Crack Is Wack

In case anybody has noticed, I'm not nearly as strong or as together as people first think when they meet me. I'm not nearly as self-contained as I come across. People who have never met in real life but only know me in blog world maybe know, since a good portion don't know me in The Real.

And it's one reason why I often allow/don't mind/invite The Real to read my blog, in the hope that on those days I come across as bitchy/self-contained/strong they may realize that it's actually when I'm suffering the most. When I'm holding on the tightest to myself.

My outward calm hides the turmoil.

The Turmoil lately certainly is not as bad as it's been. BlackAugust, in my mind, is about the worst it's ever been.... I look back in the abstract and see an inkyblack, boiling cauldron of spikes. So it's not that bad. Actually, it's not bad... just tiring.

I'm approaching 44. In the abstract, I don't mind the number. I look good for the number. I can still tell my age and have people think I'm ten years younger. This puts me at about 34. I don't get carded, people don't think I'm in my 20's anymore but to still be thought I'm 10 years younger is good. Lately though, when people tell me I don't look 44, I feel a sense of fleetingness pass through me, and I think of this verse from the Virtuous Woman (Proverbs 31:10):
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
and I'm reminded that it's all downhill from here. Hopefully a slow downhill... but downhill nonetheless.

I haven't gone out to celebrate my birthday in a while. I haven't tried to have a party in a while. I know 44 isn't a "milestone" number like 40 or 45, but at 40 I don't think I really felt like publicly celebrating. But this year I do. I think, really, I have a need to feel like Cinderella. So I booked a private pole-dancing class for myself and 15-20 of my closest girlfriends and family, and afterwards I'm trying to have a "hang out" for anyone who feels like showing up. The last time I remember trying to have a "real" party for myself was my 16th Birthday, and 10 guys showed up and no girls.

You'da thunk a memory like that would make me feel good. But it's kinda been the story of my life and it stinks. Cuz not one of the guys was my boyfriend, and not one of those guys ever became my boyfriend. And years later, come to find out... guys still remember that party and that they traveled long ways to get there. Over the summer when I'd gone to my high school reunion summer barbecue, a few of them talked about it. I had no clue what party they were talking about; I'd blocked it out. Then I remembered--duh! My 16th! And yet not one of those guys ever asked me out--at least not while we were young and single. Go figure. Cuz now they're old and married and the offers are just rolling in, the fuckers. The other night I was being IM'd by two of them (married guys) at the same time. It thoroughly annoyed the shit out of me.

Anyway. So I at least have 15-20 women friends invited by default to share my birthday, because I'm forcing them to be there by luring them with learning how to dance on a pole. Bribery works, I say.

Then something else happened that I don't really feel like going into detail about, largely because I think it happened in my own mind. But I'm not really sure. But it started to send me into a tailspin, back into that inkyblack cauldron. The one person I tried to tell, CNC, is so wrapped up in her drama with PrettyBoy (who I'm becoming convinced is completely insane and not worth the trouble she's putting in) that she wasn't really helping me be objective. And I only felt like telling her because she wasn't around for the original drama. Sometimes I do that... I have to spread shit around to those who weren't there for the original drama because to take it back to those same folks puts me back into the same spot. And I needed to view this from another vantage point.

But she was useless... and I felt myself being pulled into the inkyblack until I decided it was all in my head and I wasn't going to let my head drag me down again, and I think I've managed to pull myself back. But I understand why crackheads can't stop. There are some things you can't take just one hit of and walk away... some things are so powerful that you either let them consume you or you leave them alone altogether. And there's no rhyme or reason as to what things will hook you, either. I have alcoholic genes, but I've never contracted the sickness where I need to drink all the time, no matter how bad my life is. But this particular thing... this thing grabs me and pulls me under quickly and I don't know why. To the outside world I went into full-blown "Chihuahua Mode"--you know... little yippy dog with an annoyingly loud bark, who does so out of nervousness and frustration.

And nobody will pet me.


Other life stuff, which doesn't really belong in this post but since I don't get to write everyday anymore I'll put it in, Random-Ish and Spaghetti-like:
  • We've all been concerned about Poppy. He had hernia surgery recently and it put him through the wringer. Having had conversations with Mr. Kip about why he needed to stick around, I brought it up with Poppy the other day to feel him out. I was relieved to hear other than not liking back pain and some other stuff related to the surgery, he still feels he wants to stick around, and I find that reassuring. Cuz Mr. Kip was adamant that he wanted out; he was done. And he was.

  • The other day, the 22nd, was Grandpa Truman's birthday. I never got to even publicly say "Happy Birthday" to him cuz I was pulling myself back from the precipice, but I felt him around. I know he and Mr. Kip have been watching over the Sun. I really need to write about how, but I need to go to bed and it's kinda long. I hope I remember to come back to that story, cuz it's a good one.

  • I'm loving the new President. The downside is I'm oddly and personally hurt by those folk who are adamant that he sucks, that he won't live up to his promises, and that one even said they hoped he failed. Mostly, they tend to be Caucasian but deny they are racist. But I find it a little odd that mostly, they are Caucasian. Now granted, Rush Limbaugh is an ass and a shock jock... but come on.... but I guess that's another post. Maybe I'll get back to throwing out my tiny little voice into the political wind. But I love him, the President... I'm actually excited to come home and see what he's done that day. I wonder if his openness and frankness will last... I find it refreshing that as a younger politician he doesn't play the same way the other politicians play. And I got a huge kick out of this story of him visiting the Press Corp. And everytime someone on the news says "The President" and I look up and it's a brown man, I get a giggle.

  • Just how crazy is Blagojevich? And how in the hell did he get elected? It must be cuz he's young and good looking. OK, kind of like Obama--I'll give critics that. But Obama at least makes sense. This guy... holy fuck. What was that whole thing about the old Cowboy Movies????

  • The Fabulous one is a good friend. I proposed to him the other day, when I was feeling particularly "yippy". He didn't accept or reject but it amused me to do so, and it didn't bother me that he didn't accept or reject. Probably because as much as I adore him, I can't see us married. Our worlds are so different even though our minds function the same way... but what the hell do I know. Other than crack is wack.

  • My kid is a great kid. I think one day he's going to be a rock star. The trip to DC and the suit and the accolades seemed to make it all click. He came home and picked up his guitar. He picked out some notes and then wrote them down, and the following day came back and played them all the same way he had the day before. He moved his guitar and amp into his room. I made an appointment with WhiteClogs to tune the guitar and show him some scales. The Sun is all excited. He's already recruiting for his band.
...and that's all until I have some time to delve more deeply into things. But first I have to clean up again... ugh...


RoadGrl said…
chiming in on the last comment... I hear you about the music/rock star thing, I've got 2 here...
and you ain't heard a thing til you hear D-D playing the chords to Piano Man and singing about "an old man sitting next to me/Making love to his tonic and gin"
Ros said…
Clearly my invitation to learn pole dancing went astray on the internet.

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