Two Sirius

Ok, fine...I'll post...

2007-08-09T14:22:44-07:00

I had a bit of a freakout a few weeks ago. It honestly made me never want to post to this blog again...there are just people out there that I don't want my entire life to be out there for them to read. And I can't get away from them, because it just doesn't work that way. I don't even want to give them the satisfaction of knowing for sure that I'm writing about them, and as a result, I'm completely aware that what's coming out here is just the incoherent ramblings of a paranoiac, since I'm giving no specifics on what happened. So now comes the whole "do I move my blog? Do I keep blogging at all?" Internal struggle.

I don't even fucking know anymore. And I'm so tired of worrying and second-guessing. And I'm about to be hella busy. The school year is gearing up in less than a week, at which point I'll have to stop being a pretend Cubmaster and start actually doing the real-ass shit that comes with the hot uniform (long shorts and olive green knee-socks? Anyone?). Like running meetings and stuff. And S and I are taking piano lessons together, starting tonight. And I've finally figured out what the hell I want to be when I grow up, so I'm going back to school. My first class is the 20th. I'm only taking 6 credit hours this semester, just enough to get my feet wet and see what I can handle. It's going to take me FOREVER. I'll be done with school right about the time when hell freezes over, George Bush finds his ass with the aid of a map and a compass, and Lindsey Lohan manages to stay sober for five minutes at a time. By the time I graduate, they'll probably have to award my degree posthumously, because I'll have already been dead for approximately 38 years. This is not only because I'll be working for at least the first little while of being in school...it's also because I couldn't just pick something normal to do with my life and spend 4 years getting some degree to qualify me for whatever that might be. Nope, I have to pick one of the hardest, most competitive fields out there, with the highest amount of required schooling, the intimidation factor of which, all this time, has kept me in a place where my entire skill set consists of being able to do all manner of things mindlessly secretarial. I've known for a very long time that it was the only thing I truly felt such an affinity with that I'd be willing to get myself ass-deep in student loans and sit through innumerable lectures, but it isn't an easy road, and I was scared to try. Still am, truth be told. Somehow, though, I've found the intestinal fortitude to at least give it a shot. Go me. I sincerely wish I wanted to do something else, but I don't, and there you go.

Jury's still out on whether or not I'm going to talk specifically about what that is here.

And then there's work, which is really what got my ass in gear to go back to school in the first place. My boss is genuinely a great guy, but him aside, I'm sick to death of watching people who are measurably more stupid than I am make 3 or 4 times more money than I do, either because their cousin-in-law is the supreme high muckamuck of some department or other, or because they're blowing someone's cousin-in-law on the side (I'm assuming, judging from some of the worthless carcasses that remain employed there for no discernible reason), or simply because they reportedly have a penis (there is a VERY low ratio of female management in my company). In the meantime, on any given day I have to fend off several efforts on the part of said cousins-in-law and their respective blowers to get me to do their jobs for them, either by manipulation, attempted intimidation or out-and-out railroading.

Wow. I am just Little Miss Fucking Sunshine today, aren't I? Sweetness and light personified. Maybe I'll try and come up with something amusing to put here later.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

2007-06-23T07:17:30-07:00

There is NOTHING GOING ON. And you are about to read an entire entry about absofuckinglutely nothing. Have fun with that.

My running is not exactly at a standstill, but it's slowed down some (which is barely possible at my tortoise-like pace, but I seem to have achieved the unthinkable). It's hot now, even in the early mornings, and I don't run so much as ooze along the sidewalk, sweating madly, praying TO GOD to get me through whatever miles I'm doing that day. I mostly stay in my neighborhood, and I put a squirt bottle of ice water in a particular spot so that I don't have to lug it along with me, but I can swing by for a drink when I need to. Which is a lot.

When it's not hot, it's raining, and I don't run in the rain. This is partly because with rain usually comes lightning, and I'm not stupid. It's also because I don't run without an iPod for several reasons, and getting an iPod wet is not entirely advisable. Unless, you know, you don't want it to WORK anymore. The upshot of all this bitching is that I still run several times a week, but not as much as I want to, and I sure as hell don't enjoy it the way I do when it's cooler.

I can't WAIT until September. Or October, even. In the meantime, my figure is improving immensely, and my clothes are fitting quite a bit better and more loosely. And I absolutely cannot fathom why it is, with all of the very noticeable changes I see in my body and in the fit of my clothes, that I haven't yet gone down a dress size. It is the strangest damned thing, and the math just doesn't add up. I'm a little bit frustrated by it, but mostly I'm just bewildered.

My theory is that it's because NOTHING IS GOING ON. I don't know, maybe I'm dead and in purgatory. It's as good an explanation as any for the absolute uneventfulness that is currently my life.

Thank You for the Music

2007-06-12T19:41:40-07:00

Music has always been a big deal to me. When I was very small, it was enough to just like a song for its beat or its melody, or more likely just because my mother liked it. But it didn't take long before a song had to be something I felt. It had to have some kind of personal meaning to me, however insignificant or unsophisticated that meaning was, for me to want to listen to it, even by the time I was 6 years old. So I hardly ever loved a song the first time I heard it...it had to grow on me. I'm still like that, and it gets more pronounced as I get older. But the songs I do love, I love forever.

The first song I can ever remember making me cry was "Leader of the Band" by Dan Fogelberg. I was maybe 7 or 8 when it was popular. It made me think of my bond with my Papa. It also reminded me that he was getting older, and I wouldn't have him around forever. Listening to the words now, it's still so significant for so many of the same reasons, but I can't help wondering how I understood all of it when I was that young. I can never make it through the last verse without crying, even now. Especially now, I guess. Songs that make me cry are still a very short list, but that one is at the top.

This weekend, I took S to spend the week with my parents. While I was there, I received the pendant that I ordered when we were planning the funeral - a small silver disc with my grandfather's thumbprint on it. My aunt is the only other person who ordered one for herself, although the kids (and I count myself among them) went in together to get my Grandma a gold one, also. Since I got it, I've only taken it off when I've been in the tub.

I forgot to request when we ordered them that the impression be taken from my Papa's left thumb. This was important to me, because he was left-handed, and very proud of it. The fact that I'm left-handed also, that I inherited this from him, was a big part of our bond. As it happened, they used his left hand without my having to ask. My cousin J saw the traces of ink still left on his thumb.

This whole grieving process has been very odd. It's been everything I expected, and nothing I expected. It's been easy in ways I never thought it would, and difficult in ways I never anticipated. Just before the funeral, my aunt Mary (whom I had just met that day, which is another story altogether) commented that she couldn't believe he was 92. She'd never felt older. I answered that for me it was just the opposite...I felt 5 years old. And I felt that way for weeks after.

Now, I've gotten to a different phase. I'm moody, I'm petulant, I'm having all these emotions that I can't name and have no clue how to deal with. It seems that now I feel like an adolescent. It's progress, I guess, and maybe that's all grief is...a kind of regression, and then growth again.

I visited the cemetery on Sunday for the first time since the funeral, and I stayed for 2 1/2 hours. Just talking to him. For the past several years I have been, since he couldn't do the talking anymore. But he used to. Anyone who knows me would tell you that I am NEVER at a loss for words. I can talk to anyone about anything, and you might have a hard time shutting me up. My Papa was the one exception. With Papa, he did the talking and I did the listening. I liked it that way. I never realized until I was at the cemetery on Sunday how those roles had reversed, and how out of my element it's always made me feel to visit him in the past several years, after he stopped being able to talk, and to have to tell him the stories, to have the burden of entertaining him and filling him in and saying something interesting and amusing and insightful. That was always his job. At some point it became mine, but it's never really been something I've been comfortable with. I wanted his voice and his stories. Not mine. And I wanted the snippets of songs that he constantly sang. But they've been gone for years. This love of music, though - this NEED for music - is also something that was passed down to me from my Papa. It was so obvious to everyone who knew him, and his favorite songs stayed his favorite songs all of his life.

I do know that so many of the songs that have meant something to me up until now have taken on newer and deeper significance. What I saw in them before seems superficial now. I'd imagine that it's going to be like that all my life. I'll pick up new songs along the way, and the old ones will develop a patina, just getting richer and more nuanced all the time. And some of those songs are the very same ones that were his, which is a comforting thought.

There are worse ways to cope.

How We Operate

2007-06-07T13:12:38-07:00

S went to the dentist yesterday. She x-rayed the teeth that were growing in behind his baby teeth, and got right to the point: Three of the bottom front baby teeth REALLY needed to come out. Ideally, all four should. When? Well, we can do it now, or we can do it later. The sooner the better. And we were there, so what the hell?

So S left the dentist yesterday afternoon with four fewer teeth than he walked in with. Or, technically, not...since he did walk out with them. They just weren't in his mouth anymore.

He did great. The novocaine shots were pretty hard on him. I don't even know what the point is of that numbing gel they use, except to give the patient a false sense of security...it sure as hell never worked for me. Novocaine shots HURT, and that's a fact. At least he was sucking down happy gas like his life depended on it. He got pretty loopy on it, so I guess it probably helped some. But not a lot, because he kept yelling as the needle started to go in, and they couldn't finish because he couldn't hold still. My poor baby...I had such a hard time not crying for him. I finally told him to squeeze my hand, which he was already holding, as hard as he could instead of yelling. That worked, and they were finally able to numb him.

That was the worst part for him. After that, it was smooth sailing. For dinner, he had a bunch of different soft foods, and today and tomorrow, I'm staying home with him to make sure he gets plenty of saltwater rinses, but he's totally fine. He's even got a school friend over right now, which is great...he's a really nice, polite boy, and is welcome over at our house any time. The thing is, though, his mother doesn't even KNOW me, and she's willing to just drop her kid off over at my house for a couple of hours? Didn't come in for coffee, didn't talk to me long enough to at least pick up whatever crazy-vibes may be present...is that the norm? Because no way in hell would I just let S go hang out at the home of some random kid he knew from school without knowing anything whatsoever about their parents. Call me overprotective if you want.

However, I digress.

Anyway, S did fabulously with the tooth extraction, and the Tooth Fairy paid up BIG TIME. This evening, we're off to buy him a new game for his Nintendo DS. Which seems to have pretty effectively wiped the whole Novocaine episode from his mind. Thank god.

Lucky, our foster dog, also had body parts removed from his person yesterday, which I'm pretty sure he would also have much rather kept. They were considerably lower on his anatomy, though. He's also recovering really well, and - thank the Holy and Almighty Powers that Be - he's GOING TO A NEW HOME TONIGHT!!!!!

I have put considerable effort into not getting attached to this dog. Ok, maybe not considerable, because I frankly haven't really had to try all that hard. He just annoys the crap out of me. He's a good dog, but I like them calm, intelligent and mature. Lucky is not the quickest fly on the shitpile. Also, he's a total fucking spazz. I've never seen him move without running FULL TILT. Doesn't matter if it's 50 feet or 5 inches, he is compelled to sprint it. With the number of times he's run into the dining room wall, I can't believe he hasn't gone completely through it. Then, too, he's a hardcore, card-carrying butt-sniffer, which I can't stand. If there's a reason I'm more naturally inclined to cats, it's probably because of the butt-sniffing thing. You will never see a cat trying to catch a whiff of ass. Lucky, however, would walk around with his nose firmly lodged in my crack for hours at a time if I let him.

So on he goes...to greener pastures, and friendlier buttcracks. Maybe being neutered will calm him down some. I hope so, if only for his new family's sake.

Hot for Cubmaster

2007-06-06T10:49:31-07:00

I got asked out the other night!

A Cubmaster from another pack (actually, he's a former Cubmaster...he just stepped down) called me the other night. I couldn't figure out for the life of me what he wanted, but my best guess was that he wanted me to help out with the monthly Roundtables or something (Roundtables are when the different leaders in a district get together and discuss plans for the upcoming month's den and pack meetings).

For the life of me, I can't figure out why he wanted to go out with me. He's met me twice. The first time was at Mom and Me. I was camping. I had no makeup on and mud spatters up to my knees. The second time was on Memorial Day during a Scout function. I had on my Cubmaster uniform which, I assure you, is NOT hot. The shorts have an elastic waistband, for Christ's sake. There is not one single flattering thing about it, and when you're as short as I am, you just look like a chubby Boy Scout. It really isn't pretty (unless you like that sort of thing, in which case there are WAY bigger issues).

Anyhow, this guy apparently didn't mind all that, because he noticed that I didn't have a ring on, and he also seems to have gone to quite a bit of trouble to get my number in the first place. That's some flattering stuff, right there. He did take the news that I have a boyfriend very gracefully, and the conversation ended on a nice (if somewhat awkward) note.

I felt bad having to turn him down, because he is a nice guy.

On the other hand, my ego has been insufferably large ever since. It's nice to know I've still got it, even if a) I'm utterly bewildered by what exactly "it" might be, and b) I have no intention whatsoever of actually USING it.

Red Light

2007-06-03T19:07:50-07:00

You always hear that you grow up to be your own mother (for women) or father (for men), but I have yet to hear someone say "oh, I'm EXACTLY the same kind of mother as mine was to me!" Most people think they're completely different from their own parents.

I haven't decided what's true for me. A little of both, maybe.

The warning tone I'd hear in my mom's voice when I was getting out of line is the EXACT same one I hear coming out of my own mouth when S acts up. It's like someone lodged a sound chip of my mother somewhere behind my uvula (don't you just love that word?), and her voice, phrases and tone all come out of my mouth and I hear myself parroting her with dead accuracy. If I could imitate everyone the way I find myself imitating my mother when S is about to get in trouble, I'd make a killing as an impersonator. I probably use her same gestures and expressions, too, although I don't really look very much like her. Or maybe I do. I've never been able to decide that, either.

Another similarity is that my mother never talked down to me. It's not that there were any blurred lines between adult and child - I knew for damned sure who was in charge - it's just that she understood that I was capable of more sophisticated conversation than many adults gave children credit for, and she spoke to me accordingly. She was also very matter-of-fact, and careful of hiding her own emotions and opinions when she didn't want them to color mine, which was most of the time. She was always authoritative, but respectful of me as a person and an individual. The way my mother talked to me (and still does) is something that's carried over quite a bit into the way I parent S.

There are other things, though, that are nothing like my mother. My mother was a neat-freak. If she wasn't working, she was cleaning. I don't remember her ever sitting down and vegging in front of the tv or reading a book.

Me, not so much. We don't live in filth. I do vacuum regularly, the bathrooms aren't swamps, and the kitchen stays clean. But the stuff that drives my mother crazy - a stack of papers on a table, books on a dresser, toys in the dining room - doesn't even register on my radar. I just don't mind clutter, as long as it's not dirty, there isn't stuff lying on the floor and I know where things are (which I usually do).

I don't know if it was because of the constant cleaning thing or not, but my mother never played. EVER. We talked a lot, and enjoyed each other's company, but I don't remember ever playing a game with her. She never let loose, she never got silly, she never goofed off with me. And I don't use the word "never" in a figurative sense. I do mean NEVER. By the time I was a teenager, nothing made me feel more proud and accomplished than on the rare occasions when I made my mother laugh out loud. She just didn't do it all that often.

Not only am I not that kind of mother, I'm just not that kind of PERSON. I'm a huge dork. I am not above sacrificing personal dignity for the amusement of myself or others, including (although definitely not limited to) S. He and I goof off all the time. We're always stringing together words that rhyme but make no sense, dancing together to whatever music happens to trip our zizz-wheel, or doing things with our faces that would have other moms making dire predictions about their kids' expressions freezing that way permanently. S and I laugh together every day. And we play games, and we read to each other.

The title of this entry actually does have relevance, in case anyone was wondering...it's taken from a song by a very talented but fairly obscure artist named Jenny Labow. Lyrics here.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

2007-06-03T12:08:34-07:00

S is home for the week. I'll be taking him to the dentist on Wednesday about those teeth. It's very, VERY good to have him home. I hate summer, though...everything is so screwed up, and as far as routines go, all bets are off. As soon as we get into our groove, it's time for him to go back to his father, or he goes to Cub Scout day camp instead of regular day camp, or there's a long weekend, or 4th of July falls in the middle of the friggin' week, or teeth start growing where they shouldn't and plans have to be changed to accommodate dentist apointments. At least during the rest of the year, there's school, and everything revolves around that. There's a reference point.

I ran 7 miles this morning. My recovery time after a long run is getting shorter - today after I ran, I went to Starbucks for coffee beans (they're cheaper at an actual Starbucks than they are at the grocery store...around here, anyway), and now I'm taking a break from doing some cleaning. I haven't been as tired after my run as I usually am, but I did crave a steak, which I do a lot after my long runs. Wonder what that's all about. I gave S's room and bathroom a thorough douching out last night - no doubt they'll look just like they did before I cleaned them about 24 hours from now - and today I'm vacuuming, doing laundry and giving the kitchen a good scrubdown. I also need to put a few things away in my closet and find S's lunch tote for tomorrow when he starts at day camp.

God, my life is glam and exciting.

I'm trying to save up for and plan a Disney World trip for us in the spring. Part of my divorce settlement included Disney Vacation Club points from the timeshare that The Ex is keeping, and spring should be a fairly good time to go. Not ideal (which would be the weeks leading up to Christmas), but pretty good. I can't seem to get excited about it, though, which is NOT like me.

I've been very restless lately, and moody. Among other things, it's probably got a lot to do with my grandfather's death, and I know that's not something you just snap out of, but I'd really, REALLY like my old self back.

Today

2007-06-02T07:05:57-07:00

- I have to do a 35-minute tempo run, which involves starting slow and gradually speeding up, then slowing back down

- I'll probably have a picnic lunch at a local winery with my friend T

- J has a friend coming into town, who will be spending the night with us (not in the same bedroom, you pervs)

- I have floors and bathrooms to clean

- I won't be going clothes shopping like I planned, having already spent my clothing and accessory budget for this paycheck (and I'm damned happy with what I got, thankyouverymuch!)

- I have to go to the store to get more coffee and some other things...but DEFINITELY more coffee

- The fridge needs cleaning out

What's on today's agenda for you?

Goings On

2007-05-31T14:30:37-07:00

S has (supposedly) had a loose tooth for several weeks now. It's showing no sign of getting looser, but I hadn't thought anything of it until yesterday when I asked him to wiggle it for me...and saw two permanent teeth growing in a couple of millimeters BEHIND his bottom front baby teeth.

This is not good. At minimum, it's already meant that the entire summer schedule had to be revamped so that he could get in to see the dentist next week. Worst case, he'll have to have the two baby teeth extracted. Which is a really crappy way to lose your first teeth.

Poor kiddo.

Tonight, J and I are off to a wine and cheese tasting party at the home of a friend of his. It should be fun, but I don't think I'm up for staying very late. Luckily J isn't either.

Norah Jones is doing a concert here in the next couple of weeks. It's sold out, but J is actually looking to scalp tickets. This is HIGHLY out of character for him. For one thing, he doesn't do large concerts. Period. Hates them. If it's not a small coffeehouse kind of venue (or not much larger than that), forget it. Also, he doesn't like Norah Jones nearly as much as I do, and also ALSO, he never pays that kind of money for a concert.

I think he lurves me. I also think we probably won't end up going, because I just don't think I can let him pay scalpers' prices. But this is one of those cases where the thought really does count every bit as much as the gesture.

Money, Money, Money

2007-05-30T12:35:37-07:00

I had to go to the school district offices today to take care of some summer activities for S. I hate going to that place. Partly because it's just inconvenient, but mostly, I'm really, really uncomfortable with it.

Our district is one of the wealthiest in the state we live in, and it does show in just about every aspect of what they offer the students. I'm really not complaining about the quality of education or facilities that S is getting, and I do feel very lucky that all of it is available to him. His school is wonderful, his teachers are wonderful, yadda yadda.

The district office is new. They relocated several months ago to a much nicer building, and I was happy for them, because I know they needed the space. But I was kind of taken aback the first time I walked in. Do they REALLY need a waterfall on the entry wall? Is it entirely necessary that every glass surface be etched with the school district's logo? And what the hell is up with the leather sofas custom-embroidered with the logo, too? The place is nicer than most office buildings I've been into.

I'm sorry, maybe there are things about school district budgets that I don't understand. But if they have that kind of money to burn, shouldn't they maybe start using it to build a new 6th grade center since the Intermediate High is on the verge of overcrowding? Or - you know, just a thought - PAYING THE TEACHERS MORE MONEY. Seriously. It's not that our district's teachers aren't paid as much as other districts pay theirs. They're actually paid (VERY slightly) better, I believe. But teachers in general ARE underpaid, and if our district can afford those ridiculous sofas, surely they can find it within themselves to go with something a little less extravagant and fatten the paychecks of their school staff a bit.

Although...apparently not. Because the teachers are still getting paid the same, and those sofas and etchings and that fucking waterfall are right there to annoy the crap out of me every time I walk through the doors of the district offices.