Saturday, May 12, 2012
Not A Wife, I'm A Piglet
I generally just stare back, unsure if I should vent or sidestep, because what on earth does this have to do with me or my family?
I'm clearly not marriage material. I'm a mom with 39 children and almost two dozen grandchildren.
I do think I can legitimately claim, "My life is complicated," and not appear vague.
The lonely gene is decidedly not in my DNA. I'm afraid of losing what little I have, I don't want another person to feed, or to argue with, or to take into consideration really. I don't wanna have to explain my family to anyone.
I don''t believe anyone in the world would care to do what I'm doing, who'd want to be a step father to my young'uns. No one would care about them like I do. No one would understand them. No one would be this crazy 'bout JoJo, 'cept me.
Their extraordinarily challenging testing behaviors would be off the charts.
I don't think I have that option, I don't have the need to be one half of a couple, and I truly believe any man would be way better off without me and my issue-ridden brood of darlings.
I'm no catch. I'm old, I'm tired, I'm raggedy, I'm totally emotionally depleted, I'm ornery and I harbor resentments and no little amount of bitterness, and I'm very much looking forward to a reclusive second half of my life. Does this make me odd? Maybe, but to also know that it, all my future dreams, makes me happy, is enough for me.
I wanna release my inner piglet. I wanna be a brat.
A very friendly, good-looking, too-young guy came by to take seven roosters off my hands yesterday evening, which is what made me think this morning about this no-brainer subject. I don't wanna feed roosters that don't provide eggs, which is what I explained to Nando who carefully chose which rooster (Rico) we'd keep, as today we're moving all his now not baby chicks out to the big coop and chicken moat.
When all my kids are grown I probably won't even keep chickens anymore, as I'll want to whittle down my responsibilities. I will keep dogs though and massive garden spaces to maintain as that'll then be my main goal.
I'll then take all my crapped up, mis-matched furniture out of the living room and replace it with one Lazy Boy recliner in front of the TV so I can watch Braves games and The Weather Channel with a big ole stack of books next to it. I might even then buy me a brand new recliner, one that someone else hasn't wallowed and farted in, it'll be my new throne from which I will rule no one.
I'll spill stuff on me, I'll fall asleep in it, I'll let dogs sit with me in it, and I'll have to hunt all over the house on Sundays to find my church shoes.
"Where will your company sit?" Grandma asked me, always the hospitable, practical one, upon learning of this next decade plan.
Maybe I subconsciously wanna discourage company? Nah, the family rooms's nicer, I'll keep a decent sofa in there for special occasions amongst my thousands of plants I'll be tending.
I'm tired of maintaining, replacing, mending, and repairing things that continually get broken. I'll then just wanna worry about food, plants or books, baseball games or police TV shows, my world'll shrink to my grandchildren's soccer schedules or school plays.
Right now? I'm absolutely relishing our own nice schedule. My 12 very boisterous kids here at home are basically wonderful.
"I just went black inside, I blacked out, and kept hitting her," one who's in a facility explained to me over the phone last night, trying to justify a fight she'd been in, making my heart pound hard in remembered fear and shock, as I'd witnessed that happen here so many times before. Untriggered and unexpected. Awful, frightening, and supremely difficult. 911 calls and court dates for assaults. I don't miss that.
Anyone truly wonder why solitude appeals to me?
I wanna be a hermit and not brush my hair, I wanna never go to town.
Oh wait, I already act like that.