Power Rising

A week ago a friend told me about a Church Easter Hunt,free pancakes,Service type a deal.
One week later I walked into that church having not told her I was going to go,with my son not knowing anyone.
Into the eating place, a boy from my sons school runs up. We sit with his mom and sisters.

I stand beside that Mom while the friend that invited me looks after the children in the nursery. My son and her son have interacted more with one another than we have. I feel at peace.
This is cool.
This is the socializing I would like to become more involved in. I am good at it. I like the confidence I can feel in knowing I am doing something that feels comfortable. Like my old self used to do with ease, with grace. With connection and soul and listening. I’m a pro.
Just over the years I started thinking too much.I was the minority for one thing, in the country of Thai Language, and then coming back here since I had lost a lot of my self over there, I couldn’t really stand on two feet conversing and feel good about it.

Here’s to yet again, more new changes coming.

Go life, go me.

NonReal Classy

I move the three inch bottle from my purse to my left open sleeve.
I am sitting beside my younger brother who is sitting beside my father who is sitting beside his mom-my 85 year old grandmother- who doesn’t know who we are.

I am in church.

And I take my wrist and i scratch my neck and  Idon’t really care how obvious it is. I want it. So I drink a shot of whatever is in the bottle: vodka,rum,spiced something black licorcie?
I am seeing my fathers brother-my 58 year old Uncle- on the pulpit. But I do not hear what he is saying.
I am thinking about my parents attic. And the entrance to it in my mothers room. ( because my parents sleep in seperate rooms )

I am thinking about how
I mixed vodka with wine earlier.Because I was desperate for potency.

Look at all these ‘I’s. All about me eh. I’ve always been a selfish person. Prooved that in every fricken relationship I ever had.
It’s terrible really .

And I think too,
eventually
I will stop caring about the dynamic between my son and my mother.
Let it be votile. Let he be raised wrong. Let it be out of my hands. It will never change from what it is. She will not change. She is 61.

She is raising him like she raised us.
And we’re all sucks and let her do the dishes and drive us places and she bends like a grass blade in 0 mile an hour wind.

I won’t fight, eventually.
I really won’t .

 

Ohoh!