An epiphany in the morning

Driving home from work this morning I had the sudden realization that Ian is, I think, washing away the bitterness I hadn't even realized I still retained over all the stuff that happened with David.


I feel like major emotional crises (that breakup, for me, would fall into that category) are like landslides. Or they're massive floods of emotion that cause landslides. Everything you've worked so hard to build is washed completely away, and you're left in the valley, drowning in muck and wreckage and sewage. And then, hopefully, eventually things start to dry out, and you can finally start to climb again, to build again, to painstakingly carve stairs step by step back into the side of the mountain. And at first it's the most impossible task in the world, but it gets easier. You learn to build. You get stronger. You find a rhythm. And one day you realize that life is moving forward, and you are moving forward, and things are okay.

From last night:

The moon is a Cheshire grin, and I am as confused as Alice.

What's going on these days

Possibly this isn't the best time to write, as I am rather exhausted at the moment, but for once I have the inclination and so I will run with it, and keep the reactionary emotionality out of it as best I can.


Work: I'm still doing the with-kids stuff and also still doing some odd jobs (tutoring, babysitting, pet sitting, whatever). My attitude toward my "real job" varies, often depending on my energy level and on whether I have done anything really flipping stupid at work lately. Regardless, I'm about to start picking up more hours by teaching P.E. and movement to preschoolers, so that should put me at full time. I'm utterly stressed out by it all at the moment, but we'll see how it goes, yes? Yes.


Reading: I am incredibly lucky to have 40 minutes or so every day during which I basically get paid to sit in a van and read while I wait for kids to be let out of school. I have been enjoying the kindle I received for Christmas.


Interpersonal interaction (read: light exercises in hedonism*) : So, though I seriously doubted that they would, things have ended up going with this guy (mentioned at the bottom of the link). Ian. We spent three and a half months hanging out a lot and texting a ridiculous amount and kind of liking each other and being indecisive (because, let's be real, we only have so much in common), and appear to have both decided to quit overanalyzing our lives and just give it a go. So...here we go, I guess. Anyway, he's one of the main reasons I'm so deliriously tired this week, and he is quite a good Valentine. I have a dozen long-stem roses, and candies from Italy and New York, and more honesty than I might have expected. I'm so unromantic; I feel like I inadvertently cancel out his sporadic attempts to be so. I am so unused to being given random gifts (I guess Valentine's Day is a typical gift-giving time, but I'm still not used to it) that I never know how to react. But he is witty and sarcastic and sweet and thoughtful. And I like him.



































*Look, I'm being emotional like I said I was, okay? "As best I can" doesn't mean "perfectly."

On evangelical behavior

Here's something that was/has been bothering me over the past 36 hours or so: I am evangelical about lots of things in my life. It depends on my mood and energy level and so on, but still: I will go to great lengths to share with you my affection for floss picks or for the smell of Noxzema facewash, or to convince you that you really should like to eat all the things that I like to eat and care about all the things I care about and do all the things that I like to do. If you don't like water, I will try to make you understand why you should like water. If you do not like being outside, or wearing tennis shoes, or eating more than six things (I don't know whether you'll ever read this, Ian, but yes it is possible that that is a pointed comment) then I will go out of my way repeatedly to try to make you "see the light." To try to change your mind. And it's obnoxious--I know it is--but I can't seem to help myself. In fact, if you have habits or opinions that I find irksome and you notice me not being pushy or giving you shit about them all the time, then you should be aware that I am working really hard to keep my mouth shut.

So here's a segue that I'm not sure how to make without being offensive: I'm not evangelical about that thing that the term "evangelism" was probably coined for in the first place: my faith. What I say I believe. And probably part of the reason is that being evangelical isn't really culturally acceptable around here, and part is that I'm afraid to offend people, and part is that I'm more worried about being judged by others than I am willing to admit to myself. Part is that I don't know how to balance not being judgmental and being respectful and sharing and communicating. And part is that I don't really know what I think is true, or rather, don't know how much is true. Don't know how much is grey.

Weather. And stuff.

The weather right now is beautiful. I walked Miley earlier tonight and looked up at the bare trees and felt that I was finally beginning to welcome the winter back into my world, though the air has been so moist and warm that sometimes I catch myself thinking that it's early spring rather than late fall. As we approached the intersection of our street and the next, a warm, damp wind blew through the trees and sent a rain of wet leaves fluttering and spinning through the beam from the streetlight, each one glowing dimly in its dance toward the ground.

And I need to take my heart the hell off my sleeve.

Well, it's been a few weeks.

I keep finding little things I want to write about--

the way the water in the creek has carved out a new path through all its ethereal little islands of leaves 

the way, the day after her son's family moved back out, the sun room of a woman I work for had the warm, empty, hastily abandoned feel of a summer camp at August's end

the stunningly beautiful rain of leaves in each autumn breeze 

the rainbow around the full moon--

But I just never do. So here I am, mentioning them in passing. 

Here are two more recent things in my memory:

1. I just made myself two eggs for dinner, fried over-easy in coconut oil and covered with tumeric, chili powder, parmesan cheese, and garlic. Good God they were wonderful.

2. I've gone out a couple of times recently with a guy named Ian. And, though I harbor near-constant suspicions that we are not each others' types, he is nevertheless really sweet and pretty awesome, and his texts often make me laugh out loud. Also he's agnostic, so if this goes anywhere my mom is really gonna love that. But anyway, we'll see.

Happy Veteran's Day, everyone.

Beliefs and wishes

It occurs to me that I mentioned Mark a while back, and then never closed out or continued that story. I think he's awesome. I think that he thinks that I am awesome. I kind of wish that we were soulmates, but instead we seem to be two quite similar people who are not attracted to one another. Shit happens, I guess. Though it can be difficult to find a different rhythm with the same person, I hope that we'll end up as friends.

The weather is seesawing between seasons, but I know it'll truly get to fall eventually. Sometimes the lines of brake lights look to me like angry red sores on the skin of the world. Leaving aside thoughts of practicality for the moment, a part of me just wishes we walked everywhere.


I've been reading another Charles DeLint book, which is full of magic. And I'm not sure how I feel about this, but regardless of how I feel about it, part of be believes these things. Fiction. People think I read fantasy because I like fantasy, but really, that's what science fiction is for. That's all entirely made up. It's about technology that doesn't and probably can't exist. Obviously fantasy is arguably also entirely made up, but a lot of it (and the sort I'm most drawn to lately) is based on cross-cultural myth, and it pulls me in. Often I read fantasy because on some level, I believe in magic. Not Criss Angel, not rabbits-from-hats magic, but the kind of magic that lets us sometimes dream the future. The kind of magic that put a stone in my hand while I was sleeping as a child. The kind of magic that can allow us to affect one another across vast distances, or encourage plants to grow taller with our thoughts or voices. I have stumbled into it before, but not for fifteen years or more. I hope to stumble into it again. And maybe "magic" is a misnomer. Who was it that said that magic is just science we haven't discovered yet? But whatever it is, even if it isn't unquantifiable, it is unquantified. So I call it what I will.

Notes on medicine, honesty, weather, and unnecessarily profound observations.

Prednisone is not tasty, but I am still worried about having just taken my last dose. I still itch. Shouldn't I have stopped itching by now?
 (The poison ivy has improved--drastically, in some places. But it isn't gone. My itching hands and shins still contributed to my poor sleep last night.)


I just had to (or felt that I had to) admit to a guy I've been talking to that I might have met somebody cool and thus might not be around on the site much longer. So now I feel pretty bad. Great. (Cry me a river, I know. Watch it not work out, anyway. How often do these things work out? So far: 1-3 times in 25 years, that's how often.)


It has been raining a lot over in this part of the world. It's kind of nice, aside from the part where I don't get to do the outdoor work with Rick that I was supposed to do earlier in the week, and thus do not get paid for it. A particularly close bolt of lightning (and crash of thunder) shook the house quite hard this morning.

And when it is raining, I love hearing the birds still singing--even through the lighting and thunder sometimes. I guess I don't have much else to say about it. I just love those sounds together, and the symbolism that I can make up and put in there.


And here is a quote from Style Rookie, which I rarely read but which often amuses me when I do, despite my almost complete disinterest in style: "The thought of summer and its nearing end is causing me to make unnecessarily profound observations about the way the light is hitting all the crap on my desk while the sun sets."


This reminds me so much of myself, except that I make unnecessarily profound observations about the way the light is hitting all the crap on my desk (and so on) almost literally all the time.

About the dorky and distastefulness

--Seriously, thinking about the whole setup makes me feel like a loser in a sea of losers, but I know that that's my own nonsensical bias and that I should get over it. I just haven't quite managed to do so yet.

But there are a bunch of people I've been emailing, several of whom seem really cool. And I mean, that's cool. But I met one on Friday that I like a lot and will be seeing again tomorrow (and probably Thursday), and now I've got this worry/guilt complex thing about all of the other people I've been talking to that haven't been really given a fair chance yet, and whom I might be about to ditch. But meeting up with them when I really mostly just want to talk to Mark isn't any better than cutting off contact. And cutting off contact with them only to find that it isn't going to work with Mark sounds like a pretty terrible idea as well.


And there's my personal, whiny, Marie-nobody-wants-to-hear-this-ish business.



Love me anyway? And wish me luck at bar trivia, if you don't mind.

Frustration, and also wonder.

I am sick and tired of crazy, pushy, stupid, and emotionally stunted men. Parents of* the previous generation--what were you teaching these boys?

Now if a man is literally stupid then that is not his fault; but if a man deliberately chooses not to respect the decisions and wishes of other people, then he has no one to blame but his own self.



Just saying.



Tutoring today:

Layla and I worked for a while on learning about change (coins, I mean), and then down to the water we went. Soon we saw a school of minnows swim right up to the dock, and we watched them for a while. I showed her the way they sense vibrations in the water, the way they swim together and watch out for bigger fish, and jump at shadows. We watched the way they swim up and investigate and taste interesting objects in the water, such as purple bandannas dangled from the dock. It was pretty great.



























*"Parents of" here meaning "parents belonging to," rather than "parents who gave birth to."

Welp,

Well I went to Lafayette (no crawfish boils this time, but plenty of fried catfish and etoufee) and had no internet for nearly a week, and came home and had a birthday party (lots of books and aioli and pound cake... all separately consumed) and haven't felt like writing but now I really absolutely must, because Sara sent me this on facebook:


MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU.

And it must be shared.


Largely I haven't felt like writing because I just haven't, and I'm lazy, and largely I haven't felt like writing because I don't like writing when large parts of my brain's processing power are consumed by issues regarding which I do not have definite opinions. Current issue of that description: Hunter.

This day's been crazy, but everything's happened on schedule.

This morning I went to scrape paint and discovered the work of genius (or, possibly, boredom) that is the heat gun. This, for those of you who remain unenlightened, is essentially a jacked-up hairdryer which reaches temperatures high enough to melt (boil?) dried paint, thus enabling a paint-scraper like myself to pull it off in 4x10 inch sheets, rather than scraping it off (along with little bits of wood) in 1x2 mm chips.

Also, the people who live in this apartment like tot throw away useful things, like clean clothes (seriously, were in a trash can in the basement under a broken detergent bottle), laundry baskets, and drinking glasses.

Also, just before getting in my car to leave I put a useful piece of trash--a sturdy chair bottom, the back having been broken off; I have been wanting a low stool--in the back of my car, closed the tailgate, and heard a small sound like some sand falling onto the ground. Turns out it was sand, sort of, in that auto glass is probably made from sand just like other glass. Somehow the impact of the closing tailgate caused the left side panel window at the back of my car to shatter. I guess there must have been a hairline crack that I didn't see, or something. I'm just glad it wasn't one of the windows that rolls up and down, or, God forbid, my rear windshield. As Junior put it (merely giving voice to thoughts I had been thus far keeping to myself), my car is becoming more and more ghetto all the time.

After knocking the rest of the window out and taping a trash bag into place (stay classy), I ran over to DSW in a vain attempt to blow the $50 I made yesterday on a pair of boots I've been wanting for a while. Possibly months. Unfortunately, I don't wear a 6.5 or a 7, and that's all that was left. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to be the case. It's alright. And they do sell them online, though I won't get DSW reward points for buying boots from Zappo's, and that's really a shame.

There had been plans for me to meet Kaiser (guy I met in May who miraculously was given my phone number) at the park at 3, but at this point it was... nearly 3*. I had said I might be late due to the window incident, but it wasn't too bad. After a hurried lunch I ended up leaving the house at 3:05.

Wandering around Maymont was fine, but judging by my slight annoyance upon leaving and my really and truly horrible mood upon rising from a not-sleeping-just-lying-in-the-dark two hour "nap," I have to say, hanging out with people who are attracted to me and to whom I am not attracted, especially people in said category that I don't know well, really, really stresses me out. I really, really do not like it. If we hang out again, I am going to have to lay down some ground rules. For instance: please do not touch my arm. Please do not touch me at all. Please do not try to hold my hand. You're nice and stuff, but pretty much as a rule I don't want to be around people I don't know that act this way toward me, and you're only making things worse for yourself. Actually, yeah, maybe just one ground rule. He is a nice guy. I just a) don't really want to be dating anyone right now**, and b) don't want to hang around relative strangers who obviously want to date me.

The reason for the two hour not-exactly-nap was largely that when I came home from the park, my hip hurt. A lot. Increasingly. There have been times that my hip has hurt a little after a lot of walking, but I don't think it's ever been like this. I discovered while walking Miley tonight that if I step very carefully onto my right leg, it usually doesn't hurt very much. I'm hoping it will have improved at least a little by tomorrow.

While I was walking though, eventually, once I mostly had a grasp on the hip thing, I started to sing. It was a song of praise actually (though I've begun to realize that really, anytime I just start singing out of nowhere it's a song of praise, even if I'm singing some completely heathen Celtic song about magic)--a simple one I like a lot and never really hear anywhere, about love being higher and deeper and longer and wider than our perception***. Then I started thinking about yesterday, about  having had lunch with David, and how wonderful it was. Not that the food was particularly great or that from beginning to end it was the best time of my life, or even that it was easy, but it was so good. It was so honest and real and survivable. I survived it, and I learned things--I learned a lot--and I think maybe we know each other better now than we did before. I thought of sitting on the stoop in the sun with the band playing down the street, and I just said "thank you," and then I couldn't stop saying it. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. For this draught of hope. Thank you. For my breath misting in the night air, for this sweet little dog, for my sweet family, for the clear sky, for the lights shining through the trees, thank you. For breath. For hope. For giving me my friend back.






























Post title taken from my favorite Caedmon's Call song, which you can find if you search "Table for Two" on grooveshark.com or ilike.com or Pandora. However, none of these sites will allow me, at the moment, to link the song. The part I've quoted goes like this:

This day's been crazy, but everything's happened on schedule: from the rain and the cold to the drink that I spilled on my shirt. You knew how you'd save me before I fell dead in the garden, and you knew this day long before you made me out of dirt.

*I don't usually make unnecessary side trips when I'm already running late--I just want to say that. However, under the circumstances (I finally made some money yesterday, I had already said I'd be late, K and I have no relationship whatsoever really and the time and location were picked arbitrarily and by me in the first place, I had been putting off the boot thing forever and knew they'd be gone soon if not already, my effing window just broke out of nowhere), I felt that it was at least somewhat justified.

**Part of this is that I just straight-up don't. I'm not saying it won't change, but right now that's how I feel. Part of it is that I just started talking to David again, and I'd be lying if I said I was over him, and I'd be lying if I said I was still completely in love with him. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't want to tackle him and not let him up for air for at least an hour. However, that kind of tackling can really cloud the thinking, and can cause quite a lot of related problems. We two are in agreement about that. Also, getting back together only to break up again would be, pardon my French, fucking hell. And getting back together without either of us really having given this "what's life like being romantically involved with someone other than you someday" experiment any kind of chance would sort of feel like giving up, and that goes for both of us. So I think we're going to give being friends and sitting a few feet apart at all times a fair chance, and just see. I am pointedly staying the hell away from any kind of questions about the future because they are so completely fucking utterly unhelpful. As I said to the man upstairs earlier tonight, between the singing and the can't-stop-thanking-yous, I am going to let that go and trust that all things will be made right according to His will. And that's about as religious as I ever expect to get in a public forum on the internet.

***"Your love is deeper than my view of grace, higher than this earthly place, longer than this road I travel, wider than the gap you filled."

Scraping paint

Coming home filthy usually means one of two things: the day was spent playing hard, or the day was spent working hard. Both of these are good, so sometimes it's difficult for me to grasp the distrust of dirt and sweat in our society. I mean, I don't like smelling days of b.o. on people either, but I also don't understand the preoccupation that seems to be going around with not touching dirt. I love going to wash my hands and getting to see the water coming off black. I love looking in the mirror above the sink and seeing my face and neck covered in chips of paint, or glancing down and seeing primer on my knuckles. I like seeing evidence that I worked hard.


Twice in the last 24 hours I have been offered (in a vague sort of way*) a home-cooked dinner by a relative stranger. First, last night, by Kaiser (who caught me on an unusually open-minded day in the spring and received my phone number), after I actually answered his call for what was I think the first time. Secondly, this evening, by the friend of the people who live above the apartment I'm working on. He hung out on the deck some of the time while I was scraping paint, periodically appearing to ask, "are you still here?" and talk about books and NatGeo specials and jobs. He said he'll be back around on Monday.

All of that male attention is sort of strange for me, but mostly nice. I'm beginning to wonder though whether "I love to cook" is just something that guys like to toss out into the conversation like a baited hook into a pond, and see if they get a bite.



Tonight the James river flowing beneath the bridge was the most beautiful shade of greyish purple I have ever seen. I laughed aloud when I looked over and saw it. How often is the river purple beneath an overcast city sky?





















*Meaning "at some point," rather than "right now."