Sunday, June 24, 2012

Dating Update - Are Ya'll Waiting on Bated Breath?

Mr. Rogers after our date.
 I just arrived home from the most mismatched coffee date ever. Think Mister Rogers and Rizzo sitting in Starbucks trying to relate. Holy crap. It was the longest 30 minutes I've had since the pushing part of labor.

It is has been 11 weeks since My Sweet Escape and I officially broke up.  But that's the official part. It leaves out the night I called and left him a voicemail, (like any grownup would) saying, "Let's just do this. Let's just do what we need to do to work this out." and the next day I received a text that said, "I just don't think this is the right time for me to be in a relationship." Hahaha, for a couple destined to be we sure de-personalized that one.

After I picked my heart up off the barroom floor, I dusted her off, and said, "Okay, baby. No more kicking you around." And she and I began to walk in a new direction.

Things have gotten better recently. I've only teared up twice today. I used to wake up everyday imagining My Sweet Escape curled up behind me. I would refuse to open my eyes until I absolutely had to. That has stopped. "No more fantasies, baby," I said to myself, "Your ass needs to get out of bed and make pancakes."  I do sometimes image stopping by his house during the day while he's sleeping (he works nights). I see myself crawling fully clothed into his bed. I curl up behind him and breath in his scent. In my fantasy I look into his beautiful face, bawl up my fist and smash it into his cheek repeatedly as I ask, "Are you fuckin' serious?" Of course I would never do this, but sometimes it heals my heart a little just to think about it.

The book I'm reading? The Wisdom of a Broken Heart by Susan Piver. It is very wise. It talks about meditation, and diving into the pain, but Piver also talks about having a love affair, not a relationship, when your heart is broken. Having a brief love affair is like feeding your starving soul a Twinkie except sexier. Not the nutrients you need for long term, but nice for a little boost.

A week ago I joined a dating site. Something I said I would never do, "It's not my MO." I said to Joe Cool, all holier than thou. I may have even stuck my nose in the air, and it is true. It is not my MO, but look where my MO has gotten me with men....So I decided damn it, I am going to friggin' do something different, for realz.

Times have changed, though. I have changed. What I want out of a relationship is so much different now than even 2 years ago. I have no desire to settle into married life. I have no desire to live with someone. My beasts go to their dad's for about 30 hours a week.  I'm not planning on introducing them to someone I date so my options are limited. However, why not go out to dinner a few times with someone I don't want to fall in love with? Damn that takes a lot of pressure off.  Maybe I'll find someone fun to hang out with so when I want companionship I can have it and when I don't want to deal, I don't have too.

So far I've only gone on one date (Mr. Rogers). I think the problem is I'm sending mixed messages to the universe and to the men online. I really have no idea what I want. My inner Lisbeth Salander and my inner Cinderella are at war most days. I'm at the buffet and I can't decide if I want the steak or the creme brulee (that's not a very manly desert, but you know what I mean). As you can tell from the food choices, though, I want something rich. I don't mean money wise. I just mean I want the experience to be meaningful and enriching to my life, not a bunch of silly bullshit. I just don't have time for that.

Yes, this is exactly what I look like while training for my dates. 
Dating seems stupid and exhausting, yet there are somethings that are exciting. And I have promised Savior Single Mama that I will do it for the story. She said, "You're like Katniss before the Hunger Games. You're in training."

Everyday I wake up to 18 new matches from my new dating site. Not really. There are actually about 7 and not one seems actually compatible with me. Out in the world I've flirted with someone who I realized wasn't really into me he was just laughing so hard at my jokes because he was stoned. Note to self... I can't read men.

I also recently saw someone who it didn't work out with and I was very glad I had on my best black bra. You know those great bras that make your boobs look like you bought them? Even though my boobs were not the reason it didn't work out with this man, it is nice when those girls stand up and say, "We have options."

My favorite dating misadventure so far happened last night. I went on a date with my favorite person to go out with; me.  I took myself to movie and dinner. While waiting on my take out dinner I started a conversation with a man at the bar. He looked so familiar to me....Oh yes...I remember you, Rat Bastard, you're the married man who dated my friend Sassy Single Mama. I played it cool and did not say a word. Surprisingly, that man and I started talking about adulterous politicians and I shared my belief we need to stay out of their bedrooms. It was a great conversation. I told him about my blog, but said I didn't share it with people I've dated (lesson learned!). He asked for my number and I happily gave it to him. Mama had a plan. When that Rat Bastard texted the next day I asked for his email and then I sent him this:

Hi "So and So",

I thought this blog post would be particularly interesting to you after our conversation last night. Paragraph 3 will probably be the most relevant for you, but you may want to read the whole thing. 

There are many reasons that I did not marry a politician, the way I feel about cheating bastards is one of them.
May you find peace,

In my dream my chest was WAY hairier than this!
A few months ago I dreamt that I was on a date. A date with a handsome, smart man, who I was having fun with. It got to the kissing part and then a button undone on my shirt and that is when the man and I simultaneously realized that I had a hairy chest. Not oh, one or two random hairs, but a full on hairy chest and belly. A man's hairy chest with my boobs. The man was horrified and I was embarrassed, but I was also slightly in awe of my amazing ability to grow such a rug. Needless to say, the dream date ended badly.

This is my fear, that I've become too happy with independence to make room for someone else. I love, love, love the distraction of fun texts and emails. I love the idea of having someone to go out with when I want to, but do I really want the compromises that come from a relationship? I guess that is what this dating thing is about. It's about me figuring out what I want in my life right now, and it's also damn good fodder for writing.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

It Was a Sticky Situation

I have written before about my Tai Chi battles. That class just kicked my ass, and I'm sure it will continue to until I graduate from acupuncture school next year.  Studying for the last exam means going through the form over and over again, but when you're not so sure how the form goes that's a little hard, and then you think, well fuck it.

After I sent him an email with the subject line "FREAKING OUT", my teacher emailed me a very patient email about why I should not give up and I should keep practicing. This helped motivate me enough to keep practicing and not quit in a huff. Plus, I have a friend in my class who practices with me and has shown me the joy of a slow motion Tai Chi bar fight. It is pretty badass. I can slow motion kick your ass anytime.

You would think that the form would be easier for me since I've made some changes in the past year. I've quit smoking, I'm eating healthier, I exercise more. I still drink as much coffee, but no one's perfect, I'm not sure how I would make it through the day without that amazing black fuel. Anyway, the form is actually harder for me these days. Luckily my teacher has changed the exam so we don't have to perform in front of the whole class anymore. That change ensured I would not have a repeat of last years pre-exam panic attack and then loud exclamation of the F-word mid-exam when I lost my place and thought I was going to have to start over.

Fancy: It's not just for weddings.
For my exam this semester I decided to pizazz it up a little. I threw on my blue bridesmaid's dress before the exam. If I was going to fail miserably at the form I might as well look good doing it, except, I realized as I zipped the dress up the back, I hadn't shaved in 3 days, which had allowed my pits to grow into mini black porcupines. Classy lady, that's me. Anyway, I walked into the room, took a deep breath, got grounded, and then started the form, fancy dress and fear reflecting back at me from the 3 mirrored walls.

Weight shift, 70% right leg, 30% left. Feet shoulder width apart. Arms float up, move from your center, breath, baby, brea....Ugh, what is that? As I'm going through the form I feel an odd sensation on my inner thigh, a sensation like there is a large paper sticker between my legs. I can feel it stick to my left inner thigh each time I move my legs, which is a lot in a 10 minute Tai Chi form. Stick, release, stick, release. Breath, breath, breath. W.....T.....F? is my PANTYLINER! Yes, my pantyliner has wedged itself out of my underwear and is now halfway out, sticking to my inner thigh every time I move my leg which is about every 1/2 second.

My mind began to race and I picked up the speed of my form. I didn't want to stop, excuse myself  and re-adjust because that would mean I would have to start all over and there was no way I was doing that. I kept my eyes locked on the mirrors searching the floor each time my legs moved just in case the pantyliner fell right out on the floor. Stick, release, stick, release....breath, breath, breath. Dear Committee, please if I get through this form I will practice Tai Chi everyday and like it. Just keep that adhesive sticky!

Amazingly I made it through the parts of the form I knew. "Okay, that's it." I said, clamping my legs together like a virgin at an orgy. "I can tell you the rest of the form in words, but I can't actually do it."

My teacher stood up, "Allright, well, let's do it again, together. We'll do the whole form."

WHAT? I know my teacher saw the look of terror on my face. "Ugh, I would rather get a zero than do the form again."

"No," he laughed, "Come on, just do the whole form, real quick."

Are you kidding me? And then, here's the crazy thing. Instead of excusing myself for a minute and adjusting my situation I said okay. I wanted out of that room as fast as possible, and walking my sticky taped thighs down the long ass hallway to the bathroom would just prolong the hell so I said, "Let's do this." And the form began again.

Weight shift, 70% right leg, 30% left. Feet shoulder width apart. Arms float up, move from your center, breath, baby, check floor and make sure there is no 4 inch white surf board shaped thing lying at your feet. Step apart, shoulder width, knee-toe alignment, stick, release, stick, release. By the time we had made it through 3/4 of the form I can feel that most of the pad is actually out of my underwear. It hangs down, blowing in the wind until my inner thigh gets close and then stick, it adheres itself until my legs pull apart and it releases again. It is amazing to me that there is no noise accompanying this horrifying dance of pad-stick-thigh-release. I can't figure out what is holding the pad in place but I am so grateful for it's tenacity.

Please just let me make it through this last part, I pray. Turn, face front. Weight evenly distributed on either side. I stand tall and clench my inner thighs together. It is done, "Well, that wasn't so bad." My teacher smiles at me.

"Nope", I giggle. "Thank you so much." Laughter is bubbling up my throat, I am so grateful that it is over. Hysterically grateful that sticky Tai Chi situation is done and I can move on to the next year of class, and my pantyliner miraculously stayed in my drawers and did not jump out onto the floor. I feel like yelling a  mad AMEN and a delirious HALLELUIAH and I do, but it's on the inside where just I can hear it. I then gather up my things and haul ass out of class as fast as I can with my inner tighs locked on tight to that deviant pad. I had made it through the exam without humiliation......

Except, that maybe I needed to learn a little humility because the universe made sure I got some.....

After driving cross country a couple of times, I have learned the art of changing clothes without showing an ounce of skin. The day after my Tai Chi exam I was in the classroom with only 4 other people, my Tai Chi teacher, my energetics teacher, and two classmates. No one was paying any attention to me so I was going to do a quick change before I left for the night. Pull dress down, skirt up. No problem, except that as dress went down and skirt actually went down too and there I was with no skirt or dress on, but only a (thankfully) longish shirt that covered my ass. I was so shocked that my changing plan had failed and that I was staring at my naked legs with no pants or skirt that I gasp, and there was my humiliating moment. Yes, universe. You got me. The four people in the class all stopped looked at me with shocked expressions as I laughed and apologized and pulled up my skirt. So much for grace.....

Exams Make You Smart and Sassy

I'm not sure why I don't write about acupuncture school more often. It takes up a lot of my time. It has helped change my life in amazing ways. It has healed me and ripped me apart. It washed my brain in a good kind of way. A friend from acupuncture school gave me the name Sassy Queenpin Mama. The funny thing is, they don't even know me as a mama.

Every month for five days in a row I hop in my car, sans kids, and drive almost 200 miles to acupuncture school. I'm in class from 9 - 7 for those five days, but I am also surrounded by like minded adults. The couple who runs the boarding house where I stay feed me amazing home cooked meals twice a day and deal with any cleaning that needs to be done (I do have to shower myself. What a hassle). It's pretty amazing to have such a break from responsibility. During those 5 days I am allowed to completely focus on acupuncture, and surprisingly in that time, I've also been able to focus on myself and who I am. I have found the Queenpin. During those days when I don't have the little beasts to distract me, or the ghosts of my pasts from the small city where I live try to define me, I have found that I really like who I am as adult.

Last week I had exams. The weeks before I had been spending most of my free time studying. If I said, "I'm sorry kiddo, when mommy is done with exams......" one more time I think a beast would have put a cap in my ass. I was worried!!!! The whole time I have been in school I keep thinking that eventually my teachers and classmates are going to find out that I have no idea what I'm doing. That I somehow have gotten this far but, really, I'm an impostor, some stupid woman who just ended up in this school surrounded by all these smart folks. The stress and fear of it was locking me up inside.

When I was packing my car for school I noticed that my kids had left their Nerf guns in the car and I thought, "These will be fun on breaks." I grabbed some bullets and threw them in the car, along with my blue bridesmaid dress that I am damn well gonna get my money's worth out of.

Then began a week of hilarity. I decided to take the Nerf guns into my first class, and use them. Here is something I have learned about myself in the past 4 years of acupuncture school. I am a good reader of people, and being a good reader of people I know how far I can push it. I have practiced pushing the limits for a long time, and in that time I have perfected the art of going right to the limit and them backing down. When I was 14, I knew that I could smoke on the church canoe trip if I kept my canoe 50 feet from the leader and mocked him slightly with that. He laughed at my brashness and berated me at the same time. Rebellion with a smile can get you pretty far.

The first shot of the Nerf gun sailed down the back row where I always sit and stuck nicely on the class pained cabinet door 20 feet away. By break time, my teacher had grabbed a gun and tried to take me out. He was forced to take a student as a body shield to protect himself from the onslaught of Nerf bullets I threw his way. Don't fuck with the Queenpin.

It was amazing to watch stressed out adults go from leeriness of this crazy woman who was packin', to picking up the guns themselves and unloading right onto the white board. A look of glee on their faces, a little wicked glint in their eyes. Supervisors from the clinic downstairs came up and got into the game. One of my friends assured me he would be purchasing an automatic Nerf gun when he got home. We laughed and laughed and laughed, and that made the immense stress of exams a little better. Another thing I've learned about me is that there is only so much intensity this mama can take, then I need a break. I need to find a way to lighten the mood and sometimes that means a Nerf war. Sometimes that means shaking my groove thang in the kitchen. Sometimes it means making smart ass comments.

I have a friend who was pissed at her boyfriend for playing with a remote control helicopter while she researched medical information about current test results she had. I laughed and said, "I totally get that. He needed a break from the intensity. He couldn't take anymore." That's how I felt about exams. I couldn't take the intensity anymore. I needed a little break from the waves of stress that were coming of all of us at school. I needed to laugh. So I did, and then I passed all those damn exams. Yay me.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

I'm Calling You To Show You My Postcard

When I used to finish a postcard, I would immediately take a picture and send it to my Sweet Escape. I get so excited when I finish a project I want to show it off. I want someone to scratch me behind the ears and say, "Good Girl. Nice work."


I know, I've got to get over this instant gratification shit. However, I'm not there yet and tonight I finished 2 postcards and updated one and then....uncomfortable feeling...sadness...annoyance at myself...achy gut....I had no one to send it too. Shit.

Don't worry, I did take a moment and think, "This is for you, girl. Scratch yourself behind the ears." Which I did, and then I decided to post my picts on my blog because it is fun to show your art to someone. It is fun to finish a project and say LOOK WHAT I MADE!!!!

So here you go. Be my new boyfriend and get excited.
I updated The Committee and added Akhilandshevarhi
(the Goddess Who Is Never Not Broken, just LOVE HER)

I made this for a friend who is a survivor of rape. Her words, her wisdom.
It took me months to make it and now that I'm looking at it
again....shit....just a little more tweaking.....

No amount of mama-ing can heal this baby's wounds,
and to me that is horrific.
For months I've had a vision in my head of doing
a postcard of an American soldier with the same words, but then I saw
 this child soldier and I knew I had to use it.


Thursday, June 7, 2012

Crazy Cakes Hits the Stage

When I was married there was this invisible woman called Crazy Cakes that lived in my soul.  I  hid her behind my husband. I hid her in my marriage. No one knew how needy I was, or how insecure. No one knew how overwhelmed and confused I was about motherhood. No one knew but my wusband. Poor bastard. I look back now and see how weighted he was by my need to use him as my shelter.

Now that I'm a single woman, and more than that, a single mother, it seems my crazy is all over the place. It is a shirt I wear, and a stamp on my forehead SINGLE MAMA - WARNING UNSTABLE MATERIAL - may ruin her kids or her life at any moment. And yes, I realize I have a blog, but in truth, this rag only carries about 50% of my crazy, okay maybe 75%.

I am a woman who needs to process things verbally. I like to talk things out before I make a decision. I used to have my husband to do that with, now I have a great community. The thing about sharing with your community though is that everyone gets to know your Crazy Cakes. It's a trade off. I get my freedom. I get to make decisions on my own (sometimes this is a burden), but then my Crazy Cakes is on stage for everyone to see. She's doing her dance, she's miming her worries, she's sobbing out her hurts. She is showing off her spangly underpants that may possibly have a hole, and no one is going to lift up her skirt for her to cover her ass. In the end Crazy Cakes is on her own.

A single mama has no one to blame for the outcomes in her life but herself. I cannot not blame my husband for not doing the dishes, or ruining the dinner. I can't blame him if we're broke at the end of the month. I cannot blame him for the fact that my kids aren't involved in after school activities, or sometimes those beasts go without bathing for over a week. I can't say it's my husband's fault that I have introduced my kids to men that I date before that magical 1 year mark. I can't blame it on my husband that sometimes I want to run screaming from motherhood like it is a six headed monster with suction cup hands. That is all my parenting. That's all me, and it's all out there in the world for you to see.

When I was a married mama I judged single mamas for those things because their lives did not fit into my concept of successful mama-ing. I judged them because I didn't understand. Now I get it ladies, and damn, I'm sorry I was such a judgmental hag. Interestingly, what I know after being married for a minute or two is that the marrieds (especially at this stage in the game) are just as crazy as me. Their crazy is just as invisible as mine used to be when I was married, but now that I've been on both sides, I see it. I see you Married Crazy Cakes, give a little wave.

Once she came out, I used to be ashamed of my Crazy Cakes. I felt less than. I felt crazier than you, more damaged than the marrieds, more angst ridden than most, but these days I've begun to realize some things. Just because my Crazy Cakes is on stage, doesn't mean I'm less of a mother, or not as sane a person as someone else. Just because I don't have a husband doesn't mean I can't make sound decisions, ON MY OWN. Just because my kids' dad doesn't live in our house doesn't mean that their lives suck. The beasts and I just don't have the luxury of hiding what makes our family different. We can't hide that our house is a single parent home. We can't hide that my kid's dad lives across town. My wusband left and I was too heartbroken and tired to go out and get another to replace him, and now I don't want too. I like our family of three.

I have to tell you these days I am starting to really like Crazy Cakes too. Less and less do I feel the need to apologize for her, or justify her behavior. I find myself relishing the joy and spontaneity of single mamahood. I am enjoying motherhood so much more now that I am not trying to fit into a mold of what I thought perfect mothering was. It is not that judgement doesn't sting, but I'm learning that if a little judgement is the price I pay for this delicious life then I will take it. In my bones I know I am a good mother. In my bones I know that I can make the right decisions for myself and my children. In my heart and soul I know that failure will not ruin us, and so far it seems to only be making us stronger.
I love my bones.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Loneliness is a Dead Cat

Two days ago I was meeting with a good friend who was telling me the results of her scary doctor visit when I got a call from We Can Do It Mama who lives a few houses down from me. Her voice was shaking as she said something like (it's really a blur), "I have some bad news. There's a cat that got hit by a car in my yard and I think it's Nick." I took a deep breath and told her I'd be there soon to identify the body (that sounds very CSI doesn't it?) I told my kids we would not be picking mulberries as we had planned, we were headed home instead and just let mommy think and don't whine about it damn-it. (The Queen of Compassion sometimes visits me, but not often.)

So I came home to see if this was my cat, and, of course, it was my little black furry boy. Shit. We Can Do It Mama had dragged him to the back yard so her three children wouldn't see him before I told my kids. I walked up to my house and broke the news, tears wet on my cheeks. The beasts cried and sobbed for about 1 minute. Then they realized that they could milk it and the requests started:

Big Beast: sniffle, sob, "Can I have a friend over...." sniffle, wipe eyes, lip quiver, "because my cat died." Sob, sob, sob, look up at mama with his most pitiful eyes. 

Little Beast: Whine, sob, wicked twinkle in her eyes "Can we get a puppy?"

Sheesh, I am raising two heartless little trolls. 

Let me tell you about this cat. He was a loud, stinky, neighborhood menace.  A rebound cat bought by the my mother after I put my sweet Duke of a dog down last year. I didn't even want a stinking cat. He was the only kitten left at the SPCA. A little ball of black fluff I brought home thinking I couldn't love him so soon after my dog had died. But then he was the sweetest damn cat, with this hilarious personality. He slept in my bed, curled up on me while I studied, and bit my nose and ears while I was sleeping. He was a great damn cat. The best rebound relationship I've ever had.
Neighborhood menace rebound cat. 
After breaking the news to the beasts, I told them they could see him if they wanted to. Of course all the kids wanted to get a peek at a dead cat. We Can Do It Mama's 10 year old son who had been my cat sitter came to me and said, "I don't think that's Nick. That cat is too fat to be him. That cat also has smaller paws than Nick. I just don't think it's him." That sweet kid, denial is stage one of the stages of grief, right? All the kids had a look at my sweet dead kitty and they decided, nope, that was definitely not the menace that stalked their chickens and rabbits, but also helped keep their yard rat free. That was not the kitty that sat on Savior Single Mama's porch and had morning coffee with her boyfriend, Southern Culture in the Crib. It was not the kitty who let them carry him around by his belly, or who let me carry like him around like a baby while I stroked his belly. "I'm sorry kiddos", I told them, "I wish it wasn't, but it is. It's our Nick."

I let the kids pick the spot to bury him. They chose a spot between two rose bushes. Spot chosen I called my Rent-a-Husband to come dig the grave. It was when we put Sweet Nick into a pillow case and then into a box (well not really into, he was hanging out of the sides) that We Can Do It Mama and I realized that my little dead kitty had been dead long enough to stink to high heaven. I could not wait for Rent-a-Husband to get to my house. I had to dig that damn grave myself . Sigh. This is when the lonelees started. This is when I started wishing I was not the grown up in charge. 

I remember also feeling this way when I decided to put my Sweet Duke down. I had had that dog for 16 years. He had moved with me 9 times, once to New Mexico and back. He survived 5 boyfriends, 2 marriages, and 2 kids. He survived cancer 5 times. He loved me no matter what. That damn dog was my prince. Deciding to have him put to sleep was the hardest and loneliest decision I ever had to make. It was such a huge choice, one that I wasn't sure I was qualified to make. Ending a life. That is big. And I had to make the decision alone. I asked my vet, and she gave her opinion, but in the end I had to decide it all by myself. It was a responsibility I did not want, but I had to take on, because I was single and he was my dog.
My 3 legged pooch. My constant companion for 16 years.

The next big decision after deciding to end my dog's life was deciding how involved to have the beasts in this whole dog death process. That also seemed big. Should I let them be a part of it or not. Their great-Grandmother was also dying during this time. Would being involved with the dog's death screw them up for life? I decided to let them be a part. Death is a part of life, and maybe if they learn that fact while they are young it won't be such a surprise when they reach their late 20's, like it was for me. 

The day the Duke was going to be put to sleep the vet came to our house and I kept the beasts home from school. I whispered Buddhist mantras to my pup as he lay on the couch. The vet, my son, and I sobbed while she gave him the shot. Little Beast pulled the lids of his eyes open every few seconds asking, "Is he dead yet?" and then looked from one sobbing face to the next for confirmation, "Is he dead, yet?" Yep, insensitive little troll. I'm sure the vet was mortified. I was too, but I couldn't figure out how to jerk a knot in little beast's ass gracefully without looking like a total sobbing nutcase so I let her be. 

I was actually dating my Ex-Sweet Escape at the time and I remember laying my head on his chest that night and him just letting me be. I was so grateful I had someone I could do that with. Someone I could rest my head on after a fucking brutal day. Someone who didn't expect me to be the grown up.

That is the thing about being a single parent. You always have to be the grown up. When you are married you get to share the meltdown. One of you usually holds it together while the other falls apart, but even if you both fall apart, you have each other to lean on, to prop up on so you don't go all the way down. When you are married, one of you digs the grave while the other one makes dinner. When you're a single parent you dig the grave, you deal with dinner, you do the bedtime ritual, and then you still have to do the damn dishes.

I have also found that, as a single parent, when you do have a meltdown people become afraid that you won't come back. When you meltdown and you're the only adult that will be in the house that night people start to look at you all worried and twitchy like they might need to commit you and take your children. When you have a partner people are happy to hand you over for him to deal with. They are assured that the children are safe with two adults even if one of them is a basket case. 

With dead cat I did not have the luxury of a partner. I needed to dig that damn hole myself, and in the end I would be the one comforting myself at night once the kids were in bed, possibly with wine, definitely not with cigarrettes, and damn it, we were all out of chocolate. We Can Do It Mama (thank you so much for giving up your whole afternoon to help!) started the hole in the 87 degree humid as hell weather, and then I got to digging. And then a great thing happened. My insensitive little troll of a girl begged to dig, and then I asked her to get her brother, and then the cat sitting boy came too and all four of us dug that hole together. The OSQ and her life partner, Better Than Einstein came and brought flowers. He filled in the hole and We Can Do It Mama and her kids came down while we had a funeral for our sweet Nick. While we were burying him we put my Sweet Duke's ashes in the grave and a lottery ticket from Savior Single Mama. We wanted them to live it up in the after life.

I was lonely, and I was sad as hell, but I was not alone. That night I called my Ex-Sweet Escape to sob because with him I still feel safe. I told him that when things like this happen I get so lonely. I am the most lonely when I need to break down and want to be comforted by someone else, someone that I trust to let me fall apart for a bit. When I break down I want someone who doesn't become afraid when the Queenpin loses her shit. My Ex-Sweet Escape was always good at that, and he always knew I would get it back together soon. He said all the right comforting things after my sobbing dead cat fit. Then I hung up and went back to parent my beasts.

I put those sweet beasts to bed with prayers to The Committee and a Buddhist lullaby I wrote for them. We sang together imagining our cat being held by Mother Tara. I sobbed, Big Beast sobbed, Little Beast went and got her stuffed black cat to sleep with. 
When I put myself to bed I cried and cried. I missed my damn cat. I missed my damn boyfriend. I felt lonely and I felt sorry for myself. I felt tired of doing this by my damn self. And the thing is, I know that I'm not doing this alone. I've had so much support and love the past few days. I've had it for the past few years, and most of the time it is enough. It is just what I want, but some days I get tired of going to bed alone. I get tired of burying the pets on my own, teaching my kids about death, I get tired of holding the bag. Sometimes loneliness is snow on my sidewalk that I have to shovel. Sometimes it is a nice dinner I've cooked for two to be eaten by one.   Loneliness is temporary, and I know that too. It's just that that day, the day I buried my fury little rebound, I was in a lonely place, because the truth is there is nothing lonelier than death, and nothing better to remind you of that than losing someone or something that you love. Baby, loneliness is a dead cat, and this week I buried one. 

Our little kitty cat grave.
RIP sweet Nick. The beasts are convinced you and Wyatt are running around The Committee's table while their Great Grandma challenges the deities to cards.