the love of my life


As I drove to the Dollar General this morning, I though how fortunate I am to live in this beautiful place. I rolled down my window and took in the cool, country, air. I got lost in thought of things past…of him. I remembered happy times, when we’d gone down the same road to town, together, listening to music and laughing. The morning sun blessed the fields and pastures with its golden glow. Everything my eyes fell upon could have been a painting.

In spite of the bucolic paradise that is Mayberry, I still miss my desert. The Chihuahuan Desert is the most beautiful place on earth, to me. The sun is so large that it absolutely commands the sky. When morning rays meet the desert floor there is an explosion of beauty beyond compare. The shadows on the mountains come to life…showing themselves, slowly as sun rises, daring mere humans to come see what they hide. Birds of prey begin their hunt early, as the rabbits and critters come our to feed on the greasewood bushes and the like. Soon after, the buzzards begin to search for the leftover handiwork of the things that kill in the night. There is a stillness there that I never felt before, or since.

In the desert, you are a guest, to be sure. There is not one living thing that welcomes  the human to be part of its life. It is a hostile enviromnent that lets us know, in no uncertain terms, that we do not belong there, nor are we particularly wanted. If one is to master the desert, you must understand that. And you must be both fearless and humble, because both are required each and every day in order to live there. All in all, I’ve never felt more human than I did during the time I spent growing up there. The Chihuahuan Desert saved me in many ways. I may never make it back out there, but I will remember it every day, because I owe a debt of gratitude to that place that can never be repaid. If I ever truly loved anything other than my boys, it is that desert.

tie your mother down. well, mine, anyway

I’m going to buy a nice little travel trailer for my son and his gf to live in up here. We’ll share the house, too, but I’d like them to be self contained. When Exish and I were young, his did had a travel trailer that he used as a guest room. It was so romantic. I loved it. The meth heads stole it a few years ago. We found out from Google Earth of all things.

I think a travel trailer would be a nice little love nest and a great environment for him to continue to pare down his intoxicant intake. In the last five to six years, he’s stopped hard drugs, finally quit pot, moved to only drinking, something h


appened earlier in the week that has him off hard liquor, now he’s down to beer only. He has a case of arrested development that is typical for people who started drinking and drugging early in life, but he’s making progress. He’s accepting his responsibility for the first time and even making amends and acknowledging the damage he did to the family. I never thought these days would come. It’s like a miracle to me, though it happens millions of times over, all over the world, as people who are sick from dope and booze and life, open their eyes for the first time and realize that life is not only about them. It’s a beautiful thing. It’s as though they are being born again, seeing the world through new eyes. For many, it’s too much, and they go back to what they know. You just can’t fight dope for them, though. It always wins. But, when they’re done with it, and they are ready to live again…oh, my God…there is nothing more amazingly beautiful. They are like babies again. New. Brand new. I love that.

I told my mother what I’d decided. For one thing, I wouldn’t be tied down here and could help her during busy times at the shop. She took that to mean that, if having Jay up here was a failure, and she was certain it would be, that I’d blame her. Holy fucking shit! I lost it. Totally. I told her to get back to me when she could name ONE thing I EVER blamed her for. One. And she knew what I meant by that. Because she dumped my infant ass with people she actually hated because of the abuse she suffered at their hands as a child. So that’s who she leaves me with? Great idea, Mom!

After Mother and I reconciled, when I was 19 or 20, I quickly realized she was too emotionally fragile to accept responsibility for her actions. So, I led the way in blaming the people she already hated and deflecting all negatives from her to them. I figured I could bear the pain of it all better than she could. At the time, I was right. But, over the years, the things that were meant to deflect responsibility have become truths to her. That’s fine with me. But she is actually the one who bears the brunt of the responsibility for leaving me in their hands. She left me over and over, because she was still part of the family and I had to call her my sister. My own fucking mother. I called her Lil Sister. How fucked up is that? It would have been so much easier had she parted company with the family, because every time she’d leave I’d wonder why she never took me with her. Till one day, she came over during one of Dad and Grandmother’s huge fights. He was so angry that he was even throwing my things out in the back yard. He never did that. Grandmother was throwing the good china at the wall and breaking it. I was trying to stay out of the way. I think I’m was about four, maybe three, then. I know that I was small enough that I had to stand on my tippy toes to watch my mother leave. She literally walked in, saw the fight and walked back out. So, I ran to the entry way window and watched on my tippy toes as she got into the car with her newest husband. There was something about that car door closing that closed something in me. I knew, from that point on, that she would never claim me. I was no longer her daughter after that day. Done deal.

Even now, I hear that door slam clear as a bell. I feel the let down followed by the feeling of a heart that began to harden. I watched the car as long as I could, before it disappeared around the corner, then I went back into the fray, begging Dad to kill Grandmother and staying out of the way. I never told Mom that story. I never told her anything. Once we reconciled, I let her think that she may as well have dropped me off at Disneyland, because I was so happy and things were so nice.

I had to stop working two years ago, almost. Nerve damage and such prevents me from doing certain things. Fibromyalgia is what doc calls it, but it’s a bucket term for symptoms they can’t seem to fix. In any case, it wears on me that my mother is still working. I thought that, if Jay were here, I could be free to help her out during busy times at the shop. Yes, it hurts like a motherfucker to hold the clippers, but now and then I could manage it. And I could go down and help with my dad and clean house for her…just do things I can to make life a little easier for her. That’s honestly all that is in my heart. I never once thought that I could use that to blame her if things went South where Jay is concerned. I let him know I can’t afford their upkeep, but I could get them something they’d like to live it. It’s just simple shit. And, I do need help with this place. I live on four acres. Plus, the land out back needs to be tended to. Poachers are a problem and things like that. The road needs to be kept cleared…there are a million things he could help out with. We have a huge shop that they could put a pool table in or anything they wanted. He could play his guitar as loud as he’d like with nobody to complain. Lots of upside. The only downside would be if he refused to work. But he’s changed a lot where that’s concerned and is eager to follow in his father’s footsteps. That has become very important to him. He wants to be a turnaround hand, so he’d be working long hard, very well paid, hours during certain times of the year, then have lots of time off to enjoy life. Plus, I’d have a friend here. I love his gf. She’s ten years his senior and is a great gal who has been through some very deep shit in her day. She’s ready to settle down and has already done so. But, if it goes South, they will have to leave. I’m not buying groceries or cigs for them. I’m just giving them a fresh start that will also help me. But my mother doesn’t figure into this in any way.

She really hurt my feelings today. One thing people can’t say about me is that I don’t take responsibility for my own actions. I do. And always have. I spend a lot of time cleaning up other people’s messes for them…old habits die hard. But I don’t ever blame anyone else for my life. Even if they fucking deserve it. I believe things happen for a reason, so my lot in life, however it came about, is mine. I’ll take that. I’ll own whatever comes of it. Because I’m not afraid to be wrong or puffed up and proud when I’m right. I’m right in the middle, where I should be. So she can fucking suck it. And that’s all I can say about that.

This, That, The Other…

Today is a lonely day, for some reason. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t sleep last night. Though it took some doing, I finally got my pain med that I’ve been needing. I felt too good to sleep, really

Last night, I started a YouTube channel. It’s about weight loss and related issues. I’m not sure if it’s gonna fly, but I’m going to keep on doing it to motivate myself. When I looked at channels with the same key words, there were lots of motivational speakers and doctors and snake oil salesmen already there to attend to anyone on a diet, so I’m not sure that I can add anything to the subject. Still, it was sort of cathartic to show my face and some of my tattoos and not be in any fear over it. I hadn’t realized how long a shadow my stalker, Kyle, had cast until recently. I’ve been so afraid to put any image that could be easily used as an identifier on the web that I have probably only posted two truly recognizable images of myself in…ten years? Even though I won, in the end, I don’t need another Kyle in my life. But the odds are in my favor that I’ll never have another, thankfully. And, if I ever did, I’d take care of it much quicker this time. Four years is a long time to live with that type of fear. And it’s a long time to have to put up a brave front against such a formidable opponent.

My cat, Chubby, aka Lil Bastard, has lost his damn mind. He is a constant source of irritation to my 19 year old calico, Cocoa. His bullying of her has moved on to flat-out attacks. He’s drawn blood more than once now. All Cocoa does is sleep. Back in her day, she’d have put a serious hurt on Lil Bastard, but she’s simply not up to it these days. This morning, I hear her yowling from the kitchen. Lil B was so involved in his attack that he didn’t even realize I was coming, even though I was yelling for him to stop. I grabbed him and tossed him in the bathroom and slammed the door. He promptly began to throw himself against the door and was making this guttural, and very loud, sound. It was actually quite frightening. I let a good hour pass before I even checked on him, for fear that he’d be ready to pounce if I cracked the door open. When I was satisfied that he had calmed down, I went in and he was sound asleep on some clothes in the hamper. Sweet as can be…purring and happy. Since his release, he’s been a good boy and has left Cocoa alone. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with him. I don’t believe in having cats declawed, but even if I did, you can’t have their teeth removed, and that’s his go-to thing. And, when he bites, he really bites. If an animal is just bad, you can train it out of them. But, if they’re naturally aggressive, there’s nothing you can do about it.  I just hope he changes his ways before he gets much bigger, or he’s gonna have to nite nite outside with the coyotes and wolves, that’s all I know.

Well, time to go check the mail. It’s 104 outside today. I’m so glad I don’t have to work out in that mess!

meaningless word vomit

The sun is bright today, and it’s very quiet out here in the countryside. Exish is working around the property, doing this and that. The girls, (Pepper and Jez, his dogs), are running around, right behind him, and the cats are inside with me. I’m listening to Guns N Roses through my earphones…very low volume…just so I can hear enough to sing along.

Exish was asleep on the couch when I woke up this morning. I sat in my chair and watched him sleep for the longest time. His face looks nothing like the boy I married. It’s weathered and hard looking now. His body, broken down after thirty years in the oilfield. I love his hands. They are rough and calloused…the hands of a hard working man. As I watch him, I’m taken with love and desire and pain…so much pain. I reached over and brushed the hair from his eyes and watched him a bit longer before waking him. When I did, I acted as though I had just gotten out of bed. Can’t let the wolf know what the lamb has been up to…

I ‘met’ a man online yesterday. His messages were frightening. I could see that his words were carefully chosen and meant to leave an impact. They did. I liked it. Because I can be frightening, as well. And, I was. I can’t help but laugh as I think about it. When engaging someone in a conversation geared specifically to cause intimidation and fear, never underestimate who you are…engaging. I learned the art of creating fear from my stalker, M, many years ago. I endured four long years of it. But he never once knew how afraid I was of him. In the end, he was the one afraid of me. Suffice to say that I don’t do ‘victim’ very well, and I’m exceedingly patient when I need to be. If you’re going to fuck with my life, you’d best not slip up, even once. If you do, I’ve got you. Game over. For M, it took four years. He was very good at what he did. Top of his game. But even the best can falter. Lucky for me. VERY unlucky for M. lol!

In any case, this man wants to meet. Admittedly, I was somewhat taken by his demented and twisted manner of chatting online. However, after talking to him by phone, I find him rather irritating. As it turns out, he is a very ‘safe’ person. I do appreciate that in a man. It’s a great quality. But in contrast to who he presented himself as, ‘safe’ was a huge letdown. He reminded me of a hall monitor…somewhat of a tattle-tale. You know? I expected to hear something else in his voice when he answered. Instead, he sounded fearful. It made me feel bad. I coddled him for a bit to reassure him that I wasn’t scary and I knew he wasn’t, either, etc. Out of nowhere, he began to swear that he’d never stalk me, or otherwise insert himself into my life uninvited. He said he had no desire to have the sheriff show up at his door, cops all over the yard in front of the neighbors. WHAT??? It was as though he had actually experienced the situation. THAT was a type of creepy that I could not top, nor did I have a desire to. I explained that he would never have the opportunity to force himself into my life, anyway, because ol Margaret, (my trusty pistola), was always on duty. lol! Shit! What is wrong with people??? “Why, yes, I’d love to meet, date…make love to you. But, when it’s over, I may have to kill you.” Again…SHIT!

Yeah…I’m at a low point. Seems like I’m not doing much of a job at picking myself up, either. It’s pathetic. I hate myself for it, but I’m feeling really low on strength, emotionally and physically. I just can’t seem to get it together. And I’m 48 years old. That’s pretty fucking old to be such a hot mess. My diet has gone to Hell in a handbasket since Exish has been home. Even when we get along, I’m nervous all the time when I’m around him and eat a lot more. My hair is falling out again and I just feel bad. I finished off another bottle of whiskey. I’ve been living here since the middle of April. Since then, I’ve consumed more booze than I have in the last ten years, altogether. Granted, that wasn’t a huge amount, anyway, (I stay on top of my drinking issues), but it’s too much for me. I have to nip this in the bud. I can’t go out like that. It’s so typical of someone in my gene pool. I come from a long line of highly functional alcoholics. And, like I said in a previous post, I seem to have managed to pass those genes on to my youngest son. So, there is no way I can drop the ball on this one. How can I help him if he knows that I’m a drunk, too?

Exish and I are going to move furniture around today. It’s time to get things settled a bit more…decorate…nest. I actually love this little house. It feels like an apartment, which I LOVE, and has a decent layout. It’s perfect for one person, great for two. I’d like to redo the bathroom some time in the near future. I want a huge soaking tub. The way the plumbing is situated, it would be just a cosmetic redo, so it wouldn’t be too hard on the budget. But it’s okay the way it is. I should just be happy with that. I never feel settled. I’m always thinking things could be better. In all fairness, I have had to move from a giant house into a one bedroom loft, basically. I think I deserve just one perk…Right?  🙂

I just wish I had a real partner in life. A man who has never hurt me, and never would. I’m not one of those people who gets stuck on how ‘hurt’ they are or have been. But I don’t like living with the memories. I don’t like that the lies and betrayal changed me. Yet, I can’t change back. I don’t even remember what I was like before. Not really. I know there were years, when the boys were little, that I was as happy as I’ve ever been. I kept a beautiful home, had lots of friends and family over all the time, had amazing parties. My children were happy and our house was always buzzing with the sound of children playing. It was just so…fun. And meaningful. Traditional. Loving. Those are things I barely relate to anymore. I feel so uncertain of where I should go from here.

Well, I should get going. I’ve rambled on about myself long enough…saying a whole lot about nothing.

This, That, & Whathavya

It’s a beautiful, sunny, day here. Summer’s well on its way…it’s getting hotter. I feel so isolated, even though the main road is only a hundred yards away. The dogs bark at the little critters that run through the tall grass. When it gets too loud, I take the gun and investigate. I shoot a few rounds in the general direction of the dogs’ focus, then come back inside to my beloved silence.

My little hacienda is unkempt. Although we moved nearly two months ago, the furniture is not where I want it. Bags of clothes line half a wall, waiting to be sorted. I must admit to feeling comfortable in the clutter. Perfect things make me nervous. But, I promised myself that I’d put things in place, and that is what I’m going to do.

I’d love to go for a drive today, but something holds me inside. Something always seems to hold me inside. On this property, I have nothing to fear. As long as I have my pistol, I remain at the top of the food chain, no matter how far I venture into the woods. Even so…I’ll sit this one out.

20150606_215533 (2)

(The murderess is on the left…with my cardinal in her mouth).

There was a fat little cardinal that lived in the tree by the big front windows. I began to notice him a few days after we moved in. He’d look into the window every day, to see what he could, I suppose. Then, he’d hop around on the ground and, each time he hopped, he’d make the sweetest lil ‘peep’. Evening before last, I realized that I hadn’t seen the little fella since early that day. I paid no mind, thinking that the heat was getting to him and he was simply staying in his tree. Sadly, I was mistaken. I had to run to town yesterday and, when I got home, Pepper, one of the dogs, proudly brought the cardinal over and laid him at my feet. Poor baby…I wanted to cry, but she was only doing what animals do. Adios, cardinal…

I find myself counting the days until Exish comes back from the job. The thought of being here alone with him unnerves me. Even as I think about it, I feel anxious and afraid. I don’t fear him, physically. That’s not it at all. He takes something from me that’s more intangible, and actually much more important to me, than my physical well being. He takes my peace. I feel forced into one mind game after another, as he wears me down. He has perfected the formula over these many years. I, on the other hand, am like one of those puppies who just never can seem to learn. Pop me on the nose, and, five minutes later, I’ve already forgotten and am back for more.

I’ve left a profile on a dating site. I enjoy talking to men. They have always shown themselves to be much better friends to me than the women I’ve known, except for my mother, of course. Now and then, I get a message and have a nice chat with someone. Most end in the same way when I explain that I live with Exish. Who can blame anyone for not wanting to involve themselves in such an odd situation?

When it comes to Exish, as I’ve said before, he and I are like family. I don’t think you every really unattach from someone with whom you’ve been for a total of 32 years. Even though we’ve had separate bedrooms for the last four…closer to five…years, he still sees us as a married couple. I do not. I haven’t see us in that light since he told me he was in love with some woman on the job about eight years ago. That was actually fairly funny…but it’s a story for another day. In any case, no man who loves his wife would come home from work, tell her to pack and leave because he is in love with another woman. Shockingly, it still took almost four more years for me to make my exit.

Since I moved back home, I just never considered trying to reconcile as husband and wife. I don’t see Exish in that light. Not in any way. This offends his ego, and he insists that I am still his wife, as though I’m property and have no say in my own life. Until now, it’s been easy enough to go along with that. It’s almost a game between us. I say we’re separated, he says we’re married…on and on it goes.

Sometimes, I look at him and wonder what it must be like to be so sure of oneself that you can tell someone, basically, that you own them. What causes someone to have that sense of power? When I look at him, I see that he’s a broken man, physically. And I see that he’s an addict. His words, almost always negative, ring in my ears like the roar of loud thunder. They don’t really speak to me, but the sound…it tells me all I need to know. And I don’t want that. I want to be able to talk to someone and have them talk back to me. Exish will actually put up his hand to let me know to be quiet. Who in Holy Hell does he think he is?

Well, this post has certainly spiraled downward. I need to stop typing, anyway. My hands, which have taken to random, uncontrollable shaking, have had enough. Fingers are getting too stubborn to listen and do as they’re told. It’s taken well over an hour to write this. I don’t know how I expect to finish my book/s. But I will. I promise you that much. I will. Because, at the end of the day, I am one stubborn and determined female. That’s why. lol! I think I may put a post up one day that has no ‘back’ button in it. I don’t know if it will be readable. It even surprises me what comes through these hands. Good grief…



slumber escapes my tired mind

how it longs to replenish itself in the still of the night

only in dreams to occupy thought

and, even then, only if it so chooses

perhaps the bucolic solitude is too much for me

the peace, too foreign

no refineries roaring in the background

no sirens from the fire station a block over

no static anxiety from the collective masses

maybe i, alone, am the problem

possibly, in some wee tiny way i fear what may lie beyond the glow of the porch light

the monsters and the legends

wolves and coyotes

craven wildcats waiting to pounce

the son of Pillow Face, himself, waiting to drag me off into the woods

and make me his bloody bride forever and always

or…it is entirely possible…that





Words Flow, Hearts Flutter


the screen shines brightly

and, there, i find him

a man

he’s dreamy and sweet

kind and good

his heart beats with the love of tradition



words on a screen

explain to me this man

whom i do not know

never intend to meet

because a man like him

well, he deserves someone special

someone shiny and happy and trusting

someone who will take his breath away

but when we chat

i feel something

something lost along the way

found again, new

and…and i wish i knew

how to be that shiny happy beautiful thing

that he so richly deserves

but that’s just not me


Feelin Quite Dixie Today

reb2I don’t know what it is about today, but I’ve just been feeling extremely Southern. I feel blessed to be from Texas, the very heart of Dixie as far as I’m concerned. Oh, Hell…as far as I’m concerned, Texas is the heart of everything.

Being a Southern woman means a lot of things. To me, it means that you face adversity with grace and determination. It means that hearth and home are Priority 1, and that you realize that true feminism is not found in some convoluted political agenda. Southern women never needed a Gloria Steinam to tell us who we were…are…will be. Feminine strength is in our DNA.

When Lincoln unleashed Hell on the South, he promoted Total War philosophy. His henchmen…or, troops, if you want to give them that credit, laid waste to everything they could. They raped the women, burned the fields and houses. They were pillagers, not soldiers. There was no honor in what they did. When they finally left, our ancestors were lucky to have a scrap left to eat. That’s why certain foods, like black eyed peas, are eaten on New Years Day in the South. They are considered good luck, because that’s all the Union Huns would leave behind. Things we fed pigs. I, for one, refuse to eat those things. I honor the suffering of my Confederate ancestors in my own way, thank you very much.

As I look out of the window, I see land that was settled way back when…well…you staked your claim and called it a day, basically. It’s been in Exish’s family since long before the War of Northern Agression and, when the time came, many of the men volunteered to fight for the Confederacy. A few of them are buried in the cemetary just down the road. I pass the cemetary every time I go to town and, each time, I am reminded of the blood shed to fight for the simple right of soverenty. The right for each state to determine what is right and wrong within its own borders. It was a simple as that.

I am so tired of the Lincoln myth. He is regailed and the Great Emancipator. He should be remembered as the tyrant he was. Mentally ill, by many accounts. He disregarded the U.S. Constitution as often as Obama does. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves as a strategic measure of war. Peroid. He had no love for the slaves. Many times he was quoted as saying they were not like other humans. Furthermore, at the time he freed the slaves, they were mostly free, anyway. We were getting the Cotton Gin and slaves were no longer needed.

When I hear black people going on and on about what they’re owed for the work their ancestors did, they should consider the fact that not all white Southerners owned slaves. Owning a slave was an expensive proposition. You had to keep them strong in order for them to be healthy enough to work. That is not to say they were coddled, and it’s true that their living conditions weren’t ideal. But I will say that they fared much better than most white sharecroppers of the day. At least slaves were guaranteed room and board.

In any case, if blacks want money for work they are separated from by generations, I’d like to suggest that I, too, would like to benefit from the work my white forefathers did to build this country. And, per my ancestors who owned slaves, I think it only fair that the receipients of reparations reimburse me, and other whites, for the cost of upkeep on their ancestors. Note: MANY Southern whites would end up getting two checks, should that occur, since so many of us are decendents of slaves. Put that in your lil hat, Al Sharpton. According to the One Drop Rule, I’m as black as they get. So….suck on that!

And, for people who think that slavery was exclusive to the South, think again. There were as many in the north. Oh, and, by the way, here is Anthony Johnson, the first legal slave owner in the good ol U.S.A.


Mr. Johnson first arrived here as an indentured servant, much like many of the ancestors of whites in this country. Unlike most, he did eventually come to purchas human beings legally and use them as slaves. And that pretty much sums it up.

Ahhh…I think I’ve gotten enough off my chest for one day. No, I’m not a historian, nor do I care to be. But there is some downright bullshit going on in this country and so many fingers pointed towards whites as the problem. Slavery is cited, on a near daily basis, as the cause of blacks rioting in the street. We are all racists and bigots and nothing we can say or do, if one cares enought to try, (which I do not), will make anyone of any color feel differently. The white male has been targeted specifically for decades now. The list goes on. If it keeps up, whites will have as many grievences as blacks and maybe we’ll decide to go buck wild. Who knows? Ironically, if that were to happen, it would be at the pleasure of the Great Taupe Hope, who sits in the White House, pretending to be President.

Lawdy, Lawdy…what we gonna do ’bout this mess?