Zombies and glasses and chunky black sandals

I feel like a zombie. I’m stressed, stretched too thin. Exhausted. I have so much on my mind…there are so many thoughts screaming through my head that I wish I could just turn my brain off for a while.

My jaw is sore from clenching my teeth so hard. Inside my head is loud. It’s one big perma-headache.

As I pack our lives into boxes and tape them shut I come across things that I forgot I had. Stuff of my mom’s that still hold her scent, papers and cards that bear her handwriting, things that trigger a flood of memories; nostalgia.

It’s easier when they’re tucked away in boxes, out of sight, out of mind. I like it better when I can keep them – and the memories that come with them – all under wraps, hidden, so I don’t have to deal with them.

The other night Dave came up from the basement with a pair of black strappy shoes dangling from his hand. My slutty black chunk sandals that I was wearing one night, years ago, when I ran into him at a downtown bar.

I was shitfaced when I saw him, barely able to form coherent sentences, and the pint of Strong bow he bought me pushed me over the drunken edge, finished me completely. He says that’s the night he knew he wanted to pursue me; I say I was too hammered to be anything remotely close to alluring and that it was the slutty sandals and the way they made me look like I had legs up to here that did him in.

I’d forgotten I still had those sandals and my old eight-hole docs – black, of course, that he’d found shoved in the back of the closet. It’s been a long time since I’ve laced up my docs and I doubt I could walk twenty paces in those fucking sandals now without breaking my ankles but I’ll find a special place for them at the new house, along with my filing cabinet.

Now, proof of how scattered my thoughts are: watch me jump into something completely different! I took Julia to the eye doctor this morning. I made the appointment to be on the safe side – blindness runs in my family and my vision is frickin’ terrible, and I wanted her to get checked out before she started school in the fall.

Deep down I had a suspicion that she might be struggling and I was right; she’s got an astigmatism in her right eye and because of it, her left eye’s doing all the work. Left alone, the doctor said the chances of her right eye becoming lazy were pretty high, so we picked out some cute frames for her – hot pink and black with little hot peppers on the nose pads.

I’m kind of surprised at myself because I’m more upset about it than I thought I’d be. The one thing I always hoped my kids didn’t get from me was my vision, my terrible, god awful, no good vision.

It kind of freaks me out that she needs glasses at three but I’m hoping what my doctor said is true – that she might only need them for a few years, and I hope no one teases her about them. I started wearing glasses in grade four and I always thought it was really cool – I love wearing glasses and wouldn’t switch to contacts for love nor money (well, okay, maybe money). I want her to enjoy wearing glasses too.

One last thing before I go, to get my mind off of…everything. Y’all gave me such awesome titles when I asked about books that consumed you, so now I want you to tell me what music you’re diggin’ right now. I’m loving Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black and Modest Mouse’s We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank at the moment.

Now you go.