2012 in Retrospect

2012 is quickly drawing to a close.  There are things in my life that I'd change if I could of course--I'd love to be 20 pounds slimmer, or have bigger boobs or have a lot more money.  I'd love to be a little more sure of where our lives would take us in the next year and where we would be ending up.  But really, all things considered, I couldn't be happier.

2012 was a crazy year.  It was full of insane highs and lows...but for the most part, the year was amazing.  There were bad parts.  There were some massive fights between my husband and I.  Our lives were oftentimes frustrating and difficult.  But despite that, it was an amazing year.

I'm sitting here watching my son rip apart tissue paper and try to eat it.  He is happy and healthy and absolutely amazing.  He surprises me every day with the things he does and the way he changes.  Sometimes the only reason I get out of bed in the morning is knowing that I have his happy little face to wake up to.

He'll be a year old in just a few days.  It's amazing how much changes in a year.  He is such a little man...he's not a baby anymore, he's a toddler.  He is busy and crazy smart and so full of joy and love and life!

In 2012, I started working at the Post Office, which is a job that I really very much enjoy.

I transferred to a new school.  I'm not sure yet how much I like it, but I'm sticking with it for now at least.

I've learned so much about myself.  I am a good mother...I am an amazing mother.  I have an amazing family.

Of course, as I type this, he is busy getting into everything in Oma and Opa's living room.  Hell, I wouldn't change that either.  The busy inquisitiveness is a wonderful sign.  He's going to be a bright kid.

I admit I'm biased.

I could be spending my New Years Eve out and about, drinking and partying and enjoying myself.  And it would be fun, this is true.  But I am perfectly content where I am, ringing in the new year with my Prince Charming.

If you had the choice, wouldn't you want to spend your day with this child too?

To my husband

I spent most of the day driving.  I had to head to Bozeman to pick my baby brother up from school.  Originally, my dad was going to come with me, but an unfortunate bout with the flu means that I did the trip alone.

I had six hours all to myself.  It was wonderful...it's rare that I get 20 minutes alone, let alone hours in one stretch.  I listened to loud music and talked to myself and completely enjoyed driving through the snowy mountains.  Even cruddy roads didn't bum me out.

I spent a lot of time thinking.  There was a song that came on that really kind of got to me.  Ok, I lied...nearly all of the songs got to me.  But one really bothered me.

I haven't been very fair to my husband.  And that really bothers me.

Let me explain.  I started dating my first boyfriend when I was 18.  I was young and I was stupid and I was totally naive.  He was 10 years older than me and well...we just weren't good for one another, in a relationship.  But I worked my ass off.  Even though the relationship eventually failed, I did everything that I knew how to do to try to make it work and try to make him happy.  The first time he cheated on me, I blamed myself, and tried to work harder to be better for him...I would have done anything to make it work, because for some reason, I had it in my mind that he was the only man that would ever love me.

I broke up with him because there was someone else who loved me.  And I wouldn't have to be alone.  I could still be loved and have someone care for me, so it was finally ok for me to break up with him.  That relationship failed too, but it was as much from distance as anything else.  But I would have done anything for him too.

There was the Army guy.  I sent him as many packages as I could afford.  I was going to completely uproot myself and everything for him.  Again, I would have done anything for him.  Things broke apart shortly before he got back to the states.  He just stopped talking to me...and I was just broken over it.

And then I met my husband.  And at first, it was just going to be a fling.  We were just going to have fun.  And then we met each other and things got very serious, very fast.

But I think that maybe part of me has never given him as much as I should.  And that makes me feel like shit.

I love my husband.  I love him very much.  He keeps me grounded and he adores me.  He's the man that I want to spend the rest of my life with.  He's the father of my child (and future children) and I love him completely.  He is intelligent and sweet and funny...sometimes he's a bit dense, but he means well.  He is a wonderful father, and he loves me.

So here's the thing.  I need to be a better wife.  I love him as much as he loves me...but I need to be better at showing it.  He's not going to hurt me, he's not going to leave me, he's not going to cheat on me or disappear.  He's here to stay, and I need to be too.

It's something I need to work on.  I think maybe I just got so used to being IN CHARGE and doing it all myself that I forgot how to share.  Because I know I haven't been very good at sharing my life.

Colin--I love you.  I'm sorry I've been a terrible wife, and I will try to be better.

What Dreams May Come

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a baby doctor. I wanted to help all the little babies in the world. I had these huge dreams of being a wonderful doctor that saved lives and made people better. In time, that changed to being a Veterinarian. I loved animals, and I figured it would be the perfect job for me. I remember telling a teacher of mine that once. Rather than encouraging me to follow my dreams and shoot for the stars, she launched into a lecture about how much WORK Vet school was. About how few people ever get accepted into school. About how long I would be in school. In short - she completely discouraged me. I felt a little heart-broken. Looking back, I think she was telling me I was smart/dedicated/good enough to be a Veterinarian.

Then there was the year I auditioned for Mrs. Clause for the Christmas play. She got to sing a solo. I've always loved music more then anything, and I jumped at the chance to audition. I remember sitting with my dad, and we practiced that damn song over and over and over again. When it came time for the actual audition, I choked. We didn't have a piano at home and so while I could sing the song perfectly, I had no idea what the piano part was supposed to be. When I fumbled, the other girls auditioning laughed at me.

I didn't bother putting myself in a position where anyone could really hear me sing for another 7 years. In 8th grade, some of the girls in my class decided to sing Tears in Heaven for the spring concert. Somehow, I convinced them to let me shoo-wop in the background along with them. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Being on the stage, even being in the background, was amazing.

The following year, I asked our new music teacher if I could sing a solo for the Christmas concert. He was willing enough (we always had a shortage of people who wanted to perform) and I scurried about picking out my music. My mom asked me, several times, if I was sure I wanted to do it. Later, she told me that she was worried I would fail dramatically.

The concert came, and even without a mic I nailed that rendition of Rockin' around the Christmas tree. People were stunned, and multiple people came up to me after the concert, 'I had NO IDEA you could sing!' From that point forward, I performed whenever I could. Concerts, church...I always wanted to sing the National Anthem, but I was always intimidated by that song (oh, and I just KNEW that I would sing it when certain crushes of mine were in the crowd and I'd fail fantastically.)

I had this idea in my mind that I could be a singer. I could be famous, I could actually DO it for a living. I was encouraged by people telling me how amazing they thought I was. I embarked on creating an internet name for myself. I recorded songs, I had a website, I had a fan club, I had several interviews in various online magazines...it wasn't much, but it made me feel special. It made me feel like I was actually good at something. I won contests. I was...not great, but I was GOOD. I had talent.

My freshman year of college, there was a concert in Spokane. My parents ended up driving me there to it. The night before we took off to the concert (I was already in my dorm room, they were in a hotel) I spent the entire night making a demo cd. I had a free 8-track recorder I'd downloaded and a cheap ass microphone, a guitar, and a lot of excitement. I still have that cd, somewhere. It wasn't good...hell, a lot of it sucked...but I put a lot of heart and soul into it.

At the concert, I was able to make my way to the front of the stage, and the groups manager was out visiting with people. I handed him my demo cd, and I was THRILLED. I'm sure he never listened to it (I later discovered that they're not able to, or allowed to as a general rule) but I was over the moon. I was excited about it all, I was going to make a go of it. Hell, at one point, I was seriously considering Coyote Ugly'ing it and moving to New York City to make my life as a musician.

I auditioned for the campus choir. I knew without a doubt that they would welcome me with open arms, that I would find a home in the music department. They didn't. Sight reading has never been my strong point, without an accompaniment...and I pretty much bombed the audition.

I was discouraged and frustrated. Not long after, I started dating my ex. And while he never discouraged me...he also...made it clear, at points, that he didn't think I had a snowballs chance in hell.

So I gave up. I just quit. I stopped recording, I stopped singing, I stopped playing guitar. And like any tool that goes unused, my voice went away. I'm not a bad singer these days, but I'm no where near as good as I was.

Since then, I have not been able to recapture that excitement. There is nothing that I throw myself into the way I threw myself into that. Oh, there are things that I've been good at and things that I've enjoyed...but there has been a distinct lack of follow through. Look at my writing for example. I enjoy it, very much. Hell, people tell me I'm good at it. I'm still too damn afraid to do much more then think about how awesome it would be if I someday were good enough to say, publish a novel.

I have this fear that someone is going to read my novel - what I've got so far, anyway - and laugh at me. Tell me it's terrible, and tell me I shouldn't even bother. I think part of me wants to keep it to myself...that way I can at least pretend it doesn't totally suck.

At MisCon, there is a writers workshop. It would be enough for me to send about the first 2 chapters of my novel, along with a $15.00 fee. They'll all be published in an anthology. And there is a crew of professional authors who are going to be at MisCon who will be work shopping and critiquing with us. One of them will pick a manuscript to line edit. All in all, it should be a fabulous experience.

And...I am terrified. I am terrified of going in there and talking to the author who gets my piece and being given a look. I'm terrified that this one last thing that I am ok at might be taken away from me. I want so badly to do this, but I am scared. So many hopes and dreams have been dashed before this that I just want to cling to this last one, and hope that it will be my THING.

Everyone has something they are really good at. All their others friends look to them for advice on that one thing. I...don't have a 'thing.' I don't have anything. And part of me feels...empty? Less? Because I don't have anything.

So yeah. That's my dilemma, and something I've been thinking about a lot. Do I tell him yes, I want in on the writers workshop, and risk being totally discouraged...or do I just stay the course? From the outside this is an easy choice. From inside my head, not so much.

Surrealism and Line

This weeks poem was to be based off Surrealism. And using lines to create suspense. So, here is what we got!

'In a Moment

I met a man the other day, while walking home from work.

He was covered in (dirt, debris, filth of the streets) stars and

begged for a moment of my time. 'Can't talk (Mr. Beggar Man)

Sir, I am late (so late) for a (very important) date.'

There was sorrow in his eyes as he begged like a puppy

searching for a (cat, rope, throat) Milk Bone

'Please, (beautiful lady) Ma'am, just a moment (so busy, so busy, always rushing

towards death) of your time.'

His eyes were the most startling color, a shock of beauty

stuck in a miasma of pain

I should call them (amber, bronze, mahogany) cocoa

flecks of gold (his only wealth) floating along the iris.

I think I could not resist those eyes of his, so

(beautiful, stunning, terrifying, moving)

deep and inspiring. I felt myself falling (down, down the rabbit hole

little alice fell)

I stood so still and he so close, even the reek of his breath

(death, oh death, nothing but the rotting death)

couldn't break the spell. 'Oh beautiful lady

(madam, princess, queen of all I survey)

just a moment of your time?'

He touched me then and my world (collapsed, expanded, reacted) exploded

a kaleidoscope of colors, an avalanche of sensation

(pain, terror, anger, frustration, hate, misery)

as I fell into his eyes (such lovely eyes, such perfect peepers)

I met a man the other day (oh god, please no, please stop)

while walking home from work

He was a filthy beggar man (not that, never that, please...)

covered all in dirt

He begged (push, shove, hit, bite) me for a moment

of my oh so precious time

He gave me gifts (red, glisten, shine) and showed me things

and took my soul in kind.

I wonder where I am now (I never believed in heaven)

as I float along in space

and if they ever found me (pieces, shattered, scattered)

In that lonely, filthy place.

New York, New York

This was one of our first assignments for my Creative Writing class last semester. We were given a short story to read, and we were asked to imitate the story in writing our own. This is my Wharton Imitation piece.

“Amy? Amy Rhoades?” The voice held a tone of shock and amusement, the words carrying over the crowds.

She was a beautiful woman in her early 30's. Her strikingly good looks had mellowed some and her perfect figure had softened somewhat after three children, but she was still able to turn heads, especially when she took some care with her looks. She looked up at the name she hadn't gone by in a decade, her brilliant eyes widening in shock at the familiar face.

“James Anson...I...never thought to see you again...” She tried to keep her voice light and airy, tried to hide the jolt of shock and the momentary ripple of fear she felt.

Her husband Anthony slipped an easy arm around her waist. They had been married for 10 years, and the early jealousy he had often felt when another man greeted his lovely wife had faded like the summer heat. Now, he only felt a touch of amusement at the lengths some would go to try to entice her away. For all of her faults, Amy was unwaveringly loyal to him, as she had proven time and time again. She looked up and granted her husband a brief yet stunning smile, before looking back to her old friend.

He practically drug a young woman behind him, a plain waifish thing Amy could only surmise was his wife. She was not unattractive, but her plain face, bored expression and dowdy dress made her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the glamor and glitz that surrounded them. 'We're in New York City,' Amy thought, 'I don't know how anyone can be bored in this place...' She quickly turned her attention towards the couple, pasting on her best dazzling smile.

“Good lord, Amy...you look exactly the same as you did in College!” She saw his eyes traverse her body, and she felt slightly uncomfortable being encased in the clingy dress she had bought specifically for their outing to the theater. She leaned closer to her husband, using his presence to fend off her own feelings of anxiety at being eyed by him in such a manner.

She pushed aside her fears, and the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. 'Be polite, Amelia. You can hate him, but for gods-sake, be polite! His father is still your parents' Pastor. The last thing you need is a frantic mother, wondering why you are so uncouth.' She shook her head and gave a soft, tingling laugh, her eyes looking up and away from him, admiring the sparkling lights of Broadway, “I suppose the years have been kind to me.”

He leered and his wife gave a little sad sigh, pointedly looking away from Amy and finding some item of great interest in the gutter. She could feel his eyes undressing her, slowly stripping her out of the slinky dress and down to the unmentionables that even Anthony hadn't seen yet. “Yeah, they definitely have been. What have you been doing? I haven't seen you since school. I've asked your parents, but they say you don't come home very often.”

“No, I don't get home much these days. I left town after we graduated, and I did some traveling. That's where I met Anthony...” she smiled and looked up at her husband, feeling her heart constrict in her chest, “This is my husband, Anthony. Anthony, this is James. An old... acquaintance from college.”

James' face wrinkled in a frown and he looked at Amy, “Acquaintance? We were more then that, Amy!” he glanced up at Anthony and smirked, “What she doesn't tell you is that we dated for a year and a half.” James winked, trying to share some manly bonding moment with her husband. His wife looked up sharply, looking at Amy and narrowing her eyes just slightly.

Amy looked away, and her face colored. The perfect evening, her ten year anniversary gift from her husband had quickly turned into a nightmare. She could feel her mind turning, trying desperately to find the words that would make it all end. Her husband, her very own hero in a fine-cut Armani suit, swooped in, his voice holding just the slightest edge that she knew meant business. “No, but Amelia and I never discussed our past relationships overly much. We never had the need to compare our lives together to those who came before.”

James let out a raucous laugh, and she could tell that he had been drinking. Heavily. She shot a furtive glance towards his wife, who only continued to look at her like she was the Whore of Babylon reborn. The wife finally spoke up, her voice little and tinny, “James – we have to get back to the hotel. Mother will want to get some sleep, and the boys have terrorized her long enough.”

James finally tore his eyes away from Amy long enough to give his wife a disdainful look before giving his crows laugh again, “That's my boys for you, always out terrorizing the ladies.” He gave Amy one last lustful wink and then turned with his wife, weaving down the street.

Amy watched after them for a long moment, her eyes filling with tears. Anthony turned her and looked down at her, his nut-brown eyes filled with concern, “Amy, what was all of that?” Reaching forward, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, “Who was that?”

She sighed uncomfortably and looked away, her eyes drifting towards the New York City skyline. She had always longed to come here, to see the lights and to lose herself in the throngs of beautiful people. He rested a hand on her lower back comfortingly, rubbing small circles there. She took a moment to ruminate on how lucky she had been in life – she had landed herself an amazing job, an amazing husband, and three amazing children. The few low points were far outweighed by the bright ones.

Turning back to him, she looked up into his eyes, his face ablaze with the bright lights of Broadway, “That man...we dated, for some time.” She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, gathering her own inner strength. The downside of having a life blessed like hers, is no one thinks you should have your darkness. No one realizes that every bright star has it's heartbreak. Her mind drifted towards her children, her oldest daughter in particular. The star of her life, that brought with her more darkness and pain then most could imagine.

He nodded and frowned slightly, and she knew him well enough to practically read his thoughts. He was trying to puzzle out why she would let herself be weighed down by a man like that. He looked at her with a piercing gaze, “And?”

“He raped me, in a drunken stupor, shortly before we graduated. He always drank too much, I could never get him to stop...I broke up with him the next day but...I had a reputation, and I thought no one would believe me...” As her words trailed off, she felt her husbands rage ignite as he turned, moving to take a step after the man.

She sighed heavily, leaning out to rest a hand on his arm. He looked down at her, his brows knit together in fury. Her voice was soft, but she knew that her words would reach him on the wind, just as she knew how they would cut to his heart. “Anthony...he's Marissa's father.”

Tipping the Velvet

Oh! I remember what I was going to talk about!

One of the books we've been assigned in my Intro to Lit class is Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters. It is an absolutely beautifully written novel based in Victorian England. Here, this tells you a bit about it... WooHoo Wiki!

Anyway. One of the things about this novel is that it does have sex scenes. As far as literary sex scenes go, these are very tame. There is no 'throbbing man meat' to be found anywhere. Well...of course not...it's about a young lesbian...anyway. You get the idea. I've read some very racy books - the Kushiel series is one of my favorites, and I have a healthy love for the Sookie Stackhouse books as well as the Merry Gentry series. Don't judge me, sometimes I just like smut! So yes. The scenes in Tipping the Velvet...not bad at all. They aren't nasty, they aren't overly explicit...they are tame, and pretty sweet (well, for the most part.)

Several of the students in the class have expressed their utter disgust in the book. One student went so far as to say, 'I am so disgusted in the sex scenes in this book that I'm not going to finish reading it.' Unfortunately, many of those who have said they were disgusted or repulsed by these scenes have also made it very clear that their disgust really comes from them being lesbian sex scenes.

Oh Noes! We can't take a literary piece and enjoy it, despite portions that make us feel uncomfortable! We can't stretch our imaginations and our comfort zones to find the amazing themes and the beautifully crafted story!

Earlier today, there was a post by a classmate who made the comment that, 'I find it hard to believe that the strongest connection in a lesbian relationship would be the sex...' He essentially said he hated that Waters made all lesbian relationships seem like they are all about sex.

Hey! I read a book once about a husband who abused his wife. That means that all heterosexual relationships are abusive, right? Uh no. Wrong!

So, I called him on it. One of my comments made mention of the fact that it didn't matter that the characters were lesbians - that this story could have very well been about a heterosexual couple who experienced the same issues. Another classmate asked why she wouldn't have just written about a heterosexual couple instead...

All in all - I've been very amused by my classmates responses to this novel. Some of them loved it, some of them were ambivalent, and a few of them absolutely hated it. I keep trying to ask them why, to poke at their brains and make them actually step back and examine what makes them hate the book. I've gotten a few responses, which have been very interesting. Though now that I think about it, I wonder if I shouldn't leave those thought provoking questions to the professor to ask...

At the end of the day, I highly recommend this novel. It is amazingly well written. The characters are robust and believable, and it made me tear up at the end. All in all - it gets 7 out of 10 stars on April's Scale of Novels.

A snippet of the crazy

Today, for the most part, was a pretty fantastic day.

On Tuesday, we start our Cam/Anarch game. This would be awesome, except for the fact that I was convinced to storytell for the game. EEEP! I have never run a game in the Camarilla. I've never even been an aVST (well, except for Colin's Forsaken game, but that was mostly cause it was in my living room.) Needless to say - I'm a bit terrified by all of it. I don't know the rules as well as I should, and I am worried my stories will all be boring. Good thing I know my players, and I know they'll make their own plot.

Anyway, I got a lot of work done on the game today. News articles, some information about Missoula in the World of Darkness, some plot ideas, and IC justification for game on Tuesday. I don't really feel much better about it...I'm still nervous as hell. Oh well, I'm sure it will be ok, right?

Tomorrow, Colin has an interview at St. Pat's for a position that would be PERFECT for him. Chaplain. Wait, a job where he gets to use his master's degree? NO WAY! YES WAY! It's a phone interview, the first step, and hopefully it will go well. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.

I start training tomorrow afternoon as well. I head down for a few hours of NextGen training. NextGen is the program we'll be using for all of the data entry and chart imaging. While I've never used it, I've seen it in use...it's not hard. Then again, after working in two different hospitals that had VASTLY different systems...they are all similar enough that I can figure it out. I've got two hands, a good brain, and an innate understanding of how medical records stuff WORKS. If I were more passionate about it, I could totally make this my life's work. Alas, I am not...English however, that I am passionate about.

Game tonight was awesome. Pathfinder is always fun. It's like DnD, but better. I totally approve of better.

So that is pretty much what is going on with me. How about you?