Today in one of my classes we were talking about the healing power of forgiveness, or letting go of hostility/aggression toward someone. I have personal issues with this. I usually don't have a problem with forgiveness and have forgiven many, many things that most people would have trouble forgiving, but now I am struggling.

There is someone that I guess someone would say that I need to forgive, even though I am perfectly content to sit here and hate her fucking guts. I cannot see myself ever forgiving her. She used to be a little more than an acquaintance, but not quite a friend. Now she is as good as dead with me, as I completely ignore her presence. I actually refuse to acknowledge her irrelevant existence. Now I am wondering what it is about her that I am willing to hate so much.

In the past, I have forgiven so many people...friends who have wronged me, Alexa's father for taking my life into his hands, and even the woman who slept with my husband knowing that he was married. (She not only slept with him, but she actually physically slept in my bed, on my side of the bed..knowing that it was my side of the bed.) But yet, I can't forgive Ashley. I think it's because I don't want to.

Ashley lived next door to me in Florida. She ended up seeing my nephew behind his girlfriend, Anne's, back, and Anne left. She took my great nephew with her. This has been extremely painful for me because I helped raise my great nephew from the time he was two months old until he was nine months old. He was with me every single day. To put it simply, he felt like my own child. Ashley is not the only reason Anne left; she had other valid reasons. But she did not want her son exposed to the kind of life that Ricky and Ashley were living..constant partying, police, and drugs. I don't blame her. She's told me that she feels safer without Ricky knowing where she is, and I understand that, although Ricky wouldn't hurt a single hair on her head. It doesn't do any good to tell her this, because she has her own beliefs, but it's true. So Ashley knew that she was a major factor in Anne leaving and cutting everyone off from her son, including me. Did she care? No. This is the same girl who sat in my house while I was out of town, and with my nephew, allowed some bitch to come in my house with my husband and not tell me, then get mad at Anne for calling me and telling me. I mean, come on. I told her when she first started seeing Ricky to back off a little and let him and Sam work things out so that he could have a relationship with his son, and the response I got was, "I'm not going anywhere until Ricky tells me to." At that point, I backed off but Ricky knew that I didn't like her because of it, so he tried not to flaunt it to me. She didn't; she made sure she sucky faced with him when I was around, among other things. It was almost like she was daring me to do something about it. Which I didn't.

Then I hear that she's pregnant. It felt like someone stepped on my stomach when I heard that. In my mind, she's trying to replace Anne and her son, and spiting everyone else. Is she on crack? Ricky is in no position to have a baby. Neither is she, for that matter. She hasn't even graduated from high school yet! (She's 19). And she's already had one abortion. It feels to me that she is trying to latch on to Ricky on purpose, even though they don't have the greatest relationship. Surely she must know this. She's not stupid; I've often said that with all her faults as a person, she doesn't lack any intelligence. Why is she doing this? I don't want part of her in my family. I want her to quietly disappear just as quickly as she appeared on the scene. And how am I possibly going to look at this baby when my great nephew is gone and has been for almost a year now? No fucking way. I can't do it. How is she ever going to think that that baby is going to replace my great nephew? It's not. Truth be told, I want nothing to do with her OR that fucking spawn she's carrying. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist. So far, I haven't changed my mind and I've known about the pregnancy since August. (I think she's due in April but I don't know for sure..but what I do know is that my great nephew was born in April, which makes this even worse.) Anne is living someplace else, although I have no idea where. I just want Anne and my great nephew back more than anything. I don't care about Ashley at all.

What's scary about that is that it's true. I truly do not care about Ashley. That's kind of scary to me, since I care about everyone. But if she fell down the stairs and broke her neck and died, I wouldn't even go to her funeral. I would feel bad, I guess, for her mother, who I like very much, and for her sister, who I also like, but I would probably dance around with glee if I knew I would never have to see her or hear from her again. I think I need help with this, because the only person it's bothering is me. Ashley knows how I feel, and I'm sure she wishes it weren't that way, but I am also sure she's not dwelling on it. Denial isn't going to get me anywhere either, because that baby is coming whether I like it or not, and it's a part of me. Family ties are very important to me and to my nephews, who are like my brothers. I can't see Ricky turning his back on me because I got pregnant by someone he didn't like, even under these circumstances. Actually, he would have probably beat someone's ass by now, but he wouldn't have taken it out on me. And I don't feel like I'm being very fair to him, even though he fucked up big time. This is still going to be his child. And he is still the father of Anne's son, whether he sees him or not. (It's been nearly a year since we've seen this child..it'll be a year in February but I am the only one Anne keeps in touch with, sometimes by phone but usually by email...and I have no idea where she is, nor will she tell me.) But I just can't shake these feelings of HATRED.

I've actually thought about inviting Ricky and Ashley out to dinner (neutral ground) and telling them what I think. I know that they both can probably take it, and in the end, what I think and feel is going to be inconsequential to the end result anyway. But I have to wonder if it would make me feel better to tell them anyway. Especially her. I guess we'll see. However I handle the situation is going to be better than sitting here stewing about it anyway. I just want to be able to make sure I can keep my temper in check.

This is me and my stupid nephew, Ricky. Ricky, I am so pissed at you right now, and you know why. (Not that he reads this or knows anything about it!) 

Every once in a while you meet someone, someone you know you will never forget. Someone who applied themselves in your life at just the right time, or perhaps maybe the EXACT wrong time, and you have to wonder how things would be different under different circumstances.

A year ago, I had to fly to Michigan to take care of some business regarding my dad's rental property. As usual, I flew business class. (This has nothing to do with snobbishness on my part. I fly first class strictly because it's faster and the seats are bigger and the alcohol is free. Not that I drink it.) While making my connection in Atlanta, a woman approached me and asked me if I would mind switching seats with her so she could sit next to her son. "It's our first time flying," she admitted a little shyly, and I happily obliged. After all, I was on my connecting flight and could relax..no need to rush. So I sat in the last aisle in first class and opened up my biology textbook, preparing to get some work done in the hour and a half flight time. I also use books as a deterrent for anyone who may be sitting next to me to talk to me. I am a social person, but sometimes I do just want to be left alone. So, they were getting ready to close the flight and I was jubilant that it appeared that I had the seat to myself and I was preparing to stretch my legs across it and study.

Suddenly this guy comes crashing onto the plane, and seats himself right next to me. I groaned inwardly and looked out the window thinking, please do not talk to me, please do not talk to me. And actually, he didn't. He began arranging himself comfortably while I pretended to read. (I can't read with all that action going on.) I glanced at him out of the corner out of my eye and what I saw was a good looking middle aged guy casually dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. The stewardess began the safety instructions, and several people were still straggling on the plane. Without thinking, I commented out loud to myself, "I can't believe all these people are going to Flint. What for?" The guy sitting next to me immediately replied, "No shit," and we both laughed.

Of course, the usual conversation followed: Where are you from, where are you going, oh yeah, okay, I've been there before, etc. After about fifteen minutes or so, before we even took off from the runway, I realized I really liked this guy. He laughed easily and kept ordering Jack and Cokes, which was funny to me, since the Jack is served in those little one ounce bottles. I told him about my life in Florida and he told me he was a pharmaceutical sales representative for Pfizer, living in Atlanta.He was on his way to Paw Paw, MI for a funeral...his brother's wife had died in a car accident, but he was originally from Kalamazoo. We talked and talked. By the time the plane was getting ready to land, I knew that his sister was gay (he didn't care, but he didn't really like her "flannel wearing old man lady"), his brother and his wife both battled substance abuse issues, his wife just had their second child and was all upset over her weight (he said, "I don't care how much my wife weighs. I just want her to be happy. If that means she weighs 220 pounds but is happy with herself, I don't care."), and all the drugs he tried in college. We were whooping it up there in the back of business class as if we were the only people on board. He poked me at one point and said, "Do you think they're...." letting his words trail off as he discreetly pointed at a male couple sitting on the other side of us. Both of them had spiky hair and little lapdogs in their laps. I said, "Oh of course, darling," and we cracked up like hyenas, elbowing each other. At one point he was telling me a story about his sister and he said "fuck" and then immediately flinched and was like, "Oh sorry. My mom taught me better than that. I usually don't say that word in front of women." I flicked my hand and said, "It's all right, I don't mind. I'm no fucking lady anyway." He laughed loud and hard, and then started repeating it, "Well, I'm no fucking lady anyway." We had our heads together, cracking up. We talked a little bit about my hypothyroidism and how it's caused me to gain so much weight in recent years, and he said, "Well, yeah, but you're a pretty girl and if you are willing to work at it, you'll take it off." He said it so matter of factly that I was taken aback. I know I'm cute, but pretty? My mom is pretty. My sister Jennyfur is pretty. I'm just cute and I'm happy with that. So I soared on his words, because he said it and he meant it and there was no fanfare or bullshit about it. That was it. Here was an attractive guy who really liked me for who I was, who under different circumstances, could have been my best friend, who, if I didn't know him, would just be dismissed under my mental file as, doesn't even see me. But he did see me. And by the time the flight was over, we were making strange eye contact and smiling and I was feeling all fuzzy and wuzzy nuzzy and shit. As we were disembarking, I asked him if he was going to get a rental car. He said yes, he was going through Hertz because he got a corporate discount. He also needed a map because, after all these years, he wasn't sure what the best way to get to Paw Paw was and I said, "Hey! I'm renting from Hertz too! You don't need a map...I'll tell you how to get there." He laughed and said, "Good, because I don't remember a thing about driving in Michigan." We walked down to the baggage claim together, got our bags, and then stood in line at Hertz together. I let him go in front of me, and he turned around and asked me when I was flying back to Florida. "On Sunday," I replied. "And you?" "Tomorrow," he replied. There was another one of those long, not quite uncomfortable gazes, and I broke it by mapping out his way for him while I waited for the clerk to get my keys to my car. After I received my keys, I stepped away from the counter and he said, "Hey! You know what? I never did get your name." I laughed as I realized this was true; we had never exchanged names. "My name's Sondra," I said. "I'm Heath," he replied and stuck out his hand. I stared at it for a minute, and in a move that is totally Sondra-esque, stepped forward and gave him a hug. (I am a huggy person). And, of course, I had other reasons. I liked him. Really liked him. Really, really liked him.

We stared at each other for a moment, and then he said something that could have changed the course of my life. "Want to ride out there with me?" he asked. It seemed innocent, but there was electricity flowing that should not have ever been there. I was married, he was married with two small children, and as bad as I wanted to, I believe in God and Karma and I just couldn't. I didn't say any of that. What I said was, "Oh, I'd really love to, but I have an appointment with my tenants at 5 PM." Which was true, but the appointment wasn't until the next day. He looked a little bit, well, I guess dejected is the word (but it does seem a little strong in this case). Then he smiled, stepped forward, and hugged me again...longer this time. "Well, bye Sondra. Have a nice trip," is what he said. "You too," I replied as we stood there hugging, and then just as abruptly as he hugged me, he took off toward the exit. For my own sake, I watched him walk out the door and drive away before I went out to get my own car. I am a strong person, but I was weak at that particular moment, nevertheless.

I guess I feel it necessary to point out that my marriage is not always a happy one, just like many marriages are not perfect. I have struggled with the decision to get a divorce several times, and anyone with any sense is going to read this entry and see all kinds of psychological shit going on: the fat girl gets attention from the cute professional guy and falls head over heels in love with him even though, in reality, he was probably being a drunken jerk. Well, guess again. He was not a jerk, he was not drunk, and my self esteem is not so low that I feel I have to reap shallow compliments and attention in order to feel good about myself. No, I don't like my weight very much at all, but I like myself as a person and I know what I deserve and what I don't deserve, in terms of interpersonal communications. It was fun, it was kind of magical, and he represented what I didn't have back then, and what I still don't have: a tight bond, a nurturing relationship where physical and mental attraction go hand in hand. My husband lacks the ability to empathize with anyone, and as a result, I don't feel all that close to him. Therefore, the magic is gone and has been for quite some time. It's comfortable, and every day I struggle with the issue of is comfortable enough? Some days I think so, and some days I think not. If you want the truth, I would have to say that in the end, it's not going to be enough.

So, Heath, wherever you are, know that you enhanced my life with our little chance encounter, and it was well worth it to give up my seat that day. I hope all is well for you and your wife and your no doubt beautiful babies. And also, there are times when I wish like hell I would have gotten in that car with you.

Yeah, this is how I feel tonight. Don't laugh just because I look like the lead singer for "The Cure" in this picture, because I'll kick your ass.

This sucks. This blog should have been named "Sondra Bitching" rather than Sondra's Stories, but I am sick again, this time with some kind of mild head cold that's making me wish I could just chop it off at the neck. I didn't deep clean my house this week but at least I got all my homework done, so I am happy about that. And I'm sure this sick feeling won't last much longer. Hell, I'll probably feel like a million bucks come Monday, when I have to go to school again.

One of the classes I'm taking is Sociology, and our professor is really neat; I like him. He's an older black man who is extremely intelligent, and he inserts a lot of cultural education in his lectures that I find interesting, most likely because I do have a child with African American heritage. (It is such a neat culture, although I really know very little about it.) Anyway, there is this dork who sits in the back of the class and constantly makes stupid comments that I am sure he percieves to be interesting and fair. For instance, we were discussing the term "cultural diffusion" and how it leads to exposure to other cultures' foods and customs, such as Cinco De Mayo or matzoh ball soup. This dude raises his hand, the teacher calls on him, and he begins to regale the class with his interpretation of how fried chicken has become so popular with "black people."

"You know, back in the day, when there were slaves, they always ate all of the chicken or all of the pig," he says in his singsong, know it all voice, and the girl sitting next to me catches my eye and we both sigh. "So, now, that's why black people eat stuff like gizzards and pig's feet because it's part of their culture. They also invented fried chicken, I'm sure."

This class is pretty equal between black and white, and I can hear the black people behind me giggling like crazy. The girl sitting in front of me turns and around and makes a face at me, and I say, "He's going to get all of our asses beaten someday." Her and her friend sitting next to her chuckle softly, and I glance at the teacher and see that he has this look on his face that is saying, "What the fuck?" He makes some kind of diplomatic comment and moves on. Now, I know that thing about the slaves was true, because I once learned that in another class, but come the fuck on. It makes me very uncomfortable when someone representing my race makes us all look stupid. We have enough to overcome. Look at what our ancestors did to their ancestors. And not just to the Africans, NO..we did it to everyone, including the Native Americans. We are bossy, rude, and just basically used to getting our way. I don't speak my mind too much because I'm afraid of looking like an ass kisser, but the truth is, I don't blame them for much. Think about it. When you watch the news at night, it's always about how the "suspect was a black man." The suspect is always a black man. However, when that whole deal with Enron was going on, the fact that Kenneth Lay, a rich whitebread cracker friend of the Bushies, stole millions of dollars was barely mentioned. But if a black man did it...oh my Gosh, you would never hear the end of it. The media tells you what percentage of black men in America are incarcerated, but what they fail to mention is that less than 40 percent of black males in prison are doing time for violent crime. It's usually for violating parole on drug offenses or other such crimes. Rarely do they beat their wives, sexually molest and/or abuse their children, and I have yet to hear of a black serial killer. It's just the way that the media presents it to the American public, which is exactly the way the public wants it.

And I get so tired of people who have been victims of crime perpetrated by blacks who use that as an excuse to be prejudiced and ignorant the rest of their lives. "Well, I lock my doors when I see black people around me because I once had my purse snatched by one." Well, so fucking what? The people around you now are probably not thinking about your purse, bitch. They're thinking about the same things you do: what time to pick up their kids, what to make for dinner, and how in the hell they're going to come up with the money for the car payment this month. As a matter of fact, my daughter's biological father went to prison for getting me pregnant when he was 28 and I was 15...and he was my foster father. But I sure in the hell don't hate every black person I see just because he was the way he was. (By the way, no, it wasn't forced sexual contact. I thought he "loved me" which, of course, was BS because he was already married. The courts saw it as coercion and punished him accordingly.) That would be ridiculous, as his actions should not reflect on an entire race. If that were the case, all white people would be dead, in my opinion.

A couple of weeks ago, Lynn called me over to her house because her husband had invited one of his friends and his wife over. She called me halfway through the visit and begged me to come over and I could tell she had been drinking. I said to her, "Is it that bad?" to which she replied with a cheery, "Uh huh." So I head over there and all looks normal to me. I sit down at the kitchen table, where she is sitting with the wife, (I don't know her name so I'll call her Vickie) and I can see that Lynn is on at least her third beer. I get one too. Lynn introduces me to Vickie and we begin chatting. (Lynn's husband and Vickie's husband have been friends for almost 15 years or even more. I have known Lynn's husband for about 15 years and the other guy, John, for about 10 years, although I hadn't seen him in many years and had never met his wife until this night. I have known Lynn for 11 years and what an 11 years it's been!) But she knows I love her.

Anyway, we're sitting there talking, and Lynn's telling us about how she hired this one guy to go to work at some factory south of here, and I guess maybe Lynn mentioned that he was black, I don't really remember. But she was telling us how he got released from the position because he just didn't want to work. At this point, Vickie says, "Well, John says he doesn't like black people because they're lazy and all of them are like that," or something to that effect, I don't exactly remember. I immediately replied, "That is the stupidest, most ignorant fucking thing I have ever heard." Lynn stifled a laugh and Vickie just stared at me, uncomprehending. Then Lynn and I began to discuss how we hated racism and how it seems like it's never going to go away, and then all of a sudden (she has a talent for this) Lynn starts freaking about this guy on TV talking about the Asian bird flu and how it was going to affect the U.S. Vickie says, "Oh yeahh, I heard that too, well it's all the black people and their KFC." I laughed out loud, and Lynn, without missing a beat, says, "Well, I was watching it on Good Morning America, and there was this guy---a white guy---saying how it was going to affect his family." It went right over Vickie's head. We talked for a while longer, and then the subject of children came up. I mentioned that I had a daughter who was almost 12 and that she was biracial. Immediately, Vickie says to me, "Well, I think mixed kids are the most beautiful kids."

I fucking hate this when people say it to me. It's just so fucking fake, and usually I hear it after I point out to someone who's made some ignorant comments, that my daughter is black. People, please don't say this to me. All children are beautiful to me. Does it matter what their skin color is? For the love of God, don't try to gloss it over by telling me that you think MIXED babies are beautiful. Lynn's children are quite beautiful, and they're white. I am sure Vickie and John's babies are beautiful also, and they're white, too. Does it matter? Any baby, regardless of race, is beautiful. That is my opinion. I once saw a young black family at a restaurant that had three little kids, one being only about a month old. And this couple who were in their fifties, maybe early sixties, and white, asked the mother if she could hold the baby. The mother said yes, and this woman plucked the baby out of her car seat and began cooing to her, stroking her, and talking to her. I observed this without speaking. As I was getting ready to leave, the couple handed the baby back to the mother and said, "You are so blessed." I got goose bumps then and I get them now as I write this, because that's the way the world should be, but all too often it isn't. I know I'm going to die with a broken heart, because things just aren't the way they should be and I get so down when I think about it too much. That's why I am going into Human Services. I really want to work with people. I believe all people have a spot of good in them, even if it's just the tiniest little spot. But people have to want to change, so the decision is ultimately theirs.

I don't know why I got on a soapbox tonight. It's just things that have been brewing in my mind lately. The fact that I have to turn my daughter out to a world that will not fully accept her is scary. The fact that she is female AND half black is also scary. We have already dealt with racist comments and such, and her attitude is, "Well, Mom, there's really nothing I can do about it." Is that how the whole world percieves it? Because if so, I cannot accept that. What I want to do is get a baseball bat and club every motherfucker that says something deragatory to her. That is MY child, she is NOT a nigger, she is NOT a darkie, or a chocolate anything. She is a writer, a reader, she is bad at math but loves people. She is popular with her peers and has a best friend and she would do anything for anyone. She loves animals and music and family. Will the people that hate her or judge her based on the color of her skin ever know these things?

I just haven't had the time to update my blog lately. School and home life are demanding all of my time these days, but I just feel I need to put something in here today.

This week has been absolutely awful in terms of stress and emotions. Monday, I came home from school to find that my husband had quit his job because he "didn't like it" and that we are now without an income from him. (I do bring in some money, but I'll get to that in a minute.) He didn't actually tell me that he quit at first...he tried to tell me he was fired but I didn't buy it. There was a very loud argument, and after I knocked down all of our DVD's from their shelf and pulled the trim right off of a doorframe and threw my shoes all over the bedroom, I just sat on my bed, put my head in my hands, and began to wail. This reaction may seem a little extreme, but this is not the first time he has done this. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of taking care of a family and being responsible. I love his parents, but he is no doubt the victim of "excessive coddling."

So, after screaming, "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?" about a hundred times, I got tired of the blank stare I got in response. I called Lynn, who immediately told me that he had called her in search of a job. (She is a staffer). She got him an interview and everything, but she told me that she had told him, in no uncertain terms, to be gone when I got home from school...that I was going to be livid. Sadly, he didn't heed her advice. If he had, she would have told me, and I would have been pissed, but it would have given me time to prepare.

Tuesday, I come home from school feeling pissy about Monday, but I did put forth an effort to get along with him. My sister called and asked me to bring her some things, so I thought it would be nice to get in the car for a while and just drive. On my way out the door, I decided to check the mail. My bank had sent me a notice saying that "due to deragatory information from Chexsystems, a check verification service, we are notifying you that we are closing your account effective immediately and any checks to that account will be stamped 'Account Closed' and returned." What the FUCK? I haven't written any bad checks! So I called the bank and was told by one person that they didn't understand why I recieved the letter, and then another person entirely called me and said that my name was in Chexsystems because I wrote a bad check off of my account I still had in Florida. This DID happen, actually. It was an oversight on my part and quickly corrected, but I didn't realize that they would put my name in Chexsystems. So, to make a long story short, my account is now closed and I have a rent check and a car insurance check out there. That made me scream and cry some more.

Today, I get home from school and I was actually in a pretty good mood. My classes were entertaining today, and there were lots of good songs on the radio. Shawn was sitting here on the computer when I walked in the door, so I got on the phone right away to double check and make sure that my child support check, that I receieve every two weeks, will be coming today. Imagine my shock and surprise when I am told that there was no payment processed this week. How can that be? He has paid every two weeks, on time, for almost two years. Of course, they had none of that information, since they are only the agency that cuts the checks. I checked the sex offender registry, which, yes, he is on, and he is not there. WHY IS HE NOT ON THE SEX OFFENDER REGISTRY? He should be. He always has been. I guess I don't have to explain that I absolutely will not, under any circumstances, speak to him. So I guess this is just a mystery that will have to unfold itself, because I am not hunting him down.

This just made me bitter all over again, and I began yelling at Shawn, asking him what he was thinking, and how could he be so selfish when he quit his job, etc. Again, the blank stare. He didn't even really look like he felt all that bad. (I think he lacks the ability to empathize.) Finally, I told him I just wanted him to leave. I can't take this anymore. It's not fair to expect me to shoulder ALL the responsibility and ALL the stress alone, if we're supposed to be a team. It hasn't been fair for quite some time. I am going to end up in the loony bin if something doesn't change.

It's breaking my heart, but he has to go. I don't necessarily want a divorce right now, but I cannot live with him anymore. We have seperated before and it was actually the best thing we ever did. I told him that he needed to get his own place..he really doesn't seem to want to go back to Florida, which is fine with me because I love him and want him to stay close. Just not in the same house with me. His paycheck from that job comes in a couple of days, and I told him to use it to get his own place...I am in a position to borrow money from someone who has it and is willing to give it to me to pay my bills. That's what I will do.

This is not going to be easy. It's not going to be fun. I just wonder how I'm going to handle all of this...his leaving, all these past due bills, my daughter and her school activities and issues, my studying, cooking, cleaning....I am just so overwhelmed with grief and stress right now. Good thing I'm not hungry.