Tags
abso-fucking-lutely, being a girl, Feminism, fierce, mama troll, Music, primordial rage, sexual violence, so many details!
17 Tuesday Oct 2023
Posted Inspiration
in21 Thursday May 2015
Posted Journal
inTags
everything is complicated, evil stepmother, family madness, growing pains, kids, learning curve, mama troll, nescience, self esteem, step parenthood, us girls have got to stick together
Let me start off by first saying that being a step-mother is a strange position to be in, especially when said step children do not always live with you. You are in a position of authority merely by your adult-ness, but at the same time, you have no real authority: you can ask the teenager to refrain from doing things, but you have no recourse in terms of punishment – unless you are fortunate enough to be backed by the biological parents – who may or may not be on civil terms.
Having a step-parent in your life is no less strange, I’m sure. My mother had decided that she’d spare me that kind of strange and carried on without a partner – which on several levels I appreciate. One, because she demonstrated that she did not NEED a partner to raise me well, or even to feel accomplished or whole. And secondly, because I was spared the stream of “uncles” or the bizarreness of having a stranger try and tell me what to do, or tell my mother how she should raise me.
So trust me, I know how weird it is for you. Just trust that it’s just as weird for me. Because it’s weird I’ve tried to be more a friend than a parent – which also has it’s perils since I’m only on your “side” in a manner you don’t truly understand. It’s going to feel like a betrayal when you tell me things you don’t want your father to know and I tell him anyway because I feel you’re in danger. That’s only happened once or twice, but both times I was in the right and things turned out better than they might have.
But that’s not why I’m writing this letter.
I’m writing this because I know how hard it is to be a teenager or a young adult- and I know that you think that’s a lie, or that it’s totally different now than it was when I was a teenager. Some of that might be true, but the feelings aren’t. Technically you are an adult, but no one treats you like one and that’s frustrating. But we know you’re not ready for adulthood because we know how unprepared we were in spite of our cocky assurances otherwise. Part of us wants you to stay a kid while you still can, and the rest wishes we could impart some of our hard-earned wisdom so that you won’t have to make the same mistakes we did.
I see you girls thrashing around in the deep waters of adulthood and I have to hold still while you learn to swim rather than jumping in and rescuing you because that is the only way you will learn to do things for yourself. The only way you will learn how strong you really are. Because you are strong. You are intelligent and capable.
There are a few things I wish I could tell you. Or rather there are a few things I’ve told you that I wish you’d take to heart. Perhaps these are things that you will think of later and think “Ah, that’s what she meant.”
1) You are already whole. Do not expect someone else to fill in your spaces. This isĀ disservice to both of you and will only end in tears or misery.
2) You are only responsible for your actions and reactions – no one else’s.
3) a few good friends are far better than many acquaintances. If you are dependable and kind, you will attract the same kind of people. Just know where your boundaries are and don’t let anyone disrespect them. Those who continually do this, are not your friends.
4) Your beauty is not who you are. It is an expression of, but don’t reduce yourself to your appearance. You are so much more clever, and talented to be that.
5) People are jerks. This doesn’t mean their opinion should matter to you. It’s not really any of your business anyway and if people are jerks, cut them out of your life. You have enough to deal with already.
6) Last but not least: true love is unconditional. Your dad and I will love you no matter what happens. We may not always approve of your choices, but that doesn’t change this one simple fact. Ever.
28 Friday Nov 2008
Posted Journal
inTags
close encounters of the idiot kind, cuz i'm an asshole, evil stepmother, just no, mama troll, sexual violence
No. I’m not dead.
Feel like it, but I’m not, really.
Car door: I just slammed the door and the whole window shattered. No, I did not put my fist through it, though I had seriously contemplated making the attempt before I got out of the truck. So unless I’ve developed unconscious telekinetic powers in the last month, it was a freak accident.
This week has been pretty hairy. Yes, J and I fought, but I think we’ve come to some kind of understanding. No, I don’t really feel like talking about it, but we’ve both realised a few things.
Also got raked over the coals at work. Seems there are holes in my education, and thus an awful lot of work for me to do to catch up. One word: Fuck.
Last night J went downstairs near the kiddo’s curfew time to go get himself a drink at the store, but he came back with a very drunk kiddo in tow. Kiddo had an encounter of the kind no fifteen year old should have to even be exposed to. Seems a friend of hers had met someone on the internet and persuaded her to come with her to meet said friend because she was nervous. She should have been. This guy fed them alcohol and possibly other things and did who knows what else. Cue a long night at emergency. It makes me angry to even speculate. What she remembers is enough to turn me cold. Police officer also had a judgy face. She’s fine-ish. There will be therapy and some new rules.
Mama Troll wants to rip off some limbs.
listening to: Hawksley Workman – When You Gonna Flower
eating: ugh… food…
drinking: iced tea
reading: I think it’s safer not to
feeling: RRrrrrrage
headspace: Must. Kill.
26 Tuesday Aug 2008
Posted Journal
inLindsie brought me the latest edition of “Tiny String” today.
The Kid is arriving tomorrow. Erm. SO MANY FEELINGS.
Have been thoughtful for most of the day. Had some interesting conversations. And a couple frustrating ones.
Things one should probably not do:
>derive your self-worth from other people
>hang your happiness on another person
>settle for “good enough”
feeling: raw
01 Saturday Mar 2008
Posted Journal
inTags
fierce, friends, mama troll, piece of shit car, primordial rage, things that happened, Yes I did these things, You can't make this stuff up
I’ve been meaning to write this for some time, to go with a couple other vignettes I’ve had the presence of mind to record – for myself mostly. Nomes reminded me of it earlier in the month when I suggested to her that we might check out the roller derby thing. Not that I can skate, of course, but I’m willing to try just about anything once. Hehe. Anyway, we also talked about one night in Nanai-hole that involved my exes’ car and she said something about my raw aggression. (It’s a rare thing to see me angry, but when I do apparently it can be scary.) It’s funny how certain episodes stick out in your mind – and in others.
Anyway, it was December. I only know this because I wrote about it in the diary I stopped writing in 5 years ago. We’d had a ‘night in’ drinking and just being in the same space. The girls, Miss E, Nomes, Tabs, and I (there may have been at least two others, but I do not recall) sat in the kitchen drinking ‘girly’ drinks (aka, not beer) while the boys, RJ, the other Ryan, Glyn, Ian, my then-boyfriend RB and DD either watched movies or, more likely, played a racing game. It might even have been a version of Gran Turismo. Anyway, I was the only one that was really sober – and licensed –Ā so when it came time for Nomes and RB and I to go home I was handed the keys to RB’s car.
A word about this POS car before we go any further: I am still convinced that car had its gearbox installed upside-down or something equally dumb, because no one could drive that thing easily. That’s no one, not even Ian who could essentially drive anything if it had wheels. And I, who was not totally familiar with standard transmissions at the time had an especially “fun” time with it. So I wasn’t exactly pleased that RB was too drunk to drive – not that I’d have been pleased about him driving anyway since he didn’t have his license in the first place, but there you are. My car was at my mothers for the winter since I had had no intention of driving in the snow that year – or letting RB drive it for that matter.
Anyway, we say our goodbyes and are out the door and into the parking lot. Both Ryans are on the balcony, one of them – in that drunk ‘I’m invincible’ stage – is hanging off the balcony railing like some kind of square-jawed monkey. I tell him to get his ass back inside, which is why I do not realize at first that it’s RB’s car that’s pulling out of its space.
I stop in my tracks as the little grey hatchback backs out of the spot, and, rather jerkily, slams its bumper into the fender of RJ’s beater. Someone behind me swears. I just stare for a few seconds as the guy in the driver’s seat changes gears – I can hear the familiar grind the car makes as he does so and he starts to drive it up the driveway. The car resists, bunny-hopping toward me and I start to walk beside it, my hands balled into fists. The driver has his window partway down and I yell at him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” but he ignores me. I can see his hands, knuckles white, clench on the steering wheel. I cannot explain how much the situation infuriated me but I think it was pretty obvious to him when I grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open. “Get the fuck out of the car asshole!” I remember shouting at him and I reached inside for him. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking (yes I do, I was going to grab him by the neck and haul him out of that car and smash his face into the pavement – I saw it happening even as it seemed I was moving in slowĀ motion) and this was not the smartest move I could have made, but I was furious. Absolutely fucking furious. I’m sure he thought I rabid or something and I hate to think what I looked like reaching in like that. Not my normal sweet self that’s for damn sure. He didn’t have his seat belt on, which was good for him, because he bolted, escaping my grab. The guy in the passenger seat wasn’t very far behind. I’ve never seen someone scramble so fast to get away from me and I was very tempted to run after him, but the dangling Ryan had already leaped from the second-story balcony and vanished after the fleeing forms. The car started rolling backwards so I leaned in to pull the e-brake. That was when I realized there was a third guy, and he’d been stupid enough to put his seat belt on. The ones in the back seat had a tendency to stick and he was fighting to get it off.
“You better hope you run faster than I do,” I told him (or something to that affect, the diary’s not all that legible) – and when I said those words I meant every one – as he finally got it loose and scrambled out the door. I’m pretty sure he face-planted on the other side of the hedge, but I didn’t follow, I’d cooled off enough by then to realize I wasn’t in a position to beat the snot out of them like I felt the urge to. Besides, they still had the other Ryan to deal with and he could be much scarier than I was. That thought still kinda makes me smile.
By then, everyone was outside asking how we were. RB, still up near the door just stood there, shock on his face. I think it was Ian that snapped him out of it, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and shaking him a bit. I, understandably, was shaking with adrenaline. RJ was the one that came down and wrapped his arms around me and I remember crying and trying not to and giving myself a bad case of the hiccups. I do not remember the drive home, only that it was done in silence.
13 Monday Mar 2006
Posted Journal
inTags
assholery, close encounters of the idiot kind, full moon freaks, mama troll, things you don't tell your mother, wtf
Our neighborhood is definately going down the crapper.
I was woken up this am before my alarm by some dude who locked himself out of the building. Now, this isn’t just some dude, he’s the building’s resident dealer. Our landlady knows this and has been trying to catch him for weeks so she can evict him. Anyway, I suppose dude had trotted down the street at some ungodly hour this am to make a sale, forgetting both his jacket and his keys. can we say “Bonehead”?
So what does he do? First, he wiggles the door, to see if it’s open. He is the one I gather, who usually puts a rock in the corner so that it doesn’t close properly. This time this morning whoever left for work or was coming home got wise to it and kicked the rock away. (I know I always do, I don’t want some random thief or whatever coming into the building, no way!) Granted, because of our position right above the door, it wakes me immediately. I don’t think anything of it at first because the door is opening and closing all night – but it continues. He jiggles, he whistles, he implores passing strangers for the use of their cell phones, all of which I can hear clear as day even though my window is closed. I roll over and mumble my displeasure at the freak whining under my balcony.
My alarm goes off, and J’s goes off and he turns his lamp on because that’s what people do when they’re going to get up from work. I’ve barely got my eyes open when dipshit buzzes us. Trust me, this is NOT a sound anyone wants to hear first thing in the morning. Granted the guy is probably freezing, but I have a hard time summoning and kind of sympathy for him. If it had been me I’d have either contacted the landlady and begged forgiveness for waking her, or hopped down to the 24-hour restaurant an hour ago to get some hot chocolate and wait until I knew people would be awake, but no, this guy is not normal. He has to get back inside because he knows he’ll have another ‘customer’ soon. So we ignore it the first time, thinking he’d get the picture, but no, he does it twice more.
I slap on my robe and poke my head over the deck and tell him to stop fucking buzzing and he whines about how cold he is – which I can see since he’s wearing short sleeves – but I tell him no. I don’t know him from Jack the Ripper thankyouverymuch if it’s urgent he can call the landlady. (It’s true, I’ve never seen him before!) J, peeved now that the guy’s giving me attitude calls her for him.
So our landlady drags her poor self out of bed and lets the fucker in, much to his chagrin. I’m sure he didn’t want her to know about his outings anyway. Then there is silence for and we think its over.
But its not.
Someone is outside now, yelling to our cold dude to be let in. Lo, if it isn’t his customers. J, out on the balcony with his morning smoke tells them to please not yell since people are still sleeping and the guy pulls attitude. Says he lives in the building and would J mind if he let him and his friends into the building. J says no, that he doesn’t know who they are and if it’s important he can call the landlady. Obviously he doesn’t live here and certainly doesn’t want the attention of the landlady, so he gets mouthy with J instead. Bad idea.
“You don’t like me, do you?” he says and J, blowing smoke, replies;
“No, I don’t,” and comes inside to call the landlady.
Our buzzer goes again and it’s just after 5am. I’m ready to march down the stairs and punch all three of their faces in, but from the strung-out glitter in their eyes I’m sure none of them’d feel it anyway.
Our landlady lets them in, but tells them its the last time. J tells her to call the cops, but she already knows they won’t send anyone because “there aren’t enough personnel to keep up with all the requests and complaints.”
Ten minutes later and they’re leaving and the cocky fucker buzzes our apartment again. At the glass doors I watch one of them finger me as they climb into a white car with no licence plates.
J predicts they will be back in two-three hours and he’s livid.
When we moved in the worst people here were the college kids who drank too much on a Friday night. Now we’ve got orange lights outside so junkies can’t shoot up and dealers and pimps are moving in and then out once they’re busted. J wants to speak to our local MLA who’s set up shop down the hill, because we don’t want this crap, especially if we’re going to have the kiddo with us.
Especially not if we’ve potentially got a repeat of this incident in our future.
Musings and books from a grunty overthinker
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