An Anniversary of Sorts

Other than being slightly confused as to how many more days it is until October 1st, I am doing alright. In 5 more days, I will have been separated and living on my own with T for a year and a half. My marriage actually imploded two years ago in the middle of October, but that is not an anniversary that I really want to remember. Despite being the catalyst of said imploding, I am not proud of the pain that I caused my ex. I could have dealt with the situation so much better than I did, but that is for another day.

Yesterday, after spending my morning lolling about lazily on the computer, around noon I decided that I should get my butt in gear and start cleaning house. Well, what started out as my weekly cleaning became a giant purge. The only room untouched by my desire to throw out, get rid of and tidy up is T’s. But I will be putting on the Haz-Mat suit on Thursday and entering the dreaded boy zone.

Back to yesterday.  6 loads of garbage to walk down to the dumpster. 2 large boxes for self-help. 1 bag of bedding for T to take to his dad’s. I used a tool that I learned years ago and until yesterday have never applied. Has it been used in the last year? Or worn? Is it useful to someone else or broken? And with that, the clutter was gone. No more clothing taking up space that I never wear.

I reorganized my linen closet. It is actually a pantry but I prefer to use it for towels and sheets. I first began by pulling all the bags out from the bottom. And I had tons. I have plastic bags in plastic bags in a reusable shopping bag. I had tons of gift bags. I had tissue paper coming out of every corner of the small closet. And the amount of bedding. Where the hell did it all come from? Were my sheets mating and procreating? Hand towels galore. I tossed the really torn and thin towels. Kept two sets of sheets and pillow cases for T’s room. The rest is going to his dad’s.

My bed became a pile of clean clothing I kept pulling from the dryer and throwing there until I could fold it. Towels and bedding I was keeping soon followed. And then I became distracted by my bedroom closet. I began sorting and throwing into the give away pile on the bed. As the amount of clothing began to shrink in my closet and empty hangers were taking up more space, I began to feel a weight lifting.

I admit, I am a haphazard cleaner when I do a clean and purge like I did yesterday. For every time I left what I was doing, to add something to a pile or the garbage, I would become distracted by the room I had just entered.

Take the bathroom for instance. Walked in and opened the dryer to get the clothes out. Dumped on bed. Walked back into bathroom intent on putting other clothes in dryer. Instead I sat down and proceeded to clean out the cupboard beneath the sink. Than I stood up to go get a cloth to wipe out the cupboard, picked up the garbage and came back half an hour later to finish. At which time I also put the last load of clothing in the dryer.

I also did some reorganizing of cupboards in the kitchen. Cleaned the top of the fridge. Moved games out of sight into closed cupboards instead of spread all over. Slowly our apartment is going from an apartment to becoming our home. We are going to be here for some time so there is no need for us to live like transients, ready to leave in an instant.

M the ex came and picked T up early. I thanked him and explained that I was in the midst of a purge/clean. He snickered to himself and I let it pass. When we were together, I despised house cleaning. I was okay with laundry, vacuuming and dishes, but washing floors, the bathroom, made me cringe. I would procrastinate until fights were being had. Now, I clean faithfully. I have a tidy home, with everything having a place to be. Not sure where this phenomenon comes from but there we have it.

It was after 6 when I finally was done. Bathroom cleaned and scrubbed. Floors all vacuumed, swept and washed. Bed (mine) cleaned off. Everything either folded and put away or set aside for the self-help. (I had packed the car with the items to drop off at self-help and for T.) I sat on the couch for a bit, unwinding, and allowing the silence to settle over me.

I felt as though another massive weight was lifted from my shoulders. That in a way I was letting go of things I had clung to from the past. I was purging the misery, the hatred and anger that emotionally I had let go of, but still had material items that retained memories that were not pleasant.

And last but not least, my home was clean.

 

 

 

 

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Joy

***Picture is mine taken August 29/17***

What should I do

when I see you?

For in your embrace I have found

warmth and delight,

a home which I hold onto so tight

for finally can I believe in love.

In sunshine and dance steps

on the flat of the beach

as warm water nibbles at our toes.

In laughter and desire

all rolled into one

as we cuddle before the fire.

Finally,

I can release the darkness

that forever I have carried

and embrace the joy that I have found.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

September 24/17

Oh so pretty

I am finally a real adult.

No seriously.

Paying all those bills. Supporting myself and T. None of that is really as adultish as what occurred last week. I got a real matching bed set. Not hand me down comforters, not comforters from when I was 17. Not mismatched sheets and pillow cases that I have picked up over the years. But a real bed set.

King size comforter. Two pillows, two shams, 4, count them 4 different pillowcases. Fitted and flat sheet. And it is purple. I love the color purple.

The minute I got home, the sheets and pillow cases were in the wash. I wanted my smells on them, not that plasticy smell from the bag. My old sheets and comforter, the pillow cases, striped off and tossed into the corner. (Not really mom, stop hyperventilating, I washed them and put them away). I was excited. I could not wait to see my vision come to life.

Last year, I got my first adult bed frame. It is romantic and gorgeous and totally me. A me that no one knew existed but does now. Before that, my mattress had rested on the old wooden frame of the waterbed we use to have. When I moved, I threw the wooden frame out and hunted around until I found this one. This was last year’s birthday present to myself. And while it did make me feel a little more adult-like, I was not still truly there.

I have a vision of what my bedroom should look like. It is soft colors and romance. It is my escape from the world. I go there to read, for quiet and sleep. As I am in an apartment I am not able to paint the walls a different color but if I could they would be a light grey with mauve trimming. A light mauve. The lighting would be scones on the walls. And sheer drapes covering the blinds.

Much like when I was younger, I get an image and I know what it is I want. I just do not know where or when I am going to find it. I have been yearning for the same pair of boots since I was 14 years old. They have yet to be designed. Although I can see them just fine in my mind.

On Thursday I went into the city with a friend and we went to Kildonan Place. I had not been in there in years. Over 20 so the changes were immense and surprising. We wandered through the mall, stopping to check out Bath and Body and various of the bedding places. Each one I took a quick look and shook my head. What I was looking for was not there.

On a whim, and one last shot, we meandered into Sears. I was not holding out much hope that I was going to find anything for my bed. We found a nice cotton bed set with a darker purple accent on white. Although it was a reversible comforter, it did not sit right with me. It did not call to me.

I walked towards the back wall and there it was. The color. The sheen. I looked at it and looked away. I was not really certain that I was seeing what I was seeing. It was perfect. The perfect color. And it called to me.

I went back to look at the first one but my heart yearned for the other. I decided then and there which one I wanted. And my first ever adult bed set came home with me.

I feel like a queen when I crawl into bed at night. The comforter is puffy and soft. The sheets are new and crisp and matching. The pillows, something which once I thought was a silly affectation make me giggle and smile. I burrow into the pillows, the comforter pulled up around my shoulders and I fall asleep with ease.

Ohhhhhhhhh and I want to make my bed, every morning because it is so pretty.

Next up, the upsizing of pillows so they fill the pillow cases.

Parent=Antithesis of Cool

***Picture is mine taken Aug. 19/17 my bro and nephews.***

There is literally only one thing that any older sibling wants to do in their lifetime. And that is to crush an illusion that a younger sibling holds so that they are unable to ever hold onto it again. Last night I got to do just that with my baby bro. With the help of his children.  Apparently he has been suffering under the delusion that he is cool.

You read that right.

My 38 year old brother, father of 3 teenagers, believed he was cool. You will notice the past tense I am using.

Myself, my nephews and my niece, disabused him of that notion.

The conversation started off innocently enough. He had been texting me while I was at work and once I got home and settled we continued to talk. He was having a great evening with his therapist Wayne. Wayne Gretzky that is. Apparently the great one makes rye. Who knew?

First he thought that he could trick me. We were having a conversation about spelling. He told me he was a great speller. I informed him that auto-correct does not count towards his ability to spell. D than said to me ‘go ahead, give me any word and I can spell it correctly.’

At some point time in his life, D fell under the belief that he could trick me. Thus far, I have a score of about 1000 to his 0. My response, ‘dude if I give you the word it will already be spelled correctly and you will just copy it.’

I am sure he was sitting in the corner of his couch chortling away, thinking that he had finally caught me out.

Than he did something that drives me absolutely nuts. He began to shorten words and misspell them. When you are a writer that is enough to drive the knife in and twist it. I finally corrected his spelling and was informed that this is a new thing that the kids are doing these days. Shortening words. Cool lingo.

As far as I am concerned they just look illiterate.

I love my niece and nephews. I love my son. But they are kids. And kids are assholes. They think that they know everything and anything. I know this because I once was a kid. I was the biggest asshole around.

When I informed my bro of the fact that he just looked illiterate, he laughed and said ‘doesn’t matter I am still cool.’ I nearly fell off the couch I was laughing so hard. It is a good thing that I can type through tears because they were threatening to fall as I howled.

I made him ask his children if they thought he was cool. I also let him know that if they did say he was cool, they were liars. ‘You are a parent. You are the antithesis of cool.’

D asked. His children broke his heart. At 38 years of age, D must finally reconcile the facts. He is no longer cool. His children and me, we are cruel creatures he informed me. Crushing his dreams. All I could get out of him was that the kids told him ‘dad is not cool.’

It had to be done. D could not be allowed to suffer under this delusion any longer. After crushing his coolness dream, we discussed our weirdness. And how that is just who we were. And how it is kinda cool to be weird. But the kids cannot see that because to them normal is ‘cool.’

So with our weird freaks flying free D and me, we are cool. It is the kids that are not.

 

 

Toxic Charmer

He was just like all the men that have flitted through my life, hummingbirds looking for nectar.

Short on responsibility and long on his own needs.

And I watched a good man walk away, because I did not think

I deserved more.

Just a question

So on a scale of one to ten:

How creepy is it, if you have ‘that’ special song picked out, but he is not aware of it?

As a matter of fact, he may only have a nodding acquaintance to you?

1 being not at all and 10 being call the cops.

 

 

Why you won’t want to date me

What one can expect to find if they continue after reading and understanding the rules:

My heart enclosed. The gates locked. Bridge is up and the moat is full. With vicious crocodiles. And piranhas.

As I sit here, pouting like a petulant toddler who’s discovered she has to share her candy, I realize how hard I am to please. I have always been the caretaker. That role, after doing it for years becomes exhaustive.

Every single relationship I have been in I end up being in total control. I am the one making all the plans, paying all the bills and ensuring that life continues along tickety-boo. And now I have independence and the only ones I need to worry about are T and myself.

So I have come up with 10 things I need to warn the opposite sex of. About me. And my requirements. For my non- relationship. With a man who can take care of himself.

1) I do not want a relationship. However I do not want to share you. So get use to it.

2) I want a text. Not a thousand times a day but a good morning, a hey in the afternoon and a good night. So I know I have flitted across your mind.

4) I want to hang out with you. But I don’t. So just sit there until you figure it out. I will continue to read my Kindle.

5) I want to talk to you. Sometimes I will actually want you to participate in the conversation. Wait for the extended pause and dive in there.

6) I am a little bit crazy. But just a little bit, most of my friends will tell you it is barely noticeable.

7) I have anxiety attacks. There is no rhyme or reason they strike from no where. Just talk to me calmly about anything so I can focus and ask you questions.

8) I am not certain I want overnight company. I now sleep diagonally across my king size bed. Debating if I want to share.

9) I live with depression. That means some days I am sad. There is nothing you can do about it. Give me a hug and kiss and I will be okay. Some cuddles are nice too.

10) I am extremely emotional. I cry at commercials. I get mad at stupid stuff. I feel things very differently.

Truthfully, I am forwarning most men.  I am a weird woman. I want my independence. I want to be taken care of. I want to be respected.

T and me had a conversation recently. He wanted to know when I was going to get a boyfriend. I phfft’d and said I did not need a boyfriend.That I was more than capable of doing what was needed. He looked at me and asked ‘ you just needed one to help you put together my bed, right mom?’  (I so could have put his bed together but a friend with a drill is much more helpful)