Monday, November 2, 1998

I am not particularly in a good mood today. It started off pretty shitty and I remembered just why it was I broke up with Andy in the first place.

I am moving all my stuff over on to his server, which makes me think that's a bad, bad idea because I have been fucked over so many times in the past, but he, for the most part, is really a good person and I don't think he would ever try and fuck me over in that way.

However, today he made me feel like I was so fucking stupid that I don't want to spend any time with him for a while.

I am sorry, but when has a man ever been taught how to cater to a woman's ego? Why in the fuck should we have to cater to yours? I am so sick of it that now I cater to my own and I suppose I do a pretty fucking good job of that because I was taught how to cater to a male's ego, so the simple female ego is a breeze!

And I know he won't do anything like apologize to me because now that {I WAS WRONG, HE DID APOLOGIZE FOR HURTING MY FEELINGS} he works where he does, they put him in a very powerful position and he feels like God so what I think anymore doesn't mean shit. The only time he will come around with his head bowed is when he is horny, and well... I just won't say anything about that because women were taught if you haven't anything nice to say, especially about fucking, don't fucking say anything.

Why don't men talk to one another about technique? Why should it even be a problem? Why can't they talk to one another about my personal favorite PREMATURE EJACULATION?

Take it from here, Johnny...

Johnny?

God Dammit. I guess I will have to do it. Premature Ejaculation is the only real enemy known to (wo)man. There are no more wars, there are no real threats to our health and safety except for premature ejaculation. It drives women batty and I don't know what the fuck it does to men because it doesn't seem to bother them a whole hell of a lot, or if it does, it's too embarrassing to bring up.

I have been told that there is nothing a guy can do to prevent it, until I went to Europe, I believed... them. Now I know it's mostly just an American thing because it's only fucking Americans that I experience it with! (OK, I am sure some Europeans do it, but I haven't 'known' one).

So maybe if European men told, no tutored, American men how to fuck then you wouldn't have such hateful bitches walking the planet LIKE ME! How hard can it be to learn? Why, one guy told me he learned to hold it because he didn't want to get his ex pregnant, so think of it that way, fellas, even if you have a fucking condom on.

Then again, maybe if I went for macho men that didn't give a fuck about me instead of the kind, sensitive computer jerk off this wouldn't be a problem for me.

Have you ever noticed how guys like to think they are so nice, and then they really aren't. I don't trust a "nice guy." Anyone that admits certain things about themselves like being a "nice guy" is so full of shit. That's why I whole heartedly admit to being a bitch. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I am not, but when I am, boy, step back because it can be rather painful.

Fume... fume... fume... deep breath... calm... puppy dogs... 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10...

Yesterday was nice. I slept most of the time from partying so much and when I did wake up, I went out to my mom's grave since it was the day of the dead. I thought as a multi-cultural kind of babe, I would celebrate it in my own special way, so I took my mom a Hershey bar, plain, and some Welch's Grape Soda, which happened to be her favorites... OK, grape Nehi was her favorite, but the only place I have seen that lately was when I was in Chicago.

You were suppose to have it ready by noon, but me being who I am it wasn't until 6. I guess she was just dying for it... he he he... Nobody likes my dead jokes.

Then I went by my sister's house for a little while and that was a lot of fun. I love my nephews. Noah finally said my name. Nate was just so funny. I love him so much.

Then Andy took me out to eat and we came back here and fell asleep.

If he doesn't like me, or doesn't like me fucking around, that 's his problem. We aren't together or serious like we used to be. I let him know every time we are out that I don't want to marry him or anything like that anymore.

The thing is that I honestly don't want just one man anymore. There are so many interesting people, and although sometimes it gets a little lonely, it's not the worst thing in the world. I think of my friend's having babies and it grosses me out. I don't want a parasite growing inside of me. I have very valid fears about children so I have turned them into parasites in my mind and thinking about that whole process (except fucking) just grosses me out.

Besides, now women can have their children just as late as men can, well, almost.

I wish I could be more objective about things, life, whatever, but then I get emotionally charged about something and that's not always so healthy.

I must also say I left out the Aussies. I think for the most part they are probably good in bed as well. The ones I have met eluded a certain kind of allure, but I only have been with one.

I think that maybe people don't think of fucking as an art form anymore, and that's kind of sad because it's such a basic part of who we all are, such an important way to communicate. Then again, maybe I am just coming into my own. Sometimes, I really hate being a late bloomer.

(wanna see some summer photos?)

Tuesday, November 3, 1998

I am so fucking pissed. This is just going to be a hell of a month, I can already tell.

They increased my fucking health insurance 50 fucking dollars a month, and that is just fucking ridiculous. But I found out that if I have a business that my insurance will go down from $166 to $110.

Why can't they offer the same plan for everyone? This is fucking ridiculous.

I mean, I could not pay it, but once that happens, I royally fuck myself because then I have a pre-existing condition since I had brain surgery.

Speaking of which, I had the coolest fucking dream last night. I dreamt they took my head off my shoulders and I held it in my hands. I was completely shaven and I don't know how I could do it, but I was looking down at it in my hands. I ran my fingers along my skin. They were going to attach it again after I had surgery again.

It was totally wicked and totally cool. Alex Shull was also in that dream. So was mom, I think, but she was dead. We were on rocky cliffs or something like that, sitting on a couch looking off into a deserted landscape.

Ahhh... fuck it. FUCK FUCK FUCK! I fucking hate those bastards. I wish they would all die and rot in hell.

Why I have a half a mind to marry Andy just so I can have free health benefits. I fucking hate this shit. Health care should be one of those fundamental freedoms all people should enjoy, but as long as I live, the Star Trek kind of thing will never happen. Too many fucking greedy bastards.

I HATE THIS FUCKING SOCIETY!!!!! AS LONG AS I LIVE, I NEVER EVER WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER FUCKING MAN BITCH ABOUT HIS GOD DAMN CAR INSURANCE AGAIN. FUCK YOU. CAR INSURANCE IS RATED BECAUSE MEN HAVE BEEN NOTORIOUSLY BAD DRIVERS UNDER THE AGE OF 25.

I FUCKING HATE WOMEN NOW TOO. ALL THESE STUPID CUNTS THAT ARE HAVING BABIES ARE CAUSING MY GOD DAMN HEALTH INSURANCE TO BE 50 FUCKING DOLLARS MORE A MONTH. I AM NOT GOING TO HAVE A FUCKING KID ANY TIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE BUT MY FUCKING HEALTH INSURANCE IS $50 FUCKING DOLLARS MORE A MONTH!!!!!!

THEN THE FUCKERS WON'T EVEN FUCKING PAY FOR BIRTH CONTROL!!!! DO YOU SEE THE HYPOCRISY???? ARE YOU LISTENING?

GOD DAMMIT.

This is a fucking shitty, sexist society. I am so sick of hearing about the problems we have against race. What about sex? No one gives a flying fuck because that's the way it has always been and that's the way it will always be.

Women don't get paid as much as men do and that's just accepted because we would rather just fucking have a job. Fuck that, no thank you. The things you don't notice, are things I see every fucking day. I never say a god damn word, but when I am challenged with an especially sexist fuck, then I start saying equally miso**** hateful things all the while thinking XY Buddy... you have two opposing chromosomes and you are still genetically INFERIOR to me since I am XX.

Most people don't even notice this discrepancy because their fucking company they work for pays for their fucking health insurance.

I tried to find out the opposite for misogyny, and you will be happy to know there isn't one. I was going to make some valid point while using it, but fuck it.

Wednesday, November 4, 1998

I got this letter from Mike Jasper.

You're always asking me about men and I don't fucking know about men. I can tell you a lot about women. Listen.

For one thing, some women want a guy exactly like the guys you complain about. People don't realize that, but there are many women with quick triggers who just want some guy to donkey fuck them for five minutes and then go away. Seriously.

That's why I don't believe in the concept of someone being "good in bed." It's really how two people match-up with each other.

Some women don't like to get oral sex. Strangely enough. Some women don't like to give head. Not so strangely enough. Some women just like man-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick.

I've reached a point now where I don't even attract the wrong kind of woman. The women I attract, since the age of 35 (last ten years), are totally inhibited and they want me not cause I'm hung like a horse (I'm not) and not because I'm incredibly good looking (I'm not) and not because I'm funny (which I am, but that's not it). They want to be with me cause they know whatever sick fucking fantasy they've always wanted to try, I'll go along with. And I won't put them down afterward.

It's a vibe I put off. That and my ability to conduct an interview (I talk to a woman for five minutes, I can tell whether I'm for her or not.) That's why I have a lot of women "friends." We're attracted to each other, but I know it will be a mistake to get sexually involved.True, I've been wrong before, but I think twice in the last ten years. With one woman, I misjudged her capacity for sexual exploration (hell, she was 30 years old and only had two lovers. Didn't sound like she was ready for me, but I was wrong). The other I overestimated (although had I caught her five years earlier before she was practicing a 12-step program, I believe we would have been fine).

So what am I saying? Try to smoke these guys out first. But try to be subtle (I know that's not easy for you.) You want to smoke them out, you don't want to set fire to them and have them runaway in flames.

But that's just my advice, as useless as anybody else's I guess.

So, basically there is no holding out for me. There is no Prince Charming coming in on a white horse with all the good parts a man should have. I wish Cinderella would be burned en mass, or at least only given to adults. I know I am not the only one out there that thinks someone somewhere is just oh so right for me.

My fucking head hurts. I am starting to bleed. I am not in the best humor and I am fucking depressed as hell and I don't know how to force myself out of it. Not that I think it would be particularly healthy to come out of it because I know I need to keep grieving. I wish it were over, but I don't see that happening any time in the near future.

I think I will go down and walk around the court. Just get out because I live in one of the most beautiful areas of Louisville. I should enjoy it while the leaves are still falling instead of just going in and out as I leave for school.

I haven't had a car now for a month. I think it is making me crazy. Andy is looking for a car too and he says his payments are going to be about as much as if I were to get a bug.

I think I am going to have a dad moment, where I remember just why it is I have nothing to do with the... fucker.

Let us suppose you are a middle aged man (maybe you are, maybe you aren't) with a teenage daughter. You are a reasonably intelligent man, but boy your daughter looks just like her mother, who gives a fuck if she's just as intelligent as you are. You have those feelings a man shouldn't have for his daughter, so you are hateful and abusive to her. You push her away because she is at that age her mother was when you fell in love.

The daughter sees that her father isn't as exceptionally cruel to her siblings as he is to her and then one day it clicks. She's getting therapy in a shrinks office (who himself is a total nut case) and you are there with her. In her teen age angst, she looks at you and says "Dad, I get the feeling you hate me because I look like my mother."

What would you say to that?

I mean, that's a pretty horrendous accusation to make in front of a shrink or to make at all.

If you felt like there was any shred of truth to this, would you think of it and the ramifications it would have on her the rest of her life, or simply look her in the eye and answer "Yeah, you're right."?

It was not my fault (I was often used as the blamer, that's why I have a nice guilt complex built in) that I got her genes. Granted, it was my fault, I will partially blame my mom for this as well, that I looked like she did. I bleached my hair, but only so it was porn star white because I figured if I was going to be a blonde, you were going to know it was fake god dammit.

I think back to lovely moments such as these, and then I remember the expression on Joe's face on our way out to his place as he told me what my father said to him the first time they met.

"What are your intentions towards my daughter?"

Well, gee. My father being the scary son of a bitch that he is helped that relationship go real fast. What's a 15 year old boy suppose to say to that? "I want to knock her up and leave her and our child for you to take care of."?

I don't remember the incident so clearly in my mind, I don't know if I was standing there or not, but thinking back, if that were me, I probably would have pissed in my pants.

What kind of frame of mind would you have to be in to say that to your daughter? What kind of frame of mind would you have to be in not to see her as a separate individual from your ex-wife?

And I have to wonder why I have identity problems now that mom is dead?

I know if I stay here, then I am feeding an identity that my mom wanted me to have. But if I go, then I am becoming more of who I want to be, and that scares me more then ever because I don't have my mom to push me, I don't have my mom to tell me to come home when I have gone too far, and I don't have my mom there to kiss my boo boos. You don't know what a comfort that is to watch and see how all the hurt can go away in your mother's arms.

I see Melissa do that with Colin. You don't realize how valuable it is until it's gone, and moving away doesn't count. I suppose if your mother were abusive... but I can't understand that thinking as well because mine wasn't, not terribly I should say. No, she was pretty bad, and maybe that's another reason why I can't just simply mourn her and be done with it.

It's fucking 38 degrees. Low will be 30. Blah.

Thursday, November 5, 1998

I cleaned up my personal page. It was coded so yucky... ah the beginning of learning new procedures. What a pain in the ass. Now it's so clean and looks so nice. I am really pleased... until I think of that fucking portfolio page I have to work on... I have to replace a bunch of shitty photos. I am almost embarrassed by how bad they look, especially My Big Cunt.

I am slowly moving over to catherineclay.com. It's a gradual progression, but by cleaning up my code and getting everything looking peachy keen so I can hopefully get a job doing web design... it's going to take more time then I have been putting towards it. The good news is I type like rabbits fuck. Fast and with a few mistakes.

So, my mind is occupied with those things... I will probably be using cleaner words in the near future, but that doesn't mean I am still not a bitch!

Monday, November 9, 1998

"You sure are a pretty girl. But I bet you have heard that before."

"Yes sir, I have."

I took my binder of my photographs from summer and sat next to the old man. "Would you like to see my photographs from Europe?"

"Why sure."

"What was your name again?"

"I'm your grand daughter, Cathy."

"Cathy? Who's your parent?"

"Tee."

"Why he sure is a good fella. I really think highly of him. Tell me, did he get that settlement for 2 million dollars?"

"I think so."

"Great!" he exclaims, slightly jumping off the bed.

I sit down and talk to him about life. He asks me all kinds of questions, and he even remembers the last time I was there to see him. He doesn't remember divorcing his wife, he doesn't remember being a fucker to his kids... back in those days it was more important to provide. I ask him why he never went to Europe.

"Why at the time, I had 5 children, and I wanted them to have an excellent education. I worked like a dog to do that, but now I think I should have spent more time at home..." he trails off distant in a faded memory.

I want to cry for him, because where he lacked compassion for when he was younger, he now realizes the mistakes of his youth, at 88. Not many people come to see him, he knows who Poppa, my other grandfather, is.

I find out gross things I would have rather not known, like somewhere down the line two brothers and two sisters got married, so we were double kin to Cassius Clay and single kin to Henry.

He keeps telling me what a good man my father is, and is surprised to find out that he hasn't paid for my education.

"How did you do it?"

I did it on my own. And a little help from Vocational Rehabilitation since I had brain surgery.

"Well, things are always better when you do them on your own, that way you don't have to answer to anybody." He has somehow lost his Southern Gentlemanly manners and he doesn't speak as eloquently as he used to, or maybe he does and I am just better educated now and understand everything he says to me.

Used to be that I needed a dictionary to listen to him tell me a story, but now... I guess his age has caught up with him.

I suppose only mean people survive, and I have a whole nest of them in my family tree. I knew both my great grandmothers on my mother's side and all my grandparents. All of them are alive today, even, but my mother is gone.

Sometimes, I don't see the justice in life, but I suppose that is what makes it life.

On the way back home, Poppa says "I told Patsy she ought not to marry yer father, she was marrying out of her class."

My mom was so beautiful and desired. I think my grandfather wants me to do the same, settle down get married, squeeze out puppies, but I have enough of that Clay in me not to settle for anything that I can't see in myself.

I got a car yesterday. Not the bug I so desperately wanted, but a simple Pontiac that needed seat covers because they were burned by cigarettes. Thanks God for Febreeze, it took that nasty smell right out.

Amazing how it feels to be independent and free. I liked not having a car, but I also hated it to. I hated not being able to take off whenever the hell I wanted to.

It was nice being with my grandparents. They seem to be doing better now since Poppa told me a story. I am pretty sure he is dyslexic, so he can't read very well, but his memory... maybe I get my memory from him. I discovered that I got my photography from Grandfather Clay. Dad always had a nice camera, he just never took many photos of us, and I think that is another reason I go overboard sometimes.

I feel bad for Mr. Clay, he really thought what he was doing by putting those kids in boarding school was the right thing, but it wasn't. I think it made my dad meaner, but how can you make a sociopath meaner?

I talk about him, but I don't go too deeply. Here are some wonderful horror stories from my childhood: The car he took as a payment from a client who blew his wife's brains out in the back; having his client's babysit us (he was a criminal lawyer); he made my brother take a lie detector test when he was 10 because he was missing a coat; I was examined by a gynecologist when I was 8 because he thought I had a STD; garden variety screaming and yelling every day when he would come home; neglect... many many many things, some of the worst hidden far far away.

What he did to my mom was not comparable. Dealing with his tyranny on a day to day basis became so normal that even today when I am not treated like shit by someone, it's really hard for me to deal with kindness because I expect some sort of cruelty. When I was taking Russian, and Isabella was so hard on me, I got pissed and found another way around her to learn Russian, her tactics were Soviet, and I knew I didn't have to put up with that kind of shit anymore.

So... to my mom he took her car and sold it when they were first married; knocked her up with five kids and still expected her to look like a super model; took Lesli's child support money to go to law school and never bothered to pay her back; threw my mother up against a convertible car where we were sitting in it (as they were divorcing); threatened to kill her when I was in second grade (which I knew was possible since I witnessed how he took that car); had her locked up for parking in a handicapped parking space, arrested at school, and stripped searched; took her children from her so he could have some kind of fucked up power over her... that list is insurmountable and I don't remember all the details, but Poppa does, and so does Granny, and I hear about what a fuck he is from them all the time whether I want to or not..

I think of these fucked up things that took place in my life and I hear how other people were fucked up and I still don't understand how they see things the way they do, or the way they want to.

I asked Andy why his parents never believed me when I told them some of this shit and he was like "They just see you, and they find it hard to believe. I saw all of you, and how you functioned together, and I know your mom didn't do it all by herself because she was fucked up too."

I think of how other people are being abused by their spouses or lovers, and I think "there is a way to get out, I know, I found one."

He only gave up on us though, when my mouth got to be too much and mom was given three months to life the first time.

I think of these things, and although I am writing them down, you probably still don't believe me, or have no context for what I am talking about, so it's hard for you to understand.

I think of these things, and I have to remind myself constantly that I was not the one to blame for all this shit. I sure as fuck didn't ask to be born, but who is? And I write it down so I can get it away from me, and remember what it feels like to fight that feeling that I don't have a right to breathe the same air as you do.

Instead of suing my parents for using us as pawns in their fucked up chess game, I asked to be freed. I asked to live in Danville with my grandparents. I wanted to go to Danville High and be just like my mommy, but dad wouldn't let me go to Danville, he was afraid of me bringing home a black boy, so I went to Boyle County with all the hicks.

That's when I realized that if you will something hard enough, it may not happen at that moment you want it to, but it will eventually happen.

My grandparents loved and cared for me, and it was tranquil, and my grandmother taught me how to clean and some sewing. But most of all, she taught me what it was to be unconditionally loved, and that has made life for me a whole lot richer.

But in the same token, I realize how much I have been blessed to have such an assorted family. I don't think I would have ever gone to Russia if things went smoothly, and I probably would have been married long ago, slowly going mad and never understanding why.

Who knows. I don't like thinking about those kinds of things so much, except when it comes to my own personal decisions. What happened to me, to all of us, as children is beyond our control, and I know it's becoming an incidental piece of my life day by day, but it's still a chunk of who I am and why I do things the way I do them.

Listen, I am putting these things on here because I am still in the process of mourning and that includes mourning the loss of everything. I am trying to figure out how to restructure my life so I don't have to think so much about these issues. If you don't like it, put your fucking experiences on the web for the world to read so they can pass judgment on you. Otherwise, keep you shitty comments to yourself.

Tuesday, November 10, 1998

I just got a letter from Andrey. I'm crying.

Wednesday, November 11, 1998

I just about gave up on him, and that's why I was crying. I hoped he wanted to talk (REALLY BE WITH ME) again, and Melissa told me a couple of weeks ago "Give it up, Cathy, it's never going to happen."

So, basically I was giving up. And maybe his letter doesn't mean shit, maybe he wants to stay in Russia (yeah, right) and be a happy graduate student in Chemistry over there. And then again, maybe I will be pope.

I got a great letter from WIM over in the Netherworld (my personal favorite land...) and he told me I wasn't a slut because " Slutty to me is using sex to get people hurt or use people."

So I guess I am a woman that likes to fuck a lot, too bad there isn't a short term for that. WOTLITFAL. Needs the vowels in there to flow... although that doesn't sound right. Hmmm... may I will refer to old-fashioned methods and call myself a Cat. What the hell am I thinking, of coarse there is a four letter word for a woman that likes to fuck a lot... Nympho, duh!

I had this long ass conversation with Mikey on the phone yesterday and her parents refer to me as "Black Cathy" because I always wear black. I have tons of fashion sense, just no fucking color sense... well, that's not completely true, but it's so much fucking easier rolling out of bed and no having to worry "Will this black match that black?" Although, when the article of clothing is faded, that dull green-black is gross, those clothes go in the pile rather swiftly when I notice.

You have to admit, there is a certain measure of genius to not have to worry about such things. I mean they say good ol' Albert E. had 7 of the same things, but for some reason, after being in Europe, I doubt that. Sometimes, when I know I am going to like something a whole fucking lot, I will buy two or three of the same thing. This summer I put on these sandals that were like extensions of my feet and I wanted to buy another pair but Lena and Sveta wouldn't let me. I know I am better off this way because it does get annoying seeing the same thing over and over.

I let my grandmother create lovely things for me to wear. I think I get most of my creativity from her. She fucking rocks. She's a seamstress and she makes the most amazing clothes. I learned from her what it means to be a craftsman. You would not believe what a dart here or a nice hem there will do to an article of clothing.

I figured out the other week just why it was Fashion designers don't design clothes for larger women, and it's because they don't know how. They cover up their ignorance by blaming it on those very women, but when you think about it, if you don't understand something, then don't you put it off on something else to cover up your ignorance?

Poppa is just as amazing. He can take a car and cut it in half and put it back together again... and maybe now you can tell since he is 75, but before he used to kick ass, and he's blind in one eye (which is why he doesn't have any great WWII stories).

I don't wear that much jewelry, either. I used to wear a ring that Mom bought me, but when St. James Art Fair was in town, I put it away and bought a ring similar to it. I don't want to lose the other one. (there's a dad-ism... he once said I couldn't take care of anything and to this day, I believe him although I still have Grover (19+ years and I have that ring which I have had over 13 years now :^P~~~ fuck you Tee).

Don't wear make up unless it's a special occasion. I think it's gross and it clogs your pores and since I am so fucking neurotic about my skin, I can't stand having zits and I always manage to rub my eyes and get that shit everywhere.

Mikey read me this passage about myself from The Secret Language of Birthdays: Personology Profiles for Each Day of the Year. It had me pegged to a T. I don't see how people can't (God damn Russian, making double negatives in my fucking Englush) believe in Astrology. Why, even through Yahoo I got this assessment of myself:

"People born in Gemini are very ego-invested in their mental abilities. They want to achieve recognition for their intellectual skills. They may 'show off' with an extensive vocabulary, an incredible trivia collection, or in circumstances that can showcase logic and rationality. Pride and shame are strongly connected to this area, so Geminis are typically either very identified with and invested in their mental strengths -- or feel extremely ashamed in terms of how they handle the cerebral world. Geminis want to be seen as smart and well informed.The way to their heart is to admire their intelligence. Recognition for their brains is vital.

There is a lighthearted quality associated with this zodiac sign. Most Geminis laugh easily and can help other people to be less serious about life, more able to see the fun side of everything (WHICH IS WHY I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY MORE PEOPLE DON'T LAUGH AT MY DEAD MOMMA JOKES!). The retain a childlike naivete (who me? Imagine that!) and ability to fit through life (notice how it didn't say 'fit in life'). Another Gemini image is the butterfly(guess what you will be seeing more photos of?) flying from flower to flower, tasting briefly and moving on. Variety is very important to a Gemini and boredom can come easily and often unless the person makes sure to have lots of novelty in his/her life. New experiences are revitalizing and refreshing for a Gemini.

As a sign belonging to the element of air, Gemini includes good objectivity, people skills, detachment and the capacity to view life through a framework of logic. Thinking is valued more then feeling.The free and open circulation of ideas is essential. Both the 'airy' attitude (of lightheartedness) and the danger of being an 'airhead' (... now wait a minute... I know the whole fucking world can't know I am literally an airhead! This sentence is why I am sitting here typing this shit because it won't let me copy and paste) are appropriate for Gemini. As a mutable sign, Gemini can be quite flexible. Vicarious learning comes easily (you can say that again). By observing the trial and tribulations of others, a Gemini can make not of what happens and avoid the same traumas (hence me not having an abortion, hence the reason I am not married, hence the reason I am an educated woman). Many Geminis benefit from watching other people and learning what works and what doesn't! (which is why Melissa and I go to the mall and make fun of the people we see) Malleability is another Gemini quality. Because so many different interests and people can be attractive, the Gemini may be too swayed by the company s/he keeps (I plead the fifth).--Maritha Pottenger"

It's so true, it's painful. You know the wonderful thing about this? My Mother and Grandmother are Gems too, so I didn't/don't have to worry what I say in front of either. Shit, my Granny says fuck now. Every time she says it, though, it's usually in reference to Thomas and some quote he said.

Mom didn't cuss until she was 21. I fucking cuss like a sailor wish he could. I am not embarrassed to say cunt out loud in a restaurant. Once we were with Andy's parents and I said fuck a little too loud and I watched them recoil as if someone was going to come up from another table and bitch slap them. I realize they come from a different time era, but what they didn't/don't realize is that you can define your own culture and through words, and such words are very powerful.

When I cuss, I use it effectively. I used to not want to cuss, but I was indoctrinated with it at an early age with such wonderful expressions as "Whose God Damn crumbs are these on the fucking counter?" That one sticks out clearly in my mind because it was delivered with such ferocity, such power and madness that it boomed through my soul like the bass at a Metallica concert.

I think my favorite had to be when Thomas showed up to my graduation and told me "I am going to nail that fucking cunt up against the wall." In his psycho pump I-wanna-be-just-like-Daddy booming voice, referring to Anne.

My computer calls me a bitch in Russian whenever I fuck up. Elena was sitting here and made a mistake and my computer told her to fuck off in Russian (there are many ways to say fuck off in Russian, but the one I chose was 'go walk off on a dick') and she looked up at me with saucer eyes and said "Kat, how did your computer say this?" Like it was telling her to fuck off for real!

I forgot to warn her and when she looked at me I was rolling on the fucking floor, pissing in my pants because I know it has a much stronger meaning to Russians then Americans. I don't think Andrey liked for me to cuss because, well, the Russians are about 50 years behind in some areas.

I haven't talked much about her. I see Elena so much. We practice both English and Russian. It's awesome. Her English has gone through the roof since she got here. We see each other at least every other day and it's lovely. She gives me beauty tips and laughs at the stories that reveal what a nympho I am.

I almost forgot to write about my really fucked up dream. I was in the Caribbean, but there was a dock like when I was a child, where the family lake house was. Some bitch had my camera and wouldn't give it to me or she went to throw it to me and then it started to sink. I went under to save it and when I opened my eyes, the water was green and nasty like it was in the lake. I came up and started crying because I knew that camera was somehow connected to my mother. I had divers go for it and when the lens came out, the external lens popped out. I cried and cried and then I woke up.

Thursday, November 12, 1998

It's fucking 6 am and I had a nightmare. I wish I could have turned it into a movie because it scared me to death. The man-creature that was sinister was a half mixture of my Grandfather Clay and my brother. He was blind in one eye and chasing me around Crestwood (why my mom's house is and where I grew up.) It was late and there was a bus up at Dairy Queen and it was a magic bus. I had all my magic costumes.

Somehow, we ended up in a grody basement, and now that I think about it, it was mom's. He was chasing me and several other people and I remember being so scared, hiding in a crevice. I remember breathing deeply and just being so frightened as I watched him pass me by, not noticing where I was hiding.

Maybe I shouldn't go to sleep when my tummy is growling, or maybe I shouldn't have Jerry Springer on to send me into slumber land. Or maybe I shouldn't have to be freaking out about my brother when I have to see him today at the courthouse.

I was thinking that maybe I should call Jerry and tell him what a fuck my brother is so we can get him on camera being a God damn freak. That would be classic. That way, the whole world would know and he could see for himself how hateful he is, although I don't think it would really matter to him too much.

I think I hurt Andy's feelings, but shit happens.

Shit, the sun is coming up, it's fucking cold in my apartment (I turned up the heat... an illegal maneuver since somebody likes to keep the fucking community thermostat at 68), I think I can go to sleep but my head hurts and my tummy is pissed. I fucking hate it when my migraines get this bad. These are the days I don't want to roll out of bed.

I am just going to lay here and be calm, and hopefully I can sleep a while longer...

Friday, November 13, 1998

It's fucking Friday and I want to pass out. I think it's the room I am working in. They have me calling and finding out about all kinds of forms that need to be converted into HTML. What a pain in the butt. I guess it would help if I was sleeping normally, but I haven't been. And I have to babysit Colin tonight, like I do every Friday. I didn't know that when I put him down early that he woke up early, and I was doing that until last week Melissa said "can you keep him up a little later?"

Then I was like "DUH!" I felt bad because I know what a pain in the ass it is to be up when you didn't get much sleep the night before.

I am just whipped. I stayed up thinking about all kinds of things and it wasn't a healthy way to do things. Sometimes I wish my brain would just shut down and sleep when my body did, but then I would be in a coma or something equally as fun.

I hate thinking about what direction my life is taking. I wish I could just say "fuck it" and enjoy life more for the moment, but I am more goal orientated, although it seems my goals are skewed lately. I should be concentrating on school, and all that stable shit, but all I think about is sex. I guess for the most part, we all do.

I think like a man but feel like a woman, and that is the worse dichotomy I have ever suffered. I wish sometimes I could do what my dad said to me and just no show my emotions, but then the well up and then I am bursting at the seams. I feel like I need a good cry but I don't think I will.

I think also that I am somehow trying to do things to gain my father's acceptance, which I know will never happen although I want it so desperately. Sometimes, I like to think that if I had his love that would make a portion of this hurt disappear, but then I think of all the hateful things he has done and it's not so easy to forget. I go on with my life because I see how it tore my mother up, but then I don't think I can ever understand how someone that hides their emotions so fully can ever be happy.

I hate being so tired like this because it makes me think of this shit and I just don't want to do it. I guess that's one reason why it's easy for someone that is manipulative to come in and get a woman to do what they want. I guess that's why it didn't take much for my brother to do what he did to my mother.

Yesterday we went to mediation. It went no where because he wouldn't agree to go to anger management classes nor would he give up his concealed weapons permit. Anne said Tee's wife has his gun.

He is married now, so there is Thomas E. Clay, Sr. and his wife Lisa Clay and Thomas Clay, Jr. and his wife, Lisa Clay. Just makes you want to vomit, eh?

I read a quote off a site the other day and someone basically said that it was better to spend yourself because you are your most valuable asset. I think I agree with that. I like sharing pieces of myself with people because you never know what you mean to someone else because this culture does suppress it's emotions. I guess they think that if you don't feel it, it's not going to exist so it won't hurt you.

That's really sad when you think about it. I let everyone know what I think, even if they don't ask. Usually it's a stranger wearing something that s pleasing, or they have a cool haircut that is flattering, or I try to figure out what kind of cologne they are wearing. Taking the time to notice the details.

Sometimes that is instinctive and sometimes I have to think about it. When I am photographing, I have this feeling, I suppose one could related it to spirituality because I am not concentrating with my brain as much as I am looking for an emotion. And once the process is complete, like a quick project, I don't go back and think about what I have done so much. If there is any amount of time invested... then I get more emotionally attached, which is why I had so many problems when my babies were censored.

That was a painful process that I would have never predicted. Never in a million years because I was so under the impression that our rights were guaranteed. What a crock of shit. When you have had your rights taken away from you, and not because you broke the law, it hurts. I suppose, though, I broke some of the unspoken laws.

I can't help but be this way and people have tried to no avail to make me be the way they wanted me to be and maybe it works for a day or two, but then this mind... this incredible, fucked up, damaged mind gets in the way and I resist what is being put upon me instead of surrendering blissfully. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to listen to everybody else and not be confident in my mind of who I am, but then again, sometimes I wonder what it's like to be dead.

I feel like a deck of cards in a poker game with a many people participating. I need to deal but first I need to take my cards away from the players and hold them in my hands for a while.

I heard from Roman, and he has made history. He went to court and got out of mandatory army service for now. I almost wonder if the alternative service will be much better. But he is safe and happy and trying to find a job somewhere. I am proud of him.

Thomas called Poppa, crying I imagine, and told him what cunts we were, that he would be going to jail if we went to court when the day comes up. I argued and told him he needed help, that there was no way around it and that's what I want him to have.

He bitched and moaned about how people that go in the penitentiary don't come out any better and then told me a long story about John Dillinger and when he was 17 and the sheriff locked him up for petty thievery, he came out an educated criminal.

What did he say to Thomas when he threatened to lock Anne or Lesli up? Fuck this. He's playing right in to the game he established with mom. Then he said something that cut me in half, "what have you done for me?" or maybe it was "why don't you ever do anything I tell ya?" That's Thomas's mantra. At that moment, I wanted to die. My brain scrambled for what I have done, and all the stupid little things like sending postcards from abroad, buying little things, going to Danville to be with them went to the wayside and I could only think of how he lent me the money to get this car.

I can't keep this up. I love my grandparents more then anything, but I am taking myself out of this mess in some way, shape, or form.

Lesli came up with "well, she moved her car off the interstate like you told her to." I was just in shock by that point because nothing I ever do or say pleases anybody, and I am fed up and fucking sick of this family system.

Anne is mine, though. I raised her until I moved away to Danville when I was 14 and now she is mine again, a piece of me. I think my mom hated that we were so close. She always wanted us to have a big family because she didn't, but she sure kept us from getting close until the day she died.

I feel closer to her now more then anybody. We are both trying to iron out shit that was beyond our control. Last night I told her that I felt like when she had leukemia, she was pushing us away because she wanted to die alone and she confirmed this. She has always blamed us for not loving her then, but how can you give something to someone who is pushing?

This right here has been a major source of conflict, and it's something that most people with cancer go through, unless they take the other extreme and do what mom did and become the classic maurder. I tried to explain this to someone once, but I hoped they would never have to experience it, and boy, when it happened, it hurt like hell because it came from left field.

I guess I need to explore this cancer thing further. Just thinking about it kills me. I see the fucking commercials on TV about surviving cancer and I reserve my anger and frustration for what I don't know. I was watching the fucking news last night and gene therapy is quite successful, but I don't give a fuck, it won't cure my mom.

I see Lesli hold her children when they fall down and I feel so jealous, so cheated. I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to feel anyway, so I guess in a way I am doing exactly what my father taught me to do by ignoring these overwhelming emotions that I can gain no control over.

I think back to my childhood and how it was always in turmoil, never calm and settled, and I think "How the hell did I live through so much pain?" And today, I set myself for it. I set myself up to be disappointed in me because that is how I learned to cope with life, and I hate it. I hate going back and trying to re-learn patterns established in my mind that I depended on. The reason it's so easy for me to understand other people's behavior is because I see it in myself first, and I know how I reacted, how I don't accept such things so easily and why I don't trust people.

I try really hard not to be bitter or angry, but there is that rage, like a river at the bottom of my soul that I can never ever do anything about. It makes it's way through me, cutting into places I didn't know existed so I am constantly reminded that no matter how good life is now, it will change with one ripple in the water.

Wow, I am pretty emotional today. I think I have a fever... nah... it's just Friday the 13th.

Sunday, November 15, 1998

I went on the best date I have had in years last night. I had never been to the rodeo so I had to see it. I asked Melissa about going last week. It was nice to go out and have fun, eating nachos and hot dogs with someone I have absolutely no sexual desire for. Plus I know I am going to hear from her again this week.

I was so used last week, and I suppose I did it to myself. I really like to believe that men can be wonderful, but the older I get the more jaded I become in thinking there is no "soul mate" for me because I am just too much a freak and unwilling to compromise.

I feel about men like I did a year ago, before I met Roman and he proved to me that men could be a lot of fun and loving and spirited and have the capacity to feel as deeply as women and love just as deep. But then again, Roman is a special kind of guy and I don't imagine I will ever meet anyone like him again.

I don't know if I am just looking too hard or what. I don't think my standards are oh so high, but I want someone that can at least be compatible to me.

Maybe I should just give up the ghost and just enjoy myself and try and flush all these socitial standards down the commode. I wish I could somehow cut the link between what I think and how I feel, but then I wouldn't be human, I would be the person my father tried to raise me to be, and that is not who I am.

Maybe, if I could just not have such a sex drive, or such overwhelming desire, but then I suppose I would not be passionate about anything and just be a robot to this society and it's whims. I don't like this period in my life where I am so influenced by one sexual encounter with a man that has no soul, but I suppose that's all it takes.

I don't understand how one can cut off all their feelings for who they are to become whatever society thinks they should be. You think I would have learned my lesson by now. Stay as fucking far away from doctors as possible. But I suppose I just needed my nose rubbed in it.

I think doctors are the saddest creatures in America. I feel so bad for them. I wish the government would force a cap on their salary so people that wanted to be doctors just for the prestige of helping others and not for the money, but I see that happening like I see me being the first woman president

I really enjoyed Melissa's company. She talked about how she and her family used to rodeo when they lived in New Mexico, and how this rodeo was eh... nothing can be like the ones out west.

There was one part that was exciting and that's when this guy come out in a big truck and rode his horsey around and cracked his bull whip and chased these longhorns around. That was really neat. The bull riders weren't so impressive, but what can I expect? I am east of the Mississippi.

Well, I am going to go now and try to think of better thoughts then some asshole doctor, but I suppose there are assholes everywhere, I just need to be more careful and not fall into the hole.

Monday, November 16, 1998

So... I sign the house over tomorrow and get my last check on Thursday. I feel so empty. This is just the whole sensation I have been having the past couple of days, feeling empty. I will pay my bills off and just imagine what it is to be debt free until my loans come due.

Sigh... I think I am about to experience a new level of grief and I have been trying to stave that off. I think about staying here, in the fucking place that drives me insane because I know what to expect. It's awful to have some of your own ideas that you have never discussed slammed into your face. I talked about how I felt like such a whore before I left for Europe, how no matter what you do you have to give so much of yourself away and then something happened when I was away and I don't believe that so much anymore because I want to think that I can do what I want to do and love what I do and get paid. I want to believe in love and all the wonderful things that surround it, but I don't think I can experience it with many people here, who the hell knows.

Thinking such thing, feeling so empty and then being confronted with it in someone else that has perfected it has scared me into my corner again, where I am not so self-assured, that there are people out there that have no feelings. My dad is like that, but he also happens to be a sociopath. Maybe more people then I imagined are like this and I was just too naive to notice. But I don't want to give that up, I rather like being naive because I think it keeps the world looking fresh and new when really it's just all the same. Maybe I just am delusional and overtly idealistic.

Melissa will say shit to me all the time like "Oh Cathy, this and that aren't going to happen" because she is so cynical about life and all the events that have happened in her life. Then my box from Spain shows up and I laugh and say "You were wrong!!!" or I got that letter from Andrey and could tell her she was wrong again. I love that feeling I get when I have just given up on something or somebody and then I am right in the first place.

I like to believe in people and I am more optimistic then I ever have been, but it's nice every once in a while to have a reality check, and to remember just why it is I don't like this society and the structure of how people use one another to get what they want.

I have tried so hard to get to a point in my life where money was not such an issue. I hate the feeling of having my father love his fucking Porsche 911 or Carrara or what ever the fuck he's driving this week more then he gives a fuck about me. I will never forget when he got his last one I overheard him say "I'm going to be buried in it!" I was just like, more power to you dad.

I don't want to devolve into what I see so many people my age turning into because they don't know what it was like to grow up with that bullshit hanging over your head. Now I am getting pissed. I am a by-product of a yuppie union that did not work out. I do not want to make the same mistakes my parents did because it fucking sucks and I think it's totally unnecessary.

I think about staying here too because Zack is threatening to open his own company down here, and if he does that, then I know I can probably be a part of that as well and play a factor in developing the web as I see fit. Sigh... I haven't felt this passionate about anything in a while, and I am about to take off. I think it's the calm before the storm and I will be in a flurry of activity soon because I feel that fire in my belly again and the need to keep control of what ever situations may arise.

I invited Liuda to come over here and study English. I don't know if she will come, but I can't see the situation in Russia getting any better and she is intelligent and she is a chemist. I just don't know if she can be prepared to be the kind of mutt that I feel, crossed between cultures, understanding nothing and relating to few. But if she decides to come, that will be her problem, not mine. That's something I need to work on, which is a hard thing for me to do because I actually give a fuck about people and I fucking remember everything. I will tell Joe stories about us when we were 15. He doesn't remember but he also doesn't doubt me. This is what being raised by my father has done to me because he often called us liars and we weren't lying.

I take comfort in knowing I pissed that asshole off enough to get a bitter response out of him. I know that when I get something like that I have somehow struck a nerve and I will live in his mind forever. Someone wrote to me what it was I did when I wasn't shocking people, and I wrote back that I am not all that shocking, I can't help thinking the way I do or saying what I think is true. If it hits a nerve and evokes an emotional response, I feel successful at whatever I do. That's the only way I know how to tell if people are listening to what I have to say. That comes from trying to get the sociopath to respond to me.

I hate that I am stuck, however, in that teenage relationship with my father because I want to be a woman and move beyond this shit, but then again, it's nice to see someone feel something because of me, weather it's love or hate.

So now, I am grateful for being used because I feel something too. Besides, he seems like the biggest creep I have met in a while and I was grateful he shared the only part of him that was worth it all. Stupid fucking surgical dentist pretending to be a doctor. What a fuck. I just found out, as I am sitting here reading in the faculty directory about how he is in dental school. I wonder how many chicks he tells he is a doctor. Resident my ass.

That makes me even more angry, but some what vindicated because he had to pretend to be something he just isn't. HA... makes me laugh even harder. I fucking work at U of L, like I wouldn't fucking find out who he really is. I would hate being so insecure that I would have to lie and tell girls I wanted to fuck I was a resident and not a dentist. Life's too short to be living a lie. What a fucking creep.

Tuesday, November 17, 1998

God... I am so raw. I signed over the house today. I wasn't going to do it... I walked up to the counter and I was determined not to cry. Convinced myself over and over. It's just a house... it's just a house... and then I couldn't help it and as I signed my name, I looked over at the secretary and said "I'm going to cry" and I just burst out.

I will never get to go in what was my home ever again. It's bad enough knowing how much it hurts me alone, but when I think of what other people have said, it makes it a hundred times worse because that house was a safe-haven for all my friends and fucked-up acquaintances until I moved out. The last time I moved out, my brother was such a prick that we were fighting and he tagged me in the ribs and bruised them. I called the fucking cops on him then, but mom talked me out of pressing charges, like she always did.

It's not my house anymore. My room has been re-done so there is nothing there that holds me to it any longer. This is what's really been bothering me. I used the prick dentist as an obsession to deter me from concentrating so much on what I knew I had to do.

I came out of the office and ran into the bathroom and just wailed. It's over, it's really going to be over now and there is nothing I can do... no excuse I can make, no reason I can't live my life any longer. I am sure I will find a way to give it away to other people like I always have because I don't know how to live for myself.

I tried to explain this to Zack, but he didn't get what I was trying to say. He sees that I have traveled and taken care of myself and paid bills and shit like that but I don't see it the way he does, but then again, I am caught up in my own situation.

I totally fucked up on my interview. I don't think I want to work there anyway... something just didn't feel right about that place. I wouldn't fit in no matter how hard I tried. Plus I didn't like that the girl I interviewed with was talking about me when she went to Sparks... and that the bartender knew who I was... what does that say to you?

Then again, people don't think about things so hard and don't always see all the factors surrounding the circumstances, myself included. But I know myself well enough to recognize when I am obsessing about something, it's to keep from feeling something really bad, like mom.

I wish it were so easy to forego these awful feelings I feel and how much I miss her, but losing her isn't like having someone step out of your life. Andy and I went out to eat dinner with his friend, Kevin, and Andy said "Yeah, her mom was really cool. She's one of those people you actually miss." Right then and there I wanted to burst out into tears because I wanted to yell at him "SHE WAS MY MOTHER, NOT YOURS, YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO HURT YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO GRIEVE YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO MISS HER YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO LOVE HER, GOD DAMMIT!" But I know how stupid and childish that sounds. Everyone is entitled to feel something about her, she was a neat lady.

I felt a twinge of remorse and guilt when I was talking to the Ovarian Scream chick last night and she said "I came across your page and that's just not fair, man. You should have a disclaimer..." I felt really bad about that because, well, it can be a little overpowering, but since this society is so fucked up and closed, it's healthy too to see how someone that is fucked up and open deals with this shit.

I went to Melissa's last night after my interview since she lives close to where I was. I just wanted to be around someone that cared about me, lost in my own little world. She had an in-service to go to. I don't think I am fucktioning very well in society. I am too distressed at this current time. My boss is leaving for a different department and that has me going ballistic. I think I need some stability for a change, but I know once I have it, I will go mad. Maybe for a little while, just a little calm, like for 6 months.

So what have I learned this week so far? I have learned that when someone is a loser or insecure they usually take it out on the people that they are not. You think I would have allowed this little nugget to seep deep into my conscious, but no, I like to be the one to blame because that's how I was trained. Oh well, what the fuck ever.

My e-mail is fucking up, so if you have been trying to reach me, I am not ignoring you, I just don't have access to my mail. The story of my life... Dammit, I need a new story line.

So... I have been thinking... what do you do as an adult when you are overwhelmed with your feelings when you were never allowed to express them as a child? I don't want to be so emotionally volatile. I am sick of feeling like a slave to my emotions and then sleeping and feeling better or then eating and feeling sane. I should probably be on some kind of medicine, but fuck that.

Maybe I just need lots and lots of time, and for the first time in my life, I feel like my time is my own.

Wednesday, November 18, 1998

I don't think I realize how many people I know read this thing. Hardly anybody ever says anything to me so when someone says something, I am surprised. I took off the counters because I decided I am getting enough hits to matter, and if I am really that curious, all I have to do is look at the Stats.

It's like this is here and I am here and this is feelings and no one ever says anything about how they feel because everything is oh so personal.

I got a big head today when I found out the senior designer peeks here every once in a while. I don't spend a lot of time talking with her, but her husband kicks ass. He's one of the men I talk to when I feel like I need some sound fatherly advice because he knows how to look at me and talk to me in the deepest levels with being intrusive or judgemental, and I think that's really all you can ask for in a person. Well, that and someone that won't put up with your shit.

Zack calls me out every time. I can't do anything terribly stupid without him saying "Why did you do that?" And then I can imagine his face and that look of a half laugh and half "you are so you" look, and it's priceless. I wouldn't trade it for anything. He's making me a tape to ease my troubled soul, or I hope that's the reason. I called him last night and he said "Hey Ho!" That's my new pet name. "I wasn't going to answer the phone, but I saw that it was you and you are like, the only person I feel like talking to because I am making you a tape."

I was overcome with emotion, like I have been lately, and wanted to cry. Not only because he was thinking about me, but because he has the best taste in music of all my friends... except for maybe Joe, but that's because Joe is a musician.

He's really thinking about opening a business here and I am all for it. I would like to be in a company that would allow me the flexibility to go to Europe every summer so I can photograph the changes in Russia. But we haven't even gotten that far... I guess it doesn't hurt to dream.

These were taken at Zack's Halloween Party. They fucking rock and if you don't think so, then you don't know shit about photography but what Sears portrait studio has to tell you.

I have to go soon... I have to see my therapist. I heard from Jenna today, she just got a breather and was thinking of me and that made me feel good. I wish she would dump her loser boyfriend.

I have been thinking... no I haven't... or maybe you are saying "Cathy, how can you do that to yourself, you know every time that happens, you fuck yourself over." Well, anyways, I went to the mall with Andy on Sunday and all this Christmas shit was out and I was overwhelmed.

It's as if I totally forgot it was "the season." I think I am putting it as far out of my mind as possible, but then all these events are coming up... like Thanksgiving.

I don't think I wanted to realize that. Last year, Roman was here and mom had just had surgery. I cried so much back then because I knew she was dying, and she wouldn't fucking admit it. I hated her so much because 10 years of the threat really fucks with your emotions. I think now about the tapes I made of her... her face blue when I started talking to her and it slowly filling up with color as I get her to tell me pieces of her life.

I wish I could make a tape for everyone, but I can't even get my shit together enough to find my fucktional video camera. I have hers and one that I bought to finish my class last semester but never returned. I wasn't thinking with the freshest mind then. Not like I am much better now.

Hmmm... what am I going to talk about today with Tom? Why, sex, naturally.

Thursday, November 19, 1998

So, lots of thoughts today... I wanted to keep it to one funny story about Roman and me, but I have a lot to write about.

Are you comfortable in your body? I mean, do you feel like your hands are your own, your eyes belong to you, you tits are your tits? I feel like that most of the time, but on some occasions, the pieces that I don't like about myself, I dis-associate from me. However... (OH!!! JENNA DUMPED HER BOYFRIEND, I THINK!!!) I know that they are a constant reminder of what society doesn't like in me.

I think everyone, for the most part, feels that mind/body split, which is really tragic. So, how would you feel, and this is a sexist question, if you looked at any magazine and always saw these guys with huge fucking cocks?

Would you st there and say to your friends, "I know that cock is fake..." or "That thing has been surgically enhanced."

How do you think it feels for an average woman to see Cosmo and shit like that and KNOW they will never be that beautiful? Or that sexy? I, as a photographer, know and see what a crock of shit it all is because I can figure out how to make just about anyone look like a god.

If you had to constantly worry about what it was like to not have tits that were big enough, or too fat here or there and then have all the images that bombard you with how it is just so socially acceptable to be skinny... but your problems don't go away right there.

I saw my friend that had Lipo recently. She looks like she could throw a man down and kick his ass with her thighs because she is so lean. I wonder to myself, why is it preferable to be so little? Is it with an artist's eye that I admire her lithe figure in the almost perfect proportions of what artists have been trying to acquire for centuries? Is it with a woman's envy that I admire her body so she can be oh so beautiful and I can listen to her trials about life and be envious? Or is it the love of a friend that I look at her body and feel better about her because she feels better about herself?

I think all three factors apply, but on one level, I am appalled that she harmed herself in order to be more beautiful then she already was. I can remember the exact moment when she told me she was contemplating surgery and I told her that if it was going to make her feel better, she should do it.

But when I think of it now, here she is this image, society's ideal beauty. The envy of those around her encompasses her every day life, but I also know that she still feels empty in other ways.

Satisfaction and gratification are two feelings I wish could be a part of my everyday life. I want to have the best of everything in life, I want to push myself to achieve and be a complete person with in myself, but with some of these societal constraints, I find it difficult to fit into a mold that wasn't made for me.

PhD. Bergandi says that I like to shock people, and he's not the only one. I don't see it so much as shock, myself. I am full of eccentricities and extremely passionate about most everything I do or say. I make sure that there is a part of me in everything I do, my Granny taught me that.

So when he said that yesterday, I got so angry that I wanted to pop, and at that moment, one of the light bulbs did. I looked over at him and said "Next thing you know, I will be moving pencils." Maybe it was a co-winkie-dink, but it struck me as so bizarre. Why at that exact moment. Elizabeth MacNabb, my Favorite Professor, gave me a book for my Birthday on the Sycronicity of the Soul, and it says a lot of interesting things.

I have a really bad fucking migraine. It's one that is so bad I want to vomit and then blow my brains out. I need to quit ignoring this shit.

I have to go pick up a check... I guess there is compensation for some of this emotional abuse. At least this time I won't blow it all. Ok... maybe I didn't blow it all the last time, but... I had a fucking blast.

Oh, the funny story with Roman. We were on our way to Kiev, and we went to get some food for the 24 hour trip on the train. We were being goofy and I was asking the ladies for stuff in Russian and he was acting like he was American. I am sure they thought something was up because my accent, but anyways, this little beggar boy comes under Roman and sticks his hand out. I am smiling, being nice to these ladies that are selling us chocolate and cheese and bread, the good kind, when I look over at this kid and in a flat voice say to him "ot suda."

I asked Roman when he was here last year what was something I could say to these kids so they would leave me the fuck alone, and this is what he taught me. It translates as "go the fuck away" ok... maybe not that harsh, but it's like yelling "GIT! GO ON WITH YOURSELF!"

It took Roman in all of his might not to start rolling on the ground because he was still acting like he was American, but the two women that heard me say it were dying. I don't like being mean to these kids, but I think you have to go over there to understand just how annoying they are, and not only that, we had just given him some bread, so that pissed me off because I think he thought we wouldn't remember who the hell he was.

He looked up at me like I was sprouting another head, total disbelief. It was funny but in a fucked up politically incorrect kind of way.

Friday, November 20, 1998

I smell like garlic.

I made mashed potatoes today for the turkey dinner for work. I can't, for the life of me, figure out how those people could say some of that food was good when it's so bland, but I suppose if that's what you are used to...

Dan, my boss, took a bite and was talking about how there was bacon in them. I said "Dan, I wouldn't do that to you. I know you are a vegetarian. Besides, when was the last time you ate bacon?"

"It's been a while." ¸ ÅžáÕ À ⤜áŒá (ya tak e dumala).

Seems my white trash whore step monster has some concern for my welfare, last time Anne saw her she asked how good I spoke Russian. I said to Anne "Better then she does." I know I am by no means able to speak of deep philosophical subject matter, but everyone understands what I say and when I took Elena home the other night, I realized how much I know because I didn't have to switch often.

I don't know why I even doubt myself, there in lies a lot my problem.

Sigh... Zack, Syndy, and I are planing on going to California. I am getting excited. I think it would rock. The only time Melissa got pissed at me when we went on our cruise was when my clothes were growing. All three of us are pretty laid back, so I imagine we will have a fucking blast. Plus we can see our photography professor while we are there.

Don kicks ass. He's in his sixties and he looks like he's in his forties. He takes great care of himself. His wife got a job out in Caramel (Ansel Adams retired out there too) and after living in Kanfuckme his entire life, he picked up and left with her. That's a fucking man man. He has my up most admiration for leaving this shit hole after being so accustomed to it, for his wife.

After giving it much consideration, I think the homeless boy story almost makes me sound like I am an insensitive cunt, which I am not.

It's just that you have to understand the thing about beggars... I am giving money away, I have given money to causes I think are worthy, they just happen to be personal causes.

I am more then willing to help someone that is willing to do something to better themselves. That's one of the reasons I invited Liuda over here because I know that she will work hard. But when I see a little fucker with more money in his hands then I have in my wallet and I know he got it from being persistent and bugging the shit out of people until they relented, it pisses me off just a little.

There are fucking beggars littered all through out the former Soviet Union, as I am sure you can imagine. Some of them... the gypsies are the worst... are just people too fucking lazy to look for a real job. Others use their talent or disability to get money. Still others use their children and other methods to get money. It's all an enterprise.

I can guarantee you that if you are in the metro, those people are either using a handicap or children as a scheme and it usually works and they make the most amount of money. I do not give these fuckers money.

The gypsies disgust me. I see people over here trying to dress like them, and they are really... what the do is when they breed, they will disfigure their children in some manner and hold up the deformity to society to get money. I saw one woman that made me want to vomit. She sat on the ground and held her shirt open exposing her horribly disfigured, burned, chest. I did not photograph it, but that image is em-blazoned on my memory like coffee in a white cup. Blech.

The kids that you see sitting around are little thieves and if you don't pay attention and they bump you, you have lost something. I was at VDNhA, where there used to be a national exhibit of cows and shit like that, last year and this little cunt came up to me and grabbed my sweater and wouldn't let me go until I got eye level with her and said "SCAT."

Now, the third kind of beggar I have only the up most admiration for. I can feel Anne in front of me as the music from a 6 string mini orchestra played some of the most beautiful music. I remember her reaction to them as well. These are people that are talented, but probably not good enough to be in an orchestra, but they sure as hell made going underground a satisfying pleasure. They are a constant, the group I am thinking of, right where Red Square is.

I especially give money to women musicians that I find are worth a shit in such places. It was really funny when Anne got into St. Petersburg, we were suppose to meet Roman at a certain time and he knew how I felt about giving these chicks money (since I am a sexist cunt and I think only women deserve my money). We were really late meeting him, like about an hour, at the Peter and Paul fortress. He searched up and down and as we were walking in, I heard the most beautiful music. It was just wonderful, and as I went to put money in her case, there was Roman, doing the same thing. It was freaky, but I really believe that shit and that we are connected.

I suppose I am just now getting settled enough to process all the events of the summer. Memory... what an amazing memory I have.

Deposited my check today... strange. I must forget I have it. I think that will work for a week.

Monday, November 23, 1998

I originally wanted to vent about what a little bitch my sister was this weekend, but I don't think it's worth it. Every time I think she has started to grow up, she pulls a "I'm a little princess" attitude on me and I am just so sick of it I could scream.

I almost jumped in a plane and was just going to get the fuck out of here, this is how much I hate this on-going situation. She abuses me, manipulates me and then tries to have some power over me so she can make me do what she wants me to do. I watched her do it to mom, and mom took it. But I will be dammed if she is going to get away with doing it to me.

Fuck it. She came into Granny and Pop's and as I was putting on make-up for my date, she told/asked me to pay for the storage because she keeps "forgetting" (I e-mailed her and reminded her it was due), I have more stuff in it and I owe her $400.

First of all, with all the money I spent on her dead ass when she was in Russia, I will be dammed if I pay her back her fucking money, especially when she said "Cathy, I will give you money if you need it" and all kinds of other wonderful "I'm there for you when you need me" shit.

I also don't think it was fair of her to expect Roman to put up with her shit when she was there and just get paid a pittance. I could not pay her for what he was worth. If it had been me, alone, I would have been tempted to drop her ass off in Red Square so she could find someone that would be interested in listening to her poor me's.

We got into an argument when she was there and I fed her "Well I don't want you to feel like you shouldn't have come" and then five minutes later, she used it. She does not know how to fight and she is not as critical thinker as I am and she is self-centered and I am just sick of it.

I don't need this shit in my life. So after we got into an argument in front of Granny and Pop and Nate, my date arrived and I am pissed and worked up, and I think, how wonderful, I am making such a wonderful impression because all I can do is bitch. But he was an understanding man and he was like "well, you need to vent." and for that, I have the up-most respect for him, because I don't think many men want or can put up with such shit.

Only she makes me this way, and my brother. She decided to show me how she had power over me so she took my nephew home with her. She was suppose to spend the night in Danville and when I figured out that she had taken Nate home with her the next morning. I called her up and told her she was going to have to bring him back and she whined "You were suppose to come anyway."

"And you were supposed to spend the night!"

So I kept it up for a few minutes until she was freaking out real bad and I told her I would come, but I didn't know how to get there from Danville. Then she started to explain and I didn't listen. I got there most of the way, and to play her little game, I called her and told her I didn't know how to get to her place, and I didn't, because I didn't listen to her. She started to act like she didn't know where I was and realized that wasn't going to work, so she drug her princess ass down to where I was and was like "follow me to the express way."

I started the car and took off because I asked the attendant how to get to the expressway.

She apologized today, not because she thinks what she did was wrong, but because it's "thanksgiving" and she doesn't want there to be problems.

I just don't think I will be having much to do with her anymore. Melissa said there would be problems with that storage unit, and I, like always, don't want to believe her. I can't wait to call her and have her rub it in.

But my date was nice. We talked about a lot. I wasn't really in the mood to talk a lot, but he was impressively intelligent. We talked about politics and what it's like to live in another country. He lived in the Phillipines because he was in the Peace Corps. He's finishing up his PhD. When I went to hug him goodbye, my head came in between his chest. I have never dated a guy that tall, it was strange.

I was freaked out about my sister for most of the day, she reverts all responsibility from herself whenever she can, and I just can't deal with that any more.

I went to the mall in tears because I am sick of everything and when I saw the bra lady, I burst out and was like "Can you please find me a bra that fits?"

This may sound oh so hilarious to you... but no, I will tell you one that was 10 times funnier. I was an adolescent and I didn't want anyone to notice I had tits. My mom started to notice. She took me to a store that was later the dry cleaners I worked at when I was 16. She took the bra out of it's box and put it over my shirt in front of everyone. I died. I can, to this day, feel my face flame up from embarrassment to this day. That was my mother.

Anyways, the bra lady told me that wearing a bra was like wearing shoes, when they don't fit right, all you want to do is take it off. Well, having this explained to me this way, I understood so much more. I was watching Jenny Jones earlier and it's no big deal for a breast implant chick to wear a nothing bra, since their orbs defy gravity, but when your back is supporting these things, it hurts.

I asked the bra lady if she ever walks around and sees... girls in need of her service and she replied "all the time. I think, 'you need to come see me.'"

Which was refreshing. "And don't dry your bra! It ruins the elasticity."

"What you can control can't hurt you." Quote from a founder on Deep Space nine. I am sure it has been used before, but I think my sister and grandfather like to think I can be swayed to their opinion and I won't think for myself.

I was happy to spend quality time with my nephew. And I know my sister was happy to have the weekend with just one child, but I think next time, we will stay in town so I can bond with Nate.

I actually found a new level of contempt for my father. It started when I was holding a man I work with, his baby and blindsided me as Nate slept with me Friday night. As he was laying there, I just wanted to hold him and feel him next to me. I imagine this is similar to the love a mother wants to give her child, and nurturing. My father took us away from her, so she couldn't feel that love, that bonding with us. I would like to think every mother has that capability, but I know it's just not true.

He took that away from her, and he took that away from me because he just didn't want us to be loved the way her parents loved her. It makes me so sad to think that a man could be so jealous of his own children, and it pisses me off and makes me loathe him just that much more. That love I felt with Nate, and that love I got from my mom is the only thing that makes me think being a mother worth it all because you give so much of yourself to make sure they are nurtured.

My mail is fucked up, so if you have sent me something and I haven't replied, there in lies the answer.

Tuesday, November 24, 1998

I am sick of my sister. I don't know how she can be so blind to her "subtle" manipulations. She apologized for being a weenie not because she felt like she did anything wrong, but because it's Thanksgiving. Then she tells me I don't know her, which with the attitude she has been exhibiting, I don't think I really care to.

I once told my mother that if Anne and I weren't sisters, we wouldn't be friends. She just thinks on a level that I can't. I refuse to be self-centered, which she claims she isn't... what was the tip of the iceberg was when today, as we I was slowly realizing she will never get it, she basically said my brain was fucked up, or "your disease is out of control and that is why you are being so irrational."

She won't own up to anything she does wrong, and perhaps that's because she has led a life riddled with regrets, I can't figure her out, nor do I have the time or energy to try. I quit. I just can't afford to care anymore about her the way I was trying.

Besides, I was just pretending to care because I was waiting for it to come to this, for her to hurt me one last time.

See, this is how my family relates to one another. If you can degrade the other person enough to where they feel sub-human, then you win, but what you win, I haven't a clue. I know that the world doesn't fucktion like this.

I know I am having problems, I have increasing headaches and I am growing again. I know that sounds nuts, but every time I go to hug my grandmother... we used to be even, but there is no way she is shrinking that fast. Plus my legs always hurt. Doug's mom, who hadn't seen me since mom's funeral even made a comment on it last time she saw me to Doug, so I know it's just not me who is noticing.

But I don't think this has hampered my ability to think. I feel like I can think clearly... well, as clearly as you can through grief.

I pointed out that she was degrading me when she asked/told me to pay for storage, and naturally she didn't want to see it. I don't know what to do, so I will just let her go. It's not like I feel that close to anyone from that side of my family anyway. I haven't visited with any of them except my grandfather and Aunt Betsy this summer, and that is the first time in 9 years.

No great impact, the Clay side of the family, except for a garden variety of neuroses and paranoias that never amount to anything but lost time and energy. I don't think my father speaks to any of his brothers, and since his father is senile he refuses to see him to see what road he is heading down.

I would rather be dead then to not realize the things I have realized.

I think of Anne and how she says she had so much fun in Russia, but I don't see how because we fought a lot and she doesn't care enough to see how she treated me or Roman.

Maybe since I was isolated from society at an early age, I can see these fissures. I can't figure it out. She was also faced with her own mortality, so you would think we would be more alike then different, but we are like night and day. Amazing how insecurities can fuck with your mind.

For the most part, I think I am pretty secure in who I am. I don't have to lie about who I am to get laid. Maybe I am not Cindy Crawford, but I have these little intricacies that make me who I am, and reading about them and experiencing them are two totally different things. Which can be both good and bad.

The only person that has watched me grow up is Doug, and he reads this every once in a while, and I can't imagine what it is like for him to come here and know who I am and then read what I am thinking. Anne told me today that I didn't know her, but I am familiar enough with her to know what games she plays. It would be like me saying to Doug that he didn't know me, when he has watched me grow up since I was 13. I have such a bad concept of time, it all blurs together and I can't distinguish when a certain event happened unless it was horrible, so it's like he has always been there.

The great thing about him watching me grow up is that I have also got to watch him change too. He is such an amazing father, the father I never had. I want to cry sometimes when I watch him and Lesli with my nephews. They have no idea how bad it was, well, that's not true, Nate understands that things can be bad, he is very aware for a 5 year old.

I already probably wrote about how mom was catching him in the pool, and someone took a photo and he said "Ah... I wish Bo were still there to catch me now."

"We all do." Lesli said

And I felt it so deep in my heart, that longing to feel some sense of stability in such a fucked up place. I don't know how I could feel such things when she was the source of most of that instability, but at the same token, I am so grateful for the life I have had because it has been so rich. It's made me a more sensual creature, if that is possible. I love life and food and living so much... it's been a while since I have felt like I was going to come out of my skin.

I really try hard to leave people feeling better about everything then when I find them, but sometimes that is hard. I think that is why Melissa and I have stayed close but distant. She represents the more cynical side of life. Speaking of which, I need to call her and let her give me a good "I told you so" about Anne. She's going to laugh, and so will I because I was really hoping she was wrong, but she rarely is.

I told Anne what she said and she wrote back "Fuck Melissa, she doesn't know me." But she knows Anne's character, and that is just as good as know what someone is like, in my opinion. I am not very forgiving when I find character flaws in someone else. I suppose that's why I stayed with Andy so long, no matter what, he is consistent.

I have to go... I have a bunch of fucking forms to work on, my e-mail is still fucked and I have another date tonight.

Wednesday, November 25, 1998

What makes a person more attractive then others?

I took out a personal ad to see what would happen. I have gotten many weird responses, but then in typical Cathy Clay fashion, I took out a weird ad.

Some people are simply just not interested and that is just the way of the world. I used to think there was only one man for me, that he would know how to relate to me in that oh so perfect way and everything would be wonderful, but the older I get, the more I realize the relationship is a working thing, where both people have to feel appreciated for who they are.

There are wonderful men out there, I have dated 2. There are also some real turkeys. It's nice talking to someone and learning about them and what they are like, when they are being honest.

I really enjoyed my date last night, He was funny, smart and a good kisser. I don't know what it is I have for educated men, but they drive me crazy.

I just love men. I love all kinds of men. I love the attention, I love talking and I love having sex. I watch Jerry Springer, and see these tangled webs that lovers weave... and I don't want to be a Jerry Springer statistic.

It was so funny the other day. Mr. Pink, the big guy, works out in Eastern Ky, where women don't have teeth... he was telling me how one of his friends was making fun of all the states and she said Kentucky was "the state that has only 15 last names."

Now, I can debate that, I can, but then my grandfather has some property in the hills, and he lets some people keep a trailer on his property and Granny was telling me that the woman had a child by a man, they spilt up, she married his brother and has a child by him. So my sister is my cousin, my aunt's my mother... I am sure there are more references, but it's late and I can't think of them.

Do you have any idea how much that grosses me out? But then, my great Aunt married her first cousin. That is so sick. I mean, why would you even want to stay in the same family line? Is your family so fucked up that you want to continue that madness?

Then he told me there is a big abortion case going on down in the hollers where a 16 years old girl was pregnant with her brother's child. This is not a pure Kentucky phnomonon, I know, but I just don't want to know about it any longer.

Diversity is not a characteristic that is widely explored.

"I'm fucking the father of my daughter's children."

I laughed so much last night. I don't think I have laughed so much on a first date. It was nice.

I have to keep reminding myself, however, that I am just taking it easy, and not being so serious because I don't need the heavy of a steady relationship.

I mean, part of me would like to grow old with someone and be loved and appreciated, but then I feel like I need to explore and be free. Isn't that what many people do? Just go through life, trying to see what works for them?

I know a lot of people my age are getting out of bad relationships or coming out of divorces. These are the same people that want to fall right back into one, because it's so comfortable to know you can rely on just one person.

I don't know... this shouldn't be so complicated, and I don't know who to ask or turn to because it seems that what works for some of them won't work for me. Sigh... I don't need to make any serious decisions any time soon so I will just take it as it comes.

Sunday, November 29, 1998

Thanksgiving was nice. I spent Thursday and Friday with my grandparents.

I learned so much about my grandmother. I hadn't realized that she was a factory worker and a woman's factory union member. It's amazing how much life has changed in just two generations. My grandmother wanter her baby to have a better life then her and the same for my mother. Somehow, I think it was lost to my parents generation that you should want your children to have it better then you

I bought a bunch of wool and Granny is going to make me some professional wrap around dresses and a black coat.

My cat is laying here with his belly exposed and purring up a storm.

Last night I went to Pam's house. It was another day of the human family, but there were some people missing and new people there. It was amazing.

Elizabeth came by. I think that was so awesome. I think you can tell how fucking cool it is when your professors want to hang out with you. I had several I hung out with on occasion. I think the best time was when Zack, Lisa, Andy and I went to Suzanne's and took photos. But then there was that time we hung out when Holly Roberts was here.

So, I am dating this guy... I have been dating a few... and they have all been pretty cool except this one... he overwhelms me.

I figured out a lot about Anne, and I know I over reacted because she wanted me to. She was freaking over mom, and that first Thanksgiving without her. She knows how to push my buttons, but I am getting to the age where most of her options are limited so she has to hit me really hard with a good manip for me to react in anger.

So... I just have to figure all this out.

My fucking wrists have been hurting. I need to get some braces.

I watched the Nightmare Before Christmas with my nephews. It was so scary. I think it's amazing that they thought of such a story that utilizes the holiday myths so it's not commercialism.

So, my favorite scene from that movie is when Sally, the woman, keeps running away from the doctor and when she has had enough of "I am your maker" shit, she jumps out of a window and falls apart. When she sews herself back together again... that just fucking rocks.

I mean it's a modern day fairy tale where a woman has to put herself together after the first fall, but there is that romance element. She still believes in there being someone out there for her.

I am feeling like I did when I was in Europe this summer. I am appreciating Louisville more and more, and I know when I come home, I can just relax and not have to put myself in any over-stimulating situation unless I want to. I feel that way in Chicago too.

I invited Dale to come up yesterday so we could be around the human family, and I figured he would enjoy it and he did. We went to the BoDecko Concert, but because I am a cheap date and I drank too much and started puking we had to go, and I feel bad about it. I guess I am just needing to remember my limitations.

That's a good analogy for this time in my life. Remembering my limitations.

Wow... the fountain just went off, it's so quiet now. It's been so fucking amazing in Kentucky. The weather is just so mild... wearing shorts in November. Gotta love that Greenhouse effect.

Looking at things objectively... I feel like I am growing up all over again, but this time in a healthy way.

Monday, November 30, 1998

I am eating my lunch... barfy healthy choice shit... but I am using a fork my mom gave me. I think she bought it at a yard sale. It's an old, silver fork, and I dont' think I have any other silverware that matches it. The prongs are bent so whenever I clean the fork off, the third prong from the right goes into my lip making the dining experience that much more horrible. The fork is shaped like a U now and it drags along my teeth. I don't want to get rid of it, because it still functions, but at the same time, it makes me more aware of how a smooth, flawless utensil that goes in just perfect feels so much better.

I feel the need, the need to talk about psycho pump. Some of you seem to be confused about my brother, and since he is such a fucked up perplexing creature, it could only take someone that was raised with him to understand why he is a fucked up creature.

So, he was my father's first child, a boy, what every man dreams of having. Blonde haired, blue eyed baby born in Germany. My father is/was obsessed with World War II. He always wanted to be held because everyone wanted to hold him. He always got to do what he wanted to do because he had a penis. Mom used to tell me I didn't want to be held from the day I was born, that I wasn't cuddly and I think I must have known he was more needy.

So, he grew up this way, getting the cool toys for Christmas, when Anne and I got a horse (I didn't even like horses) we saw 2 times. There was a wide spread dichotomy of how things went in our house, and he got to do whatever he wanted to do at both my mom's house and my dad's. He bossed me and Anne around and wouldn't clean and yelled at us all the time. Once, when I was 11 or 12, we got off the school bus a distance from home and started to walk and he told me he would come back and pick me up. Well, I was almost to our house and I was pissed because he didn't do it and when I walked in the door, there his ass was lounging across the floor watching cartoons.

This is a wonderful example of how he passes off the responsibility to someone else and doesn't claim he did anything wrong. He went back to try to find his books and they weren't where I left them, so my dad had to buy him new books. Did he have to do extra chores around the house or make amends? Hell no. He didn't do shit and he wasn't punished.

I was smarter then he was, and I am just now figuring this out. However, when I came home crying from middle school because I couldn't deal with the kids making fun of me, I had to go back and face those fuckers again. Thomas likes to think he was so gifted he was put in a private school. He had a behavioral disorder then and dad put him in a private school because he wanted us to all have a good education, especially his little cock.

Many of the people that I have been acquainted with that have gone to that school are fuckers that think the world owes them something because they are just so gifted, but they aren't willing to work for it.

He didn't even graduate. My mom, who was just unconceivable ill when he was a senior in high school, sent out for a correspondence course and completed it for him so he could graduate. He hacked into the schools computers and changed his grades.

He gets everything he wants by berating and manipulating the people around him. It has always been this way. He got out of going to jail about 2 years ago when he was busted for stealing from his job by my father. I didn't press charges for him bruising my ribs since my mother convinced me it wasn't important since I didn't live at home anymore.

He slept with my mom until he was about 20 something. He said it was because he was afraid she was going to die, but it's because he wanted to feel that nurturing she gave, and he was jealous of anyone that got it.

So when I had brain surgery, he went ape shit. He couldn't stand that mom was devoting any attention to anyone other then her golden haired boy. That was Sept 26, 1990. On Jan 10, 1991, not much more then 3 months later, three fucking months folks, my sister was diagnosed with leukemia.

He went ballistic. Now mom had a child she could relate to and feel even more guilty then she already did when she lost custody of us.

This is about the time that Thomas was getting headaches too, so he went and saw my neurosurgeon just because my mother asked him to check out her son. He was clean. There is not a thing in this world wrong with him but that he has to get over the childhood abuse shit and take some fucking responsibility.

I will say this, emotional abuse is the most damaging form of abuse. If you look around, most of the people that are unhappy have been abused in some manner and can't resolve the conflict of saying "fuck what everyone thinks" and "Oh, I better listen." My mother could never get past the shit my father pulled on her. He took her and used her and threw her away. And just to keep that knife turning, he took us away. I just don't see it. I don't need a relationship with him and now I am getting to the point where I don't want one either.

So, I hope this clears up some of what my brother is like, a fucking nut that threatens to "pop a cap in her ass." Or maybe now you are just more confused... if you are, welcome to my family.

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