But I guess better late than never, right? I wanted to really participate in Emery's fashion week but with the circumstances at hand it's been a tad...difficult. I managed to snap a couple haphazard pics while moving so...
*Pardon the general...undone-ness. My hair is off, I couldn't be bothered with makeup or the cropping of pictures.
Tank, belt and flats- Target Maxi skirt- Buffalo Exchange
And as is my custom on these delightful fashion weeks-
I have been off work for the last hour and a half. We have eaten and undressed into the final shreds of the evening. Pants have been thrown into the washing machine. Dishes await the pre-scrub and then the dishwasher. The carpet needs a vacumming.
Jack and I cuddled for about five minutes. A record for what has been far too long, but he needs his space. There is an entirely different person forming under the body that I refuse to accept as anything other than the infant that was pulled from my womb one temperate March morning. There are ideas and wills more powerful than his mother's embrace it seems. So I let him be.
It is starting to seep in though, the reality of my not being able pull him into my lap and talk about whales any time I please. I knew it was hitting the bone when, on the city bus, I spied on a boy Jack's age sitting in his mother's lap and I instantly started crying. I blamed it on hormones, after work fatigue, fluorescent lighting. I blamed it on what I could to whip the lion in the eyes that was roaring in my ears "this is real".
This is happening.
On Tuesday and Wednesday I will be packing up the same things I came into this relationship with; clothes, books, movies, toiletries and potential. I will be moving them in with my dear friend Colleen for the time being.
Greg and Jack will be moving into the new house he purchased. It's a beautiful home, saltillo tile and wooden beams on high ceilings, a backyard that Jack can romp around in. I'm glad they'll have it.
I've decided that I'm going to sign up for overtime at work once I move out. Since I won't be coming home to Jack every night I figure it's best to not come home at all. I will make money out of the silence and eventually I will have my own place to fill with noise again.
Out of all the painful logistics comes one silver lining- we are both living in truth now. Uncompromising truth in worn out, gutted shells. Bare bones ready to be built over again with pieces of who we really are and who we hope to someday be.
I expect this move will be cathartic. I expect that there will be times when I am weighed down by the "too much-ness" of it all. I expect that out of these ashes something will grow again.
It was a decision we both made for the better (odd to say something so bad is for the better, but it is, for us). I was going to write about it all but it's hard to put out there properly.
We will remain friends. We will still raise Jack together. I'll probably still laugh at him when he records movie ideas into his Droid and I still ask for his opinion sometimes because I respect the hell out of the man, the father of my child.
I wanted to post about it here because it will be a massive change and I'm sure getting used to my life as a single mother will be odd, but that's just it...it is life. Life will move forward; change shapes, ideas, plans, people. And as always, I'll continue to write about it. It's the only way I know.
Coming straight outta' Brooklyn with a fistful of driving post-punk chords and drums, dressed up with some dapper-yet-rebellious strings, yet still drunk on riot grrrl vocals, The Shondes are gracing the Old Pueblo with an early post-sunset (and monsoon?) appearance this Sunday night at Club Congress (7pm doors, $5 cover). With one EP (Line & Hooks + 2) and two albums (My Dear One, The Red Sea) already under their genderqueer belts, they've decided to embark on an ambitious national Fall tour and are performing with local female-fronted critic darlings Seashell Radio.
Shondes' lead singer Louisa Solomon's vocals (she's also on the bass--hot!) are demanding yet feminine. She exudes naked, raw emotion, leaving one feeling like they've read a dairy they weren't supposed to. Violinist Elijah Oberman lends searing strings, adding an element of refined anarchy. Throw in Fureigh's bold riffs; Temim Fruchter's pounding exclamation points; a penchant for political wordplay; and a Jewish upbringing, and there you have a band ready to bend your heart in the best, queerest kinda' of way.
With doors at 7pm, don't be late and miss openers Seashell Radio; more info at Club Congress. $5 in advance or the day of, 21+ with a valid ID. 7 p.m. Bring your dancing shoes and your misplaced blues.
Download the Shondes track "Ocean To Ocean" for free here. Check out the trailer for their upcoming album, Searchlights, set for a September 20th release date, here. (Bug 'em for a new copy at the Congress show!)
First, I must give thanks and interweb hugs to your supportive comments regarding my last post. I cannot begin to explain how moving it is to have people you don't even know in real life embrace you and offer support. It is one of the reasons I love blogging. But mostly it's one of the reasons I love all your wonderful selves.
Secondly, oh what a week (and a half) will bring. I have a great deal of things to post, some flights of fancy and some very grounding, serious changes that are happening around here.
Life. Life. Life
It never quite stops does it?
Just a quick hello and thank you before I commence with what I've been meaning to get around to.
