July 2005 Archives

I'll meet someone who redefines my idea of ideal.

Oh, I've got nothing accomplished today!

TNG and I are supposed to celebrate our anniversary tomorrow, and I've not cleaned house, packed, or even cleaned myself up yet today.

What I have done is many things: spent wonderful time with my children, got my hair cut, and, extremely spontanously, got the girls' ears pierced. There's much to be said about this (about why it's taken so long to have this done, even though the girls and I have wanted it but their dad didn't, and why I still fear his anger, and why I've had so many rights stripped away psychologically that it takes awhile for me to realize I *am* their mother and I *can* get their ears pierced if I want). But if you've ever been a little girl or have any kind of imagination and sympathy, you can imagine what a big deal this is. My girls are wearing earrings!!!

Oh, also, I finally dumped on Mom. We stopped by her house because I knew she'd share in our excitement over their earrings, and I ended up telling her everything, including what a hard time I've been having lately emotionally. I feel horribly guilty, but Mom is a lifesaver. She gave reasonable but utterly non-judgemental, sympathetic advice. She took us out for lunch and gave me even more money. I cannot tell you how much this has eased my stress. Just being reminded that I'll make it because I'm great (her point of view, anyway), that she's on my side and I'm not alone... Gosh, she makes me feel understood and cared about. Again, I can't tell you how much she's helped. How could I ever repay her?

My kids!!! I've got my KIDS!!!

Okay, so it's only for a little over 12 hours (including sleep time) and it cost me $10 in gas so far to do it... but they're heeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrreeeeeee!!!

Can you tell, at all, how happy I am?

And oh, they crack me up.

"His toots are badder than Aarons!" said my youngest, in the car.
"No, his toots are worser," said the middle child, correcting her brother.
"His toots are more worse," said the oldest, correcting her sister.

We barely made it back home, driving a good 25 miles on empty. I stopped at the first gas station, which happened to be Walmart, and pulled no less than five Walmart gift cards. Because my credit card and checkbooks were missing from my purse, this was my last hope. J and Shay got out of the car to help. They wanted to slide the cards into the pump.

Well, whaddya know, each one came back empty, but only after we'd inserted each one at least three times. Sometimes I'd exclaim, "No! Darn it, don't pull it out yet! Shoot, now we have to do it again." We'd have to wait for the screen to prompt us to retry, and we'd do it again. Sometimes, for no error of our own that I could discern, it'd ask us to retry. Ultimately, the screen would flash "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS". It was cold, drizzly, and we shivered as we moved to the next card, eagerly awaiting the next prompt from the computer. Each failed card created more of a wait while the pump "cancelled" the transaction. Finally, on the last card, amidst Shay's cries that I'd let J have a turn at it when it was her turn, a total of $4.86 appeared on the screen.

"YES!" I yelled, making obnoxious "I rock, we win" gestures. "$4.86!" I exclaimed victoriously to the night. Truly, I made an embarrassing spectacle of myself--because it's the kind of thing I do--so lucky for us no one was there but the attendant. The kids laughed ("You look silly, Mom") but they cheered with me. We had enough gas to stop by the video store (I simply cannot say enough about how great the new video store is) and come home. We're camping out in the girls' room tonight with blankets and pillows on the floor, with milk and popcorn and a great movie.

Could I possibly be more happy?
(The answer: Mmm... no. The margin for more happiness is small. It would require tears of joy streaming down my face.)

I spent some time trying to take this blog down, or at least tuck it out of sight. No luck, and as of everything lately, I tired of it before I accomplished it and went on to other pursuits.

I keep telling TNG one should want their friends to point out their problems and flaws, so I should be happier than I am about hearing how pessimistic my blog and I are. Living as if everything is hopeless. Indeed, I did that in the past. I didn't think I did anymore.

In fact, really, I think--god, I think the whole world--is tied to my mental state. If I'm well, all's well. If I'm not, nothing is. Isn't everything in how we perceive it? Isn't how we perceive things almost hopelessly tied to brain chemistry, and isn't brain chemistry tied to genetics, upbringing, experiences, environment, even diet, how much and when we slept, the whims of the gods? Things do feel fairly hopeless and tiresome right now. I'm not hugely optimistic. You're right. My apologies for conveying that to you.

Now I just can't decide if I want to live more like TNG--just go right on with what I'm doing and tell all of you to like it or leave me alone--or if I should try super-duper hard to break through this and do something differently. In fact I was going to write this just to tell you to stop criticizing me, to scream at the entire world to just leave me alone. But this isn't going to change the course of things, is it?

In any case, happy happy, I'm supposed to write happy happy. No one wants to know what's really going on, no one wants to really be in my shoes or see things from my perspective. You know why? I think it's because my perspective here is not so hot. Easier to stay where you are. So let's all go right on pretending that my taking a job at McDonalds is a great idea, as my friend suggested last night. Yes! That solves everything! And I'm sure I'll be much happier with that! Oh, the solutions are so easy... Why didn't I see them before?

happy happy happy happy happy life is wonderful happy happy things are great happy happy life is good happy happy happy

I've gotten myself in a dangerous spot again. I am at the point where I am so stressed out and overwhelmed I feel control slipping away. Physically, I don't feel well. I'm plagued with headaches, muscle soreness, stomachaches and nausea, and fatigue. Mentally, well, let's just say I cry more easily now than usual. I experience moments where things feel hopeless and neverending.

This chronic lack of money, this packing up my entire household single-handedly and having no where to go, being afraid to even mention to my mom or landlord that I can't hack it, trouble with friends, the kid situation, the mounting debt, the health problems, this job situation, which I don't want to go into... It's all getting to me.

The recent talk I had with my boss about why she'd rather hire anybody off the streets to cook instead of letting me do it was the final straw. I went home and, despite being angry at the vague unfounded BS she'd just let loose on me, cried. It felt like one more person upset with me, one more failure. I sat down among the boxes in their various states of fill, all opened and unlabled, all staring and waiting for me to go on. My household disheveled, falling apart. I called a friend to vent, and I answered, "Yeah, I'm fine" when he heard me sniffle. I hung up and cried deeply.

I can't take work anymore. I don't even make enough, as you've heard me say a million times, to pay my rent and utilities, and instead of promoting me they're hiring more new people and preparing to cut my hours again, and there's nothing I can do to make it better. Last night I woke up repeatedly throughout the night with work nightmares, the kind that startle you awake with a gasp, the kind that are hard to shake. I was tired, I felt sick, and at 3am, I called work and said I wouldn't make my shift at 6.

It's irresponsible, horribly so, and I know work isn't that bad. But a bad work situation on top of everything else is too much. Something has to give, and I'd rather it be that than my sanity. Mulling it over today, and realizing I "can't" quit, but don't feel like I can drag myself back to work another day, either, I came up with this brilliant compromise: When I go back to work I'm going to tell my boss I'm only available 3 days a week.

Before you criticize, really, it is this or my sanity. Cutting back at work is better than quitting. And if I'm moving out anyway, and don't have rent and utilities to pay, it won't be so bad. Yes, I know how badly I need money. Maybe I can pick up a part-time job-- or maybe I'm deceiving myself. In any case, I don't think I can take 5 days a week, full-time work with no benefits and little pay, my boss's ineptitude and disdain, the constant drama and stress, the backstabbing and bitching, the hard work with no breaks or appreciation or time off work... I couldn't talk myself into going back without this promise to myself. Yes, maybe I should be tougher and better all around at everything--in fact, I constantly suspect this of myself. But I've also learned well how to survive.

As I said to a friend last night, my life is hilarious.

I awoke at 9am this morning, feeling refreshed for the first time in awhile. I lay there thinking about all the things I wanted to do today. I kid you not, I literally thought to myself, "Today's a day I'm going to get a lot done," something that's desperately needed. I enticed myself out of bed remembering I could now savor a cup of coffee with milk in it (I'd been out of milk for days.)

So I sat up and saw I'd missed two calls on my phone. Guess who? Work. "Michelle said you're supposed to work for her this morning." Does it prove I have integrity that I didn't deny it? You see, Michelle did ask me to switch her shifts, but she never wrote it on the schedule. You *always* write changes on the schedule. In fact, my boss and I just checked yesterday to confirm I was working the PM shift today. (There are four different shifts I cover, each with their own set of hours.) So I could've said, "What?! I never told her that!" and probably kept myself out of trouble. Instead I said, "Yes, I did tell Michelle I'd switch her, but it wasn't written on the schedule and I forgot."

They want me in asap, but darn it, I'm going to enjoy my cup of coffee first.

I guess it's a good thing I hate my job so much. There's not too much fear in losing it. Losing it would mostly be a relief.

Dang, so I've gotten myself and Michelle in trouble. At least a handful of times each shift now I think, "I hate my job," or "I've got to get out of here," or "Can't I just quit? Why can't I just quit?" Then I chastise myself and try to remember why I used to like the job, and why I have to stay there. Man, today's a day I really can't wait to go in.

Well, the delicious plans I'd kept tucked away in the back of mind over the past week, the ones I'd sneak out for a lick like a kid's lollipop for the delight and promise they held, fell through for tonight. Instead of making other plans with other people, I sat at home and felt alone. I don't know why I do that. I have all this packing I need to do and here's what I did: took a nap, chatted, watched tv, applied for a job and searched unsuccessfully for more, ate leftovers, talked on the phone, and blogged. I did nothing. I'm still out of milk. The dishes are still dirty. The laundry is still undone, and the house is only two boxes closer to being packed than it was at the beginning of the day.

I spoke with my kids on the phone. Sweet but sad. I half-jokingly mentioned staying with Nimmers when I move out of here, since I've no where to go. He said he didn't know about that, that it probably wouldn't work out. I miss my kids. Getting to see them every day would make it worth it.

Depressed? Am I depressed? Maybe tonight I am. Or maybe it's this wacked out sleep schedule, this incessant work, the futility of my situation, my lack of being loved, the absence of my children, the financial worries, the leaving of the home I've loved for years now, the having no where to go and no end in sight yet on the horizon. I hate my job.

Maybe it's the gazillion of relationships I keep around me, none of them just what I want. Is that the problem? Richard keeps calling and I haven't answered. Chuck does, too. I haven't gotten back with Alex or Randy about getting together. As I said, my other plans tonight fell through. Made future plans with someone knew that I don't even know.

And then the best thing to happen tonight: Jacub got in touch with me. Two cool things about Jacub, someone I sort of dated in the past. He once surprised me with two CDs that contained all the songs I'd mentioned on my blog. He actually had read my blog, thought of the idea, found all the songs, burned them, and gave them to me as gift, for no reason at all. It was awesome. The second thing about Jacub that forever stands in memory is that the first night we went out, we spontaneously decided to drive out of state, a four hour or more drive one-way. Somehow we had joked about it, and it turned out that, just like me, he was serious enough to do it. I don't often meet people with level of adventure, craziness, and spontaneity. In the end, we didn't go. But it was a great idea. Tonight on the phone, Jake and I commiserated together. Amazingly, there are quite a few similarities in our stories and emotions. He has a nice place in St. Louis and I'm more than welcome to come up, to visit, or to move in. This is nice to know; adds to my options and feelings of safety. I've decided to expand my job search to the St. Louis and northern Arkansas areas. It can't hurt.

Tomorrow I get to get up and have a root canal done. I don't know how I'm going to pay for it, especially since TNG took his credit card back, so now I no longer have emergency funds. I'm going in anyway. I have to! From root canal I go to work, and from there I won't be home again until 9pm tomorrow night.

How am I going to get moved out when I have no days off and no motivation?

When I'm not worrying, I spend my time thinking about my upcoming vacation. I actually, miraculously, got four days off work for the second anniversary of meeting TNG. I know the more I delight in thinking about our plans, the less likely he is to come up. I greatly fear being disappointed, but I keep it as firmly in my head as possible that he may not come spend the time with me. He may not, he may not, he may not, and it's okay, what difference does it make? It's just these little happinesses that keep me going, that give me something to be happy about and look forward to. I'm notoriously bad about their falling through. But whatever.

Shutting up, and I never did get to my point.

Well that's some news! Phone rings, and all of the sudden, me-tired-from-a-long-and-early-day-at-work, me-on-the-verge-of-nap, me-spaced-out-alone-and-in-silent-peace, hears this: my pap smear results are abnormal. Pre-cancerous cells were found. They're calling to tell me I have, within my body, cells that are eagerly waiting, at any moment, to turn into cancer. Without even asking, the facility is scheduling me an appointment at a fancier facility, far away, to have the abnormal cells removed. If I don't, they will proceed ("It is known," the NP says) to "stage V", cancer.

(I was with my dear FIL when he was diagnosed with stage IV lymphoma. Since all that, I'm not particularly too fond of cancer, and I don't like being "staged".)

So, $255 procedure, plus gas and time for a 90 minute drive, plus discomfort. ("We really recommend you bring someone with you--a friend, or someone you trust. And take ibuprofen, too!") It's the fact that they're already scheduling me an appointment for biopsy that has me slightly freaked out. Not "Do you want to wait and see, or have this examined further?" or even, "We strongly advise you to have a colposopy". It's "We're making you an appointment. Now. Do not pass go."

Hmm. Methinks maybe they're freaking out a little too much, and making me freak out a little too much. There are many reasons for abnormal results. Surely with my lack of both health insurance and money a biopsy can wait...

You know, while I'm thinking of the psychological bases* for my behavior, money is another safety net I keep around me, and is another reason why I'm so deeply uncomfortable in my situation as is.

I have to have money around me, in lots of places, to feel safe. While I depict my finances at a defecit, and they are, I have a bit more money than I let on. For example, I haven't really touched my graduation money yet. I have a bit of money that sits on a basket on my desk (where monetary Christmas gifts and the like end up). I have a bit of money stashed in my nightstand. I have some in my glove compartment. I even keep a bit in various jackets and jeans, just for the delight of re-finding money. ("Hey! There's a dollar in my pocket!") And though it doesn't add up to much, it all makes me feel better somehow. I keep TNG's credit card in my purse and consider it a godsend of psychological assurance. It's valium, my friendly hug, my safety net. I can't feel okay without all these measures in place.

It's a weird phenomena when looked at this closely. Usually, it's not much noticed. It's not conscious. But when I think about it, this is the way it is. In fact, the more I think about it, I realize I even have money sitting in an online account or two. Mind you, again, none of this adds up to much, and definitely not enough to get me out of this prediciment. But it's there, and that makes me feel more safe and in control.

This money-hoarding thing I've done since childhood. I'm quite a saver. I've had a savings account since kindergarten and a checking account since I got my first job at 16. I've never spent near what I had come in, until this past year or two when I've had to. I've always let the money build up. I've always kept it savings and checking and stashed here and there.

And while I'm under the microscope, I imagine this was a huge factor in marriage, too. Nimmers controlled all the finances. He quickly in our relationship plundered my childhood savings account and my high school checking account. He took all control of money away from me; I was not even allowed to ask questions. And with me being the appointed stay-at-home mom, and his being the breadwinner who couldn't hold a job, we lived ever in poverty. In fact, I believe the most money we made in a year was $7,000, and then, we had given $1,000 of that to the church. We got by by moving a lot. In and out of his parents' home from our various evictions, and even a stint living in the projects.

Anyway, yeah. I've got to get a better job, and I've got to get out of here.
(Who knew "bases" was the plural form of "basis"?)

I was just remarking to friends lately that this only one day off at a time (this week, Monday and Friday) is awful. I thought last night I'd be able to spend time with friends and stay up later because I didn't have to get up today, but because I'd been working early shifts, I was too tired to do all that I wanted. Tonight, of course, I can't stay up late because I have to be at work early tomorrow. It seems you need two days to catch up.

This morning, even though I set the alarm for 9am, I woke near 11am. I'm not happy about this at all. I had big plans for my day: Apply for no less than five jobs. Pack all the boxes I have in the house. Exericise. Pay my rent (due July 1). I've been out of milk for days. But instead, I overslept, and awoke to see that my boss had called and wants me to work today, 2:30-8:30pm. I said I would. I think this, for lack of more eloquent description, sucks.

I just tell myself I used to get a heck of a lot done during a few hours here and there. Put my nose to the grindstone, and I can accomplish a lot yet again. How did I become so lazy? I've got a large household to pack singlehandedly, and a job to find. Git goin', girl!

I have 75% assuredly decided that it's time to move out. I realized a few days ago that just because I haven't been evicted yet doesn't actually mean I'm making it. Truly, I can't support an entire household with this job.

I get by only by paying nothing more than rent, utilities, and gasoline. I don't eat out, buy groceries, clothing, household supplies, or anything else. Mom paid for my car and phone. And if I *just* pay my rent and utilities, I mostly get by. I'm still in debt over my gas bill and some health expense that I'm paying TNG $95 a month for--this, to me, is an enormous debt. In fact, I can't really afford to pay that, either.

Dang it, I should go. True, I won't find a place as great as this as cheaply as this again. Having lived such an enormously dense chunk of life in this location*, it'll be heartbreaking to go. Then there's this: I have nowhere to go. But I'm thinking someone will take me in, surely.

True, I won't have a place for the kids to go when they visit, or for TNG to stay when he visits. I won't have a place to invite friends over. But it'll be temporary, right? A month, two at the very most?

You don't know how much I value my independence. It's a pride and stubbornness issue. I've always stubbornly sought what I wanted to do in life throughout all stages of my life. Because it's my life, and I can, and I ought to have that right. I have always managed my own life, all my life, as packed full as it's always been. I can do it myself, and I will. It's about control. Independence, pride, and stubborness have led me to this apartment. I proved to Nimmers, who said I could never make it without him, that I can, too!

You don't know how greatly psychologically I need a place of my own. It's more than privacy. I spent a great chunk of my childhood locked inside my room, and I need that. I need my little safe space. I need that control. Without my own space that I own and control unremittingly, I can't feel truly grounded. I have a deep-seeded psychological need for this feeling of safety.

Plus I hate, hate, hate living with most other people. I don't want people touching my stuff. Other people can just be annoying.

Dang it, why isn't anyone kicking my butt out the door? Don't you see how laughable it is that I try to support myself here? Let go, let go, let go.

I'm scared, in part. Where will I go? What will happen? When will I be able to move into something of my own again?

But really, I should go. Even one month spent living with someone else (Mom?) will save me the $800-ish I spend on rent, utilities, and gas.-- Oh god! I earned $832 this month. I never actually added that up until just now. I feel panicky at this realization. My heart beats a little faster now. I'd like to cry out, let my eyes go wide, whisper "What am I going to do?!", maybe even drop a few tears. But without ears to listen or arms to hold me, I'll try to keep those tears at bay. I'm tougher than this. Stiff upper lip. But oh my god, reader, please don't let me keep trying to gloss it over, please don't let me slack, it is time to go. I must realize this. I am not making it.

Last night I turned down invitations to a party as well as an open invitation from Richard in hopes of watching a movie with Randy. Randy, however, was at a pow wow when I called.

me: It's really noisy where you are!
Randy: Yeah, I'm with a lot of family friends. A pow wow.
[noise of Native American chanting in background]
me: Oh, you really are at a pow wow!

How often do you interrupt a friend's pow wow?

So tonight, to make up for last night, I'm going out to dinner with Richard, the-sender-of-two-bouquets. I'm hoping for good Mexican food with fresh fruit margaritas and dessert. Afterward, if I can swing it, I have plans to watch that movie with Randy. I am really, really looking forward to seeing him again. I am really, really looking forward to giving him a gigantimous hug!

In fact, here's a little about my friend Randy:

I pretended my name was Cherry and I was giving out 80 autographs. I practiced writing it different ways--cursive, all caps, print, cherRy, CheRRy. That way, having to fix all the lunch menus for a boss who ordered peach crisp but no peaches wasn't quite so tedious.

It is once again time to analyze my blog. What are its goals, purpose, audience? What do I have to offer?

I realized today in surfing other people's blogs at random that this one needs much improvement. Why would a stranger want to read my recent posts?

Time for change.

Today I served lunch treated to live bluegrass music. It made me sublimely happy. There was a fiddle in the dining room! I kid you not, I was so happy I thought I might melt. I love live music, and I love bluegrass music, as well as other historic or cultural types. I was very, very happy.

As for last night's entry:
The good part:
      When I came home from visiting TNG, there was a huge package on my doorstep. Inside were two golden, purple ribbon-enfolded boxes, and two Hallmark cards. (You send Hallmark when you care to send the very best, you know! I'm quite fond of Hallmark, as they're a "hometown" business.) The cards' message? "Friends come in twos." It was from my friend Chuck. And what was in the boxes? T-shirts of my favorite characters, Hoops and Yoyo! I passionately adore Hoops and Yoyo. (Also, TNG gave me a great compliment recently when he said they are like me.) Yay, and double-yay!

The sad part:
      The next-to-the-last day I was with TNG, my ex called to tell me that he was taking the kids on vacation for 10 days. To cut to the point, I only got to see them for five minutes before work yesterday, and now they're gone.* If that wasn't sad enough already, the girls got their haircut. Does anyone but me realize that *I* am their mother? It should be *me* who is taking them to get their hair cut. (It was quite long; it's now rather short.) Which introduces Reasons 2 and 3 why I am sad: Sometimes I feel like they're not my kids any more. So much control has been taken from my hands... I can't even describe it to you here without crying. They were, once upon a time, my kids. If ever I wanted to be childless, it's certainly within my reach.

Reason three for sadness: it's "unfair". "I wouldn't stop you from taking the kids on vacation," my so-kind ex said. "You know I don't get vacation!" I said. He'll make more money on his paid vacation than I'll make in a month of work, a place where two days off in a row is a real rarity and a weekend off does not exist.

I'll try to make the most of it. Bizarrely, the kids going on vacation concurs down to the day that my old friend/coworker Randy is coming in on vacation. I have a handful of friends that I can say I love. I love Randy.
- - -
*It turns out, by the way, that this is why Richard sent the flowers! He said he was sitting at work thinking about me and wondering if I was, at that moment, smiling. He said he knows how sad it can be, leaving your kids, and he wanted to do something to put a smile on my face.

This entry to come:

(1) Why I'm Sad About My Kids
(2) This was waiting for me on my doorstep when I got home today

but it's getting late and I'm very tired. I was up until 3am or so with TNG last night, and then woke around 8am, packed up and drove home, just in time to see my kids for five minutes and then head to work. Finally, at 9pm, I arrived home again, only to unload the car and tend to all my pressing computer/online needs. Now that it's 10:30pm and I'm thoroughly exhausted, I feel I must bathe and retire for the evening.

I was at work, lost inside my own mind as usual, numb to my tasks, when I was startled by someone calling out my full name as a question. "Huh? Yes?" I said, looking up, to see a flower delivery girl with a bouquet. "That's me!" I called out, like a lottery winner.

I don't remember what I had been doing, but I dropped it. I snatched up the flowers with a little laugh of glee and ran to the kitchen to look at the card. It said, "Just Because".

Flowers, just because! Have you ever heard of such a thing?

As before, I was delighted. The last batch had only just perished, and I've a new boquet! The only times I've ever received more than one flower delivery in a week have been times I've been hospitalized. Even then, I bet I've received less than a dozen deliveries in my lifetime. Each time feels golden. I don't think I could ever express my appreciation or the emotion (happiness? delight?) that fills me. I feel special, liked, wanted. I feel worthy of flowers. God bless each person who has ever given me such a treat. I am truly appreciative.

I'm sorry; my camera is terrible! You probably can't tell, but the flowers are gorgeous!

Yet another good day. Yes, in a row. What's going on? Is bad news ahead?

Mom showed up at my door this morning to tow me off to a dentist appointment she made for me. It was quite a surprise! I've suffered through some massive pain lately from a tooth I chipped many months ago. (One night it was so bad, that I-who-does-not-take-even-tylenol-for-anything-and-who-has-had-three-childbirths-medicine-free got up and took not one but two prescription pain pills--and then another of a different kind. Suffice it to say after a few hours of suffering, the pain went mostly away and I fell asleep, only to awake the next day to vomit eleven times in six hours.)

This has been such a great blessing. The dentist, not my "regular" one, was phenemonal. He fixed my tooth up well, and only charged me for the office visit! I will, of course, have to go back and have a root canal and cap to permanently repair the tooth, but for now, it's nerve free, decay free, and bacteria free.

Mom paid, of course, and then treated me to food and antibiotics. (The dentist said I came in in the nick of time--my tooth was just ready to abscess.) And the dentist paid me the highest compliment--he said my teeth, which have been untreated for a decade due to my lack of insurance, look "really good", and if I just get checkups regularly I shouldn't have much more problems out of them.

I can't tell you what a relief this has been, how perfectly this all played out, and how blessed I feel.

God bless moms like mine.

["Another totally awesome night" entry goes here. I can't wait to fill these in! I know, I think of TNG and can only imagine how annoying he'd find this, so you probably do, too. Sorry. I'll try to write these blog entries tomorrow, as I want to remember these good things. What's going on, anyway? All these good things in a row?]

At work, Burt came up to me with some strange questions. "Do you have a boyfriend?" was one of them. I told him no, but he said incredulously, "No? You don't? Really?" I assured him I didn't. He informed me that someone in dietary was having flowers delivered today, and instantly I knew he was mistaken in talking to me. No one would send me flowers. "You don't have a boyfriend, eh? Well, you might before the day's over..." he said, walking away.

A little while later a flower delivery girl walks in to the dining room and again I thought of Michelle and Melanie and wondered which was getting this sweet delivery. "Mandy?" the delivery girl called. If I'd been sitting in a chair I'd have fallen out. It was like hearing your number called in a drawing. "That's me!" I exclaimed. "Well, then, these are for you!" she said cheerfully, and handed them over.

Oh my goodness. What else can I say?

I did every stereotypical girly thing: I gushed. I glowed. I pranced. I blushed. I giggled. I smiled as if I had a secret. I nearly floated as I walked. "I got flowers!" I'd say periodically at random. People came from far and wide to see me and my flowers and ask questions about the sender. "He's just a guy I just met," I'd tell them, and they'd say I must've made one heck of an impression, or they'd say I'd found a keeper, and that they wished their man sent them flowers. I tried to play it cool--as if getting flowers was nothing!--but despite trying my hardest, I couldn't keep myself from blushing and smiling, so much so that everyone couldn't help but laugh at me and my giddiness.

These came from the guy Melanie hooked me up with, Richard. Jamie said they were the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen, and indeed, they were pretty perfect. How completely, totally blessed am I. This made my week.

[last night was awesome]

Last night at 10:45pm I got a phone call, quite unexpected on more than one count. It was from my coworker M. that I mentioned in a previous post.

You see, that night at work, M. had asked me if I was single. "Yes," I replied. My other coworker, knowing my situation with TNG, laughed. "--mostly," she and I tacked on in unison.
"Are you up for meeting new people?" she was wondering, and I said yes, of course.

She was calling to invite me over to her brother-in-law's house, who is in the process of divorcing her sister. She thought she, her husband, Richard, and I should hang out. She told me about Richard--a successful, educated, handsome, nice, mature man--and yet I didn't figure he'd be my type. Not many are. Still, I'm open-minded, and there was no harm in meeting the guy. I turned off my movie, finished my glass of wine, prettied up and headed out.

Well, was I ever pleasantly surprised! Richard is indeed everything she described. What I did not expect was how he'd impress me in conversation. He carries himself very well. He seemed confident and easy to talk to, and in what little we got to talk, he made me laugh repeatedly. But then he got called to work.

Richard has a degree from a mortuary school and is the director of the largest funeral home here in town. He's also a single, doting father to an adorable three year old girl whose mother more or less walked out on them both. He's got a brand new house on his own piece of land in the country, only a couple of miles from where I live. Handsome, educated, rich, responsible, and a good father--what's not to admire?

"May I call you some time?" he was wondering, and I said yes, of course.

My he looks handsome in slacks and a dress shirt...

So far today I've done a load of laundry, done the dishes, and make a rocking banana cake. I even invented a chocolate cream cheese frosting which turned out beautifully. This is awesome because I used up some ingredients that needed to be used up. My cake is literally beautiful, and with some whole wheat flour thrown in, somewhat good for your health. Moist and lucious, and I don't even much like banana.

My motivation this morning came partly from having company over last night when I hadn't cleaned. Yikes. That makes me feel unduly ashamed and bad about myself.

Last night was great. I met a lot of people, listened to some fantastic music, went out to eat, and generally had a pleasant time.

God, get me out of this job. The work is not bad, the boss is. I've always said any job would be bearable with good company; now I know the reverse is true: a great job can be made unbearable with bad company. They finally did it: All those out to get my favorite coworker, B., succeeded. It all ended with allegations of her (a nice lady near retirement age, mind you) pushing coworkers and even pushing residents! It's all BS, and last night, shortly after B. and I had remarked on what a great night it was going to be with our light workload and each other's company, the night turned horror. B. left. My unbearable boss stepped in. I, of course, ended up doing twice my workload to make up. It was chaotic and unpleasant.

I darn near cried as I watched her go. "But B., you're the only one here I like!" I exclaimed as she stood at the doorway. I also know the only reason she's put up with this all this time is because her income pays for her husband's medicine. I worry about them both. And in a twist of things, I had a hand to play in all of this.* (See below)

We're already short on staff, as always. I'd just put in for vacation--the second anniversary of TNG is very important to me, and I thought I'd combine it with the graduation vacation I never received--and now that's shot. (Unpaid vacation, of course. I'd like a week or two off, but I was praying to get just four days off in a row.) On the upside, there's another full-time cook's position open, right? HA. While I waited for my boss to mention this to me, she said, instead, "We'll be putting an ad in the paper tomorrow." I'm sure the plans are, as last time, to hire someone new, someone seven months my junior, and then, when they scarcely know their own job and even cuss out fellow coworkers as well as fail to show for shifts, train them in a position superior to mine. Hello, I'm right here, dependable and capable as ever, working full-time with no benefits. Ya THINK you might want to train me to be a cook? Of course, I'll never know what the plan is, or why I'm not being promoted. If anyone's ever had any problems with me, I wouldn't know of it. My boss's attitude is, "I'm the boss" and "That's for me to know and you to find out". No point in talking to her.

Since nothing has come of the last "shoo-in" job, I'm going all out again in my job hunting. I realize I should never have slacked, but really, applying for jobs isn't fun. It's time consuming. The focus now is on jobs in the city area closer to my kids, and even more so, jobs in the neighboring state that are near the town I've always dreamed of living in. If I can get a job there, why not?

I've got to get out of here. I repeat: I've got to get out of here.

Tonight:

Work was bad.

Nightlife was great.

More later.

I took my kids to jail at 12:30am to spend the night last night.

No, really, I did, in a story that boils down to being no more interesting than a call to my ex at bedtime, a corrections officer at a "Christian" private jail, to arrange what time to return the kids today. I told him I'd bring them up to his house if he gave me gas money. "Heh. I don't have any money!" he said. "You've got at least four times the income I do," I replied. He said he'd prefer I just bring them out there right at that moment. He wasn't kidding.

The kids started jumping up and down. Their new puppy was there, too. Nimmers offered a can of Pepsi if I'd make the 20 mile drive, so for the kids' sake, out of bed I climbed.

I found Nimmers sitting at a desk doing paperwork. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
"Oh, you've got it so hard," I said. "I never get to sit down at work!"
"Yes, but I carry the responsibilities for this whole facility," he said, as his puppy nipped at his feet and his kids did cartwheels in the hall.

He showed me the control room with its ten or so monitors. "See these guys here? They get to sleep on metal benches tonight," he pointed out with pride. While everyone else on the monitors were sleeping in bunks with mattresses, blankets, and pillows, these two guys tossed and turned in a separate room on sparse benches.
    I couldn't help but exclaim, "But that's not nice!"
    He shrugged in a way that could be interpreted as cocky. "Well, they should've listened to the officers."
    "You can't do that!" I exclaimed again. "It isn't nice!" I received almost a chorus of "they're criminals" from the people in the room. Even some of my kids had chimed in.
    "Don't worry. I'll bring them blankets-- about an hour before they have to get up." He chuckled. "Major said I needed to give them blankets 'some time tonight'. And see this guy?" He pointed at another monitor. "I took his mattress away and threw him in seg [segregation]." This guy was sleeping on a bed with no mattress, which also resembled a metal bench.
    "Why'd you do that?"
    "He called me a fat MF." He tilted his head toward his shoulder in a cocky half-shrug. "I needed the mattress."

And, though Nimmers is a good, nice, kind man through and through and I can't emphasize that enough, it did remind me of my marriage. He's an enormous guy--6'5", football player-build, now with extra padding, making him a massive presence which is all the more intimidating when armed and in uniform and accented with a no-nonsense attitude. There are things I miss about our marriage--he treated me like a princess in a way I doubt anyone will ever equal-- but to put it simply, I say our marriage went well as long as I did what he wanted. It was when I tried to disagree or stand up to him that things got ugly.

I just got asked out. I came home from all my Fourth of July festivities to find my neighbors having a grand party. My kids begged to watch them shoot fireworks, and since they appeared to have bags and bags, piles and piles of the big-fireworks-I'd-never-buy, I agreed. As I sat on my porch watching the explosions barely missing my car, one of the guys from the party come over, sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. Shortly thereafter, he asked me out.

Mind you, all my kids were playing there, and I don't know what to make of a guy who asks out a mother of three. He must be insane. He actually said he'd take us to Chuck E Cheese. I just stared at him.

"What? You've heard of Chuck E Cheese, haven't you?" he asked. Bleh.
"Um, I just don't get offers like that very often," was all I could come up with in reply.

I'm too darn nice. I'm not interested in this guy, but I took his number because he twice tried to give it to me. I deflected the first time, but was forced by niceness to retrieve a pen the second time. I don't know how to say, "I'm not interested" nicely, and I hardly want to get the message across anyway because I don't want to hurt a person's feelings. (I very much admire his courage in approaching me, and I'm also very flattered by his interest.)

This is what I wish I could say to guys: If I want to go out with you, kiss you, give you my number or what have you, I'll make it extremely easy for you. Asking me out will be like falling in a hole. But I'm just not often interested. I don't know why. I feel guilty about this. I want to like you, if you're nice, but probably, you just don't hit me the right way. A person I'm truly interested in is rare indeed.

I just realized something yesterday. My tentative plan has been to "save money for an internship and apply next year". (Please see this page for a better idea of what a dietetic internship consists of.) I suppose it's because no plan has yet been cemented of all my possibilities that I only just thought of this: At what point am I going to be begin saving? How, in one year's time, am I going to save up $6,000 or more?

Ideally I need more than that, because you can't really work while going through an internship. From my understanding, an internship takes up 40-50 hours of your time each week, but being an internship-school hybrid, you have homework, studying, and outside assignments to complete, too. Ideally I need to be able to pay for my internship, and have money to live on while I go through it, which takes anywhere from 6 to 24 months. Heck, they don't know SuperMe. Maybe I could squeeze a weekend job in there.

If I were to tell you my goals today, which I think are indeed starting to solidify, it is to complete my internship, rather than jumping ship to another field. I don't know how much of that is love of my field and how much of it is sheer stubbornness, but come hell or high water, I'm going to finish this, darn it! (Maybe it's just the mentality I'm accostumed to.)

Thus, ideally, I need a place to live rent free, or very low rent. 'Else how am I ever going to be able to afford an internship? So I'm looking over them again now. Same old issues, except I need a solid plan or I'm never going to get out of this treading water/nearly drowning situation.

For a survey today I had to count how many people were on my buddy list. I counted 207.

I had no idea there were that many! I feel, at least for a long, long time now, I have been very discriminatory about who I add to my list, and I've been vicious about deleting people. Still, 207!

I've got an idea of having 100 people on my buddy list. Then each of you will be in my "top 100". Would you like a spot in my top 100? If you're not on my buddy list and are using AIM, yahoo, MSN, or ICQ, you can contact me. I'm MoireBri on AIM and yahoo, MoireBri4 on MSN, and 34375801 on ICQ.

You can tell I chat too much, can't you?