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Very recently I was able to download Lady Gaga’s CD’s and start listening to them. I came across this song and immediately fell in love with it. I love the beat. I love the lyrics. I love the possible meaning behind it. The song makes me want to dance, to workout, to drive zoned out in my car, listening to my music with the sun roof open.
If you haven’t listened yet, take a look see. It’s just so sexy.
I was out to dinner the other night with a good friend (we’ll call her Counselor, as she works in a treatment program and it’s kind of relevant here). We try to get together in physical form every two weeks or so, eat mostly sushi and catch up and vent and bitch and discuss. Therapeutic.
So eventually the conversation gets around to my grad school application, and I spew off my worries and anxieties and my need to get this finished, asap. She asks me when it’s due, and I sigh and tell her August 1, but but but!!! I don’t want to wait that long, at all. I don’t want to be all last minute Lilly and have this hanging over my head for the next two months. You know, I’m a cross-things-off-my-list kinda girl and I’d really like to cross this off my list, like yesterday. But I’m having this writer’s block and I don’t know where to go with what I’m working on and I’m busy like every weeknight and then I’m leaving for vacation on Thursday night and won’t get back till Monday night and I have all of this stuff going on and wah wahh wahhh, blah blah blah.
She pretty much gave me the “you’re crazy” look and told me to calm down, that I have two freakin months, that that is plenty of time. She was surprised I’m stuck about what to write, seeing as how passionate I am about the subject material and, her telling me very duh-like, “Plus, you’re a writer, Jen. You write. It’s what you do.” I gave her reasons why I disagreed with her and why I was having trouble and why I needed to get it over with, assoonaspossiblelikerightnowortomorroworbynextweek. She told me that I was giving myself anxiety and writer’s block and immobilizing myself and that I needed a break.
A break from what, I asked? I haven’t touched that essay in a week! I’ve just had a break.
So Counselor talked to me as if she was talking to one of her clients for a bit, and then prescribed me some homework: I must take off until after Memorial Day weekend, after my mini-vacation to the shore is over. I must walk away and not think about it and do fun things and then come back afterwards with a clear head and a new perspective on things.
I resisted, but only for a few minutes. I am taking a break; Counselor is right, I’m giving myself a freakin ulcer.
And you know, I probably shouldn’t be putting this out there, this negativity, but the feelings and thoughts are real. I almost don’t want to get in to grad school. Right now, anyway. Isn’t that horrible? If I get in, that means I have to stay where I’m working for another two years, or however long it takes me to finish school, since my employment is the reason I’d be attending this university. And I love my job, I do, and I love the university, but my direct supervisor is a terror and she makes my days here miserable. I’ve recently been applying to other jobs within the university to tackle this problem, but the truth is I may not get another job anytime soon. And it’s to the point where she affects my day too much, makes me too unhappy and angry. And the sad thing is, she makes all of my co-workers feel this way and I’m not the only one looking to get out. But if I can’t get out, the thought of spending another two years here with her feels like jail.
So a part of me just wants to not get in and be free to continue to apply for jobs in places away from here, like Maine or Vermont or Massachusetts or even near B’s house. And these jobs I’d be apply for would be at other universities or colleges, so the choice to attend another grad school for “free” would be there, just at a later date and assuming I could actually score a job at an institution. Yet another part of me wants to suck it up and stick it out and get in to THIS SCHOOL because this is a great place and this is where I’m at RIGHT NOW and who knows if I’ll have this opportunity again and maybe it’ll be the best thing for me, even with psycho boss.
This is what goes through my head, on a regular basis. No wonder I’m losing my mind. I’m glad I’m not too invested about either not getting in or getting in, because both are a possibility. And both are scary to me. And both will bring me opportunity, although of different natures. What’s that they say, about everything happening for a reason, and blah blah blah and so on and so on and so forth?
The first time B cut all of her hair off she went to a salon, which makes sense. Soon after, she was surprised at how quickly her hair was growing back in, and that she would soon need another hair cut. She went to a professional again, and spent the day semi-grumpy and bitching that she would have to pay this much money every two weeks to maintain her new short hairstyle, which was now costing her much more money than her longer hair ever did.
I suggested she invest in and buy clippers. This is what my ex did, pretty much for the same reason – why pay all of this money every two weeks to do something you could (basically) do yourself? My ex cut her own hair and I only helped at the very end by trimming her neck. I thought the same would be true with B.
But no.
She did not want to cut her hair herself; she wanted me to do it. Let’s be clear: I’ve never cut hair in my life, I’ve never cut hair in a previous life, and I probably won’t cut hair in a future life. I know what you’re all thinking – “It’s only clippers, how hard can that be, blah blah bah.” Whatever. It’s too much responsibility when I have no idea what I’m doing.
Anyway, I gave in and so began the start of one of my many roles in B’s life; her hairdresser. I will admit that the tips are fabulous, but still, it’s not my favorite thing to do.
So we’ve tried a few different things, different numbers on the top and the sides and sometimes a fade. This weekend it needed a new cut, and so she requested I leave the top long (and not cut it at all) and take a number 2 to the sides. So I did, with some difficulty. Her hair is the curliest hair on the face of the earth, which means it goes in a million directions, even at this short length. I never know if I’m doing things correctly.
So after I finished she put some product on the top to see if she liked it, and she did, and I did. I asked her to put it into a little fauxhawk so we could see what that looked like, and she obliged, and I must say, it looks superfuckingcute. I’ll have to take a picture when I see her again this week.
So yes, I’m liking the bit of longer hair on top. It’s a little something more to grab a hold of : )
So, I’m venturing into the world of password protected posts. I want to do more writing about the sex I’m having, and, well, I guess I’m being a bit shy about it. A bit private. I’d like to have a bit of a better idea about whose reading some of the stuff I’m putting out here.
So if you want the password, shoot me an email to dykeevolution [at] yahoo [dot] com and I’ll give you the info.
She was up an average of 5 times every hour.
11 pm till 5:30 this morning.
Like an infant almost except
There’s nothing I can do for her to comfort her
Except tell her to go back to sleep
Everything is ok
I’m right here
It’s nighttime
I have to get up for work soon
You HAVE to go back to sleep Gram.
Still she cries
In the middle of the night starts reciting her address
Her son’s cell phone number
Asking where her Jenny is
Asking if I can help her.
I’m right here, I say, and everything is ok.
I am ok? She asks.
You are.
Please
Go back to sleep.
She had a bad night, last night.
I am feeling the effects of it this morning
Don’t know how I will make it through the day
Or the two hour drive to B’s house
Coffee never worked for me.
I kept awake in the car ride this morning
By music with a lot of base
Windows down singing
Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah
GaGa, ooh la la
Want your bad romance
Until the people next to me
Were staring
That’s what happens in gridlock traffic
So close.
At work now, responsibilities endless
But
I’m exhausted
You can see it in my eyes
I feel so sad for my Gram
Dementia is heartbreaking
So I try to remember who she used to be
When she took care of me
And would pick me up from nursery school
And we would walk down Richmond St
Where she taught me how to clench my fist in a ball
Put it up at my ear and then pull down
To get the truckers to blow their horns
Or when she taught me how to read by kindergarten
And let me play on the piano
And so much more, there is, to remember
Of when the role was reversed, the majority of my life
So I think about this
Instead of the way she forgets what to do with the toilet paper
Or how she looks so frightened and confused all of the time
Or how I change her pad because she couldn’t make it
Because these things hurt to think about,
And they are just
A small part
Of all of her 87 years.
So I’ll do my best to get through the day
Life is not that long
And she won’t always be here
And I won’t remember a tired day at work
But I will remember
Her smile.
The Others Have Spoken