Sweet Cocaine

As I was writing that last post about my wonderful life with my husband and sweet daughter, Lily... about how we are going to change into better examples for her. How she inspires us to be the best we can be... While I was sitting in the small computer room of our modest but clean and pleasent home with my feet up and my laptop in my lap, while Lily sleeps in the other room... while my belly digests the dinner we cooked together... my husband was driving home from his little brother's apartment across town with a rock of cocaine in his pocket. He went for pot and came back with a rock.

I'm having a hard time putting into words the disappointment it makes me feel. I want to throw it in the toilet. I want to bury it in the backyard... perhaps underneath Lily's turtle shaped sandbox. I want to grind it up in the garbage disposal.

Am I being emotional? Childish? Is one rock of cocaine really going to change anything? Is it going to ruin him? Us? Lily? Or is it just going to keep him up all night? Probably the latter but I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I have a hard time ignoring.

New Things

I won't go on and on about how quickly life changes, but I will say that mine has done so exponentially since last I wrote.

I've decided I want to be a stay at home mom. Such a strange title I'm about to adopt... it's not really accurate, though. D and I are going to start a business. We're going to do it and I believe that we will succeed. We'll have no choice and that's how I know it will work. When not given a choice, I make things work. It's what I'm good at.

My husband is a wood genius and I will be his admin, basically. I'm happy to support him. It's something I've maintained our entire decade long relationship, minus weak moments of beligerence, stubborness and resentment. I must be appreciated, but what I'm finding is that appreciation comes as a result of appreciation. What do you know.

One of the main reasons for the decision to make now the time we've chosen to advance our plans is Lily. Amazing Lily. She brings out the best in both of us. I want her to be strong, smart, thoughtful, all the things that make up a beautifully bright girl. But most of all, I do not want her to feel limited or forced into a life she will be unhappy, or even not ecstatic about. I want her to know that she can do whatever she wants. Her future is limitless. In order to teach her such confidence, I must exude it myself. That's how she brings out the best in me. She inspires my husband.

The first step is tedious and involves preparation and finances. Not the good finances where a bank gives us a large sum of money... the bad finances that we have to give other people and institutions to ensure we don't begin behind.

Step two will be to quit my job and stay home to take care of my family. We will actively begin moving towards our business plan at that time. If it takes longer than 3 months to get to this point, I might just quit anyway. My job is hurting me. It's hurting my soul, my marriage, my sweet baby. I'm away from our home 10+ hours a day. How can I nourish us all if I'm not near by?


I've been married before.

This little fling w/David isn't my first, but I do hope it's more than a fling and will be my last.

As a young girl, I was very Catholic and very close to my family until I met a boy named Eugene. He was a nice enough boy, if a little unusual. I met him at a bar where I was the hostess and he was one of the waiters. Eugene used to do things for his customers like, pretend he was the ketchup and talk to the french fries or pretend he was the straw that really wanted to be sucked. This was for the sake of the children, of course. Except the time he sat down on the floor right in front of a couple w/no children and took their order. He was tired? I don't know, he was just trying to make some tips so he could go to Newby's that night and lay down some burden. He was interested at first in a girl named Clark. Clark had bumpy legs and curly hair. She was okay unil I decided I wanted to know more about this Eugene and I kept seeing him going into her apartment, which happened to be across the grass from mine. After some time of making eyes at each other, he asked me to meet him at Newby's for a drink after work. He was planning to tell me that he had an obligation to Clark and he really couldn't go on making eyes at me. That's not what he said, though. Instead, we talked over one glass of coke and a bev nap for more than a few hours. I decided then that fate was about to take over and I was his for life. We dated for about 8 months before he told me about his burden's. I didn't want to know. They were something awful. By then, though, I was in too deep and willing to do just about anything for him. Looking back, I was probably looking for an excuse to exit my comfortable existance in favor of something a bit more adventuresome and dramatic. His name was written all over it, and he was my ticket.

Eugene grew up in a pretty low-income, if you will, military town outside of Memphis. He never wanted to be a marine, but he didn't have anything better waiting for him, so he enlisted shortly after high school. He had a girlfriend who went to college and I guess he didn't want to be left behind, so he left too. Two years into his commitment, he went AWOL. That sounds so dramatic, but there's really no other way around what he did. He saw more than he wanted to see and he left before he was too hard to ever get his heart back. That's when he got the job at Applebee's and met me. Me; the girl who was willing to believe everything he ever said. The girl no one had ever lied to before. The girl who had no reason to doubt his sincerity. I still don't, actually. It was his actions that should've been doubted. He could justify practically anything.

He told me the marines were looking for him and he'd have to either serve time for leaving or we could run. Those were our options. I'd been thinking about marriage and wedding dresses; he'd been thinking about jail time and the brig. He told me we could set up camp elsewhere, never to be found. We could come up with alias's, live in a small town never to be bothered again. I'd have to leave my family without telling them anything, but we'd have each other and how wonderful was that?

I'm writing about this now because a teacher once told me that a person should wait until their emotions have completely left a situation before attempting to write about something they've actaully gone through. I've tried so many times in the past to write about this, and it always comes out sounding like angsty teenage drivel. I've been seperated from that part of my life for so many years now, and I'm in such a different place that I can think about what happened for what it was. Childish, misguided idealism that I'm so thankful I went through. It made me who I am today; someone I'm not too embarrassed to be. Also, I was thinking about Eugene recently. His life didn't change as much as I'd hoped for him. Everyone can't be as lucky to find someone to talk things through with as I have. David's the most supportive, non-judgemental person I've ever met. I wish Eugene would've found someone like him.

I'll have to tell you the rest later. Now, I need to pay the car note and do some laundry. Maybe take the dog for a walk.


It's the little things.

There are lots of rules where I'm currently employed, and will most likely remain employed until I'm 40ish and finished having children and developing lower back pain and David's totally bald rather than just receding. One of the rules have to do with pay during the holidays. What's covered? What's not covered? Will I get paid on a holiday even though it's a Saturday and my regular day off? The answer is yes, BUT there's a catch. You have to work all your scheduled hours the days immediately before and after the holiday in question. I mean, down to the minute. My lack of sleep caused me to forget about this little nit of a rule and I missed out on my New Year's Eve holiday pay because I didn't go to work on Monday. We went to Memphis for the weekend and I didn't get any sleep Sunday night at all and there was no way in hell I was going to hold my head up in front of my computer for 8 more torturous hours before finally getting to curl up in my own bed with my husband and my dog and sleep, sweetly sleep.

Also, I forgot about the holiday rule.

When I learned the error of my ways, I informed my husband what we lost out on (8 hours of FREE pay) and he said, "I guess laying in bed with you in the rain was worth a hundred dollars."


happy new year.


that was depressing. i'm not sure if i've mentioned recently just how emotional i can be.

merry christmas?



it scares me how quickly a good thing can turn bad. when you start to wonder if the good thing was ever good at all, you start to question your own sanity and that's a scary feeling. everything you think you can rely on to be there suddenly starts flickering when you look directly at it, like you're looking at the sun. portions of your heart feel solid and the rest feels like jelly rolling off the side of a cliff. and it can happen so quickly.


christmas at the office

so i work for a shipping company and we are so busy right now. not that anyone would want to hear about my crappy job, it's pretty dull if you're not in it, but i'm so fucking in it that i can hardly stand it and you're totally about to hear about it (enough inappropriate prepostions for you?). this is the busiest time of year, by far, and i'm tired. only one more day until it's all over and i can finally relax and have a lovely holiday w/my lovely asshole, i mean, husband (this isn't the standard sentiment, i swear).

we shipped our family's gifts today, which should deliver tomorrow. yes, we waited until the l a s t possible minute and i have every confidence our things will deliver. maybe not by 10:30, but certainly tomorrow, despite all the calls i take all day declaring we didn't do just that for them. i'm like a professional doormat.

outside of the customers, though, there's an interesting dynamic in my office worthy of discussion. today, for instance, our managers were randomly giving out gifts. i won this brass picture frame shaped like a school house that had 12 slots for pictures from each grade. my first thought was that i'd never be able to gather together that many pictures of myself, and surely, hopefully, i'd permenantly destroyed my 7th grade picture - the one w/flybacks when they were so not cool and old lady glasses my mother helped me pick out w/the pink tint in the lense. the frame wasn't for pictures of myself, though, i was told it was for my "first born" and i should put it in my hope chest because it was so me. how it was me, i have no idea, since i thought it was hideous, but whatever. that's not the point. i convinced this dude who just had a kid to trade me for the insense he got. he was like, "my wife's allergic to all kinds of smells, anyway." and i was all, "whatever that means". are folks allergic to smells? she probably got nauseous easily while she was pregnant not long ago and he's still confused. one of my other co-workers got a flashlight; she tried to trade w/me but i wasn't having it, knowing i could do better.

we're so busy that everyone's all stressed out so "management" is working really hard to keep the morale up way sky high. it's working, i guess, because no one's killed anyone else yet and the gossip is at a strange low. we're obviously just the right amount of busy because we're what they call banding together and internal issues are not an issue. every day there's a little something to look forward to, on top of the thrill of seeing what everyone else wears for "vest day" or "crazy sock day" so we can wear jeans instead of stuffy old slacks and skirts. the santa hats were out of hand on "hat day" and i swear to fucking christ if there's another "christmas attire" day, i'm going to have to call someone a tool straight to their face. i'll do it. okay, no i won't, but i'll think it.

david's trying to get weed as we speak, so i'm sure it'll all be forgotten in no time. in time for tomorrow, hopefully. absofuckinglutely.

About Me

This is very boring, really. But it's important that I write.