Category: Confessional

helfen Sie mir

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I firmly believe that all things happen for a reason. Everything has a purpose in the grand scheme of things. Take yesterday, for example. A coworker called me to say he couldn’t make it to work. Begrudgingly I threw on clothes and went in three hours early. Driving through rain only made me angrier. The roads weren’t treacherous. My 40 minute drive wasn’t hindered by weather. Meanwhile, my coworker took the whole day off because his 15 minute drive was compromised by rain. Rain! The whole day off. That didn’t help my already fiery disposition. Kisa called to “check in” three hours later. His drive to work was the same as mine. He knew I’d be mad.
But, now, 24 hours later I’m looking at the rain differently. If I hadn’t been called to work early I wouldn’t have been able to paint my office. I wouldn’t have been able to leave that same office three hours early. Getting home at 3:45 in the afternoon allowed me solitude, silence. When I first got there I “shoveled” the slush from the walkways and driveways. It was heavy work but I poured my anger into the exercise, relished the exertion. When I finally came inside I didn’t bother turning up the heat, turning on any lights. I didn’t idly pick up clothes,straighten cushions or start laundry as is my custom when I have time to myself. Instead, I stretched out on the couch and in the dying daylight lost myself in a book about a real war. The personal battle of my life faded into the distance as I read accounts of World War I battle. It turns out my coworker gave me 145 minutes of time to tune out.

I called my mother this morning. As I dialed the digits I steeled myself for a battle of a different kind; we don’t always see eye to eye or even heart to heart. I was ready to be defensive and demanding. Always on guard and emotionally gated. Things happen for a reason. I’m glad I called. I broke down and told her every little heartache, every little I-want-to-hari-kiri (seppuku) moment. I let it all out in a flow of faith. I wasn’t electric with anger. I wasn’t raining rants. Calm became me. Heartache turned to homesick and we talked about her upcoming visit. Logistics aside, I need family around me right now. It’s going to be okay. Better than okay. The source of my angst can’t control me forever. Sooner or later things will happen. They will happen for a reason.

risparmi me

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Today I painted my office. Calming barely-there blues and into-the-void-nothing-nothing white. I needed to be swallowed up by the paint and have it spit back out a whole new me, myself & moi. Someone said I was being boring with the brushes. Someone else asked about my blood pressure. Was I surviving the seething? No. Not really. 24 hours and I-Can’t-Come-In-Because-It’s-Raining hasn’t help.
But, painting helped. Somewhat.
What I really want is to be back among the lupines. I want to lay belly down in the tallest of purples and pinks and drink in their scent. Inhale their unconditional love. I want the sun to go down, the fireflies to come out and the diplomatic darkness to douse my fire of fury. I want to hold hands in the descending twilight, close my eyes and talk about houses, hula hoops and hope. Drink wine and laugh about nothing just to laugh outloud.
Just to say we could.
I want to tickle AT and hold SR close, just to be comforted and cocooned by their innocence.
I don’t know if I’ll survive the conflagration in the coming weeks. I am afraid of what my barely contained electric anger is capable of sparking. My hands shake when I think about the voltage of revenge I could unleash. I’ve got it all right here and like I said, barely contained. I fear I might lose control.
I tried running last night and it was a mess. I was a mess. I dropped my music, lost my groove, fell out of step, choked back vomit, and barely made it through 31 minutes. I wanted to sweat more so the tears could come and be camouflaged. Nothing felt right. Nothing is right right now.
Bottom of the barrel: 2.96

Waking to the Reality

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I had bad dreams last night. Bad to the point of nightmare, and scary to the point of DidIReallyDoThat? I woke up not knowing which reality was mine – the night visions or the day truths.  I learned something yesterday – something that has me seething twice as terrible today. My barely contained anger has noWhere to go, noWay to be released…so it bubbles in my brain, thrashes like a live wire. Someone tried to help me with the Where and Way but the suggestion is too benign for how electric I am. Right now.

Here’s the thing. You complained in public. You went outside the We Can Handle This Here and got the There involved. You told your side of the story – never mind how twisted and untrue it all is. You talked so horrible until you were told this would ALL be in the open. Everyone would know what you said. Suddenly, you wanted your mommy. Suddenly, you wished you could take it all back. Sad but true. Sad but you. Here’s what I have to say in retaliation (seething aside). The Gloves are off. You told your tale, we’ll tell ours. Yes, we have stories to tell. Documents and documents of stories to tell. We’ve been keeping track, keeping score. There is a price to pay for going public. Don’t think your dirty laundry is your dirty little secret. We’ll go there, too.

“anyone lived in a pretty how town”

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Cummings, E.E. “anyone lived in a pretty how town.” Poems 1923-1954. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. 1954, 370.ee cummings

I’ve said before that sights and sounds are indicative of times gone by. The smell of freesia will make me think of Ruby even though the sprays we bought together are more than 10 years gone. Words work the same way. Cummings wrote about anyones and noones and someones, giving them voices, feelings, life. When I was in college I wrote a story about a Somebody and a Nobody. My professor called it “slickly professional” implying plagiarism to the point I had to prove myself. (Thanks to Cummings I remember this like it was yesterday.) I dragged my Him into —-‘s office and in a trembling, yet defiant voice, announced “THIS is my Somebody.” Did I remind this professor of Cummings with my somebodys and nobodys? I certainly wasn’t as melodic as Cummings! I didn’t write with the same fluidity and beauty, either.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust’s chapter on Poetry Pleasers (p. 188).

Excuse Me While I Get Giddy

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John MayerGirly giddy. BoyBandGumSnappin’ Giddy. BubbleGum Giddy. Tonight is body-is-a-wonderland-bubble-gum-guy time.

I told my friend of 25 years I am at least 20 years too late for this kind of concert. She knows I didn’t grow up with a boy band to drool over. Oh, sure. I loved Duran Duran, but I loved/adored/worshipped from afar. Far across the ocean afar. Dad didn’t park outside the civic center, station wagon engine running as he didn’t run through the dos and don’ts driven by teenage angst. I didn’t sit there, toe tapping, heart palpitating, one hand on the door, waiting for his release. I’m behind when it comes to being a screaming lovestruck girly girl.

I want to buy a t-shirt. I heart JM. But, that would be wrong. That implies attraction and BubbleGum is not the adjective. He calls himself Chewbacca, as in the walking carpet from StarWars and yup, I agree. Scary. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, tuxedo or not. Really scary with or without the monkey suit. No, I want to buy the shirt (I Heart JM, seriously) because it’s something I missed out on doing when I was 16.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll get sucked in when someone intrigues me. BubbleGum has that intrigue. It’s rumored that he knows Japanese. It’s fact he’s funny. It’s rumored he suffers from anxiety. It’s fact he is generous. It’s rumored he’s a family man. It’s fact he can play the guitar. Rumor & fact aside, I like him. I was the same way when I first met the members of sirsy. They were so down to earth, friendly and welcoming that it completely influenced how I heard their sound. That kind of thing mattered. It still does…with BubbleGum. So, excuse me while I get giddy.

ps~ Okay, I know I didn’t fool some of you with this blog. I’ll admit it…it’s JJ I’m giddy about! If only the heartbeat had his own t-shirt. *sigh*

Believe Me Or Me

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I ran on Friday and this is what I thought about while I was the gerbil.
I am of two minds. I feel mentally ill. On one side of my life I should be upset about the things that were said. About me. On the other side of life, that relationship is behind me and the importance of that person is no more. I’m beginning to think I sided with the wrong side when sides were being taken.
I don’t like insecure people. No, I take that back. I don’t like the way insecurity makes people do and say outrageous, mean things. Bragging to be something they’re not. Lying to lay claim to something they don’t have.
But, on the other hand, maybe I’m jealous of them. When I’m less than confident I shirk from importance. Stay in the shadow of someone more superstar. Keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something stupid. I want to be able to say, I got it going on. I know it’s not true. It’s definitely not me. Maybe I would like to brag about something, anything. But, then again…maybe not. Bottom line, I am who I am. Bad mouthed or not.
Run like a girl. It implies a negative. But. I know better. I run like me.
3.6 miles

Drunk

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We need another night like this. Drunk. Or getting there. Giggly and silly. Giddy and stupid.
My friend asked me out for drinks saying we need this. “We. Need. This.” She stressed every word to make me hear them, understand them. My answer was a sigh. Even getting drinks on campus sounded like work. Later, my mother said I sounded tired when we talked. The phone felt heavy, but I didn’t want to get into it. I couldn’t get into it. She simply wouldn’t understand. Where have I heard that before? I felt bad that I wasn’t even giving her the benefit of the doubt. I simply decided she wouldn’t get it and couldn’t say more. Tired. I let her go on about spaces too small for toddlers, gifts too expensive for birthdays, dates for a visit too inconvenient. Everything too something. I thought about work.

We “moved” my office yesterday. Today I want to buy paint. Someone told me that paint makes everything better. Fresh start. I like that idea. I want honorable colors. Colors that reflect seriousness, authority, respect, the whole thing. Is that even possible? I’ve never had an office of my very own before. I walk around coworkers sensing veiled resentment. It follows me, swirls around me. I want to scream. Don’t hate me because I worked my ass off. I gave up message boards and frivolous websites for a promotion. I stopped wearing jeans and sirsy shirts. I gave up the proverbial water cooler to get ahead. I started doing more than my job. I started doing yours.

I am tired. I will welcome a week of nothing when it gets here. Please get here. Maybe I’ll get to that list of projects. Open that BIG bottle of Merlot and get drunk. Drunk and giddy. Drunk and silly. Drunk.

If You Dare

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Wedding DressI got married in a hurricane. Ivan the Hurricane to be exact. We, KISA and I, planned for wind. We planned for rain. What we didn’t think of was mud and it was because of the mud that I ruined my gown and my pride.
It all started when I became a selfish bride. I didn’t want a single stranger involved in one of the biggest events of my life. I needed to know every person. So, I chose a neighbor, a reputable seamstress to make my wedding dress. For months we designed, planned and gossiped like girls. We grew close, sharing secrets about relationships. She saw me naked. I got tragic details about her troubled past. We could call each other friend. Nevertheless, she was shocked when I said I wanted to wear hiking boots under the gown. I showed her pictures of “the site” and finally got her to understand what having an “island wedding” meant. She was even more amazed when she learned I’m not a frilly girly girl. I didn’t ask for lace. I didn’t want sparkle. No glitter. No sequins. No long line of satin buttons. No train. No fuss. I didn’t even want white. It took some convincing but I got my way with champagne gold. I chose champagne gold to match my shiny new start to love and marriage. Custom made champagne to be exact. My seamstress, my friend, went along with it, tsking-tsking and shaking her head all the while.
I promised her the dress, as simple as it was, would be beautiful. I promised her I would share pictures after the honeymoon to prove it. I promised to visit her often. Then the rain brought the mud and I ruined the dress. I ruined the dress. How could I face the one person who lovingly, carefully, perfectly stitched the garment of my perfect day? How could I show her the pictures without confessing the dress?
I couldn’t. I didn’t. I brought the dress to two different cleaners who sadly admited it couldn’t be cleaned. Defeated, I went home and buried the champagne gold in the back of the closet. It hangs there, dejected and hasn’t been touched since. I never shared pictures. I never visited. I’d catch sight of her at the grocery store and quickly turn away, averting my friendship.
It’s been over two years and now my seamstress-once-friend has moved away. No forwarding address. I broke promises because of the mud…I broke promises because I didn’t dare.

Behind

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My watch is two days old. I think it’s the 110th watch I’ve owned. This is, by far, the most expensive watch I’ve ever owned. I don’t really love it so I’m wondering how long it will take before I leave it behind. Like all the others.

That’s the thing about losing things you don’t really love. You can’t miss what you don’t love, especially if you don’t love it enough to go looking for it, or even realize its misplacement. I had a friendship that went missing. I didn’t love it so when it disappeared I didn’t take notice. When I finally noticed I didn’t even search for it. I didn’t want it to be found. At all. I wanted it left behind. Is that bad of me… or is that what they call growth?
They say that people outgrow relationships all the time. What about methodically breaking them down, taking them apart, dismantling? I know I have systematically dismantled two in my lifetime (and if you have been reading my blogs on that other space you were witness to one of them. I had to walk through that leaving in a very public way). This time it’s more private, but I can’t say I regret either leaving behind. Then or now. I’m not sorry for dismantling. I’m not even sorry about the ones that dismantled me. I probably deserved it.

Homeward Bound

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Well. I should clarify. I’m bound by home but I’m not homeward bound…not yet, anyway. KISA & I have started the planning process. The date has been set, the house has been booked. So, we’re on a roll, so to speak. Figuring out when to go is half the battle.
I’m excited about this upcoming stay. We’ve rented a childhood’s friend’s childhood home. It will be like living in the house of childhood past. How much has it changed? What will I remember? Will I find the crayon scrawl I made behind the closet door? I can remember it like it was yesterday. Inspired by Harold I held a purple crayon. Hunkered down I drew a purple heart with a pounding heart. Will it still be there?
We asked friends to come with us. We always go through this process with trepidation. Will our friends “survive” the island? It’s always a crapshoot. No electricity. No Xbox. No cell phone. Who can take that kind of isolation without going crazy within the hour? When deciding who to ask we always throw around names and take bets. What are the odds? Does she blowdry her hair? Does he have to check his email all the time? Can they walk a mile? Live without Big Mac? To get the island is to get me.

What I Wanted

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 There is a man on the other side of life that I desperately need to talk to. I have a huge sense of failing self right now. I don’t have him anymore so conversation is more than difficult. More than a little needed.

I made Director. True to institution form it all came about strange and backwards. Pass-It-On communications. A coworker stepped into my office to congratulate me before I could even put my bag down. My boss cried right before my wide, baffled eyes. I had a headache. All I wanted to was go home, go back to bed. I crawled here with barely my wits about me. I have videos to watch…from the comfort of the queen. 9am and already it was a bad day despite the Director thing. A dream about being a human punching bag, the drive to work that took twice as long. I arrived in the clothes I had slept in. The 8am class that was more babysitting than I cared to admit. All I cared about was rewinding the day, starting over with a fresh cup of coffee and a different dose of perspective. Not to mention the desire to escape Five Day Puke. Did I mention I had a headache?

But, I made Director, Dad. If you were standing in front of me would you say you are proud? I made Director. This is what I wanted. Don’t you remember? You taught me to love books from day one. Remember when we would pour over the library catalog, circling our choices? You taught me to follow the author, respect the spine, honor the due date. You read Clancy and Turrow. I read Joyce by day…and Jong under covers with a flashlight. You taught me to love to read. Fight for the right to write. Still, I have to remind myself I’m not that librarian. I made Director. To some that means nothing except the chance to make meaningless snide remarks. I can hear you now. You’re saying it only means they don’t understand. I don’t think I even understand. But, it’s what I wanted.

Love Like That

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I am loved. KISA is out in the dying light trying to snow-blow the driveway. Make that drivewayS. Grandpa, parents, and of course us. We are all snowbound. He is a bundled up black head to toe snowman, home from a full day at work, trudging behind a loud machine. I know the kid in him enjoys throwing snow 30 feet into the air, but the adult hates the cold. I’ve put on hot water for mocha and I’ve cranked the thermostat (this is a big deal). Anything to alleviate some of my guilt for being inside and warm. 

I am loved. Sometimes it takes me a looong time to accept that. Sometimes I take it for granted. Ms Me, Myself & Moi received two packages of love. I’m still trying to get over the goodness of the guys.

GN~ You are my favorite heartbeat. Your gift. It. Blew. Me. Away…seriously. I don’t know what else to say. Out of the blue. I’ve already submerged myself in a little Neil and a little more Carter. I am giddy over the “red sparkle kit” and “the analysis”. Okay, I love the analysis. I’ve always been a Dave fan…I don’t know how to repay You. Well, I do. I’m working on it. We’re working it. Blown Away. I can’t stop smiling thinking of all the good “noise” I have to watch and hear and love. Thank You. PS~ Can’t wait for Vol. II – will it be You? 🙂

SPB~ You crack me up. Did you remember I’m earthtones or was that a lucky guess? I love, love, love my new look. I’ll confess I went to work wearing the same DragoRossi I slept in. I got strange looks at the faculty meeting but at least I was comfortable. I don’t know what made you put me on your list, but I’m glad you did. If there is anyone who knows the benefit of soft clothing (besides Ruby) it’s you. I’m grateful for the spot in your heart even if I don’t deserve it.

Valentine’s Day is being reconsidered. I’m sorry for the cynical. Love works in mysterious ways. I won’t even try to figure it out. It makes me cry just attempting to sort it out. Just know that it’s there for you. Love. You. Thank. You.

Mother Natural

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School was cancelled Wednesday thanks to the Nor’Easter that blew in late-late Tuesday night. Call me crazy but I think the Mom in the Sky knew I needed a break from all things work. For starters, my department has been living with the smell of puke for the past four (four? four!) days. Fresh puke has a definite smell…four+ day old, decaying puke, well…that’s another story. I can’t even tell you how rancid the odor is. I simply can’t get into it. The biggest problem is we don’t know where it’s coming from. How disturbing is that? I’m ill everytime I try to sit at the reference desk.
Next, there’s the communication thing. Way back in the beginning when the New Guy took office he said future salaries and promotions would be dependant on merit. What did people think, that our little corner of the world would be exempt from the scrutiny? The fact that I’m *still* hearing about the reviews does nothing but irritate me now.
In light of the aforementioned “merit” scare I have done a little demerit dodging of my own. Last semester I sent over a teaching proposal to a much-in-the-dark department. I had culled ideas from my colleagues and included their original documents in the proposal packet. This week I get a call from the head of the department, “E., what is this crap? This page on ——? I can’t submit this! It’s full of typos; spelling, grammar, punctuation – you name it… and what’s with the justify center? It looks like sh!t.” My head was buzzing as I listened to him rant. I came this [] close to claiming the document as my own because even though it stated who authored the draft at the top (center, of course) I didn’t want the HOD to think I was calling him blind or worse, stupid. My name is clearly not — and he knows that. To point that out would be professional suicide. Luckily, I remembered my new motto, “Look out for yourself because no one else is going to do it” and I admitted it was a coworker’s report. To soften the blow of pointing out the obvious I added, “Maybe — forgot to put a name on it” knowing full well it was there. HOD grumbled and said, “well, if it’s all the same to you this garbage is going in the trash.” Ouch.
Then, there are the classes. I don’t mind them. Actually, I love-love-love teaching. I’m not standing in front of a class spouting the same crap everyday. I get to talk about different things depending on the class. It’s cool. What’s killing me is the schedule. Because I’m coming in to teach 2-3 hours early I’m putting in longer days. I’m getting out of sorts with life (as I bitched about earlier).
So, I thank the Powers That Be for giving me a reprieve from the current hell on earth.