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Wednesday, May 18, 2011

a soggy jumbled mess


The new course is set. My stars have been realigned. 
I'm seeking a new location, a new job, a new identity.
I need to build up every piece of myself. Inside and out.
 But have no tangible evidence that anything is going to change.
I'm panicked by the thought of being embedded in this residence until Fall. 
The cocoon of my old life hanging around me, everything a horrible reminder.
I fear that I have seven years of lost time to make up for.
I'm tired of only being inspired by the darkness. 
I need to relearn how to sleep soundly. 

The baby is starting to show signs of an unbalanced life. 
He is paranoid that I'm leaving him...
 always checking to make sure I follow where he walks. 
I'm guilty of being heavily distracted since he was four months old.
 And now it is catching up to us. 
I can't ever allow myself to take him for granted. 
I keep waiting for a reprieve. For a calm moment in time to focus on him fully again. 
But I now realize, there isn't one coming. 
So I've got to figure this out (because he is only growing 
more ornery and I'm only growing more weary).

***

As a kid I spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like to live
 at the bottom of the deep end of the pool. I'd lay there on my belly with my hair
 floating up into a sopping beehive and stare upwards. 
I'd become transfixed by the diamonds of sunlight bouncing off of the edges of the
flaking white cement. Muffled dripping sounds of friends
 shouting and diving boards bouncing would create the perfect
 symphony of reverberated white noise. 

There at the bottom
twelve feet under
 enveloped by the pressure
I had never felt more relaxed, safe, or invincible.


I once again wish I could live at the deep end of the pool. 
It would be so much easier then walking away from everything I know and crossing my fingers that things will be better. 


image source: here 

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Next Monday

In six days I will stand before a judge and read from the script that has been provided to me, "My marriage is completely broken and cannot be repaired. I attempted to make the marriage work. I do not think anything else can be done to save my marriage." Probably the most deeply personal words I'll ever say to a stranger in my life.

All the while my son will be at home with his grandma. Slowly tracing his trucks along the edges of her furniture.

After I read my lines to the judge I will have admitted to myself, to my ex-spouse, and to the community that I have failed at something very large and important. Perhaps the most important thing in life. I've never failed at anything before.

Around this time my son will climb into his highchair and ask his grandma for his favorite clementine oranges. He will remind her in a sing-song voice "Don't eat the peel. Yuckie" with a fierce shake of his head.

I will stand and wait patiently while the judge signs off on the agreed upon Parenting Plan and Child Support affidavits. I'll flip through my heap of paperwork and give information about health insurance plans, retirement plans, visitation schedules, incurred debt, percentages of gross incomes, and monthly contributions.

After his citrus snack my son will want to go outside. He'll hold his grandma's hand as he bounces down the steps two feet at a time. He will want to turn on the garden hose and splash around on the patio. He will carefully watch the water streaming from the sprinkler, always assuring that it doesn't get too close to his face.

I'm not sure what I'll do in those first moments after I am free to leave the courtroom... but I'll have very little time to race across town to the theater. Once there, I'll step backstage into the cool darkness and put on my headset. For the following six hours I'll only have the capacity to worry about sets, spike marks, costume changes, props, and keeping the dancers away from the scrim. It will be a relief to have purpose and a focus, even for just a little while.

Once he tires of chasing water droplets my son will grow sleepy and request a bedtime story. He will sit lazily listening on his grandma's lap and snuggle his head back into her shoulder. His eyes will grow heavy but he will insist on pointing out all of the tires on all of the trucks in the book.

It will be late by the time I arrive to pick him up. He'll be asleep face down with his rump up in the air, making sucking sounds through his pouted lips. His Buzz,Woody, or a race car will be tucked in next to him. As I carry his tiny sleeping body out to the car, I'll have an understanding that his life has been irretrievably altered. Both of our lives will then be set on an entirely new course. But he won't realize that anything has changed.

This new person

This is not the sound of a new man
 or crispy realization
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be safe with me
- Bon Iver


I'm struggling with this new person I've become. I don't like her much. I'm painfully aware of her faults.

She is unfocused, moody, and generally overly-sensative
She piles the weight of her world onto the wrong people
She is broken, jealous, and growing bitter
She is running out of things to fill herself with (the pain is seeping back in)
She is angry 
She is getting by in every portion of her life (but doesn't feel alive)
She is judged and condemned by others
She is sick of crying 
She is unable to accept love 
She is much too much

She is desperately trying to figure out who she is

She isn't me