Lubed Up
Transitioning
KC's at her Dad's tonight and I've got my whole weekend free. Amy and I had been planning on going to see Grandma this weekend, but the hospital has decided to keep her around a tad bit longer. And since we can be more help to her when she is home, we have decided to wait on the visiting.
Meanwhile I had considered taking myself off for the weekend to places unknown, just to get away. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a place I wanted to go that was close enough as well as far enough away from home. Truth be told, I would love to ask my Uncle Mark about going up to his camp for a weekend. There's no place I like better than a secluded Adirondack Mountain retreat, with a gently flowing creek beside it. Ahh ... Sounds like heaven.
In the meantime, I'll have to settle for my comfy bed and call it a night. Toodles all until tomorrow.
Somewhere Down a Deep Dark Well
It's just a job. Just a job.
And yet today I lost my cool. Lost it to the point where I had to walk away from my phone, walk down the hall, past the reception desk, through the vestibule and outside, to take a breath of fresh air. Because I'd had enough. Just enough. Really quite more than enough.
Enough of the customers yelling and screaming at me for things I don't and can't control. Enough of lower level office staff pushing their egos a bit too far and way past my level of toleration. Enough of my boss who talks the big talk, but never seems to walk the big walk. Enough of a place where ethics are often misplaced. Enough of a job, which quite frankly if it didn't pay so well, I would have left a long time ago.
Violence does not work
except for the man
who pays your salary
Who knows
if you could still weep
you would not take the job.
~ Alice Walker
But it's the way of the world. Haven't we all learned that instead of sugar and honey, a little vinegar is what really helps you get your way? What is that other saying, some things are better in theory than they are in practice? Case in point. Game. Match.
But I wish that for just one moment, before someone lets something slip through their mouth, they'd take a moment to think before spewing their filth.
Words are dangerous creatures, unable to be called back once said. And even though you think, well she knows not to take it personally, this girl does, does take it personally. The girl who always does her best to get you what you need, the girl who is always pleasant and nice, the girl who you just ripped a new asshole. I bet you didn't think that when she went home she'd be carrying her anger with her. I bet you didn't think past the words once they made it off your tongue. But good God, am I still seething!
Enough. Enough. Enough. Home and job don't mix. I am off to bake brownies for KC's class picnic tomorrow. Damn if she refuses to heed my request to be the Mom who supplies the paper goods ...
Light Reading
Thanks to all, for your well wishes and your prayers. Grandma is doing well, and just like her can't have any down time self, already planning on what she's going to do the minute she's released from the hospital. Far be it that everyone in her family is practically falling over themselves begging for her to slow it down a bit and relax just long enough to recuperate fully. Luckily stubbornness is a family trait, which means Amy and I will be heading North this weekend to help Gram around the house, mowing the lawn, and all sorts of other good stuff, whether help is wanted or not. Or course, we'll do most of it on the sly … It is after all just a visit to visit.
On another note, I wanted to quote a passage from a book I've just finished. It really reminded me of how things were in my relationship with Sean and - thank God - now I know it wasn't me just thinking everything was quite fucked up. It really was quite fucked up.
You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs by Laurie Graff
There it was again. Nothing that said this is great and nothing that said that this is over. We walked south on Central Park West toward my apartment on 78th Street. We walked in the relationship silence. Not the good kind where you know you can't wait to get each other home and into bed, but the ambivalent kind. The kind where one person has more power because they know they're the one who's holding back. But they're not telling you their holding back, and since you don't really know this for sure, and you certainly don't want to make a big deal out of nothing and create a problem that may not even exist, you decide you're overly sensitive, paranoid, insecure. All of the above. You have no choice but to smile sweetly, keep your unspoken agreement in the relationship silence, and hope the other person will break it. That any second it will be broken by him seductively pushing you up against the bricks of the next building, off to the side of the burgundy awning, gently moving his hands across your cheeks, pulling back your hair and tenderly, deeply, passionately kissing you and kissing you and whispering in your ear, "Let's get out of here. Let's go home." On the other hand, you could suddenly find yourself on 78th Street turning right to Amsterdam Avenue and wonder how you got there.
She was writing about me, I swear to God. How many times had I plastered a smile on my face, all the while gritting my teeth as I told him again and again, "Sure. Fine. It's no problem," whenever he decided that he was too tired to keep our plans - even the plans that involved my daughter. And it was frustrating, wanting to spend time with him and knowing that 9 times out of 10 he'd only end up disappointing me, leaving me with a countless numbers of tears cried into my pillow as I tried to smother the sound of my sobs.
But then there were the nights when I was there - granted most of the time, I popped up on his doorstep before he had a chance to think of a reasonable excuse as to why I shouldn't come over - when we sat together in silence, television tuned in to the History Channel, until undoubtedly he fell asleep or pretended to be asleep - whichever came first. And I sat there watching some show about who knows what, trying to consider my options and coming up with none.
The strong Stacey wanted to give him the what for, and itched to tell him what she really thought. But the weak Stacey - the I'd really like to be in a relationship for longer than 30 seconds Stacey - didn't want to mess things up, and convinced the strong Stacey that things would eventually get better. Of course no one was really buying that ...
Still you can only bend so far before you break and by May even I was about done with the romper room act boy blunder was intent on seeing through. It killed me however to admit defeat. It still kills me, if only for the very reason that I put up with it as long as I did when I could have stopped the bleeding the first time he pulled a temper tantrum. But nope, I had to ride it out to the end, putting my faith in an ex-marine who hadn't done anything to earn it. And I ask you, if you can't count on a marine, who can you count on?
So here I am writing this entry, my phone ringing off the hook beside me no matter how I might try to block out its sound, as the receptionist howls over the intercom for me to pick up such and such an extension. But I'm taking a moment to pull myself back together from a recent fit of giggles from yet another conversation with Rick - my most disturbed and yet favorite customer who promised to show up under my Christmas tree last year with nothing on but edible underwear. Unlike some men I know, Rick has never managed to disappoint me … Even if it's just over the phone, the man has a gift for making me laugh and smile. Then again, I don't expect much.
Out of Sorts
"You're Grandmother's had a heart attack," her voice whispered. And I sat there numb, pressing the phone against my ear, unable to comprehend what I was hearing.
"Is she ..."
"She's okay," said Mom. "She's in the hospital. Your Uncle Danny is with her. She's had surgery, but she's doing well," she trailed off.
I wanted to be right there with my Mother, to offer her comfort. She sounded so tired, worried ...
"She's going to be okay Mom. She's going to be okay," I said trying to be supportive, "We C*lv*r women, we come from strong stock. Grandma wouldn't let something as little as this bring her down."
And I believe that. Because my Grandmother has already lived through some of the worst this world has to offer. And she's made it. Strong, independent, honest and true ... And they don't come much better.
So if you're out there in the world tonight and reading this, toss up a little prayer to the Lord that Evelyn's doing well.
Field Days
From far across the field, the celebrations are slowly easing to a close, the few remaining pops and whistles filtering through the air, skimming low above trees and houses dimly lit. In my mind, I can see the last few rows of cars filing out, the men with their orange light sticks directing cars northward to the road, pointing one this a way and then another that a way in the direction of home, as lights along the perimeter sputter out, leaving only an abandoned lot left lonely in the moonlight.
Liquid Volcano's
There I was mid-dream, flirting with a Vince Vaughn look alike, when suddenly a loud voice booms before me, "Wake up!" and I open my eyes and I scream. I can't help but scream, because there is KC with her face right in my face imploring me to wake up, and it's not even close to 8 am. And she's breathing in my face, morning breath and all, wanting to get cuddly and snuggle and all I want is to be left alone, curtains drawn against the sun, with just my pillow, my blanket and an empty room.
In other words, my warm and fuzzy doesn't kick in all that early, and there are some days when it doesn't kick in at all. Like this morning for example, KC is determined to make this a rough patch day. Being that my daughter has been always of an age going on another age light-years away from where she actually is, life with her is often times difficult. Like me, she can be mule ass stubborn with a tendency to run her mouth prior to thinking before she speaks.
KC would like to think I am clueless but I know how it works. I remember getting so angry and upset, that words would form in the pit of my stomach, until suddenly there I was blurting them out. Spitting them out like mini balls of fire at anyone and everyone because I hadn't yet learned the fine art of controlling my anger.
I hurt best the ones I loved, learning quickly the things I shouldn't say. And much like an archer with an arrow, I could hit a bulls-eye every time, so deadly was my aim. I ruined Christmas for my Mother once, a fact I still feel quilt for today, though I apologized for it a long time ago.
It was the year my Mother and I moved into a sleepy little bedroom village, tucked away in a small house the color of mustard. Christmas was exceedingly hard that year. My Mother having come to the conclusion that her twelve year marriage to my stepfather was over, despite the fact that they still both loved each other. But what he couldn't or wouldn't give up, was the one thing nobody could live with anymore. And so, when it came down to a choice, choose your family or choose your poison, he chose his beer and let his family walk away.
It was a time of great hurt and I didn't make it any easier for my Mother. Inside I raged, hating the house we lived in, hating how far we were away from home, hating my stepfather for being a bastard drunk. We both lived in circles of hating and loving, loving and hating, each one of us dealing with it in our own way.
Mom was working crazy hours, doing everything she could do to keep the money coming in to pay the rent, fill the fridge and keep up from looking like beggars on the street. But it wasn't good enough for me, not the spoiled child used to getting everything and anything. It all came to a head the night she brought the Christmas tree home.
It reminded me of a Charlie Brown tree, small limp branches barely able to hold themselves up, let alone any ornaments and short, almost the same height as me, a very not impressing 5'0 tall. I wanted to cry when I saw it, and I did ... Despite the fact that my Mother was holding it there proud in the living room like it was the best tree ever, a smile plastered bright across her face.
And I ruined it. I took one look and I opened my mouth, because I was used to trees that touched the ceiling, trees that had wonderful thick branches where flocks of birds could hide and never be seen. Because I wanted to go home for Christmas and this was, and never would be home to me. And I said all of that out loud, watching as the smile on my mother's face faded and disappeared, the sad little tree dropping down into the corner as she ran past me in tears into her bedroom closing the door behind her. And for one small second I was glad, thinking to myself, Hah ... Now she'll understand how much I've been hurting. And in that moment, I didn't care enough to realize that I had caused her pain.
Eventually Mom came out of her room, I made my apologies and Christmas that year passed without further incident. Much like KC, I was 13 going on another age altogether, with my mouth, my pride and my temper as selfish as it was. It is this I try to remember while I am disciplining my daughter. Remembering how hard it was for me to get control over the liquid volcano that made up my insides. But it is a hard road, and one not so easily traveled. Still in selfish mode, my daughter has much more to learn about life, even though she thinks she knows it all right now at the tender age of eight. But I know it's all about patience and time, and patience and time.
Book Smart
Parakeets thrive on companionship, said the book, suggesting that where's there is room for one, there should be enough room for two. So Lizzie now has herself a friend, coincidentally named Fitzwilliam. And the relationship seems to be blooming ... Bully for them.
I spoke with an old friend this morning out of blue. Haven't talked to him in almost forever, when suddenly an IM popped up on my screen and there he was. It felt like it had only been a few days since last we spoke, so easily the conversation sailed along. So we chatted away the morning catching up on each other's lives, before I told him I had to bail in order to get my day started. Perhaps we'll speak again ... One never knows.
Cleanliness is next to ...
Moments like this, I wish I had money enough to hire a once a week maid. Someone who would come in and tidy, running the occasional load of wash, while taking the time to move each and every knick knack from its perch in order to dust.
And yet the idea of letting someone in my home with free access to all there is to be found and seen turns my blood cold. After all, my penchant for writing extremely bad poetry and stuffing it into hidey holes about the house, would make this place a virtual gold mine for anyone who wanted to see inside my head. And lord knows at times that can be a truly dark and scary place indeed.
So I'm on my own and even though I know the best time to start is now, morning is just a mere few hours away.
Bird Brain
I brought home a new addition to my small little family last night. KC has been begging like you wouldn't believe for a rodent - of some small and furry sort - for the longest time and although I have nothing against beady eyes and twitching whiskers, I couldn't bring myself to bring one home.
After all, I am quite knowledgeable in the keeping of long - and short - tailed creatures. Way back in middle school, eighth grade to be exact, I persuaded my Mother to let me have a cute little gray and white mouse, one rescued right from the very jaws of a pet snake owned by the couple I used to baby-sit for. I named her Adisa, and for a while, she lived alone in her little glass cage propped up on a shelf in my room.
Adisa however was lonely, as lonely as only a mouse could be, desperate for companionship. Claiming it was my civil duty to protect yet another mouse from the carnal appetite of a boa constrictor oddly named Harold, I brought Chase home.
Chase was a solid gray mouse with giant ears, dumbo-ish in their exposure, and for all intents and purposes, a girl. Now nothing could have been farther from the truth, but I couldn't tell my Mother that. At least not right away ... Not with the greatest live science experiment known to man was about to go off with nary a hitch.
About this time, I was actually finding the world of science quite interesting, an abnormal departure for me as science and I rarely traveled the same road. (That may have had something to do with my demonstration of a mud slide disaster, which unfortunately had nothing to do with alcoholic beverages, though enough of a disaster that my teacher could have really used a drink ...) Anyhoo, we were learning about the wonders of the hybrid chart. (If memory serves me correctly.) Which basically compares two individuals and the likely outcome of their propagation based on their dominant and recessive qualities AKA their genes. Or in other words, mice heaven.
Well, we all know what happens when you mix boys and girls, sooner or later the lights go off, you pop a tent in the back yard and your daughter comes home 4 months pregnant ... Woops, I mean the mice, well you know what I mean.
Mice had incredibly short gestation periods, so it took some serious work to gather all my data prior to the big live birth. Chart in hand, I scribbled down what I knew based on distinguishing characteristics such as eye color, coat color and whether or not the coat was solid or spotted. Knowledge in hand, I predicted how many of their offspring would follow suit for each trait exhibited by the parent.
Now don't get all excited and think I actually remember if I was wrong or not, because truth be told after getting busted with the little eraser head babies, I was more concerned about getting out of hot water with my Momma than I was with the furthering of my education. Needless to say, with a total of 8 mice later, Mom was not too impressed and this time around, 8 was truly enough. (Does anyone get that joke, or am I just being incredibly lame?)
But I learned a very valuable lesson and one that has aided me right to this very day. When your daughter comes home asking, "Please, Mommy please," don't hesitate to act. Go right to your local pet store and ...
Buy a parakeet.
Shame On Me
When my alarm went off this morning, I wanted to cry. For some reason 6 a.m. always seems to come so damn early lately, that it feels like I've hardly had a wink of sleep at all.
But get up I did, went downstairs grabbed a towel, shuffled back up the stairs and turned the hot water on for my shower, barely adjusting the knobs for cold because my hot water doesn't last that long anyway. Normally a shower perks me right up getting me to get up and go, but today despite copious amounts of early morning caffeine my get up and go had got up and gone. And I for one wasn't looking forward to a day spent at work, falling asleep at my desk between calls.
So I pulled my trump card, grabbed the phone and called into work, putting on my best I don't feel very well at all voice.
"What's wrong with you?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
Not one who happens to excel in the lying department, I decided to go with the simple truth. "It's been a rough morning," I offered up as my excuse, figuring they could come to their own conclusions as to the possible variables for such a statement.
So here I am, playing hookey and not feeling the slightest little bit bad about it. A mental health day, every now and then, is a perfectly logical excuse to take a day off in the middle of the week.
And since it just so happens that KC's bed has arrived, it also makes it a good day to get the last little bit of her room done as a surprise before she comes home from school. After that, I'd say chances are good that there is a nap in my future.
Time Tunnel
We were back in college, the five of us girls. Carrie, Tracy, Robin, Brenda and me, carrying on like ninnies, dancing on beds and singing songs into our hairbrush microphones.
We were silly like that. Never caring what other people said or thought. We were our own exclusive little club and no one else was ever allowed to enter.
Someday - though not tonight - I'm going to write the memoirs for the girls of Penfield Hall ... Because each of us still has a story needing to be told.
Sleepyhead
I am too tired to think let alone write. So with that I am off to reclaim my bed and slumber in peace until the radio alarm startles me awake.
A Job Well Done
We didn't just stop at painting however. We steam cleaned the carpet, assembled a new computer desk and then managed to drag all of the computer components upstairs, in the time span of a few (well spent) short hours.
Thanks Amy, Jodi, Jamie and even Jordan ...
Now into the shower and off to spend the rest of the day shopping ...
(Sigh)
A girls got to do what a girls got to do.
After Thoughts
Which brings me to the odd dream I had last night. I dreamed that Sean had wrote me a letter and was very angry with me for things I had said about him in my blog. And while I was very sorry, I couldn't seem to bring myself to apologize for the truth about how shitty he made me feel while we were dating.
In hindsight I am beginning to understand that Sean was more of a stepping stone for me rather than a real love connection. Which is not saying I didn't have feelings for him, because I did ... But they weren't the kind of feelings that would have ever led to marriage or something just as committed.
The heart knows what it wants. And the mind knows what it needs. And if you can't get either from the person you're with, you're pretty much wasting your time.
Still I remember all the sweet and wonderful things he said. And for that I am grateful, despite our outcome.
But I really didn't want to get on this topic this morning. It's a beautiful day out, sun shining and the wind just right and not a speck of gloom or doom to be seen for miles.
All In A Day
Ran during my lunch break to buy paint for KC's room despite the fact that I tried to convince myself that painting wasn't necessary. Unfortunately the pencil marks on the wall where the border used to be, tells a much different story. Meanwhile, I am totally dreading the idea of slapping that first spot of color on the wall. Once started, there is no other choice but to finish it.
Had a call from one of my customers today who was calling to say thank you. An interesting thank you call it turned out to be, as he was "thankful" - and yes I did just use silly quotation marks - for my help in "breaking the cherry" of one of his new guys ... I don't think anyone has ever described my order taking skills in quite the same way. But I suppose when you work in a male dominated business you take the compliments no matter how colorful they come with a sense of humor. I wonder if this can qualify as a dream come true ...
After work, I stopped over to Amy's, picked up my nephew and went to see the new Harry Potter. Not only was the movie good, but I saw Dan D. a guy I lusted over in 5th grade right on through high school graduation. As I told Brenda earlier on the phone - because I had to call her and share such vital information - he has an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. Oh yeah, I was impressed. Once I managed to get my salivating under control, I was better able to follow along with the movie ...
But as it's late, I am to bed. I have a full day of painting tomorrow. Still looking for volunteers if anyone is interested ...
When Someone Else Can Say It Better
I am bombarded yet I stand
I have been standing all my life in the
direct path of a battery of signals
the most accurately transmitted most
untranslatable language in the universe
I am a galactic cloud so deep so invo-
luted that a light wave could take 15
years to travel through me And has
taken I am an instrument in the shape
of a woman trying to translate pulsations
into images for the relief of the body
and the reconstruction of the mind.
- Excerpt from Planetarium by Adrienne Rich (1968)
Cross My Line
Sitting here tonight, house grown dark and minor child upstairs in bed, listening. Sounds from a piano played on CD, water running from the filter in the fish tank, and this little voice inside my head that talks and talks and talks.
Tonight she's berating me for being so weak. For not listening to her months ago when she said, "You know Stacey, you're not happy. You don't laugh anymore. You're positively miserable."
"But I know," she says. "You'd take him back right now if he called, if he had one kind word to say." And I can't say that she is wrong, because I know she's right.
And I can't help but wonder why I changed, why I would still risk myself for a change in me I didn't like. What about a man can make me so weak that I take less than what should be offered. Why am I a chameleon to the colors he tells me I should want to be.
I know I'm beating a dead horse. But it scares me that I give myself up so easily. Because I think that maybe the next time, I won't get myself back ... Maybe I just got lucky this time.
Electronic Tremors
It's rather nauseating. And I'm thinking that the longer I sit here, there is indeed a good chance (100%) that getting incredibly and violently sick, is the only outcome of subjecting myself to these strange electronic tremors. It's all very 3D reminding me of something much akin to one Blue Hawaiian too many ... (Need I really say it went down blue and came back much the same way?)
TMI Stacey ... TMI.
Oooh starting to feel queasy ... This is so not good.
But before I go, I just want to say ...
Happy 500th Post on NWTLO!
Tuesday ... Feels More Like a Monday
Hello nervous breakdown ... (Heh ... Fun with colors.)
Greetings and salutations from my glorious workplace, where according to the clock, I have exactly 39 minutes left of cave inspired bliss. Today has been tedious, phones ringing off the hook, leaving my desk looking as if a class 3 tornado ripped through the joint. Of course, it didn't help that I opted to go out to lunch with my friend Chris, rather than closet myself behind closed doors and catch up on the chaos. This of course set my voicemail to blinking like a mad hatter by the time I returned ...
Lunch however was nice, though somewhat damaging to my ego since sitting in a booth with my feet dangling 5 inches above the floor made me feel more like a 7 year old than someone quickly approaching thirty. (I'm still in denial about that ... So don't expect me to exactly be spouting that off like it's today's good news ... Ugh.)
Anyhoo ... time to get things picked up for the night and get to going while the going is still good.
