Tuesday, March 18, 2014
In the end what's going to kill me is that Brevard has nowhere to eat. I'm talking about a Tuesday night when you've both worked all day, the dishes haven't been done, the kids are cranky about their homework and you woke up to dog poop on the kitchen floor. This is a crucial juncture in the life of a family. This is a make or break moment here. Everything hangs in the balance and BOOM. You don't have a Chipotle. Eternity spins out before you. It makes you dizzy and you fall down. You wake to phantom scents of guacamole.
Spring came but it's over now. The blooms are all here, oh how cute, let's wax poetic. I dreamed of crocuses in the snow--what a feat, I'll text my sister. But before autocorrect can chance "crocus" to "erotic", they're dead. They are drowned in the freezing rain. The birds chirp to a gray sky. Sylvia Plath writes sonnets in her grave.
I really did have a dream though. I hate when people tell me about their dreams, so here you go: the moon was made of wax and bees were filling it with honey. I was worried about those bees, up in space, but they seemed to be doing all right. This is the part of the post where I'm supposed to make meaning but who can? It's fucking March and my hair is short. I'm having lots of trouble with the passage of time. It keeps me up at night. I blinked and bees were on the moon. I blinked and spring was gone.
You know what I'm saying.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Friday was a real rush. Ayla walked on water and in the evening, we went out to celebrate the release of Stone and Spring. The tequila bar we wanted in Asheville was completely booked so we ended up at one of those silly Italian places. They all look and smell the same and the food is always mediocre but it didn't matter. I drank an extra dirty martini and it was perfect. We told the girls that they get to see their grandparents and cousins in a couple weeks for spring break and we all clinked our glasses. On the way home Indy said "Everybody in this family has one thing in common. We are all really funny." She later told me that "the w in wrinkled is silent because it wants to be good. All these other letters are noisy because they don't know any better." Bon Jovi came on and Ayla said, "Is this Oprah?" I have to write these things down before they disappear forever.
I am reading and writing again because I am done editing the book. It feels wonderful. I didn't have too much of a breakdown, though I did learn I can't wean myself off Wellbutrin just yet. On the second day without it, noon hit and found me doing my old "can't get out of the shower" routine, which is immediately followed by the "can't get dressed" routine which of course spirals quickly into the "I hate everything" routine. At this point I was so low that I didn't want to take a Wellby, but I did, and then I took the girls to McDonald's for disgusting shamrock shakes and watched them play in the sun. Now that I can control this depression it's a fascinating thing, watching it ebb and flow from a distance, its predictable phases, always the same troubling thoughts and behavior patterns. Then I take a pill and the clouds clear and I find myself again. It's a relief to know that I am not by nature a dark or troubled person. But this talk is all to heavy for spring.
In two weeks we get to go see my family, just the girls and I. I am really hoping to move back there before August, but no concrete roads out yet. So here I throw it out to the universe. Another thing I would like to throw out there is this: Elizabeth Aquino, a fiercely talented writer whose blog you should be reading if you're not already, wrote this lovely and generous review of Stone and Spring and I would be remiss not to link to it. I read it while drinking my dirty martini in the silly Italian restaurant and almost cried. Check out her blog, even if you don't read the review. Here you go.
And I want to say again how grateful I am for my gentle and beloved editor. She blogs anonymously so I won't link to her right now. But Stone and Spring wouldn't have seen daylight were it not for her. Thank you so much, dear A.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Ayla, about 3 years old
I've had the flu. Or something. I have had some illness that's dulled my brain. Since Wednesday, I've been good for nothing but lying on the couch and sleeping feverish sleep. I had this entire week off work and set the goal to finish my book by Friday. By Wednesday I was too sick to focus, but I mostly finished it anyway, before stupor set in. I cried a little, and felt a little thrill, and then I got in the shower and took a long nap. I was hot and chilled. When I woke up the shadows were long across the ceiling, orange like summer. Noah was supposed to be gone over the weekend, but he cancelled his business trip when we realized how ill I was. The sunlight was slanted when the door opened and he came home with the little girls. They brought me sunflowers and grapefruit fizzy water. My brain was quiet, peaceful, clear. They moved through the house around me, stopping to pat my head with petaled fingers. Noah made the girls dinner, brushed their teeth, put them to bed. The house went quiet again. In the morning the sun broke orange and we were that much closer to spring.