Thursday, September 30, 2004
I haven't been writing much lately, which is odd, because I've probably had more to say than ever before. There's so much going on in my head.
The spa experience was completely magical. I don't think I've ever so completely let go of the clutter in my brain before. I learned, or realized, or made sense of a lot of things. I realized that my current career path, the whole high-tech marketing thing, just doesn't work for me. I work for a good company now, with good people, and maybe that's the reason why I've come to this revelation. Maybe it's because the other crap isn't blocking the way.
So I've been trying to think of the things that would bring me satisfaction. I am, by nature, a helper. So the things I should naturally gravitate towards are teaching or medicine or charitable nonprofits or maybe even becoming a pilates instructor. But I suppose that the biggest question is whether I need to make a dramatic change -- doing something that involves going back to school and starting over -- or whether I would find the satisfaction I need by doing marketing and PR for a health charity, for example. I don't really know what the answer is, but I'm going to try to figure it out over the next few months.
So the other thing is the bigger and weirder one. I think I want to be a mother. There's something about it that terrifies me -- I have days where I wonder how I can take care of myself, let alone someone else -- but is there anything that would be more logical for someone whose personality leans towards helping and giving? But I don't know how it would work out. I work full time and own the studio. C works more than full time, travels 50% of the time, and is going to school for his MBA. We don't even have the time for a dog, let alone a child. And the last thing I want is to have a day care kid. And that "you can have it all" thing is just bullshit. Something has to give. I think that the child should be the most important thing, which means that you have to make the sacrifice someplace else in your life. Am I ready to make that sacrifice? I don't really know the answer. But I do know that I can't be the only one to make the sacrifices, so I'm reasonably certain that none of this will happen anytime soon, if at all. But of course, this all means that the goal of finding satisfying work, preferably of the variety that doesn't require 50-60 hour weeks, that would enable me to have the flexibility to make other things possible.
I want to grow up to be a well-rounded, happy person. I want to leave behind a legacy of good things, of lives I touch and differences I make. This is really important to me, and I want to start doing it as soon as possible.
The spa experience was completely magical. I don't think I've ever so completely let go of the clutter in my brain before. I learned, or realized, or made sense of a lot of things. I realized that my current career path, the whole high-tech marketing thing, just doesn't work for me. I work for a good company now, with good people, and maybe that's the reason why I've come to this revelation. Maybe it's because the other crap isn't blocking the way.
So I've been trying to think of the things that would bring me satisfaction. I am, by nature, a helper. So the things I should naturally gravitate towards are teaching or medicine or charitable nonprofits or maybe even becoming a pilates instructor. But I suppose that the biggest question is whether I need to make a dramatic change -- doing something that involves going back to school and starting over -- or whether I would find the satisfaction I need by doing marketing and PR for a health charity, for example. I don't really know what the answer is, but I'm going to try to figure it out over the next few months.
So the other thing is the bigger and weirder one. I think I want to be a mother. There's something about it that terrifies me -- I have days where I wonder how I can take care of myself, let alone someone else -- but is there anything that would be more logical for someone whose personality leans towards helping and giving? But I don't know how it would work out. I work full time and own the studio. C works more than full time, travels 50% of the time, and is going to school for his MBA. We don't even have the time for a dog, let alone a child. And the last thing I want is to have a day care kid. And that "you can have it all" thing is just bullshit. Something has to give. I think that the child should be the most important thing, which means that you have to make the sacrifice someplace else in your life. Am I ready to make that sacrifice? I don't really know the answer. But I do know that I can't be the only one to make the sacrifices, so I'm reasonably certain that none of this will happen anytime soon, if at all. But of course, this all means that the goal of finding satisfying work, preferably of the variety that doesn't require 50-60 hour weeks, that would enable me to have the flexibility to make other things possible.
I want to grow up to be a well-rounded, happy person. I want to leave behind a legacy of good things, of lives I touch and differences I make. This is really important to me, and I want to start doing it as soon as possible.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
The morning after the spa retreat. I woke up naturally and peacefully at 5am, but let myself fall back asleep, only to be jolted awake by the alarm at 7am. I'm starting to lose some of my peaceful, joyful glow. I'm suddenly a bit uptight about going to work. Things seem less clear and less certain today. I don't exactly know how to make that feeling come back.
I keep thinking that I need to find my calling. I had many dreams last night about kids, playing with kids at Children's Hospital, volunteering with them at deaf school, reading with Emily next door. It's possible that I was destined to teach. I wanted to do that when I was younger, but my mother insisted that I go to a good school and do something more with my life. But what, in the big picture, is more important than teaching kids? I'm not trying to gloss over the challenges, but there are definitely some significant rewards as well. But then again, maybe what I need to do is translate that skill into something with a more predictable group, like adults. In all honesty, I think I'd be a good instructor or nutritional counselor.
I keep thinking that I need to find my calling. I had many dreams last night about kids, playing with kids at Children's Hospital, volunteering with them at deaf school, reading with Emily next door. It's possible that I was destined to teach. I wanted to do that when I was younger, but my mother insisted that I go to a good school and do something more with my life. But what, in the big picture, is more important than teaching kids? I'm not trying to gloss over the challenges, but there are definitely some significant rewards as well. But then again, maybe what I need to do is translate that skill into something with a more predictable group, like adults. In all honesty, I think I'd be a good instructor or nutritional counselor.
Monday, September 20, 2004
How can something so good be so bad? I am so in love with the ease of the patch, but so far I'm gaining weight around my hips and belly, I have sore breasts and my skin is breaking out. This just isn't fair.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
We had a fight today. I can count on one hand the number of fights we've had in the last nine years. And yet, there it was. He thinks that we, like others in our friend group, should be able to afford to live in a house of nearly double the value of ours. Of course, that would be true if I wasn't losing so much money on the business. So he got all riled up about the business, and how he should have been paying closer attention to what I was doing to prevent this situation from happening, etc. And I just couldn't get over how ashamed and horrible I felt because there's no getting around the fact that the business is a failure, and I haven't been able to save it. And since I'm committed to this lease for the next 18 months of my life, it's really quite hard. So he's all upset about the finances and I'm all upset about my personal failings, and more or less we haven't spoken in two hours, which is only upsetting me more.
All along, since the first day we were together, I worried that I would hold him back from things he wanted in life. Now he wants a house in a nice neighborhood without drug dealers next door, and because of me, that can't happen. It hurts to know that I am the obstacle, especially since I'd love to have a house where I didn't fear the neighbors just as much as he would. And I am the only thing standing between us and that. It hurts. And I'm really embarrassed by how things have turned out. I've never really monumentally failed at anything in my life, and when you're 31 and it happens for the first time, it feels particularly painful.
And all of this because I thought that I would be able to make a living at something that helps people and makes their lives betrer.
All along, since the first day we were together, I worried that I would hold him back from things he wanted in life. Now he wants a house in a nice neighborhood without drug dealers next door, and because of me, that can't happen. It hurts to know that I am the obstacle, especially since I'd love to have a house where I didn't fear the neighbors just as much as he would. And I am the only thing standing between us and that. It hurts. And I'm really embarrassed by how things have turned out. I've never really monumentally failed at anything in my life, and when you're 31 and it happens for the first time, it feels particularly painful.
And all of this because I thought that I would be able to make a living at something that helps people and makes their lives betrer.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
My mother was always emotional. Nearly anything could make her cry, from Hallmark commercials to personal conversations to changes in the wind direction. She was deeply sensitive to change, extremely prone to emotional strife. I spent a significant amount of time trying to prevent that, to protect her from the tears. I learned early to be outwardly strong and in control, in spite of the fact that even the smallest of events had the habit of rocking me to my very foundation. I've always been good in a crisis, able to handle things in the moment, only to break down and give in privately hours or days later when the crisis had truly passed and I had the chance to just let go.
I have no one to be strong for anymore. I don't have to protect anyone, or deflect the crisis. I just have me. And when I don't have to be strong for anyone else, I tend to not be strong for myself. Things affect me, and I'm unable to predict how I'll react because I've never faced the same parameters before. Tears flow much more freely now, unintentionally, because I don't have the same walls. I feel overly emotional, but I wonder if it's more than a normal person or just more than me? Maybe the pendulum has swung the other way. Maybe I'll feel things more acutely for a while until they settle down.
I have no one to be strong for anymore. I don't have to protect anyone, or deflect the crisis. I just have me. And when I don't have to be strong for anyone else, I tend to not be strong for myself. Things affect me, and I'm unable to predict how I'll react because I've never faced the same parameters before. Tears flow much more freely now, unintentionally, because I don't have the same walls. I feel overly emotional, but I wonder if it's more than a normal person or just more than me? Maybe the pendulum has swung the other way. Maybe I'll feel things more acutely for a while until they settle down.
I spent a decent amount of time in New York as a child. I wasn't a bridge-and-tunnel kid, but we went up there a few times a year. One of my favorite places was the towers, standing beneath them and looking up, dizzy and disoriented, as the clouds swept by and the wind raced through the concrete and steel canyons of lower Manhattan. As they crumbled and fell, I felt them, their shadows, growing from their original footprint to stretch 3000 miles and envelop me in their darkness. I still stand beneath the towers that aren't there, still dizzy from the view, still chilled by their shadow even on the sunniest day.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
I woke up with these words in my head, and they stuck with me all day:
Our future exists only in our memory, in situations we never lived and dreams we never fulfilled. It's time to give a new generation a chance to try, fail and try again.
Our future exists only in our memory, in situations we never lived and dreams we never fulfilled. It's time to give a new generation a chance to try, fail and try again.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Before I get too far into the details of the talk with Dad, I'll do a highlight show of the weekend.
We left for Tahoe on Saturday morning, later than anticipated. Midway up, we stopped at Applebees for lunch and had a lingering outdoor meal. We got to Tahoe at 4-ish, walked down to the beach to show him the lake, came back and went to the Embassy Suites cocktail hour where he pounded two beers. We went back to the room, he dozed off and I read a book. We went to a late dinner where he had two glasses of wine, we lost a little money on the slots (ok, I lost a little, he lost a lot), and then returned to the room where he dozed off on the couch. He went to bed at 11. In the time between arrival and bed, he called Linda four times, she called him twice. Each conversation professes his undying love for her. I want to beat myself in the head to try to snap my life into some state of order that seems remotely familiar.
Sunday, C flies up to join us, and we have to meet him at Reno airport. We drive up there to get him, come back and do a circle tour of the lake, stopping for lunch at a brewery restaurant on the north shore. Two beers later, he's asleep for most of the rest of the drive. Periodic stopping for photos, return to car, sleep. Return to hotel, cocktail hour, beers. Return to room, dozes off for three hours. I read. C goes out to take pictures. We wake him up and go to dinner. Two glasses of wine, more gambling losses, back to the hotel where he falls asleep.
Monday, head out onto the lake for a sailboat cruise. Two glasses of wine. Lunch, beer. Drive home, with him asleep in the backseat. Wakes up, calls Linda, talks to her endlessly as though we're not in the car. Home, download photos, out for dinner, beer. I sent him back to the hotel tonight because I needed some quiet time. I feel terrible about doing it, but things are a mess, the studio is in a state of chaos and I just can't deal with anything right at the moment.
So, the conversation....
He says he's really thrilled about Linda. He loves her more than anything. She's the most wonderful person ever to walk the earth. She's just amazing. Has he mentioned that he's in love with her? And aren't I just thrilled for him? And when he goes to talk to the financial planner next month, should he be planning for just his retirement or for their retirement together? And what about the girls and college? How were they going to pay for that? [Can you hear the internal screaming?]
So I have to tell the truth, albeit the guarded truth. I tell him that I understand that there's a huge void there in his life right now, and that it must feel great to have someone to talk to and share his experiences with. I tell him that I'm glad he's happy. But... I also tell him that I was shocked and stunned by this, that I wasn't prepared for any of it, that I don't know how to react to it emotionally. I tell him that I, selfishly, feel like I have lost the last of my family unit with this whole Linda thing, because even when my father is here, he's always talking about or thinking about her, as though he's not really fully here. [As a side note to this conversation, I realize that most people my age would have built families of their own by now, so I suppose it's the cycle of life that your "past" family is shed like old reptile skin, revealing your "present" family beneath with more clarity. But as I haven't moved on to that level yet, I'm just feeling exposed.] I tell him that I feel lost and alone and scared and completely freaked out by the whole thing because I feel like I'm losing him, and I'm not ready for that.
I also try to be practical. I tell him that if I were Linda, I'd be wary of getting involved with him so soon after mom's death, and that he should expect that at some point she will push back and tell him that he needs to go out and figure out who he is before he can be with her. I also told him that if she doesn't do that, then that should concern him, because that means that she's emotionally needy too and just latching on. I told him that while he might have a shot with making the 8-year-old like him, the teenager will hate him and he needs to prepare himself for that. I told him that I was a damned good kid and I gave him no preparation for what it's like to really raise a teenager, so don't think it's going to be easy. And I also pointed out that regardless of all other factors, students with single parents were more likely to get good scholarships and financial aid, and told the story of my friend's dad and stepmother to illustrate the point (they didn't get married for 12 years to put the kids in a better position for college money).
I don't think he heard any of it.
So today, on September 13, my parents' 35th wedding anniversary, he calls his girlfriend of three weeks and tells her that he loves her more than anything in the history of the world. In front of me. Is this not supposed to hurt? My mother wasn't perfect, but I just want some sort of show of respect and mourning and appreciation for... I don't know... the relationship? The family? The life they had? The life we had as a family?
There's probably more, but I'm drawing a blank.
We left for Tahoe on Saturday morning, later than anticipated. Midway up, we stopped at Applebees for lunch and had a lingering outdoor meal. We got to Tahoe at 4-ish, walked down to the beach to show him the lake, came back and went to the Embassy Suites cocktail hour where he pounded two beers. We went back to the room, he dozed off and I read a book. We went to a late dinner where he had two glasses of wine, we lost a little money on the slots (ok, I lost a little, he lost a lot), and then returned to the room where he dozed off on the couch. He went to bed at 11. In the time between arrival and bed, he called Linda four times, she called him twice. Each conversation professes his undying love for her. I want to beat myself in the head to try to snap my life into some state of order that seems remotely familiar.
Sunday, C flies up to join us, and we have to meet him at Reno airport. We drive up there to get him, come back and do a circle tour of the lake, stopping for lunch at a brewery restaurant on the north shore. Two beers later, he's asleep for most of the rest of the drive. Periodic stopping for photos, return to car, sleep. Return to hotel, cocktail hour, beers. Return to room, dozes off for three hours. I read. C goes out to take pictures. We wake him up and go to dinner. Two glasses of wine, more gambling losses, back to the hotel where he falls asleep.
Monday, head out onto the lake for a sailboat cruise. Two glasses of wine. Lunch, beer. Drive home, with him asleep in the backseat. Wakes up, calls Linda, talks to her endlessly as though we're not in the car. Home, download photos, out for dinner, beer. I sent him back to the hotel tonight because I needed some quiet time. I feel terrible about doing it, but things are a mess, the studio is in a state of chaos and I just can't deal with anything right at the moment.
So, the conversation....
He says he's really thrilled about Linda. He loves her more than anything. She's the most wonderful person ever to walk the earth. She's just amazing. Has he mentioned that he's in love with her? And aren't I just thrilled for him? And when he goes to talk to the financial planner next month, should he be planning for just his retirement or for their retirement together? And what about the girls and college? How were they going to pay for that? [Can you hear the internal screaming?]
So I have to tell the truth, albeit the guarded truth. I tell him that I understand that there's a huge void there in his life right now, and that it must feel great to have someone to talk to and share his experiences with. I tell him that I'm glad he's happy. But... I also tell him that I was shocked and stunned by this, that I wasn't prepared for any of it, that I don't know how to react to it emotionally. I tell him that I, selfishly, feel like I have lost the last of my family unit with this whole Linda thing, because even when my father is here, he's always talking about or thinking about her, as though he's not really fully here. [As a side note to this conversation, I realize that most people my age would have built families of their own by now, so I suppose it's the cycle of life that your "past" family is shed like old reptile skin, revealing your "present" family beneath with more clarity. But as I haven't moved on to that level yet, I'm just feeling exposed.] I tell him that I feel lost and alone and scared and completely freaked out by the whole thing because I feel like I'm losing him, and I'm not ready for that.
I also try to be practical. I tell him that if I were Linda, I'd be wary of getting involved with him so soon after mom's death, and that he should expect that at some point she will push back and tell him that he needs to go out and figure out who he is before he can be with her. I also told him that if she doesn't do that, then that should concern him, because that means that she's emotionally needy too and just latching on. I told him that while he might have a shot with making the 8-year-old like him, the teenager will hate him and he needs to prepare himself for that. I told him that I was a damned good kid and I gave him no preparation for what it's like to really raise a teenager, so don't think it's going to be easy. And I also pointed out that regardless of all other factors, students with single parents were more likely to get good scholarships and financial aid, and told the story of my friend's dad and stepmother to illustrate the point (they didn't get married for 12 years to put the kids in a better position for college money).
I don't think he heard any of it.
So today, on September 13, my parents' 35th wedding anniversary, he calls his girlfriend of three weeks and tells her that he loves her more than anything in the history of the world. In front of me. Is this not supposed to hurt? My mother wasn't perfect, but I just want some sort of show of respect and mourning and appreciation for... I don't know... the relationship? The family? The life they had? The life we had as a family?
There's probably more, but I'm drawing a blank.
Friday, September 10, 2004
I don't understand. I readily admit this. But I have to say that I remain perplexed. He was on the phone with Linda for 2 1/2 hours today, and when he finally got off the phone when I called, he said, "Take care. I love you lots." That's exactly, word for word, what he says to me. Should you be saying the same thing to the girlfriend as the daughter? Should you be saying I love you at all after less than 3 weeks? Should I shut up and let go?
God help me. It's 10:30AM on a Friday, and for the first time since I can't remember when, I want a cigarette like you wouldn't believe. I haven't even smoked in two years because that whole lung thing scared the crap out of me (plus, I'm working out and trying to be healthier). But right now, I'd sell my soul for a smoke. Arrrggghhhh!
I've been doing a lot of thinking since last night. I don't think you should visit me in Austin. It kills me to say that, because I would love to see you, but I don't think it would be right to do that if you're still involved with C. I assumed that the two of you were finished since you told me that you were planning to end it more than a month ago, but if she's still around then I feel like I have some sort of weird obligation to protect her from anything that would hurt her, probably because I would just hate to be in her position if the tables were turned.
I'll admit that I'm disappointed, and sort of half-kicking myself for writing this, but I think I really have to go with my gut on this one. I just don't want to enter into a situation where I'm worried and guilty about hurting the innocent bystanders. And maybe it's for the best. Maybe this whole thing should just remain some sort of dream or fantasy, in spite of the fact that I had really high hopes that it would somehow work out. Although I have to admit I was hoping for a massage from you rather than a professional.
I will now go kick myself for thinking about others and not being selfish.
I'll admit that I'm disappointed, and sort of half-kicking myself for writing this, but I think I really have to go with my gut on this one. I just don't want to enter into a situation where I'm worried and guilty about hurting the innocent bystanders. And maybe it's for the best. Maybe this whole thing should just remain some sort of dream or fantasy, in spite of the fact that I had really high hopes that it would somehow work out. Although I have to admit I was hoping for a massage from you rather than a professional.
I will now go kick myself for thinking about others and not being selfish.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
After 13 years on the pill, the patch is the easiest thing in the world. But... it seems to have a higher dose of estrogen than what I'm used to in my old pill, and as a result my breasts are unspeakably sore. They say it will pass in a month or two when my body adjusts, but for now, they just hurt. I don't think I can live like this forever, so I'm really hoping that it goes away soon. I also think I'm gaining weight, or at the very least metabolizing fat differently. I seem a little squishy around the middle in ways that I wasn't last month.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
I've scheduled a scrubby-massagey thing for Saturday the 25th and a facial with scalp massage on Monday the 27th. I'm going to be oh so pampered, which will be a good change from the serious high-intensity workout schedule I've got planned. Ahhhh... I'm so delighted by the thought of this.
So, the question remains: what are you doing the weekend of the 25th?
So, the question remains: what are you doing the weekend of the 25th?
Monday, September 06, 2004
1) Dad abandoned the Labor Day party for more than an hour tonight, without telling anyone where he was going, so he could hide away and call Linda.
2) I love my neighbor's kids desperately. I got to put Ben to bed tonight, and he kissed me and told me he loved me. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and never let him go.
3) I made the damn best Jamaican jerk pork today, let me tell you.
4) You do know I need you for more than just sex, right?
5) Time to let go, relax and dream happy dreams.
2) I love my neighbor's kids desperately. I got to put Ben to bed tonight, and he kissed me and told me he loved me. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and never let him go.
3) I made the damn best Jamaican jerk pork today, let me tell you.
4) You do know I need you for more than just sex, right?
5) Time to let go, relax and dream happy dreams.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
So the first thing I notice about my father today is that he's not wearing any of his rings. He had three: his wedding ring, the ring she gave him as an anniversary ring (it was the style she wanted for him but couldn't afford when they were married, and he wore both stacked on his left index finger because he wouldn't take off his wedding band), and the JB initial ring that he wore on his right hand. All are gone. It made me sad.
The other thing is that at dinner he says to C, "Has A told you about my friend L?" C says yes. Dad says, "I really like her. I think she likes me, but I really, really like her." I don't want this going too far. I don't want him to be hurt. She's 13 years younger, has an 8-year-old and a 15-year-old daughter and is just from a generally different world. I'm afraid that he's setting himself up to be really hurt by throwing himself into this relationship 100% right from the start. It's a seriously bad time for him to even be contemplating a serious relationship, and that's what it's turning out to be. He skipped his much-anticipated Norah Jones concert in the hopes of being able to see her last night. I just feel so helpless. I want to protect him from getting carried away and I want to protect my selfish self from my terrible fears about my father moving on and forgetting mom and our life as a family.
The other thing is that at dinner he says to C, "Has A told you about my friend L?" C says yes. Dad says, "I really like her. I think she likes me, but I really, really like her." I don't want this going too far. I don't want him to be hurt. She's 13 years younger, has an 8-year-old and a 15-year-old daughter and is just from a generally different world. I'm afraid that he's setting himself up to be really hurt by throwing himself into this relationship 100% right from the start. It's a seriously bad time for him to even be contemplating a serious relationship, and that's what it's turning out to be. He skipped his much-anticipated Norah Jones concert in the hopes of being able to see her last night. I just feel so helpless. I want to protect him from getting carried away and I want to protect my selfish self from my terrible fears about my father moving on and forgetting mom and our life as a family.
I just read back through some of my posts, and I realize that some of them would make sense to no one but me.
Last night we went out to dinner for C's birthday. I decided that since it was an occasion, I'd get dressed up. So I put on this dress that's pretty much as low-cut as you can get in front and back, and fire-engine red. Although I didn't really go all out for it, since my hair was still in a ponytail. Hey, there are limits to how much effort I put into things.
While I'm waiting for him to get ready, I take stuff over to the neighbors that I bought for our Labor Day cookout, and I'm picking up Emily, playing with Ben, etc. Neighbor C makes a big fuss over how nice I look ("Ben! Tell Miss A that she looks nice." which was met with an "Uhhh... why are you wearing a dress?"). So then her husband J comes out of the kitchen, all shirtless from working on the deck, and he practically stops dead in his tracks as I'm reviewing the list of grocery items in the bag with a toddler crawling all over me. Later, my C says, "You can be so freaking clueless sometimes." Huh? "You can get away with wandering around in normal society most of the time because you don't play up your sexiness, but in a dress like that, you have to understand that there's no hiding how hot you are. You know that after four years, J is looking at you with a completely different set of eyes." He doesn't get that I don't get it. I'm just me. C says that this is why I'm likeable by everyone, and even women don't feel competitive, because I just don't have any aura of pretense about me. I just think I'm like everyone else. Taller, maybe, but otherwise ordinary.
While I'm waiting for him to get ready, I take stuff over to the neighbors that I bought for our Labor Day cookout, and I'm picking up Emily, playing with Ben, etc. Neighbor C makes a big fuss over how nice I look ("Ben! Tell Miss A that she looks nice." which was met with an "Uhhh... why are you wearing a dress?"). So then her husband J comes out of the kitchen, all shirtless from working on the deck, and he practically stops dead in his tracks as I'm reviewing the list of grocery items in the bag with a toddler crawling all over me. Later, my C says, "You can be so freaking clueless sometimes." Huh? "You can get away with wandering around in normal society most of the time because you don't play up your sexiness, but in a dress like that, you have to understand that there's no hiding how hot you are. You know that after four years, J is looking at you with a completely different set of eyes." He doesn't get that I don't get it. I'm just me. C says that this is why I'm likeable by everyone, and even women don't feel competitive, because I just don't have any aura of pretense about me. I just think I'm like everyone else. Taller, maybe, but otherwise ordinary.
Awful nightmare. Guns, angry man, husband taking bullet in the head. Awful. I'm sweating and my heart's racing.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
I always mocked the fact that I grew up in a white trash neighborhood. But since Mom's death, I have to say that I've seen something different. Sure, they're still full of problems, but people have come out of the woodwork to be helpful to Dad. He comes out here tomorrow for a two-week visit. Word gets around and suddenly he has three offers for rides to the airport, two people offering to mow his lawn, someone offering to take out the garbage on Thursday and god only knows what else. It's really great to know that they're there for him. Some of them, like Aileen, have been in the neighborhood since they were kids, and now have bought homes there to raise their families, so they've known Dad for 40 years. In one of my earliest memories I can remember Bobby coming over in his tux before his senior prom -- I was probably 2 at the time -- and he carried me around and took pictures with me. He's back again, nearly three decades later. All of them hung out with Mom and Dad because they were only 22 when they moved into the neighborhood, so they were infinitely younger than anyone else, and must have seemed cool to kids who were in their early teens. Go figure. But now, after all this time, they're there for Dad. It really makes me feel better about things. No, I can't be there, but there's no shortage of people who can be.
Interesting conversation last night.
First, C discovers that his e-fling, J, ended up hooking up with his division president sometime after they parted ways at 3am. Now, when he first told me about J, I thought she was totally the kind of chick he would be really into, but I can't for the life of me see why anyone (and believe me, there have been many anyones) would want this guy. So imagine my surprise when I express this righteous indignation that if she was hooking up with anyone, it should have been my husband. After all, he's funny and charming and smart and not at all smarmy like T, the president.
So C starts laughing at me, because what does it say about me that I'm all defensive of his right to sleep with someone else?
Oh, and she's blonde. As though that wasn't inevitable.
Anyway, so we get to talking about how he talks with J about his relationship with me. A lot. Which is odd, because I wouldn't think you'd regularly discuss the wife with the chick you want to sleep with and are trying to craft ways to get back to Toronto to see. And he speaks glowingly of me. He's told her about his philosophy of sex, which is that he totally gets off on driving the woman crazy. She sincerely regrets her choice of T over C that evening, let me tell you. :-)
So we talked about "the fling" concept, and he completely thinks that I need to just let go, get out of my own head and live a little. He knows I'll come back. As he said in that sarcastic joking way, "the sex is too good for you to stay away forever." He's actually said in the past that his one regret is that we didn't get together a couple of years later, because I should have had more time out in the world to live my life. But then again, neither of us would trade what we have for anything. Our relationship is sustaining and fulfilling and wonderful, but as he says, "the only thing I can't give you is newness. You have to go outside for that." I remain fascinated and delighted.
On an unrelated note, I took him to Saratoga for a couples massage for his birthday. Let me tell you, my massage therapist was all about the patch. "Oh my god, so it just sits there?" Yep. No intervention necessary. "That is *so* cool!"
First, C discovers that his e-fling, J, ended up hooking up with his division president sometime after they parted ways at 3am. Now, when he first told me about J, I thought she was totally the kind of chick he would be really into, but I can't for the life of me see why anyone (and believe me, there have been many anyones) would want this guy. So imagine my surprise when I express this righteous indignation that if she was hooking up with anyone, it should have been my husband. After all, he's funny and charming and smart and not at all smarmy like T, the president.
So C starts laughing at me, because what does it say about me that I'm all defensive of his right to sleep with someone else?
Oh, and she's blonde. As though that wasn't inevitable.
Anyway, so we get to talking about how he talks with J about his relationship with me. A lot. Which is odd, because I wouldn't think you'd regularly discuss the wife with the chick you want to sleep with and are trying to craft ways to get back to Toronto to see. And he speaks glowingly of me. He's told her about his philosophy of sex, which is that he totally gets off on driving the woman crazy. She sincerely regrets her choice of T over C that evening, let me tell you. :-)
So we talked about "the fling" concept, and he completely thinks that I need to just let go, get out of my own head and live a little. He knows I'll come back. As he said in that sarcastic joking way, "the sex is too good for you to stay away forever." He's actually said in the past that his one regret is that we didn't get together a couple of years later, because I should have had more time out in the world to live my life. But then again, neither of us would trade what we have for anything. Our relationship is sustaining and fulfilling and wonderful, but as he says, "the only thing I can't give you is newness. You have to go outside for that." I remain fascinated and delighted.
On an unrelated note, I took him to Saratoga for a couples massage for his birthday. Let me tell you, my massage therapist was all about the patch. "Oh my god, so it just sits there?" Yep. No intervention necessary. "That is *so* cool!"
Friday, September 03, 2004
This will be the last time I wear a lace bra. Too damned itchy.
Richard, where the hell are you? I called your lazy ass twice this week. You were online on Yahoo and didn't respond to my messages. What the hell are you doing? I'm not going to let myself think that you're angry, and that's not why you're calling, because if history is any indicator you're not angry, you're just lazy, and can't be bothering to call me back. So get up off that deluxe leather couch of yours and dial the phone, for god's sake. You're supposed to be my best friend. Can't you call?
You're coming home tonight, which is good, because it doesn't interfere with the weekend at all. By the time I get home from the gym, you'll be back, and then there's a whole three-day weekend, uninterrupted by school or work or trips.
This coming and going thing has been getting really difficult. I can deal with you being gone. I prefer you to be here. But the coming and going really wreaks havoc with my brain and my emotions. You know I don't do well with that transition, so the reacclimation and adaptation is getting harder and harder.
Do you remember when I used to get really upset when you would go? I don't feel quite that same way anymore -- I guess I'm adjusting to the idea -- but I'd still prefer to have you around more than half of the time. I just like to spend time with you. You're not just my husband, you're my friend. I think it's you as my friend that I miss the most when you're gone.
Tonight you'll come home and curl up in bed like it's an ordinary day, but it's not. It's going to be one of those transition nights, the kind where I don't sleep because I'm startled to find you in the bed with me. I get used to sleeping alone, arms and legs going every which way, and when you come home it's always a shock when one of those limbs bumps into you. But once the initial shock passes, I'm always really happy that you're there.
I'll see you in six hours.
This coming and going thing has been getting really difficult. I can deal with you being gone. I prefer you to be here. But the coming and going really wreaks havoc with my brain and my emotions. You know I don't do well with that transition, so the reacclimation and adaptation is getting harder and harder.
Do you remember when I used to get really upset when you would go? I don't feel quite that same way anymore -- I guess I'm adjusting to the idea -- but I'd still prefer to have you around more than half of the time. I just like to spend time with you. You're not just my husband, you're my friend. I think it's you as my friend that I miss the most when you're gone.
Tonight you'll come home and curl up in bed like it's an ordinary day, but it's not. It's going to be one of those transition nights, the kind where I don't sleep because I'm startled to find you in the bed with me. I get used to sleeping alone, arms and legs going every which way, and when you come home it's always a shock when one of those limbs bumps into you. But once the initial shock passes, I'm always really happy that you're there.
I'll see you in six hours.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
I used to be a writer. I used to be able to get words out of my head and my heart and onto paper or the screen. Now I'm left with blank pages and a full head and heart and no outlet for it. I have an overwhelming amount of love and pain and confusion that can't escape. So what am I left with? Confusion. An empty house. A father who's not only dating after three widowed months, but who invites the new girlfriend to his house -- our house, mom's house -- for dinner. There's nothing in my life that's prepared me for any of this. I'm alone and lost and wondering what the hell is going to happen with the future. It's as though none of the past ever happened, as if my parents weren't together from their senior prom on, as though they didn't stand next to each other in their kindergarten class picture, as if they weren't married for nearly 35 years. And if they didn't exist, then what does that mean for me? Does this only exist in memory?
Ryan, my little sweetheart. I had a dream about you last night. I was watching you grow up. Some of it was memories, like the day you came home from the hospital, and some of it was my imagination of different times in your life that I missed when I moved out here. But I've always been there for you, just like you were there for me when I needed you at mom's memorial. I can't tell you how much it meant that you came over, sat on my lap and just held me. You're 12 now, and by all rights you should be way too cool to want to have anything to do with me. But through it all, you've always been my little sweetheart, full of love. You're going to turn out to be a heck of a guy. I can see it. You've always held such a special place in my heart, and no matter how many years pass or what happens in my life, I'll always love you. But you already knew that, I'm sure.
