February 10, 2004

February 10, 2004 - 4:20 p.m.

On Thursday morning I'll see Therapist for the first time since November, when my finances entered the sixth circle of hell. I'm simultaneously stoked, nervous and exhausted just thinking about it. Since my appointments are much fewer and far between these days, I make an effort to be pseudo-prepared before going in that craftsman-style door on Q Street. ('Course, I'm not exactly the most together person at 8:00 a.m. no matter what.)

Normally when it's been a while since we've seen each other, a good part of the fifty-minute hour is taken in catching up. Who's crazy? Am I sleeping, or have I been waking up screaming about fire ants again? Anybody pregnant? Felt like jumping off the building lately? I could tell him about not speaking to my mom for a month. About how money had me so stressed during the refi that I just wanted to be as drunk as possible all the time. That last night an envelope without a return address came to my house with a hand-written note and newspaper article - but I don't know who it's from or why it was sent. That I'm freaked out by how much the boyfriend wants us to plan our future. That my job still feels about as comfortable as a two sizes too small bra. But I won't to tell him about any of that.

Instead I'm going to tell him about the planetarium.

When Scratcher and I took his son to Berkeley for the day, we went to the planetarium at Lawrence Hall of Science. The Hall's looking pretty shoddy these days. The same chairs and games I played at age nine are still there. The carpet smells like mildew. And the planetarium is still dinky. We sat on a round bench, necks craned up to pick out constellations. A graduate student with inch-thick glasses talked down to kids about astronauts and the space shuttle. When he bent down to change a slide halfway into the show, I felt time shift a little. I heard in his voice my father, escorting our GATE class all those years ago. I felt the bus jolt between Northern California and Berkeley. It was powerfully sweet to remember a day with Daddy, so rare because of his work schedule. I lay back, hand in Scratcher's lap, and remembered.

When we emerged from the planetarium, I was free. Sure, I still have money problems. I still work a job that causes intense aggro. Blah blah blah. All still there. But I feel like it's all been reframed. I feel that I can work with what I've earned and been given. This world isn't perfect, but it'll do.

And to whoever was sticking the voodoo pins in my stuffed doll body - or whoever sent that creepy note last night, I say this: you can't have me. I'll kick your butt, sucker.

*****

On an entirely different note, I'd like to say thanks to both Michelle and Tobic for their comments/advice the last couple of days. It made me ROFL* to think of Tobic helping me cut up an old sweater to make cell phone cozies. That.Rocks. And Michelle, with her Calvin Klein ads...bad girl!


*Does anybody else think this is incredibly stupid? I mean, rofl? I think 'rolf', which leads somehow to 'barf' EVERY time.

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