Things sure can change quickly.
Bought the food. Had fun shopping.
Cherry tomatoes, marinated artichokes,
pepperoncini peppers, roasted red peppers, romaine, romano,
ricotta, spinach, fresh Italian flat leaf parsley etc. etc.
And even leeks and whipping cream and
a rotisserie chicken and some yukon gold
potatoes for a leek soup tomorrow.
Brought it home. Put it up. Picked up
my son. We drove a little while (practice
time...permit last Tuesday).
I ate a late lunch and felt sick by the time
I got Wes. He'd had an off day. We didn't drive
much as I was being overly panicky and he
was overly sensitive.
I am a control freak. That's why I always
so the driving anywhere I go. I'm a lousy passenger.
That's why I won't fly. That's why I am terrified
in taxis and on buses and trains.
Needless to say, the mood left me.
It's like you walk out your door at 1
in the afternoon and it's sunny and mild
outside and you're loving it
and then the temperature bottoms out
and before 2 it's 35 and pouring rain
and sleeting and you can't get warm
and it doesn't snow (because it's not cold
enough so you would like it to get colder
if it's going to do this switcharoo on ya,
which is what you like
if the temperature is going to drop
and you don't have to drive anywhere) and your sensory
system doesn't know how to respond to all
this dramatic change, as it should because you are made
for it to respond, but it doesn't and so you just cry.
And then the damn brand fucking new dishwasher
won't work. And you;ve already decided you
weren't in any frame of mind to do the antipasto,
etc. etc. so you decide on the soup but then you are pissed
that the damn appliance won't work.
And you don't cook dinner.
And you don't open your bottle of wine
But you drink lots of cuervo and hope
you just get numb or something.
Bummer.
For no reason. For every reason. For wrong
reasons and right reasons and somewhere
in between reasons.
And there's no book I want to read right now
and no movie I want to watch and no person
I want to call or talk to except my son
but he's in his room and needs some space.
Oh the joys of living with M.
2 comments:
Ah, gee, Maggie.
I was going to say something but sometimes, there's nothing to say.
It's like all those people at the funeral home who say: I'm so sorry for your loss. Sometimes, even the right thing, the polite thing to say is all wrong.
I could live the rest of my life without ever hearing that damned phrase again. Or, for that matter, uttering it.
So, instead of saying the right thing which would be the wrong thing, I'll say this instead:
Your post made me think of Jane and her poem "Having it Out with Melancholy." Specifically, these 2 parts came to mind:
6 IN AND OUT
The dog searches until he finds me
upstairs, lies down with a clatter
of elbows, puts his head on my foot.
Sometimes the sound of his breathing
saves my life -- in and out, in
and out; a pause, a long sigh. . . .
9 WOOD THRUSH
High on Nardil and June light
I wake at four,
waiting greedily for the first
note of the wood thrush. Easeful air
presses through the screen
with the wild, complex song
of the bird, and I am overcome
by ordinary contentment.
What hurt me so terribly
all my life until this moment?
How I love the small, swiftly
beating heart of the bird
singing in the great maples;
its bright, unequivocal eye.
What hurt me so terribly all my life until this moment?
I've been asking myself that question alot lately.
Open the wine another day, eh?
Be well, friend.
Good old melancholy. Seems a rather constant companion. I once had that poem taped to the fridge too (my refrigerator, and all of its predecessors, has worn many great words in its lifetime).
Was some better yesterday but not great. Started the day with a profuse nosebleed, so Wes had to drive to school. He's been driving home, but I've still been driving in the morning because traffic seems heavier and the sun is in your eyes and I just wasn't sure if he was ready, but he came through. I had my nose plugged up with kleenex hoping the flow was going to stop. Basically stayed in bed for most of the day.
Started reading Norman Mailer's The Executioner's Song. I've seen the movie with Tommy Lee Jones and read Mikal Gilmore's book about his family (Shot Through The Heart), but I had just never picked up the Mailer book.
I did manage to cook the meal last night and I have to say the antipasto salad was perhaps the best salad I've ever eaten. I also varied the lasagne recipe and it was ass-kicking good too. Didn't open my bottle of wine though. I opted for the drink while I cook thing (which I often do and wine would have been the best choice) but the drink of choice was something to get me buzzing as quickly as possible.
Oh Laurel, there are days it just hardly seems worth the effort.
I think I know what's hurt me so terribly, but knowing it and doing something about it are two entirely different things.
Thanks for the Kenyon and the kind words.
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