Bailiff's Order from the London County Courts, due any time soon.
Parental Responsibility Order from Brighton County Courts. Due to appear 17th August.
This is the shit I am juggling.
I need to catch something positive. I need to.
I'm going to go out and get fucked again tonight like I did last night. Then no more Al Cohol, OK?
No more. I can't let you destroy me too.
I need a clear head to catch the good things that will come. They have to.
I'm going to pray. There is nothing more that I can do.
My son my sun, my boy my buoy, I love you.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
"The Friends"
When the Foca came to get our son (3 hours late) yesterday I told him I had planned to give him a birthday card about 'friends' but after seven years, I had finally opened my eyes.
That whenever we seem to be getting on, he sabotages it by being cruel. So now, no more. I had finished with my desire to one day being friends with him.
He said not to talk about this infront of our son, I said I was going to talk about it no more, I'd said all I had to say on the matter.
Today I have received a court order from Brighton County Court asking me to appear on August 17th to sign the parental responsibility order.
That little piece of "paper" that he feels he's "failing as a father" without.
Has he forgotten that I am his son's mother? That I am awaiting a bailiff's order from the London County Court? That he was the first to hand us notice and render us homeless?
"How does this effect my rights as a father?" he'd said at the time.
"You don't have any," I'd answered.
"Yes I do."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"No you don't, I thought you knew."
My son's in Ireland now with him. He'd asked if he could take him and I'd said 'sure, when do you want?'. Last two weeks of August he'd said. OK. Then he changed his mind and said now and I'd said 'OK'. Nice way to thank me don't you think?
The card I was foolishly going to give him before his text arrived last monday, was an Edward Monkton one. This was behind my rage on Monday. That I've been a total idiot believing in the guy.
"THE FRIENDS can connect in a mysterious way without even thinking.
Perhaps they have AMAZING MAGICAL POWERS.
Perhaps they are both just PECULIAR IN THE HEAD."
I'm positively peculiar. I've no idea what he is. We are not, we will never, be friends.
I let go of any creeping guilt about having posted about him this past year and a half.
I can't talk to my friends about him. Words simply fail me.
That whenever we seem to be getting on, he sabotages it by being cruel. So now, no more. I had finished with my desire to one day being friends with him.
He said not to talk about this infront of our son, I said I was going to talk about it no more, I'd said all I had to say on the matter.
Today I have received a court order from Brighton County Court asking me to appear on August 17th to sign the parental responsibility order.
That little piece of "paper" that he feels he's "failing as a father" without.
Has he forgotten that I am his son's mother? That I am awaiting a bailiff's order from the London County Court? That he was the first to hand us notice and render us homeless?
"How does this effect my rights as a father?" he'd said at the time.
"You don't have any," I'd answered.
"Yes I do."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"No you don't, I thought you knew."
My son's in Ireland now with him. He'd asked if he could take him and I'd said 'sure, when do you want?'. Last two weeks of August he'd said. OK. Then he changed his mind and said now and I'd said 'OK'. Nice way to thank me don't you think?
The card I was foolishly going to give him before his text arrived last monday, was an Edward Monkton one. This was behind my rage on Monday. That I've been a total idiot believing in the guy.
"THE FRIENDS can connect in a mysterious way without even thinking.
Perhaps they have AMAZING MAGICAL POWERS.
Perhaps they are both just PECULIAR IN THE HEAD."
I'm positively peculiar. I've no idea what he is. We are not, we will never, be friends.
I let go of any creeping guilt about having posted about him this past year and a half.
I can't talk to my friends about him. Words simply fail me.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
"The housing division won't like it"
Took my son to the Crown and Goose for a drink.
Saw friendly bar men who remember me, showed them my letter.
"Did you do it anonymously?" one asked. I shook my head. He looked at me wide eyed.
"What do you think the council will make of it?" Silly question, silly, from me.
I can't repeat what he said, I've told you once, I cannot think that way.
Ah fuck it! What's done is done!
Took my son to see Karate Kid.
Perfect!
Go see!!
Saw friendly bar men who remember me, showed them my letter.
"Did you do it anonymously?" one asked. I shook my head. He looked at me wide eyed.
"What do you think the council will make of it?" Silly question, silly, from me.
I can't repeat what he said, I've told you once, I cannot think that way.
Ah fuck it! What's done is done!
Took my son to see Karate Kid.
Perfect!
Go see!!
Goddess
The local newsagent doesn't always carry copies of the CNJ but it did today!
I grabbed a copy and went straight next door to the hairdresser, to he who started the whole empty fruit bowl thing.
The last time I hoped the CNJ published my letter I did the same thing (only I got the copy on the main road that time), sat myself down and for some unknown reason was unable to turn the paper's page, it was so heavy!
I'd had to get supermario to open it and my goodness, he'd held the paper aloft with both hands and turned it page by page so slowly! The suspense near killed me!
Oh how far I've come! Today I opened the paper myself! Headed straight to the letter's section prepared to scan each page for my name.
No need!
A great big massive headline in the centre right hand page! That tune from Feeder's Feeling A Moment whizzing through my ears! My own copy swimming before my eyes!
Thank you CNJ! Thank you Journo Guy!
(Goddess is the name of the salon)
I grabbed a copy and went straight next door to the hairdresser, to he who started the whole empty fruit bowl thing.
The last time I hoped the CNJ published my letter I did the same thing (only I got the copy on the main road that time), sat myself down and for some unknown reason was unable to turn the paper's page, it was so heavy!
I'd had to get supermario to open it and my goodness, he'd held the paper aloft with both hands and turned it page by page so slowly! The suspense near killed me!
Oh how far I've come! Today I opened the paper myself! Headed straight to the letter's section prepared to scan each page for my name.
No need!
A great big massive headline in the centre right hand page! That tune from Feeder's Feeling A Moment whizzing through my ears! My own copy swimming before my eyes!
Thank you CNJ! Thank you Journo Guy!
(Goddess is the name of the salon)
Heading off to get the local paper
What's that coming over the hill
Is it your mummy, is it your mummeeeee?
What's that coming over the hill...
"Stop singing mummy, stop!"
What's that coming over the hill
"Mummy stop, you can't sing. In my diary I wrote the worst singer in the world is you!"
I high fived my son.
(The Automatic featuring Stigmum)
Is it your mummy, is it your mummeeeee?
What's that coming over the hill...
"Stop singing mummy, stop!"
What's that coming over the hill
"Mummy stop, you can't sing. In my diary I wrote the worst singer in the world is you!"
I high fived my son.
(The Automatic featuring Stigmum)
666
My shopping at the local Mini Mart yesterday came to £6.66. I didn't notice.
"Look!" said Mini Mart Man. "666. Your food comes to 666, that's the devil's number!"
"Oh yeah," I replied, my head somewhere else completely.
"The devil's number, that's bad, shall I add a penny so it's £6.67?"
"No thanks."
"But it's bad, it's a bad number, the devil, you know!"
"It's not a bad number," I said. "I have an angel numbers book at home and every single number has a positive meaning in it. I bet 666 does!"
"No, it won't, it can't! It belongs to the devil!"
"It will have it and what I'll do is read what it means then come back and tell you tomorrow."
I have to admit, I was very curious indeed and more so knowing that my letter might appear in the local rag this morning.
666 people, here it is and a very nice thing to read the eve of the loss of anonymity...
Its time to focus on Spirit to balance and heal your life. Tell Heaven about any fears you have concerning material supply. Be open to receiving help and love from both humans and the angels. (Angel Numbers, Doreen Virtue Phd and Lynnette Brown)
My son copied it out and we gave it to Mini Mart Man this afternoon.
"You believe this kind of stuff?" he says incredulous.
I was quite incredulous myself.
"The way I see it, right now, my life is... well, I can choose to think negatively or I can choose to think positively. This book helps me."
"What is this book?" looking at my copy. "Do you think it works?"
"I don't know, flip, I've got to believe it, I'm wanting pigs to fly!"
"Pigs fly?" he laughs. "You don't believe that do you? Pigs don't fly!" and he flapped his arms. "They can't!"
I laughed back, "I don't know but I'll tell you if they do!"
And with that I left.
"Look!" said Mini Mart Man. "666. Your food comes to 666, that's the devil's number!"
"Oh yeah," I replied, my head somewhere else completely.
"The devil's number, that's bad, shall I add a penny so it's £6.67?"
"No thanks."
"But it's bad, it's a bad number, the devil, you know!"
"It's not a bad number," I said. "I have an angel numbers book at home and every single number has a positive meaning in it. I bet 666 does!"
"No, it won't, it can't! It belongs to the devil!"
"It will have it and what I'll do is read what it means then come back and tell you tomorrow."
I have to admit, I was very curious indeed and more so knowing that my letter might appear in the local rag this morning.
666 people, here it is and a very nice thing to read the eve of the loss of anonymity...
Its time to focus on Spirit to balance and heal your life. Tell Heaven about any fears you have concerning material supply. Be open to receiving help and love from both humans and the angels. (Angel Numbers, Doreen Virtue Phd and Lynnette Brown)
My son copied it out and we gave it to Mini Mart Man this afternoon.
"You believe this kind of stuff?" he says incredulous.
I was quite incredulous myself.
"The way I see it, right now, my life is... well, I can choose to think negatively or I can choose to think positively. This book helps me."
"What is this book?" looking at my copy. "Do you think it works?"
"I don't know, flip, I've got to believe it, I'm wanting pigs to fly!"
"Pigs fly?" he laughs. "You don't believe that do you? Pigs don't fly!" and he flapped his arms. "They can't!"
I laughed back, "I don't know but I'll tell you if they do!"
And with that I left.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Tut tut....
Hmmm, long explanatory post about today's call from the social worker. Yes, she called! Coincidence eh?!
Asking my son after the weekend what kind of conversations he had with his dad, the boy replied that all his dad wanted to know about was Kay.
"Kay?" Who the feck is Kay?
"The woman who came to our house mummy and asked if I liked school."
"Oh her, what's he been saying?"
"He keeps asking me about her and I keep saying I don't want to talk about it."
"She didn't say that much did she? Why's he asking you?" And we moved on to different conversations.
Yesterday when New Support Worker was round, I mentioned that his manager had called the social services who'd come round, asked my son if he liked school, told me to get him ready to leave it, so the fact that she'd said she'd call "tomorrow" and didn't was pretty welcome actually; I had no indication she was acting in the best interests of my child.
Today I'm chatting with Manny (his word! He's a male nanny to my son's friend) and because the eviction is right at the top end of my frontal labotamy at the moment, it doesn't take me long to start talking about it. Shit, in the end, I find myself giving him a detailed history.
"The last time I was evicted I had a small army. I had a shrink, a doctor, a social worker, a councillor, a priest and they still shoved us in a hostel. This time I'm on my own. No shrink, no doctor, the social worker's bailed, no councillor has gone out on a limb for us and it's not a church evicting us." Trying to be positive I said: "Maybe I have a couple of local papers but that's for something different."
I'm chatting to him about the Foca, his text and the Foca's conversation with my son about the social worker when my phone rings with "withheld" on it. I'm hoping it's the council inviting me to view a property in the morning.
"Hi Sue it's Kay."
"Oh hi Kay." To think, prior my son talking about it I'd forgotten who the hell she was.
"I was wondering if I could come and see you at some point."
"Er maybe. You told me you were going to call me "tomorrow" a month ago, what happened?"
"I called you. I left a message on your phone."
"Did you?" Quite stunned. "What phone did you leave it on? My landline or my mobile?"
"Your mobile, it's the only number I have for you."
"I didn't get a call on my mobile or a message."
"That's odd, I did leave one."
"Did you really? I don't think so."
"Will you be in if I come on Monday..."
I couldn't fucking believe it. Why couldn't she say she forgot? Why couldn't she say New Support Worker called her, or whatever happened for her to call me?
She is the professional, I am the parasite, if I complained no-one would believe me. Thank goodness Manny was with me, vouch for me as I tell you, crikey.
I'll tell you what though, I've not told my son she's coming, he'll be away when she does.
I'm certainly not telling the Foca about her, but I might tell her about him.
Will she help me and my child second time round?
Oh and I'm still rubbish at picking up messages on my landline so if this was a quiz....
It's not a quiz though is it? It's our lives...
Asking my son after the weekend what kind of conversations he had with his dad, the boy replied that all his dad wanted to know about was Kay.
"Kay?" Who the feck is Kay?
"The woman who came to our house mummy and asked if I liked school."
"Oh her, what's he been saying?"
"He keeps asking me about her and I keep saying I don't want to talk about it."
"She didn't say that much did she? Why's he asking you?" And we moved on to different conversations.
Yesterday when New Support Worker was round, I mentioned that his manager had called the social services who'd come round, asked my son if he liked school, told me to get him ready to leave it, so the fact that she'd said she'd call "tomorrow" and didn't was pretty welcome actually; I had no indication she was acting in the best interests of my child.
Today I'm chatting with Manny (his word! He's a male nanny to my son's friend) and because the eviction is right at the top end of my frontal labotamy at the moment, it doesn't take me long to start talking about it. Shit, in the end, I find myself giving him a detailed history.
"The last time I was evicted I had a small army. I had a shrink, a doctor, a social worker, a councillor, a priest and they still shoved us in a hostel. This time I'm on my own. No shrink, no doctor, the social worker's bailed, no councillor has gone out on a limb for us and it's not a church evicting us." Trying to be positive I said: "Maybe I have a couple of local papers but that's for something different."
I'm chatting to him about the Foca, his text and the Foca's conversation with my son about the social worker when my phone rings with "withheld" on it. I'm hoping it's the council inviting me to view a property in the morning.
"Hi Sue it's Kay."
"Oh hi Kay." To think, prior my son talking about it I'd forgotten who the hell she was.
"I was wondering if I could come and see you at some point."
"Er maybe. You told me you were going to call me "tomorrow" a month ago, what happened?"
"I called you. I left a message on your phone."
"Did you?" Quite stunned. "What phone did you leave it on? My landline or my mobile?"
"Your mobile, it's the only number I have for you."
"I didn't get a call on my mobile or a message."
"That's odd, I did leave one."
"Did you really? I don't think so."
"Will you be in if I come on Monday..."
I couldn't fucking believe it. Why couldn't she say she forgot? Why couldn't she say New Support Worker called her, or whatever happened for her to call me?
She is the professional, I am the parasite, if I complained no-one would believe me. Thank goodness Manny was with me, vouch for me as I tell you, crikey.
I'll tell you what though, I've not told my son she's coming, he'll be away when she does.
I'm certainly not telling the Foca about her, but I might tell her about him.
Will she help me and my child second time round?
Oh and I'm still rubbish at picking up messages on my landline so if this was a quiz....
It's not a quiz though is it? It's our lives...
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