Then Again Maybe I Won't

I'm flip flopping.

I decided to get a rental house in Norman and move in June. I had decided, I tell you!
Then last night I decided I'd just stay in the apartment until the 20th Street house sells. I can't keep my mind made-up. It makes me tired.

Grayson was sick Sunday and Monday, and so I stayed home with him on Monday. By 3:00, when Bob called me from the laundromat in Norman, I was stir crazy. So sweet Bob drove up to the city with all the fixin's for a homemade pizza, to entertain me and make us dinner.


A week from Friday, Grayson has a slumber party at Dylan and Lauren's house to celebrate Dylan's birthday. (I think he's actually turning 12!) This means, of course, a whole night with "Laaaaaaaaauuuuurrrrren," as Grayson says it. Lauren, in case I haven't mentioned it, is Dylan's sister, aged 9, and the current love of Grayson's life. I reminded him to behave like a gentleman... not do a lot of hugging and hanging on her. And not to forget that he was actually there to see DYLAN, not Lauren! He assured me he would.

But here's a little video of his reaction when I told him he was going to the sleepover, and that Lauren would be there:

Ah... young love. And what a great galumphing goober my son is.

In Which I Plant a Garden and Mourn a Garden

I stopped by Horn Seed Co. yesterday and picked up a few plants. Then I swung by the old house and hijacked some planters from the back deck and brought them back to the apartment. I hauled them upstairs and out onto the balcony and proceeded to plant my "garden."

There was a mixed feeling about doing so. Walking up and down the aisles of tiny little vegetable plants at Horns, I couldn't help but feel sad to think all the plants I wouldn't be buying this year... of my beautiful raised bed garden at the old house, sitting uncultivated and forlorn this spring... the herbs running wild, last year's dead and dried up old pepper and tomato plants collapsed in their beds. I felt like crying.

But instead I bought a pepper, a tomato, a basil plant, some mint and a rosemary plant, and planted each of them in their pots, watered them, and sat among them in the warm afternoon sunlight. This is my garden this year. I will grow veggies and herbs here on my balcony and enjoy the fruits of my labor, even without a full garden or a yard of my own to plant it in. I can't feel sorry for myself with so much to be glad of.

Contradiction

Okay, remind me next time that it's NOT a good idea to drink a bottle of wine before bed. Seriously.

I woke up this morning, pushed the elephant off my head, ground some of the gravel out of my eyes and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. There I found the mostly-empty jumbo economy size bottle of wine. Blink. Blink. Wow, I thought, who drank all that wine? Oh, hell, it must have been me.

Ah! That explains the elephant!!!

Shit, I'm stupid. Here I had a nice quiet night all to myself to recover from a weekend slammed with crazy-busy work events and late nights with Bob... and I had to go and pour a bottle of wine over the whole thing. Consequently, I feel today just like I did all weekend: exhausted and bleary. Okay, chalk it up to yet another teachable moment. Note to self: don't drink a bottle of wine before bed. Nuff said.

Perhaps I felt like I owed myself some relaxation after my busy weekend. I had a museum event on Saturday night (standing around in heels for three hours smiling at people) and a trade show Sunday afternoon (standing around in a booth, smiling at people and SHOUTING over the loud music for five hours). There's just something about working a trade show that sucks your soul away. Maybe it's the fake smile. Maybe it's saying the same thing over and over and over. Maybe it's the despair brought on by the inevitable person who asks you if the dinosaurs were killed in the flood or if the museum teaches evolution. (no and yes) Or maybe it's just the barage of noise and people and the tedium of it. I don't know, but I hate hate hate working trade shows. I know it's a necessary evil, but god I hate it.

The upside of the weekend was the time I got to spend with Bob, but mostly that was after 9 p.m., which means we'd be up until 2 or 3 in the morning. And since he has his son beginning at about 7 a.m. on weekend days all spring, I was obliged to drive home in the wee hours. The result: I'm tired. My own fault, I realize.

Yesterday was Gray's birthday. I feel a little bad about not even saying Happy Birthday when I spoke with him briefly on the phone. But he was dumping me on my birthday, (he had taken off to a hotel for a week to see if he wanted to stay married to me or not, and didn't even call). So I feel like I should be relieved of any birthday guilt where he's concerned. He's 37 now... chasing death quick into middle age. I'm sure the breath of the reaper is that much colder on his neck now that he's one year closer. Stupid. To waste your life feeling sorry for yourself that you're not 18 any more is absurd. He deserves whatever misery he makes for himself.

I, however, did not deserve the misery he made for me. Sometimes, yes, I'm still pissed off. It's a real contradiction, being simultaneously relieved that I don't have to put up with his shit and pissed off at him for tearing my life apart so coldly. But that's part of the Divorce Deal. You learn to live with contradiction.

I think I'm re-experiencing these feelings now because I am so tired of waiting for the house to sell. I realized recently that part of what's bugging me is the lack of a time-line. I know now what I'm going to do (i.e. move to Norman), but I have no discernable event horizon. I just have to live in limbo until the damned house sells. I don't even know what summer program to enroll Grayson in because I don't know what city he'll be in come June or July. I can't seriously look at houses because I'm completely incapable of getting a loan until the house sells. I suppose in May I could look for a rental. But I prefer to buy one if I can. I've just been a home owner for too long to feel settled in a rental. It feels temporary and I'm ready for something in my life to feel permanent again. I'm ready to go on to the next thing. But the house is like a ball and chain, anchoring me to the spot. Anchoring me to Gray and Oklahoma City and the limbo I've been living in since October. It's as if my divorce won't truly be final until I'm no longer tied to Gray by a shared mortgage.

My point being, that being unable to move on with my life kind of makes me feel pissed at Gray again. It is, after all, his fault that I am where I am, regardless of how I now feel about it. Again: contradiction. That fucker.