So, um... I'm moving to Texas.
Many of you who know me on twitter or were at PJs at TJ's this year probably already know that. But, in case you missed it, as many people in my personal life have, I'm MOVING to TEXAS.
Fair warning, this post is likely to be both CAPSLOCKY and incoherently babblish. Just FYI. Becaaaaauuuse: I'm moving to Texas in FOUR DAYS. And I have not packed a THING.
Here's the deal. Waaaay back in July (so like four posts ago on this here blog of abject neglect), I visited Linnea and her family in the DFW area. I got to meet her super cute, super schmooshy baby (who has grown into a super cute, slightly less schmooshy TODDLER, but that's a different story altogether) and her great husband and her sweet pets and her lovely friends. Through the planning phase of that trip, we joked about me meeting a cowboy/oil barron and getting married and just staying in Texas. And then when I got there, we joked about me finding a job there and living in Linnea's spare bedroom. And then about half-way through the trip, we kind of sort of somewhat a lot stopped joking. By the time I got on a plane to come home, I had half-way convinced myself that it was POSSIBLE to perhaps, SOMEDAY maybe try to sort of spend some more time in the general DFW area. Because I am a decisive person with a firm five-year plan for the future. Ahem.
Anyway, I got home and, as I had suspected, I remembered all of the reasons I love Far North and that I was actually very comfortable here, despite all of the REALLY GOOD reasons I had come up with while IN Texas for why Far North wasn't doing it for me anymore. Except. Those REALLY GOOD reasons wouldn't go away. Reasons like: I had not worked in a year; I'm overweight and struggling to lose weight in the cold and the dark and the land of expensive produce; I'm single and there are very few single, eligible men in this town; I'm afraid to drive in the snow.
So I started praying about it. And I started googling about DFW and jobs and housing. And then, in a fateful staff meeting in August about our church's growth and seating capacity, one of the pastors said, "I don't want to build a new building or move. I want to stay right here and keep preaching and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to preach the Gospel and that's not what God is asking us to do." And all I could hear in my head was "I don't want to move to Texas and start over. I want to stay right here and keep failing to meet my goals and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to live and that's not what God is asking me to do."
For those of you of the faith-y persuasion, this might be a familiar thing. But I know that this has to sound CRAZY to those of you who don't do church or faith. And, to tell you the truth, it's a little bit crazy to me, too. But it also feels so incredibly right. I didn't hear an audible voice from the heavens--that would either make me insane or...Moses and I'm pretty sure I'm neither. But I did know, deep in my gut, that it was the best plan and I could feel this tug on my soul to move and grow and change and see what this opportunity had to offer.
Now, as I am wont to do, I procrastinated and hemmed and hawed and just generally ignored that moment of revelation. Well, ignored it as much as I could while it was nagging in the back of my head and the few people I'd mentioned it to kept nudging me and asking about it and basically shooing me in a southerly direction. I went on more interviews here and failed to get each and every single job, even ones that seemed like sure things (THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A SURE THING). And I applied for jobs there, saying I wouldn't go without a plan and having a job there was part of the plan, no "plan" materialized. And then a house-sitting job came up and then the holidays came and then there was PJs at TJ's and and and AND AND I was a big chicken.
All of this to say that I am FINALLY taking the leap. I have a room and a car waiting for me and a hope of some part-time nannying until I can secure permanent employment. I have no idea where this will lead and I had a whole post planned about all the BENEFITS! and LOGIC! and WISDOM! of moving to Texas, but.
Instead, in the middle of writing this, I was called into our church auditorium (I'm writing this form the church office, since I've been temping here all week) and they made a "blessing circle" around me. Which sounds so much more churchy and mystical than it really is. I don't even know if anyone else does this, but my Worship Pastor (who also happens to be my best friend, which makes this all the more difficult) has developed this tradition of sending people off in TEARS. I mean... Wait.
You see, whenever one of us is going away (either moving or being sent out on the mission field or away to long-term training or anything longer than a few months), he gathers the whole worship team and forces the Leaving to sit in the center with everyone staring at them while each person takes a turn telling the Leaver how much they've been personally blessed by them and how much they'll miss them and how grateful they are for the Leaver's service to the church and basically GUILTS them into staying because how can you leave when everyone loves you this much?! And then, after you've done the ugly cry in front of everyone you know and you've had to figure up the appropriate facial expression to wear when someone compliments your humble spirit (there is no humble way to take that compliment and still, you know, TAKE it) and you've resisted the urge to look behind you twelve million times because a) they MUST be talking about someone else because while you are awesome, you do not feel THIS awesome and b) there are PEOPLE behind you waiting to say nice things to you and probably noticing that the shirt you chose that morning isn't really long enough to cover your lower back while you're sitting in a discount rolling office chair... After all of THIS, everyone stands up and puts a hand on you and prays blessings over you and your ministry and calling and new life.
And it is an amazing experience. It's humbling and beautiful and scary and powerful and awkward and abut eighteen other adjectives. And I was crying and trying not to be to noisy about it and trying to remember every last word spoke and also trying to perfect my spontaneous teleportation powers so I disappear on the spot because, man, I do not deserve half of the kindness that was given to me tonight. I kept thinking that there is so much imperfect about me and my walk with Jesus and if these people, these people who've known me most of my life and who know me so well, could ACTUALLY see my heart, they might run way screaming from the mess that I am inside.
But I think that's the point. We are, none of us, perfect. But it was amazing for just a few minutes, to see myself as others saw me. Not to build myself up and pat myself on the back for being able to cover my mess so well, but to see the way I HAVE grown and the ways I AM serving the Lord and loving people. It was kind of eye-opening in its ordinariness.
Whoa. Okay, before I sink too far into a nostalgic burst of self-inflated psychoanalysis, I should stop and get some sleep. There is a whole house to clean in preparation of my good-bye party (which I'm kind of throwing for myself, which is probably incredibly terrible etiquette, but Sister says its her house and she called to invite everyone, so SHE'S throwing the party, which, okay.) and I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I broke the church's copier today (how's that for being a humble servant, huh? I'm going out with a bang, I guess), so I'm going in to meet the copier guy in the morning even though the church is technically closed. Oh, and I have library books to return and a million other things to do and OH HEY PACKING, so I need some sleep.
But a post about moving to Texas would not be complete without at least a small note to say that this is ALL THE INTERNET'S FAULT. That's right--I'm moving to texas because of YOU! I never would have met Linnea or EVER thought about moving to TEXAS OF ALL PLACES if it weren't for the Internet. And more specifically, if it weren't for TJ putting a link to this blog on hers and if it weren't for Linnea clicking that link and finding me and if it weren't for TJ throwing a slumber party with an open invitation that made me feel welcome and brave enough to meet the Internet in person. And I think all of that is just a little bit nuts, but it's also just about the coolest thing I've ever heard.
3.01.2013
PJs at TJ's Recap Year 2 (Because My Title Cleverness Escapes Me Today) (Again)
I'm not very good at recaps. Writing out "this happened, then this happened, and then that person did this..." seems to lend itself mostly to being boring or braggy. Or both. And probably the majority of you were there. I'm not sure who all reads this blog anymore, since I have so severely neglected it in the last few months year or so. So, this may end up reading a lot like, "Hey, you guys, you remember that thing that happened four days ago? Yeah. That was fun." But I trudge onward.
I went to PJs at TJ's last year, as some of you might remember. This year was a little bit different in a lot of little ways. First of all, I'd never met any of the women in person before I went last year. This year, I had met about 14 out of the 24 (the 25th one being me, whom I'm pretty sure I've met before--this sentence is awkward, but I'm 98% sure it's grammatically correct). By the way, I just did the math on that and I thought I'd met far more than that. I mean, Deja's in the not-met category, even though she was SUPPOSED to come last year and had to bail at the last second because she was ill. So I didn't meet her. But I ALMOST met her. So. I don't really have a point here.
I got a little lost there for a second but I think I'm here: The second reason the weekend was different from last year was that Sister got to come along with me. She wanted to go so badly last year, but she'd just started a new job a few weeks before and she couldn't make it happen. It was really nice to have a traveling buddy (98% of the travel I've done since I turned 18 has been solo, which can be fun, but is also lonely at times) (I apparently like to use 98% for my made up statistics). It was also nice to have a sort of touchstone at the party. Like if I got too overwhelmed, I could just look at her and know that there was at least one person in the room who was contractually obligated to like me. I ended up not needing that at all, because all of the women were really awesome and also because, as I said above, I'd met many of them before and consider several close friends. But it was still nice to have family near me. It was also fun seeing her experience the LIVE INTERNET for the first time. Her experience is not mine to tell, but I will hazard a guess that she had a great time.
Man, I keep getting all descriptive and tangential and I forget that I am trying to tell you how the party was different this year (and hopefully thus recapping without too much "AND THEN..."ing). Anyway, this year, Kelly rented a vacation-type home instead of hosting us in her house, which was easier to get to because it was not surrounded by armed guards. The house was beautiful and huge and kind of strange--we spent a lot of time speculating what kind of person the owner was, since some of the decor/building choices were strange (a giant painting of a very sad clown on the staircase, two (TWO) formal dining rooms, stairs made ofdeath stone). But the house was very nice and served our purposes well and Kelly has told us that the owner was very kind and helpful and I'm very thankful he let us take over his home for the weekend.
With the addition of the house, there was the option to stay in the house instead of a hotel (like I did last year). Sister and I jumped at the chance and I am so glad we did. I'm sure that there were benefits to staying at a hotel (like sleeping more than a few hours a night because I couldn't leave the party and just go to bed like a NORMAL person), but it was the absolute right choice for me. I don't know if I'll be able to snag a place in it next year and I'm sure the weekend will still be fantastic if I don't, but I know I'd do it all over again. And now I'm chuckling at myself a little because I have no idea where I'll be living or what I'll be doing a year from now and it seems a little insane to be making plans this far out and yet. That is the magic of Kelly's party.
ANYway, Sister and I shared a room in the party house, which allowed us to get there on Thursday instead of Friday and I think it was a nice way for us to ease into the weekend. I'm a natural introvert (which many people give me the side-eye about, but I SWEAR I prefer to be alone or one-on-one, it's just that I have developed skills and mechanisms for being not completely awful in large crowds), so the extra day gave me a little time to get used to a smaller group of people before everyone got there on Friday. And actually, that's the reason the party house worked so well for me. There are other reasons I liked it, but the ability to pop upstairs for a break or spend some time with fewer people before and after the events really helped me a lot.
And while it was different, so much about the party remained the same--in the best ways possible. I got to eat insane amounts of junk food. TANGENT: I've been on WeightWatchers since December 3rd, so I just declared this a free weekend and ate whatever I wanted. And even though the scale was not too charitable on Monday morning, I don't regret it at all. I would have been miserable all weekend trying to make everything fit into the points system and I would have failed in the end anyway--I know myself and the program well enough to know that. And at some point, I'll try to write a post about my weight loss, if I can make it...not obnoxiously boring. But for now, I have to focus on recapping, because once I start writing, I get ALL THE IDEAS and yet I only post once a month or so, which I really have no explanation for.
So. I got to eat junk and talk to people that I really like and have even missed since last year (even though we chat on twitter all the time) and I got to meet new people who are MY PEOPLE and that's always a good feeling. I can't possibly name everyone or everything (especially since I didn't get to talk to everyone I wanted to), so I'm not even going to try. But there are a few things that stick out, in no particular order:
I only regret two things this year: 1) not making more of an effort to talk to EVERYONE (although I wouldn't give up any of the conversations I did have to do so, so I'm not sure where that leaves me) and 2) keeping poor Kelly awake far past her bedtime (I was staying up because she was up and I didn't want to miss anything and SHE was staying up as a good hostess and basically I should have gone to bed earlier and we both would have been better off). Sorry, Kelly. Oh, and by the way, thanks for throwing a party and being serious when you said anyone could come. I'm so glad you did.
I went to PJs at TJ's last year, as some of you might remember. This year was a little bit different in a lot of little ways. First of all, I'd never met any of the women in person before I went last year. This year, I had met about 14 out of the 24 (the 25th one being me, whom I'm pretty sure I've met before--this sentence is awkward, but I'm 98% sure it's grammatically correct). By the way, I just did the math on that and I thought I'd met far more than that. I mean, Deja's in the not-met category, even though she was SUPPOSED to come last year and had to bail at the last second because she was ill. So I didn't meet her. But I ALMOST met her. So. I don't really have a point here.
I got a little lost there for a second but I think I'm here: The second reason the weekend was different from last year was that Sister got to come along with me. She wanted to go so badly last year, but she'd just started a new job a few weeks before and she couldn't make it happen. It was really nice to have a traveling buddy (98% of the travel I've done since I turned 18 has been solo, which can be fun, but is also lonely at times) (I apparently like to use 98% for my made up statistics). It was also nice to have a sort of touchstone at the party. Like if I got too overwhelmed, I could just look at her and know that there was at least one person in the room who was contractually obligated to like me. I ended up not needing that at all, because all of the women were really awesome and also because, as I said above, I'd met many of them before and consider several close friends. But it was still nice to have family near me. It was also fun seeing her experience the LIVE INTERNET for the first time. Her experience is not mine to tell, but I will hazard a guess that she had a great time.
Man, I keep getting all descriptive and tangential and I forget that I am trying to tell you how the party was different this year (and hopefully thus recapping without too much "AND THEN..."ing). Anyway, this year, Kelly rented a vacation-type home instead of hosting us in her house, which was easier to get to because it was not surrounded by armed guards. The house was beautiful and huge and kind of strange--we spent a lot of time speculating what kind of person the owner was, since some of the decor/building choices were strange (a giant painting of a very sad clown on the staircase, two (TWO) formal dining rooms, stairs made of
With the addition of the house, there was the option to stay in the house instead of a hotel (like I did last year). Sister and I jumped at the chance and I am so glad we did. I'm sure that there were benefits to staying at a hotel (like sleeping more than a few hours a night because I couldn't leave the party and just go to bed like a NORMAL person), but it was the absolute right choice for me. I don't know if I'll be able to snag a place in it next year and I'm sure the weekend will still be fantastic if I don't, but I know I'd do it all over again. And now I'm chuckling at myself a little because I have no idea where I'll be living or what I'll be doing a year from now and it seems a little insane to be making plans this far out and yet. That is the magic of Kelly's party.
ANYway, Sister and I shared a room in the party house, which allowed us to get there on Thursday instead of Friday and I think it was a nice way for us to ease into the weekend. I'm a natural introvert (which many people give me the side-eye about, but I SWEAR I prefer to be alone or one-on-one, it's just that I have developed skills and mechanisms for being not completely awful in large crowds), so the extra day gave me a little time to get used to a smaller group of people before everyone got there on Friday. And actually, that's the reason the party house worked so well for me. There are other reasons I liked it, but the ability to pop upstairs for a break or spend some time with fewer people before and after the events really helped me a lot.
And while it was different, so much about the party remained the same--in the best ways possible. I got to eat insane amounts of junk food. TANGENT: I've been on WeightWatchers since December 3rd, so I just declared this a free weekend and ate whatever I wanted. And even though the scale was not too charitable on Monday morning, I don't regret it at all. I would have been miserable all weekend trying to make everything fit into the points system and I would have failed in the end anyway--I know myself and the program well enough to know that. And at some point, I'll try to write a post about my weight loss, if I can make it...not obnoxiously boring. But for now, I have to focus on recapping, because once I start writing, I get ALL THE IDEAS and yet I only post once a month or so, which I really have no explanation for.
So. I got to eat junk and talk to people that I really like and have even missed since last year (even though we chat on twitter all the time) and I got to meet new people who are MY PEOPLE and that's always a good feeling. I can't possibly name everyone or everything (especially since I didn't get to talk to everyone I wanted to), so I'm not even going to try. But there are a few things that stick out, in no particular order:
- Kelly's book summaries and reviews, complete with hand motions and made-up terms ("lady-wife" being my favorite)
- Deja's duck laugh
- Lunch with Sister and Kammah and Linnea and our 6'7" waiter named Francisco (I wish I had a link for Francisco)
- Shanghai-ing Ginger at the kitchen table with my terrible work stories and watching her face get progressively more shocked with each terrible story (and watching her kindly refrain from running away even though I could. not. stop. talking)
- Gorging myself on the Edible Arrangement for two years in a row (Thanks, Kelly's mom!)
- Kelly learning how to make a sympathetic face and Diane's wit causing Kelly to choke on her soda
- Lara and Rachael playing with Penny, who Angry Eyebrowed us all into submission
- Noemi's valiant efforts to get us to Chili's and being thwarted again and again by Apple Maps.
- Keeping Diane awake after everyone else talking about a stupid "friend" of mine and also my terrible work stories (man, I need to shut UP once in a while)
- Ranting and venting with Jules about being single and how people think it's such an easy thing to "fix"
- TOM HANKS CAKE
- Falling UP the stairs and bashing my toes, but NOT bleeding on anything valuable because I am talented and coordinated and not at all likely to be murdered by my own limbs
- Getting to know Amanda and seeing her awesome Ravenclaw tattoo
- Susie and Diane and their ridiculously small gin & tonics (Diane's was in a salt shaker with one ice cube)
- Enpurpling the party house while Kelly introduced me to Alkaline Trio, who I really liked and I'm not sure how I've not heard them before
I only regret two things this year: 1) not making more of an effort to talk to EVERYONE (although I wouldn't give up any of the conversations I did have to do so, so I'm not sure where that leaves me) and 2) keeping poor Kelly awake far past her bedtime (I was staying up because she was up and I didn't want to miss anything and SHE was staying up as a good hostess and basically I should have gone to bed earlier and we both would have been better off). Sorry, Kelly. Oh, and by the way, thanks for throwing a party and being serious when you said anyone could come. I'm so glad you did.
1.23.2013
Purse Preferences
I have very specific and sundry requirements for purses, so much so that you might be tempted to ask how anyone can expect so much from a sack of material meant to transport your things from one place to another. But such is the way of ME. And while I don't tend to blog about things like purses or make-up or other shopping pursuits, preferring to save my column inches (heh...) for the really important things, like my dead beta fish named Lola and long-winded rants about musicians named Steve Roach (that no one appreciated the way I'd hoped, might I add [probably because it wasn't very good...]), I have been thinking about this often enough lately that I decided not to deprive you of my wisdom and insight regarding purses. You're welcome. And if you lost your way somewhere in the midst of that clause and parenthetical laden sentence, I don't blame you one bit. I'm still mired in it myself.
Moving on! I've had the same purse for many years now. A small, bright pink, constructed-with-non-leather-materials, Target-bargain purse. The non-leather materials started to flake off about a year ago and the strap has been tearing lately and in general it just looks bad. But, alas, I am broke, meaning I neither have the money to spend on a purse nor the money to carry in a purse. So it seemed like a non-issue for a while. But at Christmas, my mother asked me what I needed/wanted and I immediately thought of my poor, sad, pink bag limping along on its last zipper-pull and I thought LO! I will ask the mother for a new one and she will buy something practical in brown or black that is more befitting a 26-year-old quasi-professional such as myself and I will finally retire my whimsical and slightly-impractical handbag. And then she requested to know what kind of bag I wanted and, yea, the list was long (I'm trying to make it feel more Christmassy. Is it working?). And indeed, on Christmas morning, it was discovered that she had brought forth a practical, brown, professional handbag and wrapped it in swaddling, er, wrapping paper and presented it to me.
Geez! That was like five THOUSAND words to tell you I had a purse, it was falling apart, I got a new one for Christmas. In my defense, I come by it honestly. Seriously, in my family, if you use 20 words to say what only needs 10, you're barely trying. ANYway, the purse my mom gave me had a big old slice in the strap, probably from a box cutter when the store unpacked it, and the strap was going to break in the first few weeks of use, so I had to return it and the store didn't have a replacement or any other that I liked. Because of all my requirements. Which I will enumerate here so we can all move on and find something to eat before we die of starvation on the Oregon Trail that is this story I'm telling.
Oddly Specific Purse Preferences:
1. It must be of medium size. Not like a baguette or a clutch. Not like a hobo bag. [I think I'm using all of those terms correctly, but feel free to call me out. This is why I will never be a fashion blogger. Well, this and my COMPLETE lack of style coupled with my aversion to self-photography.] Partly because medium bags are easier to carry and partly because, not matter what size it is, I will fill it right up. So medium works best for me.
2. It must be wider than it is tall. I have a long-ish pocketbook for my checkbook (which I hardly ever use anymore, because seriously, who writes checks these days?), my cash, and all the various plastic cards I carry--credit, ID, gift, and other. I want the pocketbook to go in and out easily.
3. It must have a short, wide strap. When I have it on my shoulder, I want it under my arm, not hitting my hip. I am far too klutzy for this to be anything other than a choking hazard. Also, though not a deal breaker, I'd prefer one strap over two.
4. However, the strap must be slightly longer than the span from my wrist to my elbow. I know, oddly specific. Basically, I need to be able to move the purse from my hand to my shoulder in one movement and only using one hand. If I need to two-hand my purse, it is 50% less useful to me.
5. It must stand on its own. I want to be able to set it down and not have it tip over.
6. It must have a zipper for the main compartment. In case of the rare tip-over, I want my belongings to STAY in the purse. Magnetic clasps are unreliable and real clasps are impractical.
7. It must have the correct balance of internal pockets to open space. I want a few places to store things. But not so many places that I lose things and/or have trouble fitting larger items, like my pocketbook. I would also like at least one zippered pocket to store lady products so they don't come flying out of my purse when I whip out said pocketbook.
8. It must have an quick-access outer pocket. For keys. Or y iPhone, when I don't have pockets. his should probably have a magnetic closure, not a zipper this time.
9. It must be made of leather-like material. No canvas. No print (especially floral) No fringe. No giant, useless chains or studs that are flashy and obnoxious. Just a solid color. Preferably not textured (like faux-snake skin, ew) in any way.
Looking over that list, I think I can finally give up on my dream of not being high-maintenance. I was never really close anyway, I guess.
With all of that said (and I'm beginning to wonder if anyone but me cares about this topic, but I'm too far along now to quit), there is also the added obstacle of me being INCREDIBLY cheap. We can say this is due to my recent jaunts into temporary unpaid leisure time (that sounds more upbeat than "hopeless unemployment," now doesn't it?), but I think I'm strong enough to admit that my job situation has only served to exacerbate my deep-seated frugality.
Seriously, long story NOT ANY LESS LONG, I finally went to the local thrift store on their half-off day and I found two, count them TWO, purses that met these qualifications and were only $7.50 (and one of them doesn't even look like it was used). And while I know I said I was looking for something more practical and professional, like brown or black, these two called to me and let's face it, I've never been all that practical and I haven't been a professional for quite some time. And I think that, though these colors aren't typical, colored bags are so commonplace now that I really don't think it's an issue. Oh God, self, just shut up and show them the pictures already.
Here are my new (used), cheap, specifications-meeting purses:
They both have two, thin-ish straps, which is the only downside to either of them. Otherwise, they meet all my ridiculous requirements and then some. And for under ten bucks, I really can't complain at all.
So. I needed a purse, I got two purses, I like them a lot--a much shorter post, but I hope you'll agree, a much more boring one. And thus ends my purse jabber. Feel free to chime in with your own purse requirements or advice as to where to find something that meets mine (although it will probably be years before I go looking again, if I'm being honest).
Moving on! I've had the same purse for many years now. A small, bright pink, constructed-with-non-leather-materials, Target-bargain purse. The non-leather materials started to flake off about a year ago and the strap has been tearing lately and in general it just looks bad. But, alas, I am broke, meaning I neither have the money to spend on a purse nor the money to carry in a purse. So it seemed like a non-issue for a while. But at Christmas, my mother asked me what I needed/wanted and I immediately thought of my poor, sad, pink bag limping along on its last zipper-pull and I thought LO! I will ask the mother for a new one and she will buy something practical in brown or black that is more befitting a 26-year-old quasi-professional such as myself and I will finally retire my whimsical and slightly-impractical handbag. And then she requested to know what kind of bag I wanted and, yea, the list was long (I'm trying to make it feel more Christmassy. Is it working?). And indeed, on Christmas morning, it was discovered that she had brought forth a practical, brown, professional handbag and wrapped it in swaddling, er, wrapping paper and presented it to me.
Geez! That was like five THOUSAND words to tell you I had a purse, it was falling apart, I got a new one for Christmas. In my defense, I come by it honestly. Seriously, in my family, if you use 20 words to say what only needs 10, you're barely trying. ANYway, the purse my mom gave me had a big old slice in the strap, probably from a box cutter when the store unpacked it, and the strap was going to break in the first few weeks of use, so I had to return it and the store didn't have a replacement or any other that I liked. Because of all my requirements. Which I will enumerate here so we can all move on and find something to eat before we die of starvation on the Oregon Trail that is this story I'm telling.
Oddly Specific Purse Preferences:
1. It must be of medium size. Not like a baguette or a clutch. Not like a hobo bag. [I think I'm using all of those terms correctly, but feel free to call me out. This is why I will never be a fashion blogger. Well, this and my COMPLETE lack of style coupled with my aversion to self-photography.] Partly because medium bags are easier to carry and partly because, not matter what size it is, I will fill it right up. So medium works best for me.
2. It must be wider than it is tall. I have a long-ish pocketbook for my checkbook (which I hardly ever use anymore, because seriously, who writes checks these days?), my cash, and all the various plastic cards I carry--credit, ID, gift, and other. I want the pocketbook to go in and out easily.
3. It must have a short, wide strap. When I have it on my shoulder, I want it under my arm, not hitting my hip. I am far too klutzy for this to be anything other than a choking hazard. Also, though not a deal breaker, I'd prefer one strap over two.
4. However, the strap must be slightly longer than the span from my wrist to my elbow. I know, oddly specific. Basically, I need to be able to move the purse from my hand to my shoulder in one movement and only using one hand. If I need to two-hand my purse, it is 50% less useful to me.
5. It must stand on its own. I want to be able to set it down and not have it tip over.
6. It must have a zipper for the main compartment. In case of the rare tip-over, I want my belongings to STAY in the purse. Magnetic clasps are unreliable and real clasps are impractical.
7. It must have the correct balance of internal pockets to open space. I want a few places to store things. But not so many places that I lose things and/or have trouble fitting larger items, like my pocketbook. I would also like at least one zippered pocket to store lady products so they don't come flying out of my purse when I whip out said pocketbook.
8. It must have an quick-access outer pocket. For keys. Or y iPhone, when I don't have pockets. his should probably have a magnetic closure, not a zipper this time.
9. It must be made of leather-like material. No canvas. No print (especially floral) No fringe. No giant, useless chains or studs that are flashy and obnoxious. Just a solid color. Preferably not textured (like faux-snake skin, ew) in any way.
Looking over that list, I think I can finally give up on my dream of not being high-maintenance. I was never really close anyway, I guess.
With all of that said (and I'm beginning to wonder if anyone but me cares about this topic, but I'm too far along now to quit), there is also the added obstacle of me being INCREDIBLY cheap. We can say this is due to my recent jaunts into temporary unpaid leisure time (that sounds more upbeat than "hopeless unemployment," now doesn't it?), but I think I'm strong enough to admit that my job situation has only served to exacerbate my deep-seated frugality.
Seriously, long story NOT ANY LESS LONG, I finally went to the local thrift store on their half-off day and I found two, count them TWO, purses that met these qualifications and were only $7.50 (and one of them doesn't even look like it was used). And while I know I said I was looking for something more practical and professional, like brown or black, these two called to me and let's face it, I've never been all that practical and I haven't been a professional for quite some time. And I think that, though these colors aren't typical, colored bags are so commonplace now that I really don't think it's an issue. Oh God, self, just shut up and show them the pictures already.
Here are my new (used), cheap, specifications-meeting purses:
 |
| The one I'm using right now. I LOVE it! I know the orange is a little out there, but I can't find it in me to care. |
 |
| This one is a little more worn and doesn't completely stand up by itself, because the bottom is warped. But hopefully when it's full, it will work just fine. |
They both have two, thin-ish straps, which is the only downside to either of them. Otherwise, they meet all my ridiculous requirements and then some. And for under ten bucks, I really can't complain at all.
So. I needed a purse, I got two purses, I like them a lot--a much shorter post, but I hope you'll agree, a much more boring one. And thus ends my purse jabber. Feel free to chime in with your own purse requirements or advice as to where to find something that meets mine (although it will probably be years before I go looking again, if I'm being honest).
1.10.2013
I think I negated the breezy...
Nanowrimo is long over and I haven't written a single word on my book since November 30th. Now is the time to change that. I'm posting this from my phone rather than try to fight with the Internet on my computer and get distracted from the open Word document staring at me from the screen. This is go time. But first, a short request:
Some of you commented or tweeted or emailed that you'd like to be beta readers for the half finished, unedited, first draft of a Christian fiction romance novel about death and babies and lawsuits. If it still appeals to you after that descriptor, I am ready to have it read. I kind of cannot believe that I willingly typed that, but there it is.
So. If you're interested, please send an email requesting it to Elise dot M dot Seaton at gmail dot com and I will reply with a cumbersome attachment or a link to a google doc and bare my naked soul to strangers and friends on the Internet and then I will crawl into a closet and not come out until I need to catch my flight to PJs at TJ's. *ahem*
I mean, like, whatever. Ain't no big thang. I want you to read it, you know, if you REALLY want to. Just let me know. I'm breezy...
Some of you commented or tweeted or emailed that you'd like to be beta readers for the half finished, unedited, first draft of a Christian fiction romance novel about death and babies and lawsuits. If it still appeals to you after that descriptor, I am ready to have it read. I kind of cannot believe that I willingly typed that, but there it is.
So. If you're interested, please send an email requesting it to Elise dot M dot Seaton at gmail dot com and I will reply with a cumbersome attachment or a link to a google doc and bare my naked soul to strangers and friends on the Internet and then I will crawl into a closet and not come out until I need to catch my flight to PJs at TJ's. *ahem*
I mean, like, whatever. Ain't no big thang. I want you to read it, you know, if you REALLY want to. Just let me know. I'm breezy...
12.02.2012
And Now I Want Baked Beans and Hotdogs...
I know what you're thinking. Two posts in two days? INSANITY! I know, right? I'm trying something new and different. It's called writing on my blog. It's a revolutionary concept I expect will sweep the nation in four to six months. Or, you know, whatever.
Anyway, something funny happened yesterday and it got me to thinking about my favorite kid of blog posts. You know the kind, where someone says something weird/embarrassing/stupid about themselves and I instantly think, "You, too? I thought I was the only one who thought/felt/acted like that!" I love those kind of posts. I'm pretty sure they are the best part of the Internet.
Yesterday, Sister and I spent the majority of the day at my parent's house, partly because I'd had a crappy week and needed them and partly because they've been out of town for a while and I wanted to see them, but mostly because I was hungry and my mother offered me pancakes. I'm a simple girl with simple needs: air, water, shelter, pancakes (or any other carbs that come in somewhat circular forms). Not necessarily in that order.
At some point during the day, my dad made himself a snack of french bread and braunschweiger (if you click, please don't let the picture of the sandwich throw you off--whoever made that sandwich was an idiot who doesn't know how to make sandwiches). He's loved certain strange foods for many years, including this and pickled herring. As a child, I grew up eating braunschweiger because he liked it and I was very much a Daddy's Girl (a term which I've always hated the sound of, but I have no other way to describe it so we're going to have to pretend it isn't awkward, mmkay?) and I wanted to like what he liked and do what he did--except eat pickled herring; even I wasn't brave enough for that. Parental hero worship might be an interesting blog post, but it's not this one. Just wait, I'm getting there.
It's probably a good thing he introduced it to me so early, because if I had come across it as an adult, I would have wrinkled my nose and never tried it. But I love it right alongside him. Again, a better blogger than me could spin that into a "LOOK! There's this thing I HATED as a kid and now I love it!" (or vice versa) kind of post. I am not that blogger.
So my dad finished his disgustingly delicious snack, which he was kind enough to share with me, and got up to go do something. And he got a massive charlie horse in the back of his thigh (sidenote: I have trouble when he gives me a pretend sad face, so seeing him in actual pain makes my chest physically hurt--it's a weird link I have with him, probably related to the whole Daddy's Girl [ick] thing).
And can we just take a(nother) break, for a quick question? Does everyone call them charlie horses or is that one of those weird regional colloquialisms that no one understands unless they grew up in a specific area? I thought it was a universal term, but I'm starting to doubt myself and I don't want to have a million wiki links peppered throughout this post (plus, it seems like a weird thing to link to), so if it IS one of those things and you don't know what I'm talking about, a charlie horse is a leg cramp that make your whole leg seize up and you have to find a way to either point your toe or flatten your foot and it's awful and no one likes them and, uh, charlie horse. That explanation got away from me. Moving on! And if you already knew and I was wrong and EVERYONE knows this information, I'm just going to move on in an embarrassed and slightly stealth-like manner.
I realize this may sound like I'm rambling (BECAUSE I AM), but this is all a (very detailed) set-up for a somewhat interesting point/question, I promise.
As soon as we got his leg to loosen up and got him set up on the couch, Mom and Sister told me a really ridiculous story about how, while I had run out to the grocery store after breakfast, my dad had gotten a charlie horse while stuck under the sink trying to fix a non-serious plumbing problem and the other semi-calamitous events surrounding the plumbing and charlie horsing and I had this CRAZY BRAINWAVE. In my mind, I have always had a memory linkage between braunschweiger and my father having a charlie horse. I cannot explain it or point to another time when he was eating it and got a charlie horse, but there is a DIRECT link in my brain.
When I mentioned this to my family, they kind of just blinked at me for a minute, so I followed it up with this: every time I go into the garage at my parents' house, I have to pee REALLY BADLY, whether I've done so recently or not. I don't know if it's because that's how we always came into the house as kids when we were playing outside and we needed to use the bathroom or what, but I am 25 and it still happens. Maybe it's the temperature difference? Anyway, they kind of got it then, I think. Or they were just nodding and smiling and thinking of where to hide the knives from the crazy person sitting on their couch.
But I have these connections with all kinds of things. Whenever I put on mascara, I think of the movie Sybil with Sally Field. This one I think I understand--I had to watch it in college for a screenwriting class and I underestimated how long it was going to be, so I was in a hurry to go somewhere near the end and spent the last fifteen minutes watching it through my bathroom mirror while I got ready to go.
And I know I just made up the rules to this...thing..., but I'm not even sure if this one qualifies: I will never NOT get the two names Gretchen and Bridgette mixed up in my head. Never.
BUT! Hot dogs and baked beans with new potatoes will ALWAYS make me think of that old show Night Court (Mom and Sister agreed with this one, actually), because that was almost always the meal Dad made for us kids on Saturday nights when Mom worked the night shift and we would eat it while watching that show. To this day, the smell of baked beans cooking occasionally makes me hum the Night Court theme song (Watching to that just made me SO HAPPY, you have no idea. Oh, the bad hair! And John Larroquette! BULL! Man, I miss that show).
There are a million other little things like this for me. And despite my family's initial reaction, I CANNOT be the only one. What strange, inexplicable, or ridiculous linkages to you have trapped inside of your brain? And if you don't have any, could you please make some up while you think of places to hide your knives from me?
Anyway, something funny happened yesterday and it got me to thinking about my favorite kid of blog posts. You know the kind, where someone says something weird/embarrassing/stupid about themselves and I instantly think, "You, too? I thought I was the only one who thought/felt/acted like that!" I love those kind of posts. I'm pretty sure they are the best part of the Internet.
Yesterday, Sister and I spent the majority of the day at my parent's house, partly because I'd had a crappy week and needed them and partly because they've been out of town for a while and I wanted to see them, but mostly because I was hungry and my mother offered me pancakes. I'm a simple girl with simple needs: air, water, shelter, pancakes (or any other carbs that come in somewhat circular forms). Not necessarily in that order.
At some point during the day, my dad made himself a snack of french bread and braunschweiger (if you click, please don't let the picture of the sandwich throw you off--whoever made that sandwich was an idiot who doesn't know how to make sandwiches). He's loved certain strange foods for many years, including this and pickled herring. As a child, I grew up eating braunschweiger because he liked it and I was very much a Daddy's Girl (a term which I've always hated the sound of, but I have no other way to describe it so we're going to have to pretend it isn't awkward, mmkay?) and I wanted to like what he liked and do what he did--except eat pickled herring; even I wasn't brave enough for that. Parental hero worship might be an interesting blog post, but it's not this one. Just wait, I'm getting there.
It's probably a good thing he introduced it to me so early, because if I had come across it as an adult, I would have wrinkled my nose and never tried it. But I love it right alongside him. Again, a better blogger than me could spin that into a "LOOK! There's this thing I HATED as a kid and now I love it!" (or vice versa) kind of post. I am not that blogger.
So my dad finished his disgustingly delicious snack, which he was kind enough to share with me, and got up to go do something. And he got a massive charlie horse in the back of his thigh (sidenote: I have trouble when he gives me a pretend sad face, so seeing him in actual pain makes my chest physically hurt--it's a weird link I have with him, probably related to the whole Daddy's Girl [ick] thing).
And can we just take a(nother) break, for a quick question? Does everyone call them charlie horses or is that one of those weird regional colloquialisms that no one understands unless they grew up in a specific area? I thought it was a universal term, but I'm starting to doubt myself and I don't want to have a million wiki links peppered throughout this post (plus, it seems like a weird thing to link to), so if it IS one of those things and you don't know what I'm talking about, a charlie horse is a leg cramp that make your whole leg seize up and you have to find a way to either point your toe or flatten your foot and it's awful and no one likes them and, uh, charlie horse. That explanation got away from me. Moving on! And if you already knew and I was wrong and EVERYONE knows this information, I'm just going to move on in an embarrassed and slightly stealth-like manner.
I realize this may sound like I'm rambling (BECAUSE I AM), but this is all a (very detailed) set-up for a somewhat interesting point/question, I promise.
As soon as we got his leg to loosen up and got him set up on the couch, Mom and Sister told me a really ridiculous story about how, while I had run out to the grocery store after breakfast, my dad had gotten a charlie horse while stuck under the sink trying to fix a non-serious plumbing problem and the other semi-calamitous events surrounding the plumbing and charlie horsing and I had this CRAZY BRAINWAVE. In my mind, I have always had a memory linkage between braunschweiger and my father having a charlie horse. I cannot explain it or point to another time when he was eating it and got a charlie horse, but there is a DIRECT link in my brain.
When I mentioned this to my family, they kind of just blinked at me for a minute, so I followed it up with this: every time I go into the garage at my parents' house, I have to pee REALLY BADLY, whether I've done so recently or not. I don't know if it's because that's how we always came into the house as kids when we were playing outside and we needed to use the bathroom or what, but I am 25 and it still happens. Maybe it's the temperature difference? Anyway, they kind of got it then, I think. Or they were just nodding and smiling and thinking of where to hide the knives from the crazy person sitting on their couch.
But I have these connections with all kinds of things. Whenever I put on mascara, I think of the movie Sybil with Sally Field. This one I think I understand--I had to watch it in college for a screenwriting class and I underestimated how long it was going to be, so I was in a hurry to go somewhere near the end and spent the last fifteen minutes watching it through my bathroom mirror while I got ready to go.
And I know I just made up the rules to this...thing..., but I'm not even sure if this one qualifies: I will never NOT get the two names Gretchen and Bridgette mixed up in my head. Never.
BUT! Hot dogs and baked beans with new potatoes will ALWAYS make me think of that old show Night Court (Mom and Sister agreed with this one, actually), because that was almost always the meal Dad made for us kids on Saturday nights when Mom worked the night shift and we would eat it while watching that show. To this day, the smell of baked beans cooking occasionally makes me hum the Night Court theme song (Watching to that just made me SO HAPPY, you have no idea. Oh, the bad hair! And John Larroquette! BULL! Man, I miss that show).
There are a million other little things like this for me. And despite my family's initial reaction, I CANNOT be the only one. What strange, inexplicable, or ridiculous linkages to you have trapped inside of your brain? And if you don't have any, could you please make some up while you think of places to hide your knives from me?
12.01.2012
And the Crickets Keep Chirping...
I didn't mention it here, mainly because I haven't been mentioning much of anything at all for the last several months, but I participated in NaNoWriMo again this year. Some of you might remember last year, when I attempted to write my first novel in 30 days while also posting here every day. And even thought I accomplished both, I think it broke me. My posting had not been regular here since.
Anyway, I did NaNoWriMo again this year. Everything was going well for the first week and a half--I was even consistently ahead in my word count by a full day or more. I was thinking of upping my goal from the baseline 50,000 and trying for 75K or even a 100K (when I'm feeling optimistic, I get a little ahead of myself). Then I got SLAMMED with insomnia. For over a week, I tossed and turned until 3:00 am. I could barely function during the daylight hours, which BY THE WAY are incredibly short at this time of year. I was also volunteering pretty heavily at my church and caught a couple babysitting gigs, so my novel sat on the back burner. Then there was turkey day and family time and what it all comes down to is that I had 25,000 words left to write in five days.
That's HALF of the goal. But for some reason, my brain shielded me from that concept and I just jumped back into writing it. I thought, I'll just have to do 5,000 words a day. That's not THAT hard. Ha. Haha. But, as my last post informed you, I've had a rough year and it only seems to be getting rougher. So I desperately needed a win. Or, more accurately, I wasn't sure I could handle another failure.
Ignoring all the stats, I put fingers to keys and just took off for five days. Yesterday night, I managed to write 9,916 words to finish NaNoWriMo with an hour to spare! AND I figured out how to verify it, which means that I'm an official winner. Unlike last year when I really did finish, but didn't know I had to verify it so it looks like I just logged on every day to type in progressively higher numbers until I hit 50,000. So I'm a two-time finisher, only a one-time winner. And I'm trying not to be bitter about it.
The story is only about halfway done, which is fine, because the type of book I want to write is between 300-350 pages. 50,000 words is a little over halfway there. So I still have some work to do. But, again unlike last year, I actually LIKE this story and it's going well. I'm not sure it's worth publishing or letting anyone read, but it's worth it to me to finish it--if only because I've never finished a story and I'd really like to. And while the win doesn't feel ALL that winnish (it was all a little anticlimactic what with the story not being finished), I know I would feel terrible today if I had given up, so I keep focusing on that.
The only difficult part of the whole thing (you know, other than needing push out 25,000 words in five days) was that the topic is incredibly sad and is somewhat personally relevant, since I took a real life thing and asked the question "What's the worst that could happen?" Since November was such a rough month for many other reasons, I tried to bury myself in the novel. But it often just felt like trading one kind of sad for another. And that was incredibly hard on me. It wore me out and it pulled me down. But I really think that the characters are more believable and relateable because of it. I hope.
Anyway, some of you have requested to be beta readers. I am so worried about sharing my work, but I also am kind of excited to get some feed back from people who aren't related to me and therefore are practically required to be nice about my creativity. So. If you are interested in reading an unedited first draft of half a romantic/family drama with Christian values, speak up now. Why am I hearing crickets? There are no crickets in Far North.
Anyway, I did NaNoWriMo again this year. Everything was going well for the first week and a half--I was even consistently ahead in my word count by a full day or more. I was thinking of upping my goal from the baseline 50,000 and trying for 75K or even a 100K (when I'm feeling optimistic, I get a little ahead of myself). Then I got SLAMMED with insomnia. For over a week, I tossed and turned until 3:00 am. I could barely function during the daylight hours, which BY THE WAY are incredibly short at this time of year. I was also volunteering pretty heavily at my church and caught a couple babysitting gigs, so my novel sat on the back burner. Then there was turkey day and family time and what it all comes down to is that I had 25,000 words left to write in five days.
That's HALF of the goal. But for some reason, my brain shielded me from that concept and I just jumped back into writing it. I thought, I'll just have to do 5,000 words a day. That's not THAT hard. Ha. Haha. But, as my last post informed you, I've had a rough year and it only seems to be getting rougher. So I desperately needed a win. Or, more accurately, I wasn't sure I could handle another failure.
Ignoring all the stats, I put fingers to keys and just took off for five days. Yesterday night, I managed to write 9,916 words to finish NaNoWriMo with an hour to spare! AND I figured out how to verify it, which means that I'm an official winner. Unlike last year when I really did finish, but didn't know I had to verify it so it looks like I just logged on every day to type in progressively higher numbers until I hit 50,000. So I'm a two-time finisher, only a one-time winner. And I'm trying not to be bitter about it.
The story is only about halfway done, which is fine, because the type of book I want to write is between 300-350 pages. 50,000 words is a little over halfway there. So I still have some work to do. But, again unlike last year, I actually LIKE this story and it's going well. I'm not sure it's worth publishing or letting anyone read, but it's worth it to me to finish it--if only because I've never finished a story and I'd really like to. And while the win doesn't feel ALL that winnish (it was all a little anticlimactic what with the story not being finished), I know I would feel terrible today if I had given up, so I keep focusing on that.
The only difficult part of the whole thing (you know, other than needing push out 25,000 words in five days) was that the topic is incredibly sad and is somewhat personally relevant, since I took a real life thing and asked the question "What's the worst that could happen?" Since November was such a rough month for many other reasons, I tried to bury myself in the novel. But it often just felt like trading one kind of sad for another. And that was incredibly hard on me. It wore me out and it pulled me down. But I really think that the characters are more believable and relateable because of it. I hope.
Anyway, some of you have requested to be beta readers. I am so worried about sharing my work, but I also am kind of excited to get some feed back from people who aren't related to me and therefore are practically required to be nice about my creativity. So. If you are interested in reading an unedited first draft of half a romantic/family drama with Christian values, speak up now. Why am I hearing crickets? There are no crickets in Far North.
11.28.2012
For All the Lost and Lonely
I am so lost right now, you guys. Life is really hard and I can't seem to write about anything other than my sorrows. But as I wrote this today, unsure of whether I would post it or just use it as a cathartic mind-dump and delete it, I found something interesting. I may be lost in the woods, but I can't possibly be the only one out here. With the economy the way it's been for the last several years and life being the grab bag of shits and giggles that it can be, a lot of us are a little lost these days. So I'm going to share where I'm at. Partly as catharsis and partly to tell you you're not alone, either. I'm not so full of myself to pretend I have any kind of solution, which you will see clearly as you read about the train wreck that is my life recently, but maybe you and I can find some hope together.
I spend a lot of my time actively not thinking about where my life is right now. It's nowhere near where I want it to be, but over the last year, I have managed to strengthen my denial muscle. I blithely move throughout my days, doing little projects, volunteering at church, picking up odd jobs here and there, pretending I'm not standing on a razor thin wire of hope that's growing more and more tenuous each day. There are the days that I forget to hold the denial muscle tight (like when I glance at my bank account) and I get a little bit sucker punched by the weight of all that I am not doing or cannot change. There is a physical pain in my stomach and a weight pressing on my chest that often takes my breath away with how suddenly it hits. But I take a few deep breaths and pull the muscle taut again. I just keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because what other choice do I have?
But then there are days, days like today, when something happens and the denial muscle snaps and sprains and hangs limp. When I get an early morning phone call telling me that I ONCE AGAIN did not get a job. A job I interviewed for less than twenty-four hours before. An interview that used up four hours of my life, 90 miles' worth of gas, and an hour and a half's worth of patience while I waited around for a second interview that never happened. On those days, everything comes into stark focus and my denial muscle is useless from the effort of holding it all at bay. On those days, I get up in the morning and I make my coffee and I sit on the couch and I just cry.
Major areas of my life are in shambles. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but they all feel pretty broken to me. The biggest and most pressing is the job issue. It has been 422 days since I have worked. Four hundred and twenty-two. (That's longer than it takes to gestate a human baby. Or a horse. But less than an elephant. So, you know, hope...?) I've taken a temp job here and there, I've done two stints as a week-long overnight nanny, and I've house-sat for almost everyone in my church. But I have not held a real nine-to-five-here's-a-paycheck-every-two-weeks-and-also-some-benefits-so-you-don't-die-of-scurvy kind of job in 13 months. And my bank account grows sadly smaller every day.
I have no idea how I'm going to do Christmas this year. I am blessed to have a family that doesn't care about gifts, but it makes me feel so...small...that I can't participate in the simplest things. When we go out to lunch as a family, my father pays the bill with his credit card and everyone hands over cash for their portion. Except for me, because I can't. My parents recently bought themselves a new car and gave me my mother's old one. To replace the one I had been driving, which was my fathers old car. And I can't even afford the insurance on either of these borrowed cars, so they pay that, too. I haven't paid rent to Sister since August. But my family doesn't blink, they just give. They know I'll settle up when things get better. But things aren't getting better. 422 days, you guys.
Another thing that pulls me down and discourages me is my weight. I am heavier than I have ever been in my whole life. I have gained back all of the weight I worked so hard to lose in college. And then some. And then some more. I don't fit into most of my clothes, but I can't really afford to replace them, even if I had the emotional fortitude to go try things on right now. I see new stretch marks in the mirror every day and my ass is the size of Montana. My double ass.
And I KNOW, alright? I know that I have complete control over how much I weigh. I know the simple formula of calories in minus more calories out equals weight-loss. And I have PLENTY OF TIME to exercise, what with the not working ever. That knowledge just makes everything harder, because (and this is going to sound like the giant excuse that it is) I am just so demoralized. I have absolutely no motivation. You'd think the above paragraph would be enough to spur me into activity (and it is, on occasion, for about three days). But it's cold and dark here and food makes me happy. On days when I'm not sure that things are ever going to turn around for me, it's one of the only things that does.
And this leads me directly to the another GIANT VACUUM OF LACK: love, marriage, and children. Because who wants to marry a sad, unemployed, stretch-marked loser who sits on her couch all day? No one, as my experience has taught me. As much as it pains me to admit this, I KNOW I'm not in any frame of mind to be someone's partner, to enter into a deep and meaningful relationship right now. That's probably the hardest part--I am aware of how defeated I have become and I HATE it (see the previousword vomit paragraphs). Obviously, I'm not in the most positive headspace right now. And while there may be men out there who can look beyond a woman's physical appearance to see her inner beauty (which I also feel like I'm lacking), I am pretty sure I'm not going to be turning any heads in my current physical state.
Part of me (the pragmatic, logical part of me) is okay with that, because this is NOT who I want to be in a relationship. But when I get to thinking on a broader scale of where I want my life to be, the thing that comes to the forefront each and every time is that I want to be a wife and mother. I don't want to be an accountant; I don't want to be a graphic designer; I don't want to run for office or fly to the moon. I just want to be someone's wife and someone's mom. I'm not opposed to working (seriously, COME ON, I have been searching for a job for over a year) and I'm not opposed to being a working mom if that's what I need to do. But I was MADE to be a mom. I can feel it in my bones, every time I play with my godkids or hear a funny story about my niece or nephew. The weeks of nannying, while difficult for many reasons, felt like I'd scored an exclusive internships for the top job in my field.
So when I look at my life, I feel a little hopeless. I feel like I can't gain any traction on my weight-loss until I get a job that will take me out of this house and away from the ever-present pantry. And I can't even begin to contemplate putting myself out there romantically until I feel a little bit better about my body. And I can't seem to find a job to save my life. Are you sensing a Cycle of Apathy and Self-Loathing? Yeah, me, too. I feel trapped in limbo and something has got to give soon.
Don't get me wrong. I have SO MANY good things in my life. Compared to some of the stories I read on the internet and things I see on the news, I have it SO GOOD. I have a warm home (despite being unable to pay rent) that has not been damaged by a hurricane or is otherwise unsafe for me to live in. I never have to deal with the exhaustion that comes from dysfunctional family drama or the heartache of loving someone with a chronic or terminal illness (for the most part--we recently discovered that my mother's brain tumor is back, but it's not nearly as terrifying as it sounds and I'll get to that in another post). I, myself, am not suffering from any debilitating health problems; I don't live in chronic pain. And, as much as I want to be a mom, I'm thankful I don't have children that are going hungry because of my financial situation. I am young and healthy and blessed and I will bounce back from this. Eventually.
So I try to focus on those things. I truly do. But on days like this, I can't help but think that those good things don't make the bad things any less bad. It doesn't matter how much worse off someone else is. This sucks! My life is HARD right now, even if it's not as difficult as it could be.
If there's one thing I've learned in this past year, it's that perspective can be a cold comfort. Lots of people want to give me advice right now and, as well-meaning as it can be, it drives me crazy when they tell me it could be worse. Because the comparison game is a two-edged sword. It reveals our blessings, which can be useful for finding our footing in the chaos. But it also serves to artificially downplay our own pain. Which is completely unfair. Because it IS painful. And it's OUR pain, not someone else's. It's happening to US and it's happening RIGHT NOW and it should be okay to say that it HURTS.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that there IS a silver lining to this terribly stormy cloud, even if it's hard to see when you're stuck in the rain or feel like you're trapped inside the vapor. And it's NOT perspective, which you probably have plenty of already, and it's not all of the blessings in your life, which I know you're aware of (how could you not be, when they may be all you have left to hold on to?). It's that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. And it's okay to say it hurts.
So please, if you're feeling as lost as I am, talk to me. Tell me how hard it's been. Scream and rant and rave in my comment section. I'm hurting, too, and together we might be able to find some light in this darkness. It will get better. I've been told again and again that it will. And I believe it. Most days. But on days like to day, I just need to say that it hurts. And maybe you do, too.
I spend a lot of my time actively not thinking about where my life is right now. It's nowhere near where I want it to be, but over the last year, I have managed to strengthen my denial muscle. I blithely move throughout my days, doing little projects, volunteering at church, picking up odd jobs here and there, pretending I'm not standing on a razor thin wire of hope that's growing more and more tenuous each day. There are the days that I forget to hold the denial muscle tight (like when I glance at my bank account) and I get a little bit sucker punched by the weight of all that I am not doing or cannot change. There is a physical pain in my stomach and a weight pressing on my chest that often takes my breath away with how suddenly it hits. But I take a few deep breaths and pull the muscle taut again. I just keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because what other choice do I have?
But then there are days, days like today, when something happens and the denial muscle snaps and sprains and hangs limp. When I get an early morning phone call telling me that I ONCE AGAIN did not get a job. A job I interviewed for less than twenty-four hours before. An interview that used up four hours of my life, 90 miles' worth of gas, and an hour and a half's worth of patience while I waited around for a second interview that never happened. On those days, everything comes into stark focus and my denial muscle is useless from the effort of holding it all at bay. On those days, I get up in the morning and I make my coffee and I sit on the couch and I just cry.
Major areas of my life are in shambles. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but they all feel pretty broken to me. The biggest and most pressing is the job issue. It has been 422 days since I have worked. Four hundred and twenty-two. (That's longer than it takes to gestate a human baby. Or a horse. But less than an elephant. So, you know, hope...?) I've taken a temp job here and there, I've done two stints as a week-long overnight nanny, and I've house-sat for almost everyone in my church. But I have not held a real nine-to-five-here's-a-paycheck-every-two-weeks-and-also-some-benefits-so-you-don't-die-of-scurvy kind of job in 13 months. And my bank account grows sadly smaller every day.
I have no idea how I'm going to do Christmas this year. I am blessed to have a family that doesn't care about gifts, but it makes me feel so...small...that I can't participate in the simplest things. When we go out to lunch as a family, my father pays the bill with his credit card and everyone hands over cash for their portion. Except for me, because I can't. My parents recently bought themselves a new car and gave me my mother's old one. To replace the one I had been driving, which was my fathers old car. And I can't even afford the insurance on either of these borrowed cars, so they pay that, too. I haven't paid rent to Sister since August. But my family doesn't blink, they just give. They know I'll settle up when things get better. But things aren't getting better. 422 days, you guys.
Another thing that pulls me down and discourages me is my weight. I am heavier than I have ever been in my whole life. I have gained back all of the weight I worked so hard to lose in college. And then some. And then some more. I don't fit into most of my clothes, but I can't really afford to replace them, even if I had the emotional fortitude to go try things on right now. I see new stretch marks in the mirror every day and my ass is the size of Montana. My double ass.
And I KNOW, alright? I know that I have complete control over how much I weigh. I know the simple formula of calories in minus more calories out equals weight-loss. And I have PLENTY OF TIME to exercise, what with the not working ever. That knowledge just makes everything harder, because (and this is going to sound like the giant excuse that it is) I am just so demoralized. I have absolutely no motivation. You'd think the above paragraph would be enough to spur me into activity (and it is, on occasion, for about three days). But it's cold and dark here and food makes me happy. On days when I'm not sure that things are ever going to turn around for me, it's one of the only things that does.
And this leads me directly to the another GIANT VACUUM OF LACK: love, marriage, and children. Because who wants to marry a sad, unemployed, stretch-marked loser who sits on her couch all day? No one, as my experience has taught me. As much as it pains me to admit this, I KNOW I'm not in any frame of mind to be someone's partner, to enter into a deep and meaningful relationship right now. That's probably the hardest part--I am aware of how defeated I have become and I HATE it (see the previous
Part of me (the pragmatic, logical part of me) is okay with that, because this is NOT who I want to be in a relationship. But when I get to thinking on a broader scale of where I want my life to be, the thing that comes to the forefront each and every time is that I want to be a wife and mother. I don't want to be an accountant; I don't want to be a graphic designer; I don't want to run for office or fly to the moon. I just want to be someone's wife and someone's mom. I'm not opposed to working (seriously, COME ON, I have been searching for a job for over a year) and I'm not opposed to being a working mom if that's what I need to do. But I was MADE to be a mom. I can feel it in my bones, every time I play with my godkids or hear a funny story about my niece or nephew. The weeks of nannying, while difficult for many reasons, felt like I'd scored an exclusive internships for the top job in my field.
So when I look at my life, I feel a little hopeless. I feel like I can't gain any traction on my weight-loss until I get a job that will take me out of this house and away from the ever-present pantry. And I can't even begin to contemplate putting myself out there romantically until I feel a little bit better about my body. And I can't seem to find a job to save my life. Are you sensing a Cycle of Apathy and Self-Loathing? Yeah, me, too. I feel trapped in limbo and something has got to give soon.
Don't get me wrong. I have SO MANY good things in my life. Compared to some of the stories I read on the internet and things I see on the news, I have it SO GOOD. I have a warm home (despite being unable to pay rent) that has not been damaged by a hurricane or is otherwise unsafe for me to live in. I never have to deal with the exhaustion that comes from dysfunctional family drama or the heartache of loving someone with a chronic or terminal illness (for the most part--we recently discovered that my mother's brain tumor is back, but it's not nearly as terrifying as it sounds and I'll get to that in another post). I, myself, am not suffering from any debilitating health problems; I don't live in chronic pain. And, as much as I want to be a mom, I'm thankful I don't have children that are going hungry because of my financial situation. I am young and healthy and blessed and I will bounce back from this. Eventually.
So I try to focus on those things. I truly do. But on days like this, I can't help but think that those good things don't make the bad things any less bad. It doesn't matter how much worse off someone else is. This sucks! My life is HARD right now, even if it's not as difficult as it could be.
If there's one thing I've learned in this past year, it's that perspective can be a cold comfort. Lots of people want to give me advice right now and, as well-meaning as it can be, it drives me crazy when they tell me it could be worse. Because the comparison game is a two-edged sword. It reveals our blessings, which can be useful for finding our footing in the chaos. But it also serves to artificially downplay our own pain. Which is completely unfair. Because it IS painful. And it's OUR pain, not someone else's. It's happening to US and it's happening RIGHT NOW and it should be okay to say that it HURTS.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that there IS a silver lining to this terribly stormy cloud, even if it's hard to see when you're stuck in the rain or feel like you're trapped inside the vapor. And it's NOT perspective, which you probably have plenty of already, and it's not all of the blessings in your life, which I know you're aware of (how could you not be, when they may be all you have left to hold on to?). It's that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. And it's okay to say it hurts.
So please, if you're feeling as lost as I am, talk to me. Tell me how hard it's been. Scream and rant and rave in my comment section. I'm hurting, too, and together we might be able to find some light in this darkness. It will get better. I've been told again and again that it will. And I believe it. Most days. But on days like to day, I just need to say that it hurts. And maybe you do, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)