Job Interview

So, I got a call about a job interview this morning. The pay is crap but the job sounds good. It's close to home. Hot dog, I'm gonna check it out.

Bill will have his big raise this winter. At that point I can do pretty much whatever as long as I bring in $20K or more to cover little extras. I am worried because I know this job pays $12 per hour. I am salaried now at 47K. That's a huge pay cut. Am I an idiot to consider it? Maybe. but I am still going to the interview.

I made a decision to live for me, for my life and for the reality that is right now. A new job would be great for me. I am so tired of my grind right now. I want out of the weird unhealthy tensions that exist at my workplace. The big boss has decided to have an affair out in the open. It's quote uncomfortable to work with his wife now. I am just sick of the drive and the hours. I need out.

I am going to apply to lots of other jobs this weekend. It's liberating. Sprinkling resumes everywhere. No more, "What if I get pregnant?!" Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I put the breaks on my life for a year and a half and all I got was one lousy miscarriage. I need to live again and hope for good news down the line.

Wish me luck Monday morning!

Crying in the Shower

Crying in the shower can be terrible or it can be liberating. I am trying to focus on liberation and slough off some layers I don't need. I have layers of regret and layers of jealously (huge, puffy swaths of jealously that have wrapped and wrapped around my body). I have layers of nostalgia that haunt me and won't let anything else measure up. I have layers of preoccupation that blind me from the good of the present.

I can only live now. I can only live as I do. I can change my life with choices and action but I cannot change it with obsession or regret.

I may always be a chubby and infertile woman who wants so badly to be a pretty mom. I may always be middle class and vacation by car. I may always shop at the discount store. I may cry in the shower on the first day of my period every time until menopause. I can handle that. I need to quit imagining another woman's future and imagine and seek my own.

Air Conditioning Broken

Luckily it's just the upstairs window unit. Unfortunately, it's the only thing cooling the bedroom. After a few days (three?) of no AC at night, I have learned that I sleep like a rock in the hot air. I am so rested. My skin has broken out in tiny whiteheads all over my chin. I smell bad every morning, as if I went running in my sleep.

The windows are open and the whole world makes more noise. Louise next door is doing music lessons. I can hear it now, clarinet, tuba and flute in half hour doses. Today is garbage day and I can hear the truck.

I am so glad we got a cool streak for August. It's in the seventies and nicely cool all morning.

Ingrid Day

Tired all over again. I slept until almost 9:00! It was amazing.

Today was the third week of Ingrid days. I have been taking off Tuesdays to help out Amanda and give her an opportunity to go to the hospital. Ares is in the NICU and just graduated to an open crib! He's bigger than his birth weight now - over three pounds. His skin isn't hot red at every moment but stills gets red when he cries. He's wearing preemie clothes now, little t-shirts! He just needs to learn to eat from a bottle and pass the 35 week mark. I'm getting excited and I cannot imagine how excited Amanda must be.

So Ingrid and I went to the local Children's Museum today. I love that Ingrid calls my tiny hatchback a van. She thinks the shape dictates the name of the vehicle. We only had to stop once one the one mile drive over. Once we got there, we played for almost three hours. She played with one stuffed animal for two of those hours. It was exhausting. Of course she wants me to play with her and I don't want to act like the bored coffee-drinking moms who refuse to look up to see if their kid is kidnapped or anything. I'll wait until I have a kid to do that. Two hours discussing a stuffed ferret (or weasel as she called it) was quite a lot.

Then we went to Portillo's for some gourmet lunching. I learned that dining alone with a kid means that lunch ends when the kid needs to poop, whether you finished that delicious salad or not. So, I dumped half a salad and spent ten minutes in the bathroom, telling "jokes" to the stall door.

These are the types of jokes Ingrid loves: What does a cat put in his drink to keep it cold? Mice cubes.

She branched out into telling the joke about a horse (hay cubes).

I got a good laugh from What is brown and sticky? (a stick).

I just melt when she reaches her little hand up into mine when we walk through a parking lot or climb into a road. I fucking love that kid, poop and all.

With Ingrid

Today was another day with Ingrid. I am really enjoying my time with her. Mom, on the other hand, is having a breakdown these days. She can't quite seem to process her feelings and she's lashing out. Amanda is very frustrated with dear ole Mom. Mom is retaliating by being snide.

We played in the park and went to McDonald's playland. McDonald's playland is never just McDonald's lest you mistakenly believe it's a place to eat food. No. McDonald's playland is the most sacred and fun place that Mom never wants to go. It's a special event or manipulated auntie kind place.

Ingrid is wearing a hideous hairband made of fake neon pink hair that has multicolored braid tassels. It's the ugliest thing from the dollar store, so she loves it. It's adorable in her long, black waves.

I hate to focus on looks but she's an exceptionally beautiful child. She's getting prettier too.

Fairness

In the past few months, I have read lots of pregnancy blogs, infertility blogs and message boards. I read one message board pretty often but post very little. This message board is like the train wreck person I love to have on facebook. It draws me in out of horror.

Trying to Conceive boards tend to be very, very judgmental. I say this having read many of them. I have never found a TTC board, as they're called by those in the know, that didn't have it's policing regulars and scathing comments.

For the uninitiated, here's a handy dandy cheat sheet.

The following things are OK to say or discuss:

• Being sad, angry or jealous about the pregnancies of others.
• Expecting the world to pull you aside to announce pregnancies to spare your feelings.
• Expecting your pregnant friends to never gripe or complain out of respect for your infertility/non-pregnancy.
• Crying all the fucking time.
• Crying about baby showers, facebook feeds or holidays.
  
• Describing your mucus discharges at length.
• Saying that you will never, ever, ever complain when you get pregnant because you'll understand and appreciate the miracle of it all.
  
• Asking other people how they deal with the agony of not being pregnant.
  
• Creating a hierarchy of how sad anyone else is allowed to be. For example, women who already have a child should be grateful. Women who have has a miscarriage "at least" know they can get pregnant.
  

Then the following are not OK and will get the poster smacked down immediately:

• Calling anyone bitter - ever.
• Not taking your basal body temperature daily. That's a huge one. It's funny because my doctor tells me ovulation predictors (which is what I use. I don't feel like graphing, thanks) are more accurate.
  
• Not believing that TCOYF (Taking Charge of Your Fertility) is the Bible.
  
• Disagreeing with the leaders of the pack about anything.
  
• Fishing for others to guess that you might be pregnant. People do this one all the time and it is insane. "Oh, my boobs hurt so much and my sense of smell is so strong. I wonder if I'm getting sick? Oh, and my period is eight minutes late....ahem!"
• Wishing ill on all the pregnant friends you currently hate who aren't even allowed to talk to you lest they wake the beast within. It's a fine line with that one.
  
• Expressing any interest in a child of a particular sex or hoping for a baby born at a certain time. That will get you ten instant replies along the lines of, "Oh yeah, well all I want is a healthy baby whenever God/nature wills it!" Implication: I am a better person/parent than you.
• Being worried too soon. Too soon is defined as one month less than you've been trying. Every poster is a special snowflake who is allowed to spread her own doom and gloom. While every poster other than one's self is a worrywart.
  

It's really fucking old. All the new people lamenting one period. All the old people who just lie in wait to snap at new folks for not knowing the rules. The lifers, who are infertile, are revered as gods. That sets up some fucked up dynamics. Everyone wants to pose as if they have conception troubles. To appear cool or in the know? I can't figure it out.

Today might be the last straw. I read a post that linked to a woman's blog entry about the ways in which you're ALLOWED to tell other couples you're pregnant. If, God forbid, any of those other couples have fertility issues, you must tell them privately and practically apologize to them for your great joy. You must offer to never ever ever bitch and moan and be ready for them to not be happy for you. This blog post was longer and used more flowery language but that was the gist. In a situation where one couple is pregnant and another couple isn't, the pregnant couple must defer to the non-pregnant just in case it causes heartache or jealousy. Seriously, what the fuck?

These women work themselves into a fucking froth pretending to be infertile just to get a rise out of themselves. They feed each other's fears and horrors like kids at a slumber party until all reason is gone.

I wish they would quit counting everything and deciding what's fair and unfair. I wish they would quit weighing how sad someone else is allowed to be after how many months of trying versus their advanced age and factoring in their medical history.

I know my sister isn't going to be telling other mothers of twins that they aren't allowed to mention both kids. I know I am not going to forbid anyone else from having a baby in February. The world keeps moving whether or not we try and set rules about fairness.

Saying Goodbye

Today was Enzo's last day. It was officially diagnosed yesterday afternoon. He was born without kidneys and could not survive more than a few more days. Amanda and Carmelo were given the option to try dialysis but no baby with his condition has ever lived more than a few weeks. They had to make the call and stop treatment.

This morning my Mom and I scrubbed in at the NICU to carry my four-year-old niece, Ingrid, into a room for the one and only family photo my sister will ever get. Of course, she had to go potty just as the staff was gathering the photographer and the babies. I sat in a bathroom with her. Her fancy picture dress spilled out around the toilet. She was wearing pink Converse and her hair was messy. She wouldn't let us brush it. We played "I Spy" and talked about her stuffed cat, Millie. I remember looking into the mirror and thinking, "This is it. It's Enzo's last minutes and I am playing word games in a bathroom with a stuffed cat."

They instructed us to put Ingrid in a gown and a mask. She's four and normally defiant when told that she has to do anything. She must have understood it was a a big deal today. Her mom and dad had already explained that one baby was so sick he would never come home. She did whatever we asked. In the NICU, we used box of copy paper to act as a stool. She scrubbed in at the big foot pedaled sink. She had her own soap pack and soaped up to her elbows just like the grownups.

We all met in a special room where a photographer took pictures of the family and the babies. Ares was healthy enough to spend a few minutes in the room. He was such a contrast to Enzo. Ares was pink, almost red in color. He cried and cried but was quiet while his mama held him. He moved. He was feisty.

Sick Enzo was larger than healthy Ares. I kept forgetting that Enzo was baby A, born first and a few ounces larger. Enzo had been sedated. His mask had pressed his lip crooked. His head had a flat back. He was bloated with the fluid and waste his body couldn't excrete. He was pale and yellowish. He looked soft, like skin that has gone pruney in a long bath. He was still beautiful to look at - tiny and perfectly formed.

My sister got to hold her first born son just once while he was alive. He took a few loud breaths in that room and that left me sobbing even more. Mom and I were useless for a few hours. We stood in the corner, flowing with tears and boogers.

Ingrid, Grandma Katherine (mom)and I left the room to spent some time with the children's grief counselor as Amanda and Carmelo held dying Enzo. The counselor gave Ingrid a book about expecting a new baby and getting an angel instead. Mom (Grandma) read it to her. She drew pictures and colored. She talked to the counselor and begged for McDonalds. She giggled and expressed interest in the baby angel in the book. We talked about Enzo watching over her.

Later, after he was pronounced dead, I held his body and he was so incredibly beautiful. The wonderful NICU nurses pulled three rocking chairs around his bed. Amanda, my mom and I rocked him and passed his tiny body around. He was only three pounds but he was soft, warm and so perfect to look at. He had so much dark hair. Just like Ingrid did at birth, he had furry patches on his face. His fingers were puffed up, but they were tiny and looked just right. I held his hand. I sang to him.

Later, after his body was taken away, we stood around Ares' bed and talked. I am so sad but hopeful for little survivor Ares Enzo (who was given his brother's name for a middle name) who is eating, pooping and breathing on his own at just over 3lbs.

I have never felt such raw pain, not even close. I would give anything to change this and my heart weeps for my baby sister whose pain I cannot imagine.

Heartache Keeps Coming

Monday was a magical day for our family. My sister Amanda gave birth to her twin sons. We had remarked all along that it was a miracle that she would have spontaneous twins. Amanda has wanted to be a Mom all her life. I was delighted that she was pregnant again and squealed when I learned it was twins. She deserved twins. She loves babies to pieces.

Her pregnancy was tough. She had a preemie once before and these twins shared a placenta. They were very high risk. She had up to three doctor's appointments a week. She had weekly ultrasounds in her final weeks.

She began dilating early and needed medication to stop labor. She was in the hospital at 29 weeks. They boys had medicines to mature their lungs and prevent brain bleeds. She got released and went right back in to deliver a day later. On Monday, July 25 just after 7:00 am, she delivered two boys, three pounds each at 30 weeks.

My family drove to the hospital and rejoiced together. They seemed just fine. They would need to stay in the NICU for a while. They were so early that no names had been chosen. The hospital room chat was about names and gossip and breast feeding - happy new baby topics. We were so happy. My sister asked that we wait to meet the babies in the NICU. She couldn't get out of bed for 12 hours after her c-section and wanted to be the second person to meet them. Her husband, Carmelo went to meet them and brought us video of the boys. Other than the tubes and wires, they looked perfect. We were happy with that. We'd have their whole lives to hold them and love them.

The first sign of trouble was that afternoon. A doctor arrived in Amanda's room with a release form. He was very blunt; Baby A was doing poorly. One of his lungs had collapsed and his lungs weren't functioning correctly. He needed a blood transfusion immediately. He has two chest tubes and a machine breathed for him. The doctor told my sister that he was very sick but should survive.

The next day was worse. By now, the babies had names. Sick baby, Enzo, was not any better. He survived the transfusion but was declining. The other baby, Ares, was healthy and thriving. He could breathe on his own. The doctors came up with a theory that fit his problems. Enzo, they feared, had no kidneys. They performed an ultrasound and couldn't find them.

Having no kidneys at birth is called Potter's syndrome. If you google it, it's unbelievably sad. Potter's syndrome babies have no amniotic fluid. This causes all sorts of problems and they die before or just after birth. Their bodies are mangled without the cushion of fluid.

Enzo didn't have that. He didn't seem to fit the pattern and didn't have the visual symptoms, so we held out hope for another doctor to find kidneys in his body and somehow explain his problems. He had less fluid than his brother but still plenty. He wasn't mangled.

This morning was Thursday. Another doctor tested the babies. Enzo has no kidneys. His diagnoses is fatal. His twin, Ares, has only one kidney. Somehow Ares pumped enough amniotic fluid for two babies with only one kidney. He supported Enzo and let him grow. Because of this, Enzo might be one of the healthiest Potter's syndrome babies ever. His doctors have offered Amanda and Carmelo the option of keeping him on dialysis. If he lived a year and a half, they would put him on the organ donor list. He would be terribly sick the whole time. In fact, his nurses winced when they heard this option. Everyone recommended against it and said he would most likely die anyway and suffer.

It was an easy but horrible decision. Tomorrow, they will gather their four year old daughter and their twins. They will unhook Enzo and hold him for the very first and only time.

I cannot imagine the pain they are going through. A month ago, we were marveling at the idea of two babies. Where would she put them? What would she do? Now, we are mourning. My baby sister is so strong but I wish I could steal this pain from her. I wish I could go back to the dozens of ultrasounds and shake the doctors, "Why don't you see this? He was no kidneys! Prepare her now!! Why does she have to find out at birth? Why does she have to meet her son and believe he will live?"

I met my nephew Enzo today. I opened the door to his little pod and I told him I would always love him. I think a sang a little song.

The Naked Texter

So, I read The Gift of Fear. I believe that you should not engage with craziness. I believe that attention seekers and drama queens will quickly learn to move along if you don't give them the attention they want. On a normal day at least.

The day of the naked texts was not normal. It was the second day of bleeding. The day the doctor's office was to have blood result that would show if I could possibly still be pregnant. I was a wreck of boogers and tears.

That was the state in which I discovered a new text message on my phone. It was from a local number that I didn't know. I opened it to find five photos of good old fashioned home porn. Some guy naked, then naked reclining on a couch, then close up on the junk, then seated, then fully clothed and standing by a grill (wtf?).

My mental state was fragile and I did not recognize this person but I was pissed. I sent back a short reply calling him a fucking asshole. He wrote back, "Who is this?"

Shouldn't you know who you are texting? Maybe double check the number? These were the things I thought to myself but didn't type. I realized that engaging this genius in a conversation was a bad idea so I didn't reply. That night I missed a call from the same number.

I tried to think like the caller/texter. Obviously, he did not intend to send those pictures to me. He probably got my nasty reply and then wondered if he dialed correctly, so he called and hung up when my voice kicked in on the message. I felt assured that I had figured it out. Now he had figured out it wasn't me he was looking for and would never call again. He was probably so embarrassed. At least that's what I thought.

Two weeks have passed and he called my phone tonight. No message left. That bothers me. A lot.

Officially Over

I got the news that my hormones had gone down. I have miscarried or a I am, semantics. I have handled this final news really well so far. I think that it's because I accepted it as fact a few days ago. I knew before the tests told me just like I knew before I looked at the pregnancy test. Pregnancy is a whole lot of hormones to not notice. When they leave, you notice that too. Oh, and the blood. That's pretty obvious.

So, my boobs don't hurt. My upper abdomen isn't sticking out with bloat. I can enjoy this third cup of coffee and pretend I enjoyed the vodka I drank last night. It's still very hard.

I haven't really gotten to the "what do I do now?" part. I know that I go to work on Monday. I know that I delete the pregnancy email updates and the bag of thankfully unpurchased maternity clothes.

Then on Tuesday, what do I do then?

And poor Bill. He's just heart broken and not letting it show. I can see it in him and I wish he'd cry and let it out. I wish he'd show the reaction I got when I told him we were pregnant. I know he needs to release it.

That's not my place. I ask but I don't pry. I share and then smile to let him know he can share. He'll open up eventually. I've seen it happen.

Hours after shrugging a reply, lying in bed, he will say in the softest voice, "Remember what you asked me today?" and then he'll keep going.

I always turn to face him and watch his profile in the darkness. His eyelashes flutter and he puts together his words and I remain quiet. He will talk until he stops and then we'll both go to sleep.

I dislike the phrase "man of few words." It seems so cowboy or savant. "He's not stupid, he's just quiet." I sometimes forget that Bill doesn't talk much unless he's around friends. He's a quiet worker. He waves to neighbors. Most people like him but few know too much about him. Even quiet, everyone can tell he's sharp. He's smarter than most people I know.

He's had so much piled on him and he turned out loving, kind and thoughtful. His mother abandoned him long before she physically slipped off and left him with his grandparents. Of course she waited long enough to marry a guy who beat the kids for a while.

His father was gone before he remembers. It was the bad kind of gone too, on the streets drinking. His dad turned 18 in Vietnam and had two kids in the suburbs before 24. Bill never saw him after his early childhood. We now know that he died a few months before we looked for him. Lung cancer, VA hospital.

Instead of being hardened, Bill has become the hardest-working and most dedicated man I have known. He can't wait to right the wrongs of his childhood but his desires have no hint of bitterness. He doesn't care to show anyone or prove anything. He just wants to settle into the type of happiness he's never known before. He wants a baby as much or more than I do.

I know that it isn't my fault but my heart aches that I haven't been able to give him what he wants. I grieve the loss and feel a sense of failure. This is the gift I have wanted to offer him for so long. I want to do this with him and watch him meet our child.

I know this isn't the end. We will be parents. It may take more time. It may take adoption or medicine but we will get there. He's too good of a man not to be a father.

miscarriage

Well this is terrible. Mom called it death by a thousand paper cuts.

We were pregnant and thrilled. Then I bled just a little bit and then I bled more. Then I went to the hospital.

Never have a problem the day before a holiday weekend. You'll end up like me, four days later and just getting test results. This is my summer vacation. No work July 2 through 10. I had plans to baby shop and go to the beach.

I spent the 4th of July bleeding into a maxi pad and forcing myself to be ready for the bad news. I called my insurance company and the hospital and got answering machines all weekend. I spent this afternoon getting another ultrasound that shows no baby. No fetus. No heartbeat. The tech kept asking if a "felt OK." Are you kidding me, lady? I am grieving the loss of a baby that never existed. I don't care if you poke me through the organs with that stupid wand. Find out what is happening. I can pee later. You can touch my thigh. This moment is the very least of my worries. I tell the receptionist I'll take any appointment, "I'm on vacation." That's a cruel reality.

I never knew how long days could be when the lab is closed and the ER doctor said the horrible words, "fifty-fifty." What the fuck is fifty-fifty? I wish they had said, "Your pregnancy is certainly over. I am very sorry." Classic under promise, over deliver. My doctor's nurse scheduled an appointment for Thursday to do final tests and decide what to do next. She doesn't sound optimistic. So, that's a full week to diagnose a miscarriage.

This is the worst vacation ever.

Pizza Night

No recipe today. Bill ordered pizza and I ate it with a salad of torn, slightly less crisp than desirable iceburg lettuce. How depressing. It still tasted good. Like a cafeteria meal. He is downstairs screaming at the Blackhawks game. It doesn't sound too good.

Work has slowed down to the turtle pace of summer. I blatently web surf, jump for the phone and annoy the male co-workers by chatting. Ah, summer.

Many moons have passed

Oh, jeez. I really wish I actually updated this blog. I don't think anyone else reads it and I'm perfectly OK with that. I prefer it. I just really wish I could look back at the last few months and remember:

*Bill proposing in the kitchen on Halloween. He was in costume and had eye makeup and looked hilarious. I found the ring in a box of chocolates on the counter and said, "What's that?" like an idiot. It was my first response. It felt so good to get engaged. I wish I had written down more details. I know we danced in the living room. We called everyone that night. We drank the Champagne I saved and moved to the new house for that occasion. We ate leftover Chinese once we realized we still had not eaten late that night.

*Adopting Nina the wiggle-butt. Kobi needed a sister and when I saw her picture on petfinder, I was smitten. It took two cars and four people to road trip to nowhere Indiana to pick her up. She is worth it. She jumps up on people. She tore into the garbage many times. She once ate a pound of chocolate and we had to induce vomiting at 6am to save her life. Still, she's awesome. Sweet, submissive and loving. She is a true doggie and a kind soul.

*Getting married in the spring. It was so much fun. We had 100 people and I wore a white dress and I did all these things I never planned to do. Bill and I cried and laughed and kissed a million times. I got drunk on Gin and Tonics and when they played Bright Eyes First day of My life, I realized it was the last song. Our wedding nightmares were minor and the party was fantastic.

So here I am, many months after updating, a married lady. I changed my name at the social security office today. I get me new card in however many business days. I have never once doubted that marrying Bill is the right thing and the best thing for me. I have always known how lucky we are to have the love we have. It still comes as a shock to the system that my own name is going away. I chose to change my name without any real pressure. I could keep it, I know. I wanted to take his name. My own name is gone. Only my sister and I shared it. She has long changed hers. It wasn't a family name. It was the name of one generation only. We have bothe kept it's melodic hyphenated glory as our legal middle name. The SSA teller actually smirked at me and asked, "You sure? You want all three last names?"

"Well, it's a middle name, actually. Just one last name," I smiled and the smile wasn't fake.

It's my day off. Any bleach blonde bitch in khakis and a polo who wants to judge me can feel free. I'm happy in my choice. I am a Mrs. now.

Next big adventure? Let's try and make a baby.

Zucchini Fritters

This isn't even an original but it's awesome. We came home from Target today and found that someone (hmmmm could it be the grandparents 9 blocks away?)had left us a zucchini in the mailbox. This is not a grocery store type of zucchini. It was a monster. Wrapped in a plastic newspaper bag, it pretty much filled the thing. It was a couple ounces shy of a new born baby.

Being grocer-arily challenged today, I mentally thanked Grams and Pop rather than cursing them and I began to hack away at the squash. This thing had seeds and spongy interior that would would frighten most people. I had to use leverage to cut it with my biggest knife. I finally quartered and deseeded it. That left me with four "zucchini" sized flanks once I tossed the yucky bits.

Zucchini Fritters, cheater style

Grate a shitload of zucchinis on the large side of a box grater. Maybe three or four "traditional" sized zucchinis.

Toss the grated zucchini with a teaspoon of salt. Place it in a colander. Weight it and let it drain for at least 20 minutes.

Turn the oven on to 225 degrees.

Put a heavy (cast iron) skillet on medium/medium low heat.

In a large bowl, beat an egg. Grate or mince a large clove of garlic and whisk in.
Mince some fresh herbs (just a tablespoon or so). I used basil and chives and it was delicious. I think a teaspoon of dried herbs would be good too.

Whisk with the egg. Add the drained zucchini and fluff everything with a fork.

(cheater alert) Grab a box of Bisquick and add at least a half cup. Keep fluffing with a fork and sprinkling Bisquick until a thick batter is formed. I had a tiny bit of feta left over, so I added that as well. It should be somewhere between a bread dough and a batter (like toothpaste with leavening?)

Add oil to the heated skillet and make fritters with two spoonfuls of the batter. Spread them just a bit and let them cook a few minutes. Mine took about 8 minutes per side. I didn't time them. I just watched crappy TLC TV and flipped them when I smelled the browning (for I am a dinner whisperer!)

Put the cooked ones on a cookie sheet in the oven. Add more oil if and when necessary.

Start heating up some marinara sauce for dipping.

Serve with Marinara. Eat loudly and with slurping noises.

Follow the Yellow Brick Raod

I am no closer to a career path, a dream or a 'calling' than I was last year at this time. It's been a year in wine sales, a full year with a holiday season and a summer lull. It is just fine and also way too far away. I can't deal with the commute too much longer but I bristle at the thought of job searching yet again. Searching for what? A messiah job? A blessing that falls in my lap in a terrible economy? Really? Maybe I should just spend my paycheck on lottery tickets.

I am beginning to feel like an asshole and a job hopper. My heart isn't in it. My ass is sore from commuting and my mind is undernourished. Fuck. I really wish I could make someone else choose my job for me. Whenever I try, they inevitably ask me questions, as if I haven't thought about it before.

New dream gigs:

hand painting furniture for rich people's kids
cooking great veggie food for money
teaching people how to use tofu
helping kids make art

hmmmm....I don't sense a million dollar idea yet.

There are no second chances

Strange and random memory got me thinking about somebody today.

I have one friend with whom I went on a date in college. We had a ton of chemistry. Our date was great and fun and giggle filled. He walked me home (college, ah) and we stood looking into each others eyes for a few solid seconds. I broke eye contact first and kissed his cheek or hugged him or something - to this day I don't know why. I definately smelled what he was cooking, but I think I knew if I kissed him, we'd be an instant couple. For a couple years after that we would almost get together, or get drunk and make out. There was a summer where he got back at me by leading me on for a few weeks. We were never single or interested at the same time after that. Now, we keep in touch as old buddies and we're each in other relationships. I strongly suspect that had we kissed that night, my life would have been totally different, at least through college and if I'm being honest, for good. I felt in that moment that I could either jump in, be with this guy and end up married to him, playing tennis and driving a Lexus or I could not.

I'm so glad I chose not to but I really wish there were movie scenarios in real life and I could just peek at what would have happened had I chosen differently. Even if it would just show us breaking up a few weeks later or something. I really suspect that's not the case.

I guess I'm just thinking about how thankful I am that it's Bill whose my fate, my luck of the draw or my assigned partner from whomever is behind the curtain doing the picking. It's a fragile path that could have veered at almost any moment. I could be in Singapore, Little Rock, my hometown.

Drunk? maybe, Nostalgic? yes, Happy? I am

Seven years ago I moved to Chicago from my college apartment and I hated it. I was miserable and I never wanted to stay. I was also unemployed and a loser living in my Mom's new apartment. My options were few. My college boyfriend had talked of heading west to Portland. My best bud and I talked about going to California where you could teach with just a bachelor's degree. These ideas amounted to nothing and I continued to sleep in the corner of Mom's loft in the west loop. Boyfriend faded away and friend moved to Iowa (IOWA, the hell?) for a job. I eventually got a job too, then another. I moved to Logan Square and then Lakeview. I had a roommate. I lived alone. I painted some nice pictures and made a few new friends. Mostly, I remained tightly bonded to my college friends and spent hours on the phone with them. I walked around ethnic neighborhoods and bought interesting spices, incense and crappy shit to tack on my walls. I dated a few dorks. I had a few nice dates thrown in the mix. I walked over the river under stars. I rode the train with a cute guy. I went to Cubs games. I fell in love with restaurants, some fancy and some simple. I became a regular at a bar. Tourists began asking me for directions, imagine that! Even stranger, I knew the directions. I fell in love with a man. I began to sigh as I walked around the pretty parts of the city. The river smelled of sewage and promise. The beaches shined with glass shards and happiness. I defended the corruption and ten percent sales tax to naysayers. I thanked God that I didn't live in my hometown. I fell in love with Chicago but it was not romantic love. It was familial. Chicago will never be my lover. It will always be my big brother. It sheltered and defended me until I was a woman. Now, I am too big to share its quarters. I cannot handle the thin walls of apartments and the smells on the bus. I needed, so desperately, to find a little solace of a home.

I have not typed much of anything, besides work stuff, in a long while. I am typing from my new house, from the computer room, from the suburbs. I love my new house. LOVE IT. I am here with my real love, Bill, our new love, Kobi and my things. Kobi is the best part of having a yard. He is a wiggling 95 pound mass of love and sneezes.

Much of the crap that was once tacked on carriage house apartment walls is here. There is a world map in the guest room. A lovely screen print that my friend Jesse gave me almost a decade ago. My college sheets wait, folded, for guests to come and visit. I am trying to add the new stuff sparingly, so I don't end up with Pottery Barn decor. I have arrived at adulthood and am no longer dragging my feet.

Time is a bitch

Just four days until we close on the house. Just four days until we write a check for 24,000 dollars. Holy crap is that a lot of money. I feel so young but when I look at my hands, they are move crevassed than ever. I am not a girl, or an adolescent or a young lady any more. I cannot smirk about the fact that I support myself. I am no longer the youngest one at work. I am just a regular grown up now. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Enjoy my never flat belly and boobs that droop? Wonder if I'll ever look in the mirror again and think, "Not bad!" I see why men buy toupees and sports cars. It's fucking scary to know that you can't fall back on your cuteness anymore.

Now, I'll live in the burbs. I joked to Bill that we needed to leave the city and find a town where I'm still young and thin. Now I worry that I'm just the annoying woman making a scene in the corner and swearing that a man once told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and couldn't believe she was 35, flat out did not believe her! Please, God, don't make me that woman. Not at 28. Please wait a few decades if that is my ultimate fate. Also, no minivans.

Bored

I almost always like my alone time but tonight I feel lonely. I had a long day and skipped yoga when I couldn't get out of work in time. I guess I just need a little mental rest. That's not coming soon with a move in two weeks. FUCK it is scary.

I wish I could play and write music. I think I should learn the guitar. Then I could write songs that make boys want to hang with me. Or I could be the next Tori Amos or whatever and make girls want to hang with me. Yeah...I need to plan a bit more.

I wish I wrote things down more often

I have not posted anything here in a while. We had a sea of weeks of househunting and we have an accepted bid on a bank owned forclosure. I will not break out the party until our inspection has taken place. It terrifies me as this house is sold AS IS.

The winter has melted into a true spring. I practically cried as I drove home in the light today. It was awesome.

Some bad things have happened too. Death has hit too close to home. It is terrible for my dear friend.

My mother is floundering, drinking herself silly and miserable. She needs her dogs back and her life to have a direction. I can't force her or even yell. Nothing helps but I hope she pulls herself together soon.

Other than that, I am trying to keep up with yoga at least weekly and continue to not bite my nails. That is enough for now.