It was only a dream...

Okay, I will admit I have a few little OCD tendencies. My toenails must always be perfectly painted, I must always have lipstick close at hand, no one sees my house unless it is super clean, and my underwear almost always match what I am wearing.

Oh, and one other thing.

In the winter, my driveway is always immaculately shoveled.

Yes, even I go a little bit guy now and then.

I think it may be an illness of mine, and I believe I can even pinpoint the root of it. It stems from an unholy loathing of he whom I have deemed, "the god damned plow guy".

You see, I live in a townhome development. Every month, I pay a ridiculous amount of money to keep my lawn mowed, the pool staffed, and the driveways plowed. Really, I'm not sure what they do with all of the money, but it obviously isn't used to hire the most skilled of laborers to maintain my property. I'm starting to think that someone must be getting inordinately rich off of my assessment. Either that, or they are complete frickin morons.

The first winter I lived here, I was so naive and excited about the prospect of having someone plow my driveway. "How wonderful!" I thought. "All I'll ever have to do is shovel the sidewalk. This is beautiful."

Until the god damned plow guy came.

And kept the blade about 3 inches off the ground, packing everything down into one big sheet of ice.....until he got to my garage, where he pushed a bank (I kid you not) two feet tall against the door.

How could this be? Why is it that I now have to spend twice as long shoveling to chip away at the glacier that has inhabited my pavement? Is there no hope for humanity?

I called and complained. I was told they'd do better the next time.

So the next time? A repeat performance, with one exception. He also plowed about 10 square feet of grass in the corner of my yard against the garage door. It took until July for the lawn to grow back properly.

I called again. The nice lady apologized, and said they do their best, and she'd pass on the information.

They skipped my whole street the next time it snowed. Half of me was perturbed. The other half delighted in the fact that it only took me a half hour to clean my driveway.

I even salted, so it would look extra-nice.

Since then, it has become an obsession. If I know it's going to snow at night, I set my alarm super-early for the morning. It has become a race - I must get out there before the god damned plow guy arrives. If it's clean before he shows up, he leaves me alone.

Somehow in all of this, my neighbors stopped caring, and it drives me bat-shit crazy that they never lift a single shovel. One year, I even did their driveway several times, just because it looked so horrible. After all, how can anybody LIVE with that mess?? Their driveways are complete wastelands until a good thaw comes, and they slide like penguins toward the curb every time they go for the mail. They have given up the good fight. They have surrendered to the god damned plow guy.

Not I. It has become my mission to keep my driveway cleaner than the sidewalk at the old folks' home. Whether it snows a half an inch or a foot, I am out there, zealously shoveling, salting, and shaking my fist at the sound of the approaching plow. The lady next door actually said to me one day, "Gee, I wish my husband shoveled my driveway as well as you do yours!"

"Poke him," I said. "Or the god damned plow guy. Which ever makes you feel better."

Oh, and god damned plow guy? If I ever find out who you are, I'm calling your mother.

Then I'm going to have my kid come kick the crap out of you. He'll do it, if he believes it will get him out of shoveling just once.

-Denise Levertov

If it's chariots or sandals,
I'll take sandals.
I like the high prow of the chariot,
the daredevil speed, the wind
a quick tune
you can't quite catch
but I want to go
a long way
and I want to follow
paths where wheels deadlock.
And I don't want always
to be among gear and horses,
blood, foam, dust. I'd like
to wean myself from their strange allure.
I'll chance
the pilgrim sandals.

I want to write today, but I have no good topics. I think it's because I'm getting sick, and my brain is kind of whacked.

The one thing that's floating around my head today is light...how different lights affect how things look, and it varies from winter to summer, morning to evening, sun to bulb to flame, and inside to out.

I like snow-white morning light shining through my window the least.

Cold, antiseptic, bleached out and stark.

The best are the summer afternoons, fall campfires at sunset, and darkened rooms full of candles flickering in the wind.

Warm light. Yellows and oranges and reds.

Have I mentioned that I hate winter? I also hate being sick.

I need more tea.

Renee called a week or two ago, raving about a book she bought. This is not a common occurrence for her, as she's one of those crazy-busy-just-enough-free-time-to-breathe kind of people. Plus she's not terribly excitable. So I was moderately intrigued.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be a book that Oprah has raved about time and time again. Honestly? I think I'd generally rather dig my eyes out with a spork than join Oprah's book club. Call me a non-conformist. It's just one of those things. I smiled and nodded, and thought it was delightful for her.

She called back a few days later. "Have you read the book?" Um, no. I hadn't read the book. I haven't ordered mashed potatoes from KFC in ages, and am therefore running low on my spork supply. Sorry, but it's probably not going to happen. But really, I'm glad it's working out. That's fabulous.

Another few days, and the phone rings again. "You have to get the book," she says. By this point, I'm actually kind of intrigued. Since when does she feel so strongly about something that she insists I do it? Pretty much never. I decide it may not kill (or blind) me to check it out.

Today I found myself with my entire to-do list completed by early afternoon. I am on vacation this week, so that list included such gems as packing a box for mailing, washing the wine glasses in the sink, and napping. At 1:30 this afternoon, after deciding that sleeping 12 out of the last 24 hours was enough, I felt the need to get out of the house and forage for some food. First, though, I would stop by Barnes & Noble and see what all of the fuss was about with this book.

Oh, the title? Yeah. He's Just Not That Into You. *cue ominous music here* Written by a guy, aimed at smart, pretty women who just don't get it. Interesting concept, despite the Oprah endorsement.

I arrived at B&N, did my best furtive/nonchalant mosey into the self-help section, grabbed the book, and found a big comfy chair to sit in. I figured I would leaf through it, just to see if it was worth buying. After all, I wasn't about to spend $21.95 on something that didn't come with its own spork without at least taking a peek at it first.

Surprisingly enough, it was pretty funny. And thoughtful. And probably pretty accurate. And although it didn't change my life like I think it did Renee's, it reinforced a few things that I have known all along, neglected far too often, and have been starting to contemplate again as of late.

The one paragraph synopsis...

People do what they want to do (I actually said that to someone very recently...how apropos). You'll know when a man is into you, because he'll TELL you that he's into you. Excuses, disappearances, and bad behavior are, almost without fail, attempts to avoid admitting he's not really all that interested. Women, however, are pretty dumb sometimes. It's not rare for men to even say, "You know what, I'm not really interested..." and women to hear something totally different, like, "maybe I'll be interested if you wait long enough." (guilty as charged, I am ashamed to admit). If someone wants to be with you, they will make the time. Wild horses won't stop a guy from showing a girl he's really interested in that he wants to be with her. Women need to stop making excuses for men who aren't interested. It's not a character flaw. It's just the way the world works. Move on, and look for a better situation...because when it's right, you'll know.

So you know what? I ended up taking a lot of this to heart. I remind myself of the following:

• If he's not calling, you, it's because you are not on his mind.
• If he creates expectations for you, and then doesn't follow through on little things, he will do the same for big things. Be aware of this and realize that he's okay with disappointing you.
  
• Don't be with someone who doesn't do what they say they're going to do.
• If he's choosing not to make a simple effort that would put you at ease and bring harmony to a recurring fight, then he doesn't respect your feelings and needs.
• "Busy" is another word for "asshole". "Asshole" is another word for the guy you're dating.
• You deserve a fucking phone call.

Yeah, I read the whole book while sitting in the big comfy chair, and ended up buying a copy for a friend of mine. If nothing else, it's food for thought. Men aren't evil, and they aren't stupid. Women just don't always understand that they are very different from us. We have to stop imposing our own ideas onto their actions. If he's into you, you'll know. Lying to yourself doesn't do anybody any good, after all.

He's Just Not That Into You
(Go ahead, click the link. You know you want to...it's a quick, fun excerpt. No spork required).

My grandpa just called. He wanted to make sure I was okay, because yesterday, while we were celebrating Christmas at my parents' house, he said I looked so tired that "the funeral home guys should have been waiting right outside." He told me that I should rest and take a few days off, because at the rate I'm going, I'm not going to make it much longer.

I told him that I am fine, and I was just tired. I promised to take it easy this week, since I'm on vacation and finally have very little left on my to-do list. I didn't tell him anything else. He's almost eighty-two, and doesn't need to worry about me. He is the sweetest, most wonderful man in the world, and he deserves to believe that everything is okay with the world.

It's funny, though. As I hung up the phone, I remembered that it was recently pointed out to me that I am fiercely (if not over zealously) protective of my pride. I couldn't argue the point, of course. It is a completely true statement.

I fully realize that I am a high-maintenance, very emotional person. I also realize that it is not fair to inflict my moods on the rest of the world. I am therefore painstakingly careful to keep as much of the rollercoaster as possible to myself. I will do everything in my power to avoid being accused of playing the drama queen, and I will think twice (if not more) before responding to an issue to which I have an emotional reaction. If I can at all help it, the worst the world will ever see is that I am, in fact, tired.

I hate a lot of things that are going on right now. I am angry, hurt, and burned out on the world. But I laughed on the phone with my grandpa, and I sent a level-headed, careful text reply to someone who crushed my day today. I called my mother to wish her a Merry Christmas, I called my son (who is with his dad all week) to tell him I love him, I took a long hot bath, and I am now writing to remind myself that when you have nothing else, it is good to at least be able to hold on to your pride.

If you handle yourself with dignity in the face of adversity, you can stay warm, even when you're completely alone. No one can take away your pride unless you let them.

As long as I can maintain that poise, I can not be broken.

I refuse to be broken.

I read this today, and it gave me a great chuckle.

Mr. Fabulous strikes again.

...and never look back.

There is no peace in the past.

Don't assume it is passive
or easy, this clarity

with which I give you yourself.
Consider what restraint it

takes: breath withheld, no anger
or joy disturbing the surface

of the ice.
You are suspended in me

beautiful and frozen, I
preserve you, in me you are safe.

It is not a trick, either,
it is a craft:

mirrors are crafty.

-Margaret Atwood
"Tricks with Mirrors"

I was talking with my best friend, R, tonight. She's been going through a lot over the last year or so, and there have been stretches in which we haven't spoken at all...for months, even. As she lives in Pennsylvania, it's not like I can just drop in and check on her whenever I feel like it. But when one of us really needs the other, we're always there.

That's the great thing about best friends. You don't HAVE to talk all the time. You can always just pick up where you left off.

Over the last month or two, we've been catching each other more often, which is good. And tonight, we talked about what's been going on, what we've both been up to, and how bizarre our lives are. We came up with a few conclusions.

1. Everyone in the world really is fucked up in one way or another. Don't believe me? Think of the ten people to whom you are closest, and do the math. They all have their own special freakiness, don't they?

2. The key to life is surrounding yourself with people whose fucked-up-ed-ness you can identify with. Whose odd little tendencies are not only tolerable, but almost endearing? Those should be your friends, lovers, and confidants. Find them, hold on to them. Forever.

3. Everyone also has their own insecurities. They get us in a lot of trouble, don't they? We tend to talk about those ad nauseum, and focus on how we need to get past them. On the flip side, however, are the little vanities that are equally dangerous. We tell ourselves, "Hey, I can do this! I can make this (job, relationship, situation) work. I'm good enough to do this, and nobody can stop me!" What we tend to forget is that there are some things that can be done, but shouldn't. We confuse strength with stamina. Sure, you can do it....but can you do it for an extended period of time? And do you want to? (We focused mainly on relationships, but I have to be fair and apply it across the board. Really, though, think about how many relationships begin with an assumption that a person's idiosyncrasies drive you nuts...but you just know that you can put up with them if you try hard enough?)

4. Communication is a lot harder than it looks. Deciding how much to say is always the biggest issue, I think. You can't bottle everything inside forever, because it's likely to fester. You also can't just spew out every thought that comes to mind...because then you lose credibility and perspective. If you're always talking, then the important things get lost in the shuffle.

5. Remember, fun is the center of dysfunction.

6. If you can't make a decision, it's often best not to force it. Wait until you have enough facts, and a clear enough mind, to take a position. More often than not, the right answer will come to you, given enough time.

7. Ice cream is good for the soul.

8. A good friend is someone who sees you for who you are, and not what you present to the world. R made it a point to laugh after telling me that if she didn't know me better, she'd think I was some kind of superwoman. (I laughed, too. It's actually pretty funny.) "You work hard, you raise a child, you are always going to these soirées, board meetings, social events...and your house is always clean! If they only knew that you go home and lay awake all night with neurotic worry, and just how screwed up your view of the world is, their image of you would be blown." I love her for that, because she can say such things completely without malice - and my fucked-up-ed-ness is endearing to her (and vice versa).

9. The people we love can be taken from us at any time without notice. Cherish them. (I've been thinking of this one a lot lately. It seems I've seen more than my share of death and dying lately. I'd like it to stop soon, please.)

10. You can't always be you. Sometimes, life throws you curve balls, and it throws you off kilter. You have to adapt to the situation and deal with it...but you can't forget who you are in the process, because sooner or later, those inherent traits that make you you will find a way back in. No matter how you change and grow, some things just are. Hold on to them, because they're the reasons that the people closest to you love you.

Now it's time for me to go lay in bed and worry...lol. If you have a bottle of wine, feel free to stop by and share neuroses!