Sunday, November 25, 2012

Fragments 11/25

Saw a truck today: a gorgeous thing, parked on the too green for November in Maine grass in front of a peeling yellow house.

Large, heavy, round hood, curving fenders, the Kate Smith of American trucks circa 1938.

A small square table in a popular downtown eatery with my daughter this morning. I hate the word eatery. I thought you should know.

She appologetically helped herself to my bagel. I drank her Orangina when she got up to get more napkins.

My girl, black leggings, old blue sweatshirt pulled out of shape. Blue wool hat she wears everywhere. Her uncombed hair peaking out from underneath, hat pulled down over her forehead, hat resting on the tops of her glasses, her bemused grin, big teeth and braces...

My girl is teeth, long skinny legs, and a blue wool hat.

Gearing up for the winter, gearing up for Christmas, gearing up for what lies ahead, big mystery, big worry.

What's next.

Over the day, a transparency, a filament of shadow. The girl and I walked and talked, laughed, I carried this fist in my throat.

Blue sky, red brick, blue hat, damn hat, rust and green truck, yellow peeling paint, green grass, smell of coffee, oranges, butter, yeast.

Things feel a little broken on the inside.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Assy ass.

There are days when I just can not stand to be near myself.

I feel like a lazy ass, a dumb ass, a fat ass. An assy ass.

Today is one of those days.

Yesterday was one of those days.

And the day before.

And also the day before that one.

This ain't no Doll's House and I ain't no doll.

I think it was last year that I decided to blog every day for a month. I think my cool friends Lanna and Edmund inspired me to do this thing. And I think it made me sort of happy. As happy as I get. 

 Maybe I'll try to do this thing again.

I have less time to myself than ever before.

Even when the door to my room is shut, I'm not alone. The voices of upset kids, the hysterical barking of the dog, the ringing phone, all constant reminders that I am needed and my time away alone is time that should be spent attending to everything else. 

I've had a shitty year, looking November last to November now. 

I'm worn down, quite miserable.

I don't much like my own company right now, and yet I long so desperately to be alone.

I recall reading Ibsen's A Doll's House way back in high school or college. I was stunned that a mother would leave her children like that. Only a horrible selfish person would walk away from her own children. 

There are days like today when after giving everything I have to my children I am asked to give just that little bit more and finding my self lacking and completely inadequate I dream of  walking out the door. I think to myself, someone else could do this better than I can. I'm not up to the demands of this job. I can't do this anymore.

Instead I sulk around the house like only  a passive aggressive fuck can, and declare at 4:30 in the afternoon that I am going to bed. I only give into that sort of drama when the spouse is at home to feed and supervise the kids. Just for the record.

I know my display is ridiculous.

In that moment of exasperation, I don't care. 

Thirty seconds later, I care very much and yet at that point it's just too late. 

How I long to place this wedding ring on the scarred dining room table, kiss the sleeping children good bye, and walk out the door. 

I do not want to do this anymore. 

I am tired. 

I am lost. 

This is not my life. 

I am not myself.