holidays on i$e.

I took a break from le cirque du blog today.  Sort of a forced break, really.  I had a lot of doin's with my money-making ventures, and I'm trying to prepare for a sort of emotional tsunami that I know is impossible to be ready for, but I'm girding up my loins, nonetheless.  Whatever.  It left me with no time to peruse all the fancy, new window-displays of posts on any of the awesome-licious blogs out there that I normally eat up with a spoon.  Sad.

So.  No time = me pulling a post out of my arse.  Which would be painful if I were speaking literally, since the fissure that dare not speak its name has re-erupted.

I penned this not-quite-a-story several years ago, pre-baby, pre-wedding, pre-mortgage, pre-engagement, -- pre-life-with-responsibility.  It pops into my head somewhat often of late, just because I find it so fucking laughable (and when I say "laughable," what I really mean is that I bury my face in a kitchen towel so as to prevent others from hearing my mentally unstable sobs).  To think that I ever had the intention of living my life without a kid -- ahhh.  Ha ha.  But - the evidence is there.  In the not-a-story.

Anyway, here's a toast to my silly, old, carefree self.  (Drinks entire beer at once, then looks around, surprised by all the looks of shock on everyone else's face.  Blushes.)  Um, cheers?

(Oh, and btw, I left the old thing in all its musty, unedited glory.  Try not to grimace in horror as you discover weird-ocities amidst the dust.  I'll be here, chewing my nails fiercely, as I try not to let the bejeebus be bothered outta me.  Well, I'll be that and a little (a lot) drunk and also exhausted from chasing the kid around all day and working like a madperson during his naps.  xoxo.)

***********************

A Well-Heeled Error in Judgement.

Immediately after slipping accidentally from the ledge, the shock of it led her to wonder whether she’d remembered to lock the kitchen door. They’d had a conversation about the puppy not being old enough yet to guard the house if someone tried to come in, and she struggled with the feeling that it wasn’t important enough to make herself remember every morning. Which she fought against because she knew how high on the priority list it was for him. That thought felt wrong, somehow. She should be thinking about something else, shouldn’t she? Her life flashing before her eyes, or whatever it was people were always telling you they saw during a life-threatening experience. Was that right? What was she supposed to be thinking? She felt ashamed for never seeming to think or feel what was the correct way to think or feel. It occurred to her that she’d never find out if she would’ve done the right or wrong things as a mother. And that if -- no, make that when -- people pointed out her errors, she wouldn’t have stood up to them the way new mothers were supposed to, confident in their comportment toward their offspring. That was such a tedious thought. Not that she couldn’t make them stop saying those things, or tell them they were wrong. She could do that. But whether she could prevent their voices from penetrating into her brain, from slowly melting her resolve; that was what filled her with a dull horror. She believed firmly that she couldn’t keep the voices from providing her with the eventual conviction that she was wrong. So they won. And she staunchly refused to award them their trophy, the tangible form of which was a baby.

How could she possibly have had time to go through all of those thoughts inside of a milli-second? She still had so far to fall before she struck the earth, cold and unforgiving, her body bending in unnatural ways that would shut down her central nervous system and burst tiny capillaries and large arteries and fill her lungs with fluid and pop bones through soft tissue in altogether inappropriate directions, leaving her turgid and distended. She almost saw herself already lying there in a misshapen heap of jacket and denim and sinew and partially exposed brain. It didn’t bother her. The wind whipping in screams around her face felt better than anything she had experienced before, even while it felt so ghastly. It was the entire spectrum of feeling. So maybe that is what they meant about life flashing before your eyes, all of your senses alert at once, the combination of which under normal circumstances is impossible to achieve. Well, next to impossible, because otherwise anyone who’d experienced it wouldn’t have survived, right? Again, she wondered, why wasn’t she thinking about the correct things? How could she be posing such inane questions at that crucial moment? Anyone else would’ve been in the proper solemn frame of mind. Somnambulant. Solemnatory. Was that even a word? Case in point! (Point in case!?) Oh, why couldn’t she get it right? Her last chance at it, at proving to herself that she was capable of the appropriate attitude, and she was doing word play. Too bad her friend who shared her love of such things couldn’t hear these thoughts; he would’ve appreciated them, possibly to the point of getting it, her alien take on her headlong tumble into the physical void. Funnier if she replaced ‘void’ with ‘avoid’. Unfortunate, though. Too late for that switch. No avoiding the present fall. Fall. Oh, she’d been so excited to start wearing sweaters! She gave up trying to control her errant mental scramble. It was at least amusing. She was happiest when she was laughing, so even though she hadn’t breath to laugh, she could do it in her head at the last. She thought of the joker in Batman, his plastic laugh toy chuckling skin-crawlingly after his downward career from the spire of that dark church in Gotham. The most perfect rendition of Batman. Tim Burton a genius. She’d never meet him. D*mn. Nor would she meet Kevin Spacey, and then she couldn’t remember who else she cared to meet. She would’ve liked to see her brother again. Although he wouldn’t have known her, so it made no difference, really. What else? What else?! She was running out of time, she was out of time! She had to think! She had to keep thinking. If she kept thinking, she could prolong her deathmatch with gravity. Celebrity deathmatch. Oh, why had she wasted so much time on MTV? Kicking herself for not finishing The Pickwick Papers or The Brothers Karamozov. No full sentences now. Could be full of fancy literary tidbits rather than stupid contemporary trite crap. Feeling angry. Cheated. Then embarrassed. Whose fault if not hers? The time had belonged to her. She had chosen to wile it away with her friend, Mr. Remote Control. And candles. Vanilla. Cucumber. No babies. Too many people already on the planet. And soon one less. Ha! That was a good one. Cucumber-melon. Melons.  Split wide open with juice and flesh spread all over. Overripe. Bad smell. She hated overripe melons. She hated herself. She loved herself. She felt all of the love and all of the hate surge through like electric currents. The chuckling toy whirring in her head, slowly dissipating, the electric current zapping and then just a faint smoke evaporating into the air. The woman in heels who ran over and stood near her thought she saw the smoke as it drifted off.

Comments

[Izzy]

I remember this post and it freaked me out the first time I read it and I didn't comment. It's a wonderful piece; very powerful and very deserving of a PPA :)

[Mom101]

Wow.

Just wow.

I can't believe I missed this first time around. Glad Perfect Post led me back here. I'm crazy impressed.

[Emily]

Have you fallen off a cliff and survived, metaphorically? Because I swear, you've been there. I bet that's what it would be like in actual fact. I *know* that that's what the life-cliff-metaphor feels like, and I *have* been there.
Man, I feel like I know you, or like I've met you before or something.

[Mommy off the Record]

Yay!! Congrats on your perfect post award!! Well-deserved, friend.

[Sunshine Scribe]

Just read it again from the Perfect Post list (CONGRATULATIONS - sooooo well deserved). And I loved it even more the second time I read it so I had to comment again to tell you so. You rock :)

[Andrea]

I don't know if you'll get this comment since several days have passed since you posted this, but I had to try.

This was captivating. I was riveted. Seriously. You are a world-class writer.

[Her Bad Mother]

This was gripping. I loved it. Want more.

(And - stay well, for whatever is coming at you.)

[Kristin]

Wonderful post. Thank you so much for sharing it with us... you are a truly talented writer.

[Ruth Dynamite]

I read this three times through. All these notions of "correct" and "appropriate" driving us (accidentally) off ledges...makes me want to light a few scented candles, pour myself a drink, and watch MTV. Loved it.

[Sunshine Scribe]

What a talented writer you are. Thanks for sharing that story. It is one of those pieces of writing that will stay with me all day I am sure...

[Mommy off the Record]

That was captivating. I felt like I was falling with "her". I will be back to read it again when I am not at work and can dedicate the time to a more thoughtful read. In the words of mothergoosemouse, "chilling", chilling indeed.

[mothergoosemouse]

Chilling. Great pacing too.

[bubandpie]

The first time through (reading fast, in blog-read-mode) I was confused, didn't quite grasp the premise. So I read it again, and got chills.

What amazes me is that you already knew this part before you had a baby: "But whether she could prevent their voices from penetrating into her brain, from slowly melting her resolve; that was what filled her with a dull horror. She believed firmly that she couldn’t keep the voices from providing her with the eventual conviction that she was wrong." That was the biggest surprise for me - that my brain had no defenses against the weird duet of Drs. Ezzo-and-Sears, always taking turns telling me that I was wrong, wrong, wrong.

[Jenny]

Wow.

Plain and simple, you are a writer. That was utterly spell-binding.

[MelanieinOrygun]

*serious*, also, dammit.

[MelanieinOrygun]

You made me cry.
That is an excellent, excellent story.
And there is no being nice in me tonight, so you must know that I am being seriuos and honest with you.