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On the regular

Posted by Elizabeth in Addiction to, Daily, Family, Good Stuff, Totally normal

Brian proposed to me 9 years ago today. I point this out because that’s the only time he actually sent me flowers at work, and I’m sure they were the most expensive tulips in the history of ever, because really? Florist flowers on Valentine’s Day? DUMB. They were pretty, though.

There was a little note attached that said “Can’t wait to see you tonight.” I point THIS out because he told me when he was going to propose (an accident) and this afforded me time to get a new outfit and a manicure. Brian’s not so good at keeping the secrets.

But here we are, lots of years later, and Kroger tulips in cellophane or a Solo cup surely will appear on the kitchen table about 6:30 tonight. Dinner out? No. Balloons that say something cheesy and ridiculous? God, I hope not.

We’re not shiny or fancy; we’re just two people who get along most of the time, when we remember to count our blessings.

Before, after and all that’s in between

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Totally normal

Turns out I should shut my whore mouth after all.

I have always been the kind of person that wears my life – and all that goes with it – on a fat billboard around my neck. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you way more than you ever wanted to know. Run into me at a party, mention my blog or tweets, ask me if that’s the way I really feel, and I’ll tell you YES. I feel that way; I think that way; I live that way. I’m not a secretive or private person and that’s just the way it is. I know people find it hard to believe that I’ll just put my shit out here on the Internet, but y’all? They’re my consequences and no one else’s.

(Well there’s a soapbox I didn’t see coming. Huh.)

So I have a friend who’s been going through some things. She’s in a tough situation at home and is facing some personal demons she has yet to wrestle. We’ve been talking this week about the how-to’s of sorting out problems and I told her about my panic attacks. I started with the part about having my first panic attack in college and ended up with “Look at me now! I’m like, totally cured! No, I know – I’m a BEFORE and AFTER commercial!” I told her all about my meds, my doctors, my therapy, my relationships and more than she ever really wanted to know EVER AT ALL, and the underlying message to her was to get some help because it works wonders.

So obviously the next day I have a mild panic attack at home. (The amazing thing about partners of those with mental disorders is that they have PRACTICE. They see the signs, they know what to do and they jump into action if necessary. They are also like dogs with bones and WON’T SHUT UP UNTIL YOU’RE AMAZING YET AGAIN.) Brian sits me down after dinner and I tell him all about how jittery I’ve been this week with the not sleeping, the hand-wringing, the shaking and dizziness, how I’ve psyched myself out about my job and how – while I love it – being someone else’s sounding board has taken its toll on me. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t lay out a step-by-step plan for how I should attack today. He reminded me this morning on his way out the door that I should take care of business and not leave the office until loose ends were tied up.

And when I got here today I did just that. My friend is feeling better, I put my work plan into place and I sat down to write this post. I can’t help but think that what I suspected continues to be true: the less I write here, the more anxious I feel. Even when the thoughts and words don’t come to me, I should still just try.

Empty-handed

Posted by Elizabeth in Daily and tagged with , ,

I can’t do it.

I’ve tried and tried and tried, but I just can’t write a decent post right now. There’s nothing tragic going on, nothing of any note, no real problems or excitement or…anything. Every time I sit down to write, I can’t think. I can’t write in WordPress so I try opening a Word document. The blank screen stares at me there, too. Neener neener, English teacher. Who’s the big bad writer now? (My brain isn’t THAT evil, but that’s the gist of it.)

I searched the Internet for writing exercises, thinking that would inspire me. All I got there were suggestions for stupid shit. THANKS, INTERNET. Twitter didn’t answer me when I asked for help with my writer’s block and when I tried to think of what I’d tell my students to do I just wanted to cry. Well, not really. But kind of.

I would tell them to Free write! Brainstorm! Walk away and come back refreshed! Outline! Reverse outline! God, I would hate me in my English class.

So here I am, writing a meaningless, nothing post, making you read all the way DOWN TO HERE with no point at all whatsoever. And here’s a picture of Swanduck, whose adventures are documented on Twitter.

This is Swanduck/Duckgoose. He/she/it loves Cheese Nips, Sunchips and friendly people. He/she/it is of unknown gender, therefore can't be called Gus like he/she/it obviously wants.

What’s in a degree?

Posted by Elizabeth in Daily, Muse

Do you guys read Penelope Trunk? If not, you should. Someone told me about her a few years ago and I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve learned and discovered. She writes about careers and her experience in a bazillion different industries. (Plus she has Asperger’s and writes about living every day with that, which mainly interests me because of the many, many Asperger’s students I’ve had over the years.)

I only mention this because I’m interested in what her ideas are about education and her opinions about when and how to change jobs. Over the holidays, Brian – through a series of frightening days – was hired in a different department. He is working for the same company, but on a completely different side of the business. He likes it so far but has an incredible learning curve to overcome and feels like a fish out of water in this new place. Penelope Trunk says risk-taking is important, if not necessary, and that we’re better people for jumping into the deep in. I’m not so sure about that.

I did not get the job I applied for this fall. I wanted to be a full-time professor but the cookie crumbled a different way and now I’m doing the same job I’ve done for the last year and a half, plus teaching on the side. This time, though, I’m teaching a full-fledged, straight up, real live English class – not a remedial one. I don’t talk about my job here very much because, well, I read the Internet. I’m not that stupid. But I’ve been teaching this particular class for a week now and it’s refreshing to have students who already know some of what they’re learning in my class.

For the last 10 years I’ve faced classrooms full of students who have that same learning curve Brian does. It’s hard to show them that there’s a light at the end of the long tunnel, because many times I don’t even know that there is a light in the first place. It’s even harder to convince them that they’re capable of being good college students and that it’s worth their time.

But is it? Penelope Trunk says a graduate degree is essentially a waste of time. What does an MBA really get you now? If you’re competing with a 45 year-old senior manager with 20 years of experience, can you really beat him out with just your education? I don’t know the answer to this, but I do know that my master’s degree alone wasn’t enough to get me the job I wanted. Were there other factors? Absolutely. I feel sure of it.

So this semester will be a busy one, not unusual, but it will require more homework on my part and more thinking on my feet. Good practice for the future, since apparently my education didn’t teach me that.

ABC is actually not as easy as 123

Posted by Elizabeth in Family, Lamenting

I wrote this a few nights before Christmas and, for some reason, it’s been sitting in my drafts folder. But I’m publishing it now because I felt this way and still do.

I miss her every single day of my life. I miss her when I pass by the cemetery. I miss her when I drive by her house. I miss her on her birthday, my birthday and most especially at Christmas.

When I was little I would go with them to Raleigh on the weekends to see the symphony. She taught piano, he loved piano and I was a student with some budding talent. We would watch and listen from good seats, looking at the gleam of the horns, straining to hear the sound of the woodwinds. I loved it, though sometimes I found it boring. I never found The Nutcracker boring, however. I loved getting dressed up every year and going several times. My Girl Scout troop would go and then my grandmother would always take me. “Sit to the left of the stage,” she would say. “You have to be able to see the hands of the pianist, even if they’re in the orchestra pit. If you can’t see the hand positions you can’t understand the movements.” My grandfather would watch, mesmerized, as the musicians played their instruments feverishly and ballerinas twirled around candy canes and Christmas trees.

Tonight on public television there was a Russian version of The Nutcracker, which I watched beginning to end. And then I found the Raleigh handbell choir performing holiday music, which included pieces from the ballet as well. I played handbells as a child, and I will never forget our recitals in church, getting dressed up again in my Christmas dress, running down the halls by the Sunday school classrooms, waiting for my turn to walk into the sanctuary, play my alto bells or my flute or the piano, and see them smiling from their pew in the middle. She would close her eyes and bob her chin a little, nodding her head sometimes to indicate emphasis, or to help me remember something she had told me to do. Lift your wrists a little more. Start soft and then build to a crescendo. Not too fast! If you rush I will know it.

I can’t help but sob right now thinking about her. My heart aches and my stomach hurts and I can’t see through my tears. I want them back so badly.