Cleaving

Wednesday I opened the local paper to find a brief interview with Julie Powell, author of Julie & Julia, about her new book, Cleaving. I says to myself, says I, this is someone I want to see. So off I went that evening to Books, Inc in the Marina District of San Francisco to meet an author.

I haven’t read Julie & Julia, nor have I seen the film, despite being a big Stanley Tucci fan. I knew nothing about this woman except that she had moxie, and that was enough for me. It helped that in the interview she mentioned that the book would cover her affair, which really piqued my interest.

In person Julie is a lovely, vibrant, and normal (to me) person. She appears nervous reading to the crowd, happy to answer questions, very self-effacing, and just downright real. And she’s a geek, so what’s not to like? I picked up a copy of her book, told her I’d be passing it on after I finished it (heading your way, Lisa!) and fondled it just a little on my way home.

I’m such a sucker for a new book.

Thursday was spent mostly immersed in it. The first hundred pages or so had me practically saying “yes! yes! I get it!” out loud, followed by a hollow, dull thud when an abrupt change happened a few pages later. But still, I got it. I really did. I found myself wishing I’d had an opportunity to read the book before meeting her, just so I could tell her that (but if she kept my card and reads this, then she’ll know anyway). Having done my time in a man’s industry, I understood how she felt dealing with the butchers she worked with. I’d loved my job, too.

And the affair with D had me squirming… all I could think of was my time with the Pilot. The main difference being, of course, that I have no husband to betray. And that’s the part I don’t understand, time and again: how do people do it? How do they find someone they love and can’t imagine being without? I’ve always settled for “good enough” or even “good for now” if I was desperate. I’ve never met someone who made me stop and think “this is it. This is the person I want to be with forever.” I can’t imagine it. I do go through it to some extent in every relationship, but it never pans out.

What’s wrong with me?

No, don’t answer that.

tears

Not my own, this time (although I have plenty), but my son’s.

Last night was a rough one for the Boy. My sister found every possible way to criticize him while he and I worked in the kitchen making shortbread cookies. At one point he accidentally broke a wooden-handled spatula in the old Kitchen Aid mixer. He stood there, splintered wood in his hand while my sister called out from the next room “that could have broken you hand! You need to be more careful.”

The Boy turned to me with an anguished look. “Mom, do something to make her stop, please,” he whispered.

I don’t know what to do. In my sessions with the therapist we cover a lot of ground about how I feel towards my sister. Dad groomed her to take over the family, making her executor of the trust and putting everything, including his bank accounts, in her name while he was still alive. I have no say over anything. How could I? These are patterns so deeply ingrained that I can’t see how it would be possible to change them as long as I live here. We all walk on eggshells. The children and I because we don’t want to upset my sister. My sister because she says she doesn’t want to upset me. She seems to think I’m some sort of emotional time bomb, ready to explode and make her life difficult. I can’t imagine where she gets that idea. *ahem*

I actually said during the therapy session that my sister has become the “parent.” My therapist stopped me there. “She’s what?“

My mouth dropped open when I realized what I’d said. “Um… she’s the parent in the family now. She’s the one holding all the cards. She’s in charge. We just stay out of her way.” Oh boy, did I feel small. And stupid.

I’M the parent, goddamnit. I’m the one who has kids. I’m the one who is battle weary from crisis after crisis over the years. She’s never even had a roommate for the past twenty years.

So it was me, sitting on my son’s bed last night, holding him as he cried hot tears on my shoulder while I rubbed his back. I apologized for yelling about his unfinished homework. “I hate yelling at you, I really do. It feels awful.”

“I hate being yelled at,” he replied, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “It makes me feel awful, too.”

Eight more months. We can do this. We can survive clearing out the house, selling it, sorting the estate and then my sister and I can go back to not speaking to each other.

My kids are so excited about that last part.

gut

I’m okay with being single, I really am. So why does it feel like a punch to the gut to see a recent photo of the Pilot on his latest trip, the one I had asked to go on with him months ago? Probably has something to do with the woman also in the picture. If I remember correctly, she’s with somebody else anyway, but still… I was jealous, I admit it. Even if it’s a platonic thing, I felt pretty awful looking at it. I’d logged on to facebook (evil bane or helpful tool?) to ask him how the trip was, and instantly regretted it.

Just reading this makes me feel like a stupid teenager.

Had my third grief therapy session this morning and learned a few new things. I didn’t realize that my way of dealing with adversity is to just not deal at all. I give up. Time and again, when confronted with a brick wall, instead of breaking it down or climbing over it, it would seem I sit down and lean on it instead.

And here I thought I was better than that. Or am I?        I believe I am.

In the meantime, I’m sorting out a possible new dance partner (salsa!) and getting back in touch with a few good friends I haven’t spoken with since September. I think I’m moving forward, at least it feels that way.

blood and bone

The kids and I spent the evening with Rob, one of my “other brothers” last night. “Other” as in non-blood relation. CT is one, the sort of guy my own mother accepted as part of the family.

This guy is a sweetheart, a decade younger than myself and always happy to see me and the kids walk through the door to the Bachelor Pad where he lives with another friend of ours. One of his more winning qualities is that he’ll eat anything I cook. Gotta like that.

As we were working side by side in the kitchen preparing dinner, Rob asked me about the bandage on my finger. I peeled it back a bit to show him the damage. “And you didn’t go get stitches because…?”

“Eh, what for? It’ll be okay.” I am not a big fan of sitting for hours in the ER, no sir.

He shook his head and went back to seasoning a Japanese sweet potato with olive oil, salt and pepper.

My daughter popped into the kitchen. “I’m thirsty. Got anything to drink?” Rob and I looked around the kitchen with it’s shelf full of booze and mixers. We looked in the fridge but found only wine and saké. Empty soda cans and cardboard cases littered the recycling area.

“Uh, not really. We’ve got water. Want some ice?” He handed her a glass.

My daughter glared at me. “See? I told you we should have bought the Calpico. Everybody loves Calpico except for you. Why couldn’t we get it?”

Never mind that Calpico is a sweetened, milky, imported Japanese beverage that costs twice what I’d pay for anything that size that wasn’t pure organic fruit juice. I just glared back and said nothing. She’d heard it all before anyway.

The day before yesterday I went to see a chiropractor. It’s been more than a year since I’ve been to one and I relished the idea of getting an adjustment. However, this was just a trial session to get me acquainted with the office and for the chiropractor to check the damage I’m carrying around. There is plenty of damage, I can tell you.

The chiropractor manipulated my limbs into different positions to test for weaknesses and found several. The pain in my back has become so chronic that I don’t even think of it anymore. I just keep moving and try to stay upright. He put pressure in certain areas that hurt, but not the sort of pain that says “stop” so much as “yes, right here, this needs help!” After nearly an hour of this sort of welcome poking and prodding, I walked out to my car, drove off into traffic, and started sobbing uncontrollably. No one had touched me like that in weeks. When the Pilot had touched me it was stimulating and pleasurable, healing in its own way. This was completely different, and activated such a strong response that I couldn’t control it.

I’m torn between wanting to be touched, and wanting space from everyone and everything. I allow the kids to hug me now (they love that) and the dog sleeps with me, which I find comforting. Other than that, it’s difficult for me to let people in. Maybe this is where I need to be for a while, in isolation.

I emailed the Pilot today to see if he’d be interested in watching a movie with me when he’s in town. I don’t want to let go of his friendship. That’s at the core of everything for me, and the main reason I’m still on speaking terms with all of my exes (except Bastard Ex, whom I actually married); I believe in friendship. No vicious, nasty, acrimonious breakups for me. I like to keep things gentle and amiable. I love these guys. Why else would I have been in a relationship with them?

perhaps

It could work. The kids, the dog and I could possibly find a way to move back to Europe next year, once my parents’ estate is settled. You have no idea how happy this makes me. I’m positively electric with potential.

But… there’s always that nagging sensation in the back of my overly-analytical mind that cautions me to go slow and consider all the possibilities and potential pitfalls to this venture. So many things could go wrong, and money will still be a huge consideration. I have friends in the UK, more now than I did when I left, and that is a consolation. When I arrived in 1996 I was six months pregnant, had a two year old in tow and was married to an abusive psychopath. This time I’ll have two brilliant teens ready for adventure, plus one small dog who is probably not as keen on a new life as we are. She has no choice, really. The house will be sold and she’ll have to go somewhere new anyway, might as well be further away than she’s ever been.

I keep waiting for someone to say “you can’t do that because…” and have a valid reason. Maybe I want a little resistance just so I can push against it. Maybe I’m afraid I can actually pull this off and start a new life. That would be more than a little frightening, but I’ve done it before so I know I can do it again.

Yesterday was my second session with a grief therapist. She listened well, but did try to prod me a little on how I felt about my parents’ passing. I told her I’d counted on my Buddhist studies to help me let my parents go, and it really helped so much. What started me sobbing was talking about The Pilot and I how I felt about that not working out. She could see clear as day that I’m someone still seeking my father’s affection. To be fair, I think my father suffered through the same thing. He lost his mother at a very young age and was raised by a father who abused him. I’ve always counted myself lucky that my dad never hit any of us, but I missed being touched at all. I can see why some kids will push their parents to lash out at them. It may be the only attention they ever get, which is sad.

Another thing the therapist said that got me to thinking was that I am the only person standing in my way. I hold myself back again and again because all I can hear are the voices of my family telling me I’m not good enough to do the things I want. I self-sabotage myself so completely that I’ve been living on the financial edge for twenty years, never considering that I might actually be worth something. I think a lot of people do that. Never underestimate the power of a negative word in a child’s ears. It kills me every time I yell at my kids because I know they’ll remember what I’ve said. Hopefully the praise and hugs make up for it, at least a little bit.

I love my kids so much. I really want to give this to them, this opportunity to try something completely new. A big family adventure. They’ve already agreed to it. I guess it’s up to me to make it happen.

Best get started, then.

growth

Time to review some life lessons today. I have a grief therapy session tomorrow and I’d like to get a head start on it. Frustrates the hell out of therapists, but I do it anyway.

What I’ve learned about relationships so far…

• I certainly enjoy them.
• I’d prefer relationships to last more than a few weeks or months. I excel at long term emotional attachments, but I do get bored if things never change or get stale.
• Spontaneity is a good thing. When I complain that we always have sex in the bedroom, it’s a good idea to surprise me in a laudromat and do the deed on top of a dryer. That was fun.
• Sex. I need frequent sex. And I want it to be better than bacon. Is there anything better than bacon? Besides sex, I mean.
• I like to laugh. Give me someone who laughs at my own dry humor and I’m happy.
• Emotional support goes a long way. The people I care about the most have been there for me when I needed them. I won’t forget that. Ever.
• Gifts are nice. No one ever gives me gifts except for Ex Man, and he’s a very generous fellow.
• Kisses are good. Very, very good. Unless they’re not, in which case I’m not going to be kissing that particular person again.
• Communication. That’s a biggie.
• Patience. That’s damn huge.
• I’ll add more as they come to me. You can add some, too.

cut

How does one give up someone who isn’t really there? I guess I’m so firmly attached to the idea of The Pilot that I’m having a difficult time letting go. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t said anything about… well, anything.

I was thinking about him and that kiss last night while dicing potatoes for dinner. Bad idea. The knife slipped and I saw blood starting to well up where it ought not to be. I  put pressure on my finger and called out for help while fending off the onset of shock. I spent the next hour or so sitting down, directing my daughter’s cooking and keeping my finger elevated after my sister had bandaged it.

I’d rather be in love. It’s such a precious pain, not like this bleeding digit of mine.

birds

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.

There was a flock wild turkeys on my neighbor’s lawn today. Quite the sight. With a local ban on hunting, these guys get cocky and brazen, walking into oncoming traffic and waking us at 5 AM with their incessant gobbling. To be honest, I find their antics to be a confirmation that suburbia can and will be taken back by the wild someday. Gives me hope for the future.

The Pilot and I went for our run this morning. I did the 5k race, he did the 10k. We both ran well, starting shortly after sunrise, surrounded by hundreds of other crazy people burning calories we all anticipated replacing in volume later in the day.

I don’t know why but I find it difficult, if not impossible to speak my mind when I’m around him. I let him take the lead far too often. No matter, we kept to ourselves for the majority of the morning, maintaining a degree of friendly chitchat when together before and after the races. I turned off the part of myself that would usually work at being sexy, witty, and passive, as well as the part that wants to ask “wtf is going on?” I drove like a maniac on the nearly empty freeways (wheeee!) and somehow managed to avoid eye contact with him even more than usual. I’m good at that, for some strange reason (avoiding eye contact, but driving like a maniac works, too). While sipping coffee after the race I did give him a straight eye to eye look. He turned away, and somehow I felt as if he’d bent to my gaze for once. Interesting.

I’ve probably confused him beyond redemption. Is that a bad thing?

Later in the morning I drove him back to where he was staying with family for the holiday. I got out of the car to help get his things unloaded, keeping as aloof as I had for the previous few hours, when he wrapped one arm around my waist, pulled me close, and kissed me.

He kissed me. No, really, rewind that memory. Yes, it’s there. Longer than a peck, shorter than anything that might promise more, but damn, it was good to feel his lips on mine again.

Still, it’s been liberating to feel myself letting go of him. I look at things dispassionately and tell myself there will be people in my life who will be there when I need them, people who will honestly care about me and not be afraid to show it. I’d like to believe this is possible. Who wouldn’t?

What bothers me is the degree to which I can turn myself off emotionally. It seems that I’m either deeply entrenched in a relationship, putting far more energy into it than necessary, or I’m out. I must be one hell of an intimidating person to be involved with. Hot then cold, back and forth, no stable ground to set roots in. It’s certainly not been easy on my kids.

 

moon

The air is clear these days. The waxing moon is crystal bright out here in the suburban backwoods, and sometimes I sit and stare at it, maybe smiling a little. Don’t know why.

I’m a crazy fan of astrology. What started out as a hobby back in high school has stuck with me longer than just about any other interest in life. Here’s a little touch of who I am on the inside, via www.astro.com:

Moon in the Fifth House

The Moon was found in the fifth house at the time of your birth. This indicates that you will participate actively in business speculations with many changes occurring in this respect. You were born with a knack for dealing with people and with the ability to communicate with them, particularly in connection with business enterprises.

Your emotional nature is very much geared to your love of pleasure, and you possess a very curious aptitude which may bring you financial gains as well as pleasures in business.

In spite of the positive qualities you have, the fact of the matter is that in love you are very changeable, unstable, or too preoccupied with trivialities. [this should be embarrassingly obvious to anyone who knows me or reads this blog.]

Your love feelings are very well developed and lead to strong drives for sensations and passionate tendencies which unfortunately are not directed to one object alone.

It is possible that throughout life you may be connected with small and numerous business investments with a fairly good return.

Honestly, yes, this is me. Small businesses? Got that. I’m working on two right now. Passionate tendencies? That too. I have a difficult time dealing with celibacy, but I can make it work for a few months at a time if I must. Preoccupied with trivialities? Oh, very definitely so.

wine

Yesterday the kids, dog and I trooped out of town to visit the Journalist and her husband. I had been promised video games for the kids and alcohol for me, so there was really no desire to get any work done at home. After a few frazzled hours dealing with a credit card company that screwed up a payment (as they do) and blamed me, the customer (as they shouldn’t), I was more than ready for a drink.

After an hour of traffic, whining dog and whining kids, we settled into the huge comfy sofa and welcoming smiles of our hosts. Pop went the cork on some rose’ bubbly and we were off to the races for the rest of the day. Another friend showed up in the evening with a bottle of red from Peru. Amazing stuff, very yummy. I’m not a regular drinker, but everything went down a treat and I felt blissfully calm on the drive home. The kids and dog did too, apparently, as they managed to keep quiet and not ruffle my feathers for the rest of the night. They’d only been noshing on Mexican food and sodas, but maybe that’s just what they needed.

Well, the dog had kibble, but you know what I mean.