Hello, my dears. Come on in and grab a cup of my freshly resupplied coffee stores. Yay!
I went and disappeared on you again. Sorry if I made you worry. It wasn’t really intentional this time. While I’m still mainly unmotivated to write anything, work has been a bear this week and it’s likely to be one next week, too, so don’t expect anything from me until at least Wednesday.
I don’t feel like going into it, because it’s Sunday and I don’t want to talk about work on Sunday, but suffice it to say, I need a new job. I just don’t have the energy to look for one at the moment. I definitely wouldn’t ace an interview. “Why are you leaving your current job?” “Uh, gremlins?” That’s always a hard question to answer anyway. What are you supposed to say? My boss sucks and I hate my job?
As to my mental state, I think I’m mildly better than I was last week, but it’s hard to say. I can’t tell if I’m numb anymore, because I can’t remember what anything else feels like. As far as I know, I’ve been in this state of run-down apathy forever. I don’t recall being especially angry or annoyed or happy this week, so perhaps I am still numb, but slightly less numb maybe? Numb is a hard thing to measure.
What else? If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I’ve been online car shopping. It’s almost to the point where I can get rid of the millstone that is my bustoleum BMW and get something else. I don’t particularly care what I get. I have few requirements other than four doors, because having a coupe sports car with a large dog isn’t really practical. Things like this happen when you have a coupe sports car and a large dog:
While adorable, my dog is a driving hazard, since having two doors, she can only stick her head out the side or the sunroof, both of which block my mirrors. I want four doors so she has her own windows in the back, but I hate sedans, so I’ve been looking at crossovers and pint-sized SUVs. What is it with dogs and car windows anyway? It seems to be a universal dog trait.
Yesterday, she made some guy’s day with her head sticking out the sunroof though. He saw her in his side-view mirror and started laughing hysterically. He talked to her when I pulled up next to him at the light. “You’re damn cute, dog!” I love the looks she engenders when she does that. First, there’s confusion, like what is sticking out of that sunroof? Then, when they realize it’s a dog head with tongue waggling and ears all a-flapping, they either smile or laugh. My dog creates smiles.
The other requirement in a new car is that it’s new or certified used with a damn warranty. I don’t even want to think about a mechanic for at least three years other than oil changes.
I’ve narrowed it down to a few options, but yesterday, instead of narrowing it down further, I added one to the list:
How cute is that thing? It’s a Fiat, but big. Well, big for a Fiat anyway. It’s actually smaller than my 3 series BMW and it starts at only $20,000. I don’t know the first thing about Fiat, but it has good reviews and it’s affordable, so I added it to the list.
The thing is, I don’t actually want to buy a new car. I just want a new car. Can someone buy one for me, so I don’t have to go through the harangue? Thanks in advance.
The last two cars I bought, Male went with me. It will be weird getting rid of the last car he rode in with me, but not sad enough to keep that piece of shit.
Speaking of Male, If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that, yesterday afternoon, when I was out walking my dog, I was on the sidewalk crying with laughter all by myself like a crazy person.
I ran some errands in the afternoon and it was unseasonably warm. When I got home, I said to my sister, “I’m wearing entirely too many shoes–two too many if we’re counting.” I kicked those damn things off and put on my beloved flip-flops to go walk my dog.
When I was outside, I realized that if I had said I’m wearing too many shoes, Male would have asked, “How many too many?” Whereupon, I would have said “At least two too many.” So, I had a silly conversation with him without him if that makes any sense, which it probably doesn’t. Sense making is not my strong suit lately.
Suddenly, I remembered what he called socks: foot sweaters. Pants were leg sweaters and underwear was crotch sweaters. So, there I was standing on the sidewalk laughing my ass off thinking about foot sweaters.
I got to thinking about other Male-isms like how he always pronounced water as “wooder.” How when he was working in the film industry and made more money than he could spend, he’d take us out for extravagant dinners and when I blanched at the bill, he’d say, “It’s only money. I can make more.” He said that even when he was poor and in law school.
How he’s the one who gave my dog the nickname Piglet and it stuck. He would carry on entire conversations with her and if I interrupted, he’d say, “Shh. I’m talking to Piglet.” Then, he’d turn back to her and say, “Your mama is rude. Interrupting people. Harrumph.” He loved my dog as much as I do.
How if I suggested we should do something and he was feeling lazy, he’d say, “It’s a million miles from here. We’ll never make it. We’re going to need a sherpa.” The way he said sherpa in and of itself was funny. He’d pronounce both syllables clearly with special emphasis on the “pa.”
Then, there was the ridiculous conversation we always had that went something like this:
Male: I want some ice cream.
Me: You’re some ice cream.
Male: I have some ice cream in my pants.
Me: Then we don’t need to go get any.
My job was to say “you’re” whatever it is that he wanted. His job was to say he had it “in my pants.” I still say “you’re” whatever, but no one says “in my pants” anymore. That’s okay I guess since half the time, it wasn’t even funny; it was just what we did. Every once in a while though, the “in my pants” would be spectacularly hilarious, which is why he did it. Above all, I miss his warm hands and his sense of humor. It’s weird to leave a “you’re” hanging.
Hey, I just realized that laughing by yourself on a sidewalk like a crazy homeless person over something your dead boyfriend used to say can’t be considered numb. So, I guess I do have emotions after all, if laughter is an emotion. Is laughter an emotion? Anyway, it’s nice that, a year after he died, Male can still make me laugh.
That’s about it for this week. I got nuthin’. I promise at some point in the future, once work settles down again, you can expect my triumphant return or maybe a tepid one.
I’ve missed your face. What’s up with you? Oh, and happy Easter if you’re into that sort of thing.