Not My Blog
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Started badly, ended beautifully. Forgot how to tell time this morning, inconveniently, which threatened to make it a day of self-recrimination and regret. Yet, after constant practice, I'm getting better at letting mistakes go, sort of spiritually shrugging at them and changing the subject. Good thing, because just after noon I headed to a wedding at one of scenic Victoria's most scenic spots, Saxe Point. Every detail of the wedding was perfect, accompanied by bright sunshine and soft breezes. Wasps investigated us from time to time, but no one was stung.
Back home to release the hound before returning to the Chief and Petty Officers Club for the reception. Quite a lot of fun, with a brilliant innovation: the bride organized a flash mob dance sequence to start the night's dancing. It was an absolute blast. I also got to make closer friends with S. and B. I am filled with admiration for S.'s character -- she's recovering from chemotherapy at present, but wore a glorious wig and a stunning dress, and proceeded to dance like mad. B. and I discovered that we're close enough in age to be able to critique the youngsters' attempts to dance '70s style. Final note: the two words that used to fill me with dread, couture-wise, were "strapless" and "bra." But the borrowed bra tonight was a miracle of engineering, and my impulse blouse buy was a success as a result. Thanks to K. & M. for inviting me to their wedding. I was really honoured to be among such fine people.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Always chagrined when I fail to live up to my own standards. My goof today was not exactly major, yet it has me wondering if I'm ever going to figure this life thing out. Probably not entirely. As for today's misstep, well! from now on, keep your helpful nature to yourself unless asked, you.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Monster, created. Three months ago, while I was in the hospital, my cousin and my landlady joined forces to unpack and rearrange the suite I'd been living in since August 2011. Incidentally, I had asked my cousin not to do this. But she did what she thought was best, and carried on. My landlady unpacked all the books, DVDs, clothes, dishes, etc., and arranged them in the suite. I came home in mid-May to, admittedly, a cleaner and tidier place, but not my own. I didn't have the strength then to do anything about it. I also knew that what the cousin and landlady did was a huge amount of work, even if it went against my wishes.
Problem is, my landlady has carried on in the same vein. A lot of my RR stuff is currently in the garage, and I came across my landlady unpacking the china cartons and rearranging the contents in a plastic container. WHAT THE? I wasn't pleased at all, and soon left rather than lose my temper.
Came home to a note that resonated with hurt feelings, wherein I learned that the landlady is putting her house on the market, and I'll probably have to move sooner than later. Dang. I like this place. I also really like my landlady. She also apologized for invading my privacy, but that I had invaded hers, too. Again, what? By storing boxes in the garage? This seemed too silly for words, so I headed up for a chat.
The air has been cleared, but I still have to find new accommodations that allow dogs. And I'm still not sure why she didn't think emptying a taped carton that wasn't hers might cause a negative reaction.
Youu know what? It's all too silly and monkey-brained to bother about for another second. You know what's great, though? This time I really can get rid of a lot of stuff that I've dragged around for decades. My goal: only to have as much stuff as can be moved in a single trip.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Release. I retrieved the last of the salvageable stuff from the Rat Ranch on Friday -- well, almost the last. May go back and see if the one-of-a-kind correspondence miraculously survived the rat deluge. Perhaps on the way back from yoga class today. And then ... then this is officially, finally, permanently OVER.
Had another email from RR No. 1 this past week. I'd run into her a couple of times while sorting through the toxic dump. In the email RR mentioned trimming her book collection by 70 percent -- saying something like "it feels great to get rid of what you no longer have use for." I cannot tell you how tempting it was to retort, "Yeah? In my experience you Williamses have no trouble getting rid of anything you can no longer use." Pointed sarcasm, don'tcha' know. But no. Why bother?
Final word to all things RR: Dear RR: I hope you're okay from now on. Obviously you weren't during my time on the Rat Ranch, or you wouldn't have acted as you did. Just know that I will always be grateful to you for comforting me on the day my mother died in 1980, and for the Nevada tour in 2002. May your life be easier from now on.
We Never Learn. The five minutes of extreme enjoyment of ice cream will be followed by 55 minutes of sweating, shaking, nausea and cramps. Why do I keep trying to disprove this? I mystify myself.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Curiouser. RR No.1, the former friend, is not e-mailing me herself. Her brother is taking this on. I would never have thought RR would shrink from such contact. But then, I'd never have believed she could've been capable of recent acts. Curious ... but only briefly.
Update: RR emailed today in response to a message of mine. Courteous but detached, which is no surprise.
What I Now Know is True: the more stuff, the more stress. I've had too much stuff for years, most of it unused, all of it given arbitrary value because of history and sentiment. What a freaking waste of time. This is an unexpected result from the heartache of two years ago: Freedom from the fear of becoming a hoarder.
Friday, August 09, 2013
At last. At last. Calm enough, centered enough, to close the door permanently upon the Rat Ranch. My bewildered friends and family have wondered what has taken me so long. Well, rage, actually. I was a rage-based organism for quite some time where the ex-friend was concerned. The only thing I ever wanted to say was "How could you?" But there'll never be a satisfactory answer to it, one, and or even a simply truthful answer, two. Now that I can let go, now that resentment has flickered and died, there's just the matter of removing the last of my belongings from ratty squalor. Probably most of it has been destroyed, but still...after this, the Rat Ranch and its denizens are out of my life. At last.
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