14 posts tagged “limitations”

I've spent a lot of time pondering relationships.

I don't want to. I have a boychild and a full time job and a house and two dogs and an ailing car, and I really do not need to spend worrying about relationships, specifically romantic ones.

But I do, because a preponderance of what I read out there and see out there circulates around it. Relationship dynamics are certainly more complicated than String Theory, and I find that confusing enough, thank you.

I have been dating GH for 18 months now. If it were a child it would be walking, talking, and I would be earnestly pondering what competitive preschool to put it in. I am only slightly freaked out about a few things:

• We have not argued once.
• I am just as happy now as I was to begin with.
• I am left with this sort of weird, "what next" feeling that disturbs me highly
• Did I mention I am happy?

X and I argued while ENGAGED, and actually before we got engaged. We argued through dating, engagement, marriage, divorce, post-divorce, and I suspect we will argue until one of us is buried and dead (hopefully both, because one without the other would be seriously unpleasant). Then the other will be left upset because there is no one to argue with, unless we've found someone else to vex.

GH and I have *never* argued. Not that we're on our best behavior, or trying not to, it just hasn't happened. I think there is something weird about that; for 10 years I consoled myself with "if you care you argue" and so here I am and I'm thinking: does this mean one of us (or both of us) don't care?

The happiness disturbs me only from the guilt perspective: I shouldn't be happy. No, I shouldn't. I mean honestly, you're supposed to be happy "with sacrifices", but I haven't had that here and it's a bit unnerving. It's like I totally scored and any minute now I'll get wind that he's a mass murderer or amnesiac bigamist or something. Seriously. I'll keep you posted.

But the most disturbing aspect of all of this is the "what next". What next? I don't want to live together -- why buy the cow, etc... -- I don't want to get married (not procreating anymore, no need for fiscal security), where does that leave me? Here I am, I have arrived, relationship-wise, and I can't quite come to terms with it. Modern literature does not help; most "alternative" relationships involve same-sex relationships (barred from progression by law) or fantasy situations in which there is a vampire or a concubine (Dune) or something. But I have no such romantic excuse, I am just disinclined to take part in a legal or social definition of what I'm doing.

There must be something wrong with me.

I like me some books.

I have nearly 2 thousand (or maybe more) in my library, of which I've read slightly over 60%. If you come to the conclusion that that is about 1,200 books, we're on the same page. Good.

I also am a born contrarian. Please do not tell me what to read and/or see, because I won't, just because you said so. I admit it is rude and pointless, but then again I'm American, so that kinda comes with the territory.

Jest aside, I am quitting my book club.

I like my book club. It's full of smart women with funky choices and beautiful homes and good food. This should be a 4xWin (or forewent?) situation for me, but unfortunately it seems that I can only make it to book clubs of which I have NOT read the books; I have successfully read now six books to which I have not made the club meetings. Also, they have added question and answer requirements to books (for the chooser) that, if I were to attend, I would not be able to answer, as typically if I am attending I have not read the books.

Not to mention my scheduling issues what with the X and the C and the schedule and all.

Perpendicular to all of this is my propensity to acquire recommendations (usually in the forceful, HERE, YOU MUST READ THIS  format as I depart someone's home) and read THEM instead of the REQUIRED BOOKS, which results in a weird sort of anti-prioritization. That, and I've given Neil Gaiman two shots thus far and he has disappointed me -- at the very last, and not at the very first -- in both.

I'll not be coy; I've been invited to other book clubs. Book clubs that meet less often, that offer choice to the readers, etc. But I frankly have too much on my plate; when your loving boyfriend marks projects with "this was put here on XX date" so as to remind you (in some cases daily) as to what is left where to do when, you know that it's time to trim back.  Book club, then, is my bacon and not my wine; my eclair and not my chocolate. Book club is unfortunately expendable.

That said, I know that I can see the Ladies of Book Club under other circumstances -- you know, when I become decreasingly hermetic -- and that offers some comfort. The sad irony, too, is that I come to this conclusion in full realization that my nightstand is devoid of new reading material and that I will, most likely, default to Heinlein yet again for my pre-somnolescent diversion.

I will still update and follow on Goodreads, though, because it's fun; it gives me something to do during slow bits at work. 

I have a bodybugg. It is a cute black armband that makes me feel like I'm doing something about my personal fitness and weight. Or rather, that is what it is supposed to do.

Mostly of late I'm disenchanted with it.

What it has done in its first three months was allow me to figure out just how much I can consume against what I expend on a given day, and how much I expend when I do things like run or garden or sleep. For the first three months, this was all very fascinating and I relished the metrics and graphs.

I'm relishing less now. It's becoming tedious to enter in every food product I consume; there are outages on a regular basis that require me to remember both quantity and quality and type and volume of foodstuffs consumed for sometimes up to two days; it does a good job of making me feel guilty during a period of my life where that is a given. Further, and perhaps more to the point, now that I know what I can "get away with", I've largely maintained my weight (actually lost and gained and lost 5lbs on it). None of those pounds was a surprise in either direction, you already know, for example, when you eat two bowls of tortilla soup and have a piece of apple pie and so forth that the next morning the scale is not going to befriend you.

My subscription is up mid-July and I will be selling my little bug; hopefully someone else can learn and grow and metricise their miscellaneous mastication. Just as I've stopped logging my runs on Map My Run, it doesn't mean I've stopped running: I ran five miles today.

There was a time where my statement "I write unformatted code" was cocky and self-appreciative. After all, I was that good. I was the go-to person. I knew where the data was. It didn't matter a tinkers damn that I didn't indent, didn't comment (well, I did but not much), and wrote in a free style that could only charitably be described as "loose".

Now? Now I'm management: meaning I have people who work for me who write in scrupulously neat code, so neat I need to *deformat* it in order to read it. Which wouldn't quite suck so much, but for the fact that twice, in the last two weeks, I have joined a table on itself.

Joining a table on itself, in SQL, is like walking into a brick wall, rubbing your head, and charging, full speed, into the same brick wall again. Repeat until you get a concussion.

I am no longer hot shit, I am not even a lukewarm fart. *Sigh*. No. I'm management. I write emails effectively and sit in meetings. I approve vacations and make judgement calls on assignment of dev projects. I am, in short, a total sell out.

...almost like being a Minor Diety.

After a long convo with Alixito, I have deleted my angst-ridden, threatening post to the @sshole who keeps calling my home. I suspect I know why, and I suspect it's the same person who has given my personal email to apparently half of a dozen spammers, even though both my home number and my email were generally unlisted for a reason. But that's ok, they needed that to feel better, I get it. I can also get call blocking and change my email address.

There. I *think* I feel better. It gives me less to manage to.

Friday will find me in Tacoma for an Opera. A friend of a Rather Good Friend is singing in Orpheus in the Underworld, in English (thankyouverymuch), and we have some pretty cool seats.

Ali has decreed we shall set forth and Dress Up. I give you the following, completely unedited exchange:

DD: "Ok, so what does one wear to the Opera?"

Ali: "We should dress up! We should totally! Do you want to?"

DD: (agreeing) "Yes! Absolutely..."

Ali: "I can wear my bridesmaids gown again." [Ed.: this is a floor length, beautiful chocolate-coloured gown. It's very beautiful.]

DD: (thinking)..."I have dress up clothes, but they're all..."

Ali: "Slutty?"

Now, just because my last 2 Halloween outfits have included some aspect of Black and Tight and Legs and Cleavage, and just because I have a boot fetish, doesn't mean all of my stuff (non-work stuff; my work stuff is all jeans and docs or khakis and other Corporate Girl wear) is slutty.

That said, my dress-up dresses date from when I was in the Marines, and I'm not sure why I've kept it. Therefore, I have set forth on a mission to find something that is DD-dress-up-able and yet not slutty. Oh, and preferably something that doesn't showcase all of my tattoos.

 I am thinking something along the lines of these:

i've been bopping to new order and chris cornell and the dandy warhols and ned's atomic dustbin... in my chair at work. if i could dance i would. let's add that to the *me* list.

Ok, as Eddie Izzard would say, blasphemeeeeeeeeeeeee, blaspheyooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu; blaspheeverybodyintheroom.

I don't intend to offend with the following so if I do I'm sorry.

I just really wish I was a diety. A Minor one would suffice. I don't want to control weather or things like that.

I want to control breeding. The ability to breed, and the ability to parent. Because it would seem to me that we let people breed that really oughtn't. Britney/Kevin, anyone? How about the challenged person who drives in the Bellevue Square Parking Lot at 50 mph... should we allow that genetic pool and home environment to continue? What about the people in India and Africa who can't feed that which they breed, because they don't believe in condoms or abstinence?

I'd be very methodical about it. I'd have two coloured highlighters, one pink, one blue. Pink means you can procreate, blue means you can't. You could take a test and some courses and if you pass with enough marks you can get a pink. Or you can get your pink revoked if you do something irretrievably stupid.

Today's song is Vertigo by U2.

I talked to Hyfi last night!!! I haven't heard from him in ages, he's still the same Hyfi. Flirtatious, sarcastic, and hopefully going to come and visit us when we go to D-land this holiday season. He's still in a non-deploying unit so yay there, and no longer has to deal with roommates. I forgot to ask him if he made it into Warrant Officer yet or if he's a Gunny. Must remember to ping him later. For those who don't know about Hyfi, here's some back story. He's the one I should have married, but we'd still have ended in divorce. And one of us probably dead.

I was feeling particularly chatty last night, I know that seems just *so* out of character. I learned about other people's communication styles. I am a spur-of-the-moment caller. I think of someone, and I think there is absolutely no reason why I *shouldn't* call, so I call. Sometimes I can chat endlessly. Sometimes it's a quick "HiIwasthinkingofyouandImissyouloveyoubye!". Last night I have no idea what it was, but we certainly didn't chat endlessly. I have learned something about a particularly newfound friend: Emailing this person is good, because they can take time to get back to you at their convenience; seeing this person in person is good, because they knew that was the plan and can devote their attention to you; calling this person -- unplanned -- is *not* good, because (and perhaps especially) if they're doing something else they do not appreciate the intrusion. Ya learn something new every day. *Sigh* I wish some people would come with operating manuals. Communication is a constant learning curve.

My cousin Carla (the brilliant one -- oh who am I kidding, most of my generation in my family is crazy smart; I think I'm adopted) and I have been writing to one another in our non-native languages (myself in Spanish, she in English (she also speaks French and Italian)). It's funny because I'll be reading her emails and a particular phrase will stand out which makes perfect sense -- but still jars the eye. For example, "Jajajajaa", is what we'd put as "Hahahaha". "H" is silent in spanish, J is pronounced "h". Jars the eye, but in a good way. I was using altavista's babelfish to ferret out the words I didn't know (things like "handful"; like when you want to say your nearly 5-year-old SC is a "handful"). Altavista gave me puñado (pronounced poon-ya-do), to which Carla wrote, "By the way: "puñado" (for "handful") sounds pretty Mexican! We would say "terremoto" or something like that!". What you absolutely, completely, and totally do not want to sound like if you're Argentine, is Mexican, or Spaniard, or even Chilean. Argentines are proud of their spanish -- much like an Englishman thinks his is best, the Argentines believe theirs is, too. Just like an Englishman's accent is distinct from that of a South African, a Kiwi, or an Ozzie (or Canadian or American), the Argentine one is very distinct. So much so, that every blessed time I go to Mexico the first thing out of anyone's mouth -- aside from arguing about the cab fare -- is to point out that I must be from Argentina.

No. I'm from here. Hola!