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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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3:44 p.m. - 2012-04-18
It's been HOW long? My apologies. It's not like I've been barfing it all up at FB either, this is just the first day I've been totally alone in the house in quite a while. So to catch up. Mick had his basal cell thingie removed. It was a choice between doing a Mohs procedure or the doc using a laser and a loop scalpel and basically frying and scraping the cancer off. Mick went with the latter. Shorter recovery, shorter time in the chair being worked on, shorter time off his beloved bicycle. It was this last which really decided him. The man is a bear if he can't ride at least once a week. Besides, even the doc agreed the chance of the cancer growing back was slim; Mick's skin cancer was the most benign kind and the lesion itself was pretty stable. My mannie is all fixed now and went back to work today. I gave Wolf a haircut Sunday night. A very radical scalping at his request. I miss Wolf's rock-n-roll hair, this buzzed down coif is boring and charmless. But it's Wolf's head and he can wear his hair any way he wants to. Long, short, bleached, spiked, it's fricken hair- the most easily changed of all the body mods. Right now Wolf is all about conformity and the going look amongst the gawky freshmen is a buzz or a Bieber. The latter is out, Wolf refuses to go near anything hair-wise or clothing-wise that is even the tiniest bit femme. He's got a clear bead on just how pretty he is and my beauteous scrawn (with nary a whisker to his credit) is butching it up as best he can. Buzzed hair. Obnoxious t-shirts. Wallet on a chain. Sharpie tattoos. He's even given up his overpowering body spray. I laugh a little, at his age I was into denying my beauty too. Did everything I could to be dowdy. Rebelling against my preternaturally groomed mother, of course, but there were politics and feminism in there too. Denial of self because being beautiful was my f-ing job and I loathed making a living with my looks, but the monster mom wanted her money and I was the cash cow. At 14 I was proud of my smarts and ashamed of my looks. The brains I could take credit for since I'd deliberately cultivated a strong mind, but the big tits, the giraffe height, the pretty face? A horrible accident of genetics I wanted nothing to do with. Ha-ha on me. I'm not the least bit beautiful anymore and I miss it like crazy. I knew I was vain about my smarts, my wicked vocabulary, being Ms Has-All-The-Answers, but I truly didn't understand how much I enjoyed being the mayor of Pretty Town until I was kicked to the curb for getting old, fat and blotchy. I think the recent quest for nerd-a-rific hair has been mostly punishment and penance. A mea culpa for not appreciating what I had until it was gone. Even if Mick and I got around to doing a vow renewal/'wedding that never was' party I'd look like a complete fool gussied up like a bride with my crone self. I missed that train but good. Will Wolf end up regretting quashing his good looks? I don't think so. Why? He's male. The shelf life of the average female beauty is about 20 years, but men can be gorgeous forever. Connery? Bald, baggy, has chin wattles that rest on his chest. Still considered gorgeous. Clooney? Grey, also growing some jowls, has crow's feet that looked carved with a garden fork. Still gorgeous. Me? Uneven skintone, dowager's creases, a small double chin. Total troll. My son will be fabulous until he's dead. He can mow his hair off, cultivate a sneer, dress like a thug, doesn't matter. So I'm not going to hock him to dude it up, he'll have 'It' until he's 107. Which, btw, will be in the year 2104. Think about that if you please. My son just might live in THREE different centuries. Born in 1997- barring bad habits and accidents he has a decent chance to get his 100 years plus a couple. For sure he doesn't remember when the year didn't start with a 20__, but making it from the 20th into the 22nd century would merit a story in the newspaper (or whatever replaces newspapers by then). Pretty cool, eh? Also cool was the VERY productive meeting this morning with my lawyer and the ex and his lawyer. We're skipping court tomorrow. A decent, ridiculously fair to the ex but gets me what I wanted all along, time schedule and settlement about the house crappy was hammered out. I know there's some who think I should put the boots to the ex, certainly the law says I can, and that I should nail his hide to my garage wall, but that's not the way I operate. I don't have any feelings for the ex beyond what I have any human being, in fact after the meeting he and I were chatting in the parking lot and I had a brief wobble of nausea because I thought, "Jesus please us, I know what this man's dick looks like!", but when it's all said and done I have to live with myself. If I end up with exactly what I wanted anyhow, then to what purpose would destroying the ex serve? I don't need revenge. Not on him. What for? I have a wonderful man who loves me. I have the house. My younger son adores me. I have a cushy well-ordered life. All the good things, all the love and happiness my life with the ex lacked, well, I have them now. I have them in spades. Being a punitive, vindictive twerp would be dumb. Pointless. Schmucky? Maybe. But I've always lacked the killer instinct. Getting even, exacting revenge, those have always seemed like too much effort for too little payoff. If I can get what I want without anybody else having to hurt then I like it. A lot. Feuds and retaliation isn't my gig at all. I never believed the balm to my pain was to inflict it on others. The truest way to ease my pain was to make sure the pain stopped with me. The chain of hurt and anger and bitterness stops here. I know. I know how dopey that sounds. How hippy-ish and naive. But if true power lies with the choices we make then I will always opt for the peaceful resolution. The olive branch. Decency. It's what lets me sleep at night and smile at the woman in the mirror brushing her teeth in the morning. Knowing I had the power to stop the chain of pain is what got me through the bad times. My own hurt was repaid a zillion times over when I was assured no one else would have to hurt like I had. I have that superpower. To make the bad stuff stop with me.
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