Monday, September 26, 2011

tearful and fearful

I'm preparing to move again - second time in just over six months - and I feel the depression deep inside my belly.

The anxiety of hoping I get everything done in time, the pressure from the landlord to be out a bit early so she can get extra cleaning and painting done, taking on responsibility for the damage deposit that won't even come back to me (it was paid by the South African Hottie when he moved in) ... these are just a few of the things taking their toll on me.

I've received help moving some things, thank goodness, but I need a little more and I'm afraid to ask. I hate asking people to put themselves out for me. I'd rather experience the stress of doing things myself ... but some things I can't do myself.

Fear of the future is what's really eating me, though. Will my needs be met in my new home? Will I be comfortable? Will the South African Hottie come back before the end of the year or will it be at least May before we have a home together again?

This morning, for just a moment, I wished I could go back a year or more to the simple, empty life I had in Nova Scotia. No decisions to be made, just routine movements, same job day after day, same activities night after night.

Safety and security are underrated.

Monday, September 19, 2011

can't take it back

I had a setback today. I spent $500 on something I didn't need.

What I bought doesn't matter, though I'll tell you for the sake of clarity: I bought bras.

They're very high end and they were 25% off and they fit me noticeably better than what I've been wearing and they even come with matching panties, but I didn't even really want them.

I bought them, I fear, because I was too embarrassed not to.

Isn't that stupid?

I had visited a local shop for the first time. Their sale was advertised on TV so I decided it was an opportune time to refresh that part of my wardrobe. After all, it's been three years since I bought the ones I own now and one of them has already fallen apart and been discarded.

I tried on two dozen bras, each one brought to me by the saleswoman. I didn't look at a single price tag - because I couldn't see them (the change room was lit with dark 'romance' lighting, for one thing) - so it was only once I'd made my selections that I asked about the cost. Ninety-nine dollars for one, $129 for the next and $229 each for the remaining two - but those were 50% off so if I picked one I could get the other for 'free', essentially.

I've never seen $100 bras before, let alone $200 bras. As I stood there stunned, trying to think myself to 'no', someone offered to tally the cost. When I heard the total I considered what that would leave available on my credit card and the answer made it easy to say no to the buying-them-all option, but I still couldn't openly say no to everything.

Even as I moved to process my credit card to pay for the first two bras I was telling myself I could stop - should stop - but I didn't. It was nearly an out-of-body experience, watching myself act and feeling the shock as I observed myself still moving.

As I waited for the approval to show on the screen I saw the store's notice about layaway purchases.

I asked, 'could I do that with the other two bras, the $229 ones?'.

Yes, I could.

And so I did. I put down $60 for a deposit and have committed to paying the remainder within 30 days.

Why? I have no idea whatsoever.

I read another notice while I was waiting: no returns, only exchanges and store credits. No opportunities for buyer's remorse there.

I'm disappointed - to say the least - that I couldn't act on the voice in my head. It has something to do with not being prepared to say no. I believe if I'd seen just one price tag in the shop before heading to the change room, I could have spent the time in there making real decisions about what I wanted to do. At the counter, without the advance knowledge I apparently needed, I was embarrassed to make the decision - the right one - in front of the staff. For some reason, I cared about what they thought of me.

I am aggrieved that I've done this. I've set my financial goals back at least a month. I don't even feel excited about my purchases, though I have admired myself in the mirror a few times since getting home and changing out my old bra for a new one.

Rather than self-flagellate, however, I'm determined to use this day to prevent another. I'll remember how silly my actions were and use that understanding to refuse to make the same mistake again.

In the meantime ... that was definitely stupid. Really, really stupid.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

links

I dreamed of Pappy and Dotty last night. I was traveling in the dream but they surprised me by tracking me down while I was en route to some unknown destination. They looked fantastic; Dotty looked 40 years younger than she is.

I was troubled by the dream when I first woke up, but now that I've talked to my Dad via Skype I feel better. All is well; nothing has changed. Nobody's in heaven. ;)

~ ~ ~

More troubling, it turned out, was a popular thread on reddit. If you read a little of it you should have little difficulty figuring out which link I didn't follow.

I'm a rotten.com fan from way back - I can't even remember the first time I stumbled upon that one - but there are some things I just won't watch. I've seen the pictures of the Hussein boys, I've seen the Japanese chick in the bathtub and I've seen the amputations and deformations and the violent automobile collisions. After merely reading about a couple of serial killers in the Ukraine, however, I think I could give even Two Girls One Cup a go - though I won't. There's repulsive ... and then there's repulsive.

On the other hand, I didn't know I had any innocence left worth corrupting. I'm not naive, but something about what I know is in that leaked footage has infected me.

I deliberately haven't linked to any specifics, of course. I don't presume to know what you can handle and what you can't. If your stomach is weak, you probably shouldn't click on much.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

missing

The last time I saw my father - sometime in late March - he had two legs.

Now much of his right leg has been removed and it just doesn't seem right to me that I wasn't present for either of the two surgeries he had.

In 1982, when Mom left Dad, I started to become the family caretaker, the one who pulled everyone together and made sure things got done.

This time it's my brothers who are doing all the work. It's my brothers who are part of the scene and creating closeness and memories I won't ever be part of.

My Dad and I have always been close. But this time I'm not there and it really hurts. I just hope it hurts me more than it hurts him.