Monday, May 22, 2006
Sunny and pleasant
Can you even begin to imagine what it is like to jump every time the phone rings, or every time you hear footsteps coming towards the door? Wondering what fresh hell is being delivered, what new threat? You’d think we lived in a third world dictatorship. That’s what the last six months have been like, and it’s not letting up any time soon.
On a happier note, Barbaro came out of the six hours of surgery well. It’s still only 50-50. The next ten days will be crucial. He could get an infection. He could get laminitis. He’s nowhere near in the clear yet.
But he’s still alive. And every day he survives and thrives is a victory.
Yesterday, because it was a nice day early on, we decided to take a walk on the beach. Unfortunately, the Walk for Cystic Fibrosis was just getting under way, so we couldn’t. So we went over to the Nature Center to take a walk there. They were preparing for their annual Strawberry Festival, but we parked off to the side and tramped around the refuge. I took lots of pictures of the ruins of a stone house – it’s a great setting for a YA mystery. We even saw a deer eating its breakfast, completely unconcerned that we were so close.
Today, we’re bracing for the next problem. I suspect it will hit us Friday at 5 PM, to ruin the holiday weekend; but, you never know. They could strike earlier.
Reading Gail Godwin’s journals, getting annoyed at her complete dependence upon having men dance attendance on her all the time, I try to remember what I was like, emotionally, in my early twenties. Pretty much a mess. I was constantly struggling to balance what I needed in my life – creativity – with what I wanted – a good relationship.
And the guys were usually shown the door in pretty short order. Because, inevitably, no matter how much they were attracted to my independence, the minute we were in the bounds of a “relationship”, I was expected to adapt into his life. It wasn’t about meeting halfway, about mutual compromise. It was about me changing.
Anyone who tries to compete with the writing will lose. He will be kicked to the curb. Because the right partner will know he doesn’t need to compete. He won’t be threatened by the writing.
And I’m not willing to settle for less.
I have no interest in being a housewife. I am not going to sit at home running the house while the husband goes out and works and does whatever the hell he wants. And coming home expecting me to cater to him because he “worked” all day. Having worked in well over 170 corporations in my temp days, 99.9% of so-called executives call it working when they trash women around the copy machine, talk on the phone, make golf dates, drink too much at lunch, and play solitaire on the computer. That’s not work. That’s being paid to waste time. If couples find that works for them, fine. It works for them. It does not work for me, and I won’t do it.
You want a housekeeper? Hire one. I have stuff to do. I have books to be written, trips to be taken, experiences to experience.
But I also don’t expect to go out and have everything paid for by the guy. I remember sitting at a charity event, working the table, and the girl (and I use the word “girl” deliberately) working with me told me she never takes money with her when she goes out to a bar or a night on the town, because there’s always some guy around who’ll pay.
I think that’s just wrong.
Even if he makes his money by wasting time in an office, that doesn’t mean it’s right to grift him out of it for drinks and dinner.
I’m lucky that my ex-SO was more interested in partnership than in roles. I’m sorry our circumstances have forced us apart. Because anything less than both parties working to support each other’s dreams is not acceptable.
I started earning my way when I was eleven years old. Eleven. I’ve worked my whole life. I got good grades, earned scholarships, and performed work study so I could make it through an Ivy League school. I fought my way into a career – entertainment -- that many people daydream about, but only 1% of those who enter it ever make a living. And now I’m fighting to make the transition to write full time. Nobody, NOBODY is going to tell me when or if I have to vacuum, and demand dinner when he gets home.
Especially not if I’m on deadline.
Today, I want to get back to Real, finish my article for FemmeFan, get some more paperwork done in connection to The Situation, and get some of those resumes out. And catch up on my work for SDR before my LOA begins.
I’m behind yet again because we had a power failure last night. Even when the power returned, the computer didn’t work.