I'm bad at this blogging thing on a good day. Throw me a curve ball and I'm about three months worse.

Jet and I have been doing some running around town most of the summer, and my outreach has suffered. It's nothing insane, just stuff that needs to happen and stuff that gets in the way. The Brats are adjusting to their new home, so at least there's that. Denise showed up, reminding me how strange my life is sometimes. Still no sign of Angelica.

There's been no luck on the publishing angle. I've been sending copies of Angelica's journals around, but doors keep slamming in my face (virtually, but it's still pretty final). Nobody thinks it's real. Honestly, there's no reason they should, but it would be nice to have the publicity. Get the word out. Get more eyes out there searching for her.

Apart from that, I've been trying to lose myself in the fun bits of life when we're not dealing with the fallout. Jet discovered video games recently, so I scraped together and bought her a Nintendo DSi off Craigslist. She spends more time with her Nintendog than the real dog, who seems a little put out by the development. I'll watch him watch her play the game, tilting his head at her in confusion when random puppy barks come from the game system. He'll get wound up after a while, so I have to take him for a walk.

Actually, that reminds me. We were out walking last week when he stopped cold and wouldn't go any farther. It was one of those things where my nose was buried in my phone, so I didn't notice he stopped. When the leash ran out, I was rudely pulled back in mid-step--nearly dropped my phone on the concrete. He just stood there growling, and he wouldn't be reasoned with.

I was about to call off the whole walk (we were only a few blocks from the house) when this little boy said, "He knows."

I turned around. The kid was standing there, wearing a baseball tee and shorts, carrying a backpack whose top handle had pulled out. He was only wearing one hightop shoe, and at first, I thought he was one of the Brats. "Sorry?" I said. "What does he know?"

The boy just sighed. "Maybe walk by over there," he said, pointing to the other side of the street.

The dog just kept growling. The kid was black, so I was ready to accuse the dog of being a racist. Not that the kid seemed to notice or care that a bulldog didn't like him. "Okay, thanks," I said, tugging the leash.

"I'm sorry," said the boy as we crossed the street.

We did a loop and came back the same route, and I actually forgot all about the encounter. We were on the same road, same side (the sidewalk's in better shape), but this time, instead of stopping and growling, the dog was super interested in the spot he wouldn't even walk past before. I couldn't get him to leave, but at least my phone was in a pocket when he stopped.

He had his massive noggin buried in the overgrown bushes by the fence that walled off the tiny yard from the rest of the neighborhood. I kept tugging the leash to get him to move, but we both knew I don't have the weight or strength I'd need to budge him. With a triumphant bark that was more of an exhale with enunciation, he pulled himself out of the bushes, proudly holding a shoe in his mouth.

It was a hightop, and I'm not going to commit to saying it matched the single shoe that boy had been wearing. The shoe had been there through some weather. I don't think that was a splatter of mud across the toe. But that's all I'll say.

He seemed depressed when I told him to drop it. We went home. Jet was still playing her game. I hugged her from behind, and she yelled at me for distracting her. That just made me hug her tighter.

"Spring is sprung...

...the grass is riz,
I wonder where
the birdies iz."

Today is not a good day. 

It's not that there's anything particularly wrong with my life (other than the usual), it's just that something is off. Overall, my life is actually pretty darn good. I can recognize that from outside, but inside I'm anxious for no reason, and I just want to sit in a corner and cry. 

I've been exchanging amusing texts with friends all morning, and I've been doing small household chores because when I think about doing the big ones I just stand there, staring at the last thing my eyes were pointed at.

I got to hang out with Dylan yesterday, which was great. Jet even surprised me by mowing random stripes in the back yard with the push mower we found in the garden shed.

But since I woke up this morning, there's this overwhelming feeling of dread that maybe 18 hours of sleep will solve, and maybe not. I can't do anything I really need to because I can't concentrate enough to get my brain out of the swamp. I can't do anything fun, because I won't take any enjoyment in it. I suppose at least it wouldn't frustrate me--I'd just be meh about it. "Fun" wouldn't even be a distraction, just a reminder that today is not a good day.

So yeah. Don't feel sorry for me. There's plenty of other people who feel this way more often and way worse than me. I'm not trolling for platitudes or pity, because they won't do anything for me. I guess I wanted to get this out there and say that sometimes there's no reason for the way you feel. Sometimes you just feel. I know it. You know it. It's just easy to lose track of sometimes.

My mom would always say that dumb little poem every year when we were finally out of the cold. Spring is sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where the birdies iz. I Googled it to give you guys some context, and nobody seems to know where it came from. I did find out there's more to it than I knew--the rest of the poem goes, "They say the birds is on the wing, ain't that absurd? I always thought the wing is on the bird." 

Most of the time, finding out this new part would completely tickle me. Like my world expanded a little, and my childhood got retroactively richer. Today, though, it's just empty words. Tomorrow I'll (hopefully) be back in the right mindset to be thrilled about this discovery.

If not, I'll keep waiting.

Getting things together

Sorry, it's been a while.

I've been neck deep in a few things (Jet and I got a case!), so I haven't been keeping up with the website. I know a few of you stop in to make sure I'm still alive, and I appreciate that. Contrary to what it might have seemed like lately, I am.

This is a quick update to mention some stuff. Angelica is still MIA, and I've been going through her massive collection of journals with a proverbial magnifying glass trying to find anything that will point me in the right direction. Missing posters aren't doing the trick, so I'm going to have to start thinking outside the box.

Jet's stupid doll is still here. I can't get a good photo of it--largely because I don't really want to get close enough to it. Luckily, it seems pretty harmless, to the point that I'm wondering if Jet was just pulling my leg. My initial concern may have been unwarranted...? It's still creepy as balls, though, and I'm not touching it.

Barbie, I know you check the website from time to time--if you see this, email me. I never got your contact info.

Again, sorry it's been a bit and that this update is so brief. I need to head out the door in a few to chat with our new (!) police contact. Can't name names, but I really like this person and I hope this opens up a few fruitful doors. Fingers crossed!

Anyone missing a doll?

I'm not a stranger to weird junk happening in my life, but I know a lot of you don't care what I have to say (stop reading, then) or don't believe all the stuff I post. Tough. Angelica wrote journals to make up for her horrible memory. I write this all down to sort out my thoughts, and with a head so full of other people's, I kind of need that. So if you're one of Angelica's past clients hoping for an update...well, that makes two of us. If I have some good news, it's going here first.

In the mean time: weird junk!

It's been chilly here lately, but actually pretty normal. A decent stretch of normal, and I honestly forgot how much I like the mundane. Jet's doing well in school, the dog's behaving. I've even been keeping a weekly date with by brother (hey, Dyl!).

Then the stupid basket showed up.

It was last week Tuesday. I got home from the store and there was a gift basket on the step. No big clues--I can't shovel in my condition, and Jet does a crap job because she's just a kid. So there was a mess of footprints with no way to tell who had been there--postal worker, big, small, man, woman...nothing.

There wasn't a card or anything, and the basket was just filled with rags. Not being someone who casually touches random objects, I grabbed part of the molding that I keep meaning to nail back onto the house (when it's warmer) and poked at the rags, pushing them out of the way.

Now I've seen some shit. I was expecting at best a kitten and at worst a severed head. Layer after layer of rags and old kitchen towels, I was wondering if scrap cloth was gonna be it. Then the face.

Not too proud to admit I screamed like a girl, even though it's kind of a given. Being a girl with man-voice makes it tough to actually scream like one, but I managed.

Anyway, big basket, small face. Stupid doll made a really bad first impression, which hasn't improved at all.

Okay, skip to that evening. I'd actually forgotten about the doll--I just left the thing as it was on the steps. No way I was going to bring it in, and I really didn't want to touch it. Who knows what sort of vibe I'd get from it? Not on your life.

Jet gets home from school and marches straight into the kitchen with the doll while I'm trying to make pork chops. I almost screamed again.

It's more disturbing when it's not covered in rags. It has a 40s-style, cherubic plastic face with stylized doll eyes that waggle when Jet moves it--I think they're supposed to close when it lies down, but they never quite get there. It's wearing light brown slacks that look like actual wool, brown leather shoes, a white linen shirt with little buttons and a collar, and a brown sport coat looking thing. It's got a grey wool touring cap covering most of its sculpted plastic hair, and some of its paint job is worn off.

The creepiest part of that doll is the cracked plastic on either side of its mouth. I'll post a photo as soon as I'm brave enough to get close to the thing.

"What's this from?" Jet said, completely oblivious to the fact that she almost made me crap my pants.

Not one to mince words, I told her it freaked me out and I'd like her to throw it away, along with the rags and basket.

She shook her head. "That ain't nice. Note says we hafta take care a' him."

"What note?" I said. There seriously wasn't a note on the basket.

"It was pinned ta his shirt," she said, pulling a torn-off half of a sheet of paper out of her pocket. She's been doing really well reading, and loves to show off. She read it pretty well: "'Please take care of my son James. He is the light of my life. I hope to be back soon.' An' then there's a bunch'a stuff."

She held out the paper, and I used my pork chop tongs to take it. I wouldn't touch something that strange, even with gloves on. Jet's "bunch'a stuff" was a list of James's favorite foods, when his bedtime is, and a mention that he really loves watching reruns of The Golden Girls.

For the past week, Jet's been pouring that doll a bowl of cereal every morning. She won't eat it, and the doll certainly won't, so I throw it out. I've started keeping the cereal out of her reach, but yesterday she got it down from the top of the fridge. I told her not to climb on the counter, but she insists James brought it down.

I came home from work yesterday and the stupid thing was propped in the loveseat across from our broken old television, watching The Golden Girls in yellows and greens. Jet was doing homework in the kitchen. I told her not to waste electricity like that, and she declared that James was sad and the TV helped cheer him up.

The dog? Yeah, whichever room James is in, he avoids. He doesn't even bark anymore when people knock.

I get this face more often than not:

Whoever left the doll on our steps? I hate them.

I'm still alive

Wow, skip a couple posts, and your little brother goes nuts. Dyl. I'm fine. FFS, you saw me on the 28th.

Granted, a lot can happen in a couple weeks. I don't blame you for freaking out. I'm still looking over my shoulder here and there, even though I'm pretty sure the coast is clear. But you're right: the Piper came back once, so who knows? And you know what? Who cares? We beat him once, we'll beat him again.

So update. The "new" washer has been behaving. I haven't seen any weird echoes or anything since week one. Creepy Guy hasn't followed me anywhere lately. Jet's keeping up with school, which still makes my head spin.

Let me just muse about that, actually. Jet's in school. Like it's the most normal thing ever. They were able to start her in the fourth grade, since she actually tested darn close to where she should be. Her grammar's still awful, but that's about it. She does homework every night while I do the dishes. She's made a couple new friends and seems to be enjoying her new life off the street.

Seriously. For someone in her position, with all that's happened to both of us, we get normalcy. She's in school. I'm working. Maybe not regularly, but it's a paycheck. And we get to join the rest of the human race in pretending that powerful supernatural creatures don't exist, aren't planning anything, and haven't ruined every other aspect of our previous lives.

But that's all it is: pretending. So I'd like to belatedly start the new year by toasting a hearty "screw you" to all the spirits and nasties that Angelica and I beat before you finally won. Enjoy your victory. You earned it.

But I'm not dead yet.

It's cold outside.

I'm not really the weepy type. I consider myself a tough chick. I yell stuff at the "break a nail" women on TV about how they should suck it up and, you know, actually matter. I consider myself a Buffy type.

But it kind of hit me today as I opened the door to a blast of cold air: Angelica's been gone for almost half a year. I got a little misty. It wasn't because of anything big, like you see in movies; I wasn't carved out by sudden loss.

It's the little stuff. The devil's in the details. All that happened was I got a lungful of cold air, the same as has been happening to me for over 20 years. But this time it reminded me of how much Angelica hated the cold. It's stupid--I should see something that reminds me of something she loved, you know? Something that's associated with her, which I guess this is.

But it's like seeing a horse and being reminded how your best friend never rode horses. That's stupid.

Anyway, I might not get a chance to post something else until after Christmas. Jet and I will be celebrating by ourselves, since my mom's in one of her moods and decided I'm out of her favor this week. I don't even know if she reads this. Don't care. Hi Mom!! Merry Up Yours and Happy Ho-Days!

Sorry, dirty laundry. But looking at that last sentence makes me smile and helps me forget that Angelica hated winter. And when spring comes, I'll be reminded how she made fun of my allergies. Then summer will come and I'll remember how happy she was with the warmth and sun. And in the fall, I'll get weepy when the anniversary of our first meeting comes around.

I hate feelings sometimes. Merry Christmas (except you, Mom).
~R

The "new" washing machine

Doing laundry today. Yup--the glamorous life. It's been a while since anything really weird's happened. The last one was a couple weeks ago when that guy (or maybe "guy" in quotes) followed me and Jet to Giant Eagle.

It's annoying doing laundry with gloves on, but you know. Such is life. I loaded the washing machine, added detergent, all that good stuff, and walked away. I remember thinking specifically that the stupid thing better work.

Yeah, so back up: this is the new washer. Again, "new" in quotes. Angelica had some old front-loader since the dawn of time, and a month ago it crapped out--I came home to a small lake. Long story short: getting it fixed cost way more than I could justify, so the kid and I trolled Craigslist for a replacement and found this one cheap. Gabe helped us muscle it in, and I finally hooked it up today, since the laundry piles were getting embarrassing.

First load was done. It has an awful buzzer that sounds like a halfway point between a gameshow buzzer and a dying Jetta. But there wasn't a lake, so I figured it was a win. Until I opened the lid.

Not too proud to admit I screamed like a final girl in a horror movie. You would too. The first thing I saw was a thick pool of blood with most of what was left of some kind of animal swirling among socks and who-knows-what. I'm really hoping it wasn't someone's pet. The scream was part of the package where I dropped the lid and jumped back against the wall.

Steeled my nerves, reached for the lid, and opened it. That's the joy of being a homeowner, you get to do all the cleanup yourself. But you guessed it: nothing. Just a bunch of Jet's clothing, clean and nicely spun, ready for the dryer.

So this is my life. I don't know how long it'll take for this impression to fade from our "new" washing machine, but I'm pretty sure I know why we got it so cheap. It ate one of Jet's socks, too.