cindy's world

Sleep doesn’t come at a time like this if I really do love someone. Twilight used to be reassuring. The mistily veiled rose hues before dawn used to wake a sleepy but excited 6 year old and adhere her to the window, embracing some unidentifiable feeling that I now know is nostalgia.
You’re right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the distance
Getting close
Solid. Beautiful. Detour.
It really was.

I’m sitting at Mr. W’s desk in his bedroom chatting online, and then I overhear from the living room Son’s voice saying something, and then Daughter’s voice, “Yeah, I’m going to Vegas, too.” TOO? Did she say TOO?

I ran out. “[Son]!” I called. “You’re going to Vegas?”
“Yeah, I am,” he said very good-naturedly.
“I am so proud of you!” I burst. “Don’t forget when you get up there to thank your grandparents for all the money they gave you last Christmas cuz you hadn’t seen them,” I couldn’t help rubbing in.
“Yeah, I know,” he laughed.

Whoooo! *running around the cyber blog room high-ten-ing everyone*

This coming weekend is Father’s Day weekend. I’d made plans with my parents for all of us to get fitted with and purchase good running shoes at A Snail’s Pace Running Shop. I have a gift certificate from my judge that I hadn’t redeemed from last Christmas, and I wanted to purchase good shoes for my parents (who are walking hills around their neighborhood for exercise) for Father’s Day and for my mother’s birthday the week after that. Turns out, Mr. W’s brother and his family, whom he hadn’t seen in years, are flying from Chicago to Las Vegas to visit their parents that same weekend. It’s going to be a huge family reunion as Mr. W plans to drive out there, and his other two brothers already live there with their families. Mr. W hopes to get his two kids out there with him as well. Even if I didn’t already have plans with my own family I would’ve found it a good time to step back and let Mr. W and his family do their thing as family.

Mr. W’s 17 year old son hadn’t been out to Vegas to see his grandparents and family out there for the entire 2 years I’d been around, so it may have been even longer than that. When Mr. W brought up the trip to him last night, the teenager was less than enthused. “It’s my summer before college, I wanna party,” he protested. After some seemingly ineffective convincing, Mr. W gave up and went into his bedroom. I stayed sitting at the dining room table tapping away at my computer as Son played a baseball video game in the adjoining living room.

And I had a mental war with myself. I wanted so badly to say something to him about his waving his grandparents off, yet again. But he and I aren’t close, and I’ve never talked to him about personal things before. To top it off, all of this is none of my business. I also don’t want him to feel weird around me, especially since I feel he already does as any keep-to-himself teenage boy would feel around his father’s girlfriend. If it had been his daughter, she probably would’ve come to me for a sounding board, but she’s different. Plus, I really do understand, so regretfully, how it is to be a teenager and really, really not want to hang out with your family and relatives when you could be hanging out with your friends.

I shut down my laptop, unplugged the cord, and waited only seconds for an opportune time to pop up in his game (the game was loading the next level), and I walked to him and said as gently as I could, “Not that my opinion should be the end-all to anything, but I really think you should go with your dad to Vegas this weekend.” He looked at me in surprise. I continued, “Your grandparents are getting older, and I don’t know if your dad told you this, but your grandmother had two eye surgeries in the last few months. I go there with him, and I’ve seen them look disappointed when they see that we don’t have you kids there with us. They try to stay in your life, they’re driving out here for your graduation next week, they send you cards… I know you won’t regret going to 9 parties instead of 10 this summer, but if something happens to your grandparents, you might regret not going over to see your family back when you had the chances to.” I paused. He, sensing that I was perhaps waiting for a response from him, said, “Uh-huh” and paused his game. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but just, you know…[he nodded]…I’ve just seen them look sad when you’re not with us, is all. Good night,” I said and turned away. He said after me, “Thanks. Good night to you, too.”

Life is all about choices. Some choices are about weighing what you would and would not regret. As intrusive as I felt that my hands were practically shaking as I walked away from him, I’d made the choice that the possible awkward moment I’d create with him was worth the possibility that he grow up just a little bit and sacrifice 3 days to spend with his family before he goes and plays the rest of the summer away. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I know I won’t regret putting in my 2 cents.

It was just after midnight, some eight hours ago, when it occurred to me that I’m “supposed” to give birth to my first child within the next 20 days. I have proven wrong on all those lame little high school essays for which the topic was, “Describe how you see yourself in 10 years.” Could I have completely and irreversably missed the fork in the road of my life where I was supposed to turn onto Matrimony Road, cross the white picket fence to enter Blissful Family Manor, being greeted first by an excited dog bursting through the front doggie door, then cheering children as I open the door, then loving husband, patting Dodo’s meowing head as I cross the foyer? Have I forever missed the boat?

I quelled the bubbling internal panic by thinking of how I got on this alternative path. Times are a’changin’, I tell myself, agreeing with everyone else who have been telling me for the past 5 years that I’m a baby, I have time, no one gets married and has their kids in their late 20s anymore. Anyone whose education and career are worth a hoot do the fiscally responsible thing by setting themselves up first, preparing for their futures, BEFORE “tying down” their lives and finances with creating family, they tell me and I agree, mostly because I have to. Agree, that is. Oh yes, I’m like this by choice. Oh yes, I’m happy. Oh yes, the only guarantee I have is my own actions so it’s much better I rely only on myself and ensure my own future and make my own major purchases and select my own investments and pay my own bills. Yes, yes, there’s no guarantee a marriage would make me happy, that relying on a husband and having kids all with their own minds would provide any form of stability. I’m much better for having avoided major mistakes like marrying the wrong person.

But then I look at my parents, who see themselves as aging, reminding me that time ticks by. I hear my mother’s assumptions uttered so presumptively as I grew up that they had become my own assumptions. “I thought of having another child, but I thought forget it, I’ll just wait to hold my grandchildren.” “I’m saving this for your kids.” “I recorded these stories on cassette tape for you, when you no longer want to listen to them, save them; one day you can have your own children listen to their grandmother tell them stories when I’m too old to read the books these came from.” “Do you want your old storybooks? I have them in a box so you can read them to your kids one day.” “I packed all your childhood hair things. You’ll have it for your own daughter’s use.” “Haha, how’re you going to cook for your kids when you’re so impressed with this dish? Come over earlier so you can learn how to cook your favorite foods for your own family.” It is unnecessary for her to ask questions of my future, hinting that I should be getting my life “started” now; it’s not like I’d been pushing the issue back in my own head because I’m unaware it’s there. But she asks, and I push.

My life has been stagnant for the past 6 years, my last accomplishment being the purchase of this house. I don’t care to celebrate 31.

I walked into my court reporter’s office for some coffee and saw her in tears standing in the middle of her office, staring into space. She’d been trying to write a thank-you note, she explained. Her daughter won the scholarship, and they’d attended the award ceremony recently. She said the giver of the scholarship, the mother of the deceased girl, deliberately did not attend that award ceremony because she didn’t feel she could hold up emotionally. The presenter talked about how my reporter’s daughter and the deceased girl had been close friends in parochial school, and my reporter’s heart broke listening to this speech. “I was trying to write the note to her [the mother] describing the look of happiness of my child’s face for the scholarship, but I just felt that she must be in so much pain, and I just couldn’t write, I didn’t know how to write it,” my reporter said, eyes misting up again.

Please drive carefully.

There I was, driving along the street with half a tank of gas still in my car, innocent, unsuspecting, calm, sleepy even. And then HOLY CRAP! A Chevron station on my left displayed that its premium gasoline is currently being sold at $3.37 a gallon! $3.37! A gallon! 91 grade! Chevron! My last fill-up was $3.49 a gallon at Mobil. I immediately pulled into the left turn lane and waited at the red light to turn into this gas station. I spent $28 on my half-tank and merrily went on my way.

For the next 3 miles as I drove to James’s house (to pick up stuff to mail to Jordan), I kept freaking out looking at other gas stations’ posted prices. “Oh my GAWD!! Arco’s premium gas is $3.35! I just paid more than that when I didn’t even need gas!” (Buyer’s remorse.)
James, who was on the phone with me and kept getting all his sentences interrupted with my exclamations like this, said, “Okay, but do you really want Arco gas?” True. I moved on. He started saying something about work or his car or something, I wasn’t listening, because, “DUDE!!! The Mobil station HERE is $3.25!!! WHAT the HELL!!”
James paused and said, “$3.25? Really? For premium grade?”
I looked again. “Oh, nevermind. It’s 87 gas. Whew! So what’s your gateway entry code again?”
Before James could even tell me, this shot out of my mouth: “The Chevron HERE has premium gas at $3.45! Premium! Chevron!”
James said, with saintlike patience, “But you got it for less than that, didn’t you? Yeah, you paid $3.37, right?”
“Did I? Oh yeah, I did! Oh, okay then.”
*pause*
James said, “You know you’re getting all worked up over 10 cents, right? You only saved like a dime!”

Argh. What has the rip-off gasoline industry DONE to me?!

Some days it seems everything happens to prevent me from doing what I’m trying so hard to do (like get to work on time), and in the midst of my frustration, I’d sometimes stop and think, “Maybe this ISN’T just ‘bad luck’ or ‘a coincidence.’ Maybe I’m being saved from something bad happening if I got my way.” It’s unfortunate that we rarely get to verify this. Sometimes we get confirmation, like the afternoon when weird things on the road just prevented me from getting to the ATM at the end of lunch one day, such that I had to forego my withdrawal and return to work. Upon my return to work, I heard that the bank I’d been trying to get to was robbed at lunchtime. And sometimes, something bad DOES happen to you and you’d think, “Dang, if I’d only done this one small thing differently, I would’ve been able to avoid this,” and you wish you could go back in time just to tweak that small thing. But how do we know how many “small things” were done or prevented to keep us safe thus far? You don’t know about most near misses unless you don’t miss them.

On the same line, here’s something I got via email today, which I will send on as a “Happy Friday” to my dear readers.

The ‘LITTLE’ Things
As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten.
Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn’t go off in time.
One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.
One of them missed his bus.
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
One’s car wouldn’t start.
One went back to answer the telephone.
One had a child that dawdled and didn’t get ready as soon as he should have.
One couldn’t get a taxi.
The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work, but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today.
Now when I am stuck in traffic,
Miss an elevator,
Turn back to answer a ringing telephone,
All the little things that annoy me…
I think to myself,
This is exactly where
I am supposed to be at this very moment…

Next time your morning seems to be going wrong,
The children are slow getting dressed,
You can’t seem to find the car keys,
You hit every traffic light,
Don’t get mad or frustrated;
God is at work watching over you.

May God continue to bless you
With all those annoying little things
And may you remember their possible purpose.

James came by after work yesterday to return my bag o’ schtuff which was apparently burning a hole in his car trunk. I in turn threw some China souvenirs in his general direction. He was also craving Mexican food, so I suggested a nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Taco Shack.

Dwaine had introduced me to Taco Shack some years ago and I always remember it, when I step in, as the place where Dwaine and his buddy engaged in a tipping war and the tips got so high that the waitresses developed an instant crush on Dwaine, so he had bragworthy service until he made the mistake of bringing me there one day, incurring the jealousy and wrath of the catty waitresses who from that moment on gave him the cold shoulder.

But they have good authentic food, so off James and I went. On the drive there, I disclosed my nervousness about our late dinner. “Why?” he asked. “Because I really don’t eat Mexican food anymore. It’s so heavy and made with lard.” He offered to eat some other genre of food, but I said we always go where I had cravings so now we’ll go where he has cravings, and I’ll try to be careful about my portions or selections.

I had a true dilemma behind the menu. While listening to the pompous bragging behind me of a guy “complaining” about all the women in his life who initially agree to keep things simple but end up begging him to take their relationship to a higher level as a brainless-sounding girl giggled her gullibility(I also remember Taco Shack as the restaurant where Dwaine once said to me, “Just once I’d like to overhear a conversation that’s half as interesting as ours.”), I felt my head fight my heart. I really wanted, craved for, the chicken mole, but it’s a full dinner that comes with tortillas, rice and beans, which I can do without but which I know I will ingest because I don’t like wasting food. (It was awful in China admitting defeat at each meal, thinking about the cliched starving children in China, paranoid of actually seeing them through the restaurant window.) But my head said to ignore the heart’s desire and go for the healthier choice, small soft tacos a la carte.

James hit on a thread of truth that I will regret the heavier meal as satisfying as it may be at the time I am shoveling it into my mouth. He recommended the soft tacos. I reluctantly consented and ordered 3 soft tacos a la carte, and thereby freed up the caloric guilt to eat the smothered cheese and chips given to us as an appetizer.

The 3 tacos were immensely and surprisingly satisfying. Plus, no guilt! My body must be craving something, however, because this morning I had a dream that I was sitting at a large round table by myself and eating chocolate and almond cookies and cakes and pastries while ignoring the little anorexic voice screaming, “Nooo! You have to stop!! What are you doing to yourself?! You’ll never be able to work this off! Never!!!”

Consistent with yesterday, my gym trainee and I are skipping the gym today as I touched base with her via email earlier and in her own words, “Every part of my body hurt. I left my purse at [a coworker’s] desk because putting it on my shoulder hurt. I couldn’t have done anything last night if the man of my dreams were to offer (who ever that is?). I think we deserve a lite lunch? If I can still walk by lunch time.” The right side of my lower back hurts from when I slept slumped over to the right sideways on my recliner all night. So we’re gonna speed-walk to a restaurant at lunch.

Mr. W and I were having a conversation at 9:30p last nite in which he’d used the word “enigma” or “enigmatic.” It stirred something in the back of my head. I once knew and loved another word that meant “enigmatic”, but I could not remember the word now. “It’s an SAT word,” I said hopefully to Mr. W.
He laughed at me. “Then I definitely wouldn’t know it,” he said.
“Yes you would! It’s not an uncommon word, but it’s not often used. The definition is ‘understood only to a select few’.” He threw a few words out there that weren’t it. I said I THOUGHT it started with the letter “C”. Conundrum? No. I jumped online and started running words for synonyms. “Puzzle.” No. “Mystery.” No. He finally kicked me off the laptop so he could work on our China photos. (There are THOUSANDS of those.) Now thoroughly obsessed, I grabbed 2 dictionaries and a thesaurus. Those gave me the same lame synonyms. Puzzle. Mystery. I started flipping through the Cs in the dictionary. C-E? C-H-E?

I started calling people. Childhood friend Vicky, her younger sister Karen, and Dwaine all went to my high school. I know it was a high school word. All three did not pick up their cell phones. I called James because hey, the guy did not get a free ride through college for being stupid. He didn’t pick up. I was now thoroughly perplexed. I called college roommie Diana. She actually picked up. I gave the criteria to her, then warned her it may not actually begin with C, but that my impression was that it had a C in it. She put the legal work she was doing aside and investigated, then called me back. “What’s the word???” I said eagerly upon picking up my cell.
“Now what’re you gonna give me for the word?” she asked.
“ARGH, I can’t believe you’re gonna do this to me!” I strained.
She laughed. “Well? What do I get?” Then, relenting at my tortured gurgle, she said, “It’s cipher.”
I sagged. “No. It’s not,” I said, almost near tears.
“It’s not?! It HAS to be!” she said in surprise. But it’s not. She called me back two more times, each time offering more C words, but none of them were it. I continued flipping through the dictionary page by page.

It was now midnight. I’m still reading C and E words in the dictionary. If Mr. W weren’t using the laptop I would’ve blogged a post begging for help from my readers. “This is gonna be like that 14.4 thing,” I grumbled.

Another half hour went by. I’d given up, thinking I’d simply ask my vocabulary-gifted judge come Tuesday after the long weekend, if I don’t blow my brains out first. And then, James called me back at 12:30am. “I missed your call, what’s up?” he asked.
“I’m looking for an SAT word,” I began.
“And you think I’d know it?” he said dubiously.
“Yes! It’s not an uncommon word, but it’s not used a lot. Its definition is ‘understood only by a select few.’ ”
There was about 4 seconds of silence as he thought. And then, “Esoteric?” he suggested nonchalantly.
“YES!@#$ THANK YOU!!! I’VE BEEN ON THIS FOR THE PAST THREE AND A HALF HOURS!! I CAN FINALLY GET SOME SLEEP NOW!!” I said way too loudly.
“Are you serious?!” he laughed at me.

James has redeemed all past wrongs against me now. Plus, I now know what his fated purpose for clawing back into my life is. And I will never again forget the word “esoteric.”

Today was a confusing and perturbing day. I was confused why I was so perturbed over something that wasn’t happening to me. Am I so freaking bored that I’m taking in someone else’s unfortunate drama to affect my sense of peace? Unfortunately, when bad things are happening to someone you’re in love with, telling yourself “This isn’t your problem, you’re not touched by this, it’ll handle itself with or without you” doesn’t get you very far. There’s something inside that wants to right the injustice, but I know I’m totally powerless and don’t have the option of participating in these events. Which is a good thing, the fact that I’m uninvolved in bad stuff, except for the fact that I feel so crappy about it. And then I’m back to the confusion. I was just sick about it all day today, trying not to take attitudes personally, trying to remind myself to be more giving and more understanding in this time. Still confused as to why I’d even have to tell myself that. I can walk away from it all right now and nothing would technically touch me or my life, I am that removed from it all. Technically. But I’m responding to it emotionally. Stop it.

I had a moment of relief from the stress (which isn’t even rightfully mine) between 7:30 and 9:00 when I took Vanessa up on her offer to go to Boot Camp at a local park, a circuit-training workout that’s run by her sister. It’d been offered before, but this time I went with it because I didn’t get to work out at lunch (I realized after getting into the gym locker room that I’d forgotten to bring workout pants, and I doubt the club would allow me to work out in my underwear), and I needed a distractor. The workout was so intense that I got the pre-fainting symptoms of dizziness, nausea, cold sweats, hyperventillation for a few minutes and sat out the rest of a circuit. I told myself I wasn’t properly nourished before the workout, and I was stressed all day, so I wasn’t at the top of my game. But it was disturbing that it happened. At least I caught the symptoms early and didn’t actually pass out or vomit. I was able to finish off all sets of all exercises up till then, despite seeing that some other people took breaks during sets. Yeah, when you feel like that, you really don’t care WHAT’s happening to other people in your life. Plus, some mosquitos actually stung me through my long-sleeved shirt, one on my arm, three on my back, so that occupied my attention for a few minutes, too. It was also really nice to catch up with Vanessa; I hadn’t seen her since way before my China trip.

Speaking of Vanessa, I’d once joked that the reason why my life/relationship was so peaceful was because all the drama available in the local area was being used up by Vanessa, so there was none left for me. Now that Vanessa’s life is on track, the drama has now hit someone else close to me. *sigh*

Mr. W said earlier, after a strange series of bad events that involve people marginally dealing with him, that anyone making contact with him these days are prone to attracting bad luck. Such as the guy tinting his car windows in the parking structure being harassed by the City. Such as my not having my workout pants. Well, I tend to believe that there are people/entities that look out for me, so I wasn’t too concerned. But at 6:30p, walking to my car in the parking structure after work, a car sped around a curb and unpredictably and without slowing down, turned right into my path and kept going in a speed way too fast for a parking structure. He didn’t even look and therefore didn’t see me. Some Asian guy. If I had stepped off the curb a mere 2 seconds earlier, there is no doubt that I would’ve been severely hit from my left, which would break my legs, hips, and at his speed, he wouldn’t have been able to stop from running over me so my head was likely to have been taken off, too. So to the entities protecting me, thank you. Your efforts are not unseen or unappreciated.