So I woke up feeling generally lousy yesterday. Headache, nausea, fatigue... I always feel guilty calling in sick, though, so I got up and went to work. I hoped that maybe getting moving, and plenty of caffiene, would make me feel better. By ten o'clock I was dragging, and feeling worse by the minute, so I went home and had a long nap -- and some very weird dreams. This morning I felt marginally better, but still not well enough to want to go to work. Guilt aside, I knew the library would be dead as a doornail today, so my absence wouldn't be a problem. (Because, you know, the place might burn down if I'm not there...)
So far I've been fairly productive today. My roommate let me borrow her car (oh, if I only had a car...) to go to Bradlee's, to get frames for the posters that have been collecting dust in a corner since I moved in. I also bought hangers and wire to try to hang my mirror on the wall, and I vacuumed, made a huge pitcher of iced tea, played with my poor neglected cat, and cleared away the pile of clothes and junk on the floor. I'm enjoying being a slob lately -- Barry would get annoyed if I so much as left a sock on the floor, so I'm letting my slovenly habits come out again, for a while.
So it's not even noon yet, and I've gotten more done than I would have at work. And I still don't feel well. Go figure.
I'm feeling very restless lately. Dissatisfied with myself. For four years, I had a plan for my life, an identity -- all tied in with one person. I very much enjoyed being a wife -- not a housewife, mind you, but I liked being a partner in a relationship. I loved referring to Barry as my husband. I loved doing the tedious household stuff together -- grocery shopping, cleaning, whatever. All the plans in my head were made with that other person in mind, and with that partnership to rely on. And with all that gone, as melodramatic as it sounds, I don't quite know who I am anymore. I still have the framework of a plan for myself -- finish school, get a job, most likely relocate somewhere cheaper than Boston -- but I still feel aimless.
I always used to be very comfortable with my own company. I was a loner all through school, so I got accustomed to spending a lot of time on my own, and I always liked it. I was just solitary by nature. I seem to have lost that, though. I'm irritable and bored, and my own company just annoys me now. Granted, given the choice I would not want Barry's company again -- I'm just trying to get used to it.
Part of me does not want to share any of myself again. I don't want to be vulnerable, I don't want to let someone in, where they might do more damage. I've never been overly trusting of other people, and I certainly am not inclined to trust people now. Hopefully that will be something I can get past, because I would hate to become more jaded than I already am. But I don't know where to draw the line. How much trust is too much? How much can I share, without losing myself again?
The advice most people have offered me is "Find something you'd like to do, and pursue it.' All well and good. But I don't know what I'd like to do. My therapist suggested I take an adult ed. class, which could be fun -- but it's also expensive. And would take me more courage than I feel like I have right now. The class itself would be fine, it's the meeting new people that worries me. I am a wallflower -- all that time on my own. I don't handle meeting new people terribly well -- I get tongue-tied, and become convinced that they just think I'm a big loser. (An aside, to illustrate the point -- I had maybe two friends in high school. I assumed nobody liked me. About a year after I graduated, I ran into a former classmate, who told me that everyone he knew liked me, but I came across as aloof, and not wanting to talk to anyone. I would give my right arm to go back and change that -- who knows what I would be like now, if I could?)
I intensely dislike this feeling of limbo, of transition. I feel like I'm just waiting for something to happen -- waiting to finish school, waiting for the divorce to be final (which should be very soon, hurrah!). Waiting to figure out what to do with myself now.
I feel like I have a whole lot of random, rambling things to write about -- I was waiting for them to form themselves into some sort of coherant topic, but it seems they want to remain rambling, so here we go...
Monday. Hot as hell and humid. I decided after work to go swimming at the YMCA down the street from my house. (Well, my first choice was to sleep at work, since it's somewhat air conditioned, but for some reason my boss didn't seem too pleased by that idea). The pool there is fairly large, and never seems to be used -- a plus, I thought, since the sight of me in a bathing suit is something I don't want to inflict on the public at large. I got there, and as usual, the pool was empty. It was also too warm to be even slightly refreshing -- kind of like swimming in your own bathtub. I was hoping for cold water, and this was about body temperature. And not overly clean -- not disgustingly filthy, but not clean, either. But I figured what the hell, I'm here, may as well swim... and so I was happy for about 15 minutes, until a teenage couple came in to swim. That in itself didn't bother me -- watching them make out all over the pool was what bothered me. Now, a bit of smooching doesn't faze me -- I remember well enough what it was like to be a hormone-charged 15-year-old looking for a bit of privacy. But I really think they were actually having sex in the pool at one point. Um, hi, I came to swim, not to watch the live sex show, thanks. I think they really wanted me to leave, and I would have loved to, but they were making out right up against the ladder -- right where my towel and shoes and such were. I would have had to (ick) climb right over them, and I really didn't want to go anywhere near their little patch of water. Besides, it was pouring out, and I wanted to wait until it stopped raining to head home. After an hour or so, they finally moved, and I made my escape.
An aside -- I'm at work, and the library is nice and silent. Silent, except for the guy using the computer across the room who just belched very, very loudly. I have such a glamorous job.
Yesterday -- hot again, and humid, but with thunderstorms. I like summer thunderstorms. I prefer to be at home when they hit, because I can open the windows there, and sit and watch the lightning and smell the rain. Here, the windows don't open. I went to Lee's after work, to meet her two new cats, and to partake of her air conditioning. (I am not a fan of hot weather. I need to move someplace that doesn't get above 70 degrees. Either that, or I need my own little climate-controlled bubble to walk around in.) Patrick and Lee and I patted the kitties for a while, then headed for Friday's for dinner. (Patrick has already mentioned this on his Exclusions list -- go join it, right now. Go on, I'll wait.)
Now, you all know how Friday's makes their waitstaff wear lots of "flair," right? Little buttons, funny hats, stuff like that? I thought I had seen flair before... but nothing quite comes close to the Beefy Flair Guy we saw last night. He had, instead of the usual pins and buttons, little toys and action igures attached all over his upper body. He was bristling with little plastic arms and legs. His pocket was stuffed with Pez dispensers. He rattled when he walked. And he was huge. Arms like tree trunks. Big, buff, burly guy... covered in little toys. Patrick and Lee were staring at him in a combination of amusement and lust -- me, I was just scared. I was sitting closest to the aisle, and figured if he so much as brushed against me as he walked by, I'd lose an eye or something. God help anyone who actually bumped into him -- they'd have to be hospitalized for multiple puncture wounds caused by dozens of little plastic action figure feet.
Our own waiter was far less dramatic, in spite of his stupid hat. His name was Frank -- Lee and Patrick were too mesmerized by Burly Flair Guy to notice when our waiter introduced himself. When he gave us our check, he had signed it with something that looked like "Fmuck." Patrick and Lee, having missed his introduction, pondered whether his name really was Fmuck -- so the catch work for the rest of the evening was "Fmuck!" Amused me to no end.
Patrick's version of the story is much funnier -- go join Exclusions and read it. Particularly his imaginary exchange between Burly Flair Guy and Fmuck.
In my fortune cookie tonight: "Your home is a pleasant place that you draw great happiness from." Oh yeah.
I had a good weekend -- girlie stuff with Mom. She drove down from Vermont Saturday morning, and we headed off for Boston. I had an appointment to get my hair cut at a swanky Newbury Street salon -- one of those deals where they do a consultation and decide what haircut works best for you. My hairdresser was a sweetheart -- I ended up telling her my whole life story while she was washing my hair. She gave me an excellent haircut -- if I only had a webcam... it's nice and short in the back, with lots of layers. She gave me some stuff that I use to get that "I just rolled out of bed" tousled look, and it's just perfect.
After the haircut, we went shopping... and saw Barry and his girlfriend at the mall. Barry saw my mom, turned dead white, and just stood stock-still with his mouth hanging open. When I saw him a few minutes later, he was shaking like a leaf. Probably afriad we were going to beat him up... and, at risk of being catty, his girlfriend is just the most nondescript little thing I have ever seen. I was five feet from her, looking right at her, and I honestly couldn't describe her. She has... hair, I guess, and she must have a face... but she's so plain I forgot what she looked like almost instantly. She was wearing a little shapeless dress that made her look like a middle-aged housewife... and the way the two of them were bickering was lovely to behold. They disappeared shortly after we saw them. Heh.
We took a little ferry ride after shopping -- the boat leaves from in front of the mall, and goes down the Charles River, past MIT and the Back Bay to Harvard. It was beautiful out on the water, with a nice cool breeze and the sun shining. It was cheap, and relaxing.
Today we went to Harvard Square and shooped yet again, and got some lunch in a diner. She left here a few hours ago. My roommate came home and talked me into Chinese food for dinner (okay, so she really didn't have to twist my arm too much...). We ate, drank a couple of beers, and talked... very nice.
I am feeling so much better, these past few weeks. I didn't realize how unhappy I'd been. Now that the constant stream of criticism is gone, I feel like a new person. I'm happy for the first time in so long, I don't know what to do with myself. Barry's so aimless, and so self-absorbed... I hadn't realized just how frustrated and depressed I had been until that negative influence was taken away. And yes, I feel like a fool for staying in the situation for so long... but it's over now. And I couldn't be happier.
I am, as I've said, an accident waiting to happen. This morning, as I was rushing around trying to get ready for work, and the cats were all swarming around my feet yowling for food, I somehow failed to notice the very large armchair in the living room. The one that's been there ever since I moved in. The one with the very, very hard legs. I walked right into it -- WHAM! I didn't have my shoes on yet, of course, so after a good deal of very quiet swearing (my roommates were still asleep) I got up the courage to look at my toe. No blood, but it was swelling already, and turning interesting shades of purple. I put in the loosest shoes I could find and gimped off to work, figuring that I would just go to the medical building at MIT and get it checked. I thought it would be quick and easy -- a nurse practitioner would look at my foot, maybe x-ray it, and I'd be on my gimpy way. I sat in the waiting room for an hour and a half, just to see a doctor for four minutes. She looked at it, said it was likely fractured, but that an x-ray wasn't really necessary. She said they'd treat it the same way whether it was fractured or just very badly bruised. So now I have a very stylish blue canvas and velcro orthopedic shoe to wear for the next few days, until my toe stops hurting. It's not so bad, really -- I haven't even had to take any Advil or anything. Sadly, I doubt it's a serious enough injury to get me a seat on the subway. (The one good thing about using crutches is it almost always gets you a seat on public transportation. I learned this after I dislocated my knee last year. I should have asked for a cane this time...)
Everyone in my family has got potential love lives but me. My brother had a blind date last night that apparently went well. My mom has a dinner-date with a man she's been exchanging e-mail with for some time. So last night I screwed up my courage and replied to a personal ad. The guy sounds nice -- his ad was vague yet funny. I made it very clear, as clear as possible, that I do not want a whirlwind romance. I know that, while I'm happily moving on, I'm not ready for that, especially with a stranger. I explained that I'd like to exchange e-mails for a while, maybe meet in person, and be friends. Depending on how that goes, there's potential... but I won't jump into anything.
Have any of you done the personal ad thing? How was it? I'm hoping he's smart, and has a sense of humor. Has to have a sense of humor. I tend to be sarcastic, and if that goes over a guy's head, I'm turned right off.
The thing that I really miss right now, and that I'm hoping to find, is just companionship. Someone to hang out with and just talk to. I don't need the romance right now.
I must just be socially inept. I mean, I know I'm a clod most of the time, but I must just be more clueless than I thought.
I got an e-mail on Saturday from a former coworker. I'll call him Percy. Percy and I didn't get along. In fact, Percy didn't really get along with anyone. My first impression, upon meeting him, was "Wow, I didn't think it was possible for a human being to have no personality at all!" I was wrong though -- he did have a personality, and incredibly grating one. He had no sense of humor. If my other coworkers and I tried to joke around, we would have to stop every few minutes and explain every quip to him. He rarely actually did any work -- he would pile a bunch of paperwork up in front of his computer, so he looked busy, and then he'd surf internet personal ads all day. (Okay, so I do the pile-up-some-work-and-surf-the-'net thing sometimes too, but not all day, every day.) Then, after a long day of reading the personals, he'd brag to anyone who would listen that he was the only one who did any work at all. Huh?
He called in sick constantly. At first everyone thought he was really sickly -- until he called in sick because he'd slept on his pillows wrong and his neck felt stiff. I'm serious. Later that week he went home early because his neck felt "a little tight." He also went home early because he had indigestion, because he was tired, and because he was "feeling a little blah." On a few of those occasions, he went home early while another coworker who was really sick (feverish, coughing, the whole bit) stayed to cover for him.
Every time anyone did or said anything he didn't like, he would either go off into a sulk (he would sit at his computer with his lips all pursed -- hence the nickname -- and refuse to speak to anyone, help any patrons, or answer the phone) or he would run to the Boss Lady and complain. It was generally over something no one was even aware of doing, much less that it was something that would upset him.
He would only help attractive female patrons. Anyone else he would ignore. He wouldn't do any of the menial stuff we have to do -- emptying the book drop, checking in the mail, things like that. He would leave those things for me to do, because he didn't believe that I was capable of doing anything more challenging.
Oh, there's so much more. I could go on for days, believe me. At any rate, he left. He moved clear across the country. And a collective sigh of relief was breathed around here... he still e-mails Boss Lady and Oliver, asking how things are here. He and I just plain didn't get along (though I tried to keep things civil and pleasant on a very superficial level) and so, until now, I have never heard from him. Fine by me. So I get this e-mail on Saturday, from Percy. He started off by saying hello, and saying he bet I was surprised to hear from him. (Dismayed is more like it.) He said that he knew he had been annoying to work with, and he knew we hadn't gotten along, and so he wasn't sure why he was writing to me. (Um, me either.) He repeated that a few times, then said that, if I didn't want to write back, he would understand. My first reaction was "Of course I'm not writing back!" Then I thought better of it, and decided that the polite thing to do would be to write a short note back, saying hi, and everything's fine here, and blah blah blah. I was worried that, if I replied, he would take that as a cue to start e-mailing me every chain letter and joke that landed in his inbox (yes, he is one of those people.) But I figured the risk was worth it, just to be polite. I didn't have time to write to him Monday or Tuesday, though. When I got to work this morning, there was a snotty message from him saying that it was obviously a mistake to write to me, but at least he knew he was a nice person. Then he said he hoped Barry and I were still happy, and said he'd be e-mailing my coworkers later. What the...? Okay, he sent the e-mail late Saturday afternoon. There's no way he would have known I was at work on Saturday. He also knows I don't check my work e-mail from home. So the earliest I could have gotten the message was Monday morning. He sent the second message early yesterday evening. I guess I was supposed to reply instantly, in order to keep him happy.
I'm ignoring both messages, now. There's no way I'm writing back, not after he got snitty at me for not writing back quickly enough. (And for all he knew, I might have been away and not gotten the first message!) I certainly don't want to even hint that everything isn't fine with me -- he's nosy. He'd ask me eight million questions (intrusive and personal ones, at that) and, even worse, he would e-mail all my coworkers and ask them questions. I mean, I don't feel the urge to e-mail people I never got along with, so I really don't get why he wants to keep in touch with me. We were never friends, so it's not like we just had a falling out. We just didn't get along. Personality differences. It happens.
I can't believe I have devoted an entire entry to this guy. Even when he's clear across the country, he's still annoying.
Sorry there was no entry yesterday. I got scolded for using my e-mail too much at work (though I'm on it far lass than I used to be, only for about an hour off and on in the morning, and an hour in the afternoon) so I figured sneaking in an update from my desk might be a bad idea. I have a feeling I got scolded because of a complaint from a bitchy coworker -- she's old, and sour, and retiring very soon. She does absolutely no work -- she's on break for at least four hours a day. When she's actually here, she either sits in the back staff area and sleeps, or, if she's forced to help out at the circulation desk, she ignores everyone and plays solitaire on the computer, or sleeps. It irritates me to no end that she's so blatant about it, but no one says anything. My boss is very nonconfrontational, and rarely bothers to say anything to anyone. I think I could probably turn a pack of goats loose in the stacks, and set the reference collection on fire, and the most I would get would be a little talking-to. I think the Sour Old Coworker is angry because I ratted her out a couple of months ago. Both my boss and the other person who works with me, Oliver, were away at a meeting. That left me and SOC to watch the desk. SOC was supposed to come to the desk at 10, let me go on a break, then stay at the desk until Boss Lady and Oliver got back. She came to the desk at 10, grudgingly let me have a break, then disappeared. I saw her leave at aroung 10:15, and she came back at 11:45, carrying shopping bags from the nearby mall. I wouldn't have cared -- I usually don't mind working alone -- but the desk had been busy, and I had to go to the bathroom, and I wanted a drink of water... and I had heard my boss tell her to stay at the desk with me. When Boss Lady returned and asked if SOC had stayed at the desk, I said no -- I didn't add that she'd gone shopping, figuring that would just cause a scene. I just said I didn't know where she'd gone, but she certainly wasn't anywhere near the desk.
Anyway. The updates may get even more sporadic, because after today I may just try to use my roommate's computer.
Here's a tip: getting cheap cologne in your eye is a bad idea. Soaking your contact lenses overnight in cheap cologne is a far worse idea (though it does give your eyeballs an interesting scent...) I learned this yesterday. My roommate's boyfriend lives with us. He's a very nice guy, so having him there is no problem. He uses the shelf right above mine in the bathroom. I keep all of my contact lens crap on my shelf, and he keeps his shaving stuff on his. He has a big bottle of Brut. (Yuck. I know.) The bottle had a crack in it, and apparently some Brut leaked into my contact lens case during the day. I didn't notice it when I took my lenses out -- I didn't get the case anywhere near my nose, after all, and since he had recently showered, I didn't think much of the fact that the bathroom reeked of cologne. In the morning, I tried to put my lenses in as usual, and... YOW! Pain! Big blinding pain! And... wait a minute... why does my contact lens "smell like a man?" I did manage to save the lenses -- much scrubbing and soaking seems to have gotten the cologne out. Both my roommate and her boyfriend felt terrible about it -- but I figured the lenses are a year and a half old anyway, and badly need replacing, so I would feel dishonest asking them to pay for it. As long as I can see, that's all that matters.
Watched Being John Malkovitch last night. Weird movie. Very enjoyable, very funny in parts, but very very weird.
Oh, and I saw Barry in the laundromat Sunday morning. He looks like hell -- he's lost a lot of weight (and he was skinny to begin with) and his hairline is receding at an astonishing rate. He looks like he's not sleeping. When he saw me, his face went white, and he got up and went outside. I went out for a smoke a little while later, and saw him sitting on the curb crying. And I have no sympathy. If he's unhappy, he's brought it on himself. I'm enjoying getting used to my own company again. I'm enjoying doing whatever I want, going wherever I want, and just being me without worrying about him getting angry with me. I don't miss the constant criticism. Sure, I miss the good parts -- I miss his sense of humor, I miss calling him during the day to say hello -- but the bad far outweighed the good. And it surprised and pleased me that I wasn't very upset when I saw him. My hands started shaking, and my stomach knotted up, but I didn't leave. I went and did the laundry (call me crazy -- I like going to the laundromat. It's relaxing, in a weird way.) and read my book, and when he left, I didn't feel like crying. I felt stronger, even knowing that he was likely going home to his girlfriend. At least I can handle my life on my own, without the need to use someone else as a crutch.
Imagine you're driving along, on a beautiful summer day, top down, radio playing a favorite song. You've got your arm out the window, your hair is blowing in the wind, and you're singing along. Everything is fine -- you have a sense of well-being and contentment. Then, just when it seems everything will be just fine, come what may, a tanker truck careens around a curve and blindsides you.
That's kind of what my mental state is like recently. I'm keeping up appearances at work, and (mostly) with my friends. I've actually felt pretty good lately -- I'm glad the whole soap-opera mess of a relationship is over, and I'm slowly learning to enjoy being on my own again. But it all tends to sneak up on me sometimes, and I just feel lost.
I talked to my landlord last night -- he's Barry's landlord, too. All he talked about was how "happy and relaxed" Barry seems with his girlfriend. He said that she stays there most of the time, and they seem so content with each other. I have no idea why he felt the need to tell me this. He said "You know, you can't expect a young guy like Barry to live like a hermit." Um, well, no, but I don't think it's romantic and sweet that he's so happy living with the woman he cheated on me with. I don't think the landlord meant to cause pain -- he's a little odd, and I don't think he has a very clear grasp on what's actually happened. I think he thinks the breakup was mutual, even though I have told him otherwise.
I already knew that Barry's happy with his girlfriend. There is a small part of me that wishes he was sitting in the dark pining for me, but I know that isn't happening. It's unpleasant, realizing just how easy I am to get over. Hell, he was over me long before we broke up. I was just too blind to see it.
My mom was supposed to be coming down from Vermont to visit this weekend, but my brother isn't doing very well. He's in the middle of Divorce #2 (I don't know what the hell is wrong with my family...) and has been having anxiety attacks. My mom doesn't want to go off and leave him alone all weekend. I'm worried about him, but I'm working tomorrow, so I can't hop on the bus and go up to see him. And (as selfish as this is) I'm unhappy at having no plans for the weekend. If I'm busy, I'm okay. If I'm spending time with people, or working, I don't have to think. I can just focus on whatever I'm doing, and shut the rest of it off. It's when I'm alone and have down time that it gets me.
I worry about bugging my friends, too. I don't want to be too needy, and cling to the few friends I have in the area. And my phone bill is going to be horrifying this month, so at least my out-of-town friends are spared my morose phone calls. I don't much care for being a burden -- and when I do spend time with friends, I'm thinking "They don't really want to hang out with me. They're just feeling obligated. Hell, I wouldn't want to hang out with me."
Oh, enough whining. Sorry. There's not much else to say. It's dull at work -- nobody wants to be in a library when it's sunny and warm out. It's in the upper 80s right now, and humid. I don't like hot weather, but this early in the summer it feels really good. The landlord is installing new windows in my apartment today, so we'll actually be able to have fresh air -- the old windows in most of the rooms had no screens, and we have (at the moment) three cats, two bunnies, and an aquarium full of mice. There was a ball python, but it has since moved out. (Only the one cat is mine -- I haven't turned into Crazy Spinster Librarian yet, thank you.) Windows without screens are no good when you have cats, and live on the third floor. Plus one of the windows is near a wasps nest. My two windows have screens, but neither of the screens actually fit into the frames, so I cringe whenever the cat leaps up onto the windowsill.
I'm working late tonight, so even though my brain knows I have three more hours to go, my body is insisting I get to leave in just over an hour. Feh.
I rented "The Green Mile" to watch tonight. I probably should have gone to the gym -- trying hard to get into shape before the old college boyfriend comes to visit, you know -- but I had an upset stomach, and I wanted to turn my brain off for a while. The upset stomach was all stress. My body reacts to stress in a lovely variety of ways. I get insomnia, nightmares, sleepwalking, migraines, panic attacks, and a violently sick stomach. I had the nightmares last week, followed by insomnia. I had a migraine yesterday, with a side of panic attacks. Today was the upset stomach. Hey, at least I have a wide selection, so I don't get bored!
The movie certainly worked. It kept me from thinking about...thing I don't want to think about (and am going to make an effort not to talk about much more, here -- thank you to everyone who has told me it's okay, but I really don't want to make you guys my personal venting grounds, you know?) It made me cry my eyes out. I loved it. Except for the last five to ten minutes. No spoilers here, but... I hated the ending. I hated the explanation they tacked on. I'm a big fan of the book, so that may have been part of it. I generally don't like movies made from books I love, because they always deviate, and I always hate it. But the pat ending to this one -- feh. Hated it.
I do like Stephen King. I realize that's a dangerous admission to make -- he's pretty trashy, after all. His writing, technically, stinks. (But hey, mine too. I have no illusions.) But he spins a good story. His recent books, with the exception of Bag of Bones and The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, are crap. His earlier stuff is just as trashy, but entertains me anyway. His novels don't usually translate well to the screen, but this one works.
I have a soft spot for this novel -- I read it during the summer before I met Barry. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. (I have a lot of those, you see.) I hated where I was living. I hated my job. I had just graduated from college with a degree in journalism, and realized that I didn't want to be a reporter. I didn't know what I was doing. I was completely at a loss, and miserable. Stephen King released The Green Mile as a series. Each chapter was published on its own, about one per month. Those installments kept me going that summer. When the new one would come out, I would stop at the bookstore on my way home from work, buy it, and read it on the subway on the way home. I usually finished it during the train ride, and then I would be impatient and cranky all month until the next chapter was released. I know it was just a marketing gimmick, but it worked for me. Gave me something to look forward to, when I was a pathetic and miserable little person. Now, if I could just convince him to do it again this summer...
What do you think of Stephen King?
I'm in a rotten mood. I kept trying to write an entry today, and I can't sit still or concentrate long enough to get more than a few sentences down. I'm too damn depressed to write anything funny, and too restless and edgy to even rant. I don't know what my problem is. Work was far too slow, so I didn't have enough to occupy my time. There weren't any mindless tasks to accomplish. There weren't even any books needing to be shelved. So I sat and fidgeted and surfed and stewed all day. I check my e-mail obessively, and my inbox is always empty.
I went out for dinner with some friends, and couldn't think of anything to talk about. They're nice people, but I think they're afraid to mention the divorce, since Barry and I used to hang out with them -- two married couples, doing couple things. So it was this great big awkward thing, pretty much sitting right in the middle of the table. I thought about saying "Look, you can talk about it. You can ask me stuff," but I didn't want to make them feel awkward, and I didn't really want to talk about it, anyway. I just wanted the awkwardness to go away.
On an unrelated note, I've gotten lots of e-mail about scary bugs you're all scared of. Now I'm remembering all sorts of other bugs that creep me out. Joanne informed me that the awful little bugs with the pincers that lived in the basement of our old house were earwigs -- I never knew that.
Last night I ussed my lovely new stereo (oh how I love my new stereo) and made a mix tape of all the good break-up songs I could find. Between my CD collection and my roommate's, I got a pretty good selection. I've got the angry-girl stuff (Alanis Morrisette, who I usually hate, but in this case I made an exception) sad-girl stuff, and some funny stuff, too. There's a song called "Ugly Girl" by Fleming and John that makes me howl laughing -- it's sung from the point of view of a woman whose boyfriend has left her for an ugly woman. I can really relate -- and I wish I could tape the song and somehow slip it into Barry's Walkman. I mean, his new girlfriend isn't a hag, she's just so plain and drab I can't remember what she looks like five minutes after I've seen her. I'm no Miss America, but still.
I'm going to go pace, I think. Maybe run some laps. I really need to relax.
Feh. It's gray and cold and rainy out. My alarm didn't go off this morning -- I think the clock-radio I bought in the 8th grade had finally bitten the dust. Luckily, I rolled over onto the really huge, painful, mystery bruise on my arm this morning, and that woke me up with a howl of agony, followed by a howl of dismay when I realized I had overslept. Only by half an hour, though, so I got to work on time with a minimun of rushing around and swearing.
I don't know where the bruise came from. It's on my left bicep, and it's perfectly round, and slightly larger than a silver doller. There's a spot in the middle that's darker purple and more swollen than the rest. And it hurts to move my arm.
The only reason for the bruise I can think of is the very large and heavy stereo I bought yesterday (and hooked up all by myself, thank you very much). I wasn't expecting the box for a relatively small tabletop stereo to be so huge and unwieldy. Lee works right near the mall where I bought it, and she had offered to drive me and the stereo home after she finished work that evening. The oh-so-helpful Sears clerk scolded me for not having a car, then dumped the box outside the elevator and walked away, grumbling and giving me dirty looks. I lugged the box down to the first floor, then discovered that putting it down and pushing it along the floor was more more efficient (in spite of the odd looks I was getting. I suppose it looked like I had just stolen the stereo, but nobody said anything.) And I really shouldn't complain about that, because poor Patrick ended up carrying the stereo up to my third-floor apartment for me. (Patrick, you really didn't have to. But I'm glad you did, because I think I'd still be trying to get the stupid thing up the stairs right now.)
Other than the stereo-buying excursion, I didn't really do much this weekend. I needed the relaxation -- on Friday, after two days of phone calls from Barry, I came up with a new strategy: whenever he calls and starts bullying me for not being his friend anymore, I hang up. He calls back, I hang up. He calls back again, I hang up again. I think I made him cry doing that on Friday, but really, I've had enough. He just doesn't understand why I don't want to hang out with him now -- gee, he only lied to me and cheated on me. What the hell's my problem? I mean, it would be loads of fun to go out for coffee and chat with him about how things are going with his girlfriend, right? Maybe we could even double-date! Wouldn't that be lovely? (No, I'm not bitter. Whatever gave you that idea?) And he knows full well that calling me at work only upsets me, and since I work at a public desk, it's not like I can even get upset in private. I have told him that, if he calls me again at work, I will file a harrassment complaint and get a restraining order. He can e-mail me if he needs to, but only if he hears anything about the divorce proceedings, or if any mail for me gets delivered to his address. No other reasons. I have had more than enough, and there's no way I can even begin to recover from all this if I keep having to deal with him on a daily basis.
Ahem. Ranting again. Sorry.
Friday night I was invited to a party. It was a very weird party, but fun -- my friend John knows some guys who play board games. Not like Monopoly or Life, but really involved, complex strategy games. They invite people over every couple of weeks and have a night of game-playing. Sounded okay to me -- but it turned out to be John and two other guys, who looked like they were petrified at the prospect of having a girl in the room. (Gasp!!) They argued over who got to teach me to play the various games, and one of them killed a June bug for me. I'm deathly afraid of June bugs. They're obscenely large, they fly all erratically, so you never know when they're going to zig right into your eye, and they make that noise. That loud buzzing noise. I had a bad experience with a June bug getting stuck in my hair... oh, I don't even want to talk about it. Agh. Anyway, one of the guys squashed a June bug, and brought me the mangled remains in a dustpan, so I could admire his handiwork. Very cute, in a sort of gross way.
Saturday I slept too late, then painted my old, nasty CD shelf. I had salvaged it from someone's basement, and it was all dingy and stained. Now it's a lovely glossy white, and I only managed to stick my hair in the paint can twice. Cleaned my room, sat around feeling bored, then went out for dinner with Lee and one of her friends. (MuppetGirl, for those of you who follow Patrick's journal.) Went home, got an expected, but still nice, phone call from the old college boyfriend/best friend, went to sleep. Sunday was laundry day, so I got up early. There's only one laundromat in my neighborhood. Barry and I live within four blocks of each other, so I know he uses the same one. I also know he never gets moving before noon on the weekends, so I figure if I get up early and get my laundry done before noon, I won't run into him there. Seeing him doing laundry with his girlfriend is not an experiance I'm eager for. Went and bought the stereo, two new bath towels, and a book. And that was my glamorous weekend. I live the high life, I tell you.
How was your weekend? And are there any bugs that irrationally frighten you? Tell me all about 'em.
I was in a good mood when I got to work this morning. Tired, but in a reasonably good mood. Tired because I stayed up too late watching American Beauty. (Only one word to say about it: Wow. It knocked my socks off. It's one of the few movies I've seen that kept me riveted to the screen for the full two hours. Wow.) In a good mood because I went to my first therapy session yesterday, and it went really well. It was exhausting -- when I left I felt completely drained, and I could have curled up on the floor of the subway station and slept for hours. But it went well, and I think it will continue to go well. I like the doctor very much, he's easy to talk to, and yet not intrusive, if that makes any sense. Spending the evening alone watching a movie with cats curled up on the bed with me was just what I needed last night.
This morning I got to work, and found an e-mail from Barry asking me to call him -- he had some questions about the seperation agreement form. So I called, answered the questions as politely as I could, and prepared to get off the phone -- I don't particularly like starting my day off by talking to him. I say "Okay, I'll talk to you later..." and he responds with "What, you can't even be friendly?" So we have to go through the whole thing again. He can't, or won't, understand why I don't want to be friends with him -- after he lied to me, cheated on me, treated me horribly, and from what I hear, continues to lie to me. He can't understand why I'm angry at him. He can't seem to figure out why I'm hurting so much, and why talking to him only makes that hurt worse. He said "I'm going through a really rough time right now." Well, so am I! He said he knows that, and he has been very concerned about how I'm doing. I asked "When? When you were telling me how much you loved me, then calling your girlfriend and telling her the same thing? When you were seeing her behind my back, then lying to me about where you'd been? When you slept with her in our bed? How about when you had her spend the night with you on the very same night that I moved out? Were you thinking about how I was doing then?" Silence. He had no answer. It's just ridiculous -- he is incapable of thinking about anyone's feelings but his own. No matter what happens, no matter what he does, it all just revolves around him, as though he is the only person who is impacted by anything. I must have been blind, insane, or just really, really stupid to have stayed with him for four years. I must have been delusional to think I saw some good side to him -- because the way things stand now, all the good times I thought we had are a lie now.
I'm sick to death of thinking about this. I was very happy when I realized, as I sat on the subway this morning, that I hadn't thought of him once since I woke up. The first thought that popped into my head when the alarm went off wasn't "Barry's not here." I so want to get past it, to get on with my life, and I just can't if he's going to insist on rehashing everything over and over and over. I can't move on if he's still trying to force a friendship that can't exist. I can't be friends with someone I don't trust, even on the most superficial level.
End of rant. I'm in a rotten mood now, and my head hurts. I want to go back home and go back to bed.
Big shout-outs to Saundra, who let me use her design for my new look, and Patrick and Lee, who actually got the images working for me. (I am an HTML idiot, and I couldn't manage to figure it out with out a lot of help.) So what do you think? I like it -- I love the book theme, and it's nice and clean and easy to read. I haven't added any links yet, but I hope to have time to do that today. (Note: since I switched servers, you can't see the lovely template Saundra designed. Sad...)
I'll be busy most of today -- I have an appointment with a psycholanalyst this afternoon. I'm having a very hard time taking it seriously -- I know it will do me good to talk to someone objective, to sort out my thoughts, but still... I'm going to see a shrink. Something I never thought I would do.
I wrote a letter to Barry's mother late last week, telling her my side of things. I have no idea what Barry's told her, if anything, about our breakup. She and I were getting to be pretty close, and she was always very good to me. She let me live in their house for a while, and she always treated me like family. I didn't want to leave things with me never saying another word to her, and the thought that she might think that this breakup was my decision was troubling to me. Barry had told me that, not only was I not allowed to contact his family (!) but that, if I called his mother, she wouldn't speak to me. God only knows what he's told her -- he told me "What I tell my family is none of your business." So I wrote to her, saying thank you for treating me so kindly, and telling her, as nicely as possible, what had happened. I tried to leave out as many of the gory details as I could, but I did tell her that Barry was cheating on me, and that I had walked in on him in bed with his girlfriend. I honestly never expected to hear back from her, but I gave her my work number just in case. She called me on Monday morning and said "Unless you hear it from me, if anyone tells you I don't want to talk to you, they're lying." Hmmm. She e-mailed me later and asked if we could get together. She seems... sympathetic isn't quite the right word... but it's the only word that comes to mind. She's as affectionate and friendly as she always was -- more so, even. We were supposed to meet tonight, but she e-mailed to tell me that her grandmother has just passed away.
Other than that, everything is going along smoothly. My roommate and I are getting along fabulously, and I can see us becoming good friends -- I hope we do. She's a sweet person, very open and friendly, and genuine. The cats are slowly making their peace -- Smoke and Tucker are getting along, at least. Tucker seems to have adopted me as his new favorite person -- he runs up and demands petting when I get home, and curls up on my bed next to me at night. I boot him out when I go to bed, so that Smoke can have some quality time alone (I also don't particularly want catfights happening in my room in the middle of the night) and he sits outside the door and cries for a little while. Zoe is keeping his distance -- maybe having the other two cats getting along has put him in his place. He's aggressive and ver dominant, which worried me. But he's been good lately, and doesn't venture into my room much anymore.
Work is... work. Same as always. It keeps me busy, which is good right now. I'm still reading The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart -- it's the kind of story I can lose myself in. There are three more books in the series after this one, so it will keep me occupied for a while.
That's all I have time for right now. Let me know how the new design works for you -- although I don't plan on changing it again for a long time, since I am, after all, an HTML illiterate.
Hmm... I haven't really got much to say, today. I have somehow managed to hurt my back -- probably from lifting the 8 million books that were returned to the library after the long weekend, and sleeping on a mattress on the floor doesn't help -- so I'm hobbling around work like a little old lady, wincing every time I stand up or sit down, and just generally cranky about the whole thing. (Well, the crankiness isn't much of a change...)
Talked to my mom on the phone for a probably obscene amount of time last night -- venting. Venting is good. And moms are great for that sort of thing. I read an article about the stages of grief one goes through during a divorce, and it made sense. They're basically the same stages you go through after someone dies -- denial, anger, depression, acceptance. I'm waffling between anger and denial right now. The depression hasn't really hit yet, mostly because I know that I'm better off without Barry. I do miss him, of course, and the thought of him with someone else makes me sick, but I know, deep down, that we likely would have broken up sooner or later. Better now than five years and two kids later. He's essentially a very selfish person. Everything in our relationship always revolved around him, his moods, his wants and needs. He was happiest, IS happiest, when he has someone paying undivided attention to him. He resented my friends, my family, and my schooling, because they took my attention off him. He's weak, and I don't need or want someone weak.
But still... things were not all bad, and it's the little good things I miss. It'll get better with time, I know. Damn, I wasn't going to vent about this here... oh well. Sorry.
I get to take a half-day tomorrow, because the furniture folks are delivering my new split box springs and a bed frame. Big strong delivery men, hmmmm.... well, the thought of having a real bed again is more appealing to me than big strapping men, at least at the moment...