December 15th, 2000

Chalkboard

Great Therapists, Faith Healers, Christmas Cards and Sleep Walking

Hi You Guys,

I just woke up. This is so unbelievably early for me. When I was younger and had to work, the one thing I hated most, other than feeling like I was a slave for someone else, was having to get up early. I had one job where I had to get up at four and drive an hour to work. That was hell, but it didn't last long because my husband couldn't hack it and got fired pretty early, so I quit along with him. I couldn't do it alone, no way.

Beau's school holiday-play is this morning. You know how much I love him but I wish I could get out of it. I've instituted a rule for my life now which might sound very louche to some of you, but it's a kind of life or death thing for me; I don't make any kind of appointment or commitment before twelve. Beau needing his Mom to see him sing the Twelve Days of Christmas is the extremely rare exception. I don't sleep well, and I get my best sleeping done in the early morning hours. I have Interstitial Cystitis and am pretty certain I have Fibromyalgia, both of which make it hard to sleep steadily at night.

My therapist/pal Susan sees this amazing man who is a kind of gifted faith healer. I looove my therapist! She is the kindest, sweetest, most loving and supportive person I have ever known. I wish there were an unlimited supply of Susans in the world. She's so much fun to be around, a real joy being. She tells me that I'm one of the most unique people she's ever met, which is music to my anticonformist soul, but she's the one who collects Pez and snowdomes. She has a giant blow up Christmas tree with Velcro ornaments. Her bathroom is an aquarium with fish everywhere and she painted her dining room to look like a fifties diner and glued fake burgers and fries to the walls. I could go on and on about her, but for now I'll just tell you that no one could ask for a better sister, daughter or friend. Well, that wouldn't be fair to all the other good people out there, so I'll just modify that to saying she's way up there in the firmament of goodness.

So, she's been seeing this man and has been telling me about him for months. Initially I was a bit leery. I want so badly to believe in the possibility of there being magic and miracles in the world. I mean I do believe in these things, but I also have a cynical practical side. I wouldn't be my mother's daughter if I didn't. I was going to say, father's daughter, but he started hearing his dead mother singing to him about twenty years ago and now he talks to ghosts so that pretty much rules him out. I've heard some pretty amazing stories about him and I've been steeling my nerve to go for some time now. Then the other day I opened the Star magazine and there was a picture of Goldie Hawn coming out of his house. I don't know why that would lend him legitimacy in my eyes and I'm embarrassed to write this, but somehow it did. Or, well, it made me realize that he's developing a rapidly expanding circle of people who come to see him so I'd better hurry before its too late.

I called and asked if he would see me. He wanted to know who referred me and what I need help with. Apparently he had a near death experience when he was a little boy and came back with these gifts; the ability to heal people with his touch, and powerful psychic and intuitive abilities. I would think it was all bogus, like those assholes who do psychic surgery and pretend to open people up but are really just cracking little blood capsules and pulling bits of chicken out, if it weren't for the stories I've heard and my friend's faith in him. So I'll give it a shot but I'm a little bit afraid. I hate gurus and I've been avoiding this chiropractor in Malibu that people have been raving about for ages, for this very reason. Oh well, I'll let you know how it goes.

I met a cute couple, Ernie and Bertha, (their names sound made up to me for some reason) at a nail salon, Snow Nails, that I went to in the valley today. They must have been in their sixties, and she can't drive so he takes her everywhere. He told me that he's, Driving Miss Daisy. I don't know, they were just so cute. We had the best conversation. We talked about everything, from Robert Downey Junior and my nude bar, to how sad they were when Al Gore lost, and a guy named Long who's really good at getting out ingrown toenails. I really love people sometimes. I don't think I could explain why I liked them so much, it's just they were so full of happiness and life and were quirky in the sweetest possible way.

I had lunch-dinner, linner, at a Numero Uno Pizza restaurant next door. I was the only person there and they were watching Jerry Springer on the TV. I turned it up a notch and a couple of the waiters came out of the kitchen and we were all having fun debating in Spanish about whether this person on the show was a guy or a gal. Which reminds me of Beau yesterday not knowing whether his classmate was a girl or a boy. "Well, her name is Lacey and everyone says it's a girl, but I'm not sure." Poor Lacey.

I like my weekly jaunt to the valley because I get to go places I've never been before. LA is pretty insular in some ways. Well, my neighborhood is. I run my little maze over and over again and that's about it. I don't like to go very far, except when I have to. I'm really a small town gal and someday I'm going to have to make that real for myself. It's hard to thrive in a city like this when you're a little green plant that craves oxygen and room to grow. It's too congested, speedy and stressful here. I live in this tiny little pocket of houses, but the freeway is close enough to toss a pebble at and I can hear it at night. Not that I mind it all that much, in some ways it's comforting. I'm never really alone as long as I can hear that freeway and some people say it's like a great big ionizer, like a waterfall, a noxious waterfall though.

I'm eating caramel corn. I hate how popcorn gets stuck in your teeth. You should see how cute my rats are when I give them a piece. They get gleeful and roll it around in their little ratty hands. It looks like they're holding a big puffy caramel coated volleyball. I think I'll give them one as a treat. I gave them each one yesterday. My ferrets are soo stinky, I have to clean their cage again and give them baths. You can't clean their cage often enough. Sometimes it smells so bad in here my eyes sting and I have to spray orange air mist around. The smell is the biggest drawback to having ferrets, but they are the cutest little creatures. I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing them do their little bunch up and jump jump run and tumble thing.

Somnambulance. I'm a sleepwalker. Well, not a sleepwalker exactly, but I do things in my sleep. I hand things to people and talk and move. When I woke up this morning I was moving things around on Beau's night stand. (I fell asleep with him last night.) It was so weird because I was dreaming and then I opened my eyes and looked at my arms and saw that they were doing things. I can't remember what the dream was about. I wonder whatever happened to that man who murdered his wife, stabbed her and drowned her, cleaned everything up, left her in the pool, and then changed his clothes and went back to bed. He claimed he did all that in his sleep. Remind me not to sleep with anyone like that okay?

I have so many Ebay bills to pay, and I am determined to send out Christmas cards this year, but I'm being my usual demanding perfectionistic self about it as usual. I bought the cards, but I don't want to send them until I make a really great collage to glue inside.

I hate that I didn't save a copy of my interests before it got edited down. I really liked my interests list. Boo.

Bye,
J.
Chalkboard

(no subject)



Billie Jean asked me to send her my address so we could exchange Christmas cards. I don't know why I ahdn't thought of exchanging cards with all of you, my beloved Live Journal comrades. I have a PO Box so anyone who would like to exchange cards is more than welcome to send them to;

Jacqui Hyland
11718 Barrington Court
Los Angeles, CA 90049

Please make sure you include your address or e-mail it to cdelalune@aol.com. I love Christmas cards and would love to send you mine!!!!!

Big huge hugs,
Jacqui
Chalkboard

(no subject)

Many, many, months ago I began trying to divorce my slippery ex. The one who ran off with the crazy hooker-stripper gal, and is now, at forty years old, living at his mother's house, in his little sisters old bedroom. Unhunh, it's that bad. That's why I made up my other journal imajerk, to kind of help me process the difference between who I had always thought he was, and who he turned out to be. I guess I just feel like judging him because he hurts me so much. I know that when I can forgive him and let go of this we'll all be better for it but as long as he keeps hurting us it's hard to get there. For now I remain cynical and painfully amused with a big pinch of fear sprinkled over the top.

Getting back to the C Ticket ride that is our divorce, he basically ignored all of my calls, and everything I mailed him, and then tried to evade the process servers who finally caught up with him. Then he responded at the very last minute by saying he wanted joint custody, child support, alimony and a split of all community property, assests and debts. This from a guy who hadn't even seen his son more than maybe three or four times a year at most and hadn't sent a dime of support since the day he left. We never had any assets or community property. My parents supported him for years. I bought everything we had. I think he bought a microwave once which I gladly gave him when he left. However stupid naive little love bug that I am, when I got his response I was crushed. Clearly what he was missing was not me in any way, but the money that came with being with me. Everything my friends had been telling me about him for so long was true. IN any case, I had given him everything when he left and I mean everything. If it even remotely reminded me of him, he got it, whether he had paid for it or not. Later he pawned or sold most of it. Now years later he's come back at me with this pathetic list that I have been asking him for for five months.


Subj: "The List"
Date: 12/15/00 1:13:05 PM Pacific Standard Time
To: CdelaLune@aol.com (Jacqui Hyland)
Jaq,
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get this to you. I know you've been
stressed about it and I shouldn't have procrastinated so long. As far
as your confusion over my paperwork regarding the divorce papers,
that's just the customary response, so I'm told. I don't know who
helped you file yours, but they should have been able to clarify that
for you. Anyway, as far as community property goes, I guess you've
forgotten about the piano since it's been in the garage for so long. I
don't really have any place to put it rite now but when I do I'd like
to pick it up. I would like a T.V. You have one in every room, and even
after saying no the last time I asked you for one you then bought
another one. I would also like a bed. Beau doesn't need a queen sized
bed. Your mom bought him a bed and I don't know why he isn't using it.
I'm sleeping on a bed the same size as your housekeepers and it isn't
even mine. I wont even bother you about the computers. I know you think
it's fine that you have three. I never got any of my vinyl albums, and
I'm still missing c.d.s. I know it's tough to go through those things
and if you want my help you have it. One thing I still feel very
unresolved about is the shotgun. I told you before that it was illegal
for you to trade it. It is still registered to me, and if anything
happens involving it the police will come knocking on my door and I
could get arrested. You said you were trying to get in touch with
Dennis And Sherman but nothing ever came of it. I still want the
shotgun back. I would also like to ask that you don't give away any
more furniture. When I eventually get my own place I wont be able to
afford to buy most things. I don't know if you want to keep the neon
beer signs or if you still have them but let me know. I'm missing some
tools but I'm sure that's only because Wayne stole them and I obviously
don't blame you for that. I've written those off. I can't think of
anything else significant right now so I guess that's all for now. I
don't feel resentful or vindictive about any of this and I hope you
don't take it that way. I would just like to have some of the things
I've always had and can't afford to replace and I'm hoping you can help
me out. If you need help with any thing in the future like going
through things or moving stuff let me know. I'm sorry I didn't offer
before, I just assumed you would ask. If you need to talk about any of
this give me a call.

Love,
Robby

It takes a real loser to write a letter like this to a woman you abandoned over two and one half years ago. I lived with this man for sixteen years. He left so coldly, so hurtfully, and at every turn I was kind to him. when he didn't have a place to stay, I put him up in our old rental. When his own mother threw him out after learning that he had become a bygamist by marrying this woman, while still married to me, I let him sleep on my couch, do his laundry, take showers, and make his dinner and lunch out of my refrigerator. I did everything I could to support his having a posisitve relationship with our son unitl I realized that he was just using us. When he left nude pictures of his lover, next to a bottle of astro glide, next to his sleeping bag, in pur son's bedroom, I kind of lost it.It was pretty painful and in my face in a hard to take kind of wayShe had one leg up on a table, the other spreading herself apart for bettwr viewing I merely copied them and showed them to everyone I knew. Well, I had to do something to deal with he pain. At least I didn't glue them to a Christmas card and send them out to all of his family with a note that said, meet your new in-law.There was that one box of incredibly expensive cigars I handed out to all of the moving men, but I wanted to put all of his clothes in a pile in the street and set fire to them and didn't. At least I showed some restraint. The truth is I was more than generous, more than kind, and unbelievably compassionate.

In the time he's been gone he hasn't sent a dime of child support. When he left I was so careful and generous in dividing our posessions. It was brutally painful to do all of that work. He wasn't around to ask for help. He was travelling with his stripper gal and out of his mind on drugs. Besides I was way too hurt and proud to ask for his help, which I wouldn't have wanted then, and don't need now. I certainly don't want him anywhere near my home because every time he comes in here he looks around with greedy eyes. he doesn't regret the loss of my love, he regrets the loss of things, and I hate him for it. Jerk!

I think we're more than even but he still thinks I should somehow set him up in his groovy, long it's coming, bachelor lifestyle. He tries to make this sound kind and reasonable but the truth is, it's far from it. What kind of man would ask the mother of his child for his son's bed? The other bed he's referring to was smaller than a twin and given away years ago. How could he want to take away the bed our son has been sleeping in for over four years? I sit in it beside him to read to him at night. When he can't get to sleep I lay next to him. If he has a nightmare I come and sleep beside him until he feels safe again.

Nothing on this list was my ex's to begin with. He never in all the years we were together paid for anything we had. My parents bought everything for us, or I debted on credit cards and then had to take out a loan to cover that. The computers he's referring to are, an old Mac that isn't worth anything now, an IBM that my son uses to do his homework and play little reading and learning games on, and mine. I bought all of them with my own money, none of which came from any kind of earned income, but from inherited property income, making it mine outright.

The piano is an old upright piano I convinced his mother to give to him years and years ago for his birthday. She gave him the piano and I sold my jewely to pay for the moving and tuning. All through the years, whenever we moved, I paid for the movers. Finally after years of paying for it's moving and tuning, after having paid more than the value of the thing, I asked him if he would give it to our son so that I would know that if he ever left us it would always stay with us, and he agreed. I knew he would conveniently forget that. Now all I want is for a big truck to come on over, scoop it up, and dump it in his driveway, so his mother can get greedy and haggle with him over it. I'm sure that's why he wants us to store it for him, so she won't want it back.

The shotgun he's referring to belongs to me. He gave it to me. He went to the gun store one day and bought a bunch of guns and he said the shotgun was for me. I guess he was just lying at the time as ususal because it was so big and scary I don't think I could have handled the kick and I'm not really a gun person anyway. Some time after he'd left, when I felt reasonably certain he wouldn't come over and shoot me, I gave them back to him but kept the shotgun. Later I traded it to a man who was working here, for a small handgun he'd bought for his wife. She wanted another one anyway and he wanted the shotgun. Then they moved away and I don't know where they are. I told Robby that ages ago. He could easily handle the paperwork but continues to torture me over it.

Well I guess that's all I have to say right now. My stomach's in knots over this. I really hate him. He saw Beau last night for the first time in seven months. Then right away he's asking for stuff. He makes me sick, truly he is slime. I don't know how I could have loved someone like this. I just want it over, it hurts so badly.