… Of cabbages and Kings.

Wouldn’t it be nice if that fun literary quote meant that I was deep and insightful and had found a way to incorporate the title into my diary entry this evening?

Well, I’m not and I haven’t. 🙁

Really, I’m writing right now b/c I’m trying to find a way to take my mind of my inpenetrable writer’s block. I’ve been working on a work of fiction for a few weeks now and I’m completely stumped this evening. Which is further pushed into irritatingness by the fact that this is the first night in a week I’ve had enough quiet and alone time to actually write and I desperately want to take advantage of it.

The kids are in bed finally (at 10:30). Joe has gone out of town to visit his very best friend who just moved home from Boston. And he’ll probably be gone most of the night, so I should REALLY take this time to be writing incessantly.

It’s like this.

The story and characters and plot and scenery and everything are constantly, through-out the day and night (even in my dreams) moving and flowing in my head. But I cannot get them out of my head and onto paper!! (er… computer screen) This is, more than likely, b/c of my inability to half write. A good friend told me to just, basically, spit the story out onto paper and then go back and refine. However, I don’t seem to be built to accomplish this. When I’m writing it out, I can’t move past where I am currently, until it’s right. Completely. So I’m stuck. And it’s not really something anyone can help me with, either. I just need to figure out what I’m trying to say and then put it into words that feel read-able. *sigh* It’s no wonder so many writers drink. Ha. Not that Hemingway ever wrote Sci-Fi/Fantasy! (I’m not sure I’d be willing to read it if someone dug something up like that claiming he’d written it. The man was disturbed, at times, and needed no fantasy world to portray that. Also, he was brilliant.)

So, that’s why I’m writing in my poor little OD. Onto lighter subjects, b/c, honestly, talking about it being a problem isn’t really solving it for me.

Let’s see… what’s been up with me lately?

I’m trying to find the motivation to plan this wedding, for one. (Do you see a theme to my life? Lack of Motivation is tattoo’d on my forehead!) I have, something like, 70 days until I’m supposed to be getting married. I haven’t done much of anything. I have written up the invites (on my puter) but they’ve not been printed thanks to our lack of printer and lack of funds to take them anywhere to print them. *sigh* We’ve (possibly) decided to for-go the idea of the local park for the ceremony and reception and, instead, started looking at our own back yard. It’s rather large and I believe it could work with proper planning. Ha. Plus, cheaper by far. Which equals better for us.

Also, Miles has moved home again. (Quick explanation if’n you don’t know: Miles is my middle child and his biological father, Jami, and I have joint physical custody of him. Since Jami’s exit from the USN, this has manifested in 6 months living w/ his dad and 6 months living w/ me. We get weekend visitation during the other’s time, plus we are on very amiable terms, so really we can see him whenever. The school issue has only just started to be one, so we’re still working the kinks outta that one. End of explanation.) There’s been an interesting transition period between our households for the little guy, and we’re trying to be supportive and understanding, but I still believe that Jami and I have very different households and, as such, it’s hard to just take things as they are. Miles doesn’t understand that little things, that may be able to slide w/ his dad since he’s an only child there, don’t work here. I can’t just let it slide that he jumps on the couch, rather than sits calmly b/c we have a 1 1/2 year old who mimics everything he does… without 1/4 of the grace. She’s an accident away from broken bones and stitches sometimes b/c she wants to be like "fun" Miles who jumps and plays and throws things. At his dad’s, the only one hurt is himself (which will teach him not to do it!) or the furniture. Well, I don’t want my falling apart furniture to be further hurt, either, but really, I just can’t have 3 kids who do whatever they want with no regard for things and people around them. That’s called anarchy and man-kind has proven over and over that it doesn’t work. Also, I just don’t want heathen kids who get on everyone’s nerves and can’t be trusted to just behave when mom or dad aren’t around! *sigh* I know that sometimes I expect too much out of them, but I DO expect a lot out of them. They are fantastically intelligent children who prove to me everyday that the high standards I expect are warranted… until they do something unbelievably retarded. Then I’m so frustrated I could scream.

I’m not cut out to be a mom, people. I’ve known this since I was 12. I, at that time, swore I was never having kids. I knew that my temper was short, my patience was lacking, and my affection waned faster than the tides. I need to figure out a way to guarantee myself 2 days a month of nothing. No kids, no stress, little tastes of freedom, I guess. I get to a point every few weeks where I just want to pull my hair out and scream at anything that looks in my direction. No, it’s not PMS… actually it happens very randomly throughout those few weeks and has never followed anything that would imply PMS, at all. It’s just that I need breaks. I really don’t get them. Not for a couple years now. I can’t find anyone to take all 3 kids at once, so even if one or two goes somewhere, I still have one that’s climbing my skirts (so to speak) and I can’t rest. Joe doesn’t understand it. He never has. I try. Really I do. Every once in a while, some weird event comes along where someone is willing to take them all, or they go to a couple different places, and I try desperately to plan something that will get me through. Usually, I try for time with Joe b/c I need that, too. But, inevitably, something goes horribly wrong. Last time was some stupid argument that meant nothing, but lasted for 2 days.

I just feel trapped. That sounds so freaking stupid, but it’s how I feel. I get this tightness in my chest and I struggle with my breath a little. Anxiety maybe? My grandmother struggled with it and I know my mom has panic attacks. Is that crap genetic? I will not, repeat will not, go on meds. I KNOW what I need but no one seems to realize that I mean it when I say " I need a night out" or "I need some time to breath". I’m not being cryptic, damnit.

See, now I’m crying. I hate talking about this shit b/c I sound like every other whiny OD’er out there who only ever writes to bitch and moan about life or talk about some deep important shit. My life isn’t horrible. It’s fantastic. I’ve got everything I ever wanted in my life. I fought and prayed and begged for years to have him in my life. Any one of the girls knows this. They were there through my weeping and begging someone to tell me why he didn’t love me. And, now he does. He loves me and he’s here and my babies call him daddy. I have a wonderful home and I get to stay home with my kids. We live in a sweet town. We have 2 cars and a motorcycle. Granted, they are rather shabby some days, but

they run. We make ends meet. We have TV’s and a computer (2, in fact) and a garage. We have a big back yard and trees. We have a garden and flowers. Why aren’t I happy?

Ok, I’m officially that person on OD. I’m sorry. Heh. Even my picture is a little slutty. Dig me, I’m part of my generation, finally. Fuck.