vent

I went to the house we are buying today and witnessed the neighbors drinking and partying and playing loud music. Is it age that makes me cringe? Is it the thought that my children will see them doing these things? Is it that I too lived that life and grew out of it? Is it my salvation? Religion? What makes me sick of the sight of these people?
Whatever it is it makes me also plan the inside shutters for all windows facing them. I visualize our fence going up and trees planted in the median yard. I have no desire to speak to them and no desire to even smile or wave. I will not dress like Donna Reed and offer them a plate of freshly baked cookies, "Why welcome to the neighborhood- Neighbor!"I do not want them there, which is not nice of me, BAD JOY, slap my wrist.
I am no better or worse than anyone- right? I feel better than drug addicts and alcoholics though- really, I feel like I am a better person. Yet I am a food addict, I adore chocolate and love diet soda. But you have to eat to live, not as much as I would like to eat, but you have to eat to survive.
I was with a drug addict for most of my life, at this point, and I am not tolerant to thier behavior. I was co-dependant and I suffered post tramatic stress due to his abuse and his neglect. I took anti-depressants and saw doctors because he had me convinced it was my issue-not his. I made him do it.
Then a head doctor told me something that stuck, she said, "it's all in your head."
I thought- IN MY HEAD- it's not a disease, not a physical burden, although it made me sick like cancer, it is not an issue of reality. IT'S IN MY CURLY HEAD.
I decided it- HE- would no longer be in my head, nor my heart and I spent a year or so mourning loss. Loss of him, loss of who I was, loss for the kids, loss of his health, our dreams together, loss of his truth, loss of his morals and his standards, just loss. I no longer took the meds, I wanted to feel sadness and loss and anger and hurt, I wanted to feel so I would know what it is and never even consider being with him again.
And I grew from mourning. I grew very much. It HURT, it hurt like childbirth. It throbbed, ached, and nearly took me a few times.

And now that sight- of people out on the lawn on a lovely day getting messed up makes me ill.
I should pray that they change, that they grow, I should pray that I can accept. I will so do that while I put up shutters and peek on them and thank God that I am not getting in that car with someone who is intoxicated, and I am not being yelled at when he comes down, and I am safe and warm in a bed with a man that only slept with me today and would never hit me.

I am so grateful.

On the dark days
he is there
On the bright ones
he makes things brighter
On the bleak and lonely
he is comfort
On the sick
he is my chicken soup
On the angry at him days
He does not yell
On the pull my hair out
I hate everybody
I want to go to bed
and never rise again
He sticks around-
says this is the good part
When I tell him to run,
fast,
in the opposite direction,
He stays strong
in my direction
He is the milk to my cookies.

Depression

Hello old friend
I thought I had lost you
But here you are
Older and wiser
More tiresome
Before you were fashionable
Now not so much
Yet I cannot lose you
Even when stable
and safe
You are there
In that corner
Hiding
I welcome you at times
You are a luxury of sorts
I will sleep all day
when no one sees
I will wear my sweats
for three days
Yet you are never satisfied
Not until I am dead
I hate you at times
I pray for your departure
longing to be normal
I'd rather be on a roller coaster
of emotion
than not moving at all
So I will try to bid you
farewell,
until we meet again

sadness

sadness finds
on the loveliest days
the tiny crack
crawls inside
sets up housekeeping
invites friends
to a sad gathering
they eliminate hope
destroy faith
keep joy at bay
I must find a sealant
for the crack

men

Ok, here goes.
Why is it that when a woman gets home she doesn't stop work? A woman has just began her day of things to do and chores that no one else wants but that have to be done. I find it odd that men just automatically sit-rest-relax and women just go ahead and pick up shoes and inforce homework and the work load of the kids. Women let themselves play the part, we want to nurture and care as much as possible yet we end up becoming a work horse martyer without meaning to.

How do I stop this behavior? What can I do to end it now? I hate this part of me right now at 12:44am. I want to tell her to shut up and take it and realize that he is a wonderful man and they are wonderful kids and they love her and she loves them. There are mcuh worse things than not being appreciated at times, like an affair or drug use or being abused.

Yet i say-"No honey let me get that..." "I'm happy to do it for you...." "Sure go play golf/hunt/fish/whatever you would just love to fill your free time with. I'll be right here folding everyones laundry just as I have been everyday for three weeks straight without so much as a thanks" And deep down, here is the sad part- I mean it. I do want his happiness even in exchange for my own- if necessary. Even when it has been a terrible day and I am trying to wait to breath or cry or fall apart the instant they are asleep- he can call and say,"Hey just wanted to see if you had plans for the evening?" I answer no because I know he wants to go play and I am flattered he called to inform me. (My ex did some damage huh?) When inside I want to whisper, "Yes dear. I need you to come home and rescue me from these two small persons who have invaded my personal space all day long, and I think my cell phone may be in the potty as we speak."

I cannot bring myself to ruin his good time

Sometimes women make me sick, or is it just that I make me sick? Because deep down I'm just tired and if given the oppurtunity to go/see/do I would not be able to think of anywhere I could go, or anything to do or see. I would just like to take a nap, and the best place to do that is in my own bed, on top of a pile of freshly folded laundry that no one is grateful for and on a good day they say, "By the way(when it wasn't part of the conversation) I'm out of socks."

Stress

The recent storm activity has reflected my mood. since my classes are over for the semester I am left with gaping holes in my weeks now that I thought I would enjoy and somehow can't fill. I did not realize that the adult converstion in these classes (just two) was vital.
Once "Revolutionary Road" was read and "The Curious Village" conquered, I am useless.
What did I do before I went to school?
There is also recent stresses in my life, trying to buy an old house has proved difficult. Due to it being a foreclosure the red tape has been an unbelievable amount to cut through. It also needs a lot of work and I lay awake at night and make lists internally of things that need to be done.
My husband and I are saving for this old house and therefore I cannot go shopping for real or online.
I want to stay inside and eat until I burst. I am not sure what this emotion is but I cannot tolerate it longer.

Jessie

We celebrate, not Halloween, but Pumpkin Party. The pumpkins being what the holiday is about anyway. We carve and clean and make delicate cuts in the orange flesh.

We celebrate Gingerbread, not Christmas, the food and time spent together is what it's about.

We celebrate I'm never gonna leave you day, not Valentines. Somewhere along the way we were both single on the 14th and cried on the phone to each other, "You are never gonna leave me are you?"

"No?" sob, snot, sob.

"OK I'm never gonna leave you either."

So we buy gifts and go to the movies and always but some Roche chocolates. That being because one year I took my significant other, at the times, Valentines candy, Roche chocolates, with us to a chick flick and we ate the whole box because he didn't deserve them.

We read the same books so we can talk about them with each other. We have our own way of talking so no one elese seems to get what we say. (We don't care if they do get it.)

She once told my husband she didn't care if he was okay with her being there or not, jokingly, because she has been there longer than him. I actually called her boyfriend "That boy" for months because I wasn't OK with the time she spent with him.

We were born four days apart. We grew up in the same class. Our father were both coal miners and both of our mothers went back to school while we went to grade school. Due to these factors if we grew up in Japan, about a hundred or so years ago, we would have been sworn sisters, or Loatong. After reading "Snowflower and the Secret Fan" and "Memoirs of a Geisha" we chose to be Laotong.

No men come between that, no circumstance, or money, or sickness. She was there before him, and I before the boy. When she falls I will be there whether he is or not. And vise versa. That is how love is.

She is more than a friend, she is my loatong.

Superheroes

What makes a superhero?

Can they fly?

Can they run exceptionally well?

Are they supernaturally gifted?

OR

Do superheroes come in the guise of children?

I'm not sure who once said that mother is the name for God on the lips of all children. It is true. Mothers are given a wonderful, amazing gift. We are chosen to take another human being and mold it into a member of society. We are trusted by a higher power to instill proper care and education- not the college kind- the manner and appropriate actions kind. We teach the most inportant lessons, how to love, how to cope, and and how to treat others. And we do most of this by example. We are all blessed with an entire person.

But in my case my son is the hero. He thinks BIG, He understands BIG, He learns BIG, and he teaches BIG.

In his six year old world a kindergarten bully can ruin his life, yet he has been strong enough to carry me through many ordeals that I myself, could not have gotten through with out him. There were times before he was born I thought about suicide, considered it. My life was a mess and my mind was even worse. I know everyone has lows but these were serious thoughts. I was alone I life, his father having left me at 6 months pregnant, for another girl. I am well aware that my situation was a choice and my choices paved my path. I am also well aware that the birth control pill isn't always effective and that people can pretend to be someone else until they have you where they want you and then they can choose to leave. I was divorced and self employed in a job that I hated and made very little money at.

After he was about three weeks old I am not sure what overcame me. He smiled and I just knew I had to change.

Since then I have stabilized my thoughts, I have survived a lot worse than my son's father walking out and I have realized if not for Seth I may have never gotten myself up and out and happy. I would not have seen how unfit I was as a human being.

So in my world, superheroes snuggle at bedtime, and they believe in Santa, and love to be tickled, and want to eat corn dogs. They always tell the truth even if it hurts, they want to play video games constantly and they are no taller than 4 feet.

Finding Home

Once upon a time I was a girl who liked to investigate old houses. I liked to see what people left behind, what was not worth the efforts of packing up and taking. I liked the blood pumping of opening doors and saying quietly at first , "Hello?" What a question to ask, it locates yourself to others so that they know where you are if they want to greet and/or attack you. But it is the most common question that is asked in that situation.
No one ever greeted and or attacked me in those endeavors. I saw many things though. old windows with bubbles in them due to imperfect glass. Yhe glass lasting way longer than the wood frame and plaster. I saw beautiful doors that I wanted to hang on my wall as art. Elaborate carving away of wood. I saw the electric wires on the outside of the wall because the walls came before the electricity. I stood in the outhouses to see how scary it would be at night. I witnessed the spray paint from teens on thirty year old newspaper turned wall paper.
I saw a momma cat who sought refuge. I knew the feeling to just want to belong somewhere. I needed to be where I was the only one too. I completely understood the cats nesting instinct.
I loved the "Frigidaire" ice box left behind and the old stove with a place for actual fire.
Sometimes in these homes i could feel the love there, lingering, though the inhabitants long gone. Sometimes i could feel their spirit of happiness, or sadness. Sometimes I felt them there, themselves, still seemingly trapped in time. Welcoming me or hating my presence, depending in the situation. Either way it was very educational for me.
I know that someday someone will walk through my home and say, "Look, she must have packed the kids lunches right here a hundred times before school" or "Right here the sun must have streamed in every morning on his face. I'll bet she loved seeing the light on his skin."
it was what i did in my head the first time I saw the old house.
There were no ghosts there, just lots of memories lingering. as though someone forgot to pack them, as though they weren't really wanted after all. There were photos left behind, and a hat that was his favorite, and a trophy. There were old stickers and a bible and there was lots of damage to the house. Wut we saw the potential and now it will be ours.
We will love it and make God the head of our house. We will thank
Him for the opportunity to call it home. I am grateful to be a girl who still loves to explore abandoned houses or this experience may have never been ours.