Life in Paradise

So, my day starts off with this gem from my S.O.:

u made me frustrated this morning.

A. should not be walking into school with a nasty nose. period.

YOU...were the person who got her ready. not me.

YOU...are the person who should check her out before letting her go out the door.

her nose was horrible.

all that you were talking about "maybe if you help me", etc etc etc - is just more of you changing the context instead of you admitting that you f*cked up by not checking her nose.

if you need me to help you with A. in the morning, let's talk about it and let's even come up with a schedule where on certain days i'll get her ready. we can do that tonight.

but that still doesn't change the fact that you were the one this morning that should have cleaned her nose.

so to get nasty at me when i call you frustrated, is the same o, same o and my day is now that much worse.

Kind of poetic, isn't he? It's quite the rare gift and one that I relish returning with as much bile as possible (this is my response, in its' entirety):

I apologize for not paying attention to A's nose to make sure it was clean. I didn't check it and it is my fault.

I guess having you call me in the middle of your frustrated state and having you go off on me is my karma. I apologize for getting nasty at you since your frustration was caused by me.

So, I guess that makes you a wonderful husband for following up by sending me this message. Thank you SOO much! Everytime I get something like this from you, whether in person or in an email, it gives me a lot of insight into what type of person you are. You may have my number in terms of how I react to things, but I know a thing or two about you as well.

And as far as you helping me get A ready in the morning? Yeah right. You can't even get yourself ready on time and don't think I haven't noticed that the whole "S.O. puts A. to bed on Thursday and Saturday night" has gone out the window.

Same o, same o S.O..

By the way, and not that it makes any difference to you, but I'm sick. I have a fever of 101.7. Maybe that's why I was so tired yesterday.

Have a great day Sweetie!

The part about being sick is true. It adds a nice touch don't you think? Ah, well...Such is life in paradise.

Weekend Resolution

Yesterday I bitched poetic about being caught between two social worlds; one of these worlds is quaint, country-fied and small town (as in, go to pay your cable bill, shop at WalMart, or rent a video and see someone who is either distantly related to you or who knows someone who is). The other social world? Same country-fied flavor, but dominated by the University's shadow, the ghosts of past quarterbacks and the belief that someday they will be one of those "cool Southern cities," despite the legacy of racism by which the rest of the world outside the city identifies it.

In the end, I stayed home, thanks in large part to my mother. She helped me realize that when I asked S.O. what he wanted to do Saturday evening and he replied "Nothing. Maybe just drink some tea, curl up in a blanket and watch a movie" the correct man-translation was: "F.E., please don't go out--stay home with me because I love you so much and I need to be close to you."

She's right. After all, when does S.O. ever talk about drinking tea (unless it's sah-weeet and on ice) and curling up under a blanket? That was a total nod to the things he knows I like to do.

So I stayed home. We spent some family time. I made a half-baked sweet potato pie that S.O. and A. ate because they know I tried. I shudder to think what might have happened if I didn't have Mrs. Smith's assistance. And then later that night, S.O. and I watched "Lucky Number Slevin" and crashed--a definite improvement over my first idea, which involved large amounts of vodka and my office couch.

Social Rocks and Hard Places

I can’t figure out what to do. Do I care enough about hanging out with Ted* and Margaret to go to Work City*; do I care enough about going to my friend’s big art festival weekend to ask Ed if I can go to Work City and spend the night, spend the money, and call my sister-in-law or call my work friend to see if I can stay the night?

That would mean that I wouldn’t be back until right before noon on Sunday. That would mean that I wouldn’t be back until later to do Asia’s hair, laundry, etc. I’d be impinging on sister-in-law’s and work friend’s time with their significant others.

And then there’s the Black Women’s Book Club tonight, that I’m not too hot on attending. I mean, I haven’t read the book. Who am I kidding--I’m not interested in reading the book. Confessions of a Video Vixen? No, not interested.

It’s all a part of this fucking schizophrenic thing. Not part of a community here. Not part of a community in Work City. At what point do I make a commitment to one or the other? Is there room for both? Do I become financial with the Deltas here? I keep coming back to that. Why?

Perhaps I’m getting closer to the real issue now. It’s not enough to have a friend on Gardenia Drive here in town. A set of colleague/friends in Work City. To have one connection with one person. Another connection with another person. Another connection with yet another different person. Why? No web unites these people. As a friend of mine would say, there is no social network, only a bunch of dyads and me trying to develop them all, absent an understanding of and participation in the networks that these other people belong to.

A funny thing, really. In thinking about my potential to become part of the relevant social networks that exist, I come up real short. As an aspiring Buddhist, I have very little interest in going to church on a regular basis. Family? The bonds of kinship as they are understood here are foreign to me—probably because they are so closely interwoven with going to church. And then there’s the whole deal with everyone knowing everyone else’s business and being pushed into the social role of being the “lawyer’s wife” that just makes me want to puke—mainly because it is predicated on the misconception that somehow S.O. and I are living life “high on the hog.”

And what of building myself into the networks of the “work friends,” the ones that I can most easily connect with? Since S.O. and I share a car and a life and a daughter, do I grow more distant from S.O., do I further deplete our resources by renting a car every other weekend and driving 75 miles away to feel “connected, do I drag A. to my social events, and risk inhibiting her own ability to be a part of the social network where we live?

Clearly, there is no easy answer to all of these questions. S.O. suggested making connections with people who work at the small university here in town, but doing that seems to be just another way to put another fracture in my life. When would I have the time to do that? It’s all just so fucked up. I find myself wishing that staring into the computer screen would open up an alternative universe—one in which there are people who are as consumed with the complexities of living a life in-between as I am…

I'm thinking the answer lies in driving to Work City, getting really fucking drunk, and crashing in my office. That sounds really healthy, doesn't it?
*Pseudonyms

These ARE the good old days...

Almost midnight. An hour earlier, after watching my tivo-ed episode of Heroes, I suggested to S.O. that we retire to the kitchen to recap the day while I cleaned the kitchen. I told hubby about my brilliant theory: DMX's rapping style is actually a positive way of coping with Tourette's. He told me about a client who asked if he could get her a two piece spicy chicken meal with macaroni & cheese and fried okrah from Church's (he sent his assistant for it). I told him about two friends of mine who revealed that they are pregnant. I told him that one of A's friends at preschool, a cute little tow-headed boy, told A. that "my mommy says I can't marry brown people."

If my eyelids were any drier I could probably start a fire with them, so maybe I'll call it quits for tonight...at least until S.O. falls asleep.

Before I started watching Heroes, A. came down in her nightie and implored me to hurry up and clean the kitchen, so I could go to bed--otherwise, how would she be able to get up early enough tomorrow morning to watch the Backyardigans?

All in all, life is complicated, but good.

Perpetual Organization

And so, it's ten till 4pm. I was able to get TWO things done that I didn't get done last Friday. Part of me wonders: should I be ashamed to say that it took me longer to get these two things done because I was watching an episode of The Wire and part of The Island as I was working? Perhaps. The other part of me just wonders why my S.O. can spend a total of about six hours playing Halo2 and not express the kind of guilt that plagues me. Who was it that said life was fair? Probably the one who said, "what's good for the goose is good for the gander."

But I've gotten organized today too--I have a list of twenty or so work-related projects & tasks, I call it my "Big Deal Loose Ends" list. Keeps me tuned into trying to make progress and wrap things up. The list is divided into (1) Short Term Big Deals (like a conference proposal due in two weeks, and a presentation and travel to do another presentation that happens next month); (2) Long Term Big Deals (like my plan for tenure and book development ideas; (3) Easy To Take Care Of Stuff (like emailing people to say, on second thought, I don't have time!); and (4) Long Overdue (speaks for itself). Sort of complicated, but it makes sense to me, at least for right now. But...after having completed this list, I was sickened to think of how the parts of my life that DON'T involve work could have similarly long and detailed lists of projects, especially since I opened a fortune cookie last week that said "Don't let the things you love slip away."

So, speaking of life beyond work--I had a good phone conversation with a friend this morning, she's got two boys and is preparing for a high stakes tenure review. At the end of our conversation, she asked if I'd thought any more about trying to have a second baby...Jokingly, and because S.O. was in the room, I told her that I'd have to get her a draft of an abstract for that project next week. Kindly, she gave me a tentative title to guide my thinking:

Motherhood the Second Time Around: Problems and Possibilities

It has potential, don't you think? And, conveniently, it fits all of the above-mentioned categories. It is a "short-term-long-term-easy-to-take-care-of-long-overdue" kind of project if ever there was one...

Silver and the Golden Scissors

This is a story I told A, early on Tuesday morning as I washed her hair. The day before she had cut out a picture of pumpkin so neatly that I honestly thought her teacher had done it.
___________
Once upon a time there was a boy named Silver who lived in a small city with his mother and father. His mother was a seamstress (that is what women who sew clothes are called) and his father was a tailor (that is what men who sew clothes are called). Silver loved his mother and father very much and wanted to grow up to sew clothes, just like his parents.
Silver’s Grandmother lived a few houses down; she was very ill. Everyday after school, Silver would walk to his Grandmother's house to sit with her and listen to stories about a pair of magic scissors that could do amazing things. On the weekend, Silver took chicken noodle soup, mangoes, apples, and bananas to his Grandmother to help her feel better. She would tell him more stories as he helped her cook and clean the house.
One day, as Grandmother was finishing a story. She turned to Silver and said, “You know, if you really want to be a tailor, you need to begin practicing how to cut quickly.” She told Silver that if he could learn to cut a sleeve from a piece of cloth before she could say “bobble kaboozle,” she would give him a special gift. Secretly, he hoped that it would be a green bicycle with red flames.
From that day forward, Silver practiced cutting cloth every chance he got. His mother and father had many patterns for sleeves—big poofy sleeves, long slender sleeves, medium sleeves with ruffles, short sleeves with points—all kinds of sleeves. Soon, his mother and father trusted him to cut out sleeve patterns they had pinned to pieces of cloth. Eventually, Silver began to pin his own patterns to cloth and cut his own sleeves. Every now and then he would take a piece of cloth to his Grandmother’s house and try to cut a sleeve before she could say “bobble kaboozle.” The first time he tried he had barely put his scissors to the cloth before she had said the word. Weeks passed, then months, then a whole year. Each time he visited his Grandmother, he cut more and more quickly. He got to be very, very fast.

One day, Silver told his Grandmother, “I think I am ready today. I think I can cut a sleeve before you can say bobble kaboozle.” He had his pattern pinned to a piece of cloth and his scissors open and ready. His Grandmother slowly sat down in her rocking chair. “Okay Silver. I’m ready when you are.” Silver looked at her. He looked at the cloth. Then he said “READY!” His scissors opened and closed so quickly that they buzzed. His Grandmother uttered the magic words:
“BOBBLE KABOOOOOOOOZLE!”
Before she had said “ooozle,” Silver was finished and holding up a long sleeve in his hand. He beamed with pride and his Grandmother did too. She asked Silver to come sit next to him. “Silver, I will not be here forever because I am very sick. You know that. You also know that you will be getting a special gift from me now that you have passed my test. And you know that even though I will be in heaven soon, I will always be with you—in your heart.” Silver felt sad and happy at the same time. His Grandmother gave him a hug and he gave his Grandmother a kiss and walked slowly home.
That night, when he walked into his bedroom, he saw a shiny red box laying on his pillow. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. He walked over to the box and opened it. On a little black pillow inside the box lay a pair of Golden scissors. Silver knew that his Grandmother had gone to heaven and that this was her gift to him. He put the scissors in the box and lay down to sleep.
That night he dreamt that he was in a tailor’s shop working on a shirt—it was hot, and he was very thirsty. Suddenly, a voice said to him, “why don’t you use your Golden scissors to cut out some juice?”
Silver woke up. “That was weird,” he said. “What could that voice have meant?”

Curious, he took the golden scissors out of the box. The voice said again, “Use your golden scissors…” He walked over to his desk. On it, he had drawn a picture of the green bicycle with red flames that he had been wanting forever. He opened the scissors and in a blur, cut the bicycle out. As the picture drifted to the floor, it got bigger, and bigger, and bigger, until finally it was the size of a real bike. Silver touched it. To his amazement, it WAS a real bike! He quickly drew and cut out a bike helmet and as it became real, he strapped it on his head and ran to tell his parents.
They were waiting for him in the kitchen. “Silver,” his mother said, “we know that your Grandmother has given you a very special present. She left it for you because you worked so hard at cutting out sleeves. Whenever you really need something or if you need to help someone who is in trouble, those scissors will work their magic for you. Now why don't you take that new bike out for a ride!”
As he rode down the street on his new bike, Silver felt a warm glow inside his heart. He smiled, and as he thought of his Grandmother, he whispered softly, “I love you Grandmother. Thank You.”

Empty Mind

When Buddhists talk about trying to empty one's mind, I'm not sure this is what they meant. Over the last month, I have been fortunate to finally finish my chapter (you know, the one I've been working on for a year), to finish my essay for my friend's book, and to hear back from a colleague regarding an article that we started writing--get this--six years ago. Yes, I'm third of four authors, but hey, it's a start. After four years at my previous job of close to no writing, I am encouraged by all of this activity.

But I am also oh-so tired.

I met with folks from a neighboring university today who might want to consult with me over my emerging academic speciality...and then right after, went to a meeting with a grad student whose dissertation committee I was on. And I am wiped out! Dare I try to muster the strength to wash A.'s hair? I must...

What was I was talking about again? Wait a minute--did I just manage to achieve a moment of "empty mind?" Mmm. No. I think that was just a caffeine-crash space out.
Anyway. A is ready to "play noggin on the inner-net."

$0.87

A week and a half ago when I thought I was doing good to be paying a bill on time (if you have to ask why this is good, and have a few hours you'd like to spend procrastinating, please refer to the past year + of posts), even though I was frustrated to be at a department store where there was only one cash register open and I couldn't make a payment with my bankcard because the card reader was broken and the cashier had to call over a manager to see if I could write one check for the carebear short set that was on sale for 5.00 AND my monthly payment of 25.00, and the manager couldn't figure it out and finally decided that I should just write two checks. ...Even though I thought I was doing good to have the presence of mind to thank the cashier for putting up with MY impatience (because, after all, it's probably not her fault that the card reader is broken), and even though I then practically break the sound barrier so that I could come home to rub spices over a half frozen chicken and almost literally toss it in the oven before being almost late to pick up A. from preschool (and of course, S.O. called me in the midst of the chicken rubbing to ask me what I'm sure he thought were relevant questions about why I was putting a chicken in the oven at 5:19 and didn't I know that it wouldn't be ready till almost seven... and shouldn't I be leaving already to pick A. up...) . Even though I looked back on that day with weariness and a sense of pride...

I still came up fucking short. Eighty-seven cents short, to be exact. Because, of course when I went to pay the bill at the store I couldn't find the most recent statement and decided that I thought I remembered that the minimum due was 25.00. Of course, I was almost right. It was 25.87. So I called S**** and kindly asked the customer service rep if there was anything I could do and he kindly told me to rush over to the nearest payment center and make the payment and then call to see about having any late fees taken off. Which I did.

And today I get the bill. Today, when I'm already feeling lonely and purposeless and all of the other premenstrual bullshit...I get the bill and see that there is indeed a late fee. And no, the kind other customer service rep informs me, no I cannot have the late fee taken off because we already cut you a break a few months ago ma'am and you've been delinquent more than two times in 24 months and by the way, your account is closed so there is no reason to expect that we would be able to assist you and really, even though it's only .87 cents, you are responsible for knowing what your payments are and making them on time.

It is times like these, when I am faced with the reality of my own incompetence, that I just want to quit everything and try something more manageable. Like being a lima bean. Or a rock.

Star Wars and the Meaning of Life

I talked with a friend yesterday who wondered how I ended up, after two prior academic tenure-track jobs, as “an assistant professor of qualitative research.” She’s not the first to wonder. Doesn’t really matter, she and I agreed—the most important thing is that I like it. I do.

And, if you feel that everything happens for a reason—finding a great job 75 miles from your husband’s hometown, connecting with people in that job and in that hometown that help you feel like you have a place no matter how much of an odd ball you are—then there’s no reason to search for a reason. But I do.

Why, though? It seems that everyday I’m nagged by incessant questions about meaning. Like last night—I found myself asking, “What is the POINT?” Perhaps it was just the ADD meds wearing off. But no, no. I still have these questions. What is the meaning of this –this life, this species, this job, this marriage, this parenthood, this world, this conversation, this blog? Maybe the answer can be boiled down to some t-shirt cliché, like “if you have to ask, you don’t know,” “just do it,” or “it’s a self-actualized person thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

I got up this morning and between 8 and 9am did more than I feel I’ve done all day. I took goods to the Salvation Army, dropped off dry cleaning, paid the rent, deposited boxes at our storage space, got A.ready for preschool, ate breakfast, did laundry and loaded and ran the dishwasher. I also completed a draft of a position announcement for a job search I’ll be chairing if the provost approves it.

And then…well..I ate lunch the vegan way by accident—let me just say BLECCCH! That was the worst cup o’noodles I ever had. I watched our tivo-ed episode of The Wire over my lunch. And then it was like I had a mental blowout. Honestly—I went up and took a nap until almost 3pm. What is that about?

Maybe it was hanging out with Asia and her cousin, minus my S.O. all weekend. Maybe it was the news that a friend who is pregnant may have lost her baby. Or perhaps it was the news that a whacko had killed 6 girls in an Amish schoolhouse.

I made a good recovery though—emailed next semester’s book orders to my admin assistant. Scheduled the car repairs for tomorrow and rescheduled a lunch I was supposed to have tomorrow. I walked to Sunflower for groceries for tonight’s dinner (a good 1.75 miles I suppose). And now I’m writing.

Could be worse. But I am aiming to find a way to stay on track and not get side tracked as much and for as long. There’s the grant writing that I was supposed to be emailing my research partner four hours ago, the emails from students from last week. And the finances. F***!

I made a deal with S.O. that by this weekend I would come up with a plan for this month’s bills so that we could finally get our income tax situation together. I feel like he wants me to fail. I feel like I’m going to fail. I haven’t even entered my receipts from last week, let alone looked at how to set a budget. Admittedly, he has a talent for catching me in grandiose moments. But--I will not succumb to the dark side. What is it that Yoda said to Luke?

Do or do not. There is no try.

Corny little motivational green bastard. He was always my favorite action figure.