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

 

 

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Divorce, Humanity

the middle.

the kids are flying off to Florida tomorrow for a long weekend and a swim with some manatees.

the ex is dating, has broken up with the woman he was with immediately after leaving (foggy dates there, intentional) and it’s coming back around on me.

I don’t care. I do care. ego is involved. things are not equal. they won’t be. my kids are very lucky.

and I’m going to miss the kids a lot. its only one night more than regular that they’ll be gone from me, but the fact that they’ll be having all these first-time experiences without me is a little bit peaky. and airplanes.

and i’m having stress dreams about disrespect and the way i felt when i was married and the futile feeling that i had about my life all the time.

and i’m calling my friends and they are holding my hands, and my LM is being lovelier.

and man, there is this gift in all this… that i’m not there anymore, that he isn’t in my life anymore, that i can yell and be mad and not be constantly gaslit about my own worth and sanity.

that i forget. and remember. and yell in the empty kitchen, to myself,  ‘he is not in my life ANYMORE’. and the yelling feels right, and loosens my shoulders.

here i am.

sometimes i am mad. catch me at 9:30 at night when not one.single.kid. is making any progress towards sleep and i am a fucking harpy of doom.  totally.

and i don’t have to hear anymore about what an ‘angry person’ i am.  because i am so much more than a person who gets angry sometimes. and really, i always was.

i’m not there anymore. and the fairytale fell apart and the crying in the wedding dress is done. (i’m sure i’ll have some more moments, but.)

and i’ve got amazing kids with me all the time, and i’m allright man.  right here in the middle of all this, i’m still allright.

Breakfast Table Mess UnwifedMotherExpletive

Divorce, Humanity

Hello! Still not simple.

there is something that unravels in your chest when you are in the right spot.  shoulders let down, breath slows.. its a piece of you that you don’t even always recognize as being wound.  (this one is tricky. not a wound. but wound, the tightly wound spool of thread…)

I think, even in a good marriage, you forget to take those moments of unravel. but I don’t know, surely, as I only had a good marriage for a short while.

it is akin to surrender, this unraveling, as a vulnerability in and of relief, a certainty that you are in a safe spot.

seems so simple.

but hello. it isn’t.

all the tiny steps you take to get there. to unlearn and relearn and step out and step back… those tiny steps to move away from a gigantic broken, blistered heart? ‘tiny’ being a euphemism for ‘each and every one is a gigantic, monolithic mass of granite that you can’t see the top of when you first approach.  we’re talking rock climbing every step of the way, with our out-of-shape, middle-aged everythings. I’m talking bloody fingers every reaching hand, every single one. and then the release. that spot.

just so you know. sigh. i’m climbing.

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Divorce, Humanity

Holidaze. Stupid stupid. (ode to pms?)

yeah, i am in some sort of dark tube of hellacious premenstrual bollywood currently.

so there.

i’m dreading the days i will miss the kids before christmas, when they are at their dad’s. i already want to cry about it. probably will.  ( i get them back christmas eve, but there is no telling me, in current state.) last year i stayed in pajamas and drank too much wine and wrapped things and cried. some people call that heaven, i know.

sigh.

it’ll pass. i know. yes. and i still have been wondering if i should revamp my consideration of my anti-depressants. i’ve stopped taking them, roughly 8 months ago. (plenty of rollercoasters, that i’ve survived just fine…)

premenstrual rollercoaster, you all are my witnesses. hand to god.

its like this: self-loathe. rationalize. hit the wall of regular life. self-loathe. bump in the road grows insurmountable. quit. lie down. do laundry. self-loathe, rationalize. and so forth.

and it might all subside in the next 24 hours. if i’m lucky. might have to wait 36, or 48 more. i’m a loser like that. see?

(don’t ever underestimate the power of a hormonal swing, my friends. ever.) (((if i ever had a need for a picture of swing, now would be the time. now.)))

Elephant Office Unwifedmotherexpletive

Humanity

UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE

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.

 

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the soup would have really made the composition here ‘pop’ but alas… it was in the kitchen, with all the bowls and a huge slop of spoons… 

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.)