January 07, 2004

12:48 p.m.

Tales of Derring-Don't

So. Another day, thrust upon us and yanked away like every one before it, and now it's almost gone. We did see LotR, and I wept copiously as predicted (it was about a ten-tissue film, and, incidentally, I want Billy Boyd for a PET), then went to my sister Rose's house because she'd called in the morning to say that one of her dogs is declining. She (the dog) has a tumor but what's getting her is the high calcium levels that the tumor is creating. She's very shivery, has little appetite, is sleeping a lot and can't jump up on furniture any more. However, when we went over, she'd just eaten all her supper and was a muted, quieter version of her happy self, glad to see us, glad to get scritches. We scritched her for a long time. When we left I helped her up onto the comfy chair on her green blanket.

She's maybe 13 years old, and aside from never being fond of the other dogs in the house, she's been a dream. I always would whisper to her, "Don't tell the others, but you're my favorite little black dog."

Anyway she was perky enough tonight that I don't think she'll go immediately, so I felt better.

We four (Dar, Rose, my brother in law for whom I have not been able to think up a pseudonym, and I) went out to a restaurant, and my neighbor couldn't join us because he got sucked into a conference call from work. The first place we went to had no heat, and it was 19 degrees outside according to Rose's car thermometer, so that was out. We went down the street to the slightly less good Indian place and had a delightful time even though the curry tasted unlike any curry I've ever had before and the seafood was slightly overcooked.

Once home, Darwin and I watched a short film that an old friend made and sent me, and a little of a Katherine Hepburn retrospective. It got to be about 10:30 and he said ruefully that he really had to go. It's about an hour and a half drive home for him, and he gets up around five thirty to go to work.

Now, in our somewhat distant past, when I lived in New Hampshire (that was two moves ago), he used to sometimes stay over when he'd visit, and we'd sleep together. When I lived south of Boston, in the tiny shoebox apartment, he never stayed over, though I often invited him when he came visiting. When I moved here, that was pretty much a non issue as it had seemingly gone out of fashion between us, so he's never stayed overnight here either. Meanwhile I'm completely happy sleeping by myself in my double bed; I don't sleep all that well with another person anyway, and we've always been aware of this. By the time we were here watching the movie, it was already fairly late in the day and I just didn't want to bring up the stuff I wrote about in the last entry and start a whole new conversation about it, which I anticipate will be long, so what does he do at 10:30 but look at his watch and say, "Well, shit! I'd stay over, but I'd have to get up at 4:00 to get to work on time! (reconsider, screw up face, look dreadfully disappointed) Shit! I... if only I didn't have to get up so early! I'd stay over!"

Now, tell me, readers, was he fishing for the big one here? It was very unexpected (he hasn't said this, EVER, in the last, oh, I'd say two to three years) so I just didn't know what to say. I have got to have a conversation about this, the house, life, the universe, everything. I'm so unassertive, and so is he, and we just don't help each other in these situations. It also doesn't help that my feelings are a little mixed up. And I hate talking about uncomfortable things on the phone, so I say I'll put it off til I see him, and then I make like the Colonel and chicken out. My fear of hurting people's feelings has hurt people's feelings more times than I like to remember.

Argh.

Okay. Committed language. All I have to do is speak my truth. That's all. Just my truth. There's nothing wrong with that; I have a right to my truth. As long as I'm honest and compassionate, everything will be all right.

Help!

In other news, the band played a place in Somerville last night that we've been trying to develop and we just can't draw a crowd. Like many places, he's not doing a great business no matter who he hires; I blame location, for one thing. It's a horrible place to get into and out of; parking is a nightmare, and the one way circuits and the traffic are enough to keep away all but the most stalwart. We always make a Boston radio appearance, they advertise, we advertise... to no avail. It was a drag and nobody made any money. (Darwin, God bless him, showed up and brought a friend.)

Saturday we play at a showcase conference in NYC -- another whirlwind pain in the ass trip, but it might bear very lucrative fruit, and could be fun.

The woman representing us at this conference has started the machinery to book us in some places, and she's gotten us a summer festival already -- at a nudist resort. I am not making this up. We're going to play for a hillside of people, about 75% of whom are stark nekkid. Lolling about the lawn in their altogethers. Boppin' by in the birthday suits. Dancing drawerless. I suppose we ought not to make any jug band jokes. And that thing that actors do to keep them from being nervous, imagining the audience in their underwear -- that won't work.

It's an interesting life, at the very least.

Meanwhile I got a call from Will, who got back last night from the studio at 9:30 and was too exhausted to step out to our gig (except for the fact that he'd have increased the audience by a significant percentage, I was glad he hadn't come) but will be driving through here on his way to NYC on Friday, and might be able to stop in for an hour or so in the morning. I have to remind myself, if I see him, to just be really real and not fly off into fantasy land where he and I are meant to be. Because, you know, I want him. BUT. I am a grown, mature adult woman who has committed herself to committed language, seen her mother in the coffin, and come through so many levels of hell that she deserves a rack of medals. I can do hard things. I can sit on a couch and let a conversation unfold without trying to force the end of the story, without putting my lips on his, even once. All I have to do is sit there and watch the pearls fall out of the oyster.

Wish me luck. Please.