October 2012 –
It’s been a month since I moved out. I had been treating the whole process like an adventure since even before I moved – looking forward to being on my own, making my own decisions about things – just breathing and finding myself. I had begun to forget who I was. I was caught in the day-to-day track of get up, go to work, come home, watch tv and go to bed. Weekends were spent running errands and, for the most part, avoiding my family and the awkward feelings of feeling like an intruder in their home and their lives. It didn’t start out that way and I was so happy there. I felt like I was part of a family. However, like all good things, things changed and I felt like I didn’t belong. I began to resent being there and felt like I was being taken advantage of.
I agonized over how my sister and her daughter would survive financially because they never seemed to have any money – groceries weren’t purchased, bills were always past due and we did have the occasional cancellation of utilities and cable. I’m not sure when I finally opened my eyes to the fact that they always seemed to have money for the things that were important to them and that didn’t always include me. They always looked after themselves. It took me a long time to accept all of this and to finally decide to do what was best for me. So I saved and planned and came up with a list of “must haves” and looked for a place. I finally found the ideal place for me – a bachelor apartment with a balcony (a rarity) and it was a 10 minute walk to work. I was in my glory – no more commuting. It was like a big weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how hard the commute had been on me.
I broke the news to my sister. It was awkward at first and I stumbled through my rehearsed speech. She understood. She had just begun commuting to a new job and knew what it meant to be home in 15 minutes. She even said in disbelief, “You’ll be able to walk to work.” She was very gracious about not mentioning any financial hardship that I was causing.
The next two months were a whirlwind of packing, inventorying what I had kept from my failed marriage (house stuff – not the baggage) and acquiring things that I needed. I made lists on what needed to be done and when. The cable company laughed when I called 6 weeks in advance to arrange my hook-up. What can I say? I’m anal and organized. It was exciting, costly and cathartic. After my accident, I contacted my ex and told him about the accident and that I had to buy another car. I asked him if he might be able to start paying back the money he owed me. Surprisingly he agreed to start making bi-weekly payments. I was so elated! It was additional money that I hadn’t counted on. I immediately decided that I should pay it forward. I contacted my mom and told her that I wanted to give her some of the money to help her out. My mom is very proud – I think I inherited that trait from her – and she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Instead, she said she wanted me to save the money so that I could come and visit her. A great plan. Of course my ex hasn’t always come through with the money – more speed bumps on his life’s road. But, when he does give me anything, I put it into savings and try not to touch any of it. I keep my fingers crossed and hope it will continue. I sorted through things – packed some, threw out some. It was very liberating.
I went to a psychic fair to find some crystals for my new home and I was in search of some much-needed reassurance that I had done the right thing. She said that no matter what decision I made, I would be happy because it was a decision I was making for myself and not being made by somebody else. She was so right. Isn’t that how we should always live? I take those words to heart and share them with people. There are no wrong choices. There might be better choices and worse choices but because you make them yourself, you are okay with them. I took it as a lesson about being in control of your life/making your own decisions.
Moving day arrives. I’m excited and anxious. Of course, the movers are late. I am presented with a contract and hastily sign. I’m asked for a deposit. I thought it was unusual but I guess they get ripped off. So I hand the guy $300. “Let’s get going”. They start to empty out my belongings into their truck. Things are progressing slowly. I feel like my Mom could move faster than they do. I had originally wanted to move things to the garage and my sister had said, “No. Let the movers do the work.” I acquiesced and here we are. Sitting and watching them move like we’re watching paint dry. When they’re almost finished I announce that I’m leaving so that I can get a head start on them. The mover says I have to stay until the truck is loaded and pay them up front. He returns with his invoice and it’s double what I had anticipated. I am furious and my mouth is hanging open. I phone the manager and he tells me to read the contract. Oh yes, the contract that I signed because their guys were late. I’m screwed. My sister takes the phone and says the same things only with more force. The manager doesn’t even realize that he’s talking to another person. My sister hangs up and says I don’t have to move today. My stuff is on the truck, I’ll have to pay to have it unloaded here or at my apartment. My sister asks if I have the money. I see my contingency fund being depleted to nothing. I quietly say, “Yes” and pick up Spike the cat and head to the car. I tell the movers we’re leaving. They follow me to the bank and I withdraw more money and then we’re off to the new apartment.
I’m anxious to get this whole thing over with. My day has been soured by greed and my stupidity for not reading. I curse myself the whole drive; realizing that this was probably part of the ploy. They begin unloading and a few things are broken. One of them hits on me as he unloads the truck; asking me what I do for fun, if I’m living alone, and did I need help unpacking after the move is over. I hint that I’m newly separated and still have some baggage from the ex. He nods smiling and continues unloading the truck. Another bullet dodged! My sister and niece arrive with the beer just as the movers are finishing. I offer them a drink and we all chat. Finally they leave. Boxes are piled to the ceiling and furniture is strewn all over the place. There’s no place like home.
The first thing I do is remove my jeans. It’s hot and I’m sweating. I find my new fan and hook it up. A breeze moves through the apartment. My sister finds her incense and cleanses the apartment. I tell my sister and my niece that they can go at any time. I secretly want to be alone and just “be”. My sister looks at me and says that they’ll help unpack the critical stuff. She walks over to a box and hollers out a box number. I tell her what’s in it, if it needs to be unpacked right away and, if so, where it should go. My sister asks about my bed and scoffs when I say I will sleep on my couch. My niece offers to help me assemble the bed. I have a moment of panic when I can’t find the allen key and the bolts. I assure them that I put it somewhere where I would find it. Only I can’t remember where that was. Eureka! They’re in my Longchamps bag. My niece and I begin putting the bed together. We continue plugging away and decide it’s dinner time and that we’ll order pizza with the agreement that there won’t be any more unpacking after we eat. As we sit munching away, they both take stock of my apartment and declare that they like it. My sister declares that she hasn’t seen any bugs and that’s good. I know they think it’s small and they’re right. However, when you come from a 3 bedroom, 2-storey house – anything will seem small. I kept reminding them that it’s big enough for me and Spike. My sister asks if I’m going to be comfortable here. I start to get that uneasy feeling about being alone with no protection. I smile and say that this is where I want to be and that I’ll be fine. Once we’re finished eating, we hug and then they are gone.
Spike and I are alone in our new home. I sit down on the couch and she finally comes out from her hiding spot, jumps up onto the couch, snuggles up beside me and leans in for a rub. I pull her close to me and whisper, “We’re finally home.” I feel overwhelmed and start to cry. I’m not sure if it was from exhaustion or just a release from what had been building for the last couple of months. I finally stop crying, wipe my eyes and look around. I stand up and push my way through the boxes in search of my bed linens. I make my bed. At least I will have a place to sleep. The bed looks out of place – all nice and sorted – a calm oasis in the middle of boxes and furniture. I begin sorting through boxes. I want to unpack and put the things in their final place. But things are so disorganized so I can’t do that. I decide to just unpack to get rid of the boxes and bins and then I’ll have to re-organize. Twice the work. Yuck! I find a box, consult the moving app to see what is in it, decide where the contents should go and unpack. I continue at a methodical pace for the next few hours and, exhausted, I finally go to bed with the knowledge that I would have to do this all again tomorrow. I sleep with the bathroom light on.
Sunday morning arrives with the sun shining through my windows. I didn’t close the blinds and I lay there marveling at the peaceful feeling. I stretch and reach out for Spike. She stretches too. I guess we both had a good night sleep. I get out of bed, empty my pressing bladder and shuffle into the kitchen for something to eat. My original plan had been to go grocery shopping after the movers left. I silently protested when my sister and niece offered to help unpack. But, I took Susan’s words to heart, “Accept their help. You can always rearrange stuff after they leave.” Fortunately, I had the foresight to pick up a few granola bars. I munch on one and chase it down with a glass of water. My hunger abated, I go in search of my shower curtain, anti-slip mat, and my towel. A hot shower would help rinse off yesterday and shift my focus to today and all of my tomorrows. I emerge from the washroom all scrubbed and clean. I quickly dress and try to decide what to do first. I look at my watch and I have 3 hours until the cable guy shows. I was going to do grocery shopping but I wanted to get rid of the clutter. Everything was closing in on me. Shopping would have to wait until after the cable guy leaves. I start to unpack. The silence is deafening. Normally I would put on the TV for background noise but I didn’t have any service yet. So I grab my iPhone, place it in my player and hit shuffle. Music fills my apartment and I sing while I begin sorting through boxes.
The cable guy is efficient – in and out in less than 30 minutes. He’s funny and tells me that he knows what he is doing but wants me to watch everything and if I don’t like what he is doing I have to tell him. I roll my eyes, nod and say, “Sure.” He tells me everything he’s doing, step by step. After about 10 minutes he looks at me and says, “You really don’t care where I put this stuff do you?” I smile and say, “Not really. I’ve thought it through and have very limited options and, besides, you’re the professional.” I just wanted him out so I could get on with my day. Anything he did could be moved. 10 minutes after he leaves I grab my purse and keys and am on my way to pick up some food. Shopping was uneventful. I live within close proximity to 4 grocery stores. I had decided to try each one out each week to see which one I liked. Choice number one was a definite bust. I load up with essentials and head home. I struggle with my bags on my way back in and curse myself for not insisting that my sister give me my hand trolley.
My sister texts me and asks how I slept. I tell her it was all good – just adjusting to new sounds. I didn’t tell her that I slept with the light on. I tell her Spike had surfaced and I was taking that as a good sign. I thank her for all of her help with the move and tell her I’m going to be unpacking for a while. The texting exchange ends. The room is getting hot and there isn’t much of a breeze. I’ve got the fan on full blast but I keep wondering what my electricity bill is going to be like. Too many budget unknowns stress me out and the price gouging by the movers ate away a lot of my contingency. I go in search of my “magic screen” that I bought for the balcony door. I’ve purchased additional Velcro because of my bug phobia. An hour later, the screen is in place and a breeze blows through the apartment. Spike curiously sniffs the screen and I begin to fear that she’ll walk through it, end up on the balcony and somehow fall three floors to her death. I devise a makeshift gate so she can’t get through. Frustrated, she looks at me and saunters away. I text my sister that Spike has already tried to escape. She responds that maybe she’s not escaping but wants the chair that is on the balcony. After all, that was her favourite chair to sleep in and it’s out of reach. I had put the chair on the balcony to make more room in the apartment. I thank her, drag the chair off of the balcony and Spike immediately jumps up and curls up on it; content that she has a safe perch to watch what’s going on. I vow to keep unpacking until everything is done. I unpack boxes and delete their names from the app and survey my progress as the room becomes less cluttered. I establish a “go hard” mentality and keep unpacking. The next few days are occupied with unpacking, taking bins to the storage room and putting cardboard boxes in the recycling. Every day I smile knowing that I’m where I want to be.
My first day back to work is a joy – and had nothing to do with the job itself. For weeks I had been contemplating that first morning when I can get up at a normal time and walk to work. I have a spring in my step and life is good. Nothing can dampen my spirits. A few people ask me about my commute and we laugh because I am no longer part of that scene. I am content. People ask me what I’m doing with all of my new found free time. I smile and say that I’m settling in. But there is a part of me nagging at the back of my head, heeding Susan’s cautionary words of making sure that I had things to do so I didn’t fall into a funk. For the most part, I am successful. However, after 3 weeks of keeping myself busy, I am conflicted by the desire to be doing things and the feeling that I just want some down time. I tell myself that it is normal and to be expected and that cocooning is a good thing. It had been a hectic few months of things at work, packing, moving and, who could forget, the car accident. Just a little extra pressure and stress to add to things.
So after fulfilling my commitment of volunteering at the dog rescue centre, I decide that I owe myself a treat of not doing anything. Just 24 hours of chilling. I had a few minor things to do the following Saturday but, after that, I would do nothing. That is my plan.
I spend the whole week thinking about it and just relishing in the thought of kicking back, doing nothing. Friday night comes and I’m on the couch. I need something to do. After all, I just can’t lie on the couch and watch TV. Well, I could but I didn’t want to. I think back to the many years when I was married and my ex was working on the weekend. I used to quickly do grocery shopping on Saturday morning and then spend the rest of the weekend on the couch reading. His return each night was viewed as an intrusion into my quiet time. I smile to myself. I have found my alternative to TV.
I power up my laptop and update my budget to make sure I am on track for the month. Satisfied that I wouldn’t be rolling pennies and eating Kraft Dinner for the balance of the month, I shut down the laptop and start thinking about my next task – reading. I have a few books that I’ve purchased that I could dive into. Plus I have a half-finished book on my nightstand. I had started reading it when I was with my mom in the hospital. I never finished it and had vowed to. However, I can’t bring myself to pick it up. A scary/thriller was not what I was in the mood for. I power up the laptop again and go to the Kobo website. What are people downloading? What are they recommending? I search a few of my favourite authors, read some synopsis, and start dismissing everything. As I flip from screen to screen, images of different books appear – thriller, romance, drama, humour. The image for 50 Shades of Grey appears. I had read a lot about it – some good things and some not so good things. My hand paused, hovering over the mouse. Did I really want to buy a trilogy of what some people were referring to as “mommy porn”? I am intrigued but can’t justify the purchase to myself. I keep flipping through and finally find something to read. My index finger clicks on the “add to cart” icon and I am on my way to downloading my weekend read.
After I successfully download the book, I sit back on the couch and begin reading. My cat looks at me because I am doing nothing but lie on the couch. Apparently that is her role and not mine.
When I’m finished, I sit back on the couch and power off my eReader. I tell myself that I have to prepare for the reality of Tuesday and heading back to work. Cocoon time is over. Reading time is over. I look at my reality. I have done nothing for two and a half days. I feel myself slipping into the funk that Susan warned me about. The dark hole where it’s easy to stay and hide from the world. The Gotye song is playing on my iPhone – the Glee version with Matt Bomer (naturally) singing “You can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness… Like resignation to the end, always the end…..”. His voice is so soft. I start to think about me, where I’ve been and what I’m doing and the emptiness of it all. My adventure of living alone is not looking so adventurous as I settle into a routine of doing nothing. I start to look around my tiny apartment and no longer find it cheery and welcoming. It feels like a prison. I start to get claustrophobic. It hits me – I’m all alone. Utterly and complete alone.
The thought, “Be careful what you wish for” floats to the front of my brain. It’s what I wanted for so long. How long? I’m not sure. I was happy for most of my marriage and thought he was “the one” and it would be forever. I never saw myself leaving after 25 years. I never thought that I’d be moving away from my sister and my niece. Even my niece used to joke that she would always have a place in her home for her mom and her auntie forever. It warmed my heart to know that. Forever is a word that has a lot of commitment behind it. My mind flashes back to my childhood. My mom used to sign her cards to my Dad with “Love you always”. My dad used to caution her and say that ‘always’ was a long time. She used to look up to him, beaming with love. The chinks in the marriage started appearing when I was about 16 or 17. They separated off and on for years. He cheated on her repeatedly. She took him back. Finally she had enough and it was over. He was controlling and she was submissive.
My father wanted my mom to be a stay-at-home-mom. Even when we were in our teens and didn’t come home for lunch, he wanted her at home. Turns out he wanted her at home for him and not for us. When she was in the hospital, she told me that once she was finally allowed to go out and work, she got to see and hear how other marriages worked. Decisions were made as a team. She said that my Dad always asked her opinion and she could freely voice it (although sometimes it ended up in an argument). But my Dad called the shots and, even though she got to say her piece, he didn’t care about her opinion. He would just listen and then decide what he wanted to do anyway. I recall snippets of conversations where he would say he made a certain decision because he listened to my Mom. It turned out that he only gave her “credit” for decision-making when the decision blew up. Good decisions were always his idea.
It’s Friday night again. I’ve been in my apartment for 1 month. I decide that I’m not going to have another lazy weekend. I have to make myself do things. I get home after 5 and decide that I’m not just going to do nothing. I have a lamp on a timer and the it comes on at 7pm. I decide to work until the light comes on and then I will make dinner. Easy peasy. I look around my apartment and try to decide what to tackle first. I had purchased a new bathroom cabinet – the kind that goes behind the toilet – 2 weeks ago. It was still sitting in the box by the front door. I decided that I will put it together. I had looked at the instructions in the store and it seems simple enough. I open the box and begin. I finish at 8:30. It’s only when I try to bring it into the washroom that I realize that I put one piece on backward. I’d have to take it all apart to fix it. I decide against it. I’m proud of my accomplishment. I tidy up and collapse on the couch. I’ve done something. Now I have to make dinner. I’m starving and tired. Dinner consists of microwave mac’n cheese and a glass of Hypnotiq. I watch some recorded shows and contemplate tomorrow’s activities. I’m on a roll and don’t want to stop. There are so many things to do and I’m still having trouble with space management. That’s “code” for I have too much stuff. I decide that I will just start doing one thing at a time until I’m done. I check the weather report and see that Saturday will be sunny. Perfect day to run errands. Sunday will be rainy. Perfect day to finally hang the sheers. I keep putting that task off. It’s not easy but it’s not difficult. I think I just don’t want to fuss with all of the steps. However I know I will be pleased with the finished product.
I start to mentally list the errands but don’t write them down. “Sure, I’ll remember this.” Turns out I forgot half of the list and half of the things I was supposed to buy at the grocery store. Who forgets to buy toilet paper? Satisfied that I have this all under control, I turn on my laptop to download some music. I fall asleep as sweet music fills my ears.
I wake up at 4am and I’m famished. The mac’n cheese did not hold me through the night. I decide to toast a bagel. I stand in the kitchen, my stomach growling, and place a bagel in the toaster. Spike sits in the doorway, secretly hoping that I will feed her too. Not a chance. I poor myself a glass of milk and will the toaster to toast faster. Finally, it’s done. I spread some peanut butter on the bagel, grab my glass and head into the livingroom. I flip on the TV. Naturally there isn’t anything on. I have a ton of stuff recorded and begin to go through the list. Nothing interests me. But if I don’t start watching soon, my pvr will be full. I’m in the mood for a laugh so I watch Craig Ferguson. He doesn’t disappoint. I watch three episodes and, as the sun comes up, I decide it’s time to go back to bed.
My sleep is restless. I’m not sure why. I toss and turn for the next three hours and finally get up at 10. I have a full day ahead of me. I roll over and give Spike a rub. She looks at me. I think she’s trying to tell me to stay in bed and spend a lazy day with her. Reluctantly I get up and head to the shower. That should wake me up. I dress and head out.
The traffic is heavy. I guess I’m not the only person to run errands on a Saturday. First on the list is a new phone. My cordless phone was no longer holding its charge. I replaced the battery six months ago and it wasn’t holding the charge. I decide I’ll check out a clearance outlet. I go the address on their website only to find it’s gone. Damn! Driving for nothing. I decide to head to costco. Maybe they have phones. Yes, they do. Only they’re expensive and cordless. I wander the aisles in search of the next thing on my list. A waterjug. I find a Brita and grab it off the shelf. I keep wandering around and head to the book section. I stand in line and put my purchases on the conveyer belt. I stare straight ahead and wait my turn. The lady in front of me is arguing with the cashier – one of her items was on sale and it was rung in at full price. I wait patiently while the supervisor comes in, hears the story, and then overrides the price so the customer gets her discount. My turn. The cashier takes my membership card and then slides the purchases over the scanner and places them on the other side of the register. I stand there for a moment and then I remember that costco doesn’t have bags. She hands me my receipt, I gather my purchases and head to the exit. I present my receipt to the door person, she nods and I walk out. I walk quickly to my car and place everything into the trunk. One more thing off of the list – even though I ended up buying one thing that wasn’t on the list.
I scan the parking area and see a BestBuy. Maybe they will have reasonable phones. Nope.
As I run my errands I keep thinking about the money I’m spending. I hate that everything boils down to money.
Diary of a DOW 