"Put That in My Mouth Please" or " Eating Your Ambivalence "
Is it me, or do kiwi's look like tiny little testicles?
Ok - Maybe "regular" sized testicles for some of you, but let's just say I am currently blessed in this regard and leave it at that.
But I'm right ... right?
Ladies when you hold this delicious little fruit in your hand, no matter what the scenario, you are thinking about sex. If there is a banana near, fughettabout'it!
Sexual connotations aside, the kiwi is delicious! The right balance of bitter and sweet, the right texture of chewy - not too chewy, AND it has no pit! It is perfect for those intent on instant gratification.
Tonight my entire purpose for living rests solely in the exquisite existence of : The Kiwi Fruit.
* * *
'Shut up & Buy Something'
When you spend your life as you know it living for another, rallying reason into "breathing" is a hard thing to do when your CHOOSE to let that person go.
"Empty Nest Syndrome" otherwise known as The Mid-Life Crisis.
A condition so widespread that plastic surgeons, corvette salesmen, and countless pharmaceutical companies pedaling a.)anti-depressant and/or b.)viagra, bank their entire economical upswing on the mass exodus of children from the home.
Those without children scoff as though I am referring to a mythological beast; the "Yetti" of psychosomatics. Those with children of a younger age may [quite possibly] be in denial. But mark my fucking words, when YOUR last child leaves your house, you WILL look at yourself in the mirror and say:
"If not "mother" ... then who?"
It hasn't taken me long to figure out that no purchase (however big), no trip (however extravagant) and no lover (however phenomenal) would fill this void.
Long have I wrestled with my desire to disappear. Even as a child, I would fantasize about vanishing into thin air. Not to ascend to some heaven unknown, not to escape the life which I know, but simply because I could never find a point in any of it.
... And then there was Nino.
'Just build another human why don't you?'
Go with what you know. You're a great mother. You love children. Just start over.
All these things are true enough, but the fact is - I never wanted more children. Sure, a part of me was willing [in certain scenarios] but deep in my heart, in my soul, and more revealing - in my UTERUS, that innate, instinctual, primal "need to breed" never showed it's toothy grin.
Nino was my gift, and he was always MORE than sufficient, and in fact ... some days ... I didn't treat that gift with the care it deserved. (But that's another post).
It's NOT the physical act of being pregnant (although the thought revolts)
It's NOT the [22 hours] of excruciating labor (although I still CANNOT have a bm without seeing stars to this day ... hello third degree perineum ripping]
It's NOT the diapers and spit up and sleepless night and heartbreak and worry and anger and frustration and PTA and broken bones and scraped knees and shitty girlfriends and failed tests and calls from teachers and violated curfews ...
It's not any of that, because the wonderful, and the butterflies, and the happy tears, and the shear-hands down-unfiltered-my cup runneth over LOVE of it all outweighs that.
It's that I've never known any thing else.
And at 30-something, with ever fucking single solitaire second hand ticking down my fertility - like each menses is an egg shaped grain falling out of the hour glass that is my WOMB, I should feel a sense of SOMETHING ...
but I don't. And I don't want to LIE to myself in order to simply satiate my ego's NEED to be NEEDED.
"Gurl you have to find happiness in someTHING"
I love when my Russian roommate says "Gurl". It's a perfect blend of accent and attitude. It's like I can hear her roll her neck when she says it, but I also imagine it coming out of the painted mouth of a Russian stacking doll. Which exposes my American ignorance about cultural iconic images, stereotypes, and stupidity ( but that TOO is another post).
She tells me - focus on something beautiful.
And though I received this exact same sentiment from my beloved just a day earlier, texted in terms that recounted things he KNOWS I love (puppies, projects to be completed, projects completed, art, music, literature, dance, laughter, sunsets, rainbows, cheese ... did I say puppies?) None of this quieted my overwhelming need to simply evaporate.
Since I was small these waves have crashed over me, and the sand slipping from beneath my feet is a feeling so familiar that sleep and the sound of my sweet, sweet son are the only buoys binding me to an otherwise sunken existence.
I love him so much more than I love myself, therefor I know it is imperative I fix this. Because he deserves a life of his own, and I deserve to show him what that looks like.
* * *
'Put that in my mouth please'
I "benwa ball" the cute little "fuzzy-jumbly" in my hands, rolling it beneath the water
(because my roommate says "Did you wash the fruit and/or vegetables" and my response of "A little dirt in your diet is good for the immune system" has worn thin ... otherwise - whogivesashithuh? #nohometraining).
Having just watched a series on the imperial MIND FUCK that is the societal profit engine & having discourse over "the facebooks" about it, I chuckle at myself because despite that little nugget of "awareness" I still have the bathroom humor of a 12 year old boy.
"Heh. Kiwi's look like lil' bawls"
I further laugh at myself that I happily put the whole damn thing in my mouth.
* * *
So if there are any other "Empty Nesters" out there reading this; if you have the BAWLS not to continue to breed ... there are still somethings that can make you smile.
Kiwi (or bawls) in your mouth might be one of them.