"That's a Roughie"

I have not written on this blog much lately, namely because I have reached a new echelon of acceptance and have even STARTED to forgive my daughter's asshat "dad." 

I say, "started," because just a few weeks ago, I pretty much considered myself cured of all his bullshit.  He got a hold of me on yet another new number and tried to shake me up.  I didn't work very well.  I'm not very "shakeable" anymore when it comes to him.  I figured if I wasn't getting mad while I was talking to him, that must mean I was no longer angry with him and had, in fact, forgiven him.

It took a couple more weeks to prove that it wasn't the case.  As in the past, when I have a really stressful day where I would really love a break and some time on my own, I found myself getting raging angry with him.  All the old questions start to come back: "who the hell does he think he is, leaving me with all the responsibility, both financial and emotional while he goes and does whatever the fuck he wants; lives the same life he always has while mine has changed so dramatically?" 

I was pissed off today!  And I don't mind saying it anymore!  I'm pissed off at him and what he put me through and what I still go through to this very day!  Never a break!  Never an extra dollar to put in savings; never enough time; never enough money!  All while he runs around the country on his expensive motorcycles, wearing $200 shirts and dating bimbos with fake boobs, fake tans and fake nails, eating out every night, going to casinos, bars and traveling.

It isn't FAIR...and please spare me "life isn't fair."  I know it's not and I've learned that lesson; I just prefer to wallow in misery tonight as I yearn for the time when I could take off in my car and blow my popstand any time I wanted, without a care in the world except myself. 

But now that I have my initial anger vented, let me explain why it was such a rough day.  It's really all on me.  Last weekend, I was incredibly ambitious.  Cleaned my house to a better state then it's been in MONTHS, mowed my yard, got a few work things accomplished...it was great.  I sailed into this last week feeling good about myself, feeling strong, feeling accomplished.  This weekend was a little different.  My daughter wouldn't nap.  I have no extra money to take her shopping; our to the bounce house...we just do the same things over and over and over...and I was CRABBY with her.  More crabby then I've ever been with her for an entire weekend.  I had a few things to take care of at work, so we went there.  She drew all over the countertops in my "office" with dry erase markers, she spilled the entire container of watermelon I'd just cut up all over my (mostly) clean kitchen floors.  I yelled at her, I yelled at myself and it might as well have been her when we drove over 10 minutes to get gas and I forgot my debit card. 

I think my anger has a lot to do with being bored.  I get bored at home.  We either sit here or we go out in the yard or for a little stroll around the neighborhood.  Or we go to my work.  I somehow need to get in some breaks or some fun time...at least once a month.  But that involves getting a babysitter, which involves money and even more time away from my daughter...as if I don't feel guilty enough for working 12-16 hours a day and not seeing her.  I could go on and on and on and on...but I won't.  Enough misery for tonight.  Time to eat ice cream.  It's the closest thing I have to beer.

Ahhhh....Vacation

I haven't posted here since February, mainly because my anxiety has been through the roof!  I've been a mental freak, stressing and pacing and getting little done with my mind going a million miles a minute.  Last week, myself and my daughter drove north to see my family.  I stayed for five days and came home; she is still there and will be there for most of this coming week. 

It is so quiet in the house.  With everything to do, I find myself so free, I'm not sure what to do first.  I have a zillion things to catch up on...but being the procrastinator I am, I'm only getting a few things done sporadically done as they strike me.  Having said that, I have made some progress on the house.  I went garage sale hopping yesterday and picked up a solid wood sofa table in great condition for only $40.  I also got a large area rug and a stack of children's books for only $10.  The rug was filthy; luckily I'd loaned my mom's carpet shampooer and was able to clean it.  That was actually quite a project, but I finished it.  Good buys!  I also picked up a file box identical to the one I have for $1 and a pair of jeans and boots for only $8.

Now that my little girl is walking well, it should be easier to go to garage sales with her...I won't have to dig out the stroller every stop.   I also have some painting I need to do.  Eh...how I hate painting.  I'm also trying to do the impossible, which is CATCH UP ON LAUNDRY.  I don't know that I have ever caught up on laundry since I became a mother.  I don't know how people with 6 kids ever got anything done. 

In a nutshell, since February I've been a disaster...but a happier disaster.  I've blocked the deadbeat's number and have hardly talked to him since March.  I'm also awaiting a decision at work that could elevate me to full-time status.  I'm technically part-time now, but work full-time hours many weeks.  I would love to have the benefits and get myself insured and my daughter off of state care!  Any sort of welfare is NOT a permanent option for me.  I see the way people look down their noses at anyone who receives assistance and I won't deal with it for the rest of my life.  I will defend those who need help, though.

I also printed off an application for the local university.  I've had ambitions to go to college for many years and have never followed through.  Actually, I was all but accepted to a university weeks before I got pregnant.  I abandoned that idea when my daughter's deadbeat promised family and dedication to me.  Should have stuck with it and at least earned some credit's while I was pregnant.   But for now, if I can even get some general courses in and start working towards that goal, I think I can make a success of myself yet.  Never too late to better yourself, right?

So many things to do!  So I am going to sign off now and just do one of them.  Just one.  My daughter should be back here by Saturday, so I'd better take advantage of my quiet time.

Mental Health Day!

Sometimes as a single mother, I just need a day! My neighbors took my daughter for the day so I can go to work, to the store and clean my house. I'm relishing in my freedom! I'm actually excited to go to work and do errands and clean!

I just needed a day...and now I'm going to get off the computer and go enjoy it!

The Flirty Distraction

As a single mother, my love life is non-existent. Partially because I want it that way. Right now, I don't see hanging out with a 14-month-old is something most guys are game for.

I came close to dating a couple of times. Met a guy at the airport who asked me out while I was with my daughter, so that broke the news to him immediately and he knew what he was in for. He is moving to Texas in days, before we were ever even able to arrange a date. I've kind of just given up on the idea of dating. I can't afford to pay a babysitter all the time and I hate having my daughter sit at daycare all week and sometimes Saturdays, so I can't fathom adding another evening to it.

Recently, however, I've developed a friendship with someone through work who has become an exciting flirty distraction to my situation with my daughter's "dad." I've never actually MET the man. He does some freelance work for my workplace and lives 14 hours southeast of me. I hear his voice on a consistent basis and I emailed him to tell him one day how much I love his voice. From there, we started emailing back and forth. It turns out we are both single, both have dirty minds and a sick sense of humor. One day I asked him about his age in a roundabout way and he seemed a little annoyed with me asking. He became rather cordial and professional after that, so I followed suit and became all business with him. A few days ago, he sent me an email in which he attached some work he had done for our business, which he would normally charge a lot of money for and a few very nice words to me. He is a mentor as well, having been in the business I am in for well over twenty years, so when he compliments me on my work, it's very flattering and exciting for me.

So...our tawdry, flirty conversation was back on. Then last night, he actually CALLED me. We ended up speaking for nearly two hours. We talked about everything from our love of water, to his brother passing away, to travel, to sunrises to the state of our industry...everything. And I found out his age. He's 53. Nearly twenty years my senior. At this point, the thought of an older man is appealing to me. I've been pissed on and pissed off, I've been annoyed with single men who don't understand how much work being a mother is, I've been wary of any relationships after the way I was treated by my daughter's father and I've felt extremely unlovable and unattractive since the day he dumped me shortly after I found out I was pregnant. I don't see myself has even having the ability to be in a relationship.

Older men have seen it all. Lies, deceptions, hurt, pain; they've been through things in life where their age has given them the wisdom to step back and see that some of those things meant nothing in the grand scheme. There is a certain comfort in talking to a man and getting close to a man who can offer that reassurance that life will get better. A man who has no insecurities, because he has passed the point in his life where he think flaws are flaws - and instead recognizes those flaws as the gems of originality that they really are.

Being several states apart, I know it will be difficult to get a bedroom session with him, but I think I need to make it happen! If I am ever to move on from my child's father in the physical sense, I need to be with someone else...and I would much prefer an older man for that endeavor! I've considered having a wild and crazy romp with a young 20-something, or a mature and somewhat respectful relationship with a man my own age. But somehow, those dull in comparison to an older man. A 20-something would want to go straight to the bedroom. A man around my own age would want to go out to dinner, movies, live music, then go home and go to bed. An older man...he would be content to sit on my couch sipping whiskey cokes or wine and having hours worth of conversation while the baby sleeps. Content to slowly start to sit closer and closer and then eventually snuggle, then content to kiss and touch for awhile on the couch. And when they finally hit the bedroom...then they are content to cuddle, kiss and slowly remove your clothing piece by piece. And the sex itself...it's not a hard, fast, passionate take-me-now fuck. A man twenty years older is so excited to have a woman twenty years younger that he's going to savor every second.

Ahhh...I my mind right now I'm laying right next to him in the after-bliss of our amazing love-making and feeling beautiful and young and vibrant and sexy. Older men know the secret - an emotional connection and a stimulated mind make for a much more stimulated body later on.

I've cut my daughter's dad out of my life again. I've tried many times in the past and it's always been difficult. I've spent the time knowing he won't be calling (because I've changed my number or blocked his, etc) crying and sad and wondering what he's doing with whatever woman he's with. Eventually, I've always caved and let him back, only to be disappointed a short time later. Now I have this...an exciting flirtation with my at-the-moment ideal man. Just talking to him already has me feeling happier then I have been in a long time. And it's the first real excitement I've had with a man since I got pregnant. I don't even know that I'll have the opportunity to turn it into a short-term thing; the chances of it ever materializing into something serious is highly unlikely.

No matter what the outcome, this happiness took a long time to find...my flirty phone affair with my older man has distracted me from my sadness over "that last guy." And to be extremely optimistic (so unlike me these days!), perhaps the word I should be using is not "distraction," but "cured."

How bright is the light of joy when you've been sitting in darkness for days!

The Organizational Issue

One of the things that makes me most unhappy is my organization, or lack thereof. I always feel like such a failure because my life is always a mess.

Yesterday and today I spent all day off and on trying to make progress. I worked on laundry for HOURS, wiped up the kitchen counters several times, swept the floor probably 5 times. Picked up my daughter's room another 5 times. I'm still not getting anywhere. Everything is still a mess. I have pretty much given up on keeping floors clean. I go through a long process of picking up and shaking out all the rugs and the high chair cover. I get the counter tops cleaned off, the highchair free of food, get my hot soapy water ready and spend an hour on the floor. They are dirty an hour later. My daughter is often stuck to me...so it's sometimes not until hours after dinner before I get to cleaning the kitchen. By then Cheerios or Spaghetti-O's are cemented to the floor. Or I get all the rugs shook out and set them aside then never get to mopping. Then my rugs sit in a pile for the next week until I finally wipe everything down again, sweep again, etc.

I don't know how to be any other way and it's starting to freak me out! I am better then I used to be, now that I have a child. But this certainly isn't the way I envisioned life for her. I wanted her to learn from me how to be clean and organized. And I'm failing at being that role model for her.

Another thing with cleaning is guilt. Guilt over cleaning? Uh...yes. If you are full-time working single parent with no family around to help, every second you have with your child is precious. And when I'm cleaning and organizing, I'm not really spending time with her. She's there and hanging around, but my mind is elsewhere. Sometimes the only reason I do clean is because the hours alone with a baby go by so slow for me. Then I feel guilty because I'd rather clean then sing patty cake one more time.

My brain is such a jumble of guilt and worry these days, that I know the only way to sort through some of that is to continuously do something productive, because half the noise in my head is me telling reminding myself that I need to do this and that. Some of that clutter remains in my head for weeks, sometimes months! And if I'd continue to be productive around the house, I know I would be much, much happier in a clean and organized environment.

Back in my mid-20's, I went through an 8-month phase where life was PERFECT. Well, not perfect, but I was exactly where I wanted to be...and very much where I'd like to be now as far as mentally. I had just overcome a disastrous time in my life. I had dated an utter loser who was a severe alcoholic. He didn't help pay rent and I got evicted. I moved in with 4 roommates. I am not the roommate type. I finally found a cute little place in the best part of the ghetto. I LOVED that apartment. It was adorable. It was the 2nd story of a house built in 1951. The beautiful woodwork had been painted over, but the landlord had painted the walls cream and the trim beige, so it looked nice. It was a long and narrow place, with a large kitchen (although NO counter space), a middle room, a tiny bedroom and a living room, joined in that order. There was a narrow bathroom off the kitchen that had a clawfoot tub - heaven for me, as I adore taking baths. But the living room was my favorite. It was not a large room, but it was ample for a couch, loveseat, coffee table and entertainment center. The middle room made up for the lack of space in the living room. There was a large, square walk-in closet in the living room, which I actually used for my clothes, since the bedroom closet was tiny.

But best of all were the windows and the porch. On one wall was two standard-sized living room windows. Another wall had the same...but on the other side of THOSE windows was the porch. Fourteen windows all lined up in a row gave me lots of sunlight in the house and a great view overlooking the street below. The door out to the porch was paned glass, which gave the whole place a little charm and let in even more light. The porch was about 7 feet wide and 20 feet long. The wood floor was painted grey. I found some old end tables someone gave away for free, painted them white and placed them in the porch along with some resin chairs and a mauve and green flowered runner rug. I put up plant hooks and hung hanging baskets of impatiens and petunia's in summer. It was like a little extra room during warm weather.

The reason I described the place in such detail was because I have the best memories there. I would come home, clean everything up, THEN sit down with a bottle of wine and a movie or a book and relax in pure satisfaction in my clean and organized house. Despite the tiny bedroom, the lack of storage, the kitchen with no no cupboards or counter space (albeit an awesome pantry!), I just loved my life there. I loved my porch, my clawfoot tub, my pantry, my neighbors and because I loved those little things, I was ultra content. I often think about that place and that time in my life and try to remember how I felt and how I was able to get my mind so strong. I try to use it as a compass for this difficult season of my life, but maybe I am reading it wrong. I'm puzzled as to why I'm so lost on this journey, why I can't or won't take the right roads that will lead me back to that happiness. Why do we set up roadblocks for ourselves? Why do we fear what we know we are capable of? Is there a certain comfort of staying in the familiarity of a situation, even when it is not the situation we want? I have many questions in my heart that I have never been able to answer. I have thought about them for years. Maybe there is no answer, except action.

Action takes motivation. I don't have much of that these days. I've been asking myself how I can find it within me for a long, long time now. Perhaps it's time to seek it out instead of calling it's name and hoping it will come to find me again.

Tale of Tears

I kept busy today from early on, so the morning has flown by. Usually, a busy day makes for a good one.

In the last couple of years, the measure of a good day is how much or little I cry. My pregnancy was not a happy one. The father of my child decided early on that he didn't want a family. Then he decided he did. The first time I let him back was the hardest decision to make. I was in single mother mode, just 13 weeks into my pregnancy. I was really getting my life together and preparing myself mentally for doing it on my own. By the time I decided to let him in...he decided he wanted out again. Then he was in and then he was out. Then in. Then out. The cat and mouse game has continued since. He has been "out" way more then "in," and when he's "in," I can count on being for miserable for the next two weeks.

I'm exhausted by the cycle. I want so much more for myself and for my little girl. I love her dearly and she is not getting the best of me. But now I don't seem to be able to find a way out of this. I am so tired, ashamed, heartsick, worried, humiliated and overwhelmed. When I met him, I was in a career that was fun; sort of a dream job. I was getting ready to go back to school, I was independent. I didn't have a lot...but I was slowly saving money and had no debt. I had passed the stage of asking my parents to loan me money for rent or car repairs. I was somewhat secure in that sense. I was living halfway across the country in my favorite state. Life was good.

Now he has dangled family in front of me and taken it away countless number of times. He has harassed me, insulted me, ridiculed me...and still he can pull me in with his promise of family. I have gone through so much with being dumped and moved around the country and working and working while my daughter sits in daycare. I keep feeling as if all this heartache and pain has to have it's reward eventually. That he sooner or later will follow through and really want his family. And at the same time, I know it is an impossible dream; something unattainable...and until I let it go, this misery and pain will go on.

I am so tired of feeling this way and I don't know how to pull myself up anymore. I am disorganized, unattached and drowning in my every day responsibilities. I see no "light." I see only an endless struggle on my own, loneliness and an 18-year connection to someone who has nothing in him to give to me (while he has it for other women and their children), but is unwilling to let us go. The problem is that I've accepted that this will be my life. I don't know how live anymore.

Yes, my life has become a measure of tears. Sometimes they start the second I wake up. Often they start in the car, when some random thing he did to me suddenly occurs to me. Sometimes, during the lonely evenings home alone with a baby, the tears are unavoidable. Yet there are days I have very few and on occasion, there are none. It used to be that any day I cried was a bad day. But when you've cried an ocean, a couple inches of rain doesn't much affect you. I'd rather be measuring my days by my accomplishments and happiness...but herein lies the question: how the hell do I get there?