Breaking Up is Hard to Do. Or Not.

     I broke up with a friend last night.

     Yesterday, I heard from a couple of mutual friends that he had a party Friday night.  I was confused, so I went through my texts and Facebook messages, thinking I'd simply missed the invite somehow.  It turns out that I didn't; I simply wasn't invited.  This person was not someone I would have expected that from- inviting all of his friends and simply skipping me.  I texted him, "Did you have a party last night?"  He answers, "Yeah."  "Oh," I say.  "I see.  Okay, then."  (What do you even say to this sort of thing?)  He then tells me that he just felt weird about asking me since 'we haven't hung out in a month'.  Really?  Really?  Let me give you a general run-down of my last thirty days:  4 research papers, 1 group project, 4 sets of finals, all the homework and studying that goes along with attending a full-time four-year university, meeting Boyfriend's parents, nearly quitting the Terrible Job, working strange hours at the Okay Job, working 50 hours per week at both Jobs combined, and still trying to find some time for things like sleep and showering.

     So, no, we haven't seen each other in a month, but we have spoken on the phone at least once a week during that time, along with countless texts and emails.  Clearly I was unaware that you have to physically see someone in order to be friends with them.  If that is the case, I have absolutely no friends save Boyfriend and Luckie.  I did a little bit more prying, and it turns out that this all stems from me canceling a dinner with him due to a looming deadline for one of the aforementioned research papers.  That's right.  I canceled.  One.  Dinner.  AND I distinctly remember at the time giving him several other time options that I would be able to make just as soon as I turned that paper in.  I must have simply forgotten to grovel at his feet.  (And in the interests of full disclosure, I have to tell you here that I've canceled on lots of people, including Boyfriend, during this quarter of school.  I'm still trying to find ways to manage everything, get into the swing of it, make everything balance.  It's pretty tricky.)

     Until early this afternoon, I was still pretty stung by this invitation betrayal.  Then I suddenly saw things very clearly.  The last many times I've seen him, I've been bored.  I've had nothing to say.  I didn't think anything he said was interesting.  Everything had become small talk; I was simply friends with him out of habit.  I realized today that I've outgrown him.  I've also decided that this is okay.  About a year ago, a woman in a book group I was trying out said something about seasonal friends- friends who come into your life for whatever reason, stay for a season or two, then gradually fade away.  This has stuck with me, and I realized that this is exactly what she meant by that.  He was simply a seasonal friend: I met him just around this time I moved here, he was pretty helpful in getting me used to the city and answering questions, we had some common interests at the time, it was good.  Now, our interests are pretty divergent, which can make conversation hard.  Our senses of humor are different.  He is happy with the sort of life he has, while I strive every day for something better.  He is the sort of person who would hold going back to school for her degree against a girl.  He's the only friend I know that wasn't able to forgive me my cancellation or accept and understand why I needed to do it.

     Our conversation didn't end well last night, and I've decided to leave it as it lies.  I don't feel any need to save the friendship here; I'm past it.  I don't have any ill will towards him, and I wish him the best.  I simply just need to move on to people who make sense in my life as I'm living it now.  Here's to new seasonal friends and to some old lifetime ones.

Thanksgiving

     This year, I spent Thanksgiving in Waterford, Wisconsin - Population 5,016.  This was to be the dreaded Meeting of the Parents.  I met this boy approximately 4 months ago on OKCupid.  We officially met on our first date just over 3 months ago.  Since then, we've fallen in love and everything has been nerdy, geeky awesomeness.  However, with neither one of us being originally from Chicago and my stupidly stupid work schedule, the only time meeting families can happen is during the holidays.  Stressful?  Yes. 
     So I agreed to go to Wisconsin.  For four days.  After just finishing finals at school.  I was kind of freaking out.  Boyfriend was incredibly supportive in dealing with my large amount of "green-sweater-or-blue-sweater-oh-god-what-if-they-don't-like-me" texts.  He patiently answered every single one of my approximately 500 questions.  He even assured me that if for some illogical and completely unknown reason they didn't like me, he would still totally keep me.  There are many reasons I love this boy.
      We were to leave on the 6:30 train to Kenosha on Wednesday evening.  Wednesday morning dawns bright and early.  I awaken; I stretch; I cough up a lung.  That's right- I was sick.  Super sick.  Sore throat, cough, achy body, runny nose, the whole fucking deal.  I nearly OD'd on DayQuil just to make it through working at the Terrible Job.  Could the day have gotten any worse?  Could my stress level been any higher?
     No, actually, and I didn't have to worry about it.  We arrived in Waterford just fine.  His parents are lovely people.  His aunt is really sweet (and currently lives in my hometown, so we had something to talk about).  His grandparents are darlings.  And best of all, they like me.  Really.  I felt like Sally Fields.  The tiny town even has a super cute used book store.  In fact, aside from one terrible coughing fit that actually made me throw up in a parking lot (witnessed by no one other than the worried Boyfriend), the trip was a success.  I feel silly for having worried so much.
     The whole situation made me think.  In high school, we think nothing of meeting our boyfriends' parents.  They live there, or they're the drivers to and from events.  It's nothing.  In college, it becomes sort of scary, but very few consider that it will go badly.  Only as adults do we place so much emphasis on it.  We stress.  We become highly critical of ourselves.  We imagine the parents judging our every single word and gesture.  It's ridiculous. 
     However, I think Boyfriend is a little relieved he doesn't have to actually meet my parents.  He does have to meet everyone else.  :)

That is a Pharmacy Station.  Gasoline + pharmaceuticals = WIN!

Alterations

     I've lived my whole life this way, in these fits and starts.  Sometimes I get lost too long in the stagnancy, but that usually only results in a bigger leap when I get moving.  Almost like I'm overcompensating.  And here I go again.  I've started the beginning phases of some things that- hopefully- will make my life a hell of a lot more fun in the long run.  Yes, these baby steps totally suck at the moment.  Wait, that's not fair.  They don't all suck.  In fact, some of them feel pretty adventurous. 

     The first baby step was, indeed, sucky.  I gave up my cat.  Yes, the cat that I so gushingly go on about a couple of posts before this one.  I love her.  I miss her.  But I was a bad mommy.  My work schedule kept getting worse and worse, and no matter how much time I gave Lola it wasn't enough.  I didn't have enough.  It would have been mean and selfish to keep her.  So I gave her up to someone that I greatly trust (when it comes to cats, anyway) and she's happy as a clam.  She loves it there.  I'm sad she had to move again and get used to a new place, but I had to do what's best for her. 

     Baby Step #2:  I'm giving up my apartment.  I've found a roommate, and we're looking for a place at the moment.  I want to live somewhere cheaper because of the next step.

     The third step- wait, no.  This one is a giant baby running jump.  I'm going back to school.  Or hoping to, anyway.  I'm really nervous they won't accept me and I'll have to do a city college for a year before I try again.  And it's really not a great time to go back and work less and pay assloads of money.  But.  There will never be a great time.  I'm doing it now.  I'm tired of waiting.  I am one of those geeks who really REALLY loves going to school.  I would be a professional student if they never expected repayment of the damn student loans.  So I'm doing it.  I'll have to cut back on everything that makes life worth living, but what the hell. 

     Is it pathetic that I'm ridiculously excited about buying a new backpack?

Under Construction

I started this blog with some sort of idea of what I wanted it to be.  Turns out I was crap at it.  Then the idea underwent a couple of mental permutations, but they didn't feel right.  So now, I'm going to go ahead and be just another narcissistic asshole blogging about whatever the fuck I want.  Let's see if it's something I can manage to keep going.  New post soon.

Second-Hand Love

     This is my cat, Lola.  I am her third owner, and I've never had a cat before her.  I've had lots of other animals- dogs, rats, guinea pigs.  I was never a 'cat person'; I greatly prefer dogs.  However, a tiny studio apartment and an aversion to picking up poop are two things that don't work with having a dog.  I would need a big one, you see.  No toy breeds for this girl.  No 'rats that bark', as an old friend once called them.

     So, here's Lola.  She came from my friend L., who decided to give her up when she managed to slice her way out of all the window screens in the house in the course of a week.  Before that she lived with someone who wanted to pare down the number of pets in the house.  L. put up a plea on Facebook, and I thought, Why not?  I could manage a cat.   I sent L. a message, and away we went.

     Lola is a huge pain in the ass.  She spends large portions of the night yowling at walls and random bits of fluff.  She's peed on the kitchen cabinets, thrown up on my bed, and walks in front of me all the time, so I'm constantly tripping over her.  She's an uber-picky eater, and she spills her water bowl on purpose, I'm sure.

     Lola is also a darling.  She smushes her face close to mine as a hug.  She loves to be picked up and carried around the house.  She freaks out with excitement when I shake the bag of treats.  She's adorable playing with her toys, and any time you touch her while she's resting, she makes a noise like a squeaky toy.  It's actually pretty funny.  She's never had any health problems, and she's quiet when in a carrier- once you manage to get her in it, of course.  And she loves me.  For no reason other than I feed and pet her.

     My cat has managed to severely cut the number of hours I sleep, but she's also managed to infinitely increase the amount of love I feel during the waking hours.  I'm still by no means a 'cat person'.  However, I'm surprised by how much I love the one I have.  I don't know if she remembers the other places she's lived, and I flatter myself to think she loves living here.  I hope she does, anyway.

     Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tummy-rub to give.

When did this happen?

     The desk came from Craigslist, fifty bucks and lunch for the great friend who helped move it.  The skirt?  Five dollars at The White Elephant Resale.  Even the cute little red shoes came second-hand from The Gold Mine for $4.00. 
    
     I didn't always used to be this way.  I grew up the oldest of two, raised by a single working mother in a two-bedroom, one bathroom house we rented from my grandparents.  Mom never made more than $30,000 a year, and she was a terrible money manager with the money we had.  She loved to 'live life,' as she would say.  The bills would always be there; enjoy life where you can.  We were pretty hard-up, living in a lower-lower middle class neighborhood.  My brother says we weren't poor.  That's somewhat true, I guess.  We knew people compared to whom we were wealthy.  But we didn't have money.  We didn't have the latest and greatest whatever-is-hot-now.  We didn't have a VCR until I was 16, in 1997.  We never had a computer.  But we were fed and clothed and mostly warm.  More than what a lot of people have, really.

     My mom was the oldest of 15 children, which meant that her youngest siblings were not much older than us.  This was great, in that we're a very close family, which would be a different sort of closeness with a bigger age gap.  This was also not great, in that whenever someone cleaned out a closet, the next-in-line would get the leftovers.  Eventually, these things no one wanted made their way to us.  But we didn't want hand-me-downs.  We didn't want things that weren't what the other kids were wearing.  We wanted new things, things that were ours first, instead of being the last stop before the Salvation Army. 

     Now, I'm 28.  An adult; a grown-up.  I have a nice place, a pretty cat, and enough money to live on and still buy some great shoes.  It's strange to me now that I actively seek out used things.  If I need something, my first thought is to check the thrift stores or the alleys.  When did this change overcome me?  Is it something that happens as you grow up?  So I started wondering why.  Why do I want this whatever-it-is, with a stain/dent/tear/peeling paint?  Why not just go to IKEA/Target/Crate and Barrel and get a new one?  Partly I want it because it has a back-story; someone, somewhere, loved this thing, and now it's out in the world.  Partly I want it because no one else will have one exactly the same.  IKEA/Target/Crate and Barrel are lovely places, and I do shop there pretty often, but so does everyone else.  Sometimes upon visiting a friend's home for the first time, I'm disappointed to see that this fantastic and unique person has the same old shit everyone else has, nothing fantastic and unique about it.  This sameness, this lack of creativity in one's home, makes me a little sad.  People are willing to buy the prepackaged idea.  This makes me wonder at the state of the world.  What else are they willing to buy?