Life After…Go figure

A Narrative of Life Outside The Box

Archive for the category “Things Domestic”

A brief moment of social interaction

Laura comes into the bathroom, hitches up her nightie, sits on the throne, freezes. The banging and clatter from what she thought was some inexplicable event in the next door apartment is not only louder, there are clearly distinct and unknown (and, incidentally, male and large-sounding) voices right on the other side of the wall from her bare ass.

So, after a thoughtful pause, it goes like this:

Laura: “Excuse me. Are you gentlemen in my wall?”

Pause. Longer Pause. Unfamiliar voice: “Yes.”

Laura: “Ummmm. OK. let me know if you would like tea then.”

Shorter pause.Voice: “OK.”

When you eliminate the most probable (I’m nuts and simply IMAGINING men in my wall), and even the more readily explicable (they aren’t actually IN the walls, just in a closet or something in adjoining space) or even the deplorable (move over Pin Head, Freddy and The People Under the Stairs), sometimes the best option you are left with…

Is the attempt to be hospitable.

My landlord is a pusillanimous  scum-wad.

and now, on to other realities. As soon as I can actually use the bathroom without it feeling like a sound stage.

Possible Evidence that I Have No Life

–Any documentary featuring A) Stephen Hawking and cosmology, B) World War II footage or C) the Hittite Empire  is an occasion for at least one delighted squeak and a “BIG PLANS TONIGHT” thought.

–I get really excited whenever I can afford real delli.

–Old Testament class is the highlight of my mid-week.

–My cat kills a mouse and that is the most exciting event I have to talk about.

–Learning how to make sharks on Facebook still delights me after two days.

–Cafe-bought coffee is the highlight of my entire day.

–Getting home from work by 5:30 is the equivalent of a spa retreat.

–Getting through a half hour on Dinning Hall shift without making a mistake at the cash register prompts a victory dance.

–Swearing in Latin is my major rebellion. (Although, to be fair, in a Divinity School, more people are likely to know how bad the stuff I’m saying actually is.)

–The closest I get to an attractive, single, straight man is by moving the TV closer.

–The most I get out is Doctor Who.

–I have to save Grimm on the recorder because the tension level is too much excitement if I can’t fast forward through the commercials.

–I feel like a highly evolved being whenever I keep up with my dishes and laundry.

Conversations Across the Spiritual Divide*

Me: Wow. I’m looking down into a dark universe. A slowly emerging star spirals and swirls into focus, scattering particles of glory over the deep background of cosmic existence. It unfurls, growing as surely as a trumpet flower as the colors shade and rise. What a difference from the volcanic reaction of variegated magma and gasses bursting up to the surface and overflowing across the expanses that was so shocking last week.

Steve: You’re at the Hubble Telescope?

Me: No, I just dumped a teaspoon of powdered maple sugar into coffee fresh from the microwave. Still bubbling a bit.

Steve: Oh. So you did it slowly this time.

Me: Yep.

Steve: Well, the coffee explosion of 7/26 WAS pretty impressive. I liked the noise you made when it overflowed and tried to eat your kitchen counter.

Me: Yep. Thanks, Honey.

Steve: Any time…

*Yes I have conversations with my late husband in my mind and heart. Yes I think there’s a chance it’s actually him. No, I don’t know for sure. That is all.

Oy

WARNING: even more than usual rambling below.

I am moving in nine days. With a cat, a car on a tow-dolly, a sprained ankle, more of my grandparent’s furniture than I have room for and a soul that keeps shouting “Oh Hell, I think I’ve done the right thing, but what if I HAVEN’T?!?”

The new apartment is in the same town as Divinity School in the Boston area. Classes won’t start until September, of course but since this place has all that it does included in rent and set up, AND they didn’t require a Kidney or Spleen donation I thought I’d better take it. It is in a large and beautiful house in the same town where my father grew up. As far as I know, Dad was the first person in his family to earn an advanced degree. I am pretty sure I will be the first in his or Mom’s family to be ordained. Certainly I will (eventually, please the Gods) be the first Unitarian Universalist minister in both or all our clans.

Steve’s family has two ordained Baptist ministers. On one hand, I continue to appreciate that they never told him to throw over the pagan whore (that would be me, if I understand the tenets of their sect correctly) or never see them again. And I feel a great common ground with them, because we’ve all had a vocation to our various services. On the other, they do not seem to want to spend a lot of time with me, and Uncle N has announced, on more than one occasion that “Global Warming is a crock.” This usually leaves me seething because, after all, Uncle N, for me, the slow destruction of the Great Mother is a form of crucifixion–and she has to do it every day. (Christ stuck it out for a decent chunk of time, I will freely give him that.) I don’t go around telling you the crucifixion of Jesus was a crock, do I?

Well, everything I’m saying here is apropos of nothing–certainly not a recognizable theme within.

The dialogue beyond language itself

Me: You’ve got junk in your ear again!

Cat: I most certainly do NOT!

Me: I gave you an ear nuggie and saw it! Serious, industrial strength gook!

Cat: Stupid human; Superior Cats (Tortoiseshells, to the peons) have darker ear wax.

Me: So it’s not bothering you.

Cat: How ridiculous, of course not.

Me: So you’re actually standing there, shoving your entire back foot in your ear, then holding position for 30 seconds at a time because you feel like it.

Cat: It’s a complex martial-arts stretch originating in the Nile River Delta and popular among us during the Egyptian Middle Kingdom; of course you wouldn’t understand.

Inside my cat’s head during Divinity School applications/apartment hunting

What does she mean ‘Divinity School’? She needs to learn Divinity? How pathetic!

‘Does the building allow cats’? Seriously?!? Shouldn’t she be asking the more important question: does the building allow bloody HUMANS? I mean, I let her live with me; occasionally the training succeeds and she’s nice enough for a huge, defective,kitten with two legs and a learning problem but COME ON…We can’t count on just any place to allow her in!

Where’s my damned breakfast/lunch/afternoon tea/petit fours/late night refreshment now?

What, WHAT is a ‘minister’?

What does she mean ‘I may not have as many altars (boxes, chairs, cushions, the actual altar) to sit on’ ?!? Has ANOTHER cat chased her out of my territory? AGAIN!?!

Who are Luther, Milton and Erasmus and, more importantly, if we’re getting a new cat am I expected to make Kittens with him? (Shudder) Even if it was possible, she knows what I think of THAT!!

Why is she spending all that time on the nice flat box with the warmth and the massaging platform instead of ceding it to ME?!?

Why have I not been presented with the acceptable volume of Daily Tribute? It’s scandalous that the green leaves for my “nerves” are not replaced sufficiently! Scandalous, I tell you!

First of many to follow…even if we all regret it…

Some time ago, I started a blog. I soon discovered that I had done so at the wrong time. Jobless Limbo is a great place to keep a handwritten journal, but a rotten place to try and provide commentary on the many factors one encounters in the events of their life. Now while I’m STILL eeking out my living on savings and the occasional part-time drywalling job I get in the parking lot of Home Depot Substitute Teaching gig, some things have changed.

For instance, two weeks ago, I got into one of my first two choices of Divinity School. I’m witholding the institution’s name to protect their reputation. Suffice to say it’s near the Boston area. Now, I still need to see what kind of scholarships and aid I can qualify for, and what my other first choice–which is also my reach–has to say. BUT: my chances of becoming a Unitarian Universalist minister look better this week than they did a year ago. I think my commitment level on this whole ‘vocation thing’ has shifted as well. I’m going to serve as a Druid for the rest of my life, hopefully as a minister at the same time, but if not, even if I end up selling insurance or changing oil on the weekdays, I WILL find a way to serve a community as a Druid, and that WILL be my JOB G-d^%$&it. My late husband Steve might have worked at Marriott as a front desk guy but his JOB was repairing and restoring antique trolleys and streetcars. So one way or another I am following my vocation and it’s time for me to stop being such a damned shrinking violet so wishy-washy about it.

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