I feel better today. Not for any good reason.  Nothing has changed. I'm still in the exact same circumstances as yesterday.  My bi-polar mood switch flipped in the night. I actually smiled at people today. And I got my grades submitted on time. Yay, me.  

This has been the pattern for the last two years. Under the extreme duress of my dire circumstances, I'm taken to the very edge of the precipice of emotional pain. I beg God to kill me in my prayers, to spare me from living with myself. That goes on for a few days or weeks until I reach the point where I can no longer take it, when I feel myself begin to break. And then my brain switches back to normal. I'm very grateful this one only lasted 4 days. 

Whatever happens to me, is whatever.  I'm going to try to enjoy this time off to work on the book.

I'm not doing well. I hung in through the end of the semester and hoped and prayed for the best. I hoped that I would get summer classes or that my lawsuit would settle in time. Neither of those things have happened. There's no more unemployment. There's nothing.  I'm scared. 

I may have to move back to Florida to live with my parents. The shame of that makes me want to vomit.  I probably won't be able to ever move back to NYC if I leave.  And I certainly won't be able to find another rent controlled 2 bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood that's 10 minutes from Times Square.   There is nothing for me in Florida. There are exponentially more jobs here. Ditto with the men. I have friends and a life here. And I have the dignity of living in my own apartment.    

The problem is that I was an achiever. All my self-esteem was based on my achievement. I went to a nerdy magnet school. I got a scholarship to go to an exclusive liberal arts college. I got a fellowship to get an M.A. in an extremely difficult field. And then I got into one of the Top 25 PhD programs in my field. And then I went mad and dropped out. It's been 5 years and I've done nothing but flail about and hang on by my fingernails to my sad existence.  That I've become this loser who can't even support myself is almost unbearable.  Add to that the fact that I can't find someone who wants to love me and marry me and the self-loathing grows. 

It makes me hate myself with a violent loathing.  So it's harder to fight for myself.  I'm in this weird vortex where I know I desperately need to do something to fix my life while at the same time I feel that I don't deserve any better and there is no point in trying.  I don't understand how or why I could have let this happen.  I worked so hard in my 20s to have an academic career.  I made a lot of sacrifices.  But I believed in myself.  I loved what I was doing.  And I wore myself out. Then it all went to hell in 04/05.       


I've been crying for 4 days.  The bishop called me last night to check in. I told him how I am doing. That I feel like I'm just waiting for death. He sent my home teacher's over to give me a blessing.  Bless their hearts but they are both young, so it was a short prayer. It didn't even make me cry. Which is surprising considering the free flow of tears this weekend.

I also know I'm responsible.  I haven't been going to church this spring. The last few times I went it made me feel horrible. So I haven't wanted to put myself through the hassle only to come home in tears. I've been feeling resentful toward the church, which is bad.  I've let Satan in and given him a strong hold on my heart.  That is not going to serve me well, especially with my temporal predicament. I don't deserve the miracle that I need from the Lord.  Which is why my faith is so low, which is why I feel so hopeless, which is why I am so disgusted with myself, which is why I can't find the motivation to pull myself out of this, which is why I'm not bothering to go to church, which makes me feel undeserving . . .  and down the vortex I go . . . I don't think I have to strength to fight it this time.  I need some glimmer of hope and I can't find it. 

On and On Again

So. My life won't be changing any time in the next year.  
 Of the 3 schools I applied to:

PhD 1 said No.
PhD 2 said Yes, but it was too late for funding. There's no way I can go to graduate school in London without funding.  The reason there was no money left for me?  They said something went terribly wrong on their end and they don't know why they didn't review my application until April. 

MSW: Big FAT No that I just got today.  After paying their criminal $125 application fee, which, if you ask me, that amount of money ought to guarantee acceptance. I was also subjected to a 2 hour group interview that was TORTURE. Sitting in a circle with a social worker and a bunch of college senior girls, all competing to have the best answers to the same questions.  Such questions as: What would you do if you had a formerly homeless client who cooked you your favorite meal. I said I would eat it, that it was too rude not to.  All the simpering mealy mouthed girls said they would be as nice as they could but turn it down.  Yeah, good luck with that. 

I don't know what to do. I can't go on living my crap life this way.  Yesterday was a great day because I got to buy groceries, like I actually spent $80 on food that I want to eat. It's been 12 months since I was able to do that.  But the semester ends soon and I'll be back to eating church storehouse food.  Last month I had to duct tape my front bumper back on to my car.  Which officially moves me down one socio-economic level.  I had to stop volunteering at the zoo because the toll costs $8 and it takes too much gas to get there.   AND, I have to go to a hearing to have the unemployment I collected last year revoked.  Unless I get a lawyer for that. I already have two lawyers for my other crap. How am I supposed to hire another one? 

 Yes, things could be worse. Much worse. I am very blessed to have my physical health, to have my apartment and my friends and my family that has been helping me out a lot this year.  And extremely lucky to have a car that still runs. 

But. REALLY?  When will this end?  It's not like I'm not trying. I've already given up on ever getting married and I've definitely let go of the fantasy of having children.  It doesn't seem like it's too much to ask that I have enough of a successful career that I can support myself and my basic needs. That's all I want. I don't want to have to keep praying every month that my rent check won't bounce. And that my landlord has a soft heart towards me so I don't get evicted.  Clearly, I am doing something very wrong. I just wish I knew how to fix things.

Damn.

Songs of the Moment

 Parts and Labor: Nowhere's Nigh.
Favorite song from last year.  A band out of the Brooklyn scene. The trend is to play synthesizer a la 80s New Wave with punk guitar and rhythms. Also, very reminiscent of 90s Shoegazer music.  It's the perfect combo and makes me very happy.  Hooray for the death of Emo music!!! 

Warning: The songs below are not happy. They make me happy right now, but if you are in a cheerful mood, you might not want to play them. 

Crystal Castles: Not in Love.  
Can you tell who Featured the singer is? It's the inimitable Robert Smith from The Cure, of course!  It sounds like the perfect Cure tribute song, almost as though Robert Smith wrote it himself.



Low: Point of Disgust. 
This song actually came with my Windows Media Player, it's fairly old. I played it by accident a few nights ago. It felt  like my life put into song.  I played it on repeat for 3 hours.  It inspired me to write a scene in my novel.  Which worked so well at setting the tone that I've decided to always put on a song or songs with the mood I'm trying to evoke in whatever scene I'm writing.  

I've been busy lately. Teaching two classes, dealing with more legal and financial crisis, ebaying everything in my apartment that might sell and writing the novel. I wrote the synopsis last week, 9 pages. It includes a detailed outline of all 25 chapters, a character study of the heroine, and a description of the world  (It's a dystopic fantasy.)  I did that so I can start working on selling the book. From what I've read, it takes so long that you should start shopping it before you're finished with the book.

Happy Birthday to Me!

The big 3-5 today! Yipee. Funny thing is turning 34 was more of a crisis. It messed me up for a month. I guess I got it out of the way.

This is the year I am changing my life. I can not keep living this way.  I have to stop the unstable seasonal employment without benefits. And I can't live with my unfinished doctoral work hanging like a millstone on my neck. I have to let it go. I can't finish for reasons I do not understand. So, I either start over in a new doctoral program or move on.

I had a rough night. I woke at 4:30 a.m. because I have a lot of worries at the moment.  Then I had a hard time falling asleep.  When I did I had a semi-conscious nightmare. I remember all of it:

I was living in the Brooklyn brownstone again with the same roommates I had before. Only now they hated me because I lived in the best room of the house with my own bathroom. My mother was visiting. Which angered the roommates. My mom got mad at me and yelled then threw my dishes on the floor breaking them. Then my best friend that I have been estranged from for the last 2 years, came to visit and there was no room for her. The roommates were not thrilled and they started using my bathroom which became repulsive. We had to use the bathtub as a toilet, it was backed up and had floating feces in the water. And there were  extra cats everywhere, so they were making me get rid of my cats, but I wouldn't. The other cats were fighting with my kitties, I had to keep rescuing them. And the little one got stuck in a huge piles of her own vomit. The landlords were a lesbian couple that were threatening to kick me out because of the cats and my mother. 

 I remember all of that because I kept waking up at the worst parts then falling back to sleep into the same dream. I'm worried about a lot of things which explains the dream.  But I have dear friends coming up from Philadelphia to spend the day with me. They're surprising me with special plans for the day. We are guaranteed to have a good time.

Closure 2

My closure is progressing. I have passed the crisis point I reached last week. [I also needed to deal with my feelings because one of the gentlemen pursuing me returns from the west coast this month. He already asked me to go out with him when he gets back. He is a good prospect (not Mormon), if he loses the ponytail.]

I wrote a closure letter to xbf last week, it's mostly an apology. I worked on it in the middle of the night, but did not finish. Then I started mourning the loss of that relationship. I didn't complete that process the first time around because A)I was too emotionally unstable to deal with it last spring and B)I did not believe it was over, over. So. Now I know.

On Wednesday, things changed. I simply woke up feeling differently. I attribute that to prayer and divine intervention. The weight of my sorrow and distress was completely gone. I just knew, all of a sudden, that everything would be okay. I no longer have to worry about him, or us. I have nothing more I need to do. I do not need to talk to him or see him. I feel comforted, and know that I did not ruin my life by pushing him away, nor with any of the mistakes I made. That part of my heart feels peace.

Oddly, it's not a moving on type of feeling. It is a resolution, so I can get on with my life. I am not waiting for anything from him anymore. But it feels like whatever is supposed to be between us will be. Somehow, I feel undeniably that our story is not over. Whatever that means. Maybe in a few years we can be friends for real. That would be awesome. He is a beautiful person.

Part of me gets fidgety at the thought, that there will be more to come. Rationally, I know it's dangerous and unhealthy. Like I'm still holding on to something I shouldn't. And I hate the term 'supposed to' implying our lives are guided by an unavoidable destiny. I don't like the idea of destiny. I think it's a crutch and a way to avoid responsibility for one's life. However, not believing in destiny makes life a lot more scary.

Can you really believe in an omniscient benevolent God and not believe He guides our lives to some ultimate conclusion for our own good? That belief is built into the Western concept of God. It's almost necessary in order to reconcile oneself to the evil God allows in the world. Ah, but this is a complicated and millenia-old question.

The point is, I'm okay now. I no longer feel tortured by the way things ended, or the waiting. This is one of the gifts of faith.

Radio Song

Many of you know that music is very important to me. I am very picky.

I found the best radio station I've ever heard. NY Public Radio broadcasts their morning show, John in the Morning, from 9-1 EST. It's a Seattle station. They generally play independent/alternative/punk/new wave songs. Old and new. From 1977-now. I wholeheartedly endorse the John show. The DJs program their own playlists, and this man shares my musical brain. The rest of the time the station is good, but not as superlative.

Stream it here: http://kexp.org

It's a public station with no advertising, so they are having their Spring Drive this week. It's a little annoying, but you should contribute $ if you like the station and become a listener. The Senate will soon vote to cut all Federal funding of public broadcasting. So, they are all at risk.

Enjoy!

Closure.

I've suffered through some anniversaries lately. It brought back the pain of losing my xbf all over again.  The one year anniversary of our first break-up, Valentine's Day when we had our first fake friendship non-date that ended with a lot of kissing and ultimately disaster.  Even the Egyptian revolution tortured me with memories. (There's a story  behind that.)  I never stopped hurting for him, but it has a new urgency.  My body aches for him again. And I've been crying.  All year I hoped he might change his mind and come back to me.  No one else ever loved me the way he did. Now I know that's never going to happen. 

What I need is closure. Our last breakup was such a mess, he just ran away and left me hanging. He gave me a line about needing space on the phone, but said it wasn't forever. I didn't know what that meant. I gave him a month. Then I couldn't take waiting and constantly checking for emails or phone calls.  I emailed him to find out what was going on. He did not reply. I tried several times over the next two weeks, asking him to tell me to leave him alone or give me a time line or breakup with me for good. Nothing. I finally got psycho with a nasty email, an apology, and one more begging him to tell me it was over. No reply. I finally threatened to go to his house to make him talk to me. To that, he replied. He told me he could have no contact with me and I especially could not go to his house. It was over. Hallelujah! That was a relief. And really, really, painful.

Still, I didn't believe him. He couldn't even say the words out loud. I didn't understand how someone could walk away from what we had.  Maybe he just needed more time. And I felt so horrible about how I behaved.  I hated what I had done.  I hated knowing he probably hated me.  For a year I've been regretting that and everything else I did wrong with him.  That, along with pining for him has been miserable. Now it's all making me angry on top of everything else. This has got to stop. 

My first attempt to deal with it was an email to his friend, the one who set us up.  I asked him to tell me my xbf was happy now.  If I knew he was happy with a girlfriend who gave him lots of sex, then I could move on.  I would be happy for him, and it would mean our break up was a good thing. --No reply. 

Like a lunatic, I began to think maybe it was time for me to make a move. Maybe he was as unhappy as I was.  I could ask him to come back to me. I fantasized about going to his house, imagining he would cry and kiss me and we would never part again. I got over that foolishness.  He doesn't want to be with me, the end.
But I did need to talk to him. I need his forgiveness. I want to know he is happier now. I want him to tell me he has no regrets.  Tell me that we're better off apart.

I sent an email.  It was short:Hi there. Are you amenable to a chat?

He replied: I don't know if that's a great idea. I hope you are doing well but I don't know what we would have to talk about. I'm sorry, I know this sounds harsh. 

It was a punch in the gut. I got livid.  Like being rejected yet again. He should have asked me what I had to say instead of arrogantly declaring we had nothing to talk about.  He could at least help me with closure. And how insulting that he tried to nice it up and water it down. Just say: No, I don't want to talk to you.  I could handle that.  But his condescension, I can not. I was thoroughly disgusted with him.

This could mean he is not over me and that's why he doesn't want to talk to me.  But maybe not.

I have been on a roller coaster all week.  First I was furious that he wouldn't talk to me.  Then I was okay. Then I got angry thinking that he might be alone and unhappy. That would make our breakup pointless and even more stupid.  Today I am very sad. I don't want to let go of him but I have to. It breaks my heart, again, and still.

My therapist is making me write a letter.  Say what I need to and be done with him.  She said it's the only way to get over it. I hope it works. I'm ready to move on.

Catching Up 2011

I have a lot of things going on in my mind these days.  That's what happens when my mood stabilizes or goes manic, whichever.  (I got back on meds in December).  When that happens it feels like I am waking up from a hazy sleep, from not being fully alive -- a sort of sleepwalking.  It's creepy. And stressful, because when I wake up I have to clean up the mess I made by sleeping. This post may be boring, but I need to review things. 

I don't want to waste one more year of my life rotting away in my stinky apartment living on the edge of ruin. So I've  made plans.  I'm trying to hedge all my bets, to give God lots of opportunity to make something good happen.

Plan A. My PhD: At the beginning of last fall I had new plans to write my incomplete papers, with help from others, so I could get myself back into the PhD program I dropped out of a few years ago.  Plan A. To continue what I started.

I also tried this in the fall of 09. After 6 months of struggle and no completed work, I decided it was impossible. My emotional baggage was greater than I could overcome. (I fainted one night while trying to work.) So, Plan B.  At the last minute in January of 2010, I applied to new schools to start over.  It was a very traumatic process, facing the demons of my failure, reading my old work, and asking for recommendations.  It took a few nightmarish weeks but I did it.  It was a massive triumph.  Though I missed some deadlines which meant I didn't qualify for funding for the program that accepted me.

So it didn't work out. And I turned back to Plan A in August 2010, to finish my Incompletes and grovel myself back into my old program.  I started two papers.  I felt great, I was excited.  Then my insurance was canceled, my medicine ran out and I fell apart.  No more work.

At the end of December I started getting better and I started getting ideas.  It was probably time for me to give up this PhD thing.  There was a reason I haven't been able to do any work in 4 years.  Either I didn't want to do it, I couldn't do it, or God didn't want me to do it. If that's the case, then I needed a new plan.

Plan C: Get MSW and LCSW to become a therapist.  I can have my own practice so I won't ever get fired. My friends have always said I would be a good therapist.  I have 20 years of practice on the wrong side of the couch, making me an expert. And, here's the weird part.  My Patriarchal blessing said I should help people in the way that a psychiatrist does because I have the gift of healing. That horrified me when I was 16.  But I always planned to do something with my PhD sort of in that vein on the side.  Maybe that wasn't good enough.  Maybe I've been acting like Jonah and running away from my responsibility?  Every time I started to get things together for my PhD, something went wrong.  For years. So maybe I should swallow my pride and give up. Fine.

The last week of January I made the final decision to do it, to apply for a social work program. That was on a Tuesday.  I found one nearby that was affordable, and checked requirements and deadlines, Feb. 5th.  I  started it that night. Then, on Wednesday I came across an ad for a studentship in my field, at the school that accepted me last year.   I popped over to their website and checked their deadlines. Feb 1.  I already had all the work done, it would be easy to send it all in again.  They accepted me once, maybe this time I could get funding.  And while I was at it, there was another school in London similarly ranked that I might as well apply to too.  I started those on Wednesday night.

Which puts me back on Plan B.  The PhD apps were due first so they took priority.  I spent the next week working on them, sending emails for recommendations, revising my writing samples, writing a personal statement, and re-working a research proposal.  I didn't sleep for 3 days before the due date.  I enjoyed it.  This is what turns me on.  I don't expect to get funding, it was probably a waste of time.  But it was good for my self esteem to see my qualifications all in once place. And, I'll know that I tried.
 
Now it was time for Plan C again, the MSW app.  Groan.  I didn't know what to write for the personal statement.  I put it off until one hour before the deadline. I didn't know who to ask for recommendations and procrastinated that too.  Saturday afternoon I painted my bathroom floor instead of working on the app.  I finished the floor at 10pm  and told my friend I wasn't doing the app.  I just didn't want to.  But I said a prayer that the Lord would help me do it if that's what He wanted.  I sat down at 11 p.m. and whipped a personal statement from my rear, then entered the names of referrees I hadn't heard back from yet.

After hitting the submit button, I found out the fee is $125!!!  I don't have that!  It's extortion!  But I checked the box saying I would mail in a check.  If this is what the Lord wants from me, then He can make it work out.  To better my chances, I spent the early part of this week looking for other MSW programs nearby.  There were some with open deadlines but they require work experience I don't have.  And the fees all range from $60-125.  Plan C isn't looking good.

Then there is Plan D.  I started this in December.  I'm applying for disability.  My shrink and my therapist have wanted me to do it for years.  I didn't want to.   I'm not that sick.  I don't want to be that person.  But it would qualify me for Medicaid, which I need.  My meds cost almost 2k per month at retail price.  Maybe if I go on the subsidy, I'll have the stability to finish my research.  Or, it could put me in a situation to go back to school for a few years and get the MSW.  And/or, give me the opportunity to continue with Plan E. 

Plan E is my novel. I worked on it all summer.  Then, after I had 70 pages I realized it was crap.  I don't know how to write fiction.  I got discouraged and quit.  But over Thanksgiving I was inspired and wrote a new first page.  I started over completely.  I made an outline of the whole book this time.  It was much better than the mess I had before.  It's going slowly, I have to re-write, re-write, re-write, because this is a new skill and I'm learning as I go.  But I think I might be able to make something good with enough time. 

That's what I've been doing the last two months.  I also started dating, but that was by accident.   And that's for another blog post.

The missionaries stopped by . . .

After writing my last post. I decided it was time for me to pray to see if I should or could leave the church --Maybe it just isn't for me anymore. I felt good about that, it felt like the right thing to do. But that is not a casual prayer, I wanted to wait. I would wait for Sunday and fast, if I still had the guts to do it by then.

Saturday morning I woke up feeling a bit forlorn. (Not uncommon.) I did nothing about my decision the night before. I went about my Saturday business of cleaning, making lunch, ignoring my stinky laundry, watching a Netflix DVD (It was Wire in Blood from the BBC -- way too icky, I do not recommend it), and dreading a party I had to go to later. When I got off the phone with my friend in Texas, my mother called. We chatted and then my door unexpectedly buzzed.

"Who is it?"
"It's the missionaries."
That was not unusual. I'm always on the missionaries radar because of my semi-active state (spotty church attendance). The missionaries have played a large part in keeping me active in the church (attending). Two sisters re-activated me in the summer of 2007 by visiting me once a week.

The summer of 09, when I was in the depths of extreme despair, the sisters came by to share a scripture. It was something about surviving our trials, how the Lord will get us through. It made me cry. Then a few days later, the boy missionaries stopped by to share a message with me. They read the exact same scripture. I assumed it was something they were assigned to do that week, or what they had been studying together with the other missionaries. So I asked, and they said 'No'. That was just the one they picked to do that day. That made me cry again.

This summer when I found myself unemployed, getting food from the church storehouse, and stir crazy from being home all day, I volunteered to go on splits with the sister missionaries. ('Splits' means that you go out with them to appointments, because two women missionaries are not allowed to visit a single man without a third.)

I went out with the sisters once or twice a week. It was difficult for me because I felt weird about trying to convert people. My own belief was wavering and I knew that the single people were not likely to find the joy they were seeking. So I didn't speak. I mostly just enjoyed the girls' company. The majority of their appointments were no shows, so we just rode around in the car. That ended when the sisters were replaced by men a few months ago. I haven't had a missionary visit since they left.

So, yesterday the cute elders rang my door. They brought me a Christmas present from the ward (congregation). They apologized for forgetting to bring it on time. Then they shared a message about how all of our trials are for our own good, that we are blessed to have difficulties that will make us grow and the atonement will get us through. Then one of the elders threw in D&C 122, when Joseph Smith was in jail and pleading with the Lord to rescue him. He was told to have patience because he was not yet like Job, he still had friends. I teared up, but did not cry.

I took that as a sign that my prayer was unnecessary. The Lord knew the thoughts of my heart. What I am suffering will benefit me in the long run. --It takes a lot of faith to believe that. The verse that says, "Ye are not yet like Job . . ." has been in my mind often this year. It humbles me and I try to remember how blessed I really am. I have good friends who love me. And my family has been eager to help. My mother especially. I don't have any serious physical problems. I've been able to keep my apartment and my car. I have two awesome cats. The Lord came through with a job for me at the last minute. I'm surviving without having to take a hideous job that drives me insane. I've been able to get back on my medication and I'm stabilizing. I need to be more grateful.

Life is hard, church is hard, but that's the way it is supposed to be. I don't get a free pass from church just because I don't like it.

Kafka-esque

Has anyone else read The Castle by Kafka? It was an unfinished novel, which, if you've read it,  you know how ironic and true the incompleteness is in itself.  There was no way to end that book.  That was the whole point, the endless frustration of modern life and bureaucracy, the meaninglessness of ambition which will never be fulfilled. . . how the pointless striving can steal the life that you already have.  Because, if all you care about is your frustrated and ultimately meaningless goal, wanting what you don't have, then you lose the joy you could have today with the gifts you do have.  Existentialism in it's naked brutality.  And truth. 

I am very frustrated today with the maze of complications in life. I'm having problems with HR at my new college, so, I have not been paid and will not get paid for some time. It's a comedy of errors. I told my department chair what was happening and he said it was Kafka-esque. I agree.

HR needs proof of my degree to officially hire me. I never got my Masters diploma because they mailed it to the wrong address. I have tried several times over the years to get my diploma, but they insist I pay for it because it's a duplicate. Out of principle and poverty I refuse to pay for a piece of paper I already paid for with thousands of dollars of tuition. I tried again to get a copy, but they will not send it unless I pay them.

Alternatively, I can show my transcripts to HR, but they must be original. I had an original sitting on my desk for 7 months.  Some time this summer I put it away.  Which means, it is gone forever.  I looked in every place it should be and it's not there.  Now I have to pay for another original.  Again, because of  poverty and the fact that I should already have a copy in my possession, I refused to pay for it. Instead, I would keep looking for the one that should be here. Meanwhile, 2 weeks later, I am not getting paid.

Realizing I can not pay my rent on time again this month, I gave in. I made several phone calls and finally talked someone into sending me a transcript for free. I told him I wasn't getting paid until I got my transcripts and I couldn't pay for my transcripts because I wasn't getting paid and he said he'd send me a free one. It arrived today. Sigh, that's one hurdle.

I called my department to see if they got my timesheets because they are due on Mondays. Turns out, I filled them out incorrectly and need to go to the office to do them again. Since I also have to take HR my transcripts, I called them to make sure they'd be there too. (They don't do paperwork on Fridays, which I found out the hard way.) Until I take care of HR, I won't get paid anyway. The commute costs $10 so I don't want to make 2 trips, it can also take an hour each way.  Good thing I called, the paperwork lady wasn't there today. So there was no point in going in today. Sigh.

I am extremely grateful to have my job. I don't mind the change in status. But the fact is, I don't even have shared office space or a key to the department office or a mailbox. I am on the bottom of the seniority pile when I used to be on the top.  And, as of yet, I don't have an email account and can't log in to the computer equipment.

So a student complained to the chair that he couldn't get in touch with me. Because I don't have a school email account and have not been able to get into the Blackboard website, because of my HR problems. I explained myself, but I'm already starting off badly.  I swore I wouldn't do that this time.

I am frustrated.

It is a maze of corridors and offices and paperwork similar to Kafka's luckless hero as he suffered to get into the castle. I am impressed by the stupidity of it all. I am impressed with my incapacity to adapt myself to the stupidity. I am trying to detach myself so I don't go into a screaming fit and pound my head against the wall.  Because none of this really matters.  Until it does.  Like, if I got evicted for paying my rent late again, or when I got fired for turning in my grades late, etc.

I walk in this maze. Amazed.

Maybe I should take up drinking. As long as you didn't get drunk, you could continue walking in the maze regardless of the the frustrations and maybe get somewhere. Or maybe not. There really isn't a 'somewhere' to get to, is there? Because there is always another hallway. And the Word of Wisdom.5

That was Kafka's --and the existentialists'--conclusion, if you could get them to admit there is a conclusion. Life is the maze. There is no arrival. There is no end save death. None of this silliness matters. The trick is to embrace the maze without giving up on your life. Enjoy the struggle but don't take it too seriously. 

Or, you can turn to drink or religion.

. . . to be continued

sand & sea

About a month ago, during a massive mood swing up out of my June-July depression, I decided I should get out of my head.  First, I probably should get out of my house. Why?  Because. 

Today, I had an interview for one  of the volunteer jobs I wanted.  I applied in August with resume, references, and a cover letter.  (This is NYC, nothing is easy.)  It's near the ocean, working with animals. The animals were awesome to behold. The job, not so much. It's mostly preparing food and cleaning up, in 8 hour shifts. It also requires self-purchased equipment. (I'm probably going to volunteer at my second choice elsewhere.) Still, watching the animals play, smelling the organic ocean stink (that I like), feeling the blazing sun on my skin, the breeze tickling the fine hairs on my limbs-- feeling alive-- were good things. I'm glad I went. I almost canceled because it was such a trek.

Afterward, I went to the beach. I was ready, my bathing suit on under my clothes, towel and sunscreen in tow.  I only stayed an hour because I only had so many quarters.  The weather was perfect today, mid 70s and sunny.  I walked barefoot on the dirty sand, taking care to avoid the broken glass. . .  I waded in the cool water, waves lapping my calves, toes sinking into the wet mucky sand, watched the barnacles open and close with the tide.  Then stretched out on a towel in the sunlight. . .  AND, drum roll..... I actually read texts for my graduate work!  

It's the perfect setting for dull reading. The smell of salt air, the lumpy waves of sand, the sound of crashing waves. . . it was lovely. (A strong antidote for panic attacks that tend to attend my research.)  I'm thinking of making the beach research-reading a weekly routine.

The drives there and back, though long, --and not without my lost detours that I can not avoid-- were glorious.  Bridges and rivers and ocean.  The tolls cost $27 because I took the most direct routes.  (You read $27 correctly, this is NYC.)   I drove down Manhattan along the Hudson, Jersey palisades on my right, the groovy grime and architecture of the city on my left.  I watched river traffic with barges and sailboats and a helicopter--it was lunchtime traffic, stop and go.  I went through Staten Island with views of the narrows (where ocean meets river),.  Drove along parkways following the Atlantic shoreline.  Seabirds, the small rock islands in the Port of NY, moving reflecting waters, boat horns lowing.  Breathtaking at times.  Windows down, smoggy salt air blowing through the car, listening to Bloc Party, tanning through car windows. --Does life get any better than this?

I need to remember.  This is living.  This is why.

Remember the joy of physicality.  The sensory pleasures making us alive.  

But we forget.  I forget.
We make ourselves sick with our tucked away comfortable places, separate from the world, separate from each other.  So much so we can separate from our own bodies, in a bad way.  Those  with solitary celibate lives are at even greater risk of losing touch with our flesh.  Sometimes we force separation to deal with the celibacy.  It's not good.  Spirituality is important, but physicality is also important, essential.  One without the other is sickness.  We are equal parts body and soul.

Sex is clearly an important part of that equation.  So those who live without, need to be especially careful not to get lost inside.  We have to work harder to feel the joy of our bodies.  To remember we are flesh and blood and revel in it, to celebrate our sensuality.  It's not easy.  I'm lost in my head 98% of the time, and  I'm sick with it.

Nothing in my life has really changed since I wrote the last post --other than being $27 poorer.  But what a difference!  I will try to hold on to this for as long as I can.  The curative powers of sand and sea, flesh and body.  Remember.

Breaking

Sunday, I was too sad to go to church. The very thought of going made me cry. But, my friend needed me to watch her infant while she worked in the nursery. So I went. The sacrament hymn was something dour and awful about the angels weeping for the savior's pain. I started crying and couldn't stop. I made it through sacrament and the first short talk by keeping my head down and sucking on tissue.  I can't hide the crying because my face gets so blotchy.  I went home after 30 minutes, I knew it wouldn't stop.  I was ashamed for letting down my friend, but I couldn't stand to sit there.  At home,  I curled up on the couch with my snuggly cat, wrapped up in a blanket and watched TV.  I cried off and on for the rest of the day.

I'm tired.  I'm scared.

I did get a part-time job which was a gift from God.  Seriously, I had a blessing that Sunday, he said I'd find the positions I needed to provide for myself.  The department chair called me the day before class started and said they needed me. Good news.  That combined with my part-time unemployment should cover my expenses.

Except, as I now realize, because I am so many months behind on my bills, the new income will not be enough.  And the college won't pay me until I produce  proof of my degree.  Which I have to order from my university and pay for with money I do not have. Because I'm not getting paid . . . So there won't be enough for my rent next week.  I was in this exact position 8 years ago.  It seems like I haven't made any progress,  I'm only treading water. 

I can see the string of mistakes I've made throughout the last decade. At the time they seemed like the best choices.  I did my best. I never stopped trying. I have learned a lot emotionally in the struggles.  But, in terms of life skills I haven't grown at all.  Every time I turn around I make some stupid mistake that costs me money I don't have.  Like spilling water on my keyboard, breaking it for the second time in the last month, costing me $40 for 2 new keyboards.  Or putting my parking meter receipt face down and earning myself $160 in parking tickets in Queens. Or, buying the discounted 10 bus tickets, rather than the 2 tickets I needed.  Thereby overdrawing my account by $20 dollars, costing me $37 in fees, so that it not only canceled out the discount, but cost me an extra 32 bucks . . And last month wasn't even a bad month for me.  EVERY month is like that with the stupid mistakes.

I feel on the edge of breaking. Stretched to my limit.

Every single day is a struggle-- financially, emotionally, spiritually.  Why? What is all of this for? If it is true that 'men are that they may have joy'. . .  then the waiting feels long.  I've made it this far solely because of my faith, but it's wearing thin.

It's too hard to believe in a pay-off anymore. It's hard to keep hoping for better.  So, why do we bother with all of this? Why do we keep going when the past tells us life doesn't get better and doesn't get easier? Other than, we don't have a choice?  Because when we stop fighting we may as well die?

--Yet, I know that in a few days I'll wake up feeling okay and hopeful again. And then a few days later, I won't be okay.  And again and again and again.  It's exhausting.

Trust

Ever since my plans fell through in the spring and things changed unexpectedly, I have been unable to envision my future. Before, I always hoped and planned.  Now I can't.  It feels like a blindness. I feel lost and directionless. I don't even know what to hope for anymore. One thing I do know is that the Lord needs me to learn something from this. Until I figure out what that is, I'm not getting out of this dark place. What that lesson is, I couldn't fathom.

But the Lord's hand is with me.  He didn't cause my problems or my failures, I did that all by myself.  However, He has stayed my rescue until. Something. He is withholding my vision. This, I have felt. 

Before July, I believed something good would come, some kind of wonderful change. I held onto that. But I ran out of strength last month. When my mood crashed, I gave up and decided I couldn't fight against myself anymore. With the darkness of my vision and the sorrows of my past, I couldn't see any reason to bother fighting.  I prayed for death.  

I know that''s an evil thing to do. But I woke up in the mornings horrified with myself and my life, choking on shame for my mistakes. Despising the air I breathed. I couldn't imagine or believe that anything could change.  Even if change was coming, I didn't feel like I could survive the wait. 


You may be holding your breath for the big reveal. Something must have changed to make me write in the past tense. There must be something wonderful. No. There is not. None of my problems are resolved. There is nothing new.

But the Lord has been merciful enough to remove my psychotic horror and misery for the time-being. (I am writing this to publicly thank him.) This has allowed my mind to open enough for room to listen.  I've spent this entire day in prayer and reading. I got something.

He wants me to learn trust. I have yet to master that skill. I've only trusted myself to do what I needed. I took care of myself.  Now, I've lost all my confidence and self-trust. Thus, utter hopelessness. 

I missed that trust lesson in my infancy because of the trauma in our home.  That was a long time ago.  But I think it's made me somewhat of a dysfunctional adult. 

Here's an example of how severe my trust issues have been (this was over 10 years ago so I hope I've gotten better.)  I was committed in a mental ward.  One day they took all the patients to an obstacle course.  There was a high platform from which they played the trust game.  People climbed up, and stood at the edge backwards with their eyes closed. Then they fell into the waiting arms below.  Everyone was caught, no one was hurt. But not only could I not take a fall, I had to stop catching people because my stomach churned every time someone fell.  Then I had to stop watching because it made me so sick with anxiety.  I had so little trust in these 12 people, whom I knew,  that I didn't believe they would catch someone else who was falling.

I suppose I don't even trust the Lord enough. Or else I wouldn't have lost my hope.  That's what I have to do now.  Trust God to see me through to a better place.  Relinquish the controls.  Hand over my cross to Him. 

I also need a lot of help from other people, I'm still barely functional.  I won't get out of this alone.  So I guess I'll have to learn to ask for help, believe in other people enough that I can make the words come out of my mouth. Being able to trust people is important, too. Unless I want to spend the second half of my life alone, I better step up.

  But, how?

The Rival

It makes me sad mostly.  Another single woman 30+ in my ward has tried to befriend me.  But.  I don't care for her friendship.  I tried.  I could tell she was lonely and  in need of companionship, I knew what that was like. So, I felt duty-bound to accept her overtures as a comrade in arms.  Some expensive debacles later, I realized that I couldn't afford her friendship.  We have since maintained a fake friendship at church which makes me somewhat ill, but it's not worth having a conflict over.  Now, however, she is treating me like her rival. 

Last summer I met a nice Mormon man online and I asked him out because he was attractive, employed and local.  He took me to a soccer game.  I knew by the end of the night that I did not want to go out with him again.  Meanwhile, I was still trying to be a real friend to the woman.  When she asked about my weekend, I told her about the date.  She nearly drooled at the mention of a man who took me to a soccer game.  She went on and on about how much she loved soccer, that she used to play in college, blah blah. 

The dude emailed me because he wanted to go out again.  I felt bad because he was sweet and good.  But, we had nothing in common except the church and I didn't find his company compelling.  I asked the woman if she was interested in meeting him.  She was very interested.  So I set it up. They both agreed as long as I was there too. *Groan.*  I organized the whole thing, considering it a duty of friendship. 

She wanted to go to the mall. *Double groan.*  She needed a ride, she always does.  Fine.  (I was also still wearing the splint having just had a metal plate surgically attached to my wrist and was still in pain but able to drive.)  I was in the middle of my summer financial fiasco and had just enough from unemployment to pay my rent.  My friend knew this, I had described my situation in detail so she'd know that I couldn't spend any money.

I had never been to this mall.  When we got there she told me to park at a large retailer across the street to avoid the parking fee.  She promised that everyone else who drove her to the mall ALWAYS parked there. It was perfectly safe.  I didn't see the very small signs warning mall patrons not to park there.  After the date, which seemed to go well enough, the gentleman walked us to the parking lot.  We couldn't find my car! At first I thought it was stolen.  I don't have comprehensive insurance so I started freaking out.

Then my friend said, "Maybe they towed your car?"  "WHAT???? Why would they tow my car?"  "Because the signs say you are not allowed to park here to go to the mall."  But. You told me to park here. ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? I could not afford to get my car out of impound.  I couldn't even afford to get home on the bus.  We found the no parking signs and called the tow company. They confirmed they had my car.  I started to cry.

I asked the gentleman if he could drive me home.  He agreed, but then he asked me how much it cost.  $190.  He offered to take me to the lot and lend me the money to get my car. (!!!)  He was the absolute definition of a gentleman.  Sooo sweet.  I promised him that I would get the money from my parents and pay him back right away.  So we got my car.  The woman.  She said she was very sorry.  That was all.  She offered no help with the cost.  She never offered to pay for any of it at all.  Not one single red cent. I only parked there solely because of her.  Nada.  Nothing.  Not even an apology for not helping me to pay.  

Before we all parted, the two of them said they wanted to go out again, for thai food.  The three of us.  I said I couldn't afford it and they offered to pay for me.  Fine.  I didn't want to go but I owed the very, very nice man.  

The next week, we went out. I could barely stand the sight of the woman because I was so angry.  But I put on my best fakey-fake demeanor (which isn't very good.)  The two of them ordered appetizers and juice and desserts.  I thought they were paying, so I ordered along with them.  Then the check came, $60 after tax and tip.  I happened to have a $20 in my pocket because I was going to the ATM afterwards to deposit it because my account was $20 short of the rent.  If I didn't get it in there, the check could bounce.  

Everyone looked at the check uncomfortably and said nothing.  I couldn't stand it.  I wanted to go home already, I had some work on a research proposal that I needed done yesterday.  So I picked up the check and said, "Why don't we each pay 20?"  I expected them to protest and offer to pay my share.  They did not.  My rent check bounced.  For the second month in a row.  I could be evicted for that in Jersey.  They both wanted to do this again.  Not on a cold day in hell.  They never went out together.  I ignored her calls afterwards because I knew I couldn't be civil with her. 

We've been fake friends ever since.  A few weeks ago, we were sitting together in Sunday school when an attractive man in his 30s, very smartly dressed, approached us.  I had never seen him before. They knew each other and started chatting.  I waited for the woman to introduce me.  She did not.  I even tried inserting myself into the conversation but she shut me out.  Eventually, after five minutes or so, I walked away.  Later, I asked her who he was.  She said, "Oh! That's so and so. You don't know him? I thought you did.  He always introduces himself to new people.  If I had known I would have introduced you."  I asked if she was dating him.  She said, "No. But he's good looking, right?' "Right. You should go out with him." "Me? Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't." "Okay."  I took that as the all clear for me to date him should the opportunity arise.  

Since, I have seen the smart man looking at me, often.  So, a week or two after not meeting him, the woman and I were talking in the lobby.  He was leaving, saw us, turned around and came over to talk.  He asked her about something.  I waited to be introduced.  I was not.  The woman, not only did not introduce me, she turned her body so that her back was facing me and I was shut out of the conversation, again.  At one point, the man looked right at me and asked if I ever got migraines.  I said 'no' and he looked disappointed then turned back to the woman. Oh, those suave single mormon men!   I got bored and walked away.  This time, her omission was not accidental.  She knew I hadn't met him.  She, clearly, did not want me to meet him.  Whatever.  I went home.  

It's been a few months.  The man travels for business so he's not always there.  He looks but he has never approached.  I tried to smile at him last week but he wouldn't make eye contact.  I suspect my 'friend' told him I had a boyfriend.  Because she knew I had one once.   She asked me about him on the first day I didn't meet the smart man.   I told her that my boyfriend kept breaking up with me so I really didn't know what my situation was, other than I probably didn't have a boyfriend.  So, now, in addition to not liking her, I don't trust her.

If I cared, I would go introduce myself to the man.  But I don't.  I just can't believe the juvenile behavior of that woman.  It's pitiful and sad.   

another bad day

The levels of my incompetence and failure are astounding.  I just defaulted on my student loan. I didn't qualify for an economic hardship deferment because I was only working part-time.  You have to be full-time.  They could have told me this last month when I tried to file but they said I didn't send proof of income that time.  Or, when I tried to file for deferment when I was unemployed, they just denied it.  They didn't bother to tell me that I needed a special form. Chase Bank works with the Devil.  Their policies are purposefully evil and designed to screw their own customers.

Ultimately, the fault is mine. I didn't do the right paperwork on time.  I am incapable of running my own stupid life. Every year my life gets materially worse.  Speaking of the devil, Capital One Bank is suing me for 7k on a 3k credit card balance, that 3k is all fees and interest charges, 39%. I don't know what the other thousands are for.  Their lawyers are getting nasty.  They wrote a letter to the Judge stating that I "was misleading at best" in my Motion to Vacate their premature Summary Default.   The case defaulted 34 days after the date of service.  I'm supposed to have 35 days. Hence, it was illegal.  END OF STORY, I WIN.  That was a fun day at the courthouse when they wouldn't let me file.  I think I had a psychotic break, I started cussing and screaming at the woman in the filing office.  That's the day I ran off my xbf for good.

Had a mood crash today, after I got the news about my loan. All I wanted to do was drive to Brooklyn to see him.  I wanted to feel ok for a little while.  My friends are all out of town so there was no where else to go.  I needed to feel safe for a minute.  But there's no point in both of us hurting.

It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse. My car is running. I haven't broken any bones, I don't need surgery.  I'm not up all night because of the crushing pain in my arm. I'm able to feed myself.  No one has seized the rent money in my bank account. I'm not in a dysfunctional relationship with an inappropriate man. This isn't like last summer.

I've started writing a novel, which is very boring because everyone in New York is writing a novel.  Among just the people I know, I would need two hands to count the number who are writing a novel.  But, this is urgent.  I need this.  For one thing, to give me something to obsess over other than myself.  I feel boxed in, like all my options have been cut off and I have no where to go.  Like it's now or never.  I'm going to finish by the end of the summer if it kills me.  At this point, not writing may kill me first.  

I Am Not Single. I Am on Vacation

Being on vacation is awesome.  Being unemployed is painful and depressing.  I've decided to take a summer vacation, not be unemployed.  The two concepts have few differences.  In both cases: I don't have to get up early in the morning, I have few responsibilities, and my time is my own.  Whether I feel good or bad about it depends on the way I define my situation.  I choose vacation and awesomeness, not unemployment and misery.  Because, the way we define our state absolutely affects how we feel about it.

I think this applies to my single status as well.  I am not in a relationship.  But,  I do not feel single either.  I am on vacation from my relationships, in between them.  The two are very similar: no relationship obligations, no stress over relationship status, no worries about someone else, no answering to anyone, no disagreements or misunderstandings, and, no hurt feelings.  Awesomeness.  (This is not say there are not really sucky things about being single, only that we don't have to feel so bad about it.)  Being on vacation is better than being single because: vacations are temporary, they're fun, good for one's emotional health, voluntary, and  most importantly, they imply the existence of something from which we are taking a break.  Vacation implies the existence of a relationship.  This is a vast improvement over singleness which can feel interminable and involuntary, with a dash of inferiority.

My friend complained of waking up to "single suckhood".  I know what that's like.  But I'm not feeling it right now.  I'm sad about my break-up but not about my circumstances.  I don't really feel single.  I feel between relationships.  So, I know the label "Single" creates more yuckiness than is necessary. It's the connotation of incompleteness, single as opposed to whole.  Being incomplete, there is something wrong with my life, and wrong with me.  In addition to that, we're surrounded by negative judgments and we absorb the negativity.

"Poor girl, still single."

"Don't worry, the Lord will reward you in the eternities."

"I sure feel sorry for her, not getting to be a mother."

"There must be something wrong with him, he's single."

"He's failing his responsibility as a man by not getting married."

"They're single, but by no fault of their own." 

We've all heard these at church.  We believe them, often, we put them on ourselves.  If you're single, those words probably make you ill.  Why? Because they mean that your life is less than.  Sometimes, people think they are comforting you with these words.   But they're not because the implications sting:  it means that they think you need comforting simply because you are single.  And because this kind of thinking leads to destructive ruminations: I am an object of pity.  My life is tragic.  I deserve to be rewarded for suffering my terrible life.   I need to wait for another person before my life is valid.  I am nothing without children.  Being single is a failing.  I am not a real man.   So, of course being 'single' makes us feel bad.  These conclusions are wrong.  I have decided to free myself from them.  I don't have to define myself that way.  I'm on vacation.

   

We've heard this before, we should stop thinking negatively and we'll be happier.   This may sound like the same pablum regularly served up to us, "You should enjoy being single,"  "You'll miss it later",  "Stop feeling sorry for yourself" .  . .  blah, blah.  Despite being well-meant, and bless their hearts for trying, that doesn't help either.  The only thing they mean is that you should stop feeling bad.  I'd love to stop feeling bad!   But, how?  Sometimes we're told,  "Don't give up", or "Stay busy".  Great.  But that doesn't really work.  Staying busy distracts you from negative thoughts.  Which is good, but it doesn't change the way you define yourself.  And no matter how busy you are, you still have to go to bed at night, and lie there alone and in silence.  That's when it really haunts you.  Especially the long lonely nights when you can't sleep.   I am single.  There is something wrong with me. No. There is not.

There is nothing wrong with me.  My life is not incomplete, nor lacking.  I have challenges, just like everyone else.  Consider this parallel: I am not wealthy.  I would like to be.  Some things in my life would be easier if I were.  But this doesn't make my life incomplete, or wrong.  (Despite the propaganda from American Consumerism.)  I made the choices that brought me to this financial state.  I wouldn't change most of those decisions.  Being broke stinks, but it is not a measure of my value as a human being.  It's the consequence of certain circumstances and bad luck, it is not a condemnation.

Likewise, I am single because of bad luck and, as a result of certain circumstances and choices I've made.  I didn't go to BYU.  I didn't move to Utah.  I pursued my education and career instead of men.  I chose not to pretend to be like women that Mormon men prefer.  I rejected the men who wanted to marry me because I knew we wouldn't be happy.  I chose to stay faithful to my religion.   I wouldn't change any of that.  And, for a long time, I wasn't ready.  I had a lot of issues to deal with.   I own the responsibility for all of this.  I am not a victim.  That this is taking so long,  is probably where bad luck comes in.  Such is life.  The point is, singleness is not a condemnation. 

So, I will not think of myself as single and sorry.  I am on a relationship vacation. 

No Small Miracles, #1

My life has been peppered with miracles, some bigger than others.  Some, were small things that maybe shouldn't have happened because the odds were staggering, but, they happened anyway.  These little moments are easy to ignore, or brush off as coincidence or luck.  And, maybe they were.  Other events, cannot be denied in any such way.  I have had some undeniably miraculous things happen to me.  

Because I am at a low point in my life, lost and going nowhere, I find myself in need of a real miracle, or several, big or small.  So, I want to show some gratitude for the ones already received. Maybe I've used up my fair share already, fair enough.  Some of them were spectacular. 

#1. The Cello:

Growing up, at some point, I fell in love with the cello. It was such a seductive instrument. It made sad, deep resonating notes that seemed to cry the sounds of my soul.  I could feel the tones deep below my skin down to my bones.  Unfortunately, cellos are expensive.  

To fully appreciate the story, one should know my musical background.
I had piano lessons at age 9, learned to read music and had shown some aptitude. But my older brother quit when I got better than he. Then I wanted to quit too.  I didn't want to ask my family for an expensive instrument.  I still yearned to make music, so I joined the Jr. High Marching Band.   I played the saxophone, got pretty good and had fun. But, I didn't want to join the high school band.  Instead, I wanted to join a punk rock band. So I bought an electric bass guitar. I  taught myself to play.  Sadly, I was too shy to find band-mates.  So I played alone, not much fun on a bass.  Same thing happened in college.

So, instead, I picked up the piano again and took lessons in the music department. I got better but never mastered the damn thing. The piano is not my instrument. I can play pieces I've learned but I can't sight read. When the department bought a cello I signed up for lessons.  I took two semesters and really enjoyed it.  It was easy for me and I did well with little practice.  Then,  I got overwhelmed with classes because  my mood disorder made everything almost impossible, including the discipline required to practice.  I always regretted that and planned to buy myself a cello one day. I really wanted to learn.  I've kept that desire throughout my life. (I never finished grad school so I've never had the money.)

I neglected music after I moved to NY. I had no money, no instruments, no time.  I burned myself out with grad school, teaching, the arduousness of poverty, and my ever-blossoming madness.  Four years ago, in 2006, I hit rock bottom.  I was off my medications, at the mercy of my unstable mind which abused me with obsessions and anxiety.  I needed help. Music.  I always felt better emotionally when I had a musical outlet.  If I could get the pain out, physically, with sound and rhythm, then it wouldn't be inside me anymore.  I needed a cello.  I started searching online, ebay and Craigs List.   There were some cheap ones, but it was a fantasy.  I didn't have the money.  

Then I really bottomed out and become non-functional.  So I moved back in with my mother to rest and heal.  I got a new therapist.  I told her about my cello dream. She said I should make my father buy me one.  I didn't bother.  I came back to NYC in January 2007, medicated and functional.  Ready to try again.  But I still needed music.  I still wanted a cello.  However, living paycheck to paycheck on my adjuncting wages didn't allow me the luxury of buying an instrument. 

That summer, the landlord got fined again for using the basement for storage. It's a fire hazard.  Rather than just sending tenants nasty letters telling us to clean our crap,  the  owners actually went through their stuff.  They cleared a ton of old junk from one of the rooms, things that looked like they had been there 50 years.  They put some of it into piles.  One day, while waiting on my laundry, I took a look at the piles.  Then, I saw it.  That looked exactly like a cello case.  There couldn't possibly be a cello in there, could there?  No. But, who keeps an empty instrument case?  I walked across the dark room to get a better look.  It was old and dusty, the latches and hinges were rusty.  I opened it.

Yes.  There was a cello.  Just sitting there. How old was this thing?  The case looked like it was from the 40s.  I picked it up carefully to examine it.  It was beautiful, though it did need some work.  The bridge and endpin were missing. It was made of Tiger-flame maple, had a real ebony fingerboard, and was all in one piece.  I got so excited.  Obviously, no one wanted this. It had clearly been in this basement for decades.  I went right upstairs to ask if I could have it.

The old woman answered the door.  She didn't know who it belonged to.  Her husband came out next and said it was junk.  They were throwing it out.  (These are the same philistines who want to tear down the large beautiful old tree in front of the building because it sheds in the summer.)  They didn't know why I wanted it, but I could take it.  It was mine.  Woo Hoo! 

It took six months before I could afford the repairs. Turns out that it's a German cello, more than 100 years old.  There's no label and no way to tell exactly how old, so the luthier told me.  That means it's worth several thousand dollars because the tone gets better as the wood ages.  It has that delicious old wood resonance so coveted by cello players.  The sound is amazing, so warm, deep and rich.  The notes are layered, not mono-tonal, as though more than one instrument were playing.  I've never heard anything like it.  The men in the music store couldn't believe I'd found it and  got it for free.  They wanted to buy it, but I wasn't selling.

I've named him Gregory. Cellos do look feminine but this bad boy goes between my legs, so it's a 'he'.  I'm learning to play, on my own. I remember the basics from college.  It does make a joyful noise.  Playing is extremely therapeutic.  It's also extremely sensual and an excellent release for that annoying extra energy with which we celibate singles must contend. 

This cello was a gift.  It might as well have fallen out of heaven like manna and dropped into my lap.  No one can tell me this wasn't a miracle.  Nor was this a small miracle.  Valuable, beautiful, abandoned instruments do not just appear in musty old basement trash piles for people who happened to have been trying to buy that exact instrument for years. I've never heard of anything like that happening to anyone else. I will never forget this gift.

****

Epilogue:

Cellos are expensive instruments to maintain.  One of the seams split this winter because I didn't have a case that closed all the way.  The vacillating humidity and temperature from the old radiators in my apartment made the wood expand and shrink too rapidly.  I got a good case for Christmas, but it was too late. Then, because it sat so long without use, the bridge broke off again.  It can be repaired, but, I can't spare the money right now.  Time for another miracle.

Last Day of Class

Last night I taught my last classes at the college that asked me to leave. It was heartbreaking, and also nice. Quite a few students wanted to know what I else I would be teaching, they wanted to take more classes from me. In the hallway, I ran into a student from the year before. She told me how much she loved my class, it was her favorite, and she learned a lot. After the last section of the night, some students stayed around to chat. They talked about how the class had affected them since the beginning of the semester. How they had changed. Now they always ask questions and challenge people, they think more. One man said he couldn't stop using the word 'impiety', even while bowling.

That was awesome. I couldn't help smiling. I hadn't told them I was leaving. Yet, they indirectly thanked me for doing my job. They told me they had learned something and were better for it. My work had mattered. This was their parting gift to me, they may as well have wrapped it up in a bow.

I've learned to love these students. They're tough city kids, fun and exciting. They've lived hard lives, have opinions, and have their own wisdom. But they are kids. If you show any weakness they eat you alive. They almost chewed me to oblivion during the first two years. But then I learned to teach them. I developed my professor schtick, tailored specifically for them. It took a few years. At first, I tried being myself, nice, but it didn't work, I couldn't control the classroom. They didn't respect the pretty young girl standing up front, who supposedly had authority over them. They could smell my fear too, which meant I had already lost the game. ( I was also losing my mind, that didn't help much.)

Next, I tried to be strict and mean, scare them into compliance. Those were the worst semesters of my life. I had students get into power struggles with me, and I usually lost. They didn't fear me, they hated me. Then what could I do? I relaxed and gave up on being the disciplinarian. So my vulnerable, confused, kind-hearted side that I had tried to hide began to show. The befuddled kindly professor worked better. I didn't get hostility anymore. But about a third of the students didn't respond, they ignored me. I was criticized for being boring. Me?! Then, a few years ago, somehow, accidentally, well, I was probably manic and couldn't help it, I figured out what worked.

I charmed them. I did my first date routine on the first day of class and thereafter, mixed in with some befuddled kindly professor. I smiled, made them laugh, gave them attention, listened and appeared slightly vulnerable. I did that by expressing confusion over dates and times, confessing that I didn't know how to work the copy machine with the security code. That's why I didn't have their syllabus ready. The befuddled bit wasn't acting, but the trick was to stop hiding it, let them see my confusion. Before I just got frustrated with myself and that's what showed. And I still don't know how to use the copy machine with the stupid security code.

It worked. Like magic, the charming and befuddled professor JL got the students to behave. Finally, my 18 years of dating experience was good for something. I could make them like me. I could make them want to listen and be nice to me. Some even got a little protective of me during the semester. I'd use that on the disruptive bad seeds who didn't respond to anything but peer-pressure. When they wouldn't stop talking, I'd go silent and make a face, sad, as if they had hurt my feelings. As the other students noticed, they would hush each other and look ashamed. Awesome.

This routine doesn't work as well at other colleges, with different students. I have to create a new character and it's very frustrating. Suburban kids are not as much fun and it's not as rewarding to watch them learn to understand. But there are many other schools in the city. I hope the department chair will speak well of me if anyone calls for a recommendation. There's really no telling. I haven't sent the apology letter to him yet. I've had it ready for a week. It goes out tomorrow.

We still have finals, two more weeks of writing exams and grading, two weeks of unpaid torture.

I didn't cry during class, but I shed some tears as I walked away to the train. I never realized how much this job meant to me. That's one good thing. I'm waiting for the next.

The Good Book

More than once, in personal blessings, I have been told to search the scriptures for answers to all my 'pertinent questions'. I was promised I would find answers there, and could use this gift to plan my life. I haven't made much use of it. It seemed so general and obvious, even dubious. But it was repeated, I was meant to notice and remember.

While lying in bed recently, I did remember. Because I find myself at a crossroads, again, my future weighs heavy in my thoughts. I have to decide what I want for the rest of my life, given where I am right now. I do not have the life I wanted and planned for. The world is not my oyster as I once believed. I need new plans, new dreams. That night, I considered my single state. I knew I had to let go of my expectation for a marriage and family. This was it for me. I needed to see my future as a single woman. That way, I could make the plans necessary to find some happiness. First, however, I had to do the letting go. Which hurts. It's a sad thing to lose a dream.

I tried to look forward to what my single life could be, where I might find joy and fulfillment. Maybe I could adopt children some day, if I ever had the means and maturity; become a work-a-holic and master of my career, maybe pick up a new career or two; write books, be an amazing friend, a loving aunt, learn to play the cello like a pro, join a Masters Swim team, travel more, and volunteer for everything. Then, when done with that, I could consume the rest of my time with genealogy. This was really great stuff. One should be able to live a fulfilling life alone, if she put in the work. And, yet. This rumination did nothing for my mood.

The road ahead still looked desolate. I could fill my time with worthwhile, good things, but I couldn't imagine it would fill my heart. I've accomplished a great deal in life already. By myself. In the end, it always felt empty. I learned early that these things won't bring me peace. So, despite my best efforts to comfort myself that night, I continued to wallow in pity. Then I remembered my blessing, promising that I could find answers in the scriptures.

I looked over at my worn-out seminary Bible on the bedside table. I thought, "Ha! Answer this. I challenge you to make me feel better about my single future. Tell me how to be happy about it, or at least, how to feel content." I wiped off my tears, reached over and picked up the Good Book. Full of spiteful energy, I murmured that I would not suffer inane advice to taunt me. And I wouldn't let the book fall open either, I would open it exactly where I left off the night before. I would read my 3 chapters and see if the Spirit showed me an answer. Good luck with that.

I felt quite smug, until I finished the first chapter. It was completely irrelevant but then I flipped the page. Oh. Hmm. I had finished one book and faced the title of the next, The Book of Ruth. Well. Ruth. I remembered her story. If any book in the Bible could answer my question, it might actually be this one. Instantly humbled, I repented my attitude and started reading.

more to come . . . HERE