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Holiday Survival, Still Remaining Vertical, and Pragmatic as Usual

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winter tree

Winter.  Pretty, but it kinda sux.  At least the holidays are almost over.

 

I survived.

I purposely avoided making any holiday commentary this year, because I’ve been there before.  I’ve seen and photographed endless tacky Christmas light displays.  I’ve already dished on the annoying relatives I’d rather avoid.  I’ve said my peace regarding the big gropy gatherings where someone always thinks that 800º F is an acceptable room temperature, as I’m sweating to death in the corner, wishing I’d left hours ago.  I smile and put on my best behavior when Jerry is channeling his inner asshole for the yuletide festivities, and as usual, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I make myself scarce while he gets blitzed and feels sorry for himself.

saran wrapped drunk

I should do this the next time Jerry passes out- so I can keep the mess confined to one place.

Jerry doesn’t interact well with my family, and I feel obligated to go hang out with them on holidays, so I choose the lesser of two evils.  The house is positively untenable when Jerry’s ripped and on a rant, which is guaranteed during the holidays.  My family are mostly loud and obnoxious people, and it’s generally not pleasant being surrounded by their noise and bickering, but they are mild compared to Jerry when he’s going on and on about how much ____ sucks or how I don’t “do enough” for him.  Most of my family, with the exceptions of Steve-o and Dad, get on my nerves, but they drink a lot less than Jerry does.  I really didn’t want to hang out and watch Jerry go the zoo on his first Christmas without both his mother and his best friend Bob.  That’s an experience I was good to do without, and since I’m sure he doesn’t remember much beyond the first 12 pack, I see it (even though I loathe sports analogies) as no harm, no foul.  Jerry’s lonely drunk-and-stupids remind me of that age old quandary: If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, was there a noise?  If he’s drunk and stupid but I don’t have to hear it, then it didn’t happen, no?

pinktree

The pink tree complete with the buzzard on the top will stay lit up in the living room until New Year’s, then I will put that stuff away for another year.  Then I get to settle in for two months (or so) of Februarys- dark, dismal and blessedly (hopefully) quiet, until about the middle of March.  I can only hope in the mid-to-late winter funk that somewhere I will find time to read and think and just be. I’ve been scattered in so many directions lately that I really need that ivory tower time in a bad way.

lonely place

I need solitude, but I can never seem to get enough of it.

 

This year wasn’t as depressing as Christmases go.  I actually had the resources to gift people in a reasonably acceptable manner, which is a big deal to me.  I like to treat people well when I can and be generous if I can, and I am thankful for having the means to do so at least in a small way.  I am not a wealthy woman by any stretch of the imagination, so nobody got anything really awesome from me, but if nothing else they got a little something useful.

So another year bites the dust.  Another day (year) closer to death (if I may sort of paraphrase Roger Waters and Pink Floyd) and not too much to show for it.  I can, however, take solace in the truth that I can’t take it with me.  The inevitability of death isn’t as depressing knowing that I’m not leaving behind a mansion, pool boy, or a garage full of tasty performance cars.  That attitude is pragmatism at work. All I can do is try to do the best I can today.

 

 

 

 

SSDD, and If You Have to Ask, I Don’t Have Time to Explain

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SSDD

Depression sucks.

Same shit, different day.

I could of course, attribute my unshakable malaise by chalking it up to the horrible weather or the interminable dark that pervades this time of year.  Usually my mood improves when the holidays are over, at least a little bit, and then goes back in the toilet around mid-February until about May.

Maybe it’s because my life is pretty much lived stuffing ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag.  The worst part of that is that it’s usually ten pounds of other people’s shit that I allow to be unloaded on me.

despair corners

The sucky part of that is that one of my closest friends (who I really need to have a nice, long conversation with again, and sometime soon) once told me that life boils down to what you cause and what you allow.  I allow other people’s dumb shit to go on and on without telling them to piss off, and that’s my own damned fault.  I hear a lot of bitching through the course of a day, and a lot of it is in regard to things that either I can’t control or can’t change.  Hearing all that day in and day out tends to make me feel pretty discouraged and hopeless.

Then I go home and get to hear Jerry bitch about things that he should just deal with himself if they bother him that much.  This is the same guy who has no problem spotting shit or puke or some unfortunate object that Lucy has reduced to smithereens- but who does have nine kinds of excuses for why he can’t clean it up.

clean poop

Really? I so need this amazing shit-shoveling gnome in my house!

That, and my left arm is killing me right around the place where I broke it.  I think that might be because of the cold (it’s a balmy 1°F out there today) and low barometer, but it hurts something fierce today.  I dug out the big black brace I had to use for awhile after they took my cast off, and put it on, which seems to help.   Then there’s always the gift that keeps on giving- all my joints are rather creaky and stiff today- thanks to the lingering repercussions of rheumatic fever.   The good news is that I was one of about three people in the pool this morning.  I’d be much worse off today, at least as far as mobility goes, had I not gone to the pool.  The pool, opposed to the outside world, is usually somewhere around 80°, which is quite nice.

fantasy pool

If money were no object, this would be my personal indoor pool.

pool boy

And here would be a suitable personal pool boy.

Maybe not so blond, but the bod is right on.  Nice pecs.

It would be a total blast to lounge about in a lovely pool surrounded by buff young dudes, if I had the means, but as the old saying goes, “Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.”

Of course the fantasy would only be complete if I could have a big screen TV in my pool room showing Journey’s Greatest Hits Live 1981:

journey greatest hits 1981

Play ALL.  All night long.

Believe it or not, I’ve actually done a fairly decent job of cheering myself up. For now.

Please, Lord, don’t let me come home to a massive debris field left in the wake of the “Mouth of the South” (aka Lucy) because Jerry was too lazy to put the dogs back in their crates after lunch…

Or to a to-do list of Jerry’s errands to be ran (outside of course,) in sub-zero temperatures…

Give a poor white woman a break for a change, eh?  A quiet night with maybe a few military documentaries, or even a showing of Hot Fuzz or Super Troopers?  It doesn’t even have to be a cop-themed movie- Borat would do just fine… something funny, something light?

Getting Away- Let’s Try This Again, and Why Not Take the Train?

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vacationfamily truckster

I embark on “vacations” with a sense of trepidation.  Last year I was supposed to have two entire days of peace and quiet at the campground with just Clara as company.   Instead I got five days of Jerry barking orders at me- and to make it even more miserable, I had a wicked sinus infection throughout the whole “vacation” which lingered on for about 10 days after.

It was not fun.

How do I explain to him that part of the point of taking a “vacation” is not having to run and fetch for him?  When I think of a vacation I’m thinking of margaritas and pool boys and beaches and sleeping and reading.

tahiti

 

A vacation for him is never a “vacation” for me.   It is more reminiscent of boot camp.

boot-camp-55842982115_xlarge

Every time Jerry has ever imposed himself on one of my “vacations,” I’ve been happy as hell to get back to work.

I still want a couple of days’ peace and quiet with nothing but canine company.  It probably won’t happen.  I will be stuck running after beer (which I don’t drink) and lottery tickets (that I don’t play.)  I’ll likely be recruited to perform home improvement projects and maintenance for him that I am not very good at doing.  Then I will get nine kinds of shit about how bad I suck at hanging blinds or cleaning gutters.

The nearest establishment to the campground that sells beer and lottery is about six miles away.  Then *while I’m out- ha-ha* I will get demands to procure obscure items at hardware stores (even further out), to fix food and to run divers errands, until my head spins.   He will want me to take the dogs out at midnight, just because. There will be no quiet.  There will be no resting.  He will make a concerted effort to drive me completely apeshit.

I’ve taken vacations with my parents and/or Steve-o which do afford more relaxation time, but Mom and Dad can prove grating as well.  Mom’s insanely pokey and doesn’t get motivated easily.  Dad is constantly wanting to stop and go munch somewhere, which means it’s pretty much impossible to adhere to any kind of schedule.

solo traveler

Perhaps it is just my wiring that makes the fun vacation (for me) the solo vacation, where I can operate on my own itinerary and do what I want when (and if) I feel like doing it.

33 states honor my Ohio CCW, which is a comforting thought, as I don’t generally travel unarmed.  Most of the places where I would routinely travel are quite fine with concealed carry. The bad thing is I really, really want to see the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia.  But my CCW is not valid in Pennsylvania, which really sucks.  I have to ponder this one.  Is it worth it to travel unarmed and run the risk of being carjacked, robbed, raped and/or pillaged?  I will have to find out if open carry is legal there, but it’s probably not.  Once the gun control weenies ban concealed carry, they usually aren’t cool about open carry either.

It’s about 500 miles one way, which is a day trip to get there, overnight in a motel, all day at the museum, then another night at the motel and the trip back.  It looks like this trip is three days- if I drive and take it leisurely.

mutter museum

I’ll have to find out if it’s in a safer part of town.  I won’t go alone if I can’t carry and it’s in da hood.  Having a good time at a strange destination is all about the research.  I’ve traveled alone many times with little more than some scribbled directions and a general sense of where I need to go.  I remember going to one series of meetings (two days) with about 15 minutes notice and I ended up having to buy toiletries and a change of clothes at a freaking Odd Lots store. It was sort of fun but also quite harrowing to try to get by with a weird sized curling iron, soaps and makeup I’d never heard of, and clothing that was less than flattering.

I’d rather research the area, know where I’m going, and have my reservations ahead of time.

One thing I have planned for my brief upcoming hiatus is a train ride- the Hocking Valley Railroad offers a short day trip through southeast Ohio on a passenger train.  I’m planning to go next Thursday and I hope the weather cooperates.  Better yet, I hope Jerry shuts up long enough for me to actually enjoy the scenery.

 

Pennsylvania_Railroad_Passenger_Car

 

 

 

Don’t Wanna, Can’t Make Me, and Sweet Dreams are Made of These

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moretheyexpectSo, for a brief sanity break, leave those who were raised by wolves to figure things out for themselves from time to time.

The zoo calls that “enrichment” time for the animals.  Let the bears dig their dinner out of a bucket instead of just putting it in front of them. It makes their lives more fun. Or at least, it makes it more fun for the humans to watch.

I strive to have high standards for myself, but I don’t really expect much from rest of the world.  I know that might sound arrogant, but should I expect anything from anyone, even if I spell it out clearly, odds are that they will disappoint.  The old axiom, “if you want it done right, do it yourself,” certainly does apply in my life, although I should re-word it a bit for the 21st century.

“If I want it done at all, I better do it.”

If I keep my standards low, then when someone actually does perform adequately or appropriately, I am pleasantly surprised.  It’s sort of a twisted way of looking at the glass as being half full.

Of course there are some things I could give a rat’s ass less whether they’re done or not, because they just don’t make an appearance on my priority list.

assmaster

I’m not a sports fan.  I struggle to commit to regular workouts for my health’s sake.  I’m still trying to learn to enjoy exercise.  I appreciate being able to go to the Y and use the machines and the pool there, but the only person I compete against as far as fitness or athletic (in)ability is myself.

I will make time to work out, but I still don’t care to watch sports.  Especially next month when they will be clogging up TruTV with that March Madness basketball mess.  I know some people want to watch basketball, but why on the same channel that “World’s Dumbest” is on?  Why not cut a few of the late night pecker pump infomercials and have basketball on then?

I can’t say I am a huge fan of constantly dusting things either.  I don’t dust as often as I should, but dusting is one of those exercises in futility that I positively loathe.  Jerry is a constant smoker, which creates even more dust than what would be in a normal house.  That nasty nicotine encrusted film covers everything in the house.  If I get to it, I get to it, but it’s not one of my really compelling priorities.  I can dust the whole frigging house from top to bottom and the filmy sludge will return in less than a day.  To me that seems like an insane waste of time, which reminds me of poor Sisyphus.  We the unwilling, doing the impossible for the ungrateful.  Sometimes I think I have more in common with Sisyphus than I’d like to acknowledge.

unwilling

I know I torqued Jerry off last night by not fixing him dinner, however, he has spent the last few days being particularly obnoxious.  Last night I did make a special trip to get him chocolate milk.  That favor was greeted with a tirade about how he had to get up and lock the door.  I was gone for five minutes, in broad daylight, and the door leading into the kitchen was locked.  The outside door was unlocked because it’s a little easier to only have to dig for one key- once you’re already in the foyer- when it’s cold and your hands are full.  But since His Nibs doesn’t do anything that might involve carrying in groceries or anything like that, he wouldn’t know.

It’s my own fault for being too nice.

Paradise_Garden_Wallpaper_pkuk6Here’s a lovely little slice of paradise.  Or it would be, if there were a pool and a pool boy.

The bad thing about me and utopian scenes is that I’m always the one who cues in on the one nasty thing in the picture.  For me the idyllic scene above becomes:

Paradisecrapperfiretacos

This would be the kind of dream I have.  Everything is perfect for a minute, and then there’s flaming porto johns, Richard Simmons, and flatulence-provoking taco references.

Now here would be my definition of a nightmare:

detroit 3It would be my luck that when I die I’ll end up in Detroit.