In which there’s a state of the union.
I remember thinking last year that my content would get really good because of my change in status. A marriage ending! Then, the dating! Moving! Starting over! Self-discovery! Introspection! I thought I’d have a lot of material.
But because everyone I know reads my blog, I left out a great deal of material because I thought it would be disrespectful. (I realized that I was the dump-er, and that anyone in the position of dump-ee is likely to dwell a little longer and be a little more sensitive, and I didn’t want to be a bitch.) I didn’t rant and rage about the aspects of the marriage that really hurt me or disgusted me or pissed me off, I didn’t do any name-calling, and I most certainly did not mention anything about those couple-few nights I didn’t make it home ’til long after the sun came up. If you catch my drift.
The 27th of May will mark our 6th wedding anniversary. It will also be our divorce party. The Ex seems, when I see him, to be not only adjusted to but okay with the end of the relationship. He’s over it, I’m over it. It’s like neither of us were really all that invested in the 8+ years we spent together. (In fact, I really can’t remember the last time I had such a boring, drama-free break up. I’m not particularly hurt or angry any more. He doesn’t seem to give a shit either way. I take it as a sign that we shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. Or maybe he’s miserable but hiding it, and I’m too self-involved to notice… or too weak to carry the burden of hurting him. Who knows. But I suspect the former: the ending hasn’t been any deeper or more profound than the relationship itself.)
Truck is worried that The Ex and I will get drunk and fuck at the divorce party, but I’ve never in my life had sex when I was drunk that I wouldn’t have had while sober. And I won’t be getting drunk: I have no intention of staying over out there, and I have to drive back to town.
After the divorce party, I’ll need to get organized and actually get us divorced. I doubt he’ll ever do it – he’s still nagging me into paying the auto insurance online every month because he’s apparently incapable of buying money orders and stamps. Paperwork is not his forte. Actually, anything he can get someone else to do is not his forte.
I still don’t know what to do with my stuff. I make less than $800 a month so it seems absurd to pay for a storage unit. I think the truth is that I don’t really want any of it; there are a few things I think about, but for the most part I don’t need a bunch of shit I obviously can live without for the better part of a year.
People keep telling me I should get an apartment, that I will be wanting my own home and my own kitchen any time now. Years ago, I’d have hated using another woman’s kitchen, but after having my own for so long I’m delighted to be kitchenless: the kitchen is AmmZon’s, and we do things her way, and that suits me just fine. I don’t want the responsibility. I also don’t want to live alone. I qot quite sick enough of having my own kitchen and being lonely.
Renting a room in someone else’s house suits me perfectly these days, and since AmmZon’s about to close on the purchase of the house my rent money will probably come in handy for her. Considering how long she let me live there for free I’m more than pleased to help her out.
My life right now is really small. No career, no home of my own, no lover, no insurance or savings or anything. I live hand-to-mouth. I barely exist.
Frankly, I like it.
In which… I don’t know. Something about work, something about how while I’m really really grateful to have a job at all, I’m bored and underpaid. And then some crap about the band.
I spent some time today reading manuals and trolling the boards at Postini; I’ve volunteered to administer the new spam filter here at work. It’s a bit of a pain because I don’t have access to the DNS or mail servers, but as this is the only technical thing I get to do I cherish it.
The rest of the time I’m a bookkeeper, which isn’t going to keep my interest much longer, and I’m still part-time at an introductory wage. I’m going to go register with a new temp agency later this week and see if I can’t pick up some incidental temp work here and there.
Right now I’m on hold with India. I’m trying to RMA a Netgear 8-port switch. You’d think I was trying to become pope or something; it’s already taken forever and I haven’t even gotten to the part where I have to pack and ship the thing (and hold onto the power supply WITHOUT LOSING IT until the new unit arrives). I’ve now spoken to three agents and the most recent informs me I’ve landed into the wrong queue and is transferring me back to a department I’ve already talked to.
Also, I hate my Polycom IP phone. Either it’s buggy or it’s just too different from the five hundred other phones I’ve used in business settings in the past 20 years for me to be able to intuit it. I’m always hanging up on people, losing calls, and swearing at it when its redial/incoming calls features don’t appear to work. And sometimes, for no apparent reason, touchtones don’t work, so that makes trying to get my voicemail or navigate menus impossible.
It’s overcast here today and I’m grateful, because yesterday it hurt whenever sunlight touched my sunburned forehead.
I have band practice scheduled tonight, but my enthusiasm is pretty low after going last week and learning that the band sounds worse than it did five months ago. The drummer was new then, and there were some mild tempo issues I figured would go away. But last week the tempo issues weren’t gone, they were worse. I’ve learned to trust my sense of rhythm over the years, and even though I’m “just as singer” when I realized the band hadn’t spent even a single chorus in the pocket after five or six songs, I had to say something. I mean, they were all acting like they weren’t noticing, like it was fine, so perhaps they’d rehearsed themselves into it so much they could no longer hear it?
The drummer was defensive, the guitar player was in denial, and the bass player seemed embarrassed but relieved. They didn’t seem to agree with my assessment, didn’t seem to want to talk about solutions, and ended up nodding vaguely and avoiding eye contact. I thought, You can nod all you like, but there’s no way you can go into the studio sounding like this and end up with a product you’d be willing to use as a demo.
As much as I love those folks socially, I don’t think I can be in a band that doesn’t groove – it’s all rock shuffle now, and even that would be okay if it were in the pocket, but it’s not. (Covering ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ is bad enough, but if you’re having tempo issues and the rhythm section can’t groove together, it’s just not worth it no matter how much you drink.) So now I’m feeling tense and nervous, because if I go and it still sucks I either have to say something and be the bitch or I have to not say something which will make me hate them. Gah! If only there was such a thing as an ego-free band, where one person could say, ‘There’s a problem with this,’ and the other would say, ‘Oh, okay. Do you have any suggestions to help me fix it?’
In which it was the best time I’ve ever had outdoors in the Midwest!
Yesterday I traveled the Mississippi on a pontoon boat with some friends. I got a sunburn. I’d been wearing sunglasses all day, so today I look like a raccoon. The skin on my cheeks, forehead, and nose is bright red and hurts a little.
I also have windburn, so my lips are chapped. It was windy yesterday, and we spent a lot of time moving up and down the river at about 35mph getting quite windblown.
I took a bunch of cell phone pics of the day; they’ll be here as soon as they all finish uploading. Gorgeous day, huh?
I had so much fun! The weather could not have been more perfect. It was warm and not yet muggy or bug-ridden. The river’s wide enough that the shores look to be heavily forested from the river, and between the clear sky and bright sunshine the surface looked choppy and sparkling — like water you’d encounter in the Northwest, rather than the muddy Mississippi river water it really is upon closer inspection.
A spider that had moved into the boat while it sat in its slip bit my right knee four times. I’m always getting spider bites on my knees for some reason. Last year a spider bit the back of my left knee, and it took months for the poison to work itself entirely out of my skin. Every few weeks it would flare up again and itch for three days, and I’d irritate it by scratching it in my sleep.
Core’s mom fed us all egg salad sandwiches. She puts a bit of the juice from a jar of jalapenos into her egg salad and it’s really, really good that way, with a nice mild kick. There was also beer and cocktails, chips, and pound cake.
The host had just purchased the boat so it was brand-spanking new and clean and comfortable, with a little pop-up private area for changing or a Port-a-potty, a table big enough to play cards upon, a comfy captain’s chair and cockpit, and tons of bench seating. The boat could probably accommodate eight people without overcrowding. In the areas we passed (between Burlington and Keokuk), there were lots of sandy beaches and islands to visit, and people appear to have no qualms about swimming in the water. JW says he’d be happy to invite us again as the summer progresses, so I may try swimming in the Mississippi myself, although I’d always half thought it was too toxic for swimmers.
I’d felt utterly apathetic about going, but I’m really glad I did. It was the most fun I’ve had on an outdoor outing in a long time!
Now please excuse me while I go home and treat my bites and burns.
In which I quote my roommate, Truck.
Truck and I got stupidly drunk on vodka Tuesday night for no good reason, and probably solved all the problems of the universe in the course of our brilliant discussion… but naturally now we’ve forgotten most of it. I did write this down in the throes of my intoximacation, though:
“Shame is inborn. Guilt is indoctrinated. Guilt is a tool used by others upon you.
“Shame? It comes from the inside. Guilt comes from the outside. Shame, you just can’t get rid of it.”
Nice, huh? Truck’s deep. And yeah, I totally live with awesome people! (AmmZon, who is not a fucking moron, did not get drunk on a worknight and stay up way, way, way too late. I bet her Wednesday hurt quite a bit less than mine did.)
In other news, the Band That Never Gigs will (probably) be playing at Waterworks Park the fairgrounds on the 4th of July! Right before the fireworks, I think! Be there or be square, my babies!
Seriously. This band only gigs once a year, so it’s not like you can just see us whenever you want to or something.
In which it’s good to be home. In other words: I’m back, bitches!
Oh, people, I had so much fun in Vail! It was, on the surface, a really lovely little jaunt. The surroundings were awesome, the gig went well, I did some knitting, I bonded with the other players in the band, we pre-sold some CDs. (We’re going into the studio next month to record a second album.)
But because it was a spiritual retreat and one of the people in the band is totally not into the Eastern trip, there were a lot of other currents for me as well. I may write about that after I’ve processed it, but I think the long and short of it is this: missionary-ing is hurtful and unproductive. There’s just no point to it. No one is actually qualified to discuss spirituality as long as they still wish to discuss it; only after the drive to talk it out is gone is one genuinely qualified to speak on what is possible to achieve with a human nervous system. I will gladly discuss my beliefs with anyone who asks, but after seeing the discomfort suffered by my fellow backup singer as she struggled through a weekend with, as she saw it, a cult, I may never offer anything unsolicited about my own spiritual path again – outside of a medium like this, where one can simply skip any post not interesting.
I sang my ass off with the pipes I had, which were in poor condition, and the saint, Sai Ma, told me I sing beautifully*. I’ve always had problems with my ears at altitude; they don’t pop like normal people’s do, and I spend a long time suffering violent stabbing sensations in my skull and hearing muffled as if my ears were stuffed with wet cotton. (For example, on the drive home from Vail to Fairfield my ears still hadn’t popped when we drove past Des Moines.)
It occurs to me that I could not do a gig immediately after arriving in the mountains; I don’t think I’d hear well enough to be able to sing in tune. Also, the dry air dries my voice out terribly and makes it soft-edged. I drank lots and lots of water but still sounded like I’d just smoked two packs of cigarettes. (Which I hadn’t. I smoked less than a half pack the entire time I was gone.)
The morning after the gig, at breakfast, three people told me I sound like Janice Joplin! (Before I had my fuckin’ coffee!) Which I don’t! (I smiled and thanked them, and then gave them the Evil Eye as they turned their unprotected backs to me and walked away. They’ll all have crabs before the month is out. That’ll teach ’em to be fuckin’ cheerful at me and call me Joplinesque at the asscrack of dawn.) (Hah!) TB said, “You don’t sound like Janice Joplin. It’s an energy thing.” Thank God. He is now and forever my favorite pipes player, just for saying that.
If I had a dollar for every time someone says I sound like Joplin… yeah. I’d be loaded.
I knitted during the drive; the pile of yarn I’ve been referring to as ‘my sweater’ is now a bona fide garment! There’s a front, and a back, and a collar! All it lacks is sleeves. (When I tried it on for AmmZon, she giggled and said, “Dude, that’s, like, a muscle sweater!”)
On the drive home, we stopped at the Applebee’s in North Platte for dinner. Their sign advertised a “steak & Angus” special. So that’s, what? Beef AND beef? Because your colon isn’t clogged enough?
I ordered a side salad. They brought it to me smothered in bacon bits. Because vegetables really need pork on them, especially at a chain like that, where you might not get enough fat calories without that bacon. Oink.
Road food is complicated. For a vegetarian. Especially in the Midwest.
Dog love, however, is not complicated: when I got home, Miss Bindu gave me the bestest happy-to-see-you dance ever. I love that dog so much. If you’re ever curious about what unconditional love looks like, and about whether it can be a joyful condition or not, try living with a dog for 9 years. I want to be more like my dog.
In other news, I’m pissed off because the author of the book I’m reading fucking killed off my favorite character!
I don’t care if he brings it – it’s not male or female, but third sex – back later, either. That’s how bummed I am. Now I’m thinking I might just light the fucking thing on fire rather than finish it. Rar!
Now, did I use the F word enough in this entry, or should I indulge in a rewrite?
___
* When I went up for darshan from Sai Ma, I said, “Singing the song O Mother, Take Us There was hard for me, with You in the room. I wanted to cry. It’s hard to sing when one’s crying.” She said, “I was crying.” It was a sweet little interchange.
In which I’m at eight thousand feet.
Hi! I’m in Vail. Today I sat in an outdoor jacuzzi for an hour, while the clouds rolled in and it started to snow. Very few things in life are better than sitting in a jacuzzi out in the snow.
Right now I’m sitting in a gorgeous room, using the hand-drummer’s iBook G4 to post an entry.
It’s started snowing heavily in the past minute. I’m looking out the window, watching the snow fall and listening to the river gurgle by below. It’s wonderful and gorgeous here. The air – talk about prana.
I’ve emailed pix from my phone to my Flickr account; they should be up soon.
Off to rehearsal! The gig’s this evening. *smooches*
In which I’m on musician time.
We were supposed to leave at four. Now we’re leaving at seven. And these boys are clean, if you catch my drift, nothing to blame it on but musician time.
With the hope that I will be able to use a pool, whirlpool, or sauna at the hotel this weekend, I engaged in some personal hygiene. My legs, and the four-mile wide swath that can only charitably be called my bikini line, are now smooooooooth, bitches.
So. Leaving soon. Getting in a van with two musicians and a bunch of gear, driving to Colorado. We’ll sleep in a motel tonight, then get the other singer at the airport in Denver, then two nights up in Vail. Then driving home. Be back Sunday night, or Monday sometime.
I’m bringing knitting, a book, my PPC, and my iPod. (And the chargers for all that crap, plus the charger for my phone.) Since the gig itself is only gonna be a couple hours long I’ll be needing to amuse myself for two or three entire days, and much of that time I’ll be sitting in the van.
Good thing I’ve brought plenty to keep myself occupied, and can sleep pretty much anywhere if I get bored enough.
In which I’m rather looking forward to leaving town.
I finished my laundry last night, and found a piece of luggage, and threw the stuff I’ll be taking into a pile in the middle of my room. Then I cooked for an hour, because I felt like cooking.
Chana chole. Rice with cumin and peas. Dhal. So good!
I got AmmZon to cash my tax refund check for me, and then took Bindu on a walk up to the gas station because I really wanted a Coke.
I went to bed early…
…and woke up extremely early. Like, ass crack of dawn early. Gah.
…and then I fell back to sleep until work, and didn’t finish my packing this morning as I’d meant to. It’s all in a pile anyway, it shouldn’t take me long to stuff it into the bag waiting for it. I have my music, and some eggs, and chargers for cell phone and iPod, and the iPod itself, and toiletries, and clothes. It’s only three days, after all.
I got up and let Bindu out and had leftovers for lunch; a sort of modified kitchari – leftover rice and dhal and water and a pinch of salt heated in a small sauce pan. I’d put potatoes, broccoli, and carrots in the dhal the night before because I’d had every intention of eating the leftovers as kitchari today.
Somewhere I’d gotten the idea that kitchari – or kitcheree – was mixing rice, dhal, and veggies into a bowl and eating it. Complete protein, quick and easy, lovely. But when I google it now, though, it’s all Ayurvedic and dosha-balancing and good for you. And mung beans.
I’m assuming whoever taught me the word kitcheree was wrong calling a rice, dhal, and veggie soup by that name.
In a totally unrelated aside, last night when I removed my contact lenses I put them into the case and covered them with Boston solution… and then didn’t close the case. I think in ninteen years or more of wearing contacts, that that is the first time I’ve ever done that.
In which GUESS WHO UNTHINKINGLY WASHED ONLY HER SUMMER CLOTHES like a dumb ass?!
I’m no stranger to the mountains. I’ve been meaning to check the Vail forecast for a week now, because I knew it would be cooler up there.
I finally did. Check the forecast, I mean. And a good thing, too, because I wouldn’t have packed warm enough socks otherwise. Behold the weather forecast for Vail this weekend:
FRIDAY – Partly sunny. Isolated thunderstorms in the afternoon. Highs 50 to 58. Southwest winds 10 to 15 mph. Chance of thunderstorms 20 percent.
FRIDAY NIGHT – Mostly cloudy. Isolated thunderstorms in the evening – then a slight chance of rain showers and snow showers after midnight. Lows 24 to 32. Chance of precipitation 20 percent.
SATURDAY AND SATURDAY NIGHT – Cloudy with a 40 percent chance of thunderstorms and snow showers. Highs 48 to 56. Lows in the lower 30s.
Not even 60 degrees during the day!
Yeah, I know. MOUNTAINS. Rarefied air. Whatever! I guess I need to wash a heavy sweater or a light coat tonight while I’m packing.
In which I’m SO GLAD I’m not still with the man.
When I got home from work this evening, The Ex was sitting at the laptop in the living room. Truck was in the bathroom with the door open doing something with his face, and AmmZon was standing around. The Ex was bitching because he was trying to buy tickets online from Ticketmonster and having no luck.
Naturally, I tried to help. It’s my nature. (Having a technical problem with the Internet? Let me help! I can do it! Me, me, ME!)
I sat down in his place and ordered the tickets for him. The whole thing went smoothly and I accomplished in three minutes what he hadn’t been able to accomplish in half an hour. With her permission I used AmmZon’s account, and at his direction I set the tickets for will call because the event is this weekend. He gave AmmZon cash for the use of her credit card.
THEN he remembers that only the card holder can pick up tickets at will call. And he starts to freak out and vibe like a bastard.
And a half hour of total fucking moody bullshit ensues.
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4 random books from my Library!
