Due Nowhere

2011-11-23T13:17:00.000-08:00

Last week, I got a call from my doctor telling me that the results of my blood test weren't as great as the nurse would have had me believe. According to my progesterone levels, I hadn't ovulated. Since my period came less than a week after the test, this news was not terribly welcome. Some at home testing this week is proving to be just as upsetting. Can't make an omelet without any eggs.

What is strange is how hard this development has hit me. I knew we would have to overcome the vasectomy and I know I'm not exactly in the prime of my fertility, but I figured I had a few old eggs still rattling around inside me. My periods never stopped (Which I find to be the height of rudeness. I'm talking to you, body. If you're not gonna release the eggs, why ya gotta make me cramp and bleed?)

The doctor seems in a rush. Maybe because she's my age and has kids already. Maybe because I cry in her office too often. Of course, there's hope. It may be as simple as taking a medication to force those damned eggs out of hiding or as complicated as IVF. The rushing doctor is hopeful. As is the husband. But I can't help but wish for the stupid ovulation test strip to show two lines and have everything happen naturally. That hope will stay alive until the next period starts. Then some new doctors will get to hear my cry!

2011-11-16T17:21:00.000-08:00

And just like that I'm angry again. Wednesday nights are no longer my favorites, thanks to basketball practice which takes 1 away from family dinners. Boo. In order to make this day work, I need to make dinner early, feed 1, take both to drop 1 off at school (in the rain today, an added unpleasantry), get back and heat up the dinner so that when husband gets home, the three of us can eat. Then he needs to leave to pick 1 back up again. Back home, it's a rushrushrush of showers and teeth brushing and reading and bed. All of this means that in this 7 day period, we will have had one meal together and one chance for a family card game or 'Amazing Race' viewing. And that just isn't enough.

The two day stretches that happen every other week with the kids are too short. Wednesday is always an adjustment and now! with scheduling complications! Then Thursday happens and then they're gone. This is, I suppose, a good metaphor of childhood/parenting in general; it all happens and ends way too quickly. This being the case, I would like to find a way to be less cranky about the little things that make me cranky. And to be less selfish. The kids, after all, are going off to be with their mother.

I should go think of some things to be thankful for and stop the self-pity. Quickly.

p.s.

2011-11-15T18:55:00.000-08:00

Even with some skipped days, my monthly average is WAY up!

sixsixsix!

2011-11-15T18:40:00.000-08:00

Bad blogger checking in here. Does it help, by way of explanation (read: excuse) that I spent yesterday cleaning the house from top to bottom? I'm talking mattress-vacuuming, duvet washing and floor mopping. I was sore at the end of it all. And Sunday was filled with many hours of cooking, baking with stepkid 2, cranberry-bog-walking, painting and card games with both kids. Thankfully, I avoided the raking. I'll take cooking over raking any day; I'm old fashioned like that.

Today is my 6 monthiversary. I know it's ridiculous. My husband has always laughed at my emphasis on each monthly milestone, probably because he's had a few long relationships. Before him, I'd never made it to 6 months. And now I've been MARRIED that long! (Thursday with mark the 19 monthiversary of our first meeting, if you're counting.) Yes, it really doesn't feel like that long; the time has flown. And yes, 6 months probably doesn't seem like a big deal to most people. But to me, it is occasion enough to throw a tablecloth on the kitchen table and light some candles. As a gift, I'm letting him watch the shows he likes tonight. (Hence my presence here.) He came home early to chop up old doors and other things I want out of the basement but are too big for the garbage truck and too icky to freecycle. Trust me when I say these are REALLY good gifts, respectively.

So there it is. I'm a married lady, feeling more and more married everyday. And so far, that's a really good thing. Happy monthiversary, baby.

2011-11-12T14:48:00.000-08:00

I was going to start this post by saying the last time I had a 9+ hour visit with a friend was so long ago I can't remember, but when I DID think about it, I could remember. That time was last month during a visit to my old stomping grounds. C met us in Central Park and spent the day helping me introduce the city to the kids. I miss him daily and although he pointed out there was no need to "catch up," no amount of texting can replace real time with a loved one.

And so it was with B, as well. (Who will read this, but that's not why I'm writing it!) Having known each other for over 26 years, we've experienced myriad levels of closeness, both geographically and emotionally. After all these years, miraculously, we've found each other living in the same state, fairly close even, and with children, step or otherwise, who, while not close in age, are all incredibly fond of each other.

Yesterday, we got together in the morning, just the kids and us (no husbands, though they're swell, too.) and managed to talk and laugh and gripe and reminisce late into the evening. And boy, did I need that. The company, for sure, but also her specific company. To remind me of another time when I was new around these parts and knew no one. B was one of the very first people I met and the very first true best friend I made. And I've been able to hang on to her for a 1/4 of a century, I just may be able to repeat history and find my place here as well.

2011-11-10T14:33:00.000-08:00

Having not left the house for nearly 3 days (That 'Housewives of Atlanta' marathon wasn't going to watch itself!), I'd nearly forgotten it was still Autumn. After a way-too-early snow and three days in an unheated house, I kinda figured Winter had come to stay. But I did leave today and was reminded what a gorgeous neighborhood/state/region it is in which I live.

Maybe someday I'll completely stop complaining about being in the suburbs (Don't hold your breath.). Today gets a break because all of these old trees are displaying and/or shedding their most colorful leaves and seeing those bright yellows (Oak? I don't know from plants.) or one of those flaming reds, makes me all squishy inside. Although it was a crappy, rainy day, I started to think of kicking through the crunchy leaves and breathing in that crisp Fall air and I was happy to be home.

Family Dinners

2011-11-09T13:00:00.001-08:00

It's Wednesday and the kids are back and it's making me think about what I wrote a few days ago. It used to be that every other week, when they'd been gone for the 5 day stretch, Wednesday afternoon was ROUGH. It's just the three of us and, to me, they bickered too much (I grew up with three sisters; I'm fairly knowledgeable about proper bickering amounts.) and were poorly behaved, in general. Whether it is was because of the transition or us getting used to each other or the ungodly amount of television viewing they were able to cram into 120 hours (Slightly more than what I was able to manage. But I'm a grown up. And don't do it in front of children. Or watch TV in front of them either. Hilarity.), it didn't matter. What matters is that it was ROUGH. For all involved.

Husband would come home to a cranky, possibly pissed-off me and while I suppose being angry at each other can be bonding, it wasn't the kid of bonding I enjoy. Over the course of dinner, blood sugars would normalize, the mood would lighten and by dessert, everything was cool again. Better than cool. Wednesday afternoons are no longer as difficult as they used to be, but I still count on Wednesday night dinners to bring us back together.

I love a family dinner and think most people just pay lip service to it. In my parents' home, we weren't allowed to answer the phone during dinner. No TV. No complaining about what was being served. Upon divorcing, husband made sitting down at the table for meals a priority because it was one of the things he couldn't manage to make happen during his marriage and something that bothered him. Of course, with the addition of evil stepmom came many more rules. I was appalled that the kids didn't cut their own meat. That they didn't ask for things to be passed and didn't bother saying please and thank you when someone did these things for them. And good lord!, the open-mouth chewing!

I'm happy to report that all that (for the most part) has changed. Each night we're together, we sit at a table set by one of the kids, with cloth napkins (They were made by a friend and used at our wedding. I like that they remind us of that day.) and have an entirely pleasant meal. Everyone samples each dish, even the weird-looking ones. We engage in conversation and share our day. We all work to clean up and put away the leftovers. Sometimes because we're in a hurry to watch TV.

I don't need it to be perfect, I swear. And thank goodness, because it isn't. Sometimes there's talking with a mouthful. And sometimes it's not even me.

2011-11-08T13:10:00.000-08:00

Husband likes to tease me about my obsession with home-making blogs, most particularly this one. I do check it daily and have stolen some ideas, but much of the time, I find the writing corny and feel they make big deals about tiny projects. (The blog is their livelihood, so they need to post a LOT.) Anyway, one of the ideas I've stolen is their "thanks jar," which IS corny, but when Thanksgiving is involved, corny is okay, I think.

Every day, everyone in the house is supposed to write something they're thankful for on a slip of paper and put in in the jar, which I decorated with cardstock and ribbon. (probably an idea stolen from Martha Stewart) It's supposed to run from November 1st to Thanksgiving, but since the kids are here 1/2 the time, we started early and since they'll be with firstwife on Thanksgiving Thursday, we'll end on Friday. That day, at our dinner, we'll take turns reading the "thanks" and hopefully laugh a bit, but most importantly, feel a palpable sense of gratefulness at the abundance of goodness in our lives.

It took some explaining for the kids to get the idea, that they don't have to thank a specific person, that they can be thankful for gum if they choose. But I had hoped they'd mix in some more lofty thanks. One of the rules is that no one can read the thanks until that dinner, but because they are less than thorough folders, I've caught glimpses and I was pleased with what I peeped.

For me, the thanks has been harder to come up with some days. "Electricity" was obvious when we went without it for 3 days after a storm. "Tivo" was a no-brainer. "My husband" and "my home" were also easy, but my secret wish all along was that I would have a little slip of paper up my sleeve, ready to be the last thanks of the day, which would serve as an announcement of sorts. Thanks (har) to the arrival of my now very regular cycle, that clever notion can be scrapped. Which makes me even more anxious to hear all of the thanks and see the jar emptying and the mound of paper pile up on the table. And keep my fingers crossed that next year I'll be able to throw in "our healthy baby."

2011-11-07T19:31:00.000-08:00

Since I wrote about being angry with husband, I suppose it's only fair to fawn over him a bit, too. He listens to much crying and whining about feeling useless and tries so hard to come up with possibilities for my time and talents. And also keeps telling me he's okay with me not working outside of our home, that he just wants me to do what will make me happy. So, you get it; he's wonderful. Which makes me want to stop whining so much, as a payback for the wonderfulness. Which makes me want to keep busy.

Which leads me to today. Today, I rearranged many kitchen cabinets in order to find a spot where a wedding gift would fit. (took me just shy of 6 months!). Today, I spent many hours sewing sequins and tiny pieces of felt together to (very nearly) finish an xmas stocking for stepkid1. My goal was to be finished my November 1st, in order to get started on 2's stocking; I guess I'm not too far off schedule. Today, I folded and put away two loads of laundry that had been sitting in laundry baskets since yesterday morning. Today, while sewing, I cleared many episodes of Atlanta Housewives off the tivo. All that, PLUS my usual stuff. Today was a good day. Two in a row!*

Actual productivity happened in my house today and I was the one making it happen! Even while I'm in the midst of inactivity and thinking about how much better I'd feel if I were getting something done, I never remember exactly HOW much better DOing makes me feel.

A couple of months ago, the part-time job I was working ended quite suddenly. My cervix- reduction procedure was scheduled for the next week, as well as a trip out of town, so I decided to not think about finding new employment for a while. When I ended up not feeling well for several weeks after the procedure, I was grateful to have the extra time. When I started feeling better, I still liked the extra time. And I started dreading the idea of working at the same type of job again. And I really had zero clues about what else I'd be qualified to do. (still don't!)

Everyday, I clean up, make dinner, maybe run some errands, do a couple loads of laundry. These things are part of my job as a housewife. I suppose to some, 'housewife' sounds like a hopelessly outdated/misogynistic/reality TVish label, but I've never looked at it negatively. Since my stepkids are only here half the time and we're all still getting used to the 'mom' part of stepmom, housewife really is the best label for me. I'm married and all the work I do revolves around the care and upkeep of the house in which I live. For Halloween I wore a pointy hat, a black dress and pearls and called myself a housewitch. Until the position of full-time mom opens up around here,* I'll settle for my current post.

*knocking on wood

2011-11-06T18:59:00.000-08:00

This is why I'm such a bad blogger: writing isn't my top priority. But today I had something worthy to top it. Today there was an extra hour to be spent and instead of doing something extra (which is what I still consider this), I just luxuriated an extra amount in being alone with my husband. Organizing the basement with him, walking around Cambridge with him, lounging on the sofa with him. It's been a good day that I'm anxious to get back to, as it's fastly fleeting.

No Baby Talk

2011-11-05T12:58:00.000-07:00

I've spent the whole morning thinking about how I shouldn't/don't want to whine like a baby about babies today. I'm still thinking about it and I still haven't come up with something else to talk about. Instead, I'll talk about my husband's babies. (who are 7 and 9, plus halves)

It's quiet in my house every other weekend, when the kids are with their mother. They divide their time evenly between the two houses in what I find to be a complicated schedule. The kids have done a great job of internalizing it, but 2 spends a lot of time going over it in her head. ("We won't be here on Saturday!" "You can't take us to that party; it's Mom's day!" "Next year we can be here for Halloween!")

Every other week, they are with us for a 5 day stretch, at the end of which, I am usually chomping at the bit to get them out the door. Then it's very calm for two days. I wash everyone's sheets and put the house back in order (full disclosure: the kids do several chores each day and have been quite diligent about them since being implemented by evil stepmom, so the house is never too much of a mess.), plan the week's meals, watch way too much housewives-centered television and become anxious for the kids to come back. Over the next two days, I* try to get a handle on the schoolwork and social stuff I missed, stress over manners and rules I would like to see that don't necessarily jibe with the manners and rules at firstwife's house, but mostly I think about the 5 kidless days stretch on the horizon.

And now it's here. And the doctor gave me the go-ahead, so there's sex again. I'd forgotten how much time it can eat up; we are newlyweds after all. We may get a little house/yard work done (emphasis on little), but usually those weekend days are very lazy, very quiet and very enjoyable. Husband likes to inform me that we won't have these lazy weekends with a baby in the picture. I know. Maybe that's why I revel in them so much now.

But when a new week starts and he goes back to work and there's no mess to tidy, what there is is a lonely two day stretch which leaves me downright delighted to hear husband's garage door opening in the evening and especially elated to see the kids jump off the school bus Wednesday afternoon. That Wednesday night dinner is my favorite time of the week, with the four of us back together again.

See? I can be happy. Saving the 5 days of kid talk for tomorrow.

*I say "I" instead of "we" only because I don't want to speak for husband. But he totally thinks all the same things about rules and manners. Because I told him to.

Third Time's A Charm

2011-11-04T18:57:00.001-07:00

Gosh, did I want to skip posting today since the time got away from me and it's late now, but, the guilt! Damn you, wifemother!

The doctor took just a smidgen more of my ever-shrinking cervix in order to ensure that she had indeed removed all of the apparently just-shy-of-cancerous cells. Then, for good measure, she went ahead and took some of my blood to ensure I'm even ovulating. How can such a tiny piece of my body (I took a photo to show husband. reason #23 I'm a bad wife) and small amount of blood leave me feeling so depleted? Maybe it was the 5 noticeably pregnant women in the waiting room? Not to mention the 3 who I imagined to be pregnant, just less noticeably. Or the nonstop thoughts in my head about how easy baby-making seems to be for everyone else. Even though I know several women who have had it not so easy, I am selfishly not including them in my calculations.

In my more optimistic moments, I try to picture how silly all of this worry will seem when I eventually get pregnant. But those moments are fewer and farther between and who says I definitely get a baby anyway? Again with the selfishness (it's actually pretty disgusting how selfish I'm being-tales for another time.), but when I'm feeling sorry for myself (when am I not lately?), I start thinking about the number of other people's children I've cared for (literally hundredS) and how much time I've dedicated to learning about child development and perusing lists of baby names and I want my damn baby already. Is a baby one works harder to make a better baby? More loved? If I try hard enough and wait long enough, will I get a good sleeper/non-whiner/brilliant piano prodigy who'll take really good care of me in my old age? Because seriously, I don't need all of that!*

As my idol Veruca says, Don't care how, I want it NOW!

*Non-whiner is kind of a deal-breaker for me. But I totally know how to handle that.

And This Makes Two

2011-11-03T12:53:00.000-07:00

Is it a bad idea to write a post when I'm angry at everyone in this house? Plus the husband, even though he isn't in the house at the moment. I'm guessing all this easy anger is somewhat due to PMS, which, since I'd really like to be pregnant right now, makes me even angrier. At my getting-older-by-the-minute eggs? At firstwife for suggesting a vasectomy? At mother-in-law who thinks another grandchild would be "a big mistake" (I did not make this up.)? At my doctor for removing the aforementioned piece of my cervix, delaying baby-making even further? That's right, all of the above. So, for the time being, I'm blaming my menstrual cycle because it seems pretty petty to blame stepkid2 for inviting and then uninviting me to chaperone a field trip, stepkid1 for throwing up in her garbage can, husband for leaving vomit-laden garbage can uncleaned (full disclosure: he did change sheets, hold hair back, etc.) and mother-in-law for, well, you know. If you have a m-i-l, you know.

In an attempt to channel my anger into productivity (there's a thought!), I did lots of chopping of vegetables for a soup and lots of measuring and mixing for a birthday cake for my niece, all to some nice, loud music. Bonus to the busyness (and loudness): annoyance of kids and m-i-l are nearly ignorable.

If you really want to dig into this anger, you should also know that I have an appointment with the cervix-snipping doctor tomorrow morning. Hopefully, she will tell me the baby-making can commence. Of course, the timing is off, which is why we cheated and jumped the gun last week. Everything was fine, working as well as ever, but this PMSiness is making me think the hurry was all for naught. Husband would argue. As much as I like sex, right now, I want results. If my calculations are correct, one more month of fruitlessness qualifies me for some fertility intervention. And if you want to see some real anger, tell me you're pregnant.

Okay, Go Ahead and Be Surprised

2011-11-02T13:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been nearly a year since my last post and yes I'm a shitty blogger(not the surprising part). I like to think of myself as a writer, because in my head I form thoughts in full sentences, as if I'm readying them for the page (or screen, as it were) and because when I go back and read the things I've written, I'm entertained. And proud. But, good lord!, am I unmotivated. And I've done precious little writing at all in the many months since I abandoned my blogpost here.

Here's a quick list of things I have done in those months (to the best of my recollection, in chronological order):

-celebrated Thanksgiving with the boy and his family (and my sister's family) instead of traveling to where I would have otherwise feasted. And, key, I didn't regret it.

-got through my first sleepover with the boy's children (a pre-arranged accidentally snowed-in sleepover). the boy slept on the couch. it went well.

-had someone to kiss when 2011 rolled around.

-saw the Grand Canyon and experienced Las Vegas for the first time.

-on a related note, partook in a family trip of sorts with the boy and his kids.

-on a similarly related note, met his father and stepmother along the way.

-fretted a lot about when the boy would marry me. out loud. to anyone with ears. or lip-reading ability.

-worried almost as much that the boy would marry me and then i'd be a wife and a stepmother. with a mother-in-law.

-married the boy. ( from here on out, i shall call him husband. )

-became a wife.

-became a stepmother.

-got a mother-in-law in the deal.

-moved into a 5 bedroom house in the suburbs. the FAR suburbs.

-had a good portion of my cervix removed in order to help me get pregnant.

-shamed myself into posting here.

wifemother reminded me about the whole "post every day of november" thing and I'm gonna do my damnedest. Even if I am starting a day late. And seem to have less motivation than ever. Maybe this will help with that?

Don't Be So Surprised

2010-11-28T05:22:00.000-08:00

A post had to happen sooner or later; I just didn't imagine it would be THIS much later. Aside from plain, old laziness, I realized that writing about my life keeps me in my head. I do way too much of this and I really try hard to live instead of thinking about how to live my life. The whole "je pense donc je suis" thing is really overblown. Nothing is going to stop me from thinking, but when I'm spending time with others, when I'm in the middle of my life, I want to not have 43 things running through my mind. Coming here causes me to keep those hamsters on their wheel.

So, to sum up, my excuses for a six month dearth of blogging are: laziness and life. And the boy. Who, in those months has become the love of my life. My life. Which is fast become not just mine. SO much of it is intertwined with his and his children's. And I'm not even mentioning his mother. (Another time.) If I intend to keep writing, I need to figure out a way to do it without making any of these people uncomfortable. (Obviously, kids and mom don't read this. Phew.) Not only because it would make things for me pretty uncomfortable, but because it's fair.

Since (still working on what to call him) likes to tease me about not posting here, I suppose that means he doesn't mind it so much. And I suppose he shouldn't, since I tell him pretty much every thought that runs through my head, even if it takes a long time for them to make it out of my mouth. Maybe he likes the checks and balances of seeing what I say to him show up here in black and white. Or knowing that those near and dear to me (and a couple of strangers thrown in for good measure.) (and the computer that likes to leave comments in chinese?) will read about how great of a guy he is. No need for that either, because I'll tell anyone who asks, and some who don't. Maybe he hopes I'll stop feeling the need to tell him everything if I have an outlet here? Oy. I'm sure he'll let me know.

Good Together

2010-06-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

Wifemother is right; there's no preparing oneself for heartbreak, no matter how inevitable it seems. So, after a little flipping out earlier this week, I'm working on not worrying so much. Again. Always.

The flip-out happened when I started questioning just exactly where the boy saw whateveritisthisis going. Meanwhile, I don't have a clue how I would answer this question. What I do know is I like the time we spend together and find myself wanting more. Instead of driving myself batty, keeping the question in my head (or complaining to friends about it), I discussed it with the boy. Like a grown-up. Except for the crying part, but I kept that to a minimum. Also, I may have complained about it to friends.

When he reciprocated my feelings, telling me he "loves spending time with (me)," I was relieved. And flattered. He's a busy boy whose free time is limited and I'm honored when I get some of it. But I'm still gonna want more. I'm dealing with it and trying to get busier myself. Both with a little bit of success.

And about "the boy"... He doesn't love this moniker; I need to think of something new to call him. I'm open to suggestions.

Upping The Ante

2010-05-21T14:20:00.001-07:00

I cried in front of the boy. I wrote the boy a birthday card. I asked to see the boy two times in one day. And now the boy and I will be spending two whole nights together. In a row. I keep raising the stakes and he keeps matching my bets. (Why, oh why did I choose a poker metaphor when I'm not even sure I'm using it the right way?) Despite the fear, I push forward. So far, I've been rewarded. Eventually, I'm not gonna love the answer. I know this and I'm thinking about how to be okay with this.

People keep chastising me for preparing for disappointment. As if their romantic lives have never hit a snag. Bad stuff happens. People get hurt. Why can't I steel myself for that? This doesn't mean I expect catastrophe. I don't think I do, but I'd rather be ready for it than not.

Today, it's all rainbows and cupcakes and I'm concentrating on all the good. Which is good enough for me.

Whateveritisthisis

2010-05-10T13:18:00.000-07:00

He said "relationship", so let's go with that. I'm proud of myself for only freaking out (and inwardly, at that!) for a few hours before questioning the boy about it. His response: "That is what this is, right?" Huh. Well, I'll be! I guess so. It feels good, even if the words are still difficult to say.

And now I've been invited to one of his work functions. Terrifying. Like a test for which I have no idea how to study. So, I will jump in head first and probably talk too much, as usual. And hope no one realizes how NOT EVEN CLOSE to a brilliant computer nerd I am.

Yesterday, I received an email from one of my C's. The youngest, girlest (not to be read as girlIest) C. Goodness, do I love hearing from her, but nothing can send me into a fit of tears like reading her (or her brothers') messages always does.

Absence hasn't made my heart grow fonder; that would have been impossible. It's just that the interactions we have now are so far-between that each one packs an emotional wallop. All the love and longing I've had for her during the in-between times has compounded and hits me like a wrecking ball. But I can take it. Knocks me down, stings for a bit, then I get back up and move towards the next one. Sigh. (She totally got that from me.)

Phew

2010-05-07T16:22:00.000-07:00

After a little misunderstanding, the boy was okay with it. Not sure he's gonna be a loyal reader, but I don't need him to be. I just need him to be okay with me. And my urge to spill my guts to anyone willing to listen. Also, if he could rub my feet once in a while, that'd be good, too.

Here's something that will be extra hard for me: talking to him about something before I talk myself through it on here. He pointed out that he didn't want to be surprised by anything he reads here. Nothing that involves him, anyway. He's right; that's a fair expectation.

I wonder if he'd be surprised to read how much fun I have in the time we spend together. (a LOT) Or what a kick I get out of his shyness and what I interpret as his fondness for my lack of it. (please let that be the case) A few days ago, I tried to get him to fight with me, because I'd been trying to imagine how we would argue. He started a faux-fight with me about not wanting to fight. That was pretty damn cute. I'll stop now.

Now He Knows

2010-05-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

Told the boy about this blog because C said I should. Yes, I'm down to one; made my choice and throwing myself into it. I honestly thought C would tell me I didn't need to own up. He's way sneakier than my brother-in-law, who recommended against sharing. But I suppose it's only fair for the boy to know if I plan to write about him. While cooking him dinner, I spilled the beans. Clever, right? Who could be upset at someone using fresh thyme and organic chicken breast? I made my own mushroom stock, for goodness' sake! He seemed to handle it pretty well. Of course, he hasn't actually seen it yet.

I'm a bit reluctant to write, though. And not only because he could potentially read it. Even before I told him, I was nervous about labeling whatever-it-is-this-is. Afraid of jinxing it, for sure. But also just afraid.

I'm not used to things like this working so smoothly. Or being excited to see someone each and every time. Granted, there've only been 8 times, but, seriously, that's a record for me lately. And I certainly haven't gone nearly three weeks without looking for a date in recent (or even not so recent) memory. Frees up a lot of time. But doesn't leave me with many options. I know I said I need my choices to be limited, but not having a back-up really puts a lot of pressure on the boy. And me.

Let's Face It

2010-04-28T17:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to reach my goal ((promise). cringe.) of 30 posts this month. It sucks because I like to pride myself on promise keeping, but I've been living an actual life, people. With work and boys and NYC and everything. So, while I'm sorry to fall short, I'm not sorry I've been too busy. And I know no one out there was too disappointed with my still fairly frequent entries. No matter what my mother says.

Baby Steps

2010-04-27T04:38:00.000-07:00

You know what? Who cares if I'm behaving like a toddler. This new whateveritis of mine (attitude? outlook on life?) IS only a few years old, so I suppose I'm bound to make a few mistakes while I figure everything out. And get used to not being able to figuring everything out. Black and white got thrown out the window and left behind a whole lotta grey. But part of this late immaturity manifests itself as me having a fit because I'm not getting everything I want or I'm ashamed of a mistake. Quiet tantrums, for the most part. And instead of turning on others, I scold myself. Progress?

Choices: Part Deux

2010-04-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

Again, I'm likening myself to a toddler. Sigh. Apparently, I needed one of my choices taken away. Wasn't making my mind up fully enough, so one of my options removed himself from the equation. Maybe that's what I was waiting for anyway?

I do have a history of procrastinating until there really is no time to do anything other than the task at hand. Not sure if this situation totally relates to this particular problem of mine, but there are parallels. Instead of making a clear decision right off the bat and getting to work making THAT work, I hedged. I hemmed and hawed. I MOSTly chose Door Number 1. Only I kept the key belonging to Door Number 2, in order to peek inside from time to time. Well, Door Number 2 changed his lock and won't be inviting me for any more visits.

Now I get to focus on 1. That's a good thing right? And J says I have a problem with commitment! Crazy talk.

Choices

2010-04-26T04:18:00.000-07:00

I think I made mine. Why "think"? Probably because I'm never completely sure I'm doing the right thing. Worry seems to seep in wherever it can find a crack and I'm full of them. It seems as if every time I get one of those cracks filled in, the pressure moves to another area and creates a new fissure.

In my head, I know choosing one boy over another doesn't have to be a life-long commitment. But the idea of missing a good opportunity bothers me. And things are too new with the chosen one to know for sure whether or not I've made the right decision. When does that confidence kick in? A few weeks? Months? Never? Or should it have already happened, right away, like in a movie? The answer is most likely "never". I really, really hate that answer, because I really, really hate doubt.

No need to wonder, A; of course this is about you.

Work, Work, Work

2010-04-22T05:51:00.000-07:00

I did it! It had been a while, 7 months to be exact, but it hardly hurt at all.

Obviously, when I left my job in NYC, I knew I'd have to find another one eventually. Well, I knew it when I wasn't fantasizing about a giant check being dropped into my lap from the money fairy. Or pretending I was going to discover a long forgotten trust fund. Any day now. Or at least a great big bank error. While I'm waiting around for one of those things to happen, I might as well keep myself busy with work.

The truth is, it wasn't so bad. Strange, to be sure, since I'd been doing the same thing, with the same people for so long, but way less than terrible. I did feel a little rusty, but it all comes back rather quickly when you're plunked into the middle of things.

And the thought of the numbers in my bank account going up and the numbers attached to my debt going down is a big relief. While it make not actually make the world go round, money does affect one's stress level in a big way. No matter how much I wish it weren't true.

Not Fair

2010-04-20T05:06:00.000-07:00

Like a toddler, apparently I can't handle having too many choices. When it comes to boys, I'm used to them making the decisions for me. If I don't like him, it's easy to just ignore him. If I do, it can go two ways: he likes me too and we move forward or he doesn't and I never hear from him again. It's a pretty efficient system.

Why, oh why, then has the universe chosen to screw with me by throwing too many options my way? How do I make sure I'm doing the right thing, making the correct choice? A selection of jobs would have been nice. And easy, for that matter. But too many suitable suitors? Not fair.

Speaking Of That Interview...

2010-04-18T08:05:00.000-07:00

Obviously, I provided the interviewer with my references. And all three were people I knew would speak well of me. Duh. But only 2 of them were people I'd warned about receiving a call. Both were eager to help and both got back to me after they'd been contacted to let me know the calls had gone well.

The third is more complicated. My best reference, to be sure, but the one about which I was most nervous. Probably why I avoided the warning. When the woman conducting the interview informed me she'd spoken to all of my references, all I could do was wonder what had been said. Never did I imagine this person's report would be less than positive, but I wanted the actual words. And I spent much of the interview wondering about them. I'm still wondering.

Wouldn't it be fantastic if everyone would just say what they're thinking? Positive reinforcement shouldn't end with adolescence. It would make my day to hear the kind words that were said ABOUT me, spoken TO me. This experience is making me try even harder to let the people in my life know I love them and think the world of them. Some of them actually get uncomfortable with this sort of acknowledgement. That just means they don't hear it enough. Most of us don't.

What A Difference A Week Makes

2010-04-18T07:45:00.000-07:00

At this time last week, I was feeling pretty crappy. Lonely and hopeless and just blah. Of course a portion of that crappiness was due to pms, just like it is every month (curse, indeed!) but there was more to it. A long string of dates that went nowhere, fruitless job searching and a lingering injury were the major culprits. Here's what happened to turn those things around:

1) A silly little trip on a couple of steps in Harvard Square (6 weeks ago!) left me with a damaged ankle which is still bothering me and I likely would have had x-rayed right away if I were insured. Although, several years ago, I was convinced I had a broken ankle and it turned out to be only a sprain. A sprain that bothered me for months. This injury has kept me from my daily walks, often the only time I get out of the house during the day and it has been a pain in the ass. While it's certainly not 100%, I'm trying to not let it stop me from getting out more often.

2) That interview I mentioned went smoothly, as expected and I've been called about working. While I'm less than thrilled at the prospect, I AM looking forward to being busier and not broke. And who knows? Maybe I'll like it more than I think I will. Uh huh.

3) After hitting a two-week lull on the dating website (read: ran through all the good prospects), suddenly new guys were popping up and I had dates with 4 of them last week. I was busy, had fun with each of them and heard back from 3. Decent batting average, if I do say so myself.

Another Quickie

2010-04-11T23:06:00.000-07:00

How can I, at my age (36!) still scare myself silly? Yesterday, I made the idiotic mistake of watching a scary movie ("The Collector"-don't bother). I assumed it would be fine because I was watching during the day, D was in the house with me and she would be staying the night. Wrong.

While I got through last night fairly well, tonight (it's just past 2am), as I was finishing up a phone call with C and brushing my teeth as he regaled me with less-than-thrilling revelations from the new Oprah biography, I started to realize it was almost time for me to get to bed. Alone in the house. In the dark. With memories of The Collector (spoiler: it's the exterminator!) in my head.

I thought of trying to keep C on the line until I fell asleep, but he was near exhaustion. And so, I'll be lying here, attempting to think of rainbows and blueberry muffins hoping I get enough sleep to keep myself from looking like a zombie for tomorrow's interview. But I will do so with the television running. And the lights on. And a baseball bat under the bed.

Hmmm

2010-04-11T18:44:00.000-07:00

I realized as I was posting that last bit that I was IMing a friend, watching "Celebrity Apprentice" (go Cyndi!), texting my cousin and eating my dinner all at the same time. No wonder it's hard to listen to one voice, coming from one person; I'm so used to the bombardment of stimuli. Modern life? Too much city living? ADD?

So, the bigger lesson, perhaps is learning how to focus my attention on one thing at a time. Why is this so difficult? Any ideas? And don't suggest giving up "CA", not while Cyndi's still kickin'.

And yes, this counts.

Are You Listening?

2010-04-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes, I'm not. I may be daydreaming, stuck on the thing you said three things ago or trying to list the states in alphabetical order. I will LOOK like I'm paying attention, but that's not always the case. Obviously, this is something about which I've become aware. And as such, something I'm working on improving. Not improving my fake listening, but ACTUALLY listening.

So, it was exciting when a visit to my local Buddhist prayer meeting included a lesson on "deep listening". We were to ask a partner an open-ended question and listen to her answer for five minutes. And not say anything. And I did. I listened. Deeply. Except for the part where I got distracted by thinking about the fact that I was really listening. But that only lasted for a few seconds.

And the big accomplishment, in my mind anyway, came when the tables were turned and I was the answerer. Before we'd started the exercise, I had informed my partner (a woman I'd just met) that I was much more the talker than the listener. But when it was my turn to talk, those five minutes seemed to drag on soooo long. I even stopped in the middle to say "my five minutes are much longer than yours!". She didn't agree. The point, I think, is that it was easier for me to listen than to be listened to. In this instance, anyway. Should that make me proud? Because it does!

In closing, I'm sure YOU were not the object of my faux listening, but now you know for sure that all my attention will be focused on you. Or at least that thing you said three things ago.

I Suck. Wanna Make Something of It?

2010-04-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

Eventually, I'll need to double up on these posts. And I will; my list of topics hasn't even received so much as a glance yet.

I'm skipping an out-of-town family event this weekend because I can't afford to go and I'm trying to figure out exactly how I feel about it. On the one hand, I'm proud of myself for not spending money I don't have, something I would have done in the past. But I don't like missing these get-togethers. It always feels like I'm missing something important: fun, bonding, future inside jokes. There'll be reports and photos, but it just isn't the same.

The other reason I'm staying put is an interview I have on Monday for a job. It's not a job I want to do, but it's a job at which I excel as well as one I can earn some decent money doing. The interview is a formality and I should start getting work right away. These will be temporary assignments, so I'm hoping they will be relatively pain-free. Maybe having somewhat of a schedule will be enough to pick up my mood which has been fairly sucky as of late. Fingers crossed.

I Know, I Know

2010-04-07T06:06:00.000-07:00

I've skipped a couple of days. But I vow to have 30 posts up this month. It's not the pressure of writing everyday that is getting to me, I just keep forgetting. My life is not terribly busy at the moment, but I'm really trying to make it busier.

The last time I looked for a job I was 11 years younger and not sure what it was I should be doing, but I had a few interesting connections, so I went on interviews at a few interesting companies. In the end, a job I wasn't looking for landed in my lap. It wasn't something I'd studied for, but it was something I did well and it was a job in which I became very much emotionally invested. It also consumed a great deal of my time and energy. While it wasn't what I'd planned on, that job provided me a livelihood and a whole lotta love.

This is not the type of job I'm looking for now. I may not know exactly what I want, but I know I don't want the emotional investment anymore. Not from a job, not now. My hope is that I'll find enough work to keep me busy-ish (I still have plenty of my work to do.), allow me to meet some new people and bring in enough money to stop my worry, with a little to set aside for when I want stuff again. Oh! And some health insurance wouldn't hurt either, although I suppose I can just wait a little while for that. And while I'm not going to say I'm willing to do ANYTHING, I'm kinda willing to do anything.

Wish me luck.

Babies and the End of the World

2010-04-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

"2012": Crappy movie. Really. LB, you warned me, but J had it from Netflix and I'm just a sucker for disaster films. I've always been excited by the thought of impending doom. Wait. That didn't sound right. Anyway.

When we were kids, my sister and I loved the book "Baby Island". A recent read-through made me realize how silly and poorly written it is (along the lines of a "2012"), but we were taken with the idea of two young sisters, shipwrecked and caring for a passel of infants and toddlers on a tropical island. With armfuls of dolls, we would pick a corner of the house and pretend we were responsible for all those little lives.

I suppose that was the beginning of my love of the last-people-on-Earth genre. And I will, to this day, and most likely forever, read or see anything involving said circumstances. Maybe it's the "we're all in this together"ness. Or the onus of having to sustain civilization; making the choices about what will be important.

What I think I love most, though, is that the characters are compelled to say exactly what they mean (The world could end at any moment!) and not take each other for granted (You could be gone without notice!). Obviously, it's just not practical to live one's life as if each day is your last. If that were the case, I wouldn't be worrying about my credit card debt. But I can certainly try my best to let my loved ones know they are just that and be kind to anyone else who might cross my path. I really don't want the guilt weighing on my conscious when the earth splits in two under my feet and I'm sucked into the molten core in the middle of my supermarket.

Casual Friday

2010-04-02T22:02:00.000-07:00

Someone recently-ish accused me of treating men casually and I was very taken aback. Certain this wasn't the case, I argued my position. The last couple of weeks have made me re-examine this argument and the conclusion I've come to is...I was right all along.

Have I gone on a date with a guy and never spoken to him again? Yes. Have I fooled around with a guy I wasn't necessarily interested in? Yes. I'm guilty of these offenses. I will also cop to prolonging bad dates just to have a great story. But the key, I think, is that I go into each new date with a glimmer of hope that this one will be "the one" (whatever "the one" means is a whole.'nother.story).

A couple of weeks ago, I was getting ready for a date that seemed especially promising. I'd been nervous and extra anxious, worrying over what to wear and whether to use the straightener or the curling iron to do my hair. This guy was handsome, funny, musical, grew up in a lovely home, had an interesting job in the arts and our sole phone conversation had gone very well. But I've been on enough first dates to know that things don't always work out the way they seem to on paper. There've been too many surprises for me to get my hopes up. (Sometimes it works the other way: a guy I'm not so sure about ends up being a lot of fun. Obviously, a much pleasanter surprise than the alternative.) I texted C on my way out the door, expressing my exasperation at myself for, despite knowing better, being excited. His response summed it up pretty well: "aww. hopelessly hopeful". Me, in a texty nutshell.

April Fool

2010-04-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

At last, and at great pain, I've found a downside to being less cynical and more trusting; there are assholes out there in the world perfectly willing to take advantage of such a positive approach to life.

It used to be very easy for me to think the worst of people, to see sinister motives in kindness. This was because I didn't have much of an interest in finding out their true intentions and I certainly wasn't interested in getting to know them. In many ways, it's easy to not trust anyone: none of your time is wasted getting to know someone who may end up being someone you don't wish to know; if you're prepared to be hurt by anyone at any time, you're never taken by surprise; and of course, if you don't allow yourself to feel close to anyone, you'll never feel betrayed.

But I made a big change and a decision to give the benefit of the doubt whenever I have the chance. This is a really, really good way to live. I'm sure it is. Even if it has the potential to cause hurt feelings.

Here's the short version of the story: Girl meets boy. Girl and boy exchange 1,000 texts over a fun, flirty week. Boy takes girl out a couple of times. Girl, despite less than strong feelings for boy decides this thing can work after all and, as a result, makes a rash (read:stupid) decision. Boy never calls girl again. Now for the REALLY lame part: Girl makes this mistake a LOT.

Despite premenstrual crankiness and some general malaise, I'm going to look at the onset of April and this sunny day which followed days of downpour as a fresh start. I'm determined to stay positive and keep doling out my trust. The chance of being hurt is worth the risk of that big payoff I get from so many of my loved ones and the one I'm sure to get one day from some lucky, lucky boy.

Postscript: Girl's sending of hostile emails and texts only improves bitter mood slightly. Girl may need pissed off cousin with a flaming bag of dog crap to really feel better.

I'm Baaa-aaaack!

2010-03-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

So, I honestly didn't intend to take a two month break. When I ended my January blogstravaganza, I assumed I'd continue to post a couple of times a week. Then life happened. Things I couldn't write about, but at the same time consumed a lot of my time and energy and most of my waking thoughts. It's become very important to me to be as open as possible with my life, but sometimes the story is not mine to tell. All is not well, and may never be fully settled, but I am sleeping much more soundly and I'm anxious to start sharing again. That means...you guessed it...another month of daily entries! I've got a list of things I've been meaning to write about and I'm stretching my hunting-and-pecking fingers RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

To all the people who asked about my absence and told me they were looking forward to my return, thank you. I appreciate being missed. Hell, I just appreciate you paying any attention at all!

2010-02-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

In a reluctant nod to Oprah, here's something I know for sure: holding a tiny, sleeping baby in your arms and listening to the rhythmic in and out of his breathing can make you forget a world of woes. Even if the moment he's let go, your arms are left empty to welcome the rush of badness back in again.

2010-01-31T19:44:00.000-08:00

I've read it takes thirty days to make a habit and I suppose I did get into the habit of writing here everyday. But that doesn't mean I'm not excited today is the last day of the month. However self-imposed it may have been, I needed the pressure of other people knowing I made the promise of daily posts. Funny, I've never been great taking pressure from an outside source, but then when I turn it on myself, I still need to be checked up on every once in a while.

In the past, when I've set a goal for myself, I would often keep it to myself. The embarrassment of possible failure kept me from sharing it with anyone. Lately I've tried extra hard to talk openly about my plans (when I have them) and I've realized what a great idea that is. Not only does it help me stay accountable, it offers me encouragement as well. Getting a message or a phone call about something I've written gives me a little thrill. Even if it's just from my mom.

So, will I continue to post everyday? No. But I will make an effort to share what I'm thinking more often. And I'm renewing my resolution from New Year's Day, too. Remember the "wake up with a positive attitude" thing? Yeah, I pretty much forgot it too. Here's to February 1st and fresh, new hopefulness. Thanks for reading.

2010-01-30T18:54:00.000-08:00

So, I think there are two schools of thought about how to handle an illness. There's the suck-it-up-and-keep-going school and the hide-in-bed-for-three-days school. Obviously, not every ailment is suck-upable. And not every sick person has the luxury of wallowing in bed for three days. But the way I see it, I have these options and I think the reason I'm still suffering is I haven't chosen one or the other.

When I had a job to go to everyday, when I felt things couldn't work without me, I would stock up on nasal spray and grit my teeth and get through the day. I rarely called in sick and often wouldn't even mention I wasn't feeling well. That was just a false sense of indispensableness, I suppose. Or a way to not seem weak. Whatever the motivation, I believe there's something to "fake it 'til you make it". Pretend you're just fine and sooner or later, you're fine!

Since I don't have somewhere to be on a daily basis right now, I've tended more towards the wallowing. But I haven't fully committed to it. I lie in bed for a few hours and then feel guilty I'm not looking harder for a job and get up and start working on applications and writing samples. Then I swig some cough syrup and crawl back under the covers and try not to swallow. But then I remember I'm supposed to make dinner and be somewhere, so I force myself up and into the shower and out the door.

Yesterday was the first day I spent fully focused on getting well. I kept myself doped up and sleepy and rarely got out from under my covers. My goal was to not feel pain and I managed to get pretty close.

Today I rallied for a birthday party and I'm glad I did. It did me a world of good to get out and see new faces. And tonight, my bed feels all the better because of it.

2010-01-29T19:05:00.000-08:00

Chills. Fatigue. Swollen throat. Clogged ears. Menstrual cramps. Putting myself in a nyquil coma until it all goes away.

D

2010-01-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

More talk about surprising friends. Well, one friend. I literally picked this one out of thin air. One hot summer night, while scrolling through names and faces on facebook, searching for a man with a couple of particular characteristics, I came across D, but he was a name without a face. I decided to go out on a limb and shoot him a message. When he immediately answered back, I got excited and when I saw his photo...let's just say my excitement didn't wane.

In the end, D and I only saw each other twice before he left New York to return home at the end of the summer. That second night we hung out will be etched in my mind as the craziest and some of the most fun I've ever had. Ever. Never did I imagine we'd still be talking to each other.

Across an ocean and a not insignificant time difference, not only have D and I maintained contact, but he now feels like my close confidante. Ours is a friendship forged almost entirely online, but now D may have a chance to come back to the States and I've found myself getting psyched about having him closer. I'm anxious to see how he's held up over the last, very rough 17 months. He deserves some good luck and hopefully, it's headed his way right now.

2010-01-27T19:50:00.000-08:00

Today chatted on line with two different men (well, more, but only two of them are relevant to my story), read the blog of a woman (which I check everyday for a new post) and had dinner with another woman. What do all of these people have in common? They attended middle school with me. (R, M, K, B-respectively)

Never would I have imagined I'd be spending this much time communicating with people who saw me wearing braces and making unfortunate eyeshadow choices. B and I have always stayed in touch, so it's not surprising I still know her. But now that I'm living near her, we seem to have settled into a regular visiting schedule. We have a good time together, just like we always did. And I adore her husband and kids. I like having a constant in my life. Especially one in the form of a non-family member, someone you doesn't have to tolerate me.

Reading K's blog has been an inspiration to me, not just to write more, but to think in a new way. The more I read about her, the more I want to know more.

R and I lost touch for a while and he isn't a consistent presence in my life, but I'm always happy to hear from him and get an update about his life.

And then there's M (who doesn't believe I'm actually writing about him tonight). He was a facebook find and has quickly become a near daily touchstone.

What does it say about me that I have all of these people in my life again/still? The negative part of me would say it's because I've regressed. But I'm not listening to that part. Instead, I'm choosing to believe I was good judge of character at 13 and I still am.

***This was all typed up last night, but when I went to post it, the blogger server was down and I thought I'd lost it all. After a hefty dose of nyquil and a decent night's sleep, I found a portion of this entry had been saved; I finished it up, again, this morning. It counts as yesterday's post. It counts!!!

On The Mend

2010-01-26T20:24:00.000-08:00

Disaster averted. I honestly started thinking about all the horrible diseases I could have contracted. And I wasn't looking forward to that kind of doctor's visit. But I woke up this morning to sunshine and a less painful throat. BIG improvement over yesterday.

So motivated was I that sheets were changed, dirty clothes were laundered, floors were vacuumed. Hope was restored.

And then I heard from my boring date from Sunday. Asking me out again. Clockwork. I have an actual, honest-to-goodness excuse for not being able to meet him tomorrow night. Now to figure out my next move. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to hang out with him again, he's perfectly nice. But he suggested our second date be in his home. It's not that I'm worried about him trying anything, just about sending him the wrong message. As in, "I like you and want to hang out at your house.". Ugh.

2010-01-25T18:08:00.000-08:00

Posting only out of obligation. Nothing to report. Not feeling well. Again. Still. Ugh.

I really hate whining. Listening to it as well as doing it myself. But I feel super whiney. Why can't something go my way? Why can't anything be simple?

That's all I can dole out for now. Knowing how much actual suffering is happening out there in the world makes me feel extra pathetic for complaining.

2010-01-24T19:59:00.000-08:00

Four dates this last week with little potential. I wish I could take a hiatus, but I'm not interested in a break. I prefer to play the odds. If I keep this pace, or close to it, I'm bound to find someone I wouldn't mind seeing again, right? One that would also like to see me again?

As unromantic as it sounds, there is something to the idea of boyfriend shopping as a numbers game. The more you play, the better your chances are. And the playing is fun, for the most part.

So, I'll carry on like this for a while. Maybe until I get burned-out. Maybe until I find a better way to spend my time. Or maybe (!) until I actually find someone to stick with for a while. Crazy talk!

Open Letter To Potential Dates

2010-01-23T20:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Sirs,

My charm and charisma can only carry a conversation so far. I am very happy to do most of the talking, but I don't want it to seem like a one-woman show.

It's okay if you need me to ask most of the questions, but you really should try to come up with answers containing more than two words.

I understand you may feel a bit uncomfortable at first. That's not a big deal; we're strangers. But I am in no way intimidating and I might as well be spinning plates with all the effort I'm expending to put you at ease.

Finally, you are allowed to not be into me. If I'm not your cup of tea, I can deal with that; I'm not for everyone. But please, please don't say "I'll give you a call". We're both adults and we both know you're not going to give me a call. A simple "thank you and good night" will suffice.

Sincerely,

Most Likely Not Your Soulmate

B

2010-01-22T21:15:00.000-08:00

Damn. It's like he can sense it. When I'm starting to let go, all of the sudden I hear from him. If he weren't so wonderful, I'd call him cruel. Damn.

Tired

2010-01-22T19:14:00.000-08:00

This week felt very long. I was sick. I was waiting on boys to call me. I was not finding a job. All adding up to make extra long days.

There was the one very fun night. Repeatable? Remains to be seen. I can live with it being a stand-alone event (sounds so much better than "one night stand"), but ultimately, that's not what I'm after.

There was the fun evening I assumed would have at least a few follow-ups. I'm sort of not okay with the way things turned out, because it means either I'm a terrible judge of a situation or I'm not as wonderful and charming as I assumed myself to be. That man actually stopped in the middle of our conversation and told me he was "having a blast" and asked if I felt similarly. Then the brush-off. Oy. I'm too tired to try to make sense of THAT. But even with a good night's sleep, it will never make sense to me.

There was the guy who flaked on me tonight. Basically. He asked me out numerous times. I make plans, check train schedules. He flakes. J suggested he was in a terrible accident. I can only hope so.

I'm trying, here. All I can do is keep putting myself out there, stay positive and keep perfecting my eyeliner application. Not to mention the job applications...

Snooki Revisited

2010-01-21T19:25:00.000-08:00

Oh, my poor, little Snookers. Can't find a date and getting rejected by the boy on whom she's been crushing. (Make that SEVERAL boys.) Unlucky in love; I feel for her.

My current boy situation:

-blown off by a seemingly decent guy who seemed to like me.

-pursued by a man who is possibly inappropriate in several ways, but enjoying it.

-pursued by a man who is possibly too young for me and, for some reason, not enjoying it so much.

-appreciating the fun I had last night while realizing I may very likely never hear from my date again.

-readying myself for a date tomorrow night with a man who uses the word "basically" with alarming frequency. C says it's a deal breaker, but I'm gonna give him a go.

-crushing (still. always?) on B, although he could very well have forgotten I exist.

Sigh.

Mixed Drinks

2010-01-20T15:13:00.000-08:00

My date the other night, who I very much enjoyed getting to know, politely gave me the brush-off today. Why does this happen so often? The men I would like to see again don't call and the men I wish wouldn't call always do.

Are there crazy mixed messages being tossed around? I'm friendly, but I certainly don't pretend to be into someone I'm not. And I'm not stupid. You'd think I would sense disinterest. Is this all a case of wanting what we can't have? I really hope not, because I'm going in there again tonight, trying out yet another boy. And with what most likely is a sinus infection, branching out from my ear. Dayquil and vodka are a bad mix, right? Wish me luck.

2010-01-19T19:36:00.000-08:00

Someone I love very much decided to start a blog, partially (I like to think) inspired by mine. This particular blog is private, closed to anyone but the author. And I think it's a fantastic idea.

Writing down my thoughts and feelings has been good for me. Forcing myself to write down my thoughts and feelings everyday has been even better for me. It's made me stop and think about what's on my mind. The process of committing it to (virtual) paper serves as a way of getting that stuff that's IN my head, OUT of it. Even if no one were to read about that stuff, at least it takes a load off my mind.

That's why I'm glad this loved one of mine took the step s/he did. Nobody should live inside his or her head. Certainly not as much as I used to. Or as much as I think the newest star in the blogosphere sky does. So, welcome! And keep on bloggin'!

2010-01-18T19:27:00.000-08:00

Last month, C and I were at a party at our friend J's house and we met T, a man J had gone to school with years ago. C and I both liked T, found him cute and funny. As we inevitably do, we started asking questions. Okay, so maybe it was more of a grilling. But he had a clear interest in J and we wanted to know what was up with him.

It didn't take long to touch on a subject he was uncomfortable discussing, I believe the topic was his father. But we found more. He tried to laugh off his unease, but it was clear we were hitting nerves. At one point I looked at him, only half-jokingly and said, "T, let us KNOW you." T and C both laughed, but I kept my composure and repeated myself. I tried to explain to him what I'd been learning for myself, that the only way to connect with another person is to let that person know you. T was not ready for that particular advice, but I do hope he'll remember it.

I think some people get too invested in their privacy or trying to emit an air of mystery, thinking it will make them more intriguing. It might. But only to a point. Eventually, someone is going to look that person in the eye and say "let me KNOW you." If that person isn't willing to let him/herself be known, that someone is going to give up. But, hopefully, someday the someone will say those words and that person will want to be known.

Funk

2010-01-17T20:23:00.000-08:00

As in, the one I seem to be in right now. It would seem my new year's resolution has already been broken. I am NOT waking up with a positive attitude. Instead, I'm waking up with an ear infection. And a lousy mindset.

I need to get outside more often. I need to meet new people. I need a job. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to brush my teeth and go to bed.

To Do

2010-01-16T18:53:00.000-08:00

S & J are away for the weekend and D is busy with work and friends. I've gotten used to having people around and I'm feeling lonely. Even though I spend my weekdays by myself, I have found I look forward to having company each evening. I got the first sense of this when I was staying with C; we both agreed it was nice to have someone to come home to.

For so many years I'd lived alone and believed I enjoyed it. And I did, some of the time. I treasure privacy and quiet, perhaps from growing up in a busy, full house. So, maybe I've had enough alone time? That would mean I need to find someone willing to live with me. After I find a job and a way to pay for a place to live, that is. I'll start a list:

-job

-home

-publisher

-boy.

Quite a checklist.

Hey, It's A Post!

2010-01-15T19:15:00.000-08:00

I never used to have ethical dilemmas. Because everything was so black and white to me. What does it mean then, do you think, that I've started having a few?

Have I changed my ideas of right and wrong? Was I wrong then? Is it even a matter of right and wrong? Maybe I've just changed my mind?

I still believe in the golden rule and use it as my one, true commandment (shout out to Eddie Izzard), so does that mean I don't need to worry about any shades of grey I find myself seeing?

Snooki

2010-01-14T19:18:00.000-08:00

I really, really, really wish I didn't love The Jersey Shore as much as I clearly do. Don't misunderstand, I'm not ashamed to admit I like trash tv, but for some reason this train wreck captivates me like no other. I'm watching it this very minute and frankly, I'm not paying much attention to writing.

Normally, I get upset about the intelligence that seems lacking on most reality shows. As far as I can tell, no one at The Jersey Shore is intimidating their fellow shore dwellers with their smarts.

Uncalled for violence usually makes me cringe. So why was I waiting with bated breath for Snooki to get punched in the face?

I'm not attracted to juiced-up, tanned guidos, but I can't get enough of The Situation. I don't think the explanation is as simple as the old "train wreck" theory. Perhaps it's a combination of all those awful things that blend to create an unmissable televised event? Let's go with that.

Quiet, now! Paulie D is saying something undoubtably wise.

2010-01-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

A portion of my day was spent making a dinner for B's family and I was reminded of when I was a nanny and preparing dinner was one of the most enjoyable parts of my day. The chopping and shredding and measuring and stirring: it's not difficult work, but it requires consideration and care. And cooking truly is an art that involves every one of the senses. There're rules to follow, but room for creativity. Not to mention the tangible (and hopefully tasty) result. Even if it's not one a four year old will relish. At least she liked the dessert.

It's not as if I haven't cooked since my nanny days, but there was something about doing this for a family with children which made it different from my other recent forays into the kitchen. At one time, C was suggesting a career in the culinary arts for me. I've thought about this path, too, but in the end, I'm not a very adventurous eater and I just feel as if the passion is missing. Isn't cooking an activity requiring passion?

Maybe my old thoughts of preparing dinners for my family in a spacious kitchen while little ones bang on pots with wooden spoons at my feet haven't quite left me. But for now, I'm perfectly happy to do it for someone else's family. Especially one I love so much.

2010-01-12T20:46:00.000-08:00

Just got back from seeing Eddie Izzard with K (up from New York) (must explore why so many of my friends have a K or C initial)and her family. There really is something special about watching a person you know from one context in another. K and I hung out a bit in high school and hang out a bit now. We get dinner or go drinking, usually surrounded by friends. She's charming and quick and always has good stories to share.

Tonight, I got to hang out with her , along with her mother and brother. They're charming and quick and have good stories and I very much liked them. I suppose a person who didn't have such a lovely family wouldn't be so willing to hoist them unto friends, but sometimes one doesn't know one's own family isn't lovely.

I've always found that people who speak well of their families are, in general, people I like. There are a few exceptions, but I do get a bit worried when someone doesn't have anything positive to say about his/her kin. I've written plenty here about my own family and how fond I am of the people who comprise it, so I'll skip talking about them tonight for fear their heads will swell. And because I just made it under my deadline!

2010-01-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

What to do? What to do? A man told me he is in love with me and it feels a bit as if he thinks his claim is staked. While his declaration was a surprise to me, we have known each other for a while. I'm fond of him. We seem to talk easily with each other, about our families, our opposing political views. I find him attractive. He's generous. Did I mention he said he's in love with me?

And then there are the cons: the biggie-we live in different states. He smokes. We tend to piss each other off on a fairly regular basis. Did I mention the opposing political views? He says I'm pushing away from him, whether from fear or low interest. Both? Both.

As to the low interest, did I mention we live in different states? We're not going to live in the same place any time soon; this really makes things difficult. I have an idea of how a relationship should look and for me, it includes being in the same room with a man at least several times a week.

I can't up and move for someone with whom I don't have that tangible experience. I almost did that once and it would have been a disaster. It would be really nice to have learned a lesson from that. And I think I have. It really is difficult to conduct a long distance relationship when I know there are men nearby with whom I could be giving it a go. There's a balance I need to find for how much time and energy I can put into something that's so difficult to imagine happening.

The fear. I do have a fear of commitment. I do tend to push away when I sense interest and cling to the tiny scraps thrown my way from a man who no longer shows much interest at all. Not investing in someone means less chance of being hurt by that someone. Sad, but how my brain works. Sometimes I think I'm pushing this away because I'm afraid it could actually work. And then sometimes, as C pointed out, what I'm actually afraid of is not having ANYONE, so I keep things like this possibility alive because there's SOMETHING there, no matter how small or strained it may be.

L-word guy (a different P) is not going to like this post. But it's honest and as much thought as I can put into this for now.

2010-01-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

Leaving New York today hurt less than the last time. And not because I don't still love and miss it. Spending time with C and talking to M just confirmed how much I want to be back there. Maybe I'm just resigned to being away for awhile. Maybe I was relieved to make it onto the bus with 13 seconds to spare, even if it meant not being able to stop at the store for some chinese grocery items. And missing the no-pants-on-the-subway fun.

Then, at the exact moment I was stepping off the bus, hurrying to the train station to catch the commuter rail, I got a text from the L-word guy. (Happy, P?) That was the start of a stressful evening of arguing through texts and eventually over the phone. I need to figure out this thing. Soon.

Honestly, lying on C's sofa, laughing with him over trash tv and ice cream is the highlight of my year so far. Man, I love that man. Why can't it be this easy with a straight man?

2010-01-09T15:40:00.000-08:00

Remember everything I wrote yesterday? Forget it. After spending the better part of today in pajamas on C's sofa, drifting in and out of consciousness, a case can be made for the wonderful feeling of NOT having to make oneself presentable. But, the fun I had last night was worth the trouble.

Just being out in the city with friends is enough to make me happy. Even in the bordering-on-bitter cold, the energy of an unfamiliar neighborhood and a hidden little speakeasy under a nondescript spanish restaurant can excite me. Add a few friends, a few vodka&sodas and a cute boy and it's a real party.

Before the aforementioned boy and I left the party, I had a chance to talk with M. She's a wonderful woman I met last year when I crashed her boyfriend's birthday party. Both of them are fantastic people; the kind who make you feel at ease and interesting and an essential part of the conversation. Also got to hear about J's budding romance: proof one's life can look completely different from one week to the next. Dancing to Blondie and The Vapors was icing on the cake.

More fun to be had tonight; time moves too quickly for my taste sometimes.

Ablutions

2010-01-08T12:46:00.000-08:00

There was a time, not too long ago, when I was "going out" quite often. It was a busy, fun time and I always enjoyed the process of getting myself ready. Of course, if I was rushed or particularly nervous over WHO I was going out with, it wasn't a wholly pleasant experience. But I still liked the idea of washing up, of attempting to look my best, of presenting my best self.

As I began preparations this afternoon, I lamented the lack of occasions I've had lately which would warrant going to the trouble of leg-shaving and hair-curling. I suppose a lot of people believe it's too much effort, especially the effort expected of women. But I honestly take pleasure in getting ready for, well, what amounts to a date.

I suppose after a couple of drinks, I won't be too concerned about the color of my eyeliner or the smoothness of my legs, but I care about it now. It feels good to go through these painstaking efforts, because it makes ME feel good. I'm at my most confidant with some mascara on my curled lashes and an inch or two boost under my feet. I should try to make the effort a lot more often, just for myself. Even when there isn't a boy waiting. But I'm excited there'll be one waiting tonight.

2010-01-07T20:11:00.000-08:00

Here's what I'm looking forward to this weekend:

-Listening to a book on CD recommended by O. It came up in a discussion about marriage and wondering whether it would be a good idea to reevaluate the marriage contract every few years.

-Spending time with C.

-Celebrating K's birthday.

-Drunkenly making out with M.

-Hopefully, a dinner with N.

-Streets that will make me feel brand new and lights that will inspire (me).

-Having some stories to tell!

They Can't All Be Gems

2010-01-06T19:23:00.000-08:00

This whole day has been spent on my computer, getting very little done. Jobs were applied for, boys were flirted with, cousins were consulted, V was heard from (I won't be seeing him this weekend, either. Sigh.), new music was downloaded. I even got dressed before 10am. But I'm not feeling terribly inspired.

C (as well as K and the other C) think I need to start another blog, under a different name, where I can write about some things I don't feel comfortable discussing here. There have been times I've censored myself a bit, thinking about my youngest reader (yet another C). And I DO have a few things on my mind that I just don't want everyone reading.

So, this is the point I'm at right now. I've been proud of openness here. Anyone who knew me two years ago knows what an accomplishment this is for me. While my mother may not be comfortable with the level of sharing, I do think she appreciates how beneficial it's been for me. However, I'm beginning to come around to the notion of taking back a bit of my privacy. At least on some topics. Sharing (and shocking) is still too much fun for me.

2010-01-05T19:20:00.000-08:00

This entry has been on my mind for over a week now. So much so, I nearly forgot it wasn't yet written.

I woke up one morning, not so long ago, and the first thing i saw when my eyes opened was the small tattoo of a red apple on my wrist. And the first thought to pop into my head? I like it! Making it the first time in the five months since having that small, red apple tattooed on my wrist I've had that thought.

First of all, I wasn't drunk. I was dead sober and had planned for it, specifically for nearly three weeks, and in a more general sense, since I was 16. Maybe earlier. But I know for sure I wanted a tattoo at 16. It was a henna-ish sunburst I'd seen on the top of a model's foot in a magazine. I think it was Sassy. But I was afraid of the pain and very much concerned with what my mother and future children would think. Not to mention I was 16.

Over the years, the sunburst would be replaced several times in my mind. But the fear never left. During that time, my little sister got a tattoo. My nephew got a tattoo. My MOTHER got a tattoo. And still I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Until one hot night, last summer.

C and I were walking along St. Mark's Place, having come from dinner, I believe. As we passed one more seedy tattoo parlor, I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted and where. The only thing standing in my way was C. He told me I was crazy and made me promise to talk to friends of ours who'd already been tattooed. (C wouldn't think of marring his "pristine canvas".) After the initial disappointment wore off, I did as I was told and consulted M and K.

In the end, no matter how stupid he believed me to be, C accompanied me to the tattoo parlor, was very supportive and didn't call me "trash" until it was all over. He's good like that.

During the process, when there was pain, I didn't regret it. In the days that ensued, when there was scabbing and peeling, I didn't regret it. And even in all the months that came after, when people would ask me about it and I would tell the story, I didn't regret it. But I didn't like it.

There was a sense of pride, knowing I'd jumped in and done something a little crazy, if not so spontaneous. But most of the time when I caught a glimpse of that apple, I would cringe a little. Just a little, but enough. I wanted to love it. To be excited by it.

And finally, I am! And I think I even know what I learned from this one! As adaptable as I like to think I am, sometimes I need time to adjust to change. Even self-initiated change. I need to give change time to sink into my skin.

2010-01-04T18:18:00.001-08:00

Cousin O said it was mean for me to say what I did about my date, T, implying he might benefit from dating lessons. In my defense, T admitted upfront he was an awkward, clumsy dater. And if you need further reason to not think me too harsh, here it is:

During a drunken (high?) call very late Saturday night, T rattled on about how much fun he had with me and what a great gal I am ("gal" is my word, not his. I WOULD love to be called a "great gal" though, just in case anyone was wondering). It was all positive, even if it was under the influence, until he implied, in a quick-passing sentence that maybe I was the kind of girl who didn't need to be taken on a "proper" date.

I called him on it. Pointed out he'd just insulted me. Also pointed out I WAS NOT that kind of girl. Not for him, anyway. He began saying more complimentary things, but I wasn't done being upset. When I reminded him, he apologized and then seemed to not even remember the offense. That's when I decided not to hold anything he'd said against him, hung up and sent off an email, telling him just that. And adding a bit more about me being able to decide, from date to date, exactly what kind of girl I'll be. Haven't heard from him since. What have I learned from this? Seriously, I'm asking.

On to bigger and better. And I mean that in every sense of the words.

My PSA for the day: If you wish to make an hour last really, really long, watch The Secret Life of the American Teenager. Yikes. (that's for you, S, D, M and K)

EVery Day?

2010-01-03T16:12:00.000-08:00

Lots of snow in Massachusetts and it's had me fairly housebound for the weekend. Can I piece together a compelling post about shoveling and Yahtzee!? I won, if that makes a difference. Also, I got a new shovel for Christmas, so that's pretty exciting.

I went clothes shopping a few days ago; that was new. Full disclosure: when I was in Los Angeles, I bought a dress, but I was just tagging along with my friend R and it was on supersale and I was looking ahead to job interviews. And it was the type of dress I never pictured myself in and it looked decent in the dressing room mirror. Fairly impossible to pass up.

But this trip was premeditated. My niece, D and I stopped at the store after her doctor's appointment; I was looking for a cute top for my date the next day, and using a gift certificate I'd been given. Cute top was found (and worn on date), along with a sweater.

So, what's my point? Hmmmmm. Well, it was kind of a big deal to me, to purposely go out looking to acquire new things. Having more stuff makes me worried I won't be able to pick up and go at a moment's notice. Mind you, I'm not going anywhere right this moment, but I like knowing I can. But I realize I need to be practical and have more than 3 outfits should I ever actually get a job.

Now, if one of these write-at-home-in-your-pajamas type of jobs comes my way, I'll go back to feeling guilty about the new clothes. Or not. A girl DOES need cute tops if she's to have a date every so often. Please, let me have a date every so often!

Date update tomorrow...

Never Cross A Girl With A Blog

2010-01-02T16:43:00.000-08:00

I finally heard from the "no action" guy last night. It just so happened I was on a date. When I checked my texts while my date was in the restroom, V's name popped up with an apology. Two weeks late. What does it say about me that I'm willing to overlook his quirks in order to see him again? Can "inconsiderate" be considered a quirk? Let's say, for now, that it can.

My new experience for the day was fogging up the window of T's car while it sat in the driveway of my sister's home. That doesn't really happen in Manhattan. But it did with V. Of course, it was in HIS car which would be double-parked outside my building. My first date with V was a revelation. I'm not going to recount the whole story here, because I've already written about it in another forum. Will it be enough to say that date became the stick by which I measure all others?

This is a guy who knows how to date. Which of course must mean he does plenty of it. That's okay. I don't want to marry him. But I would love for him to teach a class or something. I have a list of guys I'd like to enroll. I am NOT including last night's guy on that list. Yet. And not only because I made the mistake of giving him this url.

Newness

2010-01-01T08:34:00.000-08:00

I remember cutting confetti out of scrap paper and getting a sip of cheap champagne on New Year's Eve when I was a child. There were a few scattered years I spent with friends, at small parties or out in the city. And for the last decade, I celebrated in a variety of hotel rooms with crowns and horns I'd packed in my suitcase. Of course resolutions were made, but I can't remember most of them and I certainly can't remember keeping any of them.

This year, I was with family again: talking, playing games, eating chinese food and sneaking away from the party to phone a boy. It was familiar (they're my family, after all) and strange at the same time. When last I was with this crowd, most of the kids hadn't even reached teenagerhood, some of them hadn't been born. We reminisced about that night, the cusp of a new century, which I spent in my sister's basement, coaxing kids into creating a play to perform for their parents. They were an unwieldy crowd hyped up on soda and cookies, but we managed to put on quite a show.

Last night, several of them were joined by a boy/girlfriend and could legally toast the stroke of midnight. Most of the older ones didn't even stick around, having better offers from friends. It's exciting, watching these people I knew as babies at the beginning of their adulthood and wondering what this year holds in store for them.

Speaking of NEW, yesterday, before the festivities I visited B in the hospital in order to see her day old baby boy. He's tiny and sweet and wrinkly and gorgeous. I held him and checked out his fingers and toes and stared into his face. There's no denying the hope a newborn baby can inspire. The idea of a whole new life; oh! the possibilities! She'll be bringing him home today and it's impossible not to think of the excitement of starting this new year as a bigger, happier family. Shouldn't every new year foster such hope of a fresh start?

And that's the thought I'm going to try to keep for the day, and for the year. My resolution for 2010 is to work at taking advantage of fresh starts. I've always wanted to be the type of person who wakes up in the morning with wide eyes and an optimistic attitude. I have not been that person. But everyday SHOULD bring new hope. There are infinite directions in which one's day can go; why not start each with a positive frame of mind?

Here's hoping this resolution sticks. Cheers!

Resolution

2009-12-30T12:58:00.000-08:00

Here's my promise: A new post everyday of January. Credit for the idea goes to wifemother .

Here's hoping I can do as bang up a job as she did in November; I'll settle for coming close.

Day 4 With No Voice

2009-12-22T08:54:00.000-08:00

Still speechless. Still sad. Maybe this will start to become comical? I could use some comedy.

2009-12-21T21:01:00.000-08:00

My voice is gone. I've been croaking and whispering and making all sorts of sick animal noises for three days now. Perfect time to write, right? But all I find myself doing is feeling miserable and frustrated when no one understands what I'm saying.

C accused me of being extra needy today and I pled guilty. My take on the situation? My extra neediness requires extra attention. Would it really make me feel better if someone was doling it out to me? I'd like to find out.

I'm well aware of how whiney and exhausting I can be when I set my mind to it. And it seems that's exactly what I've chosen to do. Over the past many (too many) years, any illness I contracted, I suffered through alone. I never liked it, but it never seemed like something I could change. Now I know I can. I just need to find a volunteer. Some day, some one is gonna like me enough to want to take care of my sick self.

SATC and The L Word

2009-12-15T21:24:00.000-08:00

Two very surprising things happened this past weekend in New York:

1) When I went looking for action from a man I considered a reliable source, I was denied.

2) When I wasn't looking for anything, a man told me he is in love with me.

I thought it would take me a while to get over 1, but 2 is providing quite a distraction. Lots of processing taking place over here in my head.

Bad, Bad Blogger

2009-12-10T22:18:00.000-08:00

In a few hours I'll be on my way to New York City for a visit and my excitement in palpable. (that's for you, C) From Texas I traveled to California and visited wonderful friends and enjoyed spectacular weather and I promise to (eventually) write more about the last couple of weeks. But for the moment, all I can think about is going HOME!

These three months have gone by so quickly, as I've mentioned to anyone willing to listen lately. And then, when I really stop to think about it, it seems as if I've been gone so long. I realize three months isn't exactly an eternity, but it's a season! It's kids who've grown an inch and lost a couple of teeth. It's friends who've had an entire relationship begin and end. It's a park that's gone from autumnal splendor to wintry nakedness. It's many, many moments I'll never know about and can never reenact. Not that I'd want to. The many, many moments I lived on the road provided me a lot of insight, a whole bunch of fun and some desperately needed closeness with loved ones. I'm not sorry I left, but I'm more than thrilled to be returning!

And I'm not exactly done with the adventure. I still have that pesky "what will I do with my life?" question to answer.

Degree of Difficulty

2009-12-01T20:51:00.000-08:00

Nineteen years ago, when my family moved to Dallas (dragging me with them, kicking and screaming) I'd made up my mind to not like the place. In my teenageriness, I'm pretty sure I was justified. It was the middle of my junior year, a few weeks before my 17th birthday. I'd started figuring out how to loosen up a bit and have some fun and then WHAM! TEXAS! My misery was no secret, either; I didn't exactly keep it to myself.

Just about everyone I tell about this move comments on how tough it must have been for me. Even my parents, years later, confessed maybe they'd made the wrong choice, not letting me stay behind to graduate with my friends. At the time, though, they'd explained to me the importance of staying together as a family. In those days, it was down to just 4 of us, my older sisters having left home years before. My parents told me they just didn't think it was right to leave me behind. I've long since come to understand it was the difficulty I had living in Texas that spurred me on to move to New York. It also stunted my social and emotional growth for a long while, but I think it all comes out even in the end.

If I'd've* stayed where I was comfortable I'm really not sure I would have left that comfort. And I'd dreamed of living in New York City since my first day trip at 8 years old. I made that dream happen. And then I got comfortable in New York City.

Sometimes comfort will seem like happiness. It isn't. It's having an apartment and a job and knowing both of those things will be there tomorrow. Those are nice things and I'm almost positive I'll want those things again someday. But those things aren't enough. What's making me happy lately is knowing there are people in the world who really know me. Because they want to and because I'm letting them. Maybe the only way I know how to get some change going in my life is to make a big move.

On a cold, rainy day like today, the comfort of a cozy, warm bed is welcome and appreciated. But for my life, I prefer some challenges, some difficulty. I stopped doing Monday crossword puzzles because I knew I'd be able to finish them. Sometimes I can't finish a Thursday, but I enjoy trying. My life right now is a Wednesday; it's gonna be tough and it may take a while, but I have the confidence I need to make it through.

*Even if it's not grammatically correct, the double contraction is one of my most favorite things in the world. I get so tickled when I can squeeze one in! See? It really is the little things!

Thankful in Texas

2009-11-25T20:21:00.000-08:00

There are a few more tales from Illinois, but since all this gratitude is flying around, I figured I would get caught up in the spirit of Thanksgiving.

If you've been reading, you know I've spent a lot of time with various family members in the past 11 weeks. When I set out on this journey, it was with the knowledge that I had a bunch of people willing to welcome me into their homes. I suppose I take that knowledge for granted, because I've always had it.

My family is large and I happen to like just about everyone in it. The only times I realize how lucky I am is when I hear a friend talk about not being able to ask a parent for assistance. I would never say it was easy to go to my parents for a loan, but I knew I COULD and I also knew they would do what they could to help. And they did. Even threw in extra, in case I had "underestimated". They're always thinking practically, which makes it easier for me to be a little flakey right now. One of my friends sincerely doesn't feel wanted or cared for by his parents and it took me a very long time to just accept his word on the matter. I guess because it was so unimaginable to me.

All three of my sisters and the brothers-in-law who are matched to them are people with whom I enjoy spending time. I may have more in common with some, but each of them are interesting and generous and make me cry at the thought of all the love I feel for them. T & C probably have the least in common with me, which only makes a visit with them more exotic. They've lived in places I'll probably never see and done work I know I'll never do, all in service of this country and I couldn't be prouder. A HUGE amount of thankfulness for their safe return from a combined 4(!) tours of duty. S & J's hospitality was (and will be again, I'm sure) outstanding. And they gave me a nephew, a niece and another huge branch of extended family I'm glad to know, and feel a part of. LB & B welcomed me and took me to The Cockroach Museum. They also share my sense of humour and I will will ALWAYS be grateful for that.

My grandpa is alive and driving and doing pretty darn well. Our relationship is a bit strained at the moment and may continue to be, but I love him and think about him daily. I have aunts and uncles I enjoy visiting. My Aunt J is a super neat lady and I wish I saw more of her. I have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to cousins. I'm focusing on a few, but only because I've been able to spend more time with them recently. O has become a nearly daily touchstone for me and I'm excited to be interacting with him on a (mostly) adult level. I'm glad he's forgiven me for being mean to him and I appreciate what a good listener he is. M is fun and funny and gives me a different perspective on a variety of topics. It's cool how different our lives are and how much we can still find to talk about. Those two weeks I spent with A, as I've previously mentioned, went by so quickly. She's a sweetheart and the main reason I'm thankful for unlimited texting. (Flirting with boys is a close second.)

Then there are my friends, my created family. I've got a whole passel of them all over the country and I'm grateful to the ones who've been around a long time for their loyalty and patience, the ones who are newer for embracing me, and to facebook for the ones who've resurfaced.

The C family stood in for my biological family on many occasions and I'm thankful to have been a part of their family for so long. My friend C (the other one) has been my main ass-kicker for many years and I appreciate her bluntness and her advice; it hasn't missed yet. Which leaves C. He's housed me as if I were a family member and he bought me drinks as if he were hoping to get lucky. Thank goodness I finally opened myself up and thank even more goodness he noticed.

Were you paying attention? Do you realize all my "thankful for"s are people? They're all I've got right now. And I've never been happier.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Insight In Illinois

2009-11-23T20:23:00.000-08:00

On the occasion of my Aunt N's birthday, several relatives and I visited her at her new home (the first time for me), complete with a horse pasture. N, along with Uncle D, bought this teeny, tiny house on stilts near a river, with a bunch of land. Add a fence and 4 horses and it's turned into a ranch. Without a barn. When I stopped by, Uncle D was in the process of building the stalls, as well as a large guest house. He pointed out where everything would be; a wall here, a fireplace over there. His creativity and construction skills have been proven time and again. There will no doubt be a wonderful barn and guest house in that space.

Later, back in her teeny, tiny house, Aunt N described the plans for expanding it. Another big project. And all I could think of was that I couldn't picture any of it. Just seemed like an awfully big undertaking. I had a similar experience when visiting my cousin S. She lives in a big, old house on a tree-lined street. The visit was great. I got to meet her new baby and see a couple of her other kids when I dropped in for dinner. When I mentioned this to O, he asked "isn't the house beautiful?" My first reaction was, "it's a disaster!" I could tell he was shocked. That's because he (as well as S) can imagine how gorgeous it would be when the renovations are finished. I saw stacks of boxes and an unfinished staircase.

The more I reflected on these two visits, I realized this lack of vision has been pervasive throughout my life. When my family moved from one state to another, my parents often chose a house with great "potential". I wanted a furnished house with the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafting through every room. My parents were always right; they picked the best houses for our family. And over the years and lots of household projects, each homes' potential was realized. Only when one of our homes had reached this "finished" state, was I able to see what my parents had been talking about all along. Pondering all of this led me to the following:

For a while now, I've been telling people a story about how I came to be working on the book project I should probably be working on right this very minute. The tale goes something like this: After years of trying to produce the next Great American Novel (and failing, time and time again),nearly two years ago, I stumbled into a small writing assignment. Really, just a request from an old friend. And it was work outside my comfort range as well. I struggled with the writing. As in got stomach aches and cried over the writing. But. I FINISHED the writing, work for which I was genuinely proud of myself.

Around the same time, another friend offered me another small writing assignment. This new work was much simpler, but fairly boring. Again, I FINISHED the writing and handed in quite a decent article. I believe this was the day I had an epiphany about my creativity. It was: I don't have much. Certainly not enough to make up a novel out of my head. I couldn't even figure out how to fictionalize my own experiences. And instead of feeling depressed with this realization, I felt free. It was a great relief to no longer feel as if I had to live up to an expectation which was apparently out of my reach.

Coming to terms with my limits enabled me to think about how I could apply my desire to write to a project I might actually be able to finish. Even in the early stages of the project, I could imagine the end. Knowing I was capable of completing something, and doing it well, to boot, was a new feeling for me. As I get closer to finishing, I'm becoming a little afraid. What will I do next? I'm not able to picture what my life will be like when I'm done. Will I think of a new project? Maybe I'll go in an entirely new direction? No way for me to tell; I'm just not that creative.

Thanks, O

2009-11-19T22:47:00.001-08:00

So much for contentment; it didn't last long. Does it ever? Should it? There are more Illinois tales to tell, but I have something else on my mind today.

Lots of people have asked me if I miss my apartment and the stuff that filled it. I can honestly answer "no". And it feels really good to be able to say that. Even though the homesick pangs get stronger and closer together as the days go by, they are for the PEOPLE and the ENERGY of NYC, not the books or sofa to which I can no longer lay claim.

Now I'm going to tell a story about a trip to The Container Store, but stick with me; it'll come together. My sister needed to pick up something at the aforementioned organization emporium, so we stopped in after dinner last night. I clearly recall a trip I took to a branch of this store in Manhattan around the same time last year. It was a rainy day and I spent a couple of hours making sure to walk down every aisle, so as not to miss anything. And I also put many things in my basket: rolls of beautiful wrapping paper, irresistible "stocking stuffer" items, a mini vacuum for keyboards, etc.

Just as clear in my mind is the day I cleared out the drawers and closet of my apartment, in the preparation of leaving, and wondered what to do with all of these things. I had enough wrapping paper for the next 3 Christmases, which meant I most likely hadn't needed those rolls I picked up at TCS. The vacuum hadn't been used once; my laptop's keyboard remains kinda dusty to this day. Some of these things I passed on to others, hoping they will find some usefulness. Some of it I didn't mind tossing right in the trash. I was angry at myself for wasting money I didn't have to waste and for taking up space I didn't have to spare in my home.

So, during this visit to TCS last night, I noticed right off the bat how familiar everything was. The whole holiday set-up, the bins of cute and clever and stocking-worthy items. I also noticed that while I enjoyed browsing through every aisle just like last year, I didn't feel the same compulsion to HAVE those things which were displayed on the shelves. And not only because I have no place to put them. I really don't desire things in the same way I once did.

This is all good, right? I think so, too. But I think it's lame that I do. I don't want to feel a sense of pride or accomplishment for not wanting what is, essentially, useless crap. I also don't want to feel the need to punish myself should I find myself wanting a bit of that crap, whether it's tomorrow or a year from now. I'm not interested in living like a monk, just in being more mindful of how I spend my money and how I live in my space. I just want to feel at peace with my decisions; no judgements, of either the positive or negative variety.

I have this thought that since I'm working really hard to stop beating myself up for making mistakes, I also shouldn't be giving myself mental high-fives for doing some trivial little thing like not wanting things I can't afford or fit in my backpack. When I shared these feeling with cousin O earlier today, he told me he couldn't see anything wrong with doling out a little self-praise once in a while. In most cases, I'd say I'm right. In most cases, O would probably say I'm right. But in THIS case, I sorta want him to be right. Because I could use the positive reinforcement. This ontheroad thing might be starting to get to me. Just a little bit.

Contentment

2009-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

Once ensconced in cousin A's home, I didn't feel the need to leave for two weeks. Not only am I crazy about her, but we seemed to get into a rhythm which suited us both. I even believed her when she said she would miss me: I know I've already been missing her.

A is everyone's favorite person and it used to drive me nuts because I'd always imagined myself as America's Sweetheart. Never mind that I'm not kind (or tall) enough, I felt it was my rightful title and A was usurping it. Eventually, I came to terms with my lack of kindness (and height) and realized that since I think the world of her, it was natural for the rest of the world to do the same. In one of my kinder moves, ever since she told me of her pregnancy (with her now one year old, N), I even decided to stop spreading nasty, false rumours about her.

While N is as charming as can be, those days I spent hanging out with her only cemented my feelings of being very happy to NOT have a similar responsibility. A is a wonderful mother and from what I saw, enjoying every moment with her baby. Even planning for more. Maybe it's been a while since I've spent much time around small children and I'm just out of practice. Maybe the idea of putting in as much effort as I see A doing is exhausting to me. Maybe I really am over my baby fever. Whatever the reason, I was once again surprised to find myself in the "love them then leave them" category.

Not only have I given up my dreams of being adored by all, I've given up the idea of myself as Super Mom. I'm not sad about these lost titles, just sad to have wasted so many years thinking I needed them to be applied to me. It's a good feeling to no longer yearn for something that may never happen. And an even better feeling to be satisfied with knowing that while I'm adored by way less than everybody, they're the right bodies.

It's About Time

2009-11-15T22:27:00.000-08:00

Why do I suck so badly at updating this blog/travelog? There's plenty to write about and I even catch myself composing sentences in my head. Often. But I just don't take the time to type them out into a cohesive post here. When I do get the chance to commune with my computer, I'm usually catching up with a friend or getting my daily dose of news from www.dlisted.com . But since scads of my followers (read: my sister) have been clamoring for more from me, here goes:

The Top 16 Most Wonderful Things About A Bus/Train Trip From

Yarmouth, Nova Scotia To Chicago, Illinois

16. Getting an entire bus to myself for the first 5 hour ride to Halifax in which I could sleep and revel in fond memories of my final night and morning with P.

15. Truly beautiful scenery throughout Nova Scotia, including a portion of the trip during which I was literally heading INto the sunRISE. Seemed pretty symbolic of my new beginning. You do get it, don't you? Also, a town called Mahone, where I decided I could definitely live. Until the next 45 hours made it clearer than ever that I want to have easy access to a major airport.

14. Nearing the city of Halifax and witnessing population density more along the lines of my comfort level. And, lame as it is, seeing a Starbucks. I don't even drink coffee, but it made me happy none the less.

13. Listening to Hare Krishna teenagers explain their philosophies to strangers and then ask for a donation for the "free" books (read: pamphlets) they've just distributed. Also, smelling the curry they'd packed for the overnight journey. For real.

12. A bus driver who acted as tour guide and reminded me of the scary robot/almost Buffy's stepdad played by John Ritter: creepily cheerful and wholesome with an undercurrent of menace.

11. The few minutes of internet connection I was able to get at various stops along the way.

10. Wearing no watch, I honestly can't say how much sleep I was getting. I know I woke up a lot, but I also fell asleep a lot. I could fool myself into thinking I'd gotten plenty of rest. Not for long, mind you, but still.

9. Seeing the first snow of the season sometime in the middle of the night, somewhere in Quebec, stopped at some no-name motel reminiscent of the settings of several horror films, for what the new driver promised would be "a good lunch". Never should have doubted him. Or the motel restaurant named "restaurant". (Noncapitalization intended.)

8. Changing clothes and brushing my teeth in the Montreal bus terminal at 6am. And getting myself from said terminal to the train station via subway (le Metro), using my high school French.

7. The croissant, fruit and free wifi I enjoyed in the Gare Centrale, waiting for my train.

6. The suddenly luxurious-seeming accommodations of Amtrak Coach Class.

5. Crossing the border and turning my phone back on after 17 days.

4. A walk around the surprisingly charming Schenectady, NY. And the fish & chips and beer I devoured in the pub next door to the quite uncharming train station.

3. Not being beheaded by the crazy man sitting across the aisle from me on the ultra luxurious train (foot rests!), ranting to himself for much of the ride. And him disembarking in Cleveland, leaving me with several hours of peace and quiet.

2. The long shower in cousin E's apartment which washed away 2 days of grime and desperation.

1. Lying flat for the first time in 63 hours under a down comforter on the futon in cousin A's guest room.

And the dream

2009-11-04T21:36:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago, as I was reading the NYTimes, I came across a piece written by some guy about his recurring dream. He perfectly described some of my favorite dreams with what I've since learned is a very common theme.

The gist is that I open some closet door and discover a whole new room I never knew existed in my home. It is always large and never furnished. Just a big, empty room. Sometimes it's an entire wing. The dream has taken place in my apartment, but most often in a place I don't recognize; I just KNOW it's home. I loved these dreams for obvious reasons: the pleasant surprise, the clean slate, the possibilities, the upgrade in square footage. Of course, there was always the let down of awakening to realize no matter how hard I searched, I was never going to find more space in my place, but in my mind, those moments of discovery outshine the reality hits.

The reason I bring this up? Last week, in some 20 minute chunk of time I managed to sleep on a 15 hour train ride, the dream came to me once again, with a twist. This time, as I removed my backpack and placed it on the floor, I saw something new; a feature which had escaped my notice until that very moment. My best guess, in my fuzzy recollection, is that the feature was some sort of bedroll that hooked onto the front of the pack.

These are 2 possible interpretations I've managed to come up with:
1) I really do consider that backpack my home. It's true I haven't missed my apartment or anything I gave away. Not for a second. And I have been more or less living out of it for a few months now.
2) I really, really, really needed to lie down and get some sleep. As I do now. Thank goodness I'm not on a train tonight.

2009-11-04T21:21:00.000-08:00

Once again I find myself falling behind in my travel-logging. But maybe I just need to let go of the idea that I have to keep a linear thread going here. I WILL write about my long-ass bus ride and the visit to my grandmother's grave, but right now, I feel like writing about this.

My cousin A and I had a long talk tonight about something I feel very comfortable sharing with friends, and frankly, sometimes virtual strangers. And yet it is so difficult to discuss with family members. So difficult, in fact, that I don't. This has to change and I feel I'm working towards that end, but I seem to have hit a bump in the road.

I understand what the bump means, mainly because I've run into so many before. The bumps mean I'm close to figuring out something big. For years, I was stopped behind one particularly bumpy bump; eventually, I just turned my back on it. Damn thing never left, no matter how long I ignored it. So I turned myself around and started climbing over it. I've handled several since then, some bigger than others. This current bump is a doozy. But it can be traversed. Good thing too, because I know there are plenty more waiting for me up ahead.

All Good, Pretend Things Must End

2009-10-29T05:21:00.000-07:00

The second bump in the road of fake marital bliss happened pretty much the same way the first did and ended with me, in a snit, on the sofa again. This time, P was in less of a hurry to apologize. And I was in less of a forgiving mood. I started talking about planning my exit; he didn't stop me. I began to wonder what was wrong with me; I couldn't even be in a two week relationship? For a while, I'd been pretty sure I was bad at maintaining anything long term, but now I was learning I can't even do a fling right. What exactly does that leave for me?

The second "fight" blew over and we continued to enjoy each other's company, but I also continued to think of my next destination. Getting out of Yarmouth, post-ferry crossing season, is much harder than I'd imagine. Especially since I had much less money than I would have imagined at this point in my adventure. When I first started thinking of this journey, I had a savings goal in mind and planned my original departure for a time when I figured I'd have that specific amount saved. I ended up not making as much as I'd planned and therefore, not saving as much as I'd have liked. When I left New York with much less than I'd assumed I'd have, knowing I still had credit card debt to pay off, if not any other monthly bills, I had already started calculating in my head how I would have to change some of my plans. And how I would eventually have to ask my parents for some help. It hasn't happened yet, but it's coming soon. And I had counted on being fine until the end of the year. I'd also counted on not having to take a loan from my parents at age 35. So, with my budget in mind, I pieced together a bus/train trip to Chicago (and more free lodging!) that would last 50 hours. More on that later.

Besides the fact that I would be a terrible wife, I learned something else from my time with P. Well, really with his niece. When his great-aunt died, I volunteered to babysit while the family attended the funeral. The service was far away and they would be gone for the better part of the day. This particular one year old is a lovely little girl, very good natured. And from our previous time together, she'd already decided she liked me more than her uncle. I have a way with kids; I always have. And I've always been crazy about children, especially babies. This has had me convinced for most of my life that I want children of my own. Not to mention a strong case of baby fever I'd been suffering from for over a year, brought on, I assume by my needy biological clock and my dwindling supply of good eggs.

The six weeks between my leaving NYC and this day of babysitting were the first extended period of time in a LONG time (I'm talking decades) in which I was only taking care of myself, thinking of myself. I guess I caught a new kind of fever in those six weeks, because as sweet as this toddler was, I realized I didn't want the responsibility. I'd caught freedom fever! Not once had I viewed the caring for others as a burden; it was just what I did, what I knew how to do really well. But getting a taste of what C and I have now named "Time for Amy" (a spin on our favorite catalogue, "Time for Me"), made me think it isn't so bad to just have myself to look after. And I need plenty of looking after. Maybe the next part of my life will see me figuring out some of the stuff I've been neglecting for a while. And I'm not just talking the credit card debt.

The Honeymoon Ends

2009-10-29T00:31:00.000-07:00

And I suppose it had to at some point. Although I know some that have gone on for over a decade, pretend marriages can only last for so long. As in most cases, it was me who started the descent. At the end of one of my fabulous dinners, P commented, "I'm really gonna miss these dinners when you're gone." So this, what I suppose would be a compliment to any sane person, had a two pronged annoyance effect on me. For starters, I heard "when you leave" as "you're going soon, right?". Secondly, I didn't want him to miss my cooking; I wanted him to miss ME. Right away I let him know I was annoyed, but as he's not a crazy girl, I'm sure he was confused as to why.

Later, in bed, when P professed extreme exhaustion as the reason I wouldn't be seeing any action, I flipped. I grabbed my book and went to sleep on the sofa. He may have protested for a second or two, but he was asleep before I'd finished a page. What's REALLY crazy, is that this is progress for me. I used to just pretend everything was fine, never expressing my anger or hurt feelings. At least I wasn't being passive aggressive! In the morning, he left without a word and I sprang off the sofa the second the door closed, rushing to the computer to text him a snotty message. He sent back an apology and I climbed into bed to sleep off my pissiness. By the time evening rolled around, I was over being upset and told him so, just so he wouldn't be afraid to return to his own home. We made up properly. Until the same thing happened again.

Playing House

2009-10-29T00:29:00.000-07:00

Lots of innuendos had been flung around about sleeping arrangements in P's home, but when bed time came around, there was no discussion, we just climbed into his bed. That was the beginning of my Canadian marriage. Due to an eye infection, I even wore my glasses all day long, something I'd never done with any other man. P insisted it was no big deal, but I never quite got over hating wearing them. And not only because my prescription is several years old.

Each day played out something like this:

P would wake up, get dressed, kiss me goodbye and head off to build things, while I lounged in bed and snoozed for another hour or so. When I got up, I headed to my laptop and spent most of the morning chatting with friends and reading trashy blogs. Or doing some actual writing. Take your pick. After noon, I'd take a shower and walk to the grocery store with a meal plan in my head. The weather was cooperative for most of my time in Yarmouth, so I enjoyed the long walk in the sunny, chilly air. Once home, I would sit and read for a bit, waiting for P's arrival home. I didn't greet him at the door with a martini and slippers, but I think he usually enjoyed my welcome. He'd tell me about his day, I'd tell him who I'd heard from and how much (or little) I'd gotten done. While he showered, I'd get dinner started. Most of the time, I was making something P'd never made himself and he would watch and ask me questions in order for him to duplicate the recipe in the future.* For the first few days, he told me he hated that I did the dishes, because I was supposed to be the guest. But after I told him I liked doing them because it made me feel useful, he dropped the guilt. I did a LOT of dishes during my stay. Next, we'd watch a television program or movie and head to bed. It was a pleasant rhythm to get into and I liked that I still had my alone time during the day, but an assured "date" every evening. This married thing seemed like a pretty good deal. For a couple of nights, we even had a little family thing happening, as we watched his one-year old niece. Of course, THIS married with children thing had the benefit of being temporary, pretend.

Over the weekend, P's mom invited us to come spend the night in her home, in what she termed "the best kept secret in Nova Scotia", the town of Barrington. I cannot remember the last time I met a guy's parents. I believe I was still in college. And now we were sleeping under his mom and stepfather's roof! And fooling around in his sister's bed! We spent all day Saturday driving along the southern coast, seeing ship builders and lobster boats and little shacks on the beach. I continually pointed to different houses, exclaiming, "I want to live in that one!" so as to unnerve him, thinking I wanted to make our "marriage" a permanent situation. Teasing boys is fun! Teasing boys about having to be married to you is SUPERfun!

*In the interest of fairness, I didn't do all the cooking. P cooked delicious grilled things for me on several occasions.

Virtual Friends

2009-10-28T13:57:00.000-07:00

By the time I returned to the hotel, I was exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. I started to become very anxious about visiting P. We'd been in correspondence for over a year and speaking via Skype and webcams everyday during the few weeks leading up to my visit. There was a moment that passed between us a week or so before my visit when I looked into my cam and said "I'm trusting you." And I felt as though he knew me well enough to understand what I meant. Not only was I trusting in him to NOT be an axe murderer, but trusting him to take care of me. It's been a long standing fantasy of mine to take all of myself, the fears and joys and memories and neuroses and my heart and soul and just mush them up into a ball and throw them into someone's lap, saying "here, this is yours now, you take care of it". And I don't mean a professional. And not THAT kind of professional, either. I just kind of want to sit back and TRUST that the person with the lap will be gentle and do right by me. I came close once; I had me all bundled up, but I stopped short of tossing it to him. Turned out to be a wise choice, but it made me think about the other laps I passed on that maybe COULD/WOULD have handled me. (Oy, lap metaphor starting to sound dirty.) All of this is NOT what I was doing with P; he was just getting a small piece, and for a limited time, but it still required a leap of faith on my part and I wanted him to fully acknowledge and appreciate that. He did. Even if it did freak him out a bit.

My jokes about missing the boat in the morning (last one 'til Spring, remember!) having gotten old, P and I ended our final pre-visit chat and I attempted a few hours of sleep. I was up to see the sunrise, with plenty of time to have the hotel shuttle take me to the ferry terminal. The "Cat" ferry is a huge boat with 4 different screening areas showing movies and several rows of slot machines. As I walked on board, I asked one of the crew members to show me the quietest spot and was directed to a corner in the back (aft?). A dose of Dramamine and I was good to go. And I slept for a fair amount of the five and a half (!) hour ride. Occasionally, I was awakened by 3 older gentlemen discussing the 4th in their party and what they could do to get him to open up more. These were some course-looking and at times -sounding men and I was getting a kick out of hearing them psychoanalyze their friend. With Canadian accents. As we were disembarking in Yarmouth, the men asked me about my backpack and my plans. When I told them I was carrying everything I own on my back, they didn't quite believe me. No one ever does.

By the time I walked down the long ramp from the ferry and into the customs line in the terminal, most of my anxiety was gone. Whatever was about to happen was inevitable, no turning back. I could see the doors to the waiting area from my place in the slow-moving customs line and started a new worry: what if P thinks I missed the boat, after all? I was determined to be cool about the whole situation, so I started up a chat with the couple behind me and stopped thinking about "what-ifs".

When it was finally my turn to get my passport stamped, I learned Canadians are not all as friendly as they seem on TV. Since I didn't have a return trip booked, the customs agent held me in suspicion. She didn't like my answer of "just wingin' it, ma'am". The thought of staying in Canada forever and starting a whole new life HAD crossed my mind, but only briefly and there was no way SHE could have known that! My highly suspect self was then shown to the immigrations room, where I waited with a few other deadbeat border-crossers. No joke! The ferry was held and one of them was sent back on it! I only had to answer questions like, "so, you're visiting this guy you don't really know; you're staying with him?" and "how much money do you have access to right now?". In answer to the first I just blushed and had to cave and text P to ask his address. To the second, I lied, feeling too embarrassed to admit just how little money I have. Plus, I assumed they wanted to ensure I had plenty enough to not need to search for a job, robbing a decent Canadian of her employment. Eventually, I was allowed to leave the terminal, but that immigration officer now knows more about me than many of my relatives.

After a couple of awkward hugs and kisses, P mercifully offered to carry my backpack for the walk through town, to his home. I found it easy to talk to him and felt comfortable right away; I'm not sure he felt the same. He kept mentioning what a small town Yarmouth is, how there's not much to see. People do this. I'm not sure if it's because they know I'm used to Manhattan or because they think I'm being a judgmental ass. Honestly, I compare; no judgments involved anymore. This was (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend, so the town was quiet with very few people on the streets, causing even more of a sleepy town effect. P relayed an invitation from his father to join in a holiday dinner; I declined, thinking it too strange to meet his dad when I'd just met him 10 minutes earlier. In P's apartment, we sat on the sofa and chatted (in real life!) and started to feel not so awkward. And made out. And I ended up meeting his dad anyway, when he dropped off some turkey leftovers.

Heading North

2009-10-28T13:56:00.000-07:00

As I transferred from the train to the T to the Amtrak "Noreaster", that backpack got pretty heavy and I was regretting not practicing more, as had a colleague of J's who carried rocks around in a pack for weeks before a hiking trip. Of course, J didn't share this story with me until I was about to board the train. Oh well, this was supposed to be all about spontaneity, right? Hernia, be damned.

Anyone who's been to New England in mid-October will know I'm not exaggerating when I say the trip was filled with GORGEOUS foliage. Even a city girl can appreciate some stellar displays of nature. I did very little besides stare out the window and text E, a cousin who'd been backpacking all summer, to tell moan about winter backpacking being much, MUCH harder, what with the boots and hats and sweaters and it being ME doing the carrying!

I've been telling everyone this was the first time I'd ever spent the night in a hotel room alone, but upon further reflection, I realized I'd done it once before, but my dad was also in that hotel, so I'm still not counting it. It wasn't so much fun to be in a strange room in a strange city. Strangely enough, I think I'd have preferred the stranger's strange floor.

Feeling very alone, I grabbed my coat and my phone and went outside, dialing C on the way. We talked for a couple of hours as I gave him an audio tour of Portland. Would I have experienced the city more thoroughly had I not been dividing my attention? Probably, but I wasn't ready to give up my connection to home just yet. As an added bonus, C told me he feels he can now say he's been to Maine.

Leaving Comfort

2009-10-28T10:44:00.001-07:00

My last few days in Massachusetts were spent arranging how I would get from S & J's to P, in Nova Scotia. P lives in Yarmouth, a straight-shot ferry ride from Portland, Maine. Having never been to Portland and as it was mentioned to me by several different people as a city I might like, I decided to have a stop-over there. Now all I needed was a place to stay. Seemed like a good time to try couch-surfing.

Plenty of people balked at the mention of trusting a stranger to put me up for a night, but I was raised in a home that always welcomed strangers and I know lots of people who have fantastic couch-surfing stories to share. Of course, those people probably started looking for a couch with more than a few days notice. There are lots of last-minute couch-surfing possibilities, but not so much in a smaller city, like Portland. I did find a very friendly young woman willing to host me for the 2 nights I'd requested. She lives right in the heart of the city, within walking distance to the ferry and offered to show me around a bit. Once I had the security of a place to stay in Portland, I went about ordering my train and ferry tickets online. The train was no problem, but when I looked at the ferry schedule, I realized I had been thinking of the wrong dates all along. For some reason, I was a week ahead of myself. Instead of October 9th and 10th, I'd been planning everything for the 16th and 17th. And as I was planning to take the last ferry of the season, I really couldn't postpone my trip.

First, I changed the train ticket; easy enough, just a quick phone call. There wasn't even a fee. Then I had to write an "I'm a complete dolt" message to the couch-surfing lady, asking if it was at all possible to switch the days. She got back to me very quickly, but could only offer her floor, as she was already prepared to host 2 other surfers for the weekend. I really do want to have an interesting travel experience, but I'm 35 and a stranger's sofa is one thing, but a stranger's FLOOR? After writing to several other surfing hosts and not finding a couch, I threw in the adventurous towel and booked a room at the Holiday Inn.

S took photos of me with my backpack as I made my way out the door and J saw me off as I climb onto the commuter rail into Boston. It finally seemed like I was doing something different. I was leaving comfort. KInda.

fish and house guests

2009-10-27T21:17:00.000-07:00

As I approached week 4 at S & J's, my visit started to become more of a residency. And I started to feel as if I needed to be moving on to the next place. The thing is, neither of them made me feel as if I'd overstayed my welcome. On the contrary, they both seemed to go out of their way to highlight the benefits of having me around. There's my fantastic sense of humour, which goes without saying, although I do find many occasions to talk about it. Cooking several dinners helped, even if they did include vegetables that had never before been served on their table. (To J's credit, he ate his share of brussel sprouts, broccoli and cauliflower. As for S? I'm considering it a small victory that she even put them in her grocery cart. Baby steps.) I also readily took J's hints to empty the dishwasher. And after the initial day with the construction crew, they trusted me with overseeing the project. J may have even started to forget about the garbage disposal. I've honestly never felt so welcomed and, frankly, taken care of. Maybe they were still transitioning to having their kids out of the house and still needed someone to parent. However, t he fact that I was willing to BE taken care was starting to upset me.

Not only was I willing but I was really enjoying it, too. I've taken care of myself for a long time, most of the time believing I had to, some of the time wanting to, a lot of the time wishing I didn't have to. It's always made me uncomfortable to accept help from others and I've (over)analyzed all the reasons this is so. Not feeling worthy, worrying I won't be able to reciprocate, not wanting to seem needy. Those are the biggies. But here's a secret: I AM needy. Not in a high maintenance, materialistic kind of way, though I may have been that kind of needy at some point. I'm emotionally needy and I've always had a hard time expressing my need. I want support offered to me without asking. The rub? I probably won't take it even when it is offered!

I'm learning, taking those baby steps, to ask for what I need from people, to tell them what I'm thinking and feeling. In a lot of ways, this journey has forced my hand. I'm traveling alone, but I can't do this on my own. I need people to open their homes to me, to give up time in their schedules for me and sometimes, to listen to me cry about the directionlessness of my life today. I've made a pledge to myself to try very hard to give voice to my feelings, to not pretend everything is fine and I can handle it all. Because I can't handle it all. I've attempted to manage myself for over a decade and it wasn't working out very well, so I figure it's time to ask for reinforcements.

C was the first person I (as an adult) took from, readily. His graciousness and my love for him allowed me to feel comfortable having him take care of me. And then I moved on to S & J. They're family, so maybe it made things a little easier. I found comfort in their home, being cared for by them. But as lovely as it was, I needed to keep moving; there are so many more people off whom to mooch! All in the pursuit of personal growth, mind you. Mooching for a higher purpose. I should have cards printed up.

other people's opinions

2009-10-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

Here's a sampling of the reactions/advice I received from loved ones regarding this idea of mine to leave my life as I knew it and become an aimless wanderer:

(I'm paraphrasing here, people.)

The overwhelming majority: "WOW!"/"Sounds great!"/"Wish I could do the same!"/"You should definitely go to (insert far flung destination here-obviously from those with no comprehension of my budget constraints)"/"Can I come with you?"

My friend (yet another) K: "I think this is going to be really good for you. I have a feeling you're going to meet a rugged Canadian and fall in love." This, she said to me in early June and I've clung to it ever since.

Friend S: "I just feel like something really big and great is about to happen for you." LOVE that woman.

Friend/former employer R: "Are you sure it's safe to be traveling alone?" Um. I think so?

Various male friends of mine, including, but not limited to M,P,M,T,J,B: "You should carry a weapon with you. At least some mace or something." Hmmm, I never thought to be afraid until all of you people started planting seeds of fear in my head! And no!

Sister LB: "It's really crazy, but I guess crazy is what you need right now." Yes!

Mom: "When do you think I'll ever see you again?"

Dad: "I guess it COULD be good for you. Maybe. Perhaps. We'll see."

Aunt M: "I've been to Nova Scotia. I had to use an outhouse. Why on Earth would you want to go THERE?"

sound sleep

2009-10-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

S & J decided to tear down the wall between their kitchen and living room. It was a good decision. And as I would be around during the day, it seemed like a good idea to start construction. It was probably the jokes about telling the crew to build a third story that prompted J to stay home the first day. Ah, brotherly trust.

It helps the story to know my sleeping habits vary greatly from those of S &J. From most of the work force, actually. I'm up late, usually on the phone or computer, and fall asleep sometime after 2am. Which means I sleep until 10. Or later. And on this extended vacation from real life, I might need a nap later in the day, too. It may also help to know that "my" room is about 10 feet from the kitchen.

Anyway, on the day the wall came down, I awakened when the guys came in, a little after 7am; heard them talking to J, then J heading into the basement to get some work done from home. Next thing I remember, I was waking up to J saying "I can't believe my sister-in-law is sleeping through this." It was 10:30. The construction workers' response? "Oh! We didn't know anyone was here!" And they quickly turned off the radio, to continue slamming hammers into the drywall.

When I saw the progress they'd made on the demolition, I also was impressed I'd slept through it all. Then something occurred to me and I ran downstairs to declare to J, "I miss New York!" Not that I had to listen to a wrecking crew every night, but there is always some kind of noise and I had gotten used to it. And I missed it.

Enough with the missing things. Next couple of posts are guaranteed to be homesick-free.

phoneless

2009-10-24T18:17:00.000-07:00

I'm going to catch up. I swear. There is a list of posts in my back pocket right now I intend to make. A few may even get up here tonight, but right now, I feel the need to write about my homesickness. Specifically, the voices I miss hearing.

Nova Scotia has perfectly good cellular service and the home in which I'm staying has a landline. But my cell has been turned off since I got here two weeks ago and only a few people have a contact number for me, in case of an emergency. I imagined I'd get some peace and quiet and not rack up too much of a bill. The added benefit of a text-detox is not lost on me. My mom's already called, and no one was dying. I think she probably just wanted to hear if I sounded under duress. Not unreasonable, as I came here to visit and stay with a virtual stranger. When she found out the rates for dialing Canada, however, she decided it was best to stick with chatting online. Which I'd figured would be a fine way of keeping in touch, seeing as I'm (is usually the right word here?) working on my laptop several hours each day. And I have chatted or exchanged emails with most of the people I would talk to on a frequent basis.

Not. The. Same.

Let's start with C, the best friend. His job doesn't allow for online IMing all day, as so many of my other friends' do. He's computerless, for the most part, but even so would suck at a written correspondence. It took him until this week to even read my blog, damnit! When I went away, I was afraid of this. We were used to seeing each other nearly everyday, even before he housed me my last six weeks in NYC. And we still spoke on the phone nearly every night. I haven't had a friend like that since middle school. (Not shocking since I've regressed to the mentality of an average 12 year old girl. C never moved past it.) (That's what you get for not reading sooner!) Not hearing his voice for 2 weeks would be bad enough, but there's so much more. Twenty times a day, something happens about which I would normally text him. "Cyndi Lauper's gonna be on the next celeb apprentice!?!?" "My mom's stripper name would be 'Cinnamon!'" "I'm bored." "Just roasted brussel sprouts." "Whatcha doin'?" (We have quite the intellectual exchange; don't be jealous.) The thing is, all those moments will be gone by the time I get back to the states and turn my phone on again. Three weeks isn't a huge amount of time, but they contain a HUGE amount of tiny moments that just aren't worth recounting once we reconnect. They'll always be more, of course, but I miss his take on all this insipid stuff NOW.

Other people whose voices I miss:

R,C &W. Man, I would love to hear some laughter coming from your lips. Because you must admit, my hilariousness would surely elicit some.

LB. I realize I could probably just talk to myself and have the full experience of listening to your voice, but I can never get your tone just right.

My mommy.

more visiting

2009-10-14T10:26:00.000-07:00

When I knew I would be staying in Massachusetts for a while, I thought about people I would want to see. Sister is obvious, all of her in-laws, whom I've claimed as my own for 20 years, B (the old friend): same thing. Of course I would see them. Then there are those who aren't on my usual visiting schedule, but seeing as I had the time and certainly the inclination, could be added to the list.

The childhood friends:

Another K, a girl I found to be so interesting and cool, in the most relaxed sort of way when we were friends in high school, was a definite. I'd been facebook "friends" with her for nearly a year and had become a fan of her blog which I find to be the kind of honest to which I aspire. Through her writing, I felt like I knew more than I should about her, as we hadn't really been in touch since high school. There was time, maybe 10 years ago, when I happened to run into her. We exchanged emails and she wrote to me and I completely dropped the ball of our correspondence. I know why I did. I just didn't have anything to report. Nothing I thought would be impressive or interesting. And at that point in my life, I felt a very strong need to impress people. Thankfully, I've lost that urge. Good thing too, since homeless-and joblessness impress very few.

Back to K. When she greeted me at the door, I knew instantly it was a good idea to see her. She's still relaxed, a very roll-with-the-punches kind of chick. She has two very active young boys (C & E) who were climbing trees and jumping off stairs without a care in the world. And her house was a mess, which she informed me is it's usual state. I met her husband, whom I found engaging and fun. I loved every minute of it. K was fascinated with this idea of mine, of leaving my life behind. It was a real "grass is greener" kind of thing. But ultimately, of course, she doesn't want to leave her life; she has a pretty good thing going. And I'm determined to figure out exactly what my life's supposed to look like. For now, it looks okay to me. Just the way it is.

Then there's J. I'd seen J more recently, when we were both going to school in New York. She moved away when she got married (to another former classmate) and again, the only contact I'd had with her since had been through facebook. I knew the basics of her life: husband, home, 3 kids & a dog. This visit was trickier. While I remembered J as an extremely creative girl from a really lovely family, I also remember a sense, at times, of us not liking each other. That sense is hard to pinpoint, but I'm certain it was mostly my fault. God, I could be a real bitch. Still can, I suppose, but not for such petty reasons anymore. Following the posts about her children and the interaction between her and her sisters made me want to know her again, to give myself a second chance to like her. And hopefully, to give her a chance to find me likable.

More time well spent. Her kids were sick and being semi-difficult in the way sick kids can be, but J was a gracious host all the same. And once the kids warmed up to me, I was thoroughly enjoying the visit. I really overstayed my welcome, too. A dinner date had fallen through earlier in the day, so I wasn't in a hurry to leave and I was getting a kick out of this glimpse at a day in J's life. I stayed on through the kids' dinner and when invited to stay for a grown-up dinner once J (husband/father/former classmate) returned from work, I only pretended to think over the offer. With J &J, there was a lot of "what happened to so-and-so?" or "did you know this happened to whatsherface?". I love this kind of stuff. We had a great time catching up over a delicious dinner J kept apologizing for, saying she could have done better with more notice. I suppose everyone feels the need to impress every now and then. Fancy dinner or not, I WAS impressed. And, oh god!, I hope she likes me now!

The family friends:

I spent one day in my old hometown of Dartmouth, with the intention to make two house calls.

First up was B's mom, C, a woman I couldn't find more dear and has known me since I was 11. We hadn't seen each other since B's baby shower, 4 years earlier. A former travel agent, she had plenty of good advice about what to see where and how to get to it. It's always great to talk to her, but I have a very hard time feeling like an adult in her presence. My issue, not hers. Of course, her offer of a loan if I find myself in need didn't help on that front, but it was entirely appreciated.

Before my next meet-up, I killed an hour or so driving around, searching out any place I could think of which held meaning, or did at one point: my old house, the homes of friends, the Friendly's I frequented as a teenager with nothing better to do. Plenty has changed in Dartmouth since I lived there, even in just the 7 years since my last visit. What struck me the most, though, was what a lovely place it had been. The strip-malliness of Route 6 had become even more pronounced and, frankly, repellant, but the neighborhoods are as beautiful as they ever were. Tons of trees surrounding homes with none of the cookie-cutter aspect prevalent in so many towns. I liked living there, but not as much as I should have.

R is one of my mom's closest friends, and although I'd seen her the month before in NYC, I'd promised to visit when I was in the neighborhood. I pulled up to the house just as her husband, I, was getting home. They shared photos of a cruise they'd recently taken and stories from when they first moved to their home, some 40 years ago. I love the idea of the history in that house; the rearing of 4 children and and several more grandchildren, the tree which had been a seedling on move-in day that now far exceeded the height of the house. I've always been jealous of those with a childhood home, a place they could keep going back to. A place that would always be familiar and make them feel at ease. What I realize now is that my mother was right all along when she used to tell me that "home is where my family is". Score another one for the moms. I'd extend it to include those I've made my family, too. Friends, old and new who've

welcomed me into their homes, their lives, really, and made me feel as if I belong right where I am.

company

2009-10-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

After a week of being on my own (more or less) and developing an angry, painful eye infection about which I had no one to whom I could complain, Saturday rolled around and it was time to pick up S & J from the airport. But not before I removed my belongings from their kitchen floor, transferred a week's worth of dishes from the sink to the dishwasher and attempted to make it seem as though I'd kept a tidy household all week long.

By that time, I was well ensconced in my nephew's room. I really know how to make myself feel at home; it's always been a talent of mine. My laptop had found a temporary home on the desk, with every spare inch covered in papers and bills I'd yet to pay from an apartment I'd moved out of nearly two months earlier. Throw in a few empty water bottles and the wrappers from a bunch of granola bars and you have the idea. Piles of clothing dominated the limited floor space. The "too summery to pack, but useful for now" pile, the "definitely coming with me" pile and the "need to get rid of" pile. It's remarkable how easy it becomes to toss articles of clothing, once deemed necessary, when space becomes a real issue. Every time I had enough stuff to fill a bag, I felt proud of myself. Certainly better than the initial rush of pleasure felt upon the purchasing of those things, mostly on credit and all more than I should have been spending at the time.

So, with a made bed and some semi-organization, I headed to the airport and realized it was the first time I'd ever done that. An airport pick-up on my own. I'd never even had to navigate a parking garage on my own. Such excitement! And I was excited. But mostly about welcoming S & J home; I hadn't seen them in months and I was looking forward to having some company. And I think they were happy to be back after a week of the rest/eat/relax/eat again schedule involved with a visit to my parents.

And J never noticed anything amiss with the disposal. Until he started reading this. And then again when I actually DID screw it up. Who would have guessed potato skins would cause a clog? My guilt didn't even allow me to laugh when J had a pipe full of watery garbage spew out into his face. S didn't have similar reservations; she laughed plenty.

2009-10-04T16:39:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of things I'd forgotten about living in the suburbs:

1. What should and shouldn't go in a garbage disposal, (J-you can stop reading now.) I was pretty sure the pit of a plum fit in the former category. Wrong. The terrible noise only lasted for a second before I flipped the switch and fished out the offending stone. Worse than the sense of dread I felt at the thought of my brother-in-law discovering I'd broken an appliance (I hadn't. Really!) was the feeling that I'd forgotten how to live in a house. I grew up in the suburbs, in houses with garbage disposals. And the next thing on my list...

2. The basement. The basement scares me. Especially, but not exclusively, when I'm alone in the house. Scary things happen in basements. At least they do in the movies. And my imagination. But the basement is also where laundry happens. Seeing as I have about a dozen pieces of clothing to my name (that includes underwear), I need to do laundry.

So I developed a system where I have a friend on the phone, talking me through my expedition down the stairs and into the bowels of the house, where a serial killer could have set up camp. Alternatively, I may keep a friend on the IM while I run down to switch my clothes from washer to dryer. If I don't return in the designated two minute time frame (having been eaten by ferocious rats), said friend has been instructed to call emergency services.

3. During visits to my grandparents home in Illinois, I would often laugh at my grandma's seemingly compulsive need to draw the curtains the second the sun set. It was impossible for me to imagine who she thought could be lurking outside, peeping into their tiny house, where nothing exciting ever happened. Now I can conjure up plenty of unsavory pictures in my mind, which makes being in S's drape-less living room after dusk an impossibility.

2009-10-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

I never missed having a car. Manhattan is much easier to get around without one and my handbags are messy enough; imagine if I had a whole car, carrying my crap from place to place. That being said, I love driving. Especially alone. I love finding a song I like and blasting the radio and singing along. Don't get me wrong, I'd do that even with passengers, but the sense of abandon just isn't as great. It was with this abandon that I headed out on the turnpike to western Massachusetts.

That few hours of road makes for a beautiful trip, even when the foliage hasn't reached it's truly splendid autumnal potential. I had two intentions with this road trip: to see where my nephew is living and to visit with two of my favorite people, who happen to be fantastic writers and editors.

The nephew:

T is in his third year at UMass Amherst and moved out of the dorms and into a house with five other guys this summer. They have a gigantic television (seriously, it's HUGE) and I'm sure they are all fantastic people (I only met one of the other guys), but these are not incentive enough to get me to go back. Not that I've been invited. But, it smelled. And can hanging beer/naked girl posters and fly strips really be considered an attempt at decorating? All I can hope is that the ambience encourages them all to spend extra time at the library.

The writers:

C & D (and their children P &N) are people I know from NY, who moved up to Northampton several years ago. And I really mean "up". They didn't win the lottery or anything, but they do seem to have hit the jackpot. Beautiful home, thriving, lovely children, work they enjoy in a town that is small enough to feel familiar, but bustling enough to never cause boredom. The walks I took with C through town and the talks I had with each member of the family reminded me that interesting stuff is happening everywhere. One needn't be in the middle of a metropolis to find stimulating conversation. And I learned more about Nova Scotia, a future destination, in a discussion with N, than I had in the several months since I'd made the decision to go there. It's good thing (for them) we're not related, because I could have made myself very comfortable staying in their guest room for a very long time. What lucky sisters I have!

The bonus:

At the last minute I messaged an old friend (K) who lives in Holyoke and hit her up for a visit. She was extremely accommodating and welcomed me on very short notice. Last time I saw her she was graduating from high school; she's now married and the mother of three. And although there was plenty of we could have talked about (18 years means a lot of catching up), we spent very little time doing so. What I did do was watch a lot dancing performed by two princesses (E & M), got my baby-holding fix (R) and enjoyed seeing a girl I so very much liked so very long ago, as a woman with a family and still highly likable.

2009-10-04T13:45:00.000-07:00

Scene: A huge bookstore on a Monday evening in a suburban town.

Characters: Me, one other customer and a three employees.

Dialogue: None!

Eye contact with only other shopper: As if!

Best thing a friend said to me the next day about me freaking out over not living in Manhattan anymore: "Strip malls don't suit you."

Time to head to the mountains.

2009-10-04T12:53:00.000-07:00

I wish I could say it's taken me so long to get a new post up because I've been hard at work on another bit of writing which could use a whole bunch of my attention, but I can't. Because it would be a lie and I'm trying really hard to not tell those things anymore. The truth is I've been wasting a whole bunch of time on a whole bunch of nothing. Relaxing, tv watching, facebook stalking (word's gotten around- http://english242.blogspot.com/2009/03/seriously-check-this-out-and-really.html ), ice cream eating. I just sat in the sun for 20 minutes with a tweezer and hand mirror, going at my eyebrows (along with a couple of chin hairs). Time well spent, I assure you, but still...

When I last left you, I was waking up in my sister's house on the second day of self-induced job-and homelessness. And I was still feeling pretty good that morning. The sun woke me up, something that never happened in my first floor apartment. The chilly air caused me to shiver, a wonderful, post-summer feeling. I snuggled deeper into T's flannel sheet-covered bed with the knowledge I had all the time in the world. There wasn't even anyone around to make me lazy for not getting up and out of the house. But eventually, I did.

One of my major goals of this journey is to connect with loved ones. Since S & J were still gone, I called up B, a woman who was my girlhood best friend and someone I've managed to stay in touch with, though we haven't lived near each other in 18 years. B lives close to my sister, with her husband and daughter, expecting a baby boy at the end of the year. When we were teenagers, B and I spent a LOT of time together and I was devastated when my family moved to another state in the middle of my junior year. I've often thought that had we been emailing and IMing in 1990, I would have managed to stay closer friends with B, but that isn't how it worked out. No amount of phone calls and letters and twice a year visits can match the intimacy of seeing one another everyday, keeping up with the minutia of each other's lives. Still, we HAVE stayed in touch and B holds a large portion of my history in her memory, and that was enough of a reason to seek her out whenever I would come to town.

Many of those visits, however, were painful for me. B seemed to be having more fun in college than I was. Because she was. She seemed to date more often. Because she did. She got married before I ever had a chance to really fall in love. She bought a house and had a beautiful red-headed baby while I rented a crappy one-bedroom and took care of other people's children. And I resented her all these milestones and all that happiness. I never said I did. To anyone. But I'd have a hard time believing she couldn't feel my resentment. That's no longer the way I feel. I'm not sure exactly when it changed, when I changed, but I did. It had a lot to do with forgiving myself for not having what I thought I should have at certain points in my life. And being really, truly appreciative for where I was and what I was doing with that life. This Sunday visit wasn't the first resentment-free one we've had. But it was the first one during which I didn't stop to think about how I wasn't feeling bitter and jealous. I just enjoyed the sunshine and the breeze and the comfortable conversation from an adirondack chair in the beautiful garden behind B's lovely home as we watched her daughter play on the lawn.

Driving back to S's after the visit, I realized I would pass a Barnes & Noble. I hadn't shopped for anything in several months, besides groceries and my backpack. As I was shedding my possessions, I decided to go into a "no acquisitions" phase. Made sense AND seemed kinda noble-bonus! Of course making vodka and Trader Joe's mini peanut butter cups (groceries!)my only real expense probably wasn't a terrific idea. Anyway, back to the books. A wonderful friend and his wife (M &W) gave me a B&N gift certificate as a going away gift, so I felt justified in my need to purchase a copy of "Pride & Prejudice & Zombies", something I'd been wanting to read for months. As I got nearer the mall, however, I began to realize the expanse of time that lie in front of me and decided to save the book shopping for Monday. This was the first time it hit me that I had NOTHING to do.

2009-09-25T20:24:00.000-07:00

So, I left my life. Basically. Job, apartment, city, friends, even my bed. Two weeks into whatever this is and I don't feel I'm any closer to figuring what whatever this is. Not that I thought I'd know by now. But I do think maybe the significance of what I've done is starting to sink in.

Sticking to my own rules, I'm not going to recount my last days in New York. Is it enough to say that they were fun-filled and tear-soaked and brutal? And then I left. It's all the stuff that comes next I hope to chronicle here.

day 1 (saturday, september 12th)

It was my intention to leave with only a backpack; I'd been planning it that way in my head for months. In the end, I didn't manage it. There was the backpack (heavier than I'd imagined) and another small bag. I tried to rationalize with myself that there were things in that extra bag which needed to be left with my sister. Why I couldn't leave them with C, I'm not sure. My sister has a house and C has an apartment. So I guess I can write it off as a space issue, but what was more likely going on was my reluctance to let go of those few extra things. Just so you know, 6 weeks before this, on the day I moved out of my apartment, I had 5 extra bags, the contents of 4 which were given away or tossed in the trash. And never missed.

During the short walk to the X27 bus from Bay Ridge to Manhattan, I realized the magnificence of my backpack. It was heavy, but easily handled on my shoulders. Until I went to take the first BIG step into the bus; I nearly fell backwards when my balance was compromised. The driver and I (but mostly the driver) had a laugh and he wondered aloud to me why I wasn't hiking into Manhattan. I told him the thought had crossed my mind. And it had. And then it flew right out again.

After that brutal week, I'd prepared myself for a full day of crying throughout my journey from Port Authority to Providence. I was wearing sunglasses on a rainy day and had a stash of tissues in that extra bag. They were wasted. I wasn't sad to be leaving. As Greyhound carried me north, I mostly stared out the window and felt relieved. Of the stress of worrying about and explaining this idea of mine. Of all the those things I'd left behind that didn't really matter any more. Of all the things I was ready to leave. And of the girl I was when I'd come to New York, 15 years earlier.

That was one l o n g bus ride, but it was the cheapest I could find. I arrived at my sister's empty house and made myself right at home. S & J (my brother-in-law) have always made me feel welcome, but the fact that they would be out of town for the next week made me all the more comfortable. I dropped my bags on the kitchen floor, where they'd remain until the morning of their return, and opened the door to a fully-stocked fridge. Choosing a room was my next task. D (my niece) has a big bed and a full length mirror in her room. T (my nephew) has a small bedroom with a twin bed, cable tv and a bathroom 2 steps away. He wins. Or loses, should he chose to come home from college for the weekend.

And it is in that bed I would spend the next 18 hours or so. Watching that cable tv and phoning C (my best friend), who I'd left that morning. All the while feeling pretty great to be starting this new chapter. And then I woke up Sunday morning.

More catch-up to come tomorrow.