Humanity

Typing it out

0504191041cwhen you work from home and spend most of the hours of the day by yourself…. hmm…

i’m a strong introvert and really like it, most of the time.

and then there are the problems.

when i actually have a mental tussle going on (or god forbid, emotional) being in isolation is not necessarily the best thing, because i just go round and round and round. telling myself to slow down or ‘breathe’ isn’t really effective and i don’t seem to have the mental/physical connection that gets me out to take a walk or some other sort of production of endorphin answers.

sigh.

the pattern of life right now is such. 5 days a week of parenting from 3-10 pm. (plus mornings, but aye..thats a slowmo/fast forward thing on schooldays) … weekends with such an amazing plethora of sexual satisfactions, i really can’t even talk about it without changing the rating of the site.  back to the m-f.

one weekend a month i have the kids and there is no sex to be had that weekend.

i’ve still got my hours here during the day but i am feeling the strange, clunky feeling of ritual/repetition that i don’t like.  and i’m not really sure what to make of it really.

am i missing life ‘before beau’? when my weekends to myself were filled with unscheduled time, and television bingeing and the occasional chinese food box? when i thought of something and just did it? when i went to all the games?

hm.

is it the resistance to ritual? to repetition?  fear of what this particular repetition and ritual might mean? is that phase of my life actually over? have i said the right phrases to let it go? am i being a complete idiot? (that, right there, is resistance, in form of self-deprecation and self-mutilation, when taken deeper) …

am i more rebel than obliger after all?  i can’t imagine that. but man, i feel the pull of the earth and the gandalf  spin into  ‘i shall not be moved’.

and thats a big fucking spin. and watch out. because if there is one single object in the slowly spinning world refusing the move, the whole thing crashes and burns. so hang on.

geeks know ‘resistance is futile’ but goddamnit, i am in deep.

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Divorce, Humanity

small life, redux. (ha!)

Its like the balls of tinfoil candywrappers you find around the house after any holiday, but halloween and easter really seem to be the producers around here.  the little bit of sparkle that is bitter when mouthed.

thats what its like. listening to myself when i’m scared of something.

UnwifedMotherExpletive Small Life tinfoil wrapperand i’m scared, a little, of this small life i have, and the change inherent in the choice of vulnerability.

i have this brilliant life.. although there has been a lot of death this week, in life and in my chicken coop, and the contrast between humanity and farm has never been more clear.

the loss of 10 birds to a death by suicide?

wordless .

 

 

 

large break.

and remembering can be pretty hard sometimes.  and imagining can be hard sometimes, too, when pain and deepest sadness are at root. and in a small life it can be all consuming.

but there are other sides to the coin, as always.

this small life, this dandelion of detail that keeps pushing its way into my foreground, this need to spread joy underground, to be persistent against all the formality and form of the ‘just so’… it is me digging in my heels against the perfect lawn, the ‘be happy’ mentality, against my own self-judgement for having a ‘mom’s boyfriend’… because i judge that phrase . so. damn. much.  and i can withdraw more and more. and the small life warps a little… and again, and again, the dandelion bursts its sun into a million wishes… and who the hell am i to warp that?

and i’m so incredibly lucky and so incredibly heartbroken that not everyone finds the dandelion.

 

thats a sentence to end on…

Humanity

hysteria mounting.

theres a looming feeling of hysteria in my chest. i don’t know if its the overwhelming amount of parenting i’m doing, the encroaching approaching weird summer to be.. (for the entire month of july i won’t have all the kids at once. at all. i’m already freaking out.) …. no idea for what, but its there. maybe just a pms surge.  there is a lot of unknown when it comes to my hormones these days. i’ve got an IUD and it doesn’t always allow there to be an actual let-down of blood, and I can’t tie my emotions to an actual event.

but the mounting hysteria? thats real. I’m 44 now, and I think most emotions are going to pass through and I’m choosing to look at this one like its temporary.

there’s a man in my town right now, and he is fully and completely unexpected.  as you know, if you’ve been reading here a long long time. there is a whole lot to say about this but it is WAY too soon.

Mounting Hysteria UnwifedMotherExpletive

and i’m thrilled and terrified to the point of nausea and having a fairly powerful amount of PTSD in ways that I really thought I had processed.  but when you ask someone if they want a drink in order to see if they are a secret alcoholic? um…

that doesn’t work, one… and its a very strange sort of manipulation of situation.  like, do i get a man drunk just to prove he is a drunk and then run away?? is that how that goes?

um. when he forgets something in the restaurant and has to run back in… do i wait and peek in the windows and see if he is at the bar? or just assume he is and drive away mad?  (in my own car, that is…)  sigh. yes, a real thing.

its very old news. and yet, i’m reliving some of this shit.

and again i say, i thought i’d been dealing with some of this stuff. i’m having days where i am so fucking sad about ‘their dad’.. because he’s still just the same and it breaks me.

but i’ve been working for about four years on how to make life for myself more safe. and for my kids. safe, steady, consistent, recognizable. safe. consistent. recognizable. did i say that already?

and today i am just jibbering in the corner because everything from here on is completely unknown, and I don’t know how to make the right decision for my kids .

i am flat out terrified. i just am too worn down to put it in its place. so there i am.

 

Humanity

A Small Life

I have been coming to the realization that there may not be hundreds of people at my funeral.

This may be a strange opening sentence.  I can’t tell anymore. I spend a lot of time alone.

I’m smiling.  people that love me tend to argue with me over this point. i’m not totally sure why. kind of, maybe, but not entirely.

i’m 44, i’m an introvert.  i love and take great great pleasure in working from home and having the kids with me when they are. (mostly. i’m no saint.) i’m a homebody. i don’t want my kids to be sick but its a thrill of a lifetime when they are and i can nourish them to health. *I’m here, I’m the universe.  I love people and I like to see them and laugh with them. but my circles are small, and i take great delight in the smallness of my life, most of the time.

when my dad died 5 years ago, there were hundreds of people at his services. and i’m not exaggerating. and i know other people who are still alive who will have that problem… well, you know what i mean… but i’m working on being really content with who i am.

working like: dirtyhands in the soil working.  cracked skin and calloused fingers.

i have a small life. a little life.  a life with children who are dynamic people living in my home still, a home, a dog, chickens, some land, a very fledgling ability to make a living…small.  *not insignificant, just small.

*the universe is in the grain of rice, ya dig?  thats me.

0508190840b

Humanity

Nets. Weaves. Catching on. Snag. damn. again with the unfriendly-seo titles…

There is all this meshing going on… i’m having to blend aspects of myself into a sort of support sling and i’m no knitter and perhaps the weave will be strongest anyhow…

i’m in process on this one so bear with me.

new man is bringing up a lot of old traumas that i’m having to work through. turns out i’m not done with being fearful of being lied to… SO not done.

turns out some people just tell truth.  wtf. you don’t have to figure out what they MEAN? shoot. makes everything so much easier… and theres so much more time in a day…

i’m trying to come up with a ‘guiding question’ to fulfill a prompt, and i’ve now delayed the writing by about a week… and i’m supposed to think about ‘intention’ today and i’m trying to dream about a future wherein i can feel the feels and not run screaming into the woods or into the goddamned wall. (this pertains to both man and to work, which is horribly in flux right now…) and how the hell does one plan a dream?

if i apply all this questioning to the ‘plan’ for the future, the next year of myself as business?  what sort of mental gymnastics must i do?  is there a way to make this all easier? how do i get to some sort of truthtelling of myself ? to myself?

i’m no mystic on the mountainside, or even in a nice comfy cottage… i don’t know anyone who has got it all figured out, to ask about it.  sometimes i dream of asking my grammie, but i think she was too no-nonsense to deal with this sort of thing. and maybe there is something in that. life is the same, whether you inspect it or not… right?

is that a road i really want to travel on? hm. its pretty close to ‘it is what it is’… which is possibly the most unsatisfying thing ever. and no matter how intellectually i attack it, i’m just not sure i truly believe in it.  IS IT ? IS THIS REALLY THE WAY IT IS? REALLY?

I choose dreamy watercolor puddles. Colors in a pile. unplanned moments.

whats my walking prayer? whats my intention in my step? whats my guiding question? what do i catch in my net when i lay it all down?

US- Canada border. Stop Arret sign... Unwifedmotherexpletive
STOP? ARRET? FERME? CLOSED? oh really? I drove right through. . . perspective is everything.

i wish i had some pat answer that would be a viral meme. because. hello. i need money and ad-clicking.

but i don’t have a viral meme in me.  I wonder about curiosity and openheartedness… how i can keep them more …before me as i step…

wonder about what is… don’t allow fear to send me to the wall… just keep prying my heart back open every time it shutters. (shudders) .. which, if you are human, can hurt a whole lot and is pretty hard to do the 32nd time it happens…

sigh.  work in process. progress?

whatever.

love you…

kate