Friday, June 2, 2017

Current Thought Soup or You might say I'm a failure, but I'm not the only one...

So, as I embroider details into a felt model of Jupiter that will complete a project I've been working on for months, my mind is fighting itself over fairly inane things.

Like maybe all of my friends from high school seriously doubt my parenting abilities. But 1) they probably don't and 2) what does that even matter? I'm on the other side of the world from literally all of them, no one is coming to visit me from that group any time soon if ever...who cares?
This really relates back to this snarky perspective that keeps coming up in my mental stew and really needs to be put into character form in a novel so I can be done with it. Being insecure about things we've already found the logic to and know there's no reason to be hurt by is a waste of time and emotional energy.
Yet I still get that every once in a while, and it still doesn't matter. Thanks, brain.

Then there's thoughts regarding the project, ranging from how proud I am of the texturing I've achieved on the swirling clouds of the gas giant to how imperfect it all is and how no one would ever want this junk so what is wrong with me for continuing to put effort into projects like this when it is obvious I cannot ever make them work the way I want them to.

On the upside, Julia's asleep and the week is over, save for teaching and Julia's music class tomorrow. This week I didn't realize there was an event that required her sports uniform Tuesday, so she went out in the wrong uniform. Wednesday was extremely busy for me (run to Sendai for a private lesson, then take the train halfway home and stop to refresh the book selection for a private family lesson, then home in time for Julia to come home followed by a private lesson that had to be moved from Thursday to accommodate a fancy dinner with my in-laws) so I goofed and sent her out in the sports uniform for Thursday, which was of course wrong. Then Thursday came and my husband had the day off and I was so distracted by him and all the other stuff that had to be done to prepare for the dinner that I put her in the regular uniform instead of the sports uniform and my husband did not understand why I didn't make a bus of children wait 10 minutes while I brought her up to change instead of just sending her off on the bus in the wrong outfit as I had.

This morning, Friday morning, we had the right outfit, save for the hat which I completely forgot. But hey, fitting end I'd say. I then treated myself to a little coffee and Greek yogurt from the grocery store before meeting up to go to teach at a different kindergarten as part of yet another part-time job.

Thursday night's dinner went really well. It was meant to commemorate the death of my grandmother-in-law, who passed last year. We had to go get Julia a new dress and shoes for the affair, since we were meant to be in formal black attire.

The restaurant was an upscale place in Izumi, the rich suburb of Sendai, and offered Kyoto-style food served by kimono-clad staff in fancy separate dining rooms. This was nice, but I don't know what the staff are thinking in regards to dish placement.
Traditional or fancy Japanese meals tend to use a bunch of different tiny dishes, and we arrived 5 minutes late, so everyone was already seated, with our spaces open on the other side. My daughter sat between my husband and I with my in-laws, including Grandpa, on the other side. It is important to note here that Grandpa is from my mother-in-law's side, not the husband of the deceased. His wife is also deceased, but that's a different story from some time ago. As I recall from 2011, when we all shared a living space for a few weeks, the two of them did not get along too well. They didn't fight like anyone in my family, but things sometimes came out with a snarky tone, not that I could understand everything but I have been around enough family drama in my time to be able to get the idea of what's going down to some extent.
At Thursday night's dinner, Grandpa made a point of reading a little something (that I understood none of but seemed heart-felt and somber) regarding the deceased before we ate, and I felt that was really special.

So anyway, back to the dishes. They bring in drinks- orange juice for everyone in tall glasses with fluted mouths, and proceed to place them at the very corners of the table, so mine is right off of my right elbow. Then they place a bunch of smaller dishes around. Then they bring the children's bento for my daughter and ask that my husband and I move all the shit they just put into the place in front of my daughter so that they might place the bento box down. There isn't space and as my mind decides I am troubling the poor waitress, I rush a little in moving all of the things. I barely feel a nudge at my elbow and turn to see the fluted glass falling in slow motion, knowing I'm powerless to stop it as it empties its contents on the floor. Lucky, the room was not carpeted and my mother-in-law apologized as I was too embarrassed to speak while also being pissed off at whoever's stupid idea it was to place the glasses at the damn corners and then ask us to move all the shit they put out.

So I spent about 10 minutes feeling like a massive failure, but I did not cry. Instead I focused on the messed up task of trying to feed the fussy child while she climbs out of the chair and attempts to play with everything she can find before spitting rice directly onto my made-up face. I never wear make-up, so this was especially unpleasant for me.

The food was beautiful and some of it quite delicious. Everything was made better by a few small interactions. No one freaked out when I scooped the tiny fish from my rice bowl onto my husband's portion or when I openly handed him the chunk of iced tofu they served in the first course. In fact, my father-in-law made it a point to give me the au gratin dish from his specialty meal so that I could enjoy something they knew I could eat. Also, there was laughter.
They served a soup, and like many fancy places that do this, the soup served in a bowl over a candle, which you were to then ladle into your own separate service-ware despite everyone having their own soup-and-candle thing. After serving myself, I was unsure of the temperature and checked by licking a large chunk from the soup. My tongue darted back in as the soup was too hot, and then my father-in-law started laughing. I laughed too, acknowledging it was a little bit of a silly gesture, licking the soup. He then said that he had done the exact same thing, and suddenly I didn't feel like such a failure.


So this week was long and tricky and my brain is trying to jump in a dozen different directions, but for now I am going to sit back and relax.

And maybe finish Jupiter.
Finally.

Thanks for listening.

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