the Life and Times of Warrior Woman

blonde recluse. nihilarian pronk.

“that’s just not possible.”

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I met with a high-school friend this week.  I haven’t seen her since January 2007.  I could probably give you a more precise date, but I’d need to dig through my e-mail for that, and I’m currently avoiding my inbox.

I wanted to meet up with her in February that same year.  I called her about two days before I was due to leave to the States.  She said she couldn’t meet with me.  I said good bye and wished her luck with whatever it was that was taking her from the city.

I left to the States, in search of something.  I came back, three and a half months later.

I never initiated contact again.

I was pissed.

Not just at her.

At the world in general.

I was pissed at my friends back in the States.  I had a hard time finding a job (admittedly not very legal).  When a place opened up at a café where I knew I’d be hired, my roommate/ friend, who knew I needed a job and would get hired for that opening, recommended another person for the job.

If you think the person was doing a gracious lawful thing of not permitting an alien on a no-work visa break the thoughtful American law, think again.  Said person was working illegally in two places. 

So I had to leave.  I ran out of money, have already asked my mum for five money transfers just to support my little stint.  Bought return ticked with the sixth, came back home.

Father didn’t even come out of his room to greet me.  Kept telling everyone I was home ‘on holiday’.

So I was pissed.

Prior to my leave a young man I was desperately in love with contacted me with a ‘hey how have you been’.  Turned out after about three messages he really needed some musical equipment that could only be purchased in the US.  Also turned out said equip weighed like three tonnes.  Also turned out he didn’t have the money for it.  Thought I’d pay for it.

So I was pissed.  At everyone.

And I kind of just… vegetated. 

For years.

So when I met up with my high-school fried a few days ago and she’s asked me what I’ve been up to and I answered, “Nothing,” – I meant it.

Okay, she asked.  Then what’s happened to me during those years.  Things happen.

Nothing, I said.  Nothing happened.

“That’s not possible.  Five years have passed.  Something must’ve happened.”

But nothing really did.

Nothing happens to me.

I’m boring.

Alright, she said.  But that’s still not possible.

And I suppose she’s right.  That it’s not possible.

Things have happened.  But they’re not things one would readily talk about.

Or they’re things that make one look like an arse.

Or they’re the little things that mean the world to you, but look like nothing for everyone else.

Since 2007 (2006, really), I’ve had existential and religious crises.  Took more photos than I care to admit, but published maybe 200.  Lost two cats.  Became a licensed MUA and manicurist (terribly out of practice, though, and practice in these professions is everything).  Wrote probably a thousand blog posts.  Got interested in green living and environmental issues.  Watched many episodes of television shows, read many pages of books, fanfics, magazines, possibly twice as many blog posts.  Watched movies, wrote about movies, never shared what I wrote about movies.  Started a novel, scrapped it.  Got a job, lost a job.  Resurrected a bar, closed a bar.  Got into uni, dropped out of uni, got into another uni.  Gained what possibly is 100 pounds.  Sold loved books and clothes so I could feed myself, my family, and cats.

Lost two cats.  Adopted one.

Found out that I’d rather be alone for weeks than spend two minutes with people who do not interest me.

Found out that the number of people who interest me is decidedly small.

Found out that the number of people who are interested in me is even smaller.

Found out that I’ve memory for things no one gives two figs about, which makes for interesting conversation in a form of many awkward silences.

Got a job.  Lost a job.

Bought a new computer with money I made on that job.

Found out about mother’s illness.

Lost grandmother.

Gave up on a dream.  For time being.

Developed another dream.

But one doesn’t talk about these things in a conversation over a bloody latte with a person one hasn’t seen for five years.

We ended up talking about cats, mostly.  And when it wasn’t about cats, she did the talking.  She’s a busy person with a career and a life.  Seminars, workshops, new people, new friends, new places.

If you’re wondering, I am not bitter.  With an exception of some very devastating circumstances, I am happy with where I am right now.

I am still not interested in most people.

And even more people are still not interested in me.

Have I started oversharing yet?  Have I crossed the line between sharing and oversharing again?

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Written by Alexandra

25 August 2012 at 4:30 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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