Been feeling glum most of this week. Or stressed. Or both. I have neither parents, nor a spouse-type, nor children (nor, for that matter, many children in my life), so I am feeling awfully sorry for myself this week. I only made the announcement (on FB even) that we were, in fact, hosting an Orphanarium Open House on Christmas Day this year at about 2:30am today.
Turnout will be abysmal; even the few regulars are largely out of town this year. But I needed to do something with the day, and as I’m going to be sitting around eating and drinking anyway, I might as well invite some people too, right?
It’s such a loose format (stop in for anywhere between five minutes, while en route between home and familial obligations, and five hours) that I suspect it might be too disorganized (moi? disorganized?) to be a priority. One year, when I get my shit together, maybe I will move it to not-Christmas Day day so that I can do something more formal and sit-downy to which more people might show up.
But even with loose plans, I feel a smidge overwhelmed. I got about 1/10th the knitting done that I had intended to do, I am finishing one last batch of cookies this morning for a dinner that is tonight, and my house is a wreck.
Merry Christmas, eh?
There are other things to do over the holiday, but this grim film of ennui is putting a damper on my ability to contemplate them. When people complain about family and travel and what not, it sometimes physically hurts. At this point, I would welcome the obligation, even if it were a pain the arse, because I’d feel included.
Until I wanted to drown myself in wine, anyway.
Ugh, see why I’ve been skipping entries right and left? I hate that I’m being such a whiny arse. I don’t like being around people so glum, especially myself.
Some levity, then?
I nearly got into a physical altercation on the bus the other day.
It was 100% packed, with hardly any room to stand, let alone sit. I was standing.
The bus came to a stop where there was a gentleman in a wheelchair. There wasn’t space for him. The seating reserved for the disabled was taken by other disabled people (mostly the elderly) who couldn’t stand even if there was room for them.
A woman was talking to a friend, or, rather, talking at a person she kinda knew about how ‘rude’ everyone on the bus was for not giving up their seats.
‘I gave up my seat and I have a kid! I can’t believe how selfish everyone is! Why can’t they just get up and give up their seats? I had a seat and now I don’t and they should do the same!’
Everyone on the bus except this lady and her non-friend looked at their shoes, including the woman’s kid, who was about nine years old and already had her seat.
We were stuck at the stop for some time while the driver called one bus back to see how long they would be and whether there would be room for this wheelchaired gentleman.
The woman got more impatient.
‘What are we even doing here? People should just get up and let the man in! He’s in a wheelchair! I gave up my seat!’
The man was squeezed on our bus, as it was -17C and, well, you can’t just leave a dude, right? It meant that the entrance was more or less blocked and, from then on, people would have to get on at the rear exit, which is normally verboten.
For the next couple of stops, a barrage of ‘Why are people still getting on the bus? THEY CAN’T GET ON THE BACK DOORS WHAT ARE YOU DOING? There’s another bus in 10 minutes! Everyone else has to wait, so why can’t you? I wait for the bus for 40 minutes every day’ assaulted my ears.
The not-friend was also told about how spoiled the daughter was by her father and that they weren’t together anymore. I can’t imagine why. She’s so lovely.
After the eighth or ninth time she complained about people not making room at the front of the bus, I finally said, quietly (I know what an indoor voice is), that the courtesy seating at the front was taken up by people who had walkers, and canes, and were otherwise unable to stand to make room (the courtesy seats fold up so a wheelchair can fit in the space). The bus was so full that there was no where for them to go with their canes and walkers and…
‘Why are you talking to me? That’s none of your business. I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my friend. People are so selfish. I gave up my seat and I have a kid!’
Her kid sank further into her seat.
She turned to her non-friend and said ‘I can’t believe some people just talking to me like they know me. They don’t know me. Why are they talking to me?’
I said nothing because I’ll be damned if I’m going to be killed by someone in frosted magenta lipstick.
A seat freed up near me, so I offered it to her because I wanted to make peace/not be punched. She didn’t take it. The non-friend did. They then started ‘giving advice’ to the daughter.
The non-friend told her to listen to grown-ups because they mostly know what they’re talking about.
She then gave me a dirty look.
How the fuck. Non-friend, don’t you understand that the ranting harpy on the bus was being a total troll?
Non-friend and wished the Seaward a Merry Christmas as she got off the bus a stop later (who sits for one stop?). I got off the bus at the same time, even though this was, literally, six stops from where I had embarked and it had taken about 15 minutes to go less than a kilometre. I was not near a better bus route, so I took my chances and waited for the next one.
It showed up three minutes later. It was also full, but within three stops I had a seat. Nobody said a word louder than a whisper for my entire journey. It’s the closest you can come to bliss on OC Transpo.
6 thoughts on “Transitions.”
OMG. People are horrible. I would have done the same, and possibly gotten into it with her. Probably to my detriment. But it would have made me feel better. Assholes like that make me so sad for their kids.
I feel like you could probably take down anyone who made that choice in lipstick.
Someday I am coming to your Christmas. I plan to get stupid drunk and say embarrassing things to everyone there; I’ll be like real family!
Every year, Mark and I spend many minutes of our drive along the 417 wishing we could stop off for a few hours of Megan Christmas without offending half the family. Perhaps next year, when we have a 9-month-old sprog, we’ll be able to lure people here instead, allowing us to hang out with our local nearest and dearest. We really do count you among the short list of our very favourite people. (Jackie, you too! Stop being far away and cave to the Ottawa thing before Megan up and leaves us for England the way I always expect her to do).
Okay, it’s a date, y’all.
Erica, how drunk are we allowed to get in front of your sproglet? Just want to establish boundaries long ahead of time. 🙂
All the drunk. And by then I’m allowed to give the sprog a pre-pumped bottle, so I can damn well partake too (I really, really miss gin and tonic).
Next year we’re with Chris’s family, which is usually an earlier night. Can we come by in the evening and attempt to catch up with y’all by drinking really really fast?