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.