I spent the majority of last weekend cleaning my parent's basement in preparation for my arrival. If it is at all possible to be equally excited and mortified at the same time about my new living arrangements then that would best sum up my emotional state. It has nothing to do with my parents. I love my parents. We get along well, enjoy one another's company, and living with them ensures an increase in extended family time. So, naturally, I am excited. On the other hand, I am moving into a basement. Yes, this was my idea. I am 35 years old and I am moving into a basement. I have no husband, no job security, no savings, and I am moving into a basement. So, naturally, I am mortified.
As I was driving home after a weekend of clearing cobwebs, sweeping dust, and coughing and wheezing, my sister called. I had been expressing my aforementioned conflicted feelings to her and she felt she hadn't been a good listener so, burdened with guilt, she decided to call in order to make it up to me. She told me she was sorry I was feeling down, wished she could make it all go away, and within only a few moments we were both in tears. NOTE: My brother-in-law once told my sister that our family was the most emotionally-driven, guilt-ridden family he had ever met. I have no idea where he got that from.
My sister offered to "tidy the place a bit" in order to lift my spirits. Did I mention I am moving into a basement? I told her I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It is bad enough to have to move into a basement. I am quite certain it is much worse to move into a basement and then "tidy it up a bit". In the end, I decided some candles would be nice to cover up the musty smell, which is extremely faint, thank you very much. And I allowed my sister to talk me into some curtains as long as they were plain and merely functional in order to help mask the plastic covering to block the cold. Maybe once the holidays approach I can bring myself to put some Christmas lights up. As long as no one ever finds out and the purpose would be to simply supply more light, of course. Certainly not for decoration.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Paranoi-ya will destro-ya
I know I am not the only one out there who tends to think people are upset with them for some apparent reason or another. Or should I say for no apparent reason or another? Is it that I want people to be upset with me? What can I possibly gain from constantly worrying that others are angry with me? It doesn't happen everyday. "Constantly" is a bit of an exaggeration. But it happens often enough. Like today, for example. I was at a faculty meeting where I saw one of my colleagues. I waved, said good morning, the usual. His response was a bit aloof; which in my world can easily be transcribed as: " he didn't throw his arms around me declaring his unyielding love". Just the same, it triggered a thought process which still plagues me five hours later. It goes something like this:
Hmm...he seems a bit aloof. I wonder what is wrong? Is he upset with me? No, that's just silly. I haven't done anything to upset him. Well, maybe I have done something. But what could it be? Hmm...maybe he heard that I think so-in-so is negative all the time and he thinks I am being self-righteous for saying that. Or maybe I was supposed to be at that meeting yesterday and I didn't know it and so he thinks I am irresponsible? Or maybe I just look awful today, as usual, and he is thinking to himself that I am ridiculously dressed and that the dark circles under my eyes, hereditary or not, make me look 10 years older. Wait, did he just smile at me? No, he looks confused. I think he is just responding to what somebody else just said. No, that officially was not a smile. Why is he ignoring me like this? He must be upset with me. I wonder what I did...
And on and on it goes. Sadly, the concept of: "if I am unable to think of what I might have done I can logically presume I have, in fact, NOT done anything" never crosses my mind. I am not sure where this "paranoia" comes from. Nor do I enjoy it. Or have yet to find a way to conquer it. Have you ever heard the philosophy that only 10% of what we worry about actually happens? I am not sure I am getting that right. It might even be less than that. Sorry, I tend to get caught up with percentages and scales. Ask my friends. But, regardless, the idea of it is true. I would say 99% of the time the person I am currently thinking is upset or angry with me ends up not being upset or angry with me at all. (I am sure there were supposed to be some commas in that sentence) They are usually just having a bad day, or are tired, or maybe it's simply gas. Who knows? Nonetheless, it is tiring.
I am sure at least somebody out there suffers from this affliction as well. Well, maybe I shouldn't call it an affliction. That doesn't sound very nice and I wouldn't want to upset anybody. Wait, did I upset you? Are you mad at me?
Hmm...he seems a bit aloof. I wonder what is wrong? Is he upset with me? No, that's just silly. I haven't done anything to upset him. Well, maybe I have done something. But what could it be? Hmm...maybe he heard that I think so-in-so is negative all the time and he thinks I am being self-righteous for saying that. Or maybe I was supposed to be at that meeting yesterday and I didn't know it and so he thinks I am irresponsible? Or maybe I just look awful today, as usual, and he is thinking to himself that I am ridiculously dressed and that the dark circles under my eyes, hereditary or not, make me look 10 years older. Wait, did he just smile at me? No, he looks confused. I think he is just responding to what somebody else just said. No, that officially was not a smile. Why is he ignoring me like this? He must be upset with me. I wonder what I did...
And on and on it goes. Sadly, the concept of: "if I am unable to think of what I might have done I can logically presume I have, in fact, NOT done anything" never crosses my mind. I am not sure where this "paranoia" comes from. Nor do I enjoy it. Or have yet to find a way to conquer it. Have you ever heard the philosophy that only 10% of what we worry about actually happens? I am not sure I am getting that right. It might even be less than that. Sorry, I tend to get caught up with percentages and scales. Ask my friends. But, regardless, the idea of it is true. I would say 99% of the time the person I am currently thinking is upset or angry with me ends up not being upset or angry with me at all. (I am sure there were supposed to be some commas in that sentence) They are usually just having a bad day, or are tired, or maybe it's simply gas. Who knows? Nonetheless, it is tiring.
I am sure at least somebody out there suffers from this affliction as well. Well, maybe I shouldn't call it an affliction. That doesn't sound very nice and I wouldn't want to upset anybody. Wait, did I upset you? Are you mad at me?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
The Biological Clock
I am feeling a bit tipsy as I am writing this so who knows how it will turn out. I decided I would "log" my moments of unhappiness in order to accurately calculate just how often I am unhappy. It turns out that, so far, today I have only had one moment where unhappiness crept into my mood. It's still early yet.
I was at Buddies, where I work a second job waiting tables, and I saw a couple come into the restaurant. The man was holding a little girl around the age of two, I would presume. She was fast asleep, safe and nestled in his neck. Instantly I felt the lump forming in my throat, the tightness in my chest, the burning in my eyes as they began to well up with tears. The waitress standing next to me, surprised, said: "What's the matter?" "I want one of those", I said. She seemed a bit confused. I am sure she was wondering what "one of those" meant, as to be expected. I get along incredibly well with all the servers, but at the same time don't relate to them. Give or take a couple, the majority of them are in their early twenties, with "acceptable-for-the-time-being" boyfriends. So she naturally hadn't a clue what I could possibly be talking about. It's ok, not many people do. It is called a biological clock. They say it ticks. I call it a very real, and often overwhelming, want and need. And I say it hurts. I don't know how to describe it any other way. A constant pain or pang in my heart that I fear will never be fullfilled.
The feeling subsided. It eventually does. But the thought is always there. It doesn't help that, in my life, I am surrounded by children. My sister has three boys, fraternal four year old twins and a three year old. I have two very close girl friends who have young children as well. One has a four year old boy and a girl who is almost two. And another friend who has a little girl who just turned one. It doesn't help that all of these children love me. People have always said that "children love me" and "I have a way with kids". It is true.
I also have a little sister from Big Brother Big Sister. She was supposed to be a little sister and I was supposed to spend about an hour or two a week with her. In reality, she is like a surrogate daughter and I usually spend anywhere between 5-12 hrs a week with her depending on whether or not she spends the night. I don't know how to do anything in moderation. I used to think that maybe God put so many wonderful and beautiful children in my life because he knew it wasn't in my plan to have my own. Over time, with the help of my friends and family, I have done what I can to let that thought go and opt for hope instead. Hope. It drifts in and out of my life. Today, it prevails. For a moment, just a moment, I could picture it. Maybe a stroll in the park. He and I are hand in hand, the birds are chirping under the clear blue sky, and she, our beautiful baby girl, is asleep in his arms, safe and nestled in his neck. Who knows where my attempt at hope will be tomorrow.
I was at Buddies, where I work a second job waiting tables, and I saw a couple come into the restaurant. The man was holding a little girl around the age of two, I would presume. She was fast asleep, safe and nestled in his neck. Instantly I felt the lump forming in my throat, the tightness in my chest, the burning in my eyes as they began to well up with tears. The waitress standing next to me, surprised, said: "What's the matter?" "I want one of those", I said. She seemed a bit confused. I am sure she was wondering what "one of those" meant, as to be expected. I get along incredibly well with all the servers, but at the same time don't relate to them. Give or take a couple, the majority of them are in their early twenties, with "acceptable-for-the-time-being" boyfriends. So she naturally hadn't a clue what I could possibly be talking about. It's ok, not many people do. It is called a biological clock. They say it ticks. I call it a very real, and often overwhelming, want and need. And I say it hurts. I don't know how to describe it any other way. A constant pain or pang in my heart that I fear will never be fullfilled.
The feeling subsided. It eventually does. But the thought is always there. It doesn't help that, in my life, I am surrounded by children. My sister has three boys, fraternal four year old twins and a three year old. I have two very close girl friends who have young children as well. One has a four year old boy and a girl who is almost two. And another friend who has a little girl who just turned one. It doesn't help that all of these children love me. People have always said that "children love me" and "I have a way with kids". It is true.
I also have a little sister from Big Brother Big Sister. She was supposed to be a little sister and I was supposed to spend about an hour or two a week with her. In reality, she is like a surrogate daughter and I usually spend anywhere between 5-12 hrs a week with her depending on whether or not she spends the night. I don't know how to do anything in moderation. I used to think that maybe God put so many wonderful and beautiful children in my life because he knew it wasn't in my plan to have my own. Over time, with the help of my friends and family, I have done what I can to let that thought go and opt for hope instead. Hope. It drifts in and out of my life. Today, it prevails. For a moment, just a moment, I could picture it. Maybe a stroll in the park. He and I are hand in hand, the birds are chirping under the clear blue sky, and she, our beautiful baby girl, is asleep in his arms, safe and nestled in his neck. Who knows where my attempt at hope will be tomorrow.
I Am Not A Chef
I made homemade soup last night. Well, if the corn comes from a can does it really count as homemade? It actually turned out really good and I was feeling pretty sassy about it. Hey, I can cook! I am GOOD at this! In retrospect, some things for me to think about before I label myself as one of those women who cook really well. 1. I ate a great deal of it while it was still in the pan and then had a bowl of it after it was finished and this, of course, ended with an upset stomach. 2. Being single, my tupperware selection is fairly limited and so I attempted to store the remaining soup in a ziplock bag. Just in case anyone is confused, it takes TWO people to accomplish this. One to hold the bag and one to pour. If you attempt to do it on your own it WILL spill out of that bag and all over the counter. And... 3. I think you are supposed to clean up the mess when you are finished cooking. Not the following morning.
Do you have to be a good cook to find a good man, I am wondering this morning? I ask this it being impossible, naturally, for me to not relate it to the neverending question that constantly races through my mind, "why am I single?" Good Lord, I hope not. Or I am in trouble.
Do you have to be a good cook to find a good man, I am wondering this morning? I ask this it being impossible, naturally, for me to not relate it to the neverending question that constantly races through my mind, "why am I single?" Good Lord, I hope not. Or I am in trouble.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Disclaimer
To begin with, let me get one thing clear: Borderline Happy Disorder is not a real disorder. I haven't been diagnosed with it nor, to be completely honest, have I ever even heard of it. I just finished reading "Girl, Interrupted" and the central character in the book is diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. When I was searching for a name for this blog it was the first thing that came to mind having just finished the book last night. I certainly couldn't diagnose myself with her condition (although if you were to take a look at the symptoms you might ask yourself the same question she did...haven't we all had it at some point in our lives?) This caused me to ponder what condition I do have as I am sure I have something. For some reason I find comfort in that. Don't ask me why. And Borderline Happy Disorder is what I came up with. What does it mean? Well, just what it says. I have a disorder where I am on the borderline of being happy. I am consistently, on a day to day basis, right on the verge of being happy. But, one way or another, I can't quite get there. This probably doesn't sound like a problem to many of you; but, believe me, it is. Ok, so now that we have gotten that squared up...
A little about me: I am a 35 (going on 42) yr old woman who is certain that I am in the middle of an early mid-life crisis. Life has passed me by. I will never find love or have a family and a home of my own. I love and hate my job at the same time and am in the process of applyling to other places hoping to find something that really fulfills me. (I know, the American Dream, right?) If it is at all possible to be a "crazy cat lady" when you only have two cats then I am that woman. I have a fantastic family whom I am very close to and wonderful friends. Important note: In both of the aforementioned groups, every woman is married and half of them already have children. So life hasn't passed me by? Are you sure? Ohhh...OK.
I think that is all for now. After looking this over I am now thinking...who is ever going to read this? But, for some reason or another, I felt compelled to put myself out there. That is something I am slowly beginning to learn in my later years. You have to put yourself out there. I am beginning to accomplish this is some areas of my life. And not so much in other areas. Ah, the joys of being single...
A little about me: I am a 35 (going on 42) yr old woman who is certain that I am in the middle of an early mid-life crisis. Life has passed me by. I will never find love or have a family and a home of my own. I love and hate my job at the same time and am in the process of applyling to other places hoping to find something that really fulfills me. (I know, the American Dream, right?) If it is at all possible to be a "crazy cat lady" when you only have two cats then I am that woman. I have a fantastic family whom I am very close to and wonderful friends. Important note: In both of the aforementioned groups, every woman is married and half of them already have children. So life hasn't passed me by? Are you sure? Ohhh...OK.
I think that is all for now. After looking this over I am now thinking...who is ever going to read this? But, for some reason or another, I felt compelled to put myself out there. That is something I am slowly beginning to learn in my later years. You have to put yourself out there. I am beginning to accomplish this is some areas of my life. And not so much in other areas. Ah, the joys of being single...
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