24 July 2012

The Lies I Tell... Everyone

I lie to people.
All the time.
Bosses, friends, coworkers... children, mine and other peoples, and also random strangers.
Just in case anyone has ever believed a word that I've said...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, on a methamphetamine and laxative diet.

While snorting drugs does make them work faster, I don't actually snort my daily vitamins.
Or anything else that I have claimed works better if you snort it, including but not limited to, zinc, magnesium,  tobacco, tequila or bologna.

I was not, in fact, born a poor black child. 

I do not really believe we should arm small children to make classrooms safer. 


I don't use bath salts.
I just like to say "bath salts". 
At ridiculous random moments.
I also like to yell "MEDIC" and "GET OFF THE X!" when it's busy at work.

"That" did not actually also happen to me once. Whatever "that" may be at a particular moment.

Any statement that is immediately followed by the words, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," should never be considered actual advice.
Ever.

My dad was also not born a poor black child.

My husband was born in the USA. So he really doesn't have a green card, but it is not because he is an illegal alien from Mexico.

We do have running water and electricity at my house.

I did not lose a leg in any war that I did not go to.

I do not handcuff my children together when they fight.
I want to, but I'm pretty sure DCFAS would frown on it.
I also do not discipline them with a stun gun.
I really don't discipline them at all, they are all heathens.

I do buy shoes for the babies in the summertime.

I was not there when Kennedy was killed.
Obviously I was not the guy on the grassy knoll. 

I do not let the dog clean the kids off instead of bathing them.
Unless they puke.
Shit.
That's a lie also.

I did not, at any time, apply nail polish with a paint roller.
It looks like I do, but I didn't.


My balls did not, in fact, drop well after puberty.
They did not drop at all.
I don't have testicles.







19 July 2012

Rest Easy

We were kids together.
The 4 of us, mostly, because Jay was so much older.
Road trips with Grandma.
God, we must have driven her insane.
Those damn trees, remember?
"Look at the pretty trees..."
She talked about them the whole way down to Indy.
Payback probably for the bouncy balls and the gum in her car's carpet.
For the cigarette butts behind her garage.
Remember how she always knew when we had been smoking pot?
I still don't know how she knew.

Christmas Eve and Easter Day.
Coloring eggs.
You stapled my finger.
You tried to shoot me with the nail gun when we were doing the roof.
We had the whole damn world in front us.

Your brother's wedding.
All those boys, and finally that baby girl you were so enamored with.
We joked about taking a collection in the family to pay for a vasectomy for you.
I'm sorry now.
For not understanding.
For judging you.
For not realizing that you weren't you anymore.

You made it easy, all those things you did wrong.
Immoral and illegal.
Chasing that motherfucking dragon.
Anything for the drug.
I didn't understand.
You had demons I couldn't see.
Wouldn't have understood them if I had.
I didn't understand, then, what that drug did to people.
How it changes you.
Controls you.

That last high.
I won't pretend to understand it.
Seems so simple to me, you had so much going for you again.
Seemed like you were going to make it this time.
You didn't.

So here we all are, grieving for you.
For all that you were and all that you could have been.
All of your children, fatherless now.
Your mother, devastated by the loss of her firstborn.
Your brother.
God, your brother.
You two were inseparable for so long.
Your dad.
Grandma.
She's heartbroken.
One should never have to bury a child, a grandchild.
It happens, I know.
That doesn't make it better, easier.

I wish you'd known how much you were loved.
I wish you hadn't gone back to that dark place.
Where you were all alone.
Where you couldn't see a way out, except for that high.
Just a few years ago, we all expected this day.
It would have hurt, but it wouldn't have shocked so many people.
We all had faith that you'd make it this time.
Makes it so much harder to accept.

At least you're out of the darkness now.
Rest easy, Cousin.
I pray you find the peace in death that you couldn't find in life.