November 30,  2002

      We still  haven't gotten to discussing the previously mentioned email.  How does life get away from us so quickly?  It seems like Monday just starts when Friday actually shows up.  If that makes any sense.   Between my work and His work, and seeing two shows a week, we are getting only one or two evenings during the week to sit down for dinner at home these days.

       A lot has happened in the past two weeks.  Himself left me another note complete with the heavier leather cuffs to put on, this past Tuesday.  We haven't been scening, but have been staying consistent with all the rituals and that's been very good for both of us.  (Well, no scening unless you count the innumerable times He's tossed me over His knee and swatted my butt!  my "cheeks" tend to pay for my cheekiness :)

      i've had the dentist appointment from hell.  i'm in the process of getting my first crown (am i supposed to be proud of this?)  i went in to have the temporary one removed and the permanent one put in place.  Six needles later, plus one poke at a live nerve and i came home with the temporary one back in.  The permanent crown didn't fit!  What a nightmare!  i am so not looking forward to the next visit :(

      i haven't had much time for sketching or painting.  Did do one drawing of a naked pregnant lady (i seemed obsessed with them) that i liked, but i'm feeling frustrated from the lack of time.  i'm getting good advice, but am not able to put it into practice as much as i'd like.  i guess that's the fate of the artistic process.  Just when you want to pick up a pencil or start to write something, either the phone rings, or the boss says he needs an appointment booked.  Work.  Blech.

      Speaking of which, work hasn't slowed down much at all.  In fact i've had more responsibilities heaped on me.  And Himself acknowledged that the pace of this past year at my place of employment is showing on me.  Him too though.  We are both starting to show our age - and while i don't mind Him getting that older, handsome look that some men get, i really do resent my own aging process.  But then that's no secret to those who know me anyway :)

      Still, a year of hibernation from all work pressures for both of us would be a cool thing.  Yet i imagine there will come a day when we are in fact doing that and wondering why we are bored.  i just wish it could happen before we share the creaks and groans of age.

      my daughter had a hissy fit at me last week.  i think she's feeling a bit alienated and alone these days - and definitely neglected by me.  Here i am thinking she wants her space and to be left alone - when in reality she's getting ticked because i don't call often.  

      Problem is, when i call often, then she complains because it costs her money. (cell phone user) So i suggest icq, yet she's rarely on the computer.  And i hate calling her father's house.  And i hate going back there - i don't feel like i belong in that city at all, plus staying over night isn't really an option with our schedules.  i did promise to go and take her out for her birthday however.  And i've been calling her cell phone anyway, with the promise of sending some money for the long distance charges.  kids can be confusing sometimes.

      i was going to go further on some of the other things she and i sorted out, but then it occurred to me that perhaps she wouldn't want to be discussed in an online journal (unless it was all good things, lol) so i've opted on the side of discretion.  

      Which leads my mind to the play Himself and i saw last night.  There were a few spots in it that hit really close to home for me.  It was about a couple and their relationship problems and the child they had together hovered on the edges of the scenes, explaining his perceptions of what happened.

      There was one particularly heavy scene that hit home to me.  The parents are fighting, the mother is obviously drunk, dishes get broken.  Then the father leaves for his music gig (he's a musician) and the mother proceeds to get even drunker, and considers jumping off the balcony.  The son talks her down and puts her to bed.  The story continues on with more, but it all started bringing back memories for me.  

       i'm sure i've talked of this before, but it needs to come out again anyway.

      my father would leave on a weekend drinking binge with his buddies.  my mother would keep me up late at night while she drank herself into oblivion. Other nights they would drink together, then fight together.  Often there would be broken dishes.  Often they would hit each other, and the police would be called.  i'd usually do the calling.  Sometimes i was the recipient of her fists.  And just like in the play, once i'd left home, i'd still receive phone calls in the middle of the night from the police, to come and get her.  And she'd tell me things about her relationships and being adult that i should not have been told.  Is it ever right to tell your 16 year old that you are having an affair and your father is a lousy lay?  Then why did he have his hands constantly on me?

      i guess the memories never do go away.  They ease - and my adult self can now understand the roller coaster of emotion and substance abuse that was happening.  Yet i still struggle with finding the charitable forgiveness that moralists will insist i should find.  And with that struggle comes the guilt for not finding it.  Perhaps if i'd had the opportunity to ask them both just what it was they thought was happening, i'd have gained a deeper understanding, and could find a better place to store my memories.  But now it feels like the memories are stored in some rusty old bucket deep in my mind.  And it tips from time to time. 

      “Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it.”
--Salvador Dali      

      Hint:  email

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