I apparently have anything BUT a regular sleep schedule lately. Says the girl typing at 3:50 AM.
I have had days where I sleep from 1 - 5 every day, twice a day. Days where I wake up every two hours, and fortunately drift back to sleep. Naps so deep that when I wake I am completely disoriented as to what day it is let alone what time of day it is.
For the most part, I don't spend my days dragging, although I have come home from lunch for an afternoon nap or two on occasion. So I guess I have to hope that my body is getting the sleep it needs.... even if it needs it, or takes it, at some strange hours.
I had a friend in college - who I was quite jealous of because of this fact - who literally only needed and only got four hours of sleep day. I mean imagine how much work you could get done (because in college I still thought it was important to get work done) if you could stay up studying until 2 AM, and be back awake again at 6 AM?? I mean wow!
Be careful what you wish for, folks! ;)
But tonight's insomnia, I'm fairly certain, is brought to me by the letter 'H' as in Holidays. As you may recall, some of my family is coming to visit. Woo hoo.. Oh, wait. No. Fortunately, I live practically across the street from the Mall where there's a hotel where they will stay so I don't have to have them stay literally in my house.
Because, apparently, I'm angsting over that.
I actually live in a fairly nice sized space for a single person. I lucked out in the housing department when I finally got to have my own space again after a year of living in various other people's homes after fleeing my own home of a decade. I live in a stand-alone house, that actually has copious amounts of space, that I have managed to expand into. Much more than I ever needed. It's a two-bedroom home, and the front bedroom is essentially a storage area (read junk room/pretend-office) and the back bedroom is actually 15 foot wide, so large enough to not only have a sleeping area, but also to have a sitting area, too. The bathroom is ridiculously huge, and the kitchen is fairly large, although limited counter space, too. And I am blessed with an extra back room - which I've thought of as a mud room / pantry until I got a washer / dryer given to me this past year, and now it's the mud room / pantry / laundry room. No dining room in the house, but there is a living room.
It's a lot of space for one person, which has been nice. Some of the apartments I looked at before I found the house were a lot cozier, including one place which was essentially three rooms, no doors, in a row - the living room area, connected to the bedroom in the middle, with the kitchen on the opposite side. So, if I had had company, they would have to traipse through my bedroom area to get to the kitchen, which I didn't like particularly much. Plus the rooms were small, and the landlord mentioned that he thought the woman next door on the same floor might have a lot of paid evening guests.
The next place would have been nice if I were about, oh, say, a foot taller. There was no air conditioning, and the windows that could open were all situated quite high on the walls- difficult for me to open to get any kind of cross-breeze going. It was two bedrooms, but that was it - two bedrooms and a kitchen. And in the kitchen, again, apartment was designed for a giant, I seriously seriously would not have been able to reach them without a step stool. I may have been able to access the bottom shelf of them, but I'm not sure even that.
I have lived in a house for a good deal of my life - although I have lived in an apartment, too. I admit, I prefer not sharing walls with others because you have the illusion, at least, that you can be louder. One twitter friend complains regularly about the boy who lives under her and the noise he makes. I can make considerable noise here - even vacuum in the middle of the night - and not worry about waking anyone or bothering anyone.
The yard here leaves a LOT to be desired. Some of that is my fault, because I never seem to have a working lawnmower. As soon as someone gives me theirs that I have been borrowing, it no longer seems to work. (Seriously, has happened more than once!). But it is also quite uneven, and there are a lot of dips and holes and places waiting for me to sprain my ankle. Always an exciting prospect when you have no health insurance.
But here's the thing about my house. It's furnished somewhat sparingly for one. It is in many ways like a large master bedroom suite. There is plenty of wonderful space for ME to be comfortable. But not enough space to really share with anyone else or to entertain. So I don't. No-one even tries to come into my house, and I've grown quite comfortable with that. Perhaps a bit too comfortable, but comfortable nonetheless.
My house is furnished with cast-aways and give-aways from folks from my church. The bed I sleep on was someone else's guest bedroom bed that they decided to replace right around the time I was moving in. The frame is off because there's a metal part that sticks out that I can't figure out how to make go in. It's pretty basic - nothing more than the metal support frame. I have two dressers from a friend who left the country and just returned (and wants one back?), and a nice oversized chair in the bedroom from a friend whose wife didn't agree with his purchase.
In the living room, there is a love-seat sized couch - two people can sit on it cozily - and a setee that I was basically storing for the friend who had left the country for a year. It smells (faintly now) of cat piss, and I don't recommend it as a place for anyone to rest upon. But my friend has apparently grown immune to the smell, and so for her, it is a lovely piece from her house that she will want returned (I keep hoping) some day.
So, if I invite the folks in, I have no place for them to sit comfortably to stay and hang. There is not enough room for a tree - I have a fairly pathetic desktop tree that makes Charlie Brown's Christmas tree look lush. No place to hang the stockings - although I do have one, and just received another last night at a party. There is no television in my house - no TV to watch any games on or any Christmas specials or even movies on DVD. I watch all my stuff on my computer.
Then there's the subject of Christmas dinner. I have had several friends ask me or comment upon how I'll now be responsible for Christmas dinner. To which I reply to them, I don't think so. I purchased a small 2' diameter (maybe four foot, but 2' width when the "leaves" are down) table for my kitchen with two little stools from Wal*Mart after living here for six months. There is no room for more than two to eat.
Plus, it isn't as if I am much of a cook.
So, I am having a little angst. I did manage to keep from inviting them in their last visit without much trouble or awkwardness at all - and frankly, I'm hoping for a repeat of that. Because my living space is designed for one, or perhaps one + one guest. It works for me. But it doesn't work in this kind of setting.
My opinion, generally, is that they invited themselves - they shouldn't expect me to do these things, and for the most part I think that's a pretty reasonable opinion, and in line with their expectations. On Christmas day, I am planning a Jewish Christmas with a friend of mine (who is Jewish, of course) where we will have Chinese food and see a movie. On Christmas Eve, they will be forced to go to my church. :) That solves the Christmas dinner issue.
But my fear - perhaps unwarranted, since last time they were so accomodating and didn't look for an invite in - is that by NOT inviting them in, they will think I am hiding something. And maybe I am - I do feel protective over my space, even though it doesn't entirely reflect me since I've only spent money on the kitchen table, the refrigerator and a set of shelves for the pantry, and everything else was given to me and fit in where it could. I have three desks in three different rooms! None of which have chairs with which to sit at. I don't want them to judge my ability to thrive based upon my living space, because it may not send the message that I have healed and recovered well enough for their standards. They already wonder what I'm doing in this small town... and even offered unsolicited this past month to move me some place else.
They are well meaning.
But they are giving me insomnia. And forcing me to write long rambling posts (because usually my posts are so short and pithy.. ;) ) Bleah...
(And why am I NOT surprised that I already have a label on the side for Insomnia..? Ah, my old friend... we spend too much time together..)
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A rose named Borg...
Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from):
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga
I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name". When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"
There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name. My full real name. One other person knows my first name. That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)
And that is not an easy decision. And by next week, that circle may increase.
The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"
Um, yes you can? And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"
If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name. In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account. (Dratted iPhone and human error).
This is not easy for me. I do not like living in closets. I do not like hiding who I am. I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am. I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).
I have written several blog entries already about anonymity. I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right. This is something I've struggled with. And still struggle with.
At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever. But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga. The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure. Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do! But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.
Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life. People I've loved dearly. People I still love dearly. While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not. And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was. And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her. (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)
And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you. Or someone you know just down the street. Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story. And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of. That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....). That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.
But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate. Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done. Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting. EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me. Simply because I asked for it. And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life.
It was a real WOW moment. A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?
And this is the moment where I change the title of this post. I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going. But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________. And that's pretty darn special. And I'm pretty darn lucky!!
Have patience with me, then, my friends. Because so many of you have become my friends. This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too. I know that you can respect me on this. I've seen how you support me, despite my name. And I appreciate you all.
-----
If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):
I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.
There I wrote:
Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.
...
When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.
So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.
Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...). And what would I do at that point? Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group. I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)
The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own. I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived. Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous. This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me. I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me.
I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship. There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am. For some of them, I wish I could change that. For some, eventually over time, I will. But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear. Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends. While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience. As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen. I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective.
(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )
I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about. The world didn't fall apart when I told her. Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about. And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook. And she hasn't disowned me as a friend. Again, an early Jenga piece.
And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately). It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called. It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows.
--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)
I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy. It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down. It won't. But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up.
Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes". But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can. Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there. And I don't want to censor or edit myself.
As I said, I don't like hiding. All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.
Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)
For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you. And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too. I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)
And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does.
Friday, February 17, 2012
14. I live alone
I currently live alone.
When I was in college, I was involved in a long distance relationshp. It was torture. This was before the days of skype, texting, Facetime, and e-mail was just beginning to develop, but let me state that we did not have it and we did not use it. This was when you actually paid for long distance by the minute. When you paid attention when the phone company called and offered you a better deal on long distance charges, particularly since I wasn't the only one using our phone in a long distance relationship.
So, communication was not necessarily a daily affair. We actually wrote letters. On paper. With stamps. We couldn't call every day - we were both students and couldn't afford it. I'm sure we talked about once a week. But that's a long time not to be connected.
When we finally ended the relationship due to my loneliness, I recognized and realized that I was not a long-distance kinda gal. I needed my significant other to be closer to me so that I could be more connected.
In my thirties, I had the relationship I dreamed of in my twenties. I was living with my partner, and we had a household, the typical white-picket fence kind of existance. An adult relationship. I was happy and felt connected. I had that daily touch, and I was not lonely.
During that relationship, I decided to go back to school for a graduate degree. This all while working full-time. This was a lot on my plate. My time became scarce. And the demands on that time were heavy. A good friend of mine was a successful lawyer and involved in a relationship with someone who lived about two hours away. They talked regularly - I presume daily - and then spent their weekends together. She had "her" time to do what she needed to do without worrying about getting home to him, and then they had "their" time to do things together and be together. They had separate time.
And while in school, and trying to juggle, I suddenly became very jealous of that separation of space. I suddenly became envious of a long distance relationship, and recognized that now that I was older, I might actually be able to sustain a long distance relationship, and in fact, I might actually want a long distance relationship. My wife was very supportive of my endeavors, but she had her needs and ants, too. She missed seeing me, wanted to know when I would be home, and wanted my attention - ideally undivided - when I was home to be with her. I can't blame her. Quality attention is much more important than quantity of attention, and I was not giving her the attention she needed to feel that she was special in my life. But despite our attempts to set "date nights" and other time for ourselves so that we could have that quality time, it was difficult to do so.
I envied the long distance relationship. The ability to compartmentalize.
And at some point during that relationship, I decided that if I were involved again, I might enjoy NOT living with someone else.
One of the annoying things I used to do was leave stuff around the house, and let the papers pile. One of the annoying things my wife used to do was tidy up after me and clean up those piles. I have a visual / spatial memory. I have a pretty good memory of where I left things. If I am in my office surrounded by stacks of papers, I am pretty good at quickly pinpointing what pile something I might be looking for is in, and have a pretty good idea about how far down the pile it is. With the ADD, I wasn't too great at filing and instead, felt that the papers needed to be out to give me a visual reminder of what needed to be done. I know that this isn't unusual.
That all works fine and dandy unless someone moves your pile of papers. And their memory isn't as good as yours to remember what they did with it. Usually it was put in a plastic bag somewhere.
So, it'd be nice to have my own space where no-one moved things, and I could find them.
I haven't really had an opportunity to try out my theory. I haven't been involved with someone since who has been available to live with me. In fact, it was quite a complicated relationshp that ended up being long distance at the end. I did confirm that I can handle being in a long distance relationship better than I could thanks to free long distance, texting, instant messaging, e-mailing. But I was still lonely, too.
I think, though, if I were to have the ideal relationship, me and my partner would live in the same "complex" - whether it be apartment buildings, street, or an actual duplex, but have separate space. Close enough to always be together, but still have a room of our own.
Ah, but that's another post.
When I was in college, I was involved in a long distance relationshp. It was torture. This was before the days of skype, texting, Facetime, and e-mail was just beginning to develop, but let me state that we did not have it and we did not use it. This was when you actually paid for long distance by the minute. When you paid attention when the phone company called and offered you a better deal on long distance charges, particularly since I wasn't the only one using our phone in a long distance relationship.
So, communication was not necessarily a daily affair. We actually wrote letters. On paper. With stamps. We couldn't call every day - we were both students and couldn't afford it. I'm sure we talked about once a week. But that's a long time not to be connected.
When we finally ended the relationship due to my loneliness, I recognized and realized that I was not a long-distance kinda gal. I needed my significant other to be closer to me so that I could be more connected.
In my thirties, I had the relationship I dreamed of in my twenties. I was living with my partner, and we had a household, the typical white-picket fence kind of existance. An adult relationship. I was happy and felt connected. I had that daily touch, and I was not lonely.
During that relationship, I decided to go back to school for a graduate degree. This all while working full-time. This was a lot on my plate. My time became scarce. And the demands on that time were heavy. A good friend of mine was a successful lawyer and involved in a relationship with someone who lived about two hours away. They talked regularly - I presume daily - and then spent their weekends together. She had "her" time to do what she needed to do without worrying about getting home to him, and then they had "their" time to do things together and be together. They had separate time.
And while in school, and trying to juggle, I suddenly became very jealous of that separation of space. I suddenly became envious of a long distance relationship, and recognized that now that I was older, I might actually be able to sustain a long distance relationship, and in fact, I might actually want a long distance relationship. My wife was very supportive of my endeavors, but she had her needs and ants, too. She missed seeing me, wanted to know when I would be home, and wanted my attention - ideally undivided - when I was home to be with her. I can't blame her. Quality attention is much more important than quantity of attention, and I was not giving her the attention she needed to feel that she was special in my life. But despite our attempts to set "date nights" and other time for ourselves so that we could have that quality time, it was difficult to do so.
I envied the long distance relationship. The ability to compartmentalize.
And at some point during that relationship, I decided that if I were involved again, I might enjoy NOT living with someone else.
One of the annoying things I used to do was leave stuff around the house, and let the papers pile. One of the annoying things my wife used to do was tidy up after me and clean up those piles. I have a visual / spatial memory. I have a pretty good memory of where I left things. If I am in my office surrounded by stacks of papers, I am pretty good at quickly pinpointing what pile something I might be looking for is in, and have a pretty good idea about how far down the pile it is. With the ADD, I wasn't too great at filing and instead, felt that the papers needed to be out to give me a visual reminder of what needed to be done. I know that this isn't unusual.
That all works fine and dandy unless someone moves your pile of papers. And their memory isn't as good as yours to remember what they did with it. Usually it was put in a plastic bag somewhere.
So, it'd be nice to have my own space where no-one moved things, and I could find them.
I haven't really had an opportunity to try out my theory. I haven't been involved with someone since who has been available to live with me. In fact, it was quite a complicated relationshp that ended up being long distance at the end. I did confirm that I can handle being in a long distance relationship better than I could thanks to free long distance, texting, instant messaging, e-mailing. But I was still lonely, too.
I think, though, if I were to have the ideal relationship, me and my partner would live in the same "complex" - whether it be apartment buildings, street, or an actual duplex, but have separate space. Close enough to always be together, but still have a room of our own.
Ah, but that's another post.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Resistance is Futile
Despite the title, this will not be a blog about science fiction.
Well, not totally.
I have discovered, to my surprise, that I am apparently a science fiction fan. In college, special interest groups would be allowed to gather together to pool housing priority points and get suites where people of like interests could live together. On the floor I lived on my freshman year, the Sci Fi club had a suite. I became best friends with many of those folks, but never identified myself as part of the Science Fiction group.
Until recently.
Facebook is a part of my life. I resisted it for awhile. I originally only went on to try and find someone for a client of mine from a Google search, but then found old friends. I got hooked. Recently, I found a cache of folks from college. Frankly, if you'd asked me before the Facebook age, I wouldn't have said I kept many friends from college - just a handful. But last night I created a group of just my friends from college to pass along a reference to our school in pop-culture, and discovered I have 20 Facebook friends - or over 10% of my "friends" - from college.
At least half of these are recent entries and reconnects in the past year. Someone from the Sci Fi group found me, and then invited me to their private page. And then others found me. I discovered - quite belatedly - that I did belong. I may never have been a card-carrying member. But when I looked at the posted pictures from college, I was in over half of them. I cannot tell you who have been all of the Dr. Whos (what is the grammatical formation of the plural of Dr. Who?), and I do NOT (I repeat, I DO NOT) speak Klingon.
But I am a fan of science fiction. I couldn't help but be with my brother enjoying it himself as a youngster. He was a great Star Trek fan, and I saw Star Wars for the first time in the theater with him and his friends. They tried to scare me by telling my father was Darth Vader (and this was the original - *before* we learned that he was Luke's father). My Hulu playlist will show that I am a fan of Warehouse 13, Eureka, Misfits, Firefly, Quantum Leap, and Being Erica, amongst others. My college house-mates and I would religiously gather to watch the weekly broadcast of ST:TNG, and caught up where we had missed on the regular daily re-runs.
I cannot hide. Resistance is futile.
Well, not totally.
I have discovered, to my surprise, that I am apparently a science fiction fan. In college, special interest groups would be allowed to gather together to pool housing priority points and get suites where people of like interests could live together. On the floor I lived on my freshman year, the Sci Fi club had a suite. I became best friends with many of those folks, but never identified myself as part of the Science Fiction group.
Until recently.
Facebook is a part of my life. I resisted it for awhile. I originally only went on to try and find someone for a client of mine from a Google search, but then found old friends. I got hooked. Recently, I found a cache of folks from college. Frankly, if you'd asked me before the Facebook age, I wouldn't have said I kept many friends from college - just a handful. But last night I created a group of just my friends from college to pass along a reference to our school in pop-culture, and discovered I have 20 Facebook friends - or over 10% of my "friends" - from college.
At least half of these are recent entries and reconnects in the past year. Someone from the Sci Fi group found me, and then invited me to their private page. And then others found me. I discovered - quite belatedly - that I did belong. I may never have been a card-carrying member. But when I looked at the posted pictures from college, I was in over half of them. I cannot tell you who have been all of the Dr. Whos (what is the grammatical formation of the plural of Dr. Who?), and I do NOT (I repeat, I DO NOT) speak Klingon.
But I am a fan of science fiction. I couldn't help but be with my brother enjoying it himself as a youngster. He was a great Star Trek fan, and I saw Star Wars for the first time in the theater with him and his friends. They tried to scare me by telling my father was Darth Vader (and this was the original - *before* we learned that he was Luke's father). My Hulu playlist will show that I am a fan of Warehouse 13, Eureka, Misfits, Firefly, Quantum Leap, and Being Erica, amongst others. My college house-mates and I would religiously gather to watch the weekly broadcast of ST:TNG, and caught up where we had missed on the regular daily re-runs.
I cannot hide. Resistance is futile.
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