There Is a Gift in Every Shit

Tonight as I cleaned up my sons’ play room…FUCKING A...I was listening to my iPod. Music is the one constant in my life that has always been there and never failed to soothe me during a difficult time. It just fucking calms me. As I made manageable piles of toys in my boys’ play room so in the morning they can clean up their toys…because I fucking refuse to put their sorry ass shit away that they literally dump and throw around, I was listening to one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard in my life. The strength, calm, and peace I felt (which is quite the goddamn feat considering what the mother fucking playroom looked like) was indescribable. I admit though, one major problem is that this artist was introduced to me by Mr. Gift. Do you have any idea how much that can fuck with someone’s moment of peace?

The song is by Ray LaMontagne and is called “Be Here Now.” Truly, a beautiful gift this man has. Really, it is one of the gifts Mr. Gift brought into my world that I still embrace and love. The song is all about focusing on your inner strength, looking for love and peace within yourself and concentrating on the right now.

So, here I am trying very hard to focus on today. Due to the fact that I am in the middle of a divorce, am still living with the “loving and good man” I am divorcing, I am surrounded by all the pictures and objects of a life we built together that is no longer, and have just broken up with the only other man I have ever loved. I don’t quite understand how focusing on the present moment is the best for my psyche.

However, I am trusting Ray LaMontagne’s beautiful words, my friend, Workout Barbie, and the calming, sweet, and (sorry to say) slightly-odd spiritual man on Oprah…and am trying hard to concentrate on right now. So, let’s see, my soon-to-be ex-husband is down stairs in his “bedroom,” the family room and has just finished helping me fold the towels (something he rarely did when we were not “divorcing”). I have now moved to my “cell,” the master bedroom, surrounded by more reminders of a life together lost, you know…as I’ve said time and time again, a “wake” in which you can never bury your dead loved one. So you can see how difficult it is to just focus on right now. It is so easy to gravitate towards the shit. I mean we all do it. Someone farts, they tell you they farted, but we all take that one breath in; even though we know it’s going to smell. We naturally smell the shit, take in the funk, and acknowledge the gross. Therefore, I believe that in order for this spiritual crap to actually work…we have to focus on the GOOD that comes out of the shit…we all know that good DOES comes out (no pun intended) of shit. It’s healthy to have shit in your life. We need to have it, but we should never hold on to it, or we will become backed up with poison and get sick. So when I encourage my 3 year old “Apple Dumpling” to keep trying to poop (because he is eternally backed up) even though it hurts, I tell him to focus on how good he will feel when he lets go of it and how healthy it is for his body. I have him focus his thoughts on the good he will find in the shit (but we say “caca”).

When I look at my “shit,” the “wake,” etc. and think about the song, my friend, and the strange, sweet “Oprah Man,” I am able to find healthy blessings. I find good in my shit. I am blessed in so many ways. I cannot change the past (what I already ingested). I cannot control the future (what I plan on eating…you never know what someone is going to bring into the office the next day). All I can do is be right here now with my shit and take in my life as it is…a “wake,” surrounded by loving and beautiful friends who hold me up when I walk towards the coffin and start to fall in a panic. I am surrounded by all my family; cousins and aunts that make me feel as close to home with my mom (who passed away 4 years ago) as I can get. This “wake” that I am at is full of music, all kinds, that somehow describe the feelings I am feeling at any given moment and help me for a split second feel like I can do this. There are children there, laughing innocently, crying over the most fucking ridiculous shit (like whether the black plastic toy is called pliers or tweezers, which eventually turns violent with some blood shed) and reminding us that life goes on (and making us wonder if it’s neither, and maybe it’s really a wrench?). Every now and then I get to leave the “wake” and visit the naïve outside world that thinks divorce is just a word and not a horrible feeling of loss. And although I have to come back to the “wake,” I have moments when I actually feel blessed to have had this relationship at all. I look at my “dead loved one” (the marriage) and am reminded of not only the sadness of the loss, but the beautiful memories that I have been lucky to have, as well as the difficulties I am lucky to have learned from. Some experiences I might try to ingest again. Some, I will pass on (like a bad batch of chili). I am here now, thankful.

So, this “potty mouth mom” who loves the word “fuck” and is living in a goddamn wake is trying so hard to be here now, to be present and to focus on all the good that is coming out of her shit. It is exhausting. Just so exhausting. I only hope that I wake up with this feeling in the morning and am able to carry it with me throughout the day.


Song Suggestion for the day: Ray LaMontagne’s "Be Here Now" from Till the Sun Turns Black. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVhWBiXG_iQ to listen to one of the most beautiful songs ever written.

Don't let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don't try
Don't let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there's a strength that lies

Don't let your soul get lonely child
It's only time, it will go by
Don't look for love in faces, places
It's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don't lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don't put your trust in walls
'Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

~G

Workout Barbie with Wings

My friend’s divorce was finalized yesterday. We’ll call her Workout Barbie (WB), and I say that with nothing but love, affection, and a bit of jealous disgust (her legs are vomitously gorgeous and long, while mine look like a hobbit with a bad case of varicose veins). This beautiful friend of mine, who is not only beautiful on the outside, but stunning on the inside, has been a blessing during this very difficult time in my life.

Now, WB has divorced one of the most unintelligent men that I have ever known (he spells “night” “nite”), as well as one of the meanest (he calls her a “whore” and a “cunt” in front of their children). Ironically, she called me after all was signed and done, crying, not for joy, but in sadness. So interesting, even when you divorce a horrible person, it still is a loss, a death, and plain old fucking “sad.” You marry this person expecting to build a life with them, grow old with them, have geriatric sex with them and at the least have someone there to wipe your ass when you’re too frail to do so, feed you when you’re too weak, and remind you of what fucking year it is. The dream is now dead and you have to come to the realization that all you believed in your ignorant, naive youth was nothing but bullshit (or dead fish floating in a glass bowl).

Now, my friend, who wears full make up when she works out and looks gorgeous while she lifts ridiculously large amounts of weight (fucking bitch), in her sadness and through her tears said something so beautiful, something that I have been feeling, but NEVER told anyone. She said, “I feel like I could fly.” Even in these scary moments and in life altering situations, these glimpses of clarity lift you up, make your worries lighter, and you become hopeful. Okay, so the image of a workout Barbie doll flying overhead did pop in my mind…AND I did suggest that she should fly over that mean, pathetic man and take a shit on him. However, regardless of my nasty suggestion and strange visualization, I realized that this must be a feeling many women feel when they make this type of decision. There is this fear, being a woman, a mother, alone, that you might not be able to pull it off. You might fail and not only ruin your life, but the innocent lives of your children who have no say in your decision. I admit that I have terrible images of living in a one room apartment (not that you can’t be happy in one room) with my two delinquent boys who swear all the time (ok, so the likelihood of this actually happening is VERY high if I don’t stop swearing myself). In addition to my offspring coming home early from school for swearing at the principal to their jobless drunken mother, I have an abusive boyfriend who has stolen all my money and beats me. This is the fear we feel deep within our guts. No matter how unrealistic (my boys don’t even say “stupid” because they believe it’s a swear word and the likelihood of a man having ANY access to my hard earned “college graduated with a masters degree” money is like saying that I will never say “fuck” again), we’re still so scared, so very scared. Then we stop, suddenly feel lighter, and we KNOW we can do this. We are strong, independent, and as Joss Stone states in her song Right to Be Wrong, “we’re feeling wings, though we’ve never flown.”

So, to WB, with legs that men have actually attempted to take a BITE out of in a bar (I was there. It really happened! Fucking losers.), I’m so proud to know you, you strong, beautiful, smart woman. I’m so happy you have found those beautiful wings (with fucking muscles…bitch). Happy Birthday…yes, it was her birthday yesterday as well. How symbolic. Wonder if she got spanked?

Song Suggestion for the day: Joss Stone's "Right to Be Wrong" from Mind, Body & Soul.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inWLd_9TlqY to listen to the song.

~G

Melatonin, Shit and a Couple of Dead Fish

I just took 3 melatonin with a glass of wine, I’m waiting for my soon to be ex-husband to come home with groceries, my 3 year old is SOUND asleep calling out and talking to me as if it was 11 AM, and there are two dead fish in a glass mixing bowl in the kitchen. Melatonin, for those of you who are lucky enough to not have trouble falling asleep because you are living in a wake where no matter how hard you try you can’t bury your dead loved one, is naturally created in the brain to help regulate your sleep. When you take these little, white, chalky pills, you are supposedly helping your body to fall asleep a little faster. It actually works, until about 3 AM when you wake up and wonder why the fuck you are awake when you are always so exhausted!

By looking at the date you can tell that it has been a very long time since the last blog. Divorce, mothering, dating, and work can be a bitch! My C has moved on and started her own “private” blog, giving up on me. I don’t have the daily devotion or the monthly or the bimonthly devotion it takes to put up some real bloggin numbers. I do, however, have the material, the drama, the semantics, and the feistiness to throw a pretty good one out from time to time. I do have to admit that when I say throw, I am picturing a gorilla throwing his feces at an enemy in aggression. That pretty much sums up my life right now. (For those of you who are wondering…I am SO going to win this fight!)

You will be happy to know that since my last blog, I am still a “strong independent woman” on her way to finalizing her divorce from… “a loving and good man.” I have broken up with Mr. Gift. Apparently the feces I was describing earlier were wrapped within that same gift package. What a beautiful package on the outside though (no pun intended), but filled with shit. So sad. I still believe he was a gift, a lesson, wrapped up in a pretty bow…mixed with shit. Isn’t that what most relationships are? I say “most” because I still believe that with good communication (which is essential), attraction, and definitely love, strong relationships can work.

As for my divorce, that is not a subject I will be willing to share, assuming I ever do this again. That is not just my personal shit, it’s someone else’s who happens to be a good person and I will respect that. I will say, however, I am proud of us as parents and people. We have remained respectful, loving, understanding and patient for the most part. I have nothing but respect, love, and trust for this man I have known since I was 17 years old. I am now done with that subject.

Back to shit (eventually to return to the dead fish floating in a bowl upstairs), I spoke with my very elderly father the other day and he shared some information with me about another family member. The news was so hurtful and nasty, that I began to cry and felt as if I was going to vomit. I ran straight for the toilet…yes, now the shit part….and began to dry heave. Such a frustrating action, dry heaving, so unproductive, don’t you think? After a few attempts at spewing the nastiness of what I heard into the only place it belonged, I fell to the floor and bawled. We’re talking real bawling, spitting, drooling, moaning, snotting, gasping, groaning, all in the fetal position wrapped around THE TOILET. Here is the “shit” part. During all that emotional release, crying, despair, and frustration I began to think… "the toilet is clean? Good thing I just cleaned it.” The crying, praying to God to guide me, and the complete surrendering to my emotions did not stop me. Once a mother…always a mother I guess.

Speaking about mothers…that leads me to my next topic. What mother fucker thought up the idea of giving out “swimming death” as a reward for throwing a ball into a bucket? My 6 year old came home from “carnival day” at camp today with two gold fish in a plastic baggie. THAT is the first clue that this is not meant to end well. What animal really can survive hours within a plastic bag in the middle of the summer? As for my sweet Apple Dumpling, he had two fish instead of one, because he asked if his younger brother could have one too. So sweet (he of course stated that the larger one was his and had already named them both). I should add that names for both fish were finally decided and agreed upon. They were officially, and creatively I might add, named after C’s two daughters. She was not happy about this considering the life expectancy of gold fish living in a baggie is not good.

We brought the beautiful and delicate creatures home, with my sons both declaring their love for the animals. They could not move away from the bowl. I instructed them on the many ways to avoid killing the creatures…such as, over feeding, shaking, water temperature, etc. I then left the room for just a second (isn’t that all it takes to kill one of God’s creatures) and came back to giggling, wet boys, and water flooding the counter. After asking the boys what had happened and making sure that I laid a serious guilt trip on them about the importance of telling the truth (maybe they should have a talk with Mr. Gift), they gave it up…confessed (like a hot spot light had been shined on their faces) to poking and touching the little fish. Needless to say, the fish had stopped moving, the sweet, beautiful boys I had nurtured in my womb, bore out of my body, and fed from my bosom, had officially killed one of “God’s creatures.” His brother, the larger fish, sat at the bottom of the bowl, eating, and eating, and eating. Apparently, he ate himself to death.

Pathetic and cruel, this idea of sending home animals that have little to no chance of survival with children. Again, who the fuck thought of this? It must have been a man…related to Mr. Gift. “Here’s your taste of love, peace and calm. Trust it. Believe in it." Then…BAM…DEATH…SADNESS…LOSS…ANGER. Oh, and I almost forgot…AND SHIT…down the toilet the fish went…with the shit.

Song Suggestion for the day: Black Eyed Peas' "Smells Like Funk" from Elephunk.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2LONht7srM to listen to the song...terrible slide show.

~G