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Pity Party – Table for One

11 Apr

Last night was beautiful.  The weather was delightful, warm with a crisp breeze.  The sun was in that perfect place in the sky, an hour or so before sunset, still warm and well-lit, but low enough to be soft and glowing.

I took the time to uncover the grill and clean it.   Really scrub it, shiny and new.   And then, for the first time this season, fired it up and grilled dinner.  I only made hot dogs, but they were perfect, delicious Nathan’s hot dogs.  Crisp, but not browned, on the outside, and steamy, juicy, tasty on the inside.  Served on soft, plump white hot dog buns with  salty, tangy baked beans on the side.  It looked and tasted like summer.

I decided it was the perfect time to christen the patio furniture for the year.  To sit outside, eat and enjoy the moment.  I asked the Judge if he was going to eat with me:

Judge: Sure, sounds good.

Judge: Wait, where?  Inside or out?

Me: Outside, it is beautiful!

Judge: Oh.  I’ll just eat upstairs then.

And so I headed outside and ate my delicious summer meal, all by myself.    I watched the sun set and relished the breeze blowing.  And felt very alone.  And very sorry for myself.  And very  sad that my husband chose to sequester himself, in his office, instead of simply eating with me.


One, Two …. Eleventy! Eleventy Annoying Things. Hah Hah Hah Hah.

7 Feb

It Is A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day.

You’ve been notified.  Officially.   Twinkies, Ginger Ale and Cheetos should be sent my way.

Not in any serious or concrete way.  Just in small, annoying, hurtful ways.

I hurt myself walking the dogs.  LadyBlog is in the midst of a major design overhaul and is waaaay buggy.  The lunch I brought is terrible. My hair is funny. My makeup is sliding off.  My contacts wouldn’t go in.  I’m not getting crap done at work. A blogger I won’t mention by name had an entire post about how it’s not fair that people think she’s perfect, because of course she’s not perfect, just mostly.  And  it’s only because she gets to be a SAHM for religious reasons and has hours of time to spend on her writing and photography.  Which is why it is perfect, unlike those busy moms who don’t. Which is just fine, of course.  They shouldn’t feel bad. Or try to compare themselves to her perfection.

(No, that last thing didn’t strike a major nerve, or anything. Why do you ask? )

(Okay, I was actually going to do a whole post about just that last thing, but I’d feel weird about not linking to it and I don’t want to do that.)

I hope it gets better.  It will get better.

Eventually it will be 5 o’clock and cocktails fix anything.

Save Me Cheesus – It’s Only January.

28 Jan

I can’t make up my mind on 2011.  It’s just been this odd mix of incredibly terrible (car-totaling accident) and kind of awesome (ins co is paying back more than what I paid for the car).

Also conflicting in Twenty-Eleven?

  1. I’ve been really happy with the work we’ve gotten done on Chateau de Conner, but frustrated we probably won’t have the massive funding to do everything I want to do this year.
  2. Physically, I feel fat, unhealthy and horrible, but appearance-wise, I’m loving my hair, makeup, etc.
  3. Socially, I just want to be a pajama-clad lump on my couch and have done plenty of that.  Yet we’ve been to a party or two, entertained at home and been out with friends.
  4. At work I’ve been kicking ass, and yet totally checking out.  Frequently.  I am writing a blog-post right now….

So I just don’t know.  Seems to be a terrible karmic invitation to declare that 2011 is going to be a crappy year but so far it hasn’t been easy either.

So, in the spirit of  ‘Acting Like You Want to Feel’, let’s simply christen 2011 the Year of the SeeSaw.  Up and down, but always lots of fun.

God, that sounds exhausting….


15 Jun

I want so many things, it’s frustrating.  Many many things.  contradictory things.   Big things, little things.  Life-changing things and inconsequential things.  But I’m a grown-up (most of the time) and I know that wants aren’t needs.  Know that my wants can’t possibly all be met.  Know that sometimes the wants and needs of others have to come before my own. 

The wants that I have are so varied, so changed, I’m afraid I no longer know myself.  I’m really afraid I never actually knew myself.  And I live by the tenant that to be happy, one must know oneself.  I think that knowing what motivates you, knowing why you do the things you do, makes life easier, happier.  But if I can’t figure out what I REALLY want, do I know myself?

Things I want:

  • A baby
  • To be a stay-at-home-mom
  • To be able to go where I want
  • To be able to buy what I want
  • To have all the lovely dates with The Judge I can handle
  • To be successful
  • To be financially comfortable
  • To live in the downtown of a big city
  • To live in suburban Joliet
  • To never leave Indy
  • To own my grandmother’s house
  • To live in the house The Judge and I bought
  • To install new flooring
  • To never ever do another thing to this house but sell it
  • To travel the world
  • To never leave the beautiful haven of a house I created
  • To be thin
  • To eat the things I want, whenever I want
  • To be near my family
  • To never leave The Judge’s family

The list goes on and on.  I’m sure there will be things I regret not putting on the list the moment I hit publish. 

But most of those things can’t be.  At least not together. 

Part 1: The Baby and Home Life

I know, know, so desperately, that I want a baby. Okay,  babies.  Fine, many, many children.   And I want to stay at home with them.  Raise them.  Be a homemaker.  A maker of a home so beautiful and comforting, you feel happier and at peace just crossing the threshold. 

Guess what? 

#1 – The Judge does not support the idea of SAHMs.  He thinks (not unreasonably, I guess) that marriage is a partnership and that work should be divided equally.  And by equally he means straight down the middle.  You do half of the parenting, half of the homecare, half of everything.  And he’ll do the same.  And this will “free us up” to both work full-time as well and that way, no one “has” to stay at home. 

#2 – I like to live well.  I like stuff.  I’m not the hugest fan of scrimping and saving.  Even if the Judge was okay with the SAHM thing, he doesn’t make a fortune.  If I wasn’t working, and he didn’t find a better-paying job, we’d be down to 55-60% of our income.  I don’t know if I could do that.  I don’t know that I could cut what we live on, the activities that we do, down by 40%.  If I get to be a SAHM, but Junior would have to sleep in a dresser drawer and we had to eat PB&Js everyday, is that the kind of sacrifice I’d be willing to make?  If I didn’t get the chance to eat out or go somewhere or whatever, would I start to hate my life a little?

#3 – I like my job.  I mean, do I wake up everyday impatient to get right back to the office?  Nope. But I do like it.  I’m well paid.  I get to be in charge of things and people.  The work I do serves a larger purpose and helps people.  It can be quite satisfying. 

#4 – Could I really do it?  Could I really stay at home and not leave for other things?  Not have the chance, daily, to be fulfilled by something that wasn’t home or family?  Sadly, I can’t know the answers to those things before I experience them.  I won’t know until I try.  But what happens if I try and it turns out I was fooling myself?  That I hate being home?  That I can’t handle the washing/cleaning/babyminding/mending/etc?  That I would, in fact, rather share those things and work? 

I know that these are questions faced by a lot of young marrieds.  I know that I come across as selfish and demanding.  But this is how I feel.  And I can’t talk through it with the Judge; he’s on a multi-day jury trial this week. 

Coming soon –  Part 2: There’s no place like home, unless home is somewhere else.   Wherein the author tries to reconcile her love of the city with the reality of her life. 


8 Jun

I am feeling a little bleak. A bit bereft. Depressed even. Gah.

Friday I went to the hospital for a surgical procedure. Related to Item #6 – Address my Health Concerns. Specifically the trying to get pregnant health concerns. It was just a lovely little D&C, nothing major. I was there for less than 6 hours.

(Sidebar: This all took place at the hospital I work at. Which was super strange. I mean, I work there. Everyday. It was weird to enter the front door as a patient. To lose the control of being an employee. To not have my badge of importance and belonging pinned to my chest. Everyone was wonderful and my care was suburb, but I don’t think I’ll go back. For surgery, I mean. I’m here for work, obviously.)

Since then, I’ve been in a weird place. It’s not that I was/am in huge amounts of pain. (Even though it is/was a little painful.) And it’s not like I was inpatient for days. Somehow, though, I feel this strange sense of depression. Of having lost something. Of not being quite right. I don’t know if it was the extra sleep or not ‘doing’ anything all weekend, but I just don’t feel like me.

I don’t like it.