standard ishue–Katie

I’ve got about forty-five minutes to write my NaNo words before Sunday Football begins. I checked to see what channel my favorite team,The Ravens, would appear on today. And forgot that I now lived in Ohio, and they’re not on our local television. You know what that means?

I will have to turn to the dreaded Red Zone. Don’t know what that is? Let me explain in one little sentence:
The Red Zone is football on steroids, with a little ADHD added as a bonus. Every time any team playing at any particular time in a seven-hour period gets into the ‘Red Zone’ (twenty yards from the goal line) focus shifts to that game. Sometimes, there’s four screens on at once. Most of the time just one screen, jumping between games.

It’s enough to give me a headache.

No down time here. No commercials. No celebration when your team does score, because once that happens, they move to another game. Wait! I want to see a replay!

Ahh, there’s my purple team. What? No, that’s Minnesota. Crap.

I so looked forward to today’s game with Benny out. Let’s just hope that Flacco gets that offense into motion like he did last week and the Red Zone will pick them up. Often.

Damn. Now I have thirty minutes to write. Does this count for today’s words?

Hold on. Whoa. Ravens are playing tonight. That means they WILL be on national television. YAY! Guess what, honey? Ravens are on tonight! What was that? You ordered a Pay-Per-View. Wrestling? Survivor Series?

Anyone know a good divorce lawyer?

We’re here. After weeks of planning, paperwork, going-through-boxes-and-tossing, saying farewell to students and friends: we’re in Ohio.

Our furniture is delivered. I purchased a new sofa and chaise, washer and dryer, microwave, coffee maker–all the new things that I hopefully won’t have to buy again for another twenty years. My car is titled in Ohio. I see a new doctor on November 8. I love shopping with my sister-in-law. Only three boxes left to open and put away.

So, what’s the problem, you ask?

Frankenstorm. The Storm of the Century. The ‘other’ Perfect Storm. Destined to hit: Maryland.

Okay, look at the bright side. We’re here, Frankie’s there. Our belongings are safe. Well, some of them, anyway. But I’m visualizing the five or six boxes we left behind to bring back after Thanksgiving. The stuff we didn’t allow the movers to take because they meant so much we were afraid they were going to lose/destroy them. Pictures of the kids. Wood carvings from my great-grandfather. Knits my mother made while waiting up for me to get home from a date.

They’re stored in the basement of the old house. The basement that’s probably going to flood with the five to ten inches of rain forecasted. Ironic? Or fate?

Only time will tell. I’ll go worry some more now. And check the weather again.

We’ve done it. While on vacation last week, we put a deposit on a house and have been approved.

That was fun, actually. We went from place to place, examining toilets, dark dungeons, steep stairs, and the proximity of the windows (don’t want that west sun beating in during summer). We finally found something we both like–a townhouse.

Three floors of blissful peace, nooks and crannies to hide in, a lovely tree-covered patio for my muse, and ten minutes from my sister-in-law. At about half of what we’re paying now in Maryland. Perfect, eh?

We drove the nine hours home, excited with our find, making plans along the way. Then the shit hit the fan. Do you have any idea what a person has to do in order to move to another state? The amount of paperwork is incredible, not to mention quitting jobs, finding replacements, changing addresses with a gazillion different companies, getting my kids OUT OF THE HOUSE and settled elsewhere. What? Did you think we were taking them with us?

Oh, no, no, no. It’s time to push the chicks out of the nest. Again.

We did this once before. They wouldn’t leave, so we left them. They had the whole huge house they grew up in, we rented a much smaller home about fifteen minutes away. Somehow, they found their way back, and moved into our attic bedrooms. -_-

So, we went out and rented an apartment for our son, only five minutes away from his job (he’d been driving an hour to work from our place). Mission accomplished. Now he shows up on Sundays with laundry in hand. Okay. That works. But no more. No home-cooked dinners and free laundry service for him. *sigh*

My daughter and her boyfriend (both working) searched for an apartment. Still can’t afford one around here with both salaries. So boyfriend’s parents insisted on her moving in with them—gave them their own ‘suite’ of rooms for a measly $800 a month; they’ll split the cost. Doable. This morning, I found out that the money his parents are collecting will go into a savings account and be presented to them when they finally get married. Nice.

Mission accomplished. Babies are safe and taken care of. But some little niggle at the back of my brain tells me that I’m the one who will be weeping all the way to Ohio next month. Maybe I’ll get my husband to drive. Yeah. That’s a plan.

I’m a mean person to consider this a happy, happy day. The last of my teacher neighbors just left his driveway, and I giggle in glee. Yes, this is the day The Teachers Return To Work.

Oh, how I used to look forward to this day in anticipation. Eight o’clock meetings, with breakfast provided, catching up on everything my colleagues did over the summer break. Edward picked up a part-time job to get away from his six kids. Shelley spent the weeks at her parent’s home in Florida, basking on the beach. Maria slept late and otherwise enjoyed not paying daycare. Trudy communed with nature. Nancy traveled Europe (the bitch) to gain first-hand knowledge for her history classes. Sam spent his time catching up on all the ‘honey-do’ jobs he had no time for during the school year.

Okay, so I miss it. I miss the lesson plans, the camaraderie, the anticipation of new students, the wide-eyed innocence of the children, the ah-ha! when they get what you’re teaching. The power of knowing you impact a young mind.

This is the second beginning day I’ve missed since I went out on disability. I’ll never go back. Never again have the pleasure of seeing those faces, demonstrating musical instruments to a class, exulting in a well-performed concert.

This is a sad, sad day.

Today, we’re going to learn a lesson in backstabbing. There’s a right way and there’s a wrong way.

Let’s call our two antagonists Person X and Person Y. They dislike each other. Have for years, but face-to-face, they are sweet as Momma’s Apple Pie. Sickly sweet. Honey dripping down your fingers sweet. Bleh.

Wrong way:

Instant Message: “Person C, did you hear the latest on Person Y? That bitch just told Person M that Person Q is now dating Person P and they’re doing the nookie. Damn her, I’m dating Person P and we got this thang going. How dare she spread lies to all my friends!”

Reply: “How many instant message boxes do you have up, Person X?”

Instant Message: “Bout ten. U?”

Reply: “Only one. Yours. Oh, and by the way, this is Person Y.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Never become so involved with ten different people that you don’t remember who you’re Instant Messaging. Ever.

Right way:

Instant Message: “Hi, Person B. How are you?”

Reply: “Fine, Person X. U?”

Instant Message: “Good, good. Umm, what’s up?”

Reply: “Well, Person B is now getting it on with Person Y, and Person N is dating Person G, who also is going out with Person Y. Other than that, nothing much.”

Instant Message: “Who is this again?”

Reply: “Person B.”

Instant Message: “Oh, well in that case, I don’t know what anyone sees in Person Y, she’s such a . . .”

So, what lesson did you learn today? Always make sure the person you’re talking to is not the person you’re talking about.

My Stealth is on again.  I noticed it the third time someone pulled their car out in front of me.

The first two were obvious flukes.  One did that rolling stop at the sign.  The frantic look in his eye as he juggled coffee in one hand and his cell in the other–a sight to behold.

The second one squeezed between me and an eighteen wheeler.  I prayed the truck driver didn’t put on his brakes as I switched lanes.

No, it was the third one that clued me in.  The one growing bigger in my rear-view mirror, until all I could see was hood. Big red hood. Yikes! I sped up to avoid a collision, hitting eighty in one-point-three seconds.

Why do car manufacturers do that?  I didn’t order Stealth for my car.  As a matter of fact, I requested the really shiny one so everyone on the road could see me.

Ummm, including cops.  Damn.

Why doesn’t my Stealth work when I need it?

Why is it I’m ready to get going on a Saturday morning, and everyone else in the house is lazying around?  I want to go to Farmers’ Markets, Flea Markets, garage sales–and, darn, here I am online.  Waiting…

So I went out on the deck to fiddle with the flowers.

“How are you guys doing this morning?”

Silence.  But their pretty faces waved in the breeze.

“Do you need dead-heading?  Oops, didn’t mean to cut there.  Sorry.  Here, I’ll make it better.”  I try to push it back in the soil.  Didn’t work.  Lobbed off perfectly good flower.

“Don’t worry, you still look good.  Here, I’ll give you a drink of water.”  I proceed to drown each pot.  Hmmm, too much water?  Wish I had one of those things you stick in the soil and it tells you if it’s dry or not.  Maybe I’ll go get one while I’m out.  Oh, yeah.  Stuck at home waiting for people to MOVE THEIR ASSES.

I’m calm again.  Promise.  Back to dead-heading.  Think about why they call it that.  Oh, yeah.  Dead flower.  Lop off their head.  Dead-heading.

Wonder if I threaten to dead-head those lazy…..nope, wouldn’t work.  They know I wouldn’t do it.  Although the image is rather interesting.  “Off with their heads!”

God, I’m bored.

Dear Andy,

I finally found you.  So much happened to us ten years ago, but I’m sure you will agree that it’s all water under the bridge.  I was standing across the street the other day, watching you get in the car with your little girlfriend from next door.  It was early in the morning, so I guess you were both going to school.  You looked great, Andy, all grown up at sixteen and driving.  Your girlfriend is one hot chick.  I saw you take a quick glance around before kissing her in the car.  Nice.

Oh, I wanted to tell you I saw some other friends that you left behind.  Chatty Cathy was your mom’s doll, but you played with her, too.  You had me worried at first, fooling around with girl dolls.  When your mom brought me to you, though, I was a diversion from those chicks.  Made me feel good.  But, back to Chatty Cathy.  She was in a home for the mute because her voice box finally gave out.  I put her out of her misery.

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that you loved so much….are dead.  They put up a good stance, fought bravely, but they too succumbed.  Fluffy guts coming out of their stomachs, their backs and legs.  The air around us was covered in white, a snowstorm of silence.  It was beautiful.

Then I found your buddy, GI Joe.  He was your favorite.  Great guys, those military men.  He was so cocky, ready to defend you on a moment’s notice.  I remember he tried to trip me up one time, when I was reaching for you.  Put me in one of those wrestling holds–I think it was a pile driver– and dropped me off the side of the bed.  That hurt.  Felt good throwing him out of the tenth floor window once I found him.  He fell into the pool.  Drowned.  Oops.

I was disappointed your mom took you so far away.  That wasn’t nice, Andy.  I missed you and wanted to be with you.  I wanted us to join bodies and minds.  So we could be as one, like I had planned before.  Before you ran from me at the psychiatric ward they kept you in.  Before that stupid cop helped your mother try to burn me.  Before he tried to tear out my heart.

It didn’t work, Andy.  I’m back.  Ten years is a long time, but you’re in high school now.  I think I’ll walk over there to check out your friends, Andy.  See what they’re doing later.  See what mischief I can get into after they’ve gone to bed.  What do you think, Andy?  Can we meet later on?  I have an idea!  Let’s meet at your girlfriend’s house.  She doesn’t have a fireplace, does she?

Say “hi” to your mom for me, Andy.

Love,

Chucky

I Wish

I wish I was three again

And my brother would have let me go with him

To play with his friends.

He would have taken my hand,

Kept me safe.

He would have kept me from chasing butterflies

Instead of not paying attention to

Where I was going.

Safe in the cocoon of his protection

I never would have broken my arm.

Mom wouldn’t have been angry

And he would love me still.

I wish I was sixteen again

When I still knew how to say no.

To a time it didn’t matter

If he paid attention to me or not.

The bloom of first love

Kept me enthralled

As he led me down a path

Not of my choosing,

But of desire.

He promised to love me forever

In the soul of his heart.

I didn’t know forever meant tomorrow

Or that all my tomorrows were forever.

I wish I was thirty again

When the world was wide open

And the only thing I had to worry about

Was the open, empty road ahead.

One I knew I could fill with happiness

And love if only given a chance.

Not believing in the cruelness of others

As they swarmed through my life

And pushed their way past

To further theirs,

Naive to the ways of strangers

And believing in the intrinsic goodness

I was sure lived inside everyone.

I wish I was fifty again

To experience joys and trials

With a greater wisdom than before.

To know, without fear, the right path

Is only an hour away, but I will never reach it,

Too busy to look, too blind to trust,

Too foolish to realize the gift that was within my grasp.

Setting aside the wants and needs of myself

Unable to quench the torment

A lifetime of choices that taunt me into

Reflections of what is and what might have been.

I wish I was seventy again

Safe in the knowledge of a life well lived,

True to myself and my loved ones

Though living in constant worry that

I did not do enough with my life.

Looking back at all the hurt inflicted

By myself and others which I could have changed,

The restless spirit of self

Pushes me to do more, feel more,

Pass more on to calm those who need.

The longer I live, the more I doubt

The true meaning of life is a job well done

But rather the drifting of an essence

From one to another

Sending the message of hope, patience, and love.