School conference with Aja's teacher today. She does well in school, but needs some work with letter sounds and math concepts. She is fine though and tries hard. I think she gets frustrated too easily.
I am sick. It is really terrible to be sick. Ianthe fell asleep counting pennies today at 11:30. She must have been pretty wiped out.
We had lots of fun on Halloween, in Bayport. Aja and Harrison went out ahead of us and arrived home about five minutes before Cris, Ianthe and me. Cris took them back out again. They were too afraid of some of the spookier houses.
 |
| Scary Pirate Harrison and Spooky Ghost Aja! |
 |
| /rolls eyes |
I once was a river
trees standing tall
never enough time to grow
the wind seems so
restless the snow so cold
Once I could speak
but now there are no words
My lab is small
the wall are white
one of my assistants is
a little girl with curls
and a puffy yellow dress.
The other is a man
in a lab coat. his hair
is thin and dark -
balding at the top.
They each stand in wait
with chalk by the board
man to the left girl
to the right.
November 5, 1987
Before I was born, I went with my other and father to Banff National Park in Alberta, Canada. There is a black and white picture, with crinkly edges (the old fashioned kind, you know) of my mother with her big fat pregnant belly. This is me. I know it and feel it, more surely than any other early memory. I am reminded of my own children - Aja in utero attending the Alice Cooper concert - she did not like it. Ianthe went to REM a month before she was born. I danced - she didn't even twitch - she never did - nothing then or now ever phases her.
Magic, Cris is taking a very intellectual approach. I doubt it will ever work for him. Me, I've gone through believing in it. I have feared it and realized that truly fearing something is the same as knowing it is real - so I just shifted focus. Fear is not a good approach.
I want to help Cris, but I think although he thinks it is his own doing, he is helpless. He wants proof - I've already had it. I will make him an "altar" - he is so into ceremony. I'll stock it with glass vials and wool cloth and many colored candles. I'll get him another mortar and pestle (maybe his mom still has ours) and a beautiful glass tray in which to burn things. I'll get him a glass pan to make an infusion. Maybe even stock the vials with a few remote herbs. Oh, how exciting.
I want to help Cris, but I think although he thinks it is his own doing, he is helpless. He wants proof - I've already had it. I will make him an "altar" - he is so into ceremony. I'll stock it with glass vials and wool cloth and many colored candles. I'll get him another mortar and pestle (maybe his mom still has ours) and a beautiful glass tray in which to burn things. I'll get him a glass pan to make an infusion. Maybe even stock the vials with a few remote herbs. Oh, how exciting.
========================================
I live in a very black and white world. I am the star of my existence. I have and always will be. It comforts me to know my story starts and ends with me.
When I was a young mother, I wished I could disappear. I found a book on magic that talked about how you could become invisible. He wasn't talking about becoming invisible in the "poof" gone sort of way - it was more along the lines of "blending" in. That thought really appealed to me. I practiced.
I dressed up sometimes. Wore clothes that were not mine - that I had bought at a garage sale or been given by a friend. I would do up my hair in a different style. I would paint my face with makeup - I never wear make up - I did in high school, but haven't since. I like my face just fine thank you.
I would look totally NOT ME. I went to places that I knew Cris would be at: Uptown, the Walker Art Center, an Art Crawl downtown. I would casually walk around using the "blending" techniques. Breathe in slowly, hold, breathe out slowly, breathe. Stay to the edges, move slowly. Stay out of sight lines.
I would watch Cris with Char. I was insane with jealousy. At this point in my life, I do not understand why I could spend so much time "stalking" my own husband, confused about why he had chosen another, believing it HAD to be me. I knew about Char in July - Ianthe was born in September. I finally left him for good in June, before Ianthe turned three. That is a long time to torture one's self. Why did I do that to myself. I know now. The patterns of existence. I have routines. I hate my routines to be disrupted. But back then, I didn't know that Asperger's ruled my thoughts, ruled my behavior. Ruled my doubt.
You know that feeling in your stomach? The one that makes you slightly sick - the adrenaline being released - the slow burn? Think of that. Three years. And I thought I was the one at fault. I wasn't a good enough wife. I didn't cook well enough. I didn't keep the house clean enough, I didn't read the labels right: bough creamed corn instead of whole kernel. But it wasn't me at all. I was good enough. It was not me. It was him.
I enjoyed my invisible self. I was no one. I could walk freely around unafraid. I asked the neighbor downstairs to listen for my babies, if they cried. Then donning my stranger's clothing, I would take the bus to Uptown and walk around, following Cris and Char. They never once saw me. I enjoyed it as much as I was pained by it. I think I enjoyed the secret me - it was the free me - the normal human with no children me. I was not ME. I was what others were to me. A Stranger.
Sometimes now, I wish I could disappear. To become invisible. I wish I were invisible now. To disappear from the world. To work in the dark. Alone. All Alone, very quiet, only the sound of the bubbles in my can of coke and the bouncing of the keyboard as I type, and the quiet pat, pat, pat as another cat comes to see what I have written tonight.
A secret. The story starts and ends with me. I am not afraid of that.
When I was a young mother, I wished I could disappear. I found a book on magic that talked about how you could become invisible. He wasn't talking about becoming invisible in the "poof" gone sort of way - it was more along the lines of "blending" in. That thought really appealed to me. I practiced.
I dressed up sometimes. Wore clothes that were not mine - that I had bought at a garage sale or been given by a friend. I would do up my hair in a different style. I would paint my face with makeup - I never wear make up - I did in high school, but haven't since. I like my face just fine thank you.
I would look totally NOT ME. I went to places that I knew Cris would be at: Uptown, the Walker Art Center, an Art Crawl downtown. I would casually walk around using the "blending" techniques. Breathe in slowly, hold, breathe out slowly, breathe. Stay to the edges, move slowly. Stay out of sight lines.
I would watch Cris with Char. I was insane with jealousy. At this point in my life, I do not understand why I could spend so much time "stalking" my own husband, confused about why he had chosen another, believing it HAD to be me. I knew about Char in July - Ianthe was born in September. I finally left him for good in June, before Ianthe turned three. That is a long time to torture one's self. Why did I do that to myself. I know now. The patterns of existence. I have routines. I hate my routines to be disrupted. But back then, I didn't know that Asperger's ruled my thoughts, ruled my behavior. Ruled my doubt.
You know that feeling in your stomach? The one that makes you slightly sick - the adrenaline being released - the slow burn? Think of that. Three years. And I thought I was the one at fault. I wasn't a good enough wife. I didn't cook well enough. I didn't keep the house clean enough, I didn't read the labels right: bough creamed corn instead of whole kernel. But it wasn't me at all. I was good enough. It was not me. It was him.
I enjoyed my invisible self. I was no one. I could walk freely around unafraid. I asked the neighbor downstairs to listen for my babies, if they cried. Then donning my stranger's clothing, I would take the bus to Uptown and walk around, following Cris and Char. They never once saw me. I enjoyed it as much as I was pained by it. I think I enjoyed the secret me - it was the free me - the normal human with no children me. I was not ME. I was what others were to me. A Stranger.
Sometimes now, I wish I could disappear. To become invisible. I wish I were invisible now. To disappear from the world. To work in the dark. Alone. All Alone, very quiet, only the sound of the bubbles in my can of coke and the bouncing of the keyboard as I type, and the quiet pat, pat, pat as another cat comes to see what I have written tonight.
A secret. The story starts and ends with me. I am not afraid of that.
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