Monday, December 8, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Woken up by my son yelling at me. We have two doors in our house. A front and back. He goes out the back door at 6am to take out the garbage. He rolls it out to the end of the driveway and comes back to the front door only he finds it locked. He rings the bell waking his father who yells at him. Then my son comes and yells at me for not having unlocked the front door for him. I get up and wait for my son to take a shower so I can take a shower. He putters. I nag. He doesn't take a shower. I get him to school, still yelling at me for other reasons. I went to school a weird way, he hates the music I am listening to on the radio, why haven't I gotten a job yet so I can buy him more things. I swear I can literally feel my blood boil. I get home and check my email to find the worker who is already screwing up is screwing up even more. A slew of emails is sent back n forth between me and other folks in the know.I get dressed/eat breakfast/gather my things all at once so I can get to school quickly. Rushing increases my stress level. I get to work/school and someone I do not enjoy is there making my life less enjoyable. I get phone calls from the boy's father reminding me to do this and that. Yet I know he will ask me questions about it I can't answer because these are really things he should/could be doing himself but expecting me to do it instead. I meet with people, I talk to people. Some people I like. Some people I like very much. Some people I want to feel my skin, smell my smell, taste my taste and say "mmmmmmmm." But these people I want to notice me do not notice me. They don't know I am alive. Well maybe alive but don't know I am ALIVE. I want them to know the depths of me. I want to know the depths of them. The world is too small and fantastic for small talk. There not much time. Why do we waste time? There is so much love to be had.
I eat my lunch. and then there is more rushing. Back to the boy. He has a dentist appointment.. One more thing to give me stress. I will have to remind him even more fervently to brush his teeth. Such a waste of time. Not only will he not do it but will give me the finger while telling me so. In the waiting room I know I am done. I am done giving and giving and caring and wiping noses and shopping and cooking and cleaning. When babies are born it is all about love. and warmth. and hands holding hands. and more love. Babies are little miracles of molecules bound together that grow and smell delightful. and you marvel at how these cells can grow and grow and love. And then they learn how to wipe their own ass and feed and dress themselves and have a grasp of the language and they don't need you anymore. They are their own person. And they give you the finger. So now I am done. I gave all I can and they are their own person and now I need to get back to my own person hood. Its as if my growth stopped to focus on this little persons growth. And now I have to let go and get back to my own growth before the stress of helping this little person sucks me completely into a black hole and I will die.
So I drive him to his jazz group. I am proud knowing he plays the accordion in a jazz group. It sounds impressive. I don't know what it actually sounds like so I will have to keep that impression as a dream. And then its back in the car and "why are you listening to this crap?"and "why are you taking this street?" and we walk in the door and my coat isn't even off and its "when are you going to cook? or "why are you so lazy just sitting there?" and on and on and on. And Daddy is off and its just me demanding to see homework and take a shower.
And no one has told me they love me. No one has touched my face and said how soft it is. And if I died right now would anyone notice? And no one has a cure for cancer and there is still a "war" in Iraq and people are dying in Darfur and an SUV is driving around killing us all. And the animals are all laughing at us to try to find out he meaning of life with our science which we think is oh so important.
And I sit here alone in my room and I cry. for I never was and I never will be.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
the subject made me think of this poem, which I love.
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold.
-- William Carlos Williams
Did anyone else’s mind go there?
Which then create this whole discussion of Williams and how someone hates him and someone else loves him and then everyone's got an opinion on poetry. THis made me look up Williams and want to read more about him. And Ezra Pound his friend. Which reminded me of my frien Matt who worked at the bookfair with me. He tols me he got arrested and tossed in the drunk tank. He said he spent the night with his shirt off yelling Ezra Pound poems.
My brain hurts