Obsolescence

 

Obsolescence

I never think of you anymore.

Never.

Except that time I saw that guy whose head looked just like yours.

From the back.

It wasn’t you, of course.

I made sure.

Mostly, though, I never think of you.

But recently my address book took me by surprise.

The address book itself is obsolete. 

Taken, inherited, from a drawer of treasures.

Brand new, empty, waiting. 

She’d hoped it would become her neatly organized repository of communication information.

She’d take all those envelopes, small slips of scribbled paper and the tattered, worn-out, crossed-through little book she’d used forever and replace it.

Except she didn’t.

It became mine at the turn of the millennium.

I filled it with family, friends, memories.

I’ve got pages of ex-in-laws, family, and old friends who’ve moved. And moved. And moved.

I kept track of kids’ birthdays.

My book remembers the time when certain people were still married.

And you.

My address book still remembers you.

It’s obsolete, of course.

I have all this information in my phone now. 

My phone keeps each person separately, doesn’t even know who’s married.

My phone has info on everyone I communicate with.

I keep it current.

Sometimes I delete people.

I deleted you.

I never deleted people from my address book; old addresses get crossed through and new ones added.

Sometimes an arrow leads to a new page.

While searching through my address book as I updated my holiday card list, I turned from F to G and there you were.

I could delete you by ripping out your page, I suppose.

But then what of the Gieses, the Gossages, the Greens?

I’d have to rewrite them and I’d lose their history.

I never rip out pages.

And you. 

Have you moved?

I don’t know.

Did you find someone to grow old with?

Again, I don’t know.

Are you happy?

I don’t know. 

So there you remain, with the other Gs, uncrossed through.

Memories of the whole affair haunting me as I check the book to see if I’ve forgotten anyone.

And remember I do.

Do you?

Remember the Grand Canyon?

You held my hand, we took that boat…the ravens wanted to share our lunch.

And the phone calls…remember?

It all started out innocently enough but then it turned into late night musings.

It was all totally inappropriate, of course.

We were both committed to others.

Were we cheating?

We weren’t.

And then we were.

And then we weren’t.

We were supposed to meet at the bridge by the fountains, remember?

And then we didn’t speak.

You thought I wanted more.

I knew I needed something else.

It’s all different now.

I’ve moved.

Twice.

Broken up, lived alone, gotten married.

I’m happy.

I never even think of you.    

pkw 2018

Unapologetic

 

Unapologetic

As I approach 60, it occurs to me

That it is about time for me to feel free.

I reflect on my life, on my time on this earth

And I see that there has been an absolute dearth

Of feeling it’s ok for me to just be Pam

Without fear of me telling myself that I am

Unacceptable in some inane way

And beating myself up every day.

All that I want is just to be

simply, happily, unapologetically me. 

I want to make silly jokes

Have opinions

Speak up

Tell stories

Wear a bikini

Make quilts

Make friends

Laugh til I snork

And really, I just want to be

Bravely, confidently, unapologetically me.

-pkw 2024

I Deleted You Today

 I Deleted You Today

 

I deleted you from my phone today.

I know why I kept you in there so long,

Even though I knew you’d never contact me again,

But eventually the danger of accidentally texting you instead of Karla

Got the best of me.

I deleted you from my phone today.

You’re not going to call.

Or text.

And Lord knows I won’t be contacting you.

But I needed to be sure

Just in case

What if you changed your mind?

Or needed me?

Then I could be the one

Who didn’t reply.

When I almost asked you what time the meeting was

Instead of asking Karla

I knew

It was time for you to go. 

                                                          pkw 2011

Words from the night

 

Words from the night

 

I cringe as I feel it slip from my grasp

Its impact shatters the stillness 

I hear his love for me as he calls out my name in the quiet dark

"I'm ok," is all he needs to hear

His breathing tells me that he's gone again as I am left to marvel at my fortune. 

                                                                                                                                  -pkw 2015

Family

 Family

I had a niece.

Her name was Georgia.

She was funny, cuddly, smart, and curious.

She is gone but she did not die.

There was no memorial service, no chance to mourn.

She is gone forever, her name is dead.

But I do not miss her.

I am not sad.

Because now I have a nephew.

His name is Dyllon.

He is funny, smart, curious, and brave.

I did not receive a birth announcement, did not make a baby blankie.

He chose his name, told us how to spell it.

I embrace his ability to find himself, to identify who he would be.

I do not miss who he was, because he has been there all along.

He is my nephew and always has been.

He was just waiting for the rest of us to see him.

-PKW 2019

 

A Web of Man

A web of man

Was not the plan

When our neighborhood owl

Fan afoul

Became ensnared

And was not spared

The horrible pain

Wings flapping in vain

Hoping to break free

But it was not to be.

An untimely end

For our feathery friend 

-pkw 2024

All Done: A Series of Haiku

All Done: A Series of Haiku

I deleted you
From my phone today and yet
You’re still on my mind.

You gave me a gift.
A trinket, it meant nothing.
I threw that out too.

You know that one shirt?
From the Grand Canyon? Like yours?
Yeah. It’s also gone.

No more mementos.
Out of sight, out of mind is
My plan for you now.

The Censor

The Censor

As she spoke,

before she even finished,

she saw the cold veil drop as his eyes hardened

and she realized,

yet again,

that her uncensored truth was not his

and was not welcomed by him.

Stick,

she always tells herself,

to the superficial,

to the “Fine, thanks, and you?”

and the “It’s great to see you too!”

exchanged by those who desire,

or is that require,

the pretense that we never do more than scrape the surface.

And yet she has always known

that she was not drawn this way. 

It was not always so

but that no longer matters;

what matters now is now

and now, she tells herself,

she must be nice, be polite

and keep the walls in place.

There are no doors

but the wall is necessary for both of them. 

Easier said than done, at least for her.

My Dad

As I was listening to NPR the day before Fathers’ Day—This American Life was on—I heard several people read heartfelt essays that they wrote about their dads. “I should do that,” I thought.

As I attempted to write my heartfelt essay about my dad, I found with each attempt that I wasn’t writing about my dad, I was writing about me.

My dad and I have a lot in common and I find that now he is one of my best friends. This was not always the case. But what has always been the case is that we’ve always been a lot the same, Dad and I, and I find that my life has been enriched by his influence.

Ever since I was young, Dad has made it clear to me that I can do anything and be anyone I want. Without judgment, he has encouraged me pursue what I like. Singing along to Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better from the Annie Get Yer Gun soundtrack is one of my most treasured childhood memories and a philosophy that was instilled in me as a kid.

When I was in high school, I worked at Dad’s vet clinic, for a time one summer. This was when I learned how important it is to Dad to learn by doing, to be involved. See, I thought my summer would consist of answering the phone, scheduling appointments and taking care of puppies and kitties. I didn’t know that Dad was hoping that I’d get involved in actual vet work. I hadn’t been there very long when Dad asked me to come help out in the back. He wanted me to learn by doing, to get an appreciation for the job. Which is something I’m totally down for if it involves puppies and kitties.

But that was not the case. No. What this was, see, was a guy had brought his bull in because he, the bull, was to be a donor for an artificial insemination program. And Dad and the bull’s owner were about to coax a usable sample out of the bull. And Dad wanted me to get involved and help out.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of being involved and I definitely value hands-on learning and all that, but….. well…. I didn’t really see how I could be much help and I’m sorta adverse to dealing with any procedure that involves someone else’s bodily fluids. So I smiled and nodded for a few minutes and then snuck back out to the reception desk. Someone needed to answer the phone, right?

In college, I learned that there are two types of people in the world: Those who aren’t happy now but think that they will be, just as soon as…. As soon as they reach some goal, they say, THEN they will be happy. Except that they never are because there’s always a new goal. Now, don’t get me wrong, goals are good. In fact, here’s another thing I learned from Dad: People who have goals, and write them down, are significantly more likely to achieve them than those who don’t write their goals out.

But I digress. The other kind of person is the one who either wakes up happy every day or, if they don’t wake up happy, they take the initiative to fix whatever is keeping them down. Be happy or change something, right?
Of course, it isn’t always that simple but I believe that Dad helped me to understand that it’s always possible and to take responsibility for my own happiness.

Another interesting lesson in this vein came in 1993. I was living with Dad and Elizabeth in the house that Elizabeth grew up in. And Dave, at that time, had quite a sweet tooth. And he wanted some cake. He’d never made a cake before, but he didn’t want to ask me or Elizabeth to make a cake. (Wise move.)
So he says to me, “I bet I could make a cake.”
“Of course you can, Dad,” I told him.
“I’m a doctor,” he said, “I studied for years to become a vet. A cake can’t be that hard, can it?”
“No,” I told him, “especially if you use a box mix!” J
So he made himself a cake. And it was a good cake. And he learned that cooking was fun and I learned that my dad, and everyone, regardless of age, can grow and change.

Because, you know, the Dave you see here has changed a LOT during his tenure as my dad. He used to be a Republican, you know. ;)

But anyone who decides to learn to dive at age 65, who is always espousing the “change is good” motto by moving every 5 to 10 years, who confidently changes careers after 30 years of doing something he’s really good at, is clearly curious about the world and fearless.

And while I see Dave as being defined by these traits—strongly being himself, learning by doing, being brave and fearless, embracing lifelong learning, being curious about the world and taking responsibility for his own happiness, I also see a deeper underlying value that ties all these different qualities together to really help explain who Dave is. And that quality is love.

He loves me, and all of us, this I know. And he also loves animals. His love of animals is shared by everyone in the family. He’s been a vet for my whole life but it wasn’t until I had pets of my own that I came to understand how being a vet was his true calling. I absolutely love the devotion that my spotted dog has to him and the way he treats her. All my pets love him and his gentle touch. The change I see in him when he is around a sick or injured animal is profound. His gentle demeanor and ability to calm and assure an upset dog, his ability to personify his love in such a real way—this is the underlying principle that defines my dad. Love is at the core.

May we all be as loving, responsible, curious and fearless as Dave.

I love you dad. J

I Love this Beast

We are asleep when it starts.
At first I think she’s just dreaming.
I soon realize it’s something else.
She loses control and falls to the floor.
She’s moving-shaking-and her eyes are vacant.
Her tongue is out, she’s foaming.
And this is when it hits me hard:
I love this beast.
But there’s nothing I can do.
I watch, wait.
I want to hold her, to let her know I’m there
But she is not there.
It seems to last forever and I am helpless.
Finally her spastic movements gradually slow.
Her eyes go from completely blank to distant staring.
They are full of fear.
“Hi,” I say softly as I reach out for her.
She recoils in fear.
She does not see me.
She has no idea where she is, who I am, who she is.
I watch, wait.
And then. Then she looks at me.
She’s still afraid but she’s back and she’s looking right at me.
Her body relaxes and she has some control.
She lets me hold her.
She licks my hand. One tiny lick.
As we sit there on the floor our fear fades and we just feel love.
I hold her tight.
She wags her tail.
Eventually she stands up.
She is confused and needs to smell it all.
She sniffs the bed, the floor, herself and me, trying to understand.
She’s thirsty too; she drinks and drinks.
Finally, investigations complete, thirst sated, she joins me again on the floor.
I’ve been watching, waiting.
She curls up by my leg and I skritch her head.
She is back. All is well.
I love this beast.

Adventures in On-Line Dating, Part Two

The very first guy to contact me was Rob and he was decent looking, quite a bit younger than me and cocky as hell. But he was also funny and a bit of a flirt so I emailed with him a little bit. It was fun. But he was demanding in an uncomfortable way. He wanted me to text with him, not email. He wanted to use “real” email, not the match email. Now. Being new to the game I was like, Um, ok, and gave him my “real” email address and my cell number. We texted, we emailed, we even talked on the phone a couple of times. I’d met guys like Rob before and knew that what I was looking for and what he was looking for were two different things. I was looking for someone to grow old with, he was looking to get laid. He talked a lot about all the cool places he’d been, cool things he’d done and cool toys he owned but never took a breath long enough to consider that I was person too, with my own stories and not just a someone to impress. And I wasn’t all that impressed, but God bless him, he never even knew that.

What I learned from Rob was that you can't give out your real email or your phone number until you know a guy pretty well. Because once he sends you pictures of his dick in the email, you will always worry if he can find you or not. Not that I thought he'd want to necessarily, because when I said, "Dude. You sent me pictures of your dick." He replied, "No." and that was the end of that. I changed my voice mail message anyway so that my last name was no longer in it, just in case. And I set up a fake email account to use in the future.

A lot of men looked at my profile, a few men winked at me, but very few actually contacted me. Some men sent me emails just saying “You have the most interesting profile.” Honestly, how does one respond to that? Do you just say thanks, do you ignore it, do you wonder if they are actually interested? I haven’t solved that one yet as I've never really been interested enough in the guys who've said that to pursue them.

Another guy who contacted me was Ken and he seemed nice enough and had a sense of humor too! As we started to email each other I quickly learned that although he had listed his status as "Divorced," he really wasn't. I mean, sure, he was done being married and completely over her but technically he was "Separated." But, he told me, he didn't FEEL married anymore so he couldn't put that as his status. Against my better judgment, I cut him some slack and agreed to meet. And in person I soon learned that he was not, in fact, the same height as me but actually 2 inches shorter.

What I learned from Ken was that if a guy has two lies in his profile, it will probably take a long time before you really actually trust him. I dated Ken, for a time. And he is a nice guy. Communication is big with him and we even talked about the size difference between him and me. "You really are an Amazon," he said to me and really I should have just broken it off right then. I didn’t.

I also learned, again, something I already knew: People who are dating too soon after a serious relationship ends aren’t over it, no matter how much they insist or think that they are. Ken was full of anger at his soon-to-be-ex and pursuing his divorce while we were dating. I got tired of hearing about what a bitch she was and what shenanigans she had pulled now, and I eventually told him that it wasn’t fair and he had signed up for match before he was really ready. I was looking for someone who was already not just done with all that but so over it that it was just an old and not that interesting story to tell. But he was pretty fun to do stuff with so I gave him a chance, and another and another.

And that, my friends, is my special gift in this world: Giving men more chances than they deserve just to ensure that when it’s over, I have no regrets, no if-only-I’d-tried-this. When it’s over, I’m done and don’t look back. Being like this serves its purpose but sometimes seems a bit ridiculous when looking in from the outside. My hope, of course, is that someday I'll meet a guy who is enough of a match that I don't feel like I'm compromising my wishes and who I can just be with, without feeling the exasperation of, "Ok, I'll give this guy ONE more chance..."

Eventually, it fizzled and Ken’s break up line with me is now famous, nay infamous: “We have a lot in common,” he said to me, “but we also have a lot not in common. Like,” he continued, “I believe in God and you don’t.” Well then. I never held that against him, did I? No. And he knew that from day one—my profile says I'm spiritual but not religious and we’d talked about God and religion several times. AND it’s not really even accurate because I’m not really an atheist. Not every day anyway. And yet, I was relieved when he ended it. I fell into a trap with him of liking to just have someone around as opposed to really looking for a deeper love.

And Match it UP, Men continued to add sage advice to its brochure:
Don’t Lie in your profile.
She will eventually see how tall you are.
Separated and working to get divorced is not the same as divorced no matter how you slice it.

Adventures in On-Line Dating, Part I

So I decided to try this on-line dating business. The theory is: I'm totally cool and I live here, therefore there's the possibility someone else totally cool lives nearby who is single and available and looking for me on-line.
Well here's the news: I tried it and there isn't. Heh. But of course it's a bit more complex than that and let me just say now that if you are a parent or any kind of parental figure of mine, please, just stop now and don't even read these ones, ok? Ok.

I wasn't sure at first that I was totally invested in the idea of on-line dating but let's face it. I'm not going to meet some nice guy at church. I've met all the nice guys at work and have concluded that I won't be dating any of them. I haven't met any single men yet by running races or at the grocery store and I won't be meeting anyone while I'm sitting in my back yard on my deck. My daily and weekly routines do not include meeting a lot of new people.

I did a minimal amount of research and decided to try a free on-line dating service called Plenty of Fish. I just wanted to see if people in rural South Dakota were really using these types of services or not. I was pleasantly surprised when I first signed up to see that there weren’t just people, there were lots of people within driving distance of me! But as I started to search I found that the people there were a little off. Like, for example, the somewhat obese guy from my town calling himself Chief Crazy Bear, pictured from the waist up, naked. Fortunately, he was also ultra-conservative so I knew he wouldn’t be contacting me. I eventually concluded that you get what you pay for. Seeing some of those men was when I started to hatch my idea for my consulting business: Match it UP, Men, where I advise men on how to make their profiles more appealing to women. Rule #1: Put on a shirt. No one wants to see that.

My next step was to sign up for match.com. I actually enjoyed the questions and filling in all the little boxes. I could specify not only what sign but also what religion, height and political bent my potential dates would be?? I'm in heaven here, over-thinking it all as usual--analyzing my sentences and editing and reediting my paragraphs, attempting to capture my essence in (what??!!??) only 950 characters?? Oh, wait, no, there's a bunch of little 200 character paragraphs too for special topics like my job, my favorite places, my religion, my pets. Ok, then, I should be able to sum up who I am and who I'm looking for. Yes, I write and I write. I edit and I edit. I spend time trying to sound smart without sounding like an arrogant jerk. I fret over grammar and proofread and recheck to make sure all words are spelled correctly. Let me tell you, people, I put some work into my match profile. And if you were to read it, I do think you would say, "Why yes, Pam had really done a good job of summing up who she is and who she's looking for." You would. I was pleased with my work, finally and chose to post it.

I paid my money to subscribe and decided to do the logical first thing: I would put in all my preferences, all my essential "must haves" and see how many cute eligible men were out there, just waiting for my profile to come on-line. Let’s see… I would like a man who isn’t still married, who is a bit taller than I am, isn’t obese, isn’t a dogmatic religious person (agnostic, atheist or spiritual but not religious), has a college degree, is liberal, likes dogs and cats, doesn’t smoke, does drink but isn’t an alcoholic, makes enough money to travel with me, doesn’t want kids, and… lives within 50 miles of me. How’s that sound? Perfect, let’s search! Go! Guess how many there were? 0. Yes, that's right zero, none, no one. No men who matched.

But match is very helpful, of course, and it told me to change my criteria (There are no perfect men! You must compromise to be happy!) because “even small changes can make a huge difference!” So I did. I decided to allow men who chose Christian/Other, those who were Middle of the Road with politics and those who had some college but not necessarily a degree. Still not taking smokers or men who want kids. But there were still none. Uh-oh. Ok, how about I allow all Christians, men who already have kids and also people who are the same height as me? Too many compromises, people. And still no matches.

So I finally did a very inclusive search just to see who all WAS out there even if they weren't people I'd consider ideal matches. And what did I find? I found a ton of men. Men near me, even. Men who value their faith, men who “definitely” want kids, men who are conservative, men who smoke, men with no higher education. And it showed, God bless ‘em. There were few men who could spell, few who chose to actually use punctuation… lots and of run-on sentences to decipher but really only lots and lots as I looked at multiple men because each man used a maximum of 5 sentence to describe himself: I don’t like to talk about myself I’m an easy going guy easy to get along with don’t know what to say but I like to do things outside hunt fish and grill in the backyard take the harley out ridin family is important to me and if you want to know more send me an email and just ask.

Remember how I said it was a 950 maximum word limit? With options for several little 200 word paragraphs? Well, it’s also a 200 word minimum limit and most of these men would write 200 words and skip the auxiliary paragraphs—so match just shows the religion (they are all Christians and mostly Catholic) and political views boxes that they checked (they aren’t liberal). Not much to go on, really.

But it didn't really matter, because my intent was to put myself out there and see who, if anyone, contacted me. I wasn't going to initiate anything. I read that book, I know better--men like to make the first move. I know, how old fashioned of me, right?

I looked, I searched, I spent some time getting to know the match.com system. And then I waited to see what would happen next.

What to do now?

It's been a long time since I wrote and you know what? It's because I'm really not mad anymore. I said that before, I know, but I'm just saying it's really true. I live alone (with my 4 pets of course) and I quite like it. I'm happy.

And, along those lines, I recently learned something interesting about myself. I met a man, and he seemed nice enough and we had enough in common that I thought I'd give him a chance. I had fun with him, for a time, but he lived a long ways away from me (and really, who doesn't, right?) and eventually when he called he would say to me that he was lonely. And sad. And didn't really know what to do with himself all day long. He was not used to living alone as he'd only within the past year just gotten out of a 10 year marriage and gone from living with his wife and their six kids to living alone in a one bedroom apartment. He had no idea how to handle that, or what one did with one's self when one got up every morning. And although he really wasn't looking to me to solve ALL of that, he was whining to me about it with some regularity. I told him that Dude, everyone is lonely and I really didn't think that a person could solve anyone else's lonely. And that he should get a dog. That relationship didn't work out and here is what I learned about me from that:
1. I'm comfortable with me and with waking up everyday to find that I still live alone in this big house.
2. I am relatively happy and look forward to my weekends--I get to spend the whole weekend alone!--that I pack with a long list of stuff I need to get done.
3. I can't solve your lonely or anyone else's. Everyone is lonely to some degree.

But that's not what this post is about. What this post is about is me trying to figure out what I am going to do next. I was convinced, until about a month ago or so, that all I wanted to do was get the hell out of Dodge. I was blocked from doing so by the state of remodel on my house so my plans were:
1. fix up house
2. move

But. But I've been thinking. And part of this will not sound like me at all, at first, but read on and hear me out. And then tell me what you think of my logic. I'm 45 years old. If I fix this house, and sell it, and I'm really really lucky, I will walk away from here with $10,000. Maybe $20,000. And then I'll move somewhere, right? And get a great job and find a house to buy and what? Start over again? And take on a 30 year mortgage so that I'll be looking at a $1,000+ house payment every month from now til I'm 75 years old? Really? That does not sit well with me. And I'm surprised at myself for even bringing it up because I get annoyed at people my age (and even older) who bitch about being too old, getting old, about age being a barrier to anything. Annoys the crap out of me. And yet. I can't see me starting over and buying into that whole scheme. My goal in life is to be debt free and that includes having no payment for my housing.

On the other hand, if I could stick it out here, I'd have this place totally paid off in 10 years. Less. I have a great job and I'm never happier than I am when it's summer and I'm out in my garden. The black dirt this place has to offer...

I've put a lot of work into this place. I've planted flowers, I've built sidewalks, fences and gardens, I've moved walls and tiled floors. Not alone, but now I'm alone so it becomes my work. Because it's my blog and I'm the hero. I'm emotionally invested in this place and it's a perfect place to live when one lives alone with 4 pets. We have a beautiful fenced-in yard and the perfect place to go for nice long dog walks everyday. Kitties can roam free and I rarely worry about my own personal safety. But that is not what this is about. This is about financial freedom. And lately, when I take a frank look at it, it seems to me like I might be financially free sooner if I stay here a bit longer. And if I take my leave quickly, I feel like I'd just be trading one trap for another.

But it could just be that since it's summer, I've naively managed to let myself forget the harsh reality that is winter here. And it's also possible that I'm afraid of a big change, although I'm pretty sure I'd smack anyone besides me who dared suggest that to me. (just kidding)

So. There it is. That is the current struggle that rages through my head in my waking hours. I'm just not sure if my points are valid or if I'm trying to convince myself. And if I am, why?

Oh, and there is one more thing. And this is just straight up fear and also a bit weird. As I said, I'm comfortable living and being alone. I'm not looking to date anyone. I wouldn't mind finding someone to be with eventually though. But I'm so scared that if I DO stay here, I'll meet some guy and then (again) get stuck here forever. But I also keep thinking that it's at least possible that there might be someone within driving distance I could love. I mean, I'm here, right? And when these thoughts go through my mind, the voice up there says this: Get out now before it's too late!!

heh. Don't know what to do with all this but get it out there. :)

An Ode.

An Ode to Love Lost

A while ago, I met a man in a most unusual way
And while we had never met, we talked ‘most every day.
We spoke of politics, religion, philosophy and race:
The history of how things had come to be in this time and place.

I had forgotten what it was like to connect with someone so completely
Agree we did, and all the time, as we got to know each other deeply.
We spoke of gardens and travel and I soon came to know
The man whom I’d chosen as my mate would just have to go.

My mate was sweet and handy and he could fix most anything
If you allowed for do-overs, mess-ups and things tied up with string.
He wasn’t deep and didn’t care to speak of economics, politics or anything complicated
“Idiots all,” was how he dismissed it-all highly overrated.

I examined him and our home and world and came to finally see
That I would rather be alone than face the rest of life: him and me.
So I ended it, finally, with much angst and pain and consternation
Wasted energy it was as he replaced me instantly without an ounce of hesitation.

As for the other man, well, I suppose I got what I deserved
We finally met and although it was grand I should have been more reserved
For I was honest as always and soon learned that his desire
Was to get to know me better not to embrace the fire.

Why now does all this come up in this love lost ode?
I heard from each recently here in my humble abode.
The one has moved on and she and he really are quite swell.
The other, well he just says that he wishes for me well.

I’m lonely now, was lonely then, but it’s better to be alone
Than be lonely when you have someone ignoring you at home.
And as for my wish, yes, that too came to be.
“I’d rather be alone,” I said. I am. Yay me.

It worked!

Well, it seems like it worked. I created a blog to help me let go of my anger and I typed and typed and as I did the swirling anger in my mind coalesced into paragraphs that, once written, allowed it all to just be gone.

Now, when I walk my dogs or do my routine chores, my thoughts focus on other things than just him and our problems. I no longer stew over the past and what he said or did or how things could have gone. I focus on my upcoming trips, my job, watching that spotted dog's butt as she runs like a crazy beast... I focus on me, on the now. And that is all I wanted when I first came here. I'm a success! Yay me!!

He's still around though, and now has decided, which I have not discouraged because I'm not quite sure why I'm suppose to, that I am his confidante regarding his new relationship. I now know way more than I ever thought I would, or wanted to, know about him and his very young girlfriend. Not that I care how old she is. as if.

And we still share some tools, a lawnmower, stuff like that. So I see him. And do you know what? I feel bad for him; I pity him. He has no clarity, he has nowhere that he's going, no goals beyond getting a new job. This is not new. But now when I listen to him yak on about his upcoming job interview for a job in the city where his girlfriend lives and his relationship issues that are making him question if he should take this job and move, about how he would like to do this or that, get a new truck, etc. but can't afford to even pay his rent, about how he might actually move away from here while I remain, as it seems, trapped here, owned by my house, I think, Aw, poor guy... he got the new young girl and doesn't even know if he trusts her, doesn't know what to think, will always just be this poor, broke flounderer. And it makes me sad for him. But not sad enough to want to do anything but listen. And I do my very best not to laugh, for the most part.

I, on the other hand, have tried on a few goals and am still not sure what to do. Here's the deal, to sum it up:
I like to travel.
I am a good public speaker and trainer of adults who want to learn.
I have awesome organizational skills.
I am creative.
I would like very much to start my own business.
I think I'd be good at training... but of what or of whom?
Something with tribal colleges?
I don't know.

I am working to manifest a way to combine all my skills into some lucrative traveling job where I set my own schedule and get to live here in the summer and be in warm places in the winter.

I think I should get a master's degree, but do I really want or need an MBA? Does that even make sense for me?

I am pondering. For now, I take my class. I walk my dogs. I do my best to keep up at work and keep my pets warm and fed and happy. And I work on my life goals. I need to set a few goals or stop mocking those with none.

The ultimate irony, for now, is if I, as a result of my break-up, am unable to move whereas he is forced to. The opposite of the desires that drove us apart.

That's all I've got for now, but the last thing I have to say is that I may perhaps need to rename the blog and find a way to use it to help me think things out and make my plans and create my new life. Because it's not about him anymore. It's about me now.

I'm ready.

I have company coming this next week, so I spent this past weekend getting the guest room into shape. My ex and I, as you may recall, had been remodeling the house so the upstairs was in a bit of disarray. Our remodeling has been a series of steps that start with demolition (removal of all plaster and lathe), rewiring, replacing windows, sheetrocking, taping and mudding, texturing, painting and then finish work that might include such items as baseboards.

My upstairs consists of 4 rooms: A bathroom, the south room, the east room and the north room. The upstairs bathroom is done all the way up to painting while the south and east rooms have been textured. The north room, however, hasn't even seen any demolition yet, so it became a catch-all room for not only all the tools used throughout this process but also any large items that didn't seem to have a home anywhere else. My goal for the weekend was to turn the south room into the guest bedroom and to clear out the north room so that I could begin the demolition when I have some time.

I spent the morning moving clutter and tools and neatly lining them all up by genre: painting stuff here, drywall stuff there, etc. Then sweeping and mopping and moving the excess sheetrock to clean around it. I was a busy bee. Eventually, the north room came down to me, some sheet rock and the punching bag and its stand.

The punching bag and I have quite a history together and it all started when my ex's nephews came to live with us for a year. I noticed that they all seemed, as I imagine is pretty typical of teenage boys, to have some anger that needed to be worked out. Big Nephew played football but after football season, he seemed to take his aggressions out on Little Nephew since there were no longer opposing team players to hit. I got creative and suggested that we get them a punching bag, thinking that it might prove useful for me as well, both in working out aggression and in toning my arms. I'm always up for some arm toning.

When I suggested it, the ex said sure, that'd be a great idea, so I ordered the punching bag and some boxing gloves. They arrived and I relied on him, as I was wont to do, to hang it somewhere where we could all smack the crap out of it. He resisted, though, coming up with a reason why it couldn't go here, or there, or anywhere. There was talk of it going in the basement, but no. And how about in one of their rooms? Again, no. Well then, surely it can go in the garage. Astoundingly, this was met with a yes but then it was winter and the garage isn't heated so the punching bag was relegated to a closet for the time being to be dealt with later.

Well, qu'elle surprise, later came and went and the punching bag did not get hung. It is heavy, after all, I was told, it can't just hang anywhere. But surely it could hang somewhere? By then, of course, the nephews were gone and it was just me who still wanted to use it. I was pretty clueless as to how exactly to do that on my own and he, while paying lip service to understanding and promising to figure it out, had clearly blown it off as irrelevant.

And then one day, he came home from work with good news for me: "I've found someone who will take that punching bag off your hands for you!" he told me with obvious pride. Someone at his work wanted it, and he'd offered to give it to them since all it was doing at our house was taking up space. I put my foot down and told him that he could not give it away, that I really did want to have it hung somewhere and learn to use it. I was so annoyed but not surprised, as giving away things is both a virtue and a vice of my ex's generous personality. Just come by sometime in the summer and he'll be sure to give you some of the green beans I've grown, picked and cleaned from my garden. Even if he doesn't live here anymore.

In an interesting gesture designed to, perhaps, make peace on this issue, the Christmas after I didn't let him give away my punching bag, he bought me a stand for it. This signaled to me that he was never going to hang it but that I might now be able to find a way to use it. I was quite pleased to spend my day assembling the stand and hanging the bag from it, trying to figure out how exactly one uses the boxing gloves and punches the bag. I told a friend of mine at work about this whole deal and he suggested that I get wrist wraps, which I did and was promptly ridiculed for. Why on earth was I taking advice from that guy? What did he know? Typical dismissing of anything I found out on my own without his advice, but my work friend did use to box and my ex never did.

For a while, the bag and its stand were in the living room and I tried to figure out how it all worked but then it was deemed "in the way" and one day when I came home from work, it was gone. Moved to somewhere out of the way. Which meant, basically, disassembled and stored in the north upstairs room. Which is where it hung out until this weekend.

But it's all set up now and I'm thinking all I need now is a nice picture of my ex with his sweet young girlfriend to tape to the bag and I'll be all set.

Oh, and the guest room is ready too.

I've got a new rule now.

I'm the type of gal who has rules. Lots and lots of rules about different aspects of my life; most of the rules no one even knows about but me. Sometimes men, sometimes broken relationships, life experiences... sometimes these call for new rules that one can clearly see should have been in place sooner. Or rather, had the rule been in place sooner, this situation could have been avoided. Sorta like the NTSB.

This new rule has come about based on my ex's inability to comprehend when he reads. I knew he wasn't a reader before we got together in that I knew he was not a consumer of books and magazines. But I certainly figured he could read. We'd been together about a year and half when we decided to install a garage door opener. I didn't know it was a two person project so I was thinking he'd just do it by himself but when I went out to check on him after he'd been working for, oh, an hour or so, I could see that he was frustrated and things were not going well. "I don't see how this piece connects," he spit out when I asked how it was going. "Well," I asked innocently enough, "Where's the manual? What page are you on?" Clearly disgusted and seeing the act of reading the manual as a weakness, he had no idea. So I found it and started at the beginning and soon discovered that in one part he was totally ahead of himself and he had to undo this dealie and unhook that cable so as to hook this thingamig over the end of that part and he hadn't even used these black things yet, but they clearly needed to go on before you get to where he thought he was at.

So he dissassembled and I read the manual and showed him what came next and together we were a good team and we got that garage door opener installed!

Eventually we moved into a different home and in this home we experienced a series of unfortunate events that led to the installation of our second garage door opener.

It all started when he bought the snowmobile. He bought it for dirt cheap, used of course, but it worked! Well, pretty much anyway. I guess it would be more accurate to say it didn't take too much work to make it work. But he did the work. In the garage. And when he was finally all done with the work, he started it up to see if it was functional or not. But, see, he did that with the throttle full on and the good news was that it was fully functional! The bad news was that with the throttle full on, it just took off, on its own, and rammed into our garage door. SMACK!!

And so then we had a hole in the fiberglass. Turns out that our garage door was old enough that they no longer sell replacement panels for it. So he fixed it with duct tape. And it worked well enough and I parked my car in there in the winter and all was well, if not aesthetically pleasing.

Finally, though, that door's motor totally gave out and we reached a point where it had to be replaced. And it was just starting to be winter, too, so I was really needing to be able to put my car in there every night.

We had enough money due an unexpected windfall so we went shopping for a new garage door! Oh, joy, we were going to be so stylin' now. We bought the new door and a motor too. And brought it home. And you will not believe what I did. I said to myself, "Self, I don't feel like working in the cold, cold garage helping him install that door." And I did not. Ok, that's not quite exactly true. I started to help out and I had on warm clothes and everything. But all I was doing was standing there, reading the manual. I got very, very cold and very, very annoyed. Eventually I just left and went inside and took a hot shower and did other things. When I went out to check on him after a while, he was very, very annoyed. But not at me, of course, or even at himself. No, he was annoyed at the garage door opener. It didn't make any sense and it wasn't working out. "Hm," I said and I left to go do things in the house. Not necessarily the best attitude for one to take if one wants their car to be in the garage soon, but I had things to do besides just stand there and watch and read the book to him. Like, you know, be warm.

He did get it to work, sort of. I mean it worked. For a while. And then he decided that the problem was that the motor wasn't big enough. So he went out and bought a replacement motor. And again it worked, for a time. Now he has decided that the problem is that it needs another spring. The door came as a self contained unit, and it's designed to function with one spring. I'm not necessarily saying that it's designed correctly or that everyone else who bought this door got theirs to work with just one spring, but I am saying that when I went to the hardware store to buy the second spring, and showed the guy there my receipt for the door we'd bought, he said, "That door doesn't need two springs." He sold me one anyway because he could see it was going to get ugly if he didn't, but he really didn't want to. He also did not offer to come to my house and make it work, though.

Now, of course, there's another part I need if I want it to work, because the spring doesn't just install to itself, you know. It needs a winder. And I know that guy at the hardware store knew that too, and purposefully didn't tell me because of his insistence that my door didn't need a second spring and my insistence that I was buying one anyway. But this is not about that guy. No. It's about the other guy who also didn't tell me to buy the winder while I was picking up the spring.

So now here's my situation. It's July, so I can park outside and that's cool. But winter's coming. I have a garage door that won't open and an extra spring. I need a winder dealie but I have to go to the big city for that, and I will, I just don't go there often. Unlike my ex, who drives to and from the big city pretty much every weekend to see his new squeeze. I asked him if he'd just stop in to the store while he was there and pick one up since he knows exactly what to get and I don't and (der) this is his project and he needs to finish it. Ok, I didn't actually say that last part but he and I were both thinking it. He said he would do that but it's been weeks now and he hasn't so I guess he didn't mean it.

Saying you'll do things you don't mean to do and making promises you don't mean to keep are issues for another day but let's just say I'm not surprised and not even really disappointed anymore. Just frustrated. Why? Because buying this part will go just like buying the spring did, only worse, because I'll have to find a way to explain what I need to the guy and he'll need to explain to me why I don't need it and I'll have to be polite enough to get him to show me which part it is anyway while I endure his partronizig lecture on how my garage door "should" work. Being a bitch to him because I'm frustrated about this entire situation won't help anyone and it certainly won't help me find my part, will it? grr.

So anyway, as a result of all this, I have a new rule. And it is: In the future, I will not be the only person in the relationship who can read. Too harsh?

The Saga of the Boat

In this neck of the woods, there are two kinds of fishing. Summer fishing and ice fishing. Ice fishing is a pretty easy sport and although of course a person can spend plenty of money, tons of money, on gear and specialized equipment, on a nice day in January any yahoo can cross his fingers and drive his vehicle onto the lake, drill a couple holes and toss a line in.

Summer fishing consists of shore fishing, which, like ice fishing, any yahoo can do on a nice day, and boat fishing. Boat fishing requires a boat.

It seems at first, as you get acquainted with the sport, that a boat really isn't necessary to fish. What the heck, you ask, is wrong with doing what all those other guys right there are doing, standing on the shore? They seem to be catching fish. Now, let me just say right now that there is none of that fancy-ass fly fishing done around here, the kind where you see the guy in his waders, walking up a creek, constantly casting out and reeling in, over and over. We don't have those kind of fish in these waters. We're fishing for walleye, mostly, but also perch and crappies, not trout.

Now, you can catch walleye, perch and crappies from shore. It can be done. But it's usually done by elbowing into a space between two other guys, getting just enough room for your lawn chair, and trying to keep your line from crossing theirs. And that's after you find a place to park and schlep all your gear over. Unless of course you own some land along the shore of a lake. But even then, if you're fishing from shore, all your bait does once you cast it out is .... hang there. You've rigged your gear up so that it's dangling from your floating bobber, sure, so it's hanging there dangling, but it's hard to really even jig it when you're shore fishing.

Ice fishing is a jigging sport since you're standing right over your hole and you can interact with your line anytime you like, just give it a quick upward pull, real quick, makes your bait look more like... fish food I guess. And you can also jig from a boat. But from shore? Not really. Just a minnow laying there looking, well, less like fish food.

If you have a boat, you can escape the land-less rabble and go anywhere on the lake you like, although guys still seem to cluster if they think there's a spot where others are actually catching fish. And if you do spend a while trolling a lake only to find a really hot spot where the perch are just biting a mile a minute, with a boat you can anchor in that exact spot and just sit there and catch fish!

The point is, if you're going to be a "real" fisherman in these parts, you need to have a boat. If you don't, you're just some yahoo.

It all started when my brother decided to get married in Europe. Well, that's not quite true, it really started when my ex was a kid. He'd known ever since he was young that he needed to own a boat to better enjoy fishing. If there's one thing that man likes to do, it is fish. He could fish all day, every day and he'd be annoyed that he had to sleep. So, see, he knew he needed a boat long before we ever even met.

But it didn't look like it would really happen until I got my brother's wedding invitation. He was to be married in Europe and of course I couldn't miss that. I love to travel, I love Europe, my parents were going, couldn't miss my brother's wedding....I was so excited to go. I tried to talk my ex into coming along but he would have none of it. He had no passport, no money, no vacation time... why would he want to go?

Now here's the deal. I knew I could afford to go, but I felt guilty about it. This was, of course, back in the days when I was still very actively trying to think of us as a team. And the perverse part was, he didn't even want to go. And I was still consumed with guilt to spend that much just on me, no matter whose money it was. The obvious answer, of course, was to spend that much on him too, and make things even. So I bought him a boat.

It was a sweet 16 foot Lund with a 35 horse Johnson, perfect for fishing. It wasn't the kind of boat you're ever going to pull some kid with on his tube, but it can putt along nice and slow on all the lakes around here. Well, it can once you get a trolling motor. Yes, accoutrements were soon necessary and the ex fixed up the boat. He replaced the flooring and made all the lights work. And for a time, we were happy. He fished all the time and I went along sometimes. It was a good boat. And there is nothing as peaceful, really, as being out on the lake all alone in your little boat when the water's as smooth as glass and the sun's setting... it was good boat.

But then things changed and it started to look like a small boat. A simple boat. The boat, perhaps, of a poor person. I'm not sure exactly, but one day it was no longer good enough. It still worked just great but needed to be replaced with a faster, shinier, nicer boat that would hold more people and could even, perhaps, pull along teens in tubes! And guess what? He'd seen just the boat along the side of the road for sale. So he sold his boat and got a loan to buy a new boat.

Now this new boat was much larger and cost much more. He went to work right away on this boat, same as he had with the first boat, replacing the floors, recarpeting, making all the gadgets work, installing rod holders... customizing it and making it his. And pretty soon he took it out on the lake. And.... dang... the motor didn't quite work right. He barely got back to the boat dock without getting stranded on the lake! And that is when it began. He took it to the shop and they looked at it, charged him a pile of money and it still didn't run right. Or, I should say it ran ok, it just wouldn't idle. And then it wouldn't start back up again. He took it to the shop again. It was a frustrating series of events: they'd tinker with it, he'd take it out, it wouldn't idle right, he'd barely make it to the dock, he'd take it back to the shop, they'd tinker with it... over and over until one time he came home with the news that they now knew what was wrong with it. And he could have them fix it over the winter and it would be $1,500 or he could try to fix it himself or he could just sell it.

Since he couldn't afford to get it fixed and didn't really know how to tinker with it, he decided to put it up for sale, with the caveat that he'd tell who ever went to buy it what the deal was. That poor boat. I never did even get to go out in it. It didn't get to pull kids on tubes, it barely even got to go fishing. It didn't see happy groups of people, as was intended. Well a time or two it may have, but it was for sale more than anything. It sat on the lot but people really aren't that interested in buying a boat that needs work. Even if it is a deal, and it wasn't. The ex couldn't afford to sell it too cheap because he "had a lot into it," what with the outrageous purchase price and the new floors and all. At least he finally got the loan paid off, so then all he had to get if he sold it was a decent price, he didn't have to cover any debts.

Eventually he paid the boat shop guys more money to fix the motor, and it ended up being a lot less than they'd said it would be and he got it so it ran fine. He kept trying to sell it, though, which I thought was just bizarre. I mean, for a long time he'd made payments on this boat and then he'd paid a lot to fix it... use it already!! Wasn't that the point?

He found a buyer for it finally, just after we broke up. He got way less for it than he had insisted he "had" to get. But at that point, he needed the money because he owed me for the computer "we" gifted his son as a graduation present two months after we broke up and he had to find a place to live and stuff like that. And by "and stuff like that," apparently, I mean "buy a big screen tv," because that is what he did when he sold his boat. He sold it and bought a giant-ass big screen tv. He did not find a place to live, make a first and last month's payment, he did not pay me back for the kid's computer that he had insisted he would pay for. Eventually. And he didn't even pay down his visa. Nope. He bought himself a big screen tv.

And like everything, there's a funny twist at the end. He's gone now, living on his own in some house, paying rent like the rest of us do, with his big screen tv. But he now finds that he can't afford cable. So he has a big ass tv that he gets no reception for. I wonder what he'll sell it for? hm...

Dude, you're on your own.

I've always been independent and known that I was not getting married or having kids. Since I was six I've known that. And as I grew up I held nothing but disdain for the women I knew who were so dependent on men. Many people divorced in our small town in the 70's and as I watched all that go down all I could think was, if that ever happens to me, I will make sure ahead of time that I'm fine and you won't see me begging some lame ass to please send the child support or, heaven forbid, alimony!

Now that may seem a bit over the top, but meh, too bad, that's how I thought when I was young. Those attitudes are what helped shape me into the fiercely independent person I am today.

I grew older, went to college. Paid my own way through, dependent on no one but myself. And the kindness of the student loan program.

I had relationships after college but wasn't seeking out anything but equality and independence. Eventually I met my ex and tra la la, we moved in together. Or, should I say, he moved in with me. I owned my own house free and clear when he moved in, which wasn't saying that much since it only cost $7,000, but still. All the bills I had were my monthly utilities and stuff so of course when he moved in with me, it never even occurred to me to charge him rent or anything. I continued to pay the bills I'd always paid and, sigh, now the love of my life lived there too. What more could a gal ask for?

In keeping with my need for independence, which is possibly related to a lack of trust of anyone but me, we lived together but never had any joint accounts. He had his bills and I had mine. He had his checking account and I had mine. We did not discuss this arrangement, and it worked well for the most part. I learned, whenever I considered a joint account, that I did not trust him and I could not do it. I don't trust anyone with my money. I earned it and I'll spend it. grr. We had a joint savings account for a while but it never really had anymore than the required $50 in it.

We moved to Rapid for a bit, he and I, and after a few years of that, we bought this house and moved here. And by "we" I mean I bought this house and we moved in. I chose the house, I made the offer, I did the negotiating with the sellers, I found a way to finance it prior to selling the other house and I made all the monthly mortgage payments. It was that way here, in Rapid and in the first house, the one I owned when we met. I made the majority of all the payments: mortgage, water, sewer, electricity, heat, phone, tv, computer, insurance... you get the picture. But I didn't mind. I was in love and he had obligations. I understood.

When we first met his child support obligation was so totally unrealistically high, it was more than he made. He had the misfortune of having it get set while he was working 40 hours regular time and 40 hours overtime per week. So, sure, during the busy season, it made sense but the rest of the year it was robbery! The horribly high amount was reduced, eventually (thanks to me, the hero!). He also had a payment he made for his truck, and a cell phone payment and the insurance on his truck. So, see, it wasn't like he didn't contribute anything. He just didn't contribute anything to us. But, like I said, I understood. We spoke with breathless rhapsody of how one day, in the future, when his kids were both 18, there would come a day when he would no longer have to pay child support!! And then, then we'd be rich. There were good times a-comin'!!

The good deal about moving here was that although this house cost a bit more than $7,000, it was still relatively cheap so at first my mortgage payment was fairly low and I had a decent job so it was no problem for me to just pay for all the stuff like I always did. At least we had a truck to drive and, honestly? for real? At least he wasn't one of those dads who chose to not work so as to thwart his ex out of getting any help--his child support took up a chunk of his paycheck but it was important. I really did understand.

And then we decided that we should do some remodeling. So we tore some stuff up, bit off way more than we could chew and soon realized that if we were going to really do this project, we would need a lot more money, and in larger chunks than the small bits either of us had leftover after paying bills on payday. So we (I) refinanced the house. Got an appraisal done and it appraised for like twice what we'd paid for it. I ended up getting a lot of money to do things like pay down the VISA and buy a shitload of sheetrock. It upped my mortgage amount but with an interest rate at 4.5% fixed, my payment was still pretty low. So all was well for a while.

But then we needed more money. The VISA was back up there, again, (argh!) and we had decided to install a wood burning stove. We needed a large chunk of cash on hand to pay the plumber and, oh yeah, he needed a fancy snowblower and his kid needed $800 to buy a car. Hm. Ok. So I took out a 2nd mortgage against the equity of our house. It scared me a bit but was within my ability to pay. But I warned him that if "we" did this, I wouldn't have much leftover for groceries or other stuff. "Don't worry," he said, "My truck will soon be paid off and I'll send all that extra money to the 2nd mortgage. Plus!! All the money I make blowing snow I'll send off to that loan too." Wow. Sounded great to me and I could see a light at the end of the tunnel. If he'd really use his extra truck payment money to help, we could have the 2nd paid off in no time! Cool!

So winter came and there was snow to be blown but... there was always something else that the money had to go to. As usual, I understood. The snowblower did need gas, after all, and I could see how he needed some better boots to be out in that weather, and a guy needs to fish, doesn't he? But soon, I told myself, soon the truck will be paid off and then we'll see progress!

Well, eventually the truck did get paid off. And I was ready. I was just tired of never being able to budget any money for clothes or anything for me and ready for him to help me out a bit. And then one day I came home from work and he was all excited. "Guess what?!?" he said, "I bought a Harley!" I was in shock. I had no idea he was even shopping for a bike, a Harley. I just stared at him and twitched a little in my eye as I did the are-you-insane headshake, a mannerism I got from my dad.

The bike was beautiful. He found it from some guy on Craig's list and was to go down and pick it up the next day. I could have started a fight with him, reminded him of his promise to me. I could have tried to forbid it. I could have had any number of negative reactions but as I stood in dumbfounded amazement while he explained to me how this bike, even though it would require a monthly payment, would cost less than the truck had and with what he'd save in gas, this bike was going to save us money!! ... as I listened I had one thought in my mind and it was, "Dude, you're on your own."

I knew as he went on about his pretty blue bike that he would never help me out with any bills. He wasn't going to change now with the extra truck payment money and it'd be no different when his kids grew up and his child support obligation was finally over. I was on my own with anything I signed my name to and he was never going to help. I believe that was the day when I seriously started to shut down. I had had my doubts before that but that day, even though I really didn't know it at the time, was, in my heart, the beginning of the end.

I went to the bank the next day and had a heart to heart talk with the loan lady and, in the end, wrapped my car loan and the 2nd mortgage together. So me and this car? We're in it for the long haul. But at least now I can afford groceries.

Now I could go on and on about the bike, and all the money that got poured into this miracle tool that would save us money!! as he tried just getting it to run. I could talk about how short-sighted I find it to buy any kind of used motorized vehicle without warranties, test drives and mechanical inspections. About how much spark plugs were for it and how few miles it took to foul them out.... but it's not really about the bike, is it? The bike is loud and like every decent Harley, it roars when you rev it up. Seeing him in his sleeveless shirt with his do-rag on, so tan, on his Harley, yeah sure it was sexy. But I never once got to ride on it. I bet he hasn't even put more than 300 miles on it since he got it; he still doesn't even have a motorcycle license!

But this, I believe, is the best part to this story. So, we break up right? And he's still living here, a little short on cash, can't afford his own place just yet. I think by now it's clear that I am perhaps a bit more lenient and understanding than most would be. So he comes home one day, all proud! He has, he tells me, reduced his monthly payment on the bike, and that's a relief because he's got a lot going on, you know. I asked if he'd extended the pay off period by a couple years or what and he said that no, it wasn't that. Suddenly I'm all ears. How on earth does one reduce one's monthly payment without extending the payoff time? Do tell. Easy. He just has to make a balloon payment in a couple years or so. How much? He does not know. Did you catch that? He does not know. He has absolutely no idea what the actual terms are he's just agreed to, he's not sure when the balloon payment is due or how much it is, he just knows that for now his monthly payment is less, and really isn't that all that matters? And in my head, again, only this time, with huge relief and about him: Dude, you're on your own!

Bureaucracy. Learn how the world works, already.

The ex was by today and the good news is that as long as I deign it acceptable to give him some of the garden produce (more on that another day) he will continue to do the weed eating of my yard. Which, honestly I could give a shit about but I guess I can grudgingly agree that it does look better once he's done it. Even if it never got done, though, I think my yard looks pretty good. He did it and I said thanks.

But anyway, while he was here today he told me his usual story of woe. He was $100 short in paying his bills this week. Poor guy. And it was all because of that one unemployment check that those bastards at the state never sent. What a bunch of jerks. Can you imagine? They set up some rules and then, (gasp!) they actually expect you to follow them! What on earth??!!??

Now, I've avoided learning the rules in detail thus far but I promise you, hand to god, that if/when I should ever get laid off, heaven forbid, the first ding dang thing I will do is memorize the rules the unemployment people want me to follow in order to get a check from them. If they want me, on every third Thursday, to entertain their dog, call their mom and fill out form 594-F, I'll buy some balls, call mom and do a 594-F. I'll learn the rules and follow them. How hard can it be? Every blue collar person and their brother and their uncle knows how the system works and they work the system. Seems like alls a guy would have to do is listen to his friends and that might be enlightening in and of itself. In fact, the ex even said to me that the people at his work all said that they had to report that one week's worth of work and then call in and report when they didn't work that other week. But since he found that to be stupid, by god, he wasn't going to do it!! You reap what you sow, dumbass.

Now, see, if this were the first run-in he'd had with the unemployment folks, I might feel bad and in fact, when it all first started there was a brief second where I actually considered learning the rules just for him so I could help him apply for benefits on-line. I did help him get his user name and password all set up, heaven forbid he should have to actually deal with the complications of that. "I DID this part already!!" "Yeah, but it didn't accept it because, see there, the rules are that your password has to be 8 characters long and include a number." "Well that's stupid. I'm using this one." type type type (new password, 8 letters, no numbers, website rejection) "What the HELL?? I typed a new password. Goddam this machine!! It never gets anything right!" "Did you include a number in your password?" "What?"

But I got frustrated and thought to myself, self, his friends from work all know exactly how the system works. My frustration stems from 10 years worth of me having to handle everything. 10 years worth of me having to be the one who reads the instructions, the one who knows how computers work, the one who has to tell him how things are. But even back then when he first got laid off, I thought, you know what? I'm done with that... I didn't get laid off, why should I have to know all this? His friends know how it works, let them educate him. Except, of course, he did not believe them and found what they told him to be "stupid." And hence, did not apply for unemployment during the correct week, back in November, when the layoffs first started. When he did finally call to apply, the lady on the phone told him that he was suppose to apply the previous week and he made up some lame explanation of why he hadn't, which he proceeded to contradict within three minutes. She did not buy it and all his work friends started getting unemployment payments right away, while his did not kick in for weeks. This was long after I'd decided that I was on my own financially, so while it didn't affect me or my bills/debts directly, I did have to listen to him rant about what a poorly run system it was and how "stupid" the people and the system are.

And so, you see, he's got a history of this. Everyone, it seems, is out to get him. It's very complicated, after all, this system of technology whereby you call on the phone and beep beep beep enter all your information. Fuck up one number and the lady might think you're trying to fraud the system. Which is stupid anyway. Damn bureaucracy. He's a victim of stupidity, that's for sure. Just try to figure out whose.