Part II: The Kid Goes to College...

...and I lose my mind. (Click here if you missed Part I, as Part II won't make much sense without it.) (It may not make much sense, regardless.)

Dad, Star, and I made it home all right (in spite of continuing thunderstorms!), had dinner with Mom, and then my Sis spent another night at chez moi to lend me some (im)moral support. We cracked open our (second) bottle of cabernet sauvignon and re-watched, for the umpteenth time, the movie Warlock (from 1989, starring still super-sexy Julian Sands and Richard E. Grant). (Hubba freaking hubba.) (I would even add wooooooof!)

I got up with Star early-ish Sunday morning, to make her some coffee before she trekked back to Brooklyn, and then I was alone. Before she left, she asked me how I was doing and, taking her meaning, I told her I'd be totally fine. And I really thought it was true. I'd felt nothing but normal through the past few days and, in spite of the nasty storms we'd encountered, took great pleasure in Balthazar's obvious excitement to be embarking on this great college adventure. I really felt OK.

I went back to bed and snored away a couple more hours, dreaming intense and crazy dreams, one of which included my Dad flying me somewhere in a small plane and telling me not to look. Of course, I looked, and he said not to panic. When I saw we were flying over a beach and about to fly out over open water, I completely freaked out. Quelle bizarre. (My Dad ain't no pilot.)

What Balthazar leaves behind...

I got out of bed for realz a little before noon and headed to the bathroom. I passed Balthy's bedroom, now nearly completely vacant and a bit of a mess with moving-away debris and stuff I'm to throw out at some undesignated point in the near future. I thought I noticed a tumbleweed roll by. Then I became completely overpowered by sobs. I spent all of Sunday alternately keening and telling myself this horrible feeling would pass, without believing it for one second. I felt like I was dying. And, God help me, I almost wanted to die, if it meant I wouldn't feel so awful, ever again.

The thing is, it's not just the reminder that Balthy's gone which set me off. It's the fact that I can either pay rent on my apartment (or on any apartment) OR pay the balance of his college fees that aren't covered by scholarships and loans and whatnot. Which means that when my lease expires at the end of September, I'm moving back into my parents' two-bedroom apartment. It's absolutely generous of them to let me, as they know why it's necessary. I love my parents, a whole hell of a lot, and I'm so grateful to them for all they've done, and continue to do, for Balthy and me. But moving back in with them at this stage in my life, living in such close quarters, after running a home of my own...gah.

Finally, I'm facing not only a midlife-crisis, but an identity crisis as well. Without having to provide such nuanced care for my kid on a daily basis, I feel all at sea. (Aha, that dream now makes sense!) I have to redefine who I am and I'm not sure I know how to be anything other than a mom anymore. Geez, I've been a mother for most of my adult life! I know who I wanted to be, before Balthazar came along. And I reckon I should go back to that head space and re-frame those dreams with the wisdom I've acquired over the years. I know this is a wonderful opportunity to recreate myself, but this parting of ways with the Me I've been since May 29, 1995...it's a stunningly painful divide.

All Sunday I felt grief-stricken, with these thoughts of loss and dreaded change roiling around in my mind and gut. I know, intellectually, that this downpour of feeling was the worst of it. As the days go by, I will adjust, I will re-frame, and I will conquer all of this ick. And I will strive, in the immortal words of my favorite band, Duran Duran, to not "...cry for yesterday; there's an ordinary world, somehow I have to find." (Man, actually listening to this song on Sunday night = big mistake.)

And I may get a tattoo. 'Cause, you know, a midlife crisis is the perfect time of life in which to do something terribly permanent which you may some day regret. Well, one's teen years are the ideal time, but that ship has long since sailed, alas...

WIBWIW ~ Who Am I? Who are you?

The WIBWIW of this post's title comes from this new feature I'm introducing to mah little bloggy-blog: Whatever, I'll Blog What I Want! Can you dig it? I knew that you could.

In today's post I'm borrowing an idea from my fellow blogger and all around nice gal, L.G. Keltner of Writing Off the Edge. Back in May she asked her readers to do something I found quite titillating - namely, she asked us to describe ourselves in one sentence, with no limits as to how many words we could use.

Intriguing concept, right? How often are we asked to encapsulate all our thoughts, our aspirations, our strengths and weaknesses, in short, everything which makes us unique individuals, in just one sentence? Unless you're coming up with a profile for an online dating site or crafting a tagline for yourself for some arcane purpose, my guess is "never."

L.G. got the ball rolling for us by writing of herself, "I am a geeky writer, wife, and mother who doesn't have her head in the clouds because it's out there amongst the stars." Which is a brilliant self-descriptor, though she fails to mention she sports a glorious mane of titian locks that I'd kill to possess. (Don't worry, L.G., I'm not gonna scalp ya. For one thing, I don't know where you live. For another, as I've said elsewhere, I'm lazy as hell.)

My answer to this challenge, which I posted in her comments section, was "I'm a sleep-deprived lunatic, self-medicating through her mid-life crises with chocolate and cabernet sauvignon, while freaking out over how she's going to pay for her son's college fees starting next month (next week!!!)."

This clearly shows what I was going through then, and still am: money and life worries that I cope with by treating myself like shit. Lovely. Well, in the back burner of my frazzled mind is the thought that I have to take better care of myself because no one's going to do it for me, so, you know - baby steps to a better me. I'll either get there or I'll leave a chunky corpse that's three shrouds to the wind.

On a better day, I'd describe myself as follows: "I'm a compassionate, sensual, and creative soul whose work will bring pleasure to many." That's better, right? More optimistic, anyway.

So, how about it? In the comments below, describe yourself in one sentence, however long.

Go on, then - I dare ya.