Living Dead Girl ~Chapter 2

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“What?”

“A job. Get up.”

“Fuck off. I’m on vacation.”

“Get up. It’s time to work.”

“Mmmphf…”

I knew it was too good to be true, dammit. Couldn’t even get a decent night’s sleep in the nut house, for fuck’s sake.

Fine.

“Where’s the job?” 

“Here, in B wing. Name’s Colton. Darwin Colton. You’ve got about 20 minutes, then you’re on.”

“Shit.  Messy?”

“Quiet. In and out like a mouse, doll. Hard part’s over already, just a walk and a talk.”

“Well, less cleanup that way, at least. Thanks for the favor.”

“No problem, see ya next time.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The shadow detached from the window’s ledge and slid out through the cracks between the bulletproof glass and the frame, inking its way back out into the night, and leaving me alone in my room.

Great, now to make my way down to B wing, alley of the lost.

I slide out of the sheets & slip into my fuzzy socks, you know the socks you always get at the hospital – the ones with the little rubber grippies on the bottom, so you don’t slide all over & fall down, causing hospital accidents & lawsuits? Yeah, those fugly slippers. I love these socks. Don’t ask me why.  I’m in a mental hospital, I don’t need a damn reason, OK?

At least they don’t make any noise as I move to my door & peer through the peekhole window, checking to see where the nurses & orderlies are. I know their routine pretty well, but every once in a while, they like to mix things up, & run random room checks just to screw with us.

Luck’s with me tonight, everything’s clockwork. 

Nurse Hannah is on desk duty, which means she’s got her phone open, & is playing games, Facebooking, scrolling through some dating app or other, and is generally not paying attention to fuckall. Good for me.

That puts Randy, the night orderly, on the roof, smoking, which he does every night about this time, because he comes in at about 15 minutes to shift change reeking of cigarettes & hits the bathrooms to clean himself up & spray room freshener in his pits, like no one notices that trick. 

Gotta love predictability.

I glide easy back to my bed & lift the mattress, taking out the skeleton key I hid in the springs – one of the tools of the trade I take wherever I go, & use it to open my door. Doesn’t matter the lock, it always works. In my line of work, it has to. Nature of the biz.

Hannah sees nothing as I work my way down the hall, and hears less, ear buds jammed tightly into her ears. 

God, if she were any less clueless, she’d be a toaster.

B wing, here I am.

Key to the automatic lock, a soft click, a passive buzz, and I’m through the door & down the hall, slicker than snot.

Which door?

Oh…he left it cracked for me, how, thoughtful…wait.

Yeah…sigh…

That’s a slippered foot sticking out of the door, dammit.

Five little gray fuzzy socked toes stuck in the door jamb peeking out at me.

Darwin?”

“Darwin Colton?”

“Help!”

“It’s OK, I’m here to take you home.”

“But…but…”

“I know, honey, it’s OK. Take my hand.”

“Patsy?”

“Mmmpfh…”

“It’s time to get up. There’s been an incident.”

“What?”

“We need all the residents in the hall. Get up, please.”

“Fine.”

I stumble out of bed and blink my way out into the hallway, pushing my rat’s nest hair to the back of my head. Not nearly enough sleep in this damn place.

After “head count” is over, they shoo us back to our rooms to get dressed for the day & for breakfast. Whoopee.

“Didja hear?” Tommy hisses in my ear while we wait in line for the food. 

“What?”

“Some guy on B wing cacked it last night! That’s what the head count was about, they think someone helped him!” Tommy’s face is almost gleeful…sick little shit.

“Oh yeah? Who the hell would do that?”

An Open Letter To Joey

Joey,

I don’t use real names on the blog, as a courtesy, to protect those I speak about here. 
You, however, forfeited any right to my protection when you betrayed my trust and shredded my heart.

So, you are the first person I’ve ever outed on my blog in the, oh…let’s see… 9 years I’ve been writing on it? Hope you feel so proud! What a major accomplishment.

When I asked my coworker to say “hi” to you, I really expected nothing in return. You were so cowardly 4 years ago, when you ran away from our relationship then, I honestly didn’t think you’d bother to respond this time around, so yes, it was a surprise when I got your text.

And yes, I’d forgiven you for what happened back then. Stupid of me, in hindsight, but that’s how I am. I can’t hold grudges, and I forgive people, because I figure that…somehow, I deserve to be treated like crap. I don’t know why, but I do, and always have. Maybe that’s why every relationship turns out the way it does, Because you accept what you think you deserve.

Then, YOU asked ME if I’d be willing to give a relationship between the two of us another chance. YOU started this once again. WHY?? If you were just going to bail out at the first curve in the road, what the fuck were you doing asking for another chance?

You said you wanted to take it slow. I said OK. I said, all I needed, was that you “be honest with me, & don’t shut me out”. You said “Ok, I can do that”. 

Liar.

The first chance you got, you shut me out, told me that your phone broke down, & you weren’t getting texts for 2 days. Yeah…sure, cause you wouldn’t be panicking if you didn’t hear from your kids for two days? Right. Whatever.

But, I gave you space, trying to not be “that girl”, the clingy girlfriend that people snicker about behind their hands. You wanted to take it slow, I was giving you slow & patient.

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU WANT, JOEY??

Did you do this just to break me again, you bastard?

Did you do this just to watch me fall apart?

Did you do this just to see if you still had the power to hurt me?

Well… *clapping hands in slow motion* Good. Fucking. Job. You win, asshole.

You hurt me.

Boo yah.

Fuck you.

I deserved better than this.

I deserved better than being ghosted, being dumped by someone who asked me for another chance. 

I would have given you everything I had, my love, my patience, my empathy, my understanding, my compassion. You have no idea what you gave up, because you have no fucking clue who I am anymore. 

And you’ve given up any rights to ever get to know me, ever again.

You took all of that…and ran away & hid. For what fucking reason this time, I’ll probably never know.

And now…I no longer care.

I’ve buried your name, buried our relationship, and buried any future there might have been.

This is the last time you will appear here or anywhere in my life.

You are dead…and I bury the dead, Joey.

I Bury The Dead

I had a rough time last night. 

Drank too much.

Cried – way too much.

Probably talked too much.

Spoke to an old friend, someone who was kind enough to take pity on drunk & crying me, who talked me down from my emotional ledge.  

Something we discussed stuck with me.

He asked me what I was going to do today.

I replied “Recover”.

He asked what I meant by that, and I answered that when shit like this happens to me…I bounce.

And then I had to correct myself.

“Well, after all the shit I’ve been through, I guess I don’t really bounce anymore…I just bury it, and move on.”

He asked why I bury it, why I don’t just let it go?

“Because I bury the dead. And if I let it go, I don’t learn from it, and it happens again.”

Then I laughed at myself, and said it didn’t really matter what I did, because it always happens again, anyway. 

Every time I open up and trust someone with my heart, I end up with a knife in it.

But, after thinking about it for a while, I did realize something.

I can’t let these things go.  Because when I let go of the hurt, and the wrong done to me… That’s when I forgive them. And they get another chance.

That’s what happened with J.
And look what he did with his forgiveness.

I’m too trusting, too forgiving, too nice…and I find it impossible to hold a grudge. But when someone crosses a unforgivable line with me, I can cut them off like split ends and they cease to exist in my life.

Just ask my brother.

So, no.

I won’t let it go.

I won’t forgive.

I will never forget.

And he will never be allowed another chance to hurt me, ever again.

This is why I bury the dead.

Too

Well…that seems to be the end of that.

Another one bites the dust.

Silently, disappearing, once again.

He chose to do the one thing guaranteed to hurt me, and shut me out. Left me in the dark, in the dust, and vanished.

He had borrowed a DVD set from me, however, so I drove to his house today while he was at work, and asked his daughter for it. She was nice enough to hand it to me, even checked to make sure all the discs were there, and I thanked her and left.

Since he refused to answer my texts, I figured he didn’t want to see me, either, so this way…now he doesn’t have to, and I have my property back with no fuss.

It hurts.

Yes, it hurts.

So, tonight…I drink.

To forget, for a little while, that I was stupid enough to trust, once again.

I’ve been told before that I’m Too nice. Too forgiving. Too trusting. 

Maybe I need to learn how to be a bitch.

Maybe I need to become hard, stop caring. Stop feeling. Turn off my heart.

Can someone teach me how to stop being Too?


Need/Want/Wish

There are differences between a Need, a Want, and a Wish.

I Need air and water and food and sleep (some of these things more than others…some I make due with less)

I Want to make my personal goal weight (working on it, slowly but surely), I want to save enough money to visit my Beloved Nephew (working on that too), and I want to eventually work up the courage to write that damned book that the Beloved Nephew keeps hounding me to write!

I Wish I could win the lottery. I wish I could have met Alan Rickman before he passed away, and I wish Chester Bennington was still alive.

See the differences yet?

Needs are things I have to have to continue to live. Air, food, water, sleep…all necessary to life. All things I MUST have, no joke, no choice, no substitutions.

Wants are things I’d like in my life, but have to work for. I get that, and don’t have a problem with working for the things I want. 

Wishes are things that are amorphous and probably not going to happen, at least not anytime soon, if at all. I can wish as hard as I want on a million stars…but it will never bring Alan or Chester back. And the lottery is – kind of a long shot.

I Want a partner to share in my life…but I don’t Need a man to continue to live…I just Wish I could figure out what the hell is going on. Hot and cold, talkative one day, then silence.

After the last 4 years, and all the broken promises E put me through, then the manipulation, the guilt, the breakup & the stalking…I was Hoping for something a little better, something a little easier. 

I Need Clarity.

I Want Honesty

I Wish he’d talk to me, instead of shutting me out, like he promised he wouldn’t do.

I Deserve better than this. 

Get it?



Whooo, doggies…

Sunday I spent the day doing yard work. 

It was about time, as I’d let things pile up, weeds were starting to seed out, the hedges were towering WAY over my head, and my lawn was finally starting to green up & grow, since we’d gotten a little bit of rain.

So, I plugged my ear buds in, pulled on my garden gloves, & got to work.

After mowing the front lawn, & a little of the back (my battery-powered mower’s battery gave out), I plugged the battery into the charger, hoisted my hedge trimmer, & decided to tackle the beast-mode hedges, starting from the back end near OnlySon’s bedroom.

Well…until the hornets decided they didn’t want me messing with their nest.

$&#%@%5#6$64-&#+%(#(#+%$!#!+%-#&@

Drop the hedge trimmer in my tracks & hightail it to the house, making sure the damned hell beasts don’t follow me inside, I raced for the bathroom to ice down my wounded self with cold water.

I’ve never run so fast in my ever-lovin’ life as I did after that first sting!

Holy Mother of Gods!

Luckily, the little winged bastard only nailed me through my glove, on my knuckle, so he really didn’t get me all that bad, but Holy Cheezits, it stung like a muther.

Yeah, I stayed inside the house for a while, laugh it up, Chuckles. I watched that front screen door like the NSA, waiting for those little pricks to stop swarming my porch, knowing they were there, mocking me, jeering & marking my front door with their angry little pheromones.

Screw them.

After getting a drink of water, & wiping the fear-stink off…

I went back outside to retrieve my property.

My hedge trimmer lay there in the grass like a lost orphan…

So I gingerly tiptoed over & gently pucked that poor baby up & cradled it in my arms.

Went to the other end of the hedge & started hacking.

Damn straight.

Of course, I only got halfway down the hedge before I started seeing the hazardous, little, yellow bouncers dancing gleefully in the leaves again.

Assholes.

Ok.

So…

To the backyard.

Plenty of trimming to do back there, too.

And, as I’m happily zipping along, cutting through the Queen Anne bush next to OnlySon’s bedroom window…

ZAP! FLASH!

Aw, shit.

I sliced halfway through my old extension cord, that someone had tossed into the bush.

*many, many bad words inserted here as the outlet goes dead*

Ok…Lucky for me, I’m a well grounded kind of gal.

No electrocution.

Yay me.

And, I have a backup extension cord that reaches around to the driveway outlet, which allows me to finish up, not only trimming the wayward bushes in the backyard, but use my electric chainsaw to get through a piece of the neighbor’s hedge that has made its way through my fence & is too big for the hedge trimmer.

And what do I find while trimming? 

A rogue plum tree… With plums hanging from it.

Wtf?

We used to have a plum tree, but it died years ago, & we cut it down, to the ground. This…has to be from one of the plums that fell off at some point, or got dropped by one of the kids, or some other weird coincidence. 

Anyway… I have a plum tree? I guess?

Okey dokey…

Oh yeah, Sunday bitch-slapped me, hard. 

Yes, indeed.

But, like the badass mofo that I am, I bounced back & kept right on diggin’ til I’d had my fill.

And that was right about the time I went in the house & realized that by cutting that extension cord, I’d blown a fuse in the house, cutting power to the kitchen, the living room, and the hallway…

*sigh*

Feathers


So soft and delicate, I hold this fragile thing in my hands. Praying I don’t grip too tightly, hoping my anxious, trembling touch doesn’t drop it.

I see every floating tendril, moving gently in the breeze, tickling my palm, and my eyes alight with happiness. It brings me such joy, this beautiful representation of flight.  

I wish I could hold it close, put it in my pocket, keep it safe with me forever, but I know that would destroy it’s shape, tear apart it’s very form and it’s beauty, and that I cannot do.

So, as much as it will hurt me…

When the time comes…

I will let it go.