I get sung to sleep with Nirvana songs he learned when he was a little younger, a little angstier. Mostly I feel lucky to have found someone to be in the pod with me.
Mother Teresa experienced periods, decades, even, of darkness and silence from God. I find this to be profoundly important.
Have you ever used a tampon so badly beaten from the bottom of your book bag that it is almost dust?
TV has a powerful hold over me. Without it, I begin feeling a little bit more myself. Myself is existential, guarded and private. I feel sillier, more creative and say, “Hey boyfriend!” Even though he has a name.
I am completely sympathetic with Mary Winkler. She was released after only 67 days in a treatment facility for post traumatic stress disorder. She shot and killed her husband. She endured an abusive marriage and came from a home with a domineering and probably abusive father. The woman was sheltered, socializing primarily in church activities and with fellow church members. Her husband was a rapist, involved in credit fraud and abusive to both Mary and their daughters, suffocating the young girls until they stopped crying at night. During the trial, Mary even fought to preserve the reputation of her husband for the sake of her daughters. Ultimately, her defense team persuaded her to divulge some truths (not all of it) about her husband so that she might improve her sentence. Now, she has been released. She does not have contact with her three daughters. I can’t imagine how she will start her life at this point. Her three daughters are currently in custody of their murdered father’s parents. These people are the girls’ grandparents. They are the same parents who produced a pastor son who committed malicious acts of violence and abuse against his wife and daughters. Surely the girls’ grandfather is suppressing his own abusive tendencies for the media scrutiny he is under. Surely the girls’ grandmother continues to keep her mouth shut.
I know that women tend to receive lighter sentences than men in the US justice system. But then again, men are not nearly as vulnerable to the silent, daily abuses that go on in marriages across the country. How many women are out there, like Mary Winkler, who have known no other life? They have no dialog, no escape, only a dark oppression, an inescapable life sentence. I’ve only felt fleeting moments of this, but I recognize the feeling. I can escape. I’ve never known such a marriage, such an eternity. This is how it appears to me. Just look at her mouth.
That was the last of the French tampons. That was the last of the Lait Creme Nourrissant. That marks the final stages of moving from present life to memory.
I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I finally moved into the city this weekend. My family went home and now I’m just left with boxes to unpack and a long “to do” list. Luckily I have this week off to try to get everything done.
I still can’t eat in the kitchen. It usually takes me about a week and baking a batch of cookies before the kitchen won’t gross me out. It’s not that the place is gross. I’m just that way about foreign kitchens.
I am finally living how I want to live. There’s no tv. There’s time for reading, writing. There is a big health food store nearby that is almost as good as the co-op. The streets are wide and tree lined. The people are diverse, and I feel like I just blend right into the crowd–how I prefer it.