"Tidbits-N-Snippits-N-Scraps, Oh My!"....February 19, 2000

"Tidbits-N-Snippits-N-Scraps, Oh My!"....February 19, 2000

Late Eve...

...and with The Prayer Cycle blasting through my inexpensive headphones (cheap equals Moo-Proof), having just emerged from a hot, relaxing tubby soak, and finding the house in relative solitude, I write. Saturday evenings in sole quietude seem to be turning into ritual; The Goddess is out yet again on another expedition with Freda. Wherefor they goest, I know not for sure, although I am fairly confident that it has something to do with a mall and spending money. Poor Rhiannon, who had to sit this one out, is currently recovering from pneumonia.

My wishes for expeditious healing are being sent your way, Rhi.

I have not written since last weekend, and for this I apologise, primarily to myself. No offense, dear readers. I have to do this for me, first and foremost.

I am sorry, me.

Apology accepted, me.

I am sorry, too, faithful followers. But I am here now.

It has been a week riding the emotional rollercoaster. From encountering long lost family to having been without medication for the better part of seven days, I have coursed through the entire emotional spectrum. I am thankful for the opportunity to purge in private.

Just over a week ago, I lost my endearing special needs client to bureaucracy and petty frugality. For the sake of a dollar-fifty per hour differential, my contract was terminated and given to a cheaper, less professional, less accountable corporate conglomerate. I have resolved myself to the fact that it is the price I must pay from time to time in trying to operate a local company. However, it really burned my ass to have things terminated so abruptly, right in the middle of some crutial social and life skills training I was providing to the client basically for free.

I will miss Greg greatly.

Things happen for a reason, nevertheless. Within a day of losing that contract, I received another one involving more hours per week, and requiring the implimentation of a behaviour modification program and modified academic program for an out of control youth. Had I not lost Greg, I would not have had the intense time to spend in the school as requested for this new client. I am continuously amazed at how things seem to take care of themselves when most needed.

But wait, there is more.

On my first day in the classroom with my new client, a youngster approached me saying I looked exactly like his Uncle. While it was not Pookie addressing me, it most definately was my nephew, and when I confirmed such for him, he wrapped me tightly in his grasp, in front of a classroom full of peers, and told me how much he has missed me.

sniff

When I separated from my first wife, I lost touch with her brother's three children. It was not by choice, rather. They lived in another town with their mother for one. For another, the ground was shaky enough with respect to trying to have a cordial relationship with my ex, I was not hopeful in trying to remain in touch with her other family members that I cared about. How tremendously thrilled I was to discover that my nephew and his two sisters are now living here in the same city with their father. I sent him email this evening to test the waters in hopes that I can rebuild a relationship with children I helped raise in their formative years. I would like to have contact with them beyond the scope of my work at their school. Who knows how long that contract will last, after all?

Come what may, having him hug me like that is a moment that will last for all time. No one can take that from me.

In light of her resigning as moderator for journary, removing herself from my journal notify list, and in turn booting me off hers (for her journal, my blood sweat tears), I have surmised that my sister, Quincy, has decided to have a Highlands and The Goddess fast. This is in light of an incident that happened last weekend, one that I still refuse to hash out here.

Que sera sera.

All I can be is brother and Uncle, not partner and father. All I can do is love and support my wife, who has helped me through so much family shit, and who does not deserve to wear the familial colostomy any more than I do.

And you do not need to haul it around, either, sis. It is over full, tremendously heavy, and long overdue to be flushed to the great beyond.

I trust that you are doing okay. Give the kids a hug and kiss for me. Save one for yourself.

I received a call late Thursday night from my landlady. Her son, in his early fifties, died suddenly and unexpectedly. Just a week prior, she had told The Goddess and me that she never stops worrying about him, where he lived out west and just went through a tremendously messy, painful, divorce.

And we are worried about our landlady, who is absolutely one of the most kind, generous angels in my life. In her late seventies, with a severe heart condition, she told us that she is locking herself in the house, refusing to answer the door, and not taking calls from anyone. This includes her closest friends and family.

I pray that she will make it through this. She is a ray of sunshine in many people's torrents, including mine.

All in all, it has been a tumultuous week; one stressful enough under the most ideal conditions. Yet, recall, I mentioned earlier that The Goddess and I had been without our Happy Paxil Pills for almost a week. Take a few days from hell, combined with not having the meds and the subsequent effects of coming down off them, and you have a pressure cooker full of stewed marital discord being left on high and unattended. Eventually, of course, on Wednesday I think, the lid blew right off and both of us got scalded with the projectiles. But we survived, and now that we are once again medicated (chased down with a dose of one on one Lowlandz time), things are getting back to normal.

If one could consider anything that happens in my life normal...

....Blessed Be...