Well wasn't that fun?
How was your weekend? Mine got better, thank you. You ever have all the problems you've bottled up collapse on you like a giant wave? All it takes is one big problem to blindside you; then you lose focus and all imagined control and Wham! You're choking on foam. Here in California, you're choking on a lot more than foam, but that's a lecture for another day: I'd never get past the toxin list before you fell asleep.
So I cooped myself up inside my house, except for Friday night when I went' for groceries. I also took time to do some writing. There's a plaza with some shops and a theater by the market. I sat on the fountain's lip outside the theater, and wrote. It was relaxing. Surrounded by people, but not involved with them. I could do that. And hey, most of them were students. Students are great studies for dialogue. Trust me.
I wrote a bunch of stuff about what was going on in my head-Oh, and speaking of my head, I have a complaint. Extendedforecast cheated and found a way into my mind when she wrote, "I don't know, like I could stop existing and no one would notice, " (Comment posted on Friday's entry) That is the concise heart of what I felt. She needs to get out of there! Rob's head is not a fun house, the oddities inside there are real and dangerous, and not for your amusement. I don’t care how funny the stuff looks! This way to the egress!
Actually I had to re-read that line because it really did freak me out. Those were my words. I wrote them in the post, but erased them because I didn't want it to sound that bad. Even weirder, I could swear I wrote them somewhere else…I can't remember where, and that's just freakin' annoying.
My imaginary lawyer will be in touch with you, Extendedforcast for plagiarizing my thoughts. After her, I'm going after Stephen King. Don't worry Dan Brown, I won't come after your ideas. Those are purely your own.
So what did I write down? What answers did I come up with? I can tell you that I can't tell you. How's that. The words, the Language, it's not something I can share right now. Lets just say I had problems with nouns, both proper and improper, and leave it at that.
How's this: Do you remember the Sinead O'Connor CD, I Do Not Want What I Have Not Got? (You better remember it! Don't make me sing!) Well I've found myself in the trouble area where my "what I want" and my "what I have not got" are both large lists that coincide in too many places.
Then there's this divorce thing.
You didn't know I'm getting a divorce?
Oh yeah! I am.
I know you didn't expect it, neither did I…
The problem is that everything is divorce related, whether it is or isn't. Normally I could look as something like this and go "Oh, it's because you're a selfish asshole, Rob"
"Oh, ok. Thanks Rob."
See? Easy. But that murky divorce veil gauzes everything up. Right now, my world is all about "divorce." It's like stubbing a toe, and then hitting it on every corner, rock and squirrel, at least every five minutes. And let's not get confused. This is the "divorce" problem, not the "Breakup" problem. The break up is all about "What will I do without So-n-so?" The divorce is all about "what do I do now?" I had plans, goals, and THINGS! They don't exist anymore. My life is a Jenga puzzle dependent on one brick, and it's been removed. Time to rebuild. I have to rebuild. I want to rebuild, but I can't. I'm on hold; I'm in the "Divorce process." I'm on hold, and they're playing Celine Dione.
I'm beating my head against the wall and the noise won't go away.
This should be finished.
Imagine my surprise that that hasn't happened? Where's me tidy answers, my new romance, my freakin' golden chariot?
What about my consolation prize? Where's my eternal supply of Turtle Wax?
I'm looking for clarity where there isn't any. Forest, trees, it's a jumbled mess. I'm looking for ever after, and I'm not even out of the Fire Swamp yet. There are still Rodents Of Unusual Size to deal with (no, I'm not talking about MyWife, but that's sweet of you to say).
So now I'm adding futility to the mix. Shake well and pour in my jittery mind. Then stick me in a room alone and see what happens. It's kind of like sticking a cat in a toilet and closing the lid.
Now flush.
I need to relax. I need to take it in stride, and let it happen.
I'm not doing that.
That’s what I discovered this weekend. I know, you could have told me that before, but you didn't! I had to figure it out on my own, and don't try to tie this up into some Karate Kid, Mr. Miyagi, bright bow of perfect order.
"Wax off" my ass. Somebody should have told this idiot something!
So I spent the weekend unraveling the knot the only way I know how: confronting it. I focused on the "lonely" part since it seemed to be the hairy monster. I figured, "Fine, let's say I am alone. What am I going to do about it? If I can't change that now, how can I cope?" And that's how I spent my weekend, coping and unraveling. Oh yeah and answering a phone survey.
Ring-ring.
Caller ID says it's out of area, and looks like my work number. I'll risk it.
"Hello?"
Pause.
"Hello?"
"HiI'mcallingonbehalfofsomestoreyoujustshoppedat…"
What? Everything is so flat, monotone and strung together. I'm wondering "is this a computer?" when Mr. Monotone stumbles over a word. No, this is like 10th grade Literature class. This kid is Brandon Smilth, the jock who sat behind me. Brandon was a great football player, but his oral rendering is worse than his backseat etiquette. At least that's what Sheila Hoffman says, and she should know: she's the Emily Post of backseat etiquette.
No wonder High Schoolers don't get into lit. It's the reading aloud. Only a student can make Huck Finn sound like a tax form.
See, I could read aloud. I wanted to get into radio, that's part of the prerequisite. My problem was I'd get so wrapped up in the cadence and the flow, that I'd start reading ahead of myself. Pretty soon, I'd fumble a word. "Dreaded beast" became "Dreaded breast." Great! Now I've turned Beowulf into a story of angst and libido. It does explain Grendel's disposition. But once you say "breast" in a high school class, nobody cares about the book. They've found their theme, plot, and motivation. Story over.
Not so with my intrepid little surveyor. I'd have eaten Beowulf or Sheila Hoffman to hear him say "Breast." No, he keeps repeating "Scale of 1 to 7" and "Water heater" in an endless flow of lifeless nouns and verbs!
"How would your rate the install"
"How would you rate the installer?'
"How would you rate his persona?"
"How about his je ne sais quoi? "
"joie de vie?"
"Did he have a little Captain in him?"
…
I shut off my mind, waited for silence and blurted a random number. Yes, coincidentally that is how I passed my trig final, that's very astute of you!
So where did I find my answers to my more recent dilemma?
After I came home from church, I baked me some cookies (My Dad would be proud to hear that. At least I used the mixer he bought me. Or, well the Amazon Gift Certificate he gave me bought me. He'd have probably been happier if I bought a new drill, but my old drill still works. Hey, ever wonder how much verbiage parentheses hold before they burst like cheap trash sacks?) Nothing exciting, just the recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. I do make some mean cranberry cookies, I just wasn't up for singing with the smoke alarms as I torched wax paper.
CCCs it is. I threw them together (except the nuts. MyWife took mine. Yeah, laugh, I know there's a Double Entendre there, but believe it or not, it was unintentional. I've had a weekend of coping with lonely, what makes you think I'm ready to deal with emasculation?), baked 'em up, and I was a happy boy.
See, I found over the weekend there weren't any easy answers to my lonely or noun problems. Even with 16 plus years of school, I could barely find the language to express it; I just needed to deal with it. That's what I've always done, I needed to relearn the process.
Oh, I'm still not prolific, in fact; I'm still dreading my vacation in September, and I won't even talk about Thanksgiving or Christmas. Right now I have chocolate chip cookies, and an extra batch of denial to tide me over as I continue my education.
Want some?
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