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Sam’s birthday was on the 10th, but that fell during his time with his dad, so we decided to do a birthday redo today, the first weekend home again.

I have to admit that the day had a tang of the bittersweet for me, and I suffered with that taste in the back of my throat through the morning. Not only did I navigate the first family celebration as a single parent since Jenn and Jaren were young, I also did my first non-spontaneous party, meaning that the tag-team Mark and Sandra show was obvious in its absence. The dance that we choreographed over 15 years that had him doing the food while I did drinks and entertainment was today a pas de one … a difference, a change to be recognized, new steps to be learned.

Stick today on top of the mountain that is Thanksgiving looming … my favorite holiday that has me bumming myself out every year I’ve lived so far from my original family … and, well, it’s the Blues grabbing me by the heart and tugging.

Had a good cry while Skyping with Sis, then sucked it up and made the day fun and love-and-laugh filled. Friends gathered. Kids played. Magnar manned the BBQ. Stan toted and tidied. A good time was had by all.

Tried to load a vid, but it won’t work. There are photos on my facebook page, though.

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Kids are with their dad now, so smelling kid-free time like night-blooming jasmine wafting through the usual mac & cheese and Ovaltine-tainted miasma, I prettied up and let Magnar drag me to a party last night. A real party, with fascinating grownups drinking and dancing and generally carrying on to the tune of interesting conversation backed by the beat of shared and diverse experiences.

Home around 4am, we didn’t get up until 2:30 this afternoon, when, in typical island fashion shit started happening …

A JCB showed up to level my road, a job that’s been waiting for months now. Apparently, Magnar’s plan to show up with an excavator tomorrow (a photo op with hysterical undertones I’ll share when it’s happened) prompted a pissing contest between men with big machines, and our very own Irish builder (Not O’Reilly, but a Rogan) deciding that he’d better get here first … said something about me chewing up his balls … and getting the job under way. Goodie!

Some fiasco broke out at the top of my road between men, a water pipe was broken, the earth moved (or at least a good amount of dirt), and Magnar was called in to smooth things over … road, feelings, whatever needed smoothing … while I stayed well out of it and let it be a guy thing.

During the course of all, I found out why I can’t get a gardener. Seems there’s a ghost living on my road, so no one will come down here. Hmmmmm.

Island life! Gotta luv it

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Day the two

Perfunctory blog post, due to too much fun on a Sunday to actually think. Lunch at Fairyland with Magnar a blast. Right now, Derrick and Shanti have joined the kids and me on the veranda … showing up with a load of Seybrews.

Hey! Tomorrow brings my 4-hours-on-the-road gig taking the kids to and from school back, AND serious writing work in between trips, so I’m goin’ for it this afternoon … relaxing with friends, loads of laughs, flying insults … the lot.

My gawd! I’m lovin’ life these days!

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This new format here on WordPress had me tearing my hair out over posting photos … basically, I can’t. Anyone interested in seeing shots of the kids from yesterday’s trip with Magnar to ride the horses can find them on my facebook page.

Now, if someone can explain to me why the add media dohicky does nothing I’d be right pleased.

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As promised, here are a few photos from the launch party. You can see how involved the kids were in the event by the fact that they are in the press shots like the one where I’m giving a book to the Minister of Education.

Sam signed every book I did and would say “Next!” when he’d finished one. Cracked me up! Cj sprinkled fairy dust in each copy for that extra touch of magic!

It was a good evening, but the bittersweetness of it all hit me hard.

I do hope to have a link set up here soon so the book can be purchased online.

With Minister of Education

With Minister of Education

Signing for the TV camera

Signing for the TV camera

Sam signs one of his illustrations

Sam signs one of his illustrations

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The banner went up last week to prompt sales of my book. It just happens to hang at an intersection Mark has to drive by at least 4 times a day.

Photos from the book launch party Friday evening will be posted soon. It was a wonderful event, and I’m hanging on to the boost it gave me for as long as possible. Of course, the kids were the true stars, but I did get some lovely comments … and sold books!

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AWOL

Sorry about the lack of posts lately, but for some reason all the excitement that should be happening with the book about to launch Friday is wrapped in a black cloud of sadness and I’m left with so little energy that all I have goes into keeping the kids on what level ground I can find.

This time was supposed to be so very different.

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Readers now know the past few months have had me in a personal hell that I’m finding very difficult to rise above, to move along, to get myself back into life and seeing colors again.

Food, sleep, concentrated thought, energy of anything but the nervous type escape my abilities almost completely, and I’m perpetually frustrated by how easily confused I am about the simplest of things; I can’t even seen to keep track of my phone and my keys without relying on an energy-sucking system of constant double checking and everything requires a vigilance that used to come effortlessly as a matter of course.

I’m shaky and constantly exhausted, terrified of eventualities that may or may not occur, but certainly hit me like a ton of bricks throughout every day, and especially at night.

Spending some time contemplating the weak state I’m in and all the physical and emotional stress my present reality has presented me with took me on a mental spin around the world, and with a bit of forcing direction that trip outside my own misery has pushed my puny problems into a rather tidy, if bitter, pill I am able to swallow and manage to keep down.

As most know, two of my kids are Cambodian born, and anyone with a grip on recent history is familiar with the what happened in that country in 1975. 

Quick reminder:

April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge forced every citizen of the city of Phnom Penh to leave their homes carrying only what they could on their backs and head into a blankness that would not be explained. For the following three years, these people and others from other towns were starved, beaten, murdered, separated from their families, forced into slave labor building damns doing other such demanding labor that anyone well fed would suffer greatly, and almost 2 million people died. Many were tortured mercilessly, and there is no shortage of the evidence of this horror still to be seen today in Cambodia.

Today, millions of people are suffering in the same ways every single day, watching their children die, living as sex slaves, working until they drop with nothing but a lash at their back and very little food in their stomachs.

So, what the hell am I bitching about?

The love of my life has lost his mind and left me for a whore, tearing apart my lovely little family and leaving me scared and lonely. The way I’ve been feeling, the impact this has had on me, makes me question just how long I could survive … how long I would choose to survive … a horror of truly immense proportions like so many must.  

I’m a wimp.

It’s time to remind myself just how wonderful my life still is. Sure, my husband is a sleazy creep who has lost his mind, but I know that my life will be just fine, and I need to buck up and keep in mind just where it is in the scheme of things I am lucky enough to inhabit.

Perspective is a good thing. It doesn’t take away pain, but it sure gives it context.

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I’ve been trying to figure out a way forward for Paradise Preoccupied … and for much else in my life at the moment … and have been finding it hard to even compose a follow-up to my last post.

I do not want to turn this into a litany of Mark’s almost daily screw-ups and petty cruelties, no matter how much of my energy is sucked away in the process of him being the “new” him, nor do I want to compete for the title of “Queen Whine of the blog world”.

I’ve considered composing long diatribes on my misanthropic tendencies … life-long and only getting stronger as man proves time after time his weaknesses and base nature … and have even thought of writing on just why it is that humans are my least favorite primate species.

That could be quite an interesting topic, actually, and I may put some time into it. The facts being that non-human primates, in all their various versions of societal behaviors, have worked out how to demand the most of the males in their species before they’re allowed to have sex. 

Unlike in humans, subadult males … the teens and twenties types … inhabit the bottom rung of other primate societies. They get no respect from anyone and are ignored as often as they are chastised for obnoxious behavior. 

The thought of a gang of young chimps or baboons starting wars, raping and pillaging is totally negated by the fact that everyone else in their groups, from adult males to their own mothers and aunties, would nip any such tendencies in the bud, and slap the shit out of them in the process, gives their cultures an advantage ours has lost.

Males in other primate groups have to prove themselves, and much of that proof involves developing into the type of grownups that have the power, grace and fortitude to make damned sure their children reach adulthood under the safest circumstances possible. Females base their choices on granting sexual favors on these factors and wouldn’t touch a flakey good-for-nothing, no matter how pretty or smooth, with a ten-foot length of bamboo.

Gibbons are monogamous. Marmoset fathers are primary caregivers, handing what is usually twins over to mom only at feeding time. Gorillas live in harem groups with the Silverback, having earned every one of his rights of reproduction the hard way, having his way with all the females in his group and taking care of everyone everyday in every way, including providing a vast and hairy playground for his youngsters.

Orang utans are solitary dwelling creatures and tend to mate with whoever they happen to run across in their foraging … they are also the only other primate species that rapes … and little but the genetic contribution is expected from fathers, but at least those rules are clear from the outset.

Chimps are the closest relatives we have in the non-human primate group and the most likely to experience violence and confusion in the social grouping. Multi-male is the standard, and although Top Dog usually gets some sexual action, females aren’t as picky as other primates are, and this causes friction, but usually only among the males competing for some action.

We humans are the only ones whose females will fall for any old line and with males who invest nothing but a few minutes of what is often copious amounts of spare time spent doing nothing else to experience the act of reproduction. We are also the only ones who are rejected out of hand once a relationship has developed, especially when there are children involved.

Loyalties are vital in primate communities, and although the width and depth of those loyalties vary from species to species, they are ignored at the peril of all.

Can we imagine a human world where young men are kept in line, children and women are valued for their very being, and where only men who have earned the right can not only breed, but have any sex at all?

Perhaps monogamy isn’t meant for humans at all, but it would be easier on all of us if we could figure out a system that doesn’t so often end up causing so much damage to so many.

 

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Families with Cambodian connections can check out the week’s wrap of news from the country here and here.

Some of the topics of the week are the shutting down of NCLO, new traffic laws and development plans for Kep City.

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