Bored.

What the fuck is going on. Billy Crystal is not that great.

He was attractive in "Soap" even though he was gay. He's not that attractive anymore.

This is like the 3rd dream. Stop it, brain.

When Two Days Is Too Long

I wanted to leave as early as Monday night.

I imagined that I would get my beanie, that warm thingy that goes on before the beanie-I don't know what it's called, I have socks and my running/walking shoes. Jeans. A long sleeved at least shirt, that fake light sweater zipped thingy, and the real sweater Will gave me.

Was about midnight or so that I decided I wanted to get out. Figure I could have had adMaganline keeping me going, to continue walking until daylight. By then if I wasn't in another town I could at least figure out which direction was southwest. Hmm. No, I think it would have been best to stick to the Interstate 80 and eventually hit Reno or something. A Greyhound station in the middle of nowhere.

Why? 'Cause I'm fuckin pissed. He doesn't fucking understand English, so when he reads something I wrote, either in the letter I wrote or on my blog back in April, he can't fucking GET the fact that it was first impression. Don't they have figures of speech for that in Hebrew? His wife should be able to understand, she's from Tenneessee, dammit. So she takes something I said as to being totally sensitive and that Av probably shouldn't send me a tape about 10-12 years old, of when social services filmed an interview of him at this house so they could also watch how the 3 girls interacted to make sure they weren't being abused (the youngest stopped talking for some reason, and abuse is a possible reason for it-it was unfounded in this case, but that's what happens to you ask the government to help you raise kids). He thought it'd be an interesting thing to watch. See my sisters as little girls, see him being a not-beating-kids person, idunno. He said that his wife advised him that I probably don't need to be reminded that he was a father to x-children and not to me. His summary of her words.

*shrugs* I would have only brought my purse. Left my clothes books and everything else here. Probably a note so no one freaked out. No CDs or anything.

Anyway...fuck that. No, I wouldn't have wanted to watch it months ago.

Also...I wrote the letter. He wrote me back. He mentioned at the end of the two paragraph letter that I look like his oldest daughter. Judging from the pictures of them that he sent, I thought me and the youngest one look more similar, but whatever. So I got kinda...not really insulted that...the 17 year old is "his oldest" and not...just "Matildah" (yes we have almost the same name)...'cause my thinking at the time was "for all I know he's never seen me, and does not know if I'm even his because Magan's a crazy slut; so if he considers his legitimate daughter his oldest, then...then that's how it is. It makes sense. I'm not considered his daughter, just some fucking clown asking a bunch of questions, telling him a bunch of crap about indirect consequences of his actions. And nonactions."

*Magan was drunk one night, I was between pre-kindergarten and second grade. All my brothers had left because...shit I would have left too, and left a scapegoat sibling at home to take her crap too. So she got the great idea in her head to call me into the living room, sit me down on the side of the couch, face me, and lecture me for about 20 minutes (for all I know it was longer or shorter) about how She doesn't owe me anything. If I don't like it I can get the fuck out. I know now that she's just poison, and everything she told me was a lie including "a" and "the". But it still lingers. The idea that you're a burden to everyone just by existing. Every time you would ask someone for a ride anywhere, you quietly wish for them to say they can't so you walk home and get mugged and killed 20 yards away from your apartment. Just to save everyone the trouble.*

So, I'm/I was fine with Av thinking his 3 girls are his only kids. It's understandable. Didn't really help that his entire letter was composed of typos and non-sentences about how Magan told me stuff I don't know about...stuff I was already prepared to be surprised about. I think I was more hurt that there was no "how did you grow up?" which gave me the impression that he didn't care. At the time I figured he didn't have to. He still doesn't. No one does. I mentioned the "oldest" thing in my blog. Not much else to, really. Hopefully I'd have something to mention, and such.

****Av came back from his English class as I was finishing the last sentence. Asked me if I wanted to go get lunch, we went to a Mexican place. I came up from the basement (shoes and sweater and such) and he was already playing the video. Cute kids.

Wherein Everyone Looks Like a Bigot

4 Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; 5 guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

Baruch said tonight not to get the information from Orange County CPS. Not as in I'm not allowed to; he's been quick to point out the obvious, that he can't tell me what to do or anything.

"Zo, you vil get mour garbash on your mudder. Itz in dhe pass..." And on and on. Knowing more of the past makes it easier to use the past as an excuse. Energy and attention should be on the present, hopes for the future. Stuff that when I hadn't told myself such when I was younger I was able to excuse a lot of dumb and evil stuff I did. Smart things, things that possibly any man in his mid-fifties who had gotten his shit together after having flung it around a bit when he was younger would say to me.

But he told me. Not any. And yes, it does matter. A year-heck, six months ago-I wouldn't know that. Wouldn't have believed it, even if I did know.

There was this exchange:

Him: You didn't ask about me when you were younger? *I don't have the patience to imitate his accent anymore*

Me: Not really, no. I mean, it was her, so I didn't want to talk to her, and..." *not mentioning the whole bullshit guilt-trip I was always on*

Him: It's okay that you didn't. I know I did bad things."

Me: Yeah. So no....I mean, would you have wanted to talk to her about it la;skjfl;aksd;l?"

Him: If I were the daughter, and ask her about my dad?

Me: Yeah I mean-

Him: Well I think...hearing all dese bad tings you know I would be kissing at her feet. Thanking her, to have gotten me away from such bad Middle Eastern man.


Huh. Believe a lie and sin because of what you believed, you still sinned. But God's not stupid; He knows our hearts better than we do. Maybe that's the good that God has been able to squeeze from my indifference towards her; that when faced with the truth, it was easier for me to believe it. Not that accepting it was easy, but believing.

I've more than often wondered where I'd be today; if the past had been a little easier. Would I have believed what I've seen?

I can't do anything about the past. Just what little of her I found out from my dad was hard to sift through, on top of what I'd already been burdened with of her. Empathy. Sympathy. Pity. Shards of friendship. Vanity, materialism. Greed. Jealousy. Rage. Hatred. Betrayal, distrust. And possbily (probably?) somwhere in there, Love. If that weren't there, how could I bother with the others? Could I really take any more about her that I could find from some idiot social worker's typo-filled reports?

All I have is this right now to use. As I explained to myself when I was in elementary/junior high: some things happened to you, and they were bad. They were evil. When you were a kid, they messed you up and for awhile you were just be reacting to the past, on autopilot. But now you're too old for that shit and besides, you know it doesn't do any good. So you have to cut the crap.

Of course, it was relative. I'm still trying to tell myself to cut the crap.