The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Hiss

First really warm spring day today, and it was everywhere, with fat birds singing and cooing from invisible branches, to throngs of young people wearing shorts while I sat comfortably in my nylon coat. Why do they insist on wearing shorts, I wonder. It isn't like it's a sweltering heat out there, and there is still the threat of flurries in the next few days, but for some reason the downtown area was black with short-wearing people who all looked drunk on sunshine.

M. railroaded me into going to the yacht club to watch him paint the bottom of his sailboat. I'd had no intention of doing so, planning only to circle the block around my neighbourhood and possibly stopping at the little park the wee one enjoys, but he made it seem like it would be a disappointment if I chose not to go, and so I went. First off, I can't bring myself to admit that the boat is beginning to annoy me. It represents nearly fifteen thousand dollars which might have been better spent, in my opinion. Still, it's his money, and to him it is about the challenge and adventure, though he maintains it's for the three of us, a family 'thing'. Since he bought it, I've been seasick once and he yelled at me last year when I couldn't manage to steer it. It's not as easy as it looks, and as someone who has always been a passenger on boats rather than the one who navigates, I was unimpressed with M. and the way he just assumed I could take to water as I have to land. He isn't daunted by much, and he doesn't understand why I would rather watch things happen rather than be a part of them. I suppose he has a point, but I am what I am, a landlubber.

He gave me his camera a couple weeks ago. He had wanted a new one, so he bought a Nikon and gave me his Olympus. The irony is that I have always hated how I look in photos taken from this camera, and now I've come to prize it. It's digital, and I'm stubborn about digital cameras, preferring my old standard film Samsung which R. bought me many years ago. Still, I've been snapping random photos since, and have become increasingly exasperated by how quickly it drains batteries. Seriously, I'm beginning to wonder why people love digital cameras so much. Thankfully, I bought rechargeable batteries the other day or I'd be giving the camera back to him. He says I have a good eye for photos, but I don't agree. I barely know how to take a picture and almost always get the back of the wee one's head rather than her face. There's much to learn but at least it's fun.

At the yacht club, the ice from the lake had been pushed up on to the shore by the massive waves a few weeks ago. Huge jagged masses of crystal water stacked up on the rocks, bending the steel barriers down toward the cement. It's amazing to look at, and even more delightful is the windchime sound the ice makes as it falls into the water and tinkles against other melting pieces. Nature is as powerful as it is beautiful.

The sky is going grey now, with a sneaky week of grey inching its way in. So much rain coming, apparently, and while I know it's necessary, I hate it. I'm not awake enough yet, haven't taken enough springtime sun, and I've no love for April showers. I can't stop it, though, and no amount of sulking is going to bring on blue sky. That's not just a metaphor.

This morning, while opening my bedroom window to let the house breathe, I heard the most horrible sounds outside. A shrieking, wailing, savage, bloody sound that had me fly down the stairs and out through the patio doors. All the neighbours had come to their own respective decks to see what was the matter, and I cowered near the wall so that none of them would see me in my t-shirt and floral pajama pants. Just then, a marmalade coloured cat skulked along the base of my fence, while a fat, fluffy-tailed black and white hulk of a feline scaled the other fence and disappeared into the adjoining yard. Cat sex, I realized. Loud, brutal, pointy-fanged, sharp-clawed cat sex. We'd interrupted, I thought to myself. We'd imposed ourselves on them during what sounded like a much-needed bit of fornication. I immediately felt bad for bursting through the back door like they were teenagers on prom night. Have at it, I thought to myself. Get loud, do what you have to do, and bring in spring with a bang.

I'm all for it, as long as it doesn't keep me up.

Just now, M. came through the door asking for my bank card because our supermarket couldn't process his credit card, something to do with the bank lines being down. The same thing happened yesterday, which means that I have had to pay for groceries two days in a row and I don't even like most of the things we bought because on both occasions, he was the one who was going to pay for it. I am raging, mostly because I know that I'm almost out of money and he doesn't seem to get that I have no money. Perhaps it isn't fair of me to resent his boat, his new clothes or his ability to fly anywhere with all of his airmile points, because being a modern woman these days means putting up with modern men who have figured out that our being modern means they have to pay for a lot less. There's a lot of pressure in this, particularly if you're the nurturing type who would be quite happy to take care of the house and cook for your family. The havoc this situation is causing my body is ridiculous. I am so unhappy with it all I could literally scream. Whoever said money doesn't buy happiness needs to come talk to me.

I have some choice words to share.