The Wordmistress

Something's Different

I knew it this morning, something different.

Then I heard it: Britney Spears is divorcing K-Fed. Just like that. It was like she just woke up from a bad dream.

And then it was like the whole world woke up, because suddenly people were voting against the Bush regime. I'm writing this Tuesday evening before everything is confirmed, but it looks as if Bush will put the lame in duck. Speaking of duck, the one election  that I wanted for the Dems  was Tammy Duckworth v. Peter Roskam. Duckworth is a very cool politician, very straightforward and honest. That bitterly fought battle is looking bad for her right now.

I'm going to bed before I know for sure if the Dems took over Congress. I figure, if it's true I'll have the future to revel in it, but if it isn't, well, I just have tonight.

Glee Club

I am a happy camper.

Tomorrow is my 41st birthday and I must say that there is nothing that I want for my birthday. I am very pleased with the way things have been going. Well, everything but ...

It's hard to say that I'm overjoyed. I still feel like I've always got to qualify my happiness with a modicum of sorrow: things would be terrific if only ... But the fact is that Ross did die. I can't help it. And I've got to start giving myself permission to enjoy a life that is starting to get much, much better.

A year ago, I turned 40. It will always be the birthday that never happened. It was only a month after Ross' death and to distract me, my friends threw a party for me and my friend Stacey whose birthday is today. It was a horrible day. Talking to people, interacting with them was so hard. Any attention at that time was impossible. Remember, Mia had just been born three months before. I had gone through 12 months of constant attention during my pregnancy and her birth. Then Ross' death. More attention. Horrific attention. Then my big birthday. I couldn't handle it. I craved something, anything to happen to someone else: a wedding, a birthday, anything. I was so happy when the day was over.

But this year is different. I have been working non-stop and making good money. One of the places I've been working is my old place of business, the place that laid me off three years ago. I have to say, I love working there. I like the people and I feel really comfortable. And I like the work. It's challenging and I feel like I'm good at what I do. And I also feel like I'm going to be able to pay the money I owe back soon, which is a very, very good thing.

Then there's Mia. She is such a bundle of fun I can't stand it. She's so sweet. Sure, I'd love it if she'd say something, but honestly? I don't mind waiting. She'll talk when she's damned good and ready. Least that's what I think.

Here's what really sticks in my craw though. When someone dies, we think about them all the time. We think about the kind of person they were and how much we miss them and we even live our lives differently, feeling more appreciative about the little things. But why does someone have to die for us to feel that way? I'm ashamed to say it but had Ross not died, we probably wouldn't be talking about him all the time, we wouldn't be voicing how lucky we all were to have known him. We wouldn't appreciate our lives as much as we do. But he had to die for this?

The answer is no. He didn't have to die for this. But the fact is, he did die and so we have to think about that. We have to appreciate our lives and the people and things that populate our everydays. You have to too, even if you didn't know him. Because it has to have meaning. For me, and for you. Okay? If I could have something for my birthday, that would be it. That everyone would live a little more fully, a little more appreciatively and a little more sweetly. Like little Mia. Like Ross. Like I'm trying to.

K?

Is This Thing On?

I haven't been blogging or even reading blogs lately because I have been extraordinarily busy. Which I suppose is a good thing. When I have had downtime, I've either been cleaning the apartment, trying to catch up with friends or, I'm ashamed to say, playing computer games at pogo. I've always been a sucker for games with levels; as a pre-teen I crawled out of my window, and walked across a field at night just to play pinball in our local bowling alley. Later, I used to tap my thigh on the bus as visions of Centipedes went through my game-addled head. Still later it was Sim City and then the Sims. Pogo has a good thing going over there and they're owned by Electronic Arts, which owns The Sims. Right now for me, it's better than porn.

From the Hands of Babes

I don't know what I'd do without her. Mia's first painting. I see birds and trees. What do you see?

Flutter

So I might like a boy.

At least I know that I like him as a new friend, which I haven't felt for a long time. It's strange, cuz I've known most of my friends for a very long time so it's always weird making new ones. And when I meet someone new I feel oddly aggressive: er, wanna hang out? I don't want to give him the wrong idea, but this is a person who gets my jokes and is funny and smart and not bad to look at. I'm not really romantically attracted to him at this point, but I am into the idea of hanging out with someone new and I like that he is a boy. He's pretty nice too.

And yeah, I'll keep you posted. Literally.

Suddenly, Summer

So all in a sudden, I'm this in-demand writer. Which is great, not that anyone has actually paid me, but I am working a lot these days. When I was pregnant, I got in a lot of trouble financially, so it would be great to start paying off some of my debts. But what's the deal? I was always here!! But it's a very good thing.

And I finally did this Pilates tape I bought on ebay something like six months ago. I am way out of shape, but it felt good to move.

Also, right now I am eating sushi. Which is delicious. So things are going well. I've got to start giving myself permission to think that's okay.

Okay.

Double or Nothing

Ahoy ye maties and welcome to 2004! I bid the wicked 2003 g'bye. When I was towed last night, just hours before the clock turned, and had to pay $160 to this city for overrunning a parking spot by four minutes, I knew it was just 2003 having her last laugh. A little gigglesnort, before turning back to normal fateandsuch. So I didn't let it get me down.

I hung out with friends last night and it was very nice. No one, no one, no one was sad to see the year end. I party like an old lady.

I did see an amazing thing. We were playing BlackJack. Yes, BlackJack. Don't ask. And these very lovely girls were sitting next to me and wanted to double down. They just liked the sound of it. "Double down, double down," they kept chirping. They didn't really know what it meant and, heck, they didn't have to because they were winning. They kept hitting BlackJack, and twenties and bemoaned their inability to increase their odds.

Suddenly they were dealt an ace and a five. The dealer was showing a jack. The girls, who had four white chips up signifying a dollar bet, added four more chips and started singing their 'double down' song. Thing is, no one noticed. It was a party, after all, and the girls were singing that song before, and it was an ace and a five and the dealer was showing a jack and ....

Well you probably guessed it. They hit and they pulled a five! Twenty-one! "Double down!" they screamed. And showed how they had surreptiously doubled down their bet. I was shocked, surprised, disturbed, and impressed.

Neat. Could be a good year.

Extrication

Time to pull my head out of the holidays' butt. (Sorry for the visual and I sincerely hope there wasn't a visual.) I'm sure the maudlin tone of my posts since Thanksgiving have given adequate clues that I've been felled by melancholy this holiday season. I've written and erased many posts on grief and depression and sadness. Truth is I don't want to drag everyone down with me, and by everyone, I mean the 17 people a day who hit my website. Including others who are hurting hard this season as well.

And here's the thing about grief that is true and sucks and no one wants to really tell you. It never gets better. Life gets better. I mean, your life. The life that you are living. Because you have to live. But the sorrow never gets better, that gets worse. More time that passes is just that, more time. This year, this 2003 for me has been positively Dickensian: best of times, worst of times. I've seen my daughter grow into what appears to be a little girl. And I've said goodbye to a brilliant young man way before his time. No wonder I feel like I'm going to implode.

Thousands of people died this week in Iran, perished in an instant. The inexplicable keeps happening and we keep going on. Today, when I was telling someone about my holidays and how I was missing my brother, Mia put her hand on my hand as if to say it'll be all right mom. Although it didn't make any sense at her age, I'd never felt anything sweeter or more real.

So the good news is that 2003 is almost over. Scant hours remain. I'm feeling better, trying to stick my boot heels in and gear up for the next year. I mean, what is our alternative?

Solace

Do you search for peace? Do you look for it globally? Or do you seek it in your home and in your life? Me too. During the summer, my neighborhood is very loud. That is one of the reasons I love it. It's part of living in the city. Growing up in the suburbs, everything seemed kind of antiseptic. Green grass, blue cars, white people. You could paint the whole thing with a primary color wheel. But in the city stuff happens. It was what attracted me to Chicago and keeps me riveted to its unpredictable rhythms. Still it is nice when it is quiet, like tonight. Now if the rest of the world can just get the hang of it.

Cuddle Queen

I fear I've created a monster. For some reason, I've been taking Mia out of her bed a few hours after I put her down. It's always in response to her cries which are there but not insistent. My first thought is that if she really needed me she would be more insistent, that this is more like talking. But then I hear my mother's voice. Literally, I hear it cause she's always calling me telling me this. Check on her, check on her, check on her. Mia is always of course, fine and she always, of course, wants to come out and play. When I do let her out, after bedtime, she acts differently than she does during the day. Instead of charging through the apartment with her arms up, she'll look up at me tentatively, with wide eyes and a big smile, knowing that she is in on something. And she is far more cuddly. Which is way nice.

But I've seen this type of situation go terribly awry in other families and so I must stop it. The Rise of the Evil Children of the Night. But that sweet child o'mine?

This is the bummer of parenthood anyway, wondering always if every thing you do will have a lasting impact, if it's the right thing. I guess it's also the joy. Meanwhile, I'm going to check, check, check on the little gremlin.