You know when you have so much rage you want to split open a face? I felt that way last week. And instead of hurting a person, I hurt a phone. Two of them.
I was so mad I broke not only my phone, but his. Cracked. In half. Yeah. Super Fucked Up.
I am beginning to wonder about myself. How I hold things in. How allow myself to remain be so open and inhale the toxins not only from my aura-sphere, but from the worlds. I get to a point where I suck it in, suck it in, suck it in and then I’ve hit the pollution level, I am worn down to the bone, torn like a paper, in half, the breeze carries me off. I loose myself, the person I think I am, at least. And I just break, or perhaps a better way to say it is that I break things.
Not a lot of things and not all the time but when the shit gets this heavy and I feel this strong and mighty while I watch my world change so fast, I snapity-snap. Let’s see. This time it was 90% due to exhaustion. Insomnia. Sleepless night after sleepless night. A road trip down south to visit a friend and her lover, both of whom I adore, both of whom are all day long pot smokers, childless and live in less than 800 square feet. My girls where loud, noisy, crazy, sleepless along with me, and I was doing everything I could to keep them contained in a unchild-proof home (not like they were going to get hurt, but they were going to hurt something in the house). I came home from the trip whipped.
And then the next morning, delightful, loving, sexy and passive aggressive mother-fucking rocker lays in bed with me and says : I went to get some cash out of your wallet. There’s only 50 bucks in there.
Yeah.
Where’s the rest?
What do you mean?
Where’s the rest?
Up your fucking ass.
Woa. Easy now. I just wonder how you could spend $300 in three days just staying with J.
Excuse me? Are you accusing me of spending frivolously? Are you? (finger waving in his face, of course) I bought food, gas, wine and beer for my hosts, and a whole lot of lattes to keep my exhausted body awake while I drove OUR children. Fuck you. You know? Fuck you! Dick Fuck. I didn’t spend a dime last week just so I could not think about spending money on this trip.
And let’s just say that kind of stuff kept happening and it escalated to a point where I took the phones and broke them but not before I took every last piece of clothing of his in the closet and threw them all over the room. Oh please. I don’t know how or why or what is wrong with me. It’s totally not logical to do this kind of thing. But at least I see it, right? At least I know that my actions were not about him or money, but about me, about what lives inside me, what longs to be seen and heard that I can‘t seem to release in a non-violent manner. I am aware I am still, after all these years, choosing to make others feel badly when I feel badly. I recognize it. I try not to put the attention there, on the fact that I am partially insane, but I like to linger on the part of me that knows I am (insane), the part that feels removed for Her, Her Wild Craziness, the part of me that feels better than, holier than even. I don’t want a broken phone. I don’t want to break hearts, to stomp on people I love just because I am in one of those moods, he triggered me with words.
* * *
My health is coming back after this long post partum road of regression and stress. A mash up of sunshine, herbs, sex, mantra and some good smelling homemade face oil, I feel awesome. I wake up not tired. I forgot what waking up awake felt like and let me say that it positively enhances the reality of another day. I see my girls as the magic they are, sucking in my belly with awe, chills up my arms, heart split in two: magic. White magic. Black magic. Purple magic. Lime green magic. Unicorn magic. I ask myself all day long, who are these three sages and how did they pick me? Since school has been out, they are back to normal, back to themselves. Our exchanges feel real again. I like this. The big one, little moon, snores next to me on the left. The little one, my little bird, snores on my right. The middle one, that little bear, sleeps in her own bed tonight. Moon is still so little, too, age six, lost a tooth, can skip and do an almost cartwheel. Yet I can put my whole had on her behind and cover it completely. So little. How can I love them so much and at times want to pack up everything I own and leave? How can I love them so much all the time and then in dark moments hate everything my life has become since they arrived?
i just started another moon cycle. i think this is way too early but i am welcoming it. the visions, the delusions, the hysteria, the sleep, the creative blood spilling all over the grass as i do a moon dance. i can't wait to spend the next few days alone, rocker not working and i can just be alone. to bleed and think. think and bleed. forgive myself for everything i did this past month that does not sit well and right in my gut. we are lucky ones, women, us, we are reborn all the time. i just really wish i had some drugs. good ones. vicadin, perkistat, valium...whatever the kids are popping these days. i'd like a few. along with a hot bath and a shot of makers mark.
oh how i love coming here. i love that i am totally anonymous. that nobody will ever know who i am, i will never be found out. this is a gift! a party! this place is a party for my words. and while i am not being found out can i just say a couple things? ok. good. my mother-in-law- can be and at times really is a bossy, rude, know it all bitch!!!!! and she had a mustache! and her son, my husband, though i adore him and every body part on him....well, his balls seems to be hanging lower. does this happen? is this growing old? low balls? because i didn't fucking sign up for that shit.
On that note I’ll sign off. I love you all. Sorry it has been so long since I have visited you here, my sirens. And as my Little Moon has been singing to me all week long…."it’s the call, it’s the call, of the sirens, the most enchanting creatures of the sea!
Foxy
