Day 54: Am I Too Old or Are You Just an Idiot?

Does it mean I am old if I go to a nice, swanky restaurant and think the music is too loud and the people too fake? What about if I go to the beach and am annoyed by all the cute, perky teenagers making out? Or if I see kids driving recklessly and shake my head in scorn? At what point do we stop being the kids and start being the adults who mock them? One might think that a family is the key to our change in outlook on what can be described as immature behavior, but I don't have kids so that can't be it. Maybe there is just some wall we run into at a certain point in our life that makes us unable to appreciate the hijinks of youth. I don't consider myself old, but I know that I'd rather have a conversation with the group I am dining with than chair dance.

It is good to stay active and be young. Dancing, laughing, enjoying life are not unique to the under 25 set, but somehow doing all three while dining or driving or anything else you might engage in, is distinctively part of being young. Or maybe it's just that it seems so much more important to be cool and have fun -- or at least look like you are -- than when you mature and aren't afraid to actually say that you want to hear what the people across from you are saying. When did conversation become passe? Why is it not cool to hear someone without them having to scream over a remix of Billy Jean? Am I really just that old, or do I just care more about communicating with my friends and loved ones?

I don't remember places being too loud when I was 25, but then again, I didn't go to very many hip places back then. Perhaps to be cool, you have to be loud or pretend you don't care. Maybe style is not so much about genuine concern over your appearance as appearing like you got dressed in the dark, drunk, and blindfolded. I think maybe I'm too old, smart, and thoughtful to be hip. All I know, is that it's hard to enjoy my dinner when I can't hear myself think. Wow. This might be my the most proud moment of my parents. That in itself is reason enough to wear a bedazzled mini dress and go eat somewhere that smacks of young yuppies trying to hard to be Eurotrash and DJ's who can only get a gig at at restaurant. Maybe I'd just rather be old.

Day 53: Epiphany - Aw, Shit! Did I Really do That?!?

Epiphany. The sudden realization or understanding of a situation in your life. We have hundreds of little epiphanies throughout the course of our life. The boy that’s been picking on you in third grade actually has a crush. The cheerleader that you always told yourself you dislike and think is frivolous is a girl you envy and admire. That work proposal you just can’t quite get nailed down, is suddenly perfect after you try a new angle. These happen so often we rarely recognize them as epiphanies, but when we experience the type of revelation or insight that truly has the potential to change our lives, we take notice.

Recently, I have been living under a cloud of anger which has filtered all my other experiences and emotions in a very jaded way. Don’t misunderstand, I am the first to admit that I am an arrogant and self-righteous bitch. I can absolutely decide that I am walking the righteous path, ignoring countless signs telling me that in actuality, I am wrong, wrong, wrong. Denial and selfishness can lead us to believe even the most heinous actions to be valuable and valid exercises. Because I do not believe in regrets, I try instead to accept accountability for my actions, even the mistakes and chalk it up to a learning experience. If you are able to rationalize your bad decisions, however, sometimes you can outsmart yourself and ignore that you’ve truly made a mistake in the first place.

In my efforts to understand and accept a path I took that hurt someone close to me, I somehow felt it appropriate to do an even worse thing in the name of gaining a sense of comprehension. Two wrongs may not make a right, but in my mind they might at least help me understand the initial bad decsion-making in the first place. Given that this is what I like to refer to as “Ame logic” I know that others are not going to agree with me. This never bothered me in the past, but maybe that’s because I needed to have the epiphany to truly realize that I am a dirtbag.

It’s true. I did a bad thing, followed it up with a worse thing, lied about both and then got pissed when I got called on it. How dare you question me! My mistakes are mine and not about anyone else. Now that I have a little distance and clarity and yes, a fricking epiphany, I see what a self-delusional and convenient, outlook that is. Oh rationalization, how I love and use thee. The most amazing thing about Ame logic, is that I utilize it to absolve my own sins, but still clearly see and judge others for theirs. Now that is a nifty little trick.

I guess in many ways that isn’t all that unusual. We all judge others to a certain extent and ignore some of our own problems or bad choices, but I think perhaps, I have taken it to a new level. It’s more of an art form really. So I am working through my dirtbag epiphany and I gotta tell ya, I’m not liking how I come out in this particular situation. It turns out, judging from the facts and course of events, I’m kind of a bitch and a selfish one at that. Not that I don’t still see the mistakes of others or injurious behavior toward me, but now that I see my own fault, it’s a little harder to cling to that as an excuse.

My other favorite, is the “hey, you knew who I was when you befriended/dated/married me so don’t act shocked now." This is a defense I have used many, many times to excuse all sorts of bad behavior on my part. Yes, I have a big mouth, get drunk, and say horrific things while behaving belligerently, but you knew that about me in the beginning, deal with it! This was always a much easier stance to take than to actually change myself. Why change, this is me, love me or hate me, not my problem! Lovely aren't I? Imagine being married to me? What a treat my attitude must be for him!

Luckily, I have taken a few days for self-reflection, hence the epiphany. I'm not convinced I'm an altogether horrible person, but I've definitely had my moments. Life is complicated I guess and I'm a nut-job, so there was bound to be a few questionable calls. The goal now, is to embrace the realization and make a few positive changes. Then again, I'm lazy, a procrastinator, and a dirtbag so there is always a chance I'll just say the hell with it. There will always be another epiphany after all.

Day 52: Kids are Mean, but I'm Bigger Than Them

There comes a time in every adults life when we must own up to our shortcomings. For me, today was that day. Very few people know what I am about to reveal, but I believe that through the truth I will become a stronger and better person. I also believe that when you are forced to reveal your deep dark secret to a seven-year old, said child should refrain from mocking laughter. I trust all of you to not follow in the obviously poorly parented child’s footsteps and react in a more mature fashion. Okay, so here goes . . . I am 36 and I can’t swim.

It’s not like I sink to the bottom when I am in the water or that I am afraid to go into a pool, lake or ocean. Well, actually, lakes kind of gross me out because they very often have stuff floating in them and fish want to eat my toes or boats spill fuel, so okay, let’s scratch the lake thing. Anyway, I love pools and the ocean, I just spend my time kind of bobbing around, rather than actually swimming. There are definitely moments of fear. When Jeff and I went to Delaware with some friends and encounter extremely rough waves that were knocking people over then dragging them across the sand from the undertoe, I took my beatings and kept going out for more. In fact, that was the weekend I really fell in love with Jeff. He stayed with me and didn’t let me drown, even when I was sure that I was going to a few times.

Today I went into the ocean by myself and was hit with waves no where near a high or rough as they were that day in Delaware, but I was very cautious and nervous about going out much past my waist as the waves were strong enough to cause me to lose my footing. Without Jeff there, I didn’t trust my own water skills. Pools are okay, I can float enough generally and do a few mock swim strokes while kicking my feet as if they are on fire. This method is usually successful in propelling me about the pool, but I do make sure I am never in too deep of water or in it for very long. I recognize my limitations and usually that is enough.

This afternoon I decided to take a dip in the pool after a few hours at the ocean. I was hot, sweaty, and salty from the ocean and thought it would be a good way to rinse off and cool down without an actual shower (because those are so taxing). Anyway, I am minding my own business, paddling around the shallow end when the above mentioned child enters the pool. His Mother is talking on her cell phone and seemingly oblivious to the presence of this boy since she popped him out a few years ago. The kid and I began talking, you know the drill, I asked his age, what grade he was going into, does he like school, the normal “I don’t have kids and have no idea how to deal with you” conversation.

Caymen, best name ever by the way, had brought some toys into the water with him. They weren’t the floaty kind, which is why when he suddenly through across the pool, it quickly sank. I assumed my cleverly named friend intended to play a game of dive for treasure with himself. Wrong. This mocking little bastard wanted to play with me and it was assumed that my part of the game would involve me swimming into the deep end, then diving down to retrieve his stupid toy. When I told him I didn’t want to, employing all the normal girl excuses, he had an answer to everything.

I said, I didn’t want to get my hair wet, to which my lothario responded, “it doesn’t really look that good.” I told him I just ate and couldn’t really swim and didn’t his mother ever teach him about cramping after you eat, to which he laughed and said I was stupid. In a bout of desperation I told him that he should wait and look at like a science experiment and see if it was still there later and if any kind of pool algae started to grow on it. At this, he simply stared at me blankly with a half open mouth. Finally, I knew it was time for the truth. “Listen, little man, I’m sorry but I can’t really swim and I don’t like going underwater much and I can’t open my eyes in the water anyway, so I’ll never find it. Let’s just get the pool cleaning thing and try to scoop it out.”

I knew that by comparison to other adults, my stock would fall a bit with this revelation, but I have to say I was not prepared for his actual reaction. Caymen, who if his name weren’t so cool I would refer to as little fuckhead, looked at me for a second with something similar to pity in his eyes. Then, still grasping his other toy, he began to pound the water with his hands and laugh hysterically in this super fake, theatrical laugh. So not only did he not sympathize or try to be the least bit understanding, he adopted a forced laugh with the sole purpose of humiliating me.

For my part, I believe I handled the situation as appropriately as possible. I turned around and splashed him violently as I paddled away to the ladder so I could climb out.

Day 51: Karma Has a New Bitch and it's Me

Karma finally decided that today was the day she was going to come back around and kick my ass. It should have been a good day. Due to a generous friend, I had use of a condo in Florida for a few days and was looking forward to driving down early in the morning for a few days of trouble free self-reflection, blogging, and resume retooling. It sounded like a can’t go wrong plan, but if you know me you know I’m wrong a lot.

The plan was to leave Tuesday morning. At 2am I was finishing Monday’s blog and decided that leaving early probably was not going to happen. I had no schedule to keep, no one to watch the clock and tell me I’m late (not mentioning any names, Jeff), and no reason to get there early rather than later. I figured I’d get six hours of sleep and still leave at a decent time. At 4am I was still wide awake. At 5am I was getting a bit of a headache. Sometime between 5 and 5:15am I dozed off. At 7am I was awake once again but this time with a full-fledged headache and decided sleep was not in the cards.

It took three hours to get my act together and when I finally hit the road I got on the highway and immediately went the wrong way. Magellan I’m not, so even with Google directions and a navigation system I can manage to get lost, which I seem to prove nearly every time I get in my car. Anyway, so I once I turned myself about I was on the road approximately three and a half minutes when I called pulled over by a cop in a Ford Fusion. So many things wrong with this. One, I haven’t gotten a ticket in over ten years, two I was following the minivan in front of me who set the pace, and three IT WAS A FORD FUSION! It is insulting to get pulled over by a crappy little car I could easily outrun.

I was so annoyed by the beginning of this day that when the nice officer approached and told me that he clocked me going 17 over the limit, all I said was, “I was following the minivan you clearly didn’t see.” Normally, I work with the situation and I have gotten out of a few tickets this way, but today I just wasn’t in the mood to play nicely. I did try to work in the husband being deployed bit and after waiting for seemed like three or four crop seasons, my flat-topped cop reappeared to tell me he wrote my ticket for only nine over so as to keep me taking too much of a hit on the insurance. This was very nice of him, but come on, I’m a cute girl with boobs in a convertible who’s husband is in the Army. You can’t take pity on me? Dirtbag.

Okay, so doughnut patrol over with I head out, at a slightly reduced pace. It sucked getting caught so early because this meant for the next six hours I couldn’t afford to really speed in case I got caught again. Balls! Anyway, so there I am driving along, top down trying to enjoy my day when the drowsiness hits. I spent the next six hours dozing off at the wheel and at 80mph, that’s somewhat ill-advised. Three Diet Cokes and two Red Bulls later I hit a pouring rainstorm that seemingly came out of nowhere drenching me and my collection of luggage in the back seat. Which brings me to my second run-in with the fuzz. I quickly slammed on the brakes and jerked the car over two lanes, coming to a stop on the shoulder where I quickly began to put up my top. Before I could finish there was another officer at my side asking why I was stopped and not so politely advising me that getting rained on was not a suitable reason for lurching across traffic and coming to a sudden halt. The only solace I took in this lecture was that I kept asking him questions, ensuring that he got as rained on as possible. No ticket for “raising the roof,” but just a stern talking to later I was on the road once again.

The trip continued in this manner with one ridiculous speed bump after another until I got just outside of Jacksonville. It was then that I got trapped behind two Florida plated vehicles that were clearly in some sort of lame-off to see who could drive slower. Only in Florida will you find motorists that make Ohio drivers appear reckless. Finally, after what seemed like two or three years going slightly below the speed limit and flashing my brights at both cars as I alternated lanes to try to edge around one of them, I was able to pass. As is my nature, I both floored it and looked over with an expression of scorn and mocking only to see three hairy asses looking back at me. Nope, this is not a euphemism. I was mooned by an SUV full of redneck college kids.

So . . . Florida. Interesting place thus far. Tomorrow I will try to find the beach and hope that none of the locals talk to me. I’m not sure I have the right temperament to socialize with other people. Also, by avoiding interaction I’m hoping to avoid any behavior that might karmically put me in jeopardy of a similar ride home. I certainly cannot afford another ticket financially and mentally I think I’m a little too scarred to suffer any more road battles for a while. I suppose I should be grateful for arriving safely and without accident, but really, that’s just not my style.

Day 50: If They Weren't Homophobes I'd be a Boyscout

Tomorrow I am hitting the road for a little Ame time in FL. This will be a weird vacation for the fact that one, I’m not currently working and I don’t know if you can actually take a vacation from sitting on your ass and two, I will be going it alone. I lucked into a place to stay when a friend mentioned that the family vacation houses were vacant. Considering my family could barely afford our actual house, the idea of owning vacation property still mystifies me a bit. Anyway, I love the ocean and feel like a few days on a beach could be just the ticket to refresh whatever is spoiled. In prepping for my solo journey I happened to notice that I’m packing like I am never to return. What makes women over-pack to the point that we have more clothes in suitcases than in our closets and could it be some latent "always be prepared" Boyscout bullshit that I picked up?

I fully intend to return home, I kind of have to since the husband is footing our bills right now and I think if I just disappeared so would my meal ticket. I don’t even plan on using most of what I’m bringing. It’s not like I’m going to be hitting the Florida redneck party circuit. Yet, I still have two wardrobes: daytime/beach and nighttime/social. I also packed eight pairs of shoes as well as accessories for every possible contingency. I find myself wondering as I stare at the bags strewn across my bedroom floor and stuffed with pretty much everything I own, "just what the hell kind of 'Ame time' do I think I’m going to have"?

Why is it that we feel the need to bring everything and plan for every possible contingency as if a simple getaway is littered with surprises and detours? In general, I pack two outfits a day. I bring an outfit for casual daywear and one for evening, you know, in case some fabulous invitation to the senior center of Jacksonville, FL should come my way. As a woman who has traveled extensively, the thing I hate above all others is the sudden realization that an outfit would be perfect if only I had remembered the other . . .(insert item of clothing here). So to combat this most heinous of vacation tragedies, I bring every damn thing I own.

Jeff learned to be patient with me on this front years ago, but I think this is more because he happens to be the worst packer I’ve ever met. Jeff will pack an entire bag for a winter visit home to Wisconsin and discover when he gets there that he didn’t bring any pants. Sometimes I think that the reason we get along so well has less to do with actual commonalities and more to do with a mutual admiration for qualities we do not possess ourselves. Jeff has the memory, I have the planning skills, Jeff has the money, I have the ability to spend it, you get the point. I guess when they say relationships are about compromising, what they really mean is to find someone that has all the qualities you don’t so together you balance one another out.

So for this trip, when it’s just me, I feel oddly off balance. It’s not my first time on my own. I moved to Manhattan alone and didn’t think twice. I live alone now and manage okay. Somehow though, as relaxing and poetic as a solitary beach vacation sounded at the time, I find that I miss Jeff’s half empty suitcase and admonitions about waiting until the last minute to do everything. I used to be such a loner and now I wonder if I have simply outgrown that phase of my life. Is my constant need to over-pack some symptom of my larger inability to be without or to be alone? Am I substituting clothing and shoes for human contact? In some ways it’s even more important. If I am going to be out in a strange town on my own, I certainly don’t want to look like a hobo. I mean, can you imagine if I only had the gold strappy heels and not the black zebra print wedges? How would I manage?

I see in myself the urge for more of everything the lonelier or more fenced in I am. When money is tight I spend more; when jobs are scarce I try less to find one; when I’m lonely I turn to strangers. I have friends in Charlotte and many old friends I’ve reconnected with back home, I could easily stay here or go home to visit, but instead I’ve decided on a few days of alone time. Which is ironic really, because when you live alone and don’t have a job, pretty much every hour of every day is alone time. Still, I think it’s the call of the ocean. I always feel different on the water, I draw energy and peace from it. I am fairly certain that the only thing I will wear the whole time I stay there is a bathing suit and a cover-up.

Maybe I need a vacation from people, or time away from my own life, whatever it is I am looking forward to it despite going without Jeff and I am most definitely prepared for anything. I’m even bringing two toothbrushes, well actually, I suspect I have three because tonight I noticed my back-up was also missing. It’s very possible when I get to FL I will discover I inadvertently packed a toothbrush for every day and a pair of shoes for every four hours. For someone who likes to be prepared I am always amazed at how life seems to constantly catch me unawares and knock me on my ass. I love to plan and to make lists, but some things in life you just have to wing.

One day when Jeff comes home I will convince him to buy a Harley with me. When that happens I might actually learn to worry less about what might happen and focus instead on what is happening. Should we travel a long distance on a bike, I’ll only bring what I can fit and let life and the road take care of the rest. Until then, however, I’m bringing all my damn shoes, because you never know what you might need and I believe in taking advantage of opportunities. Hopefully soon I will have a job and beach houses and road trips will no longer be options. So right now, I’m hitting the road with my top down and four sunscreens of various strengths and types in tow. I may have no idea what I’ll do when I get there, but I’m going to be prepared for anything.

Day 49: Time Doesn't Heal, it Just Makes You Forget

It has been four days since my cat died. I am not barricading myself in the house or bursting into tears at the mention of his name, but neither has it gotten any easier. When we lose someone close to us, be it a person or a pet, people are fond of saying it will get better, it will get easier in time. Well, I’ve lost a few people close to me and I can assure you that it never gets easier. The passage of time simply means that the events surrounding the passing are more distant and therefore not as fresh to the mind, but time does not erase pain. Once felt, can deep emotions ever be forgotten or do we just lose sight of them a bit?

I don’t miss Jeremy any less today than yesterday and I know I never will, but time and life will distract me and I wait for that. All of us get so caught up in our daily lives that it is easy to lose sight of emotional baggage. We bury ourselves in work or social obligations as a way of hiding from the truth. Sometimes it works, we are able to outsmart ourselves and keep the self-reflection at bay until later when the wounds are not as fresh. We let ourselves laugh and then feel suddenly guilty for laughing when we should be grieving the loss of a parent, a friend, a child. Life does not wait and so we keep going and find late at night, when the distractions are gone, that we still carry that hollow place within us.

I know he was just a cat, but he and I went back 15 years and five cities together. He was the first pet I ever got for just me rather than a family pet and I talked to him every day like he could understand. Losing my cat, brought back memories of the pain of losing my mother and I realized once again that even after nine years, her death is just as raw in my heart as that first night. I may be able to go about my days without the paralyzing grief that loss can evoke, but once I tap back into those memories, the pain is just as strong and real as it ever was.

I used to marvel at how people assumed that after two or three or six months I would be over the death of my Mother. It does seem like a rational period of time to grieve and move forward, but the passage of time belies the fact that heartache and emotions in general do not have an expiration date. Never will there be a day that I think about Mom and do not also feel sad. Even the best and happiest memories bleed into sorrow and loss. The key, is to not let yourself focus on the loss part, because that is when the pain once again becomes fresh and you feel it all over and relive every moment.

A couple of years after my Mom died a friend’s Father passed away. I remember telling her that he would never get easier, that the pain itself would never lessen, but that her ability to get through a day without thinking about it would increase and that is where she would find momentary peace. I will never not miss my Mother or my cat. I loved them and counted on their presence in my life, those feelings do not just go away. What will happen, though in the case of Jeremy, is that I will forget more and more about our daily interactions and think of him only in terms of bigger memories. Pictures, trips to the vet, finding his favorite toy, these things will bring him back to my heart and mind and once that happens the pain will be just as fresh if I let myself dwell on it.

I think of my Mom often and never once am I able to do so without at least one tear, but if I let myself think on it too deeply that one tear becomes a torrent of sorrow and longing. Pain, like love, happiness, and friendship never dies, but it does lie in wait for us. Patiently sitting while we distract ourselves until that one moment when all that we have lost comes back to the forefront of our minds and we are weighted down with the grief of love lost and possibilities shattered.

Jeremy was just a cat, but he was my companion. The memories are no longer good or bad, they are simply reminders of something that I no longer have. Those feelings of immediate loss will fade and I look forward to that, but I also know that it will only take a moment to recall what he meant to me for those feelings to flood back over me. Loss is never easy, we just learn how to adjust to the absence. I am not comparing the depth of my love for my Mom to that of my cat, but I think loss operates the same way, no matter who you lose. Love is love and loss is painful, no matter the reason you feel it.