What kind of person thinks this is normal, or that it is the full fault of the daughter? I never told them how he would talk about how much they hurt him, hated him, how often he threatened to disown them, and blame me preemptively for how I would do the same in my turn. The year he was laid off was the start of the worst bits, but it all grated away any sense of sanity or safety.

This clear sight of just how bad it really was is a great comfort. Like the last, vital, piece of a puzzle I've been working all my life. It's not pretty, but the truth of it forms a stark beauty. I am not loved for myself, but neither was I hated for who I actually was, or am now. A peace descends, settling on me like deep snow fall, erasing my fears of the dark.

I have doubted my perceptions, examining them for any chance of acquittal, for self deception, personal insanity, even as I knew, knew I had the right end of the stick. Even when I didn't have the words to explain, trying to protect my mother from him. His death has caused me to grieve and mourn, not for him, but that I was given the illusion of a family rather than a real family.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

(no response)

When being shouted at, asked insane, unanswerable questions, I was not allowed to not answer. I had to come up with something, that would then be used against me, having no refuge from the interrogation, no recourse. I wanted silence.

Admiring how George Smiley does not respond to provocative questions, wishing I'd known him then.

Friday, April 13, 2012

if the genes don't fit, don't wear 'em.

Two days of misery, bleeding out, and long hours. Waiting for the other shoe to drop with the genetics. Being a bit emotional.

Dylan, as usual, when asked for reassurance, astonishes me with his generosity.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Hey ho the wind and the rain

Wind dumping pollen all over. Poor dear suffering. My own sinuses complaining.

Spring has never been my favorite season.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Complaint and affrontery

I keep thinking about all of the bits of my life, my home, that my mother would dislike. Because she complained to me when others did these things, criticized their tastes, judged their priorities. Which is part of why I held off on giving her the address here, still unconvinced, wary, unwilling to open myself up to judgement direct, even if unspoken. Instead, I have built defensive walls of explanation and rationale. Now that I am letting it all go to voicemail, I am imagining it again, only saying exactly what I have always wanted to say.

I want to put it down here, so that I can leave it here, from this day forward.

Houses do not all have to be white. Red is a perfectly good color. Walls do not have to be pastel. Painting the house can wait, no matter how bad it looks. Yes it's "antique" in that it's old, we like it. Formal curtains with sheers are not necessary, my nice tablecloth and fabric intended as a spread draped over a rod are just lovely. Eventually blinds will be sufficient. Yes, we did pay more than you think is reasonable, so fucking what. You don't understand the market in this town, at this time. Yes we do have several computers, no children are starving because of it. Our cat lives indoors, it's safer that way, and we really do love him, want him to live a very long time, and yes one of the litter boxes does need to be in the bathroom. Yes he gets the best food we can find for him, if something depends on you for food, you need to provide the best you can manage. Just giving them what you like, and going cheap is not a morally defensible position. Like you did to me. Yes my hair is long, and straight, and I don't perm it. This is the way I have liked it since I was a small child, now I don't have to obey you on this. No, it's not childish to have it in two braids if I like it that way, and so what if it causes damage - my hair, remember? I value having a dishwasher, just because I have to do a bit of scraping and rinsing first doesn't change the savings - I don't have to clean thoroughly, rinse or dry - which is great. My hands are happier, and I don't have a dishrack sitting out.

No we are not going to talk about your sainted husband, although I love the idea of him on a candle, with the flames liking around him. Not that I wish him in hell. I don't believe in life after death. No, he lived in hell all his life, and you sat with him, you've already had your eternal now of torment. I'll pass.

Yes, that does help. Really does. Let the wheel turn.

Jesus christ, people

There is no "of course" in love. No one can speak for another. All I know is what it felt like to me.

Just stop using the sacred word "love" in vain.

(This is not my main blog. Please leave general comments on One Word.)

Sunday, April 1, 2012

And it goes both ways.

The longer it goes that the bio-brothers do not email, the more sure I am. Not a loved child, who cares now, I just would prefer honesty. No one will admit it, of course.

I'd respect some honesty, honestly.