My 'god,' and I Do Have One

I imagine dancing a waltz at a 17th century costume ball with 'god,' we're equal, but I let him lead.

We bitch slap each other for fun and laugh, our powdery make up fills up the air and chokes us just a little, but who cares - it's still funny.

We take bites of each others faces, laughing and pointing at the holes that are left behind. We eat each other like words; our eyes water as we try to swallow the sharper ones and we look at each other with surprise - as if we didn't know such dry sarcasm existed. please...

Willbe

I am not my mother.

I was so afraid that maybe I was her, about to make the same mistakes she did, about to leave a 'simple man' because he was only close to perfect and not perfected. Of course, that's how I see my dad D. She was a fool to leave him… and I don't want to be her, never have.

So, I had to search my bottom dropped out soul for my answer.

My conclusion was that I am more Seven of nine then I am my mother. I am unique. I am part of the collective, but unique. I am strong, emotionally pragmatic, and I have perfect boobs.

My experiences are my own, as are my decisions.

I also believe and cherish that my husband and I together are not like anyone else I know, and that whatever happens at the end of this road, we will survive well together and/or apart - even if he has to hate me first.

It is an incredibly hard time to stay grounded right now. Sometimes, there are things in my life that feel like a runaway train going downhill: I can't stop them and they are so fucking strong.

In those times, I've just got to pray. Pray for g.o.d to direct my train of thought back to my own core truth. I have come back to my last post countless times to re read:

All I know for sure is that I have to wake up every morning and be as humble and honest with myself as possible so that I can let go of whatever it is in me that's holding me back.

that's my job. And when I do it well I hear the words 'whatever will be- will be,' and from the collective - resistance is futile.

There is no other work I need do right now. Just rest.

Regenerate - as it were.

Honesty Bone

I know I said I wasn't going to blog - but who are we kidding? This is me. Eckhart always speaks of accepting what is and that all else is insanity - and me, right here right now, as fucked up as I feel about it, is what is.

It's just, I think I was thinking that I was going to take a break from writing about my life and just live it - and what happened then was that those words that had been hanging so heavy on the tip of my tongue - fell out of my mouth.

I said "I'm going to leave" to my husband. Why? Because, I haven't been honest. I have, but I haven't. Not with him, not with me.

I know all those encouraging words - especially yours Syd, that married people make it through this stuff, that it is part of commitment... and maybe your right. Or maybe, some married people don't want to see their possible demise in someone else. They want everyone to fight so that their fighting in the mire does not seem so dysfunctional - or they don't want to see their fear in leaving creature comforts like I see mine. It seems so... shallow.

I can't live with myself knowing that the one thing that seems to keep me here the most is that it just too logistically hard to leave. That doesn't seem fair to him or me.

Of course, he says he thinks it's just some seven (or twelve) year itch that I am going through, and that he is willing to wait - whatever it takes.

Umm. okay.

Shit.

My truth is that I detached with love so deeply since his last relapse and then the Hep C treatment that... I don't even know if I want to find my way back anymore. I needed him to know that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

It seems that the cost of my marital devotion, my for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, was that I became a deeper friend then I could ever be wife.

Somebody said to me that it was okay that I wanted a spark in my life - as in, I shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to feel alive. That struck me deeply, and I cried when I heard it. I didn't know just how much I had compromised.

In the end... me leaving was logistical nightmare. Apparently, so is his leaving.

So... what?

We live together apart. For now. Roommates, business partners, lost lovers.

I have no idea what that means.

All I know for sure is that I have to wake up every morning and be as humble and honest with myself as possible so that I can let go of whatever it is in me that's holding me back.

Shut Down

I just wanted my quiet back. I wanted to breath clean air. I stood up for what I believed in, for what I believed was and is right for me...

and I want now to reach out for help. for friends... but I can't.

I feel so... utterly fucked up.

Well Shit

It almost feels like it's time to walk away... again. I probably wont, but maybe I will. It feels like I need to cleanse the palate though - spit out this old whine and do what ever those people do next to ready themselves for the next wave.

'A Special Sort of Spirituality' means that I am free and easy with my crazy, letting the world walk with me on this journey, this...

Dearly Beloved, we gathered here together to get through this thing called life... cause in this world things are much harder than in the after world. In this life you're on your own.

I wrote something yesterday, some angry pissy bitchy thing about me and god - I liked it, but it was really self serving (isn't that the point of blogs such as this?) and really really insisted upon itself, which makes me gack a little in my mouth (and then swwwallllowww).

Things like that tell me it's time to walk away from getting naked, again and still, in front of the Internet, take my crazy indoors for awhile, let it morph in privacy for a time. My skin is all inside out and raw right now and it feels like I'm giving it the Silkwood treatment by exposing it over and over again simply for shits and giggles - so now my crazy has gone shy. Awe, that's cute and shit.

Who knows though, maybe I'll still come by here and leave some unwitty bullshit nonsense every now and then just to keep up appearances. or just to feel my fingers prattle on about some stuff in a place that I love.

Whatever.

Lovely

I have got some lovely running, no - slowly sliding, like a loose honey, down my chest, between my breasts, my ribs, and sliding down round my hips, dripping off my body like a slow letting go that begs to be licked off my finger before it hits the ground.

With a gorgeous ache, I watch and second guess my next move.

...and stuff

I don't know why shits gotta be hard. It's simple, isn't it? Why does it gotta be all mind fucky and stuff? I guess some shits just funny that way.

So, it is officially the first day of summer. I don't have to wake up any kids (oh, thank god ), I don't have to make anyone lunch (oh, thank even more gods), and I don't have to drive anyone other than myself anywhere (offers god(s) sexual favors). Big fucking sigh of relief.

It feels like... like I have my life back.

As well, yesterday I accepted my seat for school in September, and because I don't want to jinx shit anymore then I feel I already have - that's all I've got to say about that.

The summer of independent Mantra rolls on; I know this cause my ass hurts and I got a bruise on my hip.

see ya.

Bucket o' Resentment

Feeling kind of lame. Feel like I'm digging through my big bag o' tricks to find out just what the hell is nagging at me, which is funny - cause I know damn well what it is but I prefer to go all doey eyed and innocent, do some 'soul' searching and pick around in my chest and say things like, "I wonder what could be bugging me..?"

I had a great night roller skating last night. I came home exhilarated as usual, then I hopped in the tub that is hot with the man. It was fine, it was nice. I was all chatty n' stuff cause I learned how to do the baseball slide on my skates, my body felt all good and pulsy with exercise, and then he says "do you think we should get (his) step-daughter to do more reno chores - I mean, when I was a kid.... blah blah blah"

Ugh. Here we go. This has been an ongoing topic as of late, and we have this step parent dead spot wherein he unintentionally treats my daughter a little harder than he does his own. We've had this discussion so. many. times. He does a lot of 'she shoulds' and points at my daughter. Don't get me wrong, she's not a princess and she should be doing some stuff, for sure. But, his she shoulds are always a little off balance, and I have to step in, and then his ego gets all puffed up and pissed off. Great. He may as well have rubbed Ajex in my face bringing up this subject. The same discussion ensued where he starts saying, 'don't you think that step daughter and I should work through this?'

Oh, thinks I, you mean where you intimidate her cause you are and adult male with loud voice and 'I am the adult here' demeanor, and she is supposed to stand up to you and fight you so you two can 'work through it?'

Um, no. I don't think so. I'm not going to lay my daughter on the line just so he can learn from his mistakes on her. No no no. It pissed me off in that deep bucket of other pissed off shit. A part of me wanted to make that dramatic exit from the hot tub, let the water come crashing off (little red bikini) as I stand up abrubtly and with authority (yes! I am woman, hear me stand up)... but I didn't. I sat there all closed off to any idle chit chat he attempted.

And then, as if he ate his Lucky Charms that morning, he magically came around - he slowly walked down the humble ladder with only a few biting words to rub it in that I am a bit o' a bitch for being right about some shit.

It was nice of him to come around, I don't want to waste my time playing 'who's the boss' games, some things just are what they are. So, I'll do my best to keep my side of the street clean and if you could do the same - well, that'd be swell.

Now, can we go back to talking about me roller skating?

Soul Food for Thought

I finished reading Revolutionary Road a week or so ago. It was good. Then, I watched the movie.

I always do this to myself - read the book first knowing that the movie will never compare. However....

There is only one other book I have read that the movie stayed true to and that was High Fidelity - almost verbatim (admittedly, not hard to do). Revolutionary Road didn't stay as true obviously, it certainly had to leave a lot of the back story out, but the characters made up for it. Leonardo made up for it, as did Kate. The feel, the look of it all, made up for it. Justin Haythe and Sam Mendes picked every word and note perfectly.

I think I can honestly say that I enjoyed the movie more than the book. Wow, that felt weird to say. That feels sacrilegious to say, like I'm going to be struck down by the god of books (cause you know there is one).

I was afraid to read this book, thinking it would hit too close to home somehow, but it didn't hit home so much until I saw the look in Leo's eyes - maybe I'm just a sucker for a well played fucked up husband, but I was moved just a little. Both of them, husband and wife, are fucked up just enough to drive you a little crazy. You want to yell at them to just be honest with themselves already, for 'god' sakes. It's like watching the pretty girl in her underwear run upstairs into a closet to get away from the knife wielding freak while that skeery music plays ha ha ha ha he he he he (I always try and avert my eyes, and I'm such a jumper when the scary scene pops, it's embarrassing really. But, I digress).

Anyways, you should all watch it, if you haven't already, and tell me what you thought.

So now, I'm reading this other book The Flying Troutmans by Miriam Toews. I love this woman - she has this subtly dark and edible sense of humour that leaves you smiling at some bizarre but touching image, like this one where she writes about Hattie and her somewhat emo nephew:

Logan took a roach out of his pocket and stuck in his mouth. Hey, no, you can't do that, smarten up, I said. Give me that. I tried to grab the thing out of his mouth but he moved his head and then grabbed my wrist in mid-air and held it there for an improbable amount of time. And I realized he wanted to be holding my wrist or at least holding something warm and human so we drove awhile like that, him holding up my arm like it was a big fish he'd caught and he was eight years old and having his picture taken.

I read that and thought, huh? She has this way of making me smile... or maybe it's just me that finds that funny enough to smile and shake my head - as if she just nailed some point in my geeky inner self lifetime. I like that. I like her.



She kind of reminds me of a wiser Courtenay Love (oxymoron?) in this picture.

Anyways, I'm not done this book yet so if you've read it, don't blow the ending. But, I know y'all haven't read it, cause she's CANADIAN.... Whatever, go out and get it, you wont be disappointed.

k, that's it for your lit.er.ary nonesense summer book sharing session. Group hug?

Real Girl

I had the house to myself for a few hours today - it's the first time I felt right in a long time.

It made me cry and crying felt good. Felt real.

I could use more real in my life.

Inside Out

Push me down and hold me there, wipe the bullshit from my lips.
Hold my breath inside your head and choke me in my mind.
Screw me in against the wall and fuck me 'round behind.

I am Not a Monkey

I woke up at 4am but managed to sleep to 6am. Whatta freak show that is for me. My eyes open every (crack of ass-thirty) morning as sure as morning wood rises - and I instantly get too busy in my head to even dream of falling back to sleep. Not this time though. I just kinda wrapped my arms around me and off I went.

Unfortunately though, I dreamed of work. What a waste of sleep.

If I could paint, I would paint a monkey, a teeny tinier monkey, running a hamster wheel in my head, with super cute socks on, and it would be talking to itself, murmuring: okay, so first I'll do this, and then that, what was it that person said? oh yeah, right. k, forget about that. Shit, did I pay that bill? Fuck it - keep running. Is it time to roller skate yet? Is it too early to get up? Maybe I'll get up. No, don't get up, try and sleep. Okay.... ready? Sleep.

No, that didn't work. Okay, so first I'll do this....

Meanwhile... my body lies still and I watch this little monkey. Sometimes, I get caught up in being the monkey, thinking *I am* the monkey. But then, I remember, I am not my brain on monkey. I am that humming sense of joy that reveals itself when I let go of all thoughts.

I also realize that there is no stopping the frenzy that is that desperate, funky sock wearing, over exercised, and damn sexy, monkey.

So, I sigh a sweet breathy sigh, wrap my arms around me, feel my skin, and say 'run little monkey, run,' and next thing I know... it's 6am.

Go figure.

Skinny Bitch

Girls are brutal to each other, we all know that. What I think is funny is the whole, 'look atchew.... you're so skinny...." like it's a compliment. I've been not happy with my body before, I know what it's like... but now that I am, and only thanks to the holy fuck stress diet, a 'skinny bitch' I am bounced out of 'the club.'

Now, because I am skinny, people are allowed to look at me and roll their eyes... 'oh, skinny bitch, whatta you know about the plights of a real woman?'

Sigh. Alright, I get it. But the thing is, slightly overweight bitch... you make me feel like I'm flaunting it in your face. I feel like I should cover myself up.

If you dress yourself up, it's cool. If I dress myself up, "Oh, look at skinny bitch... she's all that."

and you know what? I don't like that kind of attention drawn towards my body any more than you would like to be called pleasantly plump or more to love. It's not a compliment.

Tonight, I'm going to go to my derby practice in what I would like to wear. The derby girls are cool, but I find myself being leery, cautious, cause it is going to look 'skinny bitch' good, and I am going to feel very self conscious about it (which also gets an eye rolling, right?). I feel self conscious because I'm afraid you are not going to like me because of my body which is just as bad as the dudes that like me because of my body, no?

I'm of the mind that girls rule, boys drool; if it is okay with you... I would like you to understand that some skinny bitches are just girls wanting to have fun, just like you 'fat' (aka: normal) bitches. Okay?

Thanks.

Go ahead and roll your eyes and throw your rotten tomatoes now - it's such good feminism.





PS: this post is directed at absolutely no one in particular but society as a whole.

Oh, and you can disagree with me in the form of a comment - I wont hunt you down and k-k-k kill you.