this doesn't even make sense.

Lately I have trouble sleeping at night. At first I thought it was because the vent blasted heat into the room at the same time every day (around 4:00 am), pouring heat into every corner and forcing me out of my slumber because I thought I was baking alive.

But then I shut the vent.

And once I did I slept through the night for the first time in weeks. It was wonderful. But now I am having the problems again. Problems falling asleep. Problems staying asleep. Problems where I wake up anxious that I am going to oversleep only to realize that it's 1:00 am...and then continue to do so at 15-45 minute intervals for the rest of the night.

Now, my dad has had nightmares consistently since he came home from Iraq. He doesn't sleep for very long, maybe 3-5 hour stretches. Every night  he ambles into the kitchen, pours himself a half glass of milk, drains it, sets the empty glass in the sink (without rinsing it, of course), and then heads to bed. I asked him once why he did it and he told me that the proteins in the milk help you sleep. He said it was his equivalent to a glass of warm milk....he was just saving time and energy by drinking it cold. He said it helped him fall asleep when the anxiety started to kick in. When I started having trouble sleeping at night, I thought of him and his standard glass of milk before bed and decided to give it a try.

I don't know if it's helping me sleep any (I'm still awake, aren't I?). It is making me homesick, though. I miss my family.

Why my sister needs an Xbox....

"cause black ops, fable 3 and rock band 3 are all coming out and I can't fucking take it anymore."

-Samantha 

Every junkie's like a setting sun...

One day, when I was a senior in high school, I received a phone call from my brother. He told me he was at a treatment facility outside of Nashville and that he didn't belong there and that all of the people there were junkies and criminals and he was going to just walk out if someone did not come to get him.

I was stunned.. I had no idea my brother had any kind of drug problem, much less the kind that would put him in a treatment facility, voluntary or otherwise. Moments after I agreed to go get him, his longtime girlfriend called the house bawling, begging me not to go get him, telling me that he had a problem and that he needed to get help. I was in a hard spot. I had already told him I'd come get him, so I couldn't very well renege, but Liz was desperate. There was no doubt in my mind that she did not want him to come home, but I could not let him just walk out of the facility. I just pictured him wandering around the filthy streets of Nashville with junkies and criminals. It was with that image that I called my best friend, David, and told him I needed him to come with me to go pick him up. 

When we go there, it became VERY clear to me that I should not have been so worried about the junkies and criminals in Nashville. The place was in the middle of the forest. I am sure, at this point, that he was bluffing and I fell for it. And I think about that every time he goes on a bender.

Sunday night Liz found Jason's stash of Somas in the spare bedroom of their house. She told him that she found them and instead of responding like a normal person, he got really angry with her. He acted as though she were snooping through his belongings or like she was holding his vital organs or something, and that wasn't the case at all. She simply noticed he was acting stupid, watching him wander around the house, and then checked the spare bedroom after he left it. She wasn't even that suspicious until she saw one pill on the floor. When she found the rest of them, and he got angry at her, she flushed them all down the toilet. 

My brother, high off his ass, ripped the toilet off the floor, threw Liz into the bathtub, and was going to hit her with the shower curtain rod until she snatched it out of his hands. She called my mom and we rushed down to their house to help.

Helping ended up being me pinning him to the floor over and over again because he kept trying to rush us, kept trying to run away, and then kept crying that Liz had flushed "a hun...a hun....a hundred....hundred dollars......." in somas down the toilet. And I am gonna tell you right now, if I did not outweigh my brother by a hundred pounds, I'd never have been able to keep him still. It was incredibly difficult as it was because he is taller and stronger than I am. My weight and sobriety were my only advantages, and you better believe I used them. I was so scared he was going to hurt one of us. As it was, at least twice I was afraid I was going to dislocate his shoulder because he kept struggling and trying to twist out of my grip. I told him over and over that I'd let him go if he'd just sit down and be cool, but he wasn't having it. Whenever I let him go, he'd start running for the door or for Liz. At one point, my mom and Liz were holding him, but he kept pinching my mom and kicking at Liz. I went over and held his legs and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he passed out. 

The next day I felt like I had been beat up. You cannot imagine how difficult it is to wrestle a grown ass man (unless, of course, you are a wrestler) and I could hardly lift my arms over my head. My hands were sore from gripping his wrists, the muscles on my sides hurt from twisting back and forth every time he'd trying to shake me. And at some point, I managed to obtain the following bruise on my elbow:

That was taken the day after, and I know it doesn't look that bad, but this is what it looked like yesterday:

So yeah, it was just getting warmed up.

And if you think my little elbow bruise is ugly, you should've seen the ones on my brother's wrists and shoulders. The ones on his wrists were definitely from me, and they made me sick to see them. It disgusted me to know that I could do that to a person. The ones on his shoulders are from when he was stumbling into the walls, and they both looked as bad as his shoulder did when he broke his collarbone a few years ago. I wanted to take pictures of his bruises, but then felt it would be really scavenger-y of me to do so.

All week, whenever I see him, my brother will pull his sleeve up to look at his bruises, shake his head in mild awe, and then say, "Man, don't no chick wanna mess with Kashmir."

And I wonder if it would've happened at all if I had left him there that day.

Goodbye, Sweet Lady!

Today we made the decision to euthanize our cat, Sand. Her kidneys had completely shut down, she was having seizures, and she had bleeding ulcers in her esophagus. She was 16 years old. We will miss you, Sandypants. You were one of a kind.















With love.

Splish Splash

Splish splash, I am one busy bitch.

I have spent the last week going looney tunes with work, family, and my car.

On the work front, everything is going great. I am really comfortable with my work, and it's really nice because it's so clean there. So, I don't pull my hair our as often having anxiety attacks over the clutter and mess in my homelife. It's nice to have that peace. On a sad front, I think I have gained like 7 pounds since I started working there since all I do (once my cleaning is done) is sit on my ass eating oreos and watching TV. I need to start bringing some carrot sticks or nuts or something. I DID run up and down the downstairs hallway the other day when there was nobody else there. That should count for something. Man, I am weird.

On the family front, I don't even know where to begin. Jason and Liz got moved into a house three doors down (the first person to leave a comment about the band is getting smacked in the genitals the next time I see them), and that's pretty cool because when I start to freak out I can just run down to their house. Which rules. We bought my mom a laptop for her birthday (we being my dad, Samantha, and me). Of course, when it arrived, though, the wireless did not function properly. I spent a day on the phone with Linksys (who frankly, if I may be so bold, sets the standard for tech support) getting my router's firmware upgraded (which I know how to do, now, because I watched while she remotely accessed my parents' computer), and after that did not fix the issue with the laptop, I sent that shit back. We ordered her a new one and look forward to getting it soon and SO HELP ME GOD IF IT DOESN'T WORK RIGHT!!!!!

On my car front, I got the fusible link repaired, a new timing belt, a new waterpump, new tires, new tirerods, and an alignment. As soon as I get the windshield replaced, I will be able to get it registered and plated and then OH MY GOD I WILL HAVE MY OWN CAR! I thought we were going to die driving it to get new tires put on it. When they took them off they told me that one of the tires had at least two cans of fix a flat in it. If I ever see that guy I bought the car from again, I am going to punch him in the sternum. What a fucking idiot. Oh well.

I got a haircut last week. Or this week. I can't remember. And I got contacts today. So, now I look like this:

I know. I am one pretty lady. It's hard to believe I am single.

My friend Nats started a movie reviewing blog called Sculpting in Time. I've added it on the side over there, and if you like movies, reviews, or stuff that is really well written you should check it out. Tell her Kashmir sent you. Hurr hurr.

The one where I use "y'all" twice and un-ironically.

Oh my god. It never ends.

Sunday my brother and Liz were driving my car to where I live from SGF. About halfway, my brother became concerned that the battery wasn't holding a charge, so he pulled over in Mansfield (where Laura Ingalls Wilder settled, for all you history/pioneer buffs), Liz right behind him in the truck. They conferred and then decided to call my parents and ask them to come out with the trailer and tow the car back to the house.

Mind you, the car was ONLY being moved b/c my brother's apt complex was going to have it towed Monday because I don't have plates/registration for it yet and can't get them because I have to have it inspected which I cannot do from here when it is there. Which is in contradiction to MO's law stating that a body has 30 days to get their shit sorted. (it says that more or less. They should let me go through and re-write all of the legislation in people terms. Then people would know what the f is up.)

Anywho. So, yeah, big deal my brother and Liz calling to have my mom and dad come pick the car up. It's a big deal because my dad hasn't spoken to or acknowledged my brother's existence for a year. I was at work getting steady text updates FREAKING OUT because I was so afraid it was gonna get ugly. My dad has had the tendency to get REAL shitty with my brother when he sees him (which is incredibly rare. That he sees him. Not that he gets shitty. That's a given. Shitty upon sight.). My parents had to stop at my older sister's house to pick up the trailer. They were a little grumpy that they had called beforehand and when they got there, all the shit they had been hauling with it was still on it, so my parents had to offload that. Always considerate when they are using someone else's things, my sister and her husband are (hello, Yoda my name is.)

Now, this is where it starts to get REAL good. As they were pulling away, my dad noticed that the spare tire for the trailer was not on the trailer. My mom called my sister to ask where it was and she replied "in the garage" in an offhanded, oh silly forgetful us, manner. They chalked it up to their general carelessness and lack of regard for anyone other than themselves, and continued the approx 45 minute to drive to Mansfield.

When they arrived, they discovered that one of the trailer tires was flat. And had been flat. For a while. In fact, it had been flat for so long without my dad realizing he was driving on a flat tire that the aforementioned flat tire was shredded. Into strips. And bits. And pieces. And, oh hey, where was the spare? And hello, if it had been flat why didn't my sister tell my parents? What a kidder. My mom called my sister to ask why she hadn't told them that the tire on the trailer was flat, so my sister went ahead and confessed to our mother that she did, in fact, know it was flat, and that, HA HA HA, it was actually the spare tire that they had to put on the trailer when the other tire (the one that is in their garage) went flat. At this point my mom started screaming at her because UHM HELLO she did not even mention that the tire in the garage was flat AND she let her PARENTS DRIVE OFF ON A JOURNEY TO PICK UP A CAR WITH A TRAILER THAT SHE KNEW HAD A FLAT TIRE.

I HAVE TO BE RELATED TO HER, Y'ALL. IT HAUNTS ME.

I have my suspicions as to why she did this, and I will keep them to myself because it would be very easy for her to find this blog, and I talk enough shit as it is. But let's just say, things are heating up and getting ugly.

Anyway, so my mom and brother drove down the road to find a place that would sell them a tire while my dad and Liz chilled out at the gas station admiring the delightful new addition to the parking lot that is our driveway. Thirty minutes and a $93 trailer tire later, my mom and brother returned and my dad and brother managed to get the tire changed (SIDE BY SIDE. TOGETHER. WITH MANNERS. AND TALKING. AND NO SHITTERY, Y'ALL), the car loaded, and back on the road.

So, yeah. My car is here. In the driveway. Still on the trailer. Waiting for a few more things to be fixed and then my ass to be firmly planted in the seat. It is the cutest car in the world, and you already know I am going to drive her to hell and back.

This was just on Sunday. It doesn't even begin to touch on the drama that occurred today, but you're gonna have to wait for that. I am not sure if I wanna type it or make a video telling the story. Either way, it's not going to be told tonight because my fingers are cold and I am tried of typing.

Does this really happen to people?

I bought a car. A completely adorable car. My brother has been working on fixing the few things that are wrong with it, and replacing some things that are not necessities, but are nice to have (like functioning speakers). In the great state of Missouri, a body has 30 days from the purchase of a car to get it titled and registered and plated and all that good stuff. So, I have no worried about getting everything sorted out because my brother is not done working on the this and the that and the what and the have you, and HELL, I've got thirty days, right?

Aside: I know I promised an entry on my brother and the drama that took place in our lives one year ago (exactly a year ago, for real), but this is not that entry.

My brother works for a small company. The guy has, like, three employees. My brother asked for a raise recently (he is making like $7.50/hr) and instead of giving him the raise, his boss fired him Friday last, and said it was because he left work early last week to go help my sister find a tire WHEN SHE BLEW HER TIRE OUT IN SPRINGFIELD 80 MILES FROM WHERE WE LIVE. So, my brother has had extra free time in between job hunting to work on my car for me. Tuesday, his ex-boss calls him and asks him to come in so he can talk to him about whatever, and he offered my brother his job back. Wednesday, his apartment complex called him at work to tell him they were going to have my car towed b/c it did not have plates. So, my brother had to leave work early AFTER HE GOT FIRED FOR LEAVING WORK EARLY, all because his apartment complex which IS NOT EVEN AT HALF CAPACITY OF TENANTS (my brother is the only person who lives in his ENTIRE BUILDING) did not want to let my car that has been there for FOUR DAYS sit there without plates.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THIRTY DAYS?!

Liz called the apartment and explained to them the situation, that we live an hour and a half away, that my brother was doing minor repairs, and that it should be done by the weekend. They agreed to extend it until Monday, but because I was totally terrified that those idiots were gonna have my car towed I convinced Liz to ride to Springfield with me so I could pick up the title and papers, bring it all home, and then get everything registered and sorted Thursday morning. This way, I reasoned, Liz could take the plates and registration to Springfield with her Thursday evening when my brother came to get her. THIS WAS FOOL PROOF! I AM GROWNUP, HEAR ME ROAR!

I woke up Thursday morning to a text from Liz, who was at work, that read: "I just realized that you cannot get plates for a car without getting it inspected." I FUCKING HATE MISSOURI.

So, not only did I waste the gas money to drive up there, it was fucking pointless because even if you can find a place in MO to pass a car EVEN THOUGH they shouldn't, they sure as hell won't do it w/o the car being there. How's that for business ethics?

I am freaking out. My brother is on edge b/c his job is obviously not secure and he feels like he coerced me into buying a shitty car that he keeps finding little things that need to be repaired on, and all in all, I am just really annoyed. So, it's Missouri's fault. SUCK IT, MO!

this is just something I want to remember.

Today I was showing a picture to my mother of a friend of mine's new tattoo. Her tattoo is beautiful. It is mostly just an outline right now, but it is a half sleeve, shoulder to elbow, of a woman with stars in her long, flowing hair and she is wrapped in a loose fitting dress. She said she has to do 2-3 more sittings before it's complete. Anyway, so I showed it to my mother and she was aghast that someone would want to have a tattoo so big. I kept saying "it's so beautiful! look at how beautiful it is!" and she said to me "it's not about it being ugly or beautiful, it's the size. I like small tattoos, like yours."

My mom, who I HID MY TATTOOS FROM FOR THREE YEARS, told me she liked my tattoos. Woah.

How to bite the hand that feeds you.

I like to think of myself as a good person, and I know my family has it's problems, but at the end of the day I think we are good people. We try to help others, if we can, and we do our best to be understanding and not let our prejudices cloud our judgement.

When my grandpa died in 2004, he had over 300 acres of land, plus a trailer, a house, and a couple of sheds. My dad and my uncle split everything evenly, and my dad bought what they didn't sell from my uncle. I guess it is worth mentioning that my grandparents got divorced in the late 60's and, while my dad lived with my grandma for a while, he ultimately grew up with my grandpa in TN.

Once the land selling and buying out of property had occurred, my dad was left with something like 80 acres, the trailer, the house, and the sheds (and I mention the sheds, because they are serious. They are huge and have furniture, papers, dishes, pictures, albums...everything you can imagine and some things you can't). The trailer is where my grandpa had been living after his divorce from my step-grandmother, and the house that had once belonged to his parents was a property that he had been renting out off and on.

My parents keep the trailer for when they go to TN to visit the family and friends we have in the area, when they go to check on the land, or when they need to go handle paperwork...my parents are still legally residents of TN even though we are in MO and all of our vehicles etc are registered there. The house hadn't been lived in for quite some time and was largely uninhabitable.

Here comes the "we try to be good people" part. My dad has a friend that he grew up with who had fallen on some hard times. To help the guy out, my dad offered to let him stay in the house RENT FREE as long as he took care of it and looked into seeing what was needed to get the house back in shape. He's been living there for years, as far as I know.

Today my dad's ex-step-mother called. The last time I distinctly remember seeing/talking to her was in October of 2004. She called to tell my dad that a friend of hers saw the following picture on the front page of The Tennessean:

That's my great-grandparents' house. He turned it into a meth lab.

He.turned.it.into.a.meth.lab.

HE TURNED THAT HOUSE INTO A FUCKING METH LAB!!!!!!!!!

She assumed my dad didn't know yet, and set out to get a hold of him immediately. I was sitting across from my dad at the table while he was talking to her and I, no bullshit, thought he was going to cry. My dad has been gone for years...over 20 years. He has memories of those places and the people who are long gone, and it eats at him that he is not there. And it breaks his heart to know that he tried to do a good thing and was taken advantage of like this.

To be honest, I am surprised that TBI hasn't gotten in touch with him yet. They are, no doubt, doing background checks on everyone in my family as we speak to see if any of us are in any way culpable for this. Hell, they might even find this.

I just cannot believe someone would do this to my dad. It's like a slap to the face.

And, that is the exact picture that ran in the paper, by the way. I looked it up on The Tennessean's website.

Christmas, three weeks later.

It's not that I really needed to talk about Christmas. It's not like it was super amazing or anything. I just wanted to bring it up because I don't get it anymore. People make SUCH a big deal about Christmas...about the holidays in general, and I find it so confusing...and obnoxious, now that I really think about it. My mom was in a panic about what presents they were going to get for Zeb (as usual, my parents were strapped for money), about how they were going to afford presents for him and for the girls. I explained to her, repeatedly, that it is not that big a deal to young kids. They just like presents. And it's not like Zeb was particularly deserving of any expensive gifts ($3K 46 in LCD television, anyone?). I mean, what is the point of making a big deal out of bribing kids to behave so that Santa won't leave them a lump of coal (or a bundle of switches and a rotten potato, so the saying goes in my family), if you are just going to go all out and blow a fuck ton of money on presents for them? What Zeb NEEDED from my parents for Christmas was clothes, and thank god Samantha, Liz, and I went with her Christmas shopping to make sure she got him some. But she still wanted to get him presents. The boy is NINE. It's not like he needed a car, or a computer. He likes toys...he is just a kid! It's not like my mom needed to go all out for him. He's got PARENTS for god's sake.

I guess the point I want to make comes down to this: one year for Christmas, all Samantha and I got were matching Tinkerbell caboodle boxes with lipgloss and nailpolish. One present each from Santa, plus whatever our Grandma sent us (I think that was the year she sent arts&crafts stuff, but my memory is pretty foggy), and we were totally okay with that. There was fruit and candy all around the tree, and it looked magical, and we were happy. And it's not like we were BAD, we were just POOR. It didn't ruin Christmas for us, we still believed in Santa, and life went on.

You can't BUY love. So, pay for what you can afford, get the kids what they actually deserve, and chill the FUCK OUT!!!!!

The Chaos

When I was younger I used to call it my "nervous condition." I think I got it from a book, and I thought it was a clever way to describe my response to everything. Now that this internet thing has taken off, I've been able to research my "nervous condition" and, while the internet is not a doctor, I have half the symptoms of, like, every anxiety disorder ever.

My Thanksgiving was wonderful. I went to my brother's apt and spent it with him, Liz, Hector*, Maya*, Zoe*, and Ally*. It was so peaceful! We watched movies (Role Models, Music Within,) ate all the fuds we could stand, and just relaxed and enjoyed the company. That night, I stayed up late, as usual, crocheting, listening to Christmas music, and cuddling with Ally. I woke up early (when they got up to take the girls out) and wasn't even bothered by it! Jason and I watched another movie, Manic, while we had breakfast (leftovers, haha), and then we all went to see New Moon.

There was no fighting, nothing broke, there was no mess. It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

Then I had to come home. I wasn't on the HIGHWAY before my nervous condition flared up. I got mild chest pains, the shakes, and just generally didn't feel well. By the time I got to the house, an hour and a half later, I was in a rage. I had already been informed that Zeb had punched my parents $3K 46in  LCD flat screen television, breaking it, natch. And he wasn't in trouble. I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN THE SHIT BEAT OUT OF ME, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN GET HIS FRIEND TAKEN HOME!!!!!! The injustice and double standards infuriate me. And I know it is selfish, but these are the things that trigger my nerves!

I came in and all three kids were in the house, running amok, as per usual, and I immediately started crowd control. I don't understand why my mom let's them come over. She doesn't like having them around. Don't get me wrong, she loves them, and she loves being needed, but she doesn't want to fucking watch them. Which is why whenever I am there I am the one who does all the damn watching of them. And the putting in timeouts. And the "WHY ARE YOU DOING THATs?!"

CC is currently being potty-trained. Which means she is wearing panties and peeing in them because she won't say if she has to go to the bathroom or not, even if you ask her. This resulted in her sitting on my bed, and then peeing on my comforter that will not fit in our backup washer that we have been using since the main washer broke. We don't use the heat in our house, so now I am stuck using two thin blankets and hoping I don't freeze to death because god only knows how long it will be before I can get my comforter washed.

This was just today. Is it ANY wonder I freak out all the time?

*cat, cat, dog, dog