* We’re eager to live in a dumpy trailer that sits on a postage stamp yard because it‘s in the school district. If need be we will beg them to let us. PLEASE!! Please let me figure out how to fit our all our stupid stuff in this matchbox! Please allow me to stir a pot on the stove while sitting on the living room couch! We don’t’ even LIKE having dressers! REALLY!! S E R I O U S L Y …. We went to look at it today…it’s not something you can really prepare yourself for, you wander around your big giant house rounding up your children and then drive to the middle of nowhere (you thought we were already there didn’t ya?) and then form a conga line to fit through the shithole. It was like really bad sex… we’re all doing our damnedest to ooh and ahhh hoping the poor enthusiastic woman would just fucking finish already ’cause the more we saw the worse we felt. Sweet jeebus. And the silence on the way home was deafening. Finally Daughter pipes up with “Well we can’t live there!” and hearty laughter. Oh my darling spoiled child we sure can.
*I had or have a wart. The wart was spotted a couple weeks ago by a discerning individual. Gawd knows how long it’s been on my finger - long enough that I thought it was just part of my finger. I let it go a couple weeks because I was afeared of the cure. But the entire concept disgusts me and I couldn’t deal with the usual get rid of a wart options. Finally I let Tim burn the fucker off on Friday night. On the way down to the basement where he was heating his soldering iron I was tough but then when he tested the temp on his own arm I saw smoke go up and smelled the burning flesh. I got the chickens and he had to bully me a little before I draped my arm across his tool bench and let him get to work. He wrapped his hand around my wrist to keep me from jerking away (I didn’t- jerk) and burned a giant hole in my finger. Well. It was a blister. Then that fell off and now it’s a giant hole. And at the bottom of the hole I’m pretty sure there’s a wart giving me the wart finger. Might take me a week or so to get the nerve up to let him do it again.
* I forgot to smoke or drink dew for about six hours the other day. Just got up in the morning and was busy and didn't smoke. and when I'm not smoking I'm not drinking dew. Then I found myself prone on the floor seeing faces in the texture on the ceiling and realized death was likely near. I managed to crawl out on the porch and smoke and then poured a two liter down my throat. I'm fine now but lordy. close call!
August 30, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Overheard in the Pub
* “You can’t tell but I’m in trouble right now.” a nod toward cigarette in hand “Soon as I get home, I’m gonna git it.” *grin*
* “The only problem with sex with women is that it’s all foreplay. At some point you want to get fucked”
* “They’re not for me (two boxes of condoms) my daughter turned fifteen today.”
* “I hope the people that are not trying are getting just as screwed over as those of us who are trying.”
* “Quit eating your goats, George! They take care of your lawn, don‘t they? Quit eating your animals!”
* “Luke! We have met you four times now! I hope you’re drunk and not stupid because you have zero retention!” … “Oh. Well I wasn’t listening. I just want to make friendly conversation……what’s your name again?”
* “The world would be an entirely different place if conception required an orgasm from both parties.” <-- that was me :)
August 28, 2009
* “The only problem with sex with women is that it’s all foreplay. At some point you want to get fucked”
* “They’re not for me (two boxes of condoms) my daughter turned fifteen today.”
* “I hope the people that are not trying are getting just as screwed over as those of us who are trying.”
* “Quit eating your goats, George! They take care of your lawn, don‘t they? Quit eating your animals!”
* “Luke! We have met you four times now! I hope you’re drunk and not stupid because you have zero retention!” … “Oh. Well I wasn’t listening. I just want to make friendly conversation……what’s your name again?”
* “The world would be an entirely different place if conception required an orgasm from both parties.” <-- that was me :)
August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Holding Still and Waiting
All the arm flapping and sarcasm and angst and running in place amounts to the same thing.The holding still and waiting is mine and I don’t want to give it up. The thick rusty metal of it circles me and I can hide behind it’s messy orange meanness.
Just exactly enough chicken wire to twist and mangle and pretend it‘s not cowardice, pretend it’s romantic. Just exactly broken enough to draw others in and keep them from holding on.
I know how to make it hurt. I need it to hurt to remind me it’s there. I know how to make it numb. I need it to be numb so I can forget I'm still here. I can be patient and understanding and I can stomp my feet and holler all day and it’s the same waiting.
And I don’t know how to stop. Like a tree chained back and now dependent on the thing cutting it’s bark. I can look at it and see it’s linked cyclical insanity. I can KNOW what I have to do to free myself from it and it matters not one bit.
I won’t give it up because what’s under it is so much worse. What’s under it is all up to me. What’s under it might not stand alone. What’s under it will still want you.
And all of it, all of it is just a big giant it’s not fair tantrum.
August 27, 2009
Just exactly enough chicken wire to twist and mangle and pretend it‘s not cowardice, pretend it’s romantic. Just exactly broken enough to draw others in and keep them from holding on.
I know how to make it hurt. I need it to hurt to remind me it’s there. I know how to make it numb. I need it to be numb so I can forget I'm still here. I can be patient and understanding and I can stomp my feet and holler all day and it’s the same waiting.
And I don’t know how to stop. Like a tree chained back and now dependent on the thing cutting it’s bark. I can look at it and see it’s linked cyclical insanity. I can KNOW what I have to do to free myself from it and it matters not one bit.
I won’t give it up because what’s under it is so much worse. What’s under it is all up to me. What’s under it might not stand alone. What’s under it will still want you.
And all of it, all of it is just a big giant it’s not fair tantrum.
August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
For Me.... For You
“What’s this?” I could see that it was a plain white box with an acronymed return address he was holding I just didn’t know why we were so excited about it.
“Well you know. You know how it’s been and how we‘re …… anyway…. I got something for you. Don‘t be mad.”
“oh. Ummm… okay.” He lifted the lid and revealed a pink jelly dick shaped vibrator with a frightening hummingbird perched and poised to attack at the base. “oh…..Oh gawd. A vibrator?” I hastily tried to control my expression.
After a glance at my shocked pink face he quickly launched into an enthusiastic description of the many functions. Slowly I came out of my stupor and interrupted. “This …. This is your solution? I mean now? Now this? With everything we‘ve been talking about…. this is what you decided to do? Your timing is… ”
“I knew you would be mad. It’s not a solution. It has nothing to do with that…It’s really for me. It‘s mine.”
“It’s yours, huh. I’m not mad! You can buy whatever you want.” I lifted the shiny brand new plastic smelling robot dick out of the packaging and looked at him hard “And what exactly do you intend to do with this?”
I thrust the thing in his face and he took it from me, gesturing with it as he spoke, “It’s for me… for you.”
“I don’t know what to say. If I had to make up an example of how I can talk and talk and talk and you coming away with completely different ideas of what is needed… I mean…. Jesus.” I fingered the snout on the tiny bird insect making it zing back and forth creepily.
“I knew you would be mad.” He made a big production of packing it back up.
“I’m not mad. Damn it. I’m sorry. Thank you, I mean. For the gift …for you…. for me….. Thanks.”
“I already put batteries in it!” he announced happily.
August 26, 2009
“Well you know. You know how it’s been and how we‘re …… anyway…. I got something for you. Don‘t be mad.”
“oh. Ummm… okay.” He lifted the lid and revealed a pink jelly dick shaped vibrator with a frightening hummingbird perched and poised to attack at the base. “oh…..Oh gawd. A vibrator?” I hastily tried to control my expression.
After a glance at my shocked pink face he quickly launched into an enthusiastic description of the many functions. Slowly I came out of my stupor and interrupted. “This …. This is your solution? I mean now? Now this? With everything we‘ve been talking about…. this is what you decided to do? Your timing is… ”
“I knew you would be mad. It’s not a solution. It has nothing to do with that…It’s really for me. It‘s mine.”
“It’s yours, huh. I’m not mad! You can buy whatever you want.” I lifted the shiny brand new plastic smelling robot dick out of the packaging and looked at him hard “And what exactly do you intend to do with this?”
I thrust the thing in his face and he took it from me, gesturing with it as he spoke, “It’s for me… for you.”
“I don’t know what to say. If I had to make up an example of how I can talk and talk and talk and you coming away with completely different ideas of what is needed… I mean…. Jesus.” I fingered the snout on the tiny bird insect making it zing back and forth creepily.
“I knew you would be mad.” He made a big production of packing it back up.
“I’m not mad. Damn it. I’m sorry. Thank you, I mean. For the gift …for you…. for me….. Thanks.”
“I already put batteries in it!” he announced happily.
August 26, 2009
This Blog is Slanted
“Oh yeah?” I set the book I was reading down in my lap. “So?”
“I see how it is. I’m a big joke. Everyone’s laughing at me.”
“No they’re not. They’re laughing at humanity.”
“Yes they are. All the comments. I notice you didn’t mention you broke the damn thing.”
“I didn’t BREAK it!”
“That’s what you told me when I asked if you tried it.”
“I said I thought maybe I broke it. At a crucial time it seemed like it was breaking. But it’s not broken. I mean it still turns on and stuff.”
“I just think you only tell your side of the story.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I mean yeah it’s from my perspective but how else could it be. I’m not reporting the news it’s my blog”
“Well. You made it sound like you didn’t use it.”
“I don’t think so. That just wasn’t the point I was making so I didn’t mention it breaking.”
“See! You broke it!”
“Maybe it’s faulty construction. I don’t fucking know. I put it in there, pushed the button and stuff clamped down, and the thing couldn't take it. I can’t help that! You make it sound like I stomped on the stupid thing.”
“Well. It’s slanted.”
“The blog?”
“That too.”
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sex to Save the Friendship
“Want to have some tension relieving friend sex?”
“I’m not tense.”
“What about now?”
“Maybe a little tense. You’ve sorta been stalking me through the house.”
“Is that a yes to sex?”
“No but I‘m glad we talked about it. I was getting tense.”
August 25, 2009
“I’m not tense.”
“What about now?”
“Maybe a little tense. You’ve sorta been stalking me through the house.”
“Is that a yes to sex?”
“No but I‘m glad we talked about it. I was getting tense.”
August 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Cake Expectations
The only thing Thatcher wanted for his third birthday was having cake. The entire cake ceremony was of utmost concern to him the week proceeding his party. I would mention that Grandma or Aunt D or Calli was going to be at his party and he would immediately ask “Is she going to blow my candles out?” and I would assure him that he would be the only person blowing any candles out. He would ask, “Will she eat cake and sing to me?” and I would guarantee that this would happen. He never asked about gifts or games or anything else. It was really all about the cake. He made himself very clear about having a chocolate-chocolate cake with candles and everyone singing happy birthday to him.
When it came to time to light the three polka dot candles on his chocolate-chocolate cake I gathered all the friends and family who came to his party into our dining room (too breezy outside) and we surrounded the table with cameras and smiles and joyfully sang happy birthday to him with the cake staged in front of him as is customary.
The moment we ended the song “Happy birthday dear, Thatcher…..Happppppy biiiiiirrrrtttthhhhdaaaaaay tooooooo youuuuuu” he, of course, burst into tears. He tucked his shiny head in his elbow and wept. Nothing is ever as we think it will be. You can imagine the cake, the candles, the friends and family lifting forth their choir like voices in a song just for you but the reality. My gawd. Horrifying.
So there he was sobbing in front of his birthday cake amid camera flashes and goodhearted soft laughter. The one wish he had, had already come true and it was awful. HEARTBREAKING! So I made everyone turn around. And they did. They all took a half turn and stared at the walls so he could blow his candles out in peace. And he did. Daddy prepared a heaping plate of cake and ice creams and soon he was happily gorging. The rest of the party went great. He had no expectations for anything else so it was all a pleasant surprise.
August 24, 2009
When it came to time to light the three polka dot candles on his chocolate-chocolate cake I gathered all the friends and family who came to his party into our dining room (too breezy outside) and we surrounded the table with cameras and smiles and joyfully sang happy birthday to him with the cake staged in front of him as is customary.
The moment we ended the song “Happy birthday dear, Thatcher…..Happppppy biiiiiirrrrtttthhhhdaaaaaay tooooooo youuuuuu” he, of course, burst into tears. He tucked his shiny head in his elbow and wept. Nothing is ever as we think it will be. You can imagine the cake, the candles, the friends and family lifting forth their choir like voices in a song just for you but the reality. My gawd. Horrifying.
So there he was sobbing in front of his birthday cake amid camera flashes and goodhearted soft laughter. The one wish he had, had already come true and it was awful. HEARTBREAKING! So I made everyone turn around. And they did. They all took a half turn and stared at the walls so he could blow his candles out in peace. And he did. Daddy prepared a heaping plate of cake and ice creams and soon he was happily gorging. The rest of the party went great. He had no expectations for anything else so it was all a pleasant surprise.
August 24, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
I Need a Room
I need a room. This is what I’ve decided.
I’ve been upside down and inside out and underfoot and shoved around and torn apart and I’ve flapped my arms around ineffectually and jogged in place at breakneck speeds and I’m now stalked and watched and the only thing I’ve figured out is that I want a room.
I want every inch of it to be mine without question. I want to demand respect with a knock order on the door and a doormat that isn’t my heart.
I want sound proof walls so I can scream-tantrum without explaining myself. I would cover the surfaces with my thoughts - a giant word web of want and conviction and passion that wouldn’t allow anyone else’s suck to whisper weave it’s way in.
An invitation only bed with too many pillows and blankets that remain the cocoon I crawled out of when I crawl back in. I want to slide in cool and create my own heat without being pinned down or sweated on. I want to open up and be filled without the inevitable used up empty that follows.
I know the room should be my skin. Or at least my skull. I’ve been that able before. I had glorious walls, a magnificent moat, the fire breathing dragon, the big empty cold rooms of a castle. I had everything except a key to my own fucking door. Jumping out the window may not have been the best course of action but I swear to you that when I’m not tasting my stomach and I remember to breathe I like hearing my heart pound again.
August 21, 2009
I’ve been upside down and inside out and underfoot and shoved around and torn apart and I’ve flapped my arms around ineffectually and jogged in place at breakneck speeds and I’m now stalked and watched and the only thing I’ve figured out is that I want a room.
I want every inch of it to be mine without question. I want to demand respect with a knock order on the door and a doormat that isn’t my heart.
I want sound proof walls so I can scream-tantrum without explaining myself. I would cover the surfaces with my thoughts - a giant word web of want and conviction and passion that wouldn’t allow anyone else’s suck to whisper weave it’s way in.
An invitation only bed with too many pillows and blankets that remain the cocoon I crawled out of when I crawl back in. I want to slide in cool and create my own heat without being pinned down or sweated on. I want to open up and be filled without the inevitable used up empty that follows.
I know the room should be my skin. Or at least my skull. I’ve been that able before. I had glorious walls, a magnificent moat, the fire breathing dragon, the big empty cold rooms of a castle. I had everything except a key to my own fucking door. Jumping out the window may not have been the best course of action but I swear to you that when I’m not tasting my stomach and I remember to breathe I like hearing my heart pound again.
August 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
They're Never Talking About Us
“Robert. She’s doing the best she can with what she has.”
“Oh keep your platitudes. She’s worse than a failure, she’s ordinary. She threw her life away for mediocrity because she’s too scared and too lazy to fight for anything better.”
“She’s a mother. She’s raising her children. She can always do other things later.”
“That never happens. You have this fantasy that life comes to you and it doesn’t. You have to go out and get it. You have to earn it.”
“The way you did? You sure aren’t here to tell her that. If it’s meant to be it will happen. Besides what do you expect? She’s your daughter.”
“Here we go. MY daughter. When did they stop being your kids? When you walked away? When you abandoned me? Now that I’m dead they’re MY kids?”
“I abandoned YOU? I’m still here. You’re the one who isn’t here.”
“I’m not? I’m pretty sure my remains in a box in your closet qualifies for something. You need to let go and move on. Guilt has ruined your life.”
“You’re the expert!”
August 17, 2009
“Oh keep your platitudes. She’s worse than a failure, she’s ordinary. She threw her life away for mediocrity because she’s too scared and too lazy to fight for anything better.”
“She’s a mother. She’s raising her children. She can always do other things later.”
“That never happens. You have this fantasy that life comes to you and it doesn’t. You have to go out and get it. You have to earn it.”
“The way you did? You sure aren’t here to tell her that. If it’s meant to be it will happen. Besides what do you expect? She’s your daughter.”
“Here we go. MY daughter. When did they stop being your kids? When you walked away? When you abandoned me? Now that I’m dead they’re MY kids?”
“I abandoned YOU? I’m still here. You’re the one who isn’t here.”
“I’m not? I’m pretty sure my remains in a box in your closet qualifies for something. You need to let go and move on. Guilt has ruined your life.”
“You’re the expert!”
August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
All Out of Beige
I love the simplicity in poverty, the “well fuck it what are you going to do” of it. It’s an incredible relief. And I see things I didn’t see before. I have the time. I have the room.
Take the cupboards for example. Now that they’re not overflowing with various unhealthy snacking items I can see that they are filthy inside. DISGUSTING. I had no idea. To be fair, who thinks “I wonder if anyone I live with has spilled chocolate milk in the cupboard? I should check” Super Mom, probably does. That fuckin’ bitch. Also…. One of the times I was getting some dew and there were not four kinds of juice and piles of produce in the refrigerator I had the thought “maybe the glass in there ISN’T frosted.”
SO I’ve been getting some long put off cleaning done. *pats back* And the kids and I have been doing some interesting projects. Usually I just open some paint or toss a new pile of play dough at them but we’re out of that stuff so we had to get creative. Isabelle made some amazing oatmeal container stilts. Thatcher prefers newspaper hats and airplanes.
Other than the increased pressure to drop my nicotine habit I pretty much like poverty. And it likes me.
I need to sell my car. Actually it’s better than that. I HAVE to sell my car. It’s the vehicle he owns that’s actually worth more than he owes. His idea was to sell the automobile that he drives just to eliminate the payments. But…… He said the words… he said “you were right” he said “the Honda is better.” he said “ it was a smarter choice.” Sure it’s too fucking late-it still rings the bell. So I said let’s sell it. We can pay off bills with the surplus AND eliminate a payment AND cut another rope that’s been around my neck.
Win, win, win.
I’m excited about not being able to do all this, this life, the way I’m supposed to. I’m thrilled about it even. It’s like showing up at the paint store and they’re all out of beige. Nothing can be done, they‘re all out. Can‘t be helped. Might as well get a rainbow of colors and start throwing that at the walls and see what happens. *life force flicker*
Either that’s healthy tinged with the tiniest bit of fresh from the pen crazy OR it’s my internal combustion downward spiral machine grabbing an ankle. But it doesn’t matter; like I said it’s not like I CAN do it the way I’m supposed to anymore. We’re out of beige.
August 14, 2009
Take the cupboards for example. Now that they’re not overflowing with various unhealthy snacking items I can see that they are filthy inside. DISGUSTING. I had no idea. To be fair, who thinks “I wonder if anyone I live with has spilled chocolate milk in the cupboard? I should check” Super Mom, probably does. That fuckin’ bitch. Also…. One of the times I was getting some dew and there were not four kinds of juice and piles of produce in the refrigerator I had the thought “maybe the glass in there ISN’T frosted.”
SO I’ve been getting some long put off cleaning done. *pats back* And the kids and I have been doing some interesting projects. Usually I just open some paint or toss a new pile of play dough at them but we’re out of that stuff so we had to get creative. Isabelle made some amazing oatmeal container stilts. Thatcher prefers newspaper hats and airplanes.
Other than the increased pressure to drop my nicotine habit I pretty much like poverty. And it likes me.
I need to sell my car. Actually it’s better than that. I HAVE to sell my car. It’s the vehicle he owns that’s actually worth more than he owes. His idea was to sell the automobile that he drives just to eliminate the payments. But…… He said the words… he said “you were right” he said “the Honda is better.” he said “ it was a smarter choice.” Sure it’s too fucking late-it still rings the bell. So I said let’s sell it. We can pay off bills with the surplus AND eliminate a payment AND cut another rope that’s been around my neck.
Win, win, win.
I’m excited about not being able to do all this, this life, the way I’m supposed to. I’m thrilled about it even. It’s like showing up at the paint store and they’re all out of beige. Nothing can be done, they‘re all out. Can‘t be helped. Might as well get a rainbow of colors and start throwing that at the walls and see what happens. *life force flicker*
Either that’s healthy tinged with the tiniest bit of fresh from the pen crazy OR it’s my internal combustion downward spiral machine grabbing an ankle. But it doesn’t matter; like I said it’s not like I CAN do it the way I’m supposed to anymore. We’re out of beige.
August 14, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Destructive Recovery
We caught a horrible virus of doom on our computer yesterday. *sigh* Ya know, ‘cause we need more stress around here. Long story short - the computer is now like new. And probably I should be horrified. Maybe I am even. Maybe under the super shiny reflective surface of a half full glass you realize that no matter the amount in your glass - it’s all tears. But I don’t go under … I hang out in the half empty portion and blow bubbles on the slippery surface so we don’t have to discuss the baby pictures (gone!) or the shit I’ve been writing (gone!) or the programs I don’t even remember (gone! Gone! It’s all gone!)
And up here (straddling the edge of the glass, remember?) I’m liking the purity of an empty computer. I’m loving the EMPTY. The START OVER NEW of it all. My gawd. I’m moist just typing about it. I probably won’t even save this document (it’s crap anyway) because it would sully up all the pristine pleasure of uncluttered good that is the computer right now. The real kicker is that I want to guard it. I want to stand in front of the computer and stop those I share it with from fucking it up.
I want it all mine. I want to know any fucking up is my own. I want total control. I want order and planning and damn it what is it? I want KNOWING. I want to know. Everything. That’s only possible alone. Empty. Uncluttered. Not that it is possible. It’s not. I was just fantasizing in public.
Oops!
Good thing we were just talking about the stupid computer. *relieved*
August 10, 2009
And up here (straddling the edge of the glass, remember?) I’m liking the purity of an empty computer. I’m loving the EMPTY. The START OVER NEW of it all. My gawd. I’m moist just typing about it. I probably won’t even save this document (it’s crap anyway) because it would sully up all the pristine pleasure of uncluttered good that is the computer right now. The real kicker is that I want to guard it. I want to stand in front of the computer and stop those I share it with from fucking it up.
I want it all mine. I want to know any fucking up is my own. I want total control. I want order and planning and damn it what is it? I want KNOWING. I want to know. Everything. That’s only possible alone. Empty. Uncluttered. Not that it is possible. It’s not. I was just fantasizing in public.
Oops!
Good thing we were just talking about the stupid computer. *relieved*
August 10, 2009
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