An Embarrass

There's a town in Wisconsin called "Embarrass".  I think there's one in Oregon as well.  This is an old fashioned way of describing a log-jam.  A blockage.  An obstruction.  An "embarrass".

I have had Internet for a few weeks, now.  And almost the identical moment that I got the CAPABILITY to write, I lost the fucking inspiration!  What's with that, anyhow?

I have A LOT to say!  I'm a single lady living in an apartment slightly larger than a postage stamp.  I'm learning all sorts of new things.  I'm trying to navigate a new relationship for the first time in over 20 years.  There's a lot to SAY, folks.  So why do I only want to say it while I'm driving?  Or in the shower?  Not when I sit down at the computer.  I do not understand myself.

So, we're going to have to get this little problem under control.  I've just finished breaking a bunch of BAD habits - didn't mean to break a good one, for fuck's sake.

SO  we'll start small and simple.  Today will just be a list:  dumb stuff Kate did to amuse herself today

1.  Pens.  Martina got a pen from a student that, it you push the button, glows bright red and plays the entire Les Marseilles.  I was sort of jealous.  But I have a King Tut sarcophagus pen.  Don't see one of those every day!  We also have a daffodil pen, a pen that is actually a spring with a fuzzy head at one end; and a sappy Valentine heart pen.

2.  An improvised lint roller.  You know that horrible scratchy feeling you get after a haircut, when you have little tiny bits of hair all down your cleavage?  And your back and on your neck?  Yeah, well I had that problems and also had a roll of Scotch tape.

3.  Attempted taunting of Chuck with brownies.  There were three left in the pan, and I tried to make him think that I was going to take all three of them with me when I left for work this morning.  I made comments directed at the bedroom door to that effect.  This did not, unfortunately, send him rocketing  out of bed to protect his turf. He must be getting me figured out.  Booger.

4.  Waltzing with Becca. 

Yes, I Find My Washer Evocative

My washer sounds the same here, swishing away, as it did at the other place.  I listened to it this afternoon and remembered that, just a short time ago, I had another life.  It was not happier; but it was sure easier.

I contemplated the "happy vs. easy" conundrum while negotiating with Simon on the phone this morning, en route back to Salt Lake from a camping trip.  No, I can't air the camping gear at the old place.  I pointed out that his driveway and garden hose would sure make scrubbing and rinsing the cooler and the dry box easier.  And that he has abundant space to hang the tent, the fly and the sleeping bags to air.

Nope.

I tried, "We want to take care of the gear, right?"

Nope.

I tried,  "But we're keeping the gear there anyway..."

Turns out that, as of that moment, it all became MY gear.  So I had better deal with its maintenance, and tough luck about the difficult clean-up.  I should have thought of that when I moved out into a little apartment.  Uh... yeah.  The well-being of the camping gear was paramount for me at all times.

 I guess the bright side it that, as long as it's out airing, I don't have to figure out how to put it all away.

Here's my clothesline, the other class act on my eventful little balcony.  This actually works OK, but the chairs need to be counter weighted by some of the heavier clothes laid across the seats.  Yeah, I know.  I need a drying rack.  But when not in use, where the fuck would I PUT it? 

The sudden outbreak of large camping items caused a moment of weakness.  I admit that I flopped on my belly across the bed and snuffled in my pillow.  The washer's "Foomp, foomp, foomp" reminded me of better days.  Well, not better days.  But an epoch in my life that I might someday look back on and call, "The Days of Storage".

Hottie

From "Kiss Me Kate":

I want to fool with my baby tonight/
Break every rule with my baby tonight/
But pillow, you'll be my baby tonight/
'cause it's too darn hot.

One hundred degrees in Salt Lake City today.  My ceiling fan wigs me out a little.  I understand that it is supposed to move slightly as the fan spins, but it reminds me of one of those dashboard hula girls, and I keep glancing at it because usually, when something moves around that much while it's running, BAD THINGS ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN.  The lights that are integral to the fan wiggle along with it, creating a disco effect on the walls.

It's fun to stay at the Y! M! C! A!

I worked on my budget this evening with an orange Popsicle clenched in my teeth like a stogie. This worked really well until the moment when the ice got a little too soft, shattering off the stick and dropping everywhere, getting sticky orange stuff on my hanging file folders.  I lick it off.  I am enamored of my new hanging file folders. They are multi-colored, with matching tabs.  I stick a red tab on a red folder with some satisfaction, then think to myself, "Live a little!" I put a blue tab on the next red folder.  Yeah, I know.  Don't expect too much daring-do from me:  it's too darn hot. 

The View from Here

The view from here is spectacular.  I am sitting in a palatial home waaaay up on Aloha Road, which is in the upper Avenues neighborhood of Salt Lake.  From here you can see the whole city spread before you.  I'm sitting cross-legged on a sofa that is actually an antique opium bed brought from Singapore.  It juxtaposes nicely with the Little Tykes mega-plastic kitchen set in the corner and the banker's boxes piled willy-nilly around the place. 

We call this the Aloha House or the Bachelor Pad.  Three single dads are living here, sometimes with kids, sometimes without.  Chuck has a room here and I have come up here a couple of times to be with him.  I like it: the clean lines of the house are restful; I like talking with Chuck's friends.  And the view is always waiting for me to admire it.  Especially at night. 

I was looking out the front windows the other night, and thinking about how much in my life is new. I have a budget, and I am learning to manage it pretty well.  My routines are all shifted around. I shop for groceries in a new store (where I can't find a fucking thing!).  I ride my yellow bicycle there after work and put my groceries in the bike basket, which detaches from the bike with a little clip.  I occasionally drink Pabst Blue Ribbon from a can.  (I feel so cheap!) I meet new people all the time.  Pat, Cliff, Kathy, Al... I watch classic comedies that I never had the chance to see before.  Sailing:  never did it before now.  Riding on a motorcycle:  never did it before now.

Luckily, when they passed out resilience, I got an extra helping.  I handle change OK for an old broad.

Thursday was a difficult day at work.  When I was done for the day, Chuck came on his bike and I climbed on back.  We drove up here and I did data entry while he cooked a pot of chili.  We put his laptop between us on the opium bed and watched Blazing Saddles and drank (kind of a lot of) wine.  Afterwards, I was standing here at the windows looking out and Chuck came over to stand by me. "What are you thinking about?"  "Just looking at the view!  The view from up here is amazing!"  I wasn't just talking about the city lights, but the pleasure of a new perspective over all.  Some parts of it better than others, absolutely. (See Pabst Blue Ribblon, above.)   But all of it different, all of it new.  None of seen by my eyes before.

[Still struggling with Internet.  Hope to be back regularly soon.]

Once You Begin to Sleep

The good part is that you look different.  People comment and say that your skin looks smoother; that you look prettier.  I do find myself looking in the mirror and thinking, “You look GOOOOOOOOD!”

The bad part is that sleep is like a drug.  Now that I am getting more of it, my body does not want to return to the thrilling days of yesteryear (or at least last month), when I was fully functional (if a bit shaky) on three hours of sleep a night.  I started slowing down at 10:30 this evening.  It’s only 1:00 now, and I’m done.

I still have no Internet.  I really need to just splash out and get it.  Tomorrow, though, I’m going to try stopping at Whitmore Library and using the wi-fi there so I can get this posted. 

*********

OK!  I'm at Whitmore, huddled in a scrap of sidewalk shade behind a trash can. The library doesn't open until 10!  10!  Crimeny.  I can kind of see the monitor - mostly I can see the dust on the monitor and not much behind it, so pardon my spelling.  

I am hanging in there and so glad that I still have some readers.  Thanks, friends!  I will try to find a way to post every day again.  I have a lot to say, but since I have't been posting each day, I'm log-jammed.  Let me set my little mental lumber-jack loose here and see if I am more limber tonight.  At the moment, my butt is cold from the sidewalk. 

That reminds me of a poster my friend Julia was describing to me.  There are two chocolate Easter bunnies on it.  One has had its ears eaten off; the other has a missing tail.  One has a thought-bubble that says, "Man!  My butt hurts!"  The other says, "WHAT?" 

My butt hurts.

Say, "WHAT?"

She is Still Alive

Just about.

Very quick blog entry.  I am at my old house for an hour or so, and can get on the Internet.  Blogging has been almost impossible since I have moved.  I don't want to pay for Internet in my apartment.  There is no insecure wireless that I can swipe or share.  Internet at Guadalupe blocks blogs.  There is a cafe near my apartment where I can get online if I am willing to buy drinkables.  Or I could sit in their parking lot.  Or I could sit in the parking lot at McDonald's.  If I had time to go sit in parking lots right now.  What I really want is Internet access at 2 AM, when I have time to blog!

Ugh. I know:  poor baby. 

So, quick run-down.

My apartment is small, but is starting to make me happy.  I am trying to take Dive's advice and make it feel like my own.  I'm trying to make it cozy and welcoming.

I am happy to be out of the range of Simon and his anger most of the time.  I am trying to get the kids stabilized.

I am still struggling to get my money organized, but I worked on it for a few hours last night.  It's slowly forming into a budget and a predictable set of upcoming expenses. If I can make it through this month, I think I will be all right.  Except for the medical bill.  And the soccer fees.  And the car insurance.  Even the library fine is daunting right now, as is the purchasing of groceries.  I am down to about $60 for the next 11 days, unless I want to buy food on my credit card. Blech.  This is rough because Si got all but $200 of my last paycheck.  If I can make it through to my next check, I'll be OK.

And C.?  Is it OK to simply say that I am happy?  I don't usually permit myself happiness without hedging.  It is hardly possible to have a more attentive, kind, caring, open  person in my life.  It would appear that he really means it.  Really loves...me.  I am working on accepting this relationship at face value and just enjoying it.  Because my dad left rather precipitously when I was eight, I get wrapped up in issues I have hung onto since I was a little kid:  someone you love wholeheartedly can be here today and gone tomorrow.  Other people manage this risk adeptly, and I would like to as well.  I get so tied up in managing my expectations, bracing myself for some sort of painful awakening, talking myself away from happiness.  And now I am finally SICK of viewing love with a jaundiced eye.  It is getting in the way.  I need to let my fears go before they foul the waters.  For Pete's sake!  Anytime we love someone, we lay ourselves open to the risk of loss.  I need to stop all the defensive posturing and realize that I'm not a vulnerable eight-year-old.  I'm a grown-up who can handle grown-up risks and grown-up pain.  Hell, if I haven't learned that much about myself over the last few months, the suffering has been a bit of a waste.  I can weather loss, AND maintain my super-powers.  Given that, why not go for broke and love without all the caution tape?  Working on it. Gotta run.  I'll be back when I can manage it. 

I am so sorry that I have been neglecting my friends' blogs!  It's driving me crazy!  I will catch up as soon as I can. 

May Ends in Pictures

I'll start off in running clothes, then change at work.

Wake up Sara!  School!  Love these door beads....

My dentist is always late.  I have learned to take a book and schedulr appointments for 8:00 AM, before he has a chance to get seriously backlogged.   How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents, by Julia Alvarez.

Dr. Russell Like to hear all about the books I am reading, but has an annoying habit of asking about them while he has his fingers in my mouth.

To the bank (couldn't you guess by the cheap suckers?) to get a cashier's check for $1010 to cover tomorrow's rent and security deposit...

Then to Nathan's school Habitat Fair.  Nate's animal was the grizzly bear.

I think his look of contrived ennui is cute!

To work.  Let's see... What is this flash card supposed to represent?  "Scared?"  "Teeth?"  This kid thinks HE'S scared?  He doesn't have to work with Becca!

Before getting started with my regular stuff, I had to call the electric and gas companies and get my account information for the apartment office people.

E-mail took FOREVER today.

Yuck!  The data sheet on one of my federal grant proposals.  Got both grants done and submitted to the State Office of Education.

My colleague Mary Sue brought me an egg roll from her lunch! Yay!  'Cause I didn't get around to eating my own lunch until 3:00 PM pr something.

My keybaord tray is driving me up the fucking wall.  Now it is held together with a paperclip and one of those clamp-style paperclips that I call a "bullfrog".

Thank you notes to volunteers who have stayed with us for amazing lengths of time.

We put lessons in these folders for our learning groups.

Thu Ha has just got back from a long trip to Vietnam.  Rai is modeling one of the little scarves she brought for each of us.  We love them, but we are mystified:  it's too hot in Vietnem to wear wooly scarves.

Our uniform shirts with our new logo have arrived.  I distribute them to support staff.

My dear friend David L., teaching his group.

Student Victor M., famous in this blog for his many bad jokes.

Yen H. told us that she passed her US Citizenship exam.

11:30 PM:  Time to go home with all of my month-end paperwork (I refuse to fall behind, move or no move) and a couple precious cardboard boxes.

Packing