In fancy restaurants while others are spending 14.99 at the grocery store, hoping just fucking hoping that it will be enough for her family to eat till Friday when the check comes.
I throw up and I throw up some more. Today in a public bathroom, in my car. In the privacy of my own hell/home.
I have to sleep because I can't stand my reality. I can't stand how shallow and indifferent people are. How people only care about what you can give them, how wanty people are, how most people are takers and will walk right over your broken body to get what they feel they have coming.
You don't know poor. So few have gone without. I can't even think about my childhood and having nothing new for school each Fall, it shames me to no end that we were poor. I remember my Mom leaving us in the car for hours while she stood in line to buy Coke syrup, the cheapest medicine they had. My brother peed his snowsuit, I lost my mind with fear. I zipped up his suit and I cut his chin. We froze a little that day.
I never want to be poor. I never want my kids to go without. I am feral in that respect. I don't mean fancy clothes, I mean clothes that fit. Shirts too short, pants out of fashion, trying to make buttons closed with safety pins. Walking in the snow with polyester pants. My snow boots falling apart, my small feet open to the elements.
No one intervened. No one cared. Jesus was nowhere, he wasn't carrying me, he was hitching a ride on my back. Suffer ye little children.
I read some where that poor people are kept poor because they freely share resources in their neighborhoods. If someone needs some food they give it. If someone needs to see a doctor they all go in and pay.
The rich will never know these kindnesses. The rich will eat and eat and then when their arteries get blocked they will hire some fancy cardiologist to make them better.
The only rich people I give a shit for are the ones who give their money away.
Fuck money.
My sister told me that love is priceless. Love has a price. Today it involves swallowing puke and continuing to read my daughter bedtime stories while trying not to feel too sorry for myself.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
California state of mind, my pants
A rented house. I can see it. Its wood shingles, flowers welcoming. A good sized fenced in backyard. Neighbors that are kindly. Kids playing outside.
The smell of the ocean. Riding my bike to the indie owned grocery store or WHOLE FOODS. People around me who are quick to become friends. BBQ's, good music. Good people.
Good people.
I don't want to get all Jimmy Buffet, as this isn't a Rose Hill booze cruise, I will make a difference in whatever community I live in.
My friend hit me with a sad truth, all the hot little mens I see in uniform who are around my age are ALL married or too young. There has got to be one warrior waiting, eh?
I gotta find a photo of the perfect house.
Some of you know of my love for vintage looking dresses and funky skirts. As of right now, nothing fits, except somehow my tittays have moved up. My pajama bottoms fall off as I walk. I wear yoga pants with a tie waist, I have 4 pairs of these and a tshirt. I have so few tshirts,
My feet are definitely 7.5 and no longer possibly 8.
Yep.
Im shrinking!
However, 140 in Michigan is 250 in California.
A woman with a figure has got to rock her curves. Especially when I am working out for the 3rd time of the day with my fellow Steppford Wives.
NEVER!
Show me where the do gooder lovely freaks live and we will make it home.
Just promise no earthquakes so big that the Leviathan rises from the sea.
The smell of the ocean. Riding my bike to the indie owned grocery store or WHOLE FOODS. People around me who are quick to become friends. BBQ's, good music. Good people.
Good people.
I don't want to get all Jimmy Buffet, as this isn't a Rose Hill booze cruise, I will make a difference in whatever community I live in.
My friend hit me with a sad truth, all the hot little mens I see in uniform who are around my age are ALL married or too young. There has got to be one warrior waiting, eh?
I gotta find a photo of the perfect house.
Some of you know of my love for vintage looking dresses and funky skirts. As of right now, nothing fits, except somehow my tittays have moved up. My pajama bottoms fall off as I walk. I wear yoga pants with a tie waist, I have 4 pairs of these and a tshirt. I have so few tshirts,
My feet are definitely 7.5 and no longer possibly 8.
Yep.
Im shrinking!
However, 140 in Michigan is 250 in California.
A woman with a figure has got to rock her curves. Especially when I am working out for the 3rd time of the day with my fellow Steppford Wives.
NEVER!
Show me where the do gooder lovely freaks live and we will make it home.
Just promise no earthquakes so big that the Leviathan rises from the sea.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
On choking on jello
Dear God,
I am writing you now because you obviously have not been reading my mind. I am losing weight like crazy it wont be long till I start heroin. I am also bulimic because no food will stay down. Remember how this surgery was supposed to make everything ok? And by the way, where is my memory reader? I have two and my bedroom is only so big. Okay its pretty big for a bedroom and I do like the dark purple paint on the walls and the elephants and other art. And how the animals come in here to chill with me as I mentally stay alert while my body contorts itself.
I am so revulsed by my state of physical being, I retreat deeper inside. My faith is never questioned. I know I survive by will alone, I know that darkness is two steps behind me and if I must, I will fall forward, crawl with my fingers, forward, always forward. This path, my life path, for all the pain, has allowed me to love deeper, to know you God and to walk in faith.
Without a specific religion, besides one of kindness and compassion, I do your will. Big and small and always. Because I can, because I must.
As you know, I am a born giver. I recognize it is time to receive, that the well will never be dry but its pretty low. I welcome true and loyal friends into my existence. I welcome a good and true man, a man who is not without faults but owns them and keeps the faith, is with good humor and is capable of knowing himself, knowing me.
Back to my body.
I will always be a short person with a tall persons attitude, which is why you made me tough, the few fights I've gotten into have been with men, when I see red its all over. I am sorry for the physical pain I've caused but aren't you glad I never got a gun?!
God, you have such a great sense of humor. I don't think people give you props for that.
I ask as always that you look out for people, accept them into heaven and that God, you give me a chance to serve.
I hate wearing this hair shirt, I can't count how many scars I have on my stomach anymore. How many iv's I've had put in, how I make my surgeon laugh when he is watching the barbed wire medicine go through my veins and all I can do is clench.
I leave it in your hands to heal me, I will do my best down here, I am alone in this one and I have people depending on me.
In a few hours the barbed wire will be back, I will hear "You look dehydrated." for the 400th time. I will count ceiling tiles and remember the nurses names, their stories and faces so familiar now.
Thank you for my life and I'm trying. Always trying.
I am writing you now because you obviously have not been reading my mind. I am losing weight like crazy it wont be long till I start heroin. I am also bulimic because no food will stay down. Remember how this surgery was supposed to make everything ok? And by the way, where is my memory reader? I have two and my bedroom is only so big. Okay its pretty big for a bedroom and I do like the dark purple paint on the walls and the elephants and other art. And how the animals come in here to chill with me as I mentally stay alert while my body contorts itself.
I am so revulsed by my state of physical being, I retreat deeper inside. My faith is never questioned. I know I survive by will alone, I know that darkness is two steps behind me and if I must, I will fall forward, crawl with my fingers, forward, always forward. This path, my life path, for all the pain, has allowed me to love deeper, to know you God and to walk in faith.
Without a specific religion, besides one of kindness and compassion, I do your will. Big and small and always. Because I can, because I must.
As you know, I am a born giver. I recognize it is time to receive, that the well will never be dry but its pretty low. I welcome true and loyal friends into my existence. I welcome a good and true man, a man who is not without faults but owns them and keeps the faith, is with good humor and is capable of knowing himself, knowing me.
Back to my body.
I will always be a short person with a tall persons attitude, which is why you made me tough, the few fights I've gotten into have been with men, when I see red its all over. I am sorry for the physical pain I've caused but aren't you glad I never got a gun?!
God, you have such a great sense of humor. I don't think people give you props for that.
I ask as always that you look out for people, accept them into heaven and that God, you give me a chance to serve.
I hate wearing this hair shirt, I can't count how many scars I have on my stomach anymore. How many iv's I've had put in, how I make my surgeon laugh when he is watching the barbed wire medicine go through my veins and all I can do is clench.
I leave it in your hands to heal me, I will do my best down here, I am alone in this one and I have people depending on me.
In a few hours the barbed wire will be back, I will hear "You look dehydrated." for the 400th time. I will count ceiling tiles and remember the nurses names, their stories and faces so familiar now.
Thank you for my life and I'm trying. Always trying.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The story of my demon lover with zombies
I am walking down a road with wrecked cars all over. I see people in the backseats but no one in the front seat. I get ahead of the cars when a woman pulls up and tells me to get in. I do. I soon find out that she is crazy. Or atleast she drives crazy and acts crazy.
After some Dukes of Hazzard jumps we finally end up at a industrial looking place.
Since the power grid is down, the doors open easily. This is a prison, a special kinda prison for people with super powers that aren't exactly GOOD. Flying overhead in a fenced off aviary is a huge guy. He is spitting on everyone down below. I put my jacket up over my head and think how lovely he must be to know.
The assorted neutral to close to evil super heroes are quite interesting. A true witch who had feathers growing out of her hairline. A hauntargian which meant that he would write letters from the dead, you just needed to by right by him. Creepy Resident Evil kinds of people and a token blue person.
The flying guy took an interest in me and flew due for 'inspection'. I tolerated none of his shit and he found that interesting. He had horns. He was supermanesque. With a kind of Wolverine attitude. Just when we started to speak being to super being, some truly evil dudes came.
He is thrown into a state of stasis and will die soon. I had lost my voice in all the turmoil and whispered something to his mostly lifeless body, somehow he heard it and nodded his head.
Everyone, all the super beings with their various neurosis came up with a plan. It involved a spell cast in a hat. I had to pee in the hat as a final ingredient. It was as glamorous as a bed pan and I had no idea why my urine out of all the super beings urine was the ONE.
Nothing happened.
I then began to recite bible words. Some of the super beings shrank, as if bitten, a golden light shone and the flying guy was alive again.
This was my time to go. So I left. He followed. The sun burned him and made him shrink down to normal size. I kept walking.
Then the zombies came. I found a car, I found keys. I was off and my flying guy was on the roof, still shrinking. He was huge, on the roof he slightly caved it in but I couldn't notice because I was dodging and not dodging zombies.
I followed my instincts back to this wooded place the corner lot had a blue house that was so familiar to me in this dream. We ran up to it and by then he was normal man sized and we had a few people with us. I knew where everything in the house was. It was if an Aunt knew we were coming, but a decade too late. There was food. There was watered down booze. We could wait out the zombies.
The flying guy and I, both having served in World War Z became close. He apologized for his behavior in his own way, apologized for banging my crazy friend, he told me that MY urine and my faith saved him.
I guess this is my version of a Disney love story? I have the weirdest coolest dreams.
After some Dukes of Hazzard jumps we finally end up at a industrial looking place.
Since the power grid is down, the doors open easily. This is a prison, a special kinda prison for people with super powers that aren't exactly GOOD. Flying overhead in a fenced off aviary is a huge guy. He is spitting on everyone down below. I put my jacket up over my head and think how lovely he must be to know.
The assorted neutral to close to evil super heroes are quite interesting. A true witch who had feathers growing out of her hairline. A hauntargian which meant that he would write letters from the dead, you just needed to by right by him. Creepy Resident Evil kinds of people and a token blue person.
The flying guy took an interest in me and flew due for 'inspection'. I tolerated none of his shit and he found that interesting. He had horns. He was supermanesque. With a kind of Wolverine attitude. Just when we started to speak being to super being, some truly evil dudes came.
He is thrown into a state of stasis and will die soon. I had lost my voice in all the turmoil and whispered something to his mostly lifeless body, somehow he heard it and nodded his head.
Everyone, all the super beings with their various neurosis came up with a plan. It involved a spell cast in a hat. I had to pee in the hat as a final ingredient. It was as glamorous as a bed pan and I had no idea why my urine out of all the super beings urine was the ONE.
Nothing happened.
I then began to recite bible words. Some of the super beings shrank, as if bitten, a golden light shone and the flying guy was alive again.
This was my time to go. So I left. He followed. The sun burned him and made him shrink down to normal size. I kept walking.
Then the zombies came. I found a car, I found keys. I was off and my flying guy was on the roof, still shrinking. He was huge, on the roof he slightly caved it in but I couldn't notice because I was dodging and not dodging zombies.
I followed my instincts back to this wooded place the corner lot had a blue house that was so familiar to me in this dream. We ran up to it and by then he was normal man sized and we had a few people with us. I knew where everything in the house was. It was if an Aunt knew we were coming, but a decade too late. There was food. There was watered down booze. We could wait out the zombies.
The flying guy and I, both having served in World War Z became close. He apologized for his behavior in his own way, apologized for banging my crazy friend, he told me that MY urine and my faith saved him.
I guess this is my version of a Disney love story? I have the weirdest coolest dreams.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The fan is on 2, to let the brevity of warm air in.
The smells of Spring, frantic in their dispersal
I wait for the pain meds to kick in. Drink the coldest water.
Contemplate. For weeks now, my life has been played mainly in my head.
No physical action outside of the very basic. If I were a buddhist I would go on
about patience and peace. I am not patient. It is not in my core. I am a do it
now kinda gal. The first idea is usually the best. My idea is to get things moving.
Shake this town. Go west. I am a native Arizonian. I know desert and mountains.
Being part mermaid, I can dive deep into the cold. The stories in my book are
so personal it terrifies me. I can't go back and make them about someone else.
Its dishonest. Whats interesting are the oddities of life, leaving, coming back, leaving.
Grow on Rose Hill. Write anyways, when it gets scary keep going. This is what you give
when you are a writer. You give your insides and move on. It only hurts for a moment.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
The smells of Spring, frantic in their dispersal
I wait for the pain meds to kick in. Drink the coldest water.
Contemplate. For weeks now, my life has been played mainly in my head.
No physical action outside of the very basic. If I were a buddhist I would go on
about patience and peace. I am not patient. It is not in my core. I am a do it
now kinda gal. The first idea is usually the best. My idea is to get things moving.
Shake this town. Go west. I am a native Arizonian. I know desert and mountains.
Being part mermaid, I can dive deep into the cold. The stories in my book are
so personal it terrifies me. I can't go back and make them about someone else.
Its dishonest. Whats interesting are the oddities of life, leaving, coming back, leaving.
Grow on Rose Hill. Write anyways, when it gets scary keep going. This is what you give
when you are a writer. You give your insides and move on. It only hurts for a moment.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Wild Child
I asked my son tonight if he was ready, ready to be a senior, to start his life and so on. He said he was. For 16.5 years I have protected, nurtured, cleaned, fed, played with, fought with this now, young man. I was 20/21 when I got pregnant and had him. I will be the youngest parent at graduation a year and two months from now. I get carded, I lack wrinkles. I have been encaged in this domestic life. My foot stapled to the floor while I raised my kids in this ideal neighborhood. So expensive to live in, the houses ranch, nothing fancy here.
So that job is coming to an end. I know that I will lose it a bit so I am ready for a new life. A move to California, a switch in professions. My daughter needs to be more like me insofar as I am ready to go at anytime. The things that truly matter I carry in my head and heart.
I spent my 20's being a Mom, 30's too. Wonder what my 40's will hold? I need to go fast, thats a basic need right now, I need to do more to make the world better for my kids and everyone elses kids.
Love will find me, but in all this, I truly know I have done the best I can with my son, Miles. My work is not really over. We parent our kids all of our lives, just in different zones.
College is up next. College night is next week. I find this so amusing as I am just about ready for another degree. My son and I got braces at the same time, how about we go to the same college? Hahaha. See, you never stop torturing your kids, in a good way. Keeps them on their toes.
For all these years their Father has paid me for my work as a Mother. It is a pretty sweet deal but I have always been more then a Mother. I have an insatiable curiosity and passion. I always want more and now and right now and god damn it lets go!
I seek a partner who will travel with me. A person to travel with who is not uptight and can bend and not break in most situations. Someone who has my back and vice versa. Someone who laughs as much as I do at the absurdities. I don't mind physical labor, its just that I am a better planner.
This week my first employer passed on. I picked green beans, strawberries for him when I was 12 on up. He was an alcoholic and needed a shower. Farmer Ed, RIP.
On top of those duties were barn duties and childcare. I know work.
I heal and its been almost a week since my last hospital stay.
Thank you Jesus that I am not allergic to morphine.
I have been listening to a local boy, Iggy Pop aka Jim Osterberg lately.
My Mom told me today that I looked like I was melting. I feel like I am dropping all excess, spreading my wings and so on.
This post is without wit, I think my wit organ is clogged at the moment. Instead, some prose.
I throw up and keep driving.
The rain smacks heavily onto the windshield.
One wiper smacks, out of whack, the other glides.
The sky is oppressive. Humidity high, curls abound.
Two dogs, one small girl and me, on the way to my Moms.
Great words come and go and I couldn't pull over if I wanted to.
No sleep and little food keep me focused forward.
I live like I am living in California. I am drawing my tribe. I have
said goodbyes. The great lakes are my lakes, so cold and full of stories.
All water is my friend. Respect is given. I keep driving.
Good songs come on the radio and I sing along.
I love to sing but few people know it. There is honesty
in the voice that I cannot release in words right now.
Music so much of my life. Many soundtracks 1 life.
This Summer, I will take my son and his longtime best friend to Lollapalooza.
I was pregnant with him, in 1993, when we went. Now its in Chicago and its
hot and miserable. I hang out in the kids area, where the trees are, while he
gets wild in the pit. We all watched the Raconteurs last time out. My favorite
part was the end of the hot hot day, when we watched The Violent Femmes. My
first alternative band, the first inkling that I was immensely different then my
small town school. My kid shook his head to the beat and my tiny girl child and I
danced and danced.
So that job is coming to an end. I know that I will lose it a bit so I am ready for a new life. A move to California, a switch in professions. My daughter needs to be more like me insofar as I am ready to go at anytime. The things that truly matter I carry in my head and heart.
I spent my 20's being a Mom, 30's too. Wonder what my 40's will hold? I need to go fast, thats a basic need right now, I need to do more to make the world better for my kids and everyone elses kids.
Love will find me, but in all this, I truly know I have done the best I can with my son, Miles. My work is not really over. We parent our kids all of our lives, just in different zones.
College is up next. College night is next week. I find this so amusing as I am just about ready for another degree. My son and I got braces at the same time, how about we go to the same college? Hahaha. See, you never stop torturing your kids, in a good way. Keeps them on their toes.
For all these years their Father has paid me for my work as a Mother. It is a pretty sweet deal but I have always been more then a Mother. I have an insatiable curiosity and passion. I always want more and now and right now and god damn it lets go!
I seek a partner who will travel with me. A person to travel with who is not uptight and can bend and not break in most situations. Someone who has my back and vice versa. Someone who laughs as much as I do at the absurdities. I don't mind physical labor, its just that I am a better planner.
This week my first employer passed on. I picked green beans, strawberries for him when I was 12 on up. He was an alcoholic and needed a shower. Farmer Ed, RIP.
On top of those duties were barn duties and childcare. I know work.
I heal and its been almost a week since my last hospital stay.
Thank you Jesus that I am not allergic to morphine.
I have been listening to a local boy, Iggy Pop aka Jim Osterberg lately.
My Mom told me today that I looked like I was melting. I feel like I am dropping all excess, spreading my wings and so on.
This post is without wit, I think my wit organ is clogged at the moment. Instead, some prose.
I throw up and keep driving.
The rain smacks heavily onto the windshield.
One wiper smacks, out of whack, the other glides.
The sky is oppressive. Humidity high, curls abound.
Two dogs, one small girl and me, on the way to my Moms.
Great words come and go and I couldn't pull over if I wanted to.
No sleep and little food keep me focused forward.
I live like I am living in California. I am drawing my tribe. I have
said goodbyes. The great lakes are my lakes, so cold and full of stories.
All water is my friend. Respect is given. I keep driving.
Good songs come on the radio and I sing along.
I love to sing but few people know it. There is honesty
in the voice that I cannot release in words right now.
Music so much of my life. Many soundtracks 1 life.
This Summer, I will take my son and his longtime best friend to Lollapalooza.
I was pregnant with him, in 1993, when we went. Now its in Chicago and its
hot and miserable. I hang out in the kids area, where the trees are, while he
gets wild in the pit. We all watched the Raconteurs last time out. My favorite
part was the end of the hot hot day, when we watched The Violent Femmes. My
first alternative band, the first inkling that I was immensely different then my
small town school. My kid shook his head to the beat and my tiny girl child and I
danced and danced.
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