This post is what happens when janetk has more than four hours of sleep in a night.

I went upstairs at around eleven thirty last night, having hung up after a powerful conversation with the American Boy that, unfortunately, ended with him feeling “fired up”. I am going to tell you the story of what happened with my friend, K. Maybe it will help you understand why I intend to wash my hands of her and move on, despite my intense love for her little boy.

It’s not just that she isn’t supportive of the move I intend to make in my life in the next couple of months. In fact, I do understand the lack of supportive Don and I have discovered recently. That sounds crazy, I know, but it’s true. Because if I take a step outside of myself, separate from the nation of two we’ve created and really look at the situation, believe me, the insanity of it all is not lost on me.

No, it wasn’t just my disappointment at her lack of support. We didn’t even get that far. And to be quite frank, K is incredibly self absorbed, always has been and I don’t think she’d be supportive of anything I set out to do, but she wouldn’t really be unsupportive, either. Make sense? She’s just too self involved to contemplate such things. In that way, she can actually be rather accepting.

What happened is this:

K does not know the full story of Don and I. She knows bits and pieces of it but the whole thing, beginning to end, has never been shared because, again, she’s really self absorbed. But she did know that I had strong feelings for Don (whom she met during his visit in January), that my marriage to Rock is over and that I was going to visit Don in May. Up until a few days ago, I had never shared with her the fact that Don and I have slept together. Not really on purpose. Just because it’s not really any of her business.

So, while we were talking about my trip, she paused and asked,

“Did you sleep with him, Janet?”

And I said, “Yes.”

Without even hesitation or pause, she responded by saying,

“EWWWW!”

From there, she proceeded to ask me if I had done it as a “science experiment”. To see what it would be like to “fuck a handicapped dude.”

I hope that now all of you can realize why I’m so passionate about the issue of sexuality and disability. And I hope that now all of you can forgive me when it sounds like I’m attacking you on the issue. You guys are, without a doubt, the exception to the rule, okay? The story of K…well, that’s what I’m working with otherwise.

And holy fuck, is it ever fucking disgusting.

Hey. I just used the word, “fuck” twice in one sentence! Awesome! That might be a new record!

I have beads in my hair. That’s why I changed my avatar, but the picture isn’t very good. I had to take it myself and I suck ass at that. Maybe I’ll try to get Emma to take one of me this afternoon after she gets home. It was impossible to get a shot with all of the strands of beads in my hair showing. But suffice it to say, that I love it. I’m going to pick up some beads at work tonight and do a few more strands. It was easier than I thought it would be a lot of fun. I’m also thinking that it’s time to do a few strands of colored hair again. It’s been a long while since I had any pink or blue adorning my head of dreads and curls. And I’m also going to look into buying some good dread wax. I can’t find any around here, so I think I’ll have to order it on-line. And I have a promise from my American Boy of help dreading the locks. I’m gonna hold him to that. Don’t worry…I’ll re-pay him the favor. Wink. Ha.

Now I’m thinking unwholesome thoughts and that’s not going to help anything, is it?

Okay, okay…now where was I?

Oh. Right. I know.

Kate is home sick today. That’s right. The super crazy turbo virus that wreaked havoc on poor Emma is making it’s way through the house and now Kate has it. She was up half the night, dry heaving into the toilet and burning up and crying. Poor thing. She had a fever this morning and was lethargic for about twenty minutes before she kicked it into “Kate is sick, the world must suffer” gear, in her usual style.

That’s the difference between Emma and Kate. At least when they’re not feeling well. Emma turns into a little, sleepy angel. She’s really polite and wants only to sleep or rest on the couch without being disturbed too much. Remember how I said that I actually kind of enjoyed having her home sick? Yeah. Not so with Kate, believe me.

Kate turns into a demon. She’s whiny and crabby and demanding. And she refuses to be still, no matter how sick she is. And she doesn’t want to stay home from school. I battled it out with her this morning over that. She wanted to go * that * badly. But I knew that I would receive an inevitable phone call from her teacher mid-way through the day to come and pick her up and there’s noone to go and get her. Rock didn’t load the cell phone with minutes because he’s gifted like that. And while in an emergency, my Dad could go, it’s a lot to ask if I already know that it’s going to happen.

So, I kept her home and I will no doubt be pulling the aforementioned beads from my hair by the end of the day. Right now she’s crafting in the living room, complaining that she doesn’t like Thomas the Tank Engine and talking to her imaginary friends about how sick she is. She has yet to lay down or try to rest. And there’s no use in arguing with her because it’s not going to happen.

I’m having the most unbelievable craving for food from East Side Mario’s this morning. Which isn’t notable except that it’s been literally ages since I’ve been there to eat and I don’t even really like it all that much most of the time. Weird.

Sunday is Emma’s seventh birthday. Seems impossible, considering I only gave birth to her a few days ago, right? The fact that seven years have passed since that day in June is mind boggling. How the hell did I end up with a seven year old?! She’s excited about the day and has been counting down for over a month now. I’m nearly finished wrapping her presents and my Mom and Dad are taking care of the cake situation. Knowing my Mom, there will likely be two or three birthday cakes. That’s just how she rolls. It’s one of her finer qualities. Ha.

We’ll head over to Mom and Dad’s in the morning and stay for lunch (AKA, cake, cake, cake) much like we did on my birthday in March. Then Kate has another birthday party to go to in the afternoon and I’ll take Emma out shopping for the afternoon. Then it’s out for dinner to wherever she wants to go and more presents in the evening.

And just in case that isn’t an exhausting enough thought for all of you…

Next Saturday she’ll have a birthday party with her little friends from school. It will be at the house. I hope I make it out alive. Or at least make it out without being incarcerated by the end of the day.

Ha.

I have to work tonight. It seems wrong. So wrong. I already quit that job! I shouldn’t have to go back! Mostly I’m going because I want to clean out my smock and get my angel pin from Mel off of it and get my turtle pin (Mother Earth) from it, too. And if I don’t do it tonight, I’ll definitely have to go in next Friday to do it and right now, that seems even more wrong than tonight’s shift does.

I will also probably have to face some music. And I’m not sure that I’m ready.

And I miss him.

After going on and on last night about how the lonesome feeling had changed and become less intense because of what I witnessed at the window of the kitchen yesterday morning. Because of how I so truly believe in what is going on around us. After going on about that, this morning, the feeling is back.

And I miss him.

I miss his smell.
And his hand stroking my back, all the way down to my bum.
I miss his kiss.
And his arms hugged tight around me.
I miss his quiet murmurs and grunts and gasps.
When he’s…um… “there” (not as much courage as I thought I had there, Sweetheart!).
Oh wow. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until I wrote it.
I miss watching his hands move while he’s talking. I miss watching him move a crutch from one hand to the other just so that he can use the hand for expression.
I miss laying my head in the crook between his shoulder and chest.
Perfect spot.
And I miss his arm around me while I’m laying there.
I miss talking into his chest.
I miss his reassurances if I’m crying.
I miss his excitement if I’m happy.
I miss his hands on my feet.
I miss the always gentle way he has of touching me, no matter what the context.
I miss seeing him smile when I walk into a room.
Like he’s surprised to see me.
Like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Every time.

I miss him.

And although it won’t be long.

It’s still not soon enough.