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Because I usually am in Vino ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In 2009, I gave up my studies as a medievalist and musician, left my home, my family, my life and moved to Provence in southern France for a guy. In 2012, I moved away from him to study wine. Today, I'm a vagabond sommelier working in Paris at one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the world, struggling to find some purpose to what I deem the rest of my life. I'm still married and after 8 10 years, I'm still trying to fit-in with French life and culture and to understand why the French are the way they are. Because they're weird in a different way that I think Americans are weird. Perhaps it's me who's weird. |
| I did something really horrible this Saturday. And I have so much guilt over it. Saturday lunch service I had a really horrible client who clearly didn't like me because I was a woman or American or both. Sadly this happens not often, but enough, and it's always a really stressful and emotional experience for me. It's hard to stay calm and smiling and pleasant when you know the person in front of you is going to hate you no matter what for the most minor of details. So anyway, this guy asked for sweeten low for his espresso and I said that it would take a few moments, but I'd get it for him. Him and his girlfriend (who was literally 40 years younger than him - this is also very common at my job) also asked for tea, and there's this whole show we have to go through to get the tea, so I went through the process of the making the tea while the guys in the back office were looking for the sweeten low. I'd like to point out here that in my 6 years of working in the restaurant industry, this is only the 3rd time I've had someone ask me for sweeten low. I'd also like to point out that this guy had just eaten a really sweet dessert. So I'm done with the tea and the guy blows up that I hadn't brought out the sweeten low. He starts going on and on about how he's diabetic, that 90% of the world is diabetic (not true, but whatever) that I don't believe him, that if he doesn't get his sweeten low that he's not going to pay, that I'm incompetent, etc. So I try to smile through all of this and say that they were currently getting it, and I'm sorry it was taking so long and that I'd bring it out personally. He's still fuming and threatening not to pay and write nasty reviews on tripadvisor etc. So I go in the back and ask the guys who make the coffee where the sweeten low is. Now, all the guys who work in the back office are African immigrants. None of them speak French. Half of them can't read or write. And the ones who do speak French only speak the barest minimum. It's fine. So none of them knew what sweeten low was, understood what I was asking for, or even tried to figure it out. They just shrugged and walked away. Literally, they just stared at me blankly and then turned away. I'm usually really understanding about this, but after being threatened and screamed at and verbally attacked by a client, I was out of patience. So when the director came into the kitchen and asked me why I was pissed I said "These blacks don't know how to do anything." Yes, I cringed upon typing that. I cringe thinking that that came out of my mouth. Sadly, these kind of racial slurs are super common in the kitchens in France and are even somewhat accepted as the norm (And "black" isn't as bad as the N- word in French, but it's pretty close). Most likely no one is going to come after me for it. But that doesn't make it right. I feel horrible about it. I'm even shocked that I would say something like that. And I don't know what to do to atone for it. Should I apologize to the guys? They didn't hear me say it, but still. Should I apologize to my director? Should I do volunteer work? or donate to a community or organization that fights racism? Or for refugees? Honestly, I feel awful. And just this week I was thinking about racism and white privilege and how I couldn't possibly understand what it's like being African or of African descent in this world. So I don't know what to do. I wish I could take it back. I feel so so so bad and I know it was NOT okay. It's not even that I know what it's like to be treated like shit for being an immigrant, or have an accent or struggle to speak a new language. It was just a totally unacceptable thing to say under any circumstance, no matter how much emotional duress I happened to be under personally. I don't blame my work environment, my colleagues, even the asshole client who treated me like shit. I only blame myself. So what can I do? Obviously I'll never do something like this again, but is there anyway to make something like this right? |
| I only have a few minutes before I have to go back to work. It's cold in Paris today. Windy and rainy with little bouts of kind-of sunshine, which seems all that Paris is capable of: a kind-of sunshine that isn't really sunshine, just the hint of one. I'm hoping this doesn't last into spring and summer. It's already dark here at 5:52pm. I know that won't last, but I'm still going to type that I hate it. Because I do. This is one of my days when I have to be at work at 9am, leave at around 2 and go back at 7 and stay until 11pm. It's a nice, easy day overall, and I have a nice long break that gives me time to run, study, read, prepare meals, shop, whatever. Especially today when I left at 1pm and had an extra hour. But it's hard going to work before the sun is out or after it has set. I know people complain about leaving work when the sun has set, but at least the day is over. You have the evening free. I might have the afternoon cloudy skies, but then I have to go back to work. Anyway, that was kind of a diatribe that really wasn't meant as negative as it probably sounded. I'd like to talk more about work, but I'm kind of afraid of jinxing it. I have 11 more days to go before my trial period is over and I'm one of those people who is always afraid that I'm going to be let go before the full contract goes into effect and then it's near impossible to fire me. In France having a CDI is like having tenure. Basically I have to shoot a client in order to get fired. I don't see why they would let me go. Julien and the rest of the team (the ones who count anyway) seem to be pleased overall with my work. I get scolded for stuff occasionally, but eh, we all get scolded now and again. Also, I've been told the restaurant has a hard time finding people to work for them because a) they don't offer free taxi rides home when the metro stops and b) they don't provide meals. So I get that not providing meals is kind of a big thing in the restaurant industry. Especially with our long and weird-ass hours, it's kind of a pain to have to remember to prepare something and bring it with us to eat. But honestly, staff meals in restaurants are almost always crap. At D&D everyone was sick almost all the time because the chef only had us eating half-rotten food reheated 600 times over. Even the chef himself was often sick and apparently that was totally acceptable because: ratio. (sales ratio that is). In my 8 months there I had to send servers home 3 times because of mild, and in one case, serious food poisoning. One of those times was me sending myself home because I had food poisoning. Honestly, after that experience, I'd rather eat my own food. At least I know it's my fault if I'm sick afterwards and take the responsibility. And like I said, staff meals are usually crap anyway. Most restaurant personnel I've spoken to agree that staff meals are often disgusting, so I don't know why anyone would get bent out of shape about not having food provided when they actually give us EXTRA money every month to pay for the meals they aren't providing. OK, it's not much money, (175 euros) but it's something. The point of this was that if they have trouble finding people, which most restaurants do, I assume they won't fire me in 11 days. But I'm still in a state of constant fear, second guessing, and paranoia, because that's my thing. And on that note, I have to go to work. |
| At home in Arles for the weekend. I leave in about 90 minutes to take the train back to Paris, but it was a nice break from the city. And from my tiny apartment. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a living space that let me walk more than 6 paces end to end. A living space with two floors and a flight of stairs, and heat. My place in Paris is so cold at the moment, I go into hibernation mode on my off hours, barely able to do anything more than occasionally peak my head out from under the blankets and forage for food. Hopefully, it won't last much longer or I may have to actually buy myself a space heater. I don't think it's the main walls that aren't insulated but the part where the sloped ceiling reaches the floor and I don't have access that isn't properly insulated and lets in all the cold air. That's where my drawers are and I can tell you, my clothes are FREEZING blocks of textile ice when I take them out. I'm not sure what I can do about it though. This weekend was one of warmth, good food, cats, and cuddles. I've re-started Ursula K Le Guin's collection of short stories The Found and the Lost which I had put down because the second short story, while interesting, just didn't capture my attention. So I skipped over it and plowed into the third. I love her work. She's got such a frank yet lyrical style mixed with such a profound yet logical imagination, I don't think there is anyone quite like her. She one of those writers I read over and over and over again and every time I feel astonished by her books. Though my ultimate favorite will always be the stark and haunting Left Hand of Darkness. Also, I didn't know that she had died in January of this past year. It's weird to think the year will be over in just a few weeks. It feels like it's been a lifetime. At this time last year I was still working at Berne. Living in Lorgues and generally conflicted over whether to stay or go. I ended up going and moving to Lyon, which was a disaster in every sense of the word, almost quit sommellerie completely and took a job in Paris. I almost left my husband, decided to give it another try, and for a time was convinced that I was developing an addiction to alcohol as well as smoking almost a pack of cigarettes a day. Things are better now. I'm still stressed about my job - the two-month trial period is always difficult for me because I can be fired at any moment if I don't meet with their approval. If it happens, it happens, and I hope it doesn't happen, and I don't think it will but there's always that doubt and questioning that says "if you take one false step, you're doomed." Oddly enough, now that I spend so much time tasting wine at work, I drink a lot less on my off hours. I also smoke a lot less. I would like to stop completely, but I'm happy with being able to at least reduce it for now. I feel like I'm in a better place mentally. In some ways, Lyon and the disaster of Daniel and Denise was a good thing, because despite being miserable for 9 months, it also forced me to question everything about my life. Every minute action, every big decision, every part of who I am and who I want to be. Apparently there is to be cake now. Just what I need. |
| Note to self: Turn off the blog notification emails. I'm receiving 1 every day. So I lost NaNo. Which is too bad because until the 20th of November I was doing really well. Over 34,000 words in and only 16,000 to go. But once my new job started, as usual I became overwhelmed with it and stopped writing, even on my days off and even when I had time for myself. I went full-tilt into work-mode and forgot about everything else. However, there is an upside to this. I like my new job. Dare I say, I love my new job? I'm so happy I made the change and got out of that crappy situation I was in and took the risk coming to Paris and taking myself so far away from my husband. I love the wine, the location, the work, it's brought back a lot of the passion I had for wine and my work that I had completely lost at Daniel et Denise. I've been tasting some amazing wines in vintages that are just impossible to find anymore. Wines that are near impossible to find. On my first day, the chef sommelier, Julien let me taste a 1990 La Romanée by Domaine Ligier-Belair. This is a tiny AOC in Burgundy. So tiny, less than 4,000 bottles are made a year. It's rarer than Romanée-Conti. My favorite so far was a 1975 Château Grillet. Another wine near impossible to find. This is the first time I've even seen a bottle let alone had the chance to taste one and in such an old vintage. I kind of wanted to cry over how amazingly good it was. And the clients (except for last night, when I had the weirdest tables ever) are mostly cool. I have a lot to learn about how to deal with them but it's manageable - for now. That's not to say the job doesn't have its pitfalls. There's a lot of pressure to be perfect - though I don't have to be super smile-y, something that got me in trouble at Daniel et Denise. I'm not a smile-y person, I am a perfect candidate for resting bitch face, especially when I'm thinking and concentrating, and I think that walking around with a perpetual smile on your face is not only dumb but something people have to get over. It's sexist to think that women should always be smiling. I never heard any of my male colleagues get chewed out for not smiling enough. Only and always the women (ie me). Anyway, there's a lot of pressure to be perfect; Julien is putting a lot of pressure on my to take charge of the commis and apprentices which is technically one of the things I was hired for, but it's kind of difficult to do without stepping on any toes. Not just the commis and apprentices who have all been there longer than me, but also one of the other sommeliers - Laurent - who has been working at the restaurant for 26 years. He's kind of got his own system, but it's one Julien doesn't agree with (and I'm in agreement) but how do I tell a guy who's got 26 years authority on me that he's doing it wrong? As for Julien and Virginie (chef sommelier adjoint and premier sommelier, respectively) they are nice but rather cold and stiff. It makes interpersonal relationships difficult and the same goes with most of the staff. None of them are bad people and I remember how long it look me to integrate into the keep at Berne (nearly a year-and I barely managed it) so I'm trying to retain a positive attitude about it. I think they make a big distinction between work and play. It's not an ideal situation, but I'm hoping I can manage. They do give good advice when I need it, especially on how to deal with demanding clients in relation to the wine list. On the upside, I have plenty of time for myself. One or two days a week, I don't start until 4pm. Other days I have a 5 hour break, and other days - like tonight - I finish at 10pm. Sometimes earlier. This week, I've been sleeping mostly on my time off. Fighting off a cold and PMS, but the past two weeks, I spent that time studying. But now I'm kind of used to my new and improved hours, I'm hoping to get back into a routine that allows me to write again. Maybe make a late push for the last 16,000 words. I'm hoping next week to go home and see Greg. I miss him and the cats. |
| I'm in vintage overload. Reading through the new wine list is just looking at columns of dates and trying not to have my mind blown. I've been here for 45 minutes going through the list and I'm still on Bordeaux. Yesterday was scary. I broke a cork, dropped the wine list - it weighs as much as a small newborn, and tasted wines that are almost as old as I am. 1988 Chambertin, 1986 Chassagne, 1998 Bienvenue Batard Montrachet (a Burgundy so rare I didn't even know it existed until last year), 2004 Coche Dury, 2006 Billecart Salmon Rosé. All in all about 5,000 Euros in wine. It was only day one, so I'm not going to say "hey! I love it! I'm staying here forever!" because this is still the honeymoon phase, but despite being overwhelmed by the wine list and terrified of dropping or breaking something, I feel more at ease than I was at my last job. Actually having the time to speak to the clients, to make sure they have everything they need, to do whole "sommelier show" is very reassuring. My tiny little side table it not reassuring - I barely have enough space to open the bottles let alone do it with a candle burning next to me. All I could think of last night was "don't set anything on fire." On the upside they immediately put into place the new "sommelier hours" where we don't have to do crazy days of 14 hours every day. Instead the hours are varied. I worked from 9-2pm and then 7-11pm yesterday and today I start at 4pm and go until close. Tomorrow I start at noon. It gives me time to come home, eat, relax, run, and most important - study. Which is basically what JT - the chef sommelier told me to do today: "Learn your lists - the wine list, the digestif list, and the wines to sell list (which is already 100 wines) because by Friday you have to be autonomous. One of the other sommeliers took the weekend off." Yeah... cool. Otherwise, I am poor as fuck. My landlords in Lyon do not want to give me my caution back - they're delaying it as long as possible because ... I don't know. My new apartment/room is pretty cold, but I'm comfy, and I'm going to go running soon. |
| Every time I think about getting on the train tomorrow, about arriving at my apartment in Paris, and going to the restaurant on Monday to sign my papers, and starting work on Tuesday (I have to arrive at 9am WTF?) I feel nothing. And I think about it a lot. It has not left my mind all day. Each step through each doorway just replays itself in my mind again and again. The step onto the train, the step into my apartment. The step into the restaurant Monday, and the time I do it again Tuesday, this time with security badge in hand. There's round the clock security because of the wine cellar. I know that I wrote before that I was excited, and I am. But I'm also fucking nervous. I mean really scared. And the two emotions are canceling each other out so that I end up feeling kind of meh and numb on the surface when behind that my mind is screaming at me: "You're going to work in Paris at one of the most famous restaurants in the world!!!! This is everything you've worked for!" "What the fuck are you doing? You're not qualified for this!" I'm scared to meet my colleagues, I'm scared to meet D.R. who is one of the most famous sommeliers on the planet. I'm honored to be working with him. I've been revisiting all my past job experience, replaying everything that went wrong rather than everything that went well. I know I should be focusing on the good and not on the bad, but I'm so scared that this is Rabanel all over again, where I'm going to get there and feel like a complete novice again and totally out of my depth with a drunken asshole screaming at me all the time while occasionally sticking his hand up my skirt. I'm just scared. I know I should be looking at the positives. I've been making a list and going over it to reassure myself that this time will not be like all the other times: 1) These people would not have hired me if they didn't actually want me to work for them. Yes, it's extremely hard to find employees these days in the restaurant business, and every where is suffering. But in Paris, sommeliers are a dime a dozen and I'm sure they could have found someone who was already there instead of dragging me up to Paris to work for them. I doubt it's out of desperation that they recruited me. 2) I do well in very formal settings. It's odd, because I'm kind of informal and very "rock and roll" as the French say, but I always did well at the more formal restaurants I worked at like Jiva Hill and Berne. I had many clients - regulars - who appreciated my service and my hard work. I remember at Jiva Hill when one of our biggest regulars saw me with my little sommelier pin for the first time - I wasn't allowed to wear one for the first 6 months I was there because I was under training. They were so happy for me and said how much they thought I deserved it. 3) Everything is lining up here. Yes - I know I had 3 breakdowns on the way, but things are mostly going well. I found an apartment within a 10 minute walk to work (this is key for me). It's in a great location, and though minuscule it's super well-set up for its size and I have an amazing view. The bedding that I ordered on Amazon has arrived and is ready for pick up tomorrow. Electricity has been connected. The people I work with have been communicative and responded to emails. My uniform was less expensive than I expected and was easy to get tailored to my size. It might seem weird but I put a lot of stock into these types of omens. While nothing went really wrong with my move to Lyon, I never felt as organized or as prepared to move as I am this time. When I moved to Lyon, I kind of knew in the back of my mind that this was a bad idea. That I was making a mistake. Yes, hindsight is 20/20 as the saying goes, but there was more doubt than there was fear. This time I'm scared shit-less it's true, but I don't have doubts. 4) I have little idea of what to expect. So this is another one of my weird "omen" type of things, but going to Lyon I had an idea of what would happen. I had expectations and visualizations of what I'd be doing. Stories played out in my head. Going to Paris - yeah, I know a little bit of what will happen because I have work experience and let's face it you can only serve a bottle of wine in so many different ways - but I don't exactly know what the details are. I don't really know what's going to happen. And I often find that when I don't know, it makes me more open for what is to come. Things tend to work out better if I haven't played out a bunch of "likely scenarios" already in my mind. So there we have it. I'm still terrified. The director assured my during my interview that this was a good thing. |
So I tried to stay calm when I wrote this but then just exploded out of the sheer frustration and ludicrousness of it all. You have been warned. OMG No. It's like I'm cursed. Moving is stressful. I don't think there is one person out there who like to move. Who's all "YES! I get to live out of boxes and in some sort of self-imposed purgatory for weeks until I get to where I'm going and have enough patience to unpack everything. I love deadlines! I love cleaning not one home but TWO from top to bottom! I LOVE moving furniture!" If you are this person, please send me your number. Every time I move there is some sort of event in France that makes it that much more stressful. It's almost always a strike. Usually on the trains. This time is proving to be no different. I bought my train tickets two weeks ago for this Saturday from Avignon direct to Paris. I bought them early so they would be cheap. I picked Saturday because then I could have extra time with Greg. I'm leaving from Avignon so I wouldn't have to change trains and lug a bunch of heavy baggage across a train station. I had it all planned. Greg takes me to the train station. Taxi takes me to my apartment in Paris. Except for getting on and off the train with the heavy luggage, I was almost looking forward to this. And today I discover that some assholes are shutting down the roads in and out of Arles this Saturday to protest the rise in gas prices and no one will be allowed to leave the city. Apparently they are doing this all over France. They are literally blocking people in their cities and towns. And because the infrastructure in France is shit, with just one or two highways leading in and out of cities and towns, this is actually easy to do. So I can't get to my train. Which, for once, is not on strike. WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? WHERE THE HELL DO I LIVE? I just can't. I really can't. I mean. Really? It's almost impossible to believe. I understand that we're all upset about the rising cost of gas, but do these people realize that there is a reason for this? The reason is that the amount of petrol in the Earth is rapidly shrinking because we use too much of it and should find alternate methods of transportation. I mean - ok, I'm taking a car to Avignon, but fuck, I'm not DRIVING to Paris, like most of them would. Greg and I live close to our jobs so we don't have to drive. We use our car as little as possible. Most of the people the news has been profiling are mad because they can't drive to their store 1 kilometer down the road. FUCK YOU. I've walked 4 kilometers in the snow in the middle of winter to buy my groceries - up and down a fucking mountain. Deal with it. And that's not a joke, I've actually done that. So I'm angry. I'm not angry because the cost of gas is going up, I'm angry that a bunch of people are so stupid they are going to piss a lot of other people off by ruining their weekends as well. Seriously, I have half a mind to take the car and just run the blockade with an American flag flapping wildly in the wind screaming "FREEDOM TO PROTEST BITCHES HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT!" While I do it. Just to show them how far we can take the freedom to protest. Protest the protest. Clearly, I need to calm down. It's just amazing to me that this seems to happen every time I move. I've got it all planned then boom! France drops another strike on the same day. I know it has nothing to do with me, the universe isn't really against me but it sure does feel like it sometimes. |
| After over twenty moves in less than twenty years, I feel like I'm finally getting this packing thing down. I did a trial run yesterday, checking to see if I could fit everything I absolutely needed into the baggage allowed - 1 suitcase, 1 duffel, 1 backpack. That's not a lot of space to fit a life. It's looking like it will all fit, possibly with room to spare so that I can pack a few extras like an emergency blanket or pillow. I ordered a mattress pad, pillow, and blanket on Amazon but boy howdy did I have trouble finding things that would be delivered within the week and directly to a relais colis (locations, usually stores, in the neighborhood that will accept packages and hold them for pickup instead of having the package delivered direct to your door). I usually use these locations because I'm never home when my online orders arrive and either the package disappears or the driver just leaves it somewhere random - once with a neighbor who did eventually give me my package but took forever to get in touch with, and a few times at a post office or depot three towns over. I'm excited for the move, excited to start my new job, etc. It doesn't seem real, but then it never does, considering the build up between jobs and the time I have to almost forget that oh yeah.... I have to be somewhere Saturday. I still haven't received word from my former landlords about getting my security deposit back from my apartment in Lyon. I took such good care of that apartment and left it as clean as the day I moved in, so they really have no right to hold back the 1000 Euros I put down. They have until today to contact me, and if they don't I have the right to take legal action. For people who were so concerned about how "the law works" when I moved in, they don't seem to be all that concerned now that it's them who have to give me money. NaNo is going... well it's going. I'm 22,000 words in and it's probably the worst thing I've ever written. I mean it's horrible. The main character/narrator has no personality, no control over her fate, the plot has massive holes and isn't going anywhere, they're just drifting down a river and have been for days. And not in a good Huckleberry Finn way. They're just drifting and nothing is happening. I don't even know what is happening. Pantsing it was probably not a good idea. I'm actually stunned I've gotten this far into it, and that I'm still going. It's becoming almost funny; I keep writing just to see how bad and shapeless the story can get. Greg's been practically ignoring me since I arrived home in late October. For someone who claims he wants to stay married to me, who wants to build a life with me, who is sad that I'm moving far away again, he doesn't seem to be trying very hard to enjoy having me around now. I guess you could say that it's a defense mechanism, or that he's fallen out of the habit of living with someone, because at first I realized that was my problem, and tried to make an effort to change that but I don't know. I don't feel like he's meeting me half way and I'm tired of arguing with him about it. It always ends up being my problem. I'm frustrated and sad. I feel like we'll never have a life together and we're just kidding ourselves. Maybe it is my problem. But when I try to come up with solutions nothing helps. I don't like thinking about it too much because I end up doing what I'm doing now and that is locking myself in my office and ignoring him right back. And then I just feel worse and tired. And I want to go back to bed. |
| I had a whole rant planned out on the mid-term elections yesterday, but then I realized that I just didn't care. I wasn't expecting anything to change and for the record, while I don't like Trump, I don't really care that he's president. I mean, what does it change in the long view of history? Honestly - be really honest with yourself. In 150 years we will have destroyed the earth so completely that we won't be here. So if some guy wants to be leader of the "free world" for a while he can. I'd rather read a book. Or write something. Or watch Netflix. And that's pretty much what my rant was on anyway. People who are passionate about this madness would say that I'm the problem. My apathy is what destroys ... I don't know... something, but is it really? Really? I agree with basic human rights. I'm a nice person. I am accepting and open and take care of myself and my entourage trying to do minimal damage to others. But democracy is a joke. In fact almost all modern governments are a joke. Look at the Egyptians - they had a godlike pharaoh and built pyramids - without the help of slaves I'd like to add. Those workers were all citizens. We have complicated voting structures, some incomprehensible electoral system, a divided and constantly frozen 3-tier checks and balances institution and what have we done? Screamed at each other for the past 100 years, with the divide only getting deeper, people becoming more entrenched in their totally irrational and inane beliefs for no reason other than stubbornness, and we all suffer from a complete inability to learn from, trust, and listen to one another. There's no eloquence, no compassion, and no exchange. At best, the liberal side has come up with passive-aggressive catch phrases to allow people to express themselves but not really, that sound like "I hear that you're hurting right now but..." "You have the right to yell when you'e angry but..." "I feel that you are experiencing unrelated trauma from your past but..." "Your thoughts are valid but..." And I'm the problem? Maybe I'm too jaded, too pessimistic, too tired of listening to people shout and hate because I don't really understand where people find that kind of energy, but honestly, I'm all for the downfall of humanity. I won't do anything to hasten it, and I feel kind of bad about it, but at the same time we don't deserve ourselves or our planet. 4000 years of history has made that perfectly clear. |
| This morning I was futzing around on the NaNo boards and stumble upon someone asking about family drama. Most people responded with family drama that were all out screaming matching, people running off with lovers, others getting divorced, people disowning other people. You know, drama. But for me, family drama is much more subtle than that, so I responded with my own - less visible - family drama which is the favoritism that my mother shows to me over my sister. That got me thinking about other subtle dramas. The little ones that are hold overs from the more outward, grand dramas from years ago. And the one that instantly springs to my mind is my complete inability to say or even write the D- word. My father died suddenly over 30 years ago. He died in his sleep, no warning, no reason. He just died and it was Traumatic for all of us. In bold with a capital T. Besides the depression, the grief, the fear of abandonment and unworthiness, and the drama sprung out of my mother's two remarriages, the one internal struggle that has always stayed with me is how utterly erased the D-word is in my vocabulary. In my house we have two cats. Pistou and Dumpling. When we talk to them or tell them to do things or not do things, they are like our children. Pistou are brother and sister and we are their parents. But where I'm mom: "Stop clawing mom." "Let mom sleep." Greg is "Greg:" "Let Greg sleep." "Stop stepping on Greg's computer." I am unable to call him anything else. And now that my sister has had a baby, I find that I have the same exact problem with her husband and my niece. I thought it would get easier somehow. That seeing a nuclear, human family - not one that was half cats - would bring the word back. Or that it was a problem that only popped up in my own personal family life - such as it is - but no. My sister is "mom" and her husband is "R-" (his name begins with R). When talking to my niece through Skype or Whatsapp (though talking is relative since she's only 15 months old) I cannot say the D- word. At all. I physically can't. When I think it in my head, it sounds like a foreign language. It sounds awkward and wrong, and above all there is a great feeling of emptiness. There's no emotion, no meaning. It's a word I have to search for and work hard to remember, like I do with a word in French that I don't use often. And when it finally does enter my thoughts, I can't bring myself to say it. My mouth will not form even the simplest three letter syllable. Hell, I can't even do it in French, now that I think about it. The whole idea of a D- has been completely cut out of me. There are fathers and father figures; distant, cold, and looming but no intimate D-s. (Or P-s in French. I can do père but I can't do the other one.) My sister speaks the word D-. She uses it with her daughter. Maybe it's because the loss came at different times in our development. I was four and she was one. She didn't have to hear the word and then lose it. She never used it and then abruptly stopped. I don't like to down play her loss though. I don't think it's fair. I don't necessarily feel sad. How can I feel sad about something that I don't feel like I know? But I do feel the lack, the loss, the hole that's left behind. I once had a D-. But I haven't had one for 30 years and never really learned what it meant. It's like a language you hear as a very young child but never learn enough to integrate into your memory and eventually forget the language entirely. As though you never spoke it. I never spoke the language of D-. |
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I think it's awesome that you're using that negative experience to get creative. It's hard not to just wallow when those things happen. I use a paper journal for most of my actual coping process too, but I do share bits and pieces on WDC as well.
Might try a short story a day instead. Stay safe. 
