Well, I'm doing it. I'm finally starting to write down some of the stories I remember from my time at Wgest Pgoint. And I'm writing some from being an Agrmy wife, too-- and probably another bunch about divorce and what came after, at least for me. I realized that I always think of these as individual stories, not as one long saga... so maybe instead of my past fizzled attempt to write A BOOK, (remember "the girlfriend's guide to Wgest Pgoint" from about five years ago?) I can just write each story as it occurs to me, and then put them in groups. And maybe it's better that my memories aren't all that accurate after all this time-- because it's a collection of MY MEMORIES, and so it's okay if it isn't a perfect record of the exact rules. Makes it that much easier to agree with any Mgilitary critic who claims gross inaccuracies, you know?
This morning I wrote about Ring Weekend. It was on my mind when I woke up for some reason. I find myself hoping that writing it out will also help me move away from those experiences a bit more. Since I realized that I had more information than 99% of the girlfriends around me at the time, I've been burdened by this sort of moral obligation to explain things to them. To make it clear what they can expect, and to expose what's really going on under the shiny surface of that little enclave on the Hudson.
After realizing how few wives understand what they are committing to when they marry into the Mgilitary, I've felt a similar sense of responsibility there. It isn't fair to the wife or to the soldier if she's expecting someone else to take care of her for the rest of her life when she marries a well-filled uniform. I also feel that anyone who is still related to the mgilitary can't (for the sake of her husband's career, among other things) tell the true story of her experiences, and those who've gotten away from it don't usually want to remember.
Similarly, it was recently pointed out to me that there are a lot of aspects of divorce that people don't really talk about, and that it's helpful to know. Divorce is a horrible experience for the vast majority. I think that's actually fairly appropriate. But I also think that there are ways to make it more manageable, and that it'd be nice if someone could tell you what to expect outside of the legalities. Although I recognize that each person's experience is unique, I think it'd be helpful to ME, if to no one else, to tell about my experience. And maybe, if I'm lucky, it'll make some other person's life a little easier, too.
Life is a process. I've certainly been in on some very intense scenarios. And being a student who really likes to observe and consider the social and human interactions around me, I may have noticed some patterns or stories that others do not. I may also be in a unique position of being able to talk about them clearly and without an ulterior motive, per se. We'll see.
As I said, it's a process.
Wednesday, April 9
Tuesday, April 8
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 1
Lost In Place
Okay. I know. I'm a librarian. But, STILL--
It's a little embarrassing to look up from a book and realize that not only is it past my bedtime, but I totally forgot to call my best friend before HER bedtime-- because I was reading a book.
Again.
...scuse me while I explain the concept of sharing the desk chair to my cat...
So yeah. Pretty much, if I pick up a book that I haven't read at least five times before, it's very likely that I won't be able to put the book down again until I've read it. All of it. And, if I've got other deadlines in my day, TOO BAD.
I'm not proud of this, though I must say I've gotten to be a pretty FAST reader over the years... I'm more like... uhh... distressed by it. Especially when the thing I totally failed to remember because I was deep in the middle of-- whatever book I happen to have picked up-- is actually rather important. Like my best friend. Or my other best friend. Or an appointment. Or...
Well, anyway, if you ever catch me walking around with a book I've already read a million times, this is why. I probably have other things I want to accomplish, and can't afford to be so immersed in "what happens NEXT?!" that I forget about them. Just so you know.
And, this is also why I just don't have any new books to talk about when I'm doing something important-- like for the eighteen months I was in school for my Masters Degree. NO NEW BOOKS. HOMEWORK.
...excuse me while I explain to my cat that it isn't a REAL mouse...
Ahem.. where was I?
Oh, right. BOOKS. One of my all-time favorite things to do is curl up in a warm cozy corner with a good book and a yummy snack... for as long as it takes to finish reading the book. And sometimes a series is even worse. Because the first book leaves you hanging--- WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?! So you start reading the NEXT book in the series to find out... and it's often a vicious cycle. Thank goodness for alarm clocks and cats who really feel that it's past my bedtime, and it's time for the stupidity to end.
...excuse me while I explain to my cat that YES-- I really am going to bed now...
It's a little embarrassing to look up from a book and realize that not only is it past my bedtime, but I totally forgot to call my best friend before HER bedtime-- because I was reading a book.
Again.
...scuse me while I explain the concept of sharing the desk chair to my cat...
So yeah. Pretty much, if I pick up a book that I haven't read at least five times before, it's very likely that I won't be able to put the book down again until I've read it. All of it. And, if I've got other deadlines in my day, TOO BAD.
I'm not proud of this, though I must say I've gotten to be a pretty FAST reader over the years... I'm more like... uhh... distressed by it. Especially when the thing I totally failed to remember because I was deep in the middle of-- whatever book I happen to have picked up-- is actually rather important. Like my best friend. Or my other best friend. Or an appointment. Or...
Well, anyway, if you ever catch me walking around with a book I've already read a million times, this is why. I probably have other things I want to accomplish, and can't afford to be so immersed in "what happens NEXT?!" that I forget about them. Just so you know.
And, this is also why I just don't have any new books to talk about when I'm doing something important-- like for the eighteen months I was in school for my Masters Degree. NO NEW BOOKS. HOMEWORK.
...excuse me while I explain to my cat that it isn't a REAL mouse...
Ahem.. where was I?
Oh, right. BOOKS. One of my all-time favorite things to do is curl up in a warm cozy corner with a good book and a yummy snack... for as long as it takes to finish reading the book. And sometimes a series is even worse. Because the first book leaves you hanging--- WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?! So you start reading the NEXT book in the series to find out... and it's often a vicious cycle. Thank goodness for alarm clocks and cats who really feel that it's past my bedtime, and it's time for the stupidity to end.
...excuse me while I explain to my cat that YES-- I really am going to bed now...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)