Thoughts on Online Dating

Online dating requires strict vigilance. It is time-consuming, disappointing, frustrating, and maddening. Occasionally, it's worth it. But really, being on dating sites at this point is more a form of entertainment than anything else. I keep my profiles active just in case. Just in case of what, I'm not sure because I don't think the man of my dreams is going to pluck me from a dating site so we can live happily ever after. But considering that I rarely go anywhere but my house, my mom's house, the grocery store, work, and work, the chances of my meeting a new person are fairly slim.

So, every once in awhile, someone who isn't a complete creep will send me a message and ask if we can email or chat and get to know each other. Sometimes I am willing to do this, sometimes not. It's based on a number of factors. Does this person have a picture up? Do they sound intelligent in their profile? Did they mention anything specific to me in their message, not just send me the same message they just sent 100 other women?

There are other variables. And one is dumb, but there it is. I will not date an Aquarius. Not ever again. Sorry. But I really do think that Aquariuses tend to be bad for me. And some of the ones I've met on the dating scene have actually frightened me. I think about one situation in particular when I was still very green and naive, and wow, there was a guy who was so insidious and dishonest that I still cringe when I think about it. He called me every night and talked for hours and always sent me little gifts and presents, but there were hints all along the way that something wasn't right. Fortunately, it was from a distance so I never actually met him, but it still alarmed me. I had friends who saw what was going on before I did, but I listened and ended it swiftly. So, no more.

But yesterday an Aquarius wanted to chat. [I am wildly consistent. I know.] I considered it and thought that there was no harm in chatting, because I realize that my behavior about this is irrational (even though, in my limited experience, completely warranted). So, we exchanged email addresses. He wanted us to chat right away. I told him that I was at work and had to finish a project. So, he asked if I could "just tell him something" about me. Now, this pisses me off for three reasons: 1) I have a long profile. Read it. 2) That profile links to this blog. Read that too. 3) I just said I am at *work.* So, if you have so much time, you tell me about you.

I said no, repeated that I have to work. So, I expected his next email to be something to the effect of "Well, how come you have time to email and not chat?" or some such bullying nonsense. There are subtle ways you can tell if a guy is controlling. For example, if someone gets irritated or angry with you for not responding to them fast enough, you just block them and move on. Or, if someone persists in asking you to chat, skype, send a pic, have a phone call-- if someone you haven't met cannot respect a polite "Not right now," then you have a lot of information right there about why you shouldn't not meet them.  Instead, he wrote me a short paragraph about how he loves family and friends, is fun, and is looking for someone to marry. Yawn. Boring. And his profile also goes on at length about what he wants from his next relationship. He has it all planned out. Now he just needs to insert a live woman into the formula.

Honestly, I was surprised that he wanted to chat. He must not have read my profile at all. If he had, he would know that if he is a Christian, he won't like me. That if he wants to marry again, he will not like me. So, I just wrote back a short message saying that I think we are looking for different things. We'll see what he responds with. It doesn't matter because I am not going to date him, but it's entertainment.
______________________________________________________________________________
After dating online for a few years now, I have picked up a few things that I didn't know at first, usually after a few blunders.

1) If the guy asks you what you are doing right now, he probably wants to video chat. He's looking for cyber sex.

2) If he asks you if you Skype, he's looking for cyber sex.

3) If he tells me I'm beautiful, he has copied and pasted this to hundreds of other women.

4) If he flatters my writing, he is much more likely to get a positive response from me. BUT, this is also tricky, because sometimes they'll figure out that flattering women about anything the woman professes an interest in will probably get them a response. But they will be vague, flowery, and not talk about anything specific that I've written, nor respond to anything. Just, "Wow, you're a really good writer." This is a little more dangerous than, "You're beautiful," because it requires a little more thought on their part, and used to make me let my guard down. Now, I'm always skeptical because

5) Even the guys with whom I can write for a few weeks without meeting, have good rapport with, and like? Just want to have sex. And if I have sex with them, they will vanish. So, now I feel stupid for sleeping with them, AND I have lost a new friend. And on the rare occasions that they turn out to be someone I date, eventually they'll admit that they did all that writing so they could fuck me-- which is different from wanting to date me.

6) If they don't have a picture on their profile, they're married. But boy will they come up with some interesting reasons for why they don't have one up there: They don't want their co-workers/employer to know they are on a dating site. They can't get the phone app to work. They can't get the computer app to work. They can't get the pics off their phone, but they could text me a pic, and hey, it could even be of their penis if I'd like.

I so would NOT like.

I am not going to go into all of the details now about how I figured all this stuff out, but let's say that these things weren't always immediately obvious, and I got red-faced and cursed a lot.

So, one thing I ask myself a lot is this: Why not revert back to going out more and trying to meet people in person? Well, if I'm in the room with someone attractive and they're pulling this crap on me, I'm going to be even more susceptible to it than I am on the screen! At least from behind the computer, it's a little easier to cut through the bullshit. But it does raise the question of whether having a real relationship with someone you "meet" on a dating site is even possible.

I have a theory: Single men are worried about one thing. Will they ever have sex again? When? With whom? You'd think this means they want one steady woman. You'd be wrong. It just means that they will do anything in their power to get you to sleep with them, and then the next day, they will start all over again. See, they don't necessarily want a relationship, especially if they can convince women to sleep with them on a regular basis. The ones who have gone a really really long time without sex are even worse, though. Some of them do want a real relationship because they don't want to risk going for long stretches without sex. But then you run into the Aquariuses who want to get married. And the fact of getting married is more important than the actual person they are getting married to.

_______________________________________________________________________________
Fall of 2013, I was dating someone. We got together twice a month (I usually drove two hours to see him), and called each other boyfriend and girlfriend and were exclusive. He told me I was beautiful and amazing and for awhile it was good. But then I began to realize that "because of our short time together," that we were just spending all of our time in the sack. Though, he did appreciate "that you're intelligent and fun to talk to, too." But I thought that that would translate into more conversation during the week. Gradually I realized that he was interested in saying hi every day and telling me I was sexy, but he really didn't care about who I was or my daily life.

I wasn't pretty in high school. The only guys who called me were the ones who sat in the hallway and called me horseface and whinnied at me in the hall. So, I am more susceptible than I should be to being told I'm pretty. One of my dirty little secrets is that I don't actually know if I'm pretty or whether people think I'm pretty (and don't you say it, because now I won't believe you)-- but I'm too afraid to ask anyone because of course, anyone is going to say, "Of course you're pretty!" and I still won't know what to think. So, I do like it when men tell me I'm pretty, even if they're creepy liars and maybe I only like it for a second. At any rate, it took me awhile to figure out that this fellow wasn't at all interested in all the fucking work I've put into becoming an interesting, intelligent person whom *I* want to spend time with-- he was only interested me sexually.

No, I don't get flattered when men tell me they are interested in me sexually. That is downright commonplace. And frankly, it just means that any other woman would do-- they are just talking to me at that particular moment. I remember blocking somebody who was trying to get me to tell him how it felt to know that he was hot for me. Because I just really felt bored by it. I don't give a shit. That's how I feel.

So, pretty is good, but only if you like my brain better, and sexy is lame. Got that?

The end came when, at Christmas time last year, I spent a lot of time thinking about what he might need or could use and got him some simple gifts. He said, "I got you something too," and got up and came back with a scented candle in a paper bag. No card. Nothing. And he had apparently forgotten that the previous month he had told me about finding these candles and how he was going to get them for everyone. Something easy and scented that he didn't have to put any thought into. Like me! Between that and him being a little dodgy after about getting together a few times, I just ended it. He asked me to explain, but I did not because I didn't want him to try to protest that he actually IS interested in me. Because he wasn't. And that meant that he didn't actually value me as a human being-- just as a sex partner. Sorry, but that right there is going to kill the sex for me. And bad/boring sex is worse than no sex.

I know men who would disagree.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The thing is, I'm really lucky because I have great conversations every single day. Whether I'm with my kids, my friends, or at work, I am surrounded by interesting, intelligent, funny people. I work, I shop, I cook, I relax, I take care of my kids and my mom. I do not really have enough time to read the book I started earlier this week (on ennui day). Dating is ridiculous. It is going to take someone very, very special for me to try to carve out some time for them. And right now, it's just not a pressing need. I hug my boys and pet my animals-- I'm not suffering from lack of conversation or lack of touch. Very lucky that way. It allows me to be pickier than I have sometimes been in the past. But I think also, as I have grown older, I have just come to realize that I don't know if I have space in my personal space for someone intimate. For one thing, where would we hang out? I don't have time to travel somewhere. And I have no privacy for someone to travel here. It's a thing.

In the meantime, I am about as sexually active as I want to be. Right now, that's about nil. This winter has almost completely killed my sex drive. It's such a relief, LOL. However, I do realize that I tend to be less depressed when I am actively engaged in flirting or trying to dress nicely, keep fit-- just in case I want to date, just in case I meet someone. When I am not in dating mode, I tend to stop curling my hair, stop wearing makeup, and eventually stop really caring what I'm wearing. It's not good for anyone. I become like Liz Claiborne, and just stop trying.

Anyway, these are some of the things I think about. It has been interesting to go from being a woman who was a romantic and wanted True Love and a Kindred Spirit or Soulmate to one who values my independence and privacy. I make the rules for my household. And nobody's word holds more weight than mine. That is heady stuff, and I don't feel like sharing. I am not afraid of "being alone" at the moment, because I am almost never alone. That may change one day. But I can only take one day at a time.

Off to a great start

Happy New Year, rah rah rah. I know I fell off the blogging planet very suddenly, but things just conspired in such a way that I just couldn't blog for awhile. Even though I am a fan of blogging honestly and openly about a number of topics, there are just times when you can't write about what is going on. At least not publicly, and if that is the case, I avoid putting thoughts to paper altogether.

I used to spend a lot of time deliberating about whether or not there are some things one can't blog about, either because it's too painful, too fresh, too invasive of someone else's privacy. As an "artist," I wondered about integrity and firmly believed that self-censure was to be avoided. Now that I am an "adult," I realize that my youthful attitude was based on the fact that nothing of consequence or importance had happened to me yet when I thought that. I've now changed my mind.

So, anyway. Back. Still here. But I'm not even sure why I started writing this, because I'm so bored. I don't feel like I'm depressed, but I could be wrong. I do these little checklists: When was the last time you had fun/felt happy? (yesterday) Can you have fun/feel happy? (yes) Are you sleeping too much because you feel like hiding? (sometimes, but not this week) Is there anything you're interested in/looking forward to? (I'm enjoying watching The Killing, want to see Season 2 of Broadchurch, other tv shows, and I have some books I am looking forward to reading).

But interested in is sort of a misnomer, because what I mostly feel these days is boredom. I was reading my friend Bibi's blog yesterday. Bibi is 31, has four children under the age of 10 (including one-year-old twins), but she is brimming with energy and buzzing with projects she wants to tackle. All this while also staying at home with her kids and breastfeeding twins. I envy her *interest* in things! Where is my interest in things? Why does everything sound so boring? Even skydiving, which my friend Nicola does, just seems mildly dangerous and terrifying, but not really exhilarating or interesting. I'm sick to death of cooking and food. Baking doesn't really sound interesting, and I'm trying to lose the cookie baby I've been growing.

I know that my boredom is my responsibility. I admire and respect people who say they never get bored. But I'm not bored *this minute*-- I'm engaged in my writing. I read. I have engaging conversations. I have moments of non-boredom. I am existentially bored. Sometimes being in a small town for so long means that I have no idea of the interesting and exciting options that might be out there-- I don't even know what to google. I wish something would come along that I found utterly engaging. And right now I'm too tired and bored to make it happen for myself. I care, but not enough to do anything about it. It used to happen, with crocheting or knitting projects or deep exploration of every religion I could read about. But it's been so long that I can't really even remember what that excitement feels like. I wish I could remember what it feels like to fall in love or to be excited about something or someone, something besides coffee and cigarettes that could make me get out of my bed a little faster in the morning.

Mercury in Retrograde

The universe is continually devising innovative and unexpected ways of humiliating me. Last week, it hit my car with a bus while I was in it (school bus; grazed me) and knocked off my license plate and scratched the hell out of my bumper, but the car is drivable. And I need to call my insurance team and schedule an appointment for repairs.

The same morning that I got hit by the bus, I went home and collected myself for the length of two or three cigarettes, and my friend Chris was late to work to come over and sit with me for a few minutes. I had been on my way to Department Store to start a 7:15 a.m. shift, which I began, instead, at 8:20. I think when I was a younger woman with fewer callouses and fewer experiences with the metaphorical rug being pulled out, I would have been more shaken up-- perhaps would not have gone to work that morning. Now? It's just one more thing.

The same morning that I got hit by the bus, my son texted me while I was at Department Store and I read (during my break) that the electric company had shut off our power and posted a hot-pink sign on the door alerting us to that fact. So, I took a chance that a check would bounce and went and got cash, drove to the grocery store in my poor bald car, paid my electric bill, and it was restored within the hour. I was standing in my kitchen when I saw the utility truck stop in the alley behind my house. I could hear the guy humming as he opened the fence and walked into my back yard like he had a right to (which, I guess he does). I ducked past the windows. For some reason, I didn't want him to know I was at home. Probably because he knew my power had been turned off, and that's embarrassing. But he came around and rang the doorbell to tell me that the power was back on, so hiding turned out to be useless after all. And shame on me for hiding in my own house.

The same morning that I got hit by the bus, my mother's siblings and three of their spouses were in town visiting. So, that night at dinner, they asked me how my day was. I told them about the bus. They asked if my day got better after that. So, I told them about the power being shut off. Hiding it or not owning it doesn't make it less humiliating.

This leads me to sunny point c in my ritual humiliation by the universe (is this because Scorpios have birthdays right now?): This morning, I was working at Department Store. We have a new employee, a young woman, and we were talking to her this morning while we were unpacking all of the boxes and de-trashing merchandise, sizing and colorizing it to take to the floor. We have a close-knit team. We all really get along well and like and respect each other, so it's a really great gig. We all laugh a lot and harass each other and tell stories about dumb things we've done. I have done a lot of dumb things, so we laugh about that a lot. So, I said something about how Department Store has a generous policy about hiring dumb people like me, and my team leader said, "She isn't dumb. She has a master's degree, and I have to look up half the things she says. Only, I can't spell them, so I am sitting there saying them into my phone: 'Rogue... Ohhhhh.'"

Then A said, "We should all go to Jen's class sometime. I think we might learn something." She was laughing as she said it, but seriously, it would be fun to have them visit my class.

I said, "Can you please come tell my students that?"

So, our new employee (okay, forgive me, but I am just going to have to call her the new girl, because at Department Store, that's the vernacular) says, "Oh, do you teach the WACT class?"

My eyebrows nearly shot off my head. Before I could ask her how she knew and why she was calling it "the" WACT class, she continued with, "My sister's in your class."

The only thing that could have been higher on the Richter humiliation scale would be if one of my students actually got a job there and was working side by side with me. But actually, I can be bossier there than I can in class, so that might actually be fun. Kidding.

So, I said, "Who is your sister?"

Guess who her sister is? Yep. I said, "Oh, she's the one I called a Nazi!" and her sister replied, "That's not the first time she's gotten that."

It occurred to me, though, that I was glad I've already talked in class about working at Department Store. It's not something I hide or am ashamed of. But what if I were a more private person or more given to genuine embarrassment? I have been embarrassed in the past about working at Department Store. I have felt badly for my former students as they see me working there and wonder about the value of the education they received from me. And if this is where I am, what does that say about their own futures? I have also hidden on occasion from people, because I was embarrassed. Seriously, I've seen a couple of people and told my co-workers that I was going to hide until that person left, and then headed back to the stockroom. I don't do that anymore. In fact, now I give those people coupons. But I have wondered from time to time about how my students feel about the fact that their professor works at Department Store. But I also set my chin (metaphorically) and think, "Tough shit!" That is the reality we all live in. There is no sense in whitewashing it. One of the basic premises that I grew up with, and I don't think I am alone in this, is that we generally attend college and graduate school and do all those extra papers so we don't have to work at jobs like Department Store that pay so little. But my education does nothing to make me more qualified to work at Department Store, actually. As I have said, my mistakes come up a LOT in conversation. I am just lucky that they have been benign mistakes, mostly limited to sizing things incorrectly and then bitching loud and long about what a mess these jeans are and proceeding to size them all wrong, without realizing it. All the while, my team was trying to figure out why the hell the jeans were always still sized wrong. Whoops. And I'm lucky and grateful that they tease me, but they don't make me feel stupid or incompetent. It's just funny. Nobody got hurt. It was dumb, yes, but honestly, sizing jeans just confuses the hell out of me sometimes. But I have had spouses who have been less forgiving of dumb mistakes than my team is at Department Store, so I lurve them. And I appreciate them not linking my mistakes to me as character flaws.

So yeah, those have been my primary reminders of my very small and unimportant place in the universe. But it's not all bad. As I said above, in passing, really, my mother's siblings all came to town last week! Except one, who missed a connecting flight and wasn't really feeling well to begin with. It was amazing to see them all in the same room together.

I haven't seen that since my father's funeral. And I try really hard not to dwell on the fact that I may never see it again. It's a really odd thing to go from teaching a college class to walking into a room filled with your childhood memories. They all got up to hug me as I walked into the room, and I felt loved. It's hard to live away from family all the time. I have my mom and my kids here and friends I love like family. But last night after work, I was walking around the grocery store and it occurred to me that I am very alone. I have always felt like I have a support system here, but it's grown smaller as people have moved, divorces happen, people grow apart. I have been in a hermit-like cocoon for so long that even though I have not made demands on people, I have not contributed anything either.

I used to get angry with my mother for not keeping things together more when I was a teenager. I let my kids see me upset and crying. I am always very specific about what I am upset about though-- they know quickly that it isn't them, that it is temporary, and that I'm okay, but I need to cry at that moment. My mother cried a lot and then when I asked her what was wrong, she said it was nothing. A little given to melodrama, that one. That only confused me and pissed me off, so I don't do it to my kids. I confuse and piss them off in different ways that I'm not aware of and wouldn't do if I could prevent it. But just as I used to get angry with my mother for not keeping it together more, I now get angry with myself for not handling grief and blows and life very well since Karl died in 2008. I am both present and not present. I smile, I joke, I laugh, I cook, I eat, I tease, I love, but the only moments in which I am truly, 100% engaged are rare. I usually feel like I am holding something back, and even though I am aware of it, I don't really know how to stop. Psychologically, I understand that because of some accumulated losses and events, I don't really ever feel truly happy in part because I can't deal anymore with the complete annihilation that comes with losing what you love. And I think in part, I keep myself from becoming too engaged or too attached by shutting down and either feeling like I need to nap or go do something else rather than sitting longer with a loved one or going out with friends. I won't be sad about dying if I never completely embrace my life. And dying is inevitable-- having a happy life is not.  There are a couple of people with whom I come pretty close to being fully present for. But even with my closest intimates, I will duck into my phone for a game. In some ways, it is a way to check out, to have some alone time, but it doesn't make my closest friends very happy. Rightly so. But I do a lot of things for a lot of other people, so I am selfishly refusing to give this form of rudeness up. Yes, it is rude. Simultaneously, it's helping keep me sane, and that takes priority. If I'm not rude this way, I'll be ruder more directly, because I will get irritated as time goes on. I need a lot of down and recovery time from three times and a lot of interaction out in the world. I have come to realize that I am an introvert, and I need alone time to recharge myself.

I berate myself, though, for stupid things like not getting family pictures done every year, not baking anything pumpkin this season, for not keeping a cleaner home. Somehow I feel like people who can not only survive but also engage happily in hobbies instead of becoming zombified like I do-- it feels like they're doing it better. Not that it's a contest. But they seem to be better at living life than I am.

I have been wanting to write since last week, but I have some pretty intense work deadlines that I need to return to. I have good intentions about writing in the evening, but by the time I sit down, I just want to drink red wine and watch TV and not have to think so damn hard about how to do what at which job.
__________________________________________________________________________________

There's more I want to write about, but not now, there isn't time. There really isn't even time to think about them. I want to write more about dating, about friendships, about the herbs and spices of existence that I don't have enough time to think about, but sometimes I still do. It is not lost on me that a populace that can't spend time thinking because it is too busy working for its basic survival, or too worn out when the work is done, is exactly what the 1% is going for. But just because I can see how I am being manipulated doesn't mean I can make it end.

Self Love (rated G)

A couple of weeks ago when I was cooking dinner one night, one of my kids mentioned that they had overheard that some of my students were saying things about me that were not very nice. They didn't know specifics, what was said, who said it. And that really did a number on me. My own child was not trying to make me feel bad-- he was both curious and concerned. I said something at the time about how students don't always love their professors, blah blah blah, but inside, I was crushed. Because now, every time I was walking into my classroom, I knew that people in that room don't like me and say mean things about me that my children then have to process. So, I wasn't very happy, and I wasn't very happy especially about my teaching.

I generally love teaching, but this was nagging at me. I finally had to shake myself and have a little come to Jesus meeting with myself. "Look at how many students you still keep in touch with," I told myself. I decided that I was going to have to approach the situation the way I approach dating:

"Lots of people would be THRILLED to take a class with me. You are LUCKY to be in my class. If you don't appreciate me, then that is your problem."

I'm not a perfect teacher, but damn, I am interesting, I am enthusiastic, and gosh darn it, I actually care about the little lambs. I suspect they say mean things because I scrapped the syllabus and started over. I'm not the most organized person. I extend deadlines and due dates. I confuse the poor things. Their second papers ... how do I say this gently? Ah, the way I phrased it to them: needed more attention and discussion before I felt comfortable assigning them more graded work. So, even though I had already given them the prompt and pre-writing assignment for their third papers, I suspended the deadlines for that papers so I could slow down and actually talk in some line-by-line detail about good and bad writing. I found four examples of bad student writing online and went through them one by one and talked about them. I find it is definitely better to critique writing samples that do not belong to anyone in my class. I am just hoping they can apply what I have said about those other papers to their own writing. But day after day, my students keep asking me when the third paper is due. One day I told them to stop asking me that and try to damn learn something, so now they ask me because they think it's funny (their rough drafts are due Wednesday, if you are curious too). So, my class and its execution are anything but conventional and linear. They send me these snotty, snipey little emails about how confusing everything is because of the syllabus change. Well, suck it up. I give them detailed feedback, I'm honest with them, and I try damn hard to be interesting. I don't really care about their obsession with deadlines and grades. Jesus, we are trying to break them of that.

Topics that were covered in class today were:

• Michelangelo digging up bodies and performing autopsies to learn about how to sculpt the human form;
• assessment tools and how the criteria for them are created;
• House, MD and the formula the show uses weekly / Ira Glass This American Life;
• qualitative research versus quantitative research;
• political ads and how to develop criteria to evaluate their effectiveness;
• Hook, by Blues Traveler;
• Nazis;
• the right to vote;
• felons;
• privilege;
• the Disabilities Non-Discrimination Act;
• No Child Left Behind;
• Amendment No. 3 on the Missouri ballot

Yeah, that is a lot to absorb. And I hope that some of the stuff we talk about in class will take them years to unravel. I don't want to give them answers. I want to teach them HOW to question, how to link themes and ideas, and sort of how to *think.* I know that for me, having things mimicked for me helps me to learn them. At my copy editing job, I spent five hours sitting right next to my boss as she trained me on doing the end notes and works cited for our history books. She sat at the computer and explained things and talked for hours without looking up a single thing (except a few details we had to research). It was amazing. I absorbed maybe half of it. Then, I sat at the computer and took a whack. I had lots of questions. There are still entries that I can't figure out on my own. But the learning process is very exciting! I'm learning a ton. And it helps that she and I are both such big grammar nerds that we think the minutiae is fascinating. I learn from a combination of watching, explanation, and doing. If I thought I could get away with it, my ideal way to teach a writing class would be to use an overhead projector and actually go through papers with students line by line by line. Every day. Over and over. And then to have them write and revise. Do it again. Again. Because this is how I learned to write. By thinking about it carefully and constantly. Again, big grammar nerd. But they would all revolt and kill me after the second class. Even though, I daresay, if they cared and paid close attention, they would learn how to write over the course of a semester. But that method if writing instruction probably doesn't work for everyone.

I want my students to have a good experience in my class, but I actually find it very difficult to talk about how to write well. I start to lose my vocabulary for how to talk about it, because there are so many nuances and because so much of it is so complicated. I would have to tell you all of my thought patterns as I write and edit in order to teach you how to write. The best and worst advice I have for them is that I learned to write by doing it. A lot of it. And by paying attention to the suggestions my professors made. But I honestly can't think of many things that have interested me more in my life than words and reading and writing and how to do them well. So, I'm lucky. It comes, not easily, but sort of compulsively for me. 
_____________________________________________________________________________
I just ran home for a quick lunch break and to say hi to the kids, because the younger two are out of school today and Monday. Thomas was home, so I mentioned to him that I am always happy to look at his papers before he hands them in. He told me he doesn't like how I edit them without his go-ahead. I told him my reasoning (see above) for doing so. He doesn't like it. Wow, I didn't expect to be proven correct so quickly about not everyone benefiting from that method of instruction.

You know I said above that I was hoping that my students will be able to apply some of what I have said about good and bad writing to their own assignments. I think this is also going to be one of the things it may take them awhile to unravel. But particularly about all of the stuff that I have thrown at them that is a lot to absorb: I have been repeating themes about rights, privilege, social justice, education, the pedagogy of the oppressed, manufactured consent, etc. In today's class, one of my best students demonstrated that it's going to take awhile for any of this to sink in (if, in fact, it does) by indicating that (paraphrasing broadly here) stupid people shouldn't be allowed to vote. It's more complicated than that, but it made me realize that a lot of the things I have been trying to say about social injustice and inequality and privilege is kind of going in one ear and out the other. When I was that student's age, I had similar ideas to these, and I told my class that. I told them that it had taken a process of years and experience for me to change my ways of thinking. The student honestly believed that this view is simply pragmatic. It is. Obviously it is. But I said, and I don't know whether this will sink in either, something to the effect of: "Remember how many people in the U.S. are college educated? The majority are not. But we cannot contribute-- via our complicity and dare I say lack of voting?-- to an infrastructure that leaves some adults illiterate and uneducated and then remove their right to vote their way out of it."

I might have also suggested that this student was being a little bit of a Nazi. 

But I look at them looking back at me sometimes and I feel like I have been speaking Greek and they are all afraid to tell me that I am not speaking English. 

It could also be that I talk so fast, they actually do *wonder* if I have been speaking Greek, and they are especially afraid to tell me, just in case I am actually speaking English very very fast.

______________________________________________________________________________

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. I am becoming a nocturnal being of the morning. Wednesday night, I had been thinking about Pride and Prejudice (the movie with Keira Knightly, in particular). This is in part because I have been listening to the soundtrack at work. And both of those things are in part because the actress who plays the eldest daughter, the lovely, gentle, and all-things-good Jane Bennett is Rosamund Pike. She also portrayed the cold and psychotic Amy Dunne in Gone Girl (did I actually really take the time to link to things once?), and I think I just needed to get the psychopath out of my head. So, even though usually I have been falling asleep before 9 p.m., I watched P & P and stayed up til midnight. Do you have comfort food books and movies and tv shows and music that you return to during times of stress? I do. Mostly books. My comfort foods are the Little House on the Prairie books, Pride and Prejudice (in all forms), Sense and Sensibility (in all forms), Little Women (in most forms, mostly the extended book), and Anne of Green Gables (in all forms). These books have all been instrumental in showing me who I wanted/want to be.

So, I stayed up til midnight watching it, but I really really needed it for some reason. Last night, I was also able to stay up a little later than usual for some reason as well, and I got sucked into a new program on Hulu that is called the Red Band Society. It's about a group of teenagers (astonishingly good looking teenagers) who are all chronically ill and all living, for the time being, in the same hospital. I had seen the name of the show, but for some reason the name really irritated me, especially because it was cryptic. Of course, I understand it now that I've watched it. But I was dismissive of the show for no good reason before I'd even seen it, and wow, it just sucker punched me right in the jaw. I was surprised, because not many new shows catch my eye anymore unless they have gotten really good buzz ahead of time. I wish I weren't so tired all the time-- I watch TV more than I read because I'm in less danger of falling asleep during it. However, lately, I've been falling asleep watching TV and that disturbs me because it cuts into my down time! I know tons of people who both read and watch TV and movies, so maybe you can relate to this: I seem to thrive more when I have a narrative my brain can turn and return to during the day. I like to mull over storylines and characters. It is soothing to me. And it actually gives my brain something to focus on besides anxiety and stress. Obviously, my brain is focused on work a lot of the time most days, but there are always those peripheral drips leaking in. And I'd rather them be about whether Olivia Pope should tone down her rapid-fire monologues a bit because they are losing their effectiveness with the constant repetition. Or whether Regina is going to get back together with Robin Hood, because she deserves a break. Those are much saner for me than, "Can I order pizza tonight? Will I have enough money to get through til payday next week if I do?" and that whole disastrous spiral of bullshit that not enough pondering in the world can change or fix.

Word Vomit

My ultimate goal every weekend is to get caught up enough on sleep and rest to be able to get through the following week. This is particularly challenging, though, because I usually work on Sundays unless I have specifically taken the day off.

I am not succeeding very well, in spite of falling asleep before 9 p.m. usually every single night. I rested Saturday, went to bed early, and Sunday almost killed me. I was at work at 7 a.m. and worked for six hours to move around departments of clothes, build shelves, climb ladders to retrieve tables, carry and push heavy equipment around the store. I am not in my twenties anymore nor even my thirties. I came home and collapsed for the next three hours. Even after I woke up, I was so zonked that I couldn't think straight the rest of the day. I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. woke at 10:30 p.m., was up til 12:20 a.m., then finally slept.

I woke up at 6 a.m. and showered and then lay back down again, because I was about an hour ahead of schedule. But I just couldn't get moving. I emailed my boss that I was running late, and still got to the office by 8:30, even though I didn't feel even remotely ready for my day or even my week. I sat down to an email about some work I did last week and mistakes I made because I was hurrying. My boss walked into my office to say hello, and I started to cry. I talked to her for a few minutes about the email, about how tired I was, about how useless I was. We quickly agreed that I should go home. So, I am trying not to think about the money that didn't get made today and instead hope that having the day off was enough to get me through the rest of the week.

I came home and cried some more. I called Heather because I knew that she would know with very little explanation how I was feeling. I am so tired that I can't do any of my jobs well, but I am too poor to quit one of them so I can catch up on life. Well, the teaching gig will come to its own natural conclusion, but then there is the little issue of making up that salary somehow.

My mom had called me Friday to tell me that her September rent check had bounced. This morning, while I was sitting on the couch and feeling numb and stupid and worthless, she called and let me know that for the second time in the past four or five months, somebody called social services. Somebody called in June or July, so I had to take time off work to go and speak with them about my mother's finances. And now that her rent check bounced last month, they have come around again. I called the bank, found out the balance, wrote the check to cover September, and asked about October's check. It was deposited ten days ago and hasn't bounced. I should call the bank back and just ask them if it has cleared, but I just couldn't do it today. And here I am just hoping that I'll have enough money for the goddamn cable bill again and any diabetes supplies we may need before my next payday. If nothing unexpected comes up, we should be good for groceries too, and the electric bill. My health insurance rates have gone up, so I really have to find new health insurance. As soon as I get more brain power, I'll get right on that.

After I went to my mom's and dropped off a check and updated her medications, I came home and took a nap. I got up and washed my dishes and cleaned off my counter tops while talking to the kids in the kitchen.

You know, the first time someone calls social services on you because they suspect that you are not taking good enough care of your old person, it's humiliating, panic-inducing, degrading. The second time, when you are home from work because of crying, and once again you are being told that you are not taking good enough care of your old person, you just want to cut open your own chest. Here are my financial records. Here is my work schedule. Here are my guts. Sift through it all. Take what you want. Let me know when you're done, and I'll just sew up my chest again and keep going. I don't have anything to hide. Everyone in my entire extended family knows that my mom helps out with the bills. It's not a state secret. I'm going to have to break down and go fill out forms for food stamps and reduced medical bills, because I don't see any answers coming down the pipeline. If I got rid of my health insurance, I could afford to quit one of my jobs. Of course, then I wouldn't have health insurance. And there are still things that I could lose to a catastrophic health event: My house, my car, everything. So, that leaves finding a better rate. Isn't our health insurance supposed to be going down?

Heather and I talked today about how we don't know what to do. Believe me, if I had some answers, I'd be implementing them. Today I entered the thought arena once again that I need to move, that I must go somewhere where I can find a full-time job. I am not sure where that is. When I was doing the dishes, Tommy was standing in the kitchen archway, looking across the house out the front door because he was expecting his girlfriend. He said, "Hey, Mom, next summer, can you get me a job at Department Store?"

I said, "Sure."

He continued, "I want to get a full-time job. I want to make some money."

I laughed bitterly and wiped out a big bowl with a regular towel I pulled from the laundry because I can't find my dishtowels right now. "Well, good luck with both of those things. You're competing against adults who want those things, and there really is no such thing as a full-time job anymore. But you can try to get a job, sure."

He looked non-plussed, even though he knows I was home washing dishes in the middle of the afternoon because I had a little crisis and couldn't stay at work. Sometimes doing a good job of keeping how hard this is from the kids means that they really have no idea how it's going or how the world works. But I didn't continue my rant. I just let the conversation drop. But this is how it's going to be, now, isn't it? I am soon going to be competing for jobs against my own kids, and they'll get the jobs because they don't almost die after six hours of physical work. And I want the kids to get work. I somehow persist living this fantasy that even though I am in this situation that I can't see myself out of, that my kids are going to go to college and get good jobs and have normal lives that include mortgages, car payments, and solvency. Even though I have no reason to believe that this will happen except that I don't really want to think about the alternatives.

I talked to my brother this morning, and we joked about combining households to save money. But it's not really a joke. Honestly, if we could find a way to be solvent and take care of my mom, I would consider a move somewhere with Matt and Heather and combining resources to live a little more securely so instead of two panicked households, we had one sort of solvent one. I am fine with the idea of a societal return to multi-generational housing, if that's what it takes. Instead of picking on adult kids who live with their parents and the parents who let them (because kicking them out will save everything-- new, decent paying jobs will materialize magically due to Tough Love. Dem kids just need more grit!), why don't we adopt this as a deliberate measure. We can spend tons of time running our own individual treadmills and keep trying to return things to the way they were-- each family living separately in their own abode, two parents who both have one full-time job. Or we can try to create a new infrastructure. It may not be a revolution, but I don't think my family is going to be the only family thinking about this. In fact, I'm probably late to this boat anyway. I will have to start looking into this and seeing what is happening on a grassroots level. I am a fan of the tiny houses movement, but that compartmentalizes and separates us, still. Maybe if we start combining households, three or four salaries will contribute to enough.

Obviously, I am overlooking the complications that would develop with multiple adults trying to share a household. It doesn't often work out well for college roommates or spouses, so can it work for siblings or adults who aren't related? There are some planned communities around this area that seem to work, but I don't know how harmonious they are, and I don't know how many kids (families) there are versus single adults.

But so far, every solution that I have some up with that involves me continuing to do this alone just terrifies me because none of them suggest any changes: I still have to work this Sunday. I still won't get time off at the holidays because of Department Store job. It is so funny-- when we give up wheat, we crave bread. I am craving time, time to think, time to reflect. The only reason I was able to eek out this rambling word vomit is because I had enough time off today to be able so sit and rest my head for a moment. The rest of the time, my brain alternates constantly between wondering how I can do a better job at work, thinking of what I have to get done for the rest of the week, counting the days til the end of the month and constantly doing mental arithmetic to make sure that we won't run out of money before the end of the month, wondering how I can get more down time, wondering what the best form of that down time is-- a nap? Washing the dishes? Cleaning the floor? Watching tv? Reading a book? Taking a walk? What single thing can I do with my small amount of down time to maximize the benefits of it? In taking care of myself in order to take care of everyone else, what does that entail? What do I need the most?

So, this treadmill of work, sleep, recovery, breakdowns, emergency breaks, work, sleep, recovery is going no where fast. I've got to start thinking out of the box, but first I need to rest my brain again so I can think.

OK Stupid

One of the things that I don't blog about, well, haven't blogged about, is dating. But there hasn't been another point in time during which I have been both blogging and single. So, you can see how that math works out. But now, as it happens, I am both. I wouldn't categorize myself as dating at the moment. It's been a few months since I've had a date. For the past couple of years, on and off, I used to make time on the weekends to date. I was happy to travel to St. Louis, Columbia, Des Moines, Kansas City on weekends when I didn't have my kids. It was nice to leave town for a bit, fun to meet new people, and best of all, it didn't really impact my daily life. My daily life includes living in my home with my children. I have committed myself not to co-habitating again until my kids are out of my house. Considering that my kids in some combination or another may still be in my house for the next five years or so, it seems pretty safe to say that a serious romantic relationship would have some pre-set limitations. And I made this commitment on purpose to keep me from getting into anything too fast. So far, that has worked out nicely.

This fall, though, it became clear to me pretty quickly that I don't have time to date. I just don't. Even that fact doesn't mean I would rule it out-- but I can't go out of my way to make it happen. And I am not even successfully carving out enough time for myself, so making time for another person right now doesn't seem like a great idea. At least, in terms of a romantic relationship.

Wow, it's so hard to write about this. I am pretty frank about it in most situations. But for so long my blog has been sort of scrubbed clean of any discussion of sex or sexuality. I think I pretended to my mom (and other adult Mormons) for so long that I wasn't sexually active that I just grew accustomed to not talking about it. In fact, I don't know that my mother and I have ever had an honest or open conversation about sex. She was embarrassed to talk about it. She didn't let me watch the end of The Big Chill when I was in high school because Kevin Kline and Mary Kay Place's characters have sex so that MKP's character can try to get pregnant. She is single, she wants a child, they are good friends, and even though Kline is married, his wife Glenn Close orchestrates this deal (because she had an affair with Kevin Costner, whose bandaged wrists are the only thing we see, before his coffin is closed at the start of the movie). Anyway, those are very complicated and grownup themes, and my mother didn't want me to watch it. My mother also came downstairs and danced in front of the tv during Risky Business, because she didn't want me to watch it. It is nothing short of a miracle that I have been able to be open, matter-of-fact, and level-headed about talking about sex with my children.

I remember one Mormon woman I knew when I was engaged to my first husband. She said to me, "You know, premarital sex is only fun because it's forbidden."

I knew differently for myself at this point, and I remember trying not to stare at her in horror. I remember laughing about it later with my fiancee-- I know she meant well, but the only thing she conveyed was that, in spite of her three children, they were doing it wrong.

I still don't discuss sex with my mother, though she knows I date occasionally. One of the reasons I don't discuss it with her is that because I am single (and she is still Mormon), I presume that she thinks that it would be sinful for me to have sex. When I told my parents that my [eventual] second husband was moving into my house with me and the kids (before we were even engaged), my dad asked me if my [eventual] second husband was going to live in the garage behind the house.

It takes a very determined sort of naivety to ask questions like that.

So, deep breath, I am an adult woman, and I am sexually active. When I got my second divorce, at the age of 42, I had slept with two men. After my second divorce, it didn't really occur to me that I was allowed to date for awhile. But once it did, I joined OK Cupid and began online dating. I have learned a lot about dating that most women probably learn in college. I have learned a lot that makes me realize that dating a lot more probably would have kept me out of both of my marriages. Unfortunately, what I have learned about dating has only reinforced to me that marriage is a bad idea for me, and, probably, so is cohabitation. I like being the boss of my house. I just do.

But sex is an important part of my life. I think it's a fundamental bodily need. Sure, it can be denied. I'm not here to diss people who don't have sex or have committed to another lifestyle. But it's a bodily need that I have, so from time to time, I set about filling it. And I tested the theory that women can have sex basically whenever we want to. And after I proved that theory, I backed off for awhile and took a break from dating. I go through periods of disgust and disinterest with dating sights and particular men I've had the displeasure of communicating with. I also go through periods when I think it's really fun and that my forties have been the most fun I've ever had. I have a tendency to bifurcate, but I think that dating really is the best and the worst of times.

Because my time for a substantial romantic relationship is limited, I think I make both better and worse decisions. This means sometimes I sleep with people I wouldn't necessarily be good in a relationship with. And I do it on purpose, because I don't want a relationship-- I want sex. I know that makes me sound almost masculine, and it makes me sound like I'm using men for sex, but I promise, I've asked them about this, and they do not seem to mind. Go figure.

I'm not interested in trotting out the details of my dating life here so much as making fun of the guys I never date and never meet because they are such idiotic tools. So, I am probably going to post more about Internet dating, but out of respect for others' privacy, I will try to make sure nobody who comes across this (whom I actually like) would recognize himself.

Waaaaay too long. Don't read. TL/DR

When I think of all of the blog posts I've had rattling around in my head lately, I am sorry that I haven't had more time to write since last week. But I can't worry about those lost posts now-- just have to move forward.

It's been hectic. I have had some big deadlines-- so much so that I came into work Saturday afternoon for 4 hours and then stayed late on Monday evening. I worked Sunday too, but that was different work. Then, for Tuesday, I had deadlines on top of my deadlines, but now it has slowed down somewhat (thank goodness). This morning, my students reminded me that we don't have class on Friday because of the Fall Break. Phew! Just gives me some extra time to think and prepare, you know?

Lately, (sorry, interrupted by a phone call from my mom. For the second time today, she can't get her TV remote to change the channels. I suggested that the remote may need new batteries, and told her I would try to stop by on my lunch hour today to change them. As we have learned, the TV working is a Big Deal.) I have been falling asleep on the couch before 9 p.m. It makes getting up and going to work early in the morning easier, sure, but I'm starting to feel like I am existing rather than living. Is it the mental challenges of three jobs that are so completely different that is tiring me? Because I do work a little more than a 40-hour work week, particularly with Sundays, but that doesn't seem to be it. Even now, a little after noon, I am yawning my head off. (I am drinking water.) And I slept from 8:50 p.m. til 6:00 a.m. That is plenty of sleep. So, it's probably stress, but I don't know what to do to alleviate it. I hope this straightens itself out in December when my class is done and I'm back to just the two jobs.

Heather is home now (yay!), but this week I'm worried about my mom. Last week, poor thing, she had to have a pelvic exam to try to determine what a mass in her abdomen could be. When the doctor palpates, there is something there. He couldn't really get a handle on it through her exam, though, so tomorrow we go to the hospital for a CT scan or a sonogram-- I'm not really sure which. This morning the dr's nurse called to let me know that they did an overnight oximetry test on her to see if lack of oxygen could be contributing to her swelling-- nope, came back within normal parameters. But my mom is really swollen. Her legs are swollen, her stomach is swollen, her neck is really swollen. The problem with not being able to identify the cause of the swelling (we have checked thyroid, heart, lungs, sodium levels, kidneys) is not only that we can't find her any relief for it, but also that the cause might be more sinister than we had previously guessed. The mass in her abdomen could be nothing. It could be fibroids. But the swelling leads me to wonder whether it is tumors that are weeping. I've expressed these fears to the doctor, and he hasn't dismissed them. It could be nothing. It could be something. And I can't really do much about it either way until I know what's up (and probably not then either). When my father's cancer started spreading, the tumors wept until he was so swollen that we measured his abdomen to be 52 to 56 inches. Nurses would have to use a large needle to draw off some of the fluid, but that only makes your body try to replace it faster, so there are drawbacks. The entire process is extremely taxing on the body. There is a pill you can take to help with the swelling, and my dad was on it-- Lasik or something similar-- but my mom's sodium levels are too low for her to take it. Which also means that it isn't too much salt in her diet causing the swelling.

So, a hospital visit tomorrow morning means I had to find someone to take my shift at Department Store tomorrow morning: Any time off work is wages lost. Thanks, America!

None of this is what I want to be thinking/writing about, but all of the thoughts that have been rattling around in my head since last week are scattered like leaves-- fleeting thoughts about my mom's birthday last week, taking her out to dinner with the kids and feeling guilty that we can do that when I've been writing so much about poverty, having a lot of extra visitors last week, not having enough down time, watching television, the importance of having other narratives in my head, other stories than my own. I used to get those narratives from reading novels, but now I just fall asleep reading, so I turned to television, and now I'm falling asleep while watching, so the narratives just end up being lists of what I need to do when.
__________________________________________________________________________________

The batteries have been successfully changed, and Pat's remote is up and running once more. Not only that, but I also laid out all of her pills for the week and called in her refills. I remembered to take the pork out of the freezer for supper tonight. This morning was almost a little catastrophe though. Christian was out of cereal. (Christian has diabetes and had already had a shot of insulin, so skipping a meal is not an option-- not that I'd advocate that for teens anyway, but in a pinch, another healthy teen could make it on a plum and a couple of glasses of milk. I could have grabbed McDonald's for him on the way to school except that the only thing he likes from their breakfast menu is the hashbrowns.) I suggested bread and peanut butter, but we were out of bread.

[Note: We were out because yesterday at lunchtime, there was a half loaf of bread, and I just didn't notice that we were out of cereal-- thankfully, this instance is not about poverty. It's about the kids are going to be with their dad for the next four days or so, so I was being lazy about going to the grocery store.]

I was debating whether to try to make him some pancakes or slap some peanut butter on a tortilla when I found some yogurts I'd bought for my lunches. I handed him two yogurts and a plum. That plus two glasses of milk (and maybe a spoonful of peanut butter) give him enough carbohydrates to get him through to his morning snack, though now I am wondering whether he is skipping that snack ... Need to ask him about that.

I was jittery over my lunch hour today until I got to my mom's. I can't remember the last time I've been this anxious about a test she is having done. I was trying to figure out whether it was too much caffeine, but I had a strong sense of foreboding. The strong sense that I was about to find out something, hear something, get a phone call, something in the mail, learn something or get an unexpected visit from someone I know. I couldn't pinpoint it. So, I drove over to my mom's and etc. Then I ran downstairs to where the tenants of her apartments were having a Halloween Party (put on by the management). They were having some kind of drawing for prizes, so I wove my way through tables and chairs to my mom, kissed her on the forehead, told her the remote was working and that the pills were laid out, that I love her, and I'll see her later. It's kind of rare that she is an activity she likes there (according to her) that I didn't want to interrupt her party-- if I had told her I was there before I took care of the batteries, she would have left her party to come upstairs, and I would have felt bad about that. It's such a balance of independence and nurturing-- how much of each is too much? Often, Pat seems to think that her problems outweigh the needs of everyone else in the world. She seemed genuinely surprised and disappointed both times she called me at work about her remote control. She really seems to think that I should be able to just run over immediately and take care of it. Now, to be fair, I could probably leave one job that's pretty flexible to run over there and change some batteries. But the other two jobs do not offer that option, so I do not offer it as an option for any of them, because how am I supposed to explain that inconsistency when she can't remember most days that I am at work at all? None of this is urgent-- but it is like a little daily irritant that takes up energy and time. I spend a lot of time trying to make up to her for her boredom by taking her out for rides, calling her extra, apologizing, taking her to dinner, hanging out at her place watching tv, or bringing her over to my house. But this is the problem: Because of her memory problems, sometimes she will not remember that last night we went out for dinner. Her boredom and loneliness are fresh to her every day. So, even though I do my best to keep it at bay, I can't stop those twin sisters of depression from stopping by and knitting her into their sticky web. I feel like I am on a treadmill, but it's going so fast that I'll just injure myself if I try to get off.

I have explained these things to Sam at times. Sam has more wisdom than I do. He shakes his head, he says, "Bat, Bat, Bat, you are going to kill yourself with empathy. You have got to stop it. You are just hurting yourself. You need to toughen up."

He's right. But what he doesn't know is that if I don't keep my receptacles open, if I don't retain my empathy, I will become so embittered that I won't recognize myself. [He actually does know this-- I was just using that as a narrative device so I could tell you, the audience.] [I need to stop teaching freshman writing classes.] I have enough little pity parties for and by myself already, so I'm more than happy to jump into someone else's misery for a little while if it helps me to help them better. But Sam's right. It's damaging. And this is why I don't teach junior high special ed [anymore]. This is why I am not a counselor, therapist, psychologist, psychiatrist, nurse, or god help us, social worker, nursing home worker, hospice worker, or any of the other countless professions that you might think an empath would be drawn to. Those professions would eat me alive.

I am not trying to make myself out to be some kind of mystical empath, like Kes or Deanna, but I do have a strong nurturing streak. And it is also safe to say that at times, it has damaged me. Hopefully not more than the good it has done, though. 
__________________________________________________________________________________

Unrelated: I need to figure out why my health insurance has gone up about $100 a month for the past few months (!!!) and start shopping for new health insurance. I know nothing about Obama Care and hid from the websites because at the time, my health insurance was reasonably priced. I haven't had any big health claims-- something is hinky.

Also unrelated: Today is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day, and I have many friends who are impacted every single day by the grief of this loss. Much love to you all.