Hey Boo Boo, Where's the Potluck

Actual bear

Tomorrow Im going to a potluck. Potlucks in the middle of the week are like soooo much work. I was unlucky enough to be last name A-H, so I am appetizer category. The next slot gets to bring wine, and the final one brings dessert.
The last potluck my mom went to she brought a can of bean dip and a bag of Fritos. I was making fun of her, and she quickly shot me down by saying, "Well, they were the first thing to be eaten, thank you very much!"
I don't even know why I got so uppity on her, the last potluck I went to I showed up empty handed. It was an unexpected potluck. I hit yes on the evite, and then got an automatic reply that said, bring an appetizer or dessert. This was on Halloween night, already a clusterfuck. I planned for us to show up to the party, not eat, but trick-or-treat around the block and then go home. My kids aren't yet trick-or-treating for the long haul. One block will suffice.
So I supported my lazy decision to not bring anything to the potluck by resounding to my kids, "We aren't going to eat ANYTHING while were there!"
What's that they say about the best of plans? Right when we got in the house, both of them were overcome with dehydration and then asked for a piece of pizza from the spread. I just had to take in a breath, and say, "Fuck it, We're assholes who showed up to a potluck empty handed."

Tomorrow is my last class before finals. I'll be cart wheeling into class. I only have one class tomorrow, the class that meets every day. They're so funny, they often ask me if I'm ever going to bring in some breakfast items for them. I always tell them it's unlikely.  I usually look like a proper mess, with my hair greasy and underneath my regular clothes, I am prepped to whisk it all off, and go running, with full blown running fit underneath.
You know what they say about best of plans though. I can almost guarantee when I wear a sports bra and tank top under my work clothes, so I can just take off the button up shirt and change into sweats, I end up having a billion things to do.
This happened Tuesday, and I even put off showering because it seemed like a terrible waste of time to shower if I was going to go running a couple hours later. But when I got home at 6 after spending all day grading tests, I looked like I needed to be dropped in a vat of fragrant soapy water.

Tonight is the last of my "long days" where I have to lecture from 9-4:20pm. Im a bit of a mess by the end of the day. I will be saying the number thirty-two, but my hand writes "47." I don't get it, but everyone starts to holler, and we get the entire wrong righted.
This afternoon, my student left her purse in class. I was supposed to jet out to prepare for tomorrow's potluck, but I needed to track her down. I found out her number and called her twice, sent her an email, hoping to reach her. If I brought it to campus police, they'd close, and then she wouldn't be able to get to her purse, that most likely had her car keys. What a fucking pain in the ass that would be.
After she answered, we met up in front of the room, and she was crying. She thought she lost her purse in the bathroom. I was taken aback, and was full of good cheer, "Look at this!! Crisis averted! I'm so happy for you!" But she was still panicked and because of a language barrier, I'm not sure if I looked like some idiot smiling American.

I have this brilliant idea to bring donuts tomorrow morning for my favorite class. And I am also planning to go running after class. I can picture it now, I will look decent-enough, have my second outfit under my first, and a selection of 24 fresh donuts. It's a great plan.
Uh oh! I'll probably show up in my pajamas with 24 Egg McMuffins. At least I have my appetizer for the potluck. I picked it up on the way home tonight!

Yin Yoga and Kids

Uber Relaxing Day

I read a depressing quote on Instagram, "My mother gave up her dreams, so I could live mine." It made me gag a bit. I heard Shonda Rhimes on Oprah, and she was brilliant. She said women are always told it's admirable to sacrifice themselves for others, and actually thats the worst example to set for your children. Teach your kids to go for it, teach your kids to achieve, through example. And if you think about time with your children, well it's much more important to spend an hour of top quality time with them, then days on end of demonstrative dream abandonment.

Speaking of dreams and holding on to them, this week I had the strangest dream, I can't make sense of it. I was inseminated with sperm to have a baby for these old friends of mine, and then I did it again, soon after for another couple, but I didn't recognize them. I looked at the sperm before it went in, and I could see the life inside it. After I realized I was being inseminated for a second time, and would not know whose baby I had in me, I apologized, and they seemed to be OK.

Last week I went to Yin Yoga. I didn't know what to expect because I usually do Vinyasa. Yin yoga is a lot of laying around. In the usual class I attend, the temperature is soaring, and I drip with sweat. It puddles around me. There is maybe one man who sweats more than me. I get out of class feeling like a rock. After Yin, I think I burned 20 calories, tops, and it was probably due to my not consuming food for an hour and a half, but my mind was on fire.

What did I think about as the instructor reminded us to clear our minds? Well I thought of my kids. George has been doing great this past month in school, but the last couple days I've been approached when I pick them up at extension because he wont keep his hands off his junk. In addition to that, he has been really intent on showing "it" to people after he goes pee. So we have talks, "After you finish going, you pull up your trousers. Theeeen you can walk away from the urinal."

Monday I am giving a test in all my classes, so I have to grade over 100 exams before Wednesday, when we have a review session before finals. One of the classes I teach is a pre-set curriculum, created by one of those foundations you hear after most NPR shows. The idea is to combine algebra and statistics for students who want to  cram it all into one year, and have the aptitude and commitment. We meet every morning for an entire school year! At this point, I am feeling really fond of these students and were only midway through. I gain a deeper understanding from the classes I teach; I see how people are misplaced below their intellect because they aren't vocal, or become frustrated by time, or not understand how practice is critical to mastery.

These types of knowledge can be ingrained into students early on, but sometimes it happens later in life. I'm happy that right after splitting, I enrolled my kids in a school that will benefit them because  of the high standards and tight community. We might be living in our tiny apartment for longer than I aspire, but it's an advantage I want to give them. I love reading coaching, biographies, and self-help shit, and it's awesome to hear about successful people who remark on how their mother worked her ass off for them to go to a ritzy school (like Sonia Sotomayor) and thats why I think it's the greatest gift. Education, is what I afford my children.

I am not a great teacher at home, we don't practice writing or cutting. But in the words of my cousin, "I send my kids to school for that shit!" And my kids are at school a lot, they go from 8 to 5, most days. So when we are home, we do fun things, like tell stories, read books, sing songs, have cuddle-fest-2017.

That's the stupid thing about parenting, I don't live in a network. I don't live amongst a tribe, we are isolated people, and I am shooting from the hip. So I can read parenting books once in awhile, or talk with my friends who are elementary school teachers, but they are teachers, and understand the range, and so they are forgiving, everything is understandable. Because of this feeling of not not-too-certian-Im-doing-things-right, when a friend tells me they didn't know they couldn't use Tide laundry detergent or feed their baby eggs, I agree, How would they know!? Beyond the mommy blogs, that are too fucking extensive and jocular to use as a resource, where is a bullet point list of rules.

This morning, my son lost his TV privilege because he was being inappropriate with his potty jokes, so  he and I cooked pancakes while Kiki watched a cartoon on my computer. I found that to be the best punishment for him. He didn't care when it was - I'm taking away TV- because then he'd just play with his sister. They'd play Barbies; she'd direct him to be a variety of dolls, and he'd follow along up to a point, and then send her into hysterics by pretending a tornado is heading for Malibu and will destroy everything. However, when Kiki gets to watch TV without him, it burns him up.

This week I had to write my Cal Poly alumni newsletter update. The new dean and I are like this (I'm making the finger crossed!) He is a very nice man, and has written all my annoying letters of recommendation. When I wrote my update I said I am at a junction and I see three choices; commit to being an educator, go back to corporate data analysis, or pursue a PhD. There is a possibility of the universe dropping a different egg in my nest, but I can snuggle down for that one, with a time clock. There seems to always be a fork in the road, no matter where a person is in life.

My kids' school had a big fundraiser this weekend. And it included six hours of mandatory volunteering. "Mandatory volunteering" is a word combination that makes no sense to me. They should called it "forced unpaid work." It's a home tour, and my first three hours were spent working the gift shop. I loved it, working a cash register, and admiring people's thoughtful purchases, but then I spent three hours in the corner of some one's house where I told people fun facts about the hundred year old home, and had to remind them to keep their hands off shit, have booties on their feet, and stop taking pictures.

The school sends an email out to parents to remind them volunteering is mandatory because some people that send their kids here poop money. So it's not just a $300 fine they could incur but possibly loosing a spot for their child to attend. I don't feel bad sending my kids to palace where they might feel different. I think it will make them stronger. Drop off is a row of Land Rovers and a sea of hand bags that could add up to college education.

Have you ever heard of the saying "sandals to sandals?" Wealth lasts three generations. It even applies to the rich kids of instagram because of sustainability. If someone can make a mountain of cash, it will only deplenish, unless someone will be able to work hard enough to replenish. The earner, provides their children the greatest advantages, and they are then given a yellow brick road to success, their children are also given this yellow brick road, but have not witnessed the work required to attain, and have therefore been unable to show their children how it is attained. The grit has been lost. So the children born of them live without the stress of needing to earn, but at the same time  inadequate to earn. It's why Warren Buffet has to give all his money away, if he left it for his kids, he'd only leave a path of destruction.

When I told my dad I was thinking of getting a PhD, he was happy. But then I said, maybe I should look in New York, and he said, "Woah, Alicia, put on the brakes. You're going through so much! Wait a year." My kids have been through a looooot, and I think my dad is right. I can't do another big life-flop on them 1 year later. Plus letters of recommendation are a reeeeeeal son of a dick.

It's something to think about next time I stumble into to Yin Yoga. Today, a day I said I would't work, I spent all my time with my kids. We had such a wonderful evening. We did the conga around the apartment, our hands on our hips, singing, "shake your booty!" over and over. George was happy, he loved it! I just hope he doesn't do it at school tomorrow.

Highly recommend this book!

Hamilton Mornings and Nights

It all started when we put on Regina Spektor Apple Music top ten. When the playlist got to number 1, it was an unfamiliar song, and might actually be the saddest breakup song. I looked in the backseat and even saw my daughter crying, her emotional depth is infinite, so she is easily set off, but being brought to tears by a song is new for her.

The next song, Dear Theodosia, became our family favorite. Little G and I would sing it in bed together when we woke up. The song is just over two minutes, and I said to him, "I wish this song was like 10 minutes, it's so short."
He said, "I wish it was a trillion minutes!"

This introduced us to Hamilton, because the song is from The Hamilton Mixtape, where well known artists sing the soundtrack. My heart melting reaction to Spektor singing Dear Theodosia, extended beyond what I anticipated, and I happily stumbled into the most wonderful album. When Kiki heard The Schuyler Sisters, she was hooked, and Helpless cemented her commitment. G is still big on Dear Theodosia, and lucky for us, its twice as long in the play. G added hand movements, where he sweeps his arms up and away when they say, "You'll blow us all away."

I think I have the first part of the play somewhat figured out. In Dear Theodosia Burr sings to his daughter, then Hamilton sings to his son. It took me a little while to figure this all out. "Theodosia is his daughter!! He had her with the British officer's wife, we heard about her in Wait For It."
"Where's she?" Kiki asked.
"Thats a good question. We really need to start listening to the second disc."
I think Big Theodosia might be dead... I don't want to explain to them the maternal death rate of the late 1700's, but she isn't mentioned anymore. I hope not, it seems like Burr really loves her.

I did need to explain to them that Hamilton and Burr were orphans, because they both harmonize, "My father wasn't around." Orhpanhood is not completely foreign to them, we watched Annie, but at night we had long conversations about this.
Little G seemed very concerned that one becomes an orphan if they are left at the store, and the parents don't come back for them. I explained to them, in modern times, it would be very hard for this to happen, but it's a good reason to always be right next to your adult when you go in any public space.

Selfishly, I called dibs on Eliza. Kiki said she'd be Angelica and G gets to be Peggy and Alexander Hamilton. And we each get to sing our name at the beginning of The Schuyler Sisters. Kiki really is more Eliza, and I'm more Angelica, It's becoming more and more obvious to me that, I'll never be satisfied. (listen to Satisfied -- it's so good!)

I booked a ticket to NYC for my Christmas present to myself. I went to purchase a ticket for Hamilton, and after selecting the cheapest seat in the place, I learned it has to be bought as a pair. Blasted!! So I'll Wait For It.  I should start listening to the second album anyways. I'll go back over the summer, with my kids, so they can spend some time in the greatest city in the world, with their cousins.

Before bed last week, we'd group hug and sing the first line of That Would Be Enough, "Look around. Look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now." Then I'd try not to cry.  My daughter gets her wide sweeping emotional range from her mommy dearest. We really are so lucky.

**dabs her eye**

In Your Dreams

Old-timey jammies for my time on the wagon.

All my talk of being kind and grateful to my ex went to crap two weeks ago. It coincided with him telling me he was introducing our kids to his girlfriend. I was really sad, and it led to anger.
The timing was terrible. He told me this the day after meeting with our son's therapist, and it was in a jocular, "You're going to be so pissed when I tell you what I'm planning for tomorrow."
He was right, I was fucking pissed. Two weeks of slamming the door in his face, hanging up on him, and continually putting the lid on my rage in front of my kids.
I didn't tell him to fuck off in front of my kids, but I'm sure they picked up on my lack of eye contact, and dismissal of his small chat. "Whats that, you made quinoa salad? I don't give a fuck."

I held on to the belief we were friends, and it was comforting, but my perspective changed. I was not his friend, but I was just available to him, when he chose. So he could call me and tell me about his life, and I'd listen and be supportive. He was cherry picking, what he still wants from me, and disregarding what he doesn't. He has me, the history, the ear, the mother-figure, and then he has a girlfriend, to offer the excitement, the unknown. So when he doesn't want me, I remember, I am alone. It wasn't healthy for me to talk on the phone with him all the time.

I was under the impression it benefits my kids, allowing their dad to come into our apartment, and participate in our roundtable, but it was always on his terms, whenever he wanted to, we'd be there. I see how it benefits my kids, but I believe it gives their dad a false sense of participation. Sitting for 5 minutes at my kitchen table, strumming a finger along an eye locked iPhone, doesn't equate to being present. It's engaging in family, in the most shallow sense.

I feel bad when I hate him, it's not in-line with an "attitude of gratitude," but I can't help it. I still think marrying him was the best decision of my life. Not only because of my kids, but because I grew so much from the relationship. I learned a lot. I might have been yearning for the comforts of our unity in the last couple weeks. How it would be easier, if he were here. Just a warm body. I would be able to go to Target at 8pm if I wanted to, or go on a run at 6am. Everything is harder. I was talking with my sister two weeks ago, and really torn up, I posed the question, "Maybe I should just beg for him to come back?"

Everything she said to me I knew. I know how dumb, and repetitive that would be. It was not a coincidence that the months leading up to him dumping me, I dreamt of sharks swirling in the sky. His vacuous heart is unconfined, and all the love I gave him amounted to nothing more than a tumbleweed blowing across Nevada. I spent the last decade filling a cracked bucket.

In acknowledging the loss in my identity, and the dark path I'm on, wandering into the unknown, to discover how my identity will transform, I crawled back on the wagon. I had a fun go, but I am already terrible at drinking, so being depressed and lonely, made me terrifyingly unstable. It brings me to a dark place. I broke up with my boyfriend too because I'm not ready for this type of commitment, I really just need to find myself. I jumped right into that one, like an olympian diver off the high rise.
The afterglow of my divorce wore off, and I was recommitting to somebody else, when I know, I can't give myself away again. I had some doubts too, about our relationship. Was I falling for the man, or falling for the sex. A marriage is considered "sexless" if the couple engages in sex less than 10 times a year. As embarrassing as it is, my marriage fell in that category. It was just the way it was, and although it really bothered me, I coped. Then I met someone whose needs were much more voracious, and found he has an exceptional knack for giving me the O I had to hand deliver the last half decade.
But that O got lost in the last two months, with my mind getting stuffed, and stuffed some more, with thoughts on my marriage and realizations of my solitude. At one point I had to tap him on the shoulder, and say, "It's ok, you can stop. I'm thinking about what I need to do for my kids school. I'm not going to be able to switch my mind off right now."

When I told my sister that I broke up with my boyfriend, she was supportive, of course. She then said, "You will find the perfect person for you."
And I held up a finger, and said, "I don't think you understand. I am not doing this because it's not the right person, it's because I'm not in the right place. I am not looking for someone, the perfect included."
I called her five days later, to tell her I was heading over to his house. We're going out to dinner. And she was supportive, of course. My older sister is a lot like Samantha from Sex in the City, so in addition to saying, "You can hang out and be friends," she said,  "You can do more than just hang out too."
After breaking up last weekend, we've hung out three times since. And you know what, my O came back. It was like in City Slickers, when Curly finds his smile, and he points to his happy face as he returns to his wife. My ex boyfriend seems as happy as me to see this happen. We went to dinner after, and I told him I can't climax when I drink. He said, "Well that sounds like a fucking no-brainer to me." and I laughed and rolled my eyes, something he's found to be rather endearing.

Last night we watched a cheesy comedy, and when the girl breaks up with the boy, she said, "I really just need to work on myself right now." And we both laughed as our eyes met. He asked, "So then, if were not boyfriend and girlfriend, what are we?"
"Well, were lovers." There is no pressure or expectations,  and it has such a better ring to it than friends-with-benefits.

When I told my older brother, whose nothing like Samantha, about being single and sobriety, he congratulated me, and then advised, "You shouldn't drink for at least 5 years, and don't have a boyfriend. Don't buy into the leftist media's anti-family propaganda. Focus on yourself and your children. You also need to go to confession, weekly."
I cherry picked; 5 years sounds doable, and focus on myself and my family. Yes! Yes, I can!

Five years hardly seems daunting, and actually quite promising, last night, out to dinner, with my lover, I said, "Five years doesn't sound too long. Just think of all the stuff I can accomplish in five years, and then, I get the chance to fuck it all up. How exciting."


When I was with my kid's therapist, I told her I felt bad for having a boyfriend so soon. And she said, "Mommy is allowed to have friends," in a sing-songy-gal-pal-wine-time kind of tone that was a smidgen over the top. I don't doubt I'm sabotaging the relationship because I'm scared, but I also want to feel sad and alone for a while.

In an attempt to gain clarity I started a fast. I made it till 5 pm, which is not really fasting, but I'll try again on Thursday when I don't have to talk to anyone. Along with allowing myself to feel alone, I also welcomed feeling hungry. Feeling hunger, not figuratively, like a motivational poster of a lion clawing a zebra to the ground, with a message in bold white font on an ink black background, "STAY HUNGRY," but actual discomfort, slight pain, from my body. A pain I could easily alleviate by putting some food in my mouth. It's foreign because I, figuratively,  tend to put the band aid on all my booboos straight away. I have to let my wounds breath, not cover them up.


I hoped my fasting would lead to some insightful dreams, but I didn't make it to bedtime. Without fasting though, I dreamt a good friend and I went swimming with orca whales in a giant tank, like Sea World. It was pretty awesome. I read that whales represent a big event in life or a strong feeling of solitude, and it is a symbol that everything is going to be ok.
I also had a dream I needed to pee, and every time I ran to a bathroom, there was a long line; this means I need to find relief.

Honestly, quitting drinking was the relief I needed. In the last week, I feel a million times better. So much better, I was able to admit my anger was a response to "the introduction of a girlfriend," and said the phone calls have to stop, but we can still do the occasional family dinner, so the kids understand we are united for them.

As for the love, it is nice to have fun with someone without the expectations of a relationship, and there's much more to our friendship than making up for lost time in the bedroom. I'll stop grappling for reasons to be single, eventually, but being alone is part of my grieving process.
I might feel really lost, and scared of the unknown, but I am happy to see whales in my dreams as opposed to sharks swimming above me. The urge to return to a shit situation because I figure it's slightly less shit than my present situation, is really just lacking confidence in myself. I can do this, for the next five years at least. And then, I'll see what happens.

Meatball Sub and Magnolia

Its an old pic, but it's a turtleneck pic. It will all make sense.

Last night I had an awesome dream. I was sitting at a picnic table amongst a very crowded space lined up with endless picnic tables, packed with people. There was a woman next to me, and my sister across from me. I looked up in the sky and saw a flock of flamingos flying, They started flying towards us, and then swooped right over our heads, shooting back up into the sky. Then the woman next to me, who felt familiar, held my hand in a caring way, giving it a supportive squeeze.

I had to research the meaning because flamingos seem so bizarre, and out of context. It is an indication of collaboration, which I think sounds so absolutely promising after the dispirited dream I had a couple days back.

I dreamt the kids and I were living in a hotel room. It was spacious enough, and looked cozy and clean. I went grocery shopping, and was unsure what to buy, and would pick things up, and then put them back down, thinking we wouldn't be there long enough to make this or that. The dream ended with me vacuuming the carpet. My sight was fixed on the clean red carpet as I'd push the vacuum back and forth.
I woke up enthusiastic to crack the case of what it all could mean, and after starting my quest, I was confronted with some hard realities. Dreaming about being in a hotel room, indicates feeling transient in life, and vacuuming... wait for it... "refers to feelings of emptiness and signifies a loss of control."

And, it's true, gosh darn it!

Im not really an anxious person, and in the last month, Ive felt my heart slightly seize up, it feels like a clenched fist in there. I'm not sure what's going on. There could be number of factors. I used to run and do yoga a lot, and in the last month, haven't had the time to do either more than a handful of times.

In my stats class we talk about correlation and causation, and I show this scatterplot of life expectancy vs. internet usage in the population for every country. The relationship shows a positive trend, so as internet usage increases, the life expectancy increases. My ending point of the lesson is a ridiculous question, "So if we want to increase the life expectancy in Pakistan, all we need to do is increase the internet usage in the population, right?!"
Then there is a chorus or, "Of course not!!"
"And why? Because correlation doesn't mean causation, and, in this case, we have to recognize the lurking variables."

OH KAY. So what could be these lurking variables in the correlation between decreased exercise and increased anxiety. And this is the case for many people, correct? Don't a lot of stress advisors suggest, ramp up on exercise and mediation when feeling vexed by your anxiety and stress?
For starters, it's time. There is not as much time as there used to be to tend to these matters of personal pleasure. My day is jammed packed as it is, and I can't just lace up and hit the streets after tucking my kids in bed, or jump around my apartment, waking those kids and disturbing the peace of the apartment building in the late night or (not gonna happen) early morning. And, those stress advisors will agree, sleep is much more important than exercise.
There is not a reason to pull out the tiniest violin, I am quite happy being a mom and keeping up on my kids. Sure my son has a rough time staying out of the principal's office, and he's just four years old, but he's a good kid, and he is getting better at it. He just finds potty words and his saliva exhilarating.
The thought of becoming pregnant, compounding my responsibilities, has made me consider celibacy the safest route.
My ambitions are facing an uphill trek, and I am not ready to put down my hiking ski poles, and take off my itchy wool socks. When I wake up in the morning and look at the floor for what could be thirty seconds or fifteen minutes, I wax on my current position, and deliberate, is this really where I'm supposed to be? I see myself living abroad, with my kids, or moving to the East Coast, and it's as if Sac Town is where Im settling. Is it settling, or is it just the middle (possibly the beginning or, dare I hope, nearing the end) of a temporary state?

This week we are being confronted by women saying #metoo, and I think all women should congratulate themselves for sharing their stories and feelings, and you can congratulate yourself if you decided it's too personal to share, but reflected on the time from a more knowing state. Sadly, no woman or girl escapes it. When I read Farrow's article in The New Yorker on Weinstein, I was unfortunately comforted by how common it was for a lot of women to not understand how to categorize or label what happened to them. It was confusion, and their lack of resistance in order to just get the ball moving on the dominance, because when I look back on my own me-too has tags I often wonder, and like to think, I could have done something. After I heard about the boy from high school who ended up in prison, and how one night next to him, I should have probably poked his eye out, I considered it a bit of retribution, but I also felt a tinge sorry for him, undoubtedly sodomized by the even more contempt.
At the time too, I didn't even consider it as terrible as it seems in retrospect. Thats a tricky part about the abuse of power and the dominated, it's hard to comprehend the extent of the actions until the mind catches up to understanding. A different #metoo moment happened when I was attending preschool, and if you had asked me at six years old what the greatest offense that happened to me was, I probably would have described the excruciating event when my mother made me wear a turtleneck, convinced I would be strangled from the stretchy cotton neck brace.

My developed mind, also grew to love turtlenecks. Turtlenecks are like wearing a hug, which I guess is a nice comfort in a world where women have to compartmentalize being dominated as a way to progress in life. It's hard for most women to even acknowledge marriage is a form of indentured labor.

October is the month of the rosary and my brother let me know he's dedicating the month to me, and it sounds nice, and I appreciate the gesture, but it's actually quite horrifying. He is doing so because divorce is a mortal sin, and he doesn't see my soul as entering the pearly gates, but rather burning in hell.

When I woke up Sunday morning, I felt a void that needed to be filled by a delicious meatball sub and watching Magnolia. I got my sub, and made it twenty minutes into the film before I realized, I needed to tackle higher priority items on my to do list, but it was a nice mini vacation. There are tiny ways to get back to simpler times, like picturing a folding chair next to a lake or eating curly fries.

This weekend is not stamped with an Alicia on the Google Calendar, and I am actually able to do a lot of activities that will slightly unclench my chest, like run and yoga. I also signed up for an all-day writing class on Sunday in San Fran, this is the equivalent of the day-spa for me. It will be nice to be in the city, be around people who love to write and talk about shit other than the weather. There could be some collaboration... I'm thinking of those flamingos!! Even if not, theres always the prospect of a meatball sub and Magnolia, a consistent comfort.

Keeping Calm With Oprah

A couple weeks ago, the dean sat me down and asked if I would be temporarily full-time this term. It was great timing, and I nearly jumped out of my seat I was so excited to get started. With a couple days to prepare, I got a bit stressed. I like to think I'm cool with change, but I'm reactionary when overwhelmed, with all four burners going hot, and my instinct was to believe I can't manage it all, so something has to go. Instead of shutting down the cooktop, I decided to prioritize the top three; my kids burner has to always be on, I need to make money, so career is on, and personal development, including creative work and exercise, has to be on, at least slightly, otherwise I get the mean reds. The fourth burner seemed to be the only option to temporarily turn off.

I made a couple mistake in the quick classroom takeover. Like I passed out a pre-algebra test to my trig class. They looked at the first page, solving for the perimeter of a rectangle, and I realized I fucked up, and they'd not be taking a test that day. Then I really freaked out the pre-algebra class by giving them a quiz with fractions in it, not knowing they had yet learned fractions. The first mistake probably made the students giddy, getting an out-of-the-blue snow day. However, the second mistake, made the class nearly all faint in panic.
To add to my list, I caught the most horrific cold. I have 6 hours of solid lecturing on Mondays and Wednesdays, so after one stretch, I lost my voice. When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't squeak out the constant reminders my kids need to eat their breakfast and get dressed. They sit across from each other at the table, for what seems like three hours, eating their food one teeny bite at a time. Back and forth they talk to each other, "Sister..." and then "Brother..." And I all I could do was wave clothes at them, and motion for them to shovel the food in their mouth much faster.

Im lucky, their dad and I are still friends. Were not the besties we were, but it's ok. That was the saddest part of splitting, whats going to happen to my best friend? I was talking to him on the phone while I walked around the cafeteria trying to find something to eat that wasn't deep fried, and I found a decent looking triangle sandwich in plastic wrap. It wasn't anything special, and I gasped out loud complaining, "Six dollars for a fucking sandwich!"
He replied, "That seems pretty standard to me."
Then I laughed because he was right. Of course we can't talk about everything. And we'll just say, "Nope, don't want to talk about that," when something comes up thats disinteresting for various reasons to the other person.

I was talking with someone at work, and they continued to ask about my separation, and how angry and sad I should feel about things. Initially, they started out asking how I felt, but I suppose it wasn't ridden with enough bitterness, so they tried to drill into me until they struck oil; finding uncontrollable rage exploding from me. I didn't feed into it though, I just put on my thinking face, showing I understand their motives are driven from their own emotions. I'm lucky, I listen to so much Oprah Super Soul Sundays Podcasts, I have a good understanding that anger doesn't hurt anyone except yourself.

And it's not like I don't feel sad at times. After I laughed when he said six dollars seems reasonable for a sandwich, I felt sadness. And lately, after the kids and I get home, and I drop our million bags in the entry way, and walk into my room to take off my shoes, I frequently see a wet towel on the bed and I look at it ashamed. I would get really pissed at him over the last seven years for leaving wet towels on the bed after he showered, and it turns out, it was me all along and I never realized it.

This week I needed to dig myself out of a mountain of work, and so I turned off all the burners except work and kids. And damn was I productive. This afternoon, I came to a good break, left my new office, and went on a long run. I filled up on sunshine, birds, grass, falling leaves, and Oprah, of course. Afterward I felt amazing. The all consuming stress I felt last week is gone, and in retrospect, I should have been a bit calmer about things, confident I would be able to handle what I needed to do.

I'm sure Oprah's got a podcast for letting go of stress, and I'm really looking forward to listening to it! When Oprah says, "Don't stress!" I'm not sure why, but it makes complete sense. Don't-fucking-stress! Thanks, Oprah!

~We had a birthday celebration too~

Box to Check

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.