-12- TIME GOES ON... DIARY. SATURDAY. [early am] I wish my damn feelings were more in reign so that my good moods would not be dashed so easily. Reality is really painful, too painful. To face things head on in a "let's face the reality of things" way is downright distressing. I need some hope to cling to, some dreams to enjoy and some goals to work upon. Don has struck me down again with his concerns and logical considerations. He does it a lot and I'll never get used to it. I've been quite happily dreaming of moving to a house in Sooke, planting a garden and such to get my mind off the unpleasant reality of the now trashed yard and garden, the often unmanageable steepness of the house stairs, and just having too much house to clean. He is being realistic and I am overlooking details - details like the cost of the move, his commute to work. I am happily dealing with the stresses of depression right now by at least having hope of planting a wonderful butterfly garden and being able to curl up with my blankets in front of a warm stove or fireplace. I can dream of that sanctuary even if it is a long shot. I want my sanctuary, I need it - even if it is only in my mind. I just can't deal with the mess of a lifestyle which I must live in. Sure I hope to get stronger, but I can't count on it. I can dream of it and try to make it happen. I will eventually write those books that I've dreamed of writing for so very long, and some day I'll get a royalty check for song lyrics too. If I can keep my dreams in sight I'll have the heart to try. I draw strength now from the dreams, for that is where my hope lies. It is a light at the tunnels end. Now it may well be that all it is the headlight of an oncoming train, but then I will at least know what hit me and from what direction it came. How can I get this through to Don? With my physical difficulties all I can do is dream about being able to live the life I yearn to live and do the things I yearn to do. ----- DIARY. THURSDAY. [afternoon] Nap time. I have more energy and alertness today than I have had in a long time. The ache in my legs reminds me not to overdo it. I awoke at 9:30am - quite odd as I had a rather restless night. The wide range or energy and alertness of this past week has me puzzled. One day I can feel good and the next shitty - or the reverse. It is strange to feel good after feeling bad for so long. Bad days are a real let down after good ones. I hope to stay feeling well - or at least better than usual. I feel that my body is fighting this ME bug. The siege has some resistance now. I want to get stronger, much stronger. I can't plan on any long term improvement but I can hope these good days can be expanded upon. ----- DIARY. TUESDAY. [noon] I am feeling all under sadness right now. It's OK to feel down on one's 37th birthday. My birthdays never have been events to cherish. Tedium. Obligations. Never could I seem to have a day when the world says it's glad I'm me. It's been a dark day and I regret being me - regret the imposition I've caused on other's lives and the difficulties others have faced for simply having to put up with me. It's an "I'm sorry for being me" day, when I apologize to the world for my existence. It's been all turned backwards, instead of others "treating" me I've felt that I must "pay" the world in thanks for their putting up with this horrid creature that is me. ----- DIARY. FRIDAY. [evening] I was off in the sunshine in the yard all afternoon. For yard work the boys aren't of much use. I still outwork them, and Don too for that matter. But I enjoy the work where the boys see it as drudgery. I can do most of the work myself now. The garden is not very big, but it is quite efficient - a reflection of my old habits it seems. I will get plenty to eat out of this garden to be sure, especially since I've been enhancing the soil so well. I just do it as I go. Oh, I'll never be totally satisfied with the tiny garden anyhow. ----- *** I did not give up on my garden, that small patch of ground where I could putter away communing with nature. It would take me many months to take the patch of yard that I had used for growing vegetables and make something useful again of it after the log skidder, bulldozer, and pickup trucks of the forest devistation had finally stopped using the patch as a roadway. My serenity and sanity lay focused upon that small patch of rocky earth. ----- DIARY. SATURDAY. I can think of profound things when I am away from pen and paper, but put those before me and my thoughts disappear as morning mist unto the sunshine. Sometimes I feel so utterly confused that I know nothing at all about life and living. Other times I feel in tune with the cosmos, trusting upon my own well of of hidden knowledge to guide me along the path of enlightenment. I am at odds with myself; I fear that very part which knows the questions and answers. I don't really understand why I fear what I am drawn to explore. Only when I find confirming material from other sources do I trust myself. My fear of being wrong is terrible. it is an illogical fear, a paranoid fear. I fear being in error. I must not be in error or I will be punished somehow. Being that I was often punished by my parents for not being in error this fear is even more unfounded. Yet it is one of my greatest fears. But how can I never be in error since I am not perfect? My compulsion to learn, gain knowledge and wisdom is rooted here. I feel guilty right now, for writing this out again. I can't even allow myself the right to repeat myself in my own journals. My journals. My private world. My private notes upon my life. I fear being judged harshly upon them. I fear everything to some degree. Fear is my main program. It drains my energy and dogs my breath. ----- DIARY. SATURDAY. [late pm] ARGH! If I don't go mad then Hell will truly be snowbound. Why is this happening again? Just when we are down to Ken and CJ and manageable food bills - Wham!- we get more kids! First Mike comes home. Then Billy tries to move in. Angel comes home. Now Joseph [Don's nephew] wants to live with us as well. Whimper... whimper... Joe's mother [Carol, Don's sister-in-law] kicked Joe out of the house. She sent him to Dorothy [Don's mother] - "Here, you take him." So Joe has the disturbing problem of being another throw away kid. he asked to live with us. Sigh. How can we turn him away, he's blood. The house is full as is but CJ will share his room. I truly feel run over. I can't say it's unexpected. The timing isn't good, that's all. We can't turn Joe away. He is our family. But we may be too weird for him and he may end up back at Dorothy's come July. He wants to finish the school year. That is a good goal, we can managed that. Argh. The past three years have seen great changes in my life. I am not the same person in many respects. I surprise myself when I look at how I was. I don't want to have more kids and I have little problem with the hysterectomy [1989] over it. No major depression I can link to it anyhow. Then as I start to grow up myself and heal I get kids and more kids to love and nurture. God sends me thrown away kids and I know I am loved by them. But the pressure is great and the support is limited. My purpose is simply to love the children and help them blossom and grow. I am not always successful, and for some it takes time. But people capable of loving themselves and others do slowly emerge. I don't know if I need all these kids but I know that they need me just to love them. That's the easy part. We need to become more commune and less group home. In the commune all work for the common goal. We need more providers if we are to survive in some measure of secure comfort. I am writing pages today - but it is one of those days that speak volumes of itself. I am quite unsure of myself these days. Unsure that I can cope with all the crisis and shit around me. But what can I do but have faith that the tools will be provided for me so that I can do the work that needs to be done. Don is more apprehensive than I am. That Joe is his dead brother's son is the problem. Don is uncomfortable with the idea of taking Alan's place. I do hope that Don gets over that, and quickly. If he treats Joe as he does the other stray boys then Joe will feel loved. That is all that is asked, to do what comes naturally anyhow. ----- DIARY. SATURDAY. [late pm] Old dumpy me feels fat and ugly. I have not slept well for many days now. The nights have been restless and afternoons impossible. The fricking phone keeps on ringing and ringing, robbing me of rest. I'm tempted to turn off the ringer and turn on the answering machine in the afternoons and just forget about everyone else for awhile. I am truly sick of Justins calls, and Angels friends calls, and telephone solicitors calls. All shit calls to me when I'm so tired. Last night was another rough night followed by another rough day. This afternoon the phone would ring as I dozed off and I finally dragged myself downstairs only to be too ill to do anything. ME headaches are quite like low grade migraines in every way. I hate them - they frustrate my existence. The evening has been long and noisy so I am left feeling sick of body and restless of mind once more. I need my rest, no doubt of that. Do I get to rest though, that's the difficulty. Argh!