By 30, I'd Hoped to Own a Barbie Pink Beetle

It's been quiet in the blogosphere. Maybe I'm just being boring, or maybe this overposting is taking its toll. I've been a quiet commenter lately, myself. I always have trouble commenting. I know I should--I know it's the right thing to do--but I find it difficult for some reason. I think I'm just a lurker by nature.

Happy 30th birthday to my brother-in-law, Chris. We had a nice time hanging out in Carolina Beach last night, though sadly, there were no oysters to be had. I'm very excited and aware of the fact that I will turn 30 this year. It's such a nice round number.

Though I love to get older, I suffer from the same insecurities as everyone else does: Have I done enough by this point? Am I the person I thought I would be? Most of the time I look around me and feel deeply satisfied by my life: this beautiful house, my incredible husband, the dogs, a job I don't just tolerate but take real pleasure and pride in. Mostly, as my new friend Kathy says, I feel pleased with the calibre of people in my life.

I wish that I had been able to hold it together in enough in my early twenties to secure for myself now the things that I need--more money, health insurance, etc. I wish I were able to have kids in the next couple of years instead of worrying about getting my teeth back in order, replacing the very necessary glasses that I lost in 2001, buying a house.

And yet, I don't feel sorry about the way I've lived my life. I know that I didn't always behave very responsibly during the years I was in graduate school, but I had hell of a good time, even when it was hard and frightening. I met some great people. I figured out a lot about myself and what I need.

Still, I struggle most with being too passive. This has been a difficult week, and what I felt last friday is still very much with me. I think I'll always feel that the price of confrontation is too high. I'm the kind of person who doesn't speak up until it is far too late, until I am too angry, too hurt to go on. I've worried at it all week, until I came to the conclusion that part of what I value most in myself is the ability to suck it up. I don't know. Everyone argues with me on that point, and I value what they say. I just know that I'm resting easier knowing that I don't have to hurt anyone.

Yuckus

This was supposed to be a funny post about how my dogs do not respond to traditional commands. But, no, you will have to wait for that piece of hilariousness until tomorrow, because right now I am weepy and feeling sorry for myself.

Why is it so hard to be friends? I know I've talked before about how it's easier to be friends with boys and I still (for the most part) think that's true. But I crave female companionship. I'm always up for girls' night. I love the things that makes girl friendships special: that ability to hold hands, tell the other person you love them. The way you can lay yourself wide open to your best girlfriend--tell her exactly where and how it hurts and expect that she'll reciprocate, and that feeling that once she's showed you, you'll protect that wound with your life, crochet a bandage over it, stand between it and the world, love her no matter what. That's what I love about girls. I love being able to say, "Dude, if you find a uterus on the ground, it's mine. Right now I think it's working its way out of my body by force." I love the way girls can laugh and laugh and laugh and didn't even have to be that funny.

But damn, it gets so hard. I think I've spent the better part of this year wrapped in drama after drama, feeling used, feeling manipulated, feeling forgotten, feeling not good enough. And some of that's just the way life is. Because we all hurt each other without meaning to, just by being alive. As a species, we were born to disappoint. But some of it, I have to say, is just so intentional. And I'm not saying that I'm any saint, not by a mile, but I will say that I don't hurt people on purpose. Not ever. Not even when I want to really, really badly. Because I think that's the point of being friends. I think that being a friend is knowing where it hurts the most and never, ever using it.

As I get older, I start to understand how it is that people turn inward and stop trying. I've heard so many people say it: that they've just had enough, that they don't want to be wide open for anyone else. And I've always felt like I could never understand that. I'm a very hopeful person. I don't tend toward despair. I always have this sort of horrible optimism that the next person I meet will be the person with whom I share some kind of terrific bond. But right now I just feel like: I give up. Boys, girls, they're ALL moody, unmotivated, or crazy. And I don't have any more stamina for trying and getting hurt, trying and getting hurt anymore.

In order to ward off the nagging guilt that I always feel after reading other people's unhappy blog posts, I will say this: if you are reading this, it has nothing to do with you. Promise.

Bad Blogs Bad Blogs Watcha Gonna Do?

I've been thinking about the questions raised by Pen and M all day, and I just want to say that this response is postponing more serious blogging, such as telling you all about the time I went on the blind date with the hearing aid guy.

But seriously, though I don't consider my blog in a state of demise, I've been thinking about what a good blog is and does and why I bother, etc. I keep coming back to something that Mendacious (I think) raised about putting up a wall, and also the commonly realized problem of blogging, which is of course, who is reading it. I mean, I think we all do this because someone's reading. I think that generally we pretend not to care, but I don't think I could do it if no one were reading. I don't mean that in a narcissistic way, like I think my blog matters and really needs to reach people. I mean it in the way that I needed to go to school for writing in order to write. I'm not one of those special people who is just born to write and would die if they weren't writing. I write because there is a deadline, because someone is expecting something of me. I'm plagued by guilt if I let the blog go for a couple of days because it's readers that keep me going. If they wandered off...well, I think I would, too.

And yet, it's totally a double edged sword. I want the readers but then...I don't want some readers. I think I've been lucky in that my bosses and co-workers are very likely NOT reading this. My bosses for sure. If the other two teachers read it, I would feel odd, but ok with it I suppose. Also, I feel confident that my husband's family is not reading the blog. I'm pretty sure that my mom is reading this, though I asked her not to so that I would feel free to swear and blog about how EVERYONE knows what that filet of fish sandwich commercial is about. But even so, I feel like she got her caveat about it, and if she wants to read it, so be it.

But if there is a wall in my blog, a time when I'm not telling you what I'm really thinking about, it has to do with the 7 years before I arrived in Wilmington. And I don't blog about that because I am afraid of who will read it.

I think that in general, I am a pretty wide open person and that those of you who know me would agree that reading the blog is often like talking to me. I'm kind of loud and when I get nervous I make fun of myself. I think too hard about certain things and not enough about others. If there's a part of me that's not here, it's the part that is wide-open emotionally, always willing to talk about anything.

I left a lot behind in Greensboro. A lot of people I care about very much. And I have a great deal of unresolved feelings about that time. Lately that's been very much with me. And I wonder if it's fine that I don't talk about that here. Like Daisy said, it's personal. And that doesn't mean that some of my readers aren't my closest friends, but some of these things maybe aren't for general consumption. But should they be? Would I feel better if I got to say some of the things I've only been thinking inside? Would the possibility that they'd ever know any of those things feel freeing instead of terrifying?

I don't blog about my first marriage because I want to protect my husband, who does read this, from knowing more than he feels comfortable knowing. I don't blog about it because my first husband has an extremely uncommon first name, and if I wrote it and he googled himself (as we all do) he'd see it. I don't blog about it because it hurts and I'm scared (even though some part of me thinks that maybe I was always meant to write about it) and I don't blog about it because I'm afraid that the people who stayed friends with him will read it and judge me. But lately I've felt this great emptiness inside me that has to do with never speaking of anything from that time. It's as if by never writing about it, I've erased it from my personal history. Every time I say, "I used to know this guy who..." or "When I lived in the Greensboro we..." I feel this great sadness that I cannot name my old friends and family by name, that slowly, I'm forgetting them. Which is dangerous, because I was one of them. I can't afford to forget myself.

I don't know what I thought I would do with this blog when I started it. It doesn't do much but represent me as I see me. I haven't decided yet how fully that will be.

What the Hell is Wrong with Me?

Today on my way home from work, I started thinking about how, in the seventh grade, I didn't do this really big French project for class. We were given our instructions and the due date on the first day of class because it was a big project and we were to be working on it for a really long time.

I didn't tell my parents because I didn't want to be hounded about it all the time and I figured I'd pull something together in the last week, as was my custom.

Well anyway, I didn't do it. I don't know why I didn't do it; there wasn't any real reason. By the time I was a week away, I couldn't figure out how to ask my parents for help, seeing as I'd never told them about this big old thing. So I just sort of made a pile of papers that looked like it could be a French project and handed that in, sort of thinking that I could still pull it together and by the time my teacher noticed I could have something real...but still, I didn't do anything.

So, naturally, my teacher made me call my mom and tell her what I had done. I'll never forget how when she heard my voice in the middle of the day, she sounded so kind and worried. I think she must have thought I was sick or that something bad had happened. And then I had to tell her that I'd gone and done this idiot thing (and believe me, this was not the only time) and dissapoint her.

So I was thinking about this on my way home from work today and I just
started crying. I kept hearing her voice and feeling terrible and wishing I could apologize.

Of course, this was 18 years ago.

I used to have a similar memory of my dad when I was little. I had learned at school how to carefully peel a leaf from a clover and hold it together with another clover to make it look like a four leaf clover. I did it out in the yard and told my dad it was a four leaf clover. He was so happy for me. I felt terrible when I had to show him it was fake. Up until a few years ago, that could still make me cry.

Once for Christmas or something, I wrote letters to my parents, each with a list of things they'd done in my life that I wanted to say thank you for. Sometimes I wish I could send a similar apology letter, for fake four leaf clovers and French projects left undone. But then I think, maybe they don't need a list of reasons why I suck.

Further Ramblings About Why Work Sucks

I'm such a slack ass.

This has just been the kind of week where you wish you could ask for a do-over. I'm still struggling with the job thing. I had my 30 day review on Wednesday which went well, but I still feel as if I'm just not relating. Even if I'm making my boss happy, if the people who I'm actually working with are unhapy, than I guess it isn't working. I'm pretty seriously confused about what I want to be doing. On drunken Friday night at 2:30, I felt sure that I would go back to teaching, and use the extra time (when teaching I got off at 3 instead of 6) to pursue other things (more on those later). But today I just don't know. I know that teaching is familiar, that I won't be frightened, that I relate well to my co-workers, that I like getting off at 3...but. But where I work, I have to pay for everything: paper, pencils, workbooks, art supplies, reading books, the damned electric pencil sharpener...and I think in my haste to get out of something unfamiliar and unwelcome, I'm forgetting the incredible hassle of teaching someplace that never tells you anything, just expects you to figure it out for yourself and keep plugging along. And once I'm in, I'm stuck for a year. I've seen teachers leave mid-year, but I don't think I could do it. It's too hard on the kids.

I just miss doing something that I consider to be worthwhile. No matter how hard, how frustrating, how tiring my job was while teaching, at the end of the day--or, more importantly, at the beginning of the day, I knew why I was doing it and I felt good about it. That's the Quaker influence in me. I didn't dread work when I woke up in the morning, and when people asked me what I did, I was proud. It's hard to feel that way about filing charts in a dentist's office, particularly when your day is punctuated by people pointing out your myriad mistakes in a tone that implies that you are a total moron.

So last week I tried to brainstorm with Thomas about what I might actually like to do. Like if we threw out the last six years: forget the MFA, the teaching, parent's expectations, my own expectations, the need for health insurance, everything. Forget all that. What am I good at? What would I like to be doing? It scares me that it's so hard to answer that question. And the answers there are aren't particularly good ones. But here's the one I'm really focused on: I'm an ordained minister (as most people are in the internet age) and beyond that I have a degree in creative writing. I love weddings and I love planning and decorating and crafts and trying to help people achieve dreams on a budget. So, ok. What if I advertised myself as a minister who does custom ceremonies--catering to those who want non denominational weddings, or interfaith weddings, or gay weddings. I could write and perform them. And then maybe get into a little wedding planning.

I know this is a pipe dream; that really my choices are just to suck it up teaching or suck it up filing charts. But I really feel like I just need some hope right now. I always council people with unsatisfactory houses or roommates or whatever that you must be happy at home. You spend too much time there for it not to be a safe, good place. But why shouldn't I feel that way at work. Hell, if I'm going to spend 40 hours of my week doing something, can't I dare to hope that it would be something I like?

I am a Slack-Ass Blogger

C'est moi!

Nothing much has been going on. I've been catching up sporadically with an old friend who recently pointed out to me that 1. I went with him to prom when I was a freshman in college and 2. His mom once accidentally got lit on fire during a party at my parents house. Good times.

Wow. I think that's the first time I've ever uttered that particular phrase.

Something tore my garden to bits, so I've been quietly mourning it; and it looks like we may have taken a fancy to, not one, but two of the neighborhood stray cats.

Work is hard, but is getting to be bearable. Some days are better than others. I'm looking forward to my one-month checkup with Daisy. I am hoping that we will both feel better by then.

I'm considering posting the entire contents of our jukebox, seeing as it took 6 hours for us to choose songs and reload it. I only like to do it once a year because it's so damn hard. But I'm pretty happy with it right now. Some of my favorite selections are Prince "Cream" and Big Country "In a Big Country."

That's all for now. I have to make time to drink my wine.

Plagued with Self Doubt

I'm sorry that this is not funny pictures of drunk people eating lasagna. I'll post some pictures from Thomas's birthday later on today or tomorrow.

I'm kind of freaking out about my job, which I know makes no sense, but there it is. I feel like I'm just not catching on fast enough, or like this period of burdenhood isn't ending as quickly as I would have hoped. I'm still bumbling and confused; I still forget things; I still make mistakes. I don't even know what all the rooms are called, yet! If someone says into my earpiece, "I need help with charting in OP-2," I might know how to chart, but I don't know where OP-2 is. I'm past the point where I feel like I can ask that.

When I was 14, my mom went back to work after being an at-home mom for my whole life. She jumped straight into being someone's personal assistant and she did that job until my family was financially stable enough for her to come back home (about 5 years). I wish I could call her now and ask her if it was hard, if she made mistakes, if she sometimes felt like there were things she should just know.
I mean, I'm starting to feel like something's wrong with me, like why am I not good at ANYTHING? I don't automatically understand copiers, I have trouble with my weird headset, I seem lately to have difficulty even just being bubbly.

I really do feel like I've never done anything that I was truly a natural at. I'm sure that's not true, but that's how I feel right now.

I know what my mom will say if I ask her. She'll say of course it's hard and she'll say that I'm probably smarter than any of those people and that I'll catch on in no time and I know that she means that, but in my heart, I know it isn't true. Those girls are just as smart as I am, if not more so. And I'm never going to be able to cram into the next few weeks what they've learned and developed in the last 6 years.

I just don't want to be a dissapointment to people. I don't want to feel like a walking apology. I don't want to be shown any more of my mistakes.

Damn, I don't want to go to work today.

Heh.

New Job List

Nails broken: 2
Mistake Made: 6 that I can think of off the top of my head
Blisters: 3
Lunches spent sitting in Subway and reading: 2
Incidents of Whispering that I am Somehow Convinced are About my Incompetance: All


Days Worked: 2

But this is not a negative report, believe it or not. I'm tired as hell, yes. My feet hurt, yes. My right hand has been torn to oblivion by scary revolving filing system, yes. But I hope that with some time I will get used to this and maybe even be good at it. I want the girls to like me. The only thing that is really bothering me is that right now I am more a nuisance to them than anything else.

Time to go to bed: now?

I Dress My Pets in Tutus and Kiss Them on the Mouth

Feeling like I should check in, though there is not much to say.

I'm quietly freaking out about my new job tomorrow--not in a bad way, just in the way that you do when things are new and different and you are likely to make mistakes.

My dogs killed a kitten this weekend. I'm really messed up about it. They've had problems with aggression toward cats since I used to commute to Greensboro every weekend and they had to board at their vet. Apparently there was a vet cat there that tormented them in their cages. My vet mentioned it to me once and told me that she did not suggest my ever getting a cat because of it. Since then, the only cats they ever see are the feral ones in our neighborhood who are foolish enough to come into the yard. In November we had an incident with a kitten and since then we haven't seen any cats in the yard. I've looked into ways of keeping the strays out, but I haven't found any that aren't inhumane or wouldn't affect my dogs as well. The humane society here makes it incredibly difficult to trap the cats and since it was working out, I didn't think about it any more. But yesterday they got a very tiny one. I got there in time and there were no bite marks on it; I think it died of fear. I'm very sad.

Several years ago, Gonzo was attacked by a pit bull. I was so angry at the dog and the owner and what I perceived to be just senseless aggression. But I guess this is the same. I know that dogs, domesticated or not, are animals and that we choose to keep them despite their instincts. I know I am probably guilty of anthropomorphising the dogs in the extreme, but I just can't understand why they would do this. I mean, its not as if they are competing for a food source, or like cats ARE a food source to them. There's no perceived danger, so why attack (or terrify)?

Some time early this year, there was an interview with Tommy Lee Jones in the New Yorker in which he said something like, "I respect animals. I don't dress them in tutus and kiss them on the mouth." Um, I totally dress my pets in tutus and kiss them on the mouth. So I guess that's why it's hard for me to understand why they are not and can never be my small and furry children, and are instead animals, sometimes ruthless ones.

This Could Only Happen to Me

Dude.

Oh, dude.

So, I have a working interview tomorrow in a periodontist's office. I really like this place. I'm excited about it.

Tonight Thomas made a good dinner of sausage and peppers, and after dinner I had a spice stuck between my teeth. So I flossed, right? Like you do.

The spice has become stuck up UNDER MY GUM. It is my FRONT tooth. I can see it under there but I can't get it out. The floss just drives it farther out of my reach.

I am going to work in a gum doctor's office with a spice stuck up under my gum.

Unemployment Freak-Out Spaz-Attack

Oh, dude, I am in bad shape.

It's weird--I've never liked working. I have a lazy soul. I'm always the person who wants the least common denominator job: low responsibility, ability to call in sick, etc. But it seems that perhaps the last three years of high responsibility, high workload, no option to call in sick has taken its toll on my personality. Don't get me wrong: if for some reason I were suddenly rich and did not have to work, I wouldn't. My ultimate #1 dream is to be a housewife. If I were home right now because that was the plan, I'd be delighted. But knowing that I should be working right now and am not is making me insane. I can't enjoy any of my favorite stay-at-home activities. All I do is freak out. And do tons of laundry in order to somehow justify my existence.

Trying to stay off the internet in case future employer calls...My presence here may be spotty for a bit.