That Rockable Sweet

I was sittin’ in my grandmothers
convenience, her pink rocking chair
next to the kitchen entrance.
She’d hop off that thing
the milky second anyone needed
a toothpick. That chair faced the exact
center of the room.
She had eyes for everyone.
And would rise to greet always,
any approaching.
Even if it meant pulling a child off her lap
or tossing down her tea.
Never understood how it never spilled.

Mother Talk

And your Mother shows up in all new fashion and her eyes still the same and her smile still the same and the rings you wear she makes the smirk on her face because she knows her daughter and that rings and bracelets have been something of my individual self, the expression a part of what makes me me. I am okay. And she is too. As we embrace. We smell the same. We lived together for so long and I pulled her hair when I was a toddler and didn’t mean to and didn’t know what intended pain really was. She is the super hero for this life of mine, even when sometimes I don’t remember or think it or feel it.  Until she is not here, she will always be there for me. And then she will be there for me some more.

Dangerous Change of Pace

I felt this one coming.
I saw a friend on Thursday last week- knowing I needed that interaction.

The next day I know I needed more. It’s the long weekend after all and there are weddings and my ex is attending one of them and people are doing stuff-doesn’t even have to sound fun but STUFF- and here I am on the Friday and Saturday nights in bed at 930pm with my computer and flavoured water.
So when everyone is busy and I have noone I can find,
I crumple.

I am alone in all of this and if my thoughts are around, they can go absolutely hay wire.
I question myself.

Here is what the inside of my brain has looked like the past 48 hours inbetween the dead pauses of nothingness:

‘ I just want to forget this all ever happened. I want to move on easily. I should be able to do that, I’m pretty, I’m funny, I’m a quirk. There was never any problem of finding anyone before. What if everyone is getting snatched up, and I’m going to be that single 40 year old Mom alone. And doesn’t that mean my intentions are wired all wrong. I just want to be in a healthy functioning relationship and that tweaks everything. My standards drop and anyone that is a decent candidate, I’ll go for. But that’s not how I want to be. I just want to take my time, that’s what I should be doing. Letting time pass and being stable. Well why can’t I be stable. Because I’m stuck in the past relationship. Why should I be stuck? He lied about the things that supposedly  happened. He’s been mean to me and I’ve dropped more than half of my pre existing life for him and that wasn’t enough.I can’t make him believe me anymore. He has to believe me for himself.’

And in those thoughts, anger boils in. I’m guessing this is part of the grieving process and I am timid to feel this because I know I’m pushing it to make it easier and that at the same time I want to not want to not be with him, I know I do. But:

‘ Why should I watch him continue on his life with his giant family surrounding him and supporting him while I am a hermit, feeling sorry for myself. It’s okay to be with people now. You left a lot of people but I think it’s time to find them again. If only for a boost back into the world. You’ve hesitated to do this.. ‘

because you thought, ‘ I can’t step back into those old ways with other people, it’s alright to take some time away.I  need to be happy with myself first. The way I used people before, was wrong.’

But GIRL:

‘I don’t have to go about them the same way do I. I can be upfront and tell them my intentions. I don’t have to be 20 years old again. I’m 7 years older and I won’t do it the same way. It CAN be done differently you know! ‘

I love myself and am happy with myself but I need to get out there and feel that validation. I am vulnerable and weak and I don’t see any other way. I’ve tried other ways as it is. No drinking, church, reading, exercise..
I need that healthy attention and that is perfectly normal and I shouldn’t stop myself from getting it just because I’m waiting on my ex. I need to feel better. I need to get into a better position.
And if that means putting my foot out there into familiarity with a twist, I have to do it even if I don’t want to do it. I’m still hooked on him remember? I may feel wrong for doing it because of him, but I have to do it for me.

‘ You turned away from this method because it wasnt fair to him and because you didn’t want to slip into the previous ways it was before him.’ 

‘ But… you don’t have to make it the same way!! Those people have changed too and will view the friendship differently!’

Desperative thoughts calls for measure I am unsure of. I won’t know until I try.
I need to get out of this rut big time or I’m going to sink in it.

 

 

 

 

 

And then the boat of my brain thinks….

 

 

‘ What if I got back together with my ex in Thailand?? ‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh faackaloo.

 

 

 

 

Some Quotes Just Aren’t Good.Or Are They.

I like my fair share of quotes. I do.
However,
some of them don’t really work for me.

And I get it. Quotes are supposed to be short, sweet and worded just right so that the idea is transmitted easily.

But sometimes the lack thereof is the very thing that promotes the questions.
Or the thing that completely sucks the reality away.

As far as my thoughts have went:

you CAN’T ‘live each day as if it was your last’

you CAN’T ‘live in each and every single moment.’
This is not something we can exert 100% of the time.
How come?
Because we have a brain and circumstantial invariables.  We have exhaustion,distractions and feelings that collapse into our soul without asking.  We have a mind that needs a break.
We have too many loved ones, distance and lack of time,  to go and say goodbye to them every single day we’re supposed to be living like it’s our last.

 

‘Always Kiss Me Goodnight’

I thought relationships  were supposed to mirror selflessness.
Let’s make this less individualistic. Specially if it’s going to go above our bed.
” Always Give Us a Kiss” And goodnight? What about Morning? Or Snack time?!

“Always Kiss Us Anytime” is my version.

 

” Don’t worry. Be Happy “.

Now, now. Before you get upset running through your veins, I enjoy Bob Marleys music and I think- based on what I know- the life he lived.
With each quote there are usually a few different circumstances that change it.  So when your house burns down and takes everything with it, you should be happy that you’re alive, right? Except realistically you’re going to worry about the passport that you need for the trip you had planned two days from then, to see your mother who has a week to live.
Perhaps we should just accept that we’re not going to be happy in every situation of our lives so that when we do feel down, it’s not as big of a revolting disgust- which makes the sadness darker.

‘Live.Love.Laugh?’

If we’re really going to break life down like that, why we gotta put ‘live’ in there.
Loving and laughing should BE what living IS. Not another L word.

 

And you see, you can’t really win when trying to break down quotes.
Loving and laughing should be what living is yet we should accept we’re not going to be happy all the time? Ha!

Quotes are going to contradict one another because they’ve all got there unique individiality and power to prove points based on specific circumstances .

Now, that’s going into quote format. 😉  :

 

‘Quotes are going to contradict one another because they’ve all got there unique individiality and power to prove points based on specific circumstances . ‘

 

 

 

 

 

Calling all Mommys

How many Moms’ out there don’t think you deserve your child?

I rarely brag about my son. I barely even talk about him with others.
When his teacher says stuff to you about him that you haven’t heard her say to any other mother, and you KNOW she means it,
it all clicks into place.
He’s beautiful. He’s loving. He’s emotional.
” He loves you.”
” You feel that connection with him, don’t you.”  And you know that. You know he loves you.

And to think,
I was going to end my life because ‘it sucked’.

 

 

He deserves a Mom that loves life like he loves her.
And that’s ME.

 

The Day My Mother Left

March 11 2016

I walked up the basement stairs about 830am and could feel the chill in the air already.  I opened the basement door and came face to face with a touque wearing, flurescent vested, glove wearing man.

” Can I use the washroom? Where abouts is it?”

In 4 seconds or less I see everything. The doors are open and there are 3 other men moving around and I see the big white truck out the kitchen window with a ramp up to it and items, and lamps and mattress and desk and I think inside ‘ she’s not actually.. is this what this actually is??’ and then Aunt Dawn comes down the stairs with her arms full of bags and I ask ” Is she moving out?”

With grim expression and a slight smirk, she nods her head- out the door she goes.
There are 4, 5, 6, movers, all moving fast and the world is blurry for an instant. I stand there cemented to the spot. I don’t know what to do and I see police car, one, two and I know I do not want to see Mom but she’s there before I can move and next thing i know i  am doing what i dont want to do and moving towards her and i hug her and say the least thing i want to say to her. ” yay, you’re finally doing it!’
then i walk downstairs then i walk back up and i go up more stairs and i am crying and i open my brothers door and i sit on his bed and i say ‘ josh ‘ and he turns over slowly and sees my face and is alert and there is panic in his eyes and i say ‘ moms moving out ‘ and we sit in stunned silence and then we talk and then we look out the window and then we sit some more and then we go back down together and zeek all this time is watching stuff on my computer and doesn’t know anything that’s going on .
and josh calls our sister and she didn’t know . josh calls our brother later on and he didn’t know
and dad is in chatham and he
does
not
know.
i feel wrong being here.
then there are more cars and aunt ruth and uncle john are there and he asks me ‘ hows it goin’ and i say drly’ perfect’ he says oh right, dumb question’. and they hug me and i am stiff and my eyes wet and they just keep being wet and i am standing there beside them and i dont want to be and they say they have nothing against my dad and that john, ‘ i’d like to go golfing with him this summer’ and i’m saying inside my head, ‘ya the fuck right’. i am mad mad mad mad mad and feel out of place.
Then I am downstairs and the movers are there now too and ask ‘ are we just taking the tv?’
My blank stare is enough answer.
I know this is the best thing to do. For Mom to leave.
But I am still angry.
I am mad that she chose to do it this way. To have it planned for at least a month. To get her own place. To know she was spending her last days here. And us not have a clue.
I am angry that all those trips into town were ones for lawyers. she never ever told us she was leaving even those times.
I am mad she didn’t say goodbye, but i know that was easier for her to do.
I hate that she said ‘ you can visit, theres a suite you can stay in for 3,4 days for free’.
‘im sorry mom, ‘ i think to myself ‘ i have not fricken processed this in the slighest.
The place she will have gotten will be very nice. It won’t be dumpy. And Josh and I sit dumbfounded, and he asks me about the affair because in Moms email to him, she mentions it assuming he already knew. He didn’t. But I say nothing about it and say , ‘ask dad,he’ll tell’.

Then, all of a sudden, a crashing silence falls on our heads and we stand up and we say, ” Are they gone already??”

and upstairs we go and there is no trace that they were even here, save for the spaces of things that were there and are now gone.
we move to her room and it is empty empty empty and we stand in it for a few minutes and we lean against the windows and i watch the birds at the feeder.
we wait for dad to come home and he comes home and he stops in the driveway in his white jeep and he backs up and we watch him do this and then he pulls forward and we know he has seen the marks on the grass and josh and i put our coats on and shoes and walk out to the garage and he shuts the jeep door and he follows us in and josh says’ we have some bad news…..pause… ‘ mom left’
“oh really. that doesn’t surprise me too much’ he says and his eyes are full of question and josh begins retelling the hour and a half.
and i recall people taking pictures and writing down items in the garage and in the kitchen and dad said ‘when he saw us walking out he figured somethign was up’ and when george and him left early for chatham  earlier that day they had to turn around because they forgot something and mom alreayd had her car trunk open and her bedding inside because she thought they would be gone but they came back and he saw that and thought’ either shes gettign it dry cleaned or moving out?” and she had this all planned. calculated down to the last plate she was going to take. she knew everythin she was entitled to and she had it all configured in her brain about how much stuff she needed for her new place. three stools? yes, they’ll fit quite nicely. a couch? tv? oh i need a coffee machine, yes i’ll take that one. and this good chinaware too!
dont ask me how ballistic my uncle george ( who is living with us too ) will get now without his 5 hour daily tv watch. to be honest i think that was kinda a mean one taking that . it’s not like she can’t afford another one? but we’ll get another one and a nicer one and we will change the whole basement around too. this is more my house now. I’m the woman in it.
we shall change the locks on the house.
and dad is not to know where mother now resides.
—————————–
I do feel lighter.
I do feel the air is thinner, there is less tension and Zeek finally feels more like mine again.
She will be happier, and we will be happier too. Everyone will. In time.
We will fill in the blank spaces of the house, we will take out all the knick knacks she had and it will be like she was never here. Starting over.
She is still my Mother and I suspect there will be good change in our relationship because of the distance but for now I will stay angry and sad and feel pity for my Father.
For after 36 years of marriage,
his wife has left him.

The Inbetween is Real

All kinds of struggle.
I’ve kind of labelled mine in a broad but specific sense. Because THAT makes sense.
And it will. After you finish reading.

I’m inbetween wanting to walk in front of a speeding train, and wanting things to get better.

But not.

You see?

I want things to get better but I don’t want to make the effort.
It’s like wanting to lose weight but not wanting to pass on the skor bars or double cheeseburgers. Not wanting to run uphill for 2 minutes everyday or go for a walk.

In between not wanting to try for that,
I’m inbetween wanting to try for an exit.
A solution that is quite frankly, absurd.

You don’t exit because things get tough.
But you think about it everyday.

You don’t want to explain yourself to your family,
but you can’t leave without them knowing.

You don’t want life to be like this
but it is right now. Except

you can change little particles of it.
You can,
but you don’t want to.

Because being sad is easier.
Because laying in bed with a breadknife under your sons books, is a better feeling.

Because the idea of leaving, makes things better.
It dilutes trying.
It makes trying seem more difficult and thus, makes doing nothing, more justifiable. 

 

You see?

It all makes sense.

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!

 

 

Observation

I didn’t really think it was a large reality even though I was aware of it being something.

I noticably feel uncomfortable when my family and I are in the same room. My brain, my heart-whatever it is, tells me that it’s too many people. Too many family people altogether.

It doesn’t matter if it’s someone else’s family. Doesn’t matter if I’m with a group-all though the last time that happened I was happy and carefree.

It’s just an odd puncture to my individuality. Why do I dislike being around all them so much? Is it because they know everything? Is it because they don’t? And they should?

I don’t really get it.

This post is just an observation.

Are Some of Your Outlets Suffering?

There’s been little time for stillity in the brain. I’ve been going and going for days now and I can feel myself trying to climb out, needing the air to breathe sense into my head.
Afterall, three weeks prior to this, I had that stillness every single day.
Somehow, in all of this whirring, I have gathered bits and pieces of moments, of people and most importatly, myself.

One of the things I have learned about myself this past week is how I have put much emphasis on writing since I knew what it felt like to do so.
I know it feels good to get it out this way but I wonder if other outlets have suffered.
It has not affected the ‘how’ I socialize, but the ‘what’. The ‘what’ I have talked about all these years.
It almost feels like an avoidance…that writing out serious matters justifies my lack of serious face to face matters. And in depth conversation makes for deeper relationships.
So have my relationships suffered as well?

Now that I am aware of this, I will attempt to talk about what I have written.
This post included.
Because this too, makes a difference.