Stupid clouds....

Today there is to be a solar eclipse. I remember the last one that we could see from this area back in 1994. I was still in college then and there was a big viewing party down by the science building. It was great and everyone enjoyed it.

Now, all of the clouds that were supposed to be around during last week that didn't come all decided to show-up today. I was hoping that Youngest Son would get a chance to see the eclipse since it will be his first.

Then again, when it gets all dim and gloomy outside on a hot day like today, it just makes ya' want to take a nap. Which I've been doing with great success today.

Tired today....

LONG day.... Took Harley to have her yearly "shearing" at the groomer. She grows so much hair during the winter you could almost make enough wigs/toupees for those little hairless dogs. Then they wouldn't get so cold all the time. We also went to our favorite gaming store and sold them a few items for store credit. Just some old books that we didn't like but that their customers will love buying. And the credit can stay there until the next Warhammer 40K tournament or when we need to buy something for someone's birthday, etc.

Also started shopping for a new phone since mine is having battery issues. I first went to a store run by the company with whom I have my service. They said that they don't make stupidphones anymore. I said that I knew he was lying because (1) I'd seen an ad for one and (2) there were some hanging on the wall in the store. He, of course, wanted to show me every smartphone in the place but I told him I wasn't going to pay a bunch more per month for the privilege of having a phone that can do a lot of things I can't afford for it to do nor would I use it for them. I guess I should have also taken a photo (the one "fancy" thing my stupidphone can do) of all of the basic phones we saw at a large electronics retailer in town as well. And if I wanted a smartphone I could get it there for even less than the service company was advertising! But, no, I did not replace my beloved stupidphone.

When Harley's grooming appointment was over, we went to pick her up and I asked the groomer to grind Celeste's nails so that I won't have to clip them for a bit. Celeste was a show dog before she became a service dog but you would have thought that no one had ever touched her feet before when she started trying to escape from the groomer. Fortunately, the lady had a great attitude and just chased her around the grooming table, keeping one paw in her hand at all times, and got it done. Another of the ladies working there asked me if she could know why I have Celeste and when I told her she was thrilled to hear someone else has a service dog for psychiatric issues. I gave her my name and number and the name and number of Celeste's breeder/trainer because the lady and her husband are trying to get a service dog for him to use. I wish them the best of luck because I know that Celeste has helped me more than I could have imagined!

Hopefully tomorrow will be relaxing. I know Husband can use a nice relaxing day after working hard all week. And Youngest Son is now home from school so I'll find plenty of chores/activities for him to complete!

End of the Junior High Era

Today was Youngest Son's last day in junior high. Next year he'll be a freshman. Lord help us all.

I'm incredibly proud of him and am very, very happy that he's had some great experiences and made new friends since we moved to this town three years ago. He's been in three school theatre productions; he's participated in All-District Honors Band (was first-chair trumpet, too); attended the State Band Contest; has made the honor roll; and has a gang of friends that he really enjoys hanging-out with and who enjoy having him with them. As a kid who moved from school-to-school, I know it can be hard to fit-in when you're the new kid on the block. Youngest Son learned a lot more at a faster pace when he was homeschooled, but I agree with him that his past three years in public school have helped him grow in many different ways.

I'm especially proud of him as he has received the President's Education Awards Program Award for Outstanding Academic Excellence. To qualify for it, he had to have a cumulative grade point average of 3.5 or more over his junior high career and test above the average and rank in the top of the State's Assessment Program that's given every year. He received a very nice certificate and a lapel pin that he can put on his jacket when he goes to high school. He pointed out the "autograph" of President Obama on the certificate and I told him that an auto-pen did that. He said he was surprised they just didn't Xerox it and is not impressed by it. He was actually disappointed because he didn't receive a plaque for best brass student in band and was awarded for his academics. I reminded him that it will be his academics that helps him get into the college he wants and will follow him through life. A plaque won by your "nemesis" whose parents can afford for him to take private lessons in order to be better than Youngest Son will only someday be an unwieldy paperweight that your children won't even be able to get rid of in a yard sale.

I think he feels a lot better now. And he enjoyed his last day there. No, he didn't participate with one group that wore the colorful Morph Suits that everyone was buying around Halloween and at least he wasn't dared like one of his other friends to come dressed like a princess today. He made sure he had phone/text numbers for his friends so they can get together over the summer before high school band camp starts in July.

Eldest Son texted me today that he's learned how to weld in his sculpture class in college. I told him I was proud and that the welding experience can also be used in other jobs as well. He hopes to finish his classes soon so that he can graduate in the next semester or two.

One going into high school and one leaving college soon....where does the time go?

We'll see what happens now....

Today I got a call from an EEO/ERO person regarding my previous "quest" to find out why I'd not been reappointed to my employment position. She asked a lot of questions; I gave a lot of answers; I forwarded a LOT of emails; and she said she'd be making some phone calls and would get back in touch with me.

I have no idea if it's really going to make a difference or not. This has been such a stupid thing that I almost don't care which way it turns out. But, note that I said "almost" in that last sentence. I'm still very proud of the work I did with that agency and believe that I still have/had many years left to help others.

If nothing else, it gives me one more step towards closure. Who knows what will happen?

Just my typical Type-A/OCD self -- have to see it through all the way to the end regardless of the outcome.

Am I paying for this???

Today I had another therapist appointment. She began the session by trying to tell me about Jay Leno on the "Tonight Show" last night and how she really liked this "black female comedian who must be new." I mentioned the name Wanda Sykes and she said, "Yeah! That's her!" I began to list a number of television shows, movies, and voiceovers she'd done before and my therapist still had no idea who she is but thinks she's the funniest person she's heard in a long time. I agree, Ms. Sykes is funny. But then my therapist attempted to recount the entire conversation and all of the jokes between Jay and Wanda, but she couldn't remember all of the bits.

She sat there trying to tell me jokes and repeat what had made her laugh so hard but couldn't remember all of the punchlines or even some of the stories. What she did tell me didn't make any sense at all.

Then she began to tell me the story of how her dachshund had escaped from her house when a friend was dog-sitting and the very intricate details of how turkey hunters and neighbors (she lives in the country, so "neighbor" means "lives within a mile of you") had seen the dog but weren't able to catch it. On and on the story went and she was stunned that the dog had been gone for 15 days and had survived. The vet says it has tapeworms now because it was probably eating rabbits while it was away. She couldn't believe that her dog, a pampered pet, could kill something.

I reminded her that dachshunds were bred for hunting and ratting. They're low to the ground and have short legs so they can follow their prey into the burrows. And, most importantly, that it's a dog and when hunger sets in it's not going to debate over whether or not the food comes from a can or hole in the ground. It will go back to its nature and hunt, especially if it's a breed originally designed for that.

She kept on-and-on about how shocking it was and could I possibly believe that her dog (which I've never met) could do something like that and then, oh by the way, did I know that her pig was getting bigger? I had to stop for a second and ask her to repeat herself. She was telling me that the small piglet she'd been bringing into the office because its mother had stepped on it and it had a large wound that needed to be cared for was doing much better and is getting bigger. She also asked me what she should do with such a large animal. She's raised pigs before, so she knows that sows can become VERY large. I suggested that she make it a banquet centerpiece but she said there was no way she could eat it. She might consider breeding it but she doesn't know what to do with such a large animal.

Hey....here's a fun fact -- if you breed a very large animal, its young will also become very large animals!! If you think you don't have room for one now, having a bunch of others isn't going to help your space issues!!

I was about to ask, "Am I paying for this time?" when she finally asked me a question about how I was doing. I asked if she was telling me these disjointed tales as an example of what it's like to talk to me and she said that she didn't realize she'd talked so much. She then asked me why I'm not writing a novel and wanted to know more details from some of the posts that the voices have been writing and suggested I take them and write a book with them.

Yeah....people really want to read the Great American Novel about a plain kid with a dysfunctional family who's bat-shit crazy. Sure, it will be the top of the bestseller list in the category of "Most purchased for use in lighting fires" or "Most purchased as cheaper alternative to toilet paper."

So, my one-hour session didn't quite last that long today but at least it gave me subject matter about which to post tonight. I was too depressed to type much today anyway and still am. However, the goal of having a post every day is intact. My OCD is still sated for another 24 hours.

Seeing crooked....

Hate it when it's incredibly hot outside. Hate it even more when I don't realize that it's going to be very hot outside and accidentally wear dark-colored clothes which just help absorb the heat that my black car doesn't take from the sun. Fortunately, with Husband driving, I can either crank-up the air conditioning or hang my head out of the window. Celeste doesn't hang her head out the window like other dogs and prefers the air conditioning (and not having to see her "mommy" looking like an idiot).

Today I had to travel across the state again for my eyes. This time I was there for low-vision occupational therapy.

Yeah, I was like you. "How do you do visual occupational therapy?" was the first thing through my head when I heard about it. Actually, they have you try to read a lot of different items in many different sizes, try-out different types of light sources, determine how much functional vision you have, and make more suggestions on how to improve or adapt your current vision to what you need.

Unfortunately, there's not much they can do for me regarding my night blindness and decreased vision when driving. That's just something that I'm going to have to learn to live without even though I prefer being an independent person. Relying on someone to take me places just drives me crazy and I hate having to bum a ride from friends. I'm very thankful that Husband understands what's going on and isn't bothered by taking me places at night (well, not yet at least).

Fortunately with my desktop computer I have a large monitor and it makes it easier to see. When I'm on my laptop, I can increase the print size and make things easier to read. They showed me a special flourescent lamp that has a nice blue-tinted light that is very even and doesn't have a "hot spot" like an old incandescent bulb has. When we tried a regular desk lamp and one of the flourescent lamps, I was able to read much more and even smaller print with the flourescent one. It's not up to 20/20, but it's better. Now I've got to find some to put in the house so that I can enjoy reading my books like I used to. I can still apply for audiobooks through the state's library for the blind, but I hate having to listen to them and not being able to start and stop when I want like I can in a printed book. Some have suggested an E-Reader, but I prefer the feel and smell of a good old-fashioned book.

What surprised me the most today though was how the therapist helped me find a "sweet spot" in my vision. She noticed when I was having difficulty viewing certain items that I would shift it until I could read it more clearly or I would shift my eyes rapidly as if searching for something. I've always had issues with that. I would use my right eye for reading and seeing up close and my left eye for distance viewing. Anything in the middle is a toss-up. The therapist had me look at her face (focusing on the center of her nose) and describe what I could see. I knew she had hair, eyes, a nose, cheekbones, and a mouth. She asked me to describe what I saw and it was all there but blurry. She then pointed at different places along the sides of her face and asked me to focus there and tell her what I saw. There was one place where her eyes disappeared; another where everything was so blurry if I hadn't already seen her I wouldn't be able to tell where some features were.

And then, it happened. She pointed at a spot to the left of her eyes, causing my eyes to shift to the right. Suddenly, not only could I see her face but I could also see the color of her eyes and the darker ring around the outside of her irises which I'd never noticed before. We couldn't pinpoint whether it was my right eye, my left eye, or both working together that made the difference, but just shifting my vision about four inches to the right made things so much better.

She gave me a bunch of worksheets with practice lessons to help train me to look at things "crooked" so that I'm using the "sweet spot" of my vision. She also showed me with a light meter how much I need to be able to see more clearly and we tried different light sources again. The blueish flourescent lamp was the brightest and now I've got to find somewhere that sells them. I want floor models in the living room & bedroom and a desk version I can move about the house and take with me if I'm gone with work or on a trip.

I'll be going back for another session sometime in the near future. I have to look at Youngest Son's schedule for the summer since he wants to get a class out-of-the-way this summer so he won't have to take the class during the school year and free-up a period for something else he wants. But I can tell already that learning to look to the right to see something is a trick that's going to be really hard to teach this old dog to do. Wish me luck!

They're back! Voices in charge again!!!

Aha!!  The voices in my head are still going at it.  Oh sure, it's been a few days since they last ranted like this, but I think that's just because they've been saving it up for a nice explosion.  One where not many people come out happy or unscarred.  One where the majority of people who read this won't give a rat's ass and others will either be embarrassed, offended, or so confused they won't know which opinion to choose.

Things are just stupid all over and I have no idea why.  I hate chaos and disorder except when the disorder is created by me.  Then it just looks like disorder to others but I know where everything is and I don't want anyone touching it.  But the past few days/weeks have me remembering more in the continuing story (which I'll get back to soon) and watching things happen that just have me shaking my head in disgust and frustration.

Example:  Husband read a post by Half-Sister on her Buttleaflet account.  She made a comment.  He replied to the comment.  Nothing offensive, just an opinion.  She called him an asshole and de-friended him.  So what?  They're adults and can do whatever they want.  What I thought was strange was that she did the de-friending after calling him an asshole and that prevents him from seeing it.  He didn't know that she'd responded until I was on my account and saw what was posted.  Not that either of them care, I'm sure -- they've never gotten along for a laundry list of reasons (some I know and some I don't) and I don't think either one feels slighted and/or vindicated by the actions.

So it seemed strange to me when I was reviewing my account online today and found that one of my Sisters-in-Law had de-friended me.  This was weird because quite a while ago we'd had a bit of a difference of opinion regarding something I'd posted somewhere and what she typed to me hurt my feelings.  I let her know how I felt and she replied and I realized that we were both reading way too much into things (which we both admitted) and mutually apologized to each other.  Just recently I'd been seeing posts from my niece but nothing from her mom.  I thought maybe she was just being unusually quiet recently and had even received an email from a mutual friend wondering if she was okay.  Now I know why I've not seen anything.  Am I sad?  A bit because we were close in age and had a lot of things in common and always have enjoyed each other's company.  But, if that's her choice, then I have to respect it.

So, all of the voices are now trying to get me to continue with the retelling of my story ('cause we're getting to some of the juicy parts) and argue over whether or not being able to contact family members online is a good thing or a bad thing and lamenting over yesterday being Mothers' Day and not hearing from Eldest Son.  He sent a brief text, but that's all.  I don't want a parade or anything like that but he doesn't call or return messages anymore.  He didn't say or do anything for his step-father's birthday and the last time I sent him info about what Youngest Son was doing he seemed disinterested.  I always take his calls, regardless if I'm at work or in an appointment.  Just as long as answering my phone won't cause a dangerous situation (like when I'm driving) I answer because I worry about him being far away from home.

But is it "home" to him?  He lives closer to his biological father and paternal grandparents who give him everything he wants.  I see him for maybe a week around the Christmas holidays when I pay for the Amtrak tickets to get him here and back.  He should be graduating from college soon and I certainly don't want to miss that, but I can't get an answer out of him when I ask when he thinks he'll be done.  He used to call me for everything -- even issues I couldn't solve for him but he knew that I'd give him my best advice and intelligent options for him to weigh.  Now it's nothing.  No texts.  No calls.  No emails.  And he dropped Buttleaflet and the other thing with a plus sign after it when he wasn't interested in it either.

I don't really know what to think about much of anything anymore.  I make up my own mind and have my own opinions and invariably someone gets offended.  I explain that my opinions are just that -- mine -- and that anyone who is offended should (1) say something to me so that I understand that their opinion is different than mine and we can come to a mutual understanding that I'll have mine and they'll have theirs and be respectful of it or (2) be quiet about it if all they're going to do is try to shove their opinion down my throat and tell me what an awful person I am for thinking or believing the way I do.  I have seen and experienced a lot of things I'd never wish on anyone else.  I have friends who have seen and experienced a lot of things -- some thousands of times worse than anything I've had -- that they'd never wish on anyone else as well.  We all come from a damaged background in one way or another.  It was different when people lived tens/hundreds/thousands of miles away from each other and only called/wrote every now-and-then.  With the Internet, everyone is in everyone else's business 24/7 and people don't understand that sarcasm/humor/anger/despair won't translate well through printed words.  So we all (and, yes, I include myself in this) jump to a conclusion based on what we see and what we believe that person would say/do/think.

I try to make a point of stepping-back and thinking about what I've read and how it could be interpreted different ways.  I've been doing that with a lot of things from my past recently, too.  That's one of the reasons the voices in my head keep telling me to write more and get things down on paper.  It's not to beg for pity or to embarrass someone else by airing anyone's dirty laundry.  It's trying to see things objectively and get them out of my system once and for all.  The voices have been rummaging through the cabin trunks in my brain to clear out the crap and make more space for the penguins (if you're a Douglas Adams fan you'll get that reference).

So now that I've gotten that mess out of the way for now, I'll pick up where we left-off in the story.  My parents decided to divorce and the summer between my 4th and 5th grade years of school they took me on a really long "family" vacation.  Then they waited until the summer between my 5th and 6th grade years to actually finalize the divorce while I was away at summer camp.

I talked briefly about 6th grade but it needs more information.  Not only was I again attending a school where my biological father was the principal but his mistress was the school secretary there as well.  Oh joy.  As if I needed further reminders of how much my life was going into the crapper.  But, I was an honor student and was meeting even more people because the school district had two elementary schools and the students from both combined into one class during 6th grade.  Yay....not only did I have the ones who knew me and knew my dad was the principal but I had a whole new set who would look at me as if I was the privileged one because my dad was the principal.

I can assure you that being "privileged" was far from the truth.  Some of my teachers liked me because I was a good student and I worked hard.  Some of my teachers just outright hated me because they didn't like my father or his mistress or both and were determined to make my life hell and were upset that they couldn't fail me because I made high grades in all of my classes.

There was an instance, however, where people felt I was being given too much privilege during my 6th grade year.  Previously I mentioned that I began playing the flute in band in 4th grade.  When I finally made it to the middle school where grades 6-8 attended, my father said that he was going to try to get me into the beginning band (7th grade) because I'd already had band experience.  He also knew that I was going to be bored to death in the 6th grade music class because I'd already learned to play the recorder and the keyboarding part of the year would be equally as boring since I'd been taking piano lessons since 1st grade.

One afternoon, my father told me to bring my flute to school with me the next day and I would be allowed to play with the woodwind class.  I happily entered the classroom the next day and was excited to get back to playing.  The band instructor said that it was "Challenge Day" and we would have to play a section from the book to see who would be placed in which chair based on our performances.  The students in the classroom had already been playing together and were in their "chairs" so I was told to take the last seat and would play first.  I played the piece from the book (which was the exact same book I'd already completed in 4th grade) and did better than the person next to me, so I took her chair and moved up the line.  This continued over and over again.  Each time I would play, then the next student would play, and then I would be moved up another ranking by taking their "chair."  Finally, I had moved all the way from last chair to second chair.  This is when I got really, really nervous because the person in first chair wasn't just the child of my 6th grade science teacher but was also a boy.  I'd not played against a boy before and I'd heard that he was very, very good.  He took lessons from the same piano teacher I had started with in our new town and if he could play the flute half as good as he played piano I knew I had no chance.  I was so nervous and I actually made a mistake while playing the same line that I'd been playing all day.  He, however, played it perfectly and remained in the top spot.  I was humbled and highly impressed at the same time.

I didn't even get to finish the week.  Word spread quickly of what I'd done and how I'd nearly unseated the top player in the class.  How dare I, just a simple 6th grader with 2 years of previous playing experience, walk into a classroom of older children who happened to live in a district that didn't allow them to begin band (in school, they could have taken private lessons though) until they were 7th graders and do so well?  How could this happen?  Who would allow it?  After enough teachers and parents complained, my father wouldn't allow it.  He yanked me out of that class faster than I could think possible.  He tried telling me it was for my own good that I stayed with my "regular" classmates but I knew better.  He was always trying to be popular with everyone and if someone said something negative about me being in band, he took it as a personal assault on his character.  It never mattered if I excelled at something -- if someone said or even thought anything negative he would immediately stop me from doing whatever it was so that people would think highly of him.

And it just wasn't in school that he did this.  He enrolled me in golf lessons at the local country club.  I wasn't the least bit interested in playing golf the way he was.  He bought himself the newest Jack Nicklaus "Golden Bear" clubs and made sure that he was seen playing with anyone he thought could get him viewed in a more positive light.  I had a teeny kids' set with a 3-wood, a 9-iron, and a putter in a vinyl bag.  Yeah....that was going to get me into the LPGA someday.

I suffered through the lessons and one day went with him to play a round at the country club.  I'd never played all 18 holes but he wanted to be sure he was getting his money's worth out of my lessons.  As predicted, he did much better than I did on every hole (and he had me teeing-off from the men's tee instead of the women's).  Every hole....except one.  There was one hole that had the longest par 5 on the front-nine and from a short kid's perspective seemed to go straight up instead up a sloping hill.  I got there in par -- a feat I was never able to reproduce but I was thrilled.  My father did not fare as well.  It took him more strokes to complete the hole than I'd made but he was still ahead in the game.  It didn't matter to him.  That wasn't even the last hole on the front-nine.  He was angry.  No, he was pissed-off in a way I'd not seen for quite a while.  He was shocked that I beat him on that hole.  He couldn't fathom the idea that a young kid could get lucky (with a bit of training) and make a par on that hole when he couldn't.

Immediately, he said he was done and didn't want to play anymore.  Just like a spoiled child, he took his toys and said I couldn't play in his sandbox anymore.  He wouldn't finish the entire game.  He wouldn't finish the front-nine.  He never asked me to play again.

So, with my broken family and the semi-acceptance of "friends" from school and church and my mother's depression and ranting at me as if I was the cause of everything evil in the world, what was I supposed to do?  If no one was happy seeing me or wanted me around, why should I be?  But, I wasn't quite ready to give up breathing yet.  Summer was coming and my favorite thing was just around the corner -- summer camp in Mississippi.

I escaped to Mississippi by begging my mother to take me a day earlier than usual and spending the night in the nearest town so that I could arrive very, very early the next morning.  All of the campers were allowed to pick the cabins they wanted to stay in, the hobbies they wanted to learn, and the bible classes they wanted to attend.  But, all of those were first-come, first-served.  If you weren't there early enough in the line, you didn't get anything you wanted.

I needed this to be a good summer.  She agreed and we went early so that I could be one of the first in line.  I knew that my second week I would get pretty much anything I wanted because they would allow me to pick my cabin/hobby/class before the others would register so that I could help show people around the camp, answer questions, and make sure that parents were comfortable leaving their kids.  I even had one father who, when he heard the name of my hometown, demanded that I look-after his daughter 'cause she'd never been away from home and anyone from where I was from had to be "good people."  I said that I wasn't a babysitter and that she'd be fine but we were going to be staying in the same cabin so at least she'd have a friend from day one there.  We actually got along and had a blast that week she was there.

During lunchtime, all of the campers would get excited about mail call.  Some kids were shipped items they'd forgotten from home.  Some kids got care packages from their families as if being in the middle of the forest prevented them from obtaining decent food.  (We got decent food, and lots of it!)  Some would get letters from boyfriends/girlfriends back home but most never received any.  I usually didn't get mail because it would take 3 days to get there from where I lived and by the time a letter would arrive I'd either (1) have already been able to call home on the weekend ('cause campers weren't allowed to call except in emergencies during the week) and found out everything or (2) I'd have left after the second week.

This year, though, there was a letter for me.  I was stunned.  The Camp Director enjoyed teasing the kids by pretending there were things written on the outside of the envelope, usually the gooey-eyed type of phrases people thought that people in love would say to each other.  It always got a big laugh and usually helped whomever received the letter he chose to play with feel better.  My family and I were good friends with him, so when he saw this letter I became the target of his humor.  It was funny and I proudly walked through all of the applause and laughter to receive my letter.

It was from my father.  This was very strange.  And it wasn't handwritten.  He'd typed the envelope and the letter.

After lunch we had a mandatory 30-minute "rest period" in our cabins so that our food could settle before the swimming pool would be open for the afternoon.  Yes, we had a huge lake there but it was much safer to swim in the pool!

I sat on my bunk in the cabin and read the letter.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I still have the letter somewhere in my house.  I've packed it away with other important items but made sure that I've put it somewhere where I won't casually find it but also where it will remain for a long time because it was a great turning point in my life.

My father typed a letter to me saying that (and I'm paraphrasing here) he knew I'd be having fun at camp; that he hoped that I got to be in the classes I wanted that summer; and, oh by the way, that the day I'd left for camp he and his mistress had traveled to Arkansas and gotten married.  He gave a half-assed excuse for not inviting me or letting me know about it before I left for camp and that I should be prepared for them (him, her, and her 2 kids) to pick me up at the end of my second week.

I don't really remember much after that.  I was shocked and hurt.  To think that he purposefully didn't want me to know what was going on was the worst.  I can only remember them coming to pick me up in his diesel Chevette and me being crammed into the middle of the back seat between her kids (both of whom I was older than by many years) for the 8-hour drive back home.  No stopping except if they wanted to stop.  No eating anywhere except where they wanted to eat.  It was if coming to get me was a huge chore and not an attempt to help mend any wounds or begin to create a family.  I couldn't stand it.  It still makes me ill to think about it.  I was ignored the whole way back and dumped-off unceremoniously at my house.

"Well," I remember thinking to myself one day around that time, "this is it.  Mom's mad because she's divorced and has me to take care of on her own and Dad's being a jerk as usual except he's rubbing it in my face with his new 'son' (step-son, actually) that he's always wanted.  What's the point anymore?"

I went to the church camp sponsored by our local church that summer as well.  Fortunately, they drove a bus to get us out there and back so I didn't have to suffer either of my parents' unwillingness to deal with me.  I tried to have fun and I remember our group of girls (we were divided by age and gender) doing well on contests, but there were many who didn't want me in their group.  And I dreaded every day having one or both of my parents showing-up to give me some additional news that should have been told in person but was just haphazardly typed-out in a letter.  It didn't happen and I don't think I could have stood it if it did.

Well, poop....looked at the clock and all of my time is gone again.  The voices are still trying to cram words down my arms and to my fingers on the keyboard but I've got errands to run.  Need to get things done or Husband will be irritated that I stayed inside all day again.  I know he says he's not but I also know that it does upset him because I used to be very outgoing and my disabilities are not getting better.  Maybe in the long-run this "therapy" I'm trying with these posts will help.