Vamanos!

Buttered and Toasted
all out in the SUN
But that still doesn't mean
that I am finished.
The Rain cannot deter.
The WIND, though
hard to infer,
is completely honest.
No STEELY, overly Oxidized
>fork< in my fish belly white
ASS.
This is always beating,
this is never FINISHED.
This has just shortly Begun.
And it's Green sometimes.
Sometimes Iredescent.

Pink Pillowcases

Well, we may be out of a house in the near future. Long live warm weather wooo-hoooo!!!! Cos at least it's warmer now. Sometimes. Sleeping outside at night won't be so bad. Sometimes. Am I worried? No. Que sera sera.
I have a job, but it's like thirty minutes away. Only time will tell if the job will make up for the gas usage. But at least it's something!!
I also have acquired a bike. Jennifer and I were going to a track to run, and some dude had two bikes laying out in his trash heap. So we got them. Yay us! Now Jennifer just needs some wheels for hers, and mine needs several parts and it needs to be derusted. Time to learn how to fix bikes.
God Bless Sally, and Bozo, and that other one asshole.
Amen.

Theoretical Example

Yesterday was the busiest day I've had in a while. I spent a grand total of three hours at the Capital Area Training Consortium. 45 minutes of which was in the car driving way out of my way to go retrieve a paper I wasn't told beforehand I'd need.
The boys went to the new dentist, and I had to explain to the people at the old clinic why I was changing dentists when I went to pick up the kids' xrays.
I've spent a grand total of fifty bucks on this custody stuff, five bucks for notary, $17.50 to overnight paperwork, and 25 bucks when I went and petitioned the courts a month ago. And the money for the courts was wasted because it was requested of me to type up a letter of custody consent instead of doing it the old fashioned way. My attorney said I shouldn't worry about what they want, and do it whichever way pleases me, but I don't want to hold things up any longer for some people, regardless of what they may believe. I'm just not that petty.
Anyhow, it seems as though I have been accused of a lot that I am not guilty of. I do believe that I was accused of 'abandoning' someone. Come to find out, when an environment is created or occurs where two people can not cohabitate, then when one party leaves it is NOT considered abandonment. Although adultery is considered a form of abandonment, and is also good reason for divorce. I didn't adulterate.
Also, I'm not going through a divorce without legal counsel of my own. I don't care what other people may or may not tell me, I'm still going to be absolutely positive that I am an advocate for my kids. I'm just not going to jump into something because someone else tells me I should. It's unfortunate for them that I didn't turn out to be the sheep they've accused me of being. I'm a pushover no longer. It is also unfortunate that those people became angry and resorted to childish means such as name-calling and belittling. Yes, that was very sad indeed, lol.
You know, there are some mothers out there who claim to set the perfect example of what a mother should be, but at the same time they leave their infants and toddlers unattended for long periods of time for whatever reason. And let's face it, for kids that young any amount of time is just long enough for something bad to happen. Bad things only take a second. Or, and this is really ludicrous, they claim that their own mothers are crackheads, but then they send their kids to them for weeks at a time. And I'm not saying grandma lives just around the corner, oh no, grandma might possibly live hours and hours away.
It was stated that I am a hypocrite, oh that really made me laugh. Really. I'm not striving for the adhesiveness of a paradigm, I'd so much rather be a paragon. Whether or not that will ever happen for me, only time will tell. Or does someone ever completely reach that status? Really? Or is it the whole rather than a part? A lifetime of plodding on and trying, and doing what's right when one can? So yeah, I'd much rather be a paragon, I think, rather than the other. Which says at times that it's an excellent example when that in fact may only be theory. Theoretically speaking, that's just too wishy washy for me. The formula for that adhesive is just too faulty in theory.
I have everything printed out and neatly filed away. Everything. Blogs that may or may not have been written with me in mind. Many, many messages and my replies. And that's another thing. I read blogs, and yes, some of them are obviously directed at harming my character. Obviously. But I'm told I have no right to think that those things were written about me. But yet, some of the authors of those blogs read mine and assume that they are about them. You know, even reposts from months and months ago. Hilarious, that is. Also, just quite a bit hypocritical perhaps.

Assume the hyperbolic position

Reading this? Why? It is a me claimed to not exist. This is honest. Not hypocritical in the least. But isn't the reading of this blog'o shit hypocritical?
Here things are defined. Metaphors do abound, yes, but I THINK in the straight and true sandwiched between metaphors. Condiments of metaphors. Metaphorical vegetables.
Oh please, those so high and mighty. Yell as much as is required to make feeling good a reality. Lie as much for the same reasons. Leave out just enough to make it seem right. Definition of hypocrisy is as follows 1) pretending to be what one is not, as good or virtuous; simulating feeling one does not experience. Much thanks to Webster's.
Do as I say not as I do, indeed? Harumph!!!, the bullshit just makes me laugh. I can only think of the effort involved in attempting to discredit or get a reaction. It reminds me of Sage's behaviour. That two-year-old two-step danced loudly so as to attract attention.

Still Life

I really don't think that it should have to get much more complicated than this. There are only so many ways to eat a hot dog, after all.

wonderment popcorn

four reasons
(a zillion per diem questions)
to place foot upon darkened floor
and have the other follow it,
and to find the steel to make
wine from innuendos.
the flailing and railing of
of eight embryonic fists,
with wise blood of time coursing
through infinitesimal passages.
soprano, tenor, alto chorus,
in answering, echoes with
"Sometimes, it causes me to tremble..."
hereditary prows; upturned or pointy,
scenting out beacons, ever-sailing
salty, spraying, seasonal seas...
with heaps of potential
to helm vast enterprises.
so astonishing in presence!
like massive mysteries
stowed away in shoeboxes,
or behemoths living in teaspoons.
none has any idea
how i've loved you altogether...
all since you were nought but rumors.

neapolitan obliviate

this isn't impartial
don't tell me it's right
and claim ennui
when everyday it's
a chore to run from
those carnal elephants.
no different
not alike though.
escape a joke?
there are razors
in that low chuckle.
a cut
a scratch
a gouge
a canyon.
but tell me...
are the abrasions
any easier to bear?
you drippy
ice cream cone, you.
sandpaper tongue
knighted for
your obliteration.

Mopping

Apparently there isn't going to be any relief from my mental incapacitation today. And Mewlips is broken.
I've never completely read the Bible from cover to cover. I've probably lied and said that I did at some points in my life. I should probably feel ashamed for lying and don't really at this moment. It is something I have meant to do, but haven't yet. I do know that it is stated in there that when someone hurts you you should turn the other cheek. So I have read parts at least. But does that mean just as in being violent against someone who has been violent to you? I mean, is there a really fine line there where retaliation and standing up for oneself become meshed? How much is too much? I know that the turning the other cheek thing came from Jesus, and He definitely had no problem in standing up for what He knew was right and good.
What do you do when your whole foundation is shaken? Are you supposed to strive to keep some semblance of yourself and all your life pertains to, or do you just let go? Where does standing up for yourself get dragged past the grey area into being completely aggressive? I can't seem to grasp the way it's supposed to function. Maybe one of these days I'll get sma-a-a-a-t. But probably not.
I went out without kids last night. I didn't get home till one, couldn't sleep until after four, and got up at 7:30 to go to Mass. For some reason I think I should feel kinda tired. But for some reason I don't. And I think that Panera makes a helluva chai latte.

The Day Jimmy's Boa Ate the Wash

I am certain that most of us have met some of those horrible, shallow people who care for nothing except themselves and their self-image. What does it matter if they turn their backs on friends they've had for years for some little person more shallow than they, and definitely more vapid? It's supposed to mean nothing of course. If the assholes get what they want then everyone else is supposed to be content with them and their actions and the results. They stutter, say they did wrong, claim to feel just shitty about having hurt another person...talk crap about other people who do the same things they do themselves. It's the not learning from mistakes, the act of doing the same old thing over again that does nothing but incontrovertibly prove that such behaviors are in reality condoned, and that conscientiousness has always been nothing more than just a myth to them.
Are they lost or something? I think that that's part of it, but they are too good to borrow a friend's map or lantern. They just don't care. I guess it really shouldn't bother me. It shouldn't be anything for me to worry about unless I'm the one being treated like shit or happen to find myself exhibiting some of those vile tendencies. We all, after all, get what's coming to us eventually.

Apeshit

Riddley riddley ree...this goes along with the previous post. Sean wrote a story in school for creative writing. The gist of it is as follows:
Cinderella was lost in the woods and got hungry. She found this gorgeous and plump squirrel so she ate it, (I can't remember if she ate it whole or not, but I believe she did and it was still alive inside her). The squirrel's friends were so angry they tracked her down and killed her and squashed her as flat as her dress.

I definitely remember the flat as a dress thing. Oh my, the school officials went apeshit about this story. Seriously. I can't help it if I gave birth to a Stephen King. Please people, he's ten, and a boy. For starters, don't pussify my son and try to make him girly. Let him be a boy. Secondly, that story just wasn't that bad. It's not like the forest animals found Cinderella at her school one day and launched a frontal assault on it complete with sewer submarines and cherry bomb dropping acorn helicopters.

A Case of Nutsackery and Damnnation

Okay, so here's the deal. I had a Child Study meeting the other day concerning everyone's favorite failing fourth grader, also known as Sean. We're talking straight F's and one D failing here. The real deal. So anyway, they want to evaluate. Go right ahead I declared. We've been down this road before. But later on in the conversation it was said that the "labels" they are probably gonna stick on my son are OHI, and ED. Okay, OHI is Other Health Impaired...ED is Emotionally Disturbed. The former doesn't bother me much. The latter, well, they're not doing that to him. That label will follow him for the rest of his life. It will be a determining factor in the college he tries to get into, whatever career he might try to pursue. I'm enraged, and they're not doing that to him. They shouldn't even be "labeling" until AFTER they run their little exams on him. I worked down the hall from an ED room in a middle school. Those kids were sadistic and sociopathic. Truly, they were, but at the same time sadly misunderstood and emotionally ignored.
I'm not saying that Sean doesn't have problems by any means. He's the only one of the kids who remembers what living with Jesse was like. He's the oldest and has that pressure on him. He is self-deprecating and emotionally immature. But still I don't think he is ED material. I'm not saying that just cos I'm his mother. I've worked with those kids. They came to our room on and off when they got in trouble. They didn't like having to be in the same room with 'retards'.
To ice the cake I was told at the meeting that Sean's A's and B's of last year and his placement in the gifted program were due to "people being afraid of his behavior...giving him grades he didn't earn or deserve". WHAT THE FUCK???!!! You don't give kids grades to smooth things over. What the fuckinkinda teaching is THAT???!!!
Different counties, different rules, different corruption? I was so angry. I called Prince William County Schools and gave them a piece of my mind. I was told "we don't do that here...they are letting him slip through the cracks down there"
Henrico County, where we are now, is saying the same shiteating thing about Prince William. If my boy has indeed "slipped through the cracks" I want answers, I want them NOW. And they ALL had better stop spinning round on their asses and DO for my son as should have been done all along. If he needs help, then he needs help. I want what is best for him at all costs, and I WILL have him taken care of. That is something they can take to the bank. I'm appalled at this whole fucking mess. Someone is lying somewhere, people are trying to scapegoat. I don't appreciate it, I won't stand for it. This is my son's LIFE. They aren't ruining it. I'm not going to let Sean himself ruin it either. I mean, I'll do what I can for him, and I will expect him to take on the responsibilities and consequences that are due to him. I am pissed off at him for screwing around in school, oh yes, but the school year if over half-way gone, and they're doing something now. NOW? I swear, they are all fucktards. AND LAZY. They are also pushing to have him medicated. I HATE that. They want a little drone they can shove in an ED closet somewhere, labeled and shelved and numb and out of the way. I SO FUCKING HATE THAT.

Or

To begin with, getaway cars are meant to be inconspicuous. Chartreuse or sun orange just won't do. It really doesn't help matters much that the coiffed and gelatin-haired asshole in the SUV beside you means to jump in front of you when the light changes. He believes it is his right to do so. So, speeding along in what is hopefully nothing more than a slate gray mini-sedan, it is no wonder that the narrow alleys remain unseen. Would it even give you pause if you were to know that the key holders stand silently there in the shadows? While pedestrians sidle away from them mistaking them for muggers they are in fact the unknown and unlikely heroes. Soft spoken, kindly-eyed.

And then there's an accident ahead. Detours and roundabouts, blocks over from the start, or from the place where you are needed. In all this mess you miss lunch at that cafe on the corner. The one that sells the chutney, good for the gullet, or for the soul, or to use as a poultice to help fade that cicatrix. Food for thought really isn't all that expensive usually. And the matter isn't completely incomprehensible even if it is described in mutters or textese.

When you run out of fuel what then? Will you stand facing the wall as you did in the past? Remember how you stood there with your face mashed against the cinder blocks? Nose taking turns either relishing the chalky-stony-mortary smell, or being disgusted by it...indecision has a similar aroma. It is humorous to recall how the red dotted mark on your brow confused you. Yes, dearest dumbass. When you squish your face into the wall, your face will get scarred. When you bang your head blood will bloom, and your hair will lay goose eggs.

Water, I need water! Eating my way through this is dusty and throat-scratching work. My sinuses are killing me. My head throbs. Is it worth it to plod unceasingly through this labyrinth when logic sleeps? I have discovered that the true saviors don't dance neon down the middle of the street. They don't flash golden teeth as they punch in your tits and kick you in the groin or knee. They aren't sly or cruel. Or liars. Or fetchingly dressed Barbies and Kens. Or hurtful pretenders. Hell, they ain't Jesus. Just listeners. Just careful ones. Just friends.

This, this, and this. It doesn't matter if it changes names before you get to the end. It is the ending that is important. Yield when it's required. Sing car tunes loudly, or watch them. Pick up hitchhikers? Sometimes? But revving in neutral just wastes that fossil fuel we all just CANNOT live without. hahahaha. Oh fuck-is-me! I hope someone remembers me when I'm in the junkyard or disassembled and used for parts. That is the grand and final destination after all, right?

Please Silence Your Cell Phones

Well, today Sebastian didn't kick his sister in the face again, so we went to see Coraline. What I got to see of it is good, but not as good as the book of course. Gaiman is just a weird enough author for me. Sage and I spent the second half of the movie meandering the halls and going to the bathroom because she said she needed to but really didn't. The magic of two-year-olds. I would've just stayed in my seat, but people in the back of the theater kept shushing and making more noise than Sage was herself. No one else seemed bothered by her.
I have decided to go to school to be an X-ray tech. I feel better having more of a plan than before. School will take two years, so basically by the time Sage is ready for kindergarten all will be well. Hopefully. I just don't know if kindergarten will be ready for her. Even if we move back to WV my salary will still be decent. I'd love to do sonograms as well, but would dread finding that something might be wrong with someone's baby.
After several years of debating whether or not to be a teacher, Cathy's broken nose decided for me. I really don't want my arms to be used for chew toys either. It doesn't matter whether kids are special needs or not, what it boils down to is stable discipline from all sides. When everyone caters to you at home you expect it everywhere, right? Not autism logic, just plain ol' spoiled brat logic. Having worked with autistic kids myself I know how intelligent they can be. And cunning. Don't tell me that they don't know what they're doing.

I really should sleep sometimes

Sometimes I wonder if the monsters I see in the dark are inescapable. They aren't really out THERE, but are in actuality capering behind my eyes. Not figments of my imagination, but parts of ME. Parts that cannot be viewed except in the absence of light. The way that movies projected on a screen get more clear with the dimming of everything else.
Wondering about inner beasts and other such niceties also led me to question decisions I have made in my life. Something that may have seemed very inconsequential to me might just have meant complete devastation to someone else, even eons on down the path. Ripples upon ripples upon tsunamis. Like putting my foot down in a puddle. But instead of thrashing and dying out on an edge the crinkling would just continue, invisibly buckling asphalt, vaporizing worms, shooting like sap up trees and causing leafquakes.
Yeah, that...or I'm just full of methane and think much too highly of myself. Just keep in mind that sometimes you hafta take the corndogs out of the box before they will fit in the freezer.

The Red House Over Yonder

I live next door to John Lee Hooker. That's what I used to call him actually. Well, either that or Mr. Pipe because he's always walking around with one clamped in his teeth. But I found out that his name is really Mr. Wilderson, and his wife just passed away.
Yesterday the kids and the dog and I were out playing frisbee with Susie, Larry, and Julia, and he came over and told me that his wife had died on Tuesday. I didn't even know he was married. I just thought he was this amazing 90 + years man living alone, still driving, and cleaning out his own gutters. His wife had apparently been in a nursing home for over a year. He was crying when he told me, and I don't know what to do. I'm assuming that there aren't that many people coming to the services and at this point I feel obligated to go. The only problem is that I didn't know the lady at all, and barely know Mr. Pipe properly.
The other neighbor's husband died last week. It's odd, the two deaths so close to each other. The hellians and I were headed for the bus stop one morning and there was an ambulance and firetruck in front of the Taylor's. I found out later that Mr. Taylor had been taken to the hospital. He never got out alive.
Tuesday was also the day the power went out. Since it was cold and dark, and my neighbors on both sides are elderly, I went to check on them. I thought that Mrs. Taylor would be alone but two of her 'kids' were still with her. They came to the door and talked a while. But when I went to Mr. Pipe's he never answered. Now I can kinda guess why. Poor Mr. Pipe. I guess Sage and I can take flowers to the funeral on Friday, at the very least. And make him some dinner.

The Great Contender Pretender

nothing novel,
open, or true.
viral and vain,
self-induced pain,
all you got going for you.
always picking
at scabs of doubt.
try to hate,
strangling abate.
one by one take them out.

The B--F--G

I've been running along this cliff for a very long time. So long in fact that choices are very limited for me. I can keeping running, and tripping, and getting more tired. I can turn and fight whatever it is that pursues me. I can turn and just let it eat me. Or I can jump. It's not dark over the side, just foggy. But I still don't know what's there, where the bottom is...if there even is a bottom. Not making a choice is no longer an option. It is no longer a choice I have.

The power went out last night between six-thirty and seven. So, no heat until shortly after one in the morning. It got cold. Real fast. I felt horrible for the power guys out in the dark and sleet working to bring power back to the twenty-two houses affected. I don't mind not having power usually, just when the sky is spitting ice all over the place. Your house doesn't stay warm for long without a constant warm flow then. It was kinda like camping in the arctic maybe. We read the BFG by candlelight that danced all over its pages. We laughed a lot. And that was the good part about it. It was so quiet that we actually could hear and listen to each other.

Outside there are limbs all over the place. Trees covered in ice. Some trees down and some split and half-way down. The bare trees look more alive, in a sense, with a coating of ice. It's as though the very souls of the trees have become tangible, vapor like and trapped in the opaqueness. From far off they almost look as they do when spring makes them wake up, still fuzzy from sleeping with winter. Wait! What the hell am I talking about? Wannabe poetic bullshit. I say what I think or feel too often. Doesn't matter though, no one pays any mind.

SCHNIT-zel

If my car gets repo'ed this is what I will be driving. It isn't much

...but we all have to do what we have to do.

Defenestrated

suck it up, friend
what's become of you now?
idle scratching, raw and morose
deep furrows in your brow.
no, don't spit wishes
too narrow for your gait.
jive and jive, a pity song
much eagerness to relate.
sundered, lazy, bedded days
no remorse? no open ear?
talent and ingenuity, a loss,
buried under snows of years.

From Amanda...WTF???

This...oh my. THIS is a myspace email from my ex's girlfriend and my response. It is regarding an email I sent him, HIM, not her. I tried to be frank and to not be unkind. Was I?

From: AmandaDate: Jan 21, 2009 2:56 AM
A very very late reply to an interesting email-
Brandy,
I think things have been taken a little out of context and have become distorted through the great gossip chain.
We are both individuals equal of each others due respect as human beings; with a right to be heard. There is no need for a “you can tell so and so that I said…” Nobody needs to resort to gossip or conflict. I know it is awkward to speak to me; but it is alright if you have something you would like me to know. (Or visa-versa) I’m not meaning to say “If you have something to say you can say it to my face!” It is not my intention to offend, or create malice, and there is no need to read between the lines; I have no hidden agenda or cruel intentions. I’m seeking first to understand and secondly to be understood through this message. If I completely fuck it away I apologize… I could never fill your shoes and walk in them… just as it couldn’t be done the other way around either.
So, maybe to clear the air a little…
The blog I posted on Jesse’s space was an “I’m drunk and crying the blues, pitty me” type of thing. So it probably wasn’t very clear. And I left it for open interpretation as I didn’t plainly describe its meaning. I had no idea it was you birthday. It was an absolute and pure coincident. The coat tails was not a reference to you, it was to me (I’ll get into that in a second). The only direct reference was the “strings of marriage” thing. In the sense that I was alluding to the legal relationship you two share and my frustration with the lack of a divorce.
The “coat tails” thing… I was talking about myself. Before we moved down here I had just got “on my feet” and was providing independently for myself, Alexis and my brother. I’m not at all comfortable with being any bit dependent on someone else. It makes me feel like a bum and I tell myself I’m a piece of shit and so on… So, I felt like I was “riding on [his] coat tails” and need to be pulling more weight because “shoulders are from God and burdens we must carry too”Now, I’m being very matter-of-fact in my describing this and walking on eggshells to not stick my foot in my mouth here. Again, I’m only trying to explain how I’m trying to look at this, and trying to see it from your point of view (even though I will never really know. Again I’m seeking to understand to correct however I mislead you). I can see where the thing about “imagining the weight of some one on your coat tails. If the key word being “weight” and maybe you are sensitive to this… I can sorta see the misleading elements here. I apologize.
The whole food stamp thing… got really misinterpreted. I’m kinda like WTF?? Something went horribly wrong somewhere. I’m blown away by this…It was an issue with getting Medicaid for the kids. Alexis (for really obvious reasons) and Natalie (for sort of obvious and complicated reasons) are not on Jesse’s health insurance so I was trying to get Medicaid straightened out. If you don’t tell Florida that some is married and they find it out it the end of the fucking world. Lol. Anyway it’s longer than I want to go into right now… (Aren’t you tired of me yet?)
Again, as I imagine we are different individuals, with different perspectives, any negative connotation or underline whatevers you may get out of this message was not intended. If you wish not to speak to me I’ll respect that. I just don’t see any reason for anything other positive interaction between us. There are way way too many innocent souls in the middle of whats going to be a very confusing life.
In appreciation of your reflection over all this,
Amanda
B.T.W. O.M.G. Sage is huge!!!! Boy, that girl grows quick! I f-ing love the beatles shirt. rock on kiddo!!

____________________________________________________________________
Amanda,
I appreciate your directness. I also hope that I am not misconstrued in any way within the confines of this reply. Rest assured that I do not, in any shape or form, wish to be in your shoes. You are very right about the whole "he said, she said" boolsheet. I am as frustrated as you about a lack of divorce. It is indeed a very fucked up situation. Please be aware of the fact that however legally binding the relationship may be, it means nothing to me, much in the same way it means nothing to Jesse. It never did mean anything to him.
Wow, the "weight" thing threw me for a loop. Weight is such a fluid term, and I understood that it applied to me in a metaphorical sense, not a literal one. That was my take anyhow. Kudos to you for thinking that you may have struck a nerve there when you hadn't. However, since I have lost ninety pounds and no longer have a weight problem, I guess we'll let that carcass rot as it should.
Ummm. What else? Oh, yes...my kids are my main concern. I'm a very busy person all things considered. The fact that I am still married only crosses my mind every great once in a while because I am so caught up in the day-to-day. If anyone else should obsess over this sordid infarction, then I am indeed sorry. In my own mind, I am already divorced. Would really legally be that way if I only had the money, and everything else straightened out. I am only sorry for the problems it seems to cause everyone else. As far as maliciousness goes, there's none coming from me either so please accept my apologies for your troubles resulting from all this.
Again, my concern is my brood. If they are crossed in any way, I will be extremely ired. They have it hard enough not even hearing from a dad they know (think?) they have. Really, for the most part they can't decide whether they still have one or not. In fact, Sean says from time to time that he doesn't, and that's all I hear him say about Jesse ever anymore. I will never tell them that they cannot talk to him. Whether or not Jesse decides to stay in touch with them will be up to him obviously. Whenever they do call he never answers. It will be his loss if he doesn't know them. They are phenomenal kids, and I'm really not just stating that because I am their mother. Simply put, THEY JUST ARE:).
You have much to be thankful for. Two beautiful kids and a father for them. You have nothing to fear from me. This isn't a ploy to take your man, or ruin your life, or make it any harder. I am just sorry I am not made of money, or that I cannot find a job. No one is hiring. It sucks. Never fear, though, you will get your divorce and soon. I hope that you have found none of this offensive.
Keep in touch. And thanks. ~Brandy


I wish no ill toward Jesse, Amanda, or their kids. I want nothing but the best for them. I also want nothing but the best for my children as well, and really want for everyone to come out on the other side happy and fulfilled. Whether that happens or not only time will tell. Jesse told his mother that in an effort to erase the children Jesse and I have together from their lives, Amanda tore up all the pictures of them she could find and deleted as many from the computer as she could. Deletes emails and messages from Cathy...that sort of thing. In her message to me she seems more adult than that, but I really don't know her.
She also did something else that I cannot agree with at all, but hey, it was just her choice right?
I hate drama. I don't like this situation at all, but all any of us can do is just shoulder through it as best we can. It's at times like these that I want to take my kids and move away from Cathy and the rest of Jesse's family so that I don't have to feel as though I'm creating more drama just by being around than is entirely necessary in such a messed up juxtapositon of occurances. Sometimes I just don't know what the "right" answer is, or how to find it.

salinger and muenster on rye

Sometimes...sometimes I really wish that I mattered. I wonder why it is that only my faults are pointed out regularly. Is there nothing good about me at all? For instance, if I really am such a crappy mother then my kids would be better off without me anyway. And that just means that I don't matter. Sometimes hearing, "That's not the way I was raised!" or "That's not what I did with my kids!" just grates on me a little. Since I'm not a hunk of provolone, bleu, or cheddar I find it a bit unpleasant. I wonder if all cheeses feel the same.

Yark! Is the loneliness just smelly, or is it the smelly that causes the loneliness?

Yogurt-Burst Metaphorioes

Today I was a mountain, and a sun god, a cat cow, a triangle/pyramid with dust storms of acrid Egyptian air, a child, and a droopy dog. I bumped, shuffled, strove, and cried out in triumph and exasperation. I moved histories, and stomped clay, pinched ears, and at times I had to choose to ignore...not always easy to do, that. Arguments and arguments and more arguments wept steamy rain on my shoulders and dissatisfaction crashed and spumed upon my cliff face. I turned, truth was perused, and in the midst of it all still had to discover the damn squirmle. Tweezer scissors bit me without my permission, and the Sage just couldn't...she just couldn't reach...REACH herself! Hahahaha, can you dig it? But even with everything else I still want to be a fedoraed drummer. Where is the beat? God, I SUCK. It's okay, I can take it. Just throw a little worcestershire on it. Who was it that said something about Fruity Pebbles in River Styx? I want that embroidered on my pillow because it is always a good thing to sleep with honesty.

Casualties

Apparently Sean was in the back of the line today when he heard a r~i~p. Craning his head around he discovered that his "back door was open," as he put it. He spent the rest of the day with his coat on because it was long enough to cover embarrassment. To avoid other offenses he ran home ahead of the rest of us and changed before he would even take his coat off and hang it up. After asking for some sort of miracle glue, Sean disappeared and could no longer be reached for comment. Sadly, I don't believe his pants are going to pull through this.

Mon Dieu!!!

HOMELESS. HUNGRY. NEED FOOD PLEASE....And how. Why didn't I feed her? I wanted to, I should have. My car was warm and her corner certainly looked windy. Excuses...I was late, my kids needed fed. Really, how can one go around helping others when it is hard enough today to help oneself, one's own? Of course, I may think that just to make it easier on myself. If I'd had any cash at that moment, I would have lilypadded the idling traffic to weight her with it. But I had no extra cash. Hell, I have no fucking JOB. That little word. Does it deserve capitalization? It has of late rolled around in my mouth like an oily ball bearing, lacking direction or a degree to even steer it.
Oh, but how silly of me! I'm a domestic engineer! Of course. I get paid in smiles, whines, IOU's tallied up in colored pencil and handprints on walls. The lesser part, deciphering the muck of eons wedged in shoe treads, ties my language in knots. And there's always a little dogshit thrown in there as well, dragged across the floor, discarded to foul a corner somewhere. Yeah, Rosetta Stone that, Mother. And have you seen? Do you know the ones who seem to dance without moving at all? I think I'm supposed to be a choreographer for their show. I, however, know the word WALK. It's not in their vocabulary. I'm still trying to get them to not genuflect in the presence of the all-powerful, all-knowing television... AnyWAY...
The rate of unemployment in this great and austere Commonwealth ( gah! 'common--wealth' my arse) has spiked dramatically. Since I did things ass backwards and have four responsibilities and no proper lurnin', I'm screwed. Actually, from what I've inferred even a diploma from an institution of higher learning does nothing to bring the bacon home these days. And fry it? Dream on. In short, if you have a job, bite down. If you don't, I feel you. And if you have one to spare...I'm looking. Maybe even that lady with the sign on the corner is looking as well.

Four hours ago there were crunched up chips and carrot peelings all over the bedroom floor. The brussel sprouts used as an ice pack had slipped off the bed. Yesterday the light hurt, not just the eyes but even the skin. The flu paid a visit, and with obvious pleasure my offspring needed no cajolement to take advantage of my necessary suspended animation. I hate the flu.

The Good, the Bad, and the Mushmouthed

Death by spool? Nearly. Sage and I were almost squashed by this giant metal spool rolling down the middle lane of the interstate. I thought it was a drunk speeding along in the pouring rain, but it wasn't, and I guess it's a good thing that the spool was a better driver than a drunk usually is. The big metal rods and things flying off it were still a little unnerving. It might have been an interesting way to exit, however.

In our house we are all scholars of Sagese. "Open da door!" means "Give me a hug!", "Dat's yight!"--"That's right!", "Heyp me mama, heyp me!"--"Pick me up, damn you!", "Oomphada"--"Spongebob", "Da moon anda staaaz." Well, that one's obvious. God, I love it when kids begin to talk alot. My boys each had a different word for instructions when they were younger. Sean's was constructions, and 'Bastian's was destructions. This also gives some indication of their personalities. Skylar just sprang from my brow spouting complete sentences and snide asides. That girl never entertained with either baby talk or a bedwetting problem. She thinks she's like thirty now. At seven she claims to be a much better driver than me, and she may be right. But just like the world will never know the REAL truth about a Tootsie Pop, we're not going to get to the center of that one for about fifty more years.

ahoneandahtwoandahyouknowwhattodo

Resolutions? Gah! Fuck 'em. I know what I want, and I know I have will the will power. I'm not beating myself up, down, or ass-sideways this year. I'm not worrying over shit. I sat at the table the other night with my kids as they rambled on about the lost lego dude's arm, the aliens Sean drew all over the tiles in the shower, all the things that Sage has almost succeeded in flushing down the john. I didn't say anything, I just watched and listened. Their prattle was infinitely more interesting than most adult conversations. I'm lacking words to describe how completely I loved them at that moment, but how sad I was at the same time because I wondered how much I had missed of them. Sean's ten. Ten?! When the hell did that happen? He's over half-way to being an 'adult'. But no, really he'll be an adult tomorrow. That's really how long it's going to take. I can't even number the times I've been too distracted by some asinine task to actually fully listen to him, or any of the other kids. "Oh really? Well watch where you're going I just mopped there." or "Yeah? Well, you need to go put your crap away." What am I going to do when I'm bent, and grey, and shitting down my leg daily? I don't want to look back with nothing but regret because I was too stupid to listen. Listen. And digest, and strain forth a valid, pulsing response. To understand and laugh with the ease of love. I absolutely adore them. I want to exfoliate myself with their essences, moisturize with their inferences, breathe them like some necessary gas...much needed on a planet as void and hostile as this one can be at times. It's all a balm for old scars, fronds of what is supposed to make everything worthwhile. This year, I'm just not going to miss out on my kids as much. My ears will be more open, my eyes won't wander as much, my brain muzzled, my tongue a little more declawed. I will know as much of them as they will allow because Time doesn't wait. You can't push against it, all you get from doing that is worn out soles and souls.