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september 29, 2000.I wish my husband would come home. I've been listening to a lot of Robert Johnson this week. It just feels like the right thing to do, even if it is a bit corny. "I got a pain in my heart, it done taken my appetite." And from a completely different stream of the blues: "I check the mail and I watch my phone / I used to wonder, was my baby at home?" Nope. Just me and the cat, and even if you put a boy's shirt on her and pretend, she just looks all bitchy, wiggles out & goes somewhere else. Not that I've tried that, mind you. Hey, I have character witnesses. I'm having kind of a shitty day off, truth be told. I'm all achey & growly & bored. I don't know whether to take an aspirin, take a nap, take a bath, take up my homework or take a walk in the sun. I feel like a caged cat - a remarkably apt metaphor, as I had to shut Ceilidh into the study an hour ago, just so I could get my lesson draft done here on the kitchen laptop. She doesn't love the nightlife; she loves to get in my way when I'm typing on the kitchen table. On a day like today, it's making me crazy. I woke up with an emotional hangover, feeling low for no particular reason. The Boy came home last night, but he chose to play an unfortunate prank: he called to say that he'd have to stay in Truro another night before a ride could be arranged and while I was shoring up my defences for more separation and succeeding rather well - I didn't freak out, for one thing - he knocked on the door. All at once, the anger & hurt & pain & helplessness of separation were channelled into his grinning figure. He thought he was the funniest guy in the world, or at least he did for about 30 seconds. That's how long it took to figure out that I wouldn't talk to him, that in fact I couldn't stop crying. It was...unfortunate that he chose to come home like that. He was very contrite, to his credit, and promised never to do it again, but I still felt like shit forever. How To Have An Unsuccessful Homecoming, part one. What's funny is that I'd had a pretty good run these last few days. Tuesday didn't break any records in terms of fun, but I felt together most of the day and even got a few errands done. There's an irresistible yo-yo force in effect when the Boy is home; why would I want to explore the town when I could be home? But with the yo-yo temporarily unravelled, I could indulge a suppressed curiosity in what is a very quaint & quirky little town. I bought a pen & a ladybug, picked up the mail, and found out what in nine hells has been holding up our new bank cards, which left me feeling very useful. I came home, made a nice greasy dinner and even planned enough surplus to baglunch for the next day. Then I worked on the outline of my very first lesson plan, trying not to get immobilized with anxiety in the process. I called Dirk & Morgan, I left a message with St. Stephen and generally had what passes for a productive night in this neck of the woods. Wednesday dawned cold & unfriendly. I awoke with a needle in my head and immediately became determined to skip that damned computer class. Felt marginally better in 2 hours, when I woke again. Rose, showered, ate, prepared, printed an outline and dressed myself in virginal, business-like attire. With pantyhose, even! The sacrifices... My lesson on the French Revolution went really really well. There were a few big problems with my overly serious delivery ("formidable" was the phrase I got tossed back), but the class appeared to genuinely like it, and complimented me on almost every aspect of the presentation. It seems to have, paradoxically, opened a whole bunch of social doors for me: on the break that immediately followed, I found myself outside in a loose, comfortable pack of classmates smiling & talking about academics. From then on, I've gotten more smiles, more small talk, more greetings by name and more conversations than ever. But the best part, the absolute best part, is that as I was walking home & chatting with Petra, a classmate who lives in the same complex, she spontaneously invited me over to dinner and I just as casually accepted. Suddenly I was in a warm social setting! I was trading stories, sharing frustrations about the program and feeling happy. It's like my social components were dead and Petra resurrected them with chicken stir-fry & a glass of cranberry juice. It has done wonders for my self-confidence, I can tell you that. Yesterday I went exploring instead of going straight home, and ended up with beer, cookies, books & a shoulder-ache from carrying it all up the hill...but it was a good shoulder-ache, you understand. I'm starting to feel at home here, starting to weave myself into this life instead of keeping the Toronto bubble intact. I still want to go home for a weekend more than anything. But I'm mostly okay with being here during the week.
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