Murder, murder in the night air!

So, I got to go see a play tonight.  I like plays.  I used to dabble in theatre, enough that I spell it theatre and not theater.  Theaters are places you go see movies.  Anyways... I went to a local community production of Jekyll and Hyde.  Which was good.  Or at least, it was better than expected. 

Jekyll and Hyde was something I first heard when I was about 15.  It's beautiful.  It has remained one of my favorite pieces and I still know most of the lyrics.  It also introduced me to Linda Eder, and if you haven't heard her then you just haven't lived.  Seriously.  She's that good.  In fact, the role of Lucy in Jekyll and Hyde was written for Eder.

The production tonight didn't have Linda Eder in it.  Actually, the girl that played Lucy couldn't sing her way out of a wet paper bag.  I thought about helping her out some, particularly on Someone Like You...

The rest of the cast was pretty decent.  The guy who played Jekyll/Hyde was quite good, and managed the duet between his two parts very well indeed.  However, the director should be found and slapped about some, because he very obviously directed his actors to showboat.  And that is never okay.  

Showboating is when an actor is onstage and they go to sing their song and they promptly stop acting, face away from whoever they should be singing too, face the audience, locate where the balcony should be and reach out their hand towards it as though they expect a stray bird to land on it or they are grasping an imaginary banana on an imaginary tree.  This is only acceptable if you are in an opera and have just been dealt a fatal blow and must sing about it for the next fifteen minutes. 

I took Cole to see the play tonight.  Yep, I took a 4 year old child to see a play and one that wasn't actually a kids production at that.  Why you might ask?  Why would I drag him to something that he would find boring and where he could possibly bother the other patrons?  Because if I don't then he won't learn how to act and how to appreciate such things.  So, yeah.  He actually seemed to enjoy most of it, particularly the part where Hyde lit the Bishop on fire...

I'm no Eder, cause only Eder is.  But I could still totally sing Lucy.  Just sayin'.

Your memory that punches me had broken a bone.

The laundry still hasn't been put away.  Cole's room still isn't clean.  In fact, it's likely worse.  And you know what?

I don't care.  

Not

one

bit. 

Tonight was one of those nights... I didn't expect it to be a good night.  I hoped it would be an okay night.  And most of it was just okay.  But then... then it all just clicked.  And it was a great night.  

I love it when a plan comes together. 

I'll be reaching for the stars tonight.

These are things that were written around 2.5 years ago, in the end stages of my divorce.  I've been revisiting my old writing lately, to gain some perspective and note how much my state of mind has changed.  It's quite refreshing to realize that I don't recognize that girl anymore, the one who was scared and sad and pliable.  And while now-me isn't someone that 19-year-old-me ever thought she would become, it is someone that she would respect.  Being able to look yourself in the eyes is a good feeling. 

And now, old poetry.

Someone Else

You breezed into my life
- well, it was more like stormed -
and made everything start changing
- well, really, made it all conform -
to everything you saw in me
- well, actually, to someone else.

You always said all the right words,
- no wait, that isn't right -
and the look in your eyes...
- no, that was just the lights.
You just wanted me to be myself
- actually, you wanted someone else.

The illusion couldn't last
despite how hard we tried
for you to change who I was
while I staunchly denied
I would ever let someone change me
into someone else.

It wasn't all one sided, though
because I had tried too.
I created the perfect person
and then pretended he was you.
While really all along we knew
we were both just someone else.

I have a second start now
to be all of my dreams,
to make the most of my life,
but somehow now it seems
I'll always have this one regret...
not you, but someone else.


One Day

I’m looking for the day
When the innocence is gone.
I know that it is coming,
And I know it won’t be long
‘til his heart is broken,
‘til he understands
That someone who should be his hero
Isn’t even a man.

He doesn’t want your presents,
Or your clothes, or your games.
He doesn’t want big parties.
He doesn’t need you to give him things.
What he wants is your attention.
What he wants is to hold your hands.
All he needs is your love,
Love you don’t even understand.

One day soon he’ll realize,
One day soon you’ll make him cry.
One day soon his heart will break,
‘cause there’s no love in your eyes.
One day he’ll make the choice,
A hard one and sad.
He’ll know that you’re his father,
But someone else will be his Dad.

Business men drink my blood...

I'm not really tired.  I'm not particularly energetic.  I'm not in a bad mood... or a good one.  I have a general desire for things to be done, with no desire to actually do them. Truthfully I want to lay on the couch listening to loud music and reading.  Cole isn't asleep yet, so the loud music is out (unless I want to impede his going to sleep even further). 

Every room in my house needs to be cleaned.  Floors, dishes... and we don't even want to talk about Cole's room.  Seriously, if I could just torch it and start over, I might.  This is what happens when you don't clean things for 3 days.  Well, today is day 4, but it's not over yet and I'm still holding out hope that I will actually somehow manage to motivate myself sufficiently into actually accomplishing something. 

I seriously doubt I could have screwed up more stuff than I managed to in the last 24 hours at work... though now I may subconsciously take that as a challenge for when I go back to work Wednesday and prove myself wrong.

This past weekend was... well, it was.  Not my worst ever, so that's good.  I worked Saturday and Sunday, which I dislike.  But I need money, for things like food and shelter and internet.  Hi-ho, hi-ho.  

Tomorrow I'm off.  No working.  Just house cleaning and laundry and shopping and costume making and pumpkin carving.  I am not a good costume maker or pumpkin carver.  But I do what I do. 

Which, as some point, must include dishes.

Now the water's rising, but I know the course.

Some days, there are no words.
Some days nothing is wrong, it's just that nothing is right.
Some days just the act of being is exhausting.

Some days, the best thing about the entire day is that is is over. 
Tomorrow is a brand new day. 


And now, off to watch Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog.  No, really. 

Life is a highway...

So, the cat seems to be out of the bag.  Which is good, because cats hate being in bags.  Have you ever tried to stuff a cat in a bag?  It's hard, because they really dislike being put in bags.  So, yeah.  Anyway, I digress.  Drum roll, please....

I met someone.  For our purposes, his name is B.  I'm still not sure how I really feel about blogging about B, but he doesn't mind being blogged about and, like I said, the cat has already escaped, so why not?  Anyways, he is wonderful.  How wonderful is he?  Well, he's so wonderful that today he stayed on the web cam with Cole for over 20 minutes telling Cole knock knock jokes.  I wouldn't even be willing to do that and he's my kid. 

Did I say web cam?  Yes, yes, I did.  I generally find web cams creepy, but it turns out they are uber great for Cole keeping up with grandparents long distance.  And, yes, I'm doing the long distance thing with B.  It has it's downsides (the long distance), but it also has some perks (increased verbal communication).  If you can't guess from the last post, he is in Texas.  It's not a bad drive, but it's not exactly close. 

So, there you have it.  Do with it what you will.  Seriously.  I dare you. 

It feels just like I'm falling for the first time.

Once again, this was written around midnight, but I neglected to post it.

I like vacations.  Who doesn't?  But it's hard to get back into the swing of things.  It's hard to leave the surreal and come back to reality.  I managed to mostly clean my house tonight, so I've got that going for me.  Still seems like I have an overwhelming lot to do.

I went to Texas for the first time.  Seems like I'm doing a lot of things for the first time lately.  

This doesn't seem like it should be my life.   I'm awkward and nervous and I don't fit.  Except... suddenly, I do fit and it's natural and relaxed and easy.   Things don't work this way for me, thing aren't this easy or simple or relaxed.  But yet, here I am all the same.  The only way I can figure out that I got here is because God does answer prayers.

Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer.

I am afraid of a good many things.  Falling and things that hop and water... and being forgotten.  Of all the many things I fear, I fear being forgotten then most.  I don't believe that I am a memorable person.  I don't think that I have anything to contribute that is so unique that it could not be done as well or better by another.  I think that after I leave a place, that I will just be some girl that was there once but that no one really remembers or regards. 

Most Fridays I am delivering and most Fridays I take a delivery to a lady at the nursing home.   She isn't very old, probably only in her forties at the most.  She appears to have very aggressive MS and has become significantly worse since I started taking her deliveries a couple of months ago.  Now, I don't like nursing homes.  I've been to a lot and it was usually voluntary, but I don't like them.  I don't like the smell, I don't like the cold tile floors, I don't like the dreary colours usually used to decorate an already dismal place.  I don't know the reasons that all the people have come there.  I know that some are there because there is no other choice, because they require a great deal of care.  Some are there because there is no one who can care for them.  Some are there simply because no one does care for them. 

Not all of these people are forgotten.  The lady I deliver to isn't.  I don't know if she has any family in the area, but I do know that her nephew calls each week from Arizona to order her dinner.  So many there are forgotten, though.  So many of them have even forgotten themselves. 

I hope to never exist like that.  It isn't living.  It's dying in slow motion. 

...light up, as if you have a choice.

Let my soul fly.
Let it be free,
and light,
and easy. 
Let me soar high.
Let me sing,
and dance,
and pray.

I want to see
things I never have,
things I do not know.
I want to feel
things I never have,
things I cannot say.

I want to live,
long and quickly,
strong and softly,
hard and gently.

Let me be.
Let me laugh,
and smile,
and love.

Learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck.

Cole is awesome. 

At Round House, he got into a bit of trouble over playing in a deep mud puddle.  He was soaked at the way to his shoulders and had mud in his hair.  We were walking to dinner and he saw another puddle.  "Mama, can I walk through that water, please?"  He was told yes, and did so.  "Thank you, Mama, for letting me walk through the puddle.  I love getting my boots wet.  And I love getting eaten by monsters."

No idea on that last bit. 

Today at work, he asked me to cut his orange into crescents.  That was the word he used and, yes, he knew what it meant. 

This evening I had Bourne Identity playing during dinner.  Upon seeing the very first fight scene in the park (which isn't much of a fight since Bourne disarms and takes down both officers within about 5 seconds), Cole nonchalantly says, "Well, he can fight pretty good."

Oh, and his play fort has now become a spaceship.