Friday, March 31, 2017

Oh, Not Again

Long story very short, Hopkins' grandmother died. He e-mailed me hours before it was publicly announced, and I sat on the information until I was sure that his sister had been informed.

But this is someone who categorically is not interested in me. Really, he makes such a huge production out of it and it's so very demoralizing and annoying. However...

This week is the state library association's academic conference. The other two librarians are attending, so I stayed home to mind the store. Wednesday, as soon as I closed the library, I repaired my makeup, changed clothes, and drove home for the viewing.

That's where it goes walleyed.

You'd think, when you walk into a room and someone's face lights up that much, that it's an indication that they're glad to see you. You'd think, that if they insist upon violating the local funerary custom of seating the close family in the chairs immediately opposite the casket, that it might follow that people will assume you're a couple. (Otherwise, it's not done. Trust me. I've been going to this funeral home all my life and so has he. I was in the 'wife seat' and that's why people asked. He insisted that I sit there.)

There's more to it than that, but I'm too tired and confused to write it.

Due to our staffing issues, I wasn't able to attend the funeral proper, so I e-mailed him late in the afternoon to do a gut-check and find out if he made it through the ordeal okay. Around one a.m., he wrote back thanking me on behalf of the whole family for making a special trip over on Wednesday.

Oh, come on, man: I have crossed oceans of time to find you. It was your near death that prompted me to reveal my presence to you, in spite of your very specific instructions many years ago to the contrary. I had diligently avoided you, news of you, your presence, and everything else because you made it so clear that I didn't matter to you.

But that's down to me. I observed your reactions in that funeral home the other night, and came away with something that hurts more than ever: I can read you. I did...but I've made a flaming fool of myself over you twice in the past, and I won't crawl out on that limb again.

Either put out a hand to catch me, or let me go. I'm used to being a self-rescuing princess.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Wait a Damn Second, Dude

I hang out with Hopkins because, frankly, I don't have a lot of friends. To him, I'm a convenient lift to an activity he seems to enjoy (improv) and that's it. This past weekend, I had to take my father's watch for repairs, to the oldest continuously-operating jeweler in the state. As we pulled through the iron gates of the parking lot, I asked Hopkins if he wanted to go in or stay out in the car.

He said he'd stay in the car.

If he'd left it there, I would have been okay, but no...that was not mean enough.

He added, as I was stepping out of the vehicle, "I wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea."

Dear Hopkins: Insofar as this may come as a shock to your system, I have owned, at different times, a total of three engagement rings, two of which I still have. That means (GASP!) that there were at minimum three (THREE!) men who actively wanted to marry me. Had you left it at that, I probably wouldn't be so angry BUT you felt it necessary thereafter on the same evening to inform two complete strangers (a bookstore clerk and a server) that we were NOT a couple. What the HELL, man? SERIOUSLY? I KNOW YOU DON'T WANT ME. Stop being an asshole. No woman within a thousand-yard range who caught ANY of that would even vaguely entertain the idea of going out with you, because it plays badly to the cheap seats.

Yes, this is with whom my ex thought I was cheating on him. GUESS AGAIN, EX: Not only does he NOT want me, he's hell-bent on reminding me that I'm unworthy of his attention. (That's a bit specious for many, MANY reasons on which I don't wish to elaborate.)

With friends like this, who needs enemies?

Monday, March 6, 2017

Just Call Me Diogenes and Hand Me a Lantern

My family doesn't have as many generations as some. They often married late on my mother's side, leading to an interesting conundrum: my grandparents were both born in the Victorian Era. Their parents were getting on a bit in age when they were born. There are fewer generations between me and my ancestor Philip Lightfoot, who fought in the American Revolution, than there are for the majority of people my age.

I'm a walking anachronism. My parents were children of the Great Depression, and my mother, of course, was raised by two Southerners of Victorian vintage. My ideas of honor, family, relationships, et cetera, are informed by older value systems.

It puts me at a disadvantage.

On top of being over-educated and physically unattractive (read:fat...I might as well be bright purple and have three heads), I have unreasonable (apparently) expectations about truthfulness, fidelity, and other little things like that. I'm probably going to be single until I die as a result.

Also, God help me to not ever have another man accuse me of cheating on him as long as I shall live- because I am not, have not, and will not, EVER -and use it as a justification for committing infidelity on his part. I'm not wired that way.

I guess I'm not pretty, young, or thin enough to reasonably expect to be treated with respect or dignity. I've been made to feel like an alien for having this seemingly unreasonable expectation.

What ever happened to dealing with comes next, after the shine is off the apple? People are disposable, or at least I am...or that's how it feels.