I have an interview on Monday for the newspaper reporter job! Yay! My first job interview. As you can see from the job list on the right, I've already been declined for two.
As I ended up with three days off work (no, thank you) I decided to visit TNG. I don't know that I need a vacation from what already feels like a vacation of a life (i.e, I'm not exactly overworked right now), but here I am having a good time anyway.
The next-door-neighbor, mother of the little boy my son often plays with, came over tonight. "Oh no," I thought with dread when I saw her at the door. It couldn't be good, I figured, as I've only known her by her frequently angry tirades heard through the walls. "Do you have a minute?" she asked. "Well, yeah, but I've got something on the stove," I said, an out if I needed it, and not a lie.
My neighbor proceeded to tell me what happened the other day. My son and I had been leaving the house, and as we approached the car she had been outside looking for her son. "J, do you know where C. is?" I asked. "No, I don't know where he is," he said, and we got in the car and left.
Well C. was hiding in my son's room. It seems J snuck C. inside, against my rules. When I had called J. downstairs to go, he (not knowing why I was calling him, I guess) he gave C. orders to be quiet and stay where he was. And he did.
My neighbor told me that C. was in my house for over three hours. They had the police here searching the neighborhood, and other neighbors joined in the search. I don't know if C. just didn't know what to do or was afraid of getting in trouble, but they didn't figure it out until they saw him peeking out my bedroom window upstairs. Three hours!
It's an amazing story, and I had no idea it occurred. I have to wonder how many people were inside my messy house now, which is a nightmare in itself to me. But obviously more important, just think of what could have happened to C.! Or the worry and fear his parents must've felt! Or C.! And what did he do in here all that time?
Now comes a test of parenting: How do I deal with J. with this? While lying and breaking rules are fairly common and minor childhood infractions, at they same, they aren't. And minor and excusable or not at all, the consequences were serious. How do I convey this to him? How do I teach him a lesson?
I am not going to let myself cry; that'd be silly. I can't help but feel disappointed, though. I was supposed to be receiving a new iMac, and the gift just fell through. Oh well, right?
It is as it always goes with such things. The computer was the one little good and hopeful thing in my life right now that was helping pull me along. I always find these little things to look forward to, sometimes used as motivation, as a reason to be happy, sometimes clung to too desperately. And then, as they sometimes do, they fall apart, and I'm left drowning.
I'm better now, though. I can blow this off and say "Oh well" and only feel some disappointment. I can still be happy, I can go on just fine.
But dang, what a disappointment. It does sting.
I was cleaning tables of breakfast dishes at work today when I came to D's table. (No, this time I'm prohibited by law from saying a name!) I saw D's food sitting at his table, and that was the turning point. That was it. I took off my gloves, stopped what I was doing and marched into my boss's office. "Who do I need to tell about this?" I asked. At that moment, I became a champion of elderly rights.
During my six months working at a nursing home, I've seen many things that displeased me, but nothing so horrid as to call "elderly abuse". However, I've seen residents treated in less-than-respectful ways many a time, and a whole hoard of "I don't like it, but I have to shrug it off--what can I do?" episodes. But you know what? I'm tired of it.
Here's what I wrote a report about. 'Though it was not my first time reporting something, this is my first official complaint as crusader. I doubt this crusade will have much effect and it may likely make me unpopular with the nurses, who run the place--kitchen and housekeeping staff are the pariah of the building--but dang it, I can take no more! I must speak!
Here's me and my morals these days in a snapshot:
Yesterday at Walmart (typical beginning to a midwesterner's story, eh?) I was at the checkout counter and saw that a bag of snacks rang up as $1.00 instead of 50¢. There was a cashier standing near-by (self-checkout) so I asked her about it. She went to look up the price, and this took a long time. I'd already paid for one of the two bags; she'd taken the other one with her. When she came back, she claimed they were indeed $1.00 and were mistakenly on the clearance rack. "I don't know if you still want to buy them..." she said. I didn't. I'd already stood there thinking how I can't afford to buy superfluous snacks, let alone unhealthy ones--let alone ones that aren't on sale. But I'm so darn nice, I felt bad for putting her to all the "trouble" of a price check! "Okay, go ahead and scan it," I replied. Yes, I was buying a bag of snacks I didn't want to be nice to the Walmart cashier because I felt sympathetic and guilty for having her do a price check. That's me.
Maybe she didn't hear me, I don't know, but she just placed the bag of snacks into my cart with the items that had been paid for. In the past, there would have been no question: I would've picked the bag up and scanned it. This time, however, I considered doing that, then thought, "Well, I did tell her," "Maybe she did that on purpose," and "I know for a fact those were labeled for $.50--now I get them for 50¢." Maybe there isn't anything morally wrong with that, but old conservative Christian me still thinks there is.
My car is dying, did I tell you that?
Life isn't too exciting. I can either complain about my circumstances, or simply report there's not much to report at the moment. I'm getting more time with my kids now. I've been spending a lot of time with friends, especially my newest one, which is promising.
Mom told me not to worry about my car, and it doesn't even matter if that's such a solid statement that I need not worry about a thing, or if it was just a nice thing to say--it was so comforting to hear. All I need, I swear, is someone to reassure me that things are going to be okay, or to offer me some illusion of hope, to let me think there's something there to catch me. I can do it on my own most of the time, nearly completely, but things get scary, and I just need someone to say things like Mom did. TNG used to serve this purpose for me, too. Just tell me things are going to be okay. I still have to legitimately worry from time to time about things like having an adequate job, paying my rent, buying food, my children's needs, and health issues, and worry I do. So tell me you'll loan me your car/lend me money/ask around about jobs/fill-in-the-blank, if it came down to it. You don't even have to mean it. The comfort it offers me, the peace of mind, is so absolutely invaluable to me. It's that that I need, more than the actual resources.
Bless all of you who care about me. I wish I could tie up blessings for you in bundles, tied in tulle and ribbon, or nestled in shiny boxes, and hand deliver them with my appreciation. You make my life a better place.
J was talking about asking his dad to take him swimming. I knew his dad would quite likely say no.
"What if he says no?" I asked.
"MOM--he always says no," he said, which was just what I was thinking. "He needs a chance to say yes!"
Such optimism. If only I could consistently see the world as they do!
"If you fall out of love with someone, for god's sake, you let them know before moving on to someone else." --B.
(from a friend's blog)
This afternoon I took my kids to the playground after we finished our free Frosties from Wendy's, bless Wendy's for this treat I wouldn't have splurged on otherwise. I sat in the car reading a fantastic book as the sunlight played with the breeze and shadows, the leaves of the trees tittering, with an enveloping blend of light, temperature, air, and sound mixed just for my pleasure. As the kids played happily I drifted off into afternoon drowsiness and thought, "Life isn't so bad."
It's amazing how my social life waited for me. It was completely on hold all last semester, and suddenly, I've got all sorts of plans and potential plans and there are people everywhere. It's garage sale day in the neighborhood so the kids and I went on a long walk, checking out the "sales"--I knew it was good exercise and a cheap way for me to be able to buy them things. What do you know but I ran into my old friend Dennis, and after spending some time chatting with him, I ran into my friends Jeromy and Sherry.
The sun is shining, I've received some unbelievably great news from my friend Chuck, my kids are with me, and I'm entirely in charge of my day, and still I can't be as happy as I'd like. I've become convinced I can't survive without another person's income and resources. I don't even care so much about love and romance anymore. I've got not idealism left. I only want another decent person (preferably one that I at least start out loving, preferably a lifelong friend) who will partner with me. I think I've said all this before, though. But if I don't have someone to share with (income, possessions, friendship) how will I ever make it? I'm just so desperate to get out of this poverty. I can work full time and still not earn more than $900 a month, the same budget I've been on for years now, and it isn't changing. Today I've been depressed by the fact that I can't buy my kids shoes. They're in trouble with their dad for leaving a pair of shoes here and have strict orders to bring them back to his house, leaving me with none.
I'm tired of people telling me things will get magically better. Without a usable degree, tell me how. Tell me how things are going to get better. I don't see it.
I've never met a situation as depressing as reaching graduation and finding that at the end of the rainbow there is nothing. A big black void and a heavy debt. Everything I did to get to this point being for naught is the most genuinely depressing thing I've encountered in my lifetime. What now?
I wish I could be happier about it and more optimistic, and I'm fighting really hard to do so, but I hope you can understand how awfully depressing it is.
...I should know better than to believe that things can only be as I can possibly conceive them. There must be some option I don't see that's better than this...
What's a girl in my situation to do but hope for someone on a white horse to come along to save me?
I jumped in the car to pick up my kids, very excited to see them, but the car was dead. This after I just off the phone with Nimmers, imploring him to take a look at it, stressing to him how it is about to die.
It's not dead for good, though, just the battery is, which reminded me that when I got out of the car two hours earlier I thought I heard it beeping at me like it does. I thought to myself, 'Are my lights on??' as they shouldn't have been. Then I looked at the tail lights, didn't see them on, got the mail, and promptly forgot to reach inside the car to double-check.
I call Nimmers to tell him I'll be late. "'I can jump start it, I guess, with that kit TNG bought me," I tell him, "if it's properly charged." I've never jump started a car in my life, but I guessed I would figure it out. I tell him I'll call him back.
Then I go to pop open the trunk which contains the jump start thingy, but the trunk won't open because the power locks don't work because the battery is dead. I want to laugh at the irony: the thing I need to jump start my car is unreachable because the car needs to be jump started!
I call Nimmers back to let him know. "Why don't you open the trunk with the key?" he asks. "The dealer told me the key doesn't work to it," I reply. "Have you ever tried?" he asks. I never have, so I decide to give it a shot --but the key won't come out of the ignition. All the time I've been on the phone with him, I'm jiggling it. I've tried wiggling the steering wheel, but it's not locked. I've put the car in and out of park, but that's not the problem either. (Both have been problems before.) "Have you tried jiggling the key?" he asks. For about five minutes I jiggle the key, and when I'm really convinced it isn't coming out, it finally it pops out.
No, it won't open the trunk.
"You know, I hate your car more than you do," says Nimmers, most seriously.
"I don't know if that's possible," I say.
"It's been a curse to me since you've had it," he says.
It's true. My dad, Nimmers, and TNG have suffered much (that should be emphasized) in the way of money, time, and bother because of my car. In fact if it hadn't been spread among the four of us the car couldn't have lived as long as it has; not only has it taken the resources of four people, but any one person having to support this thing would've shot themselves or the car by now. Bless them for caring about whether or not I have transportation.
Oh wow. I just got a notice of non-sufficient funds from the bank, and I'm perplexed. It's coming from an account I don't use anymore, except my cable bill comes out of it automatically. I can't believe it's overdrawn! Go ahead and criticize: I don't excuse such things myself. There's no reason I shouldn't have known its balance and amount of monthly auto-withdrawal, which is why I'm perplexed. Oh, it's so much fun when one makes a mistake. Last time I calculated I estimated having $1,000 for May. However, if this account is actually overdrawn, then the $160 I just spent to keep my gas from being disconnected is also going to bounce, and further, if all I have left is what's in my active account, I am in the biggest big time trouble ever.
I love the way when you're out of money, the banks charge you big fees. They're hitting up the wrong people, but fine, yeah, penalize me for being poor. The world just keeps on piling on the fees. They might as well. Who cares how big the debt is? I can't pay any of it.
I meant to tell you earlier to disregard my last post. I woke up this morning feeling much better. What do I do with this time? Well, I can learn new things. I can go on adventures. I can watch tv, take a bath, or read a book. I can pursue hobbies, old and new. I can call friends. I can write. I can chat. And yes, it's nice to have time to clean up the house and I'm glad I am not too busy to get to those dishes.
I can also apply for jobs. Today I went through step two in applying for a management job that pays about what I would've made in the Air Force. As far as I can tell it wouldn't be any better than the job I have now, if not worse--but the pay would be good. At this point would I work a job I didn't like all that much for good pay and benefits? Yes, yes I would.
I don't like this dark I walked into.
I came home from work and it's as I expected: TNG left, no one is here, work is done and there's no more school, there's nothing. I just want to run into bed at 9pm at night and hide from this scary open space. What do I do now? Do I do the dishes, pick up the living room, do laundry, clean? (Not exactly fun.) Do I try to get into watching tv? (I don't watch much tv, and doing so would just feel so lazy and non-productive.) Do I read a book? Do I waste time online? Do I call people up? Do I chat?
I don't know that I want to do any of those things. (Practice dance? Exercise? Go somewhere? Take a bath?) I don't know what I want to do at all. How many times would I have given anything for a few moments to myself? And here they are: the rope snapped and the ton of free moments has crashed upon me like a grand piano, knocking me into the sidewalk and laying me flat.
I can't believe I'm not happier about this--an evening to spend however I please!--but it's so foreign, and it doesn't help that TNG just left. My days that were filled with friendship and a sense of adventure, hugs and conversation and someone handing you a fresh cup of coffee, companionship and jokes, all those smiles, the feeling of comfort, someone to share with--all and more gone, temporarily, I hope, but suddenly--and everything feels so empty, lacking, and colorless. I'll rebound from that, of course, 'though life never seems to quite achieve the same level as it does with him in it. But I don't know if I'll ever get used to being alone and having all this empty space. What does one do with free time? Where's my structure to hold on to?
I'm not liking this unfamiliarity. I'll probably be writing on the blog a whole heck of a lot in one attempt to fill the spaces and not be alone.
1. I'm hired for 15 hours per week, "no more than 20, please, that's the most I think I could handle"
2. My first "week" I work 9 days straight for a total of 45 hours
3. Every week thereafter I work no less than 20 hours, in a range of 20-30 hours
4. I do not get a single weekend day off. I do not get a single full day with my kids. This happens for about four months.
5. Nearing graduation and desperately needing to support myself, I tell my boss to give me all the hours she can. I find she has just hired two new people, one full-time!--finally, after five months of being woefully understaffed and my pleading to reduce my hours, BAM. As if it had been that easy all along... Result: Just as I was ready for more work, reduced hours for me.
6. Stroke of fortune: A full-time person quit! The possibility of a full-time position for me, or at least, more hours, for sure!
7. I learn boss, rather than giving me and another gal in similar situation the newly open hours, she's going to hire an additional person. How ridiculous and unfair!
8. I am scheduled for 35.5 hours next week! (32=full-time) Hallelujah, maybe there's hope!
9. All the seasoned workers warn me: Don't hope.
I should've worked harder.
I have been blessed. So blessed! Bless you, professors, and thank you, Life, thank you for your blessing upon me. I am so grateful.
I sat down and listed all my tasks for the week and my "free time" to see when I could possibly do what, and decided it could not be done, unless my paper, due tomorrow, could be postponed until Friday. My chemistry paper, due shortly after I got out of the hospital, was only just now ready to be turned in. And the best I could hope for in Greek and Roman Literature & Philosophy was a grade of incomplete.
I tracked all three professors down and sprung this upon them, and all three were gracious and accepted. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
So here's the plan for the rest of the week:
Me in chat:
I've got ONE day to prepare for my impossibly hard Chem final, AND write a 7-10 page paper.
After that, I have ONE day to prepare for my essay question Modern Religious Thought final.
ALSO, I have to finish all my food prep work, including redoing my menu and shopping list, making a date with the professor to go grocery shopping, cooking the elaborate thing (which will take two days), and writing a paper about it, by Friday.
I also need to meet with my Sci/Rel prof and try to find time to watch his Einstein movie this week.
ALSO, I have to get my graduate packet; mail my announcements; try to talk my Chem prof into taking my paper late, and try to convince Kevin not to flunk me.
Oh, and I have to get J back to Blue Springs at some point.
Oh, AND I have to rent The Color Purple and fill out two worksheets about it.
Oh wait--and I have to try to figure out the two Chem labs I missed when I was sick and complete them and get my prof to take them late, too.
All by Friday.
And work and take finals inbetween.
I'm sorry, okay, so I had this mega-rare--miraculous, even--turn of events that allowed me to go to see Bright Eyes and the Faint in concert. I went, and now I'm not just a Bright Eyes fan, I'm a HUGE Bright Eyes fan, and I can't stop sharing his lyrics. You know I'm a big lyrics person anyway. I've tried really hard to refrain from putting any more on the blog, and I'll try really hard to limit myself to just one Bright Eyes quote. Here it is, so lovely:
I can't think of anything to say. I can't talk about TNG. I don't want to go over yet again what a bad state I'm in or the five million possibilities of what I might do.
So I'll say these things I've been meaning to say:
I was the only person in all three sections of Oral Interpretation to earn a perfect score on the final.
I got a perfect score on my paper for Organic Chemistry. "You gave me a 75?" I asked incredulously. "It was one of the best papers in the class," prof replied.
I got a perfect score on my paper for Science and Religion.
Now if only all the rest of it were as good.
