I was supposed to go over to the condo with my husband – but I just…can’t. It was partially destroyed when a roof leak in the building created a lake of sorts in the ceiling above us that came crashing down, dumping hundreds of gallons of water into our home, bringing with it all kinds of old insulation, mold spores and rodent feces. That was in mid-March. It is now early June. We are living in a hotel – a home for the homeless.
What a baby-huh? I feel as if I am getting divorced again – the house all in shambles, like I have seen it before…scattered pieces of my life thrown hither and yon. The fact that it feels like no one that is “in power” cares really hurts – just like in a divorce or any tragedy – you reach out for help and get doors slammed in your face, backs are turned, telephones not answered. I hope that those folks enjoyed ruining 3 months of my life with my husband and bringing us dangerously close to disasters unspeakable. All I can say is that if this happened in Mystic, Connecticut – or Windsor, Virginia – our place would have been fixed – we would have been given a place to stay – people would not have let us suffer this long.
This would make a great play – three acts – each act occurring in a different part of the US.
What does it matter anyway – I am just one of 6.75 billion humans on planet fit for 3 billion.
And attitudes are beginning to reflect that very fact.
What does ONE matter?


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This was one of the last words my mother spoke to me.
“Hate, hate hate,” she said in the angriest voice she could muster for a frail little women on her deathbed. I knew it was directed towards me – she was very frustrated about things and she didn’t like the answers she got from the people caring for her (and me) a day prior.
In the few months that have passed since her death, I have learned that society is not tolerant with people in mourning – they hate how I react when I get the in your face memories or flashbacks or whatever you want to call them.
I hate having to hold back tears in front of people, even my husband, whom I expected to be more understanding than he seems to be.
I hate that I realized everything about my mother – how much she really loved me, how important I was to her – too late.
“Hate, hate, hate.” I sure hope she didn’t leave this world hating me. That was the last thing I would have wanted.
I hate being alone – with no close relatives to understand – to hug me – to become my pseudo- Mom, a confidant in times of pain and hurt.
Hate is a strong emotion.
I hate hate.

Massachusetts Toll Takers – What the hell?

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OK, so my niece is driving back to the South Shore from dropping me off at the Mini dealership in Peabody so I could pick up my car. She gets to the Tobin ($3.00 toll) and since she doesn’t drive the toll roads of MA often, she does not have a Fast Pass. At the toll booth, she performs a complete search of her vehicle and comes up $0.70 short. The jerk writes her a $50 ticket – for being 70 cents short of the $3.00 toll. WTF? He then tells her if she comes back and pays him the 70 cents, he will void the ticket. Long story short: she gets off an exit somewhere in Boston, finds an ATM, withdraws some cash, gets lost in Boston getting back on Rt. 1, gets lost in Revere trying to get BACK onto the Tobin Bridge – to give this guy 70 cents. The icing on the cake: he charges her ANOTHER $3, because she crossed the bridge again.

She was unable to pick up her kids from school – she had to call her husband so he could leave early from his job to race to the school to pick them up.

Calculate the gas wasted (by my niece – driving randomly around the poorly marked streets of Boston, into Revere, through ‘lovely” Chelsea), the wages lost (by her husband, leaving work early), how inconvenienced the school was waiting for the kids’ father to arrive…To pay the toll taker 70 freaking cents.

Is this the harassment that the taxpayers of MA are paying for?

What if she was a tourist? Nice freakin’ impression she would have of the city and the State (excuse me, Communist-wealth) employees.

Welcome to Boston. Screw you.

Secrets and Lies

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When was I really born?

Number one, most important.

Secrets from the time I was learning to walk. Staring at the pattern In the carpet. Memorized.

So important, most important.

I memorize other patterns in ceilngs, floors, bedding… Born again hell fire and proclaimations in foreign tongue.

So imortant, so perfect. I too will be saved and I will be so important.

Can’t cut the cord, no.  Number One, my most important.

Failed relationships, no social skills. Damaged goods.

But oh so important, the baby. The cord will never be cut.

Me in a relationship, a normal one? Don’t know how. Me, have friends? No.
Her number one. Her most important.

Ruined life.

Rescue? Protect? Save me please. Even animals – lower life forms protect their number one, their most important.

Selfish, selfish person. Most important? Look in the mirror – go ahead.

I can’t.

Your number one? No way. Not ever.

Secrets most important. Lies conveniently forgotten. Who is number one?

Ruined, sad and pathetic life. Psychic pain, eating away at my mind, my body.

All because you were the one that was most important, number one.

Continue to lie to yourself, number one, most important.

Your actions created my destiny. And yours. Pleased with how that turned out?
45 years of lies to yourself. To others.

Sever the cord. Walk away, most important number one.

I will do what you should have done, or what any animal would have done.

Go see yourself in your self-imposed destiny of guilt.

I will keep myself safe, warm, clean and undamaged.To me, myself, most important, number one.

For real. Not a lie. Not any more.