42 in 2020

OMG 2016 was 4 years ago! That was the last time I posted. Not that anyone noticed as no one reads this blog anyway.

But 4 yrs ago was then the last time I actually wrote.

See, I used to write when I couldn’t contain what I felt, when I was trying to make sense of chaos. You know, when I was hurting.

But I am happy to report that in this case, no muse is good muse. I literally divorced myself from the past.

Ok maybe I wasn’t the one who did the divorcing, but the end result  was the same: Free! Free At Last. Free At Last.

And then post haste I got married again.

As they say, when one door closes, you finally realise you’ve been banging to get into the outhouse all this time.

And so then another door opened, and before the honeymoon was over, I was puking my guts out. Not sure why it’s called morning sickness. "All Day Sickness" would be more accurate.

Feel like I’m doing a fast forward summary of multiple seasons of a drama series.  So there was: 

Season 1: The unbundling leading to the Marital Exit 

Season 2: Mr Right 2.0 – I met an amazing guys. A true gentleman. The kind who carries my bags and phones his mother just to see how she is. Love him to bits.

Season 3: Pregnant at 40! That one is two yrs now and recently started crèche. 

Season 4: Pregnant again at 41! 9 months old now, has two teeth and loves giving kisses.

Season 5: Tween-Agers are mutants – Pre-teen Irish twins make me understand why some species eat their young.

And as of Saturday past, I’m 42, on my second husband and have 4 kids.

I guess I have to change my bio now. No longer 30something. On Saturday I also dyed my hair, so I’m no longer grey (temporarily, sadly).

This morning, for the life of me I couldn’t remember my cell number. My brain just hit a brick wall and …. Nuks! Couldn’t begin to figure out what my own number was.

I obviously started to panic. Anxiety levels rising. Tried to check my own WhatsApp profile. Something told me to search my contacts and there I was. Saved for a day like today, “My Own Number”. Honestly, as I read the number nothing about it even seemed familiar. Might as well have been E.T’s number. Still genuinely a little concerned. Until now I’ve had minor mental malfunctions. Forgetting people’s names, not recalling where I put things. But I admit, I was a bit shaken up by my amnesia this morning.

Anyhooooo... 

So, I think I’m back. To blogging I mean. Had a bit of a mission finding the blog and then remembering the password is always an issue. I am not lying. Passwords are not my thing. I promise, I try to always use the same password, so I don’t have several different passwords to remember. But somehow, I am always having to reset passwords because my one password policy keeps failing.  

Oh yes, so I painted this weekend. I did a Bob Ross landscape and it didn’t come out too badly if I say so myself. As usual my anxiety had held me hostage for so long. Until my sister-in-law decided that Sunday would be the day I put paint to canvas. I am grateful for her pushing me, gently but firm. At one point, standing in front of the easel, already criticising what I hadn’t even yet painted she said...  OK wait, picture us, easels in the backyard, kids in the pool so they won’t bother us, rowdy as hell. And she says to me, “It’s a process, and you just have to trust that what comes out of you will be right, will be beautiful and you will love it”. I pointed to the noisy mutants in the pool and said, “Did you see what came out of me. 4 times. Do you understand why I have trust issues?”.

Overall she and I had a lovely time. It was definitely not the calm and quiet art studio I imagined I needed to paint. It was a sunny backyard, with a half dozen screaming kids (no they weren’t drowning – apparently that’s what play sounds like) and family members constantly pausing behind me, with random comments. Even my tenant, a lovely older gentlemen, bare-chested in boxer shorts, came to watch us work. He was very complimentary. The painting is now hanging in his home. Imagine that, my first painting was snatched up instantly and is already hanging in someone’s home. The fact that the home is actually my very own separate entrance (granny flat where my lodger lives for you English folk) will be edited out of my thank you speech when I one day win an Art Award.

Check out my painting. The hint of skin you might still see is “Rodger the Lodger’s” arm I wasn’t able to properly crop out. Like I said, he was out there in only his boxers. So cropping out was definitely required.

Just realized that the date I painted this was 02 Feb 2020. 

Can also be written as 02-02-2020.

Furthermore, this has actually been fun. Writing, I mean. My fingers flying across my laptop keyboard as the words come flooding out of me.

I missed this.

 :)

Post Gluttony Guilt

You can always tell how bad something is for you by how good it feels.

And I am probably going to die fat.

 

I can’t believe that in this day and age food still has calories, that make people fat.

How is it possible that with all the medical advances made, we still have no cure for cancer, no cure for AIDS, and no cure for weight gain and obesity???

On the one side of the world we have people dying from FAT. Literally dying from McDonalds overdose. From blocked arteries and high blood.

And on the other side of the world people die of starvation.

It’s like when you try to put cold, hard butter on a sandwich and it won’t spread.

You end up with a big chunk of butter in one area, and even though you practically break the bread trying to spread it evenly, you still have parts of the slice that are dirt dry and bare.

I once read that we should be able to donate fat the way we can donate blood.

 

#fatmustfall

Surrender

Heavy of heart

She hangs her head
Hurting with a grief she can't share
Hiding an ache she can't bear.
Hear her tears splat on her prayer mat
As she serves her battered soul into the hands of her Lord.

Loneliness, like a snake

slitters through the empty caves of her heart.
While Fear's fangs choke at her throat.
Despair lay anywhere it dare
Since hope had fled.

But like autumn leaves she surrenders
Her will and her woes,
Waiting for winter's wind
To blow her burdens beyond yonder.

He is beautiful. He deserves love

He’s lovely. Beautiful. Inside and out.

Troubled.

I could hold him like a child. I want to protect him and change the world to make him happy.

But he’s strong. Has had to become strong to deal with life he was dealt.

It hurts me that he hurts.

I feel as if I could go to war, to fight anyone who threatens his happiness. I know I sound crazy.

Once again he’s world has gone dark and he withdrew. From me too.

I worry that I am part of the problem, I worry that he’s hurting. I worry about what the hurt is doing to him.

I adore him.

Have you ever wanted happiness for someone else so intensely, even though you have nothing, absolutely nothing, to benefit from it.

 

He needs to be loved. He deserves to be loved.

 

 

Unworthy

In the quiet moments I cry.
When there's no one around
I need to be strong for.
No one I need to fool
into believing I am fine.
These moment are rare
When I can bare my breaking soul
The walls of an empty house.
I want to beg God to fix this.
Heal the hurt and save my marriage.
But I feel unworthy of God's favours
Instead I pray in a puddle of my own tears for forgiveness.
Forgive me for grieving for that which has been taken from me.

One day

Will you wake up one day
And wonder what went wrong?
Want us back?
Wish you never let us go?

Would you then regret the day
You threw us away?

Would you ever spare us a thought
Too caught up in your joy?
Your freedom. Your life.

Are you happy to let your son
Place his hand in the hand
of another man
to lead him through life's lessons
the way a father aught to?

Some day, when the fun is done
And you realise there's no one left to impress would you confess
That you knew how much you hurt us?

A muted ache

A muted ache and a confused heaviness. That's what I feel. 

Trying to decide if the reason I'm not crippled by pain is because I don't really believe the signs, or because I've been desensitised. Been hurt so deeply so often that I barely flinch these days when he brutally grabs and rips at my heart. I hardly have tears left to shed.
These a measure of anger at being so publicly humiliated. But thankfully the Lord has numbed me somewhat so that the heartbreak no longer stops by breathing. No longer brings me to my knees.
It's no answer though.
I need to move on.
He fools me into thinking all is fine.
All is not fine and I don't think it could ever be again.