Notice: if this post makes sense, it'll be a miracle.

Part 1: for the person who understands it.

( Read more... )

And the rest of this misery.

Bryan's insurance doesn't begin coverage until August, so I'm definitely doing this alone. I took a week away from my major time-killer to see if I could organize the house. Bryan promised to let me enroll in a distance learning class because I really am going insane. I don't know if he'll come through on it, because he's promised it before. Once we even got so far as to go to buy the books. He keeps saying he wants me to be happy, but it's like so many soothing noises.

You'll promise anything to shut some people up. A cookie, a pony, two movies, a distance learning class, a chance to go out and see other people, hell, even anything. And all the promises are null and void the moment Trouble goes to Sleep.

Trouble has been to Sleep several times since Promise.

I do, however, get a new stove. Mine broke in January and I've been making do since. My hands are all scarred from the alternative, but it doesn't really matter because who ever sees them? He broke the deep-fat fryer (tried to clean it, now it doesn't function.) We had a big crisis last week over a late bill (and another, quieter, crisis over a second.) He actually made me go back to the church to ask for help: I couldn't do it. I still hate them so much.

And when they'd made me cry over their pound of flesh to gloat over, he was nowhere in sight. Why should he be? He's known everyone there since he was 9, he has old friends galore. And me, I have to sit nervously in the hall, wondering if Adia will learn the word "freak" here again, if the twins are still okay with me missing...when I went to pick them up, the lady in the nursery had the gall to say "When you come to look in the door you upset them, so maybe you shouldn't."

Like FUCK I shouldn't. I can't trust them alone with my children when I've seen Adia told to shut up and I know she learned the word "freak" there. Because someone used it on HER. And he wants to go back Sunday. I don't.

But do I have a choice? Of course not. I'll go because if I don't, he'd still take the kids and I will NOT let them damage my children. Fuck them all if they think they can get their filthy fingers into their heads.

Fuck him too, except don't, because it's pretty bad right now.

He thought he'd get a "fitness solution" to help him. So he bought a video game. It's Wii Fit, for the curious. It has a weight limit.

330 lbs.

He can't use it. By a lot.

But I can. But it doesn't matter what size I am, I still have the teeth damage Adia dealt me by tantrumming into my face (one's cracked and one's broken, right in front. I'm hideous.) And even if that got fixed before it's too late (probably already is, it's about two years old) I'm still never going to be pretty, and I definitely lost "young" eight years ago.

Hell, I probably lost everything alluring about ten minutes after birth.

Not to mention my midsection, which is still stretched all to hell after the twins and won't go back to flat. So I kinda bulge over the top of my jeans, which while they're a smaller size than they were beforehand (18 now, 22 before the twins) I'm a worse *shape* now. All bulgy in the middle. I still look about four or five months pregnant and one of my abdominal muscles is definitely way off to one side. You can feel them like sandbars, and this one's nowhere near my navel, it's somewhere over by my boobs. And don't even ask what my boobs look like. They've been through twins and it shows.

Someone says they'll get a bit of roundness back in maybe a few years, but they're definitely battered now.

I feel 45 at 28. And I probably look 60. Only, no gray hair yet.

The only body part of mine I like is my lips, and even then, they look ridiculous in my face.

Way to go genetic lottery.

And now that I'm done bashing me - this has taken several hours to write so far -

I should probably hit send and go on to part two tomorrow. What Bryan Is and What I Really Wanted Him to Be.

Don't worry. If I were going to hurt myself, I wouldn't say anything about it. Probably. I didn't last time, anyway. (And I was much younger then.)

I think it's about time I filed for divorce. Yeah it's shallow, and stupid, and meaner than it should be, but there's just next to nothing left. We don't really have a relationship. We have an Asian land war with kids in the middle. Every time something goes wrong, and it does, and it does ALL THE TIME, I hit the end of my rope. I'm so underwhelmed with this guy that I can't really remember how our relationship started and I don't know if I'm having the blues or if I really did just make a huge eight year fuckup with quadruple complications.

Right now I don't even really want the kids. Adia whines all day for the food she's allergic to that Bryan insists on buying and then isn't here to keep away from her. Ice cream cones, cheese, cereal, all that fucking shit is loaded with dairy, and is he here to say no? OF COURSE NOT! I'm the bitch. Every fucking day. Well, fuck it.

And if I'm NOT the bitch, then I get to clean up soupy shit for 48 hours while listening to her scream with gas and cramps. It doesn't keep HIM up at night.

Not that much is getting him up in any other department either. The last time we had sex I fell off. Seriously. Can't do missionary because there's so much of him that I can't breathe and I wonder if anyone ever suffocated in rolls of fat before. Not to mention the angle's way off and I've discovered you can be ripped like hell when the guy doing you is a fucking idiot.

Alaina cries all day. I have no fucking clue why.

Patience won't leave her clothes on.

Yesterday I had a headache so bad I threw up.

I have no life to report on. I should just start posting: "went outside today, had frozen pizza for dinner." That's how dull this is. I can't believe I had an identity once. I am Anonymous Sperm Hole That Lactates.

We have one conversation a day. "The toast on the Men's Room (jackass radio show he likes and I don't) was *blank.* What's for dinner?"

That's my whole adult conversation a day.

And then there's the kids' conversation. "WHIIIIIIINNNNNNENEEEEE" "Cheese!" "Ice cream!" "Slurp slurp!" (Patience does not talk. She slurps for ice cream.) "Outside! inside! Playdoh! Max and Ruby!" Does anyone know how to commit suicide painlessly?

Maybe I'll just buy a bottle of sleeping pills and just never wake up. It can't be worse than this.

I keep running face first into the fact that I'm just not enough.

So I'm just not anything right now.

I can't do it. I'm not doing it. I won't do it again tomorrow.

If life's a beach, I'm drowning in the waves.

Adia has her first loose tooth.

Can it be so that the end of her baby smile can be measured now in weeks, and not years?

I'm going to miss it. It was a beatific smile.







So a weird moment of silence, please, for a smile that's about to be gone, gone, gone.

It didn't last long enough.

We were laying in bed together tonight, because she stayed up past the twins' bedtime, and I was thinking how she feels like a wand, straight and lithe and long. She was talking about how her monkey was sad, he threw a ball, so I told her he threw it so he could go home to Mama Monkey and have cookies. She liked that.

This year has been so good. She talks, and walks, and to a point, she shares and laughs and understands. Today she put her ice-cream cone (McDonalds') on a table and ran off to play. With someone else. A stranger someone else. And she laughed, and squirmed through a different play place, and she went down the slide without screaming, and she didn't mind that it wasn't the same one we always go to. On days like this I hope. I see her free and easy and light, the way she was born to be.

( cut for length )

Punching bag and resident black sheep - what did you expect? I'm the talentless, pointless, idiotspawn that takes up valuable air and time that should be going to the Sainted Brothers of the Crayolas.

How do I know this?

Eighteen years worth of drawings kept in two old file cabinets...and not a single one is by me. Neither do we have photographs, old awards, or...anything. It's like I don't exist at my parents' house. Eerily like I never existed at all.

My ability to trust myself! I'll never get it back, and I'll always miss it.

What a dorky question, lj.

Dead End Boy is determined to sleep through fucking Easter and I can't give out the baskets before he wakes up without him whining.

When the hell do I get to sleep in? We went to bed - or rather, we laid down - at the same time, but I didn't get to sleep until 5 - both twins woke up with that cold. And I'm awake, and I only got three hours of sleep. HE'S still sleeping and later he will complain about "not enough sleep."

He hasn't had to make breakfast for months.

I hung some curtains today. Now, the rooms had curtains, except the twin pit, which had wet paint on that wall. (Okay so that was like two weeks ago.)

I also figured out how to use a duvet cover. Go me.

I folded and put away laundry, but Patience has her traditional deep chest cold, and so nothing really got done. She's super clingy, acting sick, and I doped her out on her (prescribed) cough medicine. She slept all afternoon and I slept with her. Now she's Jealous Beast, in my lap pushing Alaina away.

Bryan got stiffed at work again. As in, just like last year and the year before, they forgot to pay for his "paid vacation."

I so wish he'd get a different job. We got the car so he could go job hunting, or so he said, and still, he's at Dead Jobs R Us.

The twins had their speech therapy assessment today.

Good news: there's services for that
Bad news: they qualify for them.

Summed-up news: congratulations to me, I've once again shelled out more Special Ed Kids. They'll be seeing their sister's neuro (Christ) mid April, and starting speech, occupational/sensory, and possibly a developmental playgroup as well. What the hell is it with me? How many times do I get to be ass-raped by genetics? How did I end up with two kids that don't speak, one that has no sense of...god, what is that girl missing? She's still stripping all over the house, like today, when she plopped on the floor in her altogether in front of the coordinator lady who was assessing the twins.

It took us almost the whole visit to get Dia to go fetch her pants, all because Lard Ass wouldn't get up and help her. And the trouble with that is, they keep sending *women* out, and women have that thing about being left in the room with strange men, plus Bryan keeps trying to talk like he has some idea what's going on and he DOESN'T. Half the time his tangent doesn't even touch on the question!

Like this:

CY: "Do you think Alaina or Patience can follow a two-part command?"
Me: "No, you have to give it to them one step at a time."
LA: "I can get them to do two things! They do it all the time! Like when I brought home this movie...."

No kidding, that actually happened this afternoon.

And in other troubles, the house has come to a screeching halt. I can't make myself be interested in anything in it, and I can't make myself DEFINE a project to even begin to finish it without being overwhelmed. Like now, when I need to be printing out recipes so I can use a library book to crib in extra nutrition (Laina's losing weight and her iron is getting low, it's under 9, Adia's bruising easily and not eating anything that isn't a carb (namely she's eating Cheerios and pb&j) and Patience's iron is also low (9.3) I'm sitting here, feeling glum and quite overwhelmed, and unable to kick myself in the ass enough to go figure out where to start.

Well, the answer to that has arrived. Laina just shit out of her diaper.

(How can I tell? There's a big circle on her pants.)