I feel like lately I have been asked some strange questions that you don’t get asked before you are 40. I’ve been asked if I’m working out more than before, because you know… Metabolism. I’ve been asked if my husband is okay with the extra pounds that forty gave me. I’ve been asked about potty habits and if I’m sad because I’m too old now… To you know… (Hushed voice) have babies.
First of all, NO, I don’t fucking work out more, I don’t work out at all because frankly, I don’t have time. I actually work. Like a job. You know, that place you go to earn money so you can have a roof over your head, and food on your plate, and blankets on your bed and all the techno gadgets that keep you connected to the people you may not even want to talk to but do anyway because… life! And if you are lucky, you have programmed the gadgets (by you I mean the smart tech peoples) not to tell you what the cheeto said this week that is slowly making you cray-town. Otherwise you may throw said gadget and cause yourself to have to work at said job more than you already do. When I find time to work out, I’ll let someone know, and they will find me on the beach where the cabana boy will be bringing me a series of tasty adult beverages and I will be doing some lifts- of those drinks to my mouth.
Second, I don’t have a fucking husband! I am happily NOT married, for ten years, to an amazing, difficult, handsome, exceedingly intelligent, ridiculously emotionally unkempt, absolutely perfectly imperfect human. He loves me in spite of myself. I love him sometimes to spite myself and other times to keep myself sane because he may be the only reason I am. And (third, if we are counting) he hasn’t pressured me to have crotch fruit. He doesn’t need a fuck trophy to mark the decade he’s put up with my crazy ass. He didn’t ask for one at the 5 year mark even though he may have thought they might be a fun adventure. If he does want a trophy- I will totally allow some breeding with a hot sars stand in. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was handsome. Chicks propo him him on the daily (look at me using current jargon) but he doesn’t even give them a second. He comes home and snuggles up… to his not wife (who doesn’t work out). The not wife who has stayed for ten years of things. The things no one else can know. And that is what matters.
Finally… don’t even fucking start with the potty habits. You have no idea what this bitch has been through. I have been sliced and diced and teased about the the cauliflower and apertures… If you haven’t had your brother and your best girl photo texting you pics of things that may look worse than your ass to make you feel better about the sate of your union, well… you can’t step to potty talk with this bitch. So go get yourself a Squatty Potty and call me when you understand how life changing that shit is (oh, yeah… I said that!).
Most times I feel secure, really secure in who I am. It’s taken me so many years to come inch by inch to the place where I am now. I have crawled through miles of abuse of many kinds. But we don’t grow or become who we are without crawling through the shit right? Right. None of this is new and it certainly isn’t a new topic for me. But as Mother’s Day approaches I find myself deeper in thought about well, the shit that made me decide I didn’t want to be an actual mother. There may be times I act like your mother, everyone’s mother, and even a motherfucker but whatever… At this point in my life, I have been with the same man for a decade. He is rather amazing. I don’t bring him up in this forum much as he is a private person and I respect that. Yes.. more than I respect you. He fosters a feeling of confidence that lets me know that no matter what choice we make about our future it’s okay- it’s ours together, fuck everyone else.
Speaking of decisions, children… It’s kind-of a big deal. I have never borne children – that I did not drop off at the pool. (That’s for my brother… he loves me extra right now and if I call him drunk, like my own personal Uber he might not complain- might not.) And I have never been pregnant, no, really, I promise… yes I’m in my forties and have been married and divorced and in a ten year relationship and I still promise I have never been pregnant. (Also I am capable. Yes, I promise. I have had this checked as well even though I did not want to have children. Maybe we’ll talk about that some other time.) Yet I act like everyone’s mom. In her oh so kind and loving way, my sister likes to remind me – I have never “birthed a child through my loins”, thus I cannot know what it is like. But then I question the “what”… What “what” is like??? To be parental? To be responsible? To take care of a persons’ physical, emotional and financial needs? Because I do and I have and I am… But yet, I have to chosen remain childfree, childless, sans-children, without offspring, spawn-less, barren of crotch-fruit… winless of fuck trophies. Yes. I, just said that. I have never been accused of being politically correct and don’t think I’m trying to start a trend here. I’m also not saying to my real life friends with fertility issues (who know who they are- and probably reading this laughing) that I don’t empathize with their struggle. This is not about them and they know it. And that is my point… it is their struggle, it is their hand to play . We each go through our own struggle. We each have to play the hand we are given by the fucked up clown of a dealer called life. That douche is laughing at ALL of us without mercy. They (It?) give(s) zero fucks whatsoever whether we call it childless, childfree, spawn-less, barren, spoiled-fruit-of-the-loins, loser-of-the-fuck-trophy or just plain winner of the money train… There are zero fucks given by that dude. As far as he’s concerned, it is initially up to us. Maybe not every single one of us, but most of us. I know that there are some.. but duh, exception to every rule.
I read an article that reminded me that I am lucky to have a friend circle that includes very few that give me shit about this choice… Childfree? Or just me? It was in Bust Magazine- unashamedly feminist but sometimes so poignant that I save the bookmark, share and even print the article… like ‘childfree’. When you are in your forties and have been saying you don’t want kids since you were fifteen… this is a badge. People have been trying to convince me since I was sixteen that I was going through a phase. I would change my mind when I met the right man (and if they weren’t sure – like in my late twenties, the right woman) but always they were certain I was wrong and they were right. Very few people had the courage to sit and have the conversation with me… to ask me why I didn’t want to have children, why I was so certain. Those few people walked away with a different perspective and most understood, whether they agreed or not, why I made my choice.
So whatever your choice this Mother’s Day, embrace it. Be strong in the choice and give zero fucks what anyone else thinks. They don’t have to live your life.
Part of our jobs as humans is to evolve.. I know, fucking shocker, right?! Well, there may be humans that think think “devolve”… but whatever. They can stew in their ignorance while the rest of us move forward with vengeance. Or something like it. Right now I’m thinking less of those things than of the evolution of self; how hard I have personally worked to evolve. So many turns, to take me from child to now. The labels are ridiculous. But that can be mother post… Tonight is a letter unsent. Because sometimes you need to tell peeps why for real, not for fakes…
I asked a family member if they would like to see a cover band at a local venue. I heard about the show and asked the same day. Covers of their favorite band. Now… I have built solid boundaries and put space between myself and the negativity that was my family life. But every once and a while….. this shit happens…
………………
Saw this show, thought of you. Would you like to go?
Are you wanting to go. Hub says it sounds great. I don’t have money for tickets. Waiting on tax return.
Would love to go but you all ready spend way too much money on us. I appreciate it but please save your money. I love you for thinking about us but please dont
Um, It seems silly that you and your hub want to go but are arguing dollars. Does the show sound awesome?? Because your husband wants to go, you love the band being covered, and I’d like to do this. So… How about you call it happy birthday.
………………
Here’s the part where I get frustrated and it becomes the unsent… because that was reallllllly nice.
Honestly, your false concern for my finances is tiring. You consistently complain about the ways you are “broke” or “behind” or “can’t afford” something. But you are being freely offered a gift and you say no, in a backhandedly nice way. Don’t do that. It’s like refusing a compliment you deserve. What concern is it of yours what I can afford to do?? It’s $50. You are acting like I spend thousands of dollars on you to make yourself a martyr. Save your concern for yourself and the ways you need to improve your own situation. If I would like to spend money I have worked hard to earn, on someone, anyone for that matter, it is up to me. If I offer something and you would like to do it… the expected, no, not expected, the polite response (the one ANYONE else would give) is ‘that sounds awesome! We would love that!’.
So… does that sound awesome?? Because your husband thinks so. He wants to go, you love the band being covered, and I’d like to do this. It’s time for you to stop policing me and what I do with my time and money. This kind of crap is why I don’t often bother. False concern for my finances is not winning you any points with me, it’s pissing me off. You playing like it bothers you on one hand, then complaining to everyone that will listen that I don’t do enough, to gain their sympathy and audience is tiresome and frustrating. No one likes someone falsely modest or seeking attention. You actually deserve it for what you do. You earn attention when you engage with people for real. So, if you want me to engage, act like it. Now, let’s start again and hopefully we can have a better result this time. Let’s try.
………………
Saw this show, thought of you. Would you like to go?
Comments Off on Letters Unsent… But maybe they should be
I often struggle between my inner dialog and the one that goes through my lengthy filtering process. When friends ask for my opinion or advice, which happens way more often than I care to say, I often ask myself repeatedly ‘should I really give it??’ ‘do they really want it, or are they just asking so I will reassure them that their decision is perfect and I am their minion?’ ‘Don’t they know by now I’m gonna be honest??’ ‘Why the fuck are they asking me??’ Then I give a kindly worded, much pondered, answer that may not be what they wanted to hear. But oh well, you asked. However, there have been a few things since my last post that I haven’t addressed. Frankly, this shit is tiring. Buddha (or whoever writes cool quotes and says they are from Buddha- either way, I like it) said that carrying around anger (or resentment or frustration or unaddressed hurt- those mine) is like holding a burning coal in your hands and expecting the other person to get burned. Smart guy this Buddha. So I’m gonna drop some hot rocks. Prepare yourselves bitches…
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Dearest Friend,
Please stop apologizing for the things that happened almost ten years ago. We both made mistakes and we both did stupid things. We let pride and ego and self come between us and now… We don’t. We’ve grown, we’ve changed, we’ve suffer losses without each other to wipe tears. We’ve had wins without each other to celebrate. We’ve seen the people that we drifted toward drift from us and we’ve made our way back to each other. Yes it’s different. No, we are not the inseparable pair we were then… But we wouldn’t have the amazing men in each of our lives. Now we are friends. Not just friends, but true friends. Friends with history and shared heartache and shared love and shared laughs and shared jokes that no one else understands. We can be three but cycle and the other one will always get it. So move forward, because we can’t finish the movie if we keep rewatching in the last scene.
I love you princess. More than my shoes… Even the ones I don’t wear anymore.
Less than three.
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Dear Friend (are we still?),
Thank you for finally articulating your feelings after simply dropping off my radar for three weeks. I really thought we had the kind of friendship where you could drop by and say ‘hey friend, we need to hash something out’, but I guess we don’t. To be honest, it wasn’t so much the content of what you said texted that hurt most, but that you couldn’t talk to me… That you still can’t talk to me. Don’t get me wrong, what you said affected me too… In a what the actual fuck? Am I really reading this right now? Noooo, really?? Kind of way. I have been the same person since well, always. I think what’s really changed is the message. You don’t like what you are hearing now. A few years ago the message was supportive, because that was my truth to you then. Now the message isn’t as supportive, it’s more questioning, more of a devils advocate. It’s still given with kindness and in my voice, but I am not towing your party line. I’m not sorry. I think you are making some horrible decisions. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the decisions you are making are good and I’m wrong. Or maybe I’m the enabler. Maybe these couple months without hangin out with me have been good. No one is helping you spend time self destructing. If it took my “hurting your feelings” to get you to pull your shit together then I’m not sorry, not that I was anyway. I don’t hold on to those coals. It doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.
I hope the last couple months have been really good for you. I hope the kids are well and if they ever want to come over for Mac n cheese and minions, I always have time for them. And when you are ready to have a conversation, with words… Through your mouth, I’ll be here. Same as always. Because unconditional is the only way I know how.
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Units,
Fucking figure it out because we didn’t choose, you did. So fucking act like it. Act like you give a shit, because frankly, I don’t. Others do, but I don’t. And do you have any idea how much it takes for someone like me to stop caring??? Ask around, ask my friends, ask other people that know me, ask people on the street. It is known. But I am done and over it. The fucks are gone, the shits have done been given. The love that remains falls under the obligation category but the like… There is no requirement for like that in the handbook. I checked. For fuck sake. This isn’t even about me, it’s about them, the ones that still have something left to give.
I can’t even. Words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.
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Yang,
You have put the knees on my bees. You are the grammar nazi to my writers journal. I have had best friends that are forever friends (you have met the princess) but you are somehow a part of me I didn’t know I needed. You give voice to things I can’t and help me rein in the compassion that seems to flow unimpeded when you aren’t around. At the same time, I think I lend a chisel to your edge and a filter to your outer voice that you may have been looking for… The chisel and filter that have been sitting there in their pretty boxes just waiting for their home. Plus, you get the parts of my favorites that I don’t, and you eat the centers of my cinnamon rolls and you smoke when you aren’t on fire giving me a chance to take a break when I need it.
I love you too, more than my shoes… enough to let you borrow them and give them to you if you want them. Or find a better pair made by ALDO and send them to you as a gift.
***************
Dear Country,
I knew some of you were not that bright. I knew some of you would believe anything the channel you watch most told you. I even knew some of you were such fucking sheep that you would listen to the loudest one in the room even if he was telling you that you were on fire, while you were wading in a swimming pool. I did not think enough of you were were so blind and ignorant that you would allow such an obvious piece of shit to leave his mark on your door. I did not think you would lay back and open your legs to what is obviously the smallest dick of them all, while he tells you how huge it is… And then tell him how huge his centimeter feels. Haven’t you had enough of this nonsense? Haven’t you felt sufficiently reemed? Must you allow this to continue so the rest of us have to endure your shame? Once again I find myself struggling to find words to properly describe the disgust I feel at the people I have to share citizenship with.
Wake the fuck up! You think we have issues with “terrorists” now? What the fuck do you think will happen if you right wing nut jobs succeed at putting this idiot in office? You know, the guy that has insulted every race, creed and culture I can think of. Do you think we’ll be fine? Do you think it will be okay, that his GIANT centimeter cock will protect you?? Think again motherfuckers… All the “terrorists” that hate each other may stop for a minute and get together to decide- hey, wait… We need to go show the giant, entitled, overinflated, American wack-job that he fucked with too many of us. You can fuck with the people that guy hates, or the guy over there, but not everyone, that’s just greed. Terrorists hate American greed. And who is a bigger poster boy for American greed than our Republi-cock candidate? NO ONE.
So sort yourselves out. This has gone way past funny to, again ridiculous.For fuck sake people.
For. Fuck. Sake.
I can’t even. Again the words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.
So I will let someone else… (It’s not new… But it will work)
Comments Off on Letters, Therapy and Music to Heal the Soul
Sometimes its just like that… you start out writing a letter to a friends kid and it ends up being to you.. and your friend and her kid… and maybe a few other people you know. Hell maybe a lot of people need it. But mostly it was about my struggle with resentment toward my dad, my inability to get past some shit I fully blame on him.
My missive started as a note about how we, as children, like many of the most amazing things in science, are not only what we appear to be. We are an amalgamation of intricate detail. We are made up of so many things. Some good, some beautiful, some complex, some completely incomprehensible, some ugly, some insincere, some repulsive and some that want to admit is part of us. But all those tids and bits are what makes us who we are. And we as a whole are greater than than the individual bits that make us. What does this have to do with anything and why am I writing this to someone elses child? She doesn’t like her dad. (I don’t blame her, he is a piece of shit and I know a bit about dads that are pieces of shit). He isn’t a good person. She and her siblings struggle with the same self loathing I and my siblings struggle with because our whole is made up of some bad parts.
Fortunately we are not our parts. Without an arm, we are still human. But we are not the same human we were with that arm. That specific arm, no matter its state, formed part of who we are. So I wouldn’t be who I am without the contribution of my dad, however bad I may think it, and my friends daughter wouldn’t be the amazing person she is without all her components either.
My last therapy session started with a song… My therapist was rather speachless for a bit then reminded me I dedn’t really need to see him. I have a penchant for self analysis. I know this, yet I can’t fix the resentment and anger. So we talked about the words and the song and the singer. I’ve written about Austin Lucas before and how his songs have helped me through other things in my life. At the time I played this and talked about it with the shrikydink I hadn’t come to the realization I did when writing this. Nothing he did, said, or didn’t do or say can make me who I am… but it contributes to my whole. I like the whole. It is rough and needs constant work to keep from becoming a bag of shitty parts.
Easy there, old man
I’ll drop you where you stand
You wear wings of white but I smell your hellfire
Cause I know who you are, a racist and a coward
And all you’ve got to show for life is dust
Cause you lay roses on the ground
And turn lies to common wisdom
You’re a good man when it suits you
Yes I know
But whatever good you’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And your savior may forgive you but I won’t
Oh but somebody loves you
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you
Oh yeah somebody loves you
And how can it be true
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you
It was from you I learned some men cannot be trusted
And from you I learned some friends do not inspire
Cause you were like my brother
But you filled my heart with anger
And I’ll thank you when those lessons have helped at all
Oh your stories gave me life and they flowed through me like wine
But they were darkest pitch-black arrows to my soul
Yes I was your true believer now my bones do shake and shiver
With a poison that does rot me to the core
Oh but I did once love you
I guess I knew no better
Yes I was once that fool
And I did love you
Oh yes I did once love you
And how can it be true
That I was once that fool
And I did love you
And like some ghastly phantom voice, lifelong companion
Or a devil on left shoulder, lashing tongue
I spit crescents, spite filled language like some drunkard
To the heavens, when to hell he knows his spirit’s surely bound
Yes I lay roses on the ground and deceive you beyond wisdom
There’s a good man in the shadows, so I’m told
But whatever good I’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And that truth comes cold to blacken out the sun
Oh but somebody loves me
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves me
Oh yeah somebody loves me
And how can it be true
That somebody loves me
Somebody loves you
Maybe I’m still resentful. Not as much as yesterday. And not nearly as much as when I last met with the shrinky dink. I still think this song speaks more about my relationship with my dad than I could ever write on my own, At least for now. But I’m working on that.
And sometimes it’s just like that… you walk through a shadow and notice your own, and it isn’t as bad as you once thought it was.
Who took the elephant?
You know the elephant, that was here.
It was right here!
It’s been sitting on my chest for months and even though there is still a Mastiff there now, I can tell it’s gone. The anxiety and stress and fear, well they aren’t all gone but they are in reprieve.
I have been patient, waiting, looking for something so I would be responsible. I didn’t want to pile on another bad decision. I didn’t want to disappoint everyone so I waited. And I shrunk. And the elephant got bigger and heavier and it was harder to breathe.
Sorry… I know this is a bullshit “rich first world issue”, but growing up where you have a car for every house (because lets face it, our public transit in most places is fucked) you learn the freedom that brings. I do realize how fortunate I am in every way. This is not about being thankful for that just now. That is a different grattitude for a different day. Today I am realizing just how oppressed I felt not having the ability to come and go as I please. I have great friends that would cart my ass and the most patient man ever who gave me cart blanche (for the most part) with his vehicle… but it wasn’t mine. I never felt okay, just going without asking. It wasn’t mine.
So the bullet was bitten and the purchase made. It was not the originally intended purchase, in fact far from. It will mean being a grown up and saying no sometimes. But everytime I have to say no to the movies this time, I’ll remember the elephant and how it felt to be released from it’s weight. I’ll do something else. I’ll remember the tears shed in lonliness and sadness and I will smile. It is okay. I am mine, I can go. I am free to choose where and when. It was a good decision. It was a smart decision.
Sometimes it takes removing one weight to notice there are more, but I can get to those. I can make my way to each, on my own, without asking anyone’s permission. I can give each one its turn and look… wouldn’t you know, that bastard was sitting on my confidenece. I knew it was here somewhere.
I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.
I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.
Today is a blue day.
The lenses in my glasses are blue. Not a dark kind of midnight blue but kind of a prussian blue. Seeing the world this way is very frustrating because I don’t like these glasses. They feel like I can’t take them off and change them out for my pretty pink ones. They feel like I can’t breathe. They make the little things look big and the easy things look hard and they make everything feel personal. The blue glasses put me on the roller coaster that takes me on the vortex ride and I fucking hate the vortex ride. I don’t know who designed that shit but they didn’t know what they were doing.
I try to be quiet and wait for the calm to come.
I try not to think about what I’m not doing and the mess piling up and the arguments I’m picking for no reason and the tears that I can’t stop. I can’t.
What’s to say, what’s to ask, I’ve no answer to give and even I probably don’t even want to hear the reality. So I sit and sniffle and wipe dry my tears and think about all the reasons that brought me here to this blue day. The reasons that matter and the ones that don’t.
Today is a blue day.
I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.
I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.
I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.
You are overwhelmed, tired, feeling like the walls are closing in and all you want to do is go… go for a drive and have time to think… Listen to music, angry, soft, loud, emotive, piercing, any music to calm the mindPod… but no. Your keys are in your hand. Your tank is full (well, sorta, you never can tell since you tend to run out when the gauge reads in the neighborhood of half tank), you have a little cash for snacks and a plan, or rather non-plan, but that is the plan, but no. None of it matters, you are fucking stuck. You can’t just go. Can’t go to your favorite breakfast place to read a book and people watch. Can’t just drive and sing loudly to the same song over and over because it is what you feel right that moment. Can’t spend the day hiking along the bluffs or go kidnap your best friend to get lunch somewhere he’s never been.You no longer have that option.
Sometimes its just like that…. you sit. With your head in your hands. You sit with your head in your hands because no matter how many reasons you can find to blame someone else, the choice that brought you to this place was yours. You put yourself on this stoop with your keys in your hand next to a vehicle that is completely unsafe to take more than 15 miles without AAA and telling everyone you care for where you’re going and which route you’re taking. You made a poor choice and it was not the first time, its just visible to more people than the rest have been.
Sometimes its just like that… the ripples in your pond- the decisions you’ve made, those choices you have found ways to put band-aids on and share blame with others; or pawn off on them completely, or better yet, decisions you’ve chosen to ignore all together…. those are making the ripples in your pond. They have started to clash into each other and make bigger ripples and even waves at this point. So much so that you can’t ignore the ripples and you can see those fucking waves from your stoop. The truth is reflecting back in a way that is certainly not as pretty as it was from the glassy pond…. but reality, you threw those fucking rocks, help or no, they left your hands before hitting the water. River rocks, giant stones, small pebbles, chunks of concrete, tar from the road… they all came from you and you have to feel the effect. You are responsible for the fact that all water sports have been suspended until further notice.
It’s time to to calm the water and bring it back to a glassy pond. Time to find the bluff that lets you look down at your reflection and forgive yourself because try as hard as you like… you can’t jump in and pull out what you threw in. You can’t undo the past. You can only forgive yourself and realize it will take work to calm the waters, to trust yourself to hold a skipping stone. It will take time to find the calm and face your reflection once more.
Sometimes… its like that… you must climb to the top of the bluff to find forgiveness. It is difficult and steep. It’s taken a long time to even get here… you’ve stopped a few times (even threw another pebble or two). But you are here now. The top of the bluff is within your reach. When you get there and see your reflection clear from the peace forgiveness brings, bring back the water sports… jump off the bluff on a sunny day, into the glassy water and make a new kind of ripple.
So in browsing my comments, and all the other comments and shit I’m struggling to keep up with now that I follow so freakin many blogs, I saw a comment on “Monday Listicles”. I, being the mature woman that I am, did laugh and say ‘ppffftt….listicles….ha!” Wait, that must’ve someone else. ; ) No, I checked out what peeps were commenting on and there ya have it. Every Monday, new list. Sounds fun to me since copying conversations is difficult for me and the ones that can be safely shown to ye of puritanical mind you bitches are pretty much twitfodder. Anyhow, I decided what the hell… So I hop on over to where it all starts and think to myself… aw shit…. Well I picked a fanfuckingtastic week to start…
This week: the 10 things I hope for this christmas. Wow… This may prove a lofty task, seein’ as I don’t give much credence to the whole magic babies gettin yanked out a hoo-ha that’s never even had a bob or a well.. whatever, to give ‘er a lil stretch theory. Then this magic baby came out all perfect (of course) and and glowing and didn’t get tetnus or mad cow or whooping cough or even the croup from sleeping in a nasty food trough with half eaten hay for padding…. Oh, in musty shit filled, stank ass barn. And bythe-by who gives babies gold and perfume… on a camel? Those fuckers spit. Anyhow… Then there’s the super-stealth-ultrasonic-be-everywhere-at-once red rocket-sled that can haul a metric shit tons of toy and a giant fat dude packin enough alice-in-wonderland potion to get him in and out of every house in the world (chimney or not) with a kid in it……… I’m thinkin this could be tough for anyone, (that’s gotta burn some fierce calories!) but really? morbidly obese super hairy dude? with little people as his only help? (I know you’re thinkin it, its okay but be nice).
I think my aversion started mostly because every year my mom and sister ask me for a list. My sister usually asks me sometime in October because hers is ready and nothing on it is priced for adult sibling gift exchanging. Its usually made up of shit you should buy for yourself when you are an adult in your thirties, with a family and two stable incomes… but you know… gotta have priorities people. Oh! Its to make sure I know how much my doodle’s shit (I say shit because how many 3Ds’ does 1 child need?!?) is gonna cost… so you know I can get him a gift certificate to the proper giant chain store. And every year they get the same list from me: please, I don’t need anything. If you must have a list, I’d like to get together for Sunday for brunch. (I love a good eggs bene) It doesn’t go over well, but I don’t really care anymore. So to come up with my own list. I had to do some tweeking… But without further adieu here is my version of a 10 things I hope for this christmas list:
10 this I hope for in the Winter Solstice Season:
1. That I will actually get to spend time in the mountains this season and enjoy some of the amazing things you can only see when surrounded by a sea of white snow and the smell of fire places.
2. That the friendships I have made via the interwebs will continue and we will encourage each other to become better writers.
3. That I will improve myself as a human in a way that is marked and noticeable to others and not just myself…. Not because I seek attention or praise, but because I made a difference somehow or to someone.
4. That my brother will find someone… to share his music with.
5. That my my little pink car will slow the fuck down and allow me to rest (and that my blingy rose colored glasses will be found).
6. That I will learn to forgive myself for the bad decisions of the past, so the rippling can calm and I can find a still place to start changing the course from here.
7. That those I love and care for will know that unconditionally is the only way I know how… and that even if its been a while, still holds true.
8. That I treat others as I want to be treated and remember that it is my job to be the human I want others to be.
9. That my best friend will find a place of peace, if only for a moment… so he can know what that’s like and build from that place.
10. and of course…… to improve my shoe collection…
I probably won’t post this over on the “Listicles” but maybe next time the list will be a little more non-snarkster mom friendly.
I have so much pent up shit in my head that I hardly know where to start. Well, I will start with an apology for the length that will surely be a bit longer than usual or what I’d prefer. But that’s what hapens when well… shit happens. So I will try to temper the bad with the good and keep the ranting to a minimum…
First it is Friday and I must thank Paula… Fuck You Friday‘s are the shit! Her decision to give that outlet was a brilliant gus send. I will give you a gift when I meet you someday and you can use it to intimidate the purple house from afar… then blame me! ha! I willingly accept and will write nasty letters for days. (you’ve seen my work, unleash my fury, and I owe you a pic that will make you feel better, promise)
Admittedly this week has been shit, rolled in grass and left in the sun. Okay maybe not quite that bad but you get the idea. I got kicked it the kidneys by the tax man, kneed in the face by my management, and treated with disrespect by so many that its really not funny. So much so that my anxiety kicked into high gear and I picked a fight with the man. Now we have different styles of communicating, but we are good for each other. Well, most times. Sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me and I… well I had a meltdown and pretty much just made what could have been a simple conversation about consideration, an awful arguement that never needed to be. Now granted I (in my humble and er um correct opinion) was valid, but my method was shit and lacked consideration for him (wait.. me a hypocrite, nooooo…. must have been that other sars, I would never). And as I sat thinking about it and having my best girl call me out on my bull shit (mostly pertaining to arguements with the man, not work, but really it somewhat equates to the same shit) I realize how very lucky I am.
I realized what the geeks sorta hid from the rest of us – And why they sorta hid, they were fuckin busy with less than 256k sometimes, trying to carry on multiple conversations… All these years by having friendships online. Oh, if you don’t remember 256 because you are too young to be reading this and most of the blogs linked to it… think of 256 being an old vw bug against the broadband you are used to and that would be a M5. Yeah, that shit couldn’t get out of its own way. We may have been (or are) friends with them, but the better part of us, my rough guess is 95%, don’t know about all the “chans” and “reddits” and what “digg” is or what “stumble” -was its shit now- for. And that real friendships, that have lasted years or even decades, have been formed over cyberspace and still remain.
I now understand all this. I have made my twit-a-shiv-aho nation (we will shiv you if you even fuck with us) and friends from the interwebs via this blogisphere from all over the world. Some of us will never meet but there is a bond. We care when there is family loss or bullshit or medical crap or job loss or everyday saddness just because life is some shit right then. I am certain some of us will stop writing when the need is no longer there, some of us may become actual published writers, but some of this new little circle of mine will grow as friends, real friends. I am thankful. Its these friends that have kept me laughing through some dark days. However… it wasn’t all this squishy, gushy shit that made me realize that regardless of what I was feeling this week, theanxiety, the ache, disrespect from work, lack of consideration from so many, and we haven’t even started on the fam sitch…I have so very much to be thankful for and bottom line, it’s up to me (as usual) to get the Fuck over it! People can be shitty, so, that is on them.
What actually reminded me of this was the owner of my company (crazy fuckin kiwi) passing around ‘The Giving Tree’ in order to convince oeople not to have babies. (huh??) Well first, I fucking love this book and it would never convince me not to have children, no book could do that… my childhood and wr-ex husband did that just fine thankuverymuch. I love it enough that I gave this book to my nephew when he was merely weeks old and read it too him all the time. He still calls it his special book. I’ve also given it to my brother when he was in a dark time. This book is a reminder of so much more than how much you get when you give. And today it served to remind me I need to remember why I am here and there is more to life than the self centered glass we look through everyday. We need to listen, and give to others in the way we want to be heard and given to. Funny, this book reminded me of words my love spoke to me that in the moment I took as hurtful and even mean. They are not, they are how we should treat one another. A little book a subsiquent chat with my best girl reminded me of just that…
So here it is, better late than never. No bull shit, no poems, no fucking around… I am thankful, really fucking thankful.
