I've been cranky and downright mean lately (throw in harsh, for grins) and it's disturbing. I was overly frustrated with a friend, and I was monstrous to her, and she really needed my support. I don't have an explanation for it, and I don't want to start a conversation of substance with myself because it will only bring me down, so today, on this beautiful Friday, I'm simply pressing the reset button.
There. Done.
(photo source: http://www.joystiq.com)
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We were flying low yesterday (aka biking). The weather was perfect and the trails weren't super busy; however, there was a murder. My bike tire was the weapon.
I accidentally killed a copperhead snake. He was sunning himself on the bike trail. I didn't see him and he didn't see me, until it was too late.
These things bother me. I know copperheads are venomous (though their bite is usually not fatal), but I don't want to be responsible for one's death. I won't even kill roaches. I let Poseidon do that.
The further and faster we rode, the better I began to feel, but still bummed at having taken the poor snake's life.
On our return trip home, we stopped off at our usual watering hole for late lunch/early dinner, beer, and football. Poseidon pushed our bikes together to lock them to the pole, and he said, "Look, our bikes are in love."
He was right! The bikes appeared to be hugging. This cheered me right up and made me say, "Awwwwww." Poseidon has a way of cheering me up and he usually doesn't even know he has.
I snapped a picture of the two-wheeled lovers so I can remember the day.
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Poseidon and I met in the fall of 2008, on a Sunday night. Our first date was on November 2nd, 2008. We met for beer, then walked over to the Deerhunter show at Cat's Cradle.
Nearly a year and a half later, Deerhunter played again, at Cat's Cradle, on a Sunday night. We bought tickets. Poseidon proposed to me over a glass of wine, before the show, at the same bar we met for beers on our first date.
Deerhunter will be playing Cat's Cradle again, this Sunday, September 22nd. We have tickets. Poseidon and I recently celebrated our 3rd wedding anniversary in August. We were at the beach with a friend that week, and we didn't officially celebrate (except, we did get up early that morning to watch the sunrise on the beach) so on Sunday, we will. With Deerhunter. Again.
I heart you Poseidon.
One of my favorite pictures from our wedding...
Oh, and one of my favorite pictures of Deerhunter (photo by Robert Semmer www.robertsemmer.com)...
--Amphitrite
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Poseidon and I have some stimulating conversations in the morning, usually spawned by out-there questions he asks (I think I will start a weekly blog series titled "Things Poseidon Says"). Anyway, most of our more interesting convos take take place in the bathroom each morning as we get ready for work. Today was no exception.
Poseidon: "I've been leaving the shower door open every morning, and I've noticed less mildew."
Me: "I've been squirting the shower down at least once a week with Scrubbing Bubbles, so maybe that is the reason our mildew problem has vanished?"
Poseidon: Blah, blah, blah, some nonsense, reiterating the leaving-the-shower-door-open thing, blah, blah, blah.
We both then turn our attention to Kwinn, licking the shower (as he does every morning). Spotless.
Me: "Or, it has nothing to do with either one of us, and everything to do with that cat licking the shower clean."
Our mutual silence moved us both to drop our ends of the rope. We have a cat to thank for that clean shower (and a vet who may very well bury our bodies in our own backyard should she discover this).
--Amphitrite
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Should Poseidon be worried that I'm carrying on an emotional affair? An emotional affair with the sun?
Two weekends ago was my first trip to the beach this year. The very second my toes touched the sand, I felt every muscle in my body relax. I opened the lounge chair and spread out my beach towel. I sank down into that chair, pulled my hair out of my face, and sighed until there was no breath left in me. I felt the sun on my skin, and I said quietly, "Hello Sun. I've missed you, buddy."
It is hard to describe (and believe me, I have tried) my love of the sun and all things warm. I don't like the cold. I mean, I don't mind snow and watching it fall, but I don't like cold temperatures. The cold penetrates my bones, and it hurts, in a strange way. Cold messes with my psyche, which is fragile enough as is.
Our beach trip was a short trip, but I spent enough alone time with Sun to make me a happy girl. I don't bother hiding my emotional affair with Sun from Poseidon. I even shared with him a picture of Sun and I, a picture I drew two days after our return from the beach. Poseidon is ok with this affair. OK with it, as long as I use protection.
--Amphitrite
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It has been 11 long years, but tomorrow, I will once again be a palindrome...I will be 44. Do I expect to see a herd of fluffy white unicorns in my front yard when I roll out of bed on my birthday? No, but that would be the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents. You know, I wasn't quite sure if more than one unicorn is referred to as unicorns or unicorn (like deer), so I googled it, and apparently, it is common knowledge (to all but moi) that a herd of unicorns is actually referred to as a "blessing." Good God, we never stop learning, do we?
I just spent 2 of the last 5 minutes reflecting on my last palindromic age: 33. I believe I expected it to be spectacular, simply because it was a palindrome, and I was disappointed that not one magical thing happened to me that year (that I can recall...I can tell you, no unicorns sang "Happy Birthday" to me). 33 turned out to be quite dull. When I was 22 I doubt I realized I had reached a palindromic age, and at 11, I couldn't have given you the definition of palindrome, so progress has been made.
So, what does 44 mean to me? Nothing really. I've matured enough to know this birthday will be devoid of all things mystical, and I won't see those unicorns grazing in the front yard (they would starve...no grass there now anyway). The skies will not be filled with rainbows, unless the circumstances are just right, and the odds are not worth considering. No, it will be just another birthday, but another day alive, another day to breathe, so I will be excited. Who knows, maybe Poseidon will bake me a unicorn-shaped birthday cake?
What have I done since reaching my last palindromic milestone? In a brainstorm fury, here is what I can come up with (though I cannot remember every bump, scrape, or pat on the back) in no real order (I mean, that is the point of brainstorming, right?), and forgive my punctuation, as that is never important when brainstorming--something else I've picked up in the last 11 years:
Went through 2 or 3 relationships, had some bad dates (remind me to tell you someday about the guy who wanted to be a cat and was having whiskers implanted in his cheeks, if I haven't already), had some good dates, decided singledom was the life for me, lost some weight, got back in shape, moved twice (2 different states), bought a house, started a blog, met Poseidon, got engaged, changed my mind about singledom, got married, changed jobs twice, lived through a recession (is it over?) joined Facebook, joined Polyvore, joined Pinterest, joined several other online time sucks that I can't remember now, sent approximately 10,000 emails to spam, had my gallbladder removed, made many new friends, grew apart from some old friends, lost my father to cancer, traveled to (some for work, some for pleasure): Brussels, London, Dominican Republic, Alaska, Oklahoma City, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Seattle, Turks & Caicos, West Virginia, White Plains, NYC, Austin, San Antonio, Nashville, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, The Outer Banks, Atlanta, Newberry SC, Cedar Key, DC, Bahamas, Tampa, took up running, ran a few 5Ks, managed to not kill my two cats (still), took up sewing, attended countless concerts, took up biking again, attended some boxing classes, sporadic yoga practice, had only 1 cavity, had a couple of moles removed, more than 20 facials, neck surgery, probably bought more than 150 pairs of shoes, changed my hair color at least 4 times, did some house remodeling (nearly resulting in divorce...do not try to replace a toilet with your husband...call a flipping plumber, please), bought several cell phones including the smartphone I have now, changed my mind about PC's superiority over macs, decided there isn't any age I would revisit, made peace with myself, and most importantly, learned to relinquish some of my imagined control over the universe back to the universe...where it oh most certainly belongs. I'm exhausted.
--Amphitrite
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"A prosthetic leg currently showcased in England at the National Centre for Craft and Design, was donated by a war veteran who fell in love with his physical therapist.
A note says it lasted longer than the relationship because it was made of sturdier material.' "
I read this article from from Huff Post this morning, "Museum Of Broken Relationships: Croatian Museum Showcases Post-Split Mementos" and I had to think, it being being Valentine's Day and all, that those folks not fond of the Hallmark created holiday would appreciate this little gem!
It is a novel idea, creating a museum showcasing, among other things, a garden gnome thrown at a husband...an axe smashing through furniture!
The museum says it's number of visitors on Valentine's Day almost double! Could be the broken-hearted or the Valentine-haters who would prefer to celebrate breaking up over googly-eyed sappy love stuff, or simply the curious among us.
I personally don't have a problem with the heart-shaped holiday, and I was even inspired to draw a heart on a piece of paper for Poseidon, taping it to the bathroom mirror. He appreciated the sentiment. So, whether you are pro or anti-Valentine's Day, this article is entertaining either way. Enjoy.
--Fortuitous Observer
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What I find the most difficult about being married to a wonderful, sensitive, truly caring soul, is that I am not one. I'm hyper-vigilant with repressed anger issues, wreaking with constant anxiety, and my "psyche is more complex than most." I put quotes around that last bit because that is what my therapist read to me when revealing the results of my Rorschach test last year (I recommend everyone visit a Psychotherapist and take the Rorschach test --a.k.a. the ink blot test. It is eye-opening and the results are eerily dead-on...spooky).
This means a great deal many things, but an important aspect is that I'm so hyper-vigilant and will do anything to protect my feelings from being trampled on at all costs (which also explains why I didn't get married until the age of 41). I'm not a therapist, and I'm not pretending to be one, but let's just say my entire adult life has involved sitting in the Big Chair (that is a reference to Tears for Fears album, named for the shrink's chair in the movie Sybil) and spilling it to a therapist every week, so I'm familiar with the drill and I am fully aware of what my issues are, whether or not I work on them, well, that is another story.
Back to my original idea. Poseidon and I had an argument last night that was not pretty. I won't go into the details, but during our heated battle of words, he called me a name, and this name feels like a brick being hurled at me with brut force, and it causes me to feel inadequate, some things from my childhood, etc. I immediately shut down and revert back to childhood, pouting, sucking on my thumb, and curled up in bed in the fetal position with tears running down my face. The only difference between this happening now versus when I was a child, is that mascara is now involved, and instead of tear stains on my sheets, I have tar stains, like a paving job gone severely wrong.
I've made strides in overcoming those past feelings of being inadequate and feeling lower than just about everyone else, but the brain always reverts back to those times stored where emotions were the strongest, and it isn't easy to retrain the brain, though I have been trying and making steps forward...even if they are only baby steps, at least they are heading forward, not backward.
--Fortuitous Observer
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One morning, a few weeks ago, Poseidon and I were calling each other absurd pet names, trying to see who could make the other nauseous by coming up with the most ridiculous of names. I played my ace card: "sweet baboo."
Peanuts fans will remember that Sally sometimes referred to Linus, the love of her life, as her "sweet baboo." So you see, I can't take credit for that quirky little term of endearment, but I occasionally borrow it from the late great Charles Shultz when I really need it.
This mushy conversation then led Poseidon and I down the path of Sally and Linus and I began to philosophize over their terrible relationship, doomed of course from the very beginning. Why was it doomed?
Because it was a one-way love affair. Linus didn't return Sally's affections. Linus was still in that "girls are gross" stage, and Sally was already mature and wise for her young age (maybe it was that gargantuan head of hers...her brain just expanded faster than most and it outgrew her skull) and knew what she wanted. Unfortunately (or fortunately) we were not privy to their awkward teenage years and their adult years, and what happened between them, but I'm speculating that it wasn't pretty.
Sally probably chased Linus all through junior high and high school, trying to gain his affection by throwing herself at him, endeavoring to outshine any competition that came along. She probably attended drunken bonfire parties just to show him that she could hang with the rest of the girls that Linus may have been eyeing, downing shots of tequila and throwing herself at him (I'm only making up my own stories here, and I am absolutely sure that Charles Shultz would not have gone this way, so I don't want anyone screaming at me, ok?).
I suspect she even followed him to college (she was accepted to Princeton, Dartmouth, and Brown, but she followed him to the party university), still trying, but never capturing his affection or winning him over.
Sally more than likely grew up with some deep psychological issues over being rejected at such an early age. Presumably spent most of her adult life in and out of mental facilities (some in-patient and some out-patient). While out on a program meant to reinstate her into society, she in all likelihood was able to find Linus' address online and started stalking him and his wife and 2 kids, which promptly got her sent right back into the room with the pretty white puffy walls where she stayed for the remainder of her sad life.
What's the moral? There really isn't one because I'm just brainstorming and typing as I think, so I didn't intend to have a moral, but if there is one, it's plausibly something like, "Don't date girls with large heads," or "Stay away from girls who wear the same dress for 40 years." I don't know. insert your own moral here ______________________________.
--Fortuitous Observer
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My upcoming wedding at the end of this month has triggered some impromptu introspective reflections about my life and my single status and what that has meant to me over the years. I can honestly say that I have enjoyed being single. There were times when I wasn't in a relationship that I thought I was so over being single, but those moments were short lived and infrequent. I've always considered myself to be a fiercely independent person and I have been (and still am) comfortable being alone. I not only enjoy my autonomy, I've embraced it. Let's face it, I'm getting married for the very first time at the age of 41, so I've had the necessary time to get to know all about me and what I want and don't want out of life. I've dated some great guys and some not so great guys, but the one person who has always been there for me, is me!
Getting married wasn't an item on my life's little checklist that absolutely had to be checked off. I went through my adult life with the attitude, "If I found someone I wanted to grow old with (and I have...thank you Poseidon), then great, and marriage might be something that happens." But, if it doesn't , I would go on living my single life with ease. I mean, why do people have to be part of a couple to be happy? I've been involved in more than one relationship where I was actually happier being alone!
I was reading one of the blogs on Psychology Today called "Living Single - the truth about singles in our society," and there are some great posts about being single and the debate about whether being "coupled" is better than being "single" or the other way around. Anyway, while perusing the posts, I found this great quote:
“What a commentary on civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it – like a secret vice.”
–Anne Morrow Lindbergh
There is still a stigma attached to single-hood (especially women) and it seems so medieval to me. I've been in groups of friends where I was the only single person and I felt as though I was being pitied or there was something inexcusably wrong with me. Are you kidding me? My life always looked better to me than those couples' did, so no pity for me please (by the way, many of those people are divorced now, and not just on their 1st divorce)...envy me!
I've also known women (and a few men) who were desperate to get married because they no longer wanted to "be alone." I personally never looked at being single as "being alone." I looked at it as the freedom to make my own decisions and choices without having to consider someone else. I also looked at single-hood as a teacher, allowing me to become strong and capable all on my own, which it did. I get so mad when I hear a woman say, "My husband has to take my car to the shop to get the oil changed (and I hear this quite often)." Why does your husband have to do that? Why can't you do that? I can change my own flat tires; I can dig myself out of a snow storm; I'm comfortable going into any restaurant by myself, ordering a nice lunch or dinner and people watch for a couple of hours; I've traveled to many countries by myself; I've lived in big cities by myself; I've lived in small cities by myself. These are just a few things that I, as a single person, learned to do and I am very comfortable with doing them. I almost feel my intellectual and emotional growth would have been stunted had I not stayed single so long.
Now, I don't want my single friends out there to think I'm abandoning them by getting hitched. I'm feeling a little guilty about that to be honest with you. I accidentally found someone I don't mind spending the rest of my life with and marriage is our way of celebrating that.
I don't think I'll have the opportunity to "miss" being single, because I'll be the same person after the wedding vows are said that I am now. Just because I will no longer check the "single" box under marital status doesn't mean my independence and autonomy go out the door with it.
So, I have no regrets at staying single for so long. It was the best life choice I could have made (for me). On the flip side, I'm also looking forward to growing old with Poseidon and starting new adventures together while keeping my independent spirit in tact.
--Fortuitous Observer
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