Well, here we are. 2008. New beginnings and all that cal. It would be difficult for it to be worse than last year, and that’s no lie. I’d like to take Last Year and carve obscenities into it’s filthy hide.

Stupid 2007.

It’s amazing i didn’t drown in it’s iniquities. Although, I don’t think the imagery of “drowning”is valid anymore when you’ve been doing it for so long, you’ve evolved into something with gills as a survival mechanism.
However, i’ll be moving into my own place on Tuesday, and i am so excited i could eat sharks and spit minnows. The Boy will be very happy, once he’s back. Never mind where he went. Those of you who need to know, already do. And no, it’s not prison - Jesus. He’s 16, which works in his favor in at least that aspect, i suppose.

Stupid teenagers.

I love the little reprobate, god help me. Lately, life has pretty much been all about work and The Spawn of my Loins. I’ve been trying at this whole having a boyfriend business, but i just don’t seem to have anything left in me these days. Nor does he, having just lost his father.
Sigh.
Nothing is ever easy, is it.
But i’m making a valiant attempt at trying to keep my head down and moving forward. Things really only can get better now that we’re home, and we’re doing what we need to in order to keep ourselves sane and healthy. It’s going to be a long road, but at least we’re on the damn road, as opposed to dragging around all over the damn country. And outlying islands.

At least, we’re home.

…especially considering what a comedy of errors ensued next.
Like a bad romantic comedy from the 1950’s, the next week was a mess of crossed signals and missed meetings, all without having even spoken to each other yet, let alone seeing each other - with his poor sister as the messenger.
Hallowe’en night, both of us looking (i hear) about as attractive as anyone can get in a hideous rotting old-man mask (him) and a blood-spattered dead prom-queen outfit, complete with smeared Tammy Faye Baker makeup and simulated slit-throat (me) - hoping to meet for the first time after four years - both of us looking as ugly as we could possibly manage for the occasion.
(you can see why i like this guy)
Well, we ended up at different bars after attending different parties - each thinking the other one had chickened out or had a change of heart or whatever. But, Sister Mary to the rescue again (i swear her talents are wasted in the Police force - she should be a yiddish match-maker).

“So, there’s this thing happening where my other brother’s bartending this weekend - (note: there are like 9,000 brothers in this family, but i always know which one she’s referring to) - and my Brother will be there (yeah, that brother). You should come.”
“Oh yeah? So…where is this bar, exactly?”

*~*~*~*~*~

Because i’m a total chickenshit, Mary picked Elkin and i up (the Elk and i went to see a Michael Gira show beforehand) so in case her brother decided to kill me, she could do her civic duty as a cop and protect me from his wrath; which turned out to be unnecessary after all. All he did was crack my ribs a little when he hugged me. He’s a big guy, so i’m guessing that was more out of affection than any desire to puncture my lung.
He told me how he’d missed me, and how happy he is i’m back, and a few other things that are none of your damn business…

Suffice it to say, i was all .

Le Sigh…

And he’s still the best damn kisser.

…particularly when you found one but then moved across an entire ocean without even saying goodbye because the father of your son had a psychotic breakdown and you were stuck on an Island for over a year trying to get everyone’s shit together. And then spent yet another 3 years in the middle of the desert trying to bury yourself in the sand.

You’d think he’d never want to talk to me again. Shit, i’d probably never want to talk to me again.

The truth is, i’m a coward. Because when i got back in town, naturally my thoughts drifted in his direction - but (also naturally) i assumed he’d hate my lily-livered guts for being such an asshole. He even called me when i was in Hawai’i, but i was so caught up in the chaos of my fucked up situation that all i could think of to do was just shut down and not tell anyone what was going on. Because i’m cool like that. Tough girl and all that.

So anyway, when Ronne the Elder - my old room-mate here in Chicago - asked me over a beer at Bruno’s if i had seen JR since my return, i said, rather sheepishly, “no - i’d like to but i think he probably hates my guts. Why, has he heard i’m back? He hates my guts doesn’t he?”.
“No,” Ronne the Elder replied, chuckling in that infuriating way he has when people are being obtuse - “actually i think you should get in touch with him.”

Well, naturally i spit beer through my nose and gazed at my friend in abject terror. “What are you saying?” i squeaked.
The Elder, in his typical vague style, simply took a sip of his beer and said - “Oh, i’m not saying anything, really”, and started talking about the weather.
Sometimes, i get the distinct impression that he enjoys making my brain implode.
“Well,” i said, “in any case i’d really like to see his sister too…that is if she doesn’t hate me too…”
Which i did, just the next day.
After catching up and having a drink, she turned to me and asked, “So - have you seen my brother yet?”
“Er, well - actually,” i stammered like a teenager with a speech impediment, “i meant to ask you about him…how is he doing? Does he ever come to Bruno’s anymore?”
“He’s good - he’s in the Academy now. And no, he doesn’t really come around here too much since you left - but i think he’d show up if he knew you were here…some night…if you let me know when you’ll be around…”
“Really? Why, does he want to kill me?”
“Yes really, and no, not because he wants to kill you”, she replied, laughing at me.

Why is everyone laughing at me, i am beginning to wonder…

Well, i’m liking the new job - i’m constantly busy, and i get to hang out with felines all day.  Cats, i understand.  They like their solitude (except when they don’t), and dig affection (except when they’re not digging it), and they know how to take care of themselves.  They have claws and aren’t afraid to use them.

Not that i don’t like dogs, but lets face it - anything that shoves it’s face in your crotch and jumps in your face on a regular basis is probably not all that bright.

Anyway, i have a day off today, in which i am trying to find things to do to amuse myself before i have to do the errands that are necessary such as grocery shopping and going to my son’s school to talk to the people the health care facility.  Laundry was taken care of yesterday.  Mostly, i’m trying to stay away from the apartment so that our host Jon has some time to himself.  We’ve been there about a month now, and hopefully will have a place to stay relatively soon, but i know our presence hardly thrills him.

Anyway.  I really shouldn’t be writing as i seem to have left my wit at the bottom of the shower-drain, along with the clumps of hair.

Perhaps i’ll go downtown, and re-acquaint myself with my hometown a little more.

Ta.

I seem to have some kind of sinus-thing happening. It feels as if all the teeth in the right side of my face are slowly imploding all at once, then regrowing only to implode again.

And again.

Fortunately, i’ll be starting a real job on Monday - one that has such progressive things as insurance. Probably, every tooth in my head will need to be replaced. I think i’ll go for a mouth full of gold caps, with little rubies in them. That would be sweet. Plus, anything is better than having the entire right side of your mouth pulsating like some grotesque, red and pulpy…pulsating thing. It’s hard to be my usual charming and pleasant self with this horripilating pain going on.

*~*~*~*~*~*

In other news, the poetry reading at the Ennui went really well. You know you’re on the right track when the table of nattering co-eds actually shuts up for you. I’ll be doing another with my old friend Miley on the 1st, so if you are in the Hood, check us out. I’ll post a reminder in a few days…
On that note, i’m re-doing my Photos & Poetry Project page. Many groveling bows to Jay Soto for the excellent template he designed for Pixelpost. Now it looks all snazzy and shit. All that needs to be done is an install on the server so that my thumbnails display properly, then we’ll be all good. There’s not much up at the moment, but i’ll be adding material daily.
Sadly, my laptop is on strike at the moment, so any new material will have to wait. But i have enough of a backlog at the moment which will carry me for a little bit.

Stupid technology.

Tonight i’m doing my first poetry reading in years…a bit nerve-wracking, as usual. I always have terrible stage-fright the first few times in a new venue, and as it’s been ages since i’ve read anywhere, i’m having fantasies of feigning some terrible illness just so i can get out of it.

I’m such a 14-year old geek.

Lots of people i know will be there - i’ve asked that everyone bring tomatoes to throw at me, as part of the performance piece. I was joking, but knowing my friends, someone will actually do it and i’ll get a good laugh. One can only hope.

If nobody throws things at me and if i make it through the evening without puking, seizing, or soiling myself, i’ll celebrate by going out with The Gang and having a beer or five. If, on the other hand, the evening is a horrific and mortifying mess, then i will go out with The Gang and have a shot of Malort.

Now, read this.

What kind of idjit calls a woman he barely knows at 6:20 in the morning to try and arrange a date?

The kind of idjit that i attract, apparently - that’s who. Bloody Christ on a bike, i mean i know the Manc keeps odd hours on accounta his job schedule but have some fucking sense. If there is one time of day that it is actually perilous to be calling me, it would be at 6:20 a.m. No, this is clearly not working. It is not in the stars, it is the wrong bloody millenium…

I swear the next time i am asked out on a date i am just going to immediately run away. Apparently he came by the office i’m working in for the next week or so at around 9:00, too - thank bog i wasn’t here, as the Prodigal Son had his first appointment with the school psychiatrist (i like her - she’s German and sensible, not that one has anything to do with the other).

No, i’m definitely not going out for coffee with this wanker. Birds said it best -

“Your mancwanker sounds like a real nonce. I think the only way for you to get to pick up some intellijuhhhhnt conversation is to go out with women, frankly.
The mancs invented rain, being born and dying in a tracksuit, and inbreeding.”

*~*~*~*

But, on to actually important matters; the appointment with Hunter’s new therapist went well - we’re trying some mild anti-anxiety/anti-depressants to go along w/the mood-stabilizer (and he’ll be taking the whole lot at night from now on, so he’s less…zombified during the day…yes, i like this new psychiatrist). Now the next step in Project Finding-Some-Semblance-of-Normalcy is trying to find housing before January 1st. Pruitt is moving out then, and the place is way too expensive for us. The social worker at Hunter’s school said he will refer us to some places that can help us out with housing so we don’t end up in a shelter. Well, i suppose our friends here would most likely not let that happen - but i never like to rule out possibilites because you just never know, do you? But no, i don’t think that will happen. I hope. In any case, we have a little time so hopefully by the new year we’ll have it all straightened out. Tonight, we’ll see how the Boy does on the new med - i’ll have to watch out for any adverse side-effects. This is the part that always makes me terribly nervous - because when the Boy has a bad side-effect, he really goes all out. It’s just the way he’s made. So, it may very well be an interesting night. But bog help us, i’m praying not…

I think i’ll have a beer or two after work today before i go home. Yes, that sounds very good to me right now.

If only i could go back in time and get Johnny Rotten to fall in love with me…le sigh.

So, meeting for coffee w/the Manc (the cute Paramedic from Manchester) turned into a fast walk-me-to-work-because-he-was-bloody-late meeting, instead.

I dunno if it’s because i’m older and jaded or what, but the a vast majority of men i meet all just seem to be rather dullwitted, passionless and apathetic. They all just smiiiile, and get this sort of glazed over expression and don’t say anything very interesting - unless one considers constant compliments about my physical attributes “interesting”, which i don’t. I don’t particularly care if you think i’m gorgeous, for fucksake. That is a pretty dead-end conversation. The annoying thing, in the case of the Manc, is that he seems quite nice, and i can tell he is intelligent, but i just have this knee-jerk disgust reaction when they start in with all that redundant “you’re so lovely” bollocks.

So fucking what. How does that make me interesting or desirable as a human being? It’s pathetic, really. It’s impossible to trust when a man who’s had two short conversations with me tries to tell me how much he really really likes me - “i just have a feeling about you - and you’re just so beautiful…”

Gag me with a roto-rooter. Well, who knows, maybe he’s not really a complete idiot - but i have to just roll my eyes. He seems perfectly nice (that’s such a fine line isn’t it - be kind to me but don’t be too bloody NICE, eh? The world is not a NICE place - have a little bite to you for the love of god), and he is in a profession i really respect, which is the one thing he does show some passion about. It’s just the fawning bit that makes me want to throw up just a little.

He’s going to have to really make an impression should that coffee ever happen (i’m still thinking about it, particularly seeing as he was late and all). And the truth is, these days i just much prefer just hanging out with my obnoxious, opinionated and bitingly intelligent friends. Many of whom are males, it’s true - but they aren’t impressed by my looks; they’ve known me for far too long.

Also, i don’t need an insta-boyfriend. I just moved back after four years - i have a lot of shit to do at the moment, and they are so labor-intensive, are boyfriends. And i can tell this guy is actively scoping me out for me for the part of Girlfriend, because he has that vibe. Generally this is a desirable trait, as i’m not really the one-night-stand type (people are far too filthy, and i’m far too standoffish) - but at the moment, i’m a little preoccupied…

How tiresome.

But maybe i’m just jaded. Maybe he’s just nervous - it happens. Boys can tend to act a bit exasperatingly when they’re nervous.

In other news, the Prodigal Son is finally recovering from his Strep - and is back in school today; something about which he’s absolutely thrilled, of course. Like any healthy 16 year-old, he finds school nauseating in the extreme…but more importantly, he’ll be seeing his new psychiatrist this week. I’m happy about this, as this has been an adjustment and he’s sure to benefit from continuing his treatment asap.

Well, i’m going to slink off now. I need to digest the lovely Korean food Ronne treated Hunter and i to - I’m also quite tired, and i’ve got a nasty cold that seems to be hanging on like a bloated, green tick (or maybe that’s the digestion thing) - so i’m feeling just a bit surly, uncharitable and unsocial. Yes, it’s the cold.

Le sigh.

Due to a massive server-crash, i lost two months of this blog’s most recent entries.  I swear i’m cursed when it comes to this damn site.  This is the third time i’ve lost massive amounts of information…

Anyway, today i landed a job: at least, assuming my first day, which is considered a “trial day”, goes well.  The woman who interviewed me said she has a good feeling about me and thinks i’ll be a great fit.   It’s as a patient coordinator at a cat hospital  - wee!

Things are slowly coming together - thanks to Jon letting us stay with him, and B for buying us groceries and lending me money until i get it together a bit.  If it wasn’t for him we’d not be eating right now…it’s crazy to think that seven years after breaking up with someone, he’d be such an integral part of my support group here.  The mind reels.  We spent a great evening together yesterday having a beer, tripping on how weird life is…

Hunter is doing well (aside from having strep throat), and things are coming together.  School is going fine for him, and we’re getting along well, and his meds are working well.  We just got into the public health system, I have a temporary job at a computer shop until the new job starts, and a cute Brit paramedic asked me out for coffee.  I think i’ll probably go.  Mostly because the idea freaks me out, but not as badly as i would have thought.  It’s just coffee, right?  Maybe it will help to make me feel like life is returning to some semblance of normalcy…

We’ll see.  Slowly, day by day, i’m starting to exhale.  And it feels damn good.

Tonight i got down on my fucking knees and thanked the Powers That Be. I haven’t done that in a long, long long time.

After a Day from one of Hunter’s Levels of Hell, there it is - the light at the end of that tunnel. When i got home, Hunter ready to snap like a guitar-string; he was angry and on the edge - he had just had a panic attack because i was gone longer at the meeting with his “team”, i.e. doctors, therapists, counselors etc…major meltdown. I talked him down on the phone, and so did the crisis-worker, at least we calmed him down to an extent, but is was a mess. He was a mess. It’s not something i will try to describe because that sort of thing is not something i care to put down here.

But then, i got him to try his new meds. And in a couple hours…goddamn if the boy wasn’t like a new person. Like the person i knew before i got so sick and we moved out here.

Dr. Mac gave us the right stuff this time, i think. He is my new personal hero. At this moment, Hunter is sleeping like a baby, went to bed happy and with a look of relief on his face i haven’t seen in a long time. He said the feeling the meds gave him is what he had been trying to find in his drug abuse (which he told me all about just recently - he had stopped after getting busted and having an epiphany that he could have killed himself - he was abusing DXM, which is basically the chemical in cough syrup; dangerous shit that literally destroys your brain; then he turned to MJ, obviously a much more benign choice but he was stoned almost constantly, trying to self-medicate). He said the feelings of that strangling vine felt as if it were losing it’s grip, finally. That’s the thing about when you find what the brain was missing - it’s like a switch being flipped.

We still have a lot of work to do in therapy, together and individually. I’m not so foolish to think that it’s like, Wa-La, it’s all fixed and over with now. We’ve been through a lot in the past couple years. There’s a lot of shit to work through for the both of us. But for the first time in months, i feel like i have my kid back -

and that it’s all going to be ok.

Do you remember that stupid game? The goal was to climb up the ladders to the top, but the trick is, if you rolled the dice and landed on a chute, you stumbled back down again - perhaps only one level, which was disheartening but no big deal, really - but you might just as easily go down three or four; and i you were really unlucky, you’d end up way back at the bottom where you started.

As i grew up i jokingly referred to that game as Dante’s Dice Game - because the levels reminded me of his vivid version of Hell. Life seems very unfunnily like that game now. I never know where Hunter’s moods are going to take him - and i am along for the ride. I’m learning - slowly - how to handle his sadness, his anger outbursts; at least i had a small success today. Small as it may seem in the grand scheme of things, i feel a huge relief and sense of accomplishment - and he feels proud for getting control over himself. We made it up a level, and so far we haven’t hit a chute yet tonight. Today i took him to the town used bookstore and bought him a book on depression and a book on herbal remedies, which is something he has developed an almost obsessive interest in. He found a tea that helps my awful cramps and calms him down tonight as a result. It’s wonderful.

Daily, we stumble along; sometimes getting up a level or two, only to slide down into the dark and tangled jungle of his depression, or the painful (for us both) scorch of his temper flares.

Sometimes i feel as frayed as a rope that’s been strained - pulled so hard in opposing directions that it will give at any second - and i don’t know the quality of my rope. I can only hope it’s strong enough to hold it all together. Often i feel inadequate, like i can’t take it anymore, then ashamed at myself or even considering what would be - in effect - giving up.

My rope is wound through with a crazy-quilt-like collection of fibers; some weak and brittle and dying, like a not so pretty vine that was stunted by circumstance or stupidity (my own); some - like my love for him - are of the strongest threads of steel. Some lines along the rope are weaker than others. The trick is, i guess, to find the strongest spot and just hang on.

Hunter is in a massive downswing again. I feel helpless. I wish i could just take his pain myself. I wish i could convince him that this won’t last forever, that they will help him with the therapy and with the medication. I wish my loving him as hard as i possibly can could cure him.

Mimi called me today. An old old friend from Chicago who knew Hunter’s father - she helped me remember that at least Hunter is aware he has a problem and wants to get help. His father never did that. And she said she can’t wait for us to come back home.
But this waiting is killing us both; waiting for the meds to work (assuming they’re even the right meds); the ok days, the terrible days, the terrible ups and downs. They’ve put me on an easier schedule at work to accomodate all the doctor’s appointments and my own fucking inability to do my best. I feel weak. I wish i were a stronger person. If i can’t be strong, how will i be able to get Hunter through this?

I wish i believed in an interventionist god. Because we need help.

Hunter’s psychiatrist told him “your mother is obviously a really strong person - she’ll get the both of you through this”.  I hope he’s fucking right.

Hunter’s doctors are fucking amazing - it’s the only word for it. They are giving him a mixture of drug therapy and talk-therapy which - slowly - is beginning to help his anxiety and bi-polar symptoms. We took a long walk last night and i told him how proud i am of him for being so brave through all this. The docs all love him, and one of the women i work with is letting him watch her bulldog puppy whenever he can, and walk her dogs - so now he has a job.

After the CFT meeting early next week, we’ll all meet with the school and get him enrolled and started because he ought to be stabilizing enough (no night-terrors for a week now) and his sleep is improving along with his concentration. For the first time ever, he is looking forward to school! One of the crisis workers is helping him learn guitar, and is getting him a punching bag for when he gets mad and needs an outlet.

Kick. Ass.

In other news, i’m getting a pelvic ultrasound and they’ve given me some meds (non narcotic, wee) for pain, and most likely they’ll be upping my dose of T3 meds for the hypothyroid so i’ll be feeling better soon too.

I’m trying not to worry to the point of ineffectuality about Hunter - as my friend Pruitt says, i can’t do him any good if i’m not feeling my best.  So basically, i’m attempting to kill two birds with one stone here.

I have to believe things are getting better, slowly but surely. We have the best people helping Hunter possible, and that gives me the most hope of all.

Hunter and i met the medical director of the hospital, who has taken him under his wing. He told us that considering our lives over the past couple years, it’s no wonder we’re both so stressed out. He thinks Hunter will do well with the new meds and therapy - and once it sinks in that i am not going to die (now that we know what’s wrong w/me and that it’s treatable). He said that even though we have a huge family history of mental illness (my mother, his father and uncle), because we are getting him help so young we have a great chance of getting things under control.

They all seem to be worried about me, too, which sort of surprised me. They say i need a support system and maybe some short term antidepressants to get me through this (i haven’t been sleeping so well i suppose, which admitedly isn’t good for my health. I told them i’d do it because i know if i am a wreck there is no way i can take care of Hunter properly. I feel we’ve been really lucky with the quality of care he’s gotten here, and the doctors are really kind to us both. They say they aren’t used to families who are so close, or so willing to receive help. All i know is that we both want Hunter to feel better, period.

And it will happen. It’s just a matter of time and patience. And getting back home where we really belong.

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Hunter seemed more himself today, almost cheerful even, when i called him after work. When i saw him yesterday he didn’t look nearly as gaunt or hopeless. I could tell he was medicated but today most of that was gone from his voice; they have him on this new medicine - ironically the one he suggested to them in his extensive online research pre-meltdown. It has him much more perked up and alert, and sounding like his old self again. Technically he is still on suicide watch, but i know they feel a lot more confident that he is improving. They’ll keep him on that one drug for certain - that and one or two others. It’s a bit daunting to think he’ll be on three drugs indefinitely, but the one helps him immeasurably, it’s clear. He’ll be in therapy for some time, too. I met the new therapist today, and he is the Golden Boy of the profession here, apparently. We’ve got the top-drawer people working with us, and i was told it’s because everyone just really likes Hunter and thinks he’s a great kid; they feel for him. I’m glad they see him the way i see him.

The woman in charge of his case heard Hunter wanted to learn guitar, and  gifted him with an acoustic she “had laying around” that had never been used, and me with a $300 gift card to a local grocery store. His crisis worker told me he is going to teach the boy some guitar chords once he gets out of the hospital, and i left the meeting feeling incredibly blessed. My faith in the human race was really restored yesterday. And to top it off, i actually went out after work with one of the stylists, and we had a great talk; she even managed to make me laugh a whole hell of a lot; and today she colored my hair for me before my shift started. It felt good to just do something girly and relax. It looks kickass, too.

I can’t wait for Hunter to come home. The day he gets back i am going to stuff him with sushi from Trader Joes and we’ll rent a movie and just have a really great day.

I can’t wait.