I crossed the street at Granville Island today, hitting the zebra lines well ahead of the taxi that was rushing up to the crosswalk. The taxi nonetheless proceeded to barrel through. The driver even speeded up as he approached me and stared me down like we were in the WWE ring together as I stopped in the middle of the road to let him by.
If Cosmo were with me, he would’ve stepped fully in front of the taxi while flipping off the driver. I always worry when he tries to fight the cars like that; I keep telling Cosmo they’re more likely to win. Regardless, I made it to the other side of the street feeling daunted. I don’t get angry like Cosmo, I just deflate and wonder why the world has to be so mean and awful. Sometimes I feel like crying. Despite having lived with my parents, I have no thick skin at all.
It’s not that I lack fighting spirit. When I’m on the ultimate field I will not hesitate to rip up my opponent. But that’s different.
I guess I am sheltered, but what of it? I don’t think I should have to grow a thick skin and fire up my fighting spirit just to cross the damn road.
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In dragonboat, we paddle to the rhythm of “calls”. The calls can be as mundane as “ONE-two, ONE-two” or “PUSH it, PULL it”.
Frequently the team just forgets about the English language and goes straight to this:
Trust me that wasn’t my idea.
Today my coach decided that he wanted the new call to be “Don’t pussy out”. As in: “DON’T (paddle stroke). PUSSY (paddle stroke). OUT! (paddle stroke).” Because that’s supposed to motivate us to paddle harder.
Yeah. I think it’s time for a new team.
AND THEN, the woman who kept splashing my butt the whole practice thought it’d be funny to make the following joke, “Hey if you’re gonna get raped anyway why don’t you just ask for like $10? At least then you’d get some money out of it.”
Yeah. FUCK.
I don’t understand why athletes have to be sexist dumbasses. Trust me, I’ve been on enough sports teams to know.
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Cosmo took the new job. He’s now second in command at a small nonprofit making 4x what I do at my part time job (4x per year, not 4x by the hour). Turns out nonprofit work does pay if you are high up enough!
And I am relieved.
We don’t have a plan B if I lose my income. We don’t have a plan B if we suddenly need to support his mother. But now we probably don’t have to worry so much.
And soon I’ll graduate and work full time too and I’ll be even more relieved to be less dependent on Cosmo.
And even though I’m tired and grumpy tonight, I know that we have the best life together. I know that it’s a privilege to eat the farmers’ market veggies that we like, to do exciting recreational sports like ultimate and dragonboat, to watch the sun set on the Vancouver buildings as I speed by on the skytrain.
Cosmo is the president of an arts charity. It’s nearly midnight but he’s not home yet because they’re putting on a fundraiser concert. Our tired bodies will fall into bed and somehow muster enough strength for dragonboat races early in the morning.
We live the best life. I couldn’t ask for more, and even if we had more, I know we couldn’t be any happier.
Somehow, we’ve made this house our home.
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