there's something happenin' somewhere

 I don't know how 75% of the people who live in Anchorage go camping on Memorial Day Weekend; it just seems like the campgrounds surrounding the dome wouldn't be large enough to accommodate the influx of people.

But, somehow, this weekend has seemed calm, quiet. Swathes of placidity occasionally pierced by birdsong or a float plane. The times when the sun's flashed out at us lends a suffocating optimism. That's Alaskan spring.

Whereas in the winter one feels the darkness and cold taking control of one's emotions, energy, soul - it doesn't matter if you're having the best winter of your life. You'll still feel in thrall to the relative amount of sun you are or are not getting. Winter = sadness/lethargy. Spring = joy/optimism - even if your personal life is in complete disarray.

Maybe it's just because I've passed the halfway mark of my 30's. But even with all the turmoil I've described lately (or, if not described, heavily implied) I just feel sort of like I just can't bother with getting very upset. I mean: I still feel the adrenaline and the racing heart and all the rest, but it's sort of...just not the most important? It's been much easier to hold the long game of surviving in mind versus the drama of the moment. 

The Kate-Bushy Women's Work of Not Having the Wherewithal to Fuck With a Nervous Breakdown Due To Being a Mom Basically. But listen to their partner bitch on the phone about how you don't do anything to support them ...except for that time they left for five months...the times that they want to be in bands...or, you know, with the step-kids.

The truth is in the middle, I suppose. Somewhat elevated.

Driving in search of open pools (there were none) this morning I considered doing a Burly-Q piece in which I, a super white lady, rap "Beez In the Trap" dressed as a professor while delivering a Powerpoint presentation on Beez In the Trap ending with twerking (if I can get that together) and some bar graphs showcasing demographic information on Texas, A-Town, Chi-Town, Miami, et al.

My last day is tomorrow. I feel like I'm stepping off a cliff. Specifically one of the ones on Pandora. In Avatar. 

One of my favorite things to do (when I remember) is substitute different items you can't start a fire with in "Dancing In the Dark". Because a spark is only part of the picture baby. Guess what else you can't start a fire without? Kindling! Oxygen! Propellant! Friction! Try it next time you're at a party and you wish you could look at your phone but for some reason you can't, and need to look vaguely present.

Reading 4000 Weeks Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman and it's secretly a philosophy book and I am here for it.

Once I get past 40 my plan is to aim for giving big OC energy. By which I mean Olivia Coleman.

Now. What the fuck am I gonna wear to a rainbow goodbye party? *smacks forehead*

on cue/en queue

 One of my preschool families brought me a beautiful flower arrangement yesterday. And although I still don't technically love getting flowers, I could appreciate the thought. And Leels has sure as heck been appreciating getting the chance to pull them out and investigate them. I still haven't taken the time to cut the stems and put the food in and do the things so that they look tres elegant and whatever, because somehow it took all the time in the world to do dishes and take stabs at gathering more of the information I need for recent expectations for adulting.

But it occurred to me last night that this will somehow be a problem.

These flowers.

Just like the artichoke incident of 2017.

Just like...whatever else.

So I'm taking a minute to journal this morning.

My husband asked if I wanted to separate on Wednesday morning. Now, as you know (if anyone is reading this consistently), this isn't a baseless question. But it is a complicated one. I'll spare the details (not forever, probably, but for now), but these flowers? Are going to be a problem.

He's been staying at his mom's house since then; picked up his clothes (not all of them). Not been wanting to talk (which is understandable, but not helpful). And not been checking in on his kid.

I'm going to be unemployed-ish in about 20 working hours and three calendar days, and Leels' birthday is on Saturday. We were supposed to sit down and figure out about insurance for himself and the kid on Wednesday night. Guess what didn't happen?

*sigh*

I'm sure the timing could be worse, but I mean.... Not great?

So assuming he does come back at some point in the next couple of weeks there may be flowers about. Which will be a problem. Because he will believe it to mean I've been having an affair. When really it just means I was a pretty awesome preschool teacher with really awesome families. 

- My therapist suggested making sort of a costs versus benefits analysis when we did talk. 

- My mom suggested siccing my dad on him

- I don't think his parents are aware, but if they are they haven't shared their insights with me.

Point being, things are not okay. I'm so busy I need to barf (as usual). And the thoughts flitting through are usual short and on the acidic side. I can't say any of them to him. Because...why? It would just hurt a lot. It wouldn't fix anything. And he doesn't want to talk.

My behavior in this particular relationship hasn't been anything especially wonderful. So I don't feel victimized. I do feel disappointed. My behavior in this particular relationship hasn't been anything especially heinous. And I mean, it has been in past ones. But this one? More something that held up a mirror to my own behaviors that I wanted gone. Useful-ish.

But as of today? I still feel very neutral. It could go either way. It depends a lot on him. But it depends a lot on if we can now (or ever) be partnered. Eight years and you'd think we would be. But we're very much in a parallel play stay because that's what feels safest. Because we've both made each other feel unsafe in various ways over the years.

My adult self keeps mentioning that what would be best is finding the template of the partnership and family I want and that would be healthiest all around, and figuring out how far away we are and what it would take to get there. Then setting a time limit and proceeding from there. 

Another part says yes, and whether you continue to stay legally married or not will be entirely up to him. Because you didn't necessarily want to get married for yourself anyway. It was something for him. And if it's not working for him anymore then he can jolly well take care of it himself.

Amongst the wall of text sent was the question: what are you going to do? The short answer (which I did not send) was...nothing. I didn't initiate it (I don't think? That's just my perspective, though). And as much as I see that he might not have the mental energy to...be around, I guess? Pulling the trigger on something like this is not happening.

While I certainly have been listening to too much "Something Was Wrong" lately, all this could very well be in actuality a tactic to Make Me Do Something He Doesn't Have the Guts Or Executive Function For. Like with my last relationship with Scott? When he passively feinted around until I finally ended things?

Well, we have a child. So if he would like to not be around for her - that's his choice and it needs to be very clear that he's the one making it. His two sons are arriving in (checks watch) one week and two days. So if he wants to completely fuck over any sense of stability they have while they're here? Again. On him.

Alternatively, it could also be a tactic to make me agree to move in with his parents. And if I don't I get to be the bad guy! Well, moving in with them doesn't change the floor plan of their house. And it takes an awful lot of pressure off of him to do things that might make their lives easier - like install ramps and a chair lift.

He also hasn't cancelled the friend get-together on Tuesday, which I think is very telling. Although he does like to pick fights right after we have a nice time hanging out with other adults! 🙄

Anyway. Have a fun Friday! I gotta go do statistics homework before picking up cupcakes for my kid's school birthday.

Ciao.

had a dream it was a cloud in my coffee cloud in my coffee and

My subconscious thought it would be a good idea to dream about being in a classroom setup - much like the one I'm already in - with two classrooms sharing the airspace, but rather than being preschool classrooms (I guess?) these were med school classrooms.

I dreamed I was minding my business, but the classroom across the way was dissecting a cadaver. They weren't very good at keeping the matter contained, so there were spurts and explosions of skin, fat, brain matter - I don't even know what all - that permeated my classroom as well as down the hall into the break room. They were disassembling the body and storing it in the lobby such that when I went down the hall to get a little space (and refresh my coffee) there was a skull and part of a spine cleaned off and neatly arranged by the front desk.

One of my coworkers, B, was there and I was complaining a little about the FUCKING ORGANIC MATTER EVERYWHERE and she said, "Well, you know, it's something they look forward to every year. They're just so excited!"

...and then some got in my coffee.

Blech.

Paperwork

 "You're so good at paperwork! Why don't you do all of it?"

"Thanks - I hate it."

Jackie’s

 I’ve been pulling a tarot card every morning as a brief focusing device, I think. Sometimes they’re a little on the nose, sometimes ominous. Like the day I had a final I pulled the 7 of Cups: choose carefully! …yeah, I got that, thanks.

Or the day I got to go to the admitted students day: 10 of cups inverted. Normally that means all your wishes will come true, but inverted means greed. So I suppose I’m still waiting to see what that means exactly.

Well, today it was Strength. So I’m waiting to see how  supposed to be strong and Jackie’s Strength is playing in my head off and on.

I guess I’m fully expecting people to come after me today, although it hasn’t happened so far. 

Husband for choosing to go home last night instead of staying over at the in-law. Bruh, Sunday night is not “spending the weekend” and I don’t pay a frikkin’ mortgage to not be in my house.

Idk. I’ve had a lot of accusations lobbed at me over the years. Lots of: “You’ve spent so much time being single you don’t know how to be in a relationship”. Lots of “I don’t want you here if you aren’t happy to be here”.  Oh, and laundry. Lots of kickback about that. But in my current partnership I’m the only one to do laundry at all most of the time the vast majority. 

While I don’t have a simple answer per se about any of that as far as: here is why I am so awful at being partnered, it isn’t because I’ve spent much time single. I’ll tell you that for free.

I recall having the conscious thought in my teens that I would just have to have a relationship, but that it was also something I would need to “work around”. Perhaps from seeing my parents I realized that it would be somewhat unpleasant but probably necessary.

There was probably an element of attraction/repulsion there too. Wanting autonomy but never prior really having had it, so holding onto it like life depended on it. Listening to too much Dr. Laura growing up. 

And scenes from Lifetime movies coming unbidden to me. 

There was an episode of Unladylike in which one of the guests said something along the lines of there being a point at which (in marriages, specifically) you had yo put down the puzzle pieces of WHY you chose the person/dysfunctions you did and simply start living the life in front of you.

And that certainly is a recurring theme for me. This is your life - go live it.

And yet there is something or multiple somethings that seem often to pull me somewhere else. Being somewhat (or very) woo, I tend to think it something metaphysical. 

Ancestors, dead brothers, the parts of my life I cannot remember that curl themselves in shorthand around the things I can and speak loudest from the past and the future and the far.

Okay, bye. Go have yourself a good Monday. 8 days and counting.

colgate comedy hour? more like minute.

- I liked learning about podocytes. I like to think of them as existing in places other than the glomerulus. Little footlike projections pulling on strands of everything - the future, the present. Your innards. Maybe they do. 

- The goal for the next week is to close out all portfolios and pack lunch and snacks for myself everyday. Also, have sort of a game plan for dinners. Monday: mac n' cheese and hot dogs. Tuesday: meatloaf and potatoes. The call and response for this is, "Your record collection is very meat and potatoes" and "You're making me look bad in front of Howie!" ...if you haven't watched I Think You Should Leave walk, don't run to your ex's login page.

- In reading the posts of my acquaintances that have more/more severe autistic traits than myself I find myself doubting; but then I realize that if left to my own devices I would eat, like, four things and the story I tell myself about how "It's just because I'm busy; I'd eat a variety of foods if I only had time and money to do it!" is...not accurate. It would probably just be my weird-ass comfort foods that don't get stuck in my teeth, don't do much for me nutritionally, and give me specific types of stimulation; I'm talking about extreme spiciness. I'm sensory seeking and sensory avoidant food-wise! But that doesn't work from a functional standpoint. So I'll be gamifying packing a variety of foods in my lunch.

- Connections between disordered eating patterns and neurodivergence - surely that's a research study already in progress somewhere, right? If not maybe that's my capstone right there. Because that would sure as hell alleviate some guilt for a lot of people. As much as I would like to hand ownership of my disordered eating over to society, really, it's probably that plus certain neurodiverse traits. And how would that affect the treatment protocol, etc. etc.

- It's always a little bonkers meeting a person and realizing they are the child equivalent of (or to?) an adult I know or vice versa. Sort of checking out the kid's parents and trying to transpose the adult's parents over the child's and wondering if the kid's looking at a similar set of parents as the adult I know. Or maybe there's a better goodness of fit. Or a worse one. 

- Anyway. Mother's Day is over. It went about as well for me as it did for you. As much or more cleaning as/than usual and now trying to play Persona 5  because it's fun but it's so damn long. 

- Tomorrow we'll see how many pieces the world is in.

It’s got an awful bite

I was definitely up for a few hours last night thinking about how my reporting is going to impact eeeeeeverybody. So, yes I DID lose sleep over it, Karen.

Blarg.

In other news, some thoughts about the felt sense of time passing. Being in this encounter with someone I used work with (and who was very solid at the time) but just…not feeling the current relevancy of they themselves in this role in this moment. Time, pandemics, events, just scrubbing it all away and being left with a glow of general good feeling…but have a gut feel that still. Something’s a bit off.

Trying to catch up on household stuff and get stuff done before Statistics drops on…Monday? Next Monday? Usually I get an email that’s all like: get your textbook, bitch!And I have gotten no such email. Am I going to need a calculator? Will there be lots of “remember this from Algebra”s? Is literally anyone available to tutor me in exchange for coffee massages childcare or shimmies? No? Cool.

Fucking TIME, man.

It feels like I’m spread over time and space. One hand in 2010 and all those places, one hand in a span of time that involves my kids at work and feeling so. Much. Grief. I’m leaving them. One foot in the last week of July 2023 and another trying to stand outside of time and avoid the self care/parent/daughter/spouse/homeowner/adult stuff by being really way too into Love Is Blind and The Circle (not very useful as far as special interests go) and throwing the little bits of executive function I have at the most emergent issues as they arises. Like, oh shit: swimming, dishes, laundry, bills, side hustle, half of a home project, fuck it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow, etc. I can plan as much as anyone likes, but will I find the will to follow through? 

Not without some small t self-traumatizing, Jesse Lacey. Also, shame on you! Shame on the early aughts! Shame on us all.

after everything you've done for me (some of which I asked for) ugggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh

 The problem is, that everyone's probably going to think that J reported it. 

And that I feel a little bit like I'm throwing a hissy fit because I'm not getting my way. 

And that I'm undermining S wanting to do it. She'll do a good job. J would do a good job too. But if the decision is not race-based, then all should be fine, right?

Ugh. Hopefully if there is any damage it's minimal. Hard for me to gauge my motivations sometimes. 

But I've sat by silent too many times. My gut's telling me to speak up. 

If it's wrong I'll find out very very soon.

You do gotta werk tho’

 I’ve been trying to count down my last days with cute kid quotes. The problem is that I am now immune to cute kid quotes, and so don’t often recognize them when they happen. Maybe my brain will release more anecdotes when I am surrounded by the same three kids for two months straight, and I’ll finally write the screen treatment for “Working Three to Five” where the preschoolers are played by adults walking around on their knees. Or maybe just interchangeable kids shot from a shoulders and hands forced perspective. Anyway.

SPEAKING of brains, I got to visit a friend who had a brain aneurysm five weeks ago in inpatient rehab and she IS doing great, but the brains are so fascinating! Her stories were fascinating, I could have just listened to her for hours. I hope she writes a book.

But one of the takeaways seemed to be that the way the brain processes trauma (like loss) is way not linear. Like the loss of a parent - I haven’t yet experienced that - it sounds like depending on where that’s stored in memory (long versus short) it can shunt you through the phases of grief over and over again if it “forgets” that you’ve already processed it and you just have to do it over and over again.

“Time it moves in circles and you can end up anywhere.” - Martha Wainwright

We’ve been a bit displaced lately what with sleepovers and husbands just wanting to be somewhere else to spend the night, and I thought I was going to blog last night, but I randomly got into a really involved in a list-based journal I started ages ago called Love Listography. I tried to add one entry per category on the applicable things. But wow; I just feel so far away from most of it.

Like, (romantic) love is nice and all, but it just doesn’t seem so important. My heart is my own, mostly. Parts of it traverse outside my body across the universe but I no longer feel compelled to FiNd ThE rIgHt OnE or that x is wrong or y is right. Not really so much with the FOMO or the labels or the cares about what anyone else thinks about me. 

Except when I’m shopping Instacart and THIS OBVIOUSLY ISN’T THE DELI, CLARA. Gosh. 😳

Okay. Bye!