sometimes when I turn around
I almost see them
just out of the corner of my eye
of your past and mine
they show themselves
but always return again
at times they creep in
like a fog
lying close to the ground
making it difficult to walk
growing in size and rising
eventually making it difficult to talk
as they choke us with memories
of our pasts
intending to haunt the present
and the future too
Why is my mind going crazy? Why can’t I stop the thoughts, and all the anxiety and the worries flying around in my head?? Am I just feeling poorly about myself? Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, and constantly worrying about what The Cowboy is thinking or feeling. It’s not that anything in particular happened to precipitate it all. I have tried to be very patient about the job situation, and the way I talk to him about it. I know he feels bad because he lost “the good job”. He hasn’t told his parents, or any of his friends back home, about getting fired from “the good job”. He is embarrassed. I understand, but he needs a job. I am worried about money. I dip into my savings every week to make it through. I can’t continue to do that. I have told him how much I need his help paying the bills, especially when my ex and I re-negotiate the custody agreement with our son.
I am not totally attached to my phone. The Cowboy communicates with a lot of his friends by text message. This would include male and female friends. He thinks I am jealous of how many text messages and phone calls he receives. I am not. I have told him that if my phone was blowing up that much it would drive me crazy. He doesn’t have a smart phone, and he says he doesn’t want one. He is able to check Facebook on his phone, but he can’t see any photos, etc., and receives notifications by text. He tells me he thinks I am nosey about his phone, because sometimes if his phone is blowing up, I will say, things like, “Is that your “boyfriend” Toothless??” I say it jokingly. Half the time he just volunteers the information and tells me who it is. I really don’t think I pester him about it, and it doesn’t seem like a big deal to me. What’s funny is I ran down the street yesterday to get ice. I came back and my phone was laying face down and it had turned off. I thought this was very strange, because I always lay it face up, and the only time I turn it off, is if it needs to be rebooted. So, I wondered if he’d looked at my phone, trying to see who texts me, or who calls me. Did I ask him if he did? No. Leads me to believe that he doesn’t trust me as much as he says he does.
I don’t like jealousy. For the most part I think it’s an unnecessary, destructive emotion. That being said, I do have twinges of it from time to time. The Cowboy doesn’t usually help these twinges by the things he says. Take for instance, a conversation we had this weekend regarding blow jobs, and proficiency. He informs me that I do not give the best blow job he has ever had. “B”, from 20 plus years ago, is still the Blow Job Queen in his book. When he says this it bothers me. Silly, huh? Today I’m trying to figure out which is sillier: me feeling jealous about him thinking “B” is still the Blow Job Queen, or him being able to remember, or really believing, that she still gives the best blow jobs after 20 years??
I am not the type of person who, when in a relationship, needs to be told all the time that I am wonderful, and beautiful, and the most amazing at everything. However, it has been bothering me lately that I don’t seem to get any types of kudos, or atta-girls. So, this weekend, I just come right out and ask The Cowboy if he really even likes, if he even thinks I am special. You know what he tells me? “You’re a pretty good ‘ol gal.” Really?? What the fuck does that mean? I mean right now, I am thinking I am pretty much a fucking saint in most people’s books. Not only have I been patient and understanding about the job situation, I have also been patient about not getting any money for living expenses, I have made sure The Cowboy has food to eat and beer to drink, and because his pickup needs work on it, I was also lucky enough to be given a car, which he has been given to drive, that he didn’t have to pay the tags or insurance on, and that he doesn’t put gas in. And the best he can say is that I’m a pretty good ‘ol gal?? I think he needs to try harder, because I think in most people’s books that would at a bare minimum, make me “the best girlfriend ever”. I don’t need him to tell me that every day, but a fucking thank you every once in awhile would be nice. The Cowboy needs to learn a little gratitude, and he could fucking start at home.
See, I told you I was blurting again. Just putting it out there, and getting it off my chest, because it’s becoming toxic to me!!
Because I have to get it all off my chest. . . you may not be able to follow this, and I have no clue how to write it so it will make sense, so it’s going to be a rambling, dumping mess of bullshit. . . .because it is all sitting right there, on my chest, heavy, just waiting for an anxiety attack, and I can’t take it anymore. The Cowboy doesn’t have a job. Let me start at the beginning. . .The Cowboy lost his job in April, just after we’d gotten back together after our two week hiatus, or whatever you want to call it. He got fired for attendance reasons. . . he had the time available to him to take, he just didn’t follow proper call-in procedure in order to take the time, so after 3 times, they fired him. They told him he is eligible for rehire in September, and he is planning on going back then. But in the meantime, he needs another job. He got a job a couple days after being fired from the last one. He hated it. He complained about having to go there, about how dirty the place was, about how ridiculous it was to stand around for hours doing nothing, then them expecting you to come in on Saturdays after they’ve sent you home during the week because they didn’t have enough for you to do. I would have to agree, it does seem ridiculous, but I just suggested that he look for something else, while urging him not to quit that one before he found something else. He got into it with his supervisor one day and walked out. He called me and told me, prefacing it with, “I don’t want you to be mad but. . . .” I wasn’t mad, just concerned, because he had given up his rental and moved in with me, and I can’t afford to support him for forever. I had given him until June to start paying his portion of stuff, trying to be nice, so he could get back on track after getting fired from “the good job”. So, he walked off of the crappy job, went back to the temp agency, and after a week or so the only thing they could offer him in his line of work was a job being on-call 24/7 for a local food company. I told him it was up to him, but if it was me, there’s no way I would get into a job like that. You never know how many hours you’re going to get, and leaves you sitting around waiting to be called all the time. He decided I was probably right, and it wasn’t a good idea. They called again the next day and left a message on his phone telling him to go to another place the following Tuesday. He didn’t return their call and ask any questions, because we were picking his son up at the time, and his son’s mother had already agreed to letting him keep his son the entire week. I thought it was important for him to spend the time with his son, and he wanted to keep him so we could all attend a rodeo which was being held the following weekend. So, he didn’t go to the job on that Tuesday. He didn’t call the agency that morning either and tell them he wouldn’t be going. So last week he went to another temp agency, and they got him a job at another local manufacturing place. It’s doing something he’s never before, and he doesn’t particularly care for it, but he was going, until Friday. Friday morning he accidentally locked himself out of the house. I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t answering my text messages, and I felt like something was wrong. He had the car keys, and could’ve driven to a friend’s house, but he was in his sleep shorts and slippers, with no shirt on, so he just hung out at the house all day. If he had driven to the friend’s house, he would’ve found out I had just put a set of keys in the garage the previous evening for emergencies like that. Talk about ironies. . . anyway, he didn’t call in on Friday, and decided he would just show up this morning and tell them what happened. (I had urged him to call on Friday and let them know, but he didn’t.) So right now I am sitting here, wondering what happened, guessing they let him go to work, since he hasn’t returned any of my text messages. I told you this was going to be a rambling, insane mess!!
We haven’t always seen eye to eye,
and we never will,
“Especially since I have been taller than you since about 8th grade,” said I, in my sarcastic tone, which I get from you.
I remember I was your favorite until my brother came along. . .
I remember you used to take me with you, and sometimes let me sit on your lap and drive the car. . .
I remember watching you soap your arms down and wash off with the garden hose, upon returning home after a day spent cutting wheat. . .
I remember the time you tried to fix the bathroom sink and got so pissed off, you knocked it off the wall and water went everywhere. . .
I remember you bringing home stock tanks in the summertime to be filled with waters, so I could swim before my hometown had a pool. . .
I remember you picking me up to give me hugs and rubbing your whiskers against my cheek and saying “gruzzle, gruzzle, gruzzle”. . .
I remember you telling me your disappointment in me because you didn’t like my performance in a basketball game. . .
I remember your disapproval in my choices of men, hair color and style, and the fact I don’t have Jesus in my life. . .
I remember you teaching me how to drive, I had to master a standard first before you would let me drive an automatic. . .
I remember how much you have made me laugh over the years with your particular brand of humor: finding farts hilarious, and utilizing an endless string of euphemisms. . .
I remember you are the one who taught me how to dance the two-step, and tell a good tale to a captive audience. . .
I remember how badly I felt for you when you and mom were divorcing and you were living in the camper. I knew you were sad and hurt, but I also knew there was nothing I could do for you. . .
I remember asking you to come to church with me, one Father’s Day, about 30 years ago, and you did, and it saved you, and you’ve been going ever since. . .
I remember, every day, that I love you, and I know that you love me, and would do anything you could for me. . .
Even though we will never see eye to eye.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD! I LOVE YOU!!!
I love you so much
Why have you become so judgemental of me,
Of my choices?
What is it you wanted me to be?
I am a college graduate.
I am a good mom.
I am a homeowner.
I am an individual.
I don’t think like you.
I don’t feel like you.
I am just me.
And at 44 years of age,
I don’t know how to be anything else than me.
I believe you want what’s best for me,
but you can’t decide what, or who, that is.
I am the only one who can decide those things.
Your passive/aggressive ways only drive me farther from you.
Your snarky comments only make me angry.
You used to know when to be my mother, and when to be my friend. . .
Well, everybody it’s time for you to amaze and daze me with your fabulous Wordle creations!
I hope you will join me today by participating in the fun with other bloggers. It’s really quite simple. Below you will find a Wordle Word Prompt Picture that was created in Wordle Create. All you need to do is write a sentence using the words, write a poem using the words, or maybe a short story.
Just once could you saying something nice about me?
Tell me something you like about me?
Something you find appealing?
Tell me why you want to be with me?
Because some days I wonder why you’re even here.
Surely you must think I have some redeeming qualities.
Oh, that’s right, you like my cooking and the fact I am always willing to suck your dick.
I’m the best fucking girlfriend ever.
I just read where the Sedgwick County, KS, Sheriff has decided to ration shit paper to inmates at the jail. They are decreasing their supply from two rolls per week to one. The sheriff says not only will it cut their shit paper bill by half, but it will deter the inmates from using it to intentionally clog toilets, or as seals for vents when smoking contraband. The inmates are in an uproar and are claiming their rights are being violated. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. How about this? Get your ass out of jail, get a fucking job, and buy yourself as much shit paper as you want! (And before some liberal bleeding heart gets on the bandwagon about civil rights bullshit, they said they will make allowances for indigents and inmates who are ill.)
Oh, one more thing! This shit paper ain’t no cheap ass John Wayne kind of institutional stuff, it’s fucking Charmin!! Mr. Whipple would be so proud!
*For shits and giggles, read the tags.
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