‘Walt Grace, desperately hating this whole place-
dreamed to discover a new space and buried himself alive.
Inside his basement,
Tongue on the side of his face meant,
He’s working away on displacement-
and what it would take to survive.
‘Cause when you’re done with this world,
you know the next is up to you…’
What is that thing where no matter the talking, therapist, therapy, or other tool, nothing has changed?
That despite the efforts and “growth”, it’s all a facade that even you yourself don’t buy?
That’s the realization that you’re broken and irreparable.
And you will never be anything different.
but I need to pretend you all aren’t here for a moment or two.
Because for the longest time- you weren’t.
I will have had this blog for 2 years in June, but it wasn’t until less than a year ago that I actually had any followers.
This was my outlet. A safe place no one but me knew of, where I could spill my thoughts and not let the bottled words be poison for my soul.
But for right now, for a post or two, I just need to let go.
Kindergarten testing was today.
The school is in a valley, in the heart of Amish country, about 20 minutes from our house. When we were finished with the testing, we stopped at 2 different country stores- both run by the Mennonite and Amish.
In the corner of one of the stores’ parking lot were a couple of Amish women and about 7 children selling quilts and whoopie pies. The Amish woman who made the quilts said I could take pictures of her work, as long as I did not get any of them in the pictures. I promised I wouldn’t, and offered to show her the photos after I took them, so she could see.
5 little barefooted children gathered around my tiny iPhone screen to see the photos. Such big eyes. The littlest reached out to touch the screen, as if to feel the quilts through it.
Passing many farms on the way home, I could see lots of small children running up hills, and through fields.
I don’t understand very much about their lifestyle, but I am most certainly envious of their innocence (ignorance?) of the world.
Tonight, I was held hostage by an evil, vicious wedding dress.
I have a “work weekend” this weekend (read: “you don’t want to know!”) where I need a ball gown for a silly program.
A donated wedding dress came across my radar. I have no idea what size it is- maybe an 8…possibly a 10. Could be a 6. Might be a 12.
It’s one of those corset lace up the back styles. This should be remembered.
I went back to work this evening, and decided to try on the dress.
I got it on over my head. It fit nicely. I knew I would need help tightening up the bodice, but I could see it would serve the purpose I needed it for.
Then came time to take it off.
It was here I realized I was in trouble.
Too narrow to fit over my hips, there was no way I would be simply “stepping out” of this gown. I tried to pull it up over my chest.
Nope.
I got the brilliant idea of taking one arm down through the bodice at a time.
My left arm became pinned to my body.
Jumping up and down only wedged me in further.
Sweating began to ensue. So did panicking.
It was then that I came to the very realistic realization that I very well may be wearing my burial shroud.
A used, strangling, abandonment issue-filled wedding gown of a burial shroud.
Remember that lace-up back?
Yeah. It took me 22 minutes of profusely sweating and wondering how I was going to 127 Hours my way out of this thing to remember I could just unlace. the. back.
One handed. Backwards. And bottom to top.
freedom.
Moral of the story:
Don’t be an idiot.
to a dash near you.
•I made (and drank) 3 quarts of iced tea today. Peach, with fresh sliced peaches and mangoes in it. It was delightful.
• I refilled the Brita last night. The one in my fridge. I also just re-refilled it 10 minutes ago. It holds 1.13 gallons of water.
• Other than two 6 ounce cups of water the Things drank today- I single handedly emptied the Brita.
• I get to wear pantyhose tomorrow. And Wednesday. And Friday. And Sunday. I’ve been told I should count it a privilege to be able to wear what I wear. I think a man in cotton socks said that.
•I’d like to strangle him with my pantyhose. And not in a kinky way.
• I’m pretty sure I’ve peed the equivalent of a small hippo today.
• If it’s yellow: let it mellow.
At this point, I’d have to down a whole bottle of Yellow #5 for that to be slightly applicable.
• I’m thirsty.
if it’s touching me- I hate it.
my hair.
this couch.
this laptop.
my phone.
the wires from my earbuds.
my own skin.
the air.
oh. dear. lord.
brb… gonna go sleep in the shower under the cold water.
ALL NIGHT LONG!
Sometimes I like to sit out in the rain.
No umbrella- no awning. No protection- just exposed to the deluge.
I love to watch it, as it washes away things.
And as my clothes cling to me, and I couldn’t possibly become any more soaked, there comes a calm in the storm. Tiny streams in the street race off, carrying the debris of the road with them.
Little rivulets of water run down my skin, carrying away the day’s sweat, tears, grime…
-Sometimes I wish I could turn me inside out, and sit out in the rain.
Great warm weather for this holiday weekend, right?
My local fire department is out today, standing at one of the major intersections in town for their annual fundraiser. Some of the guys are in partial uniform, and it’s frickin’ hot out. Two are on crutches. One older guy has a cane.
Instead of…
And you know what I’m wishing for…?
Some friggin’ air conditioning.
Our central air is busted. (IknowIknowIknow- 1st world problems!)
And it’s currently 88 degrees in my house.
Outside? 71.
I’m a sweaty beast in the heat.
And I can’t sleep when my feet are hot.
My feet are on FIRE.
Grrrrrrrr!
Grouchy Mary is grouchy.
Fell asleep for 20 minutes or so, and was startled awake by The Huz, who is downstairs watching YouTube clips.
How did he scare me awake?
Laughing.
He’s probably watching cats falling off of things. Or old people trying to do the Cat Daddy.
Whatever ridiculousness he’s watching- he is. So. Friggin. LOUD.
Heart racing, and stolen nap cut short? Good way to lose a finger. Or a face.
Who I am remains to be discovered.
Only when I become 'who I was' will it be made clear.
These are the ingredients that created who I was. Who I am. Who I am becoming.
It is an open letter- written for you.
To you.
