The Source of my Naivety:
I grew up Catholic, which is a difficult task to accomplish when living in the Bible belt of Southern Alabama. In any case my parents were always devout, which means they have never believed in divorce as a solution. My papa always worked off shore in New Orleans so my entire life from infancy onwards I have always seen him every other week. Kind of weird to think about that actually... he's only been with me through half my life. Anyway, we never had cable until I was in the fifth grade, and when I was a kid, kids in elementary school didn't know all about sex, guns, and rock 'n role. Most of them being protestant, their parents were much more strict than my own. My parents grew up in the laid back outskirts of New Orleans, where I was born. However my parents are all around good people, so I just grew up thinking it to be the norm. My mother has a wonderful talent in music. My whole life she has been able to hear one word and automatically know two or three songs that go with it. She plays the flute, piano, and the guitar. I'd love to tell you more about her, but that is another diary entry all together. My father is of more of a quiet nature and shows love in different ways than most people. He is an outstanding carpenter and has the kind of mind for numbers I only wish I had inherited. Growing up with my parents and my siblings was very much like growing up in a G-Rated Disney flick. My mom literally broke out in song on a regular basis, and we all always ate dinner together. We were never beaten, never verbally or sexually abused, and we took in people. Twice two of my cousins came and lived with us, and occasionally other kids whose families weren't so perfect would end up at our house for a few weeks. All of this stuff went completely over my head as a kid. It never even occurred to me to ask why my cousin Nicole was living with us instead of her mom or dad. It just was as it was. I went to a small school which also served as somewhat of a shelter. Nobody was ever threatened with anything more than a face full of dirt where I went to school. It's just like all those movies you see about south Alabama where being head of the football team or homecoming queen defines your social status for the rest of your life. I grew up with all of the right types of love... not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but my parents sure gave it one hell of a shot for my siblings and me. In any case though it did serve to make me quite naive about a lot of things. Of course I know much better now, not to mention much more. I'm kind of glad that I lived a naive childhood though. I think a lot of who I am has a lot to do with me only learning about some things when I was mature enough to comprehend them. ~Theresa
Angel with a Halo:
Angel is my best friend in the whole wide messed up crazy world. She’s got blond mermaid hair, big blue eyes, and a tan. The kind of girl guys these days go nuts over. There are very few people in this world that I love as much as I love her. When we met in fourth grade, I was a naive, geeky little kid who had lived a very sheltered life with both of her parents always around, never fighting. Not real fighting anyway. My siblings and I got on rather well, hadn't lost anyone important, didn't know death, didn't know much about the world in general. I thought for the most part that everything was peachy and that bad stuff only happened in books and movies. Angel, on the other hand, had been born to a sixteen year old girl, had witnessed her mom being tossed around by her dad, spent Christmas watching her mom throw the tree through the window and then watching her proceed to stomp all of the ornaments, took care of lil sister, knew what drugs were (mom used em). She was wise in the world compared to me. She got sent to live with her grandmother and that's how we met. I remember it being one of those instant friend things... it was almost as if we had never NOT been friends. We lived at each other's houses and took care of one another through grade school. She had a pervert uncle that lived at her house... I didn't know... she never explained. I just remember that if ever Nana went to the store or something she would lock us in her room and then we would sit in her closet until Nana got back. I never understood any of it except that Uncle Eddie Dean gave me a kinda creepy feeling. Her grandfather, Mark, used to make up these wild stories and we'd listen to them until we fell asleep... even at the age of like fifteen. They were great stories. She always had this crazy sense of humor, and I always secretly wished that I was like her. She had a bird named Fred that spoke, and I remember crazy Eddie got mad at her once and shot it. Shortly afterwards he got shipped off to Ohio somewhere. Angel used to spend Christmas, Easter, and summer with her mom up in Tennessee. Every time she went she'd come back saying she'd never go again. Funny that, she didn't have much of a choice. Anyway I never could wait until she got back, and when she would, we'd spend the night playing Mario and exchanging "what I did on my vacation" stories until four or five in the morning. Then we'd resolve to stay up and watch the sunset where upon we'd promptly fall asleep. Once her mom made her move to Tennessee for like 7 months. Longest seven months of my life. We both cried, but we wrote each other constantly. She used to address my letters to "Crazy Theresa Clarinet" because I used to play the clarinet and my middle is Claire. How embarrassing, what a goofy kid. We've been through so much I couldn't possibly write it all in one entry, so consider this a mere introduction of my best friend in the whole world.
A Compulsion:
Obsessive compulsive disorder runs in both sides of my family. Not always the full blown kind, most of just get a few certain compulsions we have no controll over. One of mine is school supplies for some odd reason. I just love them, in fact i own more school supplies than any one person should ever own in a lifetime. Whenever I go to a department store I just have to go over to the school supply section and stock up on notebooks, pencils, pens, crayons, markers, sharpies,scotc
The Kittens:
I'll start with Hades, because she is an inside kitten. She is also really a cat, a young lady kat and not a kitten, but The brat and I say kitten, so there! Hades is black with little white feet and eyes that look like glass. She is spoiled rotten and refuses to be ignored. If she feels no one is paying attention to her then she puts herself in the way in a kind of "excuse me, pardon me, love me" type of way. She only drinks water from the faucet and will meow until someone turns it on for her. She also insists on being in the bathroom when anyone is taking a shower. She jumps up on coffee tables and counters with the same little "Tada!" that Seinfeld's Kramer enters a room with. Her favorite toy is a small, soft, ping-pong sized ball with a sprout of feathers sticking out of the top. We like to attach it to a fishing pole and then watch her do back flips over it for hours. She will now sit in front of the fishing pole and meow until you play with her. My kitten is also a young lady cat and is henceforth un-named. She is an outside cat and a HUGE snob. This explains why she is un-named; she refuses to answer to one. I belong to her instead of vice/versa. She hunts like crazy, which upsets my great aunt who feeds her treats in a vain attempt to stop her from killing the birds. She understands what people say about her and has been known to attack anyone who refers to her as fat or "overly-fluffy
The Time I Spent with Job:
Today my head is full of thoughts so I just have to write them down, before they drive me crazy. The relationship I had with Job was the first serious relationship I’d ever been in. it started the summer before my junior year in high school... and ended shortly after I started my freshman year of college. And it also seemed to be serious only one side of it... the other being more of a selfish nature. At first he was intriguing: a grunged out skater with very sad brown eyes and a knack for playing the guitar. Although I soon discovered that his greatest talent lay in his ability to always have someone looking after him somehow. He just has this amazing ability to pull and manipulate heart strings and people cater to his every need. It’s quite sickening to see when you are on the outside looking in. And so I lay entrapped, thinking he loved me, and loving him back for all I was worth. Eventually I began to notice things though. For example how it seemed every day he was walking a little more ahead of me than beside, and then one day it was as if I was expected to follow him into the next room if he got up and left without speaking to me. I began to notice that the only time he was in a good natured mood was after smoking enough weed to put a Rasta to shame, that even my attempts at bringing the light of happiness only made shadows in the room. Like a small flickering candle in a cavern of dark. We never watched movies I wanted to see, or ate at a place I wanted to eat at. We never spoke of things I enjoyed, spent time with any of my friends, or listened to music that I liked. I slowly became this extension of him, and he took me for granted as much as what he would his arm or his leg. Probably more like the leg though because oh how he stood upon me. All the time I convinced myself I was happy taking care of him, though whenever I was upset he made my problems seem petty and small. And he milked it for everything it was worth. And when I moved away to college and I couldn't cater to his needs he left, and then came back, and left again. He is now gone, I have banished any feelings of pity for him from my self. He occasionally writes me letters apologizing for his selfish behavior and berating himself with guilt. I think of it as a sham on his part to try and gain him some ounce of pity or sorrow from me. I simply discard them and get on with things. I refer to him as Job here because that is who I’m reminded of every time I hear him speak or read what he has written. Everything is bad news, and oh he does not deserve the hand he was dealt, and so on. He once said, "Its not that I don't believe in God, I do. .... I just don't think he likes me very much" and that is when I decided to call him Job. Self pity is a horrid state of affairs. In any case I do not wish him dead... I wish him only to go away and leave me alone. The brat says it is up to me whether or not he does leave me alone, and I think he is right. The less I let him bother me, the more he fades away. ~Theresa
The Brat:
If i do in fact manage to keep up with this diary thingy, you will probably often hear me speak of "my brat" so i feel it may be slightly important to give him a sort of introduction. The brat will always refer to my beloved Tim. We went to highschool together until he graduated, and sadly enough we never officially met until his senior year, (my sophmore). We ended up in an art class together and at the time i had a thing for his best friend. So naturally he would often wander over to my drawing table and we would have long conversations that we spent mostly discussing our annoyance with our classmates and our common disdain for our teacher, and all the reasons why i shouldn't date his friend. At the time he was a devoted atheist and i, a devout catholic, so we would often write each other letters where we would question each other's chosen religion. we seemed to delight in rooting out each other's doubts and then prodding them with encouragement-
April 13, 2004
the start of yet another diary which i very much doubt i will keep up with. personal description: i am average. brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, a slightly larger nose than i would have picked out, nothing really stands out. i'm not skinny, my brat would call me "voluptuously curvy" or "pleasantly squeazable" i would call me slightly overweight. maybe a bit soft 'round the middle. a geek to the core, i read for fun, play the piano, spend too much time on the computer, and avoid other students at my college. further updates as conditions merit. ~theresa