I’m Not A Player I Just Mitten a Lot

Yesterday in yoga, we were asked if we had any requests. It doesn’t really matter what the poses were, let us just say that I wanted a banana split and at that moment when my mouth opened at 6:17 a.m. what came out was “I would like a monkey shit sandwich on nettle bread please.”

I did not even know I’d gone wrong until I set up for it. DAMN! It was my least favorite pose, the one we did three times last month and it was painful every time. I imagined people were shooting eye daggers at me, since other people had complained about it as well.

At the end of class, I heard the chatty lady talking to the teacher.

“I thought that was going to be horrible because of last month it always hurt but it was fine! I’m better at it.”

“I meant to ask for pigeon pose,” I confessed. Several people turned to look at me. “Sorry, everyone. I shouldn’t speak before 8 a.m.”

“WELL,” chatty lady said. “It was really good today. I think I went in with no expectations and so it went very well.”

This is the summary of this week so far: accidentally asking for things I don’t want, and then enjoying them when I get them. Not bad.

The Current Wait for a Child Support Hearing is ONE YEAR.

“So don’t expect money anytime soon,” said the nice lady with a pink fuzzy sweater vest that was both awkwardly too loose and too tight behind the counter at DCS.

“Uhh, I expect money never, but I thank you in advance for trying,” I said.

I did not shame myself by throwing up in a government building or buy a pack of cigarettes, but I confess I did smoke one later. Okay, two.

Also, I learned something NEAT today. My mother has left me $100 in her will. MONEY MAN! What can you do?

HOLLAR FOR A DOLLAR, SPANK FOR A FRANC.

My kid is making yummy-smelling enchiladas but I suspect they will not be ready in time for me, as I am off to a one-off comix class for funsies.

And the cloud that took the form

This morning the daffodils are tilting forward gently, like they do right before their heads pop open. I like it–I have this vision of some fancy old timey lady with a lot of costume jewelry and a cigarette on a looong holder.

But before that! I dreamt I was having sex. Something was in my mouth and I could barely breathe…was it a paper napkin? (I suspect I was snoring.) No matter! I was having sex! Then I woke up. OH, SAD. But WAIT! I just dreamt I woke up, because then my alarm went off for real. I keep waking up at about 3:30, gripped with anxiety and all my dreams for the rest of the night are pretty much bad ones.

This weekend was busy busy busy moving sorting cleaning things. Goodwill runs! Changes are afoot, I will tell you in a few days. Nothing bad, I swear. I also moved the Todds into their own Todderdome. Now the hens are on their own with three spare Todds. They are getting VERY LARGE already and running around like whirling dervishes with their feathers growing in. I cannot believe how fast it happens.

Otherwise, it is quiet here. I am doing little crafty projects that were laying around like loose ends. I hung some pictures I had been neglecting since I moved in August. I was trying to avoid the cluttery feeling of my old too-small place, but I think there is room for a few more things around. I hung family pics on the wall in one of the staircases, not too straight. P. was helping. “Wabi-sabi,” he commented.

I am always wabi-sabi. I am putting up another mirror soon that I had ignored because the label was covering a crack in it, and I was insta-cross when I brought it home, but now I have reconsidered. It’s okay hang a cracked mirror, I guess. I don’t understand why these things change sometimes.

Also, it would not be a weekend without a stupid argument with my babydaddy that I actually LIKE. This is sport.

“I’m going to hang up that poster of clouds that I’ve had forever,” P. said, as I was doing some dishes.

This is where it immediately goes off the rails and some people (not me) are sorry they opened their mouth at all.

“Really, why?” I said.

“So I can see what the weather will be like.”

“SEE? WHAT THE WEATHER WILL BE LIKE?” Suddenly I was Gordon Ramsey on goofballs. “It’s GREY, you stick your head outside and it’s ALL GREY!”

“That’s not true at all,” he said. “There’s lots of different weather patterns here and you can tell if it’s going to rain and–”

“OF COURSE IT’S GOING TO RAIN, IT IS THE PNW! Save your poster, here is the only chart you need.”

I drew a chart for him on the fridge where the grocery list normally resides.

“Now in the Midwest there are actual cloud patterns besides grey–” I began.

“I don’t want to HEAR about the MIDWEST,” he said. “At least I know how to spell ‘G-R-A-Y.”

“GASP!” I gasped. He walked off. Where would either of us be without our weekly pointless bickering? The girls basically pass the salt over us when this happens now.

I also spent a little solo time with Franny, who needed a skirt for a field trip to the Symphony. I already mentioned this on the Twittergraph, but I was holding up not-pink things, because she does not dig the girlie pink stuff, and she was also insisting, “BLACK, ONLY BLACK CLOTHES.”

I teared up, for real. You can kind of tell we’ve been watching a LOT of Drag Race right now. Franny thinks of these types of shoes in a fabulous man context so we had to have a little breakdown about the clear stripper shoes. “Ladies wear these too, hmm,” she said.

When I Awake I Awaken with a Tingle/2-Mar Rainbow

“Are you SURE you don’t want to trade places?” the woman whispered to me sharply. On Monday she had asked me the same question. I was sitting on my yoga mat in the back, trying to stretch a little.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. It seemed notable that she had taken my spot from the immersion last month. “My friend is new and I’m staying back here to keep him company.”

She looked at me with her bitchy face. I overheard her talking smack about the teacher last month, too. Snide comments about other things. Really? In 6 a.m. yoga? WHY?

REALLY BITCH? Get out of my happy place. The worst part is she’s a teacher there. Put your Zen Bonnet on for an hour, ok lady? She can HAVE her assigned seat on Friday.

Thing the second is a question I keep asking myself over and over again: WHY? Why am I personally dealing with my mother’s alcoholism now? Why not years ago? My mother’s favorite thing to say to me is that I need to “get over my childhood” and she’s right…to a certain extent. Her idea of getting over things is to stop making weeping vagina noises and to go play in the street. I think I’m over it, but I’m not going to stop thinking about it. I’m not going to stop asking how I am being and treating my kids, and how it still affects me as an adult.

I had an aha while talking to a friend this morning about why now: because NOW it is affecting my child. I don’t move until they are suffering. I did not leave SeaFed until he was neglecting Franny.

Which is really only part of the story. I have been motivated in recent years to stand up for myself and make things right on other things. It’s getting better. Spacey is a good person and knows about these things, and she said “You are not required to deal with this on your own.”

I don’t think I can handle any kind of group experience at the moment, so I am going to do some reading and some self-inventorying and some other stuff that sounds like therapy hoomhaw. Happily and with purpose. There seems to be very few moments of coasting. When I was a kid I thought you grew up and then coasted. Uh…until you died. HA!

Okay, so there is my weeping vagina moment of the day. I am grateful to my friend for listening to me word barf until I had an epiphany about something that has been nagging at me.

I did not remember my dream until I was driving around this morning. The wind was blowing, the sun was shining, and it was raining, or as my grandma would say “the devil is beating his wife.” I saw a rainbow and I remembered, then, dreaming about one. Spring is coming, or possibly Sring.

Your Poultry Has Shipped

I guess I can wrap this chapter up for now, though these things are never really truly wrapped up, are they? After Morgan and I spoke to our mother on Saturday night, I called SeaFed to check in with him, and told him the deed was done. Of course I was shunted straight to voicemail, because as I discovered on Sunday, my mother immediately called him to discuss how awful I was being.

And when he finally called me back on Sunday afternoon, I heard her words again coming out of his mouth. “You don’t even know her anymore,” he said. “You haven’t spoken to her for years.” I felt myself being crushed somewhat under the weight of everything he had to say. He was talking over me, rambling, that way he has of filling the space without really saying anything useful or helpful.

“Yes,” I said, trying to flatten myself out on the quicksand. “It’s always been the same, though. She’s up, she’s down, she pours all the booze out and then caves and starts again.”

“I guess I remember that from when we lived with her,” he conceded. “But a lot of people drink.” His voice sounded slightly hollow.

Suddenly this seemed like it was less about my mother and me than I thought.

“I told her that we agreed to supervised visits for the time being,” I said, “sooo–”

“I never said that, I said I heard you about that and I wanted to speak to your mother and your sister about this. I’ve spoken to all of you and now I don’t think there’s a problem.”

“Uh. Okay. Can we agree to no overnights for now, because I really think that–”

“I will spend time with her the next time I see her, and I will decide. I’m not going to agree to anything with you about this. Franny needs her grandmother in her life, warts and all.”

“Well, I disagree in this case, because I made the choice to pull myself and the girls out of her toxic thing that she’s in.”

“I’ve known REAL addicts, SJ, and they need support. None of this was a problem until you brought this up recently. The last time I saw Franny she burst into tears right away. I can’t tell you how to run your house, but maybe this stuff needs to be private, and Franny doesn’t really need to know about your problems with your mother. You’re upsetting her and there was never a problem before. This is the first time she said she doesn’t want to spend the night at her grandma’s house.”

Remember this.

He also told me he was pleased I had offered to supervise visits, because it sounded like my mother would be happy to see me. I have no idea if that’s true or not. I tend to doubt it–I suspect it’s just more of his weird fantasy world inferences that he cannot seem to help, like the notion that my sister needed him to tell our mother that Morgan had a problem with her, which she said several times she did not, and it was about Franny. The idea that my mother would be pleased to see me as a result of all this increased dysfunction made my stomach churn. I would not be happy to see me. I was always at my worst around her, really, not matter how hard I tried. I certainly wouldn’t be happy to see her. I don’t want Franny to see her. I felt ill when she came over inappropriately to drop something off.

With him it’s always a sucking black hole where the sky is orange and nothing really makes any sense. I can’t really say that it’s any different than when we were married. I have that feeling every time I hang up that everything I know is wrong and I am a bad person. It seems like these conversations always happen when Franny is gone, which doesn’t help. I can’t and won’t turn to her for support and venting like I would a friend, but having her out of my sight makes me wonder…have I done everything wrong? Is she scared to tell me how she feels?

We talked when Franny came back, because I knew there was a lot unsaid and probably going through her mind. I tried to be very gentle with her and I try not to lead her or feed her anything–I just try to keep it safe for her. She made a point to tell me that she asks her dad not to have to have sleepovers at her grandma’s house.

“Before all this happened?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, I just want to see him. I tell him I want just a day visit and he tells me to ‘pack my bag.”

“Have you tried telling your stepmother at all? Maybe get another adult on your side?”

“She doesn’t say anything when I say I don’t want to go.”

I worry that her stepmother wants her to go. Around Thanksgiving she accused Franny of hurting the baby and I know Franny does not really feel wanted or welcome around there, which pains me. Franny doesn’t want to push things too hard, because she’s scared of him, especially when he’s mad. She still remembers him making a hole in the wall of my apartment when she was four, which surprised me to hear.

I told her that none of this is her fault or her problem, over and over, and that I want her to be happy. I think she is, most of the time. I checked in to see if she wanted to know what was happening, if I was telling her too much, as her dad said, and she said she wanted to know. I also told her something new.

“You’re getting older now,” I reminded her. “You are allowed to make more decisions for yourself. If you feel like you are unsafe or not being respected, you can get on the bus after school and come home and I will be here. You can call me and I will pick you up from wherever, okay?”

Franny talks about how her little sister screams for things, like a doughnut, or some candy, or the right backpack, and how she gets them and it makes her crazy to see.

“Maybe you need to start screaming for your doughnut over there,” I said, and she smiled a little.

“He’s making this all worse, I know he is,” she said. I tried to keep the surprise off my face. She said she felt better after we talked. I feel really proud of how level-headed and sharp she is sometimes. I feel so lucky that this one was given the gift of really high emotional intelligence and sensitivity. I think it has and will save her.

I feel fairly boxed in at this point. I have a child who is telling me she is unhappy and not being heard over there, and her father, who will not agree to or concede to anything…so, I can’t work with him to keep things healthy with my mother. And my mother, who has SeaFed in her pocket and feels entitled to see Franny despite my wishes and requests. People are suggesting court and restraining orders. I worry I am being negligent for not doing so. I have this feeling like no matter what I choose, everything rests on me. I am putting out one more email to say, I don’t like this, I don’t want this, I don’t agree with this, and then…things will change eventually. I hope my mother cannot do too much damage before then.

And next time you see me, I will have brand new chickies and I am going to keep it light for a while. Thanks for the nice comments lately.

Please Keep Me In Mind/20-Feb Taibas Jones Glorious

Last night, well. Is it a good idea to make an appointment to tell someone something terrible? I don’t know. I have a lot to say.

I had thought that I was solely clean up crew, in the wake of SeaFed being unhelpful regarding my mother, but that’s never really how it works. Of course my sister was trying to clean things up too.

My sister and I sat at my table at the appointed hour, watching her cell ring on speaker phone, leaning over it–CALLING: MOM. My sister said later that I looked queasy, which I believe, but I actually felt pretty calm. My mother picked up and my sister did her best, explaining that she thought that SeaFed had gotten off the point in his conversation with my mother earlier that week.

In a patented SeaFed move, he sent Morgan an email assuring her that he told our mother that Morgan had a problem with her and her drinking right now, which Morgan had asked to be left out of and did not want to interfere with or pass judgment on. She told him several times that she was speaking to him on my behalf with regards to my concerns about Franny spending time with her, and her relationship wasn’t the issue.

“I don’t need HIM to talk to my mother for me about how I feel about anything,” she said earlier in the week. No kidding. Good gravy. The thought of SeaFed as mediator, healer, peacekeeper, FAMILY UNITER, makes my special vein in my forehead come out to say hello to everyone.

Then it was my turn. I decided to get right to it, since there were no pleasantries to exchange.

“We’ve decided that going forward, visits with Franny will be supervised.”

This was apparently new information; SeaFed had told me that he would be discussing this when he spoke to my mother, since he is the one who maintains contact with her. I could hear anger and indignation oozing out of her voice. I don’t blame her really. I wouldn’t want to be sneak attacked with…me.

She asked where this came from and I told her I had compelling evidence that things were out of control regarding her drinking. That kind of confrontation, accusation, that one really blows the doors off things.

“WHAT? Who is telling you this? You don’t KNOW me anymore, you haven’t for years,” she said. “You don’t know what I do.”

I reminded her that Morgan is in my life, that things were the same when I was a kid, that Franny was a witness to her drinking.

“What have I DONE to hurt Franny?” she said. I stuck to my point. I was not going to argue with her, to tell her I was right and she was wrong and bad. It was just about a parental decision, and that decision was not open for her to debate. I did not say, but I had hoped, that SeaFed could carry this one message to her without my involvement, but here we were. I picture Lucy Ricardo running around in the switchboard inside his head, frantically pulling lines out of holes and shoving them into others willy-nilly.

“Fine, if this is all this is about, I will stop drinking right now. I quit as of this moment,” she said. In a way I cannot really explain, it hurt me to hear the conviction and sincerity in her voice.

“Okay,” I said. “We can revisit things when you are serious about sobriety. Perhaps a year in.”

“How will you even KNOW, SJ? How will you KNOW what I do? You won’t know what I do when you’re not around.” My sister and I glanced at each other–whiplash.

“You’re right. I don’t know what you do when I’m not around. I made the choice to be away from you for myself and my kids.” I can only operate on the information I have, I thought, which doesn’t sound starkly different than the way things were when I was growing up.

“This is about YOU,” she spat. “You’re SO bitter. You’re such a bitter person. This is about how I gave your kitten away when you were five. You hold grudges for years, don’t you?”

“This call is to tell you that SeaFed and I have decided that visits with Franny will be supervised now.”

“Well, you’re showing me. You FINALLY found an opening to punish me with. You took away my grandchildren and now this. Who’s going to supervise these visits, anyway? How are you going to enforce this?”

“This isn’t about punishing you, this is about me doing what’s best for Franny. When we agreed on this, SeaFed said he was willing to do it. There can be breakfasts or other meals together without alcohol. I’m sure you’d be welcome to go out where they live, too.”

“Ha! SeaFed said this was ALL YOU. That is was ALL COMING FROM YOU and he had nothing to do with this.” If this is at all true it might explain why she sounded surprised when I had stated my purpose at the outset–maybe? A few things she said seemed like half-truths–they just felt off.

“Okay, if that’s the case, then I will supervise the visits.” I slipped then. She riled me. “I’m sure we have a lot of catching up to do. It will be so much fun.” I’m not proud of that, at all.

There was really nothing else for me to say after that. I thought it was fair that she asked why and was willing to answer. I forgot how manipulative she can be, how mercurial. I listened to her heap abuse on my sister for what amounts to telling my mother’s secrets.

One thing that I hate about an emotional abuse situation is when the the person with the problem explodes if the abused person tries to take ownership of their own experiences and relate them to other people, rather than keeping it a secret. It was obviously a massive betrayal that Morgan had told me about my mother’s behavior around Christmas, which was scary and hurtful. There was no personal responsibility, only us attacking and betraying her.

After it was over, Morgan and I compared notes and we caught her in a couple of lies, so I’m not really sure what’s been said elsewhere. I’m willing to white knuckle through this weekend and give SeaFed a pass until I talk to him today or tomorrow. I did not slag on him during the call and presented a united front, which to my knowledge, it is. I’m going to present me dealing with my mother from here forward as a good thing and something I am taking off his hands, and thank you so much for dealing with the hassle of the commute for this long.

Most of the things my mother said to me did not really bother or surprise me. I spent a lot of time crying over the past in the past, and I am content with my decision. The only things that really bothered me was the implication that I was happy about causing this “havoc,” about turning the table over like this. I feel like if she could at all see straight right now, she would know that my ideal situation is everyone in my family fucking skipping together and holding hands with matching bows in our hair or beards.

There was also the implicit threat in a few of her statements that I don’t have control, that I don’t really know what’s going on, I felt it hovering over me. “I will take advantage of the chaos in your life” because I don’t have a reliable co-parent in SeaFed. I have let go of a lot of my control over things anyway, so I wouldn’t say I’m even approaching panic.

If there’s one thing being divorced has taught me, if you keep your head down and keep plodding and being the best parent you’re able to be, things may change, as in, you may be given the gift of your ex-husband leaving a voicemail message to say he is moving away the next week. And in the meantime, while you are hoping that things will get better, you look up and remember that you are doing all the best parenting you can and that your kid loves you and feels safe.

“It’s corny,” I said to Morgan, near the end of the night and the end of our energy. “But you know what we’re doing here? We’re breaking the cycle, for you, for me, for the girls, for if you have kids. We can do better.”

************

I dreamt I was crossing the street. It was my old house, the cul-de-sac I had grown up on. To my surprise Nietzsche came exploding out of the neighbor’s bushes. There must have been some mistake; I got new cats when my cat was actually right here. She was so glossy and young-looking, and looked up at me expectantly like she always did to be petted. She was never a leg-swirler or meower.

The neighbor came towards me from her yard.

“She looks so good!” I said, petting her smooth coat and feeling her healthy flesh underneath.

“Yeah, it turns out you just weren’t taking care of her right,” she said.

“Oh.”

“This is for the best,” she said, and turned away as I started crying.

9-Feb Dream Ushtra Asana Toe

Last night I dreamt what I think was based on this awesome talk on how terrifying and unexpected Facebook is. The parts about FB are interesting but kind of meh, because it’s become normal for many of us, and shapes the way a lot of what I think of as the generic open universe of the internet. I like the way the speaker kind of brings the audience back to the idea that FB is super weird, and still pretty new in a lot of ways. I am away from it now, but when I was on it, I found myself recognizing other sites biting FB’s steez and whatnot.

Anyway, I was on a business trip with my husband, who may or may not have been The Man in the Horn-Rimmed Glasses. We got off a plane and everyone who greeted him gave him all of his favorite things, despite not knowing him personally or having spoken with anyone who did. There were children ranging from about 7 to 14 who were doing dances around us and singing about him. That was how crap the economy was; it paid children to memorize and basically act as human cookies. It looked flawless, like they had been bred and raised for this moment. But their costumes were tattered at the edges from jumping through this routine so many times.

I kept thinking to myself, this is novel now, but I think what we’re heading for is never ever being surprised ever. Everything is pleasing and to our tastes, but nothing is surprising. I spend all day hammering and clicking and shaping until everything is exactly as I want it while I work and screw around. I actively work to push out unwanted experiences with things like adblocker.

ANYWAY, it was a dream and then I woke up and there was frost when I went out. I am paying so hard for my year of gravy right now. Also trying to get up the motivation to do some more revising on the gravy. I was happy to take a month off and recover from pneumonia and whatnot, but I have to get serious now that my energy’s back. I need to push back against the strong feeling I have of being done right now. Sometimes it’s hard to decide when something can just be personal and when it’s okay to push it out into the world. I will tell you I got to the end of the year and I thought, shit, I am the only one who really cares about this. How presumptuous to think it would have value to anyone else.

I got into dancer today and did not fall over. Man, am I creaky.

I Can’t Life My Arms Four Hours Sleep Waaat

Up betimeish, but not as betimesly as yesterday when I went to 6 a.m. “death march” yoga (as it is being referred to by a certain wag). HOLY HOPPIN TACOS am I out of shape. It’s like I did nothing by cook, slurp gravy, and write all year. My muscles between my ribs are sore.

SECONDLY, Veronica Bock, Orpington extraordinaire, is growing her pink comb back now that the days are longer. She looked slightly startled this morning with her red-rimmed eyes and now this pink comb. I have no hope that she will start laying again, though.

Today I was forced out for lunch, but did not feel like going to a place with, you know, tables and humans and stuff, so I went to Jack-in-the-Box. The drive thru chick looked like her drive thru place was probably the MAC counter. She had swoopy cat’s eye makeup and some serious highlights going on. I was amazed. She gave me some tips.

“It’s time for you to make a Youtube video,” I said.

“Nooo,” she said. “This is so easy, though. It only takes five minutes!”

“For you, maybe.”

“Here, take this ranch, have you ever had ranch on your curly fries?”

“No,” I said.

“You are going to fall in love with it,” she said.

I got extra fries! Proper.

I’m pretty sure this breeches the terms of my ASBO

“My New Years’ Resolutions are starting to sound like New Years’ Suggestions.” –KQ

I took the kittens to the vet last week to get JABBED again, and they did very well. Nietzsche always growled non-stop at the vet so it was kind of fun to have new kittens there, whose hearts could actually be listened to due to the lack of rrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRR! The assistant snapped pics of them and there was lots of googoo AWWWing about them.

My vet gave me a long list of things I could do to wean them, and he described what the weaning process would be like, about how her little cat boobs would get all hard and she would get grumpy and I thought, boy, this sounds familiar. I listened patiently but ultimately I’ve decided not to interfere. They’re eating cat food (and stealing bites of cha siu bao when I get hungry at midnight after watching the Top Cheffers fuck up dim sum), and Mere is not wasting away, so, it’s okay. If she wants to be the cat version of those appalling hippie moms who nurse their children into their twenties, who am I to interfere?

If you’ve been looking at my pictures lately, you’ve probably gleaned that I enjoy these sheets. Yes, I swear I am washing them sometimes. And then putting them right back on.

I just wanted to capture how happy they get while nursing. The purring an the closed eyes. Mere is tolerating it better as well–for a while there she was passive-aggressively licking them until I thought their little heads would snap back like Pez dispensers. A different vet told me they usually lose their milk after they are spayed, so maybe she was teetering on the edge of that for a bit.

I did not make any real resolutions this year, but I do have some food goals. One is to continue my work with puff pastry, which I started due to Beeton and general wanting-to-do-itness. The second thing is gnocchi, which I think I need to eat more of out, too. I know bad gnocchi, and I know decent gnocchi, but I am not sure I can really appreciate how far apart decent, serviceable gnocchi is from great gnocchi.

Tomorrow I am querying an agent for the first time. I think I have some good leads, and I think I have a good idea. Hello, would you like to try to sell my strange cookbook, lucky lucky agent? I am perversely excited about getting rejection letters and will share them with you here, with names changed to protect the guilty.

THE TONGUE

Hovy came over yesterday after our failed attempt at getting Elvis doughnuts and brought the girls lovely Xmas presents. (Late, because of how sick I was.) The girls spent all day in their robes in part because they could, and in part because they are sick, AGAIN. It’s one of those years. I guess I blame the new school’s germs. Strudel is feverish at night and in good spirits during the day.

For my part I walked Greenlake today at not a totally slacker pace and I did not have a tired or crunchy-lung feeling at all. People who are smarter than me tell me I can get a pneumonia shot and they are good for ten years, holy SHIT. At the very end of this month I am going back to yoga immersion, if I can even fit through the door. Seriously, my ass is kind of amazing me right now.

My pants still fit but I ripped my favorite pair. Pants have become more of a sausage casing effect and less of a flattering drapery effect. I’m going with it. I like squeezing parts of myself, though. It’s a good thing someone does, I guess. I cannot be the only one, right? Sometimes I think maybe I could take my squishy parts and put them into jars like those vegetables that get grown into weird shapes. No run-of-the-mill getting fused to the couch for me.

Felted Mushrooms

Dear Fucking Diary! Today I found out I am out of practice at being a lady! I wore high lady boots to keep out of the very ungenteel puddles that keep getting left around everywhere and now my feet hurt. I have one pair of underwear left that is not in disgraceful whore-tatters and that I would not feel totally embarrassed about wearing in front of a new paramour, so I wore those out tonight just for fun! Was I on a date with myself? I might have been. Perhaps I should write empowering articles for Oprahmedia. The underwears were DIGGING IN and now I have red welts on my hipbones. My fishnets had runs and my coat kept flying open. But I was pretty happy anyway.

Today I like fog cutters, which in this instance is a gimlet with some homemade ginger beer added. I have outrage fatigue and am over snark. I do not like my mother, who was given my address by my stupid ex-husband, and came over to my house, unwanted and unbidden. It is unmannerly to be uninvited and to show up like that after 5+ years. Thinking that that kind of shit is okay is also affirmation of why I don’t speak to her anymore. My father told me he STILL has nightmares about her sometimes. I believe it.

This week I am learning about denial, and how it can lead to castigation of others rather than self-examination. I don’t want to hear about the grieving processes of those who feel I’ve wronged them, when it was right for me to get away from them. I feel like I learn about this over and over again. I am also feeling grateful for people I know who actively grieve about things and move on. VERY grateful.

In other words, universe, behave yourself. I am trying to behave. It’s one skip forward and two smacks back.