Honesty

My son (aka Balthazar, the Kid) tapped on my bedroom door.

Me, looking up from my sprawled position on my bed: Oh, hey Kid. How long've you been up?

Balthy: An hour.

Me, surprised: Yeah? I haven't heard you. Whatcha been doin'?

B, shrugging: Avoiding responsibility.

Me, having lost an afternoon binge-watching the 1st season of Fargo on Hulu: Me too.

Took Balthy up to college for the start of his Senior year this weekend. If all goes according to schedule, he should be graduating in May 2016, God willing.

I almost can't believe it.

These past three years have challenged me, exhausted me. Now I've a year to get my shit together so we can move into a place of our own again, while simultaneously saving the requisite funds to put out another book (oh, and I suppose I should finish writing it, as well). I'm thrilled and terrified. I almost feel like a graduate myself. (I say "almost" because my back and knees frequently remind me that I ain't no spring chicken.)

Not gonna lie—I fear the future. It sucks when you're going through hell, but at least there's a devil you know. Yet all we can do is keep going.

Because what's the alternative? We're either going or stopping. I sometimes don't know which is preferable. But who, on this side of the veil, can know?

I'll keep going, I guess, till I'm either recalled or have no other reason to. In the meantime, I'm going to make myself some hot cocoa and get to work on my story.

That is all.

The Kid ~ Vignettes

Apparently, I can't do a nice thing for The Kid (my son, Balthazar) without said act of kindness being regarded with deep suspicion. A while back, he mentioned he needed gloves. I kept forgetting about this until one Sunday that I happened to be at work, I remembered to order him some and have them shipped to him up at college. So I ordered two pairs, each from a different vendor, 'cause, you know, they're easily lost or misplaced (though I didn't tell him he'd be getting two). He let me know when pair one arrived, but when pair two turned up a couple of days later, he texted me, "What is the meaning of this?"

*     *     *

When I moved back in with the 'rents at the end of September, I was appalled to discover that the closet in my "new" room reeked of mothballs. Reeked, I tell you! I tried simply cleaning/vacuuming/airing out, but the stench remained. So I took the advice I read on the Interwebs, to stick some baking soda all up in there, close the door, and wait for the malodorous offense to the senses to disappear. I'd forgotten to mention these to Balthazar, who visited for the Thanksgiving holiday this past week. He made it up to my room before I did and, when I arrived, asked, "What are those bowls of cocaine doing at the bottom of the closet?"

*     *     *

While he was home, he asked if he could hang out with friends Thanksgiving eve, which was fine, as my mother worked that day, so we didn't celebrate the holiday till Friday. I told him to be home by 12:30am, at the very latest (only 'cause my mom works nights and typically gets home by 1am, and if he wasn't home by the time she was, I anticipated us both getting grief). 12:30 came around and Balthy didn't. The following text conversation ensued:

Me: Almost home?
The Kid: Sooooorta.
Me: How soon will you be here?
The Kid: Er like 15. Sryyyy
Me: Sighs
Me: You're not walking, are you???
The Kid: Naw we're [at a diner] in [place redacted]
Me: Wtf
The Kid: We're driving back very soon about to pay the bill

(There was no way he'd get home before my mom. I then went through a swift succession of pre-set "smileys," seeking a frowny one which would adequately convey my extreme displeasure. Amusingly, I hadn't used many of these pre-sets, so I had no idea what image I'd get, half the time. Some of them were doozies. After a heart came up...)

Me (explaining): I'm trying to find a pissed off smiley

(I tried a few more and finally settled on a "smiley" that looked, to me, as though it was pissed off.)
 
Me: I guess that's the one
Me: Though the bat was pretty kewl
Me: But yeah, I'm totally pissed at you
The Kid: Oh, you

PS: He got home significantly later than my mom, who, when I told her he was with friends at a diner and running late, said the equivalent of "Poor baby!" in Portuguese. I'm not sure why she commiserated with him, when I was the one wigged out by his lateness, but there it is: for all the things that would've earned you a strip torn from your hide, your parents will readily forgive their grandchildren (and give 'em cookies, while they're at it).

There's no justice in this world.

My Current State of Mind...

...is equal to and greater than overwhelmed. I know some of y'all can relate.

Work's been crazy; gotta refill a position that became vacant in the office, have been picking up some slack from that vacancy, work travel coming up this week too, and have fallen a wee bit behind in my usual duties, alas.

Need to move out of my apartment by the end of the week. Been going through stuff to see what comes with, what gets tossed, and what's worth trying to sell. Am really bumming out about moving back in with the 'rents and feel kinda awful for bumming out, as they couldn't be more ready to help. But I just ache, ache, ache inside at having to move back into that small apartment (my parents own a two-family house and have the upstairs apartment). As well, it's in the town in which I grew up, which has seriously deteriorated since my youth. It's not merely a question of there's nothing to do/nowhere to go, it's actually become a dangerous place to live.

For those new to my blog, I'm moving back in with my parents, bless them, so that money I'd have put toward rent will go to my son's college fees. It's a sacrifice on several parts, mine and my parents, who're giving up space to me, free-of-charge, for which I am truly grateful. But the closer I get to the moving date, the more I feel I'm going to implode from the strain and the sense of loss.

I got no head space left for anything and this blog post is shite. I'm spent, y'all.

Gah, gah, GAH!

OK, tantrum over. For now.

Here's a pic of the sign I made to attempt to entice folks in my building to come buy my crap-that-I-don't-want-to-pack:

And here's a tune that's looping in my mind a lot, of late:

Postscript: I felt myself teetering so near the edge of despair that I texted my Dear Friend Nikki and we went out for comfort food. Spending the evening with her, bitching and laughing, really helped. Thank God for you, Nikki, and for all good friends, everywhere—y'all make the slogging-through-shit that much tolerable. (Plus, she let me unload some of my crap-that-I-don't-want-to-pack on her!) <3