Face in the window

Been keeping the craziness at bay

Bolstered up a wall of business

But she watches me through the window

Sometimes a forlorn face, like a sad forgotten friend
Other times she sneers and taunts,
Telling me that we both know that she will get in. 
It's only a matter of time.
And I turn my back and go back to being busy. 
Run Swim Plan Host 
Lick Suck Kiss Fuck
Running out of things to do.
Running out of places to hide from the face in the window. 
She knows my secrets and she's gonna tell. 
Everyone will know that I'm not well. 
Then they'll all stand at the window and sneer
And drive me insane just like her. 

I wish the bitch would just fucking die. 

Jokes, the bitch is I.

 

When life gives me lemons

Some people labour under the misconception that I’m a nice person. That I’m good and kind and decent. Yah, its ok, I’m not offended if you laugh out loud.

So those poor souls might be severely shocked and ashamed when I say I seem to have dropped my standards . . .  Speaking about the caliber of playmates obviously.

Have this terrible habit of, when seeking solace, I pick up the first available plaything. Sad when the expression “as sweet as lemons” is lost - flies like a kite clear above their gel spiked head. Am I being cruel? Unkind? Whatever.

 My dilemma: Is my need for distraction more desperate than my intolerance for the tedious?  I take a breath and consider. Subject at hand offers so little challenge, requires so little effort that even at his best he leaves far too much of my mind still swimming in sadness. It’s not worth the frustration. And I will be frustrated. Like trying not to finish the sentence when talking to a stutterer.

 Eish, the trouble we’re willing to take on to avoid the void of loneliness….

 Option B equally uninspiring. Subject is sufficiently skilled and wonderfully witty. But … too close for comfit.

Option C. Well … Once upon a time, I might have move mountains for a moment with this man. But now, ... now ... well I don't know. I sometimes suspect he thinks of me as I think of subject A. And how do I think of him? Well I don't, much. I wish him well and see the sense in leaving him in peace. 

Option D is not an option. 

Would you believe that in the past 24 hours I've had invitation from three different gentlemen? Yah, I'm as suprised as you. No clue how that happened. How does that make me feel? Flattered? Chuffed? Try empty, anxious, aching. 

So after carefully considering subjects A to D, I find myself wondering why I'm considering them at all. And then I recall with pain: Distraction.  I need distraction. When in quiet moments I find all my insecurities come charging at me, all my anxieties descending on me, my only defense is to throw myself into fresh chaos.

 An important discovery I made in recent hours was that a bruised ego feels much like, and can often be mistaken for, a broken heart. What am I saying? That I’m not really in love with the reason for my heavy heart? I don’t know.

But I do know that I’m hurting…

Fragmented

Fragmented. Into several sides I decide to share with selected people. Never the whole me, cos I doubt they could cope. 

Or is it a matter of me needing to be a certain person with certain people so that I can cope? So that I can escape. 

But sometimes the burden of all my personalities becomes too much to bear and I wish I could share a hint of my darkness, confess my brokenness. I'm not sure for what purpose. Am I looking for someone to say, "I understand and it's going to be ok" or do I want to see the shock and horror in their eyes as they realise the extent of my sickness?

Maybe I want someone to see the real me and still love me. I want to know if that's at all possible. 

I've tried being what I thought they wanted and still they can't love me. 

Oh and those enlightened individuals who can appreciate my dark soul often forget that I have a human heart. One that beats and breaks, and unfortunately falls in love. Not their fault however, for I marketed the package as "filthy mind and willing body". No fine print stipulating "seeks loving, long term relationship".

But all this is so far from the point. What was my point? Oh yes:

I'm fighting the urge to blurt out "I'm a dirty, damaged, disgusting, demented and desperately lonely person, tired of pretending to be a socially acceptable model of myself". 

Some days I fear that this confession is going to burst out of me. 

Other days I fear that this fact, if not confessed, is going to kill me. 

Feeling ...

When all my fantasies coming crashing down
And insecurities wash me to the ground
Can't see through my tears
Cant find a way through my fears
               Hope you never know ...
The kind of pain I'm feeling
The way my world is reeling
I wish it wasn't so ...
Have to let go. 

I feel I'm drowning its so hard to breath
It's crazy and I can't believe
The way you have me twisted
How could I have missed it
               How could I not know
What you were really feeling
While you had be kneeling. 
I wish it wasn't true
I wish I didn't love you. 

But it's too late and I've been such a fool
Fell inlove it was against the rule
Cant stop my heart from breaking
Its clear that you were faking
               And now you know
How stupid I am feeling
When will my heart start healing?
I love you so. 
Please let me go. 

Bad mommy

Today I fed my kids breakfast, set out their cloths and took them with me to the shops. I bought them lunch from one of their favourite spots because we lost track of time and I hadn't cooked lunch yet.  

When I realised the time I rushed home to cook. I had made plans with a friend, to go for coffee. Just us girls, without kids. This meant that my husband would be looking after the kids for the afternoon.  The idea of leaving them with their father made me feel uneasy and guilty. 

I very rarely go out without my kids.

I got home around 8pm and they were eating toasted cheese sandwiches

He had fed them. 
He hadn't bathed them. 

Tomorrow is school. 
My kids went to bed and will have to go to school tomorrow without bathing.

All because I was a bad mommy who just needed a few hours off. 

Toady is one of those empty days when the loneliness is almost unbearable. I thought I had come to terms with it, gotten used to it. But for the briefest time I had distraction.  I allowed a wonderful man to reawaken sleeping yearnings. To revive fantasies. I got to live happily, though not ever after. 

Sitting in the park willing the breeze to blow away the pain. Praying it blows away the passion.

I try hard to narrow my focus once again and make my children my whole world. Their happiness is my happiness. And I need nothing else. 

Few times this week I tried reaching out to him, their father. Fruitless. I tried hugging him yesterday. An occurance so out of the ordinary that the children found it awkward. At least he and I laughed about their reactions. He used the laughter to remove himself from my embrace. 

And the wonderful man I mentioned, if he reads this I hope he understands that I'm not sad or angry. I'm honestly thrilled to have him in my life. I wish he  knew just how wonderful he is. Friend for the next 40 years? 

His demons are delightful and it's been a pleasure playing with them. 

Sitting in the breeze did help. Helped me realise that he didn't break my heart. He just reminded me what it should be used for. 

Thanks Love....

Delicious Monster

I adore you,

You delicious monster. 

Every beastly bit of you. 

Your sickness matches mine,

Sin for sin. 

And I ache to feel 

Your claws on my skin. 

Why deny your nature?

There is no need. 

Gladly I lay down

For you to feed.

Come closer love, 

Taste my lips. 

I love the way you grab my hips. 

Don't be gentle, I can take it.

For once I don't have to fake it.

We're two of a kind,

My lover, my friend. 

With you I don't have to pretend.

I'm all yours love,

Can't you see.

You're a monster, just like me.

When the penny drops

I always thought being competitive was a good thing, within reason. Being a little ambitious, a bit of a go-getter. All good, right?

Over the years I've realized that husband dearest was a bit too competitive, felt challenge by everyone, felt the need to compete in everything. Told him on more than one occasion that he didn’t have to compete with me. But he needed to prove superiority in anything we attempted. Kind of ruined my buzz …

Then after Sunday brunch, when chatting with some cousins (his cousins) I realized that he’s ALWAYS been that way. I somehow never thought about his competitive nature pre our marriage.

Several little pennies dropped as I recalled how he stated that he would be married before another cousin, even though that cousin had just gotten engaged and set a wedding date for the following year. I did find it a bit funny at the time, cos we weren’t officially dating – we were on a break and he wasn’t seeing anyone else to my knowledge.

The brunch cousins weren’t aware of the comment he made back then, but explained that amongst themselves they did discuss it and knew that he would marry first, because he always made a point of being first and being best.

Soooo, I’m thinking eleven years later that … for him getting married wasn’t so much about being in a hurry to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. He was in a race to wed, against his cousin.

 

I wonder if it was me he really wanted or was I just in the right place, at the right time, to help him make his deadline?

LOL, does that make me the Ultimate Trophy Wife? Hahahaha, or am I the boobie prize?

Happiness

I’m really getting tired of this aching, rotten hole in my stomach. How many times more???
 
I’ve never trusted happiness
We’ve never quite been friends
And every time that my heart breaks
It never really mends.

I read somewhere that the best way to keep your heart from getting broken is to pretend you don’t have one. . . .
 

I wrote those words so long ago,

And yet they still hold true.
This heart can hold no happiness
The love just falls right through.

 

Is the lady a tramp?

She suffers in shame

Though they think she has none. 

But then, who ever would ever guess.

She smiles too well. 

The things we do for love. 

Regret? No, she doesn't regret.

Nor will she forget

How he tenderly held her face in his hands. 

For that moment alone she will sell her soul. 

Has sold it whole. 

The things she does for love, or something like it. 

Ever the underachiever

Several months ago I registered for my first marathon. Why? Because I wanted to know if I could do it. Because I believed that I could do it. But I realized that I needed to train.

Timing of the marathon wasn't ideal . . .  just over 8 weeks after the fast. Which meant that I would lose at least four weeks of training. This fact did worry me slightly.

Time flew by. Any working mother knows that finding time to train is close to impossible. Finding time to do sufficient training for a marathon is beyond impossible. But what was I to do? I'd rather die than withdraw from the race.

Not long after I entered, sitting around with friends one night I listened to my husband as he offered a friend advice on how to pace herself on the race. He then turned to me, smirked and told me how hard I was going to find it, how I was going to struggle, how I was going to suffer. I recall the glee on his face as he imagined being at the finish to see me crawl in, physically and mentally broken. With a lump in my throat I listened to him. He didn't think I could do it. He delighted in the fact that I was going to learn that I wasn't up to the task. I don't know why I was shocked by his attitude. No matter how often he made his disgust for me clear I was still stupidly surprised each time ...

A few times after that night he reminded me in various ways that he didn't really think I was going to make it. There was the time he went out of his way to point out how slow I was by calculating my average pace (incorrectly incidentally). Then there was the time he told me to my face, that he actually told someone else, that he could see I was going to drop out before the big day. 

Then of course the day before the race when he told me he wished he had a Go-Pro - some kind of camera gadget that one mounts on your head and films your every move. Why? Because he wished he could witness every minute of how "stukkend" I was going to be. Such encouragement I received from my husband as I prepared for my first marathon. You can just feel the love right?

In the week before the race I watched how runners around me were overcome by pre-race nerves. Some ate anything they could lay their hands on, others battled sleepless nights, fretting. My dear husband practically  popped a third eye - a very visible and painfull growth on the edge of his eyelid. But I remained oddly calm. I guess the fact that I was hosting the event of the year only 3 days later didn't leave me much time to be nervous. Permit applications and project plans didn't leave me much time to train either. 

The night before the race husband admitted to being nervous. He was determined to finish in under five hours to qualify for the Two Oceans Utra Marathon and Comrades. I just wanted to finish the race.

Even that night husband said and did things that brought me close to tears. . . But that relates to a different sad story.

Then race day arrived. I was happy. I was calm. I really was happy. We made our way to the start with some friends, singing and joking. Husband had to admit that I was very "nonchalant" about the fact that I was about to run a marathon. 

At the start we separated. He moved off to join his elite group and I found my slow poke buddies. The gun goes. With a big smile, happy heart and bursting with excitement we set off. For the first three kilometers we were carried in the crowd of excited runners. I was astounded by how many runners my partner and I knew. There were countless pics to smile for. The energy was indescribable. But after the 3km mark things quieted down as my partner and I found ourselves at the back of the pack - our usual spot, with our usual friends. Kilometer by kilometer we made our way, singing and laughing, sharing stories. 

Before we know it we find the 10km marker and we're feeling good. Before long we're 16km in and still feeling good. We danced over the 21km mat to signal that we've reached half way. And then came some hard miles - the inclines. But even these were fun. All you need is good company and the right attitude. I was doing great. I kept wondering when the suffering my husband warned me about was going to start. From around 25km to 33km we agreed to take it easy and save some energy for the last kilometers. In the glaring sun we trotted along. 

Ahead of us lay the dreaded promenade - everyone knows I hate running that promenade. But on marathon day, not even the promenade, more that 30km into the race could get me down. I can honestly say I smiled for 42.2km. What an adventure. Again with just over 1km to go we decided to drop the pace to save some energy for the grand finish. But I was bursting with excitement. I couldn't believe and couldn't explain what an amazingly comfortable race we had run. When we hit the finish lane I had to really restrain myself from sprinting away from my partner. I felt I could do cartwheels across the finish line. 

The advantage of being the last two runners from our club was that everyone else was at the finish line waiting to welcome us. What a reception! What a bunch of wonderfully warm people. 

I felt pretty cuffed. I had finished my first marathon. It did take us just over seven hours, but that was still an hour under the cutoff time. It was also under the cutoff time I had set myself. I was happy.

Added bonus, after a hot shower I realized I had no muscle aches. I figured I'd feel it the next day. But another surprise - woke up and still no pain. Only one little toe nail niggle that I barely noticed.

Unfortunately in this house the high from any achievement is short lived. Just last night, not even a week an a half after the marathon, husband dearest pointed out that my race couldn't be compared to his ... My achievement is not as great as his. I guess his right. 

I ran my very first marathon, well within cutoff time, with almost zero training, and still I feel like a failure. Still I feel like an underachiever. 

I realize now I could discover the cure for cancer, spin straw into gold, magically transform my unique physique into that of a Victoria Secret model and still this man would find a way to leave me feeling like dirt. 

He did call me two days ago offering to buy me new running shoes as a gift for finishing my first marathon. I said no thanks. I didn't add that I'd rather eat crushed glass.

 

Remeber the line "Even a brick wants to be something".

Oh frustration! Irritation! I cannot underbloodystand!!!

I am frustrated by my own limitations. Honestly, I am embarrassed at my limited knowledge on certain topics. I am ashamed of my lack of ambition. I feel I function well below potential. But jeepers, at least I try. I try to stay relevant. I am trying to remain human. I am terrified of losing touch with the world or being reduced to a dependent, desperate housewife. I work so hard to maintain some kind of identity.

Yet there are people, WOMEN, so content to wither away. So resigned to being handicapped. What hurts me most are those who are mothers of daughters. They cause the most harm. They, by example, teach girls to NOT want more for themselves.

I'm not saying go out and stand your man in a man's world. But dammit try to be something. Every breathing body has potential. Can you go to your grave content with not having at least tried to explore yours?

Early Retirement

I think I’m retiring from running. It no longer makes me feel good about myself.

When I started running it was an escape. When I started running races, each race was an achievement. I knew I wasn’t breaking 10km records, but I felt awesome. When I ran 21km I felt like a rock star. But something must be very wrong when one finishes a 21km race and then feels like a failure.

Running is no longer about me, about challenging myself, or about feeling special. Now I’m either running myself into the ground to stay ahead of your ridicule or desperately trying to catch up to your expectations. Never succeeding, mind you. Always being reminded of what a piss poor excuse for a runner I am.

Even now as I prepare to break my body to finish my first 42km the message I get from you is that I’m going to suck. And not only am I going to suck, but that you’ll be there to rub in just how badly I’m going to suck.

Every day for me is a challenge. Every day I have to dig deep to find a little faith, a little self confidence. And as I try to climb my way out of self doubt you voice, your words, are like venomous claws snatching at me, pulling me back down.

And then there’s the insult to the injury. Running was my escape. My escape from a world where I had to compete for my own husband’s attention. And I always came up short.

Running put me in a space where I could be myself. Where they weren’t. Where I felt like something, for a change.

Yet once again here they are. They didn’t crash their way in. You held open the door and let them walk right past me, into my special space. And of course, once again, I cannot compete.

It’s ok. They can have it. I give up.

But fuck you for doing this to me.

Fuck you for once gain stealing my peace, for snatching away my happiness, for breaking down the little bit if confidence I’ve built and for shattering the already fragile identity I’ve had to recreate.

But this time I’m not going to fade into the background like I’ve done before, for your convenience.

Yes I’m hurting and I’m sad and I don’t know where I’m going. That’s what you wanted right?

But I will find myself again. I will recreate myself again. Notice how each time I come back stronger.

Every time you break me down I rebuild a better version of myself.

So fuck you. Really, FUCK YOU.

Proving his point

I know I'm being really stupid right now for allowing myself to be affected. I should know by now that popping my bubble and pissing on my parade is a reflex to him. And I'm sure when he says he's just trying to keep it real he believes it too. 

I guess he also believes in being cruel to be kind. When it comes to me anyways. 

End result is he's only ever cruel to me. Criss crossing between criticising and mocking me. All for my own good I'm sure. 

And then I'm always amazed at his capacity for kindness with others. Other women more specifically. Ever motivational, inspirational and understanding. Accommodating, helpful and supportive.

I turn away not wanting him to see the single tear that escapes down my cheek for fear of further ridicule.

I'm almost angry with myself for being foolish enough to attempt conversation.

Against my better judgement, I ignored the instinct of self preservation. I made a gesture.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
                                               
You deserve what you got.

So suck it up and shut up.

Table for three, two kids, one adult.

Panarottis, Saturday 21st June 2014

Table for three, two kids, one adult. Always only one adult. One would think I'm a single parent.

How much of it is my fault I wonder. I can't deny that I deliberately excluded him from our outings at times.

At first it was a fair mix of spite and defense. Survival tactic almost. Part not being able to swallow down the lump of pain in my throat when pretending to be a happy family. And part forcing myself to get used to living without him. As for spite, I wanted to punish him. Make him miss us, to lose us. But I'm not strong enough to stand the side effect - letting the kids suffer from missing him.

So what now?

By slowly and subtly removing us from him, bit by bit, I created this new kind of normal. Two kids and one adult.

So why today am I bothered by it? Why today do I feel lonely? Bloody Bruno Mars singing "I shudder brought you flowers and held your hand" not helping the mood. The World Cup related outburst from the food court outside the doors of the pizza parlor does nothing to stir me from my self pity.

I don't know if this marriage can be fixed. To be honest it's not all that broken. It's just not perfect. There were bad mistakes, ones that aren't really forgivable. But I've since sinned as much as he has. Shouldn't we call it even and start over?

How'd that song go. "We're not broken just bent and we can learn to love again".

The thought almost makes me laugh out loud because it brings me to the face of the problem. Fear. Fear of trying again only to wind up in the same place. The scene playing in my mind is of a car crashing head on into a brick wall and the bricks tumbling down and burying the body. That's pretty much how he left me last time - crushed. And I can't help but think that taking this trip with him again would be stupid. Insane.

Or is it stupid to throw away a marriage that was built on friendship? I mean, what's a little infidelity between friends?

Frustrating hey. I feel stuck. I liked it more when I was angry. When I'm mad as hell I don't feel sad or pain. Being a woman scorned is far more fun than being a woman stuck.

It's dark outside because its well after 8pm and at some point we will have to go home. Did he miss us today? We last saw him around 10am this morning. Ok, what I'm really asking is does he ever miss me?

Am I lonely or sad because I miss him? Or do I just miss having someone there. I've done such a good job (debatable) of finding several stand-in someones. I've fooled myself with fantasy and virtual relationships. But I guess I've realized that its not sustainable. I can't remain married to him and on the side nurse a secret relationship with a divorced father of four. For one, its unfair to him -the divorced daddy. He deserves better. He deserves a whole relationship, not time-share of someone else's wife.

Nor can I keep burdening someone else's husband for a shoulder to cry on (we'll just all it that, ok). I'm then merely doing what was done unto me. My conscience is not coping with the collateral damage. Yah, that surprises me too. Or maybe I'm just worried about Karma.

Jeepers, the thought of going home hurts. Because I'm so sure of what's waiting. Nothing. No excitement to see us. No warm hug. No long, deep kiss. Yah, there's that damn lump again.

It's late June now, so the last time he kissed me would have been about ... 2012.

Yes, ok! I get the occasional peck. Not this morning though. Not yesterday either. I'm sure it must have been sometime this week, because I remember my heart breaking for the reluctant way he's stubble just barely brushed my cheek. I remember I closed my eyes almost hoping to feel his lips on my face. Always hoping, silly girl. Always heartbroken, stupid woman. Always embarrassed, humiliated, rejected, pathetic wife.

Oh let's just pay the bill and get it over with. Go home, go sleep and dream of second chances at happiness with divorcees who love my kisses.

 

33 days ago

When you hear a mother say, “33 days ago my daughter was raped. My hearing impaired daughter was raped”.

There’s an awkward silence because I don’t know how to respond. There’s no comfort to offer that wouldn’t sound hollow or pathetic.

 
Every morning I pick up my daughter’s two little friends and drop all three girls at school. This morning the one mom, who travels from MP to the grandmother’s house which I pass on my way, was running late. With a small detour I found them along the way. The poor woman had to carry her 5yr old because two weeks back she broke her leg. She uses public transport, in peak hour traffic, to make her way with two of her four children, bags and crutches, then still carries the little one about half a kilometer.

This morning, after dropping the girls, I brought the mom back to the grandmothers house but she wouldn’t get out of the car. I was already going to be late for work and was somewhat irritated at this woman’s reluctance to move. Then I looked over my shoulder and saw her tears. She started talking but all I remember hearing is “33 days ago my daughter was raped”.  

When a stranger stole my heart

Standing in a sports store staring at socks, from the corner of my eye I see him entering. I turn. Eye contact. A second of confusion as I thought he was a blast from the past. Uncanny resemblance. Turn away. Continue search for specific socks until seconds later in my left ear I hear, "do the socks really make a difference?" My nonchalant response, "so I've been told" might have been an attempt to kill potential conversation. But he wasn't going to be put off that easily, luckily. 

"So what do you play? Squash or tennis?" 

"Road running".

"Oh, another XYZ member."

Only at that point do I look up to see who has just offended me. "No, ABC actually."

He smiles. 

Be polite. Reciprocate. I ask what sport he's into. Squash and cricket he says. 

We chat briefly about where we play squash respectively. It's hard to concentrate on conversation because I'm trying to figure out if he's flirting with me, chatting me up. 

Finally my socks arrive. I say it's been nice chatting, take care. 

As I pay for my purchase I realise I need to complete registration forms for an upcoming race. During this time he also finds his way to the cashier, right beside me. 

We chat some more. While he punches in his pin code I ask the little girl beside him her name. She's cute. 

Again I say goodbye and walk out. Thinking that that had been nice, and that I'm slightly disappointed that its over. 

I leave the store and find my car. I admit I deliberately wasted some seconds fishing for my phone in my hand bag, just wondering if he was going to leave it at that. 

I was and I wasn't surprised when he turned from his car and walked over to mine. 

I roll down the window. 

He says, "listen, what's your number? How about we do coffee some time, chat or go play squash or something."

Loss for words. I say something about it being a bit weird having just met. He says he's old school and just thinks it would be nice to chat.

We chat some more in the windy parking lot. I try to see his left hand to check for a wedding ring but can't get a clear view. He asks about my marital status. That surprises me because I assumed I have that obviously married, over weight and over the hill look. I take the opportunity to return the question. He's divorced. FOUR kids!

Eventually I think what the heck and we exchange numbers. And just before I drive off he touches my cheek. I finally drive away feeling oddly elated. 

A text message minutes later tells me that he is keen to continue the conversation. 

I don't realise yet that I have just fallen in love. It takes days before I notice that he's all I think about. 

When we met I had no idea who much you would soon mean to me. 

Rory

When you find that despite your better judgment, your heart went to get itself all messed up and hung up on an impossible situation.

At 35 the last thing Rory expected to be was in love with a man 10 years her senior. It doesn’t sound so ridiculous when one says it. But one needs to bear in mind that Rory is actually married to a man one year her junior, with whom she has 2 beautiful children.

When Rory met her mysterious older man, the chemistry was instant and almost overwhelming. But for over a year she made sure that her contact with this colleague was minimal. At the time, oddly, Rory didn’t realize she was attracted to him. Only that she felt uneasy around him and surprised herself at the effort she put into avoiding him.

Over time however she did become aware of his confidence, maturity, wit and devastatingly sexy smile. She was secretly thrilled to be tossed into a situation that required regular interaction with him, giving her reason to email him. She however did not expect his speedy flirtatious response.

Rory stared at the company newsletter but couldn’t read a word of it. She couldn’t divert her eyes from the picture of the marketing MD. He really was fallopian-tube-fluttering-sexy. On impulse Rory started an email, typed his name, watched his address automatically populate the “to” field. She hastily typed the words “Nice pic” and quickly clicked send before she chickened out. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until seconds later the laptop pinged with a new email message.

“You checking me out …careful …”

What!?! Rory literally laughed out loud, shocked at the speed of the response and its arrogance. And at the same time thrilled and stupidly impressed by it.

She took a quick breath and replied: “LOL, why? Does Nicola know kung-fu?” Again she held her breath for the ping. And just before she passed out from lack of oxygen it pinged.

“Not about Nicola …don’t start what you can’t finish …………………….. :-)".

Again, WHAT??

Warning: May not be true fact, but in fact, may be true fiction

With election day approaching we notice more and more campaign ads on TV. I always know when to change the channel thanks to that little disclaimer that sounds like a male Helen Zille.

So I got to thinking that perhaps I should post a disclaimer, for the benefit of my readers (both of you) who may mistakenly take all of what I write as fact or personal experience. When in truth I live in a very vivid imaginary world, where I exist as several different people. For example, Lilly is loosely based on my own life. She’s a mom, and finds out about her husband’s philandering ways. Molly is a 20something single girl, on the brink of a career in the publishing business, and trying figure out if true love exists. Lilo is divorced and finding her feet as a single parent and a second chance at happiness.

Then there are several nameless souls in hazy scenes in my mind.

Here’s another example. A long time ago I wrote a poem about a losing a child. A woman who came across my poem wrote to me saying she too had lost a baby and could relate to my pain. She could relate to my words. I felt intense guilt and never wrote back because I had never actually miscarried. At times, when inspired by lord alone knows what, I am able to write as if personally in a situation. I can empathise.

So readers (lol, hilarious) please don’t panic when you read something shocking. It might be fact, it might be fiction. I kind of like the idea that you’d be left wondering when its which.

Letter to my husband

Aren't you lonely?
Don't you wish you had a wife?
I sure wish I had a husband.
Someone to share things with
From the mundane
To the insane.
But someone who didn't think
My thoughts were lame
Or who found me a pain.
Who doesn't mind that I
Speak in rhyme
Or whose criticism I didn't
Fear all the time.
Don't you wish you had someone to
hold, to cuddle, to kiss.
Just someone to think of,
Someone to miss.
Unfortunately you're stuck with me.
How unlucky could you be.
Perhaps I could suggest a remedy.
Divorce Attorney Maybe?

Sweet Stranger

Heart broken.
Finding it hard to comprehend that I’m heart broken
Because I always thought I had no heart.
Having always been a cold, controlled bitch
To have my heart, that I didn’t know I had, shattered
So suddenly by someone I just met
Is shocking
I’m shaken.
From the moment we met
He had my body vibrating for his touch
Instantly I loved him so much
As if all my life my soul had searched for him without knowing it.

Sick

Is how I feel
Now that I know
I had been wrong
Wrong to be happy
Wrong to have hoped
Wrong to have let my heart swell with love for a stranger.

Did I want love so badly that I dreamt it all up?

Did I need loved so badly that I blindly fell for a fool.
No, I was the fool.

My stomach burns with embarrassment

My heart aches with disappointment
My eyes sting from tears I may not cry.

So I found that I have a heart after all.

I found it, broken.

Wrinkle me this

Right. I have a wrinkle. What do I do? What do I do? Stay calm while I Google "botox Cape Town". What? Laugh lines you say? Yes sure. Must be from the way I've been laughing hysterically (emphasis on hysterically) at the grey hairs that have been waving at me when I look in the mirror. Look at them! Waving greyly. Bastards.

Between my blackheads and my white hairs I feel like I'm 16 going on 60. Who the hell has acne and arthritus at the same time? I'm 36! 

What's it gonna take to turn back time? Herbal remedy? Human sacrifice? I'm not afraid of shedding a little blood. As long as it's someone else's blood.  And as long as I don't have to clean it up. 

Oh come on.  I'm supposed to be bringing sexy back. Dammit.

I wish

I wish we were more than what we are.
I wish we were friends.

Lust

The need to know you
Eats me up
I’m raw from wanting you
To inhale you
Impale me
To wrap myself around you
And be wrapped up in you
I plead for you to take me,
Teach me
To love you
And lap up all your loving.
Should I feel shame
For wanting to show you
How desperately my body
Wants to know you?
This need has stolen my sleep
Leaving me only with
Throbbing thoughts of the
Things I’m willing to do
Out of lust for you.

My husband threw my six year old son with a patio chair. Have you ever prayed for someone to die? In that instant I was sure I'd rather help my kids get over the death of their father than have them live with a monster who would break them down emotionally. No, I can't try to understand that he's a product of his up bringing.  Because so am I and I know that there is no reason under the sun for throwing a patio chair at a six year old.