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.