A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || October 22, 2009 || 9:57 pm

When an object comes to rest there is all this potential for energy. And stuff.

I am resisting with everything I’ve got the impulse to write a sweeping intro that is nothing but me tittering away at my own fears.

I have had the following fears keep stories of past victimizations clamped tightly to me,

+That I would be viewed attention-seeking.

+That I would be seen as weak.

+That I would be scorned as a person pathetic and pitiful.

as well as stand in the way of a massive goal for many years now. I wish to be whole, to speak my experiences from a calm and mature place instead of in nerved-up, staccato bursts.

I long ago made peace with the things that happened to my body — nearly as soon as those things had occurred, in fact. What has never found settling is the knots that were yanked into my psyche. For a long time I claimed they were climbing devices aimed at helping me overcome. While not entirely true, that was not entirely untrue, either. (I often play this game with myself: If something has fallen into a difficult place, I resist the impulse to give up on it and go away, lazy. I pretend instead, as I stretch and contort, that my very life depends on the retrieval of the bath cloth that has fallen behind the dryer, the paperclip that has flung itself behind my behemoth of a desk. If I don’t stretch and try like I mean it, I will die. My family will come to a horrible, flaming end! The world will be knocked from its orbit and the trees will asphyxiate! ‘Oh God, not the trees!‘ My fingertips become these exquisite, reaching things that make wrongs right. This is what I want to start doing with emotional detritus, but without becoming one of those sanctimonious overactualized assholes, dig?)

I can face facts: My life’s stories, taken collectively, give off the kind of vibe wherein I could well be viewed as a walking movie of the week. After thinking about it for a little bit, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m okay with that, like in the very sense. I come from a place where ‘…it is what it is…’ has been tattooed on the very bones of its people, enabling them to withstand more than even their DNA knows.

Lately I want, to a degree that pretty much defies my ability to express it, to know that I am going to be okay and not going to crack clean in two, leaving a mess for somebody else to clean up.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

Now, on to other things that have been on my mind today.

I talk to my dog like a person. The music kicks in too loud, startling him. ‘Sorry about that, man’ I say to him.

Look at your fingertips. The tips of my middle fingers and thumbs on both hands are currently numb. This is kind of strange. I attribute it to current slight anxiety, which I want to be shed of any minute now. Oh wait, there goes the pinky of my right hand, as well.

I want to write smart, pointed fiction featuring a savvy woman. She would say things like, ‘My apologies if the sauce doesn’t seem right. I’m on my period and my taste buds are a little off. That, or I will commence shortly to having a stroke.’* You would probably either love her or hate her.

Today I got an offer in the mail for a deeply discounted subscription to Opera News. ‘SAVE SIXTY-NINE PERCENT!’ it hollers. Don’t hate, I can send you a buddy card and you too can be in the operatic know.

Tonight I was making Mathias show me the contents of the duffel he’d packed for a two-day away(!); you know, just generally making sure of the basics like whether he packed the pajamas that fit rather than the sausage ones and whether or not there were backup socks and underwear. We’ve never needed backup socks and underwear, but I always make the kids pack them because sure as shit if we didn’t our car would get embedded in a snow bank (never mind that it no longer snows in the South, fuckity-fuck) and there we’d be, either recycling dirty underwear or going commando, and I’d be willing to wager big that if you were to go commando in a live-or-die circumstance it would greatly increase your odds of expiry. The universe would like nothing more than for your surviving relatives to have to suffer through the headline “FAMILY OF FIVE FOUND DEAD IN SNOWBANK, UNDERWEARLESS” being splashed across various local and national news media. Sam had the nerve to ask why I always check Mathias’ bag before he hits the door; it was then that he remembered aloud –and far too amused, if you ask me– being told to pack a bag and filling it full of toys and maybe a couple of shirts. I suffered the consequences of this one time while we were in middle Tennessee: “Samuel, SAMUEL! COME HERE! Where? Are? Your pannnnnnts?” The boy had packed no pants and maybe two pair of underwear. It’s likely that we only missed the snow bank because Maxim had stayed behind due to his work schedule. Close call, you people.

I bought new bras today. New bras, in case you had no idea of such, are life-affirming.

Often when I write I wear a ballcap. This snugs in some of the ideas that tend to wander off the top of my head. Keeps them around long enough for me to draw a bead on them. This practice also kills some of my peripheral vision, which is notoriously stuffed full of things that I maybe have no business seeing anyway.

My spouse, just looking at the insurance bill, said to me, “Okay, the premium on you just went back down; don’t do anything to fuck it up.” Oh, he did NOT. “YOU SHUT UP, YOU ARE GOING TO JINX ME, YOU HATEFUL MAN.” In a rare return of indignance, Maxim replied, “YOUR LITTLE SHENANIGANS WITH YOUR BUDDY’S CAR WORKED OUT TO BE NOT VERY CHEAP.” I then may or may not have made reference to what was cheap around here, but there is already too much bile in this eensy paragraph.

I have FIVE OMG FIVE WHOLE DAYS OFF IN A ROW. That is some crazy shit right there. I’m one deep and feel like I’ve gotten a thing or two accomplished thus far. I know, right?

Scout is currently baking cookies for a party they are having at school tomorrow. When I asked her, What kind of party? she replied, “It’s Mole Day.” Mole Day? I puzzled aloud. Great, as if life on this mountain wasn’t strange enough sometimes. “Yeah, you know, Avogadro’s Number?” God bless her, Mommy’s Mathtard Gene skipped right over logical little noggin. This excites me, because chemistry math is pretty sexy, innit? Go-ohhhh, Chem Nerds!

Sometime real soon –like tonight or tomorrow– my contribution to Violence Unsilenced goes up. I am extremely, with emphasis on the ‘extreme’, nervous about it. I made mention about maybe doing it around the first of the year and then fell silent on the matter. It took me six months to push the words into their proper alignment so as to convey some form of the horror while removing myself slightly from it. It was still an emotionally gobsmacking experience and I hope, even as I give Maggie the okay to hit ‘publish’ on it, that I’m doing the right thing here. I marvel at the notion that my turn managed to find itself on the tail-end of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Have I remembered to tell you that I don’t really believe there is such a thing as an accident?

*I have every right to stroke humor, having had an extremely gentle (HA, that’s like saying, ‘I’m okay! The piranhas only gnawed one toe off! I coulda lost a laig, y’all!’) one. While pregnant. A la the ‘Go Big Or Go Home’ style we all know I’m so very fond of.

11 worked it out »

  1. Troutie 10.23.2009

    I missed the sexy chem math gene and got the sexy Mexican food gene instead. Mmmmm, mole.

    This is a painfully trite comment for a wonderfully thinky post. You are out of my league.

     
  2. maggie, dammit 10.23.2009

    I adore you and I am so proud of you. Thank you for being generous.

     
  3. Mojo 10.23.2009

    You know somethin’? You may have skipped the Math nerd gene line, but you went back for seconds in the omg-this-girl-can-string-a-sentence-together one. Maybe thirds too. Just read your VU post and it gave me chills. The good kind. You. Rock. Srsly.

     
  4. TwoBusy 10.23.2009

    For what it’s worth… anyone capable of scorning you can and should have the shit kicked out of them.

    Also: I’m fascinated by the idea of loved ones being more distressed by UNDERWEARLESS than… um… DEAD. I thought that kind of ultra-reserved mortification was the exclusive provenance of us uptight puritan New Englanders. Live and learn, I guess.

     
  5. ramble 10.23.2009

    You are amazing. Really and truly.

    Also, I laughed out loud at that “laig” line.

     
  6. Kelly 10.25.2009

    There is so much I could say here. Your post at Mags was amazing. Nods head in major agreement over the bras, and….I heard a dance version of Use Somebody on the radio yesterday. A small piece of my heart died. Please to hold me?

     
  7. Mama Zen 10.25.2009

    Just wanted to drop by and tell you that your post at Violence Unsilenced is absolutely brilliant!

     
  8. muskrat 10.25.2009

    haven’t been reading my friends’ blogs much the last few months but saw your entry over yonder this afternoon. you are very brave.

     
  9. Bejewell 10.26.2009

    There is no such thing as “TOO MUCH” when it comes to SOCKS. and. UNDERWEAR

     
  10. Jettomatika 10.26.2009

    Now then, EVERYBODY DANCE!

     
  11. Holmes 10.30.2009

    If you’re prepared, you won’t need it. If you’re unprepared, you’ll need it. Such is the long form of my motto. *touches nose*

     

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