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rm- Everything is installed. I actually had cash to tip the guy (I never, ever have cash), and it's over. And I cleaned a lot more. And of course I feel all emotionally crazy again (but I am not having a panic attack, and I am not in pysical pain, which is more than I can say about last week)
- The mouse remains unconquered.
- I get to go to fencing tonight. I've not been writing about it lately and I've only been going once a week since the crisis stuff started, but I have been going. My technique got weak with the lack of regular scheduling that began in August, but I'm becoming a smarter and smarter fencer and a less fearful/more agressive one.
There are moments where I don't care about it at all anymore, where it doesn't change me, where it doesn't feel real, where it's just a game, where I know I was never meant to fight anything in any way and I feel like an idiot for ever thinking otherwise. Why do I do this?
And then there are moments where it's like the only thing I was ever made for, and it saved me, you know. Fencing is very very complicated, both as an act and as a thing in my head, and my fencing master is right, it is like a mistress. Somehow that is only clear today.
- I saw my father last night. He lost 30 pounds in the hospital. This is a good thing. A bad thing is the way he shuffles now, the way he hunches over. My father was never a big man, not really, a bit overweight and only 5'10", but you know how yuo all think I'm taller than I am? I learned that first not from books or movies or acting class, but from my father and from Madison Avenue, and the shuffling drives me crazy, not because he is old and weak, but because he doesn't have to shuffle. He shuffles because he is afraid and tired. My father has always been both, but he used to hide it better.
If any of you don't know, my mother is much much younger thang my father. Surely, she's known for about 40 years that this is what she signed up for. But she didn't, not really, until this week.
She kept calling him "daddy" last night when she spoke to me about him. "His name is Jim," I said. "Surely, there's been enough indignities this week that you can use his name in my presence." She laughed, but we all know, we all have to know that that was the moment where everything changed, even if we can't tell how yet.
We haven't told my father about the burglary for the sake of his blood pressure. That's going to be awkward soon when he asks me to come over and photo things for him (as he often does).
- I'm pretty rad in a crisis. And pretty good at functioning in spite of one. I suck at the aftermath, though. I suck in the do nothing hours of the dark.
- I have a million coping mechanisms for when I have to be strong. and a million more for when I have to endure. I know the lives to borrow for that, the names, the men, and the bitter jokes. But despite how often I do it, I haven't the slightest idea how to have a good cry and then not linger on it in frustration. We are none of us entirely what we wish, but then none of us, not even me, actually get script writers.
- My desk area still isn't really useable, but today is the first day since I've got my own computer on and can manage some typing at it.
- I also can't find the tiny little attachment for my iPod that lets me record audio to it. I doubt they stole it because I don't see why they would know what it is. I just hope it wasn't crushed under foot somewhere, as Patty and I use it for messages to email when she is away, and I also use it for podfics and the like. In the scheme of things, it's relatively cheap to replace ($70) but that list doesn't need to get longer.
- I did find my wings. Undamaged.
- Gah. Off to work.
- The mouse remains unconquered.
- I get to go to fencing tonight. I've not been writing about it lately and I've only been going once a week since the crisis stuff started, but I have been going. My technique got weak with the lack of regular scheduling that began in August, but I'm becoming a smarter and smarter fencer and a less fearful/more agressive one.
There are moments where I don't care about it at all anymore, where it doesn't change me, where it doesn't feel real, where it's just a game, where I know I was never meant to fight anything in any way and I feel like an idiot for ever thinking otherwise. Why do I do this?
And then there are moments where it's like the only thing I was ever made for, and it saved me, you know. Fencing is very very complicated, both as an act and as a thing in my head, and my fencing master is right, it is like a mistress. Somehow that is only clear today.
- I saw my father last night. He lost 30 pounds in the hospital. This is a good thing. A bad thing is the way he shuffles now, the way he hunches over. My father was never a big man, not really, a bit overweight and only 5'10", but you know how yuo all think I'm taller than I am? I learned that first not from books or movies or acting class, but from my father and from Madison Avenue, and the shuffling drives me crazy, not because he is old and weak, but because he doesn't have to shuffle. He shuffles because he is afraid and tired. My father has always been both, but he used to hide it better.
If any of you don't know, my mother is much much younger thang my father. Surely, she's known for about 40 years that this is what she signed up for. But she didn't, not really, until this week.
She kept calling him "daddy" last night when she spoke to me about him. "His name is Jim," I said. "Surely, there's been enough indignities this week that you can use his name in my presence." She laughed, but we all know, we all have to know that that was the moment where everything changed, even if we can't tell how yet.
We haven't told my father about the burglary for the sake of his blood pressure. That's going to be awkward soon when he asks me to come over and photo things for him (as he often does).
- I'm pretty rad in a crisis. And pretty good at functioning in spite of one. I suck at the aftermath, though. I suck in the do nothing hours of the dark.
- I have a million coping mechanisms for when I have to be strong. and a million more for when I have to endure. I know the lives to borrow for that, the names, the men, and the bitter jokes. But despite how often I do it, I haven't the slightest idea how to have a good cry and then not linger on it in frustration. We are none of us entirely what we wish, but then none of us, not even me, actually get script writers.
- My desk area still isn't really useable, but today is the first day since I've got my own computer on and can manage some typing at it.
- I also can't find the tiny little attachment for my iPod that lets me record audio to it. I doubt they stole it because I don't see why they would know what it is. I just hope it wasn't crushed under foot somewhere, as Patty and I use it for messages to email when she is away, and I also use it for podfics and the like. In the scheme of things, it's relatively cheap to replace ($70) but that list doesn't need to get longer.
- I did find my wings. Undamaged.
- Gah. Off to work.
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:21 pm (UTC)Yup.
My mom refers to him as "daddy" as well, but I know that's a holdover from *her* family. (My nausea at the word has had me strictly calling him "dad" since I was about 13 or 14.)
Of course, in my family, it's my mother's health we're all concerned about. That adds its own flavor of heartbreak. (My dad's exwife passed away several years ago from lung cancer, so it's all extra poignant.)
no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 04:37 pm (UTC)And then there are moments where it's like the only thing I was ever made for, and it saved me, you know. Fencing is very very complicated, both as an act and as a thing in my head, and my fencing master is right, it is like a mistress. Somehow that is only clear today.
Yup. Sometimes the victory is just showing up and putting your foot on the mat/floor.
Weird thing is, no matter how ambivalent I was about going, or how little I thought I'd get out of it, or even if I flat out didn't want to go, I never regret having gone in, after.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 05:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 08:07 pm (UTC)It is a horrible experience to be robbed...I count us lucky that we know for a fact it was a high school kid. Even though knowing who did it didn't give the cops reason to go after him.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-23 12:35 am (UTC)Healing from this sort of violation takes time.
It's hard not to shuffle in the hospital. They strip you of all your dignity.
When my father was in the hospital and rehab, as soon as they let him walk, he charged forward at speed, quick march. This was heartening at first. They eventually figured out that there was something wrong with his sense of balance; he couldn't walk slowly without wobbling. It was very metaphorical of my father, and somewhat of me.