i'm in a fight with mamie

She doesn’t care, doesn’t have time, or the inclination to fight back. Which only makes me crazier. She’s too busy for me, for all of you. You should feel resentment, as I do. She’s out there, living. I’m blogging and you’re reading it.

Today was a cruel joke. I wake up when it is still night to hunt my father down on g-chat. Instead, Mamie’s there. We both write the same thing: What the f*ck are you doing up? Except mine’s the only legitimate question. Mamie has strep. Don’t feel sorry for her—she has strep, and she also just got back from buying bronzer (it’s like the patch for tanning saloners). She follows up with: Are you always up at this hour? I hate her and don’t answer. What does “a.m.” mean? she asks. I tell her it means “ante meridien.” She says, Lame and I’m going back to bed. I get up, make organic waffles with flax and blueberries. **

The children wake up, get dressed, eat, and do their homework as they’re eating. It’s 7:00 am. The first lesson I have for them is: wait until the last minute for everything. As Aaron is sounding out “monkey,” I’m crouched under the table pulling on his socks. Team effort. When I glance at my watch, I see with relief that it is still 7:00 am. I’m smug. We swagger to the bus stop. First ones, we point out to each other. Time drags by. We’re all nervous. The children hold my hands. Suspiciously, I look down at them and say, Do you have school today? They shrug. I look down at my watch. It’s 7:00 am. Is problem. We rush back to my house, but the alarm clock reads 7:15—we should still have been there on time. I look for a schedule of classes—no luck. I call the school, and accuse them of shutting down everything without a notice. Oh no, we’re all here, the sweet secretary tells me. What time is it? I demand, watching the children remove their shoes like, Guess life is cancelled for the day. The secretary tells me it’s 8:10. All of the clocks have either stopped or read the wrong time. I look around in a panic. Who is doing this? I almost shout.

**As I was writing this, Mamie called to tell me she was blogging. Well, I’m just not re-writing this. And it’s not that I miss you here on the blog Mames, but everywhere. Like in my heart. This is the root of the root, the bud of the bud, the sky of the sky. Something something of a tree called life. I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart.