Thursday, August 21, 2008
nagging screens bite back
Some days I feel like a failure. I sit at the screen and see all these words but nothing comes together, nothing makes sense to me - and it scares me. Me, someone who truly and fully loves words. I've always wanted to write, wanted to be something and show my words to everyone...
and now they just seem lost. I hate the self doubt, the feeling of failure to myself. It will pass, it always does but these seconds, these moments where the screen mocks me -
I swear I can hear the sarcastic laughter and the finger pointing. The computer makes me feel like I am in school again with snide jokes and red faces, eyes downcast and lost in the sea of oblivion. Its like I am just not popular anymore.
Monday, July 7, 2008
paid the piper
So I decided that I wasn't going to act my age at all, I wasn't going to be the responsible parent, the doting wife and the enter myself into the league of extraordinary gentlemen - ladymen?! I was going to pretend that life wasn't full and stress wasn't at peak levels - instead I was this teenager (alright I would have to at least be alcohilically legal) and was going to have fun.
It wasn't fun. At least, the ending wasn't fun. How does a person not realize how much they have drank? Its a question that still boggles my mind as I remember neighbors and friends refilling drinks without asking. I remember saying, "Come on, I can't do a shot by myself who's with me?" and I remember drunk hugs. I was always this huggy person drunk.
Maybe it was slightly fun, but when you drink enough the thoughts do come flooding back and when the party is in full swing and everyone is liquored up beyond comprehension I began thinking again. And the tears fell. Yes, tears. I was crying. Hubby would ask, "Why are you crying?" I'd reply, "I don't know." and he'd say "Then stop." And I would. Just like that.
Hell I wish that was magic that could happen without the alcohol. But as I was saying, the thoughts all come flooding back and I start whimpering again that I am a bad mother, I am drunk, I am beyond and yet still making sense and thinking I am this horrible mother. I knew my children were taking care of but at that moment in that time I knew that I could not take care of them myself.
So the tears would come again. And again, he'd tell me to stop. And I would.
Deep down, I knew I wasn't a bad mother but it took me a few days even after to fully realize. How often do I drink, never. That really is the answer. I needed an all out night and I had it, and believe me I payed for it the next two days. I was sicker than I could ever remember being. I vaguely remember my hubby helping me in the house. He is a gem.
Yep, I threw up. That would now make twice in my entire life that I have drank enough to warrant vomit. Is that an accompishment or something to hide on those dusty shelves?
It wasn't fun. At least, the ending wasn't fun. How does a person not realize how much they have drank? Its a question that still boggles my mind as I remember neighbors and friends refilling drinks without asking. I remember saying, "Come on, I can't do a shot by myself who's with me?" and I remember drunk hugs. I was always this huggy person drunk.
Maybe it was slightly fun, but when you drink enough the thoughts do come flooding back and when the party is in full swing and everyone is liquored up beyond comprehension I began thinking again. And the tears fell. Yes, tears. I was crying. Hubby would ask, "Why are you crying?" I'd reply, "I don't know." and he'd say "Then stop." And I would. Just like that.
Hell I wish that was magic that could happen without the alcohol. But as I was saying, the thoughts all come flooding back and I start whimpering again that I am a bad mother, I am drunk, I am beyond and yet still making sense and thinking I am this horrible mother. I knew my children were taking care of but at that moment in that time I knew that I could not take care of them myself.
So the tears would come again. And again, he'd tell me to stop. And I would.
Deep down, I knew I wasn't a bad mother but it took me a few days even after to fully realize. How often do I drink, never. That really is the answer. I needed an all out night and I had it, and believe me I payed for it the next two days. I was sicker than I could ever remember being. I vaguely remember my hubby helping me in the house. He is a gem.
Yep, I threw up. That would now make twice in my entire life that I have drank enough to warrant vomit. Is that an accompishment or something to hide on those dusty shelves?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
gray skeletons tell no tales
World citizens. Its such a simple thing. Am I an American citizen, no I am a citizen of the world with ethnicity that transcends the bounds placed by political claws. I have no true home, I live through the world immersing myself in culture, wanting to know more.
Its an addiction, knowledge. If there was a money tree somewhere in the near vicinity I would learn, class after class, time after time. I want to know all the things inbetween. I want to be more than who I am. Perhaps that is overextending oneself?
There have been color lines drawn around here lately. Kids on bicycles riding past mulatto families and yelling white power to children who are playing in the yard. No ourselves personally, but just a street or two away. This is where we live. It doesn't change.
We don't live in a free world, we live in a world of hate where one person deems themselves better than another. Am I the only one to see this? Why? I could ask the question over and over and the answer wouldn't change. It is what it is. We are who we are.
Mulatto. Just a word, I love the way it rolls off the tongue but the whiplash received seems to have gotten worse. In the last month the bigotry personally faced is more than I ever had to encounter when living elsewhere. Sometimes I wonder if its just the area. Are big cities any better?
White and black combined makes gray - how many backgrounds are filled with multicolored illusions, stories passed down. Or do they keep those skeletons in the closet?
Its an addiction, knowledge. If there was a money tree somewhere in the near vicinity I would learn, class after class, time after time. I want to know all the things inbetween. I want to be more than who I am. Perhaps that is overextending oneself?
There have been color lines drawn around here lately. Kids on bicycles riding past mulatto families and yelling white power to children who are playing in the yard. No ourselves personally, but just a street or two away. This is where we live. It doesn't change.
We don't live in a free world, we live in a world of hate where one person deems themselves better than another. Am I the only one to see this? Why? I could ask the question over and over and the answer wouldn't change. It is what it is. We are who we are.
Mulatto. Just a word, I love the way it rolls off the tongue but the whiplash received seems to have gotten worse. In the last month the bigotry personally faced is more than I ever had to encounter when living elsewhere. Sometimes I wonder if its just the area. Are big cities any better?
White and black combined makes gray - how many backgrounds are filled with multicolored illusions, stories passed down. Or do they keep those skeletons in the closet?
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