I'm Calmer Now

See, no giant letters, no exclamation points. Nice and calm.

But seriously, that woman has been driving me crazy this week. It honestly didn't dawn on her until Tuesday that we had another expo next Wednesday, and that we would need to ship materials. Then she went into panic mode. She dragged me to Sam's so she could buy candy for the pill bottles. She didn't need to take me to do that. While she was gone, I could have been putting lables on the bottles we had, then we wouldn't have had to rush to finish them yesterday.

Then yesterday we all of a sudden had to get these brochures done. I think they are stupid anyhow (despite the brilliance of their design), and I thought that they had decided not to use them for the future expos because no one was picking them up. But no, we had to rush to get them copied yesterday, and when the copier started jamming she was getting worried that we wouldn't get them done and I was just plain frustrated (I actually used the f word under my breath).

But her boss's AA is just as bad. She insisted that she could get them folded, but then she had a ton of stuff dumped on her. Did she say something this morning? No, she waited until 1 p.m. My boss did about 100 of them, then she said she had to go buy "supplies." Like I didn't hear her say on the phone to her daughter that she was going to Michael's and Hobby Lobby to look for artificial flowers for the bouquets. Meanwhile, the folder, which will only take one sheet at a time, jammed really, really badly. I followed the directions for unjamming it, but they didn't work. So I had to take the thing apart. It took me an hour to figure out how to get the paper out of it. While I was fighting with it, one of the other managers told me that payroll has a folder that will do a whole ream automatically. When my boss came back from her shopping expidition, I mentioned that to her and she said that it was better to do it this way. Yeah. She's not the one who's ending up with repetitive motion injuries. My right arm is killing me right now.

But the story gets better. In the middle of doing this, she slaps a request for hospital info down on my desk. Now, typically we download the information, stick it in a spreadsheet, and e-mail it. Since she didn't tell me who it went to, I pulled it, saved the spreadsheet, and e-mailed it to her to forward it. When she came back downstairs, she asked me if I printed it. I looked at her like she was from another planet, and asked her what she meant. She said that the requestor wanted it faxed - didn't I see the phone number on the note she gave me? Now, without her telling me, how am I supposed to know that that means it needs to be faxed? For that matter, how am I supposed to know who to fax it to if she didn't tell me?

And then, just as I think I'm finally done with the damn brochures, she dumps another 200 on me. That was just the capper to a crappy, crappy day.

Now I will grant you, I've been in a pissy mood. I would swear I had PMS, if it weren't the wrong time of the month for that. But I still don't think I'm being unreasonable.

Then again, maybe I am a little bit. It just gets to me that I am a well-educated, experienced woman, and I'm doing work that a second grader with a good attention span could do easily.

I. Hate. That.

What is wrong with me that I can't seem to find a decent job that challenges me, allows me to be creative, and lets me use my skills? It just makes me more and more depressed.

I give up.

AARRGGHH!!!!!!

I hate office machines. I hate using them, I hate fixing them, I hate them, hate them...

HATE THEM!!!!

Ahem.

Between today and yesterday, I have been covered in toner, lubricant (and not the fun kind...not that I've ever been near the fun kind), dust, and dirt. I have photocopied over 2000 fliers and fed them one by one through a letter folder. I have taken said copier apart about 25 times when it jammed, and said folder apart more times than I can count when it jammed. I have labeled and filled over 300 bottles with candy. And why, you may ask, have I done all this?

I have no freaking idea.

Remember when I wrote that I was bored? I could have been doing some of this stuff then. I could have been making copies or filling and labeling bottles all along. But no, my supervisor said she didn't have anything that needed doing so I had to invent busy work for myself. Then, all of a sudden, she realizes that hey, we have another expo less than a week away and we have to ship the materials. So now it's a mad rush to get everything done. And of course, when you rush, things are done incorrrectly or they break down. And then you have to panic even more because you are running late.

I'm a procrastinator by nature. I admit it. But if I know I have seven expos for over 3000 employees and I have to prepare materials for all of them, I'm going to pace myself. That way, there's no crisis when a piece of equipment breaks, or when you run out of something, or whatever.

And where is she in all of this? Laughing, smiling, making jokes about everything being at the last minute. And as I'm feeding the damn fliers through the damn machine, she's out shopping for her daughter's wedding under the guise of getting "supplies" for the expo. Did I get to take a lunch? Did I get to leave my desk? No.

Grr!!! I know Gannon was a liberal arts school, and that it was supposed to provide me with a well-rounded education. But I'm sorry. I did not spend $75,000 of my, my parents', the taxpayers' and the generous benefactors who support the scholarship funds' money to take apart and fix office equipment. I am not an engineer!

I wanna go home!!!

Well, I Did It.

After two weeks of sitting in my car in the parking lot, I actually made it inside the Lutheran church. The sky didn't fall, no one laughed at me, no one saw my invisible, "I'm Catholic!" sign, and no one chased me out of the church.

Quite the opposite, in fact. I was greeted warmly by what had to be half the congregation before I even made it into the nave. I sat in almost the very back (and remembered not to genuflect). It was a small congregation, probably around 100 people at the service, and they seemed to really be a community. People were talking with each other before the service began (something that threw me a little at first - I'm used to the quiet before mass...though conversation is good). And people got out of the pews and walked around the church during the sign of peace.

The pastor, like most Lutheran pastors I have known (all four of them) was not a flamboyant or dynamic preacher, but he spoke with a gentle sincerity that gave what he said a certain authority. After the service, he recognized immediately that I was visiting and he went out of his way to greet and welcome me, even though I tried to escape without being noticed.

So why was I crying in my car after the service (the reason I tried to leave without being noticed)? I liked it there. I don't know a soul, but I liked it there. And the implication of that terrify me.

I felt more connected in that church than I have in the Catholic church in a long time, even before January. And I'm trying to figure out why that is. I mean, the service is basically the same structure as a mass, just without the creed and without some of the transitions (actually, it's very much like daily mass). The sermon was longer and was well-preached, but you can find that anywhere. The congregation was small, but most non-Catholic, non-Baptist congregations in the south are. The music was traditional, and vaguely familiar (must be some kind of buried memories of attending services with my mom). But all of this shouldn't be enough to make me feel more...in tune.

So what was it? And what does it mean? And why do I feel guilty?

Ironically enough, my mom was the one who kept me in the Catholic church when I was in high school. She was my confidant in all things spiritual. My dad and I may have been the same religion, but she understood the emotional aspects of faith better. I confided in her all those times the assistant pastor of my church made me cry (which was often - I realize now that his treatment of me verged on emotional abuse), or when the old ladies told me that I didn't have the right to attend mass without my father on the days when he had to work. I told her how fed up I was about feeling that way, and that I planned to leave when I was in college. My mom begged me not to.

See, my dad and I had a close, but fragile relationship. It was obvious that he loved me, and I loved him, but we really had nothing in common beyond a love of baseball and our religion. I mean nothing. If one of those things were taken away, especially the most important one, I don't know what would have happened to our relationship.

And I realized when I was in college that his greatest fear was that I would drift away from the Catholic church. He nearly lost it when I decided to live in a house owned by a Presbyterian church, attend a conference sponsored by a Protestant campus ministry organization, or used words like, "fellowship." Heck, he could barely handle it when I asked him to buy me a Bible so I could better prepare to read at mass. He never forbid me to do any of those things, but, it made him nervous. I know it would have broken his heart if I ever left.

The ironic thing is that I was never more in touch with and more...enamored with my Catholicsm than I was during that period in my life. In time before and time since, though I had my doubts. Still, I stuck with it.

But the question is why I stuck with it. Was it out of conviction, or was it out of obligation? I don't know the answer to that.

The thing is, I don't know if I have any second chances left. I gave the church a second chance when that associate pastor put me through hell in elementary school. I gave them a second chance when the old ladies told me I wasn't worthy to worship in their presence. I did it again when no one would visit my dad and bring him communion when I couldn't make it home to take him to church during college. I did it when the priest in our church wouldn't administer anointing to my dad in the days before he died because "he hadn't been active in the parish in recent months." (Yeah, probably because even with me at home he was too weak to leave bed long enough to go to mass.) And again when they abandoned me when my mom died. And now the St Al's CCC debacle.

Isn't that patience enough? Isn't that enough to endure?

I just don't know.

I think I may call the church tomorrow and see if I can speak with the pastor. Maybe an objective voice is what I need right now.

Nothing's ever easy, is it?

Bored, Bored, and More Bored

Sitting here at work. Absolutely nothing to do. Making busy work. Writing in fragments. Going insane.



While it isn't my favorite thing to do, I can deal with doing office work when it is actually something productive. But right now, all I am doing is downloading statistical information on hospitals in areas where we don't have authorization to operate in states where we do. What is the purpose behind that? Just something to do.

Today is a bad day. I seem to have good ones and bad ones. It could be the financial stress I'm under right now (HUGE!!), or the boredom, or something else. But right now, I feel like I have absolutely no purpose in being alive - (or staying that way).

But alas, don't worry about me. Cowardliness always wins out over depression.

In other news, I think I might have an ulcer. I have a pain in my stomach right below my breastbone, acid reflux to beat the band, and a general "I feel crappy" feeling. I've been eating antacids like they are candy for the past week and a half, with only minimal effect. And I have a family history, if that matters. I suppose I should do something about it, but I don't have insurance and I make too much to go to the charity hospital (apparently, $18,000 a year should be more than enough to cover living expenses and pay medical bills). I guess I'll live, unless I don't.

OK. This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to go now. Be on the lookout for a little piece of fiction I'll post later today or tomorrow - I think. It's...interesting, in a slightly morbid way.

Sweetiepie, Ivan, Richard III, Conway Twitty, and Me, Sheryl

If you get the book the title of this entry is referring to, then five points to you (yeah, too much Harry Potter). If you don't, then you must immediately get yourself to your local library and read everything you can get your hands on by E. L. Konigsburg. She rocks.

Let's take each of the things in my title one by one, shall we?

SWEETIEPIE

Sweetiepie is the alias I've decided to use for the pastoral associate at the church where I was formally employed. As I engaged in a bit of metacognition, I realized that part of the reason I haven't been able to move on is that I haven't reached resolution with everyone at St Al's CCC. So last night I wrote her a letter. I was up until after 3 a.m. doing it, but it was worth it. Now I just have to get up the nerve to send it. Oh, I suppose that just writing it should be good enough, but I can't help but feel like I will never be able to reach resolution unless she knows how I feel.

Why did I pick her to write to first? Well, I think that my feelings were most conflicted about her. When I began at the CCC, I had more respect for her than for almost any other lay person in the Church. I thought she was the very modle of what a 21st century lay minister should be. But as time went on, I realized that she was controlling, manipulative, and easily influenced by money and power. When she had me in her office, she'd say things to make me feel like she was supportive of me, but her actions didn't bear that out. In short, she was two-faced. And to be honest, she has been in that entrenched in that parish for so long, and has the respect of so many people in the parish and in the diocese, that I don't think she even realizes it.

So, I wrote her a letter, which I may post sometime, and I think I will mail it. The only thing holding me back is that I'm afraid of burning bridges. I have a tendency to do that, and I'm not sure I can ever cross back if I do. We'll see.

IVAN

Also known around Baton Rouge as the hurricane that wasn't - at least not here. Everybody was all worked up about how bad it was going to hit us here, and we didn't even get a drop of rain. Weather alarmists. Nice to know they are everywhere.

I feel horrible for the people in Alabama and the Florida panhandle, though. The destruction it wrought there was something to behold. And there's going to be incredible flooding all up and down the east coast.

I have two friends who live in Pensacola. I hope they are OK.

RICHARD III

I just stuck that here because in the title of Konigsburg's book, that space is taken by MacBeth. I guess I was in an "I feel inferior so I'm going to overcompensate by becoming a tyrant" mood.

But while I'm in jolly old England - figuratively speaking - I'm watching the UK version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy right now. I'm a little insulted when they put subtitles up when they guys speak; none of them have a strong cockney or other accent - subtitles aren't necessary. I'm also offended when they put "translations" up on the screen. British English and American English aren't all that different, and I'm not stupid. Don't insult my intelligence like that.

Scholastic finally got the point. The last Harry Potter book had far fewer differences between the British and American versions than the previous four. Bravo could take a lesson.

CONWAY TWITTY

I heard on the car radio that Conway Twitty had been nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Had I been consuming a beverage, I would have done a spit take. Conway Twitty? Rock and roll? Huh??

I went to one of the lyrics sites on the net, just to make sure I was thinking of the right person, and I was. "Hello Darlin" was his big hit. Although, looking at the lyrics for "You've Never Been This Far Before," I have to say that he was enough of a pervert to fit with some of the metal guys in the rock genre.

OK. Here's my Conway Twitty story (you knew there had to be one). One night during my senior year of high school, my friend Monn invited me over to her house. Her parents had guests who she didn't know and she was horribly bored. So anyway, we were in her room, being bored and goofy and listening to an old record of Grover (of Sesame Street fame) singing songs and talking about the body in way that was really total innocent but could be interpreted as slightly naughty by two teenaged girls who were really bored and hopped up on caffiene and chocolate.

At some point, we decided to write the script for a porn movie that involved the people in our class at school. Really, all that made it a porn movie is that one guy (the least likely guy in the world) spent the entire movie hopping between two beds and, well, enjoying the company of the young ladies occupying them. He was actually only on the screen for like, thirty seconds at a time between scene changes, and they were completely under the covers the whole time (yeah, we were rather innocent). Oh, and there was a metal band named, "Tacky A** and F***" in the movie as well. The lead singer (a head banger to end all head bangers - minus the scary mullet) wore Spiderman Underoos everywhere and got his name when he went to see a dentist (a girl with the biggest hair in the yearbook - smart, but really, really blonde - with all that entails), and she missed is mouth and hit his back side with the novacaine. He then lost all feeling in his butt, for the rest of eternity. That's how he got the name Tacky A**. The rest of the band got there name, well, just because it seemed to go with Tacky A** somehow.

Anyway - Conway Twitty. Monn's parents had - eclectic - taste in music, and we were laughing over the fact that they had several Conway Twitty albums in their collection. So of course that had to find it's way into the story. It seems that TAF became known for their metal covers of Conway Twitty songs, and that the bed hopper guy liked to ...perform... to their music.

That was probably more than you ever wanted to know about the terrifying workings of my mind. In a minor defense of myself, I was never quite that...off... without having a partner in crime - usually Monn. Someday I'll have to write about He-Dave, and you'll see what I mean.

AND ME, SHERYL

Not much new here in Sheryl Land. Forgot to turn my time card in, so I didn't get paid this week (stupid, stupid, stupid). Fortunately I have enough food to get me through the week, and I have a few dollars in my checking acct. so I can buy gas if I need it.

Put together a bunch of brochures at work this week, for this expo human resources is doing for all their employees. It's supposed to be a fun thing. I, of course, don't get to go since I am only a temp. I've been temping there for six months now. I wish they would just put me on full time already. It's a good company. Even though I don't like what I am currently doing, I could learn to live with it because of their continued expansion and the way they encourage employees in their advancement efforts.

Didn't make it to the Lutheran church last weekend. I was running late, and I got to the church about five minutes before the services began. I pulled into the parking lot, which appeared fairly full (just proof that I wasn't in Catholic land any more), and proceeded to have a minor panic attack. I couldn't bring myself to go inside the church. I felt so guilty. I just had visions of upsetting my dad, and, oddly, my boss. She thinks for some reason that I am the paragon of Catholicism just because I worked for the church, and no matter how much I try to disabuse her of the notion, she expects me to toe the company line, as it were.

And then there was the fact that I imagined that I was wearing some sign visible to everyone that said, "Hey! I'm Catholic! I don't belong here!" and that people in the church would look at me funny. Nothing is further from the truth, most likely, but there you go.

Still, this week I'm going to try again. I'll get up earlier and get there earlier, and maybe I can just blend in with the crowd.

So now that I have bored you enough, I guess I'm going to go. It's Friday night, and I...well...I have absolutely nothing to do.

Spiritual stuff

Well, I'm going to services at a Lutheran church tomorrow. I'm really nervous about it. I haven't been to services at a non-Catholic church since 1997. I'm not worried about fitting in, or the worship service itself, but I'm worried that since I'm going by myself, I will immediately stand out as an interloper. I mean, most non-Catholic, non-Baptist churches here are very, very small, considering Catholics and Baptists make up about 80% of the population of South Louisiana. I know nothing about the culture of this church, and I'm afraid I'll stick out.

I also have a sense of unease because I feel like I am betraying my father. He agreed with my mother exposing me to her tradition, but I don't think he ever anticipated that I would ever consider exploring it myself. When I went to services at a Presbyterian church with a friend in Pittsburgh during my last hiatus from the Catholic church, I didn't have that sense of guilt because it was a completely different tradition, and because my issues then were really more issues with God than with the Catholic church per say. I can't really say that now. I'm over any conflict I might have been having with God, and my difficulty lies solely with the Catholic church. I think I'm getting better in that regard, in that I've dealth with the fact that not every parish is like St. Al's CCC, but in the times that I've gone to mass, I haven't been able to feel a connection to what is going on around me. I don't know if it is the music, or the sermons, or the congregation, or my own mental block, but I just can't sit in the pew and pretend everything is hunky dorey when it isn't.

You know what it's like? It's like watching a cooking contest on the Food Network (yeah, that's what I have on now). It's mindless viewing for late at night, and you have no vested interest in what you are seeing. That's the way I've felt at mass lately. And sensing that feeling in myself makes me tense and angry. I don't like worship making me feel tense and angry.

Of course, it shouldn't make me feel guilty either. Maybe I should consider an Episcopal church. No one I know is Episcopalian. No betrayal there. But no connection, either. And I don't know that I could handle some other tradition for a long-term basis. I like the ritual and sacrament present in those traditions that claim apostolic succession. Plus, these churches have a similar interpretation of scripture as the Catholic church (even if they are missing the deuterocanonical books - althought the only one I would miss out of the bunch is Sirach). You don't necessarily find that in other Protestant churches.

What I really need is a spiritual director. But all the certified ones in Baton Rouge have some connection to St. Al's CCC, or come from the very conservative viewpoint (the ones who don't believe that the calendar has moved beyond 1965). I know intellectually that spiritual directors are bound by the same confidentiality as any counselor (or since we are talking about spiritual matters, confessor), but emotionally I don't think I could handle the thought that anything I said could get back to them there, even if it wasn't intentional on the part of the director. Or worse, that the director would somehow try to convince me that what I am feeling isn't valid because St. Al's CCC has this reputation of being the paragon of progressive Catholic churches in this diocese. Yeah, it's paranoia. But with everything that I experienced at St. Al's, I can't help it.

Oh, well. I'll write about my experiences tomorrow. Right now, if I want to get up tomorrow, I need to go to bed.

Yeah...

I skipped the fifth thought. I can't count. So what? Wanna make something of it?

Almost forgot

Almost forgot - I wanted to link to a few things in my last post.

Tom Beaudoin's book Virtual Faith.

The cleaning stuff I used in the kitchen and bathroom.

And I just saw this in another blog and had to add it.



You are a RAVENCLAW!

As a Ravenclaw and as an NFP, you are imaginative,
idea-oriented, and value intelligence. You may
be a non-conformist, and are probably good at
seeing new ways of doing things. You are
insightful and perceptive, as an empathic
person who highly values harmony, you usually
try to avoid conflict. Of course, you may
enjoy participating in heated debates - but
only as long as they remain on an intellectual
level and not a personal level. In general,
you are open-minded and curious, and set high
standards for yourself.


Hogwarts Sorting Hat: Based on Myers-Briggs Personality Typing
brought to you by Quizilla

First time I did it I was a Gryffindor. I think I make a better Ravenclaw though, truth be told (oh - I am an INFP, if anyone cares).

Thoughts - Many and Varied

Thought the First

I was just watching Trading Spouses on Fox (guilty pleasure, I admit it). That show intrigues me. I love watching people who have money (or vice versa) getting to see how the other half lives. People truly can't conceive that for some people, $200 for a dishwasher is an extravagence they can't afford. And people who are poor - but happy - can't understand the fast pace lifestyle and obsession with things that people who have mone have.

Needless to say - considering I am driving a car with no insurance and bad brakes - I fall into that latter category. We were talking about weddings at work the other day (my supervisor's daughter is getting married - for the very reasonable price of $6500), and I mentioned that I just don't understand how people can spend upwards of $15000 on a wedding. If I ever get married, I want a morning wedding with a luch reception in the church hall and a cake from Albertson's and that's it. I don't want a fancy dress, or a DJ, or videotaping, or any of that junk. What's really important - the party or the marriage?

On the show tonight, a Georgia country father switched places with a New York City attorney. The attorney's son was preparing for his bar mitzvah, and the mother mentioned wanting to spend the $50,000 they were awarded for participating on the party. She even commented that it should cost about the same as a typical wedding (and I can guarantee she wasn't thinking of the $6500 variety) She was absolutley livid that the country guy - who got to determine how their money was spent - chose to spend the money on things designed to bring the family closer together and slow down the pace of their lives.

I couldn't have been happier with his choice. Is a bar mitzvah - or any religious ceremony for that matter - really about impressing people with an extravagant party? Isn't there another reason we do these things?

Yet another part of my current spiritual crisis.

Thought the Second

I'm thinking about going to services at the Lutheran Church down the street this Sunday. I went to mass this weekend (I really am trying), but I am feeling a really significant disconnect. I can't seem to find a place where I fit and feel like I am being nourished. I don't think going to mass is supposed to make you tense and angry, but that's how I felt this weekend.

So, if the faith of my father's isn't currently working, I may as well try the faith of my mother's. I may even try the Episcopal church. There's a little one not too far away that looks inviting.

I've picked up Tom Beaudoin's book Virtual Faith again. It looks at the spirituality of Gen-X. It's interesting reading. I never got around to finishing it (got busy with stuff at St. Al's CCC), but I came across it on my cleaning frenzy last night and I'm looking forward to finishing. When I do, I'll write more.

Thought the Third

My cleaning frenzy. Last night, for some unknown reason, I got the urge to clean. I cleaned out the drawers in my bedroom, the entire kitchen, and everything in the living room I didn't have to move to clean. Where did the urge come from? Who knows. But the cleaning stuff smells really good and works really well for an environmentally safe product. This weekend, I'm going to do the bathroom (that stuff smells even better).

Thought the Fourth

I was going to write this this weekend but I got distracted.

I was thinking about jealousy this weekend. If you were like me, you learned in seventh grade that jealousy (well, envy) is one of the seven deadly (or - in the kinder, gentler Catholic Church - capital) sins. (As an aside, up until 7th grade, our religion classes consisted of, "God loves you." and not much else. In 7th grade, they became, "God loves you, but you're going to burn in love anyway."). But I was thinking this weekend, is there such a thing as righteous jealousy?

What brought this on, you ask? A phone call from the student loan people. They can't seem to get it through their heads that not only do I not have any money to give them, I don't have any family I can ask for money to give them. They seem to think that I like being poor, and that I'm faking it. Yeah. I like barely being able to scrape my rent together, playing shut-off notice roulette, and driving an uninsured car with bad brakes. I like living on ramen noodles, mashed potatoes, and, as a treat, tuna. This is how I always envisioned my life would be at 33.

Anyway, I found myself feeling really jealous of people who can ask their parents or siblings for a loan to get them over a tight spot. I have never had that as an adult. I've had to make, or not make, my way on my own. I suppose in some ways that's good, but in many other ways it just plain sucks (pardon my crudeness).

Is it wrong to be jealous of their families? I mean, I would never begrudge them what they have, or hurt them because of it, but I would like to have that, too. I really miss my parents. I wish they were still here. And not for financial reasons. I just miss their advice, and their laughter, and their calming presence in my life. I miss them encouraging me, and kicking my butt when need be. I really just want some family in my life. I used to think that maybe I could find that in a church community, but not any more.

Thought the Sixth (I think)

Even thought I just complained about it, I really like having mashed potatoes for dinner. They are yummy, and you don't have to think to eat them. Not that eating other things requires a lot of mental effort, but there you go.

Thought the Seventh

They just said something about the elections on TV. I don't want to vote for Kerry or Bush, and Nader isn't on the ticket in Louisiana. I'm thinking about writing in a vote for someone totally off the wall, like David Letterman or Jon Stewart or William Forman (my US History teacher in high school). Yeah, it would be a wasted vote, but at least it would be a vote. I wish the democrats would put forward a candidate I can respect.

Thought the Eighth

You know you are getting old when you are irritated by college students just acting like college students. It really gets under my skin when the kids in my complex get all loud and goofy after 10 at night on weekdays. And football season is starting Saturday. It's only going to get worse.

Thought the Ninth

It amuses me to drive along the route of a Mardi Gras parade and see beads still hanging from trees months after the fact.

Thought the Tenth

Why so many random things tonight? I've made a committment to myself to spend at least an hour a day on my writing, and this was the only way I could do that today. Tomorrow I plan to write about my mom.

So...The Decision

Well, I guess I've put off writing about this long enough.

Why, you may be asking (or not) did I not accept my dream job to continue scraping by on an office job I hate? And why am I not running off to throw myself off the Mississippi River Bridge right now?

Well, there is a simple answer and a complicated answer. The simple answer is that it just wasn't financially feasible for me to move to Connecticut right now, and there just wasn't time to get organized to go. The director of the school had to withdraw his offer of housing for a few months because his father is ill and needs the spare room in his house. Typical Connecticut apartments the size of mine (450 square feet) rent for about $900 a month, plus security deposit, plus last month's rent, plus utilities. Just to move into a place would cost me between $2,000 and $3,000. When you factor in the repairs I'd have to do to my car to get there safely, I just couldn't manage, despite the fact that the director offered to front me my first two month's salary so I could get settled, with the freedom to pay it back over the next two years.

Then, had I accepted, I would have had 8 days to get organized and move before the first inservice this morning. I would have had to have lesson plans ready for 6 classes by next Tuesday. It just wasn't going to happen.

Now for the complicated answer. Despite some forays into other areas, I've assumed since I was five years old that I was going to teach English. I've assumed it, my parents assumed it, my teachers, friends, and pretty much everyone I ever met assumed it. When I changed my major from biology/pre-med to English/sec. ed. after my freshman year, one of my friends actually said, "what took you so long?"

Now I do like teaching. And I am good at it. But it isn't something I can be passionate about. I can be passionate about the need for quality education for all children, not just those whose parents can afford it (in one way or another). I can be passionate about quality literature. I can be passionate about the decline in young people's writing skills and the need to improve writing instruction at all levels. But classroom teaching? Not so much.

I never liked the paperwork involved in teaching that took me away from reading and writing. I never liked taking time away from instruction to enforce silly rules about how high students' socks were and whether or not they were wearing make-up. I never like the way that I felt I had to relax my standards because students weren't taught well on lower levels. I didn't like grading tests (or giving them for that matter), and I didn't like faculty meetings. And I most definitely didn't like dealing with whiny parents or overbearing administrators.

So what did I like? I liked the interaction with the kids. I liked the rare opportunities that allowed me to be creative. I liked encourgaging the kids to unleash their creativity (although I hated it when other teachers squashed that). I liked it when monotony got put to the side, even if only for a little while, and variety and independence reigned. I liked my desk chair until the back fell off.

Even though the job in Connecticut would have been more of what I liked and less of what I didn't, I still would have had to lesson plans and paper work, and go to meetings. I still would have had to remediate the failings of teachers on lower levels. And I still would have had to deal with the monotony, which is like death for me.

So bottom line, I didn't take the dream job because maybe it isn't such a dream any more. I think I've spent enough time doing what other people have envisioned for me, and trying to live the dream of a five year old. It's time for me now to live out my own dreams, to find my own place in the world.

Whatever that is...any ideas?

The plan was...

...to go to bed an hour ago. Oh well.

I turned down the dream job. But I'm surprisingly sanguine about that. I'll write more about that later...maybe tomorrow.

I've spent this weekend thinking about my dad. No special reason - no birthday, anniversary, holiday, or special occassion. He was just on my mind a lot. And looking over the Jackson Pollock painting that is my life, I realized something. My dad always assumed that, one way or another, I would be a writer.

I remember writing a "book" when I was seven or eight called "First Poems of Life." I got the directions for making a book from my Girl Scout handbook, and I wrote some horrible poems about stupid things. Here are two of the ones I remember off by heart:


Spiders are ugly,
A lot of chuggly.
They are creepy
And make me weepy.

Ah yes - can you stand to be in the brilliance my sheer talent gives off? I had just learned about nonsence words from reading "Jabberwocky," also in my Girl Scout handbook (those Girl Scouts - renaissance women every one). If you are stunned by that work of genius, hold on to your hat for this one:

I'd like to live at the zoo.
There would be lots to do.
I could see the view.

Can you stand it?

Anyhow, I wrote about seven or eight poems along these same lines in my book, and even illustrated it with drawings that radiated even more putresence than the poetry. Do you know that my dad was so proud of that book, that he took it to work with him and told anyone who would listen that his daughter was going to be a writer? He even kept it with his important papers all throughout his life.

Then, when I wrote a poem in fifth grade about snow (which was also not that great), he bragged about it to anyone who would listen, even showing it to his passengers, who included some of the most powerful business people in Pittsburgh.

In seventh grade, I wrote a short story at Banksville called,"The Magic Pencil." Basically, the story was about two seventh grade girls who find a talking pencil when walking home from basketball practice. The pencil helps them with their math homework and leads them on exciting mysteries, the first of which was the search for jewel theives who were hiding out in a trailer in the woods. The find them because they painted the jewels with glow in the dark paint and then set them out in a path from the trailer to the main road. Yeah. Can you stand the excitement? Believe it or not, that story won an award among creative writing IEP students. My dad again carried it around with him, showed it to everyone, and told people to remember my name because I was going to be a famous novelist someday.

In high school, I won a scholarship to a workshop for young writers at Pitt. The workshop lasted all summer, and at the end of it various works were chosen to be published in an anthology. I had two short stories and a poem selected. We got copies of the anthology at a publication party. My mom usually went to those kind of events with me, but it was on a Sunday and she had to work. My dad would normally work Sundays too, but he took off that day to go with me. This time, he was so proud that he made copies of the works I had published and handed them out to everyone. I mean everyone. There are a few professional baseball players who are now proud owners of the stories, "His Father" and "The Back Porch," and the poem, "A Dream Inferred." I'm sure they found their way into the trash at Three Rivers Stadium about a minute after they got out of his cab, but nonetheless.

At that point in my life, I had given up on the idea of being a writer or an English teacher and I was going to be either a physician or a researcher (HA HA HA!!!). Despite that, my dad had decided that after I graduated from college and medical school or graduate school, I would help him to write his memoirs as a cab driver. He was convinced that I was going to write and that I was going to be brilliant.

Well, I never got to ghostwrite those memoirs. And I regret that. My dad (and my mom - in her way) was the one person who never told me I couldn't. It didn't matter what we were talking about - he believed I could do anything. But he knew - somehow, someway - that I was destined to write.

I wonder now if I am where I am now as an opportunity. I wonder if this is God's - or the universe's, or destiny's - way of telling me that now is the time. I find it interesting that I am perfectly calm about having to turn down a job I dreamed of having, and that I have a general sense of peace right now. Is it coincidence that these (and other) memories of my father came flooding back to me this week? I don't think so.

I don't know if I will ever have a book published. I don't know if I really have the talent for it, even though completely objective people and total strangers seem to think I do (well, except for some folks at St. Al's CCC - but we won't go there). But if you do ever go to your friendly neighborhood Barnes and Noble and see my name on a dust jacket, open up to the dedication page and you will see something like this:

To my daddy, who always said I would.

Have I mentioned lately that I hate myself?

No? Only because I haven't written in a month. And what a month it has been.

Last night, the guy in CT offered me the job, and now I'm not sure I want it. I was supposed to call him by noon today, but I haven't yet because I just can't face up to the fact that I'm about 90% sure I don't. The problem is that I just can't trust my own judgment, since I have such a wonderful track record in the decisions I've made.

So here are the pros:

• I could be making a real difference in the lives of some kids who need someone to make a difference.
• I would have control over what I teach (long term pro...short term con - more in a moment).
• I would be teaching.
• I'd have benefits.
• Connecticut is really beautiful.

And here are the cons:

• I would have 9 days to pack my life and move.
• I'd have to start completely over for the second time in two years.
• My car needs brake work and I'm currently driving without insurance (shh...don't tell).
• The cost of living in lovely Connecticut is absolutely insanely high.
• I would have control over what I teach (and considering I would have about two weeks from today to have first quarter planned out for 5 different classes, that is a con).
• I'm not sure I'm in the proper emotional/psychological state to be dealing with emotionally fragile kids - would frustration push me deeper into depression?
• The school is basically a start-up company. It's been in existance for a year, and it doesn't have state approval yet. How do I know I won't be out of work and alone again in two years?
• I'd have to have a roommate if I moved there. I haven't lived with anyone since college, and I really don't fancy living with someone I don't know.
• Something I can't name, something deep inside, is telling me that accepting this job would be a Bad Thing. Complete with the capital letters. I just feel like if I accept this job I will lose myself. Do I sound like enough of a drama queen?

So there's the list. You would think that it would be pretty obvious from that what my decision should be, huh? The problem is that I just don't trust myself right now. And that is a big problem. If I can't make a decision like this, what about other things? I've been agonizing over this for two days now. Of course, I've also been agonizing over what I should have for dinner, what I should read, and what I should watch on TV.

In an e-mail to a friend yesterday, I said that it's times like ths that I hate the fact that my parents are no longer around. Granted, they'd tell me it's my decision, but they would support me no matter what I decided. The would also tell me if I was being foolish, or if my concerns were valid. I even told my friend that at times like this I resent people who do have their parents to rely on. I don't begrudge them their parents, but I resent the fact that they have them and I don't. Is that stupid considering I'm 33 years old? I just never had my parents around as an adult. I never got to discuss things with them as one adult to another. Instead, I had to have medical and financial power of attorney for my mother right after I graduated college and I got to make funeral arrangements all by myself. God, I was just too young for that. I never got to be a carefree twenty-something.

And people wonder why I'm bitter sometimes.

I Hate Myself

I really do.  I can't seem to be happy.  I have an interview in Houston on Monday, but probably won't take the job because I can't afford to move.  A friend offered me a way to get back to Pittsburgh, complete with a job, and I can't take it.  I'm sad when people don't care about me, I'm sad when the do.  I thought I had a good chance at an awesome job in Connecticut, but the guy hasn't gotten back to me since he asked me for my resume, references, and transcripts, so I probably put him off, too.  Then, people profess to give a damn about me, but desert me when I need someone.  There must be something wrong with me that makes people humiliate me, hate me, abandon me.  I would fix it if I knew what it was.
 
God, I sound like a damn cliche.

So, I was watching Northern Exposure a couple nights ago (yay to the Hallmark Channel for putting it on, boo for putting it on so late - midnight central time!).  One of my favorite episodes was on.  It was the one where Joel's favorite uncle dies, and he (Joel) wants to say kaddish for him.  The problem is he need a minyan (10 other Jews) for ritual reasons, and Alaska isn't exactly a center for Judaism.  Well, the whole town comes together and searches the entire state and western Canada in an effort to find the people he needs.  As they search and start bringing these people to him, he comes to the realization that what is important about the kaddish isn't so much the ritual, it's the support and love shared among the community.  The very last scene shows him and the entire community gathered in the small church in Ciciely (I probably spelled that wrong) praying together, each in their own way, as he read the kaddish.  I think that is one of the most beautiful scenes ever put on television.
 
It occurred to me as I watched that that the writer of that episode had a true grasp of what liturgy was.  Liturgy means "the work of the people."  And that was what this was.  A community of people coming together and worshipping in a way that fits that particular community.
 
I plan to write more later.  I need to go get paid now.

Why do I torture myself?

Even though I'm still a parishioner at the church where I was formerly employed (even though I don't go to mass there), why do I bother with reading the weekly bulletin? It just makes me tense and angry and then I end up more depressed.

What did it this time? I just saw that the woman who was the bane of my existance, the thorn in my side, the person who most made me want to either commit homicide or suicide, is the new high school religious ed. coordinator. The woman not only has a sketchy theology backgroud (despite starting her Master's in pastoral studies), she has not one whiff of empathy for her fellow human beings. She has repeatedly made me feel like the tiniest person in the world. She has humiliated me not only in front of other adults, but also in front of young people. And I've seen her do that to other people, too. When I went to the pastoral administrator for help in dealing with her, since we had a rather obvious personality conflict, I was told to grin and bear it because she is so influential (she is the CFO of the largest medical practice in Baton Rouge, and over half their physicians - about 50 - are parishioners of St. Al's CCC). This is what money and influence get you - another opportunity to have your ego stroked and to pat yourself on the back and say, "Look how wonderful I am."

Wanna hear something funny? This...witch with a capital B is studying spiritual direction. HA! Why would anyone want to go to a spiritual director who is going to tell them that they are worthless and wrong? We were talking about prayer styles one time, and she actually had the audacity to tell me I was praying wrong. Since when is prayer right or wrong if it is doing what it is supposed to? Another time, we did Myers-Briggs on a leadership team retreat (her type, ESTJ, is the exact opposite of mine, INFP. Even our numbers were the same in the opposite direction). She intimated that my personality was the wrong type to do the type of work I did, despite the fact that all research on type indicated that ministry, teaching, etc, are careers that INFP's are drawn to and do well in. In that conversation, she stopped just short of saying I was an inherently bad person. I didn't stop crying for a long time over that.

I need to put this whole, nasty mess behind me, but I can't. As long as I'm here and within St. Al's CCC's sphere of influence, I'm just going to continue to drive myself crazy with this stuff. I hate having to pretend to be happy and content when I'm not. And I hate having to pretend that I think the Catholic church is the be all and end all of churches everywhere. It may claim apostolic succession, but it is anything but the church the apostles founded.

Gack.

Too tense to title

I'm sitting here crying right now because my dream job is staring me in the face, I stood a good chance of getting it, and now I think I'm about to mess it up.

The job is teaching English in an alternative school for kids who are bright, but have emotional challenges. The school has 30 students in grades 8-12. The program the school's director has designed is really innovative and incorporates a lot of cutting edge research. His philosophy just deeply impresses me, and I think working there would be the chance of a lifetime.

I've been corresponding with the director over the past few days and today he asked me to fax him my resume, transcripts, and letters of reference. The resume and transcript are easy, but I have no pre-written letters of recommendation. The ones from my student teaching vanished in my move, and I never bothered with getting others. I have references, but I'm scared to death to ask them for an actual letter. What if they don't want to be bothered? What if they just laugh me out of the room (or out of cyberspace, as the case may be)? I'm so afraid that I'm going to give up on this position because I'm afraid to ask for letters.

GAH! I'm just so messed up right now. I feel like I'm whining, but since no one is listening, I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm just terrified in general right now. I know that If I don't find a teaching position (or something else) the company I'm working for now will offer me a job. But I don't think I can make ends meet for what they will pay me, and I know I can't have any job satisfaction. I'm just feeling like I have about as much worth as the wasp I smushed outside my door when I got home tonight. I don't know what's wrong with me.

The wisdom of fanfiction

I was reading one of my favorite Harry Potter fics tonight (instead of writing a cover letter I wanted to e-mail today for a job I don't actually want). I'm not going to link to the fic because it is above a PG-13 overall, and I don't want to risk a youngster happening upon it by chance. But I will give credit to the author by her pseudonym's initials - IGToW. Anyhow, the war is over, Voldemort is gone, and Harry and Snape are dialoguing in the Astronomy Tower. I just read these few lines, and they struck a chord with what I am feeling:

(Snape is speaking first)

"...You wonder if you're condemned to forever rest pathetically on a fading past glory, or worse, damned to always do the things you hate the most?"

"What good am I now?" he heard Harry whisper. "It's all I have and I don't want it anymore."

Severus felt his way along the issue carefully. "It may have been all you've accomplished to this point of your very young life, but it is certainly not all you have." He realised he was talking to himself as much as he was to Harry. He continued in a soft but intense voice, "One does not have to be useful to have worth, Harry. Don't ever forget that."

Harry was silent for a long time, obviously thinking on his words. "Yes, it's a whole question of worth, isn't it? Do I have any? Do I have any value left?" he asked quietly. Snape was suspicious he'd not intended to say that last bit out loud.

"Tell me Harry, what is it you like to do? What might you want to do if there were no obstacles?" he asked trying another tack knowing he wasn't going to convince the young man of his value in one moonlit conversation.

"I don't know." he replied, at a loss.


I am Harry in this conversation. Except I never defeated a dark lord in order to have past glory to rest upon.

A friend tried to tell me the part that is bolded, but she did it with Phillipians 1:3-6. I've read it before, I've studied it with students before, I've proclaimed it at mass before. I used to believe it. I just don't know that I have any good work in me for God to bring to completion.

The one thing that I've never hated doing is writing. But every time I open myself up and actually share something I've written that isn't work-related, I get hurt. Either I get negative responses or I get no response (which is worse in a lot of ways). Now my work-related writing always gets positive comments, but I've never been in a job where writing was my primary responsibility. Therefore, I can't find a job where writing is primary. Not because I lack skill, but because I lack experience.

I wish I hadn't been a secondary education major. Then I could have done an internship in technical writing or something like that. But I did so many field placements during the school year, and I had to work full time in the summer so I couldn't take an internship then. It just stinks.

But the thing that really stinks is that deep down inside, buried under all the self-doubt (and, if I'm to be honest right now, self-loathing) I know I have a bunch of different talents. I've just never been a situation where they have been allowed to be expressed fully.

Take St. Al's Church and Country Club. I thought I was coming in there with the opportunity to take over the YM program and really take it to the next level - true comprehensive youth ministry. But I get there, and they tell me that for the first year they want me to observe, make no changes, etc. Well, that pretty much destroyed any authority I might have had, and any chance I had to make the position my own. I honestly think that if I had come in and I had been allowed to be in charge from the beginning things would have been different. And I told the pastor that in a letter I wrote when I was let go.

You know, I'm sorry for continuing to rant on this whole St. Al's CCC situation, but this is becoming something like therapy for me. Since I have no one to talk to ever, this gives me a chance to get things out. I'm still not thinking rationally (if I recognize that I'm being irrational, does that mean that I'm relatively stable?), but at least I can express somethings before they eat further holes in my stomach lining.

Blurg. I feel kind of ill tonight. Maybe I can get to sleep early. Like before 3 a.m.

Well, it's the fourth of July

Not that I'm going to write about it, but I just thought I'd make an announcement.

Had a conversation with the Big Guy last night. Went something like this.




"So...hi there, God. Sorry I haven't talked to you in a while."

...

"Yeah, well, hope everything's good on your end, 'cause it's not on mine."

...

"You know, this is precisely why I haven't talked to you much lately. I do all the talking. One sided conversations aren't much fun, ya know?"

...

"I mean, I know you have about 6 billion people to worry about down here, not to mention all the other little creatures and plants and stuff. Being the 'Creator of Heaven and Earth, of all things see and unseen,' must be a big job, but do your think you could spare a few minutes for li'l ol' me?"

...

"No answer, huh? Oh well. Guess I wasn't expecting much. But you know, I kind of miss our dialogue. I mean, you were never exactly loud about things, but I could at least know you were paying attention, you know?"

...

" Well, here's the deal. You know I've been hurting lately, right?"

...

"Yeah. Well, we'll just take that as a yes, shall we? Anyway, I just feel so alone in the world. I mean, the only person I ever talk to is my boss at work. If it weren't for that, the sum total of human conact I would have would be clerks at the grocery store. And I hate that. I really do. But I'm so afraid of being rejected again, like I always have been. I just don't know what to do."

...

"And then there's the whole job thing. You supposedly gave everyone gifts and talents. Did you forget me? I can't think of anything that I'm really, really good at. I can't think of anything I can succeed in. I'm just a failure. Is that what you had in mind for me?"

...

"Silence, huh? Why doesn't that surprise me. You know, I always told my students that if they opened their hearts, they would hear you. Well, my heart's open, why can't I?"

...

"You know, I'd settle for a hint. Where do you want me? What do you want me to do? You name it, I'm there. I'll find a way, no matter what."

...

"Hmm. Why am I not surprised?"



See, that's where my crisis of faith comes from. I have no doubt that God exists. I have no doubt that He's up there (or whatever) listening. I just have trouble believing right now that He offers any guidance. That he speaks to us. He just lets us fumble our way along down here and we suffer for it.

I don't know.

I'm just so freaking sad.

So..

I've decided that I'm going to abandon this whole job search thing, roll up my sleeping bag, grab a few changes of clothes, and find a nice underpass to live under. I can't decide if I would be better off or not.

I'm tired of writing cover letters. I'm tired of looking at job websites. I'm tired of all of it. The only thing this whole mess has succeeded in doing is making me realize just how incompetant and worthless I really am. If I could get just one interview - just one. On the positive side, my new resume format seems to be getting a little more attention than the old one. I switched from a format that was basically chronological to a functional one. It's supposed to highlight your skills more, but when you don't have any to highlight, what's the purpose?

I'm pretty sure I'm actually, really, depressed. I have most of the symptoms. Problem is, when you don't have insurance, you can't get help. Heck, I can barely afford to pay my rent, truth be told. It's ramen noodles for me for the next week. I thought that phase of my life was supposed to be over by the time I turned 33.

This whole St. Al's CCC thing just really bothers me still. I can't leave it behind. It bothers me that things had to end that way. And it bothers me that they hired some kid fresh out of college in my place. And it absolutely galls me that he will probably succeed where I didn't because he is a favorite son of the parish. And St. Al's is, after all, a members-only establishment. While they may have to put interlopers on the official membership roles, they aren't really welcome. Just a token minority in their little club.

Gosh, I'm getting bitter in my old age. Must be the depression. I never used to be like that. I never used to hold grudges. I never obsessed about injustices, real or perceived. I don't know what's wrong with me.

I never should have left Pittsburgh. I'd give anything to go back, but I can't. I don't have anyone there. I don't have anyone here. I'm all alone and I hate it and I can't do anything about it. It's just not fair.

Blah.

Wickey wickey wahoo

Blah. I feel kind of...blah lately. Of course, that doesn't deviate much from how I've felt for the last year and a half or so. My experience at St. Al's Church and Country Club did a real number on me, moreso than any other negative work experiences I've ever had. Maybe because the Church isn't supposed to be just like any other business. Maybe because things like how much money a person has shouldn't matter there. Maybe because I just don't see how not being in a sorority makes a difference to how I do my job as a youth minister.

Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I honestly believe that this whole scenario has been brewing for a while. The person they hired in my stead is the son of dentist and an heiress, the grandson of founding parishioners, and a founding member of the currrent incarnation of their youth group. He started e-mailing me in the fall making all these suggestions about our youth ministry, and now that I look back on it, there were certain implications that he was going to be more involved than a "regular" volunteer come this fall (of course, at St Al's CCC, "regular" volunteers pretty much run the show anyhow, at least if they have enough money). I should have suspected something when I asked the DPM for advice about how to handle something she said and she basically ignored me.

I just hate the hypocritical way all of this has gone down. If they wanted to hire this kid (he's 11 years younger than me - I can call him a kid) after they graduated, they could have at least had the decency to just say so. They didn't have to humiliate me by making me basically impotent in my job. I would have less hard feelings if they just told me the truth.

But instead, I get 30 minutes to clean out my office and update whoever needed to be updated about my projects, I get told that I can't be on campus without an escort, even to attend mass, and I still get sent multiple appeals for stewardship of offering and building fund. It just plain sucks.


So you may be wondering why I call it St. Al's Church and Country Club. There are too many parallels to list. First, the parish is lily-white, second, they only want you if you are wealthy, third, they all but kick you out if you don't pay your dues (also known as offertory).

You know, I was getting really tired of your place in society being more important than who you are and what your gifts are anyhow. I did have a letter of resignation written. But that 's not the point. The point is that this experience has just given me one more reason to resent the Catholic Church.

I mentioned before that I'm in the midst of a spiritual crisis right not. The crux (Monn! I used crux!) of that crisis is whether or not I can remain a Catholic Christian. I honestly don't know if I can. I've given the Church a lot of second chances over the years. I stayed even though I had a priest in elementary school who lived to humiliate me and make me cry. I stayed even though I was at best ignored and at worst made to feel unwelcomed in high school. I stayed even though my parish didn't have the decency to make sure my dad received Eucharist on the weeks I couldn't get home to take him to Mass. I stayed when no one from my parish even came to the funeral home when my dad died. I stayed when I felt abandoned when my mom died. How many second chances am I supposed to give them? And I haven't even mentioned the global issues.

But you know, I think that the my issues may go deeper than that. I was thinking last night - scary, I know. Anyhow, I was thinking about the way we always use the metaphor of a journey to talk about spirituality. The winding path, and obstacles, and all that stuff. Well, more and more, it seems to me like it's more of a scavenger hunt. Everything you need is out there, but you have to search for it. You may get what you need and you may not. And what is God's role in all this? Well, I'm not sure. Maybe he's a benevolent clue giver, maybe he's the mastermind behind the game, laughing as we stumble along. Maybe he is the good samaritain helping along the way. Maybe it's something else. Sometimes, I just don't know.

Well, my monitor is having it's nightly fit. I guess that's my cue to go. I promise I won't be this depressing all the time. Probably. Maybe. OK, it all depends.