I'm now at that point that I believe buying Trystan the voice changer wasn't one of my brightest ideas. We've heard Trystan through the little speaker all day since I got home from work early... as well as the characters from his cartoons, me, and the cats' breathing as they wouldn't cooperate and actually meow for him.
Well, my dress is bought for the shindig this weekend, so are the shoes, stockings and purse. Now I just have to make myself actually go the the salon and have my brows waxed tomorrow... I'm not much of one for that sort of thing but it really needs to be done and I can't bear the thought of going after them with the tweezers. I've been considering a manicure as well. Sheesh, how girly can I possibly be?
I'm trying to make myself stay up late enough that I can slip out later tonight and visit my friend who works the graveyard shift at a local convenience store so I can bitch about David not calling Tryst to tell him baby Belle was born. I'm still angry with him over that but it does explain why Trystan was trying to tell me that Belle wouldn't be like really having a baby sister. Obviously Trystan's much more in tune with their attitudes than I am.
as I am at this moment.
Several years ago, when Tryst was still just a toddler, I remember waking up from a dream with the voices from the dream still ringing in my head. I've never quite been able to recover from that dream, I guess you might say. Never in my life has a dream been so very real.
It took place over a period of not quite 24 hours. It was the dead of winter and, based on the clothes we wore, was set sometime from the mid 1500's to the mid 1600's. We were living in a tiny little village with a beach to the west of our lonely settlement.
I was in the dream but was not myself, I'd put my age in the late teens to early twenties and my name was Annaliese although the others in the dream pronounced it "Anna Lisa". I was living with a man and woman and their three children, two little boys and an older girl and I would say that my status there was more in the form of servant than anything else.
As the dream began, it was late evening and we were all sitting in a house that had little more than a single room with a fireplace. The fire in the hearth was blazing but it was still freezing. The air was think with smoke and oil and you could taste the bitterness in the air. The only light was from the fire and most of the room was cast in heavy shadow. There was a brittle tenseness in the air as well.
The winter was harder than we had anticipated and we knew, without any doubt, that we would not survive it. Bleakness was a heavy weight against my chest, bleakness and cold hard fear.
I wore heavy, think stockings and clumsy, clompy shoes. My dress was sewn from thick homespun cloth but provided little warmth despite the fact that it was terribly scratchy. I can still feel the stockings against the skin of my legs and the cold eating away at my bones while I breathed in acrid air that fought to freeze my throat.
The husband and I both wanted to go outside. Just after sunset we had begun to hear voices outside - laughter and gaiety that was more frantic and crazed than happy and we were concerned what it might mean. The wife demanded we stay inside, she was afraid of what would be discovered. We stayed awake all the night, all of us, no one wanting to close their eyes with the crazed laughing going on just outside the door. By the time the thin morning light filtered in around the chinks in the door, the noise has died away.
In the light of the morning, the husband and I, along with a handful of others from the few houses in the village, followed the footprints we found on the main road right down onto the beach where the surf had swallowed them up. There were fewer than a handful of families remaining along with a priest or minister of some kind.
We knew the others were gone, not to ever return. I could hear their laughter echoing in my head while I was speaking to the minister and discussing what might have happened. I could still hear that strange and amazingly creepy laughter when I woke and got out of bed that morning.
It was a strange dream. I've had other weird dreams but none of them so detailed as that one
We learned that in order to get Social Security to actually read the doctor's reports all you have to do is hire a disability lawyer. The hearing never even happened, SS reviewed the case on their own and decided in Mama's favor. She got her first SSI check yesterday and I think I'm going to be ill... she's getting almost $500 more a month on disability than I am by working my tail off trying to support the three of us.
Trystan loves 5th grade and is diligently working to make the honor roll so he can have his hair bleached blond. I don't care about the hair and his father will just have to deal with it if he wants the kid to make the honor roll because the bleaching bribe is the only one that I've found that seems to work.
Trent is coming back to town the last weekend of this month for a party being thrown by Villa Muse and The Texas Film Commission and he invited me to attend it with him. Now I get to go find a fancy dress... or rather make a Monte Carlo dress because I came across the pattern this afternoon and fell in love. And I saw the perfect fabric when I was at Hancock last weekend.
The four cats who I had made plans to take to the vet earlier this summer and who got to the tom cats before I did got them to the vet all had their kittens within a week of each other. The toms responsible have all paid visits to the vet, even the neighborhood toms that aren't actually ours, and now we're just waiting until the mamas are all done weaning. Thankfully, we've found homes for all but a few of the babies.
My trip to California to spend the weekend away from my life is back on and almost has a specific weekend. Either the third or fourth weekend in November. I don't think Trent is going to believe me until he actually picks me up at the airport.
There's more but I'm tired and can't think of what it is...
So I took Tryst for a haircut today.
The idea was that I would take him before his dad got a look at him recently so that Tryst could pick his own hairstyle. I feel that a ten year-old has every right to have his hair any way he wants it. After all, if he isn't ever allowed to make his own choices and mistakes when is he going to learn? I'd rather he learn from his mistakes now instead of when he's in his twenties. And really, what difference does it make in the broader scheme of things what his hair looks like? None at all, thank you very much. His father and I don't see eye to eye on this.
Obviously, I'm not one of those mothers who must control every (or even most) aspects of my child's life. I'm raising a man, not an eternal Peter Pan boy who doesn't know when or how to fend for or think for himself. That said, I still expect him to be kind and thoughtful and helpful around the house and he's proven to be all those things so far.
He just hopped on his bicycle to ride down to his buddy, Jarron's, house to show off the modified mohawk he's sporting... complete with the sticky stuff that's making it stand up it's full 2-3 inch height from his forehead to the nape of his neck. He loves it, which is what's most important. And I must say that it does look cute. It's surely cuter on my 10 year-old than on the men I've seen sporting the same look at work.
I deal with customer support emails at work.
- people who don't bother to spell correctly, use capitalization or punctuation but still expect me to know what the hell they're talking about (if you wish to be thoroughly understood, use proper English)
- threats to go elsewhere when they have their first error after admittedly using the service for many years without any problems (get a freaking life and grow up, why don't you, nothing's perfect)
- getting angry with the service because they were idiots and can't remember their own bloody account name (you set your own account name, make it something you're going to bloody well remember)
- threatening legal action just because the off the wall requests they have made is denied (go ahead and contact your lawyer, but you might want to read through those terms of sale and use that you agreed to)
- name calling (ah, yes, yesterday I was officially a pompous bitch because the "gentleman" couldn't actually explain the issue he was having dealt with a completely different machine than he originally indicated)
- starting out rude and obnoxious (I didn't personally do whatever it was and you being grouchy only makes me and my co-workers not want to do anything for you - when you're sweet we'll bend over backwards to find you a solution)
- being angry that they did not bother to read the terms of sale/use that they agreed to when they first signed up with the service (Do people honestly agree to things without first finding out what they're agreeing to? Have we learned nothing as a society?)
- people who want something for nothing (yeah right... your free song didn't download, so sorry but I'm not giving you a refund for something you didn't BUY to begin with, you can try the download again though)
- all caps (no one likes to be yelled at, and all caps gives me a headache when I have to read an email that's filled with them)
I'm going home now...
Austin hit 104 yesterday and it was so hot in the house last night that I thought I'd never get to sleep. The next time I decide I don't have to live in a house with AC simply based on the fact that we didn't have AC when I was growing up, someone kick me. While the new addition of the box fan was better than nothing, hot circulating air is still hot air.
Once I did finally drift off, I dreamed about being pregnant. Oddly enough, a friend of mine was in the dream with me and was pregnant as well. I was happy about the impending babies (I was positive I was expecting twins) but had not yet told my family about it. So based on what I know of the symbolism of dreams, this is supposed to indicate that new opportunities for growth (relationships, career-wise, etc) are available to me. I can deal with that kind of growth. It's the dreams of tornadoes that I hate - they always precede violent upheavals in my life.
I have an interview for a badged position at work today. I'm not pinning any hopes to it, but I would really like this position. Not only would it ensure that I would continue to have a job after my temporary contract is up, I think it's a really good position and something I would truly like to do. I've interviewed twice already and didn't get the positions but the job description has recently changed a bit. Regardless, I've already started going around applying and interviewing for alternate jobs elsewhere. I have the idea that I'd like to work a bit closer to home if I could.
So, Trent should be back in California now. And I'm still here in Texas...
It feels so childish, but I get that silly butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling when he touches me or when I remember him touching me. And we're not talking about anything romantic at all: me giving him a hand up from the bench when we were headed over to the juice place, his hands (wet from the fountains and water fight he had been engaged in with my son) against my neck when I commented that his hand on my cheek felt good after he was trying to get me back for not joining in on the water fight, our hugs goodbye.
God, I'm absolutely hopeless and immensely foolish. I find myself daydreaming when I'm supposed to be working or closing my eyes in the memory of something he did when I'm supposed to be watching the road while I'm driving. I feel like I'm 16 all over again, but in a good way not the confused way that my sixteenth year seemed to be at the time.
I'm an idiot. I don't have any idea how he feels. He's probably moved past whatever it was we shared five and a half years ago, and with good cause. I'm the one who's caught up in the memories. He probably is happy with me as the friend he sees periodically, the one who fusses at him via emails when he doesn't write often, the one whose issues he doesn't particularly have to deal with because I'm so far away and my issues are not few even if I try to keep them mostly to myself and this blog.
Doubly foolish is the stab of jealousy that spears right through me whenever he mentions another woman, even his cousin he's recently met and with whom he gets along famously. I think my blood ran kelly green for a minute when he mentioned she was the best person he'd ever known. I tell myself that it doesn't matter, he and I have been very close friends for 17 years. Really, I'm simultaneously thrilled that he has been able to make close bonds with his birth-family. That's what made the jealousy such a surprise.
Then comes the realization that I have absolutely nothing to offer him except myself and a ready-made family by way of my half-grown son. I want him to be happy, even if it isn't with me. Part of me doesn't think he could be happy with me and another part doesn't care.
I find it humorous that I'm so surprised when I see recent photos of old friends. In my mind's eye, they're all still eighteen, I suppose. But, my goodness, they seem to have changed so much... I don't think I've changed too terribly much except to have put on a good thirty-five pounds.