As much as I tend to bitch about Ryan, I must say that he still has a knack for coming through now and then precisely when I need it most. After spending my entire day yesterday watching Buffy, lying in bed, being miserable for no good reason I can think of, getting impatient and snappy with my well-meaning daughter, Ryan called last night and offered to keep her for the night, just for the hell of it. Being the selfish person I am, I took him up on the offer. And did nothing. Ate a salad. Watched more Buffy. Talked to Anne for a few minutes on the phone. Fell asleep watching Saturday Night Live around 11:30. And this morning? I'm gonna read. Uninterrupted. And then I'm going to finish cleaning this fucking house before I light the whole thing up in flames. My kitchen isn't finished, I have no light in there, I need to paint, and my oven is on the fritz. The kitchen faucet is still running. My toilet handle sticks. Oh, and the drain in my bathroom is clogged, probably with my own hair, which has been shedding like crazy again as of late.
If this Draino shit doesn't work, I'm shaving my head again.
Then I'm going to blow up the house. Sure, I'll warn the neighbors first. But then I'm going to spend a lovely Sunday evening standing in the back yard, listening to the sound of all the little black boys and girls singing their hearts out in the church behind my house, watching the grey paint peel off in chips larger than my head, the windows exploding from the pressure. And then I'm going to live in my car. Because I have a Volvo now, which is a step up from the Aries. Quite a few steps up, actually. Maddie and I will install dorm appliances in the back and park ourselves down by the river. I have a camp grill. It could work.
Remember how yesterday I said something about couples working on their respective psychoses before moving in together? Yeah. This would be one of mine: try not to go all berserko every time we have a busy week.
Mountains, molehills.
Drain is clogged. Water problems. My reserve of witchy know-how tells me this is a physical manifestation of my emotional state, i.e., there's a clog in my head. Maybe I've been watching too much Buffy, but methinks my witchy reserve would be right.
"oh this water is making my death
every season stealing my man from my bed
and if this winter carry him through to the next
all I can offer is yours to take
keep me from cold
heave me from foolishness days
make me a woman whose love knows how to wait"
- Ida
I have an announcement to make. Normally I don't like to post such personal things on the site, but in this case, I feel it's appropriate to make an exception. As everyone knows by now, Greg and I are planning on moving in together this autumn. What everyone *doesn't* know is that there are equally astronomical things taking place behind the scenes in the meantime. I don't want anyone to feel left out. Part of me feels a bit guilty for not telling you all personally, for not making some bigger arrangements and inviting everyone to come and witness. Know that I love you and I truly hope no one is upset by this. But as you are all aware, I am a rather independent person and there are some things in life - big moments like this one - that I would rather keep (mostly) to myself and the person most impacted by such a choice. So here goes...
Let it be said, first of all, that no matter what anyone else thinks, I believe in a certain flow in a relationship, that things progress or unfold one step at a time, all in a direct line pointing at one big goal, and that that goal is to spend a committed lifetime together. As part of this process, there are things that each partner has to bring to the table of his or her own accord. Each person has the responsibility of making themselves the least fucked up as possible before moving all their baggage and psychoses into someone else's life. That said...here's the news.
Today, after a year and a half of living alone, I bought not one, but two ice trays. Now, many of you may be shocked by this. You are thinking to yourselves, "But she doesn't drink soda that much! Tap water is fine! She's gone a year and a half without ice cubes - why start now?"
I know this all comes as a bit of a shock. I just want you all to know that I am going through some changes in my life. Big changes. And there comes a time in a person's adulthood when you just simply have to break down and buy the damn ice cube trays. True, true: most people, when they move out of an apartment, leave the silly little plastic stuff in the freezer. Too big of a pain to move ice cubes. Besides, ice cubes can grow anywhere. Why move them? But for some reason, the person who lived in *this* particular apartment decided to take his ice cube trays with him. Perhaps they were sentimental. Perhaps he didn't have any, either. Perhaps there has been a whole line of tenants, an ancestral renters' history of people who, as long as this apartment has existed, have NOT HAD ICE CUBES. Who knows?
I'm here to say that I, Stephanie Thorvalson, am putting an end to this madness. It's time that I grew up already and started paying closer attention to the smaller details of mid-twenties life. In preparation for a lifetime of happiness, it is necessary, I feel, to plan as much as possible for the other person's well being. Greg, for example, has worked very hard to establish openness and trust in this relationship, providing everything from the occasional thoughtful bouquet to quiet, private little messages on my voice mail, telling me how wonderful this wonderful-est man in the world thinks *I* am. He has also helped, when necessary or just when he felt like it, to provide food, shelter, and entertainment. What, you are asking yourselves, have I brought to this relationship? Well, I'll tell you.
Ice cube trays. Two brand spankin' new, shiny, white, plastic ice cube trays. Or, as the label clearly reads, dos "bandejas para el hielo".
And one truly amazing, spectacular, wonderful, brilliant, beautiful child.
And some goofy stories.
Oh. And a lot of books. :)
Okay, I'm not going to bother undertaking the huge task of unearthing all the events of the last month. In a nutshell, I've dealt with two deaths in Rockford, dealt with an unfinished kitchen for three weeks (it's FINALLY done, thank God, except for the painting), enjoyed an awesome Mother's Day weekend, gone to Detroit with Greg to see Lungfish, to Canada to sleep, gotten harassed by the border police, and have generally been everywhere doing everything all at once. Or at least, it seems like it. I spent last night at home, and it was so nice to be able to read for a bit, then sleep in my own bed.
So yeah, Mary Anderson, my former sister-in-law, passed away, as did Bill Spring, my dad's former best friend of thirty-plus years. Needless to say, the past few weeks have been pretty emotional, bouncing back and forth between the past and the present, juggling old feelings I'd forgotten existed with the current state of peace and unequivocal happiness that has been ushered into existence through Greg. Up and down, laughing and crying, you get the idea. Mary's death wasn't a complete shock, but I certainly can't say that I expected it this soon. Although we haven't spoken in the last four years, she is someone I loved and adored, respected and admired for many years. She was family to me for some time, and I have missed and will continue to miss her. The only comfort I have is in knowing that she's where she's wanted to be for some time now - rockin' out with Jesus. I may not be a Christian, but when it comes to Mary, I truly do believe that she, in one way or another, truly is with Jesus, listening to scary 80s pop music and being lathered in blue eye shadow. My heart and love go out to her.
Bill Spring.... To get into the entire history would take more time than I have. Put simply, Bill and my dad had a falling out years ago over something that should NOT have been the end of their friendship. Dad tried several times to reconcile with Bill, to no avail. I wasn't able to attend the funeral, but my mother went. Bill's sister pulled my mom aside at one point to tell her that Bill, in his final days, expressed that the only regret he had in his life was "the way I treated Steve Thorvalson." Repeating those words, even in writing, brings tears to my eyes. So bittersweet. Life is too short to hold grudges, people. You get pissed off at your best friend, decide not to speak to him after practically raising your children together for years, and the next thing you know, you're dying the same way he did, minus the comfort of closure, minus any lessons you might have learned years earlier had your choices been different. I can't grasp the true feeling of facing my own mortality through a filter of chemotherapy. I've never experienced that first-hand. It breaks my heart to think that Bill was not 100% at peace with himself when he went, and that the reason was because of some stupid fucking disagreement 15 years ago that never should have escalated to the point that it did. All I can hope is that wherever they are, Bill and Dad are reconciled. I'm sure that they are. It's just hard to understand why they couldn't have done that years ago, in life, why two families that were once so close are now virtually strangers to one another. Julie, who was once another sister to me, now has twin boys I will probably never meet. She has never met Maddie, who any day now will be turning 30 and having kids of her own (by immaculate conception, of course). It's just mind-blowing. I cannot wrap my brain around that kind of stubbornness. I just don't get it.
Enough.
GIVE ME BACK MY HOUSE. PLEASE.
The good news: I'm home. The bad news: the little ceiling replacement project has been expanded to a near-complete renovation, which will not be completed until this coming Thursday morning. A 3-day project has turned into a 9-day renaissance. Meanwhile, my daughter has appealed to Amnesty International requesting asylum from her mother's insane household.
I'm going to watch a movie. And then everyone in this house is going to bed if I have to beat them with wire hangers and strap them down Mommie Dearest style. That includes myself.