Many Days at a Time

I woke up much earlier than I had wanted yesterday. Nine am and my eyes opened. I had been running on an hour of sleep and my head didn't hit the pillow until nearly 2am that night. I worked eight hours and tried my best to keep everything straight in my sleep deprived, worried mind.

My brother had a little episode. It took me five hours of talking on the phone to reach an agreed point; to get him help. He received it and turns out he has a physical problem. He has hypoglycemia, severely. It can make him goofy when his blood sugar is low. He has seen a diatician and he has to eat about six small meals a day. No caffeine, no alcohol, both of which causes his blood sugar to plunge even further down. He has to get a meter to test his blood sugar, to help him understand when and what he needs to eat. He took such a hard, big step. I am so proud of him. He has comes so far in the past few years. He progressed much more than anyone had hoped for and all because he wanted to... not just because it was nature's course, but because he decided he wanted to be a more mature adult. Bravo Nathan. Bravo.

My friend Kris got me a puppet that looks like Andrew. He's got little black shoes, black pants, a red jacket, and a head of black hair and a black mustache. I told Andrew that I would have to add white and gray hair to the puppet, but he said no and that he was going to get some Just For Men and dye his hair black again. He is really considering it and I am not sure if I like it. I mean, I know it will make him look years younger. His is wrinkle free, his skin is youthful looking, and only his gray hair gives him away. But I've never seen him without it. I like my Andrew the way he is, unaltered. But then again, I dye my hair. Red.

A little old man came up to me at Denny's the other night. He tapped my shoulder and I searched his face, looking for familiar recognition. I found none and the old man stated that I didn't know him, but that he needed to tell me that my hair was beautiful, it was distracting him, and keeping him from concentrating on his ice cream. It was so cute. I love little old people.

I went to a movie last night with a "friend" I hadn't seen in a while. This girl makes me feel so awful when I am around her, as if I am never good enough. That I cannot do the right thing, and that being me is wrong, wrong, wrong. She does not like Andrew, even though she has never met him. She just thinks he's too old for me and that a 48 year old has no business dating a 25 year old. I told her that I don't understand why she has a problem with it, when my own parents accept Andrew. She said that my mom is flakey and that my dad probably tolerates it, but doesn't like it. Well, how often do fathers like it when their daughters date anyway. Not often.

My mother may be flakey at times, but that does not mean my mom does not want the best for her daughter, that she doesn't want me to be happy, and would be willing to watch me choose to be a in bad situation. She has met Andrew and approves. She likes him and thinks he's a nice guy, and that he's good for me. My mom has done much with her life. She has had periods where she was very involved, trying to change the world into something she felt was better, and she is smart. She just likes to have fun, she likes to be larger than life, and for this girl to tell me what my mom is... I don't think so. And to tell me how my dad feels about Andrew, to tell me my father is merely tolerating the man... I don't think so. My dad has gone out of his way to help and be nice to Andrew. It was my dad who got him a Christmas present. It was my dad to bought Andrew a book about cars. It was my dad who asked me one question when I started seeing Andrew, and that was, "Is he nice to you?"

Yes, he is nice to me. I told my dad that and he said, "Well, then... there's nothing else. Nothing else matters." That is my dad. Wanting his daughter to be treated right... this "friend" does not treat his daughter right.

I am tired of people not treating those I love right. My brother has been shit upon in life and I shall not be flinging any more poo in his direction. Andrew has had his fair share of shit, my parents have had to deal with my brother's shit... and I am tired of it. This "friend" needs an ass whoopin'.