Life's been pretty sweet

Okay, it hasn't been all sweet, by any stretch of the imagination. But the good has mostly outweighed the bad of late. It has been really busy, though, which is no excuse for not blogging, but it's all I've got, so there you go.

My personal life has been kind of all over the place. The divorce drama has not died...it's merely mutated into something less costly in the financial sense, but more frustrating and disheartening than ever. This latest to-do (and no, I'm not going to elaborate in public, but it's probably even worse than what your imagination can conjure) has made me wonder, yet again, how some people can be terrified of marriage because it's a "serious commitment", but will often think nothing of having a child with that person they're too chicken to marry. You want to be stuck dealing with someone for the rest of your life, no matter how much you'd like to never see or think of him again? Have a dang child with him. Marriage is easy to get out of--especially these days. Kids are forever. Oy.

My job is going well. I like almost all the people there, and there's so little of the bullshit that went on at my previous job. It's fewer hours than the breakfast place, and I therefore have less money piling up under the mattress, but I still have plenty to get by, and enough to even exercise a little largess here and there. Likewise, the kids are all right. Steady as we go, onwards and upwards, and all that.

My royalty checks are still nice and big(gish), though they'd be bigger if I had more books out, for sure. Working on that. :)

I've been seeing someone fairly steadily since mid-November. It's been bumpy, but somehow we've managed to hang in there this long. He's...well, he's funny and brilliant and kind and honest and sweet. And a little weird--perhaps just weird enough to appreciate my own particular weirdness. And he's pushing me to write, and I think I need that kind of kick in the pants to launch myself full-on back into the habit at this point. So if I have a new book contract in the next month or so, you'll all know who to thank.

I'm still largely ignoring housework, and most of the writing I've been doing has been in emails to friends rather than fiction, or comments on blogs. I've been trying to stir up enough interest to join in on some discussions going on in the online romance community, but lately there hasn't been much posted around the neighborhood that arouses my passions, so to speak. Anybody feel like posting something outrageous enough that I can't resist jumping in, please do so. I'd appreciate it. :)

So there's the update. Still alive, cautiously optimistic about my life, but still dealing with stuff I'd rather wash my hands of. Gonna try to blog more, if I can think of anything to say that won't bore you all to tears, lol.

Hugs.

Christmas mayhem...

Well, my family, as wonderful as they are, have managed to put a crimp in my typically last-nanosecond (hey, the tree only went up yesterday, haha) preparations for the big event. Because my sister's son and stepsons will be celebrating on Christmas Day with their "other" families (oh, divorce, how you complicate matters), our family celebration--complete with turkey dinner and at least a portion of the gift-unwrapping--will be done Christmas Eve. This means I have ONE DAY to finish all the shopping and wrapping, instead of two. And I work at 5 on the 23rd, wheeeeee! Should be a fun day. :)

I haven't even counted the gifts I've managed to get for each kid (they should each have an equal number of presents under the tree, even if I have to wrap socks and underwear, dammit), so I'm not sure who I even have to buy for in the morning. But I did manage to get a few things I need for myself to wrap and put under the tree, so the kids won't feel I've been completely left out on the big day. (I'm usually ruthless about denying myself material things, but hey, it's freaking Christmas and I could use some nice, 300 thread count, 100% combed Egyptian cotton sheets, so what the heck. Hang the expense.)

This will be my first Christmas here in Edmonton in over a decade, and I can't freaking wait. But as much as I like having family around, the weather has been brutal. I think temps have averaged out at about -15C for the last six weeks or so, and my car is covered in crud and salt from the roads. Lugging stuff in from the car to the house leaves me hypothermic, my fingers stinging from the cold, even through gloves. Lugging it back to the car, all wrapped and nice, just to lug it into my parents' condo won't be fun, either. But it will be worth it. :)

Frankly, a turkey dinner cooked by someone else, with the dishes going into someone else's dishwasher? I can't even imagine what that's like. And we're having ham at my sister's on Christmas Day, too, even if we'll be three kids short. Two evenings of wine and comfort food, family and Christmas spirit, and no mess in my house...that's freaking priceless.

Next year is soon enough for me to have everyone over to my house. I still have renoes to finish in order to make this place liveable (oy), and I'll hopefully be in a better position to dictate days off with my employer by then. And maybe next year I won't leave everything to the last possible moment, too. But I don't think so, lol.

busy busy busy

So I was out all morning yesterday, but my amazing 15-y/o daughter fielded the delivery confirmation call from Leon's, gave the guy directions to the house, reviewed the invoice, and had her older brother sign for the bunk beds that arrived while I wasn't here. (Yet somehow she can't manage to throw her granola bar wrappers in the trash, even when the trash can is 4 inches from the table where she's left the pile of wrappers. Hmmm.....)

So now I will spend my day moving furniture, lugging the rest of the scrap from the wet bar out onto the back patio (to be carted away in the spring when the condo board brings back the "big bin"), and putting the boys' bed together. And working at 5, as usual.

Also spent my morning sorting out my money, trying to figure out how to juggle bills and stuff from my 4 bank accounts at 3 different banks (necessary, between rental income, debt payment and my US income, but annoying and a little confusing to keep track of, all the same).

My daughter's computer finally died the other day, so now I not only need a new one for my oldest (his planned x-mas gift, to replace the one he's outgrown), I need to look into a laptop for her if I ever want to get 5 minutes on my own computer again. So Christmas will be a little more pricey than I'd thought--but still essentially workable.

My sofa looks awesome, and I managed to fit it into the available space without having to rearrange everything in the room, which is cool. And it had a little bit of damage on the upholstery, so I called and they gave me a 15% discount on it--preferable to having another one delivered, and then having my kids end up doing the same amount of damage in the space of a week, no? Nicest thing about it is the lack of squabbling over couch space, though I'm sure they'll find something else to pick at each other about soon enough, lol.

Now that the wet bar is out of the way, the amount of space downstairs is HUGE. At least compared to what it was. The old sofa should fit there perfectly, and I'm planning a built-in computer desk that will serve all the kids. It should be a nice place for them to hang out when it's done (drywalled and painted)--less like a squat in a condemned building and more like an actual, you know, room. And finishing it will up the value of my sister's place, which will make me feel better about her giving me a break on the rent.

I'm getting lots of shifts at work--more than I really want or need--but at the same time, I do need to get a pot together for Christmas, so I'm letting that slide a bit. It's going to be busy over the next few weeks, but I'll manage. :)

too much to do...

It's been a while since I blogged, and I thought I better let you all know I'm still alive.

So here's the update: still alive. Might want to ask me again in ten minutes, just to make sure.

I changed jobs not too long ago--just after returning from what I hope is my last trip back to the soggy reaches of North Vancouver Island for a while--trading in my gig at the 24-hour egg and pancake house for a less hour-intensive job at a rib joint. I like it much better--I still work mostly evenings, and it's still 5 days a week, but the shifts are shorter and the politics are a bit less obtrusive and frustrating. The money's not quite as good, but it's still plenty, and a fair trade-off for having an average of 3 hours more every day to get other shit done.

I've been dating a fair bit, too. It's been hit or miss for a while now, though at the moment things seem to be more hit than miss. Fingers crossed and all that.

I've been undoing some of the renovations done by the guy who lived here before my sister bought the place. The guy didn't actually finish anything, his taste is abysmal (think appalling 1980s nouveau-riche), and his workmanship shoddy at best yet built to last--half of it's still bare plywood, none of the joints meet properly, nothing's level or square, but the 9000 nails he used has made demolition positively grueling. Nothing like getting it all wrong AND making it next to impossible to change, right? It's been fun...NOT.

I went out furniture shopping a couple weeks ago, and bought myself a sectional sofa and some bunk beds for my boys. The sofa arrives tomorrow, and I have to spend today before work figuring out how the hell it's going to fit in my tiny living room, heh. Wish me luck--full-sized sectional in a condo-sized living room? Oy.

My 40th birthday came and went without any huge, hideous emotional crisis. Sure, it ain't great to be officially middle-aged, but it's not so bad when you neither look nor feel it.

I've been kicking around the idea of really resuming the writing thing in the New Year. Looking at it like a job, rather than an avenue for self-expression and a little extra income. I should really be doing that right now, but there's too much to do with the holidays coming, and all the upheaval of rearranging my house. We'll see.

But that's my life as of Nov. 29, 2010. Pretty boring, really. Aren't you glad I filled you in?

new story

Okay, it's not ten thousand words in one of my many WIPs, but at least it's SOMETHING. I've posted a new short story on my website--a very short one (just a little over 1000 words)--that I wrote today when I was supposed to be vacuuming my living room (sorry, mom).

It's a little more...intense than most of the other stuff I've written. So I'm going to post a little disclaimer about the content. It's not only dirty, it's kind of uh..."caveman" and might not be everyone's thing. I'm not expecting that it will upset most people, but survivors of sexual assault might find it triggering. Just sayin'.

Coming out...

It's National Coming Out Day in the US (Turkey Day for us Canucks), and I thought I'd post something more relevant than "Happy Thankgiving!"

For me, coming out as a bisexual was kind of easy. My parents have always been supportive and accepting (even of the stupid things I do), my sisters, kids and extended family are pretty liberal-minded, and frankly, half the strangers I encounter would probably suspect I dig women, anyway (the short hair and comfortable shoes give me away, lol). There was no drama in me going from closeted admirer of girls to open admirer of girls, no cutting me from any wills, no shunning or freak-outs (at least not where I could see them), and if there was any Othering or bigotry going on in regard to my being attracted to both men and women, well, most if it hasn't been directed at me so much as the concept of bisexuality, and what I've encountered has come from within the GLBT community at least as frequently as from the wider population.

Coming out was easy-peasy, all things considered. Gotta love Canada and our progressive ways of thinking.

But I've recently had kind of a light-bulb moment in regard to my gender identity. I've always considered myself a bit queer in that regard. Kind of an amalgam of male and female squashed together in my psyche and heart and not exactly getting along most of the time. My sexual feelings for men have always been very yin, and my sexual feelings for women have always been rather yang, so to speak. And like Lianon, the protagonist of some of my books, I've always felt like the trappings of femininity--jewellery, dresses, floral prints, long hair, lipstick, high heels, pretty much anything girly--are not just a costume when I wear them, but a misrepresentation and an undermining of who I am.

So there I was at [insert franchise name here], picking up an application, and I'm looking at the servers--all of them in tight, short, low-cut dresses, heels, and tarted up to look like "Escort Barbie"--and I'm thinking, "I can't work here! Shit, even if I could trick myself out to look like a 20 y/o hooker (and I probably could), I'd feel ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. I'd feel like I was wearing a sandwich board that said, 'I'm pretending to be something I'm not!'"

More than that, I'd feel weak. And oddly sexless, if you'll believe. I love being a woman--wouldn't trade it for anything--but my femininity is best expressed through a masculine screen. I show off my female curves, but wear clothes that emphasize my female body from within a masculine context. My hair is short, but pixyish--if it looked butch on me I'd find another style. I wear make-up that emphasizes the femininity of my face, but in an understated way.

I feel my strongest and sexiest and most sensual and most confident in that uniform. And yet, I've always been left with the feeling, insidious and disheartening, that this being, this...ME, is somehow not a proper woman.

It comes from a lot of different places. From my (soon to be ex) husband, who told me that my short hair made me look like a man (it doesn't, but long hair is a strong enough icon of femininity that it mattered to him). From men on dating sites who ask if there are any pictures of me with long hair, or wearing a dress. From men who tell me I'm hot, but man, if I only put on a tight skirt and heels, I'd stop traffic. From lovers who've purchased lacy lingerie for me and then complained when I didn't wear it. From men in bars who look at me with open admiration and desire, then hit on the less attractive girl in the lacy purple camisole with the teased hair and ballet flats. Even from well-meaning friends on shopping trips who pick out floral-print, empire-wasted tops for me to try on.

The implication has always been that what I am at my core--and what I love most about myself--is somehow defective. It's like a black person constantly confronted with people who say, "If you can present as a little more...ah...white, you're hired," or, "I love you, and because I love you I'm willing to accept that you're not a blue-eyed blonde--you don't mind if I imagine I'm fucking Jennifer Aniston when we do it, do you?" or, "you'd look a lot more attractive if you de-emphasized your African features."

In the past, I've sought out very masculine men for relationships, because they make me feel feminine in comparison. I've resisted relationships with women because of my fear that my masculinity will take over somehow, and I'd lose sight of my femaleness altogether. And I didn't even really realize I was doing it.

Until I walked into IFNH and saw those botox girls in their stilettoes and little black dresses, and thought of the one man who didn't make me feel like I was not a "real woman". It was a brief relationship, but one that helped me learn all kinds of things about who I am and what I want. And what I want is for a man to tell me, with his words, with his actions, with his eyes: "You turn me on." Full stop. None of this, "You turn me on, but you'd turn me on even more if you put on this frilly bit of something and some thigh-highs. I know it makes you feel silly and inadequate, but it would make you more attractive to me."

That man told me things like, "I love your hair, OMG, short hair on a woman just does something to me." "Those paint-stained jeans are the sexiest thing I've ever seen you in." "You're so hot, you're like a stalking cat, lean and strong and so fucking sexy." He even called me "hyper-feminine" once. Who knew! He never once asked me to wear a skirt, or if I owned anything lacy. Never once implied, through word or look or action, that he might be more attracted to me if I presented myself in a more feminine way. He wouldn't have changed a single thing about how I express who I am at my core.

And for that, I'd like to thank him here. And I'd like to come out to everyone as ME, unusual, a little queer, somewhat extraordinary, but at my essence, a real woman.

my bad...

The other day I got a letter from a self-proclaimed fan of my work, gently (very gently) scolding me for not writing more. Telling me that he and my other "adoring fans" had waited patiently for my next book long enough. He was effusive enough in his praise for my work that I hardly recognized it for the admonishment it was, and honestly, it made me feel really flattered to know there are people out there who enjoy my work enough that they're getting frustrated waiting for me to release another title.

And it didn't get my back up at all, because he's right. I do need to get to it. Word-counts on my works in progress have moved little enough that it's not worth the bother of even updating my word-meters.

I keep telling myself (and the rest of you) that I simply don't have time to write, but that isn't it. I have time, lots of it, because my kids are pretty self-sufficient and I don't particularly care about keeping my house gorgeous (and haven't been doing it in any case, as anyone who tries to navigate across the legos and assorted detritus on my living room floor would tell you). Sure, I've been working a lot, and dealing with some serious logistical crap in regard to changing provinces, but I've got 4 hours a day with nothing that NEEDS to fit into it.

I just haven't been in the right frame of mind to do it.

I've been through an emotional ringer a few times since November over relationships that didn't work out the way I wanted. Black moments galore since February, but no climax to counter them, no sweet denoument into the land of happily ever after. My love life, it has not been romance of late. It's been lit-fic of the worst kind--the kind where unrequited love stays unrequited, where the hero gets screwed over by circumstances, the villain (or villainess) is victorious, and the heroine ends up alone yet again.

Add to that the fact that I spent my last year in BC angsting about even surviving, staring into a future where I'd indefinitely be making my mortgage payments with my credit card (actually, not indefinitely, because it would max out eventually, heh), where no matter how many thousands of dollars I handed to my lawyer he couldn't seem to help me, and struggling with the understanding that moving with my kids under the circumstances could have serious legal repercussions.

And when I'd finally concluded I had no choice but to relocate or be completely and irretrievably ruined by the status quo, and had put the process in motion, my stepson died. Right in the middle of that already difficult transition, a sweet, loving, soft-hearted kid I could only have felt closer to had he lived with us full time, just...gone.

And even now that things are less stressful; now that I've mostly weathered the loss of my stepson; now that I've accepted that me moving at what turned out to be the worst possible time for everyone--and the terrible pain it caused others--was simply unavoidable; now that my kids and I have the help and support we need from my family; now that I'm not scrambling to make my bills or facing decisions like "will it be milk or bread, because I can't afford both"; now that my divorce is finally looking like it will be over and done with and might not send me to the poorhouse after all ... well, there are other worries moving in to replace all that.

My divorce may be almost dealt with, but in order to settle it, I'm taking on a huge amount of risk. In a couple years I might have a nice sum of money to spend on tuition for my kids. But if property values don't recover in the hideously depressed community where my house sits, or if I can't keep it rented out, all I may end up with is a shit-ton of regret, more debt, and three kids who aren't going to college after all.

I'm staring ahead two months toward my 40th birthday, and feeling like I've wasted a lot of my life on nothing special. On struggling and putting up with things, instead of living. And it's been hard to put myself in the shoes of characters who do more than just struggle to make it from one day to the next, who fight for what they want--happiness, love, a feeling of belonging--and get it because it's what they deserve. What everyone deserves, when you think about it.

But you know what? That's no excuse. None of it is, really. I told someone I love recently that you get the life you choose, and it's true. Sure, outside circumstances have their way with us, but it's up to us to choose how we react to them, whether we opt to just settle for what the universe dishes out, or whether we work around the situation, or climb over it, or bulldoze through it.

I told someone else I loved recently that for my last year in BC I felt like a rat in a maze, wandering around looking for a way out that would be easy and uncompicated, but the only way out was blocked by lawyers with baseball bats, so eventually I had to kick a hole in the wall. It was difficult and costly in so many ways, but it was worth it.

And I can sit here and angst about everything I'm still dealing with and get nothing real accomplished, or I can put all of that angst aside. If there's nothing I can do about it, there's no point in worrying, is there? Just get on with things, put one foot in front of the next, one word on the page after another. Accept that even though things still kind of stink in some parts of my life, they stink a lot prettier than they did a year ago.

Words on the page, in life and in fiction. And I might not have that god-like power over the universe in real life that I get to exercise in my writing, but I still get to write some of my own story.

And maybe it's time to rev up that bulldozer. I think I'm done with kicking holes in things, though. My foot still hurts from the last time, lol.