The Crotchety Crocheter and the Bah Humbugs

Another boring day at work. There is NOTHING to do here. I anticipated this, so I brought in a disc with a bunch of my old school papers on it. I've spent much of the morning cringing at horrible typos and grammar errors. I also really hate how bad I am at crafting endings to my papers. They always come off as rushed, like I just shrugged and said, "...and that's that." I have to work on that...if I ever return to school that is. God! I hate being broke! I hate that I can't freakin' finish school! What the heck happened to me? I'm kind of a loser now.

Wooooooooh! Where'd all that come from? I'm in a good mood and everything. My papers aren't all that awful. I sense a little idealism and naivete in some of my writing, but overall, I stand behind much of what I wrote. After all I wasn't that much younger when I wrote most of it. Slightly less bitter perhaps, but not by much.

One of the things I came across was the journal entry I wrote to Germain after his death. It made me a little teary-eyed. I also came across a paper I wrote in one of my writing classes about his death in which I discussed reading that journal entry at his memorial. I talked about his death bringing our family closer and us being more open. Too bad that isn't true anymore. I've gone from calling and sending cards like clockwork to never calling or sending cards, not even to the Younguns. I actually bought cards, but just haven't mailed them. I think my Younguns are due for one big ole holiday package filled with the presents I've made them (yes, I have made presents for most of them, but again, haven't sent them) and the long-overdue cards I still have.

Anyway, below is the journal entry I wrote to my brother.

I’m sorry Germain. I’m really sorry I wasn’t a better sister to you. I’m sorry that I was selfish about letting you come stay with me in Minnesota. I wish I had paid more attention when you called. I wish I had really read into what you were saying about how you were doing. I’m really sorry I didn’t understand what it was like for you being alone in the house with someone who could change moods at the drop of a dime. I won’t feel guilty. I won’t blame myself for what you chose to do. This was your solution. This was your way out of your pain and hurt.
I hope you will forgive me for not being strong enough for you. I want you to know that I love you and the fact that you are gone will be a great loss to me and many others whose lives you’ve touched.
It’s too bad we couldn’t talk about things that happened: our youth, our growing-up years. Maybe if we had these words would be in a letter to you or I’d be saying them to you on the telephone. The tears would still fall. The pain would still be there. But you would be here.
It’s hard for me to believe in the concept of God or Jehovah, but I want to. And I want to believe that He saw into your heart and will take you into Heaven or bring you back in the hereafter to be with us and Mama. If there isn’t, I hope that all of your pain and suffering are over, and that there is some peace and comfort in your life FINALLY.
Take care, Little Brother. I miss you.

That brings me to another thing. I miss writing in my journal. Blogging is cool and all, but it is no replacement for my little journal book. I don't even know why I don't do it anymore. I guess I lost patience with it. I stopped long before I started this blog thing. Because blogging is all OUT THERE and stuff, I can't be as blunt and honest as I can in my journal. I know no one is gonna read my little notebook, but who knows who might stumble across this thing. This particular entry is probably the most open I've been in a journal entry and I only really feel safe blogging it because NO ONE READS THIS BUT ME. I could copy and paste this over on MySpace where I know I have more readers, but I don't know if I wanna.

My break is long over. Once again I have to shrug my shoulders and abruptly end my writing. I really need to work on that.