1. Once when my kids were still small, Jeb’s son even smaller, and Jeb still just living with me, I walked into the bedroom and saw Jeb’s gun lying on a towel on the bed where he’d left it meaning to clean it. But he’d walked away to do something and forgotten about it. Slips of mind like that can be deadly when there are kids playing around the house. I was so instantly shocked and horrified at the possibilities that I about went ballistic. I picked up the gun and went marching off to find Jeb. When I found him, I cornered him against a wall and began yelling like psycho how if he EVER left his gun out again where the kids could get it, I was going to throw it in the fish pond and he’d be out on his ear. I’d never forgive him if anything happened to the kids on account of that gun.
I’m not normally someone who yells about anything, but I was so panic-stricken and defensive of my kids I almost couldn’t even think straight. I was so upset it made me feel queasy and more than a little feverish and dizzy, mouth gone so dry I ended with a coughing fit.
Did I over-react? Not sure. But his gun was certainly never left out again. I think he knew better without my yelling about it, but he’d gotten distracted and forgotten just that once.
What’s weird is that fact that years later and without the same overt reason I’m feeling echoes of that same panic in the pit of my stomach when I hear BevMo ads on the radio. It’s only been in the last year or so that it’s been legal here for alcohol to be sold in regular stores as freely as in places like Washington DC and I guess it still feels wrong on that account. But the cheery, we’re your best new neighbors, tone of the ads hits me just like nails on a blackboard. They’re making it sound so social and wholesome to drink this mind altering, aura weakening, physically debilitating stuff… so cool. Cool like the Marlborough man used to be. Remember him? Remember how non-smoking movie stars like Marilyn Monroe and Audry Hepburn used to smoke for the camera just for the sake of popularity with the masses?
The masses were asses. Okay, maybe not… but why did their worst habits have to be catered to? Why wasn’t it okay then to simply be an honest non-smoker and proud of it? Or at least okay with it?
I think of how easier access to alcohol will end up meaning more people being killed by drunk drivers or worse.
And yes, I know I’m being unreasonable. I know full well that people were their most irresponsible with alcohol when it was illegal, during the 1920s and 30s but I can’t help the way I feel.
It’s damned disconcerting to get those feelings of blind panic every time I hear one of those ads. I just hope I can start tuning them out pretty soon the way I do so many others. The useless upset just isn’t worth it.
2. Dreamed of dressing up to going to a fancy dinner and dress ball with Jeb and our two sons. His ex has used her son to extort money besides just child support out of Jeb for years and that’s finally over now that Stephen is of age and living with us. But I must still be dwelling on the matter because at that dress ball, I overhear my son telling Jeb’s how he’s going to give half his paycheck to this woman to help her with expenses now that she’s on her own because she won’t let him and Stephen, best friends that they’ve always been, hang out together if he doesn’t. I want to take him by the collar and tell him, “No! She can’t do that! Don’t let her feed you that BS! Stephen can do what he likes. She can and SHOULD take care of herself. The world doesn’t owe her a living! YOU do not owe her a living!” LOL.
3. Just musey this morning otherwise. I keep thinking of life and death and the places in between. After all the passions, loves, furies, worries, angst, and grand experiences of this life, what will they seem to me on the other side? Oddly enough, I have a sense of memory about that… a memory that’s not really a memory I guess… A feeling that it will all feel like the vestiges of a dream over there; a vivid dream to be sure, but one that fades, that evaporates like dew in the full light of some other day. Broken cobwebs. Another life seen from a distance like the blurring words in a book of somebody else’s life when I’m reading in the small hours of the night.