Banging Away....

Had yet more issues with B - and this time, it’s just rich. He’s reneged on his weekend with Fox, only it’s opening weekend for the show, so I’ve had to scamble and make sure it’s covered - and then, after this huge blow up, when he’s all sinisterly up in my face, with me against the front porch wall, trying my damndest to decide hit him? or not hit him? when I’m saved, because here comes Fox….cut to - he calls me, sobbing, at ten at night.

Hysterical.

About losing the house, the girlfriend, the kids, me, whatever. The roller coaster just climbs to the top, again. Only this time?

I don’t think I’m buying the ticket. I could linger here, with his vast array of shit, serving only to upset me, should I dwell upon it, and oddly enough, it wasn’t until I told M, that I realized just how fucked in the head he truly is. Quite. Fucked. Really.

And M thought I might want him back!!

Trust me on this one: I sooo do not. I’m all set, thank you. I left my ticket to the ride on the desk, turned my cell to silent, and continued on with my night. Yep, he wanted to come up north, evidently was going to, until I assured B that if he stepped foot in this town, I’d place him under 72 hour hold, with his friends in White, and the Looney Bin. Could be what he needs most. He went fishing, apparently; wanted me to tell him not to fall in, I passed on that opportunity.

It wasn’t til M said something about me sounding sorry for him - I do feel badly for him - in the same way I feel badly that starving mountain nomads refuse to do anything different that what is traditionally done, because that would break tradition. I pity him. And not in the good way. In the sick get away from me twisted way.

I hope M gets that - I don’t want him wondering if I’m carrying around this array of deep abiding affection for someone who treated me badly.

If anything? I feel marginally guilty that B moved me to…..nothing last night, other than supreme irritation that he even called me.

Honestly. I spent a long time banging away at a lot of this stuff - now however?

I simply cannot be bothered.

Running toilets....and men

My toilet is still running.

It’s relatively new, this toilet, being a mere two years old, so honestly? I don’t think it should be having issues with it’s floaty-ball thingie that hovers amid the water line, leaving it to run and run and run ad nauseum. Clearly, there should be someone to fix it, and yes, there is, he’s called a plumber, but I think really? There should be Someone In Particular that fixes it.

Along with a whole host of other things. Things, mind you, I can do myself? But would feel as though I were being taken care of, pampered even, without the tiresome massage, and, with a noticable difference in my living situation. Light bulbs, up high, in the hallway back here by the back door leap to mind. Obviously, the floaty-ball thingie.

Which. Is. Still. Running.

Like how my mind keeps coming back to this nebulous concept of love, how to find it, how to sustain it, nurture it, grow it, bask in it. I don’t know how to do that. I can see things for other people - a little frightening, I know, but it’s there - and so far? I’ve been right on. But me? That I can’t see. I know how I think I feel, but I don’t know if it’s love, and if it is, it’s totally different from what I thougth it was, or had with anyone else….we’ve a deep abiding friendship, which I’ve managed to rock, significantly, with a whole array of my Usual Shit, but I think the foundation is there. I like him. I trust him. He’s met, and stayed with Fox, when I’ve had other stuff (read: rehearsal) to do, and he’s great with him. He should be. He has kids, and he’s an awsome dad. It just … shows. Even when he’s not with his kids, he’s thinking about his kids, what he’s got planned for his kids….and he gets H. H adores him.

There’s a line in the show, about being a miser with love, and finally, having to just forgive husbands, ourselves, and more forward - it’s the only way to go really, forward. But I don’t know how to do that. I like to know where I’m going to end up, I don’t do limbo - and isn’t limbo when you fall in love?

He’s told me, up front, not to fall in love with him. Only he wants to fall in love with me, he cannot bring himself to. He’s scared. I’m scared too! Which is when it hit me today: the ONE thing that Judy taught me, along with Jim, is the only true gifts in life are the people that love you. Love them. Tell them you do. The rest of it is up to them. You win some, you lose some, but in the end, you’re a better person for having loved.

I’m not saying I’m IN love. Lord knows he’d shit if he thought that. But. He’s important to me. In ways I couldn’t even begin to describe. For that, I’m quite thankful.

Now. Fix the damn toilet, and he’d be golden.

A toast, to Judy

A toast to Judy

A Very Dear Friend passed away this week.

Shocking, to all of us on the one hand, as she’d finally be handed a notice of sorts from the surgeons - she’s looking good! - only to find, that well, she really wasn’t. Or perhaps, it was simply, her time. Either way, he came home, from getting her meds, and found her. Or rather, her shell still lurking on Earth, but the rest of her, floating away into the netherworld, away from those of us that loved her.

I sat, to write him, after baking failed me, and I broke down, three times putting together a lasagna. I’m so bereft, I’m speechless. I attempted to find a way to put into prose, a tribute to this amazing woman, whose warmth, light and heart lit us all, all that she touched, all her life.

Which is when I remembered. Jim and I have lunch, quite frequently; not frequently enough, honestly, but often enough that we’ve a pattern. One day, not long ago, I was bemoaning my single status, how I’m selling a house that had not been christened; he quite off the cuff, told me that he’d not had sex in five years, ever since Judy’s first surgery, and while the bills piled up, and the kids grew, the housework became his - I’ll never forget this - he says to me:

I’ve never loved her more, than I do at this moment. Not when we first were married, or when the kids came - but now, when she’s totally my life, I love her more than I did standing at the alter.

I can hardly type, as it is, recalling the look on his face. Judy is his life. Was his life.

I told Jim today, that we’re only as strong as how well we’ve loved - by that stadard, he’s the strongest man I know. It’s quite cold comfort to hope that one day, I’m so well loved - and I am; I’ve wonderful friends, family, loved ones.

I’m just down one today.

So Judy, a toast: may you always know how loved and missed you are, as you’ll live in our hearts forever.

MBA or Bust.

Working on Graduate School aps is a lot like staring into the bowels of Hell - detail a hero or mentor that most influenced you and why; what is your assesment of Business Practices on the small business environment, and what would you do to change that, or….choose your own topic. Really. Why should I be allowed into a program of higher learning?

It would appear, I’ve done all my Essential Learning, outside of school - afterall, I can cook complete, nutritious and varried meals, using only a toaster oven, microwave, or open flame. I am the only human on earth, that can sear things, including the charred edges! in the microwave, and can turn out a five course gourmet meal, using only the ingredients in my pantry. I can create costumes from the items lurking at the bottom of my bags, on very short notice, and, I can feed an army of five, out of my glove box. I’m constantly prepared, for any emergency: be it canine or homosapien, automotive or septic.

I have located earring backs out of the central vacuum, along with three army guys, and one clear lego window.

I can diaper small children while on the run - both them, and me - and, I can drive while also chatting on the phone, applying lip liner, drinking a snotty coffee, and doing all the voices in Nightmare Before Christmas. I’ve amassed a six hundred dollar shopping bill at Sams club, without a list, in under 25 minutes, and, I can pack all of it into the back of a Toyota Highlander Hybrid.

I’ve sold AM Radio, successfully, which is something few can lay claim to, and, I did it all while wearing Lucky Black Pants, and cutie heels; I can walk three dogs simultaneously, nicely, and, manage an office of ten, without breaking a sweat. I’m creative, funny, smart, and cute - yet somehow, I doubt that my wardrobe alone proves enough business savvy to get me an interview. If you throw in my dating experience, you could say I’ve created Something from Absolutely Nothing, which should come in handy when composing business proposals, and, I can talk Christ off the cross.

I’m aptly qualified, I think, to attend Marketing classes.

Perhaps, then, I should simply keep it short and sweet:

Multi-tasker seeks position that combines real-world experience with client-oriented business savvy, bringing a unique perspective to the marketing and brand driven table. Ass-kissing fact checker, with fully stocked creative bag for hire. Have fabulous black suit, matching pumps, and killer teeth.

Will kill if necessary to acquire position.

Hmmm. Think my chances are good of acceptance???

I used to bake when I was angry, tired, upset, frustrated - all the reasons why some of us eat, or dive head first into those single serve one pint containers of Ben and Jerry’s - only to find that the creaming of butter and sugar together no longer soothed me the way it once did.

I switched to cleaning; only to find that scrubbing, back-breaking labor made my body ache, but my mind stayed alive and unrested.

I took up running; sweating out the frustration of dealing with B, screaming children, barking dogs, piled up bills - in all the running away I did, I think, I came full circle.

I got up this morning, peered into the pantry, and like a long lost lover finding her way home, fingered the cake flour. Standing there, the box indenting my hand, I felt the last week or so start to drain away - going further when I located the sugar, baking soda and powder, uncorking the wickedly expensive vanilla from William’s Sonoma. I’ve not baked in so long, really truly baked, that it feels quite good to warm up the oven, lovingly butter the pans, lightly dust with flour, prepare them for the delicious outcome of my endeavors.

B settled slowly into the back of my mind as I whisked together the oil and sugars, sweet potatoes baking in the oven, readying themselves for smashing; eggs warming on the counter, as you always always always get better structure with warmish eggs. I found my rythem in the whisking; eggs incorporating ever so slowly, one at a time, into the sugars, the flour sifted, garnished wtih cinnamon, cloves, ginger, vanilla powder.I built a fortress in cake, only to find at one point, it didn’t protect me - either the frosting gave way, or the cake burned; I’d lost my touch, my feel, my sense of direction.

This morning? It came back. Like falling in love; only better. Putting ones heart into ones baking is a must; finding ones heart in oneself all over again?

Just icing on the cake