Christmas yes

What a day. If family is Christmas, then today was Christmas. Today is and was family, in every sense of the word. In general, family has a generic meaning which every household adheres to. There is a mother and a father. There are grandparents and brothers and sisters. There are aunts and uncles. Cousins, too, if you're lucky anyhow. Then, there's my family. Allow me to elaborate. MY family consists of me, two crazy kids, and my lovee. That's the easy part, essentially. We awoke and santa came and there were presents and lights and there was a tree and there food and oh my I know what a run on sentence but oh my what a family we have!!! I know it is super love when my two year old threatens to cut my "doobies" off with the new saw that santa got for him and "turn me into a boy", while my seven year old is lauging hysterically and my Ben says, "oh lovers". That is MY family. Then, there's Suzus house. That's the "other family" - as I call it. Susan was married to Don. He's my dad. Great guy, and he lives with Barbie. Barbie and my father came over Christmas afternoon.... and we finally got dressed. Strange lady, that Barbie. She is very outgoing, but maybe she wouldn't be if she know how weird she really was. So insecure, and talking is her way of 'fitting in', as it is. I personally just wish she would shut up and drink some more. The rest of the family comes next. Susan (my father's ex-wife of sooo many years and mother of my siblings)has dinner at her house. They don't like me, but they like Ben. This is my 'your invited' motive. Ben is entertained by them, fair enough. And our Chritmas dinner takes place. My father and Barbie, Ben, the kids and I, Susan, my siblings (John, Nolan, Olivia and Samantha). John's girlfriend Elise is there, as well as Samantha's ex-boyfriend, Dave and Susan and Dave's three boys (Tyler, Kyle, and McClane), and Susan's parents (Betsy and Jerry). What a houseful. I did not speak to my biological mother today, nor have I for months. I have no remorse for this (though maybe secretly I do. I am writing about it afterall). I also made no attempt at contacting my Grandfather in Red Bluff or my brother in Fresno. I will make those two calls today and apologize and say I was super busy yesterday. They'll be okay with that. A year ago, I was kicked out of Susan's house on Christmas. I was drunk and I was mean. I have a lot of repressed anger in many areas of my life, especially areas that revolve around family and what family truly is. In my world my family remains my family. How perfect it is, what I always dreamed of, what I always wanted. Going to Susan's house yesterday was different for me. I could look at her home objectively, and know the people who were there, seated around the dinner table, were family. However, when the night was over, Ben, the boys, and I would go home. To our house. My family would go home. Togeher. I have a family.

Too Much... Love

I have too much in my mind tonight. So much, I don't even know where to begin or where to end. I guess it begins here.... maybe it never really does end. Life is a hoot, as it were. Tonight, I watched three times as the deer stole away into my yard. I was smoking, contently. They were chewing. How nice for them, to find solace in the foliage of my yard, whch I call home. So happy they are to just be here, uninterupted. And in my head I know I take this for granted. In my heart I know I do not. I too am happy. It's a feeling I can hardly put into words. Twenty six years I've been unhappy. Twenty six years I was alone. Ben is my soul. It was very hard when he cried in my arms tonight while he lay inside me. Completely still. My heart was still. Have I nothing to say to him? Am I so heartless, that in a delicate moment, I could not even produce (any) words to console? I am happy, and SO IN LOVE!!! Why couldn't I just say it? Now a half an hour later, I am here. My living room on my computer. Unable to express my words in vocal tones, I write. Maybe this is foliage. Maybe this is my yard, and I chew here. I don't know. There is more. I saw my sister, home from France. It seemed as though she had never been away... three months was all. She seemed somehow different, though. I can't help but wonder: Is it her or I that has changed. O how this love has made impact on me. My Ben. I know he is in bed, wonderring where I have gone. I am here. I am more here than ever. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I will be here.

Eight or Nine

Eight or Nine. That's the number of beers (MGD) I've had today. I lost count, because I've been drinking since ten this morning. I'm not buzzed though. Not in the least. I'd like to keep drinking until I am, but I know I wont. There were thirteen beers in the house at 5pm, and if they're all gone tomorrow morning, I know I'll look like a drunk. Maybe I could just drink two more, really quickly. Then again, maybe I'll drink the rest. Who the fuck knows. Eight or Nine. That's the number of cigarettes I've had today. Switching off between Pall Malls and American Spirits, depending on how many minutes I could spare for being outside. Chances are, I'll have two more, really fast, before bed. They won't be gone tomorrow morning. There will just be less of them. It's always nice to wake up and have some nicotene. Although, it's even nicer to have caffeine, also. Eight or Nine. That's the number of times I've yelled at my kids today. Nate ruined puzzle which Garrett was building. Garrett tackled his brother and made him cry when he was supposed to be picking up his room. Nate got out of bed, again, during nap time. Nate touched the Cuisinart. Garrett wouldn't walk up a hill. The list goes on. I yelled relatively little, truth be told. Eight or Nine. That's the number of the day.

The Goal of Truth

Henry Miller set out to post the truth, no matter what the cost of it. He never accomplished that goal, and he admitted it, too. A fucking great man, I'm sure. He just set his goals upwards of attainable. I suppose we could all consider him a successful failure, as are most writers are. Me? I'm a liar. I could write the truth as I percieve it. However, my mind is skewed and my memory always fails and dissappoints me. What is the truth today would become a lie the moment I remember another detail, and then the truth I thought I held would be a compounded lie and so on and so forth. For me to set a goal of truth would be, for lack of a better adjective, just plain stupid. However, for the sake of everyone including myself, I will try. This is my promise. I am a liar. I am a liar destined to discover the truth. The truth about myself, about my life, about my love. Cliche, I do realize. It's my destiny, though. I have no other choice that to achieve it, somehow. This is my goal. My background is simply complicated, and to have others understand it seems far from reality. However, it is why I am who I am, and why I am not who I am not. I will share in some detail, as I can remember. My brain doesn't work in chronological order. Just keep reading..... This is the beginning. This is the end. I am here only to find and hold my truth.

The F#Ked Fairie

I was drawn to that cork tonight. I open maybe two, sometimes three bottles of wine a night, and I never look at the cork. Sure, I smell it. I feel it. I save it in a pitcher. However, tonight I looked at it. To my amusement, I saw a fairie getting fucked by a bunch of grapes. Essentially, my life has unfolded in much the same way, like that poor fairie whos privacy had been pissed on. Quite frankly I thought maybe, if I looked hard enough, I could see her facial expression. Did she like it? Was she distressed? Was she going to cum? Perhaps, if I listened hard enough, maybe I could even hear her moaning. Would she have to take a Plan B? When she was fufilled, would she quietly slip away to clean the juices off herself? Then I realized I was being selfish again (I frequently am). Dipping into this fairies most intimate moment, I felt slightly buzzed; a light-hearted wine buzz. I thought: Did I really need to know all the details? I mean, the simple fact that I was looking at a love scene on a wine cork should be sufficient, right? Twently minutes later, the cabernet gone, I came to a conclusion. Nothing ever happens the way you imagine it should, or the way you want it to. We go on, fumbling with day to dayness, trying not to fuck up too badly. We dream our big dreams and have passion and live with desire. We move forward and do the best we can. With any type of luck whatsoever, our big dreams become our reality. In my dream my love forgives me. In my dream, my love becomes my groom. In my dream my kids love me. They forgive me, also. And in my dream my groom and my children become one. I, in turn, become theirs. And, in the end, I don't have to ask for forgiveness anymore. I want to be lie the fairie that was caught getting fucked by the grapes. I am sure she wasn't wanting her privacy to be diminished. Perhaps she didn't want to be taken out of the darkness and brought into the light, her every detail being examined. No, it wasn't what she was expecting, but the wine, in the end, was fucking yummy!