Okay, so here’s the deal: My ex moved three hours’ drive out of town a couple of years ago. His job requires him to work way too much, and so he can’t see the kids every other weekend like he’s supposed to. Add to this the fact that he doesn’t want to drive 12 hours every weekend that he does have them, so he moves into my house and I have to move out. At my cost. As my mother so eloquently put it, I have to pay to leave my own home. When their dad does take them to his place (actually, only one of them because he doesn’t have room for both) he expects me to drive half way to meet him. At my cost.
From the time he had the kids last, to the time he has them next, I will have had them for 5 weeks (four weekends). My dilemma is this: do I start drinking wine now? And if so, should I try to have any of the 20 bottles I have in my basement left by the time I get another weekend off (at my cost)? Or should I just throw up my hands and drink the lot?
My life seriously fucking sucks sometimes.
I don’t like to talk about my mother on my regular blog, but I think I’m okay to talk about her here, where I’m somewhat anonymous. I’m not sure if any of my family follows this blog. I’ve only ever mentioned it once, a long time ago.
My mother is my only parent, my dad having died when I was young. I’m an only child, so it’s just her and me. And my kids, of course. I grew up with her, my dad, and their two best friends. My mother is the only one left. I used to think she was the lucky one, to have survived everyone else. Now I wonder.
She doesn’t remember anything from one minute to the next. She can ask me the same question every 15 seconds for 10 minutes. She’s beginning to lose her long-term memory as well. So I’ve been patient. But it’s not easy.
Lately she’s taken to accusing me of selling all she owned when I moved her into a retirement home. In actuality, she was there for the whole thing. She went through all her stuff and decided what to keep and what not to, she met the auctioneer who sold all she didn’t want. But now she asks me how I could sell everything she owns–her whole life–without telling her I was going to do it. It makes me feel small, guilty even, though I know I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s tough watching your parents forget. It’s hard to deal with the forgetfulness, the anger, the bewilderment… And yes, I feel just as guilty for saying that maybe she’s not that lucky for having to go through all this. But life is cruel. I’m bewildered myself.
You can find the rules for Stream of Consciousness Saturday here https://lindaghill.com/2016/05/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-716/
Gotta love it when the school calls to say your kid is missing. That apparently the last person to see him, spotted him outside 45 minutes ago in his jacket and with his backpack. And this from an acting temporary principal who, to his credit, sounded legitimately nervous when he apologized for losing my son. He, then, sounded a bit relieved when I told him I could contact the miscreant via cell phone. Which I did. He’s back at school now.
That he’s an Autistic 20 year old makes things difficult in regards to disciplinary actions. But hey, rules are rules. He’s probably facing the consequences as I write this.
Thank god for cell phones.
My eldest son, whilst hugging me: Thanks for an awesome dinner, Mom. You’re a good shit.
Me: You’re a good shit too, Fred. You’re welcome.
This post is part of One-Liner Wednesday. Give it a try! Just click the link to find out more: http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/14/one-liner-wednesday-im-driving-here/
My A-Z Challenge this year contains posts about writing adult content in fiction – you will not find any adult fiction within the parameters of the challenge, except for illustration purposes.
Depending on where you are in the world, your country’s rating system may go up to NC-17, (U.S.) R, (Canada), 18, (U.K.) etc., but for the purposes of the A-Z Challenge I’m using the outdated rating because, well, “X.” I’m purposely not including pornography ratings since this post relates to mainstream movie theatres. Perhaps not regardless of where you are–admittedly I haven’t done a lot of research–at least in North America, the highest ratings are normally placed on movies with sexual content. So while our Bugs Bunny is being censored all to hell, our children are encouraged to watch widespread violence but denied the act of love.
I have mixed feelings about this. Intellectually it makes little sense to me to limit the viewing of sexual acts but show willful acts of violence. On the other hand, emotionally I have issues that stem from childhood which I won’t go into. Suffice to say that I had very mixed messages growing up. On the OTHER hand, (because yes, I have three hands on this subject) there is also the question of what viewing sexual acts in the theatre will lead to at home.
With widespread (pun unintentional) access on the internet to the types of porn that isn’t even shown in adult theatres and the fact that it’s difficult to supervise our children’s internet access 24/7, the ideas they get from movies is equivalent to the concept of gateway drugs. Give ’em a taste and they’ll want an even better high.
With that in mind, I’m thinking what if they just put all the violence AND all the sex under the highest rating? What do you think?
Even as a child I was appalled when I watched a movie in which the language was watered-down. I don’t know that they still do it to the same extent, but I remember hearing “darn” dubbed over the word “damn,” and “heck” over “hell.” I’ve never been able to understand it. One would have to be completely isolated from society not to hear these words used between people in normal conversation. What’s the big deal about hearing them in natural conversations on the screen?
And now they’re apparently talking about removing swear words from ebooks in school libraries by installing a “Clean Reader” app. The app blanks out profanities in a way that imitates the “beep” in a talk show brawl a la Jerry Springer. As though we can’t fill in the blanks ourselves.
What purpose do these things serve? Is a cleaned-up book going to protect our children from the world? Seriously? Have the people who came up with this idea ever been out in public?
Next thing you know they’ll be banning lawn darts! Oh, wait…
I hate the feeling that my goodwill and compassion is being taken advantage of. Without any word of a lie, as much of the time I spend looking after myself, equal to or more time is spent on looking after everyone else. I’m always the first one to say, “don’t worry about it. I’ll do it.” And so I take on everyone else’s burdens. I have a hard time delegating. Especially when I can do most of the things that need to be done faster and more efficiently than those around me can.
I’m exhausted. Both physically and mentally. My frozen shoulder won’t let me sleep during the 5 hours I night I manage to be in bed. The pain is inhuman. When I am awake I’m being pulled in a thousand directions at once: have you done this for me yet? Have you called this doctor for him? That doctor for her? Can you come with me to this or that appointment? Sorry, I’m too busy to help you. Maybe next month… You want the money I owe you? Fuck you. This is what I listen to every day. And yeah, I allow it. But the truth is, I’m the only one who CAN do three quarters of what I do. It’s why I don’t have a job. Pfft. Like I sit around watching soaps all day.
And then everyone wonders why I go away on vacation alone.
I need a vacation. Again.
The Daily Prompt asks: ‘Write about a time you had a Goldilocks experience, exploring different choices and finally arriving at “just right.”’
Exploring choices is all well and good but what about when you have to make a snap decision? It takes seconds to utter a sentence. Before you do, you choose to do it. But what if you are prone to saying the wrong thing?
For some of us it happens once in a blue moon – for others it’s a daily occurrence. One way or another we’ve all been in the situation where the moment something comes out of our mouths we’ve smacked our lips shut wishing we could go back in time and have not said it. Sometimes it’s so bad we wish the ground could swallow us up.
I have to wonder how beyond our control these things are. I think it’s bullshit to say we have no control at all – things don’t just accidentally fall out of our mouths unless we’re chewing and talking at the same time. I think there’s simply something inside us that chooses to ignore our better judgment.
Is it possible to be unaware of what we’re thinking? Seems like a contradiction in terms to me.
Chris: Mom, where are you?
Me: (calling) I’m in the washroom.
Chris: (a few seconds later, right outside the door. singing) Do you want to build a snowman?
Me: I’m trying to pee.
Chris: (singing) It doesn’t have to be a snowman…
Me: Go away Chris.
The Daily Post asks, “Vanilla, chocolate, or something else entirely?”
I’m gonna talk about something else entirely. The straight guys in the audience might want to back out slowly now – or not. Maybe you’ll find this interesting.
Semen. Cum. Jizz. Whatever you want to call it. “They” say (you know who “they” are, right? No? Neither do I.) that what a guy eats will determine what his semen tastes like. I learned this way back in high school – it may have even been in a textbook.
It’s the type of thing that I, as a novelist, might have to research. That, along with “How do you get chlamydia and what happens when a man gets it?”, “What’s the earliest I can find out I’m pregnant?” and “How to go about organizing a public orgy,” would all raise eyebrows among my family members if they were to see my search terms on Google. Thank god (or, well, thank Firefox) for private browsing.
So are there 32 flavours of jizz? I do know the basic flavour is the same, but there are subtleties. Some isn’t as acidic. Some burns the throat. Some loads aren’t as horrible to swallow as others. Regardless, it’s always better warm and straight from the source.
Of course it’s all internet research I’m going by. Honest.