what’re you up to now that the world has shut down?
in truth, so far, about once a week I have a complete sobbing meltdown. the fear, the anxiety, the worry for the kids, for LM, for my mom and for everysingleperson.
LM is here, as he has severely compromised lungs and my place is best for not being full of germshare.
my kids dad doesn’t believe in the benefits of social isolation, so gave them to friends for a sleepover a little over a week ago. he does not have much respect for my being an informed adult and seems to think i am a hysteric who gets her news from gossip.
so i am doing all that i can when i can and cursing his soul. i hope he feels it. and yes, i am a little kidding, and some of me is not kidding at all.
and then there is hope. because, as hard as it is for me to believe, beneath all the layers of fear, anxiety, cynicism, despair, niggling worries, fear of schooling my children and deep betrayal lies a golden molten core of beauty and brilliant LIGHT that, evidently, cannot be dimmed.
and so she SHINES.
sometimes. when the night is dark and dreary, she flashes. and i’m seeking her out, and holding hands, and
SEEKING HER OUT.
and i think it is saving me, and so there is that.
and i’m hoping to re-enter this world here more often. but lets not hold our breaths.
I can’t tell you what it is like to have ‘hints’ of devastation. i mean, devastation is shattering, life-ending, altering, forever changed, yes? and, ‘hint’ doesn’t seem to match or belong in that deeper stone-sinking way. the simple sink of stone.
i’ve been having a head cold. Oh my god, you think, this fool is talking about a cold? In this world? In this time? Coronavirus, Flu, Corporations as People, Trump? These things that are killing us, in so many ways? And she is on about a cold?
yes. My ears, (history here.) … or the one ear that is an option, have been inconsistent. There is some kind of infection in my one working ear. I’m on my second string of azithromycin and prednisone and it doesn’t seem to be effective. I can’t get in to my new primary doctor until july. Health insurance won’t cover the ENT without a referral. I’m devastated by the financial shitshow of health insurance.
I’m operating at lip-reading level and lips to ears level with the kids. I don’t completely want to leave the house for anything because I am feeling very vulnerable to accident and mistake. (not physical accidents as when i drive deaf i am paying attention in a way you hearing people cannot fathom. think, superhero strength attention. i almost always need a nap afterward.)
the whole world is draped in the heavy blanket of your wintery dreams. It is heavy, and I feel clouded as I walk. The light begins to hurt. I feel sad when I can’t figure out what my kids are talking about. you know, they keep talking anyway, and its just a whole lot of life that is missed. and there isn’t anything i can do about it. the conversation is just lost. The brush with depression is instantaneous and many of my lesser demons of self-worth start waving their fucking arms like Kermit.
I’m wearing my hearing aide, but its basically useless. It gives me the higher tones, so i can hear the crying of the overtired seven-year-old in my midst, or the singing of my 12. And believe me, both are precious to me right now, though i do assign proper value. heh.
i actually have two meeting-new-people things this week and i’m freaking jibbering with nerves because its literally the worst possible scenario. not only am i not at my best, i am actually at incompetent.
and i’m going to do it anyways. because i am 45, and i am too reclusive, and even my worst self needs to get out and see human beings. i’m not entirely sure that those human beings will feel the same certainty, but we will all be okay.
I’m going to vote for Elizabeth Warren today. I understand that Bernie is ahead, but in all truth, I think Warren could actually DO a million and one things to make the world a better, more equitable place for the majority of American citizens.
So, there are pings for desperation. and pings for hope. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, again and again, that spring will come, that strength will return to our democracy and that the crisis will pass.
i will hear again, and the light will Light ME. Tis the season, right?
I’m chugging through the books. Because, really, I love to read… Just finished ‘The Hazel Wood’which is YA Fantasy by Melissa Albert. I dug it. Well-written, creepy, and darkly fairytale-d. And it stands alone, which I appreciate in a curmudgeonly way. I love series, but man, sometimes I just want a completed story, in one package.
Of course, when I go to link it for you, it is listed as ‘book one’. so there is that sigh-inducing moment of my day.
The other cringe of today: my realization that the book that i keep finding, that hovers in each of the rooms I tidy daily, moving (by my hand) from desk, to bedside, to floor, to fireside… is one that I have already read.
Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. Let’s dodge the appropriate questions of a white guy writing about an African woman, ok? It’s a for-real dodge.
The beginning, the first sequence is just brilliant. How much a life can be like a British pound coin.
Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl. Everyone would be pleased to see me coming.
It is brilliant.
Beyond that, I can tell you that I have forgotten much of the detail. I had evidently blocked the title from my memory, but the story has been with me for many years. And I have been permanently scarred by the story line… the violence, the shock, escape, return, the unrelenting feeling of inevitability that I felt when reading. If you are better at handling life than I am, this is a story to read. Think of the power in words that have carried me this many years… its time I let it move out of my house, to stop tidying it from place to place.
And it brings me back to what I liked about The Hazel Wood. Its all about story. Making our own, being trapped in, breaking out of… story. The power of it. How much it can follow you.
As I grapple with my own recurring story, and the need to release/escape from the poison of repetition, I’m feeling my own dark fairytale winding down, and out. and So there, my friends.
A post on books. More will eventually arrive, because I’m done with avoiding things today.
Sometimes in the bustle of my day, I get lost. I mean, the actual being who inhabits this body becomes irrelevant in the hustle to get work, do the laundry, feed the kids, do the taxes. When my dad died, several years ago now, I had to stick my hand in my own face to remind myself that I existed. I was in a pretty hard marriage at the time and getting lost in grief without a backdrop of reliable love was astonishingly hard. (all grief is hard.)
SO, anyhow. Between the fingers of the hand-in-the-face maneuver lay my need to keep moving, to do one small thing every day that was just for me, just one small thing to foster life within me, with-out me, all over.
I feel a need to bring it back down to brass tacks like that again. i’m not in crisis (at all) but the stresses of the world are hitting too close to the bone. the environment, the politics, the dis-ease of the whole planet is making it impossible to do even keel.
yelling in the kitchen is one small thing. I’ve done two others here that are making me feel more grounded, in action.
making my own laundry detergent. so damn simple. such a great smell. no plastic bottles. no chemicals that i cannot identify going into my septic system, which is ground that we all live with every day. The simple recipe is in my instagram feed, linked down below.
no more plastic drink bottles. ooooh. the kids know, and are not fans. Sports and the drive home from them used to involve a stop at the quickie mart. no more. No more Gatorade. YIKES. This one will prove a challenge when baseball season starts. the challenge to me is that i will need to be packing food more substantially. the challenge to them will be to value my reasons. No more ‘fun’ cups for kids at the restaurant. jury is out, til further notice.
the kids are flying off to Florida tomorrow for a long weekend and a swim with some manatees.
the ex is dating, has broken up with the woman he was with immediately after leaving (foggy dates there, intentional) and it’s coming back around on me.
I don’t care. I do care. ego is involved. things are not equal. they won’t be. my kids are very lucky.
and I’m going to miss the kids a lot. its only one night more than regular that they’ll be gone from me, but the fact that they’ll be having all these first-time experiences without me is a little bit peaky. and airplanes.
and i’m having stress dreams about disrespect and the way i felt when i was married and the futile feeling that i had about my life all the time.
and i’m calling my friends and they are holding my hands, and my LM is being lovelier.
and man, there is this gift in all this… that i’m not there anymore, that he isn’t in my life anymore, that i can yell and be mad and not be constantly gaslit about my own worth and sanity.
that i forget. and remember. and yell in the empty kitchen, to myself, ‘he is not in my life ANYMORE’. and the yelling feels right, and loosens my shoulders.
here i am.
sometimes i am mad. catch me at 9:30 at night when not one.single.kid. is making any progress towards sleep and i am a fucking harpy of doom. totally.
and i don’t have to hear anymore about what an ‘angry person’ i am. because i am so much more than a person who gets angry sometimes. and really, i always was.
i’m not there anymore. and the fairytale fell apart and the crying in the wedding dress is done. (i’m sure i’ll have some more moments, but.)
and i’ve got amazing kids with me all the time, and i’m allright man. right here in the middle of all this, i’m still allright.