the word from st. louis: Baaaaa

There's quite a bit to catch up on. I am stuck in a hotel in St. Louis with shitty overpriced wireless access. This means I am in the business center with too many white men and I'm on a computer with a mandatory logoff in 25 minutes. Damn.

Today was my last day of nursing Khubz. Ever. Ever. As in. . . Ever. More on that later. Or not.

I hate flying southwest airline.


My niece broke her arm right at the end of thanksgiving weekend.


I ate a crappy, overpriced dinner at the hotel restaurant while having a difficult conversation with a woman whose adult daughter was nearly killed by a batterer. There was shitty response from law enforcement, legal aid, DV advocates, mental health. . .everyone. She is telling me about a particularly shitty response from law enforcement and asks me if I'm shocked. "I think that is absolutely horrific and also not unusual." So we talk about that, how uneducated people are, how unhelpful, how they don't recognize the safety issues for the woman, how they blame her, how they operate with so much bullshit, shame and misogyny that many battered women won't even try to talk to someone about what's going on. Then this woman talks about her frustration with how her daughter has responded to the batterer and more recently, her frustrations that her daughter has started dating someone else. "Oh. . . And what else?! This one's also black--so you know that just ups my anxiety!"

Hmm. "What does that mean to you?" I ask. She immediately tells me that she's not racist, of course. A friend at the table tries to smooth things over, "It just means that she has to worry about her daughter facing racism as well." Ah. Sure. The woman goes on to say that her daughter has such low self esteem she won't even try for a white man. She doesn't even think she's worth that. Ah. Sure.


My one sister and my other sister have some stuff going on. It hurts my heart.


A different sister altogether also has quite a bit going on. Ditto above sentiment.


I cooked like a mad woman yesterday and this morning. When questioned by my loving partner I replied that I wanted this week to go easier for her and for Khubz. ( I get back home late late on Friday.) She reminded me that she was 29 when we got together which meant she had plenty of years of cooking for herself and she promised not to let the wee one starve if only I would sit down with her and watch A Christmas Story. "I know. . .I know. . .It's just going to be such a crazy week for you and I think having dinner ready to go each night will be one less thing for you to worry about." Nice. Altruistic. Caring. Nurturing. Bullshit.

Because reading this required me to reexamine the above statement with a bit more truth. What is up with Two Shews anyway? Even while medicated and recovering from pretty major surgery she is making me reflect more honestly on my own crap.

Okay, let's try again. "Actually, honey, I know you're totally capable of taking care of things. I think I'm cooking like a fucking mad woman because I can't stand the idea that our household can function perfectly without me. Or even worse that things can not function so perfectly, perhaps everything might even go to hell, and there's still nothing that I can do about it. So I have to create some sort of mechanism that will facilitate more denial so I don't go completely fucking nuts while I'm gone."


Every single person who assisted us getting from point A to point B today was Muslim. The shuttle driver, the guy taking bags at the airport, the woman who checked us in to the hotel, the maintenance guy who brought me keys that actually open my hotel door, the cab driver. Salaam. It's weird. I sort of feel like we're family. With all the familiarity and distance that word carries. But, really, salaam.


I called while our good friends were babysitting Khubz. She was having a great time, delighting on her second piece of Rudy's pizza. Scully is going to call me when Khubz finally goes down for the great sleep. We're not sure when that might be, because, you see, Khubz took a four hour nap at daycare today. Great. Thanks. Thanks for that.


Overheard in the business center, "The critical thinking is just not there. . .I mean, people just don't. . . " "I know, I know, I know." "They just don't even think about what they're thinking." "Really, I know, I do. It's amazing to me." "They just don't have any critical thinking, no original thoughts of their own." "Uhhuh. It's shocking." "They're just sheep." "I know, sheep."

I am going to be on the receiving end of their training. If not tomorrow, then the next day. I promise to never, ever again say "they just don't know how to think." because actually (being on the receiving end of such a statement) I have complete clarity that it is a wholly unhelpful thing to say.

Baaaaaa.