A Bi-Polar Week

I started my new job last week.  It is everything and more that was promised, and I love it there.  While I'm in training, and for hours afterward, I was really happy, all week.  We all went out for happy hour on Friday, and I had an awesome time.

But today I've had time to think, time to regress back a little and think about other things in my life.  The week before I was back home visiting and helping out at a show.  I love being home because it's so much better than my current town, which is vapid and everyone is a fake.

But something happened back home.  I saw a friend in a different light, and it changed our friendship.  I no longer want to call her up and tell her how my week went, because I have the sneaking suspicion that she really doesn't care. I began noticing that whenever she called, it was about a problem she was having, and there seemed to be no time for my worries.  Her troubles with her boyfriend far outshown my new issues with my thyroid problem.  She even seemed to ignore the fact that I'd told her before I came that not only would I be tired all the time, but I'd be a little cranky too.  She insisted on bringing a friend with us everywhere who I don't like, and I really didn't like the way she was treating her new boyfriend.

While I was there she seemed to grow impatient with me if I didn't answer her texts right away, even though she knew I was out trying to help my mom.  Yet she showed up late to places and it seemed to be okay.  It seemed like she had become the kind of person that I avoided.  I hated that I felt like I was losing a friend.  Even on the last day I was there, after telling her to please call me before she flaked out on me, she called a solid few hours after she was supposed to show up to say she wasn't going to show up.  I felt hurt and betrayed, and then after some mis-communication I got another passive aggressive note from her, in a public forum.  It was the final nail in the coffin for me.

I've even given her the address for this blog, and told her how much writing means to me, but she's never logged on.  Maybe someday she will, and she'll see this, and know it was about her.  But somehow I think not.

So I left home disheartened, but waking up at 5AM the next morning for the job.  The job is so great though.  I was so happy all week, riding along on a cloud.  Everyone I met I loved, and I feel like I'm finally making friends in this town.  But today I'm thinking about it, and I'm sad about a friend that I feel like I've lost.  In her mind, nothing has gone wrong at all.  That makes me more sad.

Hand Holding, Fist Clenching

That little virus I had turned into a week-long sickness that made me glad I didn't have to call into work.  Since Job A doesn't start until April, I have a long time to basically do all the things I wanted to do but never had time for.

I had decided if offered Job B, I wouldn't accept it.  I would be leading them on, and then leaving them in a ditch within a few weeks, as Job B wasn't going to start until March.  I knew that wasn't the whole reason I didn't want to accept the job.  Though the job was perfect for me, the interviewer sort of rubbed me the wrong way.

When asked to describe the job, she answered with "Well, I don't do a lot of hand-holding here."  With that term, I flashed back to my old job where I had asked someone to show me how to do something I'd never done before, and the response was "Look, I can't sit here and hold your hand through this."  I think people who use this term are of a certain kind of people.  The kind that want you to read their mind and get everything right the first time, so you are screwed no matter what you do.

In the interview I was asked if I required a lot of "hand holding."  After inwardly wincing, I answered honestly, and said that training needed to happen or all was lost no matter what job it was. 

"Look," I said, "Starting any new job is like someone slapping a fish down in front of you and telling you to fillet it.  They don't give you a knife, they don't 'hold your hand,' they just tell you to fillet the fish and walk away.  What would you do?  I always ask for guidance on things, examples, places to look so I can figure it out on my own.  But I don't know about you, but I have no idea how to fillet a fish, and I'm not about to waste anyone's time hacking one up just to see if I can happen upon the right way to do it.  I'm the sort of person who likes to get it right the first time."

I really think the rest of the interview went very well, she even seemed to respect and admire my fish analogy.  I asked her how the office ran, as it was between only a few people in a small office.  She said they talked rather than emailed and kept a very close relationship.  I told her I also would rather talk than use an email to communicate important things.

A few days afterward I sent her a thank you note, and indicated I hoped to hear from her in the coming weeks.  When I decided I wouldn't take the job I forgot all about it, until yesterday I got....yeah, an email from her telling her they were going with someone else.  I felt relief, because I didn't have to turn anything down, and a little sad, because I wasn't wanted.  But, after remembering her speech about communication and "hand holding," I knew I was better off.  I was ready to move on.

And I went to get blood work done today to find out if I have a thyroid issue.  And despite my intense fear of needles, I didn't ask for a butterfly needle this time, took all 6 vials like a champ, and didn't even whimper.

I wasn't able to unclench my fist or relax when told to, but at least they didn't have to hold me down.

TMI?

Monday I had to wake up early to go to the doctor.  I told him about all my symptoms, he agreed it might be a thyroid condition, and set me up for blood work to be done next week.  While I was there I asked him to take a look at my tonsil, which had a white spot on it.  I just wanted to make sure it was nothing serious.  He told me it was the beginning of an infection, just gargle with salt water and it should come out.  He said he didn't feel it warranted antibiotics, and I agreed.  It really just felt like I had a bit of food stuck in my throat, otherwise I felt fine.

Later in the afternoon I went to the interview with Job A.  The interviewer was a very nice guy, but seemed to be holding back, as if peaking at me through a set of drapes.  He dissed my resume, saying I should have dates and my entire job history on it.  I mentioned I used to work at a video store, he asked if I had seen a particular obscure movie.  I didn't know it, that seemed to be a point against me.  I found myself floundering on questions I normally would've answered with conviction.  Then a team leader came in, and apparently she was on the "good cop" side, because I had no problems connecting to her and showing my stuff. 

I was returned to the first guy to take a test, which, once we got to the testing area, was being used.  He turned to me, saying "I assume you know how to cut and paste?" He asked.  "I'm a master cut and paste-er." I said, and he laughed.  He told me to send him a complete resume and he'd get in touch with me.

I felt like he didn't like me.  I really wasn't sure, he really did seem to hide behind a veil, as if he didn't want someone to see how he actually was.  It shook me, and I was sure I had screwed it up.

The anxiety grew more and more as the day wore on, and I couldn't stop my mind from freaking out about my whole life.  I started to wonder why I hadn't asked the doctor that morning for some anti-depressants.  Obviously this wasn't getting any better...what was I going to do? 

At 2AM I finally laid down to try and sleep, and felt something come from the back of my throat onto my tongue.  I went to the bathroom and spit it out, and it was the spot on my tonsil.  It was the size of a peppercorn, and I was grossly intrigued by it.  I went and got a flashlight and looked at my tonsil, and saw a huge hole in it.

Suddenly, seeing that crazy hole, I felt better.  It was the same feeling that cutters describe, the release of concentrating on a physical pain instead of the emotional pain.  I suddenly knew everything was going to be okay.  My throat started to hurt, but I took some medication and went to bed.

By the next morning, Job A called to say I got the position.

1 down...

I just finished my interview with Job B.  It sounds like something I'd be really good at, and she said it's basically going to turn into doing the social media for all the employees of the property.  It's a lot of writing, and I love writing.  I really think I can do it, but I just don't know.  I'll be called next week to either be out of the running or in for a second interview.

My mom and one of my friends said I should take job B if offered, and then if it doesn't work out, just quit and take job A (If I got Job A it wouldn't start until April, which would give me time to see if I like Job B).  I just don't know, it seems wrong.

I guess I'll figure out how I feel after Monday's interview.  Wish me luck!

Self Esteem at an all time low

I think what I need, more than anything right now, is someone that knows me really well to remind me of how awesome I used to be.  Because right now, I feel worthless.  I feel stupid and not worth anyone's time.  I feel so alone.

I got an email today to interview for another job (Job B)on Friday.  The job that I've been waiting for (Job A) is set for me to interview on the 31st.

Job A was voted a top Forbes "Best Place to Work."  It's answering phones and doing customer service, but it has potential to do more of the things I'm interested in.

Job B pays more.  I've worked for the company before, however, and there is NO chance of them being a "Best Place to Work" anytime this century.  I've been burned by them before.  But this is a different location, and it's, please excuse the expression, "a grown up job."  But, with grown up positions come grown up consequences.  I can see myself working too many hours and it losing it's fun quickly.

I'm still shell shocked from the last job.  I gave it my all, and I got dumped.  My job situation is very very very much like dating.  I had a guy, the guy wanted to take it to the next level, I said okay.  Then he got distant and moody.  I keep asking to have a talk with him, but he ignored me, and then without any warning dumped me.  I've been dumped before, and I'm gun-shy about it now.  I almost feel like what's the point?  I'm going to end up getting hurt anyway, and is it something I'm doing?  Is it me?  Is it the guys(job)?  And what do I want to do with my life anyway?

My New Years Resolution to myself was to not worry about turning the big 3-0.  To take life lightly, and let myself off the hook about feeling like I'm not where I wanted to be in my life.  Does that mean taking Job A?  Because if I really wanted an important job when I turn 30 in a couple of months, Job B would be it.

I'm lost.  I'm alone in my feelings, and it feels like no one understands how horrible I feel about my whole life.

Inner Voices Vs. Inner Child

I read a sentence from a book on Amazon that said "Can you separate the voices of your parents, your teachers, your friends, the media, and Hollywood from the voice of yourself--your own inner voice?"

It's a good question, and one that I have been feeling a lot of lately.  It's hard to think about something as lame as a car while I'm unemployed and just want to find a job to make it by on...but it seems to be something I'm coming back to.

I was pushed into buying what I consider a "mom car" a few years ago.  It's almost paid off, but in the meantime we've had a hell of a time together.  $5,000 worth of damage from a hit and run, and about $6,000 of solving a pesky "check engine" light problem.  It doesn't quite feel like it has power steering...ever.  I have to back in and out of every parking spot to get into it straight.  The gas tank is enormous, and nearly puts me out of house and home every time I have to fill it up.

I have another car in mind.  A dream car.  A car that reminds me more of my first car; compact, sporty, everything a Mom car is not.  Turns on a dime, has good gas milage, and the dealership has told me that I can basically get a new one and order everything that I want it to have, all the way down to a built in navigation system.

I've never had a new car.  My parents never owned a new car.  The idea of a car that is all mine and no one else's excites me.  I really want it.  I have all but promised it to myself as soon as I get a job and can afford it.

But, is it just me?  Is it my inner voice telling me what will make me happy and will be better in the long run?  Or is it my inner child wanting a toy that no one else has touched before?

It's the same with a lot of things lately.  The job I'm up for is a great company, and although it's a starter position, I have very high hopes for it.  So high that I'm deathly afraid I won't get it, and will be in serious trouble, because all other jobs have avoided my follow up calls and even outright rejected taking my resume.  The last 7 months has been very taxing on my self-esteem, and I just hope when I get into the interview, they don't see that.

Because I really want a new car.

Christmas Movies

I decided this Christmas season to watch all those Christmas movies that people talk about.  They always say how wonderful they are, and how they look forward to watching them all year.  I was not impressed by any of these movies.

Miracle of 34th Street-This was my husband's favorite, and I have to admit there is a certain charm to it.  It helps that I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which is how it starts.  But then it just meanders on and on...and as a whole it's a nice movie, but not one I'd ever go out of my way to watch again.

It's a Wonderful Life-So, I really thought that this movie would have more to do with Christmas, but really Christmas was just sort of there while everything else happened around it.  And, I'm sorry, but I'm used to seeing Jimmy Stewart not be a huge jerk to everyone, and I didn't like it.  He's much better talking to an invisible rabbit or making filibusters. 

White Christmas-Again, it was a movie, where Christmas just happened by.  A cute enough movie, of course, but I never care about seeing it again.

A Christmas Story-I just found this movie overly strange.  Why doesn't he ever bring in the rest of the mail?  Why does he want a BB gun so bad?  He seems overly influenced by the media, isn't that bad?  Why in the world would anyone make an award into a chessy leg lamp? Kids curse all the time, why is it such a big deal in this movie?  Don't people know that this movie is based on a bunch of articles written for Playboy?  I think he only got that gun because he wouldn't have shut up about it otherwise.

Now, this is the one that everyone thinks is fantastic.  About 15 minutes into the movie, I posted a comment on Facebook about how I was watching it, and so far it was overly narrated, which it is.  I don't know how that's even debatable. 9 comments later, I found that no one is able to be objective about this movie.

No one has any actual valid reasons for thinking this is a good movie.  They just stand by it blindly because it's been part of their childhood, the same reason no one can say for certain why they like "Wizard of Oz."  It's because they can't remember their life without it, they can't seem to be objectionable.

What I do instead of buckle down

I decided today would be the day I started writing a novel I've been thinking about.  Unemployment looks like it's going to last for awhile now, so I might as well have a project, something to look forward to everyday.

So I sat down at my brand new desk, opened a Word document...transcribed what notes I had taken about it into the document....

And then I started dicking around.

I checked Facebook.  I checked Twitter.  I checked Tumblr, even though that site isn't really my demographic.  I tuned into Logo and found a Nip/Tuck rerun marathon.

Man, that Quentin fellow was creepy from the start, wasn't he?

And then I wrote a paragraph.  I did some research to back up what I just wrote, then realized I hadn't quite set up Skype yet.

So I told my sister to Skype me, and we troubledshot (troubleshooted?) until I figured out the problem with my new webcam.  I still can't get Dailybooth to work with the camera.

Then I went back to writing, and turned back on Nip/Tuck.  Did you know that the new Kinex for the Xbox only works on white people?  Apparently it only picks up white skin.  There's gotta be a racism card someone can play and sue them for that...

I'm pretty sure my ADD is too bad to write a novel.  But, I'm sure gonna try.

Friendship

My mom just sent me a link to a story for this book, which is out tomorrow.  Basically it started with this woman having a horrible experience in college where she was basically backstabbed in the extreme by a bunch of girls from a sorority. 

As I read the article, I became more and more relived to find that I wasn't alone.  I've had two female friends my whole life that haven't been backstabbing, horrible individuals.  I wish I was exaggerating. 

One was my best friend in 6th grade.  We weren't the same person, but we fit together, and we were always there for each other.  I know people say that kind of dumb crap all the time, but in this case it was actually true.  If I was upset about anything, she would be there for me no matter what.  I can only recall one fight we ever had, and that ended with us bursting into laughter and forgetting the fight the second after it happened.

Nothing ever happened to break up our friendship, we just started hanging out with different people.  We went through junior high and high school never even seeing each other in the halls between classes.  She wasn't the type to join Facebook or even really have a computer at all, so I never expected to see her again.  As my life went on, through college and afterward, my mind sometimes wandered towards her, but her name was too common to Google without much luck.  I always hoped she was happy and everything was okay with her.  I knew I'd never really see her again.

Cut to last month, when I went with my husband to Disneyland to celebrate his birthday.  It was the end of our annual passes, and we were getting the most out of it, staying at the Grand Californian so we could go back to the hotel room whenever we wanted.  Hubby had convinced me to go on the Grizzly River Run for the first time.  I had avoided it because it was a water ride, and I desperately hate to get wet and then walk around all day in wet clothes.  I agreed to go if we went back to the hotel and I could change into my bathing suit and a cover up.

It turns out it's one of those wet rides where you are in a big round rubber tube with a bunch of other people.  It forces people to be social, since you really can't be on your cell phone when water is coming down all around you.  We talked with our group until the end of the ride, but it was a little difficult, since most of them didn't really speak English.  We decided we were a little wet, we might as well go again, since this would be our last time in the parks.  The second time was fun as well, more people spoke English.

As we exited, Hubby said "Ready to go back to the hotel?"  And for some reason, I wanted to go one last time.  It had been so lonely at home since losing my job, and I was really craving some interaction.  So one last time we went, and after the ride and an embarrassing fall down the stairs afterward (my shoes became so waterlogged, I fell) I knew I had reconnected with my 6th grade best friend. 

She was in the ride with us, next to my husband, with HER husband, who was...get this...celebrating his birthday.  They were staying at the same hotel, on the same floor, and we were leaving the next day, they had just arrived that day.  If that one moment hadn't come to pass, we would have never reconnected, never came across each other.  In fact it was her mannerisms, and not her face, that I recognized.  It was my gut that somehow knew she was who she was. 

It was one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me.  I feel like, because everything else has sucked lately, fate saw fit to give me a piece of what made me myself back.

And, as luck would have it, Facebook brought my other best friend back as well.

On the relationship front, life is good.

Loss

There was another "I'm quitting" email in my work inbox today.  Maybe it's because I've already dealt with a lot of loss in the last year, but I'm almost having a panic attack thinking that now there are several people that I see everyday that I will no longer see.

The possibilities of dealing with another person, a new person, figuring out what they are like...I don't want to do it.  All these people going away seems too close to death.  It's too much. 

Why can't everything just stay the same until I'm okay enough to move on?

Making it Easy

It's so much easier to get over a situation when the other person becomes a deliberately terrible person.  Thank you, for reminding me exactly what I'm missing: A person who only thinks of themselves, and will be rude and uncalled for at the drop of a hat.

It's official.  It's over.

I've been putting off celebrating because I was afraid it would all just come back and I'd have the same problem.  Now, its over. 

I'm so going out for ice cream after work today.  I don't think it's an exaggeration to say life is going to get much better.  I'm going to sleep without dreams of this coming back to haunt me.  I'm going to be happier, have the energy to work out.

Everything is going to get better.

Recovering

Even though I feel as if it's not quite over, I'm still going through a recovery process.  I didn't think ending a friendship would take recovery, I would just be better the next day.  The sun would be shinning, and I'd go on with my life.

But as the weeks went on, I was told by my friends more than once that I was over explaining things, that they understood.  It was then I realized how much who I was had actually been effected by the past couple years.  It made me think of the first Sex and the City movie where Miranda screams at Steve: "I changed who I was for you!"

For me, I hadn't even realized I had changed.  When it was pointed out to me, I was devastated.  Devastated that it had taken me that long to get out of, essentially, an abusive relationship.  I didn't think it was abusive until I was out.

So my heart goes out to all those girl's in REALLY abusive relationships.  It's so hard to see how bad it is when you are in it, I see that now.  And it's going to take work to get me back to where I was.  And that's so sad.

Comment Whore

I got a comment on the other blog today.  It was nice, and it was from a stranger.  Betty White who?

I feel better now. :-)

Deepest Desire or Worst Nightmare

This week my dreams have been particularly vivid.  Last night's emotional torment took an all-time high.

In my dream I started out in a bottom floor of a building.  Lover Boy took me to an escalator and told me we were going up.

I took a few steps up before I realized that there were no sides, and it seemed to stretch on forever.  Of course it also narrowed as it went up as well.  My heart started racing and I dropped to my knees.  As soon as I can't see where it began, nor where it seems to end, it breaks down.  I look down into the abyss and start to panic.  I can't go down, and I can't bring myself to keep climbing up, even though Lover Boy is a few steps ahead, tapping his foot impatiently.

After a little while I finally get the nerve to move, or more scoot, up the escalator until I reached the top, which was a huge house.  Sadly, because it had taken me so long to get there, we had squatters.  The people actually consisted of friends I had had in elementary school, and a few cousins I hated.

I found my mom and complained that she didn't take care of anything while I was away, and now all these people I used to be friends with are there trashing it!  She told me I was being too mean and I should let everyone live there.  It was bonkers.

But I still woke up with that feeling I was stuck on the elevator, too scared to look down, and too scared to look up.

'Cause When the Heart Breaks it Don't Break Even

I care too much. It's one of the worst faults I have. If someone says to me, "Yeah, but who cares?" There is rarely a time when my head doesn't scream to them "I DO! I CARE!"

It's become a detriment. A weight. And I've learned to not care about certain things. Well, not NOT care as much as realize that there are some things that aren't worth worrying about that much. If dishes sit around for a couple of days, the earth isn't going to rotate right off it's axis. Everything will be fine.

I do this with my friends too. I'm an extremist friend. If you are my friend, and you need help, I'm right there. I'm doing the right thing for you, whether it's tell you that the boy who doesn't like you is an idiot, or trying to win that idiot back. But if one of my friends is doing something really stupid, I'm not keeping my mouth shut. I'm telling them exactly what they need to do to remedy a situation. I'm a great friend.

Never in my life has anyone abused this like a recent friend. I found this site on the internet and the line;

No matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. That is exactly what has been happening to me. This whole friendship I've been giving and giving and getting nothing back. Not because she was a bad person, but because she just wasn't capable of giving anything back. And even though I do love to help, it's like my advice wasn't being listened to. She wasn't learning anything from my sound advice. And I wasn't getting a friend in return.

It weighed on me. With what I've gone through, what I'm still going through...I don't have the emotional capacity to be anyone's pillar anymore. I've gotta get out.

Sky High Expectations

Along the lines of the last post, Lover Boy and I had a disagreement last night. Every once in awhile I begin to feel like a self-imposed martyr.

I feel as if you get up in the morning, and go to work. It doesn't matter if you are sick (to a point), or you didn't get enough sleep the night before, or if you slept wrong and your arm hurts. You go to work, baring not being able to stop throwing up long enough to get to work.

Even throwing up sometimes means you still go into work. I had a job where I was the only one on shift, the store needed to be opened, and the manager refused to answer his phone. So, I left the bathroom opened, and helped customers in between running to the bathroom and throwing up.

You get home, and you start cleaning up after yourself/others. You make dinner, you eat it, you wash the dishes. You go through the mail and pay the bills and clean the bathroom and take out the garbage and do all those little things you put off.

I usually try to get things done before I do something fun like clear out the DVR. I'm not saying that always happens. I have days when I literally can't do it, and I eat a spoonful of peanut butter while watching "The Real World: DC." until about 8pm, when I climb into bed and read until 10 and then go to sleep.

This would be the perfect way to live, if I was living alone. Maybe, if I was living alone, I would actually slack off more. But, I feel I owe it to Lover Boy to keep the place relatively clean. After all, he works 12 hours a day to my 8 1/2, and I have the afternoon to do my things as apposed to his mornings before he has to go to work.

It's still a new house, though. We've lived there since late December, and we still have boxes. We still have things to hang up. Chandeliers that need to be re-placed, and light bulbs.

I guess these are things that I could do on my own, but the 50's housewife in me thinks the "man of the house" should do these things. He SAYS he'll do these things. Then, they don't get done. It was a joke about one of these things that lead to our fight last night.

I harbor all these emotions about how I have to do everything, and how it's SOOOO unfair. But, the truth is, I built these expectations. Just because I can go home and be a powerhouse about my stuff doesn't mean that he will be about his. It doesn't help that I ask him to do something, and then don't see him. We work opposite shifts, and our only day off together is Sunday.

He will do things in his own time, but I don't want to be a fishwife in the meantime. I don't want to have to nag for things to get done within the week. I'm tired of working so hard.

But I'm the only one pushing me.

Polish the Stars

My parents gave me my love of musicals. Dad and I had been making the "jokes" in Mary Poppins to each other since I could talk.

The Music Man was my favorite musical to watch with my Dad. We would watch it over and over again. It was the the first live show I ever saw. We dressed up and went downtown to the show, but a train was coming and we had to run across the tracks to get to the show on time. I remember staring down the tracks into the bright light.

The show opened with the sound of a train, and a bright light came on the stage. I buried my face into my mother's neck, terrified we were about to be run over for the second time that night.

In later years, I asked my dad what his favorite musical was, fully expecting him to say The Music Man. But he surprised me and said Carousel.

To those who don't know the premise, a man up in heaven (which isn't heaven so much as it's a place you go after you die to polish the stars) gets one more chance to go down and put things right with the way he left his wife and child. As the story goes on, you see that he wasn't a very good guy. He was selfish, a jerk, but he fell in love with this girl and tried to stay on the straight and narrow path for her. It didn't work, and he got himself killed right after learning she was to have his child.

I remember at the end my dad always getting weepy, when even though he hadn't apologized or made anything better, he is sorry and goes back up to polish the stars.

My mom recently expressed a want to see it (since right before he died I thought it would comfort him to see it again and sent a copy) and I told her it needed to wait. That, along with so many other movies, would've broken us at the time.

I still haven't gotten up the courage to watch it, but every so often I think of my dad, looking down on me, and polishing the stars.

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

I started last year knowing that 2 people were going to die on me. They had issued my Dad the death sentence of 3 months, and my dementia-ridden Grandmother had stopped eating. Both had a DNR order on file.

I was also having horrible chest pains in the middle of the night that wouldn't stop. One lasted for 48 hours. The pain was so bad that, given the choice of dying or calling an ambulance, I would've rather died on the spot.

In reality, I'd been having these pains for years. I had dismissed them as panic attacks, and didn't dare tell anyone about them, for fear it would make me look weak. But, suddenly, in 2009, I couldn't spend a week without being attacked by this unbearable pain. I would spend most nights on the floor in the bathroom, crying for the pain to stop. Sleep would only come after 6 shots of vodka. Nightly.

Finally I went to the doctor, who assumed it was some sort of heart failure. He took blood, urine, EKG, and an, a stress test, chest x-ray, and ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed my gallstones. The doctor said I had more stones than gallbladder at that point. They must have been getting bigger since my first attack, at 16 years old.

But I had to wait. Everyone was on the cusp of death, and all needed to be settled before I could embark upon my first surgery. In fact, I hadn't checked into a hospital since I had pneumonia at 3 months old.

So, as the year wore on, and my awaited deaths occurred, plus one (my dear Nana), I found a doctor and went under the knife. I was terrified, but knew that 2010 could not start with a surgery. Everything needed to be clean and clear by December 31st, 2009.

And it was. With the inheritance that was left to me by my Grandma, we bought a house and watched fireworks outside our bedroom window, then went straight to bed.

My father appeared in my dreams that night. The family was all together and happy, planning a trip out to picnic. We gathered it all and started off to walk to the park, when I noticed that Dad hadn't followed. I turned around to look at him. I know my look said "Are you coming?" and he looked at me and smiled his charming Southern smile and said to me, "Ah, y'all can go on without me."

And I opened my eyes to the brand new year.

Subconsciousness

I had been saddled with the task of burying my father's body. His newly found will stated he wanted to be put in a special coffin and have it sunk to the bottom of the sea. The coffin was made of ship parts and where his head would lay was a submarine window.

The time had come where I had to put the body into the coffin. I didn't want to touch it, and it was horrible. I slid his body off the table into the coffin, and it slipped. I was going to have to actually touch the body to move it all the way into the coffin. I sat there, shaking, not wanting to do it.

And then he moved.

He started laughing, and stood up, and said "surprise!" He told me he had been faking his second death for 5 days, slowing his heart rate so everyone thought he was dead. He told me it was like a really long nap, which he needed since he faked his own death nearly a year ago. He paid someone to give my mom someone else's ashes, and he decided to go off and enjoy the world.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe my dad was not only alive, but he had lied to us...twice! The emotion of everything that had just happened was overwhelming. I screamed at him "You try and fake your own death again and I will PERSONALLY light you on fire myself!"

He approached me to comfort me, and I saw his big stomach, his laughing eyes, his mustache, and I tried to hit him. I wanted to hurt him for hurting me so much, I tried to hit his stomach, and I completely lost energy by the time my fist got to him. I sank to the floor and started sobbing. Big, wracking sobs; the sobs I'd only experienced before when my grandma had a heart attack and I saw her scar and realized what mortality was.

It was the big sobs that broke through and woke up my husband. He shook me awake and I remembered it all. Then it hit me it was back to the beginning; he was dead. Not twice, just once. Next month will be a year since his death.

And I started to softly cry.

Spanxed

I decided I could no longer go out someplace nice and look as dumpy as I did. I knew I needed Spanx.

The only place I knew that sold them was Lane Bryant. I've never stepped foot inside there before because I would feel more judged than if I walked into a modeling competition. Isn't it strange, that I don't care what those skinny ass bitches think of me, but I hate someone thinking that I'm that skinny bitch? I fear the wrath of the fat girls way more, maybe because I equate weight with intelligence. Because let's face it, most of the beautiful skinny girls are really stupid. In my experience.

So I walk into Lane Bryant with my head down, searching for the Spanx. I saw them in the distance and made a beeline. Suddenly, like a scene out of a horror movie, an overweight employee stepped out behind the wall and greeted me.

My face flushed and I say hi in return, and she asked me what I was looking for. Because I was caught, I said I'd just found what I was looking for, and pointed to the Spanx. She asked me what I needed to use them for, calling me "sweetie." I awkwardly explained that my stomach was sticking out in my dresses, making them look bad. "I carry all my weight in my stomach" I explained.

"Yeah, me too sweetie" was her reply. She looked me up and down and stifled an eye-roll while she said it, and I nearly hung my head in shame. I am overweight, but I know I have nothing on her.

And who knows? Maybe she wasn't judging me. Maybe she felt compassion for ANYONE who walked in the door, knowing they feel uncomfortable in their own skin. Maybe that's why she kept calling me annoying pet names.

On the way to the cash wrap she pointed out they had underwear on sale, and I politely declined, saying I had just gotten a bunch of underwear.

"Victoria's Secret?"

"Um, no...Wal-Mart actually. Gotta...love...Hanes...."

Was the Victoria's Secret thing a slight? Was she just being polite? Who knows! At that point I was buying a modern day corset for an absurd price, and I just wanted to get out of there.

Of course, there is a problem with the computer, so I'm left to look around while it gets fixed. It's then that I see....a lot of those clothes were really cute.

Then my mind split in two. One side was saying I should start shopping there. I could wear their smallest size, and then I wouldn't feel so uncomfortable all the time. And I'd look nice. I'd be able to go out looking nice and have a good time without worrying people looking at me because I'm overweight.

The other half of my mind was telling me; This is the slippery slope. You start wearing these clothes, you make it okay to be this overweight, and then you just start getting fatter instead of skinner. You need to be uncomfortable in social situations because it's the drive you need to lose weight. Sure, it's only about 30 pounds you need to lose, whereas the employee of Lane Bryant needed to lose about 100. I'm not THAT bad.

But I could be.