BadMormon

It comes down to an equation

As I continue to work and write and help with a show my mind is always churning over the trust issues. How to decide what I want next?

The two questions I have are “what do you want from me” and “what can you give back?”

I have spent far too many years of my life drained by people who have no resources to give back. I am aware that this is probably the case now.

I do the cold calculations because the part of me that is feeling it all will not come out of it well if listened too. She is ready for any thing, any extreme, any fight and any connection. RAW RAW RAW I can’t get it through enough, when the word vulnerable is used it is meant.

I do have the resources, the friendships, the people who I never have had to think of the equation with, here to get me through this. Or to just keep holding me if it never leaves.

But I can not give out anything more than what is returned. Life has unstitched the wound and I work everyday, with my friends help, to keep going and I know they are walking with their own wounds too that I try to be good about helping and always worry I am not there enough, and hate it when I say the wrong thing, and know that i am forgiven and we will make up as we look each other in an honest eye.

I’m not prepared to keep adding to my circle. I’ve got many, plenty, etc. There are several on the wobbly line that I still have in wait and see territory. Will we become great for each other or will I find myself drained to much to keep speaking.

There is also that one. Well. I just have to see if it’s gonna be healthy for me.

And now a poem I wrote last night:

What are you going to do when I stop loving you?
When my eyes stop seeking you across a crowded room?
When my head turns to the sound of another’s step?
When my laughter explodes in time to someone else’s grin?
What will you do?

People like my attention. I try not to waste it because it is a piece of my time, my day, my energy. And that goes, as someone mentioned recently, to my kid and my job and my art and my inner demons. The remains are left for my friends:D (Ok, sometime job loses out.)

In conclusion:

Haven’t got one, have to run, work calls. Thank god, at least I’m paying the rent in the midst of all the fuckin shit!

Sitting and typing in a library

For the past week I’ve been running around like a crazy person. A very good friend of mine has a one man show coming up and it has been a last minute push to get everything done.

A group of us, the crazy artist friends from whence I come, have started the formation of our own art collective, which means that when one of us has a show we all have a show. Everyone shows up, helps how they can, makes him crazy with feedback and all in all have a great old time figuring out how to get work done.

This has led to a lot of daily time with my ex. You know, the one I keep typing at you about.

It’s been weird.

First because there is this thing between the two of us that when we are ourselves, no baggage in play, is sweet, funny and good. Two people whose brains communicate well on the daily crap. “Kindred Spirits!” as my childhood self, reading too much of Anne of Green Gables, would declare regularly.

But it had been a surface thing.

Last night I found myself walking several avenues to the train with him.

And we talked a bit about real things.

It was good but it threw back into my conscious mind my fragile bits. I had started a new character at the mics, and as I said we’ve had this show, and I’ve been getting a little work, and like we do as humans I once again hid my pain from myself. You can’t live in it 24 hours a day.

Whoooboy is it still there.

And really the ending of what we were saying to each other left me wondering how DO you rebuild trust? How do you know when it’s real? When actual change has happened?

Still mulling it over, no pithy summation of life here. It’s a big one and needed for more than just the ex. There a few people around that I have trust breaks with. Or with whom it was never there in the first place.

And as strong and sensible as I can be this one just wears me out with the thinking of it. My brain keeps flipping to the many many times I have been fooled into trusting again and again and then getting tromped on.

I guess it’s time to Google! Luckily all the answers are on the internet – somewhere.

Bugs still not snackin!

I have to test drive the bed because The Boy has eczema and told me he probably wouldn’t notice if he got bit cause he’s learned to ignore itching. And so far still so good. Will probably do one last proactive sweep of things this week. cross fingers, NO MORE BED BUGS?

More Sexy Back 03-18-09 – 2nd Performance!

YouTube – Sexy Back 031809.

Really love this character when I’m on stage.  REALLY WEIRD to look at your own performances.  Never looks like you think.  BUT I like where this is going.  Last tues, the 03-24-09 performance missed being videoed.  i hear it was the best ever.  LOVE THE PROCESS OF ART!!!!

Bed bugs gone?

well, I can’t vouch for the bedroom but I’ve been sleeping on the couch for 11 days. No bites so far. That I can tell. I’m a little afraid just hatch babies are nibbling away getting bigger and I just won’t know it until a big one goes MUNCH. Bedroom is still too early to tell. Cross fingers and toes!

The Boy, This Weekend, and I Win

After I recovered from the flu last friday my son came home.

Our schedule has gone through some changes this year. He was with me for the school week for the first time since his dad and I split, and while he liked it the mornings were early, and the change in routine was more disruptive than having my presence was helpful.

His father also didn’t like it and if we had wanted to keep the change of days then there would need to be a custody case. The Boy and I had many conversations about it. What a court case would be like. Why his father was mean. How I agreed with the rules but not how his Father acted to “enforce” them.

And I was/am worried about their physical fighting.

My son did not want us fighting in court again and frankly neither did I. I was beginning to think I had no choice though as I kept hearing of escalation of the fighting.

Then there was a tussle that changed things according to my son. I don’t have details because from the kid’s point of view he has no idea why things are different, and doesn’t care. He just feels happier. I can see it as we take our rambling walks. He tells me dad is listening better, giving him time to do things, and mostly being less mean, and no fights. The Boy claims he’s also less afraid to speak to his dad now, and is explaining his side better. He claims he is getting homework done, has a way to do his weekend homework when he’s not with me, because he wants to maximize all his minutes with me.

I don’t believe him, but at this point he knows he has to pass 8th grade or not go to the SUPER COOL TEST INTO NYC HIGH SCHOOL that he easily gained admittance to. I know that if/when good dad does what I always recall him doing, and reverts to rotten dad, I’ll be more ready to do what needs to be done, and in the mean time I’ll keep trying to find ways to help him succeed, give him more and more socialization with my adult friends so with exposure by the time he gets to it the adult world will be familiar, and he can relax and know the rules of how to act, as well as have them so practiced they don’t look as though they are being chosen moment by moment. Teaching socialization is a constant thing with us all based around giving him the rules people usually follow for him to hang his understanding off of. The rules I have haphazardly spent my life trying to figure out cause it always seemed such a mystery to me, why people said what they said, did what they did.

(Have I mentioned my son has a mild run of the Asbergers Syndrom? His father too but more severe.)

But with school and boy scouts, and one weekend a month with his dad, I don’t get a lot of time. It’s concentrated from 10:30pm on friday to 7:00pm on sunday.

Saturday, after hanging out with a bunch of my friends at a black box theatre we walked around new york city, him leading, until mom had to pee. The conversation consisted on what types of mohawks he would like to have, the colors and me talking to him about my first fiance, who had a mohawk and would put it up but you really don’t want to make it a permanent job. He thought I should wear the mohawk cause I had long enough hair now to make it work, his hair was still too short. But he does have this long flop of a bang down to his chin and we have a “maybe plan” to put that up as two devil horns, black tipped with red, for Halloween.

We walked to Barnes and Nobel at 14th street, cause mom has to use the bathroom. We wandered around, ended up planted on our butts in the bargain books, me reading a book titled “Wisdom of the Ancients,” him looking at every page in a book showing pictures of all the crazy airplanes ever thought up. We spent some time making each other look at each other’s amazing bargain find, that we weren’t about to buy.

Hours later I’ve decided we’ve had a great day and it’s time to go home. He doesn’t listen, and after some cajoling, a little tickle under the armpits he resists in a big way and I lose my temper. “Fine” I hiss in the “mother’s totally pissed off in public” whisper, “stay then.” And I march to the escalator, not looking back, and down and out to the front where I stand on the sidewalk looking through the big plate glass window at the aisle and wait to see if he follows, furiously trying figure out how rescue my mom power if he stays.

He didn’t, he was 30 seconds behind, peering ahead, not afraid but wondering where I had stopped to spy on him. I caught him as he came out the door. He tried to cajole me by being cute. I explain I’m angry and I want an apology, not teased into a smile. He says sorry, I say accepted and we discuss what next.

We realized that it was too cold to walk all the way down to where our friend would give us free food and so hit the train back to queens.

On the way home, off the train where he had been singing songs to me he was making up as we rode and as I hushed him often to sing quietly, and also “don’t do that annoying honking noise there are other people on the train,” he piped up with, “I think I’m schizophrenic.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those are the people who have split personalities right?”

“Yes but that happens from serious abuse in childhood, you do not have a split personality.”

“Well they know about each other and share memories and every thing but there are different mes”

“Sounds human to me. There’s a few of me running around in my head too.”

“I have three. The philosopher, the depressed person and the happy person.”

“Oh well, so how does that work?”

“Well I like the philosopher best.”

“How’s the depressed guy.”

“I ignore him. I just pay attention to the happy person now.”

Hmmm… out of the mouth of babes.

We ended up at home, ate some more hot pockets due to a sale of 3 boxes for $6, (2 pockets a box!) and an instant lunch of macaroni and cheesey sauce. In deference to my worrying about being a bad mom he consented to eat the chicken and broccoli pocket, instead of the pizza pocket, as well as letting me add frozen baby peas to the starchy $1 snack food.

We finished our day together with the YouTube video currently displayed, “we are the strange” which he had wanted to show me for FOREVER!

But the pay off is in the morning. He gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom and then does that thing kids do when they own you. He lifts my arm, shoves me over into the last remaining inch of space on the couch and lay’s down snuggling in. We sleep for a while and as my alarm goes off we stir and wake and he muttters, “I love you.”

I kiss his head and sigh.

“You’re the best mom ever.”

I love you too sweetpea, more than you’ll ever know.

Headaches and raw food

So Oprah had people on that ate low calorie diets and most of it raw veggies and lift weights and are extremely healthy. Claim to never be sick. I think I have to start trying it. I’ve been so sick this year. And I’ve had a headache off and on for a few days now and well, it’s probably cheaper than eating what I eat now. I try to be healthish but don’t always keep it up and never as severe as these low cal plans are. I have too much to do to feel like crap all the time.

(yes, I watch Oprah and Dr. Oz, i work from home on my couch often, give me a break. Watching family guy as I write this right now!)

(and I really love the $1.07 Wendy’s Jr. Bacon Cheese Burger as I run around the city and get hungry. And Two Boots has this sausage crawfish jalepeno pie. And Pierogi at Odessa. And Beef Tacos from Taco truck. sigh.)

grrrrrrrrrrrr

i have a lot of snippets of things to write going through my head but nothing congealing. writing sucks. I think I need to be locked in a room with no outside input for a week and just allowed to write everything out, MADE to write everything out. See if thinking all thoughts to conclusion creates anything worthwhile.
blah. It’s like being constipated. I want to get it out but it’s stuck.

on the Madoff Issue

you know I don’t care what you do, you CAN NOT spend 650 BILLION – that’s right, 650 BILLION dollars. There are swiss bank accounts full of madoff ill got gains and we ALL know it.

May Cause Epileptic Seizures and Old People Confusion

YouTube – We Are The Strange.

This is a weird hour and a half movie, yes a real movie, sorta, that The Boy finally got me to watch with him.  I am not sure how I feel about the whole thing.  I like the idea of it, and some of the chaotic visual techniques of modern animation, but being old I also found it hard to understand what I’m looking at and the pay off at the end is a little “eh.”  LOVED THE FEMINIST MESSAGE!  Who knew?  If you don’t understand that message (and you should, it’s simple and spelled out) just comment and let me know.  I’ll explain.  But you have to sit through the whole thing.  I understand if you don’t make it.