Goodbye, 2008

Happy End to 2008!

If this wasn't the worst year of my life, it was at least in the top two. The last time I went through something like this was in 1991. Like cicadas, my depressions are on a 17-year cycle. I expect rough times again in 2025.

The good news is that I've bounced back a little from my lowest point on Sunday. It's nothing so dramatic as being saved by an angel trying to earn his wings, but I got a reality check and realized things are never so black and white. I have a gracious family that loves and supports me. I may have my faults and be annoying and obnoxious at times, but I do add value.

The good thing about hitting rock bottom is that it lowers your expectations. Doing things like getting out of bed or shopping for groceries or feeding your cats are accomplishments you can be proud of. And as someone pointed out, depression is easy to treat. It's the easiest mental illness to cure.

After holiday travels it feels good to be home again. There are lots of diversions here that allow me to escape the real world.

Tonight I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party by my friend who works in SnarkEx's office. I met him at one of her office parties a year ago. He and his wife have been a great source of support this past year. They're throwing a party tonight, and although they're inviting a lot of office people, SnarkEx is not on their list. They prefer my company to hers. So I've got that going for me.

I'm looking forward to the party and saying goodbye to the worst year of my life.

My George Bailey Moment

This year for Christmas there were only two things that I wished for:

1. That SnarkEx would have a miserable holiday

2. That I would start liking myself again

Now it's to the point that I don't have enough energy for my first wish. I'm too busy trying to fend off my own self-loathing.

Five years ago, the last time I tried internet dating, I could choose from lots of good pictures of myself to post on my profile. The person I saw staring back at me looked confident and fun. I can't find any pictures of myself from the past year that give me that same feeling. I don't like the person in those pictures any more.

I'm having a George Bailey moment, pre-Clarence. I've realized in the past few weeks that I don't like myself. I don't know if I have anything to offer the world.

I failed as a husband. I'm a whiny, burdensome brother. I criticize. I'm no good at dating. I throw tantrums on the tennis court, even when I'm determined not to. I'm a bad uncle who takes no interest in the lives of his nephews and nieces. I take my family for granted. I'm a slacker at my uninspiring job. I say the wrong things. I'm not good at giving. I sabotage potential new friendships with my neediness.

I add no value.

In nine months I've made no progress toward being a better person and getting over my divorce. In fact, I've gone in the wrong direction. I've become more of an asshole.

Have you ever been so tired that you couldn't sleep? So hungry that you couldn't eat? Right now I don't think I could recognize my own personal Clarence if he knocked on my door. Which he won't, because life is not a movie.

Real life is not always so wonderful.

Mocked By Commerce

Microbiology.com is mocking me.

Not on purpose, of course. They just want my online dating business. So they keep sending me emails that say things like, "Don't let your dating life go on holiday" and "Warm up your winter with Microbiology" and "Find someone to be thankful for in Snarktown" and "Who needs mistletoe when you have Microbiology?" and "Ring in the New Year with a kiss!"

They may think that this is great marketing, but all of their invitations to find love just taunt me. Because I've tried their site. I've tried all of them.

No one is interested in me.

I resent how easy they make it sound. As if all I have to do is pay $49.99 a month and I can have all the love I want.

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There was a billboard in my town a few months ago that declared, Married people earn more money. Underneath that was the slogan Marriage Works.

Apparently the sign was sponsored by a misguided campaign to lower teenage pregnancy rates. (How does encouraging marriage prevent pregnancy? Wouldn't birth control be a better solution?) Other billboards in the series claim that married people:

• live longer
• enjoy better health
• have lower rates of substance abuse
• are happier
  

Thanks for calling me a loser, billboard.

Hey, I know being married is better than being single. You don't have to convince me. But the sign implies that getting married is as easy as opening up a savings account. There are legions of people who would love to get married, but haven't found the right person yet. Or who tried marriage and failed. (And what about gays, who can't legally get married?) Way to taunt all those lonely people!

This is like putting a billboard in a poor neighborhood that says, "Rich people are happier. Wealth Works." Oh, is that all poor people need to do? They should just get rich!

I know that I'm not the target audience for the billboard, but it still pisses me off. If Marriage Works so well, then why do I see divorce all around me?

Masochist

Famous Lines From My Divorce, Vol 5:

Me: Are you interested in Skeezgeek?
SnarkEx: [Pause] Yes.
Me: Has anything happened with him yet?
SnarkEx: [Pause] No.... [She looks like she's struggling to decide whether to tell me something, or how to say it.]
Me: Well, let me just say right now that if you do hook up with him, that's a deal breaker for me.
SnarkEx: [Visibly angry] I'm not coming back. I don't love you.

My theory is that she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but I'll leave that up the ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

Skeezgeek is a friend of SnarkEx's. I never liked him. He's a weird mixture of obnoxious, creepy, and geeky. He wears pieces of flare everywhere he goes; a grown man who goes around wearing dozens of buttons on his jacket and kitschy objects hanging around his neck. In the weeks leading up to SnarkEx moving out, she was on the phone with him a lot. Ironically, his wife had just left him.

Prior to that, I can't remember her ever talking to him on the phone, so it's not like he was her BFF. Skeezgeek had been the roommate of SnarkEx's ex-boyfriend-- the one she dated for two years before she met me. After they broke up, SnarkEx remained friends with her ex and his large circle of friends.

One time I came home and SnarkEx was on the phone. At the end of the call she said, "I love you, too." I thought she was talking to her parents or brother. I asked her who it was and she said Skeezgeek. My skin crawled. Did she just tell another man, who's not been a big part of her life the past three years, that she loved him?

And Skeezgeek, of all people? Her attraction to the Committee Chairman I could at least understand. He was charismatic and compelling. But the Skeezgeek thing made me seriously question her judgement. As one friend remarked, "I hope she has better taste in men than to date that freak."

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When I was a kid I used to take a toothpick and work it around my teeth and gums til they would bleed.

I don't know why I did it. I must have liked the sensation. I didn't do it very often, and grew out of the phase pretty quickly. At any rate, I know I haven't done it in at least 25 years.

These days, if I want to have a sensation similar to jabbing my gums until they bleed, I do things like check SnarkEx's online journal. Which I did today.

For the past eight months I've been good. I hadn't checked the site since last April, back when she was still trying to convince people we were just in a trial separation. Back then I was still part of her "friends" network, so I could read her private posts.

She wrote about our separation, saying things like "This has been a long time coming" and "I'm not optimistic." Long time coming? Really? That's news to me. I guess statements like "I'm so happy to be married to you" were just a diversion.

The worst thing I read on her online journal involved Skeezgeek. We were separated and she wrote something like, "I feel loved because Snark called me last night." I read that the day after I had called her in the hope of possible reconciliation. At first it made me feel great. Unfortunately, Skeezgeek and I have the same first name (which for the purposes of this blog is "Snark.") So Skeezgeek felt the need to comment on her post, "That was me Snark, not the other Snark." I checked the date on her post. It had been written two days earlier, before I had made my phone call. SnarkEx confirmed this in her comment-reply to Skeezgeek, and I think she also took a dig at me, but I don't remember what she said exactly.

This was devastating for two reasons: 1.) She wasn't happy that I had called her after all, and 2.) She was happy (felt loved) that Skeezgeek had called her. And let's throw in an extra helping of obnoxiousness that Skeezgeek had to point out this difference in his comment. See! Me! I'm the Snark she likes! He's just the other Snark.

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Yesterday I was bored at work, since the semester is coming to a close and I've had one reference question over the past four days. So I logged into the social networking/blogging site where SnarkEx has her journal. I have a few of my own friends there, too.

I read SnarkEx's most recent public post. (In the meantime she's removed me from her "friends" network, so I can't read her private posts.) At Thanksgiving she wrote about all the things she was thankful for. Apparently she got a new kitten and has a new car. She was also looking forward to seeing her friends, including [shudder] Skeezgeek. She certainly didn't indicate any sense of pain or loneliness.

Reading all this upset my innards and jumbled up my nerves. My pulse quickened and a knot settled in my stomach.

Then I realized that her life might not be as rosy and she presents it in a pubic post. She's always hid her real emotions from public view. In fact, she's so good at hiding her feelings, you might live with her for three years and believe her when she says over and over again how happy she is to have you in her life, only to have her up and leave one day.

Always A New Set

I've been a tennis slump lately. After winning my league and going 12-0 to start the indoor season, I've lost five consecutive league matches. Since I moved up to a higher league, the competition has been a lot tougher, but I also feel like I've lost my mojo. I'm losing the close games that I used to win.

Last week I played a guy that I've been wanting to play all season long. He's new to the tennis center this year, and while I was winning my league, he was tearing through the league below me. So when we met in a different league at the other tennis center in town, it was a match-up of champions.

He kicked my ass, beating me 6-1, 6-3 and leaving me with a hopeless feeling that he had no weakness. (It was my second worst defeat of the season. My worst match was when I played a short, slight 76-year-old who is ranked nationally in his age group. He beat me 6-1, 6-0 and I'm still trying to figure out what happened.)

A week later I challenged him to an unofficial rematch when one of my league opponents had to cancel. The first time he beat me, I was just recovering from my cold/flu and I didn't feel like I had a whole lot of energy. Maybe we would be better matched when I was healthy, I told myself.

I wasn't better matched. This time he beat me, 6-2, 6-2. I felt like I played better, but he was just too good. There was no chink in his armor. I knew I would need to improve a lot to be competitive with him.

Since we had payed for two hours of court time, we decided to keep playing. He beat me again in a quick third set, 6-1. We still had about 20 minutes left, so I said, "If you want to keep playing, I'm ready for more punishment."

So we played a meaningless fourth set. And after losing spectacularly to this guy for five straight sets, I finally found a weakness in his game and was able to exploit it. I was leading 5-1 when our time ran out. I don't know if my new strategy would have worked when he was fresh, but at least I had won a little bit of my confidence back as we walked off the court.

In life, as in tennis, there is always a new set, a new beginning, where you can shake off your losses and try again. No matter how badly you lost in the last set, the score is always 0-0 at the beginning of a new one.

If I keep plugging away, there's always a chance I'll find my mojo again.

Kindly Atheist Stangers

"What the hell am I doing?" I thought to myself as I pulled off the highway at a small town about ten miles outside of SnarkCity.

It was one of my new "divorced activities"-- something that I would never be doing if I were still married. I was driving to a party of atheist strangers that had been advertised on a "Freethinkers" website. It was the fourth time I've tried to attend one of their events. The first two times I chickened out; the last time I attended a meeting at the public library where they showed some video clips, but I left before they were done and didn't talk to anyone.

So their Christmas party, also advertised as a Winter Solstice gathering and a Festivus celebration (they did have a Festivus pole there) was on Saturday night at one of their members' houses. The house was just off the highway in the small suburban town of Saint Snark that was a dark 20-minute drive from my home. (The irony of having an atheist meeting in a town called Saint Snark was lost on me until I told a friend about it.)

When I got off the highway, I drove through dark country roads to find the address. I was nervous about going to a house of strangers and wondered if the police would ever find my body. When I came to the address, I saw a big sign in the window that said Welcome, which put me at ease. It also put me at ease that my car was the third Prius to park on the road in front of the house. I think I may have found my people, I thought.

There were a dozen adults at the party, standing around the kitchen drinking beer, eating barbecue meatballs and cheese cubes, and chatting. (Various kids ran passed as we talked.) They were all very nice and welcoming. I even knew one guy-- someone who I worked with at a small company eight years ago. Another lady there was a librarian at the local university. So we talked shop. I'm not usually the life of a party, but I'm no wallflower and wasn't afraid to jump into the conversation, and even hold forth at times.

I contributed a six-pack of Leinenkugel's Fireside Nut Brown, which I loved for the name alone. The beer was good, too.

I didn't make any best friends or meet the love of my life, but it was a pretty good time that was worth three hours on a Saturday night. And I think I found a new social club where I'll have something to do once a month.

So I've got that going for me.

Holidays

All the divorce blogs agree: the first holiday season after your divorce sucks.

SnarkEx and I used to own a small fake tree. Last year we put it on top of a bookcase. It might still be in the closet in the spare bedroom where we stored all of our Christmas decorations. I don't know how much of that stuff she took and what she left. I haven't checked.

SnarkEx was the one who always initiated the Christmas decor in our home. She came into the relationship with more Christmas stuff than I did. The only thing I brought to the marriage was my "Sphere of Joy," a globe-shaped object made of plastic cups and Christmas lights glued together that my mom and her second husband made for all of us in the mid-90's. When I was single, it was the only thing I would hang up at Christmastime. It didn't survive the marriage-- I threw it out a few years ago. (I did manage to keep my Sphere of Joy longer than any of my siblings, so I should get credit for that.)

There are no reminders of the holiday season in my apartment this year. I have listened to a few of my Christmas CDs, but they haven't put me in a holiday spirit. It's not that I'm making a big effort to avoid Christmas, I'm just not really inspired this year. I don't miss it. It's already the middle of December, Christmas is less than two weeks away, and I keep forgetting about it.

I'll be able to spend Christmas day with my brother's family, so I should be alright there. And I'll be driving to my home state for the SnarkFamily Christmas. It will be nice not having to go down south to celebrate the holidays with SnarkEx's family. Last year it was 60 degrees when her parents picked us up from the airport. That's a ridiculous temperature for Christmas.

I heard from one of my informants that SnarkEx was worried about being lonely on Thanksgiving. Good. She should be lonely. She had a loving and supportive husband and she decided to throw him to the curb for some vague sense of "not getting what [she] needs."

I wonder if she's getting what she "needs" now.

Blogger's Remorse

I'm often gripped by a sense of unease when I publish a post on this blog. (In fact, I'm feeling it right now with this post.) I worry that I've revealed too much of myself, that I've gone too far with a sick joke, or that I've said the wrong thing about someone else.*

My last two posts have made me feel uneasy, but for different reasons.

When I wrote about VetStudent, I was under the impression that he was indeed interested in hanging out with me socially. Since then a different scenario has popped into my head-- one that terrifies and embarrasses me. He said that he had responded to my invitation to come and see my cat (and maybe have a beer), but I never got the message. So I don't know what he said in his response. He might have said, "Yeah, I can look at your cat, but I can't do the social stuff."

But I was going under the assumption that he was amenable to hanging out socially. So yesterday I sent him another email request to have him look at my cat. And I repeated my invitation to do something afterward. He hasn't responded.

If he never had any interest in hanging out socially, then I feel like a real dork for making the offer twice. And an even dorkier dork for having blogged about a potential friendship like I'm some insecure 7th-grader. "Maybe he'll be my friend!" I'm in my 30's for christsake. Why should making friends be such a drama?

I went to a workout at the tennis center last night and VetStudent didn't show. He's usually there, which makes me think, under my current paranoid scenario, that now he's avoiding me.

But the Asshat Guy was at the workout, which reminded me of my second uneasy blog post of the week. If he were to somehow, some way, discover this blog, I would be mortified. (I'd probably be mortified if VetStudent found it, too.) It's never a good prospect to have to confront someone you've referred to as an asshat. But I consider this blog like my best friend. I can tell it (almost) anything. And sometimes you just want to gossip with your best friend about people who annoy you.

Still, there's that slight twinge of unease that somewhere, in print, is proof that I was talking shit about someone that I interact with regularly.

Also at the workout last night was TennisGrrrl. She's another person who I'd be mortified if she read this blog. Not necessarily because I said bad things about her, but because she'd see how much I obsessed about her last summer. She recently friended me on Facebook. (Asshat Guy had friended both of us, so she found me through him.) Through my Facebook profile, she discovered my public blog, and told me what a good writer I was. (It always amazes me that people find the long, tedious and narcissistic accounts of my life interesting.)

So all three of these people, VetStudent, Asshat Guy, and TennisGrrrl have access to my public blog. Although there are no direct links between this blog and that one, it feels like they're one step closer to finding this one; to discovering the contents of my black soul.

And that makes me uneasy.

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*This does not include dishing on SnarkEx. I've never had any guilt whatsoever about writing about her. She gave up all rights to discretion when she unilaterally decided to abandon our marriage. Besides, I'm still too pissed at her to respect her privacy.

Right?

Following the theme this week of People I Play Tennis With, another guy I play with is kind of an asshat. This is not just my opinion, but the view of many other people I've gossiped with. He's arrogant and makes offensive comments during matches, like "You should thank me for giving you that game." He gives the impression that he thinks he's better than you, even when you routinely beat him (like I do.) He does have some really amazing shots, much better than anything I can do, but he's so inconsistent that he often loses to people who he thinks are beneath him (like me.)

For some reason, I had this weird vibe that he was a devout Christian. I didn't have evidence for this. He never mentioned Jesus to me, never made any statements that belied a rightwing Christian ideology, never talked about prayer or God. He never even made a passing reference about going to church when we tried to schedule matches. I just had a hunch. I told another tennis friend about my theory, but he didn't buy it.

(I don't mean to imply that his asshatitude and his Christian vibes have anything to do with each other. I know many devout Christians who are not asshats, and many asshats who are not devout Christians.)

So the other day the Asshat Guy "friended" me on Facebook. When I looked at his profile, he listed the following information:

Political Views: Republican Party
Religion: Christian
Favorite Music: Christian (most all types...)
Favorite Book: The Bible
Member of: One Body of Christ Experiment

When I told my tennis friend about this, he said, "Wow, you can really sniff out the Jesus freak, can't you?"

There was another time when I went out to dinner with friends, and after our waitress took our order I said, "I'll bet she's new." They all disagreed. No, she's doing a great job. I didn't disagree that she was a competent waitress, I just had a vibe that she hadn't been doing this very long.

When she brought the check there was a slight mix-up and she said, "Sorry, this is my first day."

I was right again.

My hunches are not always right, but I'm often pretty good at picking up on subtle clues and figuring out stuff. (Try watching a mystery movie with me.) The truth is my hunches are probably wrong as often as they're right, I just don't remember the misses.

But when I'm absolutely sure of something-- and it doesn't happen very often because I'm not usually so sure of myself-- I almost always turn out to be right. So when SnarkEx and I would get into an argument about facts (not about feelings, which is a whole other issue), I would remind her of this: I'm always right.

And I would be.

Sometimes it's a curse always being right. People resent you for it. It must have been hard to be married to me for that reason. Maybe that's why she left me. Or maybe it's because I was an asshat who pointed out that I was always right.

Check that-- I was almost always right. I was convinced SnarkEx was the type of person who took her vows seriously and was dedicated to her marriage.

In that, I was wrong.

Missed Messages

A guy I play tennis with is a student in veterinary medicine. So last week when we were playing doubles I told him about my dying cat.

He listened with a concerned and sympathetic ear and said afterward that if I had any more questions or needed further advice he'd be happy to help.

I'm not really good at asking for or accepting help, but when SnarKitty took a turn for the worse last week I decided to take VetStudent up on his offer. I sent him an email and asked for advice on what to do. I even sent him a link to my public blog (yes, there is another) where I had written a summary of all the problems SnarKitty had had over the past six months.

I was a little worried that I had shared too much or was taking advantage of his offer to help, so I was releived when he sent a long message back full of good advice and questions to ask myself about SnarKitty's condition. He also offered to talk with me over the phone and even come and see SnarKitty in person to examine her.

His advice made me realize how close The End was and I drove home from work trying to hold back a dam of emotion. I was ready to call my vet and make a decision. But when I got home, SnarKitty was her old self again. She greeted me at the door for the first time in weeks, talked to me and had a big appetite. Her will to live had returned.

I emailed VetStudent the good news. It was really great to have someone to talk to about my dying cat-- someone who appeared to take a professional and personal interest in her. And I realized that I enjoyed his personality on the tennis court. I don't know much about him, but so far he seemed like he could be a new friend. I had a good vibe about him. Maybe I could parlay SnarKitty's death into a new friendship-- it could be her parting gift to me.

So when I emailed VetStudent, I said I'd like to take him up on his offer to take a look at SnarKitty. And that I'd even be willing to buy him a beer or coffee in appreciation. I told him when I was available over the weekend, but added that I knew he was busy and if he didn't have much free time we could just see each other on Tuesday (when we'd be playing doubles again.)

I waited nervously for his reply.

It never came.

So then the second-guessing started. Did I overstep my bounds? Did I scare him away with the invitation to beer/coffee? Does he think I'm getting too friendly? Did I write/say something to offend him? Maybe his offer to see SnarKitty was just out of politeness, and he's trying to figure out how to get out of it?

I know that 99% of the time when something like this happens, it has nothing to do with me. Maybe he's busy or out of town for the weekend or hasn't checked his email or is trapped underneath a fallen bookcase. Whatever scenario I imagine, it never, ever turns out to be right one.

So after fretting for a day I got over it and went about my life.

Last night I saw VetStudent again for tennis. I learned a new word, necropsy, when he told me about having his whole arm up stuck up a dead cow in vet school that day. He asked about SnarKitty and I gave him a quick report. (She's still the same: probably dying, but not immediately.) Then he said, "Did you get the email I sent you? I said I was available Saturday or Sunday to come look at her..."

No, I didn't get any email. Of course that was a scenario I had never considered: he did answer my message but I never got it.

How many other times has this happened in my life? How many potential relationships/opportunities have been lost because of technical email glitches? Maybe some of the ladies on the dating sites did respond to my messages, but I never got them? What if SnarkEx had sent a message begging me to get back together, but I never got it? What if a prince from Nigeria was trying to transfer millions of dollars in funds to an American bank and wanted to give me a percentage for my help, but I never got the message?

I know it's probably unlikely that any real opportunities were lost this way. Even when messages are lost, if something is meant to be, it will work out. In the case of VetStudent, we were able to clear up the misunderstanding and last night we exchanged phone numbers and made tentative plans. So this glitch was not fatal to a possible friendship.

But it still gives me another thing to fret about. What other opportunities might I have missed?

What if a "nice lonely girl" is interested in my "man-pole" and sent me a link to her pics, but I never got the message?

Bussted

One advantage to being preoccupied lately with my dying cat (and my own cold/flu) is that I've been distracted from all the other issues in my life. But SnarKitty has rallied the last few days and seems to have walked away from death's door for the time being. So when I came home Saturday afternoon after running errands and tennis, I was able to turn my attention to another one of my many issues: my social life.

At 2:00 pm on Saturday I suddenly had Nothing To Do. It was the first time since before Thanksgiving that I've had such a wide open block of time. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I caught up on some shows that I'd Tivoed, tried to nap, and played a computer game. But I felt uncomfortable that I didn't have any solid plans for the rest of the day.

I called four different people trying to line up something for the evening. Contacting people at the last minute always gives me a bad case of the Undecideds. Is it too late to call so-and-so to see if they want to go to dinner? Should I call person B while I'm still waiting to hear from person A? What do I do in the meantime?

Eventually it all worked out. Three friends called over the course of two hours. I ended up with two plans for the evening: I went to a party and then met up with my drinking buddies afterward. I hadn't gone out with them since Halloween, so I was really ready to get my drink on.

Perhaps too ready. It wasn't the five beers that did me in. Probably not even the minty shot that someone bought for the whole table. No, the taste that stayed in my sinuses the whole next day as my head ached and my stomach churned was the rum and coke that I drank because it was just sitting there, alone on a table. One of our group had bought it for someone else, who didn't want it. So I drank it. Big mistake. There might have even been two of them. It's a little fuzzy.

I do know that I was so "fuzzy" by 3:00 in the morning that there was no way I could drive home. I got a ride from someone and then passed out in bed. I woke up around 6:30, and after several trips to the bathroom* and then failing to sleep for the next two hours, I got out of bed. I had a lot to do that day. For some stupid reason I had put off all my household chores and errands to Sunday, even though I had spent a bored and restless Saturday afternoon doing nothing.

*I didn't puke. I've only puked once in my life from drinking. I usually know when to put on the brakes so it doesn't go that far.

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Now I was hungover and sleep deprived and had a list of 12 things I wanted to get done.

The first thing I needed to do, which wasn't even on the list, was to retrieve my car, which was still parked downtown.

Hey, there's a bus system in town! I hadn't used it in over five years, since I graduated from grad school. SnarkEx used to take the bus to work on occasion, so I knew there was a bus stop somewhere near our place. I couldn't find the bus schedule, which I assume SnarkEx took with her in the divorce. So I looked it up online and found out when and where the bus would be coming.

So at 9:50 on a cold, sunny Sunday morning I bundled up and walked across the strip mall next to my apartment. It was a calm, pleasant morning and it was nice to get out into the sun and fresh air, even if it was cold. I found the bus stop sign and waited. I had allowed too much time for the walk, so I was ten minutes early. Since I'd never taken this route before, I wasn't sure exactly where the bus would come. I kept crossing the street and walking around the intersection trying to figure out where I should stand. There was a schedule and a map on the website, but I didn't have the website with me. I was trying to work from memory. But there was a sign, so the bus had to come this way.

But it wasn't my sign. And it wasn't my bus. My bus came, right on time at 10:11, a block away from me. I watched it stop at the wrong (right?) intersection and then pull away, headed toward downtown and my car. Goddammit.

I walked over to where it had stopped. There was no bus stop sign. But I did recognize the street name. Oh, yeah, that's the intersection that's listed on the schedule. I had been standing on the wrong bus line.

Well, I knew another one would be coming, so I shlepped back home to look up the bus schedule again. On the way I considered calling someone and asking them to drive me to my car. But it was Sunday morning and the only people who wouldn't be at church would be just as hungover as I was. Plus it would be out of the way for everyone I knew, and why not just take the bus you lazy drunk?

Half an hour later I returned to the proper bus stop. But here was the next issue. On the schedule, it didn't list this location as a stop at this time. It listed stops before and after this one, but it was only supposed to stop at this location once an hour. The question was, does it take a different route, or does it just (theoretically) not stop here? Because the latter would not be a problem, considering it's at a stop sign and I could wave down the driver.

I waited. And waited. And waited. Because no time was listed for this stop, I didn't know when it would be here, if it came at all. I could only estimate based on when it was at the last stop. Also, I feared that I may have missed it completely, because I got there a little later than I meant to.

After about ten minutes I decided I must have missed it and started to trek back home again. Oh, I'll blog about this, I thought, as if that would get my revenge on the bus. As I was walking home, I saw the bus coming toward me. I tried to wave it down but I was, again, a block away from the stop. So I sprinted to the stop sign and waved my arms. Thankfully, the driver saw me and waited.

I stumbled onto the bus, ashen-faced, out of breath, cold, and hungover. I thanked the driver and paid my money. We rode through the streets of town while I tried to get my bearings. By the time the bus pulled into the downtown station, my hangover, lack of sleep, and outside adventure had all caught up with me. I was nauseous and weak and felt like I might either pass out or throw up.

Walking to my car cleared my head a little, but it was obvious I had no chance of running errands after that. I went home and laid down. I felt sick all day long, but managed to get the most dire of my chores done (grocery, laundry.)

When I went to bed, I saw that I had accomplished exactly half (6 of 12) of the things on my list.

This is what happens when a stupid little divorced man meets the evil drink.

Epiphany

Sometimes you can go weeks or months or years with certain assumptions, only to come to a sudden realization that they're wrong.

Maybe you spend a frustrating summer playing golf only to realize that it's really not good for you. Or you admit to yourself that you really like barbecue-flavored fried pork rinds. Or after years of clubbing it finally occurs to you that you're just a bad dancer.

Last night, on December 6, 2008, in my 38th year, I accepted that I hate winter.

I had just parked my car and was walking to a downtown bar when I had to stop at a traffic light. As the winter wind blew through my bones and my whole body clenched in response, my mind finally acknowledged what my body already knew: I hate this goddam weather.

Coming from a Midwesterner who grew up playing in the snow, this is almost heresy. I've always said I like Midwestern weather-- I like the change of seasons and the opportunity to wear seasonal clothing. There are certainly aspects of winter that I still like. I love the aesthetics of snow. Hot showers on a cold morning are one of life's joys. It's easier to sleep in cold weather than when it's warm. And don't forget snow days-- an academic's favorite friend.

But these things are overshadowed by the things I hate about winter.

I hate the shorter days and less sunlight. I hate all the time and energy I spend scraping ice and snow off of my windshield before I leave in the morning. I hate the germs that get spread around because we all are cooped up together. I hate not being able to open the windows and get fresh air. I hate the dry skin and chapped lips. I hate the (relatively) terrible mileage my Prius gets in cold weather. I hate having to choose between the comfort of a warm hat or messing up my hair. I hate being shut in and feeling like a hostage to the elements, and how that limits my options.

Some people prefer the cold to the unbearable heat in the summer. But here's the difference for me: When it's cold outside, especially with a strong wind, it actually causes physical pain. My skin hurts. My bones ache. My sphincter clinches. The summer heat may cause discomfort, but exposure to it is not painful the way the cold is.

When I was younger these things didn't bother me as much. In fact, there were times when I considered enduring a 0-degree temperatures (with a -17 wind chill) as a badge of honor. I liked the novelty of especially frigid weather. But over the years that's changed.

So my epiphany is not that I've always hated winter, but that I've come to hate it. I'm just too old for this shit. Not even 40 yet and I'm ready to retire to Florida.

How Many Purrs Left?

I know, I know: if I have any readers left, you're tired of reading about my dying cat.

Frankly, I'm getting tired of it, too.

Who knows how many more installments there will be of Snarkbutt's Dying Cat Sub-Blog. I know I'm testing the limits of how many posts one divorced man can write about his dying cat. Here's a quick recap:

• SnarKitty gets sick
• She's not eating
  
• Trying to pill her
• She's dying
  
• She's dying
  
• She's dying

I guess that's only six posts (out of 19 during that time period), but it feels like a lot more. I don't know how many more ways I can say, "My cat is dying and it sucks." But here's another:

-------------
Last night, at bedtime, I had to coax her out from under the bed so that I could put her on her sleeping pillow. The pillow lies next to me in bed. She curled up on it and I ran my hand along her spine. She's just a skeleton covered in fur. It feels unnatural, but those bones were there all along, they were just cushioned by fat and muscle. All of that is gone now, and I don't know how much thinner she can get.

I put my face up against her body and listened to her purring. It's not the healthy hum it used to be, but the irregular staccato putt-putt of an old car running on a cold morning. I thought to myself, how many more purrs does she have left?

Even though she's lying right next to me, I already miss her. She's not the same cat she used to be. She wobbles when she walks. She doesn't talk. She eats very little. She stays in the same place all day long. I've turned up the heat in the apartment so that she won't get cold now that she doesn't have any body fat. And I leave her with a heated pad during the day. She gets short bursts of energy where I see glimpses of her old self and think that maybe she'll be okay.

Did I do everything I could? Is there anything I can still do to save her? Should I have opted for surgery back when it could have helped? Is she in pain? Part of me wants this to be over with, but then I feel guilty and sad.

When I asked the vet on Monday about "putting her down", he said that it's not really a medical question but an ethical one. Thanks, that helps. He did add that it isn't necessary unless she's in pain. But how do I know?

If I were still married, I wouldn't have to be going through all this second-guessing on my own. SnarkEx and I could be making decisions together. (Then again, what if we disagreed on treatment? That could have added to the stress. See, I'm even second-guessing my theoretical scenarios.)

When will this end? And how? What is my role, and am I doing it right?

Creepy "Friend" Returns

Remember when I told you about the creepy guy who joined my online friends network and tried to hit on one of our regulars?

I kicked him out, but I think he's back under a new identity. He's got a different name and different picture up (thank God he's no longer showing off his chest hair), but last week he left public messages for nine different women:

• "Hi, Let's get to know each other and meet for a drink..."
• "...I would love to go...roller skating. Haven't been in years!"
• "Pat, Would you like to go to dinner some nite?"
• "Melinda, Would you like to get together and do something fun!?!?"
• "...Let's have dinner some time."
• "Hi, would you like to get together for dinner...or a drink/movie etc?"
• "Hi Marjorie...I would like to get to know you better."
• "Hi, I would love to try ice skating again, haven't been...in over 20yrs..."
• "Hi Amanda, welcome to the group...I'm a good listener. You can dump on me anytime."

(The last comment reminds me of the scene in Crimes and Misdemeanors when Woody Allen's character's sister has a date go horribly wrong: "A strange man...defecated on my sister.")

All of these greetings are posted publicly, one right after another, on our group's homepage. He's either really desperate or really dense or both. Even worse, I just checked his profile and three of the women posted responses. One said, "Thanks for your note. Dinner sounds nice..." Either they don't realize he's been hitting on every woman in the group or they don't care. I suspect most of these people (including our middle-aged Casanova) haven't quite got the hang of this interwebs thing and don't realize their posts can be publicly read.

Last week I sent a message to the whole group, saying that my tenure as the group's organizer will be ending in a few weeks and seeing if anyone wants to take over. The only person who volunteered? The creepy guy.

I don't know what to do now. I'll probably just leave the group. He's like a weed that's going to keep springing up until he gets laid.

Sickness

I'm sick, sick, sick.

And not in a good way.

I spent all yesterday on the couch, blowing my nose and wishing my head would just pop off and float away. It got worse as the day went on, and by the evening my whole body ached. I woke up feeling a little better this morning, but I'm getting weaker as the day goes on. I took the day off work. I really need to get back to work tomorrow, but it will be a miserable day if I still feel like I do today.

I caught the cold/flu bug at my sister's over the Thanksgiving weekend. I often catch stuff when I'm around my nephews and nieces, who pick up diseases at school and bring them home. I don't mean that my nieces are particularly germy, but schools are breeding grounds for germs and anyone who comes into contact with kids will get whatever's going around.

The last time I was this sick was last January during the semester break. SnarkEx and I came home from the family Christmas gathering (again, at my sister's) and she promptly got sick. I caught it a few days later. I was out of circulation for an entire week. (My recovery might have been quicker if I hadn't played tennis when I thought I was getting better. I pushed myself too hard and almost passed out driving home. I learned my lesson, though, and postponed a match I was supposed to play yesterday.)

This is the first time I've been sick since SnarkEx moved out. Last night I had to call my brother to moan at him.

But my health problems are nothing compared to SnarKitty. I had to take her to the pet emergency room on Saturday.

Because of her fragile health, I took her with me to Thanksgiving. I kept her on my lap for three hours as I rode with my brother's family to a neighboring state. While she was at my sister's, SnarKitty developed an abscessed tooth which bloated one side of her face and made her leak a stinky yellow liquid that smelled like death. I took her to the pet ER when I got home, and they diagnosed the problem.

It's clearing up with antibiotics, so now I just have to worry about her rapid weight loss. Between Tuesday and Saturday she'd lost more weight-- now she's dropped below five pounds. At her prime she was over nine pounds.

She's dying. I talked to her vet this morning who said the only care I can give her at this point is to make her comfortable. I finally brought up the phrase "putting her down" and he said that as long as she wasn't in pain, which he didn't think she was, there's no reason for that yet. But she can't keep losing weight and live, right? Will she keep fading away until she disappears? I have a pretty good idea what's going to happen, but I don't know how it's going to go down.

For today we're spending a sick day together on the couch.