Neptune’s Yellow Sands

How one sarcastic comment can set everything alight anew.  Another month, another explosion.  Just as you seem to be improving, it is never enough to avoid the catastrophe.  The weather and the call to see Twelfth Night once more could not be denied, even despite the delays in getting ready, the silence, the King Burger, the rushing, all to make the curtain exactly, as if they were waiting for you.  Say this, that AA knows when his love toward Mom is needed.  And that JB’s enjoyment of the walk out in your arms was a powerful memory.  How to improve?  Need to ingrain the communication rules deeply into the brain.  Stop expecting the waiting and the inopportune phone calls and other minor irritants in the grand scheme to change.  And maybe learn to live with an acceptance of these ups and downs.  The slamming of the steering wheel from Corner Brook to Robie Street for the untimely return of the keys is of a pattern.  The anger is not...

The usual story, again.  The no apology this time?  We’ll see.  Beer and cigarettes, glossy eyes and plastic smile, confused behaviour and strange words.  All the same signs.  The jealousy as well, inexplicable.  Jamaican poutine, a bad thing to point out, apparently.   Always left so sleepless and fearful, the 10pm return and the driving with child this time a new cause for panic. Response to the circumstances never works, always escalates it, the late arrival and then the drinking - accused of being a coward, etc.  twice since you’ve been home from NYC, it’s been the beer and cigarettes, probably the nights you were away as well.  Sad to think you just cannot be away and expect to return to stability in the aftermath.  Oh well.  Conversation with Coop most apt.  Nothing to prepare you in literature or family life, until you are in it. And so far the only sure remedy is to pray until the morning.

Two days away, not the result we hoped for, and the return environment negativity all too familiar.  Funny how the conversation ended with Cooper on literature and other word of mouth avenues absolutely failing to pass on the reality of experience when it comes to the hormonal rollercoaster of relationships.  The madness.  The non-logic.  The same old patterns, the same words and scenes brought back again and again, the inability to move on.   But worst the failure of my own reaction to the predictable and recursive behavior.  The inability to remain above, not to be cut to the core, to see the frustration rise, to just let me without panic and trust in the morrow. Should we even include the details of tonight’s Jazz Fest version, an aged Emmylou but spirited AA and good luck with the Bishops parking, only to return to a snoring, unwakeable partner, the smell of smoke and disappointment.  Where did I go wrong?  Leaving in the first place sadly. ...

The cycle is maddening, it keeps happening and I cannot help myself.  I suppose it is never one thing, if not this trigger than there would be another.  The regularity is too predictable at this point.  Just need to hibernate and switch to damage control mode for a few days a month, and hope that as the boys age there comes a breakthrough.  What is amazing is how you forget.  A week or two goes by, and then the blindsiding out of nowhere drops you right down into the abyss anew. Just keep recording the occurrences, keep trying to avoid the worst of it.  The period will come out tomorrow...  then there will be sun...  Just thinking about tomorrow... 

Efforts to finalize Part I of the book proving rewarding yet challenging in equal measure, enjoyable and humbling.  Realization in going back through the old journals about how much of the story is not really being told, trying to compartmentalize and make sense of it when the truth is so much more rambling and all over the place. Nice night with the Zim folks yesterday, happy beer drinking and smoking Mama, felled by the Anderson estates.  AA continuing a fine run of sleeping and daycare form.  As we hide out in the back corner of Cabin Coffee and plot the future, still. It's a way I have of keeping occupied. So no London in March, but the set-up is there for a return in June if Arsenal can navigate their way through six games into the Champions League Final.  Pourquoi pas.  Much Ado at the Globe and Player Kings with Sir Ian on the Friday.  CL buildup and win, hangover recovery and off Sunday night.  Total time gone from Zambia?  Friday, Saturda...

Hearing in Moncton of all places, the old Delta cause for stopping in at Alexander as the storm hits back home.  Nice pictures in the morning but the period spectre looms and paranoia ensues about the dreaded T and “conspirances” that cannot be properly addressed from here.  If alcohol not involved the hormones really are moving something fierce.  But we recall the lessons from the library books, keep the mama good or everyone is fucked.  This rollercoaster continues to be your life, hilariously with all the other shit to balance.  I would love to down both these bottles of wine, but save them for another time.  Really need to get the hours in and yet.   Actually, it is only 10:20.  Let’s drink one to loosen up while inputting time and watching garbage on TV.  Then have a last drink on the 31st and run out Feb with only the Scotch night otherwise. Another evening of madness to contend with, it really is as though the universe is getting even ...

Go back in time and how would you fix it, how would you avoid it?  Impossible, was always destined to end in this manner, you should be thrilled how you survived.  Had to go track her down at the kids’pool, the there’s and the rum and the rest.  The slipping and falling, the slurring and the placing the kids in jeopardy.   Not sure of the tack for tomorrow.  Spa and last day and all, but need a new plan.  This trip has been special in many ways but as a wake-up call most of all.   Fix it.