Job Hunter

I was laid off two months ago. The company I was working for was purchased and the buyer saw my position as redundant. My first reaction was anger and disbelief. After three and a half years in a place, devoting my time, energy, knowledge, and every part of me that I could to a job that I hoped would repay in kind and have it not pan out hit me like a cinder block in the chest. I took a few days to process it, pulled myself up by my metaphorical bootstraps, and got on with it.

Part of getting on with it was reminding myself that even though I was tossed out the door, I did have almost four years of experience being an admin. assistant. That job gave me a variety of experiences that I’m glad to tout on my resume, or an interview if I should be so lucky. I’m an excited and devoted employee, any company would be lucky to have me… if I could just get that far.

My goal in the past two months has been to apply to a new job, or do something for my job hunt every weekday. For the most part I have been successful, but often times I get disheartened by the feeling that I’m continually sending resumes into a vast abyss and getting nothing back.

I have had the good fortune of getting to interview with four companies in the last two months, and as of this post have been told “thanks but no thanks” by three of them. The thing that frustrates me most is not not getting any responses to the resumes I send out, but the length of time between the interview, the day they say they’ll tell you their decision, and the day that you actually hear back from them. I would prefer they tell me as soon as they know so I can get on with my search rather than continue to delay the inevitable and keeping my hopes up. No one likes to be the bearer of bad news; no on benefits from delaying. As a mature and professional candidate I will accept your decision, maybe I will be disappointed, but life goes on. That’s the beauty of the modern age and the invention of email. Most if not all job seekers will have an email address, and what a perfectly painless way for the company to deliver the news?

Letters

I forgot to send my grandmother her birthday card. I’ve become too busy to drop a card to my grandmother two days before her birthday. Most family members I send an e-card to them right around the day of their birthday is cheaper and more earth-friendly that way. However, it is also further proof to me that the art of letter writing is dying.

I have actually been thinking about this a lot lately. With my purchase of an iPhone, my parents learning how to text message, and emailing sometimes being a faster way to get a hold of some one than calling them we are more connected than ever these days. But the passion seems to have fallen out of those communications. It’s everyday and mundane, but we love it. Call me nostalgic, but I like going out to my mail box to find more than bills and junk.

When I was in high school I had a few pen pals. People I’d met at different functions and wrote back and forth with about monthly. This was in the late ‘90s when internet was starting to become a normal thing in the American household and I could have just as easily written emails back and forth but it wouldn’t have been the same. There’s something that goes in to sitting down and writing a letter to some one: picking out the stationary, what pen you’ll use, what you are and aren’t going to mention. There is so much more effort in that then writing 140 characters or less about your morning coffee. And really, if you think about it, not many people care about the mundane day to day things that we do in our life. In fact, there’s a line that we cross all too frequently in our over connectedness.

I’m not saying that I want to go back to a day when letter writing was the main form of communication, I would just like to revive the hand-written word. It shouldn’t be a dying art, but sadly it is.

Creative Drive

This morning I found myself trying to suppress the urge to just call in to work and just go home to be creative. On my walk from the MAX station to my office I can pass by two different stores that sell art of local artists, and at least one artsy clothing store depending on the path I choose to walk the eight or so blocks. Having a full time job I find that I often don’t have time to do the things I really want to do: write a novel, make jewelry, sew something or dig in the dirt of my garden. With that full time job comes paid time off, luckily, but there are only so many days that I can take off to balance with the work week.

Many other creative types understand the need for creative time, the desire to have a space dedicated to the goal of making something. For me, if I go too long with out indulging my urge to create to satisfaction I end up where I am now: longing to run away somewhere so I can do just that.

Welcoming the End of 2009

I keep saying that I can’t wait for this year to be over. What a horrendous 365 days this has been. I’m done, ready for the good things to start spilling in. Therein lies the rub. At some point I have to stop counting the bad things and tallying the good things, and when the bad things seem to start piling too high I need to look back at my list of good and hope that they balance out. Because in reality if I let myself get thrown off, if I allow the scales to become unbalanced then what view of my life am I left with? I have to remember to see all of the trees in the forest, and the beauty of the forest as a whole.

You Can’t Transition-Proof Your Life

I’m beginning to learn more and more each day that life is about transitions, and how I deal with the transitions is what shapes me as a person… as a functioning adult in today’s world. I still think that it’s strange to refer to myself as an adult. I know I am of that age group and actively functioning as one, but part of me still feels fresh out of college barely prepared for the responsibility handed to me. At what point does someone transition from a “punk college kid” to a “makin’ it in the world adult”? Does the Mary Tyler Moore theme suddenly erupt as you’re walking in to your office one Monday morning? Does it become really truly adulthood when you buy your first new car? Make your first mortgage payment? When you have your first child?

Like a lot of things being an adult is a state of mind, one that needs to be transitioned in to. Here in the U.S. you can drive at 16, help decide who runs our government and be sent to war at 18, and drink legally at 21. The rates on car insurance go down at 25 and you can join AARP at 55, retire and collect social security at 65 and then what?

In the past two weeks the reality of the working during a recession hit my company, and for the first time I experienced companywide layoffs, gracefully masked as a “reorganizing”. Fortunately for me I was spared the pink slip but returned to the office missing the 15 people that had been let go. Talking to one of my coworkers who works at another office in Arizona that lost 27 people, a large majority of their office staff, he compared it to grieving the loss of someone to death. Suddenly they’re gone and the reminders of them are everywhere but you have to pick up the pieces and move on. It is a horrible thing, but you learn from it and hopefully your company is better for it, and you all transition together to making it work.

Tigger

It can be frightening, really, if one stops to think about it for a moment about how brief a pet’s life is when compared to the span of a human’s life time. When I adopted Tigger from Hubby’s mom back before he was hubby the thought never entered my mind that she wasn’t always going to be there with me. As years wore on and my life’s circumstances changed she was always right there, a static and predictable aspect of my home life. It seemed though, that there was always room for more love in my life. Anyone who knows me will agree that I’m an un abashed animal lover and if I could I would open my home to many more than I currently have. Which is why when Hubby and I moved in to a house we adopted a dog, and then six months later another cat.

I feel a bit guilty, in retrospect, for being selfish and bringing more animals into our home, but at the time I couldn’t have known how Tigger would react. With the two other animals in the picture and vying for Hubby and my affections Tigger became more reclusive choosing to spend her time alone in the sleeping in the bay window or on the back of the couch in the other room rather than in my lap or on the cushion next to me. We joked that she was just becoming a crabby old lady cat, but I made sure that her spot next to me was available at night, and most times she took it.

A month ago Tigger started throwing up every two hours or so and acting very lethargic. It wasn’t like her at all, and it worried me. Hubby and I drove out to the emergency vet hoping it was something easily cared for. After two hours and inconclusive x-rays we drove home with her still sick and instructions of hopefully care for her to make her better.

The next day Hubby came home for lunch to check on her to discover that she was still throwing up regularly. He took her back to the emergency vet to have blood tests done. Her blood pressure was so low they had difficulty drawing her blood, but what little they did get confirmed that she had developed feline diabetes and her body was essentially shutting down. I was at work, crying my eyes out trying to decide what to do. She was my baby, she had always been there for me even if she didn’t know why, and here I had put her life in question because I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

In the end my amazing boss drove me to the emergency vet so I could be there with Tigger and Hubby and make the decisions necessary. Ultimately, it came down to five days in the veterinary ICU and a lifetime of two insulin shots a day for her or end her suffering. If money hadn’t been a factor I would have done anything possible to make her healthy again. But, as it is with everything in life there are no guarantees. And as I held her, and looked down at her I asked her what she wanted. Unquestioningly, I know she wanted us to let her go. So, we did.

Ultimately, she lived a good eleven years and was a very happy spoiled cat for most of them. I know we made the right choice to let her go because it was what she wanted. I still miss her terribly, but I know she’s in a better place now.

Who Are You Calling Domestic?

I was talking to my Mom last night and telling her about how I had just made a batch of Pesto from the basil that I had grown – after I had done some sewing, and done a bit of gardening. Her response: “My, aren’t you domestic!” That comment irks me a little. What is so wrong with enjoying making things with your hands? If a man were to make a bench or fix a leaky pipe we would call him “handy” so why is it when a woman does traditional things she’s considered domestic?

I know that I can go to the store and purchase a jar of pre-made pesto, a necklace or a dress for the party I’m attending, or even as many tomatoes as I can fit in to my car but where is the joy in that? There’s a simple pleasure in producing something whether it’s sewn or home grown that you can’t get from picking it up off a shelf in the store. It may be more time consuming but at least you know what it is a product of.

I know that I made my favorite pajama pants, not some poor child laborer working for twenty cents a day in Indonesia. I know that the lettuce in my salad I grew from seed in my back yard, so I know it isn’t tainted with Hepatitis C or whatever the latest food outbreak is. The same goes for any other little thing that I create or grow, there’s a satisfaction in knowing where it came from and what went in to it.

I suppose that my adverse reaction is probably due to the word domestic itself. To me the word domestic causes a mental cross reference to animals that we have as pets or food stock – so domestic means they are no longer wild and untamable. The other image I get is the typical “bare-foot and pregnant in the kitchen”.

I guess one might even call it a cultural revolution that as of late gardening is growing in popularity and there seems to be a great number of people who still enjoy crafting and sewing regularly. My personal belief is that it needs a new name… instead of domestic just call me “make it yourself friendly.”

What's the opposite of a "Pity Party"?

I am feeling full of deep thoughts this morning. I think it may have something to do with the big thunderstorm that rolled through yesterday evening. It seems like it hit all of a sudden, and after a torrential downpour, thunder & lightning and perhaps even a little hail, by the time I had finished cooking dinner it was all done.

Hubby's dad (MusicMan) has been doing something daily that I find intriguing. I guess he's been feeling down about the housing market and the balance between work and life so his business coach advised him to get up a little earlier every day and do something he loved before he started going through his routine of getting ready for the day. So MusicMan has started emailing every morning his thoughts on life. He started out with a group of ten or so people and Hubby tells me that MusicMan is now up to 50 on his list. Hubby forwarded the emails to me (MusicMan is titling them "Passion Party", the opposite of "Pity Party") and I read through the first 9 of his emails this morning. WOW. They are really simple observations on life, but you can tell that he's pouring his soul in to them.

I hadn't really thought about it much, but I think that I have my own little "Passion Party" every morning when I water my garden. It was still raining this morning so I didn't water my plants when I let Cleo out... & I kind of was disappointed about that. Like I said, I hadn't realized that watering my plants is kind of like a morning meditation for me - doing something I enjoy before I get my day started. And I do it every morning.

I hope you're doing something for yourself lately.

A "Material Girl" I'm Not

Day one of the month of June and I already feel summer in the air. I feel like we hardly got spring first but that’s just fine with me. I love spring and summer in Portland they’re nothing like what I grew up with in Sacramento – it just feels like there’s so much more life in the heat of summer here.

With the heat of summer comes a change in wardrobe. Everyone sheds their big wool coats, knitted scarves, and rain hats for sun glasses, strappy sandals and short sleeve shirts. Now, let me get one thing out there, I am not nor have ever been what you might call a girly girl. I like to think that I’m in touch with my femininity but not obsessed with it. To be completely honest, I haven’t really been too concerned with fashion until the last year or two and even then I’m all for function over fashion. I won’t pin-point all of my evolutions here for you, though if asked I could likely tell you.

I don’t know if my evolution in to femininity is a result of me growing up or a result of the world in which I live and work. Given, I put more energy in to how I look in my office setting than I do at home or with friends. I find that if I have extra money I would rather spend it on a dinner out than a new pair of shoes. That doesn’t mean that I don’t look at a nice pair of heels and think “Damn, my legs would look nice in those.” I may think that, but I likely won’t be able to bring myself to spend over $50 on an item of clothing. Heck, I spent $20 on the cocktail dress for my company holiday party last year, and then another $10 on jewelry and I’ve worn the outfit three times. Though I can’t tell if that is just being frugal or me thinking that fashion isn’t worth all the money people put in to it.

I can’t put my finger on what makes me feel how I do. I just know that I am not “a material girl” or “high maintenance,” I do know that I like to feel like I look good but don’t feel like I have to be fully “done up” to go grocery shopping. I’m sure I could go on for pages about the evils of the fashion industry, but I won’t waste anyone’s time with that.

In the end I think what this all means is that I’m growing more comfortable skin. I think that’s all really anyone can ask for.

27 Years, and All I Got Was This T-shirt

One of my coworkers pointed out today that now that I am at the ripe old age of 27, my age is a cubed number. He’s in the accounting department, and has a love for numbers, that’s all I need to say to explain that.

It’s strange to think that at 12:35am this morning I changed from being 26 to 27. You always hear people say things like “You’re only as old as you feel,” or “Age is just a number,” and even “Act your age, not your shoe size.” All are relative truisms, but I think I have come to mark my life more by events than by my age. A quote from the character Leonard in the show Big Bang Theory rings true to me: “My parents focused on celebrating achievements, and being expelled from a birth canal was not considered one of them.” It couldn’t have felt truer than it did a few weeks ago when I found out that a job I was hoping would be created was not opened due to budget constraints. This event sent me into a swirl of self doubt and to revisit my quarter-life-crisis stage. My first, and returning, thought was “I’m going to be 27, and a receptionist. I thought I would be doing more than that by now.” The thought that I should be doing something else haunts me frequently. It has haunted me since six months after I graduated from college.

All those thoughts disappeared though after I took a minute to reflect on my current position. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people in this country alone that have found themselves without a job because of the recession. So, first I count my blessings that I have a job. Second, I have a good paying job with benefits. Third, and not the least of all, I actually enjoy my job. Yeah it’s not the most thrilling thing and not what I thought I would be doing but there’s something to be said for enjoying your job. I have always told myself to get a job doing work I enjoy and everything else will follow. I’d have to so that the only bad part about this job is the commute.

Here’s to another year, and more achievements to come.

A Blog About Blogs

I feel as if maybe I have traversed to an ultra lame topic here, but it has been almost a month since my last post and Gods be damned if I go a month without submitting something bordering on intelligent thought to the web world.

I like to surf the web and read other blogs on occasion – okay, quite frequently. In fact, I have a list of about ten blogs which I read frequently. One or two of them are just funny pictures and things that make me laugh, like the Cake Wreck blog (http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com) for example, another is someone local that I admire, like Marc Acito (www.marcacito.com) who is doing something new every day for a year, and others are blogs that search through other blogs for interesting stuff. The thing I like about these blogs and the others that I read, and many of the other popular blogs out there, is that they cater (if you will) to a specific niche interest. These blogs rarely if ever go off the topic of what they were designed for, and that is their draw. So I couldn’t help but think what my blog’s draw is. Not that it much matters since I’m writing it more for myself than anyone else. At least that’s what I like to tell myself anyway.

I’ve been blogging in one form or another for quite a few years now. The former incarnations of my blogs have been something similar to the boring teenage chatter one might find on MySpace, which is partly why I started this one. At the time, and perhaps still, I was struggling with a quarter-life crisis – trying to figure out where in the world I belong now that I was done with school. Well, now that I’ve found my place in the world for the time being, I keep this blog going as I evolve, knowing that I will never be a finished product and that someone else might get some solace in my experiences. Trust me, I’m not getting full of myself or my writing abilities here. All I can do is just write, think I’m saying something valuable, and just be who I am.

A little story

So, apparently I like to start my day by thoroughly embarrassing myself… I had just gotten my first cup of coffee for the morning and was walking back to my desk being careful not to spill the hot liquid on my hand or elsewhere, when something happened just as I got to my desk and the new VP of Marketing walks in the door … and I spill half of my mug of coffee all over the place, on my desk, on the floor, on my chair, on my pants, and – most importantly on my hand. Burning hot coffee on my hand. It takes all of my focus to not drop my mug on the floor and just put it on my desk, excuse myself and run to the bathroom to rinse my hand under cold water and get some paper towels before I help him. Yeah, I’m awesome…

At Your Administrative Assistance

I was talking to OfficeNinja on the MAX ride home the other night and we were discussing various projects we were helping out with in the office. She, being OfficeNinja / the in-house go-to when things need to be done, and me, being the Gatekeeper/Assistant at Large, get quite a few projects from various people in the office. What brought up the upcoming part of the discussion was a result of me overhearing someone that I had helped with a large project of theirs talking about said project. I proceeded to tell OfficeNinja about my frustration with not getting any credit for helping out or contributing to the projects, just contributing to someone else’s glory or “the greater good”. I’m fine with helping out on a project, don’t get me wrong, it is a part of my job after all. The part I’m frustrated about is “all the guts, none of the glory”. I suppose that just means I’m annoyed with being a measly assistant instead of a mover and shaker in my company.

Previously I had been happy not to have the responsibility (and the hours) that those positions required, but now I really want to do something other than entertain interviewees, transfer phone calls, and do someone else’s work. Perhaps a lot of the enjoyment I got from working this job previously was a result of me working at The Bank and allowing myself to screw up enough to get fired and send myself into a depression. I liked only taking responsibility for the simplest things – answering the phone when it rings, signing for deliveries, checking the mail regularly, typing up meeting notes coherently, etc. After a year in this position it seems like child’s play now. Maybe that’s just a sign that it’s time for me to move in to something more challenging. Don’t get me wrong, I love working at The Company, always have. There’s a great energy here that would be difficult to find elsewhere. So my goal is to get another job within the company – something that doesn’t require a MBA – and see where it takes me.

I Believe It Is Called a Menagerie

I have always been a lover of animals. My mom told me once before I moved out of her house that she had had a nightmare that she came to visit adult me and had to literally step over animals no matter where she went. I promised her at that time that it would never be that bad. While I was growing up my family always had just one dog. This is all well and good because, looking back, that one dog didn’t get nearly the attention and love he deserved. I was always pestering my parents for more animals, and they thought for some reason that giving me fish would do the trick. Not so much.

When I graduated from college and moved out on my own I adopted a cat from my now husband’s mother, who couldn’t afford to keep all three of hers. My cat, Tigger, has been my steadfast pal through four moves in as many years, and I think quite content to be the only creature in the house. When hubby and I moved into our own home this January we started to contemplate adding to our little family, but not in the same way most newlyweds do. We wanted a dog. So at the end of March we adopted Cleo in to our life. Cleo is a great dog, very low key, and we joke that she is more cat-like than dog-like, and on top of that could care less about Tigger. As a result of Cleo’s addition to the family, Tigger hid out in the one room Cleo wasn’t able to go in to only making brief ventures out to go to the litter box and after a month or so to come back to sleeping with me. It took at least four full months before Tigger would venture out regularly to make her patented comments on things or occasionally to curl up on my lap while I’m watching TV. I honestly felt bad for her, and there were times when I would seek her out in her hiding spot to pet her that it looked as if she truly missed the attention.

Hubby decided for an anniversary gift he would take me to a shelter and get me a kitten. For the week prior to our journey to visit with kittys needing a good, loving home, I struggled. On the one hand Tigger had taken this long to adjust to having Cleo in the house, how long would it take for her to adjust to a third animal? On the other hand was the kitten who I knew would likely adjust immediately to the living situation and because it was the same species likely make it easier for Tigger to adjust because she’d lived with other cats before. On yet another hand (three hands, creepy), Tigger might like having a kitten to boss around. I came to terms with the whole situation by the time we hopped in the car to go to the shelter. Really I felt like I was getting a friend for her as much as anything else.

Enter Elwood. Elwood is a wiry five month old tuxedo kitten that had called to me from the pages of PetFinder.com for weeks. The shelter suggested we get a young kitten and a boy to make it easier on Tigger. I can tell from their interaction now that Elwood has been with us for over a week that Tigger still doesn’t like it – but accepts it more readily than she did the dog. She knows she can, and will, put Elwood in his place when necessary. Like last night. Tigger was happily laying with me in bed and in blast Elwood and as he flies on to the bed (because we all know kittens don’t actually walk) he discovered that Tigger was where he wanted to be. But Tigger, quickly discerning the situation and not having had a good snuggle in a while put her ears back and gave a low growl. Elwood hopped back a bit and went to lay down next to my husband. Content, Tigger went back to purring. I think Tigger is okay with the situation.

So our house is up to three animals, and I don’t think we will be adding any more any time soon. That will probably make my mom very happy.

Thoughts on Smaller/ Simpler Living

Some time just after hurricane Katrina happened a blog I read regularly wrote a post about a company called Tumbleweed Tiny Houses. The thing that interested the blogger at the time, having just been a Katrina survivor and losing just about everything she owned to the storm and flooding, was that some of these houses were small enough that they could be hitched up to a car like a trailer and driven away. The thing that interests me is that people actually live in these tiny houses full time. In fact Jay Shafer, the founder of Tumbleweed, lives in one of the smallest house models coming in right under 100sqft of living space.

I don’t know what it is exactly that I find so attractive about these tiny homes. It could just be a novelty or a cute idea to me, but it could be something else too. I was thinking this morning about it and while I know I could never live in a home as small as Jay does – especially with a dog, two cats, and oh yeah my husband. I think the novelty of it for me comes down to living in just the amount of space you need. Here in the US we’re all about bigger is better, but what happens to all of that space you aren’t living in and using on a regular basis? It ultimately becomes wasted space, a decorated show room that you need to dust and clean but never really use. I’m a pack rat. I always have been. I know a lot of the stuff that I have I may never use again but I still keep it around because hey one day I just may need my high school chemistry notes. Ok, I’m not that extreme, but I know people who are. With such a small amount living space it force me, at least I hope that it would, to minimize what and how I consume.

There are many reasons to down size your living space, including what I mentioned before. Ultimately the largest reason is an environmental one. How effective is it for one person to live in a 2000sqft house with all the trimmings? The same person would likely do just as well in half or less space, but our American imperialist attitude is to conquer the space both with ourselves and the things we own. You don’t see that in Europe, you don’t see that in Asia, heck you don’t see it in Canada, because they tend to take advantage of the space they have not the space they believe they are entitled to. But I digress. Ultimately if we all lived in a smaller amount of space then that would leave more for the natural world, and because we are consuming less to fill these spaces it’s better for us environmentally and economically.

Can't Buy My Life

I recently go back in contact with a cousin on my mom's side of the family who I had not seen or talked to in years. To be honest I had been reluctant to re-initiate contact with her due to lack of contact and familiarity with the majority of my mom's side of the family. But, as my husband pointed out at the time, she took the effort to send me a high school graduation announcement the least we could do is send her a card and wish her well. I took it one step further and included my email address in the card putting the proverbial ball in her court. We started exchanging emails about two weeks ago, nothing too furious since it's like we're getting to know each other all over again.

One of the first things I asked her, which I am sure everyone is asking her, is what she plans to do now. From her response it sounded like she was attending college out of obligation more than a desire to further her education, and therefore really undecided about what she's going to do once she got to college. I think a lot of kids that are graduating from high school may be feeling this way. Like going to college is just what you do after high school and that's really the only reason for it. Like it's training wheels for real life. This may be, but some one is putting up thousands of dollars for those training wheels. I am not by any means saying that this is wrong - hell I will be the first to point out that that's pretty much what I did. But college really is a life in and of itself. I took it as an opportunity to redefine myself as me rather than my parent's child.

I was trying my hardest to avoid the roll of "older wiser cousin" mostly because I did not know how she would take it, but since she brought up that she was undecided about what she would major in, I figured I would pass something on to her and she could take it or leave it. "One of my professors told me this when I had to finalize my major my sophomore year at college: Major in what you love to do, there will be few opportunities in life to spend four years doing what you love. The only time a major REALLY matters is if you want to go to grad school or you want a career in something you need a specific degree for."

To be honest, I think that was one of the best pieces of advice I have ever received, because if you think about it, how many people really use the degree they got? All that matters now is that you have a degree and perhaps where you got it from. I am very happy, for one, to have taken that advice and would likely have regretted making another decision. And no, I'm not using my major or minor on a daily basis but the education itself was very valuable.

Wedding Bells

Someone I had met a while ago sent me an IM last night about fifteen minutes before I was to leave work for the day simply saying: "How did you plan a wedding and not go crazy?" I responded simply: Lists. But she responded "No, I've got that down. I mean with the family drama." That subject is something that they don't really talk about in the wedding magazines and I think everyone deals with. I was fairly fortunate, I think, to come away with only a small amount of manageable drama. Here is what I said to her in an email later:

"As for family drama there were two things that I noticed that really came out around my wedding time. 1) Other people trying to force their opinions on you and trying to make up for their own wedding, and 2) imagining that the wedding day would some how cause peace among otherwise warring parties (be it family members or friends). The key to drama like that is being realistic knowing that it's YOUR wedding. While it will be a happy occasion, it will not align the planets and cause people to like each other any more than they already do. That usually takes a lot of alcohol. :-D Just kidding about the alcohol. But in all honesty you can't take it all to heart, you can't make it all your problem, if you do in the end you'll just make yourself crazy and nothing will have been solved. This is your special day, make it what you want it to be.

And when the big day finally arrives just remember to breathe and relax, everything is taken care of. If something goes wrong? Then let it. Worst case scenario is you'll have a great story to tell and then have to go to a justice of the peace the next day."

I hope this helps out anyone else out there who is suffering under the pull of family drama.

Does the written word remain?

I have been part of a fairly active book club for almost a year now. The book we are currently reading is The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. The main female character, Clare, is an artist. In one small portion of the story that I just read she talks about the strain between being an artist and being able to support yourself and also allowing time to nurture your artistic side. It’s a difficult balance. I struggle with it myself and still haven’t found a way that works for me. I frequently feel as if my artistic side it starving because I don’t take the time to write or sew or doodle any more.

The last few years I have endeavored upon a writing adventure known worldwide as National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). What is NaNoWriMo you may ask? NaNoWriMo happens during the month of November and participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel from scratch (more about it at nanowrimo.org). This is a mighty feat, one which have only attained once in the four times I have attempted it. To be honest, it’s my own fault. But I had a good excuse. I always have a good excuse for not doing the things I love. Mostly I’m sure it’s just pure laziness. And that’s why I continue to kick myself. The one year I did complete the goal I was working part time, no more than thirty hours a week, and was living mostly alone. Having more free time allowed me to concentrate on that 1700 words a day goal.

Now that I am working full time, have a 45 minute to an hour commute on each side of my 8 to 5 work day. I feel like I barely have time to do the things I need to do let alone the things I want to do. With that in mind, I frequently find myself not working on the artsy things I enjoy doing. Like sewing or writing and even art on occasion. I suppose this blog is a decent substitute for my lack of writing otherwise, but there is no substitute for thrill of creating something new and exciting that I am truly proud of.

So then the dichotomy remains. I will continue to create in spurts when the moment catches me just at a good point where I have enough time to follow through with it, or I will continue to not create at all. Sometimes I wish I could have the best of both worlds.

With the population boom, I don't think I need to help

I would like to start off by saying that this is in no way a personal judgment on anyone with children or planning to have children. This is a topic that has come up for me quite regularly and I thought I would write out my thoughts on it.

I've been married for almost a year now, and since the day I became engaged the question that almost immediately would follow was: "when do you plan to have children?". Our initial response was usually "about two years" or "when we're ready". Much like the rhyme from childhood (First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby...), that's the natural progression of things. But what the rhyme leaves out is what comes after the baby, and that's often what I think about. For the past few years I have worked in retail, and I have seen some very unhappy mothers with children in tow. Each time I would see someone in that situation I would shrink back and think to myself that I don't want it to be me. I don't want to be the soccer mom grudgingly dragging her children from one activity to the next and living only for the children. To be fair, I have seen some very happy mothers, and seeing them gave me the warm fuzzy feeling that my friend calls "the baby oggle". In that moment I see the happier side: playing with the child, and bonding on hiking trips etc. The happy ideas have yet to overcome the unhappy ones. I'm told that one day my biologics will over ride my brain and I will want a child no matter what; I don't know if that is true or not, but what I do know is my brain keeps screaming no every time a small child starts to cry. There's more to it than that.

At this point in my life, I have to ask myself if I really want someone that dependent on me and my time. I still want to travel the world, I want to learn, I want to be able to take off to the beach at a moments notice because I can and not have to worry about the responsibility yet. On top of that, children are expensive. Financing someone else's future is really something that I won't take lightly and I know that if I want to bring another life in to this world our financial status will have to change.

It all comes down to two things: maturity and financial readiness. Neither are present in my life at the moment, so then having a child isn't really an option either.