Wistful and Moody

Days like this are weird. I'm going along, happy and secure, knowing that God loves me and I have a good life. Then...WHAM! and not George Michael, either. Suddenly, I'm wistful and moody. I saw that on a TV program recently...I don't know what it was. But here I sit, wistful and moody.

I keep going back in my mind to when I was in high school...wishing I was still there and could make different choices. I hear a song on the radio and plummet into sadness, because it's a song from when I was in high school (and oddly, I couldn't wait to leave home after high school, because of a very unhealthy family situation or seven that unfurled during that time and previously). But now I want to go back. Why?

I remember looking at our driveway when I still lived at home. It was made of dirt and rock; nothing fancy. I looked at a particular rock and thought "I cannot wait to leave here. I've got to get out." I don't know what looking at the rock had to do with it. As I sit here writing this, the rock also had something to do with my dad's feet. Again, no clue as to why.

When I was in high school, I was very spiritual and felt close to God. I went to church camps anytime one was available, and talked to God. I looked for a vision of Him over the lake at campfire time. I never saw Him visually, but I felt Him leading me a lot of the time.

I don't think I could go back there, to the church camp I attended, without my heart tearing out of my chest. Thinking about the wonder of that place brings tears to my eyes now. I was always at peace there, never scared, never alone.

Now, much of the spirituality has gone. I left the church I was born into, in order to attend a Bible church, because I didn't feel I truly believed the doctrine my birth church followed. Friends at the new church prayed for me, had prayed for six years, it turned out. They wanted me to leave my original church. I did. I worship much more freely now, with hands raised while I sing in a choir. I love singing. I'm comfortable now, reaching my hands up to worship. The music this church uses is open and loving and freely given to God. But it feels like the inside of me has been torn out for years, since I left my church. I feel empty. I feel lonely a lot. At least I used to. I've started building up a wall in my heart, so I don't get too close to people, even my husband. I don't want to have anything more torn out of me. If I can just make it on my own, then when he (my husband) can't participate in family stuff, or has to work unexpectedly, or eventually runs off (hey, being married to a crazy lady can do that!), I won't be as hurt. I'll be ready for it; I won't have poured my heart into a relationship that will just let me down, and break that heart.

Things don't always work out tidily and get wrapped into neat, little packages. Relationships are always a lot of work, and sometimes, for all the work, you still end up dissatisfied sometimes. Or hurt, or empty. Sometimes it feels like your heart is gone.

Maybe I should write for the soap operas?

Must not...

Must not let the meds run out...

Must not sit back and pretend everything is ok when it's not...

Must be bold more often!

Actually, being bold worked for me recently. At work I have a micromanaging boss, who also likes to pile work on constantly...as in not letting me finish what she just told me to do before giving me two other things to do.

There are days I hate my job.

But last Friday, I had my yearly evaluation. She had a few complaints about me. Some were legitimate. Others were things that happened very recently, but that she seemed to count as being problems the whole year. Whatever. I got a decent raise...I think...it was 5%.

But when she told me what the new pay rate would be, she apparently saw the look on my face and said "you're thinking...what's wrong?" I said, "I don't think that's enough. I've taken on a whole lot of new projects this year." She said "you know, you're right." I ended up with a $1.10/hr raise and the promise to review my performance in October for a possible bonus. I'm sorry...it wasn't enough. I was already thinking about other places I could apply to. But I actually won! Who'd've thought?

Jell-O

I'm craving Jell-O. Preferably black cherry Jell-O, with rinsed and drained cherry pie filling stirred in (so just the cherries, really).

Or maybe orange Jell-O with lots and lots of mandarin oranges and just a very little evaporated milk to make it the slightest bit creamy.

I'm also craving orange sherbet and canned peaches.

No, as far as I know, I'm not pregnant.

Another hard day

I'm sitting here watching Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. Tonight's episode is about a Marine who lost a leg in Iraq, then came home to a wife who got overwhelmed and left him. Left him to deal with 4 kids. On one leg.

I didn't get up until 11:00 this morning. I had a whole house to clean, but there I lay in bed. Couldn't get up to go to church, couldn't eat, nothing. Cried for a long time. I did manage to clean the dining room. and some of the kitchen. Looking at another week of stressed-out work got me down.

Then I see this guy raising four kids with one leg. Of course, he's getting a new house. But he's not whining, lying around feeling useless. I told my husband tonight that I sometimes wish I had lost a leg, rather than having depression. With a missing leg, people can tell what's wrong. There's actually something to be wrong, rather than this useless, bummed feeling. It just isn't me, when I feel like this. I mean, I don't feel like myself. I get to the point where I hate myself. I can't understand how someone so broken could be here. I know that sounds dramatic. I don't mean to, it's just the only way I can express what this is like.

I'm better now, not completely but getting there. Tomorrow I have blood drawn to check the levels of medication I'm on and make sure they're okay. They're also testing my thyroid yet again. To make sure it's okay and the meds I'm taking for that are correct.

Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

Ugh. depression.

I had a friend who used to say that all the time...ugh. Like, ugh...what a stupid day. Ugh...i feel like crap. i'm sick of capitalizing and just want to write today. today is an ugh day for me. i really have tried to not have too many of them, but i have depression and it's just beating me down today. I hurt, i'm nauseous, i'm dizzy. i'm sick of feeling sick. my head hurts. i'm in a dumb economics class i don't even care about. i have a really bad attitude today. my kids are on every nerve i have, and they're just being kids. they are really good kids, too. i feel horrible for thinking this way about them. my arms ache, my shoulder aches. i have too few reference quotes in my stupid econ paper that's due tomorrow. i don't care, though.

my husband is at work. he would have a cow if I quit school, but he won't back off his workaholic schedule any, and he's writing a book too. when the heck am i supposed to do my homework? around kids who just want to be kids who are making way too much noise?

i have to buy pillows today. new pillows always help. they also help my neck to not hurt so much.

i need to be taking care of myself...lotion, nail polish, makeup. wish i cared. i do a little. took vitamins along w/medicine today. need to do laundry, too. clean clothes are always good. can't keep up with the mess at home.

quit slamming the damn door!! ouch.

must get dressed. must use good-smelling juniper breeze lotion first. while watching funny movie. it'll help.

i should make cookies later. i like cookies. ev1 else does, too.

qvc...i'm addicted. must stop watching unless you hire me soon. though lock-and -lock rocks.

i'm not really crazy right now...just doing kind of a stream-of-consciousness thing.

I'm gonna go jump into the day remembering that my paper is almost done, and quotes are easy to find. May read bible-what a concept! :)

Letter to Grandma Hiatt

Dear Grandma Hiatt-

I miss you. It's been probably 30 years since you died, but I remember you. Garrison Keillor says that nothing you do for a child is ever wasted...and he is right. I remember sitting on your back steps, next to your pretty garden with the red tulips and the red metal lawn chairs. We'd sit there on the back step and pretend we were at the carnival. We'd ride the ferris wheel-up, up, up. Then we'd go down the other side-wheeeee! We'd make up crazy roller coasters. We'd ride the merry-go-round.

When we got tired of that, we'd go inside. In your sun porch, just inside the house from the back steps, we'd sit at your brown leather-print card table, with the brown stripes at the corners, where the pattern came together. You'd sit there with me, and we'd look at stuff on your knickknack shelf; your whale tooth, and your big, coaster-size "Lucky Penny," pretty glass bottles, and other stuff I can't remember.


Sometimes you'd have jelly beans, and when you did we'd pretend the red ones were lipstick. We'd bite off the end, and rub the bigger piece on our lips. I remember you used to keep ice cream in what looked like those metal ice trays with the lever to release the ice. I remember your old-fashioned, white stove, probably from the 1930s, and you standing by it, cooking.
I remember when we used to play store on your kitchen table, using your wooden checkerboard as the conveyor belt, and we'd sit there and "check out" your boxes of salt, Potato Buds, cans of vegetables, etc.

I also remember playing "The Price is Right." I'd go in your bedroom, look through your jewelry box, and bring you "prizes," like necklaces and brooches and big clip earrings. We'd make bubble soap sometimes, in old Cool Whip bowls, and you'd let me use a straw and blow bubbles in the water. And one time, you let me help you paint your front porch. We painted it dark gray.

I remember you liked Russell Stover candy, and now, when I buy a box of candy, I always buy Russell Stover. They used to have little pink and yellow and light green candies, and they were so good! I don't know if they have those any more. They also had birds nests, made from coconut dyed green and covered with candy, with little jelly beans inside. I remember you bought me one. I was afraid to try it, but I did and it was good.

I remember when you used to take me for walks down by the trains. They stopped running them through Alden, did you know that? Yeah. Probably at least 20 years ago, if not more. I live where I can hear the trains now, and they don't bother me. I like them. I'm not sure if I could live somewhere with no trains, now. A train whistle is a comforting sound. I remember you let me look at the trains, and the lake, with your binoculars, but it was really fun when we would go down there and stand right next to the cars, close enough to touch one.

I remember going for rides in the car with Grandpa Hiatt, too. You had a green car, four doors, with rounded silver hubcaps (not real silver, I assume). I remember him sitting in his chair, listening to the game on the radio, and the big floor lamp that was next to him. He was always quiet.

Grandpa Hiatt was never the same after you died. I'm sure you know, he didn't live long afterward. I went to see him a couple of times, but it hurt too much to see him so sad, and see everything there, that I used to see every time I came to visit you, only without you there. I was too young to know why, then, but I remember it was bad.

My dad told me when you died. We were in Dearborn, at my aunt's house. I was in the basement, playing at my cousins, and dad came down and said he needed to talk to me. I thought my friend Missy had been run over by a car, or something, because he said, "one of your good friends died." But it wasn't her. It was you.

At the time, I remember saying, "it's okay dad." Because he was crying. He knew how much we liked each other. I overheard him talking to my mom and telling her that I had taken it very well, and them wondering if I was really okay. I was. I am. But I'm 40 now, grandma, and I still miss you. I remember asking you to be my grandma; we were sitting on the couch looking at the funny papers (as you called comics), and you were watching your soap opera. You used to read me the funnies, too; Henry, Nancy, Blondie, Charlie Brown, and BC are ones I remember well.

You used to be there for me. When my parents were fighting, you were there. I could walk to your house and visit you. I remember one time I was up in the woods hunting mushrooms, and I was excited because I had found eight white morels. I came running into my house to tell my parents, and they were too busy fighting to pay any attention. I left and went to your house, and you made me call them, but you were excited about my mushrooms. You told me everything would be all right, and it eventually was. They live near me now, and are very happy, and hardly fight at all.

I have two kids now, grandma. They're wonderful. And I wish I was as good a parent as you were a not-even-blood-related "grandma." I have so many questions about whether what I'm doing is right, and how to be better. When our daughter was born, I wanted to name her after you, but...and no offense...I didn't like your first name, and wanted to shorten it to Ina, but then when she was born she didn't look like an Ina.

I miss you. I'm sorry I was out of town when you died and didn't even get to come to your funeral. I'm sorry grandpa was so sad. I'm sorry I couldn't make him feel better. I hope he wasn't sad; it's just that I didn't have the same relationship with him that I did with you.

I went back home two years ago, and walked by your house with my husband and two kids. A couple was in the yard, probably your kids, and waved at us. I took a picture of it. Right after my first year at college I came home for the weekend, and walked in the alley behind your house. I could see where your garden had been. I could see your sun porch. Then I felt bad, like I was sneaking around someone's personal property (though no one said anything to me, and I don't think anyone was even there) and left quickly. There's a big, new house next to yours now, and it's closer to the street. Can you believe that Mrs. Coy's house (that big Victorian, red and white house just down the street) was sold for over a million dollars in the late '80's? In our little town.

I miss you. I know I keep saying that, but it is true. I'm not desperately wailing about you at all, and I don't cry about it often, but I think of you very often. Thank you so much for being there for me. Thanks for all the breaks you gave my parents. They've been married over 40 years now. Thank you for caring about me, for letting me come to your house nearly every day for eight years, and for all the time you spent with me, having fun. At least it was fun for me. I will never forget you. I love you.

Before My Head Explodes...

I thought it would be best to, well, keep it from exploding. So, I invented this blog (okay, I didn't invent the blog. Blogs have been around for years and years! Please try to keep up!) in order that I could tell you, the blog-reading public, what is really important in life. So that you'll know. Because it's important to know.

Today, I am sick and tired of idiots. Really. There are more idiots per square inch than oxygen lately, and it makes me crazy! Seriously, folks! If you are a manager, there should be no issue with you not knowing how to print. And if your computer is having problems, why, since you've got an org chart, you should know exactly where to go. I really can't help people figure out how to print anymore. Either that or I need a raise. A big one. I'm not a trainer yet...after all-I don't have the amazing, door-opening, star-studded, shiny, all-important "DEGREE." I only have a fabulous work ethic and a great attitude, I come early and stay late, and handle whatever people ask me to do. I will even help train people, when asked nicely. But I draw the line at training people who do have "THE DEGREE." They should know how to do things. After all, they have "THE DEGREE." Yet, sadly, they can't print. Sheesh!

Anyway, welcome to my world. If you want, you know how to use the comments to let me know what you think. If you don't want, then simply read and be enlightened.