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| Blog. Check. |
I've been trying to get a blog done for weeks. I've jokingly blamed my lack of progress on Mercury in the past, but this time around, I think it must be due to the retrograde. It's like everything has been stopped in its tracks and I can't find the time to get them going again. Well, in the case of selling my house, that's not a lack of time, but a lack of control. This entire experience has been full of head-pounding-against-the-wall-stress, but after whats been at least three weeks of frustrating surprises, everything should be wrapping up by the end of the week, a few days after Mercury goes direct on September 5. HALLE-BLOODY-LUJAH.
Anticipating things would be done with the house by now, the kids and I moved at the beginning of August. And here, I can blame a lack of time, because the place is still a disorganized mess. Today I finally cleared the boxes out of the living room, but I have yet to figure out how to get the internet into the TV, so we watch through my laptop plugged into the TV. And that really defeats the purpose of letting the kids watch TV, which is so I can work on my laptop.
Two Sundays ago, I was unpacking boxes in my room while George was playing on the stoop in the backyard. It's sort of a courtyard or shared backyard for the complex, and it's enclosed by a locked gate, blocking access to the street. I walked back to check on him, and he was gone. I yelled for him, thinking he was playing down the side corridor by the dumpsters, and ran down there. He wasn't there. I fucking panicked. Barefoot, with Kinglsey's hand, we yelled his name, and then ran out the front of the apartment wondering if he was on the street.
I met a neighbor during this, and she started running around the block yelling his name. A woman across the street, started yelling his name. I was on my cell phone with 9-1-1, yelling for him, going in and out of our apartment, into the backyard and out the front door.
Then, I came in the house, and there he was with a huge smile, sitting on the couch. He told me he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. This is when Homer Simpson grabs Bart around the neck and shouts, "Why, I oughta," but since this was the absolute base case scenario from the five minutes of horror I just went through, I ran over to him and gave him the biggest hug I could and told him that he needs to yell back when I call his name. Then I went out in the street and yelled, "We found him!!" and all the people who were helping, stopped yelling his name, and went back to what they were doing.
The kids and I are back to school, thank goodness. I felt like the week before I was turning into a terror of a mother. I signed them up for all day school, even though I don't yet have a full time job, so it's eating a portion of my home sale profits, but I can't get shit done when they're here, and I have a lot of shit I need to get done. The extension teacher was described to me as "Mary Poppins," and she so is! She has a British accent, and looks like Julie Andrews.
The first week went well for George, who seems to get a bit too much pleasure out of pissing people off, and I was just about to exhale when the calls and emails started coming in. About defiance, not listening, being disruptive, and finally I had a sit down meeting with his teacher. My ex-partner was there, and eventually the teacher got the sense that George is probably going through a lot right now, with the divorce, move and new school, so this could be rooted in stress, and recommended a counselor. I wasn't quick to say, "But he was kind of like this last year..." But thats when his dad and I gritted our teeth, acknowledging we've been letting him get away with acting like a maniac for too long, so we have to reevaluate our discipline techniques.
Kingsley doesn't get in trouble at school, so she was really interested the day I picked them up and said, "We are heading home to go and have a talk, George. I got a call from your teacher today, and it was about you misbehaving in class." Her eyes doubled in size, and the drive home she was planning the rap session. First thing we'd do is get popsicles, then sit at the table and find out what happened at school. This is when I told her she needs to mind her own business.
I was paranoid the day before the meeting because I thought the teacher knew we were divorcing, and just wanted to have me come in and say it. I thought she was unnecessarily saying "your husband" over and over again. But she was really nice, and I'm just insecure about it all. I figured George's teacher knew because Kingsley's teacher knew. I had to check "separated" on both the kids' registration packets because it takes a lot of time and money to get to check the "divorced" box. The week earlier we were at back-to-school night and Kingsley's teacher gave us each a packet of paperwork. He sat next to me, heavy breathing through his mouth because his nose was all clogged up. Day two of a man cold, so he still felt terminal, and being at this event was sucking the tiny bit of life left in him. I had to keep sweeping his warm breath away from me, and suggested he put on one of those cootie blockers people wear in Japan. It's a doctor's mask, and it's not clear if the mask is put on because they have a cold and don't want to spread their germs, or if they just think everyone else is fucking disgusting and out to get them.
A week after the kids' school started, my school started. It's great to be back on campus, and shooting the shit with fellow adjuncts in our enormous shared office. It is literally the last place one should go if they actually have to get work done because everyone in there has motormouth, but I fucking love it. There is always someone to give input on anything.
Last week I went out to lunch with an English professor I met last year. We both write screenplays, and so we'd talk about them. He left for Costa Rica, and I didn't really cross paths with him much, but this term our schedules overlap, and I see him twice a week. This just means I will be getting even less work done at work. Midway through the term I tend to burn out on all the chattering though, and decide to do this work at home because I can get it done in a fraction of the time.
We went to lunch with the intention of discussing our writing projects, eventually he fished it out of me that Im split up, and then he told me about his divorces. We didn't even talk about our work because it was just getting-to-know-you conversation until I had to get back to meet up with another co-worker I'd ineffectively work with. The next day he text me some shit about our lunch, and I grimaced throwing the phone down, thinking, "Ugh, I think I have to tell him I have a boyfriend." I guess thats one nice thing about a wedding ring.
I filled out an application to substitute teach at a Catholic high school. That application didn't have a "separated" box, so I just went with the legal standing but afterward I thought that was a big mistake, and wished I checked the box I'd be checking when Mercury goes direct and were much more able to focus on filling out paperwork. The reason I checked "married" was because the follow up questions for single were a bit more difficult to pin down an answer.
I cyber detoxed the last three days, and today when I checked emails the high school wrote me, saying only the cover page came across in the fax! I was saved from having to tell them that I checked "married" although I'm not going to be. I gave the packet to my ex to have his admin fax it to the school, and she fucked it up, and I'm super happy she did. Tomorrow, I'll find the time to update that application from a more prospective outlook.
This last weekend I went to a sleepy coastal city and met my boyfriend's entire family. It was a lot of fun, really relaxing, and special because we don't usually have long stretches of time together. At the beach someone commented on "young love" as we walked back from the water holding hands, and isn't that just the most terrifying thought. I wonder if it was different before. If I felt like this when I fell in love then. It'd be nice to know there's a distinction, so I could feel some reassurance it won't end the same way.
Sometimes, after head-pounding-against-the-wall-stress-relief, when were lying around, he'll ask me, as I'm staring at the wall, "What are you thinking about?"
It's too much to get out, so I say, "nothing," but it feels good to rest on his shoulder while my thoughts swarm around in my mind, so next time, I think I'll say that.
