Did you hear the one about the squirrel? (Sometimes when I post at night, people don’t see the link in their Facebook feed, and they don’t read it, but I’m pathologically incapable of delaying gratification, so.)
On Wednesday, after three days of finding it extremely easy to be nice to my students without even faking it, which is what I had been having to do, and this despite having to get up at stupid:30 a.m. after a long and luxurious spring break, I realized something:
A whole bunch of people said they could relate to that statement, which made me wonder, how I/we might deal with this problem in the future.
Things that might help:
Awareness? Is there a service that will email me, “Easy there, Ame; you’ve got the SAD,” every week from November to March for the rest of my life?
Moving to the Equator?
Seasonal meds? Is that a thing? Do people dose up on Celexa during non-Daylight Savings Time?
Things that don’t help:
Light box. I have one. It’s in my shed. I have to be at work at 7:15, so getting up 30 minutes earlier to sit in front of a light box? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I was telling a friend about this problem today, and he says he uses a light—wait for it—VISOR. Like a light box, but FOR YOUR HEAD. Hahahaha.
Other thoughts?
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Three years ago, I was writing a lot about my students, so it’s all password-protected, but here’s a good one if you have the password.
Two years ago, I offered you all an obscene sum for a simple, simple task, and you FAILED. YOU’RE ALL FAILURES.
One year ago, I bought a new car! I love it. It is covered in dog hair and nose prints.
Apropos of nothing, you guys would tell me if you thought I had nose cancer, right? I seem to have a growth on the left side of my nose that’s been getting bigger for a few years. Probably just a wort, right? Because I’m a spinster, and spinsters get those.
Three years ago, I did laughter yoga. It was real dumb, and I kind of loved it.
I was lamenting the need to go pants shoppingtwo years ago, but I have come a long way, you guys. I went jeans shopping on Wednesday with Kate and Michelle (blog post surely to come), and I bought jeans, and I BOUGHT SKINNY JEANS WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?
You heard me.
To blog about dating or not to blog about dating: that was the question I was asking myself a year ago. Clearly the answer is uh durrrrrr, of course.
Ugh. Norovirus. Or food poisoning, or something. When I wasn’t exploding from both ends, I was curled up on my pull-out couch with the dogs, moaning. Moaning! I literally moaned for, like, 15-minute stretches. Then I would watch two episodes of How I Met Your Mother, and then I would turn it off so I could moan some more.
Picture me there behind Redford, moaning into his ear. He was very tolerant.
Seems to be gone now (knock wood). I’m vertical today, and I’ve eaten a banana and some Rice Chex.
In other news, my dad swung through town earlier this week. :)
Talking to my sister on the phone: “Amy picked me up in the middle of the melee at RDU. I was nervous because of the guy on the goddamn lawn mower going back and forth.” (It was a cop on a Segway.)
Amid bon mots, he said something about how I seem, here on the blog, “almost desperate for a relationship”. Isn’t that the worst word to hear about yourself? Desperate? Wasn’t that the ultimate high school take-down? “God, she’s so… desperate.”
But he’s right. I do seem, here on the blog, almost desperate for a relationship. I’d even take out the ‘almost’.
That’s for two reasons. First, both ends of the spectrum, the one that goes from “Victorious Is What Happened” to “Cyclone of Despair”, are compelling, but the middle? Not really, right? The “I Got a Solid Eight Hours So My Day Wasn’t Too Exhausting” and the “Grocery Store, PetSmart, and Home Depot in One Outing—High-five, Me” that make up most of my life, I mean, I’m pretty excited about them, but they make for vanilla reading. So, I’m going to write about the times when I’m either feeling a sense of hope or one of catastrophe. And granted, the latter happens more often and is usually funnier.
So that’s the main thing. You hear about my being desperate to be in a relationship because that’s what’s interesting.
The second thing is that I’m desperate to be in a relationship.
Not desperate. But yeah, kinda desperate. Two reasons, I like companionship, and I want kids. In the post I just linked to, I said I wasn’t an extrovert. But I am. I’m an extrovert. Being around people energizes extroverts (and saps the energy of introverts). I definitely get energy from being with people.
However, I’m shy. People say, “Isn’t that the same as introverted?” No. Shy means I’m scared of people I don’t know. Like, all of them.
I’m scared of people, but I need people—ain’t that the worst?
Anyhow, it’s got me thinking, that’s probably why pretty much all my dating in the last four years has been online. Because I don’t make eye contact with people I don’t know (because I’m scared of them) when I’m out in the real world, so it’s hard to connect. Maybe I should try that? Eye contact? With people I don’t know? My hands are sweating.
Two years ago, 70,000 people heard me tell a story.
A year ago, I was trying to control the controllables. Maybe making eye contact with strangers is controlling a controllable? Or maybe I try a different website. A friend recently sent me this one, which takes a sort of different approach to the whole online dating thing… I’m gonna go lie back down and moan some more.
Two things happened. A month ago, a friend got a job at a small marketing firm in Durham. About a week later, an acquaintance who was thinking about adopting ‘Nita left me a voicemail. In it, he said, “You’re doing a great job marketing her on Facebook.”
Something happened in my head, something like: marketing job –> me marketing –> marketing job for me
I’ve been wanting to make a career change for a while now. My desire was shorn up by reading this essay a student wrote three years ago. Wow. I’m not that teacher anymore. I’m not “happy almost all the time”. I don’t “laugh a LOT”. I’m definitely not the “BEST TEACHER EVER”. I’m glad I used to be, or at least that I was for that kid, that year.
But I’m burnt out. (I hear that’s a thing that happens to teachers.)
So now I’m looking for a new job/career. Possibly in marketing. And it’s going to inspire me and challenge me and play to my strengths. I hereby decree it, and the Universe will make it so.
My readership is small, but it is full of smarty-pants. Smarty-pantses? What the plural of smarty-pants? Is it like attorneys general? Smarties-pant?
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A year ago, I was struggling. Seems to be a pattern here—late winter suuuuuuuucks. However, I am tapering my amino acids again, and I’m not freaking out. Yet. Plus, Daylight Savings Time loves me and wants me to be happy.
I’ve been mulling amy a’s post from Wednesday. I do that a lot—mull. Just mull and mull. Some might call it “ruminating” or “perseverating”, but I prefer “mulling” because then I don’t feel like such a crazy person… Hahahaha. Like anyone believes that. Anyway, here are my ruminations/perseverations/mullings:
1. amy a and I are almost exactly the same age, so it’s possible that it’s not too late for me to find someone. Hope!
2. I can’t think of anybody who’s there on the periphery that I might have been overlooking. Despair.
3. I really do believe I’ve taken a good hard look at myself, and I’ve worked on my own shit. And I think I’ve been clear about what I want. I do want “something simple and stable”: a fun, supportive, committed relationship with somebody who wants to have kids with me. …I clearly have some blind spot. There’s something I’m not seeing.
4. I’ve always thought timing was bullshit. I thought, if you’re each into the other, you’re into each other; everything else is just excuses. But now I’m rethinking that.
5. “In my efforts to always be in control of my life and heart, I’d forgottenthe joy of love is not being so wary of it all the time.” I’m so wary. All the time. Is this the blind spot? That I’m wary? That I put too much effort into being control of my life and heart?
6. “And the 20 years of dating and relationships of all shapes and sizes? Well, they just let me know that when I finally was ready, I’d have years of experience cementing the fact that when you know when it’s right, it is.” Please, god(dess)/whoever, let me be able to say this at some point. Soon?
7. I can’t stop boo-hooing about this. I love you, amy a. Also, fuck you.
