Recently in Survival Category

and believe me, today, that's not an easy task.

 

I seriously have slacked off in many aspects of my life. Housecleaning has slipped, gardening has been almost nonexistent ... and the worst of it is that I don't care very much about anything. Apathetic, that's what I've become. Except for my loved ones (sum total, humans 3, cats 3), I could very well curl into a comfy ball and watch time pass in silent solitude.

I've got to care about something. I've got to get my passion back. I've just got to keep breathing in and out until that happens. I think I can handle that.

So tomorrow I turn 44. Always looking for signs of hope (or doom), this should be a good year for me. My lucky number is 8, 4+4=8, its 2008 ... get it? Of course, something miraculous was supposed to happen on April 4th (04/04/08) but as luck would have it, the closest that I could come to that was watching my daughter sing in a concert on April 5, so ... I guess the REAL luck doesn't start until tomorrow. When I turn 44.

44.

w o w.

I don't feel 44. I don't think I look 44. I certainly don't think I act 44. What if I'm wrong and I'm really only 34? Maybe there was a mistake made somewhere along the way, maybe numbers were transposed, maybe I fell through a wormhole, maybe ... not. I look at my mother and I see a 75 year old lady (who, by the way, doesn't act 75). I look at my brothers and see guys in their mid-50s trying to pretend they aren't. I look at my sister and I see her heart on her sleeve and how she fights to keep everyone, and herself, together ... age is catching up to everyone.

I look at myself, though, and, for the most part, I don't see a 44 year old.

I still see the little 4 year old who stood on a stepstool next to her father to watch him shave on Sunday morning, knowing that this was the closest she would ever get to him.

I see the 14 year old sitting by the window, watching her neighborhood friends walk toward St. Anne's church for the funeral of the boy she had a crush on, unable to bring herself to join them.

I see the 24 year old in her cap and gown, graduating while planning a wedding in her head,  fingers calloused from sewing glass beads on her handmade dress nervously drumming on her knee as she scans the crowd for a glimpse of her family.

I see the 34 year old sitting on the back steps of her rented house long after the kids were asleep, smoking a cigarette by the light of the full moon and drowning alone in a glass of Merlot, wondering how she would be able to keep a roof over their heads if she left him.

I don't see a 44 year old. I see that same fear of rejection, that same solitary mourning, that same overwhelmed distraction, that same resolute responsibility that I have always seen. I haven't changed. Just the calendar has.

Happy birthday to me.

 

It's my fault he did it, because I went out to the car and left him alone in the house.At least that's what he said.

About 4 inches long and an inch or so wide, the hole in my wall is going to take some patching. I'm not doing it.  If he wants to ball his 16 year old fists like a man, then he can spackle like a man.

I've been crying for four hours today. worse than yesterday, though yesterday I slept away the stress instead of crying. The day before I had a few crying jags and a heaping helping of insomnia. This recent bout of teenage assholery is wearing me down. I'm ready for boot camp. Or a therapist. Both for him, natch. I'll be right as rain once all this stops.


Seriously, I divorced the X because of the emotional bullying and I was feeling it again tonight. Blaming me for making him lose his temper. Guilting me into apologizing when I was the one being attacked.  Making me afraid to say anything for fear of starting another argument. I've just shut down over the past few days. I can't fall into the pattern of withdrawal for protection again, not from a 16 year old. This is my house. My rules. My family.

Damn, I hope this hole can be fixed.

Remember that funk I plunged into around the holidays? The one that was triggered by me not getting a certain job?
 Yeah, well, I figured that time would heal my bruised ego. For the past two months I've let myself wallow, I've gotten angry, I've let the tears come, I've been proactive (looking for another job, rewriting my CV, etc.), I've even *gasp* asked others for support. I've flogged myself for having faith, I've prayed for strength, I've rationalized, reconciled, then resigned myself to the fact that I'm stuck where I am, that no amount of wishing will make this better. And I sat back to wait.

Yup, you guessed it. I'm still waiting.

I've had a chance to see the *winning* candidate in action and every time, I'm left with an "OMG, WTF were they thinking?!?!?!" in a big ol' invisible speech bubble over my head. I'm sure it's written on my face, too, which is why I can't look either the hirer or the hiree in the eye. Unfortunately, I've been the center of a very important state evaluation and have had them underfoot (and in my face) several times over the past week.

Today was the worst, though. We had a scheduled committee meeting to which exactly three people showed up.  I was one. Guess who the other two were.  Go ahead, take a wild stab at it.

*sigh*

I came out of there, got in the car, slammed the door and yelled "I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM!!!" ... took a deep cleansing breath ... turned on the music really loud and drove off to go pick up my kids.

I don't know what else to do, really. Since revenge is generally frowned upon in civilized society (and it will not give me any lasting peace), I'm out of ideas.  I'm trying to be a good person, I really am.


"Only nature has a right to grieve perpetually, for she only is innocent.
Soon the ice will melt, and the blackbirds sing along the river which he frequented, as pleasantly as ever.
The same everlasting serenity will appear in this face of God, and we will not be sorrowful, if he is not."

Henry David Thoreau

The murder of marine Maria Lauterbach and her unborn baby has hit home with me. The fact that her murderer will only be charged with her murder is unbelievable. Now, I am fiercely pro-choice (and I'm sure we could all argue back and forth about this forever) but in the case of a murder of a pregnant mother, especially when the fetus is full term, it is a viable human being and should be protected as such by law.

There was a vigil for Lauterbach this weekend and, while I couldn't go, I am able to sign an online petition  to show my support for changing this law. Join me, won't you? 

Last week, I wrote a terse entry  from my favorite getaway spot. I had packed up the car with kids, presents and goodies to spend a restful holiday with T's family. I had looking forward to this weekend for months. My work situation has been brutal, grinding and soul-stomping since the beginning of this school year. With new administration and severe understaffing, even my pretty new library furnishings weren't enough to make me happy at my job and this frustration and unrest were carrying over into every aspect of my life. It was the reason I went back on anti-depressants (which are not working, btw) ... I was hoping they would take the edge off so that I could merely exist until I found a way to make it better.

Well, I thought I had found a way to make it better. A job at the county level opened up, one that I have been working toward for 5 years, one that I went back to grad school for a second time to get licensed for. The job description called for a Masters and a Licensure in one of two combinations ... either a Masters of Library Science and a Licensure in IT or a Masters in Instructional Technology and a Library Science Licensure ... I now have the first combo and am well qualified for the job. As soon as the opening was announced (back in October), I dropped off my resume and sat back to wait.

They finally set up an interview on the day after school let out. In the meantime, I heard several things ... that the job description was being rewritten to focus more on the Library Science and less on the IT (which should have tipped me off), that the pool of candidates was very small, that the technicians were behind me candidacy. All of this should have told me to stop hoping. My gut kept warning me but I let a hopeful thought or two in and began to think I actually had a chance.

When I went for the interview, I was ready, relaxed and rehearsed. I don't do well in interview situations, getting far too nervous and passionate when I speak and easily getting sidetracked. I felt confident, though, even though I was going into a situation not knowing who my interviewers would be.  When I walked in, I found I would be interviewed by two people I knew ... the one that would be making the ultimate decision and a professor from ECU whose class I had thoroughly enjoyed getting an A in. I thought the interview went well, though my 'boss' yawned a few times while I was answering questions, something the professor caught and looked concerned about.

I should have been concerned. I should have known going in that it was a lost cause. I should have noticed when he looked down his nose at me before I left in that he had no respect for me and no intention of taking my candidacy seriously. I should have known that, in this political world where you change your ideals depending on who you are talking to, that my annoying habit of speaking my mind and being strong in my convictions of wanting to serve the children of our county would not go over well.

I found out via email that I didn't get the job. I lost to a sleeper candidate, someone that does not have my qualifications but someone that will make her boss look good. She doesn't need the job or the money but she fills a need for him that I don't. Eventually, I will be able to live with that but right now, I'm on my indignant high horse, full of venomous thoughts and toxic anger.  My holiday escape was wrecked. I spent most of last Saturday in tears, unable to have any fun during a youth group get-together. Sunday was supposed to be a joyful, reverent performance at church, followed by family time ... poor T was relegated to the supportive boyfriend role (which he is awesome at), watching me bob about in an emotional sea of angst.

Yes, I have ideals that I will not give up, no matter how tempting the job is. Yes, I have moral fiber, despite the fact that I do not fit into the mold of other candidates. I don't know how, but I get the feeling that the fact that I am a single mom of kids that some would consider mixed-race, that I do not 'come from around here' topped by the fact that I have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can not be broken by anything or anyone (witness my escape from my marriage) made me unpopular with certain people. 

The irony that I have helped several people that are above me get to where they are is not lost on me. This whole situation reeks of politics.  Why bring in someone that could actually help the department if they are going to make you look bad?  I have been told over and over not to take this personally but I can't help it.  I was hoping it would not be personal but that email told me it was.

I don't know what I'm going to do but I do know that I can't keep fighting this fight if it is going to hurt my kids in the end. Just under a week before I go back to work. I'm reviewing my options but, at the moment, I'm unable to do anything because everyone is off enjoying their vacation, which is what I should be doing.





 

Broken. Angry. Disappointed.

I don't know if I have any fight left in me. I have let myself down, let my kids down, and every kid in the county.

Overdramatic? Maybe. I can't help but be passionate about this, after everything I have come through to get to this point.

I know that God does not give us anything that we can not bear ... but, Lord, I'm tired. If this is your way of telling me it's time to move on, a simple plague of locusts would have sufficed.

Assemblies went well, except I forgot to plan what I was going to say. Reading the names isn't just reading the names but introducing myself and our school to new parents, as well as explaining just what I'm giving awards for. As I'm not big on public speaking, I felt petty overwhelmed facing that crowd, but we got through it.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. I was alone again and it turns out I'll be alone tomorrow and possibly next week. I don't see a solution, but that's not my job. My job is to serve our students and teachers and I'm doing that to the best of my ability.

Speaking of which, I cataloged another box of books today. I'm tired of waiting for it to get done, tired of tripping over boxes. Pretty tired of it all, really.

After school, we had people on campus to give us our flu shots. Once that was over, I went back to the media center and worked until about 6, when my kids made me drag my butt out of there.

On the way home, they reminded me we needed cat food and milk. We were listening to music and joking, actually having a really pleasant car ride, the first in a long time. When we got to to grocery store, we decided we would get some toppings and sauce for pizza, milk, cat food, salad ... something for dinner tonight and to get us to the weekend when I can actually go shopping. We get to the checkout line and the girl starts emptying the carriage while I get out my purse and open it to find ... no wallet.  I have a check book but the wallet, with my debit card and my license, are not there.

A nauseous feeling washes over me as I realize I have left it at school. I spend the next 10 minutes apologizing to the clerk, to my kids, to anyone that will listen. Flashback to 8 years ago and I'm getting us groceries on a credit card that was no good, run up by a loser (now)x that didn't care if we could pay our bills, as long as he ate well. When the clerk said the card was denied, I slunk out of the store with my tail between my legs, trying to explain to my 6 & 8 year old why we had to leave the groceries there.

While I am worlds away from that, the shame doesn't diminish with time. In one small mistake, I suddenly became the loser I've been trying so hard to prove I'm not.


 

I have just finished an extraordinary book and I had to share it with you. As a children's librarian, naturally, I am exposed to more childen's lit than anything else so I spend most o my time reading that. There is more to my attachment, however.

When I was a child, I was alone quite a bit. My brothers and my sister were much older than I was and they had their own, teenage lives to lead. They had friends houses to escape to when the fighting between our parents got too tumultuous. Indeed, it only seemed that on weekends, when my brothers and sister were off with their friends, that my parents would get into the worst of their rows, having come home more than a little tipsy from the bar or one of our neighbors houses.

My mother was always ready for an argument, sensitive and passionate, insecure and always jealous of the attention my handsome father would get.  My father, ever the narcissistic cruel jokester, would goad her on, detailing what this lady or that lady had whispered to him behind my mothers back, amused by her increasing rage. Eventually the slamming doors turned into broken glass and, mercifully, someone would call the police to calm them down.

I would lie in bed alone listening to the escalation, waiting for it to end, grateful for the intervention when it finally came and dreading the day it didn't. In those days, I had a hard time differentiating between shouts and laughter ... to me, the harsh volume of it all sounded threatening.  I would burrow under my covers, clutching the book I had fallen asleep with as protection, as if it were a doorway to another world that I could easily escape to, if only I wished hard enough.

While the storm calmed below, I was left awake. I would turn on the light on my nightstand, open my book, and begin reading. I had several books that I read and reread, touchstones that would ease my mind when I was distressed. The Hundred Dresses by Estes, Tico and the Golden Wings by Lionni, The Little Mermaid by Anderson and, my favorite of all, a collection of Fairy Tales by The Brothers Grimm. These stories told of a little one, a weak one, an outcast, an outsider, apart from their family, without friends, who imagines great things for themselves in the face of the ugliness of greed and sheer human stupidity.  Through all of these stories, a great love is what sustains them.  Their connection to the earth and their cunning and will to stay alive sets them even further apart from the flawed humans around them yet, they still give int he hopes that these humans will learn from their sacrifice.

To say that I identified with the heroes and heroines of these stories is a massive understatement.

As I grew, I never forgot these stories and, even now, as a teacher, I read them to my students, teaching them that fables and fairy tales have large life lessons for us all to learn. The question that I was always left with, however, is what becomes of the characters in those stories I loved. Do they live happily ever after? How could they, damaged as they were by the horrors they had seen as children. How on earth could Hansel and Gretel grow up to be well adjusted adults, marrying and having children, without being overprotective to the point of smothering, convinced that some nameless threat would come along to lure their children away and devour them?  How did Little Red Riding Hood not grow up to be paranoid, agoraphobic, paralyzed with fear, trapped by the certain knowledge that every creature she met from the moment she escaped the wolf on that she was being lied to and deceived?

Yet every story ends with "...and the evil was banished and they lived on happily ever after."  In my house, I had to believe that was true. I had to have hope to get out.

As I grew older, my need to believe that grew even more desperate, as my damaged childhood led me down a path of abuse and despair. My happily ever after had turned out to be yet another pipedream and I found myself alone in the wilderness, this time with two children to care for and protect. The stakes were higher, the reasons to fight more noble than just selfishness. I had a purpose and I began my long journey which would lead to my own happily ever after.

It's no wonder that when a book offers me the answers to the questions I was left with as a child, I would be drawn to it. Such was the case with Birdwing by Rafe Martin. I remember reading the story of the Six Swans and wondering what happened to the poor 6th son, the one that was never truly turned back to being himself. The description of Birdwing brought that story rushing back to me and immediately caught my imagination:

"Once upon a time,  a girl rescued her seven brothers from a spell that had turned them into swans.  But one boy,  Ardwin,  was left with the scar of the spell's last gasp: one arm remained a wing.  And while Ardwin yearned to find a place in his father's kingdom, the wing whispered to him of open sky and rushing wind.  Marked by difference,  Ardwin sets out to discover who he is:  bird or boy,  crippled or sound,  cursed or blessed.  But followed by the cold eye of a sorceress and with war rumbling at his kingdom's borders,  Ardwin's path may lead him not to enlightenment,  but into unimaginable danger."

I found this book to be a satisfying conclusion to the Six Swans.  The happily ever after aspects are neither trite not are the easily won. His battles are not only with the one that cursed him but the ones that try to love and heal him. Ardwin is an imperfect hero who, through intuition and sheer will, determines his own future. He takes full responsibility for every choice he makes along the way, even the ones that lead to disaster. When things do go terribly wrong (and they do several times), he is human enough to admit his mistakes and noble enough to try to make things right. There is nothing more satisfying than that.

Now if only someone would write conclusions to Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty that were more realistic, maybe I could begin to believe in happy endings again. Until then, I will continue to question conventions, challenge stereotypes and fight my own childhood dragons.