A Little Wild

I fear my mother despairs of ever cultivating a true gardener’s soul within me.

(Yeah, pun intended)

I have this tendency to “grow my own way”.

And, I hate weeding.

Uggghhh…nothing more mind-numbing and irritating to me than pulling weeds. It’s one of the reasons why I got rid of the vegetable garden we used to have in the backyard.

Boooring….

I do however, have my own way of gardening.

Wild.

Other than my lily garden, which is still a work in progress, and will probably end up more wild than tame by the end of things, anyway, my flower beds are thrown together as a mix of perennials – and then told – “GO! Whoever lasts – wins! May the odds be ever in your favor!”

And I am very much in support of this style of gardening, obviously.

My mother hates it.

She sees it as disorganized, messy, & well…not like her.

But that’s just it.

It’s ok. I’m not her. I’m me.

I love my mom.

But I’m disorganized, messy, & not her.

I am, however, a survivor.

Just like the flowers that make it to the blooming stage in my yard.

And, by that – I mean – my yard…has now gotten into the The Hunger Games act of gardening…

I have wild daisy patches blooming in the middle of my grass.

And I let them.

Why?

Because Katniss and Peta made it this far. They deserve their chance to shine before the mower takes them out.

They aren’t specially bred lilies, or carefully cultivated and pruned arrangements.

They popped up, out of nowhere, while I wasn’t looking, because we were getting rain & I couldn’t mow for a few days.

So- bloom – you little fuckers.

Bloom.

Go wild.

This yard is the only place you’ll probably get this chance.

Because I’m still a little wild myself…even if only between my ears.

(No green thumbs here)

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Nary a Word

Depression doesn’t normally give you the choice in when it comes upon you.

You don’t get to say…

“I’m not going to be depressed today, because I choose not to be”.

It’s not a matter of “fake it till you make it”, either.

It can be a sneaky bastard, too.

It doesn’t always hit you over the head with a brick, driving you to your knees in sorrow.

It can be slow.

Crawling up on you a little at a time.

You are going on, every day, with your normal routines…work, home, etc.

Not realizing that somewhere in there, you’ve forgotten a household chore – and now, here it is, 3 weeks later, and there’s mail all over the floor & piled on the counter as well, some you’ve opened, some you haven’t, but all – largely ignored, because you’re too apathetic to pay bills and answer invitations.

There are dust bunnies floating across the floor, because you haven’t vacuumed in weeks, and cats shed.

There are dishes in the sink.

You’re almost out of knives in the silverware drawer, so you’ll have to wash the dishes soon, you know, but – – apathy.

Depressíon.

And no one outside of your house has a clue – because no one ever sees it.

You have high-functioning depression.

You have created very convincing masks, and everyone believes you when you say you’re “fine” .

And on the weekends… Nary a word.

Silence rules your world – you don’t speak. Not even to the cats, because, why bother?

The one time you let your voice out is…surprisingly, to sing – with your mp3 player going, earbuds tight in your ears, sitting on your front step, eyes closed, not caring who hears you singing out loud for Goddess’ sake!

Well, singing helps with anxiety, & you’ve had your fair share of that lately, too, so, go you. Who gives a shit if the neighbors all heard you belting out P!nk’s stuff, and some of Mike Shinoda’s newest songs?

No one called the cops, at any rate.

But, it doesn’t really help…not really.

There are small moments of laughter, you smile, sure…

But that black cloud lurks, lingers, clings…to your every movement.

Like a child’s fingers tugging on your pants’ leg, you always know its presence.

Even when others do not.

And most never do.

I am a master of disguise.

And I say nary a word, most days.

The Land of Fire

I’m walking in a land of fire

Coals scorching my feet

Sparks flying through the air

Smoke choking my lungs

I know that this trial is somehow necessary, that in order to grow, I must burn away that which has become burdensome. That I’ve come to another crossroads in my life, & I have to fight, to strive, to prove to myself that I am ready for the next step, whatever that may be.

But, Goddess, the fires are intense.

I’ve cut ties with someone I was speaking to. He wasn’t going to live up to his words, anyway. And, my heart was elsewhere.

It’s been tied up for years in someone else’s ribbons, & I don’t think it’ll ever change.

I’m probably destined to spend my life alone, because I gave my heart away to someone who will never show up to fully claim it.

But, if that’s the way it is, I’ll live with it.

My brother tried to make small talk through text about my birthday, as well. *sigh*

After years of issues between us, I’m not going to just forgive and forget everything he’s said & done. I’m not a “sweep it under the rug” kind of woman.

He wounded me deeply, and cannot admit his culpability.

So, I finally said as much back in a text, and – lol and behold – *crickets* since then.

If you cannot admit your responsibility for your actions, if you cannot admit your own wrongdoing towards another person, and apologize, sincerely and wholeheartedly for hurting them, then obviously, you don’t believe you ever did anything wrong.

Update – I just received a text that says “I have no idea what you’re talking about”.

My point exactly.

I’m done.

Convenient how they “forget” the words they use to wound others with.

But I will never forget how he said his “little sister died years ago”.

He’s right.

He killed her.

I’m not that little girl he once knew.

But then, he never bothered to get to know the grown-up woman.

Whatever.

I don’t have time for him.

I’ve got embers in my eyes, and smoke curling around my hands.

Time to take a walk.

It’s the Thought

If it’s the thought that counts, then I guess today counts as a minor success as far as birthdays go.

A lot of people thought about me today.

Some of my coworkers got me a cake, since they know there’s “no one at home” for me to celebrate with. (Their words, true, but they hurt when I heard them out loud anyway)

I didn’t want to be here at work today for this birthday.

Why? Because it’s always the same thing. The well-meaning well-wishes, & the “interested questions”. I just got asked “Big birthday plans?”

Nope.

“Why not?”

No one to celebrate with.

My parents are out of state, visiting my brother & his family. They’re never here for my birthday, anyway.

My kids are not here. Busy, out of state, different town, or simply don’t remember, whatever. But I get messages from the girls.

My Beloved Nephew & best friend lives in Georgia, so I don’t get to see him.

I did, however, get to go out with a friend on Saturday to watch a movie, the original 1960 version of Little Shop of Horrors.

It was hilarious, & I’m so glad I went.

The friend I went with is a good one, someone I love hanging out with, someone I trust & know I can count on. She’s been a good friend for many reasons, and many years.

But – I just want this day over.

It hurts, remembering that, when the workday is over, I’ll be coming home alone…and it’ll just be the cats and me…

It’s the thought…

It’s Finally Happened

I’ve finally, truly, given up on ever having faith in men.

I just don’t believe that they’ll ever do what they say they will, anymore.

I don’t have any fucks to give when it comes to romance, either.

I’m so done with giving chances to men who shit on me, take me for granted, walk all over me & treat me as though I were nothing more than a convenience drive-through for them.

It’s been a long time coming, this attitude, and a slow death by attrition, but after everything – I’m just. Fucking. Done.

I don’t want anymore promises, no more “please, just one more chance”s… No more winky faces, no more flirtatious texts or DMs on Instagram. No more “trying just one last time” on dating sites, because Goddess knows – THAT is the LAST fucking thing I need. No more damn messages asking me about my “likes and dislikes”.

Fuuuuuuuck… I’m so tired of all the bullshit, only to end up alone again at the end of it all, because it really was all just a game to the other person.

I’m too damn old for this shit.

I’m too old for these men who “claim” they “love me” (ha) and yet they can’t ever seem to make their way to my damn door. Oh, but they can text every day, and want to talk on the phone, sure, cause that’s easy.

But, actually showing up?

Naw, that’s hard.

Sorry.

Fuck off.

I’m busy.

I don’t have time to read your texts anymore, and I’m not answering the phone when you call.

You want to tell me you looove me?

Fucking prove it, bitch.

Til then, I’m out.

I got no fucks to give.

Drag Me To…

I went to my very first Drag show on Saturday!

*SQUEEE*

Ahhhh…that’s better.

I’ve wanted to see a live drag show (as in, Yaaass, Qween!) for years – ever since I watched the original 1978 movie version of La Cage Aux Folles. I saw this one late night on cable in my early twenties, & was immediately riveted.

This feeling was reiterated when I saw Too Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar.

And again by the Robin Williams and Nathan Lane version of La Cage Aux Folles, retitled in English to The Birdcage.

Needless to say, I’ve had a healthy fascination with Drag Queens for a long time.

Hairspray? I prefer the original version with Divine, Rikki Lake, Blondie’s Debbie Harry, and Sonny Bono. C’mon, I mean RIC OCASEK from The Cars was in it, fergawdssake!! (Yes, I’m a child of the 80’s, and not ashamed of my musical upbringing, thank you)

And, I was recently lead to Todrick Hall, who has the voice of an angel, and the attitude of…well…

Y’all should watch his YouTube video called Straight Outta Oz. It’s straight outta this universe amazing.

Of course, I love RuPaul, and discovered others through the Drag Race, like Bob the Drag Queen, Alyssa Edwards, Miss Fame, Kim Chi, and others too numerous to mention here.

Anyway, back to the Drag Show.

It was put on as a fund raiser by a local Relay For Life team, and they called it “Cancer is a Drag”.

It was 4 hours of knock-down, drag-out (pun totally intended) hilarity and fun.

I didn’t want to leave my seat the whole 4 hours, even to pee, for fear I’d miss something!

And the Queens and Kings were amazing! They lip synced, they joked, they played games & got the audience revved up and involved.

I was blown away.

And, I can’t wait till they come back.

I just want to hug them all, tell them how much they’ve given me, how brave and inspiring I find them, that they can be so OUT LOUD, and UP FRONT right in people’s faces! Especially in conservative places like the city and state I live in.

(North Dakota’s a red state, y’all, and sometimes it’s so conservative it’s claustrophobic)

So, here’s the best of the pictures…I know they’re not the best, but when you’ve got #QWEENSINMOTION…well, you do the best you can.

These were not all of the performers, but I wasn’t able to get great pictures of everyone – a lot of the pictures I took came out blurry due to the dim lighting, the strobing light effects, & the constant movement of the performers. It was really difficult to get still shots!

I sincerely hope these ladies and gents know just how appreciated their performances were on Saturday, & they’re willing to do this again really soon. Because I’m kind of addicted to the whole experience, now.

Even though I ended up going to this alone, I never felt left out.

And that, was the most amazing part of it all.

Patterns

My life has followed a steady, predictable pattern since my divorce.

I meet someone, we talk, they seem great, they seem to really like me… A couple have even said they loved me. We’re sailing along at 30,000 feet, gliding on top of the clouds in clear blue skies, smiling and enjoying the ride.

And then – something happens.

Either they suddenly decide to leap from the cabin, yanking the ripcord on their parachute as soon as they clear the emergency exit, like D.B. Cooper, vanishing into myth, or

They suddenly have to change flights for “business”, and can never be bothered to make their way back to me, because I’m just not in “first class”, never minding that I spent my last dime on our tickets, or

the engines stall, the plane falls from the sky, and lands in ice-cold waters, all hands lost at sea, with me washing ashore on some deserted island, no one else in sight.

And once I’ve built my raft, and made my slow and weary way back to civilization… I find out they got picked up by some luxury cruiser 5 minutes after the crash, have been drinking margaritas & have forgotten I ever existed.

Something inside of me is feeling as though maybe I’m not meant to find love again.

That maybe I’m meant to spend the rest of my life flying solo.

Maybe my pattern is the “missing man” formation… Only the one missing… is me – and everyone else flies on without me.