A decade in review

Today (yes! today!) is my 10 year anniversary with C.  I’ve said it before, but it really is mind boggling sometimes.  Going along, day to day, it never seems like that long.  But every once in a while I sit back and marvel at it.  And that’s when a decade with a person has heft, has some weight behind it.

We’re not doing anything special, which is fine.  I’ll be cooking one hell of a dinner on Friday (she’s taking 2 days off work so we can relax and celebrate).  But I’m so damn giddy, I keep expecting to walk outside and see fireworks in the sky.  Everyone should take an hour off of work and go drinking because OH MY GOD WE MADE IT THIS FAR.

If you know us, hell, you might be one of the few who knew us before we started dating, you might be just as amazed as we are.  It has not been easy, and we’re the first ones to admit that.  We have no earthly clue how we’ve pulled it off and managed to stay together.  For those not in the know, and for my own self-indulgent, self-congratulatory purposes, I’m providing a timeline.

The case of the missing pajamas

Last night as C and I were headed to bed, she suddenly asks “Have you seen my pajamas?”  I reply that I have not.  Minutes go by and then, “Seriously, where are they?”

We look everywhere: on the bed, in the bed, under the bed, in the closet, in the bathroom, in my hamper, in the washing machine and dryer, downstairs, in the freezer (hey, why not?), under the couch, EVERYWHERE.

We just can’t find them.  It’s the strangest thing. Now, the sheet from the bed was on the floor and she accused me of that. Which is a fair accusation because I hate blankets and I frequently kick them as far away from me as possible, but this time I didn’t do it!! The last time I was upstairs before we headed to bed, that sheet was on the bed and the cat was on the sheet. I think the cat dragged the sheet to the floor and I have a suspicion that the cat also made off with the pajamas. But where?  It’s a complete mystery.

What we do

Some of our best conversations have taken place in the front seat of a car while we wind through back roads after midnight.  Too bored to stay home and too poor to go out, we just drive.  Taking curves at top speed, racketing through the dark with the music up and wind buffeting our hair until we need help later to fix the knots . . . I am happiest here.

Intentionally getting lost with her has become a favorite pastime for years.  If we have even a glancing knowledge of the area, we can always find our way back without fail.  No maps, no GPS—we rely on intuition and dumb luck.  And if we fuck it up, we turn around and find what looks familiar.

I play with her hair as she keeps one hand on my leg.  I tickle her at stop lights and we sing songs that make us gasp from giggling.

So we drive on and on, and once the singing has petered out (me with my constant harmonizing, her with her B-52s and Muppet-inspired shrieks) the talking starts.  Everything is covered eventually.  We have pored over our pasts, our families, our greatest fears, our triumphs.  Here is where we talk about our future and what we want.  An easy thing to do with infinite miles stretching out before us.  We spent our sixth anniversary in the front seat of a car, trying once more to land somewhere after fleeing a storm.  We have laughed and wept here, fought and loved.   We have warred and reconciled;  confessed and made grand declarations.

And every time I look over, catching her face in the brief gleam of someone else’s headlights, I realize just how great it really is.  Because there are few things better than tearing through the black skies and whispering back and forth, “just a little further.”

Good news!

Not sure if I went into this in a previous post, but C’s financial aid for this semester didn’t come through due to a bullshit reason involving academic bureaucracy.  Money has been super tight around here for the last month.  She paid tuition and books out of pocket and picked up an extra shift at work.  That put her working 40 hours a week (4 days) and in class the other three days (11 hours).  Suffice to say, we don’t see each other except for maybe 3 solid hours per week (not including when she sleeps next to me and snores).

But oh frabjous day!  She found out tonight that her financial aid has come through!  For now, she’s keeping the extra shift at work just to build a cushion.  But if she has to schedule herself for one shift less around tests or whatever, she won’t have to take a vacation day and the drop in money won’t kill her.  And this means there shouldn’t be any problems with financial aid over the summer, so she’ll be staying in school straight through.

This is all great because now she can get her prerequisites out of the way sooner and get into a PharmD program.  Which, in itself, is a 4-year commitment.  But the payoff will be great.

Speaking of the PharmD, who knows where we’ll end up for that?  If she wants to do it at UT, that’s fine with me.  But I’m still open to her going to Xavier and moving us back to New Orleans for a while.  After that, who knows where we might land?  I vote Oregon.  Not that I’ve even visited, but it sounds nice.

Now if we can just find me a job come June, life will be going really well.  I don’t care if it’s going back to clerical, I’m just gonna need a paycheck.

Easily frustrated

A couple weeks ago, I was getting ready to leave for class.  This involved a mad scramble for anything and everything I would need.  I was talking to C on the phone and suddenly . . .

Me: Dammit! I can’t find my phone!  Have you seen it?
C: Yeah, it’s on your head.
Me: Oh, real helpful smartass.  Seriously, have you seen it?
C: . . .
Me: Oh! I’m talking on it, aren’t I?  Sorry I called you a smartass, then.  Gotta go, love you!!
C: Weirdo.

A sad day

C and I are taking her cat, Tiger, to the vet tomorrow to be put to sleep.  This is a hard thing to do.

When C was 10 years old, she found a kitten.  She kept it in her room until it was willing to come out from under the bed.  She named her Tiger for her stripes and fearsome manner.  Tiger has been fiercely devoted to C for 19 years, and vice versa.

Tiger doesn’t like many people and I still maintain that C decided I was worth dating because Tiger allowed me to pet her and even snuggled up with me in C’s room at one point all those years ago.

For the last 9 years, Tiger has been my cat as well.  She is sweet and kind and loves me, though she makes it abundantly clear that C comes first.

We had Tiger in our first house together, in all houses and apartments since then, and we evacuated her with us for Katrina.  As long as I have known C, Tiger has been present.  And tomorrow we are putting that to an end.

She has had a good, long life and that is a great thing.  But that doesn’t make this hurt any less.  Most of all, I wish there was anything I could do for C.  This hurts her, and it’s hard for me to see her heart breaking like this without being able to help.

So, I love you, Tiger.  You were a good cat.  And thank you for giving C something to love though those bad years when it all seemed so desolate.

My friend, A, asked if Tiger was a symbol of C and me, the girls who met, and if this felt like some final thrust into adulthood.  Perhaps.  Although to be “thrust” into adulthood at 29 is pretty sad, shouldn’t we be adults already?

Regardless of what she may or may not symbolize, Tiger has had a place in our cobbled-together family.  And she will be sorely missed.

Halloween preparation

Oh yeah, we’re getting ready.  First off, we have very kindly been invited to a party hosted by S, so this year we actually have somewhere to go.  And this is not the kind of party you show up to sans costume.  I mean, they dig fresh graves in their yard every year I’ve been told.  That kind of necessitates some effort on our part as well.

I am going as a Bloody Mary.  Not the ghost, the drink.  I’m wearing a red shirt, dying my hair red(der), and painting my nails red.  With bloody makeup.  And a nametag that reads “Mary.”  AND and and, a piece of celery.  Not a real piece of celery, oh no.  C made me a big ole celery stalk out of cardboard and paper and even meticulously cut out leaves and attached them.  The stalk curves the way celery does.  The leaves are awesome.  I colored, because that is my only artistic skill.  C totally rocks because how many people would sit there for an evening constructing an oversized piece of vegetable?

She is going as a zombie.  As she was going through her clothes looking for the ratty ones and ones she doesn’t mind getting dirty, she picked up a belt.

Me: You need a belt?
C: Yeah, definitely.
Me: Why not just use a piece of rope?
C: They’re not hillbillies, just dead!!!

3 years

I realized with a start that today is the Katrina anniversary. Among hearing the plans of my friends and family for Gustav, I had forgotten. Last year it was quite vivid that it was THAT day. I had gotten my tattoo about 7 weeks before that and it was the first day of grad school. But it was still very clear to me that 2 years prior was the day the world seemed to end. Or my world, anyway. I have never experienced such upheaval, emotional or otherwise. And I can’t believe it was 3 years ago. It at once seems forever ago and just yesterday. It’s a strange feeling.

It’s true that I’m homesick and I don’t mind admitting it, but I really did have to get the hell out of town. Moving was the best thing that could have happened for me. I felt like I was getting pulled down into the emotional miasma that hovered over the cities. That level of despair, even small and under the surface, it was choking me.

And yet, I quite perversely miss worrying about the storms. Even as bad as the storms got or could have been, I never outgrew that little bit of excitement at an approaching storm. Even with remembering all the cleanup and inconvenience (Isisdore and Lily? Back to back? At my parents’ waterfront condo? Horrible!) I still felt a little giddy. Maybe I would feel differently if I were back home facing Gustav. Maybe the spectre of Katrina would have erased that. I don’t know.

Now, being in Austin, I’m one of the potential places for people to evacuate to. That’s a new feeling. I feel a little bad that our place is ill-equipped for this. We have 2 cats, one of which is on death’s door. This is not a place for dogs (every friend AND my parents seem to own at least one). So when I’m asked to put someone up (and I’ve gotten a few tentative requests), I have to say what we can and cannot handle. Never having been on this end of things, I’m not quite sure of the protocol.

What a weird anniversary to keep track of. Especially in light of the fact that on Monday, C and I will be celebrating our 9-year anniversary. That’s right, we celebrated our 6th while on the road from N. Louisiana to Florida in the most winding, gas-deprived trip of our life following Katrina.

Anyway, happy (or not) Katrina day, everybody.

What I call him

Are we all familiar with the term cougar? Yes? Hot older woman who consistently dates younger men?

I have a friend, R, who consistently dates older women. A few months ago I was talking to him and I’m like “She’s 38? And you’re, what, 23 now? What’s the opposite of a cougar? Dude, you’re like a gazelle with a limp.”

And that is the story of why I refer to R as “Gimpy Gazelle.”

Separation Anxiety

It’s 2:45 in the morning.  I’m waiting around to take C to the airport for her VERY early flight.  It was originally scheduled for 10, but they bumped it up in order to try and avoid landing in Tropical Storm Fay.  Hahahaha.

I always get nervous when C leaves town, I can’t help it.  What if something happens?  Have I said everything I ever wanted to say to her?  Does she know I love her?  What if, what if.  I’m not a paranoid person, generally, but it’s easy to NOT be paranoid when I can keep an eye on the people I might worry about.  Having that person fly into a tropical storm, gosh, that just makes it more exciting!!

Ugh.  I know full well that I’ll be sad all day today.  It’s just too quiet when she’s out of town, and this will be for 5 days.  Thankfully, G and K have invited me over for a late breakfast and I think I might see a movie with M either this afternoon or tonight.

That doesn’t make coming home to an empty apartment any easier.

I joke around with C, asking her to help me come up with some ideas of trouble to get into.  But really, I get mopey when she’s gone.  I turn on the TV to keep some noise going, and play with the cats.  But I realize after a couple of days that unless I make a point to call someone on the phone, I can go without speaking for quite a while.  That in itself is just sad, right?  It make me have conversations with the cats that are more inane and in-depth than usual.  I mean usually it’s just like:

Me: Me-oh Maya!
Maya: Meow meow!
Me: I know! Where’s your string?
Maya: Meow meow!
Me: That’s so clever of you, you’re a sweet kitty.

But when I’m alone for too long and getting desperate it turns into something else entirely.

Me: Maya, I feel as though we’re not connecting like we used to.  You were napping on my leg and seemed perfectly content until that moth flew by and now it’s like you’ve forgotten our time together.
Maya: (hunting what is apparently the demon moth that will steal her food and toys and maybe upend her litter box if she doesn’t kill it soon) MEOW!!!!
Me: I know, I hear what you’re saying.  But what I’m trying to express is that I think you’re fickle sometimes.  And I’m saying this with love.  And that hurts my feelings, you know?
Maya: meow?

I’ve learned that when I try too hard to relate to the cat, she either eats my hair or manages to claw me.  I should probably stop that.

Okay, it’s time to take my girlfriend to her plane that will be flying into a maelstrom of death.  Yippee.