November 2003 Archives

Tonight reminded me both of why I used to go out to bars, and why I stopped. I won't regale you with my entire creepy bar story for the night. I'll just tell you that I'm a tiny bit shaken up and eager for the minute the New Guy (who's working) gets home to hold me and make me feel safe again. I think, how did I get myself into such a bad situation? but this was someone I knew well (or thought I did) who created a scenario I couldn't have foreseen. Sure makes me want to crawl into the safety of my home and boyfriend's arms.

As for the good part, it was fun. I got to dress up like one doesn't get to do sitting around the house. I got to meet people, be sociable, hear good music, etc., and had the treat of running into some friends of my brothers. I guess it was just a different experience for me-- been so darn long (by choice) since I went out-- and always fun playing socially.

But not that fun-- I don't think you'll find me going out again any time soon.

That was quite a drive to pack into only one day off work, but I think it was worth it. It was so nice to finally meet his family, to see his home and this significant portion of his life. His family was even nicer and more enjoyable than I had expected, and although I missed my family a whole lot (the first year I've ever missed Thanksgiving dinner with them) the New Guy was very happy and I'm happy, too. A very very pleasant holiday.

Just a quick note to say I'm off to Thanksgiving dinner to meet his family... a family which is predisposed to hate me. They're good people who were very attached to his ex, so I understand, but it makes me just a wee bit uncomfortable and nervous inside. But it's exciting, too, to get to see his family and his things and where he's from. This is something.

Happy Thanksgiving. More when I get back.

FROM THE ARCHIVES:
Written to a friend:

"Don't read too much into my writing. I am very, very glad they seem to be so expressive as to warrant the reactions from people they do. I am getting it across, then. But most every emotion is fleeting. I know this, and I let them ebb and flow, wax and wane. I've learned not to hold on to them. This said, there have been times that warranted worrying, but if things are at that point that'll come across, too. You know, I must a dang expressive writer, and that's what I've always wanted to be. Expressive and descriptive. I want the reader to feel what I feel, and yes, it's something usually strong and striking. There isn't much to convey when there isn't much to convey. The strong gets conveyed, but the strong is passing."

FROM THE ARCHIVES:

Oh what an empty house!

I thought I was doing pretty well with your leaving. ðI didnÌt cry. ðOf course I didnÌt want you to go, but I thought, hey, itÌs just a sad fact. ðShrugged my shoulders and drove home. ðBut it didnÌt take even a full moment upon entering this house to feel the very real, painful pangs of missing you.

I had only gotten so far as hanging up my coat before I walked into the kitchen and saw your picture on the fridge and the empty bottles we had drank from last night sitting nearby. ðI went upstairs to put something away and found myself looking around for remnants of you. ðI looked at the bare clothes hangers in the closet, peeked in the bathroom, and I donÌt even need to mention the bed. ðReturning downstairs I didnÌt see my living room. ðI saw a void. ðIt looks as if we just stepped away for a moment and the table is still offering us drinks, the empty chairs an invitation to sit down and resume the good times. ðIf only we could. ð(I suppose I should break to it the bad news.) ðI sought the tablet of paper you left there, hoping to find some words for meÛ and OH, there were some! ðSeems you miss me, too.

And so here IÌve returned to this cold electronic communication medium in an attempt to feel you here with me. ðI donÌt want to be so silly as to cry but itÌs increasingly hard not to, becauseÛ well, damn it, because I miss you! ðIÌll deny the one or two teardrops that escaped because IÌm pretending to myself to be oh-so-okay with your being gone.

ÏSo Far AwayÓ ð(Shimmer) is the song that iTunes has chosen to accompany me as I write, and thought ÏTo Make You Feel My LoveÓ should follow.

I miss you.

So much I want to say, but the feelings are still so raw that perhaps I should just let you know that I miss you deeply and feel your absence painfully. ðThe silence is screaming.

Into our bed I crawl without you, seeking peaceful sleep, and knowing that even then, my thoughts will never stray from you.

Today was "Special Friends Day" at the girls' school, a day to celebrate Thanksgiving and invite whomever they chose as a "special friend" to visit them for special activities. MS wanted the New Guy to go right away. She's quite taken with him. I didn't want to ask him to take off work for such a thing, but you know what? He did, of his own accord. I couldn't be happier. It's not that I expect him to love or grow greatly attached to the kids, but I do hope they can have some sort of friendship. I would hope that he likes them. But mostly, I hope that he cares. I'd hope, ideally, that because this was so important to MS, that it would matter somewhat to him, too.

My life is so happy with the New Guy in it. Not artificially happy, but genuinely, comfortably, well-fitted happy.

Life is good. I survived the school crunch. Though the semester isn't over yet and I'm still behind, I'm really happy. I should make it through just fine and graduation is actually visible to me now.

I've enrolled in my classes for next semester: Microbiology, Community Nutrition, Medical Nutrition, Food Systems Equipment and Purchasing (all required courses) and Philosophy for a time filler. Sixteen hours total. It should be a bit of a challenge because I've never taken more than twelve hours at a time; however, I think the hours are arranged in a way that will be conducive to my attendance and success. I'll be in class on Tuesdays and Thursdays in from 8:00am to 1:20pm straight, followed by a 40 minute break and another 75 minutes of class ending at 3:15. On Mondays and Wednesdays I'll go to school for two hours of microbiology lab in the afternoon, and Fridays are free.

The New Guy and I had a very helpful talk last night about the housekeeping. He isn't nearly as bothered or uptight about it as I am. In fact, he's just fine with things, and I've decided that I really need to lighten up on the fact. Having the house less than perfectly clean isn't the end of the universe. I'll do the best I can with it, and he'll help, and that's that.

I'm striving to not let things get to me the way I do. I'm much more of a "type A" personality than a type B. I have a tendency to be perfectionistic, uptight, and stressed out. But enough of that business! I can be more relaxed and happy if I choose to be.

Having the New Guy around has been good for me in a lot of ways, one of which is forcing me to grow. I've had to step it up a bit as far as household goes. I didn't worry too much before about how clean the house was or what would be for dinner because I only had to worry about myself. Having him here has also brought to light some serious flaws I seem to have. I cannot seem to get over this resentment and bitterness that he doesn't have as many responsibilities as I do. It gets extremely silly. Right now, it's that he's gone upstairs while the kids (who are at their worst tonight) and I are downstairs. "Why do you get to go upstairs?!" thinks I. "Why don't *I* get to escape? And in the bedroom that *I* cleaned!" I didn't realize I could be so petty, so angry and resentful, and feel so sorry for myself, and generally be such an ugly, ugly person. I'm trying to fix it, although I'm not sure where to begin. It just feels to me like having an ice cream cone always waved in front of my face-- His life is a constant contrast to mine.

But my life is MY responsibility. It's my education, my homework, my house, my food, my kids, my laundry, my bills. And there's nothing to feel down about, because everything is my decision, in my control, and these are the choices I've made. I'm lucky to get to go to school, lucky to be blessed with these kids and this boyfriend, a place to live and all that. It's just nights like this when I'm tired (and when am I NOT tired?) and don't feel well (and how oh often do I not feel well!) and am stressed (and when was the last time I wasn't?) that I want to throw a little fit and say "I don't wanna" and "It's not fair". But I know, I do, how wrong that is, and I'm trying really hard here to just do what I have to do, know that I'll feel more sane after some rest and time to pull myself a little more together.

Again, you've not been in my shoes, so just because I choose to display the worst of me, to write when I'm feeling most vulnerable and emotional, don't be harsh with me. Because you know, if I didn't tell you all this, you wouldn't know. You'd see a nice and happy person who was managing school and work and kids and home just fine. And that is what I am. But I know that everyone is different on the inside than the fascade they put on for society. We all have our faults and flaws and mistakes and weaknesses and moments of imperfection.

I've been doing a lot of thinking since I read someone's blog entry about sucking it up and dealing with it. It seemed to be aimed at me, talking about people whining and wanting sympathy. Is that what I'm doing? Why do I write? And I don't know. I don't know. I'm just me, and I'm experiencing what I'm experiencing. I'm human and I represent one human's life, and I can't exactly say why I put this out there. I just want to tell my story. I want to be who I am. And I want to improve, and be more than who I am.

I love my son. I love the way his warm hand so willingly fits in mine. I love walking down the sidewalk to school with him, counting all the squares. I love the way his hair sometimes sticks up in the back, and looking down to see that the shoes and socks he so gravely put on are so obviously on the wrong feet. I love showing him things, like how to tell the difference between the words "walk" and "don't walk". I love the things he shows me, like the squirrel I otherwise wouldn't have stopped to watch. I love his eagerness and excitement about life, the pleasure he finds in pushing elevator buttons, the mystery of the crack in the elevator door. I love my son.

I should have updated by now to let you know that everything is fine. It's all going, under control, A-OK and all that. Well, it's not easy, but I'm managing, and I'm happy, because I choose to be.

Must I apologize to the world for struggling a bit with all that's going on? I am distressed that I have been criticized for feeling down, for leaning the bit I have on the New Guy for help. First of all, my blog is a bit of a place of drama and extremes, not exactly a precise reflection of my life. Further, most of you have not even remotely been in my shoes, and without having done so, how dare you speak harshly of me!

I'm writing this on the third night of not being able to sleep, and what I've just realized is that I don't have the luxury of falling apart. I don't get to do that, don't get to break down, don't get to stop. I can't. With the scraps of strength and coping mechanisms and reason I have left in the depths of me I must pull myself together and do all the things I'm supposed to do and act like a perfectly together and totally sane person, not this weak and overwhelmed thing I've let myself become.

Life is crazy. For those of you more interested in my life news than my typical and often cryptic entries:

• FAMILY: The kids are well. They're happy and doing well in school. J. no longer goes to daycare, but rather spends all his days with me, his dad, or the New Guy. I've been doing preschool activities with him when I can; it's a compromise from full "home-preschooling". Their dad got a promotion at work which caused a total upheaval of child care arrangement. Now the kids are with me a full half the time plus some on an entirely different schedule. Makes it bitterly ironic that not long ago their dad went to the lengths he did to prove that he's the primary parent, causing significant problems for me in several areas.

  My (ex) father-in-law collapsed and had to be taken back to the hospital. They believe it's graph vs. host disease, meaning his body is rejecting, to some extent, the bone marrow from the transplant. Not only is this worrisome and awful in and of itself, but it holds potential problems for me emotionally and otherwise, should he worsen.

• THE NEW GUY: Well, things were just all great and wonderful until the other day. A major upheaval had me crying for hours and him leaving, only for a complete 180 to occur. Apologies exchanged, kissed and made up, and now he's employed full-time. Yeah, just like that. I'm still reeling.

• FINANCES: Not so good, but there's still hope.

• WORK: By a weird twist in circumstances (I've had far too many of these for my tastes these days), I've gone from barely working (a few hours, one shift last week) to this week: I estimate I'll put in about 30 hours this weekend. Too bad I don't have a choice in the matter. It makes the next area particularly difficult (not to mention I'm supposed to have the kids all weekend):

• SCHOOL: For the next week, at least, I am going to do nothing but school. I am not cooking, not cleaning, not doing laundry; heck, I may not be eating or sleeping. I'm behind and desperately playing catch up in a particularly hectic time of the semester. Every day of the week I have at least one or two exams, papers due, projects, or presentations to give. Every day I swear I'll finish the research paper that was due last Tuesday, while at the same time having only "this one evening" to cram whatever is due the next day. In addition to the paper, I have to take two very difficult makeup exams on Monday and turn in a homework assignment. I'll then have Monday only to prepare a powerpoint business presentation on Tuesday and to do my ten page case study project, and I'll have Tuesday evening only to prepare a food demonstration on Wednesday. I'll have Wednesday to memorize 88 abbreviations for Thursday's quiz and write another research paper, and then I head into the next two weeks of exams, papers, projects, and presentations, and then finals.

  God help me.
  

Last night was eye-opening for me. The New Guy was out applying for a job and then had to go to the grocery store. Because I wasn't feeling well and very much needed to study, I went upstairs to do so, leaving all my other responsibilities behind. The New Guy didn't get home until after 7pm from his tasks. He had to put the groceries away, cook dinner, serve dinner, clean up afterward, do the dishes and help MS with a homework project while watching the kids (entertaining them, meeting their needs, disciplining, and dealing with all the other demands parenting entails). Next he did the bedtime routine with them--reading stories, making them brush their teeth, and convincing and/or strongarming them to their rooms-- and sent them to bed.

All I had to do was, well, nothing. Whatever I felt like doing.

Now mind you, a night like this has never occurred before, and as I sat upstairs feeling guilty and amazed at everything he was doing, I realized, this is what I myself do pretty much every day. For the first time I could see, from someone else's point of view, the enormity of what I do. And do well! I hate to sound a braggart, but I take care of all these things day after day and manage to do so fairly well. I've always held that I don't do that much, but now I realize the wealth of what I do, and that I ought to be much more proud of myself.

Depression is like this big stinky hairy monster that sneaks up behind you and jumps on your back as you're walking along, treating itself to a piggyback ride at your expense. It laughs morbidly in your ear as it covers up your eyes and dares you to keep going. No matter which way you step it laughs, informing you you're going the wrong way. You try desperately to remember what things looked like before and which way you were headed, but the more steps you take and the longer your eyes are covered the more difficult it becomes, and your confidence begins to wane with its taunts and your apparent failure to make progress in any direction. It holds on so tightly you can't shrug it off. It's itchy and scratchy and stinky and very heavy, and you grow so tired and utterly miserable and so tired of being tired and utterly miserable you wonder if you should continue your blind, pointless steps or if you should just collapse where you are.

I lay down for a nap and awoke to a clean house.

I love the New Guy.

I'm torn between the occasional silent cries of "Why won't anyone help me? I'm only one of five people who live in this house and house responsibilities ought to be divided more equally. I ought to have much more help than this," and the constant, "All of this is my responsibility, and I'm failing everyone who lives here in my inability to care for everything." There are a lot of clues to my emotional well-being-- how much I sleep, how difficult it is for me to get out of bed in the morning, how much I socially interact with others-- and the cleanliness of my house seems to be yet another. It's sort of a Catch 22: the messier the house, the worse I feel, and the worse I feel, the messier the house gets.

When I take my eyes away from the distractions I've been filling the past few days with, I see my house, representative of my life, and my heart just sinks. Everything looks so ugly to me, so chaotic, so much proof of failure and incompetency. It's disgusting, loathsome, out of control, unfixable, and overwhelming and I have to fight the urge to literally crawl back into bed. All I want right now is to disappear. I feel as if I can't stand another minute inside this dirty, messy place. I wish someone would save me. Gone are the times when I felt competent to save myself.