Starting Again

Wow.  My last post was nearly a year ago; a lot has changed.  One of the reasons I didn't blog more here was the depression resulting from my job (which just got worse) and that sometimes I feel like I don't have much to say as an "older" single adult.  I just live my life.  Besides, who wants to hear from a single woman in a miserable job, driving an old car, and trying to learn new things? :)

Update:

I was laid off from that awful job a couple of months ago.  I feel like it was a direct answer to many anguished prayers.  I still don't know why it was the right thing to accept the job to begin with, and the right thing to deal with all the badness that came in the last half of my time there, but I am confident that it WAS the right thing, somehow, and that, even if I don't get the answers to my questions about it right away, I will eventually.  Or, if I don't get answers, I'll at least be blessed with understanding.  I didn't realize how depressed I was until after I met with HR about severance and 401k stuff and felt a lightness I hadn't felt in months.  I even stuck around my last few days and cheerfully cleaned my desk and finished or handed off some projects.  I even got emotional on my last day talking to a few excellent colleagues (could they be the reason I was supposed to work there, I wonder?) after they took me to lunch.

The first half of my time at that job was great.  I was treated as an equal and contributing member of a team with ideas and thoughts worth hearing.  I was respected and trusted.  If I was honest in my shortcomings, I was not made to feel stupid.  The last half...well, we've already discussed it and I don't really want to talk about it except to say that it took the first several weeks of unemployment for me to figure out that I had actually been depressed.  Not just sad or worried, but probably depressed enough that I should have sought help from a mental health professional.  The stupid thing is I should have seen it, having gone through some major depression (to the point of contemplating suicide--yikes) over a decade ago, but I didn't recognize it for what it was until after I'd been laid off.  I just figured things were weird and would get better.

(Incidentally, one of the weirdest things was that I was given no instruction or direction from my actual boss for how to handle closing my accounts and for taking care of my computer and other equipment.  I had to call several departments on my own to make sure I did things right.)

Since then I have said many prayers of thanks for getting me out of a really bad situation.  And, although the stress of not having a job has been wearing (there have been several weeks where I just let myself sleep until 11 AM and didn't really do anything until 1 PM), and I'm still working through some depression issues, it's been so nice to just be home.  I have been reminded that, if my single situation changes soon and I have the opportunity to stay home and raise children, I will be very happy to do so.  Very happy.  I have hope that I'll be able to do that.

I've been on several interviews since, but nothing has panned out.  My savings is getting low and I'm getting worried so I really hope I'll have something in the next three or four weeks because I don't know what I'll do if I don't.  Overall, however, being laid off, while stressful and sad at times, has been a blessing.  I look at it as God giving me a little bit of a break from work, and I figure as long as I'm doing my best, He'll tell me what to do next.

Trying Harder

It's very early on a Friday morning.  In fact, it's so early that it was Thursday less than an hour ago.  I should be sleeping, but instead I'm worrying about work.  There is so much going through my head that I can't express or even sort out enough to make sense of.  What I know is that I'm so unhappy at work that the thought of going there in a few hours almost makes me cry.  The clearly defined position I accepted last year has turned into one of nebulous responsibility, resulting in frustration, discouragement, and a general anxiety that I'm doing something wrong at any given time.  I very much dislike feeling this way. 

When I took the job, I felt very strongly that it was an answer to many prayers over several months.  Everything happened so quickly--I took all those events as a sign that it was the right direction for me and I should accept whatever they offered.  Several months later, I find myself doubting that decision nearly every day.  I don't know why I'm there, I don't know what my job actually is, and it's starting to wear on me so much that I'm not sleeping well and I dread walking into my building.  Despite my uncertainty and doubt, I definitely know that staying at my previous job would have been very bad for me, so I'm trying to stick it out without complaining.  Another friend is suddenly unemployed, which makes me feel worse for disliking my steady job with good benefits.

I don't even know what to do or how to start feeling better about everything.  I keep looking for other work, but I know my chances at a better job are slim right now.  Unlike the other members of my team, I did not go to school to be in this industry.  I have no desire to get an MBA, and a degree in business administration makes me cringe.  I'm stuck here, though, and I have to figure out parts of my job to like or I'll become even more depressed and anxious about it.

If God wants me to be happy, and He guided me where I am now, why am I so miserable?  Why do I feel like calling in sick all the time?  Why do I fantasize about getting in a car accident or slipping on the icy sidewalk and missing weeks of work?  Why am I told to do a project, but not given enough information to do it correctly, and then get scolded for asking clarifying questions?  Why, when I'm encouraged to ask clarifying questions, do I feel like I'm being punished for "pushing back" when I DO ask them?

I don't understand what's happening, and I wish I could figure it out.  No one likes someone who can't do anything but complain, and I'm afraid I'm turning into a constant complainer.  I feel somehow guilty for feeling like this, but I don't know how to fix it.  I'm praying that I'll find things to be happy about, and that I'll be able to be consistently cheerful and kind no matter what is dumped on me.  It's exhausting, though, and I hope I can figure all of this out soon.  The light at the end of this tunnel is very, very dim right now.

Trust

Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could trust people with your vulnerabilities? Especially people who are close to you? When we hit the point where I could completely break down from stress, exhaustion, heart break, in front of my husband, that was a huge moment. Over the last two years we've had some REALLY rough times and being able to trust each other with those vulnerabilities has been key.

When I'm meeting new people I'll test them. I'll share a minor vulnerability with them, or a small piece of me, and see what they do with it. If they treat it with respect then I'll see what they do with another piece. I don't open myself up completely with all my ins and outs at the first. I've met people who do that, and they are awkward.

Family should always be a safe place. Family should always be one of those safe places to share your vulnerabilities.

Unfortunately I've recently discovered that isn't always the case. We have told those very close to us that we're expecting a baby, but there is one family member we have not told. And it's because of what they've done with the years of related vulnerabilities we've shared. They politicized them.

Despite what certain groups and outspoken individuals might say/have said, my uterus is not a place to make political statements. And especially not by people who should be protecting me.

I don't mind if this family member finds out that I'm pregnant. We aren't keeping it from him. But he has not earned our trust enough to find out directly from us. And that makes part of me sad.

Please Wear Clothes

I recently finished a project that involved some evening and weekend meetings.  Overall, it was a very positive experience--I got to meet some new people and get reacquainted with others (including my old friend Ken...more about him later)--but one thing really drove me up the wall.  There was one younger woman who came to nearly every meeting in her workout clothes.  I'm not talking sweats and a t-shirt, but full on workout gear:  sports bra, tank top, leggings (more like tights to be worn under something else).  When we started our meetings, she'd take her shoes off, pile her hair on top of her head, and stretch or do push-ups or something every time we had a break.  If her clothing and behavior were appropriate for the situation, or the situation were appropriate for her clothing and behavior, I wouldn't have had a problem with it.  As it was, though, neither was appropriate for the other, and she became a major annoyance to me.

There are only so many times I can handle an attention-seeker saying something like "look how I can touch the floor" while bending over so her leggings/tights stretch and I can very clearly tell she is wearing plaid underwear.  I almost took a picture with my phone and texted it to her so she could see what was happening whenever she moved.  I'm not sure why I didn't.  Maybe to protect what dignity she had left.

I make it a point to be dressed when I leave my house.  I only wear workout clothes in public when I'm actually working out.  I try to look nice even though I don't always wear makeup or jewelry.  I almost always wear my shoes unless I'm very comfortable with the people in my group.  I make VERY sure that my clothes don't show my underwear when I bend over or reach overhead, and I don't buy leggings unless they're opaque or I intend to only wear them under skirts or dresses for warmth.  (I can't quite get behind the recent leggings-as-pants phenomenon, mostly because so many leggings are actually footless tights and don't quite cover what people think they cover.)  I don't understand people who think workout gear is appropriate for every situation--I hardly even take the garbage to the curb in my pajamas, and my neighbors probably wouldn't even care if I did.  I care, though, so I avoid it.

While not technically immodest--it's not as though she was wearing a low-cut thong leotard over tights--this woman's clothing was immodest for the situation.  Her behavior was a worse offender.  There is a time and place to show off, and there is a time and place to loll around on floors, and there is a time and place to go barefoot.  There is rarely a time and place to throw yourself at anything with a Y chromosome, just for attention and validation.

At one of our final meetings, she'd just come from work and looked very nice.  I almost said, "you sure are attractive when you're dressed," but refrained.  It was a relief to find out a few weeks ago that the relationship I feared she was trying to start with Ken hasn't panned out the way she thought it might.  Her immodest ways didn't keep his attention for long, which was nice to know.

It gives me hope that, by not showing everything, I still have a chance to attract a good man.

Guys not to date

Add guys who purposefully do things to get arrested when they get dumped to your list of guys not to date - Man throws beer at officer to get in trouble.

I remember my economics teacher in high school coming to school once with a shaved head. He'd gotten dumped over the weekend and so he shaved his head to "show her." I hadn't had a whole lot of respect for the guy before then, and that certainly didn't help (not that I was EVER interested in dating teachers, but I kind of expect my teachers to be adults, and this guy was one in age only).

I dumped a guy once. I'll go into the story of why at another time. But in my mind he really should've seen it coming. As far as I know though, he never did anything stupid as a result (although he had a penchant for getting hit by cars). Which just proves my point. If you do something stupid because someone dumped you, they will probably never even know about it.

Too much

There have been some pretty big changes in my life recently.  I don't do well with change--I think I've discussed this before--even when the change is ultimately for my own good.  The last several weeks have been particularly difficult:  I unexpectedly got a new job, one of my dearest friends got married and moved away, another friend moved across the country, and a project I lovingly worked on for nearly four months ended.  All in the same week.  It was really rough on me, but I willed myself not to break down even though I cried at my friend's wedding and reception.
Today, I finally lost it.  I've been doing some training in another city for my new job, and, gas prices being what they are, I took the bus and train to get there.  For one reason and another, I missed the last express bus and sobbed in my car because of it. . . and everything else.  I haven't cried like that for a long time, but out it came and there I was, in my car in the station parking lot, crying for all the world to see.  I cried for a good 10 minutes, but managed to pull myself together, make peace with the idea of being nearly an hour late for work, and I got on another bus.

The same bus a distasteful, socially awkward, and (now) unattractive ex-boyfriend was on.  I couldn't avoid him and was angry and annoyed that he was there, sitting next to me, trying to talk about my life.  He annoys me SO MUCH I can't even describe it, but you know how you look at someone you used to date and wonder what in the world possessed you to find him attractive?  Sigh.  I was stuck with him for over an hour and it was a relief to leave him on a street corner and cross to my building, hoping to never see him again.  He makes me gag a little and I'm glad I stopped spending time with him at all.  I mostly did it to be nice, but it wasn't worth it.  I'm upset with myself that I spent so much time with him, hoping maybe he wouldn't annoy me so much, when I could have been with someone I actually like, like a friend or a sister.

It's a good thing my afternoon was much better than my morning, but I'll be really glad for the short commute to my actual office to start soon.  I don't want to think about any other weirdos I'll meet on the train...

Busy

This week is shaping up to be very busy: it's the culmination of the project I've been working on (how cryptic can I be...) but after this week, I won't be gone every night which will be a relief! Now I just have to determine how to use my spare time wisely so I can finish up some other projects before heading Elsewhere for Christmas. I'm also teaching in church on Sunday, practicing for a Christmas concert, exploring education options, and a few other things. I have a full plate, but I enjoy so much of it.

My bishop told me the other day that I should think about uncomplicating my life. When I got home, I listed the things I do on a regular basis and realized that the THINGS aren't necessarily complicating my life, but my THOUGHTS are. I am feeling a lot of (mostly) self-imposed stress about things I can't really control, and, because I get so caught up in worrying, it's making it hard to do anything at all. That's when things get complicated. I do need more quiet time. I need more time doing the things I want/need to do and less time worrying about how to get it all done. That means I need to calm down, do one thing at a time, and stop panicking about my family's financial situation in January. It has been an extremely difficult year in my house--without going into too much detail, I will say that the recession has hit my dad's business very hard. Without us pooling our limited resources, we might have lost our home. As it is, sometimes we barely make it through a month and in January, it will get even harder because of some health issues that need to be taken care of despite the loss of income it will entail. We can't afford to lose any income, but we also can't afford to have a more significant loss of income if these health problems aren't taken care of now.

Can I control any of this? Not really. Can I look for a better-paying job in order to help more? Yes, I can. Can I MAKE someone hire me? No. So what do I do in the meantime? I pray, I work, I try to find ways to make a little extra money, I support my family in good health and bad, I fast, I pray, I pray, I pray. I'm doing everything I can and freaking out about things I can't control will only use up energy I need to live this life.

Somehow, things will work out. They always do. And I'm grateful for Roxie and Jinxie who give me perspective and tell me to calm down when I get frantic.

Difficult Weekend

While my entire immediate family, except me, gathered together with my brother, my brother's wife, and my brother's wife's entire immediately family for a Thanksgiving meal back in The Homeland, I sat with some friends I've known for less than six months. Well, two friends I've known for less than six months, one of their girlfriends who I just met last week, and some family of hers I still am unclear of her relation to (besides the one that is her mother). Yet another year as a Thanksgiving orphan.

While I'm incredibly grateful I didn't have to resort to ordering Chinese and eating alone, I really wanted to spend Thanksgiving with friends or family I've known for longer than that. Maybe next year I will.

Unfortunately, the rest of the weekend has spiraled downwards for me. I've spent time with other friends, relaxed, tried to be productive, attended the temple, and reflected on my blessings. It was a fairly typical weekend. Last night, however, just I was about to go to bed, I was hit with a sudden and intense loneliness worse than I've felt in quite some time. I missed my family, I missed having someone to hold/be held by, and I was angry at all the men who have taken me for granted, hurt me, and let me go.

Unsurprisingly, I didn't sleep very well. We all have our own brand of loneliness - mine comes from living thousands of miles from my parents and siblings and grandparents and the family dog, hundreds of miles from aunts and uncles - alone in my own apartment, which I love most of the time. I have friends, close friends for sure, but no default, always there needs me as much as I need them kind of friend. It's just me against the world right now and there's a lot on my plate that I'm trying to face on my own right now.

And it's hard.

It's so hard that when I reached into my fridge tonight for some vegetables, I got so overwhelmed that I had to close my refrigerator door, sit down on my dirty kitchen floor (dirty because I haven't had time to clean it and certainly no one else will be doing it), and just breathe on the verge of tears for a couple of minutes. It didn't last long, but it was a low moment.

Maybe it's the hormones combined with the holiday (yay menstruation!). Maybe it's just that I'm really stressed with my professional life right now. Maybe I'm just lonely.

Thank you for reading this far. Posts like this are what this blog is about after all - the secret thoughts of the frustratingly single. I'll get through this. I always do. In the meantime, I'm going to try and get some sleep. I just hope my subconscious wants to play nice tonight.

Prayer and cramps

I have never been one of those people who has miraculously been healed of an illness; not really. I’ve prayed when I’ve been sick, and I’ve had relief either through medication or sleep, but I’ve never had the illness leave my body instantaneously. Don’t get me wrong! I have been healed in other ways—I’ve been strengthened beyond my capacity to endure emotional and mental burdens that would otherwise have crippled me, and I am profoundly grateful for that divine intervention. There are times I’m sure I wouldn’t be alive today had my prayers not been answered, but this little post isn’t about that kind of burden.

This post is about cramps.

I’m sure we’ve all had them at one time or another. I’m pretty lucky because mine are rarely very bad; mostly just uncomfortable and annoying. I can count on one hand the times when cramps literally had me down for the count, very suddenly and out of nowhere, over the last 20-odd years. Two of those instances, I had the luxury of finding out I couldn’t go to work before I got to work. This last one, I was already at work when it hit. Now listen, I rarely take sick days. The last time I took more than one sick day was last year when I had bronchitis and was coughing my guts out for three days. I might leave work early occasionally when I haven’t had enough sleep or need to see my doctor for something, but I usually tough it out pretty well. One day last week, I couldn’t. I could hardly move. By the time I’d been at work for half an hour, I was suddenly (it's never gradual in this case) in so much pain that I was nauseated, dizzy, shaky, and very pale when I gave up on Advil and looking up pressure points online and limped down the hall to throw up in the bathroom.

I’d been chatting online with my sister and had told her I was shaking and light-headed. She’d responded by reminding me I could take more painkillers and that she’d bring me some if I didn’t have any. I thanked her and told my coworkers I’d be back in a few minutes. I don’t know how long I was gone, but it was more than a few minutes. I remember facing the toilet in that public bathroom, praying that the pain would go away somehow so that I could stay at work and function normally. I kept praying as my body decided to keep my breakfast inside. I kept praying as I washed my hands and saw how pale and shaky I really was. I prayed more as I limped back to my office. I prayed as I saw that my sister had signed off. I kept praying that the pain would recede enough that I could think.

About 20 minutes after I got back to my desk, my sister came into my office with some painkillers and one of those ThermaCare patches for cramps (a GODSEND). She asked how many Advil I’d taken and how long it had been (3, an hour earlier, which should have kicked in but hadn’t made a dent) and suggested I take a fourth immediately and another one if the 4 didn’t take in the next 45 minutes. She told me to put the heat pack on as soon as possible and to keep her posted if it didn’t work, and then she was off to her own job.

I followed her instructions, choking down another pill before limping to the bathroom to put on the heat pack. I huddled over my desk, praying still, and felt that if I could, I should find a place to sleep for even 20 minutes. I talked to my coworker and told her I wasn’t feeling well (she wasn’t surprised, based on how I looked) and needed to lie down for a while but would be back before her meeting in 45 minutes. One of the bathrooms in the building has one of those anterooms with a padded bench, a shelf, a mirror, and a light you can turn off. I made my way there, set my phone to wake me up in 40 minutes, curled up on the bench, and tried to sleep. I never went into a full-blown sleep, but I dozed enough that my body was able to calm down and restore itself so I felt much better by the time my alarm went off. I checked my color in the bathroom mirror, realizing I was much less shaky and that the pain, although still in the background, no longer made me nauseated and dizzy.

I was able to get through the rest of my work day with only a little illness, and thanked my sister again when we met for lunch, which was cottage cheese (lots of protein, which I needed) and French fries we split (carbs, which I also needed). She said it was funny because at the time I told her I was shaking and dizzy from the pain, she had gotten distracted by something and was still online. Normally she wouldn’t have been in her office on the computer just then, but something made her stay. I had prayed for relief, and she had been able to see my need and provide help. If she hadn’t been there when she was, I don’t know if I’d have been able to drive myself home—I’m not a wimp, but I really don’t know if I would have made it all the way home, let alone out of the parking lot—and I know that I wouldn’t have been able to stay at work.

She was in the right place at the right time; angels didn’t come down from Heaven to take away that awful pain (I really feel for those of you with endometriosis!), but the pain was taken away because my sister was paying attention. Was my prayer heard? You bet it was! Was it answered? Definitely. I am so grateful for a Heavenly Father who takes care of me and for a sister who follows promptings.

Broken

I've told many stories about past dates. There is one that I haven't talked about really at all I don't think, at least not directly. And there are many reasons. Maybe I should.

We were together for more than three years, off and on. There were good times. Good memories. But those were also the darkest times of my life.

I've heard stories of women in abusive relationships and I've wondered what must be going through their mind that they don't leave. Why would anyone stay in a situation like that?

And I always said it would never happen to me.

So what is going through their mind? They're thinking, "I can change him." They're thinking, "If he's with me at least he's not hurting someone else." They stay because they can't think of any way out. They start to think maybe they deserve what they are getting. They think they aren't worth anything else.

How do I know that? Because it happened to me. Because those were my thoughts.

I was too blind to see it coming. It took me a long time to see it even after it was over. People might describe me as having a strong character, strong testimony, strong confidence and esteem. But it still happened to me. I was never physically injured, which might be why I didn't recognize it. My scars aren't visible.

I would get to the breaking point, ready to walk away. More than once I said I regretted meeting him. And then he'd be sweet again. He'd apologize so sincerely. He'd tell me how much he needed me and how he never wanted to hurt me. The next time the breaking point was even further down.

It was a spiral down to hell.

I think by the end he had actually broken me. I was a shell of who I had been. I'd convinced myself it was what I deserved and I'd brought it upon myself.

I don't think it was something he consciously did. I imagine it would completely floor him if he realized it. He still sees us as being good friends and has been surprised at how far I've gone to cut him out of my life now. He's not the person he was back then, he's better. But I don't know him now. And I don't need the memory of who he was in my life. Forgiveness is not a free pass back into your life.

Now that I see what he did, I also see signs that his mother did it to him. I never knew where I stood with her, and it seemed he never did either. She's sweet and loving one day, and tearing you down the next. It's what he knew. He was also dealing with some mental addictions that only exacerbated the problem and contributed to his state of mind and how he viewed women. None of that excuses it. But sometimes an explanation helps.

Pulling myself out of that hole was hard. It left me wary. I'm afraid of watching other people end up there and that they won't see the warning signs that I can see now. I'm afraid they won't listen to the warnings of others because I didn't.

Forgiving him was hard and went in jumps and spurts. Forgiving myself was even harder. Both were possible. The atonement is just that amazing. Christ healed my broken heart.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,
Luke 4:18

Be Excellent To Each Other

Disclaimer: Allusions to strong language and a plea not to use certain terms.

When I first heard the c-word for a woman, I was relatively unphased. I had escaped the previous 20 years or so not knowing of its existence and, therefore, was unaware of the weight it carried. Eventually, that changed. I came to realize how harsh and unkind it really was and it was added to the list of words the truly shock and offend me when I hear it, no matter the context.

And now, I can't seem to escape it. Somehow, certain people I follow online seem to toss that word around like it means nothing, among other random occurrences. While I usually don't care if someone needs to vent about a co-worker or roommate, hearing them referred to as such a cruel term makes my heart hurt. Similarly, it kills me a little inside when I hear females calling each other "whore" or worse, a la Mean Girls.

Fortunately, I have never been called any of those things, at least not to my face. Although, if anyone ever did call me a "ho", you can bet this would happen with lightning speed: How Not To Address a Lady and most of the time I hear things like this, I want to shout "Stop it! Are they really a ____? No, so be nice!"

Unfortunately, I am not innocent of using less heavy terms but with similar sentiment. I don't just throw it around in my everyday parlance, but I have been know to refer to someone else as a female dog, usually in extreme jest. But even in jest and to a party who knows without a doubt I don't really think that of them, is it really necessary?

No. It is not.

Maybe it's the pseudo-Southern girl in me, but I really do strive to be nice to everyone, sometimes to a fault. I don't like everyone I meet, not by a long shot, but I'm at least nice to them. I'm even nice to my neighbor who launches into a tirade about something new every time we see each other.

So why would I call my friends unkind terms? Why should anyone?

I really wish we wouldn't, and I hereby resolve to do a better job and live by this standard:

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. ~Plato

Life is hard enough without us being mean to each other all the time. No one is perfect, but I'm willing to bet that most of us are actually trying to be a good person and do good things, and we shouldn't discount that.

So, what do you think? Are you with me?

Beauty or Beastly?

I must say I was rather intrigued to read about dating on Scientific American. Many things intrigue me there, which is why I browse it regularly. But the science of dating always seems a bit odd. This particular article is titled "Play Up That Ugly Trait" which is definitely attention grabbing.

After analyzing lots of data on an online dating site they found a correlation between how much attention she got and how controversial her beauty was rated. We're going to ignore the whole rating beauty thing right now because that has other issues. It seems that when some men thought a women was beautiful and other men thought she definitely wasn't, the woman got a lot more messages than if all the men thought she was beautiful.

Of course you can't assign cause to correlation, but it is an interesting observation nonetheless.

I think for me, I don't need everyone to think I'm beautiful/smart/lovable, as long as the people that matter do. The rest of the world can hate me for it, sometimes that just makes things more interesting.

Not my favorite Christmas

The first full day of my vacation to The Homeland was spent almost entirely in my pajamas, until I finally showered and dressed in normal clothes sometime after 5 PM.

Sounds divine, non?

Non. Not even a little bit. I didn't stay in my pajamas all day by choice. It just so happens that my arrival home the day before coincided with my father's arrival home from a 3.5 day hospital stay, and the next day it was my duty to be his primary caretaker.

Now, it was a scheduled surgery, not an accident, and he's going to be just fine or even more than in a few months. Yes, it was scheduled for the time I'd be home since Mom and One of My Siblings (the other missed Christmas with us this year) both work and the doctors said that it was either have someone available for him 24/7 for the first week or he was to go to a rehab hospital for post-op care.

Yay.

The idea was that we'd trade off shifts and no one person would have to shoulder most of the responsibility. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way, and I took point with my mother close behind and Sibling a helpful, but a little more removed third.

That first day alone was awful. Dad needed something constantly, whether it was a machine adjusted, a urinal emptied (luckily, I stopped gagging about this the third time), food, meds, drinks, physical therapy assistance, and so on. He was finally okay on his own for my brief shower, but I cried before, during, and after said shower, partly because the whole thing was wearing me out and partly because I was so mad at myself for feeling so worn out and selfish, and it was only Day 1.

The good news is that it got better. Dad got stronger and gained more independence each day, and we sort of fell into a somewhat predictable routine. Despite everything, it was still mostly refreshing to be home. There's also something to be said about fighting and going through hellish ordeals with someone you're in a committed relationship with, something I don't often experience. You know that no matter what you say and do, you still love each other and WILL work it out. Of course, that makes some things sting more, but it still gives you hope.

Of course, I do wish that my dad had not once, but three times, not used his lucid moments to get after me and my lack of dating life. The last time was actually during Christmas breakfast and found me 1) swearing in front of my parents for the first time in my life (it was only "damn" and used for emphasis, but still) 2)storming off and 3)crying on the bathroom floor for an hour.

Not really a Christmas memory I wish to keep, but only one of the three of us in that conversation was on heavy medication at the time. He'll remember it happened, but he won't really remember all the details.

But like I said, it did get better. Even if neither my mom nor I had a full night's sleep (there were meds to given in the middle of the night) and taking care of a middle-aged post-op man is surprisingly like unto taking care of an infant, at least I was with my family. I did get out of the house a few times, and I showered, at some point, every day. Christmas itself didn't suck entirely and by the end of the week, there was far more laughter than tears. Plus, I never actually had to watch my dad relieve himself or bathe him, which would just have been embarrassing for both of us.

It was just a MAJOR adjustment to go from my solitary life to taking care of my father full-time, and not the vacation I was hoping for. I am most certainly glad I was able to be home for and with my family. If I had to, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

I feel for those who have to take care of a parent or spouse full-time for more than a week. I don't know how you do it. I hope this experience helps me less self-centered the next time I have an opportunity to serve in a major capacity, or even a minor one. I know I learned quite a bit about communication and patience this week, I just hope I can keep those lessons with me.

I also wish my dad a very speedy recovery, and Mom and Sibling the patience to carry on without me.

How was your Christmas?

Grown up nightmares

I don't remember the nightmares I had as a kid. I'm sure I had them, since every child does. They probably had something to do with people or monsters coming to get me, but I'd always wake up in the safety of my own bed and the dream would be over.

Even now, I don't really have bad dreams all that often. I do sometimes have to fight bad guys in my dreams, and I can never seem to land a punch or kick, which is frustrating as hell, but there are no bad guys when I wake.

Last night, however, I had an absolutely terrible, emotional dream. I'd gone to bed a little upset, slept not so well, and then had this awful dream, so when I woke up this morning, I was in a supremely cranky/sad mood. I even cried a little before I got out of bed. It's not the way I'd choose to start my day again.

In my dream, I was on a group date with some friends from church, probably two or three other couples. I don't recall what we were doing, or even who my date was, but all seemed well and good. The second half of our date was a dinner at the home of one of my ward friends. His parents, who I actually work with in a church capacity in real life, had set up lovely tables for two all over the house.

For some reason, I had traveled there alone and my date was meeting me there. I was the first of the couples to show, and I thought about moving my car. When I commented on this aloud, my friend's father actually called me a terrible thing that I don't even want to repeat here. Then, as I waited for my date to show, couple after couple arrived and found a table. Our group grew to about 10 or so couples, and my date was still a no show.

That's when my dream truly became my current version of a nightmare. As an introvert, being the odd one out in a group is one of my absolute least favorite things, and here I was in a large group, practically the 21st wheel - even our hosts were cold towards me. I wandered through the house, peered out windows, and felt incredibly out of place. It was becoming increasingly apparent that my date was not going to be coming at all.

I was all alone in a group of people that continued to grow in size. I'd been bailed on mid-date. And there was nothing I could do.

It's no surprise I cried upon waking.

I haven't been in best of moods today (it being Fast Sunday and not eating until 8 PM did NOT help), but at least it wasn't a total crap day overall. Church was nice, I decorated my tree, and as soon as I publish this, I'm going to have a brownie.

But heaven help me if tonight is anything like the last.

The Giggler

I was at a gathering a few weeks ago with some old and new friends. While it was really fun (and the food was really good), there was one thing that bothered me: The Giggler. Sounds like a Batman villain, doesn't she? Quite honestly, I would have been relieved if the Caped Crusader had flown in through a window, snatched her up, and run away with her again. Ugh. It was that bad.

Now, I know that people have a good time and laugh about silly things. I've been one of those people. But I think I have matured to a point where I can notice when what I'm doing is getting out of hand, tell myself to knock it off, and maybe excuse myself from the festivities for a few minutes to get a grip. This woman did not. Something set her off (possibly the potential beau sitting next to her, possibly something one of us said, possibly the sugar in the soda) and she just giggled and giggled and giggled. Loudly. Turning red. Uncontrollably. That kind of thing is not attractive in a super-cute 20-year-old, and this woman was over 40 and giggling so much she couldn't breathe. I was embarrassed for her.

Don't get me wrong--laughter is awesome, and can be an effective flirting tool, but not when you have lost control and end up looking like a fool in front of everyone. I think that if I catch myself acting like a 16-year-old surrounded by cute boys, it's time to reevalute the situation and determine if my actions are making me look stupid. If they are, it's time to stop. It's a matter of personal dignity. To me, seeing that (and its effect on the man sitting next to her) is just as bad as watching an attractive man clumsily try to hard to impress me. It decreases his attractiveness just as surely as finding out he's committed fraud or has left the church. I'd much rather be with someone who is confident, smart, gracious, and who knows when to stop what he's doing because it's immature and annoying. I'd much rather be with someone who is comfortable in his own skin.

I try to be that person, too, and I think it makes me more attractive than dissolving into uncontrollable giggles for 20 minutes, although I could be wrong...

"I can't believe you don't shut up!"

The title of this post is one of my favorite Simpsons quotes ever from Apu Nahasapeemapetilon and one that frequently goes through my head, as, no doubt, it does for so many other people.

The other night I was at a gathering with some friends and acquaintances, and there came a moment when that phrase went SCREAMING through my head. I ended up sitting by Doug (name has, of course, been changed) because I got there late and these things happen to me. I've given this man the benefit of the doubt in the past because he's been through a tough time recently. I understand that and have been willing to find a way to talk with him and disguise or suppress my irritation with his personality enough to listen when he needs to talk. I do try my best, but I wanted to throw something at him most of the night. As I walked into my house, I said aloud, "thank GOODNESS that wasn't a date. I'd never go out with him again after that." Oh, it was awful.

Now, I don't mind if people are better at something than me. That happens. What bothers me is when people have to top everyone else in the room. I have played my share of oneupsmanship, much to my chagrin, but I do my best to avoid it myself (I have made vast improvements because I don't want to turn into a Diane or a Doug), and dislike that streak in others. Especially when they have to be better at EVERYTHING I do, especially when I've put years, sometimes decades, into developing a talent or learning a skill. I appreciate different viewpoints, too. I find them valuable and enjoy good conversation where both parties learn something. I've learned that I don't know as much as I think I do and I enjoy a challenge and a different perspective. There are very few cases in which I insist on being totally right, and they are usually cases in which I AM totally right because I have done the research and study and paid my dues. However, I really try to be kind and sensitive instead of defensive and combative (that's a lot of "ives") and I find that people actually want to talk to me and value my opinion if I value theirs! I also find that I don't have to speak loudly to whomever happens to be within earshot in order to be heard or liked.

Read that paragraph again, and imagine being stuck at a table next to someone who does all the bad things. ALL of them. Not to mention being a sloppy eater and having a seeming disregard for personal hygiene habits like shaving* or trimming his fingernails. At one point, even though the people around him were in different conversations and not talking to him anymore, he kept talking, just waiting for someone to come close to making eye contact. It was so hard to smile and be polite when all I wanted to do was say "hey, you're not that smart. You don't know as much as you think you do. You've never done military service/craft/job/education and no one really appreciates an armchair coach. Knock it off." I don't know if I should be proud of it, but I did manage to get a subtle dig in when I mentioned (in the course of a conversation with much pleasanter people) how my degree taught me that I don't know as much as I think I do and that other people's viewpoints and experiences are just as valuable as mine even if I can't relate.

Let this be a lesson: If you are constantly trying to prove how much better you are than others, if you can't accept someone else's opinion for what it is, if you dismiss someone's education and training, if you talk just to hear yourself use your AP English vocabulary words from 20 years ago, if you can't bear the thought that someone might just be better than you at something, and if you can't be bothered with social niceties like not interrupting, it's time to take a good, hard look at yourself (man OR woman!) and figure out why no one wants to date you. And then, just maybe, be willing to change if change is needed. I mean, sure, maybe there's someone out there who will jump you if you're like that, but there are no guarantees and if it hasn't happened yet, it's not likely to. Get over yourself and learn to maneuver in society with a little more grace and courtesy.

*I don't mind facial hair or stubble, but when a man admits that he's too lazy to shave more than once a week, I have a problem with that. Especially when such a man would be grossed out by the mere suggestion of stubble on a woman's ankles or, heaven forbid! her underarms. Doug seems like that kind of guy and it makes me want to scream. Long fingernails on a man quite literally nauseate me, even though I understand that classical guitarists and the like need to keep them longish in order to play their instruments. Growing them out to be weird or because you're plain lazy is NOT attractive in any way.

A confession:

My ex-fiance is gay.



He came out a couple of years after he dumped me.


No, I'm not happy for him. I'm not supportive. I don't want to talk to him ever again. Perhaps if our engagement had ended on a mutual decision, things would be different, but he left me in unexpected darkness and pain and confusion because he offered no real explanation for breaking off our engagement. As far as I knew then, it had nothing to do with his sexuality. As far as I knew then, he was straight, so don't go blaming me in the comments for not knowing or for trying to convince him he was straight or for trying to fix him. I'm not that girl and I'm not stupid. He started it--he pursued me, he asked me to marry him, and he decided to not marry me.

I think I've forgiven him for what his decision did to me, but that does not mean I'm going to befriend him.

Going through that breakup and the subsequent aftermath, when things just got worse instead of better like they all say they will, was one of the most horrific, self-doubting, exhausting, and difficult things I've ever had to do. At least this time it only took me 6 months to get to feeling like myself again as opposed to another betrayal years earlier--that one took 2 years and was worse overall.

Still, having made that commitment and those covenants (like he had) and being ready for the future and all that it would bring, and then to have it pulled out from underneath me in a cruel and deceitful way was a huge blow to everything I thought I wanted. It's been difficult and sad knowing what we could have had and what he threw away.


In some ways, it's gotten easier. I've had the assurance that I WILL marry in this life, and it will be to a man who is as committed to the gospel as I am, and I'm very glad I didn't get married the first time (although that, in a way, is also very sad). I'm happy in so many ways. I've come back to myself and grown as a person. I'm so strongly rooted in my faith that nothing can shake me. On the other hand, it's gotten harder; knowing what he's given up, knowing the kind of life he's leading, knowing how his family must feel about this. Knowing that we still live within 30 miles of each other and I'll have to talk to him someday. Not easy in the least.


This is what I live with every day. I recognize that pain is pain, and that everyone has it. Mine isn't necessarily bigger than anyone else's, nor is it necessarily smaller. It's not as painful as it was, but it still makes me incredibly sad sometimes. I don't really wish things were different, but I sometimes wish....you know what? I don't. I'm glad I went through this if only to realize exactly how strong I am and what I'm made of deep down. Maybe that's why I'm not in agony all the time like I could be. I know my Heavenly Father loves me. I know my Savior loves me. I know that I'm a better, kinder, gentler, stronger person for having done this.


And I hope that I WILL marry someone who recognizes and values that, because I recognize and value those traits in others, and, quite honestly, I'm worth more than someone who can't love me. These things I will not compromise just to have children.

Hello, again

It's been way too long since I've blogged on here. I've felt, because I'm not dating anyone or really that bothered about it that I didn't have enough to say to actually contribute to the blog. I realized, however, that it is precisely because I'm a single woman that I DO have something to say in reference to this blog and its overall message.

Unfortunately, I still don't think I have much to say today, but I'm going to say it anyway.

I'm at a point in my professional life--a very specific point, as I'm typing this at a conference for my current field--where I've realized I don't care enough about my field to want to continue in it. It's important, yes. Very important for a lot of people (no detail, because I'm trying to keep this as anonymous as possible) and I'm glad I can help in my small way, but I don't have the passion for it that makes me want to advance and become something bigger than I am. I just don't. Campbell observed a few weeks ago, "you've got to get out of here--this job is killing you", which prompted a brief discussion about "Joe vs. the Volcano" and the soul-sucking evil of fluorescent lights.

It's true, though. I sometimes dread going to work because I know that I'll be confronted with certain stressors. I love my office, I mostly like what I do (besides answering phones), and I like my coworkers. It's finally comfortable for me there and I'm glad, but I am tired. There's a lot of turnover in this field, and I can finally see why. It's incredibly stressful some days. It's incredibly hard to keep from absorbing everything that's thrown at me.

Not that my job is the most stressful in the world. Some people would thrive in this environment, but there are good reasons I didn't go into this field. There are some things I have to deal with at home that make going to work and dealing with those things at work even more difficult. I don't make enough money to really feel like I'm helping. I'm much happier when I'm creating something and not solving the same problems over and over again. Just when I finished one huge project, I discovered that something I thought was done right (done by others, no less) was wrong. I'm currently going through over 6000 individual files and cross-checking between two different databases--this is something that I wouldn't have to do if someone else had been more careful, and the sight of the 131 pages I have to check off almost had me in tears the other day. I have to do this on top of handling the usual front desk stuff (which can be pretty chaotic sometimes) and training a new employee. I'm also the knee-jerk tech support for the office because I'm not scared of computers.

Yeah, it is pretty stressful.

I long to do something different. I long to make more money so I can buy a house and build a home that is welcoming to both married and single friends and children and pets. I long to travel and improve my life. I long to get more education. But I feel stuck. I'm 35. It's a little late to be considering graduate school. It's a little late to be "irresponsible" and go for something completely different. I honestly feel like I've missed many things, and I have to remind myself that I've lived my life this way for a reason. There are experiences I'd never trade because of how I've changed and grown and become more ME.

Am I insane for even CONSIDERING things that would take me away from the stability of a salary, no matter how meager, and really good insurance? I suppose some people would say that now is the time, because I'm single and don't have any responsibilities. Well, that's not true. I may be single, but I'm responsible for more than people realize. There's a difference between 22 and single and 35 and single and I'm feeling it a lot lately.

I hope that somehow things will balance out, even if it's finding a job that pays more so I can indulge (I feel like it's an indulgence) in my hobbies and interests. Work to pay for my life, right? My single, carefree, partying, shoe-buying life, right? How about finding a job that pays more so I can help provide for others, learn the things I want to learn, and build a home? I like that option better.

It wasn't my fault

There is in the news right now the sad story of a young woman who went for a run in a park and instead was raped and murdered.

Elsewhere someone said that this happened because she went running by herself.

Did you catch that? She was raped and murdered because she did something.

Things like that get said frequently in our society and few people ever think of what it really means. It's blaming the victim. It's taking total control and responsibility away from the evil man that did that. It's a symptom of the idea that men are merely sex animals who can't control their urges and so it's up to women to stop them and if the man isn't stopped then it is somehow the woman's fault. It's saying that men have no control, no choice in the matter as to how they act. Do you see how wrong that is?!? Do you see how degrading that is to men?

And yet it is such an underlying belief in our society that rape, assault, and molestation are rarely reported because the woman believes she's to blame. That what happened to her was somehow her fault. If she hadn't worn that outfit, or been in that place, or smiled at that guy, then none of this would've happened to her. Yes, we can avoid dangerous places, but dangerous people don't confine themselves to well labeled places. And no means no. The words coming out of a person's mouth should mean more than the shirt they are wearing.

We are all responsible for our individual actions, including the bad people who do bad things. They have responsibility for their lives just as I have responsibility for my own (and my own is plenty enough responsibility for me without worrying about the lives of everyone around me).

I am a runner. And I will continue to run and enjoy it. And my heart and prayers will go out to those parents right now.

And what happened to me all those years ago. It wasn't my fault. I didn't make him do that. It wasn't my fault.

Don't take it out on me anymore!

I try to be positive, and I try to keep my posts on-topic (what it's like to be single in your 30s in my neck of the woods), but today I am very frustrated, again, with my job.

I don't get paid very much--it's enough to help family and stay out of debt and put a little aside--and lately I certainly feel like it's not enough to justify putting up with some of the passive-aggressiveness around my office. (just watch--this will get traced back to my work computer and I'll get fired...)

I keep track of hundreds of files and appointments, not to mention the confidential information that crosses my desk every day. I diffuse tense situations that sometimes have the potential to turn violent. I calm employees down (INCLUDING our director, who has acted unprofessionally far more often than I have). I field phone calls. I manage our database, and don't get me started on the mess THAT was when I began this job! It has taken me several months to get that thing in a mostly-organized condition. I am the only person who bothers to clean up the staff room. I am also the only person who routinely works 9 or 10 hour days; granted, I have an hour lunch break every day from September to May, but May through August I don't. I, quite honestly, get all the crap the second it walks through the door or calls on the phone. I get the brunt of almost everything that happens in this office, every day.

I don't dare take time off, not even to be sick, because I'm afraid that would make me "unreliable" like the part-timers are. In fact, the last day off I remember taking was my sister's graduation back in August. I am the only one in the office taking less than 4 or 5 days off during the holidays, which is why I'm working today. The office manager takes an afternoon off at least every couple of weeks to "go shopping for supplies" and doesn't even get here until 9. She routinely leaves early because she's "not feeling well" (We all get cramps...some of us deal with it). She expects me to dress professionally but shows up in stretched-out t-shirts and cargo pants. She hates my job but I often feel like she's trying to get me fired or force me to quit, which seems silly because it would be counter-productive for her because she'd end up doing my job. She also tattles on me if I'm late by even two minutes from a lunch break (or if she hears I walked in a 8:02), but does she talk to me about it? No. She goes to the director, who goes to the assistant director, who comes to me about it. No wonder I have a hard time liking or trusting her, and that can't be good for office morale.

All this when one of our part-timers is lying about their hours, always calling in sick, and messing things up when they're here.

I'm pretty sure this place would fall apart if I took more than two days off in a row.

I'm pretty sure I'm the only one with access to the database who 1. doesn't tweak the numbers so we get more money (thank you, Office Manager) and 2. hasn't totally messed up the records.

I'm pretty sure, today, I have to fight to remain positive and professional and to actually do my job.

I'm pretty sure it's a dead-end job.

I'm pretty sure to remind myself I'm lucky to have it.

I'm pretty sure I haven't been late as many times, or as drastically, as has been implied by someone who isn't even here when we open.

I'm pretty sure that any job full of this kind of back-biting and passive-aggressive attempts at vengeance and ensuring job security isn't worth it.

I'm pretty sure I don't get paid NEARLY enough to keep putting up with it.

I'm pretty sure I'll be gone in 6 months.