Coffee

I mentioned in my last post about driving the PA roadways, back in the 80’s in my Dodge Colt, drinking 10 large coffees and smoking “endless cigarettes.”

Well, there was a history to that.

I remember drinking a couple of cups of coffee at the senior coffee house at boarding school, and totally freaking out in the Asian studies class afterwards on the coffee buzz.

Mt ex quoted a similar experience in his youth and that he never drank coffee again. He seriously hated my fast food chain, extra large coffee habit.

He preferred beer, and i didn’t like that much.

I had the misfortune to get cquainted with a Silicon Valley girl, Freshman Year in college who acquainted me with cappuccino. I was a heavy smoker. The cigarettes, coffee, and literary pretentions led me through the next 13 years of my life in varying ways; until I met my ex.

I went to a state hospital.

There, I ran away.

I walked along the railroad tracks that cut along the edge of the hospital grounds; to the small nearby town. I went into the convenience store with mud all over me and got coffee with cream and sugar and a donut. Of course, they called the cops on me; and I was returned to the state hospital.

My mother reported that my sister, who is 8 or 9 yesrs younger, was disgusted.

For me, I was desperately trying to reestablish a feeling of normalcy after the horror of a locked state hospital ward. I had no place to go.

A week or two later, I ran away again. This time I wore about 3 layers of sweaters and jackets; and hid in a pavillion on the grounds until after dark. This time, I hit the railroad tracks again and stayed on them. I walked about 10 miles (?), to a built up area. I was hoping to jump off a building in the City of Reading. I hid under a large bush, halfway up the railway embankment. And waited till morning.

I worried about what my mother would be thinking.

Later, she told me my sister said , “She’ll be back.”

I walked up to the road, and the social worker from my unit was driving by at that exact moment. He scooped me up and took me back to the hospital. They gave me a hot, fried egg breakfast; and a new life for me began.

When I was a child, I dreamt of sitting on the embankment of a railway; my mother, father, brother, and sister passed by on a train below me and disappeared into a tunnel.

Back in college, I had decided before I got there that I was going to be a writer. Typical of so many other heavy readers like me. I didn’t have any other excuse to be at an IV League Institution. I didnt really even want to be in college. My father had queered it for me with an inappropriate sexual incident that completely soured everything.

No one ever really got it about this not that grave incident, not even ne: it was about the childhood sexual injury (from being kneed in the crotch bybmy brother.) My fathers behavior triggered a conscious awareness of a “problem” that had always been kept subliminal. That’s why my mother got so mad about it. I realize now that everyone was always aware of this except me. I knew that there was a problem but I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know that THEY DID. What people werent told about was the rape by my brother at the beach when I was 13. What I didn’t understand was that my parents didn’t give a hoot about my problem they just didn’tt want anything about me to queer the life of their beautiful son. Fooey on me.

I was an unwanted child.

I came too soon after my brother.

I had a few small birth defects.

About the coffee.

The addition of coffee in college put me in with writerly coffee shops in Harvard Square and the illusion (for me) of a literary person with a problem that would have allowed me to marginally pass through Harvard; and/or honorably drop out.

But, at Harvard, they made me a literary magazine editor and as if that wasnt enough, they put me in the unversity undergraduate newspaper for my cigarette abuse.

I was really just a little girl.

It was a horrible mistake.

Kicking me out would have been appropriate

What happened was not.

Since then. I have been struggling to find my feet; for 37 years.

So, today, as I write, I am having my drivers privilege evaluated and this has been going on for a long time. As everything goes down about Sasha the cat and the conflict with my father and my sister.

They are trying to hold me in an animosity over MY mother who has died that is unwarranted and a danger to me.

I would like to point out that the real issue here is my brothers suicide in November of 2018.

Mt mother suffered a fairly orderly and timely death of a common senior issue of a stroke, at 81, and complete debility that followed and was taken off life support as was her wish.

My father and sister treated me with DISDAIN by her deathbed and forced me to leave the hospital.

My sister has been told all her life that i am at her disposal. She has a sense of ENTITLEMENT.

I ended that by my mothers bedside.

I have walked away.

My immature father didn’t know how to handle a little girl with a sexual disability.

And this is what I have become. A woman who men’s mothers warned them about. But I am a man’s mother.

They wouldnt even let me grieve my mother.

My brother was, as I have said , a beautiful man.

I grieved for him all our lives.

I know that he resented me. He took care of me just as i took care of Claire. He was always there for me. I was always there for Claire.

With Steven gone, its all over.

Im leaving this post in a bad place as I just dont see where to go.

There’s an appointment in Sunday.

Until then, letting things trickle out as this one person’s pandemic continues to play out.

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