tag:www.theleastofmyworries.com,2008://1 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z Movable Type 3.31 tag:www.theleastofmyworries.com,2006://1.423 2006-10-10T16:12:57Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

If you are interested in reading me in the future, please let me know. After the background check, I'll provide you with the link....

If you are interested in reading me in the future, please let me know. After the background check, I'll provide you with the link. tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.402 2006-08-06T05:31:05Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

Okay, everybody ready?...

Okay, everybody ready?]]> tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.401 2006-08-02T06:43:48Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

I am sure a shocking number of you were raised by at least one alcoholic. Sucked, huh? For me, it was my dad. But it was all of us. We were all changed markedly by his addiction. In so many...

easy easy. On paper, yes, easy. Making it real, not so much. It involves seeing. It involves me seeing and me letting other people see, too. I have spent an enormous chunk of my life protecting the good names of the other people. Bwaha. That is as absurd as it sounds. It is. And just so very much not true or accurate or noble. I am tired of the kowtowing, the emotional bullying, the people taking advantage of the fact that I remain mum to their flaws, my doormattedness, the back-walking. And I am going to cut it all the fuck out of my life. If you suck, you suck. I am not doing any more spinning or damage control. Not paying the lip service. You are all on your own, and you'd better watch it. I see you.]]> tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.400 2006-07-25T07:45:17Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

So here is what I did: It was almost 2am. My five year-old son is wide awake and eating pancakes. My house is littered with puzzle pieces: letters, numbers, states of the union, toes, fingers, barnyards animals; and magnets: letters,...

pdd-nos, otherwise known specifically as, eh, your son is odd, but he doesn't fit any of our Categories of Regular Oddnesses, so we'll call it this. It will be official, I suppose. Bring on the free services and schooling suggestions, Chrildrens' Hospital Team of Experts! I imagine I shall do quite a bit of nervous-energy blogging. (There is another fresh entry below. I wouldn't want anyone to miss out in the excitement of reading this one! Pace yourself!)
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Yes! Yes, I have been sober for eight years. EIGHT YEARS. And some change. A few spare weeks that don't add up to a whole number that makes it sound longer. So, yeah, just the eight years. Honestly. Honestly, I...

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robbie was watching the lottery number drawing. he was so interested-- the popping balls, the spangly, fancy lady with the bright red lips, the numbers. oh, the NUMBERS! so, i jotted them down, and then i wrote each one on...

robbie was watching the lottery number drawing. he was so interested-- the popping balls, the spangly, fancy lady with the bright red lips, the numbers. oh, the NUMBERS! so, i jotted them down, and then i wrote each one on a different slip of paper. i handed the slips to robbie. he arranged them in the right order-- the pick three, the pick four, and the pick five. he memorized the order of the three strings of numbers, in just seconds: 5, 3, 8-- 9, 5, 1, 3-- 34, 17, 21, 37, 12. clearly, he is a freaking genius. tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.397 2006-07-14T03:11:35Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

I am feeling defeated. Defeatable. Like, I have been dropped in a jungle, completely alone, save my Bushmen Guide, Robbie, who speaks a different language and observes different customs. And I have nothing but my gumption and wiles to shield...

I am feeling defeated. Defeatable. Like, I have been dropped in a jungle, completely alone, save my Bushmen Guide, Robbie, who speaks a different language and observes different customs. And I have nothing but my gumption and wiles to shield us from the harm, as I am the protector. --- But I am not meshing with him today, this week. We have the brief fits of coming together for physical reassurances, then we go our separate ways. And sometimes that feels like failure. It feels beyond sad, beyond crying. Beyond anyone helping me. --- Often I think the others here would just as soon run away from this, take a different path and not look back. It's like they are distancing themselves from themselves, though. From that childlike part buried deep inside that only wants to be understood. Because it's all so very raw. And the rawness has big, blue eyes that can see everything, unwaveringly. I have something in me that keeps me rooted here. I cannot stray. I would not. I couldn't. I am here for the long haul. It's my place, too, just as much as it is Robbie's. --- We were painted with the same brush. We are each other as much as we are ourselves. tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.396 2006-07-11T09:25:27Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

Man. I am stuck in some sort of negative phase or cycle or otherwise organized crapfest. I can't read. I can't write. My days feel like they are filled with nothing much at all. I am not giving R the...

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Or claim it in the first place. There are so, so many people and situations involving those people I don't write about because those people or situations involving them, um, involve them. And I have tried for years, FOR YEARS,...

things. Not saying, so much, sorry, fuck you people and situations involving you people, but, really, something has to give. And it's not going to be me. Not this time. Haven't figured out how to work around the people and situations obstacle. I could change names, I suppose. I could call Chris "Jimmy." You'd never be able to figure that out. Nor would Jimmy. It's not like I am wildly wide-read and popular. Shouldn't be so bad for the people. They can always stop reading. Anyway. Just thinking. I am far more interesting than you know.]]> tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.394 2006-06-29T04:51:22Z 2008-05-25T02:41:22Z

Robbie and I watched the storm roll in from the porch. He felt lovely and warm on my lap, and I hoped I made him feel safe. Because I felt safe. When it started raining, he stood up tall, stripped...

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The isolation. By far. It's not so much that we can't go certain places and do all of the things; we can. It's just that I never am able to have a conversation with anyone that lasts for more than...

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i want to cry and cry and cry and cry and cry. it's weird; i am firmly convinced i just can't do anything-- right or well or at all. intellectually, i know that just isn't true, but it doesn't matter....

i want to cry and cry and cry and cry and cry. it's weird; i am firmly convinced i just can't do anything-- right or well or at all. intellectually, i know that just isn't true, but it doesn't matter. i like it so much better when i like me. today i do not. i do not like me. not even a little. maybe it's my menses. tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.391 2006-06-19T06:56:40Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

Never again will I give my heart so freely. I will play it close to my chest, with a poker-face I have yet to find. Practice, I will-- practice until I can master that dead-pan stare, that gaze that shows...

Never again will I give my heart so freely. I will play it close to my chest, with a poker-face I have yet to find. Practice, I will-- practice until I can master that dead-pan stare, that gaze that shows nothing and means even less. My breath will stay even and my heart's beating imperceptible. No sweaty palms, no nervous giggle. No feet shuffling, no kicking at imaginary pebbles. The butterflies will not fly in my belly, as their plucked wings will be dissolved by my stomach acids. I will rip my soul from my sleeve. It belongs inside where I may watch over it, keep it safe, and preserve it from the general population, from the likes of you. I am emotionally easy. I tell everyone everything-- every feeling, every nuance of every feeling, and I am drained, empty. There is nothing left for me. I am tired of pleasing the people, showering the attention, boosting the egos. I would be better off building my own-- building my own ego from a kit, and painting it when the glue dries. Maybe I'll even get a little high from the fumes. I could use the ego-from-a-kit contact buzz. I would rather like feeling giddy and hopeful for myself. You may worry about you. You are your job. The close-up inner workings of my brain aren't interesting to you, anyway. You rarely know what the fuck I am even talking about, but I know, and it's all terribly important. This is so not about you. Nothing is ever about you. It is all about me. No matter what happens today, tomorrow, the Thursday after next, it has everything to do with me. I get to be me. I need to be me and not care whatever it is you do with you-- again with the not my job. I will realize that. I sort of do now. tag:www2.netsmarts.net,2006://1.390 2006-06-12T01:55:54Z 2008-05-24T22:41:44Z

Lately, I have been feeling rather sorry for myself. Lonely, sad, wanting someone to share the day-to-day stuff with--the funny things I say, the funny things I do, you know, all of my funny, cute moments that only I witness....

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I just had the best next-best-feeling thought. I had been pretty down since last night, in a wonky brain-chemistry funk--where nothing at all is wrong but I feel unbelievably sad and old-- and suddenly I had just the best thought...

I am his mother." BAM. There I go. That's it. That's all I need to know. The End. ]]>