I’ve been overwhelmed by life in general, but particularly how to care for my aging mom. I’m overwhelmed by the fact that I seem to be failing, and it is just all out there for the world to see. I cracked wide open today and could not hide it. Tears. Weariness. Failure. Someone told me, we don’t see you as you see yourself. Were they being honest? The suspicious side of me says that they just said it so we could all move past the awkwardness of a woman falling apart complete with her red, puffy tearstained face. Maybe I needed to crack. It takes a whole lot of energy to keep it all in. Maybe hitting bottom leaves me at a place where I can rebuild what is broken. My younger self tells my older self that I should be past falling apart. If these words were on paper they would be tearstained with an irregularity to my handwriting that would suggest a sort of desperation. Life is spinning around me at a pace too fast for me to keep up with. I could use a nap of several days or even a week but I don’t have the time to hide under the covers and escape the cruel world.
I was ill recently. I spent a lot of time sleeping when I wasn’t coughing. Between being borderline hypoxic and dehydrated I felt as though my mind was playing tricks on me with the strangest of dreams. When I finally felt better and emerged from the bubble of illness, reality was even stranger. The orange man, Trump, was talking about shitholes. People were encouraging Oprah to run for president. I thought America had decided TV stars with no political experience weren’t allowed to run for office. Oh America, how fickle, strange and sometimes ugly you are.
I’m not quite sure what normal is, but it definitely doesn’t apply to my family of origin. To have a normal week or month would be one where dysfunction took a break. It would be a month where my mom did not have to worry about my sister’s alcoholic adventures. Normal would be positively extravagant.
Have a great holiday with something good to eat and drink, enjoyed with those that are close to you.Hope all of your wishes for 2018 arrive packaged with a shiny bow.
Make sure to get out with your special someone and enjoy the sights of the season. Don’t forget the hugs and kisses.
Waiting, in a daze.
She hears a song.
Wistful about times gone by.
a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.
Music beams her back.
Permed hair, lots of hairspray.
Bright pink lipstick.
A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs
Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.
Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.
Lost in memories of friends and good times.
Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.
Nothing like being called ma’am
to jolt one back to harsh reality.
Today’s prompt is bliss. Many things come to mind but for me they are all meaningless without family.
When I was a young adult, I found out that my parents love was conditional. I had no soft place to fall. I grew to rely on my friends as a substitute for family. They moved on with their lives and we grew apart.
When my husband and I married the concept of family began anew. I received a degree of acceptance that I’d never had growing up. It drove me to become a better person and to conquer some of my demons. As the days went on and we wished for a baby, that desire to polish my rough edges became stronger.
In due time I had a daughter, then a son. My daughter is home from college for the holidays. It is a truly a gift to spend time with her. In a few years my son will be leaving the nest, and a new chapter of family life will start for my husband and I.
My home will always be a soft place to fall for my kids. A comfy cozy refuge from the cruel world. As our family celebrates Christmas, I will always be thankful for the time we spend together, whether it be eating good food, going to a movie or just hanging out. My love for family will always be unconditional.
I’m a quiet person. Sometimes that is a virtue. Sometimes my silence makes me my own worst enemy.
As I’ve become older I’m not as quiet as I once was. The part of my brain that would paralyze my ability to form words has decreased its power over me. I’ve had to do some self talk to move out of my shell. Being a nurse means lots of talking, so to do my job many words are required.
Get me behind a keyboard, and I can write scathing emails if the mood strikes me. I try hard not to express emotions through texts or emails. In real life though there is something that usually tempers my words as they form in my brain and pass through my lips.
Silence is also something I crave on a daily basis. Real life can be overstimulating. I need silence as an antidote to pollution of everyday life.
Within my memory of family, including grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles we all s struggle with some a demon or two. These demons seem to stay with us, passed on to a new generation. Some would say they have no demons, and that the demons of another are just a mutation. There is a thread of mental illness here, a bit of paranoia there.
I keep all of these demons in a metaphorical closet. The door bulges from time to time and the demons threaten to escape their prison and leave a radioactive trail of destruction in their wake.
Some of the demons have taken root in me, but I fight not to let them take over. In the closet you’ll find my demons and the demons of those who share my bloodline. The demons are stored in little potion bottles upon a shelf. Mix them together and they’ll make a lovely toxic soup. Look up at the shelf. Suspicion, anger and weird religious based notions on the highest shelf. Depression, darkness and isolation. Sanctimnious thoughts and hypocrisy. Don’t touch that pretty bottle over there…that little demon will tell you women are less than, even evil, that she-devil’s voice, she’s hard to get out of your head. In the closet there is a tinfoil hat, to protect us from any sort of wordly common sense.
When I leave my inheritance, they key to the closet will be lost forever. No need to pass the demons on to another generation.
Today she is not feeling so jolly
about her coworker Ollie.
She determinedly fought
with her unkind thoughts.
She knew it was the naughty list for her
After that straight to hell.
Somewhere in my house
resides a gremlin who stokes the fire
degree by degree
until this red hot mama
can take it no more.
I know its cold outside
but please let me
control the thermostat.