Gorillabuns

unlucky numbers

We managed to get through the funeral with only 1/4 of the Xanax needed to be coherent. (I'm quite proud of myself if I do say so myself.) I don't know what the other half was doing but they seemed to be in their own world to manage. I would expect nothing less. Truly.  The whole scene is even more sad, daunting and well, more in the dark than it was two weeks ago.

Since we last left off, I have received subsequent dialing for dollar calls of support, an all-knowing grief connection, turning into the expert of anything and everything - landing on I'm more grieved than the anyone in the free world and you are just here, to listen to me spout. Because this is my job in life. To make everyone feel better. I'm not quite sure when I turned into Julie, The Cruise Director, of grief and dysfunction but, somehow, I was awarded and missed the big fanfare of a meeting. A post I would have surely turned down if I were given a voice or choice.

Even more special: unexpected geysers of emotion are quite rampant in my world.

I don't do spouting well. Misplaced anger, guilt and craziness should really go to someone else. Some more equipped to deal with the dysfunction. One who might actually accept it.

We've buried a kid, had a birthday, two tooth fairy visits and a wedding anniversary come to a dust devil like existence around here.

All have been met with such fanfare and glitter it would make your head spin except for the latter.

After very detailed conversations of anxiety, grief and feeling so unappreciated and unacknowledged, I have done met my match in the emotionally unavailability department. I always knew it but the realization is more than I really can accept at the moment....

I feel quite bereft and well, so fucking done with partnerships. OF ANY KIND!!! Because truthfully? I don't have one. Haven't had one in many years. and it is quite sad.

All I want is to be acknowledged. To not be dismissed. To feel valid when I don't feel so. at. all.

And to sound trite? Cherished. and loved.

Please tell me one good thing that happened in your relationships this week. Anything and everything. Give me some motherfucking hope that after all is said and done: A man will care about what the fuck happens to me. to you. to someone other than himself. Because I won't believe it if you don't tell me.

 

 

 

say something

I know I should say something about anything but I don't feel like it right now. I'm funkafied. Have been for sometime. I think my state of mind might be permanent. I'm cool with it.

Thank you all for you kind words of love and caring. These words aren't taken trivially or without care. These words and thoughts really mean something to me. Thalon is not forgotten, I'm not forgotten - the girls are not forgotten.  And yes, I do believe I deserve that golden star next to my name when my time comes.  I put myself to the back burner for my girls. I hope they never suffer as a mother. Kinda like if you know someone who has cancer or their child dies? The laws of probablity goes way down due to association. Maybe it's just me and how my warped mind thinks but I do like to think I took the brunt of all that is shitty so others don't feel the same shitty McShitterson.

I know. I am one eloquent fool.

As we prepare for round two of getting through the day, I'll be the chick/proctor sitting in the corner of your child's homeroom while they take their state testing. I may or may not be playing Candy Crush Saga while also reading a trashy novels. I do love me some smut. Escapism at it's finest. I promise to not share my literary selection with your child.

I do have to say, three hours of pure uninterrupted silence is great, except when my stomach has a gas bubble from the late night binging I am apt to consume.  Nothing says "awesomesauce" when a gaggle of 5th graders turn and stare at you as you try to cough off the innard gas bubbles shooting forth your bowels. 

Yea, I am glad Celia was not present for me to mortify her with her peers.

Alas, don't get me started on this STATE testing. It's for the birds. The school, the teachers and the kids are so bundled up with anxiety to pass these said tests, that they have forgotten what the real reason for school is..... to learn, explore and enjoy.

I am sad kids can't be kids and learn with enthusiasm and wonder while being allowed to fail because this should be the "wonder years" of their learning. Instead, they are drilled to an inch of their life for the past month with 6 pages of "review" homework a night for the past month. Because higher up douches say so.

No wonder the Chinese are totally overtaking our shit. Because we are failing our youth and their intelligence.

**and scene of my rant**

I probably don't know know what I'm talking about.....

April

Well, we made it through another Good Friday and Easter.

Only one breakdown along the way. Okay, maybe two.

Kind words, thoughts and "hope you just make it through this time...." have been sent our way.

Eggs were dyed and hunted.

The ability to maintain my shit in front of my kids during this time should garner me a Best Supporting Actress nod.

Only when they go to sleep or when driving by myself in the car do I fall apart. Wailing over memories that suddenly pop into my head about blue babies and blue clothing.

Smells assault my senses and my memory. Making me feel like I'm going in insane. I felt like I smelled like Dreft and Mustella lotion all day. None of these items do I have in my possession. I threw these fragrances away almost four years ago.

Sulphur from boiled eggs burn my tongue and singe my olfactory hairs. Reminding me of one the happiest and most joyious time of my life immediately turning to complete shit. 

Lilies remind me of staring at my son's urn on the altar for an hour while inhaling the sweet perfume of their siren song.

Easter baskets remind of me of rushing to shove a few mangled wooden pieces in the hands of friends who were taking care of our girls that eve while I stood vigil with my son. The breakdown of holding a tiny basket for my son who would never partake in his bunny and book remained until his funeral.

Easter afternoon reminds me of cleansing my dead son's body and getting him ready for the Medical Examiner's office to pick him up. To hack, saw and desecrate his beautiful body.

I'm still at a loss of what day to pin my dread on. Good Friday? Easter? April 10th? April 12? All are constant shitty reminders.

I try not to say anything to people close to me about my feelings of anxiety and sadness of him. Mainly because I'm afraid they are going to say, "when are you going to get over this?"

The answer is never. I don't plan on getting over him - ever.

Please read the following piece from a friend about death, dying and April. If you have any spare change, consider donating to these worthy causes. I donate in Maddie's name every year. Hoping she is leading Thalon around by the hand in heaven while they look down at all of us fools.

The Grayest Month

 

unplugged

We returned from our trip without any injuries and mostly still married.

Unless you count this beauty.

The scenery was wistful of my memories from living in West Texas when I was young.

 
Even the bug smudge on the windshield.

We did have all kinds of attitude shoot forth it's loins on this trip.

As you can tell, Celia was less than thrilled with skiing or maybe she was less than thrilled having her father make her ski down blues after 1 1/2 hours of ski lessons.  I am with her. It blew. She needed a do-over. With a more patient co-skier.

Some fun things occurred. My first experience of snow while in the mountains.

Sangria and the doggie bags they give you for transportation.

St. Patty's Day with friends.

Maybe I shouldn't have ordered shots....

Spending quality alone time with my oldest who is growing up way too fast before my eyes.

Relishing in the joy Moira brings to any activity or adventure.

I miss the solitude, my good friend we stayed with in the condo, as well as the unplugged aspect I pretty much displayed while out in nature.

I need to unplug and rewire myself more often. I think we all do.

 

yo

Well, hey.

More and more, I keep forgetting about this space. Before long the 10 people who read this will too.  I guess this is what happens to all of us when we age. We forget stuff. Especially unimportant stuff.

My birthday was nice. I think my husband read my post so he knew he needed to step to the plate and give me an actual card for the day.  I spent the day with my mother. We had lunch, did my annual bra shopping and picked up the kids and did homework. My husband gave me a knife sharpener as a gift. Nothing says romance like a knife sharpener. If he really thought about this gift in a clear light he would realize that after sharpening my kitchen knives to a fine point precision, I might actually stab him 427 times for being so romantic with this gift.  In the end he did have my wedding ring fixed by adding a chunk of metal to it so I can wear it again.  It seems almost 13 years later, I've started to grow a nice pair of man hands. My wedding set didn't fit any longer. For this, I put the knives away. 

Moira gave me a very sweet portrait for my birthday. The only time I've worn a dress since my wedding day.

I've had another kid down with the sickness. or is it the same kid? different week? I'm losing count.

Don't you love how I'll let the girls wear just about anything in public? Stripes? Pants with skirts over them? Peeshaw! We are total fashion mavens around these parts.

I'm still obsessed with Candy Crush Saga and can't figure out how everyone is moving past me in Speed Racer form. Like my husband is about to kick my ass in his movement. THIS I can't handle.

I'm so glad the Bachelor is almost over because I simply can't handle this show any longer. I can't stand this dipwad and the choices he's made. Hurry up and pick the chick you are going to dump 12-weeks later because you have completed your contractual obligations.  Have you noticed the complete narcissic giddiness he displays when he takes his shirt off? I don't think there has been one episode in which his shirt has stayed on for the entire show.  I mean, dude, I manage to keep my shirt on during my hometown visits.

A new show I'm OBSESSED with is LA Shrinks on Bravo. I love it! Mainly because the show validates every reason why I didn't persue my Doctorate in Counseling. In a word (okay, phrase) - people are crazy. I do have to say, I can totally relate to the woman who screams and yells "Fuck you, you Motherfucker!" in her car.  She seems to have a few anger issues. Sister, don't we all. We're just living the dream. Livin' the dream.

Right now, I'm finishing up a wedding and planning on an upcoming ski trip in which I don't have a stitch of ski clothing for my family. We leave in less than two weeks.  Have a I mentioned that we've never been skiing? Well, Rich has but the girls and I haven't. No worries here on the injury portion of skiing for me. I'll be tucked safe and warm in the local bar. Drinking away any anxiety of someone running into a tree and killing themselves.  I better up everyone's life insurance. and take a shit-ton of Xanax with me.