the lowdown on my situation

It all started a few years ago, when I wrote what I like to refer to as my Manifesto. Yes.

And then, after getting west nile virus and being subdued on seizure meds for 2 months, I woke up one morning and said, "no. it ain't gonna be like this."So I flushed the rest of the pills down the toilet and for the first time, picked up the laptop that my mother purchased for me and I refused to use. When she brought it in, I gave her a mean look and said, "You know I donated my last computer, don't you?" It was intended as a threat.I get rid of things. But that's another story.

Anyway, sometime in February or March of this year, I discovered myspace. And then I discovered blogging.I have been inflicting my head on the general public ever since. Thanks, blogs. For once, there's something I like in this wretched world.

So this is how it all started. Over these past few months, I have grown more honest, more open, and more emptied. And it just keeps coming.


Yay blogs.




~~oh, btw, just when you think you found me...

Grampa Jones

My mom's dad, Grampa Jones. The only man in the family that I could identify with. He and my grandmother divorced in the early 70's and he lived the high life every day after that. Traveled all over, had lots of girlfriends.

We got lots of cool things in the mail from him, including catalogs from head shops. My mom complained but he said he thought "Amy would like the colorful pictures." I did! He drove a candy apple red Stingray. Looked like a little hot corvette parked outside our house. When he visited I looked out the window at it. A whole lot. And I was only 7 or 8. What's wrong with me? Ever since a child I've had a thing for fast cars. Like a guy.

Grampa was a pilot in WW2, flew bombers. Got shot down, did some time in a prison camp. He took the time to write his experiences down, which I took and posted in a condensed form, in a blog, a few months ago. Like an idiot, I deleted it, like everything else I've written. He ended up with emphisemia (sp?) in the late 80's, and by the mid-90's he was on oxygen. Couldn't kick the smokes. I loved him.

One day he just put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. My mom had to fly out there to Reno & clean it all up.

He never did believe in God. I miss him. He was the only man in my family that gave me the time of day, as in, I could tell that he really enjoyed it. I had fun uncles, but that doesn't count. You need a grandfather who treats you special. I've seen his childhood pics, and we look identical. When I pull my hair back, I look exactly the same as he, when he was a boy. My mom says I'm "all Jones" and I take that as a compliment. Goodbye, Grampa. I never did kick my teacher in the shins.

2 men

This is the man I married, at the age of 21. He was 19. We were married 6 years. He is the father of my beautiful daughter.

This is the man that I ran off with, after my husband & I separated. (No, I didn't know him beforehand.)

These 2 men have unknowingly shaped me and my entire outlook on men, the world, love, romance, and myself. Both men have taught me. These men are complete polar opposites in every aspect of their lives. But each, to me, are perfect representatives of my own extremes, and in each one there was a certain comfort.

Since knowing these two, I have dated lots of other types, and they all seem to fall somewhere in between. It's as if these guys have etched themselves in my head, each representing the opposite ends of my mental spectrum.

It's sort of an Ernie/Bert phenomenon. Black/white. Bitter/sweet. Easy/hard. Empty/Full.

I'm on a swing. A see saw. A rollercoaster that ends up in the lake. A contaminated one.

Just so you know.

camp letters

Dara & I did manage to get along, but only if there was a wide gulf between us. Like an ocean, maybe. In this case, I was in Glen Rose. Not too far from home, but far enough.

More spoiling from my loving mother

all I had to say involved conspiracies. I was only 11. Sad, I know.

comforting words from my mother. I breathed a sigh of relief when I received this. But it was too late, we had all thrown away our toothpaste at camp.

more from my scrapbook

there has never been a child on this earth more afraid of shots than me. And to think I endured a lumbar puncture!

Now you know. Perhaps I should sell this design to PETA.

One of my attempts at a greeting card. The bug is made out of beans, glued on. I still think it would have sold well.

Now this was quite a discovery today. My dad's mom. She's dead. Never really knew her that well, she was quiet and all she ever talked about was her neighbors, her job, and her plants. So to see that she wrote me this was a surprise. She was a sweet woman. She wrote this when I was just a kid, and I guess it meant nothing to me, because I didn't even know it existed. But today as I read it, my eyes welled up with tears. It speaks to me now.

Does anyone remember The Magic Turtle? A really cool theater in the Oak Lawn area in the 70's? There was this man in a turtle costume, he was like the host, and they put on all different kinds of plays for kids there. It was a real treat to go to the shows. I thought this poster was cool.

The way me & my dad have always communicated is funny. Never have we connected for real. It's just lighthearted silly stuff. That, or we talk about the dogs, or fun camping memories, or dinner. We don't go deep. So, over the years, if I got a card from him, it was never "to Daughter". It was always "to my niece" or "to a good uncle" or "Hello, Grandfather!"

So I followed his lead and all my cards to him are a joke as well. Hey, it's better than nothing. This is from 88 I think?

My mother's many attempts at encouraging me. She always tried to connect with me, wherever I was at in life.

This is a cartoon she drew one time when I was bawling about my living situation in my early marriage, having to live at the grandmother's house. My mom said I coped in these 2 ways: either freaking out, or stuffing it in. I didn't get what she was saying, so she drew this for me. Then she said there is a better way to cope, she talked about working through things and moving forward. Yeah I got a cool mom.

My senior year I failed math. Shouldn't have graduated. But my math teacher saved my butt by calling my parents and forcing me to figure out the lessons. I still failed, but, mysteriously, my report card said 70 on it. I know for a fact I did not make a 70. So I wrote this after I graduated & sent it to him. My mom saved this, I guess it was the rough draft or something. Honestly. Have I had it hard, or easy? I can't figure it out.

postcards from Uncle Mike

This is my mother's older brother, Mike. He never stayed put in one place. We received lots of interesting things in the mail from him, including Arab head things and batiks from India. He spoke several different languages including fluent German, which I tried very hard to learn but am unable to make my mouth create such bizarre sounds. Here's some of the postcards we received from him, over the years. I'm too lazy to put them in the right order though.

Mike died in '99, I think it was? And my sister Val hacked his email and sent this out to all his friends.

Mike had a whole bunch of people who loved him.

He made this collage of himself & sent it to me. Knowing that I have relatives that are stranger than me makes me feel so much better. I love you, Uncle Mike!

driving, getting rid of things, and I scanned a sheep.

I did it. Got a trash bag, put all the drawings from my childhood in, squirted ketchup all over them, then some water (to insure mold production), tied it up and threw it in the dumpster.

What a glorious feeling to throw things away. Especially things that have been saved for so long. You should really try it. Once you start, you won't go back to holding on to things. Anyway I think my mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I just did. At least I scanned & saved some first. (the ones I put on here.) Now I'm looking at the box that has my school yearbooks in it.

Oh, you're wondering why I'm 37 and keep mentioning my mom? Cause I had to come live with her when I got punched in the head by west nile, back in December. Had no idea what was wrong with me. MRI's showed marks on my brain, and I was having seizures in my sleep. Memory was non-existent and I couldn't hardly finish a sentence without a long pause in the middle. So my kid went to live with her dad, I had to let my apartment and my job go, and I came out here. Finally, months later, a lumbar puncture was ordered because they thought it might be MS. Well guess what. It was west nile. I know. I was shocked and so was everyone I know. It's gone now, all I have now are the antibodies.

So now, I need to get used to driving again. Some friends have been keeping my car at their house, they use it occasionally, which is good. On Oct 2 I get the results back on my last MRI. If the coast is clear, I'm good to go. This means employment and eventually, my own place once more. I have been on my own for so long, and it was quite a culture shock to have to come here and be dependent on another person. But I'm thankful. It's been good. And I'm all better. What more could I ask for?

I already decided where to work, there's a mall not too far from here. And as far as apartments go, I got my eye on Carrollton. Both my sisters live over that way, and both are spawning, and need my help. Or so I like to think. Since my kid is with her dad, I can get something tiny. There's one bedroom studios for $500/month! And they're cute! This is less than what I was paying at the little grungy place I had in Red Oak. You know, where I buried my dog out back, cause I could. Actually I got a neighbor to do it. This is also the place where I am 100% positive I got the west nile. But that's another story. Another blog entirely.

This morning I was reading my Bible, in Matthew.

For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost.

What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying?

And if it turns out that he finds it, truly I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine which have not gone astray.

Matt. 18:11~13

The other night when Leah & Ali & I sat at Starbucks and I showed them what was in my change purse (I refuse to carry a normal purse, for a variety of reasons), one of the things they laughed at was the fact that I had this little tiny sheep in there. I put it on the table and they were like, "what?" I just laughed. Too long of a story.

The truth is, it's a sign for somebody. I keep it on me, because you never know when you might run into someone. But, this person has moved, so chances are slim I'll ever see him again. That, and the fact I was hostile to him recently. Between these 2 factors, this little sheep will never reach it's destination. Therefore, it has been scanned in and posted on a blog. Said recepient may or may not see this, but if he does, I'll explain:

You know you never saw me without there being something in my pocket for you, right? Well, the last time we talked in person, you remember that day? We stood by the door. When you left, I turned around and straightened the shelves. There, on the shelf, directly behind where I stood, was this little sheep.

Immediately the verse above came to mind.

Not only as a sign that His will was carried out, and that you were greatly cherished in His sight, and greatly missed~ BUT~ that you too have a calling. Remember what I told you? Think sheep?

Smiling? I sure hope so.

Laughing at me? Highly likely. I never meant for any of that to happen. I had no idea that God would hijack our communications like He did.

That's all I know, for now.

childhood drawings #7

lists, lists, and more lists... I would write down songs, turn on the radio, and draw. Each time the song came on, it got checked. Is this ok? Actually, come to think of it, I also did the same thing with my fish. There was a big aquarium in my room, and a really cool big rock in there, it had a hole in the middle. I would write down all the fish names, then each time they swam through the hole, they got a check. Another list was made for cars, they got checked when I saw them drive by. I was a desperate, desperate child. My little mind needed just a bit more than what it received, thus, my own invented world.

My grandfather had some property in Kaufman, and they had a small "lake" made. Hired bulldozers & fish-stockers & everything, and it became the family campground that was close to home. One time the lake overflowed, so they created a spillway. This led to my father's invention of the Spillway Monster, and we heard all about it around the campfire at night. I was terrified, as usual.

Full of vile intentions, but never saw any of them into fruition.

Not only did I write extra sentences, but there is a story written on the back. I was also told by my teacher to "stop writing in curly letters."

This hurts me way more than it hurts you, Dara....

...enforcing the principles of Tough Love at an early age. I stood my ground. All she wanted was a piece of gum and I knew it.

Worm Island, destination of many treasure seekers and pirates worldwide.

Promptly drew this the second my dad came into my room and gave me a plastic engineer's stencil. The shapes you could make from it were endless.

I never got cool enough to have any of these cars. In high school I had to drive whatever clunker my dad would get out of the Auto Trader. I started out in a '76 Buick Regal, I called it The Boat. Long and blue, with a white top. It smoked when you started it and it could fit maybe 200 friends. Second car was a '78 Malibu. My dad said he'd pay for a new paint job. I took it up to English Color in Duncanville and had it done in bright Metallic blue. Anyway, cars and me just don't work. It's just too much. I want a horse.