Hello from Cinderella’s Winter Palace. Okay, so that’s a bit of a stretch, I know, but it sounded much better than saying “Howdy from my hovel buried in the frozen-fucking-tundra”. Yep, the Midwest got hit last night and the abode got buried. It’s purdy though. Even the broken down barn looks magical right now.
And at least I got the Cinderella part right. Been elbow-deep in scooping out ash from the fireplace and carrying armloads of wood. Oh, where’s Prince Charming when I need assistance? Snowed in a motel in Des Moines. It’s just as well. I haven’t been very good company as of late.
Okay, so anyway, I’ve been getting a rash of shit lately because I haven’t blogged in like three months or something, so I decided it was time I lay down some lines and soothe the natives from beating on their deafening drums. The truth is that I just haven’t had anything worth saying for quite some time now. Okay, that’s not necessarily true, but my mother always said “If you don’t have anything nice to say, than don’t say anything at all”, and I’ve been clinging to the hope that by refraining from sharing how pissed off I am about absolutely EVERYTHING it will somehow make me a better person. I know…whatever…right? After all, Pissy Kittys Litter Box wouldn’t be Pissy Kittys Litter Box if I weren’t hanging up my soiled underwear for all to see, now would it? Besides, what the hell do I care? The world is supposed to end today, right? Ironically fitting that I’m snowed in and alone on my last day on earth! Speaking of which…a little food for thought: What’s with these doomsday preppers, anyway? Apparently they must r-e-a-l-l-y have something to live for, because they want to survive the Apocalypse. Not me, I’ve done enough struggling for one lifetime, thank you very much. Shit goes down and I’m going to open me a new pack of smokes, crack open the first of a twelve pack, and start a Stephen King novel. Might as well ride it out with style. ((snicker))
So why is Pissy such a shitty kitty?A lot of frustration, even more disappointment, and plenty of isolation and monotony in which to ponder over both, I assume. Not that I haven’t tried to put makeup on the pig by altering my perception, because I have.I’ve spent the last three months gritting my teeth, feigning a smile, nodding a lot, and jotting down reasons I should be grateful for my life whenever I feel I’m about to come unhinged…which is often. I’ve spent a lot of my energy willing gratitude in the hopes that some of the ‘good stuff’ would rub off on me and my life through my efforts at positive imagining. I can’t imagine what I’m doing wrong—other than I must be one of those pathetic souls whose life purpose is to always bring more to the table than they take away—because to date I have SHIT to show for it.
The truth is my life lacks any real substance, and I’m to blame. I’ve made it easy on everyone else not to be accountable, because I always try to be so agreeable. I’m the wife that says “I’ll sit at home all alone, day after day, week after week, and take care of things for you so that you can pursue your dreams and enjoy your hobbies, with no thought for my own. I’m a mom who never fails to be there for her kids when they need her, in spite of the fact these same children are too busy to come see me on my birthday or Mother’s Day. I’m the friend who would drop everything to be there for another, but who seldom herself gets a visit or call. I’m a woman who just turned 50—a milestone I consider special, that I’d looked forward to celebrating for nearly two years, but one that was largely forgotten by all. No, not one of my children, friends, or family, asked if I was doing anything special or if I wanted to go out. To say its left a bad taste in my mouth is an understatement.
I am completely, utterly alone. I guess I’ve known this for some time, but it became painfully clear to me at 10:30 last night, and has left me shaken since. It was one of those moments when I needed someone, and realized I had no one. After phoning my husband while sobbing—who made it perfectly clear I was inconveniencing him, as he was on his way out to get a bite to eat—I realized I had no one left to call. I honestly couldn’t think of one person that wouldn’t be annoyed or sigh as if inconvenienced by my calling at that hour. I sat here looking at the picture of Beth that sits on my side table and realized that the only person in the world who ever really loved me was gone. This person who was never too busy to take my call, never too tired to get up in the middle of the night to talk me through a problem, and whose job, friends, or family, was never so important that she wouldn’t drop everything to drive six hours to be by my side at the drop of a hat when I needed her, was gone. I found it more than a bit disheartening, and sobbed even more. So much for putting makeup on the pig.
I’m not saying that I don’t have things to really be thankful for, because I do: My daughter, Jessie, recently landed herself a great job, she’s doing well, is happy and healthy, and my grandchildren are the same. My son, Jud, is out of the halfway house, is still clean and sober, working steady and establishing himself, and has found himself a nice girl. My youngest, Markie, in my personal adaption of Children of the Corn, is finishing up school, and staying out of trouble—which is more than I can hope for from my hot-headed brat. The Old Man is making good money, we don’t want for anything during these times of economic crisis; the house is warm, our bellies are full, and we have our health…so far. Still, I would be lying if I said that was enough. The truth is I wish a bit of the same could be said for me. As a pedestrian who watches a fancy car pass by, I long for my own wonderful ride. As a person whose getting nowhere by having to drag around a ball and chain, I’m beginning to see I might have to lose the weight of some people if I ever want to get anywhere. Told ya there was a reason why I haven’t been writing.
Well, this is my long-awaited post, like it or not. Might as well enter my fifties with a bang, and leave this world ((snicker)) with a little shit in the litter box. How appropriate during the holiday season. The gift that just keeps on giving! Merry Fucking Christmas. Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.