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?

Behind... Behind!

Yowza! It's been quite some time since I've verbally harassed the world wide web. I'd apologize... but I suspect some of you out there are rather grateful for the resulting silence! I'm so behind... that I'm even behind on my behind! Maintenance of it, that is. In essence of time, and celebration of laziness, I have decided to use bullets to update you on the goings-on of Mona:

• I chose to celebrate the 4th by cooking dinner for my mother (she had to work) and lighting off lame grocery store fireworks that offered more laughter than explosive delight.
• In case you didn't know... yeah, I'm single again.
• I had a birthday. The big 3-8. And, for the first time in a very long time, I actually enjoyed my birthday.
• My job is still going well, however, if grant funding does not come through in September... it's back to the unemployment lines!
• "Act Like A Lady. Think Like A Man" by Steve Harvey was given to me as a gift from my boss. I think they want me to find a husband more than I do!
• The elderly man I care for has been declining in health.
• An article I wrote for our organization was published in a local magazine.
• My personal laptop had an unfortunate meeting with a glass of ice water, courtesy of my dementia-riddled cat.
• The loaner laptop I have has a chronic illness of some sort (hence the lack of blogging).
• I'm doing another remodel, and decided that it would be a good time to scrape and repaint my garage. NOT!
• My immediate family and I are becoming closer since my brother moved back.
• This is the first year of my life that I can remember my father wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Basically... I'm at a crossroads. There are many things before me, and I'm trying to decide where to direct my energies. It's a good thing. Just too difficult to express in one blog after a twelve hour work day while watching "America's Got Talent" on tv. In fact, I almost considered starting an entirely new blog with a slightly different focus, but my computer problems are preventing me from doing much of anything that involves the internet reliably.

So once I've caught up with my behind... I'll try to provide a more ass-tronomically profound blog. Stay tuned.

Mr. Nice Guy and the Dipshit

Things between me and Mr. Nice Guy seriously get better every day. And of course, I keep waiting for the bottom to drop out... for him to find something so wrong with me that he runs like Forrest Gump... far far away and never to return. I am very aware of my little (big) problem, and I'm just dying to confess to it. I was, in fact, so close to spilling my guts last night that I asked him to sign an imaginary waiver that relieved me from any liability resulting from me being an idiot.

This guy... is unreal. He had the tech guy bring me speakers for my work computer after my tower blew up and was replaced with one that had no sound at all. He knew I was secretly very upset because I was facing potentially having to put my cat to sleep. He takes me on real dates. Holds my hand while we are walking. Wasn't grossed out by the enormous tumor-like zit I had on my back, and thought my snoring last night was cute. He took me to breakfast this morning... with his MOTHER! The funny thing about that is that she vividly remembers he and I dancing at her daughter's wedding. She is a very kind and forgiving lady, who also looks beyond amazing at 61!

See! Now I don't even have the "I don't get along with his mother" excuse to sabotage this! Man am I screwed! I might be falling in l-o-v-e with this guy. I've opened up the door a little bit and sent him a text two nights ago that said "I maybe really kinda sort like you." Juvenile, yes, I admit to that. It was a calculated effort to minimize the potential for painfully blatant rejection and provide me with the "escape" I'm always looking for, just in case he didn't reciprocate the same sentiment. Today I sent him a text that said "I retract my previous statement. I DO like you." I'm happy to report that he expressed his affection for me as well. I knew that. Guys don't do the sorts of things he's done for me if they don't like you. That just magnifies the stupidity of my fear.

Here are some of our text exchanges today...

Mr. Nice Guy: With any luck I'll be snoring like you were last night in a min. ;) xxxx

Dipshit (me): Fucker! Another not so sexy attribute of mine. I'm sorry! And embarrassed.

Mr. Nice Guy: It was cute love.

Dipshit: Sure. No wonder you are so tired.

Mr. Nice Guy: Not true it was wonderful and peaceful with you cuddled up to me.

(after our confessions to "liking" each other...)

Dipshit: Hooray!!! I feel like I won the lottery!

Mr. Nice Guy: fuckin a! Let's go on a vacation then.

Dipshit: honey you are prize. No fortune here.

Mr. Nice Guy: You got jipped.

Dipshit: I disagree rather strongly. I don't deserve you.

Mr. Nice Guy: Ohhhh our first argument! Can we skip right to the name calling part? I want to call you dirty names.

Dipshit: What are we arguing about?

Mr. Nice Guy: Who deserves who :)

I think that kinda maybe sorta counts as confessing to my feelings, doesn't it? Although he does deserve the respect of the unabridged version. Last night I was out with him and a group of his friends, and today with his mother... so I suppose that means we are now publicly a couple. I also happily declined a "booty call" from a former lover who was messaging me while I was with Mr. Nice Guy. The fact that I felt it was wrong and didn't want Mr. Nice Guy to think I was interested in someone else tells me that I'm serious about him. So it's time to shape up, let him know how I feel, and quit acting like a scared little child before I lose this guy! The question is: when?!!

Such is... Life; such is me.

So my "secret love affair" at work has been outted, and the "are we this" "or are we that"s have begun. There is no tabloid scandal... and no inner feeling of shock or pressure; I am just literally laughing at myself!

I have this history of having to prove things, and only wanting things when I can't have them. For example, I will play a man in a "man's sport" until I win... because I'm not supposed to. When my hair was stick straight, I longed for curly hair. Now that my hair has wave to it, I want my stick straight hair back! I never diet, because as soon as I utter the words, "I'm on a diet," I suddenly crave shit I would never want if I were left to my own dietary devices and I gain 5 pounds. When I'm single, I think I want a relationship, and when I think I might be in a relationship, I want to cling to my singlehood.

And now, here I am, dating. A guy who just can't seem to screw this up, and won't seem to let me either! What? Now what's a girl supposed to do? His swooning tactics are beyond masterful. He's so attentive that I bet he could tell you the last time I had pepper stuck in my teeth... My office has given him the thumbs up, and his office gave him permission to continue to see me because I "dress nice and not many women around here do."

I will not deny my self-defeating romantic behaviors. I thought C.F. was more amazing than a starry September sky; all the while knowing he would never be completely available to me. And now that this fella would rearrange the stars of the night sky to spell out poetic messages that only he and I knew the meaning of... I feel myself closing off.

I thought I was over this stupid shit! But, to avoid adopting a negative sense of utter failure... I'm going with the first step... and admitting this is a problem. So do I talk about it with him? Do I grab him and say, "No really! I like you... I just don't know HOW to like you?" Personally I would view that as a fast ticket out the door! But apparently, he enjoys riddles and puzzles, because so far, he's stuck around. Over 30 days. A record for my man-tolerance of late.

To be continued...

Get Dizzy With It

We had another lovely day of cool air and drizzle. Not exactly the kind of weather that inspires you to conquer the world; more like the kind that makes you aim to become a professional napper, or an actor playing someone who's in a coma. Lucky for me, work didn't require much physical energy, just a lot of social shmoozing to recruit volunteers for the non-profit at the college "Service Learning" fair.

My ceramics time was being intruded upon by the volunteer event, and the rain was making the idea of forgoing my clay time rather tempting. I was also craving my Saturday cheeseburger... as I didn't treat myself to one last week because I had dinner plans that night. But, when I got back to my car, I realized that my cheeseburger money was in my pants pocket... freshly laundered and fabric softened. Pffft!

So off to ceramics I went. Feeling lazy, and certainly uninspired. All of my pieces had been glazed and were awaiting firing, so I was going to have to create something. I actually considered making a cheeseburger, because that was what my mind was dreaming of, but I was afraid I would chip my teeth in an attempt to eat it someday. For the sake of retaining my ability to chew, I decided to go with the ol' standby... a few more serving dishes. Easy. Brainless. Non-cheeseburger-fantasy-interrupters.

Suddenly, a few minutes after two in the afternoon, I became very light-headed, and thought I might pass out. There is nothing soft, or cushiony, in the studio... so falling unconscious and cracking my head open like a ripe melon did not seem like a good idea. There were only two of us there at this point, and I was too uncomfortable with telling LeeAnn how funky I was feeling. I hate drama. So, I kept it to myself. I tried to sit with my head by my knees. Tried focusing on breathing. Nothing was working. I've had these spells periodically over the last two years, and last summer I sought medical attention for those symptoms, as well as having pain in my chest. Unfortunately, I had already lost my job, so getting the necessary follow-up blood work to explore other possible causes wasn't an option. And... the Indian Medicine Woman Doctor Lady's constant insistence that I could be pregnant annoyed the hell out of me. I hadn't had sex in over a year, and having someone try to convince me that Jesus would choose me for his second coming, or I was gonna push out a toddler in a walker, was just insulting. I'll finally confess that I have been secretly concerned (for years) that I may be diabetic. I absolutely hate doctors, and always fear that I'll have some incurable, terminal illness, one that requires me to wear an Eva Gabor wig, and wish that I would have joined a band before I became bed-ridden. It's really rather juvenile... but it's my reality.

Here it is some seven hours later, and I am still not quite right. I had to cancel a visit from a friend to try and nap it off. I've eaten. Rested. Am still drinking water... Tried to hit all of the obvious causes: dehydration, low blood sugar, exhaustion. My last "episode" was within the last two weeks and occurred while I was walking down the hallway maze at work. Again, I was more worried about embarrassment, or an over-reacting do-gooder calling an ambulance and being socked with an astronomical bill... but I think I might have to deal with whatever this is... soon. I'm gonna have to hang up my chicken shorts, and go to the evil man with needles to find out what is going on before I pass out in public wearing ugly underwear. Grandma says you should always wear clean ones in case you get in an accident. I'm happy to report that I do always wear clean ones, but the thought of passing out in front of people is more horrifying than wearing dirty ones. Maybe not.

Anyway...

I did manage to muster up enough energy to move things around in my garage to make room for my brother's motorcycle. He's going to be storing some things in my garage and attic while he searches for a professorship job down state. We haven't been able to see each other much over the past several years, as he's been out of the country, and out of state until recently. The only large item I had to move was my old dishwasher; the only appliance this palace of a house came with when I bought it. I had been wanting to unload it since 2007, but my Honda Civic isn't built for large appliance transport to the dump, so there it sat, for almost two years. I wheeled it out to the curb around 8, and because I live in such an affluent neighborhood, it was snatched up before 9 o'clock! Hell yeah! I'd like to believe a poor woman with five kids picked it up to make her life easier... but I bet it's going to the scrap yard to get $5 worth of malt liquor. What do I care? It's out of my garage, and out of my life.

We can get rid of old shit that we don't have use for rather easily, but we can't rid ourselves of getting old. That's what sucks! When you get to a certain age, you begin to realize that things can start to go wrong; start hurting, stop working, and fall apart. I'm sure it's nothing serious. In fact, the only serious thing about this "gettin' dizzy with it," is my seriously immature phobia of doctors. (Oh... and the needles... do I ever hate the needles!) I've got a job now, so I'm out of honest excuses; and I've always said, "I'm not going anywhere. There's a few more people I'd like to piss off!" So don't you try to make a claim on my 90's era "Booty Mix" ill-chosen CD collections, or come after my new dishwasher just yet.

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!

Baggage of the Working Woman

Ah... the baggage of a working woman. I forgot how literally heavy the burden of working multiple jobs can be. My briefcase was bursting at the seams! Each zippered pocket was unzipped to allow for the accommodation of multiple binders, planners, folders, notebooks... none of which fell out on my semi-clumsy journey from the office to the car; toting this giant bag, and a large cardboard sign that caught the blustering wind like the sail of a boat!

My morning began with travelling through a rock storm. I was stuck behind a semi hauling two bulldozers on the highway. Just as the traffic broke enough to let me escape into the other lane...WHACK! Rock to the windshield! Yes, my windshield now bears a lovely, permanent, circular wound... and I have PLPD insurance. Good Morning, me.

The first job I reported to today was my almost-for-sure full-time job. There just wasn't much for me to do! I searched high and low; solicited chores and tasks. I fetched a cup of coffee for my cubicle neighbor, even though she swore she was kidding when I asked if I could get her one. I wasn't! The last thing I want to do in this economy is look dispensable. If they decide to cut the position I currently hold, at least they might keep me on as a coffee bar attendant.The Director I report to has been in meetings virtually every hour that I have been on the premises thus far, so we have yet to really work together; although last Friday's past seven o'clock at night coup had to have earned me some retention points. I have my first eight-straight shift there tomorrow, so I hope to be assigned something more important than volunteer inter-cubicle waitressing.

I only had the half an hour in between jobs to eat my lunch. The length of my commute. I was forced to either starve, or, eat McDonald's. I decided a Quarter Pounder with cheese and a refreshing Diet Coke sounded more enjoyable than the growling of my stomach would, so I got off on an exit midway and ordered my clogged-artery-in-a-box. There is just something so demeaning about eating a fast food burger while driving down the highway. Even though that was all I ate, I still felt gluttonous, and wondered who saw me dodging the ketchup-covered onions that kept falling out of the bottom of my burger.

Once I arrived in the parking lot at my other job, I had the daunting task of hauling my giant job-juggling bag of tricks into yet another office, without incident. Too bad when I reached for my hardly-sipped-on-soda, the shoulder strap of my big bag caught on some kind of door apparatus...

SPLOOOOOOSH!!! There goes my soda. Good Afternoon, me.

Aside from a weird visit from a man who had missed his appointment with Denise by over an hour and a half, and showed up while I was alone in the office, then asked me to make a hundred copies of papers he was about to pilfer from another project (while the phone was ringing and I was on another call)... I escaped my last five hours of work without tragedy. Next stop: grocery store.

I've got quite a list of items that I truly need, but the stores with the best prices are on the completely opposite side of town. I hate needless driving. That's probably why I only have 79,000 miles on a car I've had ten years. But there were some things I had to get, so I compromised by only buying the absolutely positively necessary things at the local, yet higher priced store. I was saving gas, saving the environment, and saving my tired little toes from traipsing around the gigantic store. Smart move!

Or not.

I forgot to pick up toilet paper. I have not even a square! Here's hoping my day doesn't get any shittier! (insert drum sound used after bad joke here) Looks like those leftover Christmas print paper napkins will come in handy after all.

My laundry is caught up, but my house is in a state I refer to as "scatteredaboutness." I've been quickly reminded of why I hate nylons. My friends and family haven't quite figured out why I'm suddenly not available, despite my repeated three-job testimony...and I find my eyes begin to close themselves after 8 p.m. Rock chip, bulging bags, spilled soda, smelly feet, shutting eyes... all worth it, I say. It's all about the baggage. What you choose to carry with you. And I'm willing to let it all go for a coupla paychecks, and whole lotta hope for the future.

The Piano (Uncut Version)

As my sacrificially loyal readers may know, I added a beautiful piano, courtesy of a generous soul on Craig's List, to my home back in October. Unfortunately, it needs a tuning I cannot presently afford, so the ivory-tickling has been minimal at best. Instead of being thoroughly enjoyed as I delusionally intended, my lovely piano has been a reminder of what could be... and perhaps what should be.

To add insult to injury, my elderly, feline Alzheimer stricken, 15 year-old and counting cat... sometimes gets lost and confused behind the massive neglected wooden instrument and decides that occasionally relieving her bladder would be appreciated. So to relieve and distract my pre-interview mind... I broke out the carpet cleaner to "de-funk" the carpet behind the piano.

I know you "normal"people are cringing in disgust and thinking, "I'd kick that ol' cat out the door to meet Jesus..." but if the day ever comes that I'm tinkling my own pants in my old age... I certainly hope nobody reaches for the gas! So out of respect for her elderly-ness, and compassion for the fear she must feel to be suddenly "trapped" behind a giant, bazillion-pound piano, in the darkness of her surely failing eyesight... I just chalk it up to an odiferous lesson in patience.

I bought a foreclosed, bank-owned home for a song, pre-country-wide-economic-implosion, that was previously occupied by free-wizzing pets... so I can hardly hold my old kitty solely responsible for her mishaps. She's doing what comes naturally to her, and naturally pisses us "civilized" humans off. Thankfully, the carpeting is an industrial strength cleaning solution friendly, barely still in style Berber that is on the "must replace when I have a job" wish list, so despite a normal person's normal neurotic response to this... I don't mind it much. I just clean, clean, clean it up; grateful that my carpet is not newly installed and yet to be paid for.

Don't write me off as a disgusting low-rent just yet. I keep my house quite tidy and will do whatever it takes to maintain a pleasant "welcome home" experience that does NOT involve the lovely aroma of cat urine. To attest to my dedication, I welcome any 5'5", 130 pound women to tell me how "easy" it is to move a 1920-ish, solid mahogany encased, upright piano, alone. At first, I thought I'd take a wall down before that stubborn musical mammoth would move... but I somehow managed to get it far enough away from the wall to access "Tinkle Town." I've gone over the carpet three times with OxyClean, and let another foam cleaner soak on it twice, before cleaning again. I'll be going over it yet another time before I retire for the evening, and perhaps attacking again tomorrow.

Yes, it's gross, but such is life... sometimes. And, I'm sure any parents out there could testify to the pungent horrors of an oozing "pooey" diaper. I've managed to escape that daily task thus far, so I believe it's my allotted "punishment."

Just a glimpse into the "sexiness" of my life of singlehood...

Good Deed #14: Stop Counting!

Because I often have trouble keeping track of my own keys, and online passwords, I've decided to give my cluttered brain a break, and quit counting my good deeds! Fact is, I've done more than I have listed, I just find myself too tired, and feeling too self-absorbed when I number them.

So this last officially counted one, is actually two. One good deed for my mother, and one for me.

Tonight, all I wanted to do was slip in and out of consciousness, i.e. lay my lazy ass on the couch and nap sporadically... but I knew my mother needed her roots touched up, and I had already purchased the product. I'm pretty sure she wanted me to do them last night, because she asked if the "beauty shop" was open, but after she saw my eyes drooping and heard me yawn repeatedly... I think she didn't want to bother me. So tonight I called her and told her there was a cancellation and she could come whenever she wanted.

My mother hardly ever wears makeup... not even mascara; and claims to not know how to do her hair. She grew up with 60's stick straight long, brush-and-go hair... so it's very possible that she's telling the truth. Her former stylist did a great job with her cuts and colors, but she also worked where I was so unethically cut from the budget, so she quit seeing her. A display of loyalty? I'm not sure, but I do know that she doesn't need to go about town looking like a bag lady! I called my new hair guy and got her a hair cut appointment last week, but I think she has cut the coloring out of her budget too, so I am now her very budget-friendly (free) colorist. And I love it! Fact is, I considered becoming a cosmetologist when I was young, but felt it wouldn't stimulate my intellectual cravings enough. That may or may not be true, but working with a bunch of women who consider missing a Prada shoe sale the end of the world, would not have suited my personality.

I dyed her roots, washed her hair in the kitchen sink with the sprayer; blew her hair dry, and styled it. She looked great! And even those no-fuss women appreciate feeling pretty once in awhile... so her smile was suitable pay for me.

My other good deed is for me. The stop counting thing. I was feeling more pressure to remember them and write them in a blog... which was taking away from the pleasure of doing them. So, I'll stick to my plan to become a better me, a better person... and just blog about life as life goes on; no matter how good or how bad it may be.

The $9 Sweater and the 6 Year Old Skirt

Thank God it's Friday! I am ready for a break from my daily work wardrobe challenge! I had been going into the office every weekday since I was officially hired, and let's just say my wardrobe doesn't support a five day work week. Today, I wore my new $9 black cashmere sweater, and a 6 year old skirt. The sweater is a classic V-neck, and will be in style until it unravels from excessive wear... but the skirt... well... I may very well have been the only woman in America wearing that tired style. But, it fit, and it was an appropriate length for a conservative-leaning business atmosphere. Gotta do what ya gotta do, and I gotta wear clothes to work!

The projects kept getting handed to me today. I have no idea how these people manage to get so much done, or, how they have managed to get things done without another person on staff. One of the first things the director said was that "you just have to accept that your work will never be done here." I took mental note of that immediately, because I don't like unfinished business in my life. I knew I would have to set my own boundaries. A few years ago, I worked as a regional director of sales and training; overseeing 15 different locations, and answering to the corporate entity. My work was never done there... and I wound up working nearly 24 hours a day. No... I was not paid for my exhausting efforts hourly. People who work those types of jobs never are. My boss was an avid golfer schmuck, who left me to carry my load and his, while he spent sunny afternoons working on his short game. I wound up practically working myself to death; acquiring anxiety and depression, chronic sleep deprivation, terrible eating habits, and an all-consuming hatred for my job. I hadn't set boundaries... and if I would have... I probably would have been fired. After thinking I was going to die from a heart attack, alone, in a cheap handicap hotel room in Fort Wayne, Indiana... I quit, and it was the best decision I ever made.

Since I started this job, I made a point to leave my briefcase in the car... to not "bring my work home." It is very tempting to work "off the clock" so I can become the super hero they couldn't possibly let fly away; but after my previously mentioned experience, I know this would be cheating myself, both personally and financially. Balance. I have to maintain balance. It is hard to fight the urge to work like a mad woman, considering I have been without work for so long, and this job is definitely one worth working hard for; but I have to.

Next week I set a more efficient, and wardrobe friendly schedule. I will be working my 15 hours in 3 days, instead of 5. Practically, this saves money on gas, and allows me to get more work done in one day. Selfishly, this prevents me from having to find 2 more outfits, getting ready (which costs money) 2 more days, keeps me from rushing home from work to change into my ceramics clothes, and allows me more than one day off. Working 5 days there, plus my Saturday "man-sitting" meant I was working 18 hours a week... in 6 days. Not an ideal management of time. I cleared it with the director before I left, and they did tell me I could make my own hours, so it shouldn't be a problem. We'll see how the rest of the staff receives it when I get to work on Tuesday.

My day ended with an interview with a marketing and media representative for another non-profit. Their organization is wanting to expand their services, and a relationship with the organization I'm working with could be mutually beneficial. I may have just scored my first networking connection for them. While I was rubbing elbows with these "big wigs," I realized how short I have sold myself the last couple years. My most recent employment endeavors definitely did not let me perform at levels matching my capability. I'm not saying I am a nose-in-the-air-better-than-you kind of person... I hate those people! But what I have realized, is that I have almost made excuses for my intelligence, because pretty girls aren't supposed to be smart, or have opinions on anything other than shoes and handbags. And saying that, just made me uncomfortable. I don't even think I'm that pretty. I'm just me. I care more about who I am on the inside, than on the outside, because the inside is what I have created, the exterior is just a result of complicated genetics. But if I truly care about my inside, why don't I acknowledge my brain... why do I almost hide it? The girls I worked with at the salon spa seemed to hate me for being smart, and I'm a peace-loving kind of girl... so I confess to dumbing it down... and that sounds bitchy to me. I hope someone understands what I'm saying, because I just got confused trying to explain it.

Anyway... I think the point was supposed to be that my co-workers at my new job seem to embrace new ideas, intelligence and hard work; and even though I'm doing it in a $9 sweater and a 6 year old skirt... I feel like a million bucks!

Good Deed #12: Hot Potato (s)

Being unemployed and freaked out financially for ten months makes the cliche, "Waste Not, Want Not" ring in your ears like a full-blast alarm clock on a hungover Monday morning. I grew up poor, and never quite reached "independently wealthy" status, so I am not a waster by nature; but finding ways to maximize everything I have, even though it isn't much, can be tricky!

I've had leftover "Ham Chunks" in my freezer since December 14th. Leftovers from my post-graduation dinner the night before. "Ham Chunks" is what I wrote on the freezer bag, and it pretty much summed up the contents. I trimmed that ham bone... well... to the bone! So here I had a bag of ham chunks, delicious ham chunks, begging me to find them a purpose, every time I opened my freezer door.

SCALLOPED POTATOS AND HAM!

Bingo! Ah-hah! Eureka! An excellent use for these meager, but edible chunks of ham. I fired up the internet to find a recipe, simply for guidance, because I am not one that will willingly follow a recipe. The tricky part was finding a simple one. Simple meaning: I have the ingredients.

I TRIED to follow the recipe. For a minute. But, measuring the potatos to exactly 4 cups wasn't okay with me. I had to use each potato entirely, as not to waste, so I exceeded the 4 cups. Exceeding the 4 cups of potatos, surely means you have to exceed the amounts of everything else, and since I was adding my coveted "ham chunks," and some finely diced sharp cheddar cheese to the recipe, I decided to double the amounts of the other ingredients. Yeah, I could have spent a half an hour perfecting the exact equation to replicate the recipe per my altered main ingredient... but in my opinion, that takes the art out of cooking! And who says the shmuck that wrote the recipe has the only solution to tasty scalloped potatos? If that were the case, why the hell does Rachel Ray, Martha Stewart, and that southern woman whats-her-face have their own cooking shows? Why do cookbooks have their own section in Barnes and Nobles?

Anyway... I cooked up my potatoes, ham chunks, and sharp cheddar cheese; and as the aroma filled my kitchen, then dining room, and finally, the living room, the longing to devour them grew ever more intense! I had to wait one very, very long hour, before my golden-browned, cheesy, baked ham chunks and potatos could be consumed. My brother happened to call just moments after I removed them from the oven, kindly distracting me long enough to let them cool.

I ate two small bowls of them. So very delicious. I had to share!

Mother had brought over a pan of lasagna on Wednesday to celebrate my new job, and I had eaten all but the three big portions I sent her home with, despite her attempted refusal. What a literally warm surprise it would be for her to have a heaping bowl of hot scalloped potatos and ham delivered to her recliner!

I had just begun watching "48 Hours," and when the first commercial break came along, I rushed out the door in my unzipped snow boots with my steaming bowl of potatos, and keys to mom's house in hand. This is one of the many little joys of living next door to my mother. I can deliver her a tasty meal, without missing a minute of my television program of choice. In fact, I even had enough time to compliment her on her haircut before I left.

Shortly after returning home, she sent me a text that read, "DELICIOUS!"

"And you can't even taste the poison, can ya?" I replied.

We have a potentially disturbing on-going joke that anything either of us fixes for the other is poisoned. The joke used to be an "out" in the event that the food wasn't very tasty, or someone (me) hadn't followed the recipe, putting the deliciousness of the food at risk right from the start. But changing times, require even jokes to change, and now I claim she is poisoning me to get her paws on my "wealth" in these troubled economic times. When I first suggested this, she immediately said, "But you don't have any life insurance."

"That was kinda creepy, mom."

Paranormal States

I had good intentions of going to bed early last night, but I got an unexpected phone call from my brother. He recently joined the ranks of the unemployed, and since I have become a near expert in the "field," we spent the majority of our time on the phone discussing the "do's" and "don'ts." Hopefully he will be able to escape the web of misinformation I so often found myself tangled in, and skip the feelings of hopelessness and despair that sometimes kept me up all night.

Once I finally made it to my bedroom, I stumbled upon an episode of "Paranormal State." AHHHHH! I strangely enjoy that show. I love how the episodes I watch are always on around 2 a.m., during their typical "dead time" in which the show's researchers feel paranormal activity is at its peak. I also enjoy the spooky vibe my basement door mysteriously acquires when I sneak pass it on my way to the bathroom... during commercial breaks. My personal views regarding the existence of good or evil spirits is somewhere in the middle. I'm not convinced either way. But just as a kid at summer camp enjoys a good fireside ghost story... I kind of like the spook factor watching shows like that gives me.

Staying up to watchback-to-back episodes of the show led to my own paranormal state. Just a few days ago, I was a normal person in training, and found myself almost on a normal schedule. Not only was I awake during "dead time," I had stayed up past dead time! I wonder what the time after dead time is called? Super dead time? Deadly dead time? Dead as a doornail dead time?

Needless to say, I got a later than normal start to my morning. Breakfast was more appropriately called brunch, and my energy level seemed to be lower than my thermostat. Like the ghosts in the show... I was just floating around, sometimes unnoticably. Sometimes I could see myself doing something, and sometimes I couldn't. Chances of getting things done today were fading.

But once I had gotten home, my phone started ringing off the hook. Wait? Can we say that anymore in the land of cell phones? Anyway, in a fifteen minute span, I had scheduled the move of that rental property's runner-up tenant, returned a phone call for a potential part-time job interview next Wednesday, and retrieved a message for another job I sent my resume into just a few days ago. Having to literally move forward to walk to the calender to write down my upcoming activites encouraged me to move forward on some other things; like getting my taxes done.

Getting my taxes done was a big debate. I don't have much money, so I couldn't spend a lot to get them done, but I also couldn't afford to have some bozo do them incorrectly and leave me with less of a return. Due to the fact that in about four weeks my money runs out, I also could not afford to waste time taking care of this. So I got on TurboTax and did them myself. I'm not sure that my tax preparation was bozo-proof, but I made my way through, and e-filed my returns with the direct deposit option; for less money than I spent last year to have someone else prepare them for me. Now the big question is: what do I do with the money?

My existence is pretty paranormal right now. I'm supposed to start paralegal training, but I don't yet know when. I may have a job, but it's temporary, and part-time. I have a little money, but that's about to run out. There is a slim chance that that may change, but I have no concrete information stating so. I basically have no idea what the future holds. So how do I prepare for it?

My instinct is to save it for the worse (and likely) case scenario of not having a job and not a dime in the bank. My other option would be to pay off my small, but still interest accruing, credit card debt and then bank the rest, but I may need that money! Currently, I have a few things listed on Ebay, and I plan to apply any money those sales generate to pay off my credit debt. But should I be banking that too and just continue paying the minimum payments? Not only is my own future uncertain, the future of the state I live in, as well as the entire country is uncertain! If I were a financial genius, I would have retired years ago, and none of this would be an issue!

I guess I'll just have to be patient. I've been patient, or kinda patient, for the last nine months... what's another month, six months... year? Right?

The Cancerous Silence

Well... today's plan was to finish up the details at the remodel in the morning, and then head off for some ceramics studio time at 1 p.m. But as I was inbetween snooze alarms, I received a phone call from my mother... It's her day off, and she is not an early riser, so I was immediately concerned.

Apparently mother needed me to drive her to a doctor's appointment. Considering she rarely shares any personal or medical information with me, and I've been on her case to go, I was surprised, and even more concerned, that she felt she needed a driver. I asked her what was wrong.

"I have a headache." She replied.

Cut the crap, mom. She's a registered nurse. She wouldn't go to a doctor for a headache, but I wouldn't cross the invisible line she has drawn and ask her what was really going on. Another terrible dynamic in our mother/daughter relationship. For years, I have allowed her to keep everyone at arm's length... and that has to stop. My mom is theoretically young: 61. But, she has a terrible diet of Pepsi and fast food, she's overweight, and has a nearly lifelong history of high blood pressure. And...

She's had cancer.

I think any child of a cancer-stricken -and- survived parent lives with a nagging fear that it will come back. Every sniffle, every "headache," takes you back there. Back to the days when you cry when no one is looking, wondering how you could really make it through the "what if" that no one wants to talk about.

When my mom had cancer, I was in my early twenties. Just starting to figure out that bad shit happens, and that some times life isn't that fun. I used to say that if anything ever happened to my mom I'd be committed to a "loony bin." And I wasn't far off...

I couldn't share my fears with my mother; she had her own. I couldn't share them with family; she swore me to secrecy. I coudn't share them with my friends; that would be a burden, wouldn't it? So I carried this truly cancerous silence with me, and it ate away at my sanity; my soul.

At one point, I recall considering getting "knocked up" so that my mom could have a grandchild before, well, before you know. I think even God wouldn't have chosen that permanent bond between myself and my "boyfriend" at that time, so he secretly shut down the egg factory. I just knew that there were things that my mom must have wanted before she, you know, and I didn't want her to miss out on a thing.

So... since I didn't get pregnant, I got drunk. A lot. And by myself. I would go through my daily routine with a painted on smile, with my head held high, as if nothing were wrong... as if I had not a care in the world. My denial was scheduled. I was in denial daily, between the hours of 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. It was only during those late hours that I engaged in an internal battle of acknowlegment and fear. I found myself going to the bar alone, occassionally telling a stranger about my nagging fears, but never, never crying. I saved the crying for home. Part of me wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but the other part sought solace in pretending it wasn't happening. I never felt so alone, and if she, you know, I would have been even more alone.

Thankfully, mother pulled through, and so did I. But, she still has health issues that worry me. Today, the doctor told her that her blood pressure had become very high and that she has to take a medication immediately, and return tomorrow morning. That's not good. She could have a stroke... a heart attack. She could need to be hospitalized. And what she really needs to do, is get real about her life, and her health, and I need to get real with her, and tell her that if she won't do it for herself, that she should at least do it for me.

I grew up in a strange sort of silence. Love that was implied, but never spoken. Knowing my father existed, somewhere, but not daring to ask. Carrying my own fears, and questions, but never finding the courage to express them in words. Fearing that I would lose my mom, before she really understood what she meant, and means, to me.

Maybe this is her first step. Her first step towards acknowledging that at some point in our lives, the roles of child and parent become somewhat reversed, and that we, the children, are capable and willing to be caregivers. Her first step towards knowing that after a lifetime of sacrifice, she has earned the right to "interrupt my day." Perhaps the lines of communication, real communication, are being connected. Maybe on a trial basis, but alas, connected.

The Blast and the Past

Seems these arctic blasts have stirred up ol' Mona's past...

Sometime around midnight (great song, by the way), I got a call from Kimmee. I hadn't heard from her since right before she lost her home here to foreclosure. She was having a very difficult time financially, and personally. Not hearing from her was a concern to me, but her number was disconnected and I had no way of discovering her fate. Turns out she has moved to a nearby state, is still with her husband, and is doing quite well! We may be getting together Saturday if she comes to town. While I was on the phone with her... I had been clicking through photos of C.F. for no explainable reason.

An hour and a half later... I receive a text... from an ex decade-long on-again-off-again boyfriend. "I'm at your favorite place." He wrote.

"Where is that?" I replied.

I was just about to fall asleep, so it took me a moment to realize what he meant. He was here. It's his birthday. Huh.

"Come on, no guesses?" He inquired.

I sent a flirtatious reply, that's what we do. And because I detest texting, I decided to call him. We hadn't spoken since Thanksgiving of '07. At that time he had said he was considering moving back to be closer to his family, but I didn't take him seriously. After he ditched me for an "unplanned" evening with his family, I wrote him off as permanently irresponsible and non-committal.

It seems his father had to be hospitalized this year around Thanksgiving. He and I had always maintained a friendship, so I had broken the ice, not knowing his situation, and left a message on Thanksgiving day.

"Hey you. Are we still fighting? It's been a year... hope you have a very happy Thanksgiving."

I hadn't heard back from him, and had honestly forgotten that I called. During our conversation tonight, he said he didn't know what "my deal" was, but that he'd like to get together on Monday. He also asked about my new boyfriend. Apparently, his friend John had told him that he saw me at a music store with my new boyfriend and I bought a guitar. Well, the guy I was with is just a great friend, and the guitars I have are borrowed... he was glad to know John had embellished.

Monday... I'll be seeing him on Monday. He has moved back to the state, and is living 30 minutes away. At one point, unknown to him, I called him my husband. I used to think he was "the one." But then I was growing up, and he was staying the same, and I grew tired of the lack of direction he, and our relationship had. When he came to visit, I remembered feeling over it. Over the belief that we had a future, over the attraction, over the waiting for something to change.

But, this will be the first time in ten years that we have lived in the same state. Will it be different? Is he different?

Truth is, right now it doesn't matter. He will always be someone I consider a friend. Our "bad times" weren't really bad, they were just miles on a map that got in the way. My mind is open, I'm not sure if my heart is... but, certainly we can see each other. And, I adore his parents, so if his father is in ill health, a visit is in order.

How strange that I have heard from two estranged people in the same night, and I'll be seeing both of them within the same week! And how strange it is for me to be up at this hour! I thought I was working on becoming a "normal" person...

Goodnight!

High as a Kite!

It's very possible that I'm high on paint fumes right now, but I can't deny that some damn good things are happening in my life right now. Thank God! I've always managed to stumble, and sometimes fall, through whatever life throws at me... but I have to admit that I was becoming rather doubtful that I would make it. The anxiety of bills hanging over my head and no job in sight was really beginning to drive me mad. I was actually very close to seeking medical attention because my heart was beginning to do the flip-floppy thing again and my chest pains were returning. However, I hate pharmaceuticals, and am a firm believer that a balanced life is a healthy one. I'm glad I haven't been forced to take that route.

I have had the most beautiful day. Spent a solid 8 hours on the remodel site. I finished the second coat of paint on the front bedroom walls, spackled cracks and nail holes, took some doors down, removed hardware and spruced it up with some dark bronze spray paint, and began painting the second bedroom. It feels so good to work.

Cutting my health insurance out of the budget has been my great debate as of late. It's $94 a month, which in my current world is a LOT of money. Cancelling it would take a slight weight off of my shoulders, but I fear if I do, I'll find myself in need of it. The potential need of it became apparent today, when I thought it would be fun to almost fall off of the ladder while no one else was on the job site and my cell phone was across the room on a window sill. I was on the top rung and would have landed on a wood floor. "Maybe I should hang on to my health insurance a little longer," I thought.

Fast forward two hours. Yet another almost-but-not-quite fall from the ladder. Done. I'm keeping my health insurance. I get the message! What does that have to do with having a great day? I didn't fall!

My co-worker Todd's mom stopped by. She's got a great eye for design, and I respect her opinion. She loves the tile and paint colors that I picked out. Thank you, Jesus! She's a tough one to please, so if she likes it, it has to be great.

Next visitor... the old tenant. The unit was previously rented by an African American twenty-something single mom who is genuine, kind, and respectable with a teenage son that actually has manners! She said she saw my car and just had to see what I was doing. "It's beautiful!" she said. "I wish it looked like this when I lived here!"

"You could move back in!" I said with a smile. "I know she'd love to have you back."

Her son needed a little more room to roam and she wanted to have a yard. Otherwise, I'm sure she'd come right back! We chit-chatted for a minute and I asked her if she needed any help with her new place. She's going to get in touch with me to remodel her bathroom and refer me to her aunt!

"I'll be fair with the costs. I'd like to do this for you, I think you're great." I said.

"I think you're great. And I know your work." She kindly declared.

Wow. What a moment for me. You know how some people just have this air of goodness about them? Well this woman is one of those people. I just adore her, despite hardly knowing her. Of course I'm happy to know that someone else likes my work and may potentially employ me, but what makes me even more thrilled, is the thought of doing something nice for her, and maybe even becoming friends. You can never have enough kind people in your life!

After I got home, the work really began! I had to take a shower, find something to cook for my one and only hot meal of the day, catch up on my bills, check emails, wash my work clothes and my very smelly work shoes. I realize it's disgusting to think that a woman could have smelly shoes, but I'm just "keepin' it real" here folks. I've had this pair of tennis shoes for years, and rarely wore them. In fact, they only became my work shoes because I got an upgraded pair for a gift. I don't know what it is about these shoes, but they stink! I've peered inside (with my nose plugged) to see if there was a decomposing critter body in them... and found nothing. I would have just let them fester, but I got a few whiffs while I was painting, and I didn't enjoy them. Out of respect for other's and an attempt to hold onto my femininity... I gave them a good washin' too.

When I sat down at my cluttered desk in the office after my shower, I had to sift through a disastrous pile of papers. I was out of town for the holidays, and confess to being a touch lazy as well. This created quite a backlog of business and junk mail on my desk. In fact, I had even lost sight of my bank account balance. While telephoning into the automated banking system, and checking off which checks had cleared, I almost shit my pants! For a brief moment, I thought my account was going to be overdrawn by $170! Holy almost-shit! Thankfully, I was wrong, and after paying my car insurance, I have a whopping $8 to last me seven days. Sigh.

My lunch/dinner tonight was "Cheesy Chicken Enchilada" Hamburger Helper, minus the milk. I'm out. Well, I have some in my refrigerator, but it's a tad chunky, and I'm just going to trust that it smells too. Why is it still there? You ask. I have no frickin' clue. I never think about my disgusting jug of expired milk until I'm sitting on the couch, bundled up in throw blankets to keep warm. I'd get up right now to dump it, but I'd rather gross you out and tell you all about my smelly shoes and chunky milk. Alright. I'm getting up right now, I swear!

SICK! Have you ever stuck your hand in a bowl of cottage cheese? That's what it felt like when I had to reach into the garbage disposal to retrieve the plastic ring that fell off the jug, AFTER most of the putrid chunks plopped down into it. I feel violated.

Anyway...

Once I finished my duties, I sat down with the computer and checked my emails. I received an email asking me attend a January 26th meeting for volunteering with the local Substance Abuse Council. Perfect! I had planned on finding a volunteering gig. Receiving the email allowed me to get that started without even getting off my ass!

When I got onto my blog, while still on my ass, I saw that I had a comment on my last post. A comment?! I LOVE comments! When I read it, I was enthralled with the eloquence of it. Something about it seemed warmly familiar, although being anonymous, I have no way of knowing if my "gut" knew who it was. Regardless, it was a sweet message, and a nice little present to add to my already lovely day. So thank you, to whomever wrote it, and thank you also, to my other readers. Your support is a great gift to me. There were times when this crazy blog was all I had to hold onto! Thank you, readers, for adding more wonderful to my wonderful day!

(The pictures are from the place I'm working on... the "befores." I seriously can't wait to get back there tomorrow and coax that old place back into beautiful again.)

p.s. My spellcheck function isn't functioning again, so please kindly excuse any spelling errors!

This is Your Brain on Unemployment...

I thought I would stick to this morning's apparent theme, and share a photograph of my brain on unemployment. Okay, so it's really my breakfast, but it serves a dual purpose today. My brain, the egg, as you can see, has been broken apart, and partially demolished. However, the toast, my future, let's say, remains untouched... yet very near my mangled brain. I've literally chosen to consume my brain, rather than taste my future.

Yes, I have problems.

Anyway... I've decided to remain awake for as long as I can today. I've managed to get in a 30 minute workout. I think it is my first one for the entire month of December. Unfortunately, I do not have a "Big Brother" type surveillance system installed in my house, so you are unable to laugh uncontrollably when I attempt aerobic exercise. My 20 pound fluff-ball Maine Coon cat rather enjoys it when his "mommy" goes crazy and runs around the house. To add resistance, I toss him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, as I walk, or jog, in circles, through the living room, kitchen, and dining room. All the while, he purrs and squeals. Apparently, it wore him out, because he's currently sleeping in the slumped couch cushion that has become concave from his mild obesity.

After my feline-friendly workout, I started making breakfast, and attempted to break through the auto-mated unemployment system on the phone. When my misfortune first began, eight months ago, I could get right through. Today, it took at least twenty tries, and 45 minutes to connect successfully! I began a slight freak-out, wondering if I would connect before my 9 a.m. cutoff time. If that were the case, I would have had to wait until Thursday to call, and Monday to receive my check... potentially making my house payment late. They assign call times according to the last two digits of your social security number. Is my group growing too large for the allotted hour? There is a definite correlation between the increase in unemployment and the ability to access the system. I sense a total collapse, or, at least, reorganization of the system in the future.

While in the kitchen, my Northern male Hairy Woodpecker had settled onto the suet feeder for his own breakfast. I tried, once again, to snap a photo of him, but he flew off. Next comes the seemingly chubby Blue Jay. He escapes without a photograph as well! What is it with these birds? Don't they not know how desperately I need something to do? They must have quite keen eyesight, as they instantly detect my camera-wielding presence on the other side of the window.

That reminds me of a funny tale...

I was on the phone with my friend, Tonya, on the afternoon of the 23rd. I was telling her how I hadn't seen the birds at the feeder lately, and that the damn things won't let me take their picture.

"Mona. Birds fly south for the winter!"

Hilarious! She really didn't know that some species of birds remain local for the winter season. Not surprising, coming from her. She's not much of a nature girl. In fact, the only thing "natural" about her is... is... umm... her desire to eat? Huh. Complete loss, I am at one. It makes me wonder if she is truly that oblivious to anything that doesn't involve cell phones and shopping. As I explained to her that birds, such as my Woodpeckers, Blue Jays, and Cardinals, will remain local as long as there is a constant food source, she replied, "You really need to write a book."

Sure. About birds?


An interesting fact I learned Saturday night, while playing "Malarkey" with some professional bullshitter friends of mine: Woodpeckers do not get headaches from all that pecking because their beaks are not attached to their skulls. Now if any of you win money on "Jeopardy" because you learned this from reading my blog... I will demand 20% of your total winnings.

Today, I made a conscious choice. The choice to be civilized and eat my breakfast at my rarely-used dining room table. I'm not going to lie... I initially headed right for the couch, but the coffee table is a little cluttered from yesterday's lazy-fest. It was when I looked at the stack of Christmas cookie containers, and pair of empty Diet Coke cans, that my brain suggested I sit at the table.

Does anyone sit at the dining table to dine anymore?

My old boss at an electronics retailer decided that families not sitting at the dinner table anymore had contributed to our society's decline. I tend to believe that a bit. Growing up, we rarely sat at a table to eat. My mother even bought a fancy-shmancy oak dining set when the house had been remodelled, and I think we ate at it twice. (Look how I turned out!) The table now only serves as a support system for a bunch of dusty junk, and is unlikely to be used, as intended, ever again. I, on the other hand, have a dining room table that is meal-friendly. It is clean, and clutter free, yet, for some reason, when I eat, I mindlessly head for the couch, and my rump frumps into the cushion.

I'm actually so interested to know if people sit at their tables anymore, that I am going to post a poll... Let me know, HONESTLY, where you consume your meals most often.

Uncomfortably Numb

My graduation commencement is this Saturday. Some 18 years after I originally began college, many "breaks" (some legitimate, some not), and a lot of struggle, I managed to finally finish what I started.

And it has taught me something, I kind of already knew. I don't know how to feel special, or celebrated.

I crave attention, just like anyone else does, but something about an event intended solely to celebrate your own accomplishments, seems selfish to me. I don't see anything wrong with it when it is someone else. In fact, I LOVE to throw parties for other people. I love to make other people feel special. So why do I feel I don't deserve this? Is it that?

Throughout my life, I have had an inner fear of failure. A nagging feeling of not being good enough, or not living up to my true potential. And even though I don't feel I have been truly successful yet, I have achieved many things, often with the odds highly stacked against me. But, instead of immersing myself in a sense of satisfaction or pride... I feel nothing! I literally feel nothing when I think of my graduation! What the hell?

I know that part of my numbness is my personal belief that a college education does not completely validate a person's intelligence level, nor guarantee their future success. Many brilliant and successful people, in fact, some of the most successful people, did not finish high school. And despite my mild insecurity, I've never felt the need to say "I have a degree in such and such, and I've hung out with this famous person and that famous person, as well as having a bazillion dollars in the bank." Bazillion dollars? Ha! Try thirty-five!

Another contributing factor to my apathy is my personal unfamiliarity with celebration. The only parties I recall are two childhood birthday parties, my 21st birthday party (ouch), and being named employee of the year... but that was at the company Christmas party, so it wasn't "all about me." My family and friends are sprawled across the country, and the business of life has always gotten in the way for other "special" events. I'm not used to a fuss!

Lastly, giving things feels great to me. Receiving them: weird. Really! Now I certainly appreciate a present or some cash... but it does feel weird! I get all nervous, wondering if I showed enough gratitude, if I said "thank you" with enough conviction.

Yeah. I'm a mess. An educated mess, but still a mess. And that's okay! One thing I have learned in my "old age" is that everyone has their own quirks, issues, and struggles. I sure as hell wasted a lot of time beating myself up for a lot of things that just make me "me." And I'm really hoping to learn how to truly love myself before I croak. I'm getting there. I really am. Maybe I have a fear of failing at being me!

Scrabble Babble

So, I've got myself a problem. I've become an addict. A Scrabble addict. Seems there is a Scrabble game online, and since I have no job, nor screaming children to tend to... I find myself playing Scrabble, a tad bit obsessively.

I'd call myself a nerd, but that's only a five point word, unless you place it on a double word square. So, I'm going to call myself a dork... a much better choice at nine points.

As a kid (seven points), I remember playing Scrabble at grandma's house being a damn good time, especially after learning all sorts of "grown up" words (nine points) in third grade. So, my little love affair (twelve points) with words has been my longest running romance (eleven points).

Last Christmas, a fancy (thirteen points) Scrabble game was on my list. Seems through the ingenuity (thirteen points) of some Parker Brothers game board designer, they now make the games on a turntable. Back in the day, my forward-thinking grandma placed the board on a lazy (sixteen points) susan. Good idea, however, not for an overly-eager, overly-dorky, too-hard turning kid who seemed to always make the letters fly off the edges from the sudden centripetal (fourteen points) force!

I got TWO Scrabble games last Christmas, both with the turntable feature, and one being the fancy-shmancy "Black Onyx" edition. The only time I have opened the games was to use them as props for photographs (see above). I actually have a friend or two that would happily (fifteen points) play. Why haven't I elisted them for the vocabulary (twenty points!) induced torture? Have I become an introvert? No way! Extrovert is worth seven more points!

So here I sit, on my sure-to-be-growing-wider-soon ass, about ready to log on for my fix (thirteen points). And in the privacy (seventeen points) of my own home, I'll be talking outloud to my opponent, telling them to hurry up, getting pissed when they let the timer run out more than one time, and honestly getting excited (sixteen points) when I kick their ass!

I figure, I'm exercising (seventeen points) my brain and hopefully preventing the onset of Alzheimer's, although, living the unemployed (seventeen points) life doesn't require much of a memory (thirteen points). I'm expanding my vocabulary as well, which allows me to more effectively (twenty four points, yes!!) annoy the shit out of any remaining friends I may have in my life. I don't think an intervention will be necessary, at least not until I stop looking for jobs and decide I'll make a living on the National Scrabble Association circuit and wear adult diapers to prevent game interruption!

Merry...

Ahhhh. I feel good.

Taking the weekend off was a great move. I lounged around throughout the morning, and watched a not-so-memorable movie. Can't even remember the name of it! I do, however, remember the sense of peacefulness I had, curled up with my cozy blanket and a cup of tea.

Mid-afternoon, I ventured into my creepy basement to retrieve the Christmas tree and decorations. I swear they could film "Arachnophobia 2" down there! Thankfully, spiders don't spook me, I just keep my eye out for the ones that look like they could mortally wound me with their venom. One such guy was zig-zagging on the second big box of branches, and I ran him off. I'd rather not wake up to him snacking on my flesh!

A few hours later, the tree was up! Complete with the lights, pine cones, and bulbs. At the top are my two "love squirrels." I place them facing each other... encouraging the blossoming of their affection, and secretly hoping for my own.

I've always found a sort of magical warmth in the glow of a Christmas tree... and I'm very happy that I didn't choose to forgo its erection because of my trying financial times. I need this. I deserve this. Besides, what's $5 extra on the electric bill in the big scheme of life?