I have a rather cool announcement to make. It's this: I feel normal. I've felt this way for many days now. There is normal even though I had threats of a dissociative episode and some bizarre goings on while painting the girls' room. I'm thinking it had something to do with having just learned that there is a convicted child rapist living a couple of blocks away. He bothers mine in any way and he'll be dealing with me. I'm worse than dealing with the law. I've spoken to the children. They know who and what he is and where he lives. I even showed them his photograph and told them what kind of car he drives. They know he is a dangerous criminal. They also know that all the adults in the neighborhood have been alerted about him and that the police obviously know about him, too. They have also been reminded of the rules that help keep them safe from harm. Enough said.

As for the normal, I remember it and I'm liking it. I'm using it to take back my house some more from the disorganization monster. Some of it has been hard, like moving furniture and painting. The husband cleaned out the garage (at long last!), and he also helped with moving some rather large pieces of furniture. I'm loving this, he's hating it. *sigh* This is an old problem. I know why he hates it, but I'm not backing down this time. I need a better level of organization, and damn it, I aim to have it. I will not be refused. I suppose if he hates it that bad then he should start spending more time away from home. Maybe he has some really messy friends he can go visit. Or maybe he could stand up to the memory of his asshole father and tell him to fuck off. I kid you not when I say my husband has dizzy spells and gets physically ill if he has to do certain kinds of work. Funny how he was perfectly fine and then sick for days after cleaning out all the mess he let accumulate in the garage. Then, days later (Wednesday), he was perfectly fine and went out and had a blast with his guitar and his best buds. He was perfectly fine when he came home, too. Until I asked him to switch the rails on the bunk beds as he had put them on backward. I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance to come get him. It would be easy for an onlooker to believe that my husband might be lazy, but that is not the case. I know what's going on here.

Dear Husband's asshole father: You were a fucking dick to Husband, you piece of shit. Fuck you for waking him up at five o'clock in the morning during weekends and summers and making him scrape barnacles off your boat and dock. How fucking dare you not stop with having him cut your own grass, but offering him out to the neighbors for their grass, too! And why was it his responsibility to mow the empty lots in the neighborhood as well? And why did he have to clean the garage floor with a scraper? WTF? Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. You did all that so he wouldn't grow up to be lazy. You're a class A idiot. Thanks, asshole. You have NO FUCKING IDEA how much extra work and strife we have because of your dumb, child-beating ass. I hope you rot. You were a shitty father. Your daughter grew up to be such a rancid bitch that we can't stand to be around her. All of your sons are addicts except for Husband. He is the only tea-totaller. He skirts you by avoiding everyday responsibilities instead of by bombing his brain with substances. He can't even help his own wife with home maintenance without bumping into you. I hope you're proud. You're such a fucking loser. Eat shit.

p.s. I already told your son what I think and he didn't defend your sorry ass. I won't stop telling him the truth of you lurking behind his problems and I hope one day that he will be the one to write you some hate mail. You earned it and you'll by-god get it. Asshole.