Wednesday, March 7, 2035

Fuck I Said Shit....Again

So let's just get a few things straight:

I am a terrible person. I am not a terrible person in the sense that I do not lie, steal, or cheat. I am terrible at being a person. I forget to brush my teeth some nights, I forget to put on deodorant some mornings. I don't own a hair brush. I take vitamins but only because they are gummy bears, and my kid's, and he adamantly reminds me to do so every morning because he wants a gummy bear. I leave dishes in the sink (not covered in food, ask any previous roommate, I hate that.) I don't wear matching socks unless I just bought them. I forget everything, even really important experiences but that will be in another bulletin. I cuss too much, I smoke even though I know it is awful. I yell. I drink, not in excess but I know it is bad for me and still do it.

I am a horrible driver. Like really. I have had four accidents in four years. My insurance is out the wazoo. I drove literally 100's of thousands of miles, and never had a single accident before I got pregnant. Now that I have the most precious screaming cargo anyone could ever have the responsibility to carry, I bang into inanimate objects like a ping pong ball.

I am an awful mother. Being a single mom sucks, I don't care who you are. I don't vaccinate on a regular schedule and, because of recent law changes, I can't vaccinate at all unless I do them all at once so my son and avoid the doctor like we are felons on the run. My kid eats sugar even though my whole pregnancy I swore it would never grace the lips of my beloved with its sweat temptation of evil. I also yell. I come from a long line of yellers, and I'm no Freud, blaming my whole life on the fact that my mom was too strict potty training, but here I am yelling my lungs out every time my 2-year-old gets the milk out of the fridge and dumps the $5 half gallon on the floor....Jesus, I just wanted to pee in peace little man.

I have a terrible diet. I spent my youthier-youth spreading the gospel of organic food, no sugar diets, the dangers of juicing and the importance of proper food combination for excellent gut health, now here I am in my duh...duh...duh... late 20s and my son and I had cold, left over pizza for breakfast before shooting out the door in a furry. Yea, he had a muffin for dessert. We all need our 8am dessert, right? That's a thing, right?

I forget everything. I mean, everything. I forget people, names and faces. I used to say, "I may forget your name, but I never forget a face!" Sadly, I realized this was a lie after being told by some chick in New York named Critter that I had reached my hand out every weekend all summer long to shake hers and introduce myself. Apparently people just aren't that rememberable.

I also make up words.

I am a terrible person, but I am a good mind, with a solid heart, full of hope, courage and determination. So if you hate terrible people, good for you golden god or goddess of perfection. Please, and really I mean it, feel free to pick my life apart in the comments below and maybe your criticism will succeed where all others have failed, and you may be the one to get my life together. If you too are a terrible person, grab a glass of wine and whine with me.

P.S. I have terrible grammar.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

a proxy named "Page"

(this is Page, hi.)

so when does learning begin and suffrage end?
...does it start? does it end? did it start ever?------
welp, id like to think that i think a thingy or two about it........though, most people probably wouldnt (and probably wont) want to listen..      and thats O.K.~~
However, the aftermath of these things are very fundamental to the building of the All.
 .......Lest we forget.

pardon me if i am being On the Cuff;,,,,,,
pardon me if i am being a little un-understandable (?am i?)

it needs to DiE (so they say)
(&also has to LiVe) so I  say.

I once was in a shitshow- once
or thrice....
(or for flighty fights).

and it's in the ways that we flow outward that talks to us:

ooooooh it helps to walk in between the worlds-----i dont mind it much, as much pain as it causes; but i do always prefer to sit present with it~~~~~~(and i do like the middle(~ quite much~))

is the alluring thing about timeless time that it's literal schism?

but then again: what else is new?
if we dont like a good schism, we arent listening to ourselves. 

I love you because you DONT need me.

things that are popular- I LIKE GLOBULAR STUFF!~~*~*~**


Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Shake it Mama

Well boys and girls, or no one at all, I guess my mama taught me to say, "To Whom It May Concern." That was only when we had to write tardy letters or permission slips though, and she made sure we knew how to forge her signature at a young age. It was the fucking 90's after all, no one really cared where their children were (if yours did I am sorry for you but I am sure you grew up to be one of the only 798 well adjusted adults in the entire world so, hey! Congratulations.) Any who...

To Whom It May Concern,

What the fucking fuck. All this time has gone by and the whole time I swore I would go back to writing. I felt it in my soul. I need to write. But, I never have made time for it. I guess that is what becoming an adult really is, the stark awareness that days turn into years and in the blink of an eye you are on the brink of turning thirty, your kid is in kindergarten, and you haven't updated your Blogger since he was three.

You know what is crazy though? I am still a walking force of nature, and he is still a damn sun beam, bringing life, and the destruction of pure gamma rays, simultaneously. He just weighs a lot more. And got his first hair cut. And has not lost a tooth. And can sound words out. And not so secretly practices in his room saying all the horrible words from my vocabulary that I so subtly used this blog to justify....

So what has changed? Damn near everything else. He is big and I am small. His father has come and gone a several times each time showing up like a hurricane and leaving with equal amounts of destruction in his wake. But hey, my kid is ahead of the curve, we have both been in therapy for almost a year so, he is going to have so many healthy coping mechanisms that when Johnny Jackoff with his perfect family hits 22, becomes a raging frat boy at ECU, and threatens to run his car into Chic-Fil-A over Betty Boopedhisfriends, my boy, my boy, will be like the wise old owl, expressing his feelings while maintaining healthy boundaries. So fuck you Judging Judy.

Also, I of all people, fell in love. Like in big love. Like in grown up love. Like with a real man who also has boundaries and expresses his feelings. Its a pretty damn neat thing. And I got a perm but don't you go copying me. I just read some dumb article that's proclaimed perms to be the big new thing of 2020. Guess what I don't want to look like other people that's why I got a damn perm, I thought no one liked them. Apparently I need to read more teen magazines.

I also quit being a stripper. Then started again...Then quit again...then started again....quit...start....quit... Well where am in the mix of it now? Hmm, guess you'll never know. Not that it matters. (I'm sure the suspence of it all is killing you inside)

I also got a good jump into my career. After desperately jumping from one lowend Italian place, to another family run hibachi joint, to a members only day shift grandpa bar, I finally got a job at a real bar. A bougie bar. Where I got the freedom to become an artist with my work again. I got reaquainted with my herbs. My tinctures. My TEAS. The healthy things that I loved and brought me joy and passion (also of course whiskey but thats healthy in moderation too, at least in my opinion.) And it has fully reinspired a part of me I lost in the shake of all this: the unbroken part of me from before motherhood, before my son's dad becoming a raging addict and broke my heart, before I knew true loss and grief. This child in me knew only of the beauty of the sunlight dancing on a leaf, the amazing way cumulous clouds turned to animals and pranced across the sky, and the delight of a garden with her grandmother. The ruff mints, and fresh lemon balms, the rich and bitter lavenders, and the sweet stevias. And when she awoke I found a new part of me that I craved to share with the world and, most importantly as you know, my son.

I do hope that though I may be brash, ruff around the edges, and completely lost in this world of parenthood, that I instill the love of this world and the beautiful plants and animals on it within him. I hope he takes from me our long walk through the woods, the warm earthy chamomile teas when he cant sleep, the sweet orange when he feels blue. I hope I teach him to love and take care of himself harmoniously with out great Earth.

Also my car keeps breaking down (I also wrecked the one I had before if I ever mentioned it. The "grown up one?" Yeah, fucked it allll up)

I also did the Keto diet for 1 month(ish) and made amazing food:

Tuna stuffed mushrooms

Ahi tuna
keto Dijon mustard
coconut aminos
red pepper flakes
garlic powder
wasabi powder
dash of plain yogurt

Food Process that shit

baby bellas
soaked in olive oil
stuffed with cream cheese
topped with tuna mix

air fry at 400 for, I dunno 5 mins


Youre welcome bitches

And several other food but I really liked that one. If you know any others you should send them to me, just saying.

Anyways, all I want to do is keep writing. I swear I could go on forever. It is 11:50pm and I actually didn't have to work tonight. I could got to bed early a really sleep but I feel restless. I feel so odd. I haven't had this much giddy up in I dunno how long, but someone is sleeping on the couch in the living room, kiddo's in his room, lover is in our room, so I don't really have anywhere to go.

So, whatever, I spare you the rambling of my spilling heart.


Twisted Love

School is back. Not that I have written since it had any ways. Here I am, writing into the nothing and everything that this cyber-ether has become in our lifetime. I've wanted to write this summer. I didn't though. I couldn't manage too. My heart broke a thousand ways this summer, my little love being the only thing that pushed me through. And, push me he did. Gosh, two was mostly fine for us honestly, and three has been a joy, but those two months, where he wasn't really two any more but wasn't quite three, they hurt. He pushed me away, he pushed me to the end of my ropes, he pushed me to the end of my patients. He pushed me to grow.

He pushed me down, down to a deeper level of accountability and authenticity.

But here we are. Stronger than ever. Once again a team, for now any ways.

This was the beginning of a post I began last April. Yeah, 11 months ago. Why, do you ask, has it taken me a year to publish it? It wasn't this part I was scared to talk about, no- this is my regular moosh, right?

No my loves here I am in my whirlwind of truth. I was scared to admit that twisted love was a reference to the fact I had began dancing. Sexy, hot, dancing. Not in the safety of a studio with suburban moms who drank a little wine for courage before their first class. Oh no. For money, in a strip club. Now, almost a year later, I still am.

That's right, wild mama by day and erotic fantasy by night. And you know the best part? The kiddo and me, we are doing great! And my sister when she got diagnosed with cancer in December? I was able to send her a few hundred bucks, not a lot but more than I ever could have before.

Honestly, physical therapy? for the birds. I don't know who i was fooling with that shit. Like I'm going to school for 10 years. Granted I'm not going to be you and hot and clever forever either. Obviously, I'll have to have a new hustle eventually. But until then, stay tuned. I gota a lot of good stories from this last year.

I missed this

Well This was now 3 years ago sooooo..... here we are

Thursday, October 19, 2017

That Single Mother Struggle

I am mentally, physically, and emotionally, (also cough financially) exhausted.

Don't get me wrong, my spirits are high, my home is clean, my bills are paid and my son and I are flourishing. Honestly, life is better than it has been in quite a while- luxurious in our own way if you will. 

But I am still tired.

I am tired because I'm a single mom.

I am tired because I have to remember when the water bill is due, when the gas is due, when the insurance is due, and the car payment (we aren't talking about having the money, though that is also solely my responsibility), just the mental of knowing when each is due. With no reminder from a partner or spouse. I have to make every doctor appointment and research every medical decision, and then defend each one alone. I have to make each dentist appointment, and decide weather or not I care about fluoride. I have to research our water and decide if I want to drink tap or give it to my son, and since I don't, I have to remember to buy it and bring it home. I have to remember every roll of toilet paper and tooth paste, and of course all the groceries. I have to cook them, and serve them, and do all the dishes. I have to read every book and I'm the only one responsible for dropping off and picking up the kid and discussing his education. I make all the lunches. I have to brush every tooth in this house and wipe each butt, never with another person to do it. Even when I'm puking or tired or worn thin- it is always and only me. I'm solely responsible and, of course to blame, for August behavior, development, and health. I can't blame a cavity on a baby daddy with a sugar problem. I can't blame behavior issues on any one else. Psychologically and spiritually all of the weight rest on my shoulders alone. I have to research the schools and compare prices. There is no one to add their opinion, or even to over turn mine occasionally. I can't release the reigns- ever. I have to do all the discipline and play all the pretend. I have to buy all the clothes, dress all the people, wash all the clothes, fold all the clothes then rinse and of course repeat. 

And that's it.

I find every sitter and I pay to work, and to play- when I get to.

My life is a constant sacrifice.

I love it but this is real. All of this and I don't get food stamps, I don't get child support, I don't receive day care assistance, or cash assistance.I don't think most people understand the physical and psychological weight that a truly single parent has. I'm the only one that has to answer the timeless- "why don't I have a dad?" Or the classic- "can we pretend you are a daddy today." No, sorry, I don't think most people get it.

The thing is, I'm not sad about it. I'm not mad about it. I don't feel bad for myself, I love my life. But it is hard, and my brain is pushed to the max constantly. I am taking the semester off from school, and I don't feel bad about it. I have been using this time to grow as a mother, to create the home space that my son and I are desperately seeking, and most importantly to make time to be Me. A human, and individual, with thoughts and dreams and hopes, and ponderings. Making time for arts, and crafts, and reading novels.

So here here! To all of you out there, all of the beauties with the cuties trying to thrive in a world that only wants you to survive. Here here! To all the dreamers, the movers, and the shakers. Let's raise our glasses (of water, and hydrate so we don't get more wrinkles) and crash through another day ✌️

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Because He Reaches For Me In The Night

There are days. Lordy, I say, there are days. August is two, and there are days, that the rapid-fire succession of my name being whined in the most ear-curdling tone, the dog food strewn from room to room, the constant invasion of my personal space, and too urgent desire to rearrange the button pattern of my shirt combine with the never-ending sticky grasp of demands.

I tell you those are days too.

I don't get breaks, no one really does, but us single mama's, we definitely don't.

Some days I sit in my bathroom, that doesn't have a lock, and pray to just make it to my next school day for sweet relief, and adult interaction.

But, in the darkness of the night, the tiniest of fingers reach for me, the littlest feet scoot along the flannel propelling the littlest man body you have ever seen until the crown of his golden head rests neatly in the den of my neck, the way a cat curls on the braided rug before the hearth. And we are warm.

And in those moments there is no cry that he is just "manipulating me" and I don't wonder the humanist vs. behaviorist approach of his development. I'm not ashamed of the avocado, kiwi, and chips he had for lunch. I certainly am not thinking about whether or not Carl Rogers would notice the unrealistically Ideal Self I am creating for him.

In those moments I'm smelling the smell of his hair and noticing the way the street light laps at his cheeks and dances upon the pout of his perfectly kissable lips.

There are days, that I have a paper due, a test coming, 4 hours of home work, not a dollar to my name and not a sitter in sight. Those are the days I kick myself for not owning a T.V. because I wish to anything that would listen that I could make use of an electronic baby sitter, to save my grades, sanity, and the overall morale of our tiny household. Those are the days that I know if he touches the tool box, or tries to climb on the bathroom counter to get to his vitamins one more damn time, I'm going to implode.

And then he says, "I luge you mommy!" or tells me about how his "big belly is full of water," he has been drinking out of the faucet, mind you.

But mostly in those moments in the middle of the night I see the truth in his love. I feel the ancient honor of motherhood radiate through me. The knowing that this tiny little creature in his most raw and spectacular form knows so little of the world around us, but knows with the utmost certainty that I am warm, and soft and will love him fully. So in the middle of the night, while his conscious mind rest, his sweet subconscious reaches for me, and it is indisputably the greatest gift I could ever accept.

*As a side note, I am also perfectly equally ready to end co sleeping and stop begging for the edge of my bed to not give out and leave me on the floor ....... The duality of man is real.*

Friday, March 10, 2017

My life is art, so who's buying?

I have always been a drifter, a social side-liner, an artist, a creator.

Before having a child this existence fulfilled me. I roamed our urban jungles looking for the next inspiration in the wrinkles of my sheets after a one night stand, and in between the notes of my favorite musicians. The sun rise brought me to my knees, or at least into crisscross apple sauce, with a blanket over my lap and a cigarette between my lips.

Now I feel horrible about smoking, because I know that children who are raised with parents who are smokers have a much higher chance of smoking and I want better examples for my son. Now I only watch the sunrise through my windshield as I race to whoever's house who has agreed to watch my seed while I delve into my 8am psychology class.

Once I stayed up all night long, spinning yarn with the best of them. In that world the ability to make a great pun or a clever association deemed me worthy of social contact.

Now when I think I am being clever, the lady at Food Lion rolls her eyes as I buy my $12 of organic produce, that I may or may not cook by the time all the other responsibilities are finished at the end of my 16 hour day.

I feel lost in this world. For the first time I don't want to walk the borders of society, I yearn for community and stability. But, here I am still who I am and that doesn't seem to cut it any more.

I don't want to drop out of school just because I thought after 3 years of raising our son alone, I could depend on his "father" to watch him while I was in class. I only needed 16 weeks. He made it three before he "couldn't hang" any more. Now, when Spring Break is over, I don't know how I will find child care to re-enter school. I am a straight A student for the first time since I was in 5th grade, and yet may still fail.

My life has always been art. Any job I have ever had my co-workers beg for the stories of the hours between our last shift together and now. Because I have an adventure every where I go. But yet, as fulfilling and amazing as all that may be, how do I use this to grow? Am I destined to be lost forever in this whirlwind of social construct, and if so, where does this leave my beautiful little gem, with a heart like a cool night in August?

I guess people like me were meant to be mothers, if nothing else I will show my son there is another way to live, even if it hurts more than the standard, at least you can feel it.