white noise

My step-mother is not the most people-savvy person in the world. Add in her flare for codependency and she becomes hard-core gullible. I’m never sure if she can’t take care of herself, or if she won’t. Either way, she’s easy to take advantage of and people such as friends, relatives, my sister, or just about anyone looking for a victim will take advantage of her. It infuriates me.

She infuriates me.

When it came to my sister’s mental welfare in 1996, I had no choice but to resort to threatening her. My father was buried in his speed addiction and the Bi-polar had him so far out in orbit that he was a danger, if not physically (which I believe he was), then certainly spiritually and emotionally. When Chelsea’s school counselor came to me because of my step-mom’s lack of action, I had no choice, I had to act.

I’ve been a lot of ugly things in my lifetime, but nothing quite so ugly as the moment I looked Barbie straight in the eye and said, “you’ve been playing this bullshit game with my father for almost two years now and you’re fucking with my sister’s well being. Either do something about it fast or I’ll pack Chelsea’s and my bags and you will NOT see us again. The two of you can live your fucked up lives without the two of us.”

Chelsea was only 12 then. When I related the story to her when she was 18, she just looked at me and asked, “why didn’t you just do it?” My friend, Randy, asked me the same question at the time. Why didn’t I?

Could I have changed the course of my sister’s life if I had? Would she have graduated from high school? Would she have stayed away from speed? Stayed out of juvenile detention? Stayed off of welfare? Walked away with a better self-image? Would she see herself as a better person?

Between the abuses I suffered before I left my birth-mother at the age of 10, to the time I left working at the jail in September of 1998, my whole life was about fighting to stay alive — about survival. Maybe not always a physical struggle, but certainly an emotional or spiritual one. I am an extremely aggressive personality. But, thankfully, for the most part I’m only retaliatory — I won’t start a fight just because I can. I also consider myself a fairly patient person. I’m not, however, properly assertive.

I used my character, Lucinda Rae Thompson a.k.a. “Lucky” Thompson in a short story once, and upon reading the story over a few years later, realized I’m a lot like her. While she was having dinner in a diner, a man at the counter started harrassing her … not super aggressive, but Lucky isn’t really a social character. She told him to leave her be and he decided that was quite rude of her. He continued speaking to her and flirting (being just a wee bit obnoxious about it) so, in response, Lucky stuck her fork in his thigh.

I had a similar incident with a truck driver at a cafe in Olancha when I was fourteen. It was my first job waitressing and the truck driver decided he needed to pat my ass. I asked him nicely to keep his hands to himself (keep in mind I’m the survivor of extensive sexual abuse and at that time I believed the only good man was a dead one). When I came back to the table to refill his coffee cup, he decide to pat my ass again, only this time he rubbed it. Well, the coffee pot just kinda slipped off the rim of his cup and splashed half that pot onto his crotch — ooops! The worst of it was when my boss (also a stupid male) tried to tell me I had to put up with it. My father had a different opinion when I told him the situation.

I hadn’t realized how much of Lucky’s story was writing about myself. I used to leave poetry in bathroom stalls in her name. But, unlike me, Lucky was wild and completely untamed. She never really found a place in civilized life.

Ever since I left the Inyo County Jail, I’ve struggled to change who I am. I don’t know if working at the jail altered me, or if it was the past abuses finally coming to the surface, or the constant stress of those last 5 years — or if it was the culmination of everything — but I was definitely a broken Breece, and I didn’t think there was going to be any fixing me. A wreck physically, emotionally, spiritually … yeah — there’s no doubt that if Sharon and Howard hadn’t stepped in, I’d be a dead puppy right now.

Or maybe just living under a new identity. But, either way, I’d have killed the person I was then.

I haven’t felt or seen any progress for a long time, though. I thought I’d hit a wall. Spiritually, my world seemed blank. Not empty, just … featureless or colorless. I heard no sort of god voice anymore and wondered if I’d stopped believing. In God. In myself. Have I learned to be assertive instead of aggressive? (you’ll have to pardon my contempt; it’s too easy to think that it’s just some candy-ass political correctness for beating around the bush instead of getting to the truth).

I railed at my step-mom the other day for handing a couple $something-K over to her brother without any records to indicate she’d done so. She couldn’t even remember how much. Yes, THOUSANDS, folks. She thinks it’s over X-thousand but under Y. He put it in a CD under his name, but now he won’t produce any documentation from the bank. Gee, I wonder why. He tells her the bank won’t give the paper work to him. Hmm. Usually with that kinda money, I’m guessing the bank management is going to meet you at the door with a red carpet, maybe even offer you a cup of coffee and a place to sit down.

Yes, I’m mean.

I didn’t say it out loud. I do love her. I really do. But I yelled. I railed. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” Her brother recently signed a promissory note stating he owed her X-amount, but for all she knows, it could be twice that. For all she knows, it could be non-existent. She doesn’t have anything about the term of the CD, the interest rate, nothing, nada, zip. *sigh*

But, I had to call her back the next day and apologize. Really, it’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have gotten excited or upset. She laughed. She said a few golden words that made me feel the best I’ve felt all year (yes, I know, it’s only February).

“You thought that was bad? That was nothing compared to ten years ago.”

Neat. :)

Finally …

SNOW!

Took long enough. Geeeez.

Bah! I broke the pony. *sigh* So, I redid the epoxy putty today and now I need to resand it.

I’ve never had SO much fun, or felt SO satisfied by SO many endeavors in a very long time.

For many, many years, I held onto a Breyer Stablemate arabian stallion which fell from a shelf and broke. Unable to part with him, I’ve kept him in my junk trunk along with his broken leg. Well, last week, I pulled him out and took the plunge into model horse repair (backspace to return!). With my trusty Dremel, I leveled both broken parts and sanded them rough, drilled teeny holes and glued a pin in to act as a post and then used epoxy putty to fill in the missing plastic. I sanded by hand for a while, but then had to get brave and use the Dremel — that’s what it’s for, right? Amazing stuff! Keep in mind that this guy is all of 4 inches tall and fits in the palm of my hand.

The airbrushing is most likely to be the roughest part of this process. I’m not at all experienced with painting. That earlier bathroom project? Yeah, my first house painting experience. Oy! Well … okay, maybe my second. But, I don’t recall painting much in my lifetime. Sadly, I think I’ve been terrorized by a lot of wall paper much of my life.

I’ve also been having a lot of fun recovering notebooks. It’s fun, but I’m picky about the books. I don’t like notebooks with perforated pages (unless I’m going to rip them out and punch my own holes). Finding notebooks these days without perforated pages can be difficult. Not impossible, though. So, I redid this notebook for Yana:

And I liked the simplicity. I made the little rosette with Sculpey (from a mold I made with a button) and just finger-dusted it lightly with some of Jon’s pastels. Then I used a quick dose of UV resistant gloss finish. Afterwards, I thought I might like a bit of pearl shimmer in it though, to make it a bit more Victorian-ish.

The ribbon is just a banner I made and hand painted … oh — about 14 times — before getting one anywhere near right! *flump* You can see in the close up that even this attempt is a wee bit flawed, but we’re calling itcharacter.

I have about 4 other projects still in the works. I’m going crazy on the Create a Character Clinic ebook from Holly Lisle. eBooks are da bomb for the ultimate book alterations. I can print it on whatever paper I want, add blank or lined sheets wherever I want, bind it however I want. highlight the passages I want. Talk about going bonkers! I’ll flash some pics when I actually finish the binding.

Some of my projects are house related. I’ve discovered I’m actually quite terrible at documenting my steps. For all the records I keep, I don’t keep them in one place and they’re not always start-to-finish (tsk!). I suppose it’s a good thing there’s no creative audit. I’d fail!

Happy day!

Heh, I’ve infected Jon. He now has the renovation bug. Hehe. Bonus! He went out to the shop last night with his tape measure and was happily graphing, charting and planning on his computer afterwards. He made a nice room plan, complete with a new dust collector — not quite as big as the one in his dad’s woodshop, but it’ll help keep the place clear of sawdust.

He offered to make me a trunk for the bedroom, too. The Grizzly catalog has a plan for a nice mission style chest. It’d fit well with my dresser and then I’d just need to find a relatively close matching nightstand. Then, all we’d basically need is to patch some of the small nail holes, paint and I think the bedroom would be good to go. Well, we could utilize the space right inside the door a little better, but I may be moving the 3-tier bookshelf from my office to there once the barrister bookcases come in on Friday. Yay for no more books in boxes (well, some anyhow)!

Marni’s doing a Wednesday night workshop on creativity this month in Roanoke I’m hoping to attend regularly. I hit the floor a lot lately, even with the new shift in pacing to 2 hours/20 minutes. I keep coming up with this stupid little cold that isn’t too bad, but pesky enough that it runs me down and then all I want to do is sleep. Then of course, I get mad and whine to Jon because I don’t get anything done.

Speaking of … Jon came up with a suggestion for tackling the Fibromyalgia and my struggles with attaching my self-worth to productivity. Instead of focusing on what I haven’t done, every evening I now need to list what I’ve accomplished throughout the day. When I remember to write everything down (and can remember everything I’ve done throughout the day) this has worked wonders for helping me to see that, yes, there is progress even if I can’t see it.

I haven’t wanted to be on the computer — both good and bad. Most of my writing is long-hand. :) Which means lots of transcribing later. It also means holes in ye old blog. I have to do that everything in moderation thingy again. But, I’ve enjoyed the long-handing a lot. Heaven only knows why. But the rub against the callouse of the first knuckle where the pencil sits, it’s just … invigorating.

I’m also down 12 pounds. How, I’m not really sure. Bivins said the Topamax would make a difference. I don’t think I’ve made that much of a change in my eating habit outside of splitting whatever I eat with Jon whenever we go out to dinner. Beyond that, not much has really changed. I do think I consume more sugar now, both because I eat cereal for breakfast and I drink more juice now than I did before. I do, however, eat home much more often than when I lived in Sacramento and went to school. I should be way more dedicated at keeping track of this stuff, then I wouldn’t have to guess.

That’s what I get for being lazy. :) Anyhow, see you in a couple more days!