Humanity

Ping. Hearing Loss, for the Ping.

I can’t tell you what it is like to have ‘hints’ of devastation.  i mean, devastation is shattering, life-ending, altering, forever changed, yes? and, ‘hint’ doesn’t seem to match or belong in that deeper stone-sinking way.  the simple sink of stone.

i’ve been having a head cold.  Oh my god, you think, this fool is talking about a cold? In this world? In this time? Coronavirus, Flu, Corporations as People, Trump? These things that are killing us, in so many ways? And she is on about a cold?

yes.  My ears, (history here.) … or the one ear that is an option, have been inconsistent. There is some kind of infection in my one working ear.  I’m on my second string of azithromycin and prednisone and it doesn’t seem to be effective.  I can’t get in to my new primary doctor until july.  Health insurance won’t cover the ENT without a referral.  I’m devastated by the financial shitshow of health insurance.

I’m operating at lip-reading level and lips to ears level with the kids.  I don’t completely want to leave the house for anything because I am feeling very vulnerable to accident and mistake. (not physical accidents as when i drive deaf i am paying attention in a way you hearing people cannot fathom. think, superhero strength attention. i almost always need a nap afterward.)

the whole world is draped in the heavy blanket of your wintery dreams. It is heavy, and I feel clouded as I walk. The light begins to hurt. I feel sad when I can’t figure out what my kids are talking about. you know, they keep talking anyway, and its just a whole lot of life that is missed. and there isn’t anything i can do about it. the conversation is just lost.  The brush with depression is instantaneous and many of my lesser demons of self-worth start waving their fucking arms like Kermit.

I’m wearing my hearing aide, but its basically useless. It gives me the higher tones, so i can hear the crying of the overtired seven-year-old in my midst, or the singing of my 12. And believe me, both are precious to me right now, though i do assign proper value. heh.

i actually have two meeting-new-people things this week and i’m freaking jibbering with nerves because its literally the worst possible scenario. not only am i not at my best, i am actually at incompetent.

and i’m going to do it anyways. because i am 45, and i am too reclusive, and even my worst self needs to get out and see human beings. i’m not entirely sure that those human beings will feel the same certainty, but we will all be okay.

I’m going to vote for Elizabeth Warren today. I understand that Bernie is ahead, but in all truth, I think Warren could actually DO a million and one things to make the world a better, more equitable place for the majority of American citizens.

So, there are pings for desperation. and pings for hope. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, again and again, that spring will come, that strength will return to our democracy and that the crisis will pass.

i will hear again, and the light will Light ME.  Tis the season, right? Green and Pink Dahlia Unwifedmotherexpletive

 

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Humanity

Halt. Who goes there? Why the hell are you here?

I stopped myself from posting this morning at 2 am. i didn’t even get out of bed to type.  it was good though, and thoroughly rambly, hitting on what its like to be married to an alcoholic, what it is like to remember that was almost 5 years ago, how fun it was to remember i have a kickass libido… what its like to be sweating in bed with a 7-year-old, what its like to be ‘happy’ that the kid who is sick now cleans up his own throwup. He even put a towel down on his own bed before he got into it. because you know, laundry.  He is 14. Oh, it was a post for the ages.

But I just lay there instead.

Every single kid in the house has been down with throw up in the past week. There are only three kids here, my hysterics aside, it is not a monkeyhouse or a bunnyhutch.

Who am i kidding? its totally a monkeyhouse here. These kids live with me, the winging-est mom of the neighborhood.  I think i have hard-and-fast rules and you know? one smudge of intelligent resistance and the gates are down. i’m talking about negotiables really, like, screens before school and things of that nature.

Although I’d be hard-pressed to think of something besides cruelty that is truly outlawed.

and, astonishingly, i still have to deal with that one anyways.  We have …children. They have the same cruelty adults do, its just less well-honed.

sigh. aren’t you glad i took my time this morning, to give you something well-crafted and thought-provoking? hmm?

I’m what is called a ‘pantser’.  I just learned about this, its a term, for real, for writers who flow ‘by the seat of their pants’.   not a lot of planning here.

i’m doing fine though, fine. i’m taking my vitamins. and i’m planning on a bath, later.

fine.

call me. someone.

 

**-oh, also discovered when the 14-year-old woke me up at 1 to tell me he was sick?  my hearing aide is broken. so i’m doing this all deaf. which you might not think is a big deal. but it is.

Humanity

Body Love

I’m in ache. I’m in spiral. I’ve got an ear infection that has knocked my hearing down to need-to-lipread levels. Not hearing makes me quake and quiver with fear and rage. But. the infection has been keeping me up at night so exhaustion is throwing a blanket over everything. I’m on meds now, thank you ex, and …

and I’m so thankful for this body that I have.  The legs which kick and stride. The mouth that yells and loves in lockstep with the hands that gesture and hold.

and when I have a lover, I love my curves and sways and folds. nakedness is the most beautiful thing. and oh my goodness, it is appreciated. and that is GLORIOUS.

and when I am in mothermode, I love what this body has made, what these folds and wings have grown.

and i’m still going to the gym, because i need the action of challenging my heart to beat faster. not in fear or anxiety, but in body love. LOVE.

I’m trying to get more in touch with it. Maybe think about what pieces have not literally been touched (although LM is really taking care of that business lately, and always) …

The no-winter and the coming spring are also on my mind. the growth, the strength needed to withstand inconsistency, needed to push out of the ground. these are the things I need to have in my container.

the boy who was utterly smashed by sickness this week is sitting with me at the kitchen table this morning, after having slept for almost 14 hours. he asked me if being a mother was hard. I say, “Sometimes… but it is, mostly, the never knowing what you’ll get that is hard. sometimes it is yelling, sometimes it’s sick. you never know” and the secret is, that’s what makes it great too.  You never know what you’re going to get.  Those glory days sneak in on you and just APPEAR, in the midst of all the laundry. The orgasm that catches you off guard and throws you off the cliff.

It’s all worthwhile and my body has carried me, the whole way.  I’ve got my own Samwise, flaws and all.

Knight Helmet Body Love Unwifedmotherexpletive
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

 

Humanity

I’m just sitting here.

I’ve been sleeping poorly, now, two nights in a row, unable to regulate my temperature.  So, I’m hot, I’m cold, I’m sweating and I have a headache when I wake.  This is not ideal. (she laughs hysterically)

Yesterday I called in the LM and he arrived, and I rallied.  Stood up, took a bath, got it together. Because having someone around is supposed to be a support. Who knew? I mean, really, just having him here making chitchat with the littlest while she does Barbie whoknowswhat?  Made me feel more in-control, less likely to snap in my tiredness and just made the whole thing SO MUCH GODDAMNED BETTER.

Maybe its only the times I’ve been on my own, even when married, that make me see the incredible value in presence.  I think it is. the difference that having another adult in the house can make…

I’ve made an appointment for therapy because i think i’m actually being hit by a bunch of things at once… an anniversary with LM, which freaks me right the hell out. a repetitious relationship with an ex, which saddens me every time. one kid who thinks i’m going back to the ex, eventually, still, which makes me want to vomit with guilt for all that he does not know.

and so i’m doing whirligigs here, internally.  LM is just amazing and even when I say things that potentially might undo him, he is listening and staying and holding on to me. Its astonishing, frankly.

and so, i need therapy again.

DID I MENTION IT IS SCHOOL VACATION WEEK AND WE ARE ALL HOME TOGETHER?!

except my 14 year old, who has been on two skiing trips because you know. 14. sigh. beauty and stretch.

i do love you. hope you are well.

-uwmfVacation Sickday Unwifedmotherexpletive

  • OH, and my cold or whatever this is is affecting MY HEARING, which means everything is muffled and I have to put my face into someone elses to hear. which makes mothering spectacular.
  • OH, and the fastest way to get relief is to call my ex, which gives me great anxiety.
  • OH, and school vacation. Did I say that?
  • OH, and i’m working on a childrens book and I love it, and I am too invested in imaginary illustrations already… sigh. know any agents? (hysterical laughing)

 

Humanity

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just…

the apology. I’m constantly apologizing. in my head, to my children, to men.  It has begun to drive me mad. I think, know, that it is the people-pleasing portion of my psyche run amok.

I can get mad, or irritated, and express that feeling without needing to then go back and dry-erase that mother fucker out of existence. right?

RIGHT?

Legit apologies are necessary things, of course.  But that is 1000 times not what I’m talking about.

I was pissed the ex took two hours to pack the car so my kid almost missed his dinner with me on the ‘last night’ before the big ski trip. And I acted pissed.

Spent the next 45 minutes thinking of how I should apologize.  Then, realized I didn’t have to, because showing pissed-ness is not really that terrible. I didn’t call him names, or swear. I just pointed out the inconsideration and was annoyed.  So, I didn’t apologize, and the world didn’t even collapse.

There is a great call for civility in the world, and a greater one for kindness. Actual kindness.

But this, in me, is the opposite of those things.  Its not real, its not actual sorrow for my behavior or the hurt it may have caused.  It is the desire for someone else to stop being angry at me.  This reality?  It flattens me somehow, makes me waste my time and mental space on trying to ‘fix’ something that is not broken. A perversion of Authenticity? I am a nice person, a kind one even, and I try not to be otherwise. However, my humble humanity has been proven time and time and TIME again.

So, get on it. I’m going to make it my goal for this month, this month of African American history and commercial love products, to stop apologizing.

so f* off.

heh.

-uwmf

Sugar pile sorry Unwifedmotherexpletive