Thank you Christ the Christmas holidays are over. I stopped pretending long ago to enjoy the holiday season. I absolutely detest them now. I keep up a front for the kids and that's about it. This year was no exception, it sucked hot sweaty donkey balls.

Anyway, I've been trying to rejuevenate my sagging spirits by listening to music**. Which worked wonderfully until I picked up Beyonce's latest cd. Now I stan for B; I loved her music since her Destiny's Child days, faithfully bought every album, and dutifully spawned two little stans for her... well not for her but you get the idea. But when I listened, I mean really listened to If I Were A Boy it made me sad. (You can peep the lyrics here) Sad that the song wasn't as strong as it could've been; sad that I knew what she meant; sad that dammit I DON'T HAVE A MAN and this was just a reminder that most guys are still steaming sacks of shit (not that I'm bitter.. heh).

I've always been perfectly happy with my little girls. Whenever the usual comment comes that I should try for a boy my response is that I wouldn't know what to do with a boy and I'd probably be so hard on him I'd make him gay. But in reality, if I had a boy I would treat him the same as I do my girls - I'd raise him to be a strong individual and I wouldn't want him to be anything like the rotten rascals I've encountered. I wouldn't want him to repeat my mistakes and I'd want him to be respectful and cherish women.

So after listening to If I Were A Boy, I figured I'd rewrite it to reflect how I'd feel if I had a boy...

If I had a boy,

Distance...

So...

I took a little vacation from blogging. That's not entirely the truth but it'll do for now.

I hadn't realized people were still checking up on this blog. Hadn't realized people still cared. Some do; most don't.

Half a year since I wrote last. I didn't stop writing, I just stopped writing here. I've dozens of abstract thoughts, angry rants, depressing missives scattered throughout my house on scraps of paper, in notebooks, on both my home and work computers.

So much has happened and so much has changed. I have changed.

I've lost my joy, lost my zest. I've become gray (grey? always got the two confused). Aside from the kids very little matters to me. I've developed medical problems galore; I've one of those rolling backpacks that I haul with me everywhere just to carry all my medications. A med for ulcers, a med for pain, a med for migraines, a muscle relaxer for back spasms and a sprained knee; countless other medications to counter the side effects from the others. I've a pill to sleep, another to keep me awake; one more to give me a mental "boost"; another for excess stomach acid.

It's nothing new. I've been at this point before. Times when I was so stressed I'd come home and just lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling or simply roll over onto my stomach and cry. Finances, stress, drama. I'm sick of it all. Jaalyn and Trinity get me through each day. At night, my assortment of prescription pills make me sleep and keep me from dreaming. Even in my dreams my worries haunt me. On the rare occasions I do dream in drugged sleep the dreams are so hilarious that they resemble a really bad sitcom. And then... when I wake and shed the thick veil of sleep that shrouds me and I once again pick up my usual packages: Stress, worry, anger and bitterness are my garbs of late.

I hate feeling like that. I hate being that way. The medications my doctor prescribes don't make my financial struggles end, they don't make the weight fall away. All it does is mask what's just beneath the surface.

At times, I feel the whole world is against me. I'm torn because I know I am blessed in so many ways: healthy kids, a good job, roof over my head, etc. And yet... bad things continue to happen. Unusual what-are-the-odds type of things. I try to remain positive. I try to keep my head up.

I'm tired. Of trying. Of everything. Of everyone.

All I want for Christmas is...

Peace.

I've been a bad, bad girl.

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything. No real reason for me taking a hiatus other than I just didn't feel like writing.

No, that's not entirely true. I did feel like writing. I just didn't because I'd received some, ahem, constructive criticism (read: I don't like how you write and what you write and my God you're angry and obviously have unresolved issues...) and... well, I just felt too self concsious. I'm intensely critical of anything I do and writing is no exception. I can't tell you the number of zeros I received as grades simply because I refused to turn in my papers because I deemed them unworthy. Rather take the F than hand over what I considered imperfect. Not to say I haven't written because I have dozens of files on multiple computers, my rantings of day to day activities and emotions.

And now I'm rambling... the point is I haven't written here in a long time.

Not much has happened

Still here...

I'm still here.

Still hanging around. Thought about posting. Thought about writing... and then... I just wouldn't. Much has happened but I just figured "Why bother?". I was sick of writing the same drivel, the same whining, the same sadness. Probably as sick as you are of reading it (all 4 of my readers that is).

Things haven't been all bad; pretty good in fact. My birthday came and went, Jaalyn started the 2nd grade, my dad moved in with me and has been a HUGE help in so many ways that I'll be indebted to him for probably close to the next two lifetimes.

Trinity has entered the terrible twos. To see the words in print makes it seem like no big deal. But... despite having had a child before this time around toddlerhood is taking on an entirely different form. I swear I honestly expect the child's head to start spinning around and spewing forth strawberry kool-aid. I've no idea what happened to my sweet baby. She's turned into the spawn of... well it seems harsh to call your own kid the spawn of Satan so I'll go for the next closest comparison HER FATHER.

Trin will be sweet, loving and cherubic but if she doesn't get her way the tantrums begin, the fists flail, tears flow, her posture stiffens, angels weep, mountains move and the world ends. Okay the last three don't happen but you'd think so.

I wish...

Or The Most Abstract Post Ever. Well, from me anyway. Which isn't exactly a change from the norm when I read back through the archives of this blog.

I wish I could devote more time and energies to the hobbies I love.

I wish I were a child again and could look forward to my birthdays with glee instead of realizing it's another day.

I wish I could stop the clock some days so that I can savor the rapidly disappearing baby in Trinity.

I wish I could turn back the clock some days so that I could relive those first few years with Jaalyn all over again.

I wish, GOD how I wish, my mother weren't so fucking mean. And manic. And depressing.

I wish she wouldn't depress dad so much and push his buttons on purpose.

I wish dad wouldn't vent his frustrations to me so vehemehently that it makes me cry later when I'm alone.

I wish my baby daddy would just fucking do right.

I wish I didn't feel lonely as often as I do.

I wish this post didn't sound just as sad as I feel. (there's a story behind my mood, will share another time).

I wish Bush & Co. hadn't fucked the economy so bad while taking care of all their "people".

I wish I'd lived out that political dream I had as a kid.

I wish it would rain and rain and rain.

I wish my friend would come back.

I wish the retarded people in this county I live in didnt treat me as a dirty colored girl and respected me as a hard working woman and mother of two.

I wish I could be just a bit more frivolous.

I wish, sometimes, that my morals and ethics weren't so strong.

I wish people would stop telling me I "act" old.

I wish that I didn't feel sad so often and that medicine takes it away so easily.

I wish more people would see the real me instead of objectifying me.

I wish I didn't think so much at night.

I wish I could move just one more time.

I wish I could get two more kittens.

I wish I had a truck so that I wouldn't have to rely on others to transport big things for me.

Earlier today I received an anxious call from my gem of a landlord. The water utilities had been cut off effective this morning because of an outstanding bill due in May. The bill was only $54 and I mailed the payment and used a money order. Apparently the payment never made it because, lo, water cut off. So long story short (too late) I drove way out yonder and paid the bill at the county treasurers office. Pay on the first floor, go upstairs to have services restored. When I arrived in the room only one clerk was available and she was helping an elderly woman regarding a faulty meter of some sort. Once the pleasant exchange was completed and I stepped to the window the clerk's face clouded over and her tone became nasty. Now I had the paid in full receipt, listing the property, the amount paid, the name on the account and so forth. She read the paper and asked me the same information that was on the paper. I replied with the appropriate answers and this woman then proceeded to loudly lecture me about paying bills late and did I know I still had a balance of $50? True, the bill wasn't due until next Friday but I had better pay it on time or I'll be back in her face begging for a reconnect.

I said nothing at first. Then I simply said okay, thank you. And I left. But the entire exchange left me feeling dirty. And pissed. As much as I hate to admit it I absolutely detest the area I moved to. So many backwater hick, literal trailer park trash sucking their teeth and all but muttering Nigger under their breath. I am so sick of the bullshit. The white people I come in contact with are for the most part racist as hell and the blacks are just as ghetto as the people in the projects in the city; only they're worse because of the country hick-ness added to their trifling ways. Either race simply stares at me as I approach and I can feel their gaze burning holes in my back when I retreat.

I'm not saying people where any better in the city I left. More diverse, yes. More tolerant, definitely. But you come in contact with trash and sleaze in every corner of the earth. The only difference between where I am now and where I was before is that in the city, I knew the places to avoid the foolishness. There were fewer instances out outright racial discrimination and places you could go to avoid the... i don't know. The dirtiness of it all? I dunno. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Richmond was no different than this county. Maybe I was oblivious. Maybe I'm being sensitive.

I don't need a damned title...

Almost 2 months since I made a post. Eh. What's to say? Not much has changed really. Still tired, still financially struggling (but who isn't?) still existing...

I'm sick of myself complaining, but really what else is to be done at this point? Why bother to complain (but you know I will anyway)? I'm just point blank burned the fuck out. I'm sick of everyone and everything and I just don't care who knows it.

You know I was listening to this syndicated talk show a while back and the topic for the hour discussed single parenting, moms in particular. A woman pyschologist said that the worst thing for any mom is to get to that point where you feel like you want to run away and never come back... Even though we all know that the feeling/emotion is temporary the implications behind that thought were deeper and more troubling. Because for a mom to get to that point implies that she's overwhelmed, pushed beyond her limits and needs a break. It implies more importantly that she doesn't have the support she needs to endure. And that's where I am now. It's not as if I've never been here before. I vividly remember the same feeling from the days prior to Trinity's birth. I'd been going strong for about 3 years since Jaalyn's birth, day in and day out, through all her sicknesses, milestones, appointments and plays and all of the drama from my failed marriage and her father's bullshit.

And then one day I snapped.

I loved my daughter more than life itself but the thought of having to spend one more day worrying, planning, cooking, cleaning, providing... just the responsibility of it all. And the fact in itself that I was doing it ALL, alone. It wasn't supposed to be that way. It wasn't fair. Everyone else got to go about having fun, spending money on themselves and doing what they wanted to do to attain their goals. And here I felt I was being held back, not necessarily by parenthood, but by my own restrictions set in place to put my child's needs and desires before my own. Just plain old parental overload.

And that's where I am now. I'm just worn out being the only responsible one. The only one to problem solve. To look for summer care, summer clothes, attend parent teacher conferences, schedule doctor's appointments and provide constant stimulation and entertainment. Cooking meals, worrying, monitoring medications, and that's just the things involving the children. I also have the added stress of worrying about my father's worsening depression and anxiety as well as my mother's deteriorating mind. I'm stressed and I'm overloaded and overburdened. Trinity's going through separation anxiety again, typical for her age, but the fact that I can't take two steps away from her without her bursting into tears is wearing on me. I am constantly trying to evenly spend time with both girls, separately if not together, and the constant strain is killing me.

And it's not as if this is a crisis of great proportions, because it's not. It's just that. I don't know, I wish... I wish for lots of things. Sometimes I wish I could be frivolous, get my hair done, get a new dress and feel like a woman instead of a frumpy mom. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to worry about money so much... or my parents... or anything. I wish I could be a little bit selfish and do for myself every now and then.

But I can't. It's my lot in life for now. It won't always be this way I know. But it sure gets hard sometimes to keep on trudging on, day in and day out and looking out the window in hopes some multi-syllabled person would come along and whisk me away from all my troubles.

Respect Mah House...

So. This marks the end of the much anticipated (by me if by no one else) Memorial Day weekend. The last government holiday until July 4. And it blow donkey balls.



I'm sitting here sipping on a Corona that I'm not supposed to have, you know since I'm fat and all on this diet bullshit. And for the first time the entire weekend I'm alone. Kinda. The girls are in another room playing happily until one of them begins a fight and then the Mom-meeeeeeee!!! breaks out.



*sigh*



I'd really been looking forward to the long weekend. It was my chance to blow off some steam and relax and not be bothered by anyone. If I wanted to clean house I could do so; If I wanted to just go outside and play with the kids I could've; If I just wanted to sit around butt naked and chant hymns this was my time to do so.



Didn't exactly work out that way.



First there was the dadster coming over uninvited to spend nearly all of the weekend planted firmly on my couch. I managed to hint that perhaps that's not such a great idea this weekend since you know, I wasn't exactly in the mood for company and it knocked his four day visit down to two. He went home early Saturday morning; by that afternoon we were back at his house because he'd told Jaalyn that I'd bring her by so that they could garden. What was supposed to be a 2 hour thing turned into a 6 hour thing. I was so sleepy I could barely drive. Thinking that I could call a friend to talk to so that I could stay awake on the drive home I reached for my cell phone and... no phone. I'd left it at my parents' house and I was not about to turn around and get it. So Sunday my dad decides to bring me my phone. So sweet. He brings the phone; baby daddy shows up; kids are hungry and whining and I'm cooking a dinner I hope to God I can stretch somehow. Mom arrives because she just knew we were plotting a cookout with the intention of not inviting her and is full of bitchiness and mean comments from the moment she entered the house. I spent the entire evening in the kitchen and by the time everyone cleared out and went home... it was bedtime for me and the girls.



Today was the one day I'd hoped to sit back and chill. I had things to do of course, primarily the unfavorable task of washing the girls' hair and braiding it up. Who shows up on my doorstep unannounced but baby daddy and his brother. So today was a bust too (though I did get the hair washed).



All this is so fucking annoying because everyone knew that I'd wanted to be left alone this weekend. And everyone chose to disregard my wishes. That's what really gets to me. See here's the thing about ME: I am extremely polite when it comes to other people. I respect your wishes, I respect your house and unless you're doing yourself harm I mind my business and stay out of yours. I'm not going to offer assvice; I call before visiting. If I do call I'm calling at decent hours of the day, not late at night and I don't call just to say "hi"; I'm calling with a purpose. If I am in your house, I don't wander and poke around into your stuff; if there are people there that I don't get along with I refuse to argue in your house or make a scene. I respect your place. I respect your space. I respect you. Period.

I don't ask for much. I want to be respected in the same way I respect others. Problem is, NO ONE respects a goddamn thing I say. I'd feel terrible if I were to do the shit people pull with me. And I'm tired of it. This weekend I was more than pissed, I was hurt. Because it became so very, very clear to me that despite my saying that desperately needed this time alone to think, to restructure and just bond with my kids no one gave a shit what I thought. Only what they think, feel and desire matters.

But how to deal with it? How to put an end to it?

Hm...

My God, I am so tired.

Not for the usual reasons, i.e. everyday life/too much stress/work/kids/errands, but simply because I didn't sleep well. Because I have a housepest, er, I mean houseguest. My dad, whom I adore and love deeply, has invited himself to my house for what appeared at first to be an extended visit.

Do. Not. Want.

He's being nice. The idea is that since he's retired he'll stay with me for several days and help me finish unpacking and cleaning and will take over the cooking for a few nights. He stocked my freezer full of meats, delivered a jar of his special, secret barbecue sauce for future use, and attempted to entertain the kids so that perhaps I could get a moment of peace. (Didn't work.)

And that my friends, is about the extent of what he can do. Not being hateful, just being real.

Let's put aside my total dislike of overnight visitors for a second, because that's purely a personal flaw. See, the thing is that in theory the things I mentioned above are about the extent of what he could do. The house isn't dirty, per se, and in need of a deep cleaning; it's CLUTTERED. I can be totally upfront and honest and say that the dirtiest things in this house are the bathtub and the kitchen. The tub because, well duh, high usage there. And the kitchen because I will openly admit and scream from mountaintops that I hate doing dishes. I love to cook, but I hate cleaning up. This is a carryover from childhood when my mom, who also hates to do dishes, would have me wash all the dishes long before I was able to even see into the sink. She'd take a kitchen chair and turn it backwards so that it would lean against the sink, take a garbage bag and tie it around me under my armpits and tell me to get started. And if they weren't clean to her satisfaction, back they ALL went into the water. And if they still weren't clean? Or she just didn't want to be bothered with me? Again, I'd be washing. I remember being small, about 4 or 5 and hearing the story of Cinderella and thinking hey that's me! Except I don't have evil stepsisters or a stepmom. My birth mom does this to me. I actually used to pretend that I was this ugly princess and that if I washed the dishes perfectly perhaps my prince would come to rescue me and then when we'd kiss I'd be transformed into this beautiful (white, because that's all I ever saw in my fairytale books) princess and we'd live happily ever after... with a maid. The end.

So, yeah. Cooking, I love. Dishes, not so much.

Anyway, point was that anything beyond that scope of cleaning my dad can't do. And I'm not being bitchy or super anal about this unpacking thing either. See, I'll be at work and he'll be here and unless he calls me for every single thing he unpacks, he won't know where to put the shit. Hell, I'm here everyday and I don't know where to put the shit. This has been a big part of the whole unpacking problem. There is little to no storage in this house. The attic was long ago converted to a second floor and all that remains are two Trinity sized doors that lead to the HVAC systems, so I can't chunk stuff in there. The closets are shallow and super small as is the cabinetry. There is no closet in the upstairs bathroom and while I do have a shed and have stashed many unopened boxes in there, I discovered birds and vermin also nest in there so, eh, not exactly a place for long term storage. But there literally is no place to put my stuff.

What I really need to do is purge. And this is something dad REALLY can't help me with because the man is an insufferable packrat. Things I tried to throw away in previous moves he'd bring right back into the house saying I ought to keep it, it's really nice, he didn't want someone else to get it (?), and so on. Want to know how bad he is about my purging? This last move he snuck stuff back onto the moving truck and didn't tell me until we unloaded the truck here at the house. We ended up unloading several boxes and bags I'd left at the dumpster in the apartment complex along with 5, count 'em, FIVE bags of garbage that were definitely meant for the dumpster. He was shamed enough to carry the bags of garbage with him when he left since I hadn't yet set up trash service here.

So there you have it. Too little space and too much stuff. Stuff that I could give away, sell, whatever. But it takes time to do it and my problem is that rather than take the time, I spend it with the kids. And the rare moment I have to myself, I spend, um, with myself. (NO, not that way! Get your mind out the gutter!) Relaxing and running errands.

And now, tired as shit and looking like hell, I've got to go shower and attempt to look like something human and carry on with this day.

Hopping On The 'Zac Track...

I finally went to the doctor on Monday.

Yup. After 3, almost four, weeks of diet and consistant exercise along with careful monitoring of my blood pressure and weight it appears that I'm a major physically unfit fuck up. Instead of losing weight on a steadily decreasing meal plan, I've gained 7 pounds. Instead of my blood pressure being unsually low (which is normal for me) I'm in the pre-hyper... hyper... yeah well it's pre-high blood pressure. Couple that with major anxiety attacks, overwhelming sadness and listnessness (is that a word?) a trip to the doctor's was long overdue.

And, in a nutshell, I hate my doctor. I hate him for being somewhat honest with me. For telling me that I'm fat, I eat too much (on a 1300 calorie meal plan, imagine that), I exercise too little and if I don't put an end to it all and change my lifestyle I will end up in the exact same state as all the other unhealthy black women in America. Fat, black and dead before I hit 60. So he told me eat as little as possible, work out as much a possible and my blood pressure will decrease naturally. As I gain weight my blood pressure will rise; as I lose it should fall. He said I'm too young for medication and too healthy to not work out more than I do.

And he prescribed Prozac.

I haven't gotten my prescription filled yet. No real reason why. I'm not afraid to take it, more like I simply don't think it'll work for me. I've tried so many anti-depressants/happy pills all with horrible side effects. The nausea inducing, throat constricting, non-eating/gorging, super horny side/zero sex drive effects. I feel so close to the breaking point from all the usual stressors that just adding a new element is like asking for trouble. Yet at the same time, I feel I need it. I've been sad... sadder than sad, for way too long. I'm developing a dependancy on sleeping pills, more because I enjoy a night of sleep without dreams than any actual need for the pills. I've been addicted to them before when I was in my teens and seeking a way to escape my turbulant home life. But I beat that addiction. I realized early on how close I was coming to overdosing and kicked the habit cold turkey. And while I don't feel like I'm in danger of becoming addicted again, I'll cop to enjoying a peaceful, non thinking sleep.

Speaking of which. I'm sleepy now. To the point of not being able to effectively form sentences. So I'll end this missive for the night and pick it up in the morning.

I finally went to the doctor on Monday.

Yup. After 3, almost four, weeks of diet and consistant exercise along with careful monitoring of my blood pressure and weight it appears that I'm a major physically unfit fuck up. Instead of losing weight on a steadily decreasing meal plan, I've gained 7 pounds. Instead of my blood pressure being unsually low (which is normal for me) I'm in the pre-hyper... hyper... yeah well it's pre-high blood pressure. Couple that with major anxiety attacks, overwhelming sadness and listnessness (is that a word?) a trip to the doctor's was long overdue.

And, in a nutshell, I hate my doctor. I hate him for being somewhat honest with me. For telling me that I'm fat, I eat too much (on a 1300 calorie meal plan, imagine that), I exercise too little and if I don't put an end to it all and change my lifestyle I will end up in the exact same state as all the other unhealthy black women in America. Fat, black and dead before I hit 60. So he told me eat as little as possible, work out as much a possible and my blood pressure will decrease naturally. As I gain weight my blood pressure will rise; as I lose it should fall. He said I'm too young for medication and too healthy to not work out more than I do.

And he prescribed Prozac.

Ever Had A Superbly Rotten Day?

And then something totally off the wall breaks through the gloom and makes you smile?

Oh God. Laughed. SO. Fucking. Hard.

3:23 A.M.

That's what time I'm sitting down to write.

My body is weary yet I'm too keyed up to sleep. Too worried to rest and too taut to relax. Trinity is ill... again. Another virus. *sigh* I pray she's better soon. We're not long getting back from a 2 a.m. run to the local Wal-mart (closed) and then onward to the Wal-mart in a neighboring town (praise God for the 24 hour ones). Pedialyte, formula (shut up), a bottle (I said shut up) and some quick fix breakfast items for later. I've about 4 open bottles of Motrin and various syringes lying around the house and a fifth bottle in the passenger seat of the car. My poor kid... feverish and just a bleary eyed as me she removed her pacifier long enough to give me the biggest, most beautiful smile while I leaned against the counter in the checkout line.

Trin, bless her, is teething throughout this virus that I was praying to God would be only 24 hours. Well we've passed that mark so we simply pray for the best and strength to withstand it. I know it's a mild bug, but it worries me to see her so uncomfortable and I'm worried that if it lasts longer than the weekend I may not be able to stay home with her thanks to the bullshit from my job.

Emotionally, physically, mentally I'm spent. I'm so fucking tired I can't stand myself. The slightest thing makes me cry, and not always in a bad way. Complete strangers in Wal-mart wished me a heartfelt Mother's Day. The first was a guy sweeping the aisle that the Pedialyte was on and he stuttered and stammered until he got out his well wishes. I was touched that he went through the effort of working through what appears to be a severe speech impediment just to wish someone he doesn't know a happy Mother's Day. That's more acknowledgement than I'll get from anyone else other than Jaalyn. Songs on the radio bring tears to my eyes; thinking about how blessed I am despite my problems causes me to weep; I know firsthand how much worse it could be. I've been in the hospital with sick babies before and I know what it's like to be separated from your child by steel bars of a crib cage and the only thing you can touch is her bruised hand and it kills you to be unable to hold her, rock her and comfort her. I know the anxiety felt because you don't know if your child will live or die. I know the pain of watching an infant get a spinal tap, having major surgery, and still being considered the healthiest baby in the nursery.

Originally I was going to write a bitching message about how underappreciated most mother's feel and all about the useless and usually pointless gifts given us. None of that matters anymore. As I sit with my sick tot, there's no greater gift I could ever receive than her and her sister. They, quite simply, are the best things to ever happen to me. The day I became a mother my life had meaning and purpose. Lately I'd lost sight of that purpose. Reminiscing brought it all back.

Stray Thoughts...

Sometimes I sit back and wonder why I don't get the respect that I feel I deserve. Maybe respect is the wrong word... more like common decency. For example, I am just plain sick and tired of married men hitting on me and asking me for fuck appointments. I mean really, I think at some point we've all gone through a whore phase or just a period of indiscretion but shit's getting ridiculous. Anyway, so I say no more. And I tell the married/boyfriend-y types a very clear NO. Within twenty-four hours two guys came back with the Baby Please nonsense. Jesus, I finally decide to have a shred of respect for myself and you want me to slice that to pieces so you can get a nut? It wouldn't bother me as much if I didn't explain how I felt about the whole matter. But everyone knows, especially anyone that reads this piece of shit blog of mine, how I feel about being #2 (4, 6, 8 who do we appreciate!). I feel I deserve better than to be a cumbucket for a dude, which is basically what happens before he cleans himself up to go cuddle with wifey and the next girlfriend.

Why am I so wrong for trying to respect myself? For wanting and knowing that I deserve better than this? Why do I allow guys to repeatedly ask me any fucking way after I've already said we're done? I don't know who to be angrier at, their dumb asses or my dumb ass.
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I had one of those gut wrenching "Where is my life going" moments this morning. Sitting at a traffic light just before going through the gates to my job. I feel like a such a fuck up at life, at parenting, at everything. I mean I'm a good mom to the kids, but not the best I could be. It's like I've lost hope in everything and I'm afraid to try new things. Totally unlike me. But much of it has to do with the stress and pressure from my job and just dealings with life in general. I'm under constant pressure and my mind is constantly going. My body is constantly going too and I don't feel like I can properly rest it. It's like I never get a chance to relax and just, I don't know, do what I want to do. Problem is, I'm not sure what to do if I actually had free time so I guess it's a moot point altogether isn't it?
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Had a heart stopping moment this past Sunday. I discovered a black widow spider in a box at the foot of my bed. She was the biggest black widow I'd ever seen. I like black widows (praying mantis too, can you guess why?), but I do not like them in the house... in my bedroom... inches from where I and my child sleep. She scared the shit out of me and made me realize fuck the foolishness I've been spouting for years, I have too much shit EVERYWHERE and who knows what else might slither indoors one day? Who knows what could be nesting under beds, inside cabinets and closets that I can't reach because there's clothes, boxes, etc in the way? Hell no, the shit's got to go. Pronto.
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The other day I was listening to some music, just soft tunes playing in the car as the children slept and I realized just how lonely I am. Not for a man specifically, but just for adult company period. I've given thought to dating and discarded the thought immediately. I'm not ready to date and quite frankly I'm not interested in falling in love either. Love is pain, pain is love... I say no to both. I'm discouraged and dejected because of what I see. I see men loving women dishonestly. After being the town whore and seeing that perspective I'm not sure I could ever trust a man. But then, man was not made by God to be trusted. And neither was woman. I'll take loneliness over love any day. At least with loneliness I can dream of the love I hope to have someday. By actually being with a man... Jesus, that hope is destroyed entirely.

Yes, I am bitter. I don't deny it. I am bitter, I am angry and I am discouraged but I am smart enough not to inflict this self induced angst on someone else nor use a person for base purposes until I "sort this all out".

Bitter, much.
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My great aunt passed on Saturday. Just thinking about her makes me smile. She was an incredible woman in life. She is the only person I know that could scold you, curse you and Praise Jesus all in one breath. I did not visit as often as I should. I didn't call. I didn't write. But I loved her and she knew it and said she understood my distance. And she reiterated the importance of family. My response then (we were at her sister, who was my grandmother's funeral) was that the last part of this branch of the family died in that casket. She squeezed my hand and told me:

Bitch, not all your family is dead. Bring your ass over to visit me and I'll show you. Where are my cigarrettes?

Aunt Mack I loved you but God loved you more. NOW the last part of that family that meant anything to me is gone and I've no reason to look back anymore. As you would say they're all going to hell in a handbasket anyway... shit.
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All I want out of life is to be happy. Simplicity is what I crave and it's odd that it eludes me. I haven't quite figured that out. I sit here now and I'm not sure what direction I want my life to go, what to do, what to be, how to act, or anything. It's like I'm standing before a brick wall. Not hit a brick wall, as in life's going so fast that wham! I hit a wall and am startled to see it's there. More like I casually sauntered up to the wall and examined it before making a decision.

And I bet if I stop staring at the fucking wall, I'll look to the left or right and just walk around it.

Still Here...

Okay, so my life is in limbo right now.

Things aren't going so great on my job.

The kids are healthy despite my paranoia that they've contracted life threatening (read: time-off from work) illnesses.

The house is still a complete fucking wreck and I still have boxes every fucking where and I am thisclose to calling the local trash hauling place and having a dumpster deposited in my driveway to toss every single bit of clothing, box, books, etc that I own into it so that I never, ever in this lifetime have to pack/unpack this amount of shit ever again.

I still do run-on sentences as witnessed in the aforementioned statement. Ha.

I am slowly trying to de-stress myself. I've had some faith shaking experiences these past several weeks/months/years. I'm not sleeping well, not eating well and feeling blue more often than I'd like. But, I'm here. My girls are my life and my love and they are well and happy so what more could I ask for?

A lot. But I won't. I know I won't get what I ask for and quite frankly I don't need it anyway probably. Yeah, yeah, I'm lonely... shut up. I get like that sometimes. NO, I don't like to admit it but I had a conversation with a former lover of mine and it brought out a great deal of emotion in me. Not emotion for him, but just feelings of wistfulness and hopelessness that there is such a thing as a good man. I told him that it seems that the only men that ever want me are married men (and the one soul that isn't married may as well be. You know who you are.) and well, to be quite frank I'm the hoe that won't be the housewife, the freak in the sheets you'll never take home to mama. It seems that the only men that approach me want to lay me and keep me as the number #2 (3, 4, 85th) girl. That gets old. Quick.

I'm told I'm too intimidating and that I don't make a man feel like I need him. Well, I don't need a man. I want one but need? Pfft. Will my world crumble if you leave me? Will I neglect my kids and sob if you're gone or if we argue? (Don't trip I know women that have left their 2 year olds at home alone chasing after a man.) I don't need a man for financial reasons. I don't need a man to make me feel "complete". But it'd be nice to have someone around for more than just sexual reasons, more than just friends, more than just whenever he had time away from his wife and family. And at this point, at the ripe age of 30 (ha) I don't think I'll find "a good man". Is there such a thing as a man that won't cheat? Won't lie? I don't know anymore. And I'm not so delusional as to think there's a "perfect" man. I just want the perfect one for me. But if he doesn't come along I'll be just fine.

So in the meantime with all this hell and stress I've had in my life recently I've been trying to focus more on the little things that make me happy. Small things that make me smile, beautiful things that make me cry, and simple joys that make me laugh. The girls have been a big help in some ways. They make me focus on what they are doing instead of my own problems that I should leave at the office doors.

Trinity is growing so fast and she's rapidly learning our language. I say "our" because she has her own toddler-ese that she speaks and expects you to understand. She's speaking in sentences now and it's both delightful and hysterical at times. Like yesterday when she wouldn't sit down for breakfast. I brought out the last Trix yogurt and asked if she wanted it. She nodded and I said well, I don't know that I should give it to you since you won't sit down and eat your breakfast. I don't think you really want it. Her response was a deadpan expression and "I want it. I'm serious." Oh really? I don't think you're serious. She went and sat down at the table and again "I'm serious" followed by the most serious expression her not quite two year old self could muster. Hilarious.

Jaalyn is growing into quite the young lady. She's still my girly girl that's into makeup and scents, nail polish and boy crushes. And she talks. A LOT. Holy shit that girl can talk a hole in your head. Even if you ask her to be quiet just for a few minutes, the wait just kills her and she talks in spurts, reminiscent of the air squeaking out of a balloon. She's also picked up my habit of writing, which I secretly love, and she's got about 4 journals stashed in various places around her room. Mostly they are filled with "I love {insert name here}" or "I :heart: Troy" the dude out of those God awful High School Musical movies. But she also writes her feelings and illustrates them and I think it's wonderful.

The two of them together though? Oy vey. The NOISE they make. The screams. The tears. The, the... NOISE. Jesus God, they fight so! Sometimes they can play nicely but most of the time it's Trinity screaming at Jaalyn and then pummeling her with her fists. The kid is truly a terror at times. This weekend was nice though because thanks to my love of old video gaming systems coupled with some Ebay-fu we are the proud owners of many NES, SEGA and PS1 (and 2) games. I even bought Trinity her very own Barney game for the Sega system, where Barney never dies (unfortunately) , he always finds his friends, he talks directly to you and your kids always win. Most brain decaying thing I've ever witnessed but she likes it and it makes her chuckle. She's happy, I'm happy. I got Jaalyn two Sonic games and she's got about 5 games for her Nintendo DS. I got myself my beloved Tomb Raider games once more, and we're all happy on our separate televisions and gaming systems.

Hey, the family that plays together...

Still Hanging In There...

So, the kids are better and now I am sick. Upper respiratory infection, sinus infection, and just physically worn down. I've been under copious amounts of stress and I'm just barely holding things together at this point. Been really depressed too but I think that has more to do with my physical exhaustion than the actual circumstances I'm experiencing. Not that the circumstances aren't enough to be depressed about, just that I know when an already worn out body coupled with a vapid mind (of late) makes one very sad girl. Even now, as I type this I should be resting. My eyes are burning, my head is swimming and I feel rotten in general but I also feel the need to vent to someone, anyone, other than my normal crew that gets more than their fair share of my whining and bitching.

These past couple of weeks has been hell and not just because the girls were sick as dogs either, though that's reason enough. But the stress from my job, particularly my supervisor that I know can't stand me; from finances (pending garnishment, back taxes owed that I'd no idea about, daycare, prescriptions, etc.) to the possibility of my daughter's 133 year old school closing; parental worries and fights and being sick on top of it all. I'm just plain weary of it all.

But for now, rather than bitch and whine like I wanted to...

I'm going to bed. Where I belong.

Mo Money, Mo Problems?

Straight up bullshit.

I'm fading and I'm fading fast.

Depression doesn't describe what I'm feeling right now. Anxiety is at an all time high. Why?

Money. Lack of it, if you couldn't guess that. I swear if it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. How is it that through all these odd twists of fate I always end up with my back up against the wall, defensive and on the losing team?

Still Yet Keepin' On...

And so... another day, another doctor's visit. So far this week we've visited our now not-quite-so-friendly pediatricians every single day with the exception of Friday. I told them today, believe me, I am every bit as sick of you as you are of me.

Jaalyn's still feverish, whiny, cranky and having periods of "just not feeling good".

Trinity's not feverish anymore, but whiny, cranky and having periods of "just not feeling good".

Both are coughing themselves to death.

It's the coughing that gets me. Breathing treatments don't seem to be helping. Cough medicine is good for nighttime, but throughout the day? Oh man, I've tried everything from saline treatments, nasal flushing (to rule out the post nasal drip possibility in Trin), Halls cough drops, constant fluids, steamy bathrooms and allergy meds (singulair, allegra for Jaalyn)/benadryl (for Trinity) to rule out possible pollen/histamine/whatever the fuck is in the air to cause them to cough like a 125 year smoker with emphysema.

So I took them both to the doctor this morning, hoping for something. I don't know what. Just any sort of advice on how to treat this. Trinity's at the point that she coughs so hard that it hurts her chest and Jaalyn cough is so constant that she can barely breathe for coughing. And what I got was a "Oh, its you again." Um, yeah it IS me again and as long as my insurance company is paying your bill you'll keep seeing me again until my kids are healthy. She examined Jaalyn and said she had an older kid type of croup cough. Saline treatments and step up her breathing treatments a notch. The fuck? That's it? When little kids get croup they get a shot and bam, they're better. I get told to do the exact same shit I've been doing, excuse me, the exact same ineffective shit I've been doing all along. But that's not what really ticked me off.

She didn't even bother to examine Trinity.

That ticked me. She didn't examine her because she said she assumed she had the same issues and just do whatever it is that I normally do. So after waiting over an hour to be seen (with a prescheduled appointment) I got no effective advice to help my kids. And you know what happened, they hacked and coughed their way through the rest of the day. Completely miserable and zonked out from medication I'm praying to God will work to give them some sort of relief.

(It did.)
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Please forgive me for my lame ass posts of late. I am beyond tired and stressed. Hope to be back to my usual bitch self soon.

Where the Fuck is My Calgon?

What a week it's been. Trinity has been sick with this since Monday, which isn't as bad as this but it's still pretty bad. Jaalyn actually had hand, foot and mouth disease three times before the age of 3 so I am familiar with the symptoms, longevity and (non) treatment of it. Trinity has a milder version of it, so she doesn't have the ulcers in the back of her throat but something akin to tiny blisters, along with the raging fever and she's been miserable since the onset. Just as I thought she was getting better and her fever had broken, she began screaming uncontrollably, smacking the sides of her face and the fever returned. An impromptu trip to the doctor's office (where they are quite familiar with my girls since we've been in their office every single fucking day. Twice on Monday and daily ever since.) proved that she'd developed an ear infection in her left ear and a sinus infection as well so now she's got medicine for that on top of everything else. She's been horribly congested all week long (we all have) and chokes off the thick mucus in her nose and throat. Couple that with the ear pain and that means Mommy's awake nearly all night holding her bolt upright to keep her from choking/coughing, etc. But... thanks to the antibiotics she's doing a lot better, feeling alot better, but still sort of miserable from the pain of the ear infection and the yeast infection she's got thanks to the fucking antibiotics.

And just as I thought Trinity was getting better and that we were finally in the clear and perhaps I could get some sleep... nope nope nope. Jaalyn's spring break began Wednesday and I took her to my parents' house to spend the week there but I'd forgotten her allergy medications. So I dropped them off yesterday and as soon as I walk through the door I see her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes are weak and on the verge of tearing. Back to the pediatrician and now Jaalyn has a strain of the virus Trinity has. High fevers, headaches, zero appetite, sore throat... yeah.

I've probably walked a hundred miles in this house last night alone, going from room to room, child to child, forehead to forehead. Tylenol, Motrin, saline treatments, breathing treatments, antibiotics for each. I've slept far too little this week and it's really beginning to take it's toll on me. Tired doesn't do justice for the way I feel. I'm nursing a sinus infection that I really ought to go to the doctor for but am steadfastly refusing. One more trip to a doctor's office, ANY doctor's office and I think I'll go apeshit. I've a really bad pain in my back, between my shoulder blades, I guess from sleeping upright and awkwardly holding Trinity the past 4 nights. The pain is enough to draw tears from my eyes. Can't stretch it out, crack my back, nothing helps. No meds for Mommy at all. I can't run the risk of them making me sleepy and I won't hear either kid when they need me.

And I was going to write so much more... but guess what? I'm too fucking tired to do so.

At Least I'm Not the Only One Whose Week Sucks Donkey Balls...

Okay, my period is gone, my emotions have died down and I sort of have a resolution in this credit union foolishness. I can take a breather for a minute or two, refocus, and realize that OTHER PEOPLE ARE QUITE POSSIBLY HAVING A MORE FUCKED UP WEEK THAN I AM.

ahem...

Case 1: Eliot Spitzer - I am SO sick of reading about him. Although Bill Maher's blog had me in stitches. I mean what is the big deal? He's doing the same thing that men have been doing for centuries, since time began. Only difference is that his ass got caught. He fucked up and his wife gets the blame for being boring and lame in the sack. And when you think about it from that perspective, can you really blame Spitzer for stepping out and paying for good pussy?

Case 2: Oh Rebecca... My heart and soul weeps for you because I know exactly how you must feel now.

Case 3: Mrs. B., principal of my daughter's Catholic school. Her personality is abrasive and that's putting it nicely. She's nicknamed the Colonel and is every bit as strong in character as a Marine, but her voice cracked and eventually broke when she announced to parents this evening that the school is in incredible financial danger and could possibly close after nearly a century and a half of operation.

Case 4: Hillary Clinton because she has complete fucking idiots working for her. But for the record, I agree with everything Ferraro said.

And no, I am not an Obama supporter but my reasons are my own and at present I'm not up to discussing them.

Let the bashing begin because I'm a black single mother that's not supporting Obama.

So, yeah... a fucked up week for all. For once I'm glad my issue, though major to me, was minor in reality compared to other people's.

The Suckage of Mondays...

Does anyone remember the Garfield comics of the late 70s and early 80s? Even today Garfield has this decades long gag of hating Mondays. Pies would fly from nowhere to splat in his face; Pookie would go missing; the coffee would be weak and cold and Jon would invariably schedule all his vet appointments on Mondays. Garfield's answer was rebellion. If he didn't get out of his extraordinarily small bed, nothing could go wrong and the Monday curse would be avoided.

Man, I wish I'd never gotten out of bed yesterday.

Monday had to have been one of the worst days I've had in a long time. You know the type when it's a nonstop trip of insanity and madness? Every thing that can go wrong, does go wrong.

I awoke to a splitting migraine.

Remember my last post when I was lamenting that I only have two pair of jeans that fit? Well, make that one pair since the zipper busted on one. Nothing earth shattering, just annoying.

Later that day I speak with my mother. On the phone. At work. Shouting and cursing ensues. I have a pain in my head ten times greater than the migraine I woke up with and my chest is tight and hurting after I end my call with her. I swear I was hatched. That woman cannot be my own mother.

During lunch I receive a phone call from the credit union. Seems there's been a problem with my automated debits and all the transactions came out of another account. So they freeze my account and tell me I owe them an estimated $2,400 for an error they acknowledge to be their own.

I swear, I can't win. It's times like these that I thank God I have children. They force me to behave normally, to push on... Because were it not for them, I'd be too depressed, too angst ridden to even get out of bed. I'm so discouraged right now. I try and try to do the right thing, to raise my girls right, to give them a decent home, pay my bills on time, private school education, etc. I've stopped messing around with married men and men with girlfriends. I don't drink, do drugs or anything of the sort. All I do is live for my kids. Be that super strong woman. And yet... bad things continue to happen. I've always been a strong believer in karma. If you do good and live right, good follows and comes back to you. The Golden Rule. Cosmic Karma.

I do good. I do real good. And still I get nothing but shit. Weird, once in a blue moon shit at that.

I could be like any number of women (and men) that support their income with adverse means. Hell, I've done it myself before but I said under no circumstances would I ever go down that road again.

I'm starting to rethink that.

As a matter of fact, I'm starting to rethink a whole lot of stuff and not in a good way. I'm starting to think that there is no karma, that there's just life. And life, supposedly, is what you make it. I'm sick of just barely making it. Barely hanging on, barely scraping by. I want my kids to be happy and healthy. I want to be able to provide for them without having to worry where my next dollar is coming from.

And it's funny. I have a good job, I make decent money, I don't have a single blessed credit card at ALL. I have no extra expenses outside of the basics: rent, daycare, utilities, groceries, gas, cell phone, and cable. And I just recently added the cable. I monitor my money. I use coupons when shopping. I don't spend more than I earn and I'd even managed to store a tiny bit in savings to pay off a bill or two on my credit report. And then this shit hits the fan. Or some other shit hits the fan. Always something.

But that's life right? The ups and downs and unexpected. But the money... I can't stand worrying about bills. Will I rob Peter to pay Paul this month? I need to supplement my income and my tried and true methods of obtaining it just aren't working out.

I'm just so sick and tired of struggling when I shouldn't be. There are ways to make money, but me being all lofty and high minded about things, I just don't want to stoop down to do certain things. I've done amatuer porn before. I didn't like it, but it paid well. A couple of scenes and I had enough to pay my back rent on my apartment and catch up on all my bills my rotten husband left me with when he deserted me. It wasn't something I wanted to do; but it was something I felt I had to do in order to pay the bills. And I may end up doing it again. Again, it's not that I want to but really, there's little else that pays well in such a short time period. But I'd swore I'd never go back down that road again. I don't knock women that do it, in fact I admire them. Some do it because they enjoy it, some make a career out of it but most are like me and just trying to put food on the table, pay the bills and keep a roof over the little people's heads.

And that's really all I want to do. With all this hell going on around me, it's given me reason to think very hard about life and getting what you want out of it. Right now I'm exhausted from thinking and worrying, emotional as hell, and depressed to boot so please don't take my ramblings as a declaration on my dedication to become a porn star. That's not happening. At least not yet anyway.

Moody Blues...

It's official, my natural high is gone thanks to hormonal girly bullshit, aka my period.

It was nice while it lasted though. I dunno, this cycle, PMS included, has been rough. I've been tired, back aching, bitchy (I mean REALLY bitchy), etc. But I've also been feeling really depressed and repressed about stuff that ordinarily wouldn't bother me. It's a weird feeling. For example, I'm not a materialistic person. I'm used to going without if for no other reason so my children can have what they need and want. But for some odd reason I've been wanting things and that's unlike me. Perhaps I've neglected my own desires too long. Perhaps it's hormones. Most likely the latter.

I am the type that cares more about my internal presentation vice my outward. I work on my character and mental and physical health rather than other bullshit. (Though I'm failing in that whole healthy eating dept but that's another story for another day.) I've never been the type to give a damn about name brands, or how my house is presented, the types of furniture I had or clothes I wore. I'm not a shoe person, a purse person or any of that. My hair and outward appearance are of (very) little importance to me. A simple ponytail will do and jeans and a tshirt or sweater are fine thankyouverymuch. The only time I really cared what I looked like and felt I had a definite choice in how I chose to present myself was when I was pregnant with Trinity. Because that time I was comfortable financially and I was able to find great outfits really cheap that flattered my growing belly. I felt the need to show how I happy I was about my pregnancy despite not having (or needing) a husband and the extra income he would've provided. I wanted to throw off that pitiful pregnant damsel in distress persona everyone kept trying to saddle me with and show how I really felt like a normal happy pregnant woman.

Right now, pffft. I have this horrible attitude of "I don't need to show no one SHIT", bad grammar included. Now I feel lousy because of my weight and appearance and although I'm still every bit the proud single supermom, I really don't give a shit who knows it, I don't feel the need to show it. I just do what I do and keep rolling really. And I shouldn't be that way. I come off more hardass than I need to and truthfully more hardass than I probably am anyway. If you want to be all psychological about it you could probably say that I'm only reacting this way to hide my feelings of ineffectiveness, unhappiness, low self esteem and extreme distaste for my physical state of being, blah blah fuckity blah.

What. The. Fuck. EVER.

I'm in a funk. I don't like it but there it is. For some reason unbeknownst to me I actually lamented that I don't own more than two pair of jeans that fit, that I don't have "nice" un-mommylike clothing, that my living room furniture belongs on a street corner rather than in a living room and that for once I'd like everything to be "put together" in a total package and look nice for a change. I realize that this type of thinking isn't bad; nothing wrong with it whatsoever. It's the feeling of hopelessness that follows these thoughts that bothers me.

Let me explain: When I think of wanting a new living room suite or just a total home makeover, the actual wanting of it is fine. But the afterthoughts are that I'll never have that as long as I have kids because either they'll destroy it or I will become one of those moms I DETEST that scream at kids constantly for touching, sitting, eating on, etc their "nice" furniture. The last thing I ever want to do is treat my home like a museum. Like it's for show only. That's no way for kids to live. Now there's nothing wrong with either of those thoughts, but because of these bloody hormones I feel blue about not having what I want and focus on my inabilities (can't afford it anyway and even if I could my choices would be limited to a wipe-me-down leather which is ugly ugly ugly.)instead of realizing the reality of my situation (I could find something nice, secondhand that's not too ugly with kid-friendly fabric or slipcovers.).

I've even been feeling all girly like I *gasp!* want a man. Me. A man wanter. Jesus God help me now in my hour of need. The fuck is this all about? Actually I've been watching tv, watching all my dork approved TLC/Discovery channel shows about families, births and organization (seriously, the only reason I watch the Style channel is for Clean House and when did they replace Neicy Nash with that other wanna be chick? Oh I was heated when I saw that shit.). And watching all those reality, birthing, baby, and family shows has made me want a real live nuclear family of my own. Husband/mate included. Pregnancy amnesia is setting in (the point where you forget all the rotten morning sickness, nausea, swollen ankles, crying, etc of previous pregnancies) and I realize how much I want to extend my little two member tribe. I've been secretly envious of those two parent households I see on tv that are all happy and shit despite the odds. I admit it, I'm jealous of the supportive partner the women have. Because I don't have it and I don't feel I'll get it any time soon either. Again, another topic for another day.

This post is long enough as it is without me whining about man-envy and babylust.

Besides, hopefully by the time of my next post all these ill-fated feelings will have past.

I hope.

In A Nutshell...

Things have been going great. The move was agonizing (as most moves are), the house is great (with the exception of a few minor issues and more than a few major issues), the kids are happy (unless the meanest mommy in the world has done something to upset them and practically kill them, like serving oatmeal for breakfast) and life is good (on most days).

Ha.

Seriously, things are okay. Everyone is revelling in their newfound freedom from the cats to the kids and even me. It's a relief to know that out here I won't have visitors that are "in the neighborhood"; nor do I have to put up with baby daddy every other day (but hey, I still have to put up with his bullshit attitude nearly every other day at a distance.). I do have a few issues with the house that I need to work out and yes, money is tight. Blessings abound but money is tight. And I hate it. But, eh, so long as I'm not drowning in debt and I'm only worrying about drowning in debt, it's cool.

Like, I said the kids love, love love the house. Jaalyn is ecstatic about her room, about having cable, the backyard to play in, a mailbox she can reach and check under my watchful eye. Trinity enjoys climbing the stairs to Jaalyn's room and hanging out up there like a big girl. She also is fond of the door to the room and the upstairs and delights in yelling BAH! (BYE!) and then slamming it. The kittens race all over the house chasing one another from sunup to sundown and throughout the night too. Kadie has more places to hide from the kittens, sabotage the kittens and two litterboxes to piss and shit in and not cover up.

Unpacking is going... slow. I'm not thrilled to be doing it and the more boxes I open the more I wonder why I hauled the shit with me in the first place. I see a yard sale in the very near future.

My mood has fluctuated much in the last month or so. I hover between angst and depression with a pinch of anger thrown in and an occasional sprinkle of euphoria. The anger is not due to the move or anything, but just stupid and ignorant bullshit I've dealt with in the past several weeks from everything from Trinity's daycare to things people have said to set me off. Also a bit of anger from my gem of a landlord, who in fairness may not have realized or known about the problems I've found in the house and I honestly don't think he would've knowingly rented the house to me (in this condition) had he known. The depression stems from... a lot, and we'll just leave it at that for now.

But more on that later. More topics for discussion at a later date and time:
-Why Comcast still blows big hairy donkey balls.
-Why my neighbor's barking dog needs to be shot, not for barking, but for pooping in my flower bed directly under a window. Actually, why shoot the dog, let's aim for the teenage boy that watches the dog shit and not clean it up, tell me, or divert the mutt from shitting there in the first place.
-What exactly is this place zoned as since I've passed not just houses, but cow farms, goats, farmland and the neighbor across the street has a dog that barks and with every bark there is a cluck from a still unseen chicken? WTF? I think I've gone beyond suburbia and went straight country.

All this and more, so stay tuned.

Thoughts...

There's been a very good reason I haven't been posting. Remember all those positive vibes I've been emoting lately? All that optimism? It's not exactly gone but let's just say I'm a bit more... bitchy these days. I'm not slipping and it's not that I'm not enjoying life, the house, etc.

It's just that the move wasn't exactly the way I'd hope it would be. Then again, does a move ever go according to plan? I moved via Smartbox which seemed like a fabulous idea at the time.

Untitled Post #2

So, in effort to continue my disgustingly upbeat and optimistic persona, I've gone and done something drastic.

I hired a life coach.

Why? Because I want someone to encourage me, the same way I've always encouraged all my friends and family to reach for the stars, achieve their goals and be ultimately happy and successful in their lives. And if I have to pay someone to do what truthfully, a true friend ought to do, so be it. I can't make my friends behave the way I do or the way that I would like them to. Part of what makes my friends so endearing is their differences in general. But the bottom line is that I want to succeed. I want to be a better mother, a better person, and have a clear cut plan for business, personal and financial success. The person hired is a very close friend and former college classmate and in my eyes is the near epitome of success. I know for a fact that this "coaching" will come not only from a psychological standpoint but also from the heart. I'm actually very excited about it. Yay me.

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To continue revealing crap about myself that no one probably cares to know (since I've been told yet AGAIN that I refuse to let people into my heart and mind for whatever reason)...

1. I am afraid of worm-y type creatures like maggots, centipedes, inch worms and the like and will go ballistic if a caterpillar is within a mile of me. I am probably the only person that can spot one on the highway at 60 mph and will swerve to smoosh it with the car. But oddly enough, I am not afraid of earthworms, snakes or other things that typically creep people out like spiders. I find them fascinating.

2. I love going to multicultural events, especially outdoor festivals, museums, art galleries, book readings and speakers. If I do have the chance to attend any events I almost always go alone since no one I know of would enjoy those activities with me. If I do take anyone, it's usually my dad.

3. I hate shopping. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've either a) wanted to go out shopping, b) not considered shopping to be the most detested chore on the planet, second only to toilet scrubbing by hand, or c) enjoyed a simple (and by simple meaning I can go in, find what I want, pay for it and leave) shopping trip.

4. I actually enjoy political arena and were it not for scandalous events in my past and the fact that I work for the Gov't I'd run for office myself. As it happens, I'd settle for speech writer, advisor or something out of the spotlight.

Aaand... it's quittin' time once again on this here plantation so you'll have to wait with baited breath for my next startling revelations.

Ha!

I'm still on my upbeat high. Loving every minute of it. Getting closer to moving day and I'm actually enjoying packing this time around. Thinking of having a fresh start in both mind, body and home is invigorating.

I'm on track to make all the positive changes I need in life. I'll be on the road to finishing my degree; moving into a new (for me) house; regularly killing myself at the gym with a personal trainer; and hopefully getting a new(er) car and dumping my ole reliable Hyundai, aka the Purple Pussy. Purging heart and home of negative things and people, useless junk and bad memories.

All that optimism is just sickening isn't it? But I feel good. DAMNED good.

It hasn't been all good though. The kids have both been sick and so have I. Their father still behaves like a giant asshole and my mother... *sigh* There are just no words to describe that situation. My parents lives depresses and oppresses me and causes constant worry. But that's another post entirely and I'm trying to keep this one upbeat. Looking through my archives I've very few upbeat posts unless I'm talking about the children.

And speaking of the girls, we've been having a fabulous time. We've been visiting fun places and I've been more spontaneous with them than I have been in a long time. I find that I yell less (a little bit) and I laugh more now. Occasionally I see them cast furtive glances at one another, usually when they've done something that they think I'll blow up over and it makes me sad. Makes me realize how hard I have been on them whilst going through that PPD period. I'm working hard to reverse those feelings of insecurity in them.

I took the girls and my dad to see the new house this past weekend. All three of them fell in love with the house and seeing it and walking through it a second time made me feel a bit of fondness for it too. The house isn't really all that bad and with a bit of interior decorating it has a ton of potential. And the backyard... oh God, the girls cried when it was time to go. It was freezing cold that day and all they wanted to do was go and explore that backyard. They went into every corner, under the deck, into the storage shed and found tons of little "treasures": a pile of broken shale, a tiny orange (plastic) cat, a baseball, dandilions and more. Jaalyn pointed out and decreed that a garden will go here, her still unpurchased swing set will go here, a tent will be erected here, etc.

I think I've done a good thing...
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On another note, I've begun to notice how little my friends really know about me. I was actually told by one of my friends over the holidays that I was extremely difficult to shop for when it came to gift giving. That statement totally threw me. Me? Difficult to please? I get excited if I receive an old magazine or hand-me-down book and I'm difficult to please? The smallest things bring me joy, even in my previous depressed state. Anyway, my point is, I'm beginning to realize how little people know about me and how little I disclose when it comes to, well, me. Most of my friends are men and admittedly most talk, even friendly banter is sexual. Beyond that, they don't have a clue as to who I really am.

So here are a few things you never knew about me (and for all I know you probably never cared to know...):

1. I am a fantastic cook when I "feel like it". I cook in a traditional Southern, country girl fashion but I can also do a lot of multicultural dishes too.

2. I hate movies, period. I feel like 2+ hours of my life is completely wasted. I will on occasion watch them but never, ever a romance or drama and almost never in a theater. I actually own a ton of DVDs for movies that I thought I'd like and I have not watched a single one.

3. Despite my dislike for movies, I have a deep rooted love for stand-up comedy and at one point in my life I'd considered giving that a try as an alternative career.

4. I love to read but few people know what genres hold my interest.

5. Music moves me in a way that nothing else can. I have to be very careful to the types of music I listen to and when. I dunno, it's like the sounds completely consume me to the point that I will be completely unaware of my surroundings. And I can listen to almost anything from R&B to acid rock or Gregorian chants (which is lovely by the way), but I cannot stand country music. Something about that twanging in my ear that is like pouring vinegar in a wound.

More revelations another day, my work day is done and I've a ton of shit to get done.

A Look Back and a Look Forward...

What. A. Year.

I'll be honest and say that I am happy as hog shit to have 2007 behind me. 2007 sucked for me, emotionally, financially, and every other level in my life, 2007 sucked donkey balls, blew donkey dick, whatever.

I mean there were some high points that year too. My youngest baby, my darling little angel celebrated her first birthday and more milestones than I could count. My oldest, lovely and intelligent angel proved to be so much more than I expected. I could not have been blessed with better children and I thank God each and every day for them... even when I'm pulling my hair out and threatening to set them out on the porch with a "Free to a good home" sign. They make life worth living.

But the end of '07, though challenging, has brought about more positive changes than I ever thought possible. It's like looking at a gem under a microscopic lense; with every turn there was a different facet, a different phase, a different challenge.

And for the first time in two years, I AM READY FOR THE CHALLENGE. Seriously. I've got the whole "BRING IT ON MOTHAFUCKA!" attitude and everything. I feel like ME again and I feel whole and complete and fucking wonderful. Much of it has to do with moving out of the city (my God I cannot WAIT to move!). But overall, I think those pesky hormones are finally leveling off, and I'm shedding that grumpy, gloomy persona that shrouded me for so long.

I'm also shedding friends and associates like there's no tomorrow. I'm not sorry about it either. My little infactuation that I've mentioned several times in this blog has finally been curbed. I never dated him, never kissed him, never sexed him... nothing. Today, via text he told me to go fuck myself because I told him for the LOVE OF FUCKING HEAVEN STOP MASTURBATING IN MY EAR I DO NOT DO PHONE SEX, NO I AM NOT WEARING A THONG, I'VE NO IDEA WHAT COLOR PANTIES I HAVE ON I JUST KNOW THAT THEY'RE CLEAN AND WHY AREN'T YOU WORKING? Jesus. Twenty fucking four years old and doing shit a 13 year old would do. So glad I never gave him the goodies because, not to brag, but I would've never gotten rid of him. Boys (yes boys ) like that seem to go ape shit and hump your leg at every chance after you give them pussy. Fare thee well little master-bates boy and fuck you too. Ignorant damned child.

And in ridding myself of unnecessary associates, I've already completed one of my resolutions for '08. This year I'm aiming for peace, purity and prosperity. Already I'm obtaining peace of mind by removing myself from my detractors and purging certain tangible areas of my life. I aim for simplicity in all things.

My Resolutions, in no particular order:
- Discover my true friends, hold on to them and appreciate them.
- Learn to say Hell Fucking NO to my manipulators.
- Cease procrastinating
- Lose weight because oh Jesus if my ass gets any fucking wider. Actually the ass I can deal with, the muffin top has got to fucking go though.
-Enjoy life more, the way I used to, with my girls. I want to travel, I want to visit, I want to show them and give them the world in an entirely new and different way.
- Promotion, promotion, promotion. Because let's face it, private school ain't getting no cheaper, mama needs a new ride, and baby needs pampers. All about the paper this year. Real talk.
- Love myself more and do some old things I used to enjoy and try some new things I think I'd enjoy.

Resolutions Disclaimer: No where in those resolutions do you see anything about me quitting cussing (dammit), getting a man (why buy the cow when you can get a really good B.O.B** for around $80?), giving up sex (are you kidding me?) or any of that other foolish shit people put in their New Year's Resolutions. I'm not a saint and I don't pretend to try.

**B.O.B = Battery Operated Boyfriend, aka an awesome damned vibrator that doesn't talk, knows all the right spots, doesn't require snuggling or a sandwich or showing him the door