Ah, June. Lovely month. I just returned from a stroll through the burb . . . to the Couche Tard for mediocre coffee . . . but alas, nothing else is walking distance away.
I'm almost through this year . . . and from this end of things . . . it really was unbearable, despite my attempts to see it in a positive light. I'm done with doing whatever I've been doing and really must find a better way.
After experiencing what I thought of as a quarter-life crisis in my twenties, I'm back to crisis mode at the now-appropriate mid-life point. What now? is all I can think . . . as my second marriage is a mess of disappointment and frustration, as my career is crushed, as my confidence is lost . . .
Thankfully, I do have a super cute and curious kid, but she is exhausting.
I have to recover this summer . . . I have to rediscover who I am and what I can do . . . because all I've been able to focus on all winter are my failures.
Bring on the sun.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Saturday, May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014
Ha, two weeks more?? It's still cold. It's May and there is not much to show for it.
The only silver lining is . . . I have until Monday to file my taxes. This is tax weekend and it will be taxing! I am struggling through H & R Block's online software and the convolutions of filing business income and expenses. I do not like this, not one bit. I spoke to three CRA reps yesterday - two gave me entirely wrong information - the third I quite liked, and seemed to know what he was talking about, so I'll trust his advice. E, listening from the couch, said he sounded like a therapist, and he really did. He was calm, encouraging, spoke slowly, seemed concerned. CRA should hire therapists as tax advisors, or train tax advisors in non-directive counselling.
Anyway, otherwise, things are finally calming down . . . my marathon marking sessions are over, as are classes, so I can focus on my less exacting teaching . . . and productions. The next month will involve three different ones . . . and so lots of variety and, hopefully, fun.
So, no Sarah Hampson, I may not be living exactly the opposite of creativity, although I can't say that I'm gunning for high octane accomplishments or risks to get them. Can't some of us . . . just be who we are and not see that as a failing? (This relates to Hampson's article "The Afterlife of Marina Keegan" in yesterday's Globe.)
I'm determined to try not to see myself as less than others because I haven't accomplished big things. If I have tried, which I think I have, and nothing's really come of it, why bang my head against the ceiling and risk a concussion? Why not just live quietly and continue to pursue what pleases me and be happy that I can do that?
What else is there to do?
The only silver lining is . . . I have until Monday to file my taxes. This is tax weekend and it will be taxing! I am struggling through H & R Block's online software and the convolutions of filing business income and expenses. I do not like this, not one bit. I spoke to three CRA reps yesterday - two gave me entirely wrong information - the third I quite liked, and seemed to know what he was talking about, so I'll trust his advice. E, listening from the couch, said he sounded like a therapist, and he really did. He was calm, encouraging, spoke slowly, seemed concerned. CRA should hire therapists as tax advisors, or train tax advisors in non-directive counselling.
Anyway, otherwise, things are finally calming down . . . my marathon marking sessions are over, as are classes, so I can focus on my less exacting teaching . . . and productions. The next month will involve three different ones . . . and so lots of variety and, hopefully, fun.
So, no Sarah Hampson, I may not be living exactly the opposite of creativity, although I can't say that I'm gunning for high octane accomplishments or risks to get them. Can't some of us . . . just be who we are and not see that as a failing? (This relates to Hampson's article "The Afterlife of Marina Keegan" in yesterday's Globe.)
I'm determined to try not to see myself as less than others because I haven't accomplished big things. If I have tried, which I think I have, and nothing's really come of it, why bang my head against the ceiling and risk a concussion? Why not just live quietly and continue to pursue what pleases me and be happy that I can do that?
What else is there to do?
Thursday, March 27, 2014
No one around
Oh no. Just lost a post. Maybe better that way . . . pour out all the anguish and "poof" it's gone.
I'm alone again, just now, just for a little while, with E flown away, and all the kids with the crazy parents.
It's still brutally cold and nothing like spring, but there's sun and blinding glare.
I'm reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt and it is incredibly gripping and moving. I've been crying my way through my morning tea, lying on the couch, seeping in the fireglow, postponing the start of my long day until the last possible moment.
Once spring arrives, it will be easier, I reason, then I read the Globe headline that promises 2 more weeks of winter and I wilt.
E isn't affected by weather. He seems to coast along, thrumming with work and purpose, stalled only briefly by the crises of his children.
Would I were more like that.
I am determined to try . . . within reason. But being overly attached to my daughter's outcomes seems impossible to avoid. Her happiness seems the only real thing I can aim to accomplish right now, but maybe success in school isn't the real measure of her happiness. Her English teacher told me that they did an exercise in class where they each spoke to what they wished for. A explained that she was truly happy with her mom and dad and didn't particularly wish for anything.
There's that. At least something seems right.
I'm alone again, just now, just for a little while, with E flown away, and all the kids with the crazy parents.
It's still brutally cold and nothing like spring, but there's sun and blinding glare.
I'm reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt and it is incredibly gripping and moving. I've been crying my way through my morning tea, lying on the couch, seeping in the fireglow, postponing the start of my long day until the last possible moment.
Once spring arrives, it will be easier, I reason, then I read the Globe headline that promises 2 more weeks of winter and I wilt.
E isn't affected by weather. He seems to coast along, thrumming with work and purpose, stalled only briefly by the crises of his children.
Would I were more like that.
I am determined to try . . . within reason. But being overly attached to my daughter's outcomes seems impossible to avoid. Her happiness seems the only real thing I can aim to accomplish right now, but maybe success in school isn't the real measure of her happiness. Her English teacher told me that they did an exercise in class where they each spoke to what they wished for. A explained that she was truly happy with her mom and dad and didn't particularly wish for anything.
There's that. At least something seems right.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Smoothie
Okay, so I'm drinking smoothies to smooth out this rough, late-winter patch. It isn't working as quickly as I'd like it to. I'd like my energy back, please. Optimism would be nice, too. Hope? What's that?
I'm alone again this weekend and I'm brooding. A friend and I were talking about The Artist's Way the other day, which I should re-read. I'm no doubt frustrated by my lack of creative expression. It isn't that I'm not creating things, but I don't think I'm creating the things I'd most like to. However, when I try to get to what I want to write, for example, I come up blank. So . . . I'm just waiting for something to come clear, which may never happen.
Certainly, what I realize about myself is that I'm incapacitated by emotional upheaval and we've had a lot of that here lately. The boy in the house is apparently in crisis and it seems the other parent on that side is again veering close to the edge, threatening to abandon the kids and commit herself for treatment. Meanwhile, I'm dealing with a sad little girl who misses her half-brother. I'm also facing another year of unemployment after an email from my department warning of dire work prospects.
I would like to change course. I tried to, actually, this time last year, but the route I took was a dead end. In talking to my friend, I realize that I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted to do . . . and I know my ambitions are fairly small . . . but I'm not nearly making enough money to do it for any prolonged period of time. I'm hoping the book I picked up last week at the library, Tapping into Wealth, will help.
If I could work and make enough to support myself and A and have some extra for a rainy day, then I think everything would be fine. This would all feel easier. Life would seem possible.
Currently, my circumstances feel impossibly challenging and I don't feel up to dealing with them.
So, I'll swig my smoothies and continue my navel-gazing until the other people return and I have to deal with their problems.
I'm alone again this weekend and I'm brooding. A friend and I were talking about The Artist's Way the other day, which I should re-read. I'm no doubt frustrated by my lack of creative expression. It isn't that I'm not creating things, but I don't think I'm creating the things I'd most like to. However, when I try to get to what I want to write, for example, I come up blank. So . . . I'm just waiting for something to come clear, which may never happen.
Certainly, what I realize about myself is that I'm incapacitated by emotional upheaval and we've had a lot of that here lately. The boy in the house is apparently in crisis and it seems the other parent on that side is again veering close to the edge, threatening to abandon the kids and commit herself for treatment. Meanwhile, I'm dealing with a sad little girl who misses her half-brother. I'm also facing another year of unemployment after an email from my department warning of dire work prospects.
I would like to change course. I tried to, actually, this time last year, but the route I took was a dead end. In talking to my friend, I realize that I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted to do . . . and I know my ambitions are fairly small . . . but I'm not nearly making enough money to do it for any prolonged period of time. I'm hoping the book I picked up last week at the library, Tapping into Wealth, will help.
If I could work and make enough to support myself and A and have some extra for a rainy day, then I think everything would be fine. This would all feel easier. Life would seem possible.
Currently, my circumstances feel impossibly challenging and I don't feel up to dealing with them.
So, I'll swig my smoothies and continue my navel-gazing until the other people return and I have to deal with their problems.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Not anytime soon . . .
It isn't going to stop. I can't take it . . . I hate winter! Arghh!!!
I wish I were one of these people who could enjoy the snow and cold and get out and do things and feel revitalized. At times, I have been one of these people. Not now. No, now, I just want to hibernate. I sit in front of the fire and read and surf and used to watch the rats . . . until our beloved little one died unexpectedly yesterday. She never grew. I'm not sure why. don't know rats . . . and of course feel responsible for her untimely death . . . because I didn't realize she was so sick. She sneezed a lot and was small . . . but . . . I had no idea she was dying!
So, a sad day yesterday. . . and A and I were plowed in by the snowplow's pass . . . and it took me 40 minutes to dig us out so that she could make it to an afternoon birthday party. Today's headline, yet another "Snow Alert!" - unbelievable!
Thankfully, amid the bad news is some good news, my sad-sack, miser of a boarder is out . . . that was a huge relief. I'm not made to share; I'm finally, fully aware of this. That may not be such a great thing, but it is a true thing. I don't think I'll be able to tackle this anytime soon.
Challenges of any kind will have to wait. I'm just going to continue to hibernate until winter breaks.
I wish I were one of these people who could enjoy the snow and cold and get out and do things and feel revitalized. At times, I have been one of these people. Not now. No, now, I just want to hibernate. I sit in front of the fire and read and surf and used to watch the rats . . . until our beloved little one died unexpectedly yesterday. She never grew. I'm not sure why. don't know rats . . . and of course feel responsible for her untimely death . . . because I didn't realize she was so sick. She sneezed a lot and was small . . . but . . . I had no idea she was dying!
So, a sad day yesterday. . . and A and I were plowed in by the snowplow's pass . . . and it took me 40 minutes to dig us out so that she could make it to an afternoon birthday party. Today's headline, yet another "Snow Alert!" - unbelievable!
Thankfully, amid the bad news is some good news, my sad-sack, miser of a boarder is out . . . that was a huge relief. I'm not made to share; I'm finally, fully aware of this. That may not be such a great thing, but it is a true thing. I don't think I'll be able to tackle this anytime soon.
Challenges of any kind will have to wait. I'm just going to continue to hibernate until winter breaks.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Hot Buttered Rum
So last night, after my long drive home in the extreme dark and cold of the Polar Vortex, I attempted to make myself a glass of hot buttered rum, based on Beppi Crosariol's recipe in the Globe. The only thing I left out was the sugar, thinking that a 'paste' of butter and vanilla ice cream was probably bad enough. To that, I added hot water and my Puerto Rican spiced rum. I sat in front of the fire and decompressed for a good long while and thought, okay, so this is winter.
Winter gets me down. I don't like it. I especially don't like being cooped up inside with E's kids, who are always obnoxiously behaved. It is getting to me in a really bad way. I am planning on vacating the rest of the winter, just as soon as I recover my home from my sad-sack tenant at the end of this month. I'm not sure at all what this will mean in the long run . . . certainly, I'm now fully committed to an alternative 'family' constellation - and notice I've used air quotes. This is an artificial approximation of family and his kids will never let me forget it.
Winter gets me down. I don't like it. I especially don't like being cooped up inside with E's kids, who are always obnoxiously behaved. It is getting to me in a really bad way. I am planning on vacating the rest of the winter, just as soon as I recover my home from my sad-sack tenant at the end of this month. I'm not sure at all what this will mean in the long run . . . certainly, I'm now fully committed to an alternative 'family' constellation - and notice I've used air quotes. This is an artificial approximation of family and his kids will never let me forget it.
Stop it, already!
I hate this winter! It has to stop.
It took me an hour and a half to drive in this morning. Traffic was crawling and several macho truck dudes went spinning out in front of me as they raced through intersections. I puttered along and made it in the nick of time, but it was close.
This is why . . . this is a big reason why . . . I will be returning to this side of the river soon. First, I have to bid farewell to the gloomy, grey-haired, soon-to-be divorce who has been occupying my former bedroom in my small home. He has not been a terrible tenant, but he is so intent on taking advantage of me (having hour long hot showers, doing hot washes every night, installing cable and a large screen tv against my wishes and angling me to share their costs, campaigning for me to pay for snow removal) that I think he's a rather unpleasant man. So, bye. As soon as he's out, I'm back in.
Of course, this seems necessary and easy to do right about now, but the other side of this decision is the sense that living at E's house is impossible, and our marriage is . . . faltering. I'm not sure I really believe that . . . not really . . . but surely if it were good and healthy I wouldn't want to live away again. I do want my space again. After three years of constant bad behaviour from his son, rudeness and provocation, I don't want to have to spend another day avoiding him in order to preserve my sanity.
All I can do is return to what seemed to have worked better -- separate residences and shared alone time, without kids around. I realize, of course, that this is more like dating than marriage, but second marriage is more like war than love, so - all's fair.
It took me an hour and a half to drive in this morning. Traffic was crawling and several macho truck dudes went spinning out in front of me as they raced through intersections. I puttered along and made it in the nick of time, but it was close.
This is why . . . this is a big reason why . . . I will be returning to this side of the river soon. First, I have to bid farewell to the gloomy, grey-haired, soon-to-be divorce who has been occupying my former bedroom in my small home. He has not been a terrible tenant, but he is so intent on taking advantage of me (having hour long hot showers, doing hot washes every night, installing cable and a large screen tv against my wishes and angling me to share their costs, campaigning for me to pay for snow removal) that I think he's a rather unpleasant man. So, bye. As soon as he's out, I'm back in.
Of course, this seems necessary and easy to do right about now, but the other side of this decision is the sense that living at E's house is impossible, and our marriage is . . . faltering. I'm not sure I really believe that . . . not really . . . but surely if it were good and healthy I wouldn't want to live away again. I do want my space again. After three years of constant bad behaviour from his son, rudeness and provocation, I don't want to have to spend another day avoiding him in order to preserve my sanity.
All I can do is return to what seemed to have worked better -- separate residences and shared alone time, without kids around. I realize, of course, that this is more like dating than marriage, but second marriage is more like war than love, so - all's fair.
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