Last week of Training for a while

My toe absolutely refuses to heal. After the tournament this Saturday I'm going to take a month off from martial training and cardio work that places stress on my toes. I still plan on doing crossfit, bodyflow (mix of yoga and pilates), and swimming. But convincing myself to make this switch is tremendously difficult. It takes a vast amount of discipline to make myself STOP training. I have a twirling candycane of two personality traits: an obsessive personality and a competitive drive. There is a part of me that's afraid if I stop I will never be able to do martial arts again, which is totally nonsensical, and as my training really forms the cornerstone of my therapy I...guess I'm a little afraid of the unknown.

The Babykicker in Rare Form

You won't believe what the babykicker has done this time.

The phone rings. My mother answers it, doesn't recognize the voice, tells the babykicker it's a "friend." Two minutes later babykicker is yelling at my mother. Over what? Well, turns out the voice was her bf--the one that's physically assaulted her THREE times--he apparently got pissy on the phone and did his usual spiel accusing my sister of seeing other guys, so obviously it's mom's fault!? My sister is a lasagna of stupid: she manages not only to display grandiose illogic and incompetence; she has the audacity to yell at mom, blaming her for what the nutjob boyfriend might do, completely ignoring that mom lets her dumbass stay there out of the kindness of her heart.

I am disgusted to say the least. It's pretty bad when a trauma victim can't sympathize with an abuse victim, because the latter is a horrible cunt. I've been so disgusted with her I wanted to say "I've wanted to kick you in the head for the last 6 months, but then I realized if I waited long enough your boyfriend would do it for me" But I fear the situation would devolve into violence from there.

Gettin' Ready

There is a tournament this weekend. It will be my third, and my first since october. My conditioning is better, my throws are better, hell even my grapple strength is better. Looking to score my first big victory.

last night was a rain of little victories

1. Remembered that japanese lunge pin: tapped out a newbie.
2. Drilled a kimora variation during practice, applied this during roll time as someone passed my guard.
3. Got the choke out (we did start from the back though)
4. Escaped the choke out (ditto)
5. Triangle defense IS improving.
6. One of the large guys noted I'm getting stronger (Despite kicking my ass)

babykickers r us

My sister was attacked by her boyfriend again, that's number three if you're keeping score. In the history of time, I can't imagine a less sympathetic assault victim.

She called my mother at 3:30 on a saturday morning, asking her to call 911 because her boyfriend was driving around with her pot. Huh???? As usual I'm short on details, but at some point he threw her against a wall. My mother went to their apartment and the cops were there, called by the neighbors. My father freaked out, upset that mom didn't take him. (he would have been a liability in the situation) . Of course, she ends up back here.

Sister was up till around 6 am yammering on the phone LOUDLY, with her boyfriend. I'm already finding it hard not to kick her in the head.

Random Sleepiness

I'm tired for no apparent reason. I woke up a little after 11 am. What gives?

Happy Anniversary

It has been over a year, our anniversary was April 28, and the police have found nothing. Boys in blue are taciturn, slow, not at all like their Hollywood counterparts who are LOUD even in their quietest moments. I keep waiting. I keep waiting. I keep waiting. Everyday I look at that at my cell hoping that today is the day I get the good news. "We found them...we found them" It doesn't come, this pains me. Two idiots drunk on their own ego, convinced they are hardcore, that their terrorism is the path to self-aggrandizement are still out their. It burns me to think they silenced us, that they pulled a Rolo Tomasi, while we don't even have the satisfaction of looking them in the eyes. "Fuck you. We told. I called the cops the moment I thought you were gone. I saw a forensic sketch artist. I've done line-ups."
One of them raped my girlfriend. He made her suck his limp cock in different rooms. He made her suck as I was inches from them, with a gun to my head. He asked, he dared to ask me, as she was on her knees if she was my "old lady." Someone who'd do that would do it again. He already has I'm sure of it. If he hasn't been caught for that one he'll just keep going. Where do trash like that live? How do they live? Are they messy? clean? They certainly weren't messy enough for the police to find any useful evidence. What will tip the scales of fate? What stupid mistake must they make for the case to crack?
These are the kind of twits to die in a fire fight, to get stabbed. I don't want them dead; I need them alive. I need them eye to eye. I need them in front of a judge. I want them put away.

But even then I don't get justice. Prison has become an excuse. A place for the system and its components to exercise gleeful sadism. They will never learn a lesson. Without that they cannot understand the suffering they cause, and they will not suffer on their own.