Hiya, Internet. How are things? I've been maintaining. Maintaining, as in: swinging between being very very busy and on top of things...to being absolutely fucking paralyzed and taking naps as a defense mechanism. My sweet friend Becky tells me this is completely normal. That I will have up days and down days. And some days I will feel sideways, which I think means: surreal. Grey. Out of body. Ish. (At least, that was me at 3 PM yesterday.)
Mostly, what I'm doing right now is scheduling a lot of things: movers, cable, internet, insurance. I did get a new phone when C and I separated that account. And since it's turning out to just be that kind of year, I went to the dark side. The dark side of an apple.
That's right, World Wide Web: I'm an iPhone user now. Crap, it's heaven. I used to enjoy making fun of iPhone/Apple geeks so much. Seriously, you don't even know. But now I get it: THIS shit is why they stand in line, in the rain or snow or crammed together like dead sardines in tin cans in an Apple store, wallowing in pools of their own urine and excrement, for days on end, waiting to buy the newest iPhone update. (I will never, ever understand the Apple watch, though. Sorry. I think it's just one step closer to Apple implanting microbes in our brains.) (And don't you tell me that hasn't crossed your minds, too, you Apple geeks! You know they're working on a prototype, and don't even act like you're not cool with it...be honest: You. Can't. Wait.)
And Miss M is hanging out there with me, on the Apple dark side. Mostly because she's in love with Siri. Who couldn't friggin' care less about what Miss M has to say. They spend a lot of time arguing, and it goes like this:
M: Will you be my friend?
Siri: That's nice. I'd like to be your friend.
M: Will you have a slumber party with me?
Siri: I've never really thought about it.
M: Do you like me?
Siri: Of course I'm your friend.
M: Will you play with me?
Siri: OK. Playing your music. <starts playing You Belong to Me by Carly Simon>
M: NOOOO!!!! Not THAT kind of playing!!!
Siri: I'm not sure I understand.
M: I MEANT come to my house!
Siri: I don't understand "I meant come to my house." But I could search the web for it.
M: You're not listening to me!
Siri: My apologies.
M: You're FIRED!!
Siri: After all I've done for you?
M: Yes! YOU'RE FIRED, SIRI!
Siri: I'm doing my best.
M: Okay, I'm sorry, Siri.
Siri: No need to apologize.
M: You apologize too!
Siri: Is that so?
....so on, and so forth. FOREVER. (Apple, you are diabolical.)
I am also spending a lot of time with memories. Another sweet friend of mine once told me that, when you are faced with the letting go of something or someone very very dear and precious to you, this is what you should do: take the memory, embrace it, love it, and then....release and let go. It's this last part I'm having a hard time with. Last night, for instance, I sat in M's room, sobbing, with the memories of all the rocking we did in that one corner when she was a baby. And I realized, today, that next week I'd be taking my last shower in this bathroom. And the other night I sat on the porch in tears, knowing how much I'll miss sitting on it with coffee in the morning and listening to the tree frogs at night.
This is the hardest part for me, saying good-bye. Even when the good-bye is for the best. Good-byes are my nemesis. Change is not my favorite. It's part of life, but it is not my favorite.
Side story: once, when I was nine, my mother made my bed. She changed the way the bedspread went on. And did the pillows all wrong. And she changed how I lined up my stuffed animals. So I wrote her an angry, HOW DARE YOU, MOTHER!!! note with a lot of misspellings and bad grammar, and a set of THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE MY BED snobby instructions. Which she still has somewhere, I think, saving it to embarrass me when we are somewhere important with important people some day. At any rate, after that, she never made my bed again, ever. And then I had Miss M, who writes me scathing, irate notes like this all the time, about everything, except she's only 6. No, seriously: EVERYTHING. Take note, dear reader(s): whoever said 'Karma's a bitch' was a mother. I promise.
I'm not sure how I'll coordinate everything next week. Things will become ludicrously busy on the 16th when the cable/internet people come all at once. And I'll have no furniture in the apartment on the 16th because the movers don't come til the 19th. By the 20th, I'll be on my own, though. Which, I'm assuming, is when all the real fun begins.
This weekend, C and I are telling Miss M what is about to happen. We will make it positive and fun (you get to have TWO bedrooms! and TWO kitchens! and TWO bathrooms! and there's a POOL!), but I am worried about her because she's a lot like me in regards to sentimentality and letting go. I have a child psychologist lined up if I need her. (I sense I will need her.)
Speaking of psychologically traumatic hot messes, on a happy note? I'm going to be slightly distracted from my own because I'll be reviewing the show EXTANT starting July 1. It's a show on CBS (Wednesdays 10/9 Central) starring Halle Berry, who plays Molly, an astronaut who comes back to Earth mysteriously pregnant after a 13 month mission in outer space (gah! I hate when that happens!). At any rate, not only does Molly not remember how she got a baby in her womb or who did it, but also she and her husband John have struggled with getting pregnant for years and years...so nope! John ain't the baby daddy. However, John's a smarty pants scientist who just went ahead and created their own kid, Ethan. And Molly and John love him to pieces. Except Ethan is AI (artificial intelligence). He looks real and feels real and sounds real...but he's not actually human. (But theeeennn, if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...does it really matter if it's a cow? In the grand scheme of things.) I've watched some clips from last season, and am currently trying to lay hands on full episodes so I won't sound like a hack. (I'm actually okay sounding like a hack--I do it all the time here, but on threeifbyspace's website, I promise to be professional, with only slight moments of brief hackery.) It looks like a fascinating story, actually, with moments that will have me in tears. Which I like. I like being in tears. Tears are my trademark. I shed them all the time.
So, look for some things about that show next month--I'll mostly post my thoughts about it on threeifbyspace.net, but I may go into further detail here about some episodes if it's very, very well-written and well-done. (Though, I will admit: after the DIG roller coaster, all future TV shows have some big shoes to fill for this Southern Yankee gal.) I will tell you up front: Jeffrey Dean Morgan is a new cast member for Season 2. Jeffrey Dean Morgan was in P.S. I LOVE YOU with Hilary Swank, and that's...listen, Internet: Jeffrey Dean Morgan is most delightful. I'll most definitely be writing here about any Jeffrey Dean Morgan moments on EXTANT that cause me to reach for my smelling salts. While in tears.
Otherwise, I'll be here. In Georgia. Packing. Moving. Mourning. Taking deep belly breaths. Breathing in, letting go. Questioning every thought, word, movement and then second guessing myself after every single decision. Spending a lot of time trying to create memories in a new home that doesn't look or feel like my old home (creating memories is harder to do in an apartment, I learned last time--it does not belong to you...I think that's why).
....Do I sound conflicted? Kind of all over the place? I think I sound conflicted and all over the place about what's about to happen. I'm told this is also normal. That any feeling I have, actually, is normal. Right now, Internet, I'm just very very sad. I don't know if you've ever done this or not. If you have, then you know: this is a very, very, deeply, immensely hard and sad thing to do. If you haven't, then now you that, too. This is why I always say kindness is important...somebody honked their horn at me really mean yesterday morning, and it sent me into a fit of tears. Be kind to each other--we're all dealing with difficult things.
Maybe not as hard as an alien impregnating you. But still very, very difficult.