There are things I don’t blog about because of my desire to keep the peace, and there are things I don’t blog about because I don’t want to be all whiny and throw up (vomit?) the abuse card, but then I have a shitastic dream and a day later, get a call from a friend who is facing much of what I have only begun to acknowledge, so I get pissed. Really, really pissed. I get pissed because my friends mean a lot to me, and I don’t want them to hurt. I get pissed because over...
A few years ago, I decided that once I had time, I was going to volunteer at our local abused women’s shelter. I had actually been waiting a while for this, and thought it would be great if I could help the women who use the shelter’s services to learn computer skills and help them find jobs, build their resumes and access information that may not have been available to them. I would still like to do that, but I have to take things slowly. Our local shelter is pretty quiet about its presence....
When I was around eight, after my Dad left me again or after a suspicious family reunion in which my now-deceased, convicted child molester uncle may have played a role in some fuzzy memory I’ve not yet addressed, I got fat. I hate saying that, but its true. I went from being the smallest girl in my class (height & weight) to a shockingly overweight version of that former child. I thought for years that my ballooning was hormonal, but when I really look at things, I was not built to carry...
Ironically, even if I’m blogging it, today I have sworn to take off from any sort of work. Blogging isn’t work, right? A few notes from my week: I had my eyebrows waxed a few weeks ago and, honestly, I wasn’t happy with the results. She asked me if they were ok, and I thought, “what are you going to do if I say, ‘no?’” Since then, I’ve had the recurring thought about what women do when they’re not happy with their bikini wax job. Please, put my...
Floored. Aghast. Shocked. Sad. These are two people our children look up to, two people that have found themselves in violent relationships and know first-hand how not sexy it is. Can abuse possibly be glorified more? As long as the wrong feels right It’s like I’m in flight High of a love Drunk from the hate It’s like I’m huffing paint And I love it the more that I suffer I suffocate And right before I’m about to drown She resuscitates me She fucking hates me And I...
