7. Not Enough

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I had a burst of energy and ability this morning, waking with only 5/10 on the pain scale. I used the time wisely and attended the kitchen. Took care of the kids. Drago and Stallion are home today, sick. Wolfy and Piggy at school.

I’m angry. I’m so damn angry. At times, I am not sure this pain is real. At times, I ask myself if I’m just being damn lazy. Our situation is dire. The money my mom sent us is gone, obviously. It’s only mid-month, and I have no food budget. I will have to access the food bank for the second time this month.

That also means more work for me. Yesterday I stayed till 11 PM. I was half asleep and burned myself when I pulled the bread out of the bread maker. Can’t leave it in, you know, it has to be put on a cooling rack, or it will sweat and go gross.

The burn was nothing, really. After years in the kitchen, you don’t even feel minor burns. But it woke me up, and I struggled to fall asleep till 12. Not very good for healing, lack of sleep.

Then the morning tray… we have a small fridge that the kids are allowed to open themselves (they are still learning gentleness, and I am not in a mental state to correct them gently when I dread the fridge breaking every time they slam the door). So my solution was to separate. Morning tray and their school lunches are kept in the small fridge so they can access them themselves.) So the morning tray is getting thin. Usually, the kids like Havarti and Cheddar, sour cream, and hummus. Hummus is an easy fix; we have the canned one, and the kids like it.

The hard cheese is expensive. And this month, we have no ability to buy groceries at all. I do have $75 in gift cards from our social worker. But I somehow feel we are heading towards even harder times with my damn neck and hold them close.

That’s all happening while Stallion and Drago have their birthdays. Stallion said he does not want a BD party, but since Drago has one, it seemed fair that he would receive the same budget. 200$ each. 200$ is our weekly food budget. But they won’t remember food shortages in 10 years. Their birthdays, they will. I know I remember each empty one.

My parents never celebrated my birthday. It just wasn’t a thing. Their birthdays were an afterthought, so their children’s were too. I remember every single year, the emptiness, the disappointment. The pain — sharp, metallic in taste, hungry — when I’d see the parents of my friends fuss around their birthdays.

I fuss. I fuss around my kids’ birthdays every year. So call me insane, I don’t care. But I will bake the damn bread at 11 PM, and I will make my own butter (Yes, I do. chocolate and vanilla ones), but I will not skip their birthdays.

Birthdays in my house have 3 components, always. First, there is a gift, or a celebration or some kind of attention. Then, there is a cake. Same cake every year. I butchered it this year with Stallions BD; of course, I could barely stand. But there is always cake. I also sent cupcakes to their school. Every year. For all the students.

And third, I find the right moment, that moment when the child feels truly loved, enveloped and happy with the attention, and tell them “Thank you for being born.” Every year. At least once.

Yes, you will receive the same treatment. And if you go all British on me and feel embarrassed about bringing cupcakes to your co-workers, I will just drive there myself and deliver them to them. Face it, mister, your birthday is a day the world has changed forever, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone in your surroundings forget it.

And so… in 3 days, my house is going to host a bunch of teens for Drago’s BD. I didn’t check if the projector is working. I didn’t clean the basement where she will entertain them. She wants to make her own cake this year. But I still need to do the cupcakes. And pay for the pizzas.

I feel like crying. Because after that small burst of energy, which was just enough to clean the kitchen, I am back in bed. Writing to you on my phone. I cannot sit at the PC. Am I just making a fuss over this? Is it all in my head? This 9/10 pain I feel radiating in my jaw… maybe, maybe if I just ignore it… I know. I know. The urgency overrides the logic again. I need to heal. Only I don’t.

Enough about me. It just infuriates me more.

Let’s talk about you. I was thinking yesterday about how there is a fine line between speaking of you so you will know I know you, and, in a way, to calm my nerves, and exposing your soul to the masses too much. I know what a private man you are. I know you don’t allow anyone to see into your heart.

But I know your heart. And then when I say a sentence like that, it’s meaningless until I give an example. But giving this example in this forum just does not feel right. Some things, I will whisper to you in the dark of night, when your head is on the pillow next to mine, and my nose brushes yours. Hold me to it.

Did I tell you about the Wedding? So… I’ll say first that I avoid talking about it because I’m still pissed. Sure, the fact that my ex-husband is getting married to a woman who is compatible with him makes me feel like he is a cheat who gets rewarded for cutting corners. He met her in the UK, you know, while I was here with the kids, on a business trip. In the UK!

It pinched, of course, but I got over it. I cannot compare a man who behaves like a damn bachelor and has the time to find his match to a mother of 4 who is actually carrying the load.

But what I am truly angry about is the fact that he chose my daughter’s birthday as his wedding day. Apparently, “the only day” they had open in the city hall calendar. What a damn BS statement. When he told me, and he told me first, he said something along the lines of, “It should not bother them; they won’t even come. It’s an adult-only event.” I. Was. Fuming.

Mostly because he didn’t say that to the kids until they went to his house, and for 4 days, I couldn’t say a thing. But also the freaking audacity of a man to treat his children like this. Is there any more “You are not a part of my family” sign he can give them?

Drago was, as expected, really hurt. She came home after the weekend they spent at his house and told me what she felt. I couldn’t be the politically correct adult, sorry, not sorry. I told her the truth, that it’s all kinds of fucked up.

She spoke to him, and I would like to think I empowered her to do so. He apologized. But did not change the date. He said they will celebrate their anniversary on another day and that she is allowed to choose their honeymoon, my Drago. like… agh. No words, mate. No words.

Anyways, so Drago’s birthday is going to be a busy one. It’s an in-service day at school for their conferences. So in the morning, I walk between 2 schools with the 4 kids for their conference. Then the kids go to his wedding early afternoon (Yes, the MF finally realized that maybe they’d wanna be there), and as soon as they are back, the house is filling up for Drago’s BD party.

She stands her ground, stubborn as her mama, and claims that day back with that gesture — and I will be the last one to speak to her about what her mom can handle that day.

If her father is a limp dick, her mother has to step up. Again.

Before I go, I owe you a debt from yesterday. I said, you are not my first English love, nor my second. And I would like to explain. Sherlock Holmes was my most definite first love. He was a fixture in my parents’ house, and I was deeply in love with his calm yet explosive nature. I told you I have it for narcissists, didn’t I?

But it was Phileas Fogg who changed my life. Believe it or not, I read Around the World in 80 Days when I was 38. Like many others, I saw the film and skipped the book. Oh, what a mistake. Although I suppose I had to be what I was at 38 to let this creation hit me so deeply. His life philosophy literally changed my life. And then again, there’s Dr. Watson…

I have to go now, life is banging at my door. 
And me… The one who is never enough must answer the call and do the best I can. 
Love,
Yours,
Oxy.
March 17, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?