Funky

I'm still getting used to sleeping in this house, and not over in that one. I's been almost two weeks. And cn I mention how much hARDER it s to type with a cat chnin between your thumbs? Ew. She drooled on the keyboard.

First off, the dog's arthritis is acting up, so he has to have "fart pills" three times a day to manage the pain. Sometimes the smell alone is enough to wake you up at night. Then there is the fact that we also think he has irritable bowels, so sometimes he throws up at night. Only at night, mind you. And only at either 1:30am, or somewhere between 3:45-4:45am. The puking is always proceeded by a rather wet lip-smacking.

It sounds like this:
"shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk... shlmachk..."

Oddly enough, this sounds exactly like when the dog cleans between his toes-- which he also seems to do at either 1:30am, or somewhere between 3:45-4:45am. Until you yell at him for god's sake to either knock it off, or puke already, dammit!

And the cat.
The cat only jumps off the bed when standing next to GB's right shoulder. Not his stomach. Not his toes. Not on my side of the bed-- ever. And she walks straight from the crick behind my knees, across his bladder, and up to that spot by his shoulder. The jumping-down-for-a-midnight-snack spot. And then disappears into the closet to crunch her crunchy cat food. She usually gets hungry at both midnight, and somewhere close to 3am. And when she's about to jump up onto something, she let's you know. She's very polite. In that "SEE? SEE HOW POLITE I AM??" cat sort of way.

"Mprrt?" And then the soft thud of graceful cat paws on the bed. And the thud itself is mild enough to sleep through. But not the "Mprrt?" that always comes first. Then she has to walk around and see whose awake (and therefore available to sniff her breath, and have their face sneezed on and whiskers poked up their nose, and pet her) before settling back down on someone's legs.

And if there's silence in the bedroom for too long, the teenage cat-sisters on the other side of the bedroom door get worried. So they meow in high-pitched teenage girl voices, and scratch on the door until someone comes out to reassure them. Or yell at them.

Did I mention that our bedroom shares a wall with the only bathroom in the house? It does. And the roommate showers at 6:45 every morning. Except the mornings he showers at 6:15. And clears his nose (or maybe it's his throat) in the shower. Loudly. Some mornings it takes him a while to get it all out.

And don't get me started on the blanket-stealing situation. Just don't even get me started.

Turns out that except when he (or the dog) is snoring, GB is a lighter sleeper than I am. So every time I roll over, it wakes him up.
guilt. guilt. guilt.

So the good news is that if GB is still snoring, I know he's slept through whatever it was that woke ME up. And therefore if *I* yell at the offending party, we will both be woken up. Again.

By the way, GB is currently unsticking a new baby leaf on his beloved hanging plant behind me. It's been sitting there, half-unfurled, for three days. He couldn't take it any more.
GB: "It's stuck."
Me: "But it's getting bigger."
GB: "It's stuck."
Me: "Maybe it's still growing."
GB: "NO. It's STUCK."

And then he gently pulled the tiny green leaf away from the plant spine that birthed it, and unrolled the edges of the leaf so it could start getting sun and growing BIGGER! Now that it's unstuck. The 3-day-old baby leaf on his hanging plant.

I need sleep.

No Time To Talk

I've got Saturday Night Fever stuck in my head-- "You can tell by the way I use my walk-- I'm a lady's man, no time to talk... Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive. Uh-uh-uh-uh, Stayin' Aliiii-iiiiiiii-iiiiiii-iiiiiive."

It started with the section of book I wrote for tonight's Writing Group, about the Argmy's Agnthrags Vaccine and how awful it was. I was going to call it "Staying Alive..." but then the song flashed in my head. Now it's just THERE. IN MY HEAD.

Interestingly, and nonsequitously, I'm suddenly noticing the things about GB that really impressed me at first, and that he just doesn't do anymore, six weeks into our dating relationship. Like opening the car door for me. Or making sure if I drive home late at night (not just from his house, but from ANYWHERE)-- that I actually made it there safely. Or attributing some of the unexpected good things in his life of late to the fact that I'm in his life now, too. I know that last one wasn't true, but I appreciated the compliment. And I really liked feeling that someone out there cared enough for my safety to check in with me when they knew I might need it. Specifically that the someone I might consider a life partner one day had that level of concern for my well-being. And paid attention to my life enough to know when I was taking long drives alone on the highway, etc.

Also, can I just say that we tried to grocery shop together the other day, and he drove me bonkers in the process. THREE TRIPS down the same aisle because he was having trouble comparing the items on the list to the items in the aisle for more than one item at a time. I know he was tired that day. I know *I* was tired that day, and furthermore that I've done the exact same thing from time to time. But it's the first time he's done anything that really just got on my nerves. I had four hours to spend with him, and 3.5 of those hours went to shopping for paper towels and a skillet. And it REALLY got on my nerves. Besides predicting doom and gloom at every turn, that is. That also gets on my nerves. He's very slowly getting better about that one. I just don't know if I have the patience to wait for him to truly overcome this negative tendency of his.

Those are the not-so-happilies.
Fortunately, he loves my cooking. A lot. He's starting to relax enough around me that I believe I'm starting to see the REAL GB, and not the "make a good first impression" GB. And the real GB still walks into the other room to fart so I don't have to smell it, and sits for long periods in uncomfortable positions rather than move me off his chest, when I fall asleep on him by accident. He pauses in the middle of what he's doing to put a finger under my chin just because he's glad I'm there with him. And he continues to work hard at our communication and at figuring out what we're each thinking about our relationship as it unfolds. He still asks me to explain my unconscious sighs, and really appreciates my input on some of his decisions-- before he makes them. He still takes amazingly good care of his dog, though he's gotten fed up with his lazy-ass roommate's lonely teenage cats, and now chases them away whenever he spends time in the main part of the house.

I know nobody's perfect. And I know I enjoy most of our time together. But I find that my tolerance for other people wasting my time is low, and that my high expectations for any relationship I spend time on are still very much in effect. So I'm teetering between awareness that everybody (including me) has their annoying foibles, and the boy is dealing with a lot of challenges and concerns right now-- and a slow insidious loss of interest in those same challenges and concerns because I've been hearing about them for nearly six weeks now. I can't tell if I'm just grumpy, or if there's something deeper I need to notice.

I also can't tell if I'm leery of "waiting it out" because I lost so much time waiting for my ex to get his shit together... and now I'm unfairly unwilling to give anybody a break for having personal challenges to cope with-- or if I'm leery of "waiting it out" because I don't believe it's actually going to go away anytime soon. I just don't know.

So I think for now I'll wait and see. And maybe take a headache pill before I go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally feel rested when I wake up. I'd like that. And I really REALLY wish I'd had time to stick around and let the GB spoil me with a big home-made breakfast this morning. He planned to do it. But by 9am, he still wasn't out of bed, and I had a day's worth of work to start. So I left. Half an hour after I'd planned to go, once he finished telling me of his morning worry and kissing me goodbye. And I've been damned grumpy about it ever since.

T is for Timid

Haleleujia Brother! I am here to comfort the sinner, and return the stray man to the Pope. Let him whose...

ever see the movie "Cat Balou" ... a lot? It was one of my favorites for about six months there somewhere in the dank depths of my pre-teen weirdness. I don't know if it explains something, or makes me even scarier... but it's TRUE.

And today, I am here to tell you that it is HARD. HARD. HARD to communicate to people in the office without stepping on landmines of the shitastrophic variety. Land mines. In the office. Hidden. Evil. ...or, to quote an office-mate of mine who happened to be talking about the way my email made her feel about our relationship... Icky.

Yes. I made the mistake of letting her know that I was getting frustrated after her sixth attempt to reschedule me to a new time and/or date for an appointment. Even spread out over the two appointments we tried to set, that's pushing it. But she didn't ask for feedback, or maybe the moon is in Saturn again, or maybe she'd just been told the same thing by a REAL client, and not just the upstart new office-mate who was doing a trade-- my services for hers-- and it rubbed her the wrong way.

Sigh. I decided that rather than jeopardize my comfort (and everyone else's) while working in the office we all share, I'd take full responsibility for our "miscommunication" and apologize.
A lot.

I think she has forgiven me, and decided to move magnanimously forward without holding any bad feelings for how I insulted her. I am grateful, Yogisan. I am also going to write scathing criticisms of the Icky in the Office Communication Network on my private blog-- because it makes me feel a little bit better about things.

Sad, but True. Just like my pre-teen fascination with corny Westerns with wimpy female leads.

Alarm Bells

I was having a pretty good day. Woke up at 8am. I've been doing this a lot lately, and it occurs to me that maybe I should set my alarm to actually go off around 8am if this trend is going to continue. It goes off at 8:30 right now, just enough time for me to fall back asleep. Not so helpful, really.

Then, I spent a few minutes pacifying the fur ball. I managed to keep her tail out of my cereal at breakfast, and only dribbled yogurt-covered granola on her fur once. I even managed to clean most of it off before she noticed.

And, even better, before I had breakfast, I did a little yoga. I feel good about the yoga, and my sore neck is less likely to digress into a stiff and painful twist of nasty now that I've stretched it out in a healthy and linear fashion. Also, since I'm really trying to incorporate more healthy movements into my day, it felt good to actually spend ten minutes doing yoga for the second day in a row-- without even signing up for someone else to make me do it!

Breakfast was yummy. Strawberry Keifer over nut-and-honey granola (bought in bulk at the store)... And I had an email or two from people I actually wanted to hear from, so that was also nice. One of those emails pointed me to another great job opening to which I really think I'm going to apply. So I visited their website to get more information.

This is a pattern I regularly follow. Track down the original job posting. Read it to make sure I'm at least mostly qualified for the position. Copy the description and application procedure, and paste into a Word document for later review and reference. You know-- later when I actually apply.

Only it didn't work like that this morning.
Copy wouldn't copy, and nothing at all was Pasting.
Shigt!

After much swearing and not a little worry that maybe that "clean up" my dad told me to do to my computer actually hexed the copy/paste functionality... I narrowed down the culprit. Three separate sentences-- in the whole three pages of relevant information --included a specific phrase. And those were the three sentences that could not be copied. So I copied the rest of the document, pasted it, and typed out those three sentences. Grargh.

By now, I was in a really pissy mood. So much for waking up before the alarm, doing yoga, and feeling like I was productive with my morning. ...By the way, I'm sitting cross-legged in my desk chair while I type this, and my cat just jumped off my lap, crouched below my chair, and proceeded to attack my foot as it dangled over the edge of the seat. Huh.

The last two emails I read were from the same person. A good friend of mine. And you know, it just didn't improve my mood any to realize after reading those two emails that I had just agreed to drive an hour out of my way, attend a party I really don't look forward to, and proctor a test... all so I could go for a walk with a friend. I find that I almost prefer to walk alone, without all that hassle, when it comes down to it.

That's when I went into my Bookmarks, and decided to read the latest blog entries for a favorite blogger of mine. And you know, it was a good decision. Because her parents are adopting a Corgi Puppy, and she had posted PHOTOS!!! Now, there are only about three breeds of dog that I've ever really felt I'd want to share my life with-- if I ever chose a dog over a cat at all. Pembroke Welsh Corgis, Great Danes, and Aussie. She's a breed unto herself. Sometimes when I'm thinking of how much I'd love to have an Aussie in my life, I think maybe the third breed is really Basset Hounds... but then I think of all that drooling, and ...well... maybe not.

(Just for the record, I also love the look of French Bulldogs. I mean really-- they have bat ears. What's not to love?! Unfortunately, the only ones I've met have been really snooty, drooly, and a bit too used to the high life to be a desirable pet in my mind.)

So there I was, looking at the cutest pictures ever of a Corgi puppy-- a puppy who'd already found a loving home (the sad "adopt me" pictures depress me horribly for days after I see them)-- and thinking "I WANT ONE OF THOSE!!!" That's when the alarm bells started going off in my head. A dog? Now? Yeah, Right!

I think my cat must have heard me thinking about adopting a dog, too, because there was this sudden flurry of movement on the floor by my chair, and when I looked down, she was rolling around, shoving herself along the floor in a big circle, chasing her tail. She then proceeded to get distracted by: a piece of yarn, a length of basket reed, a plastic bag that crunched nicely, and my toes. Her ears were back the whole time. This is a good sign that I should expect to be attacked, and should not try to do anything that requires concentration-- I WILL be interrupted.

I sat here, watching her antics, thinking to myself "GOOD LORD, my cat is POSeSSED!! I definitely don't need more than one insane pet at a time, thank you very much." That's when she jumped back in my lap and curled up for a nap. sigh.

I Need You, Larry!

It's been a strange day. I planned to be up around 7:45am, writing in my journal, preparing for my noon interview with a university back east, cleaning up the stuff I displaced when I finally bought more shelving because I couldn't stand to have all that stuff in a pile on the floor...

Instead, I finally woke up around 9:3oam, to the yowling of the (either highly intelligent or somewhat suffering from altzeimers) cat upstairs. He's 19, and stiff, and somewhat lost at times. But he knows he likes sunshine, kitty treats with glycocemine, and people. In that order. As a side note, I'd just like to mention that spell-check does not have either altzeimers or glycocamine in it, and therefore I have no bloody clue how to spell them. Grow with Love, dammit. Up to this morning, he's only yowled like that when someone forgot he was outside, and left the house without letting him back in. Or, when they left the house without letting him back in, and he didn't realize they'd propped the door open so he could get back in on his own.

This morning? He yowled because he wanted someone to come pet him, and he's come to realize that if he yowls, and I know no one is home upstairs, I come running upstairs. I tried all three upstairs outside doors (in my nightgown, freezing my tucas off) before a little "prrrt" from my neighbor's bedroom lead me to finding him quite calmly stretched out on the bed, waiting to be petted. Huh.

I had the interview at noon. It went fairly well, though I forgot to ask an important question or two-- and the whole thing only lasted about 20 minutes. Huh. Sounds like a fun position to learn and grow in, really. There in the middle of the back-country Pennsylvania with 800 students, one other librarian, and me. If I get the job. And, strangely enough, YET AGAIN, my having a background relating to the military (I was married to it for several years) was a bonus. Apparently, this library has a LOT of Vets for students. Resistance is, apparently, futile.

By the time the interview ended, I was shaking. And I don't remember doing that after past interviews. Quite possibly, I blocked it from my memory so that I could be up-beat about having MORE interviews. Anyway, from that point on, everyone I came into contact with was justifiably grumpy about something in their lives that I have no ability to help them fix. It was very disempowering, really.

And then I managed to get my energy and excitement up for my long-awaited once-monthly Journaling Group (I totally choked last month and only remembered I'd forgotten to go about five days after the fact-- not pretty, especially since I'd arranged to meet someone before the group meeting last month. Oops. ....I think I was reading a book...)--- My Journaling Group ROCKS-- but it's hard to wait a whole month between sessions. And then I got totally lost trying to find my way there from a new direction-- after my upstairs neighbor had even TOLD me how to get there by making a total of two turns-- and I still got lost. TWO TURNS, people!! So, there I am, not the 20 minutes early I'd intended to be, frantically searching for parking.... hoping the place I parked is actually legal to park in after 6pm (before 6pm, it's a loading zone)... RUNNING up to the door...

And it's canceled due to a death in the family. I ache for the family. I really do. But I also have this feeling of inevitability that I've probably gone to my last session of that Journaling Group-- three months ago-- and I didn't even know it. Driving away from the building (no parking ticket in the five minutes I was parked there, thank goodness!), I felt really just DOWN about things. I could actually feel myself falling into a blue funk, and I was kinda pissed about it, to be honest. And me feeling both pissed AND funked is not a friendly sight. Really. Right up there with hung-over walruses and snot-nosed over-tired toddlers and parole officers who run into their charges while on vacation and things. Not Friendly.

So I went to H Street. Where I've had other fun adventures, thinking maybe MAYBE something there would still be open after 7pm on a Tuesday to cheer me up. Maybe. And it turns out that not a whole lot is open after 7pm on a Tuesday. But the ice cream shop and the bookstore are open until 9pm, so hey. Life can't be THAT bad, right? I chose to stop at the book store first. And went in. And found the "travel adventure" section. And picked up a book about a Native Alaskan woman Hero. Who, it turns out, died in poverty, suffering from four broken marriages, TB, and a lot of really bad press from the families of these white men she went into the Arctic wilderness with back in the early 1900's-- and two years later, after nearly starving to death with a sick member of the expedition who was left behind due to lack of food, she was the only one who made it back to civilization. Ever. Ummm... not exactly the pick-me-up I'd been looking for.

By then, even Ice Cream had lost it's appeal, and I felt like spending money frivolously was bad... and so... I headed home. In a grumpy blue funk, with an unhealthy side of guilt and depression brought on by this stupid book. But somehow, I just could NOT go back into the house with this big blue depressive grumpy funk on my shoulders, and the cure had to happen for under $5 and not be too fattening. So I stopped in at this awesome gourmet little corner store about a mile past my little apartment. They have the best of all things that you might possibly think a corner store should have, at a price to match the rather haughty location. I mean hand-dipped designer candles in all twelve shades of green, and specialty chocolates, and organic produce, and not-quite-cuban cigars, and ... all of it in this little corner store. So I go in there, hoping to find something that will cheer me up, and I wander around, and wander around, and wander around, and...

Suddenly, over the PA system, comes a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.

... Huh.
...maybe I need to page Larry...

And just that quickly, my funk and my grump and even my guilty depression are GONE!
I love you, Larry.

About two seconds later, someone did come on the PA, and make it clear that
"I need you, Larry!"

And about a minute after that, the PA came to life yet again, with a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody REALLY needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.

...Larry, you ROCK!!! I went and found myself a little pack of dark chocolate M&Ms and a nice ocean-mist-blue tapered candle, (all for under $5) and headed home with a big goofy smile on my face. Life is good, dammit. All it needed was Larry.

Easier in an Email

...Plus it is WAY past your bedtime, and you need your sleep.

An open letter... with lots of intended recipients...
(partly because it was so cathartic to write... and partly because I realized that I owed this explanation to a lot more people than received the original email...)

Getting mad because you were offering me a suggestion about being more productive in my job hunt made me stop and think tonight. I really don't want us butting heads. I can't think of much worse that could happen, actually, for me. Not that we always have to agree, but more that you are such an important friend, and that your advice is nearly always worth listening to. The fact that I was so self-absorbed in doing things MY WAY made me wonder what exactly I was feeling so defensive ABOUT!

So... I finally realized just how NOT WELL I'm dealing with my responsibilities lately. And I suspect that any suggestions you have offered lately probably HAVE been met with grumpy resistance on my part. I wanted to apologize for that. It means a lot to me that you are always there to cheer me on-- even when I'm too stubborn and too overwhelmed to appreciate it. So... I'm going to try and be a little less self-absorbed, and a little more self-aware, and maybe be a better friend for you, too. I know you could use a good friend right now, and I haven't felt like I was really helping you much lately. You're important to me.

But, back to me. My favorite subject lately, even when you've had more important problems to discuss.

I think I'm just really afraid of the future right now. And this whole not knowing whether I'll find a job to go to or if I can really honestly support myself financially, and having to put most of my stuff in storage again-- it's all normal and fine, and it'll probably turn out okay, I know.

But it also all is very similar to the situation I was in when I moved out of my ex's apartment two years ago. Right down to the time of year. I don't have an angry, hurt husband this time-- and I think I've got more stuff, if that's possible. But I'm hoping that now I realize why I've been so paralyzed by the situations I'm currently facing, and why I've had SO MUCH fear in relation to this move and job-hunt... It's really been paralyzing. Maybe I can move forward a little better, now. Because while I know it's irrational... it's still THERE, you know?

...and maybe recognizing it will help me stop dreaming about vampires every night...

I don't know that I'll be any better about taking suggestions for a while-- I'm already so afraid of failure that sometimes I hear a desire to help as more criticism. Sad, but true. But as of February, I've decided to stop nannying. Two final days in Feb, and that's it. I'm hoping that one huge stress off my back will help me be more productive in searching for career-oriented jobs and doing what's best for me instead of doing what's easiest, the way I have done lately. Also, I'm hoping I'll have more energy to be there for you. I'm going to try not to use any more lame excuses about why I'm where I am in my job-hunt, or complain as much, either.

It's hard to admit I'm not doing everything I could be doing to improve my own situation, especial to people whose good opinion I care about as much as I do yours. So... I could be applying for more jobs than I have done so far. Three job apps in three months isn't a great average. But I have a plan for that, now. I could also spend less time reading books or watching movies or puttering around in my apartment... and have a lot more time to get the things on my list accomplished. Maybe having access to less stuff will help with that, once I move.

But mostly, I realized that I'm so tired from worrying and tired from feeling like I'm NOT meeting anybody's expectations (especially my own) and tired from getting over all the emotional shit that comes with a divorce and a graduate program and a big debt load and a new career and a new life and a new home (or two or three).... It isn't easy to face doing something new or difficult when I'm always drained. And these things just take time to work through. I should know-- I've been working through these same things for two years now. (but not the vampire dreams-- those started right after Christmas...) I probably need to sit back and recognize just how much I HAVE accomplished in the last two years, and just how far I've actually come emotionally. That might help... Anyway-

I'm going to do it. I'll get a good job, get by until then on the money I have saved up, get moved, get my shgit together, get over it... But I sorta wanted to explain to you what's going on with me lately. You may already know it, or maybe I did my whole "hide the problems" thing again, or maybe I just haven't called you in a few months-- I really don't know. Hence the long email. And the apology.

p.s.
I also finally figured out that my downstairs neighbor has been smoking at night, and that's why my allergies and my sleep are so bad all the time here. So maybe moving out will also help with some of my stress.

Glad to have you in my life. Just wanted to say that in case I haven't been acting that way lately.
-Me.

SHOW ME THE MONEY!

Well, it turns out that even after you FINALLY RECEIVE your reissued student loan check, and deposit it into your bank account even though they put the wrong last name on it, and the bank says there are no holds on the check and the money is now available... even then, the lender can make another mistake that means you STILL DON'T HAVE YOUR STUDENT LOAN MONEY FROM JULY!!!!

In this case, they refused to fund the check. So the bank readjusted my balance, and mailed the check back to me. The student loan folks tell me that the Federal Reserve accidentally sent out duplicates of some student loan checks, and although I haven't received the duplicate, my bank hasn't had a duplicate deposit, and the loan company knows all this-- they still refused to fund the check because this was a "duplicate presentment." (Although, I'm sure the govgernment are having no trouble charging me INTEREST on the money I don't have. To help me with basic living expenses while I'm in school. Have I mentioned that I graduate in six weeks?)

Let me tell you, Higher One received the business end of my Mommy Voice yesterday. They have a deadline. And a bank account number. And they will be calling me THIS MORNING with an update that SHOULD include confirmation of a wire transfer.
...third time a charm?

Not So Mature

Anybody have a cure for favorite jeans growing too tight? Besides buying new ones or getting on some weird diet? Anybody?

... sigh ...

Well... I think I'm due for a trip to Ross, Deja Vu, and the gym.

See, I had two pairs of "I love you" jeans, and two pairs of "fits well and looks fine." I've had them for a good three or four years-- and they were used when I got them. Now, I have three pairs of "I tried to buy new ones that fit but they shrank in the wash," and one pair of "oh, these are perfect!" And all my old favorites that I finally admitted you can SEE they are getting too small, and in one case indecently full of holes, too. I finally decided that I'd rather look good now than walk around remembering how good I used to look in these jeans, and pulling down the pant legs all the time because they got stuck.

And as my pants shrink, my desire to start that healthy go-to-the-gym-three-times-a-week regiment is sounding better and better. I know I should. It's just hard to find a regular time, or well... anytime that I'd rather be working out than doing what I already have planned.

And no-- I don't think I'm fat or overweight or anything. I do think I'm out of shape, and changing shape, and FOR MY SIZE it would be good not to gain any more of a muffin-top than I already have in the past six months. And I learned a long time ago that there is a huge difference between being skinny, and being healthy. I want to move down to the HEALTHY end of things. I also want to find some jeans that fit well, don't get too small when I wash them, don't gape so big at the rear when I bend over that you could hide your lunch in the waist band, and that don't stretch so much over the course of a day that I can take them off without unzipping at bedtime. I'd also like them to not get stuck on my legs when I crouch down and be easy to button/zip closed. Honestly, I've been looking. For a couple of months now. Good jeans are hard to find.

I've concluded that they may in fact be HARDER to find than a good man. But just to be safe, I'm still testing that theory. I also suspect that my increased pant-size is due in large part to the fact that I no longer live in fear, and no longer work in a fearfully nasty office. I don't worry off the weight anymore, if you know what I mean. Or maybe it's because I'm nearing thirty, and bodies change... Humph.

3BT

1. The fang marks my cat left in the roll of paper towels while I was away. Apparently they needed to be punished. Deeply.
   
2. Fresh blueberries that are bigger than I remember them from last year, and just as sweet.
3. Getting a hilarious voice mail on my phone from a good friend all about how "cool" and "hip" I am because I'll be a librarian some day.
   
4. Finding out that two of my favorite people are going to marry each other.
   
5. Discovering that the second half of the German Chocolate Cake is still moist after being in a box for 24 hours under suspicious circumstances.
   
6. A full water bottle that's still cold.
7. Deciding to get at least 12 hours of sleep tonight, and not feeling guilty about it.
8. Having a purry ball of fur jump into my lap and use her paw to help me with thethyping because it looks like so much fun to have my fghingers wiggle around likke that.
9. Fresh pea pods from my mother's garden.
10. Watching a bat dart around the sky at the tail end of sunset-- and knowing it's eating all the bugs.
    

The Baby Has Oomph

So... Did you know that Mono is one of those illnesses that most people only get once-- and then they develop an immunity to it? Did you know that some people are carriers-- and that you are just as likely to catch Mono by going to the movies (or whatever) as by being in a room with someone who is sick with it? And that by the time you reach the age of 35, there is a 95% probability that you have already developed immunity to the illness, and therefore don't really run any big risks by being around someone with Mono.

Not only that, but it is called a "kissing disease" for good reason-- you have to ingest/inhale the spit droplets from someone kissing or sneezing or coughing on you to actually be EXPOSED to it in the first place. In my experience, I've been exposed to Mono. Repeatedly. And as my costar recently reminded me, our college was that kind of an academic environment where people succumbed to stress, got horribly sick, and still went to class out of fear of falling behind. So even without the wave of Mono that hit my high school Junior year, I've definitely been exposed.

With all that in mind... I'm currently taking care of a 2.5 year old boy with a very bad case of Mono. And his little sister, who (much to my surprise) is nearly ten months old already. He doesn't know how to cover his mouth when he coughs. He doesn't like these early nap-times we keep forcing him to take-- and is so stubborn that sometimes he WON'T SLEEP even though he is falling over when he walks because he's so tired. He also doesn't understand why (now that he's home from the hospital and obviously improving in health-- though he'll be contagious for something like six weeks or more) the world no longer revolves around his every whim. What-- no s'moors power bar for breakfast? What-- you are actually sending me to the time-out chair for whining repeatedly and taking a toy away from my little sister?? You haven't done that in WEEKS! ...sigh...

And yesterday... yesterday was the pivotal day when everyone finally got fed up with everything. That day when you've been under such stress for so long that now, finally, you can relax, and therefore the grumps hit. The WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE SO DIFFICULT-- I JUST NEED SOME TIME OFF FROM EVERYTHING, DAMMIT part of the recovery process. And it hit the whole family at once. Even the baby.

Until yesterday, I never knew it was possible to get bigtched out by a baby. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, it happened a lot. And it was really funny-- when I remembered to take deep breaths, because I was so frustrated by her determination to have it all go HER WAY, BECAUSE SHE KNEW SHE DESERVED IT, AND SHE WAS GOING TO GET IT, DAMMIT! She would scrunch her little face up into a determined and grumpy prune, and just dare me not to help her get what she was going for at that moment (mostly, to be in my arms, playing with the toy her brother was holding). And if she didn't get what she felt was her due at that moment, she'd let loose the "come to jesus" scream. Even some big crocodile tears, and a discontented bounce or two. I tell you, that baby has OOMPH!

Already I can tell that her parents will have to invest in some serious therapy once she reaches teen-hood. Therapy for them. And I also think she'll be an awesome adult: strong, independent, determined. Just like her mom.

Too Much

About responsibility...

There is such thing as too much. And... sometimes I wonder if I'm really ready to be an adult. I've been one for a long time now (by my standards)... and I often find myself letting important things go because I just can't seem to get to them. I still manage to watch my corny movies, though. What kind of prioritizing is THAT?

It just strikes me that there is a lot more to being an adult than one sometimes wants to admit. It is a lot easier to feel bad about your ability to prioritize than to acknowledge that you might be trying to do more than you can handle, and that you might still have some personal issues to work through before you reach your full productive capacity. I sure don't want that to be true-- I think I SHOULD be able to handle what I've committed myself to achieving at this point in my life. The evidence so far is against me, though.

For example, I've learned the hard way that I can't handle 3 online classes at the same time. I just can't keep the details of each classes' requirements and system set-up in my head for three classes in one semester. I actually dropped a class in the Fall last year because of this reality. Even knowing it, I still had to struggle through three classes last semester-- if I wanted to graduate this December, and not incur another $7,000 in debt for ANOTHER semester of school. Luckily, I can take the two classes at a time that I can actually handle for the last two semesters here. Plus work. Plus internships that I have to arrange and apply for ahead of time. Plus the final project stuff that doesn't count as a class, but takes about the same amount of time.

This semester's struggle with 3 classes cost me something. I'm actually on academic probation because it is unacceptable to receive a C grade in grad school, and I did. In my favorite class. Because I forgot that this particular professor didn't always put the full assignment information into the syllabus, and that we had instead to check the online turn-in location for additional instructions-- and remember to SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM OF THE LONG PAGE to be sure we had all the info on the assignment. So I turned in a 100-point assignment with only one of the three required sections completed. Because I only knew about the one section listed in the syllabus. Shigt. Otherwise, I might have had an A.

At the same time as I am working on an internship, planning my next internship, preparing my resume for the need to being applying for jobs, and expecting school to start up again Monday... I am trying to pursue my art. The thing I can lose myself doing because I love doing it so much. The thing I could soon be selling at a profit-- if I can find the time to finish some of my projects and market them to the folks who've already expressed interest.

Also, I have friends. I'd like to keep them. So I spend some time-- much-enjoyed and much-appreciated time-- with them. And I have an apartment to maintain, and food to buy and cook and eat, and a lot of emotional baggage to work through. Not the least of which is concerns that have arisen in the past while about the health and well-being of various close and much-loved family members. Oh, and did I mention that I work 20 hours a week? And have a side job writing intellectual blogs for an online magazine three times a week? (www.libraryjournal.com) And that I've got no financial aid for school because I'm on academic probation? No stress there, right?

It's just too much. And yet, there isn't really anything I can drop. Stop spending time with friends? Yeah- and go stark raving nuts in a matter of weeks. Stop working? And eat what-- toenails?

See, the thing is-- I signed up for all this. And I need to see it through. All of it. Because this is my future we're talking about. My ability to get a job that offers both satisfaction in my work, and some sort of health care and retirement benefits, while paying an actual living wage for a single income family. So while I'm working hard to keep a stiff upper lip that actually curves UP and not down, there are definitely many moments when I wonder what the hegll I'm doing wrong here, and if I'm really qualified to be an adult. I hope it gets easier, because I don't think I can take it getting any harder. Oh. I just remembered. It's the first of the month. My rent is due. Right.

Well, that's all the time I have to spend on feeling sorry for myself today. Check back another time for a cheery, humorous, and uplifting post. I'm about due to have one. Any time now. Really.