New Adventures

I started a new job on Monday. And the road to get here has been ridiculous. I pretty much landed this one by accident. I received a listing for an entry level job at a trade publishing company. It wasn't even close to what I wanted, but it was a foot in the door, so I applied for it. They called me immediately and set up an interview. During this interview, they realize that the job wasn't really what I wanted. When they asked me why I applied for it, I told them I was hoping it would lead to an editorial position, since editing trade publications was my goal. At this point, the man conducting the interview said, "hang on a minute" and called in their editor-in-chief. He spoke to me briefly about what I was looking for and when he left, the original interview said, "you were so much more lively with him than you were with me. I think that's a good fit for you." I got called back for a second interview with the editor-in-chief. Later that same week, I was offered the job, and obviously accepted. My first day was Monday, the day after Thanksgiving break. Here's a run-down of the week so far, mostly so that I can remember how ridiculous/hilarious/rewarding it's been later:

Monday: I arrived fifteen minutes early for my first day and waited a little bit at the main entrance for my new boss to come retrieve me. Right away, he started showing me what my duties were and training me on them. There was a short break to speak with the woman who poses as the company's HR rep (they're a very small, family-owned company, so they don't have a full HR department). She laid out the benefits and time off, etc. She then said, "I heard you have a masters degree," which I confirmed. She said, "that's really great. I'm all about women. I mean, I'm not a feminist (yes you are), but I really support women strength." So, that was nice. She then took me on a tour of the building, which is small, and I returned to my training. During the training, my new boss and I took a few intermissions to make small talk. He's a nicotine and caffeine addict, which actually comforted me a little bit, because it shattered the illusion that people in higher positions have it all together. He clearly does not, and he openly admits it. He also asked me about my journey into the publishing industry. I told him it had been difficult and he said, "one of the reasons I hired you was because I could tell that you just really wanted someone to give you a chance. You were really looking for someone to just get you in the door." I said, "yeah, pretty much," and he responded, "well, now you're in," and proceeded to tell me about his journey, which was also long and frustrating. I was eventually introduced to everyone who was in the office that day, and the original HR lady came around to ask me if I had a boyfriend, because she "has a son for me." Sweet, but sorry to disappoint. Before leaving, I was cornered by one of the part-timers, who needed to tell me her "rules." Rule #1 was that if I walk into the bathroom and see her feet under the stall, I'm to immediately turn around and leave. She's "fine using public bathrooms," but doesn't like "sharing that business with co-workers." Her second rule was that if I'm sick, I need to stay at least two feet away from her desk. Okay, then. There's one in every crowd. I left my first day of work feeling optimistic and energized. It's been a very long time since I had a boss who I really thought valued me and wanted to see me succeed. I get that impression from this boss. He's smart as hell, incredibly approachable, and extremely nice.

Tuesday: Well, Tuesday I was sick as a dog. Ben and I were both home with a stomach bug. I felt it coming on Monday night and was hoping it wouldn't turn into anything. I didn't want to call out on my second day at a new job. But, alas, at roughly 3:30 a.m. I was laying on my bathroom floor, hugging the toilet. I emailed my new boss from the bathroom floor telling him what was going on and that I wasn't sure if I'd make it in, but that I'd update him later. A few hours later, when I was supposed to be at work, I emailed him again telling him I was going to sleep it off and that I might try to make it in by noon. I was determined not to miss the whole day. I had been trying to call, but kept getting a busy signal. Finally, around noon, I got a hold of him by phone. He said he received my emails and replied, but that their servers were down all morning and I probably didn't get them. He also said the phones weren't working. But, he thanked me for my call and said, "we've all been in awkward positions like this in our careers, so don't worry about it. If you feel much better, come in later, if not, we'll see you tomorrow." I barely got off the couch all day.

Wednesday: I arrived fifteen minutes late, because there was a road closure, which caused a ton of traffic. When I finally arrived, the first thing I said to my co-workers was, "well, this is shaping up to be one hell of a week." My boss laughed when I explained about the road closure and said, "don't worry about it. It's how you perform in the long run that really matters." After that, I was immediately asked by a dozen people if I was feeling better. I was. About 95%. If there's anything "good" about a stomach bug, it's that it generally only lasts 24 hours (although, now I'm terrified I got everyone there sick on Monday, since I didn't know I had it yet). We got back to training on the same things we were working on on Monday. He reiterated that he wanted me to really make this job my own, and that he could tell I was very bright. There's a bit of a learning curve for me, since everything is done on a Mac, and I have very little experience with that. So far, I've been training on my boss's computer. After lunch, we moved to my computer, which oddly is a PC. I ended up helping him, because he wasn't familiar with the operating system. It's the first time in my life I've actually felt smart enough for the job I'm doing, which is frustrating, because I think this is, by far, going to be the most difficult job I've ever had. Maybe I've just finally found my niche. There was also another brief intermission in which he explained to me that even though my job title is Web Editor, he really wants me to learn the print side of things as well, because "why not?" He said, "my goal is to have you know as much as I do." Well, boss, that's my goal too. :) The day ended with a ten-minute conversation about grammar and the rules that he thinks are ridiculous and annoying. I pointed out one of their style rules that I didn't like and he said, "well, keep it that way for now. I can't make a change like that right now, everyone will freak out." In previous jobs, when I pointed out a style rule that I didn't like, the answer has always been, "well, that's just how it is," or, "well, you'll have to get used to it." I felt heard this time, and it was nice. Also, as weird as this sounds, I love the fact that my new boss has a bit of a potty mouth. It's a refreshing change from the uptight corporate environments I'm used to. He's not faking it. He's not putting on airs, or pretending to be someone he's not. He puts his feelings out there. He's told me repeatedly that whether he agrees with the politics of a story or not, it gets printed without bias. Just the facts.

I think I might like it here.

Regrets

Last night, I went to my fourth and final wedding of the year. The groom was one of my dearest friends who I've known since middle school. I wish I could say that I was ecstatic during this wedding. I wish I could say that I was moved to tears of happiness for my friend. But instead, besides being exhausted by the number of weddings, I felt a little bit sad. See, this friend has his own group of close knit friends that I'm not a part of. That's not his fault. He's not intentionally excluding me. This group he's a part of does everything together. They do holidays together, they've been in each other's weddings, and they're "aunts" and "uncles" to each other's kids. This makes me sad because I don't have that. I've never had that. And at this stage of my life, I never will.

I watched them interact with each other last night, thinking "I'll never be someone's bridesmaid." I'll never be able to have the conversation: "We'll do Memorial Day this year, if you guys want to do 4th of July." I'll never have a "Friendsgiving." And I'll definitely never be someone's fake aunt. And this is my fault. When I was with my ex, I rarely went out with people, because I didn't get to see him that much and I didn't want to risk missing a second of time together. Because of that, people stopped calling. People stopped inviting me out. People stopped caring. Once we moved in together, I got back in touch with a couple people, but then we split up and I lost them again. And, obviously, I lost all of his friends that had become mine over the years.

Once I was single again, I made an effort to see people more. I started texting people more, and trying to make plans more. Graduate school introduced me to some really wonderful people who I adore. But, just about all of them live somewhere else. And the ones that were here have moved onto bigger and better things. I never felt close enough to any of them to pick up the phone and say, "hey, can I come visit?" I also never had the time off work to be able to do that. Once Ben and I got more comfortable with each other, I started alienating myself again. He's my best friend, and he's the person I want to spend the most time with. When I'm invited out (which is painfully rare), I accept when I can. But, the problem is that I never initiate. I've made attempts to start monthly ladies' nights, and Ben and I have game nights every once in a while, but those are always overwhelmingly Ben's friends. And that's not to say that they're not my friends too, but let's face it, they wouldn't be my friends if it wasn't for Ben. And if Ben and I part ways for whatever reason in the future, they're gone too. Just like before.

I don't have anyone I can text about my favorite show. I don't have anyone I can call and talk to about my accomplishments or vent about my struggles. I watched that group of friends last night and thought over and over again, "I want to be apart of that group so badly." And as more and more people post pictures of their "Friendsgiving" celebrations, I long to be a part of those groups too. I hear people talk about their monthly Sunday brunches, and yearly parties they have that everyone travels far and wide to attend, and I've never had that. I've always maintained that I have no regrets in life, but that's not true. I regret pushing so many good people away. I regret letting so many good friendships get lost in the shuffle. I regret not being a better friend to some, and being too good of a friend to others. I look back on my life and I can't recall a single story after high school that involves me and a group of friends having a good time together (unless you count my bachelorette party).

I don't know. I'm struggling now with posting this at all, because I realize it sounds like I'm throwing myself a big pity party. And I don't want people to reach out to me now because I sound desperate and lonely. But, I know that part of my problem with making friends is that I always feel like I'm bothering people. I always feel like my call is coming at a bad time, and they are somehow inconvenienced by my friendship. I didn't always feel like that. I used to have a super tight group of friends, but that was in middle school. And honestly, they are probably the ones that made me this way. We weren't the nicest to each other. And I often felt like I got the worst end of it, because I was the only one who didn't live in the same town as the rest of them. I was inconvenient. I was out of the way. How do people do it? How do people maintain friendships into adulthood? How do they find groups of people they have enough in common with that they keep it going for so many years?

I need more in my life than work, Ben, and my cat. That's the sad truth. But, like everything else, I don't even know where to start to get that.

The United States of Intolerance

It's an appropriately dreary day in Southeastern Pennsylvania today, as we reel from the aftermath of this year's election. Like so many people that I have talked to today, I am disgusted. I'm sad. I'm scared. And I'm incredibly discouraged.

Let me start by saying that I am neither Republican nor Democrat. I am a registered Independent. Ben, my boyfriend, is staunchly Liberal. In fact, if it wasn't for him, I may not have ever registered. This was my first time voting. This year, it was an easy choice for me. Previous years it wasn't, because my views are so much in the middle. I understand why someone would oppose abortion, especially those who have lost a baby, or those who are unable to get pregnant. I understand those who don't want universal healthcare - you work hard for your money, and it doesn't seem fair that so much of it should have to go to others. I am able to separate my own feelings towards those issues from what is best for the overall population. In most cases, I don't support abortion, but I absolutely believe the option needs to be there. I believe that an abortion stops a beating heart and that it is life, and it is a baby, regardless of how far into the pregnancy it is. But, I also understand that in some cases, the mother's life is at risk, and that in some cases, that baby would be better off not being born. I get it. I see both sides of it. Hence my Independent registration. Sometimes, the Republicans make sense to me. And sometimes they sound like the dumbest, most uneducated fools on the planet. Same goes for Democrats. Neither party is innocent. And neither party is 100% right.

That all being said, Donald Trump is wrong for this country. I am shocked that he is going to be our new president. I am appalled that he has been elected to represent our people and what we stand for. And I'm angry that Hillary Clinton won the popular vote. No, it's not "cold comfort." It doesn't feel good that it was a "close race." There is no silver lining here. Hillary Clinton was elected by the people to be the next President of the United States. The Electoral College painted a different picture. However, the votes were so close that I'm disgusted. I found myself at work today, looking at everyone I saw and wondering which side of this they fell on. Fifty percent of voters voted for Donald Trump. One out of every two people who voted, voted for Donald Trump. They voted for the man who has publicly denounced an entire religion. They voted for a man who plans on shadowing Hitler with his plans to keep immigrants out of our country (immigrants, that I have no doubt these same people have hired, because they "work for cheap"). They voted for a man who thinks it is okay to "grab a woman by the pussy" and kiss her without permission. They voted for a man who thinks that members of the gay community do not deserve the same rights as the rest of us. They voted against common decency. They voted against humanity. And I now stop and wonder if each person I see is quietly racist, and misogynistic, and homophobic. I understand not supporting either candidate. I do. What I don't understand is this "lesser of two evils" nonsense. Hillary Clinton, during this election, was poised, and professional, and tried her best to stick to the issues. Donald Trump was the exact opposite. Clinton may have made some bad choices during her political career, but what politician hasn't? Trump hasn't made bad political decisions, because he hasn't made any political decisions. His business decisions, however, have been horrific.

The four women I work closely with at one of my jobs all have children of their own. I'm the sole childless woman in the room. Thankfully, all four of them were against Trump winning the election. Hearing the reactions from their children was so saddening. One commented that her five-year-old son took it really hard, and was concerned about the women of our country - his mother and his sister. She said she made an effort not to let her hatred for Trump rub off on him, because she didn't want that negativity in his life. But, the fact that a five-year-old already knew that speaks volumes. She's a better person than I, because I would have told my child exactly what I thought. Which is what another co-worker did. She told us that she took her children aside and assured them that Donald Trump was not "their"president. That he didn't speak for them. That he did not represent the values that they held. She wanted her children to know where they stood as a family. And another said that her nine-year-old daughter threw herself on the floor crying when she heard the news this morning. Of course, these kids are being influenced by their parents, there's no question there. But, for a five-year-old boy to know, and to understand, at that age, what this means for women, and to express concern...how do we justify that? How do we defend that? How does the rest of the world look at their children and tell them that they genuinely care about their future? Because millions of people have proven otherwise. There is not a single thing that Hillary Clinton did in her entire career that even compares to some of Trump's indiscretions. And he is supported at every turn. I don't generally jump on the gender bandwagon, or the race bandwagon, simply because I feel that a lot of it is media hype. That's not to say that I don't think it's a problem. It simply means that I think the media perpetuates the problems, and feeds us stories they want us to pay attention to. Much of the other side of things is not reported, or downplayed significantly. That being said, I do believe that if Hillary Clinton had been a man, she would have decimated Donald Trump.

So much of my family support him. So many of them have been cheering for him since the early days of the election process. Since before the primaries. And I've been repulsed by them ever since. I was able, somehow, to find it in myself to still love them, and to still be an active part of their life, but I don't know if I can this year. I don't know if I can stomach Thanksgiving and Christmas with people who clearly don't care much about my future, or about the future of my children. I cannot sit at a table and share a meal of thanks with people who stand against everything this country is about. I cannot celebrate a holiday that represents the very thing they voted against. This country was founded on immigrants. It was founded on religious freedom. That's why people come here. They come here for freedom. And we are now telling these people that there is nowhere safe for them to go. You can't practice your religion here. You can't love who you want here. You can't voice an opinion or walk against the crowd here. Conform or die. That's how it feels.

For those of us who are not white Christian males, it's now a terrifying place to live. Without the trifecta of privilege, we have no place in this country anymore. I am not thankful for the 50% who voted for Hillary. Because it's not enough. I do not find comfort in the fact that "half of the people" are still good. Half is not enough. Half is dismally less than it should be. This should not have been a close race. This should have been a landslide. My own state went to Donald Trump, and I find myself taking that harder than the overall election. The place I call home. The place I love. I feel betrayed. And I know that SO MANY of us are feeling the same way. And we need each other so much right now. Hatred may have won the election, but don't let it win our hearts. Be louder. Be stronger. Be better. We can all do better. We can all do more. I know I plan to.

Stay strong, my friends. And know that we are stronger together. I love you.

Logic Trumps Emotion: A Plea

This is going to be my last post until after the elections. I'm just done with it all. My heart is broken, seeing people I respected, people I thought were good and kind, support a monster.

Yesterday, I saw an article titled something like "Why You Don't Get to Judge Donald Trump." I didn't read it, because I already knew what it was going to say. "Locker room talk," "typical guy," "private conversation," etc., etc., bullshit, whatever. Here is my response. Here is why we not only can, but should judge Donald Trump: because he's running for president.

This is not a pro-Hillary post. It's not an anti-Republican post. It is strictly a plea not to vote for Trump. I don't care if you write in Ronald McDonald, so long as Donald Trump's name is not the one you select on election day.

I can agree, to a point, that we shouldn't judge people on what they did more than a decade ago. I can also agree that it matters more how they present themselves in public than it does how they act around their friends. However, Trump wasn't with a "friend" when he made those comments. It was before an interview. And he wasn't some dumb college kid trying to impress his friends. He was a grown adult, married, with children, who knew exactly what he was saying. As someone who was in a relationship with a mechanic - a "man's" profession - for ten years, I can tell you that I heard a lot of guy talk. There were comments made that made me want to punch him right in his sexist face. But, I have never heard any comments even remotely close to what Donald Trump has said. And you know what? I'd be lying if I said I hadn't made some comments myself. But, I'd say the worst thing I've ever said about a man is, "I'd let him do things to me," which is generally said about a celebrity, and has no bearing on reality. And the key word there is "let." Donald Trump was not talking about a woman "letting" him do anything to her. He was talking about taking what he wanted, like a child. And let's stop pretending that this was an isolated incident. The man is a pig, and he has shown us that again and again. That particular comment might have been made more than ten years ago, but he's made comments during his campaign that are nearly on par. He's not a changed man. And he's not an "average" man. He's a rich man, who has never heard the word no in his life. He grew up privileged and has no concept of what the average person is like. He doesn't know how they live, how they talk, how they struggle. He is the very last person we need running our country.

I think we can all agree that we let our true selves show when we think no one is watching. We all say and do stupid things when we think we're alone, or when we think we're with someone we can trust, but Donald Trump's comments went above and beyond that. And both of the apologies he issued threw his opponent under the bus. He cannot defend himself without tearing down someone else. I don't care what Bill Clinton said to you on the golf course. He's not the one on trial here. Own it. Apologize sincerely, without acting like a child: "but...but...what he did was wooooooorse!" No.

The President is someone we elect to represent our country. This is the person who represents us, as people, to the rest of the world. He or she is supposed to represent our standards and our values. He or she is the person we choose who is most like us, and can adequately defend us, and stand for us. Is Donald Trump the kind of person we want representing us? Can you honestly look at him, and listen to him dodge questions, and hear him talk about sexually assaulting women and dating his daughter, and say, "yes, that is the way I want America to be represented"? Despite what others try to argue over and over again, this country was founded on religious freedom. We are not a Christian nation. Freedom of religion is written into our constitution, which only seems to matter when we're talking about guns. A man who wants to abolish the world's largest religion does not represent us. He feeds on our fears and delivers exactly what he thinks we want to hear.

I watched about ten minutes of the debate last night (I had work until 10:00), and I can tell you this: I saw a man talk a lot about what this country needs, but who didn't say a word about how he plans to get us there. Everyone knows what we need. We all know. We should want someone who has concrete plans, legitimate plans, plausible plans, to get us there. He has none of that. You cannot base a campaign around bringing down your opponent. We need to stop blaming and pointing fingers, and seriously start looking at what this person has to offer. Hillary Clinton may have been responsible for a hand full of deaths, but how many do you think Donald Trump will order? If you don't think that he will bring in the next World War, then you know nothing about your history. His plans are on par with Hitler's. Replace Jews with Muslims, and it's the same guy. I have Muslim friends, and they are some of the sweetest, kindest, most sincere people I have ever met. The actions of the few do not define the majority.

We are better than this. We deserve better than this. Our children deserve better than this. The only thing not great about America is who our Republican presidential candidate is. Prove that we're already great by making sure this man stays as far away from the White House as possible. I'm begging you.

Family Ties

I suck, I know. Shut up. I can't even use the excuse that I've been working, because that's not why I've been slacking off. There are two reasons, really. One is that I've become obsessed with my family ancestry. I got free access to ancestry.com at one of my jobs and it has spiraled from there. It's consumed every free moment. The second reason is because I noticed the other day that Ben and I have fallen into the habit of coming home from work, going to our separate corners every night, and not spending any time with each other. This was one of the biggest signs of trouble in my marriage and ultimately led to its end. So, I've been making a conscious effort to spend more quality time with him when we're both home, since that doesn't happen that often. So sue me for trying not to ruin another relationship. In any case, this ancestry thing has been fascinating.

When I started out, I was hoping to find something sordid. I wanted to find out that my family were slave owners or something, because both sides have always played the whole innocent Christian thing. I enjoy unraveling those fake perfect families and finding out the dirty back story. Even if it is my own. So far, I've found some interesting stuff, but nothing like that. I found one person who murdered his wife, but it was a brother-in-law of a great aunt, so that doesn't really count. I also found out that my great-grandfather died in a mental hospital, which no one in my family knew, because my grandfather would never talk about it. Besides that, I've found a ton of dead babies that people also didn't know about. It's been cool, and it's been getting me to talk to my family a lot more, which I admittedly don't do that often. Most of them, I just don't enjoy talking to. Mostly, I'm just lazy and a horrible daughter/cousin/sister/aunt/etc. So, this has been opening those lines up more, which has been great. My parents have been telling me some cool things about my family that I never knew before, and I've also discovered a possible Native American link, which has me all kinds of excited. But, so far, the most rewarding part was a story my mom told me. You're going to think it's a bit odd, but I'll explain why I'm holding on to this story after I tell it.

So, my mom and I were discussing when her mom (my Nanny) died. I was three at the time and my brother was six. We were living at Nanny's house with my mom, who was in the middle of divorcing my dad. Nanny was sick and mom moved in both to help out and because she needed somewhere to stay. It was convenient for both of them. I mentioned to my mom the other day that I felt like I remembered the day Nanny died, even though I was barely out of diapers. I said there was a chance I was remembering it wrong, and asked if I could tell her what I remembered to see if that's how it happened. For my entire life, I have always remembered walking into my brother's room with him and seeing my mom crying on the edge of his bed. When we asked what was wrong, she told us that Nanny had died. I told my mom this story and she said that probably was how it happened. She then asked me if I remembered that my brother and I had been sharing a room at that point. In the room was two twin beds, one for each of us, and my mom was staying in Nanny's room, who had just been taken to the hospital earlier that day. Mom told me that that night, at about 4am, she woke up with a cold chill. She walked into the room I was sharing with my brother and went back to sleep on the floor between us. The next morning, she learned that was exactly the time when Nanny had passed.

I didn't tell that story because I believe it means something (although Ben and I did discuss how that also happened to his stepfather, and it made me wonder if we're so connected to our parents from birth, that this sort of thing happens to everyone. I hope I don't find out any time soon). I don't believe in spirits, or the afterlife, or any of that stuff, so I wasn't struck by her chill. I was struck by the unbelievable vulnerability of her story. I can count on one hand how many times I've seen my mom cry in my life. Most of them were after my stepdad died, and even that wasn't a lot. She always been a pillar of strength. She's been through a lot of shit, and dealt with a lot of crappy people, and a mother who was lovely, but not good at showing affection. Her dad died when she was five and her mother didn't work, so a lot of responsibility fell on her at a very young age. It takes a lot to get her down.

I don't remember my parents getting divorced, but I know now that they are far better apart. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if they'd been together. Having been through one myself now, I know how difficult it is. And while I didn't want to move back in with my mom, it ended up being the best thing for me. I did need her, even though I didn't want to admit it. And now, I would imagine, that she needed hers. When she told me that she woke up and went and slept between me and my brother, I immediately saw her in a different light. She was still that pillar of strength, but she was more...human, I guess. I feel like sometimes we all fail to see our parents as the people they are. In that moment, she was exactly in between being a mother and still being a child. She was essentially alone in her childhood home and with nowhere else to go when she woke up scared, she turned to her children. But, she didn't slip into bed with one of them and hold them to comfort her. She let them sleep, instead choosing to sleep on the floor between them. She needed their presence as much as they needed hers, because she couldn't have her mom's anymore. I can't imagine what that time must have been like for her. I know how it felt losing my stepdad smack in the middle of my divorce, but this is different. There were no children involved in mine. And it wasn't my mother. It wasn't the person I turned to when my life turned to shit. It wasn't the person who was there when I had nowhere else to go.

There's a part of me that's sad that I didn't get to see that side of my mom back then. Knowing her, I'm sure she pulled herself together and did what needed to be done. I'm sure she was the one in charge of selling Nanny's house and getting things in order. Her divorce from my father was finalized that exact same day (talk about a bad day!). When my stepdad died, she immediately kicked into gear. I remember telling her repeatedly to slow down, in case she ended up getting rid of something she'd regret later (she did). But, it was her therapy, she said. It was what she needed to do. It kept her occupied. And I'm sure she handled things exactly the same way back then. I wish I got to see more of that vulnerable mom. I wish there were more nights when she slept on the bedroom floor just because she wanted to be near me. We never stop being our mother's children, no matter what happens in our lives. And now I see that. I'm glad I do.

Talk to your parents. They tell you stuff. If they're not around, talk to grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins, anyone who can give you some insight into your family and essentially yourself. You'll find some cool stuff.

"Make America Great Again"

I know I've been M.I.A. for a while, and I'm sorry for anyone who actually cares. I've worked the last 14 days straight and I'm beyond exhausted. I'm burnt out. I'm angry. I'm miserable. And I'm frustrated. So much of that comes from the state of this country, though. Ben and I have begun talking seriously about leaving. If it was easy enough to pack up and find a job in a new country, I'd already have done it. I just can't handle it anymore. There are not enough anti-depressants in the world to make me feel better about things.

A while ago, I stopped adding family members on Facebook. I somehow ended up having completely opposite religious and political views from everyone in my entire family. This has caused issues on Facebook, and has led to instances where family members are no longer speaking to me. More recently, I've been deleting ones who are still left. My heart can't take it anymore. My heart can't take finding out that people I love and look up to are complete pieces of shit. How did they get there? Where does it come from? And what the hell happened to me that I'm nowhere near where they are on this stuff?

The most notorious instance is one that so many of my friends witnessed. I have a cousin - one whom I always admired and adored - who is no longer speaking to me. Last year, when gay marriage became legal across the country, as it should always have been, I posted a status in support of the new law. She posted a comment disagreeing with my support. She gave the usual objections: "if it's okay for them to wave a flag, why can't I wave one saying I'm straight?" "It's against God." Yadda, yadda. My messages blew up with LBGT friends telling me how stupid she was, and other friends telling me "thanks for the laughs." I had another cousin reach out to me and ask me to make amends before it was too late. It was already too late. Her excuses included protecting her children, and anyone who has gay children is a failure as a parent. Another family member, who I'm very close to, pointed out a transgender person once when the family was out to dinner, asking me if I saw the "shim" and telling me that "this is why my kids are confused. They see that, and then they ask questions." Honey, your kids are confused, because you don't answer their questions. There's nothing to be confused about. Some people are born "different." Everyone is an individual. Everyone thinks and feels and acts differently. We all find pleasure in different things. We all feel pain differently, and express ourselves differently. Some of us are wired differently. The ones who lack the compassion to see that and explain that are the real problems. This same family member's husband got himself removed from Facebook, because we kept getting into the gun debate. Listen, I understand the desire or the need to have something to protect yourself. A pistol is enough. There is no reason for anything more than that. And until we, as a country, recognize that, there will never be peace here. We'll never be safe. Every single person in the country can have a firearm, and all that will do will cause constant shoot-outs and crazy behavior. I'm terrified. Constantly.

I've also come to realize that pretty much every single person in my family is a Trump supporter. All of them. They also disagree with the Black Lives Matter campaign, one of them going as far as to say "white people aren't racist, but guess who is!!!" I had one family member who I am directly related to tell me that "Trump will get things done," another one tell me that they supported Trump, "because he wants to make people afraid of America again." That same person told me they want to vote for him, because "he's not a politician. I hate politicians." Look, I agree that there are no good candidates this year. But, TRUMP?! Come on. I live every day becoming more and more disappointed in the people I love. The people who raised me, and shaped me, and nurtured me, are just disappointing human beings. And honestly, without Facebook, I wouldn't know any of this. This stuff doesn't come up during family dinners, because I guess we know better. Or, everyone at least assumes we're all on the same page.

I would be lying if I pretended to be an expert on politics. I'm not. I've never even voted (rest assured, I will be this year). It wasn't until I started dating Ben that I even started following politics at all. But, these are all people who do follow it. These are people who believe that a man who praised Saddam Hussein for being good at "killing terrorists", and who wants to build a wall to keep out immigrants, and who wants to ban an entire religion consisting of over a billion people, would somehow be a good president. This is a man who objectifies women on a daily basis, who doesn't believe they should have rights. I can't imagine that there are many non-white, working class citizens who support this man. I can't believe there are so many women who do. I can't believe he's legitimately a viable candidate for president. What the hell has happened to us? Why is there so much hatred in the world, and this country? We're supposed to be a civilized country, and we're not. We're supposed to be the example and we're not. Anyone who doubts that Trump will turn us into a war-torn third-world country is not paying attention at all. Same goes for the people who believe that the Orlando shooting was religiously motivated. It was a hate crime. Against the LGBT community. Plain and simple. It has been proven that the man who committed that mass murder had no ties with ISIS (who we created, by the way). But, we see his tan skin and read his ethnic name and we set out for revenge. I had another incredibly close family member tell me that all of the local Muslim restaurants have gone out of business, because the owners fled the country after Orlando, in fear of retaliation. I genuinely don't understand how that's all these people can focus on. How many mass murders have there been in this country in the last year? In the last month? This week? How many of them have actually been committed by a Muslim? And when they're not, do we ever acknowledge the religion of the person who committed it? The boys who committed the Columbine killing so many years ago asked their victims if they believed in God before killing them. Why is that not talked about? There are a lot of these killings that are religiously motivated, but since this person didn't look American (which is ridiculous anyway, because none of us are actually American), that's what gets talked about. Why aren't we focusing on the fact that this person set out to specifically kill members of the LGBT community? Why are we not focusing on the fact that even though he was investigated by the FBI, he was still allowed to purchase a weapon that allowed him to kill and injure so many people? He was involved in a shootout with police before even entering the building, so the whole "good guy with a gun" bullshit doesn't work here. I just can't do it anymore. I can't sit here and watch while a bunch of lunatics kill innocent people and then watch people I love defend the lunatics and propagate the hate that started it. We need to be better. All of us. I don't care what your religious views are. I don't care what your sexual orientation is, or your political beliefs, or what your bank account looks like. We need to come together as people and stop thinking that any of us are better than anyone else. We're not. You're not. Just stop it. Stop being a piece of shit. Read articles before you post them. Do some research on UN-BIASED websites and learn about what you're really putting out there. How did we get so divided? How did we get here? And how do I leave?

Love and Loss

Do we ever stop missing people? Does it ever not hurt? Are we ever able to just not think about someone anymore?

I've been so consumed with missing people lately. I wish desperately that I was one of those "out of sight, out of mind" people. I wish that once someone was out of my life, they just ceased to exist. But, I'm just not that person. I just look back on my life and think of all of the people who used to be there and now they're not. It doesn't matter the reason. Whether they're dead, moved away, or simply stopped being my friend for one reason or another, I just miss them. I used to be able to be angry at people for long periods of time. I used to be able to say that if that person screwed me over, or treated me badly, then they weren't worth having in my life. And I believe that. That's definitely true. But, it doesn't take away all of the good memories. It doesn't take away the missing. It doesn't make me feel any better about that particular presence no longer being in my life.

I experienced a lot of death at a fairly young age. At nine, I lost my stepbrother to a drunk driving accident. In early high school, I attended five funerals in six months; two for grandparents, two for fellow students, and one for my cousin's stillborn baby. It effected me far more deeply than I realized at the time. I've carried it with me my entire life. By the time the sixth one came around, I was completely numb. I didn't even cry. She was a friend of mine, and she was killed in a car accident in the middle of the day while on a break from summer school. One other person died with her that day, and two others were injured, one permanently, the other minor. I remember going to a concert the night of her funeral, which felt so weird to me at the time. Like, I shouldn't be out having fun after I just put my friend in the ground. But, I think I also knew I deserved that night. I think I also knew that after the year I'd had, I'd earned that night out. It was weird for all of us who went, because we were all friends with her. It was somber, but it was a needed fun night out.

My grandfather was buried on my 15th birthday that year. He was the third of the year. I'm still annoyed by the number of people who wished me happy birthday that day. Seriously? I think you're allowed to skip it this year. That was the last year I stopped counting down until my birthday.

I found out my grandmother died while I was at school. She was the first one that year. I was supposed to go to a diving meet after school to see my then-best friend compete. On my way there, another friend stopped me and told me I should probably go home. She'd heard from my cousin that my grandmother had died. I went home, saw my mom (it was my dad's mom who died), and then went back to the meet.

The second one was a fellow student, who I didn't know well, but who was good friends with my brother. He was active in many extra curriculars, including marching band, which I was in, but he was suffering from cancer, so wasn't participating that particular year. He died before the year was out. I found out while I was helping my school host the annual jazz band championships, which was an excuse to hang out with friends all night.

And the fifth one of the year was my cousin's baby (I did not intend to talk about all of these, or go in a random order, I'm just kinda going with what I'm feeling). She was six months pregnant. I found out she lost the baby the day I got home from a camping trip. It was exactly a week after my grandfather. She was only twenty years old, and was getting married in two weeks. I have never seen someone so distraught in my entire life and I'll never forget it. Even then, I was confused about how something so beautiful and exciting could turn into something so sad. It was a shit year. Which started off with me breaking up with my boyfriend at the time. He was loss #1. Then the rest followed. I can't believe I survived that. I don't want to say I've gotten over any of those deaths, because I haven't, but I did eventually learn to live with it. However, I do wonder if that's because there were so many of them, that I just became numb after a while. I obsessed over that ex-boyfriend for years after that, because it was easier to try to win him back than to focus on the people I couldn't get back. Of course, I didn't know that's why I was doing it at the time, but you know, hindsight, etc, etc.

The deaths slowed down after that, but obviously didn't stop. There was an uncle, another grandparent, an aunt, and some other people I knew through friends and family members. Some of them hurt more than others. And then there was my stepdad on New Years Day 2013. I would never have considered us close, but Jesus H. Christ, I miss him. And the thing is, I knew I would. He was always sick with something, and I remember thinking to myself so often how weird it would be without him. I remember several times telling myself to be more present in his life, because he wouldn't be around forever (he was about 15 years older than my mom). I knew he'd go before we were ready to let him. And he did. And I've thought of him every single day since then. I drive by the cemetery where he's buried almost every day (it's about five miles from my apartment). Every time I look at the shoddy job I did hanging the shelves in my living room I think of him. Every time my niece and my nephew reach a new milestone, I think how proud he would be and how much of their lives he's missing (God, he loved them). I wonder if he'd be proud of me. I wonder if my mom's okay. I get consumed with her loneliness sometimes, because I simply can't imagine losing someone you've built your life with. It terrifies me to think that I might be in that position some day, too. Every time Ben goes out for a cigarette, I think that I could someday live the same fate as my mother, when I bury my husband with decades left to live without him. He's irreplaceable, and his loss has made waves in humanity. In all of humanity. He is missed by so many people, more than he could ever possibly have believed.

Sometimes, though, the hardest losses are the ones who don't die. They're the ones who simply fade away. They're the ones who choose not to be in your life, or the ones you choose not to have there. Those ones hurt, because they are personal. I lost an entire second family, and a whole set of friends when I got divorced. And while I won't go as far as to say I miss them all, there are certain presences that I miss. There are certain people who have left a void that can't be filled. There were family members who felt like I'd known them my entire life. Sisters who felt like my own. A nephew who will never, ever know how much I adored him. Those losses are heavy. There are two or three of those friends who I'm still in touch with on Facebook, but who I don't see. I knew how much I'd be losing when I got the divorce. I knew I wouldn't make it out without any casualties. What I didn't know was how much it would still hurt three years later. I didn't know there would still be repercussions from that three years later. I didn't know I would still be having people tell me, "I don't want to hear from you anymore." There were two in the last two weeks. One not so surprising, but still agonizing in an infuriating way. And one, much more painful, because her feelings were a mystery to me. Why do I care, though? Why do I still care about these people who haven't been a part of my life in three years? Why do I still think constantly about the ones I lost? I feel like it prevents me from truly appreciating the ones I do have. I say all the time that I don't have any friends. And when I'm in a pinch, and need someone to talk to, I can't think of anyone to call or text. But, when I calm myself down, I think, "there are so many people I met through school who would totally be willing to talk to me about this right now." I look around sometimes and wonder if Ben and I broke up, what would I have left? Who would there still be in my life? Most of the friends I have now are his. The people I see on a regular basis are either my family, or his friends. I don't have any regulars in my own life. And that terrifies me, because that's what happened last time. I built my life around the person I was with, and when that ended I lost everything. All of it. And I feel like I'm still picking up the pieces.

When do I stop missing those people? When does it stop hurting every single day? I've heard people say after losing a loved one that you don't get over it, you just learn to live with it. But, how? I think of all of the people I've lost in the first 30 years of my life and I can't imagine the amount of hurting and loss and emptiness I'll feel in 30 more. How does anyone survive to old age? How do we keep getting ourselves up every morning knowing that it's just one less day that we have with certain people? I don't want to be the person who only has her significant other and the family they build. Because, I know better than anyone that that can change in the blink of an eye. I need more than that. But, that can all change too.

How do we live with it? All the loss and the missing and the emptiness that builds and builds over our lifetimes? It's immeasurable. How do we not drown in that misery and let it consume us? Sixty years of loss seems like too much to me.

Fair-Weathered Friend

Dear former best friend,

Go screw yourself.

I've been nice long enough. I've apologized countless times for something I don't even think I need to apologize for. I apologized, because our friendship was more important than my ego. I apologized, because I wanted you back in my life, and I thought that was the way to do it. It's been three years. I'm no longer sorry. I'm not sorry for what happened three years ago. I'm not sorry for what I said. Because I meant it. And I still do. I'd say it again. I'll add this to it: you're a loser. We were friends in middle school. Good friends. And that lasted into high school. We were best friends for a while. Doing everything together. Going everywhere together. And then something better came along. It was years before we spoke again, and that was the way I wanted it. I was wounded. I was hurt. I was replaced. You fooled me once. Shame on you.

And then, some time about seven or eight years ago, we got back in touch with each other. We picked back up right where we left off. It was as if no time had passed at all. I had missed you. God, how I'd missed you. The past no longer mattered. I didn't care what you'd done to me in high school (I no longer remember what that was). We were adults now. It was behind us. I was ready to be best friends again, and I loved every minute of it. I asked you to be in my wedding, and you cried when you accepted. During the whole planning process, you had my back, made sure my horrific maid of honor had my best intentions at heart (it should have been you). You kept me informed, but shielded me from the really obnoxious stuff, so as not to stress me out more. You took me and my then-fiance out to dinner to celebrate. We took you out to dinner for your birthday (it was over $200. You're welcome). You moved away after the wedding. Only a couple hours drive, but far enough. I came to see you once or twice, and we had a great time seeing the city and exploring new things.

When my marriage fell apart, you were also there. I confided every single detail to you. I told you things I didn't want anyone to know. I told you how scared I was. I told you how embarrassed I was that it had only lasted a year. I cried to you as I told you how badly I felt for every single person who invested time and money into it. All the people who traveled far and wide to be there for me. The bridal party, who spent hundreds of dollars to be in it. I told you all my deepest, darkest secrets about my marriage, and about....Ben. You saw me falling for him before anyone else did. And you encouraged me to go for it. To explore it. You told me I was coming into my own. That I was no longer the person I was when I had gotten married. That I had changed. But, not in a bad way. I no longer wanted what I had wanted a year ago, and you told me that was okay. I had changed my mind, and there was nothing wrong with that.

You spent the night at my house during the end of my marriage. It was the first sleepover I'd had since high school, and it was fun. You never judged me. You never got angry with me (okay, maybe that one time). You never tried to steer me in the wrong direction. You were exactly what I needed during the most difficult time in my life.

And now what? Now, you tell me that I used you as a scapegoat in my divorce. Now you tell me that I made you feel like crap in your own home (because you lived off of unemployment and your boyfriend's student loans for a year while sitting around getting high all day without even bothering to look for a job). You tell me that I hurt you so badly, and that it's "black and white" for you, and that if I don't see that then we can't be friends. Look, I knew things were strained since my last trip out to see you (the one where you got high all weekend). I apologized to you that night. I apologized to you via text when I got home. I apologized via Facebook messenger a couple weeks later. And sometime last year, I wrote you a two-page letter apologizing again, explaining to you where my head was at the time and admitting the error of my ways. I wanted you back in my life. And since that last visit, we had talked a little. We had seen each other once or twice. I knew it wouldn't be the same, but I thought we were at least okay. Up until five months ago, you were still tagging me on Facebook.

So, when you got engaged last week, I excitedly sent you a text message congratulating you. I told you I was happy for you, and that I was sad that I wouldn't be able to be there for you in the same way you were there for me during my wedding. I said I was sorry that we'd drifted apart and I was glad knowing that the person who used to be my best friend was in the most loving and capable hands possible. And I meant all of that.

And then you wrote back telling me that you've been harboring these ridiculous feelings for the last three or four years. I call bullshit. Here's what really happened. You encouraged me to cheat on my husband, and then felt bad about it when I did (not your fault. Completely my choice). You moved to a cushy city with your important cousin (sorry, boyfriend) and lived off the government for several years while doing so (but, welfare was COMPLETELY out of the question, and "highly offensive" to even be suggested). Because of the fact that you didn't bother to work (and why did you need to, when everything was free?), you were "bored," so you decided getting high all day every day was the only way to cure that. You knew prior to me coming to see you how I felt about it. We had talked AD NAUSEUM about how much it bothered me when anyone did it. But, you didn't give a shit about that when I got there (sorry I ruined your "fun"). When your cousin/boyfriend got a nice new cushy job in a different city, you followed him there, too. Except, now he's even more important. Which, by association, means you are too. Congratulations. So now, I'm not good enough for you. I'm too low on the social ladder for you. I don't get to work with the president. I don't get to take you on tours of the White House, or have my name in lights. I can't do anything for you. I can't advance your life or improve your life in any way, so you needed some excuse, any excuse to get rid of me. To shed the dead weight. Good riddance.

Even during the brief time we were friends, I knew you were insane, but I loved you anyway. You added fun, and joy, and excitement to my life. You made me laugh. You encouraged me when I felt like shit. You stood by me when I made horrible decisions. And every other day, you were pissed at someone else. You were either fighting with MF, or a family member. There was always someone you weren't speaking to on any given day. And, like you, I stood by you through every single one of those ridiculous fights. I listened to you vent about how you were done wrong. I told you you were right and you didn't need that person in your life, the whole time thinking, wow, this is totally her fault. But, I never told you that, because you needed me at that time and I was going to be there for you no matter what. You're welcome.

Look, I don't regret being friends with you. I got to experience some things I wouldn't have otherwise. I got some really awesome years, and some really nice memories out of it. But, don't for a second expect another apology, or for any acknowledgement that I had any wrong doing this time. I did everything I was supposed to. I may have cut you out for a time, while I cleaned up the pieces of my terrifyingly broken life, but I never stopped being your friend. You're the one who stopped. You fooled me twice. Shame on me.

I genuinely don't care if you have a nice life. I don't care where you end up. I don't care if you ever get off your lazy ass, or if you let your boyfriend/cousin support you for the rest of your lazy life. I don't care. Because I tried caring. I tried being the best person I could be to you, and it didn't matter. Knowing all that you know, you still chose to believe what you wanted about me. You still chose to believe the worst about me, even though you knew me more intimately than anyone else ever had. You knew all of my thoughts, all of my motivations, my frustrations, my fears, my dreams. You knew where every tear came from, and how to get every smile. And you can still look back on all of that and think that badly of me. You don't get to judge me.

Is this petty? Probably. But, I don't really care. I have no doubt in my mind you went and spread all kinds of nice stories about me. The fact that you're still friends with my ex-husband's family on Facebook (and actually interact with them) shows that you picked sides a long time ago. All you had to do was be honest. All you had to do was talk to me. It was the least you could have done for me, given the honesty I provided for you on a daily basis.

Have a whatever life. I'll hear it through the grapevine.

Good News, Bad News

I write when I can, okay? I'm clearly not sticking to this once a week thing, so deal.

The last few weeks have been interesting. I've surprisingly been able to hang out with some people, and managed to finally get some good news in my life. For those who have been following, the law suit between me and my former landlord has finally been dropped. Of course, I have to pay them $1100 still, but it's better than the $4,000 they wanted. Someone who works for the bigger corporation that owns the complex got in touch with me and asked to speak to me about the case. She seemed genuinely confused about how the case had gotten this far and wanted to hear all of the details from my side. I got the impression it was the first she'd ever heard of it. She told me that when I gave my notice to move out, the property was in the middle of switching hands, which I predicted. She also told me I deserved much better customer service than I had gotten and apologized for that. She was confused about where the amount owed came from, since she said that even if I had paid rent until the unit was re-rented, I wouldn't have owed as much as they were asking me for. They were not only charging me for rent up until September (I moved out in June), but they were charging me late fees and utilities as well, which makes no sense at all. So, long story short, as promised, she "made it all go away." All that's left now is to sign the agreement and pay, and it's a done deal. Thank goodness.

I also recently met up with a friend from grad school. He's recently divorced and moving to Nashville. I remember him reaching out to me after my divorce and asking me some things. He suspected he was in for the same fate. And he was. We talked a lot about that when we met up. It's always interesting to talk to someone on the other side of things. See, in my divorce I was the one who had found someone else before things were finalized. In his case, his wife was the one. We both got a lot out of hearing things from the other perspective. He said a lot of things that I had thought about myself, and a lot of things that I had wondered if my ex had ever thought about. Just as I was the one in my marriage who did everything, he was the one who did it all for her. The cooking, the cleaning, the money management. He lamented the fact that she never told him that that wasn't what she wanted. He was doing everything for her, but he wasn't doing the things she wanted him to do. That made me think. I was doing everything for my ex, but I never stopped to make sure those were the things he wanted me to do. I did what I thought was expected. And so did he. Marriage 101: always communicate. He also told me that she reached out to him several months after they officially split telling him that she finally understood everything he had done for her. That was a courtesy I was never given. But, I always wondered if he did. I always wondered how much he floundered when finally left on his own. How many bills got paid late, or not at all? How gross was his condo, because he just didn't take the time to clean it? I never expected him to tell me he finally appreciated it, but I always wondered if he figured it out. Like I mentioned before, though, he's happy now, and that makes me happy. That was the whole point of the split. I'm glad he found someone. And I'm glad that she can clearly give him what I never could. We both deserve the happiness we've finally found.

I'm worried about things, though. Mostly, the future of this country. Ben and I often talk about the fact that this country will eventually be a third world country, and no one will care. The rich will still be rich, but those of us who live paycheck to paycheck will be the ones starving. Too many jobs are being sent overseas. Too many jobs are being lost to the world of the internet. (Stop shopping online!!!) I've had so many conversations lately about how Amazon is killing the publishing industry (please research it before you argue with me. You're wrong). But, I truly believe the internet has destroyed this economy, and I believe it will continue to do so. "No, no, the internet created jobs." Yes, it did. But for every job it created, how many did it destroy? Amazon created jobs, because there are people who need to work in the warehouse and process orders. But, how many retail stores went out of business because of that? How many thousands lost the only job they could get? I have a masters degree and I can't find a real, permanent, full-time job. There are people worse off than me. It's only going to get worse. When do we all start taking responsibility for what's happening? The rich don't care about the lower classes. They don't. They will continue to be rich no matter what happens to the rest of us. Because we're the ones paying them. It's those of us at the bottom of the totem pole, those of us who are pinching pennies and struggling to make ends meet who need to step up. We need to watch out for each other. We need to help each other, and encourage each other, and fight for the things that are being taken from us because we weren't born with trust funds. I always wanted kids. Badly. I still do. But, I think about what kind of future they might have and I wonder if I should. If things are this bad for us, what will it be like for the next generation? Will there be any jobs at all? What will they do? How will they live? My mind has been shifting a lot to adoption. Instead of bringing another child into this world who doesn't have a chance, perhaps I should just choose to love one who is already here and needs a better chance than what they have (even if it's not much better). I don't know. Everything is a mess, and it's depressing.

I want to leave the country. I've told Ben as much, but his response was, "it's impossible to find a job in another country." I said it can't be harder than it is here. And if all of our jobs are being sent overseas, I would imagine it's much easier to find one there. He wants to move to Switzerland, but he thinks it'd be too much to pack up our lives at this point. All I said to him was, "I'll follow you anywhere." I hate it here anymore. And with the rise of Hitler II, it's only going to get worse. We're ruining ourselves. We're ruining it for the future generations. For our children, and their children. This used to be a country to be proud of. The land of opportunity. What the hell is it now? I had to completely purge my Facebook page, because I just can't deal with the amount of intolerance there is. Most of my family has been removed, because it makes me too sad to see what their political beliefs are. How can people I'm related to have so much intolerance and bigotry? Where does that come from? I removed all the news sites I followed, because I couldn't handle the comments on them, and I couldn't be trusted not to read them. I got rid of everything, unless it was publishing news (for jobs), and musical acts pages, so I know when they're touring. I'm just done. I'm disgusted. I'm depressed. I'm sad. I want to run away and leave all of this behind, but I know it's not that easy. You can't leave it behind. But, it all just feels too big to fix. Help each other, people. That's all we can do.

All Work and No Play Makes Kim a Dull Girl

I need to get myself on a normal schedule. I'm working three jobs now, and my shifts are all over the place. I'd like to pick a designated time to write each week, so I can stick to my goal, but that just isn't possible. Many days, I go from one job right to the next with no break in between. I know I'm over-working myself. I know I'm taking on too much, but I can't stand the idea of just earning a paycheck. I need to know that I'm doing something that makes me happy. If I have to take on a few jobs to make sure that at least one of them is something I love, then that's what I have to do. I desperately want something full-time, though. I can't tell you how badly I want to get to the dentist. It's things like that that you take advantage of when you have insurance. No one likes the dentist, but I also don't like not knowing what's going on with my teeth. I'm pretty sure I'm on the verge of a cavity. Do I wait until it gets unbearable and risk having to pay a ton to fix it, or do I go now and just pay full price for a cleaning and check-up? Something's got to give at some point. At some point, there has to be a job for me. There are some days when I'm incredibly optimistic about it, and then there are other days when I remember that I've been chasing this dream for ten years now, and I don't feel any closer than I was back then.

In any case, the new job at the library is hilarious, and terrifying, and fun, and ridiculous all at the same time. At first, I was pretty upset that I was going to be expected to work there alone sometimes. I haven't reached the point where any of us are comfortable with that yet, but I think I'll be okay when the time comes. It's pretty much the same people every time I work. There's the homeless guy who comes in and sits at a table reading the newspaper from open to close every day. I assume he just wants to get inside somewhere. He's a nice guy. Very friendly. Doesn't bother anybody. Except for the day when he fell asleep at that table and coughed and wheezed and spit the entire time. It went on for nearly an hour and my boss and I were concerned that he was dying. It really sounded like he was. While all this was going on, a line was forming at the bathrooms. This is strange because there are three bathrooms in the building and not that many patrons that this shouldn't be enough. While homeless guy was seemingly dying in the front room, another regular was sleeping in the bathroom. Yes, sleeping. We had previously told him that he couldn't sleep in one of the chairs we had set up in one of the other rooms, so he moved to the bathroom. He was in there for hours before any of us realized it, and it wasn't until another regular asked where he was that we began looking for him. After many attempts to get him out of the bathroom, my boss finally pounded on the door telling him that if he didn't come out, we'd have to call the cops. He reluctantly came out, and sat down with my boss and the guy who asked about him. My boss, who is clearly afraid of nothing, asked him flat out what he was on. He claimed he wasn't on anything (previous reports have stated that pills were found in the bathroom after he came out once). He also said that he had a place to stay, but that it wasn't working out. Which, I suppose explains the whole sleeping in the bathroom thing. My boss gave him some time to get himself together before he had to leave, and he took this time to, once again, fall asleep on the same chair we had previously kicked him off of. During this time, another employee, who had been emptying the trash cans told my boss, "there's a present for you in your office." It was a bottle of vodka, nearly empty, that was found in the bathroom dude had been sleeping in. He may not have been "on" anything, but he was clearly completely obliterated. We haven't seen him since.

After he left that day, supposedly getting a ride to the train station to go back to his family in New Jersey, homeless guy staggered to the bathroom before leaving. It was a completely insane night, and while I'm glad I wasn't alone, both men were pretty harmless. Just sad. Who would have thought that with all the books in a library, the most interesting characters would be the patrons.

There's Got to Be More to Life

So, I've already failed at my once a week promise. It's been nearly two since I wrote the last post. I've been busy as hell, though. Since I wrote the last post, I started a new, third job. I've had exactly one day off since then, and for that one, I had to have someone cover my shift just so I could get some sleep. I'm busy, and I'm tired, and I'm getting more and more frustrated as the days go on.

I hate being that person who always thinks their boss is out to get them, but yeah...I think my boss is out to get me. And it's the boss that matters. It's the boss at the job that pays the most. The job that's the "pay check" and not the job where I'm doing what I love. Lately, I feel like I can't do or say anything right. It's causing me to overthink everything I do, which results in me screwing up even more. I'm frustrated. And yeah, sad. I don't like being bad at my job. I don't like knowing that no matter what I do, and what I change, it's still not right. It's not what they're looking for. It's not how it's supposed to be. It does nothing for my self esteem and my self worth.

I had been feeling really depressed for a few weeks. I couldn't figure out what it was. I assumed my meds had stopped working, or it was because the weather was crappy and cold for too long this year. And then I worked a shift at the bookstore (a job I got because I wanted it, not because I needed it). Lately, I've been getting very few hours. Sometimes, only five or six a week, which does nothing to supplement my part-time income. It's what led me to seek out the third job. Anyway, after a few weeks of only working there once a week, I finally figured out that that's what was depressing me. Not being able to do that job. Not being able to get my hands on books, and to help people find the perfect one. Not getting to socialize with people who I have things in common with. Not being able to do what I love. It's the first time in my entire life that I have a job that I truly love. But, it doesn't pay me enough to do it full-time, which kills me.

The third job I got is at a library. So far, after one week, it's...not what I expected. The first day was very boring. When I told Ben that, his reaction was, "of course it's boring, it's a library. What did you expect?" Point taken, I guess. The second and third days were a little bit more active. I like it. I'm learning quickly, and again, I enjoy spending my days with people who have the same interests as I do. And I've already been told by a co-worker that I'm "smart," because I knew that the title of a book a customer was asking for was called something different. Because I know my field. And I'm damn good at it. And I'm good at it, because I love it.

That being said, I'm not sure the library job is going to last. The first tip-off was the children's story times that take place just about every day. We do story times at the bookstore, but they're not nearly as involved. There, we read a book (or two) and usually do a crafting activity and then we're done. In the three days I worked at the library, I observed three different story times, with three different people hosting them. During all three, I sat there thinking, "I can't do that." And I'm probably going to have to, because one of those people is leaving, which is who I was hired to replace. There's singing, and there's dancing, and there's toys and games, and the whole nine yards. I love kids. Adore them. But, that's not me. I'm not that person. I can't perform like that in front of that many people (on Friday, there were probably about 30, including parents). The second sign was when a particular patron came into the library. She walked in and I saw my co-workers glance at each other. A few seconds later, I was called into the back room. I was informed that this particular patron was schizophrenic. When she's on her meds, she's fine. When she's not, she can be "disruptive." They then proceeded to tell me that she can get in your face sometimes, and she's "very strong," so "don't be afraid to call the cops when you're here alone." Hold the phone. I'm going to be here alone? Is that legal? Why wasn't that mentioned in the interview? And what?! No no. I do not like this.

Look, I don't know what I'm doing. I have no idea. I'm just some kid with a dream. Except that I'm not anymore. A kid, that is. When I was 22 and fresh out of college, this whole chasing my dreams bit was cute, and fun. I enjoyed defying the odds, and telling people to "shove it" when they told me I wasn't good enough. I enjoyed proving myself and letting everyone know that I was going to find that dream job. No one could tell me otherwise. At 30, it's just sad. And exhausting. And frustrating. And infuriating. I feel old. I feel like those 22-year-olds are the ones getting the jobs I want now. Those kids with that same determination I had are the ones getting the jobs I should have gotten had I not stupidly chosen to get married and give it all up instead. It feels like it's too late. I just want one job. I just want to be comfortable, and I want some structure, and I want a job that doesn't make me want to blow my brains out every morning. I'm certain I'm not alone. I know that this generation has it hard. For us, that is too much to ask. Most of us can't do it alone. So many people my age (and older) are still living at home, because they can't afford not to. And I know that my chosen field doesn't pay a lot. It's not about the money. It never was for me. If it was, I'd have a nice cushy job at an insurance company, since they loved me there in college (I also told them I had no intention of staying there, because I had bigger dreams). I've said this before, and I'll say it again, even though it offended someone last time: I envy those who are happy with a paycheck. I envy those people who don't really have a big dream they're chasing. The ones who are just happy having a job that pays the bills. Not even happy - just content. Just "good enough." I want that. But, I know that I won't get that unless I'm working in the field I spent so much time and money studying. At what point do I decide that's not gonna happen, and just settle for the paycheck, so I can settle down and have a family? Because, I know I'll regret not having a family more than I'll regret not having that job.

Why can't the jobs I love pay me enough to survive? And how come the jobs that pay me (barely) enough make me miserable and depressed? Is this simply the reality of the world, or is it me?

Kim and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Today sucked on toast. It sucked so badly that the one glimmer of good news was actually bad news.

Last night, Ben and I got in a stupid petty fight. I can't even explain what it was about, but I told him he was "the most annoying person I've ever lived with." So, yeah...I guess I deserved him not talking to me today. But, I did honestly think we'd sleep on it and be over it by this morning. He clearly had other plans. He didn't even say bye to me this morning when he left for work. :(

So, that had me in a funk all day. I told myself I wasn't going to let it bother me, and I was too old to still be crying over boys. I knew it would pass and by the time we both got home from work tonight, and we had a chance to talk about it, we'd be fine. The day got worse, though. I had a meeting with my boss at 11:30. This is something that happens every three weeks, to stay updated on my status, and touch base with each other. In a nutshell, I've been messing up. After nine months, I'm still getting looooong emails back from the editors telling me what I did wrong. One particular email this week was from my boss, and was followed up with a paragraph basically telling me that I can't still be making these mistakes. I didn't even respond to the email, because I didn't know what to say. I tend to attack when I feel threatened (as witnessed above in yesterday's fight with Ben). I figured it was safer not to answer. She called me out on it in our meeting. She wanted to know why I didn't answer. I told her the email bummed me out. I told her it made me feel singled out. I told her it made me feel like, even though I know these are mistakes that everyone on my teams is making, that I was the only one being reprimanded for it. In a nutshell, I'm pissed off. And I'm worried about my job. My boss is wonderful. She's responsive, and she's honest, and she always leaves the doors of communication open. But, that doesn't make me feel any better about sucking at my job.

I spent that entire meeting trying not to cry, which I do when I feel frustrated, or scared, or angry. I got back to my desk and messaged Ben, because I can't just leave shit alone. I told him next time he decided not to talk to me the day after a fight, he needs to sleep on the couch. I told him not to come with me tonight for the plans we'd made the night before, because I didn't need his "immaturity" and "pettiness." I told him again that he was annoying and that even the most patient person in the world would find living with him to be annoying. I'm a really nice girlfriend.

I left work feeling like complete garbage. But, still I told myself I wasn't going to cry. I was better than this. I deserved better than this. Better than this job. Better than this man. Better than all of it. It wasn't worth crying over, because it was up to me to fix it, and I was going to. So, I didn't cry.

I got home and checked the mail. There was a large envelope in there from a lawyer. I'm being sued for over $4,000 from my previous landlord. This has been an ongoing battle for nearly a year and I was in the final stretch, about to get the case thrown out, because they had never responded to my appeal. I sent them a ten-day notice. This time, they responded. And added their lawyer fees on top of the original amount. And made it known that if I continue to fight this, I will be charged $250 for every hour the lawyer spends on it. There was no point in even convincing myself I wouldn't cry anymore. I was done. Completely lost it. And in the midst of the biggest meltdown I've had in a few years, I got a phone call from an interview I had yesterday offering me the job. Another part-time one. A library assistant. I couldn't even be excited about it, because now it wasn't a job I applied for because I wanted to work in a library, it was a job I was going to need to pay for this damn legal battle. I called the woman back after my hysterics calmed down. We laid out my training schedule. Tomorrow is my only day off for the next ten days. I'm too exhausted to be exhausted.

I almost bailed on the plans I had tonight, because I just felt awful. But, I knew that the only thing worse than how I was feeling was letting myself stew in my own emotions by staying home crying all night. So, I went. And I had a really good time. I'm glad I went. I rarely get invited out with friends, because I'm also pretty good at pushing them away, so it was nice to be invited and to distract myself. They had seen my Facebook statuses saying how awful the day was and asked if I wanted to talk about it. I didn't. It was too much (this is a very watered-down version). I did eventually text Ben and tell him how I was feeling. I told him this was the worst I'd felt since the height of my depression two years ago. I told him I was sorry I made him feel bad the night before (understatement). I asked him if there was any chance he could not still be mad at me when we both got home, because I really, really needed him. He responded by telling me how much he loved me, and that if he didn't love me, the things I said wouldn't have hurt so much. He told me he would not be mad, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still be hurt. He said he'd give me a big hug when he came home. I hadn't even been able to tell him anything about the rest of my day. He was the one I needed. If I hadn't been fighting with him today, everything else would have been bearable.

Today was a bad day. I hate days like this. It's been a long time since I felt this low. I still have my days when I feel sorry for myself, but days like today are few and far between. Days when I completely give up, and tell myself that it's not worth it anymore...those are rare. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow I can celebrate the good news about my newest job. Tomorrow, Ben and I can spend some quality time together and try to put this ugly fight behind us. Tomorrow, I'll enjoy my only day off in the next ten days. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

Voices from the Future

I made the (purposeful) mistake of telling Sophie that I made a goal to write once a week. She's making me stick to it. So, her assignment for this week was to write a letter to myself to be opened on April 1, 2003, two months before my high school graduation. Yes, we're believing in time travel for this one. I've sat on this assignment for about a week now, thinking about what to say, trying to remember where I was in my life at that time. So, here goes.

Dear Kim 2003,
It's you from the future. 2016, to be exact. I won't go into where you are in your life right now, but I will tell you that it's not where you thought you'd be. It's not where you wanted to be. And if I know you (which I obviously do), you're sitting there thinking, "screw you, what do you know?" I have advice for you. Two words: expect more. Expect more from yourself. Expect more from your friends. Expect more from your school, and your relationship.

You've been with R for about 10 months now. Listen to me. You're miserable. You deserve better. The reason you're not where you thought you'd be at 30? Because of him. Don't give up your dreams for him. Don't. Pick the college you want, not the one that will keep you close to him. Accept the job offers that might tear you apart, because you deserve them, and you worked for them, and a better offer probably won't come (it never did). If you want to move to New York, because you think that will get you where you want to go in your career, do it. R won't follow, but you'll find someone else who will encourage you, and support you, and be there for you.

Take school more seriously. Yes, I said that. You said that. In the grand scheme of things, high school doesn't matter, but college does. Major in English. Don't waste your time with those other useless majors that you're considering. English is what you love. It's what you're good at (despite what your grades show). It's where your passion is. And it will lead you to opportunities that you never expected.

Believe in yourself. Have confidence in your accomplishments, in your work ethic, in your talent. But, don't be too stubborn. Sometimes, your mom is right (I know, I know, I'm sorry). If something doesn't feel right, it's not. If something seems too good to be true, go for it anyway - you've got nothing to lose. You know how you can't wait to grow up and have a house and a family? Yeah, slow down with that. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Take your time. Don't get tied down to one place, one choice, one way. You have a lot to offer and you're wasting it with self-doubt and silly teenage love.

Now I'll tell you the parts you want to hear. Yes, you do marry R. And you buy a house. But, it ends in divorce after a year and results in a foreclosure. Why? Because you discover that there's more. There's more to life. There's more to love.

Keep learning. Keep dreaming. Keep reaching. Imagine who you want to be, and where you want to be, and become that person. Use your connections where you can. Never be afraid to reach out. Never be afraid to ask for advice. There is an entire world that you know nothing about, and unless you stretch that safety bubble, you'll never see it. Spread your wings. Don't be afraid of taking on too much. Be afraid of not doing enough. I'd like to tell you you'll get where you want to go someday, but that's up to you. Take the time to learn about yourself, and maybe in thirteen years, I'll be writing a different letter.

Oh, and see a doctor. You've got undiagnosed depression and it's making everything I've said above nearly impossible to do. You'll thank me later. :)

Stay cool,
Kim 2016

Random Ramblings of a Lunatic

I've been a little...off...lately. I've been in a really good place for quite a while now, but the last few weeks, I've just been feeling blah. Maybe it's the old "I'm not where I thought I would be at 30" feeling creeping up. I just can't shake the feeling of knowing I should be doing more, but not wanting to. I'm just tired. I'm tired of trying to get somewhere and not having it happen. For the last ten years, I've been trying to become an editor. I went back to school, I quit my steady full-time job for two part-time jobs, I took an internship in New York City that didn't pay and that cost me too much to go to, I took on some freelance work. I'm just tired. It's not working. It's not panning out. And I'm feeling like a failure. I want kids so badly, it hurts. Ben and I talk about it almost daily. But, I can't have kids before I have stability. And I had stability. And I gave up all that stability for...this... For working nights and weekends, for living in an apartment that's not big enough for a family, for wasting my time at a job that makes me feel incompetent, and another one that I love, but doesn't pay the bills. I didn't even come on here to complain. I came on here to make myself feel better, because writing is therapeutic.

Last week, I had a two-day team building thing at one of my jobs. As I always do, I went into it dreading the experience. It was going to be two days of listening to people tell me how to work as a team, forcing me to do group activities with people I don't know. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a really great experience. I got some networking in, and met some really great people. One exercise they made us do was to come up with a list of things we want to accomplish and why we haven't been able to do that. One of my goals was to get published. And one of the reasons why I hadn't accomplished that yet was because I don't have much confidence in my writing. It's not just my writing I lack confidence in, though. It's my work in general. I want to be an editor so badly, I could cry. But, every time I go in for a job interview, I know there's someone out there who can do it better. I know there's someone who is better at it, more experienced at it, and will be more confident in their editorial decisions. There is someone else out there who will be able to stand up to their author on the changes they've made. And most importantly, there is someone out there who is not filled with debilitating self-doubt.

With this list, we were then assigned to pair up with someone we didn't know and get feedback from them on how to balance out that reason for not succeeding at our goals. I said I wanted to be able to have more confidence in my work. I told my partner that when someone tells me I'm a good writer, I assume they're being nice. No one's going to tell me it's bad. I have never once believed someone who told me how good I was at writing. There have been times when I've written something, and then gone back and read it later and thought, "wow, that's really good, I wrote that?" But, that's where it stops. One person told me I need to reach out to more writers to get their feedback, because they'll be honest. I admitted that I probably don't ask other writers for their feedback, because I know they'll be honest. Another person stopped me and said, "okay, I'm going to get deep right now. You need to figure out where that feeling comes from. What happened that made you feel that way?" I know what the answer is...but, I can't blame everything on my mother, can I? :)

As a kid, I was always writing. I remember around third grade or so, I started writing songs for every holiday. Just silly songs, that I would sing to myself in the shower. I also wrote a book about the dolls in my dollhouse and got such praise from my teacher that she showed it to the school principal. That was the last time I really remember feeling good about my writing. From there, I moved on to poetry. In high school, I was your stereotypical sad sack teenager, who obsessed over boys and wrote sappy love poems. In eighth grade, someone on the bus stole my poetry journal and read them out loud to the bus (he had no idea those poems were about him...). I quickly told him they were a friend's. He responded with, "really? They're actually pretty good." But, the damage was done. I was mortified. Some time during my junior year of high school, I took a poetry class. I wrote a poem in that class that I was so proud of, I actually showed it to my mother. That had never been done before. I had never shown her a single sentence I'd ever written.

She laughed.

Yes. Laughed. I was crushed. Destroyed. Devastated. And she had no idea what she'd done. There was a particular line in the poem that she found funny, clearly because she didn't understand metaphors. It was something about old wounds turning to scabs that I have to pick at until they become scars. I stand by that line. For a sixteen-year-old, it was a good line. And it made sense in the context of the poem. Mom didn't get it. I pinpoint that as the day I lost confidence in my writing.

That doesn't mean I ever stopped writing. I just stopped sharing it with people. I have kept a journal since I was nine years old. I don't write in it as regularly as I used to, but reading over them occasionally helps me get back in touch with that girl I used to be. That sad, confused, frightened girl, who had no idea what she was doing, but just wanted to love and be loved. I took writing classes in college, and did okay. I went on to get a bachelor's degree in English, but skirted by with C's. I now have a master's degree in Publishing, which I absolutely adored. I've done the blog thing on and off for several years now, but I can't say I've ever really taken it too seriously. I've tried a few different angles, a few different topics, but I don't find my life very interesting. I just blog about life. I always feel like I need something about my blog to set me apart from the rest of them, but I don't know what that is. What sets me apart? I wrote a beautiful piece about Ben last year and his stepdad read it and said I was a great writer (he said it to Ben, not to me). I attempted to write a novel a few years ago, which I let Ben read (before we were dating) and he said, "you're definitely a better writer than I am." I've had people tell me over and over and over again that I'm good at what I do. I'm currently a copywriter at one of my jobs and my boss tells me in every one-on-one that I've "got the chops." So, what do I do? How do I build myself up to the level where everyone else puts me? I'm smart, I'm educated, I'm funny, I'm open-minded, I'm passionate, and I'm strong. But talented? I don't see it. Maybe ya'll can help.


(Here's the poem my mother laughed at-written 5/3/02 for a creating writing class. It was about my almost-boyfriend at the time, who eventually became my ex-husband. I was 16 years old.)

Salt


I never understood the phrase "your eyes are like the ocean"
Until I saw the ocean in your eyes
But, perhaps yours are deeper than any
So much more transparent
There's so much more under the surface
The waves are so relaxing...so gentle
Carrying away anything that gets close enough
But, lately the tides have been changing
I've got my own personal ocean
It gets deeper by the hour
And I'm flooded with emotions
No longer transparent, but translucent...
And those waves...now so damaging
So terrifying, overtaking the world
My world
But still, they carry away everything
And they drown out anything in the way
All the "salt" in your eyes
Being poured into my heart
Anything I bothered to open, filled with your salt
And how it burns...yet at the same time
It heals...
And soon, I'm left with only scabs
But, I must pick at them
Until
They become irritated again
And become scars
Constant reminders...
And I know I'll get caught in your ocean again
But next time
I'll get stung
By something I never even saw coming

Finding Myself Again

So, since my last post, I've gotten over 100 views, which is absolutely unheard of for me. Thanks to Sophie for the assist!

Now, I feel pressure to write regularly, which was probably part of her sneaky plan.

Anyway, last time I wrote, I talked about a topic of Sophie's choosing, which was, what it means to be a woman. She told me that it was my turn to pick the next topic. And I've been putting it off, because that's what I do. For the last week or so, though, I've been thinking about what I want to write about. Or rather, what I want Sophie to write about. So, I've asked her to write about the one book/CD/movie/etc that changed her life. I'm going to write about the same.

I've mentioned the book many times in my writings, but I don't think I ever went into detail about how or why it changed my life. The book is Delirium by Lauren Oliver. It's a young adult dystopian, which I'm sure we're all sick of by now, but hear me out. It was recommended to me by one of my grad school friends and she discussed it so beautifully that I had to read it. In an effort to not completely screw up all that is beautiful about the book, here is the description, taken directly from the website:
Before scientists found the cure, people thought love was a good thing.

They didn’t understand that once love -- the deliria -- blooms in your blood, there is no escaping its hold. Things are different now. Scientists are able to eradicate love, and the government demands that all citizens receive the cure upon turning eighteen. Lena Holoway has always looked forward to the day when she’ll be cured. A life without love is a life without pain: safe, measured, predictable, and happy.

But with ninety-five days left until her treatment, Lena does the unthinkable: She falls in love.

I read this book during the summer of 2014, during the height of my depression. At that point, it had been over a year and half since my divorce and the passing of my stepdad (which happened two weeks apart from each other, for all you newbies). I had been living in my own apartment for about six months, the first time I ever lived alone. I was dating Ben at that point for over a year, and I was well on my way to rebuilding everything I'd lost in the divorce. But, I was still miserable. I had been seeing a therapist for over a year and she was amazing, but it wasn't enough. I had stopped taking my anti-depressants, because I wanted to prove that I didn't need them (I did). It was getting progressively more difficult for me to get out of bed and carry on my life. I was still in grad school, but had just decided to take time off (which I didn't do), because I couldn't deal. I was crying every day. I was still scared, and still in the process of transitioning my ways of thinking. I have always been rather rigid, for lack of a better word. I have always been fiercely against drinking, and smoking, and drugs, etc. I went to college, got a job, bought a house, and got married, because that's what people are "supposed to" do. In a nutshell, my life was incredibly boring. It wasn't until I decided to go back to school that things started clicking. But, it was still scary. I'd lived 27 years with certain beliefs, and certain views, and certain ways of thinking. As Ben likes to say, "I'm un-manipulatable." I'll take that as a compliment, regardless of how it was meant. I don't easily change my mind. I don't easily back down. Until my marriage fell apart, I believed love was all that mattered in the world. I believed that as long as you loved someone enough, anything was possible. Love was my religion, if you will. Even though I was raised Catholic, I had long since given up on the idea of religion as a whole. I consider myself an Atheist (though, I do understand the need for some people to have religion in their lives. I respect that, but it's not for me). For those who consider themselves religious, compare my divorce to you suddenly discovering, without a shadow of doubt, that God does not exist. That's what it felt like. My entire life philosophy had been wrong. Everything I'd built my life around, everything I'd believed in, everything I'd fought for, and stood up for was wrong. Where did I even begin to rebuild?

It took me a really, really long time to get out of that. I will admit that part of that is probably because I fell into a new relationship immediately (like, within days of making my divorce public...don't judge...). Ben and I were best friends. He was at my wedding, we worked together, we talked every single day. He was there for me when things fell apart. But, it got serious with him very quickly. And while I was raised pretty conservatively, Ben was textbook Liberal. Ben had the old "I'll try anything once" attitude, which was absolutely terrifying for "I like predictability" Kim. Our adjustment period was probably longer than it should have been. And we fought A LOT. But, we both knew there was something rare between us, so every time we broke up (once is too many times, to be honest, but these were extenuating circumstances), we talked it out and worked through it.

That being said, there were still some things in his life that I wasn't comfortable with. There were still things that I couldn't get past. There were still things that I judged, and I ran from, and I didn't want to accept. A lot of tears went into it. A lot of fighting. A lot of back and forth, and head bashing, and hair pulling, and eye rolling, and frustration. I didn't have the presence of mind at the time to put things into words. There were too many other things for me to work through to worry about other things that were incredibly minor to him, but unbelievably important to me.

Cut to July 2014. We had just gotten home for Atlantic City, where we spent my 29th birthday. His aunt and uncle have a house there with a little apartment attached, which is where we stayed. It was lovely getting to hang out alone and spend some time with his family as well. They're all great people and we get along wonderfully. That was the first trip him and I took that didn't end in some sort of disaster. There was no fighting. Things were good.

I had started reading Delirium while we were there, but I find it difficult to read on a beach, where there are so many distractions. But, as soon as I got home, I sat down to read it. And didn't stop until I finished (nearly 400 pages later). It's the first time I can remember reading an entire book in one sitting (minus the few dozen pages I read in AC). I left my bedroom only to go to the bathroom and eat (I actually don't remember if I even ate that day, I was so engrossed). I read a lot, and I had never read a book that spoke to me on such a personal level. My Goodreads review that night said simply:
This book just changed my life.
It made me believe in love again. It made me believe in fighting again. It made me want to live.
I have absolutely no other words.

To this day, I've never written a proper review for it, because I don't have the words. It was in those hours of reading that book that I came to life. My perspective on so many things changed. My views on society changed. It reignited the spark in me that had long died. It made me want to live again, and fight again, and be who I knew I was meant to be. I texted Ben begging him to talk me out of heading to the bookstore and buying the rest of the trilogy (he didn't answer in time...thankfully, I lived around the corner from the bookstore and bought them before the day was over...). When I got home from buying the other two books, I messaged him on Facebook and asked him to do something he never in a million years expected. For reasons of privacy, I will not disclose what it was (get your mind out of the gutter folks, it's nothing like that). But, it made us closer. It was the one thing we spent most of our time fighting about. The one thing that I couldn't get past. The one thing that was keeping me from really giving myself to him completely, and I let it go that day. That was the day I decided not to live in fear anymore. That was the day I knew I needed to start pushing the boundaries and forcing myself out of my comfort zone. That was the day I started believing in love again, and knowing that it can be enough if it's done right. 

Every time I have a customer come in the bookstore where I now work asking for a good book for someone who likes sci-fi or dystopian or something with a journey, I recommend this book. The usual reaction when I explain the plot is, "oh, it sounds like The Giver." No disrespect to The Giver (which is also one my favorite books of all time), but this one is better. Maybe it was a matter of timing. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was exactly what I needed in my life at that particular time. I do believe that things effect us differently at different points in our lives. Maybe if I read it again today, it wouldn't pack the same punch. But, I know that book will forever hold a spot in my heart, for what it did for me.

Last year, I had the pleasure of meeting the author (and her editor, who gave my resume to her superiors!). She was in Princeton, NJ promoting her new book, Vanishing Girls, which I bought, but I brought Delirium along with me. When I reached her table for my autograph, I told her (a very condensed version of) my story. I told her that her book pulled me out of an 18-month depression. She asked me if I was "better now" and I told her that I was. We chit-chatted for a minute about grad school, and she signed my book and posed for pictures. Ben asked me the other day, if there was one book I would take with me in a fire, which would it be? That one.

Never underestimate the power of words. 

"For Kim-
I'm so happy to hear that this book helped you through a dark time in your life. Good luck with your grad program!"

Thank you, Miss Oliver, for your words.

Telling my story.