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.