BILLY GILMAN LYRICS

“What’s Forever For”

I’ve been looking at people
And how they change with the times
And lately all I’ve been seeing are people
Throwing love away and losing their minds

Or maybe it’s me that’s gone crazy
‘Cause I can’t understand why
All these lovers keep hurting each other
When good love is so hard to come by

So what’s the glory in living
Doesn’t anybody ever stay together anymore
And if love never lasts forever
Tell me what’s forever for

I’ve been listening to people
And they say love is the key
And it’s not my way to let them lead me astray
It’s only that I want to believe

But I see love-hungry people
Trying their best to survive
While in their hands is a dying romance
And they’re not even trying to keep it alive

So what’s the glory in living
Doesn’t anybody ever stay together anymore
And if love never lasts forever
Tell me what’s forever for

Rantzilla:

both the girls are sick, lung/sinus related crap.
I’m supposed to visit my grandmother today and tomorrow, yet I don’t want to drag them, nor expose everyone their to their shit.

as an added bonus, I got to lay awake most of the night, calming and cuddling, rocking and fetching for said sickies.  I got up at 6am and didn’t get a moment to myself until 10.  it’s fine, you know, just irritating.

here’s the real rant part.  I’m so pissed at the ex for tossing me away because he thought he did all the work and that I’m a crappy person.  know why?  because I’ve found that since I moved out, I have to do LESS than I ever did.  even though I have no income other than the grocery money, I’m LESS stressed out about finances than I was.  even though I’m still not “getting any,” I’m LESS frustrated about it than I was, and more satisfied with my relationship with Russell, my shower massager, than ever before.

I’m pissed that my kids are so stressed out by the divorce (as are all kids in the situation…goes with the territory) that they’re getting sick, and are extra needy.  not pissed because I have to deal with it, which I am entitled to be, but pissed because THE KIDS shouldn’t have to deal with this.  their dad SUCKS, though I don’t say it where they can hear it.  they deserve better treatment. so did I when my dad sucked.

yeah, we’ll get through it, of course we will, and ranting helps releave my stress.

fuck him not believing my grandmother is dying.  fuck him thinking I’m doing somebody weird who shouldn’t be around the kids (what the fuck?).  fuck him deciding when and how he can see the kids…bringing them back two days early because they’re bored, but then needing to see them when it’s NOT convenient for me.  of course I want them anytime I can have them, but their dad bringing them back early isn’t good for THEM.  fuck him saying I’ve CHANGED, like I changed into some bloodsucking fiend, rather than GREW like a normal human being.  fuck him being suspicious about the money I’m spending, or not spending as the case may be.  him trying to figure out how I’m putting one over on him.  and fuck knowing that the longer I go showing how I can live on nothing, the less he will be able to get away with giving me in the long run.

in fact, fuck him with a big splintery stick, dammit.

plah to bad husbands.  bad DELUSIONAL ex-husbands.

GURLEE (click that)

gives great rant!

shamelessly stolen from miss annie, but since she doesn’t  have a website, I’m not too guilt-ridden over it:

I’ve got so much I need to blurt (because let’s face it, that’s what I do) that I don’t know where to start… which is pretty much a thread running through everything right now.  I think I need to make a paper list and do one thing at a time, so as not to confuse myself.

visitation is weird.  on many levels, but here’s the pressing one:  the drop off slash pick up.
mr. pissy pants is acting like I am the one who is foisting this apon him.  like I’m trying to put one over on him.  honestly, without going up a whole ‘nother level of horrid, he couldn’t be any worse about the whole thing.

my grandmother is dying.  probably this week, possibly next.  SO, it is quite likely I will be unable to drive three hours to bring him the kids next weekend.  A.  because if she dies, the kids will need to go to the funeral.  and B.  because if she doesn’t, my mother needs to take her scheduled trip to slc to see my sister in Camille at the Pioneer Theatre, and I will need to be with gramma in case she dies.  can I just say DUH?  I said, I can come sunday and take them home monday (I’ll stay in a motel)…  he says he will probably need to work monday.  this is a man who works from home often, and has he never heard of vacation days?

so anyway, I tell him this, and he’s all kinds of woogly.  he tells me that I’m trying to put one over on him, that something’s not right here.  this is the same crazyass attitude he got when he saw the pizza delivery guy’s footprints in the snow and wanted to know who I was seeing because he didn’t want weirdos around his kids.

see now, he’s making a big mistake.  up until the point where he hits the big crazy, I am extremely helpful and accomodating.  why?  because I want things to go well for my children, and I want them to see us acting like kind and loving adults.  when he hits this point, however, I realize, what the fuck?  it’s not my job to make things easy for you, you big fucking baby.  you wanted a divorce, you got it.  you deal with it.

don’t come peddlin’ your crazy around here, mister, we’re full up.

this thing is holding my pictures hostage:

 
it’s my christmas present from my mother,
and quite lovely, really, but maddening.  just when I would think I had it licked, a new block would arise.  oh, and the old camera?  won’t turn on.  ack.  I took lovely pictures of my new abode.  I can see them.  I can move them to my pc, but  xanga won’t let me upload them as they are some bizarre suffix/not jpeg.  sigh.  lean close and I’ll hold them up to the screen.

speaking of cascading failures, I’d like to discuss my life, badumbumpchuh!  no, I mean my attempt to get back online.  it took me two weeks and A Series of Unfortunate Events (also known as a “cluster fuck”) to get my phone and internet hooked up.  three hours later, the snowplow took out the connection box.  oh yeah, high five.  I finally had to stop crying and laugh my ass off.

they know me by name at the local telephone company now.  literally.  I walked in to get a phone book and said, hi, is gina available?  my name is lara…  and she did a double take and said, lara blank??  oh yeah.

but it’s fine, really.  all kinds of shit has gone wrong, but it’s supposed to hurt then, isn’t it.  I guess maybe it doesn’t hurt so much anymore… not as much as it itches, and it does, horribly.