amazon morning tv - weekend edition

ok, how do you get your 16 year-old off the sofa and out to do something?

rara's with james, zarina got herself up at the crack of 8 and ran out the door to her ballet rehearsals. she is the picture of motivation. i have moments like that myself.

but not today. could barely get myself out of bed myself. didn't even manage to go to my dreamweaver class. barely finished the homework.

i'm the sort of person who has the adrenaline kick in when i'm under pressure and then when it all starts to sort itself out, my body disintegrates around me... i want to put a pillow over my head and go back to bed.

sasha's watching "the mask" - i need one of those.

maybe it's a day to go shopping. good capitalist that i am, this might be a moment to do something for the economy.

or take a pilates class?

upstairs downstairs

so we're finally all used to life at 9 north moore. the amazons enjoy having their own space downstairs. it's a sort of mini-haven for teenaged girls.

actually, our whole apartment is girl-world.

upstairs is work/meals/tv - MY space

downstairs is the enormous walk-in closet, the sofa and lots of space for fashion shows, skylight for flattering adolescent faces and a washing machine for all the towels that end up all over the floor.

as for me, i am feeling a bit like job - blown away by the scourges and maliciousness that seems to surround me.

the rats ate the wiring of my new car. the infestation of fruit flies continues. my health is questionable. james is taking me off his insurance just in time. the amazons are rude and spoiled.

it's not that i don't see the part i play in all this but it still makes me tired. somehow i am feeling so exhausted that when i went to the doctor yesterday and she said she was worried about my possibly having cervical cancer - i felt totally relieved.

just the thought of an escape route set me free.

the end of worrying about bills, making sure everyone does their homework and eats meals and doesn't get in trouble. the end of balancing exhusbands and parents and my career and even the dog.

suddenly it all seems like an inconsequential game.

i was walking down the street looking at the clear blue sky making the tops of the buildings glisten

and i just started laughing.

it's time to get back to just writing. and if it goes nowhere - what difference will it make?

amazon morning tv

here's what happens on a normal morning... i am going to watch these videos when the amazons go to college and i am having a peaceful breakfast ALONE...

morning at 9 north moore #1 - part 2

so every morning i drag myself out of bed and stumble over my first hurdle - cutting up fruit, making eggs, tea and heating up banana bread - and then forcing the amazons to eat breakfast before they leave for school.

also to make them be somewhat polite to each other in the process.

then in the silence that follows the frenzy as they rush out the door, i clean up the detritus of the tsunami of their morning prep...

admittedly, this could stand some editing. but no time now.

i mean, i can't do EVERYTHING - can i?

morning at 9 north moore #1 - part 3

a slightly calmer morning at #1

having trouble getting moving today. i suppose - since the amazons will all be out - i should really go do something fun, but i am still in my pjs at 10 am...

all of a sudden, i am seeing myself on a continuum - from my great grandmother to my paternal grandfather to my mum & my kids - i sometimes feel i only exist in relationship to them

i am a bead on a spiderweb of connections...

sleep

or lack thereof.

all the craziness of my ex-husbands and my insane teenagers has me opening my eyes and listening to rara's laptop murmuring, "it's twelve o'clock.." when i know i have to be up before 6...

it's amazing what destruction people will wreck when they are angry and it's tragic because it leaves scars that never completely heal.

anyway, living in a sort of telenovella now.

out of shape, out of mind

all of a sudden, i am yearning to start writing again. after years of first putting it aside and then just tossing out the sunday book review along with all the advertising circulars, i am reading it again.

i am aching to exercise that writing muscle. that excursion into the far reaches of a character's emotion, that tight-rope walk between communication and preciousness. the desire to tell stories.

is it my new home, a sort of cave in itself, where the windows let in light but conceal the world? the quiet invites a journey inward.

or the exhausting ordeal i dragged myself through in the past year: no work, hub and excitement of the advertising industry receding: no money to shop and go out, the material world stepping away from me as well; no real romantic partners, the pleasures of the flesh and the emotional struggles of communication giving way to an unencumbered soul, a consciousness set adrift.

i feel unmoored and shapeless - as if my soul has come loose from my body - an amorphic presence uncontained in this form of a middle-aged woman.

i am not me.

the rich sensual tapestry of physical experience throws itself down like a carpet at my feet. where do i step first?