Celia Foster has such a cool profile!

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Fear of my mother.

Something that I've never been able to put my finger on happened between my mother and me in my teen years. I want to feel close to her, but I don't. Not that I haven't tried. I just can't explain things in the right way to her. I do love her, but much more than that, I have a deep fear of her. Why? I'll try and explain.

I get the feeling I really don't have her full acceptance of who I am. I'm not very decisive and I can take a while to do things. Everything I do or don't do depends on how I feel. I'm sensitive. If I don't feel like doing something right away, I won't. People mistake this for laziness. I beg to differ. It's called depression and it's also called I have a disability which makes it difficult to get things done.

Mom wants me to more than anything go back to college. I do too, but I'm being realistic about it. I want to go at my own pace and figure out how to pay my own way. That way, I owe no one money. Especially not mom. If I somehow failed a course or courses, she'd ask me to pay every cent back and be very disappointed in me and make darn sure I knew it. I don't need her money anyway.

I learned to know that when she called me, either it meant that someone died or I messed up money-wise. In the 3 years I lived in Corpus Christi, I became addicted to ebay and I often overspent what was in my bank account. It was a terrible compulsion. Mom would call to inform me and then tell me how disappointed she was in me, that what I was doing was illegal, etc. I felt horrible. I deserved it. She would bail me out everytime, something I never deserved nor asked for.

Well, all that changed in me when I met Ryan. At last, I had every reason to clean up and save money and I have. What I didn't know would happen was that I was still linked to the old Wellsfargo account and that Paypal would withdraw funds from that old account. It did, and I felt like the foolish girl I was in Corpus Christi a few years back because mom called. I owed her money again which I've paid her back. It's humiliating. She already sees me as irresponsible. I never intended to spend from that account. And so much slipped out of my mouth I wish I never said that night. I don't hate you mom, I'm just afraid of your judgement. Deathly afraid of it. I know I shouldn't care about it.

I long so much for the day when I can go with Mom to M.D. Anderson. Every family member has gone with her except for me. I want to go because I love her and support her and want her so much to be cancer free. Someday, I'll finally be allowed to go and I won't burden anyone by going.

Mom, I don't want to fear you anymore. I just want to love you. Someone please tell me I'm not crazy.

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6 random things about me...

My friend Amanda K. W. posted 6 "Random Things" about her in a blog post game. I decided to play, too, so here goes.

6 random things about me

1. As a child, before the age of 5 to the age of about 7, I knew exactly how to prepare a baked potato and would fix them for my parents and sister often. I stopped because I burned my hand badly and have completely forgotten how to fix them since.

2. I started to design and maintain websites at 15 when I had the whole 1997 Summer to kill. Only 2 of the 4 websites I started still exist.

3. I met my current boyfriend, Ryan, on one of the sites I helped start. He is the longest and best relationship I've ever had.

4. As a child, I had selective mutism, a rare anxiety disorder that would cause me to freeze up in school when a teacher called on me.

5. I have metal hooks all along my spine because of a spinal fusion surgery that was complicated. I nearly bled to death.

6. I have one of the largest collections of Heather O'Rourke, Judith Barsi, and Return to Oz (1985 movie) items that I've been collecting since 16 because I started sites on each of subjects.

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Old friends found again.

I owe the social networking site Facebook major kudos for allowing me to get back in touch with two of my favorite elementary school friends, Amanda K. W. and Dustin Tramel. Amanda is in graduate school as a scientist. Since I also live in Florida now, I will seize a chance sometime soon to see her again. I fondly remember her mom, her house, her brother and the playground games we made up. She was my best friend for 2 main reasons: 1. She took me as I was and liked me for me, 2. She was so wicked SMART for only 7 years old! In a lot of ways, even though I adored her and was ecstatic she was my best friend, I was jealous of her quick intelligence--especially in math, my worst subject. I kept that a secret, of course. I would always be fond of her and never dislike her for this. It made me wish I could be so much more. I wanted so desperately to do well in all subjects in school, but that was never to be. It wasn't that I was lazy even though teachers and students thought I was. It was just that school took so much effort and life out of me to the point of breakdown and exhaustion which happened several times in my academic career. It's not that I'm not smart enough. It's just that the pace of school is grueling for me.

I found Dustin last night. I wasn't too sure if it was he, but I took a shot. And, boom, suddenly, there he was. He remembered the dance contest at my birthday party in 1989 when I turned 7. Dustin's desk was very close to mine in Mrs. Wallace's first grade class. I thought he was so cute. I had a tremendous crush on him because he was very smart and quick. He was always among the first to be done with his work and on to that SRA kit because there was nothing left for him to do that day. I loved to talk to him whenever I got the chance (seriously, a child doesn't get the chance to talk to others they like in the first grade--90% of the time, it's NO TALKING). I even got a yellow light (pretty bad) from Mrs. Wallace one week for talking. I was normally a very shy 6 year old and never wanted to cause any trouble in class. But, that day, Mrs. Wallace had told us, her class, that we would be watching the movie "Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory" (1973), and that excited me beyond normal volume because I had seen it many times before and loved it. Dustin was sitting very close to me, so I had to talk to him about it. I did--too much. Mrs. Wallace shouted me down with "Miss Celia--BE QUIET!" and that was mortifying so I rarely talked that much again. But I had done it for Dustin because I liked him so very much. Was it worth that yellow? OH, YEAH!!! I'd probably do it again. It's rare you get your crush to talk to you like that--when they're just being themselves.

Dustin now lives in Oregon, has a wife, Katie, and two little girls. What a rush! I'm delighted for him! He's lived in several different places doing what appears to be mission work. He seems happy. I knew he could be anything he wanted to be with that mind of his, and he chose to help people with it. Sweet Dustin of the past certainly stayed sweet Dustin through the present.

And I, while I am not married and do not have children, will not say my life adventures have been any less than Amanda's or Dustin's. I have a beautiful boyfriend and sweet friends in Monica, Lisa, and Betty. Most importantly, I have a stable life now. That is all I could ever ask for.

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"Leave her alone!"

Heaven sent, poltergeist, heather orourke, god, mgm, mary parent, harry sloan, cale boyter

Late Child Star Heather O'Rourke Writes Outraged Memo to God Upon Learning of 'Poltergeist' Remake

(Defamer
today obtained this memo currently making the rounds in Heaven's Third
District, Cloud Unit G — better known as "Sesame Heaven," or the Late
Child Stars Dept. Reliable afterlife sources have confirmed its
authenticity; we pass it along to you without further comment.)

Dear God,

Hi, God, it's me, Heather O'Rourke — the little girl from Poltergeist.
How's tricks? I know how busy you must be dealing with the whole Isaac
Hayes thing right now (my vote: let him in!), but when you get a
second, I was hoping I might ask you for just one tiny little favor. It
would really mean a lot, and I've been really good all these years and
haven't requested anything except for that pony, but that was, like, 20
years ago when I first got here, and you never got back to me. No
probs, though, God — I'm kinda glad it didn't work out, because now I
need you to do me a much more important solid: Can you please smite the
people responsible for this planned remake of Poltergeist?

I
don't quite know how these things work; Brad Renfro told me you helped
out with his dealer not too long ago, and that depending on my
grievance I could get some "real fucking payback" (his words not mine,
LOL). And I think I've got a pretty strong case. I'm sure you've heard
about all these movies MGM is recycling — Red Dawn, RoboCop,
etc. — which is all pretty tacky, if you ask me. Like, really, God,
aren't there any new ideas? Then I heard this morning that they hired
some writers to remake my movie Poltergeist. I couldn't believe
it! We had such a good thing going back in 1982, and now they're just
gonna go and unimaginatively squeeze another few dollars out of the
property. I'm practically spinning in my grave!

Now listen, God: I have always minded my manners and been nice to
everyone, as per Your dictates. But this really ticks me off, and if
everyone else down on Earth gets to bomb, rape and kill each other with
impunity, I don't see why I can't just this once ask you to strike
someone with lightning or cast them opposite Billy Bob Thornton or at least scare some honest-to-You sense into them. Have you seen Poltergeist,
God? I mean, I know you probably anticipated a lot of the twists, but
didn't we do a good job overall — good enough to be left alone, anyway?
It's not like we made Short Circuit (another forthcoming remake, but that's not my problem) or anything.

And frankly, God, You've already made enough trouble with the whole
curse that brought me and my on-screen sister Dominique Dunne here
prematurely. I think teaching these heathens a lesson would be a
healthy first step in rehabilitating Your image among us.

Anyway, the people at MGM are named Harry Sloan, Mary Parent and
Cale Boyter. The writers' names are Stiles White and Juliet Snowden,
but I guess technically it's not their fault that this is happening, so
please go easy on them — maybe an extended power outage, or an erased
hard drive if they dare to revive my signature line, "They're heeeeeere."
I trust You to determine the punishment for the studio people, though,
especially with those other perversions they've wreaked of late. In
fact, if You could get Tom Cruise himself to kill this project, I promise to clean my room and make my bed and eat my vegetables as long as I... well, You know.

So how about it, God? I'm really a sweet girl, but isn't enough enough? Let me know...

xo,

Heather

PS Leroi Moore, God? Really? That's just mean.

-------------

I don't get this. Why did anyone have to write as if they were Heather? No one can speak for her anymore even if they were trying to be witty, humorous, and had the best intentions. Poltergeist will in all likelyhood, as cheap as Hollywood is, be remade. But leave what may or may not be Heather's opinion on this matter out of it. She couldn't do anything about it even if she was alive today. I wish people would stop speaking for the dead like this. It's not funny. Heather would never wish harm on anyone.

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Reflections on Yesterday Today

What beautiful friends I have. They love me and they don't have to. Friends are chosen, never made. I felt so wonderful yesterday. I was here. I am here. Aware or not, I take everything and everyone with me. All of this all.

Yesterday comes to me in flashes and sound. And in emotions. In tactile brushes. I am aware. I am curious.

I see his expressive eyes. I see him want to taste the world. And he does. I see him moving. I see him fuss. I feel him explore. I am a child again.

I see her. She is graceful. I see her smile. I see her think. I feel her direction. She knows. She commands. She is care.

I see them, I see twins. One compass. And many children. I laugh. I grin. I jest. I laugh until I can barely speak. I can not this time. I will wait. Words will find me.

I hope. They may too.

I hold them. All of them. I will remember. They will too.

Eddie

Some days, I wish I didn't have a memory like mine. But then, I wouldn't have known the great times, either. He was always so ill. Just bones. Lanky. And quite nervous. But our conversations were priceless. And he gave great advice.

Eddie wanted so much to get out and move away from there. I promised him I'd visit. He did get out. But I can't visit him where he is just yet. Time knows I will.

I love him. He loves me, too. He's a sweet big brother.

Illness is a horrible creature.

He kept inviting me to his room. Something always kept me from going, but I wanted to. I like to imagine what it looks like. There are many colors inside. And no wall scrapes. And no one he doesn't want coming in. There's lots of music playing, too. His favorite trance rhythms.

I wish I was less intimidated that night. Because of him, I know to keep in touch by staying on the line and getting back on it. Smart man. Very clever. And thank you, Elva. I love you always for what you did. Eddie thanks you for it too.

Thank you, Grace. You are a good mom. Eddie loves you even when grumpy. He knew you deserved such a beautiful name. I miss you.

I forgive you, Eddie. I know you have forgiven me as well. I long for your hellos, so I hear them often.

I'm glad to still know you.

Isn't it wonderful now that when we communicate, we don't have to wait 15 phone rings? (smiles fully)

Sooner than later, big brother Eddie. (heart)