Shaky Egg

I don’t know why I turn to my ol’ blog just now.

I’ve started back to work. I’ve just finished my first week. It was fucking exhausting.

I am ever retreating into my attick room. My mom is here to care for my baby and stepson while I work. In her ’spare time’ she has painted this lovely space and pretty much singlehandedly rendered it livable and comfortable (if you don’t notice the discreet stack of boxes of cd’s, professional and personal papers, quilting, sewing, scrapbooking and other mess in the alcove where the desk is). There’s a bathroom up here (groovy white and gold ceramic tile, not so groovy, in fact downright horrid, pink and blue shell patterned wallpaper) and fuck the electricity bill, I want to hang out up here so let the air conditioner blow. This is where I will sleep, for now. It’s just too nice, peaceful.

My stepdaughter arrived today, beautiful and witty little girl. I sat her and my stepson and my husband down and gave the three kids (the baby stayed home with my mom) a talking to about our relationship and my and their jobs (What’s funny is that the stepkids kept breaking in with thoughts– respect, different needs, etc.– from the evidently identical talk they were given by their mother. The mother who uninvited my stepson to live with her. What’s that about? Is that what’s next for me? No, because I have my wonderful room, I can just disappear).

My husband will be the point man. I’ll help out if I can, and if they ask, and he and I will split cooking and such 50/50, but the days of laboriously insuring that they have clean clothes, a well rounded lunch in their little insulated bag, snack money, hygiene, all round nutrition and constructive activities are OVER. Ask Daddy.

All that to say… I have this beautiful room and in it is where I’ll be most of the time. I told the kids that this is KEEP OUT. I promise that if I am grouchy I will come up here and stay until I am happy and friendly again. Perhaps if I can use this room to keep my center, get my rest, retreat from the energy in my home… I will be a better stepmom and spouse, so much better that on the rare occasions when I do emerge we’ll all be glad. Still I resent having to retreat, you know? But I guess that’s about me. I can grieve it but I probably can’t blame it, at least not more than 50%.

My baby is singing in the tub. She does this wonderful operatic thing. Did I mention there’s a bath up here? I can blog and email and know she is safe and enjoying herself in her bath at the same time.

Reading Reader, I Married Him. Very cute little book. Sort of bubblegum literary, or high chick lit. I see that I need to read Middlemarch (again? I think) and Penelope Fitzgerald’s Innocence.

I’ve also been retreating into my healing school spirituality. I don’t manage to jack in to the spirit/energy world every day. By no means. But I am really enjoying the Energy Alerts posts from this site.

http://www.whatsuponplanetearth.com/latest.htm

(Check out her main page, lovely musick)

This week, this lady– snake oil saleslady? Who cares, really, right? –Assures me that the energy is cutting, slashing, killing the old and the new cannot wait for even one more minute, and that direct and purposeful communication is needed. Makes me feel a bit better about our supper conversation, and my sense of purpose at this time, I’ll tell ya.