Author: justdestiny

justdestinyhttps://justdestiny.wordpress.comWriter. Editor. Sorta single mom delighting in the daily sublime with my three wack-a-doodle kids.
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Heart of Fool’s Gold

As the seasons change from summer to fall and then again from winter to spring, I tend to get a little manic. Not full-blown, Destiny! of yesteryear psychotic manic, but my mind goes a little fast and I have to battle some demons that are resurrected at that time of year. I thought I handled this season’s change marvelously, deftly telling the demons to quiet themselves, and allowing my brain to create a flurry of thoughts to be used as future essays, blog posts, book ideas, or just facebook anecdotes. I have a lot to work on this winter. I also realized that I might not be completely through this season of mania, as evidenced by an internet interaction I had today.

This morning during a break from editing physics, I opened my facebook to find a notification that someone had commented on a comment I had posted on a public page 3 days ago. My comment, which was in response to a news article, said simply “Pritzker is going to take the president to the United States Supreme Court and after that, The Hague,” received several likes and had honestly been forgotten because the days just replace each other when they consist of carpool, editing physics, engineering, and law, and maintaining a relationship with The Mayor. I clicked on what would then consume me for the next hour. Some random woman whom I do not know posted, “You all need to step away from the Pringles” under my comment. I was aghast. What the hell was this attack about? I thought, do I handle this with grace and say, “Jesus loves you, even if no one else does…”? But she attacked not only me but my kids. So I responded quickly and said, “Is this supposed to be a fat joke? Because I can lose weight. You unfortunately can do nothing about that face, those teeth, and that ugly personality.” That’ll show her, I thought. Ugly is as ugly does.

I went back to physics and finished my article; before switching to engineering, I took a peek at my facebook again (what can I say, it is a ridiculous addiction). Another notification. This time she said, “Aww, so you guys choose to be fat.” Well, she can just eat a satchel of richards. Lady, you do not want to fuck with a wordsmith. So I unleashed a tirade that would make any venomous teenage girl cringe. “Oh you poor thing…And you choose to be hateful. I’m sorry your kids hate you and your parents are disappointed in you. I hope my name flashes through your mind when your doctor gives you your diagnosis. Bless your precious heart.” Was I proud of this outburst? Admittedly, a little. Fuck with me and my kids, I will fuck with you so hard mentally that you won’t know what hit you. I pushed post and waited… Soon I was rewarded with a little red bubble. “Who is hateful now?” So I quickly replied, “You come after me unprovoked and when I bite back, you are offended. Go cry in a pillow.” Another quick notification with a simple, “You are crazy.” Your goddamn right I am, tell me something I don’t know. So I sealed our interaction with a kiss and simply replied, “Oh dear. Did someone learn the hard way not to pick fights with strangers on the internet? Have a “blessed” day. I’m sure you will.” A southern lady threat, how I learned growing up.

I rode this little high into thrifting with Ez and relayed my interaction to them, which they agreed she deserved it, even if I did cross the line with my threat of a “blessed” day and an unknown diagnosis. As the day wore on, I expected the little guilt pangs that normally come from one of my outbursts, but they never came. I might still be a little manic, but more astutely, I am pissed. I am so pissed that they (and they know who they are) can spew hatred from their mouths and when they get the first inkling of a pushback, they play victim. I am so pissed that our country takes an already marginalized community that constitutes 1% of our population and villainizes them from their positions of power. I am so pissed that truth no longer has a place in our media.

After dinner, I was finishing up an engineering article and Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” came on Spotify. I heard the lyric “You keep me searching for a heart of gold…” and I wondered if it was my angels saying they were disappointed in me today. Should I have responded to that stranger with love? Maybe. Did I tarnish my heart a bit with my tirade? Perhaps. But gold is malleable and soft. I am not. I will fight for my kids rights. I will fight for the rights of marginalized communities. I will fight for truth. And if Stephen King has taught us anything, you best not come after a wordsmith, because we will decimate you. A heart of gold, perhaps not. But a living, beating heart filled with blood that bleeds my truth. You’re goddamn right.

Something Just Like This

I take a deep breath in and exhale to the count of eight. The forces of the Universe wash over me and I find myself pulled in infinite directions at once. Before panic sets in, I immediately center myself and take another deep breath, holding it and mentally repeating my goal for this meditation session in as few words as possible. This world needs more love, more kindness, more compassion. From everyone. I feel the energy around my heart open up and I relax into it. I breathe through the waves and use my chest to push them out to the earth that needs such healing and positive energy now more than ever. 

The pirates of the multiverse start to voice their objections, and I find myself beginning to split. I have to quiet them lest they negate the love with their hate, but it is a constant battle. I hush them, and take a sip of water, my meditation broken but not without, I believe, some benefit to the metaverse.

A few hours later, the chime of the door opening dings and I say “hey dere” and hear the familiar “hey dere” back. He greets Leia, our calico who waits for him at the top of the stairs when she sees him pull in the driveway. He puts his water bottle on the kitchen table then immediately retreats to the bedroom to change out of his shirt and tie so as not to sully them with the cat hair that is persistent. Ten minutes before he got home, I filled his water glass with ice and fresh water and placed it on his side table next to his recliner. I also took the opportunity to fill his bowl, so he has a freshie to smoke as he unwinds and relaxes from the stresses of his job. 

He sits down next to me and I wait until he is ready to talk before I pause my physics editing to give him my full attention. 

“Three trucks today, and Sam scheduled off so Abby and I had to unload and restock ourselves.” He has taken a part time job as the dairy man at a local specialty market to help pad our savings as we contemplate an interstate move in the near future. It’s hard on his body and it is not without its frustrations, but the hours are good and we are taking full advantage of the employee discount. Until something better comes along, he is making it work. I am deeply appreciative of the extra income, as it makes us that much closer to making our dreams a reality. 

Spotify plays in the background and Coldplay’s “Something Just Like This” takes its turn in the shuffle. 

“I had to return an octopus to the seafood department that somebody dumped in the dairy today. That was a new one.” I love when he tells me what he finds people have ditched. It makes me wonder what sparked the sudden divorce from a great dinner idea to dropping it all by the time they get to the other end of the store. 

After meditating in the morning, my day at home was spent editing physics, engineering, and law. Sometimes I have a tidbit to share that I have picked up from an article, but mostly I just say “work was good. I have to finish up after dinner. What’s for dinner again?” I could’ve looked it up on our menu app before he got home, but he sometimes has lightning strikes of inspiration and will switch things around at the last minute. Tonight we are having honey garlic cod with Parmesan couscous and maple glazed carrots for the side. The last chorus of Coldplay fades and the words repeat in my head, 

Where’d you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?

I’m not lookin’ for somebody

With some superhuman gifts

Some superhero

Some fairy-tale bliss

Just something I can turn to

Somebody I can kiss

I want something just like this

His immediate presence calms me as he is my touchstone on this earthly plane. At a time when I explore dimensions in my brain through mindful meditation sessions, he reminds me that in this place and time there is only this one dimension that matters. I have a deep abiding love for the man who doesn’t have superhuman gifts, but who helps ground me so that I can explore the possibility of my own. 

He raises himself out of the recliner and goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I hear him hum as the fish sizzles in the iron skillet. A slow smile settles across my lips. Turns out, I want something just like this. 

The Last Lovebug

I take a right on Galbraith Road as the opening notes of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” play against the faint crackle of static from the Dayton radio station. Still close enough to come in, but far away enough to not be completely clear. Instantly my heart twinges and I can feel the emotions start to bubble up as I remember my mom singing along to Patsy on the way to taking me to school. She loved that song. Still does, I’m quite sure, even though she is 3,000 miles away. I cross Kenwood and slow past the hospital, thinking this is the first of many lasts. I am on my way to pick up Ezra on their last first day of high school, the last of my three kids, the last one to need my driver’s license as their ticket to freedom before they launch on their own. 

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Seven Sentence for Sunday: The trying new things edition

  1. I finally went to a free crochet class that I have been meaning to attend for the past few months and I made three new friends and am well on my way to making a dish rag.
  2. I am also relearning French via Duo Lingo and am at a level 43 out of 160, so I have a ways to go.
  3. Biscuits and gravy for dinner tonight; sometimes we have lots of veggies, tonight we had none. I ain’t complaining, that gravy was delicious!
  4. I am 3 pounds away from losing 50 lbs from my top weight. I wouldn’t mind losing 50 more, but I’d be happy with 30-40. I think my doctor would be fine with that too. I just seem to be okay with losing at a turtle’s pace—especially if it means I get biscuits and gravy for dinner every three months!
  5. Harvard released their applications for their extension campus. I have vowed that when we get moved and settled I am going to apply for my masters in creative writing. I feel like I should be able to finish my novel as a capstone project.
  6. WWE’s women only event Evolution is on tonight. When Rhea Ripley walked into the arena with no makeup on I swear my heart took an extra beat. That woman does things to men and women alike!
  7. This is the first time I have written in 3 years. In the spirit of doing new things I figured I d revisit an old thing while I was at it. I am glad to be back, for however long.

You’d Be Prettier If You Smiled

This is my entry into the NYC Midnight Rhyming Story Challenge. The parameters were 600 words max, Genre: Action/Adventure, Theme: Hunger, Emotion: Infuriated. Let me know what you think in the comments.

It was a day like no other,

It started out shitty

When the barista said

Smile more, you’d be pretty. 

So I gave him the finger,

Stomped away in a huff.

Left without breakfast and coffee,

Hoping a tic tac would be enough

To get me through to lunch

Or maybe a snack.

What was this? Construction ahead

Please cut me some slack. 

So I turn down an alley,

A shortcut to work,

When a pack of dogs confronts me

All going berserk. 

I use my only superpower 

Calming techniques through DBT.

The dogs start to back down

They can feel my energy. 

I make it to my desk

With five minutes to spare.

I ask my cubicle mate

If she’s got a granola bar to share.

“Nothing for you,” she says. 

Oh, don’t be such a twat. 

I just asked for a snack

That’s not really a lot. 

That canine confrontation sapped me

I can feel my temper rise. 

What I wouldn’t give for a donut 

Or hell a burger and fries. 

Then it hits me, 

Alleluia, I am saved.

My emergency quarters

In my desk for a rainy day.

To the snack machine I go

Clutching my quarters tight.

The Funyuns and Cheezits beckon,

They are such a beautiful sight. 

Motherfucker no. 

This isn’t happening to me. 

The bag is stuck in the coil.

Dear Satan let me be. 

I shake the machine

Then lean my head and cry. 

I think it’ll be easier 

If I lie here and die. 

Limited PTO

Gets my butt back to my desk.

I’ll have to trudge through 

I can only try my best. 

I pull up a file

And start the pre-edits.

The words run together

My stomach gives me fits.

Somehow I manage 

Over the next three hours

To beat back the belly demons

Though I can still feel their glowers.

11:30 hits,

This bitch is out

Lunchtime fuckers

Let the hungry child out. 

Move it, dude, 

You’re moving so slow

Tie your shoes elsewhere 

I’m a woman on the go. 

I get to my favorite haunt 

Without much of a fuss.

The tide is turning my way

I hope, I pray, I trust. 

Much to my horror

I see the handwritten note:

The fryer is down, 

No food today, no hope. 

And then I feel it rising 

From my gut to my cheeks,

Anger so deep

It’s been simmering for weeks.

In the blink of an eye

My head just popped

Brains and goo all over 

That poor falafel shop. 

Official cause of death

Temper tantrum caused by hanger

A leading cause in young women 

A fatal unspoken danger. 

So, you see, St Pete

There’s no way I’d be dead

If that asshole barista

Had given me my breakfast instead. 

I stand before you

A victim of circumstance.

Please let me into heaven.

Please take a chance.

The Little Joys

Around here, when the seasons change, our bipolar tendencies rear their ugly head. In spring, it’s mania central. Projects get started, big ideas happen, we get a little agitated. In autumn, we are more subdued as our depressive nature kicks in and we struggle with the harsh realities of the world. I have seen this cycle in myself for the past 12 years. I’ve only begun noticing it over the past few years in my kids.

Ry is particularly hit hard by the depression in the fall. We sat in my car talking the other day and she just crumpled. The tears flowed and she talked about how she didn’t know how to break the cycle. She has been maintaining a regular schedule of showering before bed, going to bed before 10, and waking up around 8. Now that Will is over COVID, he is cooking again, so she’s eating healthier. She has a bike that could get more use, but don’t we all have one of those? So she’s checking those boxes. I tried breaking it down into moment by moment, just making it through, but that didn’t resonate. Finally, I suggested “little joys.”

“Little joys” is not a novel concept, but it is an effective one. It’s simply having gratitude for the brief moments in our lives when all is good. It can be as simple as hearing your favorite song on the radio, seeing a beautiful leaf dancing in the wind, a whiff of your favorite lotion when you take your mask down to take a sip of water…the list is as infinite as the mind’s ability to dream. At first she scoffed, but as I pressed her for ideas, I could see “it” start to flicker. Her inner spark, her drive, her willingness to dig deep and make it one more day. 

The truth is, we are all struggling. With the news cycle, the pandemic, the soul crushing, more, more, more basis for American capitalism…add teenage existentialism in the mix and it’s enough to break you. I wanted to tell Ry what I was really thinking–and that was that life is hard. It sucks big hairy moose balls a lot of the time. But if you reframe your mind to accept that the universe has balance and with every crappy thing that happens to you, a beautiful  thing will come along to counterbalance it, you can start to look for the little joys. And you hang on to them…because in this life, it’s all that fucking matters.

Take the Brownie!

Quarantine has not been kind to our bodies around here. We are weighed in regularly at our quarterly psychiatrist appointments, but with everything going telehealth, it had been since January that we had a weigh in. So imagine my surprise when we all weighed in within a week and found that J, Ry, and I had all gained 30 pounds each, and Ez, our little string bean who only gains 2-3 pounds a year, had gained 18. Our doctors were not worried, as it seems a lot of people have gained during quarantine. But they did warn us to be careful because another 30 lb gain wouldn’t be seen as kindly. 

W, ever the health conscious of the two of us, kicked it into high gear and had Ry sign up for MyFitnessPal to track her calories to help her lose 10 pounds. (J is firmly in the IDGAF camp and is managing herself.) While his intentions are undoubtedly pure, it has had devastating effects on my middle child. She obsessed over every bite she put in her mouth and let the negative self-talk creep in, wishing aloud how she wasn’t so fat or ugly. Last night was the final straw when she collapsed at the end of my bed and started bawling her eyes out. She explained that she was tired of looking at food as what you can and can’t have. She was offered a brownie in her video editing class and she said she knew she would have too many calories if she took it because she had Italian wedding cookies to sample in her baking class later that afternoon. She decided to take it anyway but then, in a fit of guilt, she stashed it in her backpack and threw it away after class. “But Mom, I really wanted that brownie. I just wish I could go back to when I didn’t care what I put in my mouth.” And I really felt that. Because I too, had been dieting since I was 13. And it sucks always looking at food as good and bad. Worrying about the extra calories and fitting into your clothes. Both of my parents are obese. I am technically obese. I don’t want my kids to struggle like I did. 

I was thinking last week about my impending 43rd birthday and what I had learned in my 42nd year, the year of epiphany and wonder. I had high hopes for that year, but I was struggling with a blog post that encapsulated my year, one that was ¾ spent in quarantine. It struck me that I have become the epitome of Gen-X—as long as I’m not hurting anyone, do I really give a fuck? I wear a mask, I socially distance, I eat something sweet every single night, I smoke the occasional joint to relax. Yes, I weigh too much according to the BMI scale. My bloodwork probably isn’t where it should be, but I am a firm believer that I have one life to live and by god, I’m going to live it. I hope I model this philosophy to my kids because after all, we should let them be kids. Model good behavior (R and I are gym buddies, we cook healthy dinners together) and let the doritos fall where they may. I don’t want to be a skinny 92 year old looking back wishing I hadn’t forsaken the extra dollop of whipped cream. I’d rather go out as the plump 70-something who rocked too hard at her favorite band’s concerts and enjoyed one too many cheese plates. It’s trite. It’s quaint. But it’s true. Just let it be.

And for christ’s sake, always take the brownie!

Il

Certainly

I’ve never been so unsure
Of being sure
about anything in my life.

On the one hand, my love for you is
Fierce, undeterred, immovable,
And yet it is also fluid and wavelike
as a particle in quantum mechanics.
It is overwhelming, all encompassing,
Consuming.
However, it is not unwavering.

As much as I wish to be solid as a rock,
I am but the grains of sand,
Shifting and moving to mold to pressure.

I feel my spirit drawn to stability,
To communication, digitally,
Where the telepathy leaves off.
To pet names,
to holding hands in the grocery store
To a lover’s touch,
To knowing my boundaries.

I am an orchid,
Who needs water,
And loving words,
And light to thrive.

Inasmuch as I know
Our fates are intertwined,
I also know Mars and Venus
Could never rule the cosmos.
You would have to lose
the very thing that makes us fit.

I am here but a short while,
I can love you innately
and still desire comfort.
Of this I am both sure and unsure.