It's too early. I've no business blogging right now. My mind is fogged, but for a very good reason. My son and I edited one of his independent movies together until the wee hours of the morn. We had a blast. The project turned out great. He really knows how to cheer me up.

Four years ago he came to visit me and shot this mock horror flick with my quip and cast me as his lead panic stricken female being chased around by a terrorist doll. Not a completely original concept but one that he could put together in a flash. He's quite the director. He takes after me, of course. At the editing table we fought over small details of the soundtrack because, of course, we're both head strong control freaks. I love him like no other person on this planet.

He understands me like no other man I know. He knows that I'm fiercely temperamental and creative to the core. He respects me enough to tell me exactly what he thinks, even of me. He has no fear of me, even as I am his mother, he has taken that battle sword I carry and incorporated it into his own life's story. And he has the greatest sense of humor, often firing rounds of jokes at me and leaving me rolling on the floor. However, I don't think he'll ever know how much I miss him and have missed him since he was eight years old, when I lost residential custody of him during my divorce from his father. I guess you could say, I lost sight of what a full-time Mom should be, since the court seemed to think that my actions weren't prudent for a woman to be a full-time Mom.

1993 was the year I was dissolved from being a responsible mother to an unfit, irresponsible hussy, with no right to make decisions for the benefit of myself and my son. The constant questioning of my character by lawyers, my ex-husband, my family and neighbors, changed me into a frantic self defense expert. I stole trash, I maintained a mass of documents and wrote journals of truths about the sins of my ex, and still lost. I was terrorized by who I was, and the thought that who I was, was not fit to be a mother, as per the rules of "the system" took over the waves in my brain. I lived in hell for being who I was, based on society's standards and family law in the state of Illinois. My attorney once told me, "You're not in California anymore..." As if I was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. It was abundantly clear to both my attorney and myself, that I was not Dorothy and we we're not in the land of Oz.

***

I was NOT the type of person who let the world control me. My parents tried to raise me to be a good little Mormon girl, so they could marry me off to a good (HA!) little Mormon boy. I saw right through that and jumped ship in my teenage years. I refused to follow anyone's rules and thus was surrounded by criticism. I went against the grain, I ignored traditions, I balked at their rules and was therefore punished in the worst way. To them it was just what was best for my son, to me it was a clear message that love and trust was a lie and damage and destruction was the way men choose to win, no matter how much they tell you they love you.

I could've won, if I had chosen to bring up my ex's habitual drug use, his inability to support his family, and his fraudulent schemes to buy a house, but I didn't want to go that far. I didn't want to hurt my ex anymore than I had already. I was trying to be fair... Dumb move. Basically I allowed him to win. I walked directly into the middle of the road and laid down and let him run me over several times with a tank of misinformation.

Never again I tell you... And so now I am referred to as a bitch or I am mean and non-bending, bitter even, for never accepting a man's lies to hurt me like that again. If being nice and polite to the point of being crushed is what men want and what they think is attractive in a women, you can kiss my ass.

***

Today is the day I am to return to the airport and put my son on his return flight back. I've been through this before and I will admit, it's never easy. The last time I did this, I concealed a bottle of E&J Brandy beside me, in the seat of my car and drank it while I drove 95 miles per hour down the highway away from the airport. The wounds were still rather fresh then, they have since healed, but the scar will always be visible from my point of view. I won't carry the brandy today, but I will still feel that need to get pulled over, given a sobriety test and arrested for having an illegal blood level of sorrow.













Big T was here 9:21 AM
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