I’ve been floundering. It seems flinging all your hats back in peoples faces leaves a person rather without aim. I’m calling it a funk. Saying it might be a bit of depression sounds depressing. Having a funk sounds like maybe I can wear platform shoes and tight plaid bell bottoms.
Last night I ate half a blueberry muffin before I realized it was blueberry. I thought it was just a chocolate chip muffin gone bad. The thing is… the fact that it sucked ass didn’t stop me from eating it. I only stopped eating it when I finally figured out it was blueberry. Because I don’t like blueberries. I mean I’ve sort of made that a rule. I’ll eat them if I’m picking them directly off the bush but otherwise I avoid berries of the blue variety. Apparently I’ll tolerate chocolate in any condition, even if it’s blue.
I always end up in this place where I have to decide to either get the fuck over something and do something for myself OR spiral into self destructive tendencies for a couple few more years and get to the work later. Or never. You know - whatever comes first. And now on top of it there’s this whole death clock ticking everywhere I go. I’m all Hook and no Pan.
Meanwhile I have everything. I know I joke about the poverty but honestly it’s only because I’ve been spoiled so long that I feel any pinch now. Mostly I’m annoyed that I have to think about money. So here I am in the big old awesome house in the town I picked for the fabulous school where my daughters teacher actually calls me at home from the classroom. I have a beautiful, healthy, intelligent children and
And…..
That’s just it…. I’m still trying to figure out what the point of it all is. I’m still pissed off that there’s no point. That it just is and that I’m supposed to be satisfied with it. That no one else seems to be mad about anything important. That it’s so clear to me that everyone is isolated and lonely and without touch and it stuns me that we can all be that way and so rarely find anything resembling a match. That there’s no solution … that the doing over and over might BE the solution.
Wax on wax off.
Fucking zen.
SO I try and shake it all off. I go out in the world and it seems to me that all of us should be ripping our skin off for the chance to brush against anything that might share in this tremble, in this terror and anger and day in day out work of it all….. Against any heat or shiver or spark that says we’re alive to experience and I don’t find any of that. I find drunks and assholes too fucking stupid to know what to do with their dicks and only interested in pretending long enough to get the bare minimum of contact needed to get their rocks off and that’s enough for them. People doing everything they can to avoid exactly what I'm looking for.
I don’t understand why any of this is enough for anyone. I don’t understand why we’re all eager to give up and give in and settle down and wait for death. I don’t see how the fear of that is more than the unavoidable cul-de-sac up ahead of all of us.
And more and more I have less tolerance for anyone. More and more I have less belief in humanity. Just this all consuming, paralyzing internal scream winding it’s way through my insides until the hole is so large only something incredible and probably nonexistent could fill it.
No big deal. Just life. Just another whiny blog. Just my chocolate is blue and it’s making me funky.
October 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Kiss Me
“Do you want to come over, and hang out?”
I want you to give me my breath back. “Oh I don’t…. I mean, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Just hanging out, you know. I’m not trying to be creepy or anything. I‘m just saying you could come over to my place if you want to.”
I want your hands on my body so the butterflies know where to land. “I guess. What would we do? I mean we could just stay here.”
“It feels weird in here. There’s a weird vibe in here tonight. I don‘t care. Whatever you want.”
I want you to hurry up and break my heart before it beats out of my chest. “It does seem weird in here tonight. Strange.”
“We could watch a movie or something. Are you okay? You seem uncomfortable. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Oh God. I want you to kiss me. “I know that.”
October 23, 2009
I want you to give me my breath back. “Oh I don’t…. I mean, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Just hanging out, you know. I’m not trying to be creepy or anything. I‘m just saying you could come over to my place if you want to.”
I want your hands on my body so the butterflies know where to land. “I guess. What would we do? I mean we could just stay here.”
“It feels weird in here. There’s a weird vibe in here tonight. I don‘t care. Whatever you want.”
I want you to hurry up and break my heart before it beats out of my chest. “It does seem weird in here tonight. Strange.”
“We could watch a movie or something. Are you okay? You seem uncomfortable. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Oh God. I want you to kiss me. “I know that.”
October 23, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Three About Thatcher
I feel a tremendous satisfaction watching my son play with his Daddy. Even as I have to restrain myself from forcing Daddy to act more like Mommy. As the weather gets crappier we start to allow outside play to creep inside. When I say we I mostly mean Daddy. Not that I blame him, Thatcher is three years old and endless energy whether the weather allows it to happen outside or not. So, Tim was tossing a ball back and forth with Thatch. Thatch would grab the ball and then fling it wildly at his daddy, laughing at how difficult Daddy pretended it was to catch it. Then Tim would carefully, gently toss the ball in a soft slow arc toward Thatcher. Thatcher’s not so great at catching yet unless you remind him to make his arms a basket and manage to drop the ball directly into the waiting bowl. Daddy doesn’t know this. So the ball bounced off Thatcher’s chubby toddler fingers with the hands in prayer pose. Then the next time it bounced right off his adorable head! “You’re ruining the game, Daddy!” Thatcher would admonish him loudly and angrily. “ME!” Tim responded laughing “You’re the one not catching it!” It’s a mystery to me - this male bonding.
*****
Yesterday I was flat ironing my hair in the bathroom while Thatcher enthusiastically attempted to be my assistant. “I just want to help you my mom!” he assured me as I shooed him away from the hot appliance. So I allowed him to stand on his stool and ask me questions while I pulled my hair through the straightening device. We made it about three minutes until I had to kick him out before he burned himself or I had to answer “YES, HOT ENOUGH TO BURN YOU!” one more time.
He reluctantly backed out of the bathroom and then our eyes met and he smirked and said “Mommy. You look fat. You’re FAAAT.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say!” I said, surprised and wondering where the hell he heard that. “And it isn’t even true.” I mean seriously people. I’d like it if when my children are insulting someone they do it right.
“You’re FAT.” he tried again.
“Thatcher. People come in all different sizes. It’s not okay to make anyone feel bad about what size they are.”
“That man at the party was fat.”
“What are you talking about? What man?” Dear gawd did he SAY that to someone? What party?
“You’re fat!” he tried a final time.
“I’m not fat, Thatcher.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say I’m not fat, I can still walk around!”
“Where did you hear that!?!” I hollered but he was already in another room kicking something.
*****
The alarm on my phone went off after already hitting snooze three times today. I squinted at the clock on the dresser and reluctantly swung my legs over the edge of the bed and began pulling the clothes I’d left in a puddle there only a few hours before.
“Are you getting up, Mommy?” Thatch asked enthusiastically “Good job Mommy! Good job!”
He’s such a sweetheart. And so early.
October 16, 2009
*****
Yesterday I was flat ironing my hair in the bathroom while Thatcher enthusiastically attempted to be my assistant. “I just want to help you my mom!” he assured me as I shooed him away from the hot appliance. So I allowed him to stand on his stool and ask me questions while I pulled my hair through the straightening device. We made it about three minutes until I had to kick him out before he burned himself or I had to answer “YES, HOT ENOUGH TO BURN YOU!” one more time.
He reluctantly backed out of the bathroom and then our eyes met and he smirked and said “Mommy. You look fat. You’re FAAAT.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say!” I said, surprised and wondering where the hell he heard that. “And it isn’t even true.” I mean seriously people. I’d like it if when my children are insulting someone they do it right.
“You’re FAT.” he tried again.
“Thatcher. People come in all different sizes. It’s not okay to make anyone feel bad about what size they are.”
“That man at the party was fat.”
“What are you talking about? What man?” Dear gawd did he SAY that to someone? What party?
“You’re fat!” he tried a final time.
“I’m not fat, Thatcher.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to say I’m not fat, I can still walk around!”
“Where did you hear that!?!” I hollered but he was already in another room kicking something.
*****
The alarm on my phone went off after already hitting snooze three times today. I squinted at the clock on the dresser and reluctantly swung my legs over the edge of the bed and began pulling the clothes I’d left in a puddle there only a few hours before.
“Are you getting up, Mommy?” Thatch asked enthusiastically “Good job Mommy! Good job!”
He’s such a sweetheart. And so early.
October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Thatch Covers The Rolling Stones
I was down in the basement folding laundry when Thatch made his way down the treacherous steps to join me. “Hey Mom! There’s this song..“ He began to sing plaintively “You can’t get what you WAAAaaaant. You can’t get what you WAAAAAaaant.”
“Hey I know that song, where did you hear that?” I kicked myself for not having the camera on me to immediately take video footage of his Rolling Stones Cover.
“Listen me. Listen my song.” he said and began to sing again “You can get what you want. You want candy you get what you wAAAAant. You can get what you WAAAaaant.” He trailed off and mumbled trying to remember the tune.
I tried to be helpful, “You can’t always get what you WaaaaaaAAaaaaant. You can’t always get what you WAAAaaant. But if you try sometimes -”
“You can get what you want!” he sang
“- you just might find you get what you NEEEEEEEEd awwwwwww yes.” I dropped the towel I was folding and began a wild air guitar solo that ended prematurely when he begged me to stop.
October 8, 2009
“Hey I know that song, where did you hear that?” I kicked myself for not having the camera on me to immediately take video footage of his Rolling Stones Cover.
“Listen me. Listen my song.” he said and began to sing again “You can get what you want. You want candy you get what you wAAAAant. You can get what you WAAAaaant.” He trailed off and mumbled trying to remember the tune.
I tried to be helpful, “You can’t always get what you WaaaaaaAAaaaaant. You can’t always get what you WAAAaaant. But if you try sometimes -”
“You can get what you want!” he sang
“- you just might find you get what you NEEEEEEEEd awwwwwww yes.” I dropped the towel I was folding and began a wild air guitar solo that ended prematurely when he begged me to stop.
October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Autumn Is
Autumn is...
a circle of wagons against winters invasion.
the flaming farewell flash of a lover’s warm embrace.
sharpened graphite perspective in the spaces between college ruled possibilities.
looking inward to find unexpected warmth amongst crunchy dead debris.
night arriving before the day feels over.
October 7, 2009
a circle of wagons against winters invasion.
the flaming farewell flash of a lover’s warm embrace.
sharpened graphite perspective in the spaces between college ruled possibilities.
looking inward to find unexpected warmth amongst crunchy dead debris.
night arriving before the day feels over.
October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Lengthy Thighs and Thin Villainous Lips
“Oh wow.” he muttered next to me.
“what.” I rather dully questioned him. He’d followed me out on the porch and perched next to me on the brick flower box.
“Your thighs. They’re so freaking long.”
“What are you talking about?” I’ve always thought I was pretty well proportioned when it comes to limbs.
“Look at your thighs! They’re almost as long as mine!” He put one hand at the tip of my knee and the other on my ass. He was right; my leg almost lined up perfectly with his… but he’s like a foot taller than I am so how can that be?
“That’s not my thigh.” I nodded at his hands. “and that’s not my thigh.”
“Still. They’re looooong.” damn it. I wonder where he’s hiding almost a foot of height?
“Quit freaking me out. I’m still pouting about my thin villainous lips.”
“Well. I wouldn’t say pouting. I mean… you don’t have the lips for that.”
“Shut up. You’re the one with a freakishly long neck.”
“WHAT!?”
“How else can you be that tall?”
"Maybe if you had better posture you would actually be my height."
"Eh. It's not worth it. I like it down here with my thin villainous lips and lengthy thighs. good times."
October 6, 2009
“what.” I rather dully questioned him. He’d followed me out on the porch and perched next to me on the brick flower box.
“Your thighs. They’re so freaking long.”
“What are you talking about?” I’ve always thought I was pretty well proportioned when it comes to limbs.
“Look at your thighs! They’re almost as long as mine!” He put one hand at the tip of my knee and the other on my ass. He was right; my leg almost lined up perfectly with his… but he’s like a foot taller than I am so how can that be?
“That’s not my thigh.” I nodded at his hands. “and that’s not my thigh.”
“Still. They’re looooong.” damn it. I wonder where he’s hiding almost a foot of height?
“Quit freaking me out. I’m still pouting about my thin villainous lips.”
“Well. I wouldn’t say pouting. I mean… you don’t have the lips for that.”
“Shut up. You’re the one with a freakishly long neck.”
“WHAT!?”
“How else can you be that tall?”
"Maybe if you had better posture you would actually be my height."
"Eh. It's not worth it. I like it down here with my thin villainous lips and lengthy thighs. good times."
October 6, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
I Read Banned Books
One of my dearest readers and favorite bloggers (link at bottom) gave us an assignment for banned book week. She wants all of us to blog about a banned book we either read specifically for this or just have read. I of course forgot all about it and then put it off all week until it’s now Friday and I shall have to half ass it. Because honestly… banned books are not my top priority (it‘s surveys). Luckily I seem to have read/and own most of the books from the link she gave us.
Also. I should confess I have banned some books in my own house. *gasp* I know. Just proves you never know what a book banner might look like. It can be someone you least expect. When your child gets up at three am because she “can’t sleep” and you find Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in her bedcovers with a flashlight … something must be done.
However...a quick glance over the American Library Association’s list of classic books that have been banned reveals that parents are most often the folks requesting that a book be banned. (I was picturing ogre types) They want the books removed from school reading lists and class curriculum or taken off the shelves of local libraries because they’re “vulgar” or use “obscene language” or contain “explicit sexual content” or simply “take the lords name in vain” or “have more violence than seems necessary.”
The parents are protesting against their children growing up.
The parents are protesting the big wide world of other opinions thoughtfully expressed.
The parents are protesting against the world stinks and someone fucking wrote it down.
And I’m guilty. I have a bookshelf filled with banned books and when my daughter stands perusing the selection I get twitchy. I hold my breath when her fingers trail the spines and I see her lips mouthing the titles. The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, Catch-22, The Color Purple, Lord of the Flies, Lolita, Invisible Man, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Slaughterhouse Five, For Whom the Bells Tolls, Johnny Got His Gun, A Clockwork Orange.
!!! The sex. The violence. The big gaping hole in world. The sky is falling and inevitable death of it all. The hurt and the love and the aching futility. My gawd! I don’t want to answer those questions! I don’t even have those answers! A fairy or bunny or even a jolly saint with thousands of elves could not carry the amount of cash needed to cushion the loss that would occur with those understandings! (we don't have god)
So I hold my breath. And I monitor my elevated heart rate. And I casually ask if she’s ready for a trip to the library with their half height shelved children’s section. And I think it will be another three or four years before I open complete access to all my books. (I also still catch her leaving books face down instead of using one of her fifty book marks) In the meantime… there is plenty of banned literature written for children to choose from. She’s already read many of them Where the Wild Things Are, Adventures of Tom Sawyer, A Wrinkle in Time, Bridge to Terabithia, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing… to name a few.
And I think that’s right. She’s (almost) nine. I’m her mother. What I don’t understand is anyone thinking they’re allowed to mother all of us. Book banning is not a terrible thing that used to happen. Books are challenged and banned and removed from shelves every year. Books are still burned. The Harry Potter series is currently among the most frequently challenged books as measured by the ALA. Now. Not all of us are Harry Potter fans. But banning it? BURNING it? It’s ridiculous.
So… I’m saying… go ahead and choose for you… and go ahead and choose for your children… but you don’t get to choose for me or mine. And good day.
October 2, 2009
Also. I should confess I have banned some books in my own house. *gasp* I know. Just proves you never know what a book banner might look like. It can be someone you least expect. When your child gets up at three am because she “can’t sleep” and you find Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in her bedcovers with a flashlight … something must be done.
However...a quick glance over the American Library Association’s list of classic books that have been banned reveals that parents are most often the folks requesting that a book be banned. (I was picturing ogre types) They want the books removed from school reading lists and class curriculum or taken off the shelves of local libraries because they’re “vulgar” or use “obscene language” or contain “explicit sexual content” or simply “take the lords name in vain” or “have more violence than seems necessary.”
The parents are protesting against their children growing up.
The parents are protesting the big wide world of other opinions thoughtfully expressed.
The parents are protesting against the world stinks and someone fucking wrote it down.
And I’m guilty. I have a bookshelf filled with banned books and when my daughter stands perusing the selection I get twitchy. I hold my breath when her fingers trail the spines and I see her lips mouthing the titles. The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, Catch-22, The Color Purple, Lord of the Flies, Lolita, Invisible Man, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Slaughterhouse Five, For Whom the Bells Tolls, Johnny Got His Gun, A Clockwork Orange.
!!! The sex. The violence. The big gaping hole in world. The sky is falling and inevitable death of it all. The hurt and the love and the aching futility. My gawd! I don’t want to answer those questions! I don’t even have those answers! A fairy or bunny or even a jolly saint with thousands of elves could not carry the amount of cash needed to cushion the loss that would occur with those understandings! (we don't have god)
So I hold my breath. And I monitor my elevated heart rate. And I casually ask if she’s ready for a trip to the library with their half height shelved children’s section. And I think it will be another three or four years before I open complete access to all my books. (I also still catch her leaving books face down instead of using one of her fifty book marks) In the meantime… there is plenty of banned literature written for children to choose from. She’s already read many of them Where the Wild Things Are, Adventures of Tom Sawyer, A Wrinkle in Time, Bridge to Terabithia, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing… to name a few.
And I think that’s right. She’s (almost) nine. I’m her mother. What I don’t understand is anyone thinking they’re allowed to mother all of us. Book banning is not a terrible thing that used to happen. Books are challenged and banned and removed from shelves every year. Books are still burned. The Harry Potter series is currently among the most frequently challenged books as measured by the ALA. Now. Not all of us are Harry Potter fans. But banning it? BURNING it? It’s ridiculous.
So… I’m saying… go ahead and choose for you… and go ahead and choose for your children… but you don’t get to choose for me or mine. And good day.
October 2, 2009
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