The Meaning Of Life...

There are a few other things I've been given over the years that I've neglectd to tell you about...

There was my Empty Box full of Love, given to me by my eldest Son when he was about six. There is the Lighthouse Statue that he bought me back from Bateman's Bay because he knew that I would love it as much as he did.There is his little handprint painted on the Tile that he bought home for Me when he was in Kindergarten- and the copper-coloured metal lighter-casing that has the Green-Tree Frog on it that he bought me back from his holiday around Australia last year.

I thought I'd lost it that same night that my Hubby called me an Alcohol Prostitute- because I wanted to go back into the pub and look for it- the lighter- that I had only just left on the table. He thought I was just trying to make an excuse to go back in and drink more piss, but I wouldn't leave a brand new pack of smokes behind as well, on purpose- but most of all I didn't want to lose my Frog. He's just jealous that our Son didn't bring him anything back, that's what it would be...

I got my lighter and smokes back- and then had to put up with him calling me Spastic Bitch for the next three hours before he finally muttered himself off to sleep. I'm more careful with it now- I leave it in my pocket unless I'm actually lighting a cigarette because I don't intend on losing it ever again. It might cause a divorce, or even a death, next time I do.

After it happened I had a strange awful dream that my Hubby and I were arguing in the kitchen, and I got so mad at him that I went over to the deep freezer and got out a frozen can of baked beans- that I had frozen earlier for the express purpose of making it into a heavy blunt object- and hurled it at his head, which then split like a melon- and then he fell down; presumably dead. Of course, I was then immediately sorry for what I have done, and am crying hysterically, wailing and wishing I hadn't done it, but I figure I will get off receiving a really harsh jail sentence because he had provoked me by calling me Mental when he knows how much it angers Me.

At least it was only a dream...

It reminded me of another dream I had a few years ago- where I gently thock-thocked this ugly warty gnome to near-death with a tiny hammer- but just as I knew that one more tiny hammer-blow would end it's sad and sorry life- I feel sorry for what I have done and try to cure it; and gently rock it to sleep crooning love songs. I don't know why I have dreams like this- perhaps they are a reminder to my sub-concious mind, trying to tell me to not let Mental Illness alienate Myself from my Hubby and my kids anymore.

Because if I'm going to tell the truth, the gnome in my dream was actually a 'dream-baby' of mine. I just couldn't write it in there because it sounds too awful. But I nearly killed my 'dream-baby' in that Hammer Dream, and I did kill my 'dream Hubby'- and only then did I regret my actions; once it was all too late.

Is this how I want my Real Life to turn out Is this what's going to happen? I already feel like I've missed out on most of my eldest Son's life because I've been drunk for most of it. Where did he go? What happened to my sweet little baby?

And why did I say Nothing when my Bastard Ex used to call him Mary? Why did I hold him down until he fell asleep, exhausted from crying Himself slack- just because I couldn't cope at times, and just wanted him to go to sleep, please, because I was so fucking exhausted all of the time. I didn't want to be a bad Mother to you Both-I just don't know how to do it any differently.

Only just recently I smacked my little Son because I thought he had done a poo in his big brother's bedroom on the floor- when he hadn't- he just wanted me to turn on the light in the toilet that's all. Well- didn't I feel like Shit. And yes- I deserved to feel that way, because I'm a Bitch who couldn't be arsed getting off the couch to check something simple out. So sue me.

This is why my good memories of my kids are even more precious to Me; because I have so many awful things to make up to them for- and they can still find it in their hearts to forgive me for being the way that I am.

Mental.

My Mother's Day present from my little Son this year was a pink and white tissue-carnation that is stapled to a yellow straw, which another less-enlightened person might look at and dismiss as two little pieces of rubbish stuck together. Man do they need to get an Imagination.

Do you want to know what the best thing about a paper and plastic carnation-flower is, and what makes it even better, say, than the few few roses that their Father has given me over the years?

It can't die- and neither will the love with which it was given.

And it's not that I even deserve it, because I Don't deserve their love even half of the time. Most of the time. When I think back on the reasons why I wanted to go to University I think that the main one was to discover the Meaning of Life in a Philosophy class- but I didn't realise then that the more questions I asked the more that the answers would elude me.

Anyway- I don't need a degree to know that there's not just One meaning to Life. There can't be; because I've got Three. Three very excellent reasons to keep wanting to get out of bed for the rest of my Life.

I just happened to look at the time. It's ten past six on a Tuesday evening.

I know.

The irony wasn't lost on Me, either.