I'm working on it, ok?
I should first explain I am indeed an MJ fan. Stating that is quick sand and understandably so. He tried the patience out of all of us. However, I spent untold time and energy preserving who Michael Jackson was to me. Several years just didn't happen--like say, 1993, and almost completely from 2003 to 2009. I told Anne once that it is my God-given right as an American to turn MJ off the television. Any good fan should have....because it preserved him as a true wonderment. And maybe I'm mourning that wonderment now.
He was a true dancing, singing miracle in "Thriller". He was sexy but safe (thrusting pelvis aside) in "The Way You Make Me Feel", "Bad" -- the short and the full 18 minutes and "Beat It" -- showed sides of him we didn't know before. I was never that crazy about "Billie Jean" -- but I loved those white socks and loafers dancing down the lighted sidewalk floor. Then I remember watching the "Black and White" Panther version and thinking: I wish I could slap him. What the hell is he thinking? Apparently John Landis thought the same thing and it was re-edited without the violence at the end. Here, I thought--ok. He'll be ok. But no. It was vitiligo (not his fault of course, but it was ONE MORE THING). Then surgeries on the nose...and his discovery of the Lancome counter. Then the Beatles catalog (a shrewd business move, but McCartney was his FRIEND), then court and rehab...then Lisa Marie and are they or aren't they?...and then I don't know what else. I remember Anne trying to talk to me about the Bashir interview, which I never saw until after his death. I had just stopped looking. Michael Jackson reverted to that sexy but safe guy chasing the girl down the street. I'm no dummy. I know where to land my fantasies where they are safe and sound.
I stuck a toe in every so often, careful to guard my fantasy. And he didn't always make me run for my 1980's cover. I loved "In The Closet". I saw the "You Rock My World" video and the director's attempt at hiding MJ's face only distracted from his great dancing. I loved "Blood on the Dance Floor" and thought he looked absolutely great. But then that cover of Ebony? He did that on purpose! And that face on the mug shot from the 2005 trial? It was something created from fear and isolation...pain and illness. Way too much reality for me.
I heard about his appearances on music shows, read about his comings and goings. I knew he was alive and walking and talking somewhere or another. I heard he was a great dad. I, like everyone else, wanted to see pictures of his kids. But then I wondered how he could tell his children they had no mother....and oooppppps.....too close. Reel it in, boys....back to my man in "The Way You Make Me Feel." Phew. Thanks.
I grew up with the Jacksons and the Osmonds--me, Donny and MJ hit 50 within a year or so of each other. "Stop the Love" is one of my all time favorite songs and it was put on my iPod from day 1. I worked in disco radio back in the day and "Rock with You" was practically our theme song. I heard it 250 times a week.
So perhaps my problem stems from: exceptional bad timing and an incredibly well honed fantasy system that had MJ stuck in the 1980's disguised as a healthy, happy guy in his 20's. No illness, no trials, no identity issues, no (more) plastic surgery, no cosmetics.
Now I have been inundated with the misery and mystery of this human being that I froze in time. It's like I never knew him at all--which I didn't. (Yes, even my fantasy brain knows I don't know Michael Jackson AT ALL). So armed with all this new information, I want to understand because I'm sorry I didn't before. I know there will never, ever be another like him. For good or bad. And in the back drop, I will never, ever be a young girl watching a young boy and his brothers sing on tv, or a young woman working at a radio station with her life in front of her, or a young mother dancing with her little one to a Jackson 5 song.
Maybe I went to a place where what has gone before is more interesting than what lies ahead.
Monday, August 10, 2009
MJ Death Blues
I'm Apparently Not Done
Sure, in the previous post I said "And that's all I have to say about that", but if you know me, I've always got more to say. Especially if I have all the time in the world to say it.
Anne has told me that I need to blog my way out of the MJ Death Blues. I am incredibly sad and can't believe I am fixating this way. I know what you are thinking: and yes. I've had my meds adjusted.
What can I say?
You won't believe what I can say.
I believe his death hit me at the wrong time. I was home just post-surgery. I was watching the news and began listening from the moment someone mentioned that Michael Jackson was being taken from his home to the hospital "apparently in a coma". I really thought it was going to be a Karen Carpenter situation. If you don't remember, she died from complications from anorexia. I'd seen Michael over these last months. He looked frail and not well at all while being wheel-chaired through Vegas. And I thought it was very suspect that when he announced the O2 gig, he was fairly well covered. Big glasses, hair around his face. You can't really "get" a person if you can't see their face--particularly their eyes. If he was gung-ho, ready to go, London-here-I-come, you would have seen it in his eyes -- but we couldn't.
But besides that, I have been tossing around my own demons and having a particularly tough and rough time with depression. My panic disorder, funny enough, seemed to be under control, prompting me to think: do I need to choose between bouncing off the walls at 2am in a sweaty panic or laying on the couch wishing I was invisible? But anyway, in a fit of depression, I wished that once I went under the anesthesia for surgery, that I just wouldn't wake up. I asked God. I wanted it. It was time on my clock.
Not on God's however. I woke up. And several days later, Michael Jackson allegedly used anesthesia to just get a good night's rest. And never woke up.
You can see here that the timing was bad...can't you? Our karma trains crashed. But why? I don't get it either.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Michael
My feelings over his loss are more awful than I ever would have anticipated. I am truly heart broken...for me, for his fans, for his friends and family. And that's all I have to say about that.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Atta Girl!
See this horse? Beauty, isn't she? Well, one just like her pitched my daughter off during a horse riding lesson.
While I saw in an instant how our lives could have changed and had a vision of Christopher Reeve in my head, I sat quietly in the background and allowed her trainer to handle the situation. Erin was shaken up and bumped up, but her trainer handled it very well. Had her shake it off, talked her through it and immediately got her back on the horse. If I were Erin, I'm not sure wild horses could have gotten me back on that animal. But Erin is a tough cookie. I know that underneath the tantrums and mood swings and lashing out, there lives a tough broad. Enormously tougher than her mother or her brother.
I was so proud of her and I told her. She was still shaking a bit, but she walked her horse back to the barn and started to take off the saddle and bridle. As her next lesson was canceled because of the holiday, her teacher told me that if Erin wanted, we could work in a lesson during the week, or just wait the 2 weeks. I figured I would just ask her later. But while untacking her horse, Erin asked when her next lesson was. A part of me feared that she would want to stop riding because of the fall. But when I told her she could wait 2 weeks or we could see if her teacher could squeeze in a lesson another day next week, Erin wanted to ride and not miss a week.
Again, I was so proud of her.
And I was so proud of me. You have no idea how much I wanted to run out into that arena and pick Erin up. But I knew I couldn't. I wouldn't--unless the trainer asked me to come over.
I told Erin later that the worst part is over. She doesn't have to be afraid of falling off the horse ever again. She did it and she was fine...and I told her one of the most important thing about riding a horse is knowing how to fall off.
And my daughter did it like a champ.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Carry On My Wayward Son
Today I began the journey of pushing my son out of the nest. You may recall the horror of the last oh, 2 - 2-1/2 years. Depression, anxiety, anorexia, doctors, hospitalization, vicious mood swings, pot, speeding tickets, possession of cannabis. Sean never really withdrew from me or his friends completely---and maybe that's what kept him alive. There were times I couldn't get a hold of him and I was sure he was dead. A suicide. My dear sweet son. There are times still when I think that if anything happened to my kids, I wouldn't survive it.
But here we are today. Today Sean is on his way to Phoenix to work with 2 friends on a CD of original music, to jam, to play music all night, to enjoy, to work on setting up some band concerts over the summer and have fun. He will be staying with a friend and his mom. I haven't met the mom, but I trust Sean's instincts. Besides...he will be 19 in 5 days. He's got a credit card and a cell phone. He can get home if he needs to.
The plan is for him to stay out there about 2 weeks. As I sit here this morning just after waving goodbye to my young man, I realize that we have never been apart that long in our lives. Sure he was supposed to spend a couple of weeks over the summer with his dad---but THAT never happened. A long weekend yes....2 weeks? No. There was a 10 day trip to Florida with his friends last year, but this seems different somehow.
You may be saying to yourself....Dear God, how dysfunctional! But I think being so close became a double edged sword. Maybe it contributed to his hard time breaking away. But maybe it kept him alive too---all the times I sat up all night talking to him and going to work exhausted were well worth it.
Last Saturday, Sean and I went to lunch and to see the movie "Star Trek". Just him and me. It was a birthday present and a going away present. I think when my son comes back home, it will just be a pit stop on his way forward. The thought makes me cry and laugh at the same time.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
You're Skewed
I've had a whammy (that is an official "informal" substitute for epiphany). I have a closet full of beautiful clothes that I do not wear. Wool suits, lovely Laura Ashley dresses, sweaters of all colors and Pendelton skirts. I mean, really, really nice stuff. Coats. My mother's camel haired coat and an black lambswool that would keep you warm to -120 degrees.
May I mention shoes? I'm by no means a shoe-aholic, but I have nice higher heeled shoes in all colors. And purses? Please. Let's not go there.
So why are they in my closet?
I'll tell you.
But FIRST, why. Why now? Why look at this stuff today, as opposed to say, 2 weeks ago, and think about it completely differently?
I don't know. I do know that I had to empty a closet full of those clothes when a pipe broke in the back wall. And as I looked at them, they were beautiful reminders of my parents, of my youth, of shopping with my dad, of who I wanted to be, of who I was at 25 and a size 8.
When I looked up Laura Ashley and Pendelton online, I realized the clothes I held onto were not only 4 sizes too small, but were considered "nostalgic".
Yea. No kidding.
Those clothes remind me of my dad telling me to buy quality, not quantity; they reminded me of looking young and sharp, they reminded me of being a size 8, they reminded me of a time I wasn't worried about mortgages or kids or long term care insurance. They reminded me of a time I could drink all night and jump out of bed looking like I'd been to the spa.
Yessirree, they reminded me of a time that was long, long ago. But I held onto them not wanting to admit I aged, not wanting to admit that size 8 is something I'll never see again, not wanting to admit that I wasn't going to be a high powered executive who needed snappy suits to match her snappy comebacks.
There sure was alot of weight in that closet.
So I've decided to give some away and sell some and maybe keep an item or two (instead of 30 or 40). I haven't quite given up on seeing a size 8 again--hope springs eternal. However, should my scale ever go counterclockwise again, I have promised myself and my dad a brand new suit.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
You've GOT to be Kidding Me
Last year my ex took me to court in order to "get relief" from child support. Ok, fine. Sean hit 18. Never mind he's still at home healing from an emotional problem and finally inching back to his old self. He got his GED...and is finally looking at college again. But, you know, whatever.
As a sidebar to this pathetic story, I never went after my ex for more money, never asked to see his W-2's to get a hike in child support when his salary increased. I figured....whatever. It was fine. Let it go--it all works out in the end.
So I get a letter from his attorney stating that he is looking at severe financial hardship this year. Well, the economy is suffering -- ok, I get it. He's looking at a 25% cut in salary and a reduction of hours from 40 to 35 a week. I'm reading along and I get to the last point. Something about me paying his attorney and court costs.
Like that's gonna happen.
Then I get a sob-story email about how he can't pay for summer camp for Erin at the YMCA. It's too "cost prohibitive". He's not paying for her horseback riding lessons either. Never mind that it's a healthy outlet for someone with ADHD and anxiety.
Then I see his paystub from last year showing he made $15,000 more than what his monthly child support was based on. So in other words, he paid for an attorney to get relief from a child support payment that was based on a salary that was $15,000 less than what he made. Who's missing something here?
When I showed my attorney, he laughed himself out of his chair. He figures that with owing me back support from last year and adjusting his current salary with a 25% decrease, he will end up owing me almost MORE than he paid before he asked for "relief".
As Anne says, "What a cluck."
Oh, and don't worry. I won't have to pay his attorney or court costs. He just may end up paying mine.
