October 29, 2005

• Death to October
  © The Author, 2005

  Friday, September thirty was a payday—not a big payday—but a payday and I was feeling the safety and contentment of this little cushion of cash when I crawled back into bed and cuddled up to my cleanly compact and sex-hushed husband. I kissed the thin ridge of his cheekbone, “we had a good September,” I smoldered. He smiled then snored softly to sleep.

  In thirty thirsty September days we moved, with the help of only our own sinewy and tired arms; we made house home. In seven hundred and twenty autumn-sun soaked minutes, we let ourselves free fall into the routine of this place we newlywed, daily life reinvigorated and special. We were charmed by floorboard squeaks, dazzled by the mummified beetle squatting grossly near to our front door buzzer, humored by the asbestos bubbling water damage spewing forth from our shower wall, relaxed by the hour long subway commute into work.

  “Even the spiders are different here,” I marveled, “they seem much bigger!”

  September was the first full month we could enjoy the meager monetary rewards of my miniscule raise and hour-increase at work. In September Shaun started moonlighting as an editor; news of publication of one of his stories was confirmed. September we started new writing classes. September I got new students to tutor for the fall term and I was invited to co-author a chapter of a book. Sorely missed west coast friends visited in September and Shaun’s parents popped by for a weekend. Shaun’s birthday is in September. Days were lazier, longer, flooded with feeling.

  Instead of lounging languorously in our plush success on September thirty, it might have been in my best interest to reach over to our bedside bookcase and knock heartily on wood.

  During a family dinner when I was six my new step-dad looked over at me and said with disgust, “you look sick!”

  I wasn’t physically ill, but when I am over-tired, emotionally exhausted, or jut simply sun-starved I have a tendency to acquire a yellow, scurvy-seeming sheen to my skin, accompanied by two purplish crescents contouring the space where eye socket meets nose. This homely infliction was highlighted by the fact that when I was a girl, my body was alarmingly skeletal and my favorite outfit was my black leggings and turtleneck that emphasized all my urchin-like qualities. In short, I looked like a child you might feel obligated to help for fifty cents a day, so it was completely without malice that my new step-dad assumed that I was ill. However, my young, unaware ears heard my step-dad calling me disgusting and ugly: an unfit, putrid excuse for a daughter. Stung, I threw down my forkful of dry rice-pilaf, burst into tears, raced upstairs to my room, and slammed the door shut to wail in privacy.

  I’m reminded of that scene each time I am confronted with a mirror this October. I look sick.

  Like every fall, shorter days and plentiful rain showers make jogging a challenge, leaving my body feeling sluggish and slothful; my upper thighs and ass start to remind me of haunches on a big, imposing animal instead of the sleek and toned stalks I usually tread on. My hair is a shaggy, lame mess. To say my skin is stressed is putting it lightly. My clothes are ridiculous, mismatched, un-flattering, wrongly sized clearance rack and resale items, but nothing is new there—my unfortunate fashion choices just seem amplified when the body wearing them looks and feels like utter shite.

  Like every time I look sick, I am drained and off-balance this October. The idiosyncrasies that were September’s sweetness are October’s thorn in my side. The hour commute makes me irate. The rotten bathroom wall has begun to leek a moldy stench that I am convinced is the cause of my flaring allergies and the little, jumpy black flies that have infiltrated our home.

  However gnarly the apartment stuff sounds, the source of my discontentment is not at home, but with life outside it. The crumbling apartment, like my unfortunate fashion choices, just seems to amplify my unrest.

  The chapter I was co-authoring in September turned into an ugly mess of legalities and burnt bridges. My jobs make me feel like gnashing my teeth for unblog-friendly reasons. Shaun’s moonlighting and grad school application process combined with my hairy schedule has left us with Netflicks rentals gathering dust on the entertainment center, a nagging reminder of just how little we are just hanging out together lately. Thoughts of throwing our life, jobs, and finances into upheaval next year for the grad school move are proving less romantic as the reality of them becomes tangible.

  I know that my life is spiraling out of control when the exhaustion of the day makes me so nauseous at night that a puke bucket is beside the bed becomes my security blanket. It’s a far cry from the kiss covered nights of September, that’s for sure.

  Yesterday evening I breathed a sigh of relief as I tumbled into our apartment after work, letting my heavy shoulder bag crash to the floor and kicking off my tall, brown boots. I scooped up the fluffy cat meowing his greetings at my feet and headed straight for the comfort of my unmade bed. Giles Alejandro Scimitar cuddled up beneath my chin and we napped happily for a timeless time.

  I dreamed that October ended. It was a short dream, liquid with an elusive plot, but in it, October ended.

  In the dream, I was naked, standing at the refrigerator, staring at my calendar illustrated with classic Pez candy advertisements. My brows were furrowed as I tried to decipher my own scribblings in the date boxes. It was important to me in the dream to do this with some speed, as I was in full view of the neighbors to the west of us who can easily see into our large kitchen window. I grumbled and shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs that had made me suddenly illiterate. Soon, I heard the neighbor’s car pull into their parking spot. My pulse quickened—Oh no! Now they’ll see me! I thought. Then it dawned on me, I was looking at the wrong month—October was over, it was November now. Relief rinsed through me and I threw my head back and laughed out loud. The neighbor family was in the alley below, curious to see who was laughing. I ripped the dreaded month from the calendar.

  “October is over!” I exclaimed, rushing to the window holding the ripped page for them to see. The neighbors laughed and congratulated me before turning away to enter their house.

  Unlike most good dreams, I was thrilled to realize when I woke that it was true; November is nearly upon us. In celebration I put some funky Samba on the stereo and took a nice hot shower. I pinned my hair up and added a thick, lace headband, ala Clara Bow.

  I dressed up in my pirate boots, rolled up jeans, vintage-looking black tank, and black long gloves. I painted myself some china doll lips with lipstick and painted my eyes like a geisha. Shaun came home as I was in the bedroom, dabbing on some sample perfume that I had acquired somewhere. His eyebrows went up in that funny Buster Keaton way he has.

  “You look good!”
  “We are going out tonight.”
  “Yeah?”
  “We are celebrating the end of October. It’s almost over, you know.”

  He came up behind me and slid his arms around my waist and we gazed at each other in the mirror of the dresser vanity. He kissed my neck before pretending to bite it like a vampire. I slapped him away, laughing and soon we were playful and in good spirits as we headed out for some margaritas, tortilla chips, and a late night concert at the Metro.

  As crappy as most of October was, last night we managed to compound all the glory of September into one night, making October not so bad, after all. Still, I am more than ready to be rid of this month.

  I am revived and ready, November. Bring it on.

  How was your month?

  *

  Random Tangent

  Go see Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang immediately. Robert Downey Junior plays a petty thief turned actor turned private eye and a plump Val Kilmer plays a character called Gay Perry. The characters are fresh, the plot is snappy, and the dialogue made me pee a little it was so damn funny. Just go see it—I promise you will be happy.

  • 3:01 pm
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