Still Life with Wyliekat » Getting older

Archive for the ‘Getting older’ Category

So long and thanks for all the bloggies.

Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

This is a hard post to write. Saying that, I guess it’s been driving towards inevitable for a while now, too.

The reality is this: I came onto the Internet in 2001 looking for a community. I have always felt a bit like the odd duck in most rooms, and I was wondering/hoping that there would be other odd ducks out there in the world, who, when teamed with other ducks, would form a happy community of odd ducks, celebrating and marveling at each others quirks.

At the time, the Internet as a community was still very much in it’s early stages, and there was still a great deal of fear that anyone you met virtually stood an equal chance of being a pervert or a liver-stealer as a normal human being.

Times change. The Internet is now a place of commerce, community, research and common usage. In richer countries, like mine, it’s highly unusual for anyone (including our parents’ generation) to be computer-less.

As with anything, the proliferation of voices has had both positive and negative impacts. The positive? It’s been recognized as a marketable, legitimate media and is even changing the face of the odious 24-hour a day disaster broadcasting, which pays no attention to whether or not there is actually a disaster taking place.

The negative? The dilution of community, of course. In the blogosphere, it appears as though there’s so much fear about keeping or owning your own market share, that it becomes impossible for a true community to maintain itself.

Do you know where I find that sense of community? Oddly, the answer is the same as it was in 2001 - I find it on livejournal. Oh, I know - it’s the bastard stepchild of the blogging industry. It started out as a member’s only site, and then became this crazy open source, closed conversation kind of joint that you either belonged to or openly mocked.

Livejournal isn’t set up the same way as other venues. It’s not intended for standalone use. You’re meant to read about people and be read by the same people. In short: it’s designed to be a fully functioning community, where people know about and care for each other. This has certainly been my experience. When life slaps me upside the head, it’s those folks who see all of the angst and support me as I work through it.

And you know what? That’s what I want out of my blogging experience. I want the sense of community. It’s just not the same experience without it.

So I’m going to return to livejournal. Truth is, I never left. However, I was putting my best energies into this place, and it’s time to redirect them to my roots - to the place where I am most comfortable. To where (yes, I’m going to do it) everyone knows my name.

For those of you who’ve read me and supported me here - I can’t thank you enough. I wish that this platform was set up the way livejournal was, so that we could talk back and forth more easily. I suspect I’ve missed out on some fairly awesome friendships here. Still and all, I appreciate your readership, and hope that you find this experience to be what you wanted it to be.

If you want to keep in touch with me, you can still find me on livejournal. I am, as I always was - Wyliekat.

Heck, if you’re disenchanted with what you’re doing now, I’d encourage you to do more than just read me over there - join up yourself!

Posted in Getting older, Happiness, geekery | 6 Comments »

Staycation hangover.

Tuesday, January 5th, 2010

I don’t know if it’s post-vacation (staycation!) hangover, or the beginning or middle or end of a flu bug, but man alive – last night was not a good sleep night. At all. In any sense.

On one hand, you had Buddy – all securely ensconced in our big bed, complete with feather duvet, microfleece sheets and a mountain of pillows. In this mountain of plushy joy, he spent the majority of the night tossing and turning and shivering. Poor lamb. He gets sick the least often of the lot of us, but when he does, it’s generally a lulu.

I, on the other hand, spent the night on the couch, with one pillow, one blanket and one annoyed kitty. There, I spent the bulk of the night tossing and turning and sweating. I have no real idea why. I suspect my temperature regulation skills are not at their peak right now, either. Here’s hoping I make it through the week without also getting sick. Really, it can only be one of us at a time. Isn’t that the rule?

Upshot and short summation: I’m ridiculously fucking tired. I’m also sad that my next day off of work isn’t until mid-February.

I’m also having some really unpleasant family drama. Given the incredibly confusing nature of my family tree*, you’d think this would be very normal for me. It’s not.

In four sentences: Mother moves back to town. Eldest daughter’s husband (of 20 years or so) feels threatened by their closeness. Drama of epic proportions ensues, including tug of war, emotional blackmail and massive controlling behaviour. For no appreciable reason I can fathom, this drama also keeps having my name brought into it – geebus, asshole, I haven’t spoken directly to you more than once in the last fifteen years – how much more distant do you want me to be?

And now, with my mother pouring her hurt feelings out in one ear, and my sister pretending everything is fine in the other – I’m trapped. Maybe I should increase my phone avoiding capacity. Become a true master, like Buddy.

Yeah. Good times.

*A fact for which my only defense rests in: well, at least it isn’t a straight stick.

Posted in Being a girl, Getting older, buddy, family | No Comments »

My husband at 35

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

On Sunday, my Buddy turned 35.

Pfft. Took him long enough*.

For his birthday, he got fed kielke and trappings on Friday, pizza and beer on Saturday, and my mother’s famed chop suey (with three kinds of meat!) and blueberry pie for Sunday.

See how I didn’t cook a meal for him? It’s ‘cause he gets my food every *other* day of the year. This time of year, he gets everybody else to cook for him.

He was also gifted with a Halo 3 special edition Xbox 360 Elite, which has replaced food, air and me on his hierarchy of needs. Temporarily, of course.

IT IS TEMPORARY, RIGHT HONEY?

To compensate, I’ve taken up crocheting again. Not by any pattern of any kind. I just started making a string to see if I remembered how to do it, and the next thing I knew, I’d created six or seven rows of the same pattern, three up, three across. I have no idea what I’m making, but apparently I like it that way, just fine.

I also gave him as much of the weekend as possible for his own entertainment. Which meant that I had to do more running and bending and lifting than I’ve done in quite some time, but you know what? 1) I’m extremely grateful that my spine came around in time for me to be able to do it and 2) It was entirely worth it.

That man. He draws me pictures and puts them in my lunch box. He pats my head when I’m sad and my back when I’m proud (the rest of the patting has been censored, for your comfort). He is a tremendous father and caregiver to both our girls. He is funny, sweet, kind and clever.

I’m incredibly grateful to have him in my world. I still love looking at him. I miss him when we’re apart. I’ve had to change everything I understand about the world because of the love he’s given me, and I regret not an inch of it.

Which is probably why I (mostly) put up with his ageist remarks against me.

That’s all I’m saying.
* Yes, he’s approximately seven and a half months younger than me, and yes - he does like to hold it over me. Like you, I am also amazed that he survives such antics.

Posted in Getting older, Happiness, buddy, family | 3 Comments »

Better living through pharmaceuticals - reprise.

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

In the winter of 2007, I started taking anti-anxiety medication. After being on it for about six weeks, I wrote a post about it. This is an excerpt:

I’ve now realized that what I previously thought of as “managing”, was really cripplingly difficult and often left me with giant holes in my self-esteem.

Things would eat away at me for decades. Literally decades. I don’t think there’s an awkward incident in my entire life that I can’t catalogue for you.

And now? Well, I’m still me. I still worry. I still fret over things that I can’t control.

But the huge, massive, gargantuan, insane worries that I could never put down for a rest, no matter how much I wanted to - those are gone.

I still have bad days. But then I can get up off the couch and carry on with my evening.

Now, I play more with the Rosebud. I worry less about every single thing she does or puts in her mouth. I can relax and laugh a bit.

So yeah - basically, what the hell was I waiting for all this time?

In July of this year, I went off the meds. I did so because I wanted to assess my mental state. I was operating with the theory that the bulk of my heightened anxiety was post-partum related.

Turns out, it was less post-partum and more parenthood. Or aging. Or something.

Bottom line is this: I quit taking the meds and now, I’m going back on them. I am, I realized, a better parent and a happier person when I don’t have the anxiety looming over me.

Even though I’m madly in love with my family, have a job where I’m valued, a home that I love and friends who care for me - I find that I can’t appreciate any of it when I’m constantly in a state of fear: Did I just say something horribly wrong? Was that chest pain a sign of a looming heart attack? What kind of asshole (read: me) shows up 15 minutes late to a meeting?

These thoughts? They’re fairly normal. But the difference between normal and me is that I think these thoughts for days and days and days after I may or may not have said the wrong thing, had a chest pain or missed a meeting. It doesn’t quit. I don’t quit.

As T-dot said so aptly “It seems like you’re doing okay, but you seem really tired from trying to keep it all together.”

She’s right. I’m tired. Time to avail myself, once again, of the miracles of modern medicine.

See you on the other side.

Posted in Being a girl, Getting older, Happiness, Health | 4 Comments »

Oh dear, sweet, shrieking neurosis.

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

As I mentioned in a previous post, I finally became enough of an adult to seek out a family doctor for Buddy and I. Recently, we went for our annual check ups. I say annual and try very hard not to laugh, because it’s been a lot more like DECADES since I’d been to a doctor for just a check-up. It’s just one of those things I’ve let slide for a very long time. I’m not proud, but it is what it is, and you should really stop tutting me from over there because I can hear you from over here, okay?

I digress. Anyway, according to my doctor, things are generally good by me. I haven’t done all the ominous bloodwork as yet, but all the other tests checked out just fine.

Except one.

Scene: There I am, laying around his office with my shirt pulled up and my pants unbuttoned, so he can poke around my belly area. Fingers rummage around in my vital organs (through my skin, always a treat) and he says “cough”. So, I cough. He rummages around a bit more and then asks me to cough again.

I oblige.

Then (and I swear, I’m not making this up), he STUCK HIS FINGER IN MY BELLY BUTTON.

Yes, yes he did. And if you’d been in his waiting room, or even in that neighbourhood, you’d have heard my howl of protest. Not because I like being mean to my doctor, or howling randomly in doctor’s offices, but guys - he put his finger. In my belly button.

Just as I was recovering from this gross violation of my personal space and general mental health, he went in for the kill.

“Oh, it looks like you have an umbilical hernia. You’ll need to discuss it with a surgeon.”

(Please find the most vivid memory you have of a scream of horror, and place it here.)

If I haven’t already established this fact in the post, let me be clear. I hate, loathe, detest, abhor, despise and fear anything coming into contact with my belly button. I always have. I likely always will. It’s not even funny, or cute, or ticklish. It is HORRIFYING IN THE EXTREME to have anyone touch my button.

In short, the fates could NOT have found a more neat and tidy way to give me the single largest case of the wiggins EVER IN MY LIFE, even if they tried. Since yesterday, I’ve been working very hard to convince myself that keeping a hand on my stomach at all times will not actually prevent my belly button from bulging when I cough. And if I ever happened to feel it bulge, I might actually lose what remains of my rational mind when it comes to this subject.

So now I have to spend the next several months with my belly button neurosis at high alert, until the surgeon can meet with me and I can tell him that I CANNOT LIVE WITH A BULGY BELLY BUTTON. Further, that he has to FIX. MY BELLY BUTTON. Even if that means using KNIVES AND NEEDLES.

P.S. DO YOU SEE THE UPPER CASE LETTERS? IMAGINE THAT EVERY TIME I USE ALL UPPERCASE, IT IS BECAUSE I AM FFFFRRREAKING OUT, OKAY? BECAUSE I AM. REALLY.

Tags: belly button saga
Posted in Being a girl, Getting older, Health | 2 Comments »

It ain’t exactly a glass slipper . . .

Thursday, October 22nd, 2009

I wandered over to my local mall (a tiny mini-mall that somehow perseveres in this era of big box stores and mega marts, owing in part to having the best movie theater in the city) last night on a mission.

The mission: Shoes that don’t exacerbate our aches and pains.

I did this because I have one knee that has tendons sliding over it with every step I take (which results in a cracking sensation and THX sound effects), a pelvis that doesn’t seem to want to get better any time soon (though my chiropractor didn’t suggest that I stop with the nookie*, thusly sparing Buddy the inconvenience of having to picket the chiropractic office) and ankles that cannot be relied upon to walk a straight line.

All of this has been making my 4km walk home from work a leedle less than comfortable.

So I got these:

Lovely, aren’t they? I could’ve had any pair of white mesh-top runners with blue striping in the store (and there were hundreds. Boo to you if red or green were more your colour preferences, or if you’d like a nice non-white runner), and these are the ones I chose.

They were not inexpensive. Therefore, I have some pretty high expectations for these runners. I left them in the kitchen overnight and they didn’t cook breakfast or take out the trash or fix our dishwasher, so they’d better perform miracles on my legs as I walk home today.

*Okay, fine. It has nothing to do with nookie. My pelvic joints are messed up because I have a desk job and sitting as much as we do was never part of our genetic plan.

Posted in Getting older, Health | 4 Comments »

Naked blogging.

Tuesday, October 13th, 2009

I started writing an electronic journal since the month before 9/11. 9/11 and my blog are entirely unrelated, but the proximity of the two occurrences makes for an unavoidable connection in my mind. Much the same with Rosebud’s birth and the flooding of New Orleans.

But I digress. Lots of people blog for lots of reasons, but me? I blog to assuage the tiny fiction writer who lives in my head, who hasn’t yet figured out how to love her own stories enough to put them to paper. I blog because it’s habitual. I blog because it’s truly how I remember my life in any linear fashion. But mostly? Mostly, I blog as therapy.

However - as I’ve said before, this new venue has posed some dilemmas on that front. Back in the day, when I was exclusively a livejournaller, I’d write about everything in my day. Good, bad, indifferent. If I smacked my finger in a door, it’d be a blog post. If I succeeded at something, it’d be posted. If I failed, if I was worried, if I was happy, sad, low, up - well, there was a post.

But here is different. When I’m in a bad mood, I don’t post. Or if I do, I try to only post in the spirit of gallows humour, which is as much a part of my coping mechanism as the writing itself.

Besides - it’s bad form to complain about work or my bad moods or my maybe-mid-life-crisis on a mommy blog. I’m supposed to complain (lightly!) about my children. The rest is meant to be background noise - business as usual. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

All that said . . .

How much honesty can you all stomach from me? Because I’m starting to think that I need to reclaim my blog for therapeutic purposes. I need to be cranky. I need to be unhappy about work at the moment. I need to express my mid-life crisis. I need to whine and cry about my lack of cigarettes.

I am a divorced and remarried 35-year old mother of two, living in a mid-sized city with a mediocre job. It’s entirely possible that I will live my entire life in obscurity, with my only legacy being my progeny (from whose collective memory I will fade in a generation or two).

And you know? I think I’ll be okay, as soon as that is no longer a depressing thought. As soon as I remember that a good life isn’t necessarily one that involves international living, a retreat to nature, or fame and fortune. As soon as I can recall that the love is the most important part, and that love is something I have in spades.

But still. I think I just need to be angry for a little while. Y’all can avert your eyes if you need.

Posted in Being a girl, Getting older, Rant, Thunks, work | 8 Comments »

Keep on the sunny side.

Thursday, September 24th, 2009

I can very clearly assess my mood this week judging by the nature of the posts. Terse, cranky and perhaps straying a little too far across that fine line between quirky and homicidal.

I’m going to try to peel off the layer of angst and paste up some kind of better attitude. It’s not as though I don’t have fun things to look forward to. For one, I’m heading out of the city tomorrow evening for a hen party weekend*.

This will mean poking around stores like Target (Tarjay in local parlance) for housewares, foodstuffs and clothing deals the likes of which cannot be found in my fair city/country. INSERT PLEA FOR TARGET IN CANADA HERE. It will mean eating at what passes for Mexican food in North Dakota, which is far nicer than what passes for Mexican food in Manitoba.

It will also mean darkening the doorstep of an actual bar. As I type this, I attempt to recall the last time I set foot in one. *rummages through cranium* Ah yes - it was over two years ago and I was dressed in beat up army pants and a red fleece top - reeking of woodsmoke.

This time, I will be part of the gaggle of girls who wander around announcing to all and sundry that THIS WOMAN HERE is getting married! It means getting tarted up for the bar ambience. It may even mean dancing.

DANCING?!?! At my age?!?!? Jeebus, I could break a hip or something!

I don’t know when I decided I was too old for these kinds of shenanigans, but I’m guessing I’m going to have to get over my bad self, and just let things bounce, jiggle, sway and flop as they must.

I’ll just have to figure out how to get blindfolds on everyone in the bar beforehand.

*Yes, I realize the proper term in North America is Stagette or Bachelorette party, but I like the UK hen party better. The former two are simply the guy version with the cutesy ette appended to them. A hen party? Well, that’s girl speak all the way, even if it’s of an avian nature.

Posted in Being a girl, Getting older | 3 Comments »

Is it me?

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

You know, I have a modest Facebook friends list. I have people on that list from elementary school, middle school, high school, university, college, online pals, current work folks, past work folks, friends of friends, random folks who decided to add me and I added back.

There are a lot of people from a lot of different places. I can only assume that’s the case with most people.

And then there are the people I went to middle school/parts of high school with.

They stump me.

Why? Because they all still hang out together.

No kidding.

All of them.

Still.

I don’t get it.

I mean, I guess I was a bit of a misfit out there. I was the only kid in my year who lived in an apartment. I wore a lot of eyeliner. I had very big hair. I was wordy and argumentative with teachers and generally an odd duck.

Truthfully, I never felt so well-adjusted as I did the day I started university. Except for the day I started college, when I got to meet some of the Freaks Like Me, and realized that I wasn’t all that starkly strange a character – just starkly strange for the conservative, ultra-socially conscious people I grew up with.

But the people I went to school with? Clearly, they liked where they grew up. Many of them are still there. And they all hang out with the same people.

I don’t get this. And since I don’t get this, I’m fascinated by it. I truly don’t understand how you can be friends with the very same people for 30 years. Not in the “oh, yeah – we see each other for our annual Remember When? Fest” way. I mean in the “these are my bestest friends and they’ve been my bestest friends since I can remember” way.

I don’t get it. Have they evolved? Have they changed? Are they more or less the same people now they were in high school? If so, how on earth did they pull that off? What the hell have they been doing these last decades?

Or maybe I’m being pessimistic. Maybe it’s entirely possible to have the same best friends for 30 years – that they’ve all grown together and learned together and formed the same opinions and views together all this time.

Me? I’ve adopted the philosophy that friends, for the most part, enter into your life and then, at some point in the future, exit it. That most people are there to contribute something meaningful to your life at the time the friendship flourishes, but that there are a very, very few who are meant to be there for the long haul. And that you won’t really know which is which until you’re at the end of the haul.

Posted in Being a girl, Getting older, Thunks | 2 Comments »