The Devil's Arithmetic

I just spent 5 days in Cincinnati with my cousins. I love the ‘Nati, and I love that part of my family. I feel closer to a couple of them than I do to my own siblings, which may be normal but always makes me a little melancholy.
My closest cousin has made an incredibly life-altering decision that he’s been considering for the past two years, and is entering the Seminary this fall. As if people still do that! What surprises me are the little details that I found out about it, and about him. He’s already becoming a different person, and that scares me – I didn’t think it would happen so fast. Or maybe he’s been changing into that new person so slowly I didn’t notice until now?
I was really looking forward to getting away and relaxing, but it didn’t turn out like I expected. All my worries and nightmares were safely packed in my suitcase and stayed with me the whole time. There’s this great spiral of work-Loud-house-baby-work-Loud-house... (you get the idea). It just goes around and around and there’s no resolution, no easy answers. One day I think I’ve got something but it escapes through my fingers the more I try to grip it, and the next day I’m lost again. I did get some damn fine chili though.

Some updates on the above spiral:

Work – I had a good interview with a good company and just need to get them the paperwork before they can make an offer. I am exactly 50/50 on whether to take it if offered. I got an internal email this morning about a position at my current company, so will have that interview Monday morning. Nothing else has panned out. I need to stop applying for Project Management stuff since I loathe it.

Loud – Is a bad friend. There, I said it out loud to the world. That’s as far as I got this weekend, but I think it’s a big step. He will always be able to come up with creative excuses and reasons why, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept them or even live with them. Acceptance of non-acceptance. I think that will help, although don’t get me wrong, it’s still painful and sad, and I am not yet sure what the implications are.

House – I called the old and new real estate agents and the mortgage broker so things are moving along. No sense worrying until I actually get the bad news that we won't be able to sell until 2010 if we don't want to lose our shirts.

Baby – The fifth attempt felt really positive, for no good reason that I can substantiate. But of course, I’ve felt that way before and look where it got me. So I refuse to get blog-happy about everything until I get that confirmation. Which is irritating, because when this DOES happen, I will have forgotten all the little details about the first few weeks that I really wanted to remember, the things that made me start this blog in the first place. I just look like a crazy person if I keep thinking so positively every single time. I’m the girl who cried ‘Baby’. Even if it didn’t work, I definitely feel more comfortable with the process now, like I’m finally getting it ‘right’ (or, as close to ‘right’ as one gal on her own can).

Supermarket Stress Sweep

Spa days and flowers, calls from friends, all these are wonderful things. But you can't beat the grocery store for good ol' fashioned fun.

Those of my unsuspecting friends who have never made such a trek with me learn quickly that this is not an in-and-out type of errand. There is no grab-just-a-few-things for me. If I went to the grocery 5 days in a row I would likely spend the exact same amount of time and the same amount of money, regardless of what I did or didn't really need. Need isn't the point for me, or at least, pantry need. Grocery shopping fills another hole for me that is difficult to explain.

Take, for example, the exciting challenge of getting the best savings. There is no better feeling than that total at the bottom of your receipt that says how much you saved, and it is utterly unrelated to the vast fortune you actually spent. Look at you, clipping coupons and being thrifty! Who cares that your cupboard shelves are groaning, that you have dry goods from 1971? It's like a game, and you are always the winner. I actually look at the unit pricing when I buy, especially if something is on sale - I don't like sneaky retailers who try to pull a fast one on me. And if it's something that we like and eat a lot of in the house (like, say, string cheese or bacon), then I am fearless about loading up the cart. This gets me into a lot of trouble with the Freezer Patrol, who won't let me fill the garage with extra refrigeration devices, so it's really their own fault.

Another game I like to play is, 'What's New in the World of Food?' I'm a total sucker for anything re-invented, re-packaged, colored differently, oddly unique, or generally disgusting sounding. If they made an eggplant yogurt, I would have to buy it, at least once. And I hate both those things. Freezer Patrol gets very upset with the ice cream companies, because I have a weakness for buying interesting-looking ice cream, but only seem to like the first 3 scoops of any flavor. I pretty much stay out of the cereal aisle altogether, unless I'm feeling very strong.

And how about, 'Who's the Healthy Eater?', one of my personal favorites. I like to thoughtfully select brown eggs and tofu, fresh greens and hormone-free chicken, and tut-tut disapprovingly at the woman in line ahead of me with her bologna and powdered-sugar donuts. Then, after loading up the car, I go through the McDonald's drive-through for a Happy Meal. Because nothing says 'Let's Make a Commitment to Really Lose Weight!' like a cheeseburger and a fridge full of rotting produce.

The average trip usually takes anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours, and runs about $50-75 dollars. Since I split that with housemates, it's really only like $20. Where else can I get such a great stress-reliever for that price? You can't get a massage for that (at least, not any kind of massage that I am conscious for and have previously agreed to). There's no hangover, no guilt, no pain (except for the unlucky person/people who are dragged along with me, moaning and complaining and trying to rush me the whole time). Who has time to worry about little things like their job, or where they'll live, when there are so many exciting things to look at and smell and poke? (keep in mind people tend to look at you strangely if you do these last two things, which I'm oddly fond of doing in the marshmallow aisle)

And I haven't even mentioned the multitudes of versions of lists, the by-department planning that goes into the whole venture... *happy sigh*

Summer Storm

I sat on the steps and watched the sky, roiling and tumbling clouds angrily shoving at each other and occasionally slapping lightning in quick, brief bursts. The air hung heavy with that smell of just-before-rainfall, and a slight delicate breeze betrayed the lingering heat and hinted at the gusts to follow. The bricks beneath me held the day’s warmth and were a solid reminder of the stability and comfort that were slipping through my fingers. A sob caught in my throat, unwelcome and despised, as the storm crackled and sizzled, making hairs stand on end. My chest felt tight, constricted, despite the overabundance of air and freedom outside, and the darkness above hid any comfort or answers I was seeking.
A trickle of rain collapsed pitifully on the driveway then stopped. I watched my neighbors go about their weekend chores, kids trapped circling on bikes in garages, cars with uncertain and hesitant wipers winding slowly home. I didn’t expect forever, because who can anymore? Love, life, happiness, we’re all grown ups and we all know it’s all only temporary. I had steeled myself for a mere five years, five years I had told myself would be plenty, more than enough to establish a nice home in a safe and pretty neighborhood. Play house with people I loved and start a family of my own with their support. Five years should be enough to settle in, make it our own, decorate, start a garden, become active in the community, get pregnant and see that baby become a toddler. Just five years, that wasn’t so much to ask for. Six months is nothing. Six months hasn’t even seen an anniversary or an evaluation. Six months is a slap on the wrist for a crime committed, only partway to nine months, and only half of a year. Six months can’t grow asparagus or show you all the seasons.
The storm continued to build, just more unbearable pressure that had to be borne. Dismayed children trudged home from the closed swimming pool, clutching towels lonely for chlorine, back to television and video games and whatever other indoor distractions could hold their attention. None of those things were working for me today. People that I cared about deeply were in pain in the house behind me, upstairs in the bright and empty room where we watched other people’s stories but didn’t tell our own, and I didn’t want to be another silent ghost. All the work we had done, all the sacrifices and compromises and worry, not only for nothing but about to begin anew, and alone.
A sudden explosion of thunder roared and then echoed, wanting more attention. The answering lightening inevitably followed, a flash of burning, but still no rain fell. My thoughts rumbled and crackled and I’m angry one minute, sad the next. I try to catch my breath and finally cry, heaving loudly and unattractively, grateful that no one can hear or see me, knowing that no one could give me comfort. I cry for my friends, I cry for the house underneath me that I love that I must start to say good bye to, I cry for the uncertainty of the future and the surety of what I am losing. I cry for mistakes made, and lessons learned, and the fear of painful decisions still to come.
The duet becomes a trio as the fat drops deluge, the final act and the closing number. I want to stay but don’t want to have to change out of wet clothes, don’t want the discomfort of cold strands of hair, know that I can’t leave with the storm when it has had its final say. I turn my face upwards and let the downfall wash away the evidence, then gather up my sweater, gather up my thoughts, and walk into the house to disappear.

Breaking Up is Hard to Watch

Today Loud asked me, “Why am I doing this?”

This question crystallizes a concern that I’ve had for a while, a theory that he really is as dumb as a box of, well, dumbness. I answered as plainly as I could, “Because you’re afraid”.

“Afraid of what?” he asked, innocently enough, probably expecting me to say ‘Feelings’ or ‘Clowns’ or something equally simple and easy to deal with.

“Getting old. Commitment. Being left. Getting fat. Making sacrifices. Responsibility. Honesty. Growing hair in weird places. Disappointing people. Not being adored. Loving just one person.”

He really wasn’t expecting that, judging by the stunned look on his face. And that was off the top of my head! I think I did well, although if I’d had time to think I probably would have added, ‘Letting go of old fears’ or ‘Stagnation’ or something equally deep and meaningful. He went on to complain about how very unsure he was about the whole thing, and how it was ‘pushing the envelope of his arrogance’ (*sigh*, translation=he is doubting himself for once). I advised him to be at least 51% sure, since what he’d done was pretty bad but he was fast approaching the point of really-super-difficult-to-forgive, and that if he had doubts about his crappy choices he better take a long hard look, real soon.

I think my favorite part was when he said, ‘How could he not have known?’, and I said, “Because he trusted you utterly and completely. He had no reason to think otherwise until you broke his heart”. Yeah, that was fun to say. All in all it’s been an exciting day. He wanted to have a conversation about getting the house on the market while I was making a sandwich in the 14 minutes I had between conference calls today. I told him to slow down. It’s irritating that I’m so much like him, that once a decision has been made it’s just one huge fast crushing snowball for us, as if it’s going to hurt less to get everything over with sooner. He scoffed at the idea of me and Quiet getting another housemate, which just pissed me off, so I told him to have a good time living in his broke-down car with no furniture and no one to love him (yes, I said 'broke-down', I'm so filled with anger that I've lost all grammatical skills).

It might seem like an unfair reaction, but I’ve been dumped too, kind of, and I want my little scrap of pain recognized by him and added to his list of guilt, damnit. Plus he’s hurt someone I love very much, very deeply, and I’m a grudge-holder, so he'd better watch out.

It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I feel fine)

At long last, Loud has come out and admitted he’s not happy. Unfortunately, he has also come out as being selfish and immature (see my less-than-convinced thoughts on ‘polyamory’ below).

So, in an exhaustive and inappropriately timed conversation that took place in front of the deli counter at Kroger, he is, in a word, done. I’m not even going to go into all the stuff that’s between him and Quiet, but essentially he is done with suburban living and all that entails. He’s exhausted with the demands of managing a house this size (because he’s done soooooooooooo much), he’s stressed out by his controlling bitch of a housemate, and he’s tired of living hand-to-mouth because of the high mortgage and all the bills. I think he was slightly disappointed that I didn’t freak out, but really, as if I hadn’t been expecting this? Does he think Quiet and I are idiots? (wait, don’t answer that). It’s a relief, really, and maybe now he’ll at least be a bit more stable in the meantime, and I can start planning what the next move will be. And by ‘move’, I mean, move. Egh. I can’t even cope with thinking about that. Word on the street is, we have to live in the house at least two years to avoid paying capital gains tax. I really don’t know what that is, but if it accompanies the word ‘pay’, I don’t want to do it. And we barely made it six months, another 18?! But if we’re selling the house, then we’ll likely need to re-paint everything we just did, plus save for movers and all that mess again, plus another down payment for somewhere else…

And what does this really mean? Do Loud and Quiet and I all each get our own places? Or will Loud smarten up long enough to avoid making the biggest mistake of his life, and get another place with Quiet, and I get something on my own? The sad thing is, he already knows he’s in the process of a huge mistake, yet he’s so paralyzed with, well, stupidity, that he can’t stop himself. So where do I go? I can’t see myself adjusting to a new housemate, yet it’s been nice not being by myself. It’s a shame that the whole mess is wrapped around Loud and Quiet’s relationship, which makes it that much more painful and awkward. I’d consider getting a place with Quiet, but it would be more of a me-buy-he-rents kind of thing to keep it simple, like Jemily's. And all this is just silly speculation anyhow, because who has time to think about horrible things like this actually happening? According to Quiet, Loud quite regularly goes through these fits of questioning, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s right about us living together. It’s bad for everyone, and we all know it already, and nothing is going to make that any better or any different. What does this do to baby plans? Well, much like the rest of the situation, who the heck knows.

Polyamory

Loud and I have had a number of very vocal discussions about this concept, which I struggle with as a close-minded rabidly monogamous straight woman. I have lots of theories about cheating, and why people cheat, and the excuses they make to themselves and others, and I just can’t accept polyamory as a valid lifestyle choice; I just don’t think we’re wired that way. I don’t think that there is a single ‘right’ person for each of us either, but I don’t see the benefits of multiple relationships, and I don’t see how this could exist with really and truly no hurt feelings or want for something more ‘traditional’. My take on it is, well, selfishness and fear, mainly – wanting to have the cake and eat it too, with no real responsibility or commitment or any of the bad stuff that you usually have to deal with in order to appreciate the good. I told Loud he should talk to a therapist, that even if he doesn’t get answers he might get some good questions, but he seems to think he’s the most qualified to deal with his issues (HA!) and refused, as usual, my excellent advice.