Tourettes of the Mothering Kind

I can't believe that spewed from my face. Last night Miguel got a little too liberal with his jokes and our son. By almost 8:00 p.m. Phoenix was well out of hand and it was time for bed. We had been joking back and forth to try and ease the tension. I asked him to help Phoenix brush his teeth. He obliges, but his humor went a little too far. He begins with the I'm sorry, it was a joke and starts walking my way when the following gem spews forth from my vocal chords: " Come any closer and I am going to rip your balls off through your mouth". I think the more horrifying part was that I was now laughing hysterically at the look on his face. Then I nearly peed when I noticed he indeed was protecting his bits.
Well, it's a short one, but it is indeed what I was thinking at 9:00 p.m. tonight. It may even be close to grammatically correct. More tomorrow.

Essay I

It's as if I just woke up from a dream. I watch my life as if it is a movie. Everything is so unreal sometimes. I wonder sometimes if anyone else has a constant narration in their head. As I walk along throughout my day, the jukebox in my skull automatically picking the perfect song. I laugh to myself as I carry along conversations with people while I am mentally weaving cartoon life all around them. The song instantly changing to set the mood. The narrator explains the situation concurrently to the nonexistent audience. And I am entertained.
Thus, my latest project. I don't know how to paint. Haven't really tried. But I am going to try and paint "still shots" from these encounters where the boredom makes pretty pictures to me.

Colds suck

One eye won't stop watering, the other's bone dry. My face is chapped from the tissue. I hate colds. My throat hurts. But it seems, like I'm penning more stuff down... who knows maybe I'll get back in the swing of things soon.

I promise...

I am going to start blogging regularly. Every single day I tell myself at least ten times, "this would make a great blog". At least a hundred times a day, I get sidetracked by life in general. I have been more sporadic about posting lately, and for that I apologize. I am going to blog more often. This time I mean it. It dawned on me at about 6:30 a.m. I organize everything. Saving for my time. Everyday the house ends up neat as a pin. Everyday it happens in a different order. M cleaning style tends to be that of a pinball. Bouncing around doing all or part of one thing or another, until they are all done. It typically goes like this: Oh the dishes need to be done. Half way through the dishes, crap the stove is icky. After the stove, the counters look like they could use a once over. Oh crap, make Mike's coffee. Wasn't I doing something? Oh yeah, the dishes. Did someone spill sugar right here? Where's the broom. This floor hasn't been mopped in a while. (Go to get the mop). Wow, the laundry/mud room needs to be gone through and reorganized. Where in the hell did he get that? Okay let's find a place for that today. Damn it there are still dishes! Two dishes later, Phoenix is thirsty. (Go to get Phoenix some juice). Oh my God! I need to clean the refrigerator A.S.A.P., and so on and so forth. Everything gets done, and everything ends up in it's place. It's just the manner in which it was organized was in complete disorganization. If that even makes sense. Sorry if all this seems quite incoherent, I seem to still be in some sort of blockage state.
The long and short of it being; if I organize my time the way I do my house, I will always have time to do all the things I need to, because I am cutting out about a thousand trips across the house. So here's to blogging on a regular basis!

Inferior

Blocked. Not that it matters. There seems to be no painting, no words, nothing coming out. And even if they did, they go to the home of all my other cerebral meanderings. Into one of the notebooks or boxes, or found receptacles of not good enough art. Nearly two years at this blogging thing, and almost nothing shared. I don't know what I was thinking. That there was going to be some miracle in blogger that would quell the self loathing, or feeling of being inferior? That after a lifetime of poems that aren't good enough, or books that are half written, or sketchbooks that none but my eyes have seen, I would suddenly put it all out there. Well it didn't quite happen like that, in fact I've learned that I am quite the procrastinator since starting this. Right now, I am frantically searching for something I wrote 2 years ago, called "Thief's Lament". I don't think anything else I ever produced came close describing me as well as it did.

His name started with a C.

The dreams keep coming, but not that one. I don't remember much except that I told myself to wake up and write the name down. I followed that with don't worry, you can wake up in the morning and write it down. I did wake up in the morning with the intention of doing so, but of course by then, I'd forgotten the name to write down. As if it isn't hard enough for me to find sleep, now I find myself waiting for this dream to come back. I'll help you Senor C., as soon as I figure out how.

Greenhorn Photographer

FAIL!

At 4:45 a.m. I sat straight up in bed. I then proceeded to bolt up throw clothes on and run out the door. Only to realize that I forgot watching Mike take the trash can up the hill last night. I'm sure it will be funny later on.

Just because

look up at the url. I just changed it. You are now at Rkellydontpeeonme.blogspot.com That's fucking funny, well to me at least.


So shines a brief glint in an otherwise gloomy day.

For the Kids?

Today I find myself wondering about people who stay together for the "sake of their children". I remember hearing it several times as a kid. I remember long drawn out conversations about it with kids in a not so serene home life. Is it really better for two people to be unhappy and try to fake it. Are our children really that stupid? Were we? Is the woman who stays with someone who may love her, but is definitely not in love with her, a martyr, or just stupid. Is the man who sees his wife as awesome to hang out with, but not very kissable, really doing anybody any favors? I remember watching my parents fight. A lot. I remember wondering if they would be happier apart. Don't get me wrong, they have never stepped out on each other. It just seemed like sometimes they really didn't want to be friends. I remember thinking they were stuck with each other. Stuck with each other because of me. Not my brothers, because they came later. Me. I was the accident. I was the first thing that forever bonded them. I hated myself for it. I've spent a lifetime wondering if my parents loved me. I have always wanted to ask them. Each for different reasons. Strange how something parents tried to do "for" their child, resulted in a lifetime of self doubt for that child.
So I have to wonder, is it that the thought of starting over is too hard? Is it that you like this person well enough as a friend that you think you can just ride it out? I always thought, the day my brother turned 18, my parents were done. Oddly, they seem to get along better now that we are all out of the house. Still, I find myself asking why they bother sometimes. It definitely has nothing to do with us.
Consider, if you know you get along as friends now, why wouldn't you want to end on good terms. Sure, everybody gets down. But do you really want to wait until you get into a blow out, and leave hating each other? Just some thoughts. Excuse me if they meander a little.

Dallas ignores me too.

Happy Friday the 13th

Does anybody else think it's a little odd that this is our second Friday the 13th in a row? I guess I should have went ahead with the black nail polish and the skulls with the 13 decals. Oh well, you live and you learn. Speaking of learning. In the next few days here we are going to have a post on the different types of tea.

Yurt's so dumb

So we've been working on getting a three dimensional rendering of our yurt and what we want to accomplish with it's design. Unfortunately, after talking to Mike's mom last night, I realized that if the world at large all thought the same way as her, CPS would definitely come calling when we get moved in. Apparently she not only thought that I was letting Mike move me into a tent, but also live in said tent sans electricity, or running water. I believe the exact wording was, "If Phoenix does go to public school, the second they find out he lives in a yurt, CPS will be knocking". WTF? IT IS NOT A FUCKING CANVAS BAG WITH STAKES HOLDING IT TO THE GROUND!
Yes, the original definition of a yurt is pretty much that. But the modern yurt can have all the things that a traditional house has. The only difference, is technically I can move the structures if I want, leaving virtually no traces behind. Very good for the environment, and perfect for me to have parts of my house elevated, and some not.

Bad Lynn, Bad Lynn

I will not throttle a wretched little monster today. I will not throttle a wretched little monster today. I will not throttle a wretched little monster today. I will not throttle a wretched little monster today. I WILL NOT THROTTLE A WRETCHED LITTLE MONSTER TODAY... this doesn't seem to be working.

Woohoo!

I think I've finally drilled it into his head, that I get time to post things. This of course after minimal posting at Displaced Californian, and a general appearance of apathy here. I assure you this is not the case. We share this infernal box for the time being. Lately the weather, politics, his forum addiction, and beefing up security as there is a nasty new virus out there. Those of you wno know me, please stop scratching your heads. Even our "time machine" looking computer with it's uber security can indeed be breached. Also there is the usual life stuff drama. More to come, yes, I mean it this time!