In Other News

Last night I made my weekly call to my mom. I'd call more frequently, but there's nothing really to talk about. That aside...

Everything was pleasant enough, and then she blindsided me with the Whopper of All Whoppers: "What kind of mother was I?" I replied, "How am I supposed to answer that?" She said, "Honestly, I can handle it." And I paused while I collected my thoughts, and I leaned into my need to be honest rather than "be nice" and perpetuate any delusions she may have, as I am convinced we all possess the ability to know how good or how horrible each of us truly is. 

"You were a difficult person to love." 
(Pause)
"However, to your credit, at your best you were perversely dark, twisted, hilarious, too."  

I call this type of response, giving the bad first, and the good last as the "Ol' Slap and Tickle." 

She seemed to handle it well enough. The conversation then veered to this coming weekend, when she turns 70. She's downright shocked she's reached such an age, and no doubt, she's keenly aware that she won't live forever. At her worst she was horrible and abusive, but now, I see her as mostly de-fanged, a human, fragile, and in need of validation. However, I am also keenly aware of the potential for things to go sideways at any point in time, so I am still guarded.

She let me know a hairdresser is coming to the house, and she's going to go blonde. This is a huge deal. Because in the last six years (since dad's been gone), she's not given too much care to her appearance. Getting her hair colored and "done," no doubt, will boost her. And of course, the timing is such, it's obvious, she's getting ready for the party on Sunday, so I dared to ask THE question.

"So is anyone coming by for your birthday?" And she downplayed it, but the more she talked, the more it was apparent there was a party going on. And everyone invited was, I suppose, sworn to secrecy. "You know, you are more than welcome here, anytime you wish." And I said that I was aware of that. "Are you coming?" And I said, "I wasn't invited by the person throwing the party. And even if I were, I won't." And she asked why, and I said, "To be honest, I am not physically up to it--the drive--the party--the crowd--and more importantly, I don't want whatever this weirdness with my sister to ruin your day. I can come visit another day, and it'll be just you and I."  This seemed to placate her. We chatted a bit more and concluded the call. 

We are now two months, one week, and two days into The Great Silence with my sister. Today, I have no further words on this.

On Being an Adult

So. Rather than sit and analyze this further, or feel compelled to avoid the front desk during my lunch hour, I figured I owed it to myself to articulate what needed articulating. 

This a.m., while heading down to the lower level to drop off mail, I swung by the front desk where Jean was, and I initiated (what I hope will be) the final discussion on yesterday's topic. And given this is right before the lunchtime rush of people, this was the ideal time to do so. No interruptions, no one else around so hopefully it will minimize whatever embarrassment he may have during this conversation.

I reaffirmed that I am a deep thinker, and I could not stop thinking about yesterday's topic, especially given he's brought it up in the past before, several times.

I reaffirmed that I am a very good judge of character, and I am going to crack all of this up to "the culture gap."

I stated the obvious, that there is no type of indoctrination for foreigners who come here, to learn the finer points, or nuances, of being polite. Little things like hygiene for some, or finding out about what might be inappropriate behaviors for others.

Directly, and as non-condescending as I could, I started with, "a little friendly advice," and I told him that most businesses have a zero tolerance policy on sexual harassment. The mere question of a sexual nature, even if it's asked out of innocent enough curiosity, could constitute harassment. To ask this to any female in the workplace, even if it's "just making conversation," if that female feels threatened, it could constitute harassment. If, after I've asked him not to ask me this again, he asks it again, that counts as harassment.

He asked me if I thought there was more to the asking than superficial asking. And I replied, "Of course. It could be one of three scenarios: 1. You're trying to see if I'm inclined to cheat; 2. Your wife cheated on you and you're trying to figure out why she cheated; or 3. You've got a guilty conscience because YOU cheated. In any of these scenarios, I AM NOT INTERESTED."

At this point he said he was very sorry for offending me. And I thanked him for his apology.

I informed him that these are the types of questions to ask close friends, and while I am flattered that he either thinks we are that close or that he is that comfortable asking such things of me, we are not close friends. 

In the mix somewhere, I mentioned that I am a happily married, contented person. Somewhere in the mix. I didn't conclude with that.

Hopefully this will be the end of this nonsense with him.

My Stalker Part 17: Meh.

I really am beginning to feel like a trapped animal during the work day. I am still squirreled away inside, in my suite of offices most of the day. And the brutally cold weather is kind of fortifying that as a habit for a while. But there comes a breaking point where I need to stretch my legs or get sunshine on my face and fresh (BRACINGLY COLD) air in my lungs. And today was such a day.

So my normal excuse to get out is to walk to the dollar store for zip lock bags or mailing supplies and a Snapple. And of course, returning into the building means I am walking past the front desk where the Haitian doorman is. 

And while I have broken him of his insistence on asking me the same question over and over again, about whether I regret not having kids, I thought I had broken him of asking me the double whammy of "would you ever cheat on your husband?" I've politely danced around this question in the past and thought I finally killed it as a conversational topic, and today I went in for the kill and flat out told Jean it's none of his fucking business, and that I'm not married to him, so I don't understand the curiosity. 

And though we laughed about it, I did, in fact, call him out for this. It's a rude question, and the constant asking (he has asked it in an assortment of ways in the past year, and I'm tired of it. No. I'm BORED with it. It's tedious, and it's none of his fucking business.)

And the topic came back to the Stalker. And how I'm killing him by cutting him off. And I let Jean know about the forced interaction roughly nine days ago at the elevator, and how I know that the Stalker is still... STALKING me because of his choice to meet me at that particular elevator instead of taking the freight elevator which is his norm, and which was more convenient for him to take.

Point blank, I told Jean, that I know that the problem that Jean and the Stalker have with me is they are not used to a woman who is staunch, who has a fairly decent sense of self and self worth. And to be honest, neither of them are married to me, fucking me, nor paying my bills, so who ARE THEY to me, anyway? We are here because of work, not as a social networking group. And I'm pretty much DONE with some charming sociopath (Stalker) manipulating the truth and half truths to Jean to paint a picture of me as some sort of reactionary bitch. HE is the one who made something that was mutually pleasant into something that was singularly UNPLEASANT for me. End. Of. Story.

In the course of laughing, I looked at Jean and told him that bit about a Churchill quote, "The height of diplomacy is to tell someone to go to hell in such a way, they look forward to the trip." I said, "See, you're laughing, and I don't think you realize I just called out your rudeness and told you it's none of your fucking business," which of course, elicited more laughter. But point was received. And hopefully in the future, this question will be struck from Jean's conversational repertoire.  It really is none of his business. And it really IS tedious as fuck.  And really? I'm tired of being hit on by little boys, and really really tired of unsophisticated Third Worlders (friends and/or family) expecting or demanding that they know every little detail of my life.  Not every topic is open for discussion.

My Stalker: Part 16 Something or Nothing--Perspective is Everything

So yesterday was the last working day before a three day weekend. As part of my usual routine, I check the mail bin, because there is always SOME ASSHOLE who insists on putting mail in the mail bin even though they CLEARLY KNOW they have missed the 4 p.m. deadline to do so.  

Given I was vexed about holding the piece of mail until TUESDAY, I decided fuck it, and stamped it, and went down to the mail bin. I went via the freight elevator. Perhaps I shouldn't. Who knows. But it tipped off my Stalker that I was en route. And of course, it's a few minutes past 6 p.m., and as such he was getting ready to transition to the lobby for his last hour of his shift. 

I put the mail into the mail slot and decide not to take the freight elevator up. I heard his voice, so I decided to take the longer route around to the bank of elevators for the rest of the building, and doing so in the hopes of circumventing a potential interaction.

Little did I realize or forget, there is a groundhog like warren of hallways and tunnels in the building that the building maintenance staff take, and of course, this spry old fucker decided he was going to get the jump on me, take the tunnel and meet me at the elevator.

Or it could be purely coincidental. But I'm one of those people who are generally distrustful of others, especially when someone has exhibited weird, cruel and or stupid behavior in the past with me, as he clearly has. I'm forever on my guard.

To date, we are almost into month five of the Deep Freeze and starving the beast of any interaction.

He seized the opportunity and said hello as I entered the elevator.

With my eyes facing the doors, never looking at him or otherwise acknowledging his presence, I gave a terse but polite hello, the kind you'd give a complete stranger who happened to extend a polite hello to you. 

The elevator doors opened up, and I exited the elevator walking with firm intent (not rushed, not running, but DELIBERATE), and without looking back, and without any further acknowledgement of a possible good bye, as I don't want to encourage him into thinking I am starting to thaw. 

That Gotye song, "Someone I used to know" applies so much here, however, clearly my point of view is entirely different than the singer of that song. He's just somebody I used to know.

Natural State of Being: Instigator

I call Audrey on Sunday as it was nearing a full week since my last call. And our calls pretty much now are a weekly call whose sole purpose is to check in on her and hear that yes, she is still here in the land of the living.  She's got nothing going on, hardly anyone calls her or visits, and she leads a pretty solitary life, partly by choice, and partly as a consequence of being handicapped and house bound due to neglect, which, let's face it: was by choice. Even choosing to do nothing is still a choice. Choosing not to act is still an action.

And rather than dwell on all that obviousness and get sucked down the vortex of negativity, of THAT hot mess further, let me just share what transpired.

So, whether directly or indirectly--whether intentional or unintentional, Audrey asks the customary thing, as if in 46 years of life I'd ever, ever forget when my sister's birthday was, and asked "Did you call your sister to wish her a happy birthday?"

Audrey KNOWS better than to ask me about my sister.
Audrey KNOWS the shitstorm that was stirred up in December.
Audrey KNOWS my sister and I are not speaking.
SURELY, this is a hook, baited with a big, fat, passive-aggressive worm.

"No," was my response.
"Why not?" was hers.
"Given she does not want to talk to me, I figured I'd honor that."

She then got a bit agitated, AS IF *I* were the one who was shit stirring. She's too far into her delusion or ignorance to realize it is SHE who is shit stirring.

"It is what it is. I'm not losing sleep over it, neither should you," I stated calmly. I continued to make small talk until it was obvious it was time to conclude the call.

The truth of the matter is, my sister does not return calls or simply PICK UP the phone. Whether mom calls or I (in the past) called, we were met with voicemail or if we called the house, my niece or brother-in-law would stonewall us. And that's okay. That's her delusion. Choosing not to answer the phone is an action, and there are consequences to that (one of which is estrangement, alienation etc) And this current state of non-talking is part of that delusion too. It doesn't change my status or experience, and yet somehow, the silence is even MORE deafening, and profound, and yet, oddly comforting.

As I've always said before, perhaps it might come off a bit glib, but it's something I feel firmly about: If you cannot be remotely loving or supportive, I'll gladly accept your silence.

So, in an unexpected turn with this little saga, I'm glad.

Polar Opposites

It's been about a week since I returned from India, where we went to visit my in-laws. It's an exhausting endeavor just to get there, but done out of love for his family, and done so, willingly.

Nothing really new to report, other than I felt as if I were in an alternate reality, in a time and place with people who truly are interested in being with me, in loving and respecting me, and in return, it's so incredibly easy to love and respect them in return, as they're very good people.  

Lots of good chats with his mom, and I feel his brother and I got closer in the sense of realizing we are cast in the same role, but in different hemispheres on planet Earth. 

His brother, mother, and father, all three having different personalities, each uttered the statement, "She's just like me."  This I found amusing. 

It's such a very difficult and inconvenient and polluted place to visit and live, but in a way I felt like so much emotional garbage was purged or cleansed with this trip. 

I haven't gone into too much detail with Audrey about the trip--the less she knows, the less she is able to mar it. I'm withholding a good amount of what transpired, and holding it close, protecting it and protecting myself.

Tomorrow is my sister's birthday, and much like my niece's birthday two weeks ago, it, too, will go unacknowledged by card or gift or text or call or email. My sister pushed me away, and that's fine. I'll respect that boundary; however, if she's expecting me to come crawling back, begging for forgiveness (yes, I have no doubt that's what she anticipates), or perhaps expects me to do the passive-aggressive route and talk to Audrey or to our aunt, or to our brother, grousing about the injustice of it all, she will have a long wait.  

At one point during the trip, my mother-in-law asked me if I called or emailed my niece to wish her a happy birthday (as even my mother-in-law remembers my niece's birthday), and well, that was enough to break me down into tears. It's frustrating. And upsetting. And upsetting and a bit shameful to be honest. But I will respect that boundary, and in doing so, I'm enabling my sister to continue to use my niece as a pawn.  As I see it, she's been pushing me away for years, and this recent circumstance is just in an official, overt, aggressive capacity, but part of an on-going, 45+ year narrative.

Here I am, eight days home, and eight days out of the bubble of love and respect and constant discussion, and constant supervision of my in-laws. I have no doubt the Germans have a single word to describe the complex emotions afoot, of wanting to go home but not wanting to leave. That is very much at play here. And we went nearly two weeks of others tending to and anticipating all of our needs, bathing us in love, and now, the absence of it coupled up with the backdrop of snow snow snow, is now just depressing for us, and no doubt for them.

My brother-in-law and father-in-law hardly speak (from what I've been told; however, during our visit, they were well-behaved), and the bulk of my mother-in-law's socialization was with us with non-stop conversation and love and laughter. So us returning home has rendered things there back to their status quo. So, no. The grass isn't greener. We each have our own troubles in our own universes, and I am just glad that for a relatively small space in time, we were able to be there, in the moment, loving and being loved in return. Even my taciturn father-in-law summed it all up succinctly, "Was it all a dream?"