I didn't know blogs could get cobwebs!

Eight months since my last blog. I would say that I've been slacking, but that's a massive understatement. It would be more accurate to say that I've been nothinging, even though that isn't a word. I'm not going to lie and say that I've been busy; I have been busy, but not just busy. Life seems to have gotten in the way of itself in this case. That's right, I've been too busy living to live. Don't try to figure it out, you'll just go cross-eyed.

I suppose I should devote this blog to the update, since so many things have happened in the last eight months. First of all, I am no longer a meter reader. Let me say without shame that I was fired. Yes, I was fired; I was not laid off, I did not quit. I sat in a small room with two of my bosses and was told not to come back the next morning, or any other morning. It was devastating. I have never been fired from a job before, and though I can admit that I was thinking that it was time to move on and start looking for a new place to work, I was hoping that I could be the one making that choice.

Being fired feels exactly like being dumped. I still feel a pang of remorse when I get my energy bill and see that logo on the envelope... It's almost like running into your ex at Target and thinking, Aw man, we're not together anymore. I'm really guessing here, because I never run into my ex anywhere. But still, I imagine the sentiment is the same. I won't go into the specifics of why I was fired, I will only say that I didn't do anything wrong, I just sucked at the job. Just a little. I could walk fast and battle any dog, and I wasn't afraid of any kind of weather (though I did whine a lot when it got very cold, very wet, or very windy, especially when all three conditions were present at the same time), but I just couldn't get it completely right. I was also beginning to physically fall apart from all that walking (average of twelve miles a day) and had problems with arthritis in my knee and pain in my back. So, even though the firing was a shock, it was almost mutual.

Since the break-up, life has become inexplicably busier. I have been writing scripts, drinking coffee, editing manuscripts, sweeping the hardwood floors, potty-training a two-year-old, preparing a five-year-old for Kindergarten, nursing concussions (my own), singing karaoke, modeling (technically), learning about photography, surviving family reunions, floating on the river, camping, fishing (and actually catching fish!), catching up with old friends, turning thirty-one, making new friends, losing weight, gaining weight, losing weight again, obsessing over new music, hitting a car full of teenagers, and not blogging about any of it. Sorry about that last part, by the way.

About the car full of teenagers... This is my latest piece of drama, something that happened just a few days ago. Short version: The girl ran a flashing red light and put her car directly in front of mine. I didn't want to, but I had to hit her. Physics made me do it. She was cited for the accident, her dad showed up and said he's going to take me to court over the entire thing, and now I'm just waiting for my car to get fixed. I have decided that car drama is the worst kind of drama, ever. I much prefer Oh-no-she-did-NOT-just-say-that-about-me-what-a-backstabber drama over car drama. At least you can still drive away when there's any other kind of drama, and girl-drama is one hell of a lot cheaper.

So, that's my update for now. I'm not going to pretend that my life is so intriguing that my four or five readers want to read about every single detail, but I will be a little more specific next time. Or, I might blog about something completely vague and random. I don't know. But I do know that this whole blogging thing will happen again. So stay tuned, and thanks for sticking around after all the nothinging!

Happy (Sorta) New Year!

Four days in, and this year suddenly doesn’t feel quite so new. I did my New Year’s Eve partying, made my resolutions, did a mental review of the year (and decade) I just wrapped up, and now I’m ready to get back to taking my time for granted like I’ve done with every other year I’ve lived through. In fact, I have gotten so good at taking time for granted that I can’t even keep track of my years anymore. My memories are noted on a flexible mental timeline marked mostly by pregnancies, jobs, and locations. As I get older and have more past years to add to the pile, I have more difficulty discerning one year from another and can’t remember if I bought my house in 2004 or 2005. Or maybe it was 2006... But whatever, it doesn’t really matter, this kind of time loss is inevitable with age. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Don’t be fooled by my aloof tone; while I may seem indifferent to this holiday, it is actually one of my favorites. You get a legitimate excuse to dress up and stay out late, there is no standard gift-exchange involved, it marks the end of the holiday season and the return to regular life, and the best part of all: Resolutions. I love resolutions. I love them so much that I make them constantly, all year long. When I was younger I used to agonize over my resolutions, and because I couldn’t choose just one, I would create list of all the things I wanted to change in the new year. This exercise always started out great, but by the time I made it to page five of the list, I would become depressed in the face of all the things I perceived to be wrong with myself. So I changed my rules and made a single vague and easily achievable resolution every year. For a long time my resolution was always to drink more water. Last year my resolution was to improve my social life, which I can honestly say I have done. This year my resolution is to read more. I keep it simple, I can’t berate myself too much when I don’t follow through, and we all know that I won’t follow through. None of us will. I’m sorry if that seems cynical, but relapse is a major component of the resolution, and without the failure, it’s just not right.

Another important part of the whole New Year package? The mental montage of the year gone by. In 2009 I read very few books, complained about the weather a lot, complained about my job a lot, lost some friends, gained some friends, wrote some screenplays and filmed some films, lost a few karaoke contests, lost some weight, broke a bone and shattered another, went up in a hot-air balloon, pissed some people off, broke some hearts, caused some drama and extinguished other drama, finally got back to the beach, got a new job, defended myself, got bit by a dog, cultivated an amazing group of people around me, did some crying, did some screaming, did some worrying, and ultimately, did not sleep nearly enough. It was a rough year, the most difficult year of my life, but I cannot say that it was a totally bad year. The downs were impossibly down, but the ups were incredible. I have no regrets, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

So here's to another great year to come, with all the good and the bad and the impossibly stupid (which we all know is inevitable). Here's hoping that the weather improves, that the food is always good and cooked properly, and that we all get a little better at those things we suck at, like ending blogs and such. :)

I Heart Tetanus Shots!

I hate it when people compare their lives to a whirlwind. I hate it even more when people mistakenly call it a “worldwind.” But these days I’m too tired to be a complete English snob, so I’m going to go ahead and say it: My life has been a whirlwind lately. Writing that hurt me so much more than I can ever reveal, but it’s the best I can come up with right now. And besides, it’s true: If there were ever a true whirlwind scenario, I’m living it right now. The only thing that has really changed is my job, but it has been such a major change that I feel like I’m living a different life.

I used to work in the book department of a giant entertainment superstore; you may remember past blogs in which I bitch and moan about the idiocy of the general public. Now I work as a meter reader for the gas company. Basically, I walk all over town, through people’s backyards, past their dogs, around their overgrown bushes and into the mud, just to read the gas meter and put the numbers into a little computer thingy. The job is pretty simple; all I have to do is read the meter. A lot of meters. There are so many things I really like about this job, the main thing being a lack of interaction with the public. I speak to very few people during my day, though I do speak to a lot of dogs, cats, and the occasional duck. I’m making more money (I even get a monthly check to fill my gas tank), I have awesome benefits, I get plenty of exercise (you should see my butt and legs… Yowza!), and I have a real sense of autonomy, working without a boss (or customers) hanging over my shoulder all the time.

The new job does have a break-in period which I think I’m still experiencing; the bruises and blisters on feet are only now starting to fade, and I still feel half dead by the end of the day. I haven’t been able to go out even half as often as I used to, though I’m hoping that will change once I become accustomed to this forty hour week business. I bought myself a pair of hiking boots AND snow boots, which is a big deal because I do not normally endorse expensive, non-cute, functional footwear. I also feel myself slowly transforming into a dude in many ways; I don’t wear makeup (what’s the point?) and I pull my hair back into a bun, and by the time I’m done with my route, I look like hell. I probably don’t smell very good, either, but hey, that’s what showers are for.

I thought this job would be mostly uneventful, maybe even a little boring, but it seems like something weird happens every day… One day, I was about to go into a backyard when a teenager pulled into the driveway. My computer thingy (officially called an Itron) said there was a dog in this backyard, so I asked the kid if there was a vicious, face-eating dog waiting for me back there. The kid said, “No, there’s no dog. But I can come over there and bite you if you want.” I just looked at him like he was crazy and said, “No, I’m good, thanks.” It was especially weird because it had been raining that entire day; I was drenched, looking like a mop in a jacket, shivering and making squishy sounds in my shoes every time I took a step. I wanted to add a note to the Itron to warn the other meter readers about the horny teenager at this address, but I decided against it, thinking the other guys wouldn’t likely have this same problem. Just the other day, I was reading a meter in the alley, and a guy pulled up next to me in a minivan. He rolled down his window, stuck his head out and said, “I’m telling Mama that you’re playing in the alley!” Then he got very serious and said, “Alley is no place for a woman.” I thought I was going to end up stuffed in a trunk in the back of his minivan, but the guy just drove away.

Today I had my first dog bite. My boss told me that it was inevitable, that every single meter reader gets bitten at some point, but I honestly thought I would be the first to beat that statistic. I’m always very careful with dogs, and I will not go into a yard until I know it is safe. I have found that most dogs are friendly, even those “troublesome” breeds that might normally scare the crap out of you. Well, today I was supposed to go into a yard with two unfriendly dogs, a Blue Heeler and an English Bulldog. There were two houses on this lot; I did not know which house the dogs belonged to, and I did not want to go in there with them. I walked around and got one read from the safe side of the fence, the dogs following me, barking and snarling and trying to get to me the entire time. When I walked back around the front, the dogs were gone. I figured the owner had let them in, and I knew there wasn’t a doggy door, so I stood at the gate and made a ton of noise, trying to see if the dogs were still around. There was no sign of them, and since they were so intent on yapping at me before, I assumed it was safe. I went into the yard and found the meter, which happened to be right next to the sliding glass door, which happened to be wide freaking open. The dogs saw me and came running out, and at some point, the Heeler bit my leg. It was awesome. Ok, no, it really wasn’t awesome. The dog broke the skin, so I had to go to a clinic and see a doctor and get a tetanus shot and a prescription for antibiotics, and I lost a good two hours of the day and wasn’t able to get my route done. But the best part of the entire incident was the owner’s reaction. After a good ten minutes of me standing around waiting for my boss, the owner comes out and says, “Uh, is something going on?” Yeah, like he didn’t just hear me screaming at his dogs… I told him that his dog bit me and he said, “Oh, my dog has never bitten anyone before… Are you sure?” Then he let both of the dogs outside, into the front yard, no leashes, no fence. The Heeler was apologetic and almost sweet, but the English Bulldog still wanted to kick my ass. I had to yell at the guy to get his freaking dogs in the house, which he didn’t do until my boss showed up. The whole situation was just lame, and I hope I don’t have to go through that ever again. I’m thinking about getting a suit of armor, see if that helps at all.

So, vicious dogs and creepy dudes aside, I’m really enjoying the job. Honestly, I’m surprised by how much I like it. I thought I would be totally worn down by now, and though I am tired, I’m mostly okay. It’s not glamorous at all, but it’s working for me right now. Though I will be pissed if I end up getting Rabies…

Thoughts, Schmoughts.

You know what gets old after a while? Introspection. For the past four months I have been absolutely entrenched in my own thoughts. Actually, let’s be honest: I have been entrenched in the same four or five thoughts, which I think to death, over and over and over until I feel like I’m going crazy and want to punch myself in the brain. I’m so sick of thinking and feeling and talking about what I’m thinking and feeling, and thinking about what I‘m thinking and feeling… I have been in limbo, absolutely stuck in one spot, unable to go up or down for fear of upsetting the delicate universe and making people cry. I can’t take it anymore! So what to do, what to do? Well, I say it’s time to stop all the platitudes and to just freaking do something already. I mean, how hard can it be?

Change is imminent. I *probably* have a different job, though I’m still waiting for my background check to go through (which could take two weeks or more, ugh) so I’m reluctant to start celebrating quite yet. This job would be so much cooler than my present employment in so many ways… For one thing, I’ll be making about three times more money than I am now, which isn’t really saying much if you consider how little I make right now, but hey, it’s something. It’s full-time, Monday-Friday, 8am-5pm, with an hour lunch every single day (awesome) and a full benefits package. But the best part? I wouldn’t have to work with the public. EVER. I considered keeping my part-time job even if I get this other job, but after working a four hour shift on the register, I decided there’s no way in hell I can continue to subject myself to the dumbassedness I encounter there, not even for one day a week. So I’m just sitting here waiting, hoping my checkered past doesn’t show up on the background check (I’m kidding, there’s nothing there because I hid the bodies very well…) so that I can say goodbye to asshole central and get on with my life.

In other news of change, Nick got himself a truck. This is a big deal, because his other car is a tiny Fiat X1/9, and it’s only slightly bigger than a bread box, so he can’t put the kids in there. This new(er) truck has a full backseat, which means that he’ll be able to pick the kids up from daycare when (if) I start working my new job. This will also give me some freedom as far as weekend trips are concerned, meaning I can actually take a weekend trip and not worry about leaving him stranded with the kids, without transportation. This will also give me some freedom if there will be a separation, which, at this point, seems to be a logical step to me. He totally disagrees, of course, but I think I would definitely benefit from some time on my own.

Oh, yeah, I guess I haven’t mentioned this before… I’ve made some vague references here and there, but I haven’t come out and said anything concrete about my personal situation out of respect for my husband. Well, he gave me permission to be candid, so candid I will be. We are currently in marital limbo. It is hell, I think we’d both say as much. Let me be clear on a few things, though. Our kids will be fine, no matter what the outcome of all this may be. We both have their best interests at heart; they always come first. We are not constantly fighting and screaming at each other. This is not how we are. There is a lot of pain, though, and a lot of very large problems, some of which, if we can be honest about it, cannot be fixed. We’ve seen a marital counselor, we took a week-long trip to Florida without the kids, we have been talking and talking and talking, but at the very core of the matter everything has stayed the same, and by “everything,” I mean me. I haven’t changed my mind, and my feelings are the same. The distance between us seems to be widening, and I know it’s because I’m holding back, but let’s face it: I am exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this state of limbo. I can’t eat; I’ve lost a lot of weight, and have been struggling to get back into healthier patterns. I can’t sleep and now have a twitch in my eyelid because of it. I have headaches all the time, which isn’t something I’ve ever had to deal with before. I’ve lost friends and am having a very difficult time wrapping my mind around that. I have never been more stressed out in my life, and I feel like I have got to do something before I completely lose myself.

But anyway, now I’m getting back into that stupid introspection again, so I think it’s time to pull the plug on this blog. It’s late anyway, time to go to bed and not sleep so I can get up with the kids in a few hours and not eat breakfast… Oye, it’s going to be a long week…

If you're happy and you know it, what's your secret?

My life has gotten a little crazy in the last couple of months, and not the good kind of crazy. I’d like to blog about it, but I can’t do that. See, while I am one of those open-book kind of people with unlimited boundaries and a loud mouth, there are other people closely involved in my most recent crap who are a bit more quiet and choose not to advertise the nature of their problems in blog form. So, out of respect for said people and their aforementioned quietness, I have opted not to blab about my personal crap. It has been difficult to do something so contrary to my natural tendencies; as you may have noticed (or maybe not) I have not blogged in over a month. I just haven’t had the energy or the mindset to come up a neutral topic that has nothing to do with what I’m going through, and honestly, I still don’t have the energy or the mindset, but I’m going to try anyway.

There are some people who know what’s going on. Some know more than others, but only a select few know everything. I can’t go through this without talking about it at all, right? I’ve had hours-long conversations about this, and one thing that keeps coming up is happiness. I’m being encouraged to do whatever makes me happy, I’m told that life won’t be okay until I’m happy, that my kids can’t and won’t be happy unless I’m happy, and that my happiness matters, and happy, happy, happy, happy. Usually I’m inclined to agree with this idea of happiness trumping all, but lately I’m beginning to wonder what that really means. “Happiness” is such a vague term, something that isn’t so easily defined. When I’m told to do what makes me happy, what exactly am I being told to do? I suppose I could search my heart (another vague idea, that) and pull out some kind of action plan, but the truth is, people (myself included) are generally very bad at predicting what will make them happy. I also wonder how worthy my happiness is if it causes a great deal of pain and unhappiness for others. At what point do you set your own ambitions aside for the sake of someone else? There has to be some kind of boundary, even when you’re talking happiness, right?

This is where the idea of happiness starts to bleed into the idea of selfishness. I’m told that my happiness is important, but honestly, what I’m seeking for my own happiness is pretty selfish. Sure, there are times when it is okay to be selfish, but normally only after a prolonged period of selflessness, and even then only when the selfish act involves little more than a bubble bath or an extra piece of chocolate. To do something truly selfish, to act without concern for the impact it may have on others, is not so easily accepted, even if it is being done on the road to that elusive happiness everyone keeps talking about. I have been incredibly selfish the past few months. I am not apologizing. I’m just figuring out that, whether it’s my happiness at stake or not, I have to do what’s right for me. It’s all I can do. So I’m not focusing so much on happiness or selfishness anymore, but trying to look at what’s right for me, and trying to get to that point without hurting too many people on the way. I don’t know if I will ultimately be happier or not, but I suppose there’s no way of knowing that for sure. I gave up the security of certainty a long time ago, anyway.

I know I will likely lose some friends by the end of all of this. All I can hope for is that people will be understanding, but I can’t demand it of anyone. I’m too exhausted to explain myself and I have nothing to apologize for, so I’ll just have to wait and see what happens. Wish me luck. And happiness.

Thirty

I woke up one day and I was thirty. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Twenty nine was harsh; I tried to feel good about it, but I could not shake the feeling that I was approaching a very important deadline that I was unprepared to meet. When I turned twenty, I had an idea of what I wanted my life to look like by the time I turned thirty. Do the ideal and the reality line up? Not at all. I have the family I always wanted, though I’m not very good at managing it, and often feel like the world’s finest screw-up in the areas of “wife” and “mother.” I have the cute little house and the nice car and the freedom to indulge in a few extravagances like impractical shoes and hardcover books, but I didn’t earn any of these things myself and I often feel like a freeloader, and still ask permission for every little dollar I spend. I have a job, but it’s not the job I had in mind after I went through all kinds of crap to earn my degree. I’m physically healthier than I was so many years ago when I was battling anorexia, but I find that new stresses have made me start to revert to old habits, and I’m struggling to keep myself from sliding so far downhill so fast that I won’t be able to get a hold on myself. Some days I feel old, some days I feel like a child, some days I don’t know who the hell I am and I just want to stay in bed and sleep.

So there it is: I’m not happy with the way my life has turned out so far. But there is a positive side here. I woke up one day and I was thirty, and it feels good to be thirty. Well, it feels more good than not good to be thirty. Part of me is lamenting the way I’ve wasted years doing not much of anything (though I did have a couple of babies, which is no small thing), but part of me is happy that I have the insight to do something more with my next ten years. I have the desire, now I just need to work on the logistics. It seems that I have quite a mess here, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve been doing all I know how to do, which is to start small, to start with one thing and go from there. Right now I’m focusing on my writing, since it seems to be the easiest thing for me these days. There are other facets of my life that need retooling, but anytime I attempt to make those changes, fear makes me back off. So I’ll start with something I feel I can handle, and maybe, at some point, I can begin to approach those larger, scarier aspects of my unhappiness.

I have to admit, though I am allowing myself to feel excited for the future, I’m more terrified than anything. I think about all the possibilities and I feel overwhelmed. That’s the problem with complacency; it becomes comfortable and safe and the temptation to stay in that state is so strong that you can begin to tell yourself things that aren’t true and don’t make any sense. You mutter things like, I’ll never be able to do this. I’m just going to make things worse for everybody. There is no reason I can’t just continue living life this way; it’s not like it’s killing me or anything. You push your feelings away and convince yourself that everything is just fine and the next thing you know, you wake up and you’re thirty. Or forty, or fifty. As tempting as complacency is, I know I can’t stay there. I know that’s not who I am, not who I was ever meant to be. So as much as it hurts, as much as it terrifies me, I have to do something. One thing I know for certain is that, no matter what happens, I will ultimately be okay. I’ve been through some real hell in my life, but somehow I have always, always, gotten back to okay. I’m going to have to just trust that certainty, shut my eyes, and jump in, and hope to hell I find my way back out again.

Don't let me get me...

I think I have finally gotten sick of myself. Considering how much time I spend with myself (thirty years straight without even a thirty second break), it’s amazing this hasn’t happened sooner. I don’t want to be misunderstood: I like myself just fine, I’m just feeling like certain parts of my self are starting to wear me out. For example, the time as I write this is 12:34am (side note: this is my favorite time of day, am or pm). I’m exhausted, but I will probably stay awake for another hour or so, even though I know that my daughter will come wake me up at 6:30am. I would go to bed, but I already know I won’t sleep; I have been a raging insomniac since I was a kid, and though it has improved over the years, I still have erratic cycles in my sleep patterns. So, yeah, I could do without the night-owl side of my personality.

Another one of my irritating facets: This non-stop mind of mine. Yes, I am a talker, but it just so happens that I’m a thinker, too. Sometimes it’s deep, but much of the time it’s just stupid and repetitive, nothing worth voicing. I make a lot of plans in my head, but they don’t often go anywhere, and I love to beat ideas to death until they don’t have an ounce of coherence about them. To understand how this works, say the word “book” over and over and over again until it becomes nothing more than a strange sound coming out of your mouth. That’s how it is inside my head. I’m also great at filling in the blanks with half-baked assumptions that nearly always come back to bite me in the ass, and of course, replaying past events not the way they happened, but how I wish they had happened.

I think I’m also getting tired of the sound of my own voice. I’ve become so rooted in this part of myself that it has become somewhat of a trademark of mine: I’m the girl who talks. A lot. My husband dreads going certain places with me because there’s always a good possibility I will run into someone I know and start a conversation. I understand his frustration; there is nothing more difficult than pulling me away from a good conversation. I have tried to be quiet and observant, but when I do that, people assume something is wrong, and then I have to explain with great insistence that I am fine, I’m just not feeling very talkative at that moment. A shocking concept, I know, but there are times when I just don’t feel like saying much. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

So what to do about these problems? Honestly, I don’t think I’ll do anything, simply because it isn’t my style. Not to say that I’m lazy, but I think these little tics of mine are permanent, and not bothersome enough to worry about. I could have worse glitches, like unforgivable body odor or a violent temper or a proclivity for improper word usage. I’m not happy about any of this stuff right now (the fact that it is now nearly 2:00am does not help), but I know that I’ll soon be distracted enough to let them slide and pretend that I’m just fine and dandy until the next time I’m bored in the middle of the night and decide to pick on myself. But it’s okay because of one little thing I failed to mention: I am very good at distracting myself. Thank God for computer solitaire and iPods…