how cheerfully they sing

I'll tell you how things are for me right now: Mr. Curry, Ever Elizabeth, Lola Moon and I were shopping in Wal-Mart. The reason we were shopping in Wal-Mart is because our very nutty roomate moved out last weekend without any notice and without paying rent, so that we are $600 in the hole for rent this month, so that my mom gave us her Wal-Mart card and said we could buy some groceries and supplies with it. ThankyouMom. I was trudging in front of Mr. Curry, miserable because the night before we had the worst fight we've had in years, years, which ended with me walking around our neighborhood block in my pajamas and flip flops, in the rain, at 9pm at night. We fell asleep together after all of it, until around 3am when I woke and turned to nurse Ever and felt the soft deep tissue behind my chicken wing on the right side of my body softly tug and then with a big sucking snap, pop and fissure open. The pain went through my back up to grab my right ear and stake itself in my head. I slept sitting up and nursing Ever, and am sitting here only slightly better off. So back to Wal-Mart, and it's depressing lights and stacks and stacks of preserved Jello. I was trudging miserably, remember, in front of Mr. Curry, angry at him because he was telling me a joke, and I wasn't paying attention, and he was miffed/hurt and wouldn't finish the joke, and as I was brooding over this I felt someone coming up on my rear left. So I looked back as I went to move out of the way, and the old, white haired lady on her motorized scooter said loudly and in her best meanoldlady voice

That's right, you better move out the way.

I turned to look closer at her and said to her receding white old head, What a sweet lady, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. She sputtered without making eye contact. Then I instinctively went to put my hand on Mr. Curry's arm before he said or did something wildly inappropriate to the old lady, and did or did not stop him in time depending on what your opinion is of what he shot off at her.

Arriving home with our piles of stuff, I sat miserably on the couch and thought about what to do for Dakota. There is a problem. Those who coined the term loving detachment couldn't have meant parents. I dare you to be lovingly detached to your child. It's possible, but only in the smallest way possible, like in fragments of time, in moments, when you are meditating, laughing, being showered with support, having a strong moment, or are incredibly drunk. The rest of the time it's like trying to be lovingly detached toward your own hands while they are wedged inside of a door jam, broken and bleeding. I see you, but the fact that you are in distress cannot be my problem, I can help you, but I cannot feel your pain. Oh, laughter. You silly son of a bitch.

Meanwhile, our entire garage door handle broke off. Our bathroom door has a big sign on it that says DO NOT CLOSE ALL THE WAY which kind of defeats the entire purpose of a bathroom, and is placed there because if you shut the door from the outside, you can't open it again! Our air conditioner broke two weeks ago, right before this staggering heat wave and humidity. And this is my first preschool paycheck that will have Ever's tuition taken out of it!

Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it! Monty, where are you now. The best thing about that song is how cheerfully they sing of suffering.

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

oh, how cheerfully they sing

of suffering

love,
maggie may