Well, she's still alive. I called her last night. She called me at work today with an idea of what I can get her for Christmas... She's lost her phone. I said I would meet her at the T-Mobile store when I got off work. So, at 4pm, she showed up at my work to remind me, even though I wasn't off until 5pm. When 5pm rolled around, I was stuck listening to this customer talking about his brain injury from 2 years ago. This went on for 15 minutes before it dawned on him that my glazed-over eyes and impatient fiddling of my watch were a sign that I was not mentally present.

When I got to the T-Mobile store, I saw my mom sitting in her car with this look of utter disappointment on her face... as though she thought I wasn't coming. Inside the store, I can clearly see that all the phones cost more than I'm willing to spend... And she's due for an upgrade in 3 months, so I don't see the point in paying full price for a new phone now. That's a big, fat no, Mommy. She wanted me to pay for the phone and then she would pay me back some of it later, when she already owes me money from last month. ajgklsal;kgaj she leaves the store crying. a;lkgjslkfajgdgefffff.

After a few minutes of talking to her through her car door, she starts bringing up all this old fucking shit again. More stuff about my dad, more stuff about being alone, and more about how miserable her life is. To my never ending disgust, she starts talking about her sex life with both my father and her late husband. For fuck's sake, you do not talk about that sort of thing with your daughter. I could have died happy not knowing about any of that.

On a completely different note, VNV Nation's Judgement is delicious. I just got it in the mail. I had ordered a bunch of things off Amazon's marketplace earlier this month, and this was the last thing to arrive. It makes my horrible day unwind nicely. Moreso, since my dad is out of town--finally visiting his brother in Ohio. So, I have the house to myself, and it is delightful. Funny how the first thing I do when I have the house to myself is to clean; as though I care about it being clean when I'm here alone, but the moment that he returns, I don't care again (because I know he'll just fuck it all up in a matter of days). This is the number one reason that I want to live on my own soon. Oddly, I don't care about my age as a reason to move out. It doesn't bother me or effect my social life--though I'm sure having my own place might improve my social life, as I could have guests over whenever I wish. No, I want to move out because I'm just tired of his mess. I gave up being his maid years ago. I was fighting a losing battle, because no matter how much I cleaned, he did not help. He's quite content to live in filth.

Tragically, one of his arguments when he divorced my mother and was fighting for custody of my sister and me was that my mother didn't keep a clean house. Well, neither does he. I'm damned certain he never lifted a finger to clean up back then and totally left that responsibility to my mother.

And my sister, who's a pretty neat and tidy person now, lived in a pig sty before she moved out. I think she suffered from the same lack of care that I have now. Why bother cleaning up when no one else does? She moved out when she was 18, I think.... And it took me weeks to clear out all her slop and claim her room (the master bedroom) as my own.

Enough babbling! I think I'll watch some the Blade Runner Final Cut after the cd is done playing <3

So, I just got home from work. It was a zoo, as you can imagine. I got a card in the mail... from my mom. Not a Christmas card; she sent one of those a while ago. No, this was just a simple blank card with the following note inside:

Dear Samantha,
I'm sorry I wasn't the perfect mother, the perfect housekeeper, or the perfect anything for you and Tammy. I did the best I could at the time, but I guess it just wasn't good enough.

And she signed it with her full name. No love or sincerely. Just her name.

What the hell would you make of that if you were in my shoes?

The other day, she called me on the phone crying. She was upset that my sister didn't want to go to her house on Christmas. In my sister's defense, my mom's house... Okay, I love this house. I grew up in this house. However, it does not resemble the house I grew up in anymore. All the furniture has been replaced (with money my mother pissed away... and now desperately needs so much so that she had to borrow $225 from me last November... and now I'm suspecting I'll never see again). The family room is a junk heap. The kitchen is questionable, also. The rest of the house looks decent (mainly because they're virtually unused). My sister didn't want to hurt my mother's feelings, therefore didn't give a reason for why she didn't want to go there.

As a side story, my sister now lives with her boyfriend. She's in the middle of a divorce. This will be her first Christmas with the new guy, who is also still married. SOAP OPERA much. She probably wants to have her Christmas with him at their house.

Anyhow, during my phone call with my mother, my sister calls. I didn't even know I have call-waiting, but that's neither here nor there. I switched back to my mom and just listened as she rambled on and sniffled... Then she let me go. Later on, my sister called back, and we talked about our mother and plans for Christmas and such.

Around 9pm that night, my mom comes over... just walks right into my room where I'm at my desk. (wtf, did I leave the door open?) She immediately starts bawling about the same old shit. Now, on this day, I was already in a piss poor mood. I couldn't handle one more fucking thing making me feel like shit, and she found that out the hard way. She started talking about Tammy again and the Christmas crap. I told her again and again that I don't care about Tammy's life. I don't give two shits if she doesn't want to come over to her house for Christmas. My mother thinks that she doesn't want to have her at her house, either, which isn't the case. You're the mother, woman, you don't need an invitation! UGH. As always, my mom starts plucking up old bits about her life and why she's so messed up and why she's so miserable. I said very bluntly, "You think you're the only one with problems? Do you think you're the only one unhappy? Do you think I am happy? Do you think I like my life?" She steered away from these questions with more reasons for why she so fucked up. Her mother was abused by her father... He broke a broomstick over her back once. Her mother had depression, and her father never got her help. Her father never took her to the doctor until it was too late, and she died--from a cancer which they have no idea where it originated. My father never loved my mother... he tricked her into marrying her... he was verbally abusive... he took her children away and she slept for 3 days in the same clothes... etc. etc.

At one point I had to ask her to just stop. Just fucking stop! She was making me cry, and I hate crying in front of her. I wanted to crawl under my desk and make her go away. I wasn't hateful, I just couldn't take any more of it. Already being depressed and then having my depressed mother needling me for god knows what.... Well, I was going to snap if she didn't leave. When she finally got off the past and back to the present, I was content to just mumble whatever she wanted to hear. She left with a half-hearted hug.

And today I get this note. I'm actually wondering if this is some sort of cryptic suicide note. I should probably call.

Mmm Harry Potter.

I've spent entirely too much money lately. Between bills and Christmas present shopping, my poor checking account has taken a beating. I figure I've blown about 3 grand in the last couple months... Between car repairs, wisdom teeth, a loan to my mom, the couch I just bought my dad (which is oh-so comfy), other presents. And I'm not done shopping yet. I hate Christmas... I'm such a Grinch, but I always get people tons of shit or spend more on them than I should. Buyer's remorse haunts me for weeks after Christmas.

I'm working more than usual lately due to the holidays. True, the environment is soul-sucking... But I welcome the distraction from the melancholy bullshit thoughts lately. In the words of The Police, "I feel low, low, low."

I got a Christmas card from Justin today. Finally know his fiance's name! Huzzah. Interesting... Oh, and I ran into Jennifer's dad the other day. He mentioned something about a wedding... /stun. I always knew she'd turn out completely normal, albeit a late bloomer. Can't say the same for myself.

I suppose I should look into finishing up a bachelor's degree at some point. I truly don't want to go to UK, though. The thought makes me cringe. Probably going to mull that one over for the next few months. If I'm going to keep living in Lexington, I'll have to seriously think about it. UK, just like every other university, strives for nothing but sucking your wallet utterly dry rather than educating or training you to prepare for a profession. The world of higher learning is nothing more than a business. If you disagree, think of all the crap you've crammed into your brain only to completely forget it the moment you're done with a class. From all the courses I have taken, I think I've only retained bits and pieces of information that I valued, and I could have read those in a book without having had to pay thousands of dollars for them. Will I ever need to know the equation for figuring a slope? Unlikely. Do I give a rat's ass about early American literature, such as "The Day of Doom?" Quote me on this: fuck no. Teach me something I'll actually use and want to learn, for fuck's sake.

Babbling.

It doesn't help matters that I haven't really thought of an area of expertise I'd want to pursue. I'm not particularly good at anything. I can do just about anything, short of math, which can suck a cock. Ugh... I needed more encouragement as a child. I had it pounded into my head that I was a failure at everything, so I can't seem to grasp being good at anything.

I just had this flashback earlier of sitting in during recess in the fifth grade and writing lines.

To remind you of my youth if you're unfamiliar with the story, in elementary school, my grades started plummeting in the third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Asher, sent me to SAFE (which is a nice acronym for something I can't remember, but it's basically detention) quite a bit. I was sent to the principles office due to how many times I was put in SAFE. He threatened to paddle me for my grades. Even though I managed to pass the third grade, I wasn't so lucky the next year. Mrs. Alexander, the cunt, sent me to SAFE almost every day because I either didn't turn in my homework or my homework wasn't completed. When it was time to do my homework, my dad would sit me down at the kitchen table until 11pm, and I would struggle to complete it. He didn't actually help me with any of it. My teacher thought I was just lazy and unorganized. Being sent out of the classroom every day, I never learned anything. You'd be surprised how hard it is to learn anything without a teacher. The SAFE teacher was this horrible ogre of a woman... She even made me cry a few times. So, anyhow, my grades were so borderline that year that my dad had the option of choosing if I were to go to the fifth grade or not. He held me back. I switched teachers, but still had Mrs. Alexander for half the day. Same shit happened: SAFE every day. I even missed the talent show and FIELD day because I was in SAFE. Think about that... 9 years old and being punished out of the few enjoyable moments of elementary school because your grades suck.

I made it through that year... despite the trauma of my peers moving on ahead of me and my grades remaining in the C, D, F area.

In the fifth grade, I breezed through like it was nothing. I didn't exert more effort, study more, or care more. I was on the honor roll all year but once--when the reading teacher gave me poor marks. She was gunning for me, I tell you. I hated reading with a passion. I never read the books she assigned. I must have been a good bullshitter on book reports back then, until she caught onto me. I remember feeling like my heart was ripped out when I missed the big party for honor roll students. And that reading teacher always made me stay in from recess and write a bunch of lines before I could go outside and play.

My "crappy" reading grades prevented me from taking a foreign language in the 6th grade the next year. Once again, I was boned to a reading class... Which I sucked at miserably, believe it or not! Oddly, I did great in Language Arts. So, in the 7th grade, I got to take German, and I was placed in an advanced English class. Wonder of wonders... I stunk up that English class like a sulfur bomb in the boy's lavatory. Oh, how I hated that class. And I still hated reading.

Toward the end of that year, Julie began loaning me books to read which she liked. Authors like Charles de Lint and LJ Smith. Suddenly, I loved reading. Sure, I was slow as hell, but I was enjoying it.

In the 8th grade, I was placed in retards R us English. I swear, it was one step up from special ed. When I zombied through it, the teacher started wondering why I was in there. We talked a lot, and she assumed that I must have had some sort of learning disability. Dyslexia turned out to be my problem. I could read... I just couldn't process words properly and would have to reread sentences a few time to get their meaning. By this age, though, I was conquering it. By actually reading for enjoyment and entertainment, I was rewiring my brain to process faster. In fact, I was beginning to write short stories (even attempted a novel) when I was about 14. I made it my goal to be better at grammar and English, and I continued on to high school in advanced English classes like they were no challenge at all.

I'm rambling, but you get the idea. I was cheated out of an education when I was in elementary school. I was cheated out of a year of my life, because no one thought to test me for a reading disability.

You can't cure dyslexia. I still read slower than I would like (though I'm faster than most people... not including my bookworm friends Toni and Bry). I still have to reread sentences from time to time when they don't compute. I still reverse words or letters when I speak or write (I've noticed that my brain likes to switch M and B around, regardless of if I am typing or writing by hand).

My mom has shown signs of dyslexia my entire life, so I can only assume I got it from her gene pool. She can't casually say a paragraph of conversation without getting some word backwards.

I've probably told this story before... Have I recited the time I got mad at her and stormed off to the garage? Well, I got in the car and sat in the garage, waiting for her to take me home. She opened the door into the garage, looked at me, and slammed the door closed. In my infinite wisdom, I shouted, "You don't have to fuck the slamming door!" She opened the door, looked at me, and immediately burst out laughing. Good times.

That all written, dyslexics untie!

I just woke up a few minutes ago. I had a lot of silly dreams, but the one that stands out the most took place on a beach. The beginning of the dream is fuzzy, so I don't remember how it got to the beach. I was in another person's body. She had short, brown hair and was pale and petite. I was wearing a pristine, white wedding dress and being forced to marry someone. After the ceremony was over, I stormed off across the beach. I was tearing the dress apart, casting pieces of fabric and mesh into the tide. By the time I was down to my underwear, the person I was really in love with (?) was running up to me on the beach. The tide was coming in fast, and I vaguely got the idea to save the fabric from the dress and use it for something. As I chased a few of the larger pieces in the tide, there was a sudden fear of sharks. (I think this was all taking place in Australia, but I have no real idea.)

That's all I recall before waking up and having to piss like a race horse.

I have been trying to keep my mind off of certain unpleasant thoughts and unpleasant people. Avoiding thoughts about love and society and meeting fundamental human needs without conflicting with the first two is obviously filling up my skull with the liquor of nightmares. Distracting myself throughout the day only implants the thoughts into my subconscious that much deeper. Oddly, I haven't had a problem getting to sleep when I lie down. Exhaustion doesn't allow for a peaceful winding down... I just clock out after a toss and turn or two.

No one else has that sparkle... and it may be because I don't want to see it. Everyone pales in comparison to the unpolished, rough emerald I gave away.

Enough of this cryptic shit.

Oh! I made fudge the other day.

It's chocolate & peanut butter marbled. >_>

You know, for a fat chick, I really can't cook. What's up with that? I want to learn how, though. I can make the basics... but when it comes to interesting dishes, I'm fairly clueless. I just don't know any recipes. I can cook anything if I have a recipe (granted, it will probably suck the first time...).

Urr... After ending my 5 day stretch of work tomorrow, I'll be off Wed. and Thur. HURRAH!

I'll be getting more hours throughout the fucking holidays. I hate the holidays. Christmas is a perfect example of how people are a bunch of hypocritical assholes. If Christ were alive today, the shame he would feel for his people "celebrating" his birth would drive him to non-stop projectile vomiting.

I shouldn't just pick on the Christians, either. The season brings out the ugliness in people of all creeds. It's really sad. Buncha fuckwits.

Wooo... I need to go unwind.

A coworker mentioned that her sister's cat has 2 eight week old kittens that they are trying to place in new homes. She showed me pictures, and now I can't get them out of my head *_*

I so want another cat... And these two were so cute. The trouble is, I wanted to wait 'til after Christmas to go to the Humane Society and check out the cats and kittens.

Eeeee! I'm torn. I want to visit the kittens I saw in the picture and possibly adopt one or both of them... but I don't know if I can handle a cat or two just yet. In two months, I could snuggle the shit out of one.

Pah!

In other news, I'm going to Toni's for Thanksgiving again. Hoping to help in the cooking this year, especially since Toni's mom isn't her perky self lately. My cousin Pam recently contacted me and asked if my dad would come up to surprise my aunt on Thanksgiving. I really wish that he'd go, but he says that his POS car can't make the drive. He doesn't have any plans :/ He wanted to make dinner on the weekend, but I'm working every day, and the day I have at least the evening free.... Well, my mother's invited her distant cousin down from Ohio to have dinner with her, my sister and her kids, and me. This guy is in his 80's. I'm not even sure what his relation is to my mom... something like his grandfather and her grandfather were brothers.

Can you say "awkward?"

Yay family.

What a great show... Just... wow. I am still high off of it, even if my head is pounding with a tension headache.

Unf unf unf.

Getting ready to go to a VNV Nation show. That right there is reason enough to be giddy and fidgety. I hope I don't get too lost >.>; I've never driven around Covington. Well, I've been through it, sure, but I've never stopped to survey the cityscape. Squeee.

Rarr! I have 3 days off in a row, and yesterday was blissful. I slept in, did diddly squat, and seduced a PYT. All in a day's work. And now it's raining, and I'm going to see one of my favorite groups. I hope tomorrow is as fruitful :3

Ah... I better get on the move. I still have to fill up on gas, go to an ATM, pick up Bry, pick up Kristina, and print up the ticket info.

More squeeing~!

I have some really whacked out dreams sometimes. Honestly. This morning I dreamt that I was at my mother's house... though it only looked like her house dimensionally. Anyhow, I see a car pull up on the driveway, and Rask is behind the wheel. As he gets out, I sprint across the house to the front door to make sure it's locked. Thus begins a crazy game of cat and mouse. As I'm checking each room and the windows, he's following from outside, trying to stay ahead of me and find a way inside. Somewhere in all this chaos, the thought occurs to me that I'm either about to embark on the scariest trip of my life or the most epic sex of my life... Rational thoughts in dreams? Hell no. As I reach the office, he's climbing in through the back window, so I flee to the opposite end of the house into what used to be my bedroom when I was a child (DUN DUN DUN What would Jung say?). I close the door, lock it, and lean against it. Within minutes, he's on the other side of the door. I can't remember what he said exactly... something about already being inside. And then I feel his fingers touching my fingers through the door. It's so fucking weird and intense that it completely knocks me out of sleep.

When I woke up, the hand that he had touched was numb, as though I had slept on it and cut off the circulation.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch....

I haven't been feeling well the last few days. My stomach isn't digesting food right. It just sits in my stomach and makes me painfully bloated so much so that I have to vomit to make it stop hurting. I can hardly keep food down. I've had 2 pieces of toast today. It's difficult to describe it other than to say it feels like a balloon is inflating in my stomach and has no where to go but up. :X I don't feel constipated or anything like that, but my dad suggested I take a laxative. Fun fucking times. We'll see about that.

"Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him." Marilyn Monroe.

Murf.... it's cold. I am not ready for the cold.

I love coming home for lunch. Any excuse to get the fuck out of that hell hole....

Anyway, how am I doing? Hmm, that's a good question. Aside from extreme fits of anger, I think I'm doing pretty good. There are moments when I want to just pick up the phone and make him regret he was born. Oh, I wanna hurt him. I wanna pull his ego out through his mouth and stuff it up his ass. I want to strap on 4" heels and walk all over his heart.

Yeah, I have resentment issues. But I only let myself feel like that for about a minute a day. There's no point in giving it any more time. Same goes for self-pity. And longing. And loneliness.

Ahh... Placebo moment:

You shower me with lullabies
As you're walking away
Reminds me that it's killing time
On this fateful day

See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end

Go chase your Amy.

I'm crazy flowing over with ideas
A thousand ways to woo a lover so sincere
Love and hate what a beautiful combination
Sending shivers up and down my spine

~Erasure

This must be what going insane feels like. hmmmm.

Remember that tattoo idea I had a few weeks ago? Well, here it is:

I might still get it. Some day. A little reminder of the 6 crazy years in my twenties when I was mortal and cared about something.

Anyway. Hi. My name is Fyx. On a good day, I might give you this fake smile

and pretend to be genuinely interested in things you have to say. Sometimes, I even am interested! But, mostly, I'm self-absorbed and thinking about things like this

which I could be playing instead of talking to you.

On a bad day, however, I usually look like this

or more recently

but I'm over those!

In my natural state, I'm usually sitting at my desk reading or playing some dumb game or another.
'sup?
And, of course, I'm always listening to music. Music is a part of me--it is to my brain what oxygen is to my blood. Sure, it might inspire moments of lunacy such as this

but that's what makes it so wonderful. I cannot understand people who do not feel the way about music that I do. It is the first common thread that I look for in people... Maybe that's strange, but I think a lot of people do that. :3

On that note, I'm going to stop writing and just listen to my music. Maybe it'll make me feel better. Last night, all I did was drink and bawl like an idiot. I've done neither today, so that's a step in the right direction, ne?

Heh, what a surreal day. I'm only home on lunch, but I just can't stop thinking about stuff. I gotta let it go, I know... it's so aggravating, though. No matter how I try to push it out of my brain, some stupid thought will swoop in like, "Let's go visit Candice and kick his ass!" or, "And I thought I was going to marry him..." or "What the flying fuck is wrong with you that you love someone like this?"

Oh, life, you're so silly. Why do I put up with you?

Back to work.

I can't wait until tomorrow... I'm going to sleep the entire fucking day.

No, scratch that. I'm going to have a nervous breakdown, and then I'm going to sleep the entire fucking day.

Rask's exiting stage left, and I wrote a smarmy e-mail full of shit just to ease his mind. I don't know why. I'd like to think that it's better off this way, but what I really want to do is drive out to a nice open space and scream "What the fuck?" until my vocal chords bleed.

I could be all melancholy and whine, why'd he come back, why'd I listen to him, why am I such a moron? But, after six years of that, I think all I want to do right now is drink until the walls start melting.

But I can't drink... 'Cause I'm going to work.