Summer!

                It’s here.  I can’t tell you how many days I’ve thought about being done with school.  I dread it and dream about it with equal enthusiasm, because there is nothing harder than starting a new school year with a bunch of strangers.  I like the familiarity I’ve built over nine months, and I have to chuck it at the beginning of every school year. 

                Whatever … it is what it is.  They move on.  I’d like a nice, cleansing fire at the end of every year – participation required. 

                Here’s the thing:  I had a million things to say before I logged on to this web site, and now I don’t give a shit about anything I had to say.  What I have to say is irrelevant.  I could write about not having a husband who gives a shit or about the vegetable garden I planted yesterday or about the fact that it’s 10:10 and I just made a wish, but no one gives a shit.  So neither do I.

I just got a question for you, “is you happy?”

                Why you wanna go and do that, love, huh?

That’s exactly what I’m talking about.  Why you wanna do that? Why you wanna be that guy?  Why you wanna tear me apart?  Why you wanna ignore me?  Why you wanna hurt me like that?  Why you wanna act like I’m not here?

I wonder sometimes, about the outcome.  Am I living it right?  Am I doing something wrong?  Did I zig when I should have zagged?  I don’t know.  It hardly matters at this point, as long as I have a smile on.  And I am going to vow (at least try) to keep a smile on.  I am sick of being unhappy and unsatisfied.  Everything happens for a reason, and I am ready to just do whatever presents itself.  No more fear.  No more rationalizations.

 My parents were just here drinking cocktails and looking at pictures from my past.  I told them things I would never have imagined telling them, but it was all good.  I am all about the honesty from here on out.  No more lies.  No more half-truths.  Life is what it is.  (That puts a huge, irrational smile on my face.) 

Truth #1:  Love is not forever. 

Truth #2:  Children are wonderful, but some people use them as an excuse to not live their lives.

Truth #3:  I like people who are much younger than me, because they are more true to themselves and don’t’ give a shit what other people think.

Truth #4:  While I can’t speak for all alcoholics, I think that liquor is beautiful and stimulating and promotes honesty (more core values). In vino, veritas (in wine, truth)

Truth #5:  People should probably smoke more pot.  I have no proof or rationalization here, but I think it’s probably true.

Truth #6:  I spend too much time trying to think on this stupid fucking computer.  I’m going to go play with the dog I’m babysitting; it has to be more productive than sitting on my ass looking at this screen.

                Peace out.

I Want to Personally Thank Your Mom …

… for giving birth to someone who makes me FEEL:  happy and sad and hyper and morose and infinite (depending on the moment). 

                It’s not just one person; it’s the collective group of people who make music, and thus provide the soundtrack to my life.  My ipod shuffle might as well be a teleportation device, because it takes me from place to place – even sometimes to places I’ve never been.  I might be sitting here on my deck, but my brain is in a hundred different places.  Right now, I’m with Jack Johnson and Eddie Vedder in Hawaii, chillin’ on the beach with a ukulele.  But then Andrew Bird interrupts and tells me (in his pompously intellectual way) about machinations and palindromes.  I love Andrew, but I think if I met and spoke to him, it might end up in a fist fight, because he would have a certain look on his face that I would want to punch off.  That doesn’t make his songs any less good.

                Outside, there is no breeze at all, but I know my music is carrying to the homes around me.  It’s not like I have it all bassed out and cranking from my garage like a Council Bluffs trailer park (wait, do they have garages?), but I can tell that the guy working in his yard a couple houses away is semi-listening.  Do you ever wonder if people judge you based on what music you’re listening to?  I think I might do that to other people, subconsciously.  And while I’d like to listen to music all the time at work (like when students are working on assignments or whatever), I can never think of what music will make everyone happy.  Someone is always going to be a tool and say, “what is this shit?”  (or whatever…)  People are often unwilling to listen without prejudice. 

                Example:  Murder By Numbers is happening right now.  (The Police)  Listen to it – right now.  Seriously – navigate away from this page.  What a great fucking song.  Turning murder into art.  What’s not to love?  And here come The Smith’s with Girlfriend in a Coma.  Really?  Who writes this shit?  And why do I like it?  I don’t care.  It makes me happy; and in a world where most things suck ass, I will take what I can get.

                Let’s not forget John Mayer, who talks to me like he’s in my head all the time.  He’s like the positive voice coming in over my shoulder.  And then there’s Florence, who’s not really the “bad” voice, but she gets to the guttural, animal part of me and makes me want to howl.  When you stop to think about it, there’s really nothing wrong with the animal part, so why not just harness the dark part?  I’m doing it – who gives a shit what other people think?  It’s not like I’m frothing at the mouth; it’s just music.  It’s wrong NOT to howl.  (Ask any person who has been to a Grateful Dead concert, because I distinctly remember howling to the moon with Jerry Garcia in the middle of the Nevada desert.)

                I’ll take the Maroon Five “Sunday Morning” getting all sexy and mournful and I will love it the same as Tupac and Biggie getting’ dirty with the impromptu rap.  It’s ALL good.  I suppose (if I had a gun to my head) I could even enjoy contemporary country music (though I’d have to know the gun was loaded and my life was on the line).  

                My point is this:  life would not be the same without the soundtrack making it memorable and creating vantage points.  No matter how many times I hear Dave Matthews’ voice, I still get chills when he sings about tangled tongues and lips.  I say, yes, Dave.  I will.  And yes, Eddie, I will think about whatever you want me to think about.  Just sing it in my ear for a second, and I’m yours.  At least for a while.  (which is really all I can promise anyone…)

                When music and words get together, that can be a very powerful thing.  It hardly matters whether it’s live or in your basement or on your car stereo or jogging with the ear buds.  Music makes everything better and a little more clear.  It’s a different lens, and god knows we all need a different perspective sometimes.  I think Aldous Huxley said it best:  “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”  Thank you, LSD-, doors-of-perception, and Brave New World- guy.  I agree.  

Happy Mother’s Day

                I went to my mom’s house today only because I had to.  I didn’t want to.  I felt guilty because I hadn’t been there in a long time, and my Catholic guilt is more powerful than most drugs.  But because I am passive-aggressive, I challenged her to an intellectual dual when she randomly stated that Obama is a fanatical Muslim who is slowly stripping her of her constitutional rights.  I asked her for proof – she didn’t have any at her disposal.  I asked for her sources – she said email messages.  I asked her how this shifty president was different than any other pandering politician – she didn’t have details.  She lost.  But because it was my mother, and it’s Mother’s day, I lost too, because arguing makes me a bitch. 

                My husband made me breakfast this morning before he went to work.  I didn’t get up, because it’s the weekend and I was tired.  I had to get up for a football game yesterday really early, and I just wanted to sleep in one day of the week.  He tried to wake me up twice after he made breakfast, brewed coffee, and had mimosas prepped.  I didn’t get up until he was gone.  I guess that makes me a bitch too.

                My question is this:  why do I have to pander to other people, when I, too, am a mother?  Why do other people have power over me on this day which is supposed to be my own?  Because none of my days are really my own.  Every day of my life is really about someone else:  children, parents, husband, students.  It’s never about me.  That’s why my Utopian delusion is to be alone on a beach – and it’s a delusion because motherhood would never allow me to leave them.  The measure of love for your child is greater than the love of self in every way.  I would cut off my limbs for them if they asked.  And they ask, all the time, they just don’t realize that what they ask for in little pieces every single day adds up to more than I have.  They bankrupt me financially, yes, but emotionally too.  They take and take and take, and they forget to give back.  The “thank you, mom” construction paper is cute, but it took two minutes to make, and it means infinitely less than actually helping me in some context.  Picking up their shit would be the best Mother’s Day gift ever, but no one did it today or any other day (unless there is a threat involved). 

                Motherhood is beautiful and painful and thankless and inspiring and … well, indescribable with useless adjectives.  You don’t know what it’s like until you’re a parent, and then you spend the rest of your life trying to come to terms with how much you took advantage of your parents and understand how to deal with the fact that your children are doing it to you.  The cute little Hallmark card is great, but the official holiday of “Mother’s Day” is just another way for capitalist societies to market love.  I don’t want to be relegated to a mandated calendar date.  I would just like my children to appreciate me and give back every once in a while.  Love is back and forth, even with children.  My heart has been on my sleeve every day for 21 years.  Each child introduces another way to make me happy and to break my heart. 

                And to add a little pressure, my relationship with my children will affect all their other relationships with other people.  My children will see their parents’ fucked-up, dysfunctional relationship and wonder. 

                I just want them to be happy.  To be happier than me.  To make better choices.  To make more money.  To find true love.  To never be hurt, ever.  And I know that most of that is unrealistic, but it’s what I want for them.  Having children changes everything about every day.  It’s good and bad.  It’s happy and sad.  It just is.  

Imposition of Silence

This is so rare:  no family, no voices, no television screaming in the background.  No one wants anything.  Outside is even better, but it’s a different kind of quiet.  I hear birds talking to each other from every direction, and a woodpecker hammering away at a tree somewhere nearby.  The squirrels are running about in the tree over my head, so tiny pieces of debris occasionally fall onto the deck.  A dog’s collar jingling next door as it walks around smelling for animals.  A revving engine off in the distance.  There are children’s voices floating up from the park, though I can’t actually hear any of the words distinctly. 

The weather is perfect, just chilly enough to need a sweatshirt.  No wind, just a hint of breeze.  The light is ideal, dusk settling over the yard and making the grass somehow greener and the flowers brighter.   The hammock looks inviting as it hangs there motionless over the sand.  I could build a bonfire in the pit and watch the flames dance when the sun is gone.  I could just sit and watch the shadows grow and listen to the peaceful cacophony of suburbia. 

But here I am inserting words into the silence, because words run through my brain constantly.  I can’t turn my brain off.  Ever.  I so envy people who can just relax and sit and be content.  I always have to impose something on my surroundings.  I come outside to relax, and I end up worrying about money or thinking about work or feeling guilty for not doing some menial task I’ve been avoiding.  It’s a flaw.  Happiness is supposed to come from within, and most of what is inside my head is troublesome.   

I’m not sure where to go from here.  Maybe because I’m not really sure where I am.