The Thunderbolt

I started out to write a blog post last night and I ended up writing a song instead. 

Well…  the lyrics anyway. I have some melodic fragments floating around in my head but nothing is sticking together yet. 

I was going to write a blog post about my current relationship status, or rather, lack thereof. 

Recap:

I’ve been married twice but only really in love once, and not with either of my husbands.

That relationship ended last summer and I’ve been in a hurry, it seems, to replace it. I was in a hurry because there’s no other feeling in the world like being in love. It’s addictive. I wanted more. 

But lately, I’m not in such a big hurry. I’ve slowed down some.

Some. It’s not like I have all the time in the world, you know. I’m middle-aged.

I’m learning a lot.

I’m learning that I love the attention of the opposite sex. I love it.  But I’ve also learned that unless that incredible chemistry - that ‘thunderbolt’ as someone once called it - unless there’s that, I’m not willing to settle in for the duration.

For many reasons.

I’ve learned that it’s really difficult, at this age…  middle age…  to be in a committed relationship.

It’s not the same at this age as it was in our twenties or thirties. At this age we come with children - sometimes grandchildren. We come with houses and mortgages and debt and careers and well-formed opinions. 

At this age we’re not hoping to find someone to start a family with. We’re wondering if our families can blend. We’re tentative about introducing someone new - someone who may or may not work out in the long term…  whatever ‘long term’ might mean.

At this age we know what we like and what we don’t like and perhaps we’re not so flexible in our ability to compromise as we once were. 

Unless…

Looking back, I am amazed at what I was willing to accept because underneath it all, there was that chemistry. Undeniable, head over heels love. 

Without that love, you can have all the quirks and idiosyncrasies you want, and I will applaud you for being unique and confident, but then I’ll send you on your merry way. Or maybe you’ll send me on mine. Because it’s not love and we’re not going to settle for less.

The nice thing, is that at our age, we’re both okay with that. 

You can follow me on Twitter:  @CeceliaHalbert

Christmas Eve, 2013

It’s the morning before Christmas.

Here at my computer I sit -

Fingers poised over the keyboard

Waiting for inspiration to hit.

I looked back at the poem

I wrote for last year

And remembered how money

Or lack of, was my biggest fear.

I had hoped that my children

Would feel as I did

And value love and tradition

Despite my financial skid.

And as Christmases go,

We had joy unsurpassed.

The new year looked brighter

Than in our recent past.

But the brightness soon faded

A dark cloud moved in

One trial after another.

We just couldn’t win.

So this Christmas Eve morning

My perspective has shifted.

We’ll hold tight to each other

Until that damned cloud is lifted.

This year the presents are many

Under our undecorated tree, but

We haven’t had time

For the usual frivolity.

But I’m counting my blessings           

Because this year, you see,

Though it might not have been so,
All my children are with me.

Merry Christmas, friends. 

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

On Writing

I haven't written anything but blog posts for a long time.

I was halfway through the sequel to Up the Hill when the plans for the second half went up in smoke. Not knowing where to go with it, I put it on the back burner.

While it was back there simmering, I pulled Up the Hill out of publication for editing, but life events got in the way and I haven't gotten back to that either.

And then the other day I came across this:

Before last summer, I didn't even know who Joss Whedon was. I'm not a big fan of action movies or vampires. But then I was listening to NPR one day and heard an interview with someone talking about Shakespeare in such an accessible and enlightening way that I sat in my car in my garage for a half hour because I couldn't stop listening until the interview was over. It was Joss Whedon.

Adding to his credibility, I learned he'd written the screenplay for Toy Story - one of my favorite movies of all time.  I looked him up on IMDb and my, what an immpressive list of credits he has to his name. I went to see his film adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing. I loved it. I'm now one of Joss Whedon's biggest fans.

So anyway...

I saw this quote and remembered why I write.

And as painful as it was, I opened up the manuscript to Up the Hill and started reading and editing and bringing those characters back to life and facing all those things I'm afraid of exploring.

Because that is why I write and that is where I find strength. Thanks for putting it so eloquently, Joss.


You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Driving Lessons (or dating lessons... whichever)

The following are some recent observations about driving habits of others. It occurred to me (after a bottle of pinot noir - NOT while driving) that the same observations could be made about the dating habits of others. 

You should turn your lights on when the sun goes down, or when driving in dense fog, or when precipitation has caused you to turn on your windshield wipers. When it’s difficult to see the road ahead of you or when others have difficulty seeing you, any extra illumination you have at your disposal is helpful.

If, however, you’re driving a big SUV and the person in front of you is driving a little sedan, then please back off because your headlights look like ET’s ship is coming in for a landing in their backseat. It’s intimidating. Take a breath and back up just a little bit.

The left lane is for passing only. Get out of the left lane unless you mean to pass someone. If you don’t intend to make a move, then get out of the way.  The rest of us get in the left lane because time’s running out and we have somewhere to go.

That being said, there are also times when you have to have some patience. If the person in the car that’s stopped in front of you in the parking lot is waiting for spot soon to be vacated by the person who just got into their car, please don’t be obnoxious and start honking your horn. They’ll move soon enough. That's not going to help anything. Some people don’t move as quickly as others and sometimes you have to be patient.

Conversely, when waiting to make a left turn and there’s no car in front of you, then pull into the intersection! What are you waiting for there behind the crosswalk? For the love of God, the light is green! It’s okay. It’s legal. You can pull into the intersection. You don’t have to wait for the guy behind you to start honking his horn. C’mon, honey. Time’s a-wastin’.

Get off your phone. No. Seriously. Get off your phone because the second you answered it your speed slowed by twenty miles an hour and you’re still in the left lane and not only that, you also didn’t notice how beautiful the sunset was on the lake you just drove by. The lady in the car next to you just shook her head and left you in the dust.

Lastly, you can see a lot in the rearview mirror, but if you want to keep going, you have to spend the majority of your time looking at what's in front of you right now.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

A Fifty-something’s Unstructured Day Off

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and I don’t have to work today. My kids are at their dad’s house. I refuse to go anywhere near a retail establishment with the possible exception of my wine store, therefore I have time to get a lot of things done around the house. Here’s how my day is going so far:

I wake up at 7:30 but laze around in bed watching Good Morning America until 8:30, long enough for my dog to do in the house what she should have done outside but I was too lazy to get up and let her out.

I roll out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen in my robe and slippers, take the carpet cleaning solution from under the sink and pre-treat the carpet. I put water in the coffee maker, then notice the bucket of water that’s sitting on the counter that I need to add to the fish tank, so I go add the water to the fish tank which is next to the couch in the family room and I notice that my son has left a pile of string cheese wrappers on the coffee table.

I pick up the wrappers and take them to the garbage can in the kitchen, which is next to the empty dog food bowl. I get the Tupperware dog food container out of the cabinet and it’s empty too. In the garage, I keep a big bag of dog food from which I refill the Tupperware container so I go out to the garage (luckily the garage door is closed and the neighbors can’t see me in my robe and slippers) and I remember that I’d left a bag of clothes in the car that a friend had given me for my son. I set down the dog food container and get the bag of clothes out of the car and take them to my son’s room where I notice that the smell of teenage boy is quite overpowering so I set down the bag of clothes and strip the olfactory-offending sheets off of his bed.

I take the sheets down to the basement and put them in the washing machine and start it up and grab the sweaters I’d left on the drying rack last week and I take them upstairs to the dining room table where I fold laundry but my daughter’s art projects are covering the table, so I put the sweaters on the chair and I pile up the art projects and carry them up to her bedroom where I discover all of the juice glasses and spoons that have been missing for weeks. 

I gather up the dirty dishes and carry them down to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher that, thankfully, is close to the coffeepot and I remember that I’d started making coffee an hour earlier. This reminds me that I had also pre-treated the carpet, so I abandon the coffee-making again and go get the carpet cleaner and fill the tank with hot water and while I’m cleaning the spot that needed to be cleaned, I notice that the rest of the carpet is looking dingy, so I continue to clean the rest of the carpet in the room and while I’m slowly pushing and pulling the carpet shampooer across the floor I realize I haven’t written a blog post this week, so I turn off the machine and go sit down at my computer, but my reading glasses aren’t on the top of my head like they usually are.

My collection of reading glasses have a tendency to all end up in one area of the house, so now I just have to figure out where that is. The repository is usually on my nightstand, so I go back upstairs to my bedroom. I walk into to my bedroom and can’t remember what I was looking for so I go back to the computer and smack my forehead because when I look at the blurry screen I immediately remember why I had just gone up to my bedroom.

I also notice there is a pair of reading glasses on the table next to my computer.

And now it’s almost noon and I’m still in my robe and slippers with a no-caffeine headache and there’s a pile of sweaters that I’m either going to have to steam or put back in the washer and the dog is sitting next to her empty dog dish staring at me.

But I finished writing my blog post. 

You can follow me on Twitter: @ceceliahalbert

Bouncing Back

I’ve been through some difficult situations in my life and I’ve always bounced back. I always know I’ll bounce back and that makes it easier to get through whatever the difficulty is, but I have to say that I wasn’t so sure about my resiliency this last time around. I will admit to a few moments…  maybe more than a few…  where I wondered if I’d ever bounce again.

I trudged from my car to the front doors of my school one morning a couple of weeks ago after spending the evening at the hospital and the early morning talking to doctors and a couple of boys who had arrived very early were kicking a deflated playground ball against the wall of the school. Instead of bouncing back, the ball thudded against the wall and dropped to the ground. The boys would go and retrieve the ball and kick it again…  it thudded and dropped.

I was that ball. I was deflated and empty and thudding along.

I kept hoping that the one person I always thought would be there for me would know I was in trouble and he would find me, but he didn’t. I didn’t call him because I was afraid he wouldn’t come even if I called and I would have been more deflated than I already was and who needs that?

And then the tornado hit.  That’s not a metaphor for anything. I’m talking about a real tornado. An EF-4… in November. It barreled through the heart of my hometown and wiped almost 400 houses right off the face of the planet, one of them being the house I grew up in. 

I became the person that I am today in Washington, Illinois.  I don’t live in there anymore but my sister and my aunts and uncles and cousins do. I’m not really a Chicago girl. I will never be a suburban soccer mom. At my core I’m a Midwestern farm girl and that tornado nearly knocked the remaining air right out of me.

Last night I drove to Washington, my car loaded with donations from my friends and colleagues and strangers in my new community. I drove by myself, wanting that one person in the seat next to me. My heart was in my throat the entire way there and I wanted him to be with me, but he wasn’t.

I followed a parade of heavy equipment into town. Bright construction lights all over town lit up the night sky and my heart pounded. I’d seen the destruction on television, but I didn’t know what to expect when I saw it with my own eyes.

The reality was that it was horrible. I don’t have words to describe it. Some people used words like ‘war zone,’ but no… it wasn’t a war zone. It didn’t look like a bomb went off. I just don’t have words for it.

But then…  I saw the people. People working together to clear debris. People holding up other people. People coming from everywhere to help. One man drove from New Orleans and cooked jambalya for a thousand people. People brought trucks and tents and tarps and shovels and rakes and garbage bags and water and strong backs and big hearts.

I dropped off the donations to some very grateful volunteers, told them I’d be back in a few days, and I got back in my car and drove home.

And tonight I’m bouncing off the walls.

You can follow me on Twitter: @ceceliahalbert. 

Marriage Advice from the Unsuccessful

My life has been more than a little trying lately, so I decided maybe I'd take on someone else's issues this week instead of writing about my own. 

Disclaimer: I've been married and divorced twice, so take the following with a salt lick.

Tonight I read a lovely blog post from a recently divorced man. In his essay, he gave twenty stellar pieces of marital advice to the still-married men of the world. He said he learned them too late.

Well.     Yes…   too late.

It’s very easy to say things like “always choose love,” and “marriage isn’t about happily ever after. It’s about work,” and “be vulnerable,” and “give her space,” etc., etc., etc…   WHEN YOU’RE NOT MARRIED.

 

It’s very easy to figure out what you should’ve been doing all along when it’s after the fact. It’s lovely to be brilliant and insightful when it doesn’t matter anymore.

His wife probably wished he would have been so brilliant while he was still her husband.

Or maybe not.

We don’t know his ex-wife. Maybe he snores a lot, or chews with his mouth open, or can’t balance a checkbook to save his life, or maybe she has a boyfriend and she was happy to get rid of him. Who knows?

They’re nice pieces of advice, but really - I’m sure if she wanted to stay married to him, she probably tried to tell him all of those lovely things and he didn’t listen, so maybe the number one thing at the top of his list should have been:

LISTEN TO YOUR SPOUSE.

Not one of his twenty tips for a successful marriage mentioned listening.

Huh.

Maybe he’ll have to get married and divorced again to learn that lesson.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

The Top 10 List: Things I’ve Learned This Week

1.     I’ve learned that what’s important in life can be distilled down to one thing, and that one thing is LOVE.

2.     I’ve learned that people can surprise you. Support can come from unexpected places and sometimes the expected places turn up empty.

3.     I’ve learned that every conversation has a subtext.

4.     I’ve learned that the most beautiful sound in the world is laughter.

5.     I’ve learned that human beings are resilient and able to find untold measures of strength in times of crisis.

6.     I’ve learned that a glass of wine at the end of the day is what heaven tastes like.

7.     I’ve learned that people with the most intelligence are often the quietest. (I really wanted to say the opposite of that, but I’m trying to be positive.)

8.     I’ve learned that it’s only money, even though more of it would be nice.

9.     I’ve learned that hugs are the reason spirit takes human form.

10. I’ve learned that if all else fails, remember lesson #1.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

This Mom is Talking

With a heavy sigh, she began. Her fingertips poised over the keyboard, she began typing and deleting...  typing and deleting. "Nobody wants to read about this," she thought. "Nobody wants to talk about it."

But that's why it keeps happening. Because nobody talks about it. 

Her child had been suffering for a long time. Her teachers dismissed her timid cries for help. Her friends distanced themselves from her drama. Even her therapist gave her simplistic answers and ignored the symptoms of a more serious illness. And her mother, weary of the tears, never knew the magnitude of the pain she was in.

Eventually the pain was more than the child could bear. She cried out so loudly that those around her could not ignore her any longer. It was the bravest thing she had ever done and because she cried loudly enough, her mom took her to the hospital where doctors could take care of her. 

When that child was two, her leg was broken. Her mom took her to the hospital and the doctors took care of her. She came home with a toe-to-hip pink cast. Everyone signed the cast. Everyone said "Awww, poor baby. That must hurt!" 

Now the child is in the hospital and most everyone looks away. They don't know what to say. They promise to keep it hush-hush. 

But we can't keep it hush-hush. If more parents knew that there were so many children in pain and that they are not the only ones, then more parents would listen to their children's cries before it's too late. 

Because they have nowhere else to go, the children in pain find each other. They find each other on Instagram and other internet forums and they post pictures of their pain and they support each other in their pain and they feel like they're part of a community, but it's a dangerous community where children make plans to die. And many do. 

These children use shower time to cut themselves. They starve themselves. Their smiles are lies. They say they're okay, but they are not. They say they're tired when they mean they're in terrific pain. They want someone to find out but they don't want to tell because they worry about what people will think if they know. They don't tell because they don't want to be a burden and a worry to their parents. They don't tell because they don't even know what words to use.

So this child's mom is talking about it. She doesn't care if people don't want to hear. She doesn't care if it makes other people uncomfortable. Maybe one other mom will recognize her own child and hear her daughter's pitiful cry for help and she won't label it as teenage angst and drama. Maybe she'll look until she finds the scars and she'll get help before it's too late. 

And maybe people will start talking.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Be Kind

Sometimes we walk through the world. We interact; we weave our way between the lines, across the lines, intersecting with other human beings. We drive cars, buy groceries, and go to work…

But once in a while we stop moving and the world spins around us, blissfully unaware that we are still. 

A crisis happens - in an instant - and the world spins around us.

In these times we walk with great effort, one foot in front of the other. That, in itself, is a monumental task when the world is spinning so quickly around us. It is the best we can do, but the rest of the world, spinning so fast, does not understand. We hold up traffic and raise the ire of those who do not understand how painful it is, no matter how slowly, just to move.

We will spin with the world again, but in these moments, we are so thankful for those with compassion who take a moment to stop and notice that we are struggling.  

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Boys and Girls

It doesn't matter if you're fifteen or fifty.

Observation:

Boy meets girl.

Boy and girl hit it off.

Boy feels the same strong feelings for the girl that she feels for him. 

Girl melts into boys arms.

Boy gets scared and runs away to escape the cause of his feelings.

Girl wonders what the hell she did wrong to cause the boy not to like her anymore.

Analysis:

Boy possibly enjoys the hunt more than the capture.

Girl enjoys the capture more than the hunt.

Boy develops feelings for girl and quickly envisions his loss of freedom, 

a never-ending 'to do' list, and an end to further hunting.

Boy cannot communicate any of this with girl because 

he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. 

(Ironically, by being distant, he already has.) 

Boy is a scaredy-cat.

Complicating factors:

If boy states up front that he is not interested in a committed relationship, 

girl will likely run away first, ending the hunt before it starts.

If girl states up front that she is not interested in a committed relationship, 

she's lying to attract boy. 

This will eventually bite girl in the butt.

Suggestion to girls:

Be yourself. He's going to find out who you are eventually anyway.

Also, girls, don't make the hunter the prey once he has retreated. Keep your dignity.

Suggestion to boys:

Boys, decide what you want - the hunt or the capture - and communicate this with girls. 

Also, if the game changes either way, just tell her. 

She would rather you just tell her.

Final thought:

It seems boy and girl are opposing one another. 

When they realize they're on the same side, they both win.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Chivalry

Chivalry:  chiv·al·ry [shiv-uhl-ree]: the sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, generosity, valor, and dexterity in arms.

So, if a knight with ideal qualifications were to happen my way, I suppose that would mean he might open doors for me, put the toilet seat down, bring me gifts, and defend my honor. That his arms might be dexterous, I suppose, would a good thing as well.

It so happens such a knight has happened my way recently, exemplifying the definition of chivalry. In recent history, he is an anomaly. In these days of post-feminism, the unwritten, yet common rules of courtship have cast chivalry aside as unnecessary, perhaps unfair, or at the very least - a double-standard. Why should one person open a door for another who is perfectly capable of that action himself or herself? Why should one person and not another be responsible for lifting a toilet seat or returning it to the horizontal position?

A chivalrous knight, however, considers his actions unspoken expressions of compassion, kindness, affection - love. A lady returns his kindnesses by graciously accepting them in the spirit in which they were offered. By doing this, she is demonstrating not only her appreciation, but love. A knight recognizes this. Neither is giving nor receiving more than the other in this relationship.

Without these simple acts of kindness love gets lost, forgotten. A lady never takes them for granted. Each time she finds the seat to her throne replaced to its rightful position, her heart leaps a little with joy. Each time the door is opened, she looks into the face of her knight and her eyes soften with love. Each time she thanks him, his heart is full and their bond is strengthened.

So, I say to those rare men - the knights of the world, “Thank you.” 

And I caution the rest that the decline of chivalry should not go unnoticed for therein may lie the decline of civilization as a whole.


You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Some Things Never Change

About a million years ago I was in high school.  I had friends. Good friends - the geek club, you might say. The smart kids. The band geeks. The kids who drink RC Cola and play the home version of Password on Saturday nights. Although it was a co-ed club, we didn’t have boyfriends or girlfriends - even within our own circle of geekiness. Even we knew that we weren’t cool enough to date.

Sometime between my senior year of high school and my freshman year of college something happened to me. My geekiness faded… or something happened.  I’m not sure what, really. My geek club friends went away to other schools. I was a new girl in a new environment where no one knew my checkered geeky past.

Enter Eric Bailey. I think current terminology would label him “hot.” In 1978 he was “a fox.” Not just ‘a’ fox - he was ‘the’ fox. God, he was cute.

I let Eric borrow my biology notes one day. He subsequently asked me if I’d go out for dinner with him.

“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “you don’t have to do that. I’m happy to let you use my notes.”

“Um…” he said, “No. I want to take you out.” He kissed me. I thought I was going to faint.

I was floored. Astonished. Eric Bailey asked me out. I went. The romance lasted all summer until he went away to a different school in the fall. Geek girl makes good.

Flash forward thirty-five years.

Tuesday night I walked into Morgan’s Pub and there, waiting for me, was the most handsome man I’ve laid eyes on in years. His eyes danced. His smile was brilliant. We talked. We laughed. And by the end of the night, he’d asked me what I was doing the next night. And he kissed me. Oh lord, he kissed me. He held me in his arms. He kissed my neck. I was breathless.

It was 1978 all over again.

But I am not going away to another school this time.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Uncommitted

I was going to write a piece on being alone and how being alone by yourself is better than being alone in a relationship. You know what I mean, right? If, ostensibly, you’re in a committed relationship, but the person to whom you have committed yourself is emotionally uncommitted…  that’s painful. It’s more painful, I think, than not being in a relationship, or…  being alone.

So that’s what I was going to write about but then I started to think about the words “being alone” and those words, taken literally, don’t really apply to many people.

I have four children and although most of them are now out of the house, they’re not gone from my life. I have friends, acquaintances, and colleagues in real life and anytime I’m feeling like chatting I have Twitter.  That’s not really being alone, is it? I mean I’m not Tom Hanks trapped on a desert island with a blood-stained volleyball. That’s alone. It’s also fiction. Most people are not alone.

So I guess “alone” is not really the correct word, but what is? Unaccompanied? Solo? Forlorn? Uncommitted? Single? Happy? Unhappy?

I think we’re all here to connect with other human beings in meaningful ways, but the most meaningful way and the way I think we all search for is that intimate, loving emotional connection with one other person. It’s fair to say the part of me that is searching for that is alone.

For now I’m okay with that because I’ve been in too many situations where that part of me has been alone in a committed relationship and I’d much rather be alone alone than alone together.

If I ever settle for being alone together, I should be committed.

Back to Square One

I’m in major editing mode. 

I hate that. I hate when I think I have everything figured out and I think I know where I’m going and then something happens and I have to go back and start over. I was so sure I knew where I was going that I was halfway through the sequel. 

It’s not just the sequel that needs to be completely reworked, I’m going to have to rethink the whole first book. 

Turning point.

I have options. I could just chuck it all and forget that I’m a writer. I don’t have to be a writer. I could be something else, but probably not. 

Or - I could throw it all away and work on something completely different. The trash can is looking rather inviting and there’s something freeing about throwing things away. Very tempting. A clean sheet of paper holds endless opportunities. 

Or - I could seize the opportunity to take what I think was pretty good work and look at it with fresh eyes and a different heart and I could take it to a better place. 

Life imitates art. Or is it the other way around? I always forget.

This is why I’m a writer - because editing is always an option.

And so is writing a whole new story.

You can follow me on Twitter: @ceceliahalbert

Love, Whither Shall You Find Me

I’m not going looking for Love anymore. Love is going to have to come find me.

I am just too damn busy. 

I’d like to state, however, that I am worth the effort.

If you find me, Love, you’ll discover that I have great capacity for acceptance. I am happiest when I’m head over heels, tumbling madly into your arms. What you offer to me I will give back many times over.

I have loved deeply and unconditionally. I know how it’s done. I live to do it again, but I am more cautious now and there is now one condition: I won’t give love unless I know that it will be returned. I have no patience for half your heart. I want it all. I promise mine in return.

I am not hiding, but to find me you must rely on your skill, intellect, and creativity. 

And please bring with you a good bottle of wine, for of one thing I am certain: lips that know good wine also know good love.

I'll be waiting.

Artwork by: Andre Kohn, "Good Times, Good Wines", Joe Wade Fine Art - See more at: http://www.santafe.com/article/for-the-love-of-wine#sthash.xIwZopcl.dpuf

Follow me on twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Thank God It's Friday

I’m at a loss.

I have been writing a weekly blog post, typically on Thursdays, but today on Friday, for almost a year now and have never been at a loss for a topic. This morning I sit at my desk and for the life of me can’t think of anything to say.

Okay, that’s not entirely true.

I can think of lots to say. It’s been a hell of a week. But who wants to read a whiny blog? Certainly not me. Maybe I could spin the hell into something funny. Let me think about that. Caution: if you don’t want to read my whining, stop here.

Hell, Part One: “Money”

As you know, I’m a teacher. As you also know, I started a new job this fall in a new school. I’ve been working now since August 12. Know when my first paycheck is? September 15. Funny thing - my employers still expect me to put gas in my car in order to get to work even though they haven’t paid me. Ha ha ha. They’re funny. They also wanted me to order transcripts from every university I attended. $68 worth of transcripts. I went to school way too much. Oh. They also wanted me to get a physical but they don’t give me insurance. $212 for the physical. 

Do these people not understand that I have a wine budget that I’m now having to tap into in order to have this job? Apparently not. This is why I work 12-16 hours on the weekend serving wine so I can take home the leftovers. And some money.

Hell, Part Two: “Ex-husband and also…. money”

I really have to hand it to my ex-husband, who is a very nice person. He really is. Every once in a while when I question my decision to divorce him, he provides a crystal clear reminder of why I did. Take this week, for instance. After spending nearly 2K of my part-time wine gig money to get our children registered and supplied for school, he sent me a text saying he’d spent a hundred dollars (from his 6-figure engineering salary) on some extra school supplies that they needed and that he would be deducting that from child support since I’m responsible for school expenses according to our joint parenting agreement. He’s so thoughtful!! I could tell you how much he pays for child support, but that would be in poor taste - ‘poor’ being the keyword. 

Thanks, honey. Now I remember why I don’t live with you anymore.

Hell, Part Three: “Cancer”

Wow. It’s tough to funny that one up. I’m seven years cancer free this summer but my routine physical turned up something suspicious, so I get to go in for a biopsy. But not until Monday because I need some time to lose sleep over the prospect of doing that whole cancer treatment thing again. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” says the doctor, trying to ease my anxiety. She’s pretty funny. Hey, doc, how about some Xanax or something because that “I’m sure it’s nothing” is not really working for me. I’m not worried though. Really.  I’m sure it’s nothing.

Hell, Part Four: “I’ve been found out.”

I’m a teacher (see Hell, Part One). I mold the minds of impressionable youth. I’ve been doing this for 32 years. I love my job. I love teaching. 

I also love writing and my brain, when not at work, sometimes creates not-so-appropriate-for-the-under-eighteen crowd fiction. So I write under a pseudonym. This week some clever people at work found out about the book I wrote that is now officially unpublished. Those clever people are probably reading this now. “Hi, clever people!” I wave. 

If Alexander Payne would just buy the movie rights for the book, I could quit my job and move far far away. 

BUT - it’s Friday and things cannot possibly get any worse until next week at the earliest. Also, I do have wine to drink this weekend even if it’s another week until I get paid. 

Cheers!