Brain Babble

It’s been a rough week. I can’t lie about that but I certainly want to.

Multiple issues Sunday and Monday, a couple this morning. Perhaps one of the most disheartening realizations was the fact that, even though I knew I shouldn’t go on rollercoasters, I will never be on another one as long as I’m alive and  “healthy”. I tried swinging next to my daughter. Swinging, you know, on a swing set? My favorite part as a kid was always that arc right before you got too high and the sing started jumping. I didn’t even make it to that part before “something” happened and I almost fell out of the swing. No swings for me. No rollercoasters. That family trip to Six Flags my husband and I have been planning for when the kids got older just got thrown out the window.

But, hey, even just typing about it I started to get upset and get a little dizzy, but that could just be my medication kicking in.

My husband met his daughter, finally, after being denied for so long by her mother! From what my husband relayed to me and from what I saw myself on her social media stuff… my husband was right in that he made quite a positive impression on both his daughter and her soon-to-be-stepdad. He made enough of an impression on the latter that it has caused his ex some second thoughts in regards to whether or not she wants to indeed marry her third child’s baby-daddy. Interesting creatures, people.

I need to go in to my neurologist, the twitches in my hand keep getting worse. I don’t know if it’s related or not but I am forgetting and mixing up words I shouldn’t be. I can’t help but feel like I started going downhill super fast in one way once the medication was started for something else. What if the seizures are an allergic reaction to the medication? What if I’m not as sick as she thinks or it’s not what she thinks? I’m being hopeful, I’m trying not to be naive, I’m trying to ask questions so I don’t end up like a vegetable for the rest of my kids’ childhoods.

There’s so much in my head, but I am so tired. My sleep has not been restful at all the last few weeks. or maybe just two weeks, I’ve lost count. It’s my body, adapting to the medication.

Even now, I can feel the fire in my hands under my skin has returned. It makes me want to take an ice bath, and I hate the cold, normally the cold hurts. Ah, well,  life goes on.

Hopefully, I’ll be sitting down with my son’s principal tomorrow to discuss why the hell she let a child get away with punching my son in the eye. Accident, my ass. An accident wouldn’t have landed a fist in his eye, instinctually your hands are open when you fall. Just freaking common sense.

I have found myself missing my fellow writers as of late, the ones I used to meet with, and the community of bloggers I was with before I was here. Things keep changing, eh?


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.

Just in Cases…

So, in the event Xanga does not survive, I’m going to try posting on WP instead. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve tried to connect/re-connect with other Xangans here as well. Might be a bit before I post regularly again as I’ve had a rather difficult pregnancy and am coming up on my due date. Please feel free to contact me regardless, though. 🙂