July 2, 2010
June 24, 2010
At first, I thought Jay was a nice guy.
A ruddy, tubby, nerdy little bearded man who was sweet, if a little shy. His lisp was endearing, the sound of his adenoids filtering his voice gave him an innocent, childlike quality.
When he broke up with his girlfriend – on the phone, in the middle of the working day, when there was no-one else around – I was there for him. Later on, he thanked me, and said he couldn’t come to my party that weekend but that he really wants to meet my friends, so he asked me to invite him next time. He stared at me for a while, with some odd intention in his eyes.
The next week, he commented that we spend so much time together, he must be my ‘work boyfriend’.
The week after that, he was very stressed out, and blamed it on the fact that he ‘just wants to be married’.
That same week he came into my office and said he was ‘going to punch somebody’ and that ‘it was ‘going to be a woman’. He huffed and puffed and eventually left the room. A while later he came back and apologized in a flap of guilt. I said, probably with a slightly skeptical tone, ‘That’s ok, but I’m in the middle of something right now’ brushing him off.
I gave him a bit of space after that, thinking he was becoming a little… stressed… needy… uptight… obbessive… aggressive… homicidal…? Who knows?! This is North America! He could walk in with a gun one day and take us all down. What if he’s on some crazy meds and, as his physique may indicate, decides that he doesn’t like to play sport, he doesn’t have to play sport and you can’t MAKE HIM PLAY SPORT!
He spent a few weeks being gloomy, moping about and stammering and wanting attention. He would come into my office and drop papers on my desk in a huff then flounce out again like a misunderstood teenager. Begging my asking in a sympathetic tone: ‘What’s wrong?’
I avoided him. And that served to make matters worse. In a staff meeting he called me and two others out for ‘not washing the dishes enough’ and some other pathetic complaints that were no doubt devised to, again, get attention.
Then as if by magic, he came into work swaggering around and laughing very loudly at inopportune moments. Is he on prozac?
Not long after, face flushed and rolling up his sleeves he burst into my office and hunkered by my desk.
‘I feel like things have been different with us for the last few weeks’.
Inside, I’m barfing.
‘Yeh, I just wanted to give you space to deal with all your stuff, you seemed pretty stressed’ I say.
‘Are you sure, is there something that I’ve done?’ he says.
‘No it’s fine, really. Thanks though’
‘Well, you did say that about the dishes in the staff meeting, which was weird, but I think the others were more annoyed than I was so that’s ok’
‘yes, really don’t worry about it’
‘yeh, really, it’s fine, don’t worry’
With that, he flounces off again.
Since then, we’ve barely spoken to one another – he doesn’t make eye contact, he won’t deliver anything to me that he’s meant to deliver he leaves it in my mailbox instead.
Today, we all had lunch together and he was talking about how he’s never camped. Ever. Never taken a dip in a lake, or the sea. He was surprised to hear that the north pacific ocean is cold.
His lisp is a source of constant irritation now. His adenoid voice sending shivers of alert annoyance down my spine. I grimmace when i hear him laugh.
Why? Why such a strong reaction to this soft-faced, little man who bleaches the part of his beard that rests directly beneath his nose?
Because he’s spoilt. He’s a spoilt 37 year old Mamma’s boy who thinks he has mental health issues. He doesn’t have mental health issues, he’s just a drama queen who needs to grow up. It’s guys like him who make it harder for the rest of us, and parents like his who have given him so much of everything he wants, that he just refuses to behave like a real person. He refuses to be alone and so trudges from one relationship to the next bending over backwards for she-who-could-be-anyone, changing his interests and clinging on until he’s dumped again. He is the perfect example of a case where over analysis has lead to extreme self-involvement and not to any degree of self-awareness.
If we were at home he’d get a kick up the arse and a bucket of water over his head for his trouble.
Cold enough for ya?
May 17, 2010
At last, at the beginning of March, I got a job.
As expected, it has completely consumed my life. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I actually wanted my life to be consumed. I was getting bored of myself and quite frankly needed to be told what to do)
So I am now I’m working in non-profit organization with a small staff in a retro office that’s NOT downtown.
I’m in two minds about not working downtown, and in a non-profit organisation.
One mind thinks that this will make me less materialistic and more likely to follow a ‘natural’ path towards a higher sense of purpose.
T’other, wants to buy these amazing sandals it saw in the Pacific Centre, that would go just perfectly with the dress it also wants to buy online.
Given that I no longer have any choice in the matter, I’m gong to let Number One Mind win.
Long live altruistic lifestyles and making your own shoes.
February 24, 2010
February 6, 2010
Today, I had the worst type of phone call. The kind that makes you sigh in utter frustration. The kind that makes you disappointed you could cry. It makes you think, ‘I shouldn’t have planned so much’, ‘I shouldn’t have cared so much’. I shouldn’t ever have tried.
Today I found out that the job I had fallen in love with was given to someone else. The job that would have been the perfect step towards a career change, that would have paid my rent and my food and still leave enough to have a nice holiday every now and again was not mine after all. Of course, the job was never mine, except in my imagination.
In my imagination having this job would be the answer to everything.
On sunny mornings I would walk to work, say hello to everyone I met along the way, drinking my greens and rice milk shake. When I got there I’d be early, invigorated and ready for the day. Sometimes, after work I’d meet my friend downtown for a glass of wine in the sun and we’d have a bite to eat. After a few months I might make my Mark, writing good reports and catching the eye of the CEO as a good candidate for promotion. Then they’d give me more responsibility and maybe more money and there, there I would be exactly where I want to be. Peaceful at last.
It was bliss. Sheer, imaginary bliss.
And now it’s all over.
Now there are no more sunny morning walks through Strathcona. No more lunchtime navigating the Pacific Centre to the food court for salad rolls. No more quiet evenings, tired and replete with a full day’s work behind me, and the promise of a well deserved sleep.
All that promise has disappeared… What am I supposed to do now?*
*Answers on a postcard please
January 15, 2010
Undertaking a ‘lifelong’ yoga practise is possibly the most frustrating thing I’ve ever done. There I’ve said it. What’s even more annoying is that I decided to practise Ashtanga yoga. Possibly the most physically challenging yoga that there is. I only started ashtanga cause it was the nearest yoga class to my house. Now if I go to other classes, i realise that I’m a yoga snob. ‘Look how they move so slowly. Look how they don’t breathe using there bandas. The Fools!!’
The problem is, Batman is very flexible. He can put his legs behind his head and do a back band from standing. We started doing yoga at the same time 5 years ago. I can barely touch my toes.
Ok ok so I lapse from my practise every once in a while (like six months on, six months off) but so what, shouldn’t all the gruelling hours I’ve put in count for something?
Well anyway I know that after a few weeks of inital pain, I do really enjoy it and it can lead to quite profound expereinces and makes me feel happier and yadda yadda. So, it’s back to the mat I go, to a new class, where they’ll think I’m a beginner and tell me things like “bend your knees if you can’t touch your toes”, “your hips must be very tight” and “try not to strain yourself”