I am not coping. This is fact.

My daily programme looks as follows:

06:00 Wake up, damn myself for being alive, get up
06:10 Force / shout my 6-year old out of bed.
06:11 Try to get him to decide what to have for breakfast
06:15 Force my son to decide what to have for breakfast
06:18 See that he eats
06:20 Start ironing his school clothes
06:22 Take his clothes to where he’s laying on the couch, ask him to get dressed
06:26 Get dressed myself
06:30 Threaten him to get him to dress
06:33 Ask him to jump on his trampoline (therapist recommended this for better concentration at school)
06:35 Shout at him to come brush his teeth, brush own teeth
06:38 Force him to brush his teeth
06:40 Try to get everybody out of the house, after putting his lunch in his bag, and grabbing something like an apple for myself.
06:45 See what a mess I am, in the car’s rear-view mirror.
07:15 Drop him off at school
07:25 Arrive at work
Work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work
12:00 Use lunch time to pick up groceries for the house and dinner, reading label after label to ensure Misha is allowed to have it.
Work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work
16:00 Leave desk to walk the 2km’s to TAFKA Chief Advisor’s office, with my arms full of bags
16:15 Arrive, take a brief break to read the local paper
16:30 Leave with TAFKACA
16:40 Pick Misha up from school
17:00 Arrive home
17:10 Settle Misha to watch an hour of cartoons
17:15 Start dinner
18:00 Serve dinner, and actually sit down to eat my own dinner.
18:30 Try to get Misha to do homework.
18:40 Force Misha to do homework
19:10 Comfort my crying son, who gets so frustrated with homework that he cries every night
19:12 Leave his room so he won’t see me cry because I am so freaked out by how much he struggles
19:20 Sit down to watch a programme, while “brushing” him (another technique recommended by therapist)
19:30 Serve dessert, and get him something to drink, make myself coffee
20:30 Brush Misha’s teeth
20:35 Tuck Misha in
20:40 Pack Misha’s lunch for tomorrow
21:00 Sit in front of the tv, mind churning, trying to swallow down the panic
21:25 Feed the elderly dog who sleeps inside
21:30 Take a bath
22:00 Prepare the perculator for tomorrow morning
22:15 Brush my teeth
22:30 Lie in bed, trying to calm down and sleep
22:45 Feel the tiredness seep through my being, wish I was dead.
23:00 Decide it’s useless to cry, since it only makes my eyes puffy, and doesn’t change anything. Wish I don’t wake up tomorrow morning.

The End (I wish)

Rinse, Repeat.

Mythbustin' 101

You know what I find fascinating? How certain things are sooooo obvious once you actually think about them, sooooo easy to classify and file away.

I’ve (for the last 2 years or so) systematically been assigning friendships to the past. And no, I don’t mean “losing” friends, I mean ending friendships. Not in a “Fuck you!”, “No, fuck you!” kind of way, but in a quiet, I’m-just-not-available anymore, kinda way. Initially, I assigned this to the delightful series of endings I’ve been having, but yesterday it dawned on me, that, in all (and I mean ALL) my friendships, I’ve been the one doing the supporting, the encouraging, the comforting. My very first friendship, that lasted all of 10 years, was like that, and each and every one inbetween then and now. Now, I am of the opinion, that that’s not what a friendship is supposed to be.

This does seem to be the main theme currently featuring in my life, doesn’t it? This pattern of, in effect, begging people to use me.

Do I miss my friendships? You know, in a certain distant, dispassionate way, I realise that being this isolated cannot be healthy…. But at the same time, the being-taken-for-granted, and the disregard for my feelings, no, I don’t miss that. I do miss the people, the souls, I guess. But, hopefully I’m breaking a vicious circle that was starting to get very self-destructive, and that can only be a good thing.

Like I said previously, I just hope that there’s a healthier beginning at the end of this, and not just another sheer drop to nothing.

One more myth busted, I can survive without being used as a human tissue. Live and learn baby, live and learn.

Enough With The Endings Already!!

According to Numerology (and yes, I do believe in that crap!), 2008 is both year of endings, and one of new beginnings for me. I am at the end of a 9 year cycle, and supposedly embarking on the next 9 year cycle.

Now, according to various different sources (astrology, my heart etc etc), I’m hoping to start a brand new day, and phase of my life, one that will be a little brighter, one that would allow me a little happiness, this time around. Cos, let’s be frank, the previous 9 years, sucked Donkey Dick. And I mean BIG TIME!

So far, the endings are coming fast and furious, but there ain’t no joyous sunrises, sista. Sooooo many endings, sooooo many dreams that just ….deflated, and ….ended.
They've just gone, with nothing positive to replace them. Just me, stuck with these huge gaps, like a building that’s had parts of it blown off, so you can see living rooms, and staircases that just stops, mid-air.

Its gotten so bad, I’ve taken to wondering why I even bother eating healthy, why I don’t drink, why I don’t pop a pill every day. I mean, if this is it, then what the fuck is the use?

So, I am officially requesting an ending to the endings. Or alternatively, an actual happy new beginning, for once. Jaybus C Hrist, for ONCE, just frigging ONCE! Just. Once.

Gripe d'jour

Have you ever noticed that some people get away with sliding their responsibilities off on someone else’s shoulders, their whole lives? They always manage to draw someone in, willing to carry the burden for them.

I used to be that ass, the one with the bent shoulders, for my ex. Now, he has someone else. Which I don’t get. I mean, how? How do you bluff your way through life, how do you pretend to a grown-up, and get away with it? I know, this is not supposed to matter to me, but, when he tries to make me communicate any of my son’s needs to his new ass (as in donkey, beast of burden), I get SO pissed off. The way I see it, he is the one with the responsibility toward his son, which is why he’s the one I talk to. If he, once he knows what’s going on, chooses to pass it on, and she’s willing to take it, then so be it, right? But I sure as hell ain’t making my arrangements via a third person. This way, although he still shrugs it off, and tells me he forgot, at least I have the knowledge that I did my bit. Which, in absolutely no way, makes up for the fact that he shirks every responsibility he has, but at least he knows that I know.

One thing I don’t deal with well at all, though, is the fact that we work SO hard when my son is with me, to build up his confidence, to work on his concentration, to eat right, to take the supplements. And then, he spends a weekend with his father, and everything is undone. And it takes 2 weeks to get him back on track, then he spends a weekend with his father, and it all starts again. This eternal circle from hell, for the rest of my adult life.

So, I guess what I’m griping about here, is that people who just refuse to shoulder any responsibility, always get away with it, cos they surround themselves with “enablers”, and that pisses me off. 100% of the time, they don’t even register the fact that their ‘slapgatgeit’ (lame-assedness) ripple through so many other lives, too. Lives that did not ask for it, and that do not volunteer to carry others’ burdens, too. Like my son, who didn’t ask for any of this.

Significant Endings

So, yesterday I did something with a lot of significance, for me.

I undid something that was done in 2005, as a final gesture of closure. Now, I realise that I’m being pretty cryptic, but since there are people I’m keeping out of the loop, this is as specific as I’m willing to get. I have been wanting to do this for a very long time, and for different reasons. First, it was to be a gesture of Hope. Then, it became a means of ending Hope, of drawing the line under Hope, and saying: “Ok, it’s done now. These are the final figures.”

So, yesterday was sad for me.

Strangely though, today I feel relieved. Not carrying all that hopeless Hope around with me, is good.

I'm grateful ....

Today, I may be feeling shitty, but I'm grateful that I am not the 30-year old, newlywed collegue that, after collapsing on Friday, is undergoing brain surgery to see whether the tumor, that fills a third of her brain cavity, can be removed.

Today, I'm thankful for life, such as it is.

I do! I Do! I DO believe in fairies! I do! I do! I DO believe in fairies ......

For anyone who missed it, the title is a line from "Peter Pan".

The scene in which Tinkerbelle bravely drinks poison Hook left in the "medicine" (water in a flower cup) that Wendy left for Peter, before she was kidnapped by the pirates. So, Tink drinks the poison, to save Peter's life, and slowly, her light goes out. Peter cries, and starts repeating the abovementioned mantra, until eventually, everybody in Neverland (barring most of the pirates, and Hook, of course) takes it up, and restores Tinkerbelle to her rude, obnoxious, fairy-self.

See, when you say, "There's no such thing as ...." (you know, the f-word, I'm not gonna specify, for fear of one of them dropping dead somewhere), you kill them. Cos you gotta believe, for them to keep existing. For fairy balls to take place in fairy circles, and for children to see glimpses of pretty, shiny, flying things in forests, you gotta believe.

So, even though I haven't seen it myself, I'm not gonna say .... (you know, the l-word)... doesn't exist, cos in order for people to experience love, and find love in the world, you gotta believe in it.

Yesterday

Yesterday, my ex kidnapped my son from school to take him to a therapist who’s name he got from a friend, without knowing what she actually does.

Yesterday, my son wrote his name, then crossed it out again and again, because he is somehow “not right”.

Yesterday, my sister told me to report my son’s teacher for letting him go with his father.

Yesterday I cried at work, twice, in the open-plan office I share with 19 people.

Yesterday was not a good day.

Terribly cheery (I'm being sarcastic)

Sometimes, I just don’t see the point. Like today. I am miserable, hate everything & everybody around me, hate everything about my life. Last night, I lay in bed, fielding my son’s kicks to the stomach and face (he’s a rough sleeper, and was in bed with me), and started wondering, what the fuck am I still doing here? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?

Let’s see, working a dead end job for a questionable person, and an even more questionable salary. Worrying about making ends meet, every day. Trying to change my opinions about the rest of the human race to include at least SOME positive adjectives. Regretting dreams that were just never born. Fighting, each and every day, to try and make life easier for my son (dealing with a disheartened 6 year old, while being dejected myself, is no picnic), and friends …. yeah …. friends. I’ve come to the realisation that I’m better off without most of the people I call friends.

See, I’m a cheerful person, on the surface. Which apparently makes my ‘friends’ feel like they have the right to bitch and moan, but on the rare occasion that I feel the need to vent, they sit and stare into the distance with these vacant expressions, before changing the subject back to them, rather artlessly. Social isolation has a certain tranquillity to it, making the aggravation of trying to get your friends to show the same respect you do, null and void.

And men, ah men, my favourite subject. No matter how hard I try, they just keep proving my beliefs are correct. Which is not a good thing. Causal friends who find a way to turn ANY and EVERY subject and discussion into a innuendo filled, sexually suggestive torture session. And, no matter how hard I try to keep things on a platonic level, drag me down into sticky, revolting place. The image I see in my mind’s eye, is me, bound and gagged in a cave where the stalagtites drip semen onto me, running into my eyes, filling my nose, making every moment of what’s supposed to be fun, a horrid and gruesome experience. Like I’m gagging on it, and no matter how hard I try, sex is the one and only thing men see when they look at me.

Sometimes I feel like a comet, hurtling through spacewithout direction or goal, heavy enough to crush planets, moons, myself, but too light to carry everything I have heaped on myself. Nothing in every direction, nothing but time passing, with nothing to show at the end of it.

So what’s the point? Why should I be here? I honestly don’t know, and I honestly wish I wasn’t. Yes, tomorrow I’ll probably smile at you again, should you see me somewhere. But, maybe if you actually bothered to look at my eyes, you’d see that behind that smile, is a big empty nothing. The final frontier. Fuck-all. Nothing.

You have yourself a good day now, y'hear?

Maternal Instinct & Mourning

You know, some women say they don’t feel it at all. Which I find totally incomprehensible. I get that you might not want babies at a certain stage of your life, but I sped past there at 13, if I remember correctly.

One of my earliest happy memories, is that of carrying a Daschund around on my hip like a child. Her name was Cupid, and she was my baby. So much so, that she actually waited for me to pick her up whenever she saw me. My point is that I have an excess of the ‘mothering gene’. But, it’s limited to small babies, and animals. Kids above say, 2, I have no desire to squirrel away, and raise as my own. Under that, I have to actually restrain myself, or I might try to grab and run away with said child. Mmmmm, seeing that in print, makes it look a little nutty, eh?

When I decided to embrace my motherly instincts, I decided that I would like to have 3-4 kids, ‘when I was grown up’. But, I also decided that I would wait until I reached a ‘proper age’, and 28 seemed adult enough. So, I waited until the year I turned 28, and, despite being in a bad marriage, that had spiralled waaaay past “too late”, I got pregnant, and had my son.

A decision I have never regretted. Even though there are days that I feel hopelessly unable to cope. Something I do regret though, is waiting so long. Looking back, if I had consented to start a family sooner, I might have had at least 2 babies to mother, and not have felt the loss of every potential baby, on a monthly basis, as a horrible, tearful mistake. I cry every month, for the babies I feel I should have had.

My son’s very obvious loneliness, makes this worse. I know, there are other options, and having more children is not impossible, even though I haven’t been in what could be termed a ‘stable relationship’ in almost 7 years. Thing is, I simply cannot afford it. I have no medical plan/aid, and can’t afford one. And even if I did turn moronic, and got pregnant despite not being able to afford giving birth, there are no males anywhere in my current world, I would be interested in having as a father for a child of mine.

All the logic aside, I ache for a baby, I see my son in his school uniform, and feel like I would stop time if I had the means. I adore him, but I want my baby back. I want to scream, and beat against windows, and fall to my knees keening and heaping ash on my head. I want to mourn. Mourn in a uncomfortable, ugly way, for the babies I never had.

Overall .....Kinda shitty

This week. Yes, I've had plenty of good moments, but overall, I'd have to give it a 2, if we were grading on 10 being BRILLIANT!

There are lots of reasons this is so, and I've picked two, to highlight. First, I've been emotionally wrought, I don't know why, so that's all I'm sayin about that. Second, harrassment. The kind that men do to women, and think that it's "weird" if you don't appreciate the lewd comments, the uninvited attention, the remarks, looks, touches, e-mails, sms's, calls.

Most of the time I keep my head down, avoid eye-contact, and when I'm accosted make it VERY clear that I ain't interested. But, when I try and be better (read happy), that doesn't work too well, and I seem to attract people like a sex-worker attracts STD's. And this week, it's bugged me. A lot. A huge helluva lot, actually.

Men I know, friends, strangers, homeless people, well suited luxury car drivers.... this message is meant for you. I realise that this makes me a bitch in some people's eyes, but I do no, repeat DO THE FUCK NOT appreciate you trying to get into my pants! I AM NOT INTERESTED! As a matter of fact, all your advances does; is PISS ME OFF!

Guess why? Ah pshaw, go-an, guess, betcha don't get it.
(Deep breath)
I am more than a vagina with a body attached to it!
(A chorus of gasps and horrified faces all around)
Yep. Sorry for the shocker guys, but MY VAGINA is NOT INTERESTED. And, should you be one of the stoopid boys that ogled me this week, neither is the rest of me.

Ta.

Refer previous post

To the birthday boy at the office:

NO! I DO NOT WANT TO BE YOUR GAWDAMN BIRTHDAY GIFT.
FERFUCKSSAKES!