Tuesday, October 11, 2011

cigarettes and ten cent dreams

scorcher, today
sit on the curb, kick off my flip flops

back to the filmy, dime store window
i live for these 15 minutes
every 4 hours
smoke hovers around me
not even a slight breeze for it to dissolve in

highway sounds mix with wails
momma tells her it’ll just be a second
i nudge a condom wrapper with my toe
how the hell did it get in the middle of a parking lot?

shirt stuck to my back
don’t care
10 minutes left

she comes back outside
slaps the kid
screams stop

that’s a relief

get a whiff of greasy chinese next door
finger sticky change in my pocket
food or cigarettes?

suck in the last bit
exhale slowly
mash it on the ground

5 minutes
enough time to walk across the street
and bargain for another pack

a girl's gotta eat, right?
i can finish him off in a minute
and still get some chinese

2 minutes

it’s ridiculous how i live for these 15 minutes

Friday, October 7, 2011

ultimate oxymoron

writer's block
tight, white skin,
freckles pull apart,
splintery letters, press, insistent
words dissolve in wet flesh before surfacing

Friday morning memories

I wrote this when I was driving across the states, trying to find myself and getting lost in the process. Such a cliche, I know, but so very true.

highway in new mexico
i stop for gas,
standing alone
biting cold whipping through my bones
like wooden floorboards on a bitter gray morning
hafta fill up, pee,
buy more cigarrettes
old man stares at my shorts
he wonders where i came from
i tell him
it was warm when i got in my car this morning

baker city, oregon
check into motel 8 off interstate 84
sit and flip through unfamiliar channels
watch the rain and sleet fight with the window
trace the tattered edge of the blanket that has obviously seen many nights of truckers and whores
pull it tight anway
cold doesn't know the difference between you and i

somewhere near the washington state line
sky is massive and blue, wild and untouched
so fierce it burns my eyes if i keep them open too long
windows down, air tastes cold
fly down the highway, pass lonely truckers
heading home
it's been so long since i've seen snow
radio's going out
nothing but fuzzy jazz and some man screeching about his god
on and on they go,
but i just smile
'cause i know they don't really know the answer

i'm headed home

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Look at me, mom.

I knew I wouldn't blog even close to daily. Sometimes it sucks to be right.

Caden started baseball and things have started to pick up a little bit around here. Loads has been happening in this tiny, dusty little town.  Except it's opposite day.

Er.  I felt, when I sat down to write tonight, that lots has been happening, but the truth is, I'm just lazy. I've come to terms with it. How lazy does that make me when writing is what I enjoy and I can't be bothered?

Let me see...I  got verification that I get to keep teaching next year, which was a relief. Texas teachers are falling like flies. That's an idiom. I recently taught my 7th graders the difference between idioms and metaphors. I hope they remember that on the TAKS test at the end of April. They wont. But I can hope.

I did have one thing happen to me over the last couple of weeks that was interesting.  I got........SHINGLES.  Yes, shingles. For whatever reason, I thought shingles was scabies and was horrified when I went to the dr and she confirmed that I had the scabies shingles. I immediately envisioned tiny little bugs crawling all over my head (lice?) but she was quick to inform me that it wasn't a "dirty" person disease, just the adult version of chicken pox.  I had a very mild case of shingles....but they were still painful, nonetheless. The rash itself was almost unbearable for a few days but the pain inside my ribs and along my spine was surreal. And this was for a very mild case; I can't imagine being covered with the scabies. I mean shingles.

And apparently, as I've been healthy,the shingles was caused by my immune system being "compromised by stress". I don't feel any more stressed than usual, so I suppose I'm just perpetually stressed. The doctor asked me if I could alleviate any stress in my life so I offered to bring her my kid and my students.

Fun Caden Story:

My parents came up from Houston a few weekends ago, to visit. Well...my dad plays steel guitar for a band called Rosehill, and they were playing up in DFW....so they killed two birds with one stone and threw in a visit to their favorite grandchild. We were driving to the next town over to get some dinner, and Caden was chair dancing, which is what we do when we just wanna dance but are unable to get up and move around. His Mimi is sitting in the back, next to him, giggling as he shouts "LOOK AT ME MOM, I'M SHAKIN' MY BOOTY, SHAKIN' MY BOOOOTY!!"  I catch his eye in the mirror and give a nod of approval and send up a silent prayer that he doesn't turn out flamboyant. Then....he turns it up a notch. LOOK AT ME MOM, I'M SHAKIN' MY PENIS, SHAKIN MY PENIS!"  Mimi stiffles a snort/giggle and averts her eyes and I hide behind my sunglasses. Try not to make a big deal out of it or he'll keep doing it, I think to myself. "MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM LOOK AT ME!" I flick my gaze back in the mirror and see him literally shaking his stuff. With his hand. And dancing. And singing.

Oh lord.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Recycled McGriddles

So. I've discovered that Caden gets carsick if he eats McDonald's and tries to read in the car.

Monday, we were up before the sun, packed in the car and headed toward College Station to meet Jo, my step-mom. I stopped in Hillsboro to get a white chocolate mocha with two pumps of caramel from Starbucks and Caden saw the golden arches. So I got him this pancake/sausage/biscuit contraption. He devoured it, and even proclaimed, "I am going to eat at McDonald's EVERY DAY for breakfast. Okay Mom?"

Sure, Caden.

We make it a little past Waco; he is intently studying one of his books, and he casually calls up to me, "Mom. My tummy hurts."

I don't think much of it. He is always hurting something. So I mumble something to the effect, "That's nice," and continue to drive.

Again, this time with a touch of panic in his voice, "Mom. I think I'm gonna...I'm gonna throw up!"

As a mother, you can sense the change in your child's tone when he is in fact, panicking and truly scared. So I whip over on the side of the road and hand him the only bag I have handy. Which is, in fact, a McDonald's bag.

Yeah, those are made out of paper.

So Caden is throwing up every thing I think he's ever eaten, and I'm turned around, trying to help him get it all in the rapidly deteriorating bag. He manages to get recycled mcgriddle and apple juice all over my hanging clothes (which aren't hanging; they are laying on the seat next to him), his booster seat and himself. And his DVD player. And his headphones.

When I'm sure he is done, I take the bag to dump it out my door. In order to do this, the bag must cross over my lap. And precisely the moment it's crossing over me, the bottom falls out of it.

Good times, good times.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Crazy Saturday Nights

A friend got married today. While happy for her, so glad it's not me.  I took Caden with me to the wedding and while at said wedding, made grand plans to go out afterwards with some friends. Caden just pissed all over those plans, so I'm sitting on my couch,  in my pj's, watching the end of 48 hours. He was going to go spend the night at friend's house, but at last minute, decided it would be a bad decision because Bobs, (his stuffed tiger), was feeling "squishy".

So now, I'm having a bit of wine.  By bit, I mean lots.

Ah well. Still love that little shit.

Here goes....something?

I honestly don't know how many blogs I've begun in the last 7 or 8 years. It always begins with a rush of words, swirling with energy and excitement, about documenting the little things in my life that I just know I'll appreciate remembering later, and it always seems to fizzle out after a few posts.

I was unsure what to title this; I even visited a few blog name generator sites that suggested names like "Yard Helpless" and "Dancing Pottery".  And although those names were appealing, I was reminded of a blog I recently discovered, written by a single dad who was chronicling all the funny shit that his kid does. Now, I don't know much, but I do know funny kid shit. I've got a pretty funny kid of my own...and remembering all the cool things he says and does is partly my goal with this blog. Anyway, Dan named  his blog, Single Dad Laughing. Thus, Single Mom Laughing was born.

Dan's blog: http://www.danoah.com/p/bit-about-me.html