The last from The Goat Man

I apologize readers for the delay, for the lack of a picture, and for the quick write and go.  This was written by The Goat Man quite some time ago.  So, much has happened since then we are unable to get to the blog.  I was worried about devil's night, but it was Halloween night everything fell apart.

From The Goat Man

October 30

I don’t know if it is the time of the year, but I feel the excitement. I have always enjoyed Halloween.  I don’t know if the feeling of getting the shit scared out of you or scaring the shit out of someone else but I like this time of year. This house has brought back a lot of memories I had forgot.  I tucked them away for a time. You know sitting around the campfire with a bunch of kids in the middle of the woods. No one is around for miles, that kind of thing. It was the gang in the middle of the night, I think I miss the most just letting you know something was there, or maybe the things you new you put some place. But when you went to get them they were gone. Maybe it was mom yelling at us kids for moving things.  I didn’t realize how much I had missed it and the excitement grows every night that we are here just waiting to see what is going to happen next.   God, where do I begin? I didn’t realize how much I had missed it till we moved in here. I love it lol. I grew up in a small drinking community with a big farming problem. The house that we grew up in was built in the early 1800s; it was so old it still had the horse tie up in front of it.  It is still there to this day.  When my mom and dad sold it about 10 years ago it has been through 3 different owners, 2 of the families had kids, but they didn’t stay. The people that live there now don’t have any kids.  Mom used to say when us kids were screwing up they (the ghosts) were more active.  Yup, it was us boys. As a child I had the privilege of living in a haunted house.  Those of you that have grown up in one know what I mean.  There are people that say, oh hell no, but me I say hell yes. It just lets you know up there is something out there. But lets go back for a min, when we took on this job they told us we would see things and we have lol.  They told us we might hear things or maybe feel things. Yup, what the hell was that lol.  There are the things that move.  Yup, they move. Now when I was a kid my parents bought a fixer upper in town there were some things left in it, so they went to fixing it up and that’s when fun began. When we had the walls gutted, nothing on the walls, we were all sitting around eating pizza sitting on the floor no pipes above us and water poured out above us.  We went upstairs and there was no water on the floor. From then on the house was alive. My grandma, god rest her soul, would never stay there. we move the stair case next  and that’s when the lights got a mind of there own. We would get ready to go to bed, the old manual lights, dad would hit the switch and make it to the stairs and bam they would come back on.  It was liked this game.  It would go on for three or four times till dad would get mad and he’d start swearing and yelling then it would stop. We believe to this day it was a kid. Then there was an old hutch and table; they were a set in the house.  We found out later you couldn’t separate them. The old hutch had these old plates on it mom started put them around the house and we started getting are asses beat,  “leave them dam plates alone” but mom we didn’t do nothing with them.  But mom was convinced, “oh no you kids did.” we went away for a weekend and they moved themselves. Yup, living in that house was fun.  Then when us kids would screw up there was this old table, you know what I mean the old ones with the leaves that hung down, that told if my brother or me was screwing up.  Oh hell! That dam table would tell on us.  It would gong all night long nobody would get any sleep. Shit, mom would know then we get are asses beat lol.  The good old days. Then my brother and me would be fighting and the canning jars would start flying. Now lets go back to about a month ago, we were told you will see him, he will come to the door, maybe around the house, maybe in a window or walking in the house.  Second day we are here, doc says Goatman somebody is here, I wait. Nothing. I wait some more. Nothing. I go looking. Nobody here, WTH . Next day I tell doc I think Barney’s at the door. (Not his name but I think he will understand lol) A guy in a white shirt dressed up at the door. Nope nobody there. “But I saw him, Goatman.  I know I saw him yesterday too.”  Doc? WTH ? Next day, Docs getting I.H. ready and I hear a man voice over the intercom going. “easy easy” I knew Doc wasn’t feeling good and she was transferring I.H. to her chair, so,  I go see who she is talking to. It was just them two in there. Dam monitors.  Then, the next night we are are lying in bed the ceiling fan is on no movement in the room then, we feel cold, really cold.  Doc curls up like no tomorrow. I felt it to.  Shit she tried to climb on top of me. I felt the curtains move, they move every time it comes in then the voices come over the monitor.

Do you believe everything you read?

October 30, 2013  0730

I have in my head that I read once that when a person reads something they believe it more than if it is told to them.  Because I know I read it someplace I believe it.  As a writer who freely uses “poetic justice” to tell my stories I am amazed at how much I believe the written word.

I am going in today for six needle biopsies of my thyroid.  I have what the written word says is a “large grey and unclear area.”  This written word is enough to elicit action.  Today we do a biopsy and they do tests.  However, the tests will not be believed until it is again in the written form.

When a criminal goes to court they do not submit a written account of what happened they get on the stand and tell the judge and jury.  However, the evidence is paper and the court writes down what is said.  If the trial should move to the higher court the written word goes, but not the people.

I have always claimed that actions speak louder than words and as I sit here today I still believe that.  What I believe more firmly is the fact that no action is an action. When people do nothing or say nothing the message is almost always louder.

Then there is the old rhyme about sticks and stones that says, “Words may never hurt me.”  Well, I am here to tell you that the world is not fair and words do major damage.

One of the most humiliating things in my life is when my second husband, Joe calmly and without malice told me that I was “too fat to fuck.”  I was devastated that I had chosen one man to spend the rest of my life with and let him be the only man I shared my intimate self with and now I wasn’t good enough.

But what hurt the most is when his actions made it clear he really did not want to share this part of his life with me.  For the next several years I was turned down in every way possible.  I was turned down nicely, rudely, crudely, and without a care in the world.  His words and his actions hurt me, but they apparently did not convince me because I kept asking.

I kept asking and I kept getting the same rejection.  It came to the point where I could see the rejection before I asked.  He would do certain behaviors or say certain things about being tired or not feeling well as a preemptive strike to avoid telling me no.

His actions, his lack of actions, became more believable every day.  He said less and less about it.  His words did not continue to hurt me, but his lack of them did.  I had stopped hearing sexual advances at first, but eventually I stopped hearing “beautiful” he stopped telling me he loved me, and he stopped talking to me in any way other than a roommate.  His lack of words hurt me more than anything.

So actions become more powerful the more they are completed.  Words become more hurtful the more they are said, but do the most damage when they stop being said.  Would the last years of our marriage been different if he hadn’t written his feelings down?  Is this why divorce is a written document?

I now keep hearing that I “do nothing” and that I “sit on my fat ass all day.”  I personally believe this is a case of projecting, but no matter why they are thrown at me does not matter.  Maybe I should just ask him to write them down for me, so we could move on.

But when I sit with myself and think about it, I am not upset about the words.  The words themselves really do not hurt me, but his belief of my effort does.  As a daughter of my father and as a woman who “does what has to be done” being called lazy is worse than being called a slut or a whore.

 

I have several jobs. 

1. Taking care of I.H.

2. Fusion healthcare

3. The unconventional contributing author and blog Webmaster

4. Student working on my PhD

5. Examiner.com. 

Just to name the professional jobs.  This does not count the jobs I have because I am a female and I interact with others.  I am a mother, for instance, and always will be.  I am also trying to foster my own writing and finish the book I am in the middle of. 

Things are slacking because I am so busy.  I feel like I am going to be crushed under the weight.  I received a 50/100 on my work in school last week.  Now that is a written number I believe!  That is a written number that hurts.  That is proof that I was lazy.

I have one more day to write an article for examiner.com or they take me off their payroll.  It has been way too long since I wrote here on The Goat Man.  But it is the concept that he refuses to see all of the things I do.

I started a load at 0600 went to work, cooked meals, did homework (apparently half assed) and at 2200 I took the cloths out of the dryer and folded and put them away.  I also washed all of the dishes and put them on the towel to dry before I left for work.  I took I.H. to the bathroom and got her ready for my absence. 

He keeps screaming at me that I say he doesn’t do anything and no matter what he does it is not good enough.  I have never said those words to him.  He says them all the time and he believes them.  I am in trouble now because I just wrote them down.  He tells me I need somebody “up my ass” because I request a kiss or ask for an I love you instead of always hearing I love you too.

As I drove home from the Doctor I realized it is devils night and I live in a haunted house.  I.H. is praying and The Goat Man is freaking out...Lord please give me strength.

Do you believe in ghosts?

October 20, 2013 0820 

The Goat Man and I lay in bed after another day of trying to get settled in our new space.  I cannot call it home because it is I.H.’s home, but it is the most like home The Goat Man and I have had in awhile.  Honestly, I have not felt like I had a home since we left our house on Heather St going on four years ago.

Home is a very important place and there is nothing worse than not knowing where your home is.  It is hard not knowing where you belong.  I have become very versatile because my sanity demands it.  Those that cannot handle change don’t survive well in this society.

Just two days after I returned from my visit with my grandmother we lay in bed curled together and relaxing.  But just before the sandman drug us into our deep sleep the cool breeze brought in the ghosts.  The cool air rushed over my back and the blinds above the bed rattled.

            “Hello” I.H.’s voice came through the baby monitor.  I pulled a little closer to The Goat Man.  He lay still and listened.  He likes this sort of thing.  He likes to be scared and he talks about growing up in a haunted house.

The second day we were here I looked up just by chance and saw a man in a white shirt walk by the front window like he was about to enter, but he disappeared before reaching the door.  We were told it was H.H., the husband of I.H.  The Goat Man saw him a few days later.

A second cool breeze brushed across my back and the window blinds moved.  I pulled the covers tight up around my shoulders.  The air in the room got thicker and it felt like somebody was watching us.  I.H. was talking, but the words made little connection to the other words.

            “Listen to that.”  The Goat Man spoke with excitement in his voice.  He pointed to the baby monitor.  I had already been listening.  I was simply trying to ignore what I was hearing. “That is children playing.”

            “Yes, I know.”  I spoke harshly and pulled myself closer to him.  I thought I saw a glimpse of a smile on his face.  Then the cool air brushed across us, the blinds moved, and the thickness left the air.  Several times over the next couple house the cool air would come, the blinds would move and the thick air would either come or go.  When I woke in the morning I could not remember falling asleep.

There has been no sign of any extra visitors since.  The air feels less full of ghosts than before the night visit.  I.H. is not smiling and talking to the empty corner anymore and she rarely wakes in the middle of the night.  She slept so quiet and sound last night I was up checking on her several times.

 I have set at many bedsides as a hospice nurse and I have sat with many who have died, but I have never felt the air get thick.  I have felt a calm peace overflow the area and I have felt the spirits come for the soul.  There is no doubt when the feeling comes over the room what it is.  The thick feeling was different.

H.H. does not leave the same feeling in the air when he comes to visit.  The first night we stayed the night here The Goat Man came to the door while I.H. and I were getting her ready for bed.

            “Who is in there?”  I heard through the door.

            “No one just us.”  I snorted back.  What a stupid question.

            “I just heard a man’s voice over the monitor saying easy, easy, easy.”

Do you believe in ghosts?

An email I sent The Goat Man during my flight.

Hey beautiful,

The guy next to me is drinking cranberry apple juice. It says it is made from three juices. Does that make sense to you?

Wi-Fi says I’m connected, but I can’t do anything on FB or send this email.  I am so bored.

The lady on the other side of me is reading from her kindle and I want to steal it. I really miss mine.

There are two babies that I know of on this flight. One cried during take off (sounded really little) and the other one keeps screeching.

I’m gonna miss your warm naked chest tonight.  I just have to pray B---- is a distraction and I.H. doesn't steal those big arms away from me.

The two flight attendants look like Paula Dean and Queen Latifa!  The two of them just wished Sheila (sitting in 21D behind me) a Happy 50th birthday. Now take a second and picture the two of them singing. Yes, Paula has a southern accent. Talks like she was Dolly's best friend in the best little whore house in Texas.

It seems there is entertainment all around us.

There are egg noodles in the pantry (bottom cupboard, top shelf, all the way to the right when facing the cupboard) the turkey packet in the fridge needs to be used. There is tilapia in the freezer (top shelf under stuff) there is fresh and frozen. I’m not sure how much. Frozen veggies bottom drawer of the freezer.

Getting ready to land in North Carolina. Please do not forget to tighten the brakes on I.H's wheelchair.

Im on the second flight now.  It is still full and I am still sitting in the middle seat.

The guy by the window is almost as old as M----(my seven year old granddaughter) and so thin it grossed me out to watch him chew his snicker.

He is left handed and bouncing like a jumping bean. He is handwriting a letter about a position he just took as an oncology doctor. Yeah! No shit!

Our flight attendants are three stooges; Jennifer Lopez in 10 years, Rhoda, and Dean Cane. What concerns me is that I met the pilot and Red Green is flying this plane! I hope he is handy (not handsome) for the next hour and nine minutes.

I lost my lucky evil eye ring on the last flight, almost crash landed, and now I’m on Red Green's plane sitting in row 13 headed to Detroit in a plane full of white people.

I am so screwed! It was nice knowing you. If I should die the naked pictures from the shower are on this phone.

My battery is low and the book Kat loves so much is not grabbing me. I am on page 98/276 and I couldn't care less about the character.  I really like to be walking around the woods with you right now. (OMG what have you done to me?)  I’d like to take you to the field by the tower in Crews Lake and watch the sunset.

Ok I love you bunches! I will call when I get to a phone. This will send when I hit the free Wi-Fi in Detroit, so when you get it you know I made it.

Love you beautiful.

The love of your life.

The Goat Man's girlfriend and the lady that follows him.

October 12, 2013 1210

When we walked into the grocery store she carried an umbrella for the “possible” rain and a grocery list she made by isle.  She mumbled the twelve-item list under her breath and cussed to herself each time she forgot an item on the isle she was just on.  I followed quietly so not to stir any water.

The Goat Man and I were taking this ladies place.  She was the caretaker for a little sweet woman we will call I.H.  The Goat Man and I are now I.H.’s caretakers.  We officially moved in three nights ago.  We have not had a chance to get settled yet.

But I was in the grocery store with the previous caretaker.  “Potato’s, onions, tomatoes?  Where is the store is the fresh stuff?”  Did she just ask me that?  I thought by her list she knew the layout of the store very well.

We worked with the caregiver in a transition for three day.  The first day she was very pleasant and very informative.  The second day she started to express her feelings about leaving I.H. to other people to care for.  She expressed her arthritic pain and general health was declining. 

The entire second day she followed The Goat Man around talking.  She went into the kitchen with him when he cooked.  She went onto the porch with him when he went to smoke.  I thought she was going to follow him into the bathroom, but she did stop just outside the door.  The third day, The Goat Man and I arrived in the morning and we were informed she was leaving.

She stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter obviously upset.  She tried to tell us a story of reasons, but none were believable.  She spent the morning packing and her feelings were displayed on her sleeve.  We were later told she had expressed feeling jealous of how The Goat Man was treating I.H.

Everyone laughs at that sentiment, but I completely understand how she feels.

The Goat Man has been the perfect caregiver for I.H.  He is attentive to her needs.  He is bringing her food, drinks, and asking how she is.  He is cutting down trees at her request, planting flowers for her to look at.  She refers to him as “her boy.”  Everyone refers to her as “his girlfriend.”  It is hard to tell where I fit sometimes.

I have been watching him and he has become a wonderful caring man.  His mom would be very proud of how well he is caring for I.H.  The Goat Man wishes he could be there with his mother in her time of need as well, but this life just won’t allow it.

This was taken from my son's Facebook page.
My grandson and my grandma.

I left The Goat Man with his girlfriend this weekend.  I came to see my grandma one last time.  I am just here for the weekend and I am going to enjoy many things this weekend.  Corn beef and cabbage, my grandson, the girls, and my granddaughter’s seventh birthday party will all be enjoyed, but I am here to say good-bye.

She is still opening her eyes and she enjoyed watching the girls ride their bikes outside the window.  My mother and daughters are taking the best care of her.  They are attending to her every need.  They are keeping her positioned and out of pain.  The love surrounds her.

I pray that someday, when I need it, I get the same love, attentiveness, and care I see from everyone around me.  I, of course, am not in any hurry to need care, but each day I am older not younger.

This weekend is filled with family and love…

The Second Step

10/08/2013 2022

It turns out that the second step is even crazier than rock bottom.  It all started the other night when The Goat Man and I were sitting on the front porch enjoying the nice night. 

We have again found the place where we simply enjoy each other every second we can be together.  The stress of the bottom threatened to take that away from us.  I never thought this world could take The Goat Man away, but it was a big fear.

We clearly heard a long squeal, another long, but different, long squeal and then crunching metal.  This was followed by a medium squeal and a thud.

            “That was close.”  The Goat Man started toward the sidewalk. “Let’s go for a walk baby.”  He was already headed down the sidewalk.

I looked at my pajamas and headed back into the house for a bra and some shoes.  The Goat Man headed down the sidewalk.  Once we were back together again we enjoyed the nice night with a walk.

We could see the fire truck blocking the side road.  The lights flashed on the houses.  However, when we got close the scene was confusing.  A single car smashed in the rear sat at the stop sign.  The fire truck was across the road in front of it and two police cars rested near the scene.  There was no sign of an accident, other than the crowd, or any other cars.

We walked past discussing what we both clearly heard when we noticed more dancing lights up ahead.  So down a block and to the right a block we traveled.  It was obvious an accident took place here.  The road, closed off by a police car, was covered in glass and various objects.  The objects including a folding chair and a winter hat spread all down the block.

            “Where’s the other cars?”  The Goat Man spoke to the officer.

            “Just one car.”  The Goat Man explained what we both clearly heard. “Just one car.  It hit that tree.”  The officer pointed to a tree on the corner.  We did not see any skid marks.  Unsatisfied with what we had seen we headed back to the original scene.

The bystanders at the original scene gave us the entire scoop but it made no sense.

            “They were doing about 90 around that corner and they hit the tree.  I heard the noise, came out of my house, and chased them down because they were trying to get away.”

            “The rear axel is broken.”  The Goat Man whispered to me.

            “One kid, without his seatbelt, went to the hospital because his arm was black and the parents came to pick up another.”

            “There were four in the car?” I asked.

            “Yeah, those two also.”  He pointed to a boy standing under a tree in the yard on the corner and a smaller boy leaning against the car with his back to us.  The police sat in their cars.  No one was talking to anyone.

An older car pulled up with three middle age people inside.  A tall man who rushed over to the boy under the tree, a woman who stood on the corner with the crowd, and a heavy set woman who started to walk toward the smashed car.  An officer intercepted her path.

            “Are you the mother?”  The woman nodded. “Your son is going to jail tonight.”  The rest of the conversation was too difficult to hear.

Moments later the mother and the officer started talking to the boy leaning on the car.  He explained that he was being chased down the other road by another car.  This other car rear-ended him and they spun into the tree.  The car hit the tree with the driver’s side rear door.  The car then spun down the block.

            “I am the one that called the cops.  I am the one that stopped.”  The kid explained to the officer.  Moments later the helicopters started flying overhead.

The Goat Man and I walked hand in hand home.

Next time I will tell you about The Goat Man’s other girlfriend.