Early Morning Musings

It’s five am. Which I guess makes it really early in the morning and no longer late at night. The things I think about when I’ve hit that level of so-over-tired-I-can-no-longer-sleep are odd. So. Welcome to the shit I think about at five A.M. And the reason why I don’t sleep much. Sorry. This may make you want to drink Draino. You were warned.

I wrote a comment about god on someones blog post recently. It was a really good comment and it was probably the only time I’ve ever been able to really explain my views coherently. And blogger ate it. It’s not something I can recreate, because it will never be as good.
I hate that. It happens with lost blog posts too. Words just disappeared into the void, eaten by the impermanence of Internet, never to be seen again.
Sometimes the Internet seems almost more real than reality. We have conversations here, make life long friends, even meet our future lovers. We change peoples life for the better, or at times for the worse. And it’s all with the words and images we share. Words and images that can spread like wildfire, reaching people you’d never imagined being able to reach. A celebrity you adore might come across a tweet or blog post you’ve created, someone you admire from afar might actually read your words, and for a second, you’ll be connected. You might make a stranger smile today. You might make a friend think. Or, your words might hurt someone. Or, you know, be eaten by fucking blogger and never be seen again.


Speaking of reaching out to people, I’ve started a new project. It is called Strangers With Kindness and it’s about using the incredible magic superpowers that the Internet has given us all to make a difference in peoples lives. It’s about making the world a better place, one person, one story at a time. We will be sharing stories that highlight the good in people. That tell of how total strangers have reached out a hand to a fellow human in need and made their day.
Not only will we be sharing those stories, but we will be making them ourselves. We are going to find people out there who need a ray of sunshine in their lives, and we are going to Love Bomb them.
It’s going to be amazing. You want to be involved. The feeling you get from helping someone in need, for no reason other than to be awesome, is like no other feeling in the world. You want to feel that feeling. Trust me.

I’d actually planned on like, sleeping a bit tonight. But then the vomit fairy made a stop by my place. She’s a bitch, that fairy. She took out the eight-year-old just for the fuck of it. And for no reason that we can discern, other than to torture her, (and her mother) a bit. Thankfully, after seven straight hours of spewing out of all orifices, the worst seems over.
It’s funny how kids seem to be able to remain in high spirits even between bouts of side splitting poop-stravaganzas.
Us adults on the other hand are whiny crybabies, and if my husband catches this and I have to listen to him moan about how he’s never been so sick before in his life and he means it this time, for REAL, I’m probably going to have to smother him with my red throw pillow.
Don’t worry. As long as there is one wife on that jury, I’m getting off.


Kira got a card from her sisters today. At one point Vi writes “I love you and I miss you like heck!”
This kills me. These people are destroying the lives of four children.
I miss them both so painfully it hurts. But Violet, she gets to me the most. Because, Vi, is MY child you see. There’s a much longer story in here, but the abridged version is that she’s mine. She’s not theirs. Me and my ex were separated when she was conceived. I made some, er, unwise choices, being as I was, overcome with grief and rage after my then-boyfriend of five years and father of our then less-than-one-year-old-daughter confessed that he had been having an affair with the only woman I was allowed to have a friendship with. So, I ended up pregnant with Vi, in the usual way, and her “real” father claimed he was sterile and there was no possible way she could exist. And walked out. After cutting my brake lines.
Cue my ex-husbands brothers horrible tragic death in the middle of this Springer-esque drama, and we end up back together. I’d just discovered I was pregnant- eleven weeks or so at that-and I was very upfront and honest about it. He decided he would pretend the child was his and that was that. Everyone in our families knew and this led to his mother getting drunk one night and spending five hours trying to threaten, coerce, intimidate and plead with me to have an abortion. At twenty-four weeks. She also proceeded to tell me about her abortions which started at age fifteen, and how they weren’t so bad. She ended the night by telling me “Well at least she won’t be ugly” after having seen a picture of the biological father.
Anyway, my ex, (let’s call him “Rex” from now on.) threatened me with abandonment if I didn’t let him sign the paternity papers at the hospital. One of his favorite ways to keep me in line was to tell me if I ever tried to leave him or dud X, Y or Z, he’d leave me and take the kids and I’d be fucked, because I had no money, no skills, no job, no friends and no car. All carefully orchestrated by him, mind you. (The very first thing I did during that first split was finally get my drivers license, which, at age 20, I’d never been allowed to do.)
I digress. The point is, he signed the papers though I wanted to leave the birth certificate blank. It was obvious when she was born that she wasn’t his, based on blood type alone.
(He has since claimed he had a paternity test done proving she is in fact his. She’s not. Mathematically, and scientifically not possible. Besides that, she’s the exact female replica of her bio-father. Like EXACT.)
The point is, she is living with people who treat her like shit and let her sister beat the crap out of her, and who have no biological ties to her whatsoever. I’m not saying you have to be related by blood to have a living bond with a child, far from it. But I am saying, Rex, and his mother have made it quite clear that her sister is the favorite and they only keep Vi around to placate her. She’s the one that deals with the full force of her sisters diseases and disorders. She keeps her sister out of their hair, occupies her so they don’t have to.
And the last time she was here, she begged me, in tears to please PLEASE get her away from them, and her sister. Please.
And oh gods, I tried baby. I really did. She was absolutely terrified. The look or horror in her face when I told Rex and his mother what she wanted was pure fear. They both claimed if it was what she wanted they’d support it and then immediately started with the manipulation. They had signed her up for voice lessons, bought her a new bedroom set. Started sending her pictures of her beloved dogs daily, reminding her that she couldn’t take them of course. And once they went home they started grilling them about every second of their time here, twisted every.single.thing. Until the whole trip, in both their minds was a horror story of screaming and suck. The accounts my ex mother-in-law spewed at me of what she thinks happened here last summer were so incredibly fucked up, exaggerated and warped that it’s no wonder the kids “chose” not to come back this summer.
So yeah. My child was kidnapped and is now being mind fucked and abused. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.
She’s on fucking Klonopin to make her sleep. She wets the bed at ten still. She’s on Focalin or some shut for her supposed “ADHD”. Basically, she is drugged so they can control her. She was off all that shut for nearly three months when she was here- and sugar too, don’t even get me started on what these people feed these kids-and she was FINE. Perfect. Awesome and happy.
Fucking fuck. Just…fuck.

And this is why I shouldn’t write at five AM either.

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2 comments
  1. Mrsrkfj said:

    This feels like me when I’m up at 4AM baking. I thought it read like it was supposed to read: a mind dump. Obscene amounts of coffee, no draino needed.

    • Heh, A mind dump. Exactly. My brain gets clogged with crap and it starts to back up, and when I get overtired is generally when it overflows.
      That’s half the reason I blog you know. There’s only so much a person can shove down inside themselves before the words just come exploding out.
      At least here they are somewhat contained. I try to keep this stuff from spilling over into other areas of my life and writing.
      Sometimes, I fail- miserably.

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