Freedom from

Freedom from

It’s not okay with me that people modify their vehicles to make excess noise. Do people not understand that noise causes stress? I think they do understand, as it’s evident many people who make their vehicles noisy, whether by pipes, bass, or loud music, get a kick out of bothering other people and pushing their buttons. Not saying it’s the prime motivation for all, but for jerks it’s part of being cool.

So, I was trying to work in this heatwave, with the window open of course, and I heard something like a straining semi-truck or a revving mud-bogging truck with no muffler. It went on and on. I mean even if it went for five seconds it’d be enough to interrupt me.

And, no, I can’t wear earplugs and a construction earmuff on top as I do at other times, because I have to listen to recordings to do my work. And it’s ridiculous I have to double down on soundproofing to have peace, but I do. I realize other people block it out wih TV and their deafness, but I don’t have a TV, and I’m not deaf. It’s a blissful hour when I can play my doumbek music and dance. I don’t notice crap noise much during that hour.

So I look out to see what monstrosity is making such a racket and it’s the nondescript vehicle above. A nondescript young person exits and waits outside the building for apparently a girlfriend. I guess when you appear utterly bland in every way, having the most obnoxious sounding car in town helps you stand out. Not sure obnoxious is better than bland, but that’s just me.

While writing this post, I heard thumping again. Tracked it down a block away at the teen centre. Some deejay thing. Nice waste of time and getting overheated for me to walk over there to whack a mole and get freedom from putting up with a second heartbeat in my body for no good reason.

 

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Dating?

Well, I have been pretty interested in carbon dating and things like that, during my life time. Isotopes are so neat. Alpha and beta particles, half-lives, and the odd deadly gamma radiation. Olav Lian at UFV, luminence dating. Cool! One of the coolest things in my geomorphology class.

Now I’m 55 and holding, old, grey, divorced, or as Monty Python would name it, “my ex-wife, FatBoringOld.” Out of the blue, a very nice and apparently sane man in my Scrabble group gave me his number so we could play Scrabble together without the PITA autistics running the group. People who are antisocial and staring at their phones, making strange noises and no eye contact, upset about things that no one else wants to hear about. A guy gave me his phone number, first time ever. Yes, really. No, it’s not a date, but still. A new experience.

Fast forward two days and there’s a goddamn knock on my door. What now? Holy crap, it’s a neighbour I’ve known for five years. Again wanting to be friends when I move. Gives me his phone number… not just that…and some chocolate… and… what? He asked me out for lunch? Today? No, I already had lunch.  Maybe tomorrow.

No guy has ever asked me out to lunch. I don’t need lunch. I don’t look like I need lunch.

More importantly, i just got divorced a month ago, am interested in fixing my life, not dating. So these guys’ gestures that would have been gratefully appreciated 35 years ago are at best anomalous. WTF, eh? I’m uncomfortable with this.

 

Solitary Sunday

Solitary Sunday

Title above makes a song pop into my head, as so often happens. Words and rhythms trigger memories of related words and rhythms. Right now, that song is “Manic Monday which was a giant hit in some time past and keeps coming back on the radio or as background music in stores, because it’s a catchy confection, I suppose. “Wish it was Sunday”? Though I do understand that sentiment when one has a fulltime job, I can’t say that’s relevant to me now.

I sure want a fulltime “real” job – because I want a good mortgage on a good property, a home where I can live out the rest of my days with some space for a garden. A real garden, not some community garden or mercy plot in an apartment complex, as I have now. I want fruit trees and berry bushes, again. I want to own the land so someone is much less likely to be able to swoop in and have a big influence on my use of it. I want a real job and acreage.

But today is Sunday. Generally I don’t mind spending most of my time alone. I’ve been feeling really good this week, too. Then I was out watering my little garden and many people in the building coming and going on their weekend activities. There is a nice couple with two kids, and I saw them drive out in their car, park, and wait a bit outside the building. I saw them as a couple, whereas I usually interact with each one of them separately. And I felt that pang of lack of connection, lack of coupleness in my life. I felt the sorrow welling up as I walked back to my place. Turbulence developed, just like water starting to boil. And finally the tears came, fully felt.

I felt the lack of even a group of friends I can turn to. Most of my friends are Internet friends. I have some work colleagues. I have acquaintances. I always wanted close friends and never had them. I could never find people to be close with. The few people that wanted to spend time with me were, frankly, tiresome. I spent the time, tried it out, and wanted to get away. I’m enjoying my bellydance classes and the friendly bellydance community, and I’m looking forward to attending more events, but this is new and no friends there yet.

The many people I’ve wanted to spend time with weren’t interested or said things like “We have to get together for” lunch, coffee, whatever. But I’ve been told – because it’s not the kind of thing I can figure out for myself – that this is a typical Vancouver thing people say but don’t mean it. I’m sure the pattern is broader than just the Vancouver area.

And with such difficulty fitting in, never mind belonging, how am I ever going to find a job at all, never mind one I’m actually content in. “That ship has sailed” keeps coming to mind. Too late for me, at my age. Not that I was ever any good at it, at any age. I don’t fit, belong, and there is nothing for me. Yes, I’m crying, but I’m not despairing. It’s a factual description of the overall pattern of my life. A summary. I’m trying to make the future different. I’m trying to change it. I want a real job. I want to belong.

I am still having difficulty connecting with people. And myself, being real, authentic, not trying to be someone I’m not. I’m sick of that and it doesn’t work for me. My teaching job was like that, an everyday undercover role play. I like learning, so I was able to teach/facilitate it, and I’m organized and responsible, but this constant fake front was terribly exhausting. My free time involved recuperating. I don’t look like an introvert, but I still am one.

My marriage was too much togetherness, but I didn’t have enough self-knowledge to know that and give myself what I needed. I was waiting til we moved to a bigger place, so I could have space of my own. Never happened. Anyway, point being I’m an introvert and lots of jobs are okay for that. I can handle working with others and even a tiny bit of office socializing. but I think heavy-duty office politics would kill me. I’m clueless about those. Explanations in hindsight blow my mind re other people and how they act and think. People in groups. Yikes.

And yet I really want connection – with more than one individual, ie a group of a kind. But not the kind of group you study in sociology. I took a college class in that once. What a mistake! I. Don’t. Understand. It. (As the kids say nowadays.)

What if I go around and just be me? Well, people will think I don’t like them. I’ve had more than one person tell me that! Because one day I engaged with that person and they were taken aback, and after a while explained they thought I didn’t like them. It’s because I’m socially clueless about the normal friendly social lubricant stuff. It feels so fake to me. At least I can be mostly in touch with my own emotions. I’d say more than half the time now, so that is a huge improvement over uncomfortably numb almost all the time.