This is very disjointed. I have been living without my own things since the beginning of March. I got rid of most things but what I have left I love and need.
I feel exposed; naked; as if I said too much yet not enough. I half expect people to think that I was exaggerating, lying even. That’s left over from childhood as people thought I lied when I said I was adopted. I fit with my family too well. The adoption wasn’t mentioned in the article as it’s both extraneous and confusing.
There are some people who think I will do anything for attention. They don’t know me well and this isn’t the attention I want.
I want to be known for wit, intelligence and abilities. What sense of humor you ask? My immediate family and best friends will beat you up for even wondering.
Writing the article wasn’t difficult. Living with it being published has been strange. I understand not knowing how to respond, but some old friends haven’t been in touch at all. Talk about something else. Anything. Just let me know that I didn’t freak you past the point of wanting to know me.
If you’re from my hometown, except for my sister and JI, and you forgot all about the years before I turned into a “cool girl,” I don’t live mired in the past. Neither can I forget it.
Don’t be condescending in your emails and/or comments. I know who and what I turned into. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I know better than anybody.
Is it very important to have perfectly folded towels and the best made bed? In mysteries people are always being judged for such things. I learned to fake it because my sense of design and color is better than most peoples.
I have beaten myself up for not being able to fold perfectly. Somehow I don’t think that will come up at my funeral, memorial service or if there is such a thing, ultimate judgment.
I read a bulletin board on NLD. A woman asked questions about herself and her son. The doctor said there was “this, this and that” for her son, but for her, sorry, nada.
Made me feel like shit actually. Why do I talk about something if nothing can be done for adults? If adults are going to be considered “untreatable.” If I had a child with NLD I would try to learn everything he’s learning.
I’m not Mother Teresa. I’m the antithesis of selfless. I want everything possible out of life for me. I believe that life is supposed to be about fun not suffering. We’re not put on earth to be tested.
Maybe I’m supposed to believe in an afterlife but I can’t. It’s beyond the scope of my imagination and I do have a vivid one.
I’m determined to be a “later in life” success and I will define success.
See there’s so much more to my story. One of the reasons Lucia are closer than most relatives is because we lost two thirds of our friends before they lived to be 40.
We were party girls. We loved going out. She’s been married four times but only admits to three. I have had seven serious proposals. But we had another life going on at the same time.
The one with the Mary’s.
Direct frontal hit. My generation.
It took Patrick two years to be diagnosed. The medical form from NYU was many many pages. We all took a few. Did he ever do it with birds and if so what type?
Yes damn it we laughed at the question but I looked at the parrots that he didn’t do it with it and was scared. So little was known.
Patrick was the first to get sick and die. By the time Larry was really sick I had gone from being a true JAP to somebody who could nurse with one hand, help get affairs in order with the other and talk non stop about anything and nothing
I spent his last day with him. The next morning I had to go to Reddens for a Memorial service for somebody who actually hadn’t died of AIDS–Reddens was the funeral parlor of choice for many.
I freaked my father out before AIDS. In college so many people….he had to tell me about JohnnyB’s death. JohnnyB was the first boy I dated in school and one of my best friends. My father couldn’t help editorializing:
I grew up during the depression, lived through World War Two and you have more dead friends than I do.
What can I say daddy? I didn’t write this part of the script.
I didn’t really say that. I didn’t know what to say about drugs, suicide, death by freezing in the woods, death because the hospital gave the wrong medication (JohnnyB’s–just as his art career was taking off.)
It was the early 70’s. You survived or you died. I suppose I had interesting friends. I was a survivor. Still am.
My Dad had a lot of friends. I have his knack for befriending people. But they would die on me. I’m hoping that this part of my life makes up for the parts before.
I think I have earned the right to define success on my own terms. I wasn’t going to post this weekend. Actually I was writing fiction dialogue and found my way to my blog.
I feel as if my life is very much in a state of suspended animation. I pray my apartment will sell soon but who am I to complain? I have lost a lot recently but not anything near 70% of my net worth. Though there’s always this week.
Birthday week is so pressured. It never lives up to my own hype. And why am I listening to 70’s disco? Gawd, no wonder why I’m working myself into a depression. I hated it the first time around…