Domesticity

Friday night I baked four loaves of bread. Last night I cooked a 4 pound roast with potatoes and carrots. Then I spent three hours cross-stitching. Today I think I'm going to bake some muffins and I'm actually looking forward to cleaning my kitchen and doing a couple of other small chores.

While I have always enjoyed cooking, given the time and space, this is a whole new level of domesticity for me. Last weekend I found myself humming while doing laundry. I wonder if it is in part because I don't get to spend a lot of time at home, or if it is because I share my home with another woman who is also trying to assert her personality and I go all Martha in an attempt to compensate for the lack of control I have.

Whatever it is, I'm slighty scared by it and a little mortified. Mostly, though, I'm really enjoying myself.

Weird.

A-ha-ha! A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! [crazy2]

Today I took my poor, sick car to see Justin. Justin is the guy that all of the boys I know around here (who are a bunch of gear heads) go to see when they have car problems that they can't handle themselves. Justin is g-o-o-d (and really hot, but that's entirely beside the point). He's also a really no-nonsese, not gonna beat around the bush, and won't take you for more than he can kinda guy.

Justin called me about a half hour ago. Apparently, my fuel pump is shot. On the one hand, this makes me feel good, because 1. I now know what the problem is and b) it's not something that would have turned up on that full diagnostic I've been putting off. Apparently a fuel pump is something that works until it doesn't and there's just no way of knowing when that will be. I feel all absolved and stuff. On the other hand this is pretty crap. It used to be that a fuel pump for my car cost somewhere in the area of $100 (please note that all prices are in Canadian dollars). Now, however, the fuel pump has a little computer inside it. So the part alone is going to cost $500-600. He's giving me a really good deal on the labour (see above what an awesome guy he is), so the whole she-bang, taxes in, is going to be $780.

*whimper*

Add to this that Fred's wheel-bearings are going, he needs new brakes and a transmission flush, for a grand total of about $500.

Christmas? What's that?

Breakdown

I got up as usual this morning at stupid o'clock. Negotiated the usual mess of tripping over cats and roommates in the bathroom and kitchen. Cleaned off my car and left the house around the usual time.

This was one morning that I really would have liked to stay in bed. I stayed late after work last night to have dinner and see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with some girlfrieds from work. On any other night I would have simply stayed with one of them instead of driving home at 11 pm in a snowstorm. However, the roommate is going to Atlanta this weekend, and had asked me to drop her off at the airport on the way to work. So I had to come home last night, in order to drive her ass around this morning.

I wound up getting about 4 hours sleep last night, between the getting home late, the being too wound up from the drive to sleep, the cat waking me up at 4:30 because she wanted food... You can see why I just wanted to stay in my warm bed with my no-longer-hungry cats and my snuggly boyfriend (who turns 31 today!).

So a grumpy, tired, cold me started driving to work this morning. About 10 minutes away from my house, my car died.

The roommate took a taxi to the airport. I got a tow home and am now in my jammies.

I'm going back to bed.

Is it just me?

Well, today I can't even get into Buffyguide, so I suppose it doesn't matter that I can't make any posts.

*whimper*

In other news, it is snowing. Pretty! Of course, it waits until the day I have to drive home.

Bleeding Canadia. (Just for you, Iago!) [wink]


Update!

I am thrilled to let you all know that BG is back up and running. Not only that, but I can post again! [dance]


I think I may need a different hobby...

And thanks to Jenn and bettie for the reassurance. [hugs]

Ssh!

Everybody here is sleeping. Frank, three dogs, nine cats (and those are only the ones that I can see. There are a bunch more around here somewhere...)

I am at my mom's farm because Frank (my mom's partner) had heart surgery and can't be left alone until some time next week. Mom took last week off of work, but had to go back this week, so I'm here. Frank is doing quite well, all things considered, but he gets tired easily and sleeps a lot. We chat when he's awake, and it's been really great having the chance to have time together.

I have been attempting to work from here. I used to think it would be cool to work from home. I'm not so sure at the moment. Of course this isn't "home", and it's not an optimum working environment. I have dreams of a beautifully decorated, sunny room with lots of plants in it; ergonomic desk furniture; a chaise lounge for reading non-computer stuff; a warm kitty in my lap; a high speed internet connection...

Being on a farm (well, this one at any rate) means that I'm working on a dial-up connection. Except that it's slower than your average dial-up, and therefore more frustrating, especially when part of one's job is to upload stuff to and download stuff from a company website. I call it Farm Dial-Up.

A side effect of the FDU is that I can't post at my favourite internet place (Buffyguide) or look at funny photos on my second favourite internet place (Stuff On My Cat). But my friends over at BG have been keeping me entertained, which is really nice. Internet people are fun!

I'll be going home tomorrow night, which is a Good Thing (TM Martha Stewart). Not that I don't like visiting the farm. I do; it's very pretty and quiet and soothing and centering. I can do about 3 days, 4 at the outside. Then I need to get home Fred and my cats.

And apparently, my internet connection.

Lest We Forget

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Actually, that's not how it works...

Last week I had this conversation:

Me: "So you sounded like you had a better day today."
Her: "Actually, no. But I can't take it out on the executives. That's what best friends and room mates are for."
Me: "You know, sometimes you have to give the best friend a break."
Her: "Oh sweetie, just let me know."

*sigh*

I've been thinking about this a lot. Let's put aside the fact that I was telling her to give me a break. Also, let's put aside the fact that I don't consider her to be my best friend anymore. She's a person I thought I knew and finding out that I never actually knew her at all and that the past six years have been largely a lie was a more difficult thing for me to deal with than the end of my marriage. Let's just put all of that aside for a moment and look at the main thrust of that conversation up there.

"I can't take it out on the executives. That's what best friends...are for."

I am not saying that I am perfect. I am not saying that I have never taken anger, frustration or upset out on someone who does not deserve it. However, I try really hard not to do so because I believe that the people you love - your spouse, your family, your friends - should get the best of you. So what does it say about a person when she believes that it's ok to deliberately hurt the people she claims to love?

I've gone through many emotions in the past few months. I've been hurt by being betrayed, angry at the fool I've been made of, sad for the loss of something that was so important to me, and so much more. Now I find that I feel pity for her. A mutual friend said of her recent behaviour (I am not the only one feeling like she's lost a friend) "It's like she's looking in a mirror in the dark. She's looking at herself to the exclusion of all else, but not seeing a damn thing."

There's a part of me that still wants to help her, to try to make her happy, or help her find happiness within herself. Unfortunately, the part of me that is tired of the lies and manipulation, of putting myself on the line and being let down again is the larger part. I'm attempting to stay positive, to find a balance, to keep the peace. I'm attempting to get through the next five and a half months with grace and a minimum of conflict so that I can get back to the business of creating a home, and a nation of two.

Bad poetry alert!

Disclaimer: if reading free-verse stuff that I come up with on my long commute home doesn't appeal to you stop here. Otherwise, proceed at your own risk.

Reclamation

One foot-high stalk;
Green rising out of concrete.
Surrounded by glass, metal, smoke, smog and impatience.
Amidst the man-made ruin She shows her resiliance,
Her desire for reclamation.