A Spring Interlude

This afternoon I lay in the grass next to creek and put words into a journal about anything that popped into my mind. I talked about the crow who was calling in a dead tree close to me. About the six vultures that I caught circling over me. About how I want to spend more time outside. About my upcoming camping trip. About why my hands never seem to get sunburned. I was warm in the sun and comfortable in my sweatshirt from the breeze. It reminded me why I need to spend more time outside.

My creek in summer. It's a little more bare recently. 

Transitions

In a way this post is four and a half years in the making. Four and a half years ago my life changed in an unforeseeable way and I've been keeping it a secret. That's a long time to keep a secret, but it wasn't my secret to tell. I've kept quiet from family, friends, and the world. But now, finally I'm able to talk about what has been going on in my life these last couple years.

Right about the time that I broke my ankle, Jeff and I had a discussion where he came out to me as transgender. At the time I didn't know the word and neither did he. What he told me is that his outside gender didn't match his inside gender. He didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. It was through the research we've done in these last three years that we heard the term transgender. The formal definition is, "a term for people whose gender identity, expression, or behavior is different from those typically associated with their assigned sex at birth".

That first discussion led to others. Many others. We talked for years about what this meant. In the beginning Jeff hoped that he would be okay just using feminine expressions to make himself feel better. But we both quickly realized that it wasn't enough. We started talking about what would happen IF he transitioned. Then it became WHEN.

In January we decided that there was no reason for him to be miserable any longer. We decided that Jeff would become Jess in August. Three weeks from now I'll be married to a woman. Not legally a woman but a woman in appearance and hopefully as perceived by the rest of the world. I'm starting to change my "he" to "she". I'm trying to get used to the new name. People who spend time with us regularly have been told. The support has been tremendous, both for her and me. Her office is making adjustments and will handle everything there. Everyone has told me that it will take time for their impressions to change, but that they will continue to spend time with us. It's been an eye opening couple of months.

And an eye opening couple of years. I've started reading books on gender expression and the very big difference between sex and gender. I've had more discussion with Jess then we've ever had. There have been tears and there have been laughs. Jess seems happier than she's been in many years. And I'm happy about that. For 15 years I've loved him. And now I think I'm going to love her just as much. It will be a transition. For both of us. But we're prepared to see this through together, as friends and companions. And still married.

10 Minutes

I have the words "Ten Minutes" on the chalkboard above my bed. These two simple words have changed the way I see myself and life in general. For years I've had big plans of things I'm going to do. Books I'm going to write. Weight I'm going to lose. Skills I'm going to learn. But I always seem to get overwhelmed by how much work it takes to actually achieve these goals. And I always say that if I can't dedicate myself fully to my goal, than it's not worth even trying to achieve anything. In short, I give up. Pretty quickly.

The "10 minutes" idea came into my life after I started learning guitar. My father recommended practicing at least 10 minutes per day. Mostly because my fingers had not developed the strength or calluses needed. But I started thinking about how 10 minutes per day didn't seem like much. I could do that. I can do anything for that amount of time and I know I have at least ten minutes that I could spend each day. Each day I play, at least 10 minutes and most of the time longer. I've also started writing at least 10 minutes per day. Often longer, but at least those few minutes.

And I've realized that breaking my goals into small manageable chunks makes all the difference for me. I don't feel odd about writing when I'm only doing 10 minutes. I don't get self-conscious and stop writing. I don't worry about if the writing is award winning. I just fill those 10 minutes and by the time they are over, I'm normally full tilt into something I've been meaning to write. I've been strength training for at least 10 minutes a day. Everyone can strength train for ten minutes. In fact everyone can dedicated ten minutes to almost anything.

Suddenly things don't seem so insurmountable. I feel like I can achieve all sorts of things, in just 10 minutes per day. And those are minutes that I always feel I have available to spend. If I told myself that I'd be writing for an hour, my mind would say that I don't have that kind of time. I'd talk myself out of it before I even started. But my brain never balks at 10 minutes. I have that kind of time. And using this one little trick, this one little thought, I'm starting to feel better about those goals. Suddenly I might be able to achieve things.

What's Important

Last week my father texted me to say that he probably had the flu and wouldn't be able to get together one night. On Saturday my mother called me to say that it wasn't the flu. Dad had a blood infection. A serious blood infection. He'd finally gone to see the doctor and that he would be starting heavy rounds of antibiotics that day. Even more worrying, my father has an artificial heart valve that was put in almost 25 years ago. If the valve became infected it would mean another heart surgery.

On Sunday my mother called to say that they were admitting my dad to the hospital on Monday morning. They wanted to watch him more closely. He still had high fevers. Thankfully on Monday we found out that his valve was apparently not infected. He'll most likely not need another open heart surgery. Now it's just a matter of blasting him with enough antibiotics to kill the bug. When I saw him on Saturday, before the hospitalization, he looked gray and pale and weak. He was clearly sick, clearly hurting. And I went home with a pretty heavy  heart. But the news on Monday and seeing the return of his appetite and color has made these last couple days a relief.

From the first phone call on Saturday until today, I've been in a bit of a daze. I spent part of Saturday with my dad, I spent most of Monday at the hospital with him, and I'm making it a point to see him every day. The news of his illness was a wake up call. It has reminded me that most of the issues I thought I had, aren't all that important. It reminds me that there are things in life that are important (family, friends, time, interests...) and there are things that are unimportant. I've been slacking at the office but I've been writing up a storm. I've been laying off social media but I've been spending lots of face-time and phone time. I've been telling people I love them. I've been making time. I've been doing the things that make me come alive.

As I watch my dad recover, and his color and personality return to normal, I send my gratitude out into the world. And I'm reminded of what I know is important and what I used to think was important. It's sad that it took almost losing my father to realize this, but I'm happy to have both the lesson and a soon-to-be healthy father. I'd rather not have just the lesson.

Venting: Literally and Figuratively

Right now there are six industrial strength fans running in my kitchen. The noise is so loud that I'm camped out upstairs. This morning as I was just about ready to pack my lunch for work I noticed that the floor was shiny. It was reflecting the light we have in the bathroom. Thankfully I turned the kitchen light on before walking in. Otherwise I would have soaked my feet. There was a good inch or so of standing water all over the floor.

Instead of packing lunch I woke Jeff up, grabbed some towels and headed back downstairs to start the long process of mopping up my kitchen. We filled buckets with gray water and hauled them outside to dump on the lawn. We got good use out of the new mop we bought last month. With Jeff using a sponge and me using the mop we were finally able to make headway on the mess. Just as we had gotten mostly under control, our neighbor rang the doorbell and pleaded for help. She was in the same situation. Water everywhere. We helped mop out her kitchen as well.

With the water gone I headed out to work (I'd told my boss I'd be late) and left Jeff to wait for the sewer company. They arrived about 9 and quickly realized that there was a blockage in the main building line. We had taken the brunt of the mess along with our neighbor. Four other units were also affected but with much less damage. Jeff called a company to come in and clean up and they're the ones that set up the fans. They're also the ones that realized that the underfloor was soaked and that the vinyl flooring would have to come up. So not only do we have the charge of the clean-up but we'll be laying in a new floor and new baseboards. An expensive and very frustrating morning.

So right now I'm venting... along with the kitchen. It's hopefully getting dry, particularly the walls. And I'm starting to accept things the way they are. I won't have a kitchen for  probably a week and a half. Jeff and I will be looking at flooring tomorrow. I have the frustration of not being able to use my downstairs bathroom comfortably. And of course the added expense. The only positive is how incredible Jeff has been through this whole thing. He's been the one to deal with the insurance company (we don't have sewer coverage), the sewer company, the cleaning company, and shopping to make things simpler for me. He's been a godsend today. I hope I cool off before the floor dries. Otherwise it's going to be a long frustrating week.

Experiment

For two and a half weeks I've been spending many of my nights in front of the TV. I'm a huge Olympics fan. I want to catch every minute of coverage I can. It didn't matter which sport, I was watching. And now I've gotten used to coming home and settling on the couch. I've been out to dinners and running errand this week but the moment I come home I'm again planted on the couch, reading Facebook updates and watching whatever show is on.

And my last post was all about unplugging. It was about taking time away from electronics and feeling freer. But here I am tonight, sitting in front of the TV again. And it's taken me well over an hour to write these two paragraphs because I've been distracted by the moving pictures. It should never take me more than an hour to write a paragraph. I should never have so little concentration or focus.

So tomorrow I'm starting an experiment. No television for a week. I'm going to try to concentrate on reading, writing, and other hobbies. I haven't been knitting as much as I'd like. I haven't been writing much at all this recently. I've been working on a fascinating book for almost two weeks now, which is incredibly slow for me. I'm not focused. And I'm hoping that this experiment will show me if my concentration issues are TV related. Or if nothing else I hope I get something done. It's an experiment. It may not work. But I assume that it will be worth the effort. Wish me luck.

Blackout

Jeff and I were watching some Olympics coverage (because I can't get enough of it) last night after dinner when suddenly the TV went black. And the AC turned off. And all the lights. We had a big storm the night before that had knocked out some power but we had been spared. Now tonight, with little more than a breeze, we were out.

So of course we did what everyone would do. We poured glasses of Baileys and sat out on the patio. Since the power went out at 8 we got to sit and talk and watch the darkness descend. It was heavenly. There was nothing to do and nothing we had to do. Most of the neighbors had done the same thing, sitting out on their patios with glasses of wine and relaxing.

And for a moment I thought about what it must have been like before the internet and TV. Now I was alive before there were personal computers. I remember a time where we didn't have the ever-present internet to entertain us. I never knew a time before TV. But sitting out there last night I found myself hoping that the lights didn't come back on for a while. I loved the undistracted time just watching the world grow darker while listening to people talk. Watching the trees blow in the breeze and listening to the cicadas. I loved the darkness and the sense of security of sitting in the dark. It felt safe and cozy. Eventually Jeff brought me a candle and I sat in the faint candle-light and wondered what the world would be like without television and email and constant distractions. I've decided that it would have been amazing. Then the lights came back on.

Reconnecting

About two weeks ago my aunt and uncle were in Des Moines. Jeff and I had dinner with them and spent two nights playing games and enjoying their company. On the last evening they were here, my uncle mentioned an old friend that he had just gotten back in contact with. He said that there was another old friend he was looking for and hadn't had a lot of luck finding. So I offered to help him look.

I have access to some great public records databases and can find a lot people information without a ton of effort. So I started doing some digging to find his friend. It took me less than an hour to find his friend and to confirm that it was the man he was looking for. I had found an old email address, a current phone number, and a current address. I sent it over to my uncle to do with as he would like. He tried the email and it bounced back so he cold-called. And after a couple uncomfortable minutes, the two friends were talking. My uncle sent him some pictures and figured that was that.

He emailed me this morning to tell me that he'd gotten a letter from his old friend. It was an in depth letter describing the friend's life and talking about his family. And then this friend dropped a bombshell. The man was dying. He had about a year or so left to live. When I read that in my uncle's email I was shaken. I was so sad for this man, who is on the edge of death. But I was also happy that my uncle had reconnected at this point. That it wasn't too late for him to say that he was thinking of this man. I was happy he would have a chance to say goodbye. If he had waited a year, my uncle would never have gotten to say anything.

So today I've been thinking about all the people I've lost contact with. All the friends that I've let drift away. I'm suddenly interested in getting in touch with them. Of telling them how much their friendship meant to me, even if it never rekindles. Because you never know when it will be too late. I'm both happy and sad I could help my uncle. But more than anything it has made me think.

A Rant

I'm in a rather frustrated mood tonight so of course I'm going to write. And publish. I'm officially tired of politics. I'm tired of national primaries, I'm tired of local politics, I'm tired of the stupid decisions that keep being passed into law, and more than anything I'm tired of unwillingness of any politician to compromise. Or even talk logically. 

I'm inundated with media that pushes the fanatics to the front and center. I hear yelling, not discourse. I hear name-calling when I should hear logic. And I hear a lot of people talking out of their asses. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of seeing legislation that has no place in our society. The whole idea of the Bill of Rights was granting rights. Not taking it away. 

So I'm chucking it all. I'm checking out of this political game. I'm tired of hearing it so I'm going to turn off my TV. I'm going to stay away from news sites. I'm going to read my books and write stories and wait for the world to become sane again. I'm going to practice common courtesy in my own life. I'm going to continue to be a vegetarian and live my principles. I'm going to be nice and polite and a good citizen. And when the idiots up in Washington or up on the hill figure out how to act like human beings again, perhaps I'll start paying attention. But until then I guarantee I'll be in a better mood. 

Hiding, Reading, and a Possible Theft

A couple weeks ago I had made a comment about disappearing as part of my Poetry Friday posts. I'm sure that for some of you that sounds a bit like a joke. I can't really disappear of course. But I do go into hiding on a somewhat regular basis. This weekend was one of them. Other than breakfast on Saturday with Jeff and a brief drive that day, I haven't left the house since Friday. I did check email for most of the weekend. I certainly didn't write any. I grumbled whenever the phone rang. Other than occasionally checking Facebook and a video chat this afternoon I had almost no contact with the outside word. I was a hermit this weekend. Lately I'm feeling overwhelmed. This was my way to cope. It appears to have worked. I feel refreshed now.

What I did this weekend was read. I read five books this weekend. Most of them were young adult so it isn't the grand achievement that it sounds like. I burrowed into the couch and read some of the classic YA stories that I've heard so much about. I read Ursula LeGuin's A Wizard of Earthsea, Lloyd Alexander's The Book of Three, Susan Coolidge's What Katy Did, and E. Nesbit's Five Children and It. I made another library run to pick up a graphic novel called Page by Paige which has to be one of the most brilliant books for creative people I've ever read. I copied tons of quotes out of it. I must own it. The reading was good this weekend. I might (and I mean might) continue on with the Earthsea series, and you know how I feel about series. I lost myself in books this weekend. And found some wonderful characters.

I also received a bill that has me a little worried. On Saturday Jeff picked up the mail and noticed that there was a bill from one of the local health providers. It was addressed to me, but was for someone I don't know. Nothing about the name was familiar. After losing my wallet in February I was terrified that this person had used my insurance. Of course no one was open on Saturday or Sunday. So today I called. I guess this person was seen at the hospital and gave my name as a guarantor. I'm pissed. I concerned that this is a case of identify theft. Or that this person has my wallet. I was kind of hoping that whoever had found it had just taken the case and tossed the rest of the wallet. Now suddenly I'm not so sure. I've talked to the hospital and their billing and the issue has been resolved. But there is a feeling of uneasiness in my mind. What other bills will I be getting? And who is this person? Thankfully I research people for a living. Time to do some digging on my possible thief.

Scatterbrained

Did you miss me? Good, because I've been missing me a lot recently. I'm not really sure what I am lately. It's certainly not at the writing table. At least not blog writing. I have so many things I'd like to tell you about but I seriously do not have the energy tonight. I just spent the last two hours looking for my wallet, canceling my credit cards (after realizing it was lost), and trying to remember everything that was in there. I'm sure that I'm not even remembering half of the things that were there.

I keep losing books and keys. I habitually lose my coffee. It's actually an odd day when I don't turn to Jeff and ask, "Do you know where I left my coffee?" I always find it but I live in fear of the day I find a month old cup with some serious mold growth. Nothing grows mold quite as fast as coffee. So I've been scatterbrained. I may never know where the wallet went to. I lost it from my office to the car. That's a distance of less then 30 yards. I just hope that someone honest, decent, and wonderful finds it (the way I know most people are). We'll see what tomorrow brings. In the meantime I'm going to make myself a pot of decaf, and curl up in a ball and read. It's the only safe thing to do.

No Instruction Manual

A couple years ago I had an epiphany. It should have been something that had occurred to me years ago but I can be slow sometimes. I realized that no one gets an instruction manual when they are born. No one has things all work out. We are all playing it by ear. I'll repeat, we are all playing it by ear. That simple phrase stopped me in my tracks. It struck me like the proverbial thunderbolt. I remember stopping on the street and gasping at the simpleness and brilliance of the idea. And this was at 33 (see told you I was slow).

Through most of my life I've felt inept at things. Other people seem so much better at navigating life then I do. I seem to struggle to do everyday things more than most other people. I've always wanted to be smooth and perfect and it always seemed like I was clumsy and inept while other people weren't. And I used to feel bad about that, until this epiphany. This simple statement that we are all playing it by ear, made me realize that I'm not alone. That no one is working through the designated plan. That no one starts life, knowing instinctively how to give a business speech, or how to paint like Van Gogh. And more importantly, no one knows where their life is going. It's being made up on a daily basis. That was stunning to me.

And it opened the door to allow me to be imperfect. I no longer had to be smooth and polished, I could be fumbling and untaught. I could learn at my own pace. I could make mistakes left and right. I'm not inept, I'm learning. Now when I beat myself up for mistakes, I remember that they are all mistakes other people have made. We all start out with the same lack of knowledge. We all start out with the same idea that we should have a direction or a plan in life. And none of us do. We are all playing it by ear. And that is liberating.

Poetry Friday

I disappear sometimes. Like a magician, I make myself invisible to the world outside. I hide at home, in books, and don't return phone calls. All of my sisters do this occasionally. We get used to each others disappearances. The important thing is that we always find our way back. We always reappear.

The Art of Disappearing
by Naomi Shihab Nye

When they say Don't I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to a party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It's not that you don't love them anymore.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at your door.
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

Talent

This morning a friend sent me a recording of himself playing and singing one of my favorite songs. It's "Delicate" by Damien Rice. He does a fantastic job. The guitar work is nearly perfect. And surprisingly he has a really great voice (only surprising because I've never heard him sing before). It brought a huge smile to my face and put the song in my head all morning. I've listened to it several times already and marveled at all the hidden talent I didn't know this friend had.

This same morning Jeff showed me the finished fingerless glove that he's been working on for a while now. He finished it late last night and it's a beautiful thing. He designed the pattern, worked in the tiniest softest yarn I could imagine. He managed to repair it when he dropped several critical stitches on his last round. He's recreated it several time, always persistent, and has come away with something that's really wonderful.

With both of these things I'm reminded how incredible a thing it is to share talents. I've smiled all day because of two people who were willing to share their talents with me. I tend to be a private, hidden person. I'm generally guarded with my passions and interests. But today I'm seeing how much joy I could offer by sharing more. By offering my services and talents. And maybe I could bring a smile to someone's face.

Daytripper

Last week at the library I picked up a graphic novel that had been mentioned as one of the best graphic stories for last year. I'm a huge fan of graphic novels but I tend to focus on the more unique stories. I seek out those novels that touch on unusual topics. Alison Bechdel's Fun Home and Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis were two that I've read in the last year and found fascinating. I had read a review of Daytripper by Fabio Moon and Gabriel Ba and knew I had to pick it up. If the review hadn't caught me, the cover would have (yes I judge books by their covers, also by their titles). Daytripper might be one of the most unique and interesting stories I've read in a while. It's an existential graphic novel with a twist.

Daytripper is all about death. In each chapter, the main character Bras is killed. In a each chapter there is a brief obituary about his life and each section of the book is at a different age. Normally he is killed at a particularly tragic moment, one of the great moments of his life. We see how his death affects others based on where he is in his life. The 11 year old boy receives a very different send-off than the 48 year old man. And through these obituaries (Bras himself is an obituary writer and an author), we get a further peek into his life. In each chapter he loses his life at a particularly poignant moment: after meeting the women of his dreams, traveling on a book tour, after the birth of his first son. But in each story we see the character progress as he accepts life and starts to live more fully.

I noticed that each death, at a later stage of his life, started to impact me more. The first story is all about how he can't write, how he's trying to live up to his very successful author father, how his life is falling apart. Although tragic, his death didn't impact me. Perhaps because they tried to show that Bras wasn't really living. With each story, I felt more and more for the character. His deaths seemed more tragic. A particularly heart-wrenching death was when his son was six and idealized his father. Bras is traveling and the story is of the tender moments between him and his family. And at the end, I cried. Not because he died, but because he lived. The story reminded me of all the living we have to do and we better get to it. I saw how the obituaries changed. In these chapters I got to watch an entire life, and multiple deaths. And each seemed worse. A great character, an inventive way to tell the story, and some incredible emotions. This one has to be one of the best graphic novels I've read. It will find a place on my bookshelf.

All Work and No Play...

Makes Cat bitter.

This week is the week from hell. I've had a month's worth of work dumped on me in the last two weeks. I have three days to get most of it done. And I have something (meetings, social events) every night of the week. I'm stressed and frazzled and have been working almost non-stop since 7 a.m. this morning. That was fourteen hours ago.

So I'm stepping back. Taking a moment to breathe. And growl into the blog. I don't mean to growl at you but somedays you just have to stand on the rooftops and curse. I hope you don't mind too much. I'll return to my regular insanity on the weekend.

Until then, here is a very young male deer that walked in front of our house last week at 3 o'clock in the afternoon along with his sister. It's rare to see them out during the day but even rarer to see them walk down the street like that. I found the encounter magical, although now I just hope that they found their way back to the woods okay.

Stranger Than Fiction

I watched Stranger Than Fiction again tonight. I'm not a huge Will Ferrell fan but I love him in this movie. I've seen it several dozen times now and every time I love it more. It's witty, funny, sweet, sad, and intelligent. It's the kind of movie I wish I had written. It not only breaks the fourth wall, it's all about the fourth wall.

What draws me to this movie is the characters and the characterizations. Jeff turned it on because he loves Maggie Gyllenhaal in this film. I can't blame him. She's beautiful in this movie. For me, I just want to be her character. I love the eclectic baker who fights the man and bakes goodies that make everyone drool. I love the kind-hearted character who gives away both her treats and her heart while still staying strong. I want to be her.

I also want to be Dustin Hoffman's character. I love the idea of the English professor who is enthralled with literature. His office is my dream office, filled with books, literature, discussion, and sunlight. I would love to have the time and intensity to read constantly and discuss books on a daily basis. I want to teach a class on "little did he know".

And I want to be Emma Thompson's character. I'm not sure I'd like the chain-smoking and ER stalking but I want that passion to write. To create. I have a card on my writing table that says "Passion is a form of madness." I've always craved that passion to write. Thompson plays the kind of eccentric writer I always wished I had become. Just more balanced.

I love this movie. I laugh, I cry, I dream. And in the end I finish the movie wanting to read and write and bake. But more than anything I want to live more fully. And that makes this movie special.

More Wise Words

In the same quote document I pulled the quote in the previous post, I found this gem from Salman Rushdie. I need to memorize this quote. And practice it.

I’ll tell you a secret about fear: it’s an absolutist. With fear, it’s all or nothing. Either, like any bullying tyrant, it rules your life with a stupid blinding omnipotence, or else you overthrow it, and its power vanishes in a puff of smoke. And another secret: the revolution against fear, the engendering of that tawdry despot’s fall, has more or less nothing to do with ‘courage.’ It is driven by something much more straightforward: the simple need to get on with your life. I stopped being afraid because, if my time on earth was limited, I didn’t have seconds to spare for funk—Salman Rushdie (The Moor’s Last Sigh)

Mood Shifts

I wrote a post this morning and promptly left it at work. I was going to try to recreate the mood of the piece but I'm in such a different place than I was this morning that instead I'm going to sum up all the various moods I've had over the course of the day. And hope that it's enough to be interesting.

My piece this morning was on the Mourning Dove hunt which started in Iowa yesterday. For the first time in 93 years, people are allowed to hunt doves and I'm actually pretty pissed about it. I had a ton of great points about why I'm angry but that is saved on a different computer and to be honest after the afternoon and evening I've had I'm so far from angry that it would be hard to get back into the right mental framework. I'm also a bit drunk so if this makes less than perfect sense I apologize.

My work day was actually pretty fantastic. My coworker brought me the Wicked soundtrack to preview. I had mentioned that I want to see the musical (I'm one of the four people on Earth who LOVED the book) but I haven't heard any of the music. So I spent my morning listening to that and working. The afternoon was really productive. While I worked I listened to hours of Regina Spektor radio on Pandora.

After work we met my parents for dinner at this really tasty pizza place in town. Then we headed back to their house. Jeff and I had something we wanted to talk to them about that we've been putting off. It was wonderful to sit down and talk things through. They were awesome about everything. I'm so lucky to have the parents I do. Thanks Mom and Dad!

After hanging out for a bit Jeff and I headed off to the local comedy club. We grabbed drinks and talked before the show. Both openers were a lot of fun but the main comedian (Bert Kreischer) was hilarious. I was so enthralled by a story he was telling that I forgot where I was for a moment (although the Jameson and the two beers didn't hurt). I laughed for two hours straight. It was fantastic. As we left the club at midnight, the wind was picking up. A thunderstorm was brewing. We found a nice quiet spot to sit and watch the rain and the storm and talked. A perfect end to a perfect day.

I'm sure I'll grab that post some time this weekend and post it. But it won't be tonight. Comedy clubs and anger don't go together. I'm too tired and happy to work up a good lather. So this evening I'll go to bed with a smile on my face, remembering that this morning my mood was completely different. I'm happier with this.

White Knight Syndrome

I've been falling prey to white knight syndrome lately. You know the syndrome. The princess locked in her high tower waits for the white knight to ride up on his horse and save her. What she does while locked in the tower is anyone's guess. The stories don't cover that part. I imagine her twiddling her thumbs. Lately I've been feeling like that princess, locked in my tower of a job, waiting for Jeff to finish school and come save me.

Last night I had a conversation with a friend that turned odd. And got me thinking. I continued the coversation long after we had signed off (I'm a writer. Having conversations with people who aren't there is par for the course) and I came to some conclusions. There aren't any white knights and honestly, saving myself will feel far more satisfying anyway. I'm waiting on the wrong thing. Or more to the point, waiting is the wrong thing. I'm the kind of girl who's never liked towers and waiting. So last night I decided to break out of this passivity.

It's odd. I've never been a particularly passive person. I'm quiet and bookish and deliberate. But not passive. After all, my anthem in college was "Not a Pretty Girl" by Ani Defranco. In the last couple years I've noticed that I've been feeling more and more trapped. And that stems from my increasing passivity. Last night I decided to stop waiting. No I'm not doing anything drastic. Jeff will still have the option to finish school. But I'm going to apply for the jobs I want. I'm going to write the books I want. I'm going to do what I need to do to be happy (something Jeff is constantly reminded me to do). That way, when Jeff is finished with school, I won't need saving. I'll already be happy and smiling and saved.