Happy Birthday Maddox

Happy Birthday Maddox

I’ve been up all morning and late last night thinking about this post… about the beautiful memory of you to write on Little Girl, Big City.  I feel, like the lack of ability to write.. the lack of courage I have had to do right by you, even though I’m arguably better now… I fear I’m still doing it wrong.

I wanted to tell you that even though our time together has been short in your now 8 years of living that, while I have forgotten so much as I struggled to even remember if this was your 9th or your 8th birthday, please know my dearest little (but growing) boy that your mother has not forgotten you one bit.

It brings me such sadness each day that we are away.  Of even more knowing that as much as I’ve tried, I’ve also failed.

The memories are the only thing I have of you nowadays.. and our hearts forever beating are the place we will always be together.

I want you to know that I’ve written and tried to see you but your father has not been forthcoming with things… even when I tried recently to bring you to see your dying Great Grandmother and Great Grandfather.  Your father has denied any sort of interaction between us even in the most simplest of terms.  I tried messaging this year requesting to talk to you and your sister this year just as I did last year.

But I’d hear nothing in return

It’s still early and I’m hoping and praying that I get to hear your voice again.  I worry about you.  Not because I don’t think your dad isn’t doing his very best to take care of you but because I’m your mother and I always will be.

From the day you were born I feel like I might have done wrong by you.  I was scared when you were stuck the day you were born.  I remember when the doctors tried to get you out of me how I couldn’t handle the pain and I freaked out- grabbing the tube to the vacum that was being used to try and pull you out of me.

And then I saw you.  You were the most handsome little man in the world.  And I worried that I might have robbed the world of that because I couldn’t handle a little bit of pain.  When you got older I watched as your dad tried to tell me that everything was alright with you.  Deep down I knew something was off.. and I felt responsible.  Know that I did everything I could to plead with your father to put you into a special program so that you could get the attention and help you deserved.  I hope that it’s helping.

I’m out of words.  I don’t know what else to say.  So I guess I’ll just say it.  I love and miss you my dear growing little man.  Happy Birthday Maddox.   You are my heart.  I wish I was a better mommy for you.  I wish your dad would put away the bitterness so that we could spend more time together.  You deserve that much.

something something

ah weekends..

to the train..

to you…

To 1 letter away from being…

 H

O

M

…..e.

Wherever you are

Is where I want to be.

Because of his disdain

Eight months have passed since I’ve seen them last.  This is a pattern.  A horrific unchanging sequence.

It’s been almost 3 years.  The ’09 looms carefully creeping up slow. slow. slow. faster faster faster faster.

He wants to forget me.  And I struggle for some sort of acknowledgment that I exist.  He’s kept me from them.  He’s keeping me from them.

Last night I was accompanied by a bottle of wine as I held back the tears.

I find myself in the same place I was when it first happened all those years ago- at a desk, in front of a computer, writing to the air.

It’s Thanksgiving.  I’m thankful.  But there is this longing in me that yearns paramount.  I don’t need anything than the air and some pen and paper, but yet I feel incomplete.

Pieces of me. A faded memory of what I once was.

Evolved. Stronger.  Ever pressing.

He will not conquer me.

I’m getting dressed now.  It’s almost family time. Of cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, and sides of hypocrisy.

Two ghosts shall be at the table.  Smiling little faces. Growing.  Giggling.  Without their real mother because their father refuses to overcome himself.

In my dreams, in another life (can it please be this one) we are all together.  We are this modern age “Leave it to Beaver” sitcom.

Mom, the tech entrepreneur and entertainer.. Grandfather the Banker.

Like a Mother duck and her line of babies, except mom has a briefcase and stilettos.

Of little hands and finger turkeys.  Of silly nervous faces as they stuff the turkey.  Of asking why the cranberry sauce looks like jello but doesn’t taste like it.  Of sneaking that last bit of vegetables to the family dog and playing video games with mom.  Of the big kid poker game with pretzels and marshmellows… of sparkling cider “champagne just like mom…”

We miss you my babies.  Come home.  Please let your father come to his senses… and just.. come home for Christmas since you can’t come home today.

when there’s history, it has a habit of repeating itself…1

It’s been years since I’d heard his voice.. let alone see his face. When he left, it had hit me pretty hard. I didn’t just lose a lover when he got on that plane.. I lost the best friend I had in San Diego.

Things with me and ****** were never completely normal.   We had a bizarre relationship of cat and mouse. We’d sit and talk for hours. We weren’t the greatest of people.. and we brought out the worst in eachother- which, oddly enough, was what made the chemistry all the more desirable.

He is the reverse magician. He pulled me into the rabbithole and showed me just how beautiful the broken world could be.

I remember one night at his parent’s place. We stayed in the guest room… I forgot why we didn’t stay in his. He grabbed some condoms and he pulled my hand to go.

Now I’m actually pretty respectful when it comes to parents that aren’t my own. Granted, I don’t believe they were home, but I think his brother was.

“I don’t want to bother anyone…”

“Jena, you’ll see.. the room is on another side of the house.. no one will hear anything. And even if they did, why would you care?”

That night…

It’s funny how much he really emascalapated that aura of darkness… a throne style chair stood vigilant under a window across the room. The moonlight shined through blinds, leaving glow and line molding the old chair.

“Go sit over there, I want to see something” I told him.

Shadows fell onto it in such a way. It was like out of a movie. Suddenly it was an interrogation room. He was to sit there and I was to.. I could barely see his face.

I recollect upon the memories we shared.. of booze filled nights of pretending we didn’t really need the other.. like we didn’t want one another… the cat and game push and pull romance of happily ever and brutal honesty and disdain.

He has..

He was..

He still is…

the brutal prince which I’ve held men a standard to.

I remember how he used to hide his brilliance. He didn’t show me just how driven and powerful he was until it was time to go… and maybe that’s why it hurt even more when he left… and even worse when he got a serious girlfriend shortly after his arrival to Scotland.

He had been in the back of my mind since he’d left. We continued to chat consistently. Through the difficult times of the past year.. he’s been able to see me grow and change.

Years later.. and it seems little has changed – with me and him at least. We chatted for hours and laughed and giggled. He’s single again. We talked about me getting a passport and visiting. It’s something we’d talked about since he’d left. It moved up my GTD again recently.

“What would your parents say if you brought me home?” he said.

“They’d be happy because they don’t know any better…”

He was the last thing I thought of when I went to sleep last night.. and he was the first that I thought of when I woke up.

I heard a ping this morning. It was him. We talked a few hours again this morning and he had to head out to go do some things. He said he’d call me later.

me: 1 last thing
******: sure
me: why message me when you first woke up?
******: I was thinking about you

Ah sometimes… life has a way of bringing you right back where you started. I think I know how the next conversation should start… Plane tickets bitch!

One week later…

Ah sportfucking.  Was that what it was this week?  Sunday.. Monday..

Him-in town for a conference. Me-2hrs unloaded boxes into my apartment.  A beautiful hotel.  Serendipity.

Dinner. Movie.  Just vegging out and talking.

Because silly me, I had a good time.  And it seemed as if he did.  But now…

Flashback.. just a week ago.

We were leaving the movie theatre after little had happened.  Mostly just conversation.  He asked me to go back to the hotel.  I explained that I was having a good time, and that I didn’t want to ruin it.  Deep down, I really am a romantic.  It’s completely different when you go in knowing its just for the sport of it.  But when your heart gets a little fluttered, you get stupid.

Logic kicks in.  I explained to him that I didn’t want it to be about sport.  He seemed to agree.  But if that really is all just charm and not real… which at this posting has not been fully verified, then perhaps a major time out is in order.  Or an exclusive dedication to my love affair with the sea.

If you are what you eat, then logically, you are who you fuck.

A little part of me is left with each failed romance.  I’ve gotten better at guarding myself.. and even pickier with suitors and bed partners than one would even imagine.

“Love is a battlefield.  You don’t need to retreat, but you need to keep your shield up.”

But damnit if my eyes glimmered a little at the thought of someone genuinely appreciating me like I want to believe that he did.. that maybe he does.. but doesn’t know how to face.

I date some great men.. in training.  It’s probably part of the reason why release from the textbox world is so surreal.

I read the letters sent to my ex husbands lover (yes while we were still married.. yes somewhere floating online).  I’d like to think that I helped him.  That me coming into his life, and the string of lovers I have has made them better for the next girl.  I’m really a humanitarian, you see.

In the cab on the way to the hotel.. and throughout the days we spent together… when I interviewed the dark horse, I feel perhaps it may have made him really evaluate some things.  Which, as I read, he may be affirming he has a problem.  At least he acknowledges it.  A step in the right direction I suppose.

It’s granted that I would attract screwed up individuals.  I’d be lieing if I said I wasn’t screwed up too.

White knights and dark horses.  More and more true on so many levels.. but I can’t go into all of the details while protecting their anonomity.  It’s not my place to.  Names are unnecessary.  Faces are unnecessary.  Besides this is not a complete look see.  And I think, to some degree, you prefer it that way.

Verses of songs echo in my head.  Of whimsy and heart.  Of the hopeless romantic.  Two words that do not coincidently go together.

Of the girl with sidewalk chalk playing hopscotch in the urban jungle.  Of blowing bubbles in traffic and dancing on the beach.  Waiting for her romeo with robots and wit. (To maybe wise up?)

I sent him a text.  I want to know it’s all alright.  I want to think I fall into the “most” catagory.  I had a good time and I don’t regret my actions.  I learned from them, and I’m far from innocent here.

Every girl- even if just in the back of their head- is looking for that certain someone to ride off into the sunset with them.  They want someone to save them.  They want that white knight, who’s also that dark horse.

Maybe these men aren’t here to save me after all…

Maybe, just maybe…

I’m supposed to help save them.

I wonder what my therapist would have to say about that one.  Taking bets that we both chuckle.  Oh wait, I don’t have a therapist.  Damnit.  I guess I’m just fucked… but not literally for once.

unannounced guest

The date I went on with the dark horse had gone exceedingly well.   Sadly, we didn’t get a chance to take any pictures together.. we were too busy talking and having a good time.

Two years of buildup… he, for once, not only met my expectations but exceeded them tremendously.  Well- that is to say that someone who walks in with expectation is generally bound to be let down.

My dating forrays, though magical, rarely are on that level of awesome.  And I’ve had some pretty damn fantastic dates, so that’s quite a bit to say for me.

He’s wonderful and treats me so.  I’m not used to it.  Where’s the catch?

He’s not local.  One thousand miles away not local.

Who’s to know what will happen.  I don’t know.  I’m just enjoying it.  The experiences are what it’s all about right?

The key to his hotel room is still in my purse.  A little memento of yet another dating adventure for the books.  A lady never tells.. that the sex was phenomenal.

Oops.

He was swamped with work and didn’t have the night free, so I took the train and headed down to San Diego for the July Tweetup.  My original plan was after those two days of dates and what not.. to go by the hotel afterwards and just curl up next to him in the comfy bed I had been sleeping in for the past few nights.  No offense to my friends, but it’s not often I seem to have a connection like that, and was feeling greedy.

I had fun.  But decided I was not going to drive back that night after all.  It was a celebrity moment of an event.  I am now affectionately called a “goldfish.”  I want to kill one of my longtime friends.

The next day I headed back- this time, in the now infamous truck.

I’d wanted him to go with me to Twiistup, but having been worked to the bone from E3 and well.. me.. he didn’t get much sleep this week.  He was wiped and had alot to do when he got home.

Confession:

I nearly cancelled going to the party last night.  He and I had talked about me leaving early (my choice) and just vegging out on his last day.. maybe having a late night stroll on the beach.  But he texted me a few hours into the party… and, I decided to stay.  Ah well, I know we’ll see eachother again.  It was a crazy week for the both of us anyway.

The door, like most always seems to be left open.  Waiting for the next chance.. to serendipitously encounter once again.

I was more than a bit bummed that I didn’t get to really say goodbye in person… this was the best I could do:

This morning I got a text back:

Makes a girl like me happy.. if even just for entertaining the notion of more moments of ___ and ___ and____.

I hear Portland is nice.  I guess I need to up it on the list of places to go now.  Thank you fate… now can you please drop him or at least some more like him in my area?  kk thanx bai.