Working from home

"Willow's Gold" sure adds some life to this boring little home.

More photos to come...

Coincidence?

A minute after I saved my last post-privately-he said he missed me. I barely recognize him in this photo but I know I felt him in my heart.

Mysterious Day 7

I read somewhere that day 7-10 or so of a woman's cycle, she is more likely to be calm, confident, poised, at ease with herself, able to communicate clearly. And with respect to evolution, it makes perfect sense since this is also when we are fertile. I'm like a lab-grown pot plant (The Botany of Desire is my bible), I'm effortlessly oozing the chemicals (not THC exactly) which make me desirable to a mate. No mating will occur this time around; nonetheless I'm feeling oddly hopeful. (Perhaps moreso?) Why not. It's summer, a clear and effortless day that falls at the opposing end of the calendar's cruelest, darkest days. And my loyal ovaries, 40 years strong (cough) are doing their damnedest to squeeze out a few more viable seeds in the hopes of reproducing the genes that, if only today, seem worthy of renewing.

The farmer's market is full today. Depending on the wind direction, it smells like soap, or fresh flowers, or grilled cheese, or aerated water gushing in the fountain. Sitting between Picasso and Mirò under a cloudless cobalt ceiling, sunlight dancing on the water. A breeze softly tickling me through my shirt, playing with the wisps of hair on my neck. The war that rages in my head-is paused. I'm on a sandy ancient beach blissfully unaware of a conflict as old as time.

Are you dreaming about me?

More sibling strife

9:30. She shuffles off to the kitchen in her ill fitting thrift store Keen's. Grabs a handful of raw almonds. Shuffles back. Glaring all around for something to react to. Hmm, she says to a curled piece of artwork. Eyes fixed now in my direction. Like a feral cat on the prowl. Back to her corner. Back to her ill fitting reading glasses she gave to and then took from a friend after he died (I'm not kidding). Back to talking a lot about nothing. About how poor she is. About how much of an asshole her dog is. But he's adorable.

It's fun to indulge these thoughts. Especially with Darryl in my ears. Strumming away his cares. Painting me beautiful pictures of his personal vision of Colorado.

It's just sibling rivalry. Deep down I still care about her. I still remember all the strained conversations and expressions of agony she shared when our friendship was strong. She's terrified of everything. This place is the only peace she has. The home, the boyfriend, the pets, the ghost hunting, all pieces of a frightened and desperate journey. Her demons are just right there for all to see.

So today I can forgive the inexplicably loud crunching of almonds (sounds like bones breaking) coming from over in that corner.

Detach

Zoe was still worked up about a difficult ballet lesson last week. It makes her uncomfortable that she isn't picking it up as fast as the others, and she gets upset. So my best advice as I sent her off to Grandma's today-if you start to feel upset, detach. Don't worry. Unplug. (I told her that sometimes Ann is "unplugged" and it helps her get through a tough day.) I'm still learning how to do this. Maybe this little bit of advice will follow Zoe through her most difficult years. She never forgets, that's for sure.

Mornings are the hardest-between 9-12. That's when K shows up and takes the stage. Her low monotone Oh My Gods and unsolicited stories that always come back to either her alcoholic ex husband or that time she was at an Asian restaurant and was served a rancid scallop. The way she asks you how you're doing, barely listens to a word and then launches into a detailed rundown of her previous night's activities, always so disappointing, "But it's fine! It was still fine." The dog pooped in her bed but it's fine. The inspector said the wiring isn't up to code but it's fine. She resembles her chihuahua in her twitchy insecure demeanor. Begging for validation.

Detach.

New 'do to do to you, Ann

Departures

I took him to the airport for his 20 hour journey to Israel. Somehow I was still wiping tears when I got back to Mt Prospect. He's going to an actual war zone. Missiles in the sky, for real. Last thing I said was "IloveyouIhadsomuchfunwithyouyesterday" and didn't give him a chance to say "I love you" back. But I heard it clearly in the early hours of the day when he thought I was asleep. Feels so childish to still have hang ups around those words. We spent a good part of my therapy session talking about whether I even mean it when I say those words. I only said it to my ex husband the first couple of years. Then the infatuation wore off, and I still said it, only it felt like I was telling a pet hamster, or some poor thing that needed to be told to calm its fears. It's possible I've never felt real love. I was just raised on mindless tv and Hollywood movies that taught me the words to say to make glamorous moments out of what would otherwise be emptiness. Maybe I say it because it calms my fears. The last photo booth photo we took...he said "you look sad!" I can't explain it, I thought I felt pretty good. Wish we did one more. It's too late now.

We had two hours to kill between wedding events. We went to the mall. Ate ice cream. Talked. Laughed. I told him I'm not ready to move in with anyone. Would be so much easier to sort this out if I didn't love our time together.