Good morning miss bliss.

I don't really have much to write about. I'm just missing a lot of people right now. I haven't talked to my best friend since last August. It's funny how you can be the best of friends and then you don't hear from them in months. This is just as much my fault as it is hers. I just don't call people. I take things for granted. She doesn't even know about my grandfather's suicide. You know why? Because I can barely talk about it myself. Someone asks me how I'm doing, and I shrug it off. Some days are harder than others, and other days are just unbearable. As much as I would like to say that I'm holding up and that I'm a stronger person, I just can't. Or atleast I don't feel that way. Each day is tough, but I survive. That has to mean something.

My grandmother is a basket case. I thought she was doing better. I really did. I guess it's what I wanted to think. Just when I think she's starting to heal, I hear something and I was flabbergasted. My grandmother, God bless her soul, went and confronted the people that sold my grandfather the gun he shot himself with. As much as I hate what happened, never once did it cross my mind to go to that pawn shop where is practically sold his life away. I can't hate those people, as much as I want to. That's laying an un-necessary guilt trip, that need not be visited. I don't know if she thought she would feel better, but I have a feeling that she doesn't. If she's going to blame them, she might as well blame the highway department because he traveled those roads to buy the gun. Or Chevrolet for driving his car.

But that's my grandmother for you. As soon as you say or do something that offends her in the least, you get the guilt trip. Or in my case the phone call. "Why haven't you come by to see me? Are you going to spend the night? Where are you? Why are you there? Are you coming by my house?" I love my grandmother, and would do anything for her, but this has got to stop. Eventually she's going to drive us all a way. You can't have your own life with your own set of rules. Whatever you do or don't do is judged and well most likely a grudge is held to no end.

When Bob first died, I was pulled into this. My grandmother counted on me too much. I was the only one that stayed with her, and when I wanted to stay in my own bed one night, I was sent into this horrible guilt trip. I felt so bad, that I ended up going back to stay at her house. What did she say? Nothing. It was like part of my civic duty or something. She probably relished in the fact that she could get me to come back. Not one of her daughters stayed longer than I did. Jana stayed probably a week's worth of time when this first happened. Jo, more than most, and my mother not once. (Which pissed me off...but that's another story.) Jana stayed on Christmas Eve. Why? She didn't want to be late for Christmas celebrations. Jo stayed the night before the funeral. Why? She didn't want to have get up especially early to go to her step dad's funeral. The one night I wanted to stay, Jo kicked me out.

My birthday and not one single Happy Birthday. No one called. The only two people I had in the world that day were my mother and Gail. God bless them both. You aren't supposed to remember your 21st birthday. Do I need to explain? But I do. I remember missing my grandfather. The one time I really needed my family, and they had forgotten about me, again. This isn't the first birthday they've missed. I can count on others when it comes to my birthday, I don't bother anymore. I drank my first legal drink over a heart full of sorrows. Isn't that what they tell you not to do? I forgot for a split second what was going around me, and then I end up at my grandmother's. Where everyone is at. Pining away. And I get a..."Oh yeah it's your birthday. Are you drunk?" YES, and double yes. I'm sure I was judged for that too. "Her grandfather dies and she gets drunk." Well what do you expect? We're not exactly the closet of families.

And there I go being selfish. My grandfather shoots and kills himself and I all I can think of is wanting to hear a simple Happy Birthday. I was hurt and betrayed, why not some sort of encouragement. I hate myself for being so selfish in such a surreal time. I'm such a horrible person.

Let's face it. I don't know my aunts very well and my uncles well I know them even less. I've been on this earth for over 21 years and I couldn't tell you anything significant about them. I do know that Jo uses religion to nail you in a corner and that Jana doesn't trust a soul. When Pop left my grandmother for Patti, that was the beginning of the end for this family. I was fucked, and not even a twinkle in my mother's eye. His affair and abandonment destroyed my life as we know it. My aunt thinks that religion is the answer to everything. She won't go in a bar, for fear people from the church will see her. What? Does that make since? Why should they care? They are in the same bar too. And my aunt is the life of the bar. She thinks she has to be this tough as nails character, when in fact I know she's a softie at heart. I couldn't tell you the last time I saw these two, or had a conversation that didn't involve only the words "Hey" and "What's up?" I didn't even know Jana was selling her house or even building until the foundation was laid down. I'll cry harder when her dogs die, and that's just sad.

Our family gossip mill is hilarious. When someone's pissed at you, you never hear it from that person. It's always someone else. I don't think we've ever fought about something face to face. It's a constant cycle of he said she said bullshit. It's always fun to sit back and listen, especially when you're the one being talked about. For awhile I was. I was the big screw up. The one everyone hated, but couldn't say it to my face. I wasn't hurt by all the accusations and lies, after all, in retrospect, I hardly know these people. I see them at major holidays, and my cousin's birthday. Cause God forbid if you miss it and don't give him like an awesome present.

I have no idea what just brought on this post. Definitely a much needed rant. My family is fucked up. But seriously, who's isn't to some extent? I don't think I could live with the so called perfect family. But what is the definition of perfect? I prefer my peaceful disaster. We are the All-American dysfunctional family, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

(If you read this...God be with you.)