Thursday, September 26, 2002

I need a wife

It has occurred to me that since the divorce I am fulfilling the duties of both husband and wife in my home. I don’t much enjoy the duties of the wife. A husband I look forward to, but only if I can also take on a wife. This wife however would be for me, not for my husband. She won’t be involved with the sex or love except to maybe scratch my back under the shirt for ten minutes before I go to sleep at night and maybe once a month give me a good two hour foot rub with peppermint oil and lavender. A cross between June Cleaver and Jane Jetson, she’s efficient and thorough, has a modern air about her and a proclivity for time saving gadgets. I have a long list of responsibilities and duties that need doing on a daily basis. I’ve noticed that they tend to keep me from having time to do the things that I truly enjoy, like writing, knitting, sleeping, baking bread and napping-which I realize falls under the category of sleep-but I haven’t been getting enough of that at night, and would love to find a way to snuggle down in the featherbed in the middle of the day while THE WIFE takes care of:

Washing the dishes. Christ, it’s like this over stimulated magic bean pot I’ve got for a sink. I swear it just grows dirty dishes when I haven’t even cooked a thing. Hell, I haven't even been in the kitchen because I've been too busy running around getting all of the other things I don't want to do done.

Vacuuming the house. We’ve got 3 cats and they tend to leave a fur patch wherever they lay down and the place could use a good daily sweep - floors, furniture, blankets that hang over the edges of beds that the beasts rub their bodies along the length of every time they pass by. I’m sick to death of having De-Furring Tuesdays. I'm even more sick of having to tape roll my ass every time I want to go out in public.

Pay the bills. I need to have that checkbook balanced every week, yet only manage to squeeze it in every two weeks…and the bills, well, let’s just say I squeak by. Oy, the finance charges! The interest! The late fees! Revolving Credit. Hey. I could get her to work a part time job just to pay off the credit card bills!

Plan Meals and Grocery Shop. Before I worked full time, I did the meal planning over morning coffee. Now it goes something like this: Run around all day getting errands done and dropping the kid everywhere he needs to go then getting home way too late and he has homework and needs a bath and is tired, cranky and hungry and we both stand in front of the open refrigerator and moan, "What's for dinner Mommy?" and then we look at each other and he laughs and I say "Oh wait, I AM the mommy." The only shopping I enjoy and truly do with an open heart and a quiet, non-judging mind is going to my friend Guy's organic farm stand. All other shopping bleeds me of my vitality and makes me wonder why on earth I chose to live somewhere where –oh never mind. I can’t even say it it’s so judgmental and rude. Suffice it to say the trailer parks must have some kind of a weekly group shopping bus trip super savers, triple your coupons day at Shop Rite.

Do the laundry. I think the Laundromat runs the same special as Shop Rite.

Organize my cd’s. My god, it’s such a mess, the cd shelf. Terrible. I cringe to think of how many scratches are building up because I just stack them without their jewel cases, stacks 30 and 40 high, towers of music that lean and slide towards each other and conspire to do the lemming run right over the edge of the bookshelf and clatter the 5 feet down to the dusty floor.

Drop The Boy off at his Dad’s. Always a tension filled fifteen minutes. If I could just have a third party to take care of that one thing, and let me have one half of the weekly switch-off minus the undercurrent of sarcasm and disdain, well, what a happy and relaxed woman I would be. Hell, I could even have her do the pickup too, that would mean both ends without face time. Oh glory! I’m really onto something here!

I have a feeling this list will continue to grow. I’m writing daily and have projects cooking away under the surface all day long, and every duty I can pass off to THE WIFE will free up more time for ME to pursue the things that matter. Interested parties can e-mail me their resume with cover letter and at least 3 referrals.

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

To Clarify:

Let me just say one more thing about that Dr. Fisher and her little gift-stitchery, stitch-giftery. On second reading, it sounds like I'm fine with that. Not so. There is such a thing as too small, believe it or not. Ten years later I still feel the difference and it isn't pleasant. Clear?

Monday, September 23, 2002

Things I'd be happy to never have to experience again thank you very much:

1. Being 14. Let's just say that being told in front of all the youth in the neighborhood by a beautiful 16 year old boy who you've just spent the last 3 weeks making out with in the field behind your house, in the woods at the top of the street, in your best friend's basement and in the swimming pool (splish, splash) that he doesn't want to be your boyfriend any more because your tits are like mosquito bites puts the kaibosh on that whole year.

2. Playing kickball with all the boys in the hood and sliding into 3rd through a steaming fresh pile of dog shit. This is how I know for a fact that valerian root tastes an awful lot like dog shit.

3. Waitressing. Enough said.

4. Bartending. Ditto.

5. Walking onto the F train by myself at 3am to a seemingly empty car, but wait, no-it's not empty. There's an enormous homeless black man siting in the corner grinning at me while he beats off his equally enormous member. Doors close. Train pulls out of station. Door between cars is locked.

6. Seeing my Barbie Townhouse come alive as hundreds of earwigs pour out of the support columns and cascaded across the rec room floor toward my bare feet.

7. Pissing myself in front of dinner guests when Mr. T. gave my bladder a good swift in utero kick. Nothing like a shower while fully clothed.

8. Having an epesiotomy tear repaired. You know, as an aside...Dr. Fisher, she seemed to be driven-not by some calling to be part of the miracle of life beginning, but to have the power to turn to an ashen-faced new father, needle in hand, and say with a smile "I'll sew her up nice and tight for you."

and she did.

Things I'd give my left nut to experience at least one more time before I die. Hell, I'd even grow one for the occasion:

1. That first moment when the breastfeeding works and the cellular connection between two bodies completes a circle and sounds a note so harmonious that one knows that this is all there is.

2. Making love and the cellular connection between two bodies completes a circle and sounds a note so harmonious that one knows that this is all there is.

neat, huh?

3. A game of Yahtzee with Nana while the chicken soup simmers...miss you still.

4.Spinning around and around in the back yard until I fall down in a pure ecstatic spasm and watch the big bowl of sky whirl above me--without puking and turning green for three days.

5. Closure. on all of it...

6. Playing in the woods and having conversations with the fairies. Really.

7. Do a split. The side to side kind.

8. Give birth.

Not A Day On Any Calendar

Spring, and everything outside is growing,
even the tall cypress tree.
We must not leave this place.
Around the lip of the cup we share, these words,
My Life Is Not Mine.

If someone were to play music, it would have to be very sweet.
We're drinking wine, but not through lips.
We're sleeping it off, but not in bed.
Rub the cup across your forehead.
This day is outside living and dying.

Give up wanting what other people have.
That way you're safe.
"Where, where can I be safe?" you ask.

This is not a day for asking questions,
not a day on any calendar.
This day is conscious of itself.
This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness,
more manifest than saying can say.

Thoughts take form with words,
but this daylight is beyond and before
thinking and imagining. Those two,
they are so thirsty, but this gives smoothness
to water. Their mouths are dry, and they are tired.

The rest of this poem is too blurry
for them to read.

Humbled again. Seems the post that appeared to have disappeared has now reappeared as a published post and it's strangely similar to the one above it, yet it has a nonworking link and i sound like a silly rabbit. Rats. Can't get the blogger monster to let me delete that post. Ah, well, keeping it real. Expansion, contraction. What goes up, must come down. Best to travel on the middle road of emotional attachment. Thank you Sir, can I have another?
ohboyohboyohboyohboy! I can hyperlink, miracle of miracles...and it works! My life will never be the same, I can go anywhere, do anything, nothing can stop me now! Well, except for the sink full of dishes...maybe I can hyperlink them to some other universe to be washed. Oh, glory look! I did it again. Such fun. Ok. Off to do those dishes. p.u.
ohboyohboyohboyohboy! have I been eating brain food? I figured out how to hyperlink. This is a miracle. A whole new world has opened up to me. My life will never be the same. I can go anywhere, do anything, nothing can hold me back, there's no stopping me now. What's next? right. The sink full of dishes. Can I hyperlink them to some other page to get posted by Kelly at

Y'all gotta go take a peek at this:peterborough. I'm still peeing myself here. Jayzus.
Full moon, autumnal equinox, too much coffee...these things add up to a lousy night's sleep for Kelly. I lay in bed from about midnight feeling as if I was plugged into some kind of generator. My body buzzed and surged with energy and my mind tripped from one thing to another with no logical path. Finally at 2 am I threw myself out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to toss down a couple of valerian's. All hail the sleep god that is Valerian, "Valeriana officinalis: It has a remarkable influence on the cerebro-spinal system, and is used as a sedative to the higher nerve centres in conditions of nervous unrest, St. Vitus's dance, hypochrondriasis, neuralgic pains and the like." (from A Modern Herbal). Methinks I had a bout of St. Vitus's dance last night.

Have a slight headache this morning, but that may be from the low pressure system that moved in overnight combined with the always unexpected fall allergies. Why do I not remember this is coming every year? Amazing. Hmmmm....maybe i'm actually having an extended bout of hypochrondriasis. Well, I'm awake now and Tyler's rousing himself by listening to Hot Mix Pop R&B Hip Hop Same 7 Songs on Continual Rotation Interespersed With Assinine Commentary By Shallow Media Whores Radio. Joy.

For the first time in 3 1/2 years in this apartment someone is living above me. I've known it was coming, the landlord's been busy restoring the flat to its original 1890 charm. What a wonder to have silence above me and below me at night-the space downstairs is an antique shop, open only 5 days a week 11-5. Now a minister has moved in. I hope that means a quiet man who goes to bed early and rises late and doesn't mind my loud music and my kid practicing his trumpet. Trumpet began last week and already the eyebrows are raising around the neighborhood, but I chuckle and smile and say-hey, be grateful people-it was supposed to be the Tuba. So back to the man of God. Does this mean I need to curb my language? Stifle the occasional morning fart? Make love without yelling? Doubtful on all counts. So he's a minister. I'm a child of God. I'll keep my music low if he doesn't pray really loud.

Sunday, September 22, 2002

I'm coughing again. A deep, barking cough from the middle of my chest that feels like a tiny hand in there squeezing the air out. I think it's from working in cubicle hell...I sit in what is essentially a long hallway with no windows sandwiched between the elevator banks and a bunch of Cannon printers trying to hear myself think over the perpetual drone and hum and thump. Directly above my cubicle is a 2 1/2 foot square vent that I've come to think of these past 3 years as an asshole that is connected directly to Antarctica and it farts its frigid wind down on me all day and night, some enormous abominable corporate snowman laughing his ass off ON me as he watches the spectacle and feels his big fat stack of money growing under his flabby, unconscious ass--as I go through yet another box of Puffs Plus and sneeze so hard my glasses fall off and I have to go get the spray cleaner for my monitor AGAIN because I can't see the words through all the little wet prisms of spittle on the screen. One drawer of my file cabinet is devoted to herbs and vitamins. I'm known as the new age pill popper-hopped up on echinacea and olive leaf and thistle cleanse. It's not fresh arctic air either, it's recycled air so it circulates the air that's coming out of everyone else in the building's funky, unhealthy bodies over and over again. I think while I was in the stairwell the other day that my lungs felt an actual oxygen molecule enter them and I nearly passed out from the high. This is all fuel though, stoking the fire of my desire, pushing me to keep at the writing, keep going with the projects and see them through. The antarctic asshole is God or Life or whatever saying, "Hey, wake the fuck up! Get yourself out of that prefab, nothing-in-it-for-you cubicle ghetto! Quit putting yourself in the line of fire. You know better than that!" Pfffftfftttttttt, pfppfffffttttttttt, pft.

Thursday, September 19, 2002

this has been ringing in my head, thank you Kat!

For those who love you, no explanation is necessary. For those who don't, no explanation will suffice.

damn skippy.

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Now I have to learn about ftp. fucking tectonic pressure. The server won't let me on...says too many anoymous users are currently logged on. Okay people, log off now, this has been going on all day...can't you just do your little postie, linking thing and then get the fuck off and go get dinner made, or the kids off the bus, or get dressed so someone else can have a turn? Why do I have the sinking feeling that this is what happens every day with this server and that I'm going to have to take the time to figure out how to do it online...shit. I keep telling myself that this is it-my brain has reached its capacity for how much technoid bullshit it can or wants to hold...and then having to take out the old spackle knife and shove in some more. Next up? FTP.

I just made a bitchin' pot of chili. Ty's going to want to eat at his Dad's house tonight-he usually asks to do that on the night I drop him off for his half of the week...but he'll change that song when he hears what's for dinner. Made with beef AND beans...and 5 kinds of peppers-including poblanos from Guy's farm here in Blooming Grove, NY. yum. Plus I went to the farm market this morning and got tomatoes and red onion and a big ass bunch of cilantro to make a pico de gallo with for grilled chicken quesadillas...mmmm mmmm. shit. i just scratched my nose, well, picked it...ow. peppers.
All right, all right. I heard you. No, I haven't yet, but I will. Okay. I'm doing it. I said I'm DOING it! For Chrissake, I'm doing it! Do you hear me doing it? I am.

I stayed up much too late last night for someone who has to get up with a boy and 3 cats in the morning. Much too late. Searching all over hell and creation online for little patches and plug-ins to download so I can actually USE the blogspotplus I signed up for! YAY! I didn't have as much luck as I thought I would. I need a client, which means I need carbonlib 1.1 or older...but I have system software conflicts for that...I'm on 8.5, and upgrading to 8.6 at least is on my agenda for today...I don't think I've ever spent this much time doing anything but writing or graphic design on my little imac. Feel the power. Smell the fear. What if I damage it beyond repair. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm just following all the prompts I get, which feels sort of like taking directions from someone's crazy alcoholic Uncle Louie-"Yah, you just take that little gizmo there darlin', heh heh, and you stick it right in here, oh yeah, lean over like that...and then you turn it, no not like that, harder...then -- woah, wait! What's that green wire? Oh shit. Don't touch that, you'll blow up the whole fuckin' neighborhood."

Today I HAVE to spend a few hours actually working. Putting words down and making progress on our project, mine and Katherine's-or she's going to come over here and make me touch the green wire. She's going to spirit herself through the cablemodem and her goddess head will pop through my screen like medusa, all red curls with hissing heads and shit and she'll bitch slap me once-"Stop being a pussy and write," she'll say with a smile then disappear. Of course, she'll be calling me later in the day to say she's feeling frozen, like her ideas are flat and we'll talk about the story and see where it's going and she'll realize by the end of the conversation that she's been taking down some pretty amazing stuff and just needs to get out of her own head...of course, there's no room in mine so I hope she doesn't want to move in.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

heh, heh. I'm getting some work done tonight! I'm all over this explorer installed, now I have a comments thingy, and i can try out the pro thing once i get settled in with the process...whoo hoooo. I know, many eyes rolling (or one or two...if any eyes land on this page) such a babe in the woods. But I'm jacked, I didn't have to call the ex to ask his technical highness HOW (and I was ready to)! heh heh.


i want blogger pro! I can't have it. Whaaaaaaahhhnnnnnhhhhh. No links. grff. I wanted links, at least a link to my email address! man. so many disappointments-too much time and all this space to complain about them...
Apparently noone's reading this thing. Not a soul. Except for Katherine. She doesn't know how to build a blog...Well, I finally noticed way the hell over on the far far far right, buried inside the right hand side of my computer-way off screen...the little area for emailing blogger any specific questions. This wide screen blows. But it's another fine way for me to exercise my patience muscle, which has gotten so puny lately, weak and stringy-just ask Tyler who has been snapped at 5 times in the past hour. We had ice cream. I'm allergic to ice cream. Now I'm very grouchy and my ears are sort of ringing and buzzing and filling up with fluid or bile and my teeth feel like they're being pushed out of my gums under tremendous pressure. I'd like to unscrew my head and take it off until this passes. He's steering clear of me now-mom's just not safe.

We had a little moment over our toxic cream cones...he told me about some kids on the bus who harrass him every day-they apparently say mean and horrible things that "Mom, I don't want to say it-but they say that I shove my head up your butt." Up my butt. Well. Sweet. These are 10 year olds remember. I listened quietly while he told me what assholes these kids are, "They are Mom so it's okay if I say that!" then I reminded him about what makes a bully a bully-their own fear and insecurity...and I asked him if he thought about saying something to the bully like "I see you. I know who you are. I know what makes you tick. You're terrified that you're not good enough so you pick on everyone else to try to make yourself feel better. But I'm not afraid of you." He looked at me for a long minute and then said, "Nah. I'm no sage. I'm gonna pick a fight with him and get him thrown off the bus."

That's my boy.
well, I don't know if anyone is ever going to actually look at this blog besides a few faithful friends...but I've been reading the instructions-the pages take up to 5 minutes each to load goddamiit!!! I'm in Netscape, so I guess that's something to do with it. As i mentioned in previous post, I'm a technical retard. I'm hoping for easy here. But I have some questions that I can't seem to find answers to and would greatly appreciate anyone emailing me at to help me out of this mess! I'm on an imac, I went through the basics of setting up a blog on blogspot. I'm having trouble posting and publishing, it seems to want me to republish the last post in order to post a new one, so then it shows up with 2 times of posting. My archives tags ???? they seem to be duplicating. I don't know if I have to physically archive after every post? It sounded like this was automatic. I also want to do a comments window, followed instructions for 3 of the ones listed in the HELP, but apparently I'm doing it wrong because nothing's shown up. I would also love to get a link for my email on the page and the instruction page for that won't load! urgh. I wonder if there are any easy to read e-books out there, something I can print out and hold in front of my confused face. Well. I leave this with anyone who is feeling generous of spirit and wants to help a lost and lonely newbie find her way to the light...with many thanks and well, thanks.
It's a brand new day and I'm up before the sun. This is a major accomplishment for me on my day off. I'm also up before my son. This means an hour of quiet, just me and the hum of the computer and the cats careening around the apartment hissing at one another in a show of Woody Allen neurosis-"She's up to be with me. Me, me, me! You! You stay in here under the couch - she doesn't want you!" I want them all to stay under the couch. They're making me twitch. Picking up where I left off trying to figure out this blog thing, I'm a technical retard and am just making my way thruogh this blindly. The alarm went off at the exact same time as the village fire alarm. I so look forward to winter when I can have the window by my head closed... Usually I'll hit that snooze for up to an hour, but the firetrucks and ambulances and cruisers kept coming, so I hauled my sleepy ass outta bed and did my Qi Gong and made some coffee-I know, they contradict each other. That's me. So now I'm sitting here with my body buzzing, my meridians running in the right direction, my chakras spinning, my organs humming with delight at being shown attention FIRST-before ANYTHING ELSE, even COFFEE-and i'm topping it off with a nice caffeine buzz. The liver line will go first, I think. Then the heart. Then kidneys. Then I'm screwed. And it's not even 7am. Time to work on something practical, like writing something that's going to maybe pay a bill or two. Any ideas?
Monday, September 16, 2002

ready for takeoff
I wonder if I have a drinking problem. For months now
I've heard things like this coming out of my mouth:
"There's a bottle of Kettle One with my name on it."
I've said it to people who really don't need to know
this about me-like my boss at 2am while she's in the
middle of a deadline and an office politics free-for-all.
Even better to my mother who may have stopped
attending her weekly al-anon meetings, but still
knows the lexicon by heart and isn't afraid to speak it.
And speak it. And speak it. Being raised by a long line
of alcoholic men can't have had any effect on me. I
stopped the partying when I was pregnant with Tyler
(duh) and really that was 10 years ago. (Damn. He's
10!) Didn't have too much desire until I started
working in nyc again. Now I'd love to end the day
every day with a martini. Or at least I like to think I
would, or to say I would... But last week I bought a
bottle for home. I haven't done that in 5 years.

My boyfriend Chris lives in another state. He says I'm
more amorous when I've had a drink or two. It
sounds like he's not so sure if he likes it-like maybe
he knows it's not the whole picture...and it's not much
fun over the phone-I'm not all Girl 6, just kind of
mushy with an occasional bit of raunch thrown
in...and he knows when I'm the woman who had a
cup of chamomile tea before bed and doesn't want to
hear anything about an erection 450 miles away that
she can't do anything real with. The vodka hypocrite.

It's been brought to my attention by Chris and my
bud Katherine that when I've been drinking I
announce my "enhanced" state every few minutes
like a cuckoo clock, "I'm so buzzed!", "Boy am I
trashed!", "Whoooooeeee, my lips are numb!" Chris
says I sound like I'm in high school, drunk on keg beer
for the first time, that I sound like that every time I
drink. How can I not have noticed this? I'm 35 for fuck
sake. I've been drinking off and on for 22 years.
When will I grow UP? Well, I'm glad they told me this.
Just like I'm glad that I ignored the comfortable, quiet
space I was in yesterday when friends came up from
the city. I ignored the knowing I had inside that I
shouldn't mess with anything that was going to funk
up the good vibe I had going on--especially by
polluting my system with alcohol. I'd done my Qi Gong
exercises, been writing like a fool, eating well, patient
with Tyler, thing were going well...But no, I said shut
thy abstinent face and mix me a martini! Out came the
vodka. Down went 3 drinks. Out the door went my
friends, leaving me spinning out of my shoes at 8:30
pm. I needed to be reminded just ONE more time-that
I NEVER EVER EVER want to drink alone again! ever.
And being that I live mostly alone, at least after 8:30
(Ty's bedtime) that I just shouldn't drink.

Well, it's something to look at.
posted by Kelly 12:40 PM