Entry 8

Did you know this was supposed to be a daily thing? Ha.

I'm way too busy finger weaving nowadays to write if you hadn't noticed. God damn this is addicting. I was working on it yesterday all through this documentary and I actually ran out of yarn. By the time I'm allowed to rejoin society I bet I'll have enough to teepee a house, (uh oh, better watch out Ms. Millman, the yarn is coming for you!)

Finger weaving is my anti-drug. That and blogging apparently.

So continuing on with our prompts, let me just spin the metaphorical wheel of prompting over here.

Who is someone you consider a role-model?

Batman. Seriously kids, if you ever find yourself in possession of a ridiculously large sum of money as well as super genius skills and years of martial arts training, go be Batman. The world will be a significantly better place.

Nah I'm just kidding, Batman's all angst. Go be Iron Man.

Anywho, in all seriousness my real role model is someone a tad less fictitious.  (Also Ms. Millman I am going to preemptively warn you about my French in this one so you can prepare yourself before you start clutching your pearls.)

So I'm one of those lucky kids who had asshole parents. Like, pothead hippie asshole parents, (which are the best kind.) Daddy dropped off the radar after he knocked up mommy, and mommy well, apparently she was never all that there to begin with. I don't know but I think she was kind of like me. Where as she was a few shish short of a kabob. She had me, but for whatever the reason, be it that she didn't want me or that she couldn't take care of me, I ended up with my aunt Peggy.

Now let me establish this. Peggy never went to college. Peggy never got married and never had any kids. Peggy made her pothead hippie sister look conservative. And here she is, living in the back of a antique shop and someone drops her crazy asshole sister's baby off on her doorstep with a please and a thank you. And what does she do?

She doesn't eat for a week so she can go buy a crib and a bunch of books on raising children. She goes and finds some nicotine patches. Quits a job she really likes for a terrible one that pays more. She made that baby cookies after school, and coached her through hardship after hardship. She drove the little tyke out to her asshole boyfriends house in the dead of night and helped her egg it. She visited her everyday she was in the psych ward. She even saved enough to put her through college, and a mildly decent one too.

She did more for me than anyone else would of, even my own parents.

I don't know why she did it, and that's not just me being ignorant, because she has literally said time and time again that kids are little shits, (speaking of me specifically or just children in general.) Yet she must of cared and awful lot about me because she's stood by me all these years and has given me more love than anyone.

Plus she's just awesome overall...most of the time. As she's gotten older she's lost a bit of her edge but she still manages to get up each morning and keep on kicking. Words cannot describe how much I adore her.

I remember I came home from school one day, and I was sobbing because a boy had hassled me about voices in my head and had called me retarded along with a few other niceties.

I came home, and was sobbing in the kitchen and explaining the ordeal and at first she seemed pretty empathetic but then she hugged me and told me to get over myself. I know right? This came as a bit of a surprise, because up until that point whenever I was upset about being a nut-job she always used to dote on me more than usual, however this time she just sort of said enough is enough. She told me that she didn't raise me to cry over pieces of crap like school bullies, and that she certainly wasn't going to let me grow into one of those people who whined about the slice of life they'd been cut. She told me she wanted for me to grow up to be happy, whether or not I was crazy, and that the people who sit in the corner and say 'poor ol' me,' will never be able to do that. Looking back on that, I don't think I've ever received better advice.

Life is life, and you do the best with what you have whether or not it's what you wanted. That's the code Peg lives by, and it's become the one I try to live by too. I know she's got her oddities and her life choices are ones the After School Special Organization would frown upon, but she's one of the most decent people I know, and believe me when I say I look up to her more than anyone else. She is my real mother, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now if only I could just figure out how to end these prompts.