I've moved 
And I'm not saying where to
But you could probably find me
If that's what you wanted to do. 

I ran out of room
Poured my heart in a box
Had to pick up my broom
And start a new blog. 


This is my last post at this blog. It's gotten too personal to be able to share it with family and friends. My new blog is out there in the ether, gathering the eyes of strangers who can't be cut by my words, my feelings, my being. I hope you all understand.

Ireland

I had an incredible conversation with an Irishman the other day about Ireland, County Cork where my family would have been from, the Cliffs of Moher and the different dialects of Irish Celtic. It was one of those moments in life where you know you're hearing something special from someone who cares deeply about something from the past that not a lot of young people "get" anymore. I wish I could have recorded it somehow, but I went home later and bookmarked some Wikipedias that had some good information consistent with what I was told.

I need to go back there. That is all.

Boston Marathon

I've held the tears back until now, my work over and a little time to myself. I carried it through lunch with family, a long ride home after a weekend vacation and a shift at my job, but it's coming now. It's so strange how we go about our insignificant lives in the face of such tragedies.

I first heard about the explosions on twitter around 12:15 here on the West Coast. No amount of Googling could give me answers, but it was soon clear that this wasn't an accident. The news reports started coming in and reporters were saying that had the explosions been an hour earlier, the toll may have been higher as the rush of experienced runners reached the finish line. A silver lining formed in that fewer people were hurt, but there was something else that hit me like a ton of bricks, close to home.

Many of the runners hit or injured were likely to be first time Boston Marathon runners or novices still working on their speed and endurance. It may have been someone's first time completing the race and some may never run another. As a novice runner, this hits close to home. I remember that feeling when I finished my first 5k. That feeling stolen from dozens today. I'm angry for them. I've even thought of revenge, even with no suspects and no one claiming credit for the attack.

Some have tried to post online the fact that more people ran to help the victims than committed the crime. Yet there were bombings in many parts of the world today. How are they so sure of their numbers just because we have great first responders here in the US?

People were also blaming others for caring about the Boston attack and not reporting enough about the other attacks today, using one attack to look down on others on moral superiority. Others used the attack to push their own political agendas even though neither suspect nor motive have been made clear. How am I supposed to feel about my fellow man with this kind of static?

I'm thinking of the families, the horrible scenes posted to twitter and Facebook, the rush of misinformation and ignorance after the attacks and I can't seem to stomach it right now. I'm 3000 miles away and have no way to really help. I guess it's that sense of helplessness that's feeding into this almost existential nihilism. I've been here before, though, and it's passed, so maybe it will again. We have to be better to each other than we are dangerous to each other or we wouldn't have survived as a species, right? Right?

Anyway, I think I'll go to bed now because there's literally nothing I can do at this moment but wait for answers. Goodnight, Humans. Please be good to each other.

I Can't Do It Anymore

This is me, taking a stand. I am going to be thirty next year. I have absolutely no room in my life for people (family) who treat me like shit no matter how many times I forgive them (or at least act cordial).

My step brother just sent my big sister a text message out of the blue complaining that we (me and my two sisters) didn't acknowledge that he had come to our Gram's funeral last year. Our Gram. Her funeral!

He called us and my husband trash. This man wdnt AWOL from the Navy some years back, stole my dad and step-mom's car and savings and ran away from gambling debts to go hide out with his schizophrenic father in a trailer park in some town called Weaverville, Ca. You know what he's done since? Gambled more, got injured at work not wearing a hard hat like he was supposed to and found himself a girl named Shelly to take good care of him.

I'd like to compare that to my big sister who, although she doesn't work, is solely responsible for convincing her husband to fight for custody of his kids and then taught the oldest at nine years old to finally be able to read for the first time in his life. She raised my nephew, he'd own son, pretty much on her own.

My other sister graduated from an art college and went on to design characters for a famous online social network game and makes more bank, living in Daly City and working in the most beautiful city in the world, San Feancisco.

My husband is three years into a PhD at UCD. I don't even need to qualify that, because it stands on its own. Amongst his numerous projects and his work toward his dissertation, he's helping mankind unravel the mysteries of language and communication. That's fucking awesome.

I'm not good at tooting my own horn, but I've dedicated my life to helping others. I worked with adults with developmental disabilities for years, teaching them life skills, communication and expression through art. I've put on benefit converts and fundraisers, campaigned, rallied and protested to make the world a little better, and now I'm finally getting around to finishing my formal education.

I'm no longer forgetting and forgiving these people. I'm tired of this cyclical, borderline psychotic attacks from people I'm told I'm just supposed to make up with, just bury the hatchet, just keep the peace. I'm too old. I want to have children in the next few years. I want to become a teacher. I want to run a half-marathon. I don't want this bullshit anymore.

My grandfather (not related to my Gram) passed away this week and my mom texted me to tell me. This was after she told me to break my legs running. You know why she was mad at me? I don't talk to her on Facebook as much as I talk to other people.

She couldn't have had my sister call me. She has no decency whatsoever. Now I'm getting text messages telling me how my step brother is upset he didn't get credit for coming to my Gram's funeral. I don't even remember him being there. I couldn't tell you who was there at all.

I'm not just sweeping this under the rug. I'm not just going to pretend. I'm not going to let them back in. I won't have other family members pressure me to play nice so we can all sit uncomfortably in the same room together and put on a show for the neighbors and friends. I'm tired of it and I'm ending it now. I'm not letting this happen again.