Dearest Xanax readers…. I have come to a point in my blogging … career? is that even what this is called…. that I need to archive Xanax or Running Shoes, and eventually shut it down. I know that I have many readers that have been with me from the very beginning, so I want to let you know that although I am shutting this down, I have started the next chapter. If you loved this blog… come away with me, and follow me over at: Jameson & Vinyl.
In life we get these moments that string together and make us who we are. That’s what life is, a big run on sentence of moments. What’s strange about going through a divorce, is losing all of the good moments. Because obviously the relationship had them, right? I mean you did fall in love with each other. Back before you were blocking each other’s phone numbers and deleting their naked pics out of your phone. Right? Did you dream that? Moments snuggled up in the morning, before the kids were awake, whispering silly things to each other. GONE. Not just the moment, but THAT person is gone. It’s like the person you knew died, except you get to fucking fight with the ghost of them! And fault, ha! Fault is such an easy thing to assign. Truth is, it’s my fault. It’s his fault. It’s OUR fault. It was never one moment that led to the fall of Rome. It obviously wasn’t the good moments that led us down this road. It was the moments we walked our own roads instead of walking home, together. One team. Without being united, we stood as an easy target. Now I hear the hatred in every thing you say. It pierces me to know I made decisions that make you speak to me this way. But you’ve always spoken this way to me when you were angry, the only thing new is the hate. And I feel it. It cuts me. It’s doing what you want it to. But not for the same reasons. I used to hate knowing you were angry at me, but now I just hate that we hurt each other. I hate that you think you never mattered to me. I hope that subsides over time and you remember those mornings. Because I don’t want to feel like I wasted ten years of my life in something that ended in hatred. I want to learn from our mistakes. I want to make sure I water and feed the trust moving forward. I want to learn from the mean words that floated between us, because you really can’t take them back. I don’t want to spend another night in a panic attack on the bathroom floor because I said the wrong thing and you turned your phone off. You’re an addiction I can’t feed, it’s no good for me. I read your words again, I can tell I hurt you, because you’re slashing. I know you. I had to fly from here. I read your words. I have to delete them all. I can’t let them be all over my week anymore. I’m standing now. I can do this.
At least ten thousand times I’ve sat down with a pen to capture words and cage them, call them mine and save them. At least a thousand more I’ve stared at a blinking cursor, waiting for the things I wished to say to hide behind the things I must. Backspacing, back peddling, watching the cursor mock me.
Be bold. Be daring. But don’t be hurtful. Don’t be spiteful. Ah those lines they are such a tightrope to walk. Truth hurts, does it not? Tell your story. Free yourself from it. Own it, don’t let it own you. For years, one of my biggest writing inspirations has been Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows. When I say for years, I mean it… I’ve been listening to them since I was 11. It’s been 24 years. I’ve found myself buried in their music in my best moods, my worst, and all the in between. They light my soul up. He says it all. He stabs with truth, and suicidal tendencies, and love, and heart break, and scents of the season, and change. God does he capture, LIFE. The over walked road, the one not taken. Lefts and rights… and the smell of the ocean. The way the lights kaleidoscope in rain drops on your windshield. Ohhhh Lord, I love this band.
So here I am, middle of massive amounts of change in my life, with tickets to see them tonight, their last show of the summer, with none other than Rob Thomas. Who the fuck else would it be. My two GO-TO musicians (I say musicians… but as I say that if you don’t know that by musician I mean, poet, artist, soul inspiring, story telling mastermind…. you should stop reading). Anyway, tonight… Nashvegas… Counting Crows and Rob Thomas, and I can’t keep a thought. Lyrics are running through me, it’s cloudy outside.
I think about listening to them tonight, with other fans… I wonder where and when and how the lyrics have affected them. What their roads have been. What the impact has been for them. Do they only know the words to Mr. Jones and 3 A.M.? Do they know why Adam wrote Sullivan St? Have they ever wondered who Maria is?
I can’t wait to let the God of Ocean Tides roll through my night. Lyrics of so many songs rattling through me today. I AM SO DAMN EXCITED!
“This dizzy life of mine…” “You open windows and wait for someone warm to come inside…”
My favorite of theirs though, Murder of One:
“Are you happy where you’re sleeping?
Does he keep you safe and warm?
Does he tell you when you’re sorry?
Does he tell you when you’re wrong?
I’ve been watching you for hours
It’s been years since we were born
We were perfect when we started
I’ve been wondering where we’ve gone
All your love is just a dream”
Last night I was out of the house for a few hours at my weekly pool league match. Things were going ok. Meaning they were not too bad compared to the last few Tuesdays I’ve had. As luck would have it, or karma, or whatever bitch is stalking my life this week…. my daughters refused to let it just be an ok night. The text messages start rolling:
Hailey: MOM… Can I stay the night at Abby’s house tonight so that we can get ready for the first day of school together tomorrow?
Me: It’s the first day of school. It’s a MOM day.
Hailey: Ohhhh mmmyyyyyy gaaawwwdddddd mom. I ONLY HAVE THREE YEARS OF SCHOOL LEFT.
Me: And I’ve take a picture of you every single first day of school, every year… I have 3 left to take.
At this point the SHEER FUCKING PANIC HITS ME. 3 MORE???? I ONLY HAVE 3 MORE PICTURES TO TAKE???? I have already taken 10 first day of school pictures of her? Tears are welling up. My heart is racing.
Me: NOOOOOOOOO!!! You will be home! I have to take a picture.
Hailey: Sigh…. can’t you take it on the second day?
(I’m screaming internally now… in expletives and curly letters that I can’t even understand).
Me: No. Just no.
Hailey: Ugh. Fine.
Pictures of her this morning turn out…. as they always do on Hailey’s first day of school.
Then…. there’s Faith. SOOOOOOOOO…… Our texting starts last night. She’s in a great mood. Chelsi is twisting her hair in knots for her to sleep on so she has gorgeous curls this morning. She’s elated. Until:
Faith: Mom… can I ride to school with Madi tomorrow? Her mom has time to drive her to school.
I’m instantly annoyed at all moms that have the ability to drive their kids to school, go to work, feed them, and get to sports practices on time… WTF am I doing wrong… I huff)
Faith: WHHHHYYYYYYYY???? They live in our neighborhood mom.
Me: Fine. But if Madi is sick and you miss the bus cause she isn’t going to school, then you’re walking.
Faith: God, Mom; Madi’s mom would totally still take me to school.
I’ve lost the battle. Of courrrrssseeee she would. My energy to keep arguing with the WHHHHYYYYY Monsters is gone.
Faith: By the way, your clothes are in the dryer, and it’s not drying them. I think it’s broken. Goodnight! I love you!
Sigh. HEAVY SIGH. FUCKING UGGHHHH)
This morning I wake up and realize I didn’t check the dryer when I got home. Sooooo my clothes for work are still wet. Yay. I make sure the girls are up. They are, Faith is mid panic because her hair is curled tooooooo tightly and I must fix it immediately. Hailey is growling in the bathroom we now share, and I am scared to enter.
Ahhhh, my sweet little dog, she looks like a safe someone to say good morning to first. I chance it. She doesn’t bite me. Small victory.
Time to try to get a few pictures of both girls together. This should go swimmingly. Faith is immediately standing too close to Hailey, there’s hair being pulled. Anger. Death. Blood, blood, blood. Ugh. I might have taken one that didn’t suck before Hailey’s bus came, luckily. I was just about to use my moves learned from Kung Fu Panda.
Sometimes there just aren’t words for what is going on around you. You just gotta go, get in the car, turn on some Rage Against the Machines, or Jewel… whatever… you don’t know me. And let their day, be whatever it unfolds into today.
Somehow after all the expletives and crazy thoughts I had this morning, sitting at my desk, my brain is still wrapped around how their days are going, how their friends liked seeing them again, if anything crazy has changed… and I can’t wait to see them over dinner tonight. As they roll their eyes and look at me as if I am from another planet.
Cause I’m old. And… ugh… so… just…. blah MOM.
Seems a long damn time since I picked up a pen… or a keyboard… mostly because when there’s one in my hand lately, I want to throw it through a mirror. A wall. A building. Doesn’t matter. There’s a monkey on my back, and the withdrawals are a bitch. Guess that’s the way that writing has always worked in my life. I have once again found myself in the middle of a divorce. In the middle of financial meltdown. In the middle of searching for myself.
Waves keep on pounding the sand though, and my feet keep me moving. Every time I start to think I made a crazy decision and that my life was simple, beautiful and … enough… that I should just suck it up, I get punched with another uppercut to the jaw, and it sets my feet back in motion. You know why? Because at the end of the day, I fucking matter. Took a dear sweet friend saying that to me yesterday about his own life, for me to hear the words. I matter.
Not the same way black lives matter. Or white lives matter. Or labs matter. Something else entirely. This is about me, dammit. Birthdays keep on coming. People around me keep doing whatever the fuck they want and waiting for me to clean up their messes, or telling me about them, or just making them and leaving them… but regardless… I digress. The point is… I’m 35 mfers. It’s my time. Me time. Jeanna-thirty. Ok, that was a little far.
I named this post through the looking glass, for two reasons. When I was a kid, I HATED ALICE IN WONDERLAND. HATED. LOATHED. It made no damn sense at all. However, since I fell through the rabbit hole of life, passing books, pictures, maps, touches, tastes; moving too quickly to grab on to anything…. only to hit the floor and need to be small, then becoming small to realize I left something way out of my reach…. ohhhh the irony is not fucking lost on me at all.
But my Alice, she’s a little twisted. She’s tatted, and edgy, and sassy.
When I stop and glance around my life, I see the things I have succeeded at, but I see my flaws too. They’re there. NICE… They’re there…. anyway. They are. And instead of standing here crying about them, I am changing them. Changing the things that broke me down. Changing the things that keep me from shining. Bringing things back into my life that make me sparkle. If I am going to keep on this journey through the looking glass, I’m taking my cat, the rabbit, and the hatter with me. Bringing some fucking friends for the ride. And I am taking the queen of hearts, cause she is after all, just in my imagination.