I remember when I used to linger in the shower. It wasn't at all unusual for me to stay in twenty minutes if the hot water held out. I would constantly adjust the hot and cold water, letting it burn me for a few minutes, then cool me back down, then burn me again. When I finally ran out of hot water, I would step out and my skin would be red and hot and steaming. My muscles would be like rubber, completely relaxed and nearly aching they felt so good! Then I had kids, and I have to admit, this is what I miss the most about pre-mommyhood. The last time I tried to take a bubble bath was disastrous. The tub is too small, the hot water ran out too soon, and the bubble bath didn't bubble. The last decent bubble bath I had, I was eight months pregnant with Noah, so that means it was about seven years ago this month. I can live without the luxurious, wine sipping, exquisitely bubbled bubble baths. But it's been hard to give up my pampering showers.
Late at night, when all the kids are sleeping snugly, I love to get my shower. I love the feeling that I'm washing away all the troubles of the day, then slipping into bed while I'm still relaxed from it. Sometimes, though, seven to ten minutes isn't nearly enough to do the trick. Last night my head, neck, shoulders, and back were hurting so bad and when I stepped into the hot spray I couldn't move. I closed my eyes and pulled my hair out of the way and just let the water work on my abused muscles. I turned the cold water down as low as I could stand, so the hot streams of water beating down felt like a hundred small hands gently kneading out the knots. The steel claws that had been clamped around my brain loosened, fell away. The rope holding weights onto my shoulders eroded and broke. The pain was gone and my mind was clear.
I finished with the business of the shower, reveling in the feel of the foamy bubbles on my skin, inhaling the invigorating scent of my current body wash. I was so relaxed, more at peace than I've been in a long time. Finally, regretfully, I turned off the shower and stepped out. I had the towel to my face, breathing in the scent of my laundry detergent, the blood still roaring in my ears from the heat of the water. The cool air on my skin was like silk in the summer. I was completely inside my head, my body.
Then I heard a noise... A small, sad sound. I stopped, lifted the towel away from my face, cocked my head. It came again, and with it, the realization that I do in fact have three small children and one of them isn't big enough to come find me when he wakes alone at night. Hurrying now, I threw the towel around me, slid my dripping feet into my slippers and rushed out of my sanctuary. Poor Tripp. He was awake, sobbing great big shuddering cries, at my closed bedroom door. I went to him and he cried even more, relieved, I'm sure, that he wasn't alone. Hurt that I hadn't come when he first woke. I carried him back to my bed, patting him and rubbing him and cooing that I was there as I got into bed next to him. I found his pacifier and his blankie and cuddled him next to me.
I was still dripping wet, and had my head propped up on my hand because I didn't want to soak my pillows. The wall unit air conditioner was on and blowing frigid air onto my wet skin. I couldn't cover up with the blankets, because I didn't want to wet them either. For once, I regretted that I like to keep the bedroom so cool. I wished the air wasn't on, but couldn't move because every time I tried, Tripp woke up again. So I had to lie there, my head at such an unnatural angle, my muscles knotting back up, for thirty minutes before Tripp was sleeping soundly enough for me to get up. And when I finally did get to get up, my head, neck, shoulders, and back were killing me again. The worst part, though, was my guilty conscience for literally forgetting for a few minutes. But you know? I'm revelling in my shower again tonight. I deserve this tiny little luxury. I just hope Tripp doesn't wake up this time.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Whine to Me
I was talking on the phone to a very good friend of mine, Brian Papa of PapaTV and CheerupNation. We were talking about the normal stuff like blogging, goals, dreams, sex, friends, sex, and how prudish old pieces of dried up beef jerky excuses for women just need to get fucked, and properly. Really, it was a great conversation and just one of the reasons I absolutely adore him.
Wait. I should backtrack a little. I was talking on the phone with him while my three kids and Marco, a friend of Noah's where running and screaming through the house like little heathens on sugar. I hid outside for a bit, then got sweaty, so I hid in my room. I'm telling you, the baby gate to the dining room was a brilliant idea. It keeps them out of my room too. Heh. So anyway, I was lying on my bed, teasing Brian with word pictures of my sensuous naked body (he didn't believe me for a second, by the way) when Tessa started whining.
I came out of my room, straddling the baby gate on the way over because my legs aren't quite long enough to just step over, and went into the living room. Tessa was on the computer and getting thoroughly pissed because it was running too slow to suit her. I turned off the anti-virus scan for the 25th time this month and hoped it would solve the problem. It did not. And Maritessa continued to whine.
Like all parents, I'm sure, whining gets inside my brain and does bad things. It makes me want to ram hot things into my ears and scoop out my eyeballs with a melon baller. Since I like Brian, I really didn't think it was the time or place for self-mutilation. Plus, I really did want to hear the rest of what he had to say. So I decided to give Tess a chance and told Brian to hold on while I talked to her.
"Maritessa. Please be patient and give the computer time to catch up."
"But Ma-ohm! It's not work-iiiing! I just want to stupid plaaaaay!"
"Maritessa, I'm going to give you one last chance to stop whining. You're about to go to your room, now. Mommy's had it up to here," I said, levelling a hand to my forehead."
"Had it up to wheeeerrre, Mommy? To heeeere?" She said, pointing to her cheek. "To heeeere?" Pointing to her eyes.
"It means Mommy's almost out of patience and you're going to be in big trouble if you whine one more time. I mean it, Tessa. One more time."
"To heeeeeeeeeeere?" She said, pointing to her ear.
Wait. I should backtrack a little. I was talking on the phone with him while my three kids and Marco, a friend of Noah's where running and screaming through the house like little heathens on sugar. I hid outside for a bit, then got sweaty, so I hid in my room. I'm telling you, the baby gate to the dining room was a brilliant idea. It keeps them out of my room too. Heh. So anyway, I was lying on my bed, teasing Brian with word pictures of my sensuous naked body (he didn't believe me for a second, by the way) when Tessa started whining.
I came out of my room, straddling the baby gate on the way over because my legs aren't quite long enough to just step over, and went into the living room. Tessa was on the computer and getting thoroughly pissed because it was running too slow to suit her. I turned off the anti-virus scan for the 25th time this month and hoped it would solve the problem. It did not. And Maritessa continued to whine.
Like all parents, I'm sure, whining gets inside my brain and does bad things. It makes me want to ram hot things into my ears and scoop out my eyeballs with a melon baller. Since I like Brian, I really didn't think it was the time or place for self-mutilation. Plus, I really did want to hear the rest of what he had to say. So I decided to give Tess a chance and told Brian to hold on while I talked to her.
"Maritessa. Please be patient and give the computer time to catch up."
"But Ma-ohm! It's not work-iiiing! I just want to stupid plaaaaay!"
"Maritessa, I'm going to give you one last chance to stop whining. You're about to go to your room, now. Mommy's had it up to here," I said, levelling a hand to my forehead."
"Had it up to wheeeerrre, Mommy? To heeeere?" She said, pointing to her cheek. "To heeeere?" Pointing to her eyes.
"It means Mommy's almost out of patience and you're going to be in big trouble if you whine one more time. I mean it, Tessa. One more time."
"To heeeeeeeeeeere?" She said, pointing to her ear.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I don't like to do two posts in one day but I need to say something. I'm fine if this one slips right through the cracks and no one even realizes I wrote it, but I do need to write it. It's the only way I can get the feelings out and get my thoughts straight. I may not even actually post it, but knowing me, and my desire- my need- for absolute honesty, I probably will.
My mom tells me she thinks I might be bi-polar and that's no real surprise because, honestly, she's bi-polar and thinks a lot of other people are, too. I'm not offended by it but not persuaded by it either. I've researched it a little, and a few of the symptoms could explain some of the things I do, but I'm not sure. I won't go to a doctor to find out, either. I don't have a very high opinion of our doctors or the entire medical system. They want to put everyone into specific categories, give you a handful of happy pills and send you on your way. Mostly, I can handle this by myself. I get by with a little help from my friends. (That's you, by the way)
When I'm depressed or blue, I've taught myself how to bite, scratch, and claw my way back up. And I seem to deal with depression more than anything. I refuse to dwell on things much, or if I am dwelling, I try to write it out. I can cope with these times.
Then there are other times that scare me a little. If I am bi-polar, these would be the highs. Maybe it's just normal emotions, normal ups and downs. I'm a lot more courageous, daring, and admittedly, more fun. And I like those feelings! I feel good about myself while I'm feeling like that. But occasionally, I do something stupid. Harmless things that usually don't matter in the long run.
Except maybe I did something this time that could really fuck up something I want. I thought when I did it, it was just for a little much needed fun. I feel a little differently about the entire situation now, though. Now I'm unsure and insecure and will be put to the test, in a manner of speaking, in a few days. And I do want this situation that's possibly coming from this thing I did. I just hope it isn't coming only because of that. What I want here is insane and unexplainable and a little scary in a good/bad way. I want more and I'm not sure there is more to be given.
I know you really don't know what I'm talking about and that's fine. I want it that way. Please don't ask me to explain it to you because I won't. Thanks for listening, babes.
My mom tells me she thinks I might be bi-polar and that's no real surprise because, honestly, she's bi-polar and thinks a lot of other people are, too. I'm not offended by it but not persuaded by it either. I've researched it a little, and a few of the symptoms could explain some of the things I do, but I'm not sure. I won't go to a doctor to find out, either. I don't have a very high opinion of our doctors or the entire medical system. They want to put everyone into specific categories, give you a handful of happy pills and send you on your way. Mostly, I can handle this by myself. I get by with a little help from my friends. (That's you, by the way)
When I'm depressed or blue, I've taught myself how to bite, scratch, and claw my way back up. And I seem to deal with depression more than anything. I refuse to dwell on things much, or if I am dwelling, I try to write it out. I can cope with these times.
Then there are other times that scare me a little. If I am bi-polar, these would be the highs. Maybe it's just normal emotions, normal ups and downs. I'm a lot more courageous, daring, and admittedly, more fun. And I like those feelings! I feel good about myself while I'm feeling like that. But occasionally, I do something stupid. Harmless things that usually don't matter in the long run.
Except maybe I did something this time that could really fuck up something I want. I thought when I did it, it was just for a little much needed fun. I feel a little differently about the entire situation now, though. Now I'm unsure and insecure and will be put to the test, in a manner of speaking, in a few days. And I do want this situation that's possibly coming from this thing I did. I just hope it isn't coming only because of that. What I want here is insane and unexplainable and a little scary in a good/bad way. I want more and I'm not sure there is more to be given.
I know you really don't know what I'm talking about and that's fine. I want it that way. Please don't ask me to explain it to you because I won't. Thanks for listening, babes.
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Suckiest Blog Post Ever
Ok, I know. You really don't have to say anything. I've been neglecting you so badly. But I promise I'm working on that. I wanted to write something funny again, but I might be putting too much pressure on myself because I really can't think of anything. I've been laughing a lot, but most of it has been inappropriate for here, even for me. There have been random penis tweets, talk of vaginas and sex and all sorts of funny things, but most of those have been those "I guess you had to be there" type things. So I'm just working on getting back to blogging. Writing through until I get something better. I need to start writing down my ideas again, and then keeping my mouth shut on Twitter because once I tweet it, what's the point of blogging it?
I was talking to a friend last, and we were saying how important the whole internet experience is for us. Whether it's blogging, or tweeting, or Facebook or MySpace (which I don't use, by the way. I have accounts on both but they slow my computer down so bad I refuse to log on most of the time). My family doesn't understand this phenomenon I've become so obsessed with. My mom tries to tell me that you guys aren't my real friends and I tell her she's insane. This is where I get to be me. Just me. You guys know me better than anyone. That's probably because I say whatever happens to flit through my mind at the time, but you still seem to like me. Still follow me, tweet me, DM me. So I guess you're cool with it, somehow. And I like it.
Hmm. I kept thinking maybe I would write and think of something funny. Yeah. That's not happening so far. Yep. Still blank. Except for what happened last night and there is no way in hell I'm telling you about that. The audience I had was more than enough.
I was talking to a friend last, and we were saying how important the whole internet experience is for us. Whether it's blogging, or tweeting, or Facebook or MySpace (which I don't use, by the way. I have accounts on both but they slow my computer down so bad I refuse to log on most of the time). My family doesn't understand this phenomenon I've become so obsessed with. My mom tries to tell me that you guys aren't my real friends and I tell her she's insane. This is where I get to be me. Just me. You guys know me better than anyone. That's probably because I say whatever happens to flit through my mind at the time, but you still seem to like me. Still follow me, tweet me, DM me. So I guess you're cool with it, somehow. And I like it.
Hmm. I kept thinking maybe I would write and think of something funny. Yeah. That's not happening so far. Yep. Still blank. Except for what happened last night and there is no way in hell I'm telling you about that. The audience I had was more than enough.
Monday, July 13, 2009
My Wings
All these years I held myself back,
and stifled my tears and put into pack
my dreams and my hopes.
I became a wife, a mother,
not a life I'd choose for another.
And I let the woman go.
I became who you wanted
through pain. And you flaunted
your knowledge of it.
Then you left me broken hearted.
You left, but the clouds have parted.
And now I see.
I want to dance, I'm going to sing.
No more "can't"s. I've found my wings.
I'm me.
I'll enjoy life without you here.
I'm not your wife, I have no fear.
I'm going to fly.
I've found my wings.
and stifled my tears and put into pack
my dreams and my hopes.
I became a wife, a mother,
not a life I'd choose for another.
And I let the woman go.
I became who you wanted
through pain. And you flaunted
your knowledge of it.
Then you left me broken hearted.
You left, but the clouds have parted.
And now I see.
I want to dance, I'm going to sing.
No more "can't"s. I've found my wings.
I'm me.
I'll enjoy life without you here.
I'm not your wife, I have no fear.
I'm going to fly.
I've found my wings.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Independence Day
Happy 4th of July, y'all. I hope you had fun, spent time with your loved ones, enjoyed the fireworks and the heat of summer.
It's seems like the only time I write here anymore is when I need to say something about Thomas. I know no one really wants to hear it anymore, but it's still very real to me. It's kind of like, when you see a tragedy happen? And at first there's a crowd, right? But then, after the ambulance came and the police questioned everybody? People drift away from the scene. They don't know what to say to the victims anymore. What else is there to say? You can only express your sorrow so many times, you know? But the victims are still there, living with it every day.
I need some place to get it out, and you're it. Thanks for listening.
I've decided I really fucking hate the holidays. Any and all of them. I dread Christmas the most. I know it will be worse than today, a million times worse. How the hell am I going to live through it? But tonight I'm not going to worry about that. Maybe by then I'll be "over it" and it'll all be fine.
Today was hard (how many times have I written that, anyway?). Thomas got here to pick up Maritessa and Tripp up at about 1:30, and left with them at around 2:00. I was supposed to be going to a party with my mom and dad, but had begged out because I didn't get any sleep last night. But I didn't let Thomas know that, or that my "grown-up plans" were just a party with my parents. After he left with them, I ran out to Burger King, and when I went past the house he shares with another guy, some mutual friends were out there and they waved me to stop. The girl, Mara was talking to me. I don't really like her, and I know she's a liar. I've known that for a long time. But she was saying some stuff. It's not important what she said, but it was hurtful. After crying for a couple of hours after that, I found out positively that none of it was true, but still.
I laid on my couch crying and felt so alone. Even my old stand-by, Twitter, wasn't any help because no one was on. I couldn't call any friends to talk about it because my cell screen broke the other day and I can't see anything at all on it. Besides, I didn't want to ruin their holiday. A friend did wind up calling and she came by, but she never knows when to leave. She was here about four hours, and we talked about Thomas a little bit, but I could tell she didn't want to hear it. Finally she left and I took a shower, did my make-up really really well (because he had to think I went out) (And because I really want to look pretty when he's coming) and waited for him to bring the kids home.
He called me at about 9:30 or so, saying that he was bringing the kids home and that he had been injured. I was careful not to express too much concern for him. Who the hell knows if that's the right thing, I just think he needs to miss me. I don't want him to think I still care. But when I was sure he had left Verna and Jun's house (our best friends, respectively) I called Verna and asked if he was okay and what had happened. She told me he had cut his foot really bad, but not to worry.
When he got here he showed his foot to me, and it really is a bad cut. About three inches long, and he said you could see into it. There was blood everywhere. He wasn't going to go to the hospital, but I think I may have convinced him to. It hurt to see him hurt. To have to restrain myself from the need to take care of him. He stayed for a long time. It felt like a long time, anyway. He kept telling me how much fun they all had today, kept kissing the kids and telling him he loves them. I'm glad he's doing right with them, don't want it any other way, but god. It hurts me when he kisses them. It hurts to hear him say, "I love you" and know he's not talking to me.
He showed me some photos of Tripp on his phone, and really looked at me too. It's just... I don't know. I want to think he's missing me a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not. I guess he just really believes I'm over it now, and that I won't think such stupid things anymore.
Oh yeah. He had borrowed one of my big blankets for the kids to sit on at the lake, and while they watched the fireworks. He brought it in and showed me there's smears of blood all over it. Said he's sorry about that. Then he said "You can take care of that." In a way like he had complete confidence I would be able to get it out. None of that bothered me. But knowing that it's his blood? It's driving me crazy. Like I just want to go curl up in the bloody blanket and cry. Isn't that stupid? I'm starting to question my sanity here. I can't even believe I told you that. It's a part of him though. I miss him. His smell and taste and the way he feels.
Don't worry though. I'm not going to do it. Just considered it briefly.
God. I wrote too much again. Sorry.
One other thing... I just hope he has someone to take care of him. I wish it was me, but it can't be. So I hope someone really is.
It's seems like the only time I write here anymore is when I need to say something about Thomas. I know no one really wants to hear it anymore, but it's still very real to me. It's kind of like, when you see a tragedy happen? And at first there's a crowd, right? But then, after the ambulance came and the police questioned everybody? People drift away from the scene. They don't know what to say to the victims anymore. What else is there to say? You can only express your sorrow so many times, you know? But the victims are still there, living with it every day.
I need some place to get it out, and you're it. Thanks for listening.
I've decided I really fucking hate the holidays. Any and all of them. I dread Christmas the most. I know it will be worse than today, a million times worse. How the hell am I going to live through it? But tonight I'm not going to worry about that. Maybe by then I'll be "over it" and it'll all be fine.
Today was hard (how many times have I written that, anyway?). Thomas got here to pick up Maritessa and Tripp up at about 1:30, and left with them at around 2:00. I was supposed to be going to a party with my mom and dad, but had begged out because I didn't get any sleep last night. But I didn't let Thomas know that, or that my "grown-up plans" were just a party with my parents. After he left with them, I ran out to Burger King, and when I went past the house he shares with another guy, some mutual friends were out there and they waved me to stop. The girl, Mara was talking to me. I don't really like her, and I know she's a liar. I've known that for a long time. But she was saying some stuff. It's not important what she said, but it was hurtful. After crying for a couple of hours after that, I found out positively that none of it was true, but still.
I laid on my couch crying and felt so alone. Even my old stand-by, Twitter, wasn't any help because no one was on. I couldn't call any friends to talk about it because my cell screen broke the other day and I can't see anything at all on it. Besides, I didn't want to ruin their holiday. A friend did wind up calling and she came by, but she never knows when to leave. She was here about four hours, and we talked about Thomas a little bit, but I could tell she didn't want to hear it. Finally she left and I took a shower, did my make-up really really well (because he had to think I went out) (And because I really want to look pretty when he's coming) and waited for him to bring the kids home.
He called me at about 9:30 or so, saying that he was bringing the kids home and that he had been injured. I was careful not to express too much concern for him. Who the hell knows if that's the right thing, I just think he needs to miss me. I don't want him to think I still care. But when I was sure he had left Verna and Jun's house (our best friends, respectively) I called Verna and asked if he was okay and what had happened. She told me he had cut his foot really bad, but not to worry.
When he got here he showed his foot to me, and it really is a bad cut. About three inches long, and he said you could see into it. There was blood everywhere. He wasn't going to go to the hospital, but I think I may have convinced him to. It hurt to see him hurt. To have to restrain myself from the need to take care of him. He stayed for a long time. It felt like a long time, anyway. He kept telling me how much fun they all had today, kept kissing the kids and telling him he loves them. I'm glad he's doing right with them, don't want it any other way, but god. It hurts me when he kisses them. It hurts to hear him say, "I love you" and know he's not talking to me.
He showed me some photos of Tripp on his phone, and really looked at me too. It's just... I don't know. I want to think he's missing me a little, but I'm pretty sure he's not. I guess he just really believes I'm over it now, and that I won't think such stupid things anymore.
Oh yeah. He had borrowed one of my big blankets for the kids to sit on at the lake, and while they watched the fireworks. He brought it in and showed me there's smears of blood all over it. Said he's sorry about that. Then he said "You can take care of that." In a way like he had complete confidence I would be able to get it out. None of that bothered me. But knowing that it's his blood? It's driving me crazy. Like I just want to go curl up in the bloody blanket and cry. Isn't that stupid? I'm starting to question my sanity here. I can't even believe I told you that. It's a part of him though. I miss him. His smell and taste and the way he feels.
Don't worry though. I'm not going to do it. Just considered it briefly.
God. I wrote too much again. Sorry.
One other thing... I just hope he has someone to take care of him. I wish it was me, but it can't be. So I hope someone really is.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Still Alive
I wanted to check in and let you all know I'm still alive. I've been working really hard on my book the last week. I started it in March or April, I think, but just didn't have any time to devote to it. Since Thomas has been gone, though, I can stay up until 1 or 2am and write. Since last Wednesday, I've gotten to about 20,000 words. I think I had 1 or 2,ooo before, so that works out to an awful lot!
I'm proud of myself for working on it again. And I think it's really good. It's a lot harder than blogging, though. It's easy to write here, even the hard stuff, because I'm just telling you what happened or how I feel. This is all made up stuff, about made up people in made up situations. Funny thing, though, is sometimes? When I'm really into it? It doesn't feel so made up.
So. That's it. I'm exhausted and my eyes hurt from looking at the monitor so much. But I'm still here, and doing pretty well this week. (Actually, that's a fucking lie but it's what I'm telling myself so that's what I'll tell you too.)
I'm proud of myself for working on it again. And I think it's really good. It's a lot harder than blogging, though. It's easy to write here, even the hard stuff, because I'm just telling you what happened or how I feel. This is all made up stuff, about made up people in made up situations. Funny thing, though, is sometimes? When I'm really into it? It doesn't feel so made up.
So. That's it. I'm exhausted and my eyes hurt from looking at the monitor so much. But I'm still here, and doing pretty well this week. (Actually, that's a fucking lie but it's what I'm telling myself so that's what I'll tell you too.)
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