Bookish Adventures of BiblioMom

It’s hot, HOT, HOT!

And I’m home with a recovering little pumpking.  We battled through a fever and some puking through the night but it seems that we came over the hump at 4 am.

So there is this funny story from last night about how the second time I went to give my daughter some ibuprofen she puked all over my bedding and then refused to take any more medicine the rest of the night.    Yeah, so her fever kept going up and I kept cooling her off with washclothes.   At about 4 am I had a brilliant idea.  I poured some of the medicine in a spoon and told her it was the same medicine that she took when she was a baby.  She scarfed that stuff down and even said, “Yummy”.     I just wish I would have came to that brilliant conclusion hours before it would have saved us all from a sleepless night.    Oh I guess I just told you.

Anyway… I’m home today with the little munchkin and I’m not going to complain because like I said before it’s TOO hot outside.

I just realized that my adventures haven’t been all that bookish lately.   I guess I better work a bit harder on that.

(Disclaimer:   I hate emo blog posts but well I’m feeling emo today.  I need to vent and I can’t proof this or edit this anymore it’s making me sick so if you’re reading this forgive me.   Even this seems so watered down to what I’m really feeling.  Someone suggested that I start in slow bits to release some of this so here goes.)

Dear He Who Shall Remain Nameless,

What makes you think that you can continue to bully me around and toss threats at me like miniature grenades?   You worked so hard for so many years to dissemble my  self and my self esteem.    Reassembling the parts of me that you scattered has been an archeology dig of self the past couple of years.   I’d slowly unearth one part of me and cradle it in my hands and slide it back into place only to have you come along and tear it all apart.

I’m sick and tired of being your victim.   It’s easy to talk big to other people and to look like I’m some sort of survivor but I’m not.  To this very day I’m your victim.  I recognize the role that I play in this game of yours and I need to break myself free of it.    You got me at  just the right time.  I was  young  and I didn’t have a clue who I was and so you were able to wrap your hands around the neck of my developing self and squeeze the life out of the me that was waiting to come out.  You alienated me from my friends.  You made fun of my family.  You made fun of me.   Then when no one was left you left me too.   Now as I’ve worked to build  up all of what I lost because of you up you come along and continue to control me and strong arm me whenever you think I’ve maybe just maybe developed more of a life than you are comfortable with.

I have been told how it took  courage to leave you and how stronger I seem.   It’s all a fucking lie.    They don’t see how when you call me I return them right away because I’m scared of the nasty voice mail you’ll leave about how I “Never fucking answer my fucking phone”.      They never see how you drive by my house when it’s my weekend without the girls  and if there is a car in my driveway you proceed to harass me and threaten me and call into question my parenting (on that topic WTF?  Really?  I’m a bad Mom because I might have company when they aren’t there?  Hmmm  maybe I should be like you and invite some flavors of the week to go out to dinner with the girls or take them to a bar where one of them is working to show off your big bad father of the year self).   Then you talk crappy about me to our daughter and tell her not to tell me.   Then when she comes home she says, “Mom don’t say anything he made me promise not to tell you”.     I fall back into my long time role as your victim.  I start giving you explanations and excuses and by the time I realize what I’m doing I’m so mad at myself.  When withhold information you yell at me and call me names and tell me that I’m a liar.   just don’t want you to know who I’m with or what I’m doing.   It’s not the end of the world.   It’s not like I’m keeping the kids from you.  I havelet you victimize me with your words over and over again.   Each time you do I  feel insignificant,  just like I did when we were married.

Why am I so weak?

Please just let me breathe.   Let me live my life.  Let me make mistakes.  Let me screw up.  Let me live. Let me raise the girls.   Let me do all of this without you.

The thing about you is that I can make the most heartfelt, well-thought out pleas and they will fall on deaf ears because your inability to think beyond yourself.   You are so deluded about your own grandeur that you think that everything  you do is right and you are so much holier than thou.   Well guess what?  I’m tired of this.  I’m tired of who I am when you come into the scene.   I’m tired of appearing competent all the while feeling like a major failure.  I am tired of feeling so full of rage at times that I want to yell and scream.    I need to be done with this game we have found ourselves in.    If I’m ever going to be happy I need to make this stop.

I need to make you stop.

Me