The Next Bold Move – Me Vs. The World

I started getting the local newspaper about a month ago.  It was late one night when I ran to the grocery store for one thing.  I don’t remember what it was, but I remember seeing chocolate and deciding that was an acceptable buy and before I knew it my arms were full of crap.  I seem to remember buying toilet paper, so maybe that was what I had actually gone to the store for.  Anyways, I was tired and in a fury to get out of there and into bed when a man politely asked me something.  Now, it is important to note that I’m a sucker.  I’m the person at the mall who gets stopped for jewelry cleaning, mineral make-up, fancy hair straighteners, dead sea scrubs, etc.  They must love seeing a single woman walking in a complete daze (just for verification I probably look stoned, but I do not do drugs).  They grab my arm, wave their hand in front of me, call me beautiful, something that triggers me out of the perpetual daydream I live in.  Here’s the product and here’s the sales pitch.  I’ve gotten better at saying, “No” and being unemployed definitely helps the impulse to buy, but on this particular night when this nice gentleman asked me, “Would you like to save ten dollars on your groceries?” I didn’t have the energy left to say no to his pitch.  Now, for the first time in my life I get the daily paper.

I don’t watch the news.  I used to listen to NPR in my car on my way to and from work and in my office.  Usually by the time I got home I had every news story at least twice.  I never read the paper.  On occasion a headline will show up when I open my Internet browser and I click to read, but lets be honest when it comes to news I’m generally apathetic and lazy.  Now, I get the paper.   At first it was exciting.  I had something waiting for me outside the door every morning.  In a waking dream I crept down the stairs in slippered feet to a freshly printed bundle just waiting for my eyes.  I even read it for a few weeks.  I was up to date in current affairs.  I could follow what was going on in the ridiculous world of politics.  I followed the horrifying story of a local high school runner who went missing.  Maybe this was what ended it all?  Chelsea King was a high school senior, cross-country runner, honors student, probably counting down the days until she graduated and left for college.  She went for a run and never came home.  A few days later they found her body, a true tragedy for San Diego or anywhere for that matter and an awakening for me.  Sometimes I carry a knife when I run.  If I get a creepy feeling or think the sun might beat me on a run.  It’s not convenient, but the thought of getting mawed by a mountain lion isn’t very convenient either.  Now, I have Chelsea to think of when I run on long, empty trails alone.  The thought “that could have been me,” has crossed my mind more than once in the last week. The thought, “If this is was anyone but a young, beautiful, white girl from a moderately wealthy family, bound for success would it be the headline for a week?” has also crossed my mind, but this should not take away the fact that it is a tragedy and it easily could have been me.  When I train I run trails just  a few miles from the same area.  When I run I zone out and more than once have almost stepped on rattle snakes or have had mountain bikers sneak up on me.

Well, it’s Sunday and they have a suspect in custody who was a convicted and registered sex offender.  People are questioning the safety of their children and the effectiveness of sex-offender laws, but life moves on.  Above the headline “The Chelsea King Case:  It can and does, happen here,”  there is a picture of two local police officers saluting a motorcade of police cars on the way to a memorial service for a local sheriff’s deputy who was killed trying to intercept a driver going the wrong way on the interstate.  In the section Our Region there is a picture of three scuba divers looking for clues to another case of a different local girl who went missing over a year ago.  “Pond yields no new clues in Amber Dubois case,” the headline reads and along the side is a column reading “Missing kids is a sad fact of life in county.”

I flip through the headlines reading the first couple paragraphs and not really finishing any article.  By the end of it I’m depressed and scared and remembering why I don’t pay attention to the world around me.  Ignorance is bliss.

Am I better off jumping straight to the comics?  Am I better off skipping the story about what’s going to happen in Iraq now that elections are over and the US had pulled most of the troops out.  Do I want to know about a female Navy Commander who was relieved of duty because of her language and maltreatment to her crew.  Never mind the fact that five other Navy Commanders have already been relieved of duty this year, this is another strike against women in the military.  Way to go, ma’am! Thanks, really appreciate it.  I scan for uplifting stories, but like everyone else my eyes are drawn to the tragedies and tyrannies.  Eventually I make it to the Sunday comics and my world somehow seems balanced again.  It’s only $10/month to get the Union Tribune, but is it worth it?  Am I single-handedly saving the art of printed news or am I just killing trees daily?  Should I call and cancel my subscription and just go back to my bubble of news that only pertains to me?  Decisions, decisions.  Maybe I should keep my subscription until the introductory deal runs out (6 month subscription at $10/month), but I’m on such a tight budget.  Am I in a better mood when I don’t get worked up over a headline about an event in the wold I have no control over?! Does any of this matter anyways?  The world is doomed! Do I want to know that the apocalypse and end of mankind is scheduled for tomorrow! Perhaps the paper is bad for my health, but then I get to Garfield.  Maybe it’s because he’s from Muncie, Indiana and my mom once drove us to Jim Davis’ house in a very stalkeresque manner to show us how close fame and fortune was.  Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of Garfield’s pessimism and Odie’s blissful happiness that seems to mock me the debate of whether or not to keep my subscription to the paper I don’t really read.  Then again, what else would I be doing on a rainy Sunday afternoon?

NOTE:  I recycle the paper.

It’s been a long week without any real accomplishments. Why does it feel like life is just that – day after day with nothing to show for it. My mom used to have a picture in her sewing room that had a very frazzled woman that said,”The hurrier I go the behinder I get.” Maybe I’m rushing too much or maybe I just don’t have any concentration. Like now I’ll start this and think I need to call the doctor to schedule an appointment. Then after I get up I’ll see the pile of laundry on the bed and I”ll think I really need to put my clothes away. After that I’ll come back to the kitchen table and see the newspaper I didn’t read this morning and think I should read about the missing girl in Poway.  I used to run in that alone in that same area where she was running alone.  That could have been me. And so it goes, if you give a Libby a cookie … Today however was one of those days that topped all the other one of those days. I overslept after a bout of insomnia last night. I am going to teach a creative writing class at the Wounded Warrior Battalion and was supposed to start today. Well, I wouldn’t have been that late except for the long line at the gate to the Naval Hospital. Of course I chose the slower moving line of traffic and of course when it was my turn to show my ID I was conveniently selected as the random vehicle inspection of the day or hour or however they randomly choose it. I pulled aside wondering if I had anything suspicious in my car (like the K-Bar I keep under the passenger seat just in case). I tried to find my registration frustrated because I was already late and as I pulled out junk from the glove compartment I realized how many parking tickets I have received in the last six months and haven’t paid for. I finally found my registration, but the overweight and hideously ugly Navy MP needed proof of insurance as well. “I can bring it up on my phone and show you an electronic copy,” I offered as a much more fit and attractive female cop walked up talking about her husband. I searched for the needed document some more even though I know it’s not in my car. “I’m sorry I don’t have it,” I finally surrender to the fat MP.
“I’m sorry you can’t come on base.”
Fuck
“It’s up to you if you want to give her a ticket or just give her a warning,” Pudgy was now telling the cop.
“No, that’s okay she looks like she’s already having a rough enough day,” the cop who suddenly looked like an angel sent from the heaven’s said to the nasty, overweight, ugly pig woman who is a disgrace to the uniform.
Disgusted Pudgy told me to park up by Balboa park in some public parking lot and go in the back gate.  I did as I was told, thankful not to have a ticket on top of being inconvenienced and late.  I walked in the back gate and up to the Wounded Warrior barracks.  We had decided on a time late last week and even though my little intro and talk with the Marines at their Friday formation generated some interest in a writing class I wasn’t sure if it was enough time to add to their schedule.  So later than ever, now frazzled and flustered I stood in the lobby waiting for the section leaders to explain to me why the class had to be postponed for a week.
“We can find some Marines if you want to start today, ma’am,” a tall, handsome sergeant tells me.
“No, that’s okay we can start it next week,” I tell him a bit relieved.
“We emailed you last night to tell you they had a financial seminar that was mandatory to attend today,” the other sergeant tells me.
“Really, it’s fine, but I did not get an email.”
They assure me they sent it and don’t see that I’m more concerned about future correspondence than the debauchery of my day.  I left defeated with the intentions of crawling back into bed and starting this damn day over again.  Of course that didn’t happen and after running errands and getting a little control over my life I’m finally sitting down for the first time all day.  Sigh.  I’m sure tomorrow won’t disappoint me as another chain of events that are unplanned and inconvenient, but hey what can you do?  You can look life in the eyes and growl, “YOU will not defeat me.  Not today anyways!”  And so it goes, a day of days.

Sunday again.  I have a Sunday check in with a group of writers from school and every Sunday we give a brief recap of our week.  The intentions are to keep us honest and on track with our schoolwork and writing and I suppose life in general.  Every Sunday I log onto the site, sigh and think to myself Sunday already?!  Where does the time go?  Seriously?  The apartment has been so quiet all weekend.  Brent is at work and my roommate is at her boyfriend’s apartment and I’m left sitting in a cold, quiet living room alone.  It’s days like these that are both wonderful and disconcerting.  I have learned to enjoy my solitude and rather enjoy stealing quiet hours from life, but after a while you begin to question the choices you’ve made that have led you to this cold, quiet living room.  So much of our lives are dedicated to distracting ourselves from ourselves, but every once in awhile it’s good to sit back and reflect.  Only problem is too much reflection will make you start questioning and second guessing yourself.  Which is what I’m doing right now.  Sigh and sigh again.  Oh Sundays you delight and frighten me.  I’m off to the theater.  I was able to get my hands on a $10 ticket to see Duncan Sheik’s new musical “The Whisper House.”  It is wonderful and tonight is the last showing.  Maybe that will distract me for awhile.  I fear I’m getting restless.

PS.  Starting today I will be updating my blog every Sunday.  This is my new commitment to myself and my writing.  Have to have something to keep you on track even if it’s a make-believe deadline and promise you make to yourself. . .  Until next week, Love Libby.

I’m in a coffee shop with my roommate. We’ve been here the better part of the afternoon – Jill job-searching, me writing. I try to concentrate, but I can’t help but listen to the conversations around me. A man walked in earlier and asked if he could wash the windows. He does not look homeless and in this economy it is hard to assume anything about anyone. While he does not look homeless he does not look like a businessman either. His face has wrinkles set deep in the pale skin. His hair is thin on top. He is dressed in blue sweat pants and a brown long sleeve work shirt. His beard is trimmed and maybe I shouldn’t assume anyone who walks into a business asking to wash windows is homeless. Maybe I shouldn’t assume that if you don’t have a home you don’t shower or wear clean clothes.

About half an hour ago a young woman walked in and sat at the table on the other side of the room, but directly in front of me. I tend to stare at people when I think. It’s not something I do consciously, but something I am conscious that I do. She was dressed in jeans and a frilly, silk dress shirt. She had a name brand purse, but did looked very self-conscious holding it. She looked like she was waiting for someone. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, played with her phone, looked out the window longing not to be alone.

For a good half hour I didn’t really notice her except when I looked up from my computer screen to give my eyes a break, but the window washer came into the main room to perform his janitorial duties. I watch as he tries to make small talk with this woman. He does not seem to be creepy or inappropriate, but I watch as she wiggles in her seat even more uncomfortable. I do not know what they are saying because I am wearing headphones, but her body language makes it very clear that she does not want to be talking to this man.

It makes me think of all the times on city buses or trains, walking to the store or just sitting at the park that strangers have made small talk to me. I wonder if I look this self-conscious waiting for someone or purposefully being alone. Do I act like men who are making a living doing something I seem think I’m too good for are lepers? I can’t say, but I hope this isn’t the world’s way of letting me look in a mirror. I like to think that I am comfortable with myself when I’m alone. I find people at the least entertaining no matter what their circumstance so I hope not to judge when a stranger tries to hold an appropriate conversation. I find sometimes life’s lessons are taught through strange encounters with people who have a seemingly low-impact on your life.

An Asian woman is now sitting at the table. She is working on her computer much more attentive than I and maybe life is again providing me with a mirror showing me that I’ve gotten off track again. I should not be staring at the other patrons at the coffee shop I should be working on my final project for school.

The man has finished cleaning the front windows and has done a stellar job. I get back to work occasionally staring dreamily at the sky.

I woke up at 10:30 today. I had a minor procedure done last week so I’m letting my body rest and recover and apparently that requires 10 hours of sleep (I wish I was kidding, but I’m not.  My body is requiring around 10 hours of sleep right now and who am I to tell it no?). I was up late last night job searching/applying to fill the weekly requirements to receive my unemployment check. In the last year I have applied to at least one (usually more) jobs a week and not received any word back. Now, it could be the bad economy. It could also be that a majority of the jobs are hourly-wage jobs that don’t require a degree or experience and I’m sure the managers look at my resume and assume I’m looking for work until something better comes along.  I can’t say that I blame for not wanting to hire me. I also apply for jobs within education which I have experience in, prior to the MC, but no college credits towards and who would want to hire a bad-ass, haji*-killing, Marine who would probably bring big guns to show and tell and gory war stories?  I have recently given up on the idea of not going back into what I used to do because I hated my actual job in the Marines.  Times are hard and my experience in the last four years is in supply and logistics so the last few months I have applied to supply/logistics management positions.  I digress, this is not about my excuses for still being unemployed, but there are plenty of people who will read this and argue there are plenty of jobs out there if I just try harder.  This intro is my way of saying there really aren’t and it is as much the struggle to find a job as it is the struggle to figure out what I want to do.

So, I look for jobs with no luck and a crappy attitude.  I do my schoolwork, but not diligently and usually at last minute (I find my creativity fairy only visits the week before a project is due).   I talk to my sister and my friend Deb, who might as well be my sister, daily.  I fart around until something is due or a wave of creativity overwhelms me and I can’t escape it.  Like most of my life I get by on bare minimum.  Recently, I recalled a conversation with my friend Bruce, who also manages to skate by doing bare minimum (or at least he did in high school and college, I can’t speak for him now).  He once asked me (forgive me Bruce if you read this I’m just paraphrasing), “Do you ever wonder what would happen if you actually tried?  We go to a high ranked, private school and put minimal effort into our studies and still get good grades.  Do you ever wonder what you could do if you actually tried?  What could you achieve then?”  Now, Bruce wasn’t trying to spark inspiration in me, or at least I don’t think he was.  He was simply stating a rhetorical question for the both of us.  I did wonder from time to time and I did try my best in the classes I cared about – mostly writing.  Funny, how someone can make a comment or statement not trying to change your life, inspire or judge you and yet some years later you still ask yourself the in efforts to both inspire and judge yourself.  Bruce was right, what would happen if I tried harder?  What would be the cost?  What would be the reward?  The reason I went to a small, private school was as much the social life as the lectures.  I was not in a sorority, nor did I party much.  On the Friday or Saturday nights that my friends and I weren’t studying we were at plays, museums, swing dances or sitting around having conversations about music, trips to Africa, semesters in New York, what great things we were going to do for the world when we finally graduated, etc.  I cherish those nights and to this day I think I grew as much as a person as I did intellectually over those four years because of those late night conversations and friendships.  So, would I do it differently if I went back now?  Probably not.  Do I wish I had put more effort into my master’s program?  Only the night before a project is due and I have more work than I have time.  But, I always manage to get things done on time and I find when I spread the work out over time I’m working last minute trying to perfect it anyways.  Would it be better if I had spent less time thinking about it and more time doing it?  Doubtful.

I’ve been unemployed for a while.  I don’t really wish I had tried harder to get a high paying job right after getting off of active duty or networking or staying in the reserves.  Like the late night conversations with my friends in college, I cherish my experiences in Peru, Panama and other adventures this time has afforded me.  American’s are workaholics who dream of one day retiring.  I’d rather spread out the adventures and traveling throughout my youth so I can enjoy it rather than wait until my retirement investments give me a nice cushion to lay my head while I do the things I always wanted to do.  I back this statement up with a conversation overheard at a wine bar on Sunday.  A man was talking about how he used to live and travel through Europe and how he wanted to take his wife someday.  All I could think was what if that someday never comes?  What if you die of a heart attack tomorrow?  What if this, that and the other? But I did not feel it was my place to tell this stranger, “You have to make that someday today, otherwise it will never happen.”  The more of the conversation I heard, the more I realized they were very well off as a byproduct of being successful workaholics.  If work is what makes you tick, then I won’t judge, but I will ask, do you ever wonder what would happen if you took more vacations?  Took time to enjoy the sunset and smell of rain?  If someone was to tell you the exact date you were going to die would you look at things differently?  After all, Americans also think we are going to live forever, we are invincible to heart disease, cancer, car accidents, natural disasters.  These things won’t happen to us so we can plan for elaborate retirements.

For the record I was not at the wine bar alone, I had met a friend there.  Later another friend joined us after getting off work at her second job.  She told us about the trip to Disney Land with kids from either the hospital she works at or the non-profit her mom runs for kids with cancer (I can’t recall who sponsored the trip).  She smiled as she told us about hitting every major ride and how exhausted she was from pushing a wheelchair around.  This friend is a wonderful person with lots of energy and a very positive attitude, but listening to her talk about all the things she had crammed in her weekend and how she had to work in the morning I realized something else about Americans.  We aren’t only workaholics, we’re stillaphobics.  We live in a society where we can’t stand to be still.  Funny, we medicate our children for something that Darwin would probably see as natural evolution from this lifestyle.  We can’t sit down to talk to our loved ones on the phone – we have to call them while we are at the grocery store or driving home from work.  When was the last time you had coffee with a friend where you actually sat down – not grabbed it on the go saying, “Here I’ll walk a couple blocks with you then I have to go.”?  We can’t stand waiting in lines or having dinner without the nightly news on, multitask, multitask, multitask.  Honestly, when was the last time you had an entire afternoon off to do nothing, alone?  When was the last time you sat down on a rainy afternoon and read a book?  I have had an entire year of this, more or less.  There have been plenty of days when I wished I had a job and thought another minute of quiet time might drive me off the edge, but again I cherish this time with myself.  People, including my roommate, have told me, “I’d go crazy without a job.”  And yes, sometimes I felt like I was going crazy.  Like a child in time-out or an inmate in solitary confinement, there’s a chance you might go crazy.  However, you might discover something about yourself or at the least learn to appreciate the stillness, which is not really still at all.  When my friend was talking about how much she had to do this week, which was like every week, I realized she couldn’t sit still if she wanted to.  Between her fulltime job and her second job, diner parties, volunteer work, and everything else, there simply was not room for standing still.

I have another friend who is still an active duty Marine.  She is also a great person filled with lots of energy.  When she moved to her latest duty station she started a Masters program, kung fu classes, continued refereeing softball leagues on top of all the extracurricular activities the Marine Corps requires (like duty).  Both of these women are single and childless, which is how they have so much time and energy**.  They are both happy and do great at whatever they try, not because they are naturals at it, but because they put so much energy into it.  I love them and their friendship, but as I listen to their active lives I realize I used to fill my time with a million and one things to do.  I used to think of sleep as a chore, not a necessity.  I used to be a quietaphobic, a caffeine addict, an ADHD adult who fed off of filling my days with things to keep me busy, busy, busy.  I don’t know why.  Nothing was missing in my life.  I do not want children and I was happy with that lifestyle.  I grew up in a family where it was expected that you take dance classes, play volleyball, march in the band, piano lessons, travel to Powwows, hold a part time job, and more and more and more.  I loved it and I think I’m a better person for it, but things are different now.  I have finally learned to enjoy my quiet time rather than try to fill it with learning something new or perfecting something old.  I don’t dread Sunday evenings because there is nothing to do.  I can do nothing (although I am still very ADHD so this is a challenge in itself).  I can meditate without thinking of all the things I could be doing or rather should be doing, as I used to think.  This year has been hard economically, but to try to take something positive out of those struggles I have learned how to be still.

All this being said, I enjoy learning something new.  I love to run 6, 7, 8 miles a day.  I like my active lifestyle.  All I’m saying is now I enjoy taking my time, standing still while the world turns, journaling about the sound of thunderstorms and pitter-patter of rain.  I have learned that taking time for myself is as necessary as filling my calendar with things to distract myself from myself.  So, Bruce, what would have happened if I had tried harder?  Maybe I could have saved the world.  All I know is right now, as I write this, I’m happy standing still.
*1. Yes I did just footnote my blog and 2. I do not use the term “haji” unless mocking those who do. It is a derogatory term some American Servicemembers call Iraqi’s in order to dehumanize the men and women we have been trained to see as our enemy.

** This is not passing judgment on single, childless women or saying that they fill their time with extracurricular activities to fill their lives because they are single and childless.  There are plenty of women in this world of childbearing age who are happy being single with no desire to have children.

I’m working away at my last semester of school.  I seriously doubt it will be my last semester ever, but for my MFA this is it.  By working away I really mean procrastinating and farting around when I should be diligently working.  The problem is I don’t know if I even want to finish anymore.

During some of this ‘farting around’ time I find myself Facebook stalking friends and more often acquaintances.  People I met at work or a bar once upon a time.  The young woman who took over my job when I left the Marine Corps.  A woman I met during my travels.  Midshipmen who I trained at Quantico who are now officers in the fleet.  The funny thing about Facebook pictures is nobody posts pictures of themselves on a bad day or mundane day.  It’s more like a place to brag about what you are doing or where you were.  It’s a memorial of how fun your life was at some point and how you have it all put together.  Naturally, I get jealous when I see people who have traveled more than I have (which is most people).  I am conceited when I see that someone from high school has gained weight.  I feel free when I look at old classmates families.  More often than any of that I look through the pictures of people laughing, smiling, traveling, at job promotions, family pics, kissing couples, babies crying and I ask myself is this what I am supposed to want? What is wrong with me that I don’t want to get married to a nice man with a good career, work on my own career, have children, move into a bigger house, take vacations to fancy resorts, blah blah blah.  It sounds nice.  It really does and part of me is incredibly jealous of the people who live this happy dream because it is what they want.   I click through more pictures wondering if they are really happy or live the life that was expected of them and are therefore happy because they fulfilled their end of the contract.

I look through pictures of Marines and Sailors in Iraq and Afghanistan and ask myself should I still be there?  Did I quit?  Is this what I was meant to do? Like most things in my life I got bored, now I wonder if I gave up to easily?  Did I quit before the big pay off?  Why couldn’t I adjust to the military lifestyle?  Why couldn’t I just give up some of my innate stubbornness and force myself to conform for 8 hours a day?

I skip to the page of another “Friend” and another and another.  I look at their happy profiles and ask myself what do you want, Libby?  What do you want to do with your life now? I don’t know.  I simply do not know.  Is it really as simple as people seem to make it on their profiles.  Is my world full of random Facebook acquaintances who are really happy with their life?  Am I just the odd man out who can’t differentiate between what I want, what I’m supposed to want, what I’m expected to do, what I’m meant to do and what I’m doing.  Shouldn’t these things all line up?

I haven’t had a job for a year now.  Unemployment isn’t going to last forever and the job search has been fruitless.  What happens when the stimulus extensions run out?  What happens in June when I won’t be able to use school as an excuse for my immature aspirations.  I emailed some people about going to Afghanistan.  If I follow through with that it will postpone figuring things out for at least another 8 months plus post-deployment vacation time.  Then what?

And in the meantime I post pictures from birthday parties, road trips, sunsets, finishing lines, dinner parties, etc.  I wonder if someone I met once at some point in time is looking through my photos with the absurd belief that I have it all figured out and they’re wrong.  Is this what Facebook has done to our culture – created an emotional masquerade hiding our insecurities and failures as well as our greatest ambitions and hopes?  Is it uniting us or creating a cyberworld for us to hide?

Like Christmas I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Eve.  I don’t get the purpose of going out getting drunk and kissing whoever is around (although this year I am happy to be kissing a very special somebody).  Sure it’s only once a year and it’s a big deal because it’s the end of a decade (although wouldn’t next year be the end of the decade?) and all that, but is tomorrow any different because you write down a different date?  It’s not the celebration of the New Year that bothers me so much as people’s idea that somehow because it is a new year tomorrow everything is going to be different.  I’m pretty sure that as rational adults we all realize there is no such thing as Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Bogey Man, Superman, etc.  So why do we believe in the New Year Fairy?  Some magical entity that will sprinkle glittery dust on our lives and poof everything is all right.  It sounds nice and I’d like to believe this, but I simply cannot.  I do not make new years resolutions to loose weight, quite bad habits, go for some goal that I’ve thought about for months, but did not have the ambition to go after.  I do not need a special day of the year to get drunk and party only to sleep all day tomorrow, wake up hungover and realize that I’m not going to do any of these things just because it is a new year.  The only tradition I can appreciate on New Years Eve is reflection and therefore instead of making a list of things that I can change in my life on ANY given day I will reflect on the past year of my life.
A year ago I was leaving the Marine Corps.  My office was packed.  My apartment was packed.  My life was packed in neat boxes locked up in a storage unit right outside of base.  I left for Central and South Florida on January 1st then ventured on to Peru.  I saw the Everglades, the rainforest, The Amazon, Machu Picchu,  cloud forest, the Panama Canal, and much more.  I came back and traveled around California tasting wine and visiting friends and family.  I spent a week packing up my dear friend, Beth, in Yuma and helped her leave the Marine Corps.  I went to Salvation Mountain in the middle of the desert.  I ran more miles than I want to add up.  I competed in and finished the NYC marathon.  I fell in love.  I laughed until I cried.  I cried until I laughed.  I held my newest nephew (2 weeks old at the time).  I hugged my oldest nephew.  I saw friends I haven’t seen in 5 years and picked up exactly where we left off.  I lost friends, made new friends, published essays, wrote more essays, finished a semester of school, drank Guinness on a one-to-one ratio to miles I ran.  I stressed about money.  I spent money frivolously.  I slept more than I have since I was a kid.  I slept on more couches than I did beds.  I mad mistakes.  I said I was sorry.  I finished goals.  I abandoned some dreams.  I missed someone so much it hurts to think about now.  I loved someone so much I can’t even write the words to express it.  I traveled to another hemisphere and I found my way home.  I learned things about myself I never expected.  I found out things about myself I hate and still try to forgive.  It was one hell of a year.

In the musical Rent there is a song titled “Seasons of Love.”  In this song the cast sing about how you measure the life in a year.  They sing that there are five-hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes in a year.  In the novel and movie, Fight Club, the narrator says, “This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.”  A couple years ago I saw the writer of Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk, and asked him why he writes.  He told me, “I’m going to die.  My friends are going to die, but in my stories they live on.”  He is right and everyday we add to our own stories no matter what four numbers are at the end of the date.  So, I don’t hope that 2010 will be any better than 2009 (a pretty fucking phenomenal year).  I hope that that my health remains, that I get to see my family more often and most importantly that I have the courage to make my dreams and goals happen on any day of the year rather than waiting another 525,600 minutes to make resolutions.  On one final note of 2009, in honor of the late Kurt Vonnegut I hope in 2010 anyone who reads this will take this advice:  “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘if this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’ “  Why not wait until the end of next year to realize everything you want, need or have is all within your grasp.

2010 you have some high expectations to live up to my friend. . . I only hope I find it in myself to make it all happen!  To infinity and beyond. . .

Whenever someone has a rough day, or is waiting for good or bad news or for any other reason someone might suffer anxiety we are conditioned to say “Things will work out.”  So I’m holding my breath trying to wait until Monday, or such and such are back in their office after a holiday break and a lot of other reasons my life is basically on hold and everyone says to me, “It’ll all work out.”  What if it doesn’t?  What if things are out of our control and there is nothing we can do about it?  What do you say when all that is left is to admit defeat?  Sometimes it doesn’t just conveniently work out … oh wait, for those with good attitudes who work hard everything will unfold like the Full House Christmas special.  Bust out the hot cocoa friends and relax knowing it will work out.  For those of us who apparently have sinned in a former life I ask you when do you admit defeat?  At what point do people stop telling you it will work out and to get over it and move on?  How long should one hold their breath in hopes that there’s an off chance that things might actually go well for you for once?  I’m running out of oxygen.  I don’t know how much more longer I can hold my breath.  I’m drowning and what if things simply don’t work out?  Then what?

Buddha was correct.  Life is suffering.  How we handle the suffering through our actions, not our attitudes is what will change the world.  In my adult lifetime I have watched one leader’s incompetency lead the American people to hold their breath in hope for for the next leader.  Obama was elected on the campaign slogan of “Hope.”  Now, America has taken that hope and turned it into the attitude that Obama can change the world.  Some people are pleased with his actions some are not, but the common people are not stepping up to the plate to do anything about it either way.  My generation is known for their apathy.  We have taken the tradition of letting the government take care of things and as long as we vote we have done our part.  Our apathy is forcing us to give up basic civil rights like health care and the freedom to assemble.  Our laziness is letting this happen.  Someday when we have given up all the freedoms that our country was founded on we will line up along Main Street and point our fingers at the government once again.  This time we will blame the new leaders for riding on our wave of hope and destroying us.  None of us will see that it was our lazy attitude, our lackadaisical approach to politics, our inability to not eat McDonalds and buy crap at Wal-Mart just to buy crap at Wal-Mart that forced our government to change our health care, bail out the common man, take away our constitutional freedoms because we did not want the responsibility that came with these freedoms.  The world is changing and rather than be blindly be a part of it I recommend you educate yourself, fight for our freedoms, take on the responsibility that they entail and have hope in yourself rather than someone else to do your part in making the world a better place.

Life is suffering.

Buddha

This morning I woke up and checked my email like I do every morning.  There was an email from my older brother, who rarely emails me, with the subject “reminder.”  I was curious what I had apparently forgotten and opened it up to this message:

Be the change you want to see in the world.-Gandhi

Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path…and leave a trail.-Thoreau

If you wake up convinced your going to have a bad day…you’ll never disappoint yourself. Just a reminder as we go into the holiday season. You can’t change what the world throws at you; you can only change your attitude. Some people will have things much easier than you, other will have it much worse…but ultimately you are accountable for how you rise up and face each challenge despite how it ranks in the grand scheme of things.

Its how normal everyday people can go charging into the face of danger and staggering adversity with a smile, and how a one person moves a mountain and triumphs against all odds. Are they just that much more gifted, lucky, blessed?

It is attitude, and that’s one thing you have 100% control over. So take a deep breath, and no matter how much it hurts the muscles, force a smile and give thanks for the ability that even though we can’t necessarily control our own destiny; we can control how we feel about it.

Now, I normally hate forwards of this nature anyways, but this particular message on this particular day particularly pissed me off.

First off – Consumerism.  I hate the holiday season.  It brings out the best in some people and the worst in all people.  Everyone rushes to the stores to fight over cheap plastic toys made in China and dipped in lead paint.  Too often I see people who are living outside of their means and trying to keep up with the Joneses by buying crap that they don’t need, don’t want and are purchasing merely because it is marketed so that they think the ignorant consumer thinks he/she is getting a good deal.  And we wonder how we wound up in such an economic crisis?!  It is disgusting.  I work my ass off to pay off my school loans while these same slobbering pigs take out multiple credit cards to buy shit at Wal-Mart and then claim bankruptcy and America will bail them out because they are the hard workers that live on Main Street.  Maybe there’s something to the work ethic of those who made it to Wall Street and manage to keep themselves out of the crazy credit card debt that seems to plague Main Street.

Secondly, I can’t afford to go home for the holidays.  Now, this doesn’t mean I’d travel if I could afford it because traveling over the holidays is about as enjoyable as getting a Brazilian bikini wax.  We live in a society where people are self absorbed.  We don’t help the old lady get down the cramped airplane aisle, we push her out of the way while cussing her out for being slow.  I have people I spend my holidays with even though I’d rather sit at home alone watching movies that represent the wonderful human spirit that we celebrate this time of year.  I think Wall-E is appropriate.

Thirdly, I’m not religious.  The holidays hold no value to me whatsoever except a day off work.  Only I no longer work so it’s a day like any other day with no significance at all.

Fourth, Gluttony.  I try to eat healthy.  However, I eat an apple a day to feed my stomach as much as I do to feed my absolute fear of gaining weight.  I wouldn’t call 911 on me for any eating disorders yet, but the holiday smorgasbords of sugar and fat give me panic attacks like they give Uncle Lardo heart failure.

So back to my big brother’s email.  Fuck holiday spirit.  If we all had holiday spirit would we need to forward emails about keeping basic manners during this time of year in the first place?

Now, on to attitude. I try to look for the silver lining in life.  I really do try.  I think it’s my genuine effort to find the silver lining that in the end fails me.  The world loves to squish the dreams of the few true optimists there are left.

Oh attitude.  Like in Luke’s email you decide how your day is going to go when you wake up.  I woke up yesterday excited to start the day.  I had finally finished my thesis paper for grad school and was getting ready to start my final semester.  It’s a two year program and it’s already taken me two and a half years to get this far because of a deployment to Iraq and trip to South America.  I was excited to prepare for my last semester that starts in a week.  However, life has that funny way of ruining your day.  For the last two and a half years of my life every single semester starts like this:

Registrar’s office:  Dear MFA student, you are not registered or enrolled in classes because you haven’t paid.

Libby to Registrar’s office:  Dear school, I can’t pay until you send the VA my registration information so I can get GI Bill money to pay my tuition.

Every semester.  So, I have learned to anticipate this.  The school has not.  Just over a week before classes start I find myself in the same conundrum only this time it is the Post 9/11 GI Bill.  In the school’s defense the VA has had a plethora of problems since it was activated the new bill last fall.  So, it might not be the school or my fault, but fault of the VA.  But this is silly, pointing the finger gets us nothing in life except the culprit of the stinky fart.  This morning I decided to move on in life.  I am not holding my breath that things will or won’t work out.  I don’t care.  I could finish my degree for the prestige that having a masters degree would get me, but if I don’t I still have the tools if not the qualifying documentation. In short I am completely defeated today.  Things are out of my power to change so fuck it.  I just don’t care anymore.  I will move forward expecting my day to progressively get worse.  And so fate has killed the last living optimist.

I grew up in a world of rainbows and butterflies.  My parents looked on the brighter side of life, even if the brighter side was a bit abstract.  When things went to hell my dad would always say, “Everyday we take a bite out of life’s shit sandwich.  Some days it’s a little bite and some days it’s the whole damn sandwich.”  Truer words had never been spoken until my sister recently informed me that we are the people lined up at the all you can eat shit buffet.

I can’t recall a particular event that led the rest of my family to believe that life is suffering and changing your attitude only prolongs the suffering until the day you realize it really is just suffering and  you have been living a facade.  However, until now I kept on believing things would indeed one day get better.  I went through the Marine Corps with this blind hope.  I took on each school and duty station with the sincere belief that things would work out now.  They had to, there’s no way things could possibly get worse!  Unfortunately I left the Marine Corps with no respect for most of the men and women I served alongside with and a lot of respect for the few honest men and women who put up with the bull shit so they can proudly wear the uniform.

Each unit I went my fellow servicemen got progressively more self-centered, more vindictive and all in all simply bad people.  I left because I wanted to hold onto what little hope I still had in the human race.  To me a group of men and women who take the same oath to defend our constitution should work together, but 99% of them waged war within the unit rather than our perceived enemy.  And even more unfortunate 99% of them teamed together to wage war against those who didn’t drink their kool-aid brewed of discontent.

I left and yet things aren’t getting any better.  I watch war unfold on CNN with the constant fear that I will be called back.  I will honor my commitment to the Corps and proudly serve against my reservations I now have about the wars if this happens.  I try to have a good attitude.  I try to believe in the good of the human race, but apathy, laziness, incompetency of my fellow Americans make this hard.  I watch as the government slowly seizes our constitutional rights and nobody does anything about it because it is easier not to fight.  I try to look on the bright side of life because going through life knowing things will get worse with no hope at all will make you bitter and jaded – like my older sister.  However, it was recently (just this morning) I realized why I am the last living optimist and my sister was the second to last.  It has nothing to do with the events of your life or the attitude you take. It has to do with where your path is to begin with.

Like my experiences in the Marine Corps I go through life with the absolute blind faith that things could be better.  I have spent my whole life thinking that my actions could lead me to this better world where I could live a better life.  People with better attitudes just think their mindset can lead them down a sunnier path.  I think it’s the path itself that is in the wrong location.  My path is stuck in monsoon season.  No matter how sunshiny I go through life it will always rain.  My only hope is to change my path altogether.  This is going to be difficult.  Everyone else lives in normal clients where they get rainstorms only on occasion and can make it through holding onto the hope that there might be a rainbow afterwards if they hold their heads up high.  They don’t have the difficult challenge of moving their path.

I can change my attitude but it would merely be a temporary fix.  The fact that after year after year of living in a monsoon I still dumbly believe that it can get better makes me the last living optimist.  Unfortunately, lately it seems my monsoon is teaming up with tsunami’s and I can’t even see the path anymore.  My optimism isn’t lost, it’s drowning.  But I have a responsibility.  I have to find a way to move my path and lead others to do the same.  Live by example.  Changing my attitude would do little compared to changing my actions.  So I move on from Antioch and the VA defeated, but this is just one battle.  There are many more to fight.  To loose.  To win.  Instead of going into this holiday season with the perceived good attitude full of holiday cheer I will live the whole year looking for opportunities to help those in need.  I will not wait to celebrate the birth of Christ to pass on good will towards men.  I will carry it throughout the year.  On days that I am down I will look towards the realists, not the optimists to help pull me out of the flood and I will do my duty to the world as the last living optimists to believe this world can be better and it will take more than merely a good attitude to make that happen.

I’ve been talking to my older sister on the phone recently and both of us have been suffering from unexplainable depression and anxiety.  I think it’s not as unexplainable as it is just that time of year again.  I could include statistics about seasonal depression, but that’s boring.  Truth is Christmas and all the holiday cheer is the most paralyzing depressive time of the year.  I realize that this makes me about as weird as aliens from Mars, but it’s true.  Take into account the factors:

Winter – I don’t mind the cold air.  Cold air has a way of waking you up and making you feel more alive.  What I do mind is the short days.  Whoever created daylight savings enjoys watching people suffer.  It makes the transition of the shorter days even more intense and miserable.  Indiana never recognized daylight savings time until a few years ago, so I can speak from the unique perspective of both sides.  When you don’t practice daylight savings time the shortening of days seems much more natural – trust me.

Christmas – Sure, with thanks to marketing it has lost all religious values, but if you don’t believe in Santa or Jesus is there really a reason to celebrate other than good deals at the mall?  Seriously.  If you are an unemployed atheist how much fun can the Christmas spirit really be?!

New Years – I have personal reasons to hate New Years Eve that I won’t go into detail about on here, but think about it – New Years.  It’s the whole glass empty/full conundrum.  For me the glass is always empty on New Year’s Eve.  Sure you can look at it with all the hope and promise of what next year might bring, but I see the all the failure, disappointment and disillusionment of last year.  I am a firm believer that you make your own destiny, but at the same time that destiny is limited by the powers that be.  Some people are handed a short straw at birth and no many how many new years and resolutions and dreams and wishes pass  – some things are just not meant to be.  So, New Years to me represents all the disappointments of the year that passed and putting all my faith and hope into another 365 days seems unreasonable and (in words of my high school band director, Dave Humbert) about as intelligent as running your car into a tree, putting the car in reverse, backing up, putting it back in drive and hitting the tree over and over and over again.

Then the new year hits. . . all the merry merry joy and there are no more significant holidays for awhile (even counting Valentines day  -  you have to wait 2 months).  There is always Groundhog’s Day (my personal favorite holiday) in which all our faith in weather is put into a rodent. This day is more religiously enlightening to me than Christmas.

So, ’tis the mother fucking season for depression, anxiety attacks, not to mention the alcohol consumption increase due to family gatherings (my family excluded in this holiday tradition).  Cheers to fighting people at the mall for a spot in line for the hot holiday item.  Accidents on black ice and white snow that turns into black slush in the colder parts of the country.

Thank you Jesus for being born, cheers to the Christians who spread across the world like the black plague telling of your goodness in the form of rape, murder, torture and terrorism, and a special cheers to my big sister Megan who is the only pessimist who thinks the world is shittier than I do.  Merry Christmas and a shitty new year!

Dear Friends and Family,

My nephew, Teed Finch, has suffered from Epilepsy since he was a little boy.  Teed wasn’t able to go to fireworks on the Fourth of July, play certain video games or participate in other normal kid activities because the constant fear that it could cause a seizure.  A few years ago Teed had two surgeries to remove a small piece of brain tissue in order to hopefully stop or at least prevent seizures from occurring so often.  The surgery was successful.  Teed has been seizure free since April 2007.  However, he is not cured.  He still takes daily medications with a variety of side effects and cannot participate in various activities that have caused seizures in the past.

Prior to leaving for the Marine Corps I worked at a shelter for handicapped children.  Some of these children also suffered from epilepsy.  People living with epilepsy live seemingly normal lives, but what you and I don’t see is their constant fear that a siren or light might be the right combination to cause a seizure.  We don’t go through life afraid of taking a shower in an empty house, going to an amusement park, school, the grocery store, even driving because any moment we could have a grand or petit mal seizure.  This condition is not terminal, but it is a condition over 3 million Americans have to live with.

So, why am I telling you this?  Because when we see a light pink product we buy it because we know a certain amount of proceeds goes to breast cancer research.  At marathons and triathalons anyone in a purple shirt is raising money for Team in Training for cancer research.  The Nike’s women’s marathon in San Francisco expects to raise over 40 million dollars in 4 years for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  While these are great events to promote awareness and raise money for research, there is little awareness and support for research when it comes to epilepsy.  On top of volunteer fundraisers the government spends $30 billion on medical research at the National Institutes of Health, but only ½ of 1% is spent on epilepsy research.

I’m not asking for a donation.  I’m not asking for your spare change at the grocery store.  I’m asking that you take a few minutes of your day to read the email below from the Epilepsy Foundation and go to the link.  It will take you to their site where you can send a prewritten email to your state representatives.  We elected these men and women to represent us and our needs.  Maybe you don’t know a child or loved one who has suffered from seizures.  You have never held a terrified seven year old in your arms who knows he is about to have a seizure because his legs went numb and there is nothing you can do for him except hold him.  This is not a reason to ignore the problem.  Ten percent of the American population will experience a seizure in their lifetime and Approximately 200,000 new cases of seizures and epilepsy occur each year.  This problem is not going away on it’s own and while we race for a cure to cancer and AIDS, can’t we race to a cure to epilepsy as well?  Please, it only takes a few minutes of your day to send an email asking a larger portion of the money already set aside for research to go towards finding better treatments or even a cure for epilepsy.  Take action and then forward this email on to make a difference in the lives of those who suffer from epilepsy!  Thank you for your time.

Link to  Online Action Center

Semper Fi,

Lisbeth Prifogle
— On Mon, 11/23/09, Epilepsy Foundation <jlamountain@efa.org> wrote:

From: Epilepsy Foundation <jlamountain@efa.org>
Subject: 1,439 Emails to Congress…Have You Taken Action Yet?
To: lisbeth_prifogle@yahoo.com
Date: Monday, November 23, 2009, 11:50 AM

Breathe.  Just breath Libby. This sounds stupid, but when you are having a panic attack for no reason other than you don’t know what to wear and your clothes are strewn around your roommate’s living room because you are sharing a 1-bedroom apartment in order to have cheap rent, breathing is no longer an involuntary motion.  Just breathe damnit.  I have a paper to revise for school that is extremely overdue at this point and in need of yet another revision, but I call my sister, Megan, who says, “I know what you’re going through.  They do just come out of nowhere and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”  I talk myself through this ridiculous panic attack with her on the other end of the phone just listening.  Her babies are already asleep and she should probably be resting before starting another week, but she quietly listens to me chatter on about breathing.

What is most frustrating is the timing of this attack.  For once in my life everything is going well.  So why am I having a panic attack?  I don’t know.  I have felt it coming on or at least that would explain my ridiculous behavior lately. Ever since I got back from my trip to NYC and home I haven’t felt myself.  I blame it on culture shock.  I blame it on being around people for 3 weeks straight with no down time to be by myself.  Both of these reasons are true, but I think something else is bothering me and I just don’t know what.  Was it what the psychic said?  She told me I was going to move?  Now, I’m thinking about moving when I wasn’t before.  I don’t know where to go or what to do.  I haven’t been able to sleep and I blame the three hour time difference I’m trying to get used to but my body refuses.  I can’t get rid of this horrible nagging feeling that something is going to happen.  I can’t say good or bad.  Or to whom -  me, my family, friends, the world.  I just don’t know.  This, of course, is silly.  Of course something is going to happen.  Things happen everyday.  So what is wrong with me?  Have I finally cracked?  Am I just anxious to finally finish the paperwork that stopped me from continuing school last semester?  Or is it something as simple as being homesick?  I started downloading and listening to different broadway soundtracks that my sister and I always listen to and sing along with  when I’m home.  This time we didn’t really do much singing.  I guess we just never thought of it.  I was home for 10 days, but it felt like just a few afternoons.

It seems silly to be homesick now.  I haven’t lived in the same house as my family for nine years.  I haven’t lived in the same state for four.  Why on earth would I be homesick now?  Especially after spending ten days with them only to realize that I’m much more sane when half the United States are between us.  Don’t get me wrong – I love my family and I talk to my sister more than once a day (sometimes ALL day, literally over ten hours at a time!), but I’m happier in California.  I have a life out here.  I have friends and a boyfriend.  Perhaps it was all the questions what are you doing?  when are you going to come visit again?  what are you going to do after school?  are you going to go back into the Marine Corps?

I’m 28 years old now and when I go home my childhood friends are gone.  I keep in touch with Cara, but even that is difficult since her parents moved and she has a two year old and one on the way.  I have a new baby nephew now.  My other nephew is almost as tall as I am and my niece is almost 8.  My baby sister has a boyfriend and my little brother officially moved into his own apartment.  What happened and where was I when it did?  Leaving this time was harder than it has ever been before and I can’t figure out why?  I like my life in California, but I am sitting in our living room that looks like a Libby-nado hit having a panic attack so bad that I can’t breathe and all I can come up with is that I’m homesick more now than ever for no reason at all other than I miss home even if it has been ten years since I lived there and I have a life here.  I am tired of missing things and coming back this time I realized it was by choice.  I couldn’t blame it on school or the Marine Corps or anything other than I like living here rather than Indiana.  I wish I could split myself in two so I could be part of both worlds.  Well, I guess until I can figure out how to clone myself I’ll just have to live through panic attacks until I figure out what is next.

As I was leaving the house yesterday Jerry Springer happened to be on television even though nobody was watching.  I stopped long enough to catch the topic.  There was a stripper dancing scantily clad as the woman being interviewed was bragging that she was a single mom, a student and a stripper.  Later when I was logging on to facebook there was an animation of two dancing women with an advertisement “Obama is sending Mom’s back to school.”  Within the same week California college students protested the raise in tuition prices.  This is the same time that the new government health care bill is being beaten to death in DC.  What the hell happened to America?
A few weeks ago I was in New York City.  I used to live in NYC so I was there to visit and run the marathon, not necessarily to sight-see.  Still it is impossible to go somewhere and not sight-see some, if nothing else you see your favorite places.  The one place that I love seeing over and over again is the Statue of Liberty.  It represents the dreams that America was built on:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door

We all have stories of how our ancestors struggled – whether it was the Native Americans we stole land from and spread disease to or how our parents or great great great great grandparents crossed a sea, fled a country, did whatever so WE could have a better life.  My generation is reigned by apathy.  We don’t vote.  We don’t care that our freedoms and rights are being taken away in between lines of bills and acts that we don’t read through because we’re too busy playing video games or drinking beer and watching football.  We feel entitled to free educations and healthcare because we’ve never had to work for anything.  Technology is making life easier and kids fatter.  It’s sad.  Really I watch knowing there is little I can do because I am part of this generation.  Why stand against the current when you know nobody else will stand with you?  Why wage war when you know it’s a battle you can’t win?   These days we praise women for getting knocked up and trying to raise their kid on their own, but nobody praises me for being responsible and NOT getting knocked up.  Nobody gives me a break on my school loans because I only have a couple thousand dollars in credit card debt.  I don’t get bailed out because I didn’t buy a house I couldn’t afford.  In the animal kingdom the weakest of a group gets weeded out by natural consequences, yet we continue to bail people out.  Now, we have a culture of American’s who take and take and take and expect more from the government.  The few who live responsible lives are being punished for others irresponsibility.  It’s not going to end with government health care these programs perpetuate the program.  I’m being punished for living a healthy lifestyle because I don’t weigh three times my proper body weight.  It’s like feeding a tape worm.  The problem is only going to keep growing.

When did the American dream go from “land of oppurtunity for those who are willing to work for it” to “land of entitlement for those who are willing to give up freedom for government payouts.”  Since when did we stop dreaming for a better life and just expect it.  When did we stop working towards a better life and start sitting on the couch waiting for a government representative to stop by and hand it to us on a silver platter?  Seriously America.  Probably those who are reading this are still part of the America that works hard for what they have, so it’s time that those of you who work for what you have to stand up and fight for your rights.  Fight for your freedoms.  Fight for a reward for living as an upstanding citizen rather than being punished for it.  If you don’t stand up for it nobody will and if you don’t exercise your freedoms and rights they will be taken away.

I’m home.  Not the place I currently live, but home.  My parents house.  Unfortunately, not the house I grew up in, but the house that is now called “home.”  These visits start out very exciting, go through a period of relaxation and then mixed anxiety and guilt about having to leave again.  I love it and I hate it.  I know if I stayed I’d go insane, but at the same time it’s so hard to leave and the guilt of missing everyone.  Really you just can’t win.  I forgot what cold is like.  It’s only November, but I think these nights are the coldest of the whole year, because they seem so sudden and out of place.  The temperatures have been warm enough lately to not feel like winter, but there is a looming chill in the air reminding you it’s coming.  The leaves have almost all fallen off except for a few stubborn pieces.  The farmers took down the last bit of corn this week so the fields are bare.  That was the last event of fall.  Now, the wind blows over the land with nothing to slow it down.  The temperature dropped a few more degrees, the air is a little damp and the clouds are gloomy and overcast.  I will go back to San Diego in a few days where it will remain sunny all year, even on the chillier days, but For now I’m enjoying my parent’s warm house on a cold Indiana night thankful for heat and thick blankets, hot coffee and good conversation, school days and hectic nights.  It’s nice to be with a family again, even though like the corn I know I’ll be gone soon enough.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

I woke up at 9 today. Earlier than days I spend the night at my boyfriend’s house, but much later than I used to sleep. I used to be a morning person, but Brent work’s second and third shift and I don’t work so my schedule now mimics his. We stay up until 3 or 4 AM and sleep until noon. I would say 9 was early, but I fell asleep around 10 last night after sleeping until noon. So, needless to say I have hibernated the last 24 hours – sleeping more hours than I was actually awake. I go through periods of hibernating and periods of sleeplessness. This usually coincides with my mood: When I’m depressed I sleep, when I’m in the middle of a project I don’t sleep until it’s done, telling myself you can sleep when you’re dead! The only person in the world who truly gets this is my older sister. She is also the only other person in the world who loves sleeping more than I do. “Megan-Van-Winkle,” she calls herself saying, “I could sleep for twenty lifetimes.”

After sleeping almost 11 hours straight I called her to brag, “I slept so much yesterday!” I also called because she is the only other person who would get why I have slept so much. You see I recently finished something I have been obsessed with for a month or more. It can happen with epic novels or a project or school (I know graduation should be a happy time in life, but I get really sad after I graduate). In this case it was Battlestar Galactica (The newer series that came out in the last ten years). I have obsessed over the series. Postponing runs for days on end, putting off schoolwork, neglecting basic needs like showering and eating. My excuse to myself was the irrational thought that if I did these other things the human race could be wiped out while I was gone. Clearly, my watching affected the outcome of the battles. I finally finished it over the weekend. Brent was disappointed over the ending, but I think I was more upset over the fact that it was over. Finished. Done. No more. The end. What now? It’s like having a close friend move away – you can visit them by watching an episode, but they are gone. I felt the same way when I finished reading Lord of the Rings, when I finished watching the first three seasons of Lost while I was in Iraq and every time I finish rereading The Alchemist. It’s over. It’s done. It’s time to move on. But how?

My older sister, Megan, of course, understood this immediately. She compared it to her obsession with the Twilight series and American Idol last season. “It’s like you are lost and don’t know what to do with your time now,” she says from across the country. She suggests books to read or a new TV series to watch, but I do not want suggestions I want to mourn this end. Yes it was just a TV show, but to someone with a super-over-active-imagination it is so much more – it was my dream-world, my escape, to me it was as real as Santa Claus is to children.

Megan suggests a book, but I tell her, “No I don’t feel like an uplifting book right now.” She suggests I watch Glee, but I don’t have cable, any kind of reception or the internet so I have no way of watching it (except at a coffee-shop with free wi-fi).

She suggests another book, but at my disinterest says, “I know what you are going through. I’ll start ten books after an obsession ends and not finish a single one of them. It’s not like they are bad, they’re just not whatever I was obsessing over. And then there’s the fear of starting an obsession knowing it is going to end.”

Is it so hard to believe? Does someone who breaks up or looses someone close to them not hesitate to form relationships with people afterwards? Is it so hard to believe that after one obsession ends I would hesitate to start the process over knowing the inevitable outcome?

I tend to not finish books a lot for this reason. It can be an incredible book or a horrible book that is entertaining and either way I’ll set it down and never finish the damn thing. Sometimes it is because something shiny distracts me. More often it is because I don’t want it to end. If you never watch the season finale, or read that final chapter then it is always there to finish someday. Ironically, Admiral Adama discusses this reasoning in one of the episodes. He gives President Roslin a book to read during her cancer treatments and tells her he’s never read past a certain part. He doesn’t want it to end so he just rereads the same part over and over again. For people like us curiosity would kill much more than just a stupid cat.

If you are one of those people who likes to finish things with a clean cut end, then you will probably find us as strange as we find you. Brent doesn’t get this about me. He gave me a book to read in June and I have about a 100 pages left to read. I got distracted with school and then started a Robert Heinlein book then got distracted from it and now I can’t seem to remember where I was in either book. I tried to explain that the best books I don’t want to end and therefore don’t finish them, but he gave me his, “you’re on crack and I can’t believe you’re my girlfriend” look and we let it drop. I want to finish the book he gave me, I do! Yet, I don’t know if I can.

It’s hard for me to accept when something is over. It’s no different than school, or holidays, or a relationship. I get sad and depressed and don’t know what to do to fill the free time I now have. There is a void in my day that I now have to fill with something else. Is it that hard to believe when we live in a society that is constantly engaged and entertained? Kids don’t get the full effect of road trips when they can watch movies on portable DVD players. The Xbox generation doesn’t have to deal with the tedious boredom that is inevitable in life, but they also don’t get to think of creative ways to entertain themselves with imaginary worlds and people. Is it so hard to believe that after watching a television series that consumed three hours plus of my day that I would be disappointed that it’s over and disappointed that now I have to find something to do in that time. Eventually I will find a job and a new obsession to fill that time. Scrapbooking, writing, reading, running, something to fill the long hours of the day. Now, it is time to say goodbye to the Battlestar crew and move on with my life.

If you are not quite as obsessive as my family’s personalities tend to lean towards, than you probably don’t get it, but that’s why I’ve been on the phone with Megan for three hours today … trying to find something new to obsess over.

Monday, September 28, 2009

It’s Sunday night – or rather Monday morning. It’s past 3 and I can’t sleep. I fell asleep watching a movie earlier so naturally I’m awake now, while the rest of the world is sleeping. It’s annoying, but at the same time I kind of like the fact that everyone I know is safe in bed. I don’t have to worry about going to street fairs or dinners. I can sit here and be alone and not worry about my phone ringing or people texting me to ask what I’m doing. Nobody is worrying about the fact that I don’t want to be social. I don’t want to go out with my friends or go to the stupid street fair. I don’t want to do anything. Yet, I am restless. I have been for a few days. I can’t sit still when I am at the bar. I can’t sit still when I’m watching a movie. In fact the only time my body isn’t twitching is when I’m asleep and lately I seem to only be able to sleep in spurts. Naps here or there. Not at night. Not when normal people with normal jobs sleep. Maybe 3 or 4 hours, but then I wake up from a bad dream. I woke up earlier tonight and even though I can’t remember my dream, I know I died in it. I remember that much of the dream and my physical reaction – racing heart beat, out of breath, adrenaline rush – let me know that something bad happened and I died before I woke up. This is all I dream about anymore.

Last night, while my friends were out at the bar drinking, I went for a walk. I was waiting for my boyfriend to come home from work and we had decided earlier that we would stay in and watch movies instead of going out. It wasn’t late – around 8 or 9 PM, but I couldn’t sit still in the apartment so I went for a walk. I called a couple people I haven’t talked to in awhile and left messages when they didn’t pick up. Then I paid attention to my surroundings because we don’t live in the nicest area of San Diego. While walking a homeless man came from the other direction and asked for sixty cents. I don’t usually have cash on me so I apologized, “Sorry, I don’t have any change.” Then I remembered that I did have a few dollars in my wallet that I forgot about. “Wait, I have a dollar.” I gave it to the man, not out of pity or self righteousness, but because it could happen to me one day. It could happen to anyone really. We get our degrees, our jobs, our houses, etc. but there’s no guarantee that it can’t all vanish over night. There’s no guarantee that I will never need to ask for help for a stranger. Hell, as many times as I’ve been stranded on the side of the road it’s my karmic duty to help this man out. I give him the dollar and his whole face lights up.

“Thank you so much,” he tells me. “You didn’t have to you know.”

I just smile.

“You are really pretty,” he says. “I’m not trying to hit on you, I just mean you are a really beautiful woman.”

I say thanks, and smile bashfully. I don’t know why I don’t keep walking, but his body language stops me. He keeps a safe distance from me and for whatever reason I feel safe standing in front of a busy restaurant. He can’t stand still either and moves from left to right, messes with his hat, plays with his backpack.

Randy, as I soon learned, talked my ear off for about 45 minutes. He told me about all the famous people he met in Santa Monica. How he met Sean Penn and his brother, Chris, in the hospital and how upset he was when Chris died not too long after that. “He was such a nice guy,” he told me, “but he drank himself to death.” He cried when he told me his mother had recently passed away and that he had started drinking again because of her death. He told me how he caught his wife cheating and asked if he was right in beating the man – almost to death. He told me how he spent a year in prison for battery charges that were originally attempted murder of this guy. He sang his favorite Guns N’ Roses song and told me how he met Axl Rose and that they used to go grocery shopping together. He told me all this and more. He asked me what to do about the married woman who managed the laundry mat and helps him out from time to time. He recently decided he was in love with her. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and if I was in love with him. Eventually he ran out of things to talk about and walked away as abruptly as he had walked up to me. I walked back home unsure what to make of it all, but laughing because it was the most interesting conversations I had had in weeks.

Plans changed when Brent got home from work and we ended up going out after all. After preparing myself to stay in for the night it was a hard adjustment to put myself into a social mood. Yes, they are all my friends at the bar I always go to, but this is just how it is for shy people. Sometimes you just have to prepare yourself to be social. There was karaoke and lots of drunk strangers trickling in from the street fair and as I looked around, generally annoyed by the crowd, I realized that maybe Randy needed the sixty cents, but I was the one who needed the chat with a complete stranger. Brent asked me what was wrong and I assured him it was nothing I was just in a quiet mood, but really I was and still am just completely restless.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I feel very focused today, which seems odd considering I haven’t felt focused for the last few months. I also feel very energetic today, which is also odd considering I was out late drinking. So, what am I going to do with all this energy and focus? So far nothing. It’s already 1 in the afternoon and I have only been up for an hour. The funny thing about focus and energy is it can be wasted if you don’t have anything to focus on. As I write this I’m coming up with a list of things I need to do and yet none of them are things I want to do today. This is ridiculous and I know that, but that’s the thing about growing up – you realize there are things you need to do, want to do or will put off until the end of the world. Running for example: I don’t need to go running as much as I need to work on school projects, but I like running more and I do need to go for a training run today, so I will probably run. But how long can I put off the things I really need to do by doing things I need to do less, but enjoy more? As long as I can I suppose.

Now all of this makes very little sense even to me which goes back to the beginning … I am very focused with nothing interesting enough to keep me focused for very long. Sigh, it’s going to be a long afternoon.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

I still wake up every morning at a normal hour. Sometimes to run. Sometimes because I can’t sleep in – I’ve always been an early bird. Lately I don’t even want to get out of bed. Really there is no point to it. This extended vacation has given me an opportunity to reexamine my life. I know if I get up right now and run, the chemical changes in my body and brain will elevate my mood as if I took an antidepressant. My energy will soar throughout the rest of the day thanks to these chemical changes. I will be upbeat and pleasant to my friends. I will smile at strangers in the store. If I don’t, I will sit here for an hour looking at random jobs online and slip into a trance of guilt and pity. After looking at jobs and concluding that I have no applicable skills, I will move on to the few things I have tried to write in the last few weeks. This will push me further into a trance of loathing and pity. Around noon I will completely give up. The world – 1 Libby – 0. So what do I do? Do I give up now because I know it will inevitably happen? Or do I go for a run and wait for the serotonin and adrenaline levels to keep me upbeat the rest of the day and push hitting rock bottom until later? It’s going to happen. It’s just damage control at this point. …. I went running. Like I said I would, I feel better. I watched an episode of Battlestar Galactica, which made me miss the military and daydream about an incident that would almost wipe out the entire human race. As one of the few survivors I would rise up from the ashes and be the hero in our questionable future. After I’m done daydreaming I will work on an essay that is going to be the narration of a YouTube video for a project I’m helping with (I’ll post more later). I’ll go over to a friend’s house tonight for homemade pasta and meatballs. I’ll push the negative feelings out of my head a little longer and live in the moment for the rest of the day. I’ll forget all the self-imposed pressure to do something grand and exalting with my life. I’ll keep the sweat pants in the bottom of the laundry basket for the day that I do call it quits. Not today. Today is going to be a good day.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I love birthdays. It’s your own, individually wrapped, national holiday. OK so you’re not a dead President and nobody takes off work to celebrate with you (unless it’s on a weekend or they are just awesome). But birthdays should be celebrated big and loud and wonderfully no matter how old or young you are.

Today is not my birthday. It’s two stupid days before it. It’s as about as significant as the day before Christmas Eve. I did the same thing I do everyday. Got up, went for a run, came home, took a nap, showered and all by noon. I don’t have much money as a consequence of being unemployed and on unemployment (which barely covers the bills, but DOES cover the bills), but I do have time.

Time is a tricky gift. When you don’t have enough of it you’d do just about anything to get more of it. When you have too much of it you’d do just about anything to fill it. On any given day I spend too much time looking in a mirror – a luxury I hardly indulged in when I had to go to work everyday and wear a uniform. Today I spent a long time doing my hair and make-up (only to take a second nap and ruining my efforts). I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, but I knew that if I tried to write today I would end up drowning in a pool of self loathing. I know myself well enough to know that when this swan dive took place I would start picking myself apart starting with my imaginary weight problem, moving on to my weird eyebrows, then the fact that I don’t have any clothes because I sold, donated or shipped them home and on and on and on. To combat this I spent a little extra time on my hair and make-up so when the breakdown over a blank computer screen pushed me to the edge I’d look in the mirror and at least feel pretty before my evil twin took over my thoughts.

I’m supposed to go hang out with friends this evening and at least my hair and make-up is somewhat done (as done as it’s going to get anyways). I haven’t written a thing other than this post and I successfully avoided a complete breakdown by not opening a blank Word document on my computer. Instead I took a second nap, talked to my Pops, sorted a stack of papers on the table and wrote this post. Tomorrow is my Birthday Eve, which is as every bit as fun and exciting as Christmas Eve. I will again try to avoid self loathing thoughts of all of the million and one things I have not done with my life, because they are not nearly as important as the million and one things I have done with my life. I turn 28 again this year (had a problem with math last year) and I will spend the day with wonderful friends and an amazing boyfriend and put off all feelings of failure and self-hate until Monday (Sunday is a day of rest after all). On Monday I will have to do my hair and make-up only to sit at the table by myself. I will have survived one of the hardest days of the year – the day before the day before your birthday when it’s too early to celebrate, but not too early to think about your life. I will muster the strength to take on the second hardest day of the year – the day after my birthday. The day after the celebration and excitement. It’s the day of letting go and acceptance. On Monday, after I run, shower and nap, I will have to look in the mirror, as naked as the day I was born, and accept myself and my life for exactly what it is and not what I want it to be. Then I will have to dig down deep and find the courage to change it and make it the life I want it to be before next year’s birthday.