Cloudbusting

As my car inched down the freeway, I seriously regretted chugging two glasses of water before I left. I had to pee so bad it was making me feel like I could throw up. I had the urge to send a text to the person I talked to every day for the last four years, but I knew I couldn’t because we broke up.

In my twenties, I had my birth chart done. It’s a life horoscope based on the date, time, and location of birth. I hate to break it to anyone born in Los Angeles at 4:30 on June 26, 1982, but relationships' outlook was pretty bleak. I believe it said, to expect to find your love companion in 2040.

It didn’t say I wouldn’t try, I believe it said there would be many attempts. I’m unashamedly like Elizabeth Taylor, but with the sense to not marry every man who goes down on me. Instead, I just feel utterly indebted.

This was a very hard decision, and it’s been a sad time. I look at the past few years with the same perspective as examining a Reversible Image picture. Like you look at it one way, and you see an old lady, and you look at it another way and you see a young girl. I can look back and see such amazing moments, so intimate and funny, but the picture of what led me to this point is not apparent. The absence of that can send immediate distress, but I just have to close one eye and cock my head to the left (metaphorically) and find the other image.

The internal debate was strong at the beginning. I had two lawyers deliberating my decision. Let’s call one Marsha Marsha Marsha Clark and the other one Johnny Cockram. Marsha Marsha Marsha was defending my decision, and Johnny Cockram was poking holes in it every chance he could. 

I was worried I’d isolate and give these lawyers too much time, but I have a bunch of friends, 2 sisters, 2 brothers, 20 cousins, 14 aunts and uncles, and like a million nieces and nephews. There’s always a wedding, baptism, baby shower, retirement party, or some other celebration happening. 

I was talking on the phone to my mom when I was walking the dog, and she told me that for Christmas she is buying everyone this plunger choking device. When she described the product she gave a monologue that sounded word for word like a commercial. She explained how many people die each year from choking and described how an EMT saved a young kid’s life. I told her, “Mom, I think you’ve been brainwashed by your Fox News commercials. Now they’re using their fear tactics to sell you things.”

She told me I was wrong. Anyone who has a loved one who is a Fox News devotee hears this often. After I was home, and tidying up around the house, I thought, “Maybe I should get the choking plunger! I probably should have it here in case I’m choking and alone!”

I was grateful for my mom looking out, and now I can be even more grateful for her tracking me on my phone because if I go missing she’ll be the first to know.

Music can be a band-aid or a nice rubbing of salt in the wound. My playlist is an emotional minefield right now. And I can walk into the store, or be lying in the dentist’s chair and a song will start playing that brings up very vivid memories. It’s important in these moments to remind myself, this is a coincidence, not a sign from the universe.

I was sitting with Kiki in the car and she started singing “Running Up That Hill,” and I was thrown. When I asked her how she knew a Kate Bush song from 1985, she told me, “It’s not old… It’s on Stranger Things.”

I started listening to Kate Bush, and what a glorious band-aid. Babooshka is an elevated Do You Like Piña Coladas song, and Cloudbusting is awesome, can there be a better song? I played Kiki Wuthering Heights and she looked shocked. I told her, “Yes, this is some weird shit, but if you listen to it a few more times, you’ll see it’s pretty brilliant."

I was scared to tell the kids. I thought I could handle it like how I was going to handle our cat disappearing last summer (but she miraculously turned back up after two weeks) and put off this conversation by continuing to tell them he’s traveling when they’re home. My parents came into town to help me take a bunch of stuff to the dump, and when I told them this plan, they told me that it was a terrible idea and that my kids would think it was weird that I had lied to them.

So, I sucked it up and told them. They were sad. They said, “I can’t believe you’re getting divorced again.”

I told them, “It’s technically not a divorce.”

Geoffrey told me he wanted to go running, so we set out on a run, and he asked me questions about it. He asked, “Why didn’t you talk to him?”

I assured him, I didn’t not try. Geoffrey knows I’m a hard worker, but he doesn’t know I do my best learning on the job.

I don’t actually believe in horoscopes. I read them for fun. My monthly horoscope for September said I would get a big sum of money mid-month. It lied. I literally wrote in my journal, “Fuck my horoscope.”

I’ll still read my November horoscope because it’s nice to feel like something good is going to happen, and even if it doesn't happen in November, 2040 is on the distant horizon.

Too much Temu

With Kiki getting braces last week, and then getting a cell phone for her birthday this week, Geoffrey has had it up to here with his sister being the toast of the town. If he slams his bedroom door shut one more time, I think I might have a heart attack. 

His brain is short-circuiting, and as a co-parent, I have the privilege of blaming this on the other household. I hypothesize he’s not getting enough sleep because when he gets here, he has deep lines under his eyes just like a sleepy character in a comic strip. His exhaustion, and erratic mood, corrects itself over the time he’s with me since we’re going to bed at eight, but that first day or two can be rough.

This week it happens every time his sister says something that includes “my new phone,” which is often, but last week it had to do with Temu. Temu, the new sensation of our house, started out as great fun. We found the best deals, and I’m convinced they sell some of the same beauty products you find at Ulta/Sephora because Kiki found Lip Oil on Temu for $3, and we went to Ultra and it was the exact same bottle, label and all, on the $40 Dior Lip Oil.

Geoffrey started browsing on Temu, and his adrenaline spiked. The countdown timer and the deals were giving him the same feeling James Holzhauer gets when he steps on a casino floor. What made him addicted to the app was when it said, if you ask someone to join, you will get $100 in free merchandise. He picked out a robot vacuum, Switch controllers, and more after he sent requests out from my phone. He then had the 24-hour countdown on his mind and needed to check the app incessantly and call my family to see that they joined after he texted them the link.

A shady thing happened, after each person he asked signed up, there were three, he was always a few points shy of getting his free stuff. It’s a mean marketing tactic, where G was left chasing the dragon. He’s a kid, and can’t accept when an ad says they’re going to give you a bunch of free stuff, it is most likely bullshit.

He took this poorly, and instead of saying, “I’m really frustrated because my hopes were high I was getting a treasure trove, and I can’t believe anything Temu says,” he decided he’d slam his bedroom door, and throw things.

This is Uber-disturbing because he’s not processing his thoughts in a productive way, and he is taking any uncomfortable emotion, and assigning it straight to rage. I’ll keep talking to him about this, but until this gets straightened out with maturity and discussion, I will just blame it on the lack of sleep he gets at his dad’s house.

I love how Geoffrey gets so invested. He’s a big dreamer and goes all in. I know how he’ll recover from the trauma of his sister getting a cell phone, he’ll convince himself an even better phone is coming to him very soon. It started last night when we went to bed, he asked, “Mom, are you sure Santa is real?” 

Then he told me about a book Bridge to Terabithia, and how he was skeptical, but if Santa is real, he’s bringing him an iPhone 15 for Christmas.

I’m a big dreamer like Geoffrey, and it can lead me into some questionable places, where if I don’t keep my head on, I can float away into a fairytale based on modern mysticism.

In January, I was binging Jack Canfield's content and reading Think and Grow Rich, so I started a mastermind group with my cousin. In our last meeting, we pointed out how much we’ve accomplished this year. Then she told me about the new car she bought after starting her new job, and said, “Alicia, it has 18 cupholders! I feel like I’m driving a small rocket ship.”

Life coaches, like Canfield, hold seminars that vary in intensity from hand-holding hippie sound baths, to sequestered in a hotel conference room for three days with little sleep and hydration. My older sister attended the latter and is the only person I know who found a self-help retreat to be torturous and complete bullshit. She felt duped, just as Geoffrey had been by Temu.

My sister went with my little brother, and they were separated upon arrival. At one point the group had to give speeches about what they would do if they had ten million dollars. My sister infuriated the life coach by simply stating in her speech, “If I won ten million dollars, I wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

She sat down, and the coach pressed her, saying “Not telling anyone isn’t an option, give another speech about what you would do with ten million dollars.” 

She doubled down, “All these people will be broke in a few years, and I’m still going to be rich because I didn’t go blabbing my mouth about it.”

She knew the tactics used by the life coach were cultish. He had everyone disclose their darkest secrets, this was mostly childhood trauma, and when it came to her turn to share, she felt like a kid in a confession booth, and just made something up about being mean to one of her siblings. I was horrified but laughing when she said, “I shit you not, at one point they had us stand in a circle and wanted everyone to kiss. It was disgusting.”

After a final messy argument, the weekend ended with my sister and her life coach being enemies for life.

My sister is sensible. She’s not going to let false impersonations of rolling around in money like you’ve just fucked Woody Harrelson for a one-time fee keep her from staying grounded.

I remember when I had the audiobook playing Think and Grow Rich, and Geoffrey came in. He heard the promise of money and was hooked. He grabbed a notepad and started taking notes. I stopped whatever it was I was doing, and thought, that’s a great idea. I should be taking notes too.