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
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