My first boyfriend was an abusive alocholic who raped me once when we were living together. Good times. Good times.
I was with him for about four years off and on between the ages of 16 and 20. We lived together twice. The first time it ended while we were cohabiting, he dumped me off on my parents' doorstep in the middle of the night. The second time, my parents came to get me one afternoon after he threatened to throw me out on the streets. Understandably, they didn't want me to be with him anymore and let me move back in with them the second time on the condition that I would go to university and never again get involved with the guy.
Fair enough.
Stupid me was temporarily wooed back by the idiot, however, and my dad saw us kissing from his office window near a shopping centre. When I was confronted by my dad, it was decided that I would move out, and my parents set about finding me a place to live while I was at work. At the time, I was working in fast food and couldn't afford much. What my parents found me wasn't much, either: a converted front porch with sloping floors, indoor/outdoor carpeting, no heat, no air conditioning, no locks on the windows, and a dodgy lock on the only door to the place. I moved in that week.
Things were OK there even though the conditions were quite crappy. I still dated the guy for awhile, but he treated me well, I'm guessing because I had my own place and relied on him for nothing. He didn't have any power over me anymore. I ended up dumping him not long after I got my own place, though. I guess I had finally decided for myself that I deserved better than what he had to offer. But not long after I stopped seeing him, I was home alone and it was the middle of the night and I heard an unfamiliar male voice outside the open window calling my name:
Julie. Get dressed and come outside.
I turned off the loud music and yelled out to the darkness asking the person who he was and what did he want, threatening with lies that I had a gun and would certainly use it. My handbag came flying in through the open window and landed on my bed. Whoever it was had been in my house, had maybe stood right behind me. I didn't have a phone. I was in my pajamas. I was afraid to run out of the apartment. I was afraid to stay there. I was afraid of some disembodied voice, what it might belong to and what its owner was capable of doing.
Eventually, the guy parted the curtains so I could see his face. He wanted to know if I really wanted him to go away. I yelled "yes" and he was gone. I turned off all the lights and crawled around on the floor with a knife. I got on my clothes. I shut the open windows and rifled through my handbag. Whoever it was had been in my house and gone back out with my handbag, looked at my ID and found out my name. He threw it back. He didn't take a thing. I was terrified.
The next day, I phoned my dad from a nearby payphone and told him the story. I don't know exactly what I was hoping for from him or what he could have done. But his response was as brief and final as it was strange:
"I have to go. I'm in the middle of dinner."
The midnight stranger made a reappearance some months later but my dad was never to hear of it. What would be the point, after all, when it was obvious he had more pressing things on his mind.
maarmie's musings
Tuesday, October 09, 2012
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Home movies
Now that I'm an orphan, I'm going to be telling all the stories that I remember most vividly from my childhood and beyond, stories that play through my head like unwanted home videos I am forced to watch again and again, stories whose morals are that bad things happen to children who are born defective and that children who are born defective don't deserve good things from the people who are supposed to love them the most.
A friend of mine had her first child more than a year ago. This friend comes from a truly amazing family that has always had all the time in the world for her, is always interested in and supportive of her endeavours, and gives her all the unconditional love and attention that I desperately crave from my own family. I went with her one weekend to visit her family many years ago (such a warm and accepting and lovely family!) and was sad the entire visit and ended up spending at least half of it chain smoking in her front garden and thinking about my own parents who are so unlike hers, mourning for the family that I wanted and saw before me but never had and didn't feel worthy of.
Recently, this friend wrote on her blog that having her own child and realising all the hardships that come with the job has made her appreciate her parents all the more for the job they did with her and that she hopes she can be even half the parent to her own child that they were (and are!) to her.
I feel quite differently, of course. From the time Elliot was born, I have grown more and more sad about my own parents and my own childhood and how I was always and am still treated by my family. I know how much I love Elliot and how her best interests are forefront in every decision I make. I know how much time I devote to her, how I take an interest in her personality and interests, how we talk and joke and sing and dance and laugh, how I bring her little surprises to show her that I love her, how I want her to know me as a person as much as a parent, how I never want her to feel alone.
If anything, having a child, and feeling the intense love I feel for her, a love that rivals no other I've ever known, makes me realise exactly what my father doesn't feel toward me. I asked him once what he thinks of me, and he hung up the phone on me and didn't talk to me for months. I think a normal person would find this behaviour to be completely bizarre, maladjusted to say the least. But I'm fucked up, and that's just dad.
A friend of mine had her first child more than a year ago. This friend comes from a truly amazing family that has always had all the time in the world for her, is always interested in and supportive of her endeavours, and gives her all the unconditional love and attention that I desperately crave from my own family. I went with her one weekend to visit her family many years ago (such a warm and accepting and lovely family!) and was sad the entire visit and ended up spending at least half of it chain smoking in her front garden and thinking about my own parents who are so unlike hers, mourning for the family that I wanted and saw before me but never had and didn't feel worthy of.
Recently, this friend wrote on her blog that having her own child and realising all the hardships that come with the job has made her appreciate her parents all the more for the job they did with her and that she hopes she can be even half the parent to her own child that they were (and are!) to her.
I feel quite differently, of course. From the time Elliot was born, I have grown more and more sad about my own parents and my own childhood and how I was always and am still treated by my family. I know how much I love Elliot and how her best interests are forefront in every decision I make. I know how much time I devote to her, how I take an interest in her personality and interests, how we talk and joke and sing and dance and laugh, how I bring her little surprises to show her that I love her, how I want her to know me as a person as much as a parent, how I never want her to feel alone.
If anything, having a child, and feeling the intense love I feel for her, a love that rivals no other I've ever known, makes me realise exactly what my father doesn't feel toward me. I asked him once what he thinks of me, and he hung up the phone on me and didn't talk to me for months. I think a normal person would find this behaviour to be completely bizarre, maladjusted to say the least. But I'm fucked up, and that's just dad.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I'm an orphan?
I haven't heard from my parents since our last phone conversation in January. The time before that was about a year-and-a-half ago. Not only are they not phoning me, but they're not even calling me back.
During my mid-life crisis a few months ago, I called and left several desperate, pathetic messages - the last of which featured me in tears and begging my dad to call me back - but have heard no word. Before that whole scenario, I left a normal-sounding message just asking what they had done with my grandma, who disappeared without any word. They didn't think it was reasonable to give me an answer to that riddle, either, apparently.
I didn't bother phoning, e-mailing or sending a card to my dad for Father's Day this year as it appears I no longer have a father. Truth is, though, I haven't had a father for a very long time, if ever. We were all just in the dysfunctional habit of pretending that I did and pretending that he ever gave a shit about anybody but himself.
During my mid-life crisis a few months ago, I called and left several desperate, pathetic messages - the last of which featured me in tears and begging my dad to call me back - but have heard no word. Before that whole scenario, I left a normal-sounding message just asking what they had done with my grandma, who disappeared without any word. They didn't think it was reasonable to give me an answer to that riddle, either, apparently.
I didn't bother phoning, e-mailing or sending a card to my dad for Father's Day this year as it appears I no longer have a father. Truth is, though, I haven't had a father for a very long time, if ever. We were all just in the dysfunctional habit of pretending that I did and pretending that he ever gave a shit about anybody but himself.
Friday, June 01, 2012
Ask and ye shall receive
In the past few weeks, I've been asking C* if he wants to give it another shot. I must enjoy being rejected, though, because he keeps saying "no" but I just keep asking.
He and his girlfriend are serious, he says, and he's not going to dump her to give things another try. He doesn't believe that I want to be with him, anyway. He thinks it's just desperation talking. But the thing is, I can't imagine ever being with anyone else.
He and his girlfriend are serious, he says, and he's not going to dump her to give things another try. He doesn't believe that I want to be with him, anyway. He thinks it's just desperation talking. But the thing is, I can't imagine ever being with anyone else.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Me alone
I'm back online at home as of yesterday after two years of having no home computer or internet access. As a form of self therapy, I'm going to be writing myself through the midlife crisis I'm suffering now in an effort to rip myself fully out of the stupor I've been in for more than two years, two years I've spent ignorantly, mostly blissfully, concentrating on my daughter while only doing minimal things to better my life for myself.
The last two years have been so incredibly and, at times, nearly unendurably lonely. Yes, I have Elliot. Yes, she's completely amazing. But she doesn't - and can't - fill every void in my life - nor would I expect her to. I have a few friends here, but not many. One of them has recently been there for me in ways noone else ever has, and I don't know if I will ever be able to repay her. But, still, I find myself being so incredibly lonely. Missing the "family" I sort-of had with C* and The Boy, however dysfunctional. Just me and Elliot? We don't feel like a "family" to me. I need family. Where do I get family? How? When? Who?
I am a single mother. On top of that, I work 16 hours a week at a minimum-wage job and have lived quite comfortably doing so because the social structure here has provided me with all kinds of monetary benefits that supplement my meagre income being that I'm a lone parent. I could continue living like this until Elliot is grown, but I don't want to. I need better work to bring more meaning into my life. I need something I can feel good about, something that stretches my skills and interests, some way of helping others. Something I can do that makes me feel valued and valuable. I need more.
I just turned 40, and I work part-time at a retail shop. I never thought I'd be writing that. These days, with the job market being what it is, I guess I'm one of the lucky ones? I have a friend who was the executive director of a nonprofit a few years ago. She lost her job and hasn't worked since. I have another friend who had a decent career in journalism and has a string of good degrees, including a law degree, backing him. Two years after earning the law degree, and, still, no job.
Of course most of the other people I either know or know of on Facebook seem to have these great careers and great lives, loving spouses, wonderful children, their own homes, plenty of friends and interests to fill all their waking hours. Reading Facebook is getting me down, making me realize all the things I don't have in my life and making me yearn for things that just aren't in my reach right now.
When I moved here, I was taking a much bigger risk than I ever thought. That's the thing. I really didn't think. All I knew was that I was pregnant and that the father lived in another country. I knew that I really couldn't afford to raise the child on my own with the money I was making and living under the system I was living under. And I was scared, and I wanted family as well. I wanted to give my daughter a cohesive family unit. A mother. A father. A brother. I didn't want to bring my child into the world having only me to look to, all the while working full time and probably more just to make ends meet. Struggling through the childcare system always shuffling her off to this person and that person. I didn't want her raised how I was raised. I wanted to be able to be there for my child and to give her consistency and stability, to raise her myself until she started school. Those were the reasons I moved here, though I maybe didn't fully know them at the time.
In the past two years, I have seen C* grow. has grow. He and Elliot seem to have a very strong bond, and she is just crazy about her daddy. I think part of me was hoping that we had both grown enough to get back together, to create the family I moved here for, the family we all deserve. But he's got a new girlfriend now, a woman who has five kids of her own. It seems there will be a family, all right. It just won't be including me.
C* is pushing for a divorce now, and I've got a lawyer to get that ball rolling. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer. Time to face reality. So what am I left with?
C* gets his family and his career, and he works Elliot in when he can. Since I have the day-to-day burden of care for Elliot and cannot rely on C* for any set times of having her, my working hours are limited, even after Elliot starts school. Continued part-time work but maybe just something better? Volunteer work? Move out of the area to a real city and try and get some more professional work? I feel so trapped and so limited and so scared about how to proceed that I end up just sitting here and worrying, worrying, worrying.
The last two years have been so incredibly and, at times, nearly unendurably lonely. Yes, I have Elliot. Yes, she's completely amazing. But she doesn't - and can't - fill every void in my life - nor would I expect her to. I have a few friends here, but not many. One of them has recently been there for me in ways noone else ever has, and I don't know if I will ever be able to repay her. But, still, I find myself being so incredibly lonely. Missing the "family" I sort-of had with C* and The Boy, however dysfunctional. Just me and Elliot? We don't feel like a "family" to me. I need family. Where do I get family? How? When? Who?
I am a single mother. On top of that, I work 16 hours a week at a minimum-wage job and have lived quite comfortably doing so because the social structure here has provided me with all kinds of monetary benefits that supplement my meagre income being that I'm a lone parent. I could continue living like this until Elliot is grown, but I don't want to. I need better work to bring more meaning into my life. I need something I can feel good about, something that stretches my skills and interests, some way of helping others. Something I can do that makes me feel valued and valuable. I need more.
I just turned 40, and I work part-time at a retail shop. I never thought I'd be writing that. These days, with the job market being what it is, I guess I'm one of the lucky ones? I have a friend who was the executive director of a nonprofit a few years ago. She lost her job and hasn't worked since. I have another friend who had a decent career in journalism and has a string of good degrees, including a law degree, backing him. Two years after earning the law degree, and, still, no job.
Of course most of the other people I either know or know of on Facebook seem to have these great careers and great lives, loving spouses, wonderful children, their own homes, plenty of friends and interests to fill all their waking hours. Reading Facebook is getting me down, making me realize all the things I don't have in my life and making me yearn for things that just aren't in my reach right now.
When I moved here, I was taking a much bigger risk than I ever thought. That's the thing. I really didn't think. All I knew was that I was pregnant and that the father lived in another country. I knew that I really couldn't afford to raise the child on my own with the money I was making and living under the system I was living under. And I was scared, and I wanted family as well. I wanted to give my daughter a cohesive family unit. A mother. A father. A brother. I didn't want to bring my child into the world having only me to look to, all the while working full time and probably more just to make ends meet. Struggling through the childcare system always shuffling her off to this person and that person. I didn't want her raised how I was raised. I wanted to be able to be there for my child and to give her consistency and stability, to raise her myself until she started school. Those were the reasons I moved here, though I maybe didn't fully know them at the time.
In the past two years, I have seen C* grow. has grow. He and Elliot seem to have a very strong bond, and she is just crazy about her daddy. I think part of me was hoping that we had both grown enough to get back together, to create the family I moved here for, the family we all deserve. But he's got a new girlfriend now, a woman who has five kids of her own. It seems there will be a family, all right. It just won't be including me.
C* is pushing for a divorce now, and I've got a lawyer to get that ball rolling. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer. Time to face reality. So what am I left with?
C* gets his family and his career, and he works Elliot in when he can. Since I have the day-to-day burden of care for Elliot and cannot rely on C* for any set times of having her, my working hours are limited, even after Elliot starts school. Continued part-time work but maybe just something better? Volunteer work? Move out of the area to a real city and try and get some more professional work? I feel so trapped and so limited and so scared about how to proceed that I end up just sitting here and worrying, worrying, worrying.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Four months into my weight loss regime, I figured it might be good to say a word or two about my adventures in shedding pounds.
After C* moved out of the house and I started having serious money issues that could have resulted in me having to pull Elliot out of daycare and quit my job, I went through a period of nightly crying that seemed more important than eating at the time. During this time, I lost quite a bit of weight, but it didn't stay off for long.
After my financial situation improved, I started eating again. And eating, and eating and eating. Mountains of fish and chips every night, mass quantities of jellybeans and cakes. Chinese, burgers. Any food that was as bad for my heart as it was for my waistline and you can bet I was eating it - and not in moderation.
It didn't help that I got two care packages of junk food from the United States that I ate as if it were some kind of eating competition and Big Al was hot on my tail to finish the last Cheez It in record time. Those care packages didn't even last a month, but, even after they were well and truly gone, I was still eating.
I look back and see that this eating was some kind of medication for my loneliness. On most days, the only adult contact I had was with my bosses and coworkers. The few friends I have are married with families and always so busy, busy, busy. I rarely see them, so, night after night, it's just me and the TV after Elliot goes to bed. It was comfort for me, I suppose, to at least have that food there with me. And it tasted damn good, too.
But I couldn't let it go on forever.
When I couldn't squeeze into my size 16 work trousers anymore (American 12), I decided to change my lifestyle and my habits and stop feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my misery by wallowing in lard. After all, I'm much happier out of my marriage than I was in it, and I have a beautiful daughter of whom I am really proud. The rest can be worked on, right?
TO BE CONTINUED
After C* moved out of the house and I started having serious money issues that could have resulted in me having to pull Elliot out of daycare and quit my job, I went through a period of nightly crying that seemed more important than eating at the time. During this time, I lost quite a bit of weight, but it didn't stay off for long.
After my financial situation improved, I started eating again. And eating, and eating and eating. Mountains of fish and chips every night, mass quantities of jellybeans and cakes. Chinese, burgers. Any food that was as bad for my heart as it was for my waistline and you can bet I was eating it - and not in moderation.
It didn't help that I got two care packages of junk food from the United States that I ate as if it were some kind of eating competition and Big Al was hot on my tail to finish the last Cheez It in record time. Those care packages didn't even last a month, but, even after they were well and truly gone, I was still eating.
I look back and see that this eating was some kind of medication for my loneliness. On most days, the only adult contact I had was with my bosses and coworkers. The few friends I have are married with families and always so busy, busy, busy. I rarely see them, so, night after night, it's just me and the TV after Elliot goes to bed. It was comfort for me, I suppose, to at least have that food there with me. And it tasted damn good, too.
But I couldn't let it go on forever.
When I couldn't squeeze into my size 16 work trousers anymore (American 12), I decided to change my lifestyle and my habits and stop feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my misery by wallowing in lard. After all, I'm much happier out of my marriage than I was in it, and I have a beautiful daughter of whom I am really proud. The rest can be worked on, right?
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, October 17, 2011
HM
I met HM on the same dating website on which I met CF. He's from Holland and lives a couple hours' drive north of here in the middle of nowhere managing a failing bespoke furniture company and rooming with his ex-girlfriend of 17 years, the only girlfriend he's ever had.
I wasn't physically attracted to him in the slightest, but I liked the company and he wasn't bad to talk to. A bit too on the spiritual side for me, though, he believed he could feel the energy of the trees and on and on and on. When we would get together, he always wanted to get out of Inverness and into the countryside - which would've been nice except I was quite a bit overweight and always tired on my days off from Elliot. The biggest thing we had in common was our love of food, and we would get massive orders of takeaway pizza, fish and chips, Chinese or burgers for dinner whenever he'd come to Inverness.
The best things about him were that he was very tall (at least 6'5") and that he never wanted to live with a girlfriend again. Ever. Weekends were enough for him in the future, he said, and I couldn't have agreed more. Though it seemed we had a lot of things in common, I just didn't feel anything for him and I seriously couldn't get over his Schwarzenegger-ish voice and my total lack of physical attraction.
We kissed once, though he always tried for more, and, in the end, I stressed "just friends" which didn't stop him from trying. I didn't want to deal with the constant pressure tactics, so I told him I didn't want to keep in touch.
No more dating for me just now.
I wasn't physically attracted to him in the slightest, but I liked the company and he wasn't bad to talk to. A bit too on the spiritual side for me, though, he believed he could feel the energy of the trees and on and on and on. When we would get together, he always wanted to get out of Inverness and into the countryside - which would've been nice except I was quite a bit overweight and always tired on my days off from Elliot. The biggest thing we had in common was our love of food, and we would get massive orders of takeaway pizza, fish and chips, Chinese or burgers for dinner whenever he'd come to Inverness.
The best things about him were that he was very tall (at least 6'5") and that he never wanted to live with a girlfriend again. Ever. Weekends were enough for him in the future, he said, and I couldn't have agreed more. Though it seemed we had a lot of things in common, I just didn't feel anything for him and I seriously couldn't get over his Schwarzenegger-ish voice and my total lack of physical attraction.
We kissed once, though he always tried for more, and, in the end, I stressed "just friends" which didn't stop him from trying. I didn't want to deal with the constant pressure tactics, so I told him I didn't want to keep in touch.
No more dating for me just now.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
CF
What can I say about CF except that I want my time back? All of it.
It started off well enough: an interesting profile and long e-mails that were thoughtfully and intelligently written - everything spelled correctly, excellent grammar.
Then we talked on the phone.
And talked. And talked. And talked. About four or five hours at a time. We clicked. It was good! But he wasn't asking to meet me in person, even after weeks of long talks. So I asked to meet him, and we set a day.
A few days before we met, he went on a date with another girl from the same dating website. He acted like he might or might not go to this informal pub meeting with her and her friends. But I could tell. He was going.
We talked two days later. I didn't ask for any details, but he was pretty forthcoming. Two nights before we were to meet, though, he came clean. He had spent the night at her house that night. He liked her, and he wanted to see her again.
Instant change of expectpectations completed, and I decided to meet him anyway. After so many hours on the phone, I thought it would be silly not to. He showed up that night and was cuter than his profile pic and polite enough, but, beyond that, there was nothing there. I'm guessing he wasn't into me or was too into that other girl because he didn't really seem like he wanted to be there, and there wasn't the same chemistry in person as there was on the phone. He didn't show much of a personality, just kind of sat there like a lump waiting to go home. And that's what he did.
The only time we talked on the phone after that night was when he unfriended me on Facebook after I got mad at him for friending a married friend of mine because he liked her boobs. I told him not to be creepy towards my friends, and we had an argument on the phone that ended badly.
Eventually, he friended me again (wow, aren't I lucky?) and he comments on my updates now and again. He's got a girlfriend he met on Facebook now who lives hundreds of miles away. They will get married one day. I'm quite certain of it.
Next: HM
Update: Two days after I wrote this post, CF got engaged to his girlfriend.
It started off well enough: an interesting profile and long e-mails that were thoughtfully and intelligently written - everything spelled correctly, excellent grammar.
Then we talked on the phone.
And talked. And talked. And talked. About four or five hours at a time. We clicked. It was good! But he wasn't asking to meet me in person, even after weeks of long talks. So I asked to meet him, and we set a day.
A few days before we met, he went on a date with another girl from the same dating website. He acted like he might or might not go to this informal pub meeting with her and her friends. But I could tell. He was going.
We talked two days later. I didn't ask for any details, but he was pretty forthcoming. Two nights before we were to meet, though, he came clean. He had spent the night at her house that night. He liked her, and he wanted to see her again.
Instant change of expectpectations completed, and I decided to meet him anyway. After so many hours on the phone, I thought it would be silly not to. He showed up that night and was cuter than his profile pic and polite enough, but, beyond that, there was nothing there. I'm guessing he wasn't into me or was too into that other girl because he didn't really seem like he wanted to be there, and there wasn't the same chemistry in person as there was on the phone. He didn't show much of a personality, just kind of sat there like a lump waiting to go home. And that's what he did.
The only time we talked on the phone after that night was when he unfriended me on Facebook after I got mad at him for friending a married friend of mine because he liked her boobs. I told him not to be creepy towards my friends, and we had an argument on the phone that ended badly.
Eventually, he friended me again (wow, aren't I lucky?) and he comments on my updates now and again. He's got a girlfriend he met on Facebook now who lives hundreds of miles away. They will get married one day. I'm quite certain of it.
Next: HM
Update: Two days after I wrote this post, CF got engaged to his girlfriend.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
DW
I met DW at a party at my friends' house. We spoke only brief introductions before more people arrived, but I thought he was cute and I wanted to talk to him more. Unfortunately, his boss cornered him before I had a chance to get back around and talked shop with him the rest of the time he was there. When I looked for him again, he was gone.
DW turned out to be one of my friend's colleagues, and we hatched a plan to invite him round for the new year celebration so we would have another chance to talk. My friend told me a bit about DW, though, and what I learned probably should have steered me clear to begin with. The stats:
39 years old
History professor
Ph.D.
Published author
(here's where it gets tricky)
Never had a girlfriend
Very close with his mother
When he couldn't make it for new year, friend gave DW my number. He phoned the next day, all excited to meet up. A week later, we met for coffee. He was full of odd questions and revelations, and you could tell he had not done the dating thing much. One of his first questions was to ask how I react when I am angry. Okaaaaaay. Weird. Then he went on to tell me he had not dated much and that he's a selfish asshole - his words.
Unfortunately, he was sometimes awkward, moody, touchy and strained. Even more unfortunately, I loved talking to him - when he wasn't being awkward, moody, touchy or strained. What an interesting person who is obviously well-read and is into great music and can talk about anything. I mean anything.
Such a shame.
Because
he
is
indeed
a
selfish
asshole.
Well, maybe not really. He just obviously was never that into me. Because at the end of the second meeting a week later, he declared that weekdays are out and that he could only meet on Saturdays and only for coffee and only for an hour. He said he had feelings for some girl who didn't even know he was alive and that he'd need to get over that before he could even think about anything - or anyone - else. Plus, he's just plain busy.
Since those two meetings in January, he has phoned me a few times. We had nice chats, a half-hour in length each. At the end of each chat, he would make vague noises about meeting for coffee on Saturday or soon. But it never happened. After all, he's a very important person with a very demanding job and gets interviews with the BBC when he gives a lecture and all. And when he's not going to see this friend in a play or going to visit that person in London, he is just so enmeshed in his teaching and his planning and his researching and his writing that he simply can't be expected to remember that poor, old me even exists.
So. To recap. Met in January. Went out for two coffees in January. A few phone calls in February and March. A couple of texts in March. Have not heard from him at all in at least two months.
My exciting love life.
Next: CF
DW turned out to be one of my friend's colleagues, and we hatched a plan to invite him round for the new year celebration so we would have another chance to talk. My friend told me a bit about DW, though, and what I learned probably should have steered me clear to begin with. The stats:
39 years old
History professor
Ph.D.
Published author
(here's where it gets tricky)
Never had a girlfriend
Very close with his mother
When he couldn't make it for new year, friend gave DW my number. He phoned the next day, all excited to meet up. A week later, we met for coffee. He was full of odd questions and revelations, and you could tell he had not done the dating thing much. One of his first questions was to ask how I react when I am angry. Okaaaaaay. Weird. Then he went on to tell me he had not dated much and that he's a selfish asshole - his words.
Unfortunately, he was sometimes awkward, moody, touchy and strained. Even more unfortunately, I loved talking to him - when he wasn't being awkward, moody, touchy or strained. What an interesting person who is obviously well-read and is into great music and can talk about anything. I mean anything.
Such a shame.
Because
he
is
indeed
a
selfish
asshole.
Well, maybe not really. He just obviously was never that into me. Because at the end of the second meeting a week later, he declared that weekdays are out and that he could only meet on Saturdays and only for coffee and only for an hour. He said he had feelings for some girl who didn't even know he was alive and that he'd need to get over that before he could even think about anything - or anyone - else. Plus, he's just plain busy.
Since those two meetings in January, he has phoned me a few times. We had nice chats, a half-hour in length each. At the end of each chat, he would make vague noises about meeting for coffee on Saturday or soon. But it never happened. After all, he's a very important person with a very demanding job and gets interviews with the BBC when he gives a lecture and all. And when he's not going to see this friend in a play or going to visit that person in London, he is just so enmeshed in his teaching and his planning and his researching and his writing that he simply can't be expected to remember that poor, old me even exists.
So. To recap. Met in January. Went out for two coffees in January. A few phone calls in February and March. A couple of texts in March. Have not heard from him at all in at least two months.
My exciting love life.
Next: CF
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I should write the fucking sequel
I’ve amassed a fair amount of information on this side of the Atlantic now, and I think it’s fair to conclude that, on two continents…and counting, it seems he’s just never going to be that into me.
It’s been exactly one year and one month since C* moved out of the house and exactly one month since I have been legally allowed to file for a divorce in Scotland, and I have recently found myself getting kinda lonely. In my recent quest for some fresh male companionship, I created a profile on plentyoffish.com and have been proactive, as they say, in finding male friendships in other ways.
When you jump in the ocean headfirst, you take the risk of landing on a big pile of jagged rocks, but I don’t really know how to do things any other way and have never been one to sit on the sidelines waiting for something to come along. Perhaps if I did, I would have longer-lasting success. In any event, either I am doing something horribly wrong or three out of four guys are so repulsed by me that they can’t even bring themselves to have an ongoing conversation with me or to, gasp!, hang out. No pressure. No drama.
In an attempt to unburden my burdened psyche, I will be spilling the beans on my unfruitful adventures. I want feedback.
It’s been exactly one year and one month since C* moved out of the house and exactly one month since I have been legally allowed to file for a divorce in Scotland, and I have recently found myself getting kinda lonely. In my recent quest for some fresh male companionship, I created a profile on plentyoffish.com and have been proactive, as they say, in finding male friendships in other ways.
When you jump in the ocean headfirst, you take the risk of landing on a big pile of jagged rocks, but I don’t really know how to do things any other way and have never been one to sit on the sidelines waiting for something to come along. Perhaps if I did, I would have longer-lasting success. In any event, either I am doing something horribly wrong or three out of four guys are so repulsed by me that they can’t even bring themselves to have an ongoing conversation with me or to, gasp!, hang out. No pressure. No drama.
In an attempt to unburden my burdened psyche, I will be spilling the beans on my unfruitful adventures. I want feedback.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Missing mojo
I came on here looking for photos of myself to steal for the dating web sites I recently joined and, instead, found 300-odd spam comments to delete. I swear, you don't come on here in forever and this is what you get! Oh, and when you have an anonymous blog, you're not going to find many photos of yourself, are you? Not really interested in putting the pregnancy/birth photos of myself on a dating site, either. Might scare a few guys off.
Dating web site, you say, maarmie? Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you DID meet your husband on the Internets, and you don't want to go down that road again, do you?
NO!
Not looking for marriage, folks, and not really into committed relationships, either. I'm basically looking to make male friends for some fun and/or flirting. This (single) mommy needs to get out of the house more when baby's away. I've been chatting with a few nice fellows for the past week or so. We shall see. We shall see.
Elliot's third birthday comes on Friday. She's at daddy's house for her birthday this year. This makes me very happy as I am not interested in throwing her a birthday party this year. For the last two years, I have hosted parties, and, while it was nice celebrating her birthday with our closest friends here, it was a lot of effort that I don't feel like expending this year.
Since she can't yet read, I guess it's safe to talk about her gifts. This year, I got her a bicycle
complete with basket for the front and sparkly things you attach to the spokes - and a Playmobil family camper as well as a couple of DVDs. Seems pretty over the top as far as birthdays go - especially considering that, for my 10th birthday, my dad got me a 10-speed bicycle and I had to pay for half of it myself! But I tend to spoil her with gifts. Trying to make up for giving her a broken family and all.
I was reading back over old posts today, and I realized how much I miss writing. More frustrating than my lack of a creative outlet is that when I HAVE written lately, I feel like that spark, that thing that made my writing once interesting, has dulled or has been extinguished altogether.
I know writing is something that needs to be constantly practiced or else the shiny edges tarnish. Can I get it back? What is missing from my life that helped feed my talent?
My writing seemed so monochromatic with all my talk of Elliot, Elliot, Elliot. I always feel, lately, like my life is just so uninteresting.
Dating web site, you say, maarmie? Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you DID meet your husband on the Internets, and you don't want to go down that road again, do you?
NO!
Not looking for marriage, folks, and not really into committed relationships, either. I'm basically looking to make male friends for some fun and/or flirting. This (single) mommy needs to get out of the house more when baby's away. I've been chatting with a few nice fellows for the past week or so. We shall see. We shall see.
Elliot's third birthday comes on Friday. She's at daddy's house for her birthday this year. This makes me very happy as I am not interested in throwing her a birthday party this year. For the last two years, I have hosted parties, and, while it was nice celebrating her birthday with our closest friends here, it was a lot of effort that I don't feel like expending this year.
Since she can't yet read, I guess it's safe to talk about her gifts. This year, I got her a bicycle
complete with basket for the front and sparkly things you attach to the spokes - and a Playmobil family camper as well as a couple of DVDs. Seems pretty over the top as far as birthdays go - especially considering that, for my 10th birthday, my dad got me a 10-speed bicycle and I had to pay for half of it myself! But I tend to spoil her with gifts. Trying to make up for giving her a broken family and all.
I was reading back over old posts today, and I realized how much I miss writing. More frustrating than my lack of a creative outlet is that when I HAVE written lately, I feel like that spark, that thing that made my writing once interesting, has dulled or has been extinguished altogether.
I know writing is something that needs to be constantly practiced or else the shiny edges tarnish. Can I get it back? What is missing from my life that helped feed my talent?
My writing seemed so monochromatic with all my talk of Elliot, Elliot, Elliot. I always feel, lately, like my life is just so uninteresting.
Clever girl
After watching a DVD of PJ Harvey in concert:
Elliot: Mummy, I like PJ Harvey. She's a clever girl!
Elliot: Mummy, I like PJ Harvey. She's a clever girl!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I believe in yesterday
Things are getting so much better all the time.
Elliot and I have settled into a fantastic routine of day care/work, fun activities either alone together or with friends and plenty of picnics in the back garden while the weather is decent. I love spending time with her, and I love being a single mother.
The veggie seeds I planted in the yard have sprouted into lovely plants these past few months, and I'm already enjoying two types of lettuce and enough radishes to choke a horse. Still waiting on tomatoes, peas, courgettes and brussels sprouts to make an appearance and looking forward to growing even more produce next year.
I had a fabulous chat with my brother the other night that turned into a huge conversation that lasted until 3 am. I had not been awake that late in ages, and I paid for it dearly the next day, a full day of work and mommy duty. So tired! But it means everything to me that we get along so well and have enough to talk about to fill a five-hour time slot.
The parents are another matter, entirely. But I'll not bore you with that.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but it seems my creativity and writing flair have just gone right out the window. Seems my brain has ceased to function as well as it once did, or maybe I'm just boring now. Possibly, though, I just have other things to focus on right now and am woefully out of practice where writing is concerned. It doesn't help that I am completely out of touch with anything going on in the world as I seem to watch mostly American sitcom reruns on TV.
A recent election here brought the conservatives into power, and I don't really know what that means. I 'm sure I could write all kind of scathing/sarcastic/angry things about the people who are now in charge and what they plan on doing to this country, but I just don't know enough about it all. I couldn't vote, so I purposely didn't learn anything about anyone or their policies. Shame on me.
Oil in the Gulf: bad.
That's the extent of my knowledge about current events. I will try to do better in the future.
In the meantime, let's come together, right now, over me.
Elliot and I have settled into a fantastic routine of day care/work, fun activities either alone together or with friends and plenty of picnics in the back garden while the weather is decent. I love spending time with her, and I love being a single mother.
The veggie seeds I planted in the yard have sprouted into lovely plants these past few months, and I'm already enjoying two types of lettuce and enough radishes to choke a horse. Still waiting on tomatoes, peas, courgettes and brussels sprouts to make an appearance and looking forward to growing even more produce next year.
I had a fabulous chat with my brother the other night that turned into a huge conversation that lasted until 3 am. I had not been awake that late in ages, and I paid for it dearly the next day, a full day of work and mommy duty. So tired! But it means everything to me that we get along so well and have enough to talk about to fill a five-hour time slot.
The parents are another matter, entirely. But I'll not bore you with that.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but it seems my creativity and writing flair have just gone right out the window. Seems my brain has ceased to function as well as it once did, or maybe I'm just boring now. Possibly, though, I just have other things to focus on right now and am woefully out of practice where writing is concerned. It doesn't help that I am completely out of touch with anything going on in the world as I seem to watch mostly American sitcom reruns on TV.
A recent election here brought the conservatives into power, and I don't really know what that means. I 'm sure I could write all kind of scathing/sarcastic/angry things about the people who are now in charge and what they plan on doing to this country, but I just don't know enough about it all. I couldn't vote, so I purposely didn't learn anything about anyone or their policies. Shame on me.
Oil in the Gulf: bad.
That's the extent of my knowledge about current events. I will try to do better in the future.
In the meantime, let's come together, right now, over me.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
When pigs fly?
I seem to be out of the dark woods now and am simply treading water while crocodiles wait lazily on the riverbank licking their chops and hoping I get a cramp.
Tax credits came through almost a month ago, and child care is all paid up. Unfortunately, even with tax credits, I am bringing in just barely enough to pay all my monthly bills and buy groceries. I seriously need a better job, and I need it now.
I registered with an employment agency that reiterated what I already knew: I will not be finding a job in my field in this godforsaken backwater of a town. I might get some slightly higher paid, full-time secretarial job if I'm lucky. That's if I'm really lucky. Because there are hundreds of other skilled and educated people out there who are un- or underemployed and applying for the same jobs I am.
Seems to me that if I want good employment I'm going to need to move south, at least as far south as Edinburgh. I'll probably be looking into doing that in 9 months at the earliest and three years at the latest. Doing it sooner rather than later would obviously put me in a better financial position earlier. Doing it later has its advantages as well as Elliot would be in school full time, thus making the childcare burden a little less burdensome.
I'm still battling an on again/off again depression and these horrible voices in my head that tell me I don't deserve love, a good relationship/marriage, a family or friends who care about me. Some part of me feels that I'm continually having to pay for some past misdeeds by being continually mistreated and screwed over by those I care most about. But maybe everyone is in the same boat as I am in some way, shape or form. Maybe everyone has important relationships that aren't the way they want them to be, important people in their lives who don't give them the consideration they feel they deserve. A crappy boss? Mouthy kids? Friends who disappear? A family that abandons them in their time of need?
Do people suck, or are my expectations simply too high?
Tax credits came through almost a month ago, and child care is all paid up. Unfortunately, even with tax credits, I am bringing in just barely enough to pay all my monthly bills and buy groceries. I seriously need a better job, and I need it now.
I registered with an employment agency that reiterated what I already knew: I will not be finding a job in my field in this godforsaken backwater of a town. I might get some slightly higher paid, full-time secretarial job if I'm lucky. That's if I'm really lucky. Because there are hundreds of other skilled and educated people out there who are un- or underemployed and applying for the same jobs I am.
Seems to me that if I want good employment I'm going to need to move south, at least as far south as Edinburgh. I'll probably be looking into doing that in 9 months at the earliest and three years at the latest. Doing it sooner rather than later would obviously put me in a better financial position earlier. Doing it later has its advantages as well as Elliot would be in school full time, thus making the childcare burden a little less burdensome.
I'm still battling an on again/off again depression and these horrible voices in my head that tell me I don't deserve love, a good relationship/marriage, a family or friends who care about me. Some part of me feels that I'm continually having to pay for some past misdeeds by being continually mistreated and screwed over by those I care most about. But maybe everyone is in the same boat as I am in some way, shape or form. Maybe everyone has important relationships that aren't the way they want them to be, important people in their lives who don't give them the consideration they feel they deserve. A crappy boss? Mouthy kids? Friends who disappear? A family that abandons them in their time of need?
Do people suck, or are my expectations simply too high?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
I don't think I'm going to make it
I've been on my own with Elliot for only a month-and-a-half, and I don't think I'm going to make it. Public assistance isn't being very cooperative, and I'm actually beyond broke. Luckily, the daycare Elliot goes to has agreed to let me slide on the actual paying part of the deal for now. I applied for public assistance nearly two months ago and...nothing.
C* and I had a joint claim for what are called child tax credits and working tax credits. The working tax credits have a separate part for child care, and, if you qualify, the government pays up to 80 percent of the child care bill. C* and I were getting this together, but, when he moved out, I had to cancel that claim and file individually. Since C* was a UK national, there was no problem with claiming these benefits together. But, since I'm not, the government is deciding to take its sweet time with processing my claim.
A full four weeks after submitting my initial application, I received two more forms and a request for my passport as proof that I am not subject to immigration control. I sent these in three weeks ago and not a word. I phone the office every week asking for an update and get the same spiel: We are working on your claim which may require additional checks, blah, blah, blah.
Any idiot can look at my passport and see that I'm not subject to immigration control in five seconds. Why has it taken nearly two months? To add insult to injury, my council tax and housing benefit can't be processed until the award letter for tax credits is produced. It's a neverending circle of despair.
I'm down to my last bit of money, and I owe day care three weeks' payment. My monthly pay covers just the rent and just barely. The rest of the bills are being paid using child support money at this point, and there's very little left over for food.
I know I need help, but I don't know who I can ask. C* has said he can do no more for me. I don't know how long I can stay here on my own with Elliot. I don't know what to do. I need monetary help from my family, but I don't feel like I can ask. No one - except for my grandmother who said we could come live with her - has offered any kind of help, and I think everyone knows what kind of situation I'm in. Does anyone care?
C* and I had a joint claim for what are called child tax credits and working tax credits. The working tax credits have a separate part for child care, and, if you qualify, the government pays up to 80 percent of the child care bill. C* and I were getting this together, but, when he moved out, I had to cancel that claim and file individually. Since C* was a UK national, there was no problem with claiming these benefits together. But, since I'm not, the government is deciding to take its sweet time with processing my claim.
A full four weeks after submitting my initial application, I received two more forms and a request for my passport as proof that I am not subject to immigration control. I sent these in three weeks ago and not a word. I phone the office every week asking for an update and get the same spiel: We are working on your claim which may require additional checks, blah, blah, blah.
Any idiot can look at my passport and see that I'm not subject to immigration control in five seconds. Why has it taken nearly two months? To add insult to injury, my council tax and housing benefit can't be processed until the award letter for tax credits is produced. It's a neverending circle of despair.
I'm down to my last bit of money, and I owe day care three weeks' payment. My monthly pay covers just the rent and just barely. The rest of the bills are being paid using child support money at this point, and there's very little left over for food.
I know I need help, but I don't know who I can ask. C* has said he can do no more for me. I don't know how long I can stay here on my own with Elliot. I don't know what to do. I need monetary help from my family, but I don't feel like I can ask. No one - except for my grandmother who said we could come live with her - has offered any kind of help, and I think everyone knows what kind of situation I'm in. Does anyone care?
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Is it really a scarf?
My good friend, Jane, started teaching me how to knit today using the big needles and thick wool she bought me for Christmas. I did a few rows for a scarf but must have dropped something somewhere along the line because a huge hole opened up in the middle of what little I had already created. Unravel. Start over. My wrists totally hurt!
Good news! I am going on a mini vacation this weekend - without baby. Three nights and four days in a suburb of Glasgow without Elliot. Bad news: I will miss her. This is the first time I will be away from her (besides a day at work) and I'm sure I will be imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to her every day that I'm away. It will be so great to hang out with my friend and sleep all I want and relax and do what I want without a screaming toddler hanging onto my leg, though. I've been needing this for so long.
Good news! I am going on a mini vacation this weekend - without baby. Three nights and four days in a suburb of Glasgow without Elliot. Bad news: I will miss her. This is the first time I will be away from her (besides a day at work) and I'm sure I will be imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to her every day that I'm away. It will be so great to hang out with my friend and sleep all I want and relax and do what I want without a screaming toddler hanging onto my leg, though. I've been needing this for so long.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Here I am (but they don't care)
I'm still working at TK Maxx part time and reading a bunch and spending lots of time with my daughter but I'm not doing anything else.
Christmas was OK (not great or even good - chalk it up to circumstance) but I spent WAY, WAY too much on Elliot. In the end, I set aside six of the gifts to give to her on her birthday in February. I have been eating WAY, WAY too much as well and have gained back some of the weight I lost when I started my job and began walking almost two hours on working days. It is the coldest winter since I've been here - lots of snow and ice now - and I can't even walk around outside without the threat of tumbling down these days.
Elliot is talking more and more and more and is getting more and more sweet and lovely and conscientious. Her afternoon naps are slowly becoming a thing of the past. Here's hoping she decides to potty train real soon. I've got a plastic toilet ready and waiting for her. I could look at this photo for days:
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
To the Maxx
Three to four days a week, I will be putting on my uniform for work: black pants, black shoes, a white shirt and a tan sweater vest.
It seems I graduated from high school and university and got a decade of experience in the communications field to be a checkout girl at TK Maxx. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to have a job. They are hard to come by these days. Employers have their pick, and my fabulous bosses at TK Maxx didn't have to take a chance on an overqualified American whose visa expires in a month and who has a baby and can only work when her husband is home. Lots of people applied for the positions, and they picked me and a few others.
On the bright side: a 10 percent discount and not having to put my daughter in child care. That's got to be worth something, right?
It seems I graduated from high school and university and got a decade of experience in the communications field to be a checkout girl at TK Maxx. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to have a job. They are hard to come by these days. Employers have their pick, and my fabulous bosses at TK Maxx didn't have to take a chance on an overqualified American whose visa expires in a month and who has a baby and can only work when her husband is home. Lots of people applied for the positions, and they picked me and a few others.
On the bright side: a 10 percent discount and not having to put my daughter in child care. That's got to be worth something, right?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
18 months old today
A friend and I were going to take our daughters to Nairn Beach today and have lunch at a cafe afterward, but the weather was nasty. The boys came back from a two-day camping trip this morning and shared photos and stories - mostly stories about the midges that make camping in Scotland a nightmare.
Elliot is 18 months old today. While she might be a little behind on her verbal abilities (she can say about 15 recognizable words - do animal sounds count? rowwwwwrrrrrr!), she's forging ahead where her motor skills are concerned. She loves to run and climb and kick and throw and is proving to be quite a handful as well. She wants to do what she wants to do, and if you tell her no, she does it anyway. If you physically remove her from what she wants, she screams and puts on quite a show. I was told that's how I was when I was young. Bullheaded. Willful. Strong minded.
I'm still looking for a job. The latest round of applications have all been sent to the local hospital, the biggst employer in town. We'll see...
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