Not So Creamy

My husband and I are trying to prepare for the baby by finding really good (or at least decently edible) crockpot recipes. The plan is to have a stockpile of recipes so in the morning one of us can throw the ingredients into the crockpot and hit "Go".

Last week I successfully found and made two really great recipes: one from a seasoning packet I picked up at the grocery store, and another from a crockpot recipe book. The last one was a simple beef stew, but my husband said it was the best one yet.

To add to the challenge of pleasing both our paletes (he is much more of a carnivore than I am), we are both trying to eat a lot healthier. Unfortuantely many crockpot recipes are comfort foods comprised of high calorie ingredients. Yesterday I found a recipe for cheddar broccoli soup that looked delisiously promising. I carefully followed the very simple directions, and set my crockpot on low for eight hours.

On my way home I thought about the creamy, thick, cheddar broccli soup and the oyster crackers that would be swimming in it shortly. When I walked in the door, the smell of broccoli and cheese hit my nostrils.

"Smell's like a fart!" My husband announced as I opened the door. He was right, but most broccoli and cheddar dishes do smell like a fart.

"Did you stir it yet?" I asked.

"Yeah, it seems a little watery."

I opened the cover, hoping to find that a little cornstarch would thicken up my soup. As I peered in, I noticed grayish chunks floating around the concoction. At first I thought they may be the potatoes I put in, but then I remember how small I diced them. As I stirred and investigated, I realized these grayish chunks were actually unmelted Velveeta cheese! Disgusting.

"The cheese didn't completely melt! Come look at this!"

I lifted up a spoon of the unmelted cheese. "That's not cheese," my husband said assertively, "that's chicken."

"Um, I didn't put any chicken in!"

"Yeah, I am not eating that!"

I went on to make us some tuna fish sammies and canned chicken noodle soup for him. After, as I emptied the cooled soup-slop down the drain, I thought about how disgusting the cheesey experiment really was. The soupy mess was orange, which meant the dye from the cheese (I am guessing) did melt off and into the pot. Then that made me wonder what the hell kind of cheese is gray! Is it gray to begin with and then Velveeta dyes it orange? Or did some weird chemical reaction occur in my crockpot that stripped the orange right out of the cheese?

We'll never know, but thank god I had a few cans of tuna on hand.

Thanks to those Double Dippers

I thought I was in the clear. Normally, my annual cold sniffles up on me on Christmas day. In the past few years, I have developed an unscientific hypothesis that the cold is punishment for running myself ragged the weeks leading up to the holiday and then overindulging in Pinot Grigio on Christmas Eve. This year I thought it would be different. Pregnancy has saved me from drinking and thus hangovers. I have completed my degree, so there is no stress there. I am taking vitamins the size of horse pills, which I am told are prenatals but am convinced are bowel movement blockers. However constipated they may leave me, this is the first time in my life I have taken vitamins so I assumed I would be well defended against the common cold. I was even bullied into getting my first flu shot ever, as my doctor said it's "what responsible parents do."

Then came New Years Eve. Platters of food, dips galore and a few snotty nosed diaper wearing double dipping midgets. I watched in disgust as the mother of one innocent looking little girl used a cucumber, and then a chocolate chip cookie, as a spoon to try out every dip on the table. I watched her saliva run from plate to bowl, over crackers and cheeses and egg rolls. I offered a plate. "Isn't she funny? She just loves her dip!" Her mother exclaimed. I even watched this little girl wedged a soggy piece of cheese between her toes. That's when I had enough. I left the room.

Of course, I carefully did not eat anything that I saw the little girl germify but I must have missed something. I even knew that night she was going to be the culprit of my cold catching. And, as nature would predict, I have caught the cold. So, as if being six and a half months pregnant, with zits on my chin and cellulite on my thighs isn't unattractive enough, I am now oozing mucus from my nose and sneezing all over the place. I've heard sex is a good way to cure a cold, but I can't possibly expect my husband to be interested in this boogie prego monster I have become. Plus, I am so angry right now I just may black widow him if he tries to come near me with any intention of satisfaction.

I am officially miserable right now.

Pregnant Humor

I am currently six months pregnant. Almost twenty-five weeks without a buzz, without a cigarette, without feta cheese or an Italian sub. I have replaced my vices with chocolate and craziness.

Until last week (although others may beg to differ), I have been an absolute psycho. I knew it, but I don't think I could ever fully understand the extent from an outsider's perspective. My sister recently called me out for completely changing the mood of a room when I announced, quite seriously and devoid of any emotion on my face, that I "hate skinny people right now." I thought I was just making a general observation. Then, my therapist told me that not everyone needs to know exactly what's going on in my head at any given moment. That there are actually things (thoughts) I should keep to myself. Is there anything else I should restrict myself from during pregnancy? I mean, if I can't even use my word vomit as an outlet, what do I have left? I swear, when I was allowed to drink the alcohol at least slowed my response time, so I didn't always say everything I thought.

This week, however, I have rediscovered my humor and the power of a good laugh. I also try to convince myself that I am burning calories every time I chuckle really hard, so I am motivated to at least do it for my physique. On the other hand, laughing is becoming increasingly painful due to my huge belly.

Something my husband and I laughed about for an hour last night:

"It sounded like you just unzipped death."
After he farted really loud during a movie last night.

There have been more, and I have to admit often at the expense of other people, but I am trying to keep my sense of humor about this whole business of gaining twenty-two pounds with three months to go, finding a new pocket of cellulite on my thighs each day, and mistaking scratches on my stomach for stretch marks (is it ironic I original typed "stress marks"?). I apply the stretch mark lotion so much my clothes are sticking to me. Further, I apply it to my thighs believing that the collagen will help to reduce my ability to cultivate cottage cheese on them.

Overheard

(I admit I have not kept up with writing a new post each day about Christmas.... Projects, papers, research, and finals have gotten in the way.)

For a little comic relief today, I thought I'd share some interesting things I overheard people say.

Community College student bragging to his two friends:
"I can write a two page paper whil on heroin and still get an A!"

Young twenty-something offers confessional to his friends (not the people he needs to confess too):
"I still feel bad about lying to my parents about the car. Telling them it was a hit and run is giving them problems with the insurance company."

Another highly ambitious college student:
"I can't believe I have to write a nine page paper! Bachelor degree programs are tough!"
How about a thirty or forty page paper for your BA? That was my experience.

Female student on cellphone: "You went to the mall without me, you filthy hoe?"
Her male companion: "That's not how you talk to your mom!"

And, I saved the best for last. I got up from my lunch table to discard my trash. I am pregnant. As I was coming back, I heard one of the young men sitting at a table in front of me say,
"Pregnant chicks are hot. You have to handle them with potholders."
Unfortuantely, by "hot" he probably meant "bitchy/crazy" because earlier I had given him and the people he sat with dirty looks based on their use of language throughout my meal.

24 Days Until Christmas!

I am going to try and blog each day about my thoughts (sometimes funny, sometimes sad) about Christmas.

Today I am feeling most excited by the shear thrill that Christmas is so near! I hope that there is snow for the holiday.... One of my friends says I am "romantic" simply because I wish for a white Christmas.

This afternoon I killed some time looking up various Christmas cookie recipes. There are so many taste bud tantalizing treats, I just don't know where to start. I probably should have spent the time walking on the treadmill instead of stuffing my face with Wheat Thins, dreaming that the salty treats were Chocolate Fudge Bars and Cran-Almond Bark.

After the first three nauseating months of pregnancy, I have been obsessed with baked goods. I never had a sweet tooth before, but now I find myself craving each delectable delight I come across. The only thing that saved me from the bake sale that was happening at work today is my hypochondria and paranoia that the baker could have been sick and then I will enjoy my bake sale item only to wind up with their germs.

During Christmas when I was growing up, my Oma (German for "grandmother") would make these incredibly buttery-sweet sugar cookies in the shapes of horses, Christmas trees, and wreaths. I would love to indulge in her special treat, however I dare not ask as she has her hands full with my aging grandfather. This is one of the more sad realities we face each year we get older and have Christmas gatherings with our families: There may be an empty seat at the table, or we have to watch the ones we love struggle with their ill-fate. During those reality-checks I try my best to hold back the tears. I want things to be as they were, forever. But, now that my husband and I are expecting our first baby, it is time we give him the best memories, just like the ones I hold dear to my own heart.

Word Vomit

Today is one of those proverbial days. People everywhere are either still comatose from their turkey dinner, still hungover from partying with college-bound friends who came home, or just plain stupid. I decided to enlighten you all on the ignorance I have faced today.

This morning, while in one of my classes, the instructor decided to offer some sound writing advice before she handed back our first writing assignment of the semester. I just love it when instructors pay students the courtesy of offering a rubric AFTER the fact. The instructor is one of these controlling types, who laughs at her own jokes, making the entire class feel really uncomfortable. Anyway, back to the afterthought advice given. Out of the eleven guidelines or so she scribbled on the bored, the one she emphasized the most and I found the most disturbing was regarding the use of "I" and "me." According to her, we should not use "I" or "me" unless we are sophisticated writers. This is a college, 500-level course comprised of mostly seniors. Also, the assignment was a book review where we were instructed to take a clear stand. I owe it to my audience to avoid generalizing that my comments are anything but my own, therefore I assumed "I" and "me" were appropriate. Nonetheless, I received an A- on the paper, however I felt her lesson in grammar was too little too late. It really disgusts me when instructors don't allow students to voice their opinion on assignments, and fries my eggs even more when they offer grading standards while they are handing out papers. I like my eggs over-easy, not well-done.

Part of my current job requires I research and promote current trends in online learning. Some faculty, who may serve better in retirement, are reluctant and often outright rude about accepting online pedagogy. I am often, conveniently enough, within earshot of some of these disgruntled old-school instructors as they voice their opinion about 21st century learners and online learning. Today, as a seventy-something faculty member walked by my desk, he said, "Online learning is festering a generation of screw-ups. And you can quote me on that." Great, I just did. Thank you for valuing the job I somewhat loathe yet do with pride because I try to have a good work ethic, despite ignorant people like you.

Lastly, I am currently five months pregnant, completely stressing that although I have worked my booty off for the past four years as a non-traditional student in college, financing my own education, earning a 4.0, I realize when my little bambino arrives I will have to take maternity leave (unpaid). Further, landing a job with a baby bump may not work out right now, if I could even land an interview with someone. What do I want to do? I want to write. I want to at the very least work at a college advising non-traditional students in the evenings while I work on my writing. I do not want to go back to cutting hair, which I did reluctantly for the past eight years and thought I finally snipped my last dead-end months ago. Instead, I feel like I am at a deadend. While discussing my lack of money, my future lack of money, and all my stresses, someone very close to me suggested I go cut hair or get a waitressing job part-time, in addition to my twenty-nine hour a week job and while I finish my BA, but only until the baby is born. I'm sorry, I know many people have it worse than I and have to do a lot more while pregnant or in worse conditions, and I know I have a lot to be thankful for. But I'm tired of trying. I'm just plain tired because my little bundle of joy is sucking the life out of me and I barely have the energy to satisfy my own needs, let alone those of complete strangers. The point is I feel like I can't get ahead and I am watching everyone around me (often much less educated) land awesome opportunities. Maybe it's just me. I'm starting to take offense.

Anyway, I needed to ramble and decided to use this blog and not my primary blog to do so. Thanks for listening, now let me go get some Lysol to clean up my word vomit.

Boating

Last night I dreamt that my father, my partner, and several of our friends, embarked on a journey, traveling in this massive ship. The setting was someplace very warm, with crystal clear, calm, waters. Everyone was trusting anyone. We all took turns navigating and manning the ship.

After a long travel, we eventually ran into some natives from this land, and the time came where we had to switch from this large ship to a smaller boat. No one was upset by this, it was simply part of our adventure. I remember the feeling of the ship making this enormous turn, it felt as if it could simply roll over. My dad was laughing nervously, as this could have been a catastrophe had the ship rolled. I remember thinking that even if it were to toss us recklessly into the ocean, the water was warm and clear, and a swim would not be so bad. I was very confident that we would not be seriously hurt.

As with most dreams, all of a sudden I am the first one who has been transferred to the smaller boat we will take the rest of our travels in. I am sitting at the very front of the boat- it was almost like an over sized canoe, white in color- and it is wildly bobbing from side to side. It is spinning. My tummy has butterflies, flying madly around. I am not scared though. I close my eyes, and enjoy the ride. The others are still on the large ship, and are shouting to me how strong I am to not be scared. They are laughing- but not at me, with me. I can hear their shouts of encouragement to hold on, the giddy laughter, with my eyes closed. I can feel my body- left, right, left, right,- this boat is still bobbing from side to side. I open my eyes, the water is still very clear below me, and I know it is warm. I think again, a swim would be welcomed, thus, so what if this boat throws me over?

I don't think I ever land in the water, I eventually wake up. There is another part, later in my dream, I remember now, where I am concerned that my partner has been let down by my father, and this distresses me. My father was to take him to a football game- he promised- yet it never happened. I told him that my partner gets let down all to often, and he better make it up to him. When I confess my protection and advocacy to my partner, he is angered, and walks away. We are at our old high school, he is walking ahead of me, and as we get back on the boat, I feel as if everything will still be OK, despite his embarrassment over my advocacy on his behalf.

Frustrating....

I am currently enrolled in a course which focuses on the short stories of Margaret Atwood and Raymond Carver. It is a course designed to thoughtfully consider the meaning behind the stories, which I thought would be a great break from textbookey academia. I was wrong.

At least with a course based on theory and fact, there are right and wrong answers. Apparently, for the other students in the class, this is the case. My interpretations- despite the fact that others agree with me, and are congratulated on their efforts while I am told I need to dig deeper- are scrutinized and criticized to a point where I do not even feel like participating. There are only three students, and I have been the one singled out, which is very frustrating.

If the purpose is to study the material and conclude the meanings based on our own observations, which will be affected by our past experience and background, I do not understand why there is a definitive right answer. Well, only in my responses that seem to be the case. At one point I mentioned that I suppose everyone has their own opinions, to which I was told that really was not true, there was a right answer. Then, moments later, the students and myself learn that there are many different critiques with many different theories on the interpretation of these short stories. Needless to say, I scream internally.

Courses like this are difficult anyway, bringing me back to my days in high school. How are we to know for sure that the author meant anything more than what is printed on the page? How am I to enjoy a story when it takes me two hours to get through ten pages because I have now become neurotic about looking up every reference, to find a clue about the correct interpretation? Also, and I am not being disrespectful, but Carver was an alcoholic, who admittedly spent much of his time drunk. We all babble incessantly when we are drunk, and more times than not, without much thought or purpose. Of course I can not say that in class.... Although I did.

....because the topic came up....

I just want to be sure it is posted on my blog, and that it is known I said it: Facebook Ruins Lives.

(My paranoia about not being quoted properly comes from a slew of expressions/phrases/words that I truly believe I created, never patented, and then found in magazines or other forms of media long after I had used them!)

Another one: I am not holding up a foam finger for Facebook ("Facebook" has often been replaced with anything or anyone I do not like.)

Blame it on the Alcohol, right?

WRONG. This past New Year's Eve, I chose to stay sober, for the most part. Sober, for myself, is consuming one to three glasses of wine, over a five to seven hour time period. This was the case. What I noticed was partially hysterical, but mostly annoyingly disturbing.

People get really stupid when they get drunk. It was very uncomfortable to see people I knew act in ways which I know I have acted right along with them. You think you know someone. Now I know how annoyed and somewhat entertained my husband must be when I am throwing back the liquid and he is sipping his first or second beer, hours into our adventure.

It is a strange feeling, to watch people who are otherwise super cool behave in ways that make me feel embarrassed to know them. I mean, nothing crazy happened, nothing out of the drunken ordinary, however, watching a once quietly committed and always reserved friend dance and say things that don't make any sense, was quite a turn off.

Some people are able to disguise their intoxication, and I used to be one of them. Then, there are others who simply don't care, and don't feel the need to prove anything to anyone (that they can handle their liquor), and de-stress from their daily life (by flying off the handle after a few drinks). I have fallen into the category of the latter lately, and I openly blame it on stress. Why be perfectly in control at all times?

Well, there are reasons, and I do not need to go through them. For example, we met a new girlfriend of a friend of ours. Someone he has been dating for about a month, and seemed pretty serious about. She was pretty deep into the sauce when we first met up, and really took advantage of the truth serum excuse. I just found out yesterday that he has broke it off with her. This seems unfair, as he was acting just as drunkenly foolish as she was. Who is he to judge?

....but don't stop knocking

Opportunity, that is.

Prior to this past week, I have been suffering a drought in my life. There have been little actual and promisingly realistic opportunities. This is not as depressing as it may sound, I just have not had that really positive feeling about something in a long time. Now I am feeling it about almost too many opportunities, if that is possible.

I definitely feel as if I am at a major crossroads in my professional life right this moment. I feel as if it raining chance, and I am just waiting for the thunder and lightening to make this experience even more dramatic.

I don't want to sound selfish. Here I am, with two advances in my life, possibly just within my finger tips, yet I am nervous about one and both.

I don't think I have more than I can handle, I just don't know how to accurately predict the future, and thus do not know how to proceed in such a way that guarantees my success without the expense of someone elses'.

The Sweetest Thing

This evening, my husband and I are watching "Happy Feet" for the first time, and several thoughts are coming to mind....

Firstly, it is incredible that penguins mate for life. I think this is so beautiful, and really incredible that they are able to understand the importance and the precious gift monogamy is. Monogamy, as far as I am concerned, is much more than simply reducing the urge to sleep with someone else. It is a commitment, yes, however, one that goes beyond physical intimacy. It is about generously sharing responsibilities, loving and cherishing every bit of a person, and promising yourself and your partner a lifetime of love.

Also, I am toying with the idea that the reason penguins are able to remain monogamous is because the male partner shares a lot of the parenting responsibility. While the female goes off to work, she trusts her male partner with the child, trusts him enough to leave. In a comical sense, this would reduce the chance of infidelity by 50%- it would be pretty difficult to seduce another female with an egg between your legs. However, to assume this is why they can be monogamous would be sexist, yet it is a funny thought. I do believe that the sharing and equal distribution of responsibility does aid in a successful, and monogamous, relationship.

Speaking of lifetime relationships, I currently read to a senior man who is in his nineties. His wife and him will be celebrating their 68th anniversary tomorrow, and I think this is so amazing and admirable. This afternoon, I went to the bakery and spent a considerable amount of time choosing a cake for such a beautiful relationship. This was no easy task. If it were a cake for myself, it would have taken less than five minutes, however, aside from the fact that I do not know their taste, I also wanted to ensure that my gift would show how much I honor and respect their commitment to one and other. Sixty-eight years calls for much more than a Red Velvet Cake topped with Cream Cheese Icing, but I know they will appreciate every bite. They are the sweetest couple, and deserve so much more than I can give them, yet they already have so much more, and they give it to one and other.

I hope in 67 years, my husband and I will find ourselves devouring a Red Velvet, Cream Cheese Iced cake, and will find that there is nothing sweeter in life than true love with a soul mate whom has made a monogamous promise and kept it.

Visiting Reciprocity

On an older blog, and in many of my personal journal entries, I have discussed my contempt against people who do not follow the norm of reciprocity. Today during one of my classes, we actually discussed equality and reciprocity within relationships, and my professor picked up on my smug grin. Had this conversation and lesson taken place a year ago, I may not have been so content with my thoughts. The professor called on me to share my thoughts, and I told the class about my experience with a "friend" whom I was a slave to for practically seven years. It was not until I truly gained the courage to focus on the meaning of the relationship that I realized I had been putting in a lot of work, and truly, for nothing. Once I realized that I actually did not care whether or not this person and I were friends, and after we had a very civil conversation following another one of her selfish events, I felt totally liberated and freed.

So, as I explained, my smug grin was a product of my liberation. There really is nothing sweeter than when you can finally be honest about something or someone or some relationship, nothing more empowering that realizing that you have a choice. For so long, I did whatever it took to make her happy, and I truly have no clue why. I think it was simply to avoid listening to her complain, which she did anyhow.

It also is ironic that while out Saturday night I somewhat ran into her, and although we did not talk to one and other, I am pretty sure we both know where the other stands.

In closing, I think reciprocity is the most important gift you can give to someone else. In many of my relationships, there is a strong sense of equality, and those are the relationships that I hold dear, and not because I am getting as much out of them as the other person. Reciprocity creates respect and is best done when it goes under the radar, when no one is keeping score of who does what.

Although I venture out in the world daily, and encounter many people and witness many encounters, I have not written in ages, and I think in a writer's world, decades. Allow me to catch up on some encounters:

I started reading to a senior who resides within a nursing home with his wife. He is over ninety years of age, and simply one of the sweetest people I have met. He sits in his wheelchair, facing me, and I read the headlines from the newspaper, carefully skipping the news about rape and murder. I don't think I am protecting him, but myself, from having to actually say those words in front of such a nice human being. He is cognitively well, and I do not know what experience left him bound to his chair. I do have to admit, as much as I adore him, I worry throughout my entire visit that he will have a stroke. This is a symptom of my paranoia.

The swine flu is making me sick. Fortunately, I have not actually been plagued with it, at least not literally. I am very scared of the flu in general, yet I cannot explain why. I am a healthy adult, who takes in plenty of antioxidants and gets plenty of exercise, so I know the flu won't kill me. I am so paranoid about getting it though, I actually despise people who are sick and near me. At the salon where I work, I am constantly in the line of fire- that is, people coughing in my face and telling me their ill-fated stories regarding their encounter with the flu. My extreme efforts (taking Airborne, washing my hands for at least twenty seconds, wiping down everything with Clorox wipes, checking my temperature several times a day despite the absence of any symptoms), are really taking over. Maybe this is a control issue for me.

During my Thanksgiving gatherings, I was ignored by a child who was intent on watching the football game, claiming his male standpoint. I finally gave up trying to talk to him, and offered to get him something to snack on, to which he replied, "That would be good," without peeling his eyes from the television. They start early these days, which only proves to me that this behavior may simply be inborn.

There have been more, but it is unfair for me to create an enormous post in a selfish attempt to prove to myself that I am a dedicated writer. I need to strength to write everyday. I need to make the time.

I hope the Universe Comes Through

I have been so busy, that I have not had the chance to write AT ALL. I am very saddened by this, and really do not have the time right now as this is "our" TV night. I am home from work early for once, and feel guilty that the only thing I can think about right now is blogging and checking other blogs that I follow.

On an equally distrubing note, a job I applied for is no longer seeking employment. Another job I have an interview with next Thursday has asked if we can reschedule. Is the Universe listening to me? I have been doing all sorts of "Secret" things, like envisioning myself a published writer, or at the very least a woman wearing reallt fancy business clothes, finding herself in a new- and rewarding- profession. None of this has happened yet, and the "Secret" tells me to wait, to not act, as the actions will fall into place as they should.

I am constantly in fear that every move I make ends up one step backwards. Although I make attempts to head foward, I seem to fall a step behind my intentions. I know things will happen, they must happen

A Taste of My Own Medicine

We are all guilty of it. It is rude, disrespectful, bias, yet we can not help ourselves but do it. Everyone does it, one way or another, at one point in their lives-and dare I say day-or another. It is passing judgment, making fun of someone, snickering, creating a connection with other people sharing knowing glaces, grins, and smirks. Someone says something or does something, and we are all almost always thinking the same thing. We all do it, yet we all can't believe it when we are a victim of it. We feel betrayed by people we don't even know, ostracised by those we wouldn't even want to be connected with.

This afternoon, I experienced this, although I am unsure if it was firsthand, or a type of contact experience I had simply because I was sitting close enough to someone who I am sure hears the snickers, sees the glares, and shrinks a little more each day due his encounters with simply rude and judgemental people.

As I said before, we all do this, and despite my best intentions and what this blog entry says today, I am sure I will do it again.

There are a few people I am acquainted with that are very close with one and other, and seem to have the nonverbal cues down pat. They can converse with one and other practically without even looking at each other. Today, I felt as if they were openly judging me. Although, it could have just been a paranoid induced coincidence, they could have simply been whispering, exchanging glances, and stifling giggles at the exact moments I was speaking. Nonetheless, they also were entertained at the expense of this other person, the one who experiences this probably every day of their life. This person endures criticism, ostracism, and seems to feel a lack of confidence because of it, yet tries hard no to show it, or self-handicap by offering explanations that most people would use as ammunition.

I heard the explanation not too long ago, and I no longer look at this person differently out of pity, but simply because as a human being we all deserve, at the very least, a chance. Pass judgement if you like, after you know the story, the background of someone. At least give them that chance.

We all have encounters in our lives that result it us feeling like the other person, encounters that teach us a lesson about our own behavior. We can't change our taunting ways until we experience our actions ourselves. So, the best thing to do is learn from these, take each encounter as a lesson. Don't stop believing in change and in each other.

The Plan of a 16 Year Old

This afternoon, at the salon, a tall and slender young man came in, interested in a walk-in appointment. I have cut his hair before, and knew what a respectful young man he is, so I volunteered to cut it for him.

This young man, and I say young man instead of boy because he truly is responsible enough to be considered a man. He is more responsible than some of the adult men I know. This person has a plan for the future, is already considering saving money for his retirement and his unborn children; already understands the high you get from buying your own items, like a car; the importance of a good education, and the steps necessary to reach his highly ambitious goals. (Some goals, let's be honest, that other hold are truly lacking ambition.)

After he left, I had mentioned to my boss and her client that had there been more young men like him when I was in high school, I may have made better decisions. Simply being in the presence of someone who is that young yet that wise really gives hope for the future. I hope his parents are proud of him, and I know he realizes his potential, which is a gift in itself.

More on this Later....

All I have to say right now is, why does it feel so long that I have to wait for everyone to realize things I have already concluded?

I have great intuition. I just pick up on things, and I believe it is because I pay attention and I notice change, especially in peoples' behaviors. This is why I am able to call something before it evens happens, and no matter how many times people witness this, they don't buy it when I first say it.

I can just tell when something is "off," or when someone is portraying themselves differently than the person they actually are; or when someone is lying about something or has done something they should not do.

My most recent proof lies in the hardship of a friend. For the sake of his privacy right now, I won't give the details, however I was right.

Anyway, I just felt like tooting-my-own-horn over my intuition.

I am a Newlywed No-No

My poor, lonely, hardworking, neglected newlywedded husband. Even as I type this, he sits patiently beside me, all the while knowing we probably won't say much to each other tonight. We probably won't have any encounters anytime soon.

School is really leaving me pressed for time. I also, in addition to the two jobs I am currently working, have received an opportunity to freelance write. I was really excited the day I opened the email, I believe it was Tuesday morning. I sat at the computer and saw that the editor from a local newspaper had responded, saying she was willing to "give [me] a try." She drew up a freelance contract, and it is in the mail. Although I told her I have never done anything like this before, she does not seem to be too concerned. I have been only in email contact with her, I do not even know what this woman's voice sounds like. I hate to admit it, but I am already somewhat regretting this. Here are my list of reasons (this is something I should not do, I know....)

1). It is more of a reporting job, and I am not interested in journalism at all. Aside from the fact that I feel it will limit my freedom, I know that many journalists get into PR, and although I know I would neverdo that, I really do not want to head down the same/similar path.

2). I do not live in the town for this publication, thus I am unfamiliar with events, people and places.

3). It does not pay much. At all. Nothing. Well, something, but might as well be nothing.

4). I do not have time to attend events, ask questions, and report. I am a writer, not a reporter. This is not meant to devalue reporters, by any means. They have a tough, cut-throat, demanding job. But I hope they could admit that writing and reporting are different.

5). I have not experience, no clue, and the editor is leaving it up to me to figure it out.

I should be grateful for this opportunity, and I am.... Or I would be under different circumstances, ie., it was a chance to write what I want to write. Personal essays, columns, opinions, etc. I am going to go and cover a story at a nursing home type of place. (Why I keep encountering elderly people, I can not explain.) I am only going to contribute monthly, and who knows how long this will last. I am just stressing everything about it right now: the newsness, the ambiguity, the stress, the time constraint, the lack of experience. (I know, this will build on my experience.)

A fellow student mentioned in class the other day that he has a book waiting to be published. Although I have yet to put together all my projects and ideas I have in a ready-for-publication manner, I am still jealous, and feeling sorry for myself. I have got to do this. I have to write full time. This is my passion, my dream. I just don't know the "how" right now.

What I do know is that my gift from the people, the virus or whatever that caused me to endure laryngitis; my hectic school and work schedule; and my tendency to take on more obligations that I should is preventing me the most important person in my world. He has been patient, kind, considerate, loving, understanding, everything. And I know why, it is because he truly believes in me and knows that someday it will all be worth it.

He is my everything, and he is more than I need.

A Gift from the People

Well, back to reality in this germ-infested world. After a nice two week minimoon, I got back into the full swing of things with school and work. Both places involve face to face communication with people, and the latter requires me to actually be hands-on with the public (I am a hair stylist, I figured I shouldd clear that up so I don't sound shady!). Begining on Thursday, I noticed a little tickle in my throat, which I attributed to smoking cigarettes. I normally do not smoke full-time, I am a part-time, social smoker, however first week back in reality found me smoking a butt or two in the evening.

Friday, it was worse. Everyone I talked to agreed it must be allergies. Thank you, end of summer pollutants and allergens. Saturday, work was busy and I talked all day, even though it was painful. By Saturday evening, my voice was that of a phone-sex operator. My neck ached, it hurt to even turn my head. Sunday morning, this morning, I woke up way too early for a Sunday, with the most painful throbbing all around my neck. No voice, and a bit of a headache. A visit to the Urgent Care unit nearby resulted in the diagnosis that due to my recent heavy exposure to people has resulted in a viral infection that is attacking my vocal chords, throat and tonsils. No talking for me for several days, and my husband is THRILLED. This is hard, this not talking thing. It feels lonely :(