slacker (days 11, 12, 13)

So in this whole camp thing, I think I am the one who blows off all the activities to go smoke and make out with her boyfriend in the woods.

Which is kind of cool because I’ve never actually been that person in real life.

Day 11 – How are you different from your parents? How are you the same? Do your parents and/or family know that you write on-line?

I am very different from my parents in most ways, but that doesn’t stop my mom’s voice from coming out of my mouth (especially when I’m talking to kids).  I deliberately chose a different path than theirs when I converted to Judaism, and they will probably never understand that.  I am pretty much a communist compared to their political leanings (which seem to lean further and further to the right as time passes).  They know that I had a blog in the past (and that Mr. X found it) but they don’t know I still blog.  They are not so technically savvy, so even if I blogged under my First Middle and Last name with Date of Birth included for kicks, they probably would never find it.  Still, I’d rather keep this whole thing secret and anonymous, especially as I talk about them sometimes.  Blogging is therapy, don’t you know?

Day 12 – Tell us about the first time you got drunk or tipsy (as far as you can remember…) Do you ever stop yourself from telling too much when you write on-line or do you think you tell too much?

I am not sure about the first time I got drunk.  I don’t drink very much, but the times I have been tipsy have all been with friends, mostly with girlfriends.  I can remember a couple of times I got good and smashed when I was with Mr. X, but that wasn’t as much fun. 🙂 I tend to get pretty silly when I’m drunk.

As for the second question, this is why I blog anonymously.  I tend to let it all hang out—or let it mostly hang out, but it feels fairly safe as most of you don’t know my first middle last name.

Day 13– Tell us about the best job you ever had, and the worst. Do you ever blog or read blogs while at work? Do you ever quote or reference blogs while at work?

The best jobs I ever had were internships.  Alas.  Rather the best bosses I ever had were at internships.  I haven’t really had a good boss since graduating (lo all those many years ago).  I have blogged at work, though not as much as at my former job, when I was fighting infertility and my marriage was falling apart.  Now I tend to read blogs at work, but just sometimes.  I quote/reference blogs in conversation, but I usually say, “Someone I know…” or “I read online…”

It’s really time I get back to smoking in the woods now, don’t you think?  My boyfriend is getting antsy without me.

snippet

It’s just about bedtime here, but I did want to tell you a quick little story.

Just now I decided to google ol’ whatshisface.  I know, I know—that way lies madness.

I had heard, through that damn grapevine, of course, that X would be making a cross-country move for a new job—back to the congregational life for him.  I had been checking here and there around the webosphere, just to know when he made his move (I want to be sure to know where he lives so that I can stay far away :)).

Well, I found it—he’s moved, there is mention made of Mrs. X and all I felt was…

relief.

I was just so relieved not to be there with him, living that life, playing that role again.  No angst, no conflicting emotions, just relief.

Good night, dear friends.

back at camp: high school me

Apparently I am only a part-time camper.  Since I last posted, old friend came to visit for a couple of nights, then it was off to visit the fam for the fourth.

Yesterday, I just took the day off (from everything, it seems).  I did leave the house, but that was just to take La Famosa on a walk.

I liked the question from way back on day two, so I’m going back to answer that one:  What were you like in high school? What extracurricular activities, if any, did you take part in during high school? Did you consider yourself a writer?

In high school, I found my place, the place where I felt most at home, with my youth group at church.  Things at home were often unpleasant, but I knew how to “do” church, and youth group.  I found my closest friends there, and ended up with a really close group of three good friends and the four of us had a lot of fun together throughout all of my high school years.

Most of my extra-curricular life was through church, though I was in the marching band my freshman year and I did a few low-key clubs (honor society, etc.).

I journaled a lot in high school.  When I read through those old journals I want to just hold that young girl close and tell her not to be so hard on herself and that everything will be ok.  I don’t think I considered myself  a writer.  Writing was more an outlet for me, a pressure valve.  (I might have considered myself a poet, which I suppose is also a writer.)

I see now that even back then I had doubts about what I believed, but the belief system of my church didn’t really allow much room for exploring doubts or questioning.  The response was always, “Pray, and you’ll come to the right (i.e. our) answer.”  I knew enough about fitting in to try to shove any doubts down as far as I could and hope they wouldn’t see the light of day.  I think that part of the reason my doubts were so scary to me was that had I given them free rein, I would have no longer fit into the place where I felt most at home.

It’s kind of interesting, now, to be in touch (via that big social media behemoth) with a lot of people I knew back then.  A number of people I know have become more religious (Christian, of course) and I often have this strange sense that I’ve traded places with some of them, as they post about what happened at church or some Bible verse that inspired them.  Sometimes I think, “Been there, done that, got a drawer full of t-shirts.”  Sometimes I’m jealous that they fit in to a place that I never will again.  I’d never trade places back, however.  Too many mental gymnastics that I can’t do anymore.

late arrival

I saw Baby Smiling‘s post about Calliope‘s summer camp idea a couple of days ago.  I was in the middle of an out-of-state trip (more on that later), but really wanted to sign up.  I saw that it was to start July 1 (yesterday) and I thought, no problem, I’ll sign up and post after I get home.

Well, that didn’t happen, thanks to an unexpected dinner date with my dad (mom is out of town and I think he’s a bit bored).  So I’m arriving late to camp.

Today’s (yesterday’s, rather) prompt:  Day 1– Provide a photo or sketch or dramatic rendering of the space where you normally blog

This is an old photo, from when I first moved in.  The art on the wall isn’t mine, nor is the white table at the end of the bed and neither is in the room anymore, but the chair is still here, and it’s my favorite place to hang out.

I also sit on the bed and blog sometimes:

My bedroom is my favorite place in the house.  The rest of the house is furnished with my roomate/landlady’s stuff.  If you don’t know (or don’t remember), I live in my friend “Nanette’s” house.  She is currently (and usually) working in another state as a production manager for a big entertainment company.  She gets a house-sitter, I get a nice place to live, and I usually have no roommate (which is a plus for me).  Anyway, my room is the only part of the house that has my stuff in it, and it seems to be where I usually hang out, even when it’s just Miss Famous and me.

Speaking of, for those of you who are jonesing for more of her Famousness, here she is yesterday, after I picked her up from her doggy hotel:If you can’t tell, they really wore her out.

I’m hoping, hoping, hoping to post again soon.  Until then– Read more: 31 Days of Blog Juice at Creating Motherhood http://creatingmotherhood.com/2011/06/28/summer-camp/#ixzz1Qxv7goKx

checking in

I am currently visiting a friend who is in the process of moving.  Most of the time, my only internet connection will be on my phone.  I wanted to shock everybody and post once more, just so you know I haven’t disappeared into the wild blue yonder yet again.

Miss Famous is playing happily at one of those places that they treat the dogs like children (and charge almost as much).  I have no doubt she is having a grand time with all the new friends to sniff (both human and canine).

I am hoping to be working on some post ideas, though I’ll have to work on them in my handwritten journal for now, as I don’t have the patience to put a whole post up with my phone.

Be back soon!

new post

Believe it or not, I have tried to blog.

This is probably the fourth or fifth time that I’ve opened up a “new post,” hopes flying high that my writer’s block “blogging break” could be declared officially over.

I have things to say…I think.  Getting them onto the screen feels something like pulling my heart out through my skin—pulling teeth would be much easier.

I’m not completely sure what it’s all about.  I do know that I’ve been hiding in the cave again.  I’m feeling pretty happy, but I’m hiding.  Staying safe.

Safe from what exactly, I’m not sure.  People, I guess.  People are somewhat scary to me these days.  Not the perfunctory interactions of work and small talk and family gatherings (I try not to get too deep with my family).  Opening up feels scary.  I realized not long ago that my heart is no longer as open as it once was.

And yes, I want more in my life.

And yes, sometimes I’m lonely.

But I don’t think I’ve quite reached the point where the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of changing.

So I’m hunkered down in my solitary cave, safe, warm, cuddling the dog, and pondering when and how I’ll make my way out.

But I’m healthy, I’m content (hence the not changing thing), and I am confident that I will figure things out.  Someday.

“d” is for divorce

The other day I was talking with several co-workers—a couple of whom I know pretty well, and also a couple I had just met (they work in a different program).  For some reason the topic of traffic in a certain southern California city came up, and I threw in my two cents as I had lived there with Mr. X two different times, for a total of about a year and a half.

The logical question came up, why had I lived there?  I answered honestly and said that my ex-husband had been studying there.

I don’t know if the weirdness was only inside me or if anyone else felt it, but I felt a strange ripple go through the air.  I know there should be no shame in what I have been through, but it felt like I was shouting out a headline, all the while wanting to explain my whole story.  And also not wanting to say a word.

I have decided that should this type of thing come up again, I want to say, “I went there for a guy,” or something of that nature.  Not for anyone else, but because I think I will be left with less surplus feeling about what should be a light moment complaining about traffic.