Gourd Cult

Repeat after me:

When you look into the display of decorative squash, 

The decorative squash looks into you.

You do not choose the mutant gourd.

The mutant gourd chooses you.

You do not reap the freaky-assed harvest.

The freaky-assed harvest reaps you.

Happy Fall.

3 word Motivation

**Please forgive my typos as this is a pre-work post**

I hate sports.

When people first start dating, they usually will try to hide some of their more unsavory characteristics from their partner, at least for the first six months.

B hid a thing or two.

I hid my hatred for sports.

It started when I was little. I grew up in a house of sports fans.

If there was a game on, my shows, my cartoons would be changed to whatever stupid sport was on.

I decided then and there, that I would never like sports.

Purely out of spite and stubbornness. (I get this trait from Horst)

Lo and behold, I married a sports fan.

I read a lot now.

With all the sports, TV is often unavailable.

But I'm not here to talk about my dislike of any and all sports.

I am here to talk about the stubbornness thing.

It has been a bad few months.

You know that old saying, "No good deed goes unpunished"

That happened and I was given a task that I did not want, do not like and really has brought me down in many ways.

My anxiety has been through the roof.

I am very unhappy in my present situation.

I have a long term plan and changes are coming soon.

But not soon enough for the way that I have been feeling.

(By the way, this does not have anything to do with my domestic situation, still happy with B, despite his love of sports... You can do the math, if you like)

The past few days have been the worst,  I was low.

I was done, I was so close to walking away.

It is definitely not the time to do that, but I couldn't bear another second.

Then, this little feeling grew.

An angry defiant little feeling

It blossomed overnight.

I am for the first time, ready to face the day without a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

Sometimes, when you have exhausted all of your energy that comes from the usual channels, you can find new resolve to stay the course from anger, spite and stubborn resolve.

Today, as I go about my business, doing what I have to do, I have three little words that will keep me going.

If you are at your wits end, ready to throw in the towel, and you have to just keep going because there is no other choice, please feel free to use them as well.

In your head, out loud, up to you.

Today I just have to keep going, this next year, this last year,  I'm still here,

because fuck you.

Pride and Time

How enjoyable my day off will be, is measured by how many early morning work calls I receive and whether or not I get shit on my hands while picking up after the dogs during our early morning walk.

I got the call but managed to avoid the shit.

Barely, but I did it.

I have that new puppy. Time for me is now measured in the increments that Klaus is in his crate and when he is not.

On Sunday August 28th, 10:00 am, I dropped Horst off at the airport for his 12:20 flight to Chicago. He was off to visit my brother and his family for two weeks.

Later on that evening, I shaved his cat.

The fur on her back had tangled into a turtle shell shaped mass that could have probably stopped bullets if I let it go any longer.

On Sunday September 4th,  B and I spent the entire day dusting and steam cleaning the rugs in his apartment.

This task cannot be completed while Horst is present, so once a year, we take the opportunity to do so while he is away.

Here is a list of the things I found:

• an electric cat comb. 
• A "self-groomer" that consists of an oversized pipe cleaner attached to a wooden base. The feline is compelled through magic or otherwise, to walk under the device and groom itself, leaving the pet owner to do many other useful things things with the 2 minutes that would have been wasted running a brush through the cat's fur. 
• 3 sandwich press machines
• 3 electric skillets
• a myriad of other devices that seem to exist to either save time or somehow make the user's life easier. These items best not be named lest I write the wrong thing and invoke a malevolent deity.
• His used Ziplock bag collection-which he hid in a different spot this year, thinking I wouldn't find them.
• Assorted sizes of old and stained Rubbermaid containers. I discarded them in the hopes that it would encourage him to use the brand new containers he has languishing in his cupboards.
• A small population of grain weevils living in his pet food bin. This was a change from last year, in which a small civilization of Carpet Beetles had established itself inside the used Ziplock bin.

All of the gadgets mentioned were either beneath a thick layer of dust or still brand new, encased in their original packaging. 

I believe now that Horst has been heavily influenced by the Jetson's and wishes that we lived in a world in which we can press a button and presto! our tasks are completed by a machine.

Between Aug 28th and Horst's return on September 10th, B and I logged in at least 16 hours of cleaning, cat care and grooming as well as shopping for Horst's apartment. We spent an estimated $200.00 on new pillows for his couch, cat items and cleaning equipment. 

But all in all, I will say that the whole process was far less painful then last year's apartment purge.

Just like last year, we did not receive a "thank you" for any of these things. 

That is fine. 

I learned a long time ago that this is not due to Horst being unkind, but because it is very awkward and difficult for him to either express gratitude or to apologize. 

He is a prideful man.

On Saturday, September 10th, I had to apologize for throwing away his dirty tupperware. We had left Horst with only subpar containers in which to make his vast amounts of deli salads. 

On Sunday, September 11th,  I passed beyond the rage membrane to a sort of murderous serenity while Horst explained to me at length, over Sunday dinner, why you can't run a dehumidifier in a basement with the window open on a humid day. (The window was closed the whole time the device was running in his apartment, I will add.)

Horst loves feeling superior. As I said, he is a prideful man.

Nothing gives him greater joy than to grasp an opportunity to point out a problem or where you went wrong.

He also absolutely loves it when you have to ask him for something.

Perhaps when it gets closer to Thanksgiving I will tell you all about how I purchase cranberry sauce out of spite.

On Tuesday, September 13th, I hung my head and made my walk of shame down to the basement to fetch one of his gadgets. 

You see, as I was cooking, a piece of kielbasa fell between the stove and the wall. In moving the stove, my toast inside a toaster salt and pepper shaker fell behind the stove. 

The only way to retrieve it was with Horst's special rubber tipped grabber tongs. 

You have no idea how much joy it would bring to my father, knowing that I needed one of the same  gadgets that I always complain about. 

My joy rests in never ever letting him know.