Mental

Yesterday, I took the day off from work (and blogging) because I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Six straight nights of houseguests will do that to me. While Spesh is an undemanding houseguest, it can be stressful to have him around. I love my father dearly, but he is a very demanding houseguest, seeming to need direction and planning at every turn. And it's not because he's old! He seems to have always expected this when he comes to visit. The times I've done lots of planning, our visits go rather well. This visit did go well because I planned a fair amount. But it left me worn out.

I wonder sometimes if I could handle having a kid and a husband around. One grumpy young man and one grumpy old man in succession (those are unfair characterizations of Spesh and Dad) gave me cause for a sick day. I can only imagine the needs of a partner and kid would much more pressing and constant. (I'm sure I could get used to it, but it would take a while. It's also worth noting that I can only imagine having a partner who would become part of my caretaking burden. I blame Dad.)

Thus, another reason to be grateful for being single. No reason not to take a day off if I need to and no reason to lift a finger on that day off. And I didn't. Well, I did, literally, because I spent the entire day knitting. Only one scarf left in the never ending "scarf for every niece project." (Only one scarf left!) Oh, I also watched dvds and a little tv. Never left the house. Never got out of my pjs. I did unload the dishwasher and clean the counter with all crumbs from bread slicing. But, basically, I sat in one spot on the couch all day, half the time with Tabitha the cat leaning up against me. Maybe she missed our alone time too because it wasn't cold enough to justify such affection.

Today I started thinking about all the things I wish I could change about how I spend my time. This in part spurred by Dad's annoying questions, "Do you think you'll stay at your job indefinitely?" (Answer: sullen teenage style, "I dunno.") "Do you consider yourself to be a person of good fortune?" (Answer: emphatic "yes!")

And the non-question par excellence, "I think it's a lot easier to be a single woman today than it was when I was younger."

My response? "It's easer for both MEN and women, I think." He agreed.

To be fair, he means well and I know where he's coming from. He's trying to find a way to be happy for me and respectful of my choices that have left me single and childless at my advanced age. I mean, he's right. No one (I hope) feels sorry for me or that my life is a ruined wasteland of missed opportunities because I don't have a husband and/or kids. Honestly, if I had kids on my own was happy about it, Dad would be delighted. I don't think he'd care if I ever got married, if he were sure I'd be happy single. (Some of you may remember the time he indirectly suggested that I go to the doctor to get myself knocked up. Gotta love Dad but he is not subtle.)

Anyway, I really appreciate that Dad wants me to be happy and that he won't judge me on any traditionalist grounds. Sure, he believes in marriage (so do I, for that matter) but not as a matter of principle—not in the sense that life isn't complete unless you're married—but in the sense that if you are in a long term relationship, being married means something different than living together indefinitely. I didn't always agree with that, but I do now, and, morally I'd guess Dad and I are on the same page. We're probably more in agreement on the marriage issue than Mom and I, though she would have zero objection to the kid sans daddy.

Enough of the biological clock baloney (though I did have the damndest dream about babies last night. I blame it on my very foolish decision to watch "Private Practice." What a crap-tastic show! The guys are cute enough to almost justify it, though.)

Now I will make some lists about what I want to do in the short term.

[Long tangent: I can't deal with the career goals question or the should I maybe move back to Seattle question. People ask me about my career ambitions and everything gets kind of gray and fuzzy. Look, I kind of hate my work. I only like it when I'm busy and that's only because I like to be busy. I think I'm good at what I do, but good gracious it's dull. And the stuff I love that my contractors get to do? I don't even love it that much.

What have I ever loved in this general arena (of research)? Not the writing, the teaching or the editing. I really enjoyed writing code—statistical code, especially in SAS. That was fun. It was like a puzzle. I'm not great at idea generation and I sure don't enjoy writing up technical results. I'm just better at the writing part than most people. Many, many people are better than me at idea generation.]

Sorry about that. Here are the "what I want to do" and the "what I want to want to do" lists:

What I want to do (short term)

• Write a novel
• Write the blog every day
• Knit without pain
• Move to Paris (or other idealized location) for a year and/or take a year off of work
• Take fewer family-centric vacations
• Have more (any) sex (with my future husband, of course!)
• Make more friends
• Row next year
• Take my pain killers with no adverse consequences

What I want to want to do

• Go to the gym regularly
• Walk to work frequently
• Socialize more with strangers (so I can meet some guys and make some friends, see above)
• Knit less ('cause I'm hurting myself)
• PT for my shoulder
• Yoga
• More camping
• More hiking
• Write an outline for a novel
• Write a piece about my x-country trip

Problem is, some of those "want to want tos" must be done in order to accomplish the "want tos."

Am I right in thinking everyone has a similar dilemma?

That is, everyone who isn't working her dream job while living in Paris (or other idealized location) with her perfect mate and beautiful, well-behaved children, taking exotic guilt-free, extended-family-free vacations, maintaining healthy, happy relationships with her extended family, and never, ever being nervous about flying.

P.S. All detectable humor in this piece is completely intentional and you are invited to laugh at or with me, whichever you prefer.

Grateful for: my absurdly good fortune.

Ideal

Ways in which last week wasn't ideal:

• Someone close to my family died.
• I had to write a condolence card.
• The camper didn't pass inspection (non-functioning back-up lights).
• Spesh slept on the floor in my room for two nights, ensuring I did not sleep well.
• As soon as Spesh left, my father arrived, meaning that I won't be alone in my own house for almost a week.
• My revisions to a report were met by hostility from the contractor who originally wrote it (details: they turned in unpublishable work, I made it publishable, they didn't like my changes, they sent a "nasty" letter to my boss's boss (my old boss!), everyone here took my "side").
• My old boss and new boss thought I'd freak out about the contractor. Annoying.
• I was calm but it was troubling and it made me question my work, just a little.
• My new boss, TR, did my performance evaluation—which was fine.
• But he marked one item (out of eight) as less than perfect.
• When I went to talk to him about it, with the door open, he asked me to close the door.
• Instead of doing that, I said, "I'm too tired for this!" And walked out.
• Whoops.

Ways in which this week will be better:

• Soccer was canceled on Saturday, which meant I could sleep in, knit and get the house ready for Dad. I also did a monstrous amount of laundry. I feel good about the house, which makes it easier to have a guest.
• TR isn't mad at me and asked me to be on a stupid but potentially important committee.
• I've only snapped at Dad once and I get to spend the whole day at work "alone."
• Mostly I am getting along with Dad.
• Dad and I are meeting Pele for a nice dinner tonight.
• I'm finalizing the disputed report and the higher ups are dealing with the annoying contractor.
• I'm still tired but I'm sleeping fine.

Grateful for: time with Dad and my colleagues.

Early riser

I couldn't write yesterday because I had to work at work—all day! I know, shocking.

I'm distracted by thinking of all the chores I have to do at home in anticipation of a visit by Spesh (he's back for one night—arrives tonight at midnight) followed by a visit by my dad on Saturday. For Spesh, I could shirk on the cleaning, but not for Dad. I may not actually be on the run, but I'm on the run in my mind.

I still want to post a few words about my cross-country drive, but that seems like too much work—it certainly is for today. And given that my weekend is 100% non-stop, I'm not sure when it'll happen. Annoying.

Also, I'm sad, because one of my dad's oldest friends, Ron, just died. They were in the army together, we used to have thanksgiving at their house (when we still lived on the East Coast), and my mom and Ron tried to set me up with one of his sons. Ron and his family are like my family and I know my dad must be hurting. It also makes it not the best time for Dad to visit, but we had no idea. (Dad's reason for visiting? His wife is out of town and he needed to use up some frequent flyer miles. Nice.)

---

Most of you don't know this (because I haven't told you), but I don't use an alarm clock. I'm also chronically late to work. I should get in no later than 9:30, but, more often than not, I straggle in around 9:40 and sometimes not until 10. There is no excuse for this because, even without an alarm clock, I wake up at 6:30am as long as I'm in bed by midnight. The built-in-cat alarm helps too.

Usually, I get out of bed, take the cat food out of the fridge (she pukes if it's not room temperature and microwaving doesn't help), pee and then go back to bed. This is a bad idea because I don't wake up again until 8 or 8:30 and if I leave the house any later than 9, I'm late.

Yesterday, when I woke up at 6:30am I decided to stay up. So, what happens when I get up at 6:30am instead of 8:30am? Am I two hours early for work? No, not at all. Instead, I spend two hours cleaning the house and barely make it in by 9:30, per usual. But, hey, at least I was productive.

Last night, I did some closet-clearing, which was a complete distraction from the sofa-vacuuming that is the highest thing on the chore list. Argh. I hate vacuuming more than anything other chore but even with the advent of the robot vacuum cleaner (did I mention that I got one?), I still have to use the regular vacuum for some jobs. It must be done TONIGHT. And it will. I might have to leave work early, though, so I have enough time to relax and clean.

Tomorrow might even be a sick day. I'd take a real day off but I don't have enough leave for that. Sigh.

I feel like apologizing for the lameness of this post. Bear with me and we'll get back to the regularly scheduled dating angst soon enough. Oh, and the good news is that I haven't heard from SL again…so keep your fingers crossed that he stays away for good. That is drama I do not need.

Grateful for: a clean house (soon).

Good Dad

One major worry prior to my recent Israel trip is that I would get annoyed with my dad and Susan. Susan did annoy me, mostly by complaining about a lot of stuff that we couldn't do anything about and contradicting me. I didn't confront her, I just tried to put my viewpoint forward and only insist on being heard—not on being correct. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't saint-like or anything, but I managed my irritation well and, for the most part, got along fine with everyone.

A couple of things about my time with Dad stuck with me. First, he made a point of telling me that I was beautiful, which he does every time he sees me "dress up"—and other times too. This trip, he told me after the wedding, when we got home and were pouring ourselves out of our sweaty clothes. I was wearing a pretty dress that didn't fit me very well and almost no make up. I shrugged it off when he said, "You're really beautiful, you know," but it was good of him.

I'm lucky to have a dad who has always made me feel beautiful. Knowing your father sincerely thinks you're attractive, both inside and out, gives you a kind of confidence that can't be obtained any other way. I think it's totally necessary and helpful. I have lots of friends who never got this from anyone in their family or who got negative messages—from either Mom, Dad or both. (My mom is not quite as consistent as Dad, but with very few exceptions has always given me positive messages about my attractiveness—and has consistently encouraged me to dress in a flattering way.)

I know Dad's not saying nice things to make me feel better, he says them because it's sincerely how he feels. He's awkward about it, and I'm awkward accepting it, but I do appreciate it. It's been priceless to know that a man sincerely found my looks, my shape, attractive. I haven't had to build up my confidence because it's always been there. Maybe a lot of that is just my personality, my temperament, but certainly my father (and mother) helped.

The other thing Dad said, in a more conversational context, was how I sent away some boyfriends who he liked. I laughed and asked how many of my boyfriends had he actually met. We had this talk in the car in the presence of B2 (Mr. Ultra-Orthodox), so I felt a little weird about it, but that didn't stop me. The guy dad had in mind was the guy I usually call "the best boyfriend ever"—and I guess I'm not the only one who thought of him that way (he's Mom's favorite too). Dad asked, "Why did you get rid of him? I liked him."

"I liked him too. But I moved to NC and…well, I didn't know how to deal with the long distance."

"I can understand that."

We went through the handful of others he'd met, including the second DC-boyfriend (pre-blog) Dad said, "I did like him so much."

"Really? Why not? I didn't like him so much either, actually."

"He didn't seem to have enough regard for you."

"Interesting." That surprised me because, if anything, that guy had too much regard for me. However, he and I were in the middle of a terrible fight when Dad met him, so that probably lead to the poor impression. Or Dad has excellent instincts. Maybe some of both?

"That's my standard for my children's partners—they have to adore them."

"Huh." I thought, 'Why isn't that my standard for my partners?'

Good question.

So, that's my test for the next boyfriend: you adore me or I'm not playing. The end.

Grateful for: high standards.

A coffee tale

On Saturday, I decided to visit the Big Bear Cafe a new, and new to me, coffee shop.

I hopped on my bike around 9:40am and I was there in about ten minutes. It's about a mile and a half from my place in the opposite direction of my favorite coffee place. (For those of you keeping track, this means I biked about 12 miles on Saturday: to and from the coffee shop, 3 miles; 8 miles to Pele's, which should have been less, but I took a few wrong turns; and 1 mile home from the Eastern Market metro. I haven't included the distance from Pele's to the Clarendon Metro, which is half a mile or less. And, yes, I'm a very slow cyclist--but I stop at stop signs (usually) and signals (always).) It seems that I prefer coffee shops about a mile from home rather than half a block away--but it's mostly the better coffee that draws me.

The place was great--a good set up, enough space so that it won't be overcrowded (I hope) a counter that you can sit at comfortably, a few tables, a sofa and some easy chairs.

Dad called on Sunday night and I told him this story about my coffee shop experience.

"After I ordered my cappuccino, the guy behind me, he got to the counter and he said, 'I'd like a cappuccino…in a bowl."

Dad said, "In a bowl?"

"Yeah, I dunno. You know how sometimes they serve coffee in a bowl in Europe? In France?"

"Um, I guess…wait, isn't that a café au lait?"

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Well, anyway, this guy wanted a cappuccino in a bowl. And the lady behind the counter was like, 'That big cup is for lattes. We make the cappuccinos in the smaller mugs.' They didn't have sizes for the coffee. It was just 'cappuccino,' 'latte,' and I don't remember what else, but just one price for each drink and no sizes!

"But the guy was like, 'I want it in a bowl, I want a big cappuccino.'

"The lady said, 'It won't really work in that size…there won't be enough.'"

That got a big laugh from Dad.

"And I'm thinking, 'It'll work if you put more in there!'"

Another laugh. Dad said, "I guess he knew what he wanted!"

"Finally, the lady said, 'We can make two cappuccinos and put them in one cup.' And that's what they did--and they charged him for two!"

"Good for her! And everyone was happy."

"Yeah, he didn't seem to mind paying $5 for his cappuccino. My regular sized cap was really good, so I'll definitely go back."

The coffee was great but the story might have been better.

Grateful for: Dad.

Frank Ider

The other day, I got a "friends" request on my facebook account. Yes, I have a facebook account. Why? I read about a blogger's obsession with the site and I wanted to see what it was all about, so I signed up. I've never used it much, but it's there and until this weekend I had about seven friends.

(Aside: in fact, I got two friends requests this weekend. The first was from one of my first cousins once removed (the son of a first cousin). He's a senior in high school, a good kid and of course I added him. It was amusing and sweet that he even made the request.)

The other request was from Frank Ider. That stunned me. I will never forget Frank Ider but I didn't expect him to remember me, or search me out on a website. Nor did it occur to me to search for him. I was shocked to realize that he's grown older--and is now quite close to my age. When I was 19 and he was 16 (and a half!), our age difference seemed quite significant, now, not so much.

Oddly enough, I was thinking about Frank just a couple of weeks ago. He came to mind when those BYU students protested Cheney's giving their commencement address. We had a protest at my commencement too, though our reason was more prosaic. Instead of inviting an outside speaker, the address was given by the president of the university, William Gerberding, a man who was mainly known for making himself unknown to students. To wit, there was a tiny daily column in our student newspaper called "Gerb Watch," which would report Gerberding sightings around campus.

The day of commencement, some enterprising students handed out white paper armbands for us to wear as a protest. I happily fastened mine around my gown, but it fell off before I even made it into the main hall. Our walk was strewn with strips of white paper that had likewise failed to stay fastened on anyone's arm. It was the little protest that couldn't.

During the ceremony, while Gerb gave a long, boring speech, I was seated next to Frank Ider. We talked non-stop and I had a great time. When I saw Dad afterwards, I told him I hadn't heard a word of the speech and I asked him what Gerb had said. Dad was furious and told me, "It was one of the worst speeches I've ever heard! It's good you didn't pay attention." Heh.

Frank Ider and I had been on exactly one date about a year prior to commencement. In my mind, Frank remains that 16-year-old guy who ended our date with one of the most passionate kisses of my life--a kiss full of angst and hormones. He was acerbic, biting and witty. He was an asshole. But I sure loved joking around with him. Our date was hilarious. We'd been flirting for a while and then started calling each other. Eventually, I told him to ask me out and he did. I borrowed my mom's car and I picked him up at his parents' house in Bellevue. We had pizza and saw a bad Dan Acroyd movie (he liked it, I granted that it was "funny"). I took him home and tiptoed into his basement room where he played records for me from his Depeche Mode collection. When it was time to go, he walked me to the car and gave me that kiss....

I was disappointed that we didn't go out again, but I got over it quickly. At least as quickly as I ever do.

When I got the friend request from Frank, I wrote him a note but didn't write back. I was curious to see if he's changed, if he's the same grumpy, acerbic, funny guy he always was. But maybe it's just as well. It might be better to keep my memory safe. If Frank has mellowed with time, I don't want to know about it.

UPDATE: Just got an email from Frank today. He seems awfully nice and friendly. Sigh.

Grateful for: college.

Quotes

"Have you been on a jury before?"

Today, finally, we began deliberations. The judge said, "You're now in the most sensitive part of the case." Because of that, I'm going to refrain from commenting on the process--even though I would love to. I'm trying to be good.

Before he gave us the instructions, the judge dropped by the jury room for a chat. He's a friendly man and we always have a good time talking to him. One of the jurors asked if we'd get to see the charts and graphs the lawyers showed us. I said, "We don't get to see the demonstratives, just the other exhibits." (Anything the lawyers create for illustrative purposes are called "demonstrative exhibits" and are not considered evidence.)

The judge said, "That's right." He turned to me and said, "How did you know that? Have you been on a jury before?"

I said, "Um, no. I just…know."

I'll leave it to your imagination who was selected as jury foreperson.

---

"I have the kind of house that makes single people glad they're still single."

After an exciting day of you-know-what, I rushed home so I could rush out to have dinner with an old friend. She's actually my former neighbor in the condo. She and her partner were great neighbors. They did tons of yard work and really made things happen. Since they left, things have not been nearly as good around here. Plus, they would catsit for me anytime. We had a pleasant evening of Chinese take-out and kid-time--they have a 2.5-year-old daughter. They also have a hyper Jack Russell terrier. With the dog barking and the kid on my lap, my friend said, "I know single people come to my house and are glad they don't have kids!" I smiled but I didn't agree. As much as I would like to have kids, I didn't feel jealous. I didn't feel relieved either. But I am reminded that I have a good, happy life with a lot of freedom. I try to appreciate that.

Oh, and I traded her for this awesome fortune, "You have an ability to sense and know higher truth."

---

"You hate my guts!"

After dinner, per my plan, I stopped by the grocery store. I was in a great mood when I left court and I'd wanted to call Kansas. But I didn't. I decided it was a good idea to leave him be for a while. In fact, we hadn't talked (emailed) since Tuesday.

But, wandering the aisles of the nearly empty grocery store at 9pm on Friday, I called. He answered already drunk. Sigh. So much for that pleasant conversation I wanted. After we got past the initial hellos he said, "I thought you hated my guts!"

"What? Why? Did something happen?"

He said, "No! I haven't heard from you in three days…"

"I haven't heard from YOU in three days!"

I'm going to the bar. Are you coming?"

"No."

Then he hung up.

---

"Where else would I be on a Friday night?"

The phone rang a few minutes later. It was my dad. He said, "Where are you?"

"The grocery store."

"Really?"

"Where else would I be on a Friday night?" We laughed. He was calling to tell me my oldest niece is engaged. I was happy to hear it. Looks like a trip to Israel is on the agenda for August.

---

"You're such a chick."

When I was almost done with the self-check-out lane (hate it), Kansas called again. I said, "Hey, why did you hang up on me before?"

"It wasn't on purpose."

"If you say so."

He rambled, "Well, the Nats lost…"

"What, so that's why you're calling?"

"Ah! You're such a chick! You think…[indecipherable mumblings.]"

"What, what? Why am I such a chick? What are you talking about?" I carried my groceries to the car.

"You think it matters about the baseball."

"No! No, I don't see why it matters if the Nats lose one game out of 160..it's a long season!"

"Oh. Right." He seemed realize that he'd falsely accused me of being a "chick." "Oh. Why are you angry?"

"I'm not angry. Anyway, you're the one who thinks I hate you because I didn't call. We're supposed to be friends, so I have to call you every day? Who's acting like a chick?"

"Me? Me."

"Yes, you."

He said, "I'm at the bar now. I have to go. Call me in the morning."

"Ok, but I'm busy tomorrow, so don't be offended if I don't call."

"Ok. Bye."

---

I got home and unpacked the groceries. I knew I'd get one more call from Kansas. Thankfully, it came before midnight. I'm going to sleep soon so I'll be ready to row tomorrow morning and drive to the beach in the afternoon.

It is time to get out of town, that's for sure, even if it's only for a day.

Grateful for: a full and happy life.

Limbo

I think I like limbo. Maybe it's easier. Maybe I've just gotten used to it. Maybe I'm lazy.

Dad called last night. He asked me how I spent my weekend. I gave him a list of interesting activities: movie, Art-o-Matic, rowing. Dad said, "Who'd you go to the movies with?"

"[DrJ] and [C-Money]. I never see them, so it was good."

"You didn’t see [Kansas]?"

"Um, no. I don't see him every weekend. He's not…well, he's predictable. But I didn't feel like hanging out at the bar."

Dad said, "Ah. No. That makes sense."

Long pause.

"But he did call me."

"Really?"

"On Saturday night. And Monday night. But I didn't see him."

Dad said, "I think he's interested."

"Sure, of course he's interested. He's just not…he's not capable of having a real relationship. So what can you do?"

"What can you do?"

Not much.

Grateful for: friends.

Delusion

I thought my Passover dilemma was resolved. And it is. No one wants to go to Israel, so NJ is back on. I had this crazy idea that it was Israel or nothing. That I would get to stay here. Um. No. I get to go to New Jersey.  I don't want to go but I said I would go so I will go.

But this part kills me. Dad says, "We're not going. No one wanted that. But you were the deciding vote."

Not sure how that could be since I was calling to give him my official "no."

I said, "What?"

"I think B1 might have gone..." Dad started.

"WHAT? No, no, you are not saying that."

"Why are you getting so upset?"

"You can't put this on me. Are you really saying B1 would have gone if I'd agreed? No way!" I was reeling at the idea that B1 would make any decision based on my actions. It's never happened before, why would it now? Dad will go to great lengths to impose guilt, then deny, deny, deny.

"I'm not saying that...no...but we'll all see each other in New Jersey."

Ah. And that's how I found out that the plan for New Jersey was still a go. Sigh.

The weekend was rather eventful. On Friday, I had a date with Jumper--remember him? It was unexpected. He got back in touch about a week and a half ago and it took a while to pick a day to go out. I was surprised to hear from him but since our date was pleasant, it seemed like a fine idea to meet again. Also, given the deep ambiguity of the Kansas situation, I feel that I should accept any (unobjectionable) date offers that come my way.

Mostly what I did with Jumper was drink. I found myself telling stories about old boyfriends. Sigh. It was a late night. While I like Jumper, I'm sure that I don't want to date him...there's no romantic spark. It wasn't a bad date and Jumper is a decent guy, but he's not for me. I don't see things going a friendship route with him, but I wouldn't object to that.

Kansas called me at 11:30am on Saturday to see if I wanted to come out and watch a game. I agreed and I got there around 12:45. I hung out, not drinking (enough is enough), until around 4pm. That was it for me. I was sleep deprived and had a great urge to lie down. Kansas wanted to know what we were doing later. Gee, buddy, how would I know? No plans were made or executed. However, there is talk of a more date-like date later this week. I'll believe it when I see it.

Now for some analysis. I know that staying engaged with Kansas is a mistake. I'm well on my way to getting attached--to some degree, I already am. But I don't want to tear myself away. I'm not unhappy. I still like him. Being out with Jumper made it clear to me that I prefer Kansas. So, perhaps he serves as a point of reference. Or, perhaps, I'm already too attached to him to find other guys interesting. And if that's the case...ending it is the answer because there is no way this is going to turn into what I need.

Warning--elaborate justification ahead...

Or maybe I should stop being so hard on myself. You know how in a car crash if you brace yourself that's when you break bones? Given that I know exactly what's wrong here and I don't think he's ever going to be my boyfriend, why not just relax into disaster and spare myself the pain? It may not even come to that. I may just say one day, 'enough,' and be done. Right now, though, I'm getting quite a bit of satisfaction and amusement and pleasure out of our non-dating relationship. Maybe I need to be in a situation that is safe from the pressure I usually put on myself when I'm dating someone. I can't do anything wrong here. I can't lose him because I don't have him. I can't scare him off because I don't care if gets scared off (that would be a good thing!). I can't be disappointed because I don't expect anything.  I don't have to make room for him in my life because we're not in a romantic relationship. I go about my normal business of happy hours and social events and if I want to see him or I'm available when he calls, then I'll see him. It's nice to have someone with whom there's that little whiff of attraction, but I have no desire to incorporate him in my social world. Not that it would be bad if it happened, it's just not something I'm working towards. That's because I don't think of him as a boyfriend (or prospect), but more as a friend (and not a "FWB" either).

In the long run, I know Kansas isn't good for me. But in the short run, I don't see it as a necessarily harmful relationship. At least I hope that's true. Maybe it's just potentially harmful. Much better. I can't fix him, change him or accept what we have as a substitute for the kind of relationship I want. The thing is, the "kind of relationship I want"--I don't want it right now. I can't take the pressure. I don't have the patience. And, that, I think, explains why Kansas looks good to me. But when I change, when I start feeling differently...I imagine that's when things will come to an end.

I feel a little bad for saying that. He's got no idea what's coming. I made a point to have a conversation with him this weekend about how I think we should be friends and why that is. He likes the status quo as much as I do. At least for now, we're on the same page. I do fear that he assumes we'll be moving things forward into "real relationship" territory eventually. If I ever know with certainty that he wants this to be "serious," but with no actual changes (like having real dates), then I will let it go, for real and for good. I'm not in this to torture some poor, sweet creature of habit. It only works if we're both happy.

I wonder how long that will last...

Grateful for: something approaching perspective.

Drop me a line.

Spare me

I found out this weekend that I'm a great-aunt. My 20-year-old (or is he 21 now?) nephew, who got married in March '06, just had a baby. That makes my dad a great-grandfather and, more shockingly (for me and Dad), my brother a grandfather. It's one thing to be an aunt many times over, and another when your nephew starts having kids--but to think that one of your siblings is a grandparent--that's a mighty strange feeling.

Dad left me a message on Saturday saying there was some "family news" and that I should call. He'd also left me a message on Friday. I haven't told him about my break up with Owen and I wasn't looking forward to it, which is one reason I didn't call him back on Friday. I never had to tell Mom, because she read it on the blog (hi Mom!). Not that I wish Dad were reading, oh no, but it sure made breaking this particular bit of news easier.

Based on Dad's upbeat tone of voice in Saturday's message, I guessed what the news was and I called Dad. He wasn't home, so my stepmother broke the news and expressed her reluctance to claim the title "great-grandmother." Can't say I blame her. (Aside: why isn't it grand-nephew and grand-aunt?)

On Monday, as is his wont, Dad called me at work. We talked about the baby (who still doesn't have a name), other family stuff and the war (Dad is in favor of anti-war rallies). I was getting going on my political soapbox when Dad changed course on me and said, "So, what about your life? Why didn't Owen go with you to the rally?"

Good question, Dad! "Um because we broke up."

He said, "I was wondering when that was going to happen."

Ouch. "That's a nice thing to say."

"I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry to hear that."

Heh, nice save. I said, "Well, I don't even know if Owen would have gone to the protest." I gave Dad the run down on what happened and why I wasn't traumatized. "I'm not perfect, but I wouldn't have done anything differently, he granted that I'd been reasonable in my expectations all along and he said he couldn't be a good boyfriend. The end." It's getting easier to talk about it all the time. Hooray.

Dad said, "I know you're not interested in this, but have you tried any of that online dating? Would you consider it?"

"Um, yeah, I've done it all."

"Really? You never told me! You've been lying to me."

I said, "You know, I don't tell you about every single thing I do in every aspect of my life...it's not..."

"No, I understand." I'm not sure he does.

"Look," I said, "online dating works better for shy people or people who are so picky they will only date people with a specific resume." (No, I'm not sure I actually believe that.) I didn't elaborate further because Dad had to tell me something he'd read about people in England placing ironic ads in a literary magazine. The ad he described was a man describing himself in an unflattering fashion. I've read ads like that and I've even been tempted to answer one, but I always wonder, exactly what kind of person would describe himself as an ugly misanthrope?

I said, "I don't think that would work for women."

"Oh? They interviewed women too."

"Well, men care a lot more about how you look than women do. I mean, women care, but not as much."

"Yes, that's probably true."

Finally, we moved on to other more comfortable topics and soon after that, ended the call. Telling Dad about the break up wasn't so bad, but he sure would like to see me get married.

I know exactly how he feels.

Grateful for: telling Dad.

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