Had a bad dream last night - need to process. Mostly it was C and I screaming at each other, mostly about money. things are so tight right now I feel like screaming for real. In the dream C was telling me that we need to just go get a personal accountant to take care of things, I was telling her we couldn't afford it. Then she 'reminded' me that I was getting closer to 40, when I needed to have a job where I could stay home with the kids all day. I lost it. I tried telling her that I needed to see someone with that kind of job arrangement so I could emulate it - I was willing if I could just see it. I would do whatever, but I was trying to get across to her that she had unrealistic expectations. Of course, all the while, yelling at the top of my lungs. While I was "explaining" my position, she just turned and walked away.

It didn;t help, that the first thing she asked me after we both woke up was "So can I still not go shopping for School supplies today?" I didn't yell, but I have been a bit cranky this morning.

The dream really hits on my feeling inadequate - esp. when supporting my family. I work hard at a job I enjoy, but I just don't make enough money. We could LIVE on what I make, but not where we are now. We would have to discharge all of our debts except the house in order to make it. C probably won't be able to work much longer, and then it'll all be on me.

No pressure, or anything.

P.T. test today
PU 47
SU 29
2MI 19:18
fuck.

Feeling a real need to write tonight, but I don't know about what. C is on the phone with her mom, having a hard time, and doesn't want me near. She. . . I dunno, she something.

Been talking w/Loki (who is going through shit) and Ti (who seems to be ok) and biding my time, waiting to be needed - no, WANTING to be needed, but Cyn is in this superwoman mode, wanting to 'take care of her own needs' like a marriage isn't a partnership. I understand wanting to be strong, but she won't ever be, not as sick as she is. Then again,I can't do her life for her. She has to go to work, has to do church, thinks she has to put on for the world. I could help more, I guess, but then I don't have time to read, time to write, then I go slowly mad and curl up in my comfy little shell and start dying again.

Wow, that sounds so cheery! Of course, most of my thoughts these days ARE doom and gloom, waiting to screw up for the last time, waiting to be asked to leave, wi\aiting for C to do something drastic. I'm hoping she won't, but I get afraid she may-being in as much pain, and as much pain, as she is.

I worry. I'm good at it.

A long time ago C asked me what sign I was. I told her:
"Scorpio."
"Aha" she said.
"What does that mean?"
"What? Aha, or that you're a Scorpio?"
"Both"
"'Aha' means that I wasn't sure. That you're a Scorpio is interesting."
"How so?"
"Well, from a Scorpio's point of view, there are three important things: Sex, Death and religion, and not necessarily in that order."
I thought for a moment and let it sink in. "Well, what else is there?"
She laughed for a long time.


To this day, I don't now why.

Wimped out today. Mom called to wish B a happy birthday,and I didn't tell her to fuck off. I FELT like it, but I didn't. I did tell her that the prosecutor had denied my case, so once again the bastards get away with it. But, I told her I expect her to keep a close eye on the kids. Maybe it's better this way, rather than just cutting her off.

Cyn still thinks I'm mad (or should be) at her. What makes me mad is her trying to decide what my emotions are, and telling me I'm not facing things if I don't appear to agree. So, do I continue to communicate MY thoughts, or do I go back to letting her put emotions in my head?

I think I need to write more. My days don't seem as foggy as they have this past week.

Thought for the day
*****************
From 'Wild At Heart by John Eldridge

Now you must understand: Forgiveness is a choice. It is not a feeling, but an act of the will. As Neil Anderson has written, "Don't wait to forgive until you feel like forgiving; you will never get there. Feelings take time to heal after the choice to forgive is made." We allow God to bring the hurt up from our past, for "if your forgiveness doesn't visit the emotional core of your life, it will be incomplete." We acknowledge that it hurt, that it mattered, and we choose to extend forgiveness (to the one who hurt us). This is not saying, "I probably deserved part of it anyway." Forgiveness says, "It was wrong, it mattered, and I release you."

**************************
Ok, I get it. ouch.

All right, I know why I was so crabby today. Well, partly. The heat today was fierce, it's still over 100 at almost 11pm, but that only exacerbated the crankiness. The little detour on the way home from Betsy and Andy's may have been a bit out of the way, but it was right on the map. ; )

******in the morning, after some sleep (shut up, loki!)*********

Feeling a bit displaced today. I wanted to build a case for our massive cd collection, but the first thing C says is, "If it's ugly can I say no?" What the hell am I supposed to say? "No, you can't refuse. I'm building this damn thing to correct an organization problem, and I want to do it. If you hate it, tough shit, it's my house, too." I feel no sense of ownership, no power to make decisions around here. Then she wants to know why I don't ever decorate, or unpack, or do serious cleaning. arrrg. I just wish she'd trust me to do something that won't suck. Now I don't even feel like doing it at all. The cd cases we have are not very well organized, she wants to put them on the wall. When I start to discuss the merits of a tower case (that's mobile) versus screwing things into the wall, she tells me she has a headache and really can't concentrate on planning. I'm sure she does have a headache, leftovers from thursday's migrane, but I always seem to pick migrane days to try to discuss things like this. I wonder what would happen if I just said what the hell and did it? Without permission? Ooh, the shivers!

The real hell of it is, I was nervous before I approached the topic, wanting to do it so she'd agree with me. Maybe I need to learn to compromise. . . but damnit, I want to be right, completely right, just once!

ok, I'm going to bed. If I write any more . . . well, I don't know what I'll do, OK?!?

...and speaking of pissing off parents, (or getting pissed on by said) I got a *wonderful* email from Dad today. (feel the sarcasm? Hmm?) He sends me this pious little poem, supposedly written in first person, about a little girl that is being abused, thinking she was bad and deserves it. I'm sure the person who penned it has never even been within striking distance of that kind of abuse - I know I would gouge out my fingers before I ever wrote something so sappy and trite about my experiences. I didn't feel her 'pain', I felt like retching. I wonder if I should tell Dad what happened to me when he decided it would "be easier for everyone" (his words) if he just left. He was a Marine, I wonder if he can "handle the truth"? Hmmm . . .

No wonder my life is so screwed.

I just re-read my previous entry. Why do I let my mouth (in this case fingers) go so off? I wish I could express my frustration without resorting to profanity, but sometimes it is the only thing that fits. But if I say 'fuck' to mom, she'll probably have a heart attack.

Lord, forgive the way I vent my frustration. I know feeling frustrated is not wrong, but what I do with it demonstrates my current relationship with You. Right now, I feel like everyone around is having dinner with You, and I'm the mutt under the table sniffing for crumbs. Forgive my unbelief - not believing that You DO have a purpose for all this, not wanting to get far enough out of my own head to see what that might be. I know you didn't make it happen, my abuse was the result of someone elses' sinful actions, but I am still stuck with the pain. Is it wrong to wish some Earthly consequenses onthem? Kind of a taste of the eternal ones waiting? Forgive my uncharity, at this point I'll be really upset if I see them in Heaven. Turn this wicked crap (I have no other word for it) into fertilizer. Grow . . . Ahh, I don't know. Grow something so beautiful that people won't believe what kind of shit it's grown in. Thakn You that I can be honest with You - bone-baring, gut-wrenching honest. If my language offends, I'm sorry. Help me to develop a new grammer to fit the new creation You're making with me.

I saw a bumper sticker that offended me today. It said "If it ain't King James, It ain't a BIBLE!" I just have to wonder what these kind of people think when the either slap this sticker on their truck (yes, it was a truck) or even THINK to produce such a thing. After all, do they really believe that God speaks King James English? Well, if you read certain famous fiction writers in the Christian world, it must be so. Not only God, but any Prophet so annointed, even! When I get to Heaven, will God look at me and say, "Well Done, thou good and faithful servant"? Naw, I rather think He'll say something like, "Hey guy, ya done good. Have a seat." To a good ole southern boy He might say "Y'all come on ovah heah and set you down a spell. Been workin' a mite hard ain't ya?". To the Bud guys, He'll just scream "WAZZUUUUP!"

After all, there ARE other translations of the Bible, Earlier ones, better ones. Tyndale was jailed (and killed) for his work 80n years before ol King Jimmy decided he wanted to put his name on something for posterity. And Tyndale's labor was for love of the scripture, not for fame. Fr. Valera translated from greek into Spanish even before Tyndale did English! Why does 1611 remain the acme of Bible translation? *I* don't speak KJ, and when anyone comes at me talking like Shakespere in church, I start looking for the hand riffling through my wallet. I just can't seem to trust someone who will put their whole doctrinal focus on when a Bible was translated. It is a slap in the face to all of the scholarship and hard work that has been done in the last 400+ years.

All of this cynicism makes me wonder about myself a bit. What do I expect to gain from it? I bitch and moan and whine and complain, all the time with a sardonic grin that never quite stops frowning (according to C - I think she may be right) and all I seem to accomplish is dragging those within my realm of influence into the muck with me. One look into my eyes shows nothing revealing, then look again and in all of that nothing hides (not really) my own fear of being a bigot.

*left turn*
I can't stop being pissed at Mom. I WANT to (so I tell myself), I want to do the right thing, the christian thing, the thing Christ himself would do. But then, Christ himself condemmed those who would harm children. does that extend to not actually harming, but allowing harm to come to and not doing SHIT about it? Damn, I'm getting riled again. I hate when I get this way, I just seem to go round and round and go no-fucking-where. They got away with it. Pure and simple. Out there, walking free, are three cold hearted bastards who fucked me over. And what can I do about it? short of a killing, nothing. I reported it to the police - got zilch. OK that's not exactly true. But what I did get won't keep those predators away from any kids. I tortured myself for months (still am) and their consciences seem to rest easy. So what do i do? Press on, I guess.

What do I do with Mom? I can't ignore her anymore. If I do, it'll have to be an actice ignore - send the presents back. I told her I'd do it, but I don't know if I have the guts to stick to it. There it is. No guts. I guess they got fucked out of me a long, long time ago.

I've run across this quote three times in different places in the past two days. I wonder at the significance . . .
**************
It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly . . . who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails at least fails greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never known neither victory nor defeat.
Teddy Rosevelt
***************
Gotta ponder that . . .

I just realized - If C wants to find this page she can with little difficulty. Duh, the shortcut is right there on the desktop!

Somtimes I wonder about myself . . . .

C asked me what the next step is. It kinda threw me, I thought we were still exploring the first one! I told her I wanted to start dating again, but it's difficult to plan anything when I have no control over the budget. We may (budget allowing) have worked out a solution to that, and rather painlessly, too. She liked the idea, I haven't told her it was the ONLY thing I could find the remotest bit positive about separating. I still think the whole idea sucks, but we seem to be putting it on a very back burner. I just want to push it off the stove alltogether.

We seem to be heading toward the path to healing. What worries me is that whenever we seem to be on the right road, something sideswipes us right back off of it. I'm beginning to think that a successful relationship is not one that stays on the right path, but one that can traipse all over the universe, and never lose track of where it's towel is. Or something like that.

I haven't written much, nor have I let her read this journal. It seems strange that anyone in the world can read these words, but the person I am closest to doesn't know where to find them. Then again, She knows where my paper journal is, but won't read that. I guess it's the same thing. I'm not likely to put anything REALLY incriminating in either. I operate my private life like a spy, nothing in writing, destroy any evidence. It's a little hard to destroy my brain, though.

****later in the day********

Just woke up from a nap and my head's still fuzzy. Spent the morning cleaning and fighting with B. Why is it that she can so easily push my buttons? And she's only 11. 7 years of this shit to go. . . .

I should go to sleep, but I can't, and I don't want to. Been chatting w/ Loki and Mark, both at different phases of the same conversation. What happened, where did it go wrong, how to fix things. I pray every day things will get better, and if I could WILL them better, they would be. I have that much will. But do I have the will to act? Hmmm. .. seems to be the crux of the problems. Loki suggests I write to C. I think it's a good idea. I found something I wrote 10 years ago, I think it's what I want.

A wise one once told me:

"If it's just bodies, it's
Not making love.
It's having sex.
If it's just minds, it's
Friendship.
If just souls,
A connection.

Until you merge all three my child,
You're just going through the motions.


THAT's what I want again. . . .

I'm going to bed. . .

Well, didn't run, but got posted. I'm telling Mark about the troubles w/Cyn. I guess he might know how it feels to be asked to split, but then again, I'm not going anywhere.

Ok. The real reason I hate journaling is that you can't bullshit yourself. We'll see how this goes. . .

I guess eventually I'll get over the idea that I need to write for someONE, rather than just to write. I've never done that before. I mean, *I* have my thoughts, why should I write them down? they're in my head, after all! 'Objection! Your Honor, the Counsel for the Defence is stalling, attempting to enter side tracks to avoid the truth!" Yeah, whatever.

Speaking of sidetracking, I just found my poetry journal. Man was I strange. Reading these, I realize how hard I tried to be ANYthing but me. 'Though this one is cool:

Upon my teeth and tongue
words slip and bubble
whirling Around until
they meet with a
thought
and Become

Meaning.

I guess I'm trying to say that I babble a lot. Yeah, anything to avoid getting to the heart of a matter.

Well, I want to write more, but C will be home soon, and I need to get the kids put to bed. Maybe I'll get back tomorrow, if I have the time. I'll have to go to work sometime and make up Drill time, (sometimes the Army is a drag) But maybe I'll just let it go.

I gotta run tonight, too. Can't fail the PT test.

I needed a journal, and here it is. This is mostly for my benefit, a way to sort out without having to leave the computer. If anyone gets frustrated because I'm not posting fast enough, get over it. This is my brain, and if you wanna peek, you'll do it on my time and my terms.