Okay, so I'm going to start blogging again, as I start this fairly scary part of my life...or at least I hope I start it. My newest prospective family failed to call me yesterday, which makes me nervous, and the stupid agency hasn't called me either! Slackers, all of ya!
I am getting really antsy here...tired of being in the dark about the next year and a half of my life. It feels like such a purgatory, a place of being where all I have the power to do is worry and stress. I am definitely not enjoying my downtime. It would be totally different if I had a job lined up. I could relax, take a trip to the beach for a few days. Write. Watch movies. Play with the dogs. Instead, all of my actions are transitory and my place here on shaky footing, libel to change at any moment. I never know what the next day has in store for me. No clue. This does not suit my personality, as we all know.
I just finished this really great book called The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Neffenegger (or something to that affect. The premise is...When Henry meets Clare, he is meeting her for the first time, but Clare has been meeting him since she was six years old. Henry is a time traveler who can move backwards and sometimes forward in his own history or the history of those he loves (ie...Clare). Clare is his wife in Henry's adult present, but in his adulthood, he visits the child version of his wife. Anyway, it's really mind boggling, well-written, and very emotional. I've got a list of about 12 books that I would like to read. I think I'll start with the Nanny Diaries, since everyone has been telling me I HAVE to read it before becoming a nanny in NYC.
I just want to be out of here. There is too much not being said.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Monday, June 12, 2006
Maura Hugs
So I'm writing a court statement for Kayla's aunt Ellen. I've known second hand about this aunt for a long time and heard some real horror stories about his awful abuse.. (ex. once her soon-to-be ex-husband took her outside and tied her down while he dug her grave in their front yard). Evidently she's left him about a dozen times throughout their turbulent 27 year marriage, but this time it is for real. Anyway, Kayla and Mattie asked if I would help her write her court statement, and at first I couldn't understand why Ellen would want a perfect stranger to do that, but I soon found out. I soon found myself to be the caretaker of twenty handwritten pages that represents the saddest marriage I've ever come across. In these pages she has listed every horrible detail...when her husband beat up their pregnant daughter, or how he'd humiliated her by calling her a stupid whore in front of her family when she expressed interest in going back to school, or how he'd refuse to give his wife money for food and then bring home take-out and eat it in front of her hungry kids, or how he pulled a gun on her when she served him divorce papers. The list goes on and on, peppered with heartwrenching comments like "he made me feel like I was nothing" or "I prayed to God to get me away but no help come" or "I did love him. love he killed. destroyed my love to him."
Ellen wrote out all these things the best way she knew how. Every other word is misspelled. She can hardly constuct a coherent sentence. And here on these pieces of paper is more pain and anguish and heartache than I will probably ever have to feel. 27 years of fear and anger and self-loathing and hunger and hurting. I feel like I've got a big dirty secret in my hands. Something I don't have a right to touch because of my place as the advantaged in this land of poverty. I'm glad I can help her. Use my education to help other people take her suffering seriously. But it has been a big wakeup call.
When I met Ellen, I felt really out of touch...or like she needed me to be super professional so that she could trust me with this secret. Mattie introduced me to her and said: "Here, you come over here and get yourself a Maura hug. Ain't nothing feel better than a Maura hug." Mattie is always gushing about me. I spend most of my time with her blushing. Usually she introduces me as the one who made it all the way up to NEW YORK (and she says it like that...capital letters). But she didn't this time. And I realized that I wasn't needed there as a hero or someone to sweep down and show them how it's done. Ellen needed a friend who could help her out. I just needed to be myself. I've always been able to get in touch with my strictly trashy side when I'm with Kayla's family. We sat there in her kitchen and giggled over great stories. Mattie told everyone about her experiences watching two live autopsies. Mattie, Ellen, and Brendie talked about the penises they had encountered in their lifetimes. Kayla's ugly mut pooped on the table and we all squealed in disgust. Mattie insisted that we all depart with a load of cherry chocolate ice cream. And Ellen took me aside and threw her arms around me and said "thank you for doing this for me" real soft in my ear.
In the same vein...Jeff talked to me about being a bridge person. In a town like this, when you make it out, you are supposed to be able to come back and be impressive. They want you to come back with money, a fancy education, a successful Yankee boyfriend, impeccable style. If you don't, then what's the point. If you don't fit the mold of hometown girl making it in the big world, then they still pretend that you do. And you feel obligated to fill that expectation or follow along in the farce. And there's always a fine line between making everyone proud or getting too big for your britches. I feel like I'm always toeing that line and have small chance of feeling whole here.
And yet, there are so many expectations up north too. I'm supposed to be the charming southerner. "I LOVE your accent." (just once I'd like to reply "yeah, I can't stand yours") People are surprised at my successes when they find out where I am from. As if brains are more impressive when you come from a land of mass ignorance
But that's not where I'm from. People aren't stupid here. And I'd take ignorance any day over arrogance.
I don't really know what I'm saying. I just feel a little lost now, like I'm not sure where I'll ever belong. I'm sick of the attention in both worlds. Why can't I just be the girl that gives great hugs?
Ellen wrote out all these things the best way she knew how. Every other word is misspelled. She can hardly constuct a coherent sentence. And here on these pieces of paper is more pain and anguish and heartache than I will probably ever have to feel. 27 years of fear and anger and self-loathing and hunger and hurting. I feel like I've got a big dirty secret in my hands. Something I don't have a right to touch because of my place as the advantaged in this land of poverty. I'm glad I can help her. Use my education to help other people take her suffering seriously. But it has been a big wakeup call.
When I met Ellen, I felt really out of touch...or like she needed me to be super professional so that she could trust me with this secret. Mattie introduced me to her and said: "Here, you come over here and get yourself a Maura hug. Ain't nothing feel better than a Maura hug." Mattie is always gushing about me. I spend most of my time with her blushing. Usually she introduces me as the one who made it all the way up to NEW YORK (and she says it like that...capital letters). But she didn't this time. And I realized that I wasn't needed there as a hero or someone to sweep down and show them how it's done. Ellen needed a friend who could help her out. I just needed to be myself. I've always been able to get in touch with my strictly trashy side when I'm with Kayla's family. We sat there in her kitchen and giggled over great stories. Mattie told everyone about her experiences watching two live autopsies. Mattie, Ellen, and Brendie talked about the penises they had encountered in their lifetimes. Kayla's ugly mut pooped on the table and we all squealed in disgust. Mattie insisted that we all depart with a load of cherry chocolate ice cream. And Ellen took me aside and threw her arms around me and said "thank you for doing this for me" real soft in my ear.
In the same vein...Jeff talked to me about being a bridge person. In a town like this, when you make it out, you are supposed to be able to come back and be impressive. They want you to come back with money, a fancy education, a successful Yankee boyfriend, impeccable style. If you don't, then what's the point. If you don't fit the mold of hometown girl making it in the big world, then they still pretend that you do. And you feel obligated to fill that expectation or follow along in the farce. And there's always a fine line between making everyone proud or getting too big for your britches. I feel like I'm always toeing that line and have small chance of feeling whole here.
And yet, there are so many expectations up north too. I'm supposed to be the charming southerner. "I LOVE your accent." (just once I'd like to reply "yeah, I can't stand yours") People are surprised at my successes when they find out where I am from. As if brains are more impressive when you come from a land of mass ignorance
But that's not where I'm from. People aren't stupid here. And I'd take ignorance any day over arrogance.
I don't really know what I'm saying. I just feel a little lost now, like I'm not sure where I'll ever belong. I'm sick of the attention in both worlds. Why can't I just be the girl that gives great hugs?
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