the quarry

return

two summers ago, when i lived in cape cod for the warm months, i learned something important. i realized that no matter how much time i spent there, how often and how much i consumed the sun and the surf and the birds and the breeze, that it would never be enough. six months was not enough, and even then i spent my last sad minutes basking in the sunny ripples on the pond, or trying to catch a few final glimpses of the bay in its various seasons of light.

and so yesterday, remembering this, i tried to remain calm. i tried to swim as though it wasn't my last swim ever. i hung sheets on the line as though i'd been doing it all my life. i sat stubbornly on the deck and let my skin get red and rashy, knowing the minutes were numbered, knowing there was only so burned it could get. we bought extra breakfast muffins and i left 30 pages of my book unread, hoping that if i savored a small piece of this happiness, the returning wouldn't sting quite so.

i had crazy dreams while i slept there. i imagined you on your wedding day. she found us upstairs, together, and tried to be angry. "we didn't do anything wrong," i promised, sitting up nervously after lounging in your bed. "we haven't done anything but talk." but the talk was good and the wrong was loosely defined. her wrong was my right. a little talk could be a dangerous thing. "i don't want him," i lied. "he's yours now and yours forever." and that, like this -- we both knew -- wasn't the end of it, but it quieted the time and things resumed their natural flow and we all went on about our days undeterred. this was the least bizarre dream, and as such the easiest to remember.

last night we made it back just in time for fireworks on the pier. there were no oohs, no ahhs, just some sarcastic hoots and a lot of chatter. they seemed far away somehow, for some other city on some other shore. not ours as we'd have them, overhead on the beach, blanket splayed, shoes off, bellies filled with summer pizza and tipsy on a beer. we met this way once, after much early courtship, a hard-won victory in my war against the male species. i had one now, captured, mine for all time. i knew it then and didn't need the proof.

and so this morning, the muffins slightly stale, the rain and the floods keeping me in, i am a petulant child. i am late to work. late and yet not rushing, late and yet i can barely fathom why i go there. i have lost my desire to jaywalk and i wait for the light to cross. i can hardly let it end. it will never be enough.

becoming a homeowner

i'm not too keen on the truth these days. i'm not too keen on ruining my own fiction.

but here it is. buying a place seemed like a joy. for a year, we looked and looked, seeking perfection, finding none. we found something close and jumped at the chance. we emptied our bank accounts. it was high-stakes gambling, and it made us quite high.

since then, paperwork. complications. issues. dare i say, even some drama. over letters. over figures. over bookshelves. and i wonder, how did we get here? not we, me and b, but we, us humans? how did things get so complicated? it's a simple trade. you get money, we get your house. the bank gives you money fast, we give it back slow. where did these rituals come from? who decided this asinine, convoluted process?

"you should be a lawyer," the lawyer said, and i'd heard it before. i devoured every last clause. i asked questions he'd never been asked. "i enjoy this, discussing contracts with clients who are legally-minded. it happens so rarely."

i love the dubious things. i love seeking them out and destroying them. i love iron-clad, air-tight, open-and-shut. i am a nerd.

and now we wait. some annoying stuff happens, and we wait. more annoying, more waiting. for three months this has been happening. three months straight.

and there's the other stuff i won't speak of. the other stuff that matters most. "he's not!" i laughed, not remembering quite what you had implied. or quite what i had said.

in the end, this is how it will be, how it will count -- not the place i choose to live, but the person with whom i reside there. i hope we will be happy. i hope i will remember the reasons some day when they become aliens of my past. the future is big and wide, an autumn moon on the horizon, growing brighter and smaller as the night goes on.

snippets

it's 4am. insomnia is good for my blog. it's been a long time since i've been up like this, awake in the night, surfing and searching and wanting to pop. it's been a long time and i have been here all my life.

i'm to be married, you'll know by now. the ring on my hand weighs ten pounds. i twist it every chance i get, twist it and pull it on and off. i must see that it is easily removed, or i get a bit claustrophobic with it. in the mornings, when my fingers are swelled up with the night, this is the hardest time.

i don't know my hand now. i don't know what to do with it, where to hold it, in a contsant state of flaunting or hiding. it looks like a mom hand, my fingers suddenly long and lean. he didn't know my size and neither did i. i have never worn a ring.

it turns out i am the average. it turns out that average is a perfect fit. it sparkles even in the dark, and i never knew i'd find such pleasure in such things.

i don't know how to be engaged. i don't know how to get married. it's not the being together that is the problem... this i can do. being part of this couple -- i have somehow never been quite as equipped for anything.  and with the ring came the surety. it was the grand big gesture. it wasn't my doing, and i didn't ask for it, and that made it all of the things i needed it to be.

i'd marry b tonight without a second's thought. i'd wake him from his slumber, i'd drag him to an all-night chapel in the country. i'd fly to vegas. i'd knock off work and visit city hall. he's the one for me, and that's it, and i'm loving that more with every day. my imagination is a better place, and i'm not going to suffer for it anymore.

why is it so hard to be happy? why is it something we must learn? each day it gets easier, each day i remind myself. i can be everything still, and that is the best part of all.

the impending wedding, however, is the worst part of life right now. there is no joy in it for me. i do not know where, i do not know when, i cannot figure out how many. the idea of getting all dolled up in a white dress, of walking down some grassy aisle with my father's phantom and a hundred eyes on me, the cake eating and thank you note writing and disco dancing -- all of it eludes me. i really don't get it. i don't want it, and no one hears me, no one understands.

i just want a moment to ourselves. i want some quiet and some reverence. i want not to feel crushed by details.

do what makes you happy, people say, but that is not an end statement. it is a prelude to telling me what they want. do what makes you happy, but do what makes me happy and i'm sure you'll like it too. that would be more honest.

i want it to happen now and i want our lives to begin. i'm tired of hurdles. i've had enough of those and i'm ready for clear paths and free sailing.

he's there in the bed now, dreaming, relieved to finally sleep. the cat woke us up, again and again, excited about something we'll never understand. i'll join him soon, and i hope the sleep will be as peaceful, and will come as quick.

last lines

for years it went forgotten, those words, that phrasing, sleeping like bears since the first time i knew them. twelve years ago, the spring, sentiments spilling between us, we gushed, eager as a pants zipper, coming undone in the hands of another. it came back to me, like a loved thing set free, the line to end all lines, the last thing i'd write when i wrote it all. something to race towards. and with it, you, a stranger in name only, a king in my checkered past, a bug in the dustpan, swept in as you once were prone... the memory, like my sentence, lighter than words, thicker than air.

missing

i eat this cereal with hearts and os. last night i dreamt i was eating it, but all of the hearts were missing. there were only os.

i don't remember the rest of my dream, just this one detail of total heartlessness.

thoughts

sometimes i want to climb so tiny into your open palm and curl up like a kitten a pill bug and be warmed by the breath from your face. i can live there, sleep and wake, while you tell stories of the day and sing softly into my ear, your humming your vibrating throat, your words my world. they are an envelope a blanket a fire and you kill my trembling my fears with your you, so large, so kind, so tough. could i melt i would, a puddle of sap in your mouth, sweetly licked from your own hand, warm and cool and unforgettably delicious. it's all i ever want.

awake

i am almost certain that the coffee of last night's meal needed some quotation marks: at best, it was "decaf." never have i wished such a thing, but some air quotes on the part of my waitron might have been nice. i might have had some chamo and might be asleep right now. i could be dreaming nice things.

instead i'm awake, here, clacking in the dark, aimlessly, having exhausted all entertainment possibilities out of the internet. believe it, it's true.

i had the shocking revelation that i made no posts in february. my archive skips a month. which is sad because the month was quite eventful for me and my drafts folder.

a recap:

not pregnant, not married, not changing my address. no job yet, not officially. hands chapped from the cold. not thinner, not fatter, not the owner of any new clothes. read books, conquered fears, completed assignments in a timely manner. crushed. if apartments were romances, had my heart broken by the one that got away. if jobs were romances, went to the next level. if romances were romances, and they are, we'd have to find another metaphor to use. like finances. grew the bank. got crazy tax returns. saved for retirement. imagined being old as a certainty.

i'm nauseous with not sleeping. i'm feeling every minute of wine hangover. we didn't eat enough food, my girl friend and i. we talked about having babies. the other baby talk.

i remember once i'd just write and write, and it'd be whatever and that'd be fine, but now there's pauses and stops. now i rest at each step, not seing the next turn, wanting to consult a compass or map, wanting some guidance. some delivery. there is no natural end.

fucking coffee.

dream

last night i dreamt my head in your hand my face in your chest our sighs intertwined we laughed and then stopped and looked in our eyes and i said this is weird and you said no it's not like you would like i'm wrong no it's not. not weird at all.

it was so like you.

rubric blues

i ate chocolate. not dark chocolate. milk. b is passed out in the bed the next room over. i opened the bar like i poured the wine, quietly, not wanting to be caught. i am reminded of my young self hiding quaker chewies in my dresser. i'd eat the whole box in an evening. first one guiltless, then two with excuses, and within an hour or two all six (eight?) were in my belly. because i knew they'd keep plaguing me all night. because i knew if i didn't eat them i wouldn't get a lick of work done. tonight it's the pms, or the baby, that i'm drowning in cocoa and pinot. because i have to have them because they are there, and whether it's me calling or them calling, someone is calling.

i remembered how my father used to mumble to himself under his breath. if i were to write a YA book i'd probably include this detail. i'd probably include some things about my mother, too, but I find them completely unspeakable in any kind of non-fiction circumstance. i can't weigh their level of horrificness against my own deep need to keep things to myself. these books are reminding me.

i've read three such books already and i've just started number four. i did a short writing assignment that only took a few minutes. i'm easing in. i realize what i've always realized, always known, that i hate school. i hate smarmy teachers and their silly exercises, i hate pesky self-absorbed classmates with their endless need to impress, i hate the whole academic publication chain that produces boggling amounts of excrutiatingly soulless text. i haven't even been in a classroom yet, and i'm trying to like this, really i am. if for no other reason than it would be so great to be on the other side of it.

i was in europe when my college diploma arrived. i was in a phone booth in my tiny swiss town where i lived for my second-favorite four months of my life. "are you sitting down?" my mother asked, the same way she had when i got my acceptance letter from the same prissy college -- me in yet another public phone booth -- over 6 years before. "i got your diploma in the mail."

i didn't say anything for a moment, trying to wrap my head around the news. i would have choked back tears, but mostly i just cry at sappy movies and tv commercials about lost pets. mostly i don't cry at my own life.

"are you there? isn't that wonderful? honey, i'm so proud of you."

my mother doesn't call me honey, but i didn't want to use my name just there. but that's what she calls me. my name.

"wh... what does it say?"

"beats me, it's in latin."

i snickered. fucking latin.

i numbly thanked her for the news and tried to search for some meaning in what she'd told me. there was none.

it was a piece of paper, no measure of my knowledge or my worth. i knew this every day i spent tormenting myself in its pursuit. i swore to myself, swore, that i would never waste my time or my money chasing paper ever again.

and here i am. printing my syllabus and highlighting the important parts. geeking out at staples over pens and plastic paper holders. (okay, i do that anyway.) reading books i don't particularly want to read, writing things i don't particularly want to be writing, and doing my gosh darn best to convince myself that it makes sense for me, that this is what i want. and maybe it is somehow and maybe i just don't know it yet, or maybe i knew it and forgot it, or maybe i suspected it but have yet to know it. maybe.

i'm just tired and i want to drink more wine than i'm allowed. i tip the bottle slowly and angle it for maximum silence.

weird

last night i had a dream. i was riding in my boss' car. we were on a curvy lakeside road which wound its way in and out of the woods, like the taconic but with more trees and more water. these fighter planes passed overhead, flying extremely low. "did you see that? i've never seen war planes so low." they were painted funny colors, primary colors... exactly what you'd not expect from a fighter plane. plus they were all flat and shaped like square sting rays.

just then we heard a crash. i looked back and one of the planes had hit a tree. the explosion came towards us as it would in a bruce willis movie. my boss stepped on the gas. "holy shit! that was close," he said. i thought we were going to die, but after taking stock for a few minutes, i realized we'd be fine. "i guess this is what it means to be at war," i said.

we made it back to work, which took place in a school. my elementary school. my high school english teacher was there and everything. he didn't approve of my corporate job, and he and the other teachers often came by our office to tell us how much we were ruining their students' lives. we thought we were helping them. the school was sponsored by (famous kids company), and with this came millions of dollars in new computer equipment. so what if we watched how they used it? we wanted to know. the computer lab was laid out like a maternity ward, showcase window and all.

i cornered my boss about a meeting i'd been trying to have with him for two weeks. he took a phone call. it was clearly bad news. his face got all twisted and he started to cry. i pantomimed "want me to leave?" and he motioned back "no, no, just give me a minute." he hung up the phone and tried to regain his composure. he still had tears in his eyes.

"so," he began, "i want you to lay in on me."

"i'm sorry?"

"let me have it. really. i know you have some complaints. i want to hear your worst. i want to hear everything bad about this job, about me. it will be constructive."

i agreed to go think about it and get back to him, but i had no idea what i'd say. i went to the (famous kids company) lab and watched the children check their email.

***

today i had a meeting with my boss that i'd been trying to have for two weeks.

"so," i began, "i've been wondering what you're thinking for my position."

we agreed that i fit in well there. we agreed to give me the job, in a long-term, paid vacations kind of way. we left the room smiling.

now i'm awake, thinking about this dream, about the weird timing and the obvious significance. maybe i'm just a huge sell out. maybe things like buying apartments and having babies mean so much to me that my judgement is clouded. or maybe it isn't.

i've always gone by what feels right, and this just does. it buys me nine months. if school works out, great, i'll quit my job. ("no hard feelings," my boss offered in advance.) if work works out, great, i'll find a way to stay. ("maybe this will go so well that you won't need school.") whatever the case, i don't have to choose. having and eating cake both. for now.

if only i could dispel the gaspy, trapped-under-rubble-full, 5am wake-ups, things would be near perfect. baby steps.