No answers

I dreamt of you last night.

You looked good. Healthy, happy, fit. In love.

In the dream, a friend and I accidentally bumped into you…and her. It was a strange situation, as dreams often are. You were parked with her in a unknown Dream Park. I recognized the car and the license plate, which oddly were the same as in real life. Maybe they’ve burned themselves into my sub-concsious, because I’m so afraid of seeing them again. I’m always nervous that I’ll see that car parked somewhere and I’ll know that there is a chance that I will see you, and I will go to pieces.

In my dream, I didn’t go to pieces.  I caught a glance of the two of you, and asked my friend if we could move along quickly. “It’s him,” I explained to her, because she’s never had the pleasure of your acquaintance.

As I was in the midst of explaining our last tumultuous evening together, the night that you broke me utterly and for the last time – you appeared. You confronted me, upset, accusing. I explained that our meeting was purely coincidental. After all, it had  been almost six months (although it was strangely summer in the dream), and this was the first time our paths had crossed. Surely this was a good indication I wasn’t some kind of stalker. After all, the last thing I wanted to see was you, canoodling in a car, with her.

Boldly, Dream Me asked you the question that I’ve been fruitlessly asking myself for almost six months.

“Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me the truth?”

Your face instantly worked itself into that big-eyed, caged animal look that I grew to recognize all too well over the past couple of years. I don’t know what you’re talking about, you said. I never lied, you said. “I told you the truth.  I told you that I didn’t want to be with you, I told you because I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“But you lied about her”, I replied. “Did you not think I would find out that she’s your girlfriend? We met her together, at the same time…or… at least I think we did. You said you met someone online, but you didn’t. You met her.”

Dream You began shuffling his feet.

“Your decision to move onto better things didn’t hurt me as much as the fact that you couldn’t even tell me the truth. After all that time, I didn’t even deserve that much respect in your eyes. And then you wiped me from your life completely – although that didn’t take much of an effort, because I was never really a part of it.”

It appeared as though you were about to open your mouth to say something in your defense, but then you stopped, and just looked at me. Big eyes that couldn’t – still can’t - comprehend why it should matter so much.

And that was when I woke up.  I still don’t have any answers or explanations. No apologies. Nothing.

Not even in my dreams.

Directionally challenged

I’ve become the kind of person who gets stopped on the street for directions.

“Where is the washroom?”

In the corner of the food court – next to the deli.

“How far is University Avenue from here?”

Two blocks east.

“Where is the nearest subway station?”

You’re standing on it.  The entrance is on the corner.

I think you get the picture.  I clearly look like someone who knows where I’m going and how to get there.

I attended a funeral last week.  It was the first time I had been to a funeral in years, let alone a church. 

I stood around outside the church before the ceremony.  I was uncomfortable.  I was nervous. I was surprised at my discomfort, because while I hadn’t been to a funeral recently, I attended many when I was younger.  I didn’t recall this feeling. 

It was a clear day and the sun poured in through the stained glass windows of the church.  There was a large organ, and music and singing.  And a big, loving family, and many friends.  Kind words were spoken.  Tears were shed, but there was a sense of belonging and an undercurrent of togetherness.  There was grief, but also a kind of joy in the knowledge that one person’s life can continue through others.

And it was then that I realized, taking all of this in – as though I was floating above it — that I realized that I had no idea where I was going.

Oh yeah, those things

Did 2011 creep up on you, too?

2011, you creepy stalker, you. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Keanu Reeves?

Suddenly, everyone wants to talk about resolutions.  Or maybe it’s just me.  I think that we (and by “we”, I mean “I”) often make resolutions or set goals and then never check up on them.   We start the year with the spastic energy of small children, all excited and ready to take on the world.  We write down a few vague ideas, and then we get back to work or school, or whatever occupies our non-holiday life…and we promptly forget what it is we said we are going to accomplish.

Last year, I set some goals.  Remember?  I was so very proud of myself because I could actually see as far as the end of the year, and not just the end of the next wine bottle.

Something strong, something permanent, something to follow when the path gets murky. 

Did it get murky?  Oh hell, yes.  But how did I do?  Did having a few bread crumbs actually assist me in keeping to the path?*

Finances?  Important.  Budget.  Plan.  Monitor.

Uhh.  I’ve discovered that I’m not a fan of strict budgets.  But I’ve done alright.

Buy property.  Put down the roots that I’ve been reluctant to nurture.

I started looking for a place in January 2010, and bought a condo in February.  I moved in April.  

Thank you, Mr. President.

To be honest, even though I’d been through this process as part of a couple, it was tremendously scary doing it alone.  All of the negotiating, paperwork, logistics, risk…but here I am, part of the propertied class, with all of its glamour and privileges.  I’ll expand upon that in a future post. 

Work plans?  Now that I have a career, I should probably have career goals.

Midway through 2010, career goals were basically thrust onto me, like a bad French kiss.  The workload and stress it caused are two of the reasons why this blog saw so little action in 2010.  And that’s about all I’m going to say about that.

Re-learn my French?  No, I’d rather learn Hindi. 

Yeah, this totally didn’t happen either.   Yet, the language barrier hasn’t seemed to affect my enjoyment of quality Bollywood films.

Travel someplace new and exotic.

I went to Boston!  That counts as someplace new.  Exotic?  Ehhhhh, not so much.   Calgary?  I went there twice in 2010, and I’d never been there before.   Exotic Calgary, the “Middle East” of North America.  Right?  Right?

This is what happens when your “career goals” get in the way of “travel goals”.  Next?

Finish the novel.  This also requires starting the novel.

Next.

Do yoga.  Work out.  Watch less TV.  Go to the theatre more often.

I went to the theatre more often, and plan to go more often in 2011.  In fact, I may have developed a bit of an addiction to live theatre.  However,  in 2010, I also developed an addiction to The Bachelor.    I think these two addictions balance each other out nicely.  Like Yin and Yeeech.

Based on this (entirely impartial) review, I think I’d give 2010 a solid B+.

And yes, I have a few new goals for 2011 – just a few more breadcrumbs to help me find my way.

*  Of course, in the original story of Hansel and Gretel, the trail of bread crumbs is eaten by birds, which only strengthens my theory that birds are evil.

Now I know why Van Gogh Went Crazy and Cut off his Own Ear

Do paint fumes kill brain cells?

All signs point to yes.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided that I would use a portion of my first real vacation of 2010 (from December 23rd to January 4, 2011)* to paint my new** condo. 

Why did I choose to paint it myself instead of hiring a painter?

a) I am a go-getter with moxie and energy to spare.

b)  I want to experience the pride that comes with engaging in a  DIY project (and anything involving a drill is still out of the question).

c)  I was gouged the last time I hired painters, but was so afraid that they would come back and break my legs with the illegal key copy they undoubtedly made that I agreed to their terms.

d)  I am a $%^&! moron.***

Armed with this logic, I pranced off to my local Canadian Tire to choose my weapons of mass destruction.   All of the walls would be painted a very trendy grey colour named “Veil”.  The accent walls would be painted a very warm and jaunty colour named “Bonnie Bell”.  One cab ride and a glass of red wine later, I was ready to attack.

Now, the first roll of the brush onto a stark white wall is always a bit of a shock.   But Bonnie turned out to be less of a burnt…something and a bit more…well…bright LEGO orange…than I thought.

It was now evening .  “I’ll paint the whole wall and see what it looks like in the morning”.

That night, when the clock struck midnight, I was visited by two ghosts.

"Naeeeeee!!! Ya canna paeeent a wall orrrrrange, ya wee chickeee!"

The ghosts of Colin and Justin roused me from my slumber, and dragged me out into the living room to look at what I had wrought.  

The wall was like the giant monolith from 2001, except that it was orange.

“What have I done, Colin and Justin?!?” I howled, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?”  I began sweating profusely.  “Is it too late for me?”

They pointed with cold, yet fabulously manicured hands at the receipt on the dining room table.

“Are you trying to tell me that I have to go back?  Back to the store?”

A paint chip lay next to the receipt.   I knew what I had to do.

The next morning, I trundled off to the Canadian Tire and bought a gallon of “Downing Street”.  Brick red, and very dignified.  Very Churchillian.

*  I am planning on taking my 2011 vacation on or about 2020.

**  Yes, I moved in at the end of April.  Keep in mind that it took me THREE YEARS from move in date to paint a previous condo.  This is relatively quick by comparison.

***  DING DING DING!  We have a winner.

It’s like being a lapsed Catholic, but worse

In 2010, you wrote 28 new posts.

Thanks, WordPress.com Stats Helper Monkeys, for pointing that out to me. 

What the hell was I doing in 2010?  I wrote only 28 posts?

Was I curing cancer?  Recovering from cancer?  Building a house? Getting knocked up with triplets?  Appearing on Broadway?  Appearing in Playboy?  Marrying Hugh Hefner?

Well, no.

We think you did great!

That’s very kind, WordPress.com Monkeys, but I think it kinda sucks, actually.  I used to be able to knock out a solid 500 words daily* with no problem, and now…28 posts in 2011?

You haven’t blogged since 2004.

That is a much more honest assessment from a friend.   It’s been far too long.

You should always be writing.  You’re very talented.

Aw, that’s very sweet.  But it’s very time consuming. 

To be honest, it’s easier to write when one’s life is a bit of a calamity.  It’s also easier to write when it’s done anonymously.  Lots of juicy, angsty material, and no danger of one’s mother finding out about that time you woke up on the floor of…well, never mind.

In 2010, calamity is a word that pretty much dropped out of my vocabulary.  The edges have smoothed off a little, the skin is a little thicker, and the fog has lifted enough to allow me to see a little farther down the road.  Writing about those things now makes me feel like a twelve-year old writing in a pink diary with a big, fluffy purple pen.  I’d like to think that I’ve matured since I started blogging in 2008, and the writing should reflect those changes.

It’s time to start writing about more interesting things, more often.  But like the rest of my out-of-shape muscles, the writing skills require some careful coaxing and stretching.

Happy 2011, everyone.  It’s going to be an interesting year.

* This includes drunken rambling.

Something

“Oh yes, this is a magical hat for you.”  She beams.  I blush.

I’m standing in front of a mirror in a tiny workroom off to the side from the main shop.  Light fills the space from the twelve-foot high window.  Colourful fabric and hats in various stages of conception sit on work tables next to sewing machines and torturous-looking hat pressing contraptions.

“Really?”

She is older than I am, with long, greying hair, pulled back.  Her partner, who has been in and out of the studio, pops in from the back room.

“I have to tell you,” he says, his eyes alight beneath the brim of his own hat.  “That seeing you in this hat, it makes me smile.  It’s making everyone smile.” He points to my companion, who has been standing patiently behind us in the main shop, watching everything transpire. 

He is smiling.  He nods.

I’m sorry I made you weep.

“The red in the fabric matches the rosiness of your complexion and the blue, well…you can see for yourself what it does for your eyes.”

I look in the mirror, nodding and smiling.

“It’s good to have someone to share the experience with, someone patient and supportive, like your friend over there.”

“Yes, it is.”

I feel like I’m using you, he said.

“Our friend, the one who told you about this place…I hope he’s well.  He’s a lovely man.  The next woman he’s with will be a very lucky woman.”  She’s looking into the mirror, into my blue eyes, I think.  How could she know?

Not for me.

“You’re right.  About the hat.  I’ll take it.”

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on.

Indeed.

It’s been busy lately. 

Not busy as in “gee, I just can’t seem to fit you in between The Biggest Loser and Top Chef”.

Busy as in “accounting says that I can’t possibly accrue any more vacation time”.

I often find myself sitting around board tables feeling unqualified.

I was sitting in the main dining room of a Very Old Club just the other morning, listening to a Distinguished Older Gentleman as he bragged about his discussions with an Assassinated Political Leader right before That Political Crisis.  I looked around the room, and counted four other women.

Three of them were sitting at the registration table, handing out name tags.

I do not hand out name tags anymore.  I did, but not anymore.

I don’t assemble other people’s expenses.  I don’t even assemble my own expenses.  I don’t book my own travel.

“What time would you like to car to pick you up?” they ask me.

I have no idea.

They give my credit card number away.  They take receipts away.  I get a cheque.  It all works out.

I speak on panels now too, telling people what I know about various boring subjects.  Badly, I think.   I organize meetings of people who are more experienced and qualified than I am, and I force them to talk to each other.  Awkwardly.

“That was great, thank you so much for organizing this.  This was the best meeting I’ve ever attended,” they say afterwards.

Really?  I kind of feel like a dork.

I’ve learned to pretend.  Pretend to be knowledgable.  Pretend to be interested.  Pretend to be experienced.   If I pretend long enough, and hard enough, one day I might convince someone that I am the real thing.  Right? 

Maybe even myself.

But most importantly, I’ve learned to let go of mistakes and keep moving.   Swim or die.  Eat or be eaten.

Oh, how the life goes on.

Thirty six

I am old enough to

think seriously about my health

draft a will

draft a sonnet

get a mortgage

buy my own drill

learn how to use a drill

avoid those “you’ll regret the tattoo when you’re older” conversations

raise a child

never raise a child

save for my golden years

squander it all on a handful of magic beans

call my broker

answer all the questions on Jeopardy

go to bed after Jeopardy

tell the neighbours to keep it down, I’m trying to get to sleep

sleep with you

howl at the moon

wake up the neighbours

ask for forgiveness

stop apologizing

go for the really expensive shoes

get comfortable

walk myself home

run away with the circus

do the washing up

sweep it under the carpet

question the way the boss runs the show

panic about running my own show

run the show

search for the pot of gold

pick up the cheque

watch it all come together

watch it all come apart

wonder what will happen next

stop worrying about what will happen next

***

A few reminders

Take people at face value.  Give others the benefit of the doubt.  Stop looking for hidden meanings, and worse, stop presuming what those hidden meanings are.  If you have a question, ask it openly.  Politely, but openly.

Stop being afraid that you will look stupid.  Speak up.  The only people who aren’t afraid of looking dumb are…dumb people.  So you’re probably safe.  What you think means something and has value, even if no one else recognizes it at the time.  Even if you don’t recognize it at the time.

If you’re going to do something – work, play or otherwise – do it 100% and don’t get caught up in distractions.  Especially, don’t distract yourself.  Get the distractions out of the system, take a break, write, or whatever needs to be done to break the distraction.  And then get back to it.

Follow through.  Finish.  Go all the way.  Going halfway is as much of a failure as never starting.  Commit.

Forgive people.  For the big things and the little things.  And forgive yourself.  Life is too short to keep beating ourselves up over our shortcomings and wrongdoings.  Maybe you don’t want that person in your life anymore, and for good reason.  But forgive them and move on.  If they demonstrate change, give them a chance.

If an action you take makes you feel badly, makes you feel like a bad person, it’s a sign that you need to change your behaviour.  Or, at the very least, acknowledge your bad behaviour.  It’s not a time to start finding excuses or ways to blame the victim of your behaviour.  It’s an indication that you need to take a long, hard look at yourself, and understand that your actions have consequences.

Always try to leave situations and places and people better and stronger than when you found them.  Govern your actions accordingly.

Take care of yourself physically and mentally.  Don’t put off the important work that needs to be done to ensure that you have the energy you need to live the life you want to live.

Don’t be afraid to be alone.  When you’re alone, don’t spend it inside a bubble of unworthiness and self-doubt.  Use the time productively, to engage in activities that you enjoy doing by yourself.  Figure out what these things are and enjoy them to the fullest.  Don’t give into the ridiculous notion that you will somehow be alone forever, because this has never been the case, and will never be the case.  You are not living on a desert island.

Enjoy your life.  There are so many things to enjoy and be thankful for.  Your life is intrinsically privileged and good.  Don’t seek ways to make yourself unhappy because you want to somehow vindicate an idea that “it can’t possibly be this good or last this long”.  Breathe.  Laugh.  Enjoy.

It’s just like e-harmony, without the creepy people who paint

“But with your literary prowess, I’m curious for further descriptors.”*

Here’s an oldie, but a goodie.  Kind of like the author.

*****

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t seeking something.   Aren’t we all?

Maybe the ad would look something like this:

Female professional, 35, seeks partner(s) for fun and perhaps a little frolic.  Note the “(s)”. If this bothers you, please don’t bother reading the rest.   The “(s)” does not signify threesome (sorry, fellas) or polygamy (sorry, Mormons).  It means that I am not actively (nor frantically) seeking an exclusive engagement.   However, like most things in life…everything is negotiable.

Wait, did I say that everything is negotiable? I misspoke.

In the interest of full disclosure, here are some important things that you should know:

(1) Although I will fight to the death to ensure that everyone has the right to it, I have no personal interest in the institution of marriage, and I do not measure my self worth by its presence or absence in my life.    If marriage is your only goal, move along.

(2) At the tender age of 35, I recognize that I am reaching the far side of my years as a child-producing entity. However, I feel no particular urge to have children, and will not view my life as a woman a failure if I never reproduce. If your only plan is to impregnate me in the next five years in order to ensure your legacy, please look elsewhere.

(3) I may have the random urge to kiss you passionately while walking down the street.  I rarely suppress these urges, especially in the evenings when a light snow is falling.  Or in the summer after a pitcher of margaritas on a patio. If you can’t handle being kissed in public, you should find another woman.

(4) I enjoy a glass of red wine after a long day at work. I like to take my shoes off, wiggle my toes, and feel the explosion of a big California zinfandel on my tongue. I hate drinking alone, and quite frankly, I view the dislike of red wine as a kind of character flaw.  As a side note, please don’t hold back if you feel the need to massage my aching feet.   If you cannot appreciate red wine, you and your bottle of Pinot Grigio should go home.

(5) The chances are good that I earn more money than you.  This doesn’t bother me, but it bothers some people.  If it hurts your ego when I pick up the cheque, I’m not interested.   Alternatively, if you always expect me to pick up the cheque, don’t count on hearing from me again.

(6) I endeavour in all instances to be reasonable and not make excessive or outrageous demands on the people I care about, and I understand that time is a precious commodity.  I’m busy, you’re busy, everyone is busy, all the time. However, I do expect the same courtesy from lovers as I do from colleagues, friends and family – return my calls, reply to my emails, and show up on time.   If you cannot reciprocate the courtesy and respect that I show you, or don’t understand why it’s important, you definitely should not have wasted your time reading this list. And you need to grow up and stop being such a narcissist.

(7) Sometimes my best endeavours fail.  Occasionally, I have passive-aggressive tendencies (thanks, Mom!), and I may argue with you over the most unimportant of issues (thanks, law school!).  I may hold a grudge, or pout like a child.  Sometimes wit devolves into sarcasm.  But I promise that I will always apologize, and I will never stop trying to correct these faults.   If you cannot forgive my carelessness from time to time (as I will with you), it would be best if you walked away now.

(8) As for frolic**, it will be prolonged, playful and passionate.   Time of day is not important. Locations are not limited.   However, I do have a preference for long, slow and tender over frantic and punishing – with the recognition that sometimes urgent fumbling can lead to the sweetest of pleasures.   If this sounds in any way distasteful to you, apply elsewhere.

Unfortunately, as stated explicitly up front, I cannot guarantee exclusivity, or length of commitment.  But if you enjoy the finer things in life and want to share some time with a more thoughtful companion, for a drink, for a meal, for a weekend in bed, for a week in London, or maybe even for a lifetime – perhaps this offer merits more serious consideration.***

*****

* For a further explanation, please see yesterday’s post.

** When originally published, I took some ribbing over the use of the word “frolic”.  But I kinda like it.

*** Offer not valid for married men, politicians, restauranteurs, blonds under the age of 30, Bay Street lawyers, men who take pictures of their genitals with their Blackberries, regulars of the Spice Route and anyone who lives within a 50 mile radius of the White House.