Tornadoes and Tidal Waves


My therapist told me to be nice to myself,  give me time to grieve, don’t worry too much about the estate – it’ll be there when I’m ready, there is no rush. I cannot tell you where I am on the grieving scale.  True, it’s not a simple time line.  You take three steps forward and two steps back and sometimes you jump a head only to fall further back than from whence you came (I love saying “from whence you came”).  I haven’t bawled about my mom’s death.  Death doesn’t necessarily make me cry – but it makes me cry more over other things.  Although, because of the stress of the day and the death of my dog, I did cry a fair bit as I was burying her.  I still miss her a whole lot.  I miss my mom a whole lot.  Her absence makes me sad.  Sometimes I cry about it.  Sometimes I’m just really sad about it.

Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing.  I actually planned on writing about a fabulous make-out session with a guy I met via meatmarket.com.  However, here I am writing about being sad and not crying.  It all kind of winds around each other.

Last night, the Drama Bus dropped a load off at the corner of Sibling Square and Brother Boulevard.  And, let me tell you! It was a pile of stinky, crappy dung.  Because my brother is a drug addict, his brain does not function like a normal person’s brain.  I don’t know if you’re familiar with addictive behavior, but addiction is an illness which causes unhealthy defensive mechanisms to be implemented.  My brother is a math/wood creative genius.  He can make some of the most beautiful things out of wood.  But he is a lost tortured soul that has turned to drugs for self-medicating.  When I stop and think about what an amazing man he could have been, it breaks my heart.  When I stop and think about the man he is, I want to punch him in the nose and never see him again.  I’m not here to spread all his BS on the web, but I will ask, Dear Reader, if you are a pray-er person (in whatever way, shape or form that takes), to please keep us in your prayers.

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On the make-out note (because that is so much more fun that crazy family drama), it was fun.  So, I’ve met this guy a few times in public for meals.  He has been a very nice gentleman.  He is tall (6’3″ – I’ve never dated a tall guy).  He is black (I’ve never dated a black guy).  He’s only 3 years older than I (OMG, someone age appropriate?!?) And I think he’s fairly normal (that will probably be a first, also!).  He opens doors, holds my coat, says grace, and was totally non-plussed when I told him I needed his stats so I could look into him.  Actually, he found it amusing that I Googled him.  I asked him if he Googled me.  He said no.  I asked why not.  He said he trusts his instincts and he has a good feeling about me.

The other day at lunch, I mentioned to him that I had met another friend at Waffle House after work one night.  He seemed kind of disappointed that I’d never met him after work (now, mind you, this other person worked until midnight himself, so “after work” for us in the middle of the night was not too odd).  So, today he (I really need to think of a good nickname for him for my blog) texted me and said he’d really like to see me when I get off work.  I said OK, where? He said either his place or mine.  Knowing my kitchen has my back porch on it and he is a professed neat-freak AND that he has a day job and would have to get up early, I offered to go to his place (that way, I’d be the one driving later and he could go to sleep sooner since he had to get up).  But I told him I needed his assurance he’d continue to be a gentleman.  He said he would be.  He was true to his word. I did let a few people know exactly where I was going and with whom (including his name, date of birth, and address)(one of those other people being another police officer).  I also made sure I had a gun with me.  Yes, he’s been a gentleman on our previous meetings, but Ted Bundy seemed innocent enough, too, and look what he did!  I’ve not picked any serial killers previously, but I sure got me a couple of psychopaths!  So, one (I) cannot be too careful!

The funny part was, I was never nervous and now I’m not all giddy.  I used to get all crazy-obsessed-excited.  I even got a bit out of control (however aware of it I was) with Thomas.  But tonight, I’m thinking “huh, maybe this is how normal mature adults act and respond”  both on his part and mine.  We had a fabulous make-out session.  His hands never went anywhere they should not have.  When I said I had to go, he said OK. Interesting.  Tuesday, we are going over to some friends’ of mine for dinner.  I’m curious to see how that goes.

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