I miss LA. You know how much easier it is to miss someone when you know theyíre going to be gone for an undetermined amount of time? Maybe forever?
Iíve made the fatal mistake of getting a Netflix account. I may never leave the house again. Itís only the first month. Things may even out for me as time goes on. Not that I havenít gone on watching stuff binges before. I have. Then, after awhile, Iíll get tired of it and go on a fast for a couple of months.
Tonight, I watched Desperately Seeking Susan. This is a movie that came out when I was a kid after we had just gotten HBO. It was on constantly, but I never saw it from the beginning, so I never knew exactly what was going on. That was the problem with HBO, I saw the ends of things dozens of times and the beginnings once or twice, if I was lucky.
Thanks to Netflix, I finally know the whole story, and Iím actually grown-up enough to appreciate it.
It seems like we all have a Roberta and a Susan living within us. The thing that keeps us in the middle must be that all Susanís want a little security in life and all Robertaís want some excitement.
Anyway, I think Iíd rather be Roberta because that character had some actual depth. Susan just seemed to think she was Madonna in a movie.
Somehow, Iíve managed to grow some real security in life. I donít know if itís luck, determination, or something else. I just know that it really wasnít that long ago when I was a street urchin in a ghetto, whose cocaine addicted father, in a moment of clarity, sent her and her brother to the Midwest to live with people theyíd never met before.
As awful as that sounds, it was really the only thing that could be done at the time. Also, by the time I had reached that age, Iíd lived with so many relatives, friends of family, and neighbors and had so few belongings, it didnít matter.
I thought stable lives were the stuff of fairy tales, just like snow. Once I moved to the Midwest, I learned that both those things do exist.
I wouldnít actually earn that stable life untilÖ well, about now, give or take a few years.
I wonít deny that I had landed in something cushy early in life when I married a wealthy man at a young age. The big things were nice; all the shared things. He wasnít about to live like riff-raff, you know. It took me some time to believe that I deserved to spend money on myself, which, I personally found harder to do if I hadnít earned the money myself. Therefore, it took extra long.
I wouldnít call that a stable life because I was desperately unhappy.
Now Iím only mildly unhappy. Iím still trying to equalize, I guess.
At least, I hope thatís what it is. It might be job stress. Iíve been going on and on about this because part of me is so relieved. I feel like a marathoner who has finally collapsed after a long awaited finish line. Another part of me feels like that pre-Susan Roberta.
I was just thinking the other day how I always sleep with one foot off the bed. I discovered this one day, when I was asleep in bed and my ex came into the bedroom and started talking to me. I started and woke up and he expressed some kind of surprise that I was sleeping.
I asked him what gave him the idea that I was awake. Was it the way I was lying completely motionless in bed?
He told me no, it was because both feet were on the bed.
I was confused. Where else would they be other than with me, on the bed, where I was sleeping?
This is when he told me that when I am asleep, I always have one foot off the bed. Sometimes itís under the covers, sometimes itís not. That conversation was the beginning of my awareness of one foot almost always being off the bed when I sleep.
Since then, Iíve assumed that it is some bizarre and completely barbaric form of temperature control. The other day, I was thinking that maybe itís my way of feeling not too overly grounded.
I like feeling a little unstable, a little free.
|Thursday, Mar. 05, 2009 at 10:25 PM|