This is happening right now

I settle into my chair under the stars and suddenly Elvis is barking incessantly at something.

He’ll bark at the neighbor dogs occasionally but I’ve never heard him do this nonstop, rhythmic, “barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark…”

I call him and he doesn’t even pause.

Okay, obviously there is an animal over there that my dog is antagonizing.

Fuck.

I have to run inside, grab my phone, slip my flippies on, and run across the yard to see if I am about to be eaten.

Of course, I was worried about Elvis too.

I’m thinking, “Is this going to be my cougar encounter that I’ve been dreaming of (or dreading)?”

And then, the meager light from my phone reflects off of two white stripes in the darkness.

My brain works faster than I ever thought possible: skunk, dog, has he been sprayed already, I don’t smell it, hunh my foot hurts, skunk between me and elvis, do not, I repeat, do not want to get sprayed tonight, I cannot smell like skunk, fuck, I can’t go to work, so many skunkings, remember tessa when she rubbed against you, whatever you do, don’t let him touch you.

I start calling Elvis, with a sense of urgency in my voice which cripples him into submission, on his back, with a hard-on.

At the skunk’s feet.

The skunk turns around and Elvis cowers then finally comes running just as that tail lifts high in the air.

I wanted him to hurry but I wasn’t about to pick him up. I still couldn’t tell if he’d already been sprayed or not.

We tear up to the door and Elvis is a nervous wreck and I make him lie down so I can sniff him, which freaks him out even more.

Then I let him inside.

He’s so wound up from all the excitement that he runs laps around the couch for a solid 3 minutes.

And I think, “Ouch, my foot hurts.”

And I look down and the damn thing’s blowing up like a balloon and turning black and blue before my eyes, and there is a lot of point tenderness, and…

I don’t have a fucking clue what happened.

Not one bit.

There was a moment facing off with the skunk that I noticed it hurt but I wasn’t aware of anything that I had just done, but I so crazed about the beast that maybe I just don’t remember.

I can’t figure it out. It has changed shape over the last hour – it’s gone from an overall swelling to a rising mountain of swole right by the raven.

(please know that I know that “swole” in only a word if you’re 16 in hillbillyland.)

It’s got a solid 2 inch diameter – you’d think I’d have some idea of what happened, but I really don’t. It’s all a big skunky blur.

All I remember was the sight of those two white lines.

wildlife

One of the things I like most about going to Florida is that it is an entirely different, almost exotic, ecosystem, with abundant wildlife, salt water, and conservative old people.

We saw manatees, egrets, ibis, stingrays, and crabs.

My one son, who has always been the catcher of things that crawl, slither, or swim, chased after quite a few crabs in our time down there, wanting to take one home to his friend, A, who, many years ago, brought him a clam in a yogurt container from the Rio in New Mexico that got left under the bed and rotted.

Paybacks are a bitch.

So, needless to say, the word “crabs” was uttered continuously whilst on the beach or in the river or at the dinner table.

Unfortunately, when I hear the word “crabs” I immediately go to the gross little ones that swarm a person’s pubis.

Now, the reason that I think that is because, super unfortunately, I once housed what felt like hundreds of them in my nether regions.

It was years ago, and yet, I am still a bit hesitant to let the world know that my cootch once  crawled with pubic lice.

But I have to say something now because it’s all I can think about.

Now, let me tell you the story of said STD.

I was dating the hottest guy in town (different town, we have too many guys who think they are the hottest to determine who’s actually the hottest.)

That was a joke.

I was wildly in love, in a “I drink a lot of tequilla and have sex with that guy sort of way.”

And then one day I scratched an itch and then had to scratch it again.

And again and again and again.

Finally, I looked and saw the surface literally squiggling with the little suckers.

Totally freaked out. If I had to have an STD, then I would have opted for a virus or some gross strain of green bacteria rather than having living creatures intimate with my lady parts.

So, I did the responsible thing and called my boyfriend.

“I have crabs.”

“Where’d you get them? Who else are you sleeping with?”

“Just you. Can you get them from a public toilet seat?”

“I don’t believe you…you cheater. It’s over.”

So there I was, scratching, sniffling, solo.

And then, I find out that a gal I worked with was also sleeping with him but she wasn’t the crab girl, it was a third girl.

He was cheating on both of us.

Crabby ass fucker.

I got rid of the crabs. Got rid of the guy.

And now, when I’m at the ocean and I see a crab run across the sand, I begin to itch.

 

family

I just want to say that I am one of the lucky ones.

I am spending this week with my parents and two of my kiddos. We are together 24/7. I am even sharing a bed with my mom. The boys and I had an adventure today then came home and spent the evening with the grandparents.

There has been laughter and quality conversation and sharing and honesty and openness and sincerity and love.

What there hasn’t been…

Strife

Family “dynamics”

Stress

Disagreement

Arguing

Traumatic triggering

Anger

Resentment

Passive aggression

Disgruntlement

A desire to be anywhere else

I dig my parents.

I fucking adore my kids.

There is no where that I would rather be this week. Any week. Any time.

There are absolutely no people with whom I would rather be.

I have the most amazing family in the world.

I know that this is rare – that so many families have undercurrents of shit.

Not us.

And I do NOT take that for granted in any way.

I say that we are lucky but the reality is, when you put this many fantastic people in the same place at the same time, you can’t help but love every second.

#sayingaprayerofthanks, #lovemymommyanddaddy, #mykidsarebadass, #mydadisafuckingriot, #momsmybestfriend, #howdmykidsturnoutsowell?

Just read this

Excerpt from a personal essay, in a book I just finished:

“H (my partner) and I never discuss what goes on in the bathroom. I have no evidence he’s ever done anything in there but brush his teeth and soak in the tub. He won’t even let me in when he’s peeing.

‘I had that in my mouth ten minutes ago and now it’s a private part?’ ”

-David Sedaris, Calypso

Vacation?

The boys and I are headed to Florida in a couple of days – for a couple of days.

It started with “I need to get back to Florida.”

Then, “I really need to get the boys to Florida.”

Then, trying to find dates that work for all three work schedules, which included contacting one boss and working out a schedule with him while the child was on the river.

Then, the next one, trying to figure out schedule and getting permission from the parole officer to leave the state.

Because that’s our new normal.

Then, trying to schedule a trip over a weekend so that someone doesn’t have to cover me for a full work week. But that didn’t happen.

Flights?

$2300 to go to Florida for 5 days.

Plus a rental car.

Then I had to find a house sitter – someone with whom Elvis will bond not bite.

All of that taken care of and suddenly I realize…

I’m going on vacation with my children.

Holy shit, it’s been years.

It’s also been eons since I’ve gone to see my folks when no one is in the hospital.

Vacation.

VACATION.

Granted, August in Florida might sound a little torturous, but it’s the beach and the ocean and snorkeling and my mommy and daddy and my amazing boys, and their birthdays, and dune grass and palm trees and sea glass and chocolate milkshakes.

And no smoke.

After all of that squeezing in and finagling and coordinating I get to sit still, do something fun, relax, read a book, and hang out with my favorite people in the whole world.

Yay Florida in August.

 

snap out of it Sally

You’re not going to get any accountability or compassion from him.

(That’s what set off this latest round of sad.)

You’re beginning to feel pathetic.

He’s way over you.

You’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time crying over someone who doesn’t deserve you.

The friends that you lost…it’s only, like, 3 people at this point. Three people who you don’t even miss.

Last big breakup took deep humiliation and shame to snap out of it.

Let’s not go there again.

Have some pride, save your dignity.

Give your heart a rest, Sally.

You deserve it.

Tired of it

You know what?

I am so sick of being sad.

Tired of the hours spent weeping and wailing.

Tired of handing my power over to someone who can’t bring himself to give a shit.

Tired of feeling shitty.

Tired of wasting my energy feeling sorry for myself.

I think this weekend might have been the last I spend worrying about how this last year impacted me – I’m just sick of being melancholy.

So somehow I need to let go of everything and thank my lucky stars that I’m out of that relationship.

And I am determined to be sad no more.