Monday, June 29, 2009

three weeks

C went to rehab number 8 yesterday. This one is far enough away that we won't be required to visit her and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I've lost my sense of give-a-shit where it comes to her and what she decides to do with whatever is left of her life. If I wasn't beholden to her daughter I would have nothing more to do with her.

I'm on vacation now! In more ways than one. And after I turn in tomorrow's paper I'll be done until I go to Calgary. I wish I didn't have to go. Three weeks away from Shawn and the puppies and my own bed is way too long. But since there's no choice I'm going to do it and survive it.

I think it's bedtime now. I'm getting so old.


Saturday, June 27, 2009

all you have to do

Last night Shawn and I went to the house of a friend of mine from work. I don't socialize much outside of work anymore, not since J came to live here, and not since I sort of started to get old. So it was a rare event, fun and exciting. There were a few other guests and the visit was a lot of fun. The fact that J has grown old enough to be left alone for a couple of hours makes life easier. No doubt before long she'll be the one going out and leaving us at home, probably for whole days rather than just hours at a time.


I had strange dreams last night, probably from the wine.

Friday, June 19, 2009

terror tactics

Obsessing about Paul makes me feel seventeen. Maybe that's why I do it. It can't be because I wish I was married to a man who frequently pees on his shirttails while urinating outdoors because he's too drunk to maintain his full upright status. It can't be because I'd rather spend my free time wondering if I have V.D..


And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Yesterday C called to ask to speak to her daughter. I told her Little J doesn't want to talk to her (true) and told her that while I had her on the phone, I'd made a decision. She has two weeks to get her crap out of my garage. We've been storing all her worldly possessions for a bloody year now and parking on the driveway to accommodate her stuff. Well, I told her I'm not accommodating anything anymore. Nothing nada. Get it out yesterday. Two weeks and it all goes in the dumpster.

She called seven times today while I was out at my grade twelves' commencement ceremonies, leaving a variety of hilarious messages on the answering machine. The messages ranged from begging to guilt trips to stern lectures about the importance of open communication.

The good news is that it seems to have worked. It looks as though she's going to let Little J have her vacation in exchange for continuing to store her rubbish. The bad news is that the long deep hole I ordered for her to fall into and never return still hasn't arrived.


Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Things that make me laugh on Facebook:

Friend's status reads:

Lord its hard to be humble when your perfect in every way.

But I'm a good friend. So I slapped my own fingers off the keyboard and moved on.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009


On Saturday C phoned and had an argument with Little J. She was talking about the house she was going to get for the two of them to live in after she completes rehab, which begins at the end of the month. Understandable, Little J is skeptical about whether C will finish this rehab since she has been kicked out of the last 7. She told C she doesn't want to live with her even she does complete rehab. C's response to this (after neither yelling nor sobbing was effective) was to tell Little J that she is going to forbid her to leave the province next month to go and visit her grandparents.

We will probably need to return to court at some point to remove C's power to do these kinds of malicious things because right now, there's nothing we can do. If we take Little J out of the province, C can (and I wouldn't put it past her to) call the police. It's infuriating. Sickening.


Just as I grow comfortable with reaching my mid-thirties, my old high school boyfriend looks me up on Facebook and wants to be friends. I have problems with old boyfriends because I don't get over people. I move on and get married and raise squillions of dogs and all that crap. But I don't get over people.

You'll think I'm disgusting for writing this but I'm writing it anyway. This boyfriend, he was a total flake. He drank a lot, he was smart but goofy and there was something about him that I found so sexy I couldn't stand it. One day I was riding public transit and suddenly I had a sharp mental jab, bringing Paul into the forefront of my thoughts. I wasn't sure at first, and then I realized that I could smell him. He smelled like beer and stale cigarette smoke. And sometimes chewing tobacco. And after a second I tracked down the smell that was reminding me of Paul and it was coming from a homeless man who was carrying a plastic bag full of cans.

This is just a small example of how demented my relationship (and feelings) for Paul are. Were.


Friday, June 12, 2009

C is a vile and sick person.

Tonight Little J and C had a fight on the phone because C was (again) talking about their future living arrangements. J said she doesn't want to live with C ever again and they argued and argued about this.

Finally Little J hung up on C.

C promptly phoned back and left a message on the answering machine claiming that she'd just spoken to her lawyer (at 9pm on a Friday night?) and he'd advised her to withdraw permission for Little J to go to visit her grandparents in July.

I have never in my life wished the things I wish when it comes to C. She poisons all our lives, she poisons everyone and everything she touches. I have never met anyone so cold and truly evil.


Tuesday, June 09, 2009

All I write about now is C and her stupid antics.

Tonight we let Little J go out for a bike ride alone because she asked if she could. We have been struggling for the last year to help her develop some independence, to overcome the fear and paranoia her mother worked so hard to instill to ensure she'd never take more than two steps in any direction. Hell yes, we let her go. She's almost thirteen. She's old enough to go for a bike ride by herself. Not only did we let her go, we practically did a little dance to celebrate her asking. We are doing good work with this kid.

Right after she got back, her mother called and began to lecture her about the dangers of biking. Traffic, kidnappers, muggers, giant potholes... on and on and on. Working her ass off to try and refill the fear meter that was dropping.

When Little J told her mother to quit worrying so much, her mother said that she only worries because she loves her. Anyone who wouldn't worry about her obviously just doesn't love her as much as her mother does.

This is the same woman who regularly smoked crack with her kid in the same room with her.
Left her alone in the middle of the night, terrified and crying, to score from her dealer.
Kept her home from school, depriving her of two years of her education.
Smoked all their food money and dressed her kid in clothes that didn't fit so she could buy more crack.
Spent 15 hours a day passed out on OxyContin.

Tell me I'm not taking good care of your kid?
Tell me I don't love her as much as you did?

Love isn't just something you feel. It's something you DO.

Fuck you.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

a little birdhouse in my soul

There are nine teaching days left in the school year for my seniors, and eleven for the juniors. It's hard to believe we're so close to the end. It's been hard to focus on anything, work, school work, anything, because it's been so hot here for the last several days. Shawn decided to buy a portable air conditioning unit, which is called portable because it's on wheels even though it weighs about three hundred pounds and takes up half a room. It has two hoses that are as thick as tree trunks, both of which go out the bedroom window, one to suck in air and another to spit out air. And it roars. Literally it roars so loudly that it's like sleeping in the same room with a lawnmower. And still, it's preferable to trying to sleep in the stifling heat.

This afternoon I reread my notes about C and the events that have occurred since our last visit to court. It's unbelievable, in retrospect, that I've allowed myself to worry about anything she says or does considering that she has been wrong about absolutely everything, hasn't carried through with a single threat she's made, and has made absolutely no progress in recovery. I wonder why I still allow myself to listen to anything she says, why I still worry that she will be able to take Little J back to that life, why I spend any time being angry or frustrated or scared.