Sleep Waking

She woke with that groggy feeling that comes with taking sleeping pills. She felt mediated for everything: depression, migraines, insomnia. But those pills were too often the only thing that kept her moving through life. They got her out of bed, dressed (sometimes), and asleep. She did not like to think about what she would be without the pills. It was, she felt, a necessary and sanctioned addiction.

This morning was rough. She woke up a few times only to fall back on the bed, into sleep. But the insistence of the birds, the refusal of the sun to just go behind one more damn cloud, the push of the dreams, finally forced to just open her eyes and sit up. She rose slowly, careful because too fast would make her head split open, allowing in a radiating pain that sometimes made her throw up. She put her hands on her knees, and let her head fall to her chest. As usual there was no one beside her. She slept a lone most nights.

The dreams were still coming. A whole fucking year, and they still came, night after night. Sometimes, even on the sleeping pills, she would wake to smell him in her room. She could never let go of the way his skin smelled, the ways her sheets smelled of him after he had left. Even now, with the horror of night still fresh on her body, she knew his touch with a longing pleasure. The way his hands felt on her sweaty skin, the way he curved his fingers over breasts, one thumb brushing her nipple, squeezing it between the same thumb and the first finger. It was enough to make her sigh. Once, when it was all fresher, she would sometimes moan, and lay back down on her bed to masturbate. A masturbation that tore her up, killed her little by little, threw her back into an unattainable past. But now she just sighed, and pushed the memories away.

She had made the choice. She felt quite pleased with the nobility of her choice but she also knew that nobility had little to do with it. The choice had been made to avoid destruction. And yes she had saved herself from death but really she had not exchanged that death for life. Instead she was dying a slow, lingering death, her life being sucked into the absence of where he was not.

Sometimes Life is Sweet

Just a brief update...no fancy writing, nothing so beautiful or so painful...just a simple thought to end a beautiful day. Today was something close to perfect. We spent a hot day at a sprayground, getting wet, hanging out with some lovely friends, chasing beasties through cold water...later we made pizza with the same beasties. We feed them so ice cream, laughed at their antics (Piper with her wand was everyone's fairy godmother), and just sat content with a full simple day. We watched an amazing t.v. series (seriously hot...better than porn), and later...well just let your imaginations run wild. And to top it off we made up with a friend which felt good. It's someone we don't want to lose in our lives, and it pleased us both to just feel like it was going to be okay.

Sometimes, life is so beautiful, so sweet, and so full that I don't think I can contain it within myself. Sometimes I feel like maybe I don't deserve such beauty, such wonder, such joy. But it has been handed to me, so many wonderful people, a loving, joyful, and yes sexy as hell, husband, and the most perfect beasties ever...and who am I to refuse such a gift?

Nine of Swords

When I read that my friend's wife was cheating on him, I stopped reading tarot. We were sitting in his bedroom, right after I read my pregnancy (with Umberto) in those same cards. The cards were laid out on the bed. It was only his wife, him, and I in the room upstairs. From below we could hear the party, laughing and bottles clicking as people drank away. I was tired. I had already read about three other people before this reading. I had worked that day, had a full day of classes, and was not up for a night full of tarot reading. But here I was with this story spread before me. I looked down, away from them, trying to figure out a way to tell them what I was seeing. This is not the kind of news anyone wants to bare but it is harder, perhaps, when the news come from something as irrational as tarot. He insisted that I just tell him. He was already reading them himself, trying to interpret the meaning from the spread. When I finally told them, they both looked at each, amazed. He knew already.

For me it was the most disturbing reading I had ever done. Not to brag, but I am damn good at reading tarot. At this point, I had been reading for almost ten years. I couldn't, and still can't, explain how I see the stories I do. I look at the cards, I know their meanings, but what happens is that they form together in my mind to tell a story about the person I am reading for. I look at them, and can see inside someone. I see the emotions that fuel them, the ways they are likely to behave and the ways they are capable of behaving. It's never been hard, except for the energy, to see the story. What is often hard is the telling of that story. I've never doubted my readings, and the few times it has been fuzzy, I've been upfront and told the person I couldn't give them an accurate reading. But sometimes there are things I just don't want to tell people. Those are the hard stories.

I put my tarot away after that reading for my friend. I carried the deck with me for a long time. Wrapped in a bit of blue silk cloth, it came with me to Fayetteville, then to Mexico, and finally back to Charlotte. When C was about a year old, she found them, and scattered them all over the house. She chewed on them, ripped them, and even found the scissors at one point to cut some of them into a million pieces. For a while, we had the death card on our fridge but even that got lost in one of our many moves. I didn't replace the deck although I often though about buying a new one.

Last week, I ordered a new tarot deck. It was not the same as I had lost but I liked this deck and had worked with it before. It's a nice deck, clear in its symbolism and meaning. I thought that since it had been so long since I had read, having such a clear deck would make it easier to transition back into reading. I liked the deck the moment I held it in my hand. It felt right as I shuffled the cards, getting myself used to their feel.

What inspired this sudden purchase? I suspect it was just some shit that has been happening in my life. Too often I've felt utterly lost. Not sure what I was feeling. Not sure of how I should be responding. Feeling like I was fucking up on so many levels. It's the most lost I've felt in along time, and somehow my thoughts just turned towards the tarot. I know many people don't read their own cards but I always have. The cards have helped me more than once to clarify situations, to give me directions in handling things. I don't think I ordered the cards with that kind of clarity but looking back it makes sense.

H and I have been doing daily cards. I've been teaching him a bit about reading. Yesterday I drew the Death card, and just kind of nodded. Change was certainly happening. Today it was the nine of swords which also made a lot of sense. I was feeling guilt, remorse, just generally bad about my own responsibility in the aforementioned shitty situation. Then later, I felt confident enough to read the cards. I laid a spread for myself, and again found myself nodding. Smiling. Not only were the cards right on but I could read them. Again I could see that story laid before me. It was a rusty start but once I opened myself to the cards, I could begin to see the story there, the paths possible, those shadowy threads that lead into multiple becomings. And then I read for H. His reading was stronger. I still had to look at the book but with his spread, I could see the connections between the cards, the message, the story that laid there for him.

We talked about it afterwards. He was a little shaky at the accuracy, and he asked me if I always read with such accuracy. I thought about it and realized I have always told the right story. Sometimes it is not the story the person in front of me wanted to hear. Sometimes the cards pick up something deeper, something that lies below the level of the consciousness of the asker. Those readings always freak the person out more. They say "That's not the question I asked but the answer makes sense."

And now I'm reading again. Telling stories with my cards. It feels good. I forgot how much I really do love reading tarot. It's another step closer to a spirituality that feels like mine.

Mirrors and Reflections

Saturday night...perhaps more like Sunday morning....the party was winding down. It was a strange party, half fun, half complicated as big parties tend to be....there were only a few of us left. There was this awkward moment, silence and not one of those companionable comfortable silences. It was as if without the cover of a large crowd, we all felt that moment of vulnerability when we could no longer hide, metamorphose into what those around us saw. Instead, we were merely the stragglers, forced together simply because we had not left yet.

Around the black patio table, beers in hand, cigarettes lit, we started to talk about racism. Eventually another silence descended but this one felt, different, more comfortable. More people began to leave, until there was only H and I (it was our house after all) and K and D. There was some tension still...someone left without saying goodbye, we knew he was pissed but felt almost helpless to rectify that feeling. We were pretty sure he was leaving with an unfortunate misperception but it wasn't the time to try to hash that out. It was late, and we were tired, tired of the conscious effort it took to be a thing of multiplicity. We hoped as he drove off that there would be time later to work through whatever...

But now there was just the four of us, and we continued the conversation that seemed to drive off the others...Deleuze and becoming. Mirrors and personalities.

You see, I told this small group, I have started to see myself through H's eyes. He has become my mirror.

As I spoke these words, I realized, that this seeing was much more complicated. In any given day I am always this nebulous being. I am never totally formed as multiple mirrors, the reflections given by other human eyes, shift who I see. When I look into four sets of dark eyes, I am always something different. There are pieces of who I am in each gaze, each gaze not really reflecting back the same face. Yes I know I always have this cursed nose, and these blue-green eyes. I always see the lips, thin, not often curved into a smile, the big front teeth that sometimes peek through. But these fragmented pieces of cartilage and skin, become something different with each set of eyes. It is more than just juggling roles between wife, mother, lover, friend. It is the value each mirror puts on certain aspects of my personality and my body. Too some I merely a pair of tits or a rounded ass, the bit of curvy thigh hiked up as I full water balloons. Too other little bodies, those tits are soft, comfort from hurts. I look into one person's eyes, and feel that I cause some kind of pain that can't be discussed. And with others, I see a person who gives joy. The snarky bitch who ravages with words, makes one person laugh, and another person angry.

In the single evening of a party, I have lived many lives. And finally, the last guest leaves, and I spread myself, onto the bed, before the person who perhaps sees me in more complexity than the others. And as he lays down over me, besides me, I pull him to me, feeling my beauty reflected in the depths of black eyes, and I am not lost.

The Past Haunting the Present

Warning: Intensely personal post.

Lately things have come up that drew me into a past I'd rather leave behind. When we came to Charlotte, it was like shedding a skin, embracing a new life with new people. I felt I could become someone different here.

But the past has returned in various ways.

First, issues arose with a new friend. I thought this person liked me for who I was...all the bitchy, obnoxious parts. I discovered though that this person did not really like those parts of me...in fact, rather detested them. While I don't expect people to like all of me, I don't like all aspects of most of my friends, I do think that when we truly care about someone we embrace those parts in order to embrace the parts we do like.

This confrontation about my obnoxious, bitchy self lead to many hurt feelings from the past. I remembered too many other painful awareness of being rejected utterly for those parts of my self. I remembered trying so hard to bury them, to fit in, to be normal enough that people would want to be around me. I've spent most of my life being off cue in terms of dealing with other people. Often I just withdrew even though I desperately wanted friends because it was too hard to constantly monitoring myself. I felt like I carried around this mental notebook in which I had written directions on how to act with others. But at some point, it failed me, and I felt again like that person who was always a little off beat, a little wrong in her interactions. I tried again and again to just simply embrace myself for who I was but it is hard to embrace that person when no one else seems to want to hang on as well.

Thus when I again encountered this attitude, I felt myself shrivel up a bit. I wanted to go back into hiding. I have a safe little world with H and the beasties...with people who do embrace me utterly for who I am. Who don't mind that I'm off cue. But there was another part of me that loved having this circle of friends whom I love and care about. I waver between wondering if it's worth pulling out that notebook again...to figure how one acts normal amidst people.

And Facebook has brought the past as well. I am starting to hate Facebook. I found myself today on the verge of erasing it. Getting rid of all reminders of the past. That girl who everyone found ugly, bitchy, and unpleasant. I don't want her around anymore. I am not that girl anymore. I am more confident. I realize now that I wasn't ugly, and that the view many had of me came from my own insecurity, and from the expectations of the place in which I lived. But hearing the memories of people, or having someone say "Wow you're hot now" burns me deeply. It reopens those wounds, leaves me fresh and bleeding. I start to wonder again if anyone really finds me attractive, even here. I remember how people thought there was no way H would ever be interested in a fat, ugly girl like me. How so many people thought he would cheat on me, find someone more worthy of his good looks. I remember people doubting that anyone like H could ever want to be with someone like me. The confusion that his attention brought...and how even my closest friends felt this way.

And now I am bleeding once again. I wish the new friend could understand how his words make me feel. I wish my old friends could let go of the person they once knew, who doesn't exist anymore. I wish, often, that I could be someone different. That I could just naturally ease into those social cues that most people seem so able to embrace. And I wish that I could not return to my little fortress, that I could boldly be who I am, and work on being better with the help of my friends rather than their censure.

Weekend Plans Which Involve APTBS

I need to do some more writing but alas I am kind of in zoned out mood again so it's back to updates.

Tomorrow we're leaving for Baltimore. I bought H and I tickets to see APTBS there for his birthday. We're going to take the van (hope it makes the trip there and back), and stay with our friend Rosslyn, Friday and Saturday night. She kindly offered to watch the beasties while we go to the show. It should be a fun little mini vacation. I'm pretty psyched to see APTBS again...third time...although I am realizing that I may be the fan from hell. But alas they're not playing anywhere in NC in the near future, and I need a fix. Now if I could only persuade them to play Charlotte...I have about twenty people who want to see them the next time they're here.

In other news...we have reenrolled the kids at their old school. There were changes made that made the school an option again. Homeschooling is really just not working this time around. I can't seem to motivate myself to do what needs to be done. They fight constantly, and neither Umberto or Camille are getting the social time they need. Plus I realize I need to really chill out and not be so reactionary when something happens to them. They are stronger than I think.

I'm looking forward to an awesome summer. H will be out soon, and we'll back to the wonderful lazy days. We're watching our friend's son so a bit of extra money, and a kid for the kids to play with. Should be good. In addition, I'm hoping for lots of parties both big and small. We have a big June birthday bash coming up with a ton of people coming. But I'm hoping also to have some mellow cook out weekends as well. It's nice to have loads of friends again. I missed this from my undergrad. years, and am pretty thrilled to have created a small community here.

H got transfered to an elementary school so he didn't lose his job. I think he'll be good at teaching this level and it will be a lot less stress than teaching high school.

I'll post pics, and a travel update after the weekend....

The National

The National
Lincoln Theater, Raleigh, NC
May 28, 2009

Perhaps the quip on Facebook should have served as a warning. "Not sure I want to wade through the hipsters here to see the National. Let me know if it's worth going." And then the fact the show was sold out. But I am often not good at reading the signs. So Thursday evening found H and I setting out, once again in a thunderstorm. H is doomed to always drive to the triangle area in thunderstorms...if we end up moving there, it's going to rain a lot.

As mentioned before the drive to this part of NC is not particularly beautiful. We found ourselves amused at the various billboards. Luckily good company saves a boring drive. H and I talked about a lot of things....various issues we've been dealing with, music, and our future in Charlotte. I love being alone with H, and as much as I like going to shows with a load of friends, I still relish these times when it just he and I. We don't get many moments like these and we enjoy them as they come. Of course I was getting nervous because it was getting later, doors opened at 8, and when 8 rolled around we were still a half hour from Raleigh. H was his usual cool self "We'll be fine." But I knew the show had been sold out, and worried about the place being too packed to get a decent place to stand. I have a tendency now to want to be real close....

When we arrived in Raleigh (with is miniature cityscape), the storm had calmed. As we turned down the side street to the venue, we both moaned. There was no parking in the lot next to the club, and the line at the door extended a ways down the sidewalk. And the crowed, as predicted by my friend, was pretty much what I'd classify as hipster (too cool to be cool). We parked next door in a parking garage, and went to join our place in the too cool to be cool line. Once inside, it was packed but everyone was quite involved in drinking at the bar/concession stand. I was already not liking the vibe of the venue. It felt like a theater not a club.

We got our places at the front. Before us were a line of young girls who looked like they had just been released from high school. Opening act was a bit much. A guy playing a couple of different kinds of saxophones accompanied with these kind of annoying mouth clicks. Not my thing but the girls were front were all ga/ga over him. But they seemed like they would have been ga/ga over pretty much anything that went on on the stage. H translated the various sounds "Elephant dying." I did good and did not laugh out loud. I try to be somewhat respectable towards the opening acts even if I don't much like them.

Finally, the torture we had to endure to hear the National was over, and we waited impatiently while the roadies set up the instruments. The crowd was getting restless and pushing towards the front. Every time someone came onto the stage from the wings, the crowd would scream. H and I just looked at each other a bit horrified. This felt too much like an arena show as opposed to a little club with an indie band. We also found ourselves having to defend our spots, as more drunken fans kept pushing their way through...I figured we had earned our spots by listening to the opening act, and held strong against the pushing and swaying.

Finally, the National came on. Matt Berninger came out with a bottle of wine. And he was already swaying when he took the mike. They opened with a new song which I thought was ballsy. It was good but his voice did not sound anything like it did on Boxer. It was closer to the sound on Alligator but still...I don't know why singers feel this need to modify their voices in the studio. It makes for a big disconnect with the audience. Although this audience didn't seem to notice/care. They were screaming things like "I love you!!!" It was very disconcerting as I haven't been to a show like this since I saw Radiohead last year.

And it just kept getting weirder. One of the twins, on guitar, kept smiling at me...thought I was imaging it until H pointed it out as well. Matt got drunker and drunker as the show proceeded. This may be why his voice alternated between passable and horrible. There were times when his voice was so bad, it was actually unpleasant to listen too. The band was amazing, very tight, loud. They played with the songs so they didn't feel the same as they did on the album but it was creative playing that made everything feel fresh. "Mistaken by Strangers" was awesomely executed, including Matt's voice (made me a happy girl as this is my favorite song by them). The brass section was way too loud, and when they came in it drowned out the other instruments. Plus it sounded really discordant at times.


Matt was pretty drunk by the fifth song. He slammed his water bottle down on the stage, breaking it and sending water all over the first two rows. Umm...were we at a Great White show? He was going nuts on stage, screaming the lyrics into the mike, contorting all over the place, hitting the drums, falling on the floor. It felt awkward and uncomfortable as if he was putting on a show more than really getting into the music. I had expected a more serene, intellectual demeanor because of the interviews I had read and/or seen. But he was kind of acting like a "rock star." The audience was eating it up. They were shouting at him like he was a rock star. I kept waiting for people to pull their lighters out. The girls in front of us were swooning. They had their heads on their hands, and were staring up at Matt like he was a god come to stage.
And there was another problem. The audience just sucked. The girl behind me had the most fucking annoying voice. Squeaky, high pitched and she was drunk. She kept yelling shit at the band during the songs: "I LOVE YOU MATT!!" "YOU'RE THE BEST MATT!!!" "I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG!!!" And when she wasn't screaming shit like that she was singing!!! Loudly. I almost turned around and said "Sweetheart I came here to listen to him sing. Not you so shut the fuck up ok?" In between every song, the audience would scream suggestions. I hate that. And then there were the two girls to the side, who proceeded to talk through the last half of the show, exchanging phone numbers with some guys, and yelling to each other. They did shut up after I mustered up one of real nasty glares but they were offended. I mean imagine someone not wanting you to talk through a show? The nerve.

When Matt threw himself into the audience was when I began to feel like maybe I had mistakenly entered a Jonas Brothers' concert. The crowd surged around him, touching him, taking photos right in his face, screaming out how much they loved him. He pushed his way by me, and was mangled by squeaky voice girl who refused to let go of him, and had him in a modified head lock at one point. Matt looked desperately at H, and I stepped between him and the girl so she had to let go. He hugged H, and then started to make his further back. I was in the line of the mike cord so I was holding it up. The roadie was mouthing to me that there was no more give. I was thinking "Ok what the hell do you want me to do?" So I started reeling Matt back to the stage, where he stumbled through, hugging H once more, and then climbed back up. At the end of this little routine, once the music stopped, he stood there swaying, and then pointed at me and said "Happy birthday." Everyone around turned to look at me, and I am sure I looked utterly dumbfounded as it wasn't my birthday and I didn't know the guy any better than the rest of the them. He meant to say happy birthday to trumpet players but in his drunken haze wished me one instead.
It's been almost a week and I am still not sure how I feel about the show. There were some great moments of music. "Mistaken for Strangers" and "Fake Empire" were wonderfully performed. I even enjoyed some Matt's yelling, and loved it when the guitar player went a little loud and crazy. But there were are times when Matt's voice just sounded bad, out of tune, slurred, nasal, just not all that great. And the crowd really scared me. I don't know if they're just a lot bigger that H and I thought they were? Listening to them on the way home, I was surprised that such a young crowd was so into them. The lyrics to Boxer are so nogalstic, thinking back on experiences that most of these kids are just beginning to have. And honestly it wasn't the youngness of the crowd that felt weird. The Pains of Being Pure At Heart had an equally young crowd, and they didn't make me feel strange at all. It was the youngness combined with the extreme fanishness. I just felt out of place. So did I like the show? Kind of. They played for two hours and most of the songs were great. I'd not likely ever go to see The National again but I'm glad I saw them, and for the most part enjoyed many of the songs. But it might be that they've just gotten too big. I don't like arena shows anymore. Not willing to cough up the money or to be caught in a big worshiping the band kind of vibe.