8 (this one is a little tough)

Bitter wind. I was full of it as a teenager. I could taste it on my tongue. Bitter is just the rotting inside of loneliness. I didn’t exist to my family. Ton was grown up and finishing high school. He was getting ready for college. He was my only ally and he was leaving me. Ma met a new guy and it was pretty serious. I overheard her talking about moving in with him. He lived in Whittier. That was far away, and therefore impossible. I blocked that out. Pa lived in Puerto Rico with his new wife, Cherie (pronounced Cherry or Sheri with an accent, depending on how much wine she had) and their new baby Beau. I saw pictures of Beau and I hated him instantly. I especially hated the picture of my Pa holding this brat in the outdoor shower at their beach house. He sent that picture to me. What was I going to do with it? Was I supposed to be happy with his newfound joy? Look at me. I’m a 40-year-old Dad. Whatever. They were so far away that it wasn’t real to me anyway.

The neighbors across the street took me in. I had a lot of dinners with them. Me and Tracy liked to sneak over to my house. It was so scary in there that we dared each other to go in alone. How long could we hold out before running out screaming? My house wasn’t mine. It felt like someone else lived there and resented me for intruding. I was alone in a house that treated me like an intruder.

One night the lights went out. It was October, the scariest month of the year. Not only was it the Halloween month, but also the month with Santa Ana winds. They blew in like a dry, hot hurricane. When the lights went out, I was alone in a scary house and the wind howled outside. It was very Nancy Drew. I was too scared to take advantage of the sleuthier side of me. I grabbed a book and a flashlight and sat out front on the curb. The street was empty. Everyone was inside their homes surrounded by family and candles, probably laughing and having fun with the dark. I sat outside, hungry, scared and alone. The wind blew hard, and it was impossible to hold a page still to read it. I turned off the flashlight and sat in the dark, hoping that my Mom was coming home tonight and not staying at her boyfriend’s house. I turned to look at the house and kept seeing things in the dark windows. My brain was filled with voices, or the wind. Either one blew through too fast and hard to catch.

I stayed out there for at least an hour. Nobody was coming home. I hefted myself off the curb and trudged back to the house. I was scared, terrified. That thing was in there. The thing that hated me so much. But I was tired. I didn’t care if it hurt me anymore. I used the flashlight to grab a handful of cookies and ran down the hall to my bedroom. I dove under the covers and turned off the flashlight. This would have been fun with someone else. It would have made a perfect slumber party, with the scary story already in place.

I huddled under the covers, not even letting my nose peep out. I must have fallen asleep, because I was jolted awake by my brother screaming and pounding at my window. He always forgot his key and if he came home too late he jumped the fence in the backyard and pounded on my window to wake me up. Then I would go to the back sliding door and let him in. If my Ma was home, she never heard any of it.

But this time Ton was yelling. It was still dark inside the house, but I heard the thrum that meant the electricity was back on. You never know that thrum is there until it is put out. Then there there is nothing where the thrum was. An empty space between your mind and the world that is normally filled with the noises underneath.

Ton was yelling at me to let him in and he was waving a shovel. I was confused and groggy. I shlumped to the backdoor to let him in as usual, and he vaulted in like the wind was chasing him. “Ang, go lock yourself in the bathroom!”

“How come? Ton, how come? What’s wrong? Toooonnnn!” I was feeling his panic and it scared me. The last time I saw Ton look this scared is when he came home from seeing the Exorcist with his buddies. He came home and pounded on my window as usual. But he looked white in the night light. I let him in and he told me to never ask about the Exorcist. It didn’t look like much fun so I didn’t ask. I later found out that Ton was so scared he couldn’t sleep. He snuck into my Mom’s room that night and slept in her bed with her. She slept like she was dead and never knew. He was a senior. Big man.

Now the big man was waving a shovel and yelling at me to hide. I hid. I heard Ton talking on the phone…kind of breathless; almost crying. Someone knocked on the front door and when Ton went to answer it, I came out from my hiding place. It was Brian. He looked breathless too. The wind wasn’t blowing outside anymore. Somehow, the Santa Ana’s came inside our house instead.

When Ton jumped the fence in his usual manner, he moved toward my window and saw something there. At first he thought it was our dog Chewy, but he heard Chewy whimpering on the other side of the yard. Not Chewy. Chewy was a sissy. I didn’t even think of bringing him out front with me when the lights went out. I would have had to console him too and I wasn’t up to it.

Ton was confused. If it wasn’t Chewy, what was huddled underneath my window. He picked up a shovel and walked toward it, too afraid to breathe. Then a man jumped up, ran at Ton like he was going to kill him and as Ton raised the shovel, the man jumped the fence and was gone. Ton called all his friends. They showed up one by one at our front door. They all looked relieved that there was nothing they could do. It was too dark to see who it was and the man-thing was too far gone to chase. They hung around the house talking about what they would have done to the poor soul who chose my window to sleep beneath.

Nobody worried about the fact that I was home alone when the stranger jumped the fence and sat beneath my window. Also, my window was open. The wind wasn’t blowing any more, but it left behind a very bitter taste.  

7

Turkey of the month. That was me. It said so in the Coyote Times, our school newspaper. Angie LaPorte won Turkey of the Month. At least I had something to brag about. It’s a pretty big deal and I still have some left over embarrassment/pride. What’s the word for that? Empridassment. It’s what you have when you do something so stupid that it’s worthy of a column in a newspaper…hence the pride. It’s also something so stupid that the entire school has to take a time out for laughter. Not with me, but at me…hence the embarrassment.

I once read about the dumbest thieves possible. They drove their old truck to an ATM in the middle of the night, tied some chains to the machine and to their rear bumper. Then they stepped on the gas. After several attempts, something pulled loose and they took off. The next day the cops found a bumper chained to the ATM. The ATM hadn’t moved. But the bumper gave up the license plate, which made it very easy for the cops to catch the thieves. I’m pretty sure the cops laughed. There probably wasn’t much for the thieves to take pride in except for their regular appearance on national television. Empridassment.

I was shooting hoops at recess as usual. Me and a few friends were playing HORSE and I was kicking butt. I was on. I managed a perfect right-side layup. Swoosh. In your faces! Mr. Besta, the new English teacher and coach of varsity basketball, was watching. After Kathy bought her final “E,” the game was over and the bell rang out calling the cattle home. Mr. Besta pulled me aside and asked me if I played basketball often.

“Yah, I play at recess with my friends. I’ve even seen the Harlem Globetrotters.” Cool. Plus, Paul always played basketball at recess and I was in love with his butt. I played because he played. I’m very reward motivated.

“How’d you like to play for the varsity team this afternoon? We’re playing Vista and we lost a player. If you don’t come out, we can’t play. We’d have to forfeit to Vista.” Vista was the enemy. What person could say no? I was a sacrifice set on the alter of school pride. “Of course I will!”

Oh crap. I’ve played HORSE. I’ve seen the Harlem Globetrotters. Was there anything I was missing? Oh yeah…rules. I had no idea what the rules of basketball were. I chewed my nails, twirled my hair, tortured my pencil and squirmed through the next two classes. What if someone found out? How is basketball played?

I put on my short green shorts, the standard gym gear in the 70s. If I wore those shorts now, I’d be in the article in Cosmo called, “Seventies Retro: What Not To Do.” Hey, at least they weren’t Dolphin Shorts. Green shorts and my green and white Coyote shirt. I looked cool. I felt cool. I’ve never played on a team. I was always a me against them kind of athlete. Track and Field was my thing. That way I didn’t have to relate to people and wouldn’t come up short. They wouldn’t know the real me. Wow. This team thing was a pretty big commitment.

After a five minute coaching session from Mr. Besta, which included no walking, no staying in the key (what key?), no fouling and no screwing up, I was thrown into the battle. This time there were two baskets. One on each end. I didn’t know which one to try for, so I just stood there and got rid of the ball whenever it was passed to me. Don’t move. Just pass. My motto. That one didn’t catch on when the Nike people were coming up with slogans.

It was all going quite well I thought. The score was even and I didn’t screw up. Yet. But something was happening and I couldn’t stand there any more. I needed to help. Clearly, my teammates were a little stupid and needed some rescuing. Ang to the rescue. Gobble Gobble. The entire El Rancho team was down at one end of the court and they kept throwing the ball at the basket. But nobody was making it in. And what was really stupid was that the other team was there also. So there were a gazillion hands grabbing at the ball and once in awhile someone would throw it at the basket. How stupid. I mean, the other basket was completely empty. Why didn’t anyone try that one? It was my time to shine. I ran up the middle of the crowd and when the ball rebounded I caught it. I turned and ran toward the other side of the court. I was so fast that nobody was even behind me. I heard the crowd shouting, “Go Ang, go all the way!” Oh my gosh, I was a hero! Faster Ang! I pumped my short legs until they burned. The fans screamed in the background and I launched myself off the ground, arching up into a perfect layup and swoosh! Victory was sweet. I turned toward my team with my arms raised, fists pumping in the air. I yelled, they yelled.

No wait. They were laughing. Okay, that’s cool. They’re so happy they were laughing. I laughed. I ran up to my teammates and high-fived whoever I could. My first basket. Everyone was making such a big deal about it. Wow. I wished my parents were there. That was just a small flicker deep in my mind. I let it go. I enjoyed the moment. Why was the ref laughing?

Someone finally calmed me down enough to explain that I just made the winning shot for the other team. They weren’t yelling “go all the way,” they were yelling, “No Ang, you’re going the wrong way!” Thank God my parents weren’t there. Because the rest of the world was. 

After everyone finished laughing and the ref could get the whistle back in his mouth, he blew the blast that told the crowd that the game was over. My first game. Maybe my career. Over. The Vista players were really nice though. They lined up to thank me for winning their game.

Gobble Gobble.

5 & 6

“The most improved athlete in Track and Field is Shannon Weiss.” Clapping, whistles and general yelling and heckling followed as Shannon went up to the podium to accept her trophy.

Dang. I wanted an award so badly. My Mom actually showed up to the awards banquet and I wanted to walk up to the stage and accept my award in front of her. Maybe then she’d see how great I was in the eyes of others. I rehearsed my acceptance speech in front of the mirror all week. Of course there were no speeches. We were only 9^th Graders. But I loved the idea of an acceptance speech where I tearfully thanked…um, well my coach I guess. I would talk about how I overcame all obstacles to run faster than everyone else. Or high jump higher than everyone else. What a hero. Thank you. Thank you.

I was a decent athlete. I was no Tony LaPorte, but who was? I was still good though. I won enough races or placed enough to earn my way to the City Meet. That was a pretty big deal. All the girls on my team were accompanied by proud parents and friends and family. I had to hitch a ride with a friend. Nobody in my family had time to come with me. I got a couple of “good lucks” from my Mom. That was it. Nobody told me to eat

breakfast or gave me an encouraging speeches. I was on my own. The idea made my stomach hurt. My Mom always took off work to show up to Ton’s wrestling matches. He got a special diet and was indulged as much as possible by a Mom who worked two jobs. She too much to do to watch a track meet that could take hours.

I ran three races that day. I could see my friends’ parents exchanging the feel sorry glances that I always got when I showed up to something alone. They tried to fill in the empty hole that neglect left in my chest. I didn’t do well because I forgot to eat.

“The fastest runner on the team goes to Shannon.” Big shocker there. She was a friggin Olympic runner. Well, in our junior high minds, she was that good. Dang. They were almost done with the awards. My Mom was looking distracted. Crap.  “Well, that’s it for the awards. I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you for the hard work you put in.” Yah yah. Same speech that was made from coaches across the country. Dang.

“Oh wait, I forgot an award!” Mrs. Thompson looked pleased with herself. I gave up. “I want to give this special award. I’ve never given this award, but these were special circumstances and it couldn’t be ignored. There is only one girl who could make me as mad as this one. She is more stubborn than me, and that’s saying a lot.”

“The Stubborn Mule Award goes to Angie LaPorte!” Laughter. I looked at my Mom and she had the face in between question and irritation. Crap. The coach talked and people laughed. I walked the long gauntlet to the podium to accept my award. It wasn’t a trophy. No, it was a stuffed animal. A donkey. This wasn’t part of my anticipated acceptance speech. I just laughed with everyone else and ran-walked back to my seat. I don’t even think my Mom asked for an explanation.

Five

I was at practice after school. That was normal during the school week. We practiced from 3 to 5 every day. I was in four events, so I went to all parts of the field to practice. I ran the 220, 440 and 880. I also did the high jump.

The high jump is exciting as long as you don’t really think about what you’re doing. Everyone knew the Fosbury Flop. It was a jumping technique where the jumper ran and jumped backward over the pole by arching the back. It was fun because you get to land on a giant cushion. It’s amazing how high a person can jump. I was jumping higher than I stand tall. My sister Gina can jump much higher, but she’s much taller than me. I managed to jump high enough to be competitive.

I was practicing with Mrs. Thompson. She kept making me do each height several times. I got frustrated. I was tired and the other girls were starting to head toward the locker room. I went for a jump and hit the pole, landing hard on my butt. The pole made a loud clang as it bounced off. I got psyched out. I couldn’t jump any more. I ran to the pole and stopped. Over and over. I was pissed. Mrs. Thompson was angry with me.

“Just jump!”

“I can’t! I want to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you jump.”

“I hate you!”

“I don’t care, so you might as well jump and get it over with. We’re not leaving here until you do.”

I ran in anger toward the pole, determined to jump and shut her up. I ran with full strength and skidded to a stop in front of the pole. I was mad at her, but even madder at myself. Tears started. I hated crying in front of people.

“Don’t cry, just jump.”

“Shut up! I really hate you!”

We were there until 7:00. It was starting to get dark. I was tired and hungry.

“I’m never coming back here. I quit!”

“Quitter.”

“Shut up! I hate you. I hate track. I HATE EVERYBODY!”

“So just jump and then you can quit.”

I ran at top speed, and flopped over the pole. I turned to her with my meanest Sicilian glare.

“I quit.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

I wish my parents did that to me. She never gave up on me. She must have been exhausted, but she stuck with me because she knew that if I didn’t jump I would never get over the pole again.

I was back the next day. I sort of slinked out of the locker room with the other girls and practiced my events without getting eye contact with Mrs. Thompson. I still hated her, but I didn’t want to quit. She never mentioned the incident. Not until giving me the Stubborn Mule Award. She got me.

Four

I think I blame the dryer.

When I was in elementary school, I was a test subject for Ton and his friends. They explored every possibility that they could think of. If it was thought up, it was tested on me. Let’s see what happens if. That was their motto. I was their lab rat, running the mazes hoping to get the reward at the end. I liked Curt, so that would have been a great reward. He didn’t even know that the rat was really a girl in love.

“What do you think guys? What will the dryer do if someone gets in it and we turn it on?”

Ton was my hero. He knew I was lonely and he let me tag along behind him and his buddies.

I squeezed in between Ton and Curt to see what the big deal was. It was a dryer. It was our dryer. It looked normal sitting there in the garage, next to its partner, the washer. I watched in anticipation while they pondered. Someone was going to do something cool. I was just excited to be allowed to watch. I stayed quiet because if I drew attention they would make me go away.

“Hey Ang, come here.”

Uh oh.

I walked to the front of the group in submission. It was going to be me. Not cool. I put on my excited face and waited like a dog for a pet on the head. Ton and his friends gathered around the dryer discussing the different options. Dry, fluff, kill. I hoped the last wasn’t a real option and only in my head.

They chose dry. Why not go for the most dry they could get…the highest setting. The setting that made the clothes feel almost too hot to touch right out of the dryer. That one. They assisted me as I reluctantly climbed into the cramped space. At least it was a side-loading dryer. Easier access. Hopefully an easier exit.

At least I got a touch in the leg as Curt helped load me in. I had to curl myself around the protrusions that were like spikes in my little body. What are those and why are thy necessary? I still wonder about that.

I was curled up inside, but I still wasn’t big enough. When they closed the door I screamed. Then I heard the knob click to the Dry selection. Crap. Hot air started blowing immediately and then I was spinning. Spinning and screaming. My little body was tumbling over the protrusions and I was getting pretty banged up. I wanted to be the cool sister, but instead I screamed. They were busy laughing. I was crying. At least I was warm.

“Hey Ang, come here.” Uh oh. I knew that voice. It was the scientist speaking tenderly to the rat that was about to die disproving some new idea.  

Curt was there, so I put on my eager face and walked over. They were trying to roll a huge tractor tire to the main street. Nohl Ranch Road was a steep and long road between our house and the park across the street. It was a perfect training area for many unknown sports such as the one about to be played.

They ordered me to squeeze into the round opening inside the tire. It was big enough to hold my body without any appendices hanging out. It was kind of fun. Until I started rolling. The guys were laughing. I laughed too, but it was a nervous laugh that sort of hiccupped past my lips. Then, when I was correctly positioned in the middle of the street, they gave a big shove and I was rolling out of control down the steep hill. It would have been fun if I wasn’t so terrified. I rolled beyond the sound of laughter. I rolled all the way down the hill. At the end, the tire came to a halt and started spinning like a quarter does before it lays still on a tabletop. Then it was done. I survived! When it was done I decided it was really fun. Ton and his friends ran down the hill to rescue the tire. I popped out and got high-fives all around. At least I got to touch Curt.

That night, Ton and his friends went to the jacuzzi. Of course I begged my way into the jacuzzi with them. I was an invisible floaty bobbing around hoping someone would talk to me. They talked above me. At least I got to stay.

The jacuzzi was part of the complex of condos, so you needed a key to get in. I was locked in there with the entire wrestling team. I was a happy invisible floaty. The guys started picking on Curt. I don’t remember why, but he was running the perimeter of the jacuzzi trying to get away from reaching hands. A few of the guys finally got hold and they yanked off Curt’s swim trunks. Well that was new to me. My first penis. I screamed in embarrassment. Then the guys remembered I was there. So they pinned me down and forced my eyes open. I had to watch Curt climb the fence naked to get the trunks that they threw over. Everyone had such a good time. I saw my first penis. I didn’t get it but I knew enough to be very embarrassed. 

Chapter Three

“Okay Ang, we’re leaving. Just remember to be nice to the Delgados. Follow their rules while you’re staying with them. You still need to feed Chewy and play with him everyday. We’ll be back in a little over a week.” Then my Ma leaned over and gave me that uncomfortable maneuver that was between a hug and a pat on the back. “Bye Kiddo.”

Don’t cry in front of them Ang. Just don’t. My own inner voice was soothing me instead of my Mom who was about to leave. They went to Europe for a long ski trip and they took my brother Ton. I was a good kid. I got straight As. I never cussed or did anything terrible. Why did they take Ton and not me? Ouch. That’s what I remember most. Ouch. And then anger and tears. They really left me behind. I liked the Delgados, but I wanted to grieve in my own house.

Every day after school I went to my home instead of the Delgados. They lived just down the street, so I didn’t think it was a big deal. I was always left home alone, how was this any different? The main difference was that the soothing voice in my head began to change. I was rude to the nice family. I escaped every chance I got to my house. I sat under the kitchen counter where it hung over the living room like a bar. I sat there and I rocked. Every day I ran home and rocked. I listened to the same Styx album nonstop while I rocked. I don’t remember anything that happened in my head, but something changed inside me during those couple of weeks. The innocent Ang died a little when my family left. The Ang that started inhabiting my head was scarier and unknown. It was black and empty. It was doom.

I read a book before this called Lisa Bright and Dark. It scared me. Lisa was a fun kid and energetic and friendly. Then something happened and her personality changed into quiet, dark and gloomy. Her friends didn’t understand; her parents didn’t understand; but I understood. And that scared me to death.

As I hid in my little space and rocked, I wondered if I was Lisa. How can one person be bright and dark? Back then, mental illness wasn’t an everyday diagnosis. Instead, my teachers would watch me bounce around (literally) and asked if I was on medication for hyperactivity. Well, I was abnormally hyper most of the time. But nobody knew the Ang that rocked and hid from the world. Sometimes I think that Ton knew. He didn’t know what he knew, but instinctively he knew. He was always very nice and gentle when he sensed that his sister disappeared. It must have happened before this time, but this is the first time I remember being afraid.

My Mom got a full report from the Delgados. It was the first time I really misbehaved, and something changed in our relationship at that point. Years later she told me that I changed then. That’s all she said. I changed. She withdrew from me and I withdrew from everything. Nobody thought to look into it further.

I’m sure I was back to being the loudest kid on campus in a very short time. But from that point on I felt different from everyone else.   

Chapter Two

Although my neighbors helped stop the flood, the poop went under the planks of the floor, soaked into the walls, and ruined several pieces of furniture. Our home was a health hazard and not livable.

The property management lady said they’d pay for the new floor, but got pissed when the plumbers said they had to tear the whole place up to disinfect and air out everything. She didn’t want to pay for that. The plumbers said she had no choice. I’m glad they did, because I would have strangled her. I should have strangled her. The plumber wanted to strangle her.

This leads me back to the Flood of 08. Almost to the day, one year earlier, we had a flood. That flood came from a different place in the outside plumbing and the water that came out of our toilet was clear and unused. It ruined the carpet and the walls. I’m glad about the carpet because we replaced it with the wood floors. We got to enjoy those for an entire year before the cascade of caca took it away. Anyway, Jonas and I had to leave our place and live on his Mom’s couch for awhile. Then we moved in while it was being rebuilt. We had no flooring and all of our furniture was squeezed into our tiny kitchen. I went a little crazy then. I didn’t have insurance, so I didn’t have the luxury of shipping off to a hospital where at least the floors were dry. I had to go crazy and still keep my head. Try that one.

When our home flooded this last time, we had to leave. For the first two weeks, we stayed in a couple of decent motels. We lived off our credit cards and used up all of our savings. There wasn’t a lot, so the money went quickly down the drain. Oh wait, we didn’t have a drain. Then we stayed with his Mom. Sorry, first we stayed with his Mom and then we went to the hotels. My memory of that time isn’t great. I’ll explain why in a bit.

About going crazy…

It happens slowly. I was already quite manic and probably even a little psychotic before the flood; thus the uncontrolled screaming. I wasn’t sleeping, and that’s pretty dangerous for a girl with Bipolar Disorder. I didn’t believe in sleep medication. I still don’t. I stay on it now for Jonas because he’s worth it. Anyway, the months leading up to the creek of crack crud were not good. I was up and down without a lot of time between. I was exhausted, strung out and talking to myself a lot. If I had money, I would have been doing some serious retail therapy. Instead, I was seeing a real therapist. A good one.

The problem with therapy is this: I feel like I need to be upbeat and entertaining or I’m just being a downer. So I disguised myself in happy and went to therapy each week. I liked to make the therapist laugh. I laughed in return. I was very unhappy. When the curse of the crap was put on me, I went to my therapy appointment as usual. I walked in, smiled at everyone in the office, told my therapist I was doing great and then broke down.

I don’t remember very much after that. It was her responsibility to assess me and her assessment was accurate. I was psychotic and needed help. I can remember little flashes, like pieces of a dream that can’t be caught after waking from a dream. The harder I try to remember, the more elusive the memory is. But I remember being loaded onto the ambulance. I was laughing. I tried to make the ambulance guys laugh. I didn’t want to be a downer, so I tried to entertain.

I was taken to a regular hospital emergency room. I remember wondering why. Did they think there was something physically wrong with me? Nobody knew what to do with me, so they left me there in a bed next to someone who sounded like death was in the next breath. I got crazier. Jonas showed up, but I think it was hours later. Same bed. I can’t remember if the person next to me still breathed. I heard moans and the sounds of excruciating vomit. Good times.

My next memory is of me being loaded into a different ambulance. Jonas was there and I felt that I needed to be entertaining. So I laughed and made a comparison to Britney Spears. I asked him to be the paparazzi and take my picture as the doors closed.

Next, I was in a hallway. It was windowless and dismal in every way. There were patients shuffling around and talking to invisible friends or enemies. I wasn’t laughing any more. I was crying. I was left on the gurney until someone had the time to check me in. I’d been to the hospital before, but this wasn’t the wing I was used to. These weren’t the same sort of people I remember during my previous incarceration. These people were crazy! I cried some more.

Eventually, a guy about half my age took my bag and shook everything out. He went through my personal things looking for paraphernalia. Nothing was valuable to him. I tried to tell him I wasn’t a druggie. He ignored me. I didn’t exist any more. I was the same color as the hallway and melted into the walls like a water stain. The other patients terrified me. They yelled out greetings like “Do you have any money?” “What are you looking at?” “Why is there a yellow flamingo in my bearded clam?” Okay, I made the last one up, but believe me, they were crazy. I was not, of course. I was a much better and loftier crazy than they were. I wanted out. I begged the guy going through my meager belongings. “Please let me go. I’m all better now. I want to go home. I really want to go home. This isn’t where I belong. I’m not crazy!” I guess to him it was the equivalent of a prisoner telling the guards that he’s innocent. The more I cried and yelled, the more convincing I was…that I was crazy.

I was eventually given a bed in a far corner of a dark room. There were two other girls in the room. It was night, so they were feigning sleep. One girl was crying. The other one was in and out of bed, huffing, stomping out of the room and back in to climb back in bed. This happened the whole night. I sat on the edge of my bed with my back to them and wept. Why was this happening to me? What have I done wrong? As if God hasn’t heard this before.

I didn’t sleep that night. I would have taken another flood of shit over that miserable night. My doctor wasn’t going to be there until the next afternoon, so I was stuck with no medicine to help me sleep.

By the next afternoon, I was completely out of touch with reality. I paced the floors at top speed. I begged the nurses and monitors for anything: sympathy, food, release, my doctor. They ignored me and I kept pacing. I am sure I paced more than a mile up and down that skinny corridor. When my doctor showed up I didn’t recognize him. Everyone was a monster. If he was my friend he would have rescued me sooner. Therefore, he was a monster and to be feared. I backed away when he approached. I cowered in my chair while he talked to me. I couldn’t hear him any more. I was alone in the pit of hell. And it was flooded with shit.

Chapter One

Here’s what I believe: If you are standing in a flood of shit and that shit isn’t your own, you’re in deep shit.

That’s where I was back in May; standing barefoot in a flood of shit. It spewed out of the toilet like a geyser of gore, a flood of feces, a torrent of turds, an exodus of excrement; well, you get the idea. I was barefoot, and I was screaming. Once the screaming started, I couldn’t stop it. I stood there, in brown waste, and screamed until my voice cracked. Then I called. I called my neighbors and screamed. I called Jonas and I screamed. He was in the middle of a poker hand, he said. What did I want? I didn’t know what I wanted. So I screamed. Then the door pounded and my neighbors came in. They were wearing galoshes and gloves, so I must have gotten the message across through my screams. I don’t remember. I remember loving them then.

The waste was flowing out of the flooded bathroom and into the hall closet, the bedroom and, to my horror, toward the couch in our living room.

“Not the couch! Oh my God, not the couch!” I ran interference. My neighbors ran interference. We armed ourselves with every towel in my closet and we braced ourselves to meet the onslaught. It came and we pounced. Well, I should say my neighbors pounced. I decided I was more useful screaming. They built a blockade with the towels so the crude oil wouldn’t touch the couch. Then they ran into the bedroom with the few remaining towels and tried to protect the closet and furniture. I followed to assist them with my screams.

My neighbors called the property manager, who, after seeing the flood for herself, finally called the plumber. The water was successfully turned off, the neighbors went off to bed, and Jonas was making the long trip home after playing just one more bad hand.

I was left standing in the vapors of volcanic ass. So I screamed.

My First Blog Blog

Okay, here it is. My first blog. I think I will publish some of my chapters from my book. I would love for you to read them and make comments. That will help me know if I'm entertaining or just really narcissistic. It's okay if I'm both, but I need to at least be entertaining.

First, I should say something about myself. I should, but now that I'm under pressure I can't think of a single interesting fact about me. Oh wait...my brother put me in a dryer and turned it on. I jumped out of an airplane. I was homeless in Europe. I slept on a park bench. I made out with Steven Weber and drank with Keanu Reeves (Wow. That should have been reversed, but so goes my life!). I went to the psych ward on a 5150 where a big black man tried to masturbate on me. I went to a beautiful gay wedding. I got married as a pirate. My dog should be famous because Sandra Bullock thinks he's cute. I once talked to John F. Kennedy Jr on the phone when we were both teenagers. I was stranded naked in a hotel in Amsterdam.

So I guess this blog will be about my life. So many things happen to me, there is bound to be something interesting to tell! Please stay tuned.