desserts for one: kindness of strangers: single tragedy: mrs o

Last night I was googling desserts for one, and the fact that I am single (or soon to be) sort of hit me.  Right in the face.  And then right in the feelings.

It’s almost 3 weeks now.  It will be on Wednesday.  Or Thursday, I suppose, if you want to get technical.  I was dog-sitting for the Other and got to spend the week alone in the cottage.  On one hand it was good timing because my sister and her boyfriend and their dog are all at my mom’s right now.  On the other hand, it was far too easy to stay in bed until 1, eat a handful of almonds, and then retire to the couch for the rest of the day.  I’m not sure if it’s a coping mechanism, or if it’s depression, or if it’s maybe just laziness.  It’s truly hard to say at this time.

On Friday night I drove out to have dinner with the sis, bf, and ma.  It was a far drive, but I didn’t mind.  It’s nice to get out.  I didn’t stay for too long, and on the way back encountered a large line of traffic.  My first thought was road block, and while I hadn’t been drinking, I wasn’t able to find my purse.  I launched into a bit of a tizzy, messaged the sister, searched everywhere.  After a few minutes I discovered it just beneath the front of the passenger seat.  The dog was with  me so I’d rolled the window down because he was fogging the place up.  After it was clear we weren’t moving, I put on the emergency break and promptly took my foot off the clutch.  While still in gear.  The car stalled, naturally.  The thing is, my car is a hunk of shit, so after it stalled it refused to start.  Then it started raining.

So I’m sitting there in this huge line of traffic.  Emergency vehicles are tearing up and down the shoulder of the highway.  No sirens, just lights, so something weird’s happening.  At this point my battery is so fucked that I can’t even start the car enough to roll up my windows. Because of course, they’re electric.  After having a mild panic attack, I got out of the car and knocked on the window of the vehicle ahead of me.  It was a couple, maybe a little older than me, and she was very much pregnant.  I explained my situation and he said “I was wondering what was going on with your lights back there.”

Holding back every iota of stress coursing through my veins, I asked if he would be able to give me a jump.  He turned his car around and got me started, and was very nice about it considering I had no idea what to do and was essentially asking him to stand in the rain to help out a stranger.  After the car started he suggested that I idle the engine at about 15 for ten minutes, to make sure it got a good charge.  So I did.  With the lights off because that’s a good way to conserve energy, right?  Sure.  Know what else it’s good for?  Not lighting up the dashboard doohickeys in the dark.  So I revved away for 10 minutes, praying that this line gets moving before the car dies again.

It had been about 20 minutes now.  Did I mention I had to pee?  For about 10 minutes before I’d even hit the line.  No?  Well.

The line started moving, slowly, and I turned my lights on.  Oh look!  The car’s overheated.  Oh even better, there’s smoke billowing from beneath my hood.

Wonderful.

I blasted the heat and kept an eye on the dial, now praying that the line would get moving before the car explodes.  I started picking up a little speed and it started cooling down.  All the meanwhile, not even wondering what the deal was with this insane line up.  Until I passed the first cop that was directing traffic, and saw the look on her face.  And then two more.  And then the car.  Flipped upside down in the middle of the highway.  Mangled.  No glass, frame bent to shit.  There was something on the street next to it, it looked like a leg but I couldn’t bring myself to turn my head while I was driving past.  I heard the sound of a fire hose turning on and water hitting the street.  Passed two more cops, one looked ready to vomit, one looked ready to cry.

The car had cooled.

I made it home.

But someone that night didn’t.

And it’s funny, because stuff like that puts things in perspective, right?  I mean, suddenly my panic about getting a ticket for not having my licence with me, or about being embarrassed because my car won’t start and I have to sit in 40 minutes worth of traffic flowing past me while everyone curses at me, suddenly not such a huge deal.  I still don’t know exactly what happened.

So yesterday I spent the day hunched over my keyboard and laptop learning this song.  I’ve fallen head over heels for it, and I’ve already memorized the words so as soon as I memorize the piano I should be able to put it together.  I’m very excited about it.

I was in the midst of the first bridge when the Other popped in.  It was the first time I’d seen him in a week.  It was awkward.  The dog was very upset when he left.  So I kept playing.

He came back a night early, so tonight I headed back to my mom’s place.  She has this somewhat obsessive nature which she takes out on the furniture.  And the walls.  And the floors.  It’s a rare occurrence to have the furniture in one place for longer than 2 weeks.  If she can go a month it’s a damn miracle.  Usually it’s about once a week that a major change is made.  So of course when I got “home” she started discussing moving the dining room table.  And then the curtains.  And then the couches.  At that point I got up, packed up my laptop, and went upstairs.  I’m stressed enough as it is.  Having these constant changes, and listening to these constant plans, yeah, not helping.  Being asked what I think about the inane and unnecessary ideas?  Also not helping.  And I don’t think she realizes that it’s really making it that much worse for me, because she lives in her own little world.

But I do too.  I realized tonight that lately all I’ve been doing is complaining.  How fucking boring that must be for everyone I’m forcing to listen to it.  I think for now I can say it’s justified, but pretty soon I’m going to have to just start sucking it up and dealing with it and moving on.  Which will definitely not be a bad thing.

So silver linings to end it on a positive note.  My sister as an adult is pretty cool, and the interactions thus far have been enjoyable.  Her boyfriend is quite charming and funny, and useful around the house (my mom has already claimed him as a second son).  The dog is a bit of a shithead, but is tiny, so by nature is kind of cute.  And today I bought new jeans that were two sizes smaller than the last time I bought new jeans.

I’d like to have more positive things in my life, and I think the first start to that is positive thoughts.  Obvious but easy to forget.

Also, I would like to suggest you listen to the lyrics of this song, because the story they tell is absolutely lovely.

 

*note, this is a cover of carol king covering maurice sendak’s story.  

Onwards and Upwards, Belated Birthday Wishes, So on and So Forth

Well that was a long title.

And so we have come to the beginning of October.  The air is starting to crisp, the leaves are starting to turn, and I am heading back to my mother’s house.  But get this.  Halfway through the month my sister, her boyfriend, and their dog will be joining us.  In a house that’s barely big enough for two.  Ha, that kind of sounds like a movie tagline.

In a house barely big enough for two, with ripped up kitchen floors and questionable water pressure

Okay that’s enough of that.  It’s far too early.

The last few nights I haven’t slept well.  And by well, I mean at all.  It’s quite frustrating.  Insomnia is something I’ve always battled with.  I’m also an incredibly light sleeper, which definitely does not help matters.  I’ve done the sleeping pills (prescribed and over the counter), I’ve done the melatonin, I’ve done all of the suggestions google provides for “how to get a good night’s sleep” and none of them really ever seem to do the trick.  My theory is that my mind is in constant stress overdrive.  Hypervigilant, even.  This means that I can’t ever sleep through for 8 hours solid.  Combined with that amazing internal alarm clock I can’t seem to ever shut off, it leaves me in a fairly constant sleep deprived state.  Henry Rollins once said “sleep deprivation makes things look neat.”  While I do agree with most things uncle Hank says, I definitely do not agree with that one.  I love sleep.  If I could do it for a living, I would.  It’s not just the cozy sleeping aspect of it, but the dreams too.  As a child I used to lie in bed imagining a tiny man behind my eyes running a movie reel.  I would actually look forward to going to bed.  Strange but true.

“So Piniongirl, why don’t you just nap?” You might ask.

Well firstly I tend to work during the day.  Secondly, unless I am in a hangover state, I cannot nap.  I will lie there with my eyes closed thinking about how much I want to sleep, and will then get up half an hour later feeling generally ripped off.  Plus there’s that tricky timing of it all.  Too close to bedtime, and I won’t be able to get to sleep at a normal hour.  Can’t win with this shit.

Anyway, on Saturday night the Other was here, as it was the turnover weekend.  I barely slept, and my tossing and turning eventually drove him to the couch.  I thought maybe with the bed empty it would be easier to finally slumber.  Nope!  Sunday morning brought a ridiculously emotional (and fairly inconclusive at the end of it) discussion on what we’re doing and what’s going to happen, and the Other assured me that now that I’d gotten all of that off of my chest I would probably sleep like a baby that night.  No such luck.

To top it all off, since this is a Monday morning, I was awoken bright and early as he prepared for work.  He’s never been much for the idea of being quiet while others are sleeping.  And then the dog was invited into the bed.  And then I was accosted.  And then I was awake. And now I sit at the computer desk at 7:30 in the morning, eyes weighted down by the baggage underneath them, mind slow, wishing he’d at least made some damn coffee before he’d taken off, and planning what needs to be done before I go.

And there is still oh so much to be done.

Because these are the things I do best:  worry, overthink, and procrastinate.  Not necessarily in that order, but sometimes in that order.  It really depends.  It’s a pretty vicious cycle, and it tends to leave me more anxious than I need to be.  But hey, if I didn’t have that anxiety poking me in the ass, how would I ever worry unnecessarily about things?

So let’s talk about my sister.  I have two siblings, a brother who is 2 years younger than me, and my sister, who is 10 years younger.  My brother and I had a fairly hard upbringing.  Nowhere near as hard as some, but not an easy life by any means either.  My mom was a single parent for a lot of the times, and even when she wasn’t, my dad wasn’t  really “there” (another post, another time).  And for the first few years of  my sister’s life, she had it kind of rough too.  But for the majority of it, she didn’t.  My mom landed herself a boyfriend that had some money, and because of that the sister was always provided for.  And then she was a little bit spoiled, because my mom was finally able to provide her with all the things my brother and I could never have.  And then she turned rotten about it.  And now she seems to have some sort of a sense of entitlement about things.  And I’m not saying that she’s a useless brat, because she’s not really.  She packed up and moved across the country almost a year ago, and has been working in different bakeries and collecting horrid tattoos along the way.  But she still doesn’t really support herself.  My mom pays for her dog’s stuff, and for her furniture, and her clothes, and I’m pretty sure she’s paid for a few of those horrid tattoos too (unaware of it, of course).  And she asks my mom to do outrageous things, like sign a year lease on an apartment that costs $1600 a month.  I’m sorry, but you don’t get to live in an apartment that nice when you’re 20.  You get to live in a shitty basement suite with a shitty landlord and shitty air ventilation because that’s what builds character.  You get to stress about whether or not you can make rent, and you get to make the decision of buying groceries or buying a bag of weed, because that’s also what builds character.  Okay, that last example may not have been the best, but you get the point.

And so in just over 2 weeks I will be living with my little sister again, for the first time in 12 years.   No one’s met the boyfriend yet, so it will be interesting to see what he’s all about (she tends to have a “type” – emohipsterposerpunkesque.  That’s a type, right?)  Also apparently the dog’s a real shit-head.  Joy!

Anyway, I suppose I can’t complain too much because at least I have family that supports me, and I have a roof over my head at all times.  And these things really do make you into a stronger person than you were.  Unless they break you.  And then you’re just broken.

So on to the belated birthday wishes.  The other day google informed me that it had turned 14 years old.  Happy birthday my old friend!  I honestly don’t know what I would do without google, and every time I use it I’m reminded of just how dependent I am on my technologies.  Gone are the days of dictionaries and encyclopedias.  Onwards and upwards to modern media that allows us to search for just about anything we could set our filthy little imaginations on.  I wanted to write a clever list of all of the hilarious/inspirational/surprising things I’ve found on google, but honestly, I can’t right now.  My mind is still in slow motion, crying out for the soft caress of my pillow.  So instead, I will type something into the google search bar and write a haiku about one of the suggestions they bring up:

Why am I ugly
Paper bags cannot help me
Blame it on my genes

Side note, I googled “why don’t you” as a compare/contrast haiku and found this video instead.  I think I may have ADD of some sorts.  But I don’t mind.

The bestie comes back tomorrow for her second visit home.  Wednesday and Friday night have been set aside for a little drinky poo time.  Potential for a drunken post?  Very high.  Prepare yourself my dear readers! The bottle of gin will be making an appearance.  That’s how you know this is serious business.

A Proper Southern Gentleman

Why My Dog is Awesome:  A Pictorial Tale

1.  

He’s a total beefcake.  Appearances are important, and nothing says “awesome” like a home-made cut-off tank top.

2.

This guy knows style and isn’t afraid to embrace it.  Plus he realizes the importance of protecting your eyes from the sun.

3.

Motherfucker can walk on water.  Okay maybe not, but he can stand on rocks in water making it look like he can walk on water, so he clearly understands the subtleties of illusion.

4.

He gets that being a good friend means sometimes you gotta let your buddy have a little nappy nap on your back.

5.

He’s a master of deceit.  No, I most certainly was not digging up anything anywhere in any sort of dirt.

I’m not one for love songs

but this one’s pretty good

I was trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about love songs that I’m so indifferent to, and I as I pondered if it was the language or the context or maybe even just the music, the voice of the marriage counselor chimed in the back of my head.

Intimacy issues.

Well sweet mother of god.  Can that really be it?  Then I started thinking about my aversion to the dreaded Public Displays of Affection.  Do I have an aversion?  Yes, a slight one.  I don’t get sicked out by seeing happy couples with their arms draped around each other, but I have muttered “get a room” a few million times, and my gag reflex does get tickled when I see too much tongue action.  But it’s not so much a gross out for me, it’s something that actually makes me pretty uncomfortable.  Like when you watch a movie and you know that something bad is coming up, and you get that squirmy feeling in your stomach and you kind of turn away but not really, and your legs curl up a little and you wrinkle your nose and anyway.  Uncomfortable.  And I do get a little like that with displaying Public Displays of Affection too.  I’m perfectly fine with hand holding and being close, and maybe a quick peck here and there but that’s about it.  And even with Private Displays of Affection, I like being close, but not too close.  Personal space is a big deal to me.

And then that got me thinking about how uncomfortable I get when I see Parental Displays of Affection as well.  Not anything inappropriate (which is super gross, obviously), but just regular normal things like (my god) kissing on the mouth.  Things that I know are normal and appropriate still make me squint my eyes and turn my head slightly.  Not from disgust.  From being uncomfortable.  Which, of course, led to my counselor chiming in again.

Father issues.

I’ve always thought that blaming your issues on your parents is a bit of a cop out.  Not in all circumstances, but a lot of the times they’re really not the only ones to blame for the fact that you’re a dickbag with zero self control and you can’t keep your emotions in check.  But then I tried to remember how often I received Parental Displays of Affection.  Not too often.  Not because of neglect or a case of abuse, but just because it wasn’t done very often in my house when I was growing up.  And as dysfunctional as many times in my childhood was, I turned out the way I am which isn’t too bad in my opinion.  Both of my parents have become different people than they were, and it’s pretty inspiring, really.

Not as inspiring as this, but pretty close.

The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree

Last week my husband and I began our six month trial separation.  We’ve been married for five years, together for ten, which is a long time when you’ve just turned 31.  It hasn’t been an ideal relationship, but it hasn’t been a necessarily bad one by any means either.  I’ve never suffered from any physical or emotional abuse; at least, nothing inflicted by him.

But we were stuck.  There’s definitely a circle that we keep dancing around in, that leads to frustration, to anger, to fights, to reconciliation, and then back around to the start to begin it all over again.  After realizing that we had been having the same argument for the last six years, I decided it was time for us to do something.  I did some research and about two and a half months ago we started seeing a marriage counsellor.

The husband and I were both raised in families where the mindset was very much “mind your own business.”  His father had anger issues and didn’t want anyone to know about their family’s situation.  My mother has mild paranoia issues and, well, didn’t want anyone to know about our family’s situation.  So starting this therapy was something that was quite difficult initially.  But as we became more comfortable with our therapist, and more comfortable with each other, things started flowing out like muddy water from a boiling hot outdoor faucet.  And while it was murky at first, the water got cooler and clearer. 

I had decided a while ago that I wanted to separate.  Initially it was because I couldn’t stand the way that he would handle things.  We were constantly fighting and of course it was because of him.  While I may not be the perfect wife, or the perfect person, I’m definitely good at both so what the fuck is wrong with him that he can’t handle his shit.  I had to get out or I was going to go crazy.  When we started seeing the counsellor, she talked a lot about taking responsibility.  I would stare at my husband while she spoke, willing him to listen, willing him to realize that it was his responsibility, his fault things were the way they were.  And then she called me out.  She called me out loud and clear, and more than once.  And once I started listening to her, I realized that it wasn’t just him.  I had a lot to do with the situation.  In fact, it was my situation, and I had to take responsibility for it, and I had to take control of it.  After that realization I began to see that I didn’t want to leave because of him, or because of the way he handled things, or because I was unhappy with the person he had become.  I wanted to leave because of me.  I was feeling empty, and unfulfilled, and generally miserable, and it had absolutely nothing to do with him.  The counsellor is fond of saying we find mirrors of ourselves in other people that we deal with.  And I think that it’s true.

I’ve come to realize that entering such a serious long-term relationship at such a young age was probably not the best thing for me to do.  I feel like I never had the chance to become the person I should be; instead, I became the girlfriend/partner/wife that he needed (or that I thought he needed).  I strongly believe that you need to know yourself before you can understand others, and I have no idea who I am.  I go through existential crises every 3 months.  I yo-yo with my weight and exercise.  I begin projects with total gusto and give up halfway through.  I don’t have any long term goals.  I don’t know what I want in life.  How am I supposed to commit to a person until I’m old and grey if I can’t even commit to a hair colour?

And so, last week, we began the separation with clear plans on what needs to be done.  Maybe we come out of it together.  Maybe we don’t.  Either way, we’ll both be more complete and whole people than we were when we started.  And this leads me to my current housing situation.

I’ve moved back in with my mom.

And my god, the reflection in that mirror is scary. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my mom and all her adorable idiosyncrasies.  But man oh man, living with her as an adult versus as a child is a world of difference.  Example:

I found out that she has a bobcat, or possible cougar, running around her backyard.  She’s seen it twice in the last two weeks.  When I suggested she contact someone (SPCA, animal control, the ministry?) to find out about what to do, she assured me that she had it figured out.  She had set a mat by the hole in the fence to find out if it had come in or gone out. 

Me:  Well what happens after?
Her:  Well, if it’s in the yard, then I’ll know that it’s in the yard.
Me:  Okay.  And then?
Her:  I’ll set a trap.
Me:  You can’t set a trap to capture a bobcat, or possibly cougar, by yourself.
Her:  Why not?  Besides, it’s not like it’s doing any harm.

Now, maybe it’s not doing any harm at this particular moment in time.  But I’m supposed to be bringing my dog to live with me part time, and she’s talking about bringing the family cat home to die (from the ex’s house) since he’s ancient and decrepit and most likely ready to kick the litterbox any time now.  Not only that, my brother has a little girl that adores my mom, but he has already said he isn’t willing to bring her over with a wild creature running around.  And I don’t blame him.  Not to mention the fact that there are neighbours, and they have pets, and children.  So I bring this up to her.  Her response?

The neighbour’s cats haven’t pissed in her garden in the last two weeks.   So maybe it’s not that terrible of a thing.

I walked away shaking my head, thinking my god.  Am I that difficult to deal with?  I know that sometimes I can be quite stubborn, but I like to consider myself fairly reasonable.  But maybe I’m not.  This morning we were talking about her situation with her ex.  Well, she was talking.  I was drinking coffee and thinking about something else, god knows what.  I sat there, nodding and “mmhmm”ing and being a terrible daughter in general, when she said something that caught my ear.

I obsess about him.  I focus on it and obsess about what he does and doesn’t say and I can’t stop, and I hate it.

And that’s exactly what happens with me.  Exactly what happens with me.  It’s why I’m always checking my inboxes.  Because I need to know what they’re doing, or what they’re saying, or what they think about what I said.  It’s a compulsion, and apparently, it’s hereditary.

Sweet jesus.

Ouch, Right in the Ovaries

On Saturday I went to a wedding with the Other (the significant other, not this one).  It was for a friend of his whom he’s known for about 20 years.  I met the friend’s mother, we shook hands and exchanged “how do you do”s, and then came:

So, do you two have any children?

We made the decision a few years ago that we weren’t going to have children.  Which actually means, I made the decision a few years ago that we weren’t going to have children.  The circumstances never afforded it, and quite honestly, it’s enough work taking care of myself.  The Other has a huge family, about a thousand aunts and uncles and about a million cousins, all who have been very busy breeding over the last few years.  And every Christmas party for the last 9 years, I’ve been asked the question about children, and I’ve had to patiently explain that no, the time isn’t right, but we do still have a cat and a dog and that keeps us plenty busy.  Cue polite laughter, small smile, exit left towards the food table.

I don’t have anything against children.  I have friends with kids that are awesome.  My brother and his wife have an amazing little girl that I’ve been able to watch blossom from a tiny jelly bean into a running, shrieking, dancing 1.5 year old toddler.  Kids are fine.  If they’re not mine.  Because I love holding babies but man, when those things start screaming, I am more than happy to hand them back.

So back to Saturday.  She asked the question, and we both gave an awkward chuckle and shook our heads.  Her face crumpled as if we had just administered a double punch to her ovaries.  Then came the follow up:

Well, any plans for them in the future?

Lady, seriously?  First off, is it any of your business?   No, not really.  Secondly, maybe I have a tragic condition that doesn’t allow me to have children.  Maybe it’s incredibly painful for me to talk about.  Maybe we’ve been through the trauma of losing a child.  Huh?  How about that?  Or maybe there’s a chance this relationship is going to end, and then one of us would be left a single parent.  Granted, none of these except for the last one apply to me, but she doesn’t know that.

No, but we do have a cat and a dog and that keeps us plenty busy, ha ha ha.

I’ll be honest, the look of disgust on her face took me back.  It looked like I had just told her I punched kittens for a living.  Which I would never do.  They have sharp little claws that they’re very fast with.

It seems like people feel that as soon as you reach procreating age, especially if you are in a long-term relationship, it is mandatory that you pop out a spawn.  And I could go on about how we have a responsibility to stop bringing more people to deplete resources into this already overpopulated world, or how there are so many unwanted children already out there waiting for families and homes, but the fact is it’s just not my thing.  I don’t want to be a mother.  So stop pushing your breeding agenda on me!

Besides, I almost ran over my cat this morning when I was backing out of the driveway.  Kitten puncher?  No.  Responsible pet owner?  Most of the time.  I swear.