For the Armenian

The last weekend before Christmas. I am glad my mother instituted secret santa in our family, so the stress of buying gifts is gone. I don't even miss getting presents. I am just looking forward to being in St-Adele and reading books, playing cards, skiing, spending time with my family...

But, still three days of work before I can do all of that. And work is irritating. Everything is slow and I keep on running into roadblocks in all of my projects. I try to remember that I don't even like this job, but I still want to accomplish something. I'd like to have what I do for the majority of my weekdays go somewhere, even if in the end I don't consider my work to be fulfilling satisfying. And my carpool, which used to be both fun and very convenient, is now irritating due to the driver. We went to my coworker Karine's birthday party and he got slurringly drunk. He kept on grabbing my arm and knee quite hard, and at one point he, I imagine, went to emphasize whatever crap he was slurring on about by grabbing my arm, but grabbed my breast instead. Hard enough to make me yelp. And then was offended because I embarrassed him when I said, somewhat loudly, That's my boob! and everyone at the party heard. His reaction, I realized, was one of the first genuine things I had ever heard/witnessed from him. And that fact made my skin crawl. The next night was a party that I didn't go to, as the Russian was in town and Art was going to attend, and they both swore there would be a fight if they were in the same room. Hard to imagine that...
Anyway, he waylaid my friend, again completely drunk, and showed her text messages that I had sent him in reply to his about carpool and the party the previous evening: No, I am here already. Carpool tmmrw? And was convinced that I must like him. I know these two events seem minor and silly, but they offered me a glimpse of an aspect of this guy that I find repulsive. He is disingenuous. A quality I really don't like, but which I dislike even more when it comes from a desire to be liked, not by someone he genuinely finds interesting, but my anyone and everyone. I am not sure why that bugs me so much. So he was just this person operating somewhere in my orbit but once I realized he would say anything, even have an argument with me, to be what he thinks I want him to be, all interactions took on a tone of insincerity. I hate insincerity. Maybe I am being too hard and have closed my peripheral vision on him so that all I see is this weakness, but it has soured me! But carpool is essential for the winter months, so I just have to get along with him.

That was a long bit about something not that interesting. Although the grabbiness was icky. It quickly brought to mind other times when I have been in situations that I would much rather not have been in, that left me feeling dirty and a little ashamed (much how the women accusing the wikileaks guy must feel, if the article I read today can be believed). This has been on my mind a lot these days, since I am getting involved with a group called POWER (Prostitutes of Ottawa-Gatineau Work Educate and Resist). I found them originally through contact with a similar organization in Montreal, Stella, and they just published a thorough and moving report on sex work in Ottawa. I will post a link to it when the website is back up. They are a rights group, and don't offer any services to sex workers. One day, maybe I will be able to be able to make my living filling that gap.
Anyway, sex work, violence, sex, consent, stigma have all been on my mind for the past little while. At my work Christmas party I was sitting next to a man I know slightly and after telling him that I was planning on going to the vigil at the Human Rights Memorial to mark the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers (Dec 17) we got into a discussion about sex work. I told him I had been a cam girl, but mostly we talked about stigmatization. This was something that came up throughout the POWER report as well, that sex work becomes the worker's identity, not their job. They are defined by it, and any heated discussion about it becomes a defense of who you are, not what you do. I remember feeling like that, and how exhausting it was. Because sex work is already something, whether you choose it or not, that requires introspection- how do I feel about my body, am I respecting myself, am I being taken advantage of, how does my sexuality relate to my identity... I think this is because it is something that is not socially acceptable. So to never be able to have a break from defending your choices unless you avoid telling people about your job or outright lie about it seems to me to need a strength that I don't know if I have, in any case.
Of course, there is a difference between middle class me choosing to do cam work, and working on the street, for drugs, getting harassed by police, but the report actually makes clear that what POWER calls whorephobia does exist in every line of sex work, and that it profoundly affects all the workers the authors interviewed.
I think Jon had never thought about sex work, and that his initial position was somewhat neutral...that perhaps the laws that make sex work difficult should be changed for the safety of the worker (which is true, but it isn't only about safety; working in a coal mine is hazardous too, but miners don't have laws that violate their human rights written into the Criminal Code). So I wasn't arguing against a moral stance. That is a lot harder to reconcile. The idea that sexuality can be sold like anything else is repulsive to some people, and I think maybe primarily women, but I don't know. I don't know why I have never felt that repulsion. And that brings us back to the introspection.
In any case, I am glad that I am exploring this, because it is something that I feel really strongly about. Although I am uncomfortable with the idea of being an 'activist' and I did feel idiotic holding my candle in the cold, surrounded by people who feel exactly the same way as I do about sex work. But perhaps that is where strength comes from. I also feel like a little cam work doesn't really give me too much insight. But maybe it is enough.

In other news, the Russian has been in serious wooing mode. He came to Ottawa last week, ostensibly to bring me my Christmas present (a very beautiful, but not very functional teapot). I have put both him, and Art, on ice for the time being (though of course I sleep with the Russian whenever we are geographically close enough to do so...) The truth is, though, that I love him. It just isn't enough. Though, if he quits his job and takes the job he is interviewing for in Ottawa, and does that with no guarantee from me, that is convincing...
It is so odd that I sought out someone who has no idea how to want what he wants and feel like he deserves to have it, as compared to the Russian who is just learning how to balance what he wants with what I want and need. Art says that it is just so much easier to give his wife what she wants, that if she doesn't care or care enough that he doesn't actually love her, that she loves him enough for the two of them, then maybe he owes it to her to stay and try some more. When I asked if he wanted to be with someone he didn't love, he said no. And I said, doesn't that count for anything? His response was that he didn't know, maybe not. My reaction to this revelation of his character was to turn into an armadillo and enjoy our conversations.

Okay, one more thing: I love these dioramas. I wish I could see them to get a sense of their scale.

Oh, and what is it about being in love that makes me want to almost ingest the object of my affection. I have been thinking about this all week because the Russian has been sending me adorable animal photos. This might be the least adorable, but still my favourite:



and I love this image too:



Okay, I am done for reals now.

Advice

The Russian sent me this today, after a conversation on the phone last night where there were things I wanted to say, but didn't find the strength. He said I was strong, stronger than anyone he has ever met, but what I was too weak to tell him to give up, that what he is feeling isn't real, it's jealousy and fear that he won't find someone he likes more than me. But I love him, and I couldn't. Maybe another time. Maybe I deserve to hear him tell me all these things, except that it could end up kicking me in the ass later on, when he does fall in love with someone else. I mean really, he is seeing someone, how does he expect to convince me he is a changed man if he can do that? But I guess I am capable of doing it.

And then there is the stupid, naked, hopeful sliver of me that is like, he's telling the truth, he found what he was looking for and it's me!

Which is all besides the point, which is...what am I looking for?

Art is so sweet. He was showing me photos of U of T campus that he thought I would like, and there were photos of his wedding and others with his little family, dogs and wife, and he looked so different than how I see him. He looks at me with wide eyes all the time, and when he bursts out laughing it is against his will. He says he is a little terrified of me, that he never imagined he would be able to get close to me and the fact that I like him is a constant surprise. And then I look at those photos and I see sarcasm and irritation and affection, but mostly he is really relaxed. I asked him about this, and he said it takes a long time for him to let his guard down, which I understand. I do it in a different way, but my armour stays up for a while too.

So...I have this feeling that telling them both to leave me alone might be a smart choice. I am not always so good at taking the high road, though.

Am finally going to see Sabina tomorrow for Christine's birthday. We are going to the polar bear club. I have to admit that I am exhausted from taking the bus to Montreal so often and sleeping on couches, being busy, trying to get regular tasks done when I keep on traveling to Montreal. Going to see Lev felt like going to my other home, but this is different.

I wonder how Lindsay is doing...it was strange giving her advice (Christine is right; everyone bullies her, for better or for worse, and we should be careful) that I should be taking myself: to not be scared to displease people, that if they care about her they will stick around and she should decide what is best for her, and not base it on what people want from her. I think the Sparkses in general could use that advice.

It felt like the first day of winter today. Not so much this morning, when the snow was still new and the frozen fall leaves were crunching under my boots while I paced around waiting for my lift- it felt temporary, awaiting warmer temperatures. But tonight when I left work the trees were bare and icy and it smelled like cold weather. I don't really like winter (winter freckles- why does winter give me bad skin?) but it was pleasant stepping out into the cold sunset.

ThisThat

Isn't this appropriate...



Maybe they end up at the same destination?

Waiting Room

Second long weekend in Montreal in a row. Also second funeral. And second dinner with the Russian. All were odd and overall, positive. And my sister's birthday.

The viewing was on Thursday, and it was warmer than most wakes I have been to. There were five or six photo collages of various periods in Mario's life, and the love that made them was touching. There were also some of his things- his driver, some stuffed animals, a mini bbq, arranged around the room, which I also liked. There is always awkwardness, seeing people you should probably have seen more recently, but it took a funeral to get you together, hugging and kissing a lot of people, witnessing grief. But there was a lot of warmth to compensate. The funeral the next day had the same feeling. It was not very religious. The only hiccup I noticed was that a version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow seems to be for funerals what Time of Your Life by Green Day was to graduations when I graduated. But I only noticed because the same song played at Pigface's funeral last week. It made me think that funeral directors get together at some conference in Boca Raton or Miami and examine trends and best practices in death rites. Talking about it with the Russian, I think I realized why I always notice 'errors' at funerals, because they are so ritualistic that if something exposes the framework behind the tradition, it pokes holes in the ritual that those in mourning need. But this funeral home was very careful to make sure the projector and screen worked for the slideshow, that the food was well presented and people knew when to go up to the urn and when to retire to the reception. They left supplies in the washroom: tampons and pads, hairspray and mouthwash, to avoid any awkwardness, well placed boxes of tissues and waste paper baskets. And it worked. It kept the tradition and ritual feeling familiar and comforting, to have those details looked after.
My cousin Karen was fragile and small and I felt like I wanted to help her, but I had no idea what to do. I just hugged her.

Friday night I met the Russian for a walk and dinner and he said he felt like he was going crazy, that he had made a mistake and maybe we are meant to be and by the end of the evening I think he was ready to propose. He kind of did. Meanwhile, Art texted me to say that he was going to have the break up conversation with his wife. I wish I could find the anger to hold out like a knife at the Russian, but it seems to have evaporated. I love the jackass. He asked me if he should give up and leave me alone, and I couldn't say yes. But I also know that I want time to try something else. It is so strange to love someone so much, and also feel myself falling for someone else. I have never experienced it before. I was thinking about falling asleep on Art's shoulder on the train and how happy I was.

Maybe I just like the attention? God, I hope not. I should be saying, what do I want? And the truth is, I have no idea. I want the time to figure it out. That is what I have asked of both of them.

I woke up on Friday night in a sweat and proceeded to ralph for a solid 20 minutes while on the toilet. It was awful and continued all yesterday. I couldn't help Christina move, which I really wanted to, just to see her and Sabina. I felt good enough by about ten last night to go and wish the Armenian a happy birthday. Saw some people (Jessica Rabbit among them) I hadn't seen in a long time. I was explaining this recurring awkward situation that I have with one of the Armenian's friends that I have known since cegep to another old friend from cegep and had this awful moment where I realized the awkward guy was standing directly behind me. Thank god he didn't hear, but I almost wish he would have and then he wouldn't be so obsessed with me and make me feel so darn awkward. The Armenian looked lovely and happy, and I was glad to see it. Hopefully Christine is having a good day today, too. She deserves a little lightness.

Overall, a good weekend, but I do feel like I am waiting for something to fall. But the waiting room is very nice.

This is a painting by Balint Szako. Art bought me a book of his drawings and paitings at MOCCA. I love them.

Possibly Sailing

Two funerals in two weeks. Yesterday was Pigface's funeral, and I use that nickname as a term of endearment. There were hundreds of people there and the eulogy, by his godfather was moving and warm. The minister was less than stellar, and I find the traditions surrounding funerals strange. Though I guess they are for the mourners and not for the person in the casket. I just couldn't imagine Pigface ever wanting to have prayers said over him and have his relationship with his grandfather compared to Jesus and God. But, traditions provide structure, I suppose, and that's important when you are dealing with something that seems insurmountable.

On Thursday is my cousin's funeral. He had a heart attack and then went into a coma. I think it will be a smaller affair, but in some ways perhaps that makes it more intimate. I don't know.

I also saw the Russian. I went to his opening, and his show is really good. I was so proud of him I almost cried. It felt good to be there, to see him succeed, but also just to be around him without falling apart. Then I saw him last night and we had a good encounter as well. It was more...intimate. But it was equally warm and was a fitting bookend, I guess? I wasn't really ready to say goodbye, but now I know I am. He has met someone who makes him feel optimistic, and I think that is good. He told me he thinks I taught him how to care about people and that I will always have him to rely on, if I should need him. It was really nice.

Then, there is Art, which has snuck up on me and overwhelmed me with feelings I can't really process, but they bring me joy, so I am taking them. I guess he makes me feel optimistic.

Saw these two images and loved them both. They are not really related to this post, but, what the hey.

Good Day

Great kickboxing class. I'm glad I went and I should have gone last week. Even though my sparring partner was 200 lbs and kicked like a battering ram. I felt like I might puke and it was hard to breathe, but I feel better now.

I feel better kind of generally. I feel like I will be able to heal, and tonight, walking out into the mild dark after my class, I felt like I wanted to heal on my own terms, the way I want to do it. Rushed then slow, or slow slow slow, I'm not sure how it will happen, but I will to listen to myself and let it happen. This is my life. I can do whatever I want with it.

What will that be? I want to be happy and I want to create something that helps people. I have been thinking about an organization similar to Stella. Sex work is one of the only issues that I have a strong opinion about, and I feel like I could help people. So there's that...

I don't want to stay in this job, but it is not a bad place to be for one or two years. I like the people. Yesterday Art and I had an email exchange prompted by my saying it was so cold I wanted to dive into my cup of tea. We imagined an exploratory safari in the glades on water that went from tea-dark to silty hot chocolate, African Queen style. It was silly, but I love that shit, and it makes the day so much lighter. I also feel like I should learn as much as I can while I am there. It might come in handy when I figure what I really want to be doing with this life that is mine.

Also, butternut squash lasagna is delicious. Even after I have eaten it for four meals straight.

Art also introduced me to Alasdair Gray. I haven't read his books, but after looking at some of his art and what a lovable curmudgeon he is, I am sold!

Let It Begin

Friday was a mistake. I knew I wasn't ready to make small talk with the Russian, but wanted to talk to him so desperately that I did. The result was an outburst of sadness that began to leak out over dinner with Christine and then broke open in a flood on the drive home.
So.
Everyone goes through break-ups. Everyone gets over them, eventually. I will too. I realize that in my heart I wanted to stand apart, have this beautiful connection with someone no one thought I could have it with. Or I thought no one thought I could have it. Maybe it was just me. As if having something work against the odds, that because it is hard, because it took so much work and sacrifice, as if that made it more valuable than if it had come easily. The old horse with his head in the tree. Whatever is in there is probably the same as something that could be had without having to put your head in a tree. The truth is that the Russian is warm and funny and smart and handsome and made me feel special, and we like a lot of the same things, could spend a lot of time together, have the same sense of humour, clicked sexually, and genuinely loved each other. But he also made me feel bad about myself, judged me quite harshly at times, wasn't always there for me, lied to me, and took out his frustration on me, and could often be cold. So no matter how many good things we had going, there are some things that would continue to take us apart. He said it was his doubt, about a future with me, about his ability to be faithful, but I suspect it is really more about who he is. I was always waiting for who I saw inside him to come out.
It makes me so angry that I gave our relationship everything I had because I loved him so much, still love him, and yet, I still didn't get what I wanted. To be seen fully and to be loved by the person I love because they know who I am and they want to know more, to watch me grow, to grow together. But not this time. I feel like I deserve it, to get what I love. Maybe that isn't the way to think about it, though. I honestly wasn't sure if I had that kind of love inside me, and at least I know that I do. I just have to give it to someone who deserves it. But this talk of deserving...
I don't think I could have retrieved myself out of that funk without Christine and Bby. I need to be grounded every so often, because my emotion fueled rationality starts turning on me and my thoughts go bananas.
I cleaned my whole apartment today, and ran until I thought I would collapse, and watched both National Treasure movies and yesterday I watched the latest Indiana Jones movie. All three were much better than I thought they would be, or perhaps more accurately, I am the perfect audience for them at the moment.

I am ready to accept what happens next, which I think is letting time have her way with me.

Smaller

I have dozens of draft emails. Someone was talking about a man who works in my building who is on parental leave. He has grown a somewhat wild beard. People were joking about it and I was thinking of the Russian's winter stache last year. Now I am sitting here and tears keep stinging my eyes, but they won't fall. But I feel miserable. I shouldn't have exchanged emails with him this week. I don't understand why I can't believe that he doesn't love me. It is in part him, what he says and has said, but it also feels like this stone inside of me that won't be eroded. I think of him moving from person to person at the opening last night, and then noticing a pretty girl and talking to her, remembering how much fun he has when he is in that moment, and it is like I am watching myself get smaller and smaller in his heart. I want to feel free when I think of those things, because it doesn't matter to me anymore, it doesn't affect me.

I hate my job. That can't be helping. What am I doing? Christine says it is all fixable. How do I do that?

LalaLove

I had a nice time tonight. I went to see a play that one of my coworkers was in. My newish friend M was there. I was skittish. Titsy made a comment about us dating which I think he enjoyed. In any case, it was a fun evening. I laughed, and ate fish and chips and fried pickles. I tried not to think about the fact that I was missing the Russian's opening tonight.

It doesn't seem to matter how hard and far I run, or how many fun activities I pack into my day. I list all of the reasons that I am better off, and I even enjoy some of them. But I just want him. I want to be there tonight. I should try and keep my apartment cleaner.

Drowning Not Waving

Saturday I went to a folk concert that started at 11 in the morning for no reason I could understand. The drummer of the second act played the coffee table, a birdcage, a tupperware, a lampshade, and some other stuff with a mic and an amp. It was remarkable to watch. He was cute too. Which helped.
The third act fell apart. He played a ukulele and had a sampler. He looked battered. At first I thought he might be nursing a hangover. His lip had a healing cold sore or a cut on his lip, and it arched sort of strangely when he sang. In any case, I liked his first song, and I like him. For his third song, he tried to play Let's Stay Together. He blushed and then I think he started to cry. I was sitting about a foot and a half away from him, but everyone noticed something going on. He re-started a couple of times, but he couldn't get past the first line. I don't know why.
Whatever was making him waver, it got to me. My eyes filled up, but I was embarrassed. So I drank some water, which I choked on.
He made it through the Al Green as his last song. I wanted to tell him how affected I was by the whole thing. I bet he thought that he had failed, that whatever was making him unable to play sappy songs had gotten the better of him. The Russian has a quote he is using as a touchstone for the show he is curating: "One can make out of failure a powerful strategy for working, like the bad magician transcending illusion."
– Vik Muniz
The musician, his initials are AV, but I can't remember what his name, is created something completely unexpected and moving out of his failure. I kept it with me for the whole day. I should track him down and tell him.

Let's Get On With It

What better time to rekindle blogging than in the midst of heartbreak? I chronicled the beginning of that relationship here, so it seems appropriate to try and lift this hurt up off my chest and put it somewhere else.

I have been thinking about how I have changed over the last two years, and I think it has not been much for the better. My coworker was telling me about a party she and her friends had because none of them went to their proms, so they decided to recreate it. They all graduated in the 80's, so it was essentially an 80's party. I remembered that I still have my prom dress my mom made me. And I am sitting it in now and it fits me. My tits are a little bigger, but everything else is just the same. The same as when I was 16. Except now all I see when I look at myself in the mirror are my thighs and ass and belly. I remember feeling satisfied looking at myself, and now all I see are its imperfections. Things I never even used to think were imperfections! I look at other women that I didn't used to be envious of, and I am jealous of their narrow thighs and length and height, their elegance.

That is just my body. These days, I am not sure how I think people should treat each other. I used to be a little bit more sure, or maybe I just trusted my feeling about it, without putting too much thought into it. I believed in honesty, but now I don't know if that is just because I am scared to not have control and it is easier to be made a fool of when you are caught unawares. I never thought I could make as many concessions as I have, enjoy pleasing someone so much and never really wish to be pleased. I have learned I never want to be in the wrong and will do a lot to escape it. I am scared that I stack up good deeds so that my bad ones can't be held against me, so I will always be the wronged one and will feel entirely justified making that claim. Who wants to make that kind of claim anyway?

Maybe this is what toxic relationships do to a person. They bring out all your weaknesses in the worst light possible and pry them open. I think it is good to learn about yourself. But it is better to examine them from a stronghold, no? From somewhere safe where they can't rush you in force and overwhelm your defenses. Or from the safety of someone loving them because they love you.

I sometimes feel like I brought out the worst in him. The best too, but I was always forcing him to confront ugly things about himself that he had never thought were ugly. But thighs and lies are not the same!

Shit. I don't know. I am sad and still sort of in disbelief that this has happened. I wake up every morning thinking we are still together.