In the throes of our 2nd ever star wars marathon! And, on the brink of our wedding anniversary, who should suddenly need to come home because his plans fell through? Yup. So. Happy fucking new year, oh wait, no, scratch that, there will be no 'fucking' this new year's nor this anniversary!
Ah well.
The star wars marathon is going swimmingly.
But i mean really? Would you want to be at a couple's house on their fucking wedding anniversary??????????
W.E.
I am so done trying to fathom the motivations of other people. done done done done done. New year's resolution.
In addition to that one, I am also giving up junk food, taking vitamins (vegetarian multi!) and beginning to develop an excercise routine that works for me and is consistent. I am apparently also going to start wanting things whether or not I think I can\should\will have them.
And we are going to start planning for a baby. There. I done said it.
We shall see.
So cheers! Have some steamy sex for us, will ya? (Unreal, right? it's fucking new years! who the fuck is home on new years when you're a single 21 year old male? Jesus. GO fucking drink and screw and be the fuck out of my house!!!)
Anyways.
Happy New Year! Aaron has asked that I find some fucking optimism in 2011. I feel fake doing it, but maybe it will become habit and I can integrate a cheery outlook into my personality.
Getting ready for some starwars cookies and blue milk!
Thanks for a great year-- here's to an even better one this time around! Love and light to you all!
There's been alot of talk lately about 'putting it out into the universe'. I'm getting it from all sides. Put the idea, the desire, the hope, the wish, put it 'out there' and somehow, someway, that positive energy will manifest itself into actuality.
But in order for me to do any 'putting out' 'there' of 'it', I'd better first decide what 'it' is and maybe even where I'd like to put it.
I've been on this kick lately of saying 'if' about children instead of 'when', for instance. Correcting myself whenever the habitial 'when' would slip out, and promptly and firmly replacing it with the ambiguous, the evasive, the non-committal 'if'. Not the magic 'if' like in theatre, but the soul-crushing, hope-smothering, ice-water-dousing 'if'.
Because where once I'd felt so confident about the family we'd have, where once upon a time I'd been so damn convinced, I now feel as though I've been maybe jinxing it with all that optimistic certainty. I mean together 14 years or something with no offspring? Maybe it's time to start saying 'if' right? Because maybe, just maybe, this 'it' ain't gunna ever come to fruition. Maybe 'it' isn't in the fucking cards.
I guess people noticed the change. The change in my attitude. And far from thinking it was reasonable or prudent, they have been growing concerned. Where's that 'can do' spirit? Where's that little-engine-that-couldery? Where's the 'I think therefore I am going to be the mother of wonderful reardon-waite babies'???
Well folks, and well universe, I put that particular 'it' in a deep, dark, intensely private corner of my heart and locked it away. Then buried it below layers and layers of cold hard reason, beneath unyielding rationale, and sealed it up with the key labeled 'tempting fate'.
And then I mourned it. Grieved for it. Wept bitterly. Resented it. Asked 'Why God, why?!?!?!?!', and finally said good-bye to it.
But imagine if someone you loved died and you had to process it all alone because no one else even knew about it. Imagine going through the whole grieving and healing and accepting process while other people blindly prodded into the tender wound of it, cheerfully bandied it about like any other topic fit for conversation. Not their fault mind you, how could they know? But painful. And so much more difficult. And frustrating.
Imagine, too, that you carry a certain unshakeable guilt about this death because even though maybe the person was weak and ailing when they finally died, imagine that it was your decisions that finally killed them. Yeah, tough right? Imagine you pulled the plug or something.
And now imagine that your partner never got a say in it.
And that now he's ready to entertain, for real, the idea of having that loved one come live with you at long last. Meet this incredible person, finally! But it feels too late because you've already killed and buried them.
Yeah. It got weird, I know. apologies. But I'm just trying to give you some idea of what's been going on in my severely riddled psyche.
And Aaron's telling me to stop insulating myself from the possibility of failing to have children. He's telling me to openly want children, if I want children. To go balls to the wall and 'put it out there' out in the universe that I want kids, and not worry about whether or not we actually will. He says that if I 'put it out there' that I am ambivalent about it or even that I don't want kids, then that is how the universe will respond. So go ahead and want kids, if I want kids. "If you don't really want kids, well, then, that's a different conversation."
So do I really want kids?
I don't know anymore. I think I've muddied the waters by all my fretful thrashing about. I feel a bit like a tightly wound new england sea captain's wife, doomed to pacing up and down the widow's walk, looking out to sea, knowing the hope I bear is more than likely a fool's errand, but unable to completely abandon it and move on; never able to heal, never able to fully grieve, never able to trust the hope and faith and possibility that things will work out for the best. I'm on the widow's walk of my biological clock or something. This is feeling like some dali painting or artaud film. Fucked and full of horrid imagery.
Too, there's this issue of sacrifice. If I am onehundredpercent sure that we're going to start a family in the next 2-4 years then it is time to buckle down and sacrifice and do the awful sould-sucking things one has to do to scrimp and prepare and save and plan for baby. But if I'm not sure? If there's no reward at the end of the bleakest tunnel I could imagine? Well, then, fuck that shit, you know? I almost wish I could 'just say no' to the idea of babies and finally relax and enjoy this time of my life. But everything feels like a trade-off at this point. Well, you can do this thing that makes you happy, but it might cost you a year or two in the baby department. Or, oh, you want to explore other career options after all this time? Go ahead, but throw another rose on that grave you're digging for 'potential offspring'.
So what, i repeat, the fuck, I emphasize, do I really want?
Because whatever it is, the new year is fast approaching and I'd like to take some initiative here. I want to take the proverbial bull by the horns and start focusing, with single-minded determination, on putting 'it' out there, or more proactively working for 'it'.
Do I want to publish a fiction book? Do I want to be a drama teacher at a high school somewhere? Would I rather be an english teacher? Would I rather not teach again, but find some high-paying alternative (hah. the impossible dream.)? Do I want a house? Do I want to move far away? Do I want a doctorate? Do I want a baby? A Family?
Sadly, all I can think right now is I want a break. A vacation. A chance to get healthy and whole and relaxed. Because it is almost friday, I go back to work in just a few too-short days, and this has not felt like a vacation at all. I'm tired and stressed and feel like throwing myself on the floor, pounding my fists and kicking my feet, and sobbing until someone finally gives in and gives me what I want--whatever that may be. Think the universe responds to full-throated two-year-old tactics? Or does it, like a patient parent, want me to 'talk to me in a reasonable volume and use your words'?
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Whenever people talk about money versus passion i always advise passion.
Except now, when presented with that very same dilemma, I find myself in a position where it looks like I might just have to go with money.
My heart is breaking.
Maybe I should simply follow my passion and surrender to the universe and good things will come.
We lost power last night for a goooood chunk of time, which puts a wrench into things when you're trying to clean for guesties. I am now up early and praying I can pull this together. Stress! Plus I know not whether my brother in law will actually find somewhere else to be which makes me fucking bananas. And we haven't decided upon a menu for the evening, which always makes me jittery.
In short, I haven't alot of time to post this morning, but wanted to update in brief.
Christmas was nice. I want to move to India. I'm back to avoiding loan\debt\credit calls as the meagre amount of christmas shopping I managed to do wiped me out again (well, and paying all those past due balances in december...)
So by candlelight last ight I read aloud to my husband, which was lovely. I wanted sex, but he wasn't feeling well\ in the mood. So reading is fun too. Not in the same way, granted, but it is a great activity for lovers\friends to participate in.
I think I might be over writing. Yeah. Or maybe I'm just tired and stressed and worn out. But everytime I sit down to write I end up re-reading old stuff, editing a word or a sentence, then sighing dramatically and abandoning the endeavor. This is not a fun feeling.
Especially because I feel like I have so much left to write, not just for the cedar falls stuff, but in general! You know I think I was beginning to fancy myself a closet writer. And now, like everything else in my life, it seems that I was just playing at it for a while. Just toying with something.
At our afterschool job teachers can run these side activities. We always have art and gym and library and games, and computers, but then a teacher can create a side club too, such as nature club or card-making club or cooking club. Aaron has already had a rubik''s cube club so far this year and is excitedly planning a prehistoric themed club for the spring, and has many, many more ideas for clubs he could run just pouring out of him. Aaron could do a science experiment club, a magnet fun club, an illustration club, a sculpting club, a videogame club, and who the hell knows what else. His possibilities are endless, his potential limitless.
So I sit down to think of clubs that maybe I could do, as I want to be awesomesauce and contribute and be a valuable team player there. And guess what? I could do a drama club. Yup. And that's about fucking it. That's where my skillsets end. A fucking drama club. But here's the thing, I've already been asked to do a drama enrichment program there, which starts in january, so, that pretty much takes care of the 'drama club' idea, only the kids who take it will have to pay extra money to do something I would have done for free... yeah...
What other hobbies do I have? What other useful educational interests? Oh, c'mon kids, lets have a romance novel club? Or, hey guys, how about a decoupage club? Or a really indepth discussion club about the politics and players of mid twelfth century europe? Yeah. Fun stuff.
Alright. Now I'm just plain wasting time on multiple levels. I have a crazy amount of cleaning\organizing\preparing to do and sitting around comparing myself to someone who is pretty fucking perfect isn't going to help anything in the least, because it will never, ever, do any good at all.
On a lovely note: The world outside my window today looks clean and beautiful. Now to make the insides match...
Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. I'm finally posting one that's been waiting on the shelf for a while. It will be the beginning of the opening of a can of worms. I like this scene. I hope you enjoy.
******************************
"Grey?”
Grey looked up from his book at the sound of her hesitant inquiry. “I didn’t know you were home.” He said. “Here.” He corrected.
She smiled almost apologetically. “I just got in.” She had the car now. It was easy for her to come and go.
They stared at each other for a moment. “Well, then, welcome back.” He said carefully. He didn’t know how to talk to her and it was driving him to distraction.
“Thanks.” She vacillated in the doorway of the cozy sunroom where he’d been trying to read.
“Did you want to—were you going to ask me something?” He ventured.
She inhaled to respond and then let all the air rush out again with a smile and a wave of her hand. “No, I’m sorry, you’re busy.” She glanced at the book he’d been reading.
He, too, glanced at the book. “Just reading this for class.” He said dismissively and, noting the page number, closed the book and set it down on the small table beside him. He should have been reading that ‘what to expect’ book of hers, but everytime he picked it up and opened to a random page he found himself rather appalled and had to set it back down. “What’s up?”
“I.” She stopped. She was wringing her hands a little and she nibbled her lower lip.
“Is everything ok?” He asked apprehensively.
“Huh?” She looked at him. He looked at her stomach. She blinked. “Oh, no, I mean, yes, everything’s fine, everything’s good, no, no, I’m sorry, everything’s ok yes.” She seemed to recognize the extent of her own nerves and she took a full breath and clamped her mouth closed with a rueful smile.
He felt himself smiling back, just faintly, just a bit. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. It felt peculiar offering her a chair in the home they shared together.
She nodded and took the seat submissively. He felt his shoulders rising with his mounting unease and he made an effort to push them down, remain relaxed. But he felt so strange around her lately, so unlike himself and clumsy and awkward.
“Grey, have I… met everyone?” She cocked her head to the side and peered at him curiously.
“Met? Everyone?” He wasn’t sure what in hell she was talking about.
“I mean your family? Your relatives? Have I, met them all now?”
He squinted, trying to weigh her question adequately. They’d had the family dinner, then they’d had the larger Delaney get-together where she’d met Nolan’s family and Uncle Caleb… She’d met Granny Calder. They’d been married now for about a month. “Yes.” He responded slowly, still racking his brain to try and figure out if he might be overlooking someone. “You’ve met all of them now.”
She nodded but her face remained a question mark.
“Have I met all of your family?” He inquired, not terribly curious.
“Oh no, not nearly.” She said with a small chuckle.
He gave a short laugh. That would be an endeavor indeed he supposed.
“Why do you ask?” He prompted after she lapsed into a far-away gaze and a pensive silence.
“And is there… was there a falling-out or anything, in your family?” She looked so earnest, so damned concerned that he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“No.” He said. “Why?”
“I haven’t met your grandparents.” She said timidly.
Grey furrowed his brow. “You met Granny Calder.” he argued.
“Oh, yes, of course—“ She flushed slightly and looked at her hands where they fidgeted relentlessly in her lap. “I meant, um, are there any other? Grandparents?”
Grey’s brow remained crinkled. “They passed away.” He explained and watched with some fascination as she crossed herself and then kissed her fingers, her eyes closed and a small silent prayer moving on those perfect lips.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, when she’d finished her little prayer; she sounded embarrassed and sorrowful.
“What’s this about Maggie?” He asked gently but insistently. She’d piqued his interest.
“Well it’s just. Today—“ She lifted her eyes to his and he got the sense she wasn’t confident that she should tell him the truth.
He relaxed his brow to appear more affable. “Today?”
“Today I saw a man that I was sure must be your grandfather, Grey.” She rushed, wanting to get it all off her chest. “I mean, I swear, he looked almost exactly like you! It was so startling. When I saw him. And I just thought for sure that he must be related to you… or something…” She licked her lips and stared earnestly at Grey. “Strange, right?” She gave a nervous little titter.
“Did he approach you?” Grey asked more sharply than he’d intended.
She looked alarmed at his sudden change in tone. “No, no. I don’t think he saw me at all.” She assured him, not understanding his reaction but obviously recognizing instinctively what answer he wanted to hear.
“That man you saw.” Grey sighed and rolled his shoulders back. “That man is my father.” He said, wishing he never had to tell her that.
Her eyebrows moved together and her mouth opened in a perfect little ‘o’, and she looked about ready to protest his bizarre claim.
“His name is Vaughan Grey. He was married to my mother. He’s my father.” Grey explained in a drained sort of voice. Talking about this always made him feel tired and a little irritable.
“But Mr. Delaney--?”
Grey waited. He could wait for a long time. He wanted her to speak first on this one. He was mildly surprised that there existed people within Cedar Falls who didn’t know all this, all this salacious history.
“Mr. Delaney, he isn’t your real father?” She asked and Grey recognized the notes of dismay and disappointment in her voice because he’d heard them before. He’d felt them before.
“That depends on how you define ‘real’.” He said quietly. He never felt at ease discussing his dad like this.
Her face softened and her wide brown eyes misted over. He tried not to roll his eyes. She was very emotional a lot of the time lately. Pregnancy hormones.
“He’s been my Dad since I was born.” Grey told her plainly. He wasn’t sentimental about it. It was fact.
She smiled gently. “But that other man, the one I saw today, he’s--?”
Grey thought he’d like a drink. But he stayed where he was. The smell of booze had been causing her to wretch lately. “I guess the term is ‘biological father’.” He ran his knuckles under his chin absently and enjoyed the feeling of his rough stubble. He needed to shave, but he rather liked the heavy growth of his five o’clock shadow.
She worried her lower lip. “But your name is Delaney.” She stated.
“He adopted me when I was a baby.” Grey explained and stretched his legs out before him. Normally he’d have cut this conversation short, but he felt inexplicably patient at the moment, almost willing to discuss anything she wanted or needed to know.
“Oh.” She said, but her brow wrinkled a little further. “I wasn’t aware you could adopt a child if the parents are still living.”
Grey examined the toes of his socks carefully and sneered at them a little. “He signed away his parental rights.”
“Like when a mother gives up a child.” She said, understanding, sounding a shade embarrassed. “I guess I hadn’t thought about a father doing it.”
They were quiet for a long time. Grey listened to the steady ticking of the hall clock and the low, soothing hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen.
“I’ve heard of him.” She said, a scandalized note in her voice. “Vaughan Grey.”
“Most people have.” He responded and lifted his eyes to watch her face.
“I’m glad he didn’t raise you.” She said in a very small voice, her eyebrows drawn together and a downward pull to her lips.
Grey’s mouth twitched. “So am I.” He answered, almost to himself.
She looked at him and found him already staring at her and she flushed. “Did you, did you see much of him? Growing up?”
“No.” He answered tersely. He was willing to answer her questions but he wasn’t ready to tell her everything. He felt a little defensive about the clandestine meetings his mother had shuttled him off to as a child, and he didn’t want to burden her with that. He’d never told anyone, not a living soul, about his mother’s secret, and for some reason he was certain he didn’t want Maggie to know. “Part of the custody agreement and the adoption.” He elaborated in business like tones.
She nodded. The fingers of her left hand reached up and began to twist the small pendant on the silver chain at her neck. He caught the flash of gold from the wedding band on her ring finger and he felt an unidentifiable stirring in his chest.
“Sorry.” He said to her, watching her fingers twist that small saint between them ritualistically.
“Why are you sorry?” She asked, her fingers slowing to a stop.
“Sorry if you had your heart set on a red-haired, purple eyed baby.” He flashed her a wicked smile.
She clucked her tongue but smiled despite herself. They fell into a comfortable silence for a minute as she shook her head and chuckled quietly, thinking about a red-headed violet eyed Mexican baby, he imagined. The thought made him grin too. “I guess I noticed that you didn’t look a lot like him.” She commented after awhile. “Or like your uncles.” She gazed thoughtfully at him, examining his features carefully. “But you have your mother’s eyes, and I guess I assumed that you must take after her side.”
He raised his eyebrows and sighed with a soft smile. “Apologies again.” He said, a sardonic twist to his murmur. “Because I’m afraid your child is cursed with these genes.” He loathed Vaughan Grey. And he hated that he was like him. He wished Maggie’s baby could truly be a Delaney. “Delaney in name only I’m afraid.” He finished a touch bitterly.
She looked stern. “Don’t talk that way about yourself.” She said firmly. Then she looked at him sharply. “Has he ever made you feel like that?” She meant Jonah. Had Jonah treated him like a stepson? Like the bastard that he was?
Grey’s face changed. “Not. Even. Once.” He answered very slowly. Suddenly his throat felt a little tighter than was comfortable.
She smiled then and held his gaze. She had such dark, deep eyes. “You love him.” She told him.
Grey closed his eyes. He had the strangest sensation that she had the power to hypnotize him with those dark chocolate eyes of hers. “I do.” He answered dully.
“I think he’ll be a wonderful grandfather.” She said approvingly. He could hear the smile in her voice.
Grey chuckled at her enthusiasm. “He’s the finest man I know.” He told her quietly, keeping his eyes closed.
He heard the slight rustle of her clothing, knew she was standing up. He became aware that he didn’t want her to go. He kept his eyes shut, though, and his mouth shut too. What right did he have to ask her to stay? And what would be the point? He couldn’t think of anything to say to her anyway. He just. He was beginning to honestly enjoy her company.
He startled a bit when he felt her warm, soft hand on his cheek. His eyes flew open and he looked up at her questioningly. Dimly he was aware that his heart was beating faster. She ran her small thumb back and forth slowly over the growth of stubble on his cheek and she smiled warmly. He didn’t dare move, didn’t want to risk breaking whatever spell had summoned her to him.
With her other hand she ran her fingers lightly through the hair at his temple. Her fingers felt as soft as feathers moving over his scalp. He watched her intently and kept his face as close to neutral as he could manage in the face of her warm touch and sweet smile.
After a minute of combing through his hair with her fingers she slowly slid her hand down over his neck, onto and over his shoulder and began to trace down his arm. She kept her other palm cupped comfortingly, possessively upon his cheek and jaw. He loved hearing the soft scrape of his stubble against the pad of her thumb. Something light and giddy was fluttering beneath his rib cage.
Eventually her hand found his, where it lay still and obedient on his knee. She took his large hand in her small one and his breath caught in his throat. He searched her eyes carefully. What did she want? He prided himself on being able to read women, know what they wanted even before they understood it themselves. He’d made it his goal to be able to anticipate their needs and desires, intuit from the slightest sigh or the tiniest of eyebrow twitches just what they were thinking or feeling or wanting.
But her dark eyes were going to swallow him whole. He couldn’t get a read on her. She was unfathomable. Unknowable. He decided to remain passive, to allow her to take the lead and he prayed he’d be able to catch on soon.
Because he didn’t want to move too fast or do something she wasn’t ready for.
Then he wondered what he wanted. What, exactly, was he ready for?
Because he couldn’t trust her, could he? She’d blackmailed him into marriage against his will and she’d done so unapologetically. She’d made him a prisoner in his own life, inserted herself into his family, and robbed him of his world as he’d known it.
So when he looked at her now, felt his hand wrapped in her small fingers and his face in her soft palm, he knew he should feel angry, bitter revulsion. But he couldn’t muster anything remotely akin to that.
She lifted his hand very gradually, very carefully, and he let her. She blinked slowly and bit the fullness of her lower lip with a playful smile. He wanted to smile back, flash her that grin that used to make her melt, wanted to reach up and pull her head toward his and kiss her till she was breathless and needy and ready for him. But his chest felt tight and his body refused to obey the habitual command to action. He remained still and compliant for her.
Then, to his amazement and bewilderment, she placed his hand on her abdomen. Her smile was tentative, her eyes large and honest. She flattened his fingers over the subtle outward curve of her barely-growing belly, pressed his palm against her and held his hand there.
He pulled his eyes from hers with an enormous effort and stared at his hand, under her hand, on her stomach. His brows drew together and sat low over his eyes. He remembered how his conversation with Vaughan Grey had gone, remembered the options he’d been presented with for escaping this sham of a marriage, and he washed over cold. He didn’t want this. He stared at his wedding ring, there, against her stomach, and felt a wave of panic so powerful it nearly knocked the wind out of him.
He stood abruptly, pulling his hand out of her grasp and forcing her to back up quickly. “I won’t be here for supper.” He told her flatly, and, unable to meet her face, unable to look at her eyes, he strode out of the room toward his bedroom. He needed to get his fucking shoes on and get the fuck out of that house.
Merry Christmas Eve. Today was emotional for me, highs and lows, smiles and racking sobs. Sometimes the littlest thing will get me; for instance I can's sing the line :'Until then we'll have to muddle through, somehow...' without getting choked up, and I absolutely cannot get through the verse of the little drummer boy that goes:
'I am a poor boy too, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum\ I have no gift to bring parumpumpumpum\ that's fit to give a king parumpumpumpum rumpumpum, rumpumpumpum, shall I play for you pa rumpumpum pum,
on my drum?'
Ug. I weep every fucking time.
Anyway, I'm suffering crushing guilt about my lack of resources, lack of ability to properly thank all the people whom I love and who have been so generous and kind and wonderful to meover the last few years. It feels awful to be given gifts and not be able to give back anything more than mumbled, inadequate thanks. My heart is breaking.
So between trying to cobble together last minute stocking for Aaron and Eric, a few small gifts for my loved ones, and pick up a few things I've been needing, I have spent more than I can afford, and it all amounts to a bunch of crap. So I week like a maniac in the shaws parkinglot. Sob until I choke, tears streaming down, hoping that noone will see me or notice me there as they rush around doing holiday things.
I feel simultaneously blessed beyond measure, and terrified that I will not be able to make ends next month. I beg time to stop, to just give me a break, just some reprieve, and still it soldiers on like a soulless tank bent on vanquishing any tattered scrap of spirit I might have left.
Tonight we will go to my sister's to drop off the computer Aaron built for my neice, and then we will come home and it will be time for me to cling to my one sacred ritual. Every Christmas eve I watch It's a Wonderful Life. It isn't original, it isn't especially profound, but it moves me without fail every year, I have a good cathartic cry, and it is time for christmas.
Just, tonight, I'm not sure how I'll be able to relax and enjoy with Eric around. But I will try. I need a big fucking chill pill tonight.
So Merry Christmas Eve, in all sincerity, no sarcasm. I hope you have a very merry christmas eve with loved ones, doing things that you love, insulated from the worst of life, at least for a few precious hours, or days, or however long life grants. We all need to recharge the battery. So Hang a shining star upon the highest bough, and have yourselves a merry little christmas now!...
I had an amazing night last night! We had a PM productions reunion get together at Andrea's and it was a fucking blast!
Good food, good friends, good spirits (both in good cheer and good libations!), goodness gracious but it was lovely.
We have grand plans for the future, and it looks as if we're going to really start something this summer! Amenamenamen. I am so tired of doing theatre other people's way! I miss the amazing collaboration that used to go on. The energy, the verve, the 'anything is possible' feeling we used to live on!
We are a great, creative, innovative, extraordinary team of people, and something powerful and palpable when we gather. I believe this. And it reinforced the notion that we choose our families. I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life, so many individuals I have chosen as my family. To all of you (and you know who you are, I should hope!) thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart, thank you a million times over, for being who you are, for being incomparable and extraordinary and human, and ever a friend.
And it was overall a wonderful, fun, funny, fantastic reunion. I drank an entire bottle of polkadot reisling by myself, Aaron drank an entire bottle of chianti on his own too. There was also an extralarge bottle of yellowtail merlot that somehow got polished off, and I made aaron to the car for the extra bottle of red I'd picked up from the 50% off carriage near the register! It wasn't intended for company (as I didn't know if it would be any good), but turns out once you're already drunk, it doesn't matter one but if the wine is actually good or not!!
There was also delicious minty hot cocoa with baileys... yum city.
The rest will have to remain unsaid here, but suffice to say? I had a truly wonderful, yummy, awesome, great time =)
And Aaron was quite drunk enough to do accents on command, which is just a great addition to any soiree!
PLUS! wait till I tell you about the amazing and unexpected gifts I got from my friend! A whole bag full of books! I love that the assortment ranged from young adult literature to explicitly adult literature! Amen and hallelujah! Someone knows me well ;)
Ok, gotta run. I am pretty sure I was not hung over this AM, but actaully still drunk! And? I apparently had middle of the night sex with my husband that I absolutely cannot remember one bit. I remember everything BEFORE i fell asleep perfectly fine, but i guess sometime in the middle of the night I was fucked and I am telling you honestly: I have no recollection of such!
Aaron thinks this is awesome.
Anyway, I'm proud of myself for actually getting up, outta bed, and to work today. I guess I'm officially a grown up! And I get to wrap up the week with the Pigeon Potluck! Woot! I soooo wish I didn't have to work that night, but I plan on having a good time anyway!
Thanks for the great time last night friends! Much Love!
I want this week to be over. It is going to feel like the longest effing week. Tomorrow night I look forward to seeing old friends, reuniting the PM productions gang! On Thursday night I look forward to the Pigeon Holiday Potluck, but for goodness sake, I have to work a whole full long ass day right before both those fun gatherings, which makes me a lil grumpy.
I also just got off the phone with a couple of loan places and that makes my seriously consider learning how to tie a proper noose with my adorable pink scarf.
So I thought I'd blog about something that makes me happy, to cheer myself and get me through the rest of this day!
Aaron. Yeah, pathetic, right? I know. But He is great in so many ways, and I feel so blessed to have him. We went out with a gift certificate to Not YOur Average Joe's last night, had ourselves a pitcher of Sangria and some apps, then headed over to the movie theatre to see the new TRON film (which I enjoyed despite myself.)
He is awesome pants. A great date, a great friend, and really good company. In the car I got to discussing my writing. I said: "I have a dilemma and I need your advice."
And he was game. I laid out my problem. It's about the fire that killed Nolan & Jonah's parents. I have long suspected that this fire was not the accident it appeared to be.
But. Was I ready for the implications?
Aaron was so funny and great helping me work through my qualms about who started the fire, why it happened, and how it all went down. He approved heartily of my decision to make this Caleb's big secret, and he's on board with the vision I have for Nolan too. He says he wants me to finish the Jonah story so I can focus on Nolan. I told him it doesn't really work like that. But he likes what I have going with everyone. He told me he loved the idea, the rule, the caveat that Everyone in Cedar falls has a secret. He says it seems so simple, but that it's really great fun and gives the writer so much to play with and propts so many ideas inside him.
The praise felt damn good.
He has definite opinions on how Jonah's storyline should wrap-up, but he is a different visionary than I am, and I'm afraid I just can's leave Jonah paralyzed but alive for the rest of his days, no matter the poetic justice of it. I just have other plans for the fella.
He also helped me make a final decision on the Vaughan Grey questionable paternity thing. I think I'll insinuate and hint at and toy with the possibility, but in the end I think it is important that Jonah has really really committed incest, no ifs and or buts. Father-daughter incest, not half-brother\half-sister incest.
I am still pussying out on the Maggie\Grey soryline, but I don't think it can be helped. They are following the romance novel trajectory, and in order to feel satisfaction I think I just gotta give them a happy ending. I feel fiercely protective of them for some reason. I will make their ride as bumpy as possible, but in the end I want to give them peace.
I know, I know. Peace is boring. I guess we'll see.
Poor Ben and Avalon, they're in a pickle.
And velvet. Sheesh.
And then I have this wild plot development with Jonah and grace and Velvet that I'm not one hundred percent sure I'm behind.
But it was really awesome to have aaron's help and advice. I used to be able to bounce ideas off my bestie D, but the poor woman is one busy chica, and naturally fictional towns have taken a back, back, back seat to all the other things she has going on in her amazing world of motherhood, wifehood, studenthood, and personhood!
AND, just to let everyone know, I've sorta popped Nettie's cherry! I have started using her to write vignettes! I haven't actually completed one on her yet, but I've started two juicy ones. Maybe today I will post the very first partial vignette I wrote on her, for your viewing pleasure and as a celebration of breaking-her-in!!
It is the beginning of a nolan Delaney stroyline and it was written the very same night that Aaron served as my brainstorm partner. You will see a bookend piece with this theme a little later on, something I've written but can't post just yet.
This takes place when Nolan is younger. Before he meets Zahra.
Thanks Nettie, for proving every bit as easy to write on as my big lappy!
And keep in mind, folksicles, that this is in a very rough state :)
K, enjoy the first fruits of my labor with Nettie!
*************
Everyone in Cedar Falls had secrets.Maybe no worse than anywhere else, maybe no better, but everyone had secrets in the sleepy little community of means, and somedays it seemed to Nolan Delaney that he knew far too many of them.
Colonel Jarrod sent money to the family his wife didn’t know about over seas, the one he’d made and abandoned when he was a general enlisted man.Father Devereaux stole money from the collection boxes to buy shots at the Harp and Fiddle.Mrs. Cashman was accustomed to providing oral sex for a better rate on her car insurance.Principal Fredricks was a closeted lesbian afraid to come out for fear of losing her job and her children.Luis the busboy stole items from people’s coats and purses—not for money but for the thrill of it.Shauna the travel agent booked herself in rooms next to the attractive male clients she served when they traveled to tropical destinations, and would almost always arrange a way to get them into bed—married or not.
The pharmacist was hooked on pain pills, the nurse at the elderly home was repulsed by dementia and depends.The couples therapist was a swinger, the police chief was a racist.The butcher was a money launderer, the baker used undocumented aliens in her shop, and the candlestick maker, or the owner of the candle shop that is, repackaged cheap foreign-made products and called them artisan organics.
Nolan Delaney was a bartender, the kind you read about or see in the old films.He was the sympathetic ear with the down-to-earth advice and the locked lips.He had the kind of smile that made you like him, the kind of personality that made you trust him, and the kind of ready empathy that made you pour out your deepest secrets as he poured your booze.He was a bartender, but more than that, he had become, somehow, the chief confessor for a town brimming with sordid little secrets and sinister sins.
He made you feel as though he didn’t judge, as though he didn’t condemn.He never cringed when you finally got it off your chest.He never pulled back in horror or clammed up.He remained a friendly face and a shoulder to lean on, so long as you hadn’t done something too terribly heinous.He was sympathetic and discreet, but he was also highly moral and good.
But he’d only ever gone to the authorities with information once or twice.The once when he thought he knew where that missing girl was being held (nobody would have suspected the Oncologist, and it was with a great deal of skepticism that the police even followed up on Nolan’s lead, but it saved a girl’s life and laid to rest a few missing person’s cases to boot.); And the only other time was with the sleaze who had a penchant for forcing his ‘dates’.Everybody knew Nolan Delaney wouldn’t keep his lips sealed for anyone who hurt women and children.
But for most things he was as good as a vault; lay your burden down and trust that it would be secure, so long as it resides in Nolan Delaney.He’d urge husbands to go back to their wives, but he wouldn’t blab about the infidelity.He’d encourage the suicidal to seek help, but he’d never whisper a word about their darkest weakness.He’d point women to the best places for care when they found themselves with an unwanted pregnancy, or if they were afraid to leave the boyfriend or husband that was hurting them.He’d more often than not convince petty thieves to do right by their victims and even on a few occasions to turn themselves in.He counseled alcoholics, drug abusers, gambling addicts, sex addicts, and lesser degenerates of all shapes, sizes, and sorts.
He was the kind of fellow who had help lines and emergency services on speed-dial, who knew the names of reliable clergy from most major religions, who had a couch to spare on those nights when some lonely soul had no place else to go.He was the guy who gave you the courage to come out, or to propose, or to finally quit that job you hate.He’d buy you a round for your promotion, your graduation,and the birth of your child.He was well liked, reliable, and remarkable in his ability to carry on as though he wasn’t carrying little bits of his neighbor’s crosses.Singular in his ability to smile and nod at you the night after he’d seen you at your worst, your most vulnerable, your most shamefully embarrassing, smile and nod and treat you as though none of that awful human foible mattered one bit to him, and none of it would come back to bite you.
Luckily I started out the morning with an amazing session of multiple orgasms that rocked my world! Thanks, Lovah! I really am a very lucky woman.
So we did family party obligation, then babysat for the nattlebug, and just got home about 20 minutes ago. I love the man more every day. He is so great with kids, my uterus is practially reaching out tentacles to grab him! It's gunna be like a Cthulhu vagina soon! Rarr!
Natalie seated herself on his lap this evening, explaining that "Caillou!" and "Funny". She sat placidly in his arms watching that funny fellow Caillou (oh, how dearly I'd love to drop kick that bald canadian brat), and he looks over her precious little head to me and mouths: "I want one of these!"
Yeah. It's getting to be about that time. Yesterday our favorite kindergartener Kate, who calls Aaron "Mr. Waitey Pants" (So he has taken to addressing her as "Katey Pants"), was the last kid remaining at aftercare because her parents each thought the other was going to pick her up. So It's 6pm and we should be out the door but I want to linger and talk with Kate. She has so much personality! Unique and interesting and so engaging. I was teaching her that if someone says "What's the story, Morning Glory?" She should always respond 'What's the word, hummingbird?". She like this, but was skeptical-- thought maybe I was pulling one over on her, so she orders me to try it on mr. waite, who had just returned from getting our coats from the staff room. So commanded I addressed Mr. Waite:
"Hey Mr. Waite, What's the story, Morning Glory?" I ask him, to prove my wisdom true and valuable.
On cue, without forewarning, Aaron replies: "What's the word, Hummingbird?"
Kate is enchanted by this exchange, and now, having seen that it really works, adopts it as her own. We go on to teach her "See you later aligator" and "In a while crocodile!" She is a little shaky with this on the first go around.
Me: See you later, Aligator!
Kate: See you later, aligator.
Me: No, now you say: In a while, Crocodile.
Kate (very, very quietly): See you later, rockodile.
Me (Laughing.): You try; tell me 'see you later alligator'.
Kate (confidently and loudly): SEE YOU LATER ALLIGATOR!
Me: In a while crocodile!!
She is pleased with the new lingo.And I may have also convinvced her to give pineabpple pizza a try sometime.
Anyway, Aaron and I say goodbye (Alligator\crocodile style), leaving her with the supervisor Mr. D, and head into the frigid, dark parking lot almost twenty minues later than we should be there.
"Let's get home, it's soooo late." Aaron shivers deeper into his coat as the icy blast of air punishes us with relish.
"Yeah, sorry, I just love talking to her." I say, teeth chattering as he walks me to my car under the flickery weak orange of the feeble parkinglot lamp.
"Yeah." He smiles wistfully. "You're really cute when you talk to her."
I look sideways at him, my head mobility limited becaise of my extra bundle-y scarf and my wrap-around-back earmuff thing (dick cheney style). "I am?" Everybody always simultaneously loves being called 'cute' by the person they love, but feels those prickles of self-conscious embarrassment too.
"Yeah." He asserts, his dimple deepening and his lips twisting. "Makes me know that all that stuff you always say about not wanting kids is total bullshit."
I laugh and argue that you can't handpick your kids. I can't have Kate.
"Still." He says, maddeningly assured. I tell him he was pretty damned cute tonight with jack, this little round-faced, freckley, dimples, bespectacled ball of energy and enthusiasm that Aaron has affectionately dubbed 'Jack Attack', a nickname that reflects and embodies this boys tenacity and verve to a T! The boy looks like he could be our kid in alot of ways, and he follows aaron around like a very cheerful, very inquisitive, very effervescent puppy dog. Seeing Aaron interact with this kid makes my Cthulu Vag rear her head and twitch her yearning tentacles!
Then today was the fam party and I swear, this guy was made to be a dad. And a role model. And a teacher. And a mentor. And a friend. He is great with all the ages. From the little toddlers, to the pre-school aged, to the gradeschool students, to the middle schoolers and especially, perhaps, the high schools kids. He is great. And natural. And easy.
I mention, on the car ride home, that I don't think I'd make a very good mother. I was laughing about something I'd said and done... Oh I was discussing how I hate this one particular kindergartener. Yes. i am a person with the capacity to hate a kindergartener.
He laughed along with me but confessed that he loves to see me interact with the kids at aftercare. Tells me that I'm perfect, and just how he thinks people should be with kids. Admittedly somwehat less patient than he, himself, is, "But that's okay" he tells me. "I'm patient enough for the both of us."
And then tonight Natalie awoke quite suddenly with a nightmare and Aaron outstripped me and was upstairs before I could even mount the stairs. He had her hushed and rocked and back to sleep in no time! And he is not her usual babysitter, he looks nothing like her mother-- (half my success with that child is due to the fact that I look & sound so much like her mother, I'm convinced), and he's a man. But she settled down, cuddled up, and drifted off. He was awesome.
So where'd my blog post for yesterday go? Whoopsie! I had my Nettie at school, keeping me contented during ISS, keeping the edge off the interminable day that is THURSDAY, and yet did not write a blog entry!! whaaaaat? IDK. I was so overwhelmed with giddiness at having access to the net that I spent the day surfing the web and goofing off and actually accomplished very little.
As far as thursdays go it could have been worse, but it was not awesome. Of course my late wednesday night was nice... getting woken up with spousal attention is always most welcome! And then, lets call it a thursday sandwich, because coming home at last after my longest day of the week I found my hubby making dinner for me and we spent a pleasant evening watching a horror flick and eating dinner and being tres happy.
And today is friday. At-fucking-last, right? UG! Bad news: I may have to start doing ISS on fridays now too. Yeah. Kill me. We'll see how that works out. Right now I adore fridays! Once thursday is done friday feels like a lovely wonderful dream of a day! But if Fridays may contain more ISS, well, then, please stab me in the eye and piss in my nose.
But for all my assertions that I'd write if I had a nettie at my fingertips? Complete BS! Lolz. Hpefully I will get over my infatuation with being able to surf the web and get some writing done, but that just wasn't in the cards yesterday. Oh, and the ISS room is an atmosphere that vacuums all creative energy right out of my soul and replaces it with a fungal, malignant despair, so that could be an impediment...
I spent the day reading old blog entries --the fiction ones, not the daily updates, I'm not THAT narcissistic! And boy, you know what? Despite the typos and things-I'd-like-to-tweak-or-rephrase? I like my stories. I enjoy reading them. I do. I have a feeling that it is somehow significant for me to aknowledge this. It surprises me. And sort of... pleases me? It feels nice.
I realized that I haven't posted any fiction at all so far this month :(
So this is a bit of a departure from the main story line. It's Avalon! T-minus four months to the wedding!
This scene takes place the day after the LONG NIGHT dinner scenes, so we're moving right along (since I decided to abandon ship on that bunch o'vignettes!)
Enjoy!
It is brief.
*********************
“Who has Ben asked to fill the extra groomsman spot?” Avalon’s mother asked, then took a small bite of her field green salad.
It was Monday afternoon and they’d had plans to get together to start planning the invitations and the menu and all manner of other things for the wedding. However. Avalon had spent the last half an hour listening to her mother rattle on and on about Maggie and Grey. Avalon was so damned tired of hearing about, thinking about, pretending to care at all about Maggie and Grey that she thought her head might explode from the effort it was taking not to flip out at her frustratingly clueless mother.
And now? The first wedding-related question she asks all afternoon and it has to do entirely with Maggie? Avalon thought she might just lose it. She calmly lifted her ice water to her lips, wishing it were a soda but soda has too many calories, and she held her features perfectly still while she sipped.
Ben wouldn’t need to go fishing for an extra groomsman if her mother hadn’t absolutely insisted Avalon include Maggie in the bridal party. ‘But Ava, darling, she’s your sister now! She’s family! You wouldn’t want to exclude family!’
Ugh. She’d have looked like the world’s biggest bitch if she’d refused. Even though asking a complete stranger to be in one’s wedding seemed to Avalon to be absolute lunacy. Apparently if the complete stranger elopes with your stupid bastard of a brother they just have to be a bridesmaid!
“Ethan.” Avalon replied after swallowing and setting her cool glass back onto the table.
Velvet chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed, took a drink of her own ice water and smiled that dazzling Velvet Delaney smile. “Ethan Harcourt?”
“Mmmhmm.” Avalon replied dispassionately.
Velvet looked sly. “But didn’t you and he—“
“Mum.” Avalon’s brows drew together sharply.
A flash of something mischievous flashed in Velvet’s big pale green eyes and she set her fork down.
“Does Ben know?”
Avalon licked the inside of her teeth and looked at her mother as sternly as possible.
Her mother giggled in response.
“This isn’t funny.” Avalon snapped.
Velvet covered her irrepressible smile with perfectly manicured fingers, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her guilty mirth away. “I’m so sorry—it’s just—you look so much like your father when you make that face.” She giggled again before clearing her throat and composing her features into some semblance of calm and appropriate concern.
Avalon picked up her own fork and stabbed ruthlessly at her salad. She wanted something awful, like pizza or cookies. She’d kill for a big ole bowl of mashed potatoes with tons of melty butter. Grimly she opened her mouth to accept the baby spinach, radicchio and kale with just the barest tease of raspberry vinaigrette.
“I’m sorry.” Velvet repeated, really trying for an expression of compassion or at least sympathy. “But, does he? Does Ben know about you and-“
“Yes.” Avalon answered. It was half true. Ben knew she’d dated his good friend Ethan a few times before they’d become a pair. He even knew that she’d slept with Ethan. But he really didn’t know the half of it. And she would prefer it to remain that way.
Her mother knew more than she was strictly comfortable with. She’d found the pictures on Avalon’s computer one day when she was trying to put together a damned photo album as a surprise present for Jonah’s birthday a few years back. Stumbling upon those pictures must have been a real eye-opener. She’d certainly expressed her concerns at the time.
Now Velvet looked quite astonished. “He does?” She was incredulous.
“Mum, drop it.”
Velvet pressed her lips together and Avalon recognized, from a lifetime of seeing her do it, that her mother was struggling very, very hard to control her tongue.
Just as she always did, Avalon began a silent count in her head, a silent count to see how many Mississippis it would take before Velvet inevitably lost the private little battle and succumbed to her inability to govern her mouth.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississi—
“Has he seen the pictures?!”
Mother and daughter both paused to sigh out in unison. Velvet looked apologetic and Avalon tried to feel forgiving. Afterall, it wasn’t her fault. The woman was like a giddy child. All heart and very little self-control.
“I am not discussing this one minute more.” Avalon replied as civilly as she could manage. “And you promised you would never mention those pictures again.”
Again Velvet looked apologetic. She even blushed just a little. “Sorry.”
Avalon nodded her acceptance of the apology and took another bite of her salad while her mother sipped some more water. Then Avalon’s eyes flew open wide. “Oh my god, you didn’t tell Dad, did you? Oh my god, tell me you never told Dad. Tell me he doesn’t know—oh jesus, you didn’t show him right?” Avalon’s mouth was dry and she felt panicky.
Velvet looked stunned. “No, of course not, no, honey—no, absolutely he has no idea, Av—I wouldn’t do that to you.” She soothed and assured quickly and with enough conviction that Avalon allowed herself to calm down, to relax. “No honey.” Her mother repeated solemnly. “I love your father and want him around a while longer. I have no desire to give him a heart attack.”
Avalon’s eyes widened and she gaped at her mother. The tiniest hint of a smile flitted across Velvet’s oh-so-innocent expression and her pale green eyes danced with merriment.
Avalon burst into laughter. What else could she do? Cry about it? She laughed deeply and fully. Her mother joined in readily and they laughed for several full minutes before managing to settle back down.
“Have you ever done any of that stuff with Ben?” Her mother asked suddenly, her voice low and giddy and hungry for juicy gossip.
Avalon was still tingling and merry from the cathartic bout of laughter so instead of getting sour at the probing invasion of privacy, she grinned. “Wouldn’t you just love to know.” She teased.
Her mother grinned back. Avalon waited until her mother had lifted her water glass once more to get her payback. As her mother sipped Avalon asked casually: “Have you ever done that stuff with Dad?”
The spit-take was perfect. Paragon Velvet Delaney expelled a spray of water out over the table with the full force of her surprise and, judging by the smile, her delighted amusement.
Avalon laughed, satisfied with her little victory, and set her salad fork down on the plate now that her meal was covered in a mist of her mother’s spittle. It was a necessary sacrifice.
“Avalon Grace!” Her mother responded when she’d stopped giggling. Then she tisked. “That’ll teach me, I guess.”
Avalon leaned back in her seat and sighed, knowing that Velvet Delaney would never learn. She knew her mother would always probe too deeply; ask questions that were far too personal and private. She was unstoppable and she was tenacious.
“And I’m not answering one way or the other,” She said with a coy little smile as she dabbed her face with a napkin. “But when you’re looking for something old and borrowed, if I were you I’d avoid the trunk in my bedroom closet unless you want to see things you can’t un-see.”
“Ugh!” Avalon groaned. “Gross, Mum!” Velvet was giggling hysterically as she stood and collected their salad plates and shuttled them off to the counter near the sink. “I wish I could un-hear what you just said!” She shivered and tried desperately to stop picturing her Mum and Dad doing some of the things she’d been into with Ethan. Bleck.
“Oh Avalon relax. There’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. The ancient Greeks—“
“Mum, please, for God’s sake!” She was half-laughing but she was very firm in her tone.
“But it’s natural to want to experiment—“
“Holy god, shut your trap, for five minutes, just zip your lips, can you?” She half-laughed and half wished she were just having a terrible dream. “I don’t care what you and dad do, I just really really really do not need to know about it.” She rushed desperately. “Or think about it. Or imagine it in any way.” It was bad enough she’d grown up listening to it from two bedrooms away.
Her mother giggled again but she relented. “I hope your children are more accepting of your lovelife then you are of mine.” She teased pleasantly.
“Let’s talk wedding, please, can we?”
Velvet grinned as she filled the kettle for tea. “So Ethan Harcourt, hmm?” She chuckled merrily and moved the kettle over to the stove. “I wonder what other delightful little surprises we’ll get as this wedding draws nearer!”
Avalon rolled her eyes as she pulled a legal pad and pen from her wedding-planning-canvas-ecofriendly-bag. No more surprises. Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?
She slapped the pad down on the table and began scribbling down the names of her bridesmaids, junior bridesmaids and flower girls on one side, and on the other she listed the groomsmen, junior usher, and ringbearer.
She frowned at the list. She’d slept with more of the listed parties than she was strictly comfortable with. And the other ones were her blood relatives. Or children.
She rolled her eyes to the heavens. No more surprises, ok? No more little speed bumps or screw-ups, or anything like that. K? You got that? Are you hearing this?
“Hey—“ her mother said, slipping back into her seat and dabbing at the rest of the sprayed water droplets with a dishtowel. “Does Ben know about you and his cousin?”
Avalon grimaced. Maybe she should just elope.
“Or, actually, I should say cousins—both of them, right?“
She almost wished they were still talking about goddamn Grey and Maggie.
Posts
