The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

In a handbasket

There's this woman in my computer class, she sits on the opposite side of the room from where I sit, but I can hear her when she's speaking. She's the kind of woman who doesn't care if you're listening.

Late forties, perhaps, with a barrel figure and short, badly styled, blonde hair. If you were trying to convince yourself it was 1985 just by looking at her, you might be able to do it. She is the student who can't keep up with what's going on because she's muttering to herself out loud and drowns out the instructor, who often sighs and goes over to her to help her out. How many times over the last week have I heard her exclaim 'I'll never use this again in my lifetime, so why bother learning it?', regarding Photoshop Elements, only to exclaim right after she's been helped by someone 'Now, isn't that just amazing? That is truly wonderful! Can't wait to try it at home!', at which time everyone around her will simply shake their heads and try to focus on their own work. She's nice enough, though, gets animated about certain subjects and will often distract her neighbours with her chatter, but she makes me sad. I guess it's because she's such a cliché, one of those yappy, middle-aged women who was left by her husband and who spends all of her free time at the local library, borrowing romance novels. I know this because I heard her telling others her story, how he's been gone for ten years and how she's had to learn to be independent, but that she doesn't work (he has been supporting her, I gather), but that she will need to find a job soon because time is 'running out', whatever that means. When we were asked to edit a photograph of our choice from a catalogue of fifty, I knew before looking back at her screen which one she'd picked: the cat. Of course she'd pick the cat. This woman is the kind you picture talking to her cat at dinner time while 'Wheel of Fortune' blares from the television in the corner. When I think of how sad that is, I forgive her for being so belligerent in class.

Not that I know for sure, but some people aren't that hard to figure out. Today, I overheard her talking about how she refuses to use the city provided green bins which are used for organic matter. When one of the other women asked her what she does with her organic waste, she responded by saying she doesn't have that much. What does that even mean? So, essentially, she won't use the compost bin provided because she doesn't believe in it yet, which no one around her could understand, but she held her ground on the matter. She is one of those kinds of people who refuses to accept new ideas, and the fact that she's even in the class amazes me.

Then, tonight, I started to think about her, how lonely her life must be, and how I am terrified of one day being her. I have a man, I have a child, but my world is really, really small. If something were to happen to him, I'd really be on my own. I have acquaintances here, but making friends is much harder now than it used to be. People are busy with their families and it's rare that everyone is free at the same time. My best friends all live miles away from me, same as my family, and tonight, while thinking about the annoying middle-aged lady and her fondness of cats, I became overwhelmed with dread and fear. I don't want to be her. I barely like being who I am right now.

I've also been worrying about becoming a basketcase again. What is it about working which has me so stressed? I used to love working, once. Now, it feels so restrictive, so overwhelming, and I've blamed a good deal of my panic issues on my previous job, so I worry it's going to be worse again, that my life will be over once I'm obligated to give all my time to something I don't want to do. I'm not lazy, I like to be productive, but it's the fear that keeps me from wanting to be independent. It makes me angry and terrified and unable to do anything more than the bare minimum. I believe I cannot cope, that this world is too much for the likes of me. That's when things get really tense.

My mood this evening is low, just as it has been all day, and I've come to realize that it's hormone related. I'm amazed by how affected I am by it, given that I never believed in PMS before, but it's undeniable, I've grown into it. I know I'm behaving horribly, not speaking and moping alone in my darkened room, save for the gleaming computer screen, and I know he thinks I'm mad at him for coming home late from working on the boat, but I'm not. I am completely indifferent. As he missed the dinner hour, this gave me the freedom to make some rice, which I spritzed with lime juice before I added chopped tomatoes and cilantro, ultimately anointing it with plum sauce. He would not have cared for this, I knew it, so I guess I was even glad he wasn't home to be honest. Now, there is silence between us, but he doesn't know why. I am just feeling too worn out to explain. Men never understand these things, mostly because they don't want to.

I can't cope. I can't cope.

I want chocolate pudding and fluffy pillow.