Hello folks, sorry I haven't been updating much. I haven't wanted to bore you to death. It's same old same old here.
But anyways, as you may know, I am Wiccan. Which means today is a holiday for me, because today is the first day of spring. Yay spring! So happy Ostara to you!
My 3 yr old brother, Neal, has scarlet fever and had an allergic reaction to the medicine and has hives and skin peeling off his privates and is in an altogether horrid mood. Dean (the 5 yr old brother) fell off his bike and his tooth went through his lip, but he is in a good mood anyways. My dad is in a crappy mood because he has to do taxes.
Anyways...It is friday night/saturday morning and I just came back from another taco night at my co-worker's house. It was nice and very middle age-y. Except I'm in my early twenties so I want to rock out. I wanted to kick it up a notch but of course it hits like ten o'clock and two beers and everyone starts making their way home. Somehow I made plans to go out to a lame looking concert with two of the ladies tonight (as in Saturday night...because it is now Saturday). I am trying to convince them to go to the rocky horror picture show we me afterwards. I will go with or without them. But I went alone last time, I really want someone to go with me this time.
I'm planning the usual fun Ostara family stuff in the morning. I love being Wiccan but sometimes it bums me out when no one knows what Wicca is or I start explaining a holiday like Ostara and they go "oh, basically Easter, right?" and I'm like NO. EASTER IS ABOUT JUSES. FUCK YOU. Well actually that part makes me mad. I get bummed when I feel like I'm the only one though. Like I know other Wiccans but I don't have a coven like I used to so it's not the same.
I haven't been having tons of sex, or any sex actually. I got a bunch of new sex toys so I've been having fun with that. I like the glass dildo way more than I thought I would. But yeah. I went to a party last weekend and I stayed the night and I was naked hot tubbing and being my usual self, but feeling a little awkward because I didn't really know many people there. There was one dude who got me a beer and seemed into me but I kinda like his friend so I was like eeeeh, maybe not. So I just didn't let that go anywhere. Leave doors open for next time.
I've been having such male attention for a while and I didn't get as much at that party so now I feel like I should loose some weight or something. So I've been riding my bike to work once a week - it's about 9 miles each way. Takes me an hour each way. But I've been smoking pot at night and then I get hungry and eat a bunch of sweets and watch Family Guy or Torchwood or Law & Order: Criminal Intent. This is why I have not been updating.
But things will change, because it's spring!
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Piano
One of the reasons I started this blog is to write about my crazy life, except that in writing this blog I have left out a giant part of my life - my family. So I'm going to start posting little tid bits, young memories that kind of build upon each other like stones in a fence around me.
The day we got the piano was not very special. I didn't know anything about it until my father pushed it through the door, with some help from the neighbors. There was no where to put it, so they put it in the kitchen. This was before we remodeled, so the kitchen was dark with yellowish tiles and dark brown cupboards, and a greying pink paint covering the walls like a sunburn poorly hidden. The fridge purred next to the piano and the guys wiped the sweat from their brows, hands on their hips starring at it. No one knew how to play it.
My mom got it from this meth head lesbians who had painted it white. I think it was payment for some drugs, but I'm not sure. Inside was a lovely rich brown wood with a glossy finish. The keys were made of real ivory but some of them had been peeled off, the glue still stuck on the wood on some keys. I studied each key and imagined they were portraits of men with interesting faces. The bench that we had was broken and didn't match the piano at all, but it was a bench. I itched to touch all the keys, but I was too afraid. I didn't want to make noise, I wanted to make music. My parents used the piano as a place to pile paperwork and things. It was kept closed with stuff all over it; most people didn't even realize it was a piano, they thought it was a desk or something.
I begged for lessons but my parents said no. My sister had gotten a flute for band and bailed on it after two weeks - they weren't doing that again. So I didn't get in band either, which I was bummed about. Then grandma gave us girls all tiny pianos, about 12 white keys and each key was smaller than my finger. But the keys lit up and played 10 songs. I memorized the songs and cleared off the table one day, putting the little keyboard up like a music book. I learned ode to Joy when no one was home. I played it over and over. I didn't even hear my mom come in.
She came into the kitchen with a baseball bat held back, her face a mix of fear and rage.
"Holy Jesus, Sky. Give me a heart attack."
I looked at her silently, hands still suspended over the keys.
"I thought someone broke in!" She said, throwing her hands to each side, like "duh". "I thought they must of broke in and were playing the piano, I mean no one knows how to play the piano. Were you playing the piano?"
"Ode to Joy."
"Where'd you learn that?"
"The little keyboard plays it, and I just matched it to the big piano."
She looked worried.
I would get lessons a year and a half after this, my dad thumbing through the yellow pages and calling everyone on the music store's list with his nervous fake professional voice "Hello sir, good day. I was wondering if I could inquire about piano lessons for my daughter.... Ah yes, thank you for your time, we will call you again if we are indeed interested in obtaining a lesson from your organization."
I was nervously sending my father loving thoughts as he did this. I was watching him from around the corner, my hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of my sweater.
My piano teacher lived on the outside of town past the cemetery and the Christmas tree farm. Her house was unremarkable, surrounded mostly by fields. She showed me her back garden once, and that was beautiful. It had a little pond and a platform with two chairs facing the fields, she said they called it the field room. There was a hammock hanging under some berry bushes and raised vegetable beds amidst a wildflower garden. She was tall and slim with long thick grey hair, and little laugh lines around her eyes. One look at her and you'd think, new age hippy for sure. Which pegged her. She talked like a therapist, always said I couldn't sue the word "can't", so I would say "I think I am not able to at this time" instead, which made her smile and give a disapproving look. I would actually end up confiding a lot into her, sometimes we would waste a third of the lesson talking. I still am in touch with her. I quit taking lessons when I graduated high school, I figured it was too expensive anyways.
My mom always hated the noise. She would say "if only you wouldn't play the same song over and over", "But I have to practice songs over and over to get them right", "well you asked! Why do you have to play right now?"
My dad would listen to the radio in the car and turn to me, pinching above my knee which made me jump. "Why arn't you playing like this by now?" He would smile and pretend to play the piano to some blues song.
I like playing at night when no one is listening, no one is around.
The day we got the piano was not very special. I didn't know anything about it until my father pushed it through the door, with some help from the neighbors. There was no where to put it, so they put it in the kitchen. This was before we remodeled, so the kitchen was dark with yellowish tiles and dark brown cupboards, and a greying pink paint covering the walls like a sunburn poorly hidden. The fridge purred next to the piano and the guys wiped the sweat from their brows, hands on their hips starring at it. No one knew how to play it.
My mom got it from this meth head lesbians who had painted it white. I think it was payment for some drugs, but I'm not sure. Inside was a lovely rich brown wood with a glossy finish. The keys were made of real ivory but some of them had been peeled off, the glue still stuck on the wood on some keys. I studied each key and imagined they were portraits of men with interesting faces. The bench that we had was broken and didn't match the piano at all, but it was a bench. I itched to touch all the keys, but I was too afraid. I didn't want to make noise, I wanted to make music. My parents used the piano as a place to pile paperwork and things. It was kept closed with stuff all over it; most people didn't even realize it was a piano, they thought it was a desk or something.
I begged for lessons but my parents said no. My sister had gotten a flute for band and bailed on it after two weeks - they weren't doing that again. So I didn't get in band either, which I was bummed about. Then grandma gave us girls all tiny pianos, about 12 white keys and each key was smaller than my finger. But the keys lit up and played 10 songs. I memorized the songs and cleared off the table one day, putting the little keyboard up like a music book. I learned ode to Joy when no one was home. I played it over and over. I didn't even hear my mom come in.
She came into the kitchen with a baseball bat held back, her face a mix of fear and rage.
"Holy Jesus, Sky. Give me a heart attack."
I looked at her silently, hands still suspended over the keys.
"I thought someone broke in!" She said, throwing her hands to each side, like "duh". "I thought they must of broke in and were playing the piano, I mean no one knows how to play the piano. Were you playing the piano?"
"Ode to Joy."
"Where'd you learn that?"
"The little keyboard plays it, and I just matched it to the big piano."
She looked worried.
I would get lessons a year and a half after this, my dad thumbing through the yellow pages and calling everyone on the music store's list with his nervous fake professional voice "Hello sir, good day. I was wondering if I could inquire about piano lessons for my daughter.... Ah yes, thank you for your time, we will call you again if we are indeed interested in obtaining a lesson from your organization."
I was nervously sending my father loving thoughts as he did this. I was watching him from around the corner, my hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of my sweater.
My piano teacher lived on the outside of town past the cemetery and the Christmas tree farm. Her house was unremarkable, surrounded mostly by fields. She showed me her back garden once, and that was beautiful. It had a little pond and a platform with two chairs facing the fields, she said they called it the field room. There was a hammock hanging under some berry bushes and raised vegetable beds amidst a wildflower garden. She was tall and slim with long thick grey hair, and little laugh lines around her eyes. One look at her and you'd think, new age hippy for sure. Which pegged her. She talked like a therapist, always said I couldn't sue the word "can't", so I would say "I think I am not able to at this time" instead, which made her smile and give a disapproving look. I would actually end up confiding a lot into her, sometimes we would waste a third of the lesson talking. I still am in touch with her. I quit taking lessons when I graduated high school, I figured it was too expensive anyways.
My mom always hated the noise. She would say "if only you wouldn't play the same song over and over", "But I have to practice songs over and over to get them right", "well you asked! Why do you have to play right now?"
My dad would listen to the radio in the car and turn to me, pinching above my knee which made me jump. "Why arn't you playing like this by now?" He would smile and pretend to play the piano to some blues song.
I like playing at night when no one is listening, no one is around.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
edit
I am unconscious.
[edit]
I found this post with no tittle. Weird. I don't remember making it. I talk in my sleep but seriously no one blogs in their sleep. Which means my memory has gone to crap or someone is messing with me.
But I was thinking about something kinda serious, so off the lighthearted track please. The rest of this post is about rape so you can stop reading if you want to.
Sometimes I am tortured by my own thoughts. Sometimes when I am down I think about Jason.
I think about how good of friends we were. We met in Geometry sophomore year of High School. I copied off of him, I wouldn't have passed if it wasn't for him. We became good friends the next year really. John, Trin, May, Jay and I were all good friends. I used to go to his house every day after school. We would measure how long it took to get somewhere by how many times Le Tigre's song "Deceptacon" could repeat. We were both really into the Beatles anthology. He is tall and pale with curly brown hair and sparse facial hair. He was an eagle scout, I was at the ceremony. We read comics, watched movies, played video games, cooked together and talked about everything. He would sit down and go "Girl Talk!" and we would have tea and talk about our 'girly problems'. Like people we were dating or wanted to date, or about our sex lives. I had a very active sex life in High School, but I only dated two guys. Jay dated two girls, but he was an ass to the first one.
We went to the city together and to his cabin for snowboarding (his dad tried to teach me). We shared a limo to prom and crashed at his house afterwards. My mom would say "now why don't you date him!" But I always said he was more like a brother. And we both agreed on this. As time went on I got dumped and was sad. John was more into drugs and PJ started to hang out with us. We would sit in John's room smoking the hookah and listening to records. Sometimes drinking beer or whiskey. John had some Wild Parties. We only had one party at Jay's, his 21st. Be got me wasted by slipping more alcohol in my drink every time I wasn't looking. I got so sick. Pj stayed with me all night and took care of me. Be and Jay went upstairs and watched porn, and he hit on her which she just thought was funny. Kinda bugged me. Once he had us all over for a pool party at his neighbor's house. He caught me and my ex doing it in the changing room. All my graduation pictures have us next to each other. He used to come over and hold my brother Dean, who was born the year we graduated High School. We were friends for years and all this stuff gets mixed in.
Then one day somewhere in the Spring of 2006 there was a party at John's house. Jay had got dumped and was sad and knew I was still sad about being dumped by Westly. And Jay had spent the last few weeks trying to convince me that drugs would help me feel better. At least for the night, and didn't I deserve a night of fun? So Pj sold Jay some oxy. He crushed it up and put it into lines for me. I told him I was nervous. He rolled up a dollar bill.
"Just put one finger on this nostril and put the dollar straw in the other, and snort it."
And I did.
I was surprised at how quickly I felt it. It was like water pouring down over my head. Relax. It said relax.
John was doing some DOB (like Acid). Jay went out of the room, and so did PJ. I laid down. My limbs felt heavy. Everything was heavy. I wanted to sleep. I could hear Jay on the radio, they had him call in and he sounded stoned. Everyone laughed in the other room.
I took a sudden breath. I realized I hadn't been breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. I had to concentrate.
Jay came in and laid next to me in John's twin bed. I'm not sure if John was there or not.
Jay stroked my hair. That was nice. My hair was in my face. I couldn't raise my arm to move it.
He kissed my forehead. ok.
He kissed my neck. What is he doing?
"No Jay". It was a whisper. Where had my voice gone?
He breathed into my ear. Kissed my ear. My neck. Pressing against me.
"Jay, stop. no" quiet quiet my voice was so small.
He kissed further down on my neck. my chest.
"no" I couldn't say it louder. my head was swimming. stay awake. breathe. stay awake.
He was getting on top of me. so heavy. I can't breathe. he is so heavy.
"don't. " I tried to push him off. I don't think my arms could even lift from my sides. So heavy.
"please." I closed my eyes. "please don't" so quiet.
I heard someone open the door. I tried to say help but I had no breath. heavy. heavy. Stay awake.
The door shut. Heavy. Hands going down my top.
Escape, Sky. Go to sleep.
Darkness.
I woke up.
I was on the twin bed with him laying next to me. My brain felt fogged. I didn't really remember yet. I pushed myself off the bed. I didn't know why but I didn't want him laying next to me. So tired. I laid on the floor next to John. He turned on Pink Floyd's Dark side of the moon. I drifted in a hazy sleep. Kind of awake. The music was rocking me in a lull.
CLANG.
"Shit!"
The clocks rang on the album. It was like that fogged window I was looking through shattered. I was awake. I was frightened. And everything came back. I remembered what happened. I went to the bathroom. I checked my vagina. Something was up, but I couldn't feel if there was any sperm. I felt confused. I went back to John's room. Laid down on the floor.
"Hey Jay?"
"Hmm?" he said in a sleepy voice.
"Do you remember what happened last night?"
"Why?"
"Do you remember...uh....kissing my neck?"
"Kind of..."
"You did more than kiss me I think. I asked you to stop and you didn't."
"I don't know about that."
John was sitting up now, he said "I saw you guys on the bed. You looked like you were having sex."
"I didn't want to have sex." I said. I felt like I was going to puke.
"I got to go."
I got up on shaky legs. I walked downstairs. John came out.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
I went outside. Got in my car. I sat for a minute before starting it. What to do.
I thought about Jay. I thought about John. I thought about the oxy.
Should I report it?
No one will believe me. And I'll have to tell the police and the court and everyone. And they'll point out how I was on drugs. My parent's will know. John isn't a good witness they'll say.
As I turned the key I remember thinking, no. I'm going home. I'm going to take a long hot shower. I was determined.
I didn't want anyone to look at me.
I felt guilty in the shower, cleaning under my nails.
I hesitated as I threw my panties into the washer.
I didn't want to eat. I felt sick.
My dad touched my shoulder and I jumped, my whole body pulled away. I remember him looking at me, as if he could see something was wrong.
Sometimes I think what would have happened if I pretended like nothing happened. If I was still Jay's friend. I miss having a best friend. Always willing to hang out when I call. But then I remember how he raped me. My nightmares. I felt so guilty. And why didn't John stop him? I remember how slowly more people knew. How everyone told me to not say anything. Not make it a big deal. It changed who I hung out with. I was worried about running into him all the time.
The weirdest part was having my friends still hang out with him. I told John, Karen, and Maria soon after. A few weeks later Jay left John when he was O.D.ing, and John still talks to him. I just can't understand. Once I broke down crying and I told my mom, I blurted it out. She had been asking and asking me why Jay wasn't hanging around. She held me as I cried. She told me every summer her Grandfather would molest her, every night. She never told anyone and she spat on his grave when he died. What the fuck. When I told Karen she told me about how she was raped. Maria told me about her rape.
I was walking down the street next to the park, walking my dog when John called. He told me PJ killed himself. His mom had found him in the garage with the car running. I remember when PJ killed himself. I went to the funeral. I was crying when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I could smell him as I turned my head. Jay. He opened his mouth to say something and I ran out of there. The services were just ending and I lost myself in the throng of people leaving. The beginning of the most depressed I've even been. Months later I went to a therapist; she asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't talk. When the words tried to come out my voice was gone. I was quiet like then. And I just sat there and cried.
Sometimes I miss him. I just wish someone loved me and could hold me.
[edit]
I found this post with no tittle. Weird. I don't remember making it. I talk in my sleep but seriously no one blogs in their sleep. Which means my memory has gone to crap or someone is messing with me.
But I was thinking about something kinda serious, so off the lighthearted track please. The rest of this post is about rape so you can stop reading if you want to.
Sometimes I am tortured by my own thoughts. Sometimes when I am down I think about Jason.
I think about how good of friends we were. We met in Geometry sophomore year of High School. I copied off of him, I wouldn't have passed if it wasn't for him. We became good friends the next year really. John, Trin, May, Jay and I were all good friends. I used to go to his house every day after school. We would measure how long it took to get somewhere by how many times Le Tigre's song "Deceptacon" could repeat. We were both really into the Beatles anthology. He is tall and pale with curly brown hair and sparse facial hair. He was an eagle scout, I was at the ceremony. We read comics, watched movies, played video games, cooked together and talked about everything. He would sit down and go "Girl Talk!" and we would have tea and talk about our 'girly problems'. Like people we were dating or wanted to date, or about our sex lives. I had a very active sex life in High School, but I only dated two guys. Jay dated two girls, but he was an ass to the first one.
We went to the city together and to his cabin for snowboarding (his dad tried to teach me). We shared a limo to prom and crashed at his house afterwards. My mom would say "now why don't you date him!" But I always said he was more like a brother. And we both agreed on this. As time went on I got dumped and was sad. John was more into drugs and PJ started to hang out with us. We would sit in John's room smoking the hookah and listening to records. Sometimes drinking beer or whiskey. John had some Wild Parties. We only had one party at Jay's, his 21st. Be got me wasted by slipping more alcohol in my drink every time I wasn't looking. I got so sick. Pj stayed with me all night and took care of me. Be and Jay went upstairs and watched porn, and he hit on her which she just thought was funny. Kinda bugged me. Once he had us all over for a pool party at his neighbor's house. He caught me and my ex doing it in the changing room. All my graduation pictures have us next to each other. He used to come over and hold my brother Dean, who was born the year we graduated High School. We were friends for years and all this stuff gets mixed in.
Then one day somewhere in the Spring of 2006 there was a party at John's house. Jay had got dumped and was sad and knew I was still sad about being dumped by Westly. And Jay had spent the last few weeks trying to convince me that drugs would help me feel better. At least for the night, and didn't I deserve a night of fun? So Pj sold Jay some oxy. He crushed it up and put it into lines for me. I told him I was nervous. He rolled up a dollar bill.
"Just put one finger on this nostril and put the dollar straw in the other, and snort it."
And I did.
I was surprised at how quickly I felt it. It was like water pouring down over my head. Relax. It said relax.
John was doing some DOB (like Acid). Jay went out of the room, and so did PJ. I laid down. My limbs felt heavy. Everything was heavy. I wanted to sleep. I could hear Jay on the radio, they had him call in and he sounded stoned. Everyone laughed in the other room.
I took a sudden breath. I realized I hadn't been breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. I had to concentrate.
Jay came in and laid next to me in John's twin bed. I'm not sure if John was there or not.
Jay stroked my hair. That was nice. My hair was in my face. I couldn't raise my arm to move it.
He kissed my forehead. ok.
He kissed my neck. What is he doing?
"No Jay". It was a whisper. Where had my voice gone?
He breathed into my ear. Kissed my ear. My neck. Pressing against me.
"Jay, stop. no" quiet quiet my voice was so small.
He kissed further down on my neck. my chest.
"no" I couldn't say it louder. my head was swimming. stay awake. breathe. stay awake.
He was getting on top of me. so heavy. I can't breathe. he is so heavy.
"don't. " I tried to push him off. I don't think my arms could even lift from my sides. So heavy.
"please." I closed my eyes. "please don't" so quiet.
I heard someone open the door. I tried to say help but I had no breath. heavy. heavy. Stay awake.
The door shut. Heavy. Hands going down my top.
Escape, Sky. Go to sleep.
Darkness.
I woke up.
I was on the twin bed with him laying next to me. My brain felt fogged. I didn't really remember yet. I pushed myself off the bed. I didn't know why but I didn't want him laying next to me. So tired. I laid on the floor next to John. He turned on Pink Floyd's Dark side of the moon. I drifted in a hazy sleep. Kind of awake. The music was rocking me in a lull.
CLANG.
"Shit!"
The clocks rang on the album. It was like that fogged window I was looking through shattered. I was awake. I was frightened. And everything came back. I remembered what happened. I went to the bathroom. I checked my vagina. Something was up, but I couldn't feel if there was any sperm. I felt confused. I went back to John's room. Laid down on the floor.
"Hey Jay?"
"Hmm?" he said in a sleepy voice.
"Do you remember what happened last night?"
"Why?"
"Do you remember...uh....kissing my neck?"
"Kind of..."
"You did more than kiss me I think. I asked you to stop and you didn't."
"I don't know about that."
John was sitting up now, he said "I saw you guys on the bed. You looked like you were having sex."
"I didn't want to have sex." I said. I felt like I was going to puke.
"I got to go."
I got up on shaky legs. I walked downstairs. John came out.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
I went outside. Got in my car. I sat for a minute before starting it. What to do.
I thought about Jay. I thought about John. I thought about the oxy.
Should I report it?
No one will believe me. And I'll have to tell the police and the court and everyone. And they'll point out how I was on drugs. My parent's will know. John isn't a good witness they'll say.
As I turned the key I remember thinking, no. I'm going home. I'm going to take a long hot shower. I was determined.
I didn't want anyone to look at me.
I felt guilty in the shower, cleaning under my nails.
I hesitated as I threw my panties into the washer.
I didn't want to eat. I felt sick.
My dad touched my shoulder and I jumped, my whole body pulled away. I remember him looking at me, as if he could see something was wrong.
Sometimes I think what would have happened if I pretended like nothing happened. If I was still Jay's friend. I miss having a best friend. Always willing to hang out when I call. But then I remember how he raped me. My nightmares. I felt so guilty. And why didn't John stop him? I remember how slowly more people knew. How everyone told me to not say anything. Not make it a big deal. It changed who I hung out with. I was worried about running into him all the time.
The weirdest part was having my friends still hang out with him. I told John, Karen, and Maria soon after. A few weeks later Jay left John when he was O.D.ing, and John still talks to him. I just can't understand. Once I broke down crying and I told my mom, I blurted it out. She had been asking and asking me why Jay wasn't hanging around. She held me as I cried. She told me every summer her Grandfather would molest her, every night. She never told anyone and she spat on his grave when he died. What the fuck. When I told Karen she told me about how she was raped. Maria told me about her rape.
I was walking down the street next to the park, walking my dog when John called. He told me PJ killed himself. His mom had found him in the garage with the car running. I remember when PJ killed himself. I went to the funeral. I was crying when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I could smell him as I turned my head. Jay. He opened his mouth to say something and I ran out of there. The services were just ending and I lost myself in the throng of people leaving. The beginning of the most depressed I've even been. Months later I went to a therapist; she asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't talk. When the words tried to come out my voice was gone. I was quiet like then. And I just sat there and cried.
Sometimes I miss him. I just wish someone loved me and could hold me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Fin?
Posts
