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The Spawn(tm) yet not really

For some reason, I still look at The Spawn's(tm) face and see a four-year-old. She's 16. At her age, we don't even want to list the things *I* was already doing, much less the things she COULD do, if she only willed them to happen.

Maybe I should let loose the apron strings? Just a little wouldn't hurt her. The fact that she's GROUNDED at her dad's is a situation that even he's forgotten, so what, truly, are we teaching her about independence?

Maybe it's because the world is so...hard and ugly now compared to how it was when I grew up. Back then, you could ride your bicycle to the library two miles away without encountering any homeless people, a drive-by, or attack dogs waiting for you to cross their turf. Something about TODAY just isn't cohesive to teen-raising. Or at least for me, it isn't. I had my own car at 15, and was tooling around with a job. I won't let HER out of eyesight when she's here. WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE? Could it be, OH I DUNNO, the foible which occurred a couple of months' ago which has tainted The Spawn's(tm) before-perfect, flawless personality? Or could it be that knowledgeable teen-aged, wide-eyed, OMGSZZZZZZ I CAN'T BELIEVE MOM JUST DID THAT EMBARASSING THING look she gets sometimes? Whatever it is, it's making me all nervous and non-trusting, despite the fact that she tells me everything. Even things I wish she would hide. OH NO. SHE SHARES. Right now, she's watching a movie with her two-summers'-ago kissing partner. O.o Greaaaaaaat. And now, she thinks he's hot. So what did she think he was THEN, WHEN SHE JUST KISSED HIM? AVERAGE? UGLY? Am I gonna walk in there and find them naked on the couch? I'm scared, and just need someone to HOLD ME K?

Anyway, this entry wasn't even supposed to be about her, but since she does occupy at least 75% of every waking day, or thoughts of her thereof, it was noteworthy.

The critical, scary thing is that I just happened to stumble upon some writing that made me cringe with my inability to even rival this person. Oh yeah, I'm a big journalist, having been published 57329572395782398 times, but what the HELL IS THAT? It's crapping out and doing what I had to to make a living with knowledge gained in college. Heh. Knowledge and college. Nothing else rhymes with those two, I don't think.

But am I a real writer, made of the mettle it takes to truly publish my own book of thought, or am I going to continue to be this fast-food, thrust-it-in-your-face-and-be-hated-forever blogger (yes, I said BLOG) who journals every mundane occurrence in my boring little existence, despite having lived a BIG HUGE interesting life? I don't think I can. So today's been ruined, courtesy of reading A Really Good Writer.

And hell no, I'm not going to give a nod in that direction. It's bad enough that I've been enraptured by their turns-of-phrase and witticisms. A girl can only take so much of all that.

In other, more somberish news
Went to the victor alpha yesterday, and had a serious stare-down with this old veteran who was bragging about his participation with the black panthers.

Yes. He was bragging. And he was also trying to stare at my child's cleavage which made me NONE TOO HAPPY AT ALL. So I squared off and faced him, crossing into his personal space, and angering him into a stare down, sorta like what you have in high school, only more dangerous and almost involving weapons and stuff. It wasn't pretty. All this, only to have my doctor ignore some serious symptoms I'm having, sending me back up for MORE blood work, since I've gained another 10 lbs. since LAST MONTH. WTHHHHHHHHH. ONE MONTH = 10 LBS. At the rate I'm going, I'll need to be rolled outta the house, into a Winnebago to go to the grocery store. Just sayin'. If you're out of breath from walking for two minutes, you might have a little problem.

So the victor alpha was awful, then reading a better writer was...well, worse. This writer and I shared a lot of similarities - which is the tragedy of it all - but alas, had the balls to publish their work. I don't have the "it" it takes to even finish my own book. Sure, I can write for a commission. I can use someone else's history and ideas to formulate a perfectly decent book. But can I put all my thoughts into something that I've intended to do all my life? HELLZ NO.

I'm a big ole loser. Just ask my hate club. That's one thing that was said on this website: You know you're successful at what you do when you receive just as much hate mail as you do "we love yous". I agree with that wholeheartedly.

But I wanna see the money. Where are the fruits of all this...labor? *snort*

Whatev. For someone who takes one thought, and 5 minutes later has an entry completed (without even the courtesy of running spell check) I'm lucky that anyone reads at all. Or am I?

And that's that.

Carry on.


( 4 whispered — Speak )
Jul. 8th, 2008 06:34 pm (UTC)
I'm sure my parents still look at me as if I'm a little boy... They sure seem to treat me that way!
Jul. 8th, 2008 06:36 pm (UTC)
She has this little baby face, and I want to scoop her up, hide her out, and not let ANYTHING BAD OR HARMFUL GET NEAR HER.

I know it's part of growing up, but the mommy in me hattttttttttes it.
Jul. 9th, 2008 11:27 am (UTC)
Yeh, with you on that urge to keep precious children safe. But then again, my girls had a lot of peer rejection, teasing and bullying when they were young, so I don't regret their being adults now. At least they're able to deal with the bitchery, and not trapped with a group of sniggering little cows in school for months on end.

I try to console myself about them being grown up and having to fight their own battles now, with the thought that each of them has a LOT of me in her, so it's like I'm still their protector and shield, it's just at one remove.
Jul. 9th, 2008 06:03 pm (UTC)
She's been able to pick and choose the friends she wants, and is fortunate that way. She's more of a leader than a follower. Still - it's hard to let go and just allow her to "be" with her friends. I worry soooooooo much about everything.
( 4 whispered — Speak )


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Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
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Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card
Which is blank, is something that he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
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Tell her I bring the horoscope myself;

One must be so careful these days.

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