I know I am falling into the cycle of procrastination...it seems I am perfecting the art, and the week of non blogging and last minute birthday preparations is proof positive.....It's ridiculous the amount of planners, calendars, alarms, PDA filled memos, Blackberry alerts I have for the reminders in my life....and yet they obviously don't mean jack shit...
Before I jump into the digression of over the top planning of birthdays and the creative shit I scare even myself with....let's go back the beginning...and not in utero where bauble head got her start, but the last blog....let's see, where did I leave off? Oh, yeah, that's right. Humiliatingly personal confessions which may shed my family is a seedy, nasty light...but its facts, and them don't lie...
On a serious note though, back where I left off a couple of days ago with my over share of life....and homes from my past that seem to be crumbling....I want to start by saying I am overwhelmed and completely humbled so many of you, whoever the fuck you are, who have felt moved enough to read it, to tell others to read it, and who make me check my blog counter obsessively to see the daily tally...unless it's the same asshole reading it over and over and then...well thank you too all the same....
The reality is I don't know what the hell I am doing, who I am doing it for or even why....I know I said I knew why, who, but somewhere along this road I have changed course and am now filled with a feverish need to just let everything inside me pour out. Regardless of how you perceive me, whether you approve or not, whether it's out there, lost in the infinite world of cyber space long after I am gone...the Google searches of the world beware...I don't give a fuck. This is what I need...Why I don't know. Maybe it's because I fired my therapist because I need to save that money for things like toilet paper, and toothpaste and school supplies and dance lessons....Maybe it's because there isn't a million secondary voices weighing in, but one single silent nod to what I have to say. A nod that acknowledges whatever I am writing is worth reading at least once....
So, when I left you I had paid homage to my mother for all that she has given me, taught me which if you didn't manage to gather from that whole long ass piece, was the ability to survive exists in us all....It is not a question of whether we can or will....It is a question of whether we will CHOOSE to or not. That's what makes a person. That's what makes me not cringe because I know I have nothing to be ashamed of because I have chosen to survive all that.....
That isn't to say the road wasn't paved to hell a long time ago, but Saint Peter seems to have given me an application and is muddling over my entrance through those pearly gates....but with lots of fuckers who love me, support me, and some totally legit and cool references there may be hope yet....
I want to clarify that some may refer to what I wrote as "my version", but then this is the same person who spent 2 years denying he had an affair that I caught him having at age 11 IN OUR HOUSE and calling me a liar, a bitch, a cunt....all things I accept now, but at the tender age of 11 is crippling emotionally....The delightfully charming thing abut my DNA dad as I like to call him when being particularly cunt like, is that he has this rare ability to strike me to the core with his heartless and completely crude criticisms so much so that I would take his fucking short squat foot having come through that door right up my ass....and yet I still crave his approval, his affection, holding out hope upon hope he will someday have an ephinany, his moment of clarity, and right some wrongs....
Sadly, it took me a quarter of my life to realize that this isn't the case, and he will die miserable and alone...save for my sister who finds him so pathetically excusable she will be the only one to vouch for him at the end....And even as I write this scathing and horribly degrading analyzing of my familial dynamic, I recognize that part of me that is inherently rooted in him...being his daughter and all we share genetic chromosomes....but its more than that...its rooted in my traits, my personality....the demons in me I fight every single fucking day, and its hard....it makes life exhausting and there are days I wish I could forget him so easily...but even as I close my eyes to try....it is his eyelashes I can squint through and still see his face....it's his chin that my tears drip off of into a puddle on my lap....it's his forehead I scrunch into perma CroMagnum....it's his gray hairs creeping up in my hair line....
Most of all its his hands I stare at as I type this...hands that can be so quick to strike, to destroy others through their rage....and yet I know they have the ability to create so many amazing things, and most of all the compassion to love freely and unconditionally....
So why is that all these things escaped him in this life? Will they in the next? Am I ultimately a product of him as well, and while I weigh the good, the bad and incredibly two-bag ugly I have seen in my life, can I deny that part of me that is him, and only claim my mother?
Before you jump on the gender band wagon or even taboo hushed battered woman rant, this is not either one of those...ok, maybe a little of the latter...but it's not even about that....its deeper rooted than that by far....its that I don't sympathize any more with my mother, but empathize because I stand outside of myself and watch this portion of her life that later mirrored a rushed year of mine with frantic soul searching through allowing anyone and anything to dictate my life through casual meaningless sex, drinking and drugging...ok, so my mom's a square and the drug thing isn't a factor nor is the sex....but I came from a home where a man slugging you was more acceptable than him cheating....ok, maybe that's too harsh, and until I was in the same situation, I have no idea what my mother's thought processes for staying were..but at 11 can you blame me for being devistatingly angry with her? For wanting to hate her as much as I did him?
Well, that feeling abated quickly when our lives as a nuclear unit ended.....and I grew up to live my own fucked up fairy tale complete with heartless and soulless men who were really cowards in goons clothing, using their muscle to make up for the inability to ever possess the capacity to love someone other than themselves...and I chose just as my mother did that day with her sledgehammer to put a stop to it....but for me it came in the form of my selfish sister, step-father, Hanks and a U-Haul...and surprisingly my father...my dad...the man who hates me because I am so much like my mother that to look at me repulses him as I have been told....well, he stood by and slung my shit into that U-Haul faster than you can imagine....with the clothes on my back and my Shark, he handed me $100 and told me to take care of myself and to live a better life than that...
so was he really telling me live a life unlike his own? To do better than he did? To not end up with another man like him?
Who the fuck knows....I was just surprised my cheap ass father gave me money instead of a soap box speech....
So I guess what this really long wrap up of loose ends from my prior tale is a pondering on how it is we can all be such horrible human beings, so destructive in our lives, and in that one moment of compassion albeit the only one the man ever has had with me, that you can keep me dangling on like a worm on the hook for more moments like that to come? How is it that I have and will spend my lifetime waiting for another moment like that and have accepted that moment will never come....and yet I still wait for it?
And this is what Charlotte has to look forward to with her own useless father...the constant waiting for those a-ha moments where the light in his eyes isn't because of whatever substance he just snorted or smoked....
And it's a wait I don't want her wasting her life on....
Another a lighter, less depressing note....I managed to finish everything except ordering food...there's that procrastination thing again....and some shit for the cake.....but other than that, I have to say regardless of my husband's complaints of going overboard, this year I rocked it out of the park...I mean Maxx's 2nd will take the cake....and it may not be something he will remember later....but its something I love to do because quite honestly at this point, its all I can do, its all I am good at...
Being a aging, foul-mouthed cunt who is dabbling in parenting because I managed to fuck up every other part of my life, and am proud to say I survived, I got the holey, blood stained t-shirt, and I have painted and decoupaged the shit out of it myself....
So....it is with this I send you in peace this lovely day.....I seem to have gained back some of that wonderful inner peace stuff I have been managing to find all along...do you know they sell it at CVS in the form of King Size Hershey bars? ..here's to hoping it sticks...hopefully this will be a reminder why I keep searching for it...because what life is worth living without a moment of it???
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