I think he’s bored

My Mom and Princess Punk both had doctor appointments today. So The Zen Master was home with The Peach. Which frequently results in random and rather hilarious text message exchanges throughout the day.

Your daughter.

Your daughter.

Hunh?

Squatting in the corner.

Me: Are you pooping?

Peach: Nooooooo (grunting)

ROFL… Awesome.

And later… Because he’s a perv

I love you

And it’s mine

I love you too

And you’re wrong. it’s mine.

I’d touch it in protest but there is a midget in the room

Princess Punk wants to know if she can mow the lawn

~later~

I love you

I love you too

My penis loves you too

Muah

I don’t know who’s worse… Him for being a pervy dork, or me for marrying him.

Oh right… I married him because he’s a pervy dork.

The little things are sometimes not so little.

I am thankful.

For a friend that made me laugh when I was feeling particularly frustrated, annoyed, tired and generally shitty.

Whoa… Heehee

I found the vodka.

Bad.

I think, right now… I’m wayyyyyy past tipsy.

I’m… I’m fucking drunk.

I haven’t had anything to drink in a few weeks. Not since “The Incident.” Since My Mom moved in with us, we The Zen Master hid any booze in the house. Ergo… No drinky-drink for Mrs. Newlife.

I found the vodka. I drank some. I drank a lot.

Everything is fucked up.

My Mom filed for divorce yesterday. After 36 years of marriage. 42 years together. Splitsville. Done.

This has all been one huge, giant, colossal clusterfuck.

I don’t feel like I have a Daddy anymore. If he happens to come up in conversation, I am completely unable to actually refer to him as anything other “Him.”

I still can’t even comprehend what is going on right now. I thought it would be better if I stopped feeling so numb, but… No. The feeling is slowly coming back, creeping in, like pins and needles after your feet fall asleep from sitting on the toilet too long. Oh… Just me? Ok… Pins and needles after your feet fall asleep from sitting cross-legged for too long. Better? Anyway. So the feeling is creeping back and…

It hurts.

Heart aching, head pounding, breath catching pain.

I lost my Daddy. Gone. I don’t think I will ever think of him that way again. Father? Yeah, okay. I’m sure I’ll get back to that at some point. But Daddy? No. Gone.

And every time that harsh, raw, razor-sharp reality hits me, I cry. And maybe I just completely lose my shit, just for a minute.

And then I take a deep, shaky, painful breath.

And I keep on going.

But right now? Right now, even though I know I have to get up in 5 hours and go to work, right now…

Right now, I’m drunk. And I’m laying in bed with the solid comfort of The Zen Master pressed against me.

And I think, I’m gonna let myself just cry for awhile.

Because I think that I need to do that.

A Succinct Statement

Emailing to a co-worker this morning led to her making this comment;

I think it is interesting how things are shifting, but it still scares me a bit how public our lives have become. I used to watch ‘general hospital,’ but figure 1/2 an hour on facebook and I am able to have the same brain numbing experience.

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

Gotta go check my News Feed!

Teenagers and Toddlers

See this? That chunky little arm is attached to my chunky little Peach. That hand? Attached to Princess Punk. That spider on my youngest’s arm? A temporary tattoo, applied by my eldest.

image

The Peach spent several hours last night, poking and rubbing the spot on her arm, piteously proffering it to myself, The Zen Master, Princess Punk and My Mom.

“Boo-boo?”

“No baby, that’s not a boo-boo.”

“Bee?”

“No, it’s not a bee. It’s a spider. A bug.”

“Gug?”

“Yes baby. Buh-buh-bug.”

“Boo-boo… Boo-boo!”

“No Peach it’s a… Crap. Nevermind. C’mere, let Mommy kiss the boo-boo.”

“MmmmmmmmmAH!” (ear-piercing squeals)

2 minutes later…

“Boo-boo?”

Emotionally Nauseous

Nauseous, I hate that word. It sounds so… Weird. And what the hell is with the spelling? Just another example of the English language stealing words from other languages and twisting them; totally fucking up spelling and pronunciation and destroying any correlation between the two.

There are a bunch of other words I can think of right now that I find repugnant. Although the word repugnant itself is awesome. It seems, in my current state of mind (or continent, since I seem to be rather lost at the moment), certain unpleasant words (and images, but we won’t be covering those today) are floating randomly though my head. Some relevant, some not.

Nauseous… Which of course brings to mind the word;

Vomit

Feces… Stepped in some this morning… Left for me by a dog that is not Fairy Dog.

Furious

Violence

Guilt

Trauma

Terror

Assault

Defendant

Insecure

End

Complicated

Confusion

Avoidance

Control

Battered

Mourning

Pity

Abuse

Turmoil

Testimony

Plaintiff

And the worst word. The one I hate with every single, aching, burning fiber of my being…

Victim.

And just like that…

… Everything changes.

Everything is still a total clusterfuck. I’m not going to get into any details. Maybe I will at some point. Honestly, I am not quite sure if there would be any legal ramifications.

I am in pain.

I feel like I’ve been in a serious car accident.

I wasn’t.

My Mom is sleeping on my couch.

My Dad?

My Dad… My Dad is… I’d rather not broadcast that. But he’s not here. And he won’t be. He won’t be in my house or near me or my girls for a long time. Probably forever. I think I might actually even be okay with that. Right now, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even really want to think about it. I’m not even sure I could if I tried. I am feeling sort of numb at the moment. Fleeting moments of intense emotion; rage, terror, crushing sadness, utter disbelief. But mostly?

Mostly just nothing at all.