Should Be Writing

Tonight I heard from two men who were boys when we last spoke. I suppose it’s the curse of our webified interconnected world. Instead of thinking about this moment I’m existing in now, the memories flood back and my heart beats a tiny bit faster because of the unrealized potential.

First, let me make this very clear: I’m happy with my husband. We have a great relationship, and ours is a far better marriage than I ever thought possible. Do I sound defensive? I am. I feel guilt because I had crushes on both of these men back when we were all teenagers. Hell, I had crushes on maybe 30 percent of the males of my high school acquaintance, so hearing from two in one night is no surprise.

Both sent friendly notes. One is married, and I don’t know about the other yet. It’s telling that the first thing I checked was marital status. Followed by home town, education, and work. Why should I be curious about that? But I was.

The first one I heard from tonight was a few years older than me. Back then it was a huge gap, now it’s meaningless. He was my brother’s friend, and boy did I have a crush on him. Honestly, I’m not sure why now. I remember him wearing a faded army jacket. He was overweight and not much to look at. But he was self-assured. And, it’s funny that I remember this so clearly, he smelled good. Really good.

The note I got from him tonight was stilted and odd. I wonder how he remembers me. That scrawny, unkempt, shy younger sister of his friend. That he wrote me flatters me.

The other one I spent long wonderful hours in the back of the Physics lab cracking jokes with. He was cute, with a thin mustache that made him seem older, and a sense of humor that matched mine. There were three of us, me and two guys. I don’t really remember the other guy, oddly enough I didn’t have a crush on him. But it made for a great dynamic and allowed me to have a little space from the object of my affection. I was less shy talking to two guys, especially since I wasn’t attracted to one of them, than I would have been with just one.

But then, about halfway through the year I learned that he had a girlfriend. Back then I thought he hadn’t mentioned it because he just wasn’t interested in me anyway so he didn’t think it mattered. Today I can put a different spin on it. He enjoyed the almost-flirting banter and didn’t want to change our relationship. But as some point he felt guilty and had to let me know.

No, wait. A memory: I wrote a short funny play for a talent show and he was one of the actors in it. I learned about his girlfriend only when he introduced her to me at this show. Maybe because he had no choice.

He also sent a short note to me tonight. Not stilted, but short and friendly. He’s married with kids. And I saw his current photo. Time didn’t do him any favors. (He should probably grow back the mustache and let his hair grow a little longer to hide the ears.)

What a waste of time this is. I’m happy to be in touch with old friends, but there’s a point where it’s simply wasted time. Like Facebook, like Twitter. Sometimes the past is best left in the past.

In case you’re wondering, I did write back to both of them. Friendly, boring little notes, because I wouldn’t want them to fall in love with me again.

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She knows the word, so I spell it. double yoo, aye. and then when I get to the L, it’s quieter, a tiny whispered “el.” Finally, the K, harsh. She doesn’t know this spelled out walk yet, but I sense that she will soon. I shorten it to simply “double yoo” sometimes.

But when I’m ready to go, shoes on, plastic poop bag in my pocket, I test her. I wander into the living room, and she usually follows me, my shadow. I look at her and say, “Wroxie.” She looks back at me. “Want to go for a walk?” I ask her. She glances at the front door and back at me. It’s clear that this word, this sound, walk, has meaning to her. I take a step, no, not even a step, I lean in the direction of the table where her harness is set, and she rushes to the front door. I pick up the harness and she dances in front of me, circling me. It takes me several minutes to calm her enough that I can, one handed, push the harness loop over her muzzle. My other hand holds her collar to keep her still enough to manage this. Once it’s over her head it’s easier. She’s caught, and she calms down, resigned.

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M: There’s a big hoohaw about the rorschach test being posted on wikipedia

O: Err, why?

M: because apparently all them crazy people are going to go study up and memorize the right answers, apparently
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/29/technology/internet/29inkblot.html

O: Well, it’s not like the test was a secret before. Good grief. And it always relies on the person being honest, regardless. Not like it’s a tough test to subert.

M: I just looked at all of them and jotted down my responses. Except for the one where I saw the bloody clown pushing an old lady into traffic, I was normal

O: D&D makes people into suicidal Satanists too.

M: It’s true. Why, just the other day over my morning cup of steaming human blood, I was thinking about that.

O: ‘How can I summon Lucifer to make my life easier?’

M: If only I could get him to write this code for me. But I fear instead of a script to upload files to my server, it would download them straight to HELL!

M: which would be fine with me, but my boss might not like that

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I have a job, and it’s pretty good. I tell myself that it’s the best I can do in this economy. I say, “self, be happy with this job.” But I’m not, because I can never ever work from home. Prior to this job, I was working at home and had been for several years. I am having a very difficult time adjusting to the loss of that freedom.

And I also drive about forty minutes there and forty minutes back. That’s more than 6 and a half hours a week I could be doing something else! That’s a lot of time. I could be working, writing fiction, or creating. More realistically, I could have 6 more hours a week to futz around. And why not?

The main reason isn’t the drive, though. I want the freedom to work wherever I want. I want to spend weeks at my vacation home at the shore. I want a better quality of life. I don’t want to sit in a cave, lit by flickering fluorescent lights, surrounded by surly people who want to be there even less than I do.

Picture it: absolute silence, white walls, dingy carpet. An entire day of sitting in front of a computer and typing code. You know why my job sucks? Because my creativity gets sucked out of me in an environment like this one. Great ideas are inspired, not tediously come by in the course of doing the same thing, day after day.

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I’m nanoing, but oh-so-slowly. It’s okay, I like what I’m creating. I may not win nano this year, but I’m determined to set a new personal best. And I haven’t given up yet. I’ve still got a long, long month ahead of me.

And yes, I’ll publish some excerpts. Just maybe not every day.

Happy election day!

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I finally feel like writing again. Boy, do I. Starting tomorrow, I’ll post excerpts from my nanowrimo efforts. Enjoy.

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Just met the nearest neighbors on one side. The wife made us banana nut muffins and packaged them up in shiny purple cellophane. The husband insisted we come by and ask for help if we need anything, anything at all. Really pleasant people.

And then it occurred to me, I’ve never lived anywhere where any of my neighbors bothered to make an effort. Sure, I’d meet them, but it would be in passing when we both happened to be outside at the same time.

Is it because we’re shy? is it because we don’t care? I don’t know. I’ve never been the old neighbor next door to someone new. When that does happen, I hope I’ve got the nerve to say hi, and the moxie to bake some cookies for them. Because I know that they will appreciate it and they might be as pleased as I was.

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We’ve got a new phone number and phone service with Comcast. When I signed up for it, I requested that it be an unlisted number. Apparently, that unlisted status doesn’t apply to the companies that Comcast must sell your information to. Five or six different telemarketers have been calling MANY times a day, because when I say, “no, I’m not interested,” to them, it doesn’t clue them in to the fact that no, I am not interested. I’ve begun getting rude about it, and not even letting them speak because I’m actually waiting for some real phone calls from people I’d like to talk to.

I’ve added our number to the Do Not Call registry, so maybe in a month or so these calls will cease. The thing that surprises me about this marketing technique the most is that it must work now and again. Who buys things from these people?

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We’re about to head out on our first big Ikea run. Shopping list:

3 Malm dressers
Dining table
6 chairs
Light fixture for the dining room to replace the cheesy chandelier currently in place. It’s one of those you see all the time with 5 little flame-shaped bulbs and tiny lampshades over each one.
Blinds. LOTS and lots of blinds. We have 4 windows in the dining room and 5 in the living room that need immediate attention. At them moment we’ve got old venetian blinds with crumbling plastic brackets and masking tape holding them in place. While masking tape is perhaps a novel way to hold up blinds, well, it’s not my preferred way.
Various rugs. Seems odd to cover up the wood floor I love so much with rugs, but I know I’ll appreciate it this winter.

I saw my first deer in the backyard. And plenty of squirrels. And chipmunks, so many chipmunks. So even though this isn’t quite as rural as my last place, it still feels very parklike. Except for the really busy road in front of the house. I should have expected that, I guess, when it showed up on Google’s street view. But that’s probably the only downside to living here so far. Well, that and the fact that we haven’t actually moved in yet and are always wishing we had this or that from the old house.

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The sea spray and humid air at the Jersey shore give me a crazy, sea hag hairdo that takes days or weeks to properly smooth out again. And I’ve been at the shore the last few days. But it’s worth it. It’s a great place to visit when the weather is nice and just before schools finish for the summer. After that, fugedaboudit.

I’m done with the shore until September. Now it’s time for painting and prepping the new house. We’re spending most nights here now on an Aerobed. Our living room furniture consists of two lawn chairs, a small television on the floor, and a brand new black leather and cherry wood Eames chair and ottoman. Neither of us are allowed within 10 feet of it if we haven’t showered after painting.

Is that paranoid? Maybe not. I managed to create a gorgeous set of red footprints going all the way down the carpeted stairs. I’m just not careful enough. Fortunately, the stairs don’t matter, the carpet will be pulled up in the fullness of time. Still, though. Paint is pernicious and, yes, I’m just not careful enough.

I love this house. Did I tell you that before? It feels so solid, it doesn’t creak. It’s a bit noisy in its own way. I can hear people moving and talking upstairs when I’m downstairs, and downstairs when I’m in the basement. But that’s because of the hollowness of the house, and the wood floors. I don’t mind the echoes, it makes the house feel lived in.

I’ll try to take a shot of the upstairs that we’ve been painting while it’s daylight tomorrow. Remind me.

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