In praise of chemistry

Gonna write a little while the Mister is in the shower.

We are staying in a hotel near Portland, OR, attending the wedding of a friend of mine. Weddings are weird affairs. The best line from the wedding officiator dude was:


When you are wrong, admit it.
When you are right, shut up.

Words to live by.

A little too much wine and Makers Mark was consumed by me. I must admit that i have felt better of a morning. But it was fun.

Thank chemist for Ibuprofen.

I am trying very hard to relinquish the illusion of control i had when Em lived at home. I fully realize it was an illusion, but it worked for me. Last night she was able to figure out a way to get to the Obama rally in Dublin, OH. I didn't ask any questions, such as 'How are you getting there?', 'Who are you going with?' and 'When will you get back?'.

Not my business any longer. Not to say that i didn't wonder.

What i did say was, "How cool! Have fun."

No title comes to mind

Talked to Em last night. Her dad called her and then handed the phone over to me. She was glad to hear from us as she is homesick and lonesome. Her new roommate has already found a potential boyfriend. Em told me a few months ago that roommate really REALLY wanted a boyfriend, so while this was quick, it's not surprising.

One of the things Em said was "I don't really mind if they have sex in our room, but i don't want to get locked out for hours."

This after two nights away from home. Things are different at college.

Guess i should have bought a keg o' condoms while i was at the *mart store.

On the home front, we had brown rice and vegetables for dinner last night, both things Em dislikes. Tonight it will be salad, another dislike of hers. Tomorrow i am going to make beet and carrot pancakes, from a recipe that was brought to my attention by Nina.

I love veggies and am happy to be able to wallow in them. (The Mister doen't like veggies all that much, but he won't admit it so i am going full steam ahead with them.)

Em left behind two pet mice that i now have to take care of. "Here kitty kitty kitty...."

Before it hits

So here i am in Ohio, dropping my child off at college like a batch of just baked cookies, still warm and gooey from the oven, but perfectly done all the same, just needing that crisp hardening of time and cooler air.

My god, what a scene. There are 400+ kids and their parents, all bumbling our way around the campus and the procedures. It's a zoo. The upperclasspeeps arrive in a few more days, after the freshpeople have done such important tasks as learning the traditional "Greeting of the Upperclasspeople" song, so they can greet the upperclasspeople in the traditional way.

Today i have been to KMart, Lowes and Walmart (twice) in order to obtain things such as light bulbs and power cords and bathrobes and AAA batteries and pillows (because the Fed Ex people absolutely, positively did NOT get it here on time.)

Because of Walmart, i feel VERY, VERY good about my physical appearance right now. I guess i don't see middle America as much as i should, because there are some UGLY people out there.

(I am so sorry for my callous indifference. Those of you in middle America feel free to hate my snotty guts.)

The fun part is that i have been able to play mom for several freshpeople and get things they needed. Em's roommate's dad basically slowed down to 30, shoved roommate out of the car and sped away.

Tomorrow i will drop off the last few essential Walmart purchased items and then get on a plane and leave my genetics behind to fend for itself.

Surprisingly, i am just fine. The absurdity of this experience has overwhelmed my sadness.

Maybe later....

visit

stream of consciousness
(james joyce would be snorting milk out his nose)

my dad has turned into one of those old men who has his pants belted just under his nipples
he is skinny, even skinnier than i am, even though he used to be taller and is no longer
he wore a long sleeved shirt, even though it was 80 degrees (Fahrenheit)
his hands are covered with purple welts from the coumadin

i can't see his arms, which is the purpose of the long sleeved shirt
he no longer has the grace of movement he possessed as a younger man
he has a scratch across his nose from banging into something with his glasses on
my mother mutters things quietly, even though she knows he is almost deaf

my daughter is one hell of a good sport and sticks around the table even though we are boring as hell
i have told her beforehand that she needs to be here as they are here to say goodbye to her
they drink like fish
i feel like drinking like a fish
they leave early because of a show they need to watch on PBS

i watch them drive up the driveway and wonder how long they will still be able to drive here
that they can drive here makes it easier for me

i wonder how long it will be easy
it's easier for me if it's easy
i know it will be hard when it's not easy

ugh

Em writes a thank you note for the present

Hoist by my own petard

I tend to hold certain information close to my chest. Big things that are happening in my life. (This is SUCH an introvert characteristic.)

For example, when i was pregnant, i didn't tell anyone for as long as possible. (Well, The Mister knew, but only because he was there when i got pregnant. Plus the puking was hard to hide.)

When i was growing up, information was the currency of control and ridicule, so i learned to keep things hidden. Having a stray exuberant thought thrown back in your face is no fun. ("Remember when you were 11 and you decided you were going to write a weekly newsletter about our block? Remember how you only wrote one issue? I knew it wouldn't last.")

Sometimes withholding information becomes a form of punishment, a way of distancing myself from those from whom i am withholding. ("I'll show you! I'll never tell you ANYTHING, ever again!")

It appears that i am still stomping around in high dudgeon 39 years later.

The Mister and i will be making a huge change in our lives in about 8 months. (We will be moving.)

I have yet to tell my family.

When i think of having to answer questions from them about it for the next 8 months (or maybe longer, who knows) i feel tired.

The problem with this approach is that then it becomes awkward when you do tell.

"When did you decide to do that?"

"Oh, um, hmm, ah, sometime last year." (Not mentioning that it was in February last year.)

*awkward silence.*

Maybe i should just call them up after the fact and casually mention that i have a new address.

Yep, that'll work.

I think this might be called a bucket list

Sometimes other bloggers tag me for memes. Sometimes i do them. I'm going to do this one before i forget. It's from Candy, over at Candy's Corner. Candy is no poodle, but i'm not sure why.

I am to list eight things i want to do before i die. Whilst reading Candy's list, i naturally started thinking about what would be on my list. Then i saw she had tagged me. Damn! Be careful what you wish for.

I was struck by how none of the things on her list would be on mine. No fucking way would i want to own a restaurant.

Here goes:

1) Be in good enough shape to hike up Mt. Fuji. I'm not sure i want to hike up Mt. Fuji, but i'd like to be able to if i did.

2) Snorkel in the Galapagos. This might actually happen as i am starting to talk with a friend about maybe going there next year. How cool would that be? This is one of the benefits of being a woman of leisure. Although that makes me sounds a little like a prostitute. Sadly, i have never received money in exchange for sex.

3) Write a book. The trouble with this goal is that i am lazy. Writing a book would be a lot of work, and i hate work. As a woman of leisure, work is for other people. But you never know, i might. I'm not sure i even care if it gets published, just that i would write it. I have no talent or stomach for the self-promotion that would be required to write a book that actually sold.

4) Be braver. This morning at 8 am Em got into a car with 4 other girls and headed off to see something called Warp Tour. She won't be home until tomorrow. The Mister is right-now-this-very-minute on an airplane winging his way to India. I am anxious as hell. I couldn't have told The Mister he couldn't go. I could have told Em she couldn't go, but i didn't. I wish these sorts of things didn't make me so nervous. Odds are that everything will be fine. People fly to far off places and go to drug-frenzied rock concerts all the time. Right?

5) Learn to cook. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say, Learn to Like to cook. I like eating well enough, and i do cook, but i do not love it. It's a means to an end, eating. To me it seems depressing to spend 2 hours (or whatever) lovingly creating a meal, and then having it all eaten in 20 minutes or less. Then there's the dishes.

6) Make a fucking quilt. That means shop for the fabric, design the thing, cut out the pieces, sew them together in a different formation, add sashing, pay someone else to do the actual quilting and put binding on it. Not just buy the pretty fabric.

7) Learn to count.

Navel gazing

I am here:

Drinking this:
Eating this:
(He looks like he is hugging the mashed potatos for safety. Didn't work, i ate him anyway.)

Looking at patterns caused by grass and wind and sand:
I'm thinking about brutal honesty.

Many years ago i read that when being brutally honest, you should make sure that you are enjoying the honesty more than the brutality.

This has stuck with me, because i suspect, no, i know it for a fact, that there are times when i enjoy the brutality. It's an easy way to strike out, with the built in defense of honesty. Truth is a defense against libel, right?

What am i accomplishing with this honesty? I am usually striking out in a moment of anger, or hurt. (Being hurt makes me angry.) So i am making myself feel temporarily better. I can usually carry around the self-righteous justification for my brutal honesty for quite a while. I am nothing if not stubborn.

But as to what i am really accomplishing, the answer is more complex. Time to turn the brutally honest beam upon myself. Any other use of it is strictly forbidden going forward.