“Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time.”
George Carlin

Thank you for the laughs George. I wonder if you’re finding out the seven words you can’t say in heaven.

I have been spending some of my time talking on the phone and emailing my cousin, the one I wrote about here; the one I didn’t go see when he was in Portland. We’ve had a magical ability to communicate with each other since we met in 1983, and I do believe him to be the only person who can say, “Cheer Up!” to me without making me either feel worse or making me want to snap and get homicidal. I wanted to apologize to him for my lack of civility when he was in the city but it didn’t end up even needing to be explained. This man, he is marvelous in the way he is fully able to just move on. It has been nice having someone to talk to. Honestly, Alex and I never had long in depth conversations, except of course for the time frame when we were using drugs that never wore off and we used to talk for hours, bonding over pharmaceuticals. Steve (my cousin) has always been incredibly supportive of whatever I am dreaming of doing, and it’s nice to have someone like that in my life once again.

Like most people I get moody and bitchy; sometimes I don’t feel like talking to anyone and I just want to be left alone. If I act like that for a few hours or a few days even it is inevitable that Alex will ask what is wrong. The thing that has always set me off, and we have lived together since I was 15, so that’s really a lot of times I got pissed off by this, is the way he asks me. He will say, “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” The tone of his voice, the way that the emphasis is placed on his enunciation of the word wrong, the whole thing always gives me a rush of anger and I usually answer with , “Nothing!” On occasion this will end it, but sometimes he will continue with, “Well, obviously something is wrong. You’ve been acting funny and…” I won’t pretend that I am an easy person to live with. My moods swing wildly, and sometimes I want a lot of attention and I get clingy and needy with him, and then other times I don’t want to talk to anyone in the world and I long for my own bedroom, one with a lock on the door, just so I can have the solitude I crave.

Lately we have been so busy with both of us working too much and sleeping different shifts, rarely are we in the bed at the same time due to our work schedules. Sometimes when we go through stages like this I forget that we are just busy, tired, and stressed and I really believe that he doesn’t love me or give a shit one way or another how I am doing.

I have brought this topic up to him numerous times, this constant feeling I have inside of me that I am not loved by him. He has always listened to me when I try to explain what I imagine is missing when I say not feeling loved, but he struggles to show me his feelings, and I feel bad for not being satisfied when I know that he is just loving me to the best of his abilities.

One of the main reasons for my decision to try to end my drinking habit is the fact that my stomach has been bothering me for weeks now. It is a horrible burning sensation that I knew could be related to the fact that I was drinking mostly coffee or alcohol, taking my prescription medications on an empty stomach and not eating properly. I bought TUMS and those little individual pepto bismal tablets and I’ve been stashing them into my purse and into my pockets when I have to go to work so if I need something to try to ease the burning gut it is readily available. The pill holder that Alex bought me to stash my emergency Klonopin into seems too small these days. I need a medicine cabinet I can wear as a backpack.

I never mentioned to Alex that my stomach was sick or why I haven’t been drinking alcohol or coffee. The other night I was on my way to work and my cell phone signaled that I had a text message. I looked at it and it was from Alex. Usually it is something regarding the kids, or a request for me to pickup something from the store. This time though it was a question he’s never asked me.

Alex: Are you alright?

Me: Yeah, why?

Alex: Because your stomach has been bothering you for weeks and I was wondering if you are feeling better.

I was stunned, honestly, but more than anything I was touched. In one text message he was able to convey more concern than twenty years of living together has ever done. Gone was that anger I feel every time I hear, “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Apparently, are you alright is OK with me. Maybe we should text to each other more often instead of talking.

“ Why must you always be around?
Why can’t you just leave it be?
It’s done nothing so far but destroy my life
You cause as much sorrow dead
As you did when you were alive”

SINEAD O’CONNOR You Cause As Much Sorrow

I worked the graveyard shift Saturday night. As I’ve mentioned before, I work with mostly men. A few of them are veterans, and hearing them tell their stories, if they even can, and seeing the consequences they are dealing with now as a result of seeing more violence in a few years than anyone should ever have to face in a lifetime is heartbreaking. One man told me not to come up behind him; he can’t handle it. I’ve tried to walk heavily when I am entering an area he’s working in. He told me of working as a medic in the combat zones and trying to come to terms with losing 80% of his men. He told me of shooting them with morphine when they were hit and holding their hands as they died because, as he put it, “no one should have to die alone out there.” I asked him if he was treating a fellow soldier with a fatal wound and that man asked if he was dying if he told them the truth, or no. He said he always told them they were going to make it, no matter what.

Another veteran soldier tells no stories, ever. He shakes his head “No” and walks away slowly. I wonder how they feel about the people who drive around with yellow ribbon stickers making statements “I Support Our Troops”. I know that they received training that they could parlay into other jobs but they hide on night shifts and don’t use their GI Bill for college, not yet anyway.

A couple of them have erupted at work, showing anger and frustration by throwing things, swearing, yelling. Me being me, with my own issues; I get scared when this happens. Saturday night when one man blew up I moved away quickly and tried to work in a far away area. There’s a new woman on the maintenance crew; she was on her first night. I was trying to breathe through a panic attack and fighting the urge to run out the door when she came up to me and asked, “What man did that to you in your life, made you afraid like that when someone yells?” I was a bit taken aback. We’d only been introduced once and her name had slipped out of my head as soon as I heard it.

“Your Daddy?” she pushed, and I just nodded, not wanting her to think I am in an abusive relationship now. She nodded back and smiled. “It’s gonna be O.K.”, she said as she walked away.

Later on we were all sitting outside on the patio chilling out and relaxing at the end of our shift. I decided to tell my coworker that it had scared me when he blew up like that. He looked surprised and then sad. “I’m sorry! Sometimes I just need to let off a little steam and then I am fine.” I nodded, but I felt better having said my truth.

The conversation switched to Father’s Day and everyone reminded everyone else, “Call your Dad and tell him I love you and thank you!” I remained silent. The woman whose name escapes me said, “My father is deceased, thank you very much.” She glanced over at me and asked, “You too?” I nodded in the affirmative and she asked me how old I was when it happened.

“Twelve”, I answered, “I usually call my Mom and wish her a Happy Father’s Day but she’s out of town this year.”

“Me too! I call my Momma on Father’s Day too!” and then she rose and sat right down beside me, pulling out her cell phone. She texted her Mom so I could see, “Happy Father’s Day, Momma. I love you.” and the reply came quickly. “Thank you baby. I love you too. Signed Daddy Momma”

As she picked up her belongings and prepared to leave she told me, “Every bit of fathering I needed I got from my Daddy Momma, even before he died when I was 17.”

I know what she means and even though my Mom is in Australia right now and I have no way of calling her because she’s traveling about the country I sent her an email when I got home from work on the off chance she might stop into an internet café or something. It took me a few years, but I’ve finally been able to convince my Mom that she can check her email from anywhere in the world. She thought that it lived inside of her computer only.

***

Thank you all for your wonderful dessert ideas and opinions. I printed everything out and I look forward to getting back into the kitchen to try out some new recipes. I get bored making the same old things every night so hopefully getting to play around with the dessert specials will help. The comments that even took the time to say sweet things about me and my writing were a pleasant surprise. Maybe I should ask you all for advice more often. Do you think that now that I have hit the ripe age of 35 I should cut my hair above my shoulders? What about the color? Continue to get it highlighted at a salon even though I can only afford to do it once a year and I always have roots, or go back to doing it at home the way I did when I was in my teens and twenties?

***

One last thing, before I go. For those of you who have been following my stories, ChefHisName called and offered me a job. I actually considered it for a second because it would be a Mon.-Fri. day shift, but it’s several dollars less an hour and the benefits aren’t as good. Plus, and this really sealed the deal, the job was as a breakfast cook and the thought of cooking eggs for 200+ people every morning is more than I can stomach. It was nice to learn that he wasn’t just feeding me a line of bullshit when he said he’d keep me in mind for another position.

You go out for a nice meal. What do you hope to see on the dessert menu? We have been running dessert specials so I am hoping to get some ideas in that will sell well. The chocolate lava cake was a big hit.

Any and all thoughts greatly appreciated.

I have known for quite some time that I have been drinking too much. There is admitting it to yourself and then there is the part where you actually admit it to yourself. I don’t know how to describe the difference. I guess I can say that although I knew that at times I was being excessive with it, I wasn’t willing to take any steps to change my behavior until I started to notice that alcohol was having negative effects on my life. So I decided to stop. I had a really bad headache for about four days and that gnawing anxiety like I was going to just chew my arm off if I didn’t get a drink into me, and quick, but now I am feeling better.

Now I can see things like how I always planned out what I was going to drink on my time off from work or when I went out. Just in the last few days I’ve felt that something was missing, and that is sad. I am hoping that soon I will feel better. I have been taking time to eat healthy foods and to drink lots of water.

I felt that now that I was really honest with myself I would be honest here too. I am going to drop the crutch and start hopping.

***

Ashleas, I did read your comment on my last post and it touched me deeply.I wasn’t sure how to respond. I know what you are saying and I wanted to say to you, “Go home and see your Dad.” but then I wasn’t even sure if that was the right thing to say. It’s always struck me as odd with all of the “How are you?”s and “Take Care”s that people throw around how little we reach out to those around us. I hope that you can find someone to talk to and a group if you want to be a part of one, but please know that you can always drop me a line and I am here to listen.

Bonnie, I hear you on the being hungry and still unable to take a half of someone’s sandwich when offered. I’ve been there, done that too. The part that kills me is if I found out that someone around me was hungry and felt as if they couldn’t ask me for help it would break my heart.

Just recently I’ve been having trouble eating anything (see part above about too much alcohol) . There are a few men who come in each night and clean the floors of the restaurant. I get a free meal each night as a perk of the job but I haven’t been eating anything. The other night it occurred to me that they might be hungry and so I threw together a meal and gave it to them to share and they were so incredibly grateful. Now if I see that one of the chefs is going to throw out food that is perfectly edible I’ll stash it away for when the maintenance guys come in and give it to them. I realize now when I see the excitement in their eyes over the food how hungry they were the whole time.

The other night I was being teased pretty heavily (which is par for the course in the industry) by one of my coworkers and I was getting pretty burned out on it when one of the maintenance guys stepped up and told the other man to lay off me. “I look out for her. Cut the shit.” was what he said. And then it was over. I can remember making eye contact and smiling but I don’t even know if I said thank you. I don’t know if if needed to, honestly. Sometimes I feel there are so many words and other times I think so much of it is total bullshit; we have actions so why the fuck is there so much useless talking?

Most of the men I work with have been very kind, but that one guy in particular I mention above seems to have gone above and beyond. I have to admit that I fear sometimes that this was motivated because he knows that I am not OK, that he can look at me and tell. I noticed the other day when I was alone in the kitchen that he rattled his belongings before he entered. I looked up and he said that he was trying not to scare me by popping up unexpectedly but he could see that he had failed. “I wasn’t scared”, I told him, “I was startled.” Then I laughed, because I wasn’t sure what the difference was. “Never mind me, I have baggage” I mumbled and he said “Yeah, me too”, and briefly I saw his hand rest across his heart.

I have been feeling out of sorts since I started working again. I think that it has something to do with being now forced out of my self imposed isolation back into life. I see people socializing everywhere around me; groups at fine restaurants with candlelight faces, huddles over morning coffee and scones. I feel at times a pull to be a part of a group once again. I haven’t been able to maintain a friendship in years. I don’t want to have to explain my sometimes total lack of ability to function. The real me shows through the cracks on the surface anyway. A coworker stops me at work the other night, “What’s wrong?” I told him I was just feeling mad, but then he wanted to know why, and I could only shrug and turn my face down until he walked away. I was hot, tired, had been in front of the oven for hours, and I was longing for a chance to take a break and to get something to drink. I thought of asking him to bring me some water but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave the oven because otherwise I would burn something, and I couldn’t ask a fellow worker for a glass of water. He stopped by later and glanced at my face, checking for something. He broke out in the biggest smile I’ve seen in ages and I surprised myself by smiling back; a real smile. I searched for some meaning in the smiles but shoved it away, knowing my tendency to over think everything.

“I feel as if I have been standing in front of this oven for hours and hours.” I told him. “That’s because you have”, was his reply, because there are no clocks up there by the oven and I wasn’t really sure how long it had been. It was a busy night and time flew by.

Later he tried to arrange for me to get a ride home when I was finished but I brushed him off, telling him I had a bus to catch. I don’t want to get close to anyone again. I don’t want to make friends or have other people being concerned about my well being. I just want to hide in plain view.