just_denise

05:49 pm: Family
It's important, isn't it?

I never realized how much everyone meant to me until I went to my family reunion on the 10th and saw them all and knew how fortunate I am to come from a big clan. And I do mean big:




Sorry about the watermark. Haven't ordered proper copies yet. I'm in the back row in the black t-shirt. Over my right shoulder is my sister, Jen. Over her right shoulder are her two girls, Allison and Kate. And this photo is without all the husbands and wives and ones on the way and the few who couldn't make it, who I'm also close to. I didn't realize how lucky I was to come from a big loving family until a friend told me today how fortunate I am.

My cousin Sissy was there, and she looks a lot like my Mom. That's her in the front with her two grandbabies, one white and one black-she calls them her salt and pepper shakers. We spent a few moments crying over my Mom but way more time laughing over her and how much she would have enjoyed being there.

What I'm trying to say is cherish the people of your blood. Let them know how much they mean to you while they're still around. The reunion came about when my Aunt Betty lost my Uncle Charlie in May of this year. She said she was tired of all of us getting together on sad occasions and wanted us to do something happy for once. We plan to make it a yearly thing.

05:58 pm: Blah, Blah, Blah
I made the decision last month to discontinue therapy for a while because I really don't like my new therapist and because I'm tired of taking the trek into Camden every two weeks just to talk to someone who never seems to be listening. I tried complaining to my psychiatrist-who's in charge of my therapist-but he says to give her a few months to settle in because she's new.

Well, when did it become my job to train new therapists? Is it my job to tell her to not look out of the window when I'm speaking to her, or my job to tell her to not answer her cell phone for personal calls when I'm in there? I told all this to the psychiatrist but he never listens to me either. I keep telling him that my anxiety attacks are increasing in frequency and severity but he does nothing to change or up my current medication, so I keep on suffering attacks. I had a really bad one on the bus the last time I went to therapy, which is what made me decide to stop for a while. I called this therapist and she was like 'whatever.' Didn't even try to talk me out of it or ask me what was going on that I'd decided to stop.

My standard of care has gone right into the toilet since I moved from Philly. It seems like in Camden I'm just a face in the crowd, and one less face for them to have to handle in the densely packed public mental health system the better. I understand now why people with mental illnesses fall throught the cracks so often. I'm so damned frustrated right now it's unreal.

05:39 pm: Writer's Schlock
I've been writing fanfiction again. I know this isn't earth shattering news, but for me-who suffers from severe writers' block as most of my friends who've tried over the years to read my stuff will tell you-this is a big thing. I have *four* complete stories and one in progress here:

http://jbanddt.proboards.com/index.cgi

This is the Men of Doctor Who forum, and it's dedicated to David Tennant, John Barrowman, and now Matt Smith. Right now we're still under 200 members, but we deserve more-the fiction is good reading, even my stuff isn't so bad. All of my stories feature a nice Mary Sue...I mean, original companion named Jillian. I write my stories from her point of view, and after my current story, The Walking Dead, winds up, she and The Doctor (who are just friends and nothing more) will find themselves in the awkward position of having to be romantic just to survive on a world where men and women can't be "just friends."

If I sound like I'm pimping the site, it's because I am, silly. Do check it out.

12:30 pm: Almost Over
Today is the last day of my vacation. My sister and her husband have gone up onto the boardwalk, leaving me alone in the hotel...well, except for my niece, who's still in bed after noon in that way teenagers have of being dead to the world.

I'm starting to get depressed about going home again, as I hate where I live and what my life's become. I'm so bored all the time and so down at heart at having nowhere to go and nothing to do. I feel as if I've died sometimes and just haven't dropped yet.

Tonight, as a special treat I'm going to get a new tattoo, probably of a dragonfly but I'll look through the books anyway. I love getting tattooed and am thinking of getting a sleeve...that's where you do your entire arm eventually.

I'm sunburnt but happy because i've had a good time, but now I feel horrible that it's all ending. *Sigh* I'm planning to start saving up for Disneyworld again when I get back though so I guess I'll have *something* to look forward to.

*Looks forward*

10:21 am: Good Morning
Lazy day today. Got up about 9:30 and I'm about to eat breakfast before going to sit by the pool. My sister and her husband are going out tonight so it'll be just me all by my little self to go on the boardwalk or maybe I'll just sit around the room and watch television. To tell the honest truth I'm starting to get a little bored. I miss my own computer and I'm running out of things to do, not being the bar hopping type.

11:58 am: Crowds, crowds
Boardwalk packed to the gills last night on the 4th. Hard to have a good time when you literally can't take two steps without stopping. I spent most of the night sitting in a tattoo parlor while my brother-in-law got himsel a Celtic cross tattooed on his leg. It inspired me and I may get this really pretty dragonfly done on my forearm. Deprends on how much money I have left at the end of the week. That'd make three tattoos for me, and I'll probably get more in the future.

Today I'll go up the boards during the day when it's not so crowded to check out the shops-last year I saw a monkey made out of two coconuts and I want to see if they still have them. Can't go wrong with a coconut monkey as bedroom decor. So classy.

11:34 am: Life's A Beach
More or less I'm posting this entry from my niece's laptop while on vacation because I can. At times like this, I don't find technology vaguely menacing. I find it a joy to sit here at my bucket and spade hotel on my beach vacation and type out my plans.

Later on today I have a barbecue to go to and then there's fireworks later to be seen either from the hotel or maybe even the boardwalk after some rides and the best french fries in the world, Curley's.

I have friends and family all here at the same hotel-I'm staying with my sister and her husband and kids and for once everyone's getting along-even me and my brother-in-law, a huge shocker.It's wonderful to be alive for the next few days, I soooooo needed this holiday.

Write again later.

05:32 pm: The Dating Game II
Well, that was a bit of a letdown.

Rich is an extremely nice guy, and he was just like I remembered him from school, good humored and fun to be around...but no sparks. I never liked him *that way* and I guess I still don't.

We went to the Star Trek exhibition at the Franklin Institute in Philly, and then to an Italian restaurant in his neighborhood for an early dinner. It was a nice time once I stopped being nervous.

But now he's emailing the hell out of me for another date and I don't know how to let him down without hurting his feelings. :(

05:35 pm: The Dating Game
Well.

Here I find myself with a date on Sunday afternoon...people who know me know that I had a very bad breakup with my fiance many years ago and have been in full "Boys are *bad*" mode ever since. But an old school friend...who I haven't seen in 25 years...has asked me out and I found myself accepting.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What do I do, what do I say, what do I wear that doesn't make me look like a fat moose, what am I doing dipping my toe back into the dating pool at my age???????????

*puff, puff*

Anyway, I'm nervous. Really, really scared. Rich is nice guy-he took the trouble to track me down and maybe it's just two friends going to a museum to geek out at the Star Trek exhibition, but I'm just plotzing all over the place. Shitting a brick, really. I'm really out of practice. Woefully.

Oh help.

03:53 pm: R.I.P. Tennant!Love ?
What the hell? Was it something I said? Was it always planned to go out with David's last day of filming or what?

ETA: Ahhhhhhhh, it's back. Phew.

05:13 pm: Today is the third anniversary of my Mom's death. Yesterday being Mother's Day was hard enough, but today is just awful. Part of me can't believe it's been three years already and part of me can feel every minute of those long days.

My Mom was one in a million. Everybody says that about their mothers but it's really true. She was one hell of a woman, a great friend and the strongest person I knew. She was a survivor. Everything I know about strength I learned from her. Everything I know about character likewise. When we were little, growing up in a household dominated by an alcoholic father, she still managed to make sure our childhoods were as good as possible as she put up with my Dad's binges and long absences where he left us with nothing. We'd been thrown out of most food programs because he'd quit the jobs they'd get for him, so I have memories of my Mom telling us she "wasn't hungry" or eating six crackers with a little jelly on them for dinner while we ate whatever food was in the house courtesy of relatives who'd done their best to help us out. My mother went hungry for me and my sister, yet she never held this up to us or ever complained about it as I recall.

As adults, she was my best friend. When she got sick with cancer, it was nothing for me to put my life on hold and take care of her. She would have done the same for me without question or complaint. Whatever I had to do for her, I did gladly and with her example always on my mind. Not that I'm making myself out to be any sort of hero...I only mean that I was able to do some of the things she needed done because she'd taught me to be strong. It was her example to me growing up that allowed me to face it all, and eventually to face the inevitable fact of her dying.

AnnaMarie Rajauski deserves to be remembered by the entire world, yet I'm content to have her memory nearly all to myself. When my sister and I talk about her, it's always with a smile or a laugh, which is how she would have wanted it. Except for today. Today is hard for me and I've been a bit weepy all day for some reason. I don't recall being so last year. Perhaps I was. But as much as we laugh and as much as we remember all the good times, she deserves some tears as well for her loss was truly devastating. I'll never be loved so much again by anyone.

06:09 pm: Ch-ch-ch-Changes
I got new glasses last week, a new computer monitor a few days ago (20 inches wide flat panel), and a new therapist today.

This is the third therapist to fink out on me just when I thought I was making progress towards normality, so I'm not *quite* as thrilled with this change as with the other two but am trying to be philosophical about it, just like I try to be philosophical about being stuck in this hick town or missing my family and friends in Philly or...I don't know, maybe my discarded toenail clippings.

I felt so good about myself today. I had new clothes on and my spiffy new glasses. When I walked into Amanda's office for my session I thought it would go rather well. I didn't foresee her telling me she was leaving. I thought I would make some real progress today. Instead I feel as if I've been hit in the face with a cold, wet fish.

Sucks, is all. But this is what happens when you're in the public mental health system. All of the therapists are either jaded old hacks on their last go-round before they retire or young, bright things like Amanda who leave for regular practice. And those of us stuck in the maze of the state-funded system remain behind to make our way as best we can.

I guess I'm all right, though. I was weepy throughout the session (that's what I get for wearing makeup, something I never do for therapy visits), but nowhere near as hysterical as I was the last time I lost a therapist.

I just don't like being left behind. Waving bye-bye from the maze yet again as someone else escapes. One day I want to escape, too.

09:14 pm: Over The Hill
Well, I'm now officially over the hill, being on the shady side of forty. Funny, but I don't feel...in my mind anyway...any older than when I was a teenager. I suppose I always thought that some Maturity Alarm would sound when I hit forty-one and I'd all of a sudden start acting like a proper grownup. Didn't happen. Still had blue hair and black fingernails when I woke up on the day, still put on The Fratellis to sing along to in the shower.

I think maturity is overrated anyway.

07:18 pm: Depression, Blah Blah, etc.
Well, I've just gotten over my post holiday depressive episode- always a fun time. The lying in bed for days on end with the covers over my head not showering or eating has always been my favorite part. Worrying my family and my therapist, good fun.

*is being sarcastic*

I come from a family with a history of Depression on my Mom's side-that and cancer. Whoopie. One or the other will get me someday, but until then all I can do is decide to keep above ground. I'm not ready to be a container of ashes on the sideboard yet. Thankfully, I always realize this in time.

I have a birthday coming up. Forty-one. I used to picture myself in my forties. Now I try to picture myself at fifty. Will I still paint my nails purple and dye my hair blue? Still wear Converse and listen to The Wombats? Or will I take up wearing a polyester suit and matching orthopedic shoes? I already love bingo.

Point is, I'm enjoying being a survivor of sorts. Sort of.

06:15 pm: All I Want For Christmas Is Prozac
Went holiday shopping with my Uncle Bud. He's the only man I know who never gets caught in a traffic jam, mainly because *he's* the guy in every snarl who cuts the other drivers off and then doesn't understand why everyone is giving him the finger. We went merrily (and white-knuckledly) on our way, blowing through lights and honking our horn to the Cherry Hill Mall.

Why am I, who is all finished shopping, so stupid so as to brave a shopping mall two days before Christmas? Because Uncle Bud thinks to wait until the last minute is to get all the bargains...better still, to wait until the day after and go to all the sales. "F**K, I know that'll be F*****g fifty percent off on the 26th," he grumbles at every purchase. And I am also compassionate, because my aunt begged me to offer to accompany him went he went out. Last year, one of her presents was a pair of slippers. Sounds fine, you say. Well, they were men's slippers, too big and brown corduroy with wool lining. Not that my uncle doesn't care about her and what she'd like to have, but he's hopeless, more than most men. So, after years of having to put on the happy face, this year my aunt decided to be proactive and so I found myself pushing him in a wonky mall wheelchair through crowds of people who all looked as if they'd bite your head off like a gingerbread man if you so much as whispered Happy Holidays.

I'd get held up in a milling throng of people and he'd holler, "just gun the bitch and they'll get out of the way!" as if the wheelchair was a Formula One racecar. And, as if I could 'gun the bitch' with all 275 pounds of Bud Canonico perched on the seat with a lap full of shopping bags.

But I persevered and so my aunt is actually getting some great presents this year, even if my uncle doesn't know "what she'd f*****g do with a pair of Goddamn earrings" (in a tone of voice like he thought she'd look at them and try to pin them to her nipples or something), "why dont we go to the Kmart and get her a corkscrew?" I swear, a corkscrew-because she had a glass of white zinfandel in front of him the other day. Not the yellow sweater which was "pretty like an egg yolk," but the blue one. Not the jewelry box which says "Bling! Bling!" when you lift the lid but the tasteful wooden armoire style. You get the idea. I came home with a pounding headache.

And I lost the ulitmate battle because we also came home with the corkscrew. :-P

Whatta day.

02:14 pm: Bad Backs and Scotsmen
I can't believe I just spent three days worrying over someone I've never met and who doesn't know me from Adam. Of course it's David Tennant and his wonky back, the light of my so-called life.

My Uncle has a terrible back and goes to a pain specialist and all that, but he'll need surgery at some point for it as well, he's just stubborn about it. Seeing what he goes through I just wanted to nurse poor David. Feed him some sweets and hot coffee. get him ice packs or heating pads. Dress up in a naughty nurse uniform and try to distract him by performing unspeakable acts with assorted fruits...you know, the usual stuff you do.

Other than the anxiety over a stranger, life has been what it's been. Can't celebrate, can't throw a party either exactly. I've really got nothing to complain about when so many people are worse off than me, but I don't think there's a deader place on Earth than Pennsauken, New Jersey in December. Cemeteries have more laughs. But I get by on faith and many Twinkies. It has to get better...there's a very old story about a man who inherited a barn full of horse shit. He ran through it shouting, "there must be a pony here somewhere!"

There must be a pony. :)

02:58 pm: For Daddy
Yesterday was the 21st anniversary of my father's death.

I don't talk about him as much as I do my Mom, both because my mother's death was more recent and seemed more traumatic to me, and because he's been gone so long now I have trouble pulling up his image in my mind's eye. He wavers in and out, a swarthy, smiling face with a big black moustache and hardly any teeth left in his mouth. He hated his dentures and never wore them but somehow it never made his smile ugly, just comical.

I was nineteen when he died, killed by a drunk driver in the Irony of Ironies because for most of my life he was a functioning alcoholic. When I say functioning, I mean that for most of the time he was just dandy even though he drank every day but he'd go on Depressive binges and threaten suicide or simply disappear for days on end. Yep, I get it from both sides of my family, the Depression. Thanks for that.

But at the time of his death he'd found a really good job that he enjoyed (and didn't quit) and he'd stopped drinking cold turkey. He and I were just beginning to get along well. He knew he had years of screwups to get through before I'd fully trust him again, but he was trying.

It's so hard to discuss him now...I think most people have this image of growing up in an alcoholic family as one long hardship and sob story, but it isn't like that usually, if the drunk isn't abusive-and my Dad wasn't. He was the nicest guy you'd ever want to know, everybody's best friend...which I guess makes it more difficult than if he'd been a complete bastard. That would make all the times he left us with nothing while he went off somewhere or all the times he'd threaten to take pills or shoot himself or whatever make sense. I suppose it's a bit like living as a soldier in a war zone. Most of the time it's day-to-day routine, punctuated by moments of fear or despair.You get used to it after a while.

But I *did* love him, so much. This time of year he's always on my mind, not just because it's when he died, but because he loved the holiday season and was always at his best then. He adored decorating for Christmas-my Mom (who hated Christmas) used to grumble that if you bent over he'd stick an ornament on your ass. He loved being the first person to make footprints in new snowfall, and if it was the middle of the night when the first snow happened he'd wake us all up and we'd go out walking in it. For years after his death I cried at every first snow.

I live with his ghost now, and I'm still coming to terms with my childhood, with realizing that it wasn't as normal as I would have hoped for, with all the trauma he inflicted, but also all the love he gave. I can't blame him for the way he was. He grew up under a father who was a violent drunk, a man who once broke his mother's arm in front of him when she threw it out in front of my Dad to protect him. By the time I knew my Pop he'd stopped drinking but the damage was already done. He raised two alcoholic sons and a daughter who married one. I rarely drink because I fear that aspect of my DNA even more than I fear the Depression.

I wanted to write something about my Dad that was more well rounded than the simple "woe is me" story. I don't think I've succeeded too well. Perhaps too much has happened. Perhaps not enough time has passed or will ever pass for me to simply say I loved my father without adding the qualifying "but."

But I did, and I miss him terribly, for all that happened. I hope wherever he is...and I *do* believe in the Big Wherever...he's finally happy.

07:35 pm: The Unmitigated Gall
Just a joke title for this entry. The test results on my gall bladder all came back fine and I've been given a clean bill of health. No more Typhoid Mary-like isolation from everyone else's food.

To be completely honest, with my luck I was just *waiting* for the results to come back saying that my gall bladder was full of bacteria and would have to be sucked out with some sort of surgical hose horror instrument. For once, things seem to be going my way.

*waits for anvil to fall on head*

Other than that, things around here are pretty quiet. I've been writing lots of fanfic for a forum I belong to called JB and DT Smut...but it isn't at all smutty. Well, some of it is smutty. I may not be Tolstoy, but dirty fanfic I can do pretty well. Besides that, same old, same old.

Sigh. It still sucks that David Tennant is leaving Doctor Who. I get why he's doing it, but that boy is breaking my heart. Sigh again.

04:26 pm: Oh, Teh Suck
I'm feeling better and I get smacked in the face by David Tennant leaving Doctor Who? Oh, *God,* of all the suckity-suck suckiness that could have happened.

OMG david u r teh best doc n i think i might die!!!!!11one

*shakes entire body*

Sorry, my inner fourteen year old just popped out for a second there. Seriously, how much joy has that man given me? I laughed, I cried, I enjoyed every second of my time in the fandom and hope to have much, much more. He's so incredibly gifted that I think he's made the right decision to leave 'em wantin' more. Even if it hurts my heart just a little to see My Doctor go.

Tch. Shit.

04:29 pm: Slowly Coming Alive
My fever has finally broken, and just in time, too. I was supposed to go into the damn hospital yesterday but since my temperature was getting lower it was held off so long as I stayed in bed-I cheated. I can see my bed from the computer.

Now, I finish up my antibiotics and then they test my gall bladder. If it tests positive for the bacteria, it'll have to come out or I can pass the illness to others if I handle their food, just like Typhoid Mary. But I feel so much better I don't even care. I don't feel like my head is about to explode anymore or that my stomach is going to fall out of my ass. I feel nearly normal.

This is a good thing-I haven't been to therapy for a month now because I was too sick to make my last appointment and I'm really beginning to feel the need to talk to someone. I hate living here anyway, but being chained to the house has been nearly unbearable. I'm climbing up the walls. My aunt and uncle are wonderful people but they don't understand what makes me tick although they try. But they have problems of their own and don't need to hear me whine anymore...I have whined and whined the last two weeks aplenty, have used up my whining quota for the entire year, I think.