So Much To Say, Still...

and I'm not a whole lot clearer. I did re-arrange my bedroom. One half looks like this:

the other side looks like this:
so clearly I still have work to do. ELFA shelves are on sale at the Container Store, so I want a few just to put all my Storm dolls (I have quite a few... Storm rocks. Mainly because how many Black female superheroes can YOU name?), my collection of boxes and some photos. I realized I have a huge 5'x2' Matisse poster sitting rolled up in my living room, and if I got it framed, it would fit right in. It's called "Beasts of the Sea":
and would totally fit in to the "underwater" theme of the room. (My friend from Pratt found it rolled up in a tube. He needed the tube to carry his paintings around, and had no interest in the several posters that were rolled up inside. I took them. Matisse is my favorite artist--the first artist I was ever aware of other than my mother. I was two. I would spend hours looking at the book "Jazz". I knew jazz because we listened to jazz all the time in Paris; jazz artists were always in and out of the apartment. In my head, Matisse's pictures became permanently linked to the sound of jazz, even to this day.)

Of course I've no money for shelves or framing supplies... but that's never stopped me before. And once I turned the bed around I didn't hate the bed quite as much and might be able to make do... but I definitely need a new mattress. I've had that one for as long as I've lived on the Rock. And that's a minute.

So far, I've stuck to my word on the two other missives I set for myself; one is flat out breaking my heart in a way even I didn't expect, and the other is basically I need a job. No way around it. But I spoke to a friend today who helps with financial and insurance planning. I went to the Prom with him. (Had I been nicer and less full of myself back then, my life could have been very different. In High School he was extra-geeky, or so I thought. But now, at 40-something he looks a little like Malcolm X who, militant ideas and all, was sexy as hell. But the friend's married with a WHOLE lot of kids and I wouldn't touch that with a 10-foot pole. But it was fun to look at.)

I should have gone out Saturday; I was invited to the 30th birthday party of a friend I know from an old job, and I enjoy the hell out of her but the more I thought about it the more I realized the only person I'd know other than her was me... and I can be bold but I just wasn't feeling that bold. Plus I'm broke as hell. The Sun had a sleepover with the Moon and my house was so blessedly silent (the Diva and TinyOne were with the Professor) that I sat up all night and processed photos. I never even turned on the TV, the radio or music, which is a HUGE thing for me. (I always have the TV on because it keeps me company. Or I'm listening to music. Usually both.)

It made me rethink the whole relationship thing. I crave companionship, but I worry that I've been solo for so long, could I really handle that kind of closeness? Dunno. But I'm looking. I'm keeping myself open. I even found someone interesting to "talk" to but again... dunno. I don't know anything anymore. The older I get the less I know, the less I understand.

TF is still an ass. That wasn't going to change in a week. I finally forwarded a whole train of "conversations" to Lawyer, and asked if maybe she could do something. The Sun wants to see his dad. I want him to see his dad. But I don't want him to come to my door, and I want the Sun home on Sunday night. And just because I want those things, TF will fight me on it. And I'm tired of placating, of going along. I've dug my heels in. It could backfire... it probably will. Women--even though they USUALLY come out on top in Family Court--can't afford not to play by the rules because they always get called on every little thing. It's as if judges know that you'll win in the end, but you better cross all your "t"'s and dot all your "i"s. Whereas even though men may lose in the end, all throughout the battle it's amazing what they get away with.

I still haven't cleaned up my desk. In fact, it's worse than ever. I know it's because I'm hiding from the stuff on it... bills, work, 1977. It's frightening. I look at it all in anger and frustration, and rebelliousness. It wouldn't be hard to clean it up. Other than the fact that I always seem to run out of time, my piles are pretty organized.

But I think that I resent my life. Which is odd for me to say, because I love my life. I love my child. But I should have been a stay-at-home mom. One thing TF keeps throwing at me is how hurt he is that "MY SON" won't have a mother and father who live in the same house. He seems to think that I had always had a plan to be a single mother. I didn't. I DID say to God once, that if I ever had the choice between a man and a child, I'd take the child (you really should be careful about what you say to God...). I DID say to TF that he better be responsible for the birth control because I wasn't on any, and that at 34 if I got pregnant I was going to have a baby. But nowhere in there did that imply--at least not to my thinking--that it meant I WANTED to be a single mother. I've joked that I heard the phrase "when-you-grow-up-and-get-married" so frequently as a kid, that it didn't dawn on me until I was about 12 that you could actually have babies and not be married. And when the Sun was barely peeking over the horizon of life I tried so hard to stick it out. I really did. Friends can attest to the crap I put up with. But I knew it wasn't normal to feel like I had to constantly grit my teeth to keep from screaming. It wasn't normal to feel trapped, bound in. Sat on. I've no regrets about the Sun; he makes me smile. I love being home with him, picking him up from school, taking him to violin and karate, or school trips. I've no desire to be anywhere but here. I'm pissed off that it's not logical for me to be here, when I have no real means of supporting him.

And I can't keep myself motivated to do the things that would help me stay home. And I'm not sure why.

Today, on the Science channel, they were exploring the solar system; all the different planets, how they were formed. How uninhabitable they are, with the exception of Earth. Again I wondered, like I did last week. I bring this all back to last week's starting point (believe it or not), because as I took the trip to Mars and did all that wondering about who could make that trip, who would want to, who could survive it, the overall thought that has stuck with me through the week is:

What is the measure of a man? Or in this case, woman.

"We are star-stuff" said Carl Sagan. The atoms that make us up are the same the universe over. But somehow we came to be as we are now. We are here, we are what we are. We think, we reason, we create and destroy. Millions and millions of us. I personally don't buy into the randomness of evolution. I think we were created on purpose. That there is a purpose for our existence. And we were given the ability to think, to reason, to make choices. And so, how do we choose to live? What do we stand for? Why do we choose the things we do?

Starting from the vastness of the universe, to our known galaxy, our solar system, our one planet, the millions and billions of people on it, down to me. Tiny little me. Who was created for a purpose, but what is that purpose? What do I stand for? What am I trying to accomplish? What is it that I really want?

Why is it so hard for me to figure that out? It's getting late in the game, time is passing. Next month I'll be 43. Shouldn't I know by now? Shouldn't I be grown up by now?


i'm profiling Black Female Superheroes on my blog ... I've got about 90 so far from comics, movies, and television.

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