I Wanted to Apologize, But...

You know... over the past years, since Jeremy's first divorce, I've often had the urge to apologize to you.  For some reason, I could never follow thru.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have equated visitation with child support, but that doesn't explain the fact that I contacted Support Enforcement to tell them Jeremy was living with you and had them erase the back child support, too so that there would be peace in YOUR family about it because my son was going to be a part of that family finally.  They erased about $19,000 worth of back child support. 

Threw away the letters

The Skeleton in Our Closet

~

I remember the absolute terror I felt when I heard someone coming into my front door and walking thru my house late at night when Jeremy had woken himself up for the first time to take himself to the potty all by himself.  I was terrified he might still be awake and witness the rape and/or murder of his mother.  I wondered what I could do if the person walked down towards his room instead of towards mine.  I wished the pistol was still in the headboard because I knew I could and would kill if the person creeping into my home headed towards my son's bedroom.  To think it took this to make me realize I wanted to live after all.  Living after the death of a baby is hard.  Jacob was just barely dead still. 

The person turned towards my bedroom, and I resolved to be as quiet as possible because I didn't want my son to wake up and be scared or to attract the axe murderer's attention.  All I could see was the black shadow of a man's body coming towards my room, back lit by a nightlight in the hallway.  I can remember my need for quiet, in the hope that it was somehow a mistake and the man was just passing thru.  My mind was not rational - it was focused solely on not attracting attention so to find the phone and speak didn't seem to be an option - he would hear me, and maybe reat badly?  Perhaps if I was still, I could suddenly erupt into a wildcat, scratching his eyes out when he got close enough.  Quietly.

At the doorway, he turned his head and his profile  was familiar.  Relief flooded over me like a flood of hot lava.  I knew him, it would be okay, it was my husband who had left me many months before.  But something was still wrong because he wouldn't say anything.  Which made the something terribly, terribly frightening.  Even tho I knew him. 

I called the cops in the morning.  I knew if I didn't, I would never be able to stop the next time, because I had remembered something while he took my house, my bed, my self.

In answer to the questions the cops asked

Yes, it was my husband.
No, I didn't remember if he had a key or not.  (He did, I'd forgotten I'd given it to him when I needed a house sitter when I travelled a week after our baby died.  Scuse me for forgetting - I had a dead baby on my mind.)
Yes, I think I marked him up with scratches on his back.  On purpose, so his girlfriend would see. 
Yes, I fought.  At first, till I realized that's what he wanted.  So I quit.  Plus... the RELIEF that it was my husband and not an axe-murderer made me glad it was "just" him.  The adrenaline from the fear, and then the relief made me strangely passive and tired and weak. 

Plus what I remembered?  It might make a baby.   Our baby had died.  And oh how much I needed a baby back in my arms.  

I seem to remember he came over shortly after the cops had talked to him and I think he apologized.  I remember he left angry, but was trying not to show it.  That's when I felt it the most.  He must have apologized in hopes that I'd drop the charges, but it was out of my hands at that point.  Prosecutors were beginning to take it into their hands and keep it in their hands because too many women backed out of doing what needed to be done.  I didn't care anyways.  Once I told the cops, I quit caring about what happened.  Cept for the part where I had to check the locks several times a night and sleep in long flannel nightgowns with sweat pants and a sweat shirt every night, for months. 

The cops came back to fill me in.  They told me the 3rd degree rape charge had been dropped down to 3 degree trespassing, and that he got 30 days in the Work Release Program.  Which was ironic, because that is where I worked when Jacob was born, and had to quit so I could care for him.  The prosecutor felt that rape charges wouldn't stick because I had given him a key voluntarily AND he was still my husband after all.  I remember thinking that the trespassing part was good - the terror of having someone come into my house uninvited was something that I was living with every night.  But the not saying a word, along with the terror, and the invasion still made it feel like rape to me.  But who cared.  My baby was still dead.

His defense was that I had told him about having a rape fantasy at one time.  When they told me that, I exploded.  How dare he tell anyone about our "pillow talk".  I felt invaded all over again.  And he didn't get it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rape fantasies consistently rate among the top 3 fantasies for women.  Check it out.  I say this just in case my son reads this and feels icked out by thinking about the fact that his mother had sex fantasies. 



In rape fantasy role playing, the acts are 100% consensual. You and your partner are just pretending to the non-consenting. 

The key word is “consensual.”  Attempting to do this in real life without my permission was not okay, was not what I wanted. And most definitely, even if I had wanted it, I most certainly did not want the sneaking into my house in the middle of the night unbeknownst to me part.  That was not part of the fantasy, if I had ever really thought thru ever really wanting it to come true. 

Why do I bring this up some 30 years later?  Read here. 

Home Sweet Home's Living Room & Bedroom

~
I'm really glad I did this cause it made me clean the apartment.  And I felt so happy because by having Michael here, I've realized how much I appreciate my space.  I thought I needed more room, but in reality, it is just right for me.  I'm really good at getting rid of stuff when I bring something in.  I mean if I bring in a dress, I get rid of another dress or blouse/shirt or if I bring in a table, it's to upgrade the current table, so out it goes too.

 When you walk in the front door, directly to the left is a long closet.  The first half is where I keep laundry soap and basket, cat food, a coat rack, iron, etc.  The coat rack so handy to the front door is ... so handy.  I hang my keys and key card next to the door, and the leashes and her vest and stuff hang on the back of the door.  The canes are also hanging handy next to the door, and the coats are hiding them. 

And old lady cart is used for laundry and grocery shopping.  I've got a big one and a small one.  Also use it for the library if I'm walking.

Hmm.  The chair looks like a straight board... it's really a chair covered with a pillow case.  

There are bells hanging next to the cat foot container cause I was hoping Annie would go back to ringing them when she needs to pee, but she prefers staring at me instead.  And then poking me if I don't pay attention to the stare.  I think she learned the stare method from Muttin/Jeff. 
                                                                                                                                                                                   

 The second part of the closet is my pantry.  Also vacuum and bags.  Bags are a big deal here.  San Francisco was the first city in the US to ban those white plastic bags. Cause they last forever in landfills.  And trees. 

The calendar is for Michael's appointments cause he's got a million of them.  It's only going to get worse while looking for another place to live.  Tomorrow we go apply at a place at 6am.  They only take the first 7 in line.  It's a cool old building on the National Historic Register. 










Annie's practicing for Halloween. 

Behind the stove, there is a 5 foot tall wooden partion, separating the kitchen from the living room.  Ta da.  I'm standing right next to the partition to take the picture, to give you an idea of the size of my little studio.  The brown thing is a cabinet that I love, but then I got this old Red Flyer Wagon.  If Michael wasn't here, I'd have space for it.  I've already gotten rid two cabinets so I could fit Michael in, so I really didn't want to lose another one.  Solution was to put the cabinet in the wagon! 

I just now got an email asking me how Hank is, cause I haven't mentioned anything about him since my new roommate arrived.  The truth is - is that he's been a little upset with me cause I wouldn't let him stay with me while he looked for a place.  He wanted to know what the difference was  between him and Michael.  Ummm.  We hadn't slept together up to that point and I wanted to keep it that way.  But it came out of my mouth as "I've already slept with him".

Yea.  Classy.

But things are okay now, but he likes to be around so he can keep an eye on Michael.

I'm standing next to my bed to take this one.


Goodness, what a hodge podge of colors.  I don't like the Thanksgiving table cloths...

And here it is.. the infamous bunkbed.  I'm so pleased with it.  I can have a guest, plus it will hold the cats when Michael is gone.  I'm tired of all three animals sleeping with me.  Yes,definitely gonna have to change out the Thanksgiving table cloths to the black and white ones.  The white thing is a fabric closet that I can't get into, but I had to keep it for storing the stuff that used to hold what was in the 2 cabinets that I got rid of.  So I put stuff that I don't use into the fabric closet that used to be in the top of my real closet... isn't this facinating?  I wish mine was black and white <-----like this one.

I can still raise my hospital bed with no problem  I love how cozy it feels.  I do need to figure out something better for the curtains.  Something to block the heat better.  October is summer time for San Francisco and I'm feeling the heat.  Annie's crate is at the end of my bed, and I'm standing next to it.

Next up is the "dressing room" and the bathroom.

TTFN
~

There is a REASON

There is a REASON why he left Spokane without telling you and why he ignored your phone calls, and why he doesn't call you now. 

This is what I remember...

I remember you leaving us with no food or money in the house.   I was a stay-at-home mom, who wasn't expecting her husband to just up and leave for good, without even trying to fix us.  I remember that you couldn't or wouldn't tell me why.  Even now, I pretend to myself that if I could have just known Why... maybe I could have handled myself better. 

I remember telling Jeremy that "Daddy is coming to see you" and him standing on the back of the couch, looking and waiting for a Daddy that didn't show up most of the time.   And how he would stare out the window, chattering to himself about daddy coming to see him.  And how eventually, I would have to distract him and tell him the words "busy" and "flat tire" and "sick" and "work" and finally, "I don't know" when he cried in my arms and asked me "why?".  He was 18 months, 2 years, 2 1/2 years, 3 years old.  Covering for you, always covering for you cause they say you're not supposed to talk negative about the other parent.

I remember standing next to you in my house when the phone rang.  I remember handing Jacob over to you so that I could go answer it, and almost dropping him, because you recoiled, flinched, winced, shrunk from his being handed over to you by me.  Was it our paralyzed, dead weight of a baby with the possible brain damage or was it me that made you physically disgusted?  I couldn't ask, because I was too busy making sure he didn't fall to the ground between us because you had stepped away as I reached him out to you.

I remember a hysterical fight between us, me calling you late at night, asking you to take my babies, convinced I couldn't do it - I couldn't be a single mother of a two year old and a paralyzed, possibly brain damaged, deaf baby by myself, and support us too.   It was the day I'd found out I had to move out of the preacher's house, because they finally had found a pastor, and I was all "At least you have a house" on you.  It was also the night before having to take him back into the hospital for the first time.   I asked for help, and you said No, and threatened me instead with taking them both away from me for good, when all I needed was a few days so I could find another place to live.  I remember hitting bottom that night and shutting down, perhaps permanently, as it turns out, according to Jeremy.  Mavlow's Law is true - the energy required for basic survival negated the ability to manage anything more than the basics for the longest time. Years even. 

I remember hurting sooo much for Jeremy because he was getting the short end of the stick, because I was burned at both ends by the lack of sleep, lack of understanding from my family, my husband, lack of emotional support.  I was burned at both ends because it seemed as if leaving me wasn't enough... you had to add torture to the leaving of us, with stories of your girlfriend and boasting about buying her a car, instead of supporting your children, while I provided 24 hour damn near nursing care for our youngest, and damage control for a hurt and lonely toddler. 

I remember the nurses telling me that you accused me of killing our baby, and how they worried about you coming to see him, and how to handle it, and asking me what I wanted.  I remember falling to the ground, unable to fathom how the father of my children could say such a thing, and how hopeless I felt at my ability to understand, much less cope with the death of our baby.

The WAY you left us was cruel.  And I do say "us", meaning me and Jeremy, cause I know you would say you didn't leave Jeremy.  But by not showing up time after time to see him, saying that you didn't leave him doesn't wash.  Having a baby with severe birth defects is hard on any parent, but you took it to the extreme by recoiling away from your baby son.  And the cold-hearted "No" when I begged hysterically for help babysitting and or money, and threatening me instead with taking them away was also cruel.  You always seemed to stab and then twist the knife - which should only happen with avocados and clam shells.  You were always so calm and sure you were doing the right thing.  That calmness would mess with my head, making me feel like I was crazy. 

Learning that you thought I killed my baby...there are no words. 

Last month, I practically begged you for help once again, cause our son needs us, and you said no.  You colored it in pretty colors, but threatening once again underneath your calm voice.  You have saved my letters and will use them if you have to, you said.  ???  So fucking what.  I wanted us to get together and make peace, rehash the past if necessary, agree to disagree on some things, and apologize where necessary.  So that we could be a united front as PARENTS for if and when Jeremy decided to face his demons about us, so we would say and do the best thing/s for him.  To take OUR past out of the equation, so we could hear what he experienced in our past as our child.  He will NEED to be heard, and not have to deal with OUR issues, which is what he's had to do his entire life.  That is what I wanted, when I finally got up the guts to call you.  For the life of me, I'll never understand why I've always had to "get up the guts" to talk to you. 

I had hoped that you had changed, but that icy, hard glint was back in your voice, the superior "you are crazy" was once again implied, and I remembered the fear. 

How I wish Jeremy could have learned that you were the worthless one, rather than him learning to believe he was worthless.  

The Skeleton in Our Closet

Jeremy's dad and I split up when SonOne was 18 months old.  We still got me pregnant shortly thereafter, with Jacob.  Jacob was born, and then he died at 3 1/2 months of age.  Jeremy was 3 years old.  One night, his father came into my house in the middle of the night to have sex with me.  This was not unusual... we had a hard time staying apart in that area of our life.  (Hence, Jacob!)  The difference this time was ... I didn't know about it ahead of time.  He didn't knock on the door and I let him in.

I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him.  The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it.  If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him.  Luckily, he turned towards my room instead.  I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.


The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body.  It was my husband.  My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex.  I fought at first.  But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died.  I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it.  I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them.  He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything.  The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual.  The circumstances had made me extremely passive.  Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.

They took the report and the system played out.  His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine.  He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances.  I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder.  He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents.  I had forgotten he had the key.  I had other things on my mind.  Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving. 

I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing.  He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night.  Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born. 


It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded.  But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of.  For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed.  I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me.  I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house.  The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.  



The other thing I remember about that night?  Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him. 


Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...


... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho. 

The Hailstorm of 2004 - Revisited

~

 
I loved this car.  A 1993 Park Avenue.  It had electric windows, electric seats, sunroof.  Leather heated seats, a car alarm.  The rear view mirror switched from day to night by itself.  The headlights had a delay timer, so that I could park the car, and walk up the sidewalk to the front door, lit up by the car, and then turned off by itself.  I had a magic car to go along with my magic money - the disability check that appears in my bank account each month.  Which was appropriate, because it was the back pay from the disability check that bought the car - $3000.00 cash.  My son and daughter-in-law helped by sending 500.00 too.  Me and this car were a match made in heaven.

The day was October 5, 2004.  I was leaving Ruidoso, New Mexico, and headed home to Idaho Falls after visiting my friend, Zaul, for a week.  

I headed north, and took a wrong turn.  No big deal, it was still in the right direction, just a different route.  I was happily listening to the local news, watching the beautiful scenery, and the odd sky.  Not odd looking as in ominous, but as in 'interesting'.  It was a bright and shiny day, with one cloud in the sky.  It was shaped like God's hand, with his finger pointed down at the town of Socorro.  (Update:  The finger pointing was exactly like the painting in the Sistine Chapel.)  A sign said Socorro was 4 miles away.  

 It drizzled a little sprinkle of rain, and then suddenly, within about 30 seconds, I couldn't see the semi-truck in front of me, which had been about 5 car lengths ahead of me.  I immediately pulled over, hoping to hell I didn't run into it.  I called SanFranMan cause I was scared, but got distracted by the sound of breaking glass.  I forgot to talk, as I realized the dogs, who were in the back seat in their crate, were howling.  Not realizing it, I had left the cell phone on, still connected to SanFranMan, so he heard the howling dogs, and the THUMP THUMP THUMP of the baseball-sized hail pounding my car.  

It sounded like this.  Exactly like that...only... in person it was 10 times worse.  

I could NOT figure out the breaking glass sound, until I remembered I had a sunroof.  I wasn't used to having a car with a sunroof, so breaking glass on the top of the car truly confused me, especially since I could see and hear the front and rear windows cracking more and more every second, and it wasn't making the same sound as the tinkling of broken glass above my head.  


I saw a hailstone come thru the back window and bounce on top of the dog crate.  I tried to turn the car in a different direction to change the angle of the hailstones hitting the front windshield head on.  I was sure it was going to shatter above my head, slit my throat, and I'd die a bloody death right there on 1-25 North, in front of my dogs.  So I inched the car at a 90-degree angle to the freeway (or what I hoped was - cause I couldn't even see the freeway at that point), and promptly slid down further in the burm, in the mud, the blood and the beer.  Later one, when the storm had passed, and my life had quit flashing before me, I noticed a very large culvert with raging water that I could have easily slid into and drowned - about 10 feet behind where I had slid down in the dirt.  If I had pulled over 10 feet sooner... I'd be dead.  Seriously.  Litereally.  No drama intended.  Just the facts.  I am lucky to be alive.  

Meanwhile, the back window completely shattered out, covering the dogs in glass inside their crate.  

It looked like this car:

The front windshield was cracking EVERYWHERE.  The dogs were howling.  The rain was pouring in from the broken sunroof on all four corners, and I was trying to conduct flood control with mugs, towels, blankets, anything I could find.  I had a BUNCH of ... herbal pain control, if you know what I mean, and I think you do...and everytime I'd find a new hiding place, the rain would find it again.  Zaul had given it to me, and I had insisted on driving down to get it, rather than risk it being mailed and both of us getting into trouble.  

The dogs were staring at me, with the most helpless look on their faces, but I knew if I talked to them, they would jump around in the glass, so I ignored them as best I could.  That was the worst part for me - my poor dogs.  

It was scary.  It was REALLY scary.  Baseball sized hail.  Later, I was relieved to hear the news refer to it as baseball-sized - it wasn't all in my head.  

The storm lasted about 20 minutes in real life, and about 2 hours in my head, with no let-up whatsoever.   It was dark, I couldn't see anything outside of the car, and it was almost pitch-black inside the car.  I couldn't breathe cause of the claustrophobic feeling, and I would have had a panic attack, but I was too worried about the dogs to have it.  

When it finally stopped, there were at least 25 cars that I could see, with all their windows busted out, too.  After we all made sure everyone was okay, the men started calling their insurance companies.  I heard, more than once, "What do you mean hail isn't covered?"  I, of course, only had liability, since I had paid cash for my LUXERY, electric push button car.  Sniff.  The car that made me feel rich, even tho I was living on $629.00 a month.  My now piece of shit car.  Sniff, sniff.  

I could see a cop car trolling the freeway, checking on everybody, so I was really quite frantic.  I wasn't USED to having pot paraphernalia to consider, and I was now a card-carrying druggie, even tho I hadn't used any in several days.  Naturally, the cop had a dog with him.  Of course.  I watched him stop at every single car there on the freeway, and I was the last in line, except for the semi-truck ahead of me.  Brilliantly, I asked the cop to stay away from my car, so his dog wouldn't rile up my dogs, who were already covered in broken glass.  I guess being a druggie gives you instinctive brain cells for self-survival.  

Zaul called to check on my progress to Idaho, and I could barely speak.  I couldn't get the word Socorro out of my mouth, and he probably thought it was normal MS shit.  The reception was shitty, so we kept being cut off.  He could call me, but I couldn't call out.  When I finally got the story out, he asked if he should come get me.  I told him I didn't see any reason why he should, since there really wasn't anything he could do, so he said to keep him informed as to my plans.  

All of us 'Hailed Upons' were still just kinda standing around, still in shock and gradually realizing how we were lucky to be alive, specially me, with the culvert with raging water so close to where I pulled off.  The cop told us there were no accidents on the freeway.  The semi-truck in front of me said none of the trucks ahead of him had warned him - it happened so fast, right then and there.  Some thought it was a tornado, but as we learned later in the news, it wasn't.  Like me, everyone on the road had thought "what a lovely sunny day - interesting cloud up there".  

The semi-truck pulled me out of the mud, the blood, and we all drank the beer.  I so funny. 

 
I limped the car into Socorro, and discovered the entire town had no electricity.  No one could go into the stores or gas stations.  At the far end of town, I found a tiny car parts/thrift shop store, owned by Ma and Pa Ancient.  They still did business on receipt pads, so weren't dependent on electric cash registers.  I had to buy new windshield wipers, a roll of plastic, and duck tape.  Mrs. Ancient charged me an arm and a leg for them, and said I could use their scissors for free - I didn't have to "rent" them!  My wipers were broken into PIECES.  There were HOLES punched into my car.  The paint was chipped.  At least the damn dents seem fairly symmetrical.  You know how much I hate it when things don't look matchy matchy.  

While I was trying to cut the plastic with the free scissors, Zaul called and said he was on his way - he didn't want me out there alone in the world.  He said we could at least get me back to Ruidoso, saving me the cost of hotels.  Because of the wind, heat, hail, and MS, it took me 2 hours to get the plastic taped over the windows, or more precisely, the LACK of windows.  I was staggering around in a drunken sort of way, while Ma and Pa Ancient watched with their 60 year old son, who was kind enough to put the new wipers back on, altho I had to read the instructions for him, since he couldn't read.  

The town drunk, probably attracted by my drunken staggering, came by.  He thought I was manna from Heaven, that the storm brought him his soul-mate.  He kept asking me about my cell phone plan, and saying how much cheaper it would be if I joined his family plan.  Seeing how my cell phone was worth shit in hailstorms, 100 degree heat, and no electricity, I agreed with him, which was a mistake.  He suddenly called his provider and tried to get me signed up with them, right then and there.  There I was, with plastic sheets flying all over the place, obviously needing help, the rain drizzling down, me sweating like a sumo wrestler, and the drunk was sitting on my hood, trying to get me signed up with his cell phone provider.  I swear, I expected Alan Funt's Candid Camera at any moment.  

Zaul called again, saying he was almost to Socorro.  I drove into a Burger King, forgetting there was no electricity, and a girl met my drunken stagger at the door, telling me they had no service.  "Not even just a coke, in a can, maybe?" I said weakly.  The darling girl took one look at me, and told somebody inside, "Get her a coke".  It was the BEST coke I've ever had.  I shared it with the dogs, who don't normally like coke, but evidently the day seemed like a day for drinking.  

I dumped at least 40 cups of shattered glass out of their crate, but at least they were safe.  Subdued, but safe.  Roofs and trees were down.  Several people were bruised and one person was in the hospital.  

It took me and Zaul 4 hours to get back to Ruidoso, normally a 2 hour drive, but we could only go about 30 mph so the plastic over the windows wouldn't rip off.  We were surrounded by the most amazing lightening storm for most of the drive.  Quite beautiful.  Several times, I wanted to stop and gaze upon Mother Nature's wonders, but then I'd remember I was mad at Mother Nature.  

To recap, I had no back window, side window, sunroof, and the front windshield was shattered, altho still in.  It made me nauseous to drive my car, with my vision problems, so Zaul had to drive it, and I drove his Jeep.  Luckily, it was dark, so I didn't see any clouds, which fit nicely into my new policy - Clouds Are the Enemy.  We listened to the Bush/Kerry presidential, each in our respective cars, conversing sometimes on the cell phones. 

It took another week to gather the funds to pay for new windows.  An email went out to friends and family, begging for money, and telling the whole sordid story.  Unbeknownst to me, my sister had asked my father for money, too, but he didn't send any because I had to be lying... "No one has as much bad luck as he does".  ???  He and I haven't spoken in 8, 10, 12 ? years, so I never considered him as a source of funds anyways, but I didn't need to know about the added insult, and he certainly doesn't stand out in my life as a paradigm of honesty.  She's the one who told him I had MS... I guess he thinks MS is "bad luck".  

May I end this by saying how fucking glad I am to be alive and I LOVE my friends and family and that it's important to tell people! Also, don't drive under clouds that look resemble The Hands of God and Adam of Sistine Chapel fame.  

And then there was this:

and this...


SanFranMan replaced the sunroof with a piece of plywood, and caulked in the edges to keep the rain out.  Replacing the sunroof ran about $1200.00.  Wasn't going to happen.)

 Classy.  

~