clem and the ballerina, for randi
and also: clem
GPOY so this happened today at work; no, your boss made a collage and acknowledged your 15th anniversary at the job during staff meeting W edition
this almost always makes me laugh
mostly
also, randi, julie, anyone: f.u.n. when life is s.u.c.k. and you’re at a computer
because he lived much of the time away and even when he didn’t, even when he wasn’t away, because I spend much of my time here, he would call. sometimes often. often frequently.
since he passed this phone rings infrequently. every time it does I think of him.
every time.
similarly, when I hear footsteps on the stairs or in the hallway that I don’t recognize, that aren’t those of people who are always here and so could be him, I think of him, too, coming to see me.
I know. I know.
but this is what I think about. this is what thinks me, what holds me in its thrall, if there were a less dramatic thing to be held in. not as big as a thrall maybe, but not nothing, either.
any of you nerds speak Russian?
this appeared today as a response to a livejournal post I wrote in 2009.
too tired to sleep
art school, 1979. worked at a convenience store, broke down paper towel boxes to use for painting surfaces; also gesso and pencil, oil sticks, paint.
no. you just spent twenty minutes looking for the phone that was under the pillow but you couldn’t call it because you didn’t know where it was and it could have woken mom
this is booked. going there to scatter his ashes at the river test, where he worked as a river keeper.
exhausted. horrible horrible evening for my mother. needing to learn how to not be angry at her anger when her illness drives it forward, when the sheer strength and all encompassing nature of it keeps her from sleep, keeps her pinned to what she sees and believes. I need to learn more and I need to learn it fast.
wrote to someone over the weekend about wondering if, by June, Tom and I can mourn and (finally begin to) celebrate his father’s life.
just now, putting one foot in front of the other, one task and then the next one. and the one after that. and so on and so on.
payback
remembering when I was three or four, old enough to remember and yet somehow young enough to still sleep in a crib, and yet old enough to be kind of an asshole at that (and many other) moment(s).
one night, when I was three or four, in the crib, parents watching something on tv, in black and white because that’s what there was and something something wanting to watch it too and them and they telling me it’s time for bed and me, all, really? I don’t think so. apparently I threaten to jump out of the crib and I do and nothing happens except that they’re so aggravated they take all the coats out of the closets and leave them on the floor around the crib and invite me to jump again.
which I do not do
mom, who is not an asshole is having trouble with sleeping - has been staying up late reading the paper and then sleeping through much of the morning and is aware and connected but then not as aware and not as connected and has clearer days and less clear days and slept most of this morning, when I wasn’t quite ready to work and then woke up and wasn’t really settled for very long. generally, she’ll read the sunday paper all day and we’ll chat, I’ll come into the kitchen from the sitting room, but work there for much of the day when i have to work.
but is wasn’t happening today.
ended up sitting with her for most of the day; a kind friend came by in the afternoon with roasted sweet potatoes and lemon cake and raisin walnut bread and visited for a bit. i cooked dinner, mom went to bed a little after 8:30.
but not to sleep. and as i was sitting with her and sitting with her and losing my shit about work to be done, a recommendation to write, and realizing how odd my priorities are, and a kid is sending a document for comment and and and and i’m in tears because she’s so present and so somewhere else and I don’t know how to pull her back.
I realize how much time and energy and love I sucked from this woman’s life; how much time she gave to her own two parents and I wonder how I can help her, keep her safe. give her even any of the all of what she’s given me.
how do I ever love her sufficiently? the moments when she knows that she doesn’t know shatter me to bits.
she sounds almost asleep. but only almost.
