Is it wrong to be selfish?

Is it wrong to be selfish? I’ve been asking myself this question more and more as I get older. As far back as I can remember, I have been helping others. I used to help my Dad from the moment I could. When I was little, I helped with little things like turning on a faucet or helping him turn a page from the newspaper. As grew older, my responsibilities grew. I learned how to write a check when I was eight-years old. When I learned to drive, I took him where he wanted to go and eventually I also helped him in and out of bed. There are so many little things we take for granted and I was reminded of them day in and out.
As I grew older, my parents grew older as well and sometimes, as children, we forget about that. We think of our parents as young and strong like when we were kids, but time takes a toll.
Is it wrong to be selfish? I moved five hours away in 1994. I was away a total of four years before I had to return. In those four years, the only responsibility I had was to me, and calling home every weekend. I paid bills on my own had my own apartment and drove myself to work everyday. I really had to answer to no one but myself and I really miss that.
After having to come back home (that’s a different story) I moved back into my parent’s house and my responsibilities with my father resumed. Now my mother was a little older and I had to help with things that had become to hard for her.
After my dad passed, I had the responsibility of handling all the arrangements along with all the insurance papers, Doctor bills and help my mother pay off the house etc.etc.etc.
After that, my responsibilities were more intense. I had to work, be strong for my mother as she called at all hours of the night, hide my true feelings, and try not to go crazy in the end. Actually, I had a little help from a friend called Xanax, thanks to my Doctor.
Side bar: The day I finally went to the Doctor, I was in the waiting room about an hour, then when finally called, I waited in the exam room for what seemed another hour. As soon as the Doctor walked in and asked about my day, I started to cry. I had cracked and waiting was the straw that broke my back.
After two months of being responsible for my mother, my husband ended up In the hospital for what they though was appendicitis and ended up being something totally different and way more serious.
So now, I was dealing with my own loss, my mother’s loss, and my husband in surgery.
Is it wrong to be selfish?
Four years later, I now take care of my mother and eventually she will need to move in. I don’t have any children and even though I never really wanted them, I wonder what they would look like.
Is it wrong to be selfish? I want to be selfish. I want to not have responsibilities. I want to be able to pick up and go; go somewhere, anywhere, but here.

Is that wrong? Is it wrong not wanting to help anyone anymore but myself? Is it wrong to ignore her phone calls? Is it wrong for me to want more for myself?
Is it wrong to be selfish? I don’t think so. I have reclaimed myself and although it may seem harsh. It's something I have to do.

Everyone tries to fix the world at 4am

Someone said this one night and it really stuck. I like how those words sound together. 4am reminds me of the late-night-early breakfast conversations at the local IHOP. At 4am, people start talking to each other instead of yelling over loud music. They are less inhibited about speaking their minds and are open to conversation. Even if one person didn’t have a drink, there is less pressure since most people around are imbibed. Open conversations about life, the world, politics, religion, sex all the taboos you are not supposed to talk about come up at 4am.
Funny afterthought: One night a group of friends went to IHOP after a few hours of drinking; when our server came to take our order, one friend who was already dozing off, all of a sudden jumped up and yelled “Split Personality”!!
The item on the menu is called a Split Decision, what was he thinking?

DAD

April 21, 2004 I buried my father. We had a small viewing in San Antonio before his funeral at Ft. Sam Houston. It was a beautiful day surrounded by family and close friends. I'm grateful to the few that showed up for support. I was strong; I had to be, for myself and my mother.
I made this piece for my dad back in 1995 for Father's day and I just recently sealed the wire to protect it from corrosion. I have also placed it in a shadow box for safe keeping.
The sculpture reflects a few of the best memories I have as a child. I was Daddy's little girl and would love to ride around on his electric wheelchair. Even on my 15th birthday when people wondered how I would dance with my father, I did what I always had, I climbed up on his armrest and he rode around with the music. There was not a dry eye in the place.
That was my safest spot, my comfort zone. Whenever I needed him I was able to prop myself on his chair and rest my head on his shoulder. He would lay his chin on my head and I knew I would be okay. Sometimes, as I fall asleep, I can feel his chin on my head; I hug my pillow and smile.
As I mentioned, the piece does reference a few memories, but the actual memory this wire sculpture references is when my mother pulled my hair tightly into pigtails for the day. My Mother had a very strong character, even with her three-year old.
That night I wanted the pigtails out and for whatever reason, she refused to help me. I remember my head was sore and I was tired, I just wanted them off.
My Dad, always my hero, asked me to climb up and sit on his armrest, and with his mouth helped me take down my hair.
This happened more than once and more than once would he get hit on the face with the elastic as helped me take my hair down.
That little gesture by a man who could not use his hands, will always be engraved in my heart.

Four Years

Four Years
By Monica Nichol-Delgado

Four years ago I yelled and cried until my eyes were red and swollen
I cried for hours and days and weeks
I cried and cried for months.
I cried myself to sleep every night
And would wake up to cry some more
I thought about that day and tears would well
I would look at pictures and lose control
I would think of random moments and all composure would disappear.

As years past on I was lost
Lost with fear
Fear of you not being there
Not there for you to listen
Not there to give advice
Not there to comfort me
Not there to be my Dad

Daddy's little girl
That I'll always be
And I'm happy
And I'm grateful
It didn't take long for me to see
That you're always there for me.
In my thoughts
In my dreams
In my heart always you'll be.

Four years later
Time has passed
Four years later
Time has changed
Four years later
I have changed
My view
My life
Alive I feel, no longer numb
Alive to breathe, create, and love.

-I love and miss you Dad

Do I sing?

I’m intriguied to discover how many of my long-time freinds have actually heard me sing. (thanks for the compliments, they made feel warm and fuzzy).
Nowadays the only time I sing is in the shower, while driving or when noone is home.
I think the last time I joined someone for a song in public was like eight years ago.
Maybe like all of my artsy attributes, I feel the need to practice. When it comes to things like drawing or painting, I need to practice. I’m in no way like some people who seem to be born with the talent. When it comes to singing, I also feel the need to practice, I can’t just belt it out. Going back to my issues with trust, well I need people to be supportive. I would hate to give my all and have some laugh, that would be horrible.
Needless to say, since this year has been fantastic, I have been thinking about facing this fear I developed. Don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line, I stopped. So again I say it really is interesting to me when I run into people I haven’t seen in YEARS and the second question that is asked is if I still sing.
Thanks to all who remember my voice, your words are encouraging.

"I’ve got a right to be wrong
Got to sing my own song
I might be singing out of key
But it sure feels good to me"
---Joss Stone (Right to be wrong)

Leather bar drag show

We walked into the bar for the night rather early as my freind the queen had to make some finishing touches on her look. As we walked by the stage area, we noticed a different type of show going on. A demonstration on mummification. A man had been bonded down to a table with nothing but plastic wrap. His arms laid on top of his thighs under the layers of plastic. His face in a latex mask, his eyes covered with a blindfold and the mummificator speaking about the process a body goes through to prepare for such a task. The only exposed area to air were his feet. The man in control explains that the most important thing between two people doing this is communication. Listening to one another and responding. Trust is the biggest factor; it has to be, I mean seeing this guy stapped down without the ability to move at all gave me a sense of claustrophobia.Having the sense of being stuck without being able to move or see what was going on around you would definitely mess with my mind, but then again I know I have trust issues.
The mummy had been strapped down for almost two hours before the man in control slowly started to cut him out of the sweaty plastic mess. You could see his body expand as the layers of plastic were being cut.
Ahhh relief, the body must feel good to breathe again.
Favorite quote on my Saturday night..."She likes anybody who is heavier than her".