Well, this is the first post to Rambles and Raves, my own little BLOG. I know, I'm such a joiner. But I've been thinking about doing one of these for a couple of very good reasons.

The first is my son's therapist, Rachael. She asked if I had some way to deal with a lot of the crap going on in my life right now, and I said I wrote it down. Which wasn't exactly true, but wasn't false either. I do write it down. But only if I'm ranting to Sal in another email. I don't do that often, why bug her to death. But it got me thinking about BLOG's again.

Another good reason was to cut down on the whining in my chatrooms. I mean, who wants to hear it? Well, sometimes they do, but mostly I'm sure they'd like me to dry up. And some days you just can't do that without feeling like nobody is listening or caring about you and your problems, although you are always there for them. So I figured if I had one of these, I could rant all I like and only people who wanted to read it would.

That said, here's the first rant.....

I kept it to myself, but my baby son, Matthew, who just turned 11, told his therapist he wanted to throw himself in front of a car. Hurt himself. I mean, what do you do with that? We upped his medication, and his trips to the therapist, to say the least. I've all the hotline numbers handy, and had to remove all the sharp objects from his room. Rachael said not to let him be alone, much, either. Reasonable amounts of time are fine, but not long periods. Try to keep him engaged and busy. Well, that's not as easy as it seems when you are out of cash. But I'm trying.

I'm living in a horror movie right now, I swear it. I feel as angst-ridden as a female singer who lost her Prozac prescription. And when you focus on the bad, the bad multiplies. Right now, there's so much of it I feel like I'll never swim free and clear.

There's very little money. And I can't get a job because I homeschool Patrick. I can't send him to school cause the school doesn't think he works hard enough to even GO to their stuffy school. And who wants to go where they aren't wanted? Meanwhile, Jeff's hours shrink into oblivion, and we scrape harder and harder and eat more soup than one American family has a right to. You know it's bad when McDonald's is too spendy for you.

My grandmother is dying. I finally made it down to say goodbye to her last Tuesday. It was hard. She's fragile and frail, and faded. It was like looking at a crumbling picture of her, not her. She would fade in and out of consciousness as I sat by her side, content to just soak up her smell and listening to her breathe in and out. There wasn't a hint of pain in her. The only tube was her colostomy (spelling, oh well) bag. She was FINE. Hardy and hale and able to feed herself. She couldn't walk or move much, she didn't seem to want to. The drugs for her cancer sap the living out of her a little at a time. She thought I was my mother, she thought I was her, she thought I was me. She talked of cats and how I left food in the oven. It was sad. And all I could think about was how her hands looked like mine, how her voice sounded like my mother, and how I was never, ever, going to see her alive again. But I held on to the tears. I spent an hour in her world, until I knew I could delay no longer and stand no more. I left, tears streaming down my face because she said she would keep my place near her, and I said I would keep her ever in my heart.

So, where was the ride from father? The phone call to set something up? To not set something up? Nowhere. I am frustrated and annoyed at his lack of interest in me. I'm mad, and I never get mad.

My "real" computer isn't home. Bob is on his last legs, which is why he's the "game" computer. Still I stuff him full of what has to be here to function. Graphic programs and internet goodies. The CD finally just gave out, and now nobody can play cd games on here. Annoying to say the least. When, oh when, will it come home? Then, just to top things off, I spilled water in my fine ergonmic keyboard and rendered it useless. Now, that's the way to finish off a week.

I think that'll do for now. I'm working on paperwork so I can apply for food stamps and state insurance. Until then, I dig into empty pockets for bus tickets and food, and wish I could find a way to write a good story about all this.

Someone light me another candle.

Deoris