Out of Breath

It started Wednesday with an invitation dinner I didn’t want to accept because the people who invited me are distance relatives and they only invited me because it would be considered bad form not to do so.

I managed to say as little as possible because I now understand that most of their questions do not require an answer chiefly because they are not really interested and change the topic of conversation mid way through any answer I give them so I’ve learned just to stay silent.

So they under tipped the waiter stuffed food from the buffet into plastic bags (for later) did I mention that these people have money and were here because they were antiquing or collecting on the east coast.

The end all was the question so what are you doing. I tell them about the ezine, about the small press I’m working on and as always my answer is interrupted this time with another question .

“Well how much does that pay?”

I start to answer “well it…”

“If your writing doesn’t pay then it doesn’t count for anything”

Another member of our party sees that I am turning purple and offers “well so and so daughter works a blah blah and it’s a”

Now it my turn to interrupt “ I worked for many years at something that I hated and honestly I would rather die than go back to doing any sort of work that resembles that”

There is a mention of a family trip to the lake for the weekend but not a formal invitation which I’m thankful for because I have no intention of spending time in close quarters with people who do not actually like me or at best have no understanding of me. I am surprised late Friday by a phone call describing what I should bring for spending the night on the boat.

I say “I have work to do”

Bring it with you.

I need to be online to work.

We have wi fi at the marina.

Shit.

Once I arrive I try to make myself as scarce as possible. I stay on the sofa with my laptop which took an hour and half to get online because of the weak signal that frequently disappeared in middle of something I was working on. I was there less than 5 hours before there was arguing and some folks were threatening to leave. I email a friend to tell her where I am.
G: I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to do this.

Me: Yes well apparently they didn’t get the memo. I must remember to copy them on it next time.

G:You call me as soon as you get back.

Me:You can count on it.

And the hits just keep coming. I am childless, I don’t make any money, I am Godless, when am I coming for a visit, your hair looks funny. We gave Joey a piggy bank and he’s saving money so we can all go to Disney World.

I don’t remind them that they are comparing me to a five year old. I don’t explain not having children was not my plan I simply didn’t have any plans and it just didn’t happen and given my poverty that isn’t a bad thing it is probably responsible and commendable instead of condemnable. I didn’t say I am not an atheist, maybe an agnostic, I just don’t believe in organized religion. I didn’t declare that if I were to save my money for a trip it would not be to spend time with people who barely tolerate me but I would preferable spend my money in some foreign land where official language is Spanish and there is a beach, good coffee and nice booze(Costa Rica comes to mind). I didn’t say, yes my hair is red and I am aware that no one in the family has red hair (my point exactly).

After a cold night spent in the fetal position I untwist myself and head to the marina for a shower. When I returned I am greeted with “they must have some makeup mirror up there”

I assume this is a dig of some kind although the exact nature of the comment escapes me. I replied that there wasn’t a mirror at all but a concrete shower stall with lukewarm water that I shared with several spiders and a couple of centipedes which sort of shut down the conversation. I think they forget which side of the family I come from; the side without indoor plumbing for most of my early childhood.
I wondered... should I apologize because peeing out doors is not a novelty for me any longer. I don’t.

I begin to feel like a little girl standing in the middle of a room with my dress pulled over my head as I spin around screaming, leave me alone!

I am exhausted by the time I get home Sunday afternoon. I sleep fitfully.

Monday I’m so happy to be among friends. I tell Sean about difficulty that I had publishing his story because of the weak signal at the marina and all that went with it.

He says, “Why didn’t you just get drunk and enjoy yourself?”

I think …the Irish have such a lovely way of resolving family differences.
What makes you think I wasn’t? I say.

I wanted to say because you wanted your story published and because you said your former editor played fast and loose with the comma splice and you told her so and she got pissed and made me your official handler. I think the two of should just fuck and get it over with because I don’t want to be in the middle of your little spats. Of course I don’t mean any of this in a mean spirited way because I really love the two of them. We are friends and don’t intend for the smart assed things we say to one another to actually hurt. Like these emails I received upon my return.

G: I was gonna mention...
Why is it that half the people in your stable write erotica?

Me: Because writers are sex obsessed drug addicts and alcoholics. That’s my guess anyway.
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G: You’ve got to stop populating your zine with your love bunnies.

Me: Do not refer to the talented and sensitive male writers that I feature as my love bunnies. I prefer to call them my humpty sluts.
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P: Hey Litramatrix,
I'm not sure what I meant in the subject line " Litramatrix "... it was either lit chick and dominatrix combined or some ersatz combination. Anyway I MISS YOU...

Me: Ooooo…I love my new moniker. Litramatrix. I’m keeping it.
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Why in the world would I choose any other sort of life?