My neighbors are moving to Indiana. They’ve got a big uhaul parked outside. Guy’s been packing it up all day. Dave helped him out with some of the boxes, running the stairs.
We heard them arguing a few nights ago. Arguing real loud. The little girl’s room is right next to my little boy’s. The kids share a wall, basically. I was putting C to bed when I heard her crying, heard her parents yelling. C and I have a bedtime prayer every night. I hold his hand and say “dear God thank you for our family, thank you for life, thank you for the love you share with us that we can share together. Thank you for sunshine.” And C interrupts and says “you forgot to say ‘all the food!” Since that night we’ve prayed for the little girl next door, that she could find safety in herself, when her parents didn’t feel safe for her. It’s hard when parents yell, I know that, C knows that.
Today we’re buying their chairs, the ones that don’t fit in the trunk. So much stuff doesn’t fit in the truck. Chalkboards, oversized dollhouses, irrelevant potty chairs.
This was a tough year. Every year’s a tough year. This year Dave and I almost split up for real. This time last year wasn’t the first time we talked about splitting up, because we’ve been married for the entirety of our adult lives, and sometimes that chafes, but it was the first time we meant it. It was a long road back, and we had to ask God for help, and that kind of sucked, and it was hard, and it hurt alot. It was so bitter for me. Faith is hard. There’s no proof, no proof in anything, and it all seems so absurd, but I have to believe anyway. Athiesm and uncertainty are just bad options for me.
I’m so in touch with the idea that everything could fall apart. The scenarios by which everything works out are far less than the scenarios where it all gets jacked up. This year I had a crisis of confidence. I mean I always have a crisis of confidence, like at least once per year, but this year I was ready to give it all up, to stop writing plays, which has been a thing that has sustained me lo these past 23 years. I thought why am I even doing this, and started questioning the usefulness of my thoughts and stories. I got all invested in this blog because, in fact, I couldn’t actually stop writing, I was just all jammed up with the dialogue part of it. I had to spill it somehow. I figured maybe it was a good indication that I should switch exclusively to prose. It sounds silly, but the form is everything. There is nothing without form, without intent. A thing needs a shape. I started a novel and it devolved in dialogue eventually, somewhere around October, and I realized I had to get back to it.
So here we are. At the end of the year. And there’s lots of things I would wish were different. Everyone has those things, I think, or at least I tell myself that so I can go around thinking we’re all the same, which is what allows me to actually leave my house and enter into the world with the rest of the lunatics.
Sitting home tonight, on New Years Eve. Sitting home with Dave. We were so excited, when we realized we’d get the place to ourselves, that we could put out son to bed and sit together, and talk, and share new music (me), old music (Dave), toast to long lost friends, toast to New Years Eve’s passed, recall the hard years, how hard they were, joke about them, the experiences.
I have no resolutions. I barely have any resolve. I hope to love, and be loved. I hope things don’t come crashing apartlike so many waves on a stormy sea. I wanna keep writing. I wanna keep making art. It’s hard when everything keeps trying to push me toward the straight life, I get so scared I think: suck it up woman and take some responsiliity, get an MBA and earn a decent living. I think I better get some kind of real stability in my life.
Tonight I can say fuck it, and pour another glass of wine. Let’s hope tomorrow I can say the same. That’s all I got.