Dis Pretty Woman

I am having a Roy Orbison kind of day.  Damn it, truth be told, I have a Roy Orbison kind of life.  And none of the happy shit he wrote songs about either.  I am Tragedy.  I am well suppressed Fury.  I am tired. 

I came here today to delete this account.  To delete it an create a new one.  To slip even further into anonymity.  To disassociate myself from what I'd wanted this blog to be...a place to chart to growth after death visited my life so personally.  A place where I could watch myself bloom with new life and purpose.  Well, I missed the mark on that.

I will always be the first to admit I am damn naive.  This 42 year old woman, mother of two teenaged sons...well, I'm done.  I may still be naive, but I am sad to admit I think I have become angry, distrustful, disenfranchised, my heart is becoming disabled.  I am become Jaded.  Sadly I can't even write herewith  that 'Cool Cat Jaded' like Winnona Rider in all her cheesy intellectual type-cast roles in the eighties and nineties.  Non of that feverish, spanked fresh writing for me.  No.  No I don't gracefully step fort on the page, I stumble drunkenly miserabl.  Here I vomit up my frustrations.  I'm not even cool enough to get faded, Bukowski-like, and blow others away with raw visceral truths.

Instead I am whiner.  A feeble-minded moaner on the page.  A sad and stumbling victim of my own pathetic life.

Last night I had the great displeasure of crying myself to sleep.  Triggered by my thirteen year old son.  He loves his penis more than his education or my sanity.  He's a terrible person.  No really.  It's not just being thirteen years old, though my seventeen year old was just awful then too.  My youngest son excels at being awful.  He lies, he sneaks, he steals, he neglects.  He is brilliant.  He is that guy that flies under the wire.  He has super powers.  I swear he does.  He seems to be in training for super villainy.  And he does all this with big blue 'deer in headlights' eyes and smile.

I want to smack him.

I suppose he'll just get to repeat eighth grade at another junior high (the one he attends now was due to our previous address and I did an intra-district transfer for him to stay at the one he is failing miserably at now), our address feeds into this other junior high and high school campus,  It is an elitist high school where doctors, layers, and other very upper class $800,000+ home owners demand results for their privileged and spoiled children growing up in the pressure cooker of success.  I don't care now if he's thrown to the wolves of the upper social class.  Please don't think I am being 'judgy' now... I have friends and their children matriculate there and it's awful, mean, and clicky.  Fact, one of the counselors informed my friend that the school could be brutal socially.  That in no way should a gay young adult be open about their orientation at that school.  Now Ian says he isn't gay (her children aren't either, the counselor was just making a very disturbing point) but my sons behavior often sets him apart in negative ways.   My kid and his awkward refusal to conform would likely make him a target there and make his life a little miserable as well.  You see, he likes to wear that big target on his back these days.  Now instead of wanting to protect him I kind of feel this instead, Screw him.

I've been nearly sweating over his transition to high school.  The one our address requires him to go to is the one I mentioned above.  There is another I could use my work address for, but I am not so sure it isn't about the same.  I could use my mother-in-laws address and send him where my oldest son goes but I'd really rather avoid that as my son established himself in negative ways with other students he went went to elementary school with and frankly they were just as bad as the elitist kids I am worrying about.  There seems to be no middle road for me to choose.  At this point I am so frustrated with him I want what's easy for me.  He can bus to and from the school our address feeds into and if  he pulls his head out of his ass long enough to take advantage of what this campus has to offer and stops acting like a dick he might make something of it.  High school sucks for most people except those that peak there.  I realize that.  However, I am not wishing any Pretty in Pink scenario on my son.  The district lines were redrawn about two years ago.  The school he's in now, and its feeder high school where where he wants to be, and I wanted him to be (minus a few friends I'm am so over).

While I spend my time concerned and trying to make a good choice for his next phase in his education I also constantly battle his Défiant le vent.  I now feel if he doesn't care, let the world smack his skinny butt down.

I have had this mentality since my oldest son put me through this.  Sadly it is continually shocking to me how schools operate.  Syllabuses I have to sign, my son has to sign.  Expectations and consequences.  The convenience of the expectation is there, to make life easy for everyone if he complies.  Yet, no follow through on consequences.  Everyone in his life is teaching him his actions are acceptable.  No One Anywhere holds him to any standard.  Not even their own.

Except me.  Sadly most of the time I am clueless, by choice, as I have been naive enough to expect that a teacher will actually follow their own syllabus.  No, no they do not.  They are simply failing my son and lazily relying on Parent Connect, a good way to stalk your child online, to do their job of informing a parent of their child's doing well or slipping intoa  hellish scholastic purgatory.

Now, they aren't entirely failing at their job, even if they don't follow their own rules, even if the school doesn't follow it's own policies. You see, if my son shows no interest in his own welfare, even if he is proven to be highly intelligent and capable, I agree...why should they put effort into him? 

My cluelessness by choice isn't because I don't care but because this is the safest time in my sons life for him to learn the consequences of his actions and not end up with him on the street.  My frustration is this, I'd like his teachers to follow their own rules.  Yet, silly me...they already are teaching him the ways of the world.

He is being given enough rope to hang himself.

Hang he will.

I care you see.  I care a great deal.  I care so much I had taken my hands off.  Unfortunately I waited until the burner of my son was red hot to touch it again.  I regret it.  Our home life has been hellish for the last week and a half because I decided to 'parent connect' and realized he is doing horribly and I have receive no communication at all.  Then I concluded, well, you read that already.

If I were as intelligent as my son I would have simply informed his teachers to go ahead and fail him and let him repeat eighth grade on our home address campus instead of his intra-district transfer. They can simply do what they are already doing, hands off, let him hang.  He can do it over next year on another campus.  Not our problem.

This school district doesn't like that much though.  They are elitist in general.  Excellence!  My son tests well, but his everyday performance?  It sucks.  Well, his penis knows he gets an A+++.

He was wanting me to send him to the feeder school for the junior high he is now because of one particular (he said) friend. As I mentioned above.  However I think he wants his little group of misfits, his bestie Stephanie.  I saw her for the first time.  Scary.  That he identifies with her freaks me right out.  My first impression of her was So Cal (DogTown) surfer, skater boy.  I thought she was a boy.  Then I realized who she was when I was in a meeting with him and his English/US History teacher they all came up to the window and made faces and acted like chimpanzees let out for recess.

I realize he's thirteen, and probably mostly typical. But for the ADHD and behavioral issues and lack of filter and love of things inappropriate and preferably sexual in nature.

I'm just tired of all the shit I've been through with him the last several years.  I'm worn out.  Every time I think think we hit a place that is going to smooth out a bit I get kicked in the gut and there is no Village willing to help me, and I have been reaching out damn it.

I didn't put down most of what I am dealing with...I am still slogging through.  And I am slogging through it alone.

I'll admit this, alone is daunting.  Alone is weighty.  Alone is terrifying.  I have learned very acutely, alone is better.

Occam's Razor.  There is no village for me.  I finally realized it Sunday the second of March.   Wicked March and it's cruel curses and truths.

My mother-in-law put it clearly.  I am surrounded by crazy.  I come from crazy.  Somehow it skipped me personally, but it is to me like iron to the magnet.

I am slowly working on demagnetizing myself.