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Archive for the ‘hypothetical’ Category

had to crap out that last post before i could move forward in my life.  it is what it was.  and what it was it isn’t anymore.  i have heavy decision making dark matter in a sack over my shoulder all the time.

that must be why… my new thoracic mri showed 4 black discs, two bulging and deforming my spinal cord.  no nerve damage yet.  my lumbar disc is also “bulging”.  this is fine in your 30’s, the thoracic results are, um… not fine.

new tests are to be performed.  medication maintenance is now handled by a pain specialist.  some of my pain may be nueropathy.

i cannot get over the news from a healer in another city that i am keeping something very hateful low in my chakras and if i don’t let it go, i will only grow the pain syndrome i have now.

i’ve looked so hard for the reason to all of this.  i have searched myself.  i cannot find any undue anger just lying around unused.

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post start date:  nov 4 2010…

anniversary time,  happy happy!!  happy radial and ulna fracture!  happy “bon anniversaire, mon divorce hypothétique!”

“feliz aniversario, mi divorcio hipotética!”

“felice anniversario, il mio ipotetico divorzio!”

“юбилеем, мой гипотетический развод!”

you’re worth a bag of sick,

“ครบรอบปีที่มีความสุขการหย่าร้างสมมุติของฉัน!”

“記念日おめでとう、私の架空の離婚!”

“週年快樂,我的假設離婚!”

“sretna godišnjica, moj hipotetski razvod!”

“גליקלעך יאָרטאָג, מיין כייפּאַטעטיקאַל גט!!”

happy google translate.

but, yeah, a year ago he jumped up at me and took me down with all of his force saying, “you think you’re tough?  i can be tough too.”  my poor wrist was broken in his hand as it smashed against a table on the quick way down.  that was the first moment of silence we’d had in over an hour while i looked, in total sobering shock, at my twisted arm that was rapidly swelling and changing color.  we’d been fighting and i had lost all control and was hitting him with all of my primal anger and weak hands.  he’d accused me of cheating again.  it was almost a pastime of his, accusing me of things and finding ways to further isolate me.  this time his insecurity involved a man i worked with.  i lost it.  i kept thinking, “you are not going to take my job away… you are not going to make me feel guilty for supporting my daughter.. you are not going to take the pride i have in my work away from me!!!  i don’t deserve this, i’ve never deserved this.”

(do i really want to go into the next moments?  can i?  i’ve really got to.  these are the really painful memories and the gray areas.)

i managed to weakly bark out, “you broke my fucking wrist.”  “call 911.”

no.

he wasn’t going to call 911.

i certainly wish he hadn’t now.  if i’d had any idea what would happen to me,  i’d have crawled to the ER by my teeth.

no.  no.  no.  he wasn’t going to call and he had thrown my phone and i couldn’t find it.  staying low, i crawled to the front door and opened it and started screaming for help from the neighbors.  he grabbed my bluejeans and pulled me inside again, slamming the door behind us.  at that moment, it occurred to me that he was going to kill me.  horrific pain was setting in and i was too weak to fight him for help so i just pleaded repeatedly and cried, hoping to find the place where he keeps his shame and guilt or simply badger him into doing something.  “they’re going to arrest us both and our daughter is going to go to social services.”  “CALL!!!” i yelled.  what a mistake, one of my worst.

i never thought in a million years that they would arrest me.  i thought they were going to take him and put him where he belonged and that we’d sort through his treatment, child custody and our separation later.  what a relief it would be to come home from the ER and have him gone.  oh justice!  oh righteousness! oh how naive.  i’ve always known he was a liar.  a poor one.  just as poor at it as our police force is at their work.

and it rolls.  downhill all the way he’s got me rigid.

i went to my talk therapy.  there had been quite a delay.  i had forgotten all the broken children he left inside of me between our visits. upon query of him i gave too favorable of a report.  i just found last month’s apology letter and the last three days have cut me to threads of old sinew and short muscular fibre of little use.  of little taste, some butcher’s remains am i.  as i ride on my ticketed rickety train from a departure point of sane to an arrival in good old terror depot.  yarrow, pennyroyal, emmenagogues.. a cramp fed straining of my fragile bowel heart.  my gut receiver.  my pennyroyal, my dear black cohosh, do you work psychically?

can you abort him,

can you keep me while he tries to kill me, can you keep me well?  or  hide me from the manic carousel?

he is going to kill me
i found out the other day it’s so rarely complete, my full sentence, my full thought.

of course you can’t.  stay tuned.  it’s ratcheting up.

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NSFW language.

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here you are, if you were wondering, the ultimate- the penultimate failure of judgment i was designated in advance to enact has arrived. i have the clock ticking now on the surveillance.

ha! hahahahahaha!! i lost my own bet. i make good on them too. here’s yer 5 bucks, yer snoot, yer own personal accomplishment in righteousness.

i am a moron.

i’m the fool. the rider waite fool.

upside down, as an artist, things dooooo look a little more composed. i’ve got it now. you’re sick.

you’re sick.

i’m trying to light matches in the rain.

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it would be unreasonable and unfair to blame my problems on someone else, right?

let’s face it i’ve always had problems.  from my drunk mom to my disappearing dad.  they don’t pull you into private therapy from school at the age of nine if you’re okay.. and you’ve always been doing just fine.

they’d give me play dough to build the entities i despised.  they were traits for me and not people and i destroyed them as soon as i built them up.  i told the same truth i have always told, my truth.  so when my file and i got to middle school and i landed 7 state felony counts in one blow my creative writing class took on a whole new meaning.  my favorite subject was simply a double agent.  my stories landed me in alanon to deal with my mother’s disease.  if only i’d known then…

all the things i know now.

absolutely everything would be the same.

so it’s really hard to call anyone out as the reason i’m so fucked up and have been drinking in excess for three days.  it just wouldn’t be warranted, if i said, that someone or something made me feel like checking out (of here) – or checking into the nearest funny farm.  i have to have some autonomy left, right?  left, right? left right left right left right.  these are my decisions.  i have made them as awful as they are.  tomorrow the plane comes and takes me away from here.

how will i come back home?  yes, yes, by the plane.  back to silence and fear.

not to worry now, not now.

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i missed my plane.

i tried to do everything right, but i didn’t and i missed the plane.  we spoke about stand-by.  i looked at my kid and decided we had to reschedule.  so instead of flying away from here and all of this i had to call home, and then my home.  tell my mother, who was suddenly becoming very ill, to turn around and my husband who is mostly ill to return to fetch us.  my daughter laid flat on the asphalt and had a fit when she finally realized that we weren’t actually going on a plane.

i felt like doing the same thing.  then all of our luggage exploded out of it’s giant overstuffed bag on to the ground as my running car poured coughs of exhaust onto it.  so i took the only measures i knew how to, i took pills and drank for the rest of the day.

well, i had to take pills at the airport because i turned white, shook like a leaf and drowned in sweat when the four people in front of me lost their flights.  there was only one person checking baggage.  the security lines almost sent you back out of the building, which would have been nice because at least i could have smoked.  i couldn’t stop crying.

my husband was almost terror stricken by our departus-interruptus.  i spent the ride back home listening to him tell me how he had taken care of “angry-***” and found that he had no right to be angry and that he felt so bad for us and my family as well.  i should have known better.

it’s two days later and i’m coming out of the coma i had to put myself into to live through this last fugue.  he says that when i come home, he’ll have the divorce papers.  he abandoned us near bedtime tonight.  so i locked the top lock, fed, bathed and read our child to sleep.  i heard him downstairs pounding.  then i heard the pitter patter of angry feet while i read as she started to doze.  someone snuck a peek into our dark room and quickly left again.  i’m writing this with the phone in my hand.  not dialed for the police, no… never that again… just for a friend.  i hope he doesn’t kill us.  i hope we can leave monday morning. i have over reacted though.  when he said he was leaving for good he really meant, going to get chinese food because there wasn’t anywhere else for him to go.  i should have never locked that top lock.  i’m such a bitch.

i don’t know what else to do.  i give it cute names.  call these outbursts of fury, fugues.  i refer to the land in which he describes me as a negligent and absent mother as bizarro-land.  the place where he terrorizes me is just the “for worse” they warned me of.

please monday,  come.  i want to be able to feel myself again.

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“to market, to market to buy a fat pig,

home again, home again jiggety-jig.

to market, to market to buy a fat hog,

home again, home again, jiggety jog”

or:

ham and eggs.  a day’s work for a chicken, a lifelong investment for a pig.

the trip was full of strife for him.  what’s new?  we talked well before it came and has now gone about the myriad fears and concerns he possessed about vacation in the first place.  this was after months and months of soaring dreams and jubilant anticipation.  as the time drew nearer, he suited up, put his gloves on and prepared himself.   did he fulfill his own prophesy or manifest his destiny?  did he project his fears and expectations onto the family?  did his anxiety cause the difficulties?  i wasn’t there and there isn’t any amount of money i would have accepted to put up with merely his malignant narcissist of a father so i’ll never know if he sunk his own boat or if a few of them axed holes in it.

it was not as it would have appeared months ago.  the magic of the particular lake, the smells, the childhood dreams and terrible losses.  the shine wore off this trip when he had to be an adult and father his own child on a full time basis.

to market, to market to buy a shit pie, home again, home again i wish i would die.

this particular part of america has been his hog.  he’s raised it from a runt to a mythical beast of enormous proportion and influence in his own mind.  he even had the balls to tell his poor mother, who was the only one who did take any time to raise him, that it was the only place he could ever call home.  though when his father sold his stake in a property there to be released of the responsibility of an increasingly difficult maintenance schedule (not to mention his own bad memories) my husband felt his inheritance (maybe only psychically although property values have increased quite a bit) was forever stolen from him.  part of him can’t forgive his father and the other part went to vacation with him and still stood agape when the snake of a man tried to tell him how to discipline our daughter, excommunicated one of his brothers forbidding him from coming and later kicked out his own wife’s sister and husband.

so it doesn’t say in mother goose if the hog was bought.  it only describes the intention.

his eggs were dreams and his goals were pigs.  did anything come back from market with him?

a few sharp words came back.  he didn’t come up to the bedroom tonight and he didn’t sleep in it the night before market either.  he explained to me that our relationship was more of a friendship than a romantic relationship now.  so i took the ring off again, because i wouldn’t take this from the worst of friends.  our relationship is far beyond a friendship even if his dick can’t really get the concept.

pause:  he just came upstairs and fucked me.  do i put the ring back on?  or did he just want to see if he could smell any other dick on me?  what was that for him?

am i the hog?  here i was at home the entire time.  so what of your market?  your pigsty is right here.

it’s not fun for me to watch his childhood dreams shatter.  i don’t revel in his passage into adulthood.  i see his pain.  it’s just hard for me to watch it all crash down on someone near forty years old.  it’s hard to be the landing pad all the time.  it’s hard to let him try to crash me with him.

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