This Sunday is going to be amazing.

Conditional Surrender

Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of contacting my biological family again. Surely, my 6 year old brain thought, they must miss me? They must wonder, they must speculate how I’m doing? What I look like now? What I enjoy, and find objectionable? For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in this mindset. I was sure I was missing something. I was envious of all the other kids. In preschool, while all of the parents would sit around the playground and chitchat about the day their children were born, I would sit with my mom as she shifted awkwardly. She didn’t even know me when I was that age. I could sense the discomfort etched in her face, the longing to just be like everyone else. I could relate t to that feeling.
I hated telling people. When my childhood friends would ask why I don’t look like my parents (at all…actually) I would shrug it off, and tell them I looked like my Irish grandmother. My parents even repeated this lie to people who were nosy. When I was finally gutsy enough to actually tell people, their questions were just as I had feared.
“Were you in an orphanage?” they would squeal, eyes rotund with wonder “ Why didn’t anybody want you?”

Such are the scattered memories from my early days. Not that this obsessed my life . Goodness no. I was regular in so many ways. But there has always been something..different in my way of thinking.

I dreamed about how wonderful it would be to see my mother again, and to finally have someone who I could relate to. Someone who would instinctually be like me. Someone who, I fantasized, would love me in such a profound way that I would marvel how I ever lived without her.

When I sought my mother out, she was just as emotional as I had expected. She cradled me (I was 14...so this was highly inappropriate.) She cried, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “My baby, my baby” she kept murmuring. In the perfect world, we would have fallen madly in love with one another again. We would share letters and phone calls, making up for lost time. I would feel wanted, accepted. She would finally do what she was supposed to.

In reality, I found a drunken immature drug addict who loves only herself. I found a father who, despite his good intentions, cannot separate love from discipline. I found a sister who just wants me to get the hell out of her life, so she doesn’t have to share any of what she has worked so hard to maintain.

The disappointment weighs heavy on me. Heavier than anyone will ever know.

I don’t know whether it is the fact that I’m getting older, or the fact that I am too disappointed to bounce back, but I am finally at the point where I can attempt to let it go.

What I was searching for was closer than I had ever imagined.

You Underestimated Me, Hun.

Skipper is the cutest thing in the universe.

And everything is falling into place exactly as it should.

For once, I don't feel guilty for being happy.

I am doing what I am supposed to.

I'M THE FIRST ONE DAVE.

It's all ending with me.

I've been doing a lot of relfection.( Uh oh! I smell a long post) I often do so when I know that my life is about to change drastically. As it is about to do.

Perhaps the biggest perk about leaving the country in 10 days, is that I don't have to interact with my psychopath sister and her father who is in denial about her level of psychoneuroses anymore. When I started contact with them again ( seven years ago..wow), everything was great. I felt so..complete. I felt like I knew what I had been missing all those years. I talked to my mother again, which was emotionally draining and fucking scary as hell, but I'm glad I did it. She gave me some real insight without meaning to. I realized not only am I so happy I have nothing to do with her, but I will never, ever be her. Which quite frankly, I am so relieved to know. I give the woman credit, because I could never do what she does. I could never live with myself knowing that people needed me, and I was powerless to help them. I could never willingly desert the ones who are supposed to be most important to me. She has skewed my whole view of motherhood. I read and hear that your children are the most important thing in the world to you. You'd do anything for them. They are the core of your being. This really..messes with me. I won't lie, I think about it from time to time. And I realize there is always going to be something I am missing. Something that I can't put a finger on, but I know is present.While her unique absence in my life is debilitating, however, it has also made me appreciative.

I'm leaving to study abroad for a year! Fucking take that Ellen you dumb bitch! You are absolutely such a failure, and I hate you more than you can ever fathom. Fuck fuck fuck you! Go hang out with your ponies baby, because they are going to be the last thing thats going to tolerate your bullshit.


I felt every ounce of me screaming out. It's so hard to do what I must.

Lazy days and sexual cats

I spend my days laying in bed, listening to audio books on my iPod. Occasionally, I'll get up and go for a run, or I'll write a college essay or two. But mostly, I listen. My kitten, Mozart, loves these moments. It is exactly what he loves to do. He spends most of his day sleeping alone up on the rocking chair in my mothers study, so when he has the chance to sleep near me on my comfortable bed, he's all for it. He purrs and nuzzles and does all of those sensual things that cats do. I cover my face with blankets and pillows, and I sit with my little iDog. Yes. I have an iDog. It's a little stuffed dog (that my dad insists is a bear) that has built-in speakers in him. You plug in your iPod to a little wire that trails out of his back, and snuggle/listen all you please.

Today has not been noteworthy in the slightest. I do all the things I always do. It seems a little strange that my life is about to change so drastically, when everything seems so banal.

12 more days. What will the year bring forth I wonder?

The Unbearable Lightness

Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the skies,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us

Everything I write is psychobabble.
Nothing makes sense. I struggle to string together coherent sentences, but nothing seems to flow.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, bleeding out the wickedness that settles on my tongue.
I am tired, I am anxious, I am ecstatic, I am old.

All I do is watch reruns of House , drink elderberry/pear water, and stress until my brains ooze out every crevice of my face.

Everyone tries to please me, unaware of the fact that I live to please others.
Everyone tries to coddle and appease me; but nothing has any effect.

When I was little, Gale would set in front of me various artistic substances. Clay, scented markers, watercolor pencils, and crayons. She would talk to me, pick apart my brain with her bony little fingers, as I drew ponies and faeries and butterflies and cats.

"Why wont you talk to me?" she would ask. "You can tell me things.You can trust me "

I would ignore her. I would scribble on my paper, crunch the crayons; mash the clay between my 8 year old fingers. I would babble on and on about dinosaurs and pinwheels and the ducks at central park. I would tell her about my teacher, Mrs. Alfano and how she had unusually small feet.

I claim to be older now, well past my childhood embarrassment.

But every time someone mentions the word, I get acutely aware of my surroundings. I am mortified. I could die of shame. I keep it a secret though. I just become quiet and subdued, ignoring the pain that tears through my ribcage.

crack, crack, crack,crack, crack.

Big birds flying across the sky,
throwing shadows on our eyes.
They leave us helpless.

Happy Borthday

I have a new baby sister.
Which, is nice. I guess.
I won't actually meet her, but it's still a nice thing to think. At least, I like to think that she will be more like me than like Ellen. I'm happy for her in the sense that she is fortunate enough to get the hell out before she realizes that she is trapped.

Trapped trapped trapped trapped. Like one of those cute little fox's who has to gnaw its own leg off to free itself.

No matter what she does, she'll be stuck.

Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't matter how much love is showered upon you. It always haunts you. It always fucking hurts. It sends a pang of grief over you every time you go to someones house. Every time you meet someone who reminds you. Every time someone enters your life, and every time someone leaves it. Rejection is sensitive, you are an alien.

I am a fox. I chew and chew and claw through sinew and flesh and finally bone. The marrow rots my teeth and burns my lips. But I keep going, afraid of what will happen if I stop.

Happy birthday.

I'm leaving in like..two weeks. And for some reason I am feeling something completely inappropriate.

I am anxious and sad.

I'm excited to go on a plane and pack and get into Rome and have a completely fun and enriching experience. But I'm totally abandoning my comfort zone, and that makes me completely depressed and scared.

I'm not going to have any friends for a while. I won't be able to just call up Erica. I'm afraid I'm going to get there and then be completely sad. And cry. And write letters to people.
Looking back, I've moved a couple of times. So I'm used to relocating. But it's always such a big change. Change makes me so nervous.

I am actually ready to throw my hands up and be like "FORGET IT! I'm staying here and going to LVPA"

Except I can't because we spent money and my parents would get angry and I would miss out on something that is supposed to make me mature and make me more worldly.

i'm such a fucking pussy.


i miss you every single day.

Beating the Bounds

I spent the better part of this morning curled up on one of the reclining chairs, tissue box in hand, watching TNT and musing about how wrong everyone is.

I was told today, by an ever well-meaning source,that I am the same as Ellen. I am the same as Kathleen, and I am the same as himself.

if only that was even remotely true. I am not some primitive beast. I have never been arrested for assault. I have never so much as beat anyone up. I've never had a drug problem ,or an alcohol problem. I am not a stupid selfish spoiled little bitch who doesn't give a shit about anybody else.I will never go to jail.I will never snort cocaine. I'm not even sure if you CAN snort cocaine. I am not shallow, and I certainly am not Ellen Dave or Kathleen.

You're happy your a Rodger, because the Rodgers are crazy and fun?

Well I'm happy I'm not a Rodger anymore, because you're all too fucked up for me.

Women in Cacti with a Curled Up Rat!

I have no interest in men.

Now wait wait. Don't get the wrong idea.

I'm not a lesbian or anything.

I just simply, do not have any interest in dating, or getting married.

Isn't that fucking strange as hell?

I see Erica who texts Alex 287410412412's a day. She loves talking to him! And its clear he loves talking to her to. A lot of my friends are dating, and they fall head over heals hopelessly in love with some grubby, horny teenage boy. Then, once the relationship ends, (as it always does), they are devastated. Crushed.

When I date, it's only because someone has asked me, and I have nothing better to do.

We go to a movie, we sit on my bedroom floor, we "sit" on my bed ( or whatever you personally call it, I'm discreet) and then a few months later, we break up. No. We don't even break up. That would require actually saying something. With myself, we always just end up... not talking anymore. Occasionally, he'll drunk dial me. And I'll laugh, and tell him to go to bed/hell. Depending on how much I liked him.

I don't care about dating. I don't mind "being alone". I have other interests, other passions.

But you know the weirdest thing of all?

I don't care if I get married or not. Now off the bat that may not seem too odd, because plenty of my friends don't want a husband. They want to be CEO's of companies! Sex in the City wannabes! Or they want to be in the military, and "kick some Saudi Arabian- Iraqi anyonewhoisntwhiteandhasdifferentvalues ass"

Not me. I don't care if I ever find a husband, but I want children. At least one, but most likely two. I would rather just walk myself down to a sperm donation place , and get me a turkey baster and some smart-man sperm. It would have to be someone intelligent, like a med student from Yale who donates sperm to pay for his ridiculously expensive tuition.

If someones falls into my life, so be it. I'll go with that. It's not like I'm asexual, and I'm not attracted to anyone. It's just not a priority. I want a baby(ies) and a good job. I want to be a mother and an educated woman. And I want a dog. A dog is a must.

Things are moving at the speed I want them to.

College applications, recommendations, and transcripts are all falling perfectly into place.

I am getting in all my visits with friends before I leave.

I email my host family regularly,and they claim " Già di conoscerti da tempo! "
"We feel as if we have known you for some time now!" . Basically

Isn't that tender?

I want to leave. I keep packing, slowly adding things to my suitcase.

Time is dragging.

It's impossible for me to have an altercation with my parents without at least one of them psychoanalyzing me.

" But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty you need only look into a mirror. "

The anger is poisoning my mind, and forcing me to think about it far more than I should.. so in a pathetic attempt to release some of it, I decided I had to write.

I have a sister named Ellen, who hates the very core of me.

Until very recently, I was extremely hurt by this. I hadn't really done anything offensive towards her. I let it control me. I pondered and obsessed over what I had done wrong. I couldn't figure out why her hatred was so strong. I was her sister! I was so nice to her! And she saw me extremely infrequently, so I figured that she was just being immature.

But, as I've gotten a little older, and I've experienced even more of her constant attempts to fuck with my mind, I have developed a new and slightly alarming emotion concerning her. I despise her. I want to beat the shit out of her.

I have never hated anyone so thoroughly in my entire life.

I have had people annoy me, anger me, and even piss me off. But she enrages me. She manipulates everyone around her, and her jealously has made me her constant project.

I am very easily hurt, and she knows that.

And better yet, her father (also mine biologically..sadly enough) lets her do it! He acknowledges her behavior, and yet continues to do nothing! He tries to smooth things over... claiming that we are blood sisters and should love eachother. B it doesn't work! I let things go, I never retaliate, and all i get for it is a HUGE smack in the fucking face. I'm tired of tolerating her constant abuse because " I'm older, and I should". I have run out of excuses for her! I hate her. Shes is the SPITTING IMAGE of our fucking low life no good mother. Who I hate almost as much as I hate Ellen. Almost. Not quite.

She feels no love for me, and I certainly no longer feel any for her. Instead of love, I feel uncontrollable rage that is absolutely so exhausting to keep under wraps. If she fucks with me one more time, I don't think I will be able to control my self.

If she wants her family and her father all to herself, I am totally willing to arrange that.

It certainly is not worth this aggravation.

Howw youu doinnnn?

I am happy now and nothing is going to ruin it.

not Ellen.
not dave
not skipper
not my parents
not my cat.
not the fact that i havent made my bed in 3 days.

I am happy and content and clean and showered and I'm watching a movie with Erica and my dad and his girlfriend are coming to pick us up soon to go to dinner.

My host family loves me, and I think they are wonderful and funny and interesting.

I am leaving in 31 days.

I am excited and thrilled and bashhetlldgdgb!

sigh, life is good.

We just don't see it coming.

I officially no longer know what to do. I want to maintain a relationship with Dave and Cindy..but Ellen has made it impossible for me now.

I think I'm going to have to give up on them, and maybe just..end the relationship with the little bit of dignity I have left.

It's an agonizing decision; one that I don't especially want to make. I have that " knot -in-your-stomach" nervous feeling, my temples hurt, I constantly feel like crying. This is whole episode is so draining. I just want it to go away.


Maybe I can just..fade into the woodwork.Maybe I can just keep the contact very casual, and then leave for Italy and not talk to them for a year!


That may be the best solution.

I have to think about it.

I am agonizing.

My brain is melting.

It saddens me that things haven't worked out.

But hey, some things just aren't mean to be I guess.

I am officially over it. I don't need it. It doesn't matter to me anymore.

Thats what I've decided.

Right here, right now.

It needs to end, for my sanity.