June 2005 Archives

--today at work I got to tear an entire 70-serving angel food cake into tiny pieces with my bare hands.

As for the games I play each day at work:

"What crucial food items has our boss in her incompetence run us out of today?"
--Today's answer: bananas and green peppers

"What's wrong with Ashley today?"
--N/A, but last time it was "female problems" so allegedly bad that she had to stop the process of our serving dinner to the residents in order to call her grandma to bring her midol, and then stop the line again to run outside and pick it up.

"Which resident was abused or mistreated today?"
--Today's winner is Mrs. T. Her husband is also in the facility and he's dying, as in now: palliative care/comfort measures/hospice. All through breakfast she told the nurses she wanted to be with her husband. Each time they told her she had to eat, even though she said she wasn't hungry. Each time Mrs. T tried to go to her husband, a nurse rudely pushed her back to the table. Each time Mrs. T endangered herself by trying to rise from her chair, the nurses ignored her or simply shouted at her to sit back down. She was worrying the tar out of me each time she so shakily stood, clearly at risk of falling. She kept trying to unpin the alarm that connects her shirt to her chair to alert staff to her getting out of the chair. Why she kept standing, I don't know. This woman's a little nutty. If you've ever listened to my work stories in person, she's the woman who once repeatedly insisted to me in her gruff voice that she wanted, "Jello on a bun! JELLO ON A BUN!" and is the same woman who spends so much time forcing her husband to eat ("Chicken noodle soup! Chicken noodle soup! Eat it!") she barely eats anything herself.

"What's today's drama?"
--There wasn't much drama today, actually, but my kitchen coworkers are gossipy, backstabbing, jealous, and petty, and almost the entire staff of the building is female. Throw in there my boss, whom no one can get along with, and some other strong personalities, and you have almost a daily fight and high emotions all around. It's a zoo, and I'm too often in the middle having to testify to one side or the other. I pretend it's a reality television show,and then it's all fun.

Today I finally got it off my shoulders: I called Diane back about the job. I had interviewed June 17 and was told I'd be called either way by mid-last week. Last week went entirely and this one was nearly gone as well, so I called. Besides, my coworker who's setting me up with this job asks me every day, and every day I have to say I haven't heard anything and "You're right, I should call. I will."

It doesn't sound very good. Diane didn't recognize my name and didn't seem to remember me even when I reminded her who I was. ("When did we interview?" she asked, puzzled.) The only good news is that the position hasn't been filled yet. The bad news is she put it this way: "A final decision hasn't been made yet."

Same old, same old. More on this on my other blog. Having my kids here can be depressing. Earlier today, after the fun we had at the library (no, really), Walmart, making two kinds of cookies, smores, pancakes, stories, science experiments and water balloons, among other activities, they all cried and begged to go to their dad's. Because of a dispute over sharing water balloons in which I declared since they weren't sharing their toys, J's sharing of one balloon for each girl was really adequate, the girls hated me.

Trivial, I know, and I should know better than to take it for anything other than kids being upset, but it combined itself with the same old theme that comes up repeatedly every time they're here: I can't buy them anything. Yes, a $1 bag of balloons is a big deal 'round my house, not easily replaced. Or the kids come over without shoes on, or without a change of clothes, and I have nothing for them. I get it rubbed in my face all over again that I can't afford to buy them shoes and clothes. Of course, I can think of a few things I've bought recently I could have spent on shoes instead, like the night I treated myself to the concert in Lawrence. That gas money and the $5 cover could have gone to shoes, right? So every time the kids are here I feel like a failure all over again, and selfish, too.

Bri won't stop crying. I know it's because she didn't get enough sleep, but she says it's because I won't drive her to her dad's tonight. She wants to play with a friend. I intended to return them today and have an hour or two to myself tonight, but we couldn't get in touch with their grandma until 8pm. She was sleeping. Now my options are drive them all the way up there, or take them to their dad's workplace at 5:15am. The latter option will require us all to be up at 4:30am and will take over an hour, all so I can get to work by 6am. Definitely not pleasant, but the alternative is more expensive: over two hours' drive, and over $8 worth of gas. As always, my life is ruled by my inability to buy anything. The 4:30am, $3 trip wins out. So Bri cries and cries, and her sobs stab at my heart, but I just steal it with bitterness. Her dad with his income 3-4 times mine, who lives with his mom who has enough money she hasn't had to work in years... why aren't they paying for piano lessons or keeping the kids supplied with clothes and shoes? They moved an hour away, and I'm to shell out $8 every time I want to see my kids? I can't, I swear I can't. $10,000 a year isn't much, especially when you're paying for a 3 bedroom apartment and three children.

And then I say all this and still I've got my graduation money tucked away in hopes of getting a miniature vacation. You see? I am selfish.

I thought I could make some noises out coming from the other side of the door.

"I can't hear you! I'm in the shower!" I shouted, just in case. Upon turning off the water and reaching for my towel, it was more clear: "Mooooom.... J broke the bowl..." which J interrupted in a terrified, escalating, I'm-in-trouble wail, "But I--" which I interrupted, "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay. What do you mean, 'broke'?" I asked, trying to assess the situation as I hastily dried off. I had left the kids with a bowl of graham crackers to crush to keep them occupied while I had a quick but relaxing shower. They were going to make lemonade pie. I'd given them an old marble rolling pin that had lost its handles, leaving it more of a marble column than I rolling pin. The poor old heavy thing is relegated to such crushing tasks these days.

"He brooooke it!" his sister wailed.
"Did any of it spill?" I was imagining a chip on the side of the bowl.
"Yeah, nearly all of it," she retorted in tattle-tail voice. So much for a chip.

As I was throwing on clothes, I heard Bri downstairs saying, "Well, I know one thing-- we won't be using a glass bowl next."

I went downstairs to find a bowl on the kitchen floor that appeared to be fine, aside from the pile of graham cracker crumbs on the floor next to it. When I picked it up, however, the bowl came up and all the graham crackers stayed on the floor. There was a nearly perfect circle missing from its bottom.

"Cool! Can we use it for crafts?" the girls exclaimed as I scraped up cracker crumbs to salvage. I was planning to make an unbaked crust, but cringing at the thought of the germs now in it, I decided it'd be a baked crust after all. As J and I swept up the remainder from the floor, the girls came back in proudly with the bowl upside down and the rubber band ball sitting on the hole at the top. "It's the perfect home!" they said with glee.

"Gee," says J. "I guess I hit it a little too hard." Then, squatting where the bowl had been, he gestures to demonstrate, as if holding the battering ram of marble high, high above his head.

Yes, I can see why the bowl broke.

In the first aisle as I was talking the kids into whatever fruits were on sale, I saw this cute guy I've known for a long time. I've got a bit of a crush on him, kinda sorta. Apparently he works in produce now. Although I was looking attractive enough, I didn't think three kids did anything for my looks, so suddenly, we needed bananas on the far end, safely past cute guy, successfully avoided.

In aisle two I first admonished Shay and J to not touch each other.

In aisle three we had a small fight over who would get to push the cart. That is, Shay and J fought.

In aisle four we were waiting for a large lady riding in a motorized cart to pass by so we could grab a can of carrots. Shay was once again babbling on too loudly for my comfort about all the money she had gotten for her birthday. Lady in the cart told me she just had a birthday, too. She told us about all the people in her family who have birthdays right around that same time. "Do you want me to give you a dollar?" she asked Shay, who just shook her head shyly, not sure of what to make of her question. The lady in the cart just laughed. "You're worried 'bout what your mama's gonna say," she said, so she asked my permission. I, like Shay, wasn't sure how to deal with this. "Uh... yeah, I guess, if you want. But you really don't need to," I stressed. "Oh, no, I want to!" she said jovially. In measured tone I looked her in the eye and said, "Shay, this lady wants to give you a dollar for your birthday," with "the look" to express "say thank you", as well as giving warning to the other two to not say a word about it being unfair. The woman dug through her purse and, though I saw a dollar bill, pulled out a five. "There," she said. "That's a dollar for each of you. And what's left, Mom can have!" she laughed. "Wow," I said in amazement. "Thank you! That's incredibly generous of you!" I tried to properly express the great gratitude with which I accepted the money. "Now you can all pick out something from the store!" I told the kids. The lady just laughed. "Oh, the man I serve is generous," she says. "You just don't know. He's been mighty good to me. I just had money come in I didn't even know about," she says. "I have to do things like this, because he's good to me." And she laughed and smiled some more as she rode off, knowing she'd made our day a little better. Now that is a Christian.

After aisle four was when I whirled around and hissed at Shay, "Stop it right now! Dont touch him!" in the your-death-is-iminent tone, after she knocked him the ground trying to steal his quarter. Yes, we were the family stopping aisle traffic.

On the way to get milk we ran into Jenny, a girl I went to school with who happens to look like a model. I wished to be her in her cute skirt with nice tan and perfectly painted toes slipped in stylish sandals, makeup impeccable. I was wearing nothing newer than two years old: cotton shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes, all accessorized with a hasty pony tail. (On the upside she's looking every bit of her age. Ha.)

After getting milk, marshmallows for smores, butter spray and peaches, we returned to the frozen aisle to replace our melting lemonade for a more frozen one and begin our search for things to buy that are less than $1. We walked through the crayon/marker aisle and spied a rubber band ball. It was definitely not less than $1, though, at $2.97. "Cool!" the kids exclaimed, and that's just what I was thinking! I've always wanted a rubber band ball. (It promises to give me at least 270 rubber bands, but I've ordered the kids to never remove any.) I'm so happy to own a rubber band ball! It's multicolored! It bounces and everything!

In the toy aisle, J found water balloons that look like grenades. "Are you sure you don't want these?" I asked, pointing at the tie-dye ones. I don't know how I feel about his throwing grenades, but of course that's what he wanted.

Shay wanted to look for toys that cost less than $1, but Bri and I wanted to look for nail polish. I agreed to let Shay and J stay there, two aisles away, but in the cosmetic aisle I ran into my boss from The Lighthouse and felt ashamed of my parenting. What kind of mom lets their kids out of their sight? Not I, before today. Bri and I did some testing that ended with a pink and purple nail for me, one gold and one silver for her. It worked, though, as we we found the perfect colors and I offered manicures when we got home. We quickly retrieved her siblings, and I hopped on the way. Yes, hopped. I felt like it, that's why.

McDonalds made an announcement over the intercom, enticing everyone to go eat there. I mimicked the tone of the commercial, but said, "McDonalds isn't good for your health," which made the nearby store associate laugh.

Shay decided on a coin purse instead, and next I ran into Dusty from housekeeping at work. I learned that she has a hobby of shooting bows and arrows, and I was glad for the opportunity to learn a little more about her and about the sport. After she moved on I fell madly in love with a $5 coin purse with a little monkey on it. I wanted it so badly that I held it and held it, but eventually was able to talk myself out of the purchase. As I write this I am still longing for the monkey mini-wallet with the matching monkey zipper-- so cute, so perfect for going out-- but $5. Oh, I want the monkey!

Two moments of parenting pride on the way home: Listening to music, J asked me to take him to hear a live band. (I'm glad to be cultivating a love of music.) Then Bri told me I'm a cool mom--most moms don't listen to cool music like I do, she claims. I know, my "coolness" in her eyes won't last.

In any case we came home to make two kinds of meringue cookies because one child insisted she only liked vanilla, while another said they'd only eat chocolate. After that we made smores. I'm not sure what happened to dinner. They didn't get here until six pm so I assumed they ate already, so they were ordered to find something healthy to eat before they got cookies. I think it's time to retire for the day with our new library books.

I'm staring a top secret blog. Why do I announce this, you ask? Because if you're interested in my personal life and fluctuating emotions, or have interest in my beliefs and thoughts on various topics, you might want to follow along. It's going to be at livejournal, and should be a wholly different blog than this one.

If you haven't already, go to livejournal (here), fill out four or five short lines, and click "create journal".

You can then go to my profile (click here) and click the little icon that looks like a head with a plus sign to add me as your friend.

If you don't see entries at that blog then apparently I can't trust you with anything. (ha) If you're not on my friends list you'll still be able to read the blog, but only that which I post publically. I don't know how much that will be, as this is officially my "public" blog now. Which is not to say this blog is any less in my mind--it always has and always will be me, my main site--but livejournal will be my secret and rawest me, and you can't ask anyone to publically expose that side of themselves.

I feel good today. Some days I do and sometimes I don't, and a lot of days are mixed or inbetween. I wish I knew why this is so that I could harness or at least coax out more "good" days, but that wouldn't be fair, would it? That wouldn't be life. We accept that part of life is variety which includes the "bad".

Today, I feel content and happy. My mind feels sharp (or rather, it doesn't feel spacey or half-asleep). I feel good about myself and my life. There's hope. It feels realistic to me: everything is fine, I'm an okay person, my life is under my control, and I can make positive decisions.

Oh again, if only I could always feel this way!

Better are the times (like today) when time feels like something I don't have enough of. I've got this, then this, and this I want to get done! So many possibilities! Other days time feels like a neverending road that I'm begrudgingly trekking and I just want to take a break, get the load off my back; lay down and get some sleep; or in the least, hurry up and get to the next place of interest.

I want a blog where I can say anything. Whatever's on my mind, however I feel, whatever my thought may be, I'd write about it.

Lacking that, I want such a person.

I'm currently strung out among dozens. I have those to whom I can talk about this relationship, and others I feel I can't. I talk to others about that one. I have those who understand this situation, and those who wouldn't. I confess crushes to some. I admit dissatisfaction to a few. Some emotions can be told to this person, but others I have to hide from him, so I tell those to who her, but not all.

Going out by onesself is a grand adventure. It requires bravery, not having any idea how the adventure will play out--what you'll do or where you'll end up. It requires determination--you're the only one there to make the night. No one will salvage it for you. It requires creativity. Smarts. Perseverence. Open-mindedness. Ability to get along with all sorts of people. Inquisitiveness. Mostly, bravery. Can you walk into a bar alone? Can you talk to a stranger?

Last night I walked the streets of a lovely town. I found my way around, found a place to park, and walked. I gazed in store fronts, listened to street musicians, and had passing conversations with my fellow walkers. I caught some bands I'd been wanting to hear at a venue I'd always wanted to visit. Afterward, I walked some more. Thought. Reflected. Talked. I'd catch my reflection in the store windows and wonder who I was. Someone hip and hot, I'd smile to myself at one glimpse. Someone confident, I'd think as I strode past another. Someone interesting with a story to tell, my reflection seemed to suggest the next time.

Alleys fascinate me. How did these spaces get forgotten? They lure me with their sense of taboo. They've been colored by a lifetime of urban legends and mother's warnings, but I wonder if alleys have been mistold as I sometimes have been. These are not the paths the masses take. These are not routes with clear destination, and I want to know where they go. I want to hear their silences. I want to see what's around the corner. I'd have liked to have spent much of my night in alleyways, until I understood.

Of course in my adventure I met people, the most intriguing of the evening being a guy who played my role. How'd he beat me to it? He approached me in a charmingly cute and forward gesture by plopping himself down so close to me he was nearly on my lap, but pulled it off with quirkiness rather than aggressiveness. Intimately, Stranger and I began our introduction. One second my world had been nothing but music, the next I was pulling out all my tricks, discovering that we liked the same bands and both recently graduated. But strange to me was that all the while he was playing my role, and I fell into the role of The Charmed. I could never get the upperhand, despite throwing out my best banter and clever conversation. I was being played, and I knew it and played along as the hypnotized do.

And just as abruptly, he ended it. He was through with me. He walked away with the admonishment to take care of myself. And although it was within my powers to pursue, to renew, to continue it, and as I would have liked to follow through and see where it went, I let it go. I had been in the presence of one greater than I.

So I have another friend with the qualities I mentioned in my last post. How can someone be so blessed as to have a friend who is like this?

Just now, in chat:

     friend: Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I can come out there now. I can cook you dinner. Have you eaten?
     me: No, we haven't, but the kids are here.
     friend: I dunno if i have anything kids would want.
     me: I don't know what they want, either, but heck, if you want to cook dinner, you can use our food. But I feel cruddy today.
     friend: You need a hug! Hey, I'm in a major cleanin' mood. If you want help, we can put some music on, get the kids involved, then watch a movie and celebrate finishing.
     me: Dear, you're insane. Wonderfully insane.

My status message last night in chat announced I was eating cake and ice cream. A friend saw this and messaged:

     friend: cake and ice cream?!
     me: yessir
     friend: Mandy, surely you jest!
     me: and they had rootbeer floats
     friend: oh god
     friend: and where, pray tell, is this fountain of happiness?

Conclusion: I need people like this in my life.

I don't know if I could get along with a significant other wasn't just this way. I have to find someone who shares this attitude and ability to be happy and enjoy simple pleasures in life. You could label it silliness. I need more of that, too.

"It's okay, I don't mind waiting."

I spent some time in a truck stop gas station this evening. Exploring, I turned a corner and found an entire section of the store I never knew existed. It seemed to be the "trucker" side, populated with such and brimming with trucker supplies, from truck parts to rent-a-books.

"Finding everything okay, Miss?" asked the clerk. Ooh, miss, not ma'am.
"Yeah," I replied, in a standard salesperson dismissal, then thought better of it. "Wait, no, I was wondering if you have any magazines."
He shook his head regretfully. "No," he said. "But what are you going to do with them on the road?" I looked at him with some confusion. "You are on the road, aren't you?" he questioned.
"Actually, no, I'm not," I said, a little delighted with the mistake. "I'm waiting for someone who's 30 minutes delayed and thought I'd find something to read. But being here, all I've thought about is traveling."
He laughed. "Well, no, no magazines," he said, and he really sounded sorry.
"Oh, that's okay!" I joked, "I'll just entertain myself walking around the store some more!"

But since I'd already made two laps and thoroughly examined the contents of each row, I went back to my car with thirty minutes yet still to wait. I tried to think of ways to spend my time. I thought about eating but didn't want to sully my new car just yet. It was such a lovely summer night, perfectly warm, not too humid, full moon, totally without hurry and soaked with peace as a summer night should be. All around, cars and diesel trucks and the current of interstate a breath away. It was all so generic, so universal, the traveling, the journeys taken. I could have been anywhere, I realized. Nothing could break the illusion of my being at any truck stop in the country, and I tried to lose myself in the thought. (When I was a child, I'd close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else I wanted to be, usually my grandma's house. I believed if I could truly convince myself I was laying on her floor instead of my own, or if I could think about it so sincerely that I forgot my real location, I'd open my eyes and find myself there instead of where I was.)

The whir of the interstate called like cicadas, courting me. It was intoxicating, the buzz, and I wanted to join. If I closed my eyes... Finding nothing to do and feeling drowsy, I lay down in my backseat. What an alien sight, this still-foreign car viewed from an upturned angle in the wrong seat. Sideways, I watched the picture show on the back of the driver's seat as slanted light created a right triangle that flickered and flashed and sometimes appeared to move or disappear in a sweep, only to reappear again.

I dozed off and woke a little embarrassed as the awaited children arrived in a van that loomed over. I started at the sight and tried to climb into the front seat, where I should have been, with as much haste and smoothness as possible, but without accomplishing either.

My level of happiness is good. Sometimes I work at it, some days I'm happier than others, but all in all I'm happy and life is pretty good.

However, TNG has just left from a visit.

My daily happy is like indoor lighting. It's perfectly fine, and of course, I can always add more bulbs if it isn't. I can even play with different kinds of bulbs. I can "take every room of my life from ordinary to extraordinary with bulbs specially made to filter out the dull yellow rays for clean, beautiful light" or utilize "bright, crisp light that makes everything in my life look its best." (*adulterated quotes) I can orchestrate the bulbs so that they together make just the kind and amount of light to satisfy. I can use them at my convenience to suit my mood, and I could live an entire life quite happily with all my light needs met and never feel I was missing anything.

However, when I'm with TNG it's like stepping outside on a summer afternoon. I only thought I knew light, but this hurts my eyes in its intensity, and I realize I can never recreate it. Stepping back inside to my regular life, and all my adequate lighting seems a little dull.

So I adjust, but never decide if I should forego the sunlight, and wonder if I'll ever forget.

I have much I should say, I'm sure, as always, but I'm not feeling up to it, so I just thought I should let you know that I have an interview today for a better job than what I have now. This is the job my coworker assures me that her daughter-in-law will ensure that I land, if you can follow that. It's supposedly "in the bag", but I'm not really suited for further disappointments at this time so I'm trying my darndest not to think about double the pay I make now, being able to pay my utilities, and having health insurance and other benefits. (Still not rich: It'd pay an estimated $17,000-18,000/year.)

So unfair that today of all days I'm not feeling like myself. I was going to walk in there with all the "obviously I'm the person to hire" confidence and charm that a medical office could contain, until it was so thick she could do nothing *but* hire me. I was going to walk in there like it was in the bag. "How could you hire anyone else when I'm so perfect?" I was going to exude.

Instead I'm just going to have to go in there and do my best to fake it.

I don't know if I hit everything on my list of car ailments. I think at that time I didn't know my air conditioning quit working. My windshield wipers are broken again, too. Also, here's a new one: The roof is dented so badly that standing outside this evening say goodbye to my mother, I made the discovery--"OH! My roof is dented!" Mom and I then spent a good minute in staring silence which we punctuated with occasional expressive "Wow"s. It's really dented.

I have a lot to say but I'm incredibly tired. I was up at 5am and didn't get back home until 8:30pm.

All I want to say for now is how funny my poor car has behaved since it met its replacement tonight! I should have been more considerate than to park it in perfect view of the new car, and make it sit while I oohed and awwed over its replacement. While facing its demise, I ridiculed my poor old car, 'though unintentionally. "OH! I can lock the doors on this!" I'd squeal with genuine delight over the new, or an innocent, "Oh, wow, cold air!" would burst forth, or even my sincere revelation, "Hey, I bet I can unlock the trunk with the key, can't I?!"

Reflecting on the way home about these soon-coming benefits, I noticed my (old) car was registering my actual speed! It hasn't done this in months, preferring, instead, to label any general movement as 85 mph and any stop as exceeding 125. The poor thing was ashamed and desperate, and I couldn't help but laugh as I glanced at an accurate speed measurement that held up all the way home. If only it could fix everything about itself it could possibly be redeemed.

I can already tell I'm feeling too much tonight. My senses are on alert. Something's astir, emotions are heightened.

Wham bam, everything's looking up, and who knows why? It's probably nothing more than a look and nothing of substance, but here goes:

Life feels well-balanced of late. Socially, I spend time alone, I spend adequate time with my kids, I spend equal time with a friend or with groups, doing public things, educational things, and private things. Things that are important to me to like cleaning and exercising, reading and learning, are being done. I'm comfortable enough with my love life. I go to work, I spend time at home. Everything could be better but nothing's out of whack.

Suddenly my car situation has way improved. Can't bring myself to say Mom bought me a car, but at least I have something I can drive. Then tonight at work, my coworker tells me a medical office is hiring a front desk receptionist. It's $2 more per hour than I make now, plus it's full-time. Benefits, of course, and every weekend off plus holidays. Hours are 8-5. Furthermore, her daughter in law is the hiring supervisor. "Just tell her I sent you," she says. Abby, too, says she can get me a job at the Thai restaurant in town, which I think would be a great learning experience and good supplemental income to my job now. Then also my coworker says a local plant is hiring supervisors, and they'll hire anyone with a college degree. It's easy work and pays $17 per hour, which I can scarcely imagine. It too would be full-time with benefits, of course, and I've been assured of all three jobs. This, and I've yet to apply for two more jobs which I think I'm well-suited to, would enjoy, would be paid well, and are in my field: assistant manager/bartender at a local restaurant, and director of the senior center lunch program.

It's sad, though, being so familiar with this area. I may end up stuck here when I think I'd rather go.

Went to Walmart tonight and agonized over purchases: $2 for kids' shampoo, $2 more for detangler, $1 for a new comb, $2 for ponytail holders--watch it add up!--and ohhh, should I buy tea at $2 a box, and can I afford Splenda? I spent a long time buying very little as I pained myself over every dollar. I can't wait until I can buy shampoo again when I need it without dread and fear.

Life conspires to help me. I caught this idea from a book called The Alchemist and I've never been able to relinquish because it proves itself true time and time again. (The Christian equivalent would be, "God never gives us more than we can bear.")

First was TNG's offer. It might be too much for me to go into that again, how wonderful and purely unselfish it was, how much joy it brought to the children as well as me and Abby, how much I needed something fun and laughter-filled.

Then this morning, Mom called.

   Mom: You know that car I mentioned in my email?
   me: Yes [thinking, oh man, one more thing I failed to take care of; I was supposed to go look at it already]
   Mom: Well, I made the owner a small offer and he actually took it. So I guess I'm the owner of another car.
   me: Oh! [surprised]
   Mom: ...so I was calling to tell you not to worry about that insurance you were about to purchase on your car, just in case you want to drive this one.
   me: Oh! [surprised]
   Mom: I don't know why you wouldn't. It's a good car. It has windows and everything! (ha) Air conditioning, automatic... It's been really well taken care of. I've been looking at used cars for months and you just don't see them this nice. No holes, tears, or stains. It's just really well taken care of. The oil's just been changed. The tires are new...
   me: What did the guys say?
   Mom: They said if I didn't buy it, they were going to!
   Mom: So I just wanted to let you know, before you did anything else with your car, just in case you want this one... If you don't want it, I think I'll drive it. It's very nice, and it gets 33 miles per gallon, which is more than either of my cars do.
   me: [all I can think to say:] Well, I guess it's a good thing I didn't get the insurance taken care of yet! Every day something came up that kept me from it, even last night, that thing with the kids losing the keys. I felt really bad about it that I didn't get it done [read: hated myself and beat myself for it], but I guess it was a blessing!

And on it goes. Now everything seems like a blessing. Abby again, who really enjoyed herself last night (someone who can go to the fair with me and the children and not despise every minute is a blessing)-- her continuing optimistim and happy-go-lucky nature, which seem not only to cheer and encourage me but gently point out there are other ways of viewing things. Running into my dear friend Matt at the fair. Getting a $5 off coupon for something my daughter's expecting me to buy her for her birthday, that I've worried every day about paying for. (I bought one for her sister's birthday, but then I wasn't hurting for money as I am now.) It's raining, so I can't take my kids back to the fair this morning for the contests, which was going to be tough to fit into our schedule. The rain is stopping, so I can take them to the Blind Boone festival later to hear Abby perform (including a song she's written for me!). I tuck away bits of knowledge for safety and comfort, like TNG answering yes, of course I could move in with him for awhile if I needed a place to go.

And suddenly, it's easier to see that things will be okay.

Here's a funny for you. Yesterday I got a bill from the hospital again, and today I got this very friendly note. Boy, are they nice!

Dear (me),

Thank you for obtaining your medical care at [name of hospital].

Our payment police requires your account to be paid in full wihin six months of the service date with a minimum payment of $50. We would like to set up a payment plan with you. Based on your current balance, your payments are set at $1298.63 per month."

I'm very amused. I suppose I don't need to spell out for your the ridiculousness of that, or why I find it absurdly funny. If you've been reading my blog or have been any sort of friend to me, you know already.

I can't stop crying. I'm crying because things are sad, but more, I'm crying from relief. I'm crying because I'm happy, too. This will sound insincere, perhaps, but I can't understand the blessings that are given me sometimes. I can't comprehend how people can be so wonderful or why they're so wonderful to me, and how that can happen exactly when I need it.

It's been a million things today, but by the time I realized the kids had lost my keys and I wasn't going to make it where I was going, I couldn't take it anymore. I was ticked. I felt hopeless. The kids were screaming at each other, blaming, complaining, as they helped me look. That's it, I said, I'm not taking you to the fair! That was the ultimate, and their wailing grew louder. They hated me. They said I was mean. I was hearing them say that I'm a failure of a parent and that they don't need me. And while my feelings were being hurt I also thought, god, what a relief, I have no idea how I would've paid for that anyway. But I've gone to this fair every year of my life, and since I've had kids, I've always taken them, too. For the first time I was thinking, why did I ever bring it up this year? I can't. Another thing I can't do.

Mostly, I wanted to give up. I knew I could take the right steps and push through all of this, but I just wanted to give up. Oh so badly did I want to give up. Disappear. Go away. Anything, but no more of all this constant worry and poverty and negativity and mess, screaming hurtful kids and all. "Just leave me alone," I told the kids, even after they finally found the keys.

New and improved me was not about to fall apart, even though I was kind of feeling like it. I thought with just a little bit of friendship I could probably get by. I needed a hug.

So I called TNG. Don't ask me to explain why or justify. I was telling him all this, as calmly as I could, even though tears were starting to drip off my cheeks. "I guess now that they found the keys I have to take them to the fair," I said, "but I can't."

"I can take them," he said.

And he gave me a list of assignments that were so sweet, so taking the edge off the sting of charity and sense of failure, tears ran down my face double-time as he told me. I closed my eyes as I listened. I must, in exchange, take lots of pictures for him. They must get cotton candy all over their faces. They must ride the ferris wheel. Spend as much as I need, he said, and I know he doesn't really need anything in return.

I didn't mean to call to make him feel sorry for me, and I sure as heck wasn't wanting to take money from someone once again. I hate the failure, hate the loss of independence. *I* can take care of *myself*, you know. But I can't turn down taking the kids to the fair over my own pride.

TNG's not rich, and he stands to gain nothing from this. He's my "ex", for goodness sakes, happily giving me all that I want to take my kids to the fair, just for their sake, just for mine. It's not my rent he's paying, it's something far more, which is something he understands without explanation. How can someone do something so pure?

And I still I can't stop crying. Bless him.

The kids came bouncing in. "We got your mail! You got a postcard from your landlord!" they exclaimed. My heart sunk a little. "Oh great," I thought. "This is it: eviction notice." But then I saw it was just a promotional postcard pretending to be from "your landlord". Then I saw what I've been waiting for for months: QuikTrip wrote me back! I was excited, too, because the envelope was a fat one. That's always good news. A rejection letter would only take a single page, right?

I wanted this job because it pays handsomely, is vaguely within my field, should be attainable, has benefits and otherwise is a step up from what I've had before, while still being not totally out of my league. I had applied, got called back, and drove 90 minutes (one way), out of state, to test for the position.

The letter was to inform me that they are "not able to extend an offer of employment" at this time because of my credit report! How ridiculous! First of all, I haven't even used a credit card since 1999, and all of my credit dealings even then were the work of my husband, who held a tight-fisted reign over the money. I was not allowed to see any financial mail or the checkbook, at least, not without a fight. It was depressing being so poor all the time (I was even more poor then than I am now) and he wanted to protect me from the stress, or so he said. I just trusted that he was taking care of things, when in reality, things were going unpaid. In any case, as I said, that was six years ago. His work, though, has haunted me ever since in surprising ways, just like this. I've never used credit since then, and all that's really on my record are my student loans, which are still in good standing.

Does the past ever go away? How much must one pay for it?

I've been a little down with a hint of panicky since I saw my June rent check go through. I was more comfortable with the bit of money I had in the bank before it was cut in half.

I was talking to my coworker tonight; she's the second person in two days to inquire as to my situation and end remarking on my optimism. (Apparently in real life I'm not always as pessimistic as I let myself be here.) "I couldn't do it," she said in combined worry and amazement. I realized I've missed the point a bit here on the blog when I recently decided not to vent my financial fears here. What I'm going through now is an important part of my life and that deserves to be remembered.

I'm only currently making only about $150 monthly more than my rent. I have to pay gas, electricity, water, cable/internet (don't argue with me), and gasoline, in the very least, which obviously are more than $150 combined. In addition, ideally I ought to pay for my phone, some car insurance, food, house supplies, and all that miscellany like eating out or car repairs or new shoes.

In any case, I'm at a severe defecit that only grows larger. How do I get by? Well, primarily by buying absolutely nothing (and forcing myself to not fret about it when I do), and by not paying my rent in May. That little move bought me another month here (while possibly moving me closer to eviction; I've yet to hear from the landlord about it). It's a really bad bandaid. I've also neglected to pay my gas, see a dentist even though I desperately need to, fix or license my multiple-offenses illegal car, pay my property taxes, or buy food or anything else. I've also put a few things on TNG's credit card.

My coworker was amazed I could recount this so calmly. In reality, you the reader know I've cried over it more than once. Now I'm just numb. Or accepting. It just is. What am I going to do? Heck if I know. I think about it nearly constantly, months now, and have no answer. It'll work out.

I'm not meaning to sensationalize. That's just the way it is. Oh well.

I think I need to get out of here, though. Maybe a job will come along that will allow me to support myself--heck, I could probably make do with just $12,000/year--and abandoning this place would be hasty. On the other hand, I'm tend to hoard money. I'm a born saver and I never spend all that I have, so savings automatically accumulate. I can't bear to see myself scrape the very bottom of the barrel; I feel very unsafe with absolutely no money. Thus the idea of getting out of here now with even a couple hundred dollars left to my name is very appealing.

I still think constantly about whether I even want to live here or not. Unfortunately I'm most familiar with jobs in this area. I'm always wishing I had job and apartment info for another area.

I'm like a spinning top. Where or when I'll stop, no one knows.

Abby the Great would be a good nickname for my new friend. Yesterday, she called me right before a big storm blew in. She'd been thinking about me and worried, knowing that my windshield wipers were once again broken (for what must be the twentieth time, despite TNG buying all new parts on the last repair). She and I had gotten caught on an interstate about midnight to 2am, in what should've only taken an hour in getting home. We were both staring out our windows ardently, trying to see the white line. When it would get really bad (she was driving), she'd say, "I absolutely can't see anything," as other cars were whizzing by. "Just pull over," I'd say. "I can't see," she'd repeat. So I'd stare out my window trying to make out the shoulder and guide her to it. There we'd sit and wait for the rain to let up a bit, then eek back onto the interstate and crawl a bit further. Such a nightmare. I was horrendously cranky, having to be at work by 6am, but she took it all in stride, never losing her cool or upbeat nature.

So as I was saying, she called, worried about me. She'd asked around and found some treatment you can put on your windshield to help repel water. Not only all this, but she'd gone and bought a bottle for me!

Now, that's more than thoughtful and caring, and yet it's only one small thing out of the large series since I've known her.

• Last night, Shay and J ate my chicken cacciatore, which I wasn't expecting. It had onion, zucchini, and tomatoes in it, so I didn't even offer it to them. But when they saw me eating it, they wanted some, too, and they gobbled it up happily. I'm happy, not just because they ate some vegetables, but because I have a new tasty, quick, easy, and fairly nutritious dinner I can add to my repetoire.
• I just made a tasty new sandwich (tasty/quick/easy/fairly nutritious).
• I got a box of yogurt for free, legally, from work, for the kids.
• I found a new tv show to watch.
• I found a new temporarily-favorite wine.
• My dad sent me a graduation present.
• I have a new lifetime record for counted train cars on a passing train: 137.

I rarely write about anything other than what's going on with me, but I feel like writing about the news that Apple is switching processing chips.

Here's a collection of information and thoughts on that subject.

         THE BASICS:

"After years of competing against Intel-powered computers, Apple has announced that it will switch to the rival hardware platform.

The change will provide a power and performance boost for computer users, analysts say, but could cause headaches for software developers adapting programs." (Source 1)

         DRAWBACKS:

"Chief among these is that many programs will need to be rewritten to function properly. In an effort to smooth the transition, Apple has developed a hardware emulator, called Rosetta, to allow existing applications to run on Intel hardware, albeit more slowly. In the long-run, however, developers will need to recode applications to get the most out of Intel hardware." (Source 1)

"One immediate challenge will be to persuade his customers to continue to buy Mac computers based on IBM's PowerPC chip while they wait for the Intel versions to arrive." (Source 2)

"Another challenge could be preventing bootleggers from creating copies of Apple’s new Intel-adapted OS X operating system for non-Apple computers." (Source 1)

         POSITIVES:

"This is not the first time Apple has chosen to migrate to new computer hardware. The company successfully shifted from Motorola's 680x0 processors to IBM Power PC chips in the mid-1990s, so some software developers are upbeat about the shift.

'The transition is going to be anticlimactic,' says Tom Owad, a programmer and hardware designer based in Pennsylvania, US. "Rosetta will ensure that current applications run on the new systems without any modification, and new applications will run at full speed on both platforms.'" (Source 1)

"When said transition is complete, people will no longer be able to differentiate Macs from Wintels by the numbers before the 'GHz' in a Sunday circular, and then they'll have to fall back on making a purchasing decision based on the user interface and end-user experience-- you know, the stuff they should have realized mattered all along. It could be nifty... if the developers don't all shoot themselves first." (Source 3)

Best of all, please see this cartoon!

         COMMENTS FROM MAC FRIENDS:
(almost all my friends are Mac friends, haha. You can see the fanatisism we all share about Apple.)

Optimistic:
"Well, I think that the power PC has issues. IBM isn't doing much better than Motorola was. I don't know. But Intel, oh well, I guess that you just have to trust Steve Jobs. He has done good for the company." --Nimmers

Dubious:
Another friend began to wonder if Steve Jobs is maybe really the Sith Lord.

Negative:
"So...are you ready to buy your brand new Mac with INTEL INSIDE? I think Apple alienated about 60% of their base in the HOPE of getting a few new customers. They really stepped in it this time. This is INTEL...the company that Apple has bashed for the past 10 years...saying the Apple chips were 4-8x faster. . . . I'm afraid Apple has shot itself in the foot again. ... My days of supporting Apple are, unfortunately, over. I have never and WILL NEVER allow Intel CPUs in my place."

(Quote continues, but it's a little technical and not exactly official, so I've placed the rest below.)

And my favorite:

"I just want to know when Steve was lying...when he said that Intel was slow and non-innovative, or now that he said Intel was the most innovative CPU maker in the business? Ya can't have it both ways, Stevie."

You know what? I am really annoyed. I just so happen to already be really annoyed, and then I read these comments, and that's it. There's been talk from time to time about censoring the blog as the audience has grown to include parents and exes and whatnot, but you, Mr. Reader, are what's finally forcing me to censor myself. So I won't talk about TNG anymore. I am really annoyed that I can't even say one dang word positive about him without being lambasted. I know you care, but if you trust my judgment as you say you do, then leave me be. Good is good, period. Few persons are truly evil, and if I haven't made it abundantly clear, TNG is not one of them. He's got an abundance of qualities I adore, which I won't go into, obviously, knowing I'd only be contradicted tenfold. Furthermore, the times I have with him are good. The entry I wrote of was nothing but good. I agree with B , it was a lovely time, and do you know who is the ultimate authority and judge of that? Me.

I know, I'm getting carried away these days with speaking my opinions and standing up for myself. I'll simmer down eventually when I get used to my new-found powers. But dang, fine, I thought I could share my happy things here, but because of you, I feel I can't. If I were to be who I was two years ago and he who he was two years ago and he was talking of moving in with me to get away from his parents, etc., fine, be concerned about my repeating history. I'm not "going back" as you fear, and it's okay for me to recognize the good things in and about TNG. I don't have to hate him, and don't think I could ever unlearn what I've known of him. But darn it all, I've said it before, I'm not much open to opinions on the matter anymore, because no one knows the relationship we have but TNG and myself, and I happen to trust my perceptions and judgments. And if I'm wrong, hey, won't be the first time I've made a mistake. It's called learning and growing. So leave me be, and for the love of god, if you don't have something nice to say, leave the topic of TNG alone.

I guess I'll ask for apologies for this entry later.

I took down the entry about my financial situation I put up earlier today. Who wants to read that? Wah wah. Get over it. The great thing is I'm smart and capable, and I can find a way to make things better, and if not, to at least to get by. And if I can't get by? If I get evicted, or something of that sort? Then I'll manage that, too. So the situation isn't exactly dreamy, but there's not much stopping me, is there? I can take on a second job, perhaps, or something, but I do have some control here.

I once saw a website that wasn't much more than a guy ranting about women who had been raped and how they want to recount the story repeatedly and make known its effects to everyone who will listen, i.e., wallow in it, and his response was that they should shut up and get over it. He, of course, took a lot of flak for his stance, but that's just what I realized when I awoke from my nap and felt more like myself. (Hmm... should I put that entry back up for comparison?) Things are bad, I can't pay my bills, blah blah blah. While it's all true as I portray it, and horrifyingly awful to live through, big deal, GET OVER IT. If I lose my apartment, work a crummy job where injustices befall me, or have to type this without heat or hot water, well hey, at least it's summer! I've realized today (and then, tonight at work, but that's another story) that I need to do more shrugging bad things off. They're bad, but what are all my worry and anger and tears doing? Who wants to hear another "I'm being disconnected" story or "I can't pay my rent" or "My car broke again and I can't afford to fix it"? I live in poverty. I live in fairly bad poverty. But you know what? My friend Abby does, too, and I never see her down about it.

You'll have to pardon me for my lapses--there are times it feels like too much and I want to give up, I get so very tired of it all--but good things are coming my way. In answer to my insistence that such optimism isn't realistic in the face of facts, well, the facts may be facts or they may not be, but what can I do about it? Negativity isn't going to help, so as much as I can--always my goal, I guess I just need a reminder now and again--I'm going to shrug things off. Float on.

God, I work so hard at being optimistic and happy and not letting these things get me down, and I know this is a bad time to talk about it, seeing as I'm tired and this always makes me overly emotional with a distorted view of things, but I'd like to cry. Yes, I'm just overly tired.

First Nimmers gives me a lecture in chat about how I can't afford to live here and I need to quit procrastinating and move somewhere cheaper immediately. ("Where am I going to go that's cheaper?" I ask.) This angers me and it stings with truth. In the middle of our chat and this lovely lecture I take care of some business. I call the newspaper and they inform me they filled the position with someone who is not me. My one and only interview thus far, and a dream one at that, and no. No, of course not. Then I call the gas company, who, despite receiving over $200 from me recently, demands $174 immediately. I ask them if I can make payments. Nope, they say, pay it in full, and pay it in full now or we're disconnecting you. God, it's the same refrain I've heard all year, and I have the same answer: I can't afford it. It's not that they care, though, so the only thing I can think to do is perhaps go even deeper in debt. I just charged $80 to TNG's credit for my car which I haven't begun to repay--my financial situation has not improved since then and my car worsens by the day--and I guess I'll have to ask him if I can charge this, too. How I'll begin to repay that I do not know, 'though I'll have to, and breaking these charges down over the course of a few months will definitely make them more payable than paying it all up front, but honestly, I'm already in debt, and the utmost I could dream of is only making a slightly more decent salary than I am now. It's not as if any job I get is going to make me rich. I have absolutely no idea how to get out of this hell, I see no permanent or even temporary solution, and times like now when I have to face it all and I'm too tired to deal with it with sound mind, it hurts, I cry, and I feel like giving up. How many times can I say that I'm tired of these extreme poverty, of having nothing, of praying each day that not a single need arises, of worrying about bills and eviction and transportation, of not being able to provide anything for my children? It's easy for you to say I should be more optimistic and really, most of the time, I am. But it's altogether another thing to live this reality for years, days and days on end like this one. It does get tiresome, and I don't think my occasional weariness and frequent worries are unfounded or unreasonable. I'm sorry I can't be ignorantly happy or blissfully unaware, but all this @#$! is entirely too real.

I'll come back and post when I feel like my normal self and can talk about life more calmly and reasonably.

I've been meaning to record this for awhile now. I'm always posting the bad, and so seldom the good. This was the really good.

Not sure why you'd want to read it, so I've placed it off this main page. Mostly, I want to remember. And if you want to, too, feel free to read on.

Just about all I think about is how I'm going to make it. So far, I've just not paid my rent for May. By the time I do pay it I'll be yet another month behind. I'm convinced I can't make it on my own, or at least, I can never get ahead this way. I think and think and think about ways I can cut my living expenses. Could I move in with this person? Could I move in with that one? Could someone move in with me? I end up rejecting all the ideas over and over, and secretly wish someone would come along I could live with. By not buying anything, not eating out, paying car insurance (fixing my car, paying the property taxes on it, getting it inspected, OR getting new tags) and periodically and strategically neglecting bills, I've been able to hold on, but my boss keeps cutting my hours, and the $600 a month I'm lucky to make just doesn't cover bills when rent alone is $450.

It's depressing and tiresome, so tiresome. Around and around I think on it, and there's no solution. None. I can't afford to live on my own, but I have nowhere to go. It's a really bad situation that I just keep going on, day to day, smiling and acting like it doesn't exist, when in reality I ought to move out now. On the streets, wherever, but I can't stay here.

I know, this isn't interesting, who cares, you may be more sick of this "woe is me" junk than I am. I can't fix it, and today, I just want to give up. A rarity, I'll admit I can't do it, if only it will save me.