last year it smacked me in the face when my dad didn’t call at 10:50 in the morning to wish me a happy birthday. this year when the summer solstice came around and he wasn’t there to whine about the days getting shorter, i tried to prepare myself for today and this morning. i thought i’d buffered myself enough that today wouldn’t be so rough, but as other greetings come in and the clock slowly ticks towards the moment he would have called, i’m finding it hard to keep myself distracted.

is it selfish of me to bring you all down with me? probably, but it’s my birthday and i’ll do what i want, so :p

after it was over, we sat in bed, trying to figure out what happened and what (if anything) to do about it, ready to jump into a door frame (after fetching the kid) if the world started shaking again. it seemed sort of absurd that it was over so quickly. i kept waiting for sirens to go off, but all i heard were cars driving on the street below. shouldn’t the power have gone out? shouldn’t *something* have happened that was more significant than …well, nothing, really?

thank goodness for twitter and other local folks who felt it and reported in, or i might have suspected neighbors a bit longer. it was almost a half-hour before the local news picked it up.

spending all that time on jokes only to have your entire network of servers go down not once, but twice (possibly more) after you “patched” them, makes you look very silly.

the first week was full of all sorts of potential planning. i didn’t get very far because, well, it wasn’t the week for that.

the first week was hard because i still had so much work-related information in my head. i still had ryan coming home with “well, today was messed up because we found out at the last minute…” and i could say “no, someone has known about that for three weeks.”

the first week was hope.

the second week went by in a blur.

the second week was half lists and todo items and half celebrating all my free time

the second week was telling myself how great it was that i had all this free time.

the second week was denial.

today is the third week.

today it’s hard to deny things.

today i look at my facebook and think, “if i was a friend from a past life that i hadn’t talked to in 5 - 10 years, i would think i’d become one of those women who lives their lives through their husband and children.”

today i look back over the last 2 weeks and realize that i was never not with my baby.

today i think more and more that i got a “we’ll still be friends” speech when i was let go.

today i realize that i’ve been avoiding feeling hurt.

today i admit that being “of use” to my husband and my baby and my family is probably not good enough.

today i admit that i haven’t made any plans because plans are scary and i’d rather just wait until i can’t stand it anymore…like i do when i’m in control.

tonight i wallow in this feeling.

tomorrow i wallow in this feeling.

the rest of my week is booked, so i’ll be too busy to notice i’m wallowing.

next week i get the hell over myself and fix it.

what am i talking about? the folger shakespeare library’s adaptation of macbeth.

i first heard about this production many months ago. someone sent me (or maybe i just picked it off an RSS feed) a link to teller’s blog posts regarding the production. he promised “macbeth done right,” or in other words, a dark, creepy, bloody horror-fest full of magic and special effects that gives the darkest of shakespeare’s plays the proper treatment it deserves. i immediately sent the link to a friend who is living in DC for the year and said “you have to see this so that i know someone who has.” as luck would have it, we scheduled our trip to DC during the run, and gina managed to pick up the last two tickets seated together for the 5 days we were going to be in town.

i could spend an entire post raving about the theatre space. we had no idea we’d be walking into a 250-seat recreation of an elizabethan playhouse. we squee-ed like the fangirls we were and tried unsuccessfully to look as collected as the rest of the audience. sadly, i left my program in DC so i can’t give any of the designers or actors specific credit. they were all worthy of praise.

without any hyperbole or exaggeration i can safely say that i never need to see macbeth again. i’m not sure any other version could hope to live up to the standard set by this production. i’m also assuming that you know the story of macbeth, dear reader, and not worrying about spoiling key plot elements.

weird sisters aside, the costumes were all natural fabrics. woolen kilts and cable-knit sweaters with combat boots for the men and simple layers of shift dresses for the women gave the production a sense of timelessness, while also highlighting the play’s scottish roots. longer kilts and crisp white shirts served as “dress” uniforms for the more formal events. the families were subtly divided by color schemes, the wealthy from the poor by the quality and cut of the fabric as well as hair style. even the swords they carried seemed designed for each character. the sisters combined all of these elements, and along with stained and blooded wedding-dress tulle and grotesque halloween masks were hands-down the creepiest, weirdest witches i’ve seen. as characters grew weaker or stronger, subtle costume changes match their moods. after the massacre of his wife and children, the amiable macduff uses a red scrap of fabric to tie back his hair and is transformed into another version of himself.

with tricks of light and sound, a single set stood for interior and exterior shots with only the barest of set pieces. two caged percussionists provided an aural backdrop that was half soundtrack and half special effects. A chair here, a mirror there, the sound of wind through a haunted forest, the beat of a drum as soldiers marched up the hill. those were the clues you received and they were all you needed. there was never any doubt where you were, even as one scene transitioned the next. layered with all of these elements were the special effects. there were swordfights, foggy forests, a cauldron bubbling, disappearing and reappearing witches and ghosts, severed heads in baskets, copious amounts of stage blood, and even a broken arm complete with a sickening crack. while your average “penn & teller” show would use these elements for melodramatic effect, this production was never over the top, even at it’s bloodiest.

and then there were the actors. although the entire cast was top-notch, macbeth, lady macbeth, and one of the men who played multiple roles deserve special mention. of the entire cast, their moments are the ones that are still with me. lady macbeth’s infamous “out damned spot” scene, as the phantom blood slowly becomes real to the audience, gave me chills. the way that macbeth rubbed and plucked at his scalp as he descended into paranoia and madness was seamlessly integrated into his character. the ensemble player was as equally comfortable playing the hilariously drunk porter, fantastical weird “sister”, or the doctor that observes lady macbeth’s madness. his turn as one of the murders, rubbing a sword against the belly of the pregnant lady macduff as he hums a lullaby, was the creepiest moment of the entire show.

before you think i’ve been completely blinded, it was not all perfection. some of the bloodwork, especially the palmed, empty sacks could have been a bit more subtle. they were actors, however, and not professional magicians. some actors chose a subtle scottish accent, but not all, and few of the ones that did were consistent enough for my taste. while i think the use of child actors was effective, especially in the case of macduff’s young son, they were often not up to the caliber of their grown counter parts. some actors played multiple parts, which was distracting, except for the ones who played the weird sisters. speaking of, i would have preferred the sisters in makeup and prosthetics instead of the rubber halloween masks, but i recognize the necessity of the masks for quick costume changes. it just would have been nice to see their faces contort along with their bodies.

my biggest complaint, really, is that it likely won’t be filmed, so that you’ll never get to see it, and i’ll never get to see it again.

it started with a limo, a wheel-chair bound veteran in dress uniform, his family, a couple of handlers, and a 2 person camera crew. I fail at wars and timing and determining people’s ages, but i’d say he were probably from the korean war or WWII. i’m not sure what their purpose was, but if i had to guess, it was some sort of documentary or perhaps anniversary celebration. nobody was making a big deal about it, so he must not have been someone “famous.” the group slowly made their way from the limo to the washington memorial. on the way, they were interrupted by 3 marines who were jogging along the mall. one by one the men stopped, bent over the veteran, shook his hand, and thanked him for his service. as they resumed their jog, one of the handlers stopped them and thanked them, saying how much their gesture touched the vet. the marines were as humble with the handler as they were respectful with the vet.

the cynic in me wondered if it was staged, but the amount of randomly jogging marines and other military personnel makes the random occurrence highly plausible. except for the marines, who logically moved with purpose, everyone else who took part in the scene seemed slightly disoriented by the interruption. i then attempted to make sense of it by convincing myself that the amount of conditioning that comes with belonging to the armed forces was the major reason the marines stopped. there were simply trained to. i couldn’t shake the look on one of the marine’s face or the sound of his voice from my mind however, and i finally gave into the feelings i was trying to avoid. i’m still not sure exactly what they were. i think that patriotism, or just a general feeling of pride in the military specifically, is so alien to me that i really didn’t know how to express them or feel them properly. i experienced something similar to when i see or hear something that is overwhelmingly beautiful. it’s a sort of this primal, almost painful, burst of “something” in my chest/throat that causes me to tear up.

as i suspected, being in DC made me wish i was a better student of american history, civics, and current political issues. there was no moment that i felt that more keenly than watching the marines and the veteran in the shadow of the washington monument.

all analogies aside, i don’t have a job anymore. some downsizing happened at the company i work for, and i was on the list. it’s apparently a rather standard thing in advertising agencies and i remember similar ebb and flow with this company before i started working there. we’ve been largely flowing for the past couple of years, though, so it came as a bit of a stunner. regardless of how much value i bring to the company, the fact is that i’m part-time and charge very little of my time to billable projects. i’d put me on the short list, too. there’s some talk about possibly doing some project-based work as the need arises. i’m interested, but i’m not going to bank on it until when/if it stabilizes. …i’m not even sure i want it.

so…the most obvious question is: what now?

the world is largely my oyster. well, i don’t like oysters so let’s say the world is largely my fresh main lobster tail. with some finessing of our finances, i won’t need to find another job, at least not right away. my part-time job was as much to deliver a bit of sanity to my week as much as it was for the money.

i know that eventually, i will need to do something. i will need a scheduled promise of getting out of the house, alone, providing some worth outside of being charlotte’s mom or spending my husband’s money. my mind is reeling with the possibilities. when we were planning an escape strategy for my last job, “the plan” was for me to do a bit of writing and/or baby making/raising and supplement our family income with a part time job that was attractive enough without being all drama-ful.

i’m pretty sure with a little leg-work we could resurrect those plans and adapt them for the future. but do i want to? i could also focus full/part time on writing. i have a very disappointed babysitter who would love to continue getting 16 hours or more a week with her granddaughter.

my mind is reeling with all the long and short term possibilities. it’s such a mess in there, though, that i can barely see what they are, much less focus enough to pick one. i’m giving myself a week to just be. a week for all of this to settle. a week to see what it feels like to not have a deadline on my “vacation.” a week to see how much “me” time i have as the mother of a 4 month old, and fill it with whatever low-cost activities i want. and if i need another week after that, then i’ll take another.

a week. then we’ll see.

my mom is gonna be pissed.

i wonder if i’ll still have to finish updating my timesheets?

what now?

at one point on friday it just stopped hurting (save that middle section). no more burning, no more tenderness, just an embossed word sitting on my skin. but then…the itching!!!

i don’t know if it’s the location or the style of the tattoo (all those thin lines make for a mean amount of “surface area” while it’s healing), but man did this thing itch for a while. it’s almost done now, probably because most of the first wave of healing is over. i’m assuming there are waves anyway. i just know that for the most part it’s flat like part of my skin. the “n” (the darkest, thickest line) is still a bit puffy and still itches. it’s also still a bit tender, which isn’t surprising since it’s the spot that hurt the most.

i think i over-lotioned it, however. i was a bit concerned about dryness and cracking causing the tattoo to blur, so i made sure it was always moist. on sunday, i left the house for longer than i expected to without bringing any lotion with me. i made do at my father-in-law’s house that evening with some lotion that was fragrance free, but oil-based instead of water. when i woke up on monday i had red pimply dots around the tattoo, but thankfully not too much within it. it also didn’t itch, so the internet led me to believe that i had just put too much moisture in it (and then sealed it with the oil-based lotion), and it needed someplace else to go. i watched it for a couple of days and was sure to lotion it only enough to keep it from drying out and the bumps quickly faded.

i am quite pleased with the tattoo itself. i’ve noticed a couple of places where there’s a stray line or a bit of a wobble. you’d have to be looking very closely with a very critical eye to see them, however, and they’re fading as the swelling/scabbing goes away.

a part of me still can’t believe that i did it. i mean, there’s a tattoo on my wrist! i don’t look at the tattoo and think “dear god, what have i done?” but i do look at it and wonder what will happen if some day i regret it. i still kind of wish it was upside down, though, even though i feel i made the right decision. it looks nice and is easy to appreciate from my perspective, but when i look at it by twisting my arm around or in a mirror, it looks much better.

i’ll be posting a few more pictures on flickr that have captured the healing process (bumps and alll) in the next few days, so stay tuned ;)

then came the parlor. sadly, charlotte was not allowed, so we parted ways and ryan took her home. mom and i arrived at all star tattoo almost a half hour early, and filled our wait-time with nervous chatter. (oh, i forgot to mention that i spammed twitter and a friend’s site for parlor reccomendations, and all-star was the clear local winner)

after looking through a few portfolios, pointing out random pictures on the wall, trying not to stare at the other patrons who clearly knew what they were doing, and generally trying not to stick out too harshly, luke came out with a few different mockups of my idea. some had more embellishment than others, but it was pretty much what i’d asked for: the word serenity, surrounded by a bit of scrolly stuff. i asked for one last-minute addition: a small heart worked into the decoration around the word. after all, it was valentine’s day, it was partially in memory of my father, and even though my name has changed, i will always be a valentine.

after a briefer discussion and mock-up for my mom’s hearts, she was up first. hours and hours of “ink” shows had prepared me for what was going to happen, but watching him prep the needles made me a bit lightheaded. i put on a brave face, though, so my mom wouldn’t freak herself. the two interlocking hearts on her shoulder took maybe 5 minutes to do. she took it like a champ, with only a minimal amount of wincing. a day later, her hearts looked great, and like she says, my dad will always be there now, watching her back.

while we waited for luke to clean up his space and prep for my tattoo, my mood changed from nervous to “i want to be on the other side of this experience, so let’s get going already,” which was the exact mood i needed to be in. i asked him to put it on so that the words were legible to me when i raised my wrist and he gently recommended against it. “i’ll put it on backwards, if that’s what you want, but just know that people are going to tell you it’s upside-down.” i knew, but i didn’t care. it was for me. it needed to be readable by me. after he applied the stencil, he asked me to take a look in the full-length mirror. i checked out what the tattoo would look like as i casually rested my hands at my side.

“damn. it’s upside down.”

so luke removed the stencil and put it on properly. another check in the mirror and we were good to go. i warned him that i might get a bit woozy. i have a history of andrenaline rushes/let downs when i get shots, and i’ve actually fainted before. watching him prep my needle was making it worse, so i stopped watching, and started slowing my breathing and centering myself.

did it hurt? hell yes. at first it wasn’t that much, but as he went back over fresh lines, the pain grew. a couple of lines into it, i started to panic, because dear god, there was no stopping and there was no way i was going to make it but i had to make it because there was no way i was walking out with the scrolly bit of a “y” as my tattoo, but it hurt, and what was i thinking in the first place and… i closed my eyes to help me focus. a couple of lines later, i was properly relaxed. it was considerably easier to bear than labor pains. while he was still on the outside edge, i started to smile, because holy hell, i was getting a tattoo! as i was getting used to the rhythm, he moved towards the center, closest to my hand. i found myself needing to redefine my threshold of pain. like fire this was, shooting up my entire hand in a single instant. it wasn’t so much that he was drilling into my skin as much as he was digging into my skin, fishing up under a tendon and attempting to pull it out of my flesh. i went back to my happy place and waited for it to pass, reminding myself he was almost half way done. occasionally, especially when the pain spiked, i would realize i was “perfectly” relaxed and release the dangerous tension. and line by line, breath by breath, my tattoo was created.

to fill the time (which seemed like an hour, but was probably less than 15 minutes), my mother made some idle chatter with luke and occasionally with me. she asked him if the wrist was a particularly painful spot to get tattooed and he said “the best places usually are.” i confess i felt proud of myself, and for a brief moment thought maybe i’d earned a bit of respect from him. then i realized he probably sees his fair share of silly mother-daughter pairs and while we pay the bills nicely, are not “legit” just because we can stand the pain, or choose a visible spot ;)

at the 2/3 mark, i had surrendered to the sensations and probably could have endured a much longer session. by the time he had the outline complete except for the “S”, my un-inked skin actually started to itch, and i was anxious for him to scratch it with the needle. i was able to watch at that point, having properly transcended the pain. even when he went back over the middle section to touch up and shade i was more fascinated by the process than i was really feeling the pain.

when it was over, i was a bit giddy, equal parts impressed with myself for actually doing it and excited about the new pretty on my arm. after a brief photo from mom, it was bandaged up. we got a lesson in tattoo care (and i felt foolish for not researching that ahead of time), paid luke for his time, and walked out of the shop. as the numbness faded, a general soreness took it’s place and a bit later i could almost feel the skin throbbing under the cover. we stopped at walgreens for supplies, and as we were pulling out and my mother commented on her new appreciation for people who have multiple or complex tattoos.

and that’s when i realized i was already anticipating the next one.