trickydoodle

I was laying down with Robbie--he had made an intricate nest on the floor with pillows, sheets, blankets (all of which he had thrown down the stairs from the linen closet), a stapler, an empty marker bucket, his numbers photo, a purple, foam letter D, my blue suede handbag, and an abacus--and he started to push me to get up so he could be alone. But, as soon as he started to push me, he stopped and simply said, "Get up."

Holy crap! First time he has ever chosen words over action in that sort of situation. I want to say ever, but I am sure that isn't true. Nearly ever?

Though, today, when we were driving out of the school parking lot, he saw the little red-haired girl getting into her car (she had just lavished him with an elaborate hug in the school foyer), and he said "bye bye!" That counts, too, right?

Thing you need to imagine now is that when he talks spontaneously, he uses this adorable high-pitched voice. but, like, a soft voice. It's the cutest thing. I want to say ever. So, I will. Cutest thing ever.

Oh, my good God. I am almost completely incapable of forming sentences. Okay, well, I did there. And there.

So I suppose I can construct simple sentences. I simply cannot make them say anything.

And it really, totally sucks ass. I want to connect with the Internets. I do. I love the Internets. Besides, were it not for the Internet and my mother and my aunt, I'd have no one. At all.

It's sad.

It's sad that I find myself wanting so much. I want people. Friends. Friends who are people. I want to get out and do and see and live. With people. Or even a person. Doesn't even have to be anyone tall. One, short, tiny person. I am not opposed to carrying said person in my pocket, if need be.

It's sad because I am not allowing.

I reach out, then I pull back again. And again. And again. And then I feel frustrated that the people don't follow me in an effort to help me and save me and see me and that they don't just know.

I mean, I don't even know.

I want but I do not allow.

It's easy-peasy to write it off as a direct result of giving so much of my time and energies to Rob. Sure. because I do. it's true. But I've been out there before. I can do it.

I just forget how.

I think I have been spending a lot of time thinking of all of the things I don't have instead of appreciating and making the most of what I do have.

I have been just getting through the day. I have not been planning or dreaming or helping myself make things better as they are.

I felt like I needed things to be different in order to feel better.

But, you know, if I just go ahead and feel better, things will be different. I have enough. I have plenty. I am plenty. I am enough.

Which is actually much more appealing than when I sounded like that Sarah Sidle from CSI. Not as cool as when I was Phoebe. But. I am so totally FBI material. Or I could be on an elite detective squad.

I have made a powerful decision: I am going to be One of Those People Who Own Pens. I am. I think it's just a one-step goal, too. I go and buy some pens. Easy peasy.

And, really? Aren't all life changes like that? Deciding, hey, I want to own pens! I think I'd like photography! I would like a cooler car! A significant other who doesn't do that creepy snore-whistly thing! More turtlenecks! More money! Less loose flabby arm skin! More sex! Less phlegm! Cookies!

Cannot we just decide? More or less or different or better or new? And then make it so?

I'm not so much enjoying being married to someone who is indifferent to me as a woman.

Sure, friends. We're friends. Woo!

And it's well and it's good. I love him. I do. In that friendsy way. It's nice to get along well and good with him, as we are parenting the Best Child Ever. We need to be and remain friends.

I think it bums me out, though. the being married part. I mean, why? Why stay married?

No reason. Being this poor isn't a reason. Not a good enough one, anyway.

Closure. That's what I want. We tried, it worked and didn't work. We are through it, we are friends. We have the love. Now let's move on.

Let's literally move on. We don't like Ohio. Why live here? Should we live here just because we do? Just because we do today and did yesterday? Again with the not good enough.

I'm just saying. Life ought not stand still.

Heh. Not that kind of late, though I can see why you'd think that's what I mean! I am never having sex again, so. Moving on:

I honestly haven't the time right now to stop and chat. But, there is something you absolutely need to know, and you need to know it now, so what choice do I have?

Firstly, I am fine. I am good and bad and happy and sad and all of the emotions regular, normal people have. So, there's that. Thank you infinitely for your collection concern. I heart you all.

And, B., I have found the perfect jeans for 2006. PERFECT! Seriously. The Gap Low Rise Boyfriend Straight Leg Ankle. Now, you might not need the Ankle size, as you may not be crazy-short. So, substitute Regular or (you Freak of Nature) Tall. PERFECT.

They may run a little big. I am not sure. I am wearing the Size Four, and I may or may not be a Four. Sometimes I am a Six. So, keep that in mind.

GO! Go get these jeans!

My pants obsession continues.

Oh, and thirdly, this framed print-type thing that was purported to be my father's Favorite Thing Ever keeps falling. Wherever I put it, it falls. It has been on top of the fridge for years, to keep Robbie from smothering it in toothpaste, as he does every glass surface, and yesterday, it just fell. From the sky, out of nowhere. Today, it fell off the microwave. WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN? Jesus. You'd think if the ghosts have something to say they'd be less cryptic.

Am I falling down on my job? Am I going to shatter? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Okay, off to school. Go buy the jeans.