Errrrrmmmmm... hello?

Dearest Blog,

I am so sorry it's been over a month since I've visited you. Please accept my apologies for being a bad blogger. I promise I will try to be better in future.

Hello, my blurking dears. Greetings from lovely Nova Scotia. After multiple postponements, I finally made it up here. And yeah, I'm a friggin' mess. Insomnia kicked my ass for two days (surprise, surprise), but I'm actually getting on a normal schedule for the first time in forever.

And I'm finally letting myself grieve--the loss of community, the loss of home (when Hell's Vestibule is finally sold, it will be the first time in my life I have no roots, no place to call "home;" I cannot tell you how horrible it leaves me feeling, how lost and afraid), and being in a "real" relationship for the first time since I was married. (For those of you unaware, I was married for a couple of years; it ended in 1990.)

Nothing puts my ass into perspective like a few days in the company of my eternally practical Capricorn best friend. If you are not a believer in astrology, whatever. I don't know that I believe in it; I do know that there are some people who epitomize their sun signs. I am a true blue Scorpio, and never, never was there a more Capricornish Capricorn than Vicki. After months of just trying to maintain and keep from completely losing it, to actually have the time to stop, rest and think... have had a few good cries. Still haven't sorted out things, but I'm actually breathing and resting and not in a constant state of flat panic.

I have to face the employment shit. I really don't want to. I have two potential courses of action: 1) retraining (which is really appealing) for something new, different and more interesting. 2) Applying for a job with Planned Parenthood. They have an opening for a purchasing agent in Boston; while it's not a new career path, it will be a job with an employer that I firmly, completely believe in. After working for BBN years ago and temping in an MIT lab that did experiments on live animals, I know for a fact that I can't work for an employer whose mission does not mesh with my ethics and values. Academia... *sigh* Academia has become a disgraceful racket. I believe in the work--education--but I don't believe in the infrastructure and administrative BS that encumbers it.

It's like knowing how the magic trick is done--up to a point, it's cool, but once you know that there are two birds and one has to die, the lustre is lost. I love working with young adults, but I hate being a part of the machine that is setting them up to enter adulthood deeply in debt and is NOT preparing them for reality and teaching them practical skills. The fact that college today has become the equivalent of high school in the 70's is shameful. I just don't know if I can be a part of that.

Planned Parenthood... that's an organization I can work for with no qualms.

Next item: family. When I get back, I have to help Mum with applications and work on cleaning out the house. I can do that. I can handle that. Her brother is voluntarily going into rehab for a month--he's putting himself in.

Yeah.

I'm a bit overwhelmed by this news. He has accepted that his life has gotten out of control and he needs to clean himself up. I am afraid to hope. I am desperately afraid to hope.

And then... then there is the relationship. For the record, his name is Al. It's been four plus months--it almost ended; it may still. I take nothing for granted there. However... there is hope. Being with him has brought home to me how damaged I am. I have a dichotomy to face regarding my sexuality and a lot of healing to do. Thank the merciful Gods I am dating a decent, gentle and amazing man. He ain't perfect, kids, but then, neither am I. He's a much better, nicer person than I am--his compassion and desire to do the right thing leave me in awe. I have never known a man who, when I've said that something was wrong, actually LISTENED, took it in, and tried to do something about it. I hope with all my heart this works out. Don't get me wrong--he drives me utterly nuts at times, but then, that's normal and as it should be. I drive him up the wall, too, but we work. Together, we work. If this is happy, I'll take it.

However... happy scares the piss out of me. What I have with Al is something I've never had before, something I've dreamed of all my life. To finally get this at my age... it's terrifying. So I'm doing everything I can NOT to fuck it up. Going away and leaving him behind has been beyond scary. Trying not to be clingy and constantly in touch is a challenge--that "pleasePLEASEpleasePLEASEplease DON'T forget me!" needy part of me that I hate so much. Trusting... trusting is such a challenge. It's not him, either, that I don't trust--it's me.

Christ, I am so fucked in the head.

And then... then there are the creative challenges. I managed to do some sculpting last night that I'm actually pleased with. Next up... some writing. I've been writing bits and bobs of books 2, 3 & 4, but the real challenge is the rewrite of book 1. I made a major decision about a character--a decision not to kill someone--and I finally realized that I'm not saving her: I'm saving myself. I'm trying to save my own life, holding out a hand and protecting a child like I was not all those years ago. Argh. I hate when my art imitates my life.

So Nova Scotia is working her magic on me--I'm relaxing and healing. I arrived bleeding and badly wounded, and I'm slowly pulling it all back together.

So, thank you, dearest blurkers for indulging me. Hopefully, I'll be back at it and commenting on life the universe and everything again on a regular basis.

Or, at least, plugging Jim Jefferies--not only seeing him in September at the Wilbur IN THE FRONT ROW!--but he's playing Foxwoods on my b-day weekend. Can you say, "road trip?"

And on that note... I need a shower and to get my arse in gear. Much love, kids--be good to each other, be good to yourselves. Let's hope things improve.

This Song Is Over, Part 2: Requiem for a Nightmare

OK, let's talk about being unemployed.

Or, specifically, about ME being unemployed.

Technically, I can't go into details--officially, on paper, I was laid off. The reality is different, but after long consideration (and yeah, I consulted a lawyer), I decided to sign off and take the unemployment for a bit because, with the exception of the relationship I'm in, my life is a fucking disaster ATM.

I had a dual reaction to the job ending. On the one hand, I was relieved that I was out of there. I no longer loved my job like I used to; I no longer felt that I worked in the best office on the planet. On the other... on the other, I was no longer a part of a community of which I had been a part of for more than half of my life--22+ years of my life were spent as a member of the Lesley community.

While I was there, I did some amazing things, and I no longer need to be diplomatic about some of them. See, working in academia can be seven kinds of hell if you're not a professor or an upper-level administrator. There is an embedded prejudice against those of us who possess skills but no piece of paper--an attitude that if you haven't enslaved yourself to the establishment for a significant portion of your life to create A Unique Contribution to Human Learning (aka a Ph.D., or, as so many of us disdainfully call them, a Piled Higher and Deeper because too many of them aren't worth the paper the three copies they were printed on; there are exceptions to this--a dear friend, Roger Stritmatter, comes immediately to mind. His dissertation on the Earl of Oxford's Geneva Bible is a part of a revolution of thought on the Shakespearean authorship, and I remain in awe of his dedication and devotion in completing it, and have never forgotten running into him in downtown Amherst right after he returned from DC after examining the book... the moment a historian LIVES for, the discovery of a generation... But I digress into Shakespearean geekdom) you aren't worthy of notice or being taken seriously.

I take exception to that attitude. Mind you, I'm still paying off the debt for my useless BFA, and I don't know if I have the patience to undertake a terminal degree, either MFA, MLS, or Ph.D. (and, yes, dearest blurkers, I have at least three theses that are Ph.D. worthy. Sad, ain't it?). I KNOW I don't have the patience to play politics, and sadly, that is 75% of the process. To me, that's also a major fucking waste of my time and money. I am NOT forking over thousands of dollars for the privilege of kissing ass to some over-inflated egomaniac who thinks they know it all. They don't. Having a degree is meaningless if you don't keep on learning, if you don't keep an open mind and keep exploring, keep educating yourself and have the attitude that you ALWAYS have something new to learn, and sometimes my darlings, what you have to learn is that teaching is a two-way process--in the act of sharing YOUR knowledge, your students have MUCH to teach you, if not about your subject, then about yourself as a human being. And if you're too fucking arrogant, too fucking scared, too fucking insecure to be open to that, YOU SHOULDN'T BE TEACHING, ASSHOLE.

Gods, that felt good to say. REALLY good. And there are some people who know me well who are reading this who know who that was aimed at. One of the things I did at Lesley that remains a very proud achievement is the founding of their undergraduate Shakespeare company. Yes, I said "founded"--I did not, as publically reported, co-found it. I founded it. I was the one who named the company and gave my all the first season, including almost losing my job. I laid the groundwork that was built on when the company was revived in '93.

I was NEVER a theatre student of the professor now attached to it. I took two of her literature classes; nothing more. She had nothing to teach me in theatre, except, in the end, by negative example. I hope she has changed; I have heard she hasn't. That mades me sad; we were friends once.

I gave almost ten years of my life to that theatre company; by the time I left, I didn't know if I could ever do theatre again, I was so hurt and burnt out and betrayed. I've done very little theatre since then because my heart just wasn't in it. If you want to know why I am so

enamoured of Jim Jefferies, it's because his work... his work vindicated mine. After being told by this "friend" how wrong I was to think the way I do, to see someone up on stage--on fuckin' HBO, ferchrissakes!--spouting out the same kind of wrong shit that I've been writing (privately) for years... vindication.

The other great thing I did while there was being a part of the Staff Representative Advisory Council and spearheading Staff Development Day. Three years, and no regrets only pride and sadness that I couldn't finish out my term. I miss my compatriots on SRAC. But I am fiercely proud of what we managed to achieve in three years.

It hurts that I won't ever walk across campus knowing that I belong there. Academia... academia is an ancient culture. It's almost like belonging to a monastery or a cloister (no surprises--academia began with the Church)--you are a part of a dedicated community, a community with a shared purpose, an enclosed environment that many people join and spend their entire adult life as a part of, with the knowledge that they are safe and welcome.

I no longer have that.

It's painful--like a part of me is missing.

It's also AWESOME--LIBERATING! I no longer have to go into that place every day, no longer have to endure the personality issues, the politics, the silliness, the baggage that made the last few months there a soul-sucking burden.

There are people there I will always be in touch with--friendships began that I hope will endure. And there are other people I am joyful I will never, ever have to see again--their presence in my life was distasteful, horrible and unpleasant. And now... now, I can move on.

The next chapter is beginning. This week is all about organizing--making lists, figuring out a strategy, and getting a schedule. I have to get Mum settled; I have to find a new job; I also need to finish my rewrite and get my standup act on its feet.

And, of course, I also have a relationship that I want to invest in.

So, this song is over, but a new one is beginning. I'm looking forward to having y'all singing along.

I'm not dead yet!

Hey, Folks.
Sorry it's been so long--the past two weeks have been a bit... well, "hairy" is the first word that comes to mind. "Hellish" is also pretty accurate. "Frenetic," "insane," "intense," "nervewracking," "frustrating," "upsetting," and "ridiculously busy" also come to mind.
The short version: Mum took a bad fall two weeks ago today and was rushed to the emergency room (I wasn't home; her brother was). I had to fight to get her admitted; the ER doctor missed the compression fracture of one of the discs in her back. I had to take Tuesday off from work and spent it making multiple phone calls, talking to several different caseworkers, and... yeah.
Three days later--right before she was transferred to a rehab/nursing home, I was laid off from my job.
Yep, I am unemployed.
The next morning, during my physical, my GP told me that the weird spells I've been having are caused by serious depression and stress. I've been ordered into therapy and need to find a new psychopharm because my GP thinks I need better monitoring than he can offer.
My insurance expires on April 30th.
An hour after seeing my GP, I saw my orthopaedist. Both of my knees need to be replaced. However, for the short term, I'm going to PT.
Did I mention my insurance expires on April 30th?
Yesterday, I saw my bariatric surgeon for the 2 year post-surgery follow up (four months late). Discovered that I have gained one pound since July (I thought it was more like 20; it FEELS like 20). Told him about the vomiting. The constant, regular vomiting and the fact that most food is so not my friend. He informed me that I needed to be scoped. Immediately. Because I may have burst my staples. Or could have an ulcer. No matter what, there's a problem that may require surgery.
Did I mention that I only have health insurance for four more days?
So this morning, I had The Ride deliver me to LMH at too friggin' early for me to be functioning. To be told that they couldn't do the test (I have to be sedated for it because of PTSD--basically, if I go through the tube-down-the throat-gagging test conscious, I will end up having a psychotic break at the level of stress I'm at).
Did I mention that I only have health insurance for four more days?
So, I'm off to the ob/gyn in a few minutes--I was ordered to get my arse in there, too, because I haven't had a visit from God's Final Insult since December (and I know that I'm not pregnant, sadly). And have a meeting at the nursing home to discuss/assess Mum's situation at 2:00.
Add to all of this... running to the nursing home on a daily basis... postponing the Nova Scotia vacation for a month... still need to clean out my desk... needing to clean out the house before either the bank or the uncle sells it out from underneath us... the Blue Bomber needs a new fender desperately (and a new dashboard array)...
I'm a little stressed.
What's funny is that I've had three people tell me I look happy. I find that really amusing.
On the upside... I am involved with a wonderful, supportive man whom I wouldn't trade for the world. AND I'm seeing Jim Jefferies in Pittsburgh next week. AND going to Nova Scotia once I get unemployment and insurance sorted out.
Despite the depression and stress, I feel ridiculously optimistic.
Yeah, I know. I'm nuts.
Admit it--you wouldn't want me any other way.