Archive (where Noah kept bees)

website statistics


Summer break's over, winter angst is here

Earlier this year, I stopped blogging out of general ennui. I felt my life was boring and I was unhappy about several things: my mother's fading health is upsetting, I still have too many cats, Ian* pretty much ignores me, and I haven't really scored another boyfriend. But I've recently decided to get back on track anyway. I'm determined to fix what's wrong with my life.

With the exception of last month (November), there's not a lot to write about. I did find another lover, although the erotic levels never reached what I had with The Cub. He was/is a doctor's son, married with twin 13-year olds, with an incredible dragon tattoo under his Ralph Lauren button-down shirts. 

And James* has resurfaced again, although he has done this now and then for two years now. 

But the news I'm hating to share is that I think I may be falling for someone who is single, younger than me, has Facebook-pursued me for seven years, met me once in 2014 for dinner and a snog, and kept inviting me to visit him in Cincinnati. (So I'll call him Cincinnati*.)

I finally did so last month and visited Cincinnati for two days before taking in some Chicago museums. But now I am totally confused.

Here's what happened:

Shortly before I arrived, Cincinnati fell off his bicycle and fractured his elbow. It was/is painful, but not suitable for a cast.

After I arrived, Cincinnati developed tinnitis in one ear. So he was even more miserable. 

A few days later, I was checking out his Instagram photos and inadvertently messaged a female friend of his, who sent me a strange message back even after I explained that I'd clicked on her by mistake. Shortly afterwards, Cincinnati sent me an Instagram message asking me what I was doing messaging his friends. It was if he thought I was some jealous stalker weirdo. 

I was so upset about the Instagram incident that I ditched my account (I never used it much anyway) and shut off Facebook for a while. After a few days I wrote Cincinnati a letter and included a screen grab of my Instagram conversation with the friend I'd mistakenly clicked on, as I strongly suspected she had lied about my initial contact with her and portrayed me as a jealous stalker weirdo.

Although Cincinnati never responded to the letter, I finally wrote him a short email and asked how he was, explaining that I hadn't "unfriended" him on Facebook, just turned it off for a while. He politely replied almost immediately and said that his tinnitis had turned into a numb face, vertigo and lack of taste, and he was scheduled for an MRI. This frightened me. But he said nothing about the letter, or my visit, or anything else. 

There's more to this, but ultimately I've decided that if he spazzes about one mistaken Instagram click, he might not be a good candidate for a relationship. Which upsets me as he's an incredibly good kisser.

* See The Usual Suspects.





clouds clearing, cubs multiplying

Ever since the cat ladies returned to Petsmart - a large chain of pet supply stores here in the US - I may finally reclaim Ian's house from the dozen cats currently squatting there.

I was able to adopt out two from my house several weeks ago, and two more last Friday. Of course, the trick is to not take in more, but Rachel* has been duly warned that from now on I'm going to Just Say No to more felines. And I've purchased the supplies needed to make the outdoor catio 100% inescapable. 

For those who don't know what a catio is, it's a large outdoor enclosure for cats. They tend to look like chicken coops.  Some have an entry through a window (mine does - see photo below, where Tiki is refusing  re-entry to Starlet).  I think she is saying "You Shall Not Pass" in cat language. 


Tiki has since been adopted out to a single older man, who has renamed her Tootsie and is spoiling her.

Also, after a couple of delays, I think I am finally going to move my mother to a better nursing home (aka "skilled nursing facility") soon.  I had a call from the facility today as a heads-up, saying that a room should be available by August.

The new place is only four miles from my current house, and is also convenient to my nieces and one of my aunts, who is my mother's youngest sister. This particular aunt is a pain in the ass, although she's married to someone I like very much. But the more visitors for my mother, the better. I even plan to take Toby the cat and any kitten I can borrow over to see her when she's settled.

Hopefully this will give me more renovating time. Ian's house needs a lot of work, but I am making very little progress on the two worst rooms. I haven't even removed all of the vile carpet from the sunroom, and the bathroom is on hold as the spare bathroom - the one I will need to use when reflooring the master bathroom - has problems. Namely, the valve that controls the water from going to the bathtub to the shower is blooey, and it's so rusted in place that I haven't been able to replace it. 

I also may have a replacement for the Cub - I'm still in the interviewing stage - so watch this naughty space.

Regarding the kidney donation, I have a doctor's appointment later this week, but physical and ethical concerns are mounting. Choosing the person who gets the kidney (if my doctor okays it) is problematic. On one hand, I could donate and tell the transplant facility to choose a recipient. But what if the recipient runs dogfighting rings, or is a neo-conservative, or wears polyester? And my understanding is that the entire procedure is easier to handle when you know the person who's getting your kidney. Perhaps I should call my former Anglican priest. He's retired now, but I can't think of anyone else to speak to. Especially since my therapist decamped. 

* See The Usual Suspects at right. 



Just one. I'm trying to quit.

When I lived in the UK, I began reading my landlord's copies of the New Scientist. There isn't an American version, so it's a bit difficult to explain the content. Suffice it to say that it's written in a manner that I can understand, except for some of the articles about physics theories. 

Last month I read an article about kidney transplants; specifically, about people who donate kidneys for compassionate reasons. Now I can't stop thinking about doing this myself. It doesn't seem that much of a sacrifice - a few weeks of recovery, versus someone dying needlessly after dialysis stops working. 

I found a blog written by someone who decided to donate a kidney. She ended up having to take four weeks off work, but she had no regrets. 

It's difficult to spend a lot of time thinking about the situation, as there's not a lot to consider. I've considered that not all transplants work, and that I could go through the surgery only to learn that I didn't help anyone. But this doesn't deter me. My only hesitation is that I want to make 100% sure of my motivation. I'm not that a big a fan of the human race, so why does this feel like something I need to do?


state of confusion

I apologize to my faithful (albeit misguided) readers for not posting recently. But situations that I usually managed to handle haven't been really in my grasp lately. And I think my relationship with Ian* is ending.

The reason I think my relationship is ending is that Ian doesn't seem interested in speaking to me any more, or even sending the occasional email.  I hear from him rarely, so I haven't been totally ghosted, although it feels that way. I don't think he's found a replacement for me - I think he's just not interested. 

This makes me sad, but it also made me look at the housing situation differently. Ian is someone who is paying about $1,000 a month for my current home, and I am thinking this doesn't make a lot of sense, especially since his wife will want at least 50% of the proceeds when he sells the place.

He has stopped job-hunting and seems resigned to the status quo, and since the airport looks like a nine-year project, he won't ever need another job as long as he stays where he is now. The blowup with his daughter went away without discussion, as Ian admitted she had asked him for money a few days ago. 

Work-wise I am feeling burned out and in need of a vacation, but can't see that happening for at least a couple of months. I still hope to do a cross-country Amtrak trip while they're still available but the one I want to do would cost me about $1,000, even if I wait for the autumn off-season.

I have not seen or heard from the Cub* in quite a while. I'm assuming he has no reason to visit Dallas these days and although we were both well-aware his business here would end, I'm still wishing he'd think up an excuse to visit. But the silence from his end tells me all I need to know.

The news isn't 100% bad though, as I have found a better place for my mother that's only 4 miles from my house. I'm hoping my brothers will assist me with the actual move, which won't start until I say so, but I am thinking they'll be "too busy" or otherwise.

It's about 6.30 here in Texas so it's 7.30 in NY. I just tried to call Ian but both of his phones are switched off. 

* see The Usual Suspects.


go west and misbehave

Although I've been suffering from mid-summer doldrums (I hate hot weather), the depression caused by touring nursing homes (I plan to move my mother soon), and a passive-aggressive, quiet Ian*, I had a remarkably pleasant dream last night.

Initially, I was looking at a smallish rural office building in California with my first husband David*. We're considering it so we can pursue our different careers under the same roof.  It had some nice wood floors but a strangely small walkway to a basement. I went to the back yard which was edged by tall trees, and saw two peacocks fly away. 

Later, David disappears. Now I'm driving around a small California town with Cathie, my friend from college who now lives in Anaheim, who I still see now and then. We're in an elderly convertible and we have the top down.  I spot the opera baritone Thomas Hampson sitting on a park bench. I ask Cathie to let me out as I want to say hello to him, and we end up getting on quite well. We (Cathie, Thomas and a couple of her friends) all go to a restaurant and have soup, and eventually I end up having sex with Thomas in an indoor swimming pool.

Later on though, the weather goes to hell and I suspect that tornadoes are in the works. We (Cathie, Thomas, and the same couple of Cathie's soup-sharing friends) end up in the same smallish office I'd earlier viewed with David although he's vanished from the dream. After a couple of minutes I spot a funnel cloud from the window. We all head for the basement but we can barely all fit on the stairs. But the building isn't hit and we all survive.

* See The Usual Suspects.