Something has changed. I do not know what, but I am writing again. And recognizing the things I am avoiding (vs. blaming my avoidance on other things.) I simply do not want to do some of the things I am doing. But when you are broke, and cannot find secure employment, you do what you can.
There is a myth, not even an urban myth, but more of a life myth, that if you are artistic in some fashion (write, play music, take mundane everyday things and turn them into works of art) that you need a back up plan, some guarantee of earning a wage. I want to write. But, being uncertain if I could make a living doing it (and needing additional education to learn to write well - or at least better) I continued in school. I thought that if I graduated law school, and became an attorney, that I would have some basic needs met; an income, insurance, ability to repair home and transporation, etc. etc.
It does not matter to me right now, this day, that the economy took a nose dive. Going to law school, becoming an attorney did none of the things it was supposed to do for me. I am bitter. I am (and have been) angry at the legal profession, the politicians, and the financial 'gurus' that this has happened. It is not personal to them, but it is personal to me. I WENT BACK TO SCHOOL (as our President is now apparently urging folks to do) and it made my situation worse, not better. I wanted my life to be a model of success for some who grew up poor. It has turned into a dire warning instead. NOT THE FUCKING PLAN.
Is it karma? Did I so ignore my life plan as per the Universe or god or whomever that I am not to be allowed to make money doing the thing I went to school for?
Ah, damn. How much longer can this go on???
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Laughter
So much is just total crap right now, but not everything is. That would be an absolute, and there are no absolutes in this thing we call life.
So, after Grouse Monday, with the shitty car problems, I woke Tuesday in a better, lighter mood, with hope sitting, once again, on my right shoulder. I cannot explain hope's existence in my life.
Several months ago I accepted that this was just a shit time. I have, on occassion, thought that the shit time was drawing to an end, only to have that hope dashed by car windows that would not roll up during the rainiest part of the year, lost glasses that must be replaced, and of course now my car with the hole in the valve cover. I cannot explain the presence of hope. I can only guess that it is due to the wishes sent to me by friends and other loved ones. The laughter and happiness of my children. The fact that a dear friend let me borrow their car. And solving an old mystery (that is a story for another time.)
My son, my dear dear son, who is really tall for his age. My son who will be "the" story other children tell their parents after the first gym class day this school year (he's how tall? was he left behind? are you sure he isn't like developmentally disabled and older than 11? he can't be six feet tall, you must be wrong!) My son has an amazing sense of humor.
So, Monday, Super Shit Day, after we got the borrowed car, we made a quick run to the grocery store. I am blue, I need chips. Well and stuff for dinner. And bread and cereal. Okay, so we shop and I see the canned soups. We generally eat cooler food in the summer, but soup is comfort food. I wanted potato soup, but I make that myself. I thought my son would like some chicken noodle soup, which I do not make. I asked him. He said 'ew no'. I tried to talk him into it, to no avail.
Skip to the next day, it is lunch time. I am hanging in the fridge, door open, trying to figure out what we will have for lunch. He walks in, all 6 ft of him (he towers over me now). "Honey what sounds good for lunch?" In a very serious tone "I think I want soup." I started to spew frustration in his general direction, when I caught sight of his face, laughter seeping from every pore, spilling from his eyes, his mouth just opening in a loud guffaw, he says "Oh CRAP" and turns and runs from me, laughing the whole way.
Sense of humor. Sense of timing. The patience to wait for the laugh. His future wife is going to have her hands full.
Having the borrowed car has been a learning experience for him. My car, my 7 year old Saturn, is no longer new. There is a faint odor of mildew from the drivers door when you roll down the window. There is enough pet hair and food crumbs in it to embarrass the worst housekeeper. But, the seats are covered in whatever that fabric-y, nappy material is the car manufacturers use now, and the air works. Not so the borrowed car. The lovely Vega is 30 or more years old, the seats are vinyl, a/c was never a part of this vehicle. It is beautiful. It is a composition of two other Vegas neither of which were road worthy. My friend Ken (who is married to Marilyn, who was my friend first) created this Vega out of the ruins of the other two cars.
My son, let's call him Q, does not have patience for heat. He never has. On the day I brought him home from the hospital, not yet 2 days old, he screamed half way home because he was burning up in his little 'going home' outfit. What can I say? His daddy picked it out, it was appropriate for late fall. That day the temps hit 80. Q was hot. I had to make his father stop the car so I could strip him before we were half way home.
Okay, so the Vega has no air. Sitting on hot vinyl seats feel like sitting in hot melted cheese dip. He got in the car yesterday and told me how much he hates the car. I told him it was good for him to learn what it is like for people who have vinyl seats, in fact what life was like for me as a child.
Tonight, we made a random run to get ice cream and a couple of other things. The seats were cool, the air flowing in from the open windows and open vents was spectacular. He decided the car was not evil incarnate after all. Until we got back in the car to head back home. The seat belt would not emerge from its hole more than 5 inches. I got back out, and tried to 'fix' the problem, but it was a no go. We had to stuff him into the back seat of the Vega. He sat in the seat, looked up at me and said "Mom I don't fit. I literally do not fit in this seat!"
And, he didn't. The back seats in the Vega (at least this one) are separated by the 'hump' just like the front seats are. For whatever reason, the back seats are not as wide as the front seats. He was sitting on the seat and part of the 'hump'.
Now, let me say that I am deeply grateful for the use of this Vega. But it will be really good if I can get the front seat restraint to act properly tomorrow.
Q swore to me that if I told the Vega story, he would do terrible things. So, please don't let him know I blogged this.
:-)
So, after Grouse Monday, with the shitty car problems, I woke Tuesday in a better, lighter mood, with hope sitting, once again, on my right shoulder. I cannot explain hope's existence in my life.
Several months ago I accepted that this was just a shit time. I have, on occassion, thought that the shit time was drawing to an end, only to have that hope dashed by car windows that would not roll up during the rainiest part of the year, lost glasses that must be replaced, and of course now my car with the hole in the valve cover. I cannot explain the presence of hope. I can only guess that it is due to the wishes sent to me by friends and other loved ones. The laughter and happiness of my children. The fact that a dear friend let me borrow their car. And solving an old mystery (that is a story for another time.)
My son, my dear dear son, who is really tall for his age. My son who will be "the" story other children tell their parents after the first gym class day this school year (he's how tall? was he left behind? are you sure he isn't like developmentally disabled and older than 11? he can't be six feet tall, you must be wrong!) My son has an amazing sense of humor.
So, Monday, Super Shit Day, after we got the borrowed car, we made a quick run to the grocery store. I am blue, I need chips. Well and stuff for dinner. And bread and cereal. Okay, so we shop and I see the canned soups. We generally eat cooler food in the summer, but soup is comfort food. I wanted potato soup, but I make that myself. I thought my son would like some chicken noodle soup, which I do not make. I asked him. He said 'ew no'. I tried to talk him into it, to no avail.
Skip to the next day, it is lunch time. I am hanging in the fridge, door open, trying to figure out what we will have for lunch. He walks in, all 6 ft of him (he towers over me now). "Honey what sounds good for lunch?" In a very serious tone "I think I want soup." I started to spew frustration in his general direction, when I caught sight of his face, laughter seeping from every pore, spilling from his eyes, his mouth just opening in a loud guffaw, he says "Oh CRAP" and turns and runs from me, laughing the whole way.
Sense of humor. Sense of timing. The patience to wait for the laugh. His future wife is going to have her hands full.
Having the borrowed car has been a learning experience for him. My car, my 7 year old Saturn, is no longer new. There is a faint odor of mildew from the drivers door when you roll down the window. There is enough pet hair and food crumbs in it to embarrass the worst housekeeper. But, the seats are covered in whatever that fabric-y, nappy material is the car manufacturers use now, and the air works. Not so the borrowed car. The lovely Vega is 30 or more years old, the seats are vinyl, a/c was never a part of this vehicle. It is beautiful. It is a composition of two other Vegas neither of which were road worthy. My friend Ken (who is married to Marilyn, who was my friend first) created this Vega out of the ruins of the other two cars.
My son, let's call him Q, does not have patience for heat. He never has. On the day I brought him home from the hospital, not yet 2 days old, he screamed half way home because he was burning up in his little 'going home' outfit. What can I say? His daddy picked it out, it was appropriate for late fall. That day the temps hit 80. Q was hot. I had to make his father stop the car so I could strip him before we were half way home.
Okay, so the Vega has no air. Sitting on hot vinyl seats feel like sitting in hot melted cheese dip. He got in the car yesterday and told me how much he hates the car. I told him it was good for him to learn what it is like for people who have vinyl seats, in fact what life was like for me as a child.
Tonight, we made a random run to get ice cream and a couple of other things. The seats were cool, the air flowing in from the open windows and open vents was spectacular. He decided the car was not evil incarnate after all. Until we got back in the car to head back home. The seat belt would not emerge from its hole more than 5 inches. I got back out, and tried to 'fix' the problem, but it was a no go. We had to stuff him into the back seat of the Vega. He sat in the seat, looked up at me and said "Mom I don't fit. I literally do not fit in this seat!"
And, he didn't. The back seats in the Vega (at least this one) are separated by the 'hump' just like the front seats are. For whatever reason, the back seats are not as wide as the front seats. He was sitting on the seat and part of the 'hump'.
Now, let me say that I am deeply grateful for the use of this Vega. But it will be really good if I can get the front seat restraint to act properly tomorrow.
Q swore to me that if I told the Vega story, he would do terrible things. So, please don't let him know I blogged this.
:-)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Things could be worse . . .
or could they?
Okay, yes they could. Things could always be worse. But, the same is true for 'better' . . . things could always be better as well.
Last night something serious happened to the engine of my car. I have EXCELLENT friends, who have (once again) come to my rescue. One or two will be looking in depth at the problem, and hopefully fixing it. Another let me borrow her 'extra' car. It isn't really 'extra', it is more of an every day car, but she let me borrow it.
If my life was a dam, it would be leaking in very serious ways. There would be a hundred little Dutch boys with their thumbs in all the holes, with water still seeping through.
Several days ago I lost my eyeglasses. Long story short, they did not turn up and I had to go order new ones. Since it had been 3 years (3 seriously? how time slips by) since I had an exam, that had to happen. I find that near and distance corrective lenses are now required. I cannot wear bifocals. I tried before and was nauseated the entire time. I thought I would get used to them, but did not. I could not afford to get the extra testing, or the distance glasses. So I got only the reading glasses.
I did not tell myself I would be back soon for the distance glasses. Just as today I did not tell my friends that I would 'pay them back' for all the help and favors some day soon. It is horrible, but I no longer trust that the future will be brighter. I went to law school, graduated and am a licensed attorney, making less than I have made in more than a decade. How can I trust that the future will be brighter? For a long time I did, and thought that this or that that could not get done now, would be done soon, because I did the work, the reward MUST be coming. Too many things are on that "will be done soon" list now to trust that they will occur.
Damn damn damn. This loss of hope is terrible. Hope must return.
But, if things happen in 3's, I have one more coming, don't I? Or can I count the eye exam and the glasses as two?
Okay, yes they could. Things could always be worse. But, the same is true for 'better' . . . things could always be better as well.
Last night something serious happened to the engine of my car. I have EXCELLENT friends, who have (once again) come to my rescue. One or two will be looking in depth at the problem, and hopefully fixing it. Another let me borrow her 'extra' car. It isn't really 'extra', it is more of an every day car, but she let me borrow it.
If my life was a dam, it would be leaking in very serious ways. There would be a hundred little Dutch boys with their thumbs in all the holes, with water still seeping through.
Several days ago I lost my eyeglasses. Long story short, they did not turn up and I had to go order new ones. Since it had been 3 years (3 seriously? how time slips by) since I had an exam, that had to happen. I find that near and distance corrective lenses are now required. I cannot wear bifocals. I tried before and was nauseated the entire time. I thought I would get used to them, but did not. I could not afford to get the extra testing, or the distance glasses. So I got only the reading glasses.
I did not tell myself I would be back soon for the distance glasses. Just as today I did not tell my friends that I would 'pay them back' for all the help and favors some day soon. It is horrible, but I no longer trust that the future will be brighter. I went to law school, graduated and am a licensed attorney, making less than I have made in more than a decade. How can I trust that the future will be brighter? For a long time I did, and thought that this or that that could not get done now, would be done soon, because I did the work, the reward MUST be coming. Too many things are on that "will be done soon" list now to trust that they will occur.
Damn damn damn. This loss of hope is terrible. Hope must return.
But, if things happen in 3's, I have one more coming, don't I? Or can I count the eye exam and the glasses as two?
Saturday, August 1, 2009
It's been a while . . .
I haven't written in very nearly a month. 30 days. It would be a month if I had waited to write this tomorrow.
Laid off again. Yes, again. That is what happens when your position is intermittent. Am I happy? No. I can't say happy plays into this. There are tasks I need to perform and now will have time to do so. Some of those tasks involve getting my son ready for school. His clothes are becoming very expensive. The size of his foot required purchasing athletic shoes online. We haven't looked for dress shoes. I am hoping the pair we purchased last year may still fit him this year. Maybe.
I have to find my path and get off this nauseating roller-coaster.
Laid off again. Yes, again. That is what happens when your position is intermittent. Am I happy? No. I can't say happy plays into this. There are tasks I need to perform and now will have time to do so. Some of those tasks involve getting my son ready for school. His clothes are becoming very expensive. The size of his foot required purchasing athletic shoes online. We haven't looked for dress shoes. I am hoping the pair we purchased last year may still fit him this year. Maybe.
I have to find my path and get off this nauseating roller-coaster.
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