check it out

So I finally got my actual web page up: sonjahegman.com.

Right now I’m going to see how my blog functions there so if you don’t see updates here please check out sonjahegman.com

poems

I’ve been reading some of Mom’s poem’s today. Here’s one of them:

I have only one life on the earth; And as vapor it’s passing away.

I must labor for treasure of worth – e’re all toil ends at close of the day.

Only one life to give; I could never withhold that from God.

Only one life of live; I must not miss the well done of God.

And another:

People are like stained glass windows. They glow and sparkle when it is sunny and bright, but when the sun goes down their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light within.

common ground

I called my dad the other day and we talked for half an hour. For us, that’s totally unheard of. And, he went about 25 minutes without telling me how important it is to have God in my life.

It was weird, but good. It felt like we were just two adults talking. He asked me if I’d found a job yet. I asked him about his wolves. Turns out Mary (a.k.a The Retard) took all the wolves except for three when she responded to a personal ad, decided she was marrying this random guy after talking to him once, and then moved in with him two weeks later. Yeah. Wow. I still don’t know how I feel knowing that I’ll never have to see her again or cringe every time she answers Dad’s phone.

Since I haven’t written much about The Retard since my first blog posts, let me give you the rundown: She moved in with us as an adult foster person when I was 12. She was in her mid-20s. She was perfectly capable of living with her parents, but they had a mutual disdain for each other.

So, why do I call her The Retard? Mainly, it’s because I find it amusing and I heartily dislike, no, hate her. I hate her. I hate to use the word hate, but correct me if it’s not justified.

My mom wasn’t too sick yet when Retard moved in and she knew she didn’t like her. “She’s jealous of you,” Mom would say.

When I got a little older, Retard would pick fights with me. She slammed me into walls, leaving bruises sometimes. She took swings at me a couple of times, but at 16 I was quick enough to get away. I guess you could say I spurred this behavior from her, but all I was doing was defending Mom. I didn’t give a shit if I got a black eye if it kept her from hitting Mom … at least I could defend myself.

I even went so far as to call the social worker assigned to Retard’s case to try to get her out of our house. I pretended I was a “friend of Sonja’s.” The social worker subsequently told me she’d been trying to transfer Retard out of our house, but “Dave” wouldn’t have it. When “Dave” found out I’d been talking to the social worker, she was taken off the case.

And you know the rest: Mom died. Dad chose The Retard over me. I moved out one year shy of graduating high school. I’ve mostly come to terms with the past. I do have flare ups now and then.

So, back to my recent conversation with Dad: He was venting to me, ME about what a good-for-nothin’ The Retard is. Huh. Told me that she’s been hounding him for YEARS to marry her. Now, tell me there wasn’t an ulterior motive there. Said he thinks the guy she met is only after her disability checks. Probably, but my guess is she got her tits fondled and decided she was in love.

I’m just glad she’s out of Dad’s life. He actually sounded happy. I think he was sick of her too.

Fucking cunt. There, I said it. The bane of my existence is no more.

I have to say it was the first normal, I guess, conversation Dad and I have had since I was a kid. We’ll probably never have what you’d call a normal relationship, but I think we’re a small step closer to at least being friends. He was really confiding in me. And he didn’t freak out after my answer was “yes” to the question, “Are you and Sean living together?” There’s definitely a glimmer of hope.

memory

So, I’m finding that I can’t remember the simplest things.

For example, yesterday I drove Sean’s car to the grocery store. I rolled down the driver’s side window and the passenger side window partially. I wrote myself a note to remember to push the seat back for Sean so he’s not scrunched when he gets in.

Well, I didn’t roll the passenger side window up and I didn’t push the seat back. Granted, I’m used to the Focus having power windows, but I still should not have forgotten. The seat is not a big deal, but aside from the fact that we live in a sometimes not-so-nice neighborhood, it stormed like crazy last night. The car got soaked on the inside.

I was so upset this morning mainly because I can’t remember easy things or things that are in front of my face. On the other hand, I can remember web site coding with no problem and can write about the intricacies of tax policy without a hitch.

Is this normal? I often wonder if there are others out there with this same issue. And I’m trying really hard to convince myself that I’m not getting Alzheimer’s disease. I thought I was passed thinking that way, but clearly I’m not.

project

I started watching “The Alzheimer’s Project” yesterday. Sean recorded it for me while I was away.

Within the first five minutes I burst into tears. The first woman they profiled with the disease was from a town not far from where I grew up in Wisconsin. She went to the same clinic my mom did. She might have had the same doctor, but it was so long ago I can’t be sure.

Though the way this woman acted didn’t remind me of mom too much, there were others who did. One man walked around constantly, whistling the whole time. He responded to music. He could remember songs, but he couldn’t remember something told to him a minute earlier. Exactly like Mom. The one thing all of the people could still do though was talk. For the last year or so Mom was alive she didn’t talk. She’d say “yah” a lot, but she said that to everything…unless she was singing.

Mom had a beautiful voice. I sometimes wish I would have recorded it. She could still harmonize after her mind was almost gone in every other way.

relief

I’ve never been more excited for something to end in my entire life.

The legislative session ends tomorrow at midnight and it couldn’t come soon enough. I’ve been here for almost five months. Though I’ve seen my beloved three times since I’ve been here, it hasn’t been enough. He’s like the cheese on a massive pile of nachos. Without it, the nachos just aren’t as good.

But being back in Minnesota, while difficult, has been good for me. I really thought I was missing it here. I actually thought I might want to move back. Visiting here is fine. I just don’t think I could ever live here again. I can’t take the passive-aggressiveness. It has been nice hanging out some of my family and friends, but it’s not enough to keep me here.

The most important thing that happened to me here is loneliness. Being alone more often than not forced me to face things, painful things, that I never let myself think about. Being alone forced me to face all the pain I’ve kept bottled up. Being alone made me see that I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.

I think I’ve finally grown into an adult and I can’t wait to go home. Minnesconsin was never my home, it’s just where I got started. The East Coast is my home. I can’t wait to get back to the rudeness, raw honesty and warm smell of garbage.

mirror talk

Have you ever gotten a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you don’t know who you’re looking at? That happened to me last night.

After a horribly rotten day (the transmission went out in my car) and a hella stressful work week with little sleep, I should have looked like a wreck and I did. But I’d also cried for a good part of the late afternoon. My car breaking down was the straw that broke me. It wasn’t so much the car though as my father, once again, letting me down. I’ve learned not to ask him for anything but, on my brother’s suggestion, I called him to see if I could use one of his cars until I figured out my situation. He said no.

I never cried while growing up. Dad always thought that people who cried were weak. I would sometimes cry when I was alone, but I never let anyone see me cry until now. At some point in my mid-20s the flood gates opened and they haven’t really closed. I guess I have a lot of pain to get out.

Looking in the mirror last night with my puffy eyes and tear-stained face, I finally decided to let everything go. I started talking to myself in the mirror. With each thing I said, I started to recognize myself again.

“You are a grown woman and you have to stop acting like a child. You aren’t 17 anymore. You can’t change Dad or anyone else. He’s never been there for you and he won’t be. You are stronger than bursting into tears when something goes wrong. Stop the crying shit. Just fucking stop it. You don’t have a normal family. You aren’t close with your family and that’s just how your family functions. They don’t talk about things. They don’t let things go. Stop trying to change them. You are making yourself crazy trying to change them. You are smart. You are beautiful. You can do anything. If you’re going to write your book, then write your fucking book. Stop being scared.”

And then:

“Mom is dead and she’s not coming back.”

I’d never said that out loud before. And at that point, I realized that for all these years I’ve been trying to be the glue of our family. I’ve been trying to hold everyone together and it’s an impossible task.

“Mom was the glue and you aren’t Mom. You’ll never be her and you won’t get Alzheimer’s.”

an affair

I woke up today with a smile on my face. I fixed my hair, actually put some makeup on and walked out the door ready for my day’s mission.

The closer I got to my destination the more excited I became. I could hardly keep the smile from beaming off my face.

I walked in and knew exactly what I wanted and I told the man who greeted me…

“I’m ready to buy my Mac.”

If it was possible to have an affair with technology I’d be in one right now with my MacBook. I have completely fallen in love. I just got it today and, yes, I actually put makeup on to go to the Apple Store.

As I wrote several posts ago, I’m not a technology geek. I got my first iPod a year ago, actually an iPod shuffle, and would really love to not have a cell phone…which is why I might trash it and sign up for Skype.

This MacBook is the first NEW computer I’ve ever had. I was thinking about it today and I don’t know how I’ve managed to get by without one in my profession. I guess I was just lucky to have access via work, school or friends.

The first computer I ever had my dad bought for $100 when I was in junior high from this lady and her son who went to our church. So, that was somewhere between 1991 and 1993. That computer was probably from 1980. You had to put in code to get it work and it had those blocky looking letters that printed all pixelated. I know my dad was trying to be helpful because he thought I could use it for school, but the thing was worthless. I tried to tell that to him before he bought it, but it was just one of many times he didn’t listen to me. The computer sat there until about three years ago when my sister pimped Dad out with a nice PC that he’s never used.

I never had a computer in college. I lived in the school’s computer lab. Thank goodness for that.

Computer No. 2 was a hand-me-down from the first newspaper I worked for. It was a Mac, which was awesome, and was going to be thrown away. That should have been my first clue. That and it was so old that it couldn’t connect to the Internet. But I still used it for writing, so it wasn’t all a waste.

Computer No. 3 was yet another hand-me-down, this time from an electronics recycling place my sister worked for. It had been a county government computer and was only three years old when I got it three years ago. It served me well until recently, well recently as of December as it’s back home in Jersey. It has all kinds of issues. It’s a PC and I’m not a PC. It processes everything so slow. (But compared to a new Mac everything is probably slow. I can’t believe how fast this thing is.) Anyway, good ‘ol PC is gonna be headed to the graveyard.

I feel like I’ve finally come into the 21st Century.

Minnesota hipsters

So, on Saturdays I let myself go get “expensive” coffee at a local chain called Caribou.

Today, I walked in and thought I was in Brooklyn. Fucking hipsters everywhere.

After I ordered I saw this one table just looking me up and down and in my head all I could think was, “Give me a fucking reason to say something to these assholes.”

So, I’m waiting for my drink and I hear, “Nice scarf.” It was very pretentious sounding. Perfect.

I turned around, straight-faced, and looked them up and down. All of them were wearing scarves like the ones that were popular three or four years ago in Europe. I was actually wearing my girly scarf because it was chilly out. I wasn’t trying to look like a douche bag. 

This is what I said totally back to them, “Did I just teleport to Brooklyn or did you guys just walk out of a Strokes video?”

They didn’t know what to say and looked confused. Then I said, “You know, cuz real hipsters live in Brooklyn.”

About the same time, my drink was done. I grabbed it, looked at them and said, “Have a nice day, posers.”

And I walked out.

God damn fucking hipsters. Can’t stand them. The only thing that might be worse are those stupid Emo kids who like to cut themselves.

birthday

Why do we feel the need to mark anniversaries of things? I’ve never quite understood it. I supervised an intern once whose family didn’t celebrate birthdays. At first, I thought it was weird. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was kinda cool. Age means nothing. You could be the smartest person in the world at 15, but because of your age no one will take you seriously.

Yet, here I am thinking about how Mom would have turned 67 today. Like the death anniversary, I forgot it was her birthday until I was reading an online newspaper today and noticed the date. And again, I’m not that sad. I am drinking a beer right now to celebrate her day. I gave her a toast. But I’m not sad. I’m sad about not being sad. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m in new territory. Being depressed most of my life makes it feel wrong when I’m happy or content. I guess I also feel good because I’m changing the direction of my life. I’m actually trying to do things that I want to do versus things I feel I have to do. I don’t want to work in a cubicle, but have to right now. But I’m trying to set myself up to never have to see another cubicle wall again. Instead of following the money, I’m following my gut and my heart.

I’m finally not scared to do that.