Cold Morning

"Good morning everyone, time to wake up, get dressed and eat some goddam oatmeal," I flick the light switch and speak into it in the calm, pleasant, musical tone of a flight attendant, "Don't forget to make your bed and brush your teeth. We hope you've enjoyed your sleep, but it is now over and you need to get up or risk being late to school and start a pattern of irresponsible and undisciplined behavior that will haunt you your entire life and will prevent you from having fulfill-

MOM!, this from Harry. Dar is still asleep with her mouth open. If Mo was here, and if she had a loaded gun by her bed, she would've picked it up and shot me in the forehead without opening her eyes. 

"Thank you and have a beautiful day".

No one ever wants to play. : (

Santa Baby

Dear Christmas,

   Seriously? I love you so much, don't you know that? We had such amazing times years ago. I was obsessed with you, with everything about you. I thought about you all the time. I couldn't sleep because of you. I wanted you around the clock. But, you know, I'm older now, I'm tired. I need to clear my head a little. Can't you understand that? I don't like it when you sneak up on me, and I don't like it when you're in my face 24/7. I just really need you to back the fuck off. I'm sorry, I hate myself for saying that, but come on baby, it's too much. I can't take it. You're stressing me out. You're stressing me out so badly and we're getting into some really bad patterns that I'm not sure we can get out of. (sigh) I want you, I do, I want to be able to be a good person for you, giving and loving and happy, but you just gotta let me get there on my own, you gotta stop pushing me. Have faith. Isn't that what you like to say? Believe. It'll be good I promise.

xo
Deird

Sunday Devotional: Alain Breaking It Down

Alain de Botton on How to Think More About Sex from The School of Life on Vimeo.

It's only 14 mins. Come on, just try it.

Photos Of The Year

At first I thought this was a photo of some miniature dollhouse thing, but then I read about it and realized the brown back-drop is flood water and it was shot from a helicopter. Of this picture, the photographer, Thomas Peter, said "The order we take for granted is a mere illusion in the face of nature's caprices". As someone who lives in earthquake country, all I can say is: Shit.

If you like photography and want to drop down an internet black hole today, check out the years best shots. 

so be it

The summer I was 11, I stayed with my brother Pete and cousins in a cabin the size of a barn, in the middle of the woods, in Ashaway, Rhode Island, 20 minutes from the ocean. Before that we all stayed in my grandparents house half a mile down a dirt road, but by then my grandfather decided enough was enough and we needed to get the hell out. Of course he didn't put it like that; he made it sound like it was not only a privilege, but it was a magical vacation in a land far away. Which it was. No one said: What if they burn the place down, or get attacked by wolves, or meet up with a bevy of pedophiles on the prowl? Or at least if they did, the answer would have been: so be it. Basically they sent us away with a flashlight and a canteen, and told us to scream really loud if we saw the man with the ax.

We slept on the second floor on iron hospital beds with squeaky springs and moldy mattresses: a horny teenagers dream (although we didn't know about that yet). . When it rained we played a game where we weren't allowed to touch the floor; we had to hang from the rafters and if it got too difficult we could jump onto someone's mattress for a full minute-long break; but before we could do that we had to bribe them with an imaginary gift (For example once my cousin Miles told my brother he would install astroturf in his bedroom).

During the rest of the year we all lived in apartments in the city; some of our parents smoked weed, were divorced, divorcing, dead or not around. We argued and got bored and sulked and ganged up on each other, but we also told stories and played music and pretended we were in a castle in Vietnam.  We weren't scared or worried or allergic to anything. All we could think was how lucky we were.

Soldier or Prisoner

A few days ago I did something I've never done before,  something that is both disgusting and oddly satisfying, something that only people in the Army and in prison do: I cleaned the toilet with a toothbrush and a razor blade. Why a toothbrush and a razor blade? I don’t know! Even as it was happening I couldn’t explain it. You know how there are certain moments in your day when you are in the present and involved and there are other moments when you are outside of yourself watching and narrating? This was that second thing. It was like I was sending my self on a hero’s journey and these were the tools I was giving/ given. Adios! Fare thee well! Discover something about yourself that you never knew before and don't come back until you do! (slam)

I'm not a cleaner. I usually put it off until my only options are to either deal with it or set fire to the whole shebang and walk away. I mean, I straighten and tidy. I shove things into drawers and closets and dump all kinds of things straight into the trash, but I'm too busy or tired for more than that. Still, I'm always amazed at how good the world, and life in general, feels when things are sparkling and clear and organized. I feel like it bleeds off onto me somehow and makes me a better person, an upstanding citizen who is responsible and disciplined and on the road to success. 

On a side note, it's strange how many similarities there are between soldiers and prisoners; maybe more similarities than differences. But the differences are huge. A soldier, when he works, thinks: "Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir, I will clean this toilet to the best of my ability, Sir". A prisoner thinks "This is motherfucking bullshit. Why the hell do I have to do this? I don't deserve this". My thinking was much more along the lines of a prisoner. And yet, of course it was my decision to do it in the first place. 

**

I have been getting into a lot of fights lately, both real and imagined. I feel agitated and annoyed and chafed. Everything feels like a shove. I was at the grocery store the other night, Harry and I went in for a second to get a movie, and when we got out, there was a note written on a napkin on my windshield. "You hit our car the other day when you were parking. A witness saw. My husband wants to press charges. But I don't. Please contact me blablabla". I thought Press charges? Press motherfucking charges? Because I bumped your car while I was parking? I'll go back there right now with a fucking bat!

Freeze that frame.

See the way my face is right now: screwed up and pissed off? Kind of a "Are you kid--What?.. I'll fuckin..."? That's a picture of me getting my button pushed. When I say I've been getting into a lot of fights lately, this is what I'm talking about. 

Okay, back to the scene.

 I looked around the parking lot and didn't see anyone slinking off. I thought, have you been following me? It's dark out, how did you even know my car? I did bump that car. I was parking on a hill! What do you think bumpers are for? Sneaking behind me while I'm with my son? Why didn't you just wait by my car so we could have a conversation like two humans. Go ahead, press charges. The cops will have a good laugh. Then they'll get pissed that you're wasting their time.

I took a deep breath.

Harry says "What?"

Nothing, bub.

****

Here's a list of possible reasons why I've found myself in so many confrontations:
From Philly
Italian
Irish
Welsh
Single Mom
Working for the man every night and day
Coffee
Sugar
Been Shafted
Because I'm the oldest
Because I hang out with negative people
Tired
Unresolved issues
Combination of all of the above

I was going to say bad timing, but that's not it either and as far as luck, I'm one of the luckiest people I know. I'm an optimist too, so that's not it...

Ssshh, ssshh, ssshhh: It doesn't matter...Calm yourself.

****

One thing that happens when I am cleaning, or doing anything physical really, is that my mind rests. It doesn't shut off exactly, but it gets to a place where thoughts drop in randomly and out of the blue. I wish I could say that while I am cleaning I go through my personal inventory and examine it carefully, sorting through what needs to be addressed and coming up with solutions that are pleasing and satisfactory to all. I like to think, oh I'm crossing paths with this particular person for this particular reason and it's going to lead to something good or, I understand that other person, why she did what she did, and I needed to have this experience to help me understand this, that and the other about myself. But it doesn't work that way, especially when you are scraping poop off of porcelain. There are no sudden awakenings or brilliant insights; you've just got to get it done. This time the thought that dropped in out of the blue was this: are you a soldier or are you a prisoner? Are you going to be mature and efficient, respectful and thorough, courageous and above all, honest? Or are you going to be disgusted and hateful, angry and insufferable and blame the crusty brown smears on everyone else? 

My Three Sides

Monday Morning rewind:

My dog Lester has a brain the size of a pistachio. Without the shell. Sometimes when I am working, I look down and slightly to my right and he’s staring at me with his eyes glazed and unblinking like someone who has been hypnotized. Then there’s the underbite. Isn’t an underbite always a sign that your parents were brother and sister? There’s also his passive willingness to let Darla dress him up in wigs and baseball caps or to let Harry put a tube sock on his head. He just sits there and lets them.

Oh Lester. Oh Laz. Oh Lazlio.

It could also mean that he is a superior being, possibly a genius. So far above all living creatures that nothing disturbs him. Not even a tuba played near his head while he sleeps. Maybe he is meditative, thoughtful, accepting of all. Yes, cover my head with a bucket and have a chuckle, I am filled only with love.

Of course, if you could listen to his interior monologues, you might just hear wind blowing, possibly the sound of tumbleweeds on sand. And that is all.

Daisy is a pleaser. The moment I open my eyes in the morning, she is sitting up and looking at me. What do you need? What can I do? How can I help? This can be annoying. Nobody likes a kiss ass. Or desperation. But she smiles too. It’s more like a grimace and a snarl. It’s curious, this smile. It keeps you guessing. It simultaneously makes you laugh and feel uncomfortable.

What the hell is happening? I’m talking about animals. I’m talking about my pets on a blog. Should I just keep going?

I hate cats but of course I have one (inherited from Mo) and of course I love him most of all. Why? He’s mother fucking Leroy that’s why. He seems friendly and like he cares about you, and then he shreds your arm with his nails and teeth. Shreds. I have seen him cause more than one adult to cry. He doesn’t care about you or the goddam horse you rode in on, so step OFF.

OK, I’ll stop. I’m done…

I think I just realized I described the three sides of my personality.