I went away for the weekend with Scott to San Diego. We stayed at Paradise Point and had a good time. The John Prine concert was terrific. He is such a charming, folksy, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful musician and I just loved the concert. I smiled all the way through and felt such inspiration and joy. We had second row seats and I love being right up front as opposed to being stuck in one of the balconies forces to watch the show through binoculars. It felt almost like we were sitting in his living room listening to him play. I almost weaseled out of going but Scott made us go and I'm so grateful to him that we did.
Sorry I haven't had a chance to write in a few days. I've been busy with Halloween decorating and trying to get caught up with errands and dealing with money issues. I've been stressed out and sad.
I have Jerry Springer on in the background while waiting for The Sharon Osbourne show to come on. I used to love the Jerry Springer show, but that was back before some judge but the kibosh on all the fighting. We watched a pay per view uncensored version of the show in our hotel room and it was like the good old Jerry days when people wailed on each other and could barely keep their clothes from falling off.
Scott was saying that he thinks this show is a lot like the Roman Coliseum with the crowds chanting Emperor Jerry's name every time the gladiator guests start fighting. It's the show you hate to like to watch, sort of like Howard Stern. Whenever I watch either of these shows I'm definitely entertained, but they leave a dark depressing aftertaste that may not make the distraction worth the price of the entertainment. It just kind of blows my mind that I'm doing it, watching either of these shows, because they're both sort of mind numbingly offensive, and totally unPC, but maybe that's what people like about them, the outrageousness. The problem with this is that you can become so used to all the weirdness that you start to kind of think all of this sexist and abusive weirdness is normal.
"I'm a transsexual and I'm here to tell my boyfriend of two years, Marquis, that I'm not really working at UPS but that I'm working as a prostitute at night. I'm also having an affair with another man. What's so funny? I probly had your man last night!"
I think Jerry's sort of suave, intelligent man in a nice coat and tie, above it all but with a bit of compassion, posture, while he stands above and occasionally to the side of the crotch kicking, hair pulling, breast baring, rotten-toothed masses is a brilliant concept, whoever thought it up must have been out of their mind brilliant, in terms of audience pull, ratings and marketing. When once I would have disdained work like this, hosting shows like this, now I think, anything semi-pleasant and acting related for money.
Money is the necessary all purpose survival lubricant and I'm so tired of having to go to the Mom and Tina well to grease my creaking machine. When I was younger and certain I would be the next Meryl Streep I used to say, "I will never do a Tide commercial," now I think, "If only."
I've just opened the latest Amazon.com box of books, more things I cannot afford, shouldn't buy, but bought anyway. Books by and about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. Skimming through Ariel I feel so sad I find I can't leave the TV on any longer. It's just too offensive. The noise here, the noise in the background even without the TV, has given me a headache; the gardener's with their leaf blowers, their edge trimmers and lawn mowers, the scampering of little cat feet, the dull smack bang of a hammer, the gnawing on seeds by the rats behind me, and the sound of the freeway and cars in the distance.
I just lost another one of my Grandmother's dresses on auction, sigh. I just can't afford to pay as much as other people are willing to pay these days. It's weird because she's not that well known, even though she should be, considering she was once so famous and was a pioneer in the fashion industry. When I first started collecting these dresses on eBay several years ago I could pick them up for forty or fifty dollars and now the prices get driven up into the hundreds of dollars, well, every once in a while, depending on who is bidding against me, argh. And this one has a little twenty-seven inch waist. Who has a twenty-seven inch waist?
We gave away one of our dogs this weekend which was really good for Spirit and really hard for all of us. He will have a better home than he had with us, or well, I think he will, and I'm praying he will. I'm going to miss him so much but he was a cat killer and would never have been able to live indoors with us and he deserves a house where he gets to sit on the sofa with his family and sleep in bed with them at night.
Beau and I got into another one of our power clash conflict fights over the smallest thing last night and when I found out that he told Irma's kids that he hates me behind my back I was just crushed. I know kids do this, I did it, but it had never happened before, or at least I'd never heard about it, and it hurt so much.
He had made a great big pile of leaves in the street and was playing in it. I asked him if he would just scoop up two small white kitchen bags worth of leaves for me when he was done playing and he said, "Okay," but when he was done and I reminded him he refused to do it. First he started asking me what I needed the leaves for and started arguing that they look "gay" in the front yard. As I always do I told him not to use that word to describe something he doesn't like. Then I told him to pick up the leaves just because I told him to do it. Then he told me that he was itchy and that his knees were burning and "on fire," and that he would come back downstairs and do it later. Again I stood my ground and told him to do it now. I told him that if he didn't I would ground him, he kept raising his voice and I kept raising mine. I hated the way I was acting and felt pushed into a corner. Finally I told him I was going to count to three and when I got there, there would be no turning back and he just screamed and cried.
He made such a big deal about it and reluctantly filled one bag while the other kids helped him. Then the kids came and said, "Did you hear what Beau said about you?" That's when they told me that he's been saying, "I hate my Mom!" a lot lately. We've always been so close, I love him so so much
I went to his room to talk to him about this and his room was a disgusting mess, with pizza boxes and loose pieces of half eaten pizza all over the floor and empty bottles and cans and glasses covering every surface. I told him that he'd had more than a dozen warnings and that I had already told him he couldn't have food in his room anymore. He said he didn't remember this, argh, he makes me want to scream. Anyway I told him once and for all, "NO MORE FOOD OR DRINKS OTHER THAN WATER IN YOUR ROOM!" and then I made him repeat this back to me. Then I told him how much hearing he hates me hurt me and that I don't ever want to hear that again.
Then I went into my room and cried and cried. I thought about how all alone I feel. How I don't have any family and that Beau is my world and if he hates me or if this is the road we are headed down, with my giving and giving, and his taking and taking while becoming more and more grumbly, rebellious, lazy, ungrateful, and totally unreasonable, and then my having to be mean and tough and strict, to the point where he hates me, that I just can't take it anymore.
I thought about how Scott and I can't seem to get it together to live together, how we drive each other nuts sometimes. I thought about my dad dying, my miscarriage, how my Mom has been telling me she's going to die any second for the last ten years. I thought about my ex and my ex-best friend and how heart broken I was and am by them. I thought about my compulsive spending and my money problems, how I just had to give my beloved dog away and how sad that made me even though I knew it was the right thing to do -- how much this cost me and how much worse it was going to get if I was going to have to pare down my out of control pet situation. I thought about my cold hurtful birth mother who doesn't love me at all, and how I can't know my sisters and brother, that I've never met any of them, and the fact that my birth-mother won't give me any real information about my conception. That she told me my real father is a rapist and how he might just be this homeless man named Tommy the Salami who lived in a homeless shelter and died of throat cancer. Then I fantasized about blowing my head off with this little girlie gun I have that's locked in this wall safe in my closet. Luckily I don't know where the key is anymore.
Then I think, how dare I let myself get this depressed and self pitying when I have the full use of all of my appendages and senses, when I'm relatively well and have a home and a child and a boyfriend. I try to cajole myself out of the fear and sadness by telling myself how lucky I am, but it usually takes something like a Xanax or a pill of some kind combined with laying down and watching television to bring me round again. Talking to Scott helped a lot. I called my Mom but that would have only made things worse so I'm gad she didn't answer. I'm still feeling pretty sad and miserable today. I wonder how much of this is chemical in some way. I've also been fighting the flu so that can't help. Maybe I should lay off the Sylvia Plath for a while...
It all comes around.