A contemplative grout-and-window-film-filled day...
I try to be productive. I get up every morning, make the coffee, pack his lunch, and watch him walk out to our vehicle (mine?) and drive off to earn the only salary we have now. I spend some quiet time in the morning after he leaves, snuggled under a blanket with Sadie, playing mindless puzzle games on my Kindle. Finally, around 1130, I realize I should drink the now-cool, now-perfect coffee and make some breakfast, then loudly address the cat as to what we're going to do today.
We putz with the new TiVo, I try to figure out channels, and I get mind-numbed by DIY because there's a.) nothing else to watch or b.) our cable changed and we don't get the same channels anymore. Sadie tries to get onto my lap, but in her tripod state, she loses her bottom half and slides off my right thigh, digging her nails into my skin and drawing blood. I spend the next ten minutes leaning on a napkin on my thigh as she lies on the sherpa next to me, looking at me like clearly, I was the issue. I realize I need to grout today, so should start that project, and why not frost the window as well? Tottering around the house amid phone calls with my parents over houses they don't want (though they asked me to ask for information), I measure and cut, carefully slicing with a razor blade from my days at Kmart and using a lint-cloth-wrapped stack of Post-Its to smooth out bubbles.
The cat is confused; she does not understand why I am standing so long over the toilet (maybe cat eyes do not see the window or the film?) and sits on the edge of the tub, trying to see what I see. I hum along to Pandora, trying to get bubbles out just so and then come back downstairs to see how my grout is holding up. The color is not matched, but seeing as it'll go under the new washer and dryer, I really can't be too picky. I toddle upstairs and down, looking around for various things, finding nothing. I eat leftover egg drop soup with Indian naan, then watch Holmes on Homes, and even though it annoys me, I don't change the channel.
I get text messages from a friend about tomorrow night, saying that his wife is sick and so is their dog, so they wouldn't be able to join us. I look around my disheveled house; unhinged door laying against the bathroom wall, dryer tube over a side chair, and realize that if I AM going to have company, maybe I should find somewhere for them to sit.
Now dark, I toddle upstairs to finish the bottom pane of the bathroom window. Sadie, again, is confused, planting herself on the corner of the tub and is unsure of why I am now straddling the toilet in the opposite direction. The film sets, I toddle back downstairs, sponging off dried grout from the hole my crazy washer put in the floor. I am both anxious and weary for Fidget to come home, as if I needed someone to be able to interact with me versus a three-legged cat.
Another friend calls, saying she and her husband won't be able to make our New Year's due to forced sobriety and difficult adjusting. I get another text from the other couple, asking if we want a cheese plate and if we're going to be fancy. As we've been living a washer-free life, we'll be lucky if we have pants.
Part of me wants to celebrate with our friends, the end of this terrible year and all the trauma that came with it. Yet another part wants to sit in a dark room completely alone and not need to interact with anybody. I both long for comfort and retreat from it; I'm perpetually bored from television and internet, having lost interest in both since I had no time to partake in either when school started. Now I have the time but do not have the bandwidth. I sit mute, unblinking, vegging out and flatlining until the cat meows for more attention.
More attention. How fitting I come to own a cat who's lovable and demanding and gentle and pokey and friendly and needy. I, who needs attention, now owns a cat who craves attention. When I click for her, she runs to me, merrs loudly, then jumps onto the couch. She misses again, putting three new holes next to the four from this morning, Fidget laughing since he saw me watching her do it.
I remember the stories I used to have, the people I used to know. I fully recognize that the Universe sent me Fidget so I would calm the hell down, but there are times where I miss the craziness that would come from it. Now, I sit with my cat and debate about house projects.
I lamented this semester, and something was just brought to my attention tonight. Despite all the complaining, all the agony, all of the offense I took from that professor, I still got an A- in the class. Fidget doesn't quite understand how I can lament so heartily and "still easily pass the class." It's not easy. I realize there are other students in my cohort with B averages. I know I'm not one of them. I know I sometimes get damned lucky with school as I use strategy; see the points, study really hard, use old school methods, then roll the numbers to get the grade needed. However, to Fidget, I'm an A student. So why complain if I get As?
It's both comforting and horribly frustrating at the same time.
I'm truly exhausted by the events of tonight, from trying to figure out my role to what I'm entitled to and where I stand. This growing-up is really hard work; I know I'll tell our children how hard they'll have to work, and they won't believe me (like I didn't my parents), and that they should enjoy being younguns while the getting's good (but they won't, because they're my kids, too). As the year comes to a close, a year filled with confusion and hurt and doubt, I can only hope that 2015 brings something awesome with it. I can only hope that 2015 will see me graduate, and see Fidget matriculate. That I'll have a job that pays our bills again. That while we won't be drowning in debt, we won't be tottering either. That I won't need to worry about Sadie's health as there might be an emergency cat fund. That my own health will improve, both mental and physical. That I won't be angry anymore, or if I am, it'll be comically angry instead of deep-rooted and hateful. That there will be some semblance of peace regarding my parents, either moving or health-related.
That I won't be as lost.
I am indeed stuck in this holding pattern as 2014 draws to a close. To be so close to ending my academic career (eight classes to go) and to no longer have a full-time job. To not be working, when I've been working since I was 15.5 years old. To be worried about not working because of needing money but concerned due to jeopardizing that almost done degree.
I sat tonight and made a resolution-ish with Fidget to try better in 2015. We did so well earlier this year, cooking our dinners, exercising, and being generally healthy, even though I was working 40 hours and carrying a full caseload. It seemed to run as clockwork. I ran as clockwork. But with the job ending, it all fell apart. We both have gained a significant amount of weight. I had that support for a long time, and no longer knew who I was if I wasn't working full-time. I can only be so much of a housefrau when I don't have the umph or mindpower to even watch TV, let alone go through our mail or finally organize the basement.
However, the mood began to lift yesterday, and I am hoping it will continue to lift. I can be contemplative and not hopelessly depressed. I can have things pointed out to me and incorporate them into being a better human being. So tomorrow, I will still wake up with him, make coffee, pack his lunch, and watch him drive off in my car (ours) to our only salary. I'll have quiet time with Sadie, playing mindless puzzle games on the Kindle. Then I'll move the dryer tube off the side chair to make room for friends. Might even shower and vacuum the floors...
... it's good that each day can be a new beginning and you can be the change, even if the environment is the same.
We putz with the new TiVo, I try to figure out channels, and I get mind-numbed by DIY because there's a.) nothing else to watch or b.) our cable changed and we don't get the same channels anymore. Sadie tries to get onto my lap, but in her tripod state, she loses her bottom half and slides off my right thigh, digging her nails into my skin and drawing blood. I spend the next ten minutes leaning on a napkin on my thigh as she lies on the sherpa next to me, looking at me like clearly, I was the issue. I realize I need to grout today, so should start that project, and why not frost the window as well? Tottering around the house amid phone calls with my parents over houses they don't want (though they asked me to ask for information), I measure and cut, carefully slicing with a razor blade from my days at Kmart and using a lint-cloth-wrapped stack of Post-Its to smooth out bubbles.
The cat is confused; she does not understand why I am standing so long over the toilet (maybe cat eyes do not see the window or the film?) and sits on the edge of the tub, trying to see what I see. I hum along to Pandora, trying to get bubbles out just so and then come back downstairs to see how my grout is holding up. The color is not matched, but seeing as it'll go under the new washer and dryer, I really can't be too picky. I toddle upstairs and down, looking around for various things, finding nothing. I eat leftover egg drop soup with Indian naan, then watch Holmes on Homes, and even though it annoys me, I don't change the channel.
I get text messages from a friend about tomorrow night, saying that his wife is sick and so is their dog, so they wouldn't be able to join us. I look around my disheveled house; unhinged door laying against the bathroom wall, dryer tube over a side chair, and realize that if I AM going to have company, maybe I should find somewhere for them to sit.
Now dark, I toddle upstairs to finish the bottom pane of the bathroom window. Sadie, again, is confused, planting herself on the corner of the tub and is unsure of why I am now straddling the toilet in the opposite direction. The film sets, I toddle back downstairs, sponging off dried grout from the hole my crazy washer put in the floor. I am both anxious and weary for Fidget to come home, as if I needed someone to be able to interact with me versus a three-legged cat.
Another friend calls, saying she and her husband won't be able to make our New Year's due to forced sobriety and difficult adjusting. I get another text from the other couple, asking if we want a cheese plate and if we're going to be fancy. As we've been living a washer-free life, we'll be lucky if we have pants.
Part of me wants to celebrate with our friends, the end of this terrible year and all the trauma that came with it. Yet another part wants to sit in a dark room completely alone and not need to interact with anybody. I both long for comfort and retreat from it; I'm perpetually bored from television and internet, having lost interest in both since I had no time to partake in either when school started. Now I have the time but do not have the bandwidth. I sit mute, unblinking, vegging out and flatlining until the cat meows for more attention.
More attention. How fitting I come to own a cat who's lovable and demanding and gentle and pokey and friendly and needy. I, who needs attention, now owns a cat who craves attention. When I click for her, she runs to me, merrs loudly, then jumps onto the couch. She misses again, putting three new holes next to the four from this morning, Fidget laughing since he saw me watching her do it.
I remember the stories I used to have, the people I used to know. I fully recognize that the Universe sent me Fidget so I would calm the hell down, but there are times where I miss the craziness that would come from it. Now, I sit with my cat and debate about house projects.
I lamented this semester, and something was just brought to my attention tonight. Despite all the complaining, all the agony, all of the offense I took from that professor, I still got an A- in the class. Fidget doesn't quite understand how I can lament so heartily and "still easily pass the class." It's not easy. I realize there are other students in my cohort with B averages. I know I'm not one of them. I know I sometimes get damned lucky with school as I use strategy; see the points, study really hard, use old school methods, then roll the numbers to get the grade needed. However, to Fidget, I'm an A student. So why complain if I get As?
It's both comforting and horribly frustrating at the same time.
I'm truly exhausted by the events of tonight, from trying to figure out my role to what I'm entitled to and where I stand. This growing-up is really hard work; I know I'll tell our children how hard they'll have to work, and they won't believe me (like I didn't my parents), and that they should enjoy being younguns while the getting's good (but they won't, because they're my kids, too). As the year comes to a close, a year filled with confusion and hurt and doubt, I can only hope that 2015 brings something awesome with it. I can only hope that 2015 will see me graduate, and see Fidget matriculate. That I'll have a job that pays our bills again. That while we won't be drowning in debt, we won't be tottering either. That I won't need to worry about Sadie's health as there might be an emergency cat fund. That my own health will improve, both mental and physical. That I won't be angry anymore, or if I am, it'll be comically angry instead of deep-rooted and hateful. That there will be some semblance of peace regarding my parents, either moving or health-related.
That I won't be as lost.
I am indeed stuck in this holding pattern as 2014 draws to a close. To be so close to ending my academic career (eight classes to go) and to no longer have a full-time job. To not be working, when I've been working since I was 15.5 years old. To be worried about not working because of needing money but concerned due to jeopardizing that almost done degree.
I sat tonight and made a resolution-ish with Fidget to try better in 2015. We did so well earlier this year, cooking our dinners, exercising, and being generally healthy, even though I was working 40 hours and carrying a full caseload. It seemed to run as clockwork. I ran as clockwork. But with the job ending, it all fell apart. We both have gained a significant amount of weight. I had that support for a long time, and no longer knew who I was if I wasn't working full-time. I can only be so much of a housefrau when I don't have the umph or mindpower to even watch TV, let alone go through our mail or finally organize the basement.
However, the mood began to lift yesterday, and I am hoping it will continue to lift. I can be contemplative and not hopelessly depressed. I can have things pointed out to me and incorporate them into being a better human being. So tomorrow, I will still wake up with him, make coffee, pack his lunch, and watch him drive off in my car (ours) to our only salary. I'll have quiet time with Sadie, playing mindless puzzle games on the Kindle. Then I'll move the dryer tube off the side chair to make room for friends. Might even shower and vacuum the floors...
... it's good that each day can be a new beginning and you can be the change, even if the environment is the same.