Saturday, December 24, 2022

Про Грінча який украв Різдво

I meant to post this entry yesterday. Whoops.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

There’s a key on the MacBook’s keyboard that lets me switch between the keyboards for different languages… I’ve got a switching shortcut programmed for my bluetooth keyboard, but I always manage to go from italics to Ukrainian when I don’t mean to. Since I’ve changed my computer usage and mainly work glued to two monitors, I can get rid of the shortcut and just press the button on the Mac.

ЦРН вшв ерфе ефлу ищ дщтп ещ аштв? Um, WHY did that take so long to find?

Exactly.

 

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For Christmas, my husband gave me an early “present”. He’s not going to Marathon Weekend with me.

I had talked about skipping out, true, but in the end, I want to see how far I could go.

I mean, it might be for the best, but…

When he’s around, I feel bad going to the meetups. I missed hanging out with the RTI crew during Wine and Dine because of him. But… it’s like that every time we go somewhere. One of us is always awkward and it is uncomfortable as fuck for the other one. That’s why he didn’t go to Homecoming with me. It’s why I don’t go to Ohio with him.

Also, I’m a complete shit during the Disney races. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I’m a petulant brat.

Also, also, I don’t like going to the Disney parks. They’re overcrowded and I’m just not a Disney fan, but I’m too tired and cranky to go to Universal.

He’s using the excuse that he doesn’t want to go to the parks because they suck.

Which, OK, fair… but when I told him it wasn’t about going to the fucking parks, it was about supporting me, I got an “I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s also paranoid about the dog.

Guinness is getting old and it’s starting to show. His right leg doesn’t really work the way it’s supposed to anymore. He doesn’t freak out when the doorbell rings. He can’t get up on the couch anymore.

And now, he’s starting to lose control of his bowels. He’s taken 4 or 5 craps in my car on the way to day care. This last time, we were at the light right before the parking lot and he got up and… well. Yeah. And then he sat in it. Because it wasn’t enough to crap, he had to rub it into the blanket. You try cleaning out a car with some wet paper towels and then having to drive to work with the windows open and hope that airs it out. (I should really start carrying that special cleaner we bought for this specific purpose.)

Last night, he woke the husband up and didn’t even make it out of the bedroom.

So, Guinness is his other reason… in addition to all that, there’s a distinct change in the dog’s personality after he’s been boarded for several days (not a good one.) And, let’s be honest, the husband doesn’t deal with death well. Which puts me in the awkward position of hoping that the dog has the kindness to kick the bucket once I’m home (assuming that his expiration date is in the next few weeks as the husband seems to believe.) Personally, I think that the dog will live forever because I hate paying for day care and, on a good day, Guinness is nothing if not pure, unadulterated, evil.

I’m afraid to tell him that I had a dream last night where Guinness got hit by a car and died. I also thought at one point this morning that he stopped breathing.

I’m not saying a damn word because it will make everything worse, but I knew when it was time to let go of both Arsey and Apache. I’m not saying it’s his time… I’m just saying I’m on high alert. My dreams aren’t always harbingers, but sometimes they are.

I mean, fuck, I’m nervous, too, but he’s an eleven year old German Shepherd. Our Aussies both made it to thirteen, so I pray he’ll make it to that age.

Even with that all taken into consideration, I’m pissed off, disappointed, and hurt beyond belief that the husband doesn’t want to be there for me.

So… long story short, I’m more miserable than ever. I’m scraping rock bottom and it’s beginning to show.

It also doesn’t help that this is my first year-end at the new job and I have a fuck ton of stuff to do by January 10th (according to the old Controller’s schedule.) I’ll be at Disney from the 4th to the 9th. I have a feeling I’m taking my laptop… since I’ll be alone any way, I don’t feel too bad. BUT… it also makes me want to revert to my original decision of just eating the $600 for the Dopey bib and staying home.

I don’t fucking know any more.

 

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In happier news, I’m working on making some significant changes in my life. Are they still New Year’s resolutions if I decide to do them before Christmas?

I haven’t really embraced the three words concept for a few years. I’ve just gotten lazy, but I think it’s time to bring them back. (Disclaimer: the three words idea is from my beloved friend CC’s book, “Amazing Things Will Happen”. You should really read it.)

SO.

For this year, my three words are:

PHYSICAL: A little too encompassing, maybe, but all the things that fit under this are related. I want to get past this roadblock with my running. I want to lose weight. I want to finally kick Dopey’s ass in 2024 since it’s a given that it probably won’t happen this year. I want to feel better / get into a shape that isn’t rotund. (Although, I still don’t get anything positive out of running. I want a runner’s high, damnit! I demand the ability to consistently have a runner’s high for Christmas. You hear that, fat man?)

MENTAL: Also a little too broad, but again, when I put together my list of things I wanted to manifest this year, I kept finding things that are related. I want to read more. I want to engage in hobbies I used to love. I want to learn Ukrainian. And Polish.(Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment. Polish is supposedly a very difficult language to learn.) I want to do the things that make me feel whole and since my brain is my superpower… I want to keep it active. Zoning out to the Sims every night isn’t doing it and I can feel a difference in the way the depression affects me. Sometimes, being as self-aware as I am is a motherfucker.

SOCIAL: I want to make friends. It’s as simple as that. I lost my high school and college friends when I moved to Ohio. I fought hard to get some of them back when we moved to New Hampshire, but some of that was short-lived. Then we moved to Florida and the tenuous grasp I had on any of those friendships continues to lessen as the distance gets in the way. I have two friends in Florida - both from Facebook groups - and neither friendship has really taken off IRL, even though we live relatively close to each other.

And, related to word number three - what the holy fuck have I done?!? I signed up for a learn to play D&D session through the FRC.

ME!

Playing Dungeons & Fucking Dragons.

(I’m laughing my ass off at how that came out, btw.)

I have never been interested in D&D. NEVER.

But.

It’s a way to connect with more people. It’s a way to maybe take some of those random online names and make them friends.

There’s a few more ideas that I’ve had, but signing up for an online learn to play D&D class is a big enough jump for this weekend.

On that note, I’m going to grab my copy of Beginner’s Ukrainian and fight my way through the first chapter.

Saturday, October 01, 2022

Happy 40th, Epcot!

I really need to rethink my priorities.

I got tired of answering message after message during Irma (which was our first hurricane as Florida residents), so I started posting #bluedotupdates on my Facebook page. Normally with a screenshot of the current conditions. Of course, hurricanes are hard to predict. They can change course in the blink of an eye. Like, for Irma, it was headed straight for Sunrise, so we decided maybe it would be smart to go north west. Well, Irma decided to go there before we could totally make our minds up. Probably a good thing that we were frozen by fear…

We’re located between Miami and West Palm. Closer to Boca than Fort Lauderdale. We are often in the Cone of Uncertainty. We are often nervous. We are often scared. The #bluedotupdates are often soothing. People know where we are and how we’re fairing. While I can get exhausted thinking about what could happen, and answering the same “Are you guys OK” day after day, I appreciate that people care.

I mean, it’s not like I have many friends… mostly acquaintances. People I want to meet up with when they’re near… then blow me off after making tentative plans. And I get it - I absolutely suck donkey balls at staying in touch with people. I hate the phone, but I would rather talk than text. Texting takes too long and I’m never sure where the conversation actually ends. Quick likes on Facebook are more my speed, but they don’t breed intimate friendships.

I’m a fucking walking disaster.

But anyhoo… that’s not the point.

The point is that I’m Facebook friends with three members of my blood family. Two that I was really close to growing up and one that I became close with recently. M & C are my aunt’s daughters and L is my godfather’s oldest.

I’ll give you one guess as to who reached out to see if I was OK.

I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being hurt. I’m tired of letting that branch of the family tree live rent free in my head. (...And if you read the archives, I tend to say the same things about my mother.)

The sad thing is that I know therapy would probably help with bits and pieces of that, but every therapist I’ve ever seen wants to dive into the minutiae of my parents’ alcoholism, the physical and mental abuse my mother put me through… and I know that that’s probably the root of all my problems that are outside the scope of the bipolar.

But.

It’s easier to work through that shit here than it is to talk to a complete stranger. I don’t know. Despite everything, I’m still a little protective of my family. Not that they deserve it. (Well maybe my father does. He tried the hardest to do right by me… but the rest of them can go fuck themselves.) Here I can edit my word vomit. Dial back the emotions. Engage in unhealthy behaviours. *shrug*

Maybe I like constantly feeling like shit.

Who knows.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

In other news, and not really in order of importance:

• We went to Universal last weekend for Halloween Horror Nights. The only house worth the price of admission was the Halloween (1978) house. We had express passes - which is the only way to do the event, tbh - they’re great if we want to do certain houses more than once. (We can justify the cost of those since the HHN ticket is included in our annual pass.) Since we had early access, we were able to get into Halloween before the doors opened to the crowd. And it freaked me the fuck out. (That movie is the only one to consistently scare the shit out of me no matter how many times I’ve seen it. I hear the music and my blood runs cold.) We also got lost in the house. There was one room that was a hall of mirrors and… GAH! That, of course, was the one room we couldn’t find our way out of.  We used the express pass to go through it a second time (when the wait was two-ish hours) and it scared me even more the second time, despite knowing where the jump scares were.


• I’m running a ridiculous amount of races between now and Wine & Dine: 5K tomorrow, two 5Ks next weekend, a 5K the weekend after that, and a half marathon the weekend after that. Then, I take the weekend off for my first trip back to UConn in years. (And I almost got a room in Storrs before remembering that the football stadium is in East Hartford… I’m close enough to the stadium to walk to the game.) Have I mentioned that I HATE running?


• My Stetopher fic is a struggle. I haven’t figured out the actual plot yet, so it’s eleven chapters of backstory / exposition. I’m oddly OK with the struggle; it means the characters are more in character than most of my fan fic. I’m also loving bouncing in between the three characters thoughts. It’s a fun project, even if it makes me want to tear my hair out.


• I’ve taken a break from using italki for Ukrainian lessons. I’m not feeling it right now. I just haven’t found the right teacher and it’s frustrating. I found a (online, yet a true classroom setting) class based in NYC, affiliated with a Ukrainian group that I am familiar with and trust. When I was going through everything with the class organiser, I mentioned my struggles with italki. It boiled down to: there’s a huge difference between a native speaker trying to teach a language and someone who has been trained to teach that as a second language. I looked into teaching English as a Second Language a few years ago, and opted not to because I would essentially have to relearn English. Yeah. No. It tracks. Except now, I’m in the ridiculously odd position of using the Яблуко text for a third class. And, that book has been written in to the point where I have to retype the assignments because I can’t just take a photo of the page. Plus, the paper is C2S so I can’t write in pencil. It has to be pen, and it can only be one type of pen. (Staedtler triplus fineliner, if you must know. It’s the only one that doesn’t smudge… but who the fuck prints a textbook on coated paper?!?!)
  
  At any rate, we have that basic chapter one conversation: How are you? Fine. (Як справи? (Добре!)) What’s your name? Wendell (Як вас звати? (Вендел)) Where do you live? America (Звідки ви? (З Америки)) What’s your profession? Accountant (Яка ваша професія? (Бугалтер)) How old are you? 47 (Скільки вам років? (Сорок сім)) —and next thing I know, I’m in Beginner Two. ACK!!!! Also, it is an absolute bitch to switch between languages on the keyboard. First world problems?


Posted by Matty on 10/01 at 11:56 AM
#fuckPutin • completely random • Friends • polyglot in training • running • Travel • UCONN • ukrainian by blood • Permalink

Saturday, July 02, 2022

IT’S NEW SHOE DAY!

hold on to your sombreros, amigos… here we go again

I’m STILL cleaning out that damn bedroom because it is so hard to go through all that stuff.

And yes, I know that green folder holds love letters from MJR, blue from JH, and red from ML but I’m still going to read all of them. Actually, that’s a lie. I threw ML’s out without even opening the folder. He’s not The One Try 1, or The One Try 2. Yeah… JH became one of my closest friends after we broke up and I kind of wish that DS had written letters to compare them with. (And that, my friend, is a long story with lots of the weirdness that has come to be the norm in my life. All that to say, I’m friends with both of them still and those friendships are very different.)

MJR’s though. Those hurt to read… not like I wasn’t expecting that. Our relationship was… difficult. He was fucked in the head. I’m fucked in the head. He cheated on his girlfriend at the time with me. Then, he cheated on me with her. Yeah, yeah, ‘once a cheater, always a cheater.’ We haven’t spoken since then, but he used to check out my LinkedIn profile so much that I cancelled my account. I don’t know if LinkedIn stalking is a thing, but it certainly bothered me. And I just found him on Facebook. Because, of course, I had to look for him just now. He’s changed a lot (I barely recognised him with the beard, but his eyes! His eyes gave him away… they took my breath away back then and they still do. And THAT was unexpected, although I should know better.) He’s married to a woman whose name is oddly similar to the one of the woman he cheated on me with. Honestly, I hope it is her. Looking back, I was just a distraction from a relationship that wasn’t ready to click. It was so clear in retrospect - the way he’d bring her up and compare her to me even though I was supposedly the better choice. I still read every single letter and cried over every page.

I threw out a box of letters people had written me. People that I don’t remember even writing to, referencing things I’ve forgotten. I didn’t even read letters from my supposed best friend at the time. Wasn’t worth it. They can I say all they want about me, but they were just as bad. I don’t care what you think as long as it’s about me. The best of us can find happiness in misery.

But that stretch of memory lane, while “fun” to walk down, is not what spurred this entry.

I keep finding photos in the oddest places. In a box filled with bills to shred. In a box filled with letters from people - where the photos have abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with the letter writers. It’s like I’d just randomly shove shit in a box. Which I probably did, but whatever.

I found this amazing photo of my cousin and her father. He died several years ago and well… let’s just say that I wish had a photo like that of myself with my dad. I took a picture of it and sent it to her with the offer that I would mail her the original. Crickets. So I threw it out. Technically, if you want to split hairs, they’re NOT my family any more and therefore, fall under rule #2: thou shall not keep photos of people who aren’t family. I stick to the labels because it’s easy and I’m lazy, but honestly, they’ve been reduced to people I share a bloodline with. And that’s fine.

What’s not fine is that my aunt blocked me on Facebook. I mean, I can see her name on M’s posts but I’m blocked when I click on it. I see posts with multiple comments where it looks like people are having a one-sided conversation.

I’ve known she blocked me for years but seeing that photo of M and J hit me like a fucking boulder. Everything my aunt took from me just hit me all at once… I’m fucking crying again. It hurts. That’s a wound that will never heal and I have tried. Therapy. Journaling. Blogging. More therapy. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to let it heal. Subconsciously, of course. Consciously, I want that bitch out of my head.

What the fuck is it with that generation on that side of my family tree?!?!?!

It was so easy to get rid of my father’s side. I barely ever think of them, although I just did a quick google search. I couldn’t find anything but names and cell phone numbers and street addresses. (Privacy, much?) Oddly enough, no Facebook accounts to be found. Then again, my dad’s side has pretty generic names.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Context: I was never close to them growing up. Even though I had two cousins on that side. We were close enough in age that it should have been the three of us against the world. They could have been like my brothers… my dad wanted that for us so desperately. He adored them and would do anything for them.

Ike wanted to see me, so I invited him to Ohio. And it was so fucking weird. I can’t remember if my father was alive or dead at that point… but either way, he was concerned about me and wanted to see me. He’s blood and I felt like I had an obligation to make him feel better about things by being there for him.

Yeah. Obligation. Not love. Not even like.

Blood calls to blood, right?

At some point after my father’s death, I wrote a blog entry about… everything. Every thing negative about my father. Every thing I loved about him.

Chris called. Said they’d read it, and what the fuck was I thinking, airing my dirty laundry to the world.

(Oh, sweetheart, if you could only see me now.)

That was the last time I spoke to anyone on the Gee side of the family tree.

If I had known it was that easy, I would have done it years earlier.

Clarity. Closure. Cookies.

Saturday, May 21, 2022

#UntilTheVeryEnd… also, #FUCKWARNERBROTHERS

I watch too many horror movies and my husband is The Chicken is Boba Fett. There. That’s a thing you know now about my private life.

I’m done.

Just when I thought I couldn’t be any less motivated to run…

RTI just settled their lawsuit with Warner Brothers, which loosely translates to WB just killed a group that is filled with people who love their intellectual property so much that they band together under the name and use their combined energy to do #somuchgood.

Yeah.

The Potterhead Running Club is closing up shop.

And because the PHRC basically funds all the other RTI clubs, Whovian and Fandom are closing down as well. They hope to keep the FRC Fan Domain group active, but no more medals. No more Racery events. Some of the PHRC groups (like Book Club, Transfiguration, etc.) are spinning off and will continue to operate under different names with volunteers to keep them alive.

But it won’t be the same.

The Tower has always felt like home to me… but it’s lost its magic. Literally.

There’s no other way to put it.

I’m not OK with this.

Seriously.

I’ve been crying since the news broke.

I’ve needed the consistency and the friendship and the sense of family the clubs were filled with.

And now it’s going away.

And I don’t know what to do with myself.

 

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I joke all the time that I’m not all that great at the social part of social media.

But let’s call it what it is: I collect people and then I barely interact with them.  That’s why I have like 75 or 80 Facebook friends and most of my newsfeed is either (Ukrainian) bands or RTI groups. Anything more is overwhelming.

Shit, I haven’t spoken to my best friend, my little brother from another mother for two years now.

I’m just not good at it.

I keep coming back to the therapist that asked me why I don’t let people get close. Why I don’t let them help me through the Dark Days and The Ick.

I hate me during those times. I definitely don’t want to subject people I care about to that… which is why I am SO FUCKING HAPPY that my husband has been able to tolerate it.

We’ve been together since 1998 and got married in 2002. He’s a fucking saint.

A. FUCKING. SAINT.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

We’re doing a Stand with, or Support, Ukraine 5k locally tomorrow (whatever, I can’t remember the name). Proceeds are going to the Ukrainian Red Cross. I know they’re having problems selling the race, so who knows how much is actually going to Ukraine, but it’s still… something.

My tryzub sticker is on my car. We went shopping for shelving today and managed to fit it in the car. (I HAVE A TRUNK AGAIN! I might have started jumping up and down in the parking lot screaming my joy… have I mentioned my husband is a saint? Yup.) My Deathly Hallows is also on my car.

The only thing I’m missing are my race stickers. I can’t decide if I want to put them on now and add the marathon after, or do all four after and see if I can find a Dopey sticker.

I guess we’ll see…

 

Saturday, May 04, 2019

#kissesforbill

sweaty selfie :: big cat 5k :: palm beach zoo

This might be my last 5K with my husband. We normally walk them together, but he seems less and less interested. Plus, I want to start running them and he’s not going to do that. (Yet?)

On to Quidditch…

The dementors started running on the 2nd, giving the House teams a head start. Despite not being a competitive group, I’ve been outdoing myself to get the miles. I want to prove to myself more than anything that I can survive Quidditch and push myself to the point where the house teams are fighting themselves to get me in the Fall Quidditch “draft”.

Seriously.

Thursday, it was pouring so I hopped on the treadmill and planned to do a couch to 5K work out. Did that. Wasn’t tired, so I kept walking. Then it became a game to see how many miles I could go or for how long before I totally crapped out.

(This is the FUCK IT factor at work, by the way)

I crushed a little over 6 miles - a 10K.

Yesterday, I did a little over 5 miles.

Today, I did 3.3 at the Big Cat 5K and then hopped on the treadmill for another 1.7 as soon as we got home. No lie. It was the dementor power hour - all miles are doubled - so how could I sit on the couch? (FUCK IT! I can keep going…)

Tonight, I’m planning on taking the dog for a walk. Hopefully, the next PH will fall when I’m ready to drop my next batch of miles.

And for what it’s worth, I’m in 10th place for total miles in our group of 60. TENTH.

I’ve never done sixteen miles consecutively unless I was at Universal. I’ve done those sixteen in three days - thirteen which count towards PHRC medals. I’ve already claimed my last two 5Ks. I have a bunch of half marathon medals to complete. If I keep this up, I’ll have completed all the Potterhead/Whovian medals I have before Quidditch ends.

I’ll work on distances and speed soon. Right now I want to focus more on stamina. Making sure my fat ass doesn’t keel over, that sort of thing. I’ve been dropping weight, which is helping, so I’ve got that in my favour. Less weight means less strain on my knees and they’ve always been the first to get screwed up, whether it’s volleyball, marching band, skiing… I so much as think of being active and my knees act up.

I’m going to finish Quidditch and then go back to my training plans. Losing three weeks in my training won’t make a big deal because right now I’m paced to peak in early November. If I can shift peaking closer to December, I’ll still be fine for the Disney Half.

I think I’ve completely lost my mind, and I’m not sure I want to find it….