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Dear Seed
How did you get your name?
How did that come about?
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It's an interesting choice, and I can think of several meanings to it; but really, what motivated you to call yourself seed?
BTW, I do like your articles. They are genuine, authentic, and speak the truth.
Nobody is immune from heartache...for me, my life feels like it is over at 48. My husband, with whom I have been with since 21 (27 years), messed with my head so badly over the past 2 years, played me and other women, strung us all along, using us...finally I found out the truth and let them know about him...divorce is coming. Everything is falling apart, my life, my job...
Don't know how I am going to make it, but life is still better than the alternative.. but I am not a young chick anymore. It's not that easy.
Take care of yourself, thank your for the articles, a man's perspective. Men aren't really that different from women, we are all human, with a need for love.
Rebuilding Esteem
R E Correspondence
Seed,
I read on your articles on the "Dumpdumped.com" website.
You write differently than most 'self-help' gurus.. you don't BS us..
Although, I hope this fellow is doing better now, it's been awhile since he posted on your blog. Your words were "tough love"...it's hard to hear the truth, but lies are worse, lies are what got us into this mess in the first place, our lies to ourselves, and their lies to us.. lies, lies, lies.......
truth is painful sometimes. truth is that I don't know how well I well come out of this at all. He hurt me very badly, very.. and I almost let him get away with it..
Yes, I let his girlfriends know what he was doing to all of us. Why shouldn't he feel some of the pain that he caused all of us?
Especially me, his loving devoted wife of 23 years...
Yes, I have my share of problems, but I am not going to take the blame of the failed relationship.. But you are right when you say there probably wasn't any love remaining on his part. That died a long time ago, because you don't hurt people you love like that.. that is not love. I am tired now, to tired to write anymore. All that there is left to do is pick myself up out of the ashes and carry on.
You never said how you came upon your name.
What do your friends call you?
Rebuilding Esteem
Dear Rebuilding Esteem
I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty to give you a catchy name to protect your privacy. Rebuilding Esteem, pretty sweet don’t you think?
Actually, its one lame assed effort on my part, which took place during a massive brain fart. Regardless of the odiferous odor emanating from my ears I’m sticking with it.
Time for a pat on the back
“Seed, you know what we should do today?”
“What Wes? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
“I think the three of us, should take your credit card and rent motor cycles and head out into the Jamaican back country. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“But Wes, I’m afraid of motor cycles and I’ve never rode one before? And, to top it off Greg is only 4’ 11”.”
Our annoying friend Greg was actually 4’ 11”. Take a wild stab what nickname we gave him? If you guessed Shorty, you’d be dead on. Pretty neat huh, not to mention original.
In moments of intense maturity we used to share witty banter at his expense.
“Pat do you want to go to the pub for a wee bit?”
“I’d love to but I’m a little short on cash this week.”
“Haven’t seen Greg in awhile, have you?”
“Seed he’s standing behind that chair.”
And, my personal favorite: “Jump”.
Man were we assholes. Funny ones though.
Back to Jamaica now ‘mon’.
“Ok, lets do it. Should we head back to the hotel since I’m only wearing these short shorts and flip flops.”
“Oh no Seed, that’s standard issue for motorcycle riding in Jamaica.”
“Ok”.
We hit the open road, heading south from Negril. Wind was rushing through my flowing locks. The heat and humidity of Jamaica was making my body glisten with anticipation. What the fuck glistening with anticipation actually means eludes me.
Over hills, past seascapes, dodging carnivorous pot holes, I was getting the hang of riding this hog.
Pit stop, some tasty Jerk Chicken and a couple of Ting’s. Delicious!
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Satiated it was time to head back to Negril for some fun and frolic.
Wes opened throttle and blasted to the front. The "Gigantor" was closely behind him.
I was struggling to keep pace. I flashed to words of reassurance Wes had dropped on me earlier.
“Don’t worry, we’ll go at your pace and take it easy.”
Liar.
Afraid of being left behind I did my best to try and keep up. I didn’t want to be stranded when night came to be devoured by roaming packs of Spliff yielding Rastafarians.
THUD.
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Dead center of a pothole at 40 miles per hour.
Dead center of a pothole at 40 miles per hour.
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I’m about to be ejected over the handle bars. I think: Go over handle bar - very - very bad.
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So, I pushed down and picked another option. I fell sideways and started a 50 yard slide on the asphalt - complete with bike between my legs.
So, I pushed down and picked another option. I fell sideways and started a 50 yard slide on the asphalt - complete with bike between my legs.
It really didn’t feel very nice.
Once again - Wes lied - flip flops and shorts aren’t standard bike gear.
I quickly sprung to my feet and thru my hands in the air and shouted, “I’m ok”.
I was shouting to myself Wes and Kareem were long gone. I looked behind me and went over a quick check list. Bike - check. Sandal - check. Another sandal - check. Hat - check. Skin - check. Pack of salivating Rastafarians - check.
My hand seemed different. All of the white tape I was wearing seems to have peeled off. Wait - I wasn’t wearing white tape - better look at my palm.
Silly me - it wasn’t white tape at all - it was my skin. OUCH!
Why’s my little toe dangling?
Magically Wes and “What you talking about Willis,” returned.
“Wes the sandals didn’t protect me.”
“That’s odd.”
All he could offer was that’s odd.
I was magically transported to a small village clinic. In the waiting room Wes placed my flip flops on my toe dangled feet. The nurse put a fan in front of me and every few minutes someone would come and empty the blood from my sandals.
Finally, “Hello doc, fix me.”
“I’m Dr. Babs, I got my degree from the University of Nigeria. For $100 US I’ll fix you up good, a little cleansing and a shot or two of Demerol and maybe the odd stitch and you’ll be on your way.”
“I only have $60 Canadian on me.”
“We’ll do the best we can. Hey nurse you know that batch of purple stuff we’ve got. You want to grab it for me. And, oh yeah what’s in those vials next to the Demerol.”
“I’m not sure Babs.”
“Anyway grab a couple.”
“The ones next to your Ganga?”
Babs fixed me up real good.
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Apparently the purple stuff (see picture above) hasn’t been used in North America for decades. The vials made me hallucinate. On our way home I had a couple of day pit-stop in a Seattle hospital to save my foot. Hospitals in Seattle are very expensive when your trip mate “the gnome” buys trip cancellation insurance instead of medical insurance on the day of departure. Seriously, while we were at the airport buying our tickets he bought flight cancellation insurance.
What did I learn. Being patted on the back by Jamaican pavement isn’t fun.
That and, say no to global warming.
That brings us to the reason for the pat on the back. You see I used the word odiferous for the first time in my life. It just popped into my head and I threw it into this article. I decided damn that’s one fly word and I’m going to leave it in even if I’m misusing. I looked it up. My usage was correct.
Kudos to me.
end of pat on the back
As for my nick name. A wise man once said to me:
“OUCH”.
He had just stubbed his toe.
He also said to me:
“Seed, you’re so old that in the beginning of time there was only you and dirt and since dirt can’t speak we’ll have to take your word that you’re younger than dirt.”
This wise man coined: The Seed.
If you’d like to learn more about my origins flashback to;
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Thanks for your kind words on my (our) articles. I (we) truly appreciate it.
For the most part we speak from the heart and experience. I (we) once you sift through some of my at time nonsensical ramblings and the short vignettes taken from my life, I (we) do try to offer some sincere and at times blunt suggestions to help people rebuild.
We just figure no matter how “fucked up” things can get - it’s vitally important to find a way to laugh. We believe that with absolute certainty and passion.
Thanks again for your kind words.
“RE”, your situation licks. It bites the big one. I can’t imagine the pain having someone who you’ve spent 27 years with can inflict. Selfish Narcissistic Bastard. Regardless of the details he deserves to catch something festering that reduces him to a whimpering Troglodyte.
“RE”, as much as that’s what he deserves, you can’t spend a second wishing for bad things to happen to him. As hard as it is to face, now is your time. You’ve got to exile him from your mind, which will take every ounce of strength and take this time to learn to love yourself. It’s up to your friends and others who care to do the “voodoo thing” for you.
It’s also important to not worry about the other women at all. In my estimation she’s no better than your ex.
BTW, 48 isn’t old. You still are a young chick. In fact, I’ve read somewhere that 48 is the new 24. I may have made it up myself, but, that doesn’t matter, its time for you to step out and explore new things. New foods, new exercise, new………
You can do it.
Age really is nothing more than a state of mind and the odd wrinkle. We really don’t need to listen to others and what society deems as normal for certain stages of life. I’ve got a hunch that societies program may be failing and it’s time for us to individually adjust the formula.
Sweetie, it’s also very important to learn how to lie. Meaning: limit the number of people you express your heartache to. A counselor - who will just listen. At most a couple of dear friends. To everyone else “I’m doing great”. Eventually, you’ll start to believe your lie and when that happens magically it will no longer be a fib.
As for Been Dumped: it provides a great place for people to go so they can realize that they’re not alone. That others have gone through similar traumas. The only thing I’m leery of: I don’t think it is wise to spend too much time talking to people who are consumed with despair. I think it can perpetuate the misery. Sad stories suck and eventually all blend together stripping away individuality. Don’t allow that to happen to you. Don’t be defined by what this Bastard has done. It won’t do you any good.
Another wise man shared with me his views on operas of the likes of Wagner. He also shared thoughts of some of the worlds great philosophers. He expressed that they all claim that life is tragic and the world for the most part will not end on a high note. He stated these gifted individuals have carried the burden of pain with them throughout their lives.
I’m not quite so fatalistic. I have however, pulled my head out of the sand and I’m not so sure I like the current path civilization is on. Frankly, it scares me.
Hence, the importance of laughter and living life to the fullest. While talking to this individual a bright light went on: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if the world lives on to infinity. It doesn’t matter if it blows up in a million years, a thousand years or tomorrow for that matter.
What does matter is that we take each day and embrace it. Both the good and the bad. The crap and the caviar. Maybe not caviar - instead, the Hagan Daz.
It’s important to realize that we’re responsible for our own “moments” and we must try to make them brilliant. If someone like Selfish Narcissistic Bastard hurts and disrespects you. Fuck him. You deserve better. The pain is inevitable, however, it must be kicked to the curb as quickly as possible.
“RE”, make your new moments memorable. You’re going to be fine. I’ve got a hunch and just like my hunch about odiferous was right. I’m sure this one will be as well.
My friends call me Lindsay or Seed.
Remember you asked
the seed
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P.S. Don't forget to say no to global warming. Go for a walk. Burn the SUV. Eat organic.
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P.P.S. Visit our website www.seedenterprises.com . If you are interested in signing The Seed Posse to a lucrative recording contract: We're listening. Now speak.
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