Farewell, July. I'd miss you...if I could. in The Tightrope Dance (August 2019)

Poverty is the thief of time.

I could have had a lovely July, an experience to treasure with the kids, but hey, I’m broke. That isn’t to say that July didn’t have its happy moments, like putting EN on the leash and harness (EN is our cat. No, he is not a harness fan. No, it is not optional, because he’s a dumb cat.) (But I didn’t do it willy-nilly. He comes when called, likes the outdoors (mostly he likes laying in the grass) and he’s calm. He’s actually excellent material for trick training, for a cat.) Today, he learned that the harness doesn’t actually hold him down and that he can move in it. He learned this by catching tuna flakes Kitten sprinkled on the grass and the sidewalk for him. (Then she finished the can of tuna. Weird child.) With continued positive experiences in his harness, I expect him to be more into exploring the yard by October. Obviously, I am not ever expecting him to take walks like a dog.

Bits of July also sucked, like dick-face not calling for the food order at mid-month (which left me scrambling to find balanced meals to fill the gap between the SNAP benefits and the pittance that is disability payments.) I did okay, but he was very wishy-washy about the whole fucking thing. Being embarrassed to call for help does not mean that making your daughters and your wife’s cats go hungry is acceptable. Love means you do the thing, even though it sucks and it’s scarring. Dependability is a key component of love, for me. I did my time in the “it’ll be okay, trust me” kind of relationship (my mother is a magpie, and her new jewelry acquisitions were more important than stuff like a bed (slept on a lot of floors) my glasses (went without for years at a time) dental care (didn’t see a dentist til 25)…but hey, you guys, that shit doesn’t matter, right, if you can wear real diamonds!!!! And designer perfume.

I wish it had mattered. MY children see the dentist. Frequently, ‘cause methylphenidate (Concerta) is bad for teeth (it slows down saliva production, allowing for more cavities.) Their teeth are fucking important. I AM DEPENDABLE.

They have actual beds, with actual dedicated linens, with their choice of blankets and pillows and shit. They’ve had vision screenings yearly (and their vision is fine.) If it weren’t, you’d better fucking believe these girls would have glasses. And I do own a little jewelry. Nothing fancy, but I’ve got enough of it to make a statement if I want to. Just I live in jeans and sarcastic t-shirts, so jewelry isn’t required. I am not an attractive woman, and I am not competing and saying I am. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not worth reliability. If you’re gonna be saying you love me, you’re gonna have to walk the walk, and you’re going to have to Do the Things. Thank my mom for that.

Some internet meme says that bitterness is a sign of where you still need to heal. If that is true, then I need closure about the crap my mother did to us (brothers didn’t see the dentist and slept on floors and nobody saw a doctor unless we were about dead, too.) I need to move past the shame that kept me from ever, ever, ever bringing a friend home (shared a bedroom with either Mom or the boys - where do you put a friend?) and probably acknowledge that that’s partially why I don’t have friends now (and it might be why I’m a shitty housekeeper. I never had a room I was proud of to practice on.)

Today’s writing thing is more about space. It’s about dedicated space.

Did you know there’s office-hubs? You can rent a desk in an office some places. It apparently ranges from $60 for 25 hour rental to like $800 for full time access and shit. The idea of my own space is so fucking tantalizing. Like Virginia Woolf, I dream of a room of one’s own.

For now, though, the library has little quiet rooms you can borrow, and I can’t even complain, because I can write in a Burger King at lunch rush without problems. The secret, I think, is that when I am there, nobody wants me and I can’t be made to do anything else - I don’t work there.

So much for that whole “home is your haven” crap, eh?

Song playing in my head today is “Go” by the Black Keys.
There’s like…36 days until school comes around again. Hurry up!