It set you up

To be my usual difficult self; I hated Catcher in the Rye and didn't much care for On the Road, however, I love everything everything else by Salinger and Kerouac. Their short stories, poems, novels, nonfiction, all of it. Just not the one that became iconic and allowed them to fall into their deepest and worst selves. Because, that's what success does, it ruins people unless their flaws don't get the best of them and they can manage all that they have to become when their lives don't belong to them anymore.
Even though most of us know this, success, fame and fortune are still so desirable and make us believe we will achieve something lasting and permanent.
I think that our flaws still manage to control a big part of our inner lives, as in those demons that remain hidden and so powerful because they command such a big part of our salary. So, if we admit and accept them, does it give them less voracity, or only manage to name some, shine a light on them and let the rest scurry away for a cameo at a later date.

Save the shame for me

I'm vague. To break that down a bit, not quite all here, foggy, distant; mostly forgetful. It's not the end of the world to not be all there, but people around me are used to me being razor sharp so for them, it's a bit of a change.
Jake is 20; no longer a teen. That's huge. When this process of writing about the idiosyncrasies of having teenagers and being of a less than mature mindset began, he was sixteen, or for a more realistic sense, he was a stratum of difficult; I'm guessing, so was I, just an entirely different set of concerns and trouble.
Jack Henry is 15 today, he still insists on a kiss goodnight, an I love you when he leaves for school and is just beginning to face the horrific challenges of puberty and young adulthood. In other words he's not glum, sullen or angry aka, Eamon, Jake and Gus.

All I have to do

For the first time in 23 years, I willingly slept apart from Eamon while residing in the same domicile.
Last night I stepped away from the not even near human sounds that emit from my husband's portals (?), and after kicking and hitting and screaming at him for two hours, went downstairs to sleep on the couch; oh how I love the quiet tranquil sounds of Griffin, trains, bulldozers, anything that isn't the man I love snoring his head off.
Unfortunately, there is no solution but for distance. We've tried with a host of possibilities; pillows, ointments, incantations and sprays, all to no avail.
It's remarkable how many people will tell you how they have not been sleeping with their spouse or significant other for years because of similar conundrums. They love to tell you how they can actually function properly after having been certifiable for years due to the constant interruptions in normal sleep patterns. I've said it before, I feel as though I have a newborn and know that even when he's quiet for awhile, at any moment that motor could start right back up again.

I'd like to turn off time

Oh, the genteel life of being the lone female in a household. The joys of constant torment, ribbing and sadism.
I worked Saturday, but for the rest of the long holiday weekend, I was home with the brood. Eamon was constantly singing lines from Flagpole Sitta and like a virus Jack and I became infected and at arbitrary moments would start singing lines as well.
Later in the day, as I was working on the computer and actually found a video to get the entire song rolling rather than the same line, Eamon said to me,
"Do you like Jonathan Winters? My Mom despises him."
I said, " I don't like him much."
A little later I was singing again, and he said to me,
"Why are you singing a song about someone you despise? You know Jonathon Winters climbed up a flagpole once."
Me, "Where did you get the idea that I despised him, that's what you said about your mom."
"Well you hate him too"
"Um, no I don't, actually I hate you."

That's unexpected

Pat Robertson is not an example of how people are reacting to the Earthquake in Haiti. There are millions of people, plenty of whom are struggling to manage, who have donated money, time, blood anything to help. And then, there are people like Pat, and Rush who just hate. We all can hate, but most of us don't make a living out of it so it is not our first reaction to a crisis.
Last night Eamon and I met for a drink at a place called the Pub, there is not much that is remarkable about this restaurant except for the back lounge area, which is about as accurate a replica as one can get of a true British neighborhood pub, and the fact that our waiter looked like Tom Jones in a kilt. In fact, the reason I wanted to go there was to sit by the fire in a leather lounger and have a drink and chat. Needless to say, that area was being used by a private party. They were only sitting at one big table, but because making space exclusive is such a huge part of our culture, those of us who don't belong never get to forget it.

Two meanings

Yesterday as I was pulling out of my garage in order to park the car so I could go back and give the cat who lives out there some treats, I smashed into Jake's miniature car with enough force to crush and grind walnuts in the shell. I got out of the car to assess the damage, swearing my head off, berating myself for being an idiot and cursing the saying about good deeds and some such.
Miraculously, there was no damage to either car, which seems out of the realm of possibilities but there just wasn't.
Later, when I was done with my outing of gathering goods, Jake called me, and in a moment of candid abandon, I told him I had hit his car. He proceeded to scream at me about how irresponsible I was for not having called the police and my insurance company. I tried to explain to him that because the impact had not left any evidence, there was no problem and he didn't need to worry. Later he sent me a series of texts mentioning honesty, responsibility and various charges regarding my lack of protocol regarding "the accident". This is all from an individual who has registered for college this week, not at the school at which his Father is employed, which would enable him to go for free.

Where the garden used to be

I'm feeling mighty claustrophobic these days. I think it's been at least two weeks since there has been sun. These are the grey days, that melt into night. It presses down upon us with a consistency that cannot be matched by any other lighting here.
I have a friend whom I walk with in the metro park, she suggested last year that we try and embrace the winter, spend time outside; because, when your looking at it through a window, or just going from one place to another, it becomes the enemy. I don't mind the snow or the cold, I cannot abide the lack of sky.

Each morning at dawning

The aftermath of the holidays. In today's case, ten inches of snow has fallen with no end in sight. For some reason on these days I feel compelled to go to the store and buy a lot of meat, as if we might not be able to get out for a few months. Apparently, I want to avoid a cannibalistic episode.
Gus was accepted to Ohio State University last week. He was confident that he would have no trouble, but because he has applied to very few colleges I was a little on edge. When I think about our house without him there for the better part of the next four or five years, I recognize that gradually all of these fellows will be moving on and making their own way. In fact, in a fit of rage and frustration Jake has let me know that California is very appealing to him right about now. It being no wonder, as he's the one who takes it upon himself to organize the freezer.