Miss Spider midnight singsong drivel

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Miss Spider could not sleep that night

Her dreams were full of shock and fright

And nothing but love would make it right

But she knew it wasn’t worth the fight

Her legs were crossed

And her face was grim

The moment she caught sight of him

She posed as pretty as could be

In hopes of attracting he to She

Perhaps this one would behave

And cherish all the love She gave

As he walked by, she gave a wave

And a big smile crossed his handsome face

He sat down near Her feat

The look in his eye was such a treat

Under the moonlight, She would meet

The one who’d sweep Her off Her feet

In only days, it turned to love

Her dream come true

A gift from above

He showed Her a side of things, unseen

He made Miss Spider his love

His Queen

As She reveled in his love and passion

She wondered how She’d ever fashion

A life with one who could hurt her so

Should he decide to up and go

Then She began to push him away

Harsh words and actions to hasten the day

That She knew would come about, anyway

“Goodbye, My love. Now, go away!”

Though he did not understand

Was he not enough a man?

He was simply too blind to see

That She was terrified to be a We

free thought ramblilng

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I’m missing something, inside. It’s something that was never really there, but having him in my life made me feel as though it was. The pain he caused made my insides feel full…bursting at the seems at all times. I was an emotional Roman alone in my vomitorium, awaiting the next course.

Tonight, I feel the vacuous me that I am. Neither drug, nor drink can stir any emotion but dread. The dread one might feel as they stand at cliff’s edge, wondering if someone might come along and give them a push. Because that’s all I need. I need push. A reason. The lightest tap will do.

In my wildest dreams, I never thought he’d die. I wished it, begged God for it…There were many times that I was close to dispatching him, myself. The love his sons had for him saved his sorry ass. I think that’s part of why I feel like I do. I am shocked that I didn’t kill him. Is that bad? I don’t know anymore. I honestly don’t. He always said I was a sociopath. If I were, he’d have been gone long ago. I’m only a woman who has lived with a fucking pain machine for three decades. That’s all. I. Am. Only. A. Woman.

I feel as though I’m dying, too. I can feel the cold of the Darkness inside of me. It’s all consuming, and something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Even as a child, it was there. I was a child living in a world of degenerates. Every minute of spare time was spent tagging along from one bar to the next with my grandparents, who raised me. It isn’t easy for a girl child in those circumstances. My Darkness saved me. It allowed me to recognize the Darkness in others and, knowing mine was always stronger, as my grandmother taught me, I was able to deal with them. These disgusting men with their wandering eyes…hands…stealing kisses from a child. Disgusting maggots. I wish I’d had the ability to kill every, single, one. I never told my dad because I knew that he WOULD kill them. My grandmother knew, but did nothing about it. I quickly learned the art of being frozen in a smile. I was a mimic; a puppet with no emotion of her own, only that which she adopted from others.

I don’t understand how his death has brought these things up in my mind and heart. I don’t allow these thoughts in my world. They are lighting in a storm, already raging. Perhaps it’s because I have never had a moment on my own. Truly on my own. I went from home to being a wife, mother, reconciled with my own mother…the list is long. Maybe the pain was good for me because it occupied my mind. And there was love. There were good times. Great times, even. But things didn’t end well between he and I. And, the second he was gone, I felt it…the Darkness at my shoulder. Within a week, the memories came to the forefront, tired of their home in the recesses of my brain, I suppose. They seem to have mixed quite well with the guilt and sorrow and grief. I feel like a playground for devils and fallen angels. Overrun and pushed around. Yet, I know that nothing they do can compare to the damage I can do to myself, of my own free will.

I’m tired now. Meds are finally beginning to do their job. I hope to sleep tonight. I hope he stays put and leaves me alone. I want him to go on to wherever he is supposed to be and leave me be. I want to close my eyes and see nothing but blackness. No faces. Not his, not anyone’s. I just want to be left alone to figure out who I’m supposed to be. It has to happen soon, or I’ll cease to be.

f.u.

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I miss Bennie today. Can’t put my finger on why. I just do. Fuckin bullshit. He’s dead and suddenly I give a shit. There was a time when I’d lie awake at night praying for his death, fully expecting that, sooner or later, it would come by way of my own hands. Now, I’m falling apart without him. I’m so angry with myself for that. I did love him. From the second I ever laid eyes on him. But, that’s the problem with me…Once I love someone, I won’t let them go or let them down if there’s any possible way to avoid it. I’m what you call a stupid bitch like that.

Jay called yesterday. We were talking about our phone plan and he mentioned that he had taken his dad’s memory card out of his phone. I told him that it was ok, I’d pick it up next time I was down there in case there was anything special on it. He said, “No, Mom…I still have his laptop and I put everything you need off the card onto it.” Sonofabitch! I knew there was shit on that card, but I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to keep our boys from seeing it. All the time, Jay was worried about what I’d find. I love that kid. Both of my boys are good men. But, I’d never have put that on one of my sons. Never.

 

…and then he was gone. – Pt.2

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At 9:30 a.m., on the morning that they say Bennie died, I was asked to leave his room so that they could perform a sterile procedure. Minutes earlier, I had given written consent to one of the ghouls to allow him and his cohorts to attempt dialysis. I made it clear that this was their only shot. I could not bring myself to pull the plug, nor did I realize that it was within my legal ability to do so, at the time. Honestly, the thought did not cross my mind.

I was escorted to the waiting room where I encountered a woman I’d met the night before. She and her sister were there for the duration, as their brother was receiving a liver transplant. Both were very kind and sociable women in their late 50’s. I politely engaged in light conversation with them for a few minutes, then turned to the window and tried to pretend I was somewhere else.

The scenery was industrial and, to me, beautiful. I greatly enjoy the shape of things meant to work, maintain or create. Those things interest me. And so I sat in total silence, listening to the sisters giggling and staring through the glass. Suddenly, a flutter caught my eye. It was a sparrow that had flown from beneath a nearby overhang. I watched fly for a second, maybe two, then it fell out of the sky onto the roof of the building below. It flipped and flopped for a good half minute before giving up and dying. I even took a picture of it. I was so shocked I couldn’t even call the sisters over to have a look. All of everything inside of me was focused on the sparrow and I knew then, more strongly than I ever knew before, that Bennie had died.

I couldn’t help but cry when I saw this terrible confirmation of my feeling. It was a bit after ten, so I called the nurse’s desk and she said it could take a bit longer, not to worry. I got lost in the blue sky that presented itself so gloriously on the other side of the window. You could see beyond the buildings, all the way to the Gulf. Pelicans flew their patrols in groups, as always. My eyes could not get enough of them as I sat there wondering what was going to happen once he passed. I tried to remember all of his funeral songs and which tee shirt he wanted to be dressed in. I couldn’t remember a thing, but it gave me something to occupy my brain with.

The younger sister had gone to visit her brother in his room for a few minutes. When she returned, I heard her saying that there was a big commotion going on ‘back there’. She said someone was dying and that every doctor and nurse on the floor was in the room. I turned and asked if it was the first room on the left. She said that it was. I told her it was Bennie and that he wasn’t coming back. I let more time pass before I called again. It was around noon. The nurse told me the same thing as before. I thanked her and hung up. I wondered if they were preparing his body, somehow, since I knew he was dead. I thought that they might be taking the tubes away and whatsuch. The sisters kept asking if I was okay and if I wanted cookies or a sandwich from the giant bag they’d packed. I tried to just be quiet and think.

Two more hours rolled around before I called the nurse, again. There was noise in the background this time. Her voice was shaking as she reassured me, finally telling me she’d send a person to come get me soon. The older sister had, by now, gone back to see her brother. She had trouble walking and complained quietly to the younger sister that she had to take the long way ’round because the hallway was blocked with machines and people. I could still hear her, though. They began to speculate on whether, or not, Bennie would survive. Then, out of nowhere, a young girl appeared. She asked me to come with her. As soon as we cleared the waiting room, she took my arm and said we’d be talking in the conference room. Everyone knows what that means. Oh, shit…

I walked into a huge room with an equally huge conference table. At the end nearest the door sat the anesthesiologist and, across from her, a doctor. The girl that brought me there pulled the seat at the head of the table out and asked me to sit down. The doctor immediately began his routine…’Ma’am, we’ve been doing chest compressions for two hours and he is not responding….’. I went crazy when he said that. I told him to tell those bastards to get their hands off of Bennie NOW. The doctor just stared blankly at me like he didn’t understand why I wasn’t thanking him. I repeated myself, even louder, until the anesthesiologist finally got off her ass and went to tell them to stop. I asked the doctor if they could please removed the machinery before my sons arrived. He agreed, and left the room. I called both of the boys, but told neither that their father had passed. I didn’t want them driving with that in their heads. They would find out soon enough. I called my mother…

I’m not sure how long I spent in the conference room. It was so quiet and serene in that room. But, when I came out and went into Bennie’s room, my mother and older brother were already there. A very attractive young doctor came in to explain that they did the very best they could. I asked him to stop the bullshit because the best they could have done was let him die with some dignity. I told him that I did not want to hear another thing about it and I wanted him to leave. He asked if I’d sign papers donating organs for research before he left. I told him that I would not, since they’d experimented enough, already. Again, he came back with more soft voiced reassurances that they were, in fact, a team of heroes who’d given their all. He just could not stop himself from trying to paint the situation into a pretty picture. I told him that they are only people and that there was nothing good that came from what they did and that they knew they couldn’t save him. I asked why they’d do chest compressions on someone with no brain activity…someone they already knew would be paraplegic. Not to mention that they did that on someone who had a chest full of microscopically attached arteries and such. Did they plan to send home a biologically functional meat sack? Was that the goal? Would they have considered THAT a success? Why would anyone do that? Dr. Goodlooking didn’t like my line of questioning and he did finally leave the room. Thank God.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went much as you’d think it would. Now, it’s…now. I’m alone. The boys are doing fine. Life goes on. I left some details out of this story because they are simply too painful to recall. I have never witnessed anything as horrific as I did in the 14 hours I spent with Bennie’s corpse throughout the night and morning after his surgery. I know that I’ll never be the same again. Maybe life feels a little more valuable to me, at this point. Moreso, the end of life seems more precious to me. We have a right to die with dignity. No doctor should be able to rush us into emergency surgery that we don’t want simply because they can’t legally give you some pain medication and put you in a quiet room until the event occurs. They knew Bennie would die that day. By their own account, he’d have been dead in five seconds after the aneurysm burst. Instead, they subjected him to what was supposed to be a twelve hour procedure, even though they closed him up after eight, then put him on life support just to cover their asses, as far as I can tell. His kidneys had stopped functioning during surgery. That certainly coincides with the cause of death on the death certificate. Then they did two hours of chest compressions to finish up the show? I haven’t seen anything that says that’s protocol. I’m so disturbed by it all that I can’t sleep well. It’s just all too, too much. And it always will be.

…and then, he was gone. – Pt.1

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Seventeen days ago, today, my husband of thirty years, Bennie, died during an emergency surgery that the doctors knew would kill him. I suppose it was the oath they took that compelled them to attempt to save this dying man, in spite of all odds. I’ll never know. But, I do know that what resulted from their attempt to save him was the most ghoulish, twisted, sickening mockery of life that I have ever witnessed.

Three years ago, Bennie went to the ER in extreme pain from what he thought was a kidney stone. It was then that the doctors found a serious dissection in his downward aorta. By the time it was discovered, his chances of surviving the corrective surgery hovered at the 20% mark. He told them to fuck off. That was in October of 2013. They assured him that he would not see the new year.

Bennie made it far beyond the new year before having further problems. Then, one day at work, he literally fell over from pain. He was rushed to the hospital, where he spent a month in CICU. The dissection was too large for a stint, just as it was the first time they saw it, and, again, all they could do would be to replace the artery. Again, Bennie refused. He was put on medication that the doctors felt would, at least, contain the damage.

Throughout, life was pretty good, in spite of the legal difficulties we were going through. Bennie saw the birth of his grandson and they became great friends. His career settled into a good place, and he made peace with the thing that he knew would kill him one day. Around this time, his addiction grew and his health began to fail one tiny bit at a time. During the last six months, he started losing weight, finally dropping 28lbs. He looked gaunt and unhealthy. Obama’s EPA had begun to seriously effect the oil industry in a way that had a direct effect on his job as a turnaround planner. Competition was fierce and he was not up to playing the game.

In the middle of last year, Bennie went on a job up in Montana, I believe. He had a great time and saved plenty to be able to take off all of deer season. We’d moved up here in April, so we were settled in and he enjoyed being off in the place he loved most. I noticed that he spent a lot of time sleeping. That was due, in part, to his constant pill popping. But, it did seem that there was more to it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

When it was time to get back to work, work was scarce in a way it hadn’t been before. Ever. Money problems ensued and stress came on top of stress. It was awful. Finally, he found a turnaround back in the Galveston area that started April 7th. He packed up and went to stay at Mom’s house while he worked. He had been complaining of a pain in his side for months. It came and went, sometimes a dull pain, sometimes a sharp. We both knew what it was, but constantly danced around the truth. We decided it was a pulled muscle…a lie that we could both live with. On April 14th, he woke up to go to work at 3am. When he stood up, the pain brought him to his knees. He got dressed for work, but decided to go to the hospital, instead. He called me at six o’clock that morning complaining about the idiot doctor and that they were going to have to do another imaging to make sure that they were seeing what they thought they were seeing. I knew then that he was a dead man. I think he did, too. As soon as we hung up, I called Jay, our youngest son, and told him what was going on. He got to the hospital in a half hour.

After his arrival at the hospital, and a lot of hemhawing around, Jay was finally allowed to go back to see his dad. He had just gotten to his father’s bedside when the doctor came in. In blunt language, he told Ben he was going to die that day if he did not have the surgery. The aneurysm in his stomach had doubled in size and his entire aorta was involved, from above his heart all the way to his groin. He told him that, with the surgery, were it successful, he would more than likely be a paraplegic. The doctor told him that it would be a good idea to say goodbye to his loved ones, just in case. He couldn’t get reception on his phone, so he texted our oldest son, then, me. He instructed Jay to take care of me and the girls, (his dogs, Pepper and Jezebel). Minutes later, he was taken to surgery and I was in my truck driving as fast as I could to get there.

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Bennie never woke up after surgery. He died one year, to the day, after we moved here. There is a lot more that I have to say about what went on in that room post op, but I just can’t face it right now. It was, without question, the most horrific thing I have ever witnessed. I cannot stop seeing it. It’s as though the sight has taken up physical residence in my eyes and, at times, I just want to pluck them out and stomp on them so I never have to see it again. Nobody should be put through that Frankenstein bullshit. Nobody. He died and I feel scarred for life. I don’t know how else to say it. People assure me that I’ll get over it, but I don’t think I will. It’s like when I was little and this old lady hit a Bandido on his motorcycle. As we passed, I saw blood and his intestines on the pavement where he lay. I remember every detail. And I’m sure I will remember this.

I’m going to finish up and have a drink. Whatever transpired between Bennie and I, I never wished that on him. I think people deserve to die with dignity, not as a science experiment. I am angry. I am disgusted. I am lost. I want to know more about what happened to Bennie, but I’m afraid of the answers. According to the death certificate, he died of natural causes resulting in brain death during surgery. Yet they brought him out, after closing him up eight hours into a twelve hour procedure, hooked him up to a ventilator and a heart pump and told us he was alive. My God…Oh, my God…Why would they do that to someone?

 

 

orphan

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 lonely is this heart that beats
relentlessly within me
i’ve grown weary of its aches and pains
bumps and scratches
for the sake of love
feeling so cast off at times
ever listening for the Abyss to call me to its breast
its orphaned child
longing for her mother to gather her up

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sitting here in the silence
i find myself asking questions of myself
questions i don’t want to ask
answers i don’t want to know
i look at you
as i study your face
the disgust in your eyes
the lines which tell your tale of confinement
in a marriage
that became a prison many years ago
i ask myself
why did it have to be you?
couldn’t i have said ‘no’ and moved on?
why did i love you so easily?

decades later
there is no love story here

A Curious Fellow

th444This evening, I was fortunate enough to be ‘followed’ by a man with a most fascinating blog. He writes so beautifully of the pain of the betrayal he’s suffered…so poignantly…that it makes me cry. More than that, it causes me to feel as though, possibly, all men may not be horrible cock monkeys.

I had to stop reading his blog because I’m sitting here, mind racing, wondering if it might be true…that men hurt, too. And that they hurt in a real way. Because that has not been my experience. Exish cheated on me before our first anniversary and continued until I left him. I’m not sure if he’s seen anyone since I’ve been back. I doubt it. I think that being separated…having my permission, as it were…leaves him with a void. He no longer derives the same pleasure from fucking one whorish bitch after another as he once did.

One thing about Exish is that he always made certain that I’d find out about his indiscretions. I was never one to snoop around in his personal things, and he knew that. However, it seemed to cause him a great deal of satisfaction when I’d find out about things. He’d do things like leaving notes from his conquests on the bathroom vanity, or on the coffee table. He’d leave emails open so that, when I’d hit the space bar, the email was right in front of me. The last one I read was the one that hurt more than any other note or word or action up to that point. The woman he had been seeing had just found out that he was married. She was writing to tell him that she wanted to end things before I found out…that she had no desire to cause me pain. His reply to her was that it would be over when he said it was over. She did not disagree. I suppose all that sentiment was to soothe herself. Figures…

I wish that I could seek understanding of the goings on in my married life in the way that this man does his own. I think that I just became so numb to it that it stopped hurting a long time ago. I never took the sex personally. I knew that had nothing to do with me. But the few times when it grew beyond sex…dear God…there are no words known to man that can describe that. You feel skinless…provoked…trapped and angry and, somewhere inside, you totally lose your footing as you plummet into a sorrow that your brain cannot fathom.

*Warning: Adult Content ‘Give Me One Good Reason…’

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I’ve been going through a lot of changes recently. For one, my sex drive has gone through the roof. Another: I’ve been talking to a few people. Met one. Did not click. But, it’s all good. The point is, I know I’m really not ready to put myself out there. I’m not in good shape, to put it mildly. And I’m still living with Exish. No job. Undecided on what I’m going to do for money. Something that keeps coming up is that, perhaps, I should become a pro Domina. A woman of my size fills a certain niche in the profession and it’s excellent money. But it’s my preferred lifestyle, so I don’t know if I want to do it professionally. Yes, I am aware of the legalities, as well.

The situation with Exish is odd. It’s strained. Aside from being separated, but living together for five years now, there is a jealousy issue on his end. He, being aware that I talk to other men, has been rather agitated. So, I struck a deal with him: I’ll sleep with him as long as he leaves me be and I can do as I please in peace. Yeah, I know. Icky. That’s not the whole of the deal, but it’s all I’m willing to post about. It gets much worse. And, I accept that. It’s on me. Fine. Whatever. I just need to be free. But, I’d trade all of that freedom if he’d give me one GOOD reason to stay. Do I love him? Of course. With all my heart. In a motherly way, at this point. I feel very protective of him. I worry about him constantly because of his addiction and general condition, healthwise. I worry that he’ll never be okay. I worry that, if I leave, he’s going to kill himself with drugs. Honestly, at times, I worry that I’ll be in danger if I leave him. He’s never been physically abusive, but something he said to me when we were negotiating the ‘deal’ chilled me to the bone.

Even though we have this deal, I don’t rub my socializing in Exish’s face. I haven’t gone on a date or anything. And, the only person I would really and truly like to spend the night with will be here after Exish goes back to work. S is a younger man who is turning into a good friend. We talk every day, but we’re not going for a relationship…just sex. I’ve never done that before, and never thought I would. It always seemed slutty and gross to me. Friends with benefits. Really, now? Hmmm…However, I guess things change. He is also a dominant and we get along great. It’s very cerebral. I enjoy that aspect of S&M very much. I also enjoy switching, so he and I are a great match. Then there is a man in San Antonio who was recently widowed. He just needs a substitute wife. He sends me romantic messages every morning and night. They are so sweet they make me cry sometimes. I feel so bad for him. Though his marriage of twenty years was rocky, he’s using me to live those first good years he had with his wife again. He has no idea where I live, nor will he ever. It makes me feel good to fill a little spot for him. Then, there’s J. He’s a dirt track racer. I saw his profile on a dating site. There was no picture, so I asked that he email one. When I opened the email, I was stunned. He looked exactly like a friend of my son’s did right before he died. OMG. It was like seeing a ghost. I continued to chat with him by phone simply because I was so intrigued by that face. After a while, we developed feelings, I suppose. He’s a country boy with solid values…someone you can count on. But, when Exish came home two weeks ago, we stopped talking, for the most part. He texts me every few days to say he’ll wait. I’m not comfortable with anyone waiting on me. I’m going to email him this very evening and tell him not to…wait. I know how it feels and it sucks. Besides, I am positive there is someone better for him than me. He’s got this wild innocence about him. I totally dig it. But I can’t be the one. You know?

Well…I guess that’s it. Although, the above paragraphs barely scratch the surface, my life is changing in profound ways. I welcome the changes. I’ve discussed things with my mother. She fully supports me. She thinks I’ve wasted too much time with a man who can’t even tolerate the sound of my voice. I just wish I was one of those women who can just up and leave with a big ol FUCK YOU!, but I’m not. I’ll figure it out. Just not today…