this is the winter of my discontent, y’all. i include the y’all to forcibly add some sun to my bleak inner bog.
and its really pretty easy to interject sun, because none of it is that bad.
I’m alone too much. As much as I like it, the weekends are leaving me listless. I have to force myself out into the world and then I run back home, but I’m depressed about it. I don’t think thats good.
i’m happy pretty often. healthy, the kids are good, we’re in this blissful pre-teenager lull of everyone-is-pretty-content on the homefront period… and i’m digging it.
i know its fleeting and I’m watching it like the first snow. . .
I go to Salvation Army and sit down in the sofas… because it cracks me up. Its me and the other old ladies…i take some photos, i send them around to friends to make them laugh. this is me begging for a foot rub… mah foots, mah foots…
but really, theres something shifting here… something tidal going on… salty snow, maybe. that slurry at the shore during the winter when the water is spitting foam on the sand…
i’m laughing more. nothing is working. i’m scared about money. i’m soldiering on trying to get editing jobs, which is sometimes working. things just really aren’t ‘quite’ panning out the way they would in a romance. but we all know those things are for absolute shit. everything is breaking.
i’m dressing in the weirdest clothing, as i try to suit my weight gain and my love of my curves… the body that i am ‘used to’ dressing isn’t this one, and i’ve never had so much to contend with… (!) so … i’m trying things on… wearing a lot of draping fabrics, swishing skirts and so much softness. I’m turning into some sort of mobile stuffed animal, i think.
which might attract the wrong crowd maybe… blech.
*i did meet one guy online who liked to wear adult diapers. for fun. wanted to call me mommy. i’m not even making that up.
on the other hand, i’ve met a lot of men who respected the hell out of the job i do as a mom. and found it sexy. and I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH THAT MEANS.
to have the perception of others AND self be that one is a nag, an abandoned housewife in apron with straggly unkempt hair and dirty children … and to have that SHIFT to powerful, life-affirming, grounded, nourishing, excellent fuckability… all-encompassingly womanly?!
holy mother of god.
i would recommend divorce for all of us, if i could guarantee that you’d get that, just for a minute…. (otherwise, not at all. i don’t recommend it at all).
on the note of ‘non-recommendation’, i am going to check out. i just had a kid come home sick with vague complaints… since when do school nurses buy into vague complaints? sheesh. and when she called, she used my maiden name, which thrilled me.
so one of the things that has gone on in this two weeks now of chumpery is this: online dating scams are kicking me in the ass.
these are men who have full portfolios at reputable dating sites, and the entire portfolio is someone else. you see, you talk… you slowly feel funny………..
you are asked for money.
i am too much of an old leathered briefcase to fall for this. but i stick with it way past feeling funny, and therein lies my biggest chumpery.
here are things to look out for….
(of course there are exceptions, but these are basics.)
oh, how sad, how sad. how sad that we as women find an obviously wounded man so attractive. eyebrows up! hint o’truth: just cause the lady’s dead, doesn’t mean there aren’t issues.
I know, you think I’m an asshole now. But I’m not. what you’ll find, when you look at a picture of a ‘caucasian-ish’ male, and then when you talk on the phone, he will have an accent… which he will describe as irish, and you will wrinkle your forehead about. and you will say ‘hmmm, wow… that last guy said he was irish too… why are there so many irish guys on here’… (one guy said he was italian, to be fair.) foreign does not mean brown, bitches.
also, as an addendum, the texting you do before the phone call will be rife with mistakes, grammatical or spelling… but you will overlook it because many men cannot use their potato fingers on phone keys.
one actually real man actually typed ‘are’ for ‘our’ and it took me ages to figure out what the hell he was saying.
You will see such lovely photos. So handsome. When you ask for a selfie, which you should, you will be sent one that you have seen on the website. you will ask for another and receive another, but it will not be a current photo. When asked for a selfie, one man sent me a photo of himself in a tee by a pool. but it was Thanksgiving, and 19 degrees where we live, and he said it was his mother’s pool. (no one In NEW ENGLAND doesn’t close up their pool by Thanksgiving. no one.)
I actually had one ‘video call’ which was to assuage my worries about reality, and the man was cooking at 7:15 in the morning, not thanksgiving, and the call ‘cut out’.
what this tells me? man, these scammers are stealing a lot of material from people… a lot. he had his ‘daughter’ text me that afternoon asking for a phone card. she called me ‘ma’. legit.
Of course they will say they have children. because, man, we are women who want to be needed. But of course, those children will live with their mothers or their sisters… because it is just too hard for men to do it all alone. thus proving, how much we are needed.
Fast and Furious
There will be dramatic love, very early on, like the first day you have any communication. They are so struck by your beauty, by your eyes/smile/voice that they have never felt like this before… that it is so amazing for them, that they can’t wait to wake up to call you first thing…. They can ‘tell’ and they can manipulate and be so ‘affronted’ by any questioning… its like the perfect storm. this is all without any actual meeting.
I think it must have some relationship to emotional abuse… because that is what it is, when a stranger can make you somehow feel beholden to them somehow… how does that work anyhow? why does that work?
I haven’t fallen for anything, don’t worry, but it has happened a half dozen times, and I am not getting any faster at swiping correctly and there is a part of me that continues out of curiosity. Should I help them out with their English? Some are so much better than others… and, I mean, how far are these guys going to go?! I presume that they do not want an actual meeting, so are they going to say they’ll show and call last minute? would i really be sitting, stood up, at a bar ? really? this is for what?
so i’ll buy their make-believe daughter a 50 dollar phone card? so i’ll buy a deployed soldier an itunes card? So i’ll help win a work contract or help pay for the travel there?
does this really ever work for someone? are there women out there who buy this?
i know there are. and I feel for you. because this last guy? he got me in the feels.
not because i ever really doubted my suspicions, but because I REALLY WANTED TO.
i wanted it to be like he said it was. I wanted to be someone’s lucky star.
and therein lies the ouch.
This latest one called me Queen, told me it was my smile that got him… called me in the morning to be the first voice i heard. ( i mean, for real?!…) and the fakeness became sort of heartbreaking (in a..i’m too tough to be heartbroken by a fake sortof way) … but it was heartbreaking because its the first time i really REALLY realized that I am ready for the next thing… with a little romance thrown in, and maybe some of those frightening feelings that i’ve tucked away for so long.
i had some of that with Chef, my first lover after the marriage ended. took me a year and a half to be interested, which i still think is remarkable, and sadly devastating.
it was completely delightful. and extravagant and So utterly perfect for the first times i was having. but the other thing that was perfect was his distance. he was essentially a sailor, coming through and leaving soon… so challenged none of the systems i had precariously rigged to get me through my first stages of single momming. i should definitely talk about him soon. it was unbelievable, in all the best ways.
I HAVE DIGRESSED.
there’s also literal SAILORS… soldiers on deployment. i’ve bumped into foreign legion men, men who say distance in no object, who also have children living with their mothers, who also can’t seem to get itunes gift cards at the base. the government just can’t seem to keep stocked.
I’ve had sort of a capslocky few weeks, i think. all within the realm of regular first-world disaster type things… car breaks down by the side of the road, yearly grief over the loss of my father, several strangers online asking me for money making me feel like a chump, my aunt making fun of my weight, a pipe bursting the day before i host thirty of my favorite extended family (including that aunt… giving her the perfect opportunity to see me for the first time in a year and ask me if i like donuts too much …) ceilings dripping with fierce abandon… as a general rule, if not in a horror movie or in a swamp plantation, the ceiling is not meant to drip. just saying.
i fed thirty people. my vegetarian lasagna was not terrible. the soup was called delicious. natasha’s kitchen by the way…sweet potato and coconut milk… i made mine bacon free, with veggie stock… the vegetarian i thought i had –is a devoted meat eater. so we all had more veggies than normal, and we’re all okay.
and then we had desserts…
it is a rough potluck, so i’m not saying i made all the food. AT ALL.
my 73 year old mother made a lasagna that got raves and put a ham on the table… my sister made a gigantic kale/brussel/apple salad that kicked some ass. there was another salad..(from she who currently is not to be named) and turnip, cheese, rolls and pie and pie and pie and chocolate things…
we are fed. we are grateful.
my stress level did include a whole lot of third-personing, but i’ve stopped now.
and i never even had a cigarette. that whole time. but i do admit, it is rising to mythological, how much I want to… angels, choirs… athena, diana… didn’t they catch a quick smoke just fine? … all that… i think i might end up tippling zeus on the porch…. as a substitute…
sigh . i’m fine. but i’m tired of character building.
its that song… spun on high speed… ‘we are joyful, we are joyful’… super highspeed.
thats my inner world as the whole house vibrates with the industrial sized dryer that is pointed at the ceiling in the other room.
so be it.
resistance is futile.
(my aunt is just that way. i love her anyhow. i’m still going to eat donuts. my curves are rubenesque and the men just love them.)
(laughing at the suggestion that what you and i think are thought-out posts ACTUALLY ARE)
My car broke down today, like shudders of giant metal corpse break-down. pull over. cell phone working call for tow, call garage. all set. call to be sure roommate will be there for the bus if i am not back in six hours. all set.
garage had two cancellations today, so is already working on it. my kid who was home sick this morning as a faker, asked to go back to school and was dropped off minutes before the carshudderdeath thing.
my mother is working at a church fair 10 minutes from the garage so just gave me a lift home.
the place where the car broke down was a really fucking beautiful spot in my town that i’ve never fully appreciated.
the tow truck driver was silent. and we drove the back roads through the town I grew up in and i almost cried.
the garage i ended at washes your windows when they pump your gas. i very clearly remember being in the car with my parents while dennis or manny washed the windows. 30 years later, still happening. . .
in the waiting room of the garage, the television was playing New England Cable News, called NECN, which seems to play local news, but its really 5 states worth, but we have so much in common, in spite of what they tell us… and it made me miss my grandmother like crazycakes. because i’d watch local news with her any day.
Okay, so my title choice are going WAY downhill. but i wanted to tell you what else I’m doing besides crying in blankets because of facebook ads, more of which happened today… more crying that is… i’ll be fine.
i said yesterday in a supportive environment that ‘Not knowing doesn’t mean I’m stupid, it just means I don’t know’.
today i’m clutching that like its my glasses at the end of the world library.
but what else i’m doing is this:
*editing romance novels.
*finessing the ‘about page’ for a Greek family jewelry/design business
*writing articles on how to pick a good Kindergarten, in Singapore. not the same as in my town, dudes. not the same.
*swanking up acceptance speeches in Brazil, because there are Astrological organizations there that need swanking.
*applying daily for as many jobs as I can, because I have no idea what jobs I’m going to have next week.
*talking to myself moment-to-moment about how i should not quit crazy uncle job, because of money, and pride. (austen moment, i’m not one of the survivors.)
i’ll be fine, but right now i’m not really.
i wrote this earlier and i liked it, i think its right. …
i am in such a mood. its killer. still no cigarettes. (day 5 in progress) but damn. it hurts. one of the things that kills me? i used to live like this all the time…the edge of tears, the full to the brim of ‘it must be my fault’… ‘i just hafta…and it’ll… ” “if i just _______, then ______it’ll be all better…” … all the time… and i’m done now, so revisiting like this is doubly painful. like, empathetic pain for the ‘she was’ … you know? ouch. ouch.
this photo has nothing to do with anything… but its a beach front place thats packing up for winter, and is chockfull of beauty. so much. it burbles out.