A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || February 27, 2005 || 1:04 am

direction


Now I’m hunched over a typewriter

I guess you call that paintin’ in a cave

And there’s a word I can’t remember

and a feeling I cannot escape

And now my ashtray’s overflowing

I’m still staring at a clean white page

Oh and morning’s at my window

she is sending me to bed again

// Bright Eyes, “Another Travelin’ Song”

I used to be the girl who barked strange-ish things out of nowhere like, “I need comfortable pants! I need my notebook! I need more pot!” At these moments my companions would help me strip to my panties –regardless, it seemed, of locale– while scrambling to find me a scrap of paper and just one more pass of the peace pipe. (“Is this funny? Is this saaaaad?” my brain asks.) Then I’d read my scritchings and scratchings aloud for a brainstorming session, a free-for-all vocal fest, or rabid hissings and catcalls.

Good friends (or at least pretty passable drankin’ buddies) are better than any ole smoky, two-dollar-cover* dive patrons could ever hope to be.

I think about them sometimes, these pitiful-wonderful moments from my past. There’re those times when they make me smile. They can just as easily pull tears. Sometimes they do both and I’m an even bigger mess, let me tell you.

Then I wonder when I stopped being her, or if I have stopped being her, or if I’m allowed to be her always, somehow. That girl, that too-bright spark from somewhere back there.

The more I run laps around it in my brain, the more I can’t shake the thought that your thirties are somehow a reemergence of adolesence in slightly ramped-up form. Like everdamnthing is being reevaluated and resituated: Your heart, your ambitions, your perspective, your value system.

Boys and girls, I can’t be the only one to have had this pesky discovery. Even so, it’s really quite overwhelming.

While it’s amusing and ego-stroking when someone says something like, “That your mom or your big sister?” to Scout, I also get quite alarmed nowadays when I hear it. Nothing major, just a little panicked tic down in my middle and I certainly don’t know what to make of that hooha.

Couple of months ago, there was a program at school. Afterward, one of my children’s friends came up to me in the hallway and hugged me. Just me and her there in the hallway, in the middle of the maddening crowd of proper-and-wonderful parents, walking side-by-side and talking. She asked me a couple of pointed questions about the tattoo on the back of my neck (floppy ponytail day, natch) and I answered them openly.

Out of nowhere, she says to me, “You are the coolest mom.” Eegads. It clumb up on my back and hung there, the beast.

Do I really want to be ‘THE COOL MOM’?? What does THE COOL MOM have to bring to the table but a poor example of female behavior that parents everywhere can hold up in illustration about the evils of

sex

drugs

rock

roll

bop

stroll

occasional spitting

lipstick

tree climbing

the number 1,137

sugar

too-loud laughter

underwear-for-fun-and-not-function

boots

women with dictionarys

flying monkeys in general

extensive footwear collections

fast driving

the south and all what’s in it

lack of premarital counseling

bass players

nailbiting

poor meal planning

impetuousness

dating a sailor

I mean, am I the mother that the other mothers are sneering at?? Probably. That makes me just a little sad.

But my kids know couth and crass, they know justice and compassion, they know a whole host of other contrasts that I’ve found immensely valuable in my walk thus far. They know because I’ve tried damned hard to teach them.

They know real, for ham and hell, and that counts for an almighty lot.

Mostly, I’m okay with me, but I’m itchy to learn new things. Just like always. Now, though, I seem to have this hyperawareness of the fact that when you learn things about one thing, you let the truths (the misconceptions?) about another thing go. The losing of things, of these priceless intangibles…well, that one gets me every last time. No matter what it was, the losing of something has always chewed my guts.

I claw for change, am desperate fot it, but I hate it. Every last fucking minute of it. Go figure.

*or, ‘fifty cents and brang in two more uhhhhglay wimmin’

The tunes what backed this hoedown:

‘Everything’ – Alanis Morissette

‘Another Travelin Song’ – Bright Eyes

‘Collide’ – Howie Day

‘Gypsy’ – Stevie Nicks

‘Arms Of A Woman’ – Amos Lee

‘You Gotta Be’ – Des’ree

‘Miracle Drug’ – U2

‘Burning In The Sun’ – Blue Merle

‘Beautiful’ – Moby

‘Something’s Got Me’ – Lori Carson

…and damn, did I forget how lovely ‘Telephone Line’ by ELO is.

(The posts take longer with fine music trailing you all over the planet, kids.)

4 worked it out »

  1. zee 2.27.2005

    You’re not alone, Your Royal Highness, and yes, it IS overwhelming.

    I’m so there.

    And the music, gee…

    Keep that chin up high.

    It’s a constant re-assessing… life.

     
  2. Nina 2.27.2005

    ditto

     
  3. Keith 2.27.2005

    Embrace your uniqueness, Beth. I want to be a cool dad, someday. For now, I’ll settle for being the cool brother. Danny and I never really fought like brothers should.

     
  4. jen 2.28.2005

    i think we should start some sort of club for ‘cool moms’ – you know, to combat the soccer moms of the world (not that there’s anything WRONG with being a soccer mom…) – we’re just a helluva lot more fun.

     

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