Days of my Life #17

Are you at a loss for what to do? I am. And this is odd, since I have always thought my creativity was endless, that it would never be a problem to imaginatively concoct/solve something/anything which would occupy my time, give me a feeling of satisfaction and cause further exploration.

Am I complaining? Naw! What would be the point? Besides, I am well aware of and consistently grateful I have the luxury to await something to do during these more than strange times. For this reason I have made the choice to seek out a new “good” habit to practice daily.

Oh no. A regular pastime for a person as I, whose attention span is perfectly in line with daytime television avec ten minute ad breaks? Is this me, laughing at the possibility I might actually adopt regular daily weight training exercise or carb counting? The former, maybe, but counting calories is beyond anything worthy of my consideration.

It was just yesterday I was discussing how much and how little things might change once we are free to go about our business again. My immediate concern, and maybe because today is Earth Day…(And also my dear son’s thirty-seventh birthday), is: Are we going back (whenever that is) to polluting our planet at the same abhorrent rate or will we have awakened our sense of responsibility for all life? Will or can our world change for the good?

Oh yes, I’m on a roll… My inner Eco-warrior is beginning to reawaken and she is revving up her solar powered scooter to kick some wasteful do-badders butts. Where shall I start? With myself. I’m going to go through my trash, remove non recyclable stuff (that isn’t rotten or stinky) and make something to commemorate Earth Day. But wait a moment… first I need to clear the presently dirty air with my daughter.

Okay, I’m back and that didn’t go well. You see my six year old grandson, and possibly his mother, decided I am the pariah, and may be the cause of his little narcissistic brain to have problems, consequently I am the brunt of his occasionally but disturbingly nasty behavior. Apparently nothing I do will quell his temper for much longer than it takes for him to consume the food I prepare with grandmotherly love or destroy the art project we had initially begun together. And when I loudly voice my dismay/shock/horror when he chooses to swing a six foot metal curtain rod in my direction, like he did last night, while I was trying to eat dinner, I get reprimanded by my daughter for doing so. “Don’t yell at him. Obviously, You are the adult and doing something wrong,” She just told me in so many words, for reacting, and now has suggested I read the books “see, here they are” on dealing with hyper sensitive children, which I have, at length, ad nauseum. Hmmm. What would you do if some kid tried to maim you? I know what my grandmother might’ve done, but back then we were taught to speak and act with respect toward our elders, which I am. Times are different, especially now in the times of pandemic-monium.

It could be said that the poor kid is having problems, like the rest of us, but this behavior came down long before the virus caused us to be confined to quarters, only now it’s in my (closer than I deem safe), face. As a result I am hyper-vigilant, often finding myself tiptoeing so as not to disturb the beast, because, believe it or not, though in my own mind a super hero, I seek not to go to urgent care. The poor thing believes I am the reason his father doesn’t live at the house anymore. One can only wonder where he got that idea since dad was long gone when I moved in.

Am I considering a move or at the very least extended trip? Maybe. But where…and more importantly when and in what condition will I be?

To her credit, I don’t think my daughter, a single parent, has an easy time of this – she is doing a pretty good job at parenting an obviously challenged, bright, creative in his own right, angry kid. She, herself, was a near-perfect child…always speaking and acting rationally – was even given the title “professional preschooler” by her teachers when she was four as she resolved quarrels on the playground. Yes all kids are different, but sheesh!

How can anyone prepare, much less cope, with a child whose operating system constantly is at odds with those who care for him and they are consistently penalized for their efforts? Her level-headedness is required in her job counseling senior high school students through the challenges of both teen drama and college prep. But dealing with other people’s kids problems is often a hell of a lot easier than when it’s your own kid having a (very) rough patch.

I also don’t envy my daughter’s task of dealing with my fears resulting from the abuse being meted out by her rapidly growing offspring. While a temporary solution for me might be to Hide out in my room, venturing out into the rest of the house when the kid is plugged into mind-altering media, asleep, being entertained by his mom or at his dads, it’s not long term or good. A friend just offered her place as another possibility but that seems like I’m giving in to the whims of a tiny sociopath, and super heroes never retreat! I’ve even considered having California friends ship me edibles so I’ll be too high to give a fuck, about anything, but that stuff just makes me depressed and jail in Texas doesn’t have much appeal.

No, I think I’m just gonna head on over to my studio and thrash around, create with the trash to give me a sense of purpose, satisfaction and ease, at least for now. Then book a session with my therapist.

Tune in.