So I’m back in the cottage, living the solo life with the pets once again. I worked last week as well. It was nice to have the distraction, and to have something to do during the day, but I found that by day 3 I had an insane knot between my shoulders. Could’ve been stress, could’ve been from sitting at a desk after so long of not doing it. Could’ve been a bunch of things, I suppose.
Anyway, last Wednesday reinforced my hatred for my car. The last little while the stick shift has been a little sticky (oh so punny), and was sort of getting to the point where I would need to 2hand a gear change. I know, I know, why didn’t I take it in to my mechanic immediately? Mostly because I am piss poor. And when I say piss poor, I mean eating peanut butter from the jar for dinner one night a week piss poor. I haven’t had to survive like this since I was a single student. So even though I know my mechanic would have gladly looked at the car and then put my bill on tab status, I decided to wait until I’d had this week of work so I could actually pay him. Because really, I don’t like owing people. Not because I worry about not being able to pay back, or because I don’t want to seem weaker, but because I’m a fairly self-sufficient person overall, and I don’t like feeling like I’m not capable of taking care of myself. This is why rather than getting my car looked at, I proceeded to put myself into further danger by hauling back and forth down the highway with this stick shift that sometimes changed gears, sometimes not. Willy nilly. On Tuesday night I was driving down the highway when it decided to FUCK THIS SHIT and just stopped changing gears. That’s it. No warning, no apologies, just suddenly neutral. Bam. I managed to finally click it into third and much to the delight of all vehicles behind me, drove the remaining 10 minutes of my commute at a whopping 60km an hour.
The next morning I got up early (because I was working this week, remember? First week in months I’ve had work) and called my mechanic. I left a message on his machine saying I was planning on getting my car in to town to his shop, would be be able to please take an emergency look at it. After I prepared myself, I went and sat in the car, turned it on, and tried to put it into first to pull forward.
No.
Okay, reverse to back up?
No.
Okay, second to pull forward a little enough to swing it into reverse?
Yeah, no.
I went back inside and called my mechanic and told him no, actually, I’m not going anywhere. Luckily I live down an industrial road and there is a car repair place, so I called them to see if they were open and able to see me. Then I called a tow truck. Then I mentioned to the ex who was online that I was having car issues and he decided he would come rescue me. I asked him not to, told him not to, but he was on his way and there was nothing I could say that would change his mind.
It wasn’t even 7:30 yet.
I called in to work to let them know what my deal was. The ex pitched up and fussed around quite a bit. “just get a truck to tow the car to a shop and i’ll take you to work, and then i’ll come fetch you after.” No, I need to speak to the mechanic to let him know what’s going on with the car and to find out what work needs to be done. “I’ll sort it out.” No. It’s not your business to sort out anymore. I got on my cell phone with my mechanic and found out the place I was planning on taking the car to would gouge my wallet. He suggested I tow it in to his shop. The tow would cost, but I would save on the repairs. So I decided that’s what I would do. The ex, however, decided he was going to call the mechanic that lives down the road because he had done several repairs (some of them on the same issue) on his last truck. I asked him not to, and said that I had already gotten it sorted it. I was assured that ‘this guy is really good, and he’s close.’ The phone call was made regardless, and wrong information was given, and when he hung up I told him to call the mechanic right back and tell him not to worry about coming by after lunch because I would be gone by then, because I am taking my car in to my mechanic to get it sorted myself. And man oh man, the look that I got could have burned plastic. Scorching.
But then he backed off. Apologized. Took me in to town to cash a small cheque I’d found so that I could afford the tow. And then once the tow truck came, he left. I rode in to town with the tow truck driver, who was a lovely man with a few very interesting stories he shared with me. And it turned out he knew my mechanic well, and they hadn’t seen each other in years so it was a nice little reunion too when we pulled in to the shop. I walked to work from there and managed to get 5 hours in. That night my guy called and told me he had fixed it, and the cost was minimal. I picked it up the day after (my brother had been kind enough to loan me his vehicle in the mean time) and it’s working good as new.
So it all worked out on that end.
On the Thursday night I was at home, alone, drawing. I had made tentative plans with someone that had fallen through, but I was fine with it. Anyway, I had the music going, and suddenly I heard a loud knock on the door. It was the ex. He had taken the dog for the week I was at work because he was off, but I guess he had to work on the Friday, so had decided to come drop the dog off a day early. But he hadn’t told me he was coming. I almost had a heart attack. We made awkward small talk (we haven’t seen each other at all since the big split), and then, get this, he asked if he could crash on the couch on Friday night. He was going to be in town playing poker at a buddy’s place and was then going for a run with another buddy close to the area the cottage is in, and it would be easier for him to just stay here. I felt completely ambushed. The unexpected drop in was one thing, but then this favour too?
Because let me tell you guys something about myself. I have a hard time saying no. And I have an especially hard time saying no to people I care about. Even if it puts me out, I will usually say yes. The weekend before I went and stayed at my bestie’s empty apartment so he could have the place on the Friday night because he had to catch a ferry first thing in the morning and it would save him driving time. I had just moved back in, and was willing to displace myself for the night. Because I have a hard time saying no.
Anyway, I told him I’d think about it. He thanked me and left. And then of course, I texted the bestie. I asked if it was bad of me to not want to let him stay. She told me it was rude of him to ask, and he shouldn’t have even considered it an option. And she was right. Completely. And isn’t it interesting that my main concern of that whole situation was whether or not it was selfish of me to want to say no.
So I told him no, and it honestly wasn’t that big of a deal. He came by yesterday to take the dog for a run, and ended up spending some time doing computer stuff here, and then took me out for lunch. And then took the dog for a run. And then sat down at the computer again. Near the end of it, it started to feel like he was looking for excuses not to leave. But he did. He thanked me for letting him spend so much time there, and told me he had really enjoyed it. And then he left.
And then this morning he messaged me to say he wanted to drop off some stuff. The dog’s pillow and his food dish. And yeah, it would be good to have that stuff, but it’s not necessary right now. It feels like he’s looking for excuses to come.
And it’s understandable. It’s been a month now since the big split. He’s doing really well, from what I hear from him, but I know that it’s still really hard for him, because it’s still kinda tough for me too. But we both know that it’s over, and that’s what’s important. The rest will come in time, as long as there’s clarity and no room for misinterpretation.
What I’m really worried about, gentle readers, is what comes after. What happens when I decide I want to date again? God knows it’s not going to be for a long long time, but jesus, what about when I want to get laid again? I don’t know how to go about doing that. I’ve been in 3 relationships over the last 16 years, and out of those 16 years I was only single for 2. This prospect is terrifying. It wasn’t something I had considered. But it’s taking up more and more of my thoughts these days.
But enough about that. The other weekend I went and saw The Man With The Iron Fists. I had thought it was a Tarantino movie, but apparently it was just a “Tarantino” movie, meaning he had lent his name to it but hadn’t had much else to do with it. It was a kung-fu type movie, involving sex and justice and Russel Crow and RZA.
This is what I think is interesting about these types of movies. RZA wrote the story, and of course, starred in the film. Of course. Because why wouldn’t he?
Well mostly because he’s a terrible actor.
Russel Crow, however, was a fat sex crazed englishman who was absolutely fabulous. He managed to survive the entire movie with a single weapon: a rotating steak knife soldered onto a gun.
The movie was so-so at best, but the fighting was fantastic, and the sets were amazing. Most of the movie I was laughing quite hard at, and the friend (that was there with me) and I concurred that out of all the bad movies we’ve seen lately, it was one of the better ones.
And it was, but now that I think about it, the two double ceasars we’d slammed beforehand definitely could have helped.
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