New Notebooks

More random thoughts today just for fun, this week I've felt almost like a woman obsessed and I want to keep blogging.  But I don't really have anything deep and dark on my mind worth sharing right now.  Although I haven't mentioned it this week, I hurt my back on Monday, doing some housework.  Normally something like that lasts a day or so, but here it is Friday and I can still barely move.  I've tried everything- heat, drugs, stretching- nothing has helped.  So maybe that's why I've been sitting in front of the computer so much this week.  Yes, I have a laptop, but I never ever use it- I always use the desktop in J's office.  Maybe when the seasons change and I feel the need to be outside more, I'll tote the laptop with me.

I wanted to also post photos of some of my pottery jewelry I have listed on Etsy.  I know if I want to keep the blog anonymous, I can't exactly put a link in here for my shop and my real name, but you know if you happen to stumble across my work, well.....just don't let me know.  Not like I'm revealing anything incriminating on this blog, just private enough that I don't want any of my real world peeps to find it.  Here are a few of my hand-formed beads, some buttons, and a couple of my favorite bracelet pieces.  As I've said before, I don't know how to make jewelry or sew, but I would think most folks out there who DO make jewelry, don't make their own beads and charms and pendants and such.  So I'm hoping to tap into the jewelry-making and sewing crowd.  I see some Etsy shops on there with five to eight thousand sales, all beads and handmade jewelry "supplies" like what I'm doing.  I guess I'm going to have to throw around some cha-ching to advertise and get my listings front and center.  Taken on their own my pieces look nice, but when it's just one little photo on an entire page of similar photos from everyone else, my work doesn't really stand out.  There are a ton of talented artists on Etsy.

We are leaving this afternoon and headed over to New Orleans for the next five days.  Just a very spontaneous extra-long holiday weekend, since the hubby has some time off coming to him.  New Orleans is close enough that we can drive it in one day, but far enough away that we don't get to go over there too often.  I can't wait, there is always so much to see and do there.  I love walkable cities, and New Orleans tops the list.  The last time we went, our car never left the hotel garage the entire time, we never needed it to get around.  I know, you're thinking, damn you just got back from Canada a few weeks ago.  Yep and we still have two or three more trips planned for the rest of this year.  I am fortunate that I have a hubby who loves to do and go and see as much as I do.  But after New Orleans, I'll have to settle in and stay put for awhile, to recover from my surgery.  I think we have a weekend to the mountains planned for late September, but I should be up to traveling by then.

I am looking forward to the big flea market in New Orleans, and especially all the crafts and artists who set up.  Wow, I wish I lived near an area that could support a local artist that way.  We do have a once a month street fair on the square in our downtown, but it's nothing too special.  There are two other potters who set up there, what I call "real" potters because they make bowls and mugs and such, on the wheel.  Something I don't do.  But in New Orleans?  Man that would be awesome!  So I am really hoping my back starts to feel better soon, because we'll probably go to the market and walk around on Sunday.  Right now, I'm not exactly up to it.  J wanted to cancel the trip, I said hell no!!!!

I'm going to take my alone time in New Orleans- that would be at night when J is down in the casino- to figure out how I want to end 2013 and start off 2014.  Yep, it's only August, I realize that.  And I know it probably seems incredibly anal to be worrying about the next year, when summer isn't even over from this year.  But I know that 2013 will be over with a blink of an eye.  New Orleans, then my surgery and recovery.  Then J and I have the trip to the mountains, then a trip back to his hometown.  October my parents will come for a long visit, and hopefully this time my dad won't end up in the hospital on the first day. November we'll be going on a cruise, then a very long road trip for multiple Thanksgiving visits.  My folks always come for another long visit for Christmas.  We have a couple of other mountain weekend trips later in the fall, and J has talked about going to Reno in December but I'm not sure we can squeeze that one in as much as I'd like to go.  So there, most of the rest of 2013 is already planned out and my time is spoken for.

I've already got a nice recycled notebook packed up in my suitcase, and I'll spend the next few evenings ruminating on how I want to take my life to the next level.  2013 has so far been a lot of floundering around in the shallow end, but now I'm ready to take the floaties off and swim forward into the ocean, especially with my art.  It's already too late in the year to try and think about doing fall or winter festivals, I don't have enough pieces made to fill up a table much less a pricey booth.  I haven't yet thought about my art as a real "business", just something fun to do while I'm waiting on the clothes to come out of the dryer.  No one is going to take me seriously or consider me a real business, unless I do first.  Yes, it's great to get a lot of "likes" on my Facebook page, but those are friends and family, and I love them but they don't really count!  And more than that, they aren't buying anything.

I know it sounds cliche, but I get all my great ideas at night while I'm trying to fall asleep.  And I don't keep pen and paper close at hand.  I've actually forgotten things by the next morning, and try as I might, can't come up with the vision by the following day.  I know, that's sad, that's what happens when you get old.  If I don't write notes as soon as I think of something, it's gone from my brain, never to be seen again.

In order to kick this art thing into high gear, I've got a lot to tackle.  Everything from the way my desk and studio are organized, to reordering new business cards with my Etsy link, gathering up a list of all the local street fairs (and there are a ton of them around here), and most of all focusing more of my attention and dedication to it.  I won't get anywhere just spending an hour a day on this, I've got to treat it like a job, a business, a future.  Yes, it's an extremely fun hobby and one I've wanted to pursue for a very long time.  So here I am now, finally with the time to do it right, and I'd rather not fail at this stage in my life.  This is something I can keep on doing well into my senior years.  J said if I go back to work, it has to be something I want to do and something that will be fun and that I will love.  I think all those key points fit my art.

Well off to the Big Easy, and as much as I'm looking forward to all the sights and sounds (and food!!!!), most of all I'm going to enjoy the time spent with the hubby.  And as always, I will just soak in stepping outside of my life for a moment or two.  Because when we get back, I will only have six days to get my house and my life in order before my surgery, and I'll be down and out for a long time after that.  But I'll post next week before my right hand gets stuck in a cast.

Have a safe and happy holiday weekend!

MISS GEE

No Place Like It

Wow I am struggling today.  I can always tell as soon as the alarm goes off in the morning, what the entire rest of my day will be like.  I have mornings where I hop right out of bed.  I have mornings where I get up, begrudgingly.  And I have mornings like today where I can barely wake up, and J says just stay in bed for awhile honey.  But I never do.  I am afraid if I continued to lay there, 6am would suddenly turn into noon very quickly.  No one would care but me, J won't be home until 7:30pm at the earliest.  I could go back to bed every morning and frankly, J would never know the difference.  I could nap every day and not a soul would realize it.  But I don't.  Some days a migraine will be bad enough that I have to just stretch out on the couch in the basement for a short while, and submit to the darkness and the hum of the fan blowing on me.  But today it was more mental than physical.  It was just one of those mornings where I closed my eyes and listened to J in the shower, thinking to myself, why do I bother?

I go through it more often on Mondays than any other day.  I think Mondays are just emotionally a letdown. I've had uninterrupted time spent with my husband, and Monday morning is the first time I have to face the empty and quiet house.  I simply do not know how much longer I can stay at home.  I don't mean because of finances, or that I will "have" to go back to work.  I mean, I don't know how many more weeks or months I can remain sane being alone in the house day after day after day.  I know I'm not a voracious social butterfly, but lately NO socialization has been getting me down.  Or maybe it's just that I rarely leave the house except for the errands in town I mentioned in my previous post.  I don't know what it is.  It's been four months now since I left my job, and my only accomplishments have been losing 30 pounds (many more to go), keeping the house relatively cleaner than when I worked full time, and getting my pottery listed- but not selling- online.  That's pretty much it.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm complaining about, there's a lot of folks out there who wish they didn't have to work at shitty jobs, dealing with assholes, for little money.  I'm sure the person who took the job I vacated is thankful for my decision to leave it.  Lots of people would love to be in my situation, and so for right now, I'm going to assume my attitude today is just a momentary UFO (Unintended Freak Out) on my radar.  I'm not certain what I expected to do in just 1/3 of a year, and all of it under the cloud of crappy health.  I really have no obstacles in my way, to do anything I want to do.  J said I could take college courses if I want to- we have a small college campus here and I only have an obsolete AS degree from 25 years ago.  He said I can sign up for art classes or a pottery workshop. He tells me to go to the farmers markets, the coffee shops, the hiking trails, the craft supply stores, to join the gym.  He tells me to finish my almost-completed novel.  He said I can go do anything I want to do.  The things he said I can't do- sit around the house and mope and get depressed and do "nothing".  I feel like I'm spending at least half my day every day in that mode.  And I feel like many of my posts here are just repetition about me spinning my wheels, along with a mighty dose of self-pity.  Blah.

My current daily routine is still getting up at the same time I always did, 5:30am.  I get J ready to go off to work- make him coffee, breakfast, pack him up a bottle of tea and some snacks, sometimes even leftovers for lunch.  I sit and have my coffee, skim through the newspaper after he leaves at 6:30.  The rest of the day is a mixed bouquet of light chores around the house or yardwork when I'm up to it, fighting off spiderwebs while I'm on the treadmill down in the basement, spending a little time throughout the day online, working upstairs in my art studio.  And every once in awhile relaxing in my favorite space in the entire house- the big chair in the corner of our bedroom, where I sit to read my 50-cent used paperbacks and usually with a cat in my lap.

The TV stays off- I may turn it on really late in the day just as background noise while I'm in the kitchen, but I never sit down and watch it.  I don't even have a radio on or my iPod playing.  Come autumn, I will be able to open all the windows in the house- and trust me I always do- so the house will be filled with birdsong.  Right now it's simply quiet.   But I like peace and quiet these days, I left a job that was so noisy I couldn't hear myself think most of the time.  In the afternoons, around four or five, I start to get dinner ready.  J always calls me when he leaves work, which is normally near or after 7pm- and I know I have precisely 25 minutes before he gets home, so I can put whatever in the oven or heat up something on the stove. Since I have the extra prep time now, I'm actually starting to become a (slightly) better cook.  I recently made a sweet potato pie from scratch for the first time, and he swears it was the best he's ever had.

That is pretty much how my every day goes, except for the one or two afternoons where I go into town.  So you can see I have a very easy, very stress-free life these days.  I have about 13 completely open hours every day to do exactly what I want to do.  I'm surprised at how busy I stay, and even more surprised at how quickly the hours fly by.  Yet at the end of each day I think, what did I do with myself today?  And instead I always seem to focus on what I didn't do or what I meant to do.  J would say I'm not being fair to myself, and I'm not giving myself enough credit.  But sometimes I worry if he comes home and also wonders what I did all day long, and do his eyes land on the rugs I didn't vacuum or the bathroom counters I didn't wipe down, instead of noticing the two loads of laundry I did.  I confess with embarrassment that sometimes, sitting at the dinner table, I actually feel compelled to tell him I cleaned the litter boxes or washed all the towels, like a kindergartner vying for his favorite teacher's attention and approval.  See, looky what I did today!

I understand I can't clean every single surface in this house, every single day.  And hell, I don't want to, that's not why we decided that I would quit my job.  J is more than patient with my physical limitations, and I think for the most part he's still very happy with me being at home.  I also think it's a little bit of an ego trip for him, that he makes a good enough living that his wife doesn't have to work outside the home.  But I think he's less aware of my true mental limitations, he thinks I just get "blue" sometimes.  His response to my depression is for me to shake it off, to go outside for a walk, to busy myself with organizing the basement, to take more supplements from the health food store.  They are, of course, all good suggestions but not really the right answers.

I love him, and I love that he loves me so much.  But he's a strong man who always pushes through whatever is going on in his life because he feels he has to, be it at work or his health or personal relationships.  He's rarely down, he never loses his focus, and he's always tough.  So while he's always patient and tender with me, I sometimes think he doesn't understand the real depths of my torments and doubts.  And because he's so strong, I sometimes think his strength feeds my weakness- I know no matter what, it will all be okay because he's there to prop me up when I start to tilt dangerously to one side.  I know I don't have to fight so hard because J is there to do my fighting for me.  I know I don't have to find more energy, because he is there to pick up my slack.  He likes to tell me with a smile I am very spoiled, but he knows he's the one doing all the spoiling.  If I'm a princess, it's because he sees me that way.

I'm not sure what all this has to do with me staying at home, as always I seem to have gotten off track with my train of thought.  And my posts keep getting way too long.  And look, I started this Monday morning but didn't finish it until Tuesday afternoon.....  Wow, aren't you all tired of reading me yet??

MISS GEE

(Me on a happier day- but not at home)

With Or Without

Oh a rare weekend post!

It's one of those occasions where I had to let J go off and be a guy instead of being attached to my hip.  I haven't seen him since he left for work Friday morning. After work he hooked up with his best buddy, and they headed out of town.  There is a casino and hotel about three hours away in another state, that J and I have been going to since our dating days.  I don't gamble- I just usually relax in the hotel room or take walks alongside the river, or grab a book and a chair on the patio so I can enjoy the cool evening mountain air.  We go several times a year, just quick weekend getaways.  We have a trip planned there next month.  

But every once in awhile, J likes to go with his best friend instead.  I know being with your wife is a beautiful thing, but guy time is important too and I don't take that away from him.  He just called and he is getting ready to play in a Saturday morning poker tournament, so it will be late this afternoon or early evening before I see him.  I don't mind J playing cards or craps, because first and foremost he is a responsible husband and provider.  He's also very good at both poker and blackjack, and he doesn't lose money, so I don't worry.  When J and I go up, we make a wonderful weekend out of it, stopping to take photos of waterfalls (above) or strolling main street in a quaint mountain town.  When J goes with his buddy, it's straight to the casino for cards and a little sleep, nothing else.

On a normal weekday, I have my set schedule and routine around the house.  But these once in a blue moon Friday nights home alone, I don't have to get dinner ready or watch the clock or wait for the phone call saying, I'm on my way home from the office.  I was very tempted to head out myself last night, but Friday morning I was gone from the house for several hours running a whole list of errands- the dry cleaners, splurging on new craft supplies, using up Kohl's cash, returning an item to Lowe's, groceries at Publix, meds at CVS, picking up toilet paper and ketchup in bulk from the warehouse store.  Exciting stuff. So once I got back home I instead settled in for a marathon of a favorite TV show, got into jammies early, and had a bowl of cereal for dinner- the good sugary kid stuff with marshmallows, not the responsible adult fiber overload.  Yes, I live on the edge.  

I am debating on what I want to do today, I honestly do not feel like sitting at home, although I do have several pottery projects I'm in the middle of readying for the kiln.  It's another gloomy, misty day out again, I feel as though I'm waiting on a Biblical plague to befall us here.  It might as well be the end of the world, instead of just the weekend, the daylong darkness is just eerie.  I could just go shoe shopping and out to lunch, and don't get me wrong- a new pair of black sandals and an Original at Schlotsky's sounds like a winner.  But I don't know.

I really want to go to our regular Saturday night auction, but J said he can't guarantee he'll be back in time to get us down there.  I have been to dozens and dozens of auctions with J over the years- an auction was one of our first dates and J bought me a beautiful framed original chalk painting of a horse, which hangs next to our bed today.  Auctions do not intimidate me, I understand the process and all the lingo.  I know how to follow the auctioneer's calls, I know all the rules of bidding, and since J has a tendency to wander around and look at things while we're there, I also know how to bid for myself.  But I've never ever been to an auction completely by myself.  It's not too far of a drive, perhaps 30 minutes straight down the interstate.  And it's the same folks at every auction- the type of people who you don't know them by name, but you sit and talk with them anyhow.

Most of the time, I don't care if we go to the auction or not.  But this particular weekend, they have an item listed that I really do want very much.  One of the oddities I collect is old wooden butter molds.  I actually use them for my pottery, finding them mostly on eBay.  I take a chunk of clay, press and pound the butter mold down into it, and square it up on all sides.  When I release the mold, I have a perfect tile with the relief of the image from the butter mold.  (I'm trying to convince J to learn to make frames for my tiles.)  The butter mold at the auction tonight is a nice one, large, and the image is unique and one I haven't seen yet- a maiden sitting on a stool with a bucket, milking a cow.  I think the size and subject matter alone will make a wonderful tile.  

I really want it.  I told J about it, but he almost cancelled his trip because of it, so he could take me.  That is not something I wanted him to do, and I don't want to put pressure on him to try and be home today at a certain time.  Going to an auction, is not a sure thing- I get outbid on items all the time and leave disappointed.  I put a maximum bid in my head before the auctioneer ever gets to an item, and I stick to it. At an auction, it's very easy to let your emotions and the excitement get the best of you- J does it all the time- and you keep going long after you should have put your paddle down.  If I say to myself, I won't pay more than $20 for that, then I don't let myself end up paying $35.  For J, and I think for lots of guys, auctions end up being more about competition with the other bidders and "winning", and less about the actual worth of the item.  I have watched men- and J- let their ego get in the way many times.  But, it's cute to see them turn into 10-year-olds, trying to be the guy who gets to leave with those old baseball cards or that new still-in-the-box power tool.

So this morning I have to decide, if J isn't back home in time, will I go to the auction without him?  We go to auctions first and foremost, because we have fun and it's an evening out together.  So is an auction even something I want to do alone?  I want this mold, but no more than I want those black sandals I saw in the store's ad.  I would drive to the store by myself, shop by myself, buy those shoes by myself, and even have a nice meal out by myself.  Why wouldn't I go to the auction by myself??  I think I'm attaching too much sentimental value to the decision.  Shoe shopping is one thing, but auctions have always meant date night with my hubby.  To go to one without him, would seem weird and almost sad.  But to say it like that, I feel weird.

I used to have a very active social life outside of our marriage, before we moved here.  I had a regular Tuesday night pottery class, I had standing dinner dates and Saturday morning coffee with two sets of girlfriends.  I used to go down to the lake to read or hike.  I had a weekly support group and meetings to attend.  J would golf with friends, he was on a bowling team and in a pool league.  But not having those friendships here, I've become very dependent on J as my partner for all my social outlets.  For the most part, J also usually wants to spend his free time with me, too.  We rarely go off to do something fun without each other.  I do still go to my weekly support meetings, but that's one hour a week, and we all go our separate ways afterwards.  But does going out and going off alone, count as socializing?  Or do I just look at attending the auction as another form of shopping!

I think if I do decide to go to the auction by myself, I would shock J.  I think he doesn't believe I would do it, at the last minute I would say, eh I don't care about going.  He could potentially be home in time- if he gets knocked out of the poker tournament in an hour or two, he'll be back in time to change clothes and hit the road with me.  But, when 4pm rolls around and he's not home yet, do I head out the door on my own adventure?  If I wanted to go to Target, the answer would be a no-brainer.  But auctions are long tedious affairs, and I may not get home until 10pm or later.  Do I use this opportunity to show J that he doesn't have to worry about me, that I can still go have my own fun while he enjoys doing what he wants to do? Would he worry about me the whole time, or would he be happy to see me taking control for a change, and not waiting on him?  If I decide not to go on my own, will that make him feel guilty that he had a guys' weekend out instead of staying at home to go do what his wife wanted to do?  J is always encouraging me to go off and do whatever strikes my fancy, to undertake any new venture or class, and I know he is very sincere about it.

I see women at these auctions alone all the time, notebooks in hand.  Most of them are decorators or buyers, or dealers with their own shops, so I know their attendance is a routine business function.  Do I want to go to this auction to buy this particular item, or is it more about making a personal statement about my independence? And why am I- a grown woman- even putting so much importance on this one decision, on this one Saturday night?  Can't I just go or not go? Geez.

MISS GEE

(My favorite spot along the river at the casino, to sit and reflect on life)

When I Grow Up

Did you think I was being overly dramatic on my last post?  Here we are again, another dark and gloomy day, the foggy view from my front porch today. Seattle? Portland?  Hardly. This is not what you expect, day after day, in the sunny and bright summers of the south.  And I must not be the only one feeling the side effects as yesterday the front page of the newspaper's metro section read:

Remember the sun? (We didn’t think so)

Rainy nights (and days) are getting us down. 

I have no energy this week, and my dear sweet husband this morning proclaimed that I need to start taking more vitamins.  I love him, for the depth of his care and concern.  I tried to tell him, right now it's more mental than physical.  I am still getting on the treadmill every day, the way I promised.  Yesterday I managed to somewhat clean the kitchen up, and although it took me the entire day, I did vacuum- always my biggest challenge physically.  But the chores still take everything out of me.  He said perhaps I will feel better after my upcoming surgery.  And perhaps I will.  I've had this issue with my hand and wrist, since January of this year, and I've just been going in for the quick fixes of cortisone shots and having the fluid drained.  But none of that is working anymore.  Even wearing my big clunky wrist brace, which gets in the way of practically every damn thing I want to do, has not given me any relief.

This morning I couldn't even lift up the coffee pot with my right hand, because of the pain, and even though the pain is localized to such a small area- I am right-handed and day after day, hour after hour of not being able to function in a normal manner is draining.  Mentally.  And when my brain starts to shut down, it drags my body down along with it.  The unrelated medications- which  I can't say are "new" anymore as I've been on most of them since my hospital stay in April- still make me sick on some days.  Yesterday was one of those days, and today I'm hoping for a better outcome.  I will soon go back to the doctor for another round of what is turning into monthly visits for blood work- with each outcome I seem to end up on more meds.  This has been one of my worst years for medical bills, and with me not working now, it really makes me feel guilty.  Some numbers are getting better- my liver, my white blood cell count- while some numbers are not- my blood pressure, my triglycerides.

I have posted before about not having (or wanting) children.  The way I've felt the last few weeks, really magnifies all the reasons why that's been a good decision.  I can barely take care of myself right now, some days I don't even make it to the shower until late in the afternoon, and that's only because J will be home soon.  If he wasn't going to be around me, I have those times when I wouldn't care if I was bathed or not.  That is sad, I know.  I can't imagine having little ones that depend on me.  Oh, the cats are pretty self-sufficient.  Food, water, a clean litter box.  I have to break up fights now and again, and dispense treats from a vintage cookie jar. But mostly they just sleep in their favorite spots around the house or chase the occasional fly that finds its way inside.  Children?  I don't even think I could handle taking care of a dog right now.

I think not having children has allowed J and I to be a little more young at heart than our peers.  Most people, no matter how hard I try to convince them, simply do not believe that J and I are both going to be 47 shortly.  47 sounds too close to 50, and 50 just sounds old.  Most people think we are still in our early or mid-thirties, which I find flattering.  Someone told me the other day that we are the "cutest" couple she's ever met.  I don't know if we really look that young, or if it's more the way we act.  We've been very carefree in our ten years together, and we enjoy being silly and goofy, we like having fun because we are free to have fun.  Not to say that couples with children don't have fun, that would be an uneducated statement on my part.  People always ask us, so where are you guys off to this weekend?  It's true, we don't stay at home.  We don't party, but we don't melt into the couch on our days off and just stay there.  And I find that on the weekends, when I'm with J, my energy level is up and my pain becomes just a forgotten background nuisance.  I guess when I'm home alone with it, I focus on it more than I should, and it's easy to fall into that trap of woe is me and fixate on the things I can't do right now.  J told me last night, I've got to shake myself out of it.

In all honesty, I've never really had to be responsible for anyone else, and sometimes I don't even think I'm responsible for myself.  Sometimes I think not having children has left me feeling and looking younger, but has stunted my growth as an adult.  Sure, I take care of J.  I feed him when he's hungry, I make sure he has clean clothes, I get him an extra blanket for the bed when he's cold.  But those are the things he was doing for himself before he met me, and he could do them for himself now if I wasn't around.  I love and comfort him, but that's not the same as being responsible for him.  He can function fine without me if he had to.  I think about my sister- younger by two years yet everyone thinks she's older than me by at least five years.  She's beautiful, but she always has this tired and worn look, the super mom who does everything for everyone.  Two sons, big house, dog, husband, tough job, social and community commitments.  I used to think she looked older than me because having children had aged her, but lately I'm starting to realize that she just "seems" older because in many ways she's so much more mature than I am.  She has to be.  And I don't and never have, and especially now that I don't even go into an office every day.

I worry that over time, J is going to become bored with me, not having anything exciting to talk about at the dinner table at night.  It used to be, all I did was bitch about work and my boss, and I know that really exhausted him to listen to that.  At least now our evening conversations are more pleasant, and I'm not angry every time he sees me.  I know he loves me unconditionally, but I have fears- unfounded I'm sure- that if I don't have my own life away from him, he will start to see me as the pale ghost of a woman, he will see me as the suburban housewife and nothing more.  How many times will he want to ask me what I did that day, and have me answer that I cleaned the toilets and took out the garbage, and those were the honest to god highlights of my entire day.  Last night I mentioned that after I recover from my surgery in a few months, it might be time for me to go look for another job.  I don't think he really wants me to do that either, he wants me to find a way to be happy and have a fulfilling life here at home.  He cautioned that if I did find a job, he wants it to be something that will be fun, something that I want to do.  He said there is zero pressure for me to just take any ol' job out there, financially I don't need to.

I've only been at home for less than four months now, and I'm not really sure that I have the right to stay at home.  I know, that sounds stupid.  But I don't have children to take care of, I don't have an at-home-business to run (especially if my art never sells online).  I'm not at home baking bread and canning vegetables and raising goats.  I didn't get fired, I voluntarily left a $50,000 a year job I'd been at for 11 years.  I'm not really old enough to "retire".  So what makes it okay for me to say, I choose to stay at home. 

Is that really what a responsible adult would do?

MISS GEE

Rolling Along

A good morning for blogging about miscellaneous stuff, although I have no real deep subject in mind.

I am trapped at home waiting on the four-hour-delivery-window of our new bedroom furniture.  Finally!  We've been using my old bedroom set from my brief single days between marriages, and a really cheap mattress J and I hastily bought just days before our wedding, none of which has held up very well.  I never had a true bed, just a headboard attached to an old metal frame that used to be on my parents' bed many decades ago.  The old furniture was relegated to the basement over the weekend until I decide what to do with it.  I have ideas swirling around in my head about repainting and repurposing it all, since one day we will finish the basement and have bedrooms down there.  The "one day" is a running joke with my hubby- we've been in this house almost five years now, and we both know the one day will probably never come, although we talk about finishing the basement at least once a week. We both love the idea of a basement we can use for something other than storing Christmas decorations and boxes of old books.  But our basement is 2500 square feet and to finish it off, well, the prohibitive cost overshadows any of our plans.  The new debt would not be worth it.  About half of the homes in our neighborhood have basements, but as far as we know only one has a finished one.  The rest are like ours, nothing but concrete floors and studs.

The photos here are of my sister-in-law's property, and the view from her back porch which I never tire of.  She lives the country lifestyle that I've always envied.  They have horses and goats, chickens and pigs, a cow.  All are well-loved pets.  She's been a vegetarian for nearly 30 years now, she drinks raw milk and picks berries for homemade pies.  She keeps a cozy home for her family, an old house with warmth and character, and filled with only meaningful treasured items.  She grows her own herbs and concocts her own medicinal teas and feel-good remedies.  Her healthy diet and working in her beloved garden, keep her naturally lean and calm.  I think about how much time I have to force myself to sweat on the treadmill just to try and squeeze off one or two pounds, then beat myself up when I eat a greasy hamburger.

Most days I wish that J and I could live a more simple life, without the bills, without the expensive vacations and hobbies, without all the material things that tie us down, especially this house.  I know, it's not a wish, it's a choice, one that's in our power to make.  J wouldn't have to work 70 hours a week at a job that is killing him, I wouldn't have to spend so much of my newfound freedom at home cleaning. Last night at 9:30 I was dusting and I thought to myself, wow, I know it needs to be done but this sucks.  And last night, after going in at 6:30 in the morning, J didn't get home from work until well after 8:00.  The first thing he said coming through the door was, I hate my job.  Yet over the weekend we went to an antique show and bought things neither of us really needed.  And that's why J is stuck in his unhappiness.  Because we let our momentary wants override our common sense. We know we need to stop it, yet we'll both be online later this week trying to find an auction to go to on Saturday.

I am still making my pottery and I have over 70 pieces now listed in my Etsy shop. I get a lot of likes and a lot of admirers, but no sales, which has me a bit in the dumps.  J said eventually I'll get discovered and I won't be able to keep up with the orders, and he is sweet for trying to support me and give me an ego boost. But I am getting a tad bored with putting all my creative energy into something that amounts to nothing more than pretty pictures sitting there online.  I may go back to painting for awhile, later in the year.  My wrist surgery is in three weeks, and afterwards I'll be in a brace 24/7 for at least two weeks.  The doctor said for a 100% total recovery, it will be 2-3 months where I can't pick up or pull at anything using my right hand.  But lately I have days where I can't even hold a pen and write, so not having the surgery isn't really an option.  It's going to make for a long next few months, and whatever pottery I have listed on Etsy as of next week, will be all that I'm going to make for awhile.  Maybe I'll have a better business plan ready for 2014.  I also know I need to brush up on some of my skills and perhaps branch out to new endeavors, like making jewelry or upcycling small items.

I have my melancholy days like today, where I just overthink every little thing.  I waver between loving my life with J just the way it is, all the wonderful places we go and the things we do together, but wishing we could just slow down.  Perhaps it's the weather, this has been our rainiest summer ever, and we even hit a record low last week- 65 as a high one afternoon.  August, in the Deep South!  It's been gloomy on most every single day this summer, I mean thick gray cloudy skies from morning until night, yet the humidity is as unappealing as ever and keeps me indoors.  I feel as though I've spent the whole summer with all the lamps on just to chase away the darkness at noon. We haven't seen any of our normal sunny 90's at all.  And it makes me yearn for my upcoming favorite seasons, fall and winter.  It makes me wonder about a life in another place- Oregon or Maine.  As always, my head is out of the moment that's right before me and drifting off to somewhere else.  I think not being able to focus on the here and now, is the cause of much of my depression.  I dream that things would be better if, if, if....instead of realizing that things are pretty damn good.  Here.  Now.

I know having land and animals is hard work in its own way, but I have to think that spending an early autumn afternoon cleaning out your own barn or grooming a horse and gathering eggs, is hands down more satisfying and less stressful than meetings with cold corporate honchos and trying to make impossible deadlines and just the constant pressure from others.  If I could trade in everything we own and pay off everything we owe, I would swap it all for the quiet rolling hills and the misty morning sunshine, to be shared with J.

MISS GEE

It Ended On A Happy Note

So to continue with the story, 2003 was my super big year of change.  And even though 2003 was a shitty time between the ex and I, it was still a positive turning point in my life.  As painful and hard as 2003 was, it ended on a high note.  Not only did I make that long overdue decision to get out of my poisonous first marriage, the end of 2003 propelled me towards the happier future that is my life now.

Before 2003, I'd always been the dutiful wife, taking all the verbal abuse, trying to never rock the boat.  I never complained for the most part.  I picked up dirty clothes strewn all over the house and picked up dirty dishes left on the bedroom nightstand.  I dumped out overflowing ashtrays and collected empty scattered beer bottles.  My ex was filthy and had grosser habits that I can't even talk about.  It was exhausting cleaning up after him.  It was particularly tiring when I was working two jobs to try and keep us afloat, while he was going through his period of "trying to figure out" what he wanted to do in life.  Over the years, I grew more weary and became resigned to my destiny as his maid and cook.  I stopped caring about myself- I gained weight at a rapid pace, I stopped wearing makeup, stopped wearing my contact lenses, and bought big saggy clothes from the discount stores to hide under. And I am embarrassed to admit that on some days (too many) I was so tired in the morning from having worked until 11pm at my night job, that I would stumble into my day job at 7am without having washed my hair or even taken a shower.  I didn't care about anything but surviving, there was no joy at all in me.  I had started hating myself and my life long before 2003 rolled around.

But with that milestone year, I decided that simple survival wasn't good enough, that I wanted to live, so I changed.  Not just the weight loss, but in my head and heart as well.  Never in all the years with W had I even looked at another man, especially when I was at my heaviest and frumpiest.  But when I realized that it was time to move along and get on with a new phase of my life, I started to cast glances at members of the opposite sex.  In 2001 I had quit both my longtime jobs, and went to work at the company I just left this year.  It paid too well, and it was 8 to 5, so I was glad for it.  I realized I worked around a lot of men, and frankly I hadn't bothered to notice up until that point.  And for the first time in a really long time, I started developing crushes.  Nothing serious, just oh wow he's actually cute.   These were the same men I'd been working around for two years already, but I just woke up and appreciated that they were men and not just coworkers.  It made me feel good about myself, to discover that buried spark of life in my gut, and I was surprised how much it lifted my self-esteem.

In the fall of 2003, Fate intervened.  One of the managers in another department that I had to work closely with, was in the reserves and he was called to serve in the Middle East.  He was going to be gone for a long tour of duty, and so to temporarily replace him, a night shift manager was moved into his daytime job. That night shift manager was J.  J and I had been at the same company together for over two years, but we'd never met because of our different schedules.  I'd seen his name on reports and on his box in the mail room.  He had a very weird last name, and I didn't even know how to pronounce it correctly.

Folks, I hate the phrase love at first sight, because I think it sounds cheesy and unrealistic.  But I don't know how else to describe the first time J and I met.  He was suddenly at my desk one day, looking for some paperwork.  I'd never seen him before, I had absolutely no clue who he was, and on that afternoon he was pissed off about something and didn't even introduce himself to me.  I found the invoices he needed, and as I stood there and he stalked away, the girl at the desk beside me said "Oooh, you two are going to have an affair."   I swear on everything that is holy, that this is a true story, and those were her exact words.  I looked at her and said, "I don't even know who the hell that guy is!"  But she saw something on my face apparently as I watched him leave.

I don't know what it was, but inside of me, I knew she was somehow right.  When I met J, I was just recently over all my health issues- my kidney stone, my gallbladder, my biopsy.  And although I hadn't yet put voice to W that I wanted a divorce, I think my head already knew that was the direction my life was going.  The thing is, absolutely no one at work knew how bad my marriage was, and certainly not the coworker in the next cube.  So for her to look at me and state emphatically that I was going to have an affair with J, some kind of giant neon arrow must have been flashing over my head.  Probably a big scarlet letter A.  Without prompting- or permission- my work neighbor went to J and told him she "knew" someone who thought he was cute.  Later on, J told me that he was hoping it was me, because he also felt a mutual attraction on that first afternoon.

That was at the very end of September 2003, and J and I embarked on a very flirtatious relationship through emails over the next few weeks.  We eventually started hinting to each other that we should meet away from work.  But in December J backed away and said he had second thoughts.  He knew I was married, and he said after deep reflection he decided that it was not a situation he wanted to get involved in, it was wrong and he wasn't that type of man.  I was already madly in love with him by this time, even though we hadn't even had so much as a lunch date.  I can't explain it, really.  I see shows like "The Bachelorette" and think, how can that dumb woman say she's in love with this guy that she's only known a few weeks and she doesn't really know anything about him?!  So okay, it can happen.  And I am here ten years later to say it does happen.

If you were to ask me, did I leave W to be with J, the answer would be yes and no.  I know I had wanted to leave W for many months by that time, no matter what.  But meeting J was the catalyst that got me off my ass and made me know for certain, I was going to have a life after W.  When I told W I wanted a divorce, it was just the culmination of all those bad years, those awful moments I'd had with him.  True, J and I had not done anything but send flirty emails back and forth- there were no commitments, not even the slightest of promises .  But I think I saw what could be, what I could potentially have with J or any other nice guy, were I not still tied to the 200 pound anchor that was dragging me down.  And when I saw that one chance, that fleeting moment, starting to pass me by I knew I had to make that choice.  Not to "be with" J.  But for myself, to save my soul and what was left of my years on this earth.  W would have eventually devoured me until I probably would have done something more drastic than divorce him.

A few days after I told W that I was done being his doormat, I told J that my marriage was over and I had asked my husband for a divorce.  I wanted to know, could I possibly have a chance with him?  Would he ever reconsider his decision not to get involved with me, knowing that although I had to wait out a legal separation, I would no longer be another man's wife?  Think what you will of me.  I had to take that huge leap before the moment was gone.  J could have said no, sorry, I'm not interested.  I would still have been okay with the world because I had unburdened myself from W, whether or not my new single life was also going to include a new man.  And even though I demanded the divorce, it turns out that was the easiest part of it, and it was only the beginning of a very long up and down two year journey of bliss and heartaches.  It took a long time from me being Miss Gee to being Mrs J.  And in the two years that I lived alone for the very first time in my life, I grew more as a person and a woman, than I had in the three plus decades leading up to then.

And so on the very last day of 2003, J and I had our first date, a simple lunch in the park where we could finally talk away from work, turn our smiles up to the sun, and get to know each other better.  And oh yes, share our first of many many many kisses...

MISS GEE

A Decade Ago...

The year that was the greatest turning point in my life was 2003.  Everything monumental happened that year, everything that shaped my life into what it is today.  2002 had been a rough year.  I truly started to wake up to the realities of my first marriage's decline, and had to open my eyes to see things were not good.  W's drug use was growing, his abuse was more frequent and turning somewhat violent, his friends were starting to back away from him, and his voluntary unemployment was increasing.  Now I can look back and say, it was all caused by his own self-hate.  But at the time, I didn't understand that concept. After booking several appointments with marriage counselors- and always canceling because he refused to go- I had to admit defeat finally.  No matter what I did, nothing was going to change our relationship and make it better, because W was not going to change or get the help he needed.

So in 2003 I gave up.  At the start of that year, I just took a deep breath and told myself, to hell with him it was time to start worrying about ME and taking care of myself.  I wasn't really sure where the marriage was going to go.  I had no more energy left to get behind the two of us and try to keep pushing us along the uphill road we were on.  He had never made the effort at all.  I only had enough oomph in my reserve tank to barely drag myself along.  I vowed that in 2003, I was going to stop being the one always trying to make it work, always making plans for us, always finding ways to keep us together as a couple.  I was going to sit back and see if he even noticed I was pulling away from him and if he did, was he going to do anything about it to try and win me back into the marriage. The answer didn't surprise me.  He didn't notice any of the changes in me, or he did and he just didn't care.  Everything that happened in 2003, I would say to myself, okay this is it, I'm done, this is the final straw for me.  But I would keep plugging along, hopeful.

The crap started out early in the year.  I had already booked a vacation for us months before, a cabin in the mountains for a week.  He spent the entire time getting high, as he did every normal day, only something as trivial as a job was not interrupting him that week.  On the return drive he realized he left his baggie at the cabin, when we were two states away and almost home.  He spent the rest of the trip alternating between screaming profanities while beating on the steering wheel, and bawling his eyes out.  This was my husband, who could barely grunt words of civility to me at home, but he was now crying real heartbreaking tears over a lost bag of pot.  And I was trapped in a car with this overly emotional lunatic. Unbelievable.  No wonder when I asked him to choose between me or his drugs, he would not give up his drugs.  He obviously was more addicted to the weed than he was his wife.  And loved it more than he did me.

2003 is also the year many of my health issues started.  I've always had asthma and I keep it in control with medication, but one night around midnight I woke up with an asthma attack so severe, my inhaler wasn't helping.  I was gulping for air.  When I tried to get W to take me to the hospital, he went berserk because I woke him up, and he bluntly suggested I either call 911 or drive myself to the ER.  (He finally got up and took me to the hospital but continued to bitch at me the entire time, and complained because he would be "tired" the next day at work.)  Okay, another asshole point for him.  My shit list was just starting to grow. Not long after that, I had a kidney stone, but at the time I just knew I had awful pains in my side.  My doctor sent me to the hospital for tests and a CT scan. Surprisingly W took me that time, although it was not with love and concern that he sat with me while I waited for results.  He just kept watching the clock and griping as it got later and later in the evening and he was still there with me.

That summer, I started to have chest pains and sharp back pains- I will say this was a pain unlike anything I'd ever had in my entire life.  The first time it happened was late at night, and remembering the asthma incident, I quietly slipped into the living room and sat on the couch by myself, convinced I was having a heart attack and not knowing what to do.  After awhile the pain subsided, but the attacks grew in frequency and pain level.  The worst attack happened while I was grocery shopping, and I had to walk away from a full cart and leave the store.  Then I started running high fevers, and was throwing up bile one morning.  It finally dawned on me what was happening, and I asked W to take me to the hospital.  He insisted he had to get to work- this from the man who preferred to sit at home and smoke and collect unemployment checks that he used to buy more pot while I paid all the bills.  I drove myself to the walk-in clinic near our house.  Sure enough, it was my gallbladder.  They told me to get to the ER as soon as possible.  Even though I was sitting at the hospital again, W couldn't be bothered to be there with me.

I scheduled my surgery to remove the gallbladder a few days later and that morning, W dropped me off at the hospital.  Yes, I said dropped me off.  He stayed only the few minutes it took them to get me settled in a room, then he left.  I'd never had surgery before, never even had an IV before, but I was just there alone and trying not to be afraid, waiting to be rolled into the operating room.  Late that afternoon, when I came out of recovery and was put in my own room, he wasn't there and didn't show up for hours.  He said he met a friend for lunch and they were at a sports bar, and he lost track of time.  Really?  What kind of husband dumps his wife at the hospital to undergo surgery, and simply forgets about her while he's shooting pool and drinking beer?  My ex was that kind of husband.  Friends came by my house all week long to drop off casseroles and to check on me, because they knew that while I recovered at home, I was not being taken care of.  And they were right.

And a month later, when a routine mammogram discovered a lump in my breast, he could not even bother to accompany me to my biopsy and more than that, he did not come with me the day I went to get my results (negative thankfully).  Friends begged to come with me to my appointments, but I put up a brave front and brushed aside their offers, thinking my husband would finally be worried into caring about me. My mother had survived breast cancer a few years prior to that, but I can still remember the days before I got my results- me sitting in my little bedroom crying uncontrollably and W, just on the other side of the wall, would sit there and watch TV, ignoring me like a callous toad.  I say "my" little bedroom because W and I had already stopped sleeping together in the same bed by then.  I don't remember when or why it happened, it was just sort of a mutual decision.  On the few nights he did come sleep in our bed, we had separate comforters so that we didn't have to touch, even on accident.  And in the middle of the night if he rolled over towards me, I can remember kicking him. Hard. Yes, really.

After I got my results, I didn't even call him to let him know it was negative.  I had just received some of the most important news of my life, and I was there alone.  In the parking lot, sitting in my car with the phone in my hand, I knew he didn't care and I wasn't going to waste the energy giving him the news.  That night at home, he didn't even ask how the appointment had gone.  At that moment, not only did my lightbulb come on, it exploded.  I hated him.  I could not be married to him anymore.  I could not, and would not, spend the rest of my life with this man.  At that time, I was only 36, I had a LONG life ahead of me.  The idea of being with W for another 40 or so years, made me want to vomit.  He didn't deserve me.  I didn't deserve to be treated that way by anyone.  I wanted someone who was going to love me and want to be with me.  If I didn't get out of the marriage and get on with my life soon, I was afraid I never would.

I felt I was still young enough for a second chance, and in 2003 I had been working all year long on myself and I'd lost 80 pounds.  I was starting to reach out to new friends, starting to enjoy normal routines like coffee out with girlfriends.  I was finally making a salary I could live on, alone if need be.  Instead of always worrying about "our" house, I started spending some of my money on new clothes finally.  I felt vibrant and alive, and once I mentally made the commitment to dump my toxic partner, I felt optimistic for the first time in a very long time.  I just didn't know what to do as far as correcting the mistake that was my marriage. I would literally pray that W would be the one to leave me, and make it easier on me, but it never happened.

We had been together eleven years at this point, and this was the first time either of us had suffered any major illness.  He'd never had to step up to the plate for me before, and he had multiple chances in 2003 to come to my side, be my hero, show me he cared.  At the time of my breast lump my parents, who lived 700 miles away, had us drive down to meet them in a town that was almost halfway, so they could gift W with a fairly new pickup truck (they had just bought a newer one and decided to "help" us out- and wouldn't you know it that selfish jerk bitched because we had to drive part of the way to go get it instead of my parents driving the 1400 miles roundtrip to just drop it at our door).  At lunch that day my mom repeatedly asked me what was wrong with me, she could see how I was barely tolerating being at the same table as W.  I lied and told her I was just still stressed out about the biopsy and the impending results.

And by Christmas in 2003, my parents came to visit and both realized there was something seriously wrong with us.  They pretended not to notice the patches in the drywall, where I had hastily tried to cover up the many holes caused by W's fist as he came at me angrily about one perceived slight or another.  He would corner me and punch the wall right beside my head, as if to prove he could easily beat me up but was showing his benevolence by tearing up our house instead. Christmas morning, before going out into the living room to open presents with my folks, I calmly but firmly told W I wanted a divorce and I wanted him out of the house.  I know, a crappy holiday gift to give him, but with my family's presence I felt stronger and felt sure that I was making the right decision for myself and for my future.

And when W told me he didn't realize there were any problems with our marriage and he was shocked to hear that I was unhappy (why hadn't I ever bothered to say something to him about my misery, he demanded to know, instead of "blindsiding" him with this sudden news), I knew I had made the right choice.  If that man thought we had a happy marriage and our relationship was wonderful, then I definitely had no business whatsoever being married to him any longer.

So much more on this story and the year 2003, but I'll save it for another post.

MISS GEE

(The sunny view from my little front porch back in those dark days.)

Real Love Part Six

Your time with us was way too short, what a sweet girl.  We miss you.

MISS GEE

Waning Across Borders

Well I don't have any appropriate photos for my post today, but I'll find something totally obscure but interesting before I hit publish.  Today, my best friend N is heavily on my mind, and it's because I'm starting to think about letting the relationship go.  I've been friends with her since 2001, when I started working for our company- the same company I just left and the one that J still works at.  This was in the state we lived in prior to coming to our current town.  I met her on day one because she was given the task of training me, so we were side by side from the beginning.  I don't know why we clicked right away, I'm not really sure we've ever had anything in common.  I think we just fell into the relationship because as my "mentor", she and I spent a lot of time around each other, even going to lunch together every day.

N is about ten years older.  She's that friend you can tell almost anything to, but she's not quite open-minded enough to tell everything.  N has always been very sensitive and gets her feelings hurt easily, so with that in mind, I can't really be 100% myself around her because I feel as though I have to watch what I say.  I am a smart ass but I would have to hold back just a little around her, she would even get tears in her eyes when I was making fun of myself.  I've always done my best to try and make her laugh, because if ever there was a woman who needed joy and brightness in her life, it's N.  She has very old-fashioned values and a very submissive nature, and I know I can be overbearing sometimes.  I would give her advice to speak up to her husband or boss, and she would say oh my goodness I couldn't do that.  Really, she didn't cuss at all, and I have a mouth like a sailor so I tried to behave around her, but it's not really in my nature to be prim and proper.

When I met N, she was probably in her early 40's.  But even back then she had completely gray hair (she's always been "afraid" to color it), she wore sad and frumpy clothes, unflattering flat plain shoes, and gigantic granny glasses.  Mind you, I will be 47 this year, and I can't imagine appearing out in public that way. My 70-year-old mother dresses hipper than N did at 45.  I don't think N stopped caring about how she looked, because although her clothes were in a style that was 20 years too old for her, she did shop at the nicer department stores and bought quality.  She wore makeup and jewelry and went frequently to have her hair "done", so she was always put together quite well.  N had two sons whom she adored and doted on, although both had moved away to towns that were close enough yet far enough away from their mom.  She talked about her sons more than anything else.

I will say that N was one of the many catalysts in my decision to divorce W.  I would never ever tell her this, because it would break her heart, but whenever I was around N and her husband I would see my future with W and think, damn I have to get out of my marriage as soon as I can.  N's husband was very much like W, in fact he was a tad worse.  I am not sure if it's just a coincidence, but N and her husband are originally from the same northern state as my ex.  I don't like to use the word Yankee, it's somewhat of a crude stereotype and slur like Redneck is to me just because I'm from the south, but perhaps it's a fitting description nonetheless.  N's husband was as cruel as they come, screaming at her, cussing at her, calling her evil names, taking out all his frustrations and inadequacies on her, taking it for granted that he could treat her any way he wanted and knowing that she was going to shut up and take it.  Extremely abusive verbally and mentally, a terrible temper that he freely expressed, running their debt up on selfishness and not caring.  An example of the type of man and husband he is: One day they went to a local deli to pick up sandwiches for the whole family (both sons were visiting), and he waited in the car for her- the deli was very busy, he got tired of waiting on her, and just drove home without letting her know. She came out of the deli with everyone's food to find her husband gone, and she had to call one of her sons to come pick her up. So, her husband was a complete asshole to say the least.

Luckily I didn't have to be around him much- most of our socializing was at work and at lunch.  We did the occasional dinner or weekend brunch out, along with our other friend (the one you CAN openly tell everything to and she will think it's absolutely freakin' hysterical).  But I was around N and her husband enough to see more of their interactions than I cared to, and it made me realize that if I stayed married to W, that would be me for the rest of my life.  I would become N.  At that time, W's verbal abuse was just getting worse, and he had started to put his hands on me in anger- I knew I had to get out, I knew I could not be like N and continue to get my soul crushed by my husband's meanness for all the years to come.

I am not sure if N ever thought about leaving her husband, the other girlfriend and I discussed that repeatedly when N wasn't with us.  N is the type of person who is terrified of change, or taking chances, or even reaching out to others.  She has horrendous self-doubts, more severe than mine ever were and like W did to me, she's let her shithead husband put her down for so many years that she honestly believes she is next to worthless.  That's why, after 14 years with the company, she is still at the same menial clerk job making very little money- she tells me she's too dumb to do anything else when the truth is she's the hardest working and sharpest employee in the office.  And it's why she is still in a loveless marriage to a man who is dragging her down. But all these years later N is approaching 60, and she is now saddled with the extra burden of her karma-stricken husband's failing health and unemployment.  She already lost her chance, she is at that point of no return where leaving her husband now would give the appearance of abandonment, and not liberation.  Her sons, now adults, have started to treat her in a similar fashion as their father always has- crass language, dismissive, impatience blowing up into unexcused rudeness, utter disrespect. And like she does with her husband, N continues to adore them and glibly explains away their behavior while tears form in her eyes and her voice chokes.  I want to tell her, that's probably why they are both in their 30's and not married.  That is the reason you don't have grandchildren yet.  Your sons are turning into jerks and no modern day woman is going to put up with that crap.

In all the years we've been friends, N has always struggled with finding any pride in herself.  As far as she can see, there is nothing positive in her life.  She's unhappy at work, unhappy at home.  Since I moved, our relationship has been relegated to IM's, emails, and weekend phone calls that normally last well over an hour.  Since I've known her N has always been a Debbie Downer- she's so deeply unhappy and negative, she cries at the drop of a hat, she gets upset over the slightest ripple in her ocean.  And when we talk, this is what I listen to for an hour each time.  Never one ounce of delight in her tone, her words, her subject matter.  It's always, woe is me. And I know I of all people should be patient with her, with the realization that like me, she also probably suffers from untreated depression.  But it seems like my job in the relationship has always been to stay upbeat and try to make her smile.  It's very one-sided.  I could never in a million years, talk to her about any marriage issues, because her marriage is at rock bottom.  I couldn't complain about my job because things were always harder at hers.  I couldn't talk about wanting a new car, because hers was even older.  I couldn't find any "safe" subject. Lately I find there is very little I can talk comfortably to her about.  I have to tiptoe around everything I want to say and share with her, normal everyday things most friends would chat about with each other.  It's making our friendship a heavy weight, but I'm not one to turn my back.  At least not yet.

N has never taken vacations- either her husband doesn't want to go anywhere or they don't have the money. It makes me feel guilty gushing over all our exploits on the road, so I rarely share photos or stories with her about our travels, for fear of making her wistful.  And she's not even on Facebook so she sees nothing of my life, and I put everything out there!  Now that I'm not working, I try to play down my growing sense of well-being in life, knowing that her husband is not working and she doesn't have the same luxury as I do as far as leaving her job.  I never never never ever discuss anything related to money, because every time I say we did something or bought something or went somewhere, she would say with a huge stabbing sigh, I wish I could do that too. Never, oh wow that sounds like so much fun, I am happy for you.  If I talk about our house, she talks about how old and outdated hers is and she wants to move.  If I talk about losing weight, she grumbles about how hard she tries but can't seem to lose.  If I show her my pottery, she counters with how untalented she is.  Not only can I not share my happy moments with her, I can't share my down moments with her because she will always say she's fatter, broker, sicker than I am.  So that is why J is my shoulder to lean on when I need it, not my best friend N.

It doesn't matter what subject I try to bring up, she always has something negative about herself or her life to push back at me.  I love her dearly, but I am at a crossroads.  I haven't seen her in about two years and more than likely I will probably never see N again, I just don't have any reason to drive the 300 miles and go back to visit our old hometown and old state.  When we first moved here, J and I went home about once a month for a long time, because we still had our old home on the market.  I always made sure to connect with N.  But I know she will never come to visit me, she's told me before she would be scared to get on the highway and drive that far alone.  I've invited her repeatedly to come stay with me for a few days, take some time off and relax and kick back with me- I'll take her to the city and we'll have girlfriend fun.  As for me, I admit I would never go stay with her, I would be afraid of what I would say or do to that jackass she's married to.  He cussed her out right in front of me plenty of times in the past, as though breaking her down was a spectator sport.  I could not stand to be around him so much that I would never bunk down at N's house for even a weekend visit.  I would probably beat him to death before Saturday night rolled around.

When she called me this weekend, I let it go to voicemail.  Repeatedly.  Once on Saturday, and twice on Sunday.  I was having a very awesome weekend with J, and in a great mood, and when I saw her calls all I could think about was how conversations with her are so painfully agonizing and somewhat unpleasant.  So I didn't call her back.  Monday morning I sent her an email and lied to say I was sorry, my phone had been shut off all weekend and I didn't realize she'd called.  I just decided I didn't want to talk to her, to listen to the distress and hurt in her voice as she talked about how lazy and mean her husband was being, how the boss walked by her desk but did not speak to her while saying hello to the coworker beside her, how she wants to repaint her bathroom but can't afford it and even if she could she's always too tired.  I felt like an awful person for choosing not to return her calls, but I had to step back and say, I am feeling upbeat right now and no matter how much of my bliss I try to share, none of it is ever going to rub off on her. And it made me sad.

It made me sad that I can't openly tell her about my life because my joy makes her even sadder.

MISS GEE

(Okay here is my chosen totally unrelated photo, the new beads I just unloaded from my kiln moments ago- getting them listed on Etsy today- to celebrate all the things that are good in my world since I took my leap of faith and started my new life with J.)