Had to leave you with a priceless quote from Caron, which he uttered just moments ago:

"I'm not sure which is worse: church or congress."

I've been drinking this evening, and I'm feeling pretty numb. I've had a couple of shots of blackberry brandy, and YUM! that's goooooo--oooooooo--ooooood! It's basically liquid candy. After that, I had a couple of shots of some dark Jamaican rum. It is quite strong and very good. All the while, I was watching "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." What a classic movie.

Caron and I have had a couple of interesting discussions this weekend so far, and it's not even Sunday yet. I'm not really in the right frame of mind (read: "sober enough") to completely explain all that's gone down over the last 24 hours, so I'll just share with you another story from the past.

How about a story of Leo as a little guy? Okay? Here it is:

Leo loved to stay home with Mommy (me) all the time. He loved to be home and not at school. He really didn't like school all that much.

When he was 4 years old, his father and I decided that it was time that he started nursery school. The very first day of nursery school, he and I were in the cute little coat/cubby room of the co-operative nursery school when another little boy decided to have an emotional melt-down as his mother tried to leave him behind.

[Aside note: A "co-operative" nursery school is one where there was only one teacher and no assistant teacher. All of the parents of the children took turns (by week) in being the assistant teacher throughout the school year. This was fine for the stay-at-home moms who didn't have any other children besides the nursery school student. But it didn't work that well for moms with smaller children, or working parents. I was a working parent, but I was a strange one. I worked a 13-hour shift each night of the weekend. So on my co-operative scheduled weeks, I just wouldn't sleep until after school on Monday.]

Leo was never one to put up a "strong front" and he turned to me with panic in his face as the little boy threw a temper tantrum and tried to pry open the front door with his fingernails and teeth. I took one look at poor Leo's face and knew that I'd never get out the building without going straight to the hospital to have him surgically removed from my flesh, because he wouldn't have let go of my arm had I tried to leave without him.

I said, "Don't worry, Baby. I'm not going anywhere." He wasn't completely convinced, and sat as close to me as possible (without actually being IN my lap) during his entire first day of nursery school.

I spent the next two weeks attending nursery school with Leo. But after that, he let me leave with only the tiniest bit of trepidation. This experience didn't change much for Leo as he got older.

During the summer before Kindergarten (the first "real" school year after nursery school), the public school provided a program for beginning Kindergarten students. It was basically a socialization process for the kids, to allow them to get to know each other in a quasi-learning environment. They went on "field trips" together, with a few chaperoning adults. The very first field trip was to a local environmental-learning area. It was just trails in a wooded/swampy area and one guide per 15 kids/adults.

I tried to bring Leo and leave him in his designated room with all the kids, who were eager to go on their first Big-Boy/Big-Girl-Field-Trip, but he wasn't having any part of it. I ended up going on the field trip with him. That wouldn't have been so bad, but I was still in my pajamas. Luckily, it was a cooler evening and morning, so I actually was wearing pajamas that covered most of my body. I was wearing loose flannel pants and a flannel shirt that buttoned down the front. Unfortunately, I hadn't brushed my hair or teeth yet that morning, and I certainly wasn't wearing underwear or shoes.

Boy...was I out of place. The other chaperoning mothers were dressed to the nines (hair-sprayed salon hair, high-heeled, red spike shoes, tight designer jeans, lots of gold jewelry...we rented an apartment in a ritzy suburb of a well-to-do city). I was a very young mother with long, curly brown hair. I was cute and fresh, and nearly 10 years younger than all of the other mothers (I was 22 years old).

This week has been a busy one.  I've been working steadily on two different projects at my daytime job, and I worked almost every night this week at my evening, part-time job.  My relationship with Caron needed some attention and TLC (tender, loving care), so I put some energy into that, too.  And to top it all off, I've got a possible second part-time writing job in the works.

The weather here all week has been very Florida-like, which (for all of you that have never been to Florida) means humid, hot and rainy.  Every day the sun comes up in the morning, builds these very pretty thunderstorm clouds that rain on us during the afternoon, and then it clears up in the evening.  It prevents any attempt at doing something outside during the day, and it prevents me from being able to leave my windows open when I leave for work.  That's a real bummer for me.  It means that I come home to a warm, stuffy, questionably smelling apartment.

Let me escape into a story from the past with you:

It was my 30th birthday and I was hiding from my family and friends.  I was with my fiance, Richey Cunningham.  In about a year from that point, he would become my second husband.  We were hiking during January in the Adirondack Mountains.  We had just left our cozy campsite and were heading out to our car and then home.  As we cross-country skiied our way down the trail, we came upon the trailhead sign for Algonquin Mountain.  I'd never climbed Algonquin before, but I had always wanted to.  It was such a warm (28 degrees Fahrenheit) morning; tiny, fluffy snowflakes were falling slowly, creating a light layer of snow on the clear path.  The sun was shining, too.  In short, it was a beatiful day for a hike.  Richey knew that the trail up Algonquin went up and then over the mountain, and then down to the parking lot.  I said, "Let's take this path to the car."  He agreed and up we went.  It was easy going for most of the way.  What a beautiful hike.  Between our skiing skins, snowshoes and climbing spikes, we got near to the top in under two hours.  Good timing for a winter hike up a mountain.  When we were about a quarter mile from the top, the trail opened up onto the bare peak area, where the trees couldn't grow.  About 50 feet from the tree line, the winds hit us.  Unbeknownst to us, a nasty storm had moved into the area, with high winds and blizzard-like conditions.  If we had checked the weather report that morning, we would have known not to attempt the climb.  But we were committed at that point, so we continued on up to the peak.  The winds became stronger and more unpredictable the higher that we climbed.  At one point, the winds became so strong that I had to sit on the ground and hold onto a rock, to prevent being blown off the mountain and down onto the frozen Avalanche lake.  It was at that point that I learned that Richey had never actually traveled this path, and that he didn't even know where the trail was on the other side of the mountain.  It was getting dark, and I knew that if he didn't know where the path was on the other side of the peak that we certainly weren't going to find it in the dark.  I told him that we should turn back and camp one more night in the valley.  It was too dangerous to continue.  He agreed and we carefully turned around and headed back down the way that we had come.  It was very scary and at one point, Richey lost his knit hat, which he then proceeded to chase after.  I saw him stumble over the edge of the mountain, trip and fall into nothingness, and I thought that he had fallen to his death.  But just as I was deciding how to proceed alone, he reappeared over the horizon with his hat on his head.  I was greatly relieved but also a bit pissed off.  Why would he risk his life for that stupid hat?  Regardless, we made our way down the mountain and returned to our campsite without any further incidence.  Then the next morning we trekked back to the car, without going over Algonquin.  I felt a bit of defeat not making it to the top of that mountain.  It leered at me as I passed by.  It jeered at me.  It mocked me.  I took offense.  So the following summer, I returned.  Solitary, I had to mount that peak and stand on its head.  So I did.  By myself, I climbed that mountain and stood on its peak.  I surveyed the landscape and made it my own.  I leered, I jeered and I mocked.  And then I ran down that mountain, as if to say, "See, you're so puny that I didn't even have to take care on my way down.  I ran all the way and didn't once look back, you measly little mountain you."  I triumphed.  It lost.  So there.  [insert raspberry sound here]

How's it going?  Yeah, it's good to see you, too.  I've missed you, too.  I know...it's tough, going nearly a week between seeing each other.  But you know, it's gotta' be this way for a while.  With all the crap going on, this is the best I can do for now.  I hope you understand...

So I had this nice moment last week.  Let me tell you about it.  I was leaving a doctor's appointment around 10 am (nothing serious, just routine) and I realized what a beautiful morning it was.  The sun was shining, but not too brightly.  The air was warm and fresh.  Traffic on the Northway (I-87) was reasonable.  I stopped and got a small cup of McDonald's coffee (I LOVE McDonald's coffee).  I was heading to a job that I mostly enjoy.  I've been working on a project at work that is interesting and sort of fun (in a geek-like way, and I'm a definitive geek).  I have a wonderful son, a family that cares about me, and a boyfriend who has actually made a conscious, well-thought-out choice to be with me...because he wants to be with me.  In other words, I experienced a good half hour of relative bliss that morning.  I really hope that many people on this planet also have moments like that.

I've joined a health club recently (I can't remember if I told you that).  It's a bit of a "muscle man" place, with lots of "cut and buff" men lifting things and grunting on occasion (I'm so immature that whenever I hear that, I have to suppress a giggle, because it's just so silly), and with lots of cute young women who wear tight "workout" clothing that is designed to distract the men from lifting and grunting and gain their attention...whoops!  Did I say that out loud?  I'm sorry, I meant to say that their clothing is designed to be comfortable as they work out.  Yet how they can work out with a thong rubbing repeatedly against their collective anus', I haven't a clue.  I, myself, wear baggy shorts and loose T-shirts (and comfortable undies, thank you -- no thongs for THIS gal), because when I exercise, I need to be comfortable.  I don't even make eye-contact with the men in the gym, I'm not there to chase after men.  I'll leave that pursuit (so to speak) to the tightly clothed femme-fatale group.

That's all for now, I'll talk to you again this weekend.  'Till then, ta ta.

A friend asked me how I'm spending my holiday weekend.  Halfway through my e-mail to him, I realized, "Hey, this is good blog material!" So I cut and pasted it here. So here it is, my Independence Day (Fourth of July, for you non-American types) holiday festivities:

I'm spending my holiday weekend doing just about nothing. Which is the best way to spend any holiday. I had to see my parents yesterday, so I dulled the pain by getting a bit drunk.  Because that worked so well, I've now decided that that is the best way to deal with my parents, by being "self-medicated."  Today, Caron and I had dinner with his parents and grandparents.  I really like his parents, they rock.  But talking with his grandfather is quite stressful.  He has this slightly gravelly, slightly blurry voice that raises and lowers without warning, and he always has these intense conversations that you must keep up with, or be damned.  Because I only hear three words out of each of his sentences, I must use my imagination and cunning to quickly fill in the blanks while waiting for those next three intelligible words, so that I can piece together the most previous sentence that has already passed me by.  Yes, I'm tired by the time that he's done talking to me.  Come to think of it, he makes me want to self-medicate.  I wonder if this solution will be my new answer to everything stressful in my life.  I'll keep you posted.  Caron's grandfather did make a somewhat funny comment this evening.  He said, "I hate to tell you this, but [name of our town] is the septic capital of the world."  And he should know, being a retired plumber.

Caron and I also ran into his across-the-street neighbor at Wal-Mart today.  Wow.  Talking to her made me want to lie down.  She is one of those overly sweet women who talks on-and-on at a rapid pace, punctuating her sentences with wild, giggly laughter.  Oy, I need a nap just thinking about it.

My baby turned 21 years old today.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEO!!  I LOVE YOU, BABY!!  He went camping in the Adirondacks with his fiance.  It's supposed rain like a bitch tomorrow.  Oh well.  So much for camping.  I hope they don't get soaked.

All right...what the fuck?!  How can we humans have such large fucking brains, and not be able to communicate properly?  I mean, why can we not just SAY IT and talk about it and communicate it with other non-verbal means, and at the same time, how can we not properly interpret it and understand it and GET IT by using our large freakin' brains?  I mean...what the fuck?!

As you may surmise, I had a difficult evening with Caron today.  We had an interesting session of sex on the easy chair where he misread my signals, and I misread his signals, and we ended up having "nnneeeyyyyaaahhh" sex (translation: "mediocre").  It was frustrating, but bearable.  And then we went out to dinner where we had this difficult discussion about his ex-wife and how his relationship with her still bothers me, even though I haven't said anything about it for months, because he told me months ago that he was tired of hearing about how I have a difficult time dealing with his friendship with his ex-wife!!  And I wouldn't have talked about it in the first place if he didn't ask me directly about what was bothering me regarding his relationship with his ex-wife!!  And then, when I got "upset" (translation: "shed a few tears") at the restaurant as I was trying to tell him what was so upsetting, HE gets "upset" (translation: "angry and embarrassed") because he thinks that people are seeing me cry and thinking about what a monumental jerk he is for making the pretty lady cry.  Oh Lord Of All Heavenly Lords, Please Give Me The Strength That I Need To Not Choke The Ever-Lovin' Shit Out Of This Man, So Help Me Jesus, Amen.

So then we try to talk about it in a fairly calm manner, after dinner, while taking a nice walk, and he tells me that the only reason that he's still seeing her (on a friendship basis, that is) is because she is still giving him free haircuts, and that he's concerned that no one else will be able to cut his hair like she can.  (Ummm...let's see....WHAT THE FUCK??!!!)  I told him that I'd give him "good money" (translation: "$20-$30 per month") for him to find another hairdresser and stick with him/her so that I would not have to deal with ever hearing again that he's going to see his ex-wife for his monthy haircut (where, of course, they have breakfast or lunch, along with the actual haircutting time).  He said, "You can't afford that."  And I said, "I can't mentally NOT afford it."  And, of course, he was silent.  Obviously, if he truly is just seeing her "for the free haircut," he certainly would have jumped at the offer of a free haircut that didn't upset his girlfriend.  Okay, I'm tired of grousing about this, because I really love this Jerk-O-Maniac and still will, even if he decides to continue seeing Porky Peggy for his monthly shearing.  Love and kisses.  I'll talk to you later this weekend.