24 weeks, max.

Depending on how you manipulate the calendar, I either have 5-1/2 months to go before I go home, or I have 24 weeks left. 5-1/2 months sounds better right now, even if it includes the same number of days as 24 weeks.

I took two weeks of vacation while Catherine was in town, and we did a lot sightseeing, both within Delhi as well as in Agra and Jaipur (photos on Flickr). Catherine says she had a good time here, and I have no reason to think she's making that up. It was nice having someone to explore with. I was pretty careful to keep her out of danger, but on the other hand, I also took advantage of having someone else around to go look at places I normally wouldn't view by myself. Not sketchy places, but the more isolated parts of monuments, unknown corridors, things like that. I explore those places by myself, but it makes me anxious. When there are two people exploring, the anxiety is lessened.

Anyway, other than just enjoying each other's company, it was good to have her visit so she understands a little better what I mean when I say, "It is too hard to walk to the ATM today" or "I couldn't bear to get an autorickshaw today." I think she saw how much work my everyday life can take, how much frustration and unpredictability there is on my daily agenda. She also heard everyone tell me how horrible Bikaner is going to be, so I think (hope) she will be predisposed to sympathy when I start whining next week.

She also saw the good things--the flowers and the birds, for instance--so we can talk about that, too, when I feel like it.

Anyway, only 5-1/2 months to go. I'm ready to leave Delhi, much like I was ready to leave London. Three weeks from now, I'll be saying, "Damn, why did I want to leave Delhi?" the same way I said (continue saying) about London.

Breaking my own rules.

And losing all my friends. But I've decided that's okay. I keep thinking that I just have to hold the fury in a few days more,and then it will be okay, and I can talk to people again without risking ruining relationships with my anger, but that "few days more" keeps stretching to a few weeks, a few months, and then four more years.

Today is my sixteenth anniversary. Do you know what Catherine and I did on our first date 16 years ago? We went canvassing, handing out literature against Measure 9, an anti-gay measure sponsored by the OCA. A few years later, we were working on No on 13 (same measure, different number). We left Oregon before we had to work against yet another Measure 9.

Seriously, you'd think in 16 years, things would change. I bought into the (Bill) Clinton's administration promise, and look what I got--a president who wouldn't even speak to us at March on Washington, and Don't Ask, Don't Tell. I got a President who signed Public Law No. 104-199, 110 Stat. 2419, otherwise known as the Federal Defense of Marriage Act. And since that time, I've watched the U.S. become swept up in anti-gay legislation--only five states do not have some sort of statute against gay marriage (in most cases, that "statute" comes in the form of an amendment to the state Constitution). Anti-gay politics has evolved into a very pro-active institution--think of what gay people might want to do, and take that right away from them before they even knew they had it to begin with.

And we're at it again, of course, with Prop 8. There was no point in getting excited about being allowed to marry in California, because you know that ten minutes after permission was granted, we were all pulling out our pocketbooks to fund the campaign to preserve that right. It seems like improvement, fighting for the right to get married, rather that just the right to have sex without going to jail, but let me tell you, it feels exactly the same on an emotional level.

And we're at it again in other ways, too. Once again, I'm being told that I shouldn't expect too much or any support from any presidential candidate. How many times have I been asked in the last sixteen years to put my own civil rights on hold so we could elect "the best" candidate, a candidate that would surely fight for me once he or she got into office? Yeah, and how has that worked out for me? Not very well, I can tell you that. That's why endless comments like those made in response to Andrew Sullivan just piss me off--how many times can I be asked to sell myself and my relationship out for the Democrats? How many times am I going to be blamed for the loss of a presidential election for being too controversial? Don't be too vocal about Prop 8, you don't want to mobilize the religious right in California and lose the state for Obama! Well, fuck that noise.

And news flash for you: it's cowardly for a presidential to say that marriage is a "states' rights" issue. It's also just false. Let me tell you, it's not State law that is keeping me away from Catherine this year, it's a Federal law. A federal law signed by a Democrat.

Well, I waived my right to a secret ballot so I could vote through e-mail from here in London, so I can say that I voted the way everyone around me wanted me to vote. But I don't feel good about it, in fact, I may feel worse than after the last two elections. Once again, all I'm getting is more "separate but equal" rhetoric. Welcome, again, to the back of the bus.

So, when I get yet another e-mail from a friend telling me to be sure to cast my absentee ballot for Obama, I have to stop and remind myself that this person doesn't understand the level of sacrifice they are once again asking of me. It takes a long time for me to lose my political anger after every election season, and I have to work very hard to remember, "These people are my friends, they don't mean to hurt me." And I tell myself, "Really, don't be selfish, it's not all about YOU." And that is so true, it's never about me. If it were about me, I would be able to vote for a President who actually believed that everyone deserved the same rights.

I really miss Catherine, and I hate everyone who helped make this twelve-month separation possible, including myself.

Gaming.

This is what I look like when I'm playing Intergalatic Battle Checkers on Facebook w/Catherine.

Itinerary and Ire

So, my airline tickets to London and Delhi are finally in hand. T-11 days and counting. Every other sentence out of my mouth is "I don't want to go," but it seems that I have to, whether I want to or not. We have the webcams all set up so we can Skype, and Catherine has promised to visit, but I can't seem to stop feeling like this is all one big mistake. I spend all my free time reading cake decorating websites, contemplating a second (third? fourth?) career at the local bake shop. I'm pretty sure I'd be a good cake decorator.

As my departure draws nearer, I find myself growing more and more bitter about the Defense of Marriage Act. It's standing directly in between me and my partner, keeping us apart for twelve months simply because we're both female.

Here's the exact language from the DDRA booklet:

"Dependents
A dependent is any of the following individuals who accompany the fellow to his or her research site(s) for the entire fellowship period if the individual receives more than 50 percent of his or her support from the fellow during the fellowship period: 1) the fellow’s spouse; 2) the fellow’s or spouse’s children who are unmarried and under age 21.

Dependents for whom the fellow is requesting a dependent’s allowance must accompany the fellow to the research site for the entire fellowship period. Should a fellow’s dependent return to the U.S. during the tenure of the fellowship, the fellow will be required to return the full dependent's allowance.

The word "marriage" means only a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife, and the word "spouse" refers only to a person of the opposite sex who is a husband or a wife. These definitions are found in 1 USC Section 7, commonly known as the “Defense of Marriage Act” and apply to all federal programs."

So, the fact that Catherine and I have been together for sixteen years means nothing--she doesn't count as a dependent, and doesn't qualify for a dependent's allowance. She could easily get a leave of absence from her job, and the living + dependent's stipend from the DDRA would easily support us both in London and India. But, no. Not straight, not possible. When my friends try to tell me I should be happy for "domestic partnerships" or "civil unions," I offer this as a clear and specific example of why these supposed "separate but equal" institutions are in fact still discriminatory.

A friend of mine who is in the process of applying for the Fulbright-Hays told me just today that she and her boyfriend have decided to get married so he will be considered a dependent. Well, I'm sure they would probably stay together, and even get married in the future, anyway; but the truth is, they can decide to get married because it's practical to keep them together in the next twelve months, reaping benefits denied to me.

Well, life isn't fair, and that's a lesson learned a long time ago, so I can't waste too much more energy on this. But when I'm sitting in front of the television, listening to a presidential candidate who believes civil unions are good enough, and that the federal government doesn't need to do anything to secure my marriage rights, I get angry all over again. It's probably a good thing I'll be spending the two months immediately before the presidential election away from American television and radio.

Because I Said So

So, in keeping with my Facebook declaration a few days ago, ("Susan decides to be happier"), I decided to make a list of reasons why I might look forward to a year abroad. Without going into details, I'm always astonished at my therapist's flexibility. Yesterday, that character/professional trait manifested itself in her willingness to serve as a rather amiable and encouraging sounding board for the beginnings of my list. What I've got so far:

Why I Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• I've never spent time in the U.K. during the fall to winter transition, only spring to summer, high summer, summer to fall; something new to experience;
• The house I'll be living in is in Cockfosters, outside London, an area I've never visited, so a new place to see;
• Cockfosters is on the London Loop, and I've been wanting to do some more walking;
• This year's Serpentine Pavilion will still be in place when I arrive in London;
  
• This will be a chance to introduce more structure into my day, going to the archives at a regular time every day (at least in London)--I can use this as a chance to regulate my sleep/eat/work schedule and stabilize my life a little;
• Three months in one place! Followed by another three months of one place, and then another, and then another. Three months in one place sounds impossibly grand to me right now;
• An opportunity to see more of India: live in the Thar Desert for three months, finally visit Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, take a long weekend to Chennai, Mumbai or Goa;
• Reconnect with favorite Indian places and people: go back to Jaipur for a weekend or two, back to Ujjain, Varanasi, spend more time in Delhi;
• An opportunity to change my diet; although I've been living far away from vending machines for the past few months, it will be nice to be living some where with few processed foods to seduce me;
• Doing this puts me closer to the completion of the dissertation, and closer to my goal of leaving academia;
• This will give me a chance to regain the confidence and independence I discovered last summer in India;
• Networking. This seems like a good opportunity to meet other Americans working in my field; the more people I talk to now, the more likely it is that I will find a job--in or out of academia--in the future;
• A year without a car! Writing as someone who has put 14,232 on her vehicle since January 15, I can say I am very much looking forward to 368 days of Shank's mare and public transportation. I can't promise that I won't ever purchase bottled water when I'm in India, but even so, my carbon/resource footprint should drastically shrink over the next several months;
• I'm much more likely to bump into Preity Zinta on the street if I'm in India than if I'm in Bloomington, Indiana or Rantoul, Illinois [that one's for you, Beth].
• Both of my major fellowship awards come with a book-buying budget. I can finally buy all those books I need for my dissertation instead of relying on the library's copies.
  

Why I Do Not Want to Spend a Year in London and India:

• A year away from home, are you fucking kidding me?
• I miss the cats already, will they even remember who I am when I return home? What if something happens to Jackie while I'm gone?
• What is something happens to Catherine, and I've wasted what could have been good times together on archival research about which I don't really care?
  
• Living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• Reuniting after living apart for 368 days is definitely going to put stress on my relationship;
• My father's health--what if I don't see him again before it's too late?
• I don't even want a Ph.D. It feels like I'm doing this for some reason other than "I want to," and I'm pretty sure that's the wrong reason;
• I hate all people, and I'm pretty sure I'll have to talk to some of them in the next year;
• I'm really not a big fan of Indian food, unless it's dal makhani or veg jalfreezi. It's going to be a long year of no tomato soup or popcorn;
  
• What if I get sick, and there I am, out in the great Thar Desert, all by myself, unable to communicate? What if something really, really bad happens?
• A year of lack. While this is good in terms of my gas consumption, it will be difficult in terms of a lack of: privacy, access to clean water, friends, my native language, familiar objects, etc.
  

My wife just bought me a $43 bottle of sherry. If that price tag doesn't say "I love you," I don't know what does. Of course, she's deliberately pushing me down the slippery slope of potential alcoholism, too, but I guess we're not supposed to worry about that right now.

Nice things people have done for me lately:

1) loaned me movies so I have something to do during those interminable hours of insomnia
2) bought me sherry
3) arranged to have meals provided for me the week before my first Ph.D. exam
4) bought me picture books as a reward for all my hard work
5) other stuff I'm too tired to remember but really appreciate

When I got home from work, I put the pizza crust on to rise, then forced Catherine to go to the park with me. We kicked around the soccer ball, and then threw the Aerobie around a bit. That's all I'm doing tonight.

Tired.

Everything went okay yesterday. The courts were backed up a little, so we had to hang out in the hall with a bunch of juvenile delinquents on probation, but the actual legal proceedings took about 45 seconds. My check for the article I sold to the Columbus Dispatch came in yesterday's mail, so we went out and had a celebratory dinner. Then, romantic that I am, I came home and reinstalled a few software packages before going to bed. I was in bed by 8:30, and the alarm still went off too early.

That's my name, don't wear it out.

I've been using a hyphenated last name for ten years, give or take a couple months. Catherine has never really been into sharing my last name, for whatever reason. Probably the same reason she never thought she wanted to get married, I don't know. At any rate, a couple of months ago, she suddenly decided now was the time to make the change over. I think it was purely practical--she was out of business cards, and had to get more printed anyway, so she might as well change her name. That and the fact she realized she was graduating in December and wouldn't have access to free student legal services after the New Year.

So, today is the day when it all becomes final. I'm all polished up and ready to go to court this afternoon and finish the deal. If she wants to throw me over for a younger, healthier woman, she's going to have to go through the hassle and expense of changing her name back after this.

The romance is gone.

And my butchness is being maligned.

Today, while we were grocery shopping, Catherine actually said, "It'll be easy to shop for you now. Since you've been doing so much of the cooking and baking, I can start buying you gifts that have to do with baking. Like a new sifter."

I'm pretty sure that's grounds for a divorce.

On the other hand...

...I'm also the one who married a woman who can make a chocolate cake without eggs, so I must not be *too* big of an idiot.

Whatever. Whomever.

S: I don't understand women and I don't understand men.
C: That doesn't leave you much. Just cats.
S: Well, I don't understand them, either.

Slow learner.

C: Is your arm bleeding?
S: [Looking at arm] Oh...maybe. I think I bumped it on the drill again today. Where?
C: [Pointing to wound] It *is* bleeding.
S: Yeah, I guess so. Isn't that where I cut it the last time I bumped the drill?
C: [Pointing to a nearby scar] No, that's this one.
S: Oh. Well...almost.

Because my wife told me to.

We've been semi-madly cleaning house. It would be the spring cleaning if it was actually spring instead of a freakishly warm November. Anyway, it's the once or twice a year big clean. We have a friend coming into town on Wednesday to defend his dissertation, then another friend coming into town next week to give a talk, so it seemed like a good time to pretend we actually care about appearances. We finished the painting in our kitchen--mostly stuff the flaky contractor neglected to do--and Catherine scrubbed the kitchen floor. (Before anyone sends me e-mail about what a lousy house husband I am, I'd like to point out that painting the wall really freaked out my AC joint and there was no way I could clean the floor. But I would of.)

My task today was to tidy up the office. And I've done a reasonably good job, given that my deadline doesn't actually pass until tomorrow night some time. I even picked up my homework (fucking statics) off the stamp table. Yeah, but next time I do that particular task, I'm going to make sure the shade is pulled or that I'm fully dressed. Hopefully it was just the birds at the feeder that got a good look at me in my baggy shorts and bra, stuffing books and papers into my briefcase. I'm pretty sure the kids across the street don't need to see the old lady with no shirt doing housework.

Shoulda.

On Friday, we bought a cake for no particular reason other than we wanted dessert. We ate some, then boxed it up and left it in the refrigerator. I thought about eating a piece of it this weekend, but decided to wait until Catherine got home so we could share it. If I'd known she'd tucked a note inside the box for me, I would have eaten me a piece the moment she left.

Dammit.

I suppose.

I guess if Catherine can let me go off for a wild night in Palo Alto by myself, I can let her go to Chicago without me. I don't have to be happy about it, though. How immature is it that I'm about to spend the next 48 hours fretting about this? I'm sure Garry and Amanda are perfectly safe drivers, and I'm sure they'll all come home just fine on Sunday. I'm sure. I am.

Catherine and I have been having parallel anxiety dreams. She dreams that she's being forced to marry some guy she's never even met. She doesn't want to, and when she gets to the altar, all these men are standing there and she doesn't even know which one she has to marry. When she wakes up, all she wants to do is hold on to me. I dream that I've somehow been offered up to someone else for the weekend, and I don't want to be there. I want to go home, but I can't because there's an electrical storm and it's raining and then the cats get out and are running back and forth across the street in the traffic and I don't want to see them get run over and I have to get home but I can't. And I wake up, and all I want to do is hold on to Catherine.

Damn. I hate having to go to sleep.

Therapy sucks.

And we're not going back.

As far as I understood it--and Catherine concurs--the reason we wanted to go to a counselor in the first place was because I seem to be having a hard time coping with the uncertainties of life. I guess not so much that, but because I was having trouble communicating what I needed from her and myself so I could cope. I could tell Catherine was trying to help, but it was mostly making it worse, but I couldn't figure out how to explain to her why things were getting worse and not better, despite all our joint efforts. That's what I understood before we called the counselor. And that's what I understood after the first session, we were going to work on how to balance my general fucked-up-ness with Catherine's general tranquility and work on how to communicate better.

But we got there yesterday, and it was a total waste of time. To begin with, the therapist was running late, so we started 15 minutes later than usual. And she sent us on our way 20 minutes early, so I figure our insurance paid her for 60 minutes, when we were really just there for 25. That would have been okay if they would have been a helpful 25 minutes. I really felt like she just kept blowing me off every time I tried to say something. She kept talking as if finding a new job for Catherine would solve all our problems, and it really just wouldn't. I mean...I might still be unemployed in California, Catherine might hate the job, and then would it be my fault we left here, since I'm the one who forced her to apply? And she might not even get the job, so what, then, will have changed in our lives?

I'm not sure how many times I repeated yesterday that my anxiety level was high already and seemed to be climbing. She dismissed my complaint about not sleeping well by pointing out that I never sleep well. So, what, that makes it okay? Everything is just so unsettled, and I thought it was the therapist's role to help me express my worries so Catherine could understand them. That sure didn't happen. I have no idea what I should be trying to with my life right now. Should I be going to job interviews, trying to get a new job, any job, just in case we stay here? Should I take any job offered so I can get out of the kitchen, which is totally breaking down my body? Can I take a new job then take 3 weeks work off as soon as possible to have shoulder surgery? Can someone please help me with my homework?

I could type for forty hours and still not exhaust the list of questions keeping me awake at night. And an online journal is not exactly the place I hoped to be exploring these issues, but I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to do at this point. I'd like to hire someone to make my decisions for me.

Ohhhh...I've been challenged. We're going to go to Walmart and get a red bouncy ball, and then we're going to go over to the local elementary school, and then I'm going to trounce my wife at two-square. Says me.

Today.

Notable because.

Catherine and I had our first public argument in 11 years. One time last March or April we had a pretty serious "either something changes or I'm leaving" argument on the bike path, but no one was around to hear us, so it doesn' t count. Today, everybody on both sides of the street could hear us, including her co-worker who interrupted me mid-scathing-sentence on Kirkwood Avenue.

Notable because.

For the first time in 11 years, I didn't give a damn that her co-worker knew we were fighting, that people could look at me and tell I hadn't slept in days, that complete strangers could tell we were both angry. For the first time in god knows how long, Catherine had to stop and listen to me and believe me and not put me off because I was just going to raise my voice all that much more if she continued to bury her head in the sand.

Notable because.

Catherine realized she couldn't just put me off with a "I'm sure it will get better, honey." I didn't have to listen to any more platitudes and accept any more well-meaning pats on the head. I didn't have to listen to any of my friends change the subject or brush me off or chastise me when I tried to talk to them about what's been going on in my head. I didn't have to pretend I was coping just fine, and I didn't have to lie to anyone.

Notable because.

I got what I wanted, which was a promise from Catherine to help me try and solve a few things, instead of just pretending that nothing is happening and that everything will eventually work out on its own. I got what I wanted, for her to acknowledge how humiliated and depressed and desperate and scared and exhausted I am, and that some of the things she's been doing just haven't been helping.

Notable because.

I made it through one more day, despite my total lack of desire to do so. Nothing is solved, nothing is better at all, but at least someone finally stopped and listened to the truth instead of trying to make me hide it in the back of my throat, where it was getting seriously close to choking to me to death.

Last night I figured out that if I was dead, Catherine would save about $500/month--she could actually live on her paycheck if it wasn't for me. She could stop paying my health insurance, she could sell the car ($4000 blue book value) and stop paying car insurance, she could save herself the $20 a month I waste on internet services, she wouldn't have to pay for music lessons or gym fees, she could get rid of my cell phone. The utility bills would drop, the garbage disposal bills would drop, and she'd probably start feeling quite wealthy. And that's without even selling all my junk. She could sell my drum kit, my trumpet, my guitar, my telescope, my computer equipment, my weight bench, my heavy bag, my power tools, my drafting equipment.... Financially, she's a whole lot better off without me.