anomalous- third post of the day

I can't stop thinking about Renee. Her demeanor, her appearance, her smile, how she works at an art gallery, how she handles Natey with a loving ease. She's a captivating woman. I want to do this for her. Not only because she's a single, hard-working mom, but yeah, sure. I want to get to know her better.

Sure, I miss women. I miss sexual contact. Porn only goes so far, especially as it tries to go too far. Egh. I'm sick of video after video of "perfected" female bodies who produce fake baby-talk moans and pants in response to the pig screwing them senselessly. I miss feeling close to a girl I care about, and getting to know her body, each and every part of her I missed the time before, and time before that. Being with her and experiencing each other fully until there is no part of her that goes unnoticed by me.

Porn was not a thing of my day. And it does not reminisce the experiences I had with my girlfriends. Granted, I haven't had one since post college graduation and I'm in my 30's now. However, those relationships were...well, they weren't tame when it came to time in the bedroom.

Rare- second post of the day.

Later this afternoon after speaking with Bethany, showering, shaving, and scrubbing, guess who comes knocking on my door? Renee and Natey.

Renee was in tight, form-fitting pants and a silky v-neck shirt, cradling Natey on her hip. Her hair was done up in a bun with a few face-framing hairs sweeping her cheeks. Natey was...wide-eyed with drool dripping down his chin, which Renee playfully wiped up with his bib. The whole thing was both disgusting and adorable. Mainly the latter.

Next week she has auctions to attend for the Art Gallery she works at, which conflicts with her sister's schedule who usually watches Natey during the day. So, what does Renee ask me? Insane Renee who's only known me for 15 minutes of our lives, because I flooded out her bathroom? Yeah, that's right. Yup. She asks if I'd mind watching him for a few hours those nights. I didn't even try to conceal my initial, flabbergasted expression. I just stood there shocked, feeling trapped by her appeal and the stupid lies I told her the other night.

So, I told her, I'd check my schedule and get back to her asap. We exchanged numbers, and Natey tried to grab my arm. I did my best to laugh along and seem affectionate without touching him. I think it worked.


Anyway, after this exchange I go to the bathroom, wash my hands, find my phone, and call Bethany. The conversation essentially went like this:

"Bethany, Bethany? Hey! Me again."

"Hey bud, what's going on? Everything ok?"

"Yes...well...sort of."

"What's wrong Marty?"

"Well, you know that woman who lives below me? Whose bathroom I flooded and told I love kids?"

"Yeah, what about it? I thought you said she was cool with it and wasn't expecting you to cover the damage."

"Right, right, well it's not that. She came up here and just left. She asked me if i could babysit her SON a few nights next week."

"Haha oh, oh wow. Oh boy....well look, you don't seem ready for something like that..."

"I KNOW."

"But if you could be, it would be good for you-"

"I KNOW. I just. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO."

"You're not ready for something like that."

"Of course not!"

"Well, tell her you have work. Work obligations. She doesn't know you were fired"

"No, but I told her I was on sabbatical...."

"Christ Marty, why? Just, even why?"

"I- I don't know! I said a lot of false things! I had shut myself off for a while and missed social contact. And even with her worn appearance and the sweats she was donning, she looked so cute.She's very attractive and Natey, her kid, is a real charmer."

"Aaahh so there it is. You're attracted to her and want to get to know her."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Look, I say you make something up. Regardless of whether you form and maintain any kind of friendship or relationship with this woman, lies are easier to make up for than going crazy while babysitting her toddler...and if you do that, any kind of contact will be out of the question."

"I know. I ...I want to do it.  I just don't know if I can."

Bethany Knows Best

This morning I finally responded to Bethany's attempts of communication. I picked up her call on the last ring. I broke down and told her everything going on with me.

Getting fired
That being my last straw with myself and my OCD
Cleaning and counting more than usual
Losing sight of myself and what used to make me happy
Missing my family
Cleaning and counting more than usual
So much more-so, I caused a leak
Lying to an innocent woman and offering to care for her baby
...Which Bethany got laughing about pretty hard, to be honest.


She offered to visit. We discussed how maybe her visiting me could be the first step in me getting over my OCD. She's my family, I know her well, am comfortable with her, and I love her. More than those things, i miss her dearly. I miss normalcy and I miss the loved ones i have left.

We're going to really try for this. 

I wanna go home, yeah yeah Well I feel so broke up I wanna go home

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdov2UIjUpY

When mom, dad, and Viv would pile in the car and get me from school to bring me back home, we always made a point to listen to Sloop John B by the Beach Boys. Mom and Dad loved the Beach Boys, and even though them retrieving me and bringing me back home was a joyous occasion for all of us, this song became a our fun "homeward bound" song despite the lyrics.

We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Well I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up
I wanna go home

The first mate he got drunk
And broke in the Cap'n's trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheriff John Stone
Why don't you leave me alone, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up I wanna go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, let me go home
Why don't you let me go home
(Hoist up the John B's sail)
Hoist up the John B
I feel so broke up I wanna go home
Let me go home

The poor cook he caught the fits
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home
Why don't they let me go home
This is the worst trip I've ever been on

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, let me go home
Why don't you let me go home

I won't see you for some time

Fifteen years ago my mom and dad and Vivian drove me back to the University of Michigan after winter break. It was my senior year, and it'd been a terribly stormy winter. The night after they dropped me off, they left to go home. To Chicago. In the horrible conditions, an eighteen wheeler slid into and crushed our Subaru.

Wow Bao, but maybe not now.

If I could get myself to leave the apartment...the first place I'd go is to the Museum of Contemporary Art. Despite how many times we'd been with mom, it was still our favorite place to go on on an almost monthly basis. Afterwards we'd always go to Wow Bao, a nothing-special Chinese restaurant that's appeal is the association I have with it and mom and Vivy, and the afternoons we spent at the museum until dinner time. Up until I went away for University. I think mom and Viv went once or twice while I was at school, but they said it wasn't the same so they stopped. They even tried to substitute me with dad. But day's spent at the museum and ending at Bao's was always Mom, Viv's, and my thing.
What I'd give for their chow mein right now. Too bad they don't deliver. Though maybe it's for the best. Eating that stuff would be a bittersweet experience.

Even if I got myself to leave the house and darted to the MoCA then Bao's, it'd be different. Mom and Viv won't be there.

The Three Faces of Marty: OCD-stricken, Pathological Liar, and Baby Sitter

Last night I mopped, soaked, and scrubbed, my kitchen floor so furiously, I caused a leak. Admittedly, it was the third night in a row I'd done it... Knowing what a pain in the absolute ass they are, I felt horrible when the woman who lives below me came upstairs with her one and a half year old toddler attached to her hip, wondering why her ceiling was leaking.

It was all very bizarre. These past few weeks I've completely kept to myself. I'd already fired Sue, and have been avoiding phone calls and Skype requests from Bethany and tom. They've sent me many concerned emails (or so their subject lines lead me to believe) but like all emails, I've been ignoring them.
I've taken to watching asshole television (Finding Bigfoot, Sext you Ex, Cheaters...anything that I can compare my life to that is arguably more pathetic than my situation)  after my obsessive cleaning everyday. I vacuum my living room and bedroom carpet four times a day, and mop my tiled bathroom and kitchen wooden floor incessantly. A frantic four times each. Despite my upkeep with my hygiene and appearance (still brush four times a day, floss twice, shave twice, shower twice) I've morphed into some kind of monster. Instead of being anxious and prone to intenser bouts of it throughout the day, I'm in a constant frenzy of agitation. I don't do the things that calm me or bring me joy anymore.

Don't practice yoga.
Don't email my few friends.
Don't Skype Bethany or Tom.
Don't read before bed.
Don't drink tea.
Don't watch Frasier.

I just clean. It provides an outlet for my anger, and satisfaction of my anxieties. As always.


Then though, just then, this sweetest woman comes up holding her adorable child. She seemed to be in her early thirties, with long brown hair and green eyes. She was in sweats, slippers, and had her hair partially clipped up. She looked a little worn. In a concerned yet kind manner, she inquired about the leak. This exchange took place in my door way, so I didn't have to deal with explaining any of my bullshit to her. Because of this, and how attractive and harmless she seemed, and...I don't know what else... I found myself lying to her. And boy, did I make up some lie. It really wasn't that extravagant, but I rarely lie. Also, the lie I told is highly improbable to anyone who knows my current situation, so that's also why it was so alarming.

Anyway, I told her my nephew (I'll never have one, not blood related, anyway) Neil, was house-sitting with me for a few days while I was at a conference for women's history at Northeastern in Boston (which I wanted to go to, but of course didn't. It happened last semester and my closest colleague provided a write-up of it for me) for a few days. During his last visit which was two days ago, he accidentally left the kitchen sink's faucet running, thus causing a horrific leak. I then apologized profusely, which she responded well to. We struck up conversation about relying on others, in which I told her I'll be extremely reluctant to ask Neil to house-sit for me again (Marty what the hell, just drop it) and she tells me how she's having difficulty in finding someone in this city to babysit her son.

What do I do? I tell her I love kids and would be glad to take care of him, baby sit him. Why, you ask? I have no fucking idea. I'm going through something here. Perhaps my body is going into survival mode without me registering it, and my subconscious is forcing me to do these things that will get me out of my apartment and my grief. Anxiousness. Madness. Whatever you think I'm victim of.

But here I am. Crippled by OCD, unable to leave the house, was fired from my job because of it, and have offered Renee- as I discovered her name to be- to watch Natey, her son. A one and a half year old, spitting up, self-defecating human.

Costlow

Everything I ordered came from Costco today. Anti-bacterial soap, hand sanitizer, bleach, swifter pads, dusters, soft scrub, clorox, lysol, pledge. You name it, I have it in bulk.

Got three of these: 

http://www.costco.com/Browse/Product.aspx?prodid=11507378&whse=BC&topnav=&cm_sp=RichRelevance-_-categorypageHorizontalTop-_-PopularProductsInCategory&cm_vc=categorypageHorizontalTop|PopularProductsInCategory


This:

http://www.costco.com/Browse/Product.aspx?Prodid=11137856&whse=BC&Ne=4000000&eCat=BC|3605|90370|53351&N=4047982&Mo=30&pos=2&No=2&Nr=P_CatalogName:BC&cat=53351&Ns=P_Price|1||P_SignDesc1&lang=en-US&Sp=C&ec=BC-EC39946-Cat90370&topnav=

This:

http://www.costco.com/Browse/Product.aspx?Prodid=11152102&whse=BC&Ne=4000000&eCat=BC|1892|88184|53412|51933&N=4041552&Mo=11&pos=7&No=3&Nr=P_CatalogName:BC&cat=51933&Ns=P_Price|1||P_SignDesc1&lang=en-US&Sp=C&ec=BC-EC39947-Cat53412&topnav=

And, a few measly bottles of Lysol since they don't carry those in bulk. For fuck's sake.

2,4,6,8,10,12,14,16,14,12,10,8,6,4,2

When I walk to the end of each room, or by the time I walk into the next, I must take an even amount of steps. It must always be equivalent to the steps taken while retracing my path. Get up from my ottoman to go to the bathroom, 12 steps. Once in the bathroom, I take two steps to get to the toilet, and two to the sink. I wash my hands four times. I go back two steps to the toilet, and two steps back to the door. Once I exit the bathroom, I take 12 steps back to my ottoman.

In my ottoman I stare out the window. I've developed a habit of clenching my teeth in a distinct rhythm, often intersected by tapping my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

It took eight steps to get here to my laptop to write this. Before that, I took 16 steps to my bathroom sink to wash my hands four times. I wash four times now. My hands have taken to a reddish/purple color, complete with chapped skin. They used to be splotchy and dry. Now they do not appear to match the skin on the rest of my body. I'd always wash my hands in the morning, before and after meals, after using the toilet, midday, and before bed. About 6 times a day. That's now 24 times a day, plus four or eight more. I just wash my hands more now.

After not showering for a few days, I shower twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. I  eat a meal a day, usually around noon.I finally sleep more, but not enough.

My microwave just beeped. that's 16 steps to get my frozen chicken pot pie. First meal since yesterday afternoon.

Nothing left to lose.

I was fired last Tuesday. I've been sitting in my ottoman staring out the living room window most of the time, most days since. I get up to use the bathroom. Sometimes I eat something, but hardly. I haven't slept much.

Twinkies, Yoga, and other updates

It's been a while, bloggers... readers... followers...

The past few weeks have been a bit hectic for me with grading midterms, papers, posting online lectures and discussions.  I spent most of the University's week off grading and doing some spring cleaning. I've also been looking into hiring a new grocer because Sue has been bringing her eight year-old son on her trips to the store and then my apartment, and the little bugger is rambunctious. He doesn't understand my rules, so last week when Sue came to deliver my groceries, he charged through my apartment with muddy sneakers, whining about how he wanted something to drink and proceeded to knock over a lamp, break the bulb...the whole thing was just a mess. Sue was very apologetic of course, but I was so overwhelmed with anxiety and frustration I couldn't deal with her.
She's just hasn't been as mindful lately, either. She keeps messing up my groceries. She'll buy me marinara sauce with mushrooms, which I dislike terribly. Or she'll get the diet iced tea, which never tastes as good as non-diet iced tea. I had a hankering for chocolate cake last week and when the store's bakery didn't have any, she bought Twinkies because she thought TWINKIES were a good substitute for chocolate cake.Then the other week she dropped her purse in my entry hall, and her cheap drug store perfume bottle cracked and leaked through her purse all over my hall. I had to open the windows and ventilate the place for days, as well as clean the floor several times. Between that incident and the one with her son, I went through three clorox sprays and four boxes of wipes to clean up their messes.

I may just have to find someone a little more cautious and orderly, is all.

I also took up yoga during the spring break. I sat on Amazon for hours researching and reading reviews for various DVDs and programs...people write the strangest things for product reviews. I read about how yoga helped a mother of three strengthen her "birthing canal" and she was just raving about it. She didn't stop there though, she went on to get much more intimate about all the details and it was...well, needless to say, I didn't opt for the program she was reviewing.

But I found a pretty great one and it's really helped to bring some relaxation into my life. My cousin Bethany insisted I take it up. She lives in California where she's a yoga instructor as well as real estate agent. We Skype and/or email about once a week. I was very close to her and her brother Tom growing up. Tom is currently abroad in London, so talking to him can be a bit more difficult. But we Skype and email as well.

Anyway, being my family and all, they are very understanding and sympathetic of my situation. Though I can tell they get frustrated with me, and think I should Just get over my OCD. If it were so easy to do, I just would. But it's not.

Well. I've had breakfast, read the newspaper, and now it's time for a run on the treadmill. I save yoga for the end of the day to release the stress of cleaning and fussing all day.

Until next time,

Marty

Monday Musings

My busy weeks are almost over. Spring break is coming up and I'll have a temporary hiatus from grading. Though I teach history online, it's still a busy, demanding gig. I've been up to my ears in papers, quizzes, and formulating midterms...especially since I put off some of it in order to do my research, tend to my finally fixed ceiling...or just read, watch Fraiser, play solitaire, now blogging. Last night I got particularly caught up watching the Oscars. It's a bit silly, really. I hardly keep up with movies, so I'm not sure what I was watching it for; it's not as if I were rooting for any film or actor in particular.The only movie I saw that was up for any nominations was Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life and Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris. Both were good films. I liked Midnight in Paris much better. I found the portrayal of Hemingway, Dali, Picasso...all the historical characters, very amusing.
Last year's ceremony was great. The King's Speech won "best picture." The King's Speech is a terrific film. I don't love it just because I'm a history buff. It's a genuinely well-done movie with a great cast, cinematogoraphy, soundtrack...I could just go on and on. What I will do is post my favorite track from the film:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=LBQvhKkG1x8


I like to play this song while "cooking" and/or eating. I bet this makes me seem like a freak who finds grandeur in mundane tasks, or like a pretentious snob...but keep in mind I mainly eat frozen dinners, jarred pasta, and low-key chicken dishes. Alone in my apartment. If I could get over my OCD, I think I actually would host dinner parties and invite my colleagues I admire most. Or old friends from university. Until then, if I ever overcome it, I eat processed foods with the company of my television or a novel. Which doesn't strike me as being particularly pretentious.

This was a refreshing break from reading student's research on the boom of industrialization. Unfortunately, however, I must get back to it.

Week of the leak continued

This past week was a nightmare. However, the leak is finally fixed.

Turns out the source of the leak was the radiator in my neighbor's apartment directly above mine. Old piece of garbage. Anyway, for whatever reason their radiator began to leak, and it went on for so long, and got so bad, it soaked through the flooring and leaked through my bedroom ceiling. After calling the building's maintenance guy, Doug, last Monday, the dud finally showed up on Wednesday to check it out. I live in a pretty reputable apartment in a decent part of Chicago...I was stunned our maintenance was so slow to address this. However, once he showed up, he checked out my ceiling and declared much of it will have to be replaced since the water damage was so bad. I wanted to shriek. He went on to tell me how he'll have to break through the ceiling...causing me to clear out my once perfect bedroom and make due with sleeping in the living room for the next few days. This is just one of the many horrors this leak has bestowed upon me.

In addition to evacuating my room and transforming my living room...I had to let Dough and his team of carpenters into my apartment. I never even let SUE, my grocer, set foot in this place. It was horrible, it really was. I couldn't sleep the night before they came in. I shook and sweat in my bed (the pullout sofa) all night, on the verge of tears. The fortunate thing, however, is that this exhausted me so much that by the time Doug and the guys showed up, I was a little less anxious about the whole thing. I had been dreading this day for nearly a week.

Each day they came to break through and reconstruct the ceiling, it got a bit easier to deal with having outsiders in my place. Of course once they left around evening everyday, I immediately vacuumed, scrubbed, and disinfected the path of flooring they walked on to get to my bedroom.I so badly wanted them to wear plastic bagging on their feet, but knew better not to ask. Not only is it seen as a ridiculous request by most, but I guess it would have been a safety hazard with them standing on the ladder and all.

...wait, I smell something burning...DAMNIT it must be my Stouffer's lasagna! 

To be continued...

Marty

Week of the leak

Between my work and the leak that is taking over my bedroom, I've had little energy for blogging. Though it probably would have helped me vent about the whole situation and the stress it's causing me...So sorry, followers. If there are any of you faithful ones out there.

Anyway, I'm pretty beside myself right now. Either a pipe in the ceiling is broken or my neighbors upstairs are doing something to cause the leak. It's just unsanitary. The part of the ceiling where it is coming from is damp and appears to be buckling a bit. The constant sound of the dripping is extremely irritating. I called the building's maintenance, but they STILL haven't been able to come over. I've begun to box all my belongings in my bedroom and move them out into the other rooms. I've packed up all my bedding and moved it into the office. As for the bed, I've covered it in a plastic contraption I made out of my mattress cover, unused garbage bags, and other plastic bags I've saved and disinfected.  I'm now sleeping in the living room on my pullout sofa.  It's been a disaster. An unnecessary, unnatural disaster. 

Not much has happened since my last post. The highlight of my week has been the visit by my grocer, Sue. I have a fixed list she takes to the grocery store weekly, and she picks up everything on it. Despite how friendly I am with her, I don't think she has quite...taken to me. She's always nice, but in an almost in a reserved, nervous way. Maybe it's because I don't let her in past the entry hall of my apartment. I just have her ring my bell, place the groceries outside my door, or in the entry hall. She quickly steps back out the door frame, and shifts around as I attempt to make conversation with her. I do want to talk to her, I just don't want her in my apartment. I don't want her dirty sneakers on my just-cleaned wooden flooring. I don't want to ask her to put plastic bags over her shoes and then use hand sanitizer in order to come in my apartment, either. So I just have her stay outside or in the entry hall.

I guess that's why she isn't comfortable with me...but I try. I ask her about how she's doing as I hand her a generous tip. After she darts her eyes side-to-side and says "fine" with a stiff smile in which she curls her lips tightly so they hardly show, I bring up something I read in the news earlier that morning. Usually local stuff. She makes a few comments about it if she's up to date on the news. If not, she let's me inform her for a minute before she gives me a pitiful smile and says "see you next week" before quickly walking down the hall to the elevator. Sue is one of the few people I interact with face-to-face..seeing as this is the extent of our exchanges...well...it doesn't leave me feeling much better, or less lonely.

But I then gather my bags, bring them to the kitchen, and empty the contents on a plastic covering I have prepared for the kitchen floor earlier that morning, knowing the packaging and food from the grocery store is not yet safe for my place. After everything is laid out, I take out my disinfectant wipes and wipe off the food's packaging with them. I use the wipes on cardboard boxes and plastic bags...which most of my food is packaged in. So once that's done I take off my rubber gloves and put the disinfected groceries away.My groceries mainly consist of frozen meals, snacks like chips and crackers, pasta and sauce from a jar, milk, orange juice, grape juice, family-sized package of paper towels, cinnamon raisin bagels, earl grey tea...and butter and cream cheese when I run out. Then of course Sue picks up my toiletries such as razors, anti-bacterial liquid soap, family- sized package of toilet paper, toothbrushes, shaving cream...and shampoo and toothpaste once a month. These are the things that sustain me pretty well here in my apartment everyday. 

My kettle of boiling water has finally begun to hiss. It's time for my nightly tea accompanied by some reading. 

Goodnight,

Marty

Reacquainting myself with the outside world.

I spend all day in my apartment and rarely have any visitors. For a while it was perfect. There's no one to track in mud, germs, knock my belongings out of their designated places. No one questions how I spend most of my time sweeping my apartment's surfaces, as well as my body, with anti-bacterial spray, wipes, and sanitizers. I can comfortably tend to my raw, chapped hands after a days worth of cleaning with out the embarrassment of having to explain why. I can shower after every time I use the toilet with out the harassment of someone telling me how wasteful and pathetic it is. But after years of this kind of life, these little things no longer comfort or please me. They merely satisfy me. I miss living life like a normal person. I miss the company of others without the anxiety of how they interfere with my orderliness and cleanliness.

If not for the Internet, I would be completely alone. But I occasionally email with old friends, classmates, ex-coworkers, distant relatives. I read every section of the news everyday; I keep up with the rest of you. Now I have this blog, for those who care to keep up with me. Whoever finds this and sticks around to follow...I suppose I'm grateful. As well as pretty sorry for you.

Well...it's almost dinner time and my five o'clock shadow has officially made its unsightly appearance. I can no longer rest my chin on my hand, I loathe the feeling so much. It's time to shave and pre-heat the oven for my frozen chicken pot pie dinner. Unfortunately it's all I have until my grocery shopper returns for her weekly visit, which isn't until three days from now. At least I rarely work up an appetite.

Until next time,

Marty