New Street and Memory Lane.

Update: We are moving.

We have been looking for a house to move into for a while, and it was getting pretty close on time. I was starting to get pretty worried that we were going to have no place to go. I started having dreams about houses being taken away from us at the last minute, and being homeless. Classic anxiety dreams.

As of yesterday, we THINK we have a house. It is smaller than what we are in now (that's good) and a lot less expensive too. Not too far away from where we are now. So it is easy to walk everywhere that we need to get to. Closer to my work, actually, though further from the Universities and Ash's school.

I actually slept last night without having dreams that involved houses. Nice.

Notice on the sideboard my little map. I'm quite excited to see where all of you are. If you click on the map, it will take you to a larger version, and from there you can even get more detail and see more accurately where everyone is. I have wanted a map on the blog for quite a while. Stephen-the-Computer-God made it happen. He is a nice man. I think I'll keep him for another day or two, anyway.

An old friend found me via Classmates.com. A friend whom I think a bout every now and again, as he was my first date, and my first dance. The 5th grade dance. I have a picture of the two of us at that dance. If it weren't packed, I would scan it in. Maybe later.

Anyway, talking to him led to his wanting caught up on all the time since 5th grade. That, and the letter from Linda Marie to Kelli that I found in my correspondence box. As many of you know, I don't have very many happy memories of those years. So this is a bit of a warning: the rest of this post is going to take a meander down my memory lane. It is most likely a little unpleasant. You don't have to read anymore if you don't want to. I won't be offended.

My only memory I have of my mother from when I was a child was when I was 5. She had the Carpenters on the phonograph in the living room. It was morning, and I got out of bed and went looking for her. I couldn't find her, and started to get scared. But then I saw her through the window in the backyard. She was cutting flowers off of a bush in the backyard. Small fragrant white flowers. She brought them in, wrapped them in a wet paper towel, and wrapped the paper towel in aluminum foil. She was going to take them to work. I remember the maroon carpeting. It was still thick then.

My first memory of me interacting with Linda Marie was of her throwing me against the chalkboard that Daddy had hung for Kelli and I in the hallway. I don't remember what I had done wrong, but I remember being shocked that she had hurt me. I still didn't know that children were for hurting.

I remember Kelli washing the dishes. I remember that she wasn't doing them right - she didn't have her hands completely under the water. It was too hot. I remember her crying. I remember Linda Marie throwing her on the ground and straddling her and punching her over and over again until I couldn't stand it anymore and I though I was going to explode. I remember that I screamed at her "STOP!" It was the only time I ever stood up to her.

I remember being told over and over that I was stupid and worthless and that I couldn't do anything right. It didn't matter what I did. I was a waste of space.

I remember the knot of sick that my stomach would twist into on Saturday's at about 5:00 pm. I didn't even have a clock. My body knew the time. She would be home at 5:30, and 5:00 meant that I felt sick and terrified, huddled on the couch holding onto myself. I have never been so scared as that since.

I remember not brushing my teeth well enough, and Linda Marie reaching across Kelli to slap me across the face to get me to do it better.

I remember not getting dressed fast enough in the 7th grade, and having to go to school in my pajamas. I hid in the library. The boy I didn't want to talk to and hated because he reminded me of me tried to ask me out on a date as I hid.

I remember a trip to the park with the family, in which we were supposed to fly kites. I had to go because I couldn't legally be left home alone, so I was not invited to participate. We had chicken, and I remember eating friend chicken on the blanket while the rest of my family played and flew kites in the park.

I remember the gun. I remember the broom. I remember telling Kelli that everything was ok, go back to sleep, don't come out. I remember hating that she had a half-door at that moment. And I remember that his telling me that I was his good girl after might have made what he was doing ok. Especially when no one believed me when I told anyway.

I remember having to apologise to him and his parents for lying about him. And watching him smirk at me as I did.

I remember Social Services' coming meant that there would be cookies baked. And that I would not get any of them.

I remember the baby bird I brought home. I remember hearing the squeal as it died in the middle of the night. I remember knowing that she had done it.

I remember her throwing away my Cabbage Patch Kid. Its name was Ruby and it had glasses and brown hair like I did. I loved it too much, so it deserved to be trash.

I remember being locked out of the house for 12 hours a day. I remember being hungry. I remember that 8 glasses of water at one time will make you sick, and that water really does not taste good.

I remember her screaming at me in the middle of the night, standing beside my bunk-bed, light on. I had not washed the knives right. I pretended so hard that I was still asleep. I prayed that she would not know that I was awake. She threw the knives in my bed so I would sleep with them and told me that I deserved to be stabbed to death while I slept.

I remember playing in the sandbox that Daddy built for Kelli and I in the backyard. I played cooking shows. Leaves and sand and locust shells became many things, all narrated for a live studio audience.

I remember growing maggots. I caught the fly, and kept it in a film canister. The maggots ate the body of the fly before they died, too.

I remember being told that my mother hated me, that she didn't want me, and that her family was evil. I remember being told that my mother had burned all of my baby pictures. That I was not important enough to be loved.

I remember being called a liar over and over by the people I told.

I am 33, and she still hangs around in my memory. I still don't know if I hate her or not.