Emerging's Blog

Once upon a time, I had a brain.  If I had bothered to use it, I might not have burned it out today.  In my defense, it hasn't been terribly hot this summer.  There was one week at the end of June where the temps climbed into the 90's.  During that week, Mystery Man and I decided that the best thing to do was to purchase a wading pool for the backyard.  He'd gotten the idea from his daughter, who put one up at her place for the sole purpose of soaking in after a long day of working.

Putting the pool up was quite the ordeal - trying to find a spot level enough that it wouldn't tip and spill out in the yard, filling it, and then waiting for it to warm up enough to sit in.  It's one of those with the inflatable ring that rises as you fill it, so it has to be perfectly level.  It was well worth the effort, though.  The kids have had fun and it's very relaxing to cool off in at the end of the day.

As I mentioned before, the summer hasn't been terribly warm otherwise - especially in the past couple of weeks, so we haven't even used the pool for awhile.  Add that to the fact that I've had difficulty finding a replacement filter for the pump, and you have a recipe for disaster.  Today, it got VERY hot again.  I checked the weather and it looks as though it's going to stay hot for the next few days, so I decided to suck it up and take the cover off the pool.  It was worse than I expected.  The water was so green that I couldn't see the bottom of the pool.  It blended quite nicely with the yard around it, but that's not exactly what I look for in a pool - unless the bottom is supposed to be green.  It also had some sort of insect larvae thriving and multiplying.  I'm thinking mosquito, but I don't know for sure and I don't WANT to know.  It was obvious the pool needed to be emptied and refilled if we ever expected to use it again, so that's what I tried to do.

Let me just say, I don't do well with bugs of any kind, but especially insects in their larvae form.  Even so, I know I'm directly responsible for allowing the pool to get that bad, so it was up to me to clean up the mess.  I pushed on the side and allowed water to spill over until it was mostly empty.  I was on the phone with MM at the time.  I told him it needed to be refilled, but spared him the ugly details.  He suggested I let out water until I could lift one side and flip it to allow the rest of the water to drain.  I told him I thought it was too big a job for one person to do and he offered to help when he gets here.  I agreed to the plan of action, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was too embarrassed to let him see the mess.  Besides, it was personal now. 

After much sweating and heaving and sweating some more, I got the thing emptied, scrubbed, and reset.  Did I mention it's the hottest day of the summer so far?? I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but I decided to begin refilling it, too.  Obviously, I'd forgotten how long it takes and the work involved in pulling out the wrinkles on the bottom.  It's now after 9:00pm, very dark outside, and the pool doesn't seem close to being full.  It'll be my luck that I didn't quite get it set up right and the side has collapsed, allowing the water to drain once again.  I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.  Wish me luck in both getting the thing handled and explaining my idiocy to MM when he gets here.  Heatstroke sounds like a plausible explanation, right?

OK, the hard part is almost over.  I have to take one more test in the morning and I'll have met all of my requirements to get on the waiting list for the RN program at school.  The grades are in for my classes - Sociology - A, Intro to Literature - A, Anatomy - A, and Developmental Psychology - A-.  Yes, of course I'm disappointed with the A-.  Maybe I should've just caved to the instructor's every whim instead of getting myself ejected from the class.  Who am I kidding?  I'd rather take the lower grade.

As a reward to myself and a token of appreciation to Mystery Man, who usually makes the god-awful long drive, I trekked up to his place for the weekend.  I had a lovely, uneventful 8 1/2 hour trip up there (can't for the life of me figure out why it takes him at least 10 hrs).  My tushy was a little sore by the time I got there.  After a couple of those trips last summer, I swore I was going to get an extra cushion for the van seat, but I haven't taken many road trips lately, so the urgency apparently faded.  I have at least three more trips planned for the near future, so I think I'll get that cushion put back up there on my want list.

I have to say, I had a mah-ve-lous weekend.  Great company, great food, and my first foray into the world of golfing.  Before Saturday, my golf career consisted of attempting to hit most of a bucket of balls on a driving range.  Being the extravagant gentleman he is, MM swung me by a garage sale and picked up a set of clubs for me before we hit the course.  Hey, don't hate him because he's frugal (cheap).  He tells me my clubs are nicer than the ones he plays with.  I'm the amateur, so I'll take his word for it.  Either way, it's a full set of barely used left-handed ladies clubs, complete with the fuzzy little socks (I still haven't figured out why golf clubs need socks - I myself HATE to wear them).  At least this way, I knew I wouldn't have to feel guilty about the price tag if it turned out that golf and I aren't a match made in heaven. 

I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated by the whole idea of going out there and trying to hit that teeny tiny ball with a really long stick.  I kept having flashbacks of being forced to play baseball in gym class.  The agonizing ordeal of being the leftover player that the second team had to pick, followed by the humiliating times at bat where I never managed to connect with the ball even once.  I still suck at it - even on the Wii.  I shook off those haunting images and did my best.  It was frustrating at times, exhausting, and a lot more of a work-out than I expected.  It was also one of the best times I've had with MM so far.  He had a lot of pointers to offer, but I didn't mind.  My body hasn't been trained for anything like trying to swing a golf club, so I was grateful for all of the help.  I didn't feel terribly self-conscious, even though I'm sure I looked like a cartoon character at least a couple of times with the swing-and-miss approach.  MM managed not to mock me too brutally.  When he did, I laughed too 'cause it WAS funny.  All-in-all, a pretty fun day.

The only major snag in the whole trip was coming home.  I was in a crunch to make it home before my kids and I was doing so well.  I'd hit the half-way point before stopping to use the facilities - a monumental feat for my notoriously tiny bladder.  When I stopped, I thought I might like a cold soda from the vending machine.  When I looked around for my purse, I had that panic moment where I couldn't remember if I'd even put it in the car.  I searched frantically for a couple of minutes before the phone rang.  I must've sounded worried because MM asked me what was wrong.  I explained the situation and he said, "Are you kidding?"  Right, that would really be funny.  I'm already not quite half-way home with a little more than half a tank of gas left, which wasn't enough to get me home.  No money, no ID, and no credit cards.  Really funny.

As it turned out, I had left my purse at his house.  He did the man thing and worked out a solution, though.  Because he's made the trip so many times, he knew just which truck stop to wire gas money to.  He also dug through and got the necessary stuff out so he could over-night it to me.  Oh, and did I mention he'd packed me a sizable "snack" for the trip?  I made it home - a little late, but none the worse for wear.  I'd also left some emergency cash in my dresser drawer, so groceries are covered.    

This is an assignment I completed for my Intro to Literature class.  Our class discussed the poem and most thought it meant the woman was fickle or untrue to her love.  When I read it, I had a different idea in mind, so I expanded the poem into a short story.  Mystery Man helped edit it and this is what we came up with:

Slim Cunning Hands – Short Story Adaptation From The Poem

“Slim Cunning Hands”
Slim cunning hands at rest, and cozening eyes-
Under this stone one loved too wildly lies;
How false she was, no granite could declare;
  Nor all earth's flowers, how fair.

He kneeled in the snow, knees wet.  The cold from frozen earth crept over him, numbing his body, if not his heart.  As he brushed the snow away from the stone marker, hot tears spilled over his cheeks where they froze.  He could scarcely believe that the bitter winter had come again already.  He stood up, turned to go and caught a brief glimpse of the morning sunlight illuminating the daisy he’d just placed on her grave.  

It took him back to another place and time.

He walked the grounds of the new amphitheater on campus just before its dedication ceremony as the orchestra rehearsed for the evening’s concert.  The warm sun of early summer shined down on the horns and reflected off the brass, casting a perfect halo around her face.  It softened her features, creating an illusion that the light was radiating from within her.  The movement of her fingers drew his eyes away momentarily.  Those slim hands expertly plucked at the strings of her instrument, an ornate harp with a maiden carved into its column.  So intent was her focus; so apparent her passion.  For a moment, he indulged in a fantasy.  What might those fingers feel like dancing across his own skin?  His thoughts were interrupted by the gruff voice of his coworker, Hank, calling him back to his duties.  “Johnny, if you’re lookin’ at that harp player, yer wastin’ your time.  You know what they say about her.  Sure is nice to look at, though.” 

This was their final walk-through of the surrounding gardens to make sure everything was perfect for the occasion. 

 
A sparrow’s twitter brought him back to the moment; time to get to work.  Even in the winter, plenty of outdoor tasks kept him busy on campus, although sometimes he wonders why he even bothers now.
----
Passing the chapel on his way back to his office, he trips on a loose paver in the walkway. He comes down on one knee; the stone bites into his flesh and he remembers the moment they first touched.   Her ensemble was setting up on that same path to play for an outdoor wedding.   She was trying to reposition her instrument when she stumbled and started to go down.  Instinctively, he reached for the harp, thinking only of sparing the intricately carved maiden.   He heard her sharp intake of breath as she landed with a thud and he realized his mistake at once.  Why didn’t he have the sense to cushion her?  He was shocked when she reached down and cupped his chin in her hand.  He was completely unprepared. Her warm breath on his face, he was stunned when her lips brushed his.  She explained that the harp was one-of-a-kind, a gift from her mother.  It meant more to her than he could possibly imagine.  

4:30pm.  It’s already too dark to work outside even if it were warm enough, which it isn’t.  He steps into the building, the familiar lemon scent of wood polish assaulting his nostrils and for a reason that only just makes sense to him, his eyes well up again.  There’d been a time when he’d welcomed the aroma, when the mere hint of it sent a jolt of desire through his body because he knew it meant she was close by.  Again, he found himself lost in reverie.

Every day, the same routine… The work he previously relished had become an exquisite torture, the sun inching its way across the sky far too slowly while his hands carried out his duties.  Digging, weeding, and pruning.  Digging, weeding … pruning.  All the while his mind consumed with her.  He took great pleasure in mapping out every detail of their next encounter.  What would she be wearing?  How best to undress her delicately with his calloused hands?  Ever so slowly, their mutual anticipation building.  Finally, the workday nearly at its end, he’d shower quickly in the maintenance building and walk the short distance to the music building.  By now, he had arranged his schedule so that the last of his duties was to polish the wooden banisters that lead to the auditorium balconies.  He would complete his work just as the orchestra wrapped up rehearsal for the day, affording him a few moments of private pleasure watching her, watching her hands, her eyes, as he’d done on that first day.
---
He is finished for the day. He sits alone in the dark, sparsely furnished office that has become his second home.  His mind drifts to another time, not so long ago.  The first snow of the season falling softly outside.  Inclement weather has interrupted the routine he and Hank have developed that allows each of them time alone in the office they share.  Today, they are here together.  

They sit in an uncomfortable silence, which he attributes to the differences in them.  Hank is a burly man, perhaps better suited to his position as custodian and groundskeeper than is Johnny.  Hank’s interests were confined to tractor pulls, rodeos, and which local watering holes had the best beer on tap. Johnny had tried on more than one occasion to strike up a conversation with Hank, but to no avail.  Although Hank would never be mistaken for an intellectual, he was a hard worker and very reliable and they’d never had a cross word between them.  Johnny could see Hank fidgeting in his chair, something uncharacteristic for the man.  

Hank cleared his throat several times. He seemed nervous, something else out of character.  Finally he spoke, “Johnny, I know you’ve been seein’ that harp player. Hell, everyone knows.  Thing is, I’m not sure you’re the only one she’s seein’.  I seen her on the arm of some good lookin’ fellow who’s studyin’ to be a doctor.  She was walking with him, leanin’ on his arm.  They looked pretty cozy.”  

Johnny felt his heart drop and his stomach clench, but he assured Hank he wasn’t angry with him and even thanked him for passing along the information.  He politely excused himself and went to the men’s room to retch.  This wasn’t exactly news to Johnny. His head spun with snippets of conversations he’d overheard about her.  It amazed him what people said right in front of him while he worked – as if his uniform made him invisible.  It amazed him what random thoughts popped into his head as his heart broke.

Johnny snaps back to the present when he sees the lights go out in the hallway.  Time to go back to his tiny apartment before the building becomes unbearably cold – turning down the heat at night was a way for the college to cut costs.
---
    Just before he walks out into the cold night, Johnny stops before the big double doors, as though he’d forgotten something.  In reality, he’s remembering the evening he’d stood there, hidden in shadows. He’d watched her walking close to the guy Hank described.  They appeared to be engaged in deep conversation, though he couldn’t hear them.  He hated to spy on her; didn’t want to believe, even now, that she was cheating.  He waited until they parted where the path split off to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.  At least they hadn’t kissed.

He ran to catch up with her – to confront her.  She sighed.  She looked almost resigned, as if she’d been through this before, but she agreed to follow him back to his apartment so they could talk privately.  As an employee, he wasn’t subject to the same rules of conduct as the students, but they’d always been cautious when she visited him.  Despite the tension, they still maintained protocol.  When they got to Johnny’s room, they kept their voices low and measured.  He’d already made up his mind.  If she said she loved him, nothing else mattered.   He didn’t even have to ask.  

Her eyes disarmed him; those cozening eyes artfully coaxing him into loving her all the more.  She told him everything he wanted to hear – that she knew about her reputation of moving from one relationship right into another and she’d earned it, but things were different now; she was different.  She loved him with her whole heart and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, if he’d have her.  What more could he ask for?  He was under her spell and there was no going back.  

He removed a small box from his desk drawer, kneeled down by the bed where she was seated and asked her to marry him.  He’d slipped the ring on her finger, and she’d pulled him to her, kissing him deeply; her slim, cunning hands caressed his body as though he were her instrument.

He did his best not to notice how she changed the subject any time he tried to discuss plans for their future.  He trusted her when she said the dark circles under her eyes were the result of her grueling studies and rehearsal schedule.  He knew how much of herself she poured into her music and he refused to doubt her explanation.  Spring brought with it longer work hours for him, so he wasn’t there to see how much she slept during the day.  Was it love that blinded him or fear?  How could she do such a thing?  Was it guilt?  How could she promise to love him for the rest of her life, only for that life to end abruptly - and by her own hand?

The biting cold brings him back to the present – back to the darkened hallway and another in a seemingly endless string of lonely nights.  The tears flow freely now.  He wills himself to push through the doors and step outside.
---
      His boots crunch in the snow as he makes his way back to his apartment.  He doesn’t want to go.  Every reminder of her contained in those rooms is torture to his soul, and yet?  He simply can’t bring himself to change a thing. What if he’s missed something?  What if here, somewhere, there lies some clue as to why she did it?  Did she want him to follow her into death?  Was that what she meant by forever?  Why didn’t she even have the decency to leave him a note?  These questions run through his mind thousands of times.   Abruptly, he changes direction and walks towards the chapel, something else he’d done a thousand times, but tonight, he feels inexplicably drawn to enter.  The door is locked, but he has the key.  He has all the keys, he realizes, except the one most important to him.

Once inside, he isn’t quite sure what to do.  It’s too dark to see clearly, but he the idea of turning on a light seems too harsh, so he lights some candles on the altar.  For the first time today, he is in the present.  He hears the creaking door as he stands there gazing into the small dancing flames.  Who has the audacity to interrupt him at this late hour?  He turns to look and his knees buckle.  What is he doing here, tonight, of all the nights, the anniversary of her death?  Johnny didn’t want to hear what the med student had to say, but he needed answers, if there were any.

The med student speaks in halting sentences, “I’ve been watching you.  I know you loved her.  I should’ve come sooner.   I’m… I’m sorry – she made me promise, but it doesn’t really matter now.  I can’t stand to see you suffer anymore.  I know what you must have thought about her – about us.  I don’t know why you stuck with her, but it wasn’t what you thought.  That meant everything to her.  We were never a couple.  She came to me in a, well, I guess you’d call it a professional capacity, but, I mean, I’m not even a doctor yet.  I don’t know what made her think… I mean no one could help her, and she knew it...  I’m sorry.  I’m not making any sense.  Let me start from the beginning. Can we sit down?”

They sat in the front pew and were silent for just a moment, then, the med student continued, “We’d known each other since we were kids.  We grew up in the same town.  I always hoped we’d end up together, but she never saw me that way.  She never wanted a serious relationship with anyone.  She’d always been like that.  You? You took her by surprise. “

“When she was eight years old, her mother started getting sick.  At first, the doctors thought Eleanor was suffering from exhaustion and told her to rest.  It made sense at the time – the woman had worked hard all her life, but resting didn’t help.  No matter what they tried, nothing worked.  She got worse. Much worse.  She was in excruciating pain the final months of her life.  The best they could do for Eleanor was to try to make her comfortable.  The family went through hell.  At the end, she begged them to help her die.  Afterward, a few days after her funeral, Ellie found out her Mom had made provisions for her.  It was Eleanor’s life insurance that paid for Ellie’s harp and her college – Eleanor had even picked out the harp before she died, but it took Ellie quite a while before she could even get herself to touch it.  Eventually, she poured her heart and soul into her music, maybe as way of trying to bring meaning to her mother’s death.  

When Ellie’s symptoms started, she asked me to confirm what she already knew.  She made me promise to help her hide her illness so she could make the most of what little time she had with you.  She also made me promise to spare you the agony of watching her suffer the way her mother did.  Maybe I should have said no, but I couldn’t.  How could anyone say no to her?  Could you?”  &n bsp;   &nb sp;  

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/hostage_shooting " title="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/hostage_shooting " target="_blank"http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/ho...

I'm positive the above is merely a temporary link to a news story - one I have yet to internally process.  The news story refers to the massacre that took place this morning at an immigration office in New York.  My mom works for INS and it scares the hell out of me, even though her office serves in an administrative capacity only.  The opening of the article mentions that this is "at least the fifth deadly mass shooting in the U.S. in the past month alone.  WTF??

I joke about my "Auto Tourette's" - my own personal brand of road rage.  In truth, I'm not so filled with rage as I am just trying to blow off steam from all of the other frustrations in my life.  I occasionally play violent video games for the same reason.  I laugh at the gratuitous bloodshed, but I know in my heart that what makes it funny is the absurdity of the notion that I could actually commit a random murder.  I can't even see myself slapping one of my children across the face, despite the disrespectful tone they sometimes adopt.  It's not just that I love them (I definitely do), but I'm NOT that kind of person.

I'm not claiming to be a pacifist.  I'm not even saying I'm good at "turning the other cheek" as Pastor Dave has recently blogged about.  I'm simply saying there's a vast difference between "fantasy violence" and the physical act of intentionally hurting another human being.  I'm just not sure I could do it.  Maybe in self defense.  Probably in defense of my family.  Neither of those scenarios really indicates premeditation.  I could never commit an act of violence in response to my own anger.  What's more, I just don't understand what could compel a person to do such a thing, even though I understand frustration and hopelessness.  What moves a person to cross that line?  Can anyone shed a little light on this?  I guess it just goes to show that a reasonable person is incapable of really understanding someone who doesn't behave reasonably. 

I spent the weekend (prior to the crazy birthday party) with Mystery Man visiting some of my favorite places in Omaha.  Among them, is a section downtown called Old Market.  It's filled with artisan shops, used book stores, art galleries, and a particular novelty shop that features products that are sure to offend anyone with even a modicum of taste and some sense of propriety.  Seeing as how I posess neither, I felt right at home there.  I happened upon a particular product that I seriously considered buying as a gift to one of my favorite fellow bloggers, but I figured I'd never get his address on the grounds that he might think me a crazed fan or stalker.  In lieu of that, I'll just post a pic of the item in question and let him hunt it down for himself.  Fun-to-wear for Squirrelzone!!

My kiddos started Spring Break on Friday.  I didn't think that was entirely fair because, not only did I have to go to school Friday, but I had to take two tests and play nice with the Psychology instructor (which I accomplished admirably).  Fortunately, the Lit quiz was fairly easy.  I was pretty worried about the Sociology test because it's the first one I really wasn't ready for and we didn't have any class time to review.  The instructor had cut the class short on Wednesday, but he handed out answers to some of the questions on the study guide.  As it turns out, it was basically everything on the test.  I'm SO glad I bothered to read it.

Since I was only going to be in class 3 hours, I decided to let my son and niece baby-sit the little one.  I noticed she had a bit of a cough when I left, but she ate breakfast OK and she seemed content to watch cartoons until everyone got up and moving.  My brother was also home, so I didn't think I had a thing to worry about.  Between my Psych and Soc classes, I decided to call home and check on things.  My brother mentioned that Little Bit was feeling a little warm, so I had him take her temp - 100.3.  Not a big deal, just a low-grade thing.   I told the big kids to stay away from her in case she was contagious.  I went to class and took my test, then drove home.  My son met me at the car (something he only does when he's mad or wants something).  In the time it took me to take my test and drive home (around 30 minutes), the older kids had managed to pick a fight with the little one about a toy she had in the living room.  As it turns out, they wanted an excuse for her to be in trouble so they could make her go to her room and they could have the big TV.  My brother isn't always able to cut through the crap like I can, so he ended up in the middle of it and it turned into a big blow-out.  My reaction?  You ALL knew the little one was sick, right?  Don't pick on the sick kid!  I told the older ones that they could've just sent her to my room to watch TV instead of causing trouble.  They looked a little sheepish and embarrassed and we laughed a little at how everyone overreacted, so it was all good.

I checked on the little one periodically as I got ready to head out of town.  We'd planned to go see my grandmother Saturday morning, then head back to Sioux City so my son could visit with some of his friends.  Her fever kept climbing and she was complaining about how her body was too heavy to lift.  She's had fevers before, so I wasn't too worried.  They normally resolve themselves by the next day.  We watched some TV and I let her stay up until 11 because we didn't have school the next day.  I went to bed a little while later, then was awakened by a screaming child and hour or so later.  I thought it was just a bad dream, but the poor girl was awake and screaming about how everything was too big.  I took her temp again - 104.5 this time and I couldn't give her medicine again for an hour and a half.  We read a book to calm her down, then I explained to her that high fevers can make her see things that aren't there.  I suspected she had influenza A, which was confirmed by a visit to the doctor yesterday.  She prescribed some medication to shorten the course of the flu because of the high fevers.  The pharmacist said something about one of the side effects being dizziness.  Little Miss had been on Zyrtec before and suffered some "unusual" side effects, so I asked about those.  Yep, this medication may also cause "sleep disturbances".  I went home and gave her a dose, then got my drug handbook out and looked up the stuff.

The peak onset is 4 hours - when the drug is the strongest.  Possible side effects include sleep disturbance, insomnia, hallucinations, strange dreams, suicidal tendencies, and psychosis.  4 hours after I gave the med to her, like clockwork, she started in.  She'd dozed off while watching TV.  She woke up abruptly, screaming.  I ask her what's wrong and she says, "I wanted to watch TV and the TV disappeared."  I say, "Honey, the TV is on and it's right in front of you.  Do you remember me telling you that the fevers can make you see strange things?"  She calmed down after a few minutes and we went into the living room for a change of scenery.  The rest of the evening progressed without too much difficulty - just more high fevers and lethargy.  I gave her more medication just after 8pm, then we slept on the couch for awhile.  I woke up in a daze around midnight, put her to bed, called Mystery Man to tell him goodnight, then went to bed.  I didn't go to sleep right away because I realized that, if she was true to form, the little one would be back up in a few minutes.  She was, and several times after that.  She screamed the first time, but not so much after that - just kind of whining.  She kept sitting up and I'd ask her where she was going.  She'd mumble something incoherent, lay back down, and go to sleep.  This morning, her fever was finally gone.  Two more doses of the nasty stuff and she should be home-free.  I just have one question....

What happened to my crazy trip to Fort Lauderdale filled with outrageous stunts, fabulous warm weather, and nothing more pressing than figuring out who serves the best mojito?? 

Today was a banner day in my college career.  I was removed from my psychology class.  That's right, folks.  I guess it's time to come right out and say it - I'm a delinquent.

Just a little background info to set the stage:  I have difficulty processing verbal instruction.  I know this about myself and I've learned to compensate by keeping my hands busy so my brain can stay focused.  I know what you're all thinking, but I wasn't doing THAT in class!!  Sometimes I knit, doodle, label anatomy worksheets, or do study guides for other classes.  It's the same for church.  I'm listening - it just doesn't look like it.  Did I mention I'm a consistent Dean's List student and I'm currently getting A's in all of my classes?  Oh, and the lesson at church tonight was on Jesus' betrayal by Judas Iscariot and I did the first page of my Sociology study guide for Friday.

My psychology instructor is new to teaching.  She's relatively well organized, but most of what she does is lecture directly out of the book using a backdrop of powerpoint slides that were prepared by the textbook publisher.  She doesn't have to do a whole lot to prepare for the class.  Our grades are based primarily on test scores, with a few points thrown in for class participation and we have to write a couple of papers.  The first one was a four-page paper based on our observations of a child 0-11 years old.  It required a substantial amount of work.  It was worth 25 points (our tests are each worth 100 points).  Our next paper is due in a few weeks.  It's an eight-page paper based on the Erikson stages of development.  We're supposed to be writing about ourselves, covering every stage from birth to death.  I don't know about anyone else, but I remember very little before the age of 4 and I'm nowhere near the last three stages of development, so I'm not entirely sure what we're supposed to write.  Either way, this lengthy paper is still only worth 45 points.  For the people who don't test well, this class will be nearly impossible to pass.  It's also a required class in order to even get on the waiting list for the nursing program at the college.

Last Friday, we had a discussion in class about the fact that most everyone is failing.  The class average on the two tests we've taken is around 63%.  Not a real great start to the class and we're already past the mid-term point.  Something isn't working.  The instructor opened it up to questions, so I asked her, "Do you think the tests are giving an accurate measurement of whether or not people understand the material?"  She told me that's what the discussion was about, so I asked her again, "What do YOU think?"  She didn't answer the question.  In fact, she seemed to take it rather personal - as if she were the one who wrote the tests (again, those were written by the textbook publisher).  She told me I didn't need to worry about it because I'm getting a good grade.  Basically, she decided to test more often in the class and she'd try really hard to emphasize the material we'll be tested on.  Greeeaaaat.

When she finally got around to the lecture, it was about adolescent development - specifically, the effect on boys of physically maturing at an earlier age than their peers.  She asked why boys who mature early would have an easier time in high school and then struggle later in life with self-identity.  I said, "Maybe it has to do with where the blood flow is diverted."  It was off-color, meant to be funny, and I was ready to explain my point.  I was trying to get across the fact that you can't minimize the impact of hormones on developing males.  Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that teenage boys who have hit puberty have one thing on their minds - and it aint character development.  Because they are so consumed with sex, they don't tend to pay attention to much else.  It's not outrageous, sexist, or demeaning to guys.  It's just a fact.  She may not like it, but her opinion doesn't change a fact.   Not that it matters - she never gave me the chance to explain.  Instead, she said, "We need to be respectful in here.  We don't talk that way in this class."  Obviously, she didn't appreciate the joke.  I mentioned it to Mystery Man and he said I should email her about it.  As it turns out, he was right.

Today, I went to class like I normally do.  I had just gotten out of my Lit class and had the book we're reading in my hand.  I thought I'd busy myself with writing the footnotes from the back of the book into the margins during psychology.  It's a mindless activity for me and I knew it would keep my hands busy during the lecture/discussion.  The first few minutes were review and I actively participated.  The instructor looked over at me and asked me to put my book away.  I didn't answer her, but I also didn't put my book away.  I figured I'm in college and I have a right to do whatever it takes to learn, as long as I'm not being disruptive.  The discussion progressed and I was still offering relevant input.  A few minutes later, she told me, "You need to put the book away and pay attention."  Keep in mind, I sit in the front of the class.  She was the only one who even knew I had a book on my desk.  I told her I was paying attention.  She really didn't like that answer.  She said, "It's my class and I told you to put the book away."  I said, "I'm paying for the class, I wasn't looking for trouble, and I wasn't being disruptive."  She claimed I was interfering with her ability to teach - this would be a blanket statement covered in the student conduct code which, I believe, was meant to protect the teacher from people who intentionally make noise, text, send and receive phone calls, or generally make a nuisance of themselves.  Jotting down notes in the margin of a book hardly qualifies.  It also doesn't excuse her for trying the oldest tactic in the book to save face - bully the student you've singled out for no other reason than you're annoyed.  I told her she had no right to do that to me - I don't deserve to be treated like a child, especially since I wasn't acting like one.  She abruptly excused herself from the class.  When she left, I said, "Are you kidding me??"  The rest of the class was as shocked as I was.  She didn't say where she was going or even indicate she was coming back.

She did come back - with reinforcements.  She had the head of the department come and remove me from class.  When he spoke with me out in the hall, he said instructors have a right to do that after they've asked a student to leave.  I told him she never asked me to leave.  After class got out, I asked other students and nobody heard her ask me to leave.  After class, she went right to the Associate Dean of Liberal Arts to tattle on me.  I received a phone call a short while later.  I have to make a special trip up there tomorrow so I can meet with the instructor and the Dean.  With Mystery Man's help, I sent a carefully worded email to the Dean outlining my side of the story.  In essence, I get to go to the principal's office.  I don't care what they say, I will not put on that dunce cap!!   

Thank you all for your prayers and warm thoughts - the judge's decision is in...

...and it's very good news for both me and (I hope) my family.  The judge ruled in my favor on every point.  There will be no gloating or partying - just a big sigh of relief.  As of 03-06-09, I am officially divorced.  With the relief, comes a bit of sadness.  This marks the end of a chapter that covered all of my adult life so far.  It's not something anyone anticipates or prepares for when they speak their vows, but it is my reality. 

So, from this point forward, I vow to do the best I can to learn from my mistakes.  I promise to carefully consider the ramifications of my decisions and behavior.  I will do my best to live intentionally and love generously.  

John 16:33

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. 

My heart hurts.  It aches like it hasn't in a long, long time.  There are so many thoughts bouncing around in my head right now.  It's way late at night and I can't sleep.  I don't even want to try.  I spent most of today in bed, sick as much in heart as in body.  I still haven't heard anything from the judge.  It's been over two weeks since the trial.  I guess I should at least try to sleep.

In a few minutes, I will resume copying and saving emails in order to get them printed out tomorrow.  After that, I'll have to organize them into categories and get them shuffled into chronological order.  For now, I'm taking a breather.  The trial starts on Tuesday next week.  I spent New Year's Eve and the following 4 days with friends.  It was a time to reflect, cry a whole bunch over a lot of things, and brace myself for the next couple of weeks.  I can't imagine how my mindset might be different if I hadn't made the trip.  I wonder if those people have any idea what they mean to me.  I try to tell them as often as possible and in as many ways as I can.

My brother was laid off just before Christmas.  I'd managed to save up some money in the few months leading up to December so we could make sure the kids had a nice Christmas.  Now, like everyone, I'm broke.  Losing his financial contribution to the grocery bill really knocked the wind out of our sails.  It's impossible to make plans for anything with so many things undecided.  They have a job fair downtown tomorrow and he's supposed to be going.  At the very least, he can get help with his resume.  In the meantime, I'm supposed to start classes on Monday.  I don't have a job yet - haven't really had time to look because of the trial preparations.  I'm still trying to get paperwork in for financial aid.  I don't have a clue what books I need or how much they're going to cost.  To top it all off, my gas bill is due on Friday.  Oddly enough, that's the straw that broke the camel's back for me.

When we moved in October, I set up our gas/electric on budget pay.  The deal is that I have to pay the bill by the due date, or they charge the full amount due at the time and have the option to shut off service.  In my case, it's something like $450 over and above the normal monthly bill.  That was fine when I signed up because the bill was due on the 19th of the month.  What I didn't realize is that, for some reason, the gas company bills come due a couple of days earlier each month.  Now, the bill is due on the 9th instead of the 19th.  Rent is due the first week of the month, too.  In fact, every other bill I have is due on the same day of the month every month.  So, why can't the gas company do the same??  What is so hard about setting the due date the same every month?  Like I'm not under enough pressure right now!

Alright, that's enough complaining.  I'm managing to keep my chin up, despite the added stress of the trial.  At least I didn't have to start school this week!  The kids went back to school on Monday, which freed up my schedule to prepare for next week.  Everyone I asked to testify on my behalf has been willing, with one exception.  She's willing, but her schedule would be difficult to juggle.  She'd do it, though, if I really needed her to. 

I spoke to my pastor tonight, and he said the church will be able to cover my gas bill.  I just started bawling in his office.  It's hard to ask for help.  I'm glad I haven't needed to until now, but I did need to.  He was so gracious.  He was really matter-of-fact about it, didn't try to attach strings or make me feel pathetic, and gave me a pretty effective pep talk about how to deal with what I'm going through.  I'm grateful for that, too.

I have a lot to be grateful for - friends like Aunt Coni who go out of their way to do something I don't have the time or skills to do, yet really needed to have done.  Thank you Aunt Coni!  And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Mystery Man.  We've had to put everything on hold for a number of reasons, but he's been a trouper nonetheless.  I can't concentrate on anything but this damned trial and I feel miserable about that, yet he's still helping think of things I need to do that I wouldn't have thought of on my own.

Strangely enough, in the midst of all the turmoil, I got a call earlier from a friend's husband.  She called me a couple of days ago to say she was off work for a few days because she has a cellulitis infection.  I had planned to go over and spend a little time with her today, even though I'm swamped with everything else.  She's been there for me when I really needed it.  As it turned out, her husband decided to take the day off work and stay with her.  It's a good thing he did, too.  Cellulitis is extremely painful and the doctor hadn't given her any pain medication when she wrote the prescription for antibiotics.  They couldn't get an appointment with the doctor, so they went to urgent care.  She ended up in the hospital to have surgery this afternoon.  She's going to need someone to pack her wound for the next few days - something they could teach her husband to do, except that the poor man can't stand the sight of blood.  He gets weak at the mere mention of it and faints when he sees it. 

So, he called tonight to ask if I'd be willing to help out.  Yes, I have a lot going on right now, but how could I possibly say no?  Isn't this what I've gone to school for, after all?  Besides, it'll give me a chance to focus on helping someone else so I don't spend the time wallowing in my own misery.  What more could I ask for?  The truth of the matter is, I just about cried when he was talking to me because he was saying how much he missed her already, just knowing she'd be in the hospital tonight instead of at home with him.  I guess chivalry isn't dead after all.  My faith in mankind had been rekindled. 

I've done enough teaching at preschool, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday School to have witnessed first-hand how cruel kids can be - even at church (imagine!).  This morning, I had the unfortunate experience of watching my daughter become the object of another child's cruelty.  In her Sunday School classroom, they put up an attendance chart and have made a contest out of the kids bringing their Bibles to class.  They get a sticker for every day they attend and another one if they've brought their Bible.  One of the kids, by no virtue of his own, has his chart completely filled up.  His parents are involved in various committees and tend to be there just about every time the church doors are open.  As their only child, he has no choice but to tag along.  This little boy wasted no time in pointing out that he has twice as many stickers as my daughter.  Duh!  She comes to church with me every other weekend.  That's as often as I can bring her because of the visitation arrangement I have with her father. 

I admit, I wasn't feeling very charitable towards the kid.  It didn't take long to for me to realize I wasn't necessarily angry with the kid as much as I was with his parents - and ultimately, myself as well.  See, I was a part of a family just like his.  My ex and I used to drag our kids to church at least 3 times a week.  Sunday morning service, Sunday evening service, and Wednesday night activities.  It was as much a matter of pride as it was any real desire to do "God's work".  We were part of the core group.  We were part of the "in" crowd - at least outwardly.  I'm certain that I have been just as judgmental in the past.  I'm positive I've looked down my nose at other people because I equated church attendance with spiritual maturity.  I'm not proud of those occasions.  I'm sure my son picked up on those attitudes, just as this other kid did.  As with anything, circumstances (and people) change.  I have a much different perspective than I did back then.  Although I still like to feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself, I'm more interested in thinking through what I hear at church.  I'm more interested in figuring out what I believe so I can live in a manner that's consistent with those beliefs than I am in pointing fingers at other people.  

That's not to say my heart didn't ache for my daughter in that moment, though.  My girl is vivacious and enthusiastic and energetic nearly all of the time.  When that little boy was showing her the attendance chart, at first she got mad.  She turned to him and said, "You're bragging".  And he was.  After she thought about his words for a moment, it must've sunk in that she'd never be able to earn as many stickers as him and the light seemed to go right out of her.  She visibly withdrew from the situation and started to talk about something completely unrelated, ignoring the people around her.  The teacher was at least intuitive enough to recognize what was happening.  I'm sure the expression on my face was a dead giveaway.  She asked what the visitation pattern was and then offered to put stickers in for the weeks my daughter can't be there since those days are out of our control.  That made me feel a little better.  I did catch the other kid on the way out the door and reminded him that not everyone CAN be there every week, through no fault of their own.

After that little incident, I felt even more like an outsider than usual.  It's bad enough to be singled out for the choices I've made that I'm perfectly at peace with - the tattoos, the piercings, the unusual clothes.  It's a whole other thing to be in a place that doesn't feel like home, where I'm one of the few regular attenders who's a single parent, and then to have such a pointed reminder that things aren't what they used to be.  There are many things in my old life that I don't want to go back to.  There are some that I miss dreadfully, though.  I miss my old church and the friends I have there.  I miss the Christmas decorations, singing in the choir, and the familiarity - that feeling of home.  I'm sure this place will grow on me.  I'm sure I'll find where I belong, even if I have to carve out that place myself.  It just takes time. Thank God kids are resilient!  

As a reward for working hard at school this past week, I invited a couple of friends over for my daughter to play with.  They are our former neighbors' kids and we all love them.  I didn't tell my daughter who was coming.  She knew we were expecting guests, but didn't know who until they actually arrived.  The ear-splitting sound emitting from that girl could be heard for miles as she squealed their names and flung her arms around them.  Our neighbors moved back to their hometown in late September (about the same time we moved into this house), so the kids haven't seen each other in a couple of months and have missed each other terribly.  They've gotten along famously all afternoon, playing hide-and-seek, eating pancakes, tearing my daughter's room apart, and running, chasing, giggling, and tickling each other.  They should all sleep soundly tonight!  In an effort to get them to wind down a little, I decided to get them playing on the PS2

In case there was ever any doubt about how much I love my kids, the world can rest easier as of this moment.  Last year for Christmas, I bought an intriguing game for the PS2 called "SingStar" - a karaoke style game that allows you to sing along with preloaded songs.  The game scores you according to how close you come to hitting the notes and holding them for the right amount of time.  It came with a game disc, splitter, and two microphones so it can be played in a group setting.  As with any PS2 group game, it comes in several versions, including the two we have:  SingStar Pop and, my favorite,  SingStar 80's.  I started the game and then had to run downstairs to work on my favorite hobby [laundry].  I couldn't hear them very well from the basement, but as soon as I opened the door to the upstairs, I realized they were practically screaming into the microphones.  There's nothing quite so sweet as the sound of children's voices screaching out the words to Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It!"  If listening to them belt it out along with the background vocals wasn't painful enough, the developers were kind enough to include a playback feature.  My daughter is a pretty decent singer, but when she gets with her friends, they never score better than "amateur".  Imagine some of the worst American Idol candidates belting out their own renditions of pop songs at full volume and you'll be able to appreciate what I've subjected myself to.  But hey, it's all in the name of fun.  I think I'll encourage them to go back to the running, chasing, giggling, and tickling game.  It's sure to be quieter!

I have spent the entire morning recovering from the weekend.  I think I left a body print on the sofa from laying there so long!  I considered going to church, but it's been snowing since yesterday morning.  Not a lot of accumulation, but it's still cold and white and not very inviting.

Mystery Man and I started preparations on Tuesday morning with a trip to the grocery store.  I was feeling a little bit nervous for having waited so long to get the turkey - what if they didn't have any fresh ones left?  A frozen one would NEVER thaw in time to marinade overnight in bourbon.  Death row inmates get a final meal, so why shouldn't Tommy get a final drink (so what if he's dead)?  Nothing to fear, though.  They had everything we needed to put on a feast of kingly proportions.  We squabbled over the size of the bird - MM thought 14 lbs would be enough until I reminded him that my brother eats as though he's harboring an army of tapeworms.  Seriously, I've never seen anyone so skinny eat SO much - not even in the world championship hot dog eating contests.  We settled on a 19lb bird and then proceeded to shop til we dropped for all of the peripheral fixins.  We were only planning on feeding 8 people, but I'm admittedly lazy.  If I'm going to expend that much energy cooking, I want there to be leftovers!!

After consulting with Betty Crocker, we decided we needed to get up at 4am in order to make our 1pm deadline for eating.  Either Betty was tipping the bottle when she wrote the cookbook, or we miscalculated the math because it didn't take anywhere near 6 1/2 hours to cook.  Tommy spent the night soaking in a cooler of Wild Turkey (or the cheapest possible equivalent - nothing but the best for our dead bird) & brine.  When we opened it up the next morning, he smelled like I imagine a sailor would after a night of partying with Pirate Girl.  After our eyes stopped watering, he was rinsed, stuffed, basted, and tucked in for his dry sauna treatment at the detox center.  Thankfully, I have little to say about the rest of the dinner preparations because Mystery Man took care of most of it, leaving me free to scour the house and set the table.  The kids have begun affectionately referring to the holiday dishes as the "crappy dishes" because they're only allowed to use the "fine Chinet" for everyday eating.

The table & house looked phenomenal, the feast was magnificent, and we had great company to share the holiday with.  The kids behaved well and seemed to really enjoy having company and eating til they popped.  I forced them to help bake pies on Wednesday, which they complained incessantly about, but they were just as proud as I imagined when the pies were revealed and they could brag about their efforts.  Hey, I'll take what satisfaction I can get these days.  Two teenagers in the house and a 6-yr-old who's trying desperately to catch up while maintaining her role as the baby of the family.  It's a whirlwind!

After dinner, the rest of the day was quite relaxing - exactly what we needed in order to get ready for Black Friday.  My favorite day of the year, except for Christmas.  The only thing I hate about the whole thing is the amount of time I have to wait between when the gifts are purchased and when I can see the reactions of the recipients.  I won't have my kids for Christmas this year - first time ever.  It's been hard to come to grips with.  I was going to wait and do Christmas with them at New Years, but my neice won't be back from visiting her mom, so we made an executive decision to celebrate the weekend before Christmas.  After some soul-searching, I've made peace with it - mostly because it means I can hand out the gifts sooner. The only one who's worse than me at keeping the presents a secret is Mystery Man.  He sucks at that!  He's already tried to tell me.  Where's the fun in that?  It's much more exciting to get up late at night and ever-so-carefully peel back the tape a millimeter at a time until you can slide the packages out of the wrapping.  Of course the challenging part is getting them back in without tearing the paper.  He'll learn!!

On a side note, I checked my mailbox on Saturday and was THRILLED to find the official copy of my Nursing license in it!!!    

According to the State Board of Nursing, my license as a practical nurse is active, which means I passed (I think).  I'm still kind of in shock - like it isn't true until I see some sort of tangible proof.

I took the dreaded test yesterday.  It was every bit as traumatic as I was told it would be.  I was wrong before when I gave the anticipated number of questions I would be taking.  It was supposed to be 85-205 possible questions with 5 hours in which to take it.  One of my friends started the test at 8am and called me by 9:20 to say she was finished.  She proceeded to tell me how nerve-wracking it was.  She got to question #92 before the machine shut down.  When it did, she said she wanted to grab the monitor and yell and cry.  I really shouldn't have taken her call.

I was scheduled for 10:45am.  I did all the right things - got a decent night's sleep (with the help of some Tylenol PM), got up and took several deep breaths, got the girl off to school, took several more deep breaths, ate breakfast, did a few more breathing exercises in an effort to keep the food down, and headed off to the testing facility.  When I got there (45 minutes early), I went through all of the check-in procedures - surrendered my authorization to test, proved my existence, placed my finger on the little electronic eye to have my fingerprint recorded, and ran to the bathroom before I headed in.  My hands were shaking and my stomach was doing somersaults, but I managed to maintain a relatively steady gait as I entered the room.  After that, everything gets a little hazy.  We're sworn to secrecy as to the test content, which is just as well, because I only remember one or two questions with any clarity.  I do know that I had a lot of questions on my weakest subject, go figure.  My friend said her test was completely different from mine, though both of us were careful not to go into any detail.  Wouldn't want to have our licenses taken away before we even get them.

The first thing on the agenda was the tutorial to give us some clue how to take the test.  In it, all of the answers are provided in order to make sure we understand what the questions are asking and how to answer them.  If only that were the case for the real test!  I'd like to say I sailed through the first few real questions, but that wasn't the case.  I felt like I got every single one of them wrong - except for maybe two.  Mystery Man was reassuring afterward - told me that I can be confident I got at least a 4 1/2% on it.  Greeaaat! <note sarcastic tone>  I'm feeling a little queasy right now just thinking about the ordeal.  By the time I got close to the 85 question mark, which took less than 30 minutes, I already had to pee.  I didn't want to get up because I felt stupid for having to go so soon after I got in there.  I kept plugging away, hoping the urge would pass.  As if!  A couple of questions later, the machine shut down.  I panicked.  I wasn't even sure I'd gotten to the magic minimum number.  I almost started to cry right then.  I felt a sudden rush of blood to my head and my lips went numb.  My head was pounding as I completed the exit questionnaire.  The whole time I was answering those silly questions about my testing experience, I was thinking how stupid it was for them to tack that survey onto the end.  At that point, I hated everyone who had anything to do with putting that test together.  

The first thing I did upon exiting the building was call Mystery Man.  He was a great help.  "Hon, can I call you back in a few minutes?"  In his defense, he was right in the middle of a job - working outside in the wind, which really isn't conducive to phone conversations.  So, I called my friend for moral support.  She ended up coming over and spending the rest of the day with me.  Yeah, we had a drink (or two), but we needed it in order to steady our nerves!  Mystery Man teased me that I ought to be careful.  What if they'd slipped some sort of sensor on me during the check-in procedure?  What does that say for me if I already have a drink in my hand less than an hour after taking the test?  I'll tell you what it says - it says that the test was computerized!!  Why in the hell couldn't we get immediate results??  I have at least one more day before I can log on to the website and see the preliminary results of my fiasco.  One of the instructors told us that less than 1/2% of those whose test shut down at the minimum question mark failed it.  I guess I'll know tomorrow if she was just saying that to talk us down from the ledge, or if it was true.  Until then, I'll be nervously scouring my house in order to avoid logging on to the web site every 20 minutes until the test results appear.  

I am a church-goer - not because I'm a particularly good person or to "put in my time" so people (and God) will think I'm a good person, but because I really love church.  I listen to what the pastor has to say, mull it over, and take from it what makes sense so that I can (hopefully) put it into practice.  Church is a place where I feel at home and comfortable as much for the routine as for the fellowship.  The Sunday service is relatively predictable - Opening hymn, prayer, a couple more hymns, collect the offering, Doxology, sermon, invitation, and announcements.  Wednesday nights are a bit more intimate.  The kids have their classes and the adults who aren't helping out with the kids meet for prayer and Bible study.  Attendance is understandably smaller - usually the people who make up the "core" group in any church.  Occasionally, someone will bring a friend or visiting relative, but it's mostly familiar faces.  Last night was a little different.  A man I'd never seen before came in alone.  Based on his attire, it was pretty obvious he'd just come from work.  On his face, he had the weary expression of someone who's worn out from trying to scrape out a living in tough economic times.  I admit I'm guilty of what I like to call "first impression syndrome".  Look a person over, listen to what little they may have to say the first time you meet them, then neatly file them away in one of your existing categories.

On Wednesday nights, the pastor hands out a printed page of prayer requests that has been prepared earlier in the evening.  The first section covers global and local missions.  A different Baptist missionary and his/her work is featured each week in the first paragraph.  Next, comes missionary birthdays - the date followed by the person's first name (unless they work in an area unfriendly to Christians) and what part of the world they've been sent.  After birthdays, we have a list of local mission works.  The second section of the prayer sheet is specific to our church.  The church pre-school, finances, and committe work are included in the section.  The final paragraph includes a list of prayer requests that have been brought in by various church members.  This changes from week to week, depending on circumstances.  We go over each of the three sections and pray after reviewing them.  When we get to the last part, the pastor asks for updates and additional requests.  This is the point where things got a little uncomfortable last night. 

This new person makes his presence known by verbalizing a couple of personal requests.  The first one was about two women in his apartment complex who have been asking him to drive them different places.  He doesn't want to hurt their feelings, but he also doesn't want to act as their cheauffer.  I can understand that.  Nobody likes to be taken advantage of.  What I didn't understand was why he felt it necessary to add that these girls are lesbians.  To me, it didn't seem at all relevant to his issue with them.  The pastor listened attentively and dutifully began writing down his request.  As he did this, he said, "I'm sorry - could you tell me your name?"  Our church isn't all that large, the pastor has been there every week for the past couple of months, and he's pretty observant when it comes to picking visitors out of the crowd.  The fact that he had to ask the guy's name confirmed my suspicion that the man had never been there before.  Despite that, the man spoke his name as if he were reminding the pastor what it was.  Right then, I made my judgment. 

It happened so quickly.  I'd only been in the service ten minutes and had little to go on - just a few scant observations, but already I'd made up my mind.  This man was there to ask for money.  A couple more prayer requests later and the guy pipes up again.  He says he's really not happy with his living situation, but doesn't have the money to improve his circumstance.  He also says that he's supposed to get paid on Friday, but has been informed that he won't be getting his check until Monday or Tuesday.  He's just not sure how he's going to make it through the weekend without that paycheck.  Although he has some food at home, his car is running on fumes and he still needs to get back and forth to work.  Could we please pray for his situation?  The pastor prayed for all of the requests, then went on with the Bible study portion of the service.  I noticed the guy hanging around afterward, trying to get a moment alone with the pastor.

I'm ignorant about a lot of what goes on in the world, but even I'm aware that the current economic climate is fairly unstable right now.  I know quite a few people who are either out of work or hanging on to their jobs by a thread.  My brother was recently down-sized from a company that seemed solid.  Fortunately, he works for a temp agency, so he was able to find placement with a different company, but he took a pay cut in the deal.  I'll be getting a job soon and, even though I'll be working in a field that's pretty secure, the pay now won't be as good as it might have been a year or two ago.  Despite this, my attitude towards this stranger at church was less than charitable.  I have a real tough time feeling compassion for people who make their own problems.  It seems to me, this guy might have gas in his car if he hadn't been giving rides to the aforementioned lesbians (again, not relevant).  All I could think about was the bumper sticker on the back of my car that reads "Compassionate Conservatism - Everybody's Got Problems". 

Obviously, I have a lot to learn about judgement and charity.  A few months ago, I was in a financial bind - right before I went to court for a temporary settlement arrangement with my ex.  I had no way to pay rent & utilities, get gas, or buy groceries.  My church generously offered me a couple of gift cards for groceries, which I gratefully accepted.  I didn't ask for them, but I had shared my circumstances with the pastor and he rallied. If he hadn't, I would've had to admit to my ex that I couldn't take care of my kids' needs - which is exactly what he wanted.  I know what it's like to need and then have my need taken care of.  So why is it so hard for me to sit in church with a welcoming attitude towards a fellow human being and express genuine compassion? 

I think about the stories that circulate in email - the ones where a homeless man shows up at a rather extravagant church where people obviously have more than what they need, but they snub the guy anyway because of how he's dressed and how he smells  Later, the church is confronted with the revelation that this man is Jesus in disguise and their ingratitude and inhospitable treatment are exposed.  "Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me."  -Matthew 25:40  Yep, I have a LONG way to go.   

I take the big test on Monday.  One of my classmates is taking it on the same day - a couple of hours earlier than I'm scheduled.  She sent me a text this morning telling me how stressed she is.  It's no wonder.  The school gave us access to a "Qbank" - a web site we can go to and take practice tests.  I'm no slouch when it comes to academics.  That doesn't necessarily make me smarter than anyone else - it just means I'm a good student and test taker.  I say this not to brag, but as a preface to a bothersome truth.  I've taken 71% of those practice questions and my average performance is 66%.  For someone who's accustomed to A's & B's, this is quite a blow.  I've never felt so stupid and incompetent in my life.  Now, I know I can't focus on these feelings.  The instructor explained to us that we're taking a different kind of test than we've ever taken.

First of all, the test is completely computerized.  No filling in bubbles or showing our work - just answer a question and move on to the next.  We can't even go back and review answers.  Once you hit the "next" button, you're committed.  That's only the beginning of the pressure, though.  A few months ago, the test format consisted entirely of multiple choice questions.  Recently, the powers that be changed it to include fill-in-the-blanks, "check all that apply", and "place the following in order from first to last".  The multiple choice ones are hard enough because most of them contain all right answers - we're just supposed to choose the one that is MOST correct.  The questions that tell us to check all answers that apply are either all right or all wrong - no partial credit is awarded.  The questions we have to place in chronologic order are no better because there are some steps you can reverse and still be fine in real life, but not on the test.  Ugh! 

OK, so computerized, confusing, and seemingly meant to trip a person up.  Add to it the fact that you don't have a clue how many questions you'll actually be answering because the next question depends on how you answered the previous one.  It starts off with a relatively easy question on a specific subject, then gets progressively harder until you miss one.  Then, it moves on to an easy question in a different subject area.  Because the test is tailored to the individual, the number of questions you answer is variable, depending on how far you get in each subject before you get something wrong or the test decides you're proficient in that area.  It can shut down at any time.  If you haven't answered a minimum of 85 questions, you can be pretty confident you failed.  The test allows you a maximum of 270 questions.  So, even if you get past the 85 question mark, you still have the potential to fail.  You just don't know until you get the results.

In case the list of pressures I've mentioned so far aren't enough, we'll have to show photo ID and submit to fingerprinting when we arrive at the facility for testing.  We'll lock up all of our personal belongings in a locker, including watches and phones, and then sit in a little room surrounded by cameras.  No food or drinks allowed.  If we have to use the bathroom, we raise our hand and someone will come get us, take us to the potty, and fingerprint us again before we're allowed back into the room.  I don't think they watch us go, but who knows?  Oddly enough, this may just be the deal-breaker for me.  See, I've been told by everyone who knows me that I have a bladder the size of a walnut.  I should be the poster child for those "frequent and sudden urges" medications.  Seriously, I think I pee an average of once per hour.  I hope they have plenty of ink! 

Despite all of this, I'm trying to remain calm.  I think that, once you get to a certain stress level, your body stops reacting.  I passed that mark a long time ago.  I'm pretty sure that juggling baby alligators while riding a unicycle across a tightrope would be easier than some of what I've dealt with the past few months.  So, a little bitty test that could determine my future success in the career of my choice?  Piece of cake!  What's the worst that could happen?  I fail and have to pay $350 to take it again - maybe have to work at Starbucks for a few months.  Oh well.  In the eternal scheme of things, what's a few months?  Hopefully, it's a moot point.  I've studied hard.  I know my stuff.  My instructor also told me that the online tests we're taking are meant to be damned hard.  She said that if I'm getting over 50% on them, I should be just fine.  Hope she's right!  

My friend sent me another text talking about how she's not good at dealing with stress.  She'd better get good at it - otherwise she picked the wrong career!  I refrained from telling her that.  See, I have learned a little something about therapeutic communication.     

Yesterday, I received authorization to take the big licensing exam.  I'm scheduled to take it in two weeks.  My hands are shaking and my skin is clammy.  I'm experiencing shortness of breath, dizziness, and nausea.  I'm either suffering hypovolemic shock or major test anxiety.  Anybody got a Valium??

In other news....the ex's baby is scheduled to make its unholy debut on November 17th.  Apparently, there's a chance it'll come early and he wants me to be flexible and willing to switch weekends so he won't have the kids when the baby arrives.  I've been extremely flexible when it comes to business trips and other changes in plans, but seriously - do I really have to rearrange my life to accommodate him for this??  It seems to me, I remember lining up help when it came time for our daughter to be born.  I had family and friends who were willing to take care of our son, should the need arise.  He even spent a couple of nights in the hospital with me.  WTF??

Last night at church....(yes, the wolf is me!!)

Beggar's Night tonight...

...then again, maybe not.  Well, I survived graduation, moving, my birthday, the "great" news that my ex's girlfriend is due next month, a trend in awful behavior followed by a more recent stretch of better behavior from my 14-yr-old (which I really hope lasts), my 6-yr-old's confusion over exactly who this new baby is and what's going to happen (to which I have no answers), and countless email assaults from the ex.  My younger brother and mom came to visit over the weekend.  He's had some health issues resulting from an attack of pancreatitis last summer.  He's a full-time student, working part-time, and doing his best to support his family despite an uncertainty as to whether or not he's making the right career choice.  I'm worried about him.  I've never seen him quite so down before.  Today, I found out that all of the temp workers at my older brother's job were laid off, including him.  He had a hard time finding this job, but was a really good worker for them.  Hopefully, he'll be able to find something soon.  Work is slowing down for Mystery Man, too, because of the economy and weather.  Regardless, we'll make it through.  We have to.

Lately, it seems like every time I think I can finally catch my breath, something else happens to test my patience, faith, and commitment to the course I set my life on.  I know there are people who have things a lot worse.  A friend of mine called today to tell me that one of our classmates lost her 12-yr-old son to an illness that attacked his heart.  A month ago, he was fine.  This comes on the heels of this poor woman losing her husband less than a year ago and a miscarriage a few months ago.  

So, a lost job and a few more financial pressures don't seem so bad.  My kids are healthy and so am I.  We'll just have to reign in spending and make careful choices.  Come to think of it, I'm feeling a little down lately, too.  Maybe it's the weather.  Suck it up, shake it off, and rub some dirt on it, right?  My new yoga videos arrived today.  I'm anxious to take a look at them.  It's time to get serious about losing the extra weight I packed on during nursing school before I end up back in nursing school.  On a happier note, I was accepted into the "Pre-Nursing" program at the only college that offers the LPN-RN program here.  It qualifies me to start classes in January, if I can manage financially, and possibly begin the RN program as early as the summer term.  It's more likely I'll end up starting in the fall of next year, but that's fine with me.  In the meantime, it looks like I can take one of my pre-reqs on Saturday and the other one online.  That would allow me to work for awhile, gain experience, and still (hopefully) have time to spend with my kids.  I guess we'll see how all of this works out.  One thing at a time.  I still need to pass the PN boards first.  Study, study, study!  

I'm sitting here in my new living room enjoying my new laptop - completely wireless.  The internet works, the battery actually charges on this computer, and I don't have to walk up and down the stairs to get to the living room anymore.  It's pretty fabulous.  As I mentioned in my last post, this past couple of months has been the busiest yet.  Trying to keep track of my schedule and those of the people around me has been more than a full-time job.  Busy, but pretty good.  After this week, I have no specific plans until I take boards, except for a well-deserved weekend away - which I'm very much looking forward to.  In the meantime, I thought I'd spend a few minutes reflecting on the past 12 weeks.

I've learned more than I ever thought possible in such a short period of time.  For the first time since I started nursing school, I actually feel like I understand a little about what I'll be doing.  I'm still not sure my thought process has changed much, but I'm certain that my knowledge base has increased and my head contains more than just 80's song lyrics - something that would seem to be important to those I'll be caring for.  I had an appointment with the career services rep for the college this morning.  We went over my resume and re-worked several parts of it.  She handed me a packet of important details to keep in mind as I begin my job search.  I have to say, it's much more complicated than simply handing in an application for Arby's.  I have lots going for me, but I also have a glaring lack of practical experience in my career field.  I hope I can relay to potential employers how much my life experience is relevant to what I'll be doing.  I guess time will tell.  

I feel kind of odd right now.  It's becoming obvious to me that I'm out of practice with writing.  Aside from school work, the only recent compositions I've put together have been carefully worded emails to my ex in response to his constant whining.  That sort of writing is tedious and draining - nothing like the emotional purging I'd done previously.  I know I have a lot built up, but I'm having difficulty hitting my stride, so I'll just keep writing until something breaks loose.  Maybe I'll start with my kiddos.

My daughter is sitting in the other room playing on the computer - a luxury not often afforded to her because of the competition around here for the machine.  She's forced to play games online until I get around to setting up a bookshelf to hold the computer games that haven't yet been unpacked.  There's still a lot to do around here in order to get this place running smoothly.  I think she's just so grateful to get computer time that she doesn't care what she plays.  We'll have to leave in a few minutes to attend an activity at her school.  They have an author coming in to talk this evening and I know she wants to go, but I have a feeling she'll put up a fight about getting off the computer.  I haven't read any of the books the author has written, but I'm still looking forward to hearing him speak.  We were offered the opportunity to purchase some of his books, but I declined.  There's something about moving that draws attention to conspicuous consumption.  I can't help but love books - it's just hard to remember that my love for them isn't diminished if I don't own a copy of every single one that's ever been printed.  Tough lessons!

My son had cross country practice earlier this afternoon.  They're down to their final two meets of the season.  Last week, he shaved 3 minutes off his time.  I'm really proud of him for that.  I've had a real hard time with him lately.  Some of it is his age, some is his attitude, and some is circumstance.  I love the kid like nothing else.  I believe he's capable of amazing things.  I just don't know if he has what it takes to set a goal and reach it.  I could write pages about this and perhaps I will, but not right now.  Time is short and it's already taken longer to get to my point that I would've liked.

My real point, as indicated by the title, is to write a thank-you note to someone very special.  This has truly been one of the hardest years of my life.  Divorce, school, changes in living arrangements, fear, anxiety, and a persisent unsettling feeling about my life have all been part of the mix.  I've heard all kinds of advice from all kinds of people and it's been really difficult to sift through it all.  It seems like every decision I make is critical and I've second-guessed every one of them.  It's even worse to know that the results of some of those decisions will take a long time to present themselves.  It's hard for me to be sure of what's right for myself, let alone for my kids, but I have to keep trying.  Life doesn't stop for anything, so we don't even get to pause to catch our breath before something new gets thrown at us.  Dealing with it all is hard enough, but at least I haven't had to do it alone.  Mystery Man has been here through thick and thin.  Every bit of drama, every tear shed over the latest curve ball, every major test, every conflict with the kids, and every change that causes me to stretch further than I thought possible.  I've had his support all along.  If he can stick around for all of this, it gives me hope that life will be really good when we do finally have a chance to exhale.

I'm sitting here hiccuping as I'm writing.  It's a truly revolting sound, according to anyone who's been listening.  The truth is, I only suffer through this when I've been visiting with my good friend Jose.  I figure I've earned it after the past couple of weeks.  The "Cliff's Notes" version:  I graduated from nursing school as a Licensed Practical Nurse - with honors, I might add.  I moved from a duplex to a ranch-style house just 3 blocks from where I previously lived.  I found out the esteemed pillar of the community (A.K.A. my soon-to-be ex) and his girlfriend are expecting a baby in just over a month.  All this, and I'm not even divorced yet.

All I can say is, I'm glad it's Friday.  So what if I didn't have anyone to cook me dinner tonight or fetch me my drink (thanks, Mystery Man!).  I don't guess I have anything to complain about.  I had the hardest working man helping me to move my vast quantities of shit - yes, he did remind me every 100 boxes or so just HOW much shit I have.  He also cooked for the people who came for my graduation, despite the fact that I wasn't even there to enjoy the festivities.  He listened to my never-ending commentary on "What the HELL was he thinking???" any time someone made mention of the ex.  To top it all off, he got someone to come pick up the 14' U-Haul sized amount of the stuff that didn't get moved AND got the guy to pay me for it.  What more could a woman ask for?  OK, so there's world peace, but that'll just have to wait 'til I take boards and get officially certified for the job I'm already confident I can perform.  As for the rest, it'll just have to wait until Jose has left the building.  Good night all!

It's technically the last day of July, 2008, but it still feels like the tail-end of Wednesday to me.  I should be sleeping right now, but it's been quite the day.  I'm as worn out as I've ever been, yet sleep eludes me.  I should be working on homework and I'll probably get to that yet tonight (this morning).  For now, I thought I'd let my brain expel some of the troublesome thoughts that keep cycling through.

I met with my attorney today.  The first thing he slid across the table to me was the official document that shows the trial date for the divorce - January 2009.  Yipee - 6 more months of stress.  I'm not supposed to let it consume me.  I'm not supposed to allow it to keep me up at night.  I'm not supposed to - oh, who am I kidding?  We've been at this for 6 months already and I have nothing more to show for it than stress-induced weight gain and a huge attorney bill.  I should've gone to law school.  I might've finished in the time it's taking to settle.  The document he gave me has a place where you're supposed to check off what's left to settle in the trial.  I think every box except one was checked off in our case.  That's a lot of crap to wade through in 3 days!  I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead.

In other (happier?) news, I'm nearly finished with the LPN program.  Just a few more weeks to go before I take boards.  I received a certificate in the mail yesterday congratulating me on making the Dean's List again.  That's 4 for 4, if anyone is keeping score - and I am!  Let's see.....messy divorce, full-time care of my 2 kids, trying to maintain domestic tranquility with my brother and his teen-aged daughter living under the same roof, and the demands of being a full-time student.  If it weren't for Mystery Man, I might've cracked under the pressure.  I know I'm a survivor, but who said I had to be an island too?  Eat your heart out Gloria Gaynor!  Time to hit the books.

Maybe it's the PMS and maybe it's the fact that I went to see Mama Mia the other night, but I've been feeling a bit weepy and nostalgic.  The story line for the movie/musical follows two sets of friends - the mom (Meryl Streep) and her two best friends from when she was younger (and much wilder) and her 20-yr-old daughter & 2 best friends.  As I was watching the movie, the wheels in my head were spinning in overdrive. 

First, I LOVE the music.  My mom used to have ABBA Gold on 8-track and I'm pretty sure we wore the thing out, as many times as we played it.  Yes, I said 8-track.  That particular album was the only thing that made cleaning house even moderately bearable.  I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 years old, but I knew all the lyrics.  Suffice it to say I enjoyed the soundtrack to the movie immensely.  It took some doing, but I restrained myself from singing along with it until they rolled the credits.  By then, people were streaming out of the theater and I didn't have to worry about embarrassing my niece in front of as many people.  Not that I care, anyway - I mean, the girl has multi-colored hair, a brand new nose piercing and dresses like a cross between Pipi Longstocking and the Corpse Bride.  Don't get me wrong - I love my niece dearly - probably as much because she dresses Goth as for any other reason.  I appreciate the fact that she gives me an excuse to browse through Hot Topic.  I also appreciate the fact that, for me, she's easy to shop for because our tastes are similar.

The trip down memory lane didn't end with the music.  Oh no, that was only the beginning.  It set me on a path of thinking how lucky those women wer e to have friends like that to reminisce and make new memories with.  My head knows they were only characters in a movie, but I've also heard my neighbor talk about a couple of friends she had like that when she was growing up.  At first, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself because I realized I was missing something I never had.  I didn't have a whole lot of female friends in high school or in my first year at college.  My best friends throughout most of high school were gay guys.  No pressure, no competition, and I could keep a secret.  I covered for them with their parents and we had a blast.  I had plenty of peripheral friends - a good mix of both males and females to catch rides with to Youth Symphony, or hang out with on Fri/Sat nights when I wasn't working.  I had plenty of fun - just not those close sisterly bonds.  This held true until my senior year. 

I met a flute player at an honor band (I'm perfectly at peace with the fact that I was a band/orchestra geek).  He and I hit it off right away.  It was the beginning of a highly charged relationship that lasted on-and-off until we each started college - him in New York and me at UN-L.  We didn't survive the distance.  He moved on and I ended up broken-hearted - mostly because he didn't even have the decency to break up with me properly.  Part of me still wants to tell him off for that.  It's like everything else in life, though.  You can't just hang on to the good or the bad - and I have some pretty amazing memories from that time peried, too, so I've chosen to hang on to those.  God knows I made some mistakes back then, too, and I'd hate to think I'll only be judged for those!

OK, so right on the heels of all this tree hugging hippie crap - all the feeling sorry for myself, I realized I had my own version of the 3 musketeers, despite the fact that we've lost touch over the years.  Maybe we'll never end up getting back together to sing showtunes (they were guys, after all), but the memories are still there.  Anyway, right on the heels of this stroll through the cobweb cluttered passageways in my head, I received a little note from an old friend - a note that actually triggered a lot of these fond thoughts.  Life plays funny tricks on us sometimes, I think.

Monday again, and time to head back to school.  I've had a lovely break.  I even managed to work a little badly needed relaxation into it.  Somehow, the time moves too quickly, though.  Today marks the beginning of Term 4 - the last one in my LPN program.  I'm looking forward to digging back in.  At the same time, I still feel pretty worn out from the previous term.  I'm told this one is going to be even more grueling.  In addition, our thinking process is supposed to have changed drastically - moving towards the critical thinking skills of a nurse.  I started to get all worried about that because I'm not sure my thinking process has changed all that much.  I wrote my final clinical paper about the transformation my mind has gone through, but what if I haven't made the leap?  What if I simply wrote what I know they wanted to hear?  What if I've fallen behind and don't even realize it? 

I ask all these weird questions because I have a tendency to over-think EVERYTHING.  Had some "fun" conversations about that over the weekend.  I don't think I do anything for just one reason.  There usually seems to be at least half a dozen mitigating factors involved in my decision-making process.  In the absence of that, my decisions are based purely on "gut instinct" or "intuition"&nbs p;- which means to say I can't point to a specific reason.  When that happens, I rely on my powers of observation of ancillary details.  I know that there are times when I've noticed something and it doesn't stick in my conscious mind, but my brain hits the over-ride button and files it away regardless.  For instance, I've felt uncomfortable around someone and I wonder why.  They haven't done anything overt to raise a red flag, but I'm cautious anyway.  I try to be friendly, yet I feel compelled to keep my distance because I tend to trust those impressions.  Am I ever wrong?  Maybe, but who wants to take a chance?  I'd be more worried if that sort of thing happened often - paranoia here we come??

OK, so most of my decisions are based on a lot of factors.  Once I make up my mind, I start working out how to get from Point A to Point B in the most efficient manner possible because I'm lazy.  Being lazy isn't necessarily a bad thing.  It just means that I don't want to work any harder than I have to, but I definitely want to do things right.  I once heard someone say, "If you don't have time to do it right the first time, then you probably don't have time to re-do it later."  I think there's probably a better way to make that statement, but it does make a point.  Rushing through something and cutting corners may save time and gets the job done, but it won't be done well and you'll likely end up with more work on your hands in the future.  I'm not a big fan of wasting time.  If you're going to bother doing anything, do it well.

After re-reading the what I've written so far, maybe I don't feel that much different in my thinking process because I already think the way I need to.   I know how to prioritize.  I have common sense (most of the time).  I listen to people and concider what they say.  I care about their well being and I want the best for them.  I'm learning the basic steps involved in treatment, but it's up to me to decide how customize those steps and make them work for the individual.  I've done that sort of thing with my kids for years, so what am I worried about?  Finishing this post so I'm not late for school, that's what!