When I fall in love...

... It will be forever
Or I'll never fall in love

In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before it's begun.
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.

When I give my heart,
It will be completely
Or I'll never give my heart.

And the moment I can feel that
You feel that way, too
Is when I fall in love with you.

The line I want you to concentrate on, dear reader, is "or I'll never give my heart." My question recently is ... are we (as the general human population) allowed just one love, and if it doesn't work out, you have shot your proverbial wad? Some people are lucky enough to fall in love with someone who loves them equally, and they spend the rest of their lives together. Some people, me, for instance, fall in love once, and it doesn't work out. And I just started wondering if I am incapable of ever loving again since I now know what love, truly mad, passionate love, feels like, and I won't settle for anything less. Was Sailor Boy my one and only? Will my heart ever find love again?

Don't get me wrong, I am over him. I do not pine for him. I know for a fact that our love was vibrant, life-altering, and, perhaps, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Am I melo-dramatic? Perhaps, but I feel blessed to have felt that kind of love once in my life. I do not, for one minute, believe our being together forever would have been a good thing. Nor do I hope we will ever be a couple in the future. We had to go our separate ways. I do not fool myself into believing love can or will ever happen again. But Blues Man is back in my life, and he professes his love and would do anything for me, but I cannot return the feelings. For now, he says he is perfectly fine with that. Before this summer, he would never say "I love you" because he knew it pissed me off and that I could and would never say it back. The feeling was not mutual. But after our recent "reunion," he started saying it and adding, "And I don't care that you can't say it. I'm not hiding how I feel any more." What do I do with that?

Briefly, let me explain how and why Blues Man came back. I have not talked to him all summer. He pulled some shitty things on me, and it was quite easy to kick him to the curb, so I never answered his e-mails of apology, never answered his few phone calls when he tried to beg for forgiveness. I was just damn glad he never stalked me or dropped by unannounced. And I sat in my dark bedroom all summer only appearing outside to go exercise. I was a mess over my firing, and he knew it, but he never overstepped his bounds (except for staying in touch to let me know he was there for me). So 4 weeks ago I answered an e-mail to say I couldn't figure out how to open the furnace and replace the filter so he dropped by with his tools, got down on one knee and begged for forgiveness with tears streaming down his face, and changed my furnace filter. I told him to stop being so hard on himself. That evening he e-mailed me and said that as long as we were friends, he had to be honest and tell me my place was a wreck. In 5 months not one person had come into my condo (except my one daughter who's my roommate), not even my sisters or other daughter. Not one friend was allowed in. I was truly a mess. I had let the place go to hell, and he knew it was a reflection of my depression, and he wasn't going to stay quiet. I didn't even see how bad it was. We were, after all, friends. So he laid it on the line and told me the truth. Depression manifests itself in many ways, but in my case, I had not come out of my room in months and had stopped fighting my roommate who was (and still is) a slob. So in telling me like it was, he offered to help me clean up. and so the next day he came over and together, we spent 5 hours cleaning my kitchen alone. It looked amazing. And was long overdo. We scrubbed and rearranged and threw out and dusted and scrubbed some more. I was so moved by his honesty, kindess, generosity, and willingness to be a friend. The next week he returned to help clean the livingroom. Both times he left after saying "I love you" and added, "It's ok if you can't say it."

We have since spent some time together on the weekends. And yes, the sex is terrific just like when we broke up earlier in the summer. I even asked him to spend Thanksgiving with me and the family. I did so because (1) the ex wasn't coming this year (yeah!), (b) daughter Dorothy was bringing a "friend," (tres) both and he and the daughter had to return that evening to work on Black Friday, and (IV) he would not interpret the invitation as a reason to move in together or a sign that I loved him. I e-mailed the daughters and told them what was happening and told them I expected them to be on their best behavior and respectful. So he managed to pick himself off the floor (from the impromptu invitation), dress appropriately, and show up on time for the drive to St. Louis. He helped my sister with household chores while we got Thanksgiving dinner ready. (Her husband is not handy, and she just broke her wrist the week before.) He stayed out of the way when necessary, helped out when called upon, stayed quiet during the fracas, and was thrilled to be included. I don't believe anyone should be alone on Thanksgiving.

But now it's every weekend, and I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I will never be in love with him. However, I think we can be good friends, honest and helpful, kind and laughing. Should I resign myself to being with a man I am not in love with because he's great in the sack and kind to me? Will I ever be able to find another love if I continue with Blues Man? What happens if I do fall in love with someone else, do I dump Blues Man? Do I resigned myself to knowing if I stay with him, I will never have the love I once had with Sailor Boy? Are we allowed more than one "love of a lifetime"?

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

Sox

Arrrghh! Damn him, my mean bloggy friend has assigned me to write about socks (sox) this week. WTF? He is about as random as it gets. I think he is power hungry. He knows I will write on whatever topic he gives me because I am so compliant and willing to please.

The big surprise is I'm going to take an odd turn on the subject. You'd think I'd write about the warm apparel for you feet. I do love socks, and I have discovered that when you lead a nomadic life as I have the last 5 years, you collect socks. They don't take up much space, and they're easy gifts and souvenirs for people who want to give you something but know you don't have a lot of room for big things. There are some socks I am emotionally connected to and cannot throw away. Like my socks that say "40." Wow, they're 14 years old!

But when I heard the assignment, the first thing I thought of was a young man from college nicknamed "Sox." I didn't name him that. He got that in college before I showed up, but we barely knew his real name. He loved socks and always wore wild and crazy socks so the nickname stuck. To this day, I don't know if Sox ever graduated. He was, what I would call, an "Idea Man," always on the go, always coming up with some type of scheme, always planning something, leading something, sometimes for good, sometimes for evil. He was sorta cute, but he was so dynamic and charismatic, that we loved his stories and schemes. For instance, he hooked up everyone on my dorm wing with phones. Doesn't sound like a big deal? But this was 1976 when the phone company owned consumers' phones and the contract was between the phone company and the university so the fact that Sox somehow procured about 20-25 "extra" phones was quite the coup. I didn't know if he was a Business major or an Engineer major because he not only "found" the phones but also hooked them all up. Who did that back in he 70s? I never knew if I would place this skill under "doing good or evil" since it was, after all, illegal. There were enough phones in his dorm room that he never had to move, wherever he was, to answer a phone. That's a lot of phones!

Anyway, I look back and shake my head at our thinking back in the 70s. Sox and I went out once. Whether it was called a "date" or not, I'll never know, but I remember making out with him behind the dorms one night and was accused of being a "prick tease." Of course, I was a "prick tease," but that didn't give him the right to (a) call me that or (b) take advantage of that. He eventually stopped short of date rape, but I just marvel at how far we have come where "NO" actually means "NO" nowadays, but it didn't back in the 70s. I always saw Sox differently after that experience my freshman year. What an ass! I no longer saw him as the charismatic "Idea Man" that he billed himself to be. I just saw him as the egotistical prick he was. But whenever I hear the word "sox," I do think of Sox and the phones.

By the way, one of our favorite memories from college was the day Sox got arrested for the phone escapade. They even stationed cops below his dorm room in the event he would try to throw the multiple phones out the window, which he was starting to do before he was caught. He eventually had to open the door to the arresting officer. He was hauled off in handcuffs that day. What a doofus. Hard to imagine those days when guys still called girls "prick teases" and didn't know the meaning of the word "no." And hard to imagine getting arrested for hooking up phones on your own.

Wonder whatever happened to Sox. Last I heard, he was a "pre-owned" car salesman. You decide if that's using his power for good or evil???

Random babble

So apparently, the St. Louis Cardinals won game 6 last night of the World Series. It was all over facebook! Ha! Somehow I truly believe that if I didn't watch it, we had a better chance of winning. And I heard it was a big deal. Something about extra innings. Everyone is seeing red, Cardinal red. I am a fair-weather fan, for sure. But it is good to be on the winning side. And when you're from Missouri, that has happened 10 times... going on 11.

Which brings us to autumn. I love autumn the best. Some people think autumn is the end, the end of summer, the end of warmth. But I see the leaves turning colors is the beginning of God's palette of colors. Sure, there will be dreary days ahead with grays and browns, but it is the red maple leaf that brings me hope that life continues. For without the dreary days of winter, we would not have the beauty of spring, summer, and autumn. I am reminded that it takes the previous seasons' rain, snow, and drought to make the glorious autumn. Sort of like not having the rainbow without the rain. You can explain all about green and oxygen and chlorophyll and rain, but I will always see God with a set of outrageous water colors enjoying this time of year more than we can imagine. Purple, yellow, orange, green, gold, brown, resplendent in hope and joy.

When I was teaching (30 years ago!), I was the yearbook sponsor. No, I did not have a journalism degree but having been on the award-winning newspaper staff in highs school, I knew a good student publication when I saw it. The students and I grew together and learned the ropes step by step. To earn extra money, we sold Boosters for 50 cents a line. I told the kids that if some kid wanted to buy a questionable booster, we took the money and ran. Only when they would come back after the book was produced and questioned our judgment would we reveal that we had edited big time... in order to save my job, of course. There was the occasional "Football players do it in 4 quarters" and "Let's eat tacos in the 'Y'" that did not make it into the booster section. But to appease the kids, I allowed "Ms. B soaks her head in tomato juice." I figured if that was the meanest thing they could say about me, then I would share the laugh.

For all intents and purposes, I should be dead. Just stupid things from childhood. Like doing donuts in a Honda in the back of the capitol building during an ice storm to see how close we could get to the building without hitting it. WTF? Until I was 7, my mother worked nights and my sisters, ages 5, 10, & 11, watched over me. By today's standards, that's child endangerment. But back in the 50s, I was blessed to have such wonderful angels in my life. I didn't see them wearing white robes and gossamer wings with golden halos. They were just beautiful angels with light brown, dark brown, and blond hair. Eyes of blue, hazel, and green, skin so soft. Love so abundant. They loved me unconditionally, changed my diapers, fed me, dressed me, carried me around when I cried, sang to me, rocked me, and protected me. I grew up with these angels and more, a kind neighbor who was like a grandmother, the attendance secretary who knew my sisters had to take off school when one of us was sick, a teacher who always watched over me even when I wasn't in her class, a priest who would miss me if I wasn't at church on Sunday morning, random people who looked out for me even when I didn't know they were out there. Watching over this little kid whose head was obviously soaked in tomato juice... until she could fend for herself.

I still feel those angels around me, checking in with me when I'm down, holding me up when I can't stand, loving me when I don't feel lovable, cheering me on when I can't be my own cheerleader, hugging me when I am low. None of them wear wings, but they all have halos! At least they do in my eyes.

Motherhood

While IMing with my "mean" bloggy friend about my current state of depression, he gave me another assignment. And it has a deadline so I must get this out without much thinking. I mentioned something about the fact that sometimes I think I shouldn't have had kids. My older sister had 3 at a very young age, and it was 16 years before I, the "baby" of the family, had children. I don't know what possessed me to do such a thing. It's not as if I longed for children all my life or grew up thinking about being a mother. Like the other parts of my life, it just came along as the next step (college, marriage, children etc). My assignment said I couldn't write the 2 lists below side-by-side but one after the other so they weren't parallel. Here goes:

Why I shouldn't have become a mother:

1. Couldn't afford them (WHAT was I thinking?)
2. Not a good cook or, worse yet, good planner of meals.
3. Not spontaneous (no lemonade stands for my kids)
4. Love to sleep (late and often) yet lived on very little
   
5. Not adventurous enough (no skateboards or roller skates or hand gliding)
6. Our house was never big enough to accommodate more than the 4 us, and sometimes even then, it was too crowded.
7. Not the volunteer kind of mom (no PTO or room mother here)
8. Didn't love my husband enough to pass that along to my kids.
9. My housecleaning skills were questionable (although we didn't live in a pig sty)
   
10. Too loud, emotional, depressed to to have children in the mix.
    

Why I'm a great mother:

1. Great sense of humor (passed that down to my daughters)
   
2. High pain threshold (2 natural births and no tears over skinned knees)
3. When my older daughter turned 2, I learned how to French braid hair.
4. Saw the wonder in a rainbow every time.
5. Strong morals & values (education, commitment, volunteerism, doing the right thing)
6. Could proofread their papers (only thing my degree/expertise was good for)
7. Practical (don't cry over spilled milk)
8. Creative (made all their Halloween costumes)
9. Tried not to worry too much and passed that along to my kids
10. I write thank you notes, send birthday cards, and was nice to old people at church

I Should Have Been More Specific

I received a comment on my previous entry from a stranger. That was kinda weird, thinking someone I don't even know was reading my internet journal. Sure, I know anyone can read this, but who would want to? But seeing my blog reminded me that I have not written in over 3 months. Could be because nothing (I mean practically nothing) has happened in 3 months. But in the last 4 weeks, I have had 3 interviews, bam, bam, bam. The first was with my "dream" job for the 2nd time. That went well, but I did not get it. The 2nd was as a project manager for a publishing company. And the 3rd was for an administrative assistant for the county government. Well, a few days before the 3rd interview, I got an e-mail from the 2nd interview that they wanted to hire me, 4 days after the interview. Part of me was in shock and disbelief because I didn't think anyone offered jobs over e-mail, and the e-mail started out like the standards "thanks but no thanks letter." I couldn't believe I was reading what I was reading. I had to read it twice, even 3 times to make sure I was being offered the job and not just being given the kiss-off. I would receive an offer letter along with the document explaining benefits the next day.

That's when the other shoe dropped. I should have known when I walked into a room for a group interview, and everyone in the interview was the entire team, unlike the other 2 interviews where several interviewed me, but I knew there were a lot more employees elsewhere in the building. All women. For a brief moment, I let myself get excited and planned a mini-vacation since my start date wasn't until November 1. I called to have #1 on the benefits list explained because I couldn't believe what I was reading. No health benefits. Nothing. Sure, they appeared to be a fine group of women and there were sick days and vacation days and comp time, but no health insurance. I was in shock. Incredulous. Angry. Worried. Pissed. Frustrated. I just knew it was because all the other women were married and had their husbands' health benefits. I called an independent insurance agent to find out how much it would cost to get health insurance. Suffice it to say, it would be like making a monthly car payment for a VERY NICE car, but I never get to drive the car... ever. Never. They gave me till Monday to decide.* I sent e-mails to several friends, called sisters, talked to people, and we all came up with one, and only one, conclusion. I had to take the job. In this economy, you just turn down work. I don't have insurance now and no paycheck. At least I will have a paycheck. Many have said to take it and then take the first job with benefits that comes along. But I don't want to work at a job while always looking for another. Yes, I am loyal to a fault, but I don't think it's fair to am employer. Some have told me it's not fair that some companies don't provide benefits. But I canceled plans to visit my friend in Vermont. Looks like I won't be making plans to do anything fun for a very long time. Or, at least, that's the way I feel.

Then it hit me. I should have been more specific. When praying for a job, I should have prayed for one with benefits. Remind me, when I'm praying for a man to pray for one who can still get it up. Make my needs known. Be specific. Next time I pray for a man, I will be praying for one... with benefits!

One sweet friend (from my old job that fired me) said maybe this is God's plan. If so, God has a sick sense of humor. But maybe this is the plan I need to accept. Instead of looking back and thinking, "Mmmm, perhaps that was God's plan," I need to look towards the future and think, "Maybe this is the plan." I don't know. While the job is a good fit, I just can't help but think I will have this black cloud hanging over me. Who knew that the whole time I was looking for a job, I should have been looking for a husband instead.


*The reason they gave me till Monday to decide is a very dear friend from back home died rather suddenly. She was about my age. We went to church together, raised our daughters together. She had chest pains one Tuesday, and her husband took her to the ER. She walked in. They even had to hook her up to machines to determine she was having a heart attack. They did some tests and found out that her blood sugar was sky high. Apparently, she was diabetic but had never gone to the doctor and, therefore, never got it diagnosed or treated. Within 2 days she was transferred to the big university hospital and put on the heart transplant list. WTF? She died the same day as Steve Jobs, the same age, 2 weeks after those first chest pains. My daughters drove back with me to St. Louis for her memorial service. Although they have been to their share of memorial services and funerals, this was the first time they went for the living. That is a big step in maturity, and I was so proud of them. One even brought tissues for me. We since discovered she hated doctors so so never went. And I know she had health insurance. It put things into perspective but, in many ways, made me wonder if I will go to the doctor for yearly physicals and such if I don't have insurance. Still, I wondered why someone with insurance wouldn't take better care of herself. And I worried that, without health benefits, will I take good care of myself? Seems I will have to take better care of myself because I sure as hell can't afford to get sick!

Suck it up and move on

My "demanding" meanie of a blog friend has not surfaced for a week while he is on vacation, but I am going to blog without prodding. I know he is having a wonderful time with his family and only wish I could be there with them. Having been unemployed for 2 summers, I have not enjoyed myself during those summers, thinking I am undeserving of such frivolity. Even if someone handed me a vacation for free, I would probably deny myself, feeling unworthy.

I have not had many nibbles of jobs to apply for recently which is one of the big problems when the largest employer in town bans you from applying. For those curious, I was tenacious in contacting the lawyer, having e-mailed him once and calling twice before I simply walked into his office today in my sweaty walking clothes. He made me wait but gladly met with me to hear my situation. It didn't take him long to conclude that he can be of no help to me. He said it was obvious that my supervisors wanted to get rid of me and used the HIPAA violation as a reason. And since I had not worked there long, there was nothing much we could fight. Suck it up and move on was basically his message. I would have had to file a grievance within 10 days of being fired, and I was still curled up in a ball by then so it's not as if I missed the cut-off by a day or so. Funny, I wasn't that upset by his conclusion. I assumed that's what it would be. I would have been surprised if it had been different. On the good side, he said that people rarely win grievances against the university. I am to contact him if I am denied unemployment in order to file an appeal. I told the lawyer that I had written my side of the story to put in my file, and he encouraged me to send that to my supervisors with a copy to HR which I did at 3:55 in hopes it got to them before the weekend. That felt good to do, and I guess I just need to move on. I found this quote in a book a friend sent me this week:

You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is
that you meet it with courage and with the best you have to give.

Eleanor Roosevelt

As before, waking up early and moving is the key as much as I hate it. I woke up early today for a dentist appointment and did not go back to sleep when I got home from my walk. I felt good walking into the lawyer's office without an appointment, determined. I felt good sending that attachment to my file to my former supervisors. I felt good today. I continue to watch "The Waltons" in the afternoons and wondered why. Such a simple life. Listening to each other's stories as entertainment, hard work, writing in long hand, terrific parenting, home cooking, helping others, appreciating every little thing. And if you notice, people during this time worked so hard that they rarely had time to be depressed. And ironically, they were living during the Depression! I think that, alone, sends us a valuable message. May I channel that spirit and hope. I continue to type my friend's family history and marvel at the hardships people from the past had to endure and how easy our lives are now and how whiny we all are, especially me. I think both of these experiences are helping me appreciate my days.

I continue to take deep breaths, try to exercise, stay in touch with friends, appreciate the friends who keep me in their prayers, and thank God for my good health.

Jewel, Lover, Prayer

I've been a very bad blogger. Let the finger wagging begin. I had 3 assignments for the weekend while my "shadow" was away from cyberspace. He's going to reappear tomorrow and find out that I didn't complete my assignments, and, boy, will I be in trouble. When I asked him why he is making me write, he said, "If you were a potter, I would encourage you to make pottery. If you were a painter, I would make you paint. You are a writer. Write." And so I write.

Yesterday's topic was my cat Jewel. I have already written a whole missive about my lovely kitty Jewel, so sweet I named her after my favorite high school teacher. Jewel was a teenage unwed mother, a whore on the street, when my daughter found her. She had nursed her kitties and lived on the street when a neighbor took her to be spayed. If you remember, I assured my daughter that no outdoor cat could willingly become an indoor cat. And yet, from the minute she brought me Clio (her street name), she walked out of her crate, curled up in my lap, and never looked back. The door has accidentally been left opened twice, and she has stayed far away and said, "I don't think so. I did that once. I'm staying in here." She purrs, kisses me, never jumps on things, never misses her litter box, doesn't shed much, and loves her belly to be rubbed. Purr delight.

And then in came McMurphy. A friend of mine just earned her PhD and does not know where the wind will take her. She longs to live in DC where apartments are costly and even more so if you own a pet. So I said I would take her very large black cat named Mr. McMurphy. She is Irish so I assume he is, too. Black Irish. Tee hee! He is beautiful, moves like a gazelle as he jumps on top of the refrigerator and perches on top of the cabinets for a better view. Or to get away from that evil mean bitch Jewel. I had never heard a hiss out of my sweet Jewel until I introduced the interloper. Man, is she pissed. Why would I do this to her? She hisses and bats at him, and he stands there, all 20 lbs of him (you read that right) and says, "What? What did I do?" But I have watched him wait for her around the corner and jump out at her so she will chase at him and hiss and bat her claws at his face like a pugilistic fur toy. He is clawless. And clueless.

She must eat first and get the first lap of fresh water. When she walks through the room, he jumps to different levels of height to stay out of her way. 6 weeks later and they both sleep on the bed with me, but he is relegated to the bottom by a stare while she sleeps next to me. I have watched them eat together now but can hear her low growling the whole time. She does not understand why I had to bring him in to her life. I see other cats get along and dream of the day they will wrap up in each others' fur and give each other kitty baths. I screwed up by not putting one behind a closed door for a week until curiosity overtook one of them. And now I am regretting the way they were introduced to each other. All of sudden, without gradually introducing one another. The basket a friend made Jewel never got the time of day until McMurphy came along, and now she curls up in her kitty basket as if to say, "Mine, mine mine." I'm hoping when the weather gets colder, they will need each other for warmth and be sweet sister and brother to each other. Until then, there's a whole lot of hissing going on.

My next assignment was to describe or explain my first lover. Wow, that is harder than one might think. So we're just going to leave that one alone for now.

My 3rd assignment, not even required in blog form, was to write a prayer. Wow, that is an overwhelming assignment. Profound, powerful. I could just whisper it in my head as I do every night before I got to bed. But I think its important to write the words. But before I do this, let me tell you about my day. I woke up early to wake up my daughter Dorothy for work since she overslept yesterday after only 4 hrs of sleep after working all night. I felt bad since she is working 2 jobs, 40-50 hrs a week while I'm doing jack shit. So after greeting her already awake butt, I promptly went back to bed. Who wakes up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning?? I had a breakfast date at 9:30 and my alarm went off at its usual time which is 7. I stayed in bed and dosed off and on till 8:30 when I got out of bed for a shower. He called and said he would be late so I checked my e-mail and read an e-mail inviting me over to a friend's house for BLTs and ice cream on a hot steamy day. My friend and I showed up at Panera's at the same time for pastries and Diet Coke (Ok, he had coffee, ewww!). I have known this friend since we turned 16 that summer of '73 and now live in the same time. He had called out of the blue the other day and I told him my news which is what prompted breakfast. After small talk, he asked how I really was doing, and I told him. I was hopeful when I told him I was thinking about filing a grievance and getting this off my record. He held my hand and said, "You absolutely have to do this. And if you need the money for a lawyer, do not hesitate to ask." Can you say overwhelmed with gratitude? It wasn't the money; it was the gesture. If any stranger had seen us at the place with my hands in his and tears in my eyes and that sweet look on his face, they might have thought we were having an affair. But we have been the dearest of brother/sister friends for so long that that is almost laughable, and we knew exactly what was going on. And then he said, "What else do I need to do? Kick your butt? Call you once a week? Get you out of the house?" Yes, Yes, Yes, and Yes. We left with a hug while he reminded me to ask if I needed a check. Afterwards, I went to the friends' house for BLT's and ice cream for the rest of the afternoon. I don't think I had been out of the house and away from the tv and my computer for this long in, well, a month. Next up, I went to a friend's new house and helped him straighten him up his living quarters. Then went to Wal-Mart for power strips and to a sports bar for dinner. All total, I was away from the house for 12 hours without a panic attack, without my stomach flip flopping, without shaking with fear at large spaces and loud noises. I tell myself every day but do not remember it well, that once I am out of bed and out in the world, I am much better. Please help remind me.

So my prayer is this, as it is every night:

Dear God, Father, Mother, Creator,
Thank you for my continued good health.
I never want to take that for granted. For that, I am grateful.
Thank you, especially, for those people in my life who love, comfort, and support me.
I could not go through this difficult time without that support. I am blessed.
I don't know what I did to deserve such joyful loving family and friends.
May I never take them for granted.
Watch over x, y, and z (those people I won't mention by name)
who need You to wrap Your loving arms around them.
Lord, give me strength to go on another day.
Grant me courage to do what I need to do.

Where I "Want" to be in a year?

Today's assignment is "Where I want to be in a year." He said, "Not where you see yourself or not where you feel you'll be, but where you want to be." All I thought was "Oh shit."

First, let me explain that one of the symptoms of depression is seeing no future, no hope so how am I supposed to know where the fuck I want to be in a year. Okay, I want to be employed. I want to be happy. I want to be happily employed. But I don't see that possible with my past following me, my past employment history. Ever since I was laid off at the big publishing company and then blackballed from ever working there again, I have not been happily employed (except for that time at Planned Parenthood that I loved more than anything). People should not take liking their jobs for granted.

I want to wake up in the morning and be glad to be alive, not dread another day. I want to wake up and hit the ground running and feel as if I am helping people and doing some good in this world. I want to pay my bills and not worry. I want to go out with friends every once in a while and laugh. Oh God, I want to laugh. I can't even remember what that feels like. I want the weight in my chest to go away. I want my heart to stop beating out of my chest. I want to stop sleeping to avoid life. I want to be powerful and in control. I want my kids to see me the way they saw me when they were growing up, not as this weak, whimpering, depressed shell of a human. I want someone in my life who makes my heart skip a beat when I hear/feel my phone go off or when I see him on-line so we can chat or when I see him in person. I want to feel love again. I want to be loved again. And did I already say, I want to laugh again?

While we're on the subject, I found this yesterday on a website (as I have signed up to received depression news, literally, news about depression, not depressing news). It's as if someone interviewed me and took notes.

Writing in a journal is another technique to get in tune with your moods and feelings, and it "can be very helpful for some people," Viguera adds. When charting or journaling, note any common symptoms or signs of depression and how severe they are, such as:

• A feeling of sadness that persists
• Difficulty sleeping or sleeping more than usual
• Changes in appetite (eating more or less than usual)
• Withdrawing from social interaction
  
• Losing interest in hobbies or pleasurable activities
• Lack of energy
• Problems concentrating and remembering
• Feeling hopeless, helpless, or negative

So, I guess I will be "journaling" more "to get in tune with my moods and feelings." How 'bout I don't want to get in tune with my moods and feelings? They are all too damn depressing.