just the worst

I must be the worst person in the world.

I can't even stand myself anymore.

Everyone I love tells me I suck and I can't have the love I want because I suck.

I'm sorry.

I don't know what to do to get the love I really wish I had. 

I wish I could exit.  Fucking Betsy.

I want to go home.  I don't know how to play the game.  I never win.  I want to go home.  

I'm sorry.

Please, let me go home now.

Celebrate Diversity

Celebrating diversity seems to have driven us farther from embracing unity.  The more we celebrate our struggles, the more those struggle will be perceived and continued. 

Where does it end?  We have pride month, where I should be ashamed to be a straight woman.  We have black history month, where I should be ashamed to be a white woman.  We make such a fuss.  Here's the problem for me.

When is women's month?   We only got the right to vote just over 100 years ago.  We still didn't have the right to own property in many states, and under various conditions after that.  Our husband's could have us committed until at least 60 years ago.  I don't even want to go into the latest messes.  But, yet, no month.

Where is single mother's month?  Talk about overcoming the damage of the white man... or even yet, single father's month?

What about Native People's month?  Like they don't deserve recognition for being fucking slaughtered and destroying their culture.

How about Asian American's month?  Umm... same.

What about firefighters month?  Or first-responder's month?

How about doctor's and nurse's month?

What about executioners month?

Where can we find room for evangelist's month?  Next to white supremicist's month?  Or just after Jewish People's month?  

How about sex-workers month?  Or road workers month?  When can we squeeze in a month to celebrate our modern boot leggers?

A month for cat ladies, a month for klansmen, a month for slim shadys, a month for vegans...

There are so many ways to live your little life.  Celebrate each day, it is your right.

Mr. Uncle Scott

I should call you again tomorrow.  I wish I could call now, at 4:44 am, but I don't want to wake you.

What wonderful things we will talk about.  How much will we accept and embrace each other's darkest, most gorgeous topics?  There's no question which of us is the lucky one.  

What dreams will be relived?  What moments will present us the chance to walk through together?  How many lilts and dips and shas and grins will we share this time?

I should call you tomorrow, today, actually.  

I can't think of anything more wonderful to be.

and here we are again

17 years ago, she was high and drunk and following through with her plan to go out with a blaze of glory and teach him a lesson.

I must believe she didn't see what this would do and to who.

I hate that her brain was too much for her to bear.  She was so incredibly tough.  She was so hard on me.  She hated me.  I was never good enough.

She didn't say goodbye to me, but she wrote lots of letters to what seems like everyone else.  I picked out the clothes she's buried in.  I chose the casket, and the music, and the photos, and the flowers.  I cleaned out her house. And tortured myself with her things.  I keep her memory to this day.

She hated me.  I guess I deserved that.  

She ruined my birthdays, wedding, honeymoon, farmabaloo.  She took my daughter from me.  She accused me of stealing to keep herself out of trouble.  She stole from me, anything that mattered.  And, in the end, I lost my best friend and husband over her death.  He couldn't get over it.

She hated me.

I worshipped her.  

I would have done anything for her, for her approval, at her request, just to avoid her punishment.  I was never good enough.

She has been in my dreams more and more lately.  Like a side character instead of being about her.  I feel like she's made it out of the dusty classroom limbo where she folded endless baskets of socks in sepia tones.  

I don't need her approval anymore.  I can never have that.

Doug and her would have been total thing.  Quentin was bad enough that his mind and heart broke when she died.  Doug, she would have taken from me.

Part of me thinks she is waiting to do just that, somehow.  That she can't allow me to be happy.  Even though she's gone, I can feel her hating me.  

Look, Betz, if you can see me now... if you can read what I'm writing... fuck off, bitch.

You bailed, you weak, spineless pussy.  You left your kids and our family over your immature mind games.  You fucking loser.  You suck.  You left us all.  Own your shit.  We all have cleaned up after your fucking bs for 17 years.

Fucking get someone else to torture.  I've had enough!  You will never give me what I want or need.  I have to accept that.

I live in constant pain and regret, and I can't opt out like you did, because now I'm the oldest, and I can't hurt mom and dad like you did.

I'm still messed up, you helped.  I want to be free to live my life and enjoy it.  

Let me go.

Let me go.

I know you hate me, please let me go.

I know I'm never going to be good enough for you.  Please let me go.

You destroyed our family, and my little family, let me go.

I'm sorry I couldn't help you.  Let me go. 

Please find rest.  Let me go.

Please find peace.  Let me go.

Please find resolution.   Let me go.

Please find the strength to let me go.

Know that I love you, let me go.

I will never forget you, let me go.

I've done all I can.  Let me go.

17 years, Betz.  17 years.  Please let me go.

I wonder if you miss me as much as I do you.

I looked for hours for your obituary,  it's gone.  Not on the web.  Not one word, not one picture.  Just a mention in grandma's obit; and a site that says you're still alive, 48, and on park street.

I saw Gene Simmons live in May.  Just to brag to you about it.  

I need to feel ok about being me.  

I don't think you, or anyone else will help me.  

I feel like everyone I love just cuts me down.  I'm so tired.  

I'm 46 now.  I know who I am.   I crave love and attention.   Always.

Fuck.

Rest in peace,  Betz.  Godspeed.

the most heartbreaking lesson of my life.

I've taught Drew for 15 years.  Every week, for a half hour.

I used to go to his house.  His mom, Pam, would chat me up, and sometimes not mind if she had to watch Cassi while I taught Drew.

He has played in every recital I've ever held as a teacher.  And she has attended each one.

When my kids or I was sick, she would check in on us.  15 years.   Every week.

8 years after their dog, Gibby, passed away, Pam would still tear up at the mention of her name.  She was the sweetest, kindest, most caring person I think I've ever had the gift of experiencing.  

Pam caught the damn cancer in 2019. In her breast.  It was hard for everyone.  

I can't compare what I felt to what they lived, I just wish I knew what was appropriate to feel.  It killed me to see her sick.  It killed me to know how horrible it was for drew and Brian.  

After covid hit, she beat it.  I was sick, and she checked in on me as often as she could.  

6 weeks ago, the cancer came back.  In her lungs this time.  She didn't want drew to know.

It was so fast.  It wasn't the cancer, but a massive stroke that got her.  I'm not sure how old she was, but she couldn't have been much more than 50.

She was an angel.

She died on Tuesday of last week, that night I left for key west.

Brian said we wouldn't have a lesson, but at 11:20 on Thursday, drew texted me to see if we were going to be on or not.  I apologized, and set up for Saturday morning.

Saturday morning, I forgot.  I set up for Sunday.

Sunday came, and uncle rusty was antsy.  I decided to just do a voice call with drew.  He wanted to choose the songs for his mothers memorial service.

I helped him, and muted my end while I bawled as he played.

Today, we had a lesson.  He broke down.  His heart broke in front of me.

I'm lucky to be able to help this family like this.  

I hope I do some good.

sonic temple

I haven't been to a full-on, multi-day music festival for probably over 8 years.  

I can't believe Adam and I did this.  It is now going into day 4 (day 5 with the pre-game day).  I've gone through several stages of whiny and bitchy, many shades of intoxication, pulling myself up and making myself go back for more... I am so glad.

I've really missed it.  So much.   The dancing, the singing, the yelling, the lifting off the earth - the absence of pain.

Maybe music overtakes me so much there's no room left for pain.  I feel it later, not at all when I'm letting it take me.  

Oh man, I've missed it all so much.  The people, the sights, the shared experience,  the exchange of energy.

I'm so glad I got to do this.  I can't believe I didn't punk out today.  I was fucking wiped.  Adam and I stayed up till 7 this morning.  (Now yesterday)

He played the harp for hours.  

That was amazing

Tool, suicidal tendencies, Godsmack, avenged sevenfold, chevele, rob zombie, puscifer,  kiss... fuck yeah

Last night,  after the show,  we went to the pizza place.   Some dude named Kevin insisted that I had a piece of his gluten free pizza,  and drink a bottle of water.   I haven't had an experience like that since Ocean helped me out at fall Suwanee in 2002.

I'm so grateful. 

I've gotten to do and see and feel and have so many beautiful moments.   I forgot how much I love it.   I've really missed dancing. 

For tool, Doug and I danced right at the fence by the sound booth.   The wind would come through and blow my hair.   The moon and stars were out.   I've never seen tool outside. 

I danced so hard,  I forgot about everything.   Magical. 

Doug got taken by the music too and left the earth with me.  Just beautiful. 

I'm so grateful for this.  Thankful to the universe and God and music for helping me heal.

playing old familiar pieces

I haven't been playing a lot since we closed the shop.   I miss having my c7, and my perzina.   At home,  I have princess Charlotte's gunther spinet from Belgium,  made in the late 1920's/ early 1930s.  It has some limitations.   

Nevertheless,  I sat down to it tonight,  and played after a long dry spell.   I had beethoven's sonatas and chopin's nocturnes on the desk. 

I played the first two pages of Ludwigs opus 14 no. 2.  It was good.   Then I flipped randomly and sight read some movement of some sonata I'd never heard.   Then,  I tried to get into chopin,  but I just couldn't get into the nocturnes.  In my head,  I was looking for his raindrops prelude.  I didn't have the music for it. 

I got up for a bit.   Came back and played debussey's first arabesque.   Got up again,  and printed out the raindrop prelude.   

When I played it,  it was probably better than I felt like it was.   I couldn't remember the key signature.   I over thought everything.   Fuck. 

I got up.   I came back,  I played it again.   Still not completely happy.   

I started beethoven's pathetique 1st mvt.  I did ok. 

But then,  I kept thinking the key signature was the same as the raindrop.  It's not. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Fuck.