Entertainments

Reading: Heart of the Matter by Graham Greene. So far I'm not far enough in for the book to form itself in a coherent narrative in my head, but the bits of Greene I have enjoyed in most of his books are peeking through, convincing me to read further. I find that the first few chapters of a book can take a while to hook one and give a book a presence in one's head like a memory or a particularly captivating person. Good books (and some sensational ones) tend to do that more quickly, but there are excellent books that have a slow burn.

Watching: Six Feet Under season 3. Nate was hotter with the stubble.

Listening: Jose Gonzalez. The song "Crosses" haunts me.

Still Alive

Kicking too. Occasionally, and only those that deserve it.

I've been substitute teaching a lot on my days off, meaning I haven't had a day off in a little while. I can't relax at my parents' house, which is not entirely the fault of my parents.

I miss him, though that is probably enough said about that. The idea of a forever without him reminds me of being packed into a very small dark and stuffy room which is too small to stand or even fully sit up in.

I have an interview for a part time teaching job today at 1:45. I am not sure I want this job. It's nice having a job I don't have to bring home with me each night. I am also not sure I want to leave my cocoon. It's only coffee, but students' minds and futures are another thing.

It would, however, pay more than Starbucks and add much more to my resume and experience and aid me in getting the job I want in Chicago next year.

Wish me luck, anyway. A choice is better than no choice at all.

Greetings from Parentland

Sorry it has been a while. I have been trapped in the strange world that is moving, working, and parentland.

Let's just say that living with my parents is quite a trip.

I have had to wait in line for the bathroom twice at 3:30 am when getting ready for work.

My dog has renounced me in favor of my parents.

I never feel as if I am at home.

I missed CSI last week as a consequence of unsubscribing from Tivo in the move.

I have stopped up their new-fangled water-saving toilet on an average of 3 times a day, usually by urinating in it. Gosh, my urine must be thick.

I have started substitute teaching again. The extra money is good, but I don't get a lot of free time by subbing on my days off from SBUX.

There's probably more I can say- the house hasn't sold, I'm always tired, I'm reading a ton of good books, not listening to as much good music, have decided that I really do hate the burbs more than the city, and various assorted other things. But I've got to go- I'm due at a store meeting. Christmas season is unveiling at SBUX on Thursday and I have to be briefed.

Chrysalis

The days slip by one by one. I wake up. I go to work. I read on my lunch break in front of the fireplace at work. I go home. I run. I snuggle with my dog and watch television. I do much the same on my days off except for sleeping a little more, and watching a little more television. Every few days I dream about him, I get a little depressed. It's not a bad little rhythm or a bad little life for now, and the movement of it all is a little hypnotic.

It would be easy to fall into this pattern for a few months more, a few years more. A good book and a little good tv, dinner with a friend twice a month, and time could pass slowly away before my eyes before I shake myself into a more meaningful existence.

It's all a nice temporary solace. I can understand how so many people can get caught up in the little details of life and forget to live but for a few small moments of vacation each year, love every so often, or truly pure moments in which one's job is clear and one creates something amazing or helps someone else in doing it. It's been a rough year of it, and so I give myself permission to do this a little while. I feel alright about escaping into this coma of classic novels, work I enjoy but don't have to take home with me, and consumption instead of creation.

I am attracted to art. A pretty necklace, a well-written essay, and meticulously filmed and plotted movie or beautiful song all attract me like flowers with a bee. I have been obsessive in my consumption of these items for the last couple of years as I have descended into the pain. I have collected more wonderful music than I have time to enjoy. Every time I return a library book I check out ten more. I watch more television than is healthy.

I am still in chrysalis. I am still slumbering, changing, growing a little more. Consuming my stored energy and not putting myself out into the world. It's a trite image, but I'll break out of my cocoon some day and be something else. I will create, I will fly, I will go into the world a new creature whether I'm a moth or a butterfly.

I'm just not ready yet.

Update

Reading: Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene. I've been on a G.G. kick lately. I started by reading The End of the Affair, which was an amazing movie (which I saw mainly because of my crush on a certain, shall we say "fine," actor). I've read The Quiet American and a less than stellar Brighton Rock since then and can say I appreciate his humor and cynical world view.

Watching: Six Feet Under, Season One. I swear I know everyone else has already been smitten by this ages ago, but I was a poor graduate student with no premium cable channels. Now that it is showing on Bravo, I'm lapping every new episode up.

Listening: Say I am You by The Weepies

Plan with a Man

It's funny what different people's ideas of how your life should be shape up. Whenever my dad talks about that vague time in the future when my life will be better he mentions "some great guy." My mother focuses on whatever teaching job I'll have, and hasn't quite accepted my need to move to Chicago (then again, nor has the rest of the family). I think about Chicago, of course, but I also think about writing.

I've been writing fiction since I was a child. I wrote my first story at age 8 on notebook paper, illustrating and collating it for public view. I brought it along with me to school, showing it to all my friends. I even clasped it to my chest at recess- dropping it once in the wind on a moist fall day. It still bears mud spots.

I wrote new stories regularly. My file cabinet is brimming with folders labelled by grade and stuffed with drafts of tales full of horror, unrequited love, and unrecognized genius meant to mirror the inner turmoil of my true self. As I got older, I wrote poetry, plays, and even an unfinished screenplay or two.

Being a writer was one of my early career aspirations, that is after queen of the world and nurse. I actually started out in that direction. I've gotten paid for some freelance articles, some blather and treacle about kids who won math awards as such. I even won a national semifinalist spot in a playwriting contest in high school. But it's been a long time since I've been in contact with that muse.

I am fairly out of practice. My heart has not been in the many book reviews and research papers I have been writing as part of my graduate studies for the last many years, and the creative outlet I had in music and writing dried up after high school. I would like to begin writing again. I have had a few ideas for fiction percolating in my thoughts for a couple of months, and I am anxious to start a new, regular routine that includes writing for myself.

In my ideal version of my life, that is, without winning the lottery, I will teach part time either at high school or community college, and spend the rest of my time writing fiction and participating in some community or small time professional theatre after teaching full time and writing for a few years in order to get my footing. It's not as if I don't want a man in my life. Heaven knows a little snuggling and companionship would be nice. However, men do not a life make. I am possibly more excited about getting another dog when I get a new apartment than I am about finding a new husband/partner.

So with this being the last day I will work at the video rental place and thus about a 60 hour week, I will now make it part of my routine to write a little bit for myself each day. It's time to start using that muscle again in order to get it ready for that someday. It may not be a plan with a man, like my father often suggests, but it is my plan.

Early Morning Gem

When I work opens at Starbucks, my alarm rings at 3:35 a.m. Or rather, my television turns on at that time. The sound of my alarm clock tends to make me incredibly angry and ends up starting me out on the wrong foot for the day, so I find it's much gentler to wake up to the hum of the television.

Since I find that the television often distracts me in the mornings, lately I have been watching whatever my television lands on that early so that watching one of my shows will not make me run late. My tv has a mind of its own. My tivo, my one splurge, decides what channel my tv will wake me up on. Most of the time at 3:35 a.m. it is an infomercial. This morning it was the subject of this week's random fandom, an amusing 1980s zombie movie called Night of the Creeps.

I caught the last 20 minutes of the movie. A hardscrabble detective was going about a college campus looking to kill zombies heading to a sorority house filled with young women with deliciously big hair and cheap formal dresses. A young hero handed a young awestruck heroine a flamethrower so that they could fight off zombies together. All in all, it was so bad it was good. There were slithery alien slug-monsters and the possibility for a sequel- not all the slugs were killed by the gasoline explosion in the sorority house.

I wouldn't recommend anyone spend much money on this guilty pleasure, but if you like bad 1980s movies and bad horror movies, I would recommend you check this out.

The Issue

Is money. I make far too little of it. I make about 250 dollars less than I need in a month to scrape by- and it will be about 350 more once the weather gets cold. I'm not saving any money, even for stuff like oil changes or quarterly hair cuts. I am working over fifty hours each week (usually mid fifties) and I still can't make ends meet. And I'm exhausted.

I got in a car accident. I slept through my alarm Sunday for half an hour. I don't wear anything but pj's and work uniforms these days. I don't feel like a real person. I worked an open shift (4:15-12:45) at SB, a close at the video store (5-12:15 a.m.) and then another open right in a row. There's a possibility I may have to do that three times next week. I don't have a day off this week.

I was planning on waiting it out another week at the video store, attempting one shift a week to make some extra money to help pay the bills, but the prospect of next week sleeping 3 hours about 3 or even 4 nights next week makes me think it is time to quit. Now, perhaps.

If only the house would sell, or if there were a date in sight that I would know it would be off my hands, I would not have to feel so bad about draining my savings while working my ass off.

I feel like I need permission to quit my second job. It's my responsibility to work- to make it all work. I keep telling myself that it's too much, that I'm not being weak.

Random Fandom

In part entertainment missionary, and in part to alter the general woe-is-me course of my blog I shall now be instituting a new Thursday feature I have decided to call random fandom. I will recommend to my rather meager audience a television show, cd, book, or other such item based on my personal enjoyment of such. That's where the fandom fits. The random is basically a cue to the fact that my endorsement will generally have nothing to do with what is new or what has recently gained a popular buzz. I will merely recommend what has recently captured my (rapt) attention.

This week's random recommendation is truly connected to the missionary zeal I mentioned earlier. Life on Mars is an interesting and well written show with a great soundtrack. I discovered it one night on BBC America while indulging my love of an older comedy show they run called Father Ted .

In the show, present day detective inspector Sam Tyler is hit by a car and wakes up a detective in the 1970s, almost inexplicably. He works to solve crimes all the while clashing with old-school boss and detective Gene Hunt. Tyler is politically correct and more of a CSI-type detective who always attempts to dot his i's, cross his t's, and respect prisoner's rights. Hunt is from another mold- he punches first and asks questions later.

As Tyler attempts to fit into this department with his new-style detective strategies, he also occaisionally gets visited by a girl inside his television, and hears voices and machines from what appears to be in his hospital room. Is he merely in a coma? Is he really back in time? Is he a looney? At present, the audience does not yet know. The series is somewhat a mystery/cop show with a cultural and personality clash between offbeat partners, but the coma lends an aspect of the supernatural that lends it even more depth.

The last episode of this series (British television runs in somewhat a different fashion than U.S. tv, many shows are at most 12 episodes long for each season, called a series, which in my opinion cuts through some of the filler that appears in a 22 episode season on U.S. tv.) will show next week, but I am sure they will continue to show repeats.

There is also news that David E. Kelley has picked up the American rights to remake the show. Hopefully the series will turn out more like the American Office instead of the hopefully forgotten American Coupling.

The New Guy

I am at the point prior to a relationship in which the object of my affection can be all things to me. I know him little enough so that he's only a vauge outline in which I fill in the details. He looks like a model in a Rosetti painting. He likes Simpsons and Seinfeld. He enjoys racing bikes in his spare time. He says good-bye to me specifically and by name every time his shift ends before mine. This is all I know about him.

He could love children and animals, and be consistently punctual. He could be somewhat outdoorsy, but prefer day hikes to camping. He could like Buffy enough to talk about it, but not share my obsession. He could enjoy running with me once a week instead of just biking every day for a change of pace. He could be fiscally responsible, be attracted to redheads and smart, opinionated women.

Then again, he could be a total blackguard and cad.

In some ways this is the best part- the wondering, the expectation, the heightened excitement. As I find out little by little who he is and what he likes and dislikes he will become much less a dream and much more a person who will at times annoy me because he doesn't like my habit of watching tv in bed or spends too much money on his bikes.

I finished training at his store. He has my bike. And my phone number.

Day Off

Today is my much fabled day off. It's been over three weeks since I last had one. I really needed one. I punctuated my double shifts on Saturday with a minor car accident in the middle. My life sometimes really sucks. That is, when I think about it. Which, since I work so darned much, isn't as often as most people I think.

I haven't heard from the library. I suppose they could still be undecided, but I'm guessing I didn't get the job. This is a little bit sad. I would not have to work 60 hours a week there to not afford to pay my bills.

I got my first full paycheck from the video rental place, and my first check from Starbucks. Though it is nice to get paid, both checks were disappointing. To know that I am working too many hours and still can't pay all my bills is depressing. Not to mention, I can't keep up the kind of hours I'm pulling in for much longer. So my bills will fall even shorter from getting paid.

The rest of my schedule for my day off include running 9 miles, having dinner with a friend, and snuggling with my dog as well as returning some topsoil to Home Depot. I am also making my way through Charlotte Bronte's Villette. Virginia Wolff and George Eliot both wrote that this book was even better than Jane Eyre which is one of my favorite books. I am about 100 pages in. I also have some more classics waiting for me at the library.

I am incredibly excited to say I have two days off next week. What will I do with all that free time?

Beware Flying Car Thieves

I'm not big on cars. I really don't like driving. I will be extremely happy when I can rely on the el most of the time. Also, I'm not very impressed by horsepower, or fancy suspension, or German or Italian car makers. I am impressed by seat warmers, but that's besides the point.

Basically I love my Toyota Corolla because it goes. It gets me from point A to point B on a reliable basis. I get a little unhappy when it gets scratched or bumped, but mostly it's just a car. It could have, however, been a much cooler Corolla.

My parents helped me buy my car. I put down the rather extensive down payment, but my dad helped me sign for the car. Since I was working two jobs and very busy, he did the car shopping. I wanted a Toyota or Madza because of their known reliability.

I got a very basic model. I don't have automatic locks or windows. No big deal, I wasn't too interested in those things anyway though they would have been nice. Yet during the purchasing process a nicer model was offered to my parents for the same price. It had the slightly nicer fabric seats. It had a cd player, automatic windows and locks, and one of those nifty remotes to open my car. The sticking point was a moon roof.

When my parents found out that the car had a moon roof, they said no. They did not want me to have this nice car for the same price as a stripped model. This was not because the moon roof might leak, or because our religion is opposed to moon roofs on moral grounds, but because of the neighborhood I lived in.

At the time, my neighborhood was not terrible, but not particularly suburban. Crime was an issue in the area. I was once backed into by a stolen car at a nearby stop sign. My mother, the paranoid suburbanite she is, decided that a moonroof would be another way for a car thief to get into and steal my car.

Now, as far as I know none of the thieves on my street had rocket shoes, and there were no trees near where I parked for them to drop onto the roof of my car, but perhaps my mother is on to something. Car thieves of the world- try pogo sticks.

Good Fortune

No, I haven't been the recipient of actual good fortune. But when I ate a fortune cookie today, this is the message I found inside it:

You should be able to make money and hold on to it.

Granted, it doesn't say I will be gloriously happy and satisfied and find love and make fat babies on a beach, but considering my present money woes I'll take it. I don't quite know what it means, but it sure sounds good. Will I get the library job? Maybe. Will I remain in retail hell for the year? Maybe. Will I sell the house and live among my conservative Baptist parents? Quite possibly. But it's all okay. Good fortune is on the way. I can feel it.

Whoever is out there, thank you for reading. It has helped me feel a little bit more solid than I would have otherwise. For the past 100 posts, this has been a helpful outlet. There have been some days when all I could do was cry out here in hopes that writing it all down could help a little. Hopefully you can stick by as I finally finish first and get out of Dodge!

My Aching Feet

Sorry it's been a while since I posted. I, as previously mentioned, have been putting in long days both at Starbucks and the video rental place. I worked about 18 hours between Saturday and Sunday and my feet are killing me. I soak them, rub them, ice them, and take ibuprofen, but being on them so often isn't allowing them time to feel any better for more than a couple of hours in mid-morning. I put off a trip to the grocery store until tomorrow because I couldn't imagine walking through the store itself. It feels as if I'm walking on bruises.

I'm training on the espresso bar this week. It's exciting. I can make all sorts of fancy-pants drinks. Also, I'm a tea master!

No word on the library job yet. I hope they call soon. I've been scheduled to interview for a job that I'd rather not have but would feel obligated to take if I don't get the library job. I'd much rather spend my first day off in 3.5 weeks next Tuesday relaxing instead of driving to Podunk Capitol City 2 hours away to interview a job I'm not sure I want. It would be much easier to say "sorry, I accepted another offer." What really gets me is that I would take this job in a second if it were in my city, or Chicago, or Kansas City, or even Nashville. But taking this job, especially before my house sells, would require me to support two households and keep a second job (I don't want to start training again....), live in PCC, require me to forgo teaching the two college courses I was offered in the spring, not have my family in town to help me with my dog on long days, and require me to move to PCC, then move again to Chicago next summer.

Five people came to see my house yesterday. Keep your fingers crossed that one of them is serious about making a real offer! As soon as the house sells I can sit back, enjoy Starbucks (which offers benefits at 20 hours a week), enjoy subbing and or teaching my classes next spring and STILL manage to save a ton of money. While polishing my resume up for Chicago next fall and purchase a few little items (like a digital camera) of course.

And because I want to share with you the joy of working retail, here's an interesting snippet from my experiences at the video rental place.

We sell lots of candy at the vrp. We also don't do a ton of business in the middle of the day during week days. Last week on Tuesday my first sale of the day walked in a little before noon, 2 hours after opening.

She didn't look very well put together. Her clothes matched, but they were a little dirty and a little small. Her skirt hung under her ample belly. She appeared to be in her early to mid twenties, but definitely the worse for wear. Her eye makeup was heavy and smeared.

She brought about 4 pounds of candy to the counter, and no movies. She started to strike up a conversation. "I heard you guys talking about your pets," she said. This much is true. Chris and I were having a conversation about our dogs and cats. What follows, however, is entirely fantastical.

"I have cats," she said, "I keep them clipped in cages like birds. So they won't fly away." I nodded and smiled. "I let them out every once in a while. I feed them the candy to make them use the litterbox. They're attracted to the bright colors."

Of course they are.

I learned a little later that this young woman was one of our regulars, a fairly notorious drug user and sometimes prostitute. That could explain the clipped cats story. She really appeared to believe it.

Now as much as I hate working at LRP, the neighborhood I work in is pretty neat. It's incredibly diverse. I usually hear at least 3 or 4 other languages than English each weekend shift I work. I get to practice my Spanish too. (Two Hondurans asked me out on Saturday after helping them find a movie.) In addition, we have a very healthy mix of toothless (and toothful) rednecks and gay men and women, since our store is nearby a fairly gay neighborhood. I seriously went from having a discussion about the show the L-word and Logo to detailing the finer points of our selection of straight to video horror movies. Since our neighborhood is fairly cheap we also have a number of young recent college graduates trying to save money whom I also enjoy talking with about our foreign film selection. I can not emphasize how much my night changes over the course of any given shift.

Still, I am looking forward to quitting LRP as soon as I can afford to. After the store closes 3 weeks from now I will be moved to a less interesting and possibly suburban neighborhood. Since I already dislike the job so much, losing that diversity of clientele will be the final nail in the coffin that ensures that there is not even one thing left that I like about the job.

Working for a Living

Due to a few circumstances I have been unable to update lately. First, I accidentally left my computer behind at my parents' house this weekend and haven't had time to get it back until today. Secondly, I have been working every day.

Seriously. The last day I had off was two weeks ago, and the next day I'm gonna have off is in the unforseen future, but it's at least another two weeks away. I'm totalling in the mid-fifties hourwise each week and still barely making ends meet. But at least they're meeting, right? And in the meantime, I'm not having enough downtime to think about the divorce much. In the long run I'm assuming that that is not a good thing, but for now I think it's an excellent coping mechanism. I think that I will be more ready and willing to end the denial phase (or the ignoring phase, take your pick- it's really a little bit of both) once something in my life is going all right.

Another positive aspect to this is that I'm too busy to eat food that's bad for me. I'm packing carrots and whole wheat wrap sandwiches and fruit for my lunch, making it easy to grab those, but not much else. I'm also scheduling in my runs and still making them for once because there are few nagging things left to complete at home (like homework), and I need them for the stress relief anyway. So I'm hopping to drop that eight pounds in the course of the month.

My feet hurt like crazy. I'm soaking them in cool water each night, but it's kinda painful to stand by the end of the day. I'm hoping that it will get easier as time goes on.

I do love Starbucks, however. The people are really fun and nice, and I'm still overwhelmed by all I have to learn, but it's a neat job. The time goes quickly. I could have lived all my life without knowing what a carmel mocha machiatto was, but I feel a little cooler now that I do know. Working there is also kinda like being Norm. Everyone says hi to me when I get there, and personally says goodbye when I go. It's a nice place to be.

There's a cute guy there too. Absolutely nothing will come of it, but it's another nifty little distraction technique to flirt and enjoy without really intending anything. Not that I'm a big flirt, or anything. It's pretty much the lighthearted joking I am participating in with the whole staff at the store I'm training in.

The house sale is not going well. No one is looking. I hope I can sell it before the end of the year.

Post 100 is quickly approaching.... So much has happened in 100 posts. Hopefully by 200 I will be able to look back in celebration. I truly am hopeful right now. I just know that there is a lot more that I will have to slog through before the dawn comes and I've never been one for patience.

I know there will still be a lot of days when I cry, when I wake up after dreaming of him like today, or when I will be working long hours to pay the house payment (or put up with the loss of privacy and independence when moving in with my parents). I don't know when these times will end- and I still may get depressed about things from time to time far into the future. Someday, though, my life will be mine again instead of the charred remnants of our life. I look forward to the day.

Endings

It seems that my life has been very much about endings lately, large and small. The end of my schooling at the University I've been at for the last four years. The end of my marriage. The end of my relationship with Darcy-dog. Today I experienced one more such ending. Today was the last day I worked on the campus library.

I started working there almost three years ago when we received a shockingly large personal property tax bill which would not be covered by our regular salaries. My coworkers were generally genial. I made one of my few friends there- a friend who, without her over the past few months, I don't know if I could have survived sanely.

This job kept the bills paid and the roof over my head for the last three years. When ex lost his job, I worked more hours there. When I didn't receive summer funding last year, this job kept the money coming in. When ex left me with no warning, this job allowed me to pay bills by myself that he would generally have helped to pay. I have worked there this summer while looking for other employment. My schedule has been moldable enough that I have been able to take days off to finish papers or other assignments, to skip out for job interviews, and to work more when I needed the money. I have spent most of my weekends there for about two years.

This job has been more stable than pretty much anything else in my life. While my teaching assistantships changed from semester to semester, as did my classes, and my husband increasingly withdrew from our lives, this job was there week after week, semester after semester. My boss knew the details of my life and might even have helped me land my next job- if the job I interviewed for this week goes through. A quietly kind and somewhat eccentric man, he always sent new library books my way if he thought they were of my interest, and did his best to get me hours when I needed them. Another co-worker helped me find a divorce attorney and proof-read my dissertation prospectus. They've been a kind of family.

Today as my last shift ended, I walked slowly to take everything in. As I pushed my cart into the book depository I reminded myself that it would be the last time I did that. As I felt the breeze caused by the environmental controls, as I wheeled my empty cart back to the front, as I replaced the card key with the others, I kept thinking, "this is going to be the last time."

I left the office, looking back at my completely cleaned desk- the desk where I discovered Spoon in launchcast, the desk where I distractedly paged through so many donated volumes and conducted so many conversations about the downsides of graduate life with my coworkers- I thought to myself that I am tired of partings.

The Day's Account

Here's the good: I got hired at Starbucks. I start Saturday. I would start tomorrow if I wasn't working my last day at the campus library tomorrow. And then at Blockbuster in the evening. Yay! Free frappacinos! Good benefits!

The bad: There is water damage in my ceiling under my bathroom without a visible cause. This is a scary prosepect in an old house, particularly an old house that is for sale.

The ugly: The stress of making ends meet is getting to me. My ezcema is revving up for a powerfully itchy and ugly attack. My elbows are raw, my legs are unshavable because of the smattering of little scabs. The respite I got in Chicago was lovely, but it upset the delicate balance. I've been consistently stressed for so long that my skin was on an even keel with an occaisionally itchy spot, but with the low stress brought on by vacation, even those itchy spots cleared up and my skin flipped out when coming back to the full stress that is my life. Mosquito bites due to the season don't do me much good either.

Miles to go before I sleep: I need to run four miles this evening, and am looking forward to getting on the treadmill this evening for a nice run after staying off my feet for a few more minutes. I'm watching the first season of Buffy again during my runs and anxious to move onto the second. Not to mention that I've been having a good couple of weeks with the running. My speed is picking up, my knees are not sore, and my endurance is increasing again. Life is easier to face when I can work it out on the treadmill.

Possibilities

Today was a busy day. First, I worked at the video rental place. It's nice to be able to go to work seven minutes away from home when I'm used to thirty. This afternoon I went to the public library to interview for a position working with children and teens. It's a nice job that I would like which pays poorly, though enough to live on. I won't hear back about it for about two weeks since they just started interviewing.

After that, I went for my interview with Starbucks. They don't pay as well as the video rental place, but the benefits sure are great! And after my recent trip to Chicago I have found myself addicted to java chip frappacinos, and working there would hook me up free of charge instead of subjecting me to the withdrawl due to my poverty.

I also found out that I may get to teach a class at one of the local colleges in the spring semester. This means that I may be able to teach two classes this spring, since another local college expressed interest in letting me teach a course as well. Each of them wants me to teach in one of my specific areas of interest, which would be really amazing, and the second college would have me teach a course never offered there before so I could create the course from whole cloth to suit my needs and interests. The schedule at the library would permit me to teach the courses, too, and the money would be helpful....

So it seems that there are more opportunities coming my way these last few days. I'm hopeful, but not too excited at this point since I have been this close to having a job before only before it was offered to someone else.

The Tale of the MRI

As a poor almost-graduated student working a variety of part-time jobs, when I heard about the subject studies list for the psychology department here at my university, I thought it was wise to sign right up. I've participated in one study already, and earned 20 dollars an hour for my efforts. A few weeks ago I received another phone call, this time for a study in which I would perform a few memory tasks while in an MRI machine. This one would be 3-4 hours and pay 25 dollars an hour. It sounded like a great solution to at least a few of my monetary worries.

As per the instructions, yesterday I forewent my daily caffeine, wore a wireless bra, and showed up to the MRI in comfortable clothing. After listening to and reading a variety of warnings and privacy information for about half an hour I signed that I was giving permission to be used in this study.

The building was freezing cold. I was greatful to have thought to bring a sweater, I thought, as I walked into the room with the MRI. The machine looked interesting, not very imposing. I was intellectually intrigued with the thought of participating in these two experiments, and also excited about having an MRI, since I had never had one before.

The two nice young men who were running the experiment asked me to lay down on the machine's table. I complied, shivering slightly. They began to position my body, asking me to move an inch to the left, an inch lower, and put a freezing bolster pillow under my naked legs.

"You did promise me a blanket?" I urgently reminded.

"Of course," they said, "Just a minute."

Because the MRI machine can be incredibly loud, they gave me a pair of earplugs, which they instructed me to put in my ears right away despite the fact that they would not leave me alone in the room and start the machine for another ten minutes. This produced a slightly disturbing effect in which they continued to give me warnings and directions as I was lying almost deaf on the MRI table. After the earplugs came a huge pair of 1970s looking headphones in which I was supposed to hear instructions for the experiments, and an attached mouthpiece that would allow me to communicate answers.

Once the headphones were in place, they put the blanket on my goose-pimpled legs, and began tucking it around my body. Soon they were bringing out other pieces of cloth, much like small towels, and packing them around my head. "I feel like I'm being packed for burial," I remarked. This feeling should have probably tipped me off that this was not a good perception to be having outside of the machine. A piece of tape was placed across my head to help me to remember to stay still for the MRI.

The piece de resistance was a plastic dome fitted with a mirror that they placed over my head. The mirror was angled so that I could see a screen inside the machine. So far, so good. I felt a little constrained, with all the packing and gear around my head, and with the dome which was surrounded my entire head and was not six inches away from my face, but I was okay. They told me to roll my shoulders in a little as the machine moved me inside. I was told that my entire body would not be in the machine, mostly my torso. They left the room as the table moved slowly into place.

Inside the machine I could hear each beat of my heart, and it was moving almost faster as I could count. Over the headphones they asked me, "Can you hear okay?"

"Umm, yes." I said. I took a deep breath. I can do this. I'm not claustrophobic. I've never been claustrophobic. I need this money. All I have to do is lay here. I'll be just fine.

"All right- take a minute to get into a comfortable position," one of the young men said. "You're going to be there for three hours."

I tried to take another deep breath. Three freaking hours? Three hours and I don't have enough room to sit up? I can't move, and I'm packed in handtowels with this plastic thing enveloping my head? "I don't think I can handle this," I said as calmly as I could.

"Are you sure?" They asked. "Do you want to come out now, or would you like to stay inside for a few minutes to see if you can do it?"

I couldn't even form coherent thoughts to answer the question. I could only continue to take rapid, shallow breaths as I heard my heart race. The only thing I wanted to do was to sit up.

"We're getting you out," the voice said.

They came in and let me out of the machine. I felt humiliated and poor. I needed the money. It was supposed to be easy money. I will have to work at blockbuster for almost 11 hours to make up for the same amount of money. All I had to do was lie still.

The young men tried to make me feel better. "This happens to about one in ten subjects," they said. "And this is a small machine. The one next door is bigger, and we've had people have four or five scans in it who haven't been able to handle a scan in here."

I smiled weakly. I went home.

Life Goal

My favorite kind of outfit has become something like a uniform. I have several twill skirts (and shorts as well, for those dress down days) my birk sandals (and now some mary jane skechers for those dress up days) thin cotton cardigans in 3 basic and 2 not so basic colors (brown, white, black, pink, powder blue) and a couple of choice t-shirts (my favorite at present states "I heart Jake Ryan" under a still from 16 candles, but the Fraggle Rock t-shirt is also sweet). The problem with this outfit is that at present the number of cool t-shirts I have right now is severely limited. In response, one of my recent goals has been to amass a kick-ass t-shirt collection.

I'd like something like this. Or this. A blast from the past like this would also be super-cool. I like my t-shirts to reference my childhood passions, or to reference my likes in a way that isn't entirely obvious. This is why I got the Jake Ryan t-shirt instead of one that just said 16 candles
on it, flanked by a cast photo. That's just too obvious. And frankly, I'm too much of a geek for that kind of obvious. Of course, there's one tee that may just take the cake during my recently minted divorce. How's this tee? Of course, I could also use this t-shirt to announce my newly-single self so that the men would understand what type of woman they were dealing with.

Have you run into any nifty tees that would be an awesome addition to my collection?

The Pain, the Anger, the Humiliation

I speak not of divorce, but of the joyous process of opening one's home to strangers and allowing them to go through it, commenting on your life and living style in order to sell the damn thing. My house has been open for a grand total of about three weeks. Only one person has seen it. There have been no offers.

Today my realtor had a realtor lunch to get other realtors to look at the house. I did not know what a realtor lunch was before today, but had assumed it was to generate a greater interest and knowledge in my house. I assumed wrong.

It seems that the purpose for this program was to get other realtors to look at my house and find new ways to insult me, and offer a variety of non-specific suggestions to help my house sell better.

For example, a "clean smell" would improve my house alot. I do not have central air, and the extreme heat coupled with the somewhat ineffective window units sometimes lend a certain scent to my (even clean) bathroom, but I am unsure really about how to give my house a clean smell otherwise. I have invested in three lovely plug in room scents, I've used pet fresh on the carpets in the last 48 hours, and I've also cleaned the bathroom and kitchen in the same time frame. Hell, I even got rid of my cat and sprayed and scrubbed down the basement with bleach twice. How else am I supposed to make my house smell "clean"?

On top of this, it was suggested that I do some "sprucing up" in my house. Perhaps none of them, or you, know this, but I have been sprucing this house up every spare moment I have had for the LAST NINE MONTHS!! Every room on the top floor and one of the ones on the first have had the plaster repaired and been repainted. The kitchen has been refloored. The toilet has been replaced. The basement has not only been bleached, but almost everything previously in the basement has been thrown out or packed up into neatly stacked boxes. A worn out and smelly carpet was removed from a bedroom, revealing a worn out wooden floor, which at least doesn't smell. I'm not sure how much more "sprucing" I have time to do, let alone if there is any I can afford, since I am borrowing from my fairly meager savings in order to eat and pay the mortgage.

The most annoying, and the most anger-inducing comment by far, I believe, is that my house is not "move-in" or "live in" ready. My house is not "live in" ready? Is this true? For god's sake, I have been living here for the past four years and it looks a good sight better than it ever has. What kind of a troglydite must I be to live in this filth? What right do they have to tell me that my home, which has all the new work on it that I previously mentioned, is not liveable? Granted, the bedrooms could use new carpet, and much of the wood in the house could benefit from a stripping and sanding, but all the systems work. All of the walls are painted, and none of them are sporting cracks.

The vagaries of real estate piss me off. A house across the street, in worse condition than this, sold for 30 grand more than I'm asking last summer.

Will you go blind if you're doing it for charity?

Here's a lovely example about charity bringing people together, while keeping them hygenically apart. Makes the walk-a-thons and math-a-thons sound less exciting, doesn't it?

No Shelter

In her mind's eye she could see that time.
The wildflowers he'd picked from his mother's garden.
The cold winter's day they stayed inside and tried to eat as much oatmeal as they could fit into the extra large mixing bowl.
The time they sat around the computer with architectural software and planned their dreamhouse.
The evening on the deck looking at the moon when she had gotten a handful of splinters.
The afternoon at the ice cream stand, she in her white gown and he in his suit. Everyone treated them like they were movie stars.

He was her reward at the end of the day. He would massage away her frustrations with his presence. There had been 1 dorm room, 3 apartments, and 3 houses but only one home, one shelter.

Divorce....

I am someone's ex-wife. If M had a miracle and changed back to the person he was before, we would have to go through another ceremony in order to be considered married. Not that that's an option, but those two ideas just shake me to my core. This is the person I pledged to be with until death. When I was younger, I used to hope I would die first because I would miss him too much if he did. When I got a little older, I started planning my career path around the possibility that ten years from now I might have to institutionalize him. I never dreamed that I'd be his ex-wife and miss the person he was so much and never want to see the person he is again. I never believed I'd get a divorce against my will, be a left and wronged spouse, and get screwed entirely in the process.

I've cried occaisionally in private and in front of friends, but I make quips about selling the stuff he left in my house, giving away his beer (I don't like alcohol) to friends, and talk about giving the packaged food he left that I don't eat to a food pantry. Overall this does not really relate to how I feel when I'm not distracted by the daily business of work and class and etc.

There's a knot in my chest, and my stomach feels nervous like I'm waiting to hear whether I or a close friend has a serious disease. Does anyone know when this feeling goes away?

On a slightly more positive yet harried note, I went to my last class yesterday. I am just a couple of final assignments (hence the harried part, since I will be working on them all weekend) away from degree number three. I won't fool myself, I'll go back to school as soon as I get an employer to pay my tuition. I love school. But this is the first time I've left school without having registered for classes for the next semester. I've never NOT been in school since kindergarten. Leaving that schedule behind will be strange.

I promise that someday these accounts will get brighter. Still, this blog was created as a place I could let off steam and ruminate about the sorry state of my life. I guess y'all were warned.

I want to move out of town so badly. I know that a new city won't magically solve my problems, but it would force me to create new routines in new places that won't continually remind me of my deep feeling of loss, pain, and anger. Because of his illness, I had resigned myself to living here for the rest of my life. Both of our families are in town and would have been helpful as he deteriorated. So at this time last year I would have never dreamed that I would be planning to live in Chicago or New York by this time next year, if not sooner.

So I'm hoping I can make a life somewhere else that will be my life, one that feels like more than what I would have had instead of somehow less than I should have had.

It's all still a little hard to believe.

Single Woman, Single Dog

I am divorced, and this sweet dog that I have raised will no longer be a part of my life. He escaped this unscathed and I continue to pay the price, as will she. It would be easier if I knew he would take good care of her.

Sometime Soon

Sometime in the near future I will write more carefully and more at length about my recent and wonderful vacation on the cheap to Chicago where I attended a ton of free events, went to a music festival, and stayed with relatives. I have decided to try and get certified to teach in Illinois and live in Chicago as soon as is possible. Also, sadly enough, Britt Daniel of Spoon did not sense my inner beauty at the concert yesterday and run away with me.

Sometime in the near future I will relate in more detail the legal detail of the end of my marriage, which is finally winding down. We have our court date tomorrow to decide the custody of Darcy-dog.

Sometime soon I will update you on my dismal job search.

For now, I ask for your thoughts and prayers as I steel my sour stomach and tender heart for tomorrow. If it goes well, I will let y'all know in a mighty and celebratory post. If it goes badly I will probably post a sentence and seek the solace of a friend and Johnny Depp in a dark theatre.

Oh My!

There was a monster storm here tonight. There are tree limbs down all over roads, traffic lights are out, and some traffic light poles were blown to the ground. Some winds in excess of 80 mph were reported.

I myself do not have power. Yet luckily, my trusty laptop was charged to full power.

The real annoying part, other than a huge tree limb on my garage and no electric, is probably the irony of the temperature. It's been over 100 for 4 days in a row. It's finally bearable outside, and my house is still hot. I can't get any windows open except the one in the bathroom, which really doesn't give the house much of a breeze.

So I'm posting by candlelight, and as warm as hell. Well, probably not hell. But I wish my fan was working at the very least.

And I get to spend my day off sawing tree limbs. Not for the first time, let me tell you. I'm experienced. I've got it down to a science.

The Insincerity of Politeness

I believe that sometimes politeness is a necessity. Without it, human beings would not be able to live in close quarters without offending each other as much as they already do. We have to have a basic understanding of the rules of society in order for it not to go keeling over into the waste-bin madly. In addition, the general golden rule idea also makes a great deal of sense.

However, sometimes I am completely fed up by the lies that politeness force on us or the nonsensical and pointless words we must mouth in order to pledge obeisance to all that is politeness.

Common example: I do not like saying that I am fine whenever anyone insincerely inquires into the state of my life. At this point in time, I am most assuredly not fine. Or okay. I usually short circuit this conversation by saying something else bland that is also basically a conversation non-starter without making me feel irritated about lying. Right now "hot" is a good answer, considering the blistering heat wave felt across the country. "Getting by" is also truthful enough for me. Depending on the person, I may even answer "frustrated" and talk a little about my job search, or "busy" and talk about my class and getting my house ready for sale.

What set me off today was a coworker's question. "Would you mind turning your music down?" was all she said, and it was a simple enough question that she could have phrased less politely. Also, I have no problem turning it down other than the bare fact that I can't stand listening to music if I can't make it out. I'll grab my headphones from the car on my break (headphones I forgot to bring in with me, which would have short circuited the whole issue.) No problem. She has the right not to have to listen to my music, even if it's likely she could barely hear it from across the room. She's a nice person too, who generally behaves inobtrusively within the office so I have no problem trying to adjust my volume.

The point is that I gave a polite answer. "Of course not," I said, as if I could say anything else. Why should I even have to grace that question with an answer? Politeness dictates I have to turn it down, no questions asked. It isn't as if I could say "Hell yes I do mind, the music is hardly loud enough for me to hear, let alone you sitting across the room and on the other side of a loud air filter, and there's no way the simple job you're doing actually requires that much concentration." Even if I phrased it more politely, it's not quite acceptable to say "I'd rather not," even if it's the bald-faced truth.

So if you come across a surly and overheated Clio today, don't ask her questions that she will be forced to answer politely and fakely. Only ask her how she is if you're sincerely concerned. Don't do anything for her that would require a thank you note detailing how she plans on spending many happy years making memories with the antique Elvis commemorative potato peeler you gave her, or making the rooster lamp a design centerpiece in her aspiringly art-deco on the cheap home. And tell her to turn her music up.

State of My Personal Economy

I have officially been looking and applying for jobs since late March, and much more seriously since early April. I have been in the top two slot for two jobs. I have had a total of 4 (first)interviews for places that I would not be working a cash register. So far, I haven't even been able to land a basic part time job.

I don't know if this is just the darkest part of the night before the dawn, and I surely hope so, but it's time. Really. At this point I don't care where I'll have to live, as long as I make enough money to get by. I can't make it much longer on a wink and a prayer. Car insurance is due in 3 weeks. My divorce lawyer is billing me for another 250 dollars. I can only eat spaghetti so many nights in a row. I can only expect my friends to be understanding and stick to the free activities available to us for so many months.

I have lots of education. I have a masters in education AND my subject area. I've taed for 4 years, substitute taught as well, taught preschool and summer camp. Won't somebody give me a job? Please?

Late Night Indulgences

For the past few days I've been indulging a new guilty pleasure. When it gets late and dark, and my eyes aren't anywhere near drooping, I juice up my tivo and click onto the special folder of programming that my dvr has recently been accumulating. I'm watching Alias.

Last summer I picked up a DVD of the series to spice up my daily treadmill constitutionals. I enjoyed it- it's always nice to see a female kicking ass- but at the time I was already watching Buffy, working long hours, and taking a class two nights a week. Not to mention, some of the finer plot points were lost under the roar of the machine as I ran.

Recently I noticed that TNT had started cycling through the series again late in the night. I programmed the tivo to tape it, but between class, work, court, and finishing up getting the class ready to sell I've had little time to watch tv. This past week the house became ready.

It's a piece of fluff, but an enjoyable one. It's got a strong woman character, a dreamy French actor (who Zach Braf may have to fight to continue to have sole access to my affections as tv boyfriend), and of course, wigs.

Right now as I'm dreaming of sleep I'm thinking about what it would be like to be a spy. Broken marriage, realty, dog custody would all seem like a breeze if I were a world-class double agent seeking to take down a mercenary agency posing as a branch of the CIA. And wouldn't I look cute in that red wig?

Still looking for a job. Court was difficult. Still mending.

Long Time. No See.

I'm feeling pretty empty as of late, and a bit busy as well, so I haven't posted in a while. Sometimes writing this blog feels a little bit like filling a glass, but when I feel like such an empty vessel I don't feel that I have much to fill the blog up with. Today I merely decided to write despite it all.

I don't feel like rehashing everything right now, maybe someday I will. I would actually prefer to write something concise and cute, evocative and moving, or at the very least funny. Instead I will tell you:

Tomorrow I will go to court for a pre-trial conference. I am nervous.

I have not seen Darcy-dog in 3 months. Maybe this is part of the reason I feel a bit empty.

My house goes on the market tomorrow. I have been busy working and cleaning and etcetera on the house with no small amount of help from my family. They've really helped quite a bit and been very supportive, if not a little pushy. I am very greatful, but would you not buy a house if the basement floor could not be eaten off of?

I still don't have a new job. I keep applying for positions and hearing nothing. I only had one interview last month. This month I've had one too, but don't get too excited. It's for a part time position at Blockbuster. I worked there during undergrad. Let me tell you, I am just estatic with the idea that I will get to work with the public and count down registers (let alone wear a uniform to work) once again.

I have not seen my future ex in three months either. I am afraid I will not be able to function after seeing him tomorrow. I can't stand looking at him.

I'm not sure what else to say. Sometime soon I'll write more, I guess.

Is it too much to ask for that my house sell quickly and I find a new job? Seriously, I've been really building up my kharma credit account lately and it's time for some good fortune already.

Internet Dating

I’m the first person to admit that I’m probably not ready to start another relationship right now, but that doesn’t mean that looking hurts. This means that browsing profiles online (without applying to any of them, just peeking) does no harm to anyone, including me and the men on the sites.

In the course of my online browsing I have been occaisionally amused, sometimes annoyed, and seldom intrigued or tempted. Perhaps I expect a too high level of physical attractiveness, or perhaps the packaging is just all wrong.

If you happen to be a man considering creating an online profile, perhaps you might want to keep these impressions in mind. I can’t be the only woman to have them.

First, y’all have a lot of problems picking good pictures.

By any means do not post a picture of yourself and a woman, even if most of her is cut out of the picture. We can tell. It does not matter if this woman is your sister. It does not matter if this is the gosh-darn most flattering picture ever taken of you in your life and you look like a three-footed troll with a purple complexion in any other picture. (If this is the case you have my permission to photoshop her out of the picture as long as you leave no clues. And you have my sympathies.) By posting a picture of yourself with said female most of us automatically assume that you are still hung up on that former girlfriend- or have had no life outside her.

Do not post a your senior picture from high school, or a picture that looks remarkably like one. This might actually be slightly forgivable if you are 18, but those of us that are looking for men older than 18 can get concerned about one of two things. First, we may be concerned that you never really left high school. Emotionally, mentally, high school was the high point in your life and you want to relive those glory days. Second, have you lost all your hair and gained a potbelly since high school? What other reasons really might a 30 year-old man for posting a photo taken of him when he was seventeen?

Please put on a shirt. Unless perhaps you are an underwear model, and maybe not even then. On an average dating site, this just makes you look a little skeezy. You dress up for a first date, at least put on a nice t-shirt to make a first online impression.

Do not post fifteen photos of yourself, that’s just overkill. What better way is there for the average browser to assume that you are a narcissist? I can understand the appeal of offering more than photo. There are pictures that can show different sides of you. I appreciate that. But post three photos tops.

So far, these are my biggest gripes other than the traditional ones. Don't lie about your age obviously is another good standard.

Man, the dating world sucks.

There's a certain comfort in touch. The smoothness of the back of a neck, the smell of sun tan lotion and chlorine mingling with the scent of someone's skin, the warmth of a familiar callused hand on the small of your back in an unfamiliar place, guiding you in a crowd can all make you feel known and cared for.

I am not a touchy feely person. Barring with puppies and small children, most kinds of touch including hugging and even shaking hands leave me somewhere from mildly disgusted to entirely grossed out. This drives my handsy mother crazy, though she says that I've always been like this. As an infant she said she knew I was sick when I wanted to be held.

The only other exception to this rule really is men to whom I am romantically involved with.

It's been a long time since I've felt the simple comfort and protection of an arm around my waist or a larger hand in mine. I'm too smart to seek temporary comfort- I know it creates more problems than solutions in the long run.

Instead, I snuggle my dog closer if she'll let me.

There are different brands of lonely. Tonight I wish I could be held while I drift off to sleep by a man that cares about me.

It Comes at Night

The events of the past year sometimes feel a bit like a nightmare to me. Possibly because they sometimes are.

Every couple of weeks I dream about him. In my dreams I continually try and convince him to work on our marriage, that divorce is not the first thing we should try. Once I dreamed that he held me comfortingly. Last night I was chasing him around, trying to convince him of the logic that you have to try and change something before you just throw it away. I remember not wanting to sign divorce papers in my dream. In the dream we were divorcing, but still living together and hanging out a lot. I know there was something else in the dream, but it faded as I woke up.

Not everything fades when I wake up. After one of these lovely dreams I usually find myself depressed for a few hours to a whole day.

Hope the beginning of everyone else's day is happier than mine.

The Number People

I don't really like math all that much. I much prefer the characters, people, and events found in the humanities. This interest in people may have influenced my ideas about numbers.

I think of numbers as people.

At least the first ten. The rest of them are a little fuzzy in that direction. Most of the odds are male, and most of the evens are female. There are a few exceptions. 6 and 9 are tomboys, and 8 is male as well. Eight is also a bit of a stuck up prick.

I don't know why I think this way. It's not as though I believe they are actual people, I just think of them like I think of characters in books or in movies. 8 is an uptight guy in the same way that Mickey Mouse is a talking mouse who wears gloves.

Either I am just weird, which is entirely possible, or there was some educational program that I watched far back in my youth that made a big impression in that I can't remember the program but I still think of numbers the way that the program portrayed them.

I've always thought that being weird was more interesting than being normal.

Reading: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
Listening: Million Colour Revolution by the Pinker Tones
Doing: Ripping up my kitchen floor

Aviary Update

Yesterday marked the occaision of the third bird I had to chase out of my house this year thus far.
Dumb birds.

My Crazy Twisted Fantasies

I have a problem, I must admit. When I give myself over to a daydream I have to force it into semi-practical constraints. I can’t imagine farfetched scenarios for very long before the Spock in me forces my psyche to mold that fantasy into something that is more attainable. Hence my fantasies take the short bus to school.

I’ll give you an example by explaining a little game I sometimes play in my head when I’m bored at work or the victim of that pernicious fiend, Sunday night insomnia- Hollywood Boyfriend.

Hollywood Boyfriend operates under a variety of rules and guidelines. Some of them include:

1. Hollywood Boyfriend must, of course, be good looking.
That’s fairly obvious, though there are special points given to men who have made me laugh so hard I cried somewhere in their body of work.

2. Hollywood Boyfriend, in most cases, cannot be married in real life.
This rule is a little bit crazy, seeing that I’m only seeing Hollywood Boyfriend in a daydream capacity only. I once revealed this rule to my sister, who replied to me that Hollywood marriages generally don’t last very long, I should still be able to have a presently married Hollywood Boyfriend that is unmarried in the fantasy… I still can’t seem to break this rule very often, though. I wouldn’t want the fantasy guilt of being the fantasy cause of David Boreanaz’s fantasy divorce. He has a kid!

3. Hollywood Boyfriend cannot be a cheating louse- no matter how pretty he is.
Sorry Jude Law! You can’t change a man in real life, so even my fantasies don’t include magically making a cad into a Clio-worshipping, overly-respectful new man.

4. Hollywood Boyfriend cannot be too close in age to my parents.
That is, unless I have a time machine. In that case, however, I’m far more likely to be a young starlet in the 1930s or 40s dating Cary Grant (one of those years when he wasn’t married, of course) than hanging out with John Travolta in the seventies. I do have my time-travelling standards.

5. Hollywood Boyfriend is far more likely to be a television star or a B-list movie actor than an A-List star.
Why is this, do you ask? Because how likely am I, a normal though fairly attractive and intelligent midwesterner, to get the attention of an A-Lister? Sure, this question is just as likely for the slightly less famous set as well, but somehow that doesn’t matter as much. Then again, rule 4 above eliminates a great deal of men in the A-List set so maybe this rule is superfluous.

I know that laying bare my weird daydream rules will reveal me as the nutty and sometimes perfectionist freak that I am. Eh.

So, who is my present Hollywood Boyfriend? After discovering that Tom Everett Scott and Jason Dohring are both married, I’d have to say that I’m presently looking for a new one. Does anyone know if Brandon Routh, the new Superman, is married?

Update

I'm a little uninspired as to what to post, but I haven't been posting much lately, and for no apparent reason. I've done a lot of packing and cleaning this week. I ran some, watched some television. Nothing big.

The job search continues. I keep applying and applying, and I keep getting those polite letters telling me that they found a better fit. Of course, there are also jobs that I've applied for that I'm overly qualified for and I never hear back from at all. I have another interview on Monday for a position that seems fun and interesting, but it pays less than I made last year as a graduate student. Not a good sign.

I think my dog (the chubby one) has lost some weight. We've been running the park almost daily, and her waistline is starting to be a little more visible. She'll always be a bit of a chunk since she's built wide, but I'm glad that she's getting in shape.

I can't promise that my next post will be any more interesting, but I certainly hope it will. Maybe I'll blame this one on my recent lack of a decent night's sleep. Or my general listlessness. Eh.

Days of Yore

Today was a long day. I took my dog for a run, then ran another several miles at home, then did some yoga and showered. Naturally after that I was fairly hungry. So I decided to have a snack.

There was a long, cool glass of lemonade waiting for me, and some pretzels that I'd picked up last week. As I was savoring the salty, sweet, and tart all at once, I was reminded of my not-entirely-distant youth.

When I was in grade school I attended Vacation Bible School at my church one week every summer. We'd meet in the sanctuary, sitting in groups by grades, singing hymns and pledging allegiance to the U.S. and Christian flags and the bible.

It was an honor to be chosen to hold a flag or bible, one that the older children particularly clamored for. Mr. Brandt would work with kids before the assembly, showing those lucky few the way to hold them in procession, at rest, and when your particular item was the object of a pledge.

After the morning assembly we parted into a variety of rooms where we learned songs, bible stories and bible verses, and made craft items like matchstick crosses or cross-emblazoned puffy paint t-shirts.

The day lasted until noon, but around eleven the building would stop for a half an hour while the kids lined up in the hallway near the church kitchen for the daily snack. There was a running list of snacks- one day was sandwhich cookie and Kool-Aid day, another was chips and (generic) cola day. The most popular day was always snow-cone day, usually Thursday. Snow cones on Friday were generally too much of a mess, since it was the last day and things were already a little hectic. Adding the messiest snack of the week to the mix didn't usually work.

Friday was often reserved for pretzels and lemonade. The lemonade was usually too sweet in that off-brand Kool-Aid way, and it usually tasted more like lemon cleaner than actual lemons. I never ate the pretzels myself. They were usually stale and unappetizing. Instead, I would often sit by myself, my mouth pursed in a perfect "O" and scrape the pretzel sticks clean of salt with my teeth in between sips of lemonade.

It was a simpler time. The memory evokes a kind of nostalgia- but not the kind where I wish I was still nine and reliving those events. Though I may just seek out a snow cone stand this summer.

Update

birds in house this year: 2
reading: Newcomer's Handbook for Moving to and Living in New York City
listening: Moby (Play and 18) and The Raconteurs
this week's mileage total: 22.53 miles run
dishes washed this weekend: 3 loads (I'm beginning to think that there's a dirty dishes gnome who drinks out of my cups and uses my bowls when I'm gone....)
papers I should have written before right now: 2
things I'd rather be doing: about 150
days since I last saw Darcy: 51
job applications I've sent in and not heard back on: 8
hours I'll probably sleep tonight: 5
cool new t-shirts I got this weekend- 2 (one has a Fraggle Rock design on it, the other has a picture from Sixteen Candles that says "I love Jake Ryan" underneath it. So cool.)

P.S.

The stupid bird came back today. It took me twenty minutes to get it off my ceiling and outside,

He he.

I've been researching real estate, neighborhoods, and etcetera about New York and I and excited. I've been fantasizing about my new life and let me tell you, it makes me happy.

Right now I like Jackson Heights, Queens. Bear in mind, I may change my mind. So right now I'm looking at apartments and restaurants and other things in the area and imagining how my new life might be. I imagine walking my dog down the street or in one of the private parks. I imagine, instead of going to Taco Bell after work, stopping at one of the taco carts or Indian restaurants on the way home. I can decorate my place with neat little pieces from the Indian shops in the neighborhood and go to Bollywood movies on weekends when I'm not taking the subway to Manhattan to see a play or concert. I can buy a share in the community garden, and brush up on my Spanish and actually use it. I can teach a summer class at one of the many community colleges. I can spend my summer writing at cafes and haunting the public library system. And I'm going to get a digital camera so I can post all sorts of neat photos of my goings- on if not for you then for my family who will miss me very much.

June is busting out all over- she must need a bigger girdle.

Sleep

I am sooo tired. My sleep schedule is off, and over the weekend I've been sleeping in and then ruining my schedule for the next day. Hopefully I'll get back on track soon.

I am glad I only have two more weeks of this silly class. Ninety pages a night is way too much work when the class meets daily.

Not much to say today. Chloe and I took a long walk in the park, and I wore the wrong shoes. Now I am paying the price hobbling all around my house.

Good night. I'm going to enjoy my freshly squeezed lemonade.

Another Argument for New York

I am a pizzaholic. Enough said.

Today was a nice day. I lounged around watching tv in bed for awhile, did some laundry, and took my dog for a nice run at the park. Both of us are getting in better shape because of these runs. Though I'm used to the humm of my treadmill and probably run slower in the park, the hills really give me a workout I don't get at home.

Now to chain myself to my homework for the next day, and to my computer to finish a few new cover letters and resumes. Gotta pay the bills. I'll probably fit in another dog walk too.

Hope you're all enjoying your holiday weekends.

My To Do List

I have made a resolution. Possibly not a shocking one, or not even one I will keep with 100% certainty. However, I have been rather down this week since my fifth wedding anniversary was marked only by filing preliminary divorce papers (I don't know what the legal terms are- we're not divorced yet, we're haggling over our house and Darcy). I also haven't seen Darcy in about five weeks. So this resolution is giving me something to focus my energy on and something positive to look forward to.

I have decided to move to New York in a year.

Deep breath.

I am a hard-core suburbanite who has lived in a smallish midwestern city the past five years. I was raised fundamentalist and with very conservative values. I have grown increasingly more liberal (radical?) as I have piled on the years of higher education. The city I live in is the only Democratic haven in the state, barring the University I attend. I wouldn't be lying to say I have not been looking forward to leaving my liberal haven and being pushed once more into flag-waving, Bush-loving suburbia. Not to mention all I ever wanted to do for a living when I was in high school was act and write.

I hate driving. I love the arts. I've always wanted to leave much closer to water. I would adore the adventure of making my way in a new place where no one knows me and isn't dotted with places that remind me of having a broken heart.

I have given up a number of opportunities for the sake of love and my marriage. I have made a ton of sacrifices willingly and happily for the sake of Ratfink. If he could have treated me like a person and loved me, I still could have been happy with that. But my life is now going on another path. I want to start doing things that will make me happy. I want to live my life for me for once.

First I have to sell my house here and get a job. I plan on saving the money I make off the house and saving as much of my income next year as possible. When I move in with my parents, I will get rid of as many of my belongings (give away, sell, throw out) when I move to my parents' basement, and thus streamline my posessions. I also plan to take Krav Maga over the next year. It'll get me in shape and help me feel more confident.

Then next year after the school year ends, I will move to New York a few weeks before school starts, get to know the city, vacation from my new home and enjoy being in the coolest city in the country.

Is this a real word?

It's the Clark County word of the week. It is something I have been practicing for a number of years, but is it a real word?


"Longanimity" is a noun which means: patient endurance of injuries

Vote- does this word sound made up?

Morning Quickie

Any of you that have inside dogs probably can guess what the first thing I do in the morning is- other than tiredly curse the morning, that is. I take my dog out for a pit stop.

Everything was fairly normal this morning. Dog sniffing, dog squatting, dog barking at squirrels walking the telephone lines. My dog generally barks, standing on her hind legs as if she can reach the phone lines until the squirrels are long out of sight. As a result, I idly checked the status of the squirrels so I could figure out when my dog might calm down and come inside. (As per the aforementioned tendency of my dog to be a Houdini, I always go outside with her.) What I got-for looking at the squirrels- was an eyeful.

It was fur on fur, wild and crazy squirrel sex on top of the telephone pole (how phallic....)

Hmmmm. More's the pity, I'm not sure anything else in my day today is going to top that.

The Bird Bell Curve

The birds in my neighborhood are decidedly dumber than your average birds.

Exhibit A: Last summer I would be sitting in my living room minding my own business, reading on the couch or watching television. From time to time I would hear the chirping sound of birds and think to myself, "that really sounds close." I would think nothing of it for a while, until I would suddenly look up and notice my kitty. She would be sitting at my feet quietly, with a live bird perched in her mouth. This scenario happened to me several times last summer, and I believe happened to the Ratfink (my soon-to-be-ex-husband) once or twice as well.

After said kitty would appear with said bird, myself or Ratfink would grab the bird and release it out of doors before the cat or one of our dogs decided to kill the bird all over our new carpet. Eh, and I guess we were concerned for the bird's sake as well. We weren't sure if it was the same bird, but it was definitely the same species. Eventually, the bird did not make it out of the house and no bird reappeared in our house. Until today.

Exhibit B: I had just brought Chloe inside from her last bathroom break for the night and was talking to my mom on the phone. As we were talking I heard the familiar noise of my dog tearing through the house on a chase. My dog and my cat aren't really on the best of terms. I'm pretty sure that my dog can't understand why we haven't let her eat the cat already. I don't know how many times I've spied my black dog with a shockingly white clump of fur in her mouth. Point is, I assumed my dog was yet again chasing my poor cat.

I was wrong. I looked over and saw, instead of my black and white fuzzykins at the mercy of my pig-dog, but a small grey bird much like the one who I got to know personally last summer. Who, when I tore my dog away from it, promptly flew up my stairs.

"Great," I think, now I'm going to have a bird in my belfry! I'll never get it out!"

Luckily, fast reflexes and some minor plastic bag wrangling allowed me to get the birdie out the back door. It even flew away fairly normally into the night. Hopefully not to return on semi-regular intervals until its untimely death.

Exhibit C: The pidgeons that live in my spare-room window next to the window unit air conditioner keep coming back. I've sprayed any number of chemicals and scents on the window area, cleaned the window out of the nest weekly, and even (ashamedly) committed pidgeon-chick-icide. But that window must still be getting 4 stars in the Michelin guide, because there are no shortage of birds that want to live there.

Can you understand why I think that there must be a family of inbred sub-normal birds living in my neighborhood? Why and how do they keep sneaking into my house? Why do I encourage my animals not to kill them? (other than the obvious carpet-stains and possible digestive issues involved)

The Wait is Excruciating

I am at the point where I have been applying for and interviewing for jobs for about two months. I am beginning to grow tired of the procedure.

The job I applied for two months ago has yet to make any move forward. The job I went through a month of 4 different interviews and made it to the last cut, me versus one other applicant, has yet to call back. My putative boss said that he would make the decision right away.

It's been 48 hours.

Ring, phone. Ring.

I'm afraid that I'm going to be getting a polite letter in the mail tomorrow.

On the other hand, the girls' school that liked me a lot (but didn't hire me) has posted another job. I'm encouraged. The letter they sent me didn't sound like a form, and it did say that I was one of the most qualified applicants.

In other news, I now have a pink kitchen. It looks a lot better than it did, but I really am learning to exercise care when choosing paint. The colors can really look different on the tiny 2 inch sample versus on a huge wall. I thought the color was more of a peach pink and it looks more a ballet slipper pink. But at least the wallpaper is all down, the cracks in the wall are fixed, and the walls are all one color. It's a start. All I have left to do is clean and floor a couple of rooms and the house will be ready. Right when it starts to look a little nice.

Summer class started two days ago and I should probably be reading Max Weber instead of blogging, but I saw comments and the joy of being read prompted me to leave an update. Hopefully I'll have better news tomorrow....

Ha!

For those niggling questions your tykes sometimes have, take a look at this. It may be a difficult issue to talk about, but consulting the experts always helps.

This is the Interview that Doesn't End...

I had a VERY long job interview today. It took almost three hours. It's a decent job, with the possibility of teaching a little part time. It would start soon, so money won't be nearly as much of a problem as it is right now. I hope I get it.

Things have been in flux for a long time. I can't say how wonderful it would be to be able to have a regular paycheck, work friends, have something to dress up for each morning. I could start saving money for my down payment, work on qualifying for a loan for a new place.

Anyway, I'm also on an upswing in my running. After cutting back due to almost breaking my knee, then because of finals and a sore ankle, I ran a whole 8 miles yesterday. That's my longest run since Christmas break. Maybe I'll be ready to run in the half marathon this fall.

I read a book last night. This was the first book I've managed to read since class ended. I have felt so overwhelmed. When I finished my masters last spring I read a lot- but my reading material devolved into an orgy of chicklit and bubblegum fiction. This spring I've read a few magazines, but for the most part sat back and vegged out in front of the television.

There are times in our lives when we need a certain kind of comfort food. At the moment, reading hasn't been mine. The reading, however, is making me feel more like myself than before.

Hail, Genius Pig!

Now, if she were my child I could claim it as genetic, but since she's my dog I suppose that I can only say I'm proud of her and not take the credit for myself. Anyway, the point is, my dog, Chloe, my best friend and sweet piggy pie, started obedience class today and she went up to the second level of classes on her first day.

Of course I've always know she was a genius. I've known this because she is the most stubborn dog in the world, and a Houdini to boot. When she was a yearling she eventually had to be rigged to a zip line in order to leave her unsupervised in the yard. At one time, I actually had to tie a rope to her leash and lead her around the yard so she wouldn't escape. Even then she hopped the neighbor's fence on her rope with me at the other end once or twice. She's matured a lot since then, but I still watch her the entire time she's in the fenced yard at my house.

We started obedience classes because I want to get her certified as a volunteer dog. To do that, I first have to get her to pass several levels of obedience classes. Also, I am a little tired of her pulling on the leash. So I went to an orientation for obedence classes 6 weeks ago. Finally this week an opening appeared in our preferred course slot.

I will say that fake bacon strips do go a long way to convince my dog to do whatever I ask her too. I swear that with enough carrots (yes carrots) and bacon strips I could teach my dog to take dictation. She's VERRRRY food motivated. Hence the nickname "Pig." The only food she is on record as NOT liking is celery. Which is loads different than my other dog, who turns her nose up at basically everything, and with good reason. She's got an extremely sensative tummy. I could tell you tales that would curl your hair just imagining the scent.

So, happy Thursday. I'm going to snuggle my sweet little genius.

Almost Done

Just another twenty-four hours of hard work and I'm done for about 12 days. Summer classes. Ergh!

I've been working on my teaching portfolio almost non-stop much of the day, and then onto a reading comprehension project. Working on the portfolio was a nice capstone to a hectic semester. I got to look at the things I accomplished, all bound together in a nice binder, typed up and explained. All of my favorite lesson plans, papers, and other accomplishments a physical reminder of all of the hard work I have done. It made me proud.

Still working at getting that job! I'm sending out a new batch of c.v.'s after I finish my final school assignment.

To end my Monday post, I've decided to let you in on a game that I play with myself when I'm bored, or trying to fall asleep. It's probably a game that a lot of people play, with some variation. I call it "What I would do if I won the lottery."
I'm going to restrict myself to three things, to keep it short.

1. Buy the condo I visited on Sunday. It's gorgeous and perfect. The bedroom is big enough for my big bed, there's a lot of light and a lot of privacy, and a nature trail near by. It's also in a part of the metropolitan area that I'm not very familiar with and never lived in before. Which means that the area is not overlaid with millions of memories of hubby and me together.

2. Take a long, sweeping tour of Europe with my puppy dog. We'd take a boat or private plane so she wouldn't have to ride in the cargo hold. Airlines don't promise that animals will leave that area alive. I would spend time in England, France, Austria, and Italy to begin with.

3. Invest enough money so I don't have to work for a living if I don't want to. I want to split my time between taking classes- dance, yoga, guitar, foreign language and etc.- and working for causes I believe in such as women's health. I also would like to spend time getting my dogs certified as volunteer dogs so I can take them to visit hospitals and nursing homes. They are such sweet animals, they would love meeting new people. They have enough love to spread around.

What would you do if you were independently wealthy? Really? After taking a huge trip I know I'd probably lounge around and sleep in for about a week before I got incredibly bored. I'd definitely have to devote myself to doing something greater for the world.

New Mantra

There comes a time in every woman's life when, at least for a minute, she can admit to herself that the person she has completely devoted her every breath and effort does not deserve it. Her character is not determined by whether or not she leaves him, how long it takes to leave, or whether or not she lives the rest of her life in bittersweet denial, but how she changes the way she lives her life and the way she values herself and all the people in her world.

I am not done yet. As Buffy says in the series finale, "I'm cookie dough" and not yet cookies. However, I am trying to focus on something else.

People (namely, family members) keep telling me that I'll have a fresh start, a new life soon. They often fail to realize that that new life will not be reached from my parents' basement. I admit that my parents will probably treat me a little differently than when I was 19 and living at home the last time, but a 10:30 curfiew, asking permission to drive my own car, being required to attend church each Sunday, and being asked whether or not I was being a "good girl" each time I came home from a date are all house rules I am hoping that are long gone. Still, you might guess that the people who came up with these rules less than a decade ago could not have changed much. For instance, my mother freaked out completely last week when I didn't call her for a couple of hours one afternoon last week. I am also expected to call them when I get to my own home from anywhere so they know I'm safe. I should be thankful that my parents are concerned about me, but they are a tad overprotective.

Anyway, I don't have the new job, new condo, or new life yet, but I intend to accomplish those things one by one. I'm hoping I will have the first 2 and be in the process of the third by this time next year. I'm sure I'll let you all know.

I am beginning to get anxious about the two job interviews I had last week- neither one has called back this week although they both said that they would get back to me this week. No news isn't bad news, at least. I just loved the school I visited soooo much. I want the job very badly. And it's my turn. It's time for me to get some of that good karma that's around. I'm not a puppy kicker or anything else equally bad. It's time for something decent to land in my lap. Please?

Twin Peaks, Ummm... a Bit Peakier

I think I remember somewhere that showering, sex, and PMS each raise the size of your breasts by one cup size. I've never tested the theory before, and let me say, I've often wondered what would happen to a woman who was PMSsing while having shower sex. Would her breasts just puff up so much they might pop?

Well, let me just say that I'm feeling very much like Busty McChesterton today. Since I'm not at present showering and blogging at the same time, and am as chaste as a nun for these past-way-too-long-to-mention-days, I'm guessing I'm on the pre-menstrual train.

I wonder if I'm the only one who notices those days. Do guys notice when the women they see regularly have busty days? Or does the testosterone short circuit the measuring portions of their brains and they just see bust?

Non-Americans often think the American breast fetish is quite silly. If you really think about it, they are glorified baby bottles. This is why other cultures don't have the same problem we do with public breastfeeding. Not that I am in any way comfortable with breastfeeding in public. I don't wish to take that right from anyone, but I couldn't whip mine out except in private.

Anyway, I suppose today I will just be saluting the breast in general. So, ladies, do those self-exams, get your mammograms when warranted, and hold yourself proud no matter what your size.

And time moves on....

I won't say that I'm completely healed. That would be lying. I'm not ready to date anyone, and the things hubby does or doesn't do (leaving his junk in the house or keeping one of the dogs from me) can still make me fairly angry and hurt. I also don't know how I'll feel on our wedding anniversary next month or the anniversary of our first date the month after that.

After almost six months, though, I will say that the routine has become a balm. I don't miss him because out of habit I don't expect him to be there. I no longer expect, even out of the corners of my mind, for him to be home when I return. I don't scan the street for his car as I turn into it. It's becoming less and less often when I notice something in the news or read something that I instinctual want to tell him about. I expect it to become easier (after the bump of leaving) when I no longer inhabit our house. Moving furniture has helped some, but unfinished home repair projects of his, scratches he put in the wall, and the general uneasiness that he has the keys still occasionally grate on me.

I'm going to try to stop complaining about moving in with my parents. I should be grateful I have loving parents who at least have some small area in their house and are willing to shelter me in this time of need. At least until I am actually staying with them, at least, which is when I plan to grumble quietly to friends about every fundamentalist holier-than-thou comment they make and every Sunday they force me to church. However, I will take advantage of their generosity to save as much money as I can to get myself an ideal new place.

For now, I have to finish the semester. Although at present I am a tad distracted by the job interviews I had yesterday. One of them was at a lovely private girls' high school. It seems to be the kind of institution where I could focus more on teaching and less on the administrative details I hated so much during student teaching. Possibly I could even expect the students to read more than 4 pages a night for homework. The campus was beautiful, and it is four miles away from the condo village I like. Keep your fingers crossed that they liked me as much as I liked them!

Don't take this wrong- I'm not loving life, I'm not estatic about "starting over" and "moving on" as people sometimes prompt me to be, people who I may add have never been divorced. For a long time I had felt so tired, so hurt, that each breath and each step was taken with the utmost force and care. Now I can only say that I'm more than coping, but that's as far as I'm willing to take it yet.

I like solitude, but he gave me so much of it in the relationship. I'm lonely. I miss having someone around to share the little things with.

Busy Season

I promise to write more soon- and I meant to write more by now, but I have 3 projects and one paper due over the next week, and 25 papers to grade. In addition, I'm working both days this weekend.

It seems a sheriff was hanging around my house before I got home from class today. Could it be that hubby has filed already? I told him to please not do anything drastic over the next ten days (a few days ago) because I had enough stress to deal with finishing my schoolwork for the semester. I don't think being served will hurt me that badly, but I don't want to run the risk of feeling emotionally wrought in addition to working on way too much school work.

Until then, wish me luck. I have 2 job interviews on Friday. One of them is for a really cool private school with small classes and a women's studies course.