Sometimes, allowing yourself to cry is the scariest thing you'll ever do. And the bravest. It takes alot of courage to face the facts, stare loss in the face, bear your heart and let it bleed.

But it's the only way to cleanse your wounds and prepare them for healing, God will take care of the rest.

~Barbra Johnson

It's getting a little flakey here . . .

at the Asylum.

We are in the midst of our first snowfall of the season.  I just wish I could say how beautiful it is, but it really isn't.  Overnight it turned bitterly cold and the wind started literally howling around us.  When the snow finally started to fall, late this afternoon, it was icy cold and dry.  It took a couple of hours for it to even begin to show on the lawns and cars. Now the wind is just whipping it around and making a mess.  It looks like God dumped a giant salt shaker on us.  No, I'm not at all pleased with this.  The worst part of all is that it's just so freakin' cold. 

NO ONE wants to go outside except the dogs, and that's just a nuisance.  My dogs absolutely love snow, a nice snowfall will turn them into playful pups every time.  But as I said, this isn't a "nice" snowfall.   It's the wind.  I don't know why, but the wind truly excites them - no matter what the temperatures.  Maybe it's all the scents that are carried along by it?   This morning, Jenn kept insisting that there must be a dog in heat, somewhere in the neighborhood, but I've seen them behave this way before when the wind blows.   It's almost as if the wind is whispering magical doggie secrets in their ears.  They run, they jump, they dance, they whimper and bark; and then, they will turn and look at me with wide eyes, as if to say,
 "Did you hear that mom !?!"  
Yes,  even my dogs are crazy.

Other than having five dogs bouncing around with their heads full of the mysteries of the universe, and visions of sugar plums, and God only knows what else. . .  Things around here have been reasonably quiet for a change.  I've managed to get a few things accomplished .  Nothing major, just stuff like taking a shower -without a police officer knocking at the door, going to the store - without needing to call a tow truck,  Tidying up the basement - without a flood or fire.
 
Ooops, well, I forgot.  Jenn was making chocolate covered pretzels and the burner did catch a  tiny blaze from the melted chocolate. . .   Normally, not a big deal,  except for Nick and Jenn trying to put it out.  When I walked into the kitchen  Nick was shouting all kinds of stupid instructions to Jenn. 
"Get some baking soda!  Get some flour ! Maybe, we need salt!?!"
Jenn tried to put it out by covering it with a frying pan turned upside down - didn't work.
Then Nick tried beating it to death with a towel, which only resulted in breifly catching the towel on fire. Then Nick saw me and  shouted,
"Mom ! What do we need to put out a kitchen fire !?!   Do something, quick !"
So I walked over to the stove, leaned over,  blew out the flames in two puffs, rolled my eyes, and walked away, mumbling,  'freakin lunatics . . .'  under my breath. 

Sheesh, gosh darn crazy people . . .  They want to turn every tiny incident into a major drama;  Then, when something major happens,  they act like it's normal !  Ugh, they make my head hurt.

TGIF?

I dunno, around here, Friday is just as crazy as all the other days.  I don't get any great prize for making it to the weekend.  In fact, the weekends are apt to be crazier that the week before, because it's likely that I'll have more people in my house.  I'm really developing a distaste for people in general, especially ones that I have to live with.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I really love my teenagers.  I seem to relate to them better than most people.  Maybe it's because I'm about as frustrated and pissed off as they are.

I'm fairly certain that my husband's brain is literally rotting inside his head.  Seriously, I think his brain is gone.  He's got that "the lights are on, but no body's home" look in his eyes all the time lately.  And the scary thing is, he seems to be completely content with that.   I don't know if it's the methadone, or if  he's combining something else with it, or if it's just the effect of years of addiction catching up with his brain.  Hell, for all I know, he's going senile.  All I know,  is that I can't take many more weeks like this one.

Sunday night, He went to go pick up some money from a job that he did.  So as he's driving down the highway towards home, with $40.00 cash in his pocket, passing dozens of  gas stations, he runs out of gas!    Anyway, I'm at home in bed with the flu, and he calls me and asks if I can bring him a gas can and run him to the gas station.  When I get there to pick him up, I have to wake him up because he's sleeping.  I ask him why he doesn't carry an extra gas can in the car, since he has run the car out of gas 6 times in the past two weeks?   Or better yet - why didn't he just stop at one of the many, fine, reputable, gas stations and put gas in the car?!   He informs me that he does have a gas can in the car, and he just didn't want to walk to the gas station, or stop and put gas in the car, because he was too tired and it's cold outside!!!

Monday morning, on his way home from the methadone clinic, he wrecked the car, because he fell asleep while he was driving down the highway at 60 miles an hour!  When he got home, I had to explain to him what "Liability Only" Insurance meant; and that he wasn't getting any money from the insurance company.

Tuesday night, I sent him to get dog food at the grocery store.  As usual, the dogs informed me when he got home, even though I saw the headlights pull into the driveway.  After waiting over twenty minutes for him to come inside, the dogs were clawing at he front door.  I thought maybe he was on the phone or something, so I finally sent Nick out to get the dog food.  Nick brought in the groceries and Roy followed him, looking kind of dazed and confused.  Apparently, Nick had to knock on the window to get the bags because, Roy had fallen asleep in the driveway.  It was 18 degrees outside.

Wednesday, Nick had court.  Total chaos.

Thursday night, when Roy came home, Jenn, Heather, and I were getting ready to leave for the grocery store.  After telling him where the girls and I were going - three times - I asked him if he wanted me to get anything for him.  He told me what he wanted, and as we were walking out the door, he wanted to know where I was going !  I rolled my eyes and said, "To. The. Store !"
to which he responded, "Okay, I didn't know, you never told me that."
I asked Heather, " How many times we tell him?"
She said, "LIKE, FIVE TIMES !"
When we came home, I started recruiting people to help carry in groceries.  My husband comes down the stairs and says, "Hi!  Where have you been?" 

This evening, I told Roy that I needed to go to the drugstore for a few things, and he offered to drive me.  When we pulled into the parking lot, he looked at me and said, "Why are we here?"
I rolled my eyes and got out of the car as he said, "oh yeah, I remember." (and I'm still not entirely sure that he did.)  As we walked across the parking lot, I asked him, "When you leave the house in the morning . . . how long do you drive around before you figure out where you're going?"
He said, "Oh, I usually figure that out before I leave."
I said, "Uh-huh.  And how many times do you forget where you're going, before you finally get there?"
He chuckled and said, "Only about two or three times."
I don't think that's funny.

Then, just when I thought I was safe for the evening, with my husband in bed, sleeping . . .  I'm sitting here at the computer, and I start to smell something odd.  I start sniffing around and follow the scent up the stairs.  I walk into the bedroom, and the room is hazy grey from smoke.  (again)  My husband is fast asleep, and next to him is a pillow with a lit cigarette laying on top of it.  There's an area the size of a dinner plate that's been charred black, and the smoke that's rising from it smells toxic.  I turn on the lights and tell him to put out his pillow. He sits up,  looks at me, and starts to cough.  I  calmly say, "Roy.  The pillow is on fire."  He finally responds by carrying the smoking pillow to the bath tub and dousing it with water. Without a word, he carries the soaking pillow downstairs, puts it into a trash bag,  tosses it out the front door, and goes back up stairs.
Now.  Here's the crazy part.  When I went upstairs to check on him, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with the window open, still coughing . . . smoking a cigarette.

What should I do?
Buy more smoke detectors?
Invest my fortune in insurance policies?

I just went up stairs to check on him again.  He's asleep.  He put out his cigarette and I took the rest of the pack.  Unfortunately, he left the window open and  it's about 45 degrees in my bedroom right now.  I'm tired and I'd like to get some sleep before the next near death incident occurs, but I think I'll wait a bit for my room to warm up.

I just can't wait to find out what excitement the weekend brings . . .  (NOT)

No Escape

You know . . . I've really been trying to put together some kind of coherent post to slap on this infernal blog . . . I really have.  You have no idea how many half baked drafts I have stored away, but they never seem to get past a paragraph or two before I end up rolling my eyes and mumbling,
"Who am I kidding . . ."  shut off the computer, and walk away.

So . . . as of today, as of right now, I'm just going to be posting  incoherent, random, half baked crap.  It may not make alot of sense to anyone, but that's the way it goes.  Apparently, I'm having a nervous breakdown, and until I feel better, that's just how it's going to be.  Besides, it's my asylum, and if anyone objects, they can bloody well piss off.  Okay with everyone?  Good.

Today -

I feel like shit.  I woke up this morning with a black cloud inside my head and that's just fine, because I don't give a care.  No, I don't.  I've been spending a lot of time alone in my room, because the crazy people aren't allowed in there.  It's just me and my dogs.  I have this sign on my door:

DO NOT DISTURB
REALLY. ~ DON'T.

I've been working on an escape plan, but I've got nothing yet.  This is MY house, and MY life, and I want it back.  There are way too many people running amok and destroying my world.  I thought about training my dogs to eat all the extra people, but I think that my dogs might get sick.  And Midnight is already too fat.  I don't like to come out of my room until they are all asleep, and then, I have to clean up their mess.  They suck. They're self-absorbed, irresponsible, idiots. (the extra people, not the dogs.)
I have to call the doctor tomorrow so I'll need to find a phone.  My husband is being a total ass today.  I'm not liking him very much. No, not very much at all - he sucks too.

The End.

Please stand by . . .

Okay, I'm back on line.   I lost my internet shortly after Halloween and I'm now limping along with my broadband hook up.  Fortunately, Jake has a friend that's going to try and speed things up for us.  (hopefully)  At any rate, It'll be a while before my computer finally lets me down load that many photos in one post - but I AM working on it.  (In between all this holiday craziness!)

I must be watching . . .

too much pre-Halloween T.V. these days.  (Ghost Adventures, Paranormal State, and other generally creepy shows.)
As I was playing around on the Internet this evening,  My best buddy, Midnight, who is always snuggled at my feet, curled up under the computer table to do just that.  In the process, he must have laid on top of one of Baby Brooklyn's dolls that she cast aside.  In the dead silence of 1:30 AM, I hear this creepy little baby doll laugh.  For the longest second of my life, my entire body froze, and my heart did a little skip.  When my brain finally placed the sound, I exhaled and rolled my eyes, muttering to myself about what a dumbass I am.
(Midnight, kept right on snoring and never batted an eye.)
:)