welcome to the danger zone

Goats and Bones

I am so starting to believe those people who claim they can tell the weather changes by the pain in their joints and bones. Because the last three days, mostly painless, in spite of walking and standing more so than usual. Not even a tylenol pm. Nada. Nothing. Okay, well there was just normal pain, not like the kind I am enjoying at this moment, which has led me to distract myself by blogging. Nights like these I’d like to cut through layers of fat and flesh to get to the ganglion that is responsible for this torture and sever the shit out of them. With a bent butter knife. As much as I loved the joyous torrential downpour and lightning, I might even consider sacrificing them, to have a much lower level of pain. (I really don’t want a pain pill tonight…so I am toughing it out. RAWR!)

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This bloggy bit is also a distraction from my emotional anguish. No, not the raging urge to pull out my soap box and give a lecture on gender inequality, gun-control, feminism and humanity. (I do believe my self -control at avoiding a gut-response to the California whack-a-doodle’s heinous acts is commendable) – that can wait until I can rationally address those topics. While I thought Friday was hard, I think harder still is having my fears confirmed on what would happen next. I’m being cryptic because it’s work related. It’s just that inside there’s the mom in me that doesn’t understand and the scholar who understands all the reasons why and why it’s not unusual for things to happen the way they do. Nevertheless, some days the mom fucking kicks the scholar’s ass until she’s unconscious, and I struggle with how and when people became so indifferent to others.

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I don’t understand how parents, moms or dads, can spend nine months obsessing over a pregnancy, only to pop that kid out and lose interest in being a parent in half the time it took to incubate the spawn. I will never understand how you can be so selfish as to bring a helpless fragile child into the world, and when you are tired playing dress up, or want to go out with your friends, you can put what you want before what a child NEEDS. I don’t understand how you wouldn’t move fucking mountains to do what you need to do to make sure the child you brought into this world has what they need to survive physically, emotionally, mentally. And I am not just referring to work related things here, I mean our culture in general. (And I have been watching “Intervention”.) I do know that once I was pregnant with Andy, I knew that “me first” was over and my life changed dramatically. In 12 years, I had maybe two drinks because I was afraid that if I had more than that something tragic would happen and I would have to take him to the ER and I would be “that drunk mom” waiting to be assessed for child neglect. I worked two jobs and manage to still find time to spend a day a week helping out at his preschool. I fed, washed, dressed, educated, and most of all loved that boy. And I am still doing it 22 years later. Well, just the feeding and loving part. I believe he’s old enough to wash, dress and educate himself. And I don’t actually feed him, I just put the food in his path. I’d still do whatever it takes for that kid. And for the other kids he brought into my life by way of school. I’d pretty much do it for any kid, bred by me or not. I don’t understand people who don’t and they are all around all day, everywhere I go.

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Damn Epictetus and stupid logic. I also know what they mean when they say ignorance is bliss. I think I am going to see what it takes to be a Panda Nanny. It looks like the best job ever. And I like chinese food so living in China would be okay. Fortunately for as much horror there is in the world, there are also stories like this Goat Reunited With BFF. (Seriously, click on this heartwarming story).

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And now that I have dragged you with me to a morass of sorrow for the fate of humanity, I’m going to bed. Sweet dreams!

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