No, Pissy Didn’t Get lost!

Yesterday was the day. The first day of many, I suspect, I will spend alone. I opened my eyes and they were met with a grainy picture of the country landscape through my window from the fog caused by Sunday nights thunderstorm. My first thought was that I hoped it wasn’t a foretelling of the days, weeks, or months to come. I’d hoped the day, this first day, would greet me better. First impressions, after all, are terribly important. At least my coffee was made and the dogs were cooperative when I went to let them out. I poured that first cup, looked around, and heard a sigh escape my lips. I’d gotten what I wanted. Now what?

It’s been over a month since I last posted. Life had continued moving forward as it always does, but I seemed to be in no shape to deal with it while the days passed. Rather, I contemplated each and every moment that took shape like a spectator watching a game unfold, waiting for the outcome. Detachment seemed far easier than holding my breath for weeks, and is something I’ve gotten very good at. Other than a handful of brief indulgences to remind myself that I was still alive and capable of emotion, I mastered the ability to shut-down and persevere through this most recent installment of madness. I was successful enough that today I find myself not under the spell of depression, but feeling quite hopeful and strong . The past two months have brought both the bitter and sweet into my life.

After four years of struggling to meet the obligations required to obtain my driver’s license again from a past DUI, I was finally successful in doing so the second week of April. Of course, a driver’s license is only useful if you have a vehicle, so my next step was making arrangements with the state on my hefty fines so that they would release the suspension they had on my car’s registration. I filled out the paperwork and mailed it, hoping that I would receive word quickly, given that I knew my son, Jud’s, parole was coming up, and if he were released here I would have to be the one to transport him back and forth to his parole appointments and job search. It didn’t take as long as I thought to hear back from them, and was thrilled when an agreeable payment arrangement had been made. All I had left to do was get insurance on my car, and take this insurance information in with my first payment to the county attorney’s office to get the suspension lifted. ALL I had to do.

Nothing is ever simple for me. I learned this a long time ago. Anytime the words simple or easy are used by someone else to describe something that I’m trying to obtain, I literally cringe. It seems like I’ve had to work at getting anything I ever wanted, no matter how insignificant the prize. This time was no different. I did everything right, everything I was supposed to do, only to find that in the end my efforts had been useless and I was totally at the mercy of another. This person would be my husband. Little FYI: In the state of Iowa if one spouse fucks up, doesn’t pay a fine, fails to pay taxes, etc…the other is held accountable as well. Needless to say it took a month of my bitching relentlessly to get him motivated to take care of the shit he overlooked that had now spilled over into my life, to get said suspension lifted. I am finally proud to say though, that after four years and two months of being a prisoner in my country home, and completely at the mercy of others to get out of the house, Pissy has her freedom. Will I ever drink and drive again? Not even if a naked Antonio Banderas was offered up as my personal, sex slave. Well, maybe if he were willing to drive me around…

My boy was paroled May 15th. I was told then all that was left to do was wait for the parole officer to come inspect the house and give me a date when I could pick him up. Two days after my husband found out that he was laid off from his job. Thus began three weeks of dual worrying about when the parole officer was going to show up, and also how we were going to meet the bills when they came due. Having my husband constantly underfoot and my not wanting to stray far from the house or away from the phone for long, just added fuel to the fire. I began to catch myself pacing, crying out of the blue for no reason, and staring at walls for long durations of time. I finally took it upon myself to go into town to the parole office and find out what the hold-up was. I was informed last week that my son had been denied placement here because we live too far out. This came about the same time my husband was offered a job working out of town.

I sit here now, alone, and have had time to discover that all things are working according to God’s will, and are in my best interest. If I hadn’t thought that there would be a possibility that my son might be coming home with me, perhaps I wouldn’t have worked so hard to get my license back and registration on my car renewed. If my husband hadn’t also thought it might be a possibility, I don’t think that he would’ve made the effort to clear up the things that he needed to take care of so I could also be mobile again. The fact that my son was denied placement here and my husband was offered a job opportunity with excellent pay working out of town, was just a means to an end to give me some much needed peace, I now believe. I have spent my life taking care of others. I raised children without support. I came to the rescue of every friend in need. I have cooked and cleaned for, catering to, damn near every man I’ve been with. I have paid my dues, always wondering when it was my time. I hadn’t thought God was listening to my prayers. I guess I didn’t give Him enough credit.

My son is taking the news of not being able to come home better than I thought he would. He knows that although he is technically released on paper, that he’ll now have to remain incarcerated for an undetermined amount of time till a bed in the halfway house they want to send him to become available. I’m proud of him for continuing to focus on the plans that he’s made for his life once he’s released, instead of on the anger of them denying him the ability to come home.

I, too, am starting to think about all the dreams I once had for my future that I’d nearly forgotten about. My husband will be working four days a week out of town, which means that will be four days that I don’t have to pick up after another, prepare meals if I don’t want to, and plan my time around. Four days to focus on me. I’m only on day two so the answer hasn’t presented itself yet. Right now I’m just taking the time to relax, find my center, and figure it all out.

To those of you that have left comments or sent me emails, I’m sorry that I haven’t answered. I plan on doing some updating to my blog soon and hopefully will get everything taken care of then.

In the meantime I thought perhaps you’d like to see some current pics of the ‘kids’ I just took. They are both about 9 months old now. What the hell happened to my little puppies?

Bon Scott, we affectionately refer to as ‘Bon-Bon’.

Bronaugh Aeryn, we affectionately refer to now as ‘Lil Girl’.

They are always together. I see puppies in the future! Do dogs mate for life? Hmmm…

Yes, they do everything together…

…including getting DIRTY!

“Are you gonna let us in, or what?”

Oh, and in case you missed it…check out how purty the yard in front of the door is now. Grass will NEVER grow on it again, I suspect. ((sigh)) But they are cute, huh? 🙂

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