Since cutting back to one job, Sundays are my only true days off. I have to work Saturdays fairly often – and frequently without compensation. So, Sundays are the only days I can count on being able to be home.
I try to make the most of it. I’ll usually let the kids sleep in. It gives me a chance to focus on what I want to accomplish and put together a plan for getting it done.
There’s bread every Sunday. Making it from scratch takes time so best to get to it early. Then, there’s pancakes. Vegan pancakes that everyone can eat and enough to make sure they’ll be available for breakfast until Wednesday. I like to get a batch of treats knocked out, too. Some cookies or muffins, maybe a cake or brownies. I also like to put together a dinner that can be revisited later in the week. There is a lot of cooking going on.
Since it’s January, I am all about cooking and baking that heats up the house. Come July, I’ll be all about the crock pot and smoothies.
After all we’ve been through, having a simple routine to rely on is comforting.
Okay, seriously? Another one.
It was innocent enough. I would run into him here and there. He’d flirt a bit and I probably flirted back. I don’t know. I’m not as good at deciphering flirtatious body language since choosing the solo life.
Once it hit me that he might actually be interested in me romantically, I gave it some real thought. And I decided without a doubt that I don’t want to be in a relationship. If he made any kind of move, I’d call it right there. I really wasn’t sure about his intentions at that point, but I knew mine.
Then it happened. He told me I was attractive and he is interested in me, but he’s married so he’s going to back off now.
Really? Fucking really?
A week into January and I’ve already got a married man coming clean to me. I’m not interested in dating and, so help me, if I was, I sure the fuck wouldn’t be interested in dating a married man. It was fine when I thought he was a single guy with an interest, but a married one? Again? I’m disgusted.
Shall we start a pool for how many there will be in 2016?
I like to keep a fairly sunny disposition. I kept smiling at the customers through the months that my boss nursed a bruised ego by oozing every bit of power trippy cruelty that could be mustered. I hold on to the little things. That we have a roof over our heads, that there is food on the table, that we have running water.
I accept that there are things others take for granted that I simply can’t have right now. A dishwasher. A vehicle for each adult in the house. Windows and doors that aren’t broken. A bedroom. A real bed – or a sofa bed.
Sure, I’d like to have plumbing that completely works and a dishwasher hooked into it so I don’t have to spend hours on a chore that others devote minutes to. But, what I’d really like is for people to not minimize and downplay what I’m going through. Don’t tell me it’s no big deal that I don’t have a dishwasher because you don’t use yours. Bullshit. You do and you know it. And, even if you are one of the rare people with a fully functional appliance in your home that you choose not to use, try to remember this before opening your smug mouth: it’s a choice you have.
I don’t get to choose between washing by hand and running the dishwasher. I get to choose how badly I let my hands get burned while washing thanks to faulty plumbing. Oh, but I’m sure you like washing in hot water, too, right? Or, you can just go on and tell me how lucky I am that the plumbing isn’t worse. All while not even being able to comprehend what it’s like to be so ridiculously broke that properly flowing water in the kitchen is a luxury you dare not dream of.
As a have-not, let me put it this way:
I am not required to be grateful for the partial things I do have. I have been utterly annihilated and am working my way back from destruction. If any part of my situation is an unimaginable Hell for you, do not dare tell me how lucky I am to be here.
I am not worth any less than you.