I’m in my mid-thirties. I’ve been married multiple times*. I’ve done the wedding registry thing on two of them.
And still I have no nice china or anything but day-to-day silverware.
I’ve decided I’m going to fix this. There is nothing in the world stopping me from picking out china and silverware patterns that I like** and getting them a place setting and serving piece at a time. I may not be going for the sterling silver flatware, but I can certainly get something nice. So I will. I’m eyeing an elegant, simple pattern by Lenox for china, and I haven’t found something I like that will coordinate in flatware yet but I’m sure I will.
Screw waiting around or being bound by convention. Why should I have to get married to get nice china? I GOT married and didn’t really get it.
*I got married for emergency or bad reasons each time. First was to escape an abusive home situation and make sure my legal next of kin wasn’t my mother, second was quite brief and because I was missing a LOT in the first marriage, third was after sheer hell that scarred me badly and left me just happy someone wanted me. If I get married again, it will be for the right reasons — because I’ve found a partner, and a lover, and a true father for my children, and someone who has my back as I have theirs. I’m not going to go through another divorce; I’ll vow “to love, honor, and cherish, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part” and keep that, and I expect the same.
**But no crystal, because I collect pretty wineglasses and I love the idea of a formal table with mismatched beautiful wineglasses. Maybe I’ll get water goblets, but I love my eclectic wineglasses.
I’m in morning chatterbox mode; lately my pre-coffee self has been nearly garrulous. Random thoughts this morning:
I think I’m going to save moving my aquarium, with two formerly-tiny-and-now-huge goldfish, until next weekend; I will have another paycheck by then, and since I keep losing conventional filters I’m going to get a decent canister filter and see how that does. It’s allegedly quieter and more efficient, and I’m getting one rated for a tank at least twice the size of mine. Goldfish are high-waste little critters.
I’ve figured out the lesson I’m supposed to be learning right now: how to accept. Not acceptance, not the concept in the “grant me the ability to accept what I can’t change” ditty, but how to accept and face good and positive things. Accept that my job isn’t going to go away, and that I’m very likely to advance happily in the company. Accept that people do love me and want to help me, that the only ulterior motive they may have is to see me happy and healthy and safe. Accept happiness when I find it and have it, instead of getting terrified and driving it away because I don’t know how to deal with it. There’s a lot of fear in this to get past, and it may always be there. There’s also a lot of past scarring; a lot of influential people in my life went to a lot of trouble to make it clear to me that I “don’t deserve” good things like affection, love, and happiness. (That’s actually one of the direct scars from my son’s father; while I was several months pregnant with his child, he looked me in the eye in front of my daughter and told me that I don’t deserve unconditional love, that it has to be earned, and that I can survive without affection because I’m an adult. I’m still trying to erase his voice from my head, as it got added to the Greek chorus of negativity that I’m working on hunting down and executing one by one. I understand that he’s pretty messed up himself if he thinks that, and I feel sorry for him for having been taught that himself. I’m glad he’s in therapy, and I hope he can learn to conquer his own demons. Preferably before he damages anyone else.) These voices are why, when I had someone around whom I was deeply, truly, inexplicably happy for the first time in many years, I pretty much deliberately screwed it up. No idea how to handle or accept just being happy.
Anyway. So now I get to learn to accept good things, and to understand that to Accept is not Taking, and that I am good and worthy of these things and have more than earned them, even the things that shouldn’t have to be earned. It’s going to be an interesting and not-particularly-easy road, but one with rewards that will be worth nearly any effort.
Also need to figure out what I’m going to need first at my house, furniture-wise, and what can wait a paycheck. I’m trying desperately to convince myself that I do not need a set of Falk cookware… my ideal kitchen has cast-iron skillets and nearly everything else in good, solid copper — not the cheaper copper-look stuff. Can’t fault my taste, at least!
It’s time for another “I like me” list at some point in the next few days. This one will be going up in my new house. I’m starting to wonder if I should print these lists in a font that appeals to me and hang them in my closet where I’ll see them every day.
Oh, and I found out that my daughter’s new school just got IB PYP certified. I’d been planning on getting her into the International Baccalaureate program when she was in high school, but didn’t know there’s a version for primary school as well. I’m quite pleased, as I think that it will be exactly the sort of challenge that a Gifted child, particularly one as high-input as my daughter is, will thrive on. Yet another reason to be pleased with my house — it’s in the district for this! Another Good Thing to Accept.
Speaking of my daughter, I took her for her first real hairSTYLE last weekend. Those gorgeous golden curls of hers finally have a wash-and-wear style that suits her and looks amazing, and I got my bad haircut of a year ago totally fixed so my hair (an independent entity with a mind of its own — it’s been known to fling sharp hairsticks at people before) is happy again.
I am analytical.
I accumulate and categorize data points, and I act on those. I generally know answers to technical things, to the point that when I worked at NASA my coworkers called me Spock for my tendency to correctly answer a question asked across the room without looking up from what I was doing and my ability to basically speak the same language as the spacecraft we flew.
Some of my friends call me a mentat. When confronted with a situation I don’t understand, I will analyze it until I do. I’m half-computer, essentially, and very good at it.
It’s a defense mechanism.
I’ve been emotionally and mentally brutalized so badly that it’s easier and safer to be a computer, to be half-Vulcan. If I don’t let emotion come into things, I can’t be hurt. If I can be smart and good at things and quick at learning, my job might be safe and my coworkers and bosses might not treat me like I’m mentally deficient vermin. Being half-computer has served me well.
Until now. Something happened, and I got scared and deliberately, consciously, and logically screwed it up, and analyzed it to death. And now that I see what I’ve done, I see what’s behind it — fear. I’m afraid to let myself be happy. I’m terrified of the loss of control, and analysis gives me control.
But I bleed red. And I don’t know how to not be analytical and logical and just let things happen and flow. I think that may be the next step in where I’m supposed to be — learning to let things be. Learning to let go of my fear of happiness.
It’s time for this Spock to learn to be human again.
Don’t get me wrong. My analytical side has served me well, and will always be a part of me. But it’s not all of me, and I can’t continue letting it be. It is, and always has been, my friend.
And now it’s time to learn to be me.