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Thursday, Jul. 11, 2002 / 6:36 p.m. ~A Suspicious Package From an Unreliable Source~ Well this is a first. I just got email from myself. But I didn't send it. I wonder if other people are noticing an influx of diaryland Spam. People are inserting diaryland email addresses into the Sender field, then sending them off as BCCs, with the addressee as whoever, most times the bogus Sender. Isn't this fun? No. I'm really getting sick of it. I get about 40 to 50 emails a day, just to my main ISP address. That's not counting the hotmail and yahoo and mail.com. Actually, I get NOTHING at my mail.com address. Hmmmmm..... Whatever. That's not why I'm here. That's not why I was anxious to walk in the door and log on to the Interweb, open this page and start writing. But when I logged on I got a notification from ICQ that I had mail, so I checked the headers and yes, one was from [email protected]. Something about pussy, right, they're telling me that they know I like to look at pussy, but why do they think they know this? I can take it or leave it. No, I don't like to look. I seldom look at porn anymore. I have one horny day a month, and I masturbate whilst thinking about Moby or something. The reason I'm here is this. I got a package in the mail. From my brother and sister in law. Or more likely, my sister in law, but she wrote his name on the outside along with hers. They are a unit. A single entity, have been for years. I guess they still are. So it's some US Priority Mail thing. A soft package, it's obviously an article of clothing, a tshirt I'm guessing. I thought it was my other Moby CD at first, but then I felt it, and saw who sent it and I swear I wanted to put it back in my box. Isn't that strange? Just like Jon's email, I wanted to set it aside and never open it. In fact, that's what I've done, so far. But it's only been a half hour or so. Okay, my birthday was April 6th, they totally ignored me, not even a Blue Fucking Mountain E-Card. Nothing. My brother sent me some email the day before my big day, but he sent it to several people, I was one of many, or a few, I don't remember, and it was one of those Darwin Award kind of stories, about some idiot trying to get insurance money for cigars he smoked. You know, fire insurance, on cigars. Ironic, huh? Yeah, whatever, I read it and thought, WHAT? Did you even mean to send this to me? What is this? But I didn't even respond. There was no response. We haven't spoken in years. Three? Many incidents led up to it, don't ask what they are, it's long, it's complicated, it was a long time coming, and when I saw Al recently I told him and he understood completely. His cousin sent him horrible letters telling how he's going to rot in hell for being gay, etc., and Al felt so bad he sought therapy. His own cousin. Al is in his late 40s, come on, didn't the guy know before now? I said something to the effect of, "Hey, don't worry about it, some people simply should not be in your life, it doesn't matter if they're family. Just because someone is family does not mean he is not toxic and bad for you. If someone makes me feel small, or insecure, or in any way bad about myself, why keep that person in my life? Because we share genetic material?" He understood. The women I work with, the African American CHRISTIANS don't get it, and back when we used to talk about things, or when I used to share my life with them rather, I let them know how it is, but they shook their heads and stopped talking. I don't care. I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks. But birthdays and Christmas I send cards. I never forget their birthdays. I sent her a card in May, and I have been debating whether or not to send him one later this month. Debating heavily. Like I'd not mind making a statement. So there! See how YOU like being ignored, Mr. Leo, fucking center of the Universe. But that seems so petty. He is my brother. Yes, I despise him, but we had some good moments too. It's his birthday, man, birthdays are special. What's a card? No big deal. They're fun to get in your mail, yes? So I go to the mailbox, expecting my Moby CD, and I can't even remember what other one is on order - the guy has a LOT of CDs out there - but it's this tshirt or something, probably from her, but she put his name on there, and it's no doubt a late birthday present, what other reason would they have to send me anything at all? But it's July 11th. My birthday was April 6th. I don't think Christmas gifts should be given in March. I don't think birthday gifts should be given after the fact. It just says to me that you feel guilty that you forgot. You want to show that you would have sent something had you thought about me at the time, but truthfully you don't give a fuck about me, and you know the feeling is mutual these days, so why are you bothering NOW? I don't want to open it. I hate that I got it. It's childish, I know, I know. It's PMS, right? No, it's logic, it's baggage, it's years of feeling disrespected by these two people. They've never treated me like a human being. They've treated me as a little sister. As a kid. I'm three years younger than she is, four years younger than he is. Okay. No, it feels like some sick game of manipulation and domination. I don't want to play. I feel like crap now. There's too much to say on this subject and I don't feel eloquent at all, I feel primal. Base. Everything is just raw and exposed. People just can't fuck with me like this. Ignore me for months, years and then suddenly send me some stupid shirt and think all is forgiven? It doesn't make up for the time you said..... or the time you..... or the time I went over and you..... remember? Don't you know how I felt that day? Don't you know I hated going there? Don't you know I hated your cigarettes, your hacking cough, and the fact that you would never come here because I wouldn't let you smoke? And when you did come over you wanted to rearrange my things. You wanted to tell me how to live my life. And when I needed you, when I thought of you as FAMILY, as someone I could turn to in an emergency and you had conditions. Do you remember your conditions? Do you remember me selling mom's pearls because you had conditions? I sold everything just to pay my rent. Al lent me the money so I wouldn't be evicted. And my own brother? This is why I'm alone. I don't care how close he lives. I don't care he's a phone call away, or that I can send him email if I want. He is no one I want to know, and all I want is a card on my birthday, that's all. I don't want some package months later. What is it anyway? If it's from her, why did she have to put your fucking name on it? It's not from you. She makes you sign the Christmas cards, but you don't want to. You hate doing anything nice for me. You always have. That's not true, is it? No, I can remember everything. Liking you, hating you. Both of you. Maybe it's me, not you at all. But I can't open it. I think I'll put it in my closet. I think I'll leave it there for a long time. But knowing them they'll want to know if I got it. Did I like it. They'll want appreciation. I appreciated them enough. She was the one who helped me. She didn't lend me money, she GAVE it to me, insisted I not pay it back. She found a lawyer for me. She called me back when Listerine put the lynching photos on my desk, she found me a lawyer that time too, a civil rights attorney, she told me to go to the EEOC. I actually turned to her when I was upset, because she is a lawyer and I think of her when I think I may need a lawyer. But she never wanted to go beyond the followup email. Did it turn out okay? What did the EEOC say? And I felt like a stupid little kid again, like she's my surrogate mom, three years older than me, like I'm too fucking stupid to call a lawyer on my own, I had to turn to her for advice. It killed me to do it. I hated turning to her, it was so hard I was shaking making that call. This week has sucked. With the exception of Mark's visits and his help (which I didn't mind asking for in the long run). I don't need this aggravation. I don't need reminders. I don't need my brain to be dredged. Leave my memories buried. I want a partial lobotomy. Take out certain parts. Just take it out for good. I wish my brain was like a hard drive I could explore, de-frag, and I could delete old files I no longer want around. Why isn't it? Why has technology advanced so much farther than human biology? I guess I got it out of my system now. I'll go put the package in my closet, underneath something I never touch, and try to forget about it. I don't care what it is. I don't care about anyone but me, you have to understand that. I am all I have, and that has to be the way it is. Trust me, it's the best way to be. I've lived long enough to know how to protect myself, to take care of myself. People always want something. No gift is free. They want appreciation, or a piece of you, that's the way it is. I am the same way, I know how it goes. Cost of the War in Iraq
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