I'm blogstipated

I don't post often enough so when I finally sit down to write, there's so much to say it gets too long and I forget some of what I wanted to say. And other problems, but I forgot them just now.

Last week Twitch was transferred back to the Greenwood store (Arby's) so we no longer have to make that long drive to Simpsonville. What a relief! I actually like the drive sometimes, but not when it's so hot, and not four times a day. So now I'm glad he didn't get an apartment there.

Diva is a hot mess, as usual. She got this internship thing at a hair salon, then never went. She's being her old crazy self again, and not being nice to me very often. I don't want to talk about it.

Let's see... Sproing. He's an ass. Hangs around the house most of the day with his friends, playing video games and talking shit. He tells me he has a lead on one job or another nearly every day, but nothing ever becomes of it. Yes, he's taking advantage of me. Again. Still.

Light's birthday is Friday. She'll be 26. She's been in my dreams recently, but as a small child. Sometimes she's under 2 years old, sometimes she's pre-teen. Sometimes my other children are in the dreams too. She was such a lovely child. I miss that.

Superman and I were in Target yesterday and saw some cute dresses for little girls. I like the idea of sweet little girls, ages approximately 3-7, but the reality can be gritty. I know from experience. Maybe I'm ready for grandparenthood. Thing is, none of my children is ready for parenthood, so let's just skip it for now.

Here's the segue to the next topic:

Sproing hangs out in the living room most of the day. Whenever I go through there I get a pang of melancholy or something in the middle of my chest. Melancholy doesn't really begin to describe it. It's sadder and more anxious than my concept of melancholy. Whatever, it isn't pretty. This ball of burning lead in my chest saps my motivation right out of me.

I've said before that I am a hoarder. I want to clear out a lot of this junk in my life, but there is a strong emotional component to this mess. I'm a mess. For months I've been staring at these shelves in my bedroom. Just those two over there, not that big bookshelf on that side of the room. No, not that one up there either. Let's for a moment ignore the one(s) behind me. Just these two little (OK, not so little) shelves on top of my two drawer filing cabinet. (Now I want to create a diversion by telling you how wonderful my filing cabinet is, but that's just an unhealthy coping strategy, so let's not go there.) So this morning, feeling like accomplishing something, I started on the first cubby. (The unit has four cubbies, two small and two large. And the top of the shelf. And all that crap in front of it.) I got everything except the really big unabridged dictionary cleaned out! I even threw some of it away! Go me! But OMG I'm now approaching a nervous anxiety attack. Walking through the living room made it worse. I'm hydrating, and I had a V-8, hoping vegetables will help my body deal. I can write coherent sentences (I think) so it could be worse. It could also be a lot better.

Papers from my college art classes were in that cubby. Some sketch books, some notes and communications from the class. I took those classes only about five years ago. It seems like a long time now. There was a note from my professor encouraging me to continue my art education because he sees a lot of promise/potential. All the gods have mercy upon me!! I want to! So much! I remember I cried when I first got that note from him, and I cried again when I read it today. I'm currently helpless, (well, probably not completely) hopelessly entangled in the trappings of my life, unable to exercise my creativity.

Actually, one of the things I want to do today is sew. I have a new dress completely cut out and ready to sew together. I've started sewing a shirt and want to get back to it. But do you know how close my sewing room/office is to the living room where the "chaps" are hanging? I can't go there. Gads, I feel so helpless and weak and stupid.

In other, lighter news, I broke a tooth over the weekend. For those of you keeping score at home, it's the bottom right, third tooth from the end. I have no wisdom teeth anymore, so don't count that. A piece of the tooth sheared off the side between the teeth. It's stuck between the teeth now, and shifts around when I chew on that side. Feels really strange. I broke it while eating cornbread. Soft, fluffy, oh so good cornbread. Or at least that's when I noticed it. I was also eating soup. Soup with nothing hard in it. I have no idea how it broke. I suspect there's a filling in that tooth and it popped off beside the filling. Thankfully it doesn't hurt. I have an appointment with my dentist tomorrow midday.

This is about all I have the emotional energy to write right now. Have a good July.

It has been a busy day. Tomorrow will be worse.

This morning I went to the "graduation" ceremony at the elementary school, where my dynamic demonic duo received their certificates of attendance for the fifth grade. Yep, a certificate of attendance. It means diddly squat. The only part of the ceremony I enjoyed was the speech by the principal of the middle school that my kids will attend next year. The rest was ... less. At one point in the midst of the program I started getting a bit panicky. There were too many people in that cafeteria. I was trapped. I would have gotten up and stepped into the hall, but that would have drawn more attention to myself, and that would be worse than just sitting there. So I just sat there. I survived. 

Light and Sproing took the little car (Eva) to the airport in the "big city to the north" to meet Grandmommy's plane. That went well. So now my Mama is in town. She and I went out to dinner tonight. We had a pleasant visit. She's here at the house now, visiting with the kids. Each of the grand kids is showing Grandmommy his or her special achievements. Light has displayed her pottery, Twitch showed her all the nifty stuff he did in his PhotoShop class. The youngsters showed off their certificates of attendance. Grandmommy is appropriately impressed. 

While big sister and little brother were off collecting the grandmother, I took Diva to her first gynecology appointment. Did I mention that she's 11 years old? Actually, today is her half birthday, so she is now 11.5 years old. She had her first pelvic exam (it's worse than a prostate exam, really) because she has had her first sexual intercourse. This is shit. They did a pregnancy test. It was negative. I figured it would be, but WTF. They are testing for chlamydia and gonorrhea. Results will be back in a few days.  I expect negative results from that, too. The point, really, is to demonstrate to the child the dangers inherent. I believe the doctor talked to her and showed her some really nasty, scary pictures of what can happen with STDs. That was what the nurse and I talked about when I called last week. We left the office with a prescription for birth control pills for my 11.5 year old daughter. 

On the way home, Diva was going on about how glad she was that the pregnancy test was negative. She was revelling in the drama, thoroughly enjoying herself. I know that game. I put the quietus on that one. I told her that this is not a game. I lectured her all the way home. This is NOT fun or funny. You must not do "that" again until you are ready to handle the possible consequences. Do you have a high school diploma? Do you have a job? Can you pay for an apartment? Do you have transportation? Can you buy food for yourself and a child? Can you pay for utilities? ("What's that?") Can you pay your medical bills? Or do you have insurance? Etc. I'm sure she tuned me out. If she doesn't like it, it doesn't apply to her. The child is not right in the head. 

I'm having a hard time. Taking her to the doctor was so hard.  It has been so difficult emotionally, this whole thing. I'm terribly depressed. I've been on the verge of tears most of this week. Watching their 5th grade celebration thingie this morning was heart breaking under the circumstances. 

We do what we must. I carry on. I take the next step, breathe the next breath. But my mind is coming unglued. My heart is in tatters. 

To complicate matters, my mother is in town. Worse yet, my in-laws arrive tomorrow. I will survive. I am a survivor. I'm just not sure how healthy I'll be on the other side. 

Coming up: the story that explains why I will not be preparing dinner for the in-laws.

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax---

Of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.

Let's focus on the ship idea. And going on a ship. A pretty nice ship, designed for the pleasure and comfort of the passengers. Yup, I'm talking cruise ship here. Never been on one.

That's not entirely true. I stepped foot on board a cruise ship when my grandparents were set to sail around the world. The year was 1972, I was 10 years old. We saw them off, but got to go on board and check stuff out before they left. If I recall, we had a meal in the grand dining room. At 10 years old lots of stuff is pretty grand. The year was 1972. They set sail for a round the world cruise. Those of you who are old enough, or have studied history, might remember what happened in 1973. I think they called it an oil embargo. Still don't know exactly what that means, but for me it meant long lines at the gas pumps, stations running out of gas, prices soaring to astronomical heights! Like above $1.009 per gallon! (The year was 1973). What it meant for my grandparents was the cruise ship ran out of resources to continue the trip… on the other side of the world. I don't remember exactly where they were, but they secured passage on some kind of freighter I think, something that had a room and enough food to take them back to the states. The memory is very vague in my mind. I don't think they particularly minded, really. My grandmother especially was one who would welcome that kind of adventure. Grandpapa usually went along with her. It was easier that way. And this mode of transportation achieved two very important goals for him: 1) it was cheap; 2) he could get back home without getting on an airplane. That is a story of my grandparents. I should tell more. They were fascinating individuals.

But today I came to talk more specifically about an upcoming cruise that I seem to be involved in. My life has been hectic recently, there has been much stress, particularly involving the children. My darling mother, Mama, has been concerned. She decided I need a break, some rest and relaxation of a resort nature. She, her brother and his wife, her sister and her husband, their youngest daughter and her husband are all going on a cruise in late January around the Caribbean. Stops in Mexico, Jamaica, Haiti I think, and a couple of other places. Mama invited me to go along, her treat. 7 days +/-, in winter, in the Caribbean, on a ship. I thought about it for a while (3 or 4 days, really) then told her I'd go.

And today I submitted my passport application. That was pretty exciting. I've never had a passport. Never been outside the US, even to adjoining countries. I had to promise on my honor that I have never attempted to violently overthrow the government of the United States. I can promise that in good conscience. I'm just not that pushy.

No one in the household knows about the cruise except Superman. I'm not ready to tell anyone. I've known about it for over a month and I'm just now telling you. You hear about lots of things before the family does. You hear about lots of things the family never hears about*. That's the beauty of the blog.

I am tired. It is creeping past my bedtime now. I will post more, hopefully soon, on my thoughts and hesitations about the trip. It'll be cathartic for me. Might be boring for you. Just skip over the boring parts. I skip over the boring parts of your blogs, too, to be honest. But I still check them, and I love you all, you know.

*Except possibly Light. She knows about this blog, and reads it fairly regularly I think. Kinda' scary when I think about it. So I don't think about it.

 

Do you know where the title and first line of the post come from? No fair googling it. Extra bonus points to anyone who can tell me (without doing an internet search). I'll post the answer in the next day or two.

 

Happy November

We made it through October, which is one of my favorite months, but I think I like November better. But I couldn't tell you why. Maybe it is because of fond memories of going to my grandparents' house for Thanksgiving. Although Christmas, for me as a child, was extremely exciting, I ultimately liked Thanksgiving better. I wouldn't have been able to admit that when I was young, but I understand now that our family Thanksgiving- the predictability, the smells, my grandmother all in a huff trying to get dinner on the table- all these things were of great comfort to me. Yes Christmas is exciting, but there is the stress and drama of wondering if I would get the gifts I wanted, waiting for a hundred forevers until I could open the presents under the tree. Looking back, I only remember stress, not any innocent childish joy. That probably says a lot about why I'm as fucked up as I am now!