But I caught myself, both times. I remember reading Simone de Bouveir's "The Second Sex"; she wrote about the irony of how different women feel about becoming mothers, how a seemingly miserable, poor single mother cooking broccoli (for some reason I am fairly positive this unnecessary though charming detail was involved in her example) in her little flat may find a secret thrill in her pregnancy, whereas the married, well-off woman who planned extensively and (on the surface) hoped above all precious hopes, for her baby, may find herself filled with contextually unacceptable dread and resentment. There are so many layers to how we feel about something; there was at least one lover I had who seemed to wholeheartedly embrace this. He had a diagnosis of schizophrenia, and ten years on me. I do not regret him, though he filled one of my slots for the two of that thing I would allow myself, and here I am. Living life, nothing is as tragic or humungous (though each man and woman contain a universe, so it's all rather infinite, I suppose; this is not mature relativism, this is Gemini sun, Pisces Moon, under-stress, absurdity, skimming of surfaces, Ratina Cage; Enough, Give us this Day our Daily Bread, Amen.)
*
I dreamt I convinced the characters from my current favorite TV show ("Trailer Park Boys) to join me on the school bus to Africa. [This happened to me with the guys from "Kids in the Hall," too; for many months, we fought evils like big rifles at my window, and did all sorts of things, together.] Once there, I mostly lost site of them, on the front lines of something that, for food-getting, was very war-like. I was shooting birds down with great competence, but had to flee. Pondering it now, I cherish the dream, as though it were an assertion of adult competence. I wonder what my subconscious thinks about basically everything, but especially recent "developments" (another asinine- mostly through overuse- expression, perhaps). I always wonder if my body knows, not only whether it is pregnant, or when my period will come, but what I will do. I have strange beliefs about the irrelevance of time as a barrier to knowledge, though I think realizing this potential for knowing is rare. Something has shifted in me, and though I have many times been in a position to wonder how I will land, it has never seemed to carry such weight.
I remember reading Goals, and visions, and living up to my potential, take a back burner to "in the heat of the night / animal screams / in the heat of the night / walking into a tree."
I walk for an hour to The Cure, for something to do, for health benefits, for vanity, some modicum of control/hipness, a shifting pallete to unleash my thoughts. Palette, there, doesn't really make sense (I mean more than just the triteness of releasing stress, though it is of course sacred and profound, so why did I call it "triteness": I meant, that thoughts, fill a room, and places, change you, and live in your heart; to walk up a hill in a winter night, and see many lights and branches and stars and everything is good), and neither does this:
I put on make up almost every morning. A few mornings ago, I laid in Ds late grandmother's bed and took my time while nagging at him about something, making each lash stand out instead of making it all clumpy and thick (if the make up doesn't start out like this, it ends up that way because I cry, hard, almost every day). I was proud of the feathery exception, the work of a few focused minutes.
I "crave" (what a loaded word) most of all fried onions, with whatever: frozen vegetables, nuts; greasy, baked chicken thighs. I'm not sure this is any more pregnancy than one of my passing culinary fetishes, which I have held all my life, and with greater both amorousness, and fickle, since adolescence; enough. They say, eat to live- don't love to eat. But sometimes you must cling to the heel of life for awhile.
*
It's not just about whether I will be a good mother (I have, honestly, a great deal of confidence in this), but if I'm capable of being a single mother, or of being commited to one person, and if not, what will I do? Use various men for support? Haven't I been doing that all along? Like I've said before D's weaknesses could be positive, a way for me to grow and to learn greater compassion and acceptance. But in the heat of one of our stalemates, when he is stoney and detached and seems the dullest, most rigid person I know, and I curse myself for getting involved which such a buffoon, and then curse myself harder for my cruelty, for forcing myself upon someone (this is what happened, technically, regardless of erroneous beliefs I may hold about our "energies," suction-mingles, inevitable karmic lessons, Pisces-moon soup, etc) only to drag us both down to Hell, to charge through his insistence, the work of nearly six years, that something was "off" between us, that something just would never click.
And here I am, and he is willing, for now, to make it work. In the light of our history, emphasis is on "for now," though the truth is, I trust him. I trust him to the extent that he will stick around, because of his belief system, his background, what his best friend chose to do in a similar situation, how he feels about children, and, ultimately, I think, me. But how could we ever be happy? He has many excellent qualities and I think I tend to overemphasize his flightiness and unreliability which, though daunting, are merely parts. He is very tender and affectionate. He can be boring, and have little to say, but he offers a fresh perspective on things, is intelligent and obscure, and possesses considerable aesthetic flair. I cannot decide if he is strong or not. A "poem" I wrote, line breaks compromised by, whatever, posting, confusion mayhem; it's not that I'm proud of it despite my posting of it implying the opposite, it's just that- emphasis added - there is a little bit of truth in terms of the impenetrable shifting-ness of D and I's relationship:
After we fight it all seems so simple. We want a kind word,
Someone warm to spoon. None of this souls devouring souls
Nonsense, none of this shrieking unto the unforgettable
Core of the earth. Can you ever listen to me without
Trampling on every single one of my fragile feelings?
—Well, Can you? In the long run, a nasty email is a drop in the
Bucket but smarts on a sore spot: the euphonious straw. The
Frost sparkles at night, my bathroom is full of shooting stars. You're
Not a huge go-getter, but your head between my legs, your
Driving gait, your knocking at the door, might convince one you are merely
Pretending. There is a dog loose on my street. Some have
Radiant faces, their days are filled with exclamations. “We're
Having a baby.” Well, that's fine, but my love, he thinks it's okay to
Like himself, sometimes, and to embrace addictions just to get through the
Day. . . . Today I swerved a turtle in the road. It was a
Simple decision, and so is this. You love me, I love you. . . .
Our lives are full of compartments. After we
Fight, at any rate, it seems very obvious. The hot coffee I threw
Across your torso on the empty street at four am may have
Evoked a little hell fire, may have even been unnecessary. . . . The
Hot drink splashed on your chest, your scratched ear that
Painted paper towels a pretty red as you left me yet again: these
Things may have driven something temporarily, or even permanently,
Between us. .. .
We got up to eat eggs and talk about the goddamned
Enneagram. You
Said, My tonecult won't be enslaved by your war-mongering poetry
Type. I said, Feel better. You said, Your grotesque smile and greasy, fat
Heart bubbles over with venom and makes even a brave dildo go
Limp. I laughed and said, You're very funny, and nothing is as
Bad as what you're saying. I am not incapable of graciousness,
Said the double negative in its creamy chrysalis.
*
But if he really were strong, and "merely pretending" to be weak, wouldn't that be worse? Isn't hard work, itself, a talent: a little phrase I want to superfluously patent, whatever the eff that means. D. is not all heaviness but I wonder how I got mixed up with a Capricorn-Ox. It seems absurd, really. The truth is that I became hopeless because I read that our Chinese Zodiac signs, though irresistably drawn to one another, were a guaranteed failure. That we could not live under one roof, and that the Ox, being the stronger of the two, would charge until the Tiger disappeared. This seems the reverse of what I've known, and perhaps legend is just that. Perhaps all this astrology, all my worry about our Pisces Moons hedging out any pragmatism or collective solidity, my sadness about the idea that he won't jive with his Tiger child, is just a challenge to overcome my superstition. Another superstition that I have relates to my Aries North Node, which I am too lazy/hungry to get into in detail here, but has to do with my whole life mission being greater independence, which makes me reluctant to settle down while other parts of me have been fighting tooth and nail for baby and marriage and a nest for years now (evidenced in many of my poor decisions, but good can come of anything, really): but isn't independence of thought (heart, mind, spirit) more important than what I, technically, do? Sure, they're related: but they are not one in the same, I don't think?
And the cruelty that has moved between us, and furniture even, it is not to be ignored, though in a way I think there's a strange advantage in going through all that madness before a "plunge" is taken. Poor syntax, and probably also poor logic. But man, the power of faith. And no, I don't want to spend my life bitching at someone and making them feel like shit. I don't know that I have the resources (monetarily or socially) to be a single parent. So D and I have a lot of talking and thinking to do, and as much as I joked (or not) about wanting to "trap" him, I am of course not jumping up and down for joy about any of this. I will say that he is doing a very admirable job showing me support, patience, and affection, for the most part. And for that I am grateful because regardless of what I - we, but do I have the final say in this? I think. At least I don't think he'd put up a fight if I chose adoption, though it seems so stupid, in a person my age, when really: I do have the resources don't I ? If I could just swallow my pride and be with the father, and try to make it work: which is what I've claimed as my greatest Earthly desire was for so, so long. I remember watching Earth Girls and this girl at the bar who kisses Jim Carrey's character, some space alien with a six foot tongue, or whatever, cries out: "I want to have his baby!!" That was only a few weeks ago, and that was how I felt. But what a silly way to make choices. Oh well. Maybe otherwise, few babies would get made. Think of all the people who "plan" so hard; it seems like many of them end up struggling with infertility in the weight of the years. What if this is the only baby I can ever have? Do I even really, truly want kids? Just because I ask these questions does not mean I will be a bad Mom. I question whether I want to live almost every day but I have not shirked from it, I don't think. Many great mothers were "dead" set (horrible, miserable pun) on abortion and somehow, moved away from it, embraced their decision, I don't know. It's all really fucked up, but I believe pregnancy is a stage in mothering, I don't know what's going to happen to my life, or anything, but I'm trying to do a good job, and when I get overwhelmed, I try to : retreat, and let my mind wander. Once a decision / action is deposited in this life which is largely unknown / experimental: What can you do? You just roll, try to choose wiser and wiser each time, embrace your new deck.
"Someone you don't know today could be someone you love tomorrow." - Chinese Proverb
Not long ago I asked a fortune cookie what I should do about him. It was empty. Only several days ago, I asked another one, What should I do, about everything? It said, "Embrace this love relationship you have!" My dreams about him have gone everywhere, and at least one was, temporarily (but with deep, lingering vestiges), a true omen of doom, with him neglecting two children he never acknowledged, in a basement: and I had to leave. In another we escaped and transcended everything, and even made good pop music in a public rest room, along the way. We grabbed the same fortune cookie together, at the restaraunt, a little before the love-who-you're-with message, and it said, "You only treasure what you cannot have."
May it all just be words, so many wisps of smoke, kissing the air, pretty but always impermanent, and always smaller than our hearts.
