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.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, February 04, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, February 01, 2008
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.
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!
NO! I DO NOT WANT TO BE YOUR GAWDAMN BIRTHDAY GIFT.
FERFUCKSSAKES!
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