RATS!

I have fucking RATS in my house. Roof rats, the Orkin man tells me. Yup. The burglars have been caught, but the 'hood still remains. Big dark grey rats hanging out in my BEDROOM and then scurrying to my kitchen and having a fiesta in the dark. Oh my god. One ran across my bed. I started hearing them in the ceiling a couple of days ago and I was hoping it was a little raccoon hanging out. But no...

Anyone who wants to shoot a low-budget horror film, please come by the next few days. After that, they will all be gone. My mission is no longer to catch the burglars or even get the cops over to stop the crack-deals going on across the street. No, my mission is to rid the earth of small disease-carrying rodents.

Only, here I am preaching "love not war". I'm a crappy Buddhist...I cannot love these critters in my home. The Orkin man tells me they set "humane" traps that don't kill them, just capture them in cages and then they take them away. I am preferring to remain blissfully ignorant as to what happens after they are taken away. I visualize a happy rat-farm in Bakersfield, filled with fat and sassy roof-rats scampering away their lives in peace. I'm sure there's a song there...

america's child...

It's 6 am, and there is a helicopter hovering above my house. Normally I waken to silence, even in this neighborhood, and sit on the couch drinking coffee and marvel at the hummingbirds in my front window. They brighten my morning as does my sweet Sophia who giggles in her sleep. The helicopter, not so much. Los Angeles and its helicopters have always struck a dischord. Such a beautiful city in spots...and such a horrid cesspool in others. The helicopters bring images of war to my head. In Cairo we had air raid warnings and soldiers with submachine guns wandering the streets, hand-in-hand, and the military base next to our school had target practice often, shaking our walls, rattling the windows. Sometimes living in the 'hood of LA I feel like I'm back there, waiting for shots to ring and sirens to wail. We get out of our car every evening only after doing a thorough re-con, and I hold the "panic" button of my car alarm at ready till we're in the house. No one should live like that. And how is it possible that we live like that in America where there is no declared war and Mr. Bush tells us that the economy is fine and domestic affairs aren't even mentioned during election campaigns (oh, except gay-marriage and abortion rights...forgive me, how silly of me to forget). I drive down Crenshaw early morning and see hookers and dealers and poverty and hunger. Has George seen skid-row? We know he's seen Bel Air - his last visit screwed up traffic for hours. But who goes to visit skid-row and Echo Park and Van Nuys? The NPR reporters and Mr. Villarigosa are doing what they can, I'll give you that. I doubt our Governator has been there.

And this is just LA. What is happening throughout the rest of America? There are helicopters hovering all over in every city, and Mr. Bush continues to ask for billions to fight Al Queda and other random folks that he hates, and to force democracy upon others. Democracy. Yup. That's helpful. Democracy will end centuries of strife and hatred between the Islamic factions and the Jews. Converting everyone to Christianity would be best, but even Georgie can't dream that big. Let's just force some good old fashioned American democracy upon those rag-heads and that'll get us our oil and we'll all live happily ever after, even the crack heads and junkies will go away and America will be Eden and Georgie will get his crown. America's child will be free and safe.

this is what we've done

I try to avoid the news lately because of what we've done. This particular picture is from today in Iraq - 135 or more people killed by a single suicide bomber, probable support of Saddam. But it could be an image from Israel, from Afghanistan - a Jew, a Shiite, a Bathist, a Palestinian, whatever...another person that George Bush has helped to kill. Likely he is not a terrorist. Very likely he has a mom, a dad. Perhaps a wife at home who was waiting while he ran to the market for some last minute dinner ingredients, their son and daughter under five years old and clinging to their mom now as she cries and wails, not being able to fathom life without her husband in a country that has been destroyed by foreigners and zealots and martyrs...by a government across miles of sea and sand, run by a delusional sociopath who has no concept of reality or life or death and who calls himself a Christian as he signs the death warrants of hundreds of thousands.

Dino-Mite

I have really weird dreams. Last night there was a giant dinosaur fighting with a giant crocodile, which, it turned out, was threatening the dinosaur’s baby…who was also quite giant, yet very cute.

Now I’m no dummy and don’t need Freud to tell me that this war of giants is my little head worrying over the meeting yesterday between Soph’s dad and me at the therapist. Though I am a bit annoyed that my subconscious is defining me as a dinosaur.

Weird as shit to see the man who fathered my child. He is such an odd egg. Anyway, I guess it all went well, though we still have no firm plans of how he will meet her, but we’re much closer. I guess my dream surprised me because I felt that he seemed like he really had her best interests at heart and that he really wants to be sure he doesn’t hurt her by vanishing again. But of course words are just that…they are not actions, and I’ve learned the hard way that most words that come out of people’s mouths have no fucking basis in reality.

She’s been saying lately that she doesn’t ever want to meet her daddy. I know it’s a defense mechanism, but still I worry that I’m totally doing the wrong thing. And it’s so strange…so many people I speak with now have never met the fathers. What the fuck? My trainer, a lawyer I’m negotiating a deal with, two or three of the babysitters I use…lots of folk have not met their dads and they mostly carry around a big huge ball of hatred and resentment. So…that is not what I want for my sweet Sophia. But I don’t want her to be hurt by him either, to have expectations shattered. She thinks he is a rock star but he’s really just a drummer who tours in bar-bands and does some studio work and is poor as shit. Her dreams of riding in a limo with Daddy to one of his shows are sooooo not going to happen. This is no Disney Channel movie, sadly enough.

Soph's dad has called out of the blue and wants to meet her finally after 7 plus years, and so I set up a time with her therapist for he & I to get together and figure out how to do it without freaking her out. He calls..."sure, yeah...let me check my calendar, I'll call you right back." No call yet, of course, and he still won't give me his phone number. fuck. Yet I'm holding out hope, which is kinda crazy after all these years. Not to mention how can I still trust anyone after what's happened to me in the past 8 months??!! Hahaa...I can't help myself. I still have that crazy naive hope inside of me despite my cynicism and pretend-toughness...I want to trust and believe that everyone really is just filled with love for everyone else and no one is going to hurt me or Sophia or anyone in this world ever again. At least I've learned enough to not tell her about things till they are true.

God I just wish he could see her and hear how smart and lovely she is and see her artwork and hear her sing her little heart out as she swings as high as she can and read the sweet little entries in her diary and the beautiful notes she writes me while I'm at work and she's at school. If he could have just a fraction of that love touch him...

On the other hand, what if he meets her and then freaks out and vanishes again and breaks her heart? I'd have to kill him. Or ...stranger yet, what if he really decides to be part of her life - god, I'd have to deal with seeing him every week. Not a chance would I let her have a whole weekend with him. He'd have to actually give me his phone number and let me know where he lives now.

What has so suddenly moved him to do this? I've known this man for 20 years, and I have no fucking clue what goes on in his head. I've gone from his groupie-chick to the mother of his child and in two decades I've not heard him have any emotion except anger, when I chose to keep her, and fear I suppose. It's maddening. I want to force him to be a human being. Wish that were possible. He's not evil like Howard, he's simply...empty? I don't even know.

I want only love for her...

n

amazing life

Sweet life...so many lovely things this weekend, and I'm trying to think of a very favorite...hard to choose just one. I think it was being given a framed photo of Cubby as a house warming. Hubert (Cubby) Selby Jr. was fucking GOD to me when I read Last Exit to Brooklyn, and then Requiem for a Dream just...well, it's brilliance that lingers forever. When I finally realized that funny old man at the meetings on Sunday was Cubby and Cubby was Hubert, geez, it was like I was sitting in the room with God, and I had so many things I wanted to ask him and talk to him about but really not many of them were about sobriety; they were about his genius of words and imagery on a page and insight of soul...but I was too shy to ever say more than hello, and then he passed away, and I had only those whose lives he changed to befriend but through them I really do feel him in some way. So...this amazing photo of Cubby is on my living room wall, and now his love will keep me safe and I can only wish that some of his brilliance can seep into me!!

And beside that gift, this weekend was just filled with love and special people and we surprised the heck out of Marty and our home was filled with laughter and angel-children and sweet kooky neighbors and new friends who surprised me just a little too...

inhumanity / humanity

I closed my myspace page when things got freaky with Howard and I was scared of stalkers. But I miss writing and my computer keeps getting stolen and so I lose my journals, so...a blog is in cyberspace, not on a hard drive, and no one needs to break my window to read it.

Last April was 8 years sober and then...somehow an emotional rollercoaster slammed into my world. Bought a beautiful new home...but Howard took all my dough and left me with shoddy construction and a shattered heart and mutilated pride...a couple of surgeries...friends who have done amazing things to make me feel safe and loved...three break-ins (say bye-bye to the dvd player, the 42" plasma, three computers, 2 digital cameras. Not to mention the writing and the emails and the pix of my sweet Sophia singing her heart out at the holiday show and Christmas morning and moments with the folks I love.)...started two great jobs this year...this new one now is amazing! Oh my gosh, I'm VP of Biz Affairs, who'd have thought!?! Imagine that 9 years ago??!!! ha.

Soph's filled with terror to be in our home, and I'm stubborn and won't admit defeat. "We only accept love." But how can I keep teaching her that hatred ceases through love, when there is so much evil trying to upset our little love-bubble??

She holds me hand all night as she sleeps, and I want to take her fear away but truth be told I feel it too. I'm done. Howard continues to hurt people despite the charges being brought against him. Someone keeps violating our home despite the alarms and police reports. I had too much trust and now I have pretty close to none.

Yet there are others who've entered (or simply stayed in) my world and who keep my faith in humanity strong, who hold me (even over miles) and whom I know will never let me fall. And so...

...so life is grand and lovely and precious and beautiful and right now I'm in my office (ha!) and looking out the window to the crisp clearness, WeHo traffic starting up this Friday afternoon and my assistant (ha!!) just left and I'm about to go too, spend time at the school and hug my straight-A girl and go home to our wonderful home that is filled with love and where we do not accept evil, only love.