Creative. Thinking. Problem. Solving.

Ah-ha!

I don't have this maniacal brain for nothin'!!!

Compelled by a tortuous, continued state of pondering... I had to find a solution to making the best of my circumstances. A solution to my creative woes.

The window to my soul.

A window!

A simple opening to the magical world outside.

That's all I need!

I have this 1,300+ square feet of house all to myself, and in two years, have yet to find my ideal studio space. A space dedicated solely to appeasing the beast inside. The beast that writes. Draws. Paints. Sculpts. Dreams.

I was on the right track when I had it upstairs; away from the hub-bub of life that lie below... but something was amiss. So almost a year ago, I moved everything downstairs. In the middle of the night, of course. I had a better chance at seeing nature; finding inspiration; or so I thought. But the window of the door was behind me, and the windows in front of me bore a view to the side of the house next door. Needless to say, all my work space does there is collect laundry and mail.

Frustrated and philosophically driven.... I went upstairs and finally acknowledged the literal barrier to my creative freedom. A wall. The room is perfect. The light is perfect. But... I need a larger window so I may enjoy a view of the sky full of stars and snow; the flight of a bird; an angry cloud full of raging lightning.

A window. So simple! I'm going to place a semi-educated guess that my so-desired studio space project will cost at most $500. I need to cut a hole in the house, buy and install a window; build an L-shaped work surface, organize my art supplies, and find a cheery paint color.

Done. At least in my mind it is. And that might mean I can finally go to sleep now...

Do You Know Where You're Going To?

"And do you like the things that life's been showing you... where are you going to? Do you know?"

My little "hiatus" is winding down, and as usual, I'm feeling like I didn't spend my time as wisely as I should have. I needed rest; and I rested. I needed to work on painting the house; and paint I did, albeit just a little in two days. Is my constant need to do-do-do some neurotic, haunting, psychological glitch, or simply a voice of reason I should be paying more attention to?

And so I wonder: do I know where I'm going to? Does anyone truly know where they are going to?

Many people that I know, especially C.F., seem to be hyper-focused, cool-cucumber types, that never appear to ponder the direction in which their lives are going. This year (and a lot of hard work) has taken me to new heights... destinations that weren't necessarily on my itinerary. I'm finally achieving many life goals, although maybe a little too many at a time to truly appreciate my personal success. And yet... I'm still feeling that there is more; so much more I need to do.

Last night, I chose to retire to my bedroom early, and searched for something intellectually stimulating to watch on the T.V. As you all know, this isn't an easy task. Reluctantly, I chose to watch a movie about Georgia O'Keeffe on Lifetime. I try to avoid making a habit of watching Lifetime for fear that I'll wake up to a house full of cats and a closet stocked with elastic waistband pants. But, Ms. Georgia O'Keeffe was an artist, and more importantly, a rather spirited woman who seemingly remained respectfully committed to her need to create. And so I watched...

As usual, the storyline and acting left a little to be desired; however, I found myself enthralled with Georgia's life. At one point in the film, she had written to her lover/husband something similar to "although I will miss you terribly, I have come to realize that to do what I need to do, I must be alone." I found myself pondering her thoughts and finding them to be oddly the same as my own. She also said that she had all of these visions and thoughts in her head and she just had to get them out. Ah. I can completely relate to that!

I'm not claiming to be as amazing, nor as monumental in the world of art as Ms. Georgia; but I will confidently say that I am blessed/cursed with the same brain function. As a young girl, I was immersed in my creative kingdom; drawing, painting, writing, dancing, acting, and "singing."And I was happy.

Along the way, without familial support, and throughout school systems obsessed with academics; I became lost. After following the advice of a counselor, some dear friends, and the driving force of my being... I slowly reconnected with that creature inside me and began creating again. Wouldn't you know it, I'm happy again.

I have now achieved official "author" status via published articles and a 100% success rate with grant writing. I've ticked another item off my "bucket list" and have a couple pieces in an art show currently. But there has to be more! However, where I live... where I am bound to the financial ties of my home, is not truly conducive to any true success as an artist. A writer? Yes. Thanks to technology, one can write anywhere. I'm taking a sculpting class to enhance my skills in ceramics and I'm writing fairly regularly... but is that enough? Is it too much? Is accepting full time hours at my job to find my financial freedom in order to pursue these things more seriously in the future... cheating me of the present? Where do you draw the proverbial line? Am I supposed to have some sort of plan? Is that what "successful" people do?

Do you know?

Composure

Last night's battiness led to an interesting day for me. I had forgotten to set my regular alarm clock that sits atop my dresser. Luckily, my cell phone alarm was set for 6:05 a.m. Only trouble with my cell phone alarm is that I don't have to get out of bed to hit the snooze, and my cell phone snoozes 14 minutes longer than my regular alarm clock does. That extra 14 minutes allowed me to enter some bizarre dream sequence... and sleep much later than I had intended.

"Son of a bitch!" That's how my morning began. I had not packed a lunch. I had no idea what I was wearing. And for a moment, I had no idea where I was! The last thing I wanted to do after missing a day of work was be late! Showering, making coffee, and zipping through the house in varied states of undressed panic... a brief moment of clarity came over me. "Get it together!" "It's not that big of deal!" I'm always the first to arrive, and usually the last to leave the office, so no one would even know if I was a few minutes late.

Arriving slightly tardy, yet entirely undetected, I was surprised to find not one pile of urgency upon my desk. The room seemed dark; the air, heavy. The weight of my eyelids seemed to increase immediately. Was I going to make it through the day?

The catering service that monopolizes the venue I am holding an event at in two weeks still has not returned my calls. 98% of the invitees for this event still have not RSVP'd and the intern who has offered her assistance in securing another venue for a September event still has not come forward, or even shown up, with one smidgen of information. My event planning experience tells me this is all adding up to disaster but I'm choosing to retain my composure. I can't force the caterer to conduct his business in a professional manner, can't force people to RSVP, and can't force this intern to fulfill her volunteered obligations. I'll just be quietly appalled and keep doing my job.

Needing a break from the office monotony, I decided to go to the credit union and order more checks on my lunch break. No sooner had I turned right out of the office parking lot, I saw a car hit a man on a bike as it was pulling out of the next lot! What the hell? "I don't have time for this" I thought. I was starving. It was hot. And I quickly became disgusted with my initial response of utter inconvenience to the situation. I stopped my car right away and put on the hazards so the fallen man would not get run over by some other lunch-bound don't-have-time-for-this cubicle dweller. I was a witness, whether I liked it or not, and there was a man who had been thrown to the pavement who was not moving.

The man who struck the cyclist, a white man with white hair in a white shirt with a tie on gestured me to call 9-1-1. There was some funny connection with 9-1-1 on my cell phone. Lots of ringing, a click, then more ringing. Was 9-1-1 not taking calls today? The white man with white hair in the white shirt and tie had an interesting demeanor: composed panic. He kept touching the black man, in the black t-shirt, wearing black sunglasses, lying motionless on the black pavement next to his slightly crumpled dark blue bike, as if he wanted to help him... but he didn't seem to know how. The fire truck and ambulance came from opposite directions and met bumper to bumper to the left of the man, shielding him from traffic. Moments later two police cars arrived. One black and one white. Visually, the accident scene became very profound to me. I was craving a camera of some sort to permanently record the details my odd little mind would certainly fail to remember when I later found time to process what I had seen. Where was my notebook? My pen? I had not simply witnessed an accident... I was witnessing the literal and metaphorical timeless "black and white" racial controversy!

The paramedics interaction with the fallen black man in a black t-shirt lying motionless on the black pavement was focused on his well-being. I couldn't help but feel the questions of concern were more of professional obligation than true human concern. The crowd of responders had grown to a gathering of about ten people. Uniforms black, and uniforms white. Once the police arrived, the heavy outdoor air filled with a quiet awkwardness for me. One officer, a black man, paid no attention to the motionless man on the ground, greeting firefighters and paramedics with "the pound" and a chuckling grin. Another (white) officer walked right over to the man and said, "You know you aren't supposed to ride your bike on the sidewalk. And you were riding in the wrong direction." The third policeman, a stout and homely white man in a black uniform didn't even approach the man. He walked right up to me.

"Did you see it happen?"

"Yes I did. The man couldn't have been driving his car that fast out of the parking lot because the man on the bike merely toppled over his handlebars. I'm assuming the trees to the right made it impossible for him to see the bicycle coming." I reported.

"Well he's not supposed to ride his bike on the sidewalk and that man was looking the way he should be to turn left. You know what this is about (he gestures to imply money). You know he's going to be disabled now... it's all about the (again gesturing to imply money)."

Really? Couldn't it simply be about a man that was riding his bike, albeit on the sidewalk, and a man who was pulling out of a parking lot, both with their vision of the other obscured by some trees that were simply growing there; resulting in an accident?

Some ten hours later, my feelings aren't quite settled. There were so many dynamics... so many stories within the story. Like his bent-wheeled bike being parked half on the sidewalk and half in the driveway... just waiting to be struck again... as he was taken away to the hospital in an ambulance. Then the almost paper-rock-scissors approach two officers took towards who would take the man's bicycle to the hospital for the wounded man. For several minutes, I thought they might just leave it there!

Not having a camera, nor pen and paper to record my accidental experience left me feeling irresponsible, neglectful, and as if I were to suffer a permanent loss for not having these items. So after work, I went out to a huge everything-you-need-in-one-place store and caught a 49 cent sale on composition books. I bought ten! The blessed curse of possibly undiagnosed A.D.D. and rampant creative anxiety is a never-ending whirlwind of thoughts sporadically entering and exiting your brain... some of them silly; some of them brilliant. Yet all of them lost when they are not captured on paper. My only remaining task is to purchase a technologically-current camera, something I have involuntarily postponed for the sake of financial responsibility. If only I knew my job was secure! Waiting for that news has been making me bananas! I've been salivating over the thought of a more competent camera for over a year now! And a tripod! Enlarged prints... covering my walls with coveted frame-frozen moments of time! Composing. Composite. Compositions... composure.

Out With The Old... In With The Familiar

I'm forcing myself to stay up late in hopes of catching this Perseid meteor shower lighting up the sky. How I would love to have that camera I dream of. One that would be capable of capturing such a potentially glorious show. But alas, I am simply left with wishful thinking amongst an overdrawn checking account and overcast skies.

I was on "vacation" from the 3rd to the 11th. Though most would have booked a trip to some exotic paradise, I "chose" to spend my time remodelling another rental for my now regular client. Considering I have lofty dreams, an as-yet unsecured job, and the leftover financial burn from nearly a year of unemployment; working while on a paid vacation seemed the responsible thing to do. The work becomes tedious, yes, but bringing new life to those old apartments provides me with a very inspirational and satisfying sense of being. Like a drunk who can't drink enough; I sought out even more "pleasure" by simultaneously overhauling the exterior of my own home. Perhaps the paint fumes created my manic state, or, perhaps, it was my detest of cranberry shutters... All I know is that most "normal" people wouldn't return home after painting for 7 hours on a hot, muggy day and start painting their own house. Let alone paint until midnight, with a light hanging from a nail on a rickety old wooden ladder!

Thankfully, I came to my senses on Thursday. Well, if I am being completely honest, the threat of rain forced me into a more sane state of mind. It was time to vacation on my vacation. But what would I do? In typical Mona fashion, I had ignored myself. I had made no plans! Before I could settle into a state of disgust, I received a chance response to a chance email sent to my former chance encounter, C.F.

He was nearby.

As life would have it... I was free, and he was as free as he was going to be. I left in the night on an adventure that was one like I hadn't taken since my care-free irresponsible 20's. As I roared down the highway with my barely-there muffler, I began to feel more and more alive. As the yellow dashes disappeared under my bumper, so did that nagging sense of lack I had been lying awake in bed with just days before.

The romance of spontaneity was quickly clouded with hilarity as I realized I had torn my jean pocket on that very nail I hung a light on to paint in the night while passing the pile of ladders in my dark garage. I bought super glue at the gas station and nearly glued my ass to my pants in the parking lot! Thank God for that burning sensation industrial strength adhesive gives when it touches the skin! And that was just the beginning of my adventurous antics! Brilliant me decided to take a 32 ounce travel mug of Mint Sun Tea on the road. Just as I was finding myself lost in a very dangerous looking part of town, I was also finding myself in serious need of peeing! Perfect timing to not know where the hell you are going, and being a lone, woman traveller. Add to that having to turn around on the toll road, of course, paying more tolls; asking the most "safe" looking gentlemen where the street I needed to be on was, only to have another man pull up next to me and tell me to follow him... and you have a lone woman traveller, about to piss her pants, all the while hoping she isn't being led off to a dark alley to be bludgeoned in her super glued and soon to be tinkled in jeans!

Would I get there? Alive and in dry pants?

Desperation was setting in. Frustration was setting in. My would have been 15 minutes early arrival had now become an hour late circling of the city. I tried to call the hotel to tell him I was somewhere nearby, but I had written the number down wrong. I finally came to my senses and found a parking garage. I dumped the car that wouldn't show me the way for a cab that could drop me off at the door of the hotel, allowing me to reach a bathroom, and C.F. , in a more expedient manner. A nice Indian taxi driver recognized the "I have no fuckin' clue what I'm doing and where I'm going" look on my face and waved me to his cab from two lanes over.

Once I found the bathroom, I had to search for the elevators. The hotel was very swank. Relief that I would soon be at his door quickly dissipated when I realized there was no 13th floor... which was where his room should have been, according to his message. Shit! I got off the elevator and headed to the courtesy phone in the hall.

"Is there a room 1301?" I asked.

"No."

"Well can you please connect me with C.F.'s room please?"

Finally. Finally I was at his door.

We spent the next few hours talking. We talked about anything and everything, in a sense of familiarity we hadn't had when we met so many months ago. This wayward journey was one I was glad to have taken. There are people in this world that we share connections with. Connections that are so powerful we cannot begin to understand them, and maybe we aren't supposed to.

I was alive in that moment. In that evening. And although the past several months of my life have been very fulfilling; although so many things are happening for me that I had once given up hope for... I had to let go of the old habit of never holding on to me. C.F. was familiar to me, but this relaxed and rejuvenating feeling I had with him was so very very new. There were no "what ifs" or "why can't we's." There was just us and that very moment in time... in this life.

Although he had asked to share breakfast, I left quietly under the darkness of a stormy Saturday morning as he slept peacefully. My goodbye scrawled on a hotel note pad, I returned to the highway; returned to my life, only not quite as I knew it.

I spent my Saturday afternoon with Chester, as I usually do. Only this time, I daydreamed of the night before while Chester napped in his chair. I went to the beach on Sunday and became reacquainted with the joy I feel when waves crash against my skin. And Monday... Monday I replaced what was left of my old rusty muffler so I could enjoy the comfortable quietness of a cared for car once again.

What You Wish For...

Be careful of that! Whilst finding many of my own very wishes coming true... I find myself buried in them! Buried in cliches as well! "When it rains it pours" is certainly ringing loud and true for me; negatively and positively.

My laptop croaked. Then the loaner croaked.

I had no job. Three jobs. Two jobs. 15 hours a week. 20 hours a week. 32 hours a week. Then 30 hours a week. Now I've been offered 40 hours a week, I still care for Chester and my remodelling job is dragging on because of a sub-contractor. The first grant I wrote was awarded, which is great for the resume, but bad in the sense that delays in the awarding process mean my deadlines will be extremely difficult to reach. I am getting sent to many conferences which award continuing education credits; again good for the resume, but bad for the deadlines!

I feel like I'm running after everything! Including after my own shoes! I have no milk, no eggs, no butter, and no time to go to the store. I have a tote bag full of mail and not a single over-priced stamp. I have my primer and paint for my own remodel job: the garage. Yet, I have not a single moment (that doesn't involve rain) to get back to it!

And the boys. Oh those silly boys. A couple boys have been attempting to court me, but again, I have no time! And when I find time, I'm going to have to decide if I want to allow this said courting first! I must confess that regardless of any potential futures with any said boys, knowing that there may still be options after you have neared even closer to 40 is something I'm very grateful for!

Unfortunately, either a cup of Earl Grey tea, or some overnight anxiety kept me up until almost 4 a.m. which made getting up at 5:30 a.m. not so pleasant. Couple my lack of sleep with congestion, sneezing, itchy ears and an irritated throat (allergies?) and I'm ready to tie a white T-shirt to a stick and wave it wildly to and fro!

Oh it has rained. And has it poured! And I am: drowning!

Serendipitous Coincidence

Life has a funny way of telling us the things we really want to know, quietly sending us the answers to questions our human minds find impossible. After waking up Saturday morning with my mind full of wonder, jaw sore from anxiety-driven teeth grinding... the answers slowly came to me.

I was wondering if I was spending too much time alone, and had an unplanned dinner with my mother, brother, aunt and cousin.

I was wondering if I was spending too much time at home, until I picked mulberries with my neighbor, watched the groundhogs play, witnessed two baby doves learn how to fly, fixed my fountain bird bath that I had written off as broken, gave a neighbor I had never met before free tickets to a ball game, and helped my brother mulch my mother's yard.

I felt, perhaps, that I wasn't living up to my potential, then I finished reading the book, "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell.

I was feeling like the meaningful things in life seem to be lost in the rush of attainment and status... wondering if I was fooling myself with a false contentment in my non-material world; and I watched the movie "Seven Pounds."

I picked fresh blackberries from the vine. Planted flowers. Danced with the wind and sun for an entire Sunday afternoon. Profound? No. But somehow, these simple occurrences settled my mind. I feel a great sense of calm and contentment. I might not be able to provide a detailed map of where I'm going... or an elaborate agenda of what I'm doing... but I know that it's right.

What's Next?

Pondering. I've been pondering what to do with myself, with my life, a lot lately. Now that I am single again, and not distracted by the flirtatious excitement of a new relationship, I feel kind of lost.

The past five years or so I've been doing a lot of growing... changing... and for the most part, I'd say I've made significant progress in my life. But yet, I feel stumped. Where am I going? What am I doing? I don't feel I have those answers. Where is my drive? Have I ever had this "drive?" These are my questions. Questions weighing so heavily on my mind, that I literally awoke with them this morning. Apparently my entire resting state is now consumed with these concerns.

My birthday is in two weeks. Another year of life passing. Did I do anything valuable within that time? I did finally finish school, something I had always wanted to do, and yet felt little accomplishment when it was all said and done. The same blankness of emotion surrounds my art, despite being offered to be in a show; and my writing, despite being published. I found a job at which I excel and that has the ever elusive "purpose" I find so important... and having a job these days is a miracle within itself. Honestly, I keep waiting for the curtain to fall, the bomb to drop, the bottom to fall out. Why am I so detached from myself? Why am I unable to celebrate my personal successes? Or even acknowledge them?

What's next?

I do not know. I have this nagging feeling that there is something I am supposed to be doing. An incomprehensible voice is calling to me... why don't I understand it?

Week-end Update and Sexual "Snippets"

I confess to slacking a bit in keeping you strangers abreast of my goings-on, but I am happy to report that it is due to finding myself legitimately consumed with my new-found employment, as opposed to my former state of laziness.

This week I was able to put my wondering-mind skills to productive use, by concocting a mildly genius plan to score a much needed grant to fund a future project, and therefore increase the odds that a few of us, including myself, can look forward to an income after September ends. When you've spent the majority of your working life employed by those who do not appreciate your inability to see obstacles, it is beyond refreshing to find your solution-seeking brain is appreciated. I really think I have found not only a job that pays the bills, but a job that allows me to truly excel, and therefore bring increased success to the honorable organization that so graciously hired me.

Secretly, however, I have engaged in intermittent email silliness with my ex across the hall. He works for a separate, contracted establishment as well, so I don't think the thought police of the business that owns the building has us under surveillance just yet. Since running into each other over a month ago, we've gone to lunch, and have a scheduled dinner next week. He's a great guy, whom I get along with very well. We have enjoyed trying to piece together whatever madness transpired between us some 15+ years ago. I remember going to his sister's wedding and having his ex-girlfriend go bananas when he asked me to dance to "their song." I can't recall which one it was, but it was a Journey song. He remembers my ex flinging my car door open while he and I were making out in a parking lot after drinking too much beer at a rock-n-roll bar. Maybe that explains why my poor soul ex wound up marrying a half-crazy bitch.

I began today with my latest Saturday routine: fixing myself breakfast in bed, and watching "Mistresses." I was rather upset to see my pretend TV boyfriend sleep with his should be girlfriend's friend. Now what? Is that going to spoil my hopes that they fall deeply in love and have sex a lot so I can see him without his shirt on? I won't be a happy girl if that is the future story line.

After my exhausting morning of laying in bed eating breakfast, I took a nap. I might have felt some sort of shame for being so lazy on an almost-warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, but everyone I spoke with on the phone today had either already napped, or planned to nap within the hour. Sometimes we must seek comfort in our "sins" by rationalizing them with an "everybody else is doing it" thought process.

Once I got up and combed my hair, I prepared deviled eggs, and au gratin sweet potatoes for tomorrows Easter dinner at Grandma's house. She of course insisted I didn't have to bring anything, like she has every holiday for the last 20 years. Apparently I am not the only one in denial of the fact that I am a grown-up, and therefore capable of contributing to family dinners. It's nice to feel young, always... but not twelve! I love cooking, almost as much as I love eating, so I happily prepare at least two dishes for each and every gathering. In fact, I might seize this opportunity to unload some black olives that I will never eat and bump my offerings up to three.

Lately I have reverted back to my battle of deciding what level of comfort I am actually comfortable with regarding sex. It's that battle between maybe, maybe, wanting to find someone to actually co-habitate with and maybe, MAYBE, have a kid with... and... just enjoying the fact that I am a self-supporting, educated-decision capable, adult woman with her own "needs" that feels she deserves a little physical attention (read hot sex) once in awhile... if not once a week; and ideally once a day! And since I have chosen to take the "later in life" approach to entertain the idea of MAYBE having a kid someday, I have run into yet another challenge. Guys my age like to get vasectomies. Great! Now what's a girl to do? Seems my ex across the hall thought it necessary to randomly divulge the fact that he is "snipped." Now, I have no immediate intentions of claiming to be serious with him... but, what am I supposed to do with THAT information? Complicated. Life seems to get more enjoyable, yet spontaneously more complicated the older I get.

Although I did put all of my deviled eggs in one "basket," I have yet to figure out what to do with my theoretically reproductive ones.

And while we are talking about eggs, (yes this is a very twisted stretch of connection) have a Happy Easter my adorable readers!

Soapbox Confessions

I think to say you have "grown up" you must learn the art of forgiveness. I know most people expect you to grow up by your mid-twenties... but, hey, we're all different; and some of us really seem to like doing things the hard way.


I'm happy to say, that at the "young" age of 35... I truly started growing up. When we let the pain of the past wrongs, or the embarrassment of past mistakes control our minds, we prevent ourselves from living life in the present, let alone having any hopes for happiness in the future. Unfortunately, although time stands still in our hearts and minds... we still physically grow old. Bullshit, I say!

Anyway... I've had the pleasure of running into several people I hadn't seen in over 15 years, in the past several months... people that may have not seen me at my best. And how could they have? I was an emotional mess when I was young! And after talking with a few of them, most of us were! I might be turning into a "super sap" in my old age... but there is something truly beautiful, and liberating, about forgiving people for simply being human.


If you were to have asked me, even five years ago, if I would ever consider opening the lines of communication with my very absent father... I would have said "hell no!" and maybe even told you to kiss my ass! But somewhere along my journey through this crazy little thing called "life," I realized that every single one of us has had some sort of struggle, hardship, tragedy, or emotionally devastating event occur in our lives. I realized that maybe my dad wasn't a dad because he literally couldn't be one... maybe he didn't know how. I'm not going to say that his lack of involvement in my life didn't hurt me, and I'm not going to say that exchanging a dozen or so emails with him magically erases any past wrongs or regrets. What I will say, is that just about anyone will tell you that life didn't quite go the way they planned it to... and I don't believe that anyone intentionally makes bad choices. They do what they know... and do what they can.



Does this make it right? Of course not. But if we spend our lives keeping score of who was "right" and who was "wrong," who was "good" and who was "bad," we immediately slam the door of opportunity... the opportunity to love and to learn from other people. The opportunity to forgive. The opportunity to have peace and forgiveness; true happiness in our lives.



Yesterday does not matter! We cannot change the past. We can't change the things we wished we wouldn't have done or said, anymore than those who have hurt us can. But what we can do, is accept things for what they were... what they are... and forgive. Most importantly... forgive ourselves.



Of course I wish that things could have been this "easy" when I was younger, but if I hadn't gone through my own hard times, who's to say I would be the person that I am now? And although I do think it's sad that it took me this many years to be able to talk about those "terrible" things that held be back from being truly happy for so many years... I'm very thankful that I can now say, I just plain don't give a shit! I punished myself for things I had no control over, things I didn't do, things I didn't ask for... and if being blatantly in-your-face honest prevents someone from taking the hard, and painful path... or suffering a life in painful silence... I'll risk the gossip... the "oh my God can you believe?"s...



That's me. A peace-love-and-happiness-can't-we-all-just-get-along kinda girl. And if you haven't noticed, I'm not apologizing for that anymore. I'll proudly stand on my soap box and let you make fun of my obnoxious eighties hair, shake your finger in shame about the guy I shouldn't have slept with, or wonder why I didn't "make something of myself" sooner... because I know if you're reading this, you've got a big heart in you, somewhere (smile!)...


Uh-oh! That big fat clown is coming across the stage now with that big, shut-the-fuck-up cane...

Squirrely Saturday

I spent the afternoon with Chester, as usual. I was delighted to see that he was able to eat his lunch (fish sticks, tartar sauce, and applesauce) with minimal assistance. He was able to eat his fish sticks on his own, and only needs help with the spoon, so I fed him his applesauce for dessert. I try to allow him as much independence as he can physically manage, as I feel it encourages his mind and body to remain as strong as possible. He was very alert... loves to watch his basketball! And even though I'm not sure his memory allows him to recall what the NCAA championship is, he sure seems to be enthralled with the competition.

After I returned home, I "ran into" C.F. on the computer. He's travelling, as he usually is. Despite both of us expressing our desire to take naps, we wound up chatting for almost three hours! He's just so damned cute. I feel like a complete cyber dork because I find myself wishing I had the technological means to send him pictures more easily. Video would be cool... but, still seems invasive, and almost creepy! Regardless of a more convenient means of communicating with him; I am in the market for a new camera. I've got a very behind-the-times 4 mega pixel camera, so the photos I have taken that I would like to make into large prints are simply could-have-beens. I'd like to fill my house with my own photography and test the waters by attempting to sell some prints at the upcoming local spring art show. We'll just have to see what the "Financial Gods" have in store for me over the next couple months.

While I was getting squirrely inside with C.F. on the computer, the squirrels in my yard were getting fat off my rapidly disappearing bird seed. I now have four seed feeders, and one suet feeder in the yard. When I was attempting to survive on less than $1,000 a month... I thought I was going to have to cut those feathered and furry critters out of the budget! Lucky for them, my aunt and mother had each donated a 40-pound bag to help support their cause. One of my many past lives must have been "Snow White." I just adore each and every little fascinating creature that scampers about! Although I live in the city, we are across a road, and uphill from the river, so we do get a nice variety of small wild life. I have groundhogs, skunk, bunnies, squirrels, and birds visiting regularly. Annoying to some... amazing to me!

So back to the camera... it's not just for fruitless flirtation, it's for the further exploration and improvement of my photography skills. Creating little photo-ops and impromtu shoots kept me occupied and entertained over my lenghty unemployment; and to my surprise, my photography was pretty frickin' good, especially since my equipment is very outdated, and my intentional photograpy experience is minimal at best. It takes little to make me happy! Just give me the tools to make something and I'm off on a my own little creative journey!

The Prices We Pay...

What an amazing morning! I slept well last night. One of the best night's rest I have had in a long time. Since deciding to end my pursuit of the full-time position as Administrative Support to the Director of Operations at the job that offered benefits, but lower pay, and no "purpose," I feel a great sense of peace. And relief. I woke up to the sunrise gently kissing my face; feeling alive, and ready to enjoy the day.

My latest revelation makes me terribly concerned for the emotional well-being of the millions of people who are still suffering the unemployment and economic crisis. Any of you that have been through it know that being out of work, especially when you are trying to support a household or family, is an incredibly stressful thing. Add to that being forced to take whatever job you can get, regardless of whether or not it is something you enjoy doing, a job that does not allow you to do those non-work-related things that bring you the ever-important enjoyment of life... and you have yourself a potential mental nightmare!

In support of my own quest to avoid finding myself working solely for "the man," and doing something 2,000 hours a year that doesn't bring me some sense of fulfillment... I'm going to stick to my plan to pare down my expenses, and continue on with my non-profit work, caring for Chester, and pursuing my creative adventures. There is a slight bit of risk involved. My job is only guaranteed until September, and it's future is dependent upon the receipt of additional grant funding... But I'd rather be doing something I love, and living the life I have fought so hard to live, for six months, rather than zero months! By following this master plan, I'm only sacrificing material things, instead of sacrificing my entire existence. Giving up my fancy conditioner, as opposed to my identity, sounds like the smartest decision I have made in many years!

So... I continue my quest to spend money wisely. Save whenever, and wherever I can. That meant I was forced to go to Walmart. Many a better-than-you type person would tell you they would rather pull their own teeth out with dirty pliers that be caught dead in Walmart. I've got to confess that I don't really care to shop there either. I am not bothered by the fact that the majority of Walmart shoppers are of a lower socio-economic status. Hell, I'm not exactly rich. At least not in a monetary sense. What bothers me, is the commotion! I have a gift of travelling down the same aisles as the mother of a pack of unruly, disheveled, screaming me-mes, who doesn't understand that the aisle is barely wide enough for two carts to travel side by side... so leaving her cart, with the wailing, snot-nosed baby in the seat, in the middle of the canned good section, makes my shopping inconvenient; and my head pound! But if I'm going to successfully find my true calling in life, I've got to shop where I can get the most for my money, and that just happens to be where the overly-reproductive people shop as well. A small sacrifice, I suppose, in the big scheme of things.

Saving money takes a little bit of effort, and a lot of creativity. This morning, I replaced my very worn and hardly working wiper blades with the new ones I purchased, from Walmart, for $4.97 a piece. I have no idea what the current going rate is for wiper blades at those one-stop oil- change-and-more type places, but I have a vague memory of spending at least twenty bucks to have them replace and install new wipers on my car in my early, naive, twenties. They are very easy to put on: a simple slide and snap into a hook. Unfortunately, taking the passenger side wiper off required a little more focus and patience then my just-woke-up brain was capable of, so I suffered a cut to my index finger. One of those wounds that isn't really that serious... but bleeds like you ought to call an ambulance fast, before you lose consciousness. I went straight to the bathroom, and realized that I don't have, and haven't had, any bandaids! Huh. Good thing I finally picked up toilet paper at "Wallyworld," last night. (Christmas napkins aren't very absorbent.) Soooo... I covered my throbbing, bloody wound with two squares of Charmin Ultra Strong with Diamond Weave, and secured it with Scotch tape. I realize this isn't as impressive as a soap opera plane crash... when the sexy, chiseled, man seductively tears his shirt off to create a life-saving tournequet for his damsel in distress, but I was pretty proud of my budget-friendly, blood-flow preventing, invention!

It has now been two hours since my injury. The bleeding has stopped, and my primitive, life-saving, impromptu bandage is in the trash. A literal reminder that with a little effort and creativity... I can, and will, survive this, and hopefully find my true path along the way.

SHARP TURN AHEAD!

Ahhh.


Ah HA!


Life has a strange way of sending us little messages. Little signs directing us gently towards the path that we are meant to travel on. But some of us stubborn, skeptical, students of life, fight this quiet guidance as if the universe were asking us to jump off a cliff!


Over the last couple days of my job juggling, during the few quiet moments I have had to myself... I realized that the decision I was about to make regarding which job I was going to dedicate the majority of my time to was based solely on money and monetary benefits. Yes, I may be crazy... but money means little to me. The last time I made an employment decision based on monetary gain, I suffered great personal loss. Loss of time. Loss of happiness. Loss of self.



What the hell was I thinking? I don't want to go back to that awful place! And if we just crunch numbers... I would have to work 40 hours at the job with benefits to make what I would earn in 25 hours at the job that has that "purpose" I've been so desperately seeking.



The man upstairs had been speaking to me through so many different people... several times a day. Although I really liked the people I was working with, there were those devilish things called "benefits" that were offered there, and I was more than capable of doing the job... I am much more than a person who can create a training schedule on Excel 2007, and happily shoot the shit on lunch break.


Over the last year, despite my struggles surviving unemployment, I have been the happiest I have been in many years. And that's because I was creating. Writing. Crafting artistic things. Satisfying my strongest need. The need to be creative. It took a lot of wrong turns, and learning how to ask for directions to find my proverbial path again. The thought of giving up all of that personal progress and growth, only to drive backwards through life with my eyes closed, is frightening.


These little voices, the signs, have come from strangers, friends, family, co-workers... and my heart. I had been very anxious... slowly realizing that I was about to "sell my soul" for money yet again. I think one of the hardest things for humans to do is to listen to yourself; a rather odd phenomenon considering that when it's all said and done, when we lay down our heads for the very last time... it is you and you alone that has to revel in the joy, or sorrow, your life choices have brought to you.



I was beyond content before I began entertaining the other career choice. Happy and at peace. As soon as I accepted the position, in a rush, to suit their needs, that nagging feeling crept back into my life. I am very confident that I am making the right choice. I have no doubt... no worry. And I'm very grateful that this time it won't take several painful years to get back on track. This time, it's just a simple U-turn.

Last Day of Hibernation

Just as Spring is slowly approaching here... soon to be busied with bees, blossoming flowers, and slow growing blades of green grass; my life is soon to be busied with three jobs.

My "formal interview" on Friday (the 13th no less) consisted of "Nancy gave me the go-ahead to hire you, you start immediately." Huh? What? Whoa! I envisioned a long, somewhat boring, and tedious question and answer session with the typical hidden-motive psychologically analyzed blah-blah babble that most job interviews consist of. Afterwards, an offer presented, followed by me requesting the weekend to think it over. Funny how life never unfolds the way we wish it to.

My first thought after being arm-twisted into a permanent full-time job with excellent benefits and virtually guaranteed advancement opportunities, was "Carole is going to shit her pants!" Carole is the director I have been working most closely with at my part-time job. Project activity for the organization peaks through April, and the intention of them hiring me was to "prevent Carole from going crazy." I love the people I work with there, and I love the work that I do... but I also love financial stability. This is one of those times where I have to do something I'm not well-practiced in... doing what is best for me.

Crap.

Driving home from my interview Friday, I thought I might vomit on my dashboard! My mind was racing with the "what ifs," "what do I says" and "what are they gonna dos." I can't abandon the part-time job without notice. That's not an option for personal and professional reasons. They have been very good to me, and of course the pay is going to be hard to let go off. My new job has agreed to work around my existing commitments with the part-time job for my training, and may, may, if I'm lucky, allow me to work a four ten hour day work week... if so, I'll try to stay on at my part-time job once a week. I'll still sit with Chester on Saturdays. It's only three hours... and I adore them. I couldn't possibly take that joy away from Virginia. That one is an investment in karma.

So three jobs. Three jobs is the plan. In preparation for my intense week ahead... I've decided to hibernate today. My last day of hibernation. I wonder if bears are aware of their last day in the cave... and if they dread the busy days that await them? I'm going to have to learn a new job, new co-worker personalities, new on the way to work traffic patterns, fill out more tax forms... quit my beloved afternoon ceramics, figure out whether or not to still pursue the free tuition and schooling; have a painful discussion with my part-time job and negotiate a way to stay on with them... and hope that I am making the right decisions. I barely had enough time to adjust to the job I have... and now I've thrown another one into the mix.

What I just can't seem to accept yet, nor really celebrate, is the fact that in just a month or so... my financial stress may very well be over. I might actually be able to think about the future, instead of obsessing about how to make the most of $14 in food stamps so I can pay my heat bill. It still hasn't sunk in that I have the part-time job. How can I expect this to sink in?

"For all I know, they could say 'We were just kidding!' when I get to work on Monday morning." I told Virginia and her daughter on Saturday. Not very optimistic, I know, but I'm sure everyone can agree that these are very uncertain times in life. Realistic. I'm being realistic. And doubtful. Skeptical. Whatever non-believing adjectives you choose...

What I can do, is take it easy this last day. The last day of which I am certain about the goings on in my life. If I would have known they were going to throw the job at me on Friday... I might have planned some big to-do... a last hurrah before I jump into a three job, six day work week. It's been over four years since I have taken a vacation, and a solid year since affording one has even been remotely possible. It's going to pay off right?

Back to the "cave" of comforters, snacks, and semi-bad Sunday movies...

The Root of My Problems...

This morning I decided it was time to get to the root of my problems: my roots! A handful of randomly placed silvery strands were trying to blow my cover. Trying to lead people to believe that I'm old.

It was time to fight back!

Before I could even fully open my eyes this morning, I was mixing pungent chemicals and pulling on plastic gloves. Reading directions wasn't necessary. I'd done this before. Soon after, I was dropping the applicator brush, dotting my face with color, and losing the battle to keep an old towel on my shoulders. Touching up your roots before you're completely awake... before even having your morning coffee, isn't the best plan of action against those tattle-tale tresses, although it's hard to get frustrated, when you aren't even sure that you're conscious.

I really don't have many gray hairs (yet), but I do have evil ones! It seems they have decided to sprout in the most obvious areas... like each side of my part. Because I have dark hair, even one solitary silver hair shines as bright as a lighthouse beacon in an oceanic storm. I had been watching them get longer, growing more obnoxious as the days passed by. I was just lost in a state of perplexity... analyzing how I truly felt about the fact that I am getting older; so I allowed myself time to get to the root of the problem.

I've either aged a lot in the last year, or I've just had too much time to pay attention to the most minute things while I've been unemployed. I see little lines around my eyes, and on my chest. And those pesky gray hairs... My eyes are taking longer and longer to "de-puff" in the morning...

It's happening. I'm aging!!!!

Hello!

You're soon to be 38 years old.

Okay. So, I'm at an age where I'm expected to have wrinkles and gray hair. But, I'm also expected to be married, have children, a stable income, and a 401k with more money in it than mine has. Instead, I'm single, barely dating, childless and lacking a ticking clock, employed part-time temporarily, and have less than ten grand for retirement. The problem is, there isn't really a problem!

I'm pretty happy!

Practical-thinking people must think I'm nuts, but the only thing I'm concerned with is being physically unappealing when I'm 70 and still looking for "the one." But then again, I won't be the only wrinkled soul in that age-bracket, just maybe the only one wearing a skirt!

I was/am a late bloomer. I get this. Perhaps I fear that I'll run out of time before I truly find my way. Before "my calling" actually gets through my busy mind. I'd like to have kids, maybe, but not now... and the shelf-life on my carton of eggs shortens every day. Am I on the right track, or on a runaway train full of regrets? Why did I make life so difficult if it was really this easy?

Life seemed hardest when I worried about other people; other things. Now that my life has become literally simple, the intrinsic value of my very own existence is simply more clear. So what if I'm not the next Octo-mom, Donald Trump, or blushing bride! And so what if I have a couple gray hairs! I'd like to think of them as little reminders to make the most of what I do have; the most of my life... because even though the gray hairs might, my life, won't last forever.

I See The Light!

Finally... Spring is slowly inching its way back into my life. I have always adored the warmer months, with blooming flowers, and the smell of grass under your feet... but this year... I can't wait for the furnace to quit coming on! That's what life has come to! The beauty of nature is now second to a more affordable heat bill!

The best gift of Spring approaching is the earlier arrival of the sun each morning. What a help it is to pry me out of bed for my new-found state of employment. Despite all of my efforts, I never seemed to manage getting back to "normal," while I wasn't working; and now after just under two weeks, with or without the alarm, I'm up with the sun...

It slaps me in the face!

I wanted to create a "breezy" feel in my bedroom, so I have very thin, white cotton striped curtains hung at my windows. They serve the breezy purpose well, but they aren't sleep-in friendly at all! If I desire to sleep in past the rising of the sun, I am forced to risk suffocation while seeking shelter under my down comforters. Sometimes I laugh at how quickly I would have replaced those curtains with ultra-thick, insulated, black sun-proof ones back in the wild night-life days! I remember hating the sun... and the obnoxiously chirping birds when I was trying to sleep past noon. Now that I have changed my misguided ways, I feed the birds, and enjoy the brightness, and soon to be warmth, of the morning sun. Growing up does funny things to you!

I went to ceramics today. I'm a little frustrated that they haven't fired the kiln since last week. I have about 11 pieces waiting to be fired. In fact, today I emptied out my once cluttered drying shelf. Everything is waiting! Susan and I stepped out mid-way through the "clay day," for our regular shit-shooting session, and while we were outside, she found out that I have never used the wheel to throw clay. "I really like the direction you are going in with your clay. You have such an eye... and it's really cool to see you developing as an artist. You have to throw. I bet you'll get it the very first time." She said. WHAT? I absolutely admire her work! SHE has an eye! And some crazy impressive skills! She studied art in college, and has worked with ceramics for more than 20 years. Me? I'm a complete novice who's only goal is to have my work not shatter in the kiln! The rest is like a bonus! My friend saw some of my in-progress work on my Myspace page, asked me if I sell it, and suggested that I join her for one of her open house gatherings to sell some of my work. What? Would someone BUY it? I'm not sure about that!

What I am sure of, however, is my unfortunate inability to really take any compliments in when it comes to my work. I may still be new with ceramics, but in the past, I have produced some pretty cool art stuff, that others have received quite well. But how can I believe that anyone would want my stuff, if I, myself, do not appreciate it? Why is there such a detachment with most anything I create? Am I that afraid of being self-absorded and egotistical that I have no ego at all? In my defense, I didn't really grow up in an encouraging environment. I didn't have a lot of "cheering on" as a kid... so maybe it's new to me. Maybe it's just something I have to learn. I had a famous singer/songwriter compliment me on some writing I shared with him, and even that didn't give me a "maybe I am talented" feeling. This numbness I have had is something that I have been acknowledging during my self-exploration-because-you-have-nothing-else-to-do time... and I'm very curious about it. But... as I begin to share more of what I truly love, what I truly am... a quirky creative creature... I become less afraid of what people might NOT like, and more open to the fact that they don't have to like it, but I have to create anyway... that's what I'm most happy doing.

IN!

Well... it looks like I'm "IN." Employed... even if it is only a part-time, temporary position. Despite filling out tax forms, and finding out that I have my own desk... I still can't believe it! And I almost didn't make it to my first day.

I was expecting to have a hard time falling asleep at a "normal" time, considering life has been anything but normal for the last ten months. But, what I wasn't expecting was to awake from my recently attained sleeping state to an absolutely gut-wrenching pain. Panic set in immediately, since I had consumed a product containing peanut butter in the early evening. The thought of having to call in sick to work on my FIRST day, or have to pray I didn't shit my pants in the office was terrifying. The excruciating pains came in waves for the next two hours, completely destroying my intention to be well-rested and energetic on my initial day on the job.
I survived my unexplained discomfort, with minimal incidence, and aside from feeling pain more associated with a serious need to eat, I felt pretty good when I got up. But I didn't get up as early as I had planned, so my tender tummy had to suffer through the day without one crumb of food, and just a cup of coffee. I couldn't have risked showing up late!

My first hour or so was spent filling out the tax forms, so that was my first clue that an actual paycheck might be in my future. Then came the building tour, including the break room, so they must be keeping me around long enough to eat lunch there at least once. Afterward, some storage space was cleared at a part-time employee's desk (who was away on leave) for me to utilize, and a request was placed to get me a key card and organization email account. A desk? Really? That means that I'll be around long enough to need a place to park my rear.

I spent the next couple hours scheduling interviews with community members. While I was making appointments, news came in that the part-time employee on leave was not returning. Sniff. Sniff. I smell opportunity here...

I worked a whopping five hours today, and am returning again tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. for a few hours before my ceramics studio time. Friday I have a couple interviews scheduled, and Saturday afternoon I'll be sitting with Chester. Hardly a busy schedule for you "normal" people, but the first week of my life in almost a year that requires reference to my formerly empty planner!

Everyone I worked with today seemed quite nice, and my tasks are rather interesting... so, I'm still looking for the "catch," but my new career adventure is slowly becoming more of a reality for me. Desperately searching for work for such a lengthy amount of time, in an economy that reports job losses in the thousands on a daily basis, leaves one a little suspicious and almost jaded when a real opportunity to finally stabilize your finances again arises. So for now, I'll just plan on seriously busting my ass in the hopes of creating a permanent opportunity for myself, and perhaps finally ending this less-than-fun adventure in the Land of the Unemployed.

Day Two of "Normal" Person Training

Today was yet another day that began at 8 a.m. Hardly incredible, or really worth mentioning to most, but considering there have been many an anxiety-filled, sleepless night, getting UP at 8 a.m., instead of going to sleep, is an accomplishment.



I confess to hitting the snooze alarm. However, my brain, in typical fashion, went right into "spazz" mode and wouldn't allow for indulgent snoozing. I went straight from my bed, to the workout gear, and squeezed a twenty minute weight training session in. For the record, that's my second workout this week. Again, not incredible, but undoing the damage done by months of unemployment hell is going to take some time and patience. Afterwards, I hit the shower, got dressed, grabbed a cup of coffee and went out the door.



My 10:00 a.m. appointment with the local college was today. I haven't been on that campus in about 12 years. I had no idea where I was going, or who I was supposed to see. As soon as I pulled in the drive, I was instantly reminded of the horrors of parking during snowfall on campus. What a serious pain in the ass, and a blatant testament to spatial ignorance! It seems that when it snows, people forget how to park in a neat and orderly fashion. Apparently, their vehicles must be made of some type of highly absorbent material, because they feel it necessary to park four feet away from the vehicles on their left and right. Ahhh. The very SOUR memories of campus life.



Thankfully, my brain still has some memory left, and they have not changed the location of the Student Services office. I found my destination right away. As impressive as that is, to me at least, the rest of my visit left a lot to be desired. When your financial fate lies in the hands of others, you begin to over-analyze the "others" competency levels. The receptionist (who probably got the job I telephone interviewed for) began asking me if I had done this, that, the other thing, filled out that, applied for this. I was beginning to think that I would be turned away due to a lack of correct information, but somehow, I had managed to have everything necessary to allow my passage into a secret office with the Academic Sorcerer.



My Academic counselor, or whatever the correct title used, magically appeared. I was early, and was able to actually get started early. The expression on the woman's face was reminiscent of someone flexing every muscle in their face and neck to prevent the words "I hate fuckin college kids. I hate this stupid office. My support hose are too damn tight. And if the paper in the copy machine gets jammed one more fuckin time, I'm going to staple your eyelids together," from flying out of her mouth in a cheap-coffee fueled rage. I might be exaggerating, but she surely didn't seem friendly. In fact, she never even introduced herself. Come on! That's exactly how I remember my experiences in the advising offices there some 12 years ago. Feeling like you have just ruined some person's day, who, in theory, is supposed to provide you with support and direction. Let's just say my confidence level of this experience being any different is at an exteme low.



My appointment lasted all of about 6 minutes. 6 minutes. And I'm supposed to believe that it took them 5 weeks to find 6 minutes to get my education program started? Sigh. Red tape is a choking hazard. When it's not actually trying to choke me, I feel like choking myself with it. According to the unknown Academic Wizard, I should get word by Monday regarding what happens next.



Afterwards, I headed to the grocery store for a desperately needed trip for food. I had no milk, cereal, eggs, or bread. A few minutes into my trip, I ran into a friend of a friend in the snack aisle. I wasn't shopping for snacks, they have the meat temporarily located in the aisle to the right. The guy is a rep for "Jays" and seems to think I am all that and a bag of chips... sorry, couldn't resist. Too bad the guy is your typical married sleeze, so his 10 minute long charm-fest was a waste of his hormones. He tried to make his ploy to get into my private snack bag a little more honorable by telling me that he married his wife because she was uncomfortable being pregnant and unwed as a teacher. Nice.



I couldn't really afford all of my groceries, but I picked up things that would allow me to make meals out of what I already have, so hopefully this trip will last two months. I had to pay the local grocer's outrageous price for cat food, because it was probably more cost effective than driving across town. I finally swallowed my pride, and put a donation plea on Craig's List for cat food and bird seed, to which my first reply was, "Why don't you feed the birds to the cats. Don't you have a bb gun?" Had I not already known that some smartass would have come up with the same genius answer, I may have found it funny. But when you take a moment to get serious, about seriously humbling shit, having someone make fun of your situation is a tad irritating. I thought of writing some sort of "hope you wind up broke and jobless too" message, but instead chose to reply with, "How sweet of you to say." Sometimes, a manipulative guilt-trip is more thrilling than spewing angry ill will. One very kind woman did reply with advice to contact the Humance Society. Supposedly, they have a food bank for "people like us that are having a tough time." I wrote her back and thanked her for her kindness.



I spoke with Carol "with the longer last name" from the SAC while I was in the dairy aisle. Looks like I'll be meeting with her today, despite feeling an overwhelming need to simply sit on my ass. I'll be leaving here within the half hour.



I have to admit that I do enjoy getting up during the "normal" hours of "normal" people. Enjoying the sunrise... the small hint of importance you feel when you are on the snow-covered road because you actually DO have to be somewhere. And though it could be a week or more, before I have any concrete information as to what I will be doing with my time in the near future, I feel I'll get there... sooner than later. I just have to hope I don't run out of patience first.

"Normal" Person in Training

Monday. My first day as an almost "normal" person. I say this, because I actually had more than one thing on the day's agenda. A rarity for us impoverished, unemployed, single people.

My day began at 8:00 with a call into the unemployment line. I actually got through within the first six minutes, which is a vast improvement over the 45 minute long attempt a few weeks ago. Apparently, they actually are overhauling the system to accommodate the daily growth of the unemployment claims. A small victory for our plight here.

Next: a nap.

Mid-morning, I actually fixed myself something to eat. Well, it was leftovers, but I ate. Made a cup of coffee, and headed out to my ceramics "class." I can't tell you how much I enjoy the people that I craft dirt with. Such a nice mix of life paths, age groups and talent. An all around nice gathering of artistic humanity. I finished prepping one of my plates to dry, and painted an early spring budding tree and grass scene with iron oxide and chromium slips on another. Further affirming my belief that I am, in fact, obsessed with trees, and may have been a Jack Pine in a former life.

After my artsy time, I went downtown to meet with Carol about volunteering with our local Substance Abuse Council. I was quite impressed, and a bit overwhelmed, with the magnitude of programs and events they carry out within the community. I happened to be the only future volunteer at the meeting, joined by another Carol, "with the shorter last name." Both ladies were very personable, and also, very compassionate about my unemployed status. Potentially, while working with them, I may be able to pick up a few paid events, and connect with other non-profit organizations in the community for future employment opportunities. Hallelujah! Hope. Hope is always welcome here in my world!

Next stop: the bank. I had to deposit my graduation check from my California grandparents to make sure that my ceramics class and Art Center membership payment didn't bounce. These next 10 days are going to be so tricky financially... I frankly have no idea how I'm going to pull this one off.

Afterwards, I returned home. Ate dinner. Yep. Leftovers. Cleaned the house. Read my mail... and ironed out the schedule for the week. With so few commitments on deck, you'd think I could keep them straight. But as I said in a previous post... unemployment does terrible things to your mind. I had overbooked Thursday. WHAT? Hilarious. After shuffling things around, I now have something to do every day except for tomorrow.

So this is it. I'm a "normal" person in training. Easing back into the hustle and bustle of Normalville, and reclaiming my place in the community. Quietly letting the world know that I still have something to offer it, and I refuse to be forgotten.

Riding the Tide

I've been busy! Not busy for most, but busy for me!

These waves of activity and inactivity are very confusing to the mind and body. I may go an entire week without an appointment, and Monday I had three in a row. Things get going in one direction, and then life determines I must change course. I used to be rather opposed to monotony... but now I feel it would be welcome! Can I get a little consistency over here?

Tomorrow morning will be my last day on the remodel. I stopped there today to put a coat of paint on the cabinet framing. To my surprise, the guys had finished most of what was left to be done. So tomorrow, I'll just be touching up the cabinets and tearing down the tape. It is hard to believe that this project will finally be done...

Now what?

Next week, I have an appointment with a woman about volunteering with the Substance Abuse Council, and I also meet with the college to begin mapping out my coursework. From what I understand, I won't be able to begin taking classes any earlier than May, and possibly later than that. Waiting for the red tape of my life to be cut has become quite trying. I'm over it! Time's a wastin' folks! Hopefully, I'll have something to plan for, something to look forward to... soon!

My first day back at ceramics was incredible! There were 5 familiar, friendly and welcoming faces... and mutual "glad to see ya"s! This will be my first time going in with a plan. I'm making a number of plates with the intent of having inventory to sell at the Spring Art Walk. I formed and prepped two to dry and got started on a third. Because I have no job... I will be able to go to the additional 2 hours of open studio on Thursdays. At this pace, I could easily make a dozen plates before the end of the term. If I sell them for $20, I'll make the cost of the "class" back, and have some profit for myself. Pricing them higher is an option, but, the local market wouldn't bear much more. Regardless of my future success, or lack of, it was sure nice to back "playin' in the dirt."

My visit with the decade-long ex was interesting. We had casual conversation, funny conversation... and serious conversation. We tied up a few loose ends from the past, answered a few unanswered questions, and vowed to always be friends.

As I navigate these uncertain waters... I have to remind myself to be grateful that I am still afloat and willing to sail. Things don't always happen according to our own schedules, or desires... I just want to know when I can finally take off this scratchy orange life jacket!

Miracle on Poorgirl St.

I spent eight straight hours painting at the remodel, and I am literally exhausted! Only half of the crabby newly-non-smoking team showed up today... at 2:30 in the afternoon, but I managed to get along without them just fine. The property owner showed up around 3:00 p.m. and got her first walk-through of the almost completed project. The first thing she said was, "I hope Todd didn't give you the impression that I was upset. I felt bad and kept saying to myself, 'I should have just said thank you." I assured her that I wasn't bothered by anything and that all was fine.

While she was at the unit, she and I discussed future plans. She has a couple friends with over 100 rental properties in the area that need help with property management. One of which asked for my card. I don't have an official card. I explained that I have to get a few things in order before I go forward with my own business, but she felt my plans were solid and that I would have plenty of business from her contacts alone. When I told her of my plans to pursue the paralegal training, her eyes widened and she said, "Monaaaa... that's exactly what these people need!"

Great!

Once I got home, I grabbed the mail from the box. The first item I opened was from the hospital. Due to my unemployed, and poverty level status, I, for the first time, explored options to receive assistance with my $800 hospital bill from last June. Someone had fudged my paperwork and I had to fax in proof of my current income, however, I hadn't heard back from the office for over one month. Well... today I got the great news that they have covered 100% of my bill. Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus. No, really! What a blessing!

Asking for, or actually needing help, is still very new to me, but I've come to realize that we all need help sometimes, and if I don't reach out for it, I'm going to implode in a fashion that is similar to the entire country's economic collapse! Instead of feeling guilty, or undeserving, this time I felt a pay-it-forward what-comes-around-goes-around kind of goodness. I felt that the multitude of good deeds I had done over my lifetime, the volunteering and fundraising, and just plain compassion for others, had finally come back to me. My sense of hope was reaffirmed, and my heart: warmed.