When you have cancer, you meet a lot of other people with cancer and which can be both lifesaver and a double-edged sword. I have met people who are angry and bitter and who ask, why? why? and my heart goes out to them, but I can’t be around them for long. I have met people who’s grace, and attitude blows my mind. People who I might not see again, but think about every day. And there are people I know who have heard the words that I most fear hearing, but who’s eyes are still bright and who live, live every day under such duress. My heart aches and breaks and yet is enriched by these people for whom I can’t find adjectives apt, descriptions worthy.
I'm working on a group project, trying to get something organized, and I know that I'm really pissing people off, I can tell I'm being perceived as bossy and intransigent, and while I care about that, I don't really care about that. Actually caring about it, would make me upset and while I didn't used to have control over that, for some reason, now I do, and I am choosing not to dwell. I know I'll get the job done and I know my instincts are spot on, and I don't have the patience to waste time on handholding and apologizing for myself. I simply accept that my group/people skills are not up to other peoples standards, but I also know that I get things done, and am very generous with my time. I know that this project will be successful, I'll get absolutely no credit for it, and the people involved will like me a bit less and resent me a bit more, all while benefiting from my work, and it just doesn't bother me. I know that all sounds terribly arrogant, but the last thing I am is arrogant or confident, so for me, I think this is a good thing. Is it a post-cancer thing? Post-50 thing, post-divorce thing? Beats me, but it's definitely a change for me, especially that I'm choosing not to over think it, feel bad about it, or most importantly, am unwilling to apologize for myself. I am more sick and tired of apologizing for myself while letting other people walk all over me, I am just done with that. I am no longer inviting criticism, or accepting it, because we could all criticize each other to death and I've always had some weird, vulnerability and openness, that invites people to feel safe criticizing me. It's all perception, who's right and who's wrong, who stepped on who's toes, and I'm finally going to choose to go with my perception. I'm not on a self-improvement kick, I'm not on a need-everyone-to like me kick, I'm on a get it done, live my life on my own terms kick. Oh my god, it's scuba power. It's magic turtle healing power. Oh, people, don't mess with me, I think those days are done.
I visited a friend at chemo today and brought her some food and tea, she offered me money, puhleeze, that is a preposterous notion. Then I thought of all the people who brought me tea and food and I too offered them money, no one ever took me up on the offer either. I would have been happy to pay anyone back, cancer doesn’t mean you get free muffins on demand, but I think if anyone had taken my money I’d have been a little hurt which really isn’t fair, but would have been true, nonetheless.
There are two main hospitals for treating women’s cancer in Providence, Miriam Hospital and Woman & Infants. My oncologist practices at both, but I chose to be treated at Miriam because it’s about eight blocks from my house, so for the first half of my year-long odyssey, I could walk to and from, and if I ever needed a ride, there were peeps in my hood I could call on. Currently, however, post chemo, I go to W&I because they have a great outpatient support center for cancer rehab. I don’t know how it’s funded, but bless it’s little heart, I get free PT, lymphodema therapy and can get subsidized, high quality, acupuncture for $35. These services share a floor of an out-building with the Infusion Center, which is a nice term for the chemo ward. They just moved in to new space and it’s beautiful. Every time I go for PT, which is often, I spend a perverse amount of time trying to decide if I got cancer, would I return to Miriam and my beloved nurses and the convient locale, or would I go to W&I because the chairs are nicer and the bays are so much roomier and the new decor is lovely and the heat works. I agonize over this decision, until I realize how insane it is, the worst, worst possible use of my time, my thought time. I’m not planning on getting cancer again and if I do, the least of my worries will be where to be treated and certainly, most certainly, that bridge can be crossed should it smack me across the face, not a minute sooner. Still, I do this over and over again before I realize my madness, dope slap myself, and stop it. I always figure, I can't leave my beloved nurses, but today on my visit, I discovered fresh fruit and real food in the fridge which might be the ultimate game changer, I would have sold my soul for fresh fruit on a whim during chemo. Clearly I got cancer two years too soon, just like I had kids before they had electric swings and super cute clothes. My swing had to be cranked up every 10 minutes and that would usually wake the baby, as would the swing running out of juice. New moms can now put their babies in a perpetual swing and nap along with them, oh the bliss.
I’ve been writing compulsively as is evidenced by my daily posts. I don’t know why I’m doing it, long winter? habit? need? Don’t know, so I’m just going with the flow. I am exhausted, but have manic mental energy that wants to be scuba diving, but can’t so my brain is babbling here instead. It’s frustrating how badly I want to be somewhere else, doing something else, and how much I don’t want to be doing what I need to be doing. Oh messy house, messy studio, disastrous business, home improvements, paperwork, dormant gym membership, I want nothing to do with you.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Rice Krispies
I’m always wondering why and how Rice Krispies cement themselves to the side of the cereal bowl if left standing for only a few minutes. If you leave them standing significantly longer, they’re near impossible to hack off. I wonder if it’s the starch in the rice turning to glue, I can only hope my son’s and any other Rice Krispy eater’s digestive systems are significantly moist to keep the little critters from adhering internally. One of the small mysteries of life. I wonder why no one has captalized on the bonding power of Rice Krispies, I mean, they’ll come out of the dishwasher in tact, and one with the bowl.
I signed my divorce papers this morning, it was surprisingly banal and anticlimatic. I’m not looking forward to our coming day in court next Monday. That’s where I’ll have to say “yes” when I’m asked if I accept this agreement as fair and just, because I don’t, but also know there’s nothing I can do about it. And really, it's just sad, all of it. I'm sad my kids don't have an intact family, I'm sad I don't have a life partner, I'm sad it all was the way it was.
I’ve been so sleepy all week and my fellow sea lice surviror say’s he’s been unusually tired all week. We’re wondering if we have lingering jellyfish toxin floating around our systems. Then again, maybe we just don’t get enough sleep. My partner-in-crime’s stings have gone away, mine are morphing from bright red bump to bright red splotch. I was so grossed out by the thought of jellyfish larvae stinging me, that a friend suggested I just imagine them as teeny-tiny little jellyfish, so I am. I imagine swimming with adorable, little cartoon jellyfish and it’s not so bad.
All I can think about is getting on a plane. I almost feel frantic about it. I want to jump in the water and swim away. At the same time, I’ve had a lovely week. I got a lot of work done, many things checked off my to-do list, the kids are still happy to see me, I’m planning little dude’s birthday celebration and talking graduation parties with the tall one. Life is good, I don’t know why I want to swim away.
My photo shoot went well although afterwards I noticed my hair was kind of frizzy and the photographer looked all of 16-years-old, despite his R.I.T. pedigree. He was very sweet, but I wonder if he would have told me if I was slouching or had food in my teeth. We took headshots and working shots, yeah, I pretended to be working, I should have put my glasses on, it was all kind of odd and uncomfortable, yet thoroughly forgettable and survivable. I hope I wind up looking nice, I hope I like the article, I hope I can read about myself without breaking out in hives or vomiting. Maybe a nice, divorced dad, and scuba diver will see my picture in the magazine, fall in love with me from reading my blog and invite me on a tropical vacation. A girl can dream, right? Especially since I’m days away from being an official divorcee.
I signed my divorce papers this morning, it was surprisingly banal and anticlimatic. I’m not looking forward to our coming day in court next Monday. That’s where I’ll have to say “yes” when I’m asked if I accept this agreement as fair and just, because I don’t, but also know there’s nothing I can do about it. And really, it's just sad, all of it. I'm sad my kids don't have an intact family, I'm sad I don't have a life partner, I'm sad it all was the way it was.
I’ve been so sleepy all week and my fellow sea lice surviror say’s he’s been unusually tired all week. We’re wondering if we have lingering jellyfish toxin floating around our systems. Then again, maybe we just don’t get enough sleep. My partner-in-crime’s stings have gone away, mine are morphing from bright red bump to bright red splotch. I was so grossed out by the thought of jellyfish larvae stinging me, that a friend suggested I just imagine them as teeny-tiny little jellyfish, so I am. I imagine swimming with adorable, little cartoon jellyfish and it’s not so bad.
All I can think about is getting on a plane. I almost feel frantic about it. I want to jump in the water and swim away. At the same time, I’ve had a lovely week. I got a lot of work done, many things checked off my to-do list, the kids are still happy to see me, I’m planning little dude’s birthday celebration and talking graduation parties with the tall one. Life is good, I don’t know why I want to swim away.
My photo shoot went well although afterwards I noticed my hair was kind of frizzy and the photographer looked all of 16-years-old, despite his R.I.T. pedigree. He was very sweet, but I wonder if he would have told me if I was slouching or had food in my teeth. We took headshots and working shots, yeah, I pretended to be working, I should have put my glasses on, it was all kind of odd and uncomfortable, yet thoroughly forgettable and survivable. I hope I wind up looking nice, I hope I like the article, I hope I can read about myself without breaking out in hives or vomiting. Maybe a nice, divorced dad, and scuba diver will see my picture in the magazine, fall in love with me from reading my blog and invite me on a tropical vacation. A girl can dream, right? Especially since I’m days away from being an official divorcee.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Fan Dance
Oh, small victories, I bask in your glory. It’s been almost 24 hours, but I am still bathed in the warm glow of the finished social studies project. Not only is it complete, no blood was shed, and it’s easy to transport. Yesterday, I felt like the genius of the ages for my 7th grade abilities, I’m drifting back to reality, but still pleased-as-punch. I eased the staircase idea into a spiral staircase, and then just a spiral, which wound up more like a circular fan, but the boy was pleased and content and went off to bigger, better things, which will show up on YouTube, no doubt. It was as simple as this... I had a stack of 5”x7” pieces of sturdy white cardboard at the studio, for a packaging idea that never came to fruition. I took a stack and drilled small holes in the lower left corner. Boy had his timeline in a document, each entry, the requisite four sentences. We formatted it to be 5” wide, printed it, cut out each paragraph and glue sticked each one onto a card. Then he printed out corresponding pictures and as I glued them under the words, he drew a colorful border around each one, assembly line style, then we strung them onto a wire and fanned them out into a circle. We were going to separate each card with a bead, creating height, hence, staircase, but he was happy with the fan and that kept me from stability issues. Not only that, I focused, I put my distracted thoughts and computer tasks aside, ignored the laundry and the dishes, and focused on boy. We talked about the civil rights movement, we talked about the project, we had fun.
He wasn’t happy with the fan I brought him back from Mexico, it was not “masculine” enough. Laugh, go ahead, but as I was rifling through the assortment of fans, I was, in fact, looking for the most masculine, but since the previous fan, white with multicolored sequins and red, lacy stitching is his heart’s content, to what baseline for masculine should I refer? The white fan was for me, but he co-opted it immediately. Boy loves the white fan, he can flip it open with an inperceptible twitch, which I’ve yet to master, so I thought he’d enjoy a fan for each hand, double happiness. Every night before bed, he’s up to fan-flicking antics, so I picked out a black fan with red sequins, none of the blue sequined fans folded properly, so I settled on red (ok, I admit, they might be more magenta than red).
Boy has given up singing It’s Raining Men, in favor of the Let It Go song from Frozen, but he’s still whistling the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly throughout the day, he's obsessed with that tune. One song morphs into another, as it does, I think for all of us. He went on a field trip, an accidental field trip it turns out, to see Oliver at Trinity Rep. We used to watch the movie all the time, I love that movie, love those songs, so he's been singing those as well. Who will buy this wonderful moment, such a sky, you never did see, who will tie it up with a ribbon and put it in a box for me? Apparently, Mr. Zen’s other class was supposed to go on the trip, but J got a permission slip by accident, so they let him go. I don’t know why only one class got to go, over another, but I’m glad he snuck in. He always seems to be in the wrong class, the class that doesn’t go. Unlike his brother, the perpetually chosen.
Something got me really agitated the other day, really annoyed, upset, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, didn’t want to start calling friends to vent, I had that manic, pissed off energy, but didn’t want to get in deeper and Let It Go popped into my head, and so I let it go. I swear, song works. I enjoyed Frozen because many of the recent kids movies have given me a headache or put me to sleep, but in pondering, it’s still no Lion King, or Jungle Book, or Toy Story, although damn, that Let it Go sequence despite the 5 seconds that pisses me off, yes, it’s the exagerrated hip swagger near the end, is sublime. I actually watch it on my computer occassionally, it makes me feel better. I love the colors in that scene.
The tall one is horrified when I do this, so I keep the volume down. What a change between before and after... trip, that is. I was near strangling that one before I left and since I’ve returned, he’s nothing but charming. I get compliments on my food, he’s not pestering me to make him lunch, he’s helping with things without emitting sounds of torture and misery. Last night he talked me in to watching a movie with him and he let me pick, and then, he started telling me how alike we are. That stemmed from neither of us wanting to see Gravity, even though everyone tells us how great it is. He says it would just make him anxious to which I say “I know, I just don’t see the point of making my heart race for two hours.” We agree, and we don’t like scary movies either, but he went on to say that we are intellectually similar, we think alike, and all that. Make a mama cry. I suspect we think quite differently, but as he’s impressed with his intellect, considering me, goofy, clumsy, gullible me his intellectual equal, or attributing his intellect as coming from me, is quite the compliment. I often focus on our differences, because we really are very different, and have had extraordinarily different childhoods and experiences thus far. Our first 18 years, and our personality types could not be more different. But in certain ways, we do have similarities and for all our differences and arguments, we have a beautiful bond, all the more sweet and humorous for such differences. There are certainly some mother/son things we share, and to have him acknowledge that and be proud of it, well, pretty priceless, because otherwise, dude is a handful. I think spring is going to be spectacular. We’re going to have a graduation party, a big, giant lawn party, the 50th bday party I didn’t have, the done with treatment, still alive party I didn’t have, I can put all that into a graduation party for my son, my beautiful, first baby I ever held, son, who is on his way to a great life, I just know it.
A friend the other day wrote that as far as she understood it, I was now out of the woods. Maybe I should let people believe that, but I told her the stats, that no, I’m not out of the woods. Triple Negative Disease, as they call it, is a whole different animal from the other breast cancers, the one’s most are familiar with. I told her that in the first five years after treatment I have a 30% chance of recurrence and any recurrence will kill me within months because of the aggressive, invasive nature of this particular cancer. For all the talk of awareness, for all the ribbons, most people don’t understand that every cancer is different, very different, I certainly didn’t, until it happened to me and I became a professional patient. I am about a year and a half out and this year and next are my highest risk years, after five years, my risk drops significantly. Come on five, roll a five, give me a five, hell, give me 10 or 20.
That’s why the scuba diving is so important. Diving makes me feel invincible, powerful, and gets me to plan ahead, something I’m otherwise afraid to do. My obsession, my addiction, causes me to start planning my next trip while still on a trip, and that is a good thing. I have to outwit, outsmart, out badass this cancer. I have to be in a mental place where if any cell dares replicate abnormally, my bad ass, motherfucker, kick ass, don’t mess with me immune system nips it in the bud, rolls right on over it, mows it down, crushes it like a wee little bug. I have to feel invincible, because that will make me invincible, and that’s what diving does. And the joy of seeing my boy graduate and move on to bigger and better things, to watch him on the cusp of adulthood gives me power, so this spring will be my season of joy and power and masculine mexican fans, for which I will gladly continue my search.
He wasn’t happy with the fan I brought him back from Mexico, it was not “masculine” enough. Laugh, go ahead, but as I was rifling through the assortment of fans, I was, in fact, looking for the most masculine, but since the previous fan, white with multicolored sequins and red, lacy stitching is his heart’s content, to what baseline for masculine should I refer? The white fan was for me, but he co-opted it immediately. Boy loves the white fan, he can flip it open with an inperceptible twitch, which I’ve yet to master, so I thought he’d enjoy a fan for each hand, double happiness. Every night before bed, he’s up to fan-flicking antics, so I picked out a black fan with red sequins, none of the blue sequined fans folded properly, so I settled on red (ok, I admit, they might be more magenta than red).
Boy has given up singing It’s Raining Men, in favor of the Let It Go song from Frozen, but he’s still whistling the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly throughout the day, he's obsessed with that tune. One song morphs into another, as it does, I think for all of us. He went on a field trip, an accidental field trip it turns out, to see Oliver at Trinity Rep. We used to watch the movie all the time, I love that movie, love those songs, so he's been singing those as well. Who will buy this wonderful moment, such a sky, you never did see, who will tie it up with a ribbon and put it in a box for me? Apparently, Mr. Zen’s other class was supposed to go on the trip, but J got a permission slip by accident, so they let him go. I don’t know why only one class got to go, over another, but I’m glad he snuck in. He always seems to be in the wrong class, the class that doesn’t go. Unlike his brother, the perpetually chosen.
Something got me really agitated the other day, really annoyed, upset, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, didn’t want to start calling friends to vent, I had that manic, pissed off energy, but didn’t want to get in deeper and Let It Go popped into my head, and so I let it go. I swear, song works. I enjoyed Frozen because many of the recent kids movies have given me a headache or put me to sleep, but in pondering, it’s still no Lion King, or Jungle Book, or Toy Story, although damn, that Let it Go sequence despite the 5 seconds that pisses me off, yes, it’s the exagerrated hip swagger near the end, is sublime. I actually watch it on my computer occassionally, it makes me feel better. I love the colors in that scene.
The tall one is horrified when I do this, so I keep the volume down. What a change between before and after... trip, that is. I was near strangling that one before I left and since I’ve returned, he’s nothing but charming. I get compliments on my food, he’s not pestering me to make him lunch, he’s helping with things without emitting sounds of torture and misery. Last night he talked me in to watching a movie with him and he let me pick, and then, he started telling me how alike we are. That stemmed from neither of us wanting to see Gravity, even though everyone tells us how great it is. He says it would just make him anxious to which I say “I know, I just don’t see the point of making my heart race for two hours.” We agree, and we don’t like scary movies either, but he went on to say that we are intellectually similar, we think alike, and all that. Make a mama cry. I suspect we think quite differently, but as he’s impressed with his intellect, considering me, goofy, clumsy, gullible me his intellectual equal, or attributing his intellect as coming from me, is quite the compliment. I often focus on our differences, because we really are very different, and have had extraordinarily different childhoods and experiences thus far. Our first 18 years, and our personality types could not be more different. But in certain ways, we do have similarities and for all our differences and arguments, we have a beautiful bond, all the more sweet and humorous for such differences. There are certainly some mother/son things we share, and to have him acknowledge that and be proud of it, well, pretty priceless, because otherwise, dude is a handful. I think spring is going to be spectacular. We’re going to have a graduation party, a big, giant lawn party, the 50th bday party I didn’t have, the done with treatment, still alive party I didn’t have, I can put all that into a graduation party for my son, my beautiful, first baby I ever held, son, who is on his way to a great life, I just know it.
A friend the other day wrote that as far as she understood it, I was now out of the woods. Maybe I should let people believe that, but I told her the stats, that no, I’m not out of the woods. Triple Negative Disease, as they call it, is a whole different animal from the other breast cancers, the one’s most are familiar with. I told her that in the first five years after treatment I have a 30% chance of recurrence and any recurrence will kill me within months because of the aggressive, invasive nature of this particular cancer. For all the talk of awareness, for all the ribbons, most people don’t understand that every cancer is different, very different, I certainly didn’t, until it happened to me and I became a professional patient. I am about a year and a half out and this year and next are my highest risk years, after five years, my risk drops significantly. Come on five, roll a five, give me a five, hell, give me 10 or 20.
That’s why the scuba diving is so important. Diving makes me feel invincible, powerful, and gets me to plan ahead, something I’m otherwise afraid to do. My obsession, my addiction, causes me to start planning my next trip while still on a trip, and that is a good thing. I have to outwit, outsmart, out badass this cancer. I have to be in a mental place where if any cell dares replicate abnormally, my bad ass, motherfucker, kick ass, don’t mess with me immune system nips it in the bud, rolls right on over it, mows it down, crushes it like a wee little bug. I have to feel invincible, because that will make me invincible, and that’s what diving does. And the joy of seeing my boy graduate and move on to bigger and better things, to watch him on the cusp of adulthood gives me power, so this spring will be my season of joy and power and masculine mexican fans, for which I will gladly continue my search.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Stairway to Hell
My younger son, the not for much longer, small one, although his scrawniness will continue to make him seem smaller than he is, is either getting sick or getting hormonal. Everything has him near tears, even cute animal videos, in fact, he is able to produce an impressive single tear that slowly runs down his face. Baz-zing, arrow through the heart, that is one powerful saline droplet. He’s lamenting that he’s not great at anything the way his brother is at sports because tall one is bouncing a pilates ball against the wall, while tossing a baseball up in the air, despite the 18 years of me asking him not to throw balls in the house. He’s a ball thrower, he was born a ball thrower, he will die a ball thrower, I just want the ball throwing to be elsewhere, especially at 9p.m. To the small sad one, I tried to explain the whole practicing thing, and the sticking with it thing, and the not giving up, and quitting thing, for which he has a propensity after a single bad day or lesson. Suddenly, he’s decided he would like to play the trumpet, playing the trumpet would be "cool". Oh, why not a nice, affordable acting class? I don’t want to pay monthly to rent an instrument that ultimately, will gather dust... we rented a clarinet for so long, we own it, it’s rotting in a closet. The tall one had an affinity, but no desire. I wonder if that skinny, little body has enough air in it to blow a horn. I know he is musical, and that I should pursue this. I can easily picture him playing the trumpet and hell, he didn't pick the tuba, I'm grateful for that.
There is a special place in hell for the “big projects” assigned in school. The one’s that are supposed to be “creative” and done at home. J has to do a time-line of the events in the civil rights movement, 32(ish) entries, but it can’t be in a linear time line, it has to be done in an “unusual” format. Oy! I mention a flip book “someone’s already doing that”, a scrap book, “someone’s already doing that”, I mention this and that, and either someone is already doing it or it’s “stupid”. To no avail can I explain that two flip books would not be the same, they would each have their maker's originality. My son, I learn, has come up with the idea of a staircase. He has 32(ish) large pieces of poster board cut up and taped together with other lopsided, folded pieces, laying in a heap. Each entry will be large, containing pictures and 4(ish) sentences, I'm not listening all that well. I can’t think of any way to engineer this. How the hell would I get this long, flimsy thing to stand up like stairs, he thinks it’s easy, will just require a few pieces of tape, tape has always served him well, but ultimately, it’s my job, because I’m the one who makes things work, I’m the problem solver. I don’t have a clue. I finally admit, that, “honey, this just isn’t possible, I have no idea, just no idea how to do this.” Goodbye sanity, he insists it must be done because the teacher already approved his idea. Wait a minute, rewind... the teacher listened to this hairbrained proposal and said go for it? Thanks a lot Teacher X. Isn’t your job to weed out and refine the ideas so that they’re possible? Does he assume the child’s parent is a structural engineer? And because this project is approved and my child can be OCD(ish) he’s hysterical, because in his mind, there’s no turning back now, if I fail him on the staircase, all is lost. Oh misery cloud, why doth thou hover over my house at bedtime? We went out for chinese, a lovely early dinner. We had such a nice time, I was relaxed and content, that might as well have been years ago. I’m a terrible, terrible parent because I can’t conjure a staircase-shaped timeline and by the way, the stairs are supposed to go up and then down again. Dad’s a hero because he took him out for Chinese last week, I just suck. Come to think of it, why didn’t this get done at dad’s last week while I was away? And if dad is supposed to take the kids for a week twice a year so I can go on vacation, how come I have to make up the days and he’s in the midst of a 10 day stretch sans offspring himself? Do I point that out, tell him my week didn’t count because I just made up for it? Paid him back the time? He actually goes a week without the kids every other week by his own choice, yet it seems like such a big deal for me to want and have a week, to travel, to catch up on work, or just be. I feel guilty even wanting one, but parenting is a job like any other, it’s the job I applied for and the job I love, but everyone needs days off. I think you either need an in tact family to share the work, ideal of course, or 50/50 parenting split, or someone drowns. I feel like in mediation we could have discussed this stuff, each left with a deeper understanding of the others needs and points of view, but there’s no place for that in the realm of lawyers, you pay a lot more, and get a lot less. But that, I think, is exactly why he didn’t want to go back to mediation, he didn’t want to hear, what he didn’t want to hear. Mediators talk about ethics and fairness and responsibility, lawyers talk about what you can get away with.
Older brother actually chipped in on the brainstorming of the project of doom in a helpful way, whig is quite unusual and greatly appreciated, small miracle accompanies misery cloud, but I am still cursing teacher in my mind, in my soul, my whole inner self is shaking angry fists at the teacher. We came up with a new cuckoo idea which involves an electric drill, lots of carboard and rubberbands, a pole, a base, and behold, the weekend awaits.
Oh vacation, were you only a week ago? Yes, I’m still in a much better place, but I’m slammed at work, and well, stuff. I saw my lawyer today to go over the final divorce papers and I was asking advice about how to get more time, and how was I supposed to be financially self-sufficient when I’m so busy with the kids, this same redundant question. He said he really didn’t know, that the letter of the law was against me. He told me it was an unusual case because usually the dad’s are fighting for more access to the kids, not less. He said he was really surprised by my husband’s lack of desire to spend more time with his children, it’s usually the opposite these days. He could request more time and the courts would order it, but the court can’t order him to have more time if he doesn't want it. I had a hard time parting with the kids at first, but it’s been a few years now and I’m drowning sufficiently in the day to day that the only solution I see is for the kids to spend more time with their father, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen which is a shame for everyone. J had a good time being at his dad’s while I was gone, they built some momentum, but momentum has to be sustained and I see it circling the drain already.
I salute you, single mothers everywhere, I don’t know how you do it. And those of you with extended family, relatives who take the kids on trips, or overnights, all of those whose children have involved grandparents, aunts and uncles, god-parents, whatever, I envy you, boy oh boy, do I envy you. Those people are freaking necessary, indeed, it takes a village, takes a whole town, city, all of it. Somewhere along the way, I played my cards wrong because I am on my own, seriously, really, on my own.
Come the advent of spring and a more hospitable environment, I have to summon the courage to start exploring match.com and the like. I have to stop assuming that a relationship makes life harder, ideally, it should make life, if not easier, more fun. There’s got to be a nice, divorced dad, scuba diver out there somewhere and hell, he doesn’t even have to be local, we can meet up in Mexico.
There is a special place in hell for the “big projects” assigned in school. The one’s that are supposed to be “creative” and done at home. J has to do a time-line of the events in the civil rights movement, 32(ish) entries, but it can’t be in a linear time line, it has to be done in an “unusual” format. Oy! I mention a flip book “someone’s already doing that”, a scrap book, “someone’s already doing that”, I mention this and that, and either someone is already doing it or it’s “stupid”. To no avail can I explain that two flip books would not be the same, they would each have their maker's originality. My son, I learn, has come up with the idea of a staircase. He has 32(ish) large pieces of poster board cut up and taped together with other lopsided, folded pieces, laying in a heap. Each entry will be large, containing pictures and 4(ish) sentences, I'm not listening all that well. I can’t think of any way to engineer this. How the hell would I get this long, flimsy thing to stand up like stairs, he thinks it’s easy, will just require a few pieces of tape, tape has always served him well, but ultimately, it’s my job, because I’m the one who makes things work, I’m the problem solver. I don’t have a clue. I finally admit, that, “honey, this just isn’t possible, I have no idea, just no idea how to do this.” Goodbye sanity, he insists it must be done because the teacher already approved his idea. Wait a minute, rewind... the teacher listened to this hairbrained proposal and said go for it? Thanks a lot Teacher X. Isn’t your job to weed out and refine the ideas so that they’re possible? Does he assume the child’s parent is a structural engineer? And because this project is approved and my child can be OCD(ish) he’s hysterical, because in his mind, there’s no turning back now, if I fail him on the staircase, all is lost. Oh misery cloud, why doth thou hover over my house at bedtime? We went out for chinese, a lovely early dinner. We had such a nice time, I was relaxed and content, that might as well have been years ago. I’m a terrible, terrible parent because I can’t conjure a staircase-shaped timeline and by the way, the stairs are supposed to go up and then down again. Dad’s a hero because he took him out for Chinese last week, I just suck. Come to think of it, why didn’t this get done at dad’s last week while I was away? And if dad is supposed to take the kids for a week twice a year so I can go on vacation, how come I have to make up the days and he’s in the midst of a 10 day stretch sans offspring himself? Do I point that out, tell him my week didn’t count because I just made up for it? Paid him back the time? He actually goes a week without the kids every other week by his own choice, yet it seems like such a big deal for me to want and have a week, to travel, to catch up on work, or just be. I feel guilty even wanting one, but parenting is a job like any other, it’s the job I applied for and the job I love, but everyone needs days off. I think you either need an in tact family to share the work, ideal of course, or 50/50 parenting split, or someone drowns. I feel like in mediation we could have discussed this stuff, each left with a deeper understanding of the others needs and points of view, but there’s no place for that in the realm of lawyers, you pay a lot more, and get a lot less. But that, I think, is exactly why he didn’t want to go back to mediation, he didn’t want to hear, what he didn’t want to hear. Mediators talk about ethics and fairness and responsibility, lawyers talk about what you can get away with.
Older brother actually chipped in on the brainstorming of the project of doom in a helpful way, whig is quite unusual and greatly appreciated, small miracle accompanies misery cloud, but I am still cursing teacher in my mind, in my soul, my whole inner self is shaking angry fists at the teacher. We came up with a new cuckoo idea which involves an electric drill, lots of carboard and rubberbands, a pole, a base, and behold, the weekend awaits.
Oh vacation, were you only a week ago? Yes, I’m still in a much better place, but I’m slammed at work, and well, stuff. I saw my lawyer today to go over the final divorce papers and I was asking advice about how to get more time, and how was I supposed to be financially self-sufficient when I’m so busy with the kids, this same redundant question. He said he really didn’t know, that the letter of the law was against me. He told me it was an unusual case because usually the dad’s are fighting for more access to the kids, not less. He said he was really surprised by my husband’s lack of desire to spend more time with his children, it’s usually the opposite these days. He could request more time and the courts would order it, but the court can’t order him to have more time if he doesn't want it. I had a hard time parting with the kids at first, but it’s been a few years now and I’m drowning sufficiently in the day to day that the only solution I see is for the kids to spend more time with their father, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen which is a shame for everyone. J had a good time being at his dad’s while I was gone, they built some momentum, but momentum has to be sustained and I see it circling the drain already.
I salute you, single mothers everywhere, I don’t know how you do it. And those of you with extended family, relatives who take the kids on trips, or overnights, all of those whose children have involved grandparents, aunts and uncles, god-parents, whatever, I envy you, boy oh boy, do I envy you. Those people are freaking necessary, indeed, it takes a village, takes a whole town, city, all of it. Somewhere along the way, I played my cards wrong because I am on my own, seriously, really, on my own.
Come the advent of spring and a more hospitable environment, I have to summon the courage to start exploring match.com and the like. I have to stop assuming that a relationship makes life harder, ideally, it should make life, if not easier, more fun. There’s got to be a nice, divorced dad, scuba diver out there somewhere and hell, he doesn’t even have to be local, we can meet up in Mexico.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Winning
My back is killing me from the airplane seats, or from the weight of the air tanks, don’t care. My gouged knee is still oozing, don’t care. My left leg is covered in red, sea lice bites, don’t care. I’m reset, recharged, thank you Mexico, thank you sea turtles, thank you cenote, thank you friend willing to travel with me. Just in case you were wildly curious about sea lice...we were entirely unaware of their presence, or them biting us until later. The bites don’t hurt, barely itch and show themselves latently. I’ve been sprouting new red bumps since last week and they aren’t fading one bit, mysterious little things. They must travel in clumps, or schools, or teeny, tiny herds becaue both my friend and I got clusters of bites in just one place, for me, it’s my right thigh, curious, indeed.
I’m slammed with work, I have the kids nonstop, quid pro quo, to make up for my trip which is making my schedule crazy, don’t care. I have newfound calm, focus, patience and determination. Ha, determination to get back in the water, and of course, to make some money, so I can do that.
I did something quite frightening before I left, it’s been my little secret, I’m terrible at keeping secrets, I read the beginning of a book first, then the end, then the middle, I love spoilers, especially if they’re pronounced as if by River Song “spoilers, darling”, sorry, that’s a Doctor Who reference, my child has corrupted me, I’m quoting Doctor Who. Anyway, I’ve kept this secret for quite a few weeks now, I did something scary and I did it because I was asked to, and I think it’s necessary to do the things that scare us. I hesitated, I thought “me?” why would they want to do that with “me”? That self-esteem thing, that’s from childhood, many, many years of what I shall not describe, as that would be a book in itself, but those feelings of worthlessness, inadequacy, I have battled them since I recognized them, and well, maybe I’m finally winning (and please don’t say that like Charlie Sheen), because someone asked to interview me for a story about my blog. Someone from a glossy magazine who found me all on her own and emailed me out of the clear blue sky. So I did it. I met with a woman, a writer and yakked and gabbed for an hour, doubt I said anything profound, but she said it was great and she had tons to use and my heart beat double fast for a few hours afterwards, but I survived. Came home to an email, yesterday, however, requesting a photo shoot. Whaaaaaa? Of course I said fine, I’m not turning back now, but yikes, I haven’t worn makeup in years. I can’t imagine putting on mascara, it seems absurd and so I won’t, especially because I have few eyelashes, or brows for that matter. Some hair grows back, some doesn’t. My pubic hair is rather in the shape of a donut which is far preferable to looking pre-pubescent, in my humble opinion. I don’t get that fully-waxed thing, I think it’s kind of gross. I’m all for good grooming, but do we really want to look like little girls?
I digress, photo shoot... likely just a quick shot, head shot... maybe buy some blush at CVS? Hope my hair is long enough to pull back without barrettes? I don’t like having my picture taken and I’m not photogenic, but I’m doing it because it’s scary and I’m 50 and fuck it. I wear the same baggy skirt and sweater every day... what should I wear and do I wear my own jewelry? I never wear my own jewelry, but maybe I should, maybe someone will see it and want to buy it and then I can make lots of money and go live underwater. I like my friend's jewelry better, I wear that. I love my AG Ambroult, Erica Walker, DA Metals. And what if someone does want to buy my jewelry, my website is years out of date. I'll worry about that later.
The tall one is laughing about having “gotten away” with his party. “Bullshit”, I say, “you got away with nothing, I let you get away with it because I have a sense of humor”. I have to remind him that he ran into his father at the grocery store while picking up supplies, for crying out loud, giving himself away before he even got going. His father, ultimately, stopped by twice to make sure they were under control, so that’s not exactly pulling a fast one. I let him know that I would have noticed things were out of place, and surely the condition of the toilets were a dead give away. Even the bath mats showed how many people came through, they are in the washing machine this very minute. I’m gullible, but I’m not stupid. He’s determined to gloat, I don’t know why, and I’m determined that he not gloat, and did I mention the fridge full of Red Bull? I’d never had a Red Bull so I tried one and it’s got to be one of the vilest things I’ve ever tasted. I guess the point is to counteract the alcohol induced grogginess with the buzz of caffeine, but I wonder, doesn’t that just cancel the whole thing out?
Little dude was happy to see me, although, he appears, finally, to have bonded with his father’s apartment and enjoyed his long stretch there. I know this is a good thing, I know this is the best thing, I’ve been doing my best to facilitate this thing, I know this is in his best interest, everyone’s best interest and I know this enables me to travel more, but it still stings a little bit, because I’ve been his one and only for so long and I’ve probably never been anyone’s one and only before. Little critter is turning 13 at the end of the month, I can hardly believe it. I’ll need to stop calling him, the small one.
I’m learning how to play this frequent flier/airline credit card game and I’ve racked up quite a few pints this way. I’m trying to figure out how to use the credits for hotels and cars as well as air travel, because I want to do a four day trip down to the Florida keys in April or May. I’m an addict, I need a fix. I'm going with a friend of mine I've pestered sufficiently. She's an outstanding illustrator who draws many undersea creatures and critters and I think it's going to blow her mind to look some of her subjects right in the eye. I'm a little obsessed with watching her have that experience, so I've coerced her into getting certified and coming to Florida where I can corrupt her sufficiently.
I’m befuddled over standardized testing. I got little one’s NECAP test scores, that’s our version of the beast. He did fine, but when I was looking at the numbers I realized that you had to get very, very few correct answers to be “proficient”. Only slightly more than outright guessing would get you, because the scores are scaled. That seems both crazy and disturbing, If they’re going to scale them, then really, what is the point? You can be “highly proficient” by getting half the answers wrong as long as everyone else did too. I hang my head, I’m past ranting and raving, I’ve been dealing with crappy public schools for so long. I guess they wear us down with so many absurdities until we don’t know in which direction to point our ire and we just go along. So I’m just going along, I have too many other things to do, I know, that’s how they win, but you can only bitch and fight so much. Maybe it's best not to look in the backpacks after all.
I’m slammed with work, I have the kids nonstop, quid pro quo, to make up for my trip which is making my schedule crazy, don’t care. I have newfound calm, focus, patience and determination. Ha, determination to get back in the water, and of course, to make some money, so I can do that.
I did something quite frightening before I left, it’s been my little secret, I’m terrible at keeping secrets, I read the beginning of a book first, then the end, then the middle, I love spoilers, especially if they’re pronounced as if by River Song “spoilers, darling”, sorry, that’s a Doctor Who reference, my child has corrupted me, I’m quoting Doctor Who. Anyway, I’ve kept this secret for quite a few weeks now, I did something scary and I did it because I was asked to, and I think it’s necessary to do the things that scare us. I hesitated, I thought “me?” why would they want to do that with “me”? That self-esteem thing, that’s from childhood, many, many years of what I shall not describe, as that would be a book in itself, but those feelings of worthlessness, inadequacy, I have battled them since I recognized them, and well, maybe I’m finally winning (and please don’t say that like Charlie Sheen), because someone asked to interview me for a story about my blog. Someone from a glossy magazine who found me all on her own and emailed me out of the clear blue sky. So I did it. I met with a woman, a writer and yakked and gabbed for an hour, doubt I said anything profound, but she said it was great and she had tons to use and my heart beat double fast for a few hours afterwards, but I survived. Came home to an email, yesterday, however, requesting a photo shoot. Whaaaaaa? Of course I said fine, I’m not turning back now, but yikes, I haven’t worn makeup in years. I can’t imagine putting on mascara, it seems absurd and so I won’t, especially because I have few eyelashes, or brows for that matter. Some hair grows back, some doesn’t. My pubic hair is rather in the shape of a donut which is far preferable to looking pre-pubescent, in my humble opinion. I don’t get that fully-waxed thing, I think it’s kind of gross. I’m all for good grooming, but do we really want to look like little girls?
I digress, photo shoot... likely just a quick shot, head shot... maybe buy some blush at CVS? Hope my hair is long enough to pull back without barrettes? I don’t like having my picture taken and I’m not photogenic, but I’m doing it because it’s scary and I’m 50 and fuck it. I wear the same baggy skirt and sweater every day... what should I wear and do I wear my own jewelry? I never wear my own jewelry, but maybe I should, maybe someone will see it and want to buy it and then I can make lots of money and go live underwater. I like my friend's jewelry better, I wear that. I love my AG Ambroult, Erica Walker, DA Metals. And what if someone does want to buy my jewelry, my website is years out of date. I'll worry about that later.
The tall one is laughing about having “gotten away” with his party. “Bullshit”, I say, “you got away with nothing, I let you get away with it because I have a sense of humor”. I have to remind him that he ran into his father at the grocery store while picking up supplies, for crying out loud, giving himself away before he even got going. His father, ultimately, stopped by twice to make sure they were under control, so that’s not exactly pulling a fast one. I let him know that I would have noticed things were out of place, and surely the condition of the toilets were a dead give away. Even the bath mats showed how many people came through, they are in the washing machine this very minute. I’m gullible, but I’m not stupid. He’s determined to gloat, I don’t know why, and I’m determined that he not gloat, and did I mention the fridge full of Red Bull? I’d never had a Red Bull so I tried one and it’s got to be one of the vilest things I’ve ever tasted. I guess the point is to counteract the alcohol induced grogginess with the buzz of caffeine, but I wonder, doesn’t that just cancel the whole thing out?
Little dude was happy to see me, although, he appears, finally, to have bonded with his father’s apartment and enjoyed his long stretch there. I know this is a good thing, I know this is the best thing, I’ve been doing my best to facilitate this thing, I know this is in his best interest, everyone’s best interest and I know this enables me to travel more, but it still stings a little bit, because I’ve been his one and only for so long and I’ve probably never been anyone’s one and only before. Little critter is turning 13 at the end of the month, I can hardly believe it. I’ll need to stop calling him, the small one.
I’m learning how to play this frequent flier/airline credit card game and I’ve racked up quite a few pints this way. I’m trying to figure out how to use the credits for hotels and cars as well as air travel, because I want to do a four day trip down to the Florida keys in April or May. I’m an addict, I need a fix. I'm going with a friend of mine I've pestered sufficiently. She's an outstanding illustrator who draws many undersea creatures and critters and I think it's going to blow her mind to look some of her subjects right in the eye. I'm a little obsessed with watching her have that experience, so I've coerced her into getting certified and coming to Florida where I can corrupt her sufficiently.
I’m befuddled over standardized testing. I got little one’s NECAP test scores, that’s our version of the beast. He did fine, but when I was looking at the numbers I realized that you had to get very, very few correct answers to be “proficient”. Only slightly more than outright guessing would get you, because the scores are scaled. That seems both crazy and disturbing, If they’re going to scale them, then really, what is the point? You can be “highly proficient” by getting half the answers wrong as long as everyone else did too. I hang my head, I’m past ranting and raving, I’ve been dealing with crappy public schools for so long. I guess they wear us down with so many absurdities until we don’t know in which direction to point our ire and we just go along. So I’m just going along, I have too many other things to do, I know, that’s how they win, but you can only bitch and fight so much. Maybe it's best not to look in the backpacks after all.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Let's Party
Not only was I fetched promptly at the airport, but was greeted with big, genuine hug and grin from tall one who knew to get out and take care of my luggage and was quite proud to show me my shiny clean car, both inside and out. He didn’t stop talking the whole way home, told me all about his week and eased with skillful precision into the details of the party he threw at our house while I was gone.
I was impressed. Every teenager should throw a party while their parent is out of town, what I’ve never heard of before is the exacting, thorough precautions he took so that nothing would go wrong. He admitted to pretty much being a nervous wreck the whole time, but that it was worth it. I think it was worth it too, I like seeing him do a little planning and preparation. He and his close friends packed up what they considered breakable items and stowed them in the basement. They cleared both attic rooms, packing things in boxes and putting them in closets. I needed to organize and purge up there anyway, so this is only a small inconvenience. They went outside to check noise levels, they parked around the block to avert the neighbors suspicion, although the closed blinds and curtains might have been a giveaway they didn’t conider. My room, my desk area, and his brother’s room were off limits, there was no evidence left from the girl that puked, praise the gods of hardwood flooring. Yes there was drinking, but there were designated drivers, a concept that seems firmly ingrained in the culture of his generation, there is always a DD. There were also a bunch that slept over. When I was growing up, there was no such thing. The house was as clean as I left it and the only evidence was the refrigerator full of soda and red bull. I’ve never had a red bull, I think I’ll try a sip later, just to know what it tastes like, and well, I am a bit fatigued. What I lack in memory, and mathmatics ability, I have in olifactory senses. One step into the attic rooms and I said “ah, your guests were enjoying a taste of the ganja.” He didn’t even attempt to cover, for which I am ever so grateful because implausable denial has been his modus operandi and it pushes my buttons. I have experienced dishonesty enough to last me a lifetime, I dislike it above all else. He smiled and said “yep.” And while I am aware that he drank with the senior counselors at camp last year and occasionally drinks at parties, with a tase for Jack Daniels over beer, blech, he’d denied ever trying the cannibis, so I appreciated his honesty. He said he’s smoked it a few times and enjoys it and as long as he’s not driving, that’s fine by me. He seems acutely aware of partying responsibly, I doubt he even inhales, and knowing him as I do, knowing his boundary-oriented nature, I am confident in his judgement in this regard.
My party throwing boy was quite impressed with himself and counterintuitively, I am too. We went for dinner and chatted up a storm, he wanted to hear all about my trip and unlike the last time, even wanted to see the pictures. I had one last margarita at dinner and from here on in, I’m back on the green wagon. I hope he is impressed with his bad ass, cave diving mama.
I wonder if I’ll hear from any parents, letting me know my son had a party while I was gone. The parent code is a tricky thing.
Today, I will attempt to decompress my spine from it's time in dreadful airline seats, start my laundry marathon, grocery shop, first and foremost for catfood before they attack me. They were well fed when I was gone, down to the very last morsel in the bag, so they’ve been stalking me since my return, looking for food.
Little boy will stay at his father’s tonight and I’ll see him after school tomorrow, although we have exchanged emoticons. I’m trying not to be overwhelmed by all the things I have to do this week. I could use another week sans kids to catch up, but maybe I just have to accept there’s really no such thing as being caught up because life is a rolling loop, there is no done, until we’re done, and that’s what we’re all trying to avoid. Roll with it, just got to learn to roll with it. Maybe it’s not the minutia and the clutter that’s my problem, but my panic over them. Roll with it, yep, got to roll with it. It is what it is, what it is, what it is.
I was impressed. Every teenager should throw a party while their parent is out of town, what I’ve never heard of before is the exacting, thorough precautions he took so that nothing would go wrong. He admitted to pretty much being a nervous wreck the whole time, but that it was worth it. I think it was worth it too, I like seeing him do a little planning and preparation. He and his close friends packed up what they considered breakable items and stowed them in the basement. They cleared both attic rooms, packing things in boxes and putting them in closets. I needed to organize and purge up there anyway, so this is only a small inconvenience. They went outside to check noise levels, they parked around the block to avert the neighbors suspicion, although the closed blinds and curtains might have been a giveaway they didn’t conider. My room, my desk area, and his brother’s room were off limits, there was no evidence left from the girl that puked, praise the gods of hardwood flooring. Yes there was drinking, but there were designated drivers, a concept that seems firmly ingrained in the culture of his generation, there is always a DD. There were also a bunch that slept over. When I was growing up, there was no such thing. The house was as clean as I left it and the only evidence was the refrigerator full of soda and red bull. I’ve never had a red bull, I think I’ll try a sip later, just to know what it tastes like, and well, I am a bit fatigued. What I lack in memory, and mathmatics ability, I have in olifactory senses. One step into the attic rooms and I said “ah, your guests were enjoying a taste of the ganja.” He didn’t even attempt to cover, for which I am ever so grateful because implausable denial has been his modus operandi and it pushes my buttons. I have experienced dishonesty enough to last me a lifetime, I dislike it above all else. He smiled and said “yep.” And while I am aware that he drank with the senior counselors at camp last year and occasionally drinks at parties, with a tase for Jack Daniels over beer, blech, he’d denied ever trying the cannibis, so I appreciated his honesty. He said he’s smoked it a few times and enjoys it and as long as he’s not driving, that’s fine by me. He seems acutely aware of partying responsibly, I doubt he even inhales, and knowing him as I do, knowing his boundary-oriented nature, I am confident in his judgement in this regard.
My party throwing boy was quite impressed with himself and counterintuitively, I am too. We went for dinner and chatted up a storm, he wanted to hear all about my trip and unlike the last time, even wanted to see the pictures. I had one last margarita at dinner and from here on in, I’m back on the green wagon. I hope he is impressed with his bad ass, cave diving mama.
I wonder if I’ll hear from any parents, letting me know my son had a party while I was gone. The parent code is a tricky thing.
Today, I will attempt to decompress my spine from it's time in dreadful airline seats, start my laundry marathon, grocery shop, first and foremost for catfood before they attack me. They were well fed when I was gone, down to the very last morsel in the bag, so they’ve been stalking me since my return, looking for food.
Little boy will stay at his father’s tonight and I’ll see him after school tomorrow, although we have exchanged emoticons. I’m trying not to be overwhelmed by all the things I have to do this week. I could use another week sans kids to catch up, but maybe I just have to accept there’s really no such thing as being caught up because life is a rolling loop, there is no done, until we’re done, and that’s what we’re all trying to avoid. Roll with it, just got to learn to roll with it. Maybe it’s not the minutia and the clutter that’s my problem, but my panic over them. Roll with it, yep, got to roll with it. It is what it is, what it is, what it is.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Laughing Out Loud
Bleary eyed, sitting in the Baltimore/Washington airport waiting for my flight home and I really wish I could say I was looking forward to it. I used to have a really hard time being away from home for more than a few days, I’d need to get back to base, but HQ is feeling less a place of comfort and more a place that is stiffling. Clutter, literal and emotional, the minutia of day-to-day life, the overwhelming details and responsibilities and the lack of time and resources. Things have to change. I’m tired of hearing myself say that.
I never thought I could be away from my kids for a week and not ache for them, but I don’t. I’m embarrased to say that, but I am acutely aware of the absence of that ache which has been a constant for so many years. I feel guilty. Maybe this is how you feel after you’ve been a parent for 18 years. It goes by in a flash, but it really is a long time, a long haul. It’s been the joy of my life, but it’s worn me down, it’s all worn me down. That’s my fault, I let it wear me out because I don’t have balance, I’m not a natural creator of balance. I’m feeling in need of change despite all the change that’s happened in the last few years. I want to move, but I know that’s more than I can take on and I know it’s not the right thing for the boys, but I’m ready for a new space, a new start.
I had a glorious trip. The weather was perfect and warm, breezy and tropical. My TC (travelling companion) makes me laugh. I wonder why I don’t laugh so freely in my day-to-day life. I have been aware of the absence of genuine laughter in my life, but I realized it more spending a week just laughing out loud at every little thing. Maybe it’s the comfort of being with someone I’ve known for 30 years and who knows and accepts me on every level. I don’t censor myself, I’m not worried about being politically correct, or looking like an idiot, I can just laugh, and I suppose we’d not have been friends for so long if we weren’t simpatico on an essential level.
And for me, who lived alone for far longer than I actually lived alone, the ability to have physical ease with someone is profound for me. We are lifelong, plutonic friends, but I can lay my head on his shoulders or hold his hand with comfort, a comfort I didn’t have after decades of marriage. This continues to break my heart. This will always break my heart, and the knowledge that there are no do-overs, no going back, no deposit, no return.
The only salve for which seems the most unlikely... scuba diving, really, who the hell would’ve thought? When I’m under the water, weightless, flying, gliding, my mind is clear. I am in the present like I’ve never experienced in my life, and I’m thrilled, elated, at peace. My only thoughts are “don’t end, don’t end”. I want to leave the group and just keep going and going and going, just swim away. We did a wall dive and maxed out at 92’. I would have gone deeper, but I’d already gone further than I was supposed to and the dive master was waving at me to come up. At one point we got to an endless sandy plain. Blank stretch of sand for as far as the eye could see and with my fabulous prescription mask (only $35 extra), I can see far. It reminded me of the vastness and the curious beauty of the great salt flats in Utah. I wanted to swim straight out forever, but I had to stay within the general range of the dive master. If I were on my own, I don’t think I could restrain myself.
I’m a worrier, I worry the kids will be in auto accidents, I worry about my health, I worry where little dude will go to high school and what he would do without me, I worry about finances, and above all else, I worry about being on time. It’s the one thing I’m really OCD about. I can’t stand the thought of keeping anyone waiting, or being left behind, so I’m always early and always rushing, always trying to keep up and not get lost. Underwater, I don’t care, you’d think that’s where I’d care most, yet I am so absorbed in my own experience, I lose the group and I don’t panic. I just slowly 360ยบ until I see bubbles in the distance and then I don’t rush over, I go at my leisure, at my bliss, no fear, no worries.
I’m claustrophobic, I sleep with my door open, I don’t like elevators, but I dove through a Cenote, a series of underground caves and pools, some tunnels are quite narrow and dark and I loved it. We surfaced in a covered pool at one point that was a bat cave. We could see clusters of sleeping bats all over the domed ceiling and walls, and bats darting about the cave. There was a narrow tunnel with light beaming in where the bats come and go from. Apparently, snakes like to hang out there and snack on the bats on route. It was incredible. The Yucatan peninsula is without rivers, all the water flows underground, visible only through the Cenotes.
I’m bothered by my overall weakness on land. On our first excursioun, I shakily, yet successfully stepped from the dock to the boat, from the boat to the seat, but when I stepped from the seat to the floor, I suppose because of my neuropathy, the nerve damage from chemo and my brain not sending and receiving the correct messages, when I stepped to the floor, the swaying, non-grounded floor of the boat, my leg crumbled under me like a potato chip. It’s as if my brain didn’t get a signal that I’d touched solid ground. This has happened before on boats and I’m realizing it’s more than clumsiness, it’s as it the floor of a boat doesn’t count as solid ground as far as my brain is concerned, this is something I must keep in mind from here on in. I wiped out right in front of the other people and badly skinned my knee, bloody, yucky mess and embarrassing. All the muscles in my thigh clenched up, when I fell and it made walking for the rest of the trip difficult and painful which made the water, all the more glorious. It bothers me that I am the only one that can’t get my gear on or off on my own. I’m without adequate strength and flexibility, despite all my gym trips. It’s hard to need help, hard to ask for it and hard to accept it, and hard to have no choice. I was proud though, that despite getting into and out of the water, I am seamless. I learned so many new skills, have a better understanding and control over my buoyancy and the ability to equalize. There are, sometimes, folks who can’t do the second dives because they can’t get their ears to clear or they’re uncomfortable. Not me, if consecutive diving weren’t limited because of the nitrogen that builds up in your blood and would kill you, I’d go again and again and again.
It’s so thrilling to be learning something new and getting better and better at it. I haven’t done many dives, but I can comfortably say I’m not a beginner anymore, I have declared myself intermediate, and I have confidence now, I’m positive I can do it again. When I first learned to dive last August, I told my teacher that I had no desire to do deep dives or caves, or wrecks, I wasn’t a thrill seeker. I’m still not a thrill seeker because thrill, I think, entails some fear, and I have no fear. I don’t know why, but dunk me under water and my fear-based life evaporates and it’s glorious. I could never have predicted this, I don’t usually like to get wet except for in the shower.
My plane is running late, apparently the first officer encountered a sinkhole on the highway and they’re trying to round up another first officer. Last week G was running late getting my car home and I needed it at a specific time, so he called and told me he was going to be 15 minutes late (translate to 30 minutes late) because there was a big, dead dog in the street, a really big dog. I asked if he was the one who hit the dog, “no”. Are you trying to help the dog? “no”, “Well then why does driving around a dead dog take 30 minutes?” I bet that same dog ate his homework too, I bet that’s dog's been eating various homework for years. Points for originality, but I’d stick with traffic jam, if I were him. Of course, then I would tell him he should plan for traffic when I need my car at a specific time for a specific reason and he’d find me unbearable as he so often seems to.
We met a 61-year old woman, travelling with her daughter and son-in-law. She was spunky and told me she had no plans to age gracefully. Why the heck should she? Her husband had died only four months ago. Cancer diagnosis to death in five weeks. A rare form of ductal liver carcinoma (no ribbon for that, sorry). Her daughter and son-in-law took her on this trip because they thought she needed it and they were right. She said she'd only been married for seven years but her time with him was the best of her life and she had no regrets. Better to have loved and lost... She said he was fun, gregarious and adventurous and they travelled and scuba dived together. I think he’d be really proud of her and really happy she was going for a dive, you honor people by living.
We met a lovely young robotics engineer from Sweden, 31-years old and about to be married and then embarking on a two month honeymoon to Fiji, New Zealand, all sorts of fabulous places. I think he will be a lovely husband.
We met a sweet man from Texas who liked to dive while his wife went to the casinos and spas while they travelled. We met several men who’s wives were at the spa, but that status was always delivered with affection and sweetness that comes with real partnership. I’m all for the spa, but given the choice, I’m putting on weights and sinking. I have a hard time spending money I know I don’t really have, so can’t really justify the spa, but I can justify the diving because it’s just too, too good. Everyone I met travels a lot which makes me wonder where I’ve been.
Waiting on the plane that is running late, late, late, but I have a nice comfy spot at the gate and a tall iced tea, so I’m all set.
Woosh, finally in the air. I’ll be so impressed if the tall one is really there to pick me up as we agreed. He gets my car for the week as long as I get ground transport and he stops by the house to feed the cats every day. Last trip I took a $40 cabride home and the cats were pissed.
I have high hopes. I hope when I walk into my house I’ll feel happy. I hope I’ll be happy to be home. I hope I get big hugs and my heart will soften, I hope I will discover my nerves have been soothed. I hope I can get my business resurrected and my bills paid. I hope I’ll be happy and not depressed when my divorce is final in a few weeks. I hope I won’t miss the Margarita’s too much or the warm breeze and freedom from reality. I hope I can pull off another trip, maybe four days in the Florida Keys by early spring.
I never thought I could be away from my kids for a week and not ache for them, but I don’t. I’m embarrased to say that, but I am acutely aware of the absence of that ache which has been a constant for so many years. I feel guilty. Maybe this is how you feel after you’ve been a parent for 18 years. It goes by in a flash, but it really is a long time, a long haul. It’s been the joy of my life, but it’s worn me down, it’s all worn me down. That’s my fault, I let it wear me out because I don’t have balance, I’m not a natural creator of balance. I’m feeling in need of change despite all the change that’s happened in the last few years. I want to move, but I know that’s more than I can take on and I know it’s not the right thing for the boys, but I’m ready for a new space, a new start.
I had a glorious trip. The weather was perfect and warm, breezy and tropical. My TC (travelling companion) makes me laugh. I wonder why I don’t laugh so freely in my day-to-day life. I have been aware of the absence of genuine laughter in my life, but I realized it more spending a week just laughing out loud at every little thing. Maybe it’s the comfort of being with someone I’ve known for 30 years and who knows and accepts me on every level. I don’t censor myself, I’m not worried about being politically correct, or looking like an idiot, I can just laugh, and I suppose we’d not have been friends for so long if we weren’t simpatico on an essential level.
And for me, who lived alone for far longer than I actually lived alone, the ability to have physical ease with someone is profound for me. We are lifelong, plutonic friends, but I can lay my head on his shoulders or hold his hand with comfort, a comfort I didn’t have after decades of marriage. This continues to break my heart. This will always break my heart, and the knowledge that there are no do-overs, no going back, no deposit, no return.
The only salve for which seems the most unlikely... scuba diving, really, who the hell would’ve thought? When I’m under the water, weightless, flying, gliding, my mind is clear. I am in the present like I’ve never experienced in my life, and I’m thrilled, elated, at peace. My only thoughts are “don’t end, don’t end”. I want to leave the group and just keep going and going and going, just swim away. We did a wall dive and maxed out at 92’. I would have gone deeper, but I’d already gone further than I was supposed to and the dive master was waving at me to come up. At one point we got to an endless sandy plain. Blank stretch of sand for as far as the eye could see and with my fabulous prescription mask (only $35 extra), I can see far. It reminded me of the vastness and the curious beauty of the great salt flats in Utah. I wanted to swim straight out forever, but I had to stay within the general range of the dive master. If I were on my own, I don’t think I could restrain myself.
I’m a worrier, I worry the kids will be in auto accidents, I worry about my health, I worry where little dude will go to high school and what he would do without me, I worry about finances, and above all else, I worry about being on time. It’s the one thing I’m really OCD about. I can’t stand the thought of keeping anyone waiting, or being left behind, so I’m always early and always rushing, always trying to keep up and not get lost. Underwater, I don’t care, you’d think that’s where I’d care most, yet I am so absorbed in my own experience, I lose the group and I don’t panic. I just slowly 360ยบ until I see bubbles in the distance and then I don’t rush over, I go at my leisure, at my bliss, no fear, no worries.
I’m claustrophobic, I sleep with my door open, I don’t like elevators, but I dove through a Cenote, a series of underground caves and pools, some tunnels are quite narrow and dark and I loved it. We surfaced in a covered pool at one point that was a bat cave. We could see clusters of sleeping bats all over the domed ceiling and walls, and bats darting about the cave. There was a narrow tunnel with light beaming in where the bats come and go from. Apparently, snakes like to hang out there and snack on the bats on route. It was incredible. The Yucatan peninsula is without rivers, all the water flows underground, visible only through the Cenotes.
I’m bothered by my overall weakness on land. On our first excursioun, I shakily, yet successfully stepped from the dock to the boat, from the boat to the seat, but when I stepped from the seat to the floor, I suppose because of my neuropathy, the nerve damage from chemo and my brain not sending and receiving the correct messages, when I stepped to the floor, the swaying, non-grounded floor of the boat, my leg crumbled under me like a potato chip. It’s as if my brain didn’t get a signal that I’d touched solid ground. This has happened before on boats and I’m realizing it’s more than clumsiness, it’s as it the floor of a boat doesn’t count as solid ground as far as my brain is concerned, this is something I must keep in mind from here on in. I wiped out right in front of the other people and badly skinned my knee, bloody, yucky mess and embarrassing. All the muscles in my thigh clenched up, when I fell and it made walking for the rest of the trip difficult and painful which made the water, all the more glorious. It bothers me that I am the only one that can’t get my gear on or off on my own. I’m without adequate strength and flexibility, despite all my gym trips. It’s hard to need help, hard to ask for it and hard to accept it, and hard to have no choice. I was proud though, that despite getting into and out of the water, I am seamless. I learned so many new skills, have a better understanding and control over my buoyancy and the ability to equalize. There are, sometimes, folks who can’t do the second dives because they can’t get their ears to clear or they’re uncomfortable. Not me, if consecutive diving weren’t limited because of the nitrogen that builds up in your blood and would kill you, I’d go again and again and again.
It’s so thrilling to be learning something new and getting better and better at it. I haven’t done many dives, but I can comfortably say I’m not a beginner anymore, I have declared myself intermediate, and I have confidence now, I’m positive I can do it again. When I first learned to dive last August, I told my teacher that I had no desire to do deep dives or caves, or wrecks, I wasn’t a thrill seeker. I’m still not a thrill seeker because thrill, I think, entails some fear, and I have no fear. I don’t know why, but dunk me under water and my fear-based life evaporates and it’s glorious. I could never have predicted this, I don’t usually like to get wet except for in the shower.
My plane is running late, apparently the first officer encountered a sinkhole on the highway and they’re trying to round up another first officer. Last week G was running late getting my car home and I needed it at a specific time, so he called and told me he was going to be 15 minutes late (translate to 30 minutes late) because there was a big, dead dog in the street, a really big dog. I asked if he was the one who hit the dog, “no”. Are you trying to help the dog? “no”, “Well then why does driving around a dead dog take 30 minutes?” I bet that same dog ate his homework too, I bet that’s dog's been eating various homework for years. Points for originality, but I’d stick with traffic jam, if I were him. Of course, then I would tell him he should plan for traffic when I need my car at a specific time for a specific reason and he’d find me unbearable as he so often seems to.
We met a 61-year old woman, travelling with her daughter and son-in-law. She was spunky and told me she had no plans to age gracefully. Why the heck should she? Her husband had died only four months ago. Cancer diagnosis to death in five weeks. A rare form of ductal liver carcinoma (no ribbon for that, sorry). Her daughter and son-in-law took her on this trip because they thought she needed it and they were right. She said she'd only been married for seven years but her time with him was the best of her life and she had no regrets. Better to have loved and lost... She said he was fun, gregarious and adventurous and they travelled and scuba dived together. I think he’d be really proud of her and really happy she was going for a dive, you honor people by living.
We met a lovely young robotics engineer from Sweden, 31-years old and about to be married and then embarking on a two month honeymoon to Fiji, New Zealand, all sorts of fabulous places. I think he will be a lovely husband.
We met a sweet man from Texas who liked to dive while his wife went to the casinos and spas while they travelled. We met several men who’s wives were at the spa, but that status was always delivered with affection and sweetness that comes with real partnership. I’m all for the spa, but given the choice, I’m putting on weights and sinking. I have a hard time spending money I know I don’t really have, so can’t really justify the spa, but I can justify the diving because it’s just too, too good. Everyone I met travels a lot which makes me wonder where I’ve been.
Waiting on the plane that is running late, late, late, but I have a nice comfy spot at the gate and a tall iced tea, so I’m all set.
Woosh, finally in the air. I’ll be so impressed if the tall one is really there to pick me up as we agreed. He gets my car for the week as long as I get ground transport and he stops by the house to feed the cats every day. Last trip I took a $40 cabride home and the cats were pissed.
I have high hopes. I hope when I walk into my house I’ll feel happy. I hope I’ll be happy to be home. I hope I get big hugs and my heart will soften, I hope I will discover my nerves have been soothed. I hope I can get my business resurrected and my bills paid. I hope I’ll be happy and not depressed when my divorce is final in a few weeks. I hope I won’t miss the Margarita’s too much or the warm breeze and freedom from reality. I hope I can pull off another trip, maybe four days in the Florida Keys by early spring.
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