Michelle's House of Horrors

I’m walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge
And where I walk alone
–Green Day

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good pair of walking shoes, must be in want of a man to walk with her.
–With apologies to Jane Austen

Sportiness is not something I have ever been known for, but I do love a good solitary ramble. If that solitary ramble can take place on a trail in the woods, it’s even better. I walk, I take pictures of tree parts and clouds, I listen to my heart beat, I smile and I enjoy the quiet. It’s the best enhancer of inner peace and serenity there is!

There’s only one problem. Men.

They’re dear, sweet things and I’ve already established my cred as a man-lover, so hear me out. Men make it almost impossible for a woman to enjoy being anywhere secluded on her own. Yes, even though the vast majority of them aren’t “like that.”  Even though  it’s statistically very safe on the trails around Portland. All it takes is one lone man doing..something…nothing…just being there…and as a solitary woman I  have to be on guard.

It ruins the inner peace and serenity that is most of the reason I’m there in the first place.

It’s not so bad in the Summer when there are more people on the trails. That way one solitary man doesn’t stand out as much. In the Winter, things get a little harder to assess. I stay to the main trails where visibility is good, don’t go into the woods at all, and generally don’t enjoy my walk nearly as much as I might if I could go where I pleased.

Often a Winter walk becomes something to be gotten through. Just exercise, not pleasure.

One Winter afternoon when I was home from work, a rare sunny day, I decided to go for a quick walk in the park near my house. In the Summer, there are always a lot of people there, but during the Winter there are seldom any people there except a few dedicated dog walkers.  When I parked my car, I noticed a guy who poked his head out from behind a shrub. When I noticed him, he ducked back behind the shrub.

Hmmm.

In the Summer, I probably would have just waited a minute until a family walked in and followed them. In the Winter, there was no one else around so the weird guy hiding behind the shrub was quite noticible. While I was trying to decide what to do, he peeked out onto the trail a few more times. I decided not to take a walk after all.

He might have been waiting for a friend, and just peeking out onto the trail quite innocently. In fact, he probably was. I opted not to take a chance.

Or there was the guy who was just sitting under a tree on a  trail this morning. The totally deserted trail. In the forest. On the cold ground. Maybe he was just enjoying the feel of the cold, damp earth on his butt. Maybe he was a serial murderer who  goes after 20 year old blondes rather than 54 year old brunettes. That would explain his odd smile. Or maybe he’s just a socially awkward slightly dirty dude in a beanie who likes to sit on the ground because he was raised by hippies in a commune near Dexter and he likes to be in contact with Mother Gaia. Who the hell knows?

Not me, and that’s the point.

He was sitting there, in all likelihood quite peacefully. He was probably just enjoying the weather like me. When I saw him, I stopped enjoying the weather and the sound of birds and started  listening for his footsteps behind me instead until I rejoined the main trail several minutes later.

Did he do anything wrong? Of course not.

What we need is a world in which women feel just as safe enjoying a solitary walk as men do. Where we can walk to our cars after dark without looking over our shoulders or finding someone to walk with is.

This is a minor annoyance in a world in which most people have it far worse than I do. I grant that. I am blessed to live in a state with such wonderful city trails and paths. I am blessed to live in a place that still has beautiful green places to ramble in. I just wish I could enjoy them in the same unfettered way that men do.

It would be easier if I had a man with me. Then I wouldn’t have to wonder. Just wander.  Of course part of what I love about walking is the solitude. Just me and my thoughts. The sound of my feet hitting the ground. Woodpeckers. Kids laughing in the distance.

In order to enjoy the trail while feeling totally safe, I have to give up the solitude.

It’s not a horrible tradeoff, but it is one, and it’s one that makes me angry.

As a society why are we so content to accept that it’s OK for women to be worried for their own safety?

Since Thanksgiving-ish: 19 lbs down, and a lot to go. What? I would tell you how far I have to go if I knew. Because I am vain, it will depend on how I look. 50? 80? No idea. A lot.

This is the first time I’ve gone through a stressful period in my life without potato chips to medicate me, by the way. I know that’s funny, but it doesn’t make it less true. If I’d said it was the first time I’d gone through a stressful time without whiskey, you probably wouldn’t have found it quite as amusing, right?

It’s not really any different, but as I told someone the other day: for someone like me, eating moderately when under stress (hell, or when I’m happy)  is sort of like telling an alcoholic to just drink moderately. Alcoholics can’t drink a little bit throughout the day and stay sober, and people who have issues with food have to eat. Every damn day. More than once. Every time we do, it’s a chance to fall off the wagon. Abstinence isn’t an option with food–not for long, anyway–and abstinence is easier than moderation for people with abuse issues. Ask someone who’s done Medifast–it’s easier not to eat at all than it is to make good choices.

Am I being perfect? No. I have the occasional cocktail, or meal of mashed potatoes.  I’m having a pint of bitter as I write this to console me for being stood up. I’m trying to work through things in order to get better at dealing with eating for consolation before I either have surgery. Or in case I don’t have surgery.

Don’t?

Well, there’s that whole thing where I may not have a job for much longer. I can’t have surgery if I lose my insurance, yeah?

It sucks. The whole thing sucks. Work sucks in particular.

Anyway, soldering on like the Scorpio boss I am.

Actually, you know what? I’d have had the pint of bitter anyway. I had a light lunch to account for it. I ordered it before I knew the flakey dude wasn’t coming. The pint of bitter was planned ahead of time. Well, I was thinking it would be an IPA, but bitter sounded good at the last minute. I didn’t realize that it would also be my mood!

I can fucking deal with men. Men are easy, mostly. They see things in a way that is mostly very easy to understand. There’s that one who challenges me, but mostly? I like them. There’s a reason I keep them around. No, not that. Or not only that. Men are mostly simple. Most of my friends are men. Men rock.

Also, in the spirit of full disclosure? I’m kind of relieved.

Oh, and for the sake of perfect honesty I came home from the pub, had dinner and then popcorn. And pop-tarts Not exactly the healthiest choices ever. I win some, I lose some.

So cheers, y’all.

This is a calling card

Maybe it will be a farewell note

The poison fountain pen now requires the antidote

And if I avert your gaze

And I should become a shrinking flower

Just punch me on the arm

This could be our finest hour

–Elvis Costello

It will come as a surprise to no one that I use the blog as a journal. Those who recognize themselves in it might wonder what is wrong with me sometimes. I wonder that about myself sometimes too, and this is part of what I do to figure it out. Writing helps me think.

The people who have gotten the worst of it here have somewhat ironically been the best sports about it. This has always fascinated me. I wonder if they just don’t read it? (They do) I wonder if they just don’t care what I say? (They probably do) Or if they know I am just trying to figure things out and are cutting me slack about the blog that they can’t manage in real life? (No idea, and that sentence doesn’t even make sense)

Of course if I meet new people and write about them, they never know. That is a whole lot easier because I don’t have to take their feelings into consideration. If I’m writing about a real person who might read what I write it is harder. It’s also hard to balance frankness and kindness. Maybe I’m dating someone new, and a past love might find that hard to read. Should I not write about it? Generally in the past I have, but I do try to consider the feelings of people who might be hurt by what I say.

I don’t think I have ever written something about someone that came as a shock to them. If I have and it was you, let me know.

Why can’t I just write my thoughts and feelings in a nice private notebook like a sane person? Because shut up. Or, to put it a little differently, because knowing that I will post something makes me think about things, or try to, in a way that is a little more organized. A little more dispassionate.

Even so, a lot of the things I write never get posted. They can’t be, they’re too naked. Too mean. Too personal. Too emotional. Too identifiable. Too something. Anyone who remembers that I have written about blow jobs and masturbation might wonder what I consider too personal to post. It’s like porn–I know it when I see it. Often it’s either too overtly mean or it would get them in some kind of trouble.

The more emotionally turbulent the times, the more I find I write things that can’t be posted. Like now. I probably abandon about 1/3 of my posts at the moment. Hey, job stress plus relationship stress plus future weight loss surgery which might be impacted by the reason behind the job stress equals one very emotional Scorpio woman. At least one person is really lucky I have scruples and judgment about this in spite of the stress. They can thank me later.

I end up reworking a lot of the unused pieces when the worst stress has passed. When things feel less personal, or maybe just when I have been able to work out my feelings a little better. Sometimes I use paragraphs or ideas somewhere else and delete the rest.

Does it help? It does. A lot. But sometimes before it helps, it hurts.

Change comes with introspection, and change is generally not much fun.

My introspection just gets published on the Internet for anyone in the world to read. Does that make it extroversion?