I am really lousy at accepting help from other people; even when the other people in question happens to be my husband.

When Bert is feeling down or is just plain over-worked I love doing things to help him out. Walking the dog for him, making an extra special dinner, buying a pack of his favorite cookies. All of those things really don’t require that much effort and they make both Bert and I feel better.

Why is it, then, that when I’m feeling down I have a really hard time letting Bert reciprocate?

Part of me feels like it’s way more of a hassle for him to do things for me than it is for me to do the same things for him. This, though is a reflection of how useless I feel at the moment. An hour of my time, in my view, is worth diddly squat because I have no other purpose to which that hour can be applied.

Part of me feels like I don’t deserve nice things to be done for me. I’m not an angel, heck sometimes I’m a cantankerous cow totally not deserving of anything, especially not someone going out of their way for me.

Yet another part of me is scared that Bert will wake up one morning and realize that I’m way too much effort. Bert has never shown any sign of doing this but I can’t fight off this fear that if I don’t do my best to avoid being a hassle for him that he will come to his senses. I mean I’ve always been ‘the strong one’. That’s my thing but if Bert starts carrying the load for me then what is their left. I know I’m supposed to feel all this cheesy ‘the real you is beautiful’ crap but Bert fell in love with me as I am not the mythical ‘real me’.

Anyway, I’m working on getting better at being weaker but it’s damn hard.

Oh yeah, check out this link. If I get enough votes I might be considered for a free trip to Asia.

My Bluelist

As the first week of the Olympics comes to a close here are a few of my top (and bottom) momments.

Most Surprising Result : USA and Latvia tie in mens hockey

Stupidest Olympian : The American womens snowboard cross silver medalist who would have had the gold had she not hot-dogged over the final jump and fell flat on her face

Funniest Olympic Moment : When Jen Heil (from Canada) was introduced as an American

Most Shameful Olympian : Every women’s hockey player who puts blue eye shadow on before she goes out to play a game

Most Sportsmanlike Moment : When the Norwegian coach handed the Canadian cross county skier a new pole when hers broke (Canada went on to win the silver, Norway finished 4th)

Coolest Olympic Uniform Component : The helmet of the Japanese skeleton guy…it totally looks like something out of Gundham Wars

Ok so I’ve been hoping to put off this update until I had good news but, alas, it looks like we could be waiting forever: so here we go.

Logistics Update:
Evil HR has finally looked at the file…and is asking a lot of questions. Not about me, but about the process. Desperate Manager has responded with a very logical answer to all questions. Evil HR seems to dislike logic and is continuing to flex their Evil HR muscles. End result - no decision has been made.

Emotional Update:
I am looking for other jobs and if I find one I will take it this time. Waiting for an outcome which is not guaranteed is turing me into a wreck. I can no longer put off thinking about things with incessent cleaning, baking, dog walking, or olympics watching. Last week I found myself trying to nap; not because I was tired but because nothing passes the time more quickly than sleep.

This is a very dangerous because I know where this leads. When I was unemployed in DC and unable to get a working visa I slipped into a slight depression. My days revolved around taking Bert’s shirts to the dry cleaners and wandering endlessly up and down the aisles of the grocery store. And, of course, napping to pass the time until I got my visa. It was the saddest time of my entire life and I don’t want to go back to that.

Financial Update:
Municipal taxes are due March 1st. We fixed the interest rate on our mortgage which is a good idea in the long run but increases our monthly payments by $100 in the short run. I am finally getting paid for the short contract I did three weeks ago.

I went to breakfast today with Mr. G from the dog park. He is an old man (I would guess close to 80) who dutifuly walks his little dog every day no matter what the weather. The only concession he gives his slightly arthritic bones is a shortened walk on days when the temperature dips below minus 10 or when the wind is particularly harsh.

Mr. G has taken a liking to Bert and I; he even offered to lend us money over Christmas although we certainly didn’t need it. However Bert and I both grew up far from our grandparents which I think makes us a bit awkward around older folk. Bert avoids Mr. G like the plague, he sees talking and walking with his as something of a trial.

I must admit that I too feel something akin to relief when our dog walking schedules don’t cross paths. Today, however, I decided to stop being such a selfish ass and finally said ‘yes’ to Mr. G’s invitation to go to his house for breakfast. Bert and I had been their once together for dinner but this was the first impromptu visit.

Mr. G’s house is an eclectic mix of lopsided clay figurines made by his children in their younger years; piles of obsolute kitchen gadgets covering the counters and attached to the walls; bold statements of art from Mr G’s artist sister; and the usual knick knacks and oddities collected over a lifetime.

Breakfast was somewhat similar. Mini-Wheats in tini metal bowls sprinkeled with organic raisins; toast which had been toasted at least two hours ahead of time; Skippy peanut butter next to home made jam; and of course Earl Grey tea served in a mug reading ‘I’m the boss…that’s why’.

And that’s how I spent my morning, debating whether or not to tell Mr. G about the blob of peanut butter on his chin while trying to avoid breaking crowns on rock solid toast. The raisins, however, were a hit; I will certainly be instituting that tradition chez moi.