Why I hate To Do lists. . .

This morning my To Do list looked like this:

1. Get up
2. Shower
3. Dress
4. Feed dog
5. Feed self
6. Go to work/school
7. Go to gym after work
8. Blog
9. Read other people's blogs
10. Eat dinner
11. Finish marking

I did the first eight things but just can't bring myself to add anything more to my day. I want to sit on the couch and watch Big Bang Theory and eat the Corn Chowder I made yesterday- no matter how average it is. I don't want to do anymore marking and I don't want to add jobs I got given today to the list.

And having things unticked on my list only makes me anxious because I haven't managed to do everything on the list. (Have I mentioned I might be highly strung? If I was a racehorse they'd shoot me.)

My Long Term list includes:

• Meet man
• Go overseas
• Fix back porch
• Buy new tyres for the car
• Fix that assessment rubric for school
• Maintain a more positive attitude
• Stop frowning (See previous)
• Start dancing again
• Revise all the French I learnt last year
• Find a new place to go to yoga
• Drive to all the cool places I want to go to, eg yoga, dancing etc but am completely put off because it'll take an hour or so.

So, in the attempt to do the very first thing on my Long Term list,  I have been doing on-line dating. . .as you know this is so completely demoralizing that doing 1-4 on the original list often becomes hard enough, let alone completing the list or attempting anything on the Long Term list. 

Sigh

Dear Jane

I will never send this letter but I’m writing it anyway. First to figure out how I feel, and . . . I don’t know, to try and figure out how you feel, I guess.

So . . . what happened?

And, how do I feel? I feel sad and lonely; you’re pushing me away. I don’t understand why.

I used to be your hero; I used to be the one you ran to when things went wrong. The one you rang, text, or emailed when you were having a bad day. When someone slighted you, or the presentation at work didn’t quite come off, when the job interview (before you got the job that I knew you would) didn’t go well and you knew you were never going to work again it was me you turned too.

You used to be pleased to see me at your door. Now you don’t want me to come around anymore. And when I ask if anything’s wrong, you shrug me off. We used to love exploring new restaurants, and now you’re ‘too tired.’

What happened to our plans to move in together? There are still half a dozen of your things hanging in my closet but you never spend the night now; there’s always brunch with the girls the next day.

I miss you; the cat misses you.

Yes, having committed it to paper it is obvious the writing is on the wall but why did you have to kill the hero?

 This was another inspiration/prompt writing response. This time courtesy of Inspiration Monday at  BekindReWrite. There's a selection of five prompts; the one I used was "kill the hero". I haven't abandoned Velvet Verbosity's writing challenge, I just have difficulty finding the latest prompt.

People who know me better than I know myself. . .

The other day I had a fun time exploring new activities: first I went rowing in the morning, then in the afternoon I went sailing.

I enjoyed the rowing so much that I’m going to sign up for lessons. The sailing was also fun but I thought we’d learn to sail on little tiny boats- not so. We were guests on other people’s boats; the yacht club was having an Open Day and we were treated to boat rides.

View of Melbourne from the water

 The one thing that marred the day was the gentleman who decided I looked lonely and made a beeline towards me. He chatted and monopolized my attention when I really didn’t want it to be monopolized. I solved this problem by putting my hand up to go on one of the slower, smaller boats. This was less attractive to most of the men who wanted a larger, faster boat, and the smaller boat was then full. Despite the fact there was little wind it was still an enjoyable experience; our hosts were charming and easy going people. 

St Kilda Yacht Club moorings

Now I know I’ll come off sounding like a bit of a bitch complaining about this man’s unwanted attention but I’m not going to change now. At the end of the day the aforementioned man joined us again in the clubhouse for a drink. Finally I decided it was time for me to go home. It had been a long day: rowing, lunching, sailing, socializing, 8 hours later I had enough and needed to leave. I announced my intentions and tried to say ‘bye to everyone. The man who wanted to monopolise me tried to argue me out of my need to go.

I had to resort too: “I’m teaching tomorrow and need to do a bit of preparation, I’m not sure what I am teaching them.”

“Words.” he said, because that’s what English teachers do, apparently.

He continued to argue with me and try to convince me that wasn’t a good excuse to leave.

I ended up walking away a little irritated; why does he think he knows better than me what is right for me? Surely, I ponder, it’s up to me when I leave? Why do I have to come up with “valid” excuses for someone I have only just met? Yes, it is always flattering (I guess) when someone shows interest in you but I don’t need someone else to make up my mind for me. 

I know my mind- thank you very much.

the perfect man . . .

. . . for me

The last few months have seen me have dates with men who have been appealing via email but haven't lived up to their promise in the flesh.

This maybe due to my extraordinarily high standards and ideals, eg I want to be attracted to the person I am dating. Despite the fact that I am still single it has been useful in that it has helped me refine what I am looking for in a man. (Other than, of course, Steve from Hawaii 5-0. Ha, you thought I'd gotten over that obsession, didn't you?)

Anyway, more realistically the MOS was a keen contender. Why else would I let that drag on for four months, averaging exactly one date per month, except that I found him quite attractive, and he was lovely and fit too. (That means he had nice muscles.) It wasn't his non-availability that appealed either, even though I know some women like to go for men they can't get. His being away for six weeks at a time was a huge stumbling block for me. However, the text messages several times a day were nice. (Is there a better word for it than that? I can't think of it.) 

Then when he was in town he had this sort of veneer of sophistication. He knew the cool places to go, he was generally polite and well mannered, and he was interesting to talk too. Unfortunately, he also wasn't sure if he wanted a relationship; and if he did want one he wanted to go "slow." When he was back it went so slow that glaciers melted faster. I bided my time as much as I could to see if he would eventually want more contact, or even if the rate of text message contact would increase, but it never did. 

So, someone who's a little more keen than the MOS. 

Next there was the paramedic who works, not quite as far away as the MOS, but still 60km north of the city in a small country town. Anyway, we thought we might have a chance so after exchanging several long, and amusing, emails we met up. A nice person, genuine and down to earth but little in common and no "oomph" factor. I wasn't attracted. 

Then last night I met Muso guy. Again, we exchanged several fun emails. We had a lot of email banter going on, probably more so than the previous two men. He emitted an aura of coolness. He had published a novel (right up there on the totem pool of coolness for me), played in bands, and lived inner city, which was closer than the previous two. Trouble is he does a bit of free-lance writing as his only income, and lives in someone else's house. Not what I'd call financially secure, and it turns out that is important to me. (I don't necessarily want to share my hard-won financial security with someone else. Actually, I don't want to jeopardise my hard-won financial security. I hadn't previously realised this was important to me.)

Along with this writing-type coolness he had the muso grunge going on. They never have been my "type" in so far as I even have a type, but I prefer a man who is a little better groomed. Nevertheless, I thought we had enough in common to meet. And we did have a bit in common. It was fun to talk writing and publishing and the possibility that his novel was going to be turned into a tele-movie. But again, no attraction. 

So, I need a man with the MOS' sophistication who owns his own home, and is nice and fit. He will also live and work in Melbourne, not overseas, and be tall - all these men have been over 6 foot. He must have interests of his own and be financially secure. He could have the paramedic's down to earth and easy-going nature. He could be a little quirky like the Muso but will have washed his hair recently. He must actually want a relationship; with me and no one else. You know, an ability to commit himself to one person; something I suspect the MOS would have had trouble doing. 

On-line dating, does it get better than this? Ever?

Have returned home from a date in the nick of time to squeeze in a posting for the 10th- it's  11.45pm. Phew. This is important if you are doing NaBloPoMo and have to blog everyday, for a month. 

Just had a date with a muso type guy; he still looks and dresses as if he is 26. Long hair, little dress sense: leather jacket, black jeans, t-shirt of indeterminate colour. Financially not in a position I'd hope to be in at 49 but still.  . . a certain attraction there because he had an aura of coolness.

Afterall, he is a published author, he is still in a band, spent the 90s in "Indie bands that lost money, rather than made it", is scornful and sarcastic of the dating process, and writes emails that are entertaining and addictive.

Must be the aura of coolness and the fun emails that kept me hanging in there. Unfortunately, in real life the attraction was just not physical.  At all.

It's such a shame because I had the most fun I've had on a date in a long time; for three hours. But there is absolutely no attraction there for me: zilch. 

Sigh.

Spin instructor vs Ripley

While my inertia of late has been getting the better of me, my lack of enthusiasm does not deter me from admiring it in others: my Spin instructor, for example.

I haven’t been breaking any records getting to the gym lately, once a week has been the norm for at least two weeks.  However, an afternoon sitting on the couch reading with repeated trips to the kitchen to break off just one more piece of baguette, slather it with butter, and then cheese had me if not enthusiastic then at least determined to pay for my sins at the gym tonight.

I was pretty impressed with myself as I even did some weights before the Spin class. There was a new instructor; her enthusiasm was even more impressive. She would yell at us in time with the music, loudly.

“Out of the saddle! Run! This is what you came for!” she’d command. When she says “run” she actually means peddle as hard as you can, but that just wouldn’t have the same ring.

And it seemed to work, all that yelling, kind of like being in the army I imagine. (Note to self- never, ever join the army.) She was a like a Spin version of Ripley in my all time favourite movie Aliens   “Come on!” she bellowed. “Faster.”

We obeyed too.  

Teaching- doncha just love it?

Or not.

Our school has a version of Study Hall where the senior students work silently. They also refrain from eating while using the computers.

In reality what happens is that they whisper to each other until the teacher comes along and asks them to be quiet. And they eat their food until the teacher comes along and asks them to put it away.

They do either of the above with varying amounts of grace, depending on - I believe - how many manners their parents have managed to instil in them, or how big a sense of entitlement they feel.

Today as I supervised Study Hall I had to ask several students to be quiet or find another place to go. Some were then quiet, others then spoke to me without actually looking at me and told me they were going anyway - all good. End result: they go.

Another lass was asked not to eat. So she put her food away- meaning she moved her box of snack biscuits away from herself. Later she opened it again and kept eating. I approached her and attempted to remove the food as she was incapable of following instructions.

She informed me: "I'm not bloody doing anything."

"Pardon?" I queried.

"I'm not bloody doing anything."

In the overall scheme of things this is quite a tame response. I've heard worse from students and witnessed worse. Nevertheless it does make my wonder:

a) Why people have children at all, and

b) Why people become teachers at all.

That's all.