Long December

It is the start of December and I have only one week left of classes.  I have grown weary from this mundane semester.  Actually.  I don't know that it is mundane, per se.  I think I just accomplished everything that needed to be done much earlier than I ever have before and perhaps that is why I am just so over it.

I had to conduct my own research for my capstone this semester and it had to be on something specific to South Bend and crime.  I did mine on burglary rates and clearances in SB.  My professor (who is also head of my department) said it needed to be as good a scholarly article, which made it far more daunting than it needed to be.  In the end it wasn't so bad.  I wrote 25 pages and feel really good about it.  This is my last semester with any CJ classes.  It's kind of sad.  Next semester I am finishing up my minor in Sociology.  I am seeking an internship with the JJC and am pretty stoked on it.  If all goes well, I may be able to obtain employment with them right out of school.

Winter break is quickly approaching and as always, I am excited for the break.  This will be my very last opportunity to actually have a break around Christmas time.  It bums me out that once I get a real job I can't just take multiple days off all willy nilly around the holiday.  Total boner killer.  It's realizations such as this that makes me want to just go to Grad School so I can fuck off a little longer with no job, spend more time with Molly, and come out with more opportunity for more money.  Regardless of any position that I get in my field, it's simply not a lucrative field.  So that kind of sucks.

Carrie and Vince had a memorial for Art on Sunday as his parents decided to have a very small, family only gathering for his funeral.  I saw faces that I haven't seen in 10 years and it was weird, awkward, but a bit nostalgic.  Arthur had a 'fiance' and she was there.  She is very young and I am sure that if Arthur were alive, he probably would have been mortified by her antics.  I went into the whole situation of meeting her negatively.  She had been posting from Art's fb page, which I already find completely distasteful, and her grammar and tact lacks greatly.  So, I was already put off by her.  Katy and I would talk about how crazy she is and I would just remind her that if Art were here he would just tell us to be nice to her.  He was super nice and rarely did he put anyone down.  I knew that he would simply just want us to be nice to her.  The memorial was only a few hours long and half way through I looked at Katy and asked if she thought we should introduce ourselves and give our condolences.  Katy nodded her head and we made our way up to Abbie.  Our conversation was bizarre.  She was oddly combative with me once she grasped that my name was Erin (she asked 3 times).  She asked if I was the girl whose name Art tattooed on his body.  She then asked if I had tattooed his name on my body (to which I quickly replied no).  She aggressively stated that Art talked about me 'all of the time' and I felt extremely uncomfortable.  We went back to our seat as soon as we could and I was pretty upset.  She said much MUCH more, but it's not worth blogging about.  She basically told me things that Art told her that were not true.  The basis to the stories that she told me were true, but everything else was not.  Art obviously had told her these things because she would not know them otherwise.  It just upset me that Art believed whatever it was that he told her.  It was nothing bad or negative, it was just different from what actually happened.  His perception of what took place may have magnified his love for me and perhaps that is why she was a bit aggressive and combative with me.  Given she is substantially younger than I (and obviously Art) I am sure she felt compelled to state her exact place in his life.  Regardless, I had not anticipated such an exchange and it knocked the wind out of my sail.  It was very strange.

Afterward, Annie and I drove past Art's old house on Franklin.  Of course we were nostalgic, so we drove to old Plinko.  It didn't take much to break in, but I don't think Annie thought that I would actually do it, so seeing the look on her face was pretty priceless.  I took many photos of the house, which I will post at a later date.  All of the wiring had been taken out.  The walls were gone.  There was about 1 or 2 feet of drywall, plaster, etc. thick on the floor throughout the entire house.  There were no counters or appliances - I don't even think I saw support beams (which I realize was super unsafe).  Bob (our old landlord) died about a year ago and he owned the house as it was paid off.  I am not entirely sure what they're doing with it, but it has been vacant since we moved out and I really think they're going to level it.  It's a shame, really.  With some work that house could be beautiful.  I always loved the layout and if I had the money, would totally revamp it.

There is something a little comforting in the fact that it will be torn down, however.  That place holds so many memories for so many people that I don't think any other person living there would be appropriate.  My life after that house basically crumbled.  Maybe the house should crumble too.  My life, much like the house after destruction, was rebuilt and made beautiful.  I imagine that is also what will happen to that corner once the mess is cleaned up.
Symbolic.  I can dig it.

 I'm typing without my glasses and while lounging on the couch.  The strain is a bit much.

Mr. Budders.

There are no words to describe the sadness and heaviness that weighs on my heart.  Buddy was the first  being that I loved unconditionally and selflessly.  He had the best life and was loved dearly.  I will never forget him and the tremendous amount of love he filled my heart with.  I wish nothing more but for him to be with Dominic playing ball and giving kisses relentlessly.  

03/21/2003-11/2013

I love you so.

THIS

I saw this one evening, months ago as I was trolling Pinterest (I love that damn website).
Anger.  So much fury.  I think about this fucking tee shirt more in one day than I probably should.  So much anger.

This confirms my general assumption that the majority of conservative right wing douchebags would rather cling to their ideological theology than FACTS and SCIENCE.  They would rather cling to their bibles and made up stories than critically, rationally, and logically THINKING (for themselves) about the world around them.

This statement implies that college exists merely to taint religious and capitalistic thinkers.  WHAT.

I have thought about blogging this for months - MONTHS, but knew I lacked the articulation to properly convey my FURY.

Even now I know that I am not serving it the justice that it deserves.

I fucking hate idiots.  I really, really do.

I cannot stop staring at this.

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/southbendtribune/obituary.aspx?n=arthur-costek-rose&pid=168079757

January 21, 2010 a blog about my last conversation with Art.

ood:  crushed

 Art called me today.  He doesn't sound well, at all.  Using?  Maybe.  He says he's "sick" and didn't offer up any information saying he had yet to tell his family.  He's been "sick" for a year.  I think he's using.  He says his meds are morphine and something along the line of oxycontin.

How do you know when a junkie is lying to you?  Their lips are moving.

Yea...

It is weird, however.  That what ignited this entire reunion is a bad dream that I had concerning him and his health.  This could be viewed as nothing spectacular since he's always had "health" issues.  But I've never dreamt of him before yesterday.  So why now?  This dream prompted the reunion and his voice on the phone sounded just as bad as it did 7 years ago.  When he was using.

He says he was clean for 2.5 years before getting sick.  And considering the medicine he's on, this broke his sobriety.

It's his excuse.  His way of reasoning.  His lies.

He's a lonely soul.  He always has been.  I just wish he could find it.  Find something.  Something to keep him sober.  I'm afraid his daughter hasn't even been able to do this.

This sucks.

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Jan. 20th, 2010

life is a learning process.

mood:  guilty

 I had a dream last night that Arthur Rose had brain cancer or something and was really sick.  I remember seeing his body lye there like it did when he overdosed on heroin 7 years ago.  In my dream I hugged him and he smelled just the same as I have remembered.

I woke up crying.

I really miss him.  I really miss a lot of, once important people, who just aren't around anymore.

I wrote him.  He wrote back.  It feels nice.  I never realized the friendship (relationship) I had brushed aside for a second chance at something that, ultimately failed.  I'm not so sure I should have sacrificed that.  Who knows.  What matters now is that I'm speaking to him for the first time in 7 years, SEVEN YEARS!  It's so fucking crazy.

There's only a handful of men that have loved me unconditionally in this lifetime.  He was one of them.  And I shut him out.

You live, you learn.  I guess....

Arthur Rose 11.9.13

Art Rose died in the early hours of November 9, 2013 in his sleep.  Three days have passed and I am still in disbelief.

I received a message from Carrie, his sister in law.  She said she had bad news and needed to talk to me and to call her immediately.  I knew before talking to her that he was gone.

My heart is sad.  But I feel like he is finally able to rest.  Finally able to be at peace.

I had never met anyone so tormented by their own thoughts, so uneasy in their own head.

He was one of the most genuinely nicest people I have ever known.  He struggled with addiction for all of the years that I had known him.  He could not find peace.

I remember the day that he overdosed in 2003.  I had made it to his house before the ambulance.  I was terrified.  I stood in his living room as they carried his limp, cold body out of the house.  I watched him as he laid on his bed in the emergency room.  He looked like he was dreaming.  I was so grateful that he survived.

I watched him sleep, what little he did, months after that.  I laid next to him, snuggled in his arms and bed.  He never felt at ease.  It was too much for me.  Whether I was too young, or just too strong to be with an addict that would not even let temporarily dying keep him from using - I could no longer be with him, day in and day out - watching him go through the torment of his own brain.

I cannot say that I am shocked that he died this way.  But it is apparent that I simply cannot wrap my brain around the fact that he is no longer on this earth.

I have not cried.  I don't know why.  I am angry with him.  I am saddened for him.  And I am so very sad that he left his daughter behind.  I cannot even imagine.

I just cannot believe this has happened.  I just can't believe it.

So many people loved him so much.  I loved him so much.  I just wish he could have loved himself half as much as we did.