Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in cheynegel's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009
11:22 pm	Random stream of conscience. Or something. I've come to the conclusion that I've been a horrible big sister. The years I've been out of contact, my brothers have gotten heavy into drugs and alcohol and my sister's gone and moved to Oklahoma. Now, I know in my head, that nothing I could say from way over here on this godforsaken sandbar would have done anything, but my heart tells me different. My heart says that maybe the boys wouldn't have drugged up so hard. My heart says they'd have thought twice some of the time. It says that sissy would've thought out her plans more thoroughly. My head tells my heart "Why worry about something that's already happened? Figure out how to help them recover." I think sister is happy down where she is, but it doesn't make me worry less. My brothers though, I worry about them. The older one, still my younger brother, is a cultural teacher on the reservation's tribal school. During the school year, he can keep it together pretty well. The summers, not so much. He was arrested for a DUI this past weekend, and the DA cut a deal with him. On Monday, he'll be pleading guilty to a 4th degree charge. Not as bad as it could have been. But it still concerns me. I don't think anything I could say, if I were present, could do anything. I've told them both, that when I move back, I don't want my kids to see them drunk, or under the influence. That it won't be allowed in my home. That still stands. I sometimes wonder if that alone might have affected things. Maybe if there were a stable place for sobriety, they'd have an alternative to the lifestyle they chose. Not all places of sobriety are made the same. Sometimes, they're just a dry drunk's paradise. Same lifestyle, just without the booze or drugs. Maybe a little cleaner. Maybe a little more respectable. But still, one of the bastions of sobriety, produced two of the worst users of my generation. In my opinion anyway. Those two, are my older cousins. In tribal reckoning, they're considered my brothers, because of the way our language works, and the way our family system works. Trust me, it works. I love them, they're my brothers, but goddamn it, if I saw them right now, I would beat the ever living shit ouf ot them. They're supposed to be our examples, because they're the oldest. So am I, but I've gone and hidden myself. Maybe I don't have an argument because of that. It'd probably get thrown in my face, if I pressed it. But I've got an answer for that too. I wanted to get away from that kind of behavior. For myself, and for my little family. Little family, being myself, my husband, and my children. There's a distinction. Mostly because I hate the term "nuclear family", it sounds so idiotic. The oldest is supposed to be getting sober, but I don't think so. His younger brother's too deep in it. They'd both have to get sober at the same time, in different facilities, and then just stay the fuck away from each other for a good long time for it to take. The younger always talks the older into doing stupid shit. Alone, they both have good hearts. Together though, they're wicked. It hurts to think that about my brothers. I've always looked up to them. It really hurts. But right now, that hurt is insulated by anger. My two baby brothers are hurting something fierce. Those two boys, both physically bigger than me, are still my baby brothers, damnit. I want the beat the everliving shit out of something to make them stop hurting. And I can't. Current Mood: discontent (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 29th, 2009
9:27 pm	This is sewious! Aedan's feed ended at about 2:30am, and the alarm sounded. We woke, and he partially woke, but only enough to sing "This is sewious!". Then he went back to sleep. (Comment on this)
Monday, March 30th, 2009
11:54 am	Dream Sequence I have weird dreams:  A dark figure sat at the bar, eating tonight’s special. She dressed in a dark leather overcoat, a traveler’s heavy leather satchel by her side. She looked unarmed, but you never can tell with travelers. The barman paid her little to no mind, only pausing to check on her drink when he’d pass by. The bar was riling up for a brawl. Jones, the town tough walked through the door. He scoped the room, looking for likely targets. He ignored the newcomer for some reason. Maybe she looked too dangerous, even for him. Instead, he sauntered to one of the local guildsman, a journeyman spellweaver. The barroom bristled with dark energy. The townfolk felt the crest from the fight coming. Jones basked in the fear and anger, radiating from the room. He leered at the spellweaver and taunted him. The spellweaver tried shrugging it off, but the dark energy was too much for him, and he caved at the subsequent taunts from Jones. He lashed out with a pitiful burst of energy, catching Jones in the shoulder. The first blow thrown, Jones grinned and returned fire. The murmuring of the crowd grew. The diners on the second floor peered over the balcony, and some crept down the stairs to watch in morbid curiosity. The spellweaver’s dining companions leaped over the table to come to his aid. Jones chuckled in amusement and defended himself, almost admirably. The crowd grew darker with the promise of blood. The lights almost seemed to dim. The barman faded into the kitchen. The townfolk jostled and shoved each other, in effort to see the main event, with Jones and the spellweavers. The upstairs clientele seemed to fade back, as the serving girls led them to the backroom exits. No unnecessary injuries were needed from the upper classes. Let the lower class drones and workman get their aggressions out on each other. The constables would be on their way soon enough. The lower nobles would be bragging about the brawl they witnessed in their clubs and ballrooms this week. Through it all, the figure at the bar continued to eat, untouched by the almost-rabid nature of the crowd. Around her, the air had turned dangerous. She drank from whatever she’d ordered, and turned to look at the spectacle. “What a disgrace,” her thoughts echoed into the chaos of the room, touching every lucid mind. Most were too far gone in blood thirst to hear. Those that had, shook themselves as if waking from a dream, and stepped back, aghast at the proceedings. They glanced around, and recognizing their own lucidity, took their leaves and left the establishment. The rabble slightly dispersed, she turned back to finish her meal. With those with more reserved natures gone, the brawl grew wilder. The figure sighed, pushed her meal away, took one last drink and stood. “Enough!” she bellowed. The crowd paused for a moment, collectively glanced her way, and returned to its madness. The spellweavers and Jones, up until now, avoiding outright spellcraft, somehow silently agreed that enough was enough, and both parties began gathering their wills. The crowd crowed triumphantly. At last, a show! The figure quietly unbuttoned her great overcoat, and opened the front, exposing a lithe figure, clad in matching dark leathers, a fine silken shirt and most importantly, the hilt of a sword. “I said, enough!” she yelled. The crowd ignored her this time, its own terrible voice louder than hers. Her eyes glinted silver for a split-second, and then drew her sword. She flicked the blade, and a dim red glow spread across the blade. She brought it to her left, over her coat. She murmured a quiet word to the sword, and brought it in a great arc towards the brawl. She spun with the swing, her coat twirling around her. A blinding flash of light sped across the room, echoing the arc of the sword swing. It happened in an instant, the light transforming the fringes first, moving quickly towards the center of the chaos. She sheathed her sword and began buttoning her coat as the people came to their senses, one by one. They came to, and then realized something was different, something was wrong. The candle lights had dimmed after the traveler stood. She still stood, unmoving, almost unblinking. She said nothing, and after a moment, the people began to gather their things. The spellweavers and Jones stood in place, stunned still from whatever the traveler had unleashed. The barman and his waitresses, hearing the silence, began trickling out of the back rooms. It was the spellweavers that noticed first. Due to their occupation, they were most sensitive to the nature of magic; Then Jones, due to his natural affinity with it. The stunning effect wore off, just as the constables arrived. Jones, verbalizing what the others realized, gave a hoarse scream, “The magic is gone!” and sunk to his knees, covered his face with his hands and sobbed. The traveler turned to the barman slightly tilted her head and said simply, “Check please.” (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 16th, 2007
7:33 pm	omg An entry. Made purely so the thing would quit nagging me.  (6 Comments |Comment on this)