It was good until the rains came. But that’s just the body. Silly body.
There was no Spring. It was cold, and now it is hot. Heat rises. It is something one notes in an attic bedroom. Refusing air conditioning. Seems like a trick when the heat was a necessity a scant few days ago. Besides, it’s comforting to hear the sound of rain and thunder.
Been thinking of the monkeys in the attic. They’ve been quiet, or maybe there’s just been a changing of the guard. The ape that tells me I will not have love; the capuchin that tells me I am fat – they’ve been quiet. The attic just has boxes of dust covered memory. They don’t even hurt to open. It’s just sad. Sadder still to find myself camped on the floor wiping tears.
Jim was gone for a week and I had the boys. After four days of a rushed frenetic morning panic and getting everyone everywhere just-in-time, “Fuck this shit.”
Shocked. I say into the silence, hands clenching the steering wheel consciously driving the speed limit while glancing at the dashboard clock every 10 seconds, “Tomorrow YOU get yourselves up, YOU make your breakfast, and I am leaving the house at 7:15. If you’re not ready, you’re being left behind. Fuck. This.”
I don’t swear around my kids. I don’t swear much at all. I stop the car, “Get out.” No Goodbye-have-a-nice-day-I-love-you this day. I admit I screamed in rage the rest of the way to work. I had two minutes to cry in the parking lot. Totally. Unrecognizable. Who is this woman?
Friday, the boys awakened themselves. They made their own breakfasts. They packed their own lunches. They were ready. We had forgiven one another…I think. Jim returned late Friday night, but I kept the boys one more night. After I dropped them off with their dad on Saturday there was blessed s i l e n c e.
The rest of the weekend there was a speaking to no one but the dog and the cats. No social media.
And I sat.
And I made myself a meal or five. And tea. Lots of tea.
Slowly, the reserves recharge. Bits of soul expended regrow.
I’ve been seeing someone. Well, not lately. The general withdrawl from others has included him, and I keep giving him permission to leave. Not that he needs it, but this cannot be easy and I feel badly at the hurt I know I must be causing. Tona says this insanity is temporary. For her it was a year and half of insanity. She had to remind herself that this person was not her. Sometimes I remember. Sometimes I recognize the woman that is underneath.
Music. And the sun is out. Get it and feel good.
“…whatever good there is to get
get it & feel good/ get it & feel good
snatch it & feel good
grab it & feel good
steal it & feel good
borrow it & feel good
reach it & feel good
& feel good.”
Words: alright (an upgrade from okay), rested, nostalgic
Observation: the inner feelings don’t necessarily match the exterior
Getting pretty good at the selfie-ing. It’s Elaine’s super power to be able to use an SLR, turn it around and aim it so everyone is actually in the shot.
Selfie lessons learned in this scant two weeks:
Stick your head out forward like imitating a chicken. It’s like an insta-facelift
Position the camera so it’s tilting down toward you so your face had dimension. I think the primary reason people think I am photogenic is that I am short, so this their camera is almost always above.
Light source is best if it’s from above and off at an angle.
Diffuse light (bounced or through clouds) is more forgiving than direct light
The original thought was to have myself in front of a white background consistently. Rather, it is more interesting to see the various contexts and people around me. In fact, more interesting than the self. Otherwise, all I’ve got to contemplate are “more wrinkles? bloated? bad hair day?”
Forgot my phone. Used the laptop. When did one’s phone become one’s camera?
So, when one wears glasses long enough, the bit where the glasses are supported on the bridge, if it isn’t fitted well, ends up having divots. Still have the divots. Also – reading glasses because blind. Rocking the sexy librarian look. Or maybe it’s old lady look.
Walking is just controlled falling.
“Odd. It feels like ice running down my leg.”
Cody replies, “Maybe you should use your cane.”
“But it isn’t hurting.” He gives me a patient look. “Hand me my cane?”
A few more days until the end of the semester. Teachers look forward to Summer every bit as much as students do. Looking forward to the cool basement in the Summer heat, affectionately referred to as the WeezCave. Plans for stop motion animation, miniature building, miniature painting, sewing, and if my leg cooperates I can take my bike out. If if i f. If not, maybe the pool can help me heal.
I want my body back. I want it the way I remember it looking and working. Small desires.
So glad the kids were willing to play. They’re a good lot
Dave stopped by my office to check in on me. Guess my general withdrawl from the world is noticable. The limp is not confused with swagger. A gentle invitation to connect. “Friends can be work in the short term, but it is helpful in the long run.” Words from my wise bear-friend.
Cody suggested he take me out one night this week. I just want to keep my head down. But Dave is right. I should go.
I have moments of okay, random as sunshine this seeming Spring. It’s as sporadic as the rains and my tears. Fucking hormones. I think that’s what it is. A detached self observes the insanity from some bird’s eye view.
I’ll try to remember the words, but first a comment…There really are two sets of words. There is the sense of self before the picture, and the sense of self based upon the critical eye looking at the artifact of self. These are not the same.
When I got home, the light was a soft after rain glow. I plopped down on the stoop and took the shot. Work day was done. Not yet time to get the boys. Words: island, ephemeral, okay. Then I look at the picture and see wrinkles, and the face that is not smiling is so very serious. This doesn’t look like a happy person. Those words would be pensive, concerned, tired.
Do this before I forget. Words: transitioning, beginning, rehearsing. In the car, on the way to work I go over the lines. Professing as performance: what is the point of this day? What will be the beats of the show. Where do I bring them into the ensemble?
Words: fragile, brittle, precipice. It’s a no-coffee-yet point in the day. Grabbed an apple for breakfast, fed Teo and Ripley and Noot, headed out. I took the shot as I got into the car. Didn’t really look at the shot I’m about to post.
Last night, after work I went to the grocery store. Pain shot through my leg and I fell as my calf cramped. I just sat there in the middle of the aisle breathing, waiting for my leg to uncurl. A woman asked if I was okay? “I’ll be alright. I just need to sit here a bit.” I am guessing it was not a convincing smile. Got the groceries. Got into the car. I wept.
Today is still rocky. Don’t you hate having so much feeling it leaks out?
Again the disconnect between the feeling inside and the exterior artifact of the moment. (I am just guessing).
Words: Something-that-describes-when-the-rain-stops-and-the-sun-comes-out, rock star, breathing.
Eff it. The appointment for the hair doing is in a few hours. I stop a small gaggle of students. “I’ve got an appointment,” I point to my head. “Do I chop it all off?”
The guys say, “Nooooo!” Guys seem to dig long hair. Angela says, “Give me a number between one and two.”
She looks blankly at me. I return the look. Then we start laughing because she doesn’ know what it was supposed to mean, and it doesn’t matter anyway.
Later – “Missy, I’m in a menopausal hormonal crazy. I’m ready for radical.” She talks me down. Nothing drastic. “Color?” Also, nothing too crazy because she knows I’ll regret it. (She’s awesome that way). This is what friends and good hairdressers do…they prevent you from stupidity.
See? This is me nod doing something insane, like buying a car. Or getting a buzz cut. Or becoming a platinum blonde.