My Butt Hath Been Kick-ithed Again…

When you are young, everyday is fresh and full of possibilities.  You look upon your life as a sunflower field that you can run and swirl in… dance and fall down, in ecstatic frenzy.  Wild abandon.  Caught in the beauty that goes on as far as your eye can see, fingertips touching the ethereal, soft, exquisite flesh of flowers all around you.  Drawn in by the smells, the touch, the beauty of it all.  You don’t worry, you don’t anger, you don’t see the fall coming…stripping the lovely and brazen orange, yellow faces from the delicate necks, leaving them naked, exposed, ugly.  No, you never see the fall.

The problem is, have you ever actually been in a sunflower field.  I have.  It’s like being in a corn field.  You run in… you get lost.  You don’t think about it at first, all you can think is, “Ahhh… look at these gorgeous sunflowers!” and then after you’ve gotten your ya-ya’s out, you turn to go back.  But, back where?  Where the hell am I?  I’m lost in this maze of huge flowers and I can’t see my way out!!!  You no longer see the beauty that surrounds you, the joy of innocence is lost, as lost as you are.  The textures, the smells, the exhilaration, no longer exists in your consciousness.  It has been replaced by fear, frustration, and anger.  How could I be so stupid?  What was I thinking?

I am currently lost in the maze.  I keep turning corners only to find I am faced with where I was, not where I am headed. The worst part is, I have done this before.  I have run into the field many, many times before.  It seems I am like the goldfish… the castle is a surprise every time.

Love is life… life is love.  Love and life are the sunflower fields.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I always forget the breadcrumb trail.  I don’t think about finding my way, I just run in… fresh faced and ignorant.  This time will be different. It never is.  Love of family, whether it be blood or bond, seems to blind you to the reality of past experience.  Hope springs eternal, and the appeal of the flowers overpowering.  The lure of my selective memories to powerful to ignore, I plunge in… then blunder, fumble, stumble, and fall(not joyfully)on my face.  When I get up, face full of mud, I can’t figure out what happened.  It’s as if I have love(family)amnesia.  I am utterly dumbfounded each time I get lost.

So… here I am, standing in the middle of the field.  My face full of mud, lost, confused, hurt, angry, and sad.  My butt hath been kick-ithed again.


Criminally Insane or Incredibly Mundane… you decide.

I have some kind of inordinate desire to exist in a black and white universe in which my life is either insane… or mundane.  I cannot seem to manage to find some middle ground, or should I say cannot seem to find comfort in the middle ground.  I suppose that when you come from a family of “certified” loonies and have a 19-year-old son(which is redundant), Hehe… the middle ground is a completely foreign concept.

As an example, I broke a molar and had to go to the dentist.  Oh yes it was broken, abscessed, and unsaveable.  So, after a great deal of REALLY large needles full of Lidocaine my face was in full droop, out comes the Medieval torture devices.  Huge metal ice cream scoops, spatulas, and a wide variety of menacing plier looking objects.  The Dentist starts poking at my face and says,”How’s that?”  I say, “Ooh..iffeals ofay”.  Then comes the spatula things to try to pry the tooth up… the rest I will save you from, I will say, I’ve never heard anything that disgusting in my entire life.

Ordeal over, mouth full of gauze, drooling blood at the counter… I actually nodded yes when they asked to schedule me for x-rays, exam, and a cleaning for the following week.  I think I was hovering over myself, to my defense.

What “normal” human being actually puts themselves through all of this keeping in mind that I already have a lot of pain anyways?  I can’t seem to say, “I think I need to wait a little while.”  The prospect of moderation is a foreign if not completely lost concept to me.  Sadly enough, I’m not Pulp Fiction crazy cool,  I’m like a muttering to myself, demonstrative, overtly protective, and extreme in all things pertaining to mom-ing… cleaning… and other mundane craziness.

My father said when I was a child I was either going to run the world or be an axe murderer… unfortunately any of those options involved far to much focus and planning.  I ended up being a run of the mill coo coo.  Masochism in the manner of parenting a teenage boy, putting my hand in the proverbial “wood chipper” with nasty people repeatedly, engaging in the absurd notion that family should probably not use sarcasm as the only form of communication in our interactions…

I wish I had been an axe murderer.

The Ravings of a Lunatic Mom…

So… I was looking back on my younger, thinner years.  Oh the pain and pathos I thought I had then.  What I wouldn’t give to know then what I know now.  To give you a little insight into the thought process of a young, high and mighty, lunatic, I give you a bit of old writing.  I think you will see that I have been insane since conception… you should see my baby picture!  It looked like I was plotting to take over the world as soon as I entered it!!  So, for your reading enjoyment… lunacy(as if I haven’t given you a lot of that already).  Here I go:

It used to be, “I’m trying to find myself”… roll your eyes and drink a beer.  The thrill was in the chase, the looking and seeking.  Comforted in the knowledge that the prospect of actually locating oneself was slim to none.  Wasting days going to class then on to yet another meaningless job… to work for tips, to buy a beer.  Ah, the pursuit of knowledge for $2.75 a glass, sitting next to some pain in the ass with nary an intelligible word to say.  Oh, raise a toast to the good ole’ days… when were they exactly?  Wondering when all your friends became pompous import drinking weenies.  Westphalia can you believe it?  They are taking the “phalias” to Montana.  Get this, to “find themselves”… Oh aren’t your parents proud.  How old are we again?  Old enough that we’ve seen the end of the Grateful Dead and the beginning of Phish… and music disappearing like “phalias” in the horizon.  Those who haven’t “found” themselves still looking for Jerry… in the Land beyond time, or wearing pig tales or wigs(to cover the grey) with glow sticks in hand trying to keep up.  With what?  These XTC popping pacifier TV babies.  Remember when XTC was an 80’s alternative band?  I do.  I don’t belong in rooms full of children burning their minds and rubbing their bodies with NO idea what comes next… CAUSE I KNOW!!!  I know what’s behind door number 1, and I know how not to step in number 2.  I know dreams are not wishes, they are hard-earned attainable goals.  I know that if I “had it”, I haven’t “lost it”, just put it away.  Today I try to “find” a real man or the perfect pair of shoes, or maybe just my keys.  But, I don’t need a “phalias”, Jerry, wigs, or some pseudo regurgitation of Nietzsche. because I am completely void of independent thought because I lost my mind one day and spent the rest of my life trying to “find it” somewhere else.  I’m not lost, no need to be found I’m right here can’t you see me???

And there you have it… the ravings of a lunatic mom.

Kisses and warm fuzzies.