Humanity

A-E. a litany for summer.

I hate to start a post with i’m sorry but here it is. its summer, and i’m sorry.

A.  i’m a sorry hot mess.

but I found an AC with LM for fifty dollars that is cooling off my entire house. and i’ve never had so much AC in my life, ever. i’ve been blowing a fuse daily and now the AC is blowing a fuse daily. i’m not sure what that means. but I should google it. right? i’m definitely willing to accept travelling into the basement as a daily exchange for cool air.

B. I can’t really handle no routine.

but i’m not willing to fight in the heat to keep one, so there is that. and outside forces like the kids having a father who lives in town and friends and such, keep activities still happening, some days. sometimes. its too hot, I just don’t care.

C. i’m a sorry, hot mess.

c1. LM is still the Loveliest Man. and that is that, but having someone who wants to be a partner and actively pursues partner-y things is giving me a lot of therapy issues. like, why did I never have this before? was married for 14 years. it makes me want to cry because I think I should go back and fix it with my younger self.  she makes me so sad.      c2. he says i’m his best friend. why do I find it inconceivable that a man could be a real friend? (there’s some issues in me that are around dark corners.) why was I married to someone for 14 years who never felt like my friend? deep wells of sadness.

D. its the beginning of July. I’m not sure I’ll make it through August.

reference all of the above. knowing that the AC in the house will change things, and maybe I will survive after all. maybe.

E. I have a job outside of the house.

I really like it but it is completely not AC. I mean, i’m totally outside, though in shade. but I love it. I sell produce. Its dreamy. Really. Its only 10 hours a week with like 14 hours of child care wrangling each week, but still. a job. motion. rumbles in the farmstand jungles.

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Divorce, Humanity

Divorced Parents

I continue to be amazed when I meet and know parents who’ve divorced, with how many variations there are of the experience and how commonly held the fears about the kids experiencing the process.

mine is one of a super privileged type: i was able to keep my house, and live in it.  i have the kids all week, he has them three weekends a month, and dinner on tuesdays. during the summer tuesdays become a sleepover!

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i’ve seen parents who can’t afford to house their children after the divorce and so have family take them in, while the former spouse refuses to pay child support. 

i’ve seen parents move in with new boyfriends just to provide that ‘stable’ thing they’ve always dreamed of for their kids. fingers crossed on that particular one.

I’ve seen parents stay living in the same house, but different rooms, in a state of near constant rage and hurt and despair because the money is so complicated and the kids aren’t even told. (imagine what that is like to live in?)

i’ve seen women get full time jobs and have their moms move in to help.

i’ve seen dads fighting for full custody against social norms and expectations. but, man, do they have to fight.

i know so many divorced people who have such great nostalgia for the ‘time before’ the divorce, not because they love that person anymore, but because they ‘loved’ that person once upon a time, and the sadness of that loss is still with them, compounded by the sadness and pain of the divorce process and the acquisition of worry for the kids. 

i’m one of them. i find it very difficult during these end of the year school things to not have the person i created these kids with by my side.  and when i do have him literally there? to realize that the man i was married to is gone, again, replaced by an irritating stranger who hurts my feelings by looking so much like someone i miss.

hmm. this is really quite a grabbag post about divorced parents. how’d you like that ramble? sheesh. Anyhow. Not divorced?  Go hug someone who is, because man, this is a doozy.

and it just keeps going on. . .

 

Humanity

Lies I tell myself lately. . .

bakery baking birthday blur
Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

I will eventually be done with this.

(it applies to 100s of things, and its a lie, in 100s of situations.)

I’m not addicted to my screen. I read.

(I haven’t read in weeks. if i could write this in teeny tiny print i would.)

I know a little about technology.

(i know less than a cupful of the ocean, and I get by on graphic directions only.)

I’m not that good at a lot of things.

(it is 100% true that I am not good at things I do not care about. truly. but what I DO care about? rockstar.)

I don’t know what I’m doing.

(yes, yes I do. I just don’t trust my instincts. But I’m still doing the things. and worrying about it as it happens.)

I’m going to join a gym.

duh.

 

What lies are you believing lately?

 

Humanity

Projection is a motherfucker.

I did, I did try to come up with a better title. I mean, there are kids here.

But my kids know my language, and thankfully have no interest in what i write, so, good.

So. therapy yesterday was cancelled because there were, albeit temporarily, two kids home sick from school.  one went in late because she had a nap and all was well. turns out, my almost 14 year old still likes to whip himself into a froth about exciting things and is comatose in my bed while he ‘prepares’ for his trip to DC.

But, I got to talk to Chakra Carol on the phone because I really, really want to know what all this harsh judgement of others is doing/serving/exposing in me… because i’m not really allowing myself to talk to anyone because i’m so ugly inside and it just hurts.

Chakra Carol says:

A relationship arrives which gives you the opportunity to heal.  You have a lot of anger, but now there is no one to pin it on.  You cannot trust, but there is no one to pin it on.  SO KABOOM, out into the universe it goes…

KABOOM.  because, dealing with it in myself is much less clear and easy than looking at other people and judging them for what sins i see in myself. pretense, manipulation, control issues…

Am I false? falsifying my life? Am I manipulating facts to make pretty stories? (i seem to be failing this, if its my intention, because hello ugly.) Mostly, I don’t think so but ask me if I value my self… i dare you.

Ask me if I believe in my innate goodness? Do i deserve fresh coffee or do i deserve yesterday’s remains? (this, yes, is actually a thing)

My fears are running wild. so i have work to do.  noticing. ( a big C.C. thing)  in noticing, not judging.

say, ‘I am fearful of being in a relationship in which I am not mistreated’.

say, ‘I am afraid that I am inherently unlovable.’

say, ‘I do not trust that I can be loved.’

Notice it in me, and don’t judge it. let it lie. point at it, if need be, but let it lie.

slow. slow. slow.

roll on it like a marble.  but don’t judge it.

maybe if i can lay it down like a river, i’ll remember my compassion for myself, and by the transitive property, the rest of the world.

because .  we both deserve it. me. and the world.

Shrubbery Heart Unwifedmotherexpletive
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

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…