mynewplace (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mynewplace) wrote2007-07-16 08:46 am
mynewplace) wrote2007-07-16 08:46 am
Entry tags:
Monday Morning
I received two emails this weekend. TWO. I can't tell you how sad that makes me feel. However, I didn't attempt to reach out to anyone else. I was busy doing things with my kid, and enjoying her for the brief time we had together. We saw Harry5 and of course loved it. I am anxious to see it again - but I also need to see Pirates3 before it leaves the theaters. Right now it's only showing one time a night, so it won't be around much longer.
Brent's back is feeling a bit better, although he gets stiff if he sits or lies down for too long. Not that kinda stiff, dammit. He tried his hand at some poetry last night, but deleted it because I said it wasn't his best stuff. I don't think I'm going to offer any more opinions for a while, despite his insistence that he wants them. I just don't want to risk hurting him.
popfiend has a writing prompt every Monday, and I've not joined in to this point. However, "Born To Be Wild" speaks to me, thus here's my offering for Monday's Writers Block Party:
Born To Be Wild
Yes indeed I was, despite appearances to the contrary.
I am wild. I have a wild spirit that remains untamed, a wild soul that is free to wander even when my body is stationary, and a wild heart that searched far and wide for it's haven before I learned that my safest haven is within me.
Brent's back is feeling a bit better, although he gets stiff if he sits or lies down for too long. Not that kinda stiff, dammit. He tried his hand at some poetry last night, but deleted it because I said it wasn't his best stuff. I don't think I'm going to offer any more opinions for a while, despite his insistence that he wants them. I just don't want to risk hurting him.
popfiend has a writing prompt every Monday, and I've not joined in to this point. However, "Born To Be Wild" speaks to me, thus here's my offering for Monday's Writers Block Party:Born To Be Wild
Yes indeed I was, despite appearances to the contrary.
Born to an obedient, modest, chaste Christian mother and a drinking, cursing, carousing father, I was created as a dichotomy from the womb.
My father's personality was strong within me from the very beginning - I argued with my mother as soon as I could talk. By the time I was five or six I was regularly winning intellectually although I often lost the final decision. I never failed to have the final word even if it was spoken in silence as I screamed and sobbed my frustration into my pillow.
Dichotomy? Yes. There was enough of my mother's personality within me that I became my father's "yes man" from an early age.
I adored my father, and when he left us to live alone then married another woman with children I was crushed. (I've never fully trusted a man since.) As I visited him, first in his tiny home away from home, then in a series of houses he shared with his new family, I was always the obedient child, desperate to make and keep him smiling, laughing and happy. That was quite a feat and I often failed as the remainder of people around us had no interest in maintaing peace in the household. His shrewish wife was jealous of me and cruel to her own children. My father felt free to beat his stepsons as his own father had beaten him - the fact that I never received such punishment certainly made me "stand out" in my siblings eyes. It's amazing how children can assume guilt for someone else's actions, even at an early age.
I was washed in the blood and born again while attending church three times a week with my mother and her new husband. I played quiet games, watched television and absorbed books like a sponge from the time I first learned to read when I was four. I rarely heard a curseword in my mother's home; even my stepfather used nothing stronger than "damn" or "shit", and those only when he was injured or angry. My father and stepmother used "fucking" as an adjective in everyday speech and also when screaming at one another. I learned not to disagree with my dad if I wanted to keep him happy. I lived a fine life with my mother - and a tumultuous one with my father.
I heard preaching and teaching on the evils of drugs and liquor, the sin of foul language and base sexual need. I memorized Scripture and the books of the Bible, attended Vacation Bible School at several different churches every summer, and learned to hand out tracts and present the plan of salvation to strangers and my friends. I learned to dress in a modest and conservative fashion. I learned to respect a man as head of his household and submit myself to his direction. I had two primary goals as a child; to be a librarian until I became a wife to a loving husband. I also cursed like a sailor by the time I was in second grade - although most of it was performed outside or within my head. I knew by the time I was in junior high that I'd like alcohol once I got my hands on it. By the time I was in high school I was doing everything I could to attract any man's attention, from the tightness of my jeans to the way I wore my makeup. It didn't really take that much, because by that time my tits were off the charts. By that time I knew that I'd like sex too - despite the fact that my mother told me "Once you're married you'll have to have sex whether you want to or not." I remember thinking "When in HELL would I NOT want to have sex?" I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept.
I spared my mother most of my language even when I hit my 20's. I tried to shield her from my drinking habits and the fact that I fucked different men every weekend. A couple of times I got caught up in my lies and was forced to have the dreaded "talks" that made me sick to my stomach and made white noise rush through my head until I could barely hear or speak. I continued that lifestyle throughout my twenties, especially after moving into my own home. I kept a stock of liquor in my pantry, and a stack of cards in my purse with my phone number just in case I saw someone I wanted to fuck. I felt a growing resentment as I trudged through the last half of my twenties and realized that marriage was not forthcoming, and thus neither were children. I developed a stronger bond with my dog and swore I didn't like children anyway. I railed at God and spent a lot of time thinking "I did what You wanted, and where did it get me? Where is the 'desire of my heart' that You promised?" And I spent a lot of time drinking.
I finally got "caught" and my wicked ways were exposed when I became pregnant at age 30; single, no job and no money. You would have thought I'd thrown away a scholarship to Yale or a Miss America crown. Instead I gave my mother the delight of her heart, and what she views as another chance to raise a child "right". It's taken me several years to get her to stop calling Scarlett HER baby. (She was present for the birth but dammit she didn't carry that ten pound bowling ball on her pelvis all summer.)
I spent the next five years trying my damnedest to be the daughter my mother always wanted, the Christian I thought God expected me to be, and the mother Scarlett deserved. I got a secure job that didn't pay much working for the State because that's where my mother pushed me to go. I gained weight. I rode to work with my uncle because my mother decided I couldn't afford gas every week. I ground my teeth flat and developed TMJ that my State Employee insurance wouldn't treat. I allowed my parents to care for my child until she learned to admonish me and shake her finger at me in the same way that my mother did. I developed fibromyalgia, arthritis and symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. I slept on the way to work, when I got home, while I was bathing the baby. I couldn't carry my child because she was so heavy that my back couldn't support her. I spent money on anything that might make me smile for a few minutes while seated at my tiny computer in my bedroom filled with half the furniture from my house. I watched my healthy child balloon up so quickly that she was wearing size 14 clothing by the time she was five.
My mother returned from Columbus after a bone marrow transplant and suddenly I was expected to take on additional duties along with feeding myself and my daughter, taking her to child care, getting to work 35 minutes away, working, coming home picking up the child feeding us both getting her cared for and into bed and then myself as well. sigh I was supposed to become nurse to my mother, cook for the entire family, housekeeper, and caretaker for my stepfather. All after six in the evening
I snapped, and I moved out. And I've never moved back, despite rising costs of housing and moving Scarlett from school to school. I've disappointed my mother and started speaking my mind to my father. I've stopped going to church except for holidays and Scarlett's programs, and I've become closer to God as a result. I've become comfortable enough in my own skin to take pictures of it and post them on the internet for anyone to see. I've learned to care for myself first WITHOUT being selfish about it and as a result been better able to care for my own child without hitting her or screaming at her. I've learned I can be as wild as I want to be and still be a good mother to my daughter.
And I've learned that being wild in behavior isn't the same as being wild in spirit, attitude and style. I can be wild and not feel like I have to fuck every man who smiles at me. I can be wild drunk or sober. I can be wild and not feel compelled to share every detail of my life with casual acquaintances.
My father's personality was strong within me from the very beginning - I argued with my mother as soon as I could talk. By the time I was five or six I was regularly winning intellectually although I often lost the final decision. I never failed to have the final word even if it was spoken in silence as I screamed and sobbed my frustration into my pillow.
Dichotomy? Yes. There was enough of my mother's personality within me that I became my father's "yes man" from an early age.
I adored my father, and when he left us to live alone then married another woman with children I was crushed. (I've never fully trusted a man since.) As I visited him, first in his tiny home away from home, then in a series of houses he shared with his new family, I was always the obedient child, desperate to make and keep him smiling, laughing and happy. That was quite a feat and I often failed as the remainder of people around us had no interest in maintaing peace in the household. His shrewish wife was jealous of me and cruel to her own children. My father felt free to beat his stepsons as his own father had beaten him - the fact that I never received such punishment certainly made me "stand out" in my siblings eyes. It's amazing how children can assume guilt for someone else's actions, even at an early age.
I was washed in the blood and born again while attending church three times a week with my mother and her new husband. I played quiet games, watched television and absorbed books like a sponge from the time I first learned to read when I was four. I rarely heard a curseword in my mother's home; even my stepfather used nothing stronger than "damn" or "shit", and those only when he was injured or angry. My father and stepmother used "fucking" as an adjective in everyday speech and also when screaming at one another. I learned not to disagree with my dad if I wanted to keep him happy. I lived a fine life with my mother - and a tumultuous one with my father.
I heard preaching and teaching on the evils of drugs and liquor, the sin of foul language and base sexual need. I memorized Scripture and the books of the Bible, attended Vacation Bible School at several different churches every summer, and learned to hand out tracts and present the plan of salvation to strangers and my friends. I learned to dress in a modest and conservative fashion. I learned to respect a man as head of his household and submit myself to his direction. I had two primary goals as a child; to be a librarian until I became a wife to a loving husband. I also cursed like a sailor by the time I was in second grade - although most of it was performed outside or within my head. I knew by the time I was in junior high that I'd like alcohol once I got my hands on it. By the time I was in high school I was doing everything I could to attract any man's attention, from the tightness of my jeans to the way I wore my makeup. It didn't really take that much, because by that time my tits were off the charts. By that time I knew that I'd like sex too - despite the fact that my mother told me "Once you're married you'll have to have sex whether you want to or not." I remember thinking "When in HELL would I NOT want to have sex?" I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept.
I spared my mother most of my language even when I hit my 20's. I tried to shield her from my drinking habits and the fact that I fucked different men every weekend. A couple of times I got caught up in my lies and was forced to have the dreaded "talks" that made me sick to my stomach and made white noise rush through my head until I could barely hear or speak. I continued that lifestyle throughout my twenties, especially after moving into my own home. I kept a stock of liquor in my pantry, and a stack of cards in my purse with my phone number just in case I saw someone I wanted to fuck. I felt a growing resentment as I trudged through the last half of my twenties and realized that marriage was not forthcoming, and thus neither were children. I developed a stronger bond with my dog and swore I didn't like children anyway. I railed at God and spent a lot of time thinking "I did what You wanted, and where did it get me? Where is the 'desire of my heart' that You promised?" And I spent a lot of time drinking.
I finally got "caught" and my wicked ways were exposed when I became pregnant at age 30; single, no job and no money. You would have thought I'd thrown away a scholarship to Yale or a Miss America crown. Instead I gave my mother the delight of her heart, and what she views as another chance to raise a child "right". It's taken me several years to get her to stop calling Scarlett HER baby. (She was present for the birth but dammit she didn't carry that ten pound bowling ball on her pelvis all summer.)
I spent the next five years trying my damnedest to be the daughter my mother always wanted, the Christian I thought God expected me to be, and the mother Scarlett deserved. I got a secure job that didn't pay much working for the State because that's where my mother pushed me to go. I gained weight. I rode to work with my uncle because my mother decided I couldn't afford gas every week. I ground my teeth flat and developed TMJ that my State Employee insurance wouldn't treat. I allowed my parents to care for my child until she learned to admonish me and shake her finger at me in the same way that my mother did. I developed fibromyalgia, arthritis and symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. I slept on the way to work, when I got home, while I was bathing the baby. I couldn't carry my child because she was so heavy that my back couldn't support her. I spent money on anything that might make me smile for a few minutes while seated at my tiny computer in my bedroom filled with half the furniture from my house. I watched my healthy child balloon up so quickly that she was wearing size 14 clothing by the time she was five.
My mother returned from Columbus after a bone marrow transplant and suddenly I was expected to take on additional duties along with feeding myself and my daughter, taking her to child care, getting to work 35 minutes away, working, coming home picking up the child feeding us both getting her cared for and into bed and then myself as well. sigh I was supposed to become nurse to my mother, cook for the entire family, housekeeper, and caretaker for my stepfather. All after six in the evening
I snapped, and I moved out. And I've never moved back, despite rising costs of housing and moving Scarlett from school to school. I've disappointed my mother and started speaking my mind to my father. I've stopped going to church except for holidays and Scarlett's programs, and I've become closer to God as a result. I've become comfortable enough in my own skin to take pictures of it and post them on the internet for anyone to see. I've learned to care for myself first WITHOUT being selfish about it and as a result been better able to care for my own child without hitting her or screaming at her. I've learned I can be as wild as I want to be and still be a good mother to my daughter.
And I've learned that being wild in behavior isn't the same as being wild in spirit, attitude and style. I can be wild and not feel like I have to fuck every man who smiles at me. I can be wild drunk or sober. I can be wild and not feel compelled to share every detail of my life with casual acquaintances.
I am wild. I have a wild spirit that remains untamed, a wild soul that is free to wander even when my body is stationary, and a wild heart that searched far and wide for it's haven before I learned that my safest haven is within me.