laughs maniacally; starts to disappear

Cheshire Cat: If I were looking for a white rabbit, I’d ask the Mad Hatter.
Alice: The Mad Hatter? Oh, no no no…
Cheshire Cat: Or, you could ask the March Hare, in that direction.
Alice: Oh, thank you. I think I’ll see him…
Cheshire Cat: Of course, he’s mad, too.
Alice: But I don’t want to go among mad people.
Cheshire Cat: Oh, you can’t help that. Most everyone’s mad here.
[laughs maniacally; starts to disappear]
Cheshire Cat: You may have noticed that I’m not all there myself.

 

Thanks for the birthday wishes.  Jordan didn’t get me anything but both Laura and Jamie bought me booze.  Balances it out, sort of.

 

 

This holiday thing has flown past me like a gaggle of Canadian geese. It started off, per se, with me going to Jane’s dad’s funeral and sitting in the pew and Jane coming up to me and saying something to the effect of “I owe you and apology.”

 

“Why Jane?”

“Well, some things were said and there was a misunderstanding about 3 years ago and I never corrected it.”

“What do you mean Jane” says I as her dead grandmother wheels her way into the church. So Nana never died and I nursed Jane through that process.  Actually, we all did as she mentioned it in her check in and we all talked to her and supported her when her male cousins got all her grandmother’s good stuff.

Then comes the first anniversary of Dan’s suicide. I couldn’t bring myself to attend his funeral and felt bad for it and figured if I was going to Jane’s dad’s I, at least, should go to his grave. So I went, with Christmas card in hand. Yeah…. so if I stand at Dan’s grave and throw a rock I’d easily be able to hit Dylan’s grave.

 

I hate being this fat. There is no nice way of putting it. My shrink and my doctor have tried to explain the effects of cortisol on the body and I don’t give a fuck. I’ve never been this big even when I was pregnant and I’m sick of it. I can’t jog because of my knees. I eat around 1500 calories a day. I walk for 40 minutes every morning. I’ve spend well over 100 dollars on various herbal diet help and all kinds of shit to no avail. In a moment of desperation I thought if I jump started the weight thing it would help so I drank a glass of Clamato juice , with epipen in hand…. and nothing fucking happened. Nothing. It should have made me violently ill, like food poisoning ill. A week later I drank another glass and again nothing. So, at this point, I am so despondent that I feel horribly guilty every time I eat which isn’t very often now. It’s crazy. I hate it.  Not about the Christmas holiday but definitely put a damper on things as well.

 

Jordan and I were having a heated discussion in November and to deflect the situation he blurted out that he told his mom about us. I asked why and he said well, she asked again if we were actually together. I said

 

again

 

AGAIN

 

what the fuck. You told me she never asked. Oh, no, she’s asked a number of times. I find myself stunned to know that he’s been lying to both of us for some time now so I say “what else aren’t you telling me: and he says “I’m going to Japan for 2 weeks in April. My mom gave it to me as a birthday/Christmas gift.” So you’ve known for 2 weeks, I ask…. hell no, he’s known since last Christmas. So other than the obvious breaking of my trust (and after Mike it was incredibly hard to trust at all again) the fallout meant going to see his dad and step mom and mom and step dad with Lenox and Rowen for dinner. Well, as you know….. I’m not exactly a social butterfly and after 2 funerals and a death anniversary and yet another Christmas without my gingerbread man, without the star I wished upon, without Dylan…. well, I don’t even know how I feel I am so dissociated.

 

The new year turns over and I have to make major life decisions. Come June I will be short $800 income each month. I can no longer do manual labour and don’t have any education past high school so I’ve successfully failed a number of job interviews at this point. I applied for school but the ministry ran out of training money. My doctor and shrink want me to apply for disability what with the PTSD and the generalized anxiety disorder and the cyclothymic mood disorder, lack of cartilage in my knee, carpal tunnel in both wrists, extreme environmental allergies and arthritis which I am going to do but feel shitty about. I had applied for legal assistant certificate at Mohawk because the social Service Work one was full. Now I don’t have a fucking clue what to do….apply for school and osap and try to make due on a pittance? Pursue my dream and write graphic novels and self publish? Take a business course of some time to facilitate the self publishing? Crawl into bed and never get out again? Who knows, certainly not me and with less than 30 days until Dylan’s death day I am pushing myself too much trying to figure it out.

 

My shrink has me filling out these worry sheets. I think they’re making me worry more. I stopped for the weekend but now have to play catch up. Mostly I don’t worry, mostly I’m struck with this insane amount of dread. I have a sore breast and have been to the doctor about it. It’s the same breast and same place I had mastitis in. It flares up every couple of periods but with my mom and her sister both dying of breast cancer…. it fucks with my head. So I’m going to go back to the doctor with the same complaint to stop the dread and have her fill out the disability application because I like to cover all bases. Ugh….Just ugh.

 

So I attend the first full NYC meeting after a theme meeting hoping that this will bring some sense of rhythm/routine back. The meeting was a shit show. The worship coordinator’s check in was a mini sermon about how were all in NYC for ourselves and w

e have to keep it in mine. I found what he said to be pretentious and I felt he set a rather sanctimonious tone as new worship coordinator (guess which committee I will not be signing up for). The theme committee brought three theme choices which the group as a whole was to discuss. The theme committee was supposed to take note of where it seems most people’s passion lies and make a decision from there. The god squad, however, did not have a plan on what to do with the 90 minutes they allotted for theme discussion. The Teacher, after asking three times what the procedure/protocol around this 90 minutes was supposed to be, basically took over (thank god) and things happened at that point.

 

The three choices are

Apocalypse Now

Mythbusters

Glee

 

The theme committee has to meet again and decide where we think people’s passion lies and people held up their hands around their most and least favourite choices and I counted fingers but I’m hesitant to make a prediction at this point as Miss Busy Body’s is on the them committee. What I think is the obvious choice, well, Miss Busy Body’s almost husband is dead set against so I have no clue. In my opinion the theme committee should decide to pick “Glee” as the theme but that is my opinion only and does not represent that of the theme committee as a whole.

 

Note :NYC = ‘nother youth conference (Anglican).

 

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