It'll be a huge relief though to be rid of Saida and Freddy. I feel badly saying that. I wish them well and will always do everything I can to help them, but I'm tired of feeling responsible for them when they have such a rotten attitude towards us in return. Freddy just takes whatever he wants so we're always having to worry about his stealing things and that's just no way to live.
Chinchie, our chinchilla, is having fun behind me, ripping up papers into small pieces.
Beau keeps playing Dance Dance Revolution. The whole house shakes with his jumping up and down on his little electronic pads. It's good for him, I'm happy he's found a game that is physically interactive. He also talked me in to a Samurai game for his Playstation. I don't want him to have M rated games because they're just too evil and scary. I regret letting him keep the game his father gave him, it's so gory and creepy, and Beau started having trouble sleeping. I didn't want to take it away from him because it was a link to his Father, who hardly gives him anything, and who barely sees him, maybe three hours a week at the most. Although lately it's been our fault they haven't been getting together. If he would just pick a day and a time and stick to it it would make it so much easier.
Like Woody Allen, Robby knows little to nothing about Beau's life. He wouldn't be able to tell you the name of his doctor, dentist, best friends, teacher or even what school he will be attending in the fall. He showed no interest whatsoever, never asks about his grades or if he can attend school events like science fairs and plays. He doesn't offer to help monetarily in any way, nor does he help with driving or care. He's a totally selfish baby, always was, and probably always will be. He dates women less than half his age. It's hard to get excited about Father's Day around someone like him.
My Mother is sick. She ate a stuffed cabbage and then had a stomach attack so bad that she had to go to the hospital. When they admitted her her blood pressure was 225 over 125. They put her on pain medication and it came down, but no one really understands what's going on. She keeps having stomach and intestinal problems. To make matters worse they found a polyp in or on her lung. She was a serious smoker for most of her adult life. She finally quit for good in 1985. She's eighty-six years old, I get confused about her age because she's been lying about it by one year since she turned twenty-one.
She's my only relative, my only living connection with my childhood and family. My Grandparents died long ago, I don't have any brothers or sisters, aunts or cousins and my Father died last Spring. I'm adopted and my birth family doesn't want to have anything to do with me. My birth-mother won't tell me who my father is. It's all shrouded in mystery and she could clearly care less that I suffer for it. She's told so many lies about it, the longest lasting is that she was raped, but she won't tell me a thing about this man. First he was a man she was in love with, and had been dating all Summer, a man who left her for a society wedding to someone his parents approved of. Then she told me that was all a lie and that she had been raped by some horrible stranger. Then later she changed it to date rape, but other than telling me that my Father was a horrible man she won't say anything else. She told different stories to the nurse and doctor who delivered me, and to her cousin with whom she lived while she was here having me. After I was born she showed the nurse a picture of my Father and the nurse showed it to my adoptive Mother. It was a wedding announcement that someone had send her from back home in New Jersey. She told the nurse and doctor that this was my Father, she cried and said it was horrible that she was here having his baby while he could care less and was getting married to someone else. She now denies this ever happened, but the problem is that my adoptive Mom was there and remembers this clearly. She remembers the newspaper article and wishes she had kept it. My birth Mother, Loretta, says that, "I have my story mixed up," and that I "need to get it straight." She's told my brother and sisters the date rape story to keep them from wanting to have anything to do with me. Who would want to meet or hang out with a rape sister? Not them. I try to put this out of my mind and move on but I haven't been able to. It sticks with me, especially around holidays like birthdays and Father's day. I can't help wonder who this man is who gave me his DNA. If he was horrible then, could he be a better man now? My apologies to anyone who has read about this before, I can't help but need to get it off my chest now and then.
I've saved the worst news and the thing I'm the most concerned about for last. My cat/friend Fufu is really sick. She looks like she may die. Our vet is trying to get here ASAP. He's a wonderful vet and so is his partner. Blah, sadness, regret, more sadness.