Time to Go?

Insomnia has become a rare event for me. Given my psychotic herstory, that rarity seems worthy of celebration, but only on some levels. This round came at me from a 2 a.m. sweat soaked pillow wake up which I can't get back to sleep from. I gave up that effort and went for coffee and a venting journal entry.

The self-loathing yaddahs have responded well to therapy exercises. Not my first rodeo. Was it 1959 (kindergarten) that it first emerged when a playground bully stuffed me into a trash can because he knew what to do with White Trash? For sure, it is not the first time my emotional needs have inspired tit for tat skirmishes in my 39 year relationship with Hubs. My needs inspire tit for tat skirmishes far more often than the needs have been met through my husband. He is far better at holding a course than tolerating any deviations from his established course. After 38 years of accepting this about him, this skirmish feels like a natural storm. Just batten the hatches, hunker down and donae ask the wind to stop blowing. This, too, shall pass.

Yesterday's resolve to *just* comply with the yaddahs of the 65th birthday blahs is still with me, but I don't expect that to be a fast moving event. That justy requires coordinating with one of the world's largest bureaucracies through some equally hot political controversies. I am already having fantasies about the UT bell tower where Charles Whitman committed his infamous shooting spree. Yes, I know precisely where it is and precisely where to park. It is a most excellant place to take pot shots at some of the world's most compliant citizens. This morning I could even be enticed to begin the spree with my spouse as Charles Whitman started with his spouse and mother. My mother is already dead, so I would have to settle for *just* the spouse.

My plan was to begin with a visit to the Social Security office nearest the job site this morning. My current agitation has me wondering if I should drive to an office in the river region instead. With the yaddahs attached to the 65th birthday blahs, I don't hold much hope for this birthday being any better than the juvenile birthdays I spent hiding from the older brother who hated sharing his birthday with me. Juvenile birthdays donae last as long as bureaucratic birthdays. My dread of August is far more intense than usual this year and there is no way of knowing how long the process will last, nor which rules, chapters or verses I will need to comply with. Hubby's certainty that I need to comply doesnae include certainty of *how* or *where* to comply. There is entirely too much room for tit for tat in that certainty. It sounds even less functional than processing the deaths of my estranged brother and mother in the shadows of his father's death. I might as well try to celebrate a kindergarten graduation at a Presidential Inaguration. Not much grows well in the shade of a mighty oak. The River Region is far enough from my mighty oak that I can partake of healing sunlight over the course of this ordeal. I needs sunlight.

The GK's and my chicks are the largest argument against the return to the River Region. The chicks I can leave to natural selection. I didnae really believe I could find a place in Hubby's business, anyway. I am only a sun-deprived beneficiary to the mighty oak. I can benefit as easily in the River Region as I can here and enjoy sunbaths, as well. The mysteries of the other grandparents are feeling like far to great an obstacle for me to believe I can be more than just another Gringo in the lives of my grandchildren, if I ever get to see them at all. Summer vacation isnae going to happen this year. We arenae doing well at deciphering the hispanic patriarchal system well enough to understand why or even how to make plans. His gimme jokes are his greatest consistency. He always wants money and/or property. Gimme, gimme, gimme. . . Money is what gringos are good for. The greed we can count on. More and more, I am feeling like being a grandmother isnae in my destiny. The GK's are *simply* gone. Here in this region, hispanics are a majority and *they* arenae the most benevolent or comprehensible majority in human history. I *just* another gringo. No nintendo nuthin. For sure, the ONE other grandfather is as mercurial as a political faction. When we call, there isnae a way to know if we are going to be speaking with The Perfect Patriarch or the disabled wretch who cannae get himself out of the chair. There isnae much comfort in knowing we will be speaking with one extreme or another. If the man has a middle ground, we havenae seen it yet. Neither of his extremes seem capable of compromise. My instincts say to *just* let that mystery be. God's Will be done.

Sorting. . .