Our Year Of Living (Beautifully) Without WalMart

Saturday, November 15, 2008

on which i type about going to college...and a lot of death

i am so jealous of people that have gone to college that i could commit suicide about it sometimes.

i won't, because i am weak...and i would probably get reincarnated as someone who didn't/doesn't/won't/can't go to college AGAIN.

i do not know what your mother did when you were a kid. but i can pretty much bet that you try not to do it and it is killing you.

(lots of death already and i have written three sentences. THAT is how much this hurts)

my mother went to college while i was a kid. therefore, i won't/cannot do that to my children. i don't even think it is a BAD thing, when i think about my mother and myself as PEOPLE. i am REALLY proud of her, in a politically correct kind of way, and even in my heart and mind i know it is a GREAT achievement. but, god it hurts like hell too.

i DIDN'T get to go....i COULDN'T get my shit together...the INSTABILITY and UTTER MADNESS of my childhood was FAR TOO INTENSE for my OVERLYSENSITIVE beingness.

i will take ALL the blame...and how! i will take ALL the disappointment at the pissing away, shitting away, vomiting away, drinking and drugging away, all the rotting and decaying away of the (supposed) POTENTIAL that i was BORN WITH (or aquired somewhere in the first 6 or so years of my life)...

don't think that is not what i am doing while you are at your job, or having your social life, or being otherwise functional and worthwhile. :)

there are as many factors to my DOWNFALL and BOTTOMFEEDING "life"style as there have been days, weeks, months, decades, seconds and years of my "life" thus far.

and there will be as many EXCUSES and SICKNESSES and PAINFUL moments, days, weeks, years, and milliseconds as humanly possible before i ever get myself put together. because i have a feeling that Steffy Dumpty fell off that wall a too long time ago.

When i was seven years old, my second grade teacher instructed her husband to build a six foot tall by 3 feet in length 3-sided wooden box. i would've LOVED to've been privy to THAT conversation...

(if there is a heaven, or an afterlife in which ANYTHING from this world is relevent, i am going to ask to SEE that man building THAT box....)

My "teacher" then brought THE BOX into the classroom and sat it up against the cubby wall. THEN scooted my desk into it...my tiny little second grade desk and chair...ever seen one???

When i got to school that morning, i WONDER so much what i thought. I will wonder for the rest of my life why i didnt fight back, or resist, or cajole my way out. but i didn't.

And for MONTHS i spent all my "classroom" time IN THE BOX...except for recess, where the kids would SCOURGE (i didnt KNOW that word, looked it up and it's right) me like you may have never seen a child be treated...lunch (where i am sure i binged...don't even think i didnt binge) and GIFTED CLASS.

Why? Why did this happen?! i spent my entire adolescence and early adulthood drinking bourbon, smoking weed and asking myself that question, whether directly or indirectly.

FINALLY when i was 28 years old, i asked my mother point blank (my mother who was in college to become a TEACHER while i was IN THE BOX)...

she answered thus:

"when you were in kindergarten i went to your first parent teacher conference and your teacher jumped my case because you weren't doing your M....Munchy Mouth papers...."

(i could READ at 3 years old....i picked up a book and READ it...think Mathilda, my mother's nickname for me)...

***my son, sebastian just walked into this room and said "that is a lot of typing you are doing momma. and what is it going to matter for. what good is it anyway, writing anything???***

So, yeah, the BOX...it really has EVERYTHING to do with me...EVERYTHING. and i have tried EVERYTHING i can think of to rid myself of it, but THAT IS WHO I AM ....i am THE GIRL WHO GOT PUT IN A BOX AND CANNOT HEAL HERSELF OF THAT.

i have been to therapy...THEY cannot HEAL ME OF IT either.

i have been to gurus...THEY cannot HEAL ME OF IT either.

it is who i am.

i do not know what has happened to you that MADE you who you are. but being isolated in a wooden box when i was a fragile seven year old impoverished beautiful starchild, who yes talked too much because i was bored...

THAT is why i can't/won't/don't/haven't/should/ain't gone to college.

It ruined ME...destroyed ME. and NOTHING will fix it. and NOW i have CHILDREN of my own, so i can't go to school. i won't because i cannot leave them. because they cannot ever feel ISOLATED or ALONE.

This has altered my genetic legacy. This has profoundly affected my mental well being and therefore my ability to be an outwordly good, rational, okay, organized, nice, educated, possibly socially acceptable person.

Who would i be if it hadn't've happened? I dunno. i am sure as stacked as the deck was against me (poverty, instability, family history of alcoholism and addiction, etc etc etc) if it weren't for THE BOX i imagine SOMETHING would've done me in.

Do i think that i would've gone to college and BECOME SOMEONE/SOMETHING if it hadn't've been for THE BOX? i doubt it.

what i know is that i read blogs alot and i read about STRUGGLING blogger/mother/freelance writers who have college degrees (and you can bet your sweet fuckin bippy have had CUSHIER lives than mine has been) who OPINE all day long about what a STRUGGLE their lives are. God, that hurts me sooooooooooooo badly. Like being beaten. With clubs.

but, here i go! there are dishes to be done and breakfasts to be made and bottles and SOMETHING for bastian- i hope! and a husband who is still here even though i am mean, computer addicted, and he has do deal with this fragile girl in the box eightthousandmillion times a day....

i wrap it all up in a box called Depression and TRY SO FUCKING HARD to tie any kind of pretty bow around it for decoration and i TRUDGE ahead through the muck and the beautiful.

don't we all???

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

sandy stephanie jack frederick frederick jack steffani sandy

my friend, stephanie taylor, came to school in 6th grade. in a class of 4 brads and several davids and at least two of almost every other name, i was glad that at least mine was spelled differently. and with our "opposite" demeanors it is nice that i have the unorthodox name and she the "regular" one. she's a true sweetheart and has always been very sweet to me. it gets interesting when you find out that her mom's name is sandy and my mom's name is sandy.

it gets weirder still when you find out that though we parted and have seen each other a few scant times since graduation, we grew up , had baby sons and she named her son john frederick and they call him "jack" frederick and i had a son whom i named river frederick jack. and i only added the "river" in postpartum euphoria. we almost always call him "frederick jack".

i have found this utterly interesting and cannot help but share it seventeen times a day.