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5.26.2008

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...

5.23.2008

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.

5.21.2008

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.

5.20.2008

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.
















5.10.2008

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.

5.07.2008

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.