I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships lately, what with trying the internet matching and trying to put myself in the “dating” mindset – the mindset of a single, reasonably attractive woman in today’s world. It’s difficult for me, because I am unfamiliar with the social customs and traditions of dating; the “rules” that guide people’s behavior in those situations. I am used to two modes: alone, or in a serious intimate relationship – zero to sixty in 2.4 seconds. I am not one of those girls who really understands what it means to “casually date” or even date several people at once. I’m not sure I even want to learn how to do those things. But this is a whole new world, and nothing is off the table yet…
I’ve said many times that I was really lucky to have found the Bunny. REALLY lucky. I wasn’t looking for him – he found me, and he made me so happy – I loved being married to him. I wouldn’t have called us similar – we liked lots of different things, but I think they were complementary things. I think the most important thing was that we shared the same perspective of the world, our world… we fought fair (without getting “ugly” as I have seen some couples do), we agreed to disagree, and there wasn’t any problem we couldn’t work through with communication. This last point was very important, because when we first got together, my modus operandi in an argument was to shut down and say nothing. This response was carried over from my childhood – my mom would be screaming her head off, and I would just mentally shut down to escape it. Cut off my emotions so I wouldn’t have to feel it. So nothing could hurt me. This is what the Bunny inherited – one of the many challenges in being intimately involved with me, I guess.
Back in one of my earlier posts, I was talking about this guy I met that I really liked – the first since the death of my husband – yea, that didn’t work out. My heart, as usual, held on a lot longer than it should… There were many clear signals that there was absolutely no chance for a relationship, but in these situations, my heart dictates the pace of acceptance of reality. So… it happened again. Another guy – completely monopolizing my thoughts. Makes me happy on various levels when I’m around him. But it’s the same thing as before: many clear signals that there is absolutely no chance for a relationship (he’s already married). But my heart isn’t ready to let go – what a masochist!
I try to keep this on the down low for the most part, because while I am perfectly comfortable with torturing myself, I would not purposely want to worry the people in my life that care about me – and knowing I was all emotionally hung up on some married guy would definitely worry them. But I refuse to hold anyone accountable for feelings – myself included. My belief is that feelings cannot be controlled; like the tides of the ocean. Like the sunrise. Like the pull of gravity.
What I am accountable for are my actions. Where lots of people go wrong is that they allow their feelings to justify doing things that they know are wrong. I could be sitting here, thinking: I’m really attracted to this guy. I DESERVE him. So what that he’s married? Why should that stop me? And you know what? It does. And it’s not about what I deserve or don’t deserve. If I believe that the reason I am who I am is because I am a product of all the relationships in my life, I have to apply the same logic outside of myself – this guy’s relationship with his wife is one of the things that makes this guy who he is, too. Having been married a few times already, that is THE relationship out of the many in one’s life that completely dominates your perspective. I know this, based on the size of the hole that the Bunny left me with.
I get emails daily from the internet matching site – I sign in, I read the profiles of men the site has decided are “compatible” to me. A lot of them like to cook. Clean their homes. Take care of children. At least a lot of them also like music… that’s the only common interest that doesn’t make me want to vomit. Most of the time I’m laughing my ass off, because I’m not looking to date myself in male form. I still don’t have high hopes for the whole internet matching thing.
But take heart, all you lonely people out there: the best things in life come to you when you aren’t looking for them. And I’m guessing a few of them are going to come my way sooner or later, too. Peace.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Competing Objectives
Yesterday I began working with a personal trainer. Which is ironic when you consider that I hate to exercise.. about as much as I hate taking vitamins. Okay, maybe “hate” is too strong a word. How about “REALLY hate.” Back in the days when the Bunny was still doing his 50-mile bicycle rides every other weekend (before the Roadstar), I was the one who could always be counted on to stay home and cook up a nice spread for the gang when they finished riding – appreciative recipients in one of my favorite activities: cooking for friends.
I’ve always been at odds with my physical appearance. I feel it brings me too much attention already, and one of the by-products of conditioning my body is that it potentially might look better to others. Yikes. If this were the only consideration, it would be enough to motivate me to NOT exercise (no matter how cute the personal trainer). But before the Bunny died – when we still had the luxury of discussing death in those hypothetical terms that people tend to use when they are young and relatively healthy – he made me promise that should he die, it was my mission to take his ashes to the top of Half Dome. For the uninformed, Half Dome is this huge mountain in Yosemite National Park. The Bunny and I were married in Yosemite, in a meadow directly in front of this very mountain. The Bunny himself had hiked up Half Dome at least twice previously, that I knew of. Myself, I never had the slightest inclination to leave the campsite, much less strap on hiking boots and spend the better part of a day traipsing around on some mountain. According to documented information, it’s approximately 15.5 miles roundtrip (with a 4737-foot altitude gain). If you are looking for me, I’ll be napping in the tent.
Exercising elicits a wide spectrum of feelings from me. My trainer’s intent is for me to “get more in touch with my body” which draws a strange parallel to my formative years, when I tended to suppress all of my true feelings and emotions because what with all the trauma in my life it was just too overwhelming – there were too many intense feelings to process. Getting in touch with my body implies that I have to care about my body, I have to love my body, I have to nurture it, take care of it… right now, my body and I have this truce, more or less. I need to be nice to it or it’s going to screw me over. So it receives the bare minimum – food, rest, regular cleanings, etc. But love and nurture it? Hmmm. That’s a lot to ask.
Just to annoy me, my body’s reactions to exercise range from “making me feel nauseous” to something almost sexual. As I said, it’s a wide spectrum. Kind of like people who are addicted to drama, and feed off of the extreme highs and lows. So it makes it hard for me to get my head wrapped around what I am doing; to develop a rhythm… also working against me is the recognition of my goal – my goal in exercising is to climb up that mountain. My goal is to let go of the life I had with the Bunny. At this very moment, his ashes are sitting in a box on my dresser. The box is wrapped in plain white paper – the kind of paper you would wrap a fine piece of china in, to protect it from damage during a move. The kind of paper you would wrap seafood in, a nice piece of salmon that you found at the meat counter. It’s anything but pretentious, mostly unnoticed with all the clutter in my bedroom – but I notice. Every time I walk in there. Every time I go to sleep. Every time I put my clean socks and underwear into my dresser drawers. I notice, and I remember.
I go back to work with my personal trainer in four days. He’s coaching me – and trusting me – to do these exercises on my own, at home. He is absolutely confident that if I work hard, we will get me and the Bunny up that mountain, approximately 10 months from now.
Getting myself back down, alone… is entirely up to me.
I’ve always been at odds with my physical appearance. I feel it brings me too much attention already, and one of the by-products of conditioning my body is that it potentially might look better to others. Yikes. If this were the only consideration, it would be enough to motivate me to NOT exercise (no matter how cute the personal trainer). But before the Bunny died – when we still had the luxury of discussing death in those hypothetical terms that people tend to use when they are young and relatively healthy – he made me promise that should he die, it was my mission to take his ashes to the top of Half Dome. For the uninformed, Half Dome is this huge mountain in Yosemite National Park. The Bunny and I were married in Yosemite, in a meadow directly in front of this very mountain. The Bunny himself had hiked up Half Dome at least twice previously, that I knew of. Myself, I never had the slightest inclination to leave the campsite, much less strap on hiking boots and spend the better part of a day traipsing around on some mountain. According to documented information, it’s approximately 15.5 miles roundtrip (with a 4737-foot altitude gain). If you are looking for me, I’ll be napping in the tent.
Exercising elicits a wide spectrum of feelings from me. My trainer’s intent is for me to “get more in touch with my body” which draws a strange parallel to my formative years, when I tended to suppress all of my true feelings and emotions because what with all the trauma in my life it was just too overwhelming – there were too many intense feelings to process. Getting in touch with my body implies that I have to care about my body, I have to love my body, I have to nurture it, take care of it… right now, my body and I have this truce, more or less. I need to be nice to it or it’s going to screw me over. So it receives the bare minimum – food, rest, regular cleanings, etc. But love and nurture it? Hmmm. That’s a lot to ask.
Just to annoy me, my body’s reactions to exercise range from “making me feel nauseous” to something almost sexual. As I said, it’s a wide spectrum. Kind of like people who are addicted to drama, and feed off of the extreme highs and lows. So it makes it hard for me to get my head wrapped around what I am doing; to develop a rhythm… also working against me is the recognition of my goal – my goal in exercising is to climb up that mountain. My goal is to let go of the life I had with the Bunny. At this very moment, his ashes are sitting in a box on my dresser. The box is wrapped in plain white paper – the kind of paper you would wrap a fine piece of china in, to protect it from damage during a move. The kind of paper you would wrap seafood in, a nice piece of salmon that you found at the meat counter. It’s anything but pretentious, mostly unnoticed with all the clutter in my bedroom – but I notice. Every time I walk in there. Every time I go to sleep. Every time I put my clean socks and underwear into my dresser drawers. I notice, and I remember.
I go back to work with my personal trainer in four days. He’s coaching me – and trusting me – to do these exercises on my own, at home. He is absolutely confident that if I work hard, we will get me and the Bunny up that mountain, approximately 10 months from now.
Getting myself back down, alone… is entirely up to me.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Playing With Matches
Recently I decided that I was spending too much time holed up in my house – easy to do when you consider that I work from home, attend online school, and do most of my social interacting via Face Book. I like Face Book for just that reason; it allows my friends to hear about the goings-on in my life without me having to physically go anywhere or talk to anyone. Not to say that I actively avoid physically going anywhere, I just prefer that someone calls me up and invites me out to do some activity or other – I typically won’t initiate those excursions myself.
So, via a message I posted recently to my friends that I would be “open” to having one of them – who knows me well enough to be familiar with my particular idiosyncrasies and preferences, mind you – set me up on a blind date, I got a slew of responses, one of which included a suggestion for internet dating. At first blush I discarded the idea, but then in a face-to-face conversation with another friend shortly after my post, she also gave me the benefit of her own – and others' she had heard about – experiences in the arena of internet dating. Needless to say, I was motivated enough to go onto one of these relationship matching sites and create a profile.
From the get-go, I already have a negative perception, even before anything concrete has happened. My reasons for the negatively stem from my unfamiliarity about the expectations of the other people on the site who are “seeking a relationship” and my belief that true relating involves body language (which is impossible in a virtual environment). I also noticed – after supplying an overwhelming amount information about my preferences for a mate – that I wasn’t even sure I was qualified to be answering these questions! Truly, what do I know about picking the right person? If it’s anything like my ability to pick out a good outfit, I am in serious trouble!
Beyond all of my fears and insecurities, I was able to complete my profile. Then began the matching… eeeeeek. I don’t know if it’s just me, but it is a little intimidating to get emails that say “Meet Brad: Someone compatible with who you are on the inside” or “Find out if your new match Ken is who you’ve been looking for” – who I’ve been looking for? How odd it is, because in my head I am “not looking for someone” – I just want to get out of my house a little bit more! Why does this feel so convoluted already? The other unnerving thing is the sheer number of matches that come through. It’s been a day and a half, and already I have 18 people matched up with me, based on similarities in my profile or whatever that other person is looking for. In the real (i.e. physical) world, meeting new people happens at a much slower pace… easier for me to process emotionally. Through the relationship matching site, I feel like I am in a big auditorium, or standing in the middle of a football field, with a big, flashing neon sign over my head that says “HEY! Come ask me out, I’m single!” It kind of strips away all the fate, chance, universe, and leaves me feeling a bit cold, lonely, and desperate.
I think back to the Bunny. When our paths crossed, I was as far away from “looking for someone” as I think a person can get. What is bound to happen to my chances if I tie myself to the train tracks? How could the universe possibly send me the person I am supposed to find, if I am trying to exert too much control over the variables of that meeting? Besides, compatibility is all well and good, but the true test is my gut. Attraction is felt inside (for me, specifically), after a handful of times of interacting in the world. If I get matched up with 18 people every two days, and let’s just say it takes two dates for me to know if that elusive ingredient is there… that’s about 540 dates in a month. I’m already exhausted, just picturing it!
I went into my profile this morning and changed my preferences to “don’t send me any more matches until I ask for them.” Maybe I’m not ready… but my fear is that I will become so comfortable with being by myself all of the time, holed up in my house, that as time passes it’s going to more and more difficult to break out of the habit. A little discomfort now – before I become too set in my ways – is probably good for me. Then I think: I’ve put it out into the universe. The universe knows where my head is at, and should it choose to help me in my endeavors, the universe will certainly make it known to me. So I think I will not worry too much about all of this stuff now, and just have a little faith that everything will work out as it should.
Those matches – one of them DID send me what’s called an “icebreaker” message. I sent back a reply – and I’m sure the guy ran for the hills! – but who knows, maybe I’ll get another message from him yet. I’ll deal with those possibilities when I get there. But one interesting thing I did notice: he had something in his profile which was exactly something I thought about putting in my own – but didn’t. Something a bit out of the box, something that to reveal to strangers had to be a bit risky, a bit “out of the box”… interesting. And so, I am left here with a bit of hope that however things turn out, I will NOT spend the rest of my life alone, holed up in my house.
Nor do I have to burn the house down.
So, via a message I posted recently to my friends that I would be “open” to having one of them – who knows me well enough to be familiar with my particular idiosyncrasies and preferences, mind you – set me up on a blind date, I got a slew of responses, one of which included a suggestion for internet dating. At first blush I discarded the idea, but then in a face-to-face conversation with another friend shortly after my post, she also gave me the benefit of her own – and others' she had heard about – experiences in the arena of internet dating. Needless to say, I was motivated enough to go onto one of these relationship matching sites and create a profile.
From the get-go, I already have a negative perception, even before anything concrete has happened. My reasons for the negatively stem from my unfamiliarity about the expectations of the other people on the site who are “seeking a relationship” and my belief that true relating involves body language (which is impossible in a virtual environment). I also noticed – after supplying an overwhelming amount information about my preferences for a mate – that I wasn’t even sure I was qualified to be answering these questions! Truly, what do I know about picking the right person? If it’s anything like my ability to pick out a good outfit, I am in serious trouble!
Beyond all of my fears and insecurities, I was able to complete my profile. Then began the matching… eeeeeek. I don’t know if it’s just me, but it is a little intimidating to get emails that say “Meet Brad: Someone compatible with who you are on the inside” or “Find out if your new match Ken is who you’ve been looking for” – who I’ve been looking for? How odd it is, because in my head I am “not looking for someone” – I just want to get out of my house a little bit more! Why does this feel so convoluted already? The other unnerving thing is the sheer number of matches that come through. It’s been a day and a half, and already I have 18 people matched up with me, based on similarities in my profile or whatever that other person is looking for. In the real (i.e. physical) world, meeting new people happens at a much slower pace… easier for me to process emotionally. Through the relationship matching site, I feel like I am in a big auditorium, or standing in the middle of a football field, with a big, flashing neon sign over my head that says “HEY! Come ask me out, I’m single!” It kind of strips away all the fate, chance, universe, and leaves me feeling a bit cold, lonely, and desperate.
I think back to the Bunny. When our paths crossed, I was as far away from “looking for someone” as I think a person can get. What is bound to happen to my chances if I tie myself to the train tracks? How could the universe possibly send me the person I am supposed to find, if I am trying to exert too much control over the variables of that meeting? Besides, compatibility is all well and good, but the true test is my gut. Attraction is felt inside (for me, specifically), after a handful of times of interacting in the world. If I get matched up with 18 people every two days, and let’s just say it takes two dates for me to know if that elusive ingredient is there… that’s about 540 dates in a month. I’m already exhausted, just picturing it!
I went into my profile this morning and changed my preferences to “don’t send me any more matches until I ask for them.” Maybe I’m not ready… but my fear is that I will become so comfortable with being by myself all of the time, holed up in my house, that as time passes it’s going to more and more difficult to break out of the habit. A little discomfort now – before I become too set in my ways – is probably good for me. Then I think: I’ve put it out into the universe. The universe knows where my head is at, and should it choose to help me in my endeavors, the universe will certainly make it known to me. So I think I will not worry too much about all of this stuff now, and just have a little faith that everything will work out as it should.
Those matches – one of them DID send me what’s called an “icebreaker” message. I sent back a reply – and I’m sure the guy ran for the hills! – but who knows, maybe I’ll get another message from him yet. I’ll deal with those possibilities when I get there. But one interesting thing I did notice: he had something in his profile which was exactly something I thought about putting in my own – but didn’t. Something a bit out of the box, something that to reveal to strangers had to be a bit risky, a bit “out of the box”… interesting. And so, I am left here with a bit of hope that however things turn out, I will NOT spend the rest of my life alone, holed up in my house.
Nor do I have to burn the house down.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
God Said No
I usually stay off my "God" soapbox, saving those discussions for face-to-face interactions… but this one hit me at a “funny” moment (funny as in timely, not funny as in ha-ha). Thanks to my “sister” Victoria…
I asked God to take away my habit.
God said, No.
It is not for Me to take away, but for you to give it up.
I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; it is not granted, it is learned.
I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings; happiness is up to you.
I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to Me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful.
I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life, so that you may enjoy all things.
I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said... Ahhhh, finally you have the idea.
This day is yours. Don’t throw it away.
I asked God to take away my habit.
God said, No.
It is not for Me to take away, but for you to give it up.
I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; it is not granted, it is learned.
I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings; happiness is up to you.
I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to Me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful.
I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life, so that you may enjoy all things.
I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said... Ahhhh, finally you have the idea.
This day is yours. Don’t throw it away.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Killing Time
I’m a big movie watcher; it’s one of my favorite things to do. Naturally, I am up to approximately 308 movies in the DVD collection (give or take), which I frequently lend out to my friends – after a few times I realized that I needed to write down who had what DVD, because invariably I would find myself impulse-buying the same movie over again. When the original was returned to me I would discover I owned two copies of it!... I guess I am pretty consistent in my likes and dislikes, especially where movie plots are concerned.
Left to my own devices, I am a bit of a hermit. My tendency is to stay holed up in my house, in my pajamas, either sitting in front of my computer working, or sleeping, or watching one of those 308 movies. It finally occurred to me, today, on a Saturday night, that one day for me is very much like the next; my activities don’t vary all that much, unless one of my friends calls me up and invites me to do something – come over for dinner, go shopping, have a cup of coffee – and I’m sitting here thinking about the solitude of my life. Maybe one day, no one will be calling me up and I will just “disappear”… would that be such a bad thing? If this idea of being alone bothered me, wouldn’t I be trying to get out and socialize more?
Earlier, the thought crossed my mind that I was waiting for my husband to get home so we could do something fun together – on those days when he would go out for a ride on his motorcycle with his buddies, that’s usually how the day would end – I would work on my computer, do some laundry, take a nap, think about what to make for dinner – and in the middle of all of this, I would hear the rumbling of his Roadstar turning the corner of our street, knowing in a few seconds I would see his headlights shining into our front door as he clicked the garage door opener and coasted to a stop inside the garage. Inside the garage he would take off his gloves, then his helmet, hang up his leather jacket, walking into the house – looking tired, with dirt on his face. But when he saw me, his eyes would light up and I would walk over to him, throw my arms around him for a big hug, feel his arms tighten around me in return, and give him a big kiss on the lips… afterward he would smile, give me a “Hey, Babe,” and my response, “Hi, Bunny!” and proceed to tell me about his day.
I feel so lost; unfinished, in a way… every day that goes by is kind of like that movie “Groundhog Day” (one of my favorites; I love Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell – and I like movies with a message, when one of the characters is changed for the better in some way)… I never get to the day AFTER. I’m a hamster on a wheel, just running and running and running and not going anywhere.
Time is a funny thing. Five wonderful years of marriage – poof! In the blink of an eye. One night alone – an eternity, each individual grain of sand dropping through a miniscule hole in the neck of the hourglass. Excruciating. Torture. But, if there’s one thing that can always be counted on: things will change. Highs and lows, ebbs and flows. Someday in the future, that hamster wheel is going to break, and I am going to break out of this emotional cage. And things will be better for me. Settled.
And when I get THAT far… then I can look ahead to happiness and fulfillment, something I can only imagine and don’t yet see. But if it’s one thing I’ve got, it’s imagination.
Left to my own devices, I am a bit of a hermit. My tendency is to stay holed up in my house, in my pajamas, either sitting in front of my computer working, or sleeping, or watching one of those 308 movies. It finally occurred to me, today, on a Saturday night, that one day for me is very much like the next; my activities don’t vary all that much, unless one of my friends calls me up and invites me to do something – come over for dinner, go shopping, have a cup of coffee – and I’m sitting here thinking about the solitude of my life. Maybe one day, no one will be calling me up and I will just “disappear”… would that be such a bad thing? If this idea of being alone bothered me, wouldn’t I be trying to get out and socialize more?
Earlier, the thought crossed my mind that I was waiting for my husband to get home so we could do something fun together – on those days when he would go out for a ride on his motorcycle with his buddies, that’s usually how the day would end – I would work on my computer, do some laundry, take a nap, think about what to make for dinner – and in the middle of all of this, I would hear the rumbling of his Roadstar turning the corner of our street, knowing in a few seconds I would see his headlights shining into our front door as he clicked the garage door opener and coasted to a stop inside the garage. Inside the garage he would take off his gloves, then his helmet, hang up his leather jacket, walking into the house – looking tired, with dirt on his face. But when he saw me, his eyes would light up and I would walk over to him, throw my arms around him for a big hug, feel his arms tighten around me in return, and give him a big kiss on the lips… afterward he would smile, give me a “Hey, Babe,” and my response, “Hi, Bunny!” and proceed to tell me about his day.
I feel so lost; unfinished, in a way… every day that goes by is kind of like that movie “Groundhog Day” (one of my favorites; I love Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell – and I like movies with a message, when one of the characters is changed for the better in some way)… I never get to the day AFTER. I’m a hamster on a wheel, just running and running and running and not going anywhere.
Time is a funny thing. Five wonderful years of marriage – poof! In the blink of an eye. One night alone – an eternity, each individual grain of sand dropping through a miniscule hole in the neck of the hourglass. Excruciating. Torture. But, if there’s one thing that can always be counted on: things will change. Highs and lows, ebbs and flows. Someday in the future, that hamster wheel is going to break, and I am going to break out of this emotional cage. And things will be better for me. Settled.
And when I get THAT far… then I can look ahead to happiness and fulfillment, something I can only imagine and don’t yet see. But if it’s one thing I’ve got, it’s imagination.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sanctuary
This past weekend, I threw a small dinner party for some of my friends – my absolute MOST favorite thing to do. I love to cook; I have a bookshelf full of cookbooks although equally as often I tend to experiment, depending on my mood. Some of my friends have experienced such parties several times, so I have developed a good reputation for whipping up tasty meals to the point that upon being invited, those on the “list” look forward to coming over with much excitement. Their positive response, in turn, makes ME feel really good… important for my self-esteem issues, but also to satisfy my internal need to “do nice things for other people” – another mechanism by which I get the emotional return I require, on par (importance-wise) with the blood coursing through my veins.
On Saturday, amidst my food preparation (and housecleaning – something I DON’T quite enjoy all that much!), I moved the Bunny’s fish tank out of our bedroom. The Bunny had a 50 or 60- gallon fish tank which was one of his hobbies – freshwater, averaging between 12 and 18 fish in it at any given time (the rule is “1 inch of fish per every gallon”) – and when he died, I inherited all of the “tank maintenance” responsibilities. Okay, let me state for the record that while fish swimming around happily in their tank is very soothing and interesting to LOOK at, there is quite a bit of stuff one needs to do to keep the tank clean, the fish happy and healthy, etc. More involvement, certainly, than I signed up for.
Fortunately for me, I have another good friend, Lori, who has wanted her own tank for a long time; but by virtue of living space and budget restrictions has never been able to procure one of this size. Knowing that she was into the fish thing, I offered her the tank (including the stand the Bunny custom-built to set it on – he liked building things with his hands), on the condition that she help me dispose of the fish in such a way where they would go on to live happy, healthy lives (her original plan was to convert the tank into a saltwater tank, which means you need a different kind of fish entirely).
Several weeks ago, Lori and her boyfriend Craig came by, scooped out the fish and transported them to the fish store from whence they came – assuring me they both personally saw the guy return them into the general population so they could be resold to some other guy who loves fish. Bringing us to Saturday morning, when I had arranged for some help to deliver the tank and stand to Lori & Craig’s upstairs – yes, upstairs, HAH! – apartment a few cities away. Fortunately, both the tank and the stand (now devoid of the fish and necessary water environment) was significantly lighter than I had anticipated; so the whole process took less than an hour, which allowed me maximum dinner prep and housecleaning time. I love it when a plan comes together!
With the tank out of our – my – bedroom, and taking into account I needed to clean the house for my company later that day, I took the opportunity to move around my furniture. I realized later that this was my third “processing” project… as long as my furniture stayed the same, on some deep emotional level I guess I still expected the Bunny to just come walking in at any moment. But this feeling was so deep, so subtle that I didn’t realize it was there until I changed things. And all of a sudden, it officially DID become “my” bedroom. It was the first step for me in feeling single again (I’ve mentioned to friends several times up until now how I’ve still felt “married” in my head).
While you may be reading this and assume this is a sad thing, I have to say while I feel a bit of wistfulness – certainly, because my Bunny IS not coming back, and if I had my druthers I’d always want him here with me – I also feel a bit of excitement, because I am reminded again that my whole life and what I do with it is entirely up to me. I am excited in the way that I believe my friends are excited at the prospect of coming over and having me cook a delicious meal for them.
In rearranging my bedroom furniture, I found myself sleeping on the Bunny’s side of the bed. It was different – not good or bad, just… different. Again, one more reminder and one step closer to “just Shirley.” In the rearranging process I moved our boxer Winnie’s dog bed to a different area (she actually has her own dog bed in three different rooms of the house – one in the bedroom). I notice she had no problems laying down in it, even though it was in a different place. Good dog… setting an example for her mommy.
Dinner – as expected – was good (no trips to the hospital – lollll), and although this mix of friends was a new combination, my guests found things in common to share and a great time was had by all.
That’s what I want MY life to be about.
On Saturday, amidst my food preparation (and housecleaning – something I DON’T quite enjoy all that much!), I moved the Bunny’s fish tank out of our bedroom. The Bunny had a 50 or 60- gallon fish tank which was one of his hobbies – freshwater, averaging between 12 and 18 fish in it at any given time (the rule is “1 inch of fish per every gallon”) – and when he died, I inherited all of the “tank maintenance” responsibilities. Okay, let me state for the record that while fish swimming around happily in their tank is very soothing and interesting to LOOK at, there is quite a bit of stuff one needs to do to keep the tank clean, the fish happy and healthy, etc. More involvement, certainly, than I signed up for.
Fortunately for me, I have another good friend, Lori, who has wanted her own tank for a long time; but by virtue of living space and budget restrictions has never been able to procure one of this size. Knowing that she was into the fish thing, I offered her the tank (including the stand the Bunny custom-built to set it on – he liked building things with his hands), on the condition that she help me dispose of the fish in such a way where they would go on to live happy, healthy lives (her original plan was to convert the tank into a saltwater tank, which means you need a different kind of fish entirely).
Several weeks ago, Lori and her boyfriend Craig came by, scooped out the fish and transported them to the fish store from whence they came – assuring me they both personally saw the guy return them into the general population so they could be resold to some other guy who loves fish. Bringing us to Saturday morning, when I had arranged for some help to deliver the tank and stand to Lori & Craig’s upstairs – yes, upstairs, HAH! – apartment a few cities away. Fortunately, both the tank and the stand (now devoid of the fish and necessary water environment) was significantly lighter than I had anticipated; so the whole process took less than an hour, which allowed me maximum dinner prep and housecleaning time. I love it when a plan comes together!
With the tank out of our – my – bedroom, and taking into account I needed to clean the house for my company later that day, I took the opportunity to move around my furniture. I realized later that this was my third “processing” project… as long as my furniture stayed the same, on some deep emotional level I guess I still expected the Bunny to just come walking in at any moment. But this feeling was so deep, so subtle that I didn’t realize it was there until I changed things. And all of a sudden, it officially DID become “my” bedroom. It was the first step for me in feeling single again (I’ve mentioned to friends several times up until now how I’ve still felt “married” in my head).
While you may be reading this and assume this is a sad thing, I have to say while I feel a bit of wistfulness – certainly, because my Bunny IS not coming back, and if I had my druthers I’d always want him here with me – I also feel a bit of excitement, because I am reminded again that my whole life and what I do with it is entirely up to me. I am excited in the way that I believe my friends are excited at the prospect of coming over and having me cook a delicious meal for them.
In rearranging my bedroom furniture, I found myself sleeping on the Bunny’s side of the bed. It was different – not good or bad, just… different. Again, one more reminder and one step closer to “just Shirley.” In the rearranging process I moved our boxer Winnie’s dog bed to a different area (she actually has her own dog bed in three different rooms of the house – one in the bedroom). I notice she had no problems laying down in it, even though it was in a different place. Good dog… setting an example for her mommy.
Dinner – as expected – was good (no trips to the hospital – lollll), and although this mix of friends was a new combination, my guests found things in common to share and a great time was had by all.
That’s what I want MY life to be about.
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