OK, so my title is a little skewed, though it does give a quasi nod to Rogers and Hart and their musical production, Pal Joey. Now let’s break it down…
BETWIXT = For me it means between jobs. Between life’s. Between something. Just plain old, BETWEEN. I’m not between a rock and a hard place because I am only in a hard place, there is no differentiating of rocks. And in this place the who and the what branches out to become the when, the how, and the for how long?! (Is utilizing two different punctuation marks breaking a cardinal grammatical rule? No matter, it is my Bent to break the rules–or stretch them out very thin.) The betwixt of life is result of the foundational shift which occurred over one year ago due to the brain tumor of my son. At that time I was a full time student (mother and wife). Returned to school for…something?! Regardless of how much I love to learn and thoroughly enjoy academia, I had the most difficult time landing on a major because they all are so fascinating…as if I’m 18 years old again and have the world awaiting my attack. Not so true as a forty year old with a family. But hey, don’t tell my mind about my age…it hasn’t figured it out yet! So with the world as my oyster I pursued finishing my undergrad certification. So does that make me a student? I have a student ID card. I have some unused books still scattered about my room. Are those ear marks sufficient to give me the title? I don’t know, I haven’t been back to class since my son’s diagnosis; hence betwixt.
BOTHERED = Annoyed by my own indecision. The questions, “Am I a student? Do I want to return to school? Do I want a full time job with benefits? Do I want to pursue writing for remuneration? Do I want to become a flight attendant (as if that job is still an option–remember, my brain has yet to catch up to my number)? Am I content being the caretaker to my son? Will he require my services full time for much longer? Will my husband gain the notoriety and compensation he is being promised? Do we hang on to the promise still? Do we let go? …and so on!
BE-WHINING = It seems to me, the previous two categories also cover this one. My first choice was to put “belittled”, but my self-esteem is naturally too high to ever get “belittled,” thus I felt “be-whining” a more appropriate fit. The reason for my angst is that the United States Postal Service delivered some dreaded, though not unexpected, news today. The claim form for my husband’s final unemployment payment showed itself in our mailbox this morning. We knew it was coming for we know how to read, and though much of the gobbledygook that is somehow referred to as English was undecipherable, we comprehended enough to dread this moment. Now in advance of today’s mail, I had perused the internet for job vacancies. However, I still have two “incompletes” on my academic record from the spring of 2011 that I need to remedy this fall (because the teacher advanced me a good grade on the promise she would see me in class this month). So entertaining taking on a full time position, maintaining the mountain of paperwork which has attached itself to my military-connected son, and fulfilling my oath to an endeared teacher are in much conflict. Not to mention I am still a wife and mother. AH-HAH! And there you have it…Betwixt, Bothered, and Be-whining. Makes sense now that I put it to pen.
Now for the tough part, living by the faith I profess to have. I am, living under the nurturing wing of the great, I AM. I know this. I know this, I know this. …I know this (nod to Neruda). For example, today when I was walking from the strip-mall drug store over to the beauty supply (I’m going back on the bottle tonight–the black dye bottle that is), I felt the increasing pressure of a panic attack. Too much, too soon, too abstract. And I began having trouble catching my breath. At first I grasped to utilize my own inner resources–they were on a sabbatical. What else could I do? I suppose I could have screamed. I could have cried. I could have passed out. I could have called my husband and yelled at him (why not? except the thought police scrambled his phone number). But what I did do was cry out to G-d. It went something like this, “Jesus, YOU are going to have to help me!!!!” And you know what? He did. I didn’t notice right away. It wasn’t until I got into my car after finishing my beautification purchase that I noticed I was full (filled) of peace. And with the peace I was able to breathe. I am thankful for that moment, that reminder that I am not walking this life alone. And wouldn’t you know it, the open market art dealer just called and told my husband his art was well received and there are two commissions for paintings awaiting him. She said, “Don’t quit your day job (haha–it just quit us), but the reception was better than I expected.”
I am thankful. I am walking in faith, though with a touch of vertigo. I am hopeful. And, I am still betwixt, bothered, and be-whining.