This is late, I planned on having it posted on Sunday. Here it is, a belated birthday ode to my beloved. It fails at its objective, just as I predicted. Oh well, I tried. It’s difficult to describe deep emotions. I have multiple posts started regarding various strong emotions, many that will probably never be finished. But as The Boy’s 30th birthday approaches, I wanted to try, at least, to explain something of my feelings towards him. I will fail, miserably (what does it say about me that I set out to do something, knowing failure is a foregone conclusion?) and probably rewrite it sixteen times trying to get it right, but still I feel like it’s something I have to attempt. 

There are a lot of little reasons people fall in love. It wouldn’t be hard to sit here and wax poetic about his endless blue eyes or the neat, comfy way I fit in his arms or even the way his laughter erases the stress I don’t even know I’m carrying- it’d be easy, but it’d be a cop out. It’s harder, much, much harder, to put words to the deeper connections, the ones people don’t talk about a lot because it is so very hard to describe. I’m going to try. 

So we had an emergency ghost hunt on Saturday. Lots of spookiness was claimed by the homeowner. Shadow figures, bed shaking, moving mists, footsteps, lots and lots of footsteps… generally scary stuff made worse because she lives alone. That was the really odd part. She’s lived in the home for twenty years with no problems until recently. We came in as quickly as we could, as the incidents had been getting worse by the day. Particularly the bed shaking. In short, she was terrified.

So the five of us met at the house, along with a part time group member, T. The set up went smoothly and the client, while visibly anxious and worn out, was obviously relieved to have some help.

The Boy and our fearless leader had interviewed the client in her home earlier in the week. They both claimed the house felt uneasy, particularly on the second floor, which the client stated was the most active area. We were all pretty excited. We were really going to try to help someone, and the activity level was high enough we really thought something might happen. I should mention, in case I haven’t, that I have personally never experienced anything supernatural. I consider myself an open-minded skeptic. I really hoped I’d experience something that night.

Each one of us spent time with the homeowner throughout the night. She was obviously on edge, constantly moving, talking, smoking, and quite willing to talk about the incidents. She was blatantly nervous. I wondered how much sleep she was getting. We toured the house, taking time in each room on the second floor. Nearly all the activity surrounded that floor alone. Even the few things occurring on the main floor centered on the stairs or noises heard from above.

The largest concern, for the client, was the bed shaking. She’d even tried sleeping in the guest room to avoid it, with no luck. So we set up in the bedrooms, the hallway and the living room. We used a handheld in the office, where loud thumps or footsteps were heard from the attic. We set a DVR in the attic and the basement, as well as carrying them with us for EVP sessions.

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Headlines, bumper stickers, billboards- turn around and look, somewhere close there is something announcing, “My Dad is a solider”, “Our sons are fighting for freedom” and “Thank you for Fighting” with the ubiquitous fresh faced young man with a grim look and sand colored uniform.  How about this from the CNN website? “Moms, wives remember sons, husbands at war.” Look at a few protest signs, “Bring back our sons”, “I want my Dad back!”  Emotional messages to be sure. 

When was the last time you saw a protest sign saying, “Bring Back Our Daughters!” or “Support Our Mothers!” What about a news story? “Military Husbands: How They Cope” or “Little Boy Surprised on His Birthday by Sister Serving in Iraq.”  Rarely do people even acknowledge that women are serving overseas at all, let alone in actual combat.  It’s disturbing to see the few mentions of female soldiers inevitably turn them into victims.  Sexual harassment is a perennial favorite. Susceptibility to PTSD, depression and other mental issues after returning from war began as a military issue.  Now, it is a female military issue.
More women then men report symptoms and seek help.  Could the culture of sexism in the military be to blame?  If women are seeking help, then any man who chooses to do so could be considered weak.  Any solider who chooses help; male or female runs the risk of being looked down upon, simply by virtue of needing help.  “Army of One,” “Be All That You Can Be” phrasing that suggests self-reliance and individualism; but not too much individualism. The military culture of self sufficiency and teamwork, leadership and obedience is another topic but one that dovetails into the issue at hand. 

Females in the military have a higher mountain to climb, an almost Sisyphus-ian task to achieve equality with their male counterparts.  Their honor is not nearly so guarded, their skills downplayed while their ‘detriments’ to their units are broadcast far and wide.  Their sacrifices are mentioned in passing, if at all, while a male solider is canonized for putting off his wedding for a year or two.  The only headline a female solider can count one is the local paper, when she gives her life for her country, unless of course she gets captured.  Jessica Lynch endured horrendous circumstances, but the focus was not on a solider being kidnapped, it was on a female soldier being kidnapped and the twisted sexual nature of her capture. People are fascinated by such gruesome stories; therefore, they get the billing.  This is once again proves a detriment to male victims, we don’t hear about male kidnapping nearly as often.  Why would we? They are men, able to handle the strife and torture with a masculine stiff upper lip.
The intention of this entry is not to diminish the sacrifices all soldiers are making to fight this endless war.  I just want to be sure all soldiers are getting support.

It pisses me off to see the lack of recognition; it should piss you off too.

*Title Credits: Homer Simpson, “Lisa on Ice” season 6 episode 8 (a fantastic episode by the way)

So it all started with a TV show. Most people know the one I’m talking about, over on the Sci-Fi Channel. From there the Boy starting talking about hunting ghosts, a lot. In fact he started collecting equipment and working up ideas for building his own. Last year, around Halloween no less, we tagged along with another group at a haunted school. I was terrified for the first twenty minutes or so. I mean paralyzed with fear. See, I’ve never had anything even close to a supernatural experience, ever. So I was, at first, horrified of having one and equally worried about losing my shit in front of all those people, let alone the Boy, who would tease me mercilessly if I did freak out.

            But then, twenty minutes or so after ‘lights out’ and we began walking around the freezing, eerily empty school and the fear just dissolved. It was fun! It was a lot of fun! Like a treasure hunt or mystery game. You have to look for clues, or evidence. You have to look at alternate explanations for lots and lots of things; you have to be smart and pay attention, but still get to have a lot of laughs. In short, I loved it. We didn’t find anything that night, but we still had a great time.

            The Boy knew a few people there and pretty soon we started talking about forming a group of our own. One thing led to another and Saturday night was out first hunt. There are five of us: #1, #2, #3, the Boy and me. I know they need clever names; I’ll get to it at some point. For reference, #1 is our Fearless Leader, #2 is his girlfriend who went to school with the Boy and how we all got introduced in the first place and #3 is our fearless leader’s cousin and also doing the tech stuff with the Boy.

            So our first case: Our Fearless Leader’s sister’s house in random small town Iowa. Built in the early 1900’s it was used as a doctor’s office and maybe as a funeral home or morgue, although we haven’t confirmed that.

            The major activity: Front door opening and closing, feeling uncomfortable in the basement, the kids seeing shadows and hearing voices and one little girl refusing to sleep in her bedroom if the closet door is open. Our client had not told the spirits to leave, only not to bother or scare her children. Also the attic is creepy. I don’t remember the specifics, but attics are always creepy in old houses.

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A compilation of a 100 very similar conversations I have had with my brother. 

(Note: All italics should be read with the most annoying whine possible, complete with drawn out syllables. À la Dr. Cox on Scrubs. Practice until it drives someone insane. Did it force someone to grind their teeth so hard the enamel came off? No? Then you aren’t there yet. Don’t worry if you can’t quite get the right level of annoyance, the Brat has had 22 years to perfect it. I think the Dept of Homeland Security wants to study him to see if that whine could be used for interrogation purposes. I guarantee the suspects will talk just to make him stop!)

(Train- “Drops of Jupiter” fills the room from the iPod dock…)

the Brat: “That song is like, five years old!”

Hawkeyegirl: “…And?”

the Brat: “Why do you never listen to anything new?! You’ve listen to the same crappy songs forever!”

Hawkeygirl: “I listen to lots of new stuff, I just tend to like the older stuff better. And five years is not old…”

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So I promised a positive post, full of bunnies and kittens and rainbows issuing forth from unicorns. Joy and laughter and smiles and other happy shit. 

I lied. I lied to you through blog. I suck.  

I had a bad night, full of those horrible dreams where everything is vivid and real and strange. The dreams where all the people are real, the ones you see or talk to everyday but they are all just a bit off, like a Neil Gaiman children’s book, and no matter what you do you can’t break out of it. You wake up with tears on your face and these horrid images of people you love pushing all your buttons and saying nasty things, those things your psyche knows will break you down. I hate those dreams so very much. 

And now, I am back at work. Where every drop of joy and happiness you are clinging to gets immediately sucked through the vents the moment you step inside. They can’t just settle for your soul, oh no, Corporate America must have your happiness as well. After all, in this economy souls are worthless, much like three bedroom ranches with a fenced in yard and carport. Cheerfulness, contentment, peace of mind, wrenched from the hearts of the working masses, desperate to keep their jobs- this is where the real money is, just ask Wall Street.  The bitterness, it is sweet. 

Misery has opted to stay for a while, along with my wildly flailing hormones that seem to be on some kind of mission to prove just who is boss of my mental state. They are on a rampage, changing my mood every hour from depressed to sleepy to angry to melancholy to sad back to sleepy with a little hopelessness thrown in for good measure. I miss birth control. The IUD saves time and money but damn this is hell. 

Even my metaphors suck… sigh.    

Title Credits: The Simpsons, of course. Episode Quoted -Homer and Apu 5.13    

Eloquent as always I suppose.

Many, many things have happened.

My Mom died. It sucked. It really, really sucked. Still sucks in fact, will likely continue sucking for the rest of my life. Which won’t be much longer if I can’t stop fucking smoking.

I got engaged to The Boy. That doesn’t suck, but wedding planning, especially wedding planning without my Mom sucks. (The Boy used to be known as EF, but I decided I hated that. So I’m changing it).

I still have a shitty ass job that sucks more everyday.

I’ve gotten fatter and I hate it. Sucky.

I still live in my shitty, tiny apartment, now even worse because the Brat lives with me. He’s an okay roommate but there is NO MORE ROOM. It sucks.

I have no ability to write, at all, anymore. I barely read. It SUCKS.

That wedding I raved about a few years ago? Yeah, the marriage just dissolved. It really sucks, and now I’m scared to get married. Or rather, even more scared than before.

The Boy and are even further away from living together than ever before. I can not adequately state the suckiness of this development, other than to say, IT SUCKS.

I’m stressed, scared, depressed, my insomnia is worse than ever before, I feel sick a lot and have no money. I feel, for the first time in my life, truly 100% lost.  Things suck bad right now.

Just a message from your local downer. Something to let you know why six months have gone by without a post. That will change, I promise. I will also find some way to bring some positive to this blog also. I promise. It might suck anyway, but it will be positive!

I do love handmade- I am an Etsy fanatic!  I was lucky enough to win a prize at www.funkyfinds.com from both of the sellers below.  I LOVE my prizes!  Kinsgley got a spiffy new green collar (he’s going to be on the website!) that we are drooling over.  He’s even acting like he knows he’s handsome.

And the Woof cards?  So cute!  I keep having a hard time parting with them, even though that’s the point.  Ten are gone already!

www.rawdogleather.com

www.busynestcards.com