Eep. I totally need a weekly reminder that Monday is

SBD

and to do this wee post BEFORE leaving for work. I remind myself all Sunday night and even all Monday morning, but I still manage to forget to do it. Duh.

Comments open, bitch away. Or just chat away, whatever. How the hell is everyone?

My weekend in reverse

Pretty soon I'll grab some bags (reusable, nylon, Chicobags) and go to the grocery.

My niece and nephew just left. Many hugs and kisses. Much laughing. We rented a silly Mr Bean movie. We ate some of the best guacamole in the city, and tacos and quesadilla and burrito. We walked around the square, lots of time spent looking at clever buttons and earrings and far too much time in the toy store. Coffee and mochas and cakes at the cafe. Standing in front of the fountain and wondering when they'd turn on the water and make it not be winter anymore, officially. We played with the mighty mighty Thunderpussy. We looked at the calendar and figured Memorial Day weekend for our next visit. "We totally have to do this more," said the neff.

I love them. I love being an aunt. I love how they make me laugh. I love that half-family-half-friend relationship. I love that I told them they'd have to take care of me when I'm old and gray, and they jumped in, taking it very seriously, the little neff saying, "We'll never let you go to an old people's... what do they call them? Retirement home, like that. No way, we won't let anyone do that." I pointed out there might not be a choice, because maybe no one else could take care of an old woman. "You'll just come live with me," said the niece, full of confidence. They take it seriously, these two kids. They're rather fierce about taking care of those who they feel they can depend on. They're intensely devoted to each other - protective and nurturing, to a fault. It's their own family within a family, the kind of tight bond that children of an ugly divorce form, like soldiers on a battlefield, under fire for a lifetime. Today I realized they consider me part of that unit. I'm one of their people, and they take care of their own. It was sad and sweet and humbling and humorous and an honor. Such amazing creatures.

Walking to the Mex place, my neff asked who I'd vote for, and I asked him who he thought I should vote for? He said "I think McCain."
Me: "Why?"
Neff: "I think he'd be a good President."
Me: "But why? What's he say that you like?"
Neff: "I don't know. I haven't listened to any testimony, or whatever you call it!"
Me: "Is it because you're a Young Republican?"
Neff: "What's a Republican?"
Niece [who is registering to vote Wednesday and is flush with civic pride]: "There are two big parties, the Republicans and the Democrats. Republicans suck, and I'll never vote for a Clinton. She's a horrible old woman. Why can't we have a good woman President?"
Me: " ... "
Neff: "Well I already know I don't want Clinton, so I guess I want McCain."
Me: "Wow, check out the Clinton hate. So does this make you Republican? Did you know President Bush is a Republican?"
Neff: [pause] "I don't know if I should say this, but... I wish Bush was dead. I know he's the President, but I don't care."
Me: "That's okay, lots of people wish that. He'll be gone soon enough and we'll have someone new, maybe even your McCain."
Neff: "I don't want McCain now, if he's friends with Bush! You changed my mind! But not Clinton."
Me: "Thus spake the newly minted Obama fan."

Suddenly, I love my country again. Because 12-year-olds are having impassioned political conversations. And a 17-year-old niece who mostly only cares about lip gloss and hoop earrings seems to be nearly peeing herself over her excitement at being able to vote this fall.

This morning I did dishes and dusted and swiffered and changed the sheets. Oh sweet wonderful clean sheets.

Yesterday afternoon I talked to Snooks. She's slogging through an unpleasant pregnancy. And a job she dislikes. And a husband home on workman's comp (knee injury). I wouldn't say she's upbeat, exactly, but it does amaze me how she can still laugh. Or even that she picks up the phone. I think I wouldn't, if I were pregnant and annoyed and not in the mood. But she does, and she laughs, and she makes me laugh. Brilliant girl.

I'd forgotten to hand in my office door key on my last day of the former (gloriously former) job, so I drove out there yesterday to hand it over to my former boss, who works on Saturdays. We only had a few minutes to talk, which at first I regretted - I love my old boss and I'd love to have regular chats, keep in touch. But after 2 minutes, I was so glad it wouldn't be much longer until I could drive away from that place forever. I didn't even come all the way into the office - just the foyer. We stood and talked and I asked how were things? "You really left at exactly the right time," she told me. "It's chaos." They're moving offices. They've started these two three four who knows how many new massive major projects and of course nothing's planned, no one's consulted, it's a mess. And HR is no help at all, you know how they have to have the paperwork just exactly so, like we have time for that. And on and on.

And I can't tell you how lovely it felt to drive away from that, knowing that none of it is mine to care about in any way, ever again. I wake up in the mornings now and I have no anxiety. No feeling of oppressive duty. No dreading anything at all. No hating my life for eight full hours a day. No spending the other sixteen hours trying not to think of the dread and the hate and the oppression and the stress. It's so completely unfamiliar to me, this new life where I'm not in a perpetual defensive crouch, where I'm not constantly cringing and coaching myself to do this even though I hate it. No more constant litany in my head of You can make it, you can get through the day, this isn't that bad, don't be a whiner, that's why they call it work, it's not supposed to be pleasant. I hardly know who to be anymore, without that to grit my teeth against.

The whole place, it feels like just a very bad dream now. I had no idea how bad it was, I think. How much it was costing me, how much it hurt, all the things it robbed me of. This new job pays less. Enough for me to pay the bills and get by, but I can't be as cavalier with money as I've been this last year. Not as much extra. Splurges must be carefully planned, and I have to worry about the bankbook quite a bit more than I've had to. But I know now, without a doubt, after stopping back in that place and listening for all of 30 seconds to a description of the things I'm missing out on: it's worth every penny and then some. It was a bad dream and money is a small price to pay to get out of it, to breathe again.

God, I don't know how I lasted there as long as I did. That situation - that's how people die inside. Jobs like that.

To celebrate my first paycheck on Friday, I ordered Thai food that night. Of which I (naturally) ate too much. Then fell asleep Friday night with the taste of red curry in my mouth and a smile of deep satisfaction and contentment on my face, because as I may have mentioned: life is very good.

:-)

No! NOOOOO!!!!!!

Short life, pretty lips. Long life, dull lifeless lips.

Well we can't live forever, I guess.

Hi hi! It's Smart Bitches Day! And we shall celebrate with...

Lyvvie!
and
Tracy!
and
Salome!

hurray!

I have nothing, really, except this observation, emailed to Paul and regarding the book that he SBD-DBD'ed about here and then sent to me in the mail, so we could see what I thought of it:

So I read just the first chapter of the Saxon book and it's cracking me, it's just so manly. Not sure if I can get into it, but so far it's fine and even potentially fun. But I was really surprised at the one thing that just pissed me off. He describes the ex-nun he's with as having pretty eyes and pretty hair and whatever, and then says that she was wasted in a nunnery. And it made me crazy angry pissed off. Because I mean PUH LEEZ, if she really sucked at praying, okay – wasted in a convent. Or if she was wicked good with a sword or something. But GOD FORBID an attractive woman make herself unavailable to rutting men, oh what a goddamn tragedy.

But then I was thinking of how in Romance, a hero will often say something like that to a heroine, that's she's wasting herself on [the nunnery, spinsterhood, books for the bluestocking, whatever], the point always being that such a lovely specimen is meant for juicy hot nookie and tender lovin' goodness of a deserving man. And it doesn't piss me off all that much in a Romance. I don't know why, but it's a completely different thing. To the point that it's generally a good thing to say. Kind of insightful, in some cases.

Meanwhile, if a guy said that to me in real life, I'd probably punch him in his smug fucking face.

Hm. This is interesting.

So Paul replied with what I'd already been thinking, that of course it bugs me in the manly Saxon book because it's written by a guy. But when a female writes it, I'm fine with it. More than that, it's written by a guy in a very guy genre. So the same thing can be written by a female in a very female genre without the same reaction from the female reader. It's all about context.

(Note also that about like 97% of things men in Romance novels say would get them punched in real life. So none of this is about the context of Real Life, in case that wasn't clear. Also, take all this out of the realm of genre writing and it changes to be a little more like real life.)

I dunno, it's an interesting thing to me because it has everything to do with the gender of the author and the intended audience. And I never stopped to think what an affect that has on how I read.

Anyway, so there's my SBD-ish thought. What I've been distantly perusing all day has been how many other seemingly harmless (but totally old-skool) comments could be taken from a Romance novel, dropped into a manly novel, and - based solely on the location of the words - piss me off? Maybe we should turn it into a drinking game! That'd be so manly of us!

Good morning! I've had a mishap with the milk so my morning is like totally off. But the sun is out, the air is sweet, the grass is green, and flowers are blooming, that' right you heard me finally it's true that THE FLOWERS ARE BLOOMING! So it's a deent morning here, despite the milk incident.

Which means I have managed to remember

SBD!

So do blog a lil sumpin, kay? I'll rifle through the grey matter and see if I ca=ome up with anything to share. Until then, toodle-oo!

I find these shoes ridiculously cute and I NEED them because it's SPRING and why why WHY don't I have more spending money? GYAH.

The thing about the internet is how you can randomly click around and somehow find yourself in a place that you violently wish never existed, not even in the minds of harmless fanboys. On the other hand, it's always nice to find something both appalling and fucking hilarious to ponder over your morning coffee. I recommend scrolling at least halfway down, if you can bear it, to see Snape in his pyjamas. It's fucking brilliant, especially the framed KISS poster above his bed. That's like the best thing I've seen all year, man.

Yes, I totally felt the earth-a-quake-a. EARTHAQUAKEA! I woke up thinking my cat had gotten particularly enthusiastic about jumping onto the bed, but then the bed just kept shaking and shaking, for several seconds. It felt like someone had put a quarter in the Magic Fingers and hit the start button. I figured out what it was, unlike many of my fellow Chicagoans, who (if they woke at all) were just all groggy and all like wha? and then went back to sleep.

Other Chicago news of the week was some big deal on the blue line where people got sick of sitting in a subway tunnel for like an hour on the way to work, so they crawled the hell out and it shut down the whole line for half a day. Or something. I dunno, but everyone sure has been making a big deal out of it. Almost as big a deal as the EARTHAQUAKEA! Ooh, and there was also a big deal about a cougar. Did you hear about the cougar? No, not Cindy McCain, I'm talking about a real live big cat COUGAR, people. Over in Roscoe Village! Not that far from me. Well a coupla miles - actually pretty close to where Heather lives. Maybe I should call and ask if she was mauled or anything.

Anyway, for a couple of days, there were cougar sightings (COUGARS!) and the news was all over it and I was wonder if I was witnessing the birth of an urban legend. But lo! Not long after the rumors began, there was a dead cougar on the news. The cops shot it, because it was in the middle of a densely populated major metropolis. Then the news was full for days (and is still full) of OH MY GOD THEY KILLED THE POOR COUGAR! And the whole city was sad. Probably because the news keeps showing the picture of the dead cougar seriously every 20 minutes or so. Please, local stations: stop making me look at the dead cougar in the street. Please. I beg of you. STOP.

In personal/local news: The stupid city of Chicago is telling me I have a parking ticket. Why do you lie to me, Jesse White? (That's not Jesse White of the Tumblers fame, but Jesse White the Secretary of State here. He's very interested in my car and its many and varied forms of documentation and where said documentation and said car is at any given time.) But there was never a ticket on my car. Instead, I have this piece of mail - shockingly! the Chicago post office delivers my mail! - that tells me I was parked somewhere during street sweeping. But I wasn't. It was April 1 and the car was right on my street. And there were no signs posted. I know there weren't any signs, so THERE. I will have to contest it. Because my life is so exciting and full of drama. I will fight the law and the law will not win, says I!

Furthermore, Tracy Not Trish has emailed to remind me I never reported back on the Auchentoshan scotch, which she recommended. And I have to say: Yum. It's not spectacularly smooth, but it's entirely smooth enough and certainly not harsh. It's a good flavor, not to sharp but also (importantly) not too sweet. Of paramount interest is the price: it's cheaper than my usual Glenfiddich, or the Glenlivet, or even the JW Black. So hey guess what my new favorite scotch is? Auchentoshan!

(Gazundheit!)

I will now eat what little is left of the pb cup ice cream in my freezer. Good night!

Omigod this morning on the train, the guy across from me was one of crazy Left Behind people. Not that he tried to coach me on how to survive the apocalypse or anything, that's not what tipped me off. He had a hat that proclaimed the good news. I mean the scary news. I mean the RUN FOR YOUR LIVES ANGRY JESUS IS A-COMIN news. Anyway, he was a mouth-breather. Literally. I tried not to stare, but it's the first Left Behinder I ever saw. To my knowledge, anyway, because the truth is that I'm probably related to several. I just try to stay ignorant of those relations.

In case you didn't watch the debate last night: (1) don't, and (2) yes, it was atrocious. The economy is tanking, the whole rest of the globe hates us, people can't afford to drive to their jobs, our veterans are being treated worse than shit, we've got Iraq, Afghanistan, the China-Tibet issue, katrillions in debt, global warming, and White House-approved torture - but we're treated to nearly a full hour on shit like lapel pins. LAPEL PINS. That's right, America, you'll take this pap and like it, see? We'll tell you what's important, gah, just let us do our jobs in our own (not at all elitist and totally in touch with the electorate) way. You silly voters with your economic woes and your wars and your objections to shredding of the Constitution, shut up and listen to us ask "Do you think your former pastor loves America as much as you?" (No, Stephen Colbert didn't write that question, why do you ask?) Now hush up, we need to ask Hillary to talk again about that lie she told about something that happened 12 years ago and has already been discussed circa seventy bamillion times and does not relate in any way to policy or governance. Shh! You don't want to miss it!

Anyway, yeah. Can we all please just vote now? And also can we shut up about the Pope, please? Thanks.

In other news, my cat is awesome. Just because she is. She is also getting quite fat, and I blame myself. I got her some new flavor of Purina - salmon and tuna, I think, something fishy (fish is her favorite) and she just loooooves it. I should make a point to put less of it in the bowl, I know. But I mean come on - she gets few enough thrills. Oh except this morning a bird totally landed right on the outside window-ledge thingie. And then it cawed and flapped its wings. Thunder seemed paralyzed with unexpected joy and uncertainty. She just tensed and stared with big green cat eyes, and then it flew off, and then she looked at me like I shoulda stopped it or something. It was all very exciting.

Today I sat outside and had lunch and omg you guys it was like 70 degrees and sunny, but without the deadly wind of yesterday. Fabulous. And I remembered alla sudden that I dreamed last night about leaves on the trees. And in my dream, I was unbelievably ecstatic at the leaves. I assume my dream-brain gives me this because of how there are still absolutely no leaves on real-life trees around here at all. Seriously. None. I keep waiting, but nuttin. Normally, they're blooming by now, even. But this year, it's just a buncha sticks. Sigh.

Ummm what else? I dunno, can't think. I think of like 10 things to blog during the day, and then I forget before I even get home. It's all very discouraging. But I think I should just resign myself to the fact that I'm becoming a flake. I'm constantly forgetting, like... everything. It's really pathetic.

And now I will go sleep. Good night!

Oh hey, I need to update! It keeps slipping my mind, what with being in a ridiculously good mood lately. Because I think I mentioned that my new job is great? Well my whole resulting new life is great, too. Downtown! Train! No driving! Boss pushing me out the door if I’m there past 5pm! Cheerful, welcoming, non-oppressed coworkers who smile and laugh and socialize! It’s been more than A MONTH since I had to write up a disciplinary notice on an employee! OMG I DON’T HAVE EMPLOYEES ANYMORE!!!!!

The thrill, it is everlasting. Joy!

Oh but I did get a wicked paper cut today, which isn’t painful, really, but it makes typing a real bitch. So it’s not all perfection, but it’s pretty damn near close.

I got this awesome new lip balm which I totally recommend and it’s called Weleda. Actually, it says WELEDA Everon Lip Balm. I got it at the apothecary so it might not be readily available at Walgreens or whatever, but it’s totally worth seeking out if you need a way-moisturizing lip balm. The only thing I don’t like about it is how it smells – it’s kinda floral-y. It doesn’t taste like anything at all, it’s just the smell. Not overpowering or anything, but it’s there and somewhat odd. Other than that bit of oddness, it’s fabulousness in stick form.

La la la what else? Oh I finished that Eva Ibbotson book and I didn’t like the last 1/3rd-ish of it. It turned very strongly Romance-y, which at first was an unexpected delight – because it’s not often you get unpredicted Romance novel, ya know? Which made it unusual and good and more than your average bag o’Romance tricks. But then I was getting really annoyed at how perfect the girl was and how ga-ga in love they were, and I was just deciding to stop reading when wham-boom! Tragedy! Nazis! Romance denied because Real Historical Stuff interferes! Woo hoo! So I kept reading. And got even MORE annoyed as it devolved into just a bunch of blah blah blah external conflict keeping them apart just for the sake of keeping them apart, and getting them together became the whole point of the story. Ho hum. Annoying.

So don’t read it. Read Madensky Square. That was way better.

My neff called last weekend to make a date with me. How cool is that? I feel so frikken loved and stuff.

I continue to be wayyyyyyy too sucked in to the election. I think it’s not just how fascinating this particular point in history is, but it’s also that I barely paid any attention in 2004. I couldn’t. I forcibly ignored it as much as was possible. And since I ALWAYS have been an elections junkie, there is some deprivation at work here. Making up for it. Or something. I dunno, I have to go, the debate is on tonight and yes it’s the eleventy millionth debate, but I just got done saying I was a junkie. GYAH.

Oh, note to self: need to email Katie and call Dawn (hi Dawn!) and talk to niece about July and make an appointment with the eye-talian. And buy shoes. And cook that tofu before it goes bad. (When does tofu go bad?) And put a new book in my bag for tomorrow.

I have strawberries in the fridge! WOO HOO!

SBD!

Aw man, Suisan! Why don't you live here? We could totally go see this. It's just way unfair to get this little postcard about it in the mail, think "Oh hey I know exactly who should go see that with me!" and then realize you're half a goddamn continent away. Rar.

Fortunately for me, the other impulse that struck me today was a need for a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie - which is far easier to satisfy, so off I go to the grocery.

Happy Saturday!

Am I the only one who finds this hilarious?

Grr. I had a visitor coming this weekend, American Airlines, you motherfucker. Stop destroying my social life!

Bastids.

Other than that, though, life is currently pretty ridiculously good. Probably just a matter of time til it turns to shit again, but I'm enjoying it while I can. Yay.

Except for the grr part, I mean. Because grr.

So far, work goes well. It's like a whole different universe from my old job - a much better universe - and I'm adjusting. Also adjusting to waking a bit earlier, and I'll be glad when my body doesn't protest it and my head isn't fuzzy for hours in the morning.

The (stupid fucking retarded) CTA almost killed me yesterday. They're always giving the damn doomsday, oh the state's gotta give us funding or we'll have to shut down, doom doom DOOOOOM. It happens every year, and it happened THREE times this past year. God, eople, learn how to fucking budget. I blame the CTAevery bit as much as I blame the state, and I hate them all, the incompetent fucks. But ANYWAY, this last "doomsday" was allegedly narrowly averted, but they still had to cut some bus routes and train runs. So they've added a few extra cars to the trains that runat rush hour, to deal with capacity.

These trains are entirely too long, seriously. They barely fit the platform. So yesterday I got into the last car to come home. I'm big on the last car, since it's generally less packed than the rest of the train, and it's closest to the exit at my stop. And somewhere just north of Merchandise Mart, we're turning a corner and there's this INCREDIBLY LOUD popping noise. And a shower of sparks. Because the driver is clearly not used to such a long train and went too fast around the curve and you know, if we went off the tracks, it's a long way down to the street.

It was somewhat terrifying. I on't think I'll take the last car anymore, thanks.

In other news, I have to cut down on the number of blogs I subscribe to because there's to much to read at the end of the day. So there I am sifting through the subscriptions to see what can be pruned, and I think I might get rid of the bitches, of all things. Maybe it's just me, but almost nothing they write anymore interests me. In fact, I think it HAS to be me, because they clearly still have a very large readership. But they're never reviewing anything that I'd consider reading (and Sarah does all the reviews now, and we really, really, really have very different ideas of what's good) and the other topics seem alternately silly or too earnest, and I get bored before I reach the 10th comment on any post.

So I might stop checking in. Which seems really weird. But I'd still have SBD.

Gah, I geotta get dressed.

Celebrate Smart Bitches Day with...

Chas!
and
Kate!
and
jmc!
and
Lyvvie!
and
Salome!

And here are some quick and ragtag bits from me because it's been years since I wore heels for a full day and I have a hot bath running so...

1. I was noticing as I read the Lisa Kleypas Secrets of a Summer Night (I think? and I never finished it, btw, because ho-hum) how word choice defines just about everything in this genre. I'm too tired to go get the book and give the many examples I came across, but here's one I remember: at one point, this one character has flecks of spittle on his lips. I can't say those are the precise words, but it's not more than a hair off, if at all. And it was at that phrase that I was told by the author without a doubt that this was the irredeemable villain of the piece.

Before the spittle flecks, he was just a loathesome guy who was deeply embarrassing and potentially trouble-making. But once the spittle flecks appeared, I knew he was Evil. Just a matter of time until he forces the heroine to watch him rape a puppy.

I guess this is what's meant by "coded language", which is a concept that I never could really get behind because I've always pretty much "coded" my own language and had difficulty seeing someone else's codes. Bu at least in the context of the Romance genre, I get it. It rather screeches at me, at this point.


2. I read Adios To My Old Life, this YA-But-Also-Beloved-By-Romance-Readers book that like everyone loved. I didn't. Shocker.

I dunno, it was just a little too full of pop culture references and a lot too predictable in the areas of both character and plot. It was like a Harlequin - very paint-by-numbers. And when music is a really central part of your story, I recommend... not writing that story. It just doesn't translate. Maybe people loved this book so much because other comparable stuff in the genre sucks so bad? It won awards and stuff,I think. I don't get it.


3. I stopped at the library yesterday and grabbed another Eva Ibbotsen, this one is called... um.. I don't remember. Shit. Something with Summer in the title, I think. I'm on like Chapter Five and it's terrific. Really, really good stuff. Laura, you should read it. It reminds me of you, this very eccentric cast and gentle humor and all of it just charming and delightful as all hell. Um, and with Nazis in the background.

I'll read the rest of it this week and then maybe hopefully SBD about it next Monday.

In other news, my new job seems pretty nifty and my new boss and coworkers were markedly thrilled to have me there, in a sort of squealing and jumping up and down kinda way. And my bath is ready and oh hey Tracy I got some of that Auchentoshan and I'll be sipping it as I lounge in he lavender bubbles and will report back and omg my cat is SO FRIKKEN CUTE with the curling and the paw over the nose and the purring and but okay going now bye.

Hello it's a sunny Monday morning and it is also

SBD!

I start my new job today, so I dunno if I'll be full of bloggy goodness tonight. But don't let that stop you! Write! Write, my pretties! Comments open, see you later.

Dude, Rod Blagojevic was just jogging on my street. (Is that how it's spelled? Balgojevic? Eh - works for me.) He's our guvnah. I was just parking my car and wondering why this nimrod was jogging on the street instead of on the sidewalk, when I noticed that said nimrod had hair exactly like Rod Blagojevic. So I looked more closely and lo and behold - it was Rod Blagojevic. With a security guy on a bike following him.

Which means that my first impression - that this was a nimrod - was spot-on. I am no Blago (as the press dub him) fan, that's for sure. He noticed me noticing him and there was this moment where one would normally wave or shout something, and he looked prepped to acknowledge me in some way, but I let it pass. Mostly because my brain couldn't come up with a shortened version of "you filthy corrupt piece of shit classic Illinois politician motherfucker, jog your trashy ass right the hell out of my neighborhood."

Now, of course, I realize I could've just pleasantly waved and smiled and called out "Have a nice indictment!" but I just never think of these things in the moment. Snookie's brother saw him at some party right around the time he was elected to office, and took the opportunity to ask him "Can you get the garbage trucks to stop coming around at 6 in the morning in my neighborhood? It's really loud." This has forever endeared Snookie's brother to me.

Anyhoo, the real news is that I had A Day Of Awesomeness. I went and bought some fancy(er) work clothes since I'll no longer be able to wear jeans every day. Then I went to the park because today? Not a cloud in the sky. Sunny and gorgeous and in the mid-upper 60s. The warmest it's been since October. So I picked a spot on high ground and spread my blanket. I lay in the sun and ate the lunch I brought (sammich with Tilamook and tomato and spinach and dijon, almonds and strawberries and lemonade and a wee bitty chocolate bar) and read a book and dozed and watched little kids running and laughing and squealing with the joy of being outside. And everyone in the world was walking their dogs, and every damn dog was frolicking, I tell you, FROLICKING, with a jaunty step and doggy smiles on their cute doggy faces, straining against the leash and sniffing everything with a manic kind of joy. I watched two brothers playing catch, one of them couldn't be more than 4 and his adorable hesitancy as he stepped onto the little paved bike path to retrieve the ball - you could see in his face that he was thinking Look both ways before you cross... but don't follow the ball into the street... but it's not REALLY a street, so I'll just...step...carefully...no one's shouting at me to stop...so it must be...okay?

I painted my toenails a pale pink and heard the church bells ringing and listened to a little kid maybe 8 years old - who'd spent the last 30 minutes rolling down the small hill over and over and over again - tell his dad "This is the best day out of all the days I can remember. Don't you think?"

Yeah, kid. Definitely.

And that lunch was like 4 hours ago, so I guess I'll get started on cooking dinner. And plan what to do with tomorrow, my last day of freedom before the new job kicks in, and it's supposed to be as gorgeous as today. Maybe I'll replace the clothes shopping with some for of ice cream treat. Involving nuts and maybe even whipped cream.

I'm a happy Beth.

Hello, nice people concerned and advice-y about my mother and my feelings and whatnot. I'm not going to be answering your emails. But thanks, and it's really sweet of you all and I'm not just saying that. It's just that I very much don't have anything to say. So there ya go.

One of the things I meant to be doing, among all the other cleaning tasks this week, was to clean out my car. But that just seems like so much work. Especially when you don't have a driveway to work in. Bleh.

I need a spring jacket. Just like I needed one last year. And just like I needed a fall jacket. One day I will maybe get around to buying one, duh. In the meantime, I guess I'll just wear layers. Many, many layers. But I swear I'm not complaining about the weather and I promise I won't do so. Unless it snows again before November.

My break-from-office-work is going very smoothly and it's quite an enjoyable decompression. Even without the white sand beach and the cabana boy offering me iced pineapple juice. Sigh.

And now to make some lunch. Toodles.

My headache is gone now and my mouth is no longer numb - just dry and the littlest bit sore. My kitchen is very clean and so is my living room, and now I just need the will to tackle the bedroom and whatever lurks in the closet and under the bed. Face the dustbunnies in the light of day.

Rosina has been blogging about her not-exactly-happy childhood. Today she wrote a bit about her mother's death. It's good. Awful and terrible and sad and good. You read and wonder how a kid with that life grows up to have such lovely things to say in addition to all the bad, and such lovely ways of saying them. But those things are just impossible to pin down, how a person survived such a thing and becomes who they become. But anyway - yay Rosina.

My own mother - she called on Easter. Left a message. Last time we spoke was on Christmas day. Five minutes of instantly forgettable chit-chat. Then she left a message on my birthday and then a message at Easter, and I know what's in her head: okay apparently I'm allowed to call on holidays. So she calls. And I don't pick up the phone. I don't call back.

Back about a year ago, she'd call at least once every weekend. Leave a message every time. Then it was every other weekend. Then once a month. Then once every other month. Now just on holidays.

Listen to me: this all makes me feel like shit. Like I'm a monster, a horrible person. Because I can see it from her side. She just wants to keep in contact with her daughter. It's not like she doesn't love me. It truly breaks her heart that we're not in contact. She sees there are rules, some kind of rules that govern my willingness to talk to her, and she's trying to play by those rules. But she can't win. I never relent. I am unbending. I won't even try, and she just wants to be allowed to try. I know all of this. I hear it in her voice. I know my mother, the things in her heart.

If I were to call her up now just to say hey guess what, I got a new job - she'd burst into tears. Not over happiness for me or my job or my life, but because I voluntarily picked up the phone and dialed her number just to say hi. This is the tyranny of parenthood, that you're doomed to love your child, to want them around years after they've cut you out. It's not like a lover or a friend, where you get used to it over time, where you move on.

But the thing is that I have nothing to say to her. Or maybe I do, and none of it is good. I don't know, actually. I don't think about it. When I think of picking up the phone, there's this heaviness there, and it weighs on me more than any guilt or sadness or sense of duty. There is a certainty, born out of the thousand conversations gone wrong, that it'll all end in nothing but more anger, more resentment, more sadness, more overall feeling like shit. The best case scenario - which I guess would be a pleasant conversation where both of us care what the other says and is rife with respect and tact and sensitivity and love and support - yeah, that doesn't happen. That's never happened, in the history of our adult relationship. There is no precedence for the best-case scenario, or even the middling-case scenario.

It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't kind of situation. Or really, to be fair - I pick up the phone and she's content, or I don't pick up the phone and I'm content. There seems to be no breaking out of that cycle. Her peace of mind or mine. I'm choosing me. Which means I'm consciously choosing to hurt her.

Yeah. I know this. I have known this.

Why am I writing this again? Oh yeah - Rosina and her mom. Sometimes I wish I had an easy reason to hate mine. Except that comes with a whole load of other stuff that would just -- yeah, well not good. I wouldn't have survived it, I think. Or maybe I would because who the fuck knows, but I'm glad at least that my mom was mostly a good mom to my childhood self. It's a rather irreplaceable thing.

And now I'll just go... do something, I dunno, stop looking at me like that.