Dear stranger,
When you asked me “how far along are you?,” and I answered “I’m not!,” as in “I am not pregnant”, your elderly ears could not hear me, so I had to repeat myself. The five other strangers standing in line with us were doing their best to pretend that they were not listening. Talk about awkward.
All day yesterday I stewed about how insensitive it was for you to ask me that question.
Without further ado, here is the apology letter I submitted.
(RED: Thanks for reading this first and reassuring me that I’m not quite the piece of shit I thought I might be. Well…..not in this instance anyway.)
Although these words will never meet your ears, I’m apologizing anyway. You are and will always be protected by what I felt that day, in that moment. After all, I’m a mother. I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you.
Admitting something I’m deeply ashamed of isn’t easy. Even your father doesn’t know this. How could I tell him? He didn’t share my feeling. He didn’t share my fear. I didn’t want to look less in his eyes or risk losing a piece of his heart. But, this isn’t about him. It’s about you and me.
TO READ THE REST, GO TO: Mom Apologizes to Son with Down’s Syndrome
Need some motivation to get your pitiful, sorry, “I should be dead for what I did to you”, thoughts out?
Now go apologize at An Open Apology. You know you fucked up! Go make it right.
![it's_my_birthday!-72165[1]](http://articlesofabsurdity.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/its_my_birthday-721651.jpg "it's_my_birthday!-72165[1]")
43 IS AWESOME:
I’m stronger than ever.
My face is holding up (Just don’t look at my hands).
My body isn’t due for an overhaul yet.
I’m fairly certain my mind is in tact.
My words are just as devastating and magical, if not more.
My four kids like me without resorting to bribes….yet.
My husband hasn’t had the itch to bump private parts with anyone else.
I don’t wear mom jeans.
My ass isn’t fat, flat or in need of stick removal.
My breasts still stay up on their own. AND……yes, they’re mine. I have the receipt to prove it.
I have hot flashes, but only in the bedroom.
My friends are the most incredible, genuine, nontoxic bitches around.
My blog buddies still love me, even though I have abandoned them recently. (I left breadcrumbs my darlings!)
I’m mature enough to not have to cover my ass…no need to lie or hide.
I’m secure enough to not give a shit about bullshit.
I’m smart enough to see right through games and false smiles.
I’m nice enough to tolerate those who are intolerable, for the sake of a cause.
Beer and chips are still my friends since I’m working out.
My sense of humor has not left me.
With all its ups, downs, and perfect imperfections, life is amazing. I can’t wait to see what crazy nonsense this year brings for me to hurdle over.
One thing is certain, I will persevere and laugh my way through it all.
If my sticktoitiveness makes you cry along the way, well…..I’m sorry, but this is my life party and I can’t stop to wipe tears.
This is the future, but also right now.
You aren’t welcome back, no way, no how.
No open arms and no open doors.
It’s clear to all, if it wasn’t before.
You are damaged and toxic, with no moral code.
Picking on children at your age. How bold!
We understand your life sucks pretty hard.
But that’s your fault, so don’t throw crap in our yard.
Haters hate and you are no exception.
I’m pretty sure it started at your conception.
If you’re still in the dark, let me turn on the light.
Without you around, the future is bright.
(Word to your mother…..)
Oz may be a movie, but flying monkeys exist in human form. REALIZE: They lack power, as long as you know they’re just cymbal banging, teeth-grinning creatures, whose only purpose is to make noise.
Waiting for a sign is just a different way of saying: "I’m too scared to make the decision I know I need to, so I’m waiting for something to happen in order to justify it."
Don’t feel sorry for individuals with special needs or their families.They know what it is to have strength.
If you must: Feel sorry and pray for people who pretend to care about them while patronizing and judging behind their backs. They are weak.
"It’s complicated. It’s a process. (blah, blah, blah)"
FACT: Some things are quite simple and don’t need to be drawn out. A bit of common sense, decency and intellect travel far.
BUT: We like to hear ourselves talk, admire our place and/or be the paperwork martyr. All the while, turning people into wordy diagnoses that we shove in a prelabeled box we call "A Plan".
**Gotta go put my little diagnoses to bed. I hope he doesn’t do anything to defy his label. It’s such a hassle to get a new box out. And Sharpies are expensive.**
Due to distractions, I wasn’t going to write anything tonight, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes a situation or a person with a narcissistic personality disorder warrants a post to be born. In this case, it would be the latter.
To celebrate my anniversary I posted Jodie Foster inspired me. It seems that one of the spouse-no-mores, (you know) was very troubled by my words.
YOUR VERSION OF REALITY:
ACTUAL REALITY:
(bing.com · Bing Dictionary)
de·ment·ed
[ di méntəd ]
WHAT I THINK IS DEMENTED:
My first thought is: “Not in a million years!”.
Kissing this dude would be like giving oral sex to my dryer’s lint tray.
Someone, out there, reading this, knows for sure.
AND….some, might be turned on, but I digress.
Crazy fetish?
My second thought is: “Smashup!”
I want to do what Reese’s did for peanut butter and chocolate.
Say what?
Idea: Let’s put two things together and make something magical.
Condoms and Glasses
Still don’t see where this is going?
Condom Glasses!
(Please help me come up with a wonderful name for this new product.)
They deploy at the exact moment of visual arousal.
Why do we need these you ask?
For those women, you know the ones……..
”I get pregnant every time someone looks at me.”
We have to have some type of protection, some type of birth control for men who have the power to release microscopic sperm from their eyes. This is quite an epidemic people. It is also quite reckless. It’s astonishing how many children are brought into this world because someone looked at their momma in the wrong way. What’s even more disturbing is this: How does that child even know who his/her daddy is? It’s going to take a retinal scan on the Maury Povich show to straighten that shit out. AND seriously……The chances of finding the “baby daddy” are pretty slim. God help you if you are identified as giving someone “the pregnant eye”. You can look forward to child support for that kid and probably hundreds more. If you are capable of giving the pregnant eye to one, then chances are, you’ve given it to another. Aren’t their enough excuses to put kids in therapy without adding this to the list?
SO…Let’s come up with a fabulous name.
Let’s get this product out in the world.
AND…Let’s start protecting ourselves.
I wonder what the Sharks would think?
I’m sorry to overwhelm you with my incessant flashing, but I wrote these a bit back and never posted. Get comfy and prepare yourself to be entertained or bored to death. Either way, you might be at your computer longer than expected. These were submitted to the M3 Flash Challenge (Flash in the Pan) Winter 2012.
Wake (125) Exact word Count
Snapping out of his drunken daze for a brief moment, Jeremy noticed the cold beer in front of him at the bar. Usually the cap is the only thing off, but this bottle had a note attached. Focusing the best he could, Jeremy read the message.
Drinking is only a temporary feeling and solution, but when there ain’t no solution, temporary ain’t a bad way to go.
He realized he’d spent years, night after night, sharing his life with a bottle. As he looked around the bar, he saw others just like him. Realizing the solution to his problems didn’t live inside a bottle, he did the only thing he could. He raised his bottle and slurred cheers in the wake of his temporary solution.
Flash (100) 87 Words
Here again, I lie in the charcoal-colored night, approaching my once again deep sleep. Yet, this night is unlike all the others. My dreams will be replaced with memories. Visions that I could not recollect under any other circumstances flash by me.
My morning? Oh, please let us not forget my great awakening. Instead, those too will be replaced — replaced with a wake and mourning. How alike those words sound, yet their meanings are entirely different.
At least I don’t have to worry about insomnia anymore.
Dance (50) Exact Word Count
Much time has passed since my eternal slumber began. My body is frozen to the core as I listen to the thumping through the wood. My earthly blanket is covering me. Yet I feel no warmth. My departure is final now. There’s no turning back. I’ve had my last dance.
Fish (100) Exact
When I was young, maybe ‘bout nine, I ‘member that ole swing Daddy built an’ swingin’ to high heaven. On that swing, I found myself thinkin’ ‘bout important things. At home the only things I’d be thinkin’ of were frogs, county fairs, Momma’s apple pie and Joey Crawood. Joey was some weird, freckled-faced kid, who smelled like fish. He also used to put mud in girls’ hair. Meggie, my best friend, said Joey put more mud in my hair on account of him liking me. It was that or ‘cause he liked the way the mud clung to my braids.
Fire (125) I used 120
The side door of the van flew open and there was Rain. I figured she was around my age, but I couldn’t quite tell. Her clothes were simple; t-shirt and jeans, and she wore lots of makeup. You could tell she was a plain girl, who in all cruelty would be lucky to be considered homely. Her figure? She had none. She was as straight as an arrow, all arms and legs, her eyes a pale icy-blue. The dark mascara and liner around her eyes made their color even more stunning. And her corn-colored hair danced in the wind. Well actually, it really didn’t dance. It sort of resembled the aftermath of a brush fire, but it had its charm.
I met my best friend while putting out a fire, or so I thought. Smoke was coming from my neighbor’s cellar. I ran over and felt the door. It wasn’t hot, so I figured I could handle it and be a hero. Their hose was nearby. I went over, turned it on, threw the door open and wildly sprayed that water.
“What the hell!” someone shouted.
I never saw that girl sitting on the steps. There she was though, hair stuck to her face, mascara running and a broken-wet cigarette dangling from her mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Something funny?” she yelled.
“Aren’t you a little young…” I started to say.
“I’m twelve, thank you!” she said angrily while moving the hair out of her eyes. “My name’s Happiness too. If you got something to say about that, I’ll kick your ass.”
“No.” I smiled. “I think we’re good.”
This was inspired by: M3 Flash Challenge
Word: HAPPINESS
Word Limit: 150
My word count: 150
