Last night I was laying in bed reading another silly Anita Shreve novel. This one is set in New Hampshire, specifically the part of New Hampshire that I lived in for over a year. The story centers around the towns that crisscross the New Hampshire/Vermont border from the middle of the state upwards. The action in the novel occurs during a very cold, snowy winter in the hills. There are driveways that people can't get up, even in ambulances, and the ice is an omnipresent character in the story.
I laid there and thought, "Now New Hampshire is a perfect place to be very, very sad." All that snow, ice and freezing temperatures seem to encourage long periods of introspection and depression. People close their doors and hole up in their houses. The lack of friendliness in the town's people only personifies the belief that you either, "Live Free or Die" in that state. Independence is cherished and any sign of public weakness should be crushed out immediately like a cigarette butt.
It really is the kind of place where you could go quietly insane and no one would notice. The neighbors might find you once the ground thaws and the snow melts, but it would be too late by then.
Then I started thinking of all the places where I was unbelievably miserable. The places where I experienced chest tightening anxiety attacks and self-hatred so extreme that I rarely got out of bed. Places where, at times, I functioned only on a life-preserving level. Certainly, Lebanon, New Hampshire tops the list, but it's closely followed by McCall, Idaho - Telmen, Zavkhan, Mongolia - Oxford, England - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - Friendswood, Texas.
Wherever you go - there you are. Unlike the airlines, your being never loses your baggage.
My baggage is a slightly different from other divorced/single parents that I've met. My baggage doesn't have needs. My baggage doesn't call me to tell me that it needs money or emotional support. I don't have to respond to my baggage and I can go weeks pretending it doesn't exist. My baggage can't keep me from seeing my son because it's in a bad mood (really, we all know that depression and it's twin, anxiety, are rarely in good moods. That's contrary to their nature). It can keep me from enjoying my time with Zac and from appreciating the joy and beauty around me, but I don't have to ask it to file a joint tax return or for extra time on the weekend to be with my son.
The flip side of this coin is that no one claims Zac and I as "family". There is no former partner that I can call that will stop everything to support us, even if they don't love me anymore. It's Zac and I. I make all the decisions, even though I yearn to be in a family of my own making.
I want someone to say that they will always love me - no, love us - regardless of the mistakes I make.
Showing posts with label Mating Season. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mating Season. Show all posts
Monday, February 19, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
2/15
Occasionally, it's incredibly obvious to me that I have a couple people in my life that do nothing but make me doubt myself. Slowly but surely, I'm trying to find the courage to stand up for myself and say, "No, I'm sorry. I deserve to be treated better than that." It's difficult for me because I so readily believe all of the negative things that I hear reflected back.
Take for instance an e-mail that I got yesterday. It came from a man that I've never met in person and have been communicating with, off and on, for the last six months or so. He asked if we could meet. I told him no because I was dating West Virginia and I'm really not a good enough liar to try and keep secrets from someone that I care about. He responded with this:
"Ha....you're a woman that values honesty and integrity. I'm sure. What you really are is an emotional wreck whose vulnerability gets you into relational trouble on a dangerously consistent basis.
But I understand. No (redacted) for me. Hope you enjoyed the breakfast.."
Now, normally I completely and whole-heartedly own up to the fact that I've had emotional problems in the past and continue to struggle with depression and anxiety. However, having a virtual stranger call me an "emotional wreck" is something that I am not prepared to accept, mutherfucka. I guess we can all see why I've never agreed to meet him. What does he think? That being mean to me will convince me that he's the man of my dreams? *scoff*
When I told West Virigina that story last night after dinner, he just shook his head and asked why someone would say such a horrible thing. I wondered the same. He pulled me close and told me that everyone in the past that had left me for someone else, lied to me, or consisently put me down for either over-thinking or over-feeling (and it's interesting that people feel I can do both simultaneously), did me a favor. They did a favor by leaving and giving me the opportunity to reach my full potential without their baggage. They did me a favor, he said, by letting me meet someone that can appreciate every part of me and can see how much I have to offer.
Those words were such a nice way to end Valentine's Day.
Take for instance an e-mail that I got yesterday. It came from a man that I've never met in person and have been communicating with, off and on, for the last six months or so. He asked if we could meet. I told him no because I was dating West Virginia and I'm really not a good enough liar to try and keep secrets from someone that I care about. He responded with this:
"Ha....you're a woman that values honesty and integrity. I'm sure. What you really are is an emotional wreck whose vulnerability gets you into relational trouble on a dangerously consistent basis.
But I understand. No (redacted) for me. Hope you enjoyed the breakfast.."
Now, normally I completely and whole-heartedly own up to the fact that I've had emotional problems in the past and continue to struggle with depression and anxiety. However, having a virtual stranger call me an "emotional wreck" is something that I am not prepared to accept, mutherfucka. I guess we can all see why I've never agreed to meet him. What does he think? That being mean to me will convince me that he's the man of my dreams? *scoff*
When I told West Virigina that story last night after dinner, he just shook his head and asked why someone would say such a horrible thing. I wondered the same. He pulled me close and told me that everyone in the past that had left me for someone else, lied to me, or consisently put me down for either over-thinking or over-feeling (and it's interesting that people feel I can do both simultaneously), did me a favor. They did a favor by leaving and giving me the opportunity to reach my full potential without their baggage. They did me a favor, he said, by letting me meet someone that can appreciate every part of me and can see how much I have to offer.
Those words were such a nice way to end Valentine's Day.
Monday, February 12, 2007
2/12
"I'm not ready to make nice,
I'm not ready to back down,
I'm still mad as hell
And I don't have time
To go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is
You think I should"
Dixie Chicks, "Not Ready to Make Nice"
I cheered last night when the Dixie Chicks won Record of the Year at the Grammies. I personally love this song, although I struggle with staying "mad as hell" at anyone other than myself for more than 20 minutes or so. Well, that isn't exactly true because I'm excellent at holding grudges and never letting someone forget how they wronged me. It's just the actual yelling, screaming and silently seething part that I'm not very good at.
I wish I was better at that, to be honest.
Thordora mentioned in her post today that she feels all emotionally clogged up. Her anti-depressant isn't letting anything come out and I understand how that feels more than most people. Sure, my recent hormonal surge caused me to cry every day and oddly start producing breast milk again. Sure, that was weird as shit because - really - I'm pretty sure having your breasts ache after crying isn't a completely normal reaction. I admit all of that.
I'm back to my normal routine of, "Just get through this". Just find a way to make it through and not fall asleep at your desk. I'm so tired all the time. So worn out. Even in the midst of a new person coming into my life, I can't garner much motivation to do anything. My sex drive has never been this low. I keep looking at West Viriginia and apologizing for how I feel, but I don't know how to change it.
All of the "shoulds" keep kicking in, this time about a new relationship. I should want to have sex with him more. I should feel better about myself. I should appreciate that he's into me and all of the compliments that he gives me (even though it secretly freaks me out, especially when he said he was going to call last night and didn't).
Zac will at least be happy. Everytime this week that he's been in room with West Viriginia and I, he starts to cry whenever we touch. It doesn't matter if it's as something as simple as putting his arm around me or his feet on my lap. Zac will start to cry and immediately walk over to me and demand that I pick him up. WVa had to move his feet so Zac could sit on my lap and glower over at his "competition" for my affection. He's never been like this and, honestly, I don't really know what to do.
He's jealous and it reminds me of those dogs that will jump up in between people when they start to hug or kiss. Some dogs will bark so loudly that the humans jump apart. My son - he just cries and looks miserable. I don't know if this just the developmental stage he's in or if this is a side effect of him being raised by only one primary caregiver.
Have any parents with partners ever experienced this? Do children freak out about affection within the bounds of a committed relationship or do I need to be more careful about the men that Zac gets introduced to? My Mom (who doesn't really want me to date), hypothesized that Zac senses that I'm in a new relationship and is concerned for me. When I was crying over Mr. Tugboat, he would start to cry as well, for no other reason than his Mommy was crying. After Mr. Tugboat, he got me all to himself. It seems like he doesn't want to give that up and he especially doesn't want me to cry anymore.
Can you tell that I'm blaming myself for everything today? It's just one of those days.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
2/10
This Thursday, Zac went to his first (semi)professional game. My organization got free tickets to the Houston Aeros hockey team and I invited West Virginia to go with me. Unfortunately, the day before I was stuck at a board meeting until 9pm and I didn't get a chance to even see Zac before he went to bed. West Viriginia understood and asked me if I could bring Zac to the game.
We met up at my apartment at 6pm and went over, together, to pick up Zac from daycare. What happened there was every single Mom's worst nightmare.
West Viriginia went into the daycare with me.
One of the Shoe Nazis came over and practically squeeled, "Oh h-e-l-l-O!!! We haven't met yet," sticking out her hand in West Virginia's direction. "My name is Happy Happy Joy Joy and I've been with this daycare for 20 years." West Virigina, still shaking her hand managed to introduce himself before she started launched into her speech about Zac.
"Well, you know," she motioned over at Zac, "he is just such a special child. He really has done so well with learning how to walk." Her words were starting to wash over West Virginia, as he realized exactly what she was assuming. My face was getting redder and redder. I was scooping up Zac's bottle and coat as fast as possible, trying to encourage Zac to run out the door for the first time in his life.
The humiliation just kept continuing.
"It is just so great to finally meet you," Happy Happy Joy Joy croned on. "It's great to see families involved with each other. I hope that you come back and see us just as soon as you can."
From the corner of Zac's daycare classroom, I started thinking, "Yep, I've dropped off and picked up Zac every day for the past year - 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year - and suddenly, like magic, a man shows up! It's like I've been blessed by the Daddy fairy for my good behavior."
West Viriginia shook her hand once more and wished her a good night. Zac and I were trying to make our way to the car as fast as possible without making direct eye contact with anyone over the age of 2 to avoid any further embarassment.
When I got into the car, West Viriginia got in, looked at me and laughed. He said, "I was just waiting for her to say how much he looked like me! I was going to tell her that he's a stud and that it runs in the family!!"
We agreed that she's a little flighty, bless her heart.
We met up at my apartment at 6pm and went over, together, to pick up Zac from daycare. What happened there was every single Mom's worst nightmare.
West Viriginia went into the daycare with me.
One of the Shoe Nazis came over and practically squeeled, "Oh h-e-l-l-O!!! We haven't met yet," sticking out her hand in West Virginia's direction. "My name is Happy Happy Joy Joy and I've been with this daycare for 20 years." West Virigina, still shaking her hand managed to introduce himself before she started launched into her speech about Zac.
"Well, you know," she motioned over at Zac, "he is just such a special child. He really has done so well with learning how to walk." Her words were starting to wash over West Virginia, as he realized exactly what she was assuming. My face was getting redder and redder. I was scooping up Zac's bottle and coat as fast as possible, trying to encourage Zac to run out the door for the first time in his life.
The humiliation just kept continuing.
"It is just so great to finally meet you," Happy Happy Joy Joy croned on. "It's great to see families involved with each other. I hope that you come back and see us just as soon as you can."
From the corner of Zac's daycare classroom, I started thinking, "Yep, I've dropped off and picked up Zac every day for the past year - 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year - and suddenly, like magic, a man shows up! It's like I've been blessed by the Daddy fairy for my good behavior."
West Viriginia shook her hand once more and wished her a good night. Zac and I were trying to make our way to the car as fast as possible without making direct eye contact with anyone over the age of 2 to avoid any further embarassment.
When I got into the car, West Viriginia got in, looked at me and laughed. He said, "I was just waiting for her to say how much he looked like me! I was going to tell her that he's a stud and that it runs in the family!!"
We agreed that she's a little flighty, bless her heart.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
2/08
Ok, so there were a couple votes for the, "Never Been Married" topic, which might be interesting. I hesitate, though, because much like picking a url that denotes the presence of something (namely an inutero child), picking a blog topic about the absence of something (my lack of marriage/commitment status) might also change.
I can remember sitting across from one of my boyfriends trying to explain that I would never agree to get married until gays and lesbians had the right to marry their partners. I didn't want to support an institution that our government uses to bestow or deny rights and privileges to people based solely on the biological sex of who they fall in love with. Some men get that. To other men, I could have been speaking Farisi while inhaling helium. What I was saying about the cultural discrimination of marriage made that much sense to them. I just figured that I never would get married to a man since I never had the option of marrying a woman.
Much like Pamilia, I'm also not really a big fan of all the accuturements of a wedding. The conflict diamonds, the white dress with lace, the expense and the hysteria that weddings can cause those involved in planning the actual day don't seem to be particularly meaningful symbols to me.
Then the Massachusetts Supreme Court gave gays and lesbians the right to get married, even as Vermont voters were driving around with bumper stickers proclaiming the need to, "Take Back Vermont!" from the ill-begotten stepchild of marriage: the Civil Union. Hawaii had completely reversed its Civil Union policy and only pockets of towns in California were allowing gay marriages, pending review from the California state legislature and judiciary. Then one day, Canada made it ok to be queer and married, even while shivering from the extreme cold and contemplating chopping up the dog house for firewood. That was a beautiful thing.
Yes, somehow, the world didn't collapse when MA started allowing same-sex couples to be joined in matrimony. I found myself rethinking my views on marriage and I realized that it's difficult to give the world ultimatums like, "I will never do...until you..." It's possible and I applaud the people that can do it. I've had to be a little bit more flexible and forgiving of myself.
I could have never predicted that four years after graduating college, I would be a single Mom to an incredibly beautiful child. During my pregnancy, I mourned the loss of my dream of being in a committed relationship and raising a family. I had to forgive myself for my mistakes and embrace the joy and laughter that Zac brings into my life. It was a slowly evolving process to reach that conclusion.
It's the experiences that I've had as a mother and a woman that have forced me to re-evaluate where I stand on issues. "Equal rights for gays and lesbians," is so far from being actualized that somedays I want to look up to the sky and yell: "Why? Why are we letting this go on? Why does it matter to anyone who they take into their hearts and into their beds? Don't we have more pressing issues to deal with as a society?" and then I sigh and once again call myself a hypocrite for letting my coworkers and acquaintances assume that I'm straight.
Yes, I've never been married. To be completely honest, at 26 years-old, I've never even moved in with someone. I've been alone and there are days when I don't want to be alone anymore.
I can remember sitting across from one of my boyfriends trying to explain that I would never agree to get married until gays and lesbians had the right to marry their partners. I didn't want to support an institution that our government uses to bestow or deny rights and privileges to people based solely on the biological sex of who they fall in love with. Some men get that. To other men, I could have been speaking Farisi while inhaling helium. What I was saying about the cultural discrimination of marriage made that much sense to them. I just figured that I never would get married to a man since I never had the option of marrying a woman.
Much like Pamilia, I'm also not really a big fan of all the accuturements of a wedding. The conflict diamonds, the white dress with lace, the expense and the hysteria that weddings can cause those involved in planning the actual day don't seem to be particularly meaningful symbols to me.
Then the Massachusetts Supreme Court gave gays and lesbians the right to get married, even as Vermont voters were driving around with bumper stickers proclaiming the need to, "Take Back Vermont!" from the ill-begotten stepchild of marriage: the Civil Union. Hawaii had completely reversed its Civil Union policy and only pockets of towns in California were allowing gay marriages, pending review from the California state legislature and judiciary. Then one day, Canada made it ok to be queer and married, even while shivering from the extreme cold and contemplating chopping up the dog house for firewood. That was a beautiful thing.
Yes, somehow, the world didn't collapse when MA started allowing same-sex couples to be joined in matrimony. I found myself rethinking my views on marriage and I realized that it's difficult to give the world ultimatums like, "I will never do...until you..." It's possible and I applaud the people that can do it. I've had to be a little bit more flexible and forgiving of myself.
I could have never predicted that four years after graduating college, I would be a single Mom to an incredibly beautiful child. During my pregnancy, I mourned the loss of my dream of being in a committed relationship and raising a family. I had to forgive myself for my mistakes and embrace the joy and laughter that Zac brings into my life. It was a slowly evolving process to reach that conclusion.
It's the experiences that I've had as a mother and a woman that have forced me to re-evaluate where I stand on issues. "Equal rights for gays and lesbians," is so far from being actualized that somedays I want to look up to the sky and yell: "Why? Why are we letting this go on? Why does it matter to anyone who they take into their hearts and into their beds? Don't we have more pressing issues to deal with as a society?" and then I sigh and once again call myself a hypocrite for letting my coworkers and acquaintances assume that I'm straight.
Yes, I've never been married. To be completely honest, at 26 years-old, I've never even moved in with someone. I've been alone and there are days when I don't want to be alone anymore.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
2/07
Outside of pregnancy, I've never woken up at 4am and thought, "Cookies. Cookies are what I need right now and I'll cry until I get them."
Apparently, I don't have the mind of a toddler.
Zac woke up this morning and demanded cookies. I don't usually cave into his demands, but I have an inherent aversion to being woken up out of a sound sleep. Just imagine an arm reaching out to silence an alarm clock. Without really being fully awake, your body just instinctively tries to stop whatever noise woke you up in the first place.
That's how it was with me last night as I picked Zac up and brought him downstairs. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him into the kitchen, pointed up at the pantry and then looked at me like, "What part of this equation do you not understand? I. WANT. A. COOKIE" I gave him a handful of Nilla Wafers (which are called cookies in my house because the American lexicon lacks words like "biscuit" or "wafer" when referring to a crunchy baked goods) and he dutifully tromped out of the kitchen, up the stairs and back into bed with his cookies.
If that were the end of story, it would have been an uneventful night. It's just that he wouldn't go back to sleep. The Cookie Monster wanted to play. When I wasn't game he ended up kicking me in the back, repeatedly, until 6am or so when we finally both passed out.
I'm at work right now, still tired and bleary-eyed, but smiling. I have an appointment on Friday to see a psychologist and West Virginia came over last night for burritos and bad television. After I made dinner, he cleaned my kitchen and I almost fainted from joy. He admitted that he's a bit of anal, clean-freak. I think if you have to have a compulsion, there are worse ones than the desire to clean someone else's living space.
Especially after that person just cooked you dinner.
Apparently, I don't have the mind of a toddler.
Zac woke up this morning and demanded cookies. I don't usually cave into his demands, but I have an inherent aversion to being woken up out of a sound sleep. Just imagine an arm reaching out to silence an alarm clock. Without really being fully awake, your body just instinctively tries to stop whatever noise woke you up in the first place.
That's how it was with me last night as I picked Zac up and brought him downstairs. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him into the kitchen, pointed up at the pantry and then looked at me like, "What part of this equation do you not understand? I. WANT. A. COOKIE" I gave him a handful of Nilla Wafers (which are called cookies in my house because the American lexicon lacks words like "biscuit" or "wafer" when referring to a crunchy baked goods) and he dutifully tromped out of the kitchen, up the stairs and back into bed with his cookies.
If that were the end of story, it would have been an uneventful night. It's just that he wouldn't go back to sleep. The Cookie Monster wanted to play. When I wasn't game he ended up kicking me in the back, repeatedly, until 6am or so when we finally both passed out.
I'm at work right now, still tired and bleary-eyed, but smiling. I have an appointment on Friday to see a psychologist and West Virginia came over last night for burritos and bad television. After I made dinner, he cleaned my kitchen and I almost fainted from joy. He admitted that he's a bit of anal, clean-freak. I think if you have to have a compulsion, there are worse ones than the desire to clean someone else's living space.
Especially after that person just cooked you dinner.
Monday, February 05, 2007
2/5
In between the time when Mr. Tugboat and I "officially" stopped dating and before we started being ambiguous friends, I went on two dates. Tug even referenced them in his first comment on my blog as proof that I had moved on from him and that the pot that was calling the kettle black should stop. That particular kettle is bad at remembering names, so he gave the two men that I went out with nicknames: West Virginia and Zoolander. We always referred to them by those names, even off blogger.
West Virginia is 30. Grew up on a dairy farm in the place that he's named after. When I first met him, the schtick of, "I'm just a poor farmer trying to make good in the big city," was too much for me to handle. I don't idealize rural, farming life, in particular because I once chopped all my own firewood and had to haul my large quantities of my own drinking water. To me, indoor plumbing is a plus and avoiding cows at 4am is even better. West Viriginia agreed, went off to college and is now an IT/Project Manager guy of something to do with water systems and filtration tanks.
Zoolander is 32. Grew up in a suburb of Houston and is an actor/model that lives at home with his parents (no joke). He recently moved back to Houston after trying to "make it" in Austin and is living with his parents to save money to buy a house. His real job is waiting tables at a steakhouse. After interrupting every sentence and trying to turn a backrub into more, I let him know that I wouldn't be seeing him again.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, West Virginia called me, just to see how I was doing. He hadn't heard from me since after Thanksgiving and wanted to catch up. During that phone call, he said the craziest, sweetest thing to me. It was something along the lines of: "Girl, you have so much going for you. You are sweet, beautiful, and funny. I hope you are squeezing your lemon for all it's worth and making some damn fine lemonade."
Let me tell you, there is no better way to ask for a second date than a phrase like that.
More time passed with the promise that we would call each other. We finally did get in touch and I invited him over to watch the second half of the Superbowl with me. He came over, we ate pizza, drank beer, and played with Zac, who wanted no part of ever falling asleep again.
Basically, I had a great time.
He was more comfortable this time and a little less, "Aww...shucks, ma'am" and a little more like an interesting, articulate person. He still had the unbelievably annoying habit of asking me a question, listening to my answer, and then responding immediately with a compliment like: "You have very beautiful eyes," which made me want to throw something (like preferrably a full bottle of Bass Ale) at him for not listening to me. But, all and all, I had fun with a very nice guy.
It just reminded me of standing in a video rental store with Caroline from Austin after my date with John Farmer. She said, "He was such a nice guy, but clearly not for you. He'll make a good mate someday." I quipped, "...to someone that isn't me," and we both laughed and acknowledged the very obvious truth.
When I woke up this morning, I thought, "Maybe it really IS time that I give a nice guy a chance."
West Virginia is 30. Grew up on a dairy farm in the place that he's named after. When I first met him, the schtick of, "I'm just a poor farmer trying to make good in the big city," was too much for me to handle. I don't idealize rural, farming life, in particular because I once chopped all my own firewood and had to haul my large quantities of my own drinking water. To me, indoor plumbing is a plus and avoiding cows at 4am is even better. West Viriginia agreed, went off to college and is now an IT/Project Manager guy of something to do with water systems and filtration tanks.
Zoolander is 32. Grew up in a suburb of Houston and is an actor/model that lives at home with his parents (no joke). He recently moved back to Houston after trying to "make it" in Austin and is living with his parents to save money to buy a house. His real job is waiting tables at a steakhouse. After interrupting every sentence and trying to turn a backrub into more, I let him know that I wouldn't be seeing him again.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, West Virginia called me, just to see how I was doing. He hadn't heard from me since after Thanksgiving and wanted to catch up. During that phone call, he said the craziest, sweetest thing to me. It was something along the lines of: "Girl, you have so much going for you. You are sweet, beautiful, and funny. I hope you are squeezing your lemon for all it's worth and making some damn fine lemonade."
Let me tell you, there is no better way to ask for a second date than a phrase like that.
More time passed with the promise that we would call each other. We finally did get in touch and I invited him over to watch the second half of the Superbowl with me. He came over, we ate pizza, drank beer, and played with Zac, who wanted no part of ever falling asleep again.
Basically, I had a great time.
He was more comfortable this time and a little less, "Aww...shucks, ma'am" and a little more like an interesting, articulate person. He still had the unbelievably annoying habit of asking me a question, listening to my answer, and then responding immediately with a compliment like: "You have very beautiful eyes," which made me want to throw something (like preferrably a full bottle of Bass Ale) at him for not listening to me. But, all and all, I had fun with a very nice guy.
It just reminded me of standing in a video rental store with Caroline from Austin after my date with John Farmer. She said, "He was such a nice guy, but clearly not for you. He'll make a good mate someday." I quipped, "...to someone that isn't me," and we both laughed and acknowledged the very obvious truth.
When I woke up this morning, I thought, "Maybe it really IS time that I give a nice guy a chance."
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
1/24
In the background of all this noise, behind the computer screens and late night phone calls, you would see a woman with her finger pads aching, frantically typing the last paragraphs on a 25 page proposal or playing with the budget numbers one final time.
While all of this has been going on, I'm trying to complete the biggest project of my (very short-lived) professional writing career. My organization, in collaboration with two other non-profit organizations in the county, are applying for a federal grant program to support legal assistance and representation for victims of domestic abuse. The current budget for the project is in excess of $850,000.
Right now in southeast Texas, funding restrictions prohibit undocumented immigrants and working-poor victims from receiving pro bono legal representation. Even though undocumented victims are eligble for U visas through the Victims of Trafficking and Violence Prevention Act, they can't receive application assistance or even legal advocacy at the Social Security Office or the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Office in Houston. Legal aid funding prohibits the legal representation of any non-U.S. citizens or U.S. citizens above 125% of the poverty line.
Basically, all of those threats that an abuser makes, the ones that sound something like: "If you call the police, they will deport you...You will never see your children again....If you ever tell anyone what I did to you, I will take the kids away from you...You can never get away from me...I'll find you...you are still legally mine," are essentially true for these victims that can't access legal services.
For working-poor women, it's a tough line between "makes too much to qualify for services," but, "still can't afford a private attorney". Very, very few women can come up with a $2,000 retainer for a private attorney, especially when her annual household income is just over $12,000.
That is what I've been working on and why the noises around me sound more like static and less like a cacophonous orchestra. I haven't slept uninterrupted in more than three weeks. The medical mystery has been solved: Zac is getting all four of his molars in at once. He wakes up sometimes 2 or 3 times a night, even while lying next to me. I'm so tired that the numbers start merging in my brain and I end up trying to budget the salary of a paralegal at the same rate that I'm budgeting for a client advocate and counselor.
The enormity of what I'm doing and the amount of people we could serve if our proposal is accepted is enough to keep my head up and my eyes clear. There are many, many women in worse positions than I am. A bruised ego and a hurting heart will heal, even though some moments are harder than others.
Right now, I'm just trying to honor the 143 women and children that died last year in Texas at the hands of the abuser.
While all of this has been going on, I'm trying to complete the biggest project of my (very short-lived) professional writing career. My organization, in collaboration with two other non-profit organizations in the county, are applying for a federal grant program to support legal assistance and representation for victims of domestic abuse. The current budget for the project is in excess of $850,000.
Right now in southeast Texas, funding restrictions prohibit undocumented immigrants and working-poor victims from receiving pro bono legal representation. Even though undocumented victims are eligble for U visas through the Victims of Trafficking and Violence Prevention Act, they can't receive application assistance or even legal advocacy at the Social Security Office or the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Office in Houston. Legal aid funding prohibits the legal representation of any non-U.S. citizens or U.S. citizens above 125% of the poverty line.
Basically, all of those threats that an abuser makes, the ones that sound something like: "If you call the police, they will deport you...You will never see your children again....If you ever tell anyone what I did to you, I will take the kids away from you...You can never get away from me...I'll find you...you are still legally mine," are essentially true for these victims that can't access legal services.
For working-poor women, it's a tough line between "makes too much to qualify for services," but, "still can't afford a private attorney". Very, very few women can come up with a $2,000 retainer for a private attorney, especially when her annual household income is just over $12,000.
That is what I've been working on and why the noises around me sound more like static and less like a cacophonous orchestra. I haven't slept uninterrupted in more than three weeks. The medical mystery has been solved: Zac is getting all four of his molars in at once. He wakes up sometimes 2 or 3 times a night, even while lying next to me. I'm so tired that the numbers start merging in my brain and I end up trying to budget the salary of a paralegal at the same rate that I'm budgeting for a client advocate and counselor.
The enormity of what I'm doing and the amount of people we could serve if our proposal is accepted is enough to keep my head up and my eyes clear. There are many, many women in worse positions than I am. A bruised ego and a hurting heart will heal, even though some moments are harder than others.
Right now, I'm just trying to honor the 143 women and children that died last year in Texas at the hands of the abuser.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
1/23
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHH
ggggggggggggggggggRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
____________________
That really does feel better.
It's like I'm living in my own trainwreck. For those of you wondering about yesterday's comment section, he's not talking about getting back together with me romantically. He's talking about waiting for me to be his friend (remember? I was taking space). He's seeing someone right now and told me that she is the most important person to him. "As," he said, "you were when we were dating." I found that out when I had a panic attack last night and I called him. He asked if I could wait 30 minutes because he had to call her back. I couldn't.
When we spoke a little later he told me that he's frustrated because I complicate his life. He wants to move on: be friends, date others, laugh, and enjoy each other's company. He asked that I take more time to resolve my anger because I'm not ready to be his friend.
______________________
Thank you, Anne, for listening to me last night and caring for me.
ggggggggggggggggggRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
____________________
That really does feel better.
It's like I'm living in my own trainwreck. For those of you wondering about yesterday's comment section, he's not talking about getting back together with me romantically. He's talking about waiting for me to be his friend (remember? I was taking space). He's seeing someone right now and told me that she is the most important person to him. "As," he said, "you were when we were dating." I found that out when I had a panic attack last night and I called him. He asked if I could wait 30 minutes because he had to call her back. I couldn't.
When we spoke a little later he told me that he's frustrated because I complicate his life. He wants to move on: be friends, date others, laugh, and enjoy each other's company. He asked that I take more time to resolve my anger because I'm not ready to be his friend.
______________________
Thank you, Anne, for listening to me last night and caring for me.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
1/17
"And there ain't no talkin to this man...
He's been tryin to tell me so
It took awhile to understand
the beauty of just letting go
Cause it would take an acrobat, I already tried all that
I'm gonna let him fly,"
Patty Griffin, "Let Him Fly"
Yesterday I stopped communicating with Mr. Tugboat. I cried and cried when I sent him the message that I wouldn't be able to talk to him for a while - that I was too angry, hurt, and upset to do anything beyond taking care of myself and Zac.
The amazing thing was that once I sent him that message, I felt so much better. I didn't have to worry about hiding my anger from him or trying not to make the snide remarks that come out of my mouth before I even realize their potential for pain. I gave myself permission to be angry and, oh damn, it felt so good.
I've spent a better part of my life hiding from anger. I always thought that "nice" girls/women/people/caring individuals didn't get mad at people. I thought that if someone made you angry, that the best thing to do was to go on like nothing happened until the anger passed. And the anger always passes, right? That's the crutch of the whole system of denial: the belief that anger can pass. I found passive aggressive ways of making people regret hurting me. I hurt them back with my words and my cold actions.
My therapist in New Hampshire once told me that depression is a form of anger directed at yourself. Usually in the course of treating someone for depression, they find the some of the sources of their anger, let it out, and eventually forgive. Suddenly, I felt lighter and began working towards happiness.
Old patterns are hard to break, though. I was talking to MNS last night about triggers, or things that can set off any kind of emotion, action, thought, or behavior. In my case, my trigger caused a depressive episode. Mr. Tugboats behavior and actions towards me triggered the worst kind of self-loathing that quickly tumbled into full-blown, "I don't want to get out of bed and see any kind of humanity and, Oh God, why am I having another anxiety attack?" depression.
Mr. Tugboat moved on, with Ramona (and thank you, again, MNS, for being like me and immediately thinking of Miss Quimby instead of these guys who put out a song with the lyrics, "Sweet sweet little Ramona, she always wants to come over, Sweet sweet little Ramona, I think I'll try and phone her")
*pardon me while I gag for just one moment......Ok, that's better*
So, just as I had been keeping our relationship a secret from the Internet, he had been keeping it a secret from the women that he was dating. A day after he was with me, he met Ramona. He was with Ramona. Now he's dating Ramona. He said that he wanted to be friends and didn't understand why I was hurt so much. He answered her phone call the morning after, while I was still in his apartment and I had to listen to him talk to her. "After all," he reasoned, "you said that we were going to be just friends. You've moved on (I hadn't). I did the same thing (clearly). I think we should all try to hang out together. I think you would really like her."
Really, Mr. Tugboat? You think so, huh?
He's been tryin to tell me so
It took awhile to understand
the beauty of just letting go
Cause it would take an acrobat, I already tried all that
I'm gonna let him fly,"
Patty Griffin, "Let Him Fly"
Yesterday I stopped communicating with Mr. Tugboat. I cried and cried when I sent him the message that I wouldn't be able to talk to him for a while - that I was too angry, hurt, and upset to do anything beyond taking care of myself and Zac.
The amazing thing was that once I sent him that message, I felt so much better. I didn't have to worry about hiding my anger from him or trying not to make the snide remarks that come out of my mouth before I even realize their potential for pain. I gave myself permission to be angry and, oh damn, it felt so good.
I've spent a better part of my life hiding from anger. I always thought that "nice" girls/women/people/caring individuals didn't get mad at people. I thought that if someone made you angry, that the best thing to do was to go on like nothing happened until the anger passed. And the anger always passes, right? That's the crutch of the whole system of denial: the belief that anger can pass. I found passive aggressive ways of making people regret hurting me. I hurt them back with my words and my cold actions.
My therapist in New Hampshire once told me that depression is a form of anger directed at yourself. Usually in the course of treating someone for depression, they find the some of the sources of their anger, let it out, and eventually forgive. Suddenly, I felt lighter and began working towards happiness.
Old patterns are hard to break, though. I was talking to MNS last night about triggers, or things that can set off any kind of emotion, action, thought, or behavior. In my case, my trigger caused a depressive episode. Mr. Tugboats behavior and actions towards me triggered the worst kind of self-loathing that quickly tumbled into full-blown, "I don't want to get out of bed and see any kind of humanity and, Oh God, why am I having another anxiety attack?" depression.
Mr. Tugboat moved on, with Ramona (and thank you, again, MNS, for being like me and immediately thinking of Miss Quimby instead of these guys who put out a song with the lyrics, "Sweet sweet little Ramona, she always wants to come over, Sweet sweet little Ramona, I think I'll try and phone her")
*pardon me while I gag for just one moment......Ok, that's better*
So, just as I had been keeping our relationship a secret from the Internet, he had been keeping it a secret from the women that he was dating. A day after he was with me, he met Ramona. He was with Ramona. Now he's dating Ramona. He said that he wanted to be friends and didn't understand why I was hurt so much. He answered her phone call the morning after, while I was still in his apartment and I had to listen to him talk to her. "After all," he reasoned, "you said that we were going to be just friends. You've moved on (I hadn't). I did the same thing (clearly). I think we should all try to hang out together. I think you would really like her."
Really, Mr. Tugboat? You think so, huh?
Enter stage left: my insecurities of being a stupid, pathetic idiot that constantly gets used by the people I care for (who don't return my feelings). I felt like I had fallen for the biggest emotional con of all times.
I did everything for him that I could think of doing: listen to him talk about his soon-to-be-ex-wife for hours and everything she ever did to him, helped him work through the pain of her finding a new boyfriend, dealing with the frustration of her not letting him spend time with his son, and getting an emergency babysitter for Zac so I could help him move into his new apartment when his other friends didn't show up. I even found him the lawyer that is litigating his divorce for less than $500. The lawyer used to work with me and took on Mr. Tugboat's case as a personal favor for me.
A friend should do those things for another friend. It's just that we were more than friends. To have him start dating someone else after everything I had done for him made me feel used and angry.
In fact, I'm still angry, just able to handle it a little better.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
1/14
Dear Mr. Tugboat,
This hurts. I feel like I wasn't prepared for how much this was going to hurt, regardless of my own mistakes. The good Lord knows that I've made plenty of mistakes along the way. Mistakes that hurt myself and others.
I never meant to hurt anyone else, especially those that I care the most about.
Yet, we keep repeating the same mistakes with each other. As I said on the phone, I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at you. I'm angry at how vulnerable that night made me and how I've been trying to recover ever since.
Maybe I should have written the, "Five Things You Don't Know About Me:" meme so you would learn a little bit more about what I was hiding. There is so much that I hide, even from those closest to me.
I guess there is no time like the present, here is my, "Five Things that Someone That is Dating Me Wouldn't Know" meme:
1) I'm looking for the grand romance. Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of getting to know someone, when I smile when they call, when I feel so special, when they make me laugh, I feel like I'm the best version of myself. One day, I want to be able to find that version of myself without the interest of someone else. I'm working on that. Until then, sometimes when I start dating someone, I think, "Is this it? Is this the romance that I've been waiting for because, good Lord, I've been waiting. I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying not to force it. I'm trying. Oh shit, this isn't working. I am forcing it. I suck. I'm pathetic and I suck."
2) I wish with all of my being that I was perfect. I will never be and everyday I think about what I could have done better.
3) It's not just that I like to be held. I like someone to reach out to hold me, to tell me with their actions that I'm the person that they want closest to their being.
4) I'm scared that I won't find anyone that will truly love me.
5) When I'm feeling insecure, I'm ten times more likely to spend time with someone that will find me interesting, appealing, and wonderful, even when I'm not. It's my greatest, most embarassing flaw: my need to be liked.
So, that is it. Here is my heart, laid bare. So unbelievably lame. I wish I were different. I wish that I could not care about anyone. I wish I wasn't crying right now. I hope that in the morning, I'll forget that I even wrote this.
Sincerely,
NSP
This hurts. I feel like I wasn't prepared for how much this was going to hurt, regardless of my own mistakes. The good Lord knows that I've made plenty of mistakes along the way. Mistakes that hurt myself and others.
I never meant to hurt anyone else, especially those that I care the most about.
Yet, we keep repeating the same mistakes with each other. As I said on the phone, I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at you. I'm angry at how vulnerable that night made me and how I've been trying to recover ever since.
Maybe I should have written the, "Five Things You Don't Know About Me:" meme so you would learn a little bit more about what I was hiding. There is so much that I hide, even from those closest to me.
I guess there is no time like the present, here is my, "Five Things that Someone That is Dating Me Wouldn't Know" meme:
1) I'm looking for the grand romance. Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of getting to know someone, when I smile when they call, when I feel so special, when they make me laugh, I feel like I'm the best version of myself. One day, I want to be able to find that version of myself without the interest of someone else. I'm working on that. Until then, sometimes when I start dating someone, I think, "Is this it? Is this the romance that I've been waiting for because, good Lord, I've been waiting. I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying not to force it. I'm trying. Oh shit, this isn't working. I am forcing it. I suck. I'm pathetic and I suck."
2) I wish with all of my being that I was perfect. I will never be and everyday I think about what I could have done better.
3) It's not just that I like to be held. I like someone to reach out to hold me, to tell me with their actions that I'm the person that they want closest to their being.
4) I'm scared that I won't find anyone that will truly love me.
5) When I'm feeling insecure, I'm ten times more likely to spend time with someone that will find me interesting, appealing, and wonderful, even when I'm not. It's my greatest, most embarassing flaw: my need to be liked.
So, that is it. Here is my heart, laid bare. So unbelievably lame. I wish I were different. I wish that I could not care about anyone. I wish I wasn't crying right now. I hope that in the morning, I'll forget that I even wrote this.
Sincerely,
NSP
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
1/09
I have a rule about posting while angry. Nothing really productive usually comes from a post written in anger. It hurts and once my anger cools I'm left with the awkward situation of either living with my embarrassing post or deleting it.
This morning, it's not that I'm angry, just unsure where to go emotionally from this point.
Last night Blakken came over and we watched the University of Florida kick the ever living crap out of Ohio State last night in the BCS National Championship Game 41 to 14. It was brutal. Instead of watching the game, we ended up eating most of the pan of nachos I made (ok that was me. Sorry Jenny Craig, I'll make it up to you), drinking a bottle of Arbor Mist White Zinfandel (definitely Blakken) and talking. We watched Zac toddle around, playing with his toys and read him the peek-a-boo book that he kept picking up and bringing to us. I had a great time with a good friend. I cherish Blakken's friendship, specifically because it isn't complicated.
I wish I could say the same about Mr. Tugboat. He's my dirty little secret that I've been keeping from the internet. We've been more than friends ever since he dumped me in early December. He said our relationship was moving too fast and I agree, it was. I was more willing at the time to see where the river would take me if I let it sweep me away. The last time I was in love was 2003 in Mongolia and the feelings weren't returned. The last time someone loved me was my senior year of college in 2002. I felt ready for a romance and jumped in. He saw all the swirling water around his ankles and tensed up, stalking angrily back to the shoreline to dry off his feet. Instead of downshifting to a more casual relationship, we ended things completely in theory. In reality, our relationship moved into the grey, nebulous mist of friends-that-like-each-other-a-little-too-much-to-be-just-friends. I know enough about love to recognize that walking down a path with someone under a heavy shroud of mist will leave you feeling damp all over. Usually a blanket and a cup of tea is required to get over that feeling, once you finally decide to go inside out of the weather.
Mr. Tugboat and I decided for the fifth or sixth time on Sunday that we needed to "just friends" if I was going to stay sane. He's in the final stages of a divorce with his soon-to-be-ex-wife. I actually referred him to a lawyer that used to work in my office, who took his case at a cut rate. I'm supposed to be focusing on myself and not dating right now. That's what I said in my New Year's Resolution anyways. Regardless of my best intentions, I kept pulling Mr. Tugboat close, wanting his interest in me, giving my time and my heart, then getting angry and pushing him away when he couldn't give me the affection and attention that I wanted from him. I kept pushing and pulling until I got tired.
It was Blakken that reminded me that the person that isn't getting what they want ultimately needs to end the relationship. Mr. Tugboat was getting all of me and I still felt empty and insecure. I can rationally see what needs to happen. I just need to figure out how to get my heart onboard with the plan. Emotionally, physically, and mentally, I'm drawn to someone that just isn't ready for the kind of relationship that I want. I might even say: that I deserve.
What a shame that readiness for love on one side doesn’t equate to a readiness to nurture that loving relationship on the other side.
This morning, it's not that I'm angry, just unsure where to go emotionally from this point.
Last night Blakken came over and we watched the University of Florida kick the ever living crap out of Ohio State last night in the BCS National Championship Game 41 to 14. It was brutal. Instead of watching the game, we ended up eating most of the pan of nachos I made (ok that was me. Sorry Jenny Craig, I'll make it up to you), drinking a bottle of Arbor Mist White Zinfandel (definitely Blakken) and talking. We watched Zac toddle around, playing with his toys and read him the peek-a-boo book that he kept picking up and bringing to us. I had a great time with a good friend. I cherish Blakken's friendship, specifically because it isn't complicated.
I wish I could say the same about Mr. Tugboat. He's my dirty little secret that I've been keeping from the internet. We've been more than friends ever since he dumped me in early December. He said our relationship was moving too fast and I agree, it was. I was more willing at the time to see where the river would take me if I let it sweep me away. The last time I was in love was 2003 in Mongolia and the feelings weren't returned. The last time someone loved me was my senior year of college in 2002. I felt ready for a romance and jumped in. He saw all the swirling water around his ankles and tensed up, stalking angrily back to the shoreline to dry off his feet. Instead of downshifting to a more casual relationship, we ended things completely in theory. In reality, our relationship moved into the grey, nebulous mist of friends-that-like-each-other-a-little-too-much-to-be-just-friends. I know enough about love to recognize that walking down a path with someone under a heavy shroud of mist will leave you feeling damp all over. Usually a blanket and a cup of tea is required to get over that feeling, once you finally decide to go inside out of the weather.
Mr. Tugboat and I decided for the fifth or sixth time on Sunday that we needed to "just friends" if I was going to stay sane. He's in the final stages of a divorce with his soon-to-be-ex-wife. I actually referred him to a lawyer that used to work in my office, who took his case at a cut rate. I'm supposed to be focusing on myself and not dating right now. That's what I said in my New Year's Resolution anyways. Regardless of my best intentions, I kept pulling Mr. Tugboat close, wanting his interest in me, giving my time and my heart, then getting angry and pushing him away when he couldn't give me the affection and attention that I wanted from him. I kept pushing and pulling until I got tired.
It was Blakken that reminded me that the person that isn't getting what they want ultimately needs to end the relationship. Mr. Tugboat was getting all of me and I still felt empty and insecure. I can rationally see what needs to happen. I just need to figure out how to get my heart onboard with the plan. Emotionally, physically, and mentally, I'm drawn to someone that just isn't ready for the kind of relationship that I want. I might even say: that I deserve.
What a shame that readiness for love on one side doesn’t equate to a readiness to nurture that loving relationship on the other side.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
12/27
So...um...hi.
I didn't really mean to take that long of break from blogging. I'm not really sure what happened. One moment, it was Thursday and I was working from home in the morning (read: napping) and then running around like a madwoman trying to get my apartment ready for Mr. Tugboat and little J-man's arrival and the next moment it was Wednesday and I had to go back to work.
Christmas started on Thursday night when Mr. Tugboat and I exchanged Christmas presents (after I had returned the watch to Watch World, I bought him the coolest salt and pepper shakers known to man. It just so happens that they also resemble a larger version of these, (or perhaps this although I swear that thought never crossed my mind when I bought them).
So since I am pure of mind and heart, I saw no problem with giving him the salt and pepper shakers in front of his five year-old son. Honestly, I just thought they were great because they wobble, but they never fall down! He however, took one look at those things and burst out laughing, wondering if he should really let little J-man play with them (note: he loved them more than his Dad).
Segue into Friday, then Saturday, then Christmas Eve, which quickly moved to Christmas, the day after Christmas, and *blink* and suddenly I'm back at work. I actually tried to blog at work all day today, but Blogger (or my work server) wasn't having it. I tried to read other people's blogs, but it felt like I was the only chump that had to go back to work today. Everyone is still on vacation, except Aunt Jen and K, who worked straight through the holiday.
On the other hand, I'm sitting here tonight, complete kid-less and petless. My parents are watching Zac for the rest of the week and my cat Honey went along for the ride. I came home from work today and finally understood what it's like to feel an incredible lightness of being. I can do anything! Go anywhere! I could go to Mexico for the evening, as long as I'm back at work at 8am tomorrow morning.
I can see now why people don't want to give up this kid-less, footloose and fancy free lifestyle. The only damper on my temporary, dependentless existence is that I actually miss my little guy. It's nice not having to clean up messy diapers and vomit for couple of days, but it's even better to know that I wouldn't be the same if he wasn't in my life.
I didn't really mean to take that long of break from blogging. I'm not really sure what happened. One moment, it was Thursday and I was working from home in the morning (read: napping) and then running around like a madwoman trying to get my apartment ready for Mr. Tugboat and little J-man's arrival and the next moment it was Wednesday and I had to go back to work.
Christmas started on Thursday night when Mr. Tugboat and I exchanged Christmas presents (after I had returned the watch to Watch World, I bought him the coolest salt and pepper shakers known to man. It just so happens that they also resemble a larger version of these, (or perhaps this although I swear that thought never crossed my mind when I bought them).
So since I am pure of mind and heart, I saw no problem with giving him the salt and pepper shakers in front of his five year-old son. Honestly, I just thought they were great because they wobble, but they never fall down! He however, took one look at those things and burst out laughing, wondering if he should really let little J-man play with them (note: he loved them more than his Dad).
Segue into Friday, then Saturday, then Christmas Eve, which quickly moved to Christmas, the day after Christmas, and *blink* and suddenly I'm back at work. I actually tried to blog at work all day today, but Blogger (or my work server) wasn't having it. I tried to read other people's blogs, but it felt like I was the only chump that had to go back to work today. Everyone is still on vacation, except Aunt Jen and K, who worked straight through the holiday.
On the other hand, I'm sitting here tonight, complete kid-less and petless. My parents are watching Zac for the rest of the week and my cat Honey went along for the ride. I came home from work today and finally understood what it's like to feel an incredible lightness of being. I can do anything! Go anywhere! I could go to Mexico for the evening, as long as I'm back at work at 8am tomorrow morning.
I can see now why people don't want to give up this kid-less, footloose and fancy free lifestyle. The only damper on my temporary, dependentless existence is that I actually miss my little guy. It's nice not having to clean up messy diapers and vomit for couple of days, but it's even better to know that I wouldn't be the same if he wasn't in my life.
Monday, December 11, 2006
12/11
I went down to my parents' house on Thursday after work, just to spend some time with Z-man. My Mom had picked him up from my apartment on Wednesday when the sound of me vomitting had made Zac start to cry and then vomit as well. It was a vicious cycle: I couldn't take care of him because he smelled like puke, the smell of which made me puke, which made him puke and further smell like puke.
The comedy of horrors was made even worse when my Mom and Dad got the same stomach virus that Zac and I had. This weekend we all took turns puking, sleeping, taking care of Zac, wiping up someone else's bodily fluid, and then tending to our own misery. Zac managed a puke free day on Saturday, only to hurl twice last night onto my pillows and sheets. He kept pointing to his stomach and crying. He's back at daycare today with an emergency babysitter on-call if he starts to hurl on the other kids.
I feel numb and raw. On Sunday, I had the humiliating task of returning the Christmas presents that I had purchased for Mr. Tugboat and his son J. I cried at Watch World, which made the 17 year-old behind the counter question, inquisitively: "Are you ok? The watch didn't hurt you, did it? Is there anything wrong with the watch?" Yes, Miss Not-Out-of-Highschool, there is something wrong with the watch. What is wrong with the watch is that the person who was meant to wear it went out on a date with a woman the night after he broke up with me and he told me about it.
That's the problem with being friends with your ex, even if you only dated briefly like Mr. Tugboat and I. You always end up broaching the subject of dating someone else, someone that isn't the person that you are talking to on the other end of the phone or sitting across from you. It's hard to engage the "there-are-things-better-left-unsaid" policy with a person that you've talked about everything else with free-spirited abandon.
Oh - and my on-call babysitter for today? That would be the same Mr. Tugboat. He's back from his four days on the water and agreed to watch Pukapoolza for me today if he got sick. None of the adult members of my family have any sick time left for the month of December.
That's the positive side of being friends with your ex: they'll do things for you that you wouldn't ever dream of asking anyone else for and for that, I'm grateful. Really, I am grateful that he and I are working on our friendship. So much for being bitter.
The comedy of horrors was made even worse when my Mom and Dad got the same stomach virus that Zac and I had. This weekend we all took turns puking, sleeping, taking care of Zac, wiping up someone else's bodily fluid, and then tending to our own misery. Zac managed a puke free day on Saturday, only to hurl twice last night onto my pillows and sheets. He kept pointing to his stomach and crying. He's back at daycare today with an emergency babysitter on-call if he starts to hurl on the other kids.
I feel numb and raw. On Sunday, I had the humiliating task of returning the Christmas presents that I had purchased for Mr. Tugboat and his son J. I cried at Watch World, which made the 17 year-old behind the counter question, inquisitively: "Are you ok? The watch didn't hurt you, did it? Is there anything wrong with the watch?" Yes, Miss Not-Out-of-Highschool, there is something wrong with the watch. What is wrong with the watch is that the person who was meant to wear it went out on a date with a woman the night after he broke up with me and he told me about it.
That's the problem with being friends with your ex, even if you only dated briefly like Mr. Tugboat and I. You always end up broaching the subject of dating someone else, someone that isn't the person that you are talking to on the other end of the phone or sitting across from you. It's hard to engage the "there-are-things-better-left-unsaid" policy with a person that you've talked about everything else with free-spirited abandon.
Oh - and my on-call babysitter for today? That would be the same Mr. Tugboat. He's back from his four days on the water and agreed to watch Pukapoolza for me today if he got sick. None of the adult members of my family have any sick time left for the month of December.
That's the positive side of being friends with your ex: they'll do things for you that you wouldn't ever dream of asking anyone else for and for that, I'm grateful. Really, I am grateful that he and I are working on our friendship. So much for being bitter.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
12/6
I put Zac to bed last night right before 8pm. He had vomitted once in the backseat of my Dad's car on the way home from dinner, but otherwise seemed just fine. The noxious gas from his diaper was powerful, yet no actual poop was coming out. I cleaned him up and put him to bed without further ado.
Around 11:45pm, I hear him coughing. Then I hear nothing and then, the tell-tale crying. I walk in and find him sitting up in his crib next to even more vomit. It was all over his stuffed rabit and the homemade blanket, all over his sheets and all over him. I picked him up, took off his pajamas, changed his diaper, and did what any self-respecting single Mom who had to get up early the next morning to go to a meeting would do: I let him sleep next to me and promised myself that I would clean his sheets tomorrow.
At 12:30am, (Oh - should I even finish this story? Can you see where this is all going? Hasn't my child been degraded enough by my broadcast of his illness and the subsequent bodily fluids? Answer: Nope) I feel a very warm splash of liquid and chunky parts hit my head. He had sat up from his pillow next to me, turned, and vomitted - ON ME. After the initial splash, I tried to encourage him to only puke on his pillow, but directing a child's puke is like trying to catch mist - you can't do it.
The funny thing (because afterall, if I didn't find humor in it, I would have to revoke my mothering qualifications, of which I have none, and it was my fault - sort of - for letting a sick child sleep in bed with me) was that he wasn't completely awake when he puked. When I stripped him naked and put his puky ass in the bathtub, he freaked the fuck out. Apparently, luke warm water is not a relaxing way to wake up after spewing the contents of your stomach on your primary caregiver.
Back into bed, for both of us. I had to put a towel down on the bed and use a pillow from the other room. At 6:15am, I encountered all of the vomit-splattered clothing and household objects with the fresh perspective of the morning. My stomach pitched and heaved in response. I've been feeling queesy all morning. I'm not sure if I have what Zac has or if being that close to vomit that isn't mine has made my stomach second guess actually digesting food.
The good news (and I have to find some with a week like this) is that Zac vomitting on me made Mr. Tugboat's actions slightly more bearable. He stood me up for an office party and then broke up with me over the phone, saying that we want different things from life and that's he's going to have a vasectomy. I realized that I would have been much angrier at him if he had puked on me and then told me that he really sees me as more of a friend. It wouldn't have been funny at all, just more tragic.
It also made me realize exactly how much I love my son, puke and all.
Around 11:45pm, I hear him coughing. Then I hear nothing and then, the tell-tale crying. I walk in and find him sitting up in his crib next to even more vomit. It was all over his stuffed rabit and the homemade blanket, all over his sheets and all over him. I picked him up, took off his pajamas, changed his diaper, and did what any self-respecting single Mom who had to get up early the next morning to go to a meeting would do: I let him sleep next to me and promised myself that I would clean his sheets tomorrow.
At 12:30am, (Oh - should I even finish this story? Can you see where this is all going? Hasn't my child been degraded enough by my broadcast of his illness and the subsequent bodily fluids? Answer: Nope) I feel a very warm splash of liquid and chunky parts hit my head. He had sat up from his pillow next to me, turned, and vomitted - ON ME. After the initial splash, I tried to encourage him to only puke on his pillow, but directing a child's puke is like trying to catch mist - you can't do it.
The funny thing (because afterall, if I didn't find humor in it, I would have to revoke my mothering qualifications, of which I have none, and it was my fault - sort of - for letting a sick child sleep in bed with me) was that he wasn't completely awake when he puked. When I stripped him naked and put his puky ass in the bathtub, he freaked the fuck out. Apparently, luke warm water is not a relaxing way to wake up after spewing the contents of your stomach on your primary caregiver.
Back into bed, for both of us. I had to put a towel down on the bed and use a pillow from the other room. At 6:15am, I encountered all of the vomit-splattered clothing and household objects with the fresh perspective of the morning. My stomach pitched and heaved in response. I've been feeling queesy all morning. I'm not sure if I have what Zac has or if being that close to vomit that isn't mine has made my stomach second guess actually digesting food.
The good news (and I have to find some with a week like this) is that Zac vomitting on me made Mr. Tugboat's actions slightly more bearable. He stood me up for an office party and then broke up with me over the phone, saying that we want different things from life and that's he's going to have a vasectomy. I realized that I would have been much angrier at him if he had puked on me and then told me that he really sees me as more of a friend. It wouldn't have been funny at all, just more tragic.
It also made me realize exactly how much I love my son, puke and all.
Monday, December 04, 2006
12/4
The scene:
Laying on my bed, applying a hot compress to my left breast, talking on the phone to Mr. Tugboat:
Me: I had a really good time at dinner with you and little J-man (his son). Thank you for meeting up with Zac and I. It was a little hectic with two kids and two adults, but I think we survived.
Mr. Tugboat: As soon as you got there, I could feel little J-man tense up. I don't think he wanted you there.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry about that. I wanted to spend time with him.
Mr. Tugboat: It's just so weird. He gets along with all women, including the ones that live at my house, the ones we see at the credit union, and he really loved the woman I went on a date with before you and I were in a relationship. He played so well with her.
*one, two punch* now curled up in the fetal position
Me: (feebly, in my opinion) I don't know what to tell you. Maybe he senses that there is something going on with us and he's scared that I'm going to take the place of his Mommy. Zac is also much younger than little J-man and they're both only children. Maybe he feels threatened by Zac and the attention he gets.
Mr. Tugboat: I don't know. Maybe. If Zac were five, it would be a different situation.
Me: Zac isn't five.
Mr. Tugboat: I just wish that little J-man was more comfortable around you. He's just so tense when you're around.
Me: (silent, with mounting heartburn and the knowledge that I will up for a couple of hours agonizing over this conversation)
*final punch to the right temple. Down for the count*
-----------------------------
I've been rejected by plenty of people in my lifetime, just not people that aren't tall enough to ride the big rollercoasters at Magic Mountain. Having a five year-old dislike me is one thing. Having his Dad, who I happen to like quite a bit, get very concerned about his five year-old not liking my son and I is totally another.
If anyone had asked me before I entered into a dating relationship that involved a five year-old, I would have told them, "Well, damn, you know that I'm not very good at being one of those great, wild and kooky adults around kids. Some people just get kids and I'm not one of those people. Did I mention that I'm fabulous with pre-teens and teenagers?"
I'm also just not handling things very well. The fatigue has kept up all weekend and my breast started hurting two days ago. When I massaged it, some very small fluid came out and, for those of you that don't want to go through my archives, I can tell you that I stopped breast feeding about ten months ago. I don't know what's going on with my body. Everything feels off.
Laying on my bed, applying a hot compress to my left breast, talking on the phone to Mr. Tugboat:
Me: I had a really good time at dinner with you and little J-man (his son). Thank you for meeting up with Zac and I. It was a little hectic with two kids and two adults, but I think we survived.
Mr. Tugboat: As soon as you got there, I could feel little J-man tense up. I don't think he wanted you there.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry about that. I wanted to spend time with him.
Mr. Tugboat: It's just so weird. He gets along with all women, including the ones that live at my house, the ones we see at the credit union, and he really loved the woman I went on a date with before you and I were in a relationship. He played so well with her.
*one, two punch* now curled up in the fetal position
Me: (feebly, in my opinion) I don't know what to tell you. Maybe he senses that there is something going on with us and he's scared that I'm going to take the place of his Mommy. Zac is also much younger than little J-man and they're both only children. Maybe he feels threatened by Zac and the attention he gets.
Mr. Tugboat: I don't know. Maybe. If Zac were five, it would be a different situation.
Me: Zac isn't five.
Mr. Tugboat: I just wish that little J-man was more comfortable around you. He's just so tense when you're around.
Me: (silent, with mounting heartburn and the knowledge that I will up for a couple of hours agonizing over this conversation)
*final punch to the right temple. Down for the count*
-----------------------------
I've been rejected by plenty of people in my lifetime, just not people that aren't tall enough to ride the big rollercoasters at Magic Mountain. Having a five year-old dislike me is one thing. Having his Dad, who I happen to like quite a bit, get very concerned about his five year-old not liking my son and I is totally another.
If anyone had asked me before I entered into a dating relationship that involved a five year-old, I would have told them, "Well, damn, you know that I'm not very good at being one of those great, wild and kooky adults around kids. Some people just get kids and I'm not one of those people. Did I mention that I'm fabulous with pre-teens and teenagers?"
I'm also just not handling things very well. The fatigue has kept up all weekend and my breast started hurting two days ago. When I massaged it, some very small fluid came out and, for those of you that don't want to go through my archives, I can tell you that I stopped breast feeding about ten months ago. I don't know what's going on with my body. Everything feels off.
Monday, November 20, 2006
11/20
I'm back. I didn't really go away, just took a little break from my obsessive internet posting/reading/stalking to live- blissfully unaware of all things outside of my happy circle.
Things are going really well with Mr. Tugboat (neurotic, "OMG, something bad is going to happen with this and I'm going to die a bitter, miserable woman, all alone" feelings aside. On the bright side, the frequency that I have those feelings of panic are greatly reducing in number. I might be actually - gasp - adjusting to being in a functional relationship.) I'm happy with him and I find myself wanting to spend time with him whenever he's on land. He works for four days on the boats and then has four days off. Those four days with him are usually a blur of juggling kids (mine and his), personal time, work obligations, and hyped-up personal grooming. Since when do I feel the need to shower twice a day? Or shave at least once? Or obsessively use body products? Fresh and new is a lot of work. Give me an old and comfortable relationship any day.
Fortunately, I get four days off from dating where I return to my normal state of disrepair and personal neglect. I fart frequently, grow out my leg hair, and refuse to pluck or wax any body part. Zac also gets me to himself for four days in a row, although he seems to like hanging out with Mr. Tugboat. He crawled into his lap the other night to play with a puzzle while I was on the other end of the couch.
For the first time since Mongolia, I'm letting my imagination and heart rule my mind. It's a giddy, heady feeling and I keep waiting for someone to come along and say: "Nope, you can't be happy. You've been doing a really good job of being Miserable in Texas. I want you to stay that way." I'm so good at telling myself that it won't last. That I don't need the complication in my already complicated life. That I'm going to get hurt, AGAIN, and wind up back on this blog complaining about my broken heart. What if I'm wrong though? What if I silence those voices, just for a moment, just a brief second, and let myself actually enjoy this? Whether or not Mr. Tugboat and I work out in the long run isn't the most important thing at this point. I'll still be thankful for the time I had.
That's a beautiful thing.
Things are going really well with Mr. Tugboat (neurotic, "OMG, something bad is going to happen with this and I'm going to die a bitter, miserable woman, all alone" feelings aside. On the bright side, the frequency that I have those feelings of panic are greatly reducing in number. I might be actually - gasp - adjusting to being in a functional relationship.) I'm happy with him and I find myself wanting to spend time with him whenever he's on land. He works for four days on the boats and then has four days off. Those four days with him are usually a blur of juggling kids (mine and his), personal time, work obligations, and hyped-up personal grooming. Since when do I feel the need to shower twice a day? Or shave at least once? Or obsessively use body products? Fresh and new is a lot of work. Give me an old and comfortable relationship any day.
Fortunately, I get four days off from dating where I return to my normal state of disrepair and personal neglect. I fart frequently, grow out my leg hair, and refuse to pluck or wax any body part. Zac also gets me to himself for four days in a row, although he seems to like hanging out with Mr. Tugboat. He crawled into his lap the other night to play with a puzzle while I was on the other end of the couch.
For the first time since Mongolia, I'm letting my imagination and heart rule my mind. It's a giddy, heady feeling and I keep waiting for someone to come along and say: "Nope, you can't be happy. You've been doing a really good job of being Miserable in Texas. I want you to stay that way." I'm so good at telling myself that it won't last. That I don't need the complication in my already complicated life. That I'm going to get hurt, AGAIN, and wind up back on this blog complaining about my broken heart. What if I'm wrong though? What if I silence those voices, just for a moment, just a brief second, and let myself actually enjoy this? Whether or not Mr. Tugboat and I work out in the long run isn't the most important thing at this point. I'll still be thankful for the time I had.
That's a beautiful thing.
Monday, November 13, 2006
11/13
I'm not sure how many times my alarm went off this morning or how many times I had to get up out of bed to go to Zac last night. It was a lot, that's all I really know.
It started around 11:30pm last night when I heard the first sounds of a baby stirring. Well, screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing himself against the bars of his crib is a more fitting description. I went to him, asked Mr. Tugboat to move his leg over, and brought Zac into bed with the large tattoed man. Zac just laid there in my arms looking up at the Mr., then smiling at me, and looking up at him. I put him back to bed where he slept for about another hour. Then he woke up again. I went to him. Apologized to Mr. Tugboat. Tried to go back to sleep.
Can you see the pattern developing?
I'm not sure if the Mr. will ever agree to spend the night again with The-Child-That-Does-Not-Sleep. He had to wake up this morning at 5am to drive back down south to Port of Houston to board his tugboat by 8am. When my alarm went off, I thought I was going to have to peel him off the ceiling. I have - how can I put this? - an alarm that would wake the dead. Mr. Tugboat said that when the alarm went off that he started looking around for the fire extinguisher instead of the snooze button.
I think he left around 6am or so, but I can't guarantee that. I was so tired from the crying, the cuddling, the Orajel and infant Tylenol, and the alarms. So many alarms. I finally dragged my butt out of bed around 7:30am this morning and impressed myself by making it into the office at 8:05am. Oh, yes, I love living close to where I work.
So, Mr. Tugboat has seen the blog now. I kept referencing it in various ways, which made me appreciate, even more, people that choose NOT to tell their intimate partners or close friends about the existence of an online journal where you tell strangers about your personal life. How exactly do you do that again? He said that he's only been able to read the entries and comments about him and he would like to thank everyone that told me I should stop freaking out and overanalyzing the situation.
So, yeah, I like him. I like spending time with him and his son and seeing what a great Dad he is. I think he's great in general. Really, he could be too good. He could be an alien from outerspace or a convicted felon in five states, but that's just me overthinking the situation.
It started around 11:30pm last night when I heard the first sounds of a baby stirring. Well, screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing himself against the bars of his crib is a more fitting description. I went to him, asked Mr. Tugboat to move his leg over, and brought Zac into bed with the large tattoed man. Zac just laid there in my arms looking up at the Mr., then smiling at me, and looking up at him. I put him back to bed where he slept for about another hour. Then he woke up again. I went to him. Apologized to Mr. Tugboat. Tried to go back to sleep.
Can you see the pattern developing?
I'm not sure if the Mr. will ever agree to spend the night again with The-Child-That-Does-Not-Sleep. He had to wake up this morning at 5am to drive back down south to Port of Houston to board his tugboat by 8am. When my alarm went off, I thought I was going to have to peel him off the ceiling. I have - how can I put this? - an alarm that would wake the dead. Mr. Tugboat said that when the alarm went off that he started looking around for the fire extinguisher instead of the snooze button.
I think he left around 6am or so, but I can't guarantee that. I was so tired from the crying, the cuddling, the Orajel and infant Tylenol, and the alarms. So many alarms. I finally dragged my butt out of bed around 7:30am this morning and impressed myself by making it into the office at 8:05am. Oh, yes, I love living close to where I work.
So, Mr. Tugboat has seen the blog now. I kept referencing it in various ways, which made me appreciate, even more, people that choose NOT to tell their intimate partners or close friends about the existence of an online journal where you tell strangers about your personal life. How exactly do you do that again? He said that he's only been able to read the entries and comments about him and he would like to thank everyone that told me I should stop freaking out and overanalyzing the situation.
So, yeah, I like him. I like spending time with him and his son and seeing what a great Dad he is. I think he's great in general. Really, he could be too good. He could be an alien from outerspace or a convicted felon in five states, but that's just me overthinking the situation.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
11/5
I've calmed down about Mr. Tugboat. Yes, there was and is a lot of chemistry between he and I, but it was more about my own insecurities than him. I thought maybe it was going to be the fairy tale romance, the kind that seems to exist for other people, but hasn't crossed my path yet.
I went over to his place on Saturday with Zac. For the time being, he rents a room at a bed and breakfast, while he's saving up to put a down payment on a condo. It's hard having a screaming toddler in one room with no where to put him down for the nap that he so desperately needed. Tugboat said that seeing Zac and I together made him miss his son and made him realize that he's ready to move into something with more than one room.
I ended up driving Zac back to my Mom and Dad's house just so the other tenants in Mr. Tugboat's house wouldn't think that I was torturing my poor son. Tuggie came in and met my parents, which I'm sure was quite a surprise for them. Not only hadn't I told them the name of the guy I was dating, I hadn't mentioned his age or that his sexy salt-n-pepper hair makes him look older than his 32 years. My Dad didn't go that gray until 40+ so I could seem them mentally trying to calculate his age. I think he made a good impression with the rents by immediately talking about cars with my Dad and complimenting the house with my Mom.
I wanted the awkward situation to end so I grabbed some clothes and we headed out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Over chips and queso, I asked him if he was talking to anyone else on-line. He said he was talking to 4 other women, but he only dates one at a time.
That's me.
It's strange being on the other side of the table when those words are spoken. I've dated more than one person at once, or dated someone while being interested in another, moving quickly from person to person. I'm just not in that place right now. I would like to take the time to invest in a relationship, to give it time and space to grow, to see if it's right rather than trying to juggle the feelings of multiple people.
At the restaurant, I was quiet, trying to not show my disappointment. He read through it. He grabbed my hand and told me not to be sad. He saw that I was trying to smile, but that it wasn't as genuine as it was before he said those words. We left the restaurant and even though my mood was dampened, it helped to know that he was checking the fringes of the relationship for something better. At least then I know that if the relationship fails, it won't necessarily be because of me.
I went over to his place on Saturday with Zac. For the time being, he rents a room at a bed and breakfast, while he's saving up to put a down payment on a condo. It's hard having a screaming toddler in one room with no where to put him down for the nap that he so desperately needed. Tugboat said that seeing Zac and I together made him miss his son and made him realize that he's ready to move into something with more than one room.
I ended up driving Zac back to my Mom and Dad's house just so the other tenants in Mr. Tugboat's house wouldn't think that I was torturing my poor son. Tuggie came in and met my parents, which I'm sure was quite a surprise for them. Not only hadn't I told them the name of the guy I was dating, I hadn't mentioned his age or that his sexy salt-n-pepper hair makes him look older than his 32 years. My Dad didn't go that gray until 40+ so I could seem them mentally trying to calculate his age. I think he made a good impression with the rents by immediately talking about cars with my Dad and complimenting the house with my Mom.
I wanted the awkward situation to end so I grabbed some clothes and we headed out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Over chips and queso, I asked him if he was talking to anyone else on-line. He said he was talking to 4 other women, but he only dates one at a time.
That's me.
It's strange being on the other side of the table when those words are spoken. I've dated more than one person at once, or dated someone while being interested in another, moving quickly from person to person. I'm just not in that place right now. I would like to take the time to invest in a relationship, to give it time and space to grow, to see if it's right rather than trying to juggle the feelings of multiple people.
At the restaurant, I was quiet, trying to not show my disappointment. He read through it. He grabbed my hand and told me not to be sad. He saw that I was trying to smile, but that it wasn't as genuine as it was before he said those words. We left the restaurant and even though my mood was dampened, it helped to know that he was checking the fringes of the relationship for something better. At least then I know that if the relationship fails, it won't necessarily be because of me.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
11/2
So...a couple people have been asking about my (lack of) love life recently. I stopped writing about it right around the time that the crazy-ex started harassing me and R.(Blakken) and I stopped dating. That was about six weeks ago and the gala was back in early October, or roughly three-and-a-half weeks ago. I decided then to take a step back from dating.
Sure, I went on a couple of dates. I went on a date with a guy that talked about his Porsche so much that he even sent me a picture of the vehicle before our date (that should have been the first clue that the wasn't the one for me - and, no, I'm not joking, this is the actual picture)
but he was from South Africa and had the cutest accent so it was dinner, a ride in the said Porsche, and then back to my parents' house. That's it.
I also met a man that works at Tiffany's while getting his second master's degree. I had to go into the store to pick up some gifts for the gala so I asked if B. was working that day. It was my first time actually in the showroom, although I had checked out their stuff on-line while shopping for these gifts. B. was working and he took a break to show me around, introducing to me to e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e that worked there and showed me the really expensive jewelry that they don't usually let people touch. Ah...I touched it. It was good.
Sure, I went on a couple of dates. I went on a date with a guy that talked about his Porsche so much that he even sent me a picture of the vehicle before our date (that should have been the first clue that the wasn't the one for me - and, no, I'm not joking, this is the actual picture)
but he was from South Africa and had the cutest accent so it was dinner, a ride in the said Porsche, and then back to my parents' house. That's it.I also met a man that works at Tiffany's while getting his second master's degree. I had to go into the store to pick up some gifts for the gala so I asked if B. was working that day. It was my first time actually in the showroom, although I had checked out their stuff on-line while shopping for these gifts. B. was working and he took a break to show me around, introducing to me to e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e that worked there and showed me the really expensive jewelry that they don't usually let people touch. Ah...I touched it. It was good.
The kicker is that I'm allergic to metal, well, to nickel to be more specific. Certainly, as my face can testify, I'm also allergic to the chemicals in hair dye and sensitive to mosquito and fire ant bites. Needless to say, showing me a gallery full of gleaming metal and stones isn't really the way to my heart. I can appreciate their beauty, but can't really see myself incorporating it into my life. B. later asked me out to his company dinner.
Then I met, Mr. Tugboat. Mr. Tugboat works as a Merchant Marine, which actually isn't a part of the armed forces, although their union in regulated by the Coast Guard. As I understand it, he drives tugboats - and he really likes it. He used to drive the really big boats when he worked for deep sea companies, but it kept him away from his son too long (and we all know that I don't want to date another Deep Sea Diver/Driver again). He has a five year-old son that he shares custody of with this ex.
He and I went out on Friday night to, "A quiet place where we can talk," aka: Chili's, on his suggestion. We didn't want the evening to end, so dinner led to a movie, which lead to hanging out and seeing where he lived. I laughed and had a great time. Really, it was the best first date I've gone out on in such a long time. I had forgotten how much fun dating someone and getting to know them could be.
We left the next day to go and drive his tugboat for four days in the Houston/Galveston Channel and came back into town yesterday. We ordered pizza, played with Zac, and watched tv (well, I tried to watch tv, he was trying hard to distract me). It was great. Just so much fun that I have a stupid grin on my face this morning.
So much so, that I feel like I'm going to fuck it up. I can't really be into someone this much and he can't really like me as much as he seems to. I'm so scared of actually liking someone that I have to keep telling myself to be cautious, to wait until he earns my trust, to take one day at a time, which is what my Mom keeps telling me to do.
I'm trying. That's all I can say. I'm trying.
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