In my head, I compose posts about civil discourse, parenting teenagers, staying stalled, aging, poetry, death, death of a poet who was a friend, winter, my maniacal cat. None of the posts make it here. I suppose it's a matter of failing to embrace that damned word I chose when I started Reverb 10: "focus."
I don't care tonight, I really don't. I'll get to it. This phase I'm in is necessary. I can't scuttle around it. It's something I need to get through, you know, like the fucking Mines of Moria in The Lord of the Rings.
I am sad. I've been sad. It's most likely more than sad, but, eh, it will pass. The winter started early and has been a little more brutal than usual. It was -10 degrees this morning, so cold my car windows were frozen shut. You know, fucking cold.
It's not the cold. It's not even my friend's death (though, man, another mutual friend and I confess to each other that we have been weeping off and on since we heard about her death early this evening).
It's just ...
Well, it's what the post would have been about if my life hadn't taken one of those turns, you know the ones. The ones where you are sitting in front of your computer, fingers tapping impatiently on the keys, mind trying to compose a sentence, any sentence. Your cell phone rings, and your night swings about and faces a different moon.
At 8:30 or so (it always seems to be around 8), my cell phone rang. It was my daughter. My daughter never calls; she texts.
As planned, she and her friends were at Bob Evans waiting for their food after the basketball game. They are all band geeks, three in the group percussionists; one clarinet, one flute. Pep band duty.
"Can A and Eagle Scout and Senior Girl spend the night?"
"What? Eagle Scout?" I said. "No boys!"
"Hahahaha! I just thought I'd see if you were paying attention. Eagle made me say that. But can A and Senior Girl spend the night?"
"You have to be quieter tonight. I'm not feeling wonderful and am really tired."
"We'll be quiet, Mommy. And if we're not, you can come upstairs and yell at us. You can call us nasty names and scream at us like Senior Girl's mom. And you can make us cry."
"Um.... I don't think that's possible. But, OK, they can come."
The fourth member of the Girls Night Gang came along (so it's the usual four, which includes my Girl), and Eagle joined the girls in their yoga practice up in my Girl's room for a while. His parents picked him up at midnight.
One of the girls has been so sad over a relationship issue. As soon as she got here, she went up to my Girl's room, crawled into my Girl's bed and curled up like a kitten. But I hear her laughing now. And talking. They are balm to each other. My Girl's dreadful week won't evaporate, but it becomes a funny story instead of a list of calamities that had her freaking out this evening before the game.
I am trying to write through to a point, but I'm unable to reach the point tonight. I love these kids even though their being here makes me more tired tonight. I don't mind that they are here. It's like I need them here, as if they were supposed to come, though I was unprepared and not in the mood.