Tonight, well, I fought with myself because there’s no one
left to fight with.
I learned that, you will fight with whoever’s there.
Dog, cat… me.
Me… And, here we get chatty again because I’d like to talk
and not fight.
Thought about online shopping for a new blazer by my T-Rex
arms would be to short and that slouched trend just is not me, unless I
actually do slouch it into that Golden Girls three quarter inch sleeve. I’m stumped.
Hustled. Actually got
locked out of my house for two hours today because the ex has a key, the
daughter has a key and maybe one of the boys have a key. But dogs aren’t allowed on the public school grounds
so que Crowded House, “Locked Out,” and there you have me living in a musical…
But, the sun was out so I was intent to take the dog around
the block because she puked early in the morning, an early sign of her usual
ingestion of a foreign object which needed to be dejected via alternative
channels. I’ve become immune. Even locked out for two hours, I talked to my
recently unemployed neighbor who hates the sister-in-law he lives with, but
walks her dog who’s frisky with any girl canine on the block and Gidet crapped
another sock. It’s like a colonoscopy
for her, I’ve decided.
During this sequence I realized that, well, when you get
locked out when the plan was to do your taxes via the AARP at the Greenwich
Town Hall, it ain’t so bad. Likely
better, because the first thing you do
is realize that Crowded House is more relevant that it previously was. Then
you call a high school friend who you adore and is your designated
spirit guide, which is great but sad, because that’s your brother’s spot and Spirit
Guide lives all the way in Washington state with his fabulous wife and family
so your talks are few. You talk and you
laugh your asses off because – middle school kids going toward high school make
you realize that you really just want to be loved again like you were when they
never left you alone. You’re not
though. Now you’re a fallible human and
a disappointment. And it’s your job to
figure out how to deal with that by letting love in your life somewhere else,
that’s not your failed marriage, or your family of origin, but is your dog and
those you can now invite in. It’s where
you’re vulnerable and conflicted and sometimes caustic, because that’s become a
huge space with very little room to spare.
I cruised the neighborhood. Peed at the gas station bathroom
at the corner with my dog in tow who loved the way the place smelled. It was like someone lit Nag Champa incense
after half a day of smoking weed by a campfire while snuggling with a three
month-old baby (head) in a jasmine garden.
It’s winter. Give me a break. My senses are tamped down and I may just have
to do poly – tantric yoga which battles with my morality and civility and… well,
my hot boyfriend.
Socialized with the neighboring corporate complex employees
and discovered just what they do there. Dogs
get the best of people. People don’t
ALWAYS get the best of people. Gidget
was the #happinessambassador. It was
sunny by still chilly. It’s March so that’s
to be expected, dammit!
Later, there was a thirteen year-old daughter conflict that
was brief and via a pick up from her dance class. Then, a repeat of the two-fer whole organic
Costco chicken that stripped two carcasses and a giant ginger root to also make
broth that fell into a recycled Mason and jam jar for later infusion or
consumption… or whatever.
Here we are because here we are. Right in the middle. The live phone Washington high school friend
phone call was the best of two that day… in which, there was related topical
Me, with my son’s newfound allergies, old-found allergies
and recently discovered Celiac Disease. He’s
the youngest who says, “I’m so needy…,” yet says, “I’ll learn to deal with it,”
then goes on to Google all the junk food he can still eat with his NEW Celiac
disease, including but not limited to:
Cheetos, Fritos, Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream plus all kinds of whole
foods including the super classy two-pack of whole organic chickens from Costco
that I baked with yellow and red mini potatoes for dinner (two days in a row) then
stripped and boiled the carcasses with a wildly large ginger root, twice, in
filtered water, only to understand that the result would henceforth malign me
from all future interactions with the packaged blandness until I actually
refrigerated the stuff in recycled Mason jars and realized that natural wines
still screw up your perception, too. Which is okay because I have a dog who
likes marinated kibble so the stuff has a use.
I’m… such… a… Millenial… maker.
She’ll eat anything. Except, is
ginger a canine carcinogen? You have less
than 24 hours to answer that because my OCD doesn’t allow for spoiled food that
also looks ugly in my fridge.