JFC

 On November 7 a straight, white man sent me an email that said he'd been thinking about me and "I hope all is well."

Read the fucking room, pal!

Sad

 The guy who is the inspiration for this year's NaNo, and who has been in and out of my mind for more than 40 years is ... a tRumper.

I'm so sad.

Although the picture I saw of him was at a Halloween party so maybe he was going as a brainless moron?

Anyway, this is part of the story I'm writing:

“Do you want to do a lightning round?” he asked.

“I am so good at lightning rounds,” Erin said. She hoped the twinkle in his eye meant he got the reference to “Friends.”

“In that case, you ask the first question.”

“OK. I don’t care if you’re a Democrat or Republican,” she said, “but I do care if you’re a … uh … red hat person.”

“You don’t really think I could like that guy, do you?”

“Well, some people I always considered intelligent and well-informed have gone to the dark side.”

“I haven’t.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Your turn to ask.”

*SIGH*

Let's Try This

 

I'm depressed and anxious, still (and will be until at least November 6) but I'm hoping doing NaNoWriMo will help ease some of that.

Anxiety Overload

 I need to get this out, but I don't want to say it out loud or write it to anyone who will actually see it.

I'm suicidal. It's not the first time. I've never actually tried it but I've thought of which method I would use and made plans. But I've always gone for a meds adjustment before I did anything dumb.

This time is different.

If that convicted felon, adjudicated rapist, sexual abuser, serial liar, unhinged, demented, fascist asshole wins the election, I see no reason to go on. I barely made it through his first term. I'm not strong enough to do it again. 

Coincidence?

 I didn't have a nickname for my college boyfriend until now. Today I have christened him "The Big Mistake," BM for short. 

So, BM sent me a friend request on Facebook years ago. I accepted because I didn't want to cause weird feelings among our mutual friends. But I go to his page maybe once or twice a year just for the heck of it. He, however, not only goes to my page and comments but apparently searches me out on other pages and comments on my posts, especially if they have anything to do with other guys or parties or anything fun.

For example, on separate occasions someone has said, "It's such-and-such a time in whatever year, what were you doing?"  You've seen those, I'm sure. I usually answer, "Probably recovering from a hangover," "Trying to remember how I got home," "I don't know but I was probably still drunk." You get the idea. Every time I answer with something like that, he comments with something like, "I was probably right there with you" or "I helped get you that way."

And heaven forbid I have a "conversation" (is that what you call it on Facebook?) with a guy from college who he knows. He always, always inserts himself into it. Last time I wanted to say, "Not that it's any of your f'ing business but **** is gay. How did you not know?" I always want to sing Taylor's "We Are Never Getting Back Together" when he does that. 

This is our college's 12th annual 80s Weekend, for all classes that graduated from '80 to '89. All kinds of fun stuff is always planned. Did I mention this is the 12th annual? How many has BM gone to in those dozen years? Zero. 0. None.

51 weeks ago, I started my new job, which is literally across the street from the university. That's where our mail is sent, and I have to go over to pick it up sometimes. Occasionally, I'll post a picture from building the PO is in. Or I'll stop somewhere on campus if I'm way too early for work and post a picture of that. (I live half an hour away and still don't always time it right.) So, he knows I'm on campus quite a bit.

Guess who is in town for 80s Weekend?

Coincidence? I don't mean to sound narcissistic, but I think not. 

Dear Josh Allen

 Dear Josh Allen,

I am getting too old to go through the entire "Josh Allen Experience" every week. My heart just can't take it. 

Touchdowns passes, Schnowplow touchdowns, all the other good stuff? That's fine. Interceptions and fumbles? Not so much.

Thank you for your anticipated cooperation.

Go Bills!

Vacation Time

 

When I was considering leaving my old job, where I had been for 15 1/2 years, one of the cons on my pros and cons list was giving up five weeks of vacation. A wise person told me: If you had a job you liked and where you were treated better you wouldn't feel you needed five weeks of vacation time.

Fast forward to this year (3 years after I left that job). Well, let's go back to November of last year first. Our HR manager told us how much personal time we had left for 2023 and we were supposed to tell her if we were going to use it or roll it over. (Roll it over?! At every job I ever had it was "use it or lose it.") I started work there on Feb. 21 and wasn't even thinking about personal days, vacation days, etc., so I was surprised to learn I had more than 13 hours of personal time left. With all the holiday time we all get, I only had to work one day between 12/21 and Jan 1. And, even that day could have been half a day. I worked because I wanted to get caught up on stuff so I wouldn't be overwhelmed when I got back on Jan. 2.

Now, a little over a month from my one-year anniversary date, a co-worker mentioned that I will have one week of vacation time plus the 10 personal days as of Feb 22. That's three weeks of paid time off after one year as opposed to five weeks after 15 1/2 years.

That alone is enough to tell me I made the right choice. 

(I could, and probably will someday, go into the myriad other reasons I made the right choice.)

Chapters

I wrote this in August and wasn't sure until this morning that I wanted to post it: 

 I read something last week that said what you think may be your true love may only be a chapter in the book of your life – or something like that.

It rang so true for me, especially with Bruce’s death so recent and my myriad emotions so painfully raw.

It’s true, though. Bruce was just a chapter. He was never my true love, and we both knew that, I think. But it was good for a while (until it wasn’t) and, because we ended up being friends, he is my second-longest relationship aside from blood relatives.

My two shortest relationships are actually the most memorable, oddly. Yes, Bruce and I had a lot of memories, but they weren’t the most memorable or impactful.

Baseball Guy? Now that’s another story. It was really just one night in college, but man was it nice. It wasn’t even sex. It was just a lot of kissing on the “dance floor” of Butler Gym during a cocktail party. Best. Kisser. Ever. Yes, we talked sometimes after that and I went to his baseball games and, yada, yada, yada. And we kept in touch for a bit after graduation. But it didn’t go anywhere. That’s OK. He could have been the most perfect guy in the world but I doubt anything could have been better than that one night, which I still think about. Obviously.

We’ll get to the other shortest one later. In fact, I’ll probably save him for last. You’ll see why when we get there.

Bruce and I met at Bradford Perkins. Two other guys are also Perkins-related.

Other Perkins Guy. Oh, Other Perkins Guy. We worked together at Perkins in Warren and just clicked. We got to be good friends; walked home together when our shifts coincided; hung out at work and sometimes after. It probably would have gone further had Bruce not transferred from Bradford to Warren. Actually, it might have gone further at my going away party if Bruce hadn't been standing there. As it was, we may have set a record for the longest hand-holding-without-saying-anything good-bye in history. We kept in touch for quite a while after I left Warren. Phone calls. Cards and letters. (Yes, handwritten, snail-mail letters.) Our birthdays are exactly a week apart (he’s older) so that was easy for us to remember. That’s what makes it so odd that when I Facebook’d his wife and asked her to wish him a happy birthday from me she said he had no idea who I was. Really, lady? Really? I guarantee she didn’t even mention it to him.

Bruce wasn’t the only reason Other Perkins Guy and I didn’t take it to the next level. I’m sure OPG noticed the flirtation between me and Delivery Guy. How could he not? Everyone else in Bradford and Warren did. I knew that wasn’t going anywhere. He was just fun, and fun to flirt with. In all honesty, I’ve never had a better time flirting with anyone since then. And no one has made me feel the way he did when he flirted with me. When he unloaded his truck, he would always come and look for me to check his order to make sure it was correct and all there. But he’d always say, “Ready to check me out?” I would always answer with a wink, “You bet I am.” Goofy and silly, but fun. And, on his last day on that route, he gave me a little kiss. Nice. Sweet. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I took him up on any of his offers when he told me his hotel room number after his truck mysteriously broke down. Funny how it always happened in Bradford when I was working there, and Warren when I was working there. Subtle, DG. Subtle. 

Those guys all had their own chapters, some longer than others. Some are twistier and less predictable than others. These guys, however, can be lumped into one chapter. They deserve to be mentioned but I don’t feel that they each need a chapter, as surprising as that may seem. They are, in no particular order: Chico, Todd, Casey, Jim G., Jim K., John F., Mark L. and Nick. The others? Sorry. Maybe if my book has an epilog.

I have often joked that The Best Friend is the love of my life. That’s not true. He’s the lust of my life. He’s also the longest relationship I’ve ever had. I could say more but as of this writing (8-29-23) this chapter isn’t even close to being finished.

So, who is the love of my life? Great Smile Guy. We never even kissed (romantically) but I loved him with all my heart. It’s been 13 months and 10 days since he died and I still think about him every day. I’m writing a fictionalized version of our relationship to help me get past his death and to help get my feelings out. 

Last but by no means least is Ray Healy. Our relationship was very brief but very passionate and led to the most painful thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I like to think her name would have been Laura Katherine, but it’s possible he could have been Conor Raymond. We lost Baby Healy on November 18, 1985. Our relationship wasn’t strong enough to overcome the loss.

As I’m writing this I’m wondering if I’ll have any more chapters, like one that ends “ … and they lived happily ever after.”

Gems

 My boss today told someone I am a gem.

I'll take it. 😀

Edit/Update: I probably should have mentioned that the "someone" is the current president of my alma mater. 

Cancer Sucks

 I thought last year was bad, losing my cousin, GSG and an American hero from World War II who I grew to love. His wife even said they considered me part of their family.

But this year sucks even worse.

Last year, out of my big three losses, only GSG died of cancer.

This year, quite a few didn't have cancer. This one did.

The latest casualty of that f'ing disease was this morning. He had a biospy (brain) last Friday and all his friends were looking forward to the results and his action plan so we could help him get through it. This morning his girlfriend posted on Facebook that he passed. The only good thing is that it happened quickly. The thing he hid from his friends is that he had lung cancer, which metastasized to his brain. We thought it was just the brain. 

Holy crap, I'm sad. We'd only been friends for about 10 years but this hits hard. I do feel lucky that we had a brief chat about music on Sunday. Selfishly, I'm happy that he mentioned me in one of his last Facebook posts.

 Bruce, Betsy, Dan, Harrijane, George (did have cancer), Mike, Jeff, Missy, Jean, Roseanne, Sharon. And this doesn't even include parents and spouses of friends who I wasn't independently friends with. Nor does it include the Sisters who have died since I started working for FSA.

No more, please.