Cravings

cravings.jpg

Professionally, it’s been a banner month… but with great power, come some ugly responsibilities that have forced me to grow in ways most uncomfortable for me. For a girl who can’t sleep without writing, I have a horrible time saying the difficult words. I hate hurting people and I am absolutely happy to swallow my own heartache to spare someone else. I internalize a lot more now, because I used to be reckless in lashing out with anger or righteous indignation. I’ve calmed down, if you will. I’ve learned what’s worth fighting for and over.

The Dumpling gets the grateful version of my mothering. I was so worried about barking orders and having “good” children with my first two, that they heard far too much nagging. I’m not surprised my son hasn’t come back. I don’t miss that old hag either. I’ve learned how vital it is to chill out and read with her. Even if the house goes to hell and she eats pasta 3 nights in a row. Nobody dies… in fact, they thrive in exactly the way and time frame they should. I say yes a lot. She eats a lot of popsicles and I cave far too often when she begs for crab legs. I learned the hard way how fast and fleeting childhood is and I am treasuring every second of getting another chance to be better, kinder and more involved playing instead of ruling.

I got hit by the worst migraine of my life yesterday. I’m alone in the office for the next two weeks so leaving wasn’t an option and it’s lit up like the top of the Chrysler building. We were exceptionally busy for a usually slow day and it was definitely a grueling push to get it done. My boss came in twice to rub my neck and bring me ice packs while urging me to go but I’m a masochist and can’t leave things half-assed or unfinished. I started thinking and realized I’ve eaten about 600 calories in 2 days and ran for 3 miles last night with a beer.

Maybe not the most healthy dinner, albeit delicious………and definitely the perfect storm for brewing a migraine.

I’ve been fantasizing about steak and barbecued chicken… so I know I need protein. The biggest hurdle to being hungry and indecisive is that I just eat a handful of almonds and ignore the struggle, but I find myself daydreaming about a pound of perfect Wood’s bacon, a rotisserie chicken and a pound of jumbo cocktail shrimp. Talking about food is sexual to a starving woman.

I would do some pretty questionable things for fettuccine alfredo.

I’d consider anal for a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs.

See what happens when you allow your mind to run wild? Anal is awful, but starvation does weird things to you and I love coffee ice cream. As soon as you open that door and allow yourself to fantasize about the things you can’t have and want, it’s somewhat stunning at how much time your brain can spend torturing you.

Food is easy for me to manage, lately. I make dinner for the Dumpling and a salad for myself. I’ve lost my inspiration to bake. It’s a consequence of being single, as disgustingly 50’s housewife as that is. I’m Catholic, with Mormon roots… practically born in an apron. I’ll tie it back on at some point, but the absence of inspiration is helping my diet, immensely.

A text from Incredicock has me running through the highlight reel at work because I have hours to think. Craving him is a delicious guilty pleasure that keeps me inspired while I’m juggling too much stress. I was doing paperwork this morning when I was hit by the recollection of him biting my lips when he kissed me. I had a full body shiver. Goosebumps. Damn it. It’s difficult to have your body utterly betray you when you’re doing your best to put your celibate, cat lady panties back on. Christ on the cross, the first person to create a pharmaceutical cure to stop these barn-burning flashbacks will top the Forbes 500.

Take. My. Money. Please.

I find myself sympathizing with crackheads, meth addicts and heroin junkies. He’s more habit forming than an opioid and I’m a terrible quitter. I’m doing my very best to knit, run and masturbate him out of my system. It’s not working very well, but I get a solid C+ for effort.

If only I were craving a day of vacuuming and dishes, because I can make THAT happen.

Hippie Toilet Paper

My life is raw insanity these days. The Dumpling is in Kindergarten and brings so many practice books home to read that our refrigerator is covered and we are forever behind in returning the right books. Sight words, glasses, dentist. This is why kids need two parents. We’re a killer team, but we don’t always get it all done. I would honestly pay to not bring those damn books home. Any price.

There’s an acre of dead vegetables in the back yard that I have to rip out and clean up. Add to that the laundry I neglect all week, the grocery shopping that needs to be done and the extremely valuable heirloom tomatoes that are ripe on my kitchen table. I’ll be canning tomorrow, in addition to everything else.

This broken heart of mine has become a pain in my already achy, ass. I don’t have time for tears and torturous dreams. It’s bad enough I’m getting up at 4:30 to run to the songs that make me sad. I hate losing sleep, but it helps and I’m coping. You do what you have to do to get to the other side of the shitty time you’re drowning in. I’m treading water.

Empty compliments and roses aren’t horrible, but they aren’t helpful either. A few dozen orgasms did dull the ache of missing him, but a bandaid can only help so much when you’re bleeding out.

I care too much about the person I am. I’m kind of amazing and it’s time I remembered that and quit wasting time with men destined to lower my standards and discount my self worth. Playboys are only fun until they’re not and it’s only a friend with benefits if he’s still your friend and there’s still benefits.

We read all the books on the refrigerator and I tucked my sleepy sweetheart in. I ran for an hour, took a bubble bath and put my favorite sheets on my bed. Went to brush my teeth and realized we were nearly out of toilet paper. I made a mental note to stop and get some on my way home the next day and fell into bed early.

I walked into the bathroom after I got home from work tonight and saw the empty toilet paper roll.

Fuck. Motherfucking fuck.

I have been fantasizing about being home on Friday afternoon, since Monday at 4:30 in the morning. This isn’t negotiable though, and I figure I’ll be lazy and go to the health food store right down the street. They have to have unbleached Charmin or something, right?

Hippies wipe too.

I tell the Dumpling to get her shoes on and she’s excited. She knows they have excellent treats. I know this damn toilet paper is going to end up costing me $40, but I am in absolutely NO mood to run into anyone I know and none of my friends shop at the overpriced hippie store.

I try to avoid the children at the door selling raffle tickets, then tell them I already bought one. I’m sorry, but that’s my least favorite thing in the world. I don’t want to be guilted into contributing just because it’s Friday and I don’t want to leave the house all weekend. No. I want to go home and I only came for toilet paper. Move aside, private school gamblers.

Five seconds in, the Dumpling has talked me into buying her a tiny gold-plated cheesecake. A minute later I found a piece of sushi grade albacore for dinner. One look at the price tags reminds me that we need to get the hell out of there, and fast.

We made our way to the paper products and goodness gracious, they think a whole lot of wiping their ass with unbleached, recycled paper. For the first time in my life, I find myself searching for the least expensive toilet paper. $6 for 4 rolls. For the record, this would cost .99 at the other store.

This is what I call a stupidity payment. When you know you could have twice as much toilet paper for your money but your lazy ass went to the hippie store just to avoid people.

I’ll just be over here, suffering the consequences of my lazy behavior and poor list making skills.

Wiping with what feels like a dollar store paper tablecloth.