-
Third time’s a charm
For reasons I’ll never in my life understand, my five year old daughter sat at the breakfast table with me this morning and pointed at my high school 20th reunion sticker on the fridge that says “Joanna Carmona” and said to me “that’s not your last name.” She was upset. She said I needed to fix it right away, so I grabbed a red sharpie and crossed out Carmona and wrote in Alizio. Only then was she satisfied.
The next thing out of her mouth was that this is the best day of her life. She told me I needed to play “Best day of my life” by the American Authors. We sang every word together and she was so happy.
My daughter doesn’t know that today is the day I would meet her dad in court to finalize the divorce, but somehow in her bones she did.
I arrived at 10:00 a.m. at the court house in Lowell for our trial. I felt strong and brave, and was wearing a dress and boots that make me feel beautiful. I dress for me, not anyone else, though the gentleman who sat unnaturally close to me on the bench for an hour and a half had other ideas.
I watched him check me out, look me up and down and try to make eye contact the entire time. I threw him a bone to ask what time he had been assigned this morning. He said 8:30 a.m., so I assumed he would go before me. I was wrong. When they called the Carmona case ahead of his, he touched my hand, looked me in the eye and said “good luck”. I suppose since he’d been mentally undressing me for a while he thought he could touch me. I get it, I looked good, but no one will ever own me again.
It went very quickly. The judge asked us a few questions that I already knew the answers to after having watched a few other divorce cases ahead of me. The last thing the judge said was that I would return to my name “Joanna marie Alizio” and I was overjoyed.
When we left the courtroom, I gave my ex back the charm bracelet his mother had given to me. She has always adored me and during one of our trips to Spain, she gave me a bracelet with his name and birthdate on it, one that she had worn for years. It was a beautiful gesture. But, I am not his anymore. He has moved on and I gave it to him to pass on to his new girlfriend.
We rode down in the elevator together. He asked me how I was doing. I answered honestly that I was great. I am great. As we parted ways to return to our vehicles, I yelled to him “third time’s a charm”. I don’t know if it was a curse or a blessing, but either way, good luck to her.
-
Dear Honduras
Querida Honduras,
Veo que lees mi blog todos los días.
¿Qué buscas?
Él es tuyo.
No te preocupes.
No lo quiero.
He seguido adelante.
He dejado un pedazo de mi corazón en Nueva York.Joanna
-
Just a broken group of idiots
The following is another guest post by someone who is way too funny and shall also remain nameless.
I was at grandparents lake house for Thanksgiving. My aunt and her two small children came. The lake house is owned by my mom’s dad and the aunt that came is my dad’s sister. She is mad at her sis/ma so she came with us to the lake. This is very confusing to read probably because there is sooo much of the story I am leaving out.
That aunt brought her spawn to Dave’s house and came with my little fam to the Nike XC race. I hurt myself on a swing trying to make a music video. There is a video btw. I ran away from people and said bomb. I realized that was bad but the real reason I said that was not any better than what you think. Matty G. is beautiful. My mom lacks DJ skills. Brain no brain.
Went to NYC and went to wrong place. Took one hour to drive two miles. Big bro lacks map skills. Secret burger joint thinks we are VIPs. We aren’t. Just a broken group of idiots. Burger good. Aunt disappeared with mystery man. I bought a small ball after getting attacked by a man. He took my balls. Needed to pee so went to sleep with small headed giants. Morning bagels. Went Subway, fire on meatball. Went to work and got wet. Slept again. I am here.
-
Authorization to delete spouse
Rebecca, if I had known it was that easy
I would have pressed the delete button
Years ago
-
Time traveler
I wish I were a time traveler.
I’d go back and talk to her.I’d find her on the beach reading a book.
She’s sitting in her favorite spot, seven blocks from her apartment, looking out into the Pacific.Her hair is up to her chin. Her nose ring sparkles in the sun.
She’s pondering what’s ahead.I’d tell her to be patient. I’d plead with her to get curious. I’d ask her to question what she’s been told her entire life would make her happy.
I’d ask her to step off the well worn paved road and discover what’s on the hidden path.
I wouldn’t tell her which one to choose. I’d simply ask her to look closely and deeply at both. I’d remind her how strong and independent she is. I’d tell her that her creativity doesn’t stop on the page, it extends into her life.
I’d hug her so tight. She’s so beautiful and free sitting there by herself. She doesn’t need my hug, but I give her one anyway.
As the embrace ends and before I let her go, I’d whisper in her ear one last thing: Whatever you choose, choose it with all your being. Don’t try to walk in between the road and the path. You’ll only get confused and lost, and find you’re left to figure out how to live with deep and crushing regret.
-
Radio silence
You tried to explain away your radio silence.
You edited and rewrote in your mind your version of events to keep yourself blameless.
To keep you as the victim. To make it all about you. For the four hundredth time.You think I don’t see you, but I do.
I see everyone, especially you.But your damage is your own and you cannot damage me.
It’s so infuriating to you when you try.
You’d like to knock me down to your level.
You’ve tried and tried and I stay here, unmovable, shining bright in the darkness.You wonder how I do it. You’ve never asked me though.
Instead you sit on top of your high horse, feeling righteous, planning your next attack.
Surely the next one will work.
But, it won’t.I dare you to keep trying. All it does is let your envy show.
You’d like to be me, but you can’t.
I’m a mystery.You think, “how can she be so OK?”.
You’ve never asked me.
You’ve never thought to ask one single thing about the real me.
And, so you’ll never know my secret.
You’ll never know why I am always and forever OK in my darkness.
I’ve got a secret weapon, she walks beside me and lives within me forever. -
Cursed woman
The following is a guest post by someone who shall remain nameless and has been translated into English from its original Spanish version.
Cursed woman, you are a son of a *****, ******* *******, you are a ******* ******, a **** ****.
You are not going to have a future, you poor unclean woman.
Is it that your head is empty with no brain inside?
Is it that your heart is the size of a germ?
You don’t have a mom or a dad and your life is a lie.
You don’t have a house. You live on the street.
You cry like a baby and you go to your mom.
Wait, you don’t have a mom, so you go to your dad. But you don’t have a dad either.
Your car is a….wait…you don’t have a car.
Your life is….wait…you don’t have a life.
-
Getting stuck in purgatory
It’s 3 a.m. (again) and instead of writing, I’m sharing a few of my favorite shots from the Berm photoshoot. They are a beautiful and talented band. And, as if that weren’t enough, they let me pretend to be a photographer for an afternoon. It was really fun to adventure in Purgatory Chasm with this crew. Go check out their Instagram and see a show!
-
Vomit
Some of my blogs allude to pieces of my memoir though I’ve intentionally decided to not reveal anything major from my book. It is a far-fetched and real dream of mine to become an author. Not an author on the side, not an author with a full-time job, an author author. I’m actively working on the dream as we speak and don’t want to give too much away.
However, for the sake of today, I’ll share that my sister Cherene and I have a song. Well, we have several. But the only one she knew about was the Alanis Morissette song, “Hand in my pocket”. It’s kind of like when you are crushing on someone and a few songs suddenly and beautifully remind you of that person. This is my sister crush song because when we choreographed the moves to this song together, I began to love her even more than I already did, falling deeply into sister love.
This morning I played the song over and over again while I drank my coffee and ate my cereal before work. I pictured us together. I screamed the lyrics. I became so painfully aware that the lyrics of the song are a little too close to my blog piece “Both” and it gave me the chills. The foreshadowing hits me in the most intense way. It was so intense that I become lost in time and space, but return to here and now only to realize that I have a meeting in five minutes and I’m not even dressed.
I get up, run to my room, frantically throw a Zoom outfit together and while I’m getting dressed, I have a sudden urge to throw up. I didn’t feel sick at all, but I have to sprint to the bathroom. I vomit exactly once. The cereal I ate is gone. It is not painful. I feel fine. I am not sick. I know in my bones it was something else entirely.
Two nights ago I watched a documentary on ayahuasca. In it, they explain what happens to your body and mind after you drink it. The first phase is calm, the next is purging, the final stage is four hours of a hallucinogenic journey.
I feel very convinced that I just purged something. I don’t know what it was, but it had to come out of me this morning. I hope it was a release of some of my past trauma because I’ve been carrying around a lot of it with me my entire life. If I can put down even a little, my life will be easier to live.
I started writing my second book on Sunday. I will not share the details, but the first chapter has a theme. And, when I ordered Whole Foods delivery yesterday, the paper bags had stickers on them with the exact name of the theme of chapter one. I keep saying I don’t believe in signs, but I am kind of thinking it’s bullshit. I am beginning for the first time ever to believe.
-
Ten and five
R and A, you save me. You move me. You keep me afloat. You make mundane days into my favorite moments. You’re ten and five. I cry as I write your ages for you’ll never be these again. I want to keep you as you are: wrapped in wonder and joy and so much contagious spunkiness.
It’s just another weekend with no real plans, but it’s my weekend and since we’re together the days unfold as if they were made for us.
Surrounded on all sides by kids and parents on iPads and phones, Rafe and I dare to read a hardcover library book of scary ghost stories for kids while Alba learns, for the first time, to move from one gymnastic ring to the next. I am faster than Rafe at reading so while I wait for him to turn the page I look up just in time to witness her grow more confident and strong right before my eyes.
We return home and they both just want to play with me at the same time, per usual. I come up with the perfect plan to keep them both happy. I stand in the middle of my living room, Rafe guarding his goal on one side and Alba on the other net. I alternate and try to score on both of these couch goalies. We do this for 30 minutes until lunch. They are disappointed and mad when the game ends.
We recover while eating sun butter and fluff sandwiches while watching Bluey, stopping only to laugh together.
Rafe’s friend comes over right after we finish eating. He immediately asks if I can play Taylor Swift. My house becomes a dance party. This friend knows every line to every song. While he may not be aware, Rafe’s being turned into a Swiftie. If you ask him he’ll say he only likes rap, but we know the truth.
The dance party turns into board games and pig piles and jumping on the trampoline full of fall leaves.
Alba’s a bad loser. When she doesn’t win the game we take a photo of us all being angry and then I turn us into emojis.
The exact moment when the parents arrive at my house to pick up Rafe’s friend, I have two boys staring at me with the biggest “please” faces and prayer hands asking for a sleepover. I can’t say no. Also, I didn’t buy the coolest teal pullout couch for nothing.
Alas, the fun was about to stop but it continues. We get take-out. The boys watch Matilda while I get Alba ready for bed. I happen to walk by and hear “When I grow up” and stop myself from bursting into tears.
The line from the song about adults being brave enough to fight the monsters under the bed gets me every time.
I don’t want them to grow up. Not yet. Can’t we just wait a little longer at these ages?
I’m not yet uncool. I know it’s coming but we’re not there. The kids and their friends want me to hang out and play and sing and dance. This will change. It’s just around the corner.
For now this insomniac is awake. The beautiful children are sleeping for they don’t yet know of adult problems. I won’t tell them what’s surely ahead. I’d selfishly like them to stay this innocent and free forever.
