new raspberry; �HATES technological I am sick to death of erectile dysfunction, pass the tampons please |
I Think I'm Screwed I Think I�m Screwed� �no dinner, no movie I was so looking forward to this entry. I was all set to pen an average day in the life of a lesbian housewife in the heartland. For weeks now I�ve been meaning to regale you with some innocuous tale of my past, my present, perhaps even my hopes for the future, but I find myself�my life as I know it�in crisis. A crisis known only to myself, and maybe my mom. I don�t believe Dearest Darling has any idea of the depth of my crisis. See, my mom just came to visit for a week. This is the same mom that was supposed to visit back at the end of December. The same mom who�s visit was delayed by her diagnosis of lung cancer and subsequent surgery to remove said cancer. The same mom who�s diagnosis beat a straight line to my family dogging on me to quit smoking. God how I resent it. I miss smoking. I know each and every single reason why I should quit, but in my mind none of them are a good enough reason for me. I miss the cigarette in the morning that made it possible for me to take a crap before noon. I miss the cigarette I used to enjoy after each meal. I�d say I miss the cigarette after sex but the sex part has been sadly lacking for a while, unless you count sex-for-one. I miss reading the miniscule local paper each morning on the dining room deck with good coffee and cigarettes. I wasn�t ready to quit and as anyone who�s tried to quit anything knows, it ain�t gonna happen until you do it for YOU. Which brings me to today. The tail end of mom�s visit. The last two days of which have been �uncomfortable� due to the fact that my dearest loved one and I are at a crossroads. Is it seven-year itch? Is it her? Is it me? What exactly is the problem here? More important�is it fixable? My take on the problem is that Dearest Darling quit taking Paxil back in January. Since then her world has narrowed down to one thing�work. She works from seven in the morning until at least six at night. You would think that with those hours she would come home and either carve out some �me time� or immerse herself in her family; put the day at the office behind her. But no, in the past few months I�ve watched her abandon all the things (auctions, dirt bike riding, our pets, sex) that brought her joy save one, work. And work consumes her for reasons that I won�t get into today. When she comes home, she is compelled to recount every second of her day in detailed minutiae to me. This is not a dialogue where two people participate in a conversation; this is a monologue where one person is forced to listen while the other speaks. It goes on for hours, forcing the listener to bite her tongue, maybe even miss the rare program she might watch on television. I don�t give a flying fig about the TV program, that�s why god created man who created VCR�s. What I care about is someone who is OCD and off her meds. Unable to walk away from a single moment of work without analyzing it to death after the fact. What I care about is someone who is compulsive and intractable. Someone who has reached the point where all around her must compromise to her or be dismissed. I have too much invested in this to be dismissed, yet I have reached the point of shut down. I ignore that which I am unable to change to the point where I miss a great deal that I should be noticing. So I take my mother to the airport for her return home today. It�s a two hour drive one-way to the airport in Kansas City. Plenty of time to site-see, chit-chat, wrap up the week that she spent here. It�s also two hours of alone time on the return trip. Time that I spent listening to my new Aimee Mann CD. Title track grabs me. Grabs me so much that I think I hit the repeat button at least ten times on track three, Lost In Space. So what direction do I go from here? Do I get Me counseling? Do I get Us counseling? Do I get Her counseling? All of the above? Or do I just start making my mental list of what�s mine and what�s hers�If I do that, is it tantamount to admitting that it�s over? Here is the snippet of lyric that sent me reeling: So baby, beware I'm just pretending to care Like I'm not even there Gone, but I don't know where Gone, but I don't know where Gone, but I don't know where And here�s the whole song: Lost in space A bubble drifting Into a place Where planets shift and The moon's erased Its features lift in the glare But I'm the stuff Of happy endings Though mostly bluff Belief suspending But close enough For just pretending to care And I'm pretending to care When I'm not even there Gone, but I don't know where Well, she's the face And I'm the double Who keeps the pace And clears the rubble And, lost in space Fills up the bubble with air By just pretending to care Like I'm not even there Gone, but I don't know where You split like a cell And then cannot tell The line from its parallel So baby, beware I'm just pretending to care Like I'm not even there Gone, but I don't know where Gone, but I don't know where Gone, but I don't know where Anybody got any advice?
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secrets pondering: Why the right wingers who want to keep the government out of their business insist on putting the government in my bedroom laughing about: It gets lost in translation crying about: bad habits: smoking totally ballistic about: amen sister: someone else�s take on childlessness regular reads: cactustree must see tv: |