It looks like rain

Better Not

2008-09-05T19:03:00.000-07:00

Life
would perhaps
be easier
if I had
never met you

Less sadness
each time
when we must part
less fear
of the next parting
and the next after that

And not so much either
of the powerless longing
when you're not there
which wants only the
impossible
and that right away
next minute
and then
when that can't be
is hurt
and finds breathing difficult

Life
would perhaps be
simpler
if I hadn't met you
only it wouldn't be
my life

-Erich Fried

Radiant?! Oh, come now!

2008-08-24T21:05:00.000-07:00

W- proclaimed this morning that my gig was up, that he was making me decaf, that they knew I was pregnant. What?! No, no, I explained, no, no, NO, nnnnooooooo.

Apparently I'm radiant, "absolutely glowing", far beyond what I should be, even given the recent victories. Perhaps he's underestimated the importance of this moment, or perhaps he can see the sustaining force behind all of this.

Amoung friends

2008-08-23T01:43:00.000-07:00

I'm sleeping at W-'s tonight. He and S- kindly opened their home to me *and* let me use their laptop! This is love. This openness, this willingness to be open, to share. They will come with me tomorrow as back up, support.

And W- bought me soy milk to make me a morning latte. Love. Sigh.

These people will hold me up if only I let them, and I'm finally able to.

Sustenance

2008-08-23T01:19:00.000-07:00

Pronunciation:
səs-tə-nən(t)s\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Middle English, from Anglo-French, from sustenir
Date:
14th century

sus·te·nance
1 a: means of support, maintenance, or subsistence : living b: food, provisions; also : nourishment
2 a: the act of sustaining : the state of being sustained b: a supplying or being supplied with the necessaries of life
3: something that gives support, endurance, or strength

Twenty-nine (again)

2008-06-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

maggie & millie & molly & may

maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

millie befriended a stranded star
who's rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea.

- e. e. cummings
-------------------------

Celebrated my bday at the lake with my girls today. Lovely.

A blade of grass

2008-06-05T22:22:00.000-07:00

You ask for a poem.
I offer you a blade of grass.
You say it is not good enough.
You ask for a poem.

I say this blade of grass will do.
It has dressed itself in frost,
It is more immediate
Than any image of my making.

You say it is not a poem,
It is a blade of grass and grass
Is not quite good enough.
I offer you a blade of grass.

You are indignant.
You say it is too easy to offer grass.
It is absurd.
Anyone can offer a blade of grass.

You ask for a poem.
And so I write you a tragedy about
How a blade of grass
Becomes more and more difficult to offer,

And about how as you grow older
A blade of grass
Becomes more difficult to accept.

-- Brian Patten

Dear Mrs. D-

2008-03-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

A friend of a friend (ok, my son's adoptive mother) told me that you're threatened by me.

You should be, but not because I'm going to steal your husband. Should I ever see him again, I'm going to punch that son of a bitch in the fucking face so fucking hard I hope I break his fucking nose.

Once that's out of the way, I'm going to make out with him. Just kidding! I *am* going to invite him over for some coffee and guitar hero, though. But don't worry, you're invited, too. And bring the kids!

As though my life weren't enough of a lie, now my name is, too.

2008-03-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

Counsel advised me to change my last name to my husband's, lest a judge think I'm a feminist, because we all know that feminists grow gay children or atheists or something and we can't have that. I must provide proof of marital bliss and commitment, which apparently becomes concrete when taking someone else's name and signing it as your own in ink.

It's free and easy to change it. Just a few letters and photocopies of the marriage license.

To change it back, the divorce he just asked for, or a legal name change. Neither of which is free.

The birth mother

2008-03-02T23:45:00.000-08:00

So C-, whose birth name, and whose name in my head, is J-, wants to meet the birth mother. I am the birth mother. I am his birth mother. And this is a secret that nobody knows.

So I freaked a bit, but I think I'm ok now. I talked to S-, his mother, and concluded that he likely wants to poke me, see if I'm real, and try to understand if the rationale his mother provided for the adoption seems valid.

He's going to come here to poke me over Spring Break, and I'm going to poke him back.

But I'm terrified that my rationale has holes in it. I gave him up. And for what? What did I accomplish?

Woe is I

2008-02-29T06:25:00.000-08:00

I've become rather use to the constriction. It's been here so long that I've developed some rather effective defense mechanisms for when I do notice it. Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut.... I'm usually okay before Michigan. But not lately. It's Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, California, California, California, C-, J-, California.

It started with California. And it just started again with California. And it's never going to end because I can't get passed California no matter where I go or what I do. And I thought I was really used to it but I just know now that with each passing minute my breathing is more restricted and my heart beats harder and louder. And even the Zoloft does not help.

And I think: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson, Van Buren...

Goodbye PMS, hello Zoloft!

2008-02-21T01:02:00.000-08:00

Zoloft - seriously - LOVE it. OMG, I actually feel kinda good some days.

Until I get home, anyway.

And disgust becomes hatred

2007-12-26T01:22:00.000-08:00

Christmas without the children. Husband takes the moment to say how much he likes these custody arrangements. I take the moment to let him know how the very scent of him makes me want to vomit and is the real reason that there's a plug-in in every fucking outlet (including the basement).

Then I go to his mother's to smile and make nice.

Do I hate him, or just myself?

Indifference becomes disgust

2007-11-29T23:48:00.000-08:00

I mean, how fucking stupid am I to have wanted babies with this guy anyway? And how stupid is this entire facade of a relationship? But serious, a vasectomy?! You might want to have mentioned that before the marriage.

Giving thanks

2007-11-25T17:14:00.000-08:00

Every time I kissed them goodbye, I would worry that I would never see them again. I don't feel like that so much anymore.

And anyway, I'm learning the language, just in case.

Vodka

2007-10-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

Hate it.

Hate. it.

Sister loves it.

It reminds us both of mother, whispering to us after she and father were done fighting. We pretended to be asleep, but we were always awake, listening from the top of the stairs, running to bed when we heard them quiet down. She would come in, and I would feel her hot breathe on my cheek, and in slurred speech every time: I hate you. You ruined my life.

Sister and I talked about this for the first time today. I told her I was already ready to protect her in these moments. She didn't understand. Apparently mother had always said to her: You're such a pretty girl.

Separating the seeds and the stems

2007-10-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

I was quite adept at this before starting grade school.

I loved the little vanity mirror tray I would get to use, with its gilded frame.

I think I need some help

2007-10-01T04:22:00.000-07:00

What happens when there's no one to listen? You pay for someone to! Yay for medical insurance mental health benefits.

"She was left behind and sour, and she wrote to me equally dour..."

2007-09-24T23:26:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, this guy -- this guy, I've seen him around the office, he's always like "how ya doin" and I'm like "whatever" -- this guy, whose name I don't even know, gives me a present. A sun lamp. That's "good for that sunlight depression stuff". That he bought at the Home Depot specifically for ME. Because I'm "kinda dour and maybe need more sun." I sit by the fucking window buddy. If sunlight bought happiness, I'd be totally blissed out. Oh, and it's his last day, so if I want to say thanks, I should do so now. And because it was awkward otherwise and I was impressed with his use of "dour", I did so.

But the lamp is kinda cool, with a light that's nice and cool as I work well past sunset with the children gone.

So buddy, if you read this by chance, I didn't mean it then, but I do now: Thanks for the lamp.

End of summer

2007-08-08T20:20:00.000-07:00

My children are leaving, and I can't breathe. Seriously, I can't fucking breathe.

Journals and shit

2007-05-28T19:21:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, in art therapy class, I cried, for the first time in 13 years, when I played with the clay. Years (really - years!) of therapy has lessened only slightly this nauseating anger sitting heavy constantly in my belly and one art therapy class offers a solution.

The kind professor told that class that it happens all the time. After class, she asked me to help put supplies away and told me that clay brings out anger and childhood repression. She explained that writing releases it. Confess what you're holding (what I feel in my belly) and let it go.

Keeping a journal is difficult. It is certainly easy to record a description of one's day, but even that description can have meaning and be misinterpreted by anyone who might come across said journal.

I do write, though! I write all the time. But then shred it, of course. Like Jane Evershed, "I see you writing your truths. I see you tear them up when all seems bearable again."

Otherwise the journal ends up as Exhibit A in your divorce proceedings.

A- was a difficult baby. I was married to a man I hated. That journal was just a shallow version of the truth. Just the highlights of the unbearable thoughts and not an analysis of what I remember and how I feel.

Here, I'm to lay out the truth, write about it, how I feel about it, and then leave it.

"I think it's dark, and it looks like rain," you said.

2007-05-26T18:46:00.000-07:00

And I agreed, though today I was told this is not quite normal, that one should feel happy, at least part of the time. And I do, don't I? Yes, I think so. But when? When? Can't quite remember.

Perhaps I am not happy, but I am at least ok, and ok is good enough.