I have not had any inspiring subjects to write about. Since moving, most of my thoughts are predominated by unpacking boxes and finding the right spot for end tables, lamps, and Costco cases of maxi pads. Geoff is responsible and motivated. Does he ever tire? He has plenty of drive for getting every last box opened and its contents appropriately distributed. I have plenty of drive for going up to Julian and seeing for myself what remains; and doing a little retail therapy.
And now it is Monday morning and I dearly wish I had devoted the entire weekend to organizing. The things I thought I could find are missing, and the things I no longer want to own are seemingly everywhere. I did go through all of Max's clothes to pull out the size 5s, and I stood by Geoff, for moral support, as he pared down his T shirt collection. I have nearly finished organizing the kitchen; where can the spoons, knives and forks possibly be? Looking for the boys immunization records I came across one last box of seasonings and cookie cutters, so obviously there is a little more to be accomplished en la cocina.
About those immunization records; today is supposedly the first day of kindergarten for Max, unless I can't find his records. This may become one of those days when a freakish variety of physical manifestations of my stress appear on my body; zits, hair loss, foaming at the mouth, doubling over with nervous tension and acute adult anxiety. In spite of my devoted labeling of every box and Geoff's regimented double checking of said labels, I cannot find the one box labeled: "Contents of Tall Green Cabinet." I am fixated on the hope that the three yellow cards in plastic sleeves are waiting for me in that one box which cannot be found.
There are brief glimmers, small moments, when I can imagine myself as organized and prepared, with beds made, skirts ironed, thank you cards sent off, and children fed and instilled with knowledge. In those moments I feel assured and ready. I can produce bank statements and medical records on demand. I can name my state representatives and the heads of state, and I know that Beethoven's 9th symphony isn't Ode to Joy. This alternate universe is not tangible, but just within sight; it torments me. Physical fitness, yoga and jogging, regular haircuts, occasional manicures, a clean car and three regular meals of balanced nutrition and inspired flavors, early vehicle registration, and cats trained to use the toilet, I want it all.
Last New Year's Eve I had a quiet moment to myself and I thought about making a resolution. I knew it should be about weight loss or learning to drive manual transmission, but I chose realism. I chose to set a goal that would at once challenge me and yet be reasonably attainable. I wanted to enjoy the pleasure of keeping my resolution, and I have. Since January of 2003, whenever I feel I need, or even just want, to go to the bathroom, I do. I pee freely. It is liberating to go even as children are asking for a favor or demanding attention. It is a relief to relieve myself even if the phone starts ringing, or one last task needs accomplishing. I no longer cross my legs in martyred sacrifice, and the feeling I have, from my small devotion to me, is a tangible ode to joy.
Now to find those dang records...
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