2nd Night in a Row, Babysitting

So I nearly made myself cry this afternoon (for the first time in a while).

Your father asked if I could babysit (AGAIN) tonight.  A thought flashed across my mind, "Maybe he's planning a surprise party for me?  Wants to make sure I'm home?"

Both he & her ("My dad and them") arrived home, leisurely, ready to go out & be on their OWN time.  I spoke a sentence or two, then left.  They have NO interest in carrying on a conversation with me.  Maybe they don't know how to open up (poor kid) or focus on people other than themselves.

And tonight, at 8:45pm, he texts me.  Not "Is he asleep?" Tell him goodnight, or anything sweet like that. "I won't be home by 9. Can you turn off the clock?"  Simple, awful.  I want to stop paying you and I want to stay out with my girlfriend.  On a Tuesday night. No surprise there.

I'll say no in the future, because it will be weird to babysit in my old house (although I'll want to see how they've ruined my room.  The green couch, etc)

==
We had fun tonight.  I, in a fit of optimism and revenge of the Nice People, decided to give them a surprise & go to the 99 cent store with you.  We bought stuff for their 4 month countdown. $12 (people should be THRILLED to get my $10 surprise parties!!)
(I'm ONLY hanging around people like that from now on!!)

Coloring & sign making, and I drew a person, a cardboard cutout. (Hope they don't think it's me and burn me in effigy) then we made green bracelets, I got confused at first, but then caught up (you were impressed, "Go Tammy!")

Then you made a salad with your OWN salad dressing (GREEN lettuce! and mustard & oil & vinegar) then I made you an egg & we watched some of the Wrath of Khan (my first time!  Ricardo Montelban's plastic chest!  Cuban accent-like Ricky Ricardo) then I read a few chapters of "Indian in the Cupboard" (my greatest wish is to be given TIME & SPACE to write a long story like that!!)  You begged, but I made you go to bed by 8:40, when you were supposed to be in bed by 8!  Last night, your Mom called at 8:30.  You love her.

I love you.  I wish I could be there for you more.  And in the future.  I don't know what will happen....

Being Present

I am very lucky to be able to hang out with you every morning.

You've been great, reading Spanish into the computer every morning.  Reading Spanish books, over and over.

It was so cold this morning that you told me stories of how the wind carried your friend into the street.  Or when your ran around the yard during Hurricane Sandy.  and you SAW the wind.

You changed your coat because it was too cold, we saw the wind blowing the trees outside.  Like the branches were going to beat their way into the apartment.

It was in the 50's earlier this week, almost like spring.  And next week, it's back to snow.

==
Two nights ago, I was very very sad.  We went out for a dinner and a cabaret show.  $200.  And she likes to turn everything into a joke.  When I said, twice, "My self confidence is shot, I feel like nobody ever listens,"  she treated it like a sitcom joke. "I think I know that woman over there," and "Look out the window at the crane!!"  And then she spent the rest of the night talking about her ex-husband (who dumped her again) and her boyfriend (who she dumped).

Not the way to treat a friend.

Dawn, Scrumpy's Mom, suffers from the same form of narcissism.

However, I had a wonderful dinner with a friend from college last night. Spaghetti and conversation.  Just being present.

It's important to feel, when you are with a friend, that you are the most interesting thing in the room.

(I wish that for you.)

2nd Trip to The Dentist

Your father asked me to take you last week.

Today, at 1, he told me that instead of getting you at 181 & Ft Washington from the bus at 3:20/3:30, I had to pick you up at your school (204th!) at 2:50!  I was in a seminar until 2:30 in Times Square, but I RUSHED up to get you. I had to ask around & got you from the office, where they said you had asked about your "Roommatch!".

I knew you had a bad gag reflex (and that you probably have a LOT of cavities, that's what they said last time!  But your father was saying that maybe you don't have any.  Doubtful, and getting your hopes up in a bad way.)

I tried to teach you "Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional,"  You picked up on the funny word "inevitable" as we crossed Broadway at 203rd st and got on the bus.  Anticipating pain is worse than actually just experiencing it.  I brought up stubbing your toe.  You were probably scared before you did it the first time, but now it's not a big deal.  Going to the dentist is bad, but for a very short time, and its worse if you fight the pain.

(Advice I need to listen to myself!)

It was bad, you couldn't even sit through the Xrays without *thinking* you were gonna gag. I tried to help you, but they had very little patience there (ironic bc we spent 1 hr waiting!!)  She recommended a specialist who would put you under (your father said it was dangerous-I was on laughing gas when I was 8 & told you about my dream where the doctor turned into a space alien.  You seemed to like that.)

Your dad came home and we were playing Jenga.  (He asked for A immediately). We played one game, and then you/I/we built a fort, and we destroyed it. Repeatedly.  Then you picked up your green water squirter and we chased each other around a bit.  (FUN!) Then you played with your spinner.  Then you tried jumping on my bed repeatedly, and if I pushed you with just the right force, you did a flip! (WAY FUN!  You really seemed to be enjoying yourself!!)

And then Amber came into the hallway, and with her Schoolteacher-Mean voice, she told us to STOP what we were doing, because Cody was absolutely SHAKING from the noise.  (Never mind that he was like that during the day and hasn't been doing well lately.  Why does everyone here have a neurosis??)  Now I feel grounded, or like I know what it is to have  a brother that you get into trouble with!  (The house has an eerie quiet about it now/lately.  Like when there is NO laughter.  Creepy. Like I'm leaving you with Lemony Snicket!!)

Valentine's Day, 2014

Sometimes I look around my room and everything look new to me.  Or it looks like a life I don't quite recognize.  (Which I kind of love actually)

Not that the bed is in a new corner, or that I'm sleeping turned around, which it is and I do.  But I wake up and I seem to forget the angst of last week.  Or Hurricane Irene and going shopping with Amber for some alcohol which I never drank and some chips for Henri down the hall (who died last July). I don't remember L, or that summer of your Mom's whirlwind or what I did yesterday or the BeatlesFest last weekend of what I did for Christmas or Pricker or the story book that we created together.

I look at the green couch and the carved chest filled with your father's camping gear. The lamp and the bedstand and the built in closet and the desk with the broken leg that I will all leave behind.  L helped me carry that desk in.  He saw me get it from the trash right outside the courtyard.  He saw me struggling and called from his window, "Do you need help?" and I said no, like I always do.  And he nodded, the way he does, and said "You need help," which was so wonderful at the time.  So simply wonderful, for him to swoop in and carry it gracefully inside, all the way in, to exactly my room.  My first visitor.  All I had to do was hold doors for him, and it was easy. (It would've been such a struggle for me to do it by myself, as everything is.  When I try so hard to keep to myself and rely on myself.)  He got lost, leaving the apartment.  Opened up the closet in the front hall.  Swung his blonde Peter Tork hair, and I thought "How amazing it is to have such gracious and handsome neighbors here,"

And that seems so long ago.

Your mother made love on her birthday.  She's going through some emotional hormonal stuff, menopause and such.  And there's her show this weekend.  The Vagina Monologues.  I donated some Mousetraps for the art gallery in the lobby. I showed you, 3D, strung on fishing wire in a tin pan, layered.  You liked it.  3D.

This week for me has been all fever dreams and haze.  I've been in bed since Monday (and I'm writing this on Friday night).  I've been coughing and I have no sense of smell or taste.  You've been waking me up every morning at 7:30, pillow in hand, wanting me to play pillow fight with you.  I haven't had the energy & haven't been able to breathe.  I'd go to the bathroom, I saw you seeing me in my nightgown, braless (and wonder what memories of me will stick in your mind).  I fell into bed every day this week, barely conscious of anything.

I had an invite to an Anti-Valentine's Day party tonight in NJ, but I don't have the energy.  Or to go to your Mom's performance.  (And I've been looking forward to it for a month!) I've never had a happy valentine's day.  Earlier this week, I did stumble out into the living room to see you beginning to make cards for A.  And your Mom.  I wouldn't have minded so much, except that you were using some papers & markers that I had given to you.  (Okay, I mind.  I wish that you had made me a Valentine.  I would've kept it.  I try to keep everything you do.)

A. threw out all her Valentine's Cards she got from her students.  Tossed them all in the recycling bin. 7.

I'm moving on to a new place.  Where I will be loved.  And surrounded by people who support me.  (I've never really relaxed into your dad's family. Although today he did let me have some chicken soup, but I had to ask)

I will tell you that this apartment is so lovely when it is so quiet.  But that's part of my personality.  I like the quiet above all.  (Usually I like to sing when noone is around.  But my voice sounds very cartoony now.  Even though I'm not really talking.  I cough every 5 minutes)

I see you growing up here. And there will be a baby eventually (even though I suspect, not quite yet). I wonder if you will miss my Mousetraps.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone

“I’m gonna tell you something my Dad told me and he told me not to tell anybody”

He whispered out of the side of his mouth and covered his face with his hand.

“That’s gonna be the baby’s room!”

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know”

Yesterday, after a lovely playing session, Pete Seeger on the radio (remembering him, still, I cried during “Where Have All The Flowers Gone”) and hearing “Turn, Turn, Turn”

Out by the end of the month.

Ugh.  

===

“I was sorry you weren’t here for the party yesterday.   We had pizza and drank every time there was a commercial. We went to Chinatown, and red is good luck in Chinese, so when we played (spin the tail on the donkey) get the football in the goal, I got it in everytime”

==
(Have you noticed that they NEVER invited me to anything?)

I posted on FB that I needed a room and your Dad freaked out (mostly because I think your Mom tried to fight for me in an email).  He sent me a bunch of texts where he tried to do the best he could to yell at me.  He gives me 26 days to leave a place I've been living for almost 2.5 years (October 2011, 2012, 2013 and now).  "How could you make it PUBLIC?" He was talking down to me for not knowing where to go.  ("I'm SADDENED that this should unsettle you so much" self-righteous bastard. And then he talks abut how he wanted someone who would work 9 to 5.  But I am flexible enough to drop you off or pick you up.  He got me, and as much as he is happy for me when I have an artisitc success, he wants me to go to off to a job like him.  Meanwhile, I do online work, but that's another story.  Not that he listens)

He always freaks out.  Over everything.  I never know when he is serious because he YELLS all the time.  I hear him in the morning, in the bathroom, he drops something and it's like he's broken his foot. Every morning.  Somethings I will not miss.  He texted me about how furious he was when I am the one who is suddenly homeless.  (When we had last even MENTIONED the subject, after he had proposed, I TOLD HIM I was willing to move out closer to the wedding.  He said fine, and with the honeymoon, September 2014.  I said maybe June.  A said "Its WEEKS" and shrugged, like nothing was the matter.  There's a nice way to do things, and a shitty way.  They did it the shitty way.)

I tried to have a "talk" today, with both him and her in the room (because A always seems to leave when I enter the room).

Have you heard of "gaslighting", there's a movie, where a husband convinces his wife she is going crazy.  He's the one who controls reality, bends it to his will.

Now, I don't mind coming off as neurotic or wanting to "be liked" by them, especially if it gets me a few extra weeks here (I have a friend who can take me by April 8, but not before).  I am aware of what I am doing, trying to give in to get what I want (I want to not be homeless in the immediate future).  I am also trying to be nice in the face of two people who do not care about me (except for how I can serve them as a possible babysitter).

Note to the future you: live with people who at least pretend to care about you. (I prefer to be on my own & would rather live with people who are slightly indifferent to me)

I was going to produce a play that I had written at Cabrini Rep at the end of April, but they don't seem to care about that (it was something that made me ridiculously happy a few weeks ago, but now it's just a huge responsibility).  And there's an Art Show (the Scrolls).

Maybe things will be negotiable? (She's not "showing") I think she's just eager to start redecorating.  And maybe have her mom stay over.  Whatever.  She's quiet and leaves the room instead of talking to me.

They both said that there's a change in your behavior when I enter the room.  You do voices or show-off or whatever. And they also said I come in putting on a really happy face in the morning (overly cheery).  Whatever.  I think I'm just saying hello, but that's too much for them.  I spend the rest of my time out of their way, out or hiding in my room.  Today an art show closing I was planning to attend at Boricua (Intermarried), was cancelled bc of the snowstorm!  And so, I've been in my room since 5, since they got home.

You were brushing your toothbrush and singing.  (Sometimes you make loud noises, to see if I'll come to my door.  I'm afraid to talk to you too much, your Dad will yell that I'm keeping you up.  Whatever.  You're a great, funny kid)

I'm missing you already.

In the mornings now, you are supposed to be big enough to walk to the bus stop by yourself.  Even your father isn't sure if this is legal, and he has no idea how much Dagny's mom resents it.  Even when he could trade off on taking a group of kids to school, he never would. He's blindly selfish and inconsiderate in cases.  Intensely focused on what he's doing, paying little regard to the feelings of other people (although I hope this is different in your case.)  He still yells at you.  A lot.  More than he should.

This morning, we did some art.  We drew dragons, step by step.  And then owls.  I took a picture of mine, but you were smart and took yours to school (hiding the evidence).

I wish I could have read more books to you before bedtime.

January 6, 2014, Blue Monday

Well, kid.

Today you got back into the routine for the year.

I walked you to the bus this morning.  After urging you to finish your cereal, and somehow we got into a game of writing a nonsense grocery shopping list. Including "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious".  and a bunch of your words.

It's been cold for the past week (20 degrees and lots of snow before you returned from Mexico).  Today it was 55 degrees.  A thaw, rainy and wet soaked through.  Tomorrow everything will freeze; they are warning people about it on the radio.

5pm Your father came home, exhausted.  I had texted him, asking him to get milk (although I feel so guilty everytime I ask him for anything).  He told me about how the antibiotics aren't working for his father.  He keeps sighing.  I didn't know what to do, so I offered him a hug.  He accepted it and graciously accepted a long hug, until I thought he was going to cry.  Don't worry, there's never been anything between us, except shimmering moments of friendship.  He told me--when I first moved in and was complaining about Amber having moved in without me being consulted, etc--he told me that I reminded him of your Mother.  I've tried not to ask for anything since.

6:30 You and I had searched my room for colored pencils.

I had to dig into my Art pile, which I honestly haven't touched in too long, months.  Since before I changed my room and pushed the bed against the closed window and put the green couch across from the door.  Before that, my bed was facing the door and we had to draw in the space between it and the window and the couch.  Yesterday, your father offered me two oriental style bowls and asked if I had any clutter to use them for.  Everywhere he pointed was clutter.

Of course, you found a package to play with, Glow in the Dark Markers.

Of course, my colored pencils were with YOUR colored pencils, on your desk, in the hallway.

7pm We dived into a coloring game, which we haven't done in forever (You have a tight schedule, kid, Little Red Rockets Afterschool program until 6, then homework, then dinner, then bed at 8).  The markers were slightly dried out (because I'm always SAVING things to be used one day, so even though the package was pristine, which you kindly pointed out, I was happy to use it.

I might have bought it for Scrumpy's Mom, Dawn, when she was coming out of the hospital.  But today, I've decided not to be friends with her anymore.  She gets VERY insecure when anyone gets mad at her, or is upset for any reason.  How can I be friends with someone who won't let me feel my feelings? And if I can't tell her what's wrong, how can we ever fix it?  That's what she should feel insecure about, losing friendships because the minute someone says that things aren't perfect, she begins to cry.  I don't want her to cry, so I don't tell her.  And pretty soon, like now, I stop talking to her entirely.

You did a GREAT Vampire Face (just the face part) and I was happy with the outline of a cat I did in a room, but which looked spooky as a single line and a mouse when it glowed in the dark.  You might remember that you did a paper airplane, which you could watch fly in the dark.  We kept running into the bathroom to check on our masterpieces.  They will only glow for 4 hours (or less, in the case of the back of my hand, I drew a face and it was gone in 15 minutes, by the time we showed "my Dad and Amber".

He got mad (at me) because you were having such a good time (and so was I) but he then had to be the "bad guy" and pull you away to have dinner and do homework and read before bed. (These are the years which will slip away so fast.)  He just finished all his classes a month ago, so maybe he can get some more rest.  (And when his father gets out of the hospital . . . )  You and I haven't had a day like this, coloring and playing and we were both so excited.  Your dad sees your energy level and knows it will be a struggle to get you into bed. Sigh.  No wonder he gets mad at me.

8pm I hide in my room while you eat your salad.  I write this and play an episode from CUNY's English Dept about Billy Collins and Paul Muldoon, the Poets.  I'm generally lonely and happy and unemployed and writing and having fun playing by myself.  (But I sense I need to move on when they get married)

8:30pm Your father just read a terrific story to you; I can hear his voice fluctuating wildly, exaggerated and fun.

Now you both are laughing, his laugh is low, but yours is a high giggle.  Juggling your laughter, like you'd buoy up a balloon in the living room.  It's lasting awhile.  I'm glad.  He's not feeling like the bad guy anymore.  I think he won you over.

Seeing the Engagement Video And Retching

Oh, my little Prince, O Little Boy, I have been focusing on the wrong story.

It is Thursday Night, we have just had pizza and watched cartoons about taming dragons.

Your Father arrived home.  And he showed you the video.

THE VIDEO.

The one he had spent the past 10 months working on, taking Cody the dog to Fort Tryon Park.  The Lady of Lacksley (where is she from?) and he of Hudson Heights.

"Weren't you embarrassed to walk around the park like that?" you asked.

You were watching, and we made sure to get your reaction (my idea).  Amber didn't have room, but your Dad's phone did.  (Silent communication on their part).

The video was twee.  And frankly, it's a huge shock/surprise (but not really).  Amber and I have been living in the apartment about the same amount of time, 2 years.  As soon as your father mentioned he wanted to do a surprise for her last week, I KNEW it was a proposal.

He had been planning for a long time.  Wanting everything to be just right. Sweet.  (And somehow, I can't imagine someone doing that for me, nor can I imagine I want that.  I want to be the one telling the story, in control of the story.  I would hate it if the story was better than I could imagine.

Quite honestly, it did seem SUPER romantic.  I did what I could to stop myself from retching the first time I saw it-but only because that is not what I would want.  Something so obvious, something that comes so easily to both of them.  Or maybe I cannot tolerate other people's stories.

But I am a grownup, and quite honestly, I learned a long time ago to react (under circumstances) the way people want you to react. LAUGH at the comedians' jokes.  Look sympathetic when your friend is sad.  Do not be mean.  When people are offering their stories to you, LISTEN to them.  Basic advice you should ALWAYS follow (It's more important than you realize).

Because you are 9, you retched.  Repeatedly.  We were your audience, hoping that you'd say, "GREAT!!" and understand that your Dad is marrying Amber and that will be your life and your future (because, in a sense, you are marrying her too. And Cody, the dog)

Now, I should return to the stories I have about princes & magic.  Maybe incorporate it all together.

Currently working on a NaNoWriMo book: "The Swimming"

The Same Person

You are all the same person.

The Little Boy, tricky and antsy.  Trying to turn everything into a game and pushing away words that smell vaguely of homework or wholesomeness.

The Old Man, lonely in the dark.  Cowering.  Anxiety has filled him up.  A knot in his stomach he used to recognize as too much coffee or apprehension.  Would the mortgage be paid?  What if the WORST happens? Fire?  Car accident?  Now, nothing is at stake.  And he is terrified all the time.

But the Grown Man, sitting in the car, thinks only of his disguises.  The warm smiles he gets as the Little Boy.  The cold shoulder as the Old Man.

His major Test of them all.

He will only love those people who love him at every age.

And if they manage to pass that Test, he will make up others.

He stands in the hallway.  Waiting for the elevator.  Looking straight ahead, a grown man, peaceful in this moment.  But when he emerges, he might have shapeshifted into someone else.  This is the secret power he tells nobody about.

When he emerges, he will be His Own Mystery.

Superman and The Mom

11:15am, Monday in June, getting up to 95 degrees

"Really good to see you again!"
"Yeah, you too!"

One neighbor to another, former, neighbor.  As they pass each other on the street.  They are both heading to their cars.  She will drive back to a new place in NJ, a long commute after 2 apartments so close by.  Homes that don't exist for The Mom anymore.

If he is feeling good, he may drive to the grocery store.  And be back in time for alternate side parking to end so he can get his favorite spot in front of the entrance to the courtyard.  He is tall.  He is a Blond Superman.  He doesn't leave his apartment when he is sad.

Almost a year ago, he had started confiding in a Girl.  He told her about his diagnosis.  Mixed Bipolar.  The worst.  He was diagnosed 25 years ago, after a bad episode.

Within a few weeks, he would have the worst episode he had had in 25 years.

During that Sunday day of 350 emails, the world was shifting for the woman with the car.  She had never been so depressed.  She tried to pick up some meds, but the place was closed.  A mixture of self medication (beer & pot) and pills (Prozac or something like it).  The kind that can trigger a worse episode if you don't have the proper diagnosis.

The Mom was so sad and alone.  Except for the Little Boy.  And the Cat.

Instead of buying pills, she bought antifreeze.  That midnight, she sent a text to her ex-husband.  "By the time you get this, all three of us will be gone"

The ex-husband didn't get it til Tuesday morning, when he was driving back from a hiking trip.  By then, the crisis of the moment had been averted.  The Girl who was on the other end of the 350 emails had called the suicide hotline for her friend.  She was just "The Roommate", but had gotten custody for a few hours of the Little Boy.

The Girl heard this exchange between neighbors, knowing that sometimes it is easier to just say hi than to have a real conversation.  They are people connected through the Girl, she knows both of them very well.  Or rather, she USED to know them.  Used to recognize similar symptoms.  Saw the same sadness between them.

And they walk the street easily, saying hi.

The Girl hears this conversation from her window.  And her heart races to see these people.  Wanting them to be happy.  In friendship, wanting the friendship to extend to her as well.  Unaware of how to be friends with them anymore.  Superman and The Mom don't want to be connected through the GIrl anymore.  They have moved on from that weekend in August, that end of the summer.

Here it is, June, and they have moved on, however.

The Girl is still grieving for the loss of the friendships.

The National-Trouble Will Find Me

Kid,
When we were in my room tonight, cutting out paper dragons, we were listening to the radio.  WFUV.  They are doing a series about Mentally Ill people, "Striking a Chord" against misunderstanding.

I tried to ask if you had heard about it yet.  You said "Yes, I have a friend with that. He has diabetes".

I couldn't explain it further.  It's still hard for me to explain anything beyond "people get a cold in their brain".  Maybe I will tell you about our neighbor.  How people get moody.  And mad and sad and angry and lonely.

And how we still need to love them.  Because it is sometimes impossible for people to stop loving people.  Like when it's your mom.  Or your neighbor.


Lyrics, from their album "Trouble Will Find Me"

"This Is The Last Time"

Oh, when I lift you up
You feel like a hundred times yourself
I wish everybody knew
What's so great about you

Oh, but your love is such a swamp
You don't think before you jump
And I said I wouldn't get sucked in
I...

This is the last time

Oh, don't tell anyone I'm here
I've got time and no one near
I was thinking that you'd call somebody
Closer to you

Oh, but your love is such a swamp
You're the only thing I want
And I said I wouldn't cry about it
I...

This is the last time
This is the last time

We were so under the brine
We were so vacant and kind
We were so under the brine
We were so vacant

We were so under the brine
We were so out of our minds
We were so under the brine
We were so vacant

Oh, when I lift you up
You feel like a hundred times yourself
I wish everybody knew
What's so great about you

Oh, but your love is such a swamp
You don't think before you jump
And I said I wouldn't get sucked in
I...

I won't be vacant anymore
I won't be waitin' anymore
I won't be vacant anymore
I won't be waitin' anymore
I won't be vacant anymore
I won't be waitin' anymore
I won't be vacant anymore
I won't be waitin' anymore

Jenny, I am in trouble
Can't get these thoughts out of me
Jenny, I'm seeing double
I know this changes everything

Jenny, I am in trouble
Can't get these thoughts out of me
Jenny, I'm seeing double
I know this changes everything

Magic Elixir

(Sometime at the end of February)

My Dear Little Boy,

I gave it to him.  The Magic Elixir.  I had worked for it, I had been watching it for months in the tower of Castle Village.

My friend who plays Viola, the one who conjures teardrops from our eyes with her overgrown fiddle; the one who is damned to never hear how beautiful her notes are.  She had been rewarded with the FINEST oil by her master.  (He gave everyone in the orchestra the most expensive Olive Oil for Christmas, a beautiful bottle.  Named Lancaster?  Maybe?)

I watched as she poured it over her salads and could not taste it mixed in with all the other wonderful tastes.  Lost glory.

Prince Charming had told me repeated how much he and his Mother, The Little Queen, had adored the finest Olive Oil in the land.

I only hope it can help him.  And that it is all not too late for him.  (I am very slowly pulling away, it may be too late for me)

==
And now, two weeks later, he has told me, precisely:

Things here are pretty good.  Plenty of work and music and reading.  I've become obsessed with studying Anglo-Saxon/Old English and it's going easily (thanks to my German and Icelandic).


So perhaps he IS getting better.

I hope it is due to the Magic Elixir.

Or his own potions.  I thought to tell you fully, about the association between the spell he is under and how it is like the one that has seized your own mother.  I hope she is well.  We will see her in a few days; you will spend a week with her.

If I see her, I shall cry.  (I cry at the very thought.  I miss her terribly.  As you must)  

Examples from Someone Else

This is something for the Real Little Boy.  Another boy, trying to understand his own mother's Mental Illness.

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/photobooth/2013/02/joshua-lutz-hesitating-beauty.html#slide_ss_0=15

The thing is, you never really understand what is going on in anyone's head.  We are all different people from moment to moment.  We can be kind.  Don't hold people up to expectations.  Love Love Love.

Middle of the NIght

It is now 2:51am.

Maybe I had too much coffee.  But I really can't sleep.  The last time I remember this, I remember thinking about you.

And the Boy needs to know how painful it is to know that someone you care for is hidden/buried/hiding  behind a wall.  A self imposed one.  And knowing how much you love them, and are willing to accept them on any terms.

Except the ones they need.

His mom has been in Florida since September.  Gone.  It's painful for her, and for him.  He needs to figure out how to manage expectations, and it's all worse because he's a kid.  And somehow, we can't tell him the truth.  We also don't know how, because we don't know either.

We saw each other today, and it was simple and easy.  And we talked.  And we were all humans.  Neighbors, talking about whatever we thought of.

I'm writing this down because I got the idea to officially request to have coffee with you, once a week, every week.  I don't think I will.  Because you SAY NO TO EVERYTHING. It makes me extremely frustrated, I don't know what your parameters are.  I have no sense of what you are like when things are easy, or when things are hard.  So I assume that it is ALL hard for you.  And thank I can't have anything.

Your reticence has made me reticent.  Frankly, I don't think it serves either of us. We are neighbors, now.  I have a tremendous amount of goodwill for you, now.  You have WRITTEN to me repeatedly that you are a "people" person; you'd much rather relate in person than over email.  (But frankly, I have no evidence of this).

There are maybe a few good sentences in here, but I MUST be careful not to retain anger for you.  Which prevents me from being honest.

It boils down to wanting the fuller experience of an in-person friendship.  If you are going to send me texts in the middle of the night about how you are a "dark soul", then you need to take me to coffee.  Fuck all that shit you take so seriously.  You may think you are crazy and be caught up in CS.  Or worse, whatever.  Nothing scares me now about that.  Your silence makes me want to beat you up, and I'm certain I could.  Stop taking yourself so seriously.  I'm sure your shrink would tell you that it is emotionally healthy to relate to other humans.  Fuck your isolation.

I'm feeling emotionally RAPED.  And I know you are not a person who would want to do that.  But it's as cheap as making a bootie call and then tossing someone aside the rest of the time.  I am grateful for your generosity in the past (sending me music after The Whirlwind and then the Hug after Sandy Hook).

The thing is, I'm afraid to ask for your help, just to be turned down again.  I've been rejected in so many ways in my life lately that one more rejection will send me into tears.

Yes, I am lonely.  But the cold kind of lonely.  I don't want anything from you that normal people can't give.  Suck it up and be a human, COFFEE.  Let's talk about stupid things while we caffeinate.

Even the cat, he climbs into my lap and suckles on my ears, purring loudly.  He is the only living thing that loves me, is eager to touch me, and only when he can satisfy himself.  And the worst part it, I have no instinct to find a human to touch me.  I don't like it and don't want it.

And you are making me cold.  You are making me trust people less.

(Little boy, please read this and work on making yourself normal and happy.  Don't do things to spite other people.  They won't appreciate it AND it won't even get through to them!)

"All This Life is a Ghost of You"

Icelandic group "Of Monsters and Men"
http://www.ofmonstersandmen.com/

"Though the truth may vary/
this/
Ship will carry/
Our bodies/
Safe to shore"

Why is Iceland such a glorious place for you?
The last conversation we had, sitting in the car, you told me you were there in summer.  How they had complained of the heat, 72 degrees Farenheit!!
And we both shared a smile.  (I needed it, and you probably did too)

I think you might have taught Philosophy for a summer session.

All those pictures you sent me, when we first started talking.  You had been so quiet, so hard to pin down for a conversation.  But easy enough to see on the street or in the hallway.  We would stop and chat.

And "chat".  (How carefree you looked, going through your mail over the recycling bin.  Right next to each other, the mailroom and the recycling.  Why bring trash into your apartment?)

I was going to ask you right then, almost as a joke, "What lessons has the universe been teaching you lately that you need to teach to me?"  Because we ran into each other so often within one week!

Now I think you are in bed more than you aren't.

(And I don't know what's going on with you, and how we are so different.  Maybe I am the same crazy as you)

==
"King and Lionheart" video

You are the color in my drab lanscape. (Maybe I'll always spell that word wrong)
This opens with people being torn apart.
(Why does the kid, look like the Kid?)
I run and run from the evil bad guys who are always angry.
Somehow some magic appears beneath my feet, and instead of gravity, I run along a temporary glowing dirt bridge.
I run and I run,
but you are crying, locked in a tower that has become a spaceship.
And with all my magic, I am left to run on the ground, trapped by angry bad guys and gravity.
Even though we have been running towards each other this whole time.
(I have faith the blackness covers the future, and that everything turns out well)
==
 There has to be some way we can talk.  Through art.

I think I will send you music.  It worked yesterday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4O1iq3yEqXU

I sent you Mary Wells, you wrote back, "Great stuff." Because you wrote that I "Beat You To the Punch". (And that you had been thinking about me yesterday.  Nothing about how we saw each other.  And I didn't write to you until 10:30.  What were you waiting for?)

Tomorrow, maybe, I can send you "Our Little Talks"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghb6eDopW8I

I miss our little talks.  

Your Funny Father

I am writing this down because right now, it is not funny.

(But it will be in about 10 years, or less)

You, Little Boy, do not like to eat food.  You'll nibble at a few bites of bagel or hot pretzel or cereal or pizza or chicken nuggets.  Maybe apple and celery.

And the idea of new food (broccoli, pasta!, or soup, goes against your very being.  Your Mom's family had very sensitive noses and she hates Cilantro, so you've probably got some sensitivity gene.)

And your Poop is large and scary.  (And kinda funny, how can something that hard and large come out of such a tiny, skinny body?)  And it clogs the toilet regularly. (Ironically enough, because you are not so regular)

Like a scene in a movie, think "A Christmas Story" (not "Godzilla"), your father is driven crazy by this.  He gets very angry and frustrated.  He keeps a knife in the shower.  Y'know, to cut it up.  Unless, of course, your crazy roommate decides to flush it.  And cause a clog.

The bottom of the toilet bowl is utterly scratched up and you can hear him swearing for miles.

We need to put Metamucil (that old people's stuff) in your drinks.

==
Your Father and I tried to talk to you about your Mom today. And you got goofy.  (Which is some coping mechanism, like reverting or just being silly when we are trying to find emotional resolution.  But I get it.)

You knew about last summer, before "all that stuff" happened.  How sad she was (and I asked you if she was happier since then, because I hope it's true.  I want it to be true.)  I asked you to give her a hug for me.  After Xmas, she texted me that she SHOWED you all the texts she sent me.  About me jumping the gun.  I think if I had gone over there to talk to her, I would never have been sure about leaving her alone.  She wanted me to babysit you to give her time off (I didn't want to leave her alone).  And I called.  And I don't regret that.
I'm sorry that you guys had to see all that, all the police and the ambulance.  But I'm glad she got help.  I don't know how it could have happened any other way.

I love you guys.  Give her a hug because I never will be able to.  I don't think she'll ever forgive me.  (And I don't know how to be friends with her any more)

==
It's the coldest night of the year. 25 degrees.  It's nice to be in this apartment. (I have all my art and Mousetraps up on the walls.)  I wonder what this room was like back when they were still in love.  I think they fought a lot back then too.  Sometimes, that's how people love.  They allow themselves to FEEL strongly when it comes to someone else.  (Which is awful!  And wonderful.  Maybe Love can make you act like a Bipolar person a little.  Some happy some sad).  And you want them near you all the time when they are gone and you can't stand them when they are near.  It's painful and mysterious.

Good luck to you, kid. When you find your loves in life.  Enjoy them and treat them well.  And let them treasure you.

Exhuberant Painting

Little boy, tonight you came into my room before dinner and saw the dogs roaming around.

You are very observant, and weeks ago, you noticed the thumb piano I had brought from Boston and hung on my mirror.  You found it days later and started playing.  You played it tonight, sitting on my bed.

You saw that I had done some Mousetraps a few nights ago (they lay drying on the floor). And you asked to do some.  I cannot say no to you.

We sat on the floor and I tried to point out the exquisite grain of the wood which create magnificent horizon lines.  You decided to take my gloss enamels and pour paint and smush two flat sides together to create a Rorsacht blot. One looked like peanut butter (brown and yellow) and one looked like lime (blue and green).

Now, I use tiny brushes.  I chose Mousetraps for their small size and ease of storage. But I fear your father will throw yours out the next time he cleans.  And I fear you will use up all my supplies.

I am careful to brush away the excess fully and use it for the next canvas; you allowed paint to drip and coat the surface fully, so that it takes hours to dry.

You are certain of food regularly, to the point that you will onlt eat foods that won't make you throw up (I fear you have a VERY sensitive stomach)  pretzels and cereal and pizza and eggs.  That's it.

I bought pita chips and cottage cheese and hummus and seltzer.  I eagerly eat hamburgers when I am out with friends because I don't allow myself meat, or anything that costs money.

You made wallets out of paper and colored masking tape last weekend for the huge piles of coins you are accumulating.  I am running out of paper and plastic and my bank account will be so empty by the time the Monkees convention rolls around, I am thinking about ---.  But I have NO health insurance, so that's that.  I think about how sad it will be to pack to move back to my mother's house.  A failure again, but I cannot find a different possibility.  I miss you already, kid.

So even though I was cringing, watching you pour all my gloss aqua blue onto paper (graph paper!!), just because the bottle allows you to squeeze it.  You squoze it in a dance, a creation of gesture-not pigment.

And I miss you already, even though you are only asleep across the hall.

"I Wish I Had a Button"

This is our actual conversation tonight.

Me: How do you spell that?

You (8 Year Old Boy):"B-U-T-I-N"

And later, watching a commercial for Pinocchio  . . .

You:I wish I had a button that I could push it and I could . . .

What would your wishes be?  Like your top 5?

First, I would push the button to make all magic real.

Then I would get a magic wand.

Then I would learn all the Elements.

What do you mean?  The Elements?

Like,  Water and  . . .  Fire.  I would wish for water from the river to fly, and I could just flick it . . .

(We're watching Adventure Time, and a Japanese speaking rainbow unicorn is pregnant with puppies.  And there are a few scenes that scare you.  A black and white nightmare scene, where a hand-held Playstation thing turns forward and he suddenly has the face of a boy.  Drawn more realistically.  Is it the robots turning into humans thing that scare you?)

So can you put on Youtube?

(Dude, you are already watching tv!)  This computer is only for Work, not for Having Fun.  (Sorry, besides, I'm trying to keep track of all your wishes and how real you are as an 8 year old human.)

Donde Viven Los Monstruos

Here is what you wrote:

All abou this sea monsters

This is a sea monster.  It has 6 seds.  I has razor sharp teeth. I like sea monsters becase there cool.  Theas sea monsters are fast swimers. then are 6 sea monsters one oreng, and one green, and one wight and blak stayps, and one that is tercoys (turquoise) with perpal pocae dotses, and one that has littale santas on it, and one with Dragen fies on it.  Sometimes they tacal each-other. (try to kill)

I did that.  One monster from your Spanish version of "Where the Wild Things Are".  One of your dragon toys.  And the camel that comes with his own piece of desert.  From your family creche.

Here is your Turquoise Sea Creature, with the Purple Polka Dots.

Here is your Black & White Striped Sea Monster.  I love how you gave it it's own stripes and weren't lazy and used the lines from the paper (that's what I would have done).  

I like how you always surprise me by coming up with new ways to do & see things.

Getting out All The Toys To Battle

Babysitting session 12/11/12, 5-7:15pm

There are several teams.

The teams you judged weakest will be fighting first.   The first round consists of 1 “Abdominal”/ AbominaBable Snowman who came as part of a Lego set, a single white baby Tiger and a series of 8 Elephants on keychains, each painted slightly differently.  The Elephants form a circular blockade, all facing inwards, around the Tiger, who is their King.  The Snowman is the strongest and is generally sent out to do the gruntwork. The Elephants and Tiger came from their perch on my windowsill. I think this game started when you asked me what animal I could be if I could be any animal at all. I said a horse, and you seemed disappointed. You said a White Tiger and I told you to close your eyes while I ran to get it and make it appear magically before your very eyes, when they opened again.

The team they are fighting includes a Bear, a Rhinoceros (song:" I want a hippopotamus for xmas"!) and a Lion, all made out of paper cardboard cutouts which fit into slots to create a 3D effect.  You have colored the bear brown, but I see that his feet are on backwards, so I take his sides off and now he looks like he is wearing a funny coat.

The animals take turns fighting the Snowman, and since you are in charge of the Snowman team, the Snowman will end up always being stronger.  Today’s fight seems to take awhile.  The Elephants begin to get restless and joke with each other about how dull the fight is.  One animal gets knocked into the couch, and because of his small stature, takes an absurd amount of time to reach the cushion.  60,000 years later, while the flying cry is still being heard, a large bouncing sound is heard.  The Elephants begin to reminisce about stories they had heard from their great-great-grand elephant fathers about the legendary fight between the Snowman and the paper Lion, when all of a sudden the Lion lands in their midst!!  The Snowman wins anyway.

There is a Hulk of normal colors with a button on back that can bring his fists together to smash someone or to pinch their nose (which is what we do), and a Hulk of clear green plastic, a Batman figure who is somehow disqualified from the game and a Claw guy who falls down alot.  You tell me to write his name down as “Weird Aliens Combined”, which I think is a much better name anyway.  Somehow, they might get matched up with my team of 3 larger-than-a-matchbox cars, convertible style, from the 1950’s.

There is also a jungle team.  1 giant rubber snake, 1 articulated salamander of wood, 1 steel salamander, (just like one my friend got in Venezuela) 1 tarantula spider, 1 tiny blue frog, and a 2 humped camel who comes with his own desert ground.  There is also a supporting green Lego dragon named Scroth [your spelling is Sckoth] who has a guy in white riding on his back.
There are 4 sets of plastic dragons with baby dragons which can somehow fit onto their backs.  There is a niche between their wings, and somehow the baby dragon wings expand just enough to fit into the moulded space between the bigger shoulders. I imagine you imagine they are Daddy and Son, and how it must fit into your mind as neatly as your father and you.  

1 set is blue with yellow wings, 1 is black with silver wings, 1 is salmon with yellow wings and 1 is silver blue with orangey-gold wings.  You tell me that “They are good dragons, but they need to bruch their teeth. Really, look, they are all brown!  And tat one with fire coming out of his mouth needs a drink of water so his teeth won’t get burned.

At some point, I make sure we transition into your writing homework. I decide I have writing homework too, (you have no idea that I carry a notebook around with me everywhere I go and that I love to read and write, and I hope you will too someday). When you hear that I have written down my list, you have to have a list of your own for the story about Sea Creatures that you are doing for your writing homework (which is usually a “Yuck!”, but again, I have tricked you into realizing that writing can be a way to be creative. Ha HA!).  

You have 6 sea monsters, one with fire scales, one with turquoise and purple polka dots, one with black and white stripes, one green, one orange and one with little santas on him. (!!)  When I ask if you have spelled “turquoise” like I have spelled it, you say yes.  I do not question you further. 

There is a string of plastic silver Christmas beads which are meant to go on the tree, but you have realized (as I did) that they are much more fun to play with when they are off the tree.  As you read to me what you have written, you play with these beads with your feet. They make a rich sound, almost as if they are made of real silver, and you are a rich prince, playing idly with your precious metals.

When you ask me what I have written, I read this to you and you smile at me in recognition of all the words you have just uttered.  I think I got it right.

We draw monsters. I do one from "Where the Wild Things Are", one of the dragons and the camel.  

You do your turquoise polka dotted sea creature and the black and white striped one. You even write down a checklist, so you'll know which ones you did.

After you brush your teeth, you ask to see a picture of me as a child. In it, I am your age. 8. I have my arms folded and you think I look mad, but I think I look satisfied and as if I take everything for granted as an only child. Your father gives me a look, he knows you are trying to avoid going to bed.

I wish I could tell you bedtime stories like my father told me. (Instead I'll write them here).