What A Week…

With all the extra drama surrounding Father’s Day this year, ChaosMonkey’s been asking about the situation between his dad and I and my opinion of his dad and all sorts of things I don’t feel I can answer honestly without affect his own self-worth. He’s “angry” with me (read as generally frustrated) and accused me of hiding things from him in regards to his dad. Funny thing is, I have a bunch of things between his dad and I that I have saved from when things were good that I have been waiting for the appropriate time to give him. He’s still a child, however, and I cannot justify putting a child amidst over a decades worth of drama between two adults.

That was our talk during the drive home.

We were driving home from an impromptu doctors appointment… for me… again.

BOB is getting his two year molars in and woke up needing some comfort around 2AM, which is usually when the pain in my hands and feet starts setting in. This time, the pain had started around 9:30 last night and when BOB’s cries woke me up at 2 I only had partial feeling and muscle control in each of my four limbs. Needless to say the entire time spent comforting my youngest I was trying not to freak out.

The doc and I went over some things and he poked and prodded me and is referring me out to a neurologist and MRI. It scares me. I feel like my body is just disintegrating around me and there is so much I’m going to miss of my kids lives because I’m going to be drugged out of my mind to treat whatever this is or physically confined or dead.

Yes, I know I’m being overdramatic and what not, it’s my initial reaction to “unknowns”–my mind takes the possibilities and branches out in a dozen directions with each and it’s a little overwhelming to have a few dozen universes explode out of nothing in your head over the course of a few seconds.

My hands and feet have continued with their numbness off and on all day. They’re numb right now… except that the numbness fades into pain the higher up the limb you go.

Which brings me back to my email response to TheEx that I need to work on, in which I need or should probably include the email from my CSE agent confirming that I have not received any funds from them that were taken from him regardless of his accusations and assumptions. It’s a fun time right now…


Update: After a break, I went back again to try and work on a response to his last email and I’m STILL at that “There’s so much delusional BS in this I don’t know where or who to start” stage. *thumps head on desk* Heeeeelp meeee!

Literary Lion Prompt: Morning

This week’s 400 word or less writing prompt from ISmithWords’ Literary Lion writing prompt is: “Morning”.


Mornings of Afar

The light spills over his head like in lieu of cold water. Beginnings are not gentle things here, they are the crashing and flashing of light against your eyes despite the day before unending because the night sky was itself set alight, the percussion of hateful hearts booming in his ears. The dirt mucked in his mouth as he swallowed the dregs of his canteen down. It was time to keep going.

The lights just melded into one another, imploding beneath his eyelids to ring his head like a bell. He tightened his laces, slung his weapon back into place, checked his gear, loaded up and eased to his feet. It was the slowest part of his day, but even then his heart pounded in time to the blasts.

This was his life. It was what he had trained for and to survive.

He heard a click and time slowed as he lifted his arm towards his face, shrapnel slunking against his armor, slicing through flesh.

Smokey stars filled his eyes, swirling in the first darkness he’d known since the fighting began.The stars twinkled out, caving in upon themselves into the darkness with only thunder behind them. And for a few moments, after all the star trails have been sucked into the darkness, there’s quiet. There are no blasts, there are no screams, the pain is fading as he slips deeper under the dark.

Then light slowly begins to dawn, soft and gentle.

Word Count: 245

RePost: Rebirth Into Self: The Journey Home

Rebirth Into Self: The Journey Home – Saturday August 16, 2008

There is a sanctuary set aside from the world, a place where dreams are laid, goals actualized, beginnings created and endings accepted. This is a place only one person knows the location of, and that one person is every person, for it is a different place within and without ever individual.

No person lives their life without going through a transitional period of time where they “find themselves”; something akin to returning to a home you didn’t realize you had. I’m lost right now, and I am found, and I am traversing the mental distance between the two vantage points, omnipresent as I watch myself every step of the way.

Somehow, a moment we shared is guiding me back into myself. It’s as if the warmth held within that moment emanates from a soul sleeping inside me in a place I can’t remember the path too. I follow it, this feeling, not knowing where I am going and though I easily lose my way again and again, I feel its heat upon my back beckoning me to correct the path I’m forging through my mind. So I turn and continue on into the darkness we created, we shared, we reveled in during that mixing of souls that was the catalyst for some sort of metamorphosis we struggle through, moment by moment.

This is not a peaceful journey nor is it exciting or mysterious, it is nothing but pain and fear. I have lost who I am, who I was, really. I am no one at this moment but a creature trapped in a fathomless chrysalis of soulless soul searching. I’m thrashing about in my mind, trying to find some remnants, some pieces of who I was, what I was: child, daughter, mother, lover, self.

Something within me broke, something has let fly all pieces of my personal mosaic into the wind rushing by my mental cadaver over the cliffs of insanity into the sea of mercurial consciousness. Even in this storm I feel that warmth, glowing unseen yet felt from somewhere across that rocky sea. Throughout this whole time, at the very edge of my mind’s peripheral vision I see myself battling to break from my encasement, too stubborn to realize it’s too soon.

There is no other recourse but to dive into this sea of what should be self, to swim amidst its waves, its tides, its depths to reach what is beyond its shores. So I jump, clutching what few shards of myself I think might be worth, diving into the sea. I struggle through this empty ocean feeling bumps and slitherings of things somehow existing yet unknowable. They snatch at my legs and drag me down only to push me back up into the crashing waves and the slapping winds, and rain draws red rivulets from my skin.

Then suddenly, it is as if that universe within my mind compresses and the sea itself is forced into me, condensing within me through the cuts the rain carved and a barrier crystallizes around me, hardening until I realize what I kept catching at the edge of my mind’s eye was self fulfilling prophecy.

So I fight and struggle, suffocating within myself, choking on a sea of my own creating, drowning in that stinging salt water. And when all resistance has proven futile, it all goes dark, darker than the storm, darker than I’d ever known.

I wake to the sound of an arctic plain cracking, thunderous in voided space and I am sloshed out of the protective barrier that me while I was formless. Droplets of consciousness fall into the form of words, structured within their seeming chaos around me. I stretch my limbs and test my lungs, newly born into that which I am from the essence of what I was. My skin thickens and hardens, slowly as I adjust to this new form, the first and only barrier between who I have transformed into and the world around me. I must strengthen this body, this mind, this self before venturing from the birth place of my mind back into the world.

Then, for the first time, I notice the warmth about me and realize I am in that place I strove to find, that place you and I created within one another. It is here I have found myself, within myself, imbued with some part of you as well, some mystery that quickens my blood in my veins. I remember what I have come from but it no longer binds me, those ties have been cut away by your demanding beckoning and that prison burned in the heat of those moments that haunt us still.

I do not know who I am, I do not know what form I take, but I am reflected in your eyes at night, in the honesty of the moon’s gentle light and I see myself for the first time: home and whole in your eyes.


This is by far one of my favorite pieces that I’ve ever written. It’s a repost from way, way back when.

Repost: Untitled Xanga Snippet

Repost: Untitled Xanga Snippet

My mama had always been mysterious, from the day I could remember to the day she drowned off the coast. She had these dark eyes that swallowed you in whole and eternally tanned skin like some tropical goddess crowned with thick black hair that moved like the ocean.

There was nothing other than that which really made her extraordinary. She was a very quiet woman who liked to read on the beach while I played and stood out on the balcony watching the sea at night, like a gull wanting to take flight.

There was a storm one night while she was driving home, a rock slide along the cliff bumbled the car right off the road and into the choppy waters. No one but Dad ever really missed her; she was too quiet I guess.

Growing up I was afraid of the ocean, the thing that took my mother from me, though I don’t really think she was ever truly mine to begin with. Her mind seemed to always be somewhere else. I’d gotten her dark hair but other than that I was all my father: pale freckled skin with green eyes and a lust to feel every part of life there was.

Now, looking in my own daughter’s eyes, I see that mystery again in those eyes that swallow you whole and knock the breath right out of your soul. She had my pale skin and her father’s lips, but everything else about her suggested she was a throw back to my mother, and therefore, just like my mother, not entirely mine.

Somehow, she was my daughter, and yet she was my mother’s daughter more than mine, which made no sense to me then, not much more now, but that doesn’t mean that it still isn’t the way of things.


Looking back through some old, oooold, posts from Xanga. Found this one that I wrote during my pregnancy with my eldest.

Rants Are Not Enough

I gave a little rant a while back in regards to dealing with TheEx and the last few days have been jam-packed with some wonderful experiences but also many experiences of dealing with him.

Father’s Day seems to be THE lose-lose of all days and holidays combined for my poor ChaosMonkey. Father’s Day after Father’s Day it’s been, “I can’t I have THIS to do”, or “SOMEONE’S gonna pick him up and watch him because I’m too busy with this”, or etcetera so on and so forth all down the line.

It’s all so messed up and trigger happy right now. I swear, no matter what I do or say if it isn’t what he wants then he just “pa-shews” right off the handle.

Visitation is a sensitive issue, I get that, and we’re both sensitized to it all, but… Gah.

If we don’t have the funds to make the drive, we don’t. My husband went behind my back to get a loan from a “company” that is essentially a legal loan shark. I could have killed him! But it was more important to him to help me keep my word in regards to getting ChaosMonkey where we agreed he would be and when. And then we’re there, when and where we’re supposed to be, and TheEx didn’t show up, didn’t respond to my texts, and with how things have been I wasn’t about to have undocumented communication with the… “man” (and I use the term loosely, like his freaking pants that he can’t seem to keep on).

His recollection of past events is so backwards… He has totally inverse the situation in his head. Whether he’s lying to save face or is just that delusional, I don’t know. But I do know he is the type to buy into his own bullshit. I’m half tempted to post the email chain just so that all his BS is “out there”. Some feeling of “here’s how he really is, world” without making his wife feel like she/her marriage is being attacked.

So far, I kind of like his wife, we get along well and have similar interests and really seem to hit it off when we see each other. Though TheEx claims I antagonize him at every pick up/drop off which I find totally bogus as my interaction with him are short and polite. He’s got skin like jell-o at this point, it seems. Gah…

Me And Emily – Rachel Proctor

Mere weeks before ChaosMonkey was born, this song was introduced to me. It hit me hard then yet it hits me so much harder now…

“An’ gets her little mind a-wonderin’
“Where’s my Daddy? Do I have one?
“Does he not love me like you do?”
Oh, maybe I’ll find someone to love the both of us,
An’ I’ll tell her when she’s old enough to know the truth.”

ChaosMonkey has risen similar questions for so many years now and I have tried to answer honestly yet kindly. I tell him that when he’s older I can tell him more and he’ll understand more. But this last bout with his biological donor has been just one clusterfuck after another, claiming an entirely different set of issues during that turbulent time than what I saw.

I’ll never forget when I was asked if ‘this’ was what I wanted my son growing up to see as what a man should ASPIRE to. I had to answer no. The counselor was gentle with me though. He offered to pose the relationship turning/destroying question for me… I waited in that room still as a stone, bot even daring to take a breath in to hold while ChaosMonkey’s dad sat down.. The counselor asked, straight up, no punches pulled and utterly matter of factly, if Jay would be willing to quit sleeping with and having sexual relations and discourse with other women for the sake of a marriage to me and raising our son. He said no. I was totally crushed, and there was this gelatinous darkness sucking me into a greater darkness but so that my son and I could be born anew within the dawn.

That first true sunrise where all the chains felt like they’d been released and I could slide under a ray of sunshine as nonchalantly as a leaf sashays down into your walkway. I felt so happy I was broken… No, no, I was so broken that it had refilled and formed my broken heart and the happiness was pressing the pieces outward as my heart, itself, actually grew and connected with each and every born little piece, holding it firmly where it should have been all along and underwent some kilning of the variety only another broken heart can create and provide.

Me And Emily – Rachel Proctor

Floorboard’s filled with baby toys, an’ empty coke
bottles an’ cofee cups
Drivin’ through the rain with no radio,
Tryin’ not to wake her up.
Cell ‘phone says “low battery”,
God, what if I break down?
I’m just lookin’ for an exit with a lotta lights,
A safe little interstate town.

Just a cheap hotel,
With a single bed,
And cable TV
Is good enough for me an’ Emily.

Some day, when she’s old enough,
She’s gonna start askin’ questions about him.
Some kid at school brings his Dad for show an’ tell,
An’ gets her little mind a-wonderin’
“Where’s my Daddy? Do I have one?
“Does he not love me like you do?”
Oh, maybe I’ll find someone to love the both of us,
An’ I’ll tell her when she’s old enough to know the truth.

Will it break her heart?
Will she understand,
That I had to leave?
That’s what was best for me an’ Emily.

That house was never clean enough
his dinner never warm enough.
Nothing I did was ever good enough to make him happy.
So, I guess, he gave me what he thought I deserved,
But it would kill me if he ever raised his hand to her.

Big rigs are throwin’ rain on my windshield,
An’ I feel like they’re laughin’ at me.
Fin’lly the storm is lettin’ up,
An’ the mornin’ is breakin’ free.

It’s a brand new day,
It’s a second chance.
Yesterday is just a memory,
For me an’ Emily.
Ah.

Floorboard is filled with baby toys,
An’ empty coke bottles an’ coffee cups.
Least there’s one good thing that he gave me,
An’ she’s startin’ to wake up.

Is there a lawyer in the house?

So… Due to attempting to pay all our bills AND buy groceries, and I mean bare minimum groceries, we canot afford to put gas into my car till next payday. This means we cannot afford to make the drive to take my son the usual halfway meeting point for visitation.  Anyone care to help me try and work with someone who isn’t willing to work with me? I cannot change the fact that the money isn’t there and him calling the police/state enforcement isn’t gonna change that.