tuckova

So many things. This alternating incredible irritation and then delight and joy and all things good.

How
one day can be thrown like bad dice because the weather is variable and
all I can do is lay on the floor trying not to sit up with my ambitions
because I will surely pass out, and the ambulance screams up the street
so I can't even count dust motes in peace, or the doorbell rings and
it's door-to-door sales instead of packages and I have the parquet
pressed in the side of my face, and then this simple translation that
I'd said I'd do as a favor turns out to be exactly the kind of writing
I hate to read, and why, why. I should have a cave somewhere.

And then how
I can be thrown into bliss because my friend sent me a funny e-mail in
the morning and work went well and the sun is still up at 6 pm and I go
to the wine bar to meet Friar while Squire is home writing a paper on
Einstein and Dusan comes in and says hey, and then this woman I know
b/c her daughter went to 1st grade with Squire and she buys a liter of
wine in the bottle of water I just watched her drink outside and we do
the smile nod where maybe she doesn't know where she knows me from,
quite. And then we go home and Friar makes fish and peppers and then we
play cards, and then board games.

On Monday Squire got dressed in his winter coat and I said no maybe it
was time for a jacket so he put on his jacket but it was tight.
Sometimes I put on clothes from last year only to realize that My How
You've Grown continues even into your forties. His reaction was about
the same as mine: OH NOES. Then he started crying because he looked
like a "dork pencil". I remember the story about my cousin who didn't
want to go to school one day because he had a giant zit on the end of
his generous nose.I let Squire stay home.

I thought I wouldn't recognize puberty, that we would be too caught up
in everything else and that I might mistake the symptoms of one thing
for another, but if you are crying because you look like a dork pencil
then that is actually totally recognizable to me. All I can say is that
first of all, at least it is not pink satin Miss Piggy sneakers that
seemed so cool when you bought them, before they got spit on. And also:
screw them, you know? Those shoes were cool. Being awesome is
simultaneously tempered and built by people too stupid to understand
who you are.

And who you are, if you're lucky, will be a person whose greatest
irritations in life are people who don't know the difference between
"it's" and "its" and don't know why that's a good thing to know; and
whose greatest pleasures in life are watching people grow into adults,
and seventies television references, and the last cigarette before bed,
and more than can be summarized in words like these.