31 August 2011

All that crazy burning energy that was electrifying my nervous system is gone ever since somebody brought me 2 seroquel 200 mgs. I just bite tiny bits off the pill whenever I feel like mellowing out from complete insanity which usually involves being awake more than 30 hours with a head full of racing thoughts and psychosomatic pains in my chest. I don't think I adequately explain just how unnerving the world becomes when I am off my meds and I would appreciate it if certain people who are anti-pharmaceuticals would just bugger off and stop encouraging me to go off my meds, thank you. No. I'm not completely unhappy with the changes I have made to the amount of pills I am taking. I believe all I need is seroquel and it's all I am going to be taking from now on. No more of this lithium and prozac. I don't know about the loxapine, as it seems so similar to the seroquel that I could possibly use it instead.

I don't see a lot about loxapine in the psychiatric literature I peruse on the internet. Not that perusing psychiatric literature is something I enjoy doing, but I did once read a college text book I found on abnormal psychology from a Goodwill store cover to cover and found it highly fascinating. Altered consciousness and the human mind has always sort of fascinated me, so some psychology can be a bit interesting. I suppose that is why I am so interested in true crime. The criminals in the books I read think so utterly differently from me and most everyone else you meet in life. It's interesting to think that most people will react very differently to the same situation or idea. The vastness of human consciousness is fascinating and there are millions of people in the world with very different wills and manners than you and I. This can be seen in the way that people can respond very differently to the same joke. And, with my sense of humour I can see that all the time with some people not laughing about the same things I find funny. My sense of humour can be a little twisted sometimes. Life needs a bit of a twist to it sometimes or else it might get boring.

People who commit evil deeds are highly fascinating to me as a Satanist and something I try to understand in my job as self-proclaimed high priestess of Church of the Infernal. You know, when I was helping out that old Pentescostal fellow with his little Christian Outreach Centre it was much the same thing. We accepted a fellow as a friend there who had just been released from prison after serving 25 to life. An interesting person who claimed didn't commit the crime he was in jail for. I guess when someone is in prison they have nothing better to do than read and it was Father Patrick's book sale which attracted him to us. He told me one of my favourite true crime writers, Max Haines, has written about him, but I have never found the story and I never asked him about the crime that landed him in jail. I imagined he wanted to keep it private or he would have mentioned it and thought it would be rude to inquire further. He talked more about his highly inventive prison escapes and how he sawed through a bar on his window. Told me about how he was on Canada's top 10 wanted list at the time of the escape. How hard it was after he escaped to even get anything to eat and how he had lived in the woods for much of the time. I can't remember how long he escaped for, but I am sure it was less than a month and longer than a couple days. I should explore some Max Haines books in the library and see if I can find the story of the original crime.

One of my ancestors was kidnapped by an outlaw. She was a married French woman in south eastern Ontario and this outlaw saw her out tending the fields and thought she was an attractive woman. I can't remember the outlaw's name, but my mother has the story in a true crime book about some famous Canadian detective out from those parts who eventually arrested this particular outlaw who used to terrorize farmers in south eastern Ontario and in northern New York. Anyway, he kidnapped this woman and there is this story about the road my childhood best friend lived on associated with her and the outlaw.

I think this whole kidnapping happened back in the 1800s. Don't have the historical period of the whole crime exactly mapped out in my head. She must have been suffering from an early day form of Stockhausen syndrome or something. Police caught her on the road with this outlaw and she had a lamb up her dress and was trying to pretend she was pregnant. Guess they were out stealing sheep. I don't know if they were arrested. In my mind it all breaks into a gunfight, but who knows what really happened? My friend Chad's road was forever named Muttonville Road after that incident.

Chad's whole road was lined with those trailer style homes, but each had a little bit of land around it. And, Chad's parents also own another plot of land right beside their own property. They had this tiny stream running in their back yard sometimes. It was so small and had green grass growing underneath it, so I would imagine it would dry up sometimes. His mother used to raise chickens and once ventured to buy a cow which she slaughtered herself. Fairly attractive woman, for somebody older, with red hair. He abandoned his first wife and kids to be with Chad's mother and then he abandoned Chad's mother for a younger blond woman as well. I used to hate seeing him out in the boat in the river with this new woman and always thought he should be taking his kids out on the boat instead. A most disagreeable man who had tons of gossip going around about his various infidelities. For instance, my grandmother talked about going to buy something off someone and seeing Chad's dad with some other woman. A real nogoodnik.

I used to only see Chad in the summer because his great grandmother owned a tiny campground and we would spend much of our summer out there. It was a different place about an hour's drive away from where I lived and went to school, but we spent a lot of time there. A tiny speck of dust village was right there and it was called Mariatown. Then there was a small town called Morrisburg close by which I used to walk all the way to if I got bored. It didn't take long to get there. Morrisburg has a strip mall and a school and a medical centre. I noticed it had grown significantly the last time I visited which was back when I went to my Uncle Bill's funeral. That's where my grandmother's family was from and my Great Aunt Ruth still lived in the family house when I was a little girl. She also operated a little candy shop in order to not have to hang around with her absuive husband who was a terrible alcoholic all day.

I only encountered my Great Aunt Ruth's husband once in his whole lifetime. He saw me and I guess he knew who I was. I refused to acknowledge him and just walked by without a word which he later complained to my Aunt Ruth about. He told my mother she wasn't allowed on the property when he found out she was having a child out of wedlock. I think a lot of my issues with rejection probably stem on the feelings I had about this situation. He was a terrible alcoholic and would be found in the yard passed out with the lawn mower still running in front of him. Then he would sometimes pass out and piss on the couch. Really weird people were he and his other sister who collected neighbourhood strays and let them run wild in this second house she owned. I can't even remember the old woman's name, but my mom was paranoid that she would try to poison us and made me pour the ginger ale she gave me down the drain. This was a visit after my grandmother's funeral. She lived on this street in Brockville and owned 2 houses side by side. There were about 100 cats living in this vacant house and she would just let them piss and shit all over the floor. I heard that her other brother, named Les, who was the chief of police at the Brockville Police department for 17 years had to gut the entire house when he inherited it.

But, one has to question my own Great Aunt Ruth's weirdness. Out of my grandmother's sisters Ruth was considered the prettiest and the smartest. I think she thought she was marrying into a better family when she landed this Bill piece of work who she would always refuse to leave and divorce. She used to come to our house to stay when his drinking got really bad because he would sometimes get violent. I don't know the details, but I know he once left a boot print on her rib cage. And his brother Les, who was the chief of police in Brockville would be quoted in the papers saying domestic violence was just not an issue in Brockville, Ontario.

I guess my Great Aunt Ruth was really attached to her home and didn't want to lose it. She too collected too many cats, like her nutty sister in law, but to a less extreme degree. She had about 10 cats and she built this kitty fortess in her backyard so they could stay warm in the winter. There was one cat which was her favourite which was the only one permitted in the house. I did visit the house a few times growing up when Bill went on a long vacation, to perhaps visit some mistress he had the the United States. Bill used to be in the army and I haven't a clue if he was gainfully employed after that. All I knew about his life in the workforce is that he had been in the army.

We went and camped all summer in one of those small hard top trailers in the campground of family friend Laura Locke. This was so my grandmother could visit with Aunt Ruth each night. I'd generally get to have a camp fire outside while the grown ups chatted in the railer.  Laura Locke was a really old lady and I used to spend enough time around her as well. Someone almost like family.  I think she cared about me a great deal and I think it was her hope that I would grow up to marry Chad. I used to be a bit afraid of her because she could be stern at times. She had this bright blue little office building for herself in the campground and used to enjoy sitting out there all day in the summers. Liked doing jig saw puzzles and gluing them to boards and framing them. I think about her sometimes because somebody put up these framed jig saw puzzles here in Deep Quong. We have a really nice one with all these tropical fish in it on our floor. I remember one time Laura wouldn't let Chad and I play outside because we had been climbing the trees. Tree climbing was something we used to get in a lot of trouble for.

But, we always found other stuff to do besides climbing trees. We used to go where this tall grass was growing and stomp parts down to build a house. Then there was the whole beach to play on. It wasn't a sand beach really. There might have been a little bit of sand on the shore, but the floor underneath the water was all mud and clay. I remember fighting with Chad throwing mud at me and him just thinking it was all a laugh. The river was all mud because the shore line had been flooded, I believe in the 1950s, in order to expand the seaway and allow ships to travel on the St Lawrence River all the way to Toronto. There was this little bit of the former highway 2 which ran through the campground and then 2 more backyards before it dissappeared in the river. So, there is still this underground highway out there and also 7 lost villages which were completely flooded over for the seaway expansion. There is a published author out that way who writes about the 7 lost villages.

So, the campground was the land which wasn't flooded. It was on the narrowest part of the St Lawrence River. The stunt artist Evel Knievel had a ramp built and was going to jump over it on his motorcycle, but I guess he chickened out. I remember the ramp was up there for years and years before somebody decided to tear it down. There used to be these tubie races each summer and they would sometimes use the beach at the campground as their launch pad. They would race down the river in these raft constructed out of the inner tubes from tires off of transport trucks. Bumped into this woman who used to be my big sister from that group which pairs girls up with an adult mentor at the tubie races and she had gotten some degree from a correspondence school. Earned a degree in journalism through the mail and she became a reporter for the newspaper in Morrisburg. When I bumped into her she was covering the tubie races. I actually read a profound article she wrote about discovering that she had an uncle who was illegitemate in England because her grandfather had gotten someone over there pregnant during WWII. There was somebody in my life who made sure to clip it out for me so I can read it. I don't remember any body saving any other articles she wrote for me to read. 

Of my childhood my days out in Mariatown are the days I look upon most fondly and have even sought out to see if subsidized housing is available in Morrisburg. Morrisburg even has a local theatre company now. It's funny that these little theatre companies manage to survive in places so small, yet Theatre Brockville which is in a bigger place never made it. I remember the old lady Laura who had the blue office building was into attending all the theatre company had to offer. Also remember when they built this new road with a bunch of houses and Laura was given the honour of naming the road and named it Coyle Drive after some family who had lived in the area. It was a gravel road with just wild land when I was a small child. It had a deteriorating graveyard back there and it's still there. I used to go back to search for berries to pick. Eventually the entire road was paved and all the wild land turned into these fairly nice houses. Someone told me, likely my mother, that Morrisburg is becoming a popular place for retirees from Ottawa. 

I like it out that way because there are some things I used to like doing when I was growing up out there. They have a bird sanctuary a bit of a drive outside Morrisburg which I used to like to visit. My mom would drive me out there and let me hike the trails. They have Upper Canada Village which is a recreated pioneer village with authentic houses they've restored from those times. People are all dressed up like pioneers and as a kid I didn't really understand that they were just people dressed up in costumes and wanted to live there and be a pioneer too. They also have this place called Prehistoric world where this couple who like to build life sized dinosuars have built a trail through the woods so people can look at them. Then there is this sprawling flea market which I love to attend built out of all these alluminum buildings. My relatives Brock and Myrtle used to sell off collectibles out there, but Brock died a few years ago. I imagine Myrtle is probably still selling stuff off, but can never get out there because my mother took the car off the road and let somebody haul it away. The last time I went the person who brought me and my mother was somebody I don't like very much and it takes away from the enjoyment when you have to rely on somebody you don't like to get there.

The flea market takes place only on Sundays and pretty early in the day, so one can't dilly dally around all morning if they want to go. I used to collect books, horror comics, and Archie comics from this one seller at the flea market. He usually was the one who got the chunk of money my Great Aunt Ruth would give me to spend. The flea market was kind of an opportunity for my mom and grandmother to spend time with Aunt Ruth. I usually went off on my own and looked at what I wanted to look at and spend my money however I chose. I liked buying the fresh cheese curd someone would bring in from that cheese factory down the road. The cheese factory was also a favourite place to go for both the cheese curd and their claim that the sold the biggest ice cream cones in that part of the world. Usually only got to go to the cheese factory if we were visiting Matie, my grandfather's sister, or if we were visiting the graveyard to put flowers on a grave. I think we still have one grave remaining at the graveyard out there, but both me and my mother want to be buried in this cemetery in Mariatown if we should happen to meet with an ill fate and I guess we have a couple of plots there too. My mother doesn't want me to keep her ashes as I have made jokes about using them in death magick rituals. 

And, that my friends, is all I have to tell you about those sunny summers of my childhood. Today is my pay day and I guess I am going to go out and do a little shopping soon. I have decided that I am sick of wearing these eye glasses and am going to get some contact lens. I never wear make up when I am wearing my glasses because I don't like it getting all stuck on the nose piece and sometimes mascara gets on my lens if I blink and all. I would like to start paying more attention to my appearance and gradually pull myself out of this little rut I've got myself holed into. I never want to leave the house and I partly think that is because I just don't want to deal with having the sun in my eyes. Can't wear sunglasses over top of frames, so I've got to be doing something about that.

I do hope you fine folk enjoy my writing and thank you for finding me interesting. Some people, like my miserable ex-boyfriend, make me feel like everything I have to say isn't up to date enough with modern culture and is incredibly boring to them. A couple of days ago I was informed that I was talking Suzy Divine's brother's ears off and he had absolutely no interest in anything I was saying. Good to hear, as I wasn't interested in much of anything he had to say either. Some people from my past like to make me feel like I am like Edith Bunker or Rose Nylon and the things I have to say are just the ramblings of some dim-witted woman. Well, the hell with them. You, my dear, have made my day by taking an interest in my great literary attempts and have helped build my self-confidence so I feel inspired to strive for more and more creative self-expression. This is why I adore you all so very much, my dear facebook friends. Thank you for helping me fight the good fight. I bless your world with well wishes delivered to the great gods and goddesses. Hail Satan!