I hasten to say they aren’t real “voices” properly but be careful what you say to your kids. Your voice will become their inner voice.
Today will be busy. There is a Signing Time concert and then Calli’s birthday dinner. Her birthday isn’t technically until Tuesday. She wanted an orange castle. Sure, no problem. It was kind of nice having to make it. Shanna didn’t want me to make her birthday cake. The godmamas were better. I tried to just feel gratitude. This was fun. The girls and I made a huge mess together and had a blast in the process. Shanna can ice multiple cupcakes without feeling the need to eat them immediately already. That’s big progress. Calli eats more than she ices. I figure it is her birthday. Why not. I bake with an eye towards expected windfall.
Yesterday’s run was good. I ran out to the very edge of town. I passed very few people, mostly elderly Asian couples wandering together. Perfect. When I quickly get passed by male runners most of them take the time to wave and give me a thumbs up and tell me I’m doing great. The hecklers are certainly in the minority. It’s part of why I feel so angry about being told to drive somewhere else. I don’t want to cede ground. This is my home. Near as I can tell I may never leave Fremont. If I don’t get to be here then I don’t get to be anywhere. I’m much more interested in signing up for martial arts. It’s always been on my “some day” agenda. I think right now Plan A is to find somewhere I can go with Shanna when she turns five. A lot is waiting for her to turn five.
I feel kind of weirdly guilty because I have so little interest in “stimulating” my babies. I think they don’t need classes or lessons. I think they need to play with me. So we play. I want to be done with this phase. I want to move outward. I’m bored and out of patience. I’m not sure how I am going to handle reading We’re Going on a Bear Hunt another four hundred times. I refuse to read books more than once a day. House rule. I spend at least an hour reading a day. I could not handle rereading the same books over and over.
I should do scheduling. I have been procrastinating for a week. Don’t wanna. I still don’t feel caught up. I’m not ready to move into the steady phase yet. I’m still running. I’m so tired and it’s hard to predict. I need to get started for the kids. Urg. They like routine. This way they are constantly whining for the iPad and it’s hard to be nice to them. Stop all the gosh darn whining. “Try again.” I say it a lot. Shanna has the hutzpah to remind me if I sound whiny or too loud. I want her to be my inside voice.
Sometimes our interactions remind me of Francesca, my friend who died when I was pregnant. Shanna is not my boss and she is not wise in the ways of the world. What she is, is an individual with strong preferences. She is good at taking up space. I like standing near her. I feel comfortable. I am obviously there because she wants me there. When she doesn’t she either politely asks me to move or she kicks me. Either way I get the point. I feel like I can trust Shanna. I smile a lot during the day. I feel safe.
My bad memories are fleeting things. Ghosts that stand on the periphery. Whispers that pop up when I feel stress. When I suddenly find a huge mess. When I walk in and find out that the next two hours of my day will be devoted to scrubbing something on my knees. I cry. I hear “worthless” over and over in my head.
It’s remarkable to me the degree to which housework is a complex hostile force in my life. Only losers clean. Pissy Krissy. Prissy Krissy. I like finding systems. I like making order out of chaos. It has always seemed to me that other people specifically find joy in fucking up my systems for me. Chaos scares me. Chaos in the form of a messy house looks like mental illness to me. I’m sure there are a myriad of reasons for it but I can’t see anything else. I’m locked in my experience of the world. All the messy houses I have dealt with a lot have had major mental illness issues. Sometimes alcohol abuse. Sometimes physical or sexual abuse of children. I feel like I live on the fringe of society. I am only invited into the darkness.
Right now I am pretty sure that I don’t always feel like this. I’m having a hard time because Shanna is so like me. I think of how my mother treated me. Hell, I even think of how my mother would treat Shanna. I even feel angry because I know my mother would treat Shanna far better than she treated me. My mother is telling the truth when she says it would be different. But not different enough. There would still be all those broken promises. And I would still have to keep my mouth shut.
No matter how it worked out for other people my experience would still be different. I would feel like I had no choice but to close my eyes and my mouth and put up with it. I can’t. I can’t. I would rather die. It is that important to me. I can not continue to be who they want me to be.
Why do I feel so unable to exist while people have strong expectations of me that run contrary to my nature? Self-preservation? Most people in my life want nothing from me. In terms of numerical representation in my life. It’s nice to have people out at arms length. They can have what they have and do what they do and it has nothing to do with me. It feels safe.