April 2005 Archives

I am really grateful to my friend for posting this entry about her boyfriend, Can live with him...can't kill him. It's given me a lot to think about.

First of all, it boggles my mind, but if TNG and I have a problem, no matter how many people I run it past, who they are, or how I present it, they all, friends and strangers alike, side with me instantly, strongly, and without prompting. They'll recoil in horror at what he's done this time, and they'll urge me to leave such a terrible person. It becomes very clear to me that I am in the right and he's wrong. However, he can run the exact same scenario past people, and they all tell him he's clearly right. Take the not-visiting-me-in-the-hospital example. Even when TNG told people the story the other way around, as him being the one in the hospital unvisited, they sided with him, that it was understandable the other didn't come. I don't get it, but it leaves me feeling disillusioned. What is the value of other's opinions?

But back to the blog entry. Now, if I had posted what she did, every one of you would have commented that my bf was a horrible creature--unforgivably so--so thoughtless, uncaring, insensitive, self-centered, even abusive! I can only imagine how you would have responded. And while I so greatly value your time, care, and attention, here's the deal: My friend is actually in a very good relationship, and her bf is actually a very good man. Why did he act so horribly? Who knows. Maybe he had a bad day, maybe he wasn't feeling well, maybe she portrayed him as being far worse than he was, but in the end, he is not a bad person and there's no reason to urge her to leave him.

TNG is not a perfect person. He's not even anywhere close, and neither am I, nor are you. Could I "find someone better"? I get tired of such ideas. What's better? Should I find the most wealthy man, or the most Christian, or a psychologist? Should I find one with low self-esteem who would adore me always? Why is it not okay to just be with another human being who happens to be your very best friend? I've met this guy who is truly one in a million (yes, leaving nearly 300 other "one in a millions" for me in this country, if I could meet everyone). He matches such a high percentage of what I'd like to find in a man, such a high percentage of shared interests, beliefs, outlooks, behaviors, and dang it, I just like him and enjoy his company more than anyone else's. I could go on and on. I can meet other people, but I'll never meet another him. He is so special to me. He is one of those people who will always be in my heart, who I will always love.

Someone better? Someone different, yes, with his own set of problems, that's what I can find. Maybe he'd have problems that don't clash with my own quite as much, or that don't rub me quite the wrong way that TNG's do. Whoever I'm with, though, is going to be full of shortcomings. He's going to hurt and upset me sometimes, and I'm going to hurt and upset him sometimes. Sometimes he'll be grouchy, sometimes he'll make mistakes. Everyone does.

I just don't know about better. I can find someone else that I'd like a lot and get along well with. I can find someone else that I'd love greatly. I don't know. Someone else, yes, I could find someone else. I don't know that I want to. I don't, really. I love TNG, I like TNG, and I don't see why I should ditch that for the selfish intent of finding "better".

I can't believe this. I went by the registar's office today to pick up my graduation packet. I could tell there was a problem; the lady acted like a doctor with bad news. She hemmed, she hawed, she double checked this and that and pulled my file before telling me I had been removed from the graduation list at mid-semester.

I explained that my graduation had been arranged, and indeed, she checked my degree audit and saw that I was clear. I could come in Friday and get my packet.

An hour later, the assistant registrar calls to tell me she has some "questions". Uh oh. I called her back and left a voicemail directing her to Dr. Viscusi, who made the graduation arrangements. I call her back later and she insists that his arrangements are not valid. She says I need *four* additional hours to graduate. Is it my imagination, or is she a little witchy about this? I tell her again to speak to Dr. Viscusi. She tells me she has contacted the office, but she needs me to, too. Okay, whatever.

So I call Dr. Viscusi's office, expecting validation. After all, he did indeed legitimately make these arrangements. He's out of the office, though, and his secretary, too, said he "can't do that," although later, when I said, "Why would he do anything he didn't have the authority to do?" she quickly assured me he absolutely had the authority to do so. I'm very confused.

What it seems to me is that Dr. Viscusi's arrangements for my graduation are valid, as evidenced by his own competency, his secretary's agreement to the statement, and the changes that were made on my degree audit (that is, what he said he'd do did take effect), and that Miss Assistant Registrar Lady just doesn't like it. They're all pissed that I used to be in the honors college and now I'm not, and it really rubs me the wrong way.*

It's so unfair, after all I've sacrificed to graduate this semester. The only reason I've not yet fallen apart is I try not take what appears as obvious, immediate danger as anything other than a hologram. I've seen too many brick walls that did crumble, even though they seemed so impenetrable. There's still hope. But the disappointment I'll feel if they don't let me graduate (after I've sent announcements, too!) would be indescribable.

I pulled up outside a very busy post office today. The only place to park would require parallel parking. Without hesitation, I began to do so. The thought ran through my head as cars buzzed around me, "I'd better do this well." I did. Of course I did. I had the fear of parallel parking that many people have, but nearly every day this semester I forced myself to do it. Sometimes it was time consuming, trying and trying again, not even being able to figure out sometimes what I was doing wrong. Embarrassing, too, when people were watching and I couldn't quite get it. I won't even go into further detail because it is embarrassing. However, I can do it now. I zipped into that parking spot today in a single, well-executed try. With ease! I am so, so proud of myself.

So I broke up with him and I should stick with it. So good for him for making me do so. Like quitting smoking, I should be happy my efforts have been thwarted and I must continue to go through withdrawal. I'll be happier when I've kicked it, no?

What is "happier" anyway? Why isn't finding that one person you click with and love dearly good enough?

At least now I know how to hurt and cry without falling apart. I can cry and I can feel it and I can know without a doubt that I'll feel better in the morning. I know with unfailing confidence that I can manage my life, alone if I have to. I am no longer afraid. I don't wonder "what if I fail". I know I can find happiness in a million different paths. I know how many people are out there, and I'm accustomed to loss. I know how to fight for my life, how to fight for what I want, and how to achieve goals. Each year, each season even, I become more who I imagined becoming and my life moves in the general direction I intended. I've transformed over the years, and I'm transforming now. I know I might not do it perfectly, but I can. Alone. And I can hurt very sincerely and cry myself to sleep and still be okay. And I can very well cry myself to sleep.

I'm reading Catch-22 now, and am thoroughly enjoying it. Someone recommended this book to me because somehow my life reminded them of it. Tonight, wow, work, work is so Catch-22 in its bizarreness, ridiculousness, un-understandable-ness, and unfairness. It's insane.

The entire five months I've been there we've been short of help, and I mean, at least two entire people short. I agreed to work 15 hours per week when hired. I've worked no less than 20 hours per week ever since, and often, 25 to 30 hours. Being short on help doesn't just mean that I have to give up my life, oh no. Being short on help means everyone is overworked, and still some shifts can't be filled; that's when my boss has to fill in. I've always figured she deserved the extra work and dishwashing for not hiring anyone. I thought she ought to suffer along with the rest of us. The last two nights, however, there's been a surprising change.

"Even Superwoman might not be able to work full time (for low wages), maintain a home, care for children, and pursue a college degree."

From "A Welfare Mother in Academe" by Sandy Smith Madsen. Article to follow.

TNG. Grr. What a topic. I broke up with him for not visiting me while I was in the hospital (or in the very least, sending flowers!). I felt I had to, in the way that if your boyfriend continually cheated on you, you'd have to break up with him. It's just something I can't stand for and can't forgive. If I call you in tears and beg for your help, you'd darn well better be there or you're not a friend of mine.

That said, the more time goes by--you won't be surprised by this--the more it seems something I could let slip by. There's a gap in my life where TNG used to be.

And you know what, before you say it: I don't need him. I've well-proven that, haven't I? I've gotten all this way without him, made it through the hospital by myself when I thought I needed him... I didn't. Technically, anyway. I can live without him, and I can live without him happily. But can I live without him as happily as I could with his presence?

Sure, I can go on, and I'll meet someone else. I know. But does that mean TNG is without worth? We can always go on, we can always meet someone else, but I don't think that makes a particular relationship less valuable.

Then, there are these words from an ex I have never forgotten: "The imp in the back of our minds may be that we don't truly NEED each other. But truly independent people don't need anyone to survive, so the question, the important question, becomes 'Do we want each other?'"

So what am I doing? Moving on, I guess. There are plenty of advantages to being single. But as yet I haven't stopped being acutely aware of that space where TNG used to be.

Okay, here's what I have so far:

I woke up at 8am but it took me an hour to talk myself out of bed. Then I organized all the clothes in my room. Then I gathered dirty clothes for washing. Then I cleaned the fish tank. Then I went to the bathroom. Then I did the dishes and straightened the kitchen. Then I did laundry. Then I cooked breakfast for the kids. Then I wrote an email. Then I got some water. Then I wrote this. Time to get ready for work. Three hours, that's my alotment for the day and it's nearly spent, and maybe two more tonight when I get home from work; then I can study. I've done all I've could, no? No, I haven't. I've ordered the children to leave me alone until noon, and that wasn't loving of me. But I've got two hours of driving time before work (to return them to their dad's) in which I can speak with them, but I do not have time right now. I'm hurting so bad I'm starting to get wrapped up in myself again. But I'll just keep going and it'll be "fine", it'll be fine, but I have to go to work now. Lord knows I need the money.

*I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL SORRY FOR ME.* I just want to share how I feel. I just want you to know what it's like in another human's shoes. I know I have plenty of blessings, I know I have plenty to live for, "it's not that bad", blah blah blah. And it's all my fault, my choices, I know, I know. But let me be how I feel right now, okay? Let me be frightened and bitter.

This accidentally dumped out of me today in an email, in which I had only meant to say hello:

I'm... I don't have any words. Without the internship, what am I going to do?????

I'm nearly sick with worry, literally. I can't sleep. I'm dragging. My entire struggle through college was for nothing. For nothing. It's all for naught without an internship. And really, do I want to spend another year with a car that doesn't run, hoping nothing happens to my health, hoping nothing happens, period, besides the bare minimum of rent and utilities, working a crummy job that certainly didn't require a college degree, struggling to get by, so I can try once more for an internship in the fall, only to make $25,000-45,000*? *(statistic from my university's dietetics site)

It's worthless. The degree is worthless; I can't make any money with it. I can't get an internship because I'll never have the $6,000-15,000 it costs to pay for one and I'll never have the leisure of spending a year doing an internship and not working. (I'm going to cry again.) To spend so much bloodsweattears, to sacrifice so much, even my children, all these freakin years and to be so far into debt, only to come to this...to nothing... I can get nothing with my degree..

What do I do about a car now? What about my teeth? What about my computer monitor that's about to go out? How do I repay the hospital bills I just incurred? How do I even pay my rent? When will I ever get to buy clothes or new shoes? I've got $XXXXX worth of debt and a worthless degree. The simplest dream--no joke, I cheer myself dreaming of buying clothes on clearance, or garage sale shopping, or having someone's discarded laptop, a roadtrip sleeping in my car and not eating--is out of my reach.

I know I'm being ugly but I don't want to hear your mild words of comfort. It is that bad. You haven't had to live through the lowest levels of poverty for over a decade. For the love of god, I've done everything I could do, a decade's worth of struggling, and I still can't buy myself a new pair of shoes. I'm so sick of it. You probably can't imagine.

It feels so hopeless. What have I done to deserve poverty?

This is the exact sentence that ran through my head as I sat in Dr. S's office. "Can I cry now?"

    We had just left class where I had, once again, gone through the routine of explaining my absence and taking on more makeup work. She had explained that the quizzes I missed cannot be made up. "I'm not going to get an A in here now, am I?" I asked, a seriously depressing issue to me, who's worked so hard and is trying so desperately to raise her GPA.
    "I don't know," she said. "Two quiz scores are automatically dropped."
    "I've already missed more than that, thanks to applying to the Air Force internship--which, by the way, I didn't get. You'll be happy," I said, which I fear might have had the faintest tint of snottiness. After all, this professor had vehemently opposed my application, had been very vocal about it in class, and had gone so far as to actually pray against my success in the endeavor. We walked back to her office to get me a copy of the missed homework, and there she finally admitted why she was so opposed: She had a feeling if I got in the military I was going to get killed.
   "A premonition, you mean?" I asked of this very spiritual lady who's spent her adult life studying and teaching religion.
   "Yes," she stated.
   "And you trust your premonitions?" I asked. At this point, I was so weary, and so overwhelmed, and it probably carried to the tone of my voice. "Can I cry now?" I thought. "It's easy for you to be happy about, but you don't have to pay my rent next month," I said. I felt I was standing up to her. So new to me, voicing my opinions! I've been practicing.
   "I nearly starved to death when I was in college," she said. "No one helped me. I didn't have any money. Believe me, I understand what it can be like. One day, someone dropped $20 in my box. I thought incredulously, 'How did they know?' And I was able to eat." Then she stood up. "I'm going to give you $20," she announced.
   "No no no, you don't have to do that," I said. "I'm fine."
   "Here," she said, and she gave me all the cash in her purse, I think, which was more than $20, and when I looked at her I could see she wasn't going to cave to my objections. I took it and crumpled. Tears came to my eyes and I reached to hug her. "Thank you," was all I could repeat, shakily. Then more strongly, I added, "I've got so much to do, I have to go now. But this isn't the first time I've been in a place that looked impossible. I've always found a way out. I'll find a way."
    "I know," she replied, assuredly.

I am so, so confused. This morning arrived yet another email from an internship program that didn't fill. They tout their program and encourage me to apply, but they need to know right away. This is about the fifth among seventy-three places that didn't fill, including one in my own area. Should I apply to this one? To that one? To any of them? There's still hope if I want to complete my internship as planned... but I think they all cost money to apply, and I'd have to hurry and try to throw together all the materials, and I know how fun that was from my Air Force application. I'd have to really be dedicated to getting one to make it worth the time and trouble. And then again, how would I pay for one? Am I willing to move? What about the long distance programs where you can stay in your area for the most part and take classes online but thus have to do more work and carry more responsibility than a typical program? I'd have to find someone to sponsor me.

Or should I hang out for a year and try to do the internship through the military again? I've got the Air Force, Army, and Navy to apply to.

And then there's the email from Mom, which said to apply for the great-paying civilian summer jobs on the military base, I've got one more day before the closing date. Do I stay here and try to support myself?

And then, I've reached the end of my money. I don't have enough to pay next month's expenses (unless I have a garage sale and otherwise scrape the bottom of the barrel for crumbs). What's my plan? How would I, by June, have a plan in place that supports me? I still need to move out, I can't afford to live here, but as my mother pointed out, I'm not going to find rent really any lower.

And it's hard to let go of all the dreams I had, "if I got the internship". I wanted some new clothes--I do NOT buy new clothes, can't afford to--and new clothes for my children, which I also haven't been able to purchase in over a year. I'd like some new shoes--all of mine are at least a year old--and I wanted to celebrate my graduation. I wanted to take a cheap roadtrip, but even that now seems out of reach. Now I need to work every second at this lousy job to try to hang on here. I've even considered every desperate meausre I can think up--babysitting, selling cosmetics, taking in foster children, working a full-time job on top of my regular job--I just don't know. I have absolutely no idea, and it's all buzzing around me, increasing in intensity, zeroing in, screaming at me to DO SOMETHING NOW.

I know, the world is wide open. I can go in any direction I choose and I know whatever that is, I can make it happen. I have no doubts. So yes, it's exciting, very exciting. It's just a lot of pressure, too, and even the kickstand of TNG isn't there for me to lean on. I'm so on my own, and it's uncomfortable.

My first day up and around in a week. I'm exhausted.

I had to lift weights this morning! I asked my PE teacher to excuse me for Monday because I had been in the hospital. I pointed the nasty IV spot on my arm out. I told her I had the wristband from the hospital with me if she needed to see it. "Get it out," she said. I did, and she looked. Nope, still not enough. "Do you have a note saying you were in the hospital on *Monday*?" she asked. The band was marked from Saturday. Geez. Also, there was no, "Hey, why don'cha take it easy today?" or other expressions of concern, so I had to lift weights. Walking to class at a slow pace had winded me. I admit to dishonesty. I lifted weights, but I didn't do quite all the reps I said I did, and I used the lightest weights possible (which I did record accurately). Yes, I did bicep curls and concentration curls and squats (etc.) with 3 lb. weights. You wanted me to do more?

My friend came back to class; that was a real blessing. Then I went to my next class, walked all the way back to the car, met Mom at the pharmacy and got my meds, ate lunch, took my meds, did dishes, did laundry, went to Walmart, nearly passed out, went to Office Depot, carried in groceries, cooked dinner, did more laundry, and did schoolwork. I should've done much more, but I'm not that hard of a worker.

P.S.--

A thanks to EVERYONE who was there for me during my illness and hospitalization:

   Mom, who helped me out of bed and to the health center, and again the next day to the hospital; who kept my kids entertained for six hours in the emergency room; who visited every day when she could and bought me a new outfit to wear home; who is paying for my prescriptions; who loved and supported me when I needed it most;
   My kids, who took care of me Friday night and called for help Saturday morning, and fended for themselves, feasting on graham crackers, when I couldn't care for them; who came to visit me in the hospital and called and boosted my spirits by phone when they couldn't;
   Chuck, who was there for me in all the ways he could be; who checked up on me; was there for me by phone whenever I needed; and sent me ecards;
   Aaron, who was concerned and caring; who cared for the extremely important task of emailing my professors for me; and answered "Anything!" when I asked if he could do me a favor;
   Nimmers, who offered his help; who visited and brought the kids; who got up at midnight to get my internship results for me online; who was there when I needed to talk; who was caring and concerned and sympathetic, even though he's my ex;
   Jeromy, Scott, Kep, and Galen, the men of my mom's workplace, who sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers and balloons; who asked about me every day; who gave Mom all the time off she needed; and got me a much-needed room transfer;
   My brother Michael and his girlfriend Jen, who were very concerned; sent me gorgeous flowers and heavenly chocolates even though they couldn't afford to; and who cared enough to call regularly and check on me;
   Grandma, who came by to visit and brought me mint chocolate;
   Dad, who left the very kind note on my blog and the very real offer to help;
   Friends Mysti and Scott, who were also there for me by phone.

I can't tell you how much you all helped me. Have you ever been in a hospital? It's an uncomfortable place, full of discomfort and sickness and pain. It's so easy to feel scared there, and you're very alone. Treatments are painful. Everything is foreign. You don't know what's going to happen and you don't feel well. But you guys were there, and you made me feel loved and cared about. You helped me know I wasn't alone. A little comfort and calming of fear goes a long way toward healing. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your friendship. I can't express how much you helped, but you very much did.

I'm back home. Where do I begin?

So the story goes more or less as TNG and Aaron spelled out, although I'll be happy to give you more details if you're one of those health people who wants to know. Needless to say by Saturday morning I was, as the hospital experts put it, "very, very sick". I was in the emergency room for eight hours, eventually received some long needed comfort in the form of anti-nausea and pain medication, and was given a room and some rest. Rest in a hospital comes, of course, in between bouts of blood letting and temperature checking and feet squeezing (no really), but I took it. In fact, I've done more sleeping than anything a lot of Thursday and all of Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and a lot of today. I'm going to miss that.

So the verdict? There isn't one. At first they suspected kidney infection caused by kidney stones, and were gearing up for surgery. They didn't see any kidney stones on the CT scan (wow, that's a trippy test), so the next suspect was a blood infection. That's a very serious one with a fairly high mortality rate (up to 60%). They went ahead and treated me for it "just in case" while they awaited test results; test results were inconclusive because the blood they had tested already contained antibiotics. The other highest contender for diagnosis was appendicitis. "Massive infection", "toxic infection", and "very very sick" were the only things decided on. They treated me with what they called guerillacillin--a powerful antibiotic--and painkillers, and very gradually I got better enough to be sent home. And here I am.

Hello, it's Mandy's friend Aaron. Mandy called me and asked that I tell everyone that she's still in the hospital. She's not sure what's wrong but it's a very bad infection... possibly a blood infection. They're keeping her on very strong IV antibiotics until she starts getting better. She's had mild improvement and apparently she's fairly comfortable on her pain meds. Methinks now is a good time for the sending of flowers.

Here's hoping that our number one girl gets better soon. It kills me to see bad things always happen to such good people...

Hello everyone. This's TNG. Mandy asked that I tell all of you what's been happening. Yesterday morning she was too ill to get out of bed. She went to the health center on campus with the help of her mom, who took off work to to drive her there. She had a temperature of 103 and they diagnosed her with a kidney infection. They said she needed to be hospitalized, but in an effort to spare her the expense they gave her antibiotics and told her that if she was not feeling better today that she should then be taken to the hospital.

This morning, she is unable to keep her antibiotics down so her mom is taking her and the kids to the hospital. She's in a lot of pain, but hopefully the doctors will be able to take care of that. If any of you should want to send her your wishes just let me know and I'll relay the message.

I am nearly as miserable as a person can be. I've got to be in the 80-90% range on the miserable scale.

So yeah, I know, I should see a doctor.

I'm annoyed by my own behavior. Why don't I? My main reasons are valid--that I cannot afford it and that I do not have the time. (Exactly when am I going to go?) I can't miss any more classes because it's nearing the end of the semester and I don't really have any leeway left. I can't miss work. I don't have any more days off coming until maybe two weeks from now. So I can't.

But even I at this point admit I should. I thought I'd hold out until I couldn't hold out anymore and I'm darn near that point. God, I could cry.

But if I was bent on seeing a doctor, I could, right? I'm stubborn and I'd find a way, somehow, I guess. Do I like punishing myself? Do I like the attention? Am I wanting sympathy here? Part of it is indeed, as I wrote in my last entry, an experiment. It's fun to watch what happens. Illness fascinates me. Maybe it serves as a distraction, an escape, an excuse. Maybe I want to be rescued. Maybe it's because at this point, lying around in a hospital bed sleeping and watching tv sounds like a vacation. Maybe it's because it adds interest to my life. Maybe it's because I seriously don't want to part with the hundreds of dollars it will take to fix me and I seriously don't have time for a doctor's appointment.

Okay, so I am going to cry. This whole situation is stupid and tiresome, I know. So I'm not going to get better, only worse, this is a little dangerous and I need to see a doctor. I agree. I'm kind of thinking I'll hold out until I find out if I get the internship because if I do I'll have health insurance.

Indescribably bad, that's how I feel. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep-- not write a paper and go through two and a half hours of class and then go to work. I feel like I can't. I wish my body would just give up--let me stop!--but no, it keeps going, so how can I say I "can't" go to class or work? Don't you hate this about me? The drama, the begging for sympathy? Don't you ever want to refuse to care and tell me to shut up?

I'm either going to throw up any minute now or collapse. I keep thinking about curling up somewhere, anywhere--that bench, that corner of the floor, I just want to lie down and curl up and pass out. But we've all had to work sick. I'm not the only person to be sick, and I know I need to shut up about it. I'm just feeling a little scared and alone, and maybe that's what drives my blog entries.

Me with illness:

me: Hey, look!
person: What?
me: Look, I hurt myself.
person: Ooh, yeah, you did.
me: It hurts so bad. Especially when I move it like this. See?
person: Um, yeah. You know, that doesn't look so good. You should see a doctor.
me: I know. Hey, see how it's all red? I think it's infected.
person: You really should see a doctor.
me: Look, I can hardly move it! And then when I do, it does that weird thing. Isn't that weird? Look! And it hurts!
person: Yeah, I see. You probably shouldn't do that.
me: Oh, I know. It can increase the injury. I may even have to have surgery if I don't get it treated.
person: Um, yeah, you want surgery?
me: No, I'll go to the doctor eventually, when it gets really bad. Wow. That's so interesting.

At work tonight I declined to eat anything. Now I'm worried. In my moment of saying, "Nah, no thanks," before they threw out the soup I realized this: "WHOA". I don't think in these going-on-five months at work have I ever done anything other than scarf food as if it was the last on earth. Hoard it, in fact. Sneak it home if I can. And always get more bowls of food than I can actually consume.

We all love people who, unasked, go on and on about their personal health problems, don't we? I hate it when I feel like I'm being that person. But man do I hurt.

So anyway, when do I get to see my kids? I go over the schedule again and again and see no resolution. Apparently I have kids no more. I came to work tonight only to find I didn't have to work tonight (although my boss had said I did). Ashley was ready to work, but she had to get up at 4am to go on a trip, so I volunteered to work for her. She said I was nice. I hope so. I hope it did something good for her life, 'cause I sure I didn't want to work. And so I work Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday, the last three being my weekend with the kids. If I pick them up Friday after work, we won't get home until 10:30pm and I have to be back at work at 6am Saturday. I can only figure I'll get to see them Saturday when I get off work at 2:30pm. We might make it home by 4pm and, true, I have to get them back to Blue Springs Sunday morning in time for me to make it to work at 7am--meaning we'd have to leave at 4:30am--which means including sleep time I'd have only about twelve hours with the kids--but what else can I do?? Sunday is the same deal, but I'm thinking four hours of drive time and $20 in gas is better than not seeing them at all. No, don't you dare join the chorus saying I just shouldn't bother. If I don't bother a hell of a lot at every opportunity such as this, I don't get to see them at all.

Work. Work's the culprit. We're already at bare minimum staff and three people are on vacation. I've got 27 hours this week and 27.5 hours next week (six days of the week). Oh, bills and responsibility! Without you I could shuck this situation off. Money's good. Time with kids is way better.

These are just quickies to show you what I'm facing, what runs through the back of my mind constantly with no resolution. This is why I can't answer "what I'm going to do when I graduate". I don't even know where I'm going to live, and that's my primary concern. I don't think I can afford to keep living here without student loans, so I'm 95% sure I'm moving. But when? Can I manage it by May 1, before finals end? Should I wait until June, so I have the time to pack, even though it'll cost me another $700? The questions are endless. I have no answers. I truly have no idea what's going to happen.

If I get the internship...
If I don't...

A lot of the items here may need explanation. Some of the possibilities may prove impossible. All have different income potentials vs. costs, and all obviously have pros and cons.

These are just quickies to show you what I'm facing, what runs through the back of my mind constantly with no resolution. This is why I can't answer "what I'm going to do when I graduate". I don't even know where I'm going to live, and that's my primary concern. I don't think I can afford to keep living here without student loans, so I'm 95% sure I'm moving. But when? Can I manage it by May 1, before finals end? Should I wait until June, so I have the time to pack, even though it'll cost me another $700? The questions are endless. I have no answers. I truly have no idea what's going to happen.

If I get the internship...
If I don't...

A lot of the items here may need explanation. Some of the possibilities may prove impossible. All have different income potentials vs. costs, and all obviously have pros and cons.

Not feeling so hot. Feel utterly fatigued, run over by a truck today. My lower back really hurts as well as my entire pelvis, and I'm just so darn tired, even though I slept *and* took a nap. And of course I had to work. Always work. (25-30 hours every week currently on the schedule)

TNG is here. He's chatting, and I think I'm going to go to bed. Leave the two of them alone. Take comfort in a shower and finishing a good book (To The Lighthouse, by Woolf), and drift off to sleep in my much cleaner, airier, more peaceful house thanks to TNG's cleaning. What a blessing.

Oh yeah, and we just took a late night walk to the pond and found a frog, which I decided to kiss, as it's a life experience I've never had before--and probably never will again. But now I can say that I've kissed a frog.

Worn out. Must give in, push no further, close my eyes... (Oh, but there's so much to say!)

I dreamed that I was holding Marilyn Monroe in my arms as she lay dying. Every time I fell back asleep the dream continued, which is a rare event for dreams. Usually, you can't get them back if you want to. But Marilyn Monroe had been in a car accident, I think--I don't remember all the details--and she was bleeding internally. I was holding and trying to comfort her. I didn't feel I could tell her perfectly rosy things about what a saintly life she'd led (when really, in real life I know little about her, and hold no judgments about her life) so I assured her she'd done well and had had good intentions. She meant well, she tried, she hadn't done anything really bad. All the while blood, I knew she was filling with blood, blood dripping from overhead, so much blood.

What on earth is this dream about?

I just took my organic chemistry test. It was so lengthy. Ten minutes over the length of the class period, the allotted time for taking the test, and half the class was still working diligently on it. Twenty minutes past the allotted time, about 20% of the class (including my self) was still trying to finish. First of all, the test is far too long. That should be obvious. Secondly, the test is too hard. Considering half the class flunked the first test should attest to that.

Most of the test didn't match anything we'd learned. It's like he thinks the test time is bonus question time. "Sure, you know how to oxidize primary alcohols into ketones, under what conditions, and what the products and reactants are, but what if it's a quaternary fourth degree alcohol / ketone with a sulfur group, at 100º C instead of 120º, with insufficient dichromate???" Okay, that's not real, but that feeling of consternation is about what I felt looking at these questions. So it doesn't matter that the gobs of material I learned about aldehydes, ketones, esters, hemiketals, blah blah--their arrangement, polarity, bonding, solubility, melting and boiling points, and all the reactions they can all possibly do and under what conditions. This was a test of the super big bonus points, the final round, the million dollar questions, the "what if we take all that, put it in a pot, jumble it up, and rearrange it? What would you get then?" Heck if I know.

I miss my kids.

I wish I could run away and raise them, have them all to myself. Well, with occasional babysitter, perhaps.

I'm tired.

I made coffee but became absolutely engrossed in chat and never drank it, or finished studying.

I'm not ready for my Chemistry exam. As I so often seem to do with school, what everyone else has learned over the course of weeks I've crammed into a crash course couple-a-days study session.

I didn't get to drop my Greek Lit class, and I don't know what to do about that. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's the feeling of being forced or trapped. I'll freak out if there's a bracelet on my wrist I can't get off, even if it isn't uncomfortable. And just try to force me to do something! Anyone who knows me knows that's the worst possible way to get me to do something. I'll fight with all my might, regardless of what I'm fighting against. I'm a very stubborn mule.

I'm learning, really I am. About me, about life. I'm growing. It's been a slow process, sure, but the progress is clear. I see more all the time.

I love my friends. I swear I've been more blessed than a human being deserves. The parade of phenomenal people who have spent time in my life and loved me and cared about me and done good things for me is far, far too many. Can you tell I'm deliriously tired? I love you. Here I go Romper Room: I see Will and Aaron and Jenny and Sheila and Chuck and Mysti and Paul and Murray and Randy and Patrick and Nicole and Sean and Nic and Dave and Lori and Sam and Jenn and Kim and Colin and Chris and Carl and Zak and Brendan and Mikey and Jason and Kelly and Julie, and yes, I see you, too!

I do not know what to do with my daugher Shay. She's a difficult child, highly emotional, highly reactive, highly dramatic. She spends half her life screaming and throwing things in anger or crying as loudly as possible. No one loves her, everyone hates her, she claims as she storms to her room and slams the door. The only way she thrives is if you dote on her. She blooms under attention. It simply isn't constantly feasible, though, and it gets tiresome. Furthermore it's hard to dote when she's being so unpleasant. I try, I really try, to keep the peace by doting on her, but we still have meltdowns frequently. (Shay is 7.)

My current topic is her lying. I know children lie and I don't believe this is a moral issue per se. It's probably a matter of psychology I'm ignorant of.

Okay, this is so much better. I've only got 19 hours of work this week--and three days off!--and only 23.5 hours next week, again with three days off. Truly, with this realization and then, here I am sitting at my computer at 9am, not at a school desk!--and top all that with my realization a moment ago that I don't go directly from school to work today, but have 2.5 hours between--I'm feeling dazingly light, as in, what's missing? What am I forgetting?