eaglesnest

I got bonked but good yesterday at Chuck E’ s by a wayward Skee ball. I do not recommend it and can only repeat how grateful I am that it wasn’t my little son who took the projectile to the noggin. It was well over 12 hours ago and I am not back to center, yet managed to connect all over North America.

I did call my Doc in Toronto and she assured me as long as I don’t have vision issues or vomit I will recover. Why a doctor in Toronto, you may well ask? 1. Cause she ain’t in Sweden right now. 2. My therapist in Texas didn’t return any of my calls!

It can get more international if you’d like — I was there with my friend from Germany and afterwards we went shopping at World Market. And for further long distance, I called my best friends in St Louis, Portland, South Dakota and San Francisco (well, I thought I was calling SF, but he was actually in NY when he picked up). All of that was after we placed a satellite call to the ship my son’s dad is a chef on. Before bed, I will try to call my other buddy in the Yukon .

I spent today on my bed, occasionally with damp washcloth over my eyes, not wanting to sit up or move much. I didn’t feel able to do many things and the one or two I did attend to were not major (eating, talking to neighbor briefly) or were not given as much energy as I’d have liked.

days like this I am glad for my Vonage phone but wish my global community were more of a local neighborhood.

sigh

sigh

sigh

Wonder what I am doing? Listening to the original cast recording of Camelot (the movie, not Broadway) and being melancholy — “never let it be forgot, for one brief shining moment” — always chokes me up. Maybe it’s how damned young Richard Harris was & how absolutely handsome he was.

Of course, it is also because it is a love story, and tonight (as happens a few nights here & there) I’d really like a love story again.

And as I am googling stuff and following tangents I found my way from Richard Harris to Richard Bach and I get angry and disappointed.

I, as so many of his {& Leslie’s} readers, was devastatedly heartbroken when they split. And however unfair (or not) we blamed Richard. And right now, tonight I am ticked at him again. What the frick is this ? Maybe I am exhausted and emotional, but c’mon — I can NOT get this to do anything.

Why were we all so angry & hurt? If you do not know I will simply tell you — theirs was a love story we told ourselves was unlike any other. Soul Mates . Beyond. Something we dreamed of attaining and damn if Richard with all his flaws (he laid them bare to us) could still manage to make it work with the wonderful Leslie, well, we the common folk had a chance for true love , too. There was hope.

I learned of the dissolution of the Bach - Parrish marriage just after a crushing end of my own relationship with the one I believed was “the One.” I was already in a low spot about true love and all that “crap” and to have seen a new book by Richard {from which it was immediately evident there was another woman in his life} had put me over an edge I had until then managed to avoid falling off of.

I remember sitting at my desk, in an office with an ocean view, reading his website and having it confirmed. I had been spending my days alone trying to find a place (not just to live, but to exist - a job, a niche, anything) for myself back here in Encinitas and my nights alone crying.

Then I had no longings for a new love story. I had no desire to ever allow myself to be heartbroken or destroyed. Many many things changed in the next few months. Among them was a tentative new relationship that I kept at arm’s length and my mother’s need to be cared for.

Fast forward and here I am - having just found a place (in all the ways - home, work, friends) for myself and I am alone again. That tentative relationship had softened me, had caused me to open up again, and it had withered and faded.

I am alone again. I do not want to ever be destroyed or be at the end of anything I believed so strongly in as I had “the One” (or to be very very honest - any of the very few I had believed were potentially the One). But I do want, I long to be open to another opportunity. I want another love story. And I have learned something which does put a huge lump in my throat as I type and tears in my eyes, but it is a truth and I have sadly and wisely learned it. They ARE love stories. And the really really perfect ones are like the ones in Camelot, and Richard {bless his mess anyway} & Leslie — they are heartbroken tales of love which can not survive forever. The only spot for “happily ever aftering” is in our souls.

I swear it feels like it’s the 82nd time I have tried to find the best way for things here at the townhouse — today I moved my home office BACK up to my bedroom (where I had it for half a day when we finally did get our internet installed).

At some point tomorrow when the roomie notices, I will very calmly & clearly explain — I HAVE to work. I tried to do that downstairs, but the 4 days a week she & her son are home, I spend more time dealing with disturbances than working. I can not put in enough hours on the 3 days they are not home. I need to be able to work first thing in the morning and as late at night as I can stay awake for some deadlines. I have to be able to work without stopping to calm the dog back down after he gets woken up and hyped up. I have to be able to make phone calls next to my computer to write articles , not try to hide in my bedroom and take written notes (my handwriting has completely devolved beyond hieroglyphics ).

If she really has a problem with this, I don’t know what else to do. I have tried & it isn’t working for my office space to be in the center of the living areas. PERIOD.

The living situation is not getting better.

Roommate & her son are not adjusting or trying to make things work.

My kids & I are making all sorts of routine changes to help accommodate them & their “schedule” and the chaos which ensues if the boys eat a meal together while the roommate is present or attempt to work out being two small boys living under the same roof.

- note — when I am the only adult present the boys can & do eat calmly together and can & do go to bed at the same time and stay in bed and go to sleep & we talk through any sharing issues or what-have-yous like civilized folk

Today a question asked by a 5 yr old was misheard and misconstrued and the roommate cracked, just how hard and how fully is yet to be seen, but among her words were that they were moving out ……

My work week was already curtailed by the power outage of Tuesday which lasted 12 hours plus and by a pre-arranged visit with the magic baby yesterday & the rest of that afternoon being consumed with trying to address the toy problem and the fact that everything that belongs to me or my 2 children is piled into my one bedroom [[as we wait for the roommate to move out of her bedroom and into her son’s bedroom (as per her suggestion, mind you)]] and therefore we tried to organize and manage so we can actually use the room since we end up stuck there for so much of our day.

And now it really seems as if the only way I will ever work is if I move my office BACK upstairs to my bedroom I now share with my son, the dog and everything that belongs to my daughter.

Yes … I am a bit stressed & am having a hellacious time trying to focus on major work piling up.

Unfortunately, the honest answer to the benign question my son asked my daughter “why don’t you like —- (the roommate’s son) when he is wild?” is that he is seriously affecting my work and my peace of mind, my daughter is not a happy camper to be in the midst of this drama, my dog has become justifiably nervous and upset around a child who torments him and my son can’t understand why his little buddy causes so much upheaval and I can’t keep juggling all of that and survive.

It isn’t so much that we do not like this child — we can not live around this child and the aftermath he causes .– we do not like when he is wild, Sam I am, not here or there, not anywhere.