CC
10.07.14 (Day 200)
08.42
CC: 200 in Roman numerals. Also an abbreviation of Carbon Copy.
Or Fm2, Sn4, or Re2Sn: Fermium, Tin and Rhenium; Fm (100), Sn (Tin) and Re (75) on the Periodic Table. Or Four golds. Or two platinums and a gold. Whichever way it's expressed, today is day 200 of being out here. 200 days on the road. Placed here because I'm unwell. But curing others' ills. A fucking long sentence anyway.
And anyway, copying up hand-written notes from the notebooks which may not survive into an indelible blog, filling in the gaps, in abbreviated form, as I'm limited by time:
The Saturday before last, I met my biological kids for the first time in eight months. The youngest told me that the eldest cries over me every night. My heart broke. I had a panic attack and had to return home. Home to my other kids, one of whom needed me. She's gone now but was my Clingy Thingy.
Her dad beat me up.
Most of my kids' parents know their children are here. Some even visit. So did this one. The in-house family know the true and full story and that's one I'll tell another time.
The Courts has gone: good, for her. She did it. Everyone says I did it but she helped herself and I'm proud.
I fucked up my phone. The mother ship helped with a new one.
My netbook is fucked.
I lost a daughter: a little rebel with a cause and a rebel with a need. A chip off the old block.
I self-pierced my lughole with one of our Pink Hearts: a sign of permanence. I did The Dog too. It hurt.
I love my kids. It's reciprocal. They understand me and vice versa. That's why they flock to me. Birds of a feather.
The Courts paid a brief, sweary return visit. We were all happy.
Others have gone for good. New ones come and go. Old ones come back home. Those outside still don't get it.
That's this place: Steve's.
Get it or don't. Come in or fuck off. Leave us alone.
We're gone soon but the hand-written notebooks are in the white cupboard in my room. There's lots in there.
Someone else will have to do this soon.
CC: pass it on.
10.07.14 (Day 200)
08.42
CC: 200 in Roman numerals. Also an abbreviation of Carbon Copy.
Or Fm2, Sn4, or Re2Sn: Fermium, Tin and Rhenium; Fm (100), Sn (Tin) and Re (75) on the Periodic Table. Or Four golds. Or two platinums and a gold. Whichever way it's expressed, today is day 200 of being out here. 200 days on the road. Placed here because I'm unwell. But curing others' ills. A fucking long sentence anyway.
And anyway, copying up hand-written notes from the notebooks which may not survive into an indelible blog, filling in the gaps, in abbreviated form, as I'm limited by time:
The Saturday before last, I met my biological kids for the first time in eight months. The youngest told me that the eldest cries over me every night. My heart broke. I had a panic attack and had to return home. Home to my other kids, one of whom needed me. She's gone now but was my Clingy Thingy.
Her dad beat me up.
Most of my kids' parents know their children are here. Some even visit. So did this one. The in-house family know the true and full story and that's one I'll tell another time.
The Courts has gone: good, for her. She did it. Everyone says I did it but she helped herself and I'm proud.
I fucked up my phone. The mother ship helped with a new one.
My netbook is fucked.
I lost a daughter: a little rebel with a cause and a rebel with a need. A chip off the old block.
I self-pierced my lughole with one of our Pink Hearts: a sign of permanence. I did The Dog too. It hurt.
I love my kids. It's reciprocal. They understand me and vice versa. That's why they flock to me. Birds of a feather.
The Courts paid a brief, sweary return visit. We were all happy.
Others have gone for good. New ones come and go. Old ones come back home. Those outside still don't get it.
That's this place: Steve's.
Get it or don't. Come in or fuck off. Leave us alone.
We're gone soon but the hand-written notebooks are in the white cupboard in my room. There's lots in there.
Someone else will have to do this soon.
CC: pass it on.
"I love my kids. It’s reciprocal". They're not your kids; they are teenagers who have found a place to go where the resident adult doesn't critisise them for behaving like young teens - give it a few weeks and they won't even remember your name!
ReplyDeleteI've been reading this blog pretty much since it started and I've always been sympathetic towards your situation. However, when you admitted that "The youngest told me that the eldest cries over me every night" I wanted to cry for those kids, I'm hoping that you did too - after all they are your kids.
You often speak of your 154 IQ but when (and where) was this tested (and who by)? Back in '89 I sat a timed mensa test at home and had a 154 IQ (I've been partying since I left school so I bet it's gone down a bit)
There was loads more to this comment last night - there was even a point but now I've sobered up I can't remember what it was!
ReplyDelete