Friday, November 23, 2012


I watched a grist mill, once.  Powered by water, stone wheels turning, building shaking, gears and posts rattling, tremendous noise as much felt as heard.  The miller poured corn, the wheels turned, and out came the meal ready to use.

Relentless grinding turned whole kernels into dust.

I know that feeling.

It's Silly Season, holiday time, the time of year when advertising and social pressure tell us we must give gifts or we are bad people.

Consume!  They tell us.  Consume and spend and don't think about the debt or the damage you're doing to yourself by being part of this environment, just consume!

And if you can't buy, buy, buy?  You're worthless, useless, you don't love your family or your country.


I'm tired.  Tired of being a mother, tired of being a lover, tired of being the friend no one really wants around because she's always fucking broke and can't go out and play, so she either has to be carried or plans have to change to accommodate her broke ass.

I am tried of being a burden, and this time of year exacerbates the feelings, multiplies them one-hundred fold.

There will be no tree at my house this year, second year in a row.  I can claim it's for practical reasons - there's the toddler to worry about, pulling on branches, yanking ornaments off, climbing the tree, tearing into gifts and the like - but it's as much about affording one as anything.  I hate to admit it, but impractical as it is, I like having a tree in the window.  I like driving up after dark and seeing the lights.  It makes me smile.

Still, I can't pay the phone bill or even buy toilet paper, so how can I justify a tree?

Shit, I am sweating how I'm going to get gifts for the kids.  The toddler won't know any better, but The Boy?  He knows there are usually gifts and he will not understand that Mommy has no money...all he'll know is that while other kids are chortling with glee over their new toys and games, he'll be looking at a scarf and wondering where it all went wrong.

His father has money to spend on presents, so he'll get Christmas there.  I'm so far behind, so deep in the hole, that even if back child support and the next month's as well were paid, it wouldn't make much difference.


In the end, I have my family and we have a home and food, so I really shouldn't complain...and I know how lucky I am to have what I do, even as I will have to do without a bit.  It still wears me out, though.

Unlike the dusty meal at the mill, though, I can't just blow away - though I feel like I have nothing left of me to give, no more resources, no more endurance, well...on I go, slogging along the path towards the inevitable end...feeling the wheels as they grind.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Wheel, She Turns

We are each, if our psyches are to be believed, biding our time until we can replace/be replaced.

Tossed away like so much rubbish throughout his life, he has no cause to believe in my love, my strength, my tenacity and determination.  He doubts my endurance, even as he seeks to wear me down to hasten his inevitable casting-away, so as not to prolong the pain, the waiting.  So much better if I simply throw him out now, is his twisted logic.

Unseen and unwanted throughout my life, walked past, overlooked, I have difficulty believing in or understanding his love.  I cannot trust it, trusting love having rendered more harm than happiness, brought me bankruptcy, loneliness, and sorrow.

Such a slippery and difficult to define creature, love.  When I am sorrowful and cynical (which, let's face it, is most of the time) I do not believe that anyone can live me, and I wonder what keeps him here, why he doesn't leave me for one of the women who would suit him better.  I think he goes through much the same process.

We do not trust ourselves, nor much love can we believe that others can?

And yet...I know I love him.  I don't want a life without him.  I trust him.  Not blindly, as I have given others in the past, but knowing he will be himself only, not some ideal of self that he or I has imposed upon him.  Eyes wide open, am I more the fool?

It does us no good knowing what we do about ourselves and each other.  We tumble around on the wheel, thrilling at the height, clinging to hope and memory at the lowest point, likely both wishing we could find the center and rest there with each other.

Friday, November 16, 2012

If This Is Love...

Why am I the only one who can change a nappy, do a dish, do laundry, feed a child, clean the floor?

Why is it that when I don't get something done, it's an affront to humanity, but when others don't follow through it's no big deal?

Why am I the one who gets up with the baby at night and in the morning while he sleeps as late as he likes?

Why is it that it's okay to play music or the TV as loud as desired when I'm sleeping, but the slightest whisper of noise cannot be tolerated when he's at rest, even when he's at rest until the middle of the day?

When I want comfort, touch, sex, it's okay for him to be too tired, too busy, too grumpy, but when the shoe's on the other foot?  It must mean I don't love him any more and want to replace him.

How is it that it's okay for him to go meet other women, to chat and flirt online, to tell others that I am fat and nasty, to post requests for hot, sexy women to come meet him for sex, but I can't even have a conversation with someone I have never met, don't wish to meet, have made it clear I'm not interested in, then I am actively looking to replace him and must not want him any more.

Why is it okay for him to meet these other women, tell me he's NOT going to have sex with them, then have sex and not tell me, but if I don't disclose every detail of every conversation I have with another man, I am lying, cheating, and hiding from him?

Why is it okay for him to pull a blanket off of me while I sleep (sick, no less) so he can fuck his other girlfriend on the ground outside camp, but I can't even smile at another man without wanting to be rid of him?

If I don't talk about the bills I can't pay or they way I'm feeling or what I "need" or remain silent when I don't like something, then I am not treating him like a partner.  When I do dare to speak, I'm told to shut up, told my feelings are invalid, interrupted, silenced, ignored, walked away from, or treated like an imposition.

If I don't answer the phone when he's calling, I am left nasty messages and yelled at, but if he doesn't answer when I call it's just fine?  And why is it that he can call me even when he knows I am in the middle of something (maybe even something important), and if I am not ready to drop everything for his call I'm a bitch and don't care, but if I call him and so much as interrupt a computer game I am treated with impatience and rudeness until I hang up.

Why is it okay for him to hang up on me, but if I do the same rather than endure vituperative rants and abuse I am a bitch?  Why is it okay for him to call at all hours and be angry and bitter if I don't answer right away and immediately ready to help, but I can't call in the middle of the day without being an imposition?

Why is it my fault he stayed up until the wee hours, long after I went to be, and he's sexually frustrated because I am not ready and waiting for him when he finally settles down?

Why is my weariness an affront to him?  But it's okay for him to be too tired...

How am I rejecting him when I reach for him and he turns away?

If I don't ask for help, I do't want him.  If I do ask for help, I'm being a bother.

I try to make sure that at least once a week I take the kids out and give him some quiet time because he needs it.  I do not receive the same consideration.

I try to make sure that he has ample opportunity to go out without me or the kids so he can have some peace and decompress, and that's fine, but on the rare occasions when I ask (because I have to ask, it's not offered) for a few hours for myself, time not related to working or running errands, I may as well be asking for the moon and am creating a huge imposition.

I have to write, clean, eat, and sometimes even sleep holding the toddler to keep her from whining and crying or risk hearing shouts and angry words, but when others are on the computer (playing games, mind you, not exactly saving the world or anything) and she makes noise, it's an irritant and cause for hard words and anger because I can't make her shut up.

If it needs doing, no matter what else I am doing or have done, I am the one who is supposed to do it, even if I'm sick, hurt, tired, or holding the baby.  If I fail to get it done, I don't care about him, don't want him, or am nasty.

Why is it okay for him to be angry with me for days, ignore me, say rude, angry, or mean things, but if I'm not instantly over his anger I am a bitch who is holding a grudge?

Why do I work and work and work, listen and listen and listen, helping him work through his issues, but I can't even finish a sentence when I try to share my thoughts?

Why is it okay for him to interrupt me, cut me off, or silence me, then get angry when I don't speak?  And why is it that, just by asking him to let me finish what I'm saying, I want a silent man, I don't care about him or what he has to say?

Why is there always money for beer, but never enough for tires, or nappies, or to pay bills, or buy toilet paper or medicine for the baby?    How is it there's money for motel rooms to nmeet other women in, but not to buy warm clothes for the children for winter?  And why is it all my burden to carry?

How can anyone claim they care about how their actions impact others but keep on acting like they don't care?  And what right do they have to be upset when I don't believe them any more?

Now the toddler is crying, and I have to stop writing because if I don't silence her, I don't care about his need for rest...but if I ever get to "sleep in", it's just fine for her to cry, whine, make noise, for him to play music or the TV as loud as he likes, and if I ask him to turn it down, or if I close the bedroom door, I'm being a bitch.

What the hell?

Monday, November 5, 2012


We're suppose to drive down to Florida in two day, stay with some friends.  Without stops, the trip is better than nine hours.  

I am not looking forward to this.

I should be.

I should be excited that I'm getting a rental house, rent free.  I should be looking forward to a little beach time with the kids.  I should be anticipating relaxing, laughing, having fun.



The way I feel about this trip right now, I'd rather burn my hair.  I'd rather have my teeth removed with a hammer and rusty pliers, no Novocain.  I'd rather have a cactus shoved up my ass.

Nine-plus hours in the vehicle with two kids who are used to being free range, and another adult who lately seems more in need of a Midol than my company?  Woo-fuckin'-hoo.

We're going ona  shoestring, and if anything goes wrong, we're screwed.  I won't even know if I can buy groceries until we're there.  Long story, but it has to do with cash flow.

Once we're there, he'll have fun with our friend, and the kids will have fun, and me?  I'll be taking care of everything, all the responsibilities of home but in a strange environment, cleaning up messes, making sure the kids are relaxing, for me.  There is no such thing as vacation for mom.

This sucks.  I was looking forward to this trip...but in the last few days all I can think is I should send the man on his own and stay home because he sure as hell isn't acting like he wants me around...only i can't even do that because the wife of our friend is taking vacation time and has plans for us, and I told The Boy I would try to take him to the beach if we're close to one, and I can't be that selfish.

Fuck.  Me.

Vacation?  Hah!