Ten: Striations

Where to begin?

I'm up after midnight -- not in itself unheard of, but less likely today than it was a few years ago. I am off work tomorrow, as I have been since Tuesday, and that may or may not have something to do with my being seized by a desire to stay up late. Maybe I feel rebellious, maybe I feel inspired, maybe I feel full, maybe I feel frazzled. It's hard to tell from this angle. I just knew that I was in bed and I honestly was not even thinking about falling asleep. I'm not-not tired but I'm not sleepy either. I had a memory of the times when I would sit up late listening to R.E.M's UP album, so that's what I am doing now (often these days when I write I am not listening to any music at all.)

((I listen to a lot of music while working or doing housework, so my world is quite full of music, still.))

Today was Mel's birthday. As a dutiful husband I am devoted to the cause of giving my wife the best birthday possible, but sometimes I can push myself to the brink of madness in pursuit of this. I think though, that that's partly a function of my drive to accomplish this coming up against my natural haplessness, procrastination and inattention to detail. Fighting your limitations will take it out of anyone.

A few weeks ago I had placed an order for a gift for Mel, but as the big day approached it had not showed up and there was no indication that it was coming, and I had to think to get her something to open on the big day, as well as come up with possible activities to fill the day. At some point a week or so ago she reflected on the time we went to 4Cats Art Studio and made some ceramic beehive sugar bowls. It occurred to me, only too late, that that might be a good birthday activity, but alas they were booked up for the day.

Monday, I went to Michael's with two missions -- one, to get a picture framed, a canvas illustration of us that Mel had commissioned for our anniversary way back in 2018, and which we had talked about getting framed forever since and the neglect of which was something of a sore point (one of many "well, I'll get to it someday" minor tasks that accomplishing would be an easy way to score points) -- and two, to find some kind of indoor, ideally clay-related craft we could do. I succeeded on both points, but to my dismay it was going to take two weeks to get this picture framed, so now my backup gift was a fail too. I browsed for a backup-backup gift. I found a wall-mounted picture collage frame with room for ten photos. I thought of another easy win, as we had been wanting to get our wedding photos and assorted other pictures printed forever. Mel began the process with her Christmas gift to me by printing a lot of old photos and putting them in an album for us. Initially, I offered the frame to to Mel's mom as an option, since she had asked, but she said she had already got some stuff and that I would know our wall decor needs better. This was true, but I couldn't give her an empty frame.

I had two other ideas for backup gifts: one was an office chair, since Mel has been complaining about her back and I knew it would be considered very thoughtful and personal if not romantic, but at the same time this is a very personal thing to buy and buying it without the actual person present you might as well throw $150 down a well for all the likelihood that it's the right one -- and given how much I had already spent on gifts A and B, I wasn't prepared to risk going to a more expensive model.

The other idea is my ultimate, break-glass-in-case-of-emergency mega gift for her. See, she dreams of having an Olympic bar for our future possible home gym in the basement. And it's not like I don't want her to have it, but our basement is very much not in "home gym" shape. It's more like "Scotto's storage unit." It's a disaster down there and I have not put in the work to get it remedied. So I didn't want to get her a gift she couldn't use for the foreseeable future (this happened once before -- in 2020 I thought I was so slick getting her a new bed for her parents' house when we crashed there, and then COVID hit and we didn't go there for four months.) This did not seem like the right time to break that glass. Plus, it was also in that upper price echelon.

For reasons I will get into later in this post if there's time, Tuesday was a write-off, so I had to spend all of a very gray and rainy Wednesday running around town like a madman trying to put the pieces together as to what I would actually be getting her, up against the ticking clock. After investigating the chair and the Olympic bar, I convinced myself that the photo collage was the way to go. All I had to do was get some phots printed, and luckily there was a store known to us that did that. In the end I pulled it off, as well as buying the ingredients for the lime Jell-o pie she had suggested I should make her for dessert, which she had tried to make me for my birthday but didn't come out quite right. This after last year having a rather dissatisfied reaction to a much-hyped local key lime pie

The day got off to a good start. Once all my ducks were in a row I started to feel confident that I was presenting a solid birthday. We ordered a special breakfast. She knitted a bit. I unveiled the secret activity, making fun little clay figures, and she really seemed to enjoy it. I even had a stroke of luck in the middle of the day -- her original gift arrived right on time, so I had one more gift for her, in addition to some lap trays so we could eat more comfortably in front of the TV as we have a habit of doing. We got her a free Starbucks, then ordered dinner. and watched a movie (The Wedding Year) while waiting for it.

Here my troubled began. We had wanted to order sushi from one of the finer locations in town, but I had to go pick it up. I missed it on the first pass and had to double back. Getting into their little parking lot was a shitshow, and I made a total hash of parking next to this giant pickup, much to the amusement and judgment of three chuckleheads to watched my failure.

Well, look, that's part of life. These things happen to everybody. After cutting my finger the other week I'm both more sensitive and more inured to certain negative experiences that everyone has to face sooner or later. When I came back out of the restaurant, I jokingly checked the wheel well for trapped children, we all had a laugh. Worst part though was that I had left a big scape on the side of the car, and we're set to see Mel's parents on the weekend. We have some touch-up paint somewhere around here, but I'm going to own up to it.

Not looking forward to that, but it's the right thing to do.

I'll admit, I've been a little more frazzled than usual behind the wheel lately. I think so much of my driving goes between simple points, down familiar roads in town, that when I have to go somewhere unfamiliar or change my objective, or park in a weird situation, it really throws me. Remember, I've only been driving for about 8 years, and only really for the last year since coming back to the burbs.

Anyway, it didn't totally wreck the night. The wall frame was a huge hit, best gift of the day. The sushi was not worth the hassle to me, not really any better than what we had been getting from our usual place, which lately had been a letdown anyway.  But I'm downplaying that reaction. But also I did not that I felt a little wound up after the events of the day.

We had our dessert -- another big win -- and finished the night in front of the TV. We tucked her in, full of love and gratitude and appreciation for what I had done for her. I felt good.

We had actually had a fight the night before, over something incredibly stupid, but stupid fights have a way of unlocking all of my complexes. I'd be lying if I didn't say that my running around town knocking myself out trying to make a really nice day for her, which was part (if a minor one) of why I made a dumb little error -- being drained and knowing that my efforts couldn't yet be appreciated -- and why I took it so personally to have her react the way she did. But I bruise easily where she's concerned. That's a sign that someone's important to me, that I am vulnerable to them.

I think. It's also possible that I am just very thin-skinned.

The weekend prior to that was a full one. Saturday, Mel was going to lunch with Cristina, and her parents were coming over to help me take down the Christmas lights. Mel was disappointed these two events were overlapping and tried to get her parents not to show up until she was nearly back at 4. They could only hold off on coming until 3:30, and for various reasons she didn't make it back until 4:30, so by the time she got home I had already served them coffee and done the task, and there was only a little bit left of juice in the visit. The next day, Mel got her nails done, and was going to spend the night at Namita's after our dinner. The reason for that was that she had a work function early the next day and asking a friend to crash seemed preferable to trying to scramble in the morning commute, and Namita was kind enough to go along. 

So I spent a quiet night by myself doing whatever it is I usually do, then worked the next day, tried to stitch everything up in time for my week off and have another frantic quick dinner so that I could meet Mel after her post-work dinner at Jack Astor's. This work thing was to last two days, so Mel had booked a room at the company hotel for the second night, and I was allowed to come. Since she's an employee of the company I won't give the full details of my appraisal, but there were some issues that I wish I could reflect on. I did get a kick out of being able to see my old apartment from the room window though.

After seeing her off in the morning, I decided to venture out West to get a cup of Jimmy's for the first time in perhaps two years (Well, only maybe the second time.) I then dropped in at the office just because I knew a few people were converging, despite the awkwardness -- or novelty -- of a explaining why I was actually in the office on my day off when my workdays were done from home. From there I went home, puttered around a bit, and Mel got off early, meaning I was on call for the pickup and couldn't really spend the day working on my gift.

And so we've come back to where we started.

The album's almost over, how about that. I think I'm sufficiently drowsy, but I remain a little rebellious so who knows what I will do when I go upstairs to bed. Mel doesn't like me looking at my phone in the bedroom at night and I don't blame her. I find it hard to abide by this policy but I don't think it's a bad one.

I would like to have some bigger thoughts, but it's nice to get back to "writing about your day" blogging. I can't account for why this blog has suddenly become such a going concern again, after years of sporadic activities, as well as so many other things going on that I could be spending time on. Since bringing this blog back in 2017, there have always been stretches where I think "I should blog about this" and then not been able to. Maybe something about the way I'm living my life right now means I am in a situation more and more often where I am apt to write here. Up late, flying solo more, reflecting always.

I am good, though.

Keep on rockin'

-Scotto

Nine: Utilities

I was thinking just now about people I've known who have gone on to do big things, and I think, perhaps I am not "there" after all. Perhaps, contrary to what I said earlier, I did not "make it." 

This is all relative, and it's not a race -- the truth is, I'm doing better than some, not as well as others, and in psyche and emotional state I am a mature, grown person holding down a steady job that enables me to live a comfortable life with my wife. If that's not "making it" than what is?

So I spend some of my free time BS'ing on the internet about comics. So I write silly little stories (hey, there's a few bucks in that!) It's where I find my joy in life, you know? Why foresake these small pleasures because I might feel somewhat self-conscious about them? Just as long as I don't lose myself in them, and I keep perspective.

So I kept reading some of those old posts from Grade 12. I doubled back to March and April. It's funny how these times loom so large in the memory and yet fade so much too. You know, if it wasn't one thing it was another back then. I was unhappy literally all the time, except for momentary peaks, and much of my life was like that before meeting Mel (which I did, so why dwell on it?) I spent high school trying to figure out where my people were, and when I met them it was getting late. And then I had them, and that helped, but the sense that I was on shifting terrain never went away. For a lot of my early twenties I was pretty content in my misery. I always said I wasn't depressed, I just needed circumstances to change. I was right.

What strikes me about those old posts is how rambling and breezy they were. I was a teenager, I was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions careening around my head and heart at all times and I had to get it out, writing constantly, furiously, about everything. It's actually hard to follow now looking back, and I'm the one who lived it.

I always say, there are things that I'm doing now, with my writing (and frankly, as a person) that I wish I could have started earlier. I had so much squandered time when I was younger and had energy, but I needed to bake longer. That's the cold hard truth of it. I'm still not perfect today, but I have a better sense of structure and strength.

I don't know that what I'm doing today is good or right, but I do know I'm enjoying it and that other people are too. I wish I could have been good enough to start earlier because I would have had more opportunities, but it took those years of development. I am where I am.

Moving forward.

Keep on rockin'

-Scotto

Eight: I'll See You Tonight

It's been snowing all day, at one point big, thick, wet flakes that I could see coming from a great distance, which is unusual, although by now it's just a little flutter. It's warm out though so this snow lands on the ground in a bit of slush. I'm done work -- there's always more I could do but I ended my day around 5 -- but Mel will still be upstairs on calls for a while, and she didn't even eat her lunch until after 5. Who's to say when we'll be having dinner. Often, I could use this time to write, and I guess right now I am, but normally I'd elect to try to write something important. You know, like recapping old X-Men comics, or a story in which... ahem ahem, not to tip my hand. I already think I've said too much over the years.

I've been really enjoying sleep lately. That sounds really depressing on the face of it, like I'm depressed, which is why I'm liking sleep, but you've got to understand, I had years when my anxiety about getting up in the morning and going to the office -- even though that office was only a short trip from my apartment -- kept me from truly enjoying sleep, and I would go in tired and sullen and miserable. Hell, it was only a few weeks before the WFH era that I literally took a day off from work because I hadn't slept. And school was a lot like that too (working in the store was mostly okay.) So we've now come through two full years of Pandemic, two full years of Work From Home, and two full years of honestly getting a pretty good night's sleep. Nights when I don't, still happen but are by far the exception. I'm finding it easy to fall asleep, easy to stay asleep or get back to sleep when I have woken up in the middle of the night, and have developed a strange habit of frequently waking up before my alarm (although usually this is later than, say, my alarm would have been 3.5 years ago.) I'm having the kind of dreams that are amusing and fun but fade quick and just leave you with a good feeling to start your day, although I'm told that dreaming represents the lighter phase of sleep. Perhaps I am only dreaming as my body prepares to wake me up.

Maybe it's because I'm not drinking much coffee in the afternoons (although it was decaf usually) and I'm not drinking as much beer either.

Another thing that kind of sounds sad to say but that brings me joy is what Mel and I are mostly doing with our time, all the nights we spend on the couch watching TV. It sounds like such a sad cliche, a married couple dulling their brains with reality TV. But why not? You knew me back in my 20's, when I spent most nights watching narrative TV from my computer chair, whilst simultaneously being on Twitter and Tumblr looking for something to happen. Maybe writing, possibly doing online dating. And all that time I was looking desperately for my person to watch bad TV with. The bad TV bonds us. We examine, we remark, we riff, we judge. With the search for someone who loves and appreciates me over with, I am free largely from self-consciousness about those things, especially because of all the other ways I am pursuing my interests and dreams. (Is it a perfect life? Of course not. But to I appreciate what I have? Yes. Let me write this down for you. Yes.) 

I was thinking about memory today and how this blog is my personal time tunnel. Now, I could have set it up years earlier, but I did it when I did it and I know what I have from there on. Perhaps knowing that my baggage is safely in storage here -- for me to visit whenever I like -- keeps me from carrying it around with me. Although I did carry much of it for a long time.

Today I visited June of 2005, the end of high school. Man, highs and lows. There were a lot of good things, I remember it clearly, and I did note some of them, but it was colored by a lot of stress and anxiety and fear and insecurity and all the usual characteristics I have exhibited throughout this blog. The kid uses the phrase "high strung" to refer to himself in the present, then says he was really high strung back in February. And the truth is, I was in the moment, as any of us ever is. And there were good things, and there were the possibilities of good things that never ended up materializing, and it was all part of the mix of being newly turned 18. That last six months, man, I wished I could have had that for all of high school, or at least the last two years, but I didn't find it until I did, and I wasn't going to, and even if the next couple of years were hit and miss it left me with some long term friendships and alliances.

All of that's faded away, though, you know. I don't talk to anyone from high school anymore. Cary has occasionally appeared on Twitter -- we shared thoughts on Wordle -- but mostly the fellowship has long since ended. They aren't even the people who haunt Facebook these days, those are mostly the ones who were strangers, or close to, that got me on FB. They all have better things to do. Huh. Wonder what that's like.

I mean, my Facebook account was long abandoned before the pandemic, and then it became more and more of a thing.

Generally speaking, wherever I've been, the people haven't -- Chris Ferg, CB, Pat, Ryan, Lauren, Robyn, Anisah, Alyssa, Ryan W., Doug, Becky, Ana, whomever else. Scott C. Kyle and even Josh. No idea whatever became of any of them, except I know Josh had a baby sometime ago. I wonder and I hope they're well. Whatever they're up to, if it keeps them off social media, good for them, so much the better.

I don't live in the past. If I was desperate to reconnect perhaps I would and I do think about it from time to time but....... hmm, I wonder if the same crippling anxiety about people not wanting to be friends with me is still in the back of my head preventing me from that.

I would like a few of them to know I turned out okay, although it took a while to get there (and I've been there for a while.)

I don't know. I'm the Scotto of 2022. I have my own thing going on. But as always, if you wanted me, I'd be there.

This has been a happy, if wistful post. A rare occurrence since the beginning of this blog. (Incidentally, as of May 15 2021 -- a day I spent literally clearing out my storage unit -- this blog had existed for half my life on Earth. Interesting!)

I've got a kitchen to clean.

Keep on rockin'

-Scotto

Seven: On Dancing

Last night was fixing to be a relatively ordinary Wednesday night. We had done our workout after work and we're planning to watch some This Is Us that we had PVR'd. The TV was set to GameTV while I prepared to cook, an episode of The Price is Right was on. Dinner was to be perogies, with sliced fried onions. I was getting my mandolin, a gift that I have made much us of since Christmas, out of its box adn setting it up on the counter when I fumbled somehow and felt the blade of it slide across my finger.

I soon saw how deep it sliced when blood came gushing out. Trying not to panic, I calmly said we were probably going to have to take me to the emergency room and get this stitched up. It was gruesome, for a sliced ring finger, with the tip flopping wildly. I pressed a spare kitchen cloth to it and applied a band aid as best I could.

In a flash, we were out the door and heading for Oakville Trafalgar hospital. Mel indicated she might go see her parents rather than wait with me, and I thought that was fine, I know she doesn't always do well in these scenarios and why put the both of us through it?

So I signed in and I waited, and I waited and waited and waited, with my right hand awkwardly gripping the cloth in silent contemplation. My phone wasn't fully charged but I provided myself leeway to read and message Mel now and again, then go back on airplane mode. She was apologetic for seeming "annoyed" but I actually thought she did quite well, keeping her cool and supporting me. I saw how few people got in and how long it was taking and I began to wonder if I should be here.

I've been to Emerg once before in my adult life, for what essentially was an anxiety attack that seized me in the middle of the night after a fight with Mel that I don't remember the cause of. We were living in Toronto at the time and I thought I might be having a heart attack or something (I was 32, but you know, I don't really keep a healthy diet.) We went to St. Mike's in the middle of the night. There weren't that many people waiting it it must have been clear my situation was not dire, so we watched the TV until we got tired and decided nothing was going to happen and left.

This time, at least, I knew there was a reason. But they must have been badly understaffed, I heard people murmuring about how it wasn't usually this bad. What a night to nearly slice my digit off. I was in the overflow waiting area, with no way to amuse myself besides my rapidly depleting phone. There was a few parents of young children there, and a twitchy guy next to me who it was clear was in some distress. I didn't speak to him but it seemed possible, from overhearing his conversation with one of the others, that he had appendicitis. That's no joke.

He had been there about an hour before me, so I started thinking seriously about where all this was going and what my needs were. My phone battery was draining. Mel had the car and the keys and not necessarily unlimited energy to stay up all night waiting. I googled some alternatives and realized they sell medical superglue that are often effective as a replacement for stitches.

Well, I thought, what did I have to lose? Except my perhaps-least used fingertip.  I had waited for over two hours by this point. I told someone who had arrived only recently -- so I knew they would be there a while -- that if they came out and called for Williams, to tell them I had gone. I had Mel come get me, and we went to the Shoppers across the street and bought some New Skin, the liquid bandage, after confirming with the pharmacist that this was what I was looking for. I would have asked for further assurance that it could help with my situation but she had other customers to attend to at this time. I did somewhat think I was playing a dangerous game, but the bleeding had stopped early into my waiting room experience and on balance this felt like the right decision, and we were more or less committed.

We got home and I set about applying my new skin to my old skin. Removing the band-aid made it clear that the bleeding was very much not stopped as a crimson river poured out of my finger. I did my best to dab it try with a paper towel and hold the errant skin in place -- or some reasonable approximation -- and I applied layer after layer of liquid bandage until I felt confident that the barrier was holding back the blood. It still looked pretty gnarly, not helped by the fact that I had trapped a lot of dried blood under my new glossy topcoat.

I ate something -- some sushi Mel had got and some soup her parents had sent along -- and we wound down and went to bed. I felt anxious about the whole thing as my mind reeled. I know to someone more experienced in these things it's probably not a big deal. Eric's cut himself numerous times as a bartender (or before that, as a hapless drinker.) But I'm really not accustomed to being injured. I had stitches one time in the first grade after gouging my eyebrow on some sharp table edge I ran into while on a field trip (the details have always been fuzzy to me -- as was likely my vision since it was before I wore glasses.) If I could have seen a medical professional to say "Here are your stitches, it'll be fine" I maybe could have gone to bed satisfied for the night. Instead I was haunted -- did I fuck up, is this thing gonna open up in the middle of the night, did I lose too much blood (considering how much bloody wrestling I've watched it's absurd I could think this, but this is my own body) am I in danger? Is my fingertip gonna look weird? Jeez. You know, people probably get worse cuts on the set of MasterChef and they keep working on their duck confit, but they have medics on standby and I had a 2 hour wait, or glue.

It was an anxious sleep, compounded by guilt that I had ruined the nice, quiet, average night. I was one careless move away from a completely anonymous TV-watching cheesy potato-eating average forgettable night on the couch. And that's how tragedy too often is: so many tragic nights were going to be a perfectly ordinary one.

Of course, this was not a tragedy, but hey, suppose my fingers hit that blade a little differently, who knows?

I woke up more or less ready to face the day, although trepidatiously confirming I still had as much finger left as when I went to bed the night before. I put a glove on -- one of those little black dollar store guys -- and did some work before deciding to go to a walk-in clinic to get looked at.

There, I went more or less right in. The doc confirmed for me that it was too late for stitches, the healing process had begun and stitches would only risk introducing a spoiler to that. He expressed some surprise that I could now buy medical glue over the counter, but assured me it would hold and was waterproof. Just wait, keep it clean, put a bandage over the glue, and watch for signs of infection. I had used an alcohol swap on the area before applying the stuff, so I think I am set. All I needed now was a tetanus shot and I'm good.

That was a relief. Look, I am not built to face mortality or my physical frailty. I had a bad run-in with the cheese grater a few weeks back that resulted in a band aid partly because the season has my skin so dry and weak. I have this weird feeling that if I get a cut, a scrape, a bruise, it's not going to heal. And to be fair, the most severe injuries I've had -- being hit by that car or having my foot run over -- took years to fully heal. So while I've got this bandage over my finger I'm gonna feel anxious about it. That's me.

I realize that this is, ultimately, an exceedingly minor event. For some people another cut wouldn't register. But you know, I live a very mundane, button-down life. I've been preparing food for myself and my wife for like 5 years and never cut myself, a pretty incredible stat when you think about it. But hey, it's bound to happen. It's amazing how it makes for an unusual, interesting post, and also an unappealing one that contrasts badly with my usual content, hemming and hawing about my future.

Anyway.

Prior to that the most interesting thing was that we went out to eat with Viki, Manders, Katie, and Viki's friend Nero on Sunday at some place way out in Mississauga. It was supposed to be brunch but it was booked too late so we had the lunch menu. Pretty much everything was disappointing, except the company, which was good. I haven't seen any of these people in person since before the pandemic, although I didn't note that. At one point, I did a very "me" thing, which was that everyone at the table was talking about Love is Blind Season 2, but Viki hadn't seen it yet, so I opted out of the conversation to have a side-convo with Viki about whatever. That's the kind of guy I am, keen to make sure everyone is looked after. Also weirdly, the way they had chosen to sit, Mel and I were separated with Viki in between, but anyway, we all had some good talks, and I see plenty of Mel at home.

The day before we had been to Nonna's. We went to church with the whole fam because Papa was getting a special mention. For that, sure I can do an hour or so of stand-sit-kneel. Then we had some dinner, some Fortino's Pizza, it was nice.

Earlier in the week, we were supposed to go to my mom's for dinner, a weeknight meal because Eric works weekends. We were keen, but Mel ended up getting stuck working later than expected. Eventually I just went by myself, sending along Mel's sincere apologies. Overall it was... I mean, aside from catching up and getting to be around my brothers again, the conversation isn't always great, usually about dead pets (same as it ever was, going back over 10 years now.) Ross got grumpy and ditched, Mel sent me home with some leftovers for Mel, I gave the guys a lift home to be nice (I know Mel wouldn't and with good reason because their place is decently far in the opposite direction of Mom's, but I didn't mind since it meant it would be more sensible to swing around to Dundas rather than the highway.) When I got home, Mel was watching Miss Congeniality 2 on TV. She wasn't feeling it and it seemed pretty dire, but we ended up finishing it.   

Other than that, you know... life is life, work is work, ups and downs, strikes and gutters. This week is time for pause because we are coming up on the 2 year anniversary of the state of emergency related to the pandemic. I have mixed feelings about that, mixed because WFH has largely been a big improvement to my lifestyle, but it's hard to beam about that without noting that, you know, it came about because of a tragedy.

I've said what I came to. Keep on rockin

-Scotto