do you think...jackass checklist

• do you think your child is perfect and can do no wrong? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that your life is way harder than everyone else's? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that everyone should be doing more to help you? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that you are intrinsically owed something by life? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that your child is incapable of making their own decisions? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that failure and despair are avoidable? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that you can somehow arrange your life to be without interruption, chaos, or drama? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that when you make bad decisions that other people should somehow be responsible or affected? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that money is never ending and that although you are incapable of handling your own finances, you should dictate how others should spend theirs? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that school is for academics alone? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think there is something wrong with this world, but instead of changing anything in your small sphere, you complain and do nothing? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that your child is exempt from the laws of courtesy, self-control, and respect? then you are probably a jackass.
• do you think that you can do a better job than just about everyone around you at just about everything? then you are probably a jackass.

pain...and its many faces

when my mom died i felt pain like a needle-sharp rainshower, like when you get caught outside and you can't find shelter from an intense storm. i had nowhere to go, no one who could come close to comforting me. i was assailed on every side by little truths that tried to slip into my skin like a mosquito's stinger. she was gone, forever. this huge wax sculpture, with all the tubes and monitors finally removed, covered by a replicated red rose quilt, this was what was left of my mother. the biggest presence in my life had left the building and i was left with a rotting pile of devastation. it stung so badly that i couldn't open my eyes, i couldn't breathe, i couldn't move. i couldn't leave her side because of the weight of the pain. it kept coming in waves, the rain pelting me and then easing up when i forgot she was gone. then it would assault me again, just in case i had started to recover just a pinch, just a second, just a tiny bit.

when my kids left the pain was like a jawbreaker. it was lodged in my throat, dripping regrets and sadness down my throat so it was all i could digest. i left out a spongebob table covered in poptart crumbs for six days. i couldn't wipe it off or i would choke. any time i thought of recovering my life, it was like the candy would swell and all my air was gone. if i so much as turned my head to examine the sippy cup bag or the pile of toddler plates and spoons and knives, i would almost collapse from lack of oxygen and my stomach would fill with the bitter and acidic liquid of pain. it began dissolving, though, after time. much time. it is still there, always there, and occasionally, even in its marble-sized form, manages to lock up my throat for a moment. but it's less frequent, and the intensity of the liquid pain has diminished. the initial sour coating has melted away.

when i have to leave a man behind, my pain becomes something totally different. it's the pain of lost expectations, because in every man that i allow into my life, i see a glimmer of hope that he's the one that will change my life and be my husband, the one who will be the father of my children, the one who i will retire with and be with forever. none of them are able to offer anything of the kind, so this pain is like a lightbulb being switched off, violently, suddenly, and without warning. i fear this darkness and isolation that i am left with. i scream out for help, but there is no one there. eventually my inner eye adjusts, and realizes that there is nothing here that will hurt me, here within my own self. it's just me again, but that's okay. that's when the light starts to filter in through the cloudy lens of anger and resentment, and i realize that there will be a new day, and other lightbulbs to screw in.

pain is never the same. it is always changing, and always different from the last time.

will he ever get it? probably not.

there are days when i want to be a fuck slut.
like, a serious one. there were days in my early 20's when i lived with a certain blonde roommate where we would hook up endlessly. whoever got home from work first would set up the rendez-vous with a dude and his cousin, a dude and his brother, a dude and his friend, and it would be ON. we had some very seriously fun times playing strip poker around my dining room table and there was always the mad scramble for condoms and clean sheets. the end was a goodbye when everyone was done, never an invitation to spend the night, and then a cigarette shared on the front porch recounting the dicks, the skills, the bodies, and sometimes (depending on cash flow) we would end up in the drivethrough of wendy's with frostys and junior bacon cheeseburgers. i would count these as some of my favorite times in life. if not my all time favorite, then definitely the most unbridled fun.
now i feel like i'm 80 years old. i spot clean my carpet, i do dishes after making tomato soup, i clean the cat box. when i have sex it is with the same person, the same person who always pisses me off somehow but who i love very much and who i know loves me.
will he ever get it? will he ever get how much i teeter on the edge of jumping back into those days of the beauty of anonymous sex, how easy it would be since he is always gone and always crabby? does he understand the power rush that it gave me, the pleasure that can come when you have absolutely no inhibitions because you know you will never see this person again? i don't think he understands. i think he considers it a done deal, that he can do or say or act however he pleases and i will hang in there because that's what kind of girl i am. i'm the good wifey type of girl that wouldn't ever step out or even think about stepping out. well, i'm thinking about it. and i don't think he gets it.

okay...time to get biblical.

so lately i have thought a lot about the good book. what the hell it is, why people believe it, what's good in it, what's bad, what's misinterpreted. i look at it in all its glory and wonder, 'how the fuck did this book become so important?' it's a collection of letters, fables, opinions, and ancient parables designed to keep a group of nomadic desert people alive. how does that evolve into something as powerful as it has? i know some really, really smart people, some people whose ethics and morals i consider beyond reproach. yes, they are humans with stumbling blocks, but they do the best they can and have presented me with some unbelievable nuggets of golden wisdom while i have known them. if i were to compile all the knowledge i have gathered from them, have them write some letters to people who don't know them, and make up some stories that illustrate their points, could i make my own bible?
what would my bible be about? i think that my first book would be called 'infancy.' in that book i would write a story about the earth, as our mother, giving birth to beautiful beings called humans. i would tell about how she would cradle us gently, feed us, nurture us, offer us challenges, and let us keep living with her regardless of how bad we fuck up. see? so many lessons to be learned from this story! treating the earth with respect...how to parent...how to treat your mother...much better than 'don't eat apples' or 'don't trust snakes.'
i'd go on to illustrate how humanity grows up, how we evolve into what we are today, and what our pitfalls are. i think one of our biggest issues today is being so caught up in our own shit that we don't take the time to look at the bigger picture. how sometimes we should have pain to lessen someone else's, or do hard things because it benefits someone else. i think my bible would for sure talk about this a lot. i would also talk in my bible about how being a bad parent is much worse than being gay, and that children aren't property and shouldn't be treated like livestock. i would also make sure to have a lot to say about unkindness and its enemy compassion.
i just am asking that we all think about the bible in very honest terms. nothing pisses me off more than when people refer to the bible as the word of god. the bible is the word of men, and at this point, it's not even the original word of the men who wrote it. the meanings have all been curved to meet the political and social opinons of the people who have edited it from its original text. the word of god is inside, speaking through your heart. whether or not you choose to listen is a different matter. use that word to create your life as a living bible, if the bible is truly the word of god.

here's my feet...now where do i stand?

it's always the same, isn't it.
hmmm.
it's always the woman, on the edge of a nervous breakdown,
wondering why things haven't gone a certain way.
why he hasn't...
why he won't....
when will he...
how does he...
and then it becomes something more sinister,
something quieter, like the kid at the back of the class
whose words contain a lot of 'ssssss' sounds,
and we interpret those hisses to mean...
why haven't i ssssssssssssssss...
why won't i ssssssssssssss...
when will i ssssssssssssssss...
how do i ssssssssssss...
when in reality, it's not our deal.
and sometimes, although not always,
i feel kinda sorry for them.
the men, i mean.
while we are grappling with
relationship
self-worth
what is love?
where do i stand?
what's going to happen?
i have this sneaking suspicion
that they have no idea.
i think this whole vortex
of feminine doubt and despair
is a land they have never visited,
a phone call they missed somewhere along the way
that was dialed from a private line.
if they hear the kid hissing in the back of the room,
it means:
hey....
let's go find sssssssssnakes...
wanna ride my motorsssssssssycle?
you should be having ssssssssssex right now...
boobsssssssssss....
pussssssssssssssy....
basssssssseball...
and, of course, i could be wrong.
men could worry, could obsess,
could search for hidden meaning in nothingness.
i hope they do.
then at least
we'd all be
on equal ground.

babies and black men...

today i thought a lot about the past...things that have happened to me, things that affected me, people i've slept with, babies i've rocked to sleep...these are the things that mold me the most. i guess it's strange that sex and infants are the things that i love the most, the things that i keep closest to my heart. i just can't picture my life without either of those things. in the past three years, i have had a strange assortment of both. there have been three babies and three men who have shaped the course of my life in the last three years. they are each as unique as a new day and precious as drops of dew before sunrise, but also as fleeting.