But this snow is screwing up my move! Supposed to move this morning, all packed, stereo in the box, modem unplugged from the wall – and I get a call from the mover that because the roads are so bad, it’s not safe to drive the truck. Fair enough – the roads are really bad – but I thought this snow was going to turn to rain sometime this morning…..
Anyhow – move is on for tomorrow hopefully. We’ll see what happens. I’m really bummed out at the moment, even though I can at least have a day of doing nothing (in my totally packed up house).
I just checked the weather forecast for Sunday (moving day), hoping to see it won’t be raining… and lo, rain is not predicted – but snow flurries are!
And I’m getting sick.
My timing… oy, my timing.
Thanks to the magic of the Internet, I was recently contacted by someone I haven’t heard from in at least 12 years. That would be my first “love” (aka, the first boy I ever slept with), who is now the proud papa of three young’uns and living back in the town where we both grew up. Like all past relationships, there was once weirdness, but the passage of time makes it irrelevant and I am all too happy to have the re-acquaintance. He always was one of the good ones (it was me who was the fuck up – no question about that), and the fact he is a dad makes perfect sense given the type of person he is (you should see the lego collection!)
So – there was some catching up to do – no small feat on my part as I have crammed a lot of weirdness, art, work and politics (not to mention relationships) into the past 12 years. I tried like hell to keep the bio limited, but still ended up with a few email screens of breathless prose involving both the straight (work) and the bent (and then a bunch of my friends got arrested) while bypassing all but the most notable of the achievements (a degree, an album, a pension plan etc.)
And you know, I’m not dismayed by my life so far. I think it’s been interesting, sometimes inspiring, often a bit mad, and always full of characters that make the funniest of drinking partners. I think also, I have saved for a rainy day, and accomplished things in the workplace no anarchist should ever aspire to (and in fact, I didn’t – but that’s just an example of work ethic derailing politics).
But still, I’ll tell you the over-riding feeling I had upon hitting the send button was that somehow I have failed where my ex has succeeded. To make a life with another person, and a family – something I’m not even sure that I want – I feel that I should want, and should be able to do like so many people seem able to. Is it just that the grass is greener? That despite having so much of what i need and want in my life, I still don’t have enough? Or perhaps it seems my choices have lead to difficult and complicated places, and the idea of being a homemaker seems appealing to me in the face of everything else….
I’m not sure why I should feel like I have failed at some basic human concept except I guess that I *have* failed to express my core species biology. At this point I don’t even know whether that is something I can, want to, or should change. I am awfully fond of my life just the way it is, though I guess there is always the sense (no matter what the situation) that it could be *more* or *different*. The question is, whether it’s what one really wants….
This sculpture in the city of Neiva, Huila Department of Colombia depicts the myth of La Gaitana. I have not been able to find an english version of the story anywhere online – This is the story as it was told to me on the banks of the River Magdalena this past July.
During the Spanish conquest of Colombia there was a woman whose son was a powerful chief in the area of Neiva. As part of the quest for power and resources one of the conquistadors – a man called Vasco – had this chief killed and the body quartered, so saddening the mother that she sought revenge. She is known now as La Gaitana – the woman who killed Vasco, first dragging him around by a poker through the bottom of his chin, then gouging his eyes, then dragging his body by horse until she tired of the torture and finally beheaded him. She had to flee the town afterwards and escaped from her pursuers by jumping into the headwaters of the Magdalena River where she disappeared for good. There have been many sightings of this powerful woman over the ensuing centuries – a symbol of the fight against the colonialism that ripped apart indigenous Colombia still celebrated today.
Thanks to haymarketeer and diane who both steered me towards Murakami in a previous post on literature. I’m reading Kafka on the Shore right now and enjoying it immensely.