cindy's world

In my cousin Mark’s blog last week, I saw this paragraph:

Next up, I FINALLY saw Better Luck Tomorrow which actually has John Cho (Harold from Harold and Kumar) in it. It was a really good movie; I enjoyed it quite much. I think it has a plausible plot, and really interesting social overtones. I think it appeals more to people around the teens to mid 20s, as my dad didn’t like it much, and he usually has pretty good taste in movies. Speaking of which, Cindy, have you still not seen it yet? Go rent it! Highly recommended!

Since he mentioned me by name, I wrote him an email saying I’ve never even heard of the movie. His email response today reads “WHAT? You’ve SO HEARD of the movie. In fact, you were the one who TOLD me about it 2 years ago!!! =P ”

Eh???

I think my memory’s slipping. If 30 is truly the new 20, then I’m really in trouble.

I don’t like reality. I get sucked under here and there and it’s always a struggle to climb out. The last couple of days when I was able to find some levity, I clung onto it as hard as I could and tried to forget what’s real. I tried to keep my mind from wandering. I sang louder than I had to, made myself dance in my car seat listening to the radio while driving, changed channels and stations really quickly when their conversation was on anything I could relate to from my own life. But other times, when the sky is thick and gray and the air is cold (like right now), and there are no other distractions, I inadvertently stumble onto some truths. It feels like I was facing fantasy and laughing joyously, then I get a tap on the shoulder behind me and I turn, mouth still open from the laughter, and it’s a dark figure who force-feeds me a bitter dose of reality, right into my mouth.

I’m going back to bed.

Actually, Mr. W just invited me to have tea with him on his balcony. “It’s nice outside,” he said. Maybe it’s nicer over there on that side than it is here.

Oh my gawd, and now they’re DEADLOCKED! The judge is doing a deadlock inquiry right now. The foreperson is the hold-out, I’m sure, cuz she was overheard yelling at the other jurors about some irrelevant sticking point.

It’s 4:06 p.m., and the custody bus normally leaves before 4 to bring the inmates back to county jail. And our pro per custody is sitting here in the court. =P

Our pro per (defendant insists on defending himself instead of thru an attorney) criminal trial is killing me. I want to gouge my own eyes out, which, incidentally, is what the defendant is charged with. (He gouged out the eye of another inmate in a local state mental hospital.)

And our jurors! The foreperson’s being a total witch, she’s causing problems, and she refuses to sign the request forms. She’d better not refuse to sign the verdicts!!

And she requested readback of testimony of EVERY WITNESS in the trial. What the hell was she doing when they were testifying?! The other jurors don’t want that kind of readback, but she’s just this controlling bossy cranky lady.

Everyone I’ve run into in the building (other DAs, other judges, other clerks, other bailiffs) have been sympathetically asking about our trial or saying they heard we have a nightmare case. Word gets around fast.

Today being the end of the second session of yoga, I am beginning to see why Mr. W wanted to take this class. He’s totally teacher’s pet!

The first class, when the instructor walked in and recognized him, she looked pleasantly surprised and said, “Oh! Nice to see you again!” He said, “Nice to see you, too. And this time I brought my girlfriend.” He introduced me to her. She said hello to me, and then said as she passed me to go to the other side of the room, “I just want you to know that you have a very good-looking man over there.” I smiled at her and I may have said, “Mm-hmm.” She continued, “I just wanna make sure you know that. He’s very good-looking.” This time I retorted, “Yeah, so he keeps telling me.” I heard Mr. W scoff in the back behind me.

Today, the class did a pose where you first kneel on both knees with your legs together, then sit back on your heels, thighs together. And then you fan your feet away from your body slightly so that your butt’s on the ground in between your upturned feet. And then you lean your upper body back so that your back’s on the ground and you’re looking at the bottoms of your feet on either side of your thighs if you look toward your knees. The instructor walked in front of Mr. W as he was in this compromising pose and announced that she was going to stand on his quads, and that he is going to enjoy it. So she stepped up. He said that it did feel good, and she said, “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” And then she looked down at him, smiled, and clarified, “For me.”

I can’t wait to see what she’s gonna do or say next week. I’ll keep you guys posted.

I miss jujitsu. Being thrown across the room by blackbelts and landing on my head was more comfortable than some of the stuff we did in this class. (Altho it’s not a beginning yoga class, as I found out after the last class. Mr. W had signed us up for the continuing class.) Did I tell you guys that she starts the class with a few reverberating “om”s, which the class joins in on, and then they sing some chant in Hindi?

It worked! Mr. W’s suggestion for an impromptu lunchtime picnic with a portable swinging nylon hammock, some fresh loquats and sesame candy was just what the doctor (well, Jade) recommended. Within minutes of laying in the sun on the hammock, I looked down at my skirt hemline and saw I had achieved a tan mid-thigh, so I scooted my skirt higher to try to even out the tan a bit. The sun got so friendly that we finally had to move the hammock and food into the shade. After we ate, we lay in the hammock together as Mr. W rocked us gently with his hand on the ground. Birds chirped overhead. A slight breeze caressed the back of my legs as his hand caressed…uh…a little higher than that. I kept looking at my watch because I was afraid I’d fall asleep and get back to work late.

But I feel MUCH better now.

The pressure in here is actually making me shaky. I feel like a child tiptoeing around a parent who you know is a hairline away from ripping his belt off and whipping you to welts. Anything I do or say, or anything anyone does or says, may trigger the finely-tuned trip wire and everything will blow up. I’m trying to (very quietly and gingerly) mediate the situation and defuse the bomb, but I keep hitting dead ends. Meanwhile the ticking’s getting louder…

I feel heavy and glum.

I miss the days of lightness, levity, and easy laughter.

Sometimes you go through the motions and hope your emotions follow suit. With that in mind in selecting my suit for the day, I’m in sunny yellow, florals, and white shoes that I hadn’t worn since before Labor Day. And a string of white pearls. Very Easter.

I hate it when you let someone in and they now have access to wreak havoc on your heart and mind.

I hate it. I hate this. I hate it. I hate this.

Navy Girl Vanessa had driven out to jujitsu on Monday only to find that the building was locked up and the place was like a ghost town. Spring Break, apparently. I contacted Josh and he confirmed that there’s no jujitsu at all this week.

So after work yesterday, I drove out to my cousin’s car shop and got an oil change and got my windshield wipers replaced. The original wipers that came with the car had been just smearing the rain on my windshield instead of wiping it off. My cousin also fixed my right rear tire, which I knew some time ago had been leaking air and I’d (well, Mr. W, actually) filled it with air once and it seemed fine for weeks afterwards so I forgot about it but apparently there was a big nail in it.

And then I went home and was happy to see Vanessa’s car in the garage. When I walked in, she was sitting on the couch and she looked up at me with wide sad eyes. I looked to her right and saw that she was watching the end tearjerker scene of What Dreams May Come, one of my favorite movies and one that had a large part in changing my life. We chatted a bit, drove out and had dinner at a local Mexican restaurant, had margaritas and fried ice cream at another local Mexican restaurant, and then came home and watched Somewhere in Time, another movie by the same novel writer, Richard Matheson, and the same producer, some Deutsch guy.

I’d missed having friends nearby that I could go out with. And I’m enjoying the week off from jujitsu. But I haven’t exercised since last Friday. Oh well, you can’t win ’em all.

This morning while getting ready for work, I remembered a phone conversation with my childhood friend Sandy when I had broken up with an ex. I was saying sadly that I miss him. She said, “You don’t miss him! You’re just bored.” I paused, considered it, and by golly, she was RIGHT. Cuz if I imagined myself out doing something, the feeling of missing him went away. That just goes to show the dangers of boredom. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, the saying goes.