Random 5 Friday (On Friday This Time)

It's Friday and time for my five random events or thoughts this week.

1.  I love my students, and this week I got to take a class on a field trip! I'm so grateful for grant funding and pilot courses.  This one was to the Wind Farm just outside of town.  The winds are regularly up to 40 miles per hour.  There is a local sandwhich shop and the owner, Roz, made us paninis (Ok, mine was a gluten free, vegan sammy) and sent along a panini grill. I cooked lunch for everyone.  We did a boatload of writing, had a very interesting, hour-long lecture and got to go inside one of the turbines. These ones are 220 feet tall, taller than the Statue of Liberty and there are 149 in our area.  Good times!

It was so loud, but the noise is mostly wind.  The propellers sound much smoother and are so enormous.  This is the first video I've tried to upload so let me know how it plays.

My Class

Perspective Shot

2.  I am not a morning person.  Repeat: I am not a morning person.  At least I never have been.  Maybe I'm getting old, but I used to regularly stay up until 1, 2, and 3 a.m.  Now I'm yawning by 9:15 and passed out by 9:45.  Eleanor also gets me up pretty early to feed her and give her water. She really likes routine, much like her staff.  I mean owner.  Ah, who am I kidding? I'm pretty much her servant.  It's also getting colder at night and G likes the bedroom cold. There are two comforters on the bed and another blanket.  Eleanor usually sleeps on my feet, but lately I'll wake up to her sleeping under the covers next to me- both of us purrfectly warm.  Happens every winter.  However, since she's taking Methiozole for her thyroid, she's lost the volume of her meow and the volume of her purr has increased.  This wakes up G.  Usually he can get back to sleep but not always.  When that happens, well, let's just say that I woke up extra early this morning to a kitty extraction.  He removed her from the covers, snuggled her and put her back where she belonged.  She huffed off and didn't come back for hours! 

Also, no pictures of that... 

3.  Since I'm not a morning person but a night person forced to function in society and to serve a cat, I spend a little time each week, maybe thrice weekly, at the gym.  I enjoy weightlifting and G does not. He also goes in earlier than I do each day.  So he heads to the shower and I head to the gym around 6:30.  Here's what that looks like in Ellensburg, Washington. 

"So that's what morning looks like!" 

4. Next week is my last week working at my job.  It's been a nerve-wracking and frightening journey since June. I am disappointed that even though I have a contract, my employers just couldn't come through.  I am glad they tried. I'm incredibly sad that this is happening but not sad that we came here.  G feels the same way, and says we'll be just fine.  It's so hard to let go. I'll still be teaching for the English department and they have been so, so supportive! They will put me on full time in January if I'd like, even though the pay is deplorable for people who do not have an annual contract.  I cannot tell you how grateful I am for all of the love and support I've experienced.  We will get back on track soon. G is terrific at his job and I'm not sure how they ever managed without him. :) He amazes me with his resiliency.  I think it's true that even though my job is falling apart, I am not as worried as I could be.  Everything else is so good.  Work is work, but my life is very fulfilling.  What's life without a little danger, right? 

Yeah, I'd still rather have some security.

5. I cut my hair off today.  I usually cut it in the fall/winter every other year but I just got tired of all the styling and junk you have to do to look good and cut six inches of my hair off.  Pictures to come soon...

Tension

I usually handle stress pretty well. It doesn't come naturally to me; I had to learn healthy coping mechanisms in my early 30s after years of doing such a poor job that my health and other's safety were threatened.  What I do now is talk to close friends about what is bothering me, pinpoint how I really feel about it and discuss ways of resolving the conflict or problem.  I accept love and support and only occasionally just bottle things up.  In times of stress, I pay extra attention to my physical health and what I eat and tend to get a little more close mouthed than normal. I get lots of exercise.

That's what I've been doing since last week.

There's an acronym for taking care of oneself. It's HALT.
Whenever you're
Hungry
Angry
Lonely or
Tired,
stop what you're doing because you need to do some self care.  Make your bed, take a nap or go to bed.  Things always look better in the morning.  Find a friend and quit isolating yourself and talk out the problem. And for goodness sake, eat something. In other words, when you've got those symptoms, halt and pay attention. You're no good to anyone else if you're not taking care of yourself.

What with my food allergies and my doctor's inability to help me figure out exactly what causes my digestive system to freak out, I'm waiting for an appointment with a gastroenterologist.

In the meantime? I'm stressed.  Like STRESSed.
My contract at my job runs out today and I'm not at all convinced that I will be retained.  It's not that they don't want to keep me here, it's just that nothing has worked out.

In January, I interviewed and was offered a tenure-track position in English Education.  Do you know how rare that is? My boss wrote me a letter saying that I would be retained and I let the opportunity pass. It wasn't in Washington, where I want to be.   And since I'd begun working at the university last September, I'd met regularly with my boss.  He assured me things were progressing.

Indeed, we got the funding for the position they wanted to create for me.  My contract ran out at the end of June, but was extended until August, and then again until September 15th.  In the meantime, I was encouraged to apply for a different position- one I felt really enthusiastic about.  That's how things were two weeks ago.

Worried, but trusting.

So I interviewed. I waited.
I was scheduled to meet with the dean for the position I applied for.  The secretary said he was meeting with all the candidates.  That screams "you didn't get it", in case you didn't know.  And I didn't get it.

I met with my boss again. He said that I was also out of the running for the position they created for me.  Another department had gotten control of it and wanted someone with Oracle experience and wouldn't budge on that.

Ok.

So we met again on Tuesday, and my boss pitched me two options.  I was like "those are ok options, but my contract expires Friday."  He said he knew that and would get back to me.

It's too late this year to apply for faculty positions. It's far too late to get another job.

That brings us to today, to right now.  At almost noon on Friday.  My kind, sweet, supportive husband is awesome but I'm still pretty tense.  I worked out extra hard this week and got enough sleep and company and discussion.

I'm pretty sure that all of the stress management in the world isn't going to help until I hear something.

Wish me luck! *crosses fingers*

******************UPDATE***********************
My boss isn't in today. There is no contract that the secretary knows of in the works.

Oh. Well then.

****UPDATE #2********

With 15 minutes to spare, the department secretary (who I just adore) called to tell me that they are extending my contract another month.  On the positive side, I'm glad to be employed. On the negative- what the hell are they going to do with me?

The New Plan

I woke up early this morning with my brain racing. It's been doing that a lot lately, clocking overtime while the rest of me really could just use a long nap.  It's tiring to wake up at 3:30 and not be able to get back to sleep.  I have had many bouts of insomnia in my life.  I have been to grad school. Actually I think those two statements are redundant.  Anyone who goes for post-baccalaureate education loses sleep.  So does every parent in the world and everyone who has a lot on their plate dealing with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

So this particular morning, I woke up promptly at 6.  Please don't think for a moment that 6 a.m. is a time for me.  Six in the morning is a concept, not a reality and I haven't seen that time in person for a couple of years.  Unless I am still awake from all night activities, in which case it's a totally different 6 a.m. than what normal folk would experience.  Last night when I went to sleep, I wrote out a list of all the things I had to do today.  This morning, I added even more things.

I can't help it; my brain spins like a tornado.  I think I have all the corners of sleep nailed down, smoothed over and in place like a blanket.  I have done everything I could the previous day and accomplished my tasks.  Yesterday, I went through most of my house on a purging tear and threw out eight trash bags of stuff we just don't need. Lots of it will be donated, have no fear.  I also had listed some items on Craigslist and sold both my lawnmower and futon couch.  My dear, dear Charlotte came over yesterday too, to help keep me on track.  I'd hold something questionable up, some item that I may or may not need or want. She'd say "Get rid of it!!" and off it would go. One of my friends took a bunch of items off my hands and I was able to give my beautiful dining room table to a sweet family with two little girls who will love it and take care of it. I even sold my car yesterday and will be catching a bus to Tulsa this afternoon to get home.  But my brain doesn't want rest, it wants everything to be in the correct place and in the right box.  It wants all decisions made, conversations had, bills paid and floors swept.  It wants to be creative, to write and sing and dance in the shadows.  It goes into overdrive whenever I have a lot to do and little time to do it.

This week's over-scheduling is because of a text conversation I had with my sister, Patti.  I was whining about how expensive the move is going to be because we decided to use a moving company.  She asked if a Uhaul might not be a better solution.  I said no, because my husband is uncomfortable with me following him in a truck and that he was even more uncomfortable with the idea of pulling his car behind a truck.  We figured out how to keep Eleanor happy- I have dosed her with medicine from the veterinarian which keeps her sufficiently loopy and quiet for about 8 hours.  On our nightly walk, I mentioned the text conversation to him, and he decided to reconsider.

No! I had it set in my mind. We had planned a course of action.  Granted, an expensive course of action, but still.  I had everything packed and the movers would come in three days. It was set in stone.

But like many things set in stone, we decided to etch out a new course.  "It's just stuff", he said.  "We'll get more stuff".

Ok.

New plan.

Because that's what you do when you suddenly and jarringly change course. You make a plan.  You stay nimble and courageous and don't panic.  This is not the end of the world. It's just the end of life here in Oklahoma.  A life that I won't be taking with me to Washington.  It's not the original plan, but it's a good compromise. And I married a man with a great sense of equanimity, and a nimble ability to adapt

We pared down our belongings to fit them into a little 4x8 Uhaul pull-along trailer.  I will send my books by media mail and we will sell what we can.  What we can't, Cathy and Chuck will dispose of either in a garage sale or by donation.  I'm going to ship Grey's records too.  It's a good plan.  We will take four days for travel and arrive at our destination like a turtle with our tiny home on our back. Ok, make that a two-person-one-kitty turtle.  You get the idea.

I have a lot of stuff to do and little time to do it.  So my tornado, I mean my brain, woke me up. And what am I doing? Writing.  Compromise.  Writing and making a list of things to do.  Grey and I are....sort of enjoying the whole move. I certainly have a greater appreciation for him, and he has learned about my elite packing skillz.  These lead to my elite "getting rid of stuff" skillz.

I no longer have a table, couch or place to sleep for the next week.  As my Grandma used to say "They don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of."  What I do have is support, love and understanding.  Everything I need that doesn't fit into a box.

Alright brain, let's kick this into gear.

Why I Write

This is a rough draft. And it's going to be a quick one because it's bedtime.

They're all rough drafts, you know. That's what I like about a blog. I get to dialog with the readers. I like writing because it has a way of taking the random and dusty nuts and bolts and sometimes the blood and boogers rattling around inside of my head and makes some order from that chaos.

I had coffee with my friend B-- today. I love sipping something yummy and talking with friends about our lives, our experiences and children, pets, parents, pains and generally sharing the road for a time. It's nice to talk to B-- because he's a poet too. And a novelist, I hear. But despite his voluminous writings, he's yet to publish something. I'm not sure why. I'm not sure he knows why. I'm not sure it even matters to publish, especially if the pleasure lies primarily in the writing.

Maybe our motives are different. I write to communicate with a specific person or audience. If you've ever made a comment or talked to me about this blog, I'm thinking of you right now. I write letters to my Grandma because I want her to see Oklahoma and me from a nursing home in Washington. I take what someone offhandedly says and listen for that painful part, that question about existence. Then I do my best to articulate a position and hope it helps.

Sometimes I write because I am angry. I need to get things off of my chest. Injustice makes me angry. Unequal opportunities make me angry. Acting like I should and showing compassion and getting kicked for it makes me angry. So I write about it to remember that I'm not acting like a good or compassionate person because someone else needs me to be. I behave that way because I need to, in order to be the best person I can. That's why I write; to gain perspective. Otherwise I'm just drinking lots of coffee and cursing other drivers and not paying attention to the beautiful scenery that I've been afforded a slower look to see. You never know, that Indian Paintbrush plant may save my life someday.

It's often been said that writing is a solitary and lonely practice. After all, right now I'm sitting in the dark drinking water and typing. Quite alone, save for the cat on my lap and the two dogs in the other room (one is snoring, the other is farting). Images of Stephen King locking himself in his study with a big desk and Ernest Hemingway drinking himself to death in a house in Florida come to mind. Or Sam Beckett, who stopped having visitors, and Emily Dickinson whose father was the President of Amhurst but who lived the life of a recluse. Why do writers have to be so fucking crazy? I'm not alone metaphorically. Across time and space, you are reading this and knowing that you will makes me happy. Maybe if I were more crazy, I'd be a better writer. Maybe I am more crazy than I'm admitting right now..

I've never felt more connected than when I write. There are many other writers that I dialog with. I read my friend Ken Hada's book of poetry and borrowed the last line of one of his poems to complete my own. You should check out his blog by the way. Great fisherman/poet. Sometimes I feel the ghost of Mark Twain or Virginia Woolf creep in and read over my shoulder. Sometimes I think that if I print out everything I've written, it would spill off of the printer and make it's own little paper river, a small tributary leading to a larger river of papyrus voices that takes us out to a sea thoughts and random fun, dark, mysterious, silly, chilling and thought provoking writing from the rest of the world. I feel a kinship with people who drew on rocks and cave walls. They're gone, but I still think about them. I can stand in the very spot where someone once stood, thinking of the best way to convey just what the hell was going through his mind so it could be remembered later. It might be important, he must have thought. And he was right. I think it's very, very important to write and to read and to talk to each other the way we do.

I know my reservations about publishing my poetry. What if it's not any good? What if nobody cares? What if I hurt someone? What if I say fuck too much and offend my Great Aunt Dorothy? Worse, what if I write something that isn't true? I badgered B-- a little and he let me read a poem in his journal. And it was good. It was as rough draft, like this little ditty here, only it doesn't need much revision and I was able to easily grasp the scheme, repetition and some of the layers of meaning on the first few passes. I gave him some unsolicited feedback and told him what I liked about it.

That's it- it boils down to one thing and one thing only: vulnerability. How much risk do I dare take? Who is even paying attention? What if I write something and the world sees me naked, sees me as the person I really am? This is both the fear and thrill of writing.

No Man Is An Island

We all need other people in our lives. No man is an island, as John Donne would say.

I am someone who loves isolation. I am an introvert, though you can't tell when I'm teaching. It's been a theme in my life since I can remember. I liked my older siblings but they didn't always want to play with me, nor I with them. So when I didn't have another little friend, I was always just fine playing by myself. When we lived in Eureka, California when I was very little, I'd hide in the closet and hang out for hours. I've just always been very self-sufficient. I remember when I was in kindergarten. I overheard my mom talking to her husband and saying that there wasn't going to be anyone home when I got out of school the next day. I'm sure they worked out some arrangement, but I didn't hear that part. Instead, I got off two stops early from my normal bus stop, and checked myself into a daycare. That's where kids go when their parents aren't home, right?

When I got older, I became a latch-key kid in second grade. I got home from school before my sisters. I wore a key around my neck and let myself into the house, made a sandwich and watched television until someone else got there. And in high school I had my own car and we lived pretty far out of town.

As an adult, I moved from Washington to Las Vegas, and lived there for two years. We left, not because of the desert but for the teeming mass of people- people I never learned to trust. I don't think I made a single friend outside of my boyfriend in that time. So we moved to Oklahoma and I got married and divorced.

Norman became my home and I thought it would be much like all of the other places I've lived in my vagabond life- another stopping place on the way to somewhere else. I attended a dojo in Tulsa for 7 years and the Hargraves are some of the neatest people I've had the privilege of calling friends. I met Dr. Diane Holt-Reynolds there and she became my mentor. I met Janis Cramer and she helped me become a teacher. And I made friends at the College of Education and at OCCC. I mentored other teachers and taught students and bought a house. Cathy Klasek helped me move in. Hell, she picked it out and made me talk to the owner. I wouldn't have bought a house without her help.

It was my friends who sent me off to Washington with best wishes and welcomed me home with open arms. I remember when I went to tell my Grandma that I was going to move back to Oklahoma. She didn't even let me get that far. She said, "I know you are unhappy here. Go back home to Oklahoma where people love you." And then we both had a good cry.

It's people like Luke who pull me back from the ledge when I get all wound up about the state of the world today. I have to pull back and sometimes I can't do that on my own. Plus my friends make me laugh. We meet for coffee or conversation or class or what have you, maybe a dog walk. Usually one on one, because crowds aren't much of my thing. I have a couple of good friends that I have only known online. But that's why the telephone and internet were invented.

All of these people form my family unit. I rely on them to keep me sane and healthy. I do the same for them. I help when I can. It's not natural, though, to ask for emotional support from another person. When I was growing up, reliance on anyone but yourself wasn't such a good idea and it usually led to disappointment and disillusion. After awhile, you learn not to lean. But I can learn.

I'm not an island. You're not an island either. We need each other, even though we're not always at our best. In fact, that's when we need each other the most.