Humanity

Burn! Burst! Die!!

In fall, things flame before they die. There is Fire! Pain! Dramaaaaaa. And then wintry death.

I’m on my phone, typing with a flashing digit of my own. It’s all surreal, how many changes we’ve incorporated fairly seamlessly. (technology, divorce… )And the changes we cannot seem to absorb? Those are surreal as well. (technology, divorce…)

its another day now, i’m not on the phone anymore, which is a blessing. i’m 100% positive I cannot communicate well with it, even verbally.

so here i am.

It is really so clear here, where we have such a fiery fall, that there are these last gasps of glamour, and one strong wind will sweep us into the branch segment of our year.  the sticks of winter, the pokey bits.

i’m feeling a little dissociated lately, even the writing i do for myself feels a little flat.  i just thought about telling you how my direct line of sight goes to a row of evergreens out the window, so i find it very easy to feel/see/remember green year-round.

and then i stopped myself (obviously i lost that battle, in the end, but the gears all jarred, clang clang clang) because i thought it was too flat, too un-quippy.

Last year i was very caught off-guard by the grief i felt at the fifth Fall since my dad died. This year i’m not caught off-guard but am surprised by how much I feel like crawling into a hole for the month.

and there is nothing I can do about it. The kids keep demanding to be fed. The dog barks, the chickens will just up and die. So there is no hole for me.

PISS! GROAN! HIDE!

sigh.

1019191812

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Divorce, Humanity

lost and found, but lost.

hi. I’m at the end of my recovery day, from yesterday’s full 24 hours of hell, from both ends. the kids were at school for the bulk of it, but after school were play auditions for two kids, and a soccer game so I needed to ask for help. and it came, with trumpets. kids were taken to tryouts, soccer was watched and that kid got to go out to dinner with his dad…dinner was served to other kids, homework was done.  a small crew of 3 adults did what I do on a normal Wednesday.

I’m not going to tell you I’m not proud of my life.

and I’m going to tell you that you are lucky if you have family and love like I do. so lucky.

today is recovery. fair amounts of water, boredom in bed, sickness at the thought of food, but hungry.  by the time the bus rolled around today, I had moved myself to the kitchen cozy. spent an hour just chatting with my girl because I missed her yesterday. an hour. the bliss of it. just cozied up. I learned about the lady who did all the math for the moon. (Katherine Johnson) Everything stays the same, yes? but these tiny differences? that my girl sits on my lap and tells me all about the LADY that did all the math to save the men who traveled to the moon? oh, it’s rich with possibility. if this were a comic, we would turn the page to the next ms. marvel.

but since I’ve been in bed all day, I now can’t sleep, as weak and ridiculous as I feel. and so I’m here, apologetic.

one thing: I paid to print out the whole of my old blog, wifemotherexpletive.com  

1016190912I thought it would be so cool to go through it and pick out the things that I loved, that I have written, those bits of beauty that slipped through and away during those years.

and I can’t. I read the first post, and the second, and did some flipping. and it is just unbearably sad. I was so sad, all the time, and mad, and lost. like the perfect puppy who lives under the bridge while the happy family walks by, unseeing. I hate ‘near miss’ movies, and I’m pretty sure I lived one for a long time. Maybe the hate comes from the experience.

It was ten years of my life, that writing. and makes two volumes, when divided chronologically. the first is so fat, rich with hope and trying. and the second volume thin, with so much less of everything.

I don’t want to look into the memories, or remember what the code was in my stories, as I was trying so hard to communicate with my husband my devastation at what i was, what we were.

Its been crushing me a little, into sickness maybe? and this is the season when I feel devastation the deepest. if one has any choice in that, at all.

so there it is. my late-night blog. what the hell do i do with all that?

Humanity

spots

fuck ‘the world is too much with us’.

its the way I describe that feeling, when i’m too stressed about things that are much bigger than I am. but fuck it.  we’re dealing with absolutely unprecedented levels of fear and anxiety these days.  fucking ‘cataclysmic’ isn’t even an exaggeration anymore, or a word I have to explain to my kids.

school shootings are a thing. if you touch me on that subject, I burst into flame. my kids are all in public schools and I can’t even begin to consider.

there is an island of trash. people don’t recycle and still litter and it is pretty irrelevant to me whether this is just ‘natural earth cycles’ or not, because litter and pollution in the skies are pretty much human problems.  there’s no snails responsible.

and immediately? the icecaps are fucking melting. and so our weather has changed and is changing and i’m not sure we’re not already doomed.

how the fuck do I talk to my kids about THAT?

and certainly, it bears mentioning that I live in the United States and I have a president who is behaving unbelievably recklessly. the situation that is being created by his actions and lack of integrity may in fact settle us into war, with the world.

I mean, what the fuck man? does being nice at the grocery store help with any of this? does enjoying a snuggle with my kid balance out these IMMENSE disasters?  I have a sick kid here today and she’s responded well to meds and has that glazed, overly illuminated look while she makes a drawing and talks to me.  I’m staring at her, because she’s amazing, and I don’t know what the world will be like for her, in her adulthood. at all.

I find this level of bullshit extraordinarily hard to handle.

are you doing any better? how?

Fall Mix of Ferns Unwifedmotherexpletive

 

Humanity

Mess: O Princess, Damsel, Virgin

**Myss, Caroline Myss.. no mess, beyond mine.

i’m not done learning about the archetypes yet. not by a long shot. looks like i still have 9 hours of listening to do. today’s lunch learning was princess, damsel, virgin.  hmph. light. i don’t happen to carry these with me, though i have a recognition of damsel, ‘needing to be rescued’… but the princess, ‘someone will take care of me’ is not in me. i can point at my friends who have this one right now, easy-peasy, because i recognize it, but don’t understand. its a perpetually young one, almost naive… that is waiting for her prince, her ‘one’… in order to evolve she has to face and break her own helplessness, evidently.

hmpf, again.

as for damsel? I’ve had a wild desire to be rescued, i’ll admit. I’ve wanted to be airlifted right out of what was going on and let someone else do all the work. i just don’t believe anyone can do that for me.  so what does that make me? cynic?

mm.

the virgin, my friends, has little to do with sex.  think, more along the lines of ‘virgin territories’… uncharted waters.  the person who has the Virgin archetype is one who is more clean and free than the rest of us, unencumbered by the mess and weight of the past.

Myss says we carry 12 plus archetypes in us.  I don’t think i’ve got these, beyond my glance at Damsel.  You?

Zinnias and Dahlias Unwifedmotherexpletive

Humanity

mean old bastard

there’s a piece of me that is a hard, flinty old man. the man who cuts up the tennis balls that land in his yard, to show those young’uns what ‘respect’ means.

you wouldn’t know it to look at me, but it is there, and it is strong. it is most assuredly NOT the strongest of the bunch, but he does show his head often enough that I know him. He’s really quite reactive.

If I’m cold, he comes out ranting about how I can’t start a fire because it is too early in the season and I’ll run out of wood when I need it most. And I can’t turn on the heat because I’ll run out of money when I need it most.

If I’m lonely, he runs out into the yard to wave his stick at all my faults, including my introversion, which is a bit of a mind-bender.  “If you weren’t so damn picky, you’d have more friends. If you go out with those people, they will really learn about how weird you are.”

curmudgeon. filled with fear and lack… not-enoughness.

UnwifedMotherExpletive on the Beach

I think most people know it, certainly have seen it in others.  its a whole way of explaining American culture right now. I hate you because you might take what I have, someday, somehow, because I really don’t have enough, and I’m scared.

And how do I address that mean old bastard? The more I respect the pieces of me that have developed, the more I realize I can let him rant, and fling his fear around. I can. no big.

as long as I don’t do more than that. I can let him, I don’t need to burn down his house.  I may not want to have him over for dinner but I don’t need to ‘become him’.  I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t work. So, i’m just going to go to the beach and pick up pretty rocks and use a hanky to save the world.

and he can rant, and I can let him. and when he is done, I might bake him some apple crisp.

but guess what? he’s lost his teef.

more for me.

-uwmofo