So it's September, a terrible thing that happens to me every year at the end of summer. I do not want to go back to work. Especially, I do not want to try and complete my counselling practicum hours while directing a play and trying to pretend I am not using paid hours to do volunteer hours. My attitude is poor. I do not remember why I wanted a Masters degree.
I have been kidding myself that summer is not over by going to the beach a lot. I have been drinking beer in the daytime on the beach like someone who is anyone besides me, but breaking the law and wasting time feels good right now. I have no idea what I'm doing. But it's almost over, which is probably for the best.
And today I really cut loose and went to the passport office to get J's passport renewed. They wouldn't do it because she has the wrong kind of birth certificate, the kind that does not name her parents. Why this matters is beyond me. We have a court order that states we have sole custody, and we have her mother's death certificate. Apparently they want us to prove that no father is named on the birth certificate in spite of the fact that this hypothetical person would have no rights anyway. The man who explained this to me told me it made no sense before I could tell him so which I found frustrating. I wanted to be the one to point it out. He probably realized that it would deflate me to agree with me, which it did, and so I took my stack of papers home for the second time without making a scene and applied for yet another birth certificate for J, the drifting girl. I guess we'll need these documents in the future anyway when we start formal adoption proceedings.
As if to add insult to injury, in the mail I received two collection notices addressed to my sister threatening legal action and urging me to "conduct myself accordingly". Well, not myself. Herself. I am not sure why she had her mail coming to my house. I am not sure whether I am supposed to contact the collection agency and tell them what happened to her. I probably wasn't even supposed to open the envelopes but they had no return addresses. And I am trying to hold on to her, whatever pieces are left, collection notices and aggravations and messes. Oh, and her child.
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We took Shawn's sisters out for dinner tonight to celebrate their 22nd birthday(s). We went for Indian food. Their choice, but I was glad. I don't know what it is about me and food. I eat cereal all the time, I mean all the time. And crackers. And apples and grapes and carrots. I eat things that are already ready to eat just as they are because I do not want the overwhelming responsibility of operating the stove or cleaning up dishes. This is stupid. But when you eat boring food like this all the time food stops being connected to sensory experience and just becomes a way of keeping yourself from dying. So I forget that food is good, that I like it, that it's fun to eat things that taste good. Before I moved here to the coast I didn't even know I liked Indian food because Indian food on the Winter Prairies isn't the same. Not the same as Indian food made by Indian people who know how to do it right. When I eat Indian food I remember that I like food. I think I have said this here before, maybe more than once, but I am only telling it to myself so I will remember what matters. And that's what will happen to you; that's what you get for being food. (I love you Margaret Atwood.)
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6 comments:
The problem with an unreasonable, illogical bureaucracy is that no one will even try to fix the problem. As a result you, and others, end up paying the price.
I think I need to find that place where food stops being connected to sensory experience. I fear I am appreciative of that sensory experience a bit too much.
Warm regards,
I'm not sure I could ever get to the point where I could see food as just a way to keep myself from dying. I like it too much.
If it's any comfort, getting a passport for a child is a mystifying, annoying, screwed up process, even if she came out of your own body.
If my husband liked to cook, or better yet if I hired someone to cook for me, I would eat very happily all the time. I really do like food when it's good food. I'm just bored of my usual fare. Bored bored bored. How could one appreciate that too much? I love food when it's food and not just sustenance.
Passports, ugh. I hate the passport office, I hate the border guards, I hate the papers and the forms and the guy who runs that scanner thing over me at the airport. All of it makes me want to stay home and if I'm home the kid might as well stay home with me and cook me something edible for a change.
I like to cook and am quite good at it, but lately I have been mostly subsisting on fruit, carrots and baguettes although I continue to feed Flip. I am just burned out on caregiving and want someone to take care of me for a change.
Tonight I ordered Chinese food. It wasn't as good as Chinese food made by me although I am not in the least Chinese, but I was hungry for the little waxy white boxes and the fortune cookie made me insanely happy: The current year will bring you much happiness." I'm counting on it.
Mmmm maybe I will add baguettes to my grocery list. Being burned out on caregiving sounds incredibly reasonable and painful too. You do deserve a treat when you want one and also for the current year to bring you much happiness. Here's to both of those. x
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