In a second floor office trying to determine if a bill matched the bid making it payable I got a text. It said “I love you”. Kids say that. Especially if they are 10 and you are still the center of their world.
The rest made no sense. She said she was sorry, but she had to go. She promised she’d be safe and she would see me in a few months. That is not shit a 10 year old should be telling you!
I called. Five times? Ten times? A hundred? I only remember that she wasn’t picking up. Two employees and a contractor now existed in a completely separate world I could only register as incoherent noise.
I retreated behind my office door with no explanation. I was to powerless to even speak. It took her voice to give me that much back. I didn’t scream. I checked my tears.
“I don’t understand, baby. What do you mean? Florida? Please go back to the school.”
I had to catch my breath and reign in the flood.
“Please go to Nana. Nana is going to be sick with worry. Please. I love you. Please go back to the school.”
I honestly couldn’t believe she agreed to go back. I had her put Nana on the phone just to be sure. Then I raced home. Longest drive of my life. Best hug at the end.
My daughter wanted to go with her friends to another state make money so we could get our own place. Immediately after a painful divorce I lost my job. I had a new one but it takes time to recover. It was a rough time. I’m not sure how far a group of run away 10 year old would get. The horrifying possibilities still make my throat raw. They’d planned. She’d stolen supplies from her Nana. She told me she didn’t realize it would scare me so much. Obviously I missed…a lot.
She told me she was sorry. I changed. We left it at that.
I wish I was a bear
Wrapped and warm in fur
Hidden away from winter wear
In sleep I would confer
I find that I am bare
Naked without my faith
Exposed and retreating where
Sleep becomes a wraith
I wish I had a bear
Stuffed full of love and hope
With button eyes so fair
Stable against this tightrope
I have all these wishes
And the warmth of friends that care
Full of love their dishes
My heart beats as the bear
I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.
Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.
If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.
So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.
Growing up I remember my father telling me that a woman who has gotten naked with a man cannot be raped. If she’s gone that far with him than she’s obligated to go “all the way”. on the surface I’d say he was a madman, but I think there is an undercurrent of adherence to this belief in this world. I don’t think its openly there, but some part of most people kind of thinks this. I could be just twisted though.
Getting into BDSM one of the first things I was taught is if someone says “red” or calls out an obvious safe word the scene stops. There doesn’t have to be a reason, it doesn’t matter whats going on, and it doesn’t matter who says it everything stops and the person who stopped the scene is cared for. It was this precept that was constantly reiterated that made me comfortable enough to start exploring myself. I was finally ok with the idea that if something made me uncomfortable, no matter what I was doing, I could stop and I wouldn’t be a bad person. Some people are even into that. It’s called ‘tease and denial’ and if I’m a top in anything it would be that. Ha ha! I love being a tease. I don’t like hurting people though so I would only do it to someone who enjoyed that.
Having someone I trust unconditionally has also helped me come out of my shell. I’m a lucky girl.
Have a happy Thanksgiving and I hope you have a lot to be thankful for.
A few years ago I was pretty sure I was dying. How sure? When 911 came to my office no one blinked an eye. It wasn’t for me, but everyone else was as sure as I was apparently. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Part of that was my fault. I’m not the regular check up kind. A friend of my mine was a recently diagnosed celiac and urged me to take gluten out of my diet. What the hell? I did it and I got better. Decided to stop paying the docs to torture me and cut gluten out of my diet. Should I go back and really find out what happened? Eh…I feel better.
So whats the silver lining? I’ve gained a few pounds over the last few weeks for various reasons. The main reason is I eat more when I’m happy. I don’t want to go back to what I was, I’ve found that if I don’t eat after 6 I lose weight pretty fast. So I fixed an all gluten meal for my kid. Can’t eat it. I was forced to eat the salad which was pretty good. So…silver linings.
I remember a little way into my first year at college in 1996 I wanted to go home so I pack my shit up and I went. I want to now so bad today, but there isn’t one to go to. I don’t think there was back then either, but at least I didn’t have to worry about bills and grades. Life as a teen wasn’t so bad, but there was always an underlying dark yuck that followed me everywhere I was. Seems it still follows me. Everything is an almost…well almost everything. What do I have now?
- A wonderful healthy daughter
- A full belly
- A full tank of gas
- Rent will be paid next month at least
- A Car I love
- A man I love even if I haven’t told him that full out yet
- Friends that I love and love me
Life is good even if it isn’t perfect. One thing someone with a rough past can almost always say is that things have been worse. And if you are sitting where I’m sitting now you can say they tend to get better.
Home isn’t where the heart is or where you fall back to when you have no place to left fall. It may be for some people, and I guess home is something a little different for everyone, but for me home is where you make it. Just some days it’s a little harder to make than others, but that’s why I’m the Battle Raven.
A few years ago I was standing at a reunion of a family that was mostly not mine. I wore capris jeans with frayed holes in them and became the subject of conversation with a preacher. The standard joke: “I just threw away a pair of jeans like that. Should have had you pay me a hundred bucks for them.” He also asked me why I would want to scar my body in reference to my tattoo. I tried to tell him they were free, but he was far to amused with himself. Honestly it should matter. Petty shit like that from “Christians” made me give up on being spiritually awakened.
At one point I decided I rocked those goddamn jeans and I’d rather be sexually awakened then whatever the fuck they thought they were. These days though I just want to….be. If someone wanted to comment on my jeans (still have them) I wouldn’t care. I honestly don’t understand why they would. It’s just clothing. Here…let me take it off if that helps ::evil grin::
When you are comfortable with who and what you are the “slings and arrows” of society stop bothering you. You don’t get pissed because someone attacks your beliefs or style. You certainly don’t get pissed if someone believes differently than you…even if it’s really fucked up. Difference becomes interesting.
This, I feel, is awake.
I hate commitment. It’s not that I’m afraid of it. Honestly I’d love to have the thing I said or decided on happen. Every. Time. I’m a creature of habit. But in my world what you say or decide on….doesn’t happen.
For instance: I say I’m going to have the report on the responsibilities of a proposed position later that day. Two hours of Bubble Witch later:
My reason for falling through on my commitment to write last night? Moonshine. Total. Legit. Reason.
Honestly the reasons for my failing commitments are not generally JUST because I’m lazy. I’m not gonna lie. I am lazy. If I wasn’t lazy I’d be fucking Einstein. (please note ‘fucking’ is being used as an adjective not a verb there). This lazy bitch got a masters, runs a company and is a single mom of a child that is not dead. If can do that while playing too much Bubble Witch and sleeping in imagine what I could do if I focused a little. I have…it involves world domination and making cream corn an illegal substance.
Maybe it’s best I’m a little lazy.
As I’ve told my daughter, however, just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you don’t have to do it. Commitment is a good thing too. Holding yourself to your commitments gains trust and forms good habits and leads to better things. It’s climbing mountains and all that jazz so you can enjoy those lazy moments.
Well…I’ll be back in 2….or so….hours.
I have TV because my internet is cheaper with it than without it. I was fine without it because I’m pretty sure it sucked my life away. I think I’m right. I listened to my ‘Stop, drop & write’ alarm go off and continued watch it. I only watch 2 channels too. There are probably a hundred I could watch, but I don’t know which of the 1000 those are.
Kind of reminds me of my life.
Every year I get to spend this amazing weekend with wonderful friends and then I have wait an entire year to do it again.
But here I am writing again. I’m feeling pretty good about it. I have a hard time with change. I get stuck in patterns easily which I used to lament. Then I realized I could use it to my advantage.
I used to lock my keys in my car all the time. I started making myself look at my keys in my hand before I got out of the car. It was not easy and I had several false starts (thinking I’d finally gotten into the habit and then forgetting again), but eventually I got to a point where I couldn’t get out of he car until I had my keys in my hand.
I’m going this is what I’m doing with my writing now.
By forcing myself to write at the same time every night I’m starting a routine that will eventually become a habit. And, with a little luck, it will be a hard one to break.