Chop! Chop! Chop!!!

The Boyfriend dumped me. He declared, after several weeks of more and more extreme emotional alienation, that he no longer loved me and was no longer physically attracted to me.

Ka-POW!!!

I had held out hope that we could make it through this rough patch; that he was probably stressed about work or stressed about my stress over his daughter living with us. I was, indeed, having trouble coping -- some time ago -- but recently I felt like I was reaching a good point of fluid balance with her, neither perfect nor completely horrible. Ironic that as the situation with the daughter was feeling better, the one with The B was worse and worse.

Because he has not been treating me with much decency lately, I have avoided another frank conversation like the one that brought the axe down. It'll happen sooner than later, probably in a day or two, when I can see him face-to-face, but for now, I'm still the angered and injured party. And he is the one probably barely tolerating my presence in HIS home.

In the meantime, I am in a much better position to weather this than the last time it happened to me. Then, I was poor, in poor health, lonely, unhappy over my bad luck with the singing, singing badly, struggling to make ends meet with inadequate employment, living in a less-than-ideal shared house. Now I have a small but dedicated network of friends, in addition to my wonderful and supportive (though far away) family, decent employment, and, best of all, I'm a lot more positive about me as an artist. Things have improved immensely, partly (as I've said before) due to having known The B. He did bring some good things into my life. He has also proved to be stuck in some kind of time warp, back in teenage days, when he has to deal with emotional issues. His instincts are fairly primitive in that regard: fight or flight, kill or be killed, telling the other person how you feel will expose the soft underbelly, whoever has the coolest mix-tape wins (just replace with 'iPod' mix, for the 21st century). Criminy!

I honestly don't know what demons he's trying to ignore in his head. I have the feeling that this has lead to resentment, that I represent all that is uncool and prosaic and conventional in his life right now. I may never know for sure. I just know that the me he hates now is the same me he fell "in love" (was it really love?) with, only better off in so many ways. If he doesn't find me cool now, there are some people out there who do. I just have to hunt them down now and make them my eternal love slaves... Kidding!!

The Demise of the Critic

I just booked a trip to go see my family this summer. It's funny. I like to travel, but I HATE planning it. I have almost a phobia about setting anything up and committing to it over the phone or internet, i.e.: via any method but face-to-face. It happens when I plan a party, make a rental booking, set up a hair appointment, etc.. Part of me says, "This is unproven. You may never see these plans come true. You should go there in person and take care of it. That way you can look whomever it is you're dealing with in the eyes and believe that they'll follow through." Another part of me says, "Oh get over it you wuss. You've done it before...everything will be just fine. Quit being so paranoid. Just get on with it."

So, too many times, I'm paralysed by the inertia of being caught behind those two opposing voices and I do NOTHING. Stupid, I know. I think it's what keeps me from being a take-charge kinda gal most of the time. That gal is in there, and does make appearances, but not often enough to shake the impression that I'm not the go-getter I really should be. According to whom? I'm not quite sure on the outside, but on the inside, it's definitely the ugly little inner critic. She's a girl of about 9, but shriveled, a chain smoker and she never, ever bathes. She has a voice like a rusty bandsaw and she will often jump up and down and shriek to get attention. Or at least that's the picture.

It hadn't occurred to me until now, and it's a bit woo-woo, but I may try to squelch my inner critic by physically harming her. This could be fun. I'm sure I could come up with some colourful ways to do her in. Like poke her eyes out with a pair of Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Or take a meat hook to the back of her skull and yank. Or crush her with a Panzer. Mental note: this is an imaginary critic and her imaginary demise. I'm actually eager to see if this will work. And then I'll work on constructing my take-charge gal. Stay tuned...

Postscript: Turns out I booked my departure on the right day in the wrong week, thus transforming a ten-day trip into a three-day trip. Cost me forty bucks to right that wrong. My inner critic was very pleased. She purred, "I told you so. I told you so." for two days straight afterwards. I'll get my revenge... I swear it.

The Doormat that Roared

What do you do when someone you love and look up to makes a bad error in judgement? It happened to me today. I lost it. A parent I know advised their child to cheat on their schoolwork. I was taken aback by how shocked I was. In my world, everyone has loose ethics from time to time, but a parent, as role model, moral compass, and standard-bearer, has a responsibility to insist on the highest level of moral behaviour possible. Even if it's not achieved, at least the child has some idea of the minimum expectations of right and wrong. Any one of their friends can show them how to cheat. As far as I'm concerned a parent is one of the only people the child can always turn to for guidance about how not to cheat.

I lit into this parent. To quote my sister, I "ripped them a new butt hole." To their credit, once they got over the "what's done can't be undone" excuse, they promised to admit to their child they had made a mistake. So I was gradually able to peel my composure off the ceiling. I know they were chastised. A mouse would have been braver after my tirade.

What surprised me was how strongly I felt and reacted. I have held my tongue a lot lately, telling myself they're not my child. Parent already knows I don't always approve of the way things are done. But I normally keep my distance. This time, though, I couldn't hold it in. Screeching may not have been the most mature way to handle it, but I amazed myself that I actually finally stood my ground. Wow. I'm not always the doormat I thought I was long, long ago.