knit 2, snarl 3

Have knit a 5x5 swatch. It has a couple holes in it, but those are for tiny feet to go through.

For the second weekend in a row, Marc's wife and I managed to get together and hang out. We dried off in the shade beside the pool, watching Gavin cannonball into the water and the baby rearrange our slippers on the towel, talking about love and metabolisms. It's nice having another mom to talk to.

Yesterday I dropped off the kiddo with his father and went out for a morning of necessary shopping. I drifted on autopilot. Sat outside Target with a diet coke and stared at the mountains. I can't see where I'm going anymore, I got to the light at the end of the tunnel and everything's misty out here. I have no purpose, no mission in life. I am not looking for that guy out there who is supposed to be looking for me as well. I wonder if he's sitting with his elbows on his knees, too.

nerdpost2

To everyone's surprise, the spotted dick was the first to go. It might have looked like fetid meatloaf, but it turned out to be a succulently moist toffee pudding that was well worth the embarrassment it did to my Le Creuset.

The midnight opening at Russo's was great, the marketplace crowded with students, professors, muggles, news vans, radio stations, and vendors. The line wrapped a thousand people deep, Potter music erupting from massive speakers as the crowd surged at midnight. Employees flung books out as fast as they could snatch tickets, and by 12:15am the book was gleaming in my eager hands.


Better wizards than I have lost buttocks:




The police blocked off the marketplace exits as the boxes arrived and were unloaded, but Russo's was taking no chances and placed their own guard against the mob of squibs:




And this goes down as the stupidest picture of me in recent months:

Milky Way redux

Right. Am a strong woman. Will reclaim athleticism and become master of morning swimming.

The pool was full of bugs. I got out the ridiculously long scoopie net and swished it around in the water. Thunked half a cup of dead corpses into the bushes and wondered idly how many calories would have been in them. Decided that my wake would wash the rest of the dead things off to the gutters, so leaped in and swam back and forth until my ears started hurting and I was forced to crawl out and lay sprawled on the deck. Spat out 3 gnats, picked my way over the wet grass like a cat, and up to my apartment for a shower. Peeled off my speedo and found a second layer of drowned gnats underneath, which set me off into a laughing fit that scared Po out of the litter box. And I feel bad about eating shrimp? I thought illogically. Dumped cocoa body wash over my head and washed away the lingering irritation of last night's banging-Mike's-head-against-floor dreams. Unfortunately, deliciously scented skin was sabotaged when a jar of curry powder leaped out of the cupboard, flung its contents all over me, and smashed itself on the floor. Damn it.

Sang in car on the way to work. "When the stars -- and the moon -- and the sky fall throooough, I'll throw it all awaaaay when I swallow! Deep as the seagulls!" I don't really understand Brandi Carlile, but I love her.

Man vs. Wild vindicated me last night, and I punched the air with a hoot. Sexy Unnessary-Goat-Eyeball-Eating Survival Man explained, up on a cliff, "An easy way to tell how long you've got is to put your hand up like this against the horizon, and every finger is 15 minutes. I've got one hand - two - and so that's about two hours until sunset." HA! I win! Pointlessly smug.

words from Gavin

"Mom, I want to spend the night with dad. It'll be ok, don't be scared sleeping by yous-self. I won't be dead, I promise."

"If the bad guys come in, I'll WHOOSH up with my flying saucer and you can spray them with the pepper sprays and then I will BONK them on theirs head and thems bounce high high high and CRASH and break theirs body all up." [This said enthusiastically. We had some words about breaking people's bodies.]

camping

The 27-year-old-13-year-old Returns


In my memories of 16 years ago, we pushed through tall bushes and bright green foliage to step into a clearing with a towering redwood. At the base, my youngest aunt exchanged vows with her new husband. My grandparents stood to one side, Uncle Don choked up a bit as he officiated. 2 years later we all returned, filing quietly through the same leafy greenery to pay our respects to my grandmother's ashes and pour our grief into the tree. The forest has burned since then. Unable to find any walls of bushes, I trusted the memory skills of my feet to carry me off the path and over crunching layers of dead bark while Mike and Gavin followed cautiously behind. Rounding several crisped young trees, there she was, as solid as ever. The inside crack of the tree was black, red weeping sap solidified like dried blood in places. Someone years ago had dropped a pen; it was melted into the pine needles. I wondered if it had been one of us. White flecks showed in the dirt in the hollow, and I said hi to grandma.

"Did she turn into the tree?" asked Gavin, frowning. "Why can't she come say hi and hug us? When is she coming back to life?" "She's dead, baby. Maybe her spirit grew into the tree's. Maybe she's gone forever. We don't know what happens when we die." "Then why are we alive? It's so sad." "That's why we have children. She had my mom, my mom had me, I had you, and so now you're living for grandma, and when you have a baby they'll be alive for you. That's how we go on." We regarded the tree somberly. Suddenly a very tanned half-naked boy appeared around the side, long hair streaked with tiny braids. Pointy ears and slanted eyes. "Oh, hello," he said in surprise, and disappeared. I turned to Mike, "I just saw an elf!" My mother later argued that it was a tree spirit. We wondered if it would be upset by its discovery and appear at our tent with half a dozen tree spirit cronies and crowbars to whack us.

The forest was as amazing as ever, even with the hoots and screams of the tourists. Shafts of light, dust motes, blue jays, squirrels, curling plants, mossy remains of fallen giants. The earthy smell was so heavy you could feel it. Forests are cathedrals. When Gavin's small legs got tired, we said goodbye to the pet sticks he had carried around, got back into the car, and drove down the mountains to the lake just as evening set in.

Bears!

No bears, actually. A deer bounded across the road, a squirrel tried to attack the car, and several hawks eyeballed Gavin, but no bears tried to muscle in on our marshmallow roasting. Perhaps because we didn't have any; we forgot to bring implements of fire. Or ice, for that matter. Or a bottle opener. Mike pulled out a warm beer, looked around for a sharp rock, and bashed the top of the bottle clean off. He stared at the ragged edges sadly. "At least we have something to chase off the park ranger when he comes to get our money." Gavin celebrated the erection of the tent (oh hush) by rolling in the dirt until he was monochromatic. At nightfall the lake exploded in holiday fireworks, and we watched from our hilltop view.

Gavin woke me up by poking me in the forehead repeatedly. I had become wedged between the two twin air mattresses. After enjoying the luxury of the extra-big handicap port-a-potty, we walked down to the lake to throw rocks, pluck hooks from the sand, and poke a dead fish with a stick. A gang of smug ducks cruised by. As Gavin waded through the shallow water, swirls of sand glittered with gold behind him. I picked out several flecks and held them up in the sun on my fingers. The golden shores of Lake Isabella! Pretty.

After enjoying a cozy breakfast in the village and making off with a wooden bear and chicken from the Bear (and chicken!) Store, we picked up snacks for the drive home and I slammed my own head in the car door. It can be done! That would have been an anticlimactic way to die, even if it did make a good gravestone inscription.

We drove home, and I thought about how strange it is living for no purpose. No more schooling, no muse, no true love. It's Gavin's turn, and I'm just killing time.

stir until crazy

Having completely squicked myself out with self-help books on understanding abusive sexual addictions, I tossed the lot and picked up some books on zen philosophy. I have been the only person doing any squaring in this squaring-off with Mike, and I say he can sing ballads under my balcony with roses in his teeth (up his nose?) while I squander my evenings reading in the tub; this ickiness is his to face, not mine.  It's a bit hard getting through non-fiction while getting sidetracked by Harry Potter, but it's a nice change after the nastiness of the other stuff.


use the CATALOG!

Today I have been stir crazy. Heather threw a handful of chocolates at me as I snarled past her office, flapping my stacks of book reviews. Moment for self-examination: will these chocolates bring me pleasure, or will they bring me happiness? Pleasure, surely. But they also prevent me from shaking patrons by the hair, so that counts towards some sort of happiness. It is comforting to have newfound spiritualosity.

edited to add: whoever thinks it is funny to have a tiny kitten meow as their cell phone ring tone is going to find their locker bashed open. Any day now. Just sayin.

did what now?

Gavin got his first kiss today - then his first reprimand for kissing at daycare. He shrugged about it as he explained what happened this evening, "She kissed my cheek, and cheek, and lips." He pointed to each. "She said she had to kiss me cause I'm hers boyfriend. I don't want to be hers boyfriend. I want her to kiss me on my cheek, not my lips. When we eat lunch she goes, gimme yous fruit! and I tell hers no, it's my fruit, and she says wah gimme pweeeeze wah and I don't want to give it to hers cause I'm hungwy and she's whining." He sighed. "She says I has to cause I'm hers boyfriend. But I don't. Oh well." I think I made a strangled noise. I thought about the little girl's sparkling pink Disney Princess hoof-shoes and imagined her clippity-clopping on my son's arm to the prom, adjusting her plastic tiara and eating off his plate. 

Yikes.

barf

On Wednesday, I bragged about how great it is having an older child who sleeps through the night, and Gavin spent the next night vomiting from 1am - 6am. I assured Gavin that it's normal for kids to throw up, and that when he grows up he won't do it as much, then I spent Thursday night vomiting from 10pm - 5am. I need to shut up.

Friday was a soggy blur of naps, movies, and tea. Children of Men was stressful, The Devil Wears Prada disappointed me because it did not, in fact, star Glen Close as Satan. I tried reading in bed and woke up 4 hours later with a fever, so took a couple ibuprofen and watched the last disc of Arrested Development. Mike picked up Gavin and made dinner, and then he got sick, too. I am hoping he is the only father who has been infected with our flu, and that everything is purged before Father's Day. Advance apologies to Marc and all the dads at Gavin's daycare.

Sort of a sad week.

stalkers, police, and fishies

Marc has earned himself his donut for a daring exhibition of super-sleuthing, and for not being the person unconscious under the bushes (that was a drunk person). Now we are armed with the powers of INFORMATION, because he followed my stalker stalker on his lunch break and figured out how far from my apartment he lives (too far to get to me on foot, which is good).

I took a break from writing my latest incident report to push through the crowded lobby and stand in the 98 degree afternoon waiting for my policemen. SRP event #2 was a success. Librarian wins. The auditorium was packed, the officers trotted in their dogs to gasps and cheers, and they brought fantastic BPD badge stickers and collectible photo information cards of themselves. They wowed the crowd with a story about this morning's showdown with an armed robber, the dogs leaped and rolled and flung slobber on toddlers, and I basked in sweet, sweet victory over last week's humiliation. The boys, having enjoyed the frolicking police and waited in line for Officer Handsome's autograph, took me out to a Korean bbq joint for dinner, where I found myself eyeball-to-eyeballs with a bowl of tiny dried fish. I felt a bit guilty eating so many little dead creatures in one sitting, but they brought me right back to my cuttlefish youth, and I was very pleased by them. 

In summary: good week.

turpentine

One night alone a week, always looking not to be.

Agreed to go out with a co-worker. Dark pool hall, laughing tattooed dwarf bartender swinging his cue stick, smell of stale beer, a hand on my waist. I don't want to be here.

At a restaurant afterwards, there was a girl in wedge sandals and a Forever21 corset leaning against the bathroom sink unsteadily. "Don't I need Botox? Look at my eyes." They were caked in mascara but managed to focus on me for a moment. "No, you're beautiful." Went out to find my co-worker talking to some people. A Nigerian man with a British accent squeezed my hand, "Why is your drink still full?" I didn't take another sip of it. I don't want to be here.

Finally went back home.

The next day I got my kid back again. We rummaged through my box of old photos. Gavin pulled one out, looked at it for a long time, and put it on the fridge.

Bloomington, Indiana, summer 1986:




Heads together, rolled up on the bed, safe and together and all the time in the world.
This is where I want to be.