So I'm back posting on LJ. Why the hiatus? I think I was too busy writing in my print journal. Perhaps it is part of my generation but I find it more satisfying, at times, to write by hand and be able to physically underscore or alter my writing for emphasis. It is more cathartic somehow.

But I have also missed this. So here I am. I think I'm going to be a bit more judicious about what is posted openly and what requires being my "friend" to view that way I can write what I want with less concern than I had before. I said I was going to be uncensored but I think I was self-conscious about it anyway.

Everyone I know is tired. Everyone I talk with is just exhausted. I've been thinking about that and how it seems to be a global phenomenon. What's going on? Why are we more tired?

I think part of it has to do with the recent presidential election. The campaign lasted far too long (typical for the US) and was a tense time. Would the US elect a black man? Was Sarah Palin for real? Where did the John McCain democrats liked go? What the hell was Bill Clinton doing? These questions plagued us. And, as I wrote before, I was afraid to hope. Back in 2004 I was in such a bubble that I was actually surprised (perhaps one of the few who were surprised) that Kerry didn't win. I was not going to set myself up that way again. No way. So, I refused to get my hopes up. K went to Nevada to stump for Obama and part of me wanted to go but another part of me was just too afraid to get that invested in the campaign. I wanted to watch it from outside so I could be better able to accept the outcome whatever it was.

Even on Election Night I was stoic for a large part of it. My brother called me when Ohio went Obama and said, "Pop the champagne!" and I said "No. It isn't over yet." I know that no republican has ever won without winning Ohio but I still couldn't celebrate. I believed there was still a chance that the Republicans would cheat or do something to steal the election. So I waited. When Obama was finally declared the victor I wept. I still get weepy when I think about it. I read an article in Newsweek or New Yorker and I get teary-eyed. I don't even remember the details of his acceptance speech because I was too choked up. I need to youtube it. I do remember McCain's concession speech and the awkward Palin 20 feet away from him on the stage uncertain where to put her hands. McCain was the man I once respected during that speech. I believe that he didn't even like himself during the campaign. He sold his soul and will be remembered for that. That is unfortunate because I do believe he's a good man and could have made a better place in history for himself. When McCain mentioned Obama people booed. And you could see how uncomfortable that made McCain. His team had unleashed something and he was not capable of controlling it. It was sad. Then flash to Grant Park in Chicago where there were probably 8 times as many Obama supporters as what McCain had as an audience. The Obama family behind bullet-proof glass. He spoke and no one booed when he mentioned McCain. People were serious. We all know that something great has happened and that we are part of it. Geesh. I'm getting choked-up just typing it.

But I think in the wake of all of this, we are exhausted. It is kind of like how students nearly always get sick right after finals because they are pushing themselves and stressed and working on pure adrenaline. That's how the country and perhaps the world has been. We were waiting with bated breath to see what would happen. And we were afraid of what could happen. The economy is tanking. I know I personally have an extraordinary amount of consumer debt (but I am chipping away at it and it is less now than it was this summer so I am going in the right direction). People are nervous about the economy. But after Obama was declared the 44th president, some of the stress went away. And with it went the adrenaline and left us drained with fragile immune systems. So we, as a people, are exhausted and prone to getting sick. It's an interesting thing to watch.

In Santa Barbara we had the added stress of the Tea Fire. 200+ houses destroyed in 1 night. I wasn't really worried because the brush behind our house had burned this summer. But in the fire over the summer no houses were touched so this one was different. It was faster but with more intense tragedy. My housemates weren't here over the summer so they didn't experience the ash blizzard so when they complained about it raining ash during the tea fire I had to laugh. I said "This is not raining ash. It is a slight ash drizzle. A smattering of ash." They were not amused and they were contemplating evacuation. Our power didn't even flicker. This one was easy for us. But it has added to the general sentiment of stress and exhaustion.

I know that everything is not going to get better overnight just because Obama is the president-elect. The problems he and this country and the world are facing will not be resolved quickly. I know that people will get frustrated with him. The liberal pundits will be sorely disappointed because he is not a liberal by any stretch of the imagination. But he is a pragmatist and I hope he is able to do something. If nothing else the US showed the world that we are not the evil country that we have seemed to be under Bush. We are willing to change.

Yes we did.

I used to be so sure about what was important. I had my priorities in my head and nothing could make me rethink them. The Anne Train was headed in a certain direction and people could either come along or let me go past but I was not to be derailed or detoured or distracted. No compromise. Now everything has shifted. Things I thought were important don't seem to be as important as I thought they were. It's scary when your world turns on its ear. I guess it's exciting too. But right now I'm more on the scary part of the ride. Some friends say, "Wow! That's great!" and are happy for me that what was important no longer is. How can they be happy for me? I used to be so sure about everything (professionally) and I was like some fundamentalist Christian who is so convinced that she knows what Truth is. And now it's like that same fundy says, "There is no God." The shift for me is just that radical.

I'm going to have to decide between what I always thought I wanted and what I think I've always wanted.

Following the heart is scary. I'm much more used to following my head.

Ok. Here's the story. It might not sound as funny in writing but it's a great story. My housemate says it's a classic BART story.

I was up in Oakland for a meeting and I had a little roller-bag carry on. I stopped at Peet's for a latte after the meeting before going to SFO. I debated getting the caffeine or not, but went for it and then I sat outside near a planter as I drank it.

Then I went to the BART station and when the escalator was going down the steep entrance and I had a momentary bit of vertigo and thought, "Whoah. Maybe I should have gone decaf."

Then I'm on the BART and I look at the suitcase (which was my housemate's) and I see dozens of little white spider-like bugs crawling all over the surface of the bag! They were tiny and I honestly wondered if they were even there. I looked at these bugs that appeared out of nowhere and seriously wondered if I was hallucinating. I texted a few friends to tell them that I was tripping or something. A guy sat near me and didn't seem to notice anything, thus confirming my deranged mental state. I was wearing a dark shirt and I examined the pieces of lint to see if they were moving. I looked at the BART seats to see if bugs where there too but my hallucination seemed to be restricted to the suitcase. I made sure the bag did not touch my leg or anything so I could prevent the bugs from climbing on me. The guy sitting near me got off at some stop.

Next another guy sat in his chair and I was afraid to look at him. I tried to not stare at my bag because I didn't want to seem like that crazy homeless lady who sees things that aren't there. Out of the corner of my eye I see the guy looking around and then he does a double-take when he sees my bag. His face changes and he looks intrigued and then a bit horrified. He stares at the surface of my bag and I feel like yelling, "It's not a hallucination!" but I refrained. By this point my skin is itchy and then my head is. Now that I know the bugs are really there, I'm afraid to be seen scratching my head or back because then I'm really going to look like a bag lady. I see the guy bend down and scratch the ankle of the leg closest to my bag and he looks bewildered and then a bit nervous. He changed seats!

I was this crazy homeless lady with bugs and no one wanted to sit next to me!

When I got off the BART I tried to wipe and flick a lot of the bugs off. I was laughing at my situation (and still relieved that I wasn't tripping). I was flying on a tiny plane and I didn't have to check any luggage but I figured I'd check the bag plane-side and then it would be put in a compartment and the cold temperatures would kill the bugs. But just my luck - this time the plane-side cubby was full so they had to put 2 of the plane-side checked bags in the cabin seatbelted in. And my bug bag was one of them! So the bugs didn't die.

Basically I infested the BART and an airplane. Where did the bugs come from? I guess there is a chance they came from the planter by Peet's but I don't think so since I didn't have any on my body (even though I felt all creepy-crawly and did have to take a shower when I got home) or on my purse. I suspect perhaps a spider or something left some eggs on the bag when it was in the garage and they hatched. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So next time you see some lady who seems crazy on the bus and she's scratching her head and her bag has bugs crawling all over it, don't judge. Say hi! I promise to greet you warmly!

I have realized that I need to spend some time mourning the death of my relationship with G. It took me so long to finally have the strength (and trust) to end it that all I have felt in the wake of that action is relief. And I still do feel that. I remember when we went to Vegas and saw Mamma Mia w/ his sister and how I cried because the characters on stage had found true love while I felt so empty. So why did I stay so long? I did the same thing with J. Things were bad for a good long time so when I jumped to M I felt excitement, relief, release and guilt. But I didn't mourn the death of the marriage. I did mourn in waves throughout the years but I was pretty good at keeping myself distracted from that. Oh, I feel sad. La la la ooo look shiny objects. I can be quite ADD about uncomfortable emotions. It wasn't until this past September when I saw J in Montreal that I absorbed and felt the full impact of what I had lost, what I had given up. See September 5, 8, 9, and 16 if you want more details of that time.

When I saw J last September I felt guilty all over again for the affair and for not trying. I felt saddened that I would no longer make memories with him and I remembered fondly the memories we had made together. I cried nearly every night while in Montreal because finally in September 2007 I was mourning the end of a relationship I had left 5 or 6 (depends on how you count) years prior.

I don't want to do the same thing with G. I need to step back and appropriately and safely and consciously and healthily mourn the end of my relationship with G. That doesn't mean I question the decision to end it. Rarely have I felts so confident about a decision. But just because it lasted too long and we limped through a dead (or brain-dead?) relationship for so long doesn't mean it was all bad. JI said to me, "You're coming out of a bad relationship" and that's not entirely true. Yes, it had a bad start and a lot of rough spots and dragged on too long. Yes, those are all "bad" aspects. But we also had some fun. We traveled a lot. With G I hiked the Inca Trail, went to Japan, traveled around Spain, saw the Philippines and went to Argentina. We've also gone several times to Guadalajara and once to Baja. He has shown me around So-Cal. None of that was bad. And I don't want to see him 5 years from now at a conference and be unable to contain my grief.

When I saw J in Montreal I couldn't even remember the bad parts (minus the sexual problems) and K had to remind me of why we weren't together and of why that was a good thing. I don't want that again.

With G I feel in a way like a woman whose baby died in the womb but she had to continue the pregnancy to give birth to a dead child. I'm sure any woman who has actually done that would consider my comparison to her pain and suffering arrogant and tasteless. But it is an image that keeps coming to my mind.

I'm not sure how to mourn the relationship with G. Right now it is hard to mourn it while he's still living in the same house. And the longer he lives there the more intensified my feelings of relief. And while I'm just basking in relief I can't mourn the loss because I don't feel a LOSS but an unburdening. There is a loss there too. And it deserves to be mourned and wept. I'm going to have to ask KG how to do that.

I want to mourn so then I can go dance with abandon.

"I'm not an angry bitch; people just piss me off."

So that sounds like an ironic T-shirt slogan, doesn't it? It's comical. And before today I wouldn't have understood it to be true. I have been thinking that I am an angry person because I am angry a lot of the time. I had a great therapy session this morning and I can see that the first sentence is really the truth.

G is very passive aggressive. I didn't identify that before. But I was talking with my therapist and telling stories of what G has been doing since the break-up and I said that G (and J) both said things to me about how they were afraid of me because I could be an ogre. I think that J might have said "troll" but it's close enough, right? So these men are afraid of telling me things because I'm such an angry evil ogre. And I internalized that. KG (therapist) stopped me and said that he has seen this pattern so many times. He said that passive aggressive men hook up with strong women and then strategically piss us off so that we start to think that we are just angry bitches. Then we doubt ourselves and our feelings and feel bad about ourselves. He said that we aren't angry bitches we're just pissed off but that's because someone has set out to piss us off. We didn't go into if these men have mommy issues or what -- that's their problem and I really don't care to figure out why they act like they act. But I feel so empowered right now and so much *better* about myself, so much more loving toward myself now that I understand that it's not me. I have been manipulated by someone who needed me to be an ogre to justify or rationalize or whatever his own needs.

Passive aggressive behavior is designed to piss you off. Wow. It's so liberating that I have to repeat it.

More about other things KG said later but now I'll say that I called K to tell her about this when I was driving back (using my CA mandated hands-free device thank you very much). She talked about how J was also passive aggressive. And he was. She brought up the laundry issue with J. I asked if he would do the laundry. He said yes. Then he didn't do the laundry so I'd ask if he was going to do it. He'd say yes. Then eventually I'd get annoyed and do the laundry and he said I was an ogre. If he had just said, "No, I don't want to do the laundry" perhaps we would have argued about the division of domestic labor but then at least we would have been arguing about the issue. Instead it became that I was an angry person who snapped at poor little J over something as absurd as laundry. I didn't notice J's passive aggression as much as I see G's. I think J might have been better at it.

G hides his behind ESL issues. So he'll say something and then see how I react and then change it and say that he meant the latter. Or the former. Or which ever one didn't make me mad so I am this angry woman who got mad when she didn't need to. Very manipulative.

K said passive aggression is acting submissive to get what you want, that it's a way for a weaker person to try to take power over a stronger person. I'm not sure I'm satisfied with that definition but I do understand its consequences. I get the wanting power thing if you are weak and feel insecure. What hurts about passive aggression is that it is designed to make the stronger person FEEL BAD. Not only is it designed to piss you off but it's designed to make you feel like a bad person for getting pissed off. It's about making the stronger person (who is being manipulated) feel like the weaker person is the victim instead of the agent. Wow. That's so fucked up. It seems abusive. It is abusive.

I told K that and she said that that is so weird because one of her issues with G all along is that she felt he was abusive but she couldn't put her finger on it because he seemed like a nice kind guy. And he can be a nice kind sweet guy. But now I see this other side. And I don't want to be all "I hate G" or bitter. Actually I'm filled with compassion because he's not reflecting on this and is doomed to repeat the same mistakes. He lacks the self-confidence to say what he thinks and feels so he has to manipulate and control instead of being honest with himself and his partner.

I guess I didn't learn enough from being with J because I found another passive aggressive guy in G. But I know now. My massage therapist said that G was controlling and I didn't get that because I thought, "No, he's passive." Now I get it. And I feel a whole lot better.

So I was driving my dad's new Lincoln (with air conditioned seats!) and heard on the satellite radio that Rikki Rockett (drummer from Poison) and Joe Elliot (lead singer from Def Leppard) are fighting. Rikki referred to Joe as the "King of the Power Mullet." That is so awesome.

So I was talking with a friend of mine about fidelity and temptations. He said when colleagues oogle the cute undergrads at his university he says, "yeah, well, puppies are cute too but I don't want to fuck them." Good philosophy.

I do have a lot to write when I get a chance. For starters, I did break up with G before leaving SB for 3 weeks. I finally got up the courage to do it. And to stand by it. And now I feel like I have a lot to think and to write about. Not just personal stuff but work stuff too. I have a few presentations to massage into articles. I want to write up an article about my recent trip. I have to start thinking of my fall class assignments and I have some committee work to do.

I was hoping that in my 3 weeks away from home I would get a chance to actually think and process and start to take care of me. I guess it's good that I've had the nearly 3 weeks away so I could get some distance from my life. But right now I'm feeling a bit frustrated because I don't want this distance from my self. You know when you just are in the zone and feel like doing something whether that be straightening up your desk or cleaning up your life? And then other stuff that is enjoyable but not what you wanted to do at that moment gets in the way? And you find yourself getting a little annoyed because you aren't able to do what you had wanted to do? And you're a little afraid that when you finally can get back to it, it will be too late and the mood will have passed? That's kind of where I am right now. Traveling around with the Study Tour was fascinating and a good move for me professionally and intellectually. But I was rarely alone. I did have my own room but I was usually with people from early until late. And now I'm in FL. My parents and I don't get to see each other very often. I would kind of like to take refuge (there's that word again) here and spend time writing and thinking. But they don't want that. It's not that they want to get in the way of my process and growth. They aren't being malicious. They just really want to spend as much time with me as possible. So if I'm here, I'm to be with them. And when I sneak away (like right now) to write I am very conscious of the fact that they are wanting me to be with them. I don't even dare bring out my paper journal because I don't want them to see it and be tempted at some point to read it. I honestly don't know if they would, but they might. Right now it's even worse in a way because I am also trying to see my niece and nephew. And they need me. My niece especially is not just affectionate but needy in a way that breaks my heart. So I am trying to give as much of myself to them as possible. But I am struggling with getting frustrated because I know that I need me as well and I don't know when I will be able to start giving some of me to me. And I'm a little afraid. I have a tendency to avoid spending time with me. I have created an entire lifestyle that pretty much makes that impossible. So now when I have the desire I want to be able to take advantage of that. I'm afraid that the feeling might pass and I could slip back into unconsciousness very easily since that is my standard operating procedure.

</>rant

I'm spending some time with my niece and nephew and I feel like they really need me now more than ever. It makes me kind of wish I had gotten the Emory job so I could be closer. But I found out that Phil has to go to take pee tests for drugs cuz he got pulled over a couple of months ago (March?) and the cops found a busted crack pipe in his car. So he got arrested for having paraphernalia in the car. I wasn't told because I don't live anywhere nearby. I am out of the loop. So distance has its rewards. But I am worried about the kids. I'll write more later about the conversations I had with them about their father but now I want to talk about other conversations.

Back in December when I was here for Xmas my nephew made some comment that he would like to go to Church more often but that the adults are "too busy" or something like that and no one takes him even though he has asked. Now my parents who go to Mass every Sunday as well as all Holy Days of Obligation regardless of where on the planet they are heard their grandson express that he wants religion and is being denied it and kind of got upset. My father sent an email to my sister-in-law commenting that grandson had said he wants to go to Church and that if a child wants to go to Church the parents should take him. Or something like that. I read the email and it wasn't as confrontational as I wrote it just now, but it could be read that way by someone who is feeling defensive. And my father's timing was poor. Go back and read my posts from January about my brother being Baker-acted and you'll see why my sister-in-law was a little stressed out at the time. So she sends this email back to my folks saying that she did not "appreciate any manipulation of MY children" and she said, "I know they are your grandchildren but they are MY children. I don't want to have to ban unaccompanied or overnight visits but I will if necessary." Ban overnight visits? Ban unaccompanied visits? Shit. I thought it was just Aunt Anne who was the problem. Guess not. It really pissed me off to learn that my sister-in-law was being such an ungrateful bitch to my parents. Without them she (and her mother) and that whole family would be homeless. The only reason why she's NOT homeless is because my parents want access to the grandkids. And she's going to threaten them? My mother sent a conciliatory message to her saying that my nephew had been commenting on the music played at my parents' church and how he was bummed that he hadn't been there Xmas morning to hear his grandfather and aunt sing with the choir. She said that she understood his longings to be more musical than religious. My mother had to eat a lot of crow to write that.

So tonight my nephew told me, "Aunt Anne? Last time when we saw you I said that I wanted to go to Church and you sent Mom and email and she got really upset with me. She said I made her look like a bad parent." Oh god. The poor kid got REPRIMANDED for wanting to go to Church. And for telling his grandparents and his aunt (who also happens to be his GODMOTHER) this. I told him that I had not written to his mother but that grandpa had. I wasn't trying to hang my father out to dry but I want the kids to know that Aunt Anne isn't going to tell on them. For anything.

My nephew told me that sometimes older kids in the neighborhood say things to the kids. Sometimes they say sexual things and he'll come home and ask what they meant because he doesn't understand and his mother freaks out and demands to know where he heard the words. He said she accuses him of watching tv programs they aren't allowed to watch or thinks his friends are saying those things and wants to know which friends (presumably to ban contact) and she doesn't understand that a 10 year old kid is going to hear those things on the street. I told him that I will never freak out and that while I love him and want to protect him, it's different than how his mom wants to protect him. I told both my niece and nephew that if they ever want to know anything they can ask me. And I will tell them. I said, "I figure if you're old enough to ask the question, you're old enough to hear the answer." My nephew repeated that he didn't want to make his mom sound like a bad parent. I told him that he wasn't (even though in a way he totally is because his comments show just how unconscious and fear-based her responses are) but that he was just saying that she wants to protect him and is afraid of him growing up.

My niece starts middle school in 2 weeks. She's afraid of that. She said that on the bus the middle school kids tease other kids and that older kids found a used condom and made a neighbor kid breathe through it. I said, "A used condom?" She said, "yeah." I said, "Do you even know what a condom is?" She said, "I kinda figured it out." I said, "Really." She said, "Yeah, it's to prevent the semen from going into the vagina so she doesn't get pregnant." I said, "Ok. Sounds like you figured it out!" Damn. She'll be 12 at the end of September. I didn't know what a condom was at that age. She'll be in 6th grade and middle school is 6-8. This means she's going to be exposed to what kids in the midst of puberty are going through. It's going to be rough.

I told them that when we moved from Indiana to Wisconsin I had a similar situation. In Indiana I went to a k-6 school and I was in 6th grade. I wasn't exposed to more mature kids; I was in the highest grade of the school. Then in the middle of that year we moved to Wisconsin and I was in a k-8 school where 6-8 was in one wing. All of the sudden I'm with girls who are shaving their legs. Girls are wearing bras and I'm like, "You don't have anything to put in it yet!" I told both niece and nephew this I said, "They didn't even have boobs yet and they were wearing bras which meant I had to wear a bra and I hated that." I told them about Freddy Jump coming up to me in the cafeteria when I was in 6th grade. Freddy was an 8th grader but had been adopted by a family in Manitowoc (he was from El Salvador, I think) and had missed a few grades so he was probably about 17 but in 8th grade. He asked me, "Do you like it?" I said, "Do I like what?" He said, "You know, it." I said, "What?" He said, "You know, sex. Do you like sex?" I nearly choked. I didn't know what to say. I was the new kid and I didn't want to look uncool but I also was only 12 and what the heck was going on? I tried to be nonchalant and I said, "I have nothing against it" hoping that that was the right answer. I told my niece and nephew that there was NO WAY I was going to go home from school and tell my MOM that some 17 year old 8th grader had just asked her 12 year old daughter if she liked sex. No way. She would have freaked out. I said that similar things are going to happen to them in school, especially middle school. And that they are going to hear things and wonder about things and be afraid that if they told their mom she would freak out. I said, "She might just pop and there would be fragments of your mom all over the walls and windows." I told them that they can always tell me or ask me about those kinds of things.

We also talked about puberty. I asked niece if she has gotten her period yet. The kids here are told about that at the end of 4th grade! What kid between 4th and 5th grade gets her period? Do they really need to know that then? Anyway, last summer she was wigged out about it. So I asked if it had happened in the past year. She said, "A couple of times I thought maybe I had gotten my period but it turns out I pushed too hard when I was pooping." Oh god. The innocence of that answer. Wow. She has already started to get moody. Her brother commented on that. So I wanted to let them know that puberty is hard. But that it is survivable. I said that hormones can cause mood swings. I said, "It still happens sometimes to me. I get all mad and irrational and I know I'm being irrational and that I'm mad for no reason but I just can't help it." I told my nephew that his sister was going to be moody sometimes. And I warned my niece that when you get a bunch of hormonal girls together who are moody, they can be downright mean. But that it is temporary.

I really hope that these kids know that I will not judge them when they ask me things. I don't know how else to be there for these kids especially when I'm not here. But I do think they are going to need it.

I would also like to think that perhaps this level of openness and honesty doesn't have to be only from an aunt. I would like to think that perhaps when I have kids someday I can be open enough to talk this way with them and to establish this kind of relationship. I think it is possible. Especially once I have the succeeded at being naked with myself, and found my "home", I think I will be able to give what needs to be given to be that kind of parent. I do realize, however, that kids at that age might just not trust their parents and that the kids might need that one-step-away trustworthy adult to confide in. So perhaps my readiness won't be enough.

I just want to hug those kids until they pop. I love them dearly and I really feel for them. Life is going to be rough. I'll write more about the other Big News the kids had this past week when I get a chance. It's late now. I need to sleep.

I've written about this before but I wanted to flesh (pun intended) the idea out a bit more. Please bare with me. No, seriously, this is a serious topic so I'd like to write about it.

I want to be totally naked with someone. And that means to be totally me. That means where I don't have to have any walls or guards or censor anything I say or do. Sexually it means complete trust so I can just be there and trust -- really know -- that I'm going to enjoy anything and everything my partner might decide to do to -- with -- me. I haven't felt that sexual trust with G ever. The beginning of our relationships pretty much set the tone and determined that I never would. And often I had to be paying attention and say "uh... condom!" or tell him that I wasn't wet enough or that he needed to be more gentle. That meant I had to constantly be aware of what he might try to do so I could head off the pass if necessary. I don't want that. Sexually I want to know that my partner will never do anything that would hurt me and then I could disconnect my brain and just go with it. With J there was a spot on his upper thigh that I couldn't touch cuz it was way too sensitive and was ticklish to the point of pain. So I had to be careful. Always. I want to be fully conscious -- mindful -- during sexual intimacy but not vigilant or cautious. That's an aspect of nakedness.

I also want a place where I feel totally emotionally safe. I guess that's unconditional love. A place where I know no matter what else happens in my day, in my life, that I have a refuge and that I can just be there. No pretenses. No masks. No anything but me. And there I can be accepted. I also want to know -- deeply, truly know that I am that refuge for someone else. That another person is looking forward to being able to be himself with me and that he trusts me enough to not act like anything or try to be anything other than himself. That he will just be naked with me. And we can just see and see through each other. And then with that person I can talk about anything. I don't have to censor myself or even try to word things a certain way. I could talk about fears -- even if they are fears about the relationship -- and have my words met with love and support but not with defensiveness or hurt or anger. And I want to be confident enough that I can hear those same words from someone else and respond only with love and support and never with ego. Yes. A place where there is no ego.

And I want to not have to censor myself linguistically. If the word I think of is in Spanish, I want to be able to use that word. If the thoughts and feelings I have are best translated from Anne into speech that is multisyllabic, I don't want to have to dumb them down. I don't mind having to explain the Spanish or even the English to my partner as long as my partner is going to be able to get it. And I want my partner to feel uncensored. To use the words or language that best describe his inner self to me. And for me to have the confidence and the trust to ask for clarification if I need it and for him to have the patience and love to offer clarification without judgment.

I've already written about how I don't have a home. All of these things I am describing, if I were to find this space that I am describing then I would be "home."

But I also know that first I have to give this space, love and support to myself. I don't trust Anne enough yet -- yet -- to be naked with her. With me. Once I figure out how to do that then I can offer naked Anne to a partner who will deserve and cherish her. And once I learn how to love and support naked Anne, I can offer that love and support to another. Without ego.

In SLC I had the opportunity to see an interesting concert. It is not anything I would have sought out on my own, but we were given the tickets and it seemed like a neat opportunity. I have always enjoyed my Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas cd and have respected the training and discipline evident in their performances. The Osmonds? I didn't really know that there was more than just Donny & Marie (there are 7 other brothers; 2 are deaf). I had vague memories of watching some Donny & Marie tv show at some point in my life but I really can't say I was a fan. So I was curious to see what would happen.

The concert was held as part of the Pioneer Day activities in the SLC Convention Center; it seats 21,000. It was packed. When the LDS Church President (and I think there are 3 presidents of the LDS church -- I need to research their organizational hierarchy) came in everyone stood. Later the 12 disciples where acknowledged. This does not mean the Original 12 but a group of LDS leaders. And, of course, the concert started with a prayer.

The concert started with the choir singing a few traditional Mormon songs. Their voices did not disappoint! Then the Osmonds came out. Wow. The crowd went nuts and you could tell that this famous LDS family are heroes for the whole community. Their story is an interesting one. I don't know if this is the real story or if this is the history as the family wants it to be known, but the story is that the 2 eldest sons were born hearing impaired and in order to pay for hearing devices (or perhaps just a special school?) for them, the younger brothers started singing to raise money. 4 of them started in a barbershop quartet fashion. Then the 5th brother was added and they were a boy band very similar to the Jackson 5. The brothers sang some of their hits and on the screens were some cheesy videos -- early 70s cartoon images that reminded me of something I might have seen on Saturday mornings when watching Fat Albert. I don't know why the Fat Albert association is there for me, but there you have it. The brothers had some boy-band choreography that was fairly entertaining. It looked like one of the brothers might have had a small stroke or something because it seemed that perhaps one hemisphere of his body didn't work as well as the other and he didn't dance as much and someone walked with him on and off the stage.

Marie then came out to sing a gospel song, "How Great Thou Art" with the choir. Perhaps it is from my days of being around a Southern Baptist family, but I have heard many renditions of that hymn and it is a beautiful one. Well, Marie could not do it justice. I will borrow language from American Idol and say that she was extremely "pitchy." But it wasn't just that. She acted like a diva but had no right to the title. At least she recognized that she was having pitch issues. It was interesting to watch the way she held the microphone as far away from her mouth as possible when she was trying to land on a note and then when she thought she had it she brought the mic back towards her mouth. She did this over and over as a technique to cover how badly she was performing. I was not fooled.

Donny, on the other hand, has retained his talent. His voice sounded fine and he had good stage presence. At one point he sang a song that he said he wrote for his son when his son was on mission. He said, "I'm sure all of you parents out there who have sent children on mission can relate to this feeling" and he got a lot of applause. Yes, the audience was nearly all LDS family celebrating their culture. That song ended with an image of Jesus on the screens.

Donny and Marie did some of their "hits" (they had hits???) in a forced medley. I say forced because Donny tried to campily say "Do you remember this one, Marie?" as they started out a song. Of course she remembers the damn song -- you've been on this reunion tour for weeks! It would have made more sense to ask the audience where most of the 21,000 would have said, "YES!!!" when asked if they remembered. They showed some clips from their tv show and a clip from Marie's first hit single. She was 12, I think, and the song was a bit too sophisticated thematically for such a young girl. Watching her as a 12 year old on the screen all dressed up with make up singing this inappropriate song was creepy.

I would have preferred more from the choir and less from the Osmonds, but stars are stars. The concert closed with all 9 Osmond brothers on the stage together. The two deaf ones bookended the other siblings and signed the songs as their family sang. That was actually pretty cool. It did, however, make me wonder how come they did not have a sign interpreter on the stage the entire night. Obviously the Osmonds should be sensitive to the hearing impaired so why didn't they have an interpreter for other hearing impaired as well. One would think that should be a staple for any Osmond performance.

It also made me wonder about deaf missionaries. I remember a former AFSer telling me that when she went to Hamburg there was a deaf AFS student from the US in her group. This deaf girl was placed with a deaf German family and she learned to sign in German (or perhaps it's a broader European Sign Language?) and how to read lips in German. At the end she could even sign a few beerhall songs when people sang them! So I wondered if deaf LDS go on mission and work with deaf communities in various parts of the world. LDS missionaries get 3 months (I think) of training before they go. The training includes language (if they are going overseas) as well as theology. They could offer other sign language and lip-reading training to deaf missionaries and send them off. I'd like to find out if they do that.

Going to Salt Lake City was a fascinating experience. I really don't know that much about Mormonism or the LDS church. I don't have anything against Mormons. Perhaps I'm odd that way. They have actually never knocked on my door in SB and I tend to have a live-and-let-live attitude about most religions. I used to say that I'm "tolerant" but I've been reflecting on that word. I'm not "tolerant." "Tolerant" means "I tolerate you" which means "I put up with you but I don't necessarily respect you." We need to move beyond tolerance toward respect, toward pluralism. "Diversity" is another lame word that doesn't go far enough. It means that there are differences and we acknowledge them. It doesn't imply respect either.

So I learned history of the Mormon Church. And I'm sick of people calling it a "cult." It's not; it's a religion. There is some disagreement about whether or not it is a Christian tradition since Mormons don't believe in the Trinity. Interesting. They arrived in Utah on July 24, 1847. So July 24th is now "Pioneer Day" in SLC. It's a big deal. They have a parade that is the 3rd largest in the US -- ranks after Macy's and Rose. It's a state holiday (secular) but the parade is celebrating Mormon heritage (religious). There were perhaps one or two non-Mormon floats in the parade, but most were Mormon. So you would expect the floats to have religious symbols on them then, right? You'd be disappointed. They don't. The floats are culturally Mormon, but not overtly religious. But at the same time they are religious because for the LDS, your culture is your religion and vice versa. The themes of their religion are community, togetherness, work and pioneering. I would argue that the "pioneering" theme is the one that is exercised when they go on Mission. But I'll talk more about Mission later. The floats had those words on them: "pioneering the summit of education" (BYU); a school had "creative pioneering";"Still pioneering our faith"; "Pioneering together"; "Pioneering into tomorrow" (a technology-themed float); "Perpetual pioneering" (from an adult-education school); and my favorite, "Pioneering Freedom Together" (the military!). These are just the ones I took photos of -- I am confident that the other floats had similar language.

I am impressed by the commitment that LDS members have to their faith. The whole "Mission" concept is interesting to me. I didn't realize this before, but Mormons have to PAY to go on mission. Currently the going rate is $400/month. This is the same cost regardless of where you go on mission so those who are assigned higher-priced regions of the world don't get screwed over. But when you think about it, LDS families are encouraged to have a lot of children so if you have 6 or 8 kids and then you try to send them all on mission it is going to be extremely costly to the family. And with that many kids, most LDS families are operating on one income because the mother tends to stay home. LDS men go on mission when they are 19 years old; women when they are 21. This has some interesting consequences in LDS society. The men might go to college for a semester or something before going to mission but most of their college education is after they get back from mission. This means that they are less squirrely than the average college students and are going to perform better. Not that Mormons have the reputation for being party animals anyway, but the additional 2 years of being away from home really forces those young men to mature and approach college differently, especially if they have been serving in a lesser-developed area and have encountered people for whom college is not an option. As I said, the women don't go until age 21. Why is this? Women mature more quickly than men, not the other way around! A consequence of this age restriction is that women often don't go on mission! They first start out at college. A friend at BYU told me that many women go to BYU looking to get their MRS. It's where you send your daughter (if she can get in) so she can meet a "nice Mormon boy." He also told me that there is a lot of pressure at BYU for students to get married and start families while they are in school. BYU has extensive family student housing (but very few graduate programs). Women who are married do not go on mission. So, you can see what happens. The women go to college, meet a "nice Mormon boy" who has just come back from mission, get married, and then not go on mission. So their relationship with this "nice Mormon boy" is never equal. The husband is going to be older (remember he started college 2 years older than she did) and more worldly (he went on mission and she didn't). I think the situation is fairly interesting.

There also seemed to be something almost Disney-esque about the atmosphere of SLC. Almost too clean. Families every where. There was perhaps a 1950s tv family feel about the city. At the parade I spoke with a non-LDS who lives there and she was really quite bitter about the whole thing. She said that the LDS band together and that people who are not LDS get passed up at work for raises. I wonder how common that is.

I have a lot to write about but it's late and I'm in DC and have a long day ahead of me. But I will say this: I thought ALWAYS pads ALWAYS have wings. I didn't even look at the label aside from to make sure they weren't deodorant-laden. I just opened them up and discovered that I have purchased wing-less Always pads. Damn it. Don't f*ck with a woman who has her period, Johnson & Johnson!

My dog Maya is a shit-eater. Literally. Today we were on a walk and she picked something up. I said, "Leave it." She didn't. I figured it was a chicken bone or something like that. I put my hand in her mouth to fish it out and I pulled out CAT SHIT! That was, perhaps, one of the more discussing things that I have experienced as a dog owner. Nice.

God I love working with the public! Here is my most recent adventure. I'm sure Moander will be so happy to be joining our profession after reading this!

Tuesday I'm on the Reference Desk and a colleague, Z, and I are working on a handout for a library session we were doing together on Wednesday. (Z needs some experience teaching library sessions but is not hired here as a librarian so I help him out by inviting him to team-teach with me). A woman approaches the desk from behind us and says, "I lost my copy card. Did anyone turn it in?"

Z helpfully gets the little envelope of recovered copy cards and says, "Well, we have these and you can use one of these." She takes one and walks away. Moments later she comes back and says, "Um, excuse me but this card only has 70¢ on it and mine had about $8.00 left." Z said, "Well you could try another one in this envelope and see if it has more." She returned a few minutes later and we had the following exchange (more or less, I didn't actually record it):
Patron: I'm returning this card to you because it has $1.70 left on it and I know that mine had $7 or $8 on it.
silence
Patron: Do you know how I could get my card back?
Z: I guess you could try lost and found...
Me: You can try lost and found, but basically a copy card is the equivalent of cash. So, it's kind of like dropping a $10 bill on the floor and hoping someone turned it in.
Patron: So the person would have to be really nice to turn that in.
Me: Well, yeah, I guess. It's pretty unlikely. Some people actually write their names on their copy cards hoping that then someone would be more likely to turn it in if lost, but the person still might spend down the balance on it. Writing your name on it might be like writing your name on that $10 bill. It still can be spent by anyone.
Patron: I know it's my fault and I should have been more careful. I just want it back if possible because it had close to $8 on it.
Me: I realize it's frustrating. I wish we could use the student IDs or something that people might be more aware of because students are constantly forgetting those flimsy little copy cards. It's unfortunate and it happens a lot.
Patron: Well I can try lost and found then.

She walked away. Z and I got back to working on the course.

Then the patron comes back to the other side of the desk. She says to Z, "could I talk with you for a moment?" and he walks over to where she is. I heard her thanking him for his warmth and kindness. Then I heard the words (in a certain tone) "her" and "she." And then she said, "Could I speak with her?" So I walked over to where she and Z were. Z had this helpless look on his face. The patron turned to him and said, "This isn't for you because you were helpful and kind." Then she turned to me and:
Patron: I was thinking about the interaction we had and I feel that you were very cold and unkind about my situation.
Me: Uh.. well... I'm sorry you felt that way. I didn't mean to be unkind...
Patron (cutting me off): Oh, I know you didn't. But you were very cold and you didn't need to be that way. Last week I found a cell phone in the library and I turned it in to the lost and found because that was the nice thing to do. And just now I gave you that copy card back with $1.70 on it because that was the nice thing to do since it wasn't my copy card but I'm starting think that I don't have to be that nice.
Me: Again, I am sorry if I offended you.
Patron: Can I get that copy card back please? The one with $1.70 on it?

Z gave her the card and she walked away.

Don't you wish you could work with the public too?

Well, it's just what I need to do. Obviously if you read this then you know that I'm f*cked up. Yeah, yeah, who isn't? Well that's not a whole lot of consolation.

I wrote an email to a friend the other day about this therapist selection deal and I wanted to repeat most of it here. I think I described it all pretty well.

After deciding to see a therapist, you have to pick one. That's the hard part. I always assumed that I'd want a female, but the best therapist I had was a male. So maybe I should go with that. Why don't I like females? It's not that I don't like them, but I'm more inclined to harshly judge them. If she's botoxed out then I won't respect her. If she has a bad dye job, ditto. The one I saw in PA when I got back from Mexico in 2001 had little flags painted on her fake acrylic nails. I couldn't respect her. But I told myself that I was being superficial and that I had no right not judge her like that so I kept seeing her to prove to myself that I was bigger than that. You know what? I'm not. I'm not bigger than that. I'm really that superficial. But because I'm good at doubting the validity of my feelings (which is why I am still with G -- he played on that last year when he convinced me to get back together), I convinced myself that my feelings were wrong and continued with the flag-nail bitch. And didn't get anything accomplished because I didn't trust or respect her opinions. I mean, my god, a woman who makes that kind of decision about her nails has issues, right?

I think I might be less judgmental with a man. I used to think that I wouldn't be able to relate to a male therapist without it being sexual. But my experiences in PA were other. My worst therapy experience was also with a man. So I realize that not all male therapists are good. I'm not an idiot after all. I do wonder if perhaps I am seeking a man to replace the relationship I wish I had with my brother.

An aside about my brother: he called me to see if I was alright in the fires! I figured it was a fluke so I didn't call him back. Then he called and left another message sounding almost worried so I called him back. And then I was an idiot. (Ignore previous statement about not being an idiot; I misspoke.) I started telling him about the drama with G's family on the 3rd and 4th and how something inside me snapped and how I feel like I'm just done. I asked if that made sense or if I was overreacting. You know what dear brother does? And you know, I should really know better by now. Wow. It takes me back to 8th grade when I was depressed about how some boy treated me (Scott? Chris?) and dear brother said, "Well, I have to go powder my nose now. Bye!" Well this time he said, "It makes sense to me but what do I know. Let me pass the phone over to someone who is a lot smarter than I am and you can ask her." WTF??? So his wife gets on the phone and I held my tongue because what I wanted to say was, "So, have you left my brother?" because if not, she is definitely not smarter than he is or even smart enough to give me her opinion on anything much less on a relationship! She gets on the phone and says, "Hey. What's up?" I told her that I only had a few more minutes to talk because i was en route somewhere (all true) so I didn't have time to tell her the story. I was angry, though. And hurt. So perhaps I want a male therapist to fill in that gap.

Back to therapy.. But how to tell if the therapist is going to work? Part of my problem is that I don't trust my judgment in relationships so I stay with someone longer than I should. So doesn't it fit that I would stay with a therapist that wasn't working out longer than I should as well? See? I'm doomed!

I thought about interviewing potential therapists on the phone before making an appointment. Here is what I would say:
I talk and think quickly. I need a therapist who can keep up as I jump from topic to topic, person to person. The therapist must have a sense of humor with healthy respect for both sarcasm and irony. The therapist cannot be shocked by anything I say including foul language or explicit sex talk. The therapist canNOT give me platitudes; no "Oh you are still young!" or "You have a lot to offer." The therapist has to be willing and able to call me on my crap and say, "That's bullshit" when necessary. Actually, a therapist who occasionally swears will make me feel more comfortable. The therapist cannot get my history confused with that of another patient.

Well, I have seen one potential therapist (male) and I'm going to see him again next week before I take off for nearly 3 weeks. He recognized my irony (I'm not sure yet whether he appreciated it) so that's a positive start. And I felt fairly comfortable with him. He wants me to write down my dreams but I don't always remember them. I wonder if there is a way to train myself to do that. Last night I dreamt about a colleague in Germany and there was something about Mickey Mouse and I said to the German colleague's son, "Was ist ihr Name auf Deutsch?" and gestured at the Mickey doll. And the kid said, "Auf Deutsch? Er heist Mickey Mouse." Wow. That's so deep. Why the hell am I speaking GERMAN in a dream?

Oh. Wait. Maybe I know why German was in there. The other day I was gchatting with JI and I said that as an undergrad I was going to to go Hamburg for a year and then I didn't go because I felt like I was just running from problems and that I needed to get myself into therapy to deal with some shit that had happened to me (and stuff I consequently did to myself). I told JI that sometimes I regretted that decision because if I had gone to Hamburg I would be fluent in German now. Could that be why I had to speak German in a dream? Wow. That's probably a stretch. Maybe I should share this blog address with the therapist dude. I wonder if he'd want to read it. I wonder how he would charge me for that time. Well, what do I care? I actually have behavioral health insurance. Yes! I was told by the woman on the phone when I called the insurance (she had this Concerned About Your Well Being voice) that the first 3 visits are free and then I pay a $15 co-pay. And she said that it is unlimited. I got this authorization code that I can use with any in network provider so I don't have to call the insurance company and change drs or anything if I want to. That's pretty damn helpful. The first positive insurance company experience I have had. So, kudos to UC for giving us that. I'll ask the therapist dude (Kurt is his name) if he wants the blog address. But then I might start writing for an audience instead of just spewing forth. And then I wouldn't be as "authentic." Ug. dilemmas. Maybe I'll just use my blog for my logorrhea and then I can just give him the highlights after I process things here. That's probably better. I know a few people read this but I don't want to start writing it for anyone. It's for me. Sorry to be such a selfish bitch, but there you have it.

So I referred to this journaling workshop and something I wrote there. I want to move on and blog about my experience with a therapist. Yes, I've started seeing a therapist again. I think that's a healthy decision and something that I need to do. I'm stuck and things are overwhelming. Everything is overwhelming. Things that shouldn't be just are. And that's because the One Major Overwhelming Thing is overflowing and leaking into other areas of my life rendering me useless there. But before I can write about that, I need to share this journal entry because I ended up sharing it with the therapist.

Ok. So this memoirist (is that what you call a writer of memoirs), Diana, who was a bit full of herself came to give a journaling workshop. She told us would-be-writers that we needed to find a safe place to write. She said we should imagine a place -- to go there in our minds (our "third eye"). She invoked Virginia Wolff's "a room of my own" concept and said that we could remember a place where we felt comfortable, productive. And that it could be some invented place "a magic forest" if that was where we needed to go. And then she asked us to write about it. Here is what I wrote:

It's a bit odd. The room I envisioned was my bedroom in Manitowoc. But then Diana said "a place where you felt productive." Uh... productive? Then I got stuck and didn't know where to go. The place I felt most comfie was there, I guess. But productive? Not really. She then said we could try to create the space but that wasn't working for me. I just wanted to be in that room. Probably 11 X 13, wooden floors with the light blue rug that went almost wall-to-wall -- probably 6 or 8" of wood bordered the rug. Two sides had slanted ceilings. Built-in shelves my father had put up for my collections of whatever. I think since leaving that room I have been fairly nomadic. A year in Venezuela, different dorm rooms, parents moved, student apartments, and even here in SB where I'm supposed to be a grown-up I still don't have any space. "A room of my own" was the task and to find it I had to go back 20 years. 20 years of gypsy living. 20 years without having a place where I really feel comfie? But how could I honestly say I was comfie back at 601 N. 4th St in Manitowoc? There I was an awkward teenager. Filled with doubt and angst. Uh... some things haven't changed, have they? It would be nice to feel at home somewhere.

And that is what I read out loud to the group after others read more romantic descriptions of lived-in living rooms, organized writer's studies, magical spaces... and I read this. Not a romantic description but a spewing of the annegst I feel. And people loved it. It was just so me.

So soon I will write on my therapist experiences. I did read this bit to him because I thought it summed up fairly well some of the tension I am experiencing, the source of some of the ennui. Yes, when he asked why I was there I did say "Oh, general ennui." It's a great word, ennui. It really says a lot.

What does that mean? Yesterday we had this journaling workshop at work. An author who writes memoirs was here and she was doing a little workshop for would-be writers or journalers (not to be confused with journalists). I signed up and went. It was pretty cool. A couple of times she gave us prompts and had us write. I volunteered to read one of my writings to the group and people said that they loved it. The workshop leader said I should try to get it published somewhere. Yeah, right. As I wrote yesterday, I went around thinking I could write poetry after a vague compliment my uncle gave me when I was 10 or so. I'm a little more reasonable about how I receive such comments now.

Anyway I just saw a colleague who had been at the workshop and she said, "the piece you wrote was great." I said, "Ok. Thanks. But why? I don't get what was great about it. I'm not fishing for compliments here; I'm just trying to understand why people liked it." She said, "Because you're just so you!" I decided to take a chance because this particular colleague is going back to school to be a therapist so I figured she'd be open to an honest question so I said, "I hear that from people but I don't know what it means. I mean if they don't like me saying 'you're just so you' could be a huge insult, right? What does it mean?" She said that, at least in writing, many people try to temper what they write so they can sound a certain way but that the piece I wrote really expressed who I am. And that my personality is pretty much the same way -- I just come across as 100% me.

An odd concept. What else would I come across as? I still don't really get it. My friend JAR has said a few times that I am "100% Anne. La original. La auténtica." I thought he was just being silly. But I think that is also what this co-worker was saying. She added, "Don't worry about it. Your friends love it and who cares about those who don't."

Later I will transfer what I wrote in my journaling workshop to this blog. No time to do that right now.

The other day I was in a funk. I just needed to let loose and be me. I needed to be free. And one of my favorite ways -- all time favorite ways -- to do that is to blast music and sing and dance. Now I can do this with different kinds of music but the best, for some odd reason, is show tunes. Yes, show tunes. Lately it's been RENT. The rockin' beat, the positive message. Not just HIV Positive, but the carpe diem "929,600 minutes." Wow. That's a year. I spent 167 of them running this morning. Anyway, I wasn't in the mood for RENT. I wanted something different. I wanted PIPPIN. Why? Perhaps it's the 70s cheese. I think it's from the 70s. Perhaps it was that I needed the message about "finding my corner of the sky" and being reminded to take risks and make changes in order to be happy. Perhaps I needed to hear that others might encourage me to take chances so they can live vicariously through me but that they aren't necessarily looking out for my best interests. In PIPPIN he is encouraged to commit suicide -- "Think about the sun, Pippin. Think about her golden glance. How she lights the world up, well now it's your chance." Who are those people in PIPPIN? The ones Ben Vereen (?) leads. The ones who cajole him into doing things. Are they his id? Anyway, I'm singing and dancing and having a great time. It was cathartic. I have the piano book and the female lead in the cast album had to transpose the songs to reach the high notes. I don't think I was singing too poorly. Actually I don't think I have that bad of a voice. Now of course I can't go around saying that to people because I was socialized and educated to be modest. Don't brag. Don't toot your own horn. And my voice is nothing to brag about so going around saying, "I'm not that bad of a singer" isn't really impressive enough to warrant people's attention, so why do it.

Well, PIPPIN was coming to an end and I wasn't done yet. Maybe that's why I've been going with RENT lately: it's a double-album. Sigh. So I slid A CHORUS LINE into the CD player to follow up. "Again step kick kick leap kick touch" I don't remember when the last time I listened to A CHORUS LINE would have been. But I knew all the lyrics. I could sing along. And then I started with my dance moves. Oh yes, the dance moves. When I was a little kid living in South Bend I would listen to the LP of A CHORUS LINE in the basement of our house. Why the basement? I think I had some crappy record player in my bedroom but I used the one in the basement. I would listen to that music and make up dance routines. I didn't take dance class. Reagan McManus did down the street but I didn't. So I would make up fake tap routines for "I can do that." During "At the ballet" I would twirl around dramatically -- it is quite a dramatic song after all. So the other day when I was twirling and singing and came upon, "I used to dance around the living room..." I was taken back to my basement.

I would want to give little performances. To whom? Oh I don't know. I think my stuffed animals were my first audience. Then any adult I could convince. One time my uncle Bob was visiting and he is a musician so when he said something vaguely complimentary about my "performance" I really took it to heart. I thought I could one day get a job in The Business! Ha! That's like when he announced he was engaged to Anya. We were in Chicago and they lived in NY at the time (still do). Anya is from Iowa and Bob had wanted to purchase the engagement ring in Chicago. I said, "You wanted a Chicago diamond and you got an Iowa gem." I still remember that! Why? Because he said, "Wow. You're good. You ought to write poetry." That would have been at least 25 years ago and I remember it because it was a compliment from my uncle bob and he was special. Now I laugh at how ridiculous that is.

So I was getting into "Hello 12, Hello 13, Hello Love" when the power went out. Ack! Damn wildfires. Such an abrupt ending to my cathartic session.

I had a dream last night that I was at a conference or something but it wasn't a conference like anything I really do. It was actually some sort of testing area. I had been training people on how to work retail and my mentees were going to be tested. So we had to go to some gigantic mall and then they would take their test in one of the stores. For some odd reason 14 was there as well. I was looking forward to spending some... eh hem... time with 14 but I was busy coaching those taking tests. 14 wasn't there for the retail tests but had some other reason to be in that town. I had allowed an extra night after the testing so I could hang out with 14. So then we're talking in a lobby of the Indiana Memorial Union (who said dreams make sense?). We're sitting on a couch and he tells me that he's leaving that night. He didn't allow any extra time so we wouldn't be spending any time together.

I think I understand parts of the dream. And I blame David Sedaris for the retail part. Last night I read "Santaland Diaries." Listen to this NPR clip of him reading it so you can experience it. So I had retail on the brain, I guess. Not that I could ever train anyone on how to work retail. That's laughable. Not funny like David Sedaris, just laughable.

The other part. The part where 14 kind of rejects me or at least wasn't on the same wavelength is interesting. And I am pretty damn sure I have that part figured out. But now that I found that David Sedaris clip I think I want to go listen to him read "Santaland Diaries" instead of continuing to indulge myself here. So, Goodnight!