Oh you dirty, dirty dishes …

I have a “To-Do” list as long as my arm of things I’d like to either get started to have finished today but instead I’m sitting on my ass and blogging.  I would love to make a “Honey-Do” list but it’s a little difficult when there is a lack of a honey.  I’m not complaining about the lack of one, quite enjoy being single actually, I just want someone else around to take over sanding the damn kitchen wall.  Is that so much to ask?  Besides, I’m short and I don’t have a step ladder so the tops of the walls are a little beyond me at this point.  Standing on a chair works but even then I still have to stretch.

My list includes painting.  I don’t want to paint, it’s lost it’s charm now.  I just want to close my eyes and it’s over and painted and pretty.  Colourful and wonderful and done. 

Then there are the dishes.  The everyday, three times a day chore that is the bane of my existence.  I hate those things to the point where I’m actually considering becoming a scourge on the planet and buying disposable crap.  But the pots and pans, still stuck washing those suckers.  It’s not a bad job, not horrible and it only takes a few minutes but it never ends.  They are always sitting on the counter staring at me with their dirt.  I can almost hear them in a whispered sleazy voice: “oooh we’re dirty, dirty dishes, clean us silly woman, dip me in the hot water and wash my dirty off.”  Okay, that was weird.

Dishes are usually hand-in-hand with laundry.  They are the dynamic duo of the “to-do” list.  They are the ones that you write down just because you’ll have to do it anyway.  Sort of like bread and milk on a grocery list, you always have to buy them so you just write them down first.  At least I do anyway.  Laundry is a dark place that I don’t want to go right now … shudder…

The housework isn’t bad, I don’t mind it.  Keeps  my busy and makes the day go buy a little faster but it does get overwhelming since I’m the only one doing it with a house full.  All the cleaning, all the cooking.  I’m going to start my training of the babies.  Meatball is almost two, he can start cooking breakfast from now on, hehe.  Little Miss can do the dishes and Miss Lily can do the laundry … there, it’s settled …

Oh if only it were that easy.

My list also has budgeting, cancelling (don’t ask), a giant list of phone calls to make and lots of other stuff that I really don’t want to do today.

HA!!  I figured it out!!  I’m avoiding my list because I have a horrible case of the “THE MONDAYS”!!

Sleepy Much??

I’m half asleep.  It’s almost time to start cooking supper and I’m laying on the couch under a blanket listening to the kids play while forcing my eyes to remain open.  I look slightly psychotic at the present moment – wide eyed with the occasional head nod into a semi-slumber.  I’m doing well in the no drooling department although I’m sure if I did allow myself to nod off, I’d be in a different situation.  Eyes open = no drool.

You know, if I was on the bus right now, I’d be the crazy person.  There is always that one person who looks a little out of their mind on the bus and right now, that would be me.  I am a little better dressed and I put deodourant on today so I at least I smell better than the other half-asleep loons on public transit.

Where the Hell is this post going?

I’m not too sure so I’m going to blame it on my fatigue and just go with that.  People can blame anything on fatigue.  “Sorry officer, didn’t realize I murdered my roommate, I was really tired.”  Okay, maybe not that far but you get my drift here.  Sometimes lack of sleep or even when we do get enough sleep but are tired for other reasons causes our brain to become ever so slightly catatonic with a speckle of functionality.  I’m at that point right now.  I’d probably agree to just about anything right now.

“Hey Allie, gonna rob a bank, need you to drive the getaway car.”

“Sure, no problem, just gotta pee first.”

See, the thing with that situation is that I can’t drive.  Or maybe the problem is that the last sentence didn’t say I wouldn’t do it because it’s blatantly wrong and illegal, just that I can’t drive.   Ugh.  Time for a nap.

It’s about time I wrote again …

Another post.  I started one earlier today and wrote quite a bit but I didn’t like the direction that it led.  The gloomy, rainy city weather sort of left me on a sour note that as much as I tried to hide, ended up shining through like a ray of much wanted sunshine.  The exception to that comparison is that it was the lack of sunshine breaking the rain that brought the foul and lazy mood.

This rain is getting old.  The fog is ruining my view of the Bridge so much that I can’t stand in my bedroom window and watch the traffic the way I like to.  I can hear fog horns which, oddly enough, I’ve been loving as they are a nice compromise to my distorted view.  The noise and sounds of the city are a great comfort.  I know that sounds strange but it’s true.  I’m far enough out of the downtown core that I rarely hear a siren or traffic but when I do I just sit and listen and enjoy the interrupted silence.

I don’t have a lot of humour today, just full of (shit … no no, not that) nostalgia and contentedness.  Good conversations with great friends.  Everything is coming together better than expected and karma is finally shining a little bit.  Aside from the fog, drizzle and rain, it’s a very bright place to be.  Oh my, I’m getting to the gush factor point where I’m turning my own stomach.

Now it’s time to start new plans for Greece, finish plans for Seattle and, the most important thing, celebrate with Miss Lily all the A’s she got on her report card today.  My girl is growing fast, heading to the big Grade Two with her “advanced intelligence” and “willingness to learn”.  Another bright spot, my little smarty pants.

Halifax....

Silence.

That's it. That's all I hear right now and I'm loving every minute of it. The girls are in bed, snuggled up for the night with their dolls. The boy is asleep in his crib, curled under his blanket and twitching in a dream. They're tired from the playground and the walk and the excitement of a new home, a new city.

There are older kids outside playing basketball, I'm watching them from my living room window while they laugh at each other's failed attempts at stealing the ball or missing the basket. A man is walking what looks like a German Shepard up the road and the lady the next house down is waving to him while she plants her flowers.

Almost feels like a twisted Norman Rockwell painting.

I'm finding it hard to believe I'm in a city at all while at the same time I'm loving the anonymity of it. There are still smiling faces and friendly hello's but no one cares to look twice. No drama. No expectations. I'm simply the new girl who moved into #84; she has three babies and a big tattoo. And the talk is over at that point.

This week has been one huge sigh of relief. I feel stronger, capable and resilient. I feel like I'm becoming myself again, laughing again, singing silly songs while I wash the dishes again.

I forgot what happy felt like. I'm positive I'm remembering.

After only a week I can honestly say that it will be a cold day in Hell before I would even consider going back to that Island....

Halifax is home.

Flower Chucking Glory

That bouquet left my hand with the typical comic book "swoosh" and landed with a very gentle "thud" before skidding across the gravel in the driveway. My arms went up in frustration and I stomped back to my step where the neighbours were waiting for me. I was met with the obligitory "are you okay?" and I just shook my head. I couldn't tell you if it was up and down or side to side but it was shaking.

The situation is comical to me now and I wish I could've seen myself but at the time I was so mad. My brain was swirling in a fit of "how dare you!" and ... well, that was about it. It would be so liberating to just blabber it all out here but I really don't want to. We'll just say that Big Cranky (the ex) came by with flowers, presumably from the kids for Mother's Day but a slight, quick conversation happened that ended in a way that made me feel as though I still had a special place, that I still had a piece of his heart in some weird way. It was nice to know that I was still cared about and thought about. A couple of weeks earlier I was shown something else by him and told a little story that made me think that all those years weren't in vain after all and that we both still held onto the good memories.

No so much.

I walked outside with him thinking I was walking him to his car, flowers in hand, smelling them and smiling, feeling special and like I was still an important part of his life aside from being the mother of his children. When I looked up, there she was. The Icky Pixie. Smiling at me in that too-young-to-understand coy "I've got your man bitch" kind of smile. He knows that after the name-calling, the midnight hang-ups and the emails of the two of them together from her and her friends, that I didn't want her around. I didn't want to see her, meet her, know her. Not yet, I'm not ready. Don't get me wrong, I don't want him back but seeing the girl who was (from what I am told and don't know if it's true) sleeping with my fiance while I was pregnant with his son, hurt like a sonofabitch. Even if it's not true and he didn't cheat, I find it odd that they were together in a serious relationship only a week after I left ... fishy fishy.

Insert Alanis Morrisette here: It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced ...

I'm standing there feeling ambushed by reality. My own little world crumbled and my newly found confidence dwindled away. My self-control supply depleted and I gripped those flowers to keep from screaming. I looked at my neighbour and she looked at me, we were both thinking the same thing and I turned on my heel, ran my chubby ass to that driveway as they were pulling out and swwwwoooossshh. It was slow motion, watching those flowers fly through the air and plop on the gravel. Oddly enough, I watched the bouquet and not their reaction. I can see them flying, petals falling off and floating to the ground below them. Beautiful at first and then falling apart, much like our relationship had been. That analogy is almost ironic isn't it ...

Maybe I would've been less angry if it was any other day and the visit was for any other reason. Maybe it would have been easier if I knew what I was going to see. Maybe I would have reacted better if I had been given the chance to decide when my first glimpse of her would be. If I had known she was there that day I would have declined the visit until another time, when I could gather myself and be a little bit more open to the idea of meeting. In any case, showing up like that, saying what he said to me and doing what he did only to have her in that car waiting was inappropiate at best. That kind of surprise would only lead to an emotionally charged situation and I honestly don't know what either one of them were thinking.

Now that I think about it ... they're lucky I still had enough self-control that I didn't pick up a rock. But let me tell you, I have my biffin' arm all warmed up and I'm ready for the big Flower Chucking Competition. And, in an odd sense, I feel relieved. The flowers are in the dumpster and it felt good to put them there, watching them fall apart as I dropped them in felt like letting go. Sometimes getting that proverbial kick in the teeth makes you realize that being alone isn't all that bad, makes you take stock in yourself (again) and realize that rebuilding your life on your own can be an amazing journey. We all do stupid things like chucking flowers but in all honesty, I don't think I was throwing them at the Crank and the Pixie, I was throwing them at my own hurt and the situation as a whole.

With that said, I'm off and running to clean my house. Smile on my face and a skip in my step. Will I throw flowers again? Only if it feels as good as the last time ...