How time slips away from you!

I can't understand how it happens. It's all going so fast. Here are some things that have happened: moved out into a nice place with Halem. Abandoned poor Mouse alone ( well he might come with us but that's another story), haircut, traffic, coffee, reading, sun, time lost, friends not called etc. Here are some things that will happen: tension in tummy will go away, breathing, sleeping, seeing, loving.
I hope.

Ok, I'm blogging already! Geez

So Mouse, the roommate that never comes home, has decided to get on me regarding my lack of posts. I think it's because he has two hours during the day in which he has nothing to do but blog and read blogs, but what do I know? It's true I've been a slacker, I have commitment issues. No that's not it, it's just. . . . well despite my last post, I believe my friends that I, LPC, am still suffering from the great ennui. I'm back at work, which is lovely. No one is better at shaking you out of self imposed self absorption than a bunch of hormone filled kids in summer school. Still I find that every minute I'm not at work or doing work related activities I'm bored and slightly unhappy. No unhappy is too strong a word, it's more like. . .blah (says the English major!). I just can't get rid of the feeling. Not completely satisfied? Sad? I don't know. Sure there a bright spots and happy times, but I feel maybe as if I should be doing more. More what? Who knows. It has also been 100 degrees here in LALA and without a lot of money being in LA when it's hot is no fun at all.
Mr. Sailor did come down the other weekend and did an HGTV number on my bedroom, which was great. But besides a few days of fun with him, not much has been able to motivate me or excite me. That terrifies me because I don't want to be subject to the apathy that plagues so many of my peers. Neither do I want to be that girl that's only happy when her Sailordude is in town. I'm pretty sure that it has little to do with him, as I was still not entirely content when he was here. What frustrates me is I know better. I know that I really have no reason to feel this way. Despite money issues (but who in my generation does not have sky high school loans and debt!? Well except Pam but that's another post all together), and a crappy apartment, I really have nothing to complain about. This of course leads me to the real fear. Maybe it's psychological. Whoa. But why? I don't know, and guess what? Until I get health insurance, your guess is as good as mine.
So there you go, mes enfants, THAT is why I haven't been posting. But I will get better I promise.

Awake

So I'm back after recovering from my general malaise, which I've decided is more ennui than anything else. I also had to take several days to mourn the loss of the World Cup to, of all teams, the terrible Italians. Ick. Everyone has been talking about le pauvre Zidane. I for one, having lived in Europe with an Arabic name, am one hundred percent sure that the Italian player said something terribly racist. Having worked in the French ghettos, all I have to say is he's lucky Zidane didn't kill him and he'd better watch his back for a long time. The Mafia ain't got nothing on a mob of angry French immigrants.

Oh no.

Got divorce paper in the mail. It's official. It has been over for a long time, but getting the OFFICIAL paper always makes it harder. Why, I don't know. No one likes an official record of your mistake. Just another sad piece of paper. Mr. Sailor is sad too. A lot of people are sad. I think I'll just stay here and wait for it to pass. At least France is in the World Cup Final. I have that to be happy about. But of course that always brings up memories of a different time, mistakes made half a world away in a different language, the buzz of cheap stadium beer mixed with the happiness of seeing soccer live and the sadness of knowing we were gone forever. Then of course I think about the weeks after. . .the laundered sheets that were never the same, the dreams of dropping babies, the belief that it wasn't my fault, and the secret that I knew it was. I prefer to not think about. Ick. More later, when I can remember who I am.

Sex and the Single. . .Mom?

Recently my friend Halem, mother of the cutest almost five year old on earth, regressed back to high school. Halem is presently living with her parents while she waits to buy a house. She also is recovering from almost five years of no sex, and then on top of that three months of bad sex. In any case, she just met this great guy that she was happy to have sex with (under the guise of a summer fling). So she calls me to tell me that she's spending the night with him, and I am very supportive and then forget about it. Later that night I get a phone call reminding me not to call her house because she told her mom she was hanging out with me and my sister. Of course I say "How old are you sixteen!?" and she giggles. So yes, for a night she was not the wonderfully mature, together, responsible mom, but a silly sixteen year old girl. What is really funny is that SHE HAS A CHILD! Everyone knows she has had the sex. What was hard for Halem was the fact that her mother would have known that at any given moment that night she might have been having sex. Halem's mom is a little too conservative to have spent an evening with that in her head. So she regressed and it was better for everyone. Except for me and my sis, who in imaginary world were having a great girls night out but were actually at home watching TV. Oh well. I did have a good laugh thinking about all of the stories we're going to have to come up with for the rest of the summer. The bigger question is how in the world do single moms do it?

The Dig of Despair

So I spent the morning in The OC (and most fortunately did not see those kids from Laguna Beach since I really would have had to yell at them) picking up my friend KK to take her to the airport. My lovely pal KK has just turned her life upside down and dropped out of her PhD. Program in Archaeology (something to do with weeds and sand, I've never been able to fully understand), and decided to return to studying art. I met KK when we were both 12 or 13, and both involved with the same theater group. We lived pretty far away from each other but spent a lot of time together. Eventually we went to different colleges and then I moved far far away and KK went to Berkeley. Long story short, she had always wanted to be an illustrator for children's books, and she could have. Yet, somewhere along the way she got pushed into what she was "groomed" for, despite the fact that it was not at all what she was interested in. KK has been in the Bay Area for awhile now and living with another archaeologist Dr. Sand. Now Dr. Sand is a nice guy, smart, kinda funny, cute etc. The problem is that KK has just discovered or, rather rediscovered, who she is and what she wants and it seems that Dr. Sand is not that. She is off to South America to do her last dig for the program and see Dr. Sand, and most likely break up with him. What's interesting to me is that most people want her to stay with him since he is so perfect. Nobody sees that KK doesn't want him, as perfect as he is. Isn't that what matters? Why is it that people like to push us into lives we don't want? Why is that we stay in lives we don't want? I don't know. I do know that I am immensely proud of her for making the right choice for herself. I just wonder why that is always so hard.

Silence

I've been silent now alone with my own thoughts for several hours. It struck me that the noises in my head are so much more disruptive than the outside noises. I was scared of silence when I was younger. I called people constantly, I watched TV, anything to avoid listening to myself. Lately I have been happy to be silent. I'm still prone to covering up my own thoughts,but I'm also very aware now of when I'm doing it and why. Silence helps me stay focused. My roommate, Mouse just walked in and reminded me to keep this blog focused, but he disrupted my silence. And then there's the ding from Mr Sailor dude and the IM. Don't they get that I'm focused? oooh fireworks outside!