So Much To Say...
that I haven't been sure where to begin. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the Voices... and sometimes they're not raging but merely asking questions. Asking questions of myself, of God, of the Universe: "Why?" "How come?" "What if?" "When?" Questions that have nothing to do with me, that seem so far removed or over my head, except they trickle down to my level somehow, and affect my every day. And lots of things have been happening, all mundane everyday things, that swirl in and around each other.
"Men are like Waffles, Women are like Spaghetti" is something I picked up in my mental travels... the name of a book perhaps (I think likely), or an essay or a rebuttal to the "Men are from Mars" things. It's something I've adapted and assimilated into my bank of phrases, because if anyone were ever a bowl of spaghetti, it's me. Everything wrapped under and over each other, and even though there are hundreds of strands you can't tell by looking at it where one strand begins and another ends. And all tied together with sauce.
Or maybe like a tree. There's the trunk--what you see--and the branches and leaves and flowers. But as high up as the branches go, is as deep as the roots go (or so I've heard) and so like a tree, whatever you see me questioning on the surface, there are miles and miles of unformed questions growing underneath what you can't see.
When this happens I get quiet. None of it is formed yet, it's all still bubbling, but I promised myself that I would write every day, and I look and it's been a few days. Every day I log in and try to write something, and then I fall asleep, which is my body's reaction to overload.
The Diva is here most days, and the TinyOne, and pretty much it's going OK. She's not my child... she's my niece (or maybe I'm the non-custodial parent) so there's emotional distance between she and I which helps. She's an extrovert, and I'm an introvert, but we're both February people so the core of us is very similar. We're all allergic to the same things, but she's not used to my dust the way I am, nor is TinyOne, so between the stress of his upheaval, a bad cold and allergens, he ended up in the hospital Thursday night/Friday morning, where he stayed until Saturday evening. He'd been with his dad, and his dad took him to the ER because the coughing wouldn't stop. This brought up all sorts of issues within the family; BigBear who has a flair for "The Worst Case Scenario" was all bent out of shape because the Diva didn't immediately rush to Baby's side. The Professor went to Target. I shut all my emotions down so that I could think clearly, but I still second-guess myself because for me, shutting down is easy.
The best person in all the world to have been with me on Friday while all this was going on was FatLady and Spice. Just as an aside, Spice is a force of nature and not easily contended with, but I recognize in her the same early awareness of how easy it is to manipulate people when you're little and cute and wordless that I had at that age. Even though you don't have words to express, the brain is still working overtime, seeing, processing, learning; realizing that people are very easy. So I never cater to Spice, which infuriates her sometimes (and which I find hilariously funny) but at the same times she knows I hear her in my head as clearly as she hears me. So in my space, we got along extraordinarily well. And FatLady has had life experiences that while completely different than mine, complement me, as does her temperament. Her being here allowed me to be able to say to the Professor, and to BigBear... "the baby is with his father, his father is NOT TF and is not psycho (though certainly they share certain annoying traits... and I think he's gay but that's another story) and he's a good father. The baby will be OK. And the Diva has to face this, and the BabyDaddy, on her own." And she did. Not exactly the way I would have done it, certainly, but then again it isn't my life, my babydaddy or my child. And she did a pretty good job for a young woman who's not good at facing her fears.
I went down to see them on Saturday evening; I left The Sun with the Moon, and took myself on a date into the city. I went and got my hair done, and because TinyOne was still in the hospital I went over there... though by the time I got there they were getting ready to discharge him. "Hi, LeeLee" he said, pushing me aside to look past me, "where [the Sun]?" Why he has decided to call me "LeeLee" is known only to him. And the Sun is his light; he does everything the Sun does. "No, he's not with me, baby". "School?" he asked. He really is the cutest thing.
He was MUCH better and quite back to his old self, and he sat on my lap for about 5 minutes (which is an eternity for him) and listened to Amy Winehouse sing "Rehab" on my Treo. "No! No! NO!" he sang along... And then to another track that has a great opening drum beat, he did a human beat box. He was mad when he saw me start to leave "No, LeeLee, I go byebye!" He was quite done with being contained, but he got distracted with something else so I snuck out without saying goodbye.
I walked down to 96th street, stopping along the way to duck into the Gourmet Garage and indulge in some expensive cheese and tray of sushi for dinner, and then I took pictures of people's windows. Nene happened to call while I was taking pictures--his computer is riddled with viruses--and he asked me if I was a peeping tom. "Pretty much" I told him. I love looking in people's windows... and in the Big Apple everyone lives above eye level so you really only get glimpses. But I ask myself "Who lives there? Do they have a family? Are they happy? How much rent do they pay or do they own? I wonder why they painted the room that color?"
I really needed that little time by myself; it energized me. On Friday when the FatLady was here she asked me what would help me to focus? And I told her that I had been trying to figure that out, but that all of the inner percolating had led me to a few conclusions:
I sent the Sun's father, TF, an email telling him that if didn't agree to certain things--all in accordance with the agreement we've been working on, there will be no visit. I don't think he's read it yet, cuz I haven't gotten any nasty emails.*
I told Nene, "No tickie, no shirtie". That if he wasn't able to provide me with the one thing I wanted--Time--then I wasn't going to give him what he wanted, although I love him with all my heart. "New Year, New Rules" I told him. He said that I HAD to give him what he wanted... I told him the only two things in this world I HAD to do was stay Black, and Die. And I don't even have to stay Black (Michael Jackson didn't). I don't believe in ultimatums, and don't consider this to be an ultimatum, there's always that part of me that wants to cave... he's awful cute and little. But I want my own love--one I can love wholeheartedly and who is free to love me the same way-- and if I'm distracted by him I won't ever see it. But that's how I feel today...
I sat and wondered yesterday, after watching "Mars Rising" on Discovery's Science channel. It was beautifully done and very realistic, but it made me wonder
*whooops! Spoke too soon! Well, lets see what happens next...
"Men are like Waffles, Women are like Spaghetti" is something I picked up in my mental travels... the name of a book perhaps (I think likely), or an essay or a rebuttal to the "Men are from Mars" things. It's something I've adapted and assimilated into my bank of phrases, because if anyone were ever a bowl of spaghetti, it's me. Everything wrapped under and over each other, and even though there are hundreds of strands you can't tell by looking at it where one strand begins and another ends. And all tied together with sauce.
Or maybe like a tree. There's the trunk--what you see--and the branches and leaves and flowers. But as high up as the branches go, is as deep as the roots go (or so I've heard) and so like a tree, whatever you see me questioning on the surface, there are miles and miles of unformed questions growing underneath what you can't see.
When this happens I get quiet. None of it is formed yet, it's all still bubbling, but I promised myself that I would write every day, and I look and it's been a few days. Every day I log in and try to write something, and then I fall asleep, which is my body's reaction to overload.
The Diva is here most days, and the TinyOne, and pretty much it's going OK. She's not my child... she's my niece (or maybe I'm the non-custodial parent) so there's emotional distance between she and I which helps. She's an extrovert, and I'm an introvert, but we're both February people so the core of us is very similar. We're all allergic to the same things, but she's not used to my dust the way I am, nor is TinyOne, so between the stress of his upheaval, a bad cold and allergens, he ended up in the hospital Thursday night/Friday morning, where he stayed until Saturday evening. He'd been with his dad, and his dad took him to the ER because the coughing wouldn't stop. This brought up all sorts of issues within the family; BigBear who has a flair for "The Worst Case Scenario" was all bent out of shape because the Diva didn't immediately rush to Baby's side. The Professor went to Target. I shut all my emotions down so that I could think clearly, but I still second-guess myself because for me, shutting down is easy.
The best person in all the world to have been with me on Friday while all this was going on was FatLady and Spice. Just as an aside, Spice is a force of nature and not easily contended with, but I recognize in her the same early awareness of how easy it is to manipulate people when you're little and cute and wordless that I had at that age. Even though you don't have words to express, the brain is still working overtime, seeing, processing, learning; realizing that people are very easy. So I never cater to Spice, which infuriates her sometimes (and which I find hilariously funny) but at the same times she knows I hear her in my head as clearly as she hears me. So in my space, we got along extraordinarily well. And FatLady has had life experiences that while completely different than mine, complement me, as does her temperament. Her being here allowed me to be able to say to the Professor, and to BigBear... "the baby is with his father, his father is NOT TF and is not psycho (though certainly they share certain annoying traits... and I think he's gay but that's another story) and he's a good father. The baby will be OK. And the Diva has to face this, and the BabyDaddy, on her own." And she did. Not exactly the way I would have done it, certainly, but then again it isn't my life, my babydaddy or my child. And she did a pretty good job for a young woman who's not good at facing her fears.
I went down to see them on Saturday evening; I left The Sun with the Moon, and took myself on a date into the city. I went and got my hair done, and because TinyOne was still in the hospital I went over there... though by the time I got there they were getting ready to discharge him. "Hi, LeeLee" he said, pushing me aside to look past me, "where [the Sun]?" Why he has decided to call me "LeeLee" is known only to him. And the Sun is his light; he does everything the Sun does. "No, he's not with me, baby". "School?" he asked. He really is the cutest thing.He was MUCH better and quite back to his old self, and he sat on my lap for about 5 minutes (which is an eternity for him) and listened to Amy Winehouse sing "Rehab" on my Treo. "No! No! NO!" he sang along... And then to another track that has a great opening drum beat, he did a human beat box. He was mad when he saw me start to leave "No, LeeLee, I go byebye!" He was quite done with being contained, but he got distracted with something else so I snuck out without saying goodbye.
I walked down to 96th street, stopping along the way to duck into the Gourmet Garage and indulge in some expensive cheese and tray of sushi for dinner, and then I took pictures of people's windows. Nene happened to call while I was taking pictures--his computer is riddled with viruses--and he asked me if I was a peeping tom. "Pretty much" I told him. I love looking in people's windows... and in the Big Apple everyone lives above eye level so you really only get glimpses. But I ask myself "Who lives there? Do they have a family? Are they happy? How much rent do they pay or do they own? I wonder why they painted the room that color?"
I really needed that little time by myself; it energized me. On Friday when the FatLady was here she asked me what would help me to focus? And I told her that I had been trying to figure that out, but that all of the inner percolating had led me to a few conclusions:
- Basically, I hate working. I'm quite content to be unemployed and I hate not having any money but I hate working for other people more than I hate not having any money. And I can handle most things on a little bit of money, but the student loan debt stresses me the fuck out. I'm halfway in control of it; I got my Federal Loans consolidated, but they won't consolidate my private loans without a co-signer. They said I had too much debt for my income. Uh yeah, you ass, if you consolidated those loans, I'd have ONE smaller payment and ONE loan, instead of six. But they don't see it that way.
- I really hate my room. I love the color I painted; it looks like you're under water, but it's dark and no matter what I do, it's always dark as if the room sucks out every bit of light there is. Part of the reason is there is an entity that lives here with us... the landlord told me someone supposedly killed themselves in that room. I felt the presence the minute I walked in this apartment the first time, but it's an overwhelming sadness, and I had attributed it to the landlord and his family who lived here before me. But it wasn't them.
The entity isn't mean or malicious, but it's very sad, and tends to be active in the winter--the story goes that he was a sea captain and hated winter because he couldn't be on his boat. When I painted the room blue (I was compelled to) it seemed to help. And the sad feeling has sort of abated over the years... I think he likes us (and yes, it's a he). Since Mr. Kip has been gone, the entity is decidedly calmer. The only thing I still really notice is that the stereo speakers in my room will cackle and hiss... even though the radio is off. It freaked me out at first, but I'm used to it now. But anyhow... entity energy notwithstanding, the room is not well-laid out. And I realized I haven't bought myself real bedroom furniture in about 14 years... So I decided that if there's any money from my tax return, I'm going to buy a new bed. A four-poster. From IKEA. But in the meantime I rearranged all the furniture, and it's made a huge difference. - I need to clean up my desk. The more frustrated and "blocked" I am, the worse my desk looks until I'm pinned into a tiny corner. So after the room-rearranging, I have to take control of that last portion of student loan drama, clean up my desk and then maybe I can rock and roll.
I sent the Sun's father, TF, an email telling him that if didn't agree to certain things--all in accordance with the agreement we've been working on, there will be no visit. I don't think he's read it yet, cuz I haven't gotten any nasty emails.*
I told Nene, "No tickie, no shirtie". That if he wasn't able to provide me with the one thing I wanted--Time--then I wasn't going to give him what he wanted, although I love him with all my heart. "New Year, New Rules" I told him. He said that I HAD to give him what he wanted... I told him the only two things in this world I HAD to do was stay Black, and Die. And I don't even have to stay Black (Michael Jackson didn't). I don't believe in ultimatums, and don't consider this to be an ultimatum, there's always that part of me that wants to cave... he's awful cute and little. But I want my own love--one I can love wholeheartedly and who is free to love me the same way-- and if I'm distracted by him I won't ever see it. But that's how I feel today...
I sat and wondered yesterday, after watching "Mars Rising" on Discovery's Science channel. It was beautifully done and very realistic, but it made me wonder
- Why do we spend so much time and BILLIONS of dollars trying to get to other planets to see if we could live on them, when we could devote that time to protecting our own precious planet?
- Why do humans have the need to conquer?
- Why do we take for granted and destroy the things we need to survive--our planet, each other, our children?
- What kind of human can survive a 6month journey to Mars, an 18-month stay on a desolate and poisonous planet, and a 6 month journey home? Will they breed super-humans for that? And why would we spend the time to do that when we could fight disease and cancer or AIDS here on earth?
- If humans actually made it to Mars... would the astronauts they send fall in love with each other? Or would they hate each other--and or themselves--before it was all over?
- And say we made it to Mars... would the idea of progress be tall skyscrapers and pollution, like we've done here?
- And would our world, our Earth, then become expendable? Would God stand for that?
- Why is our planet, of all the planets in our solar system, in our known galaxy, the only one that can sustain life? And think of the life that's here... everything from ants to duck-billed platypuses, tapirs and zebras and giraffes. Butterflies. Cats. Humans. Babies. Could that possibly exist anywhere else? And why is it so hard for people to believe that all this was created on purpose? If it's so random, such an arbitrary sequence of events, why hasn't it happened anywhere else?
- Why am I wondering about all this? What earthly bearing does it have on my everyday... except that I am so wondrously made, and possess a brain and a heart and a conscience, and I am a part of all of this. And it does affect me and my every day, even though it's way bigger than me.
*whooops! Spoke too soon! Well, lets see what happens next...
Comments
"Basically, I hate working. I'm quite content to be unemployed and I hate not having any money but I hate working for other people more than I hate not having any money. And I can handle most things on a little bit of money, but the student loan debt stresses me the fuck out."
Had I been brave enough to articulate my true feelings, I could have written that exact sentiment. with $45k student loan debt and all.
:-0
LJ-XPM
maybe that's why I can work two jobs...cause I can keep my mind clutter-free...lmao...
I couldn't even finish reading the post...I was getting OVERWHELMED...it will take me a few days to get through this one...
And Jacqueline... come now. You're in my head as much as I'm in yours. What do YOU think he said? LOL! In a nutshell... one or two really long run-on sentences, it's all my fault and still no real answers.
Rhia... $45K?! That's it? PSHAW! That's peanuts, baby!!! :)