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Friday, September 24, 2004

today has just been ... confused. i suppose waking up to a blanket of fog should have been a hint.

for starters, my morning drive was all sorts of challenging. right, i know, that does sort of come with the territory, living around Boston. but this was *extra* fun. there's a little one-way street i cheat down to avoid a traffic light. most days that's fine, as long as i remember the sharp dogleg turn, bounded by brick walls (sometimes a surprise before coffee). occasionally, there will be a commercial truck hogging most of the (one lane) street. today, there was a truck. and it was backing up. okay, not so bad, just wait my turn. as i scootled by the now mostly-parked truck, i noticed some orange cones. in my infinite (pre-coffee) fog, i thought, 'oh, well, they're on the white part of the crosswalk, and it looks pretty bright and shiny, so it must just be to keep the new paint from getting mussed' - and drove around them. hah. you can see this won't go well, right? good, 'cuz i didn't. ;) 20 feet along, another set of cones, these not so much anywhere near fresh paint. and now what to do? because i'm pretty sure the humungo construction truck around the corner won't be interested in moving for me. hey, at least i got a scenic tour of the EDiv school campus, which i'd never really seen. and they do have a secondary exit for their parking lot.

(on a side note, i really like my drive to work. i've found a route that is largely long, swoopy roads, curving alongside parks, or down streets with lots of trees. it's calming to see all those huge trees, making a canopy over the road, or filling the hills behind houses.)

then i had a lovely moment of non-coordination in the record store. i went to look at the binder of stickers to find something new for Penny's bumper, and was startled to see John Malkovich peek around the kiosk at me as i reached for the binder. that must have flustered me more than i realized, because after setting my soda down on the counter to free up both hands for paging thru binder, i promptly shwacked the (full) cup off the counter and thwonked it all over the floor. embarrassing enough on its own, spectacularly so with that little extra soupçcon of 'it's not as if he'd ever remember me, but if he did, it would be as The Immensely Uncoordinated Girl in the Record Store' dashed on top of it all.

on a confusingly reassuring (to me) note, it would seem that someone else has also observed the Suicide Squirrel Squad - Jane, over at unchained thoughts, has seen a noticable number of ex-squirrels in her neighborhood. i thought it might just have been me, being a little hyper and thinking that there were 30 ex-squirrels where there were only 3. or that it might have been our neighborhood, and we had really lousy, inconsiderate drivers who were squashing the poor little critters. still don't have an explanation for the pattern, but it's reassuring to know that others are seeing it as well. that doesn't sound right, does it? because there's no reassurance for the squirrels. why does it feel better when others see the same thing - is it just that someone else is backing you up? maybe that's all. *shakes head*

should be interesting to see what the weekend brings.

:: scribbled at 4:44 PM ... ... o

Thursday, September 23, 2004

oh. my. god.

i'm stunned at the amount of energy it takes to keep up with a six year old.

mom? thank you. how you did it with 3 of us, all under 10, i'll never know. you're even more amazing than i knew.

:: scribbled at 1:04 AM ... ... o

Monday, September 20, 2004

alright, clever people, i could use your help.

see, i found this thing that i wanted, only i didn't want it enough to buy it then, and now that i do want it enough to buy it now, and in fact have an immediate and clever use for it, i can no longer find it. :)

i had seen, in Black Ink, i think, a picture hanging dooflicker that looks like a length of speaker wire with small alligator clips along it, and two hooks, one on either end. you tack up the ends on the wall, et voilà! you have a nifty picture-hanging clothesline!

anyone seen something like this, either online or around town? TIA, everyone.

:: scribbled at 4:30 PM ... ... o

Sunday, September 19, 2004

via measured extravagance:

Koaloha's story of singing down the evangelists. fan-fuckin'-tastic, and winner of 'Most Creative Use of Show Tunes as Peaceful Resistance'.

Me: (sings) “The Girl that I marry will have to be, as soft and as sweet as a nursery… the girl I call my own, will wear diamonds and laces and smell of cologne…”

One of the boys on the train starts to harmonize.

worth reading the whole story, says i. :)

:: scribbled at 8:31 PM ... ... o

i think perhaps now might be a good time to talk a little bit about family.

it's a strange thing to have a phantom, third wheel, bit player, meddler - however you want to describe the ex-wife and her interference - as a constant part of the landscape of a relationship. i doubt very much that any of us grow up thinking 'hey, i know - i think i'll find someone with kids and alimony and a bitter ex-spouse, one who enjoys flinging shit and creating melodrama, and settle down with them, because that's a fairytale ending!' nope. i think, more likely, if we have an idea of settling down at all, that it's boy/girl meets boy/girl, sparks fly, romance ensues, and the happy couple wanders off into the sunset (on the stereotypical sandy beach). but that's not always how it works. turns out, my Prince Charming (and he is, oh, he is - my one and only, which i told him before we started dating, but that's another story) came with a Little Prince Charming and a Wicked Witch.

building a blended family is a challenge under the best of circumstances. i'm well aware that The Dane and i are doing pretty well in the ex-wife (TEW) department; she's hardly the worst of the lot, and in fact, she's dealing with one about whom Lifetime movies are made. (did i mention that TEW has three stepchildren?) however, it's been an awkward situation at best from the outset. she seems to regard this as a competition, and has said that i have no right to be here. (i'm fairly certain that me breathing pisses her off.) and i've heard her screaming things about me that ... well, let's just say it makes it difficult to warm up to her.

look, it's not as if i don't have empathy for her situation. but - they are the outcome of her own choices, and she can't blame me or The Dane for her choices, try tho she might. even better: when the situation is the direct result of things she required The Dane to do? yeah. especially don't scream at me or him about getting what you asked for.

will she change? no, probably not. she will likely always be angry, or sad, or bitter, or however it is that this shit plays in her head. she seems to have a deep seated need for drama, and crisis, and being a martyr. i've watched her manufacture enough misery to see that it has some sort of place in her life, that she seems to need it. makes no sense to me, but there you have it. so. how does one not react? how, in the face of that much anger and hatred, do you disconnect the very reasonable response to defend?

Katherine said something recently that stuck with me (she says many funny, insightful things, but this one in particular stuck):

The only thing to do when faced with an Abuser is to simply back away slowly - very, very slowly - emitting no fear because they smell it, showing no emotion because emotion creates hooks for them to hang their own emotional projections onto, expecting nothing from them but for them to behave pretty much as they always have.

i have no clear idea of how to find my path to that point. it may be that knowing the path exists is half of it. or maybe not - maybe it's the process. in any event, i'm feeling out how to set the right boundaries, me on my side, she on hers, and my family - the people i love - nowhere in the middle, but in their own safe places.

having said all of that, i will likely rant about her nonsensical behaviour here once in a while. mostly not, because this is a public forum, and there are better places to rant, and this place is for and about me and my life, not her. but every so often, it feels good and cathartic to scream, doesn't it?

:: scribbled at 6:45 PM ... ... o