Peacemonger Mom

My son just enlisted in the military. I'm a peace activist. Why couldn't he have rebelled in some other way, like being republican?

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

In which I channel Harriet the Spy

I no longer have to look at what I do here at this blog, or my writing in my journals, as taking away from the "legitimate" work that I am doing towards my classwork or towards my thesis. Funny, that. I just realized - again - how circular life can be.

When I began writing my original blog, the ill fated, now deleted blog that I loved, I began it as a class project during my last semester in my undergraduate career. It was for a creative writing class, and it grew from a creative writing assignment (it wasn't assigned, per se, but we had to journal about a book we were reading, and I was itching to begin to blog after reading Flea's blog, and so I took it upon myself to make it into a blog). After I passed the blog around to some friends when it became obvious that we were going to be moving away, it became a "how to keep in touch with me" type thing. That, of course, by it's very nature, made it impossible for me to blog about certain things that were just TOO private (hello, not gonna blog about those wild and crazy evenings of monkeysex with Hun! Not with Mother and Othermother reading, thanks!), but that wasn't what that blog was about. Then, it outgrew its usefulness, I think, and to be honest, I said some stuff that I really should not have - Hun was right (and ps, Hun will likely get a new name, eventually, when I come up with a good one. I just don't have a good one yet. AR maybe) about being more anonymous online, and not sharing so much stuff about myself. And my family. Specifically, I said some stuff about my stepdaughter (DQ) and her mother that just really would have been better handwritten in my *real* journal. I just let 'er fly, though, and said what I thought, and what I felt, and forgot the difference between the online and the journal that goes in the nightstand. That was, ultimately, the reason for deletion of the blog. I love DQ, and I don't want to make her feel bad. And yes, it is not above the Ex (or his current wife) to have printed off things and sent them to DQ or even her mother. The only reason I'm not terribly worried? Ex and Wife-'o-Ex aren't too bright. But they are mean, so they really could have, and may have, thought to do that. But I wanted to avoid that, if possible. So I hit the big delete button, and the project I began in my senior year, as I was deciding not to focus on women's studies (ha! that worked out well, huh??) disappeared.

As you can see, by my constant blathering about it, I was troubled about the loss of my blog. It traced the most difficult time of my life - leaving my children, who I love and miss terribly, but who no longer needed me, and who had their own lives and plans, without me in them, to chase after what I and Hun was another journal that I tossed on the fire, because Ex could twist and abuse it, and hurt others with it. It was, after nearly 12 years apart, another way that Ex could infect himself into my life, and the life of those important to me, and that pissed me off.

Tonight in class, my professor (who is also on my committee) told me that perhaps I should journal about the experiences I am having in the writing of my thesis on the topic of Cindy Sheehan and media representations of her while also struggling with the issues arising from TB's decision to enlist, and how his enlistment plays out.

Could I be happier about this? Oh hellno! This is great! Now, I can blog to my heart's content, and pour out all that's been rounding through my head, even in a way I couldn't before, and it's legitimate! It's not a waste of time, like the 20 minutes last night when I stared in horror at the tv screen while "Dr. 90210" discussed women's breasts/stomachs/etc. while wearing an astoundingly horrible bestrip'ed suit that made me wonder if he had just escaped from Surgeon Jail (Dr. 90210 is hawt, but I am not letting me suck me into his show, oh no, even tho he does work the hotness, I am still in rehab from my Lost addiction, and I still am debating whether or not I can socially Lost, as opposed to being in a 12 step program from Lost - but hello, Sayid hotness! Oh, the hotness that is Sayid! My goodness, that was a long parenthetical distraction!)

Yes, I amuse myself with the blogging, and I am excited, beyond words, that I can continue to do so, and it can return to being something I do with pleasure, with joy, with relief. Because I am conflicted, I am upset, I am sad, I am worried. I have days when I try to do research for this, and all I can envision is the horror that would be my life if I were in Cindy Sheehan's shoes. I love my son, and I miss him already, and I cannot understand how I will function when he is in harm's way. I looked at My Military Friend tonight in class tonight as she was speaking (and she is fucking brilliant) and all I could think was, "How can she think? How can she sit? How can she move through her day? Is she not consumed with the worry that with each knock on the door, there will be grim faced military men on her step? What is the secret?" And, of course, I constantly wonder - what is the magic spell, incantation, blessing, letting of my own blood, whatever it needs be, to keep those grim faced men away? I am always - always - one single breath away from a crying jag. The evening news with Jim Lehrer is no longer the same for me. There it is, on the screen in the evenings, the parade of young, and not so young, men and women, who are all missed by their mothers. Each of those people on the screen symbolizes at least one - probably more - weeping, screaming mothers (birth mothers, othermothers, mothers in law - the list goes on, and we are all mothers, all bearers), and all I can think is when will this stop? Please, please, let it end before I am one of those invisible, screaming mothers, before I hear the knock on my door, before I learn what it's like. Please.


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