800 words..

 So we have recently discovered a little show from New Zealand called 800 words.  Some of the themes resonate-being the "new" person in a small town, for example.  Writing as catharsis and therapy.  Except the main character's writing was a column, and he had a particular need to keep it just squarely, precisely at 800 words.  

If you've read much of my blog, you will have noticed I have no such discipline.  Not that in other areas of my life people haven't wished for a little conciseness on my end.  

10 years and 5 days ago...

 ... I started to publish a little "blog".  (Not quite as poetic as four score and seven years ago, nor was it quite such a dramatic event, either).

But, nonetheless, for me, it was life changing.  Life. Changing.

There is no way that 10 years ago, sitting on my bed with my laptop in a little town in the midwest where it likely had snowed that day would I have guessed I'd have been here, now, in such a different place.

Then, I was grieving.  Fortunately, I was also growing.  

Now a decade later, I know that I still have some of the ghosts of then to deal with, but I am in such a different place.  Physically and mentally.  

In the theoretical ideal therapy world, the patient does all the talking, and the therapist only has to nod and say "uh, huh" and "how does that make you feel?" every once in awhile.  The great lesson of therapy is that the patient has all the answers already, and the therapist just helps to provide a forum to work it through.  An ideally objective third party to re-hash your hash and help you re-shape your story into a productive one, as needed.

I was broke, and poor, and barely working then.  That was a bit of a luxury for me.  So I had you.  Faceless, nameless folks, some of whom I have gotten to know, where I could share my pearls of wisdom (a recent Jeopardy answer), my wit, my thoughts.  Where I could step up onto my soap box.  Where I could find different ways to express my story that were productive.  

Didn't know I'd find a wife, but I was, indeed, searching for a community, for companionship - safely from an anonymous distance. The anonymity brought safety.  In a small town, there isn't a lot of anonymity - particularly when you're the "new" girl (although by then I had been there a few years).  And some of what I needed to work through was too raw to do with people I'd have to look in the eye again, and who might, gently, share what I had shared.  But you, faceless anonymous community I could look away from if I needed to.

And, clearly, at times over this past decade, I have.  Not because I didn't need you any more or that you had done anything to offend me.  But because my life filled up and I didn't have quite as much time sitting alone in a bed with time to write, and things to say, and no-one to say them to.  I'd like to think this blog still has some life in it, despite periods of hibernation.  I'd like to think there are still random people out there who might want to hear what I have to say, and who might want to challenge me to think of things, too.  

We'll see... But 10 years and five days ago... I took steps to change my life.  And I have done so nearly every day since then... 

2020 - What a Year Gone By

 I have but a few moments left, it seems, to get a blog entry written for 2020.  My last blog entry was February 2019.  It's been awhile.  And bumpy ride for many.

My wife and I have been fortunate during COVID in that both our jobs were considered "essential services" and we both were able to keep our jobs and not be laid off or down-sized.  Nonetheless, I gave up a perfectly good job in order to try a new adventure this year, and am extremely pleased with the leap, despite the risks.

I have so much to write - as it's been awhile - and yet, struggling with figure out how to organize it.  As I said, so much has happened this past year - outside of ourselves - and it's a lot to digest, process, and stay healthy.  Mentally and physically. 

There is no question that our world, our society will be changed for a long time as a result of the circumstances that have surrounded us.  

My wife predicts that mask wearing will become standard for long-term.  She - as a germaphobe - certainly would like to see that be the case, but I personally believe that is is likely to be a mid-term "norm".  That once more and more have been vaccinated, and the numbers go down, many of us will be quite happy to shed our masks.  I admit sitting on the fence on this.  I understand, respect, and therefore wear a mask for the greater safety.  But I find myself, often like a child, pulling at it in the grocery store to get more air, and to not sweat to death under the mask.  When my brain works, I know this means I might want to try some different masks to see which ones might work better, but lazy me just instead lives with the situation, including the fogged glasses from time to time, and moves along looking forward to when it might not be a "norm".  

What I am hoping that has developed from this, that develops from this overall situation, is that we learn new ways to connect with each other.  I don't know that this will happen, but maybe folks have figured out how to "hang out" with those at a distance in new and creative ways.  People have learned how to develop ways to entertain themselves / soothe themselves when unable to distract themselves with others.  And on the other side of the framework, those who have had way too many distractions at home, have perhaps grown a deeper appreciation for the work of others who help keep our kids educated and entertained.  Perhaps we grow a greater appreciation of the village that surrounds us and the value it provides.  

I am dancing in my head around touching the many and overlapping political situations.  Third rail kind of discussions.  Not that this has stopped me in the past.  But instead of diving into those directly, I will take a detour to Ancient Rome.  To Marcus Aurelius.  I've recently discovered him.  Or rather, indirectly through pithy quotes, his Meditations.  

My understanding - or my image - of his Meditations - which may be inaccurate - is that these were "isms" he wrote down for himself.  The imagery in my mind is of Al Franken as Stuart Smalley (this is a generational memory, clearly) and his daily affirmations.  And some of it is that, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me".   

But I think some of his quotes are deeper than that, and are certainly appropriate for this age and times.  I'm not the only one who thinks that:  The Guardian posted an article about Marcus Aurelius in times of the Pandemic.  

He is from the philosophical "movement" known as "stoicism", which apparently after doing a Google search to come up with a "pithy" description of it for here, I've learned is very controversial today.  I say that a little tongue in cheek, a little over-dramatically, but the first entry that came up for me was an article from "aynrand.org" which says (I did not click into it) in the pithy Google snip that Stoicism is "deeply problematic".   (Technically, their system of valuing is "deeply problematic" to be precise). 

Nonetheless, we get out of things ideally that which provides us value, and learn to reject the things that don't.  Which ironically, or not, is a bit of stoicism in practice.  

I do remember the appeal of stoicism when I learned about it in sixth grade history class.  So it is not surprising that 40 or so years later, I still find it appealing.  Some of what I have read as his quotes match my inner philosophy already.  Some of the quotes refine it better, use good words, better than how me think.  (That was a poor example of poor wording).  But I have found my brief searches for quotes to be illuminating, and thought provoking, and comforting in that they align with my own beliefs, too.  

There is a part of me that wants to share a hundred (okay that's an exaggeration) quotes with you all at once, and yet a part of me that thinks one quote at a time is more appropriate to take time to deeply think and absorb it.   So many of them are applicable not only to "The Plague" but to the political situations around us.  And some of those quotes, even, might spark some controversy when applied to a greater context.

An example:  "The best answer to anger is silence."  

At a personal level, that might be so.  It might not, because I also confess, I get really frustrated when my wife doesn't get mad at me, she just gets silent.  (Or maybe that's the point, certainly coupled with other quotes from him).

Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears. 

This one really makes me think.  And think outside myself, as well.  

(And now my office is full of people, and I can think no more...I will post, an open ended post, instead).

Happy New Year everyone.  May 2021 bring us peace, health and safety.

 

Shh... It's Lunch Time

See.. the Borg for some reason, rarely, if ever, takes a lunch break.  It is allowed - encouraged I'm sure - by the company, but I never seem to take one.

By the time I think about taking one, it's almost 3 PM, and it seems silly when the end of the day is so close.

But today.  At 1 PM, I walked away from my cube, took my personal laptop, started my timer for 30 minutes, and then started this.

There are a lot of reasons I don't go out for lunch.  The biggest one is probably that I'm an idiot.

The other reasons primarily stem from my ADD.  I'm usually too hyper focused on what I'm doing to break away.  My ADD drugs suppress my appetite (sometimes, not always, though), so I'm often not very hungry until.. let's say... 3 PM.

But the other reason has to do with laziness.  We're situated in an industrial park that has some heavy traffic to get to places to get food.  The company - in theory - sets 30 minutes for the lunch break.  I'm not an hourly employee anymore, so that applies less to me, but, it's difficult to leave the office, get in your car, go get lunch and pick it up, and be back in the office with more than five minutes remaining to eat.  We also don't have much of a lunch room, frankly.  I've escaped to a secret room today.

At some level these are all excuses.  I often feel like five more minutes on x, y or z will get me that much closer to the place of peace and harmony where I'm actually caught up at work.  HA!

But I want to work harder at trying to find balance.  Trying to have interests and occupations outside of work.  It's hard, though, after work because I come home exhausted.  So it's hard to then pull out the shiny new MacBook Air and pound out a blog post - or even an e-mail to a family member or friend.  I'm exhausted and all I want to do is veg.  And eat.  And spend time with my wife.

The problem with that scenario / equation, is that I am out of balance.  I don't seem to take time for me.

I could get up earlier in the morning, and carve out some time for myself - and I do that on occasion.  But it is really hard to leave my comfy bed and my snuggly wife to get up and do what? Exercise.. well.. that does sound like it might be important.. but unstructured time for just myself? I want to get up early for that?

All work and no play makes Borg a dull blogger.  Ha.  All work and no play makes Borg not a blogger at all.

Hence this sprint for a thirty minute break and a quick pointed rambling blog post to grease the writing wheels again.  Rambling, after all, is my style.  My art form.

Are you good about taking the breaks that are offered to you? About finding balance in your life? Enquiring Borgs want to know.

(oh, and P.S. could someone send an ambulance to my wife who will get notification when this posts and be shocked that her wife is blogging (again - although possibly only this once?).  She may experience cardiac arrest... )

(hitting "post" with a few minutes to spare to munch on a few nuts - wait, that sounds wrong)

The Borg Blog's Day Off

*cue the song "Oh Yeah" by Yello*

I took the day off from work today.  I am notoriously bad about not taking time off from work, hence the whole burned-out feeling I've had lately.  I've done really well at work to make myself be indispensable.  While that is good for job security, it makes it harder, then, to take time off.
So I positioned it this week so my boss was my partner in making sure I took today off.  In fact forced me to by yesterday afternoon.

But my wife is at work.  It's been a few years since I've had a day off of work without her also here to spend time with.  There have been a couple of occasions, I think, but it's been pretty much since I wasn't working when I first came here.  Then I had plenty of time off!

So, as today started to approach, I started to panic (well, that is WAY too strong a word) - what will I actually do with time by myself? Last time I had lots of time for myself, we had no money, so I sat on the couch a lot and entertained myself with television and the internet, but now...? Now I could possibly do something touristy - something off the regular path of our every-day life so I actually felt like I had a break from work.

The possibilities were endless.  Well, not really.  But it is easy to get overwhelmed suddenly with all these opportunities in front of you.  And then, there is the reality - it's just *one* day.  So, let's not try and pack too much in it.

Wednesday night, my wife started to subtly do what wives (well, spouses generally) might do when their spouse will suddenly have "free" time - which was start to prepare a "honey-do" list.

"Borg...?" she said sweetly.  I think spouses begin to recognize certain tones that from the outside seem harmless, but we all know... I do know my wife has begun to recognize some of mine.  I gotta switch those up.  (digression).

"Yes, my love?"

"Since you'll be home on Friday..." Uh oh.  ".. maybe you could do a couple of loads of laundry?"

Seems a reasonable request.  Seems harmless.  Seems heartless for me to say anything but, "Sure!"

Except I hadn't yet pinned down what I was going to do with my day off.  What if I decided to go to Stanley Park for the very first time? THE most touristy thing you can do in the Vancouver area?  What if I decided to go south of the border and hit the states? What if I..? What if I..? But NOW I had committed to doing a couple of loads of laundry - that's like an hour and a half of my time blocked in!  I only got about eight hours!

AND, there's a separate backstory about the laundry, too, where our safe hours of being able to do it are limited - I'll get into that a little later or in another post.  So, her request was even more reasonable given that we had limited opportunities.  (And yes, underneath the "Oh Yeah!" if you're listening carefully right now, you can hear the dryer tumbling the first load, and the washer spinning the second one).

But I hadn't settled on what I wanted to do yet, and all of that is even made harder by the inability to actually accurately predict the weather in this darn town.  Well you can.  Assume it will rain and then be pleasantly surprised if it didn't.

So, I gave her an appropriately wishy-washy answer - that I hope I delivered in my sweetest "uh oh" tone back, and apparently did the trick because she hasn't added anything else to the "honey do" list since then.  I said, "Sweetie, I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet, so I don't want to make you a promise you that I might not be able to keep, but I will keep it in mind."  Or something like that.   Either way, I think she bought it.  And either way, I'm doing a couple of loads of laundry. So in the end, I think "win-win".

Then there's the eternal question of my ADD meds.  I need them to work at my job.  I *know* when I forget to take them.  About 11 AM, I begin wandering, figuratively, and sometimes literally, and my desire to do *anything* wanes significantly.  My effectiveness and productivity take a significant drop.  And about 15-20 minutes into observing this mood, I suddenly realize, "Doh!"

On the weekend, though, (although my wife might disagree with this) the most important thing I have to do is spend time with my wife.  I don't have particular tasks that MUST be done - although we have general chores, and my wife tends to do most of them.  I don't require the assistance to stay focused on particular tasks on the weekend, because I am sharing them with my wife, and believe me she's pretty good at keeping me focused if I have to.  (Or giving up altogether and just doing it herself - that's the same thing, right?)  But, realistically, we do spend a lot of our weekend just trying to unwind from the rush of the week.  And catch up on our sleep.

And part of the time, that last item - catching up on our sleep  - is the one of the key reasons I don't take my meds on the weekends - if I take them later than a certain point in the morning, it will keep me up late at night (although we do that pretty well on our own, anyway, on the weekends, but shh...let's not insert reason into the equation).  The other reason I don't typically take my drugs on the weekend, unless there's something we really need to get done / want to get done - a big project I might easily get distracted from and pull her away, too - is that my wife says they do affect my mood.
Because I get "hyperfocused", I am not as relaxed, laid back, carefree, calm as I am when I don't take my meds.  Often they wear off by the time I get home (although she might argue otherwise), and she likes my personality better when I'm not so, well, drugged.

So, since I did get up early with her today, and since she isn't around to be affected by my mood, necessarily, and since there is a long silent honey-do list that I often politely ignore, I took my meds.  Woo hoo - productivity.  Well, we'll see. It's just 10 AM.

So, I need a plan.  Then I get the piece of paper out and list all the potential things I could be doing (besides work - I actually put on the list, "AVOID work" because sometimes it does tempt me.. if I just spent 15 minutes interruption free, I could get so much done... and save so much time and trouble... but I digress).  Otherwise, I would spend the whole day in front of the television catching up on the shows I like but my wife, eh, not so much.

There's value to that.  There's value to me getting that out of my system early in the weekend so I don't turn the tube on during the weekend when she's here and disturb her.  And there's value to just letting go and escaping.  But I do that often enough in her company, too.

Today is special. Today is an opportunity I have to do whatever I want to.  I'm in charge.  Let's make it not ordinary. Let's make it a day worth taking so I might actually remember to take more days off in the future.  (I have a few saved up).

Now the other thing I did that was unfair to my wife is that last night it was my "Friday" night.  Woo hoo - I don't have to get up early! I can stay up late!  Now we've been very bad on school nights lately, anyway, and staying up, but at some point earlier than even usual, my wife got up and did her night-time routine and was asleep at least a good 45 minutes earlier than we were the night or two before.  There was this gap on the couch... ? Where did she go?

And so what do I do? I go find her already pretty much asleep in bed.  Well, I sort of find her - our new place has these great light dampening shades, and the room is actually pitch black when I walk in and it takes me a moment to adjust my eyes.  I made it easier for myself by turning on my bright flashlight on my phone. (You're welcome, dear).  And then I proceed to crawl into bed, and play on my phone.

She had NO problem with me being out in the living room, even having the TV on, or playing on the phone on the couch where I was previously.  But I felt the compulsion, instead, to go be next to her and use a bright shiny object that would help her sleep.  Oh.  Wait.  I see that now as I type it.  Oops.

So I was on Facebook.  (I know... ) And someone had posted something about how the Westboro Baptist Church hates the Finns (or was it the Danish?) and I remembered the fun I had with them a few years back (although I'm not sure I remembered it accurately) and then I decided to open my blog on my phone (if you google "Borg Blog Westboro" it is at the top of the search list - I didn't have to pay a dime for that placement! ;) ).

And then the next thing you know, I was tripping down memory lane with my blog.  Hey, you know what I realized? I have a pretty good voice.  (She types while modestly patting herself on the back).  Okay - top of list tomorrow (oh wait, it's now after midnight as I'm reading these old posts) let's remember to write a blog entry.  And oh, yeah, you know you haven't actually been promoting the other posts you've made in the last few months, maybe you should also promote this one...

So, it's early now in The Borg Blog's Day Off - I don't have quite the plan that Ferris does, and I probably won't pack in quite as much stuff, but I will make it my own, and I can now cross off  the list: "writing a post on my blog"

"Oh yeah".. chickachicka...

I am a humanist...

Frankly, I'm not particularly fond of or attached to labels.  Not that I don't use them, and even on occasions - such as this one - apply them to myself.  But as I've gone further along in the journey of life, I've discovered that labels actually often do the opposite of what they try to do.  At least as far as people are concerned.

In theory, a label is useful because it can identify certain things about the person to whom the label is applied.  Certain consistent knowns.  Like "that person is an asshole" actually tells you a lot.  (And actually despite some frequent provocation, I don't often use that label towards others.  Unless they're driving like idiots, but that's another post for another day that I hopefully will never actually write).

Red state. Blue state.  Canadian. British. Conservative. Liberal. Professional.

It would be nice if we all fit neatly into tight little easily definable packages.

Or would it?  (And there's a side road into the potential up-sides to assimilation by the Borg...)

There certainly seems to be this pressing desire by a portion of the human population (I don't pretend to measure whether it's large or small) to categorize.  To find neat little categories, or systems by which to group people.  And these types of people (of which I probably am one, since I've often found that people pointing out features about folks they think are "other" are usually features they, too, share... after all - we are human) like distinct measurable systems.

The latest "battle" I've been having - not intentionally - has been about biological classifications.  To be clear, binary biological classifications.  Which, frankly, if I knew more about biology and the history of species with interchangeable parts, I could probably make some really snappy arguments.

But I find myself enjoying - perhaps - picking battles with people who are very certain about their views.  The more certain, stuck perhaps even, they are, the more I seem to be enjoying poking fun at them.

I'm not intentionally trying to poke fun.  Mostly I'm just trying to poke and make them think about some of the inconsistencies in what they espouse.  But it also seems to be a little fun. I'm sure that means I'm an evil person (since we like labels) or perhaps just human.

One of my friends introduced me to the work of Ivan Coyote now - oh - about five or six years ago.  My wife has recently discovered Ivan through this same friend.  And we've recently gone to see the Tomboy Survival Guide.  My wife has been generally apolitical in the world of queer politics and has been surprised and confused by some of the hateful posts others have made in response to Ivan.

One of the first ones had to do with pronouns.  I do snicker a little when others joining the conversation a month or so later have poor grammar anyway.  I'm not usually a grammar snob, but sometimes.  And usually in response to someone who's asked for it.

I stumbled into a label I hadn't heard of before  - TERFS - and that's a whole other ball of wax I won't even start back on today.  But the post essentially was a request to use the pronoun to describe the person that they preferred.  Innocent (in my eyes) enough.  But apparently not.  First, the word "label" TERFS has a little bit of explosive material attached to it.  A little like a land-mine, but different.  I had to detonate it to find out cuz on the surface it looked fairly harmless.

So, someone had written "I don't care - your aversion to your female body shouldn't dictate my perception of reality.  You are a she".  And then the Borg slips down the rabbit hole.

"Gender fantasies" being "imposed on others"

Oh, and I've been given a lot of information about biology and mental illness, and mutilation and feminism and.. oh binary biological boxes.

I was told that I believe that women aren't human beings.  No, I believe that rectangles aren't necessarily squares, but....

Anyway, let's not add math into it.

But mostly I am amused - and saddened - by the logic people profess.

I am amused by a woman who both describes herself as a radical feminist and who clearly describes her behavior towards me as "patronizing".  Uh, do you know the roots of the word "patronizing"? Do you - oh radical feminist - understand that I'd think one of the root "causes" for a radical feminist would be to eliminate "patronizing" behavior, i.e., patriarchy... i.e., well.. anyway.. never mind.

I love someone who describes themselves as a radical feminist and yet feels it's their place to tell other people what to do or not to do with their bodies.

Or a "radical feminist" who might very well have used the word "herstory" in her lifetime but thinks OTHERS shouldn't be able to use or adjust language to match their own world view.

Which is why I started this post about how labels clearly don't accurately identify anyone.  Or qualify anyone for any particular opinion.

What gives us power to have an opinion is our human-ness.

But clearly sound basic principles of what I thought would be beliefs by "feminists" let alone radical "feminists" - things I might have been led to believe through my upper education and degree in women's studies (oh, and English) are not clearly sound basic principles.

One person in sparring with me made some sort of comment about trans people only being white heterosexual men.  Which even if you accept that argument.. (big IF) still doesn't validate or invalidate general human principles about, well, anything.  I'm guessing the point was that we could dismiss it because it was a movement by privileged people.  Perhaps an indulgence...  ? I'm still not sure.

I was amused, though, and didn't bother to point out and drag poor Ivan back into it, that the conversation began by / about someone who was not born into the body of a white heterosexual male.

But at least the point made to me by that comment explains why everyone is so afraid of gender neutral bathrooms.  They think it's a prank by white heterosexual male rapists.  Sorry, I added that last word because later in the conversation the person did disclose that they had been raped (suggesting repeated molestation) and so it isn't an entirely unreasonable conclusion to draw that this must be the fear.

I've rambled in posts before.  But I am flabbergasted by some of the logic of people.  Mastectomy for a transgender person would be mutilation, but it`s okay for someone who has breast cancer or fears the potential for breast cancer because they might have a gene.  "Mutiliation" is wrong, but tattooing and piercing "don`t hurt anyone" (even thirty five years later, I do remember that my ears hurt when they were pierced, and I don't even want to think about what I would consider "less" traditional places to pierce that are becoming frankly more traditional..).  Giving oneself hormones is wrong.. but, wait, no, not for birth control.  Who is the one to draw the line - particularly for others - as to when a particular behavior is "okay" and when it is a horrific act?

And what do these people think about circumcision?

Now, to be clear, I'm not particularly advocating (intentionally) a belief system - but I do believe (which is completely contrary to my belief in humanism) in a belief system that is consistent.  If you're going to say the world is black and white, then your logic and beliefs should be that clearly consistent.

And it's okay - I do agree that there are inconsistencies in life.  I know I can be contrary.  I often admit I'm contrary, and that I'm wrong, and a whole other mess of imperfections.  But the harder you fight in your clear rigid lines that are anything but clear and rigid, the more I'm going to poke.

I may not be able to - or want to - put you into a little box as you clearly seem to want to put others and yourselves with your own labels of yourselves, but at least be consistent or recognize your own infallibility.  Cuz trust me, we're all wrong at some point.

But it's how we handle each other and treat each other in the end - regardless of label - that matters to me.

Not my first semi-disorganized post, and probably won't be as popular as Married Women Love Breasts but probably consistent with my old post about Isn't "Dyke" derogatory? What is in a name after all?

But perhaps I should listen to my other old post (self publicizing anyone?) and Step Away From the Keyboard....

Good night everyone....

Fears and Phobias and Rabbit holes

So, racism is a thing.  So, is feminism, and heterosexism, and sexism, and Marxism, and ...

Well.. you get the idea.  There are a lot of isms.

And if Wikipedia is to be believed, "ism" is a neutral connotation.

And then, there's homophobia.

The noun used for distinctions between "gay" (consider it an umbrella for the moment, will you?) and "straight" (same here.. ) is fear.

I'm being a bit simplistic today.  But frankly, lately, I think people need to think in more simplistic terms and learn to respect the commonalities amongst us all in this society rather than pick us apart because of the differences between us as individuals.  (And I do know there are more fancy terms with phobia in it to describe a bit of what's up there, like xenophobia, but you don't here "xenophobia" bandied about as a term a much as you hear "racism".)

If we think in more simple terms, perhaps we can begin to realize that something we hold so dear might really be in direct conflict and contradiction with other things we hold dear.  And maybe find a way to reconcile them.

I've done a bad bad thing lately.  I've been flinging the words "alternative facts" at others.

And I've been doing a lot of reminding to people that the world was once flat.

But I have been drawing a lot of analogies about an area I really don't know that much about.  I really don't.  But I do know about being human.  And while I might not think I have been born in the wrong body, I can respect that others might.  While I might not have been born straight, I can respect that others might have been.  While I will probably never have to be in a position of having to choose whether to have an abortion myself, I can respect for those who consider it that it is a hard choice, and that it is not mine to make.

What is mine to make is to provide them the opportunities to have a true and safe choice.

You people make choices and live lives every day that are different than what I might choose or how my life might be.  As long as you aren't out harming me, carry on.

If you need my help, and I am able, I'll gladly give it.  And I'll do my best to stay out of your way and not hamper your journey.  I might not always be successful, but I ask you to do the same for me.

I went down the Twitter rabbit hole last night.   And I haven't yet quite found my way out.

Forgive me.

And this, happened, too...

So, not only do I believe women aren't human, but I'm also responsible for the demise of the human race.  I guess it's good that women aren't a part of that.

*scratches head*

Women aren't human beings

Apparently I said that.  Sounds like me, doesn't it?

I have been away from my blog for far too long, but I must admit there's either way too much to write, or it's too hard to write about what is going on in our society.

I will endeavour to return, because it appears, I clearly have a few things to say.

Ivan Coyote is a very sweet, attractive person who prefers to have the pronoun "they" used to describe themselves.  I admit, I sometimes trip over the pronouns myself, but since I often use the plural when I'm not sure of someone's gender such as someone I haven't met who has a name associated with either gender, or a name from a culture that I am not familiar enough to know what pronoun would be appropriate.

Isn't it helpful, frankly, when someone expresses their preferences?

I really like broccoli.  I'm not fond of peas, so if I come over to visit you for dinner and you're going to have some hot green vegetable, wouldn't it be nicer if you knew what I liked and what I didn't?

Isn't that part of being a polite society that considers others?

Obviously broccoli and peas are simplifying things, but that's in many ways my point.  Respecting others preferences - when they don't harm others - whether trivial or major is kind of a part of being part of polite society.

Oh, but I forget.  We are no longer part of a polite society.  I want to forget that.  I would like us to be a polite society.  Not to the harm of ourselves or others, but to the benefit of us all.  Silly idea.

So, when I suggest instead of needing to place someone into a box of your choosing, we just accept the person as they are, and respect them as a human being, I am suddenly guilty of deciding that women are not human.

Who knew it was that easy?

Dog Walking... and other Ghosts with shoes...

I saw her dog the other morning.  

I mean, I knew it wasn't her dog.  Her dog was already in her teens when we met nearly two decades ago.  But I must admit I thought she was a unique mixed breed dog with unique coloring.

Until I saw her taking her morning walk.  The spitting image of her dog.

It wasn't the first time I had seen her taking her morning constitutional.  In fact I think it was at least the third or fourth time.  And it led me to think maybe it was a sign.  

Never a good sign, despite my fond affection for her dog.

Seriously, I did search obituaries to see if hers had been posted.

And then, finding none, I tried to let it go.

But it isn't easy letting it go.  A therapist I was briefly seeing during the highest point of terror told me that she had borderline personality disorder and it wasn't a matter of if the other shoe would drop, just when and how loud.  Frankly, that terrified me more than all the other crazy things my ex had done.  And I have lived the last nine years wondering whether the other shoe has finally dropped or if it is still waiting to drop.

One of the inspirational twitter accounts I follow - because hey, let's face it, we can all use some inspiration sometimes - this morning shared with me how we should forgive others not because they necessarily deserve it, but to bring ourselves some peace by freeing ourselves from the role of victim.

I have made progress.  It used to be that every May I would re-live every day of every completely terrorizing act she had done that last month.  Remember the broken items, the waking me up in the early morning, the threats, the bizarre comments she'd make to friends and family.  Each day was an "anniversary" of such refreshing memories.  And this May, I had a brief nagging sense that there was something I was supposed to be remembering - some event that was "special" but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

And even the faint lingering sense of dread from seeing her dog walking had begun to fade, until yesterday morning.  Yesterday morning, I discovered that she had found me on Facebook.  Fortunately, she hadn't tried to friend me (she actually can't - only friends of friends can and she and I share no more friends in common), but I was surprised when I later went on via computer to see how much of me was, indeed, public that I had thought was private.  Every profile picture and their comments ever were there for anyone to read.  

I started to deactivate my Facebook account then and there.  I still might.

But there she was.  Very much alive.  

I did think it odd at the time that of all the things I decided to search for was her obituary.  

And as much as I may even be able to forgive her past behavior knowing that she was a victim of mental illness, I don't know if I ever will feel safe until I do know she's dead.  

Trust me.  I understand how odd and sad that is.  I've never really wished anyone dead before. 

And my rational brain knows that there isn't much she could do to harm me at this point.  Any legal claims she might trump up would have passed the stature of limitations now, and either people know who I am - know my character - or they don't.  

But what made her brand of terror so much fun was the unpredictability - not knowing where or who she would strike next.  

And so I wonder.. and wait.. hoping all the shoes have dropped, while knowing, if she's searching for me on Facebook, she's not done.  She hasn't let me go.  And so I can't entirely let go of my vigilance, either.  

There is no pithy end to this post.  No simple sum-up.  I will start to let this go again.  I will become comfortable.  I will feel safe again. But I may only completely let all of this go, unfortunately, over her dead body.   

I would wish that on nobody.

Hello...? It's me again....

It's been a long time don't know if you'll want to see me again...

Alright - sorry, Adele.

This morning in the shower I realized I needed to start writing again.  (I did not realize it had been since September 2014 since I last posted).

There will be a few "throat-clearing" posts, as a former writing teacher would probably call them.

They will be awkward as my fingers find their way again... remembering what it was like to write for personal purposes as opposed to professional ones.

It was easier to blog when I was alone, and I had a flexible job where I could capture my thoughts for a blog entry after having my morning shower and head in whenever.  When my time was more flexible, and I slept whenever I wanted.

It was easier to blog when I had no-one else nearby to share my daily musings with directly -when it was a wonderful tool to distribute my thoughts to a more global and anonymous audience.

It was easier to blog when I remembered my darn password.  Luckily, after the day of gestating on it, it came back to me just in time.  Every device already has it memorized for the e-mail, but that doesn't help for the blogging.

Also, my life has changed significantly.  My biggest rants, er, diatribes, er, soap-boxes, er, daily items of interest are more office-related - like a Dilbert cartoon - or traffic-related.  There are some observations on the blissfully married life, and while my spouse has graciously told me I could write about whatever I wanted, just that she'd love to see me write again, I still feel self-conscious writing about her - fictionally enhanced versions of her, or more truthfully based.

But to not write might be to suggest my life is not interesting - and some days I don't think it's very interesting - it's just life.  That's a good thing sometimes! Lots of times!  But finding some tidbit to expand upon that you might find interesting, that you might find different or even the same as your life, but in a different twist... well....

I do admit that Adele's song is a little haunting.  "Hello" from the other side.. although I don't think she means the *Other* side like in "Ghost", merely the other side of the end of the relationship with whom she's reaching out to.  But it's a song about closure - or lack of it.  Of realizing that perhaps the other person HAS moved on, and even though you (Adele) hasn't finished healing, the other person doesn't care to re-hash it all.

Which, ultimately, is wise.  Re-hashing it all rarely brings any closure.  Often it just rips open old wounds and makes them fresh.  But driving to and from work when I hear the song, it makes me think of someone with whom I left a lot unspoken when I ended the relationship.  Well, saying I ended it implied I had more self-control and will power than I probably did, but let's just say it imploded - majestically - and she was like the coyote with her hand pressing down on the acme detonator, and... and...

I think sometimes about writing her a letter.  Except it wouldn't be writing a letter FOR her, it would be writing a letter FOR me.  I know better than to send it.  I know oh so better than to send anything.  But even then - the "closure" I seek, as the singer in Adele's song - would I really get it?

The singer is upset that who she's trying to reach out to - a thousand times - doesn't seem to answer her calls.  And suggests that means the person has moved on, and that the singer didn't mean as much as she thought she did to the person she's singing to.

That isn't necessarily true.  As one who didn't answer the phone a thousand times, it's because I couldn't take any more.  I couldn't engage anymore.  Which is why if I wrote a letter I would be smart enough NEVER to send it - never to open that door again.

But what, even, would I say?  It's been years.  Years.  And still I have no idea what I might say, how I could explain what she did to me at the time affected me at the time?  How it completely and entirely changed my life and reshaped its fabric.  How I will never be in the same position in life that I was before it all exploded - how there are some "things" in my life I will never get back, that can never be "fixed", or what it would take to fix them would not be worthwhile.

And yet, I look at my life today.  To feel that, to express that, to think that and not at the same time be tremendously appreciative where I am in my life today - even though six years ago, seven years ago, ten years ago, I would never have imagined myself here - how can I give her power to suggest she damaged my life? And I really don't want to give her credit for where I am today!  I wouldn't be where I am today if she hadn't hit the acme button on our lives.  That is true.

But I am here in spite of that.  I am in this incredibly fortunate and loved place in life and with a wonderful wife and life partner in a home full of love and happiness (well, and sometimes just sameness... even keeled stable life...) because of me and because of the steps I took small slow ones at first and slowly larger ones and faster ones to keep my life moving forward out of the "rubble".

I have had a few transitions lately - final steps in moving forward from things I was given to help me get here, help me move forward - crutches so to speak that I have managed - am managing - to move beyond.  And in the transition process I realize how far I've come.  I shouldn't have had to take this journey - and for that, I guess I still have some resentment towards that other person - but I feel pretty damn blessed at where it took me nonetheless.

Having said that, and adding some more trite sayings that always makes a blog entry complete - it isn't always the destination - sometimes it's the journey to get there, and sometimes the complications of the journey can make you also enjoy the destination even more.

Go ahead, unravel that mixed up metaphor. Ha!

Not bad for my first day back.  Let's not wait another fourteen months to meet again...

Hello, it's me, it's been awhile...

Choices..

Our lives are full of choices we make consciously or unconsciously every day.  One frequent expression is that if you are miserable somewhere, well, that's your choice.  We envision a world where we have an unexhaustable amount of opportunities I think when we say that to others.

But, at some level, we do have options.  We just might not always like what our options are.  Sometimes to get whatever it is we want, we might have to do things we might not always like.

Wow, speaking of throat-clearing...

So, for the last four months or so, I have been back to work.  That sounds much more than it really has been, but it has been nice to get out of the house and bringing home a paycheck.  The job is ideal for me.  It's part-time, pay is nice, commute isn't too bad (I've lived in Southern California and in the Washington DC area - I know traffic), dress is business casual so no uncomfortable suits.

I am, however, by most people's estimations, over-qualified for the position.  My resume is top-heavy.  You'd be surprised how sometimes that can be a bad thing.

So when I was being interviewed for the position, it was not surprised that the folks were asking with some disbelief about whether I'd be happy here.  Whether or not I might get bored.  And my answer, frankly, was that I could do just about anything for four hours a day.  And if I felt any of those things, it wasn't as if I were spending all day every day doing it.  I could manage boredom for four hours a day.

This from the girl who'd been sitting on the couch for eight hours every day waiting for her wife to return home.  Yeah, I think I can handle the potential boredom.

But the other question, spoken by some of the folks who interviewed me, and implied in the questions of others was, "Why? You have a resume that opens a lot of doors, why would you want to do this?"

And my answer then - perfectly crafted for interviewing situations - was that I valued quality of life.  That I wanted to have balance in my life.  I've worked the jobs where they were careers - end all be all and all consuming.  They were fun at the time.  I enjoyed myself, I excelled (as they could see in my resume) and they were great.  But I am now at a different stage in my life, and frankly, what I was looking for was an opportunity supplement my spouse's income.

They bought it.

The other day the Director of Finance wandered near my desk.  She's relatively new to the position, I'd say "young" although I was younger than her when I did some of my management in my day.  She has been hiring a lot of new people to populate her growing domain.  One such person started at the beginning of August, and is already on vacation.  Yes, I admit.  I am jealous.  I am still a contractor so I didn't even get sick pay when I was out in the hospital recently for a few days.  Anyway, apparently the new guy wrote this memo and made some erroneous assumptions.  She was waiting to talk to the CFO to let him know of the discrepancies so that the CFO wouldn't rely on the conclusions in the memo.

And she's asking me what she should do with her new employee?  Probably a rhetorical question.  So, I gave her a kind of rhetorical answer.  "I don't envy you.  I don't miss managing people.  There is a reason I am sitting at this desk instead of yours."

She laughed with me.  Except I was serious.

As a society, we are tasked with making progress.  With "moving forward".  "Onward and upward".  Push, push, push.

And when I was younger, just starting out, I had difficulties understanding a section of the lesbian community I had been a part of that was "downwardly mobile".  That rejected comfy corporate jobs for "jobs with meaning" which were also often jobs with low pay.  I was young.  It seemed too early to give up on the rat race and not to make the most of my potential.

And for me, at that time, that was an appropriate choice.

But it's 20 some years later.  And with experience, I have come to learn that "more" is not necessarily "better".  It can be.  Don't get me wrong.  But it is not always.

I have been very fortunate to have a lot of opportunities, experience, choices and options in my life.  I have been very blessed.  I recognize that.  Not everyone has had the same that I have had.  I will agree with those who think I am pooh-poohing myself that I created some of those opportunities and they didn't all just fall into my lap.  But some did.

I am very fortunate that my wife agrees with holding quality of life as something important. For both of us.  She welcomed the potential of a paycheck when I started tossing my hat out there, but was also sad about the possibility of me not being there waiting at home for her every day when she returned.  There was a part of her that didn't even want me to have to work at all. Which was very sweet.  Although now that she's gotten used to a little extra cashflow, I think that sentiment has passed altogether! :)  But she doesn't feel that I need to be out there garnering a six figure salary.  She knows that we don't *need* all of that, and that what it would take away from us in order to make that kind of salary isn't worth the changes that would come along with it to our lives.

We made our choice.

Throat Clearing...

So at one point what now feels long ago, I was in an educational program where certain writing courses were required.  They were designed to teach us both how to write clearly and concisely, but also how to build and express an argument.

I hated these classes, frankly.  Although I am sure I learned something from them.  As much as I begrudgingly hate to admit it.

One of the things I learned is that when I am having trouble writing about a subject, I often use what the teacher called "throat-clearing phrases".  Words that really added no value to my statement or my arguments or my writing.  Words that I put onto screen (because let's face it, I rarely wrote on paper then) simply to clear my metaphorical throat and begin writing about SOMETHING.  To get SOME words on the paper.

The literary version of "Um"...

When you haven't written in your blog much lately, and not for nearly five months, it seems necessary before one begins writing of substantive topics to have a, uh, throat-clearing blog entry.  Something to get the juices flowing again.  To say "Hi"  "Sorry I was gone for awhile".

Something to remind you how to write.  Except, as that teacher would tell me, it isn't necessary writing well.

I can live with that.  Hopefully so can you.

Anyway - I don't know if I'm back.  I hesitate to make grand promises I might not keep.  I know better than that.  I don't want to disappoint.

So, I'll see what I can do to begin doing this again.  I think one of the main reasons it took a hiatus is that it had served the need I had of it then.  But I'm sure I haven't run out of amusing things to share... so, we'll try again.

Have patience with me dear readers.  I think this is like riding a bike.  We'll see...

In Medias Res... or I don't usually get my news from TMZ

In medias res is a Latin term that English majors bandy about to mean "in the middle of".  It's a term used to describe a story that begins in the middle of the action - in the middle of the story - so we know that we're missing something important that just came before.

I've actually used the term before in this blog. because I can be a pretentious English major at times.  ;)

Okay.  Different subject.

How many of you out there have said something stupid in an argument?  C'mon.. we all have.. raise your hands.  You know you've said stupid things in an argument.  Stupidly told your wife that, no, she didn't look good in that dress; or much more stupid things.  When we fight, when we are upset, we ALL say stupid things.  We are human.  We can be idiots.  All of us.  None of us is golden.  Or very few of us.

I'll admit the stupidity of the stupid things will vary.

But how many of us have had a fight with our significant other - or any significant other?  C'mon.. we all have at one time or another, even if the significant other is a sister.  Raise your hands.

How many of us would like that argument aired to any others?

Best way to upset my ex was to raise my voice.  Every time she'd ask whether I wanted the neighbors to hear.  Often at the moment, I didn't care, or didn't think that was I was saying was so offensive if someone else did hear.

But generally, most of us don't want our arguments - our dirty laundry - aired for others to hear.  First of all, if for no other reason, than it's not their business.  Second, because context is everything.  Trying afterwards to explain what set us off to a third party?  Hard enough, sometimes it seems, to explain it to the original party.

And I'm certain none of us want to find our arguments posted on TMZ for the world to hear.

What would it be like to wake up in the morning and learn that the President of the US has weighed in on your private argument with your significant other?  I can't imagine. I'd hope that in the heat of the moment I conducted myself with decorum, but the reality of the situation is that in the middle of a fight, I'm not sure how much decorum I have.  Sometimes we, as humans, argue about things irrationally.  We're upset by things we cannot explain, or cannot explain well, or also might have nothing to do, in the end, with what we're telling the other person we're upset about.  (This happened many times with the ex.. she'd explode about x, when she was really upset about z, and it took us awhile to figure out why she was really upset).

I heard an argument recently between two people where one half was doing just that.  Trying to pinpoint why the person was upset.  And the upset person was saying things that didn't make sense, that weren't clear.  And the other person was trying to clarify what it was about the situation that was upsetting.  And getting nowhere.

I heard the conversation in the middle of it.  After whatever offensive thing had been initially said - so I don't know exactly what sparked the fight.  I've been given some clue, but I don't know.  And I wasn't there, and I'm not in the middle of that relationship.

******

Now, let's look at an entirely different situation.  A man sleeps with a younger woman who is not his wife.  He showers gifts upon her, and gives her money.  The usual story.  The wife finds out about it.  The wife sues the girl.  The girl decides to air the dirty laundry.  On TMZ.  Sadly this happens more often than we might want.  All of it.  But it does.

Why are we as a society spending all of this energy on shit that isn't our business in the first place?  Why are we empowering someone who is unhappy in her situation - who has entered into a marriage that is not her own - and allowed her to manipulate us so that news on TMZ - I mean TMZ - is enough to rock the world.  TMZ aired an EDITED conversation.  EDITED.  *ahem* Let me state this again.  EDITED.  That started in the middle of the conversation, where "sorries" are already being given.  And a woman who is trying to "protect" herself is recording a conversation with her lover and trying to get him to repeat what he said, and to corner him into saying something stupid.  On tape.

If you listen to the edited version, and listen to the dance, it is just that - a dance - her trying to get him to say something, to try and figure out what he might have been saying, and him trying to explain himself, and saying more stupid things.  Sounds like most fights.

******

I will not defend what he said. (And a year from now when I re-read this blog entry, I can already see myself scratching my head trying to remember what this is about).  I don't know, frankly, what he said.  It's not my business.  Not my argument.  Not my relationship.  Not something I was asked my opinion about.

Why everyone else has felt the need and the pressure to be involved in what should have remained a private dispute is beyond me.  What makes me angry about this situation is the chain of events that decided the titillating details of a fight between two people needed to be exploited to make everyone so angry and mad.  That we, as a society, blew oxygen on this fire and made this situation such a spectacle.

The guy who said the stupid things might very well be an ass.  Probably is.  And maybe he deserves the condemnation of society for being an ass.  I won't dispute any of that, or be involved in that conversation.  Because that is not what we were given.  We were given a private argument and everyone rushed to judgment about something that was never our business in the first place.  In medias res.

I hope no-one who sits in judgment ever finds half of their fight on TMZ for others to judge.  I'm not sure any of us would fare that well.

Morning E-Mail

Sometimes a lot of disparate things, once you step back, actually seem to tie together.  It had been awhile since I had read my e-mail in the morning, and various bits of things had stacked up.  But this morning, instead of beginning with losing my time by gaming on my iPad, I decided to read my e-mail.

First there were several days worth of Dear Abby e-mails stacked up.  I read casually through the preventative to the more serious questions she was asked: one woman surprised at everyone glorifying in their pregnancies and not hiding their bundles-to-be under smocks, another man wondering if he can trust his partner after he caught him sending inappropriate pictures to another, a woman who had moved in too quickly and found her boyfriend to be a bit abusive (what do I do now? uh, leave?), a man who had lost his wallet - cautioning others to make copies of everything in their wallet so they know what they've lost, another man bemoaning the fact that apparently after twelve years he is finally discovering that his wife never wanted to have children.

Second there was an e-mail from a friend from my church back home - an inspirational chain mail message of sorts.  Two names on it, send it to the top one who is not the friend who sent it to you, and send them an inspirational message - everyone can use another puppy dog in their e-mail - and then re-send the message to twenty of your closest enemies (because do you really want to harass your friends with chain e-mails) and delete the person in line 1, and move yours to line 2, etc., etc.  Not particularly fond of chain mails, and certainly don't want to invite a potential of 400 emails to flood my inbox full of puppy dogs, and angels wings, etc.  But I did think about the one inspirational quote I keep in my wallet, and whether to at a minimum at least send that along to person #1.

Third there were the blog entries from a high school acquaintance - kinda-friend - of mine whose husband has just had a heart attack in the new year and followed immediately by bypass surgery.  She has two young kids at home, and finds herself swirling with her new world order.  A few weeks back after reading a prior blog post, I had sent her an inspirational message - you are not alone - to her; but she seems to be lost in this idea of a world that is now gone, and nothing but bleakness in front of her.

Leaving my ex-partner of ten years was one of the hardest things I ever had to go through.  Not only because it meant leaving her (although by then, frankly, I was ready for some peace from her, not that she was ready to give it to me at the time), but because given the circumstances (her escalating violence), I felt that I had to leave the area altogether.  Move not only from the physical house that I had bought and had been my home for the past ten years, but also leave the area and the state altogether, cutting off ties with friends, and her family that had been mine.  I ended up moving back across the country to be with my family (a roller coaster of its own).  Packing - or attempting to pack - one night in the middle of it all had proven to be too much for me, so I began wandering the streets of my city - possibly wailing, maybe out loud, maybe just internally, but tears were certainly streaming down my face.  I found myself at my church, a couple miles from where I had started.

No-one was there.  It was 10 PM.  I had a key - I could have gone in.  But the solace I was looking for wasn't directly there.  Instead, I called a church member who I knew only lived a block away - not someone I had necessarily been close to, but I had been getting to know - and I asked if I could drop by.  That I needed to see SOMEONE.  He graciously agreed I could come over.

He and his wife - both long retired - had been retired for the night. He opens his door to this adult woman whose face is covered with tears, and who cannot express in words anything, let alone what she needed or what she wanted.  Or why she was there.  She just had landed there, on his door step, in the middle of the night.

He brought me into his kitchen, and he offered me a beverage, and looked at me trying to figure out what I needed, what I wanted.  What he could do.  And I just sat there and cried, and cried.  At one moment, he excused himself, and he came back with a small slip of paper with words printed on it.  It looked a little like a fortune cookie fortune.

And he just said to me quietly, "This is something that I've found helpful, so I carry it with me, and have a few copies of it."  And he handed me the paper and on it was a verse from Isaiah.

"Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago.  Watch for the new thing that I am going to do.  It is happening already - you can see it now!  I will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there." Isaiah 43

After he handed it to me, I started to calm down a little.  Still crying, but less intensely.  Wiping my face was no longer as futile an exercise as it had been moments before.  I was able to gather myself enough to thank him, and to be ready to head back out, and head back to the place where I had been staying.  I put the slip of paper into my wallet.

There were many moments of despondence through the process of leaving and moving forward with my life.  That one was one of the worst lows, if not the worst low.  But I came out of it with some calm.  And when I hit those other moments - as trite as I admit it sounds - I would pull out that piece of paper and try to have faith.

I no longer have the original piece of paper, but I reprinted the quote onto a small piece of card stock, and on the back side I have a few lines from 1 Corinthians 13 - the famous verse read at most weddings and carry that with me in my wallet.  For a long time since in Canada, my wallet has been fairly empty.  I had my driver's license, my quotes, a small wallet-sized love poem from my wife, an emergency $20 (originally U.S. dollars, now in Canadian dollars).  Then we added a library card.  Now I am adding more cards, and my wallet IS getting fuller, again.

And so when I read the Dear Abby letter, I thought about what was in my wallet - what I would need to copy.  And then I read the chain email, and thought about sending my quote.  And then I read the blog entries, and thought of a more appropriate person to send it to.  Life has a funny way of connecting things together.  Or maybe it's just me...

Sleeping with Others...

Every once in awhile it strikes me as odd the ways in which humans sleep.  

I only had one sibling growing up, and I had my own bedroom.  My grandparents were old fashioned and slept in the same room but in separate beds. 

In boot camp and in Hogwarts people sleep many to a room in barracks or dorms. 

In Call the Midwife, you see several scenarios where there are eight to ten in a room.

My mother and father had separate bedrooms because my mother couldn't sleep with my father's snoring. 

What is it in us that dictates the amount of personal space one does or doesn't need while sleeping?

Model homes these days have large master suites for the parents to retreat into, but tiny bedrooms for the kids, often making other spaces in the house more welcoming for children to spend their waking hours (although rarely, it seems, out doors)

Often at night, we will fall asleep spooned and entwined only to end up at opposite sides of the bed with our backs to each other. Usually we still have some body part touching, but not always. 

Then there is the issue of timing. Do you have to go to bed at the same time? Do you have to fall asleep at the same time?

Many times when I am trying to fall asleep, I wonder about my grandparents. There is an episode of How I Met Your Mother where Lily and Marshall try out separate beds after seeing two beds at Robin's boyfriend's apartment. 

Somehow I can't help but think that sleeping in separate beds, or even separate rooms for your family is a very first world phenomena. 

When I sleep - when I am not up typing a blog entry with insomnia- I can sleep. Noise, light, other people moving... none of that seems to bother me when I sleep, and often won't necessarily keep me awake. 

My wife, on the other hand, can hear the sink drip from two apartments below us. With her ear plugs in.  Well, not really with her ear plugs in.. that merely brings her hearing into normal range. And she can't sleep. Guy outside collecting cans.  Nope. Can't sleep.  Sometimes even the girl next door snoring keeps her awake. Or worse. Wakes her. 

Not me. I am oblivious. 

But how we sleep and how we fall asleep and wake truly matters and influences our demeanour. Our mood. Our capacity to face the day and any challenges it might bring. We have a plethora of alarm clocks now to help influence that. One mimics sunlight by slowly brightening the room as it wakes you. My nephew just got a device that he wears on his wrist that monitors his biorhythms on an ongoing basis and it supposedly wakes him with vibration after he has slept the ideal amount of time. 

It has been a long time since I have needed to sleep with an alarm clock - although my wife's alarm clock does go off every weekday morning - and I think my body has found its own rhythms. When I was single, I had a period where I slept primarily from 1-5 each day - both am and pm.  It was what I needed and when I needed it, and I was fortunate enough in my schedule then to have the flexibility to meet those needs. 

Often my wife and I will take an afternoon nap when she comes home. Sometimes these are short snoozes, and sometimes deep sleep. And so sometimes, at 1 am, I find myself awake. 

Thinking about sleep.... 

Happy Anniversary

So, this is it.  Two years.  And I am sorta still blogging.  Still remember the password and log in. But two years ago today (February 15th) I started this blog.  And it changed my life. Significantly. 

I feel that it is fortuitous that my cohort encouraging me to do this happens to be visiting me in person. Thank you to Robin Sparkles for all her support. 

Must go to bed now, but wanted to take a moment to note the day.  The day that I started the blog that helped me find my wife.  Pretty damn special day.  

Applause, Applause, Applause...

I live for the applause-plause..

This is what is going through my head. The only words I know from the Lady Gaga song. 

But it repeats over and over and over. 

I only know it is Lady Gaga, because my wife has told me so.  She is teaching me to recognize pop stars since for the last five years (and really longer) I have fed myself a steady diet of country music. I loved that about the mid-West. Nearly every station was country.  :)

But it is one o'clock in the morning, and I should be sleeping. 

Is there a deeper meaning to the words that I should be taking in?

NO!

Did you not read the line above? I should be sleeping. Nothing deeper. 

And yet... I am awake. And even in the light from the living room, the words carry on.

Gaga indeed...

Someone's in the kitchen with .. Borg...

Okay - so that doesn't quite sound like Dinah. But if you could hear me singing it....

Oh, who am I kidding?

Little known fact. I actually like to cook. In fact I actually once considered going to culinary school. Robin Sparkes will attest to the fact that in college I made a pretty mean crepe. 

Well known fact. I hate to clean. 

Sometimes someone like me can luck out in a relationship and find someone willing to clean if you are willing to cook. 

I really lucked out because I found a woman who prefers to do both. 

Except I like to cook too sometimes. As long as I don't have to clean. Pesky details get me every time. 

Fortunately, my wife is at work for two traditional meal times so I do have plenty of opportunity to cook.  And, like I have after today's venture, I will attempt to clean up. 

But the reality, and the rub, however is that I have low standards for what is clean. Dishes done and food put away works for me. (And let's face It, sometimes not even that much). Apparently there are others, who shall remain nameless, who think cleanup should include the egg drops on the stove and things like that. Silly people. 

However, same said silly people enjoy detective work (see http://theborgblogger.blogspot.ca/2013/07/csi-cooking-and-pancakes.html) So, really, when I leave egg behind it is meant as a gift.  Honest. :)

(Think she'll buy that? No? Crap, better wipe off that egg....) 

Anniversaries....

My wife and I are quite amusing when it comes to "anniversaries" of events. Mostly because we hardly overlap and each of us finds alternative days and events noteworthy of celebration. Fortunately, we support each other enough to humor the other's "special" dates.

Recently my wife has been preparing mentally and emotionally for a trip to the mid-West. Which is partly significant given that her first trip there was quite arduous. She did not tell me at the time about the grilling at the US Border when she crossed to catch her plane. She fortunately had a direct flight to the nearest major city (about 25 minutes away) to where I was living, but getting to the airport in Seattle to catch her flight took almost as long as the flight itself. 

But she asked me the other day how it was that she could be missing that small little town in the mid-West that I most recently came from?

(We have decided that once I can safely return to Canada if I leave, that we will go back and visit.)

But she came to realize that the reason she has been preparing now is that it is coming up on the anniversary of her trip out to meet me. I have been remembering other days over the past year, such as when we first heard each other's voice, first admitted more than friendly feelings, first this, first that. For some reason this was one of the firsts that slipped under my radar but fell on hers. 

We both have our romantical streaks, and fortunately they seem to complement each other well. So over the next few weeks as my wife prepares for her trip, say a little prayer of thanksgiving with me that she had the courage to make that trip and cement this future together that we have embarked upon.  She is a courageous little chickie-poo. Fortunately she got those tiny little wings to fly. 

And next month we can celebrate the two-year anniversary of this blog!