A Pamajama Primer

 

I am Pam.  I’m 49 but sometimes act 10 or 16 or 25.  I grew up in Illinois and as soon as possible moved away.  Of course, wherever you go, you take yourself along.  And that has been a problem.  When my 44 year old brother died over a year ago I realized I left a lot behind.

I spent time in Oregon, San Francisco (because it’s its’ own state, the best ever) and North Carolina.

For 23 years now I’ve lived in New Jersey, 900 miles from my mother, the minimum distance allowed. 

We moved here so my son would grow up with extended family nearby.  His father died when he was just a year and two days old.  Both my son’s father and my father were 33 when they died, just like Chris Farley & Jesus Christ.  A hidden message, perhaps? 

The funny part: last fall my son moved to San Diego, California.  Adult parenting is a questionable endeavor at best.

I’m a prior probation officer, mall Easter bunny, legal secretary, word processor, waitress, and once sold frozen meat from the back of a pick-up truck (I just drove around in circles).  For 12 years I’ve been a  stay at home mom.  Clearly, I wasn’t so good at long-term employment.  I hope I’m a better mother, but sometimes I wonder about that, too. 

My favorite job was in San Francisco, working for an appellate death penalty attorney, sitting in as an assistant at hearings and visiting San Quentin.  Where could there possibly be a better place to pick up admirers?  My favorite prisoner lost his mind, began licking the toilet bowl and eventually committed suicide.  Just last week I discovered that the boy I was an advocate for is now in prison for murder.  There seems to be a recurring theme.

I was a criminal justice major because it was the easiest.  And since I had dated criminals since the age of 14 it felt like a good match.  Now that I’m married to a cop I am forced to behave, and that’s usually a good thing, except when I want to dig my eyeballs out with a pickle fork to relieve the monotony.  He had three ferrets before he met me and I kind of think I intrigued him in the same way — a weird & interesting pet. 

I always wanted to be a hippie but never quite pulled it off, as evidenced by the fact that I’m married to Ray (Viet Nam vet).  There was a time when I thought I was a peace-loving innocent who would never kill another human, but that was before having children.  I’m talking within an hour’s time after giving birth I became a homicidal maniac.

I’m a diabetic, sugar addict, sometimes schizo, dysfunctional family of origin member.  In the recent past I’ve lost approximately 68 pounds.  I love laughter, am rarely serious, and sometimes have a big mouth. 

Unfortunately, the times when I speak up are rarely the times when I should. I have a tremendous dislike of conflict, a result of what I think is PTSD obtained while living with my screaming mimi of a mother.  I must add that since beginning this blog I’ve gotten better.  It might just be a result of the aging process, I don’t know.

I’ve been known to trampoline in the nude.  I am a people pleaser, a past member of every possible political party other than communist.  I am a writer, a reader & a TV addict.  Reality TV is my thing and it fits in with my desire to peek into other people’s lives and find out how they compare to my own.  Sometimes I think I’ve never felt like I fit in anywhere and I’m looking for my tribe.  I haven’t found it yet.

I’m a terrible cook but love to eat.  Astrology (Gemini with a Pisces Rising and Cancer Moon) is my favorite science.  I adore my son Bobby, a recent college graduate (24) now with his master’s and my daughter Rachel (12) who’s (it’s a long story) homeschooled. It does not jive that I am an occasionally angry lunatic.

I am step-mother to two adult sons, Jon (36) & Jason (32), a baby fanatic and nearly 5-year veteran breastfeeder.  I am obsessed with knowing what other people are thinking & how they tick.  From an early age it was my desire to be a mind-reader.  I also wanted to be able to fly of my own accord and clean my house by wiggling my nose.  Neither of those happened either.  The Jetson’s still has me feeling cheated and waiting for my jet-pack.

I keep secrets in my real life because I am afraid of exposing the craziness & fear the results of confrontation.  It keeps me distant and makes me sad.  One day, when I grow up, I will be totally honest and say “Fuck It!”  Because if people love you, but you’re pretending to be someone else, you’re both cheated out of the chance of knowing if it could have been real.

This is my beginning . . .