in from school and climb into bed with me for a hug and some cuddling. And although her presence was comforting, the love I felt for her reminded me of loving Kevin and brought back the pain of heartbreak. So instead of talking and playing with her, we watched TV together, because while doing that I could space out and remain numb to all genuine interaction. Eventually Violet grew disgusted with me. One day she tried to cajole me out of the bed (by then it was clear I was not ill — even an invalid like Elizabeth Barrett Browning had recovered more speedily). My only reply to her requests for a trip to the park, the market, anywhere, was that the way I felt, if we went outside, I wouldn ’ t care if I got hit by a truck.
“ Mommy, ” she replied cynically, “ If you want to get hit by a truck, it sure isn ’ t going to happen in here. ” Then she glared at me.
Here I was blessed with a little child who had better sense than I did as an adult, but even that insight did me no good. My muscles worked but my will to move them had atrophied. Now I look back and see that I should have risen from the bed and gone out to play with my daughter. I should have reclaimed my life and shared it with the child I truly loved who loved me as well instead of wishing for a surgeon who would remove my heart and all emotion with it. But I was weak and foolish and made poor choices that served me badly.
Eventually my alimony ran out. Had it not been for that, I might still be buried in that room and that bed, with the sheets and my life growing moldy all around me. Money. I needed money and had to make a living, because it was clear that child support was not enough to pay all my expenses. The only problem was that I hadn ’ t a clue about what to do, what to be when I grew up. Rich, I wanted to be rich, or failing that, I wanted a job as wife of rich man, something I felt equipped to do even though it was clear how bad an idea it is to merge your own life so totally with that of another human being that you have to depend on him for all sustenance. That is too great a burden to put on love, because if you lose your love, you lose your livelihood as well. It was easy to see that independence had a lot more to recommend it than being an adult dependent, but how could I turn my life around and make my fortune and my way in the world? I had done a few part time things for creative fulfillment, but had never earned a living.
I prepared to find a suitable course of action, but was halted at my closet. All my clothes were too tight. I had gained twenty pounds during my year of mourning. Actually it was lucky that I hadn ’ t developed diabetes. In those days if someone had pumped my stomach and analyzed the contents they would have certified me as the one and only true sugar plum fairy. Now it ’ s easy to look back and see it as comical, but then it felt like a tragedy, like I was trying to stay erect with nothing but quicksand beneath my feet.
I needed new clothes to enter the work force but there was no money to pay for them. Just like in the Cole Porter song, bad times had barred me from Saks. That was written before the birth of Bloomingdales, I guess, and I was barred there too. How awful not to be able just to go out and buy whatever I wanted as I had all my life. And with that admission came the realization that I was a silly, spoiled woman, a disappointment on all fronts, a non-person.
Eventually I got some clothes that were cheap but adequate for doing the only thing that anyone would hire me to do — type and answer phones. Experiencing the nine to five world only confirmed my suspicions about it — it sucks. What does it matter if you ’ re smart or capable or talented? The working world is structured to ignore talent and potential. Instead they want you to have experience pushing a red button, and they will hire you to push that same red button for seven hours a day. What does it matter that the act of button pushing is
“ Mommy, ” she replied cynically, “ If you want to get hit by a truck, it sure isn ’ t going to happen in here. ” Then she glared at me.
Here I was blessed with a little child who had better sense than I did as an adult, but even that insight did me no good. My muscles worked but my will to move them had atrophied. Now I look back and see that I should have risen from the bed and gone out to play with my daughter. I should have reclaimed my life and shared it with the child I truly loved who loved me as well instead of wishing for a surgeon who would remove my heart and all emotion with it. But I was weak and foolish and made poor choices that served me badly.
Eventually my alimony ran out. Had it not been for that, I might still be buried in that room and that bed, with the sheets and my life growing moldy all around me. Money. I needed money and had to make a living, because it was clear that child support was not enough to pay all my expenses. The only problem was that I hadn ’ t a clue about what to do, what to be when I grew up. Rich, I wanted to be rich, or failing that, I wanted a job as wife of rich man, something I felt equipped to do even though it was clear how bad an idea it is to merge your own life so totally with that of another human being that you have to depend on him for all sustenance. That is too great a burden to put on love, because if you lose your love, you lose your livelihood as well. It was easy to see that independence had a lot more to recommend it than being an adult dependent, but how could I turn my life around and make my fortune and my way in the world? I had done a few part time things for creative fulfillment, but had never earned a living.
I prepared to find a suitable course of action, but was halted at my closet. All my clothes were too tight. I had gained twenty pounds during my year of mourning. Actually it was lucky that I hadn ’ t developed diabetes. In those days if someone had pumped my stomach and analyzed the contents they would have certified me as the one and only true sugar plum fairy. Now it ’ s easy to look back and see it as comical, but then it felt like a tragedy, like I was trying to stay erect with nothing but quicksand beneath my feet.
I needed new clothes to enter the work force but there was no money to pay for them. Just like in the Cole Porter song, bad times had barred me from Saks. That was written before the birth of Bloomingdales, I guess, and I was barred there too. How awful not to be able just to go out and buy whatever I wanted as I had all my life. And with that admission came the realization that I was a silly, spoiled woman, a disappointment on all fronts, a non-person.
Eventually I got some clothes that were cheap but adequate for doing the only thing that anyone would hire me to do — type and answer phones. Experiencing the nine to five world only confirmed my suspicions about it — it sucks. What does it matter if you ’ re smart or capable or talented? The working world is structured to ignore talent and potential. Instead they want you to have experience pushing a red button, and they will hire you to push that same red button for seven hours a day. What does it matter that the act of button pushing is
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