doahleigh - Holy Waste of Teabags!

Today was a bad day. Yesterday was good, but today was bad. That’s pretty much how my life has been lately. I’ve tried to write about it, but I can’t seem to accurately describe how I’m feeling, so I just stop. I think it’s because I’m in an in-between phase—in between feeling awful and feeling good again. Yesterday I felt great. I got through work fine, and I spent the evening helping Robin make wedding invitations for a friend. Then she even talked me into going out for a drink, and I went to bed feeling fine. But I woke up feeling awful. I was sad again, and as much as I tried to fill my time with friends and family, the sadness followed me all day. Sometimes it just wants to be there. As much as I try to kick its ass and tell it to leave me the fuck alone already, it insists on hanging out some days.

I know it’s good that I’m having good days though. It means I’m on my way. It’s been just over a month, so I figure in another month I’ll feel even better. And in another month I might feel good again. And in another month maybe even great. And so on.

Lately it has been less about being sad about Brad and more about feeling so hurt by how it all happened. I feel so deceived. I feel like the whole thing was cheap and it cheapened the entire relationship. I feel betrayed. I deserved more, our relationship deserved a better ending. I just can’t get past knowing that he knew it was over long before I did, and he didn’t tell me. I can’t get over how he told me one thing for a week and then suddenly changed his story and the hurtful truth came out. He didn’t cheat on me in case that’s what this is sounding like (or at least I don’t think he did - I’m not sure what to think anymore), but I still feel like I was cheated in a lot of ways. I was so hurt by the way things went down that I think even after I move on from Brad, I will still carry around some hurt from the way it all came crashing down.

I still do miss him sometimes though. Some days I feel genuinely excited about the prospect of dating again. About having fun and meeting new people. I am excited about the idea of falling in love all over again, especially with someone who can love and appreciate me so much more than Brad did. I actually feel good sometimes about what’s to come.

Then other days I get discouraged. I get sad, feel lonely, feel the emptiness, and wonder if it will ever be filled. I wonder why it all fell apart, why he didn’t love me, why he thinks he’s better off without me, and if it’s really feasible that I can fall in love again. I don’t know what each day will bring, or even what each hour will bring. I’ve been in this in-between stage for about a week now and it’s pretty tiring, but I guess the in-between stage is better than the dark, depressing month that preceded it.

I’ll probably go back and forth like this for awhile. My relationship with Brad was so much of my world, and it’s a lot to let go of. Some days I am really eager to see what kinds of experiences this has freed me up for.

And some days I just miss my Brad.

I want to go to bed - I’m tired - but I can’t. For the first time since he left me, I’d rather stay up than go to bed alone. Brad and I rarely ever went to bed at the same time, and neither of us were much for nighttime cuddling, so going to bed by myself hasn’t been as hard as waking up alone. But tonight I just can’t do it, so I’ve been sitting up, doing different things to avoid bedtime.

I was doing better for a few days, feeling stronger, but today I sunk again. I spent most of the day with my sisters, but I still managed to feel lonely. As soon as I drove away to come home I started crying, and I haven’t stopped for very long since. It’s been a few days since I’ve cried and I think my tears were stored up, waiting to come out. There’s just a sadness deep inside of me that needed to come out, something I had been holding back. Something I couldn’t stop this time.

I tried to do a lot of things to fix or ignore it. I tried to think of all things I have to be happy about, I tried watching funny things on tv, I tried reading, I tried eating a few times but mostly felt like throwing up, I tried sitting quietly and concentrating on my breathing, I called my sister, I packed for my vacation. But still I cried. Over and over until I finally ended up crumpled on the laundry room floor (where I had gone to get another box of tissues) sobbing out loud. To myself.

The thing I don’t get is why was he so significant in my life and I was so insignificant in his? How can two people be in the same relationship for over three years and have such different reactions to its end? I think one of the biggest reasons I’m such a mess is because I lost such a huge part me. He was so important in my life, so huge, so significant. Even if this is for the best, how do you not feel awful and empty and lonely and desperate when something that big is gone? Even if you choose to get rid of it, don’t you still feel a despairing loss when it’s gone? But he doesn’t feel that. Please don’t tell me I’m wrong. I know he’s not completely content, and I know everyone deals with things differently, but I promise you he doesn’t feel what he would feel if I meant to him what he meant to me. Even if he was done loving me, even if he couldn’t be with me, even if he chose to be done with me. If he was losing a truly significant part of his life, he would feel something more than “okay, mostly concerned for you.”

Even if he doesn’t deserve these tears, he gets them because I let him become such a fundamental and enormous part of me. Why wasn’t I that to him? Why doesn’t my absence warrant some meaningful pain? Why is he so quick and confident in his proclamations that he can and will and wants to move on from what we had to other things and other people? Why did I think I meant more to him than I did?

I haven’t talked to him in awhile, so I don’t know what he’s doing. But I know it’s not crying on the floor of his laundry room. I know it’s not avoiding a bed without me in it. I know it’s not trying to force himself to feel better after losing one of those most significant parts of his life. Why the fuck am I the only doing that?

This roller coaster stuff is not working for me. I don’t like seeing a glimmer of hope for the future just to have the shades pulled down, leaving me feeling dark and lonely again. Yesterday evening I felt pretty okay. I was prepared to curl up in pajamas and watch a movie, and I was completely fine with that. Then my friend Erica called, and she came to hang out with me for a few hours instead. We only talked about Brad and the breakup for about 15 minutes, and I didn’t cry once. After she left there was some drama with my sister, so that distracted me for awhile, then it was time for bed. I went to sleep feeling hopeful, like I could actually see an end to this. Like Brad doesn’t know what he’s giving up and I’m better off without him. Like maybe I could eventually get through a day without missing him or hating him for what he did. I didn’t feel good, but I felt like I could feel good someday.

Then I woke up and I had to face it all again. I feel really sad again today, and really lonely. Mornings seem to be the worst. Even though I managed to eat dinner last night, I still can’t eat breakfast. I still feel too depleted in the morning to put much effort into my appearance. I wear my glasses a lot because contacts are too much work. My clothes often don’t match or make any sense. I really don’t care. I spend the first few hours at work each day wishing I could go home and crawl back into bed and forget all this. Mornings are the hardest.

Next week I’m going on vacation with my family. We are staying in a cottage on Lake Michigan for a week, a trip we did last year as well. Last year Brad was with me – this year he won’t be. He was supposed to come, but three weeks before the trip he decided to do something about the fact that he doesn’t actually love me. Now I’m going as a single. Two of my sisters are bringing their boyfriends (the third has to work all week), my brother is bringing his girlfriend and kids, and my dad and his wife and two kids will be there. I’m the only one going solo.

I thought about skipping it because the thought of going to bed alone at night, in the same bed Brad and I shared last summer, while everyone else snuggles up next to someone else, breaks my heart. I’m not sure I can do that five nights in a row. I’m not worried about being left out of anything, but I’m worried about being a charity case, a third wheel, an extra. Emily organized all the meals earlier this week and sent an email requesting money from everyone. The list looked something like this:

Dad and happy family
Josh and happy family
Andrea and happy family (her boyfriend’s daughter is coming as well)
Emily and the love of her life
Shannon

There’s me, all alone. Single. Solo. And I’m just not sure I’m ready to face that so head-on yet. I know if I need to be anywhere next week it’s with my family, but there might just be too many memories of the fun we had last year, and too many reminders of who is not there with me this year.

My god, is it after noon yet? I hate mornings.

People are starting to catch on at work. They ask me what’s wrong and when I say I’m fine, they come up with their own reasons. Are you tired? Not feeling well? I just agree with them. It’s easier to say I’m tired or sick than to tell the truth.

One sign of the times: I haven’t had a bowl of cereal for breakfast since Wednesday, before the all too honest email. Breakfast cereal to me is like coffee to most people—my day doesn’t feel right if it doesn’t start that way. But I’ve hardly been able to eat anything at all.

The Xanax has been nice, mostly because it knocks me out. I don’t usually sleep well, but I took some both Thursday and Friday before bed and fell asleep hard. Unfortunately that means I can’t take it during the day when I sometimes feel the worst. Saturday I almost fell over in the shower because I couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t hold myself up. I often find myself stopping to just lean on something and catch my breath even though I haven’t exerted myself at all. I don’t want to take anything unless I really think I need it though, so I survived Saturday med-free. But on Sunday I started to feel panicky, and I took a Xanax to relax. Instead of just relaxing, I waited a half hour, then stumbled to bed where I slept for two hours. Sleeping keeps the thoughts away though, so I don’t mind.

My friends and family have been pretty awesome. Robin and her boyfriend Jason took me miniature golfing on Saturday where I actually found myself laughing a few times. That was nice. Too bad I can’t distract myself with putt-putt all day every day. My sisters check in with me regularly to make sure I’m okay, and both mom and dad and many friends have called or emailed to check in too. My friend Lauren said she wanted to visit me on Sunday, but she lives on the other side of the state, so I told her she was crazy, I was fine. She came anyway. Bearing gifts. She drove over two hours to see me and came through the door with her arms full of books, candy and flowers. My sadness could not possibly be worth such incredibly kind acts of friendship.

Lauren let me talk about the things I needed to talk about, then we talked about a million other things because she and I are so much alike. She’s very wise and has an amazing outlook, and I’m so thankful for her visit. And for everything all my friends and family and blog readers have done. I try to gain perspective by knowing that others are going and have gone through much worse, but I’m not very good at that. So thank you to everyone who doesn’t think I’m ridiculous for struggling so much with this.

Last night Lauren actually had me convinced for awhile that despite my incredibly high standards, hopes and expectations, there really could be someone out there for me. If the one person I’ve found who met (most of) those standards doesn’t want me, how am I ever going to find someone else? Brad was the one and he didn’t want me. What can be left? But she really made me believe it was possible.

Except when she left I went to bed lonely and woke up feeling empty again. Why doesn’t he want me? And why do I even care anymore? I should be able to know that I deserve better than to cry over someone who isn’t crying over me. I wish my heart could figure that out.

Things are getting worse around here. I’m not handling this well at all. Which is hard for me because I normally handle things pretty well. I don’t know how to do this.

I sent a desperate and pathetic email to Brad on Wednesday, I completely poured my heart out to him. When he finally wrote back later that day he only (I think intentionally) pushed me away. He said some things that were hard to read. And I realized some things about this break up that I wasn’t acknowledging before. Things aren’t the way I thought they were – they’re much much worse. I completely freaked out. I fell to the floor in my bedroom and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe.

I spent the evening and the next day with two of my sisters. I couldn’t face another day at work, another day of hiding the pain, choking back tears. I had to come home yesterday evening for my class, which I couldn’t miss. On the drive home I started having a break down. My stomach was a mess, like I was nervous but worse. I kept taking deep breaths so I didn’t pass out. My hands were shaking. Andrea told me I needed to call my doctor and try to get something for anxiety, so when I got home that’s the first thing I did. While I was on hold, I crumbled. I completely fell apart. I sobbed to the receptionist, asking her to get me in as soon as possible, but I couldn’t get an appointment until next Wednesday. When I hung up, I started choking on my sobs. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t sit still. I paced my house, trying to get control of myself. But I couldn’t. It was definitely a low point.

I went to class, but I left after an hour. I couldn’t sit there. I called my mom and drove straight to her house. She had some Xanax she could give me, and I knew I wouldn’t make it through the night (let alone the days until Wednesday) without something. She let me cry and talk to her, then I took a pill, went home and slept to forget my feelings. I’ve never taken anything like that before, I’ve never felt bad enough. But I need something to turn off my thoughts, make me functional and get me through the day. At least until enough time has passed and I can finally face this on my own. I can’t eat, I don’t sleep well, sometimes I can’t breathe. I feel like I never stop crying, and I can’t stop thinking. I have a final for my class, I have work, I have interviews. I need to be able to function.

I had to work today, but it isn’t easy. Everyone can tell something is wrong, but nobody knows and nobody asks. My supervisor asked how I was feeling since I didn’t come in yesterday, and I almost cried right in front of him, a person I never ever want to cry in front of.

All I can hope is that this is rock bottom and it’s only up from here. It’s been almost two weeks and I’ve gotten worse instead of better. I know there’s an end to this somewhere in my future, but that is small comfort when I can barely get through the day.

I hesitated to write any of this here because I’m no longer comfortable with Brad knowing how horrible I’m feeling when I know he is fine. I know you’ll all say that there’s no way Brad is totally fine, and I’m sure he’s feeling something. But this is what he wanted, this is what he wants. He did this because he would rather be alone (or with someone else) than with me. So maybe he hates that his needs are hurting me, but essentially he is fine. It hurts to know that the end of our relationship is a relief for him when it’s completely devastating for me.

He said I could talk to him any time I needed to and I didn’t need to feel bad because he wanted me to understand, and he wanted to do what he could to help me get through this. But when I turned to him in a weak moment, he told me the truth and he pushed me away. It hurt. It broke my heart all over again. But I can’t expect him to care for me when the whole point of doing this was to get away from me and focus on himself. He is ready to move on from me and probably has been for awhile in fact. So as much as it crushes me, I can’t expect him to miss me or help me. I hate knowing that.

And I don’t mind if he reads my blog – I make it public for anyone to read. But I thought twice about writing so honestly about my feelings now that I know exactly where he stands.

However, I didn’t want any of that to keep me from writing in my own space. You guys have helped me so much and I haven’t even said thank you yet. I know it sucks to come here each time I write and read another heart broken, tear-filled post. And I know it’s hard to say the same things over and over to a sad person who doesn’t seem to be hearing them. But each and every comment you have made has meant something to me. I hope you won’t abandon me while I find a way out of this sorrow. I’m told that eventually I’ll feel better, and even though that doesn’t help me right now, I believe it. So eventually this blog will get back to normal. But for now, I can only be honest about what this is doing to me.

While Brad is out there finding himself (and maybe finding someone else to love), I am losing myself. I’m losing control. I feel like I’m losing everything.

This weekend my family and I went up to a little cabin in the woods. It was actually my sisters, their boyfriends, some of their friends, me and my mom (Brad was busy and missed out). It was a tiny little cabin with no electricity or running water, but we spent most of our time around the campfire anyway. Friday night I didn’t get any sleep because half of the group stayed up until past 5am, keeping me unwillingly awake with them. Mom and I ended up leaving Saturday night because I had to get some sleep and I knew it wouldn’t happen if we stayed there again.

None of that is the point of this story though. The point is that on Saturday we rented some tubes to float a river for a few hours. I was so excited because it had been years since I did that, but now, on the other side of that trip, I can safely say that I’ll probably never want to go again. It wasn’t horrible, but it was probably the least relaxing thing I’ve ever done. I had visions of chilling in a tube, drinking a beer while the current quietly carried me down the river.

Not at all what happened.

Misadventure #1
We created two “pods” of tubes so we could stick together. Pod 1 – my pod – consisted of two double-seater tubes, five single tubes, eight people and one fully stocked cooler tied together with rope. We were large and quite unmanageable. It’s impossible to steer something like that, so we were basically never where we wanted to be. Always hung up on a fallen log, stuck in a bank, floating over large rocks or under overhanging trees. And those overhanging trees? FULL. OF. SPIDERS. When I went canoeing a couple years ago on the same river, I had a traumatic encounter with a spider tree, which I had kind of forgotten about until I was back on the river. And then it was too late. I spent the whole trip desperately trying to avoid these trees, and at one point I dove out of my tube and on top of my sister’s boyfriend’s six-year-old daughter to dodge a particularly spidery one. Seriously not relaxing.

Misadventure #2
About half an hour into the trip I saw a little animal swim across the river a hundred yards ahead of us. Aww, cute little animal. A few minutes later Pod 2 yelled back at us to watch out for the woodchuck – apparently they can be aggressive. We made our way to where the woodchuck was spotted and we lifted our feet just in case, but we weren’t really worried. Until suddenly the motherfucking woodchuck surfaced less than two feet from us. Without a bit of exaggeration I can say that the big furry beast was just out of arm’s reach from me when it surfaced and then dove back under. I saw every hair on its broad back. I may have made eye contact. Not so much a cute little animal by the way. This thing was as big as my sister’s yellow lab. It would have been fine if we could have just floated right past it, but instead we were stuck behind a fallen log. Try as we might, we could not get past the log without sticking our legs in the water, which none of us were willing to do with a giant killer woodchuck swimming below us.

While the rest of us tried to keep our limbs and asses from touching the water, my sister Emily was finally brave enough to jump in and pull us around the log. But then she lost her hat, so my sister Kelli had to jump in to save the hat while Emily saved us. Thankfully nobody was mauled by what one of the guys described as “a fucking bear in the water.”

Misadventure #3
But none of this is even the worst part of the trip. All day the weather was gorgeous, and even though we knew there was a small chance of rain, we weren’t concerned. A little sprinkle wouldn’t hurt. When we saw the storm cloud and heard it rumbling though, we knew we were going to get hit with a little more than rain. The guys at the rafting company told us to go left at the fork in the river and our exit was at the first road overpass after that. The first raindrops fell just as we came to the fork, so we figured we’d be out of the river before it got bad. But then it started down pouring, the kind of driving rain that stings your skin. It was so cold that we were all shivering violently.

And then it started to hail. Yes hail. Marble-sized chunks of ice pelted our bodies. So now it’s raining, it’s hailing, it’s freezing cold and the wind picks up. We have no idea how much farther we have to go and the little girl is scared to death. Andrea held onto her while her dad did his best to shield her with his body. Then we see lightening. We’re in the water and there is lightening striking nearby. The river is warmer than the air (what with the HAIL and all!), so it’s a choice between getting in the water with lightening nearby or staying above the water where it’s bitter cold.

About half an hour after the whole thing started, we finally see the bridge. As soon as we get out of the water, the rain lets up, but then it’s a quarter mile hike down a muddy path in bare feet, carrying heavy tubes and coolers. After the rain it was gorgeous and warm, so we spent the ride back to the cabin baking in the sun, which was magnificent. In the end, nobody got hurt so it really wasn’t that bad. But in the middle of the chaos, I looked at my sister and said, “This is what we’re doing right now. This is our life at this moment – floating down a river while it’s raining and hailing and lightening. How did this happen?” But at the same time I kept thinking that soon it would all be over and we’d have a great story to tell.

Edited to add: After some research, I determined that the woodchuck may have in fact been a beaver. This is no less discomforting.

One time Brad and I talked about which identifying marks we’d use if ever we had to identify each other at the morgue. Like if our faces had been eaten off and we had to rely on birthmarks or scars to recognize each other. I can’t remember what we decided for Brad (so hon, don’t die and get your face eaten off until we’ve talked about this again), but I do remember mine. It’s pretty obvious: my freckle patch.

Maybe you’ve noticed it in pictures before and wondered, what the hell is on her arm? I get that all the time. Especially after a long winter when I start wearing short sleeves again. Suddenly there’s this splotch on my arm that has been hidden for months, and everyone’s curious. You know that look you get when you’ve got something in your teeth? People try to look you in the eye, but they keep glancing down? They think they’re being subtle, but the eye shift is pretty obvious every time they sneak a peek at your mouth? Well that’s what I get, only they’re looking at my arm.

Here, you can see it in this picture:

Did you catch that? Here it is a little closer (ignore the fat rolls and chubby arm please, focus on the freckles):

There’s no explanation for the freckle patch, it’s just, well, a patch of freckles. I have random freckles scattered all over my body, as do all my sisters (thanks for that Dad), but it’s as if all the freckles on my right arm forgot to spread out. They were born, and then they were supposed to migrate, but nobody told them, so they stay there huddled together.

I’ve tried to count the freckles many times, and so have lots of other people – I think it’s somewhere around 30, but everyone comes up with something different. Depends if you count certain splotches as one or two, and if you count the really tiny ones that look like pin pricks. At first, most people think it’s a faded temporary tattoo. Others say it looks like henna. My dad thinks it’s funny to lick his thumb and pretend to try to wipe away the “dirt” on my arm. He does this nearly every time I see him and has been since I was little. It’s one of my favorite ongoing jokes.

I’ve tried to get certain other people to have the exact same splotch tattooed on the same place of their arm, kind of like a “friendship” tattoo, but so far nobody’s going for it. Brad said if we ever get married, he might consider it, which is really saying something since he’s sooo not a tattoo guy. It’s not as crazy as having my name tattooed across his shoulder blades (hello Mr. Mariah Carey), but I think it’d be a true sign of commitment. Because otherwise how do you explain why you tattooed a freckle patch on your arm?

Most people won’t ask me about it. They not-so-subtly check it out while talking to me, but don’t dare to inquire. I don’t say anything about it either, even though it’s obvious they’re looking, but if someone asks me, I’m always happy to talk about my freckle patch. I think it’s really cool and unique – it’s one of my favorite distinguishing marks. And it’s definitely a really good way to identify me if I ever end up faceless in a morgue.

(Except, what if my face and my right arm are eaten off? Then what? Then you look at the fourth toe on my right foot. But I’ll have to tell you about that one later…)

I wrote about my mom on Mother’s Day, and since my dad is pretty amazing as well, you should know about him too. He’s a little bit Forrest Gump, a little Chandler Bing, a little Steve Martin, and there’s this other part of him that can’t be described by naming a celebrity or pop culture character.

He’s simple, he’s humble, he’s adventurous and he’s hilarious.

His whole life he wanted nothing more than to be a mountain man. He moved to Montana right after high school, but came back to Michigan when he found out my mom got pregnant during one of his holiday visits home. At age 20 he married her and by age 28 he had fathered five kids. He left my mom soon after that, and while that part of life was hard for all of us, I don’t doubt that he never stopped loving us. If we weren’t number one in his life, he would have moved back to Montana a long time ago.

For a long time he vowed to go to my youngest sister’s high school graduation with a truck full of gear because he was driving west right after the ceremony. Instead, he had his sixth child about five years before that graduation, and now he’s married with two kids under the age of ten.

He’s got five daughters and two sons, he’s worked at the same place for almost 30 years, he drives a pickup truck with crank windows and a stereo that doesn’t even have a cassette-player (by choice). He is not a typical dad—you can’t get away with buying him a grill or golf balls or sports paraphernalia or a tie. Actually you can’t get away with buying him much because he doesn’t like a lot of attention or gifts. Though he does hold on to every damn thing that crosses his path. Anything you need, he’s got three in his garage.

My dad insists on humor in our family, he is welcoming to anyone we bring home, he’s not afraid to make a fool of himself (actually he does it on purpose quite often), and he is a very deep intellectual, always observing and questioning what’s around him. That is something I have learned from him and hope to pass on to my kids someday.

Happy Father’s Day Dad!

When I was a kid, one of my favorite icons was Strawberry Shortcake. She went away for awhile as I got older, but I was thrilled when she started getting popular again. I like that my niece and my seven year old sister know about my old pal. I’d rather have them covet Strawberry Shortcake merchandise than that god awful Bratz crap. Strawberry is an icon from my childhood, so I was sad to read that they’re updating her look. Lately she’s been seen in jeans and doo rags, but apparently she’s getting an even more modern look. She’s getting rid of Custard the cat and replacing the kitty with a cellphone and a flat iron.

Can’t anything ever just stay the same?

I hate how much time I spent on homework this weekend. Far too much.

Friday I worked until 12, then I read six chapters and wrote six short papers for class. I took time to eat dinner, get ice cream with Brad and do a few other tasks, but I didn’t finish the last paper until 10:30 that night. Ugh. So yeah, that was my Friday.

Saturday I worked 10:30 to 3, then my sister Kelli and I drove up to my sister Emily’s new house to help her move in. Andrea (other sister) and Mom were aleady up there. On of my sisters kinda sorta backed into a truck when she was trying to move my dad’s truck, which we had borrowed. Um oops. So that caused a little drama for awhile, but we managed to help Em and Drew (her boyfriend) unpack before settling in to watch a movie. Oh did I say watch a movie? I meant walk around and talk loudly while a movie was playing because that’s what almost everyone did. So annoying. Despite the lack of furniture, we all stayed the night - couple in the bed, couple on the couch, couple on the floor.

I had to leave soon after getting up on Sunday. More homework, what else? This week I have to do this short presentation in class, but because of the requirements of the presentation, it took me ALL DAY to prepare it! It was so ridiculous and I hate it. It’s basically all I did Sunday besides laundry, grocery shopping and a desperately needed nap. Have I mentioned I’m ready for this class to be done?

Also, last night two of my sisters and mom dropped by to drop off one of these. As you can see, they are on major sale, and with my sister’s employee discount… 40 bucks! For a chair I have been coveting since last summer. Seems like everyone in my family has two or three, and they’re so perfect for chillin’ or reading in the sun. I can’t wait to put it on my deck. I like to sit out there and do my class reading whenever it’s nice enough, but currently I sit awkardly in a camping chair. From now on? I just might fall asleep instead of reading. Wait, maybe the chair wasn’t such a great idea…

You may have heard that Obama was in Grand Rapids last night. I got to meet him. No I didn’t, that was a total lie. But Brad and I did go to the rally. I’m a Clinton supporter (as you may know), but I also like Obama. I never got swept up in the mania – I’m not really a get-swept-up kinda girl – but there hasn’t been much action in Michigan during this long crazy race (remember, we broke the rules and were shunned). So I thought I’d go down and check it out. Be part of history and all that.

You may be thinking that I’m going to tell you I’m now a convert, I’m on the Obama bandwagon. But no, the rally didn’t do anything to change my mind. I’m still with Hillary until there’s only one Democratic candidate, and then I’ll fully back him or her. But anyway. We got into the arena after having our belongings searched by the Secret Service, and even found decent seats. The only people who got good seats were the event volunteers who got to sit in the sign-wielding crowd behind the podium, and the couple hundred people who waited in line for ten hours and got to stand on the floor. Everyone else was either on the other side of the arena from the podium or behind the press stage. So basically Obama was a tiny blip in the distance—he could have been anyone really—but that didn’t matter much to me.

It was just really cool to look around and see 12,000 people of all ages and races who all believed in ending the ridiculous shit and getting down to the business of making things better. There was a lot of chanting (I did not participate) and clapping (I did a little) and even a couple rounds of the wave (can’t pass up a good wave).

My youngest sister called and decided to join us. We met a nice girl on our walk to the arena who waited in line and then sat with us, and even bought us soft pretzels and popcorn because we had no cash. Mom called and said she saw us on tv when they panned the crowd pre-Obama. She mentioned that there was reportedly going to be a “really important democrat” there to announce his endorsement. Brad got on the Blackberry and confirmed that we’d not only be “meeting” Obama, but John Edwards too.

They both said the usual stuff—better this, better that, we want change, yes we can—nothing new. Lots of standing and clapping and chanting. Even some fainting. Obama came to the rescue when he casually interrupted his speech to ask for the EMTs and threw his bottle of water into the crowd. What would he do if his throat went dry from all the inspirational speaking?! Didn’t matter, he’s willing to sacrifice for the common people. He’s Obama.

For real though, it was pretty cool to be there. Except, despite all the energy and uplifting speeches, Brad and I couldn’t stop yawning. We admitted later that we could have fallen asleep in the middle if given a pillow. Surely that’s sacrilege, almost dozing at an Obama rally. But I think by the time the crowd started their third round of O-BA-MA chants, it started to get a little repetitive. I was glad to be part of something memorable, but by the time he wrapped it up at 7:20, I was satisfied. And home in time for the Top Model finale.

*I hadn’t heard this phrase before last night. Why didn’t I think of that?

Edited to add: I didn’t get a single good picture, so I didn’t even bother uploading them before writing this post. I did get a couple shots of the protesters out front though. They had signs that said things like, “My pastor isn’t a racist” and “Aborted babies: where is their hope?” Like suddenly I’m in line and see your sign and I want to be a Republican.

Everyone wrote about Mother’s Day yesterday…I guess I’m a little behind. Brad says that he’s not a big fan of Mother’s Day because he thinks mothers should be treated special all year. I agree, they should, but I also think moms deserve a day all to themselves. To be recognized and honored and spoiled.

I don’t have a big essay to write about my mom, however. I could, but instead, consider this: when my mom was my age (27), she had five children ranging in age from 8 years to a few months old. She was soon to become a divorced single mother, getting by on child support checks and part-time jobs. She had less than a year of college education. She struggled to heat the house, she accepted meals and clothes from the church, she occasionally cried silently behind closed doors.

And we never knew any of it.

If my mom can do all that at my age and still be sane today, she’s amazing. If she can do all that and still be as strong as she is, as loving and supportive of her five children as she is, and as happy about life as she is today…she’s the best mom in the world.

Yesterday the card from her five kids said, “Mom to the rescue” because yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Love you Mom!

I don’t want a career or a baby. Is that so wrong?

Okay that’s not entirely true. I will probably want a baby someday, and I’ll probably always have a career. But I’m not really passionate about either, and that truth doesn’t seem to fit anywhere in our society’s ideas of women. You choose a career or you choose motherhood; you give up having a family so you can become a CEO or you give up the pursuit of the top so you can you have a family. There doesn’t seem to be anything in between.

And yet, I’m somewhere in between. So I wonder… what does that make me?

If you’ve already seen it, you may have guessed that I watched “Baby Mama” over the weekend. A movie in which a thirty-something woman decides that after years of climbing the corporate ladder, she’s ready to be a mommy. This isn’t just a woman was going along in life and forgot to have a child—she intentionally did not pursue motherhood because she wanted to be a rockstar at her job. And she is! At the time of her maternal realization, she is also promoted to vice president of something or other (details allude me). But this is clearly a woman who made a choice between kids and career.

Which is the dichotomy that is almost always set up for women in the media. Movies, television, the news, even blogs. You always see something about “More women giving up careers to stay home with kids” or “Family and work: can you have it all?”

Why does it have to be one or the other? What if I don’t want either? Or what if I just don’t want either that badly?

I have a career, and I’m even working on a master’s degree so I can continue that career. But I can’t say that I have ambitions to be a big fancy anything. I don’t work because I love working, I work because I have to. And since I have to, I make sure I do a damn good job—I’m good at what I do, and I’ve excelled at every job I’ve had. Since I have to keep working for, well, ever really, I’ll continue to make sure I’m good at what I do. But don’t expect me to make sacrifices in my life for my job. Ever. No I will not give up my allotted vacation days so I can demonstrate my dedication!

Likewise, I suppose I’ll have a baby someday too. Am I dying to be a mother? Does my uterus cry out every time I see a newborn? No and no. As a matter of fact, I keep assuming the maternal urge will hit me eventually, but so far, nothing. Motherhood is in my plans, but I have no idea when and I’m certainly in no hurry. So having babies is not my ultimate goal, to say the least.

So, to refresh: I’m not a superdriven career woman and I’m not a mother-in-the-making. What am I?

It’s not so much that I’m on a crusade to change these perceptions, but just that it’s starting to wear on me. I know that I should be okay with not fitting into either mold, but the constant reminder that I should be is starting to convince me that maybe I’m just lazy. Maybe I should get off my ass and climb the ladder. Or get off my ass and make some babies. I’m not doing anything, I’m just sitting here reading lots of good books and traveling whenever I can afford it and spending time with my family (of the sibling and parent nature…not the husband and kids kind). WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!

You see my point I’m sure. What is so wrong about wanting my life to be about interesting things: people, places, books, etc? Nothing. There’s nothing wrong and I know it. Yet I feel all this pressure, like, okay woman you’re 27 and you’re nowhere near becoming a mommy. That must mean you want to be a big shot career woman, but uh, nope. You don’t seem too interested in getting to the top very fast. So what exactly is it that you’re doing that’s worthwhile?

Um… I just started a book club. I went to New York last month. Does that count?

Sometimes I wonder if this whole grad school thing is just a result of that pressure. Like in order to keep going and getting better jobs, it makes sense to get some more education. And since I’m not doing anything very domestic, maybe I should try to be better at working for a living. So here I am, back in school. I’m not even sure what I want to do with this degree!

The worst thing is that as I get older, this is only going to get worse. I’ll be expected, more and more, to either procreate or tack a fancy title after my name. Or both. And all I’ll have done is read a few hundred books and taken a couple dozen trips. Is that so wrong?

My dad turned 50 on Sunday. That’s nothing to him because he plans to live to at least 102. Oh and he thinks he’s the man of steel, something I too believed until I was about 20 (a part of me still kind of does). We had a little party for him on Sunday—just immediate family. Which in my family means a pretty good-sized party since our family is HUGE! It was perfect though—the weather, the food, the people, the fun.

We had a cookout, we gave him a new digital camera, we took some family photos, we even gave my sister’s boyfriend a group-effort haircut in the garage. One of the best parts though was the cake. For his birthday my brother bought my dad a brand new Stihl chainsaw (my dad likes to cut wood), which looked maybe a little something like this:

Apparently my brother is a professional cake creator because just before the party started, he walks in with this, like it’s no big deal: 

Okay, I’m impressed with myself when I manage to make a box cake and frost it evenly in the pan. He made a fucking chainsaw cake! I had no idea my brother was so awesome. I want him to make my next birthday cake. I’m thinking maybe a detailed map of Europe…

Holy crap you guys, help! I’ve been so busy that I haven’t time to write anything, and I’ve hardly had time to read your stuff. My life has got to relax or I’m going to crash. I’m so close to the end of this semester, and even though it’s a very short (and busy) time before summer classes start, I can’t wait to be done.

Work is out of control, but I can’t talk about that, so moving on. Almost all of my after-work time is spent on school stuff, little life errands, or pre-arranged engagements with friends and family. I feel like I’ve been busy since November, and I wonder if it will ever chill out or if this is just my life now. I’m hoping for the first one.

I’m sorry, I hate posts that are only about how busy someone is and how they just can’t manage to blog. But it’s all I’ve got today. This week, actually. Hey at least I’m not writing about how I think I’m done here because other things have taken precedence over blogging. This is still really important to me, I’m just too busy to be creative. Or interesting. Or funny. Or at all worthy of your attention.

Please love me anyway! I still love you, and I promise I’ll visit soon.