Happy, Dammit

I'm going to try anyway...

I have addressed about half of my graduation announcements. It's amazing how many addresses I don't have! All of my communication is either digital or face to face... and while I know where people live, I've been to their homes and everything, I don't know where to send their mail! I will be finishing that task soon, I'm hoping to get them in the mail this Saturday.

And Saturday is my party!! I'm really excited about it (even though if I think about it too much I either cry or start feeling anxious - you know, all of those people there for me). All of my favorite (local) people in one space!! And Mr. Andie is making gumbo... and even my parents and That Bad, Bad Man will be there.

And it looks like I might actually graduate, too!!

With one small exception my part of the research paper is done. I just have to tweak something and then, you know, present the information. I have less anxiety about the presentation than I do about the party. Go figure. I have a minor paper in another class and then I'm done. I have a very solid B in one class, but otherwise I'm not worried about anything.

My practicum is almost over, too. Initially my supervisor said Friday would be our last day, but then he said he wanted us here next week until Wednesday. So just another week.

I think my resume is in good shape, and my practice tests have been better than that first round. I'm actually getting enough points to pass... which means it's entirely possible that I could pass the exam.

It is so weird to finally be in a place where I can see the end clearly. I can't, of course, make out anything that comes after that, but I can at least see the end. Sally has been very helpful in keeping me sane about the future. She's been supportive and complimentary and also? She is really good at thinking outside the box when it comes to applying this degree I've been killing myself to get. Love ya, Sally!

People have been taking bets on how long it will take me to go back to school. I'm in the NEVER EVER EVER group, but I'm all alone in there. I will say that to be a licensed sex therapist I would have to go back to school... and that there are no schools for that locally, but there are some in California.

I'm just saying.

As something to think about, you know, long term.

Safe

The anger of life never fails to humble me.

I spent a lovely day at Watermark on Thursday. Sally came to have lunch with me and I spent the afternoon reading and listening to my iPod. The day was warm and clear and the car repairs I was waiting on were hundreds of dollars less expensive than I thought they would be.

At 4 in the afternoon I was walking the mile back to the auto shop, through a fairly affluent neighborhood, feeling good about the day I'd had, about the exercise, about life in general. Then a man - a teenager, really - grabbed my purse. He was wearing a striped hooded sweater, I was thinking he must be really hot with that on. He said he would shoot me, demanded my bag. I hit him, and kept a firm grip on my purse. He said, "I'll shoot you! I'll shoot you!" So I hit him again. The flap opened on my bag and he grabbed my wallet and ran off.

It was all so absurd. I had no words for him at all, said nothing, screamed nothing. I just couldn't understand what this child wanted with me, why he would ruin such a perfect day with such a ridiculous crime. He looked like a normal, clean cut kid. I was disappointed in him for resorting to stereotype.

It could have been worse. I was bruised where the strap of the bag was looped around my arm, I lost about $80 in cash and my license and school ID, half a book of checks. I lost Jeff's wedding ring. This time it will not be found. But I was okay, and I didn't lose my iPod, my school books, my knitting...

I called the police and the 911-operator stayed on the phone with me until the officers got there. (Can I just say I am TIRED of talking to 911-operators while I wait for the police to arrive?) I called The Fabulous Michelle to go get Bean and a new book of checks so I could pick up my car. I drove to the bank and closed my account. I drove home and locked my doors. I slept with the lights on.

Today on campus I cringed every time I saw a black kid in a hoodie. That makes me angry. So very angry. More angry than the loss of the money, the ring. The fear that I have gained, the sudden gut-assumptions I will have very little control over... this is what he has done to me. This will be very hard for me to forgive.

But it's not just me and it was so much worse for my friend K. There was a shooting at a theater in Georgia, her son was supposed to have been there but decided to stay home. They know the kids who were killed and wounded. My heart just breaks for her and her family. You do what you can as a mother to keep your kids safe - and she is doing what she can to help her kids deal with the aftermath of this horrible violence.

How do we, any of us, ever feel safe? What magic words can we whisper at night to enchant our days? I feel hollowed by these events, just as I was beginning to feel more solid I am blown back, exposed.

It is not enough that we are good people, good parents, good citizens in the world. It is not enough that we keep our wits about us, that we maintain our homes, our families, our sense of humor when life becomes so difficult.
Constant vigilance is exhausting.
I am exhausted.
K is exhausted. And overwhelmed by the happenings in this world.

I don't think K and her family are at the "anger" phase of grief yet. I am angry for them. I am angry for all of us.

We should be allowed to not just feel, but BE safe.

Hang in there, K. You're doing a great job and I'm sending lots of love your way.

I AM NOT CRAZY

But I did check, and I can have up to two sheep as pets within city limits.

LOOKIT!!





I KNOW, RIGHT!!!















Must to have pet sheep.

All the love and none of the mowing!!
There is still research to be done, but 2010 may just be the year of the sheep at Casa NapLover.

Hi... Um...

I may have sent out some resumes.

Which means I must graduate, I must pass the (fucking) test and I MUST get my shit together so that I can do something at night other than watch TV in bed and cry.

Oh yes, the despair is back. During the day I'm angry and impatient and at night I just cry. And more than one person has told me recently that they think I am "so strong." Nope. Fragile with a paper thin heart. I just put on a pretty good face.

I am insecure and hurt and sad and more or less falling apart all the time. I'm a great big hot tranny mess.

My rune stones are no help at all. They're all, "don't make any big decisions," and "wow, you've been working really hard toward something, you need a break."
I don't need runes to tell me that.

I need the rune stones to tell me that everything will be ok, that I will find a good job and get my shit together, that eventually someone will love me again (that much and in that way), that my child won't be a teenager forever and that... you know... blah blah blah, whine, bitch, moan.

See? Even I am tired of my own crap.

(And the first person who suggests maybe I need a weekend by the ocean is getting smacked. I'm just saying).

So I wonder if I'll hear from either of the jobs I applied for. Both are organizations I have worked for before and I definitely favor one over the other... so I guess we'll see. It's hard to find a job these days, but I'm still hopeful. I still haven't applied at the VA... that's my great white whale.

At this point I'll pretty much take anything. I just want to work. To not worry so much about money.

Success!

It's good to reconnect with old friends.

Apparently I did well with Surfer Guy's family. The appetizer I brought (cream cheese and cucumber on sesame Melba toast) disappeared quickly and his mom asked for my phone number because she wants to learn to knit. (Woot!) She does crochet and she showed me a crocheted mobius cowl that she made that (I swear to Bob) looks like it's knitted. Something about picking up the back stitch? I don't know. It was cool.
I brought my baby cocoon because it's just straight knitting, and to muggles it's apparently impressive when you knit without looking at your hands.
His brother-in-law makes the BEST ribs I've ever had, his mom mixes a mean White Russian, and his dad is a geologist who tells very funny stories that tend to end with, "but at least there was beer."
Surfer Guy did not hover... but he did check up on me from time to time and that was very sweet. Deluded, as he still claims he can get me up on a surf board, but sweet.

I did not spill anything on myself... well... I spilled some water on myself, but it was outside and nobody noticed.
And I did not talk about monkey penises.
We did talk about Jeff a little bit, because they knew him. It is nice to be in a place where I can give honest answers about how I'm doing.

All in all it was fun. But next time? I need a designated driver.

Ack!

My final pledge drive is underway... and except for my long lunch with Andie I've been here all day.
I'm going to miss this craziness.
It still seems impossible that next Saturday is my last day, but there we are. Weird.

Tomorrow though... Surfer Guy is in town and we are meeting for dinner. I was thinking Chinese, he was thinking family BBQ. So I'm going to meet him (and apparently his entire family) at his sister's house.
Interesting.

And also AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

I mean, having dinner with one guy that I've known forEVER is one thing, but a whole backyard full of strangers is PRESSURE, people!!

Andie says it's nice and totally normal. But in my world boys are not "totally normal." And I can't get used to "nice." And what if I say "monkey penis" when it is not relevant to the conversation?? And what if I spill something on myself...

So jeans and dark colors... and no monkey penis talk... and can I lose 75 pounds overnight?!?!?!?!?
I'm sure it will be fine.
Or something.

Everything and Nothing

I bought my cap and gown (and hood) today.
It wasn't as momentous as I thought it might be. Just one more check that I had to write to get done. I still have to send in $100 to have the BSRB review my file and decide if I should sit for the exam... then $175 to take the exam.
And hope for the best.
And hope for a job.

I am, at this point, firmly in place to receive all B's this semester. Great grades, but to me it is just as sharp as a failure. After three and a half years of A's I have finally used my scholastic safe word, "Good enough."

B's are "good enough." I know that nobody but me cares at all what grades I get in graduate school, the degree is what matters.
That's not even quite true. It's the license that matters. It's the job.

On the first day of class, we wrote letters to ourselves... and they will be mailed right after graduation. During our break today I said that I wished I had enclosed a couple of hundred dollars instead of a stupid letter. Mine was all about how happy Jeff and I were and how we would probably have that baby by the time I graduated.
Nope, and nope.
I haven't decided if I will even open it.

I was looking around at my friends today. We all have this strained, exhausted air. We are all so spent and empty. We are sarcastic and bitter-sounding, we have been disillusioned, we have compromised, we are all ragged and run down. On the inside. Outside we just look like we always do, though to us it feels like we are all in the same holding cell, and while we are proud of ourselves and know there is a lot of benefit to this degree we have worked so hard to get we are all asking ourselves if it was really worth it.

Will the future be worth the last four years of consistently delivering only 45% of our attention to our families and jobs and friends? Will we decide that the sacrifices were worth it?
Maybe.

When my husband's father died, would I have been more attentive if I hadn't had a final paper looming? When he cried through the night and into the next day, and the day after that would I have been more able to help him if I hadn't been so tired? So consumed with making my grades? Impressing my supervisors?
Would that have ultimately made any difference?
Maybe not.

Would Bean have dealt with her grief in a more timely and open way if I had not been playing catch-up that semester? Or would this delayed grief reaction have landed at the same time regardless of my action? If I hadn't been working toward this specific degree would I even have known what to do when her coping started to fail? When mine did?

There is desperation in this. We are looking back at these years wondering, "Was it worth it? Will it be worth it? Did I do the right thing?"
And, ultimately,
"If I still fail was all of this for nothing?"

I am so tired. So completely worn down by these last four years.
So completely not who I thought I would be.
And also, somehow, still me.

I know that I am expected to be excited and jump around at the thought of graduation, but there is still such a long "to do" list between now and then that I really just have to keep my head down and keep moving forward. Maybe on May 15th I will be able to celebrate, but right now I just need to sleep.

Dammit!

Sick is sooooooo not my favorite thing.
I'm feeling better, but I'm still not 100%.

Yesterday I tried to go out to lunch with Sally and ended up with a flat tire. Not just a flat, though, an exploding tire that scared the crap out of me and stranded me at QT for an hour waiting on the tow truck. Dammit!!

Look, I know that there are other ways to handle this, but while I KNOW how to change a tire (and my oil and breaks for that matter) I'm SO not going to. First of all, there are people who are WAY more qualified than I am to monkey around with my car, and also? They have the right tools... and also? It's just one of those things that I'm not going to do.
Because I am that kind of girl.

It was totally worth the $60 tow fee to be able to sit calmly and knit while someone else took responsibility.

So two tires, a new battery and an oil change later (4 hours, $300) I was exhausted (from all the sitting around). I went to the station to do my automation and then Andie and I went to Sally's to have a lovely dinner and knitting time.

As I was getting ready to leave I realized that I locked my keys in my car... DAMMIT!!

I had two options. I could call a locksmith and pay $50, or I could call That Bad Bad Man (who has my spare key). I called him. He wasn't quite awake, but he came out anyway. But because he wasn't quite awake, my keys were in his other coat... so he broke into my car - without causing any damage, because he is very sneaky and talented that way - and then retrieved my keys.

He's really good at rescue. And I think he enjoys my reluctant Damsel in Distress... my FAVORITE part of the whole tire incident was that I didn't have to call any of the men in my life for help...

Sally said she used to be a "Key Slut" - which I totally LOVE and must also become. A "Key Slut" is someone who distributes keys to more than one friend for occasions like this. I am TOTALLY going to make copies of my keys... and also I need to make friends with someone on the west side of town so that all of my bases are covered.

Ugh.

I'm sick again.

It's not as bad as The Flu of 2008, but I do feel like crap. It's an achey, stuffy (but somehow also runny) nose, headache, sore throat, cough, sweaty, yucky cold. And I'm so tired.

(And why is my mom always out of town when I'm sick and/or when there is an ice storm?!?)

Yesterday I got up and took care of grandma and then was so tired that my arms were shaking as I drove right back home and crawled into bed. I was supposed to be at the radio station helping Kate with pledge drive stuff, so I sent a long, instructive email (that hopefully made some kind of sense) and went back to sleep.

Bean came home after school and I got up and showered and took her to an appointment and then came right back home and crawled into bed. I had to have her dad come and pick her up for her choir concert last night because just thinking about getting up again made me want to cry.

Somewhere in my head I thought that if I slept enough I would me magically cured today.

I'm not.

I got up this morning and took care of grandma and then went to the station to pick up my desk... then I stopped at Walgreens and bought cold medecine, cough drops, Puffs with Lotion and Vicks (!!) and orange juice.

So now I'm at my desk. I'm going to try to be here until at least noon. Three more hours... I will say, that the Puffs with lotion and Vicks is TOTALLY worth the extra 75 cents.

I Enjoy Being a Girl...

This has been a fantastic day.

I had lunch with Sally and Andie and then we all went and got manicures and (gasp) pedicures. I don't know if you know this about me, but I have this weird thing about my toes.

I can NOT stand to have anything touching the tips of my toes. It's a weird thing and it's been a problem since I was a baby. When I was little my parents would literally have to hold me down to clip my nails. Now I cut them when I absolutely have to, and as quickly as possible.

So Sally and Andie wanted pedicures and I said, "I'll meet you there later for a manicure!"

When I got there the woman taking care of Andie looked at my toes and more or less shamed me into a "polish change," but once they had me in the chair she brought out the clippers and (shudder) nail file.

I worked in salons for a long time and I can't even stand to WITNESS someone filing toenails. It's not an aversion, it's not discomfort, it's physical pain.

Now, my toes DO look fabulous. But I'm in the chair and I'm trying really hard not to kick the poor girl in the face for touching my toes in the first place and she's saying, "See? This no hurt!"
I said, "But it does hurt. That's why my face looks like this."
"No!" She insisted, "I no hurt you."
Um, yes you fucking are.

Look, I have a very high pain tolerance. I really do. (I can provide references if you want!) After my tattoo I was high for HOURS. But I will admit that if I held important secrets we'd all just better hope the enemy doesn't have toenail clippers.

I got the WORST part of the whole pedicure experience without the benefit of the massaging, relaxing part.

But my toes are sure purty... I am going to try to schedule a real pedicure next time and just suffer through the toenail part. Maybe I can learn to tolerate it... you know, like I learned to tolerate peas, country music and idiots.

The manicure place also does waxing, which made me really happy because I have been thinking a lot about my eyebrows. I try to keep up with the tweezers, but lately I've been looking an awful lot like Fozzy Bear.
And I LOVE a good waxing... the warm wax on your skin and then RRRRRRRRIIIIPPPPPPPPP! Sigh. So yay me, I look like a girl again instead of some scraggly Fozzy Bear. (And this place is DIRT cheap and gooooooood). I forgot how refreshing it can be to have careful nails and bare skin.

Now I feel so pretty and happy. A little varnish, a little wax and I'm a whole new girl.

Made the Move

Which you know if you're reading this.

I know that blogs are really public domain, but there are just some things that the idiot step mother doesn't need to know about me. I know it's weird that I am comfortable sharing my deep dark self with everyone else on the planet...
But I need to keep her at a more comfortable distance.

She's not a bad person, just manipulative with boundary issues.

Thanks for following me to the new address. Hopefully this will take care of it!!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changin!

Hey friends... I'm changing this blog address to, um, deter some unwanted interest.

It's not that I don't love all the attention and all... but a girl's gotta draw the line somewhere.

SO... if you want to keep following my crazy boring life send me an email to:
naploverchange (at) gmail (dot) com
and I'll send you the new address.

Thanks for all of your support!!

Frustration

When oh when oh WHEN is the idiot step mother going to realize I am not the enemy??? I don't care enough about her to want to fuck with her. I wouldn't have anything to do with her AT ALL if she weren't married to Bean's dad and ALL I want from him is to raise a happy, well-adjusted child.

Does she not understand that there really is no drama here?

Does she not understand that I have rights to things (like more child support) that I'm not even bothering with because it is important to me that Bean's dad and I work together rather than fight for then next 5 years?!?

I have said a hundred million times that I don't care how she feels about me or what she says about me as long as the ex and I are OK... and I mean that... but it is so tiresome to hear about the things she says.

Seriously? It's a small town, people, and there are like, two degrees of separation between me and everyone else. She knows this. Is she just baiting me? Is there really nothing else in her life more important that saying things about me that are unkind and also untrue??

And what is so threatening about me? She has nothing that I want. There is no competition here. I'm not one of those ex-wives who calls constantly and bothers my ex-husband. I don't call him at all unless it has something directly to do with our daughter.

The only expectation that I have of either of them are that they take care of Bean when she is with them and they treat me with respect. Why is that last part so hard for her?!?

And another thing...

Book update...
(See what happens when I don't blog for awhile?!?)

I noticed that I have been lagging behind my Blog Friend in terms of reading. She's on book 23.
I finished Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster(18). Still love her, and her new book is coming soon!!! We all have our fake boyfriends - like Ewan McGregor secretly loves me and wants to marry me - Jen is my secret best friend. (Call me, Jen!! SBFF!!)

I also finished another Alice Hoffman book, Blackbird House(19) (Really, really good) and I read a galley of a book that's not published yet called The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane by Katherine Howe(20). The publisher sent me an advance copy through Watermark - I think because of the Literary Feast.

Here's my mini-review:
Overall this is a good book - the story is engaging and the history is interesting. I did find that the "back story" about the life of Deliverance Dane was more interesting than what was going on with the current-day main character, so I wanted so much more of that. Also, I have a real issue with writing in dialect and there is a LOT of it in this book. But Katherine is a good writer and the characters are interesting and fleshed out enough. There was no "mystery" to it, though I think there was supposed to be, and the things that were meant to be revelations in the end weren't all that shocking to me... but the journey of this book is so worth any disappointments in the end. I am looking forward to what Katherine Howe has for us next.

No Small Thing

(I had a totally sweet April Fool's Blog planned, but since Fate and Karma and whoever else are still watching me like a hawk I'm going to just save that one...)

It's been a hell of a week.

Thursday night the ex-husband was in the ER with symptoms that suggested a mild stroke. Um. MOMMY SAID NO. So I was freaked out and worried and terrified of what something like that was going to do to my already fragile Bean, especially so close to the anniversary of Jeff's death. So I waited until we had more information before I said anything to her. She assumed that he was in the ER for hurting his neck (and I still haven't corrected this assumption... his neck DOES hurt). It was all fine, in his words he's "just an idiot." He took the wrong meds that morning and got a strong dose of what the stepmother takes at night.

So he's fine.
Which is good.

Then Friday ice started to fall from the sky... I got my errands done (including stopping by Twist for Cookie A's new book) and went home to snuggle with the kitties.

I didn't end up going to the party... for two reasons, neither of which had anything to do with my anxiety. First, there were eleventy-billion inches of ice and snow on the ground and I thought it might be better to not drive. Second, I was totally asleep all day. I got up, took care of grandma, went to work for a few hours and then came home and sleeeeeeeeeeept.

In preparation for the storm I bought three kinds of cheese and two kinds of crackers, salad stuff, apples, sandwich stuff and ingredients for two kinds of soup. So on Saturday I would wake up and eat an apple and some cheese and then sleep for a few more hours. Then I woke up and made a sandwich and ran some laundry through and then back to sleep.

Sunday morning I took care of grandma and came back home and worked on two papers, ran more laundry through and read and read and read. I didn't even nap in the afternoon! I also watched Lars and the Real Girl, which was good, but not as funny as I assumed it would be, and the first disc of season two of Big Love.

I thought that I was doing OK with this whole anniversary thing. (Sleeping all day Saturday should maybe have been a clue, but it WAS a snow day!!!).

Then Monday I had a hard time getting out of bed. My intention was to get up and go to the radio station for a few hours and then meet my friend K for lunch before class. I ended up staying in bed until I had to leave to meet K and only getting up then because I told myself that I couldn't have a Xanax unless I put my big girl panties on and left the house. Then I had 5 hours of class. One hour of which was spent listening to the teacher talk about a funeral she just came from. Luckily I have a girl posse at school, too. S kept me supplied with cigarettes on break and D kept me laughing.

I only have one teacher who just met me this semester and I warned him ahead of time. I'm sure he heard about it last year, he just didn't know it was me. It is amazing to me how many people knew through the different grapevines. D, for example, is married to a police officer and knew about it before my mom took me home that morning. When the officers at my house found out I was in the MSW program they called D's husband to see if she knew me. She is absolutely someone you can call at 3 a.m. with information like that, and I didn't know until recently, but she became my "bouncer" at school in the same way that Andie was my bouncer at work.

Girl Posse rocks.

I picked Bean up from her friend's house and we went home to watch Big Bang Theory. We were both asleep before 9.

Yesterday I couldn't get out of bed again. It's really a two-day anniversary... there's the day he died and then there is the next day when I found him. It's kind of a 2-day grief-for-all. I called in and slept for a few more hours. I took a shower. I watched bad TV. I didn't read, I didn't knit. It was sort of scary being back in the blank place I was last year. I just didn't want anything.

That Bad, Bad Man came over around 2, spreading comfort and joy and good cheer and Bean came home crying around 3... her boyfriend had broken up with her. (That would be the boyfriend she acquired the day before). There was much hugging and comforting, then he went home and Bean and I met Sally and Andie for dinner (Woot! Girl posse). So we ended up having a very nice evening.

I still feel fuzzy and my mind the urge to drive home and crawl right back in bed is so strong, but I'm not going to. Not yet anyway. I'm going to make it until lunchtime and see how I feel, then maybe I'll try for a few more hours.

But we made it 365 days.
And while I'm exhausted and not quite 100% I'm still standing. Still breathing, still laughing, still knitting, still graduating in 6 weeks.