Threw me away..

You threw me away
Waded me up and threw me away
Trash can run over-with so much to say
I just still can’t believe you threw me away

I thought I meant more to you than what I was to you
How could you go and break me down?
You liked my pretty face, thought I had so much taste
To even like you anyhow..

Threw me away, threw me away..
Left here hurtin’ with so much to say
Baby, why did you have to throw me away?

Other girls may catch your eyes
You’ll hang stars up in their skies
But one day don’t be too surprised…

When she throws you away, throws you away..
Leaves you standing there- with so much to say
She’ll crumple your heart and throw it away..

Don’t even think about lookin’ my way
Keep on walkin’ when she throws you away.

Trippin' on my apron strings..

I finally got some internet turned back on at home... and have been waiting for the inspiration to sit down and write. Today I am off work and the kids are at school so the creative juices should be flowing... but.. not quite. So much has been happening lately and not very much at all. I have been working hard at my not-so-perfect job, and beating myself up for being too tired to be the June Clever momma that I used to pride myself being.  My carpet is nasty, there are dishes in the sink.. and I haven't taken a shower today. As a matter of fact, I took my daughter to the bus stop in my Tinkerbell pj bottoms and a mismatched motorcycle shirt, three sizes too big. I am awesome.

Timmy has been doing fine at his new school. He is "mainstreaming" awesomely. I wonder if I did him a major disservice by putting him in "Autism School" in the first place. I think back to the violent nature of his behavior and maybe it was the right thing.. nevertheless.. that chapter is all said and done now. He a bright beautiful boy and he will be ten years old next month. That makes me feel old to say that! My babies are not babies anymore, and there will not be anymore little bundles to fill my arms.

I have entered back into the chaotic world of the Waffle House, with all its bullshit and drama. I try to stay a layer above it all.. trying not to get sucked into the vortex of gossip. When everyone else is being a sour puss, I encourage. When the tone of the group is negative.. I try to be the sunshine. Some days it works.. some days it doesn't.  I really like the days when the shift is steady and all the busybodies have gone home. I like the way the sun fills my section with light and warmth.  My tables are clean and side work is complete. I love presenting a perfect plate of cooked to order food to my customer. It is so satisfying to me to offer flawless customer service. It may be just Waffle House, but I really do what I do as if I were doing for Jesus himself. And if I do forget someones grits, or my timing gets off and I don't get back to the table for a refill or dessert offer, I beat myself up. I know I shouldn't but I cant seem to help it. I want so bad to be good at something.. and this is what I have. To see a five dollar bill or more.. means that I have exceeded expectation.



Working is good for me. It keeps me distracted. I forget the sadness in my heart, missing Vicki.. quiets for a little while and I go into this auto pilot mode of people pleasing. Waitressing  is perfect for someone like me. I also have to be on constant lookout for people who are up to no good. I love nice people but sometimes their niceness is a front for ill intentions. Heart armor is just as important for me to put on as my apron.



I often worry about my worth as a person. I am a thirty year old waitress.. that's not all I desire to be. I want to do more with my life.. I just don't know what, when or how. I am a momma to two children.. that's the most important job.. but I don't think I do that well enough. Some days I don't even see my kids for very long because of school and my work hours. I just hope they know that they are the reasons I get up and get out there. I would like to trade my black W.H apron for a flowery, ruffled one. I would like to see myself standing in a bright kitchen baking up some delicious organic muffins. Or pulling home grown veggies out of my own garden with the help of my worm loving side kick "Mini-me".


Its good to have dreams.

Bag of Bricks

Over my shoulder

Weighing me down

Breathing is harder

When your pressed to the ground.


Like a beast sitting on top of my breast

Growling and taunting me- how to find rest?

I take my pills to chase him away..

But my dark passenger follows me

He knows where I lay..


I drink down the tears that fall in my glass

He keeps record of my wrongs that fill up my past.

I try to take hope in the love I've been shown

But that dark passenger will not leave me alone.


Depression is his name, and he is loyal to me

Right with me, he walks, through my days endlessly.

So heavy... I try to just lift my head

Some days, I do well to get out of bed.

I count down the minutes that should be counted for joy

Shared with my family, my girl and my boy.


I can't look out too far, for it is too much to see

So I focus on the minutes, the next two or three

Then If I make it, I will set a new goal,

A small victory won, till I can regain some control


This is how it has been for so long, I hear the clock tick...

The alarm sounds, another day... to carry my bag of bricks.

THAT mom.

OK seriously,  autism is making me crazy. Yesterday at the library, I decided to collect some math and writing books for Timmy, so we could sit down together like normal people and do some school work. We began enthusiastically, well I was.. and I bribed my son with some time playing Angry Birds if he would sit down and do school work with me. He agreed to do one page, for Bird time. I took it.  So we started with some subtraction, which he knows how to do, but only if the numbers are in the proper format that he is used to. These were different.  These were like 88-n = 44.

No matter what I said or did to explain that the n was just a missing number.. he protested, argued, got louder, threw all materials on the floor, and finally flopped out on the floor screaming.  This kind of behavior from your child can be a bit embarrassing if your child is two. It is flippin' mortifying when your child is nine. Everyone, I mean everyone was looking at us. I tried to focus just on my son, and how to best handle my obvious lack of parental control.  I tried scooping his dead weight off the floor with epic fail. He was kicking and punching me every time I would touch him.  I said " Timmy, you need to get up and lower your voice" He screamed back NO! GET OFF ME!! ITS A N!!! THAT'S NOT MATH!! I WANNA BE DONE!!  "If you want angry bird time, you need to get quite" Then it was just more screams and odd sounds and kicking of the table.

 I started to panic.. I looked around at some pretty ugly faces of moms watching the show. I wanted to punch them!! I REALLY wanted to go up to them and scream at them for watching with their judging eyes next to their perfect children. I felt wild and violent inside! 

 I hid my inner crazy as I tried to stay composed. Eventually we did get him out, but after about twenty minutes of being on spectacle. I wish I could say that I have gotten used to the stares and glares. I haven't  I keep hoping that one day that he will act right and not embarrass me in public anymore. He was remorseful later in the car, and tried to beg for mercies when we informed him of the consequences of his actions. No TV or games. I will not stop correcting him. He is not dumb. I know what he can and can't understand.    

  

I just hope as awareness continues, people will stop being asses and maybe offer a look of understanding instead.  I don't want to be arrested for assault!

Down the road

I am being carried away.. I am not a free agent but a reluctant passenger. A worried hitchhiker on the highway to hell. My bags are heavy, I don't have enough room for all this shit. I need to find a place to rest and warm my hands. I keep looking over my shoulder with longing. What am I leaving behind? Is it worth the return? If I leave will there be any coming back? Will it look like it did when I left the city lights? My compass is not giving me any reading.  Carry me gently, cold bitter wind.  Please let a brighter day find my face.

Maid by me

I reach for a clean rag and some vinegar. I spray the mirror. Always start at the top and work your way down.  I wipe, and dance my rag across my reflection. Face. I see my face, staring back. I look pale, and tired. But not thirty. Definitely not thirty.   I perfect the glass, so no smudges can be found.

I spray the sink.  I scrub with the rough side of my sponge. I rinse and dry and look for any flaw or blemish. I wipe down the cabinets. I clean the commode and the bathtub. I step back I am pleased with my work. I vacuum the floor and then I mop. Sometimes my mop is a microphone.. sometimes a dancing pole. 

 I whistle sometimes while I work. I sing. I talk to myself in my thoughts. I make plans, I debate. I write poetry and do simple math. I plan an escape to someplace warm and exotic. I pretend I am a sexy, vibrant movie star, playing a part of Cinderella. Then I come back to reality and realize I am in someones bathtub. People are naked here. I laugh at my silliness. 

 I pass the time this way. as I slowly meander through my work day. Room by room. House by house. Oh, how I would love to have a house! I wonder if these people realize what they have. I think about the gap between them and myself. Do they work any harder than I? Perhaps they are indeed smarter, but I have heart.   I fought, scratched and clawed my way to where I am and for what I have. It may not be much. But it is something. 

My body get tired and sore. Carrying in and out equipment and supplies. The Kirby.  I loathe the Kirbs. It has great suction, but it sucks. God bless all the rich people with Dysons .. they are so much lighter.

 I like looking at peoples photographs as I dust. Pretty things, come in and out of my hands; hands that hold ever so gently.  Careful not to break glass or trust. I do not take, only M & M's from the candy dish or some water if they offer. After all, who you really are is the you when no one is looking. 

 This is all for something better. I think. This is not for always, just for now.