Read This, I Guess – A Letter to my Mother That She Will Never Read

This is something that was written with so much heart, wrapped around so much skill, that I tear up just thinking about it.

I know I’ll think about this often.

I haven’t been in the mood for holidays, or really any celebration, this year. They all seem so empty. Maybe it’s because I’m 29, I’ll be 30, and things still seem the same.

Reading this felt different. The way it unfolded, the story of a mother who is suffering, who is passing down suffering without meaning to, it felt new. It felt old at the same time.

It’s worth it. Read it. It really is worth it.

 

Boxes.

I shaved my head again. Well, the sides. Cut this hair, this hair that is longer than it’s been in years, and shaved in down to the lowest point possible without being scalp. Just the sides.

I didn’t leave my tiny sides this time. And now I have this odd samurai puff on top of my head.

… … …

 

I’ve been writing a lot lately. Just not in stories or any sort of fiction, really. No, I’ve been writing for work and in journals and on here. I’ve been writing about me and my life and my thoughts, writing email campaigns, writing press releases. I’ve been writing any and everything.

I’ve been researching as well. Reading about the past and present and future and never. All from my l-shaped desk. Or my bed. All from my back ‘porch’. All around this house, in this house, over this main floor. I’ve been existing a bit more.

In that existence, I realized I wanted to shave my sides again. And I realized I am pretty good by my dolo. And I realized I want to approach Urijah’s education a bit more…realistically. A curriculum. The one I want costs around $600, but it’s an investment I will make to ensure he learns both what I want him to and what he needs to.

I have narrowed my vision to the people in this house, these two intricate humans: Urijah and Mashu. Dude Ranch and Trey.

I have narrowed my goals to writing and business. Writing and skills. Writing and learning. Writing and writing.

I’ve become a person on the outside of the box. The beautiful outside of the box. The details are swarming me and I’m ready for it.

So here I am, outside this box, in this box, with this little boy, with our futures, becoming something new. With the sides shaved off my head. With the scale finding less and less of me.

 

I’ve been writing a lot lately, you know.

Stranger Woman

This month has been ambiguous.

It’s been terrible to me financially and romantically. It’s been amazing to me emotionally and mentally. It’s been record breaking in terms of happiness to finance ratios go. This month, I watched two amazing shows that put me back in the mood to write:

Man Seeking Woman

Stranger Things

I don’t think I’ve EVER seen anything as awesome, in totally different ways, as these two shows. I’m enamored. I’m drooling. I’m fucking waiting and wishing for more and I’m so happy to live in an era where these things exist. This type of abnormality and obsurdity (Man Seeking Woman) and this type of just grade A story-telling and acting (Stranger Things). Those babies are fucking AMAZING in that show. The adults are amazing. Every single aspect of Stranger Things had me screaming.

It had me peaking around the corner (seriously) to check to see if anything without a face was lurking, trying to get my Dude Ranch.

It had me missing The Boy Chin Wonder so badly. Man, I want nothing more for my children than for them to be complete and utter dorks. Nothing more. I imagine The Boy will ease into this if allowed – I need a car bad. I want to pick him up on weekends and support this outcome. The Young Sir will ease into it well enough if I can figure out a way to communicate better with him. And then get him on that damn toilet once and for all. And find a place for us to plant ourselves so he can find friends who are like him and rule the world.

Writing is getting easier and easier. I feared I’d drop back off the face of the planet because of the Ael fiasco – nothing like your sudden motivation for diving back into the writing world using you to take his virginity, hating it, and then stuttering his way to the blocked section of your life. Nothing like wasting a bunch of time and sending him a bunch of stories and trying to find permanence in temporary situations. Nothing like planning for your business and home decor only to never talk to him again.

Nothing like finding a cool place and not being able to go back to it because now you might run into his ass.

But somehow, SOME FUCKING HOW, this was a blessing. It was something I needed. And now I’m binge watching beautiful shows, lonely but so content, broke but somehow rich with emotions and feelings and just wanting to do these things. The Young Sir actually sat with me for a second, sleepily watching these awesome kids doing things kids could only do pre-90’s.

Who knows where we go from here. The Young Sir and The Boy Chin Wonder (sometimes) and Mashu. But I love this little family. I love my little complicated life. I love being stuck in this house, being stuck in my head, being challenged from afar.

This is where I’m supposed to be.

Revolt

How things stay the same.

… … …

 

And yet. It feels a bit different. I’m sitting here watching Man Seeking Woman, which is probably one of the best shows I’ve ever watched, and I’m pantless. This house is huge – I ventured downstairs for once to see how it feels on the main level. There’s three stories – basement, main level, and attic. I spend much of my time upstairs with music playing, with my head in the clouds, with my work uncharacteristically piling up. So I’ve decided to pull myself out of that and spend more time with Urijah, and then with myself.

It’s cool so far.

Out of all the things I’m doing which are supposed to be different, a couple are old. Writing, for one. And I’m slightly ashamed to admit that a guy helped me spark back into that current. And that I’m quite smitten. And that I haven’t taken to holding on to baggage yet and am jumping in full fledged. And that I said I wouldn’t do this.

But I say a lot of shit.

 

We went on a date to a Wiccan coffee shop and it’s probably the complete opposite of what I expected to find in Alabama. A nice community. The whole vibe of the place was gorgeous. We were free to walk around and talk and he was so well dressed. We drank the best coffee I’ve ever had. He showed me his paintings and drawings and they were amazing. I don’t think I’ve seen such great art in person before. And it was just a really great time. Better than any date I’ve ever been on.

Well, I do have reservations. I feel a bit…uncomfortable. I’ve spent a lot of time feeling like a terrible catch. Like…I don’t know. And though my confidence has gotten beautiful and I’m super happy alone, I am afraid I will crash and burn through this. Another Wolf, another Nate, another Tim, another failure. Another reason for me to hate myself.

Also. He’s white, though it’s not like he’s the first white guy I’ve ever went on a date with.

It’s a difference, though. A difference that is still kind of the same.

… … …

Alabama has been wonderful so far. It’s been quiet and slow. It’s been a practice in solitude and a mastery of understanding and appreciating myself. We’re happy here. No furniture, no problems. A lot of writing but also a lot of slacking off on my work. But things are turning around.

I like it here. I like feeling like this. We’ll see what happens.