ok
I loaded the dishwasher, put on some laundry, put on a bra, fed my kids and vaccuumed the whole apartment, and then I wrote my piece. Now I’m resting. In a little bit, I’ll go back and revise.
kittens
There are 5 kittens at my dad’s house. They are the product of stray cat street love. My brother’s been feeding them and says he’ll have the mother spayed.
In the meantime, we went to see the kittens and, even though they’re flea-ridden and about a hundred different cat-mutt colors, they’re still very cute. Their eyes are still blue, their legs still shaky, and they mew really loud in your ear with that wide-eyed look of abject terror that tiny kittens get. We played with them for hours. The best game was when I lined them up side by side and held them there, saying, “Look, y’all, they’re gonna race!” Then I let go and only two of them walked off. The others just sat down or mewed. It was funny.
Here’s hoping they have decent lives. As decent as stray kittens’ lives can be, I mean. I might go back and take pictures of them today.
candy
For the first time since January, I broke my diet and ate candy. I ate a lot of little snack-sized candies last night after trick-or-treating. “Only tonight,” I said, “Because it’s Halloween.”
Then I ate a bunch of them today. I figured out that it’s not even the candy that tempts me. It’s the fact that it’s free. How can I not take advantage of free candy, given to us for no reason other than the number on the calendar?
I’ll be fine tomorrow. I might have to throw the rest of the candy in the trash, but I’ll be fine. I won’t eat any sweets for Thanksgiving or Christmas, because those cost money.
time to chill
I wrote a long piece to read at our Day of the Dead show tonight. It’s about my Aunt Sylvia, who recently died. Writing the piece made me cry. I hope I don’t cry when I read it aloud tonight, but, then again, if I do, fuck it.
So, I’m tired. Then my mom called and got on my nerves. First, she did something spooky and psychic. I told her I’d just written something for a show, and she immediately said, “Oh, are you like Aunt Sylvia, that you can pull off that sort of thing?”
My mom, as long-time readers know, is mentally ill, so she says weird shit sometimes. I know she’s always harbored negative feelings towards my aunt, who ended up raising us in my mom’s absence. But I thought it was weird that my mom named-checked her today, right after I wrote the piece about her. I could get all into my voodoo beliefs about it, but I won’t right now.
We changed the subject. My mom went on and on about how my brother’s been making her unhappy lately, but she puts up with it because she wants him to be happy. She says he had a hard life and that’s why he needs her to help him. After months of hearing this crap, ever since he moved in with her, I finally snapped. I told her she needs to take care of herself and quit worrying about his happiness at her own expense. I told her I was tired of her telling me how hard my brother’s had it and how much help he needs, when — HELLO! — I grew up with him. We’re only a year apart. I KNOW, MOM. I KNOW. And you don’t see anybody in the family worrying about me to that extent. No, instead I get snide comments about how easy my life is. I told her I was tired of that shit.
“What should I do, Wendy? Tell me what to do,” she said. So I did. I said, “When my brother does something that makes you unhappy, tell him it’s making you unhappy and you want him to stop. If he stops, good. If he doesn’t stop, then tell him to get the hell out of your house. Jesus! And tell my dad that if he doesn’t like your hair, too fucking bad!”
I don’t think my dad actually said anything to her about her hair, but she always imagines that he dislikes it and then she worries. Daddy, if you are saying stuff to her about her hair, STOP IT, OKAY?
She got all quiet after I yelled that stuff at her. I told her I was sorry, but that it was frustrating to me to hear her going through issues I was trying to get over, myself. Number one, because it made me realize that I got that shit from her, and number two, because it’s depressing that she’s twenty years older than me and she might live her whole life like that.
She thanked me sulkily and we got off the phone.
now I’m tired
I’m gonna lie on my bed and tear pictures out of magazines until Tad comes over. Then I’m going to lie on my bed with Tad and tear pictures out of magazines until it’s time to go.
Jesus
Some guy just called and started talking to me in Spanish. His name was Santos. I told him very slowly, in Spanish, that I believed he’d dialed the wrong number. The longer I go without speaking Spanish, the worse I get at it.
Que querias, Santos, y porque me llamaste de Williams Baking Co.? Estabas tratando de hablar con tu novia? Como se mira, tu novia? Te gusta su pelo? Le haces alegria?
For real, now, I’m gonna rest. Typing and talking apparently take a lot out of me.
