Misunderstood, But Willing To Comply.

I am misunderstood. I will always be misunderstood. Sitting here this evening, I am content with this realization. I feel like I am liberated. Never before have I made peace with the fact that some things are not meant to be solved. I am one of those things. You can't solve me. I totally get it.

No, I don't try to impress you with the things I put here, in this blog. I suppose before now, I have tried to explain myself, or have tried to make you understand. I realize now, however, that it is impossible. From this point on, I suppose I will try to connect with you in some way or another. It is by connection that compassion is born. It is through connection that love is obtained.

Is it not said that the connection between child and mother takes place early, and those fist moments together tie mother and child together for life? That bond sticks with you, teaches you love; no matter what. I had that bond, or so I think... and I also believe I lost it. I believe I truly lost the ability to bond and to love truly. Maybe my plight in life is to learn to have that bond and to love, whether it be my children, my family, or my partner. I hope that through this writing we can somehow connect. Perhaps we can somehow bond, and I can love you. Maybe you can even love me.

I am not trying to impress you, so please don't flatter yourself. I am not trying to win you over as the girl who came out of the shit-filled life and came to riches. I am not that girl.

However, I am a girl. I am a girl, living in the world, learning on a daily basis exactly what life is about and what the purpose of living is. I am a girl who has good days and bad days, a girl who takes "happy pills", and girl who tries hard. I am a girl who has nightmares, a girl who has a hard time paying bills, but never leaves her kids without. I am a girl who spends nights in psychatric wards, yet a girl who is completely sane most days. I am a girl who never gives up hope of a better tomorrow. I am a girl who lives each day like it is her last, and a girl who lives each day like it the first day of her new life. I am a girl who loves everyone and judges nobody. I am a girl who likes to cook as much as she likes to eat frozen pizza.

Truth be told, I am just like you. I am a daughter, a sister, a neice, a grand-daughter, a mother, a dreamer, and a person. I am like you. I am no different. I am no more or less important on this planet we live on; in this great creation we live each day.

When you read what I write, read with an open mind. Read with enthusiasm. Read with the intention of learning what goes through the mind of a person on a day; a person you are somehow connected to. Yes, I may use garbage language or slur and slander a situation.

Ce La Vie. In my world, some things are garbage, many things are slured, and slander is something of an everday occurance. Please, catch your breath.

Get this: This girl behind the computer is me. I am Mel. I am real. I am writing not to offend, just to be. I am here being me.

You Know The Truth. The Story Gets Old.

Nope, just as the title said, this here is a suck fucknig-fest, as I like to call it. It is what it is. There is no eloquence here, so fuck off if it offends you. If it offends you, maybe it's written for you, or about you. And if it doesn't, good for you. However, I am going to write it anyhow. Please, don't take offense in either case. My true love for you still remains.

So, here, a couple things I am tired of hearing about and tired of explaining. You think you know what a psychological mess I am? You have no idea. I am happy and free and content. Though, many people believe I still should have scars, and maybe I do. I am always here to answer your questions. And these are the ones you are afraid to ask, and these are the ones I am afraid to answer. We are all faced with difficult questions from time to time.

So, yes. My mother was a crack-addicted prostitute who used to turn tricks while I was in the car. She still loved me, and she still does. Does your mother love you?

And, yes, I still know how to love you, even if you are using the same drugs that pulled me into a million pieces as a child. Because I trust you, and I love you; I am willing to put myself out there for you.

So, yes. I had a one-night stand with a guy I thought was a million bucks while I was drunk on night, and now we have a child. And, no. I don't hear from him, nor do I want to. I am contet with that. I don't consider myself a slut, and I hope you don't either; even though I know you do. And the other guy, he's a fuck up too, even though I was married to him. I don't give a shit if he isn't around. I have no regrets.
Dead-beat. That's the word I keep in my throat. Have you ever heard that? I don't hold it in my vocabulary, because I am forgiving, and I know what's best.

So, yes. My father drinks too much... don't you have issues as well?

So,yes. I smoke fucking cigarettes. There are worse things, right?

So, yes. I am not a fucking soccer mom. Oh well, My kids are happy.

So, yes.... I am a fucking server at a restaurant, and I make a ton of money.... Are you jealous?

In a nutshell... I am tired of being judged for the same shit over and over again. My world is content and happy. What makes you happy? Whatever you want, take it. Get it. I will love you just the same.
I don't name call, and I never will.

I feel like a widow and an orphan. But I know how to love.
And i have faith.

It may not be in God, but I still have faith.
I have tremendous faith.

I hope it stays.

Not What We Wanted, but Exactly What We Wanted

I have written it and re-written it.  I am trying to make it interesting to the reader.  However, being awake at six in the morning leaves my brain a little foggy, and I am afraid no amount of coffee may bring me to reality very quickly.  I am up, early, and I feel like a bazillion dollars.  Ben went to work twenty minutes ago... and he will go to work again at three this afternoon.  Suck?  Yes.  My day off?  Yes.  However, I am sitting at the computer feeling ever hopeful and amazing because Ben only has Friday this week.... He works tonight, and then Friday.  Friday he cooks dinner for Robert Parker, and then (if all goes well), he is off the schedule for Press.  He will work normal hours (not seventy per week) and he will be home in the evenings.... YAY!
 
I was thinking last week that Ben and I had to steal away to the mountains or the ocean to a remote town with no people to have time together.  I was ready to move from Napa.  I thought Napa was draining, that we had become slaves the the work and the phenomenal restaurants and the lifestyle and to money.  I planned elaborate trips for two days at a time, trying to steal moments we had to work desperately for.  I fought the schools to take the kids out, and bargained with resorts to get a night for free. 
 
This week, Ben had three and a half days off, IN A ROW!  Amazing what a little time will do for the soul, for a relationship, for a family.  I feel like a new person, I feel like Napa will do.  I feel like there is opportunity here to be great and do great things, and not work to complete peril to achieve those things.  Last week, afterall, we had a movie night, we had a night where we made chicken noodle soup, homework was done and rooms were clean.  I enjoyed doing the laundry with Ben and buying new wash clothes for the bathroom.  I enjoyed feeling like I had a family here in Napa.  I seriously felt hope, and it was nice.
 
Of course, now that Ben is working only one job, I will be working more.  However, the money at my restaurant is more than sufficient to suffice, and I will make a point to have no less than three nights at home, in a row, each week.  My kids will have a schedule that is appropriate and a routine that is consistant.  Ben and I will have time together, to make our relationship great... well, greater than it already is.
 
Napa, maybe it's okay.  Maybe it isn't for the long term, I don't really know and can't say for sure.  Ben said I could do whatever I wanted.  I want whatever makes us happy.  I just want time to dwell in the happiness that my family holds.
 
Now, on to manic monday, Pancakes!  I can't wait for my kids to come up those stairs, and to get the next text message from my lovee love.  It's six seventeen, and I am happy.
 
By the way, for those who TRULY know me, get this:  Last night was Halloween, and Roxanne never came out.  The cheshire cat was shining in the moon, and I smiled back, completely content with my life.
 
I am so happy.

Okay, Done Ranting Now. Kind Of :)

So, now it is two in the morning. I don't know how to express any furthur my disdain for the current condition of the public school system regaurding my son, so I am going to move on furthur into my rant regaurding the here and now.

Mind you that I am extremely happy, even as I am writing. Mind you that these are just observations and thoughts about things as they are and what I expect in the near future. I am in no way unhappy or discontent. I love my life, just as it is.

I just have a few things which should be adressed.

Number one: Napa is not all it was expected to be. I mean, you have expectations, and you are always disappointed. I get that. I knew that. I know that. It's almost like assuming makes an ass out of You and of Me. Duh.

So, Ben and I sat down one day and we said, "Let's move to Napa." Six weeks later, we did just that. Napa was the land of opportunity. A land of good wine and of good food. This was the place where our dreams would come true. Flash forward seven months, and: we are in the land of good wine, and great food. The markets are beautiful, we have great friends. We drive north or south, and there are wonderful things (like the city and resaurants and world-renown wineries). Billions of dollars are spent each year by people pretending to live the life we live. Crazy!

I have the BEST job, the job that ALL servers covet, working for the Iron Chef Himself, Morimoto San. People come in star stuck and only wanting a picture with him (their life dream?) I work with and for this guy on a daily basis. I have had beers with him and chances are I will have Thanksgiving Dinner with him. Wow! Let me just say, for those who don't know: This is impressive. Morimoto San is the pillar of all seafood goodness and creative genius, up there with Thomas Keller and French Laundry. I helped open his "baby" in Napa, California. I am very privelaged (and financially aware of this opportunity).

Ben has GREAT jobs. He works the the Rudd EMPIRE! Leslie Rudd owns and operates and donates so much to Saint Helena, and is truly a staple of what Saint Helena and fine dining (and money) is about The Rudd Institute of Wine and Dean and Deluca. Ben also works at the Bed and Breakfast here in Napa, which is phenomenal! The White House. He works directly under the Executive Chef, and has transformed the way the Inn and their breakfast service works.

Money. Ha. We have so much money, it's like a dream come true. We could buy anything we want, but not EVERYTHING we want. Don't be confused. As a person who has worked very hard for everything they have had (disregaurd braces), I am excited. I spent a lot, like a money addict. Now, I am saving. I am rebuilding my credit and paying bills on time, and I am still having fun in the meantime (without going too crazy). Ben and I are on a level which is appropriate, in most ways.

I say "most ways" because we work A LOT! Well, mostly Ben does at this point. It's hard to go from working very hard to just make ends meet, to all of a sudden realizing everything is great, and it's okay to relax. It took me a while to find a job here in Napa that worked for us, and Ben picked up two jobs right away. He has been working 70+ hours per week since March. I know he is tired. However, once you have put in a lot of time to a certain place, how do you back off or quit? After all, time invested is important, especially when you know you're good at what you do. And, the busy season will be over soon, right?

When I got the job at Morimoto, I did the same... sixty plus hours per week, mostly nights. Some times days and then nights and then more and more hours and Blah! Balancing kids and training and studying and school and babysitters, I can't say it wasn't and is not hard; but I try to balance things (still) to the best of my ability.

The money, the work, the time, the lack of time. It's all very addicting.

So, all this writing and the bottom line is this: Ben and I are great. Is Napa what we expected, what we wanted? Yes, and No (as far as I am concerned, at least).

Yesterday, we left for the coast. No work for either of us. Today we came home. No work for either of us again. Two DAYS! In A ROW! I had to request days off, Garrett had to miss school, and Ben was getting over being sick. It was perfect, and here is why: It was the FIRST time since March 17th of 2010 that Ben and I BOTH had two complete days off in a row, together. The first time since arriving in Napa.

It was the FIRST time that we could plan a "getaway" with the family, and even though we had to pull strings it was worth it.

What I realized, however, is this: Yuck, and nope. This aint it.

Napa is Great. It is hot, and it is October 14th. There is no snow. It was over one hundred degrees today, and I am mostly thankful that we were at the coast (and that we had AC when we got home). The last forty miles toward our house were covered in Ferraris, Porches and other unmentionable expensive luxury cars. The hills and valleys were draped with grape vines and wineries, none of which we have ever been to; Mostly we lack the time. It reminds me of how I lived in Ashland for so long, and never saw ANY Shakespeare (except of couse, the Greene Shows). What is the point?

So, it is harvest now. The grapes are coming off the vines, and the valley smells like rotten fruit. I am looking forward to cooler weather and a change of schedule that might alot more time for the family, especially after the "busy season". We however, have not been here through the "slow season", so only time will tell.

The coast, the beach, the get-away was bitter sweet for me. I want it back. I want it back RIGHT NOW. I want my phone to continually prompt me for the time zone, unsure of where in reality we are. I want the time we had in the redwoods, doing nothing. I want the bottle of Beaujalais, the olives, the hummus, the apples. Ben and I wandering around the forrest and the beach. I want the kids running and skipping rocks in the river, finding places to hide; pretending to be pirates an alligator hunters.

I want that to last, forever. I want peace and quiet and slowness to be a way of life for us.

I want it all, with Ben. I want it all with my boys. I want it all (slowly); I want to take it all in. I want it one breath at a time.

Hello October.... Salud Napa.

Okay, One AM. Well, One Twelve AM and counting. It may be One Thirty by the time I smoke and actually bunker down to write. I smell a skunk outside, and it is somehow enchantingly summoning. Dirty skunks, like the dirty skunk weed we smelled the entire way to the coast, or like the skunk we almost ran over on the way home (the guy in front of us hit it first). Skunk, like the way my Stella Artois smelled when it was warm at nine in the morning on the beach. Skunk, black and white, like a memory of good and not so good things, permeating, perverse, and prevailant.

This, then, is about things that linger, whether good or bad. Things that prevail in the long term... like the smell of a skunk. Eventually you get used to it; The things that make you think at One or Two in the morning. This is about life, as it is. This is about Napa, after a day away.

I loved being away. I was so excited. I planned and requested days off to match Bens, I woke up early after working and going to bed late. I did good stuff and took the movies back to the Redbox before we left. I took Nate to school and got quarters to do the laundry we needed. I met with Garrett's teacher to get his homework we needed, as arranged.

STOP. Yeps, I met with Garrett's teacher before school on Wednesday (as arranged), to get the work Garrett would miss while away for two days. We turned in the previous homework and got new books and spoke with the teacher and signed permission slips........ and wow. What a conundrum. After all, I had missed our meeting on Friday afternoon.

Okay, so granted, I missed it and did not call to let her know. She was waiting for us. She called and left a "short" message with Ben, as well as with me. However, I had a twelve-top at Morimoto, and there was no school that day. Garrett sat in the PDR and had family meal and played gameboy while I worked on the floor. Ben was working his 15 hour day. The meeting that we had planned two weeks before was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to make it through the day with no school and no day care. Great that she got the day off to meet with parents. I did not. I had to work, and it was important that I was there. So important, as a fact, that Garrett had to sit there and wait for me in the back room.

Monday morning and he has to go to school... what to expect? He has to follow all the rules. I have laundry and another appointment too. :) I rhyme:). So, I send him off and call right away. Dear Mrs. Todd, I am super sorry, let's reschedule. By the way, Garrett is leaving and will be gone on Wednesday and Thursday. No problem, we will meet you on Wednesday AM, before we leave town. See you at Seven thirty AM. Cool. I get that you have to get to work early to meet, and I will be there (I am getting up early too, duh).

Meeting. Garrett seems super afraid of his teacher, and I am, quite frankly, a little nervous as well. She tells him to grab his card and then questions his about his card and whether he remembers where it is. Then, looking over his homework, she notices he missed the bottom page of one of the math sheets. "Garrett, you missed this. Big FROWN drawn on the top." Okay... so he missed a couple problems. No biggie.
"Do you know you, as a parent, should look over this before he turns it in?"

Okay, lady. I came here to meet with you... Yes, I care. I get it. "I sit with him and do his homework each night that I can, Mrs. Todd". "You aren't supposed to do his homework for him."

Okay, so Garrett is apparently nervous, and Mrs. Todd thinks I do his homework for him. Got it. Thanks, Mrs. Todd, we will see you on Friday!

As we are walking out, she says, "Oh, yes, I have a permission slip for you to sign. If you were here at the conference, you would have had it." Got it, I will sign it and say thank you again.

"One last thing, when you are going to be gone, we require another paper to be signed. And you know, I won't tell you how to live your life, but the School District really frowns upon things like this."

Oh Mrs. Todd. You are lucky I am going to walk out this door and forget each moment of this meeting, because I am going on Vacation and I will not let you ruin my day. Nor will I allow you to make my seven year old son nervous because the school district is losing money over his two days gone.

Oh well.

In my mind, just so you know, I am formulating each and every thought I have about the school district, the school, the principal, the cafeteria, the credentials, your teaching style, the kids in class and their learning style, as well as what is expected of 2nd graders around the globe in the next three days. Top that with the knowledge i am gaining of acceptable math and reading comprehention scores that are necessary for stars testing and funding for schools in California, and you can expect I will be ready for our conference on Monday afternoon.

I am looking forward to it, and am hoping we can have intelligible conversation regaurding what is expected of my Seven Year Old Son Garrett this Year.

Sincerely, Melissa.

Inspirion 1525. It's like Majik!

I shoud be in bed.  Well, I should be brushing my teeth and taking my pills and climbing into my bed, anyhow.   I know that sleep would elude and frustrate me, however, and here I sit.  Maybe it's the moon.  I have never really watched the calendar and the lunar events with regard to my writing.  Maybe I should start.  My horoscope today told me to avoid machinery.  Is my dell inspiron 1525 a piece of machienery?  I suppose, but with the name "inspiron" I figure I should be inspired. 
 
I am feeling pretty fucking inspired.
On with it then!  Two am, just like old times, and here I am sitting at the computer while my family rests in their beds.  I just don't have it in me to sleep.  I am having a very good time.
 
I miss Ben.  Our schedules have changed drastically this week, and although I had three nights with him, I am still missing him.  Fridays and Saturdays, we don't see eachother.  Hmmm.  I guess I wasn't thinking clearly when I said yes to this schedule, but three nights are better than none, right?  Ben is going to give notice, hopefully this week, and soon he will be home in the evening and he will only work in the morning for a bit.  I will have to choose how to make my schedule financially feasible and time-wise sustainable for my family.  We'll get it figured out, I am sure.
 

 I had a beautiful birthday with my friends, and going into my 29th (the first one doesn't count) year of life, I am ever hopeful of having a beautiful future in the life I have created.  I still have my demons, my dreadful fears, and my insecurities.  However, they seem to play less an important roll with each day that passes.  I feel like it's time to let go of my past hurts and focus on the here and now; the things that are happening with my family.  I hope only to progress from here.
 

 

So, Wow. So Much. So Fast. Happy 28th~

Olivia and I were driving to the ferry boat today in Vallejo, and I said to her, "Did you ever imagine a year ago that this would be happening today?" She said "No Way."

It's hard for me to belive where I am and where I have come from. I am going to forego the obvious here, and skip the drug-addicted mother and fucked-up early life I have had; I believe we have all had enough of that for the time being. I am going to go to the obvious. I am skipping to the here and now.

Here I am sitting at the computer at damn near two in the morning, and now I am pouring a glass of wine for myself. Here it is two days before my 28th birthday, and I have a lot to say; mind you, none of it is overly-important, but all of it matters. I will keep it simple, to the point. I will avoid the previous entries, and they are meaningless and emotionless in the big picture of the life of Me.

Ben and I live here, in Napa, CA. This was a dream of ours nearly ten months ago, and now it is a reality. We strived hard to be where we are, I now work for the fucking BEST and most popular restaurant on the whole west coast, and it's phenomenal. Ben is overworked (at yet another phenomenal restaurant or three), I am overworked. However, my schedule changes this week, and Ben has plans of being home more also. It's Our hardest sacrifice has been time. To lose something so real is hard. However, six months into Napa, we are feeling ready to take on the next challenge. We have the money, and now we need the time.

Our next challenge is a vacation. After our change of schedule and finances, where should we go? Where can we dissappear for a week to do NOTHING? If you have suggestions, please let me know.

The kids are well, they are growing and reading and getting hurt and being obnoxious and talking too much and making crazy messes of their rooms and wetting their pants at school and screaming over icecream and popcorn; but what more would a mother dream of? My children are generally happy, and in that regaurd I feel like I have won. Yay for that! In the mom department, I have at least a C average, which is better than a D. If I could just get that damn homework done, we'd be fine.

Ben and I? Well, each new day delivers new hope and promise of a future together which I never doubt. He is the love of my life, and no matter what "shit" comes up, we are always there for eachother at the end of the day. It's nice to have a partner, whether it's a parter in partying or in responsibilities. It's nice to have someone who trusts and understands me and all my craziness and unpredictability. I, in turn, trust him. Beyond all of the above, I love him. He loves me. Ben and I were made for eachother.

So, the kids, Ben, and I: We're phenomenal. I am looking forward to my next year of life as I never have before. I am exited to see what I have to offer the world, to offer to the lives of others, to see what will be brought into my life. I have faith, and I am open-minded to possibilities, which seem endless to me right now.

I have every intention of being closer to those around me. I want to be close to my family and take part in activities. I feel like I have made ground in my family functions and relations. I feel like there is understanding where there was none before. Mostly, I want my children to meet Jake and Mark, their second cousins. That would be fun! I am looking forward to my 28th year!

Dads, in a Nut Shell Which is a Mountain!

Okay, so I have two precious little boys with two different fathers.
 
I have to adress this issue, and how it relates to present day life for all of us. 
Let it be known, that if you ask, I will answer.  I generally become overwhelmed with questions regaurding fatherhood, and I become defensive.  This plays out, on my end, as bitchiness.  People ask, "Who is their father?"; Or, my favorite, "Where is their father?" 
 
Oh, the plight of the single mother, and the pity of the bystander.  This pity and plight is over-whelming and over present in my life, so I thought I should write about it.  You want the story, and I will give it to you.  Actually, you don't want the story, you just want the details.  You want the black and white, but there is a whole lot of gray area.  You should know ahead of time, that I hold no grudge against either man; against either father.  It is what is was and still is, and it has made myself and my boys who we are.   What has happened has happened, and there is no reversal.  There is no going back, no new decisions to be made... there now is only money and time.
 
Time?  I have all the time in the world.  Literally.  I have all the time.  Money?  Yes, I have all of that too.  I have never recieved a dime from either father.  Love?  Yes, I have all the love, as well.  I have all the love, which in turn makes up for the money and time.  Well, kinda.
 
When I was nineteen, I met the love of my life.  He was perfect.  We had so much FUN together.... we partied and transported drugs and went to school and got high on All sorts of shit.  We got married, and thought we were perfect.  However, I was discharged from "party-time", and got sent home.  I had no idea where "home" was for me, so I tried to make my own.  I tried to make a home with the "man" I was meant to be with.  We floundered and fell apart.  I became pregnant, and when he discovered this truth, he became unavailable.  I lived with my grandparents.  My grandma Rose, she carried me.  I called Susan and Dad. Dad is never up for confrontation. Susan offered an abortion free of charge. Jeremy fled as soon as he could reasonably flee, which was the moment I was distracted. 
 
Here we are nearly nine years later, and he has NEVER seen his son.  He has never sent a a mere penny or a card.  Oh well.  I have been here.  As crazy as it is, I think he is already doing much better than I ever was.  At least he as ONE person who is ALWAYS there for him.
 
Flash forward, past much time and a relocation and failed relationship times two... and I am pregnant again.  This time, I live in Ashland, OR.  I am pregnant with a vagrant's son who just looked good to my drunk ass one night.  I was drunk and he was cute, and now I have a kid.  How far I have come.
 
 

An Update

So, my last two post were extremely vague.  My apologies, but so much in my mind right now, it's difficult to know where to begin.  I have done a lot of research and thinking over the past couple of days, and I am ready to write again.  Of course, two in the morning is always the best time for me.
 
The other night I had an "episode".  I would like to elaborate just a little, so you can understand the circumstance.  I don't know what the trigger was, but I know what the outcome was.  It was about that girl again, you know, the ex girlfriend of Ben.  It was about some messages and comments left on facebook, about writing and pictures Ben was after.  I made scenarios in my head again, big suprise.
 
Why is it so difficult for me to just believe that Ben loves me?  I am always afraid of secret messages and phone calls and text messages.
 
Let me play out my scenario, exactly what I was thinking, just so you can understand my illogical logic.  And yes, the fucking computer and facebook itself is involved.  No suprise here, that social networking thing is fucking detrimental at times.  So much gets lost in translation...
 
Two weeks ago, she writes, "I am a mime" on her facebook status.  He responds "Did you striped sweater get stuck on you again?"  Any normal person here not look twice.  Funny comment.  She owned a striped sweater, whatever.  In my head, I look deeper.  I obsess.  I FUCKING OBSESS HARD!  I think about whether they were in a relationship and beginning an intimate moment when her sweater wouldn't come off.  I start thinking, and thinking, and looking for her reply to him.  She finally does reply, and the comment is this: "Check your inbox:}"  Now, my mind is working overtime, thinking there is some secret message sent to him, regarding that fucking sexual moment where she couldn't get her boobies out fast enough.  Right, go ahead, laugh or make an astonishing face.  Judge, go ahead.  Right now, you have a view into my skewed world, and it's pretty fucked up, huh?
 
That night, she is online while I am online.  I ask her questions regarding the message, I accost her via instant messenger.  Of course, in my head I am not being obvious, I think I am being nice.  However, I have an agenda.  I want to know what the fuck is going on.  She says she is painting herself in a portrait kind of show, and that she thought I would laugh at her, and that she would send me the same thing she sent him.  Fair enough, subject dropped.  I erased the history on the computer, and never told Ben I contacted her.
 
  The next week,hHe wanted something.  He wanted his writing.  He has wanted this for some time now, and has made it no secret that he requested these things., and he has requested them before.  However, he leaves her a comment, "I have a favor to ask of you."  They haven't spoken in some time, which I know (though I truly don't believe in my head at the moment).  So, I am thinking, if he has a question or favor, why doesn't he just come out and ask her?  Is he waiting for a response?  Are they secretly sending messages back and forth, and becoming nostalgic about the times they had together?  What is the secret favor? 
 
Ben and I had a deal, many months ago, that all correspondence between he and this girl would be forwarded to me, that there would be no secrets.  So, I sit at work each day, not thinking about how much I love Ben, and how much I love my life; rather about what Ben is doing and whether he is contacting this woman.  This thought consumes me, I dwell and become delusional to a whole other degree.  I come home and check each history on the computer, trying to find the fault in him.  I erase the history, the history that says I have been checking in a spying on him.... the history which clearly states I don't trust him.
 
I do these things and all the time and he is at home, watching my kids.  He loves my kids, he treats them well.   He loves me, too.  He wants his writing, he wants his photos.  He wants to show me his photos and writing, this is why he is pushing the issue with this other woman.  He wants me to know who he has been before he has been with me.  He wants to show me.
 
I, in turn, become resentful.  I know there is something there, something which I am missing... I know he has spoken to her, and he hasn't told me.  I have been now dwelling on this for two weeks.  I know it will have a blow up.  I know it.  However, I just can't ask him, I somehow want to catch him.... I have a hard time believing he truly loves me, and wants to be with me.  I honestly believe, in my mind, that they have some secret nostalgic dialogue going on, something I cant see.  I believe I am working and we haven't seen eachother and he is turning to her to comfort him... and in my mind this is the truth.
 
Somehow, the "truth" comes to a head.  At this point, I have made my own truth about our reality, and in my mind each thing I have obsessed about and delusioned is truth.  I make a truth which is delusional.
 
He did send her a message, and she sent him one as well.  She said she did not want to have contact with him, that I was stifiling; that she did not want to be questioned each time she got on Facebook...  And then she erased him from her friends.  She said she was afraid that she was causing conflict, etc.  Apparently, she wanted to send the photos, however, she was afraid that there were photos of the two of them together which I would see, and that I would become questioning and defensive.  Quite possibly, I would have.  Ben just wanted his photos so he could show me his life in France, who he was then.  He wanted to show me different parts of his life.  However, Ben lost a friend, and it's my fault. 
 
In the meantime, I come to a point where I finally ask, and somehow the whole thing blows. the. fuck. up.  I dwell on the fact that the messages weren't forwarded to me, and I scream and kick and yellllllllllll.  I yell at Ben.  I accuse.  I tell him he's a liar and I act like a three year old having a tantrum.  He's clearly afraid for me, and he is worried.  I wake the children and I feel aweful... It's diffult for me to put the eposide into detail, except that I was absolutely uncontrollable.  I was uncontrollable, and my mind was the reason. 
 
The next day, Ben and I spoke.  Well, he spoke, and I cried.  Leaning against the kitchen counter, I thought.  I thought to my self about how lucky I am to have a man who knows how to love, and man who is understanding a caring.  A man who acknowledges me and my shortcoming.  A man who is not afraid to tell me to seek out help, a man who will help to be strong enough to do just that.  I love Ben, and this delusion thing, well, soon it will be yet another part of my past.
 
 
 

My Gramma

I imagined my grandmother sitting by me on the couch this evening, watching a movie with me.  It was a strange movie, the kind I would have insisted on watching when I was twenty years old and pregnant, and although she would be hesitant she would oblige.  After all, she was always hesitant with me and my motives in life, however, she was always supportive and loving.  A little sex in a movie never turned her away, if I thought it was good.  I (fucknig) moved the pillow over to make room for her; knowing that she was heavy and couldn't get up very easily, I saved the right side of the sofa as it is not as sunken is as the rest.  She obliged and was thankful for the invitation.  Her hair was full and thick, and her lipstick was on straight.  She always wore bright lipstick, and was a big fan.  It was a feminine thing to her.  She was insistant on asking questions about the movie, as she always was.  I was grateful ( unlike annoyed as previously in my life) and answered each and every question she asked.  I answered out loud.   I wonder, am I crazy?  Possibly.  Maybe I am fucking losing it.
 
Garrett came to me after school today, and he said this: "Mom, you are a totally a different person now that you have Ben."  I responded by saying, "How so?"  He said, "You know, like you don't go to McDonalds all the time, you always take his suggestions, and before you didn't love anyone.  But you love him."  "But, Garrett, who told you that?"  "I just noticed," said the seven year old.  Oh fuck.  How does a fucking seven year old understand the life and times of a twenty something (thank goodness I am not thirty yet) mother?
 
I just wonder how the outside world is percieving me, as well as how my actions are being interpreted by others.  Is my craziness being absorbed by everyone in my life, or are only those close able to pick up my vibe?  My seven year old picks up on subtle things that I wouldn't think any kid could comprehend, and thank the gods that he doesn't pick up the the bigger picture; on all the other struggles i am going through.  In the mean time, I am struggling with normalcy, and trying to just make it through another day.
 
I haven't seen Ben in such a long time.  I mean, he is here, but we are here and there, and not together.  Our work schedules suck.  I wonder if my lonliness is making me long for my Gramma; making me imagine her presence.  She was (an apparently still is) one of my only compandres in this big fucked up world.  Before my love with Ben, she was my only friend who really understood me, and who I was.  She took me without question, without judgement.  She is gone now, and for some reason this week I need her. 
 
She loved my kids, and I am a firm believer that she was there after her funeral, and she played with Nate while he layed on the floor.  Tonight, I would give anything to take my kids to her, to talk to her.  To hear what she has to say about how my life has unfolded in the past three years.  I miss my gramma. 
 
I  hope she is there, in the dark.   

A Poem's Perspective

The cheetah, my dearest, is known not to cheat;
the tiger possesses no tie;
the horse-fly, of course, was never a horse;
the lion will not tell a lie.
 
The turkey, though perky, was never a Turk;
nor the monkey ever a monk;
the mandrel, though like one, was never a man,
but some men are like him, when drunk.
 
The springbok, dear thing, was not born in the Spring; 
the walrus will not build a wall.
No badger is bad; no adder can add.
There is no truth in these things at all.
 
-George Barker

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Cheers to the Psychic and Phone Calls

Well, hello Sunday!  So long it has been since I have had the chance to sit down and stare at you while laughing hysterically.  No, it's not the farty noises coming from my mouth that is making me laugh.  Instead, it's the fact that after last week (with such greuling hard hours), I am sitting here at 9 pm staring out the window at the full moon, unsure of what to do with myself.  Today is my third night off, and tomorrow will be my fourth.  Let's top that off with me only being scheduled one day next week, and perhaps I should be laughing even harder.  A one-day fucking work week? Seriously?
 
I am smiling in the face of the moon tonight, just hoping that lunch service really is going to become a reality; that I can make some kind of schedule out of this seemingly random me-ness that has been so prevailant the past three weeks.  I am also smiling tonight because with the extra time off this week, Ben and I may be able to go to Sheep Ranch or just head off to go camping, and with the extra money that came in last week, I don't have to stress too much about having the week off.   We might be able to actually sit together and chat and cook a meal together.  Whew.  It seems like it has been forever.
 
We have decided to stay in our apartment for the time being.  We like the neighbors, the location is great as far as the proximity to downtown and the kids' schools.  I think we will just clean the carpet and invest in some nicer furniture, and maybe call this place home for a while.  It's strange, I have been thinking of this apartment as an "in between" place since we arrived in Napa, and it feels different now.  This is home now.  Because I am not constantly looking for something bigger and better, I am able to sit back and judge this apartment with an open mind, and just be.  This place is not bad at all.  I can be comfortable here, at least for a few more months.
 
On another note, because my issues always come up, I am slightly pissed at the internet and it's ability to broadcast family issues this evening.  So, for those of you who don't know:  I do not call people, and if I do call you consider yourself one of the few who happened to cross my mind during a fleeting moment of peace (and chances are I got off the phone with you because I was screaming at my children two minutes into our conversation).
 
If I don't call you on the phone, please do not take it personally.  My child is a menace to mommy's sanity, and any moment I am on the phone is a whole new challenge for me.  Send me a text, send me an email, whatever you have to do.  If you call me, chances are I will not answer and I will not call you back.  There are reasons for this.  Today, during my three minute phone call to papa, Nate had climed to the top of the fridge and grabbed the fish food, then proceeded to dump the entire container of yummy morsels into the tank.  I noticed after the call, and had to clean the fish tank thoroughly.  Nate waits for me to be sidetracked to make his move.  I am not avoiding you by not calling or answering my phone, I am merely accepting my role as a mother of a ifficult child.  I don't know how to make it any more clear, and I will not apologize for my seemingly distant attitude.
 
So, the psychic.  Well, the psychic said Ben and I would be stretched, and that we would have the option of going back to Ashland if needed, and that it would cross my mind at least once.  Also, he said it wouldn't be necessary, and that I should just hold on when the feeling came.  He said that entrepreneualism and schooling was seen in my horizon, and that we would be doing great by September.  Cheers to the psychic, he's been right on so far!

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A Short Entry

I love my Ben.  He stayed awake last night waiting for me, and he even picked me up from work at one in the morning.  He left for work today at 5 am.  He didn't complain.  I had to be at work today at 2pm, and he drove me... and then watched the kids for me while I worked.  I miss him.  He loves me.  I love him.  I think we miss eachother, that is is not one-sided.  I miss my children too.  I miss them greatly.
 
At least we had the money to get the cars fixed, and a little to pay the rest of our bills too.  I hope we can start moving forward in our dream pursuit soon, whatever our dreams may be.  A house?  Another car?  A backyard?  A bathtub? A trip to Europe?  The SF Zoo? 
 
I am excited to be in Napa, to have the job I have.  I just miss my family. 
 
I can't wait until I start working days.  August 16th will be here sooner than we know. 

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The Black Hole

This not a diary.  I can't promise to write each night.  Whatever I said last night was bull shit brought on by too much wine.  This is my pipe, my hashish, my opium den.  This is my outlet.  If I have nothing to outlet, why would my post be anywhere near intriguing or insightful?  To write, I must be inspired. Writer's block is caused by lack of insight and inspiration.  Generally, I am inspired after a six pack of beer, and before a six pack and a bottle of wine.  Tonight, well, today, I have had more than that.  And I feel great and inspired.  Lucky YOU!  You are in for a good read. 
 
I have had questions about the psychic I saw before I moved to Napa.  I can't answer those questions.  Not today.  You see, the questions I posed to the man on the other end of the phone were more "long term" questions.  It hasn't been that long.  I can't say he was right or wrong, or make any kind of judgement call.  What I can say, however, is that I did not spend a lot of money, and that what he said has been to the point so far.  As I stated, that call to the psychic is another story, another day.  When I share it, it will make complete sense.  I want to make complete sense.  I did, however, say that I would open up during the middle to end of my twenties.  I did, and I will open up to you, and it will happen now.
 
I was in the Navy, for those of you who didn't know.  I was in the Navy, and was stationed in Meridian, Mississippi.  I went to boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois.  At one point I recieved orders to Guantanamo Bay, and traded those orders with another Yeoman for orders to board the USS Nimitz.  Upon leaving Mississippi, I went to San Diego.  I was discharged for "drug abuse prior to enlistment."  It was an honorable discharge; however, I got an RE4, which meant I was not qualified for duty anymore.  That's the technical shit.  You want the real shit?  Keep reading.  Sometimes, technicality is merely scratching at the surface of truth. 
 
I want to keep this short and sweet.  To the point, if you will.  What is most important is that my truth is out there.  The fluidity and eloquence will be lost here, not because I don't know how to write, though.  It will be lost because when I speak this truth, my words and sanity tend to leave me rather quickly.  The Navy changed my life dramatically and quickly.  However, it took me three years to notice. 
 
Okay, so you have a seventeen year old girl in a whole new world.  A girl with a drug addicted mother, who then moved in with her father and step-mother during her adolescent years.  Sheltered in the later, and exposed to everthing evil and dangerous in the former.  You have a girl who is impressionable, naieve, and insecure; a girl who knows too much and in turn knows nothing at all.  And this girl is off to the military.
 
I was learning about myself, and I was highly impressionable.  At one moment, in Meridian, Mississippi (after bootcamp), I was asked to a party at the officer's barracks, and I went.  I had one drink, though I don't remember finishing it.  That night dissappeard into a black hole, and has remained there ever since.  The thing about dark holes, though, is that you know they exist, even if you don't know what lies within them.
 
I woke up the the morning after the party at ten am.  I was supposed to report for duty at six am.  When I awoke I looked around.  There were men there, and I know I asked questions about the previous night.  I was told I passed out and threw up on myself, and that they had given me a shower.  I made a comment about my hair.  You see, I have hair that, when I lay down and it's wet, is a fucking mess the next morning.  I remember saying they couldn't have given me a shower because my hair was not crazy.  I was in a fog.  I don't remember who was there, but I do remember walking back to the training area of base.  Knowing I was in a bad place, that I had broken orders, made me edgy, cloudy and afraid.  I was drinking underage.  I had never blacked out like that before.  I needed an excuse.  My mother.  Yes, my mother had taken me to Jackson and abandoned me there.  I had to take the bus back to base.  That was a great excuse.  I would use it.  It would save me from restriction and hard labor.  My mother was known for being a flake, she was addicted to drugs.  This was a logical excuse.  A great lie.
 
I went with that excuse for a month.  I was told to see a shrink to deal with my childhood problems.  Sure, no problem.  I went to the shrink, told him I had smoked pot a couple times before enlistment (duh!  Who the fuck hasn't?).  I had not clearly stated that on my enrollment papers, though.  This man, the shirink, he told me I would be a drug addict just like my mother, that it ran in my blood.  I told him to go fuck himself, and walked out.  Two days later, my discharge papers began to be processed.  I was being discharged for drug abuse prior to enlistment.
 
My world was in shambles, and I did not know what to do.  I didn't know how to tell my family the truth, or how to fight my own battle.  My fear caused me to take what I was given and make the best of it.  I moved back to Fresno, with my mother, out of pure fear and a feeling of unworthiness.
 
I got married very soon after that.  I thought he was the love of my life, that we would be together forever.  In reality I was just a sad and impressionable little girl who wanted to feel loved.  I married a man, and he left me, right away.  Fairy tale?  Fuck no.  In the mean time, I was pregnant.  I was pregnant and thinking about life, I was realizing and rationalizing the choices I had made.
 
My memory fails me.  It is a fault of mine.  MY MEMORY FAILS ME GREATLY.  The black hole, however, exists.  I started thinking about this black hole, and what it contained.  What happened that night?  (The black hole is still very real in my world, to this day, and is something I seek to diminish, just so you know.)
 
That night, when I blacked out, the man I married took me to a party.  It was a status thing, for both of us. We were excited to go.  I was so in love and happy.... We were going to hang out with the officers... and I blacked out.  I was raped.  I was date-raped.  For knowing so much about drugs and people, I was greatly taken advantage of.  I was naieve and stupid and afraid. It took me nearly two years to figure it out, two years to gain knowledge and put the pieces together.  Date rape was something that happened to other women.  It wouldn't happen to me.
 
It took me ten years to speak out.  Here I am, ten years later.  I am smarter now.  I was raped.  I can't even tell you by how many men.  I was raped, and it was set up by the man I married; the father of my oldest son.  This is why I was discharged from the Navy.  The mystery in your mind may have been solved, but the black hole does exist for me.  It exists, and it is very real.
 

 

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It May Be Time To Write

I could try to write this a million times, and there is no way  to make it appropriate for all viewers.  Most people, during one sentence or another, are bound to become upset, especially if they are directly involved.  However, I have set out to tell the truth, and I have no apologies for my truth.  So, be prepared to read on.
 
Olivia was here two nights ago, at my home in Napa.  It was nice to have her.  She called it a "mel-lo" night.  Can you believe that?  I am mellow.  I am twenty seven years old, and for the first time in my life, I am mellow.  I don't know what brought it on, whether it is maturity or knowledge or just plain understanding.  However, what it is is Beautiful, and real.
 
Last year, I was un-invited from the Sheep Ranch Party.  Fuck Sheep Ranch, and Fuck My Family, I thought.  Technically, I was not un-invited, I just wasn't welcome.  My family was afraid of my angry behaviour.  Today, I understand.  I have been known to lash out because of my past and my perceptions.  For example, if you were to ask me about my kids' fathers, and then leave me feeling worthless, what am I left to do besides become angry?  Afterall, their dads left me feeling worthless, and I rose to the occasion.  If you loved me, why should you judge me and re-affirm that feeling?  You shoud be soooo proud of what I am doing for these kids, despite my adversity.  These were my thoughts. 
 
You get a single mom working two jobs short on sleep without a cigarette and a night off in three months going out of her way to even make an appearance at a family function when she may just about be completely out of patience and time and and has four appointments she had to reschedule to see you and all you want to do is question why she does what she does alone and where is the father and what do you expect?! 
 
Now I understand.  I understand why there were so many assumptions.  I understand why I was angry.  Default in communication and in understanding.  I have hurt, and I have loved, and loving has led me to hurt.
 
Garrett and I go to a psychologist once a week.  Nate doesn't join us... maybe he is too young.  It is good though.  It is really good.  I took Garrett to see this man on his own, and after one time seeing me the doctor said family therapy was in order.  I am privelaged to have a good doctor.  A person to make sense of my chaos, or at least lead me in the right direction......
 
There is so much more to write.  SO FUCKING MUCH MORE!  The more I write, the futher distracted I become.  I should be studying.  Morimoto is big in my world right now.
 
Maybe this is the best way, to write a little bit each night before bed?  For those of you who read, let me know.... would you read each night or each morning?  Would my life on a page interest you?  Could you handle the truth?
 
I saw a psychic once, and she said very little.  She said:  You will be married twice.  Your son has artistic hands, don't hold him back.  You will speak out near the middle of your twenties, generally becoming whole near your thirtieth year.
 
I can hold that.... I can trust that.
I spoke to a psychic before we moved to Napa, also..... but that's another day.

SHEEP RANCH, PIONEER HOTEL, AND WRITING. Just a quick note:

As I was leaving Sheep Ranch, Dave says to me, "Melissa, I've read some of your stuff online.  Well, I've read a lot of it.  And I just have to say you need to write.  That is what you need to do.  You are really good.  So, write damn it.  Write." 
 
It was a phenomenal trip.  One of the best "family trips" I have ever had, if not the absolute best.  I will write more, Dave.  I will.  I am sure of it.

A letter to...

Hi,

I read a quote today which, unfortunately (or fortunately) I can't be rid of, so I have to write to you. My last cigarette on the patio made me feel even more compelled. I realize I have been drinking and smoking a lot lately. The tomatoes are growing beautifully, by the way.

"All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously." Tom Robbins, of course.

Duh. I have been depressed. I am depressed. It took me a while to figure it out this time. Maybe weeks of crying myself to sleep finally made me begin to realize the true nature of my crisis. What a selfish thing for me to feel. The worst part is that I can't control it and my family is sufferering because of it. The best part is that I can make an effort to stop it.

"I'll see you when I get home and you'll be crying in bed. I'll be home as soon as I can. I love you." Those words shouldn't have to be spoken (with the exception of the love part). How horrible to come home to a love who is always crying....

Fuck depression. I am living in a beautiful town. I have a beautiful family. I have a love which is amazing, and kids who are smart and healthy. My children go to good schools and I have a friend here in my complex. My son graduated from his special reading class and got student of the week. I have good food and a nice apartment, and the job I dreamt of for months. We are living where we want and doing what we want to do. What the fuck!? Crying myself to sleep, seriously? Many people would be blissed out beyond belief to be in my shoes.

I am not going to cry tonight. There are so many good things... I just needed a SNAP! Thank you for helping me. Tomorrow I am going to the river outside our apartment, and I am going to pick wild flowers. Then I am going to throw rocks into the river with my sons. I am going to make lunch and sit on the porch and read books (maybe even the stop smoking book I got from the library?), and then work on Garrett's student of the week project with him.

There are just two more things:
1) FUCK YOU DEPRESSION
2) I'm sorry for being a cry-baby.

I love you,
Me.

To Dance

Dancing. Primal. Emotion through movement; no penetration.

We have never danced. He says he doesn't. I know he has.

I want to dance. I want to dance with him.

I watched a movie tonight. They danced. He looked at her and she at him. No words were needed.

It was love in movement.

Then he asked him to marry her. Will they dance at their wedding?

He does not want a wife. He does not want a wife with children.

Maybe he does not want a wife at all.

I am hurt. I want to dance.

I believe in nothing, everything is sacred. I believe in everything, nothing is sacred.

What is this dance? Is it nothing? Is it everything? Is it sacred?

I want to dance.

BIG

I love you BIG!

Big is big. Big means: of major concern, importance, gravity, or the like; according to Dictionary.com.
How do you discern Big and Small? Is it a comparison? I do believe it is.
Small is small. Small means: of limited size; of comparatively restricted dimensions; not big; according to dictionary.com.

So, when we say, "I love you BIG!", what exactly does that mean?

I believe I love you BIGGER than all the other things that were smaller. There is only one thing bigger than my love for you.

What is big in my life? My kids are big. The strongest, the most important thing in my life, are my kids. My kids are BIG!

My children have made me who I am. My children have stopped me from becoming who I was, who I wanted to be. They have made me the me I am... and i could never imagine being another person. I never wanted to be a mother. However, my children were and continue to be BIG. They were not comparitively restricted by my wants. They became who I was, who I am. They are me, and that is BIG.

When you compare BIG with small, what is left? What is bigger, biggest, most important? Maybe comparisons do not work afterall. I do not love you small.

It would be like comparing whiskey with wine. I like them both. One no less than the other. They are just different.

And I still love you just as BIG as ever. Just so you know.

What Is The Date?

My fucking head hurts. It's a pain that's right behind my eyes, nauseating and indiscreet. I'd like to think it's something as simple as a sinus infection. Perhaps then I could just take some horse-pill looking anti-biotics, get a good yeast infection (yes, I said that, don't pretend that shit doesn't happen), and it would be the fuck over with. It's not that simple really. Nothing is ever that fucking simple.

Being a woman is fucking demanding, by the way. If having to shave and then pluck eye-brows for fear of becoming a furbie isn't enough, we have to worry about our pants becoming tight and are my feet really that rough, oh dear! Then there's the worry of becoming the fat fire breathing dragon woman with the headache forever or is it all my pre-menstrual joy of being a woman thought. Enough fucking already! Oh dear, I know. I ran out of happy pills three days ago. Is that the fucking problem? Walmart.

I am going to use the word FUCK a lot here, by the way. If it's fucking offensive, quit fucking reading. WALMART? Oh dear god. I like Walmart just like I enjoy grocery shopping. Well, grocery shopping is actually growin on me these days. You see, when you go to a grocery store and see a fat American in all their glory, the world begins to make sense. A basket full of Twinkies and Pepsi brings forth the 280 pound glory blocking the aisle, and everything is cause and effect and makes perfect sense. Walmart on the other hand is baffling. Generally, fat people have faultered previously at the grocery store and only come to Walmart to buy their diet-pills, videos and bigger pants, alongside the beef-stick-thingies-made-out-of-god-knows-fucking-what at the check out stand.

Don't get me wrong, I know it could be genetic. In that case don't let me see you at Albertsons with a cart full of fucking shit and then run into you at Walmart buying bigger pants and a new movie library for the week!

I digress. It didn't start at Walmart. It started, really, with me getting kicked in the gut like a kid at pre-school by my fast-growing two-year-old with growing pains all night, like I was some kinda bully. It started with me out of my bed, away from my love and having fucking nightmares all night long. It started at two am really. Fucking early morning.
I say that because it was.

Generally I get up like clock work at 7 am anyhow, because I have a two year old who knows not the joys of sleeping in. However, today I HAD to get up for FUCKING court. The one day my kiddo wanted to sleep. And of course, I had to fucking wake him up. Devestating I assure you. That kid was as happy as a bear woken from hibernation needing to take a massive shit, but being too clogged up to move!

Off to court. The (executioner) lady in the check in is kind enough to roll her eyes at me and tell me my kids have to stay in the lobby. Right, lady. I want them here as much as you do, I'm fucking sure. What do you want, a medal for never having a lack of a fucking babysitter?! Seriously. Top that with the bailiff coming out three times to tell us to shut up. UH HUH. Tell the fucking judge to see me and I'll be on my fucking way. Did I mention my fucking head hurts? Nate, please stop screaming! GARRETT!!!! Please just give your brother what he wants. PLEEEESEEEE?

Oh yes, schooll is starting soon, gotta register! Off for another adventure. No, I'm sorry lady, he's exempt from those shots. NO, I do NOT want any info on them. No, NATE! If you fucking touch that phone I'll..... I mean, oh my dear child. Please please be good for mommy. (Get the fucking school supply list and class schedule and fucking run!!!!!!! We'll worry about the bus schedule later.) Thank you dear secretary, we look forward to a very exciting year, too!

Oh how I love home. Wine? WINE!!!! Where the fuck is the wine?!!!! (It's eleven and I don't fucking care! Mix i with lemon-lime soda and it's a fine fit for before lunch.) Nate EAT! It's nap time.........moments of minutes and guzzling and eating pass........ OK my sweet little Nate, time for a nap... be a good boy....... NATE!!!!! (Naked little boy slams doors in background while getting naked and destroying dresser full of clothes all while throwing around toys and peeing in whole box of new pull-ups.) Noise? What noise? I'm sure he's sleeping. Ima just finish this glass of wine and then I'll fucking check.

Oh that phone....
No, little brother, I do not have dad's dog. Why are you guys calling me?
Oh that phone......
No, dad, I do not have your dog. What the fuck?
Oh that phone.......
DON'T FUCKING ANSWER IT OR I'LL EAT YOU!

Oh yes, I have a headache. Walmart? Fucking Walmart. I pray. Oh dear god, please help me through this horrid horrid experience I call Wally world.
Driving driving driving.... (No, Garrett, we aren't going to Olivias to get your box of legos, she couldn't find it. ARE YOU CRYING? Seriously?)

Of course, ten minutes later, this two year old who refused to sleep three hours ago is now passed out in his car seat. Covered in drool and sweat, I guess it's my job to carry him. Damnit. I love him, but my gracious is this kid heavy! This kid is half the size of me, and this fucking line is half the length of Walmart! My heart skips a beat and my fucking god my head really fucking hurts!!!!!!!!! Would you please excuse me? I have to get my pills or I am going to fucking explode!!!!!!! Diet pills are on aisle 15 and the deodorant is two rows down for fuck's sake! Oh, not looking for those things? Well maybe you should fucking be then!

It's hours later and my head still hurts. Time has elapsed and calmed the masses, though. I think the kids are asleep, so I think I'm just going to drink this beer and Breathe! Dear God, please make the pain go away. Oh no, what is the date, anyhow? I fucking forgot to buy tampons at Walmart. I love being a woman.

Awestruck

I am awestruck with him on a daily basis. I know some people think they have it really great, that the love they have is indescribable. Somehow I think what I have is better than anyone else though. Perhaps I am conceited or maybe it really is true. Do I deserve this love? I hope so.

I spoke with Jess in Massachusettes today. She asked how I got so lucky. How I had such a good life and such a great love. She asked if I ever doubted him or thought about other people or a different scenario. She asked if he really just put up with my shit all the time. Well, that's not it. I mean, I do have a lot of shit. However, my shit doesn't hit the fan, if you will, like it used to. I am happy with Ben and he makes me want to be a better person. With him I am generally stable, and that says a lot for me.

Last night Ben got offered a job, a job that fits well into our lives. He was reading the e-mail which stated that he was to start on Sunday...Easter Sunday... and I broke down in tears. I couldn't even say anything. I realize we aren't religious and that we really didn't have plans at all, but the fact that I would have to do Easter Bunny stuff and baskets and eggs alone was just too much to bear. I was heart-broken. However, I was heart-broken for no reason. Ben told her he couldn't start yet. That it was Easter and he had plans.

I am an idiot sometimes. It's hard for me to believe that someone cares about me. I can't grasp how someone looks at me and actually feels my pain. It hurts Ben when I am hurt. I still cried myself to sleep; but that's another story, another day. Honestly, I believe I was crying because Ben truly cares. I don't know how to comprehend or handle that kind of love, I think.

So, to answer Jess, I don't know. I don't know how or why I am so lucky. I don't know how or why he puts up with my shit. However, he does; he does it with grace and seemingly without effort. He loves me, even when I feel un-lovable. When I wake up in the morning, I am sure. I am completely and utterly sure when so many other times I was not.

Simply put, I am awestruck with him on a daily basis.

Fact. Fiction. Details.

Fact: I have been raped.

Fiction: I was scantilly clad and shit faced drunk, possibly high on cocaine or ecstacy when the injustice ocurred.

Details:
Well, you're into it this far, why stop now? Are you gasping for air? Did you think life was all roses? Sit back and listen.

Yes, nana, mama, friends, and siblings; I have been raped. I was not wearing a sleazy outfit or hanging out with the wrong crowd. I was not high or drunk or a combination of the two. I say these things in advance because, unless it is a violent rape people tend to pass discrimination onto the victim. I personally believe it is the general public's means of coping with how evil the world really is. Whatever the reason these assumptions are made, at least most of the time they are dead wrong.

I was a Navy girl. Navy girls like to be known, especially to officers. I had a special boyfriend at the time, sometime in February. His name was Jeremy, and we were in "A" School together, in Meridian, Mississippi. He was a 'cool cat' as others noted. Me?

I Don't Know Why

I know I'm being stupid, and I wish I could control it. The fact is I'm sitting on my bed, crying again. It has been raining in my lovely new town for three days now. Could you imagine two ridiculous and badly behaved children stuck in a 700 sq ft apartment with you for three days? Well, whatever you imagine, you're wrong. It's not all coloring and painting and block building in my house. It's one child yelling and the other crying until someone gets hit and I intervene. Blah blah blah. That wasn't the point. The point is about me. I am crying. Again. Tears are flowing down my cheeks and my love is asking me what's wrong. I can't answer. I don't know how to. Napa is supposed to be sunny and splendid and we are supposed to be rich and full of purpose. The reality is Ben now has two jobs and is working a lot. I am not working though I have an offer and will be working soon. The kids are bored, the space is cramped, my money is short and it's not all rainbows and sunshine. But that's not why I'm crying. So why am I crying? I'm a workaholic that isn't working. Is that it? Do alcoholics cry when they can't drink? Withdrawl. Am I going through withdrawl from working? Maybe it's withdrawl from the way things used to be... Here I am at my computer. It's been such a long time since I've written. That makes me sad. Maybe that's the withdrawl, maybe it's from writing. Writing sure is a cheap form of therapy in any case. So today, I don't know why I'm crying. Maybe I should call up the Fu%#ed Fairie and ask her advice.

Ben and Mel Mornings

I should be getting ready for work right now. I should be taking a shower and getting ready to head to the bad china food shop. I should have worked for Astrid today, even though it is my day off. Ben should be asleep and Garrett should be at school. I should be wearing black and be primping up my hair. I am not, though. I will not be working today. Today is my day off. However, I could have worked. I wanted to work. If I were at work, I would be distracted from the big picture. I wouldn't feel such loss and distance. Ben is not asleep today. Fridays have changed. I already lost Monday. I wasn't prepared for Fridays, too. I am just realizing this now. Our schedule is different this week, and I fear it will be different from here on out. Ben has been mixing bagels as well as baking bagels. What used to be our two mornings together are now our mornings apart. I used to take the kids to school, come home, and climb into bed; or I would do the dishes and laundry and until Ben woke up. We would have coffee together and talk. I would read the newspaper while he did soduko. This was more than just time, it was connection. Where did it go? How can we get it back? Dropping Ben off at The Bagel Shop today saddenned me. I know I am selfish; it's him that has to work fourteen straight hours today. I know he hasn't been feeling well. I just can't help but feel distance between us. I miss my Ben and Mel mornings.

Just One More

Just one more. Just one more cigarette and one more beer while I write. That's all. That's what will complete this evening for me. Garrett got sent home from school today, with lice. To most people that would be detrimental. To me, that was the least of my worries. Garrett needed to go home, and Olivia was the one who got the phone call. Olivia, my seventeen year old sister, got that phone call. What the hell? This is my biggest worry. I am Garrett's mom. I have a phone number, which I realize has changed over the past few months. However, I have given notice to the school several times that the change took place. Ben has a phone number also, he should be called second. I have a work phone number. However, Olivia got the call first. Fucking wrong. Not being able to get ahold of a kids mother is just plain wrong. Twelve kids in Miss Laura's class being sent home this week because of a lice outbreak? That is wrong. Garrett having lice and being treated twice in the past two weeks? That's wrong. Do you realize, that, at the laundrymat, it costs two dollars a wash and two dollars per dryer per every load of laundry you have to do? Add that up, would you? Add to that the time it takes to treat all the carpets and bedding and coats; plus do not forget the cost of Rid Carpet treatment and Anti-Lice shampoo, as well as "oh god, what do we do with our six down comforters, the only blankets we have to keep us warm tonight?" problem. I want to shave heads. Ben says no. Ben isn't feeling well. It's his day off. The kids won't behave, and Garrett is home from school. He is crying, he has lice. Nate is not behaving or listening. I serve seventy people in a matter of two hours today. Fat people that want bad asian food, and I am tired. However, I made a hundred and forty dollars today, enough to pay for the most current lice outbreak, and I did it in a matter of four hours. My feet ache. I go home to lice and a cranky love. Well, he isn't cranky so much. He just doesn't feel good. I can understand. The kids are driving us both crazy. Oh well, life goes on. I eventually get the kids into bed. I call Olivia. I want her to babysit, again. It would be the third time this week. I haven't paid her yet, but I will. It just takes me some time, is all, especially when I have lice to pay for. She says no, of course. Garrett has lice, why would she want to expose herself to that atrocity? Ben and I realize that spontinaety does not exist in our world. He misses it, but to me it is all I have ever known. What the fuck is doing what you want when you want, anyhow? It doesn't exist when there are three of you. Garrett is in the spare bedroom. Nate is in his bed. There are no sheets.... oh well. I can only do my best. I decide on a movie, An Affair Of Love, and it is good. Ben joins me for the second half of it. We have a beer together. Now, it is nearly eleven PM. I should be heading to bed. I need just one more, though. Just one more cigarette. Just one more beer. Just one more moment to write. I haven't had a moment today. I haven't had a moment of silence or peace, or solitude, and I have it now. I will take this moment and make it mine. Just one more, yep.

ENOUGH ALREADY

So, yesterday I posted that Sunday would be hard. Fuck man. Last night was hard. Last night was brutal. The first phone call came in... yes, Ben. I am at Alex's. See you in three. The second call now. "Is that Allysha that just walked in?" Sonya kicks my leg. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. It is her. Oh god. This is not what I had wanted for the evening. No. Ben - go get us a beer. I know you want to say hello to your friend. I didn't fucking say hang out with her. NO. I said please get us a beer. Invite her to our table if you must, but don't fucking stay there with her. Well, of course she joins. Of Fucking Course. Talking ensues. I am becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. He is looking at her the way he looks at me. I may vomit. "Hey! Allysha! Come smoke with us!". At this point Ben is holding her cigarettes. I ask for them, so I could look at them, and he hands them to Allysha. Did he just touch her hand? Oh god, I am imagining things again. Outside. "Allysha you make me uncomfortable and I am insecure around you. There has to be some sort of boundaries in our world." Her response is that she doesn't handle being told what to do very well. Fuck. This goes on and on. I am sick to my stomach. Why in the FUCK would this girl walk upon something so great (un-intentionally) fucking it up just because she can? Enough already. I can't fucking handle the fight. I am physically ill. This is between Ben and Allysha. I am not involved. I have given power to Allysha. Power over me and my well-being. Power over my relationship. I am seeing distance where it wasn't before. I am pushing and pulling and fucking things up again. Ben and I have built a life TOGETHER! I will not allow a silly girl take over my rational self or my relationship. Enough already! I am done. I am going to sit back and watch the show, and attempt my greatest measure of trust I have ever known. I trust that Ben will do right. I trust him with my kids. I trust him with my body. It is time for me to trust him with my heart. In the meantime, Sunday looms.

Sunday

It all started on July 29th, from what I can remember. "Maybe if I asked the state department nicely, they would give me a passport, and I would be on the next plane to see that fucking girl." That was the message. That was the beginning of my skewed world. This is the test: Allysha is coming to dinner. I am secure in my insecurity. I know it exists. I have to give it the respect it deservea, however, I do not have to give it power over me. It is an insecurity, not a fact. It is a mind-set, not a thing. I am Mel. I am loved. I am just going to keep telling myself that. I know women. I know myself. I know nostalgia. I do not trust women. However, I trust my love. This week until Sunday will be hard for me. I will not lie. However, it is a stepping stone to security. If we pass this huge mark, where will that leave us? I hope to be friends with this woman, this past love. I hope to be content and secure with this. I hope my love doesn't lose a friend. I hope my love doesn't lose me. I hope I don't lose love. Or take love for granted. Only sunday will tell.

Made Up Scenarios

In the distance, there is a girl sitting on a bed, crying to her love that he has lied to her. He kept secrets. He has hidden agendas. More crying and yelling. Turns out, this girl is trying to make her lover into a monster. She has created a scenario in her head that doesn't exsist. Upon realizing this, she leans against their bedroom door and sobs. Later, she climbs into bed with her love. He puts his arm around her and tells her he loves her. She believes him. She is sad. She is sorry. I am unworthy and insecure. No, not really. In my little world, though, I have a deeply profound feeling of unworthiness. My mother left me for drugs. My father left me for love of another. My grandmother left me for cancer. My ex-husband left me for fear. I have been left. I feel unworthy. I am insecure. I would like to pretend that I have no emotional scars based upon my childhood and early adult life. It's crap, though. Everybody knows I have issues. If I were a smart girl, I would just go to therapy and pray to whatever god that it would help me. A therapist can't help, though. Not if I am unwilling to go. At the age of 27, I am realizing that no one can have a crack-whore for a mom and get away scratch-free. I am hurt. I have hurt myself and those close to me based on my insecurities. I am unwilling to let others love me wholly, because I am afraid they will only leave. My mother loved her drug more than her daughter. How depressing. Is it any wonder I'm a fucking mess? It shouldn't be.