monday cont.

[saved as draft and published April 2, 2007]

7:00pm

The man I love has found someone else, looking for a life without this ridiculous seesaw of drama that has been set in motion. I can't blame him. I don't want this, either. Cried for a long time in the dark, then turned on a light and did the dishes while my mom played with Gavin in the living room.

Yuri called to catch me on the rebound and convince me to move to California. "Doesn't it feel sooooo good to be in love? You can fall in love with anything! Your phone, the internet, movie stars, it happens all the time! And now you're single, you can have real boyfriends and do whatever you want!"

I am trying to be happy about that, but I'm not.

Seeking clarity

When you look into a pool of water, if the water is still, you can see the moon reflected. If the water is agitated, the moon is scattered and fragmented. It is harder to see the true moon. Our minds are like that. When our minds are agitated, we cannot see the true world.

-Jon J Muth, Zen Shorts

6:00am:
My mother looked up at me as I put on my shoes. Elmo was singing to Gavin about finding a thinking spot when you're feeling troubled. She said, "My daughter has lost her thinking spot. She needs to find her rock." I kissed her head and walked Gavin to the car with his lunch box.

6:45am:
Sitting in a comfy chair at Starbucks, very large coffee in hand. I could feel the water settling, and I was starting to see beneath it what I had suspected for weeks. I stared out the window at the sun coming up, waiting. You're alive, get going, I told myself, and dropped my coffee in the trash on the way out. Enough of that, I need to get off caffeine.

8:30am, waiting for appointment:
I paced the empty shopping center in Hawaii Kai, watching the boats in the harbor bob around. Leaning on the chipped railing, I inhaled deeply to smell the ocean; smelled nothing. I wonder if that's good or bad, I thought. After walking past the coffee shops and pausing to look at the cheeses in the grocery store, I walked back to the car and rolled down the windows, turned up the radio. Warm day, shivering anyway.

10:45am:
I let the library door swing shut behind me and shook my head in disbelief. Employers who offer terrible hours and low pay should really try not to make ugly mocking faces while a potential employee is answering questions. Telling bald-faced lies about why the job is open is also not a good idea. I don't think I'll be getting a call back from them. If I do it will be a short conversation.

I headed toward Waimanalo, wondering where my anxiety went. In the garbage with the coffee, maybe. On impulse, I turned off at Sandy Beach. Blowhole exploded in the distance, the ocean rolled in with massive winter waves. Wave on top of wave. I opened my gym bag and pulled out my Speedo. Snaked out of my skirt and blouse with the windows still open, snapped up the straps and stepped out barefoot into the hot sand. Sitting on my towel, I watched the bodyboarders make run after run at the massive waves, getting rolled and crushed into the shore. A tanned man in sagging shorts stood near me, eyes on the formations of the waves, feet padding rhythmically, ready to sprint when the water looked just right. Completely focused. I leaned back and watched him run like a pelican into the surf and get flipped clean over - feet flailing - and smashed into the sand, causing me to laugh for the first time in days. The chill began to seep out of me into the sand. I picked up my towel and walked back to the car, pulled on my red shorts, and drove with the windows down all the way home.

I've been around this circle a few times before, and it always ends the same way; me alone on a beach in the winter, giving up my troubles to the sky. Bottom line: I like my home. 

Still no text that would break my heart. Coward, I thought. I tossed my phone across the table, put on some dry clothes, and walked to the store for stamps and shrimp. Bills in the mail. In the past week or so, I have started to regain my feet financially. Next month looks pretty good.

2:00pm
With a follow-up appointment for Gavin in an hour, I hopped back in the car and headed to the mall. I walked straight to the teen jewelry stores. Claires horrified me with all their pink fluffiness, so I headed down to Icing. Same store, but more boho. Didn't matter. I pointed to a gold stud, sat in the little swivel chair, and PUNCH! I now have a cartilage piercing. Another notch, this one for the end of an era. The tender spot next to my solitary right earring can continue waiting.

Gavin checked out healthy. He played with his blocks on the rug while I sauteed fish for supper. I thought about the corporate metaphor my headmaster used at the last staff meeting. Heart aligned beneath my head, feet firm beneath me, hands working at the things that need doing.

lunchbreak musing

I am one of those purse ladies now.

Observe my purse. It is brown, leather-ish. About the size of a football. One main pocket, one zipped outer pocket, one open outer pocket on the other side. Not particularly bulging or conspicious in any way. An unobtrusive little purse.

And inside, it contains:

set of keys
car key
unlabeled key
49 pennies (3 sticky)
4 dimes
3 nickels
5 quarters
7 packets of Splenda (2 sticky)
cell phone
ear receiver
wallet
checkbook
7 lipsticks (1 of which I use)
1 eyeshadow
1 eyeliner
1 makeup brush
1 mini foundation bottle
1 bottle ylang ylang essential oil
1 lipliner (unused)
3 pads (also unused)
1 box breathmints
bottle of ibuprophin
bottle of unused prescription
tube of medicated ointment of unspeakable horror
plastic vampire fangs
instruction booklet in Japanese
2 letters in full-sized standard envelopes
weight watchers point calculator
2 pens
a receipt for 87 cents
a receipt from the thrift store
a bank statement saying I'm broke
empty vitamin box
hair clip
comb
red post-it note with my own phone number on it
yellow post-it with lawyer numbers scribbled out on it (sticky)
folded white paper with university course number on it
6 pink rocks from upstate New York
lanyard clip
black eye patch
AA battery
leather zipper pull (no zipper)
half a candy wrapper
back of a scottish pin (front fell off and got lost)
torn barcode from grocery store club card
1 white-ish pink-ish M&M
1 nail file
1 miscellaneous pink pill, probably advil

And guess how much of that I just threw away instead of throwing back in my purse? Correct, none.

published 7/7/09

copied and pasted from RMC web board for my records:

He called his mom and told her the basics; that he'd cheated on me and was doing things on the internet and needed help. He's making plans to move back to New York. His mom is looking into treatment for him; if anyone is good at running other people's lives, it's her (not necessarily a criticism, she's very efficient), so he's in good hands. He asked if he could come over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I said I didn't think it was right to ask me to spend the holidays with the man who had sex with strangers behind my back. He cried. I told him to get out of my life. He wanted to know about Gavin, I said he could talk about that when he was working on recovery, in the meantime he could see him when we go to Scottish dancing on Wed, while I'm there.

I feel like my good sweet husband died. Did I ever have one? I look at pictures now and wonder what he was thinking, who he was thinking about, what he had done with whom only hours before or after our happy little pictures. For the entire time.

drippy

Lunch break
It is cold and quiet in the library. I have taken down my book display, so all the little book holders are sitting empty like stiff little white skeletons. I have misplaced my mug of coffee, which I'm sure will make itself evident by Monday. Or maybe the following Monday, as it has to compete with the nose-numbing air freshener I used in the library.

Friday. Another Friday, I swear we had one last week. It's as if each day of the week is aligned in a sort of worm-hole fashion to create singular, long, terrible days. Every Friday I'll be stuck in this endless Friday. And Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday, and the rest of them, too.

Promises, promises
 One of the high school student swore to me that my copier kicked the bucket ("whoa, this is waaay before my time, this is from like the 80s"), and the tech guys told me it was a dinosaur and wasn't getting any new parts, so I was all excited about maybe getting a shiny new copier - and then the maintenance people came around and fixed it anyway. Old Bessy lives to see another decade.

Yes, I'm avoiding talking about my personal life. I am a career girl now. I drink coffee, talk about student profiles, wear uncomfortable shoes, and watch tv shows starring Sarah Jessica Parker.

About my personal life
Fine.

My mother took Gavin to bronze casting last night while Mike and I poured our guts out to the therapist. I am going to dig out my half-finished sculpture from last year and work it back into life. Clay, plaster, blast furnace, grinding metal, blowtorches, dangerous chemicals - that's therapy right there. It will be wonderful to kick off the heels, pull on some jeans, get my hands dirty, and get into that intense concentration where everything else disappears.

Hear me roar or something

My mom's house. Woke with a start from bad dreams that I couldn't remember, puffy-eyed. Brushed the wrinkles out of my work outfit that was chucked in the closet since the man brought it over last Friday. Calling in sick for Gavin's fever that day meant that a mountain of work and desperate teachers would be waiting for me when I got to the library.

Shuffled downstairs in the dark, pinning my blouse securely shut with a safety pin. On my web board, the news was all bad. My mom came downstairs while I ate my cheerios dismally in front of the laptop, and let out a low moan by the bird cage. Mugwort the Not So Stupid Bulbul (aka Norbert) died overnight. He seemed happy yesterday, snatching bits of strawberry from my fingers and using his wings like hands to crawl all over the cage (his legs hadn't worked since the cat bit him last week). After assembling Gavin's lunchbox and boiling his eggs for breakfast, I went upstairs to wake him while digging through my mom's jewelry boxes. Put on an opal ring, different earrings, a fairy pin, while Gavin sobbed that he didn't want to go to preschool. With her jewelry on, I looked a bit like my mom, like she used to look when she was 26, alone and grim. Hugged Gavin, got him dressed, carried him downstairs with his head on my shoulder.

The ride to work was stiff and awkward after the man arrived to pick us up. He smiled hopefully at me, the kind of smile where you're pretending things aren't as bad as you know they are so that maybe the other person will think so, too. He started trembling a bit when I started talking. I know how that feels, being called on to talk about uncomfortable feelings and events, but my heart doesn't pound anymore when I talk about this thing. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

New cousin

How did I forget to post about Alexia? 4 days old in this blurry picture. 

Quiet baby.

The Move

132.0

The baby bird has grown into an attack-sparrow. It tried to take off the mole on my forehead, and now every time I walk into the house she flies at my face. La La the Terrible.

A long, exhausting, never-ending weekend. Our first night in the pink house was... comfortable. Amazingly, the crack and clatter of bamboo and the hallelujah chorus of rooster crowing did not disturb us. The near, distant, and mid-tone chicken calls created a 3D audio effect, because every rooster has a dozen hens and chicks. No wonder the foliage is crawling with feral cats - the valley is chicken stew.

Last night we went out to a social event with the Scottish dance society. I wound up in our host's bedroom watching the Timmy Jimmy special on Nickelodeon with Gavin and then falling asleep on the couch after eating too many english muffin pizzas. Wild partying.

Another week has started. My library is being used as a classroom for the high school until their building is finished with construction, my librarian nerves are fried by the teacher clutter. Before I meant to, I put  all our books in the new house in Dewey Decimal order. It's not as pretty as organizing them by size and color. I compromised by breaking up the sections with little statues.

I'm over this moving business. The fun part is over and it's all messy papers and under-furniture dirt now. Gross.

I thought I'd be more excited.

Big boy!

Gavin scribbled on his shirt with marker while we scrambled around for all his preschool loot. "See? I write my name." Green lines on his blue shirt. "Good job, now never write on your clothes again, sweetie." We took pictures as he headed out the door, then threw all his stuff in the car and headed out as the sun came up. Gavin lounged in his booster seat, gazing coolly out the window. He tipped his head and gave me a wink and a half-smirk when I turned around to squeal at him, "You're going to preschool! Now remember, no hitting. Unless they hit you first, then you can hit them." "No," said Mike, "No hitting anyone at all." "No hitting unless someone else sees the other kid hit you first," I amended. Gavin nodded solemnly, "They hit me, I hit them real real hard." "Good boy," I said. "No hitting!" said Mike. He was the first kid there. Once we had stuffed his cubby, we sat him down at the mini picnic bench for breakfast. I cracked the boiled eggs I brought him and Mike situated his fruit. Gavin settled in and bit an egg, looking up at us as we stared expectantly at him. "You guys are gonna go, right?" The teacher behind him hid a laugh. I had visions of him driving off to college, hooting in liberation. And so it starts, Gavin Part II: School Kid. 

update on first day: me: how did he do? mike: it was good, he had fun. Except I guess a boy hit him and he hit him back, and they both got in trouble. me: haaa ha ha

 

homeward bound

Our checklist of vacation to-dos wasn't complete without a quest for donuts. Failing to find a single Krispy Kreme, we opted for Dunkin Donuts instead. It was a crisp, quiet morning, not a soul in sight as we skipped up to the doors. Immediately we were swept in by a shouting mob, the cashiers barking over the clamor, hands shooting past our ears clutching dollars and pastries. "WHATTAYA WANT?!" screeched the cashier. My hands flew up in confusion, I waved them stupidly and began yelling, "Pink donut! Sprinkles! Munchkins! 25! 25! I said 25!! Mixed!" We banged outside and stood panting with our paper bag. "God, that was just like an instant trip to the city." Kind of awesome, in a terrifying way.

We sucked up the last of summer and watched as autumn tried to catch us. Gavin demanded his jeans and socks and hoodie, then punched his cousin in the head when she teased him and yanked down his hood. I should not have been proud of him. My jacket smelled like a bar, so I stood shivering in a tank top while we packed the car with Salvo. "I am so done with this cold," I told Gavin. He pulled down his hood and nodded, "Let's get out of here." At the airport, I wrapped in a blanket and sat in the terminal worrying my pockets while Mike hunted for breakfast with Gavin. We sipped coffee, ate chicken, boarded the plane, and were gone. Over the hills and far away.

Up for work at 3:30am. Gavin is methodically cooing over every one of his toy trains he had forgotten he owned, holding them up for me to admire. "The Easter Bunny gave me this one, look, mom! My break-down train, look!" He has been leaping from one thing to the next - trains, cats, grannie - with glee. I'm looking at the full answering machine and piles of moving boxes with resigned dread. Life starts, life waits, life goes on, etc.