Sticks and Stars

Peg and I are psychically linked because she commented to ask where I went at the very exact moment that I was thinking that I was long overdue in posting something. What I was going to post was that I always know when I’m about to start bleeding because the men at work start to look interesting.

In general, I look at the men with whom I work with a great deal of indifference. Sometimes they are amusing, sometimes they are annoying, but they are all too young/old/married/neurotic to warrant greater consideration, so mostly I have no opinion about them at all. Until the blood is coming and then suddenly they seem so much more clever and interesting than I ever noticed, to the point that I sit across from them in boring meetings and stare at their hands and imagine…well…nothing I need to go into detail about.

It used to throw me when this would happen every month. I’d panic over the absolute inappropriateness of what was going on in my brain, and how getting involved with co-workers is nothing but trouble, and how I could possibly imagine getting involved with someone who hadn’t even hit puberty when I graduated college, etc. But then I started noticing the pattern, so now it merely amuses me.

Generally, I definitely prefer getting laid to not, and as the “not” has stretched on so much further than I prefer, the “getting” is all the more of interest, but my co-workers are really not the solution.

Then I was going to go on to talk about my issues around dating and my slow warming up to the idea, but really, there’s nothing more to say than that. But my slow warming up includes realizations like, if I post a dating profile online and don’t want people to think I just want to get laid, I should keep the suggestive jokes and comments to a minimum. Seems obvious, I know, but I have this desire to make potential suitors laugh, and, given the context, that seems like a pretty reasonable route. Except it really hasn’t worked out for me in the past because while I like getting laid as much as the next gal (and maybe more, depending on the gal), I am pretty reserved about actually getting to that point. I prefer that all nakedness be proceeded by a long courtship and maybe that seems excessively old fashioned, especially at age 33, a point by which I should presumably be over my uptight virginal teenage notions of sex and be ready to let it all hang out, right? Either way, suggesting that I’m all about putting out and then not isn’t a great relationship builder, and more often than not, it’s led to me putting out way before I might have otherwise been inclined to do so and I don’t want to do that anymore.

The other thing I’m realizing (and this is such a hard one) is that I can be a super picky hardass about who I date. In the past when I’ve done this online dating business, I’ve given potential suitors waaaaay too many chances. I had reservations, reserves, irritations, red flags, huge-ass waves of warning washing over me and yet I still kept telling myself that I was just being too picky, too sensitive, too overly critical and I should give this loser just one more chance.

The thing I need to keep beating into my brain is that I don’t need to settle. I’m doing well by myself. Really well. Fanfuckingtastically well even, and I don’t need some loser dragging me down. And even before I fully determine whether someone is an all out loser, I don’t need to waste my time exploring every possibility of where someone falls on the continuum. My time is precious and even if I’m spending it eating popcorn and watching back episodes of Heroes that really aren’t that enjoyable, that’s still so much better than trying to determine the validity of my suspicion that some guy’s previous relationship isn’t as previous as he’s suggesting.

I think I’ll need to come up with a system, like three strikes or something. If I experience three concerns, irritations or red flags, that’s it. I think it will be hard to stick to because it’s amazing how easy it is to fall into that place of desperation and I’m-going-to-be-alone-forever and basic low self-esteem wanting everyone to like you, even when you previously weren’t desperate, were perfectly content to be alone forever and recognized absolute stupidity of caring whether loser idiots like you or not. But I already know that this can become a huge time suck and I just want to make sure that I do it right, and do it in a way that gives me the best return on my time. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but overthinking is pretty much my middle name.

And that’s all I have to say on this topic for now.

If you want to be friends on facebook, leave me a comment. I figured I should probably ask nicely instead of just stalking you down.

Because I am always on the cutting edge (of 2007), I finally joined facebook. I’ve been resistant to it as I am resistant to all social networking crap but when it comes down to it, I am way too lazy to write emails telling people how I’m doing, which leaves me with an inbox full of emails hassling me for just such updates, which leaves me feeling stressed out and avoidant, so better that I should just give in and be lazy and let facebook keep all my distant family and friends apprised of my life.

But ugh, the angst! I did not expect to be bombarded by friend requests from childhood schoolmates and obscure relatives, and suddenly I feel intensely self-conscious about my life and how I represent it to all these people. Because, of course, they have to understand how awesome and impressive my life is and, by extension, how supercool I am. I can allow no ambiguity on that front.

From a sociological standpoint, it’s really interesting to see what became of all the people I grew up with. I grew up in a rural small town and there was no question that I wouldn’t let the door hit me in the ass when I left, and there was even less question about the fact that I would leave, and I sort of assumed that everyone else felt the same way. Yet most of the kids I grew up with still live there. Many left and came back, but plenty of them never left at all. The women now work as nurses or medical assistants or they stay at home with the kids, and the men are all burly and post photos of the fish they’ve caught, or their rifles, or their military stuff, or anything involving an American flag. And they all have kids, without exception. And they all go to church.

I’m not sure why this is all so surprising to me, but I guess not everyone felt the way I did about our small town…or small town living in general…or conservative redneck Christian culture.

At the same time, I have to admit that I secretly yearn for it, the thought that I could go back to my small town and right off the bat I’d have at least ten friends (with kids!) who’d be eager to hang out and reminisce about our intertwined childhoods and where our families are now. Sure, we could absolutely never talk politics or religion or parenting or anything like that, but oh, to be where everybody knows your name!

The end is in sight. I have spent every single day for the past two weeks cleaning my old house and my list of remaining tasks tells me I will be done just in time for the carpet cleaners to arrive this afternoon, and then I will be able to wash my hands of this place the next morning, when I have my move out meeting with the property manager woman.

I’m kind of dreading the meeting because I know she’s going to come up with all kinds of reasons why I don’t get my (large) deposit back, and man, I just don’t need another reason to be bitter at the world. I was half thinking of just not cleaning, not doing anything, and then accepting that I wouldn’t get it back, but I really, really could use that money and it is not a small amount.

But I just need to soldier on through because Sunday afternoon I will be done with it all and can get on with my life. At this point I have no idea what it’s like to actually come home to my house after work because I have yet to do so. I always go straight to the old place, clean for a couple hours, and then go home just in time to make a quick late dinner and go to bed. My children are becoming increasingly intolerant of the arrangement, which is frustrating because it’s definitely not my first choice either and I hate having to battle with them every night. At this point I’ve resorted to bribing them with ice cream on the way to the old house. Every night. Which, really, is fine, since they aren’t eating dinner until 9:00pm anyway.

I’ve also been staying up way too late trying to get things done, which is exhausting but rewarding. One of my New Year’s resolutions was to start tracking my finances and I’m slowly getting that set up, and last night I started working on my taxes. There’s not too much “work” to be done in that case, mostly just typing in numbers and trying to remember various passwords for various website where various bits of my tax-related data are hidden away, but still, it’s a process.

Update: Taxes, done. Money, eagerly anticipated.

It’s kind of hard going from living in brand new construction to living in a 70+ year old house. There are so many quirky odd things about the house and so many little inconveniences that weren’t present in my new and modern townhouse. In some ways, I was well prepared (I already had an extensive collection of extension cords to address the one-outlet-per-room issue), and there are some things I might change over time (oh how I long for the gurgly song of a garbage disposal), but some things I just have to live with (sloping floors and 70 years of badly patched plaster walls).

But at the same time, I really love the new house. I love how small and cozy it is. I love how big the yard is. I love how many windows I have and how I can see trees from every one (oh how I love that!!). Just this morning my six year old was remarking on how nice our house is because it’s so small and everything is so close together. It’s hard for me to put it into words, but there’s something about the space feeling so contained, being able to see it all at once, being able to easily step into any of the other spaces, that I really love, that really makes me feel peaceful. It seems like such an odd thing to inspire a sense of peace, but I just don’t like to feel like spaces are…beyond my reach? I don’t know. As I said, it’s hard to put into words, but what I do know is that my little cozy house feels just right. If I were going to change it I might like to add another foot or two onto all of the rooms, but I don’t want more rooms, I don’t want an upstairs, I don’t want a basement, it feels just right as it is.

My initial intention was to spend today (and yesterday even) cleaning my old house so that I could be done with it all and settle into my new house, but yesterday (and today even) I realized that it would be much more beneficial to my sanity if I spent that time digging out my bathroom and living room and whatnot and giving myself function living spaces. So that’s what I did, and indeed, it was a good choice. My living room, kitchen and bathroom are all quite nice, and my bedroom and the boys’ bedroom are at least functional, if still a bit chaotic. It will be much easier for me to attend to the other house now that I can actually live in this one.

I still feel so tense and stressed out though. If it didn’t mean that I’d need to call around to find someone, I’d be tempted to hire someone to do the cleaning for me — and I’m completely broke anyway so that’s not even really an option. Now I just need to decide whether I spend part of every evening for the next no-more-than-12-nights cleaning the old place in small bursts (considering that I need to go there with some frequency to do laundry since there is currently a huge fiasco happening with my eagerly anticipated washer and dryer), or whether I should stress about it for the rest of the week but get it all done in one big burst next weekend. Really, I want to do neither.

One more note: I had no idea what it would mean to my boys to have a yard. I mean, we’ve always had some kind of outdoor space attached to our various homes and when I thought of my boys in a yard, I imagined them building little roads in some dirt pile and staying pretty much in one spot, so really, one yard is as good as another as long as there’s some dirt.

But this yard, a yard that is so, so, so much huger than any yard we’ve ever had, has really shown me what my boys could do with a yard. When the weather is nicer they might find a dirt pile, but for now they just want to run. And man, can they run. They go outside about every five minutes and they run and run and run. It makes feel really sure about this choice that I made when I see them out there.

Well, I suppose this should be a lesson to me. The guy who set up my internet cleared my browsing history and cookies while trying to troubleshoot. Now that I can no longer locate or access any kind of website of importance to me, I realize that I should have written that shit down somewhere.

Also disappointing is that I put several very large, very noticeable scratches into my brand newly refinished floor while moving furniture. Very quickly I wised up and put towels underneath the furniture I was sliding around, but the damage is done.

On the other side, I discovered that when you have a really cold uninsulated floor, slippers are awesome. Usually I find that slippers merely make my feet sweaty and slippery, but today I’ve learned that slippers alone can make the difference between whether I’m freezing cold or toasty warm in my chilly living room.

More on the living room: I’m entirely at a loss as to how to arrange it. Probably I should clear out some of the massive, massive mess that is accumulating first, since it’s becoming difficult to see the furniture under the mess, but it’s just so much easier to mindlessly push furniture from one side of the room to the other.

In just a few minutes I will shut off my computer, take it apart and officially go offline until probably Sunday. I have internet at the new house starting Saturday, and Saturday is our big move day (or if not big, at least the day when we will start sleeping there), but I might be too tired to bother with setting up my computer…although you never know given my level of internet addiction.

I think we are doing okay in terms of moving. I’m taking my computer stuff and the desk and chair that I currently use but that will go straight to my garage at the new place, then tomorrow goes the tv and its related crap, then Saturday morning I pack up all the remaining kitchen stuff and general survival supplies we’ve been using during the past week. Saturday morning also brings my brother and two of his friends to move my mattress and box spring, my boys’ mattresses, my couch, my elliptical trainer, and my three potted Japanese maples. After my new-to-me fridge arrives (and I have a chance to clean it out), I’ll empty out the fridge and freezer and that, my friends, should be IT.

Until Sunday and/or Monday when I return to start cleaning. In my most extravagant fantasies I imagine finishing cleaning on Monday and then being DONE DONE DONE DONE, but we’ll see.

I cannot wait to start settling into my new house. I feel happier every time I go there and I’m especially looking forward to how I feel when I don’t have to leave.

I’m having a terrible time getting the last of the necessary tasks done in order to finish moving this weekend. I have a list for every night and so far I’m not doing so well. The list isn’t even long, but the stress of moving is killing my sleep, which in turn leaves me exhausted, especially by the end of the day, and so the last thing I want to do is tackle my to do list, which leaves me all the more stressed out.

I do think, however, that I want to decorate my bedroom in brown and blue.