so i did a lot of running this weekend.running down the hill to the bus stop so as not to miss the hourly bus. running up the escalators to purchase my train tickets so as not to miss the two hourly train.running from the car to the platform to jump on a slow moving train as i nearly missed it due to a slow moving car in front of her as she drove me to the station.running from the subway to the bus stop only to realize the bus stopped running at that time.running to the subway to catch the next train.running from the train station to the street level bus stop in hopes of catching the next half hourly bus.it's been a lot of rushing.and in between the rushing there was much laughing, eating, baking, drinking, and celebrating.'twas a good weekend.
there are days when i open my eyes to the clean light filtering in past rented curtains. and i sigh in contented happiness. i stretch my limbs in feline grace. closing my eyes i wrap my hands around my heart. warming my fingers around the glossy shape as though sipping from a hot mug. i let the heat of ,my imagination circulate and ignite the nerves from my toes to my fingertips.here on this cloud of flannel and down. curled into a ball. i am the queen of my dreams. i grow wings in an instant. i sing magic. i see past the images of our daily selves. in this moment of mostly awake and near sleep. i control the things which i can not contain. i harness the fear and anxiety. that which would make me weep can only make me laugh.there are days when i open my eyes. only they never really open. i am in a never ending day dream.there is a soundtrack which follows me. the worms in the grass swim beneath my steps. the birds speak to the trees to announce my entrance. there is a stage of soft green growth and the daffodils show my mark. i have a script to read. it is ever changing. i get distracted and forget the lines i was never meant to say. i can not remember which play it is. which scene i am in. where i am.there are days when i open my eyes.and there are days when i see without them.
there are days when i never need them.i am blindly content.i am naive and happy.i am dreaming while awake.
flight tomorrow. all set. ready to jet. flying to glasgow... transfer to london!sigh of happiness.only a few more goodbyes.bittersweet.
nightime. though i am much like a tree. spreading my limbs to catch the sun. warming my veins and coming into full bloom. i often feel the need to sit in the near silence of night. the cool air lifting the tendrils of black hair. the inky night sky blending into the irrevocable asianess of my body. i stand. a cup of hot tea replacing the heat of sunshine. with the soft glow of city lights in place of uv light. if only for a moment. i count the stars. i sigh at the familiar pattern of dark hills. the curves mimic the outline of my own frame.as much as i run from this place. this land of cars and smog. i can't outrun my history. my heritage. my home.a latenight caffeine fix. and a few moments of nightime solitude.before the sun rises.and my trembling leaves unfurl once again.
i wouldn't say i'm desperate for a child.
but my clock is ticking.
and like every other woman i worry that my alarm will go but i'll have hit snooze. i'll miss the bus and my body will decide without me whether i can or can not conceive.
there's a misconception. how apt a phrase. there's a misconception that as soon as you decide upon this course. this baby path. this road to familyness. that you'll be set upon by the stork within hours. that is is not a choice of when you bear the fruit. but how often.
we're bombarded with images of young mothers. too young. too many. throwing away their progeny. of women whose fertility is so strong it defies modern medicines. of women who can as much contain the virility of their bodies as mortals can capture and contain the beams of the moon.
and there are those of us who need to work a little harder. bear the insult of pokes and prods under bright lights with no hint of softness or romance. where our femininity is called up front for judgment. the female mystery laid bare and found wanting.
we go through the motions of normal life. smiling at those fortunate to have a bundle of joy. secretly wishing it was us. we fear our inner monologue is overheard. and our eyes betray our guilt.
we envy a woman in the shop. her child a beacon of our imagined failure. we wander the aisle as though shopping. stalking the lanes for our own image in miniature. we entertain the idea of lifting the squirming smiling creature from her trolley and wandering away with our purchase.
but we'd be caught of course. locked away for 20 years for child napping. no hope for parole because we are guilty. not just for stealing. but of being barren.
our husband comes to visit. the conjugal visits wither and diminish. after all he was only along for the ride. he wasn't ready for the pitter patter of little feet anyway. besides, his new girl is younger and fertile in the event he change his mind in regard to the status of his family minded ways.
"it's okay" we think, as we sign on the dotted line. that nice butch lady in the corner knows someone who can get us a baby once we get out and start a new life together.
before we know it, we've glazed over in the shop. spent 20 years in 20 seconds. and the young mother is nervously watching. seeking the sick desperation in our eyes as we gaze at her child.
so she pushes off from her perch next to the canned goods. in an act of recovery we continue with our line of sight recently vacated by the wide eyed babe. we reach forward and claim a tin of peaches. the young mother looks back. guilt filling her face. as she realizes she has blocked the store with her fertility.
and there it is.
the choking of aisles by both the barren and the burdened.
a standoff between wombs.
but i'm not desperate.
just waiting.
tick.
tock.
tick.
so i was looking over the short list of the years in past blog posts. i only have 9 from 2009... and a whopping 12 from the year before. *fist shake* damn you facebook. *fist shake* damn you marriage!i like how in this year i already have like 17. this is the 18th. it's like i made a new years resolution to blog more or something.i didn't. but wow.what a lazy bitch i've been.
this week so far has been quiet. though there were a few random bumps.on sunday after some late night emailing with the former adorable coworker we planned to meet up for food of some description on monday. i arrived well enough despite my lingering sniffles and the lingering chill of winter. after much deliberation we decided on food. a short amiable walk and we were there. we ordered some nibbles and a beer (non-alcoholic for him, oatmeal stout for me). the waitress who i must point out is probably only just legal to sell alcohol was new and fresh faced. she shyly asked for my id. doing the normal "i'm sure you're old enough but it's the law" act. i smile and hand her my drivers lisence. now, for those of you who don't know, i just turned thirty. or as i like to call it. twenty nine and a bit. so to be carded is always adorable.the sweet little waitress then exclaims, upon reading my date of birth and doing some quick math in her young brain... "oh wow! i mean. wow! i thought you were maybe 22 or 23... not... wow." and she hands back my id. so apparently i still look waaaaaaay younger than i feel.which is sometimes weird when it comes to getting a job. i had an interview today. i'm sure i was way older than the receptionst at the front desk. i reckon i'm closer to the recruiters age than the receptionists in fact. so i always wonder if they think i'm young and just out of school. then they take a look at my resume. and see the amount of time spent at each job. three years here. 2 years there. another three here. i wonder if they take me seriously. especially given how i dress and do my hair and makeup now. don't get any weird ideas. i just happen to have an ecclectic style that may span a couple of eras. i think it suits me. so shut up.i guess the main thing is. it's funny how sometimes i look waaaay younger than i should. and yet, i suppose i shouldn't complain about it.
the following items are up for grabs (or for a modest donation [oh please pick a modest donation, pleeeeez])... i have some other stuff too... small items. which i won't list because who knows exactly what i might end up taking with me. i know some folks have called dibs on the big green thing. so whomever i deem most worthy will receive it (as in whoever says for sure they want it and will remove it and promises to do so in a timely manner... or whoever gives me the most candy. whichever.) luv, ~me (poor poor poor me in need of money)... *puppy eyes*
the big green thing (rip my heart out if you must, but i can't very well take it with me)
4 drawer dresser (happy goldfish included)
beautiful pink flower bookshelf (i am loathe to see it go, but if it's to a good home i'll be mostly contented... mostly)
chessboard coffee table (it's also a blackboard but after i tested it out i didn't like the feel of chalky nasty under my wrists when i used it as a coffee table, it was conceptually awesome but failed the non-ick touch test)
tv (yes, karen the one i took from you and that jason was cool enough to lug down the stairs) entertainment thingy that the tv goes on (i know, i'm very descriptive)
the matching ugly chairs (which after my makeover are quite lovely if i do say so myself)
3 shelved bookshelf (which always reminds me of the T)
one bed warmer... oh wait, no, that's gonna be put to use in cold cold england.
i am going to miss all my beautiful colo(u)rful furniture. *sigh* oh and if it's a selling point, i handpainted all this crap. take that martha!
i am so angry. i want to be better. i want to be happy.but i am so angry.i know it's "natural". it's "to be expected".but fuck that. so many things are to be expected. and damned if they didn't happen.i know this is probably just a "symptom" or a "normal progression" for what is going on. i know the world isn't conspiring against me.but it sure as hell feels like it sometimes.say one thing. do the other.try not to get my hopes up. but fail completely.i'm angry. i'm sad.at least i feel something. it's better than being numb. or apathetic.but i wish this was different. i wish i was different. i so very much want to change.
just for her and her obsession with the cuppin cakes...at my holiday party... no wait, it's called a seasonal gathering. anyway. at the holiday party last night i stumbled into the haven of all havens. the dessert center.calling to me like three giant breasts were three giant cupcakes. huge. gloriously frosted in pink, yellow, and blue. one was all spikey. one was all stubbly with frosting bumps. and the last... actually, i can't remember what it looked like. but it was blue. this... this was the cupcake station. a table devoted only to the cuppin cakes. with plates full of frosted and unfrosted cakes. bowls of toppings. and two mushroom capped chef-ets. you could chose a premade cuppin cake. or pick out a plain one. at which point the cheffets would squeeze any colo(u)r of frosting onto it... and you could drown it in any type of candy topping you wanted. the sheer joy and utter brillance of this concept made me want to kiss both of the fresh faced little cheffets and demand they take me to their leader.now if only the cuppin cake hadn't been made incorrectly... *sigh*
since i'm now in my new home i need to speak the lingo...first things first.i'm knackered. (translation: i'm fucking tired)for now that is all. stupid long ass flights and packing and immigrating and blah blah blah. meh.i'm home now. so it's all good.night night.
rereading myself. revisiting who i was. where i was. in a place that was good. in a place that was better than before. but not as good as now. never as good as the now. even with the insecurity of my future. the unknown. the known. the unforgivable distance. letting my previous self re-emerge is a strange task. admitting age. inspecting the sameness against the difference. finding the once flaws which are now friends. reminders of years. of smiles. of laughs. of tears.saddened eyes which brightened. heavy shoulders which lightened. a grey cloud which lifted.i've never enjoyed looking back. though the risk of having to look forward is equally challenging. yet somehow there is sweet but bitter joy in delving backwards. the anger and sadness are easier to taste again. to swirl gently in the mouth. the cool weight of many shed tears. the heat from layers of fears. a spicy note of regret. a crisp clean tinge of youthful confidence. to breathe in the air and inflame the flavor. rolling the years upon my tongue. it is easy to taste. and to release it once again. to place it back in the bottle in the cellar. to let it age and mellow. to let myself age. and mellow.hello again you.i've missed your brown eyes. i've missed the arch of your brow.and i see that though you are just as jaded. there is finally a lightness to your heart.it fits you.
every night.they call sleep the "little death". a prelude to the larger more expansive death. a glimpse into the darkness beyond.in my tiny death i am haunted by him. by things that can never be. by moments that are lost to me now.and every morning. when i wake. alone. i die even more.and i damn every waking moment. every passing second that it takes for me to rise from my coffin. i wait for my tiny death... to grow. to encompass.to let me sleep.
either it's the cold virus getting me down. or i'm just really lazy. it's 3pm on a sunday afternoon. i've had one hour and half long nap. and i'm kinda feeling like i'm due for another.i'm going to blame it on the cold.maybe i should shower. or i can just curl up under the covers and sleep.whatevs.
i've noticed that because the uk is inhabited by those highly prim and proper brits, that everything in this place has a prettier name than it's american counterpart. though, there are things they say that just sound so much worse than we yanks say. i won't get into the nitty gritty of what prompted this observation. suffice it to say, that some female problems just sound more acceptable over here in the uk.but no matter the accent...
it's still ick.
i haven't lost myself in a while. i haven't awoken from a dream to find that my toes have wiggled into the warm earth and become root-bound by the concrete world i inhabit.i haven't wondered where the hours have gone. haven't noticed that the sun has set and risen while i remain pondering why the wind feels sweeter when you're in love.
i haven't wandered into the depths of sorrow. haven't hung my head in anguish. haven't had a day go by where i didn't know who i was.
i haven't lost myself in ages. haven't had a moment of non existence.i haven't lost myself.not a bit.not ever since he found me.
today is the day i was meant to be born. the doctors predicted today as the delivery day. little did they know that at that moment and for the rest of my life. i was hitting the snooze button.today is also not just the day i was meant to be born. but it is also the day i was meant to be a birthday present. a present for someone who was also born on this day. my grandfather. george.today is my grampa george's birthday. it would have been. grampa died half my lifetime ago.his body ravaged by cancer. there are photos of his last "good" days. he is smiling. he has his favorite chocolate bar next to him. he has his boys next to him. i believe he also had his dentures... next to him.he was a character. his personality was divided between his children. and his children's children. and i have no doubt, his hardheadedness will be passed on for many more generations.so today i am going to celebrate his and my birthday. it's a milestone one for me. i'll be sure to blow out a candle for him. and to order something extra chocolately in his honor.
what ever shall i do? the email is down. *panic panic*how can i keep myself entertained if i can't send English random articles and cute pictures??*panic panic*i need to get a cold compress and lay down.****update****back online. deep breaths.crisis averted.
wandering back from the temp job. i had a feeling of "hey... i know where i am... i think..." and proceeded to walk into the cold night. my fuzzy blue earmuffs dulled the honking horns and cursing of the massholes on the evening commute. my sparkling pink scarf whipped in the exhaust as the blurred faces peered back through salt frosted glass.walking along the charles. boston just a stonesthrow away. well... perhaps not my stonesthrow. the glistening lights bouncing off the frozen shell of the river. hundreds of heartbeats. thousands of sighs. all running for the exits home.and here i am. meandering in the chill. feeling my life crystalize in the air. a million whispers scatter and float upwards. joining the clouds and stars.i turn several corners and come upon a place i knew. a place i know. a bus stop that we used to take. from one place to another. to wander through the kiosks. to fill up on warm cinamon and sugar. to empty our wallets. to trade paper for denim and lace.i take the free shuttle. the driver is the same as 3 years ago. i recognize him instantly. i wonder if he recognizes me. doubtful. i'm sure he sees a lifetime of faces. i'm sure he's blind to mine.exiting onto the street i smile. i remember a small asian woman. i gave her a tissue. she was on her way to shop alone. i wanted to gather her into my arms and take her shopping. i cried on the bus. her smile and eyes were both happy and sad. i wondered where her son was. surely he should be taking her shopping. my mother was far away. and so i cried into my loves chest. my unexpected emotion shocking us both into laughter.gathering my memories i enter the underground. burying myself with the machines and discarded newspapers. wedging myself into a corner by the door. ignoring the inquisitive smiles from young men who can not see my ring. disguised as it is by my blue knit gloves.on the street again. lost for a second. backtracking. most places are the same. the pub. that other pub. coffee shop. conglomerate coffee shop. another pub. the gap is gone. i thought you'd be sad. it's where you got much of your american wardrobe from. so you'd only have to bring a toothbrush when you visited... much to the raised eyebrows of passport control i'm sure.the hippy store is still there. the front is new. a fancy cafe. no longer the bohemian rambshackle that i loved. a snazzy new name. glass and wood. shiny and safe. clean and clinical. people are plugged into the wall. plugged into their ipods. their iphones. does anyone talk anymore? face to face? and not via a computor screen?i waltz the aisles. touching the produce. gazing at the things i can't afford yet. only the basics. apples. carrots. onions. tea. eggs. and peas. the bulk aisle is calling me. the beauty of lentils and legumes is a siren song. i only manage to escape. i pay and leave by the side door. this is still the same.the door empties onto a parking lot. the gym is across the way. this side street is quiet. i pause.enjoying this moment. this sweet moment of peace. watching the world rush by. no more than a few feet away. and here i am. in a bubble of time and space.enjoy this.then run for the bus.and join the rush.
since sunday was the day that never ended and i was left in deficit of sleep. i took it upon my sensible self to go to bed early last night.i tucked myself in at roughly 9:30pm (yay i managed to stay awake that long!).after a couple random incidents of wakefulness. *fist shake at the cute dog for barking* *fist shake at the weird cramps of femaleness* i slept all night....and all of the morning.i have now been awake for about half an hour. which, when we do the math, means i slept for 14 hours.four. teen. hours.you'd think i feel better for it. but you'd be wrong. i now have a sleep hangover. headachey. tired. grumpy. slowmoving. sigh.oh well. maybe if i stay up later tonight...
oh and 5 days.
...you clean the house top to bottom. ...you put together a beautiful dinner featuring his favo(u)rite foods....you create a decadent dessert reminiscent of a favo(u)rite desserterie in the town where you met....you make sure when he comes home you are ironing his work shirts in high heels, lacy panties, and a sheer 50's apron....he asks you to take off the carefully picked outfit in exchange for a ratty old t-shirt, socks, and normal underwear because "you're gorgeous just as you are."i love him.
this christmas is extra special. it's the last one i'll spend in the states for a while. i'm moving. far far away.to a land where the natives talk funny. where they drive on the wrong side of the road. and they add extra letters into(u) wordes.i'm immigrating. i got my shiny visa in my passport. i have tickets. i have things to ship. things to give away.it's scary.but it's here. it's finally-actually-really-honest-to-goodness here.surreal. perhaps that's a better word for how i'm feeling. it's like, you plan and plan. think and think. but it's an event far in the future. until...WHAM!it hits you. it's here.it's no longer in the future. it's tomorrow. it's now.and soon enough. it'll be yesterday....tomorrow is when it becomes real. when he steps off that plane. when we celebrate this, our last christmas is boston. for in 2 weeks...we fly.i've always loved flying.
everything blows today. it's been one of those weeks. i'm not supposed to let it get to me. and for the most part it's not. but every once in a while i want scream and cry and break lots of things into tiny little bits.so thanks. i'm sure you're quite happy with yourself.now just go fuck off.
today after work i went out with a couple of friends from the office.i shared a bottle of wine.then i had a pint.then a half of cider.now. normally i'd be fine.but today was no a normal day.i hadn't eaten. the husband picked me up from the pub. i promptly went to bed. and slept for two hours.now, we were meant to go out to a nice romantic dinner. upon waking me up my husband was met with tears. and tears. and more tears. i felt awful. sick and sick and just not well at all.he tucked me back into bed. went out to the restaurant and explained that his wife was ill and would not be able to come out for dinner. the restaurant (which is a pub and wine bar we often frequent, where our adorable gay neighbor works) was very kind and sent him home with his dinner uncooked so he could pop it in the oven at home and take care of me. they also sent him home with a bottle of wine.i love this town.i love my husband. even though i feel ill, he has been sweet and understanding.i feel like crap for ruining our dinner. but he is so sweet that i almost don't notice that i've ruined it.
i feel guilty. for my emotions. for my behavior. for my shortcomings. for my dreams. for myself.i feel sad. for the loss. for the months. for the years. for the days. for the upset. for you.i am empty. my throat constricts with every breath. my heart jumps to a stop before slowly beating again. my lungs wilt and freeze. the cold panic runs from my head to my toes.my shroud of despair hangs above. i fear it's descent. but i welcome the silence it will bring. the silence to my stricken heart. the quiet stopper to my tears.
