Ever has begun to order the direction the car should go in. I'm driving, and she points ' Dis way, Momma. We should go dis way. ' She is very sure. She also has an amazing sense of direction for 2 1/2 years old, telling me what road we are on: ' Dis is Ever's doctor, ' she said last week, after having been to the doctor one time the week before. She remembered the road and the exact building as we drove by it.
Yesterday we were driving, running errands, and as I pulled out of a parking lot, Ever told me confidently- her Game of Thrones little lord voice, I call it- ' No momma, no go dat way, go DIS way. '
I continued to pull toward the right, so she raised her voice in a high threat ' NO MOMMA NO DIS WAY! ' ' Ever, we have to go this way, ' I told her calmly. She cried. ' MOMMA PLEASE DIS WAY NO MOMMA!' ' I replied again, ' Ever, we have to go this way. I'm sorry you don't like it, but this is the way we are going. ' And she sighed and stopped crying and yelling and that was that.
When life tells me in no uncertain terms Maggie May, this is the way you are going, like it or not, this is the way things are going do I sigh and let my shoulders down and stop yelling and protesting and crying and fighting against everything I can't control?
Every day and every night, all day and all night, I am giving up moments of happiness. I turn my back on them, sullen and stubborn and furious at timeless rules of existence. I can't control other people, no matter how much I love them or need them. I can barely control myself. I can't control death. I can't control if Dakota speeds. ( I ask him not to. I remind him not to. I try to control him. ) I am angry that my life is turning out this way. I am angry that the story of this blog turned into something other than the one I was trying to tell. I am angry that no matter how hard I tried and try, no matter how many books I read or prayers I pray or friends I tell or vitamins we take or greens we eat, I can only control myself. ( i can barely control myself ) I hate my fucking carseat. I hate my stupid car. It's old and the paint is peeling and the engine makes a funny noise and it might not last forever. If my car breaks, can I walk the rest of the way?
These are a child's complaints, and my fear of what is happening is a base thing. I don't know what will happen. I know what did happen, and what is happening, and none of it was agreed on in the late night sob/talk fests between me and God/notGod/Universalthing. Is this a photo essay you'd like to see?
Sweetheart, I was only joking when I said I'd like to / smash every bone in your face
Every day and every night, all day and all night, I am giving up moments of happiness. This is in part because of biology. This is in part because I am a human being. I am not enlightened. Yet. I am just a peasant of emotions, and something very sad and very hard is happening to me. This is in part because I am sullen and stubborn and furious and I believe that in crossing my arms hard enough, pouting deeply enough, crying loudly enough, God will see me, acknowledge me, and DO SOMETHING.
Of course I am met with the same silence that human beings in much worse situations than I am in are met with when they wait for the Megaphone of God to speak directly to them. Once, as a young person, sobbing in my car, I prayed for a sign. I prayed with a shirt literally soaked in tears, I prayed with all the sincerity and devotion and faith of the very young and romantic writer. God, I said, if you show me a shooting star, I'll believe in you. I really and truly will. And I swear on everything I love that at that very moment I looked out the car window, and on a night that had no shooting stars before or after this, I saw an enormous shooting star. I had no alcohol or drugs in my system, other than the cigarette pressed to my lips. Listen: God let me direct the FUCKING UNIVERSE. And guess what?
I still didn't believe.
I was sent a shooting star on demand and it wasn't enough. So when I pray, what am I praying for?
What is it I really want?