Recent comments

Category Quick Jump

Note that we've played, um, loose with the categories so the first 3 especially, are practically meaningless.

Fun
Fashion
Happiness

Efficiency
News 4 A 1
Reich 4.0

The Farm for Loneliness

Oh mother, let me hold you.
Oh mother, I want to rock you.
Be my baby.
Be my son.

Mother, I want to rock you.

Don’t cry.

Please.

Can you not cry, just this once?

How can I ever comfort you if I am nothing but your daughter? Don’t you get it?

I can’t comfort you if you won’t let me become you.

So do me a favour: smile from the depths of your being. I know you didn’t love my father. Maybe that was hard for me to accept as a kid but you must realize that my father was MY FATHER! Not yours.

You chose him for whatever – oh, you didn’t. It was either him or a life as handmaiden to your brothers and sisters. Would it have been a life more lonely than the pining, keening, curling and clenching loneliness of the farm? The farm! That was the crux, wasn’t it?

You did not want to go back to the farm. It was not one of those decisions that you could change your mind about, once it was done.

Why didn’t you fight? You could have talked him out of it; hell, he might have been happier too! He was a good carpenter. He made awesome, heavy, indestructible furniture for us. Maybe our desks weren’t so beautiful, but a lot of the other stuff was. Heavy, minimalist, (perfectionist?).

He coulda been a Furniture Contender! For realz.

Why did you guys go back to a farm?

Cause that was like a death sentence.

Image from: http://farmchronicles.wordpress.com/2006/10/

Flummoxed

I have tried to write this reply sooooo many times... Why are you reading this? Why are you commenting? I've met you, maybe once... You seem so together... You are successful!

It's not that I don't appreciate it. Jesus Christ! I was expressing my amazement to a very wonderful group of newish women friends yesterday. Whip smart. Funny! Soft and sociable. Driven. (Those are sort of descriptions of each of them, separately; kind of overlapping).

You, being covered in the NY Times! (That is fucking awesome, btw - I am SO happy that someone so... unassumingly strong is getting dues! W00t!)

But I started writing this again to heal myself, so I can get back to the business of becoming self-supporting, or rather, not dependent on Mike/a man for comfortable survival. It's an honor to have your attention, and the attention of these other women.

I dunno. It's almost like I want to be the only one who this stuff resonates with. Cause these people who I meet, like you... I don't want them to have experienced any of the hurt I have/do. Does that make sense?

: )

plenty sense

That makes sense. But listen, I came to Frog Style Biscuit by chance, because I read blogs on a bi-annual basis (the ones I like are never updated, anyway). I have continued reading because this stuff does resonate with me, and I am commenting because I respect you. It hurts but you are brave. You are brave enough to say, comfort feels good but strength feels better. You shut your eyes but then you open them again. Thank you for making a tiny corner of the internet true. But please, I know the need to heal alone, so if you'd rather I not talk or read here, that's okay; I'll take a hike. But like you say, we've barely met, so as for my seeming 'together', let me just say: I am grateful for my life and even think I know what happiness is, but I don't leap out of bed for a double wheat grass and positivity-chanting-session every morning. I struggle with depression and anxiety and fear. You might want to think I'm full of shit here, a whiny collegiate type; I'd think that, anyway. But faultlines run through my feelings of hope so deep I can't see the bottom, some days. I can't see anything, some days, it gets so dark. 5 mins. in the Times has nothing on that. Being in grad school, neither. Money would not redeem it. I've met enough famous/rich people in California, to know 'success' does not allow us to escape who we are. Not even hippie success with a garden and chickens does that. I think we never start or stop being human. I think maybe only trust will help.

Yah, trust.

Trust in ones' self, first and foremost; then, maybe trust in the ones' in our lives. Wow. I remember this junky bf of mine asking, in 1992, "Do you trust anybody?" - but 7 years before that, a bf saying to me that my problem was that I didn't believe in anything. After 17 years of demon fighting, I could tell the junky, "I trust myself and that's plenty," even though it wasn't plenty. I checked out http://spezzato.org. When am I going to see you in NYT for your first novel?! I think those faultlines will fill in when people start reading and wanting to hear your voice. They are dragonflies and whatever pheromone concoction you're made and applied to your finger, it's fucking strong!

Trust

You are right about that, I believe! I was not trying to drive you away. I am deeply honoured that you read, and send pics of cookies! I'll respond more later, after I get the work I need to finish, done. Love,

the salt-pillar generation?

Perhaps this is the first generation of women who get to fully-consciously mourn their mothers' lives? The moment after Big-feminism, like the day after christmas? ...I'm up to some of the same thinking about my foremothers, and especially magically just got my hands on a few pages of my maternal grandmother's notebooks. They were probably excerpted because they were not allowable in the full notebook, wherever that got to, because they describe her depression as an intense, would-be writer, who got stuck with a family and exponential prescription to sedatives instead... and my mom didn't want to share that with me; thought it would "just be a downer" and sees me as (due to freedoms) sheerly happy, with nothing to learn from her own mother. We who put on glasses see the shattered mirror, but we still sort of cut our feet.

Post new comment

CAPTCHA
This question is for testing whether you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.