Falling in love is like owning a dog

This was the poem printed on the back of our wedding programs with a picture of Leela underneath. I found it this afternoon going through some old cards from our wedding presents and fell in love with it all over again.

Falling in love is like owning a dog
an epithalamion by Taylor Mali

First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

Perhaps I should buy a copy of The Primavera* as a reminder...

This week has been a slightly emotional one for me. 

I got back from my workshop Sunday in high spirits, but exhausted.  Monday I kind of took it easy, tried to write some (successful) and get into some kind of schedule.  If there's one thing I need in order to stay sane, it's a schedule.  I was feeling kind of sick Monday, and I had a sneaking thought in the back of my head that there was an underlying reason for my nausea, so I took a HPT.  No dice.  That kind of put me in a sour mood the rest of the day, and I didn't much feel like doing anything afterward. 

Tuesday was pretty low-key, too.  Still feeling crappy because of my negative result the day before, but I had errands to run, so I at least got out of the house.  While I was picking out bananas at the grocery store, I got a call from my recruiter saying that she had an interview lined up for me IN Woodstock at an IT company, and wanted to know if the next day was good for me.  My hopes had been restored, and I agreed.  I went home and checked out the company and made sure I'd be ready for my interview. 

Wednesday - the day of the interview.  It was scheduled for 1:00, but it's only 3 miles away, so I left 15 minutes before the interview, knowing that it should have been plenty of time to get there and even sit in the parking lot.  Until I got off the exit and saw there were TWO LANES blocked on the road I needed to be on.  And of course, there were assholes everywhere, trying to inch their way to the front of an already slow-moving line, just making the traffic worse.  I panicked, because I could see where I needed to turn but couldn't get there.  I could've walked there faster.  I ended up being 15 minutes late, and I was utterly embarrassed.  When I walked in and said I had a 1:00 interview, and the girl at the desk looked down at her notes and said they weren't expecting me until 3:00, but that another Ashley was scheduled at 1:00, and she didn't show (not sure whose fault THAT was, but certainly not mine).  I was able to come in and have my interview right then, but only got 15 minutes because there was another scheduled at 1:30.  Right off the bat I could tell this douche wasn't interested in me.  And I'm not calling him a douche out of spite that he didn't hire me.  He clearly didn't even read my resume, asking me about jobs that weren't listed there, and he didn't use eye contact, another pet peeve of mine.  I left, thinking if he calls me back it'll be a miracle, but I sent a handwritten thank-you note anyway. 

Yesterday - (male readers beware) I had a doctor's appointment to follow-up on my concerns about being able to conceive.  I went in really nervous about what the doctor would tell me, but I'm the kind of person that likes to be informed, even if it's bad news.  Of course, in the waiting room, I sat next to a teenage girl who was there with I assume to be her boyfriend, and she was about to pop.  The only clue I had was his Woodstock High School sweatsuit, but I assumed they were students, and made up some story about how they got too drunk at a party last spring and poof! she's pregnant.

Anyway, I told the new doctor what's been going on with me and my reason for visiting, and she said (basically) that I need to monitor my cycle as best I can so she has a better idea of what could be wrong.  In February (our year mark), if I still haven't conceived, she wants me to come back in for fertility testing and see about putting me on Clomid.  They did some bloodwork and I'm (im)patiently awaiting to hear if they found anything wrong right away.  I've never been a hypochondriac until now, and I've Googled everything that could possibly be wrong with me.  I came home from the appointment feeling hopeless, like I had a timeline of four months to conceive or else I'm clinically considered someone who's "struggling with infertility."  I know that's not the case, but there's not a whole lot someone can say to console that feeling of "not being good enough."  I called a friend, (in fact, the one who jump-started my desire to have children when her daughter was born in February), and she said something that helped a lot - "When you do finally get pregnant, you won't have that squeamish feeling of "do I want this baby?", or  "Should I be happy?"  "You'll have wanted that day for so long, that you'll appreciate every moment, and you'll be able to tell them that you wanted them, that they were the best thing to ever happen to you, and it'll be true."

What I've decided is that if/when I finally do have a baby, I will not be going back on birth control pills between the first and second pregnancy, and definitely not going back on them afterward.  That stuff screws with the body so much, and I wish I had known all the affects a year or two ago when I knew Oscar would be the man I wanted to marry and have children with.  But, there's nothing I can do about it now except wait and hope that one day, I'll get to hop up and down when I see a positive result. 

My week got a little better this morning after waiting in line for two hours at the Georgia Department of Labor. I received a letter from them yesterday saying I had a week from Monday to come in and put myself back in the system (a glitch, apparently), and that I had to come by or else my claim would be cancelled.  I got to the office before it even opened, thinking I was planning ahead, but I still had about 30 or so people in front of me.  After all that waiting, my name was finally called and I was told that my claim has been re-opened until next spring. 

Maybe spring of 2010 will be an all-around new beginning for me. 

*Wiki here.

You Are Now Entering the Zona Rosa*

This weekend I attended a writing workshop with Rosemary called "What Geniuses Know."  I was really pumped because I haven't had a chance to go to any of the workshops before, and I didn't really know what to expect. 

Since I am currently not working a 9-to-5, I had the pleasure of offering Rosemary transportation to and from High Shoals, where the workshop was taking place, and I was able to (I think) finally bond with her. 

The workshop took place at this beautiful renovated house of a Zona Rosa Alpha Babe (what the Atlanta group is called) named Kathleen, who now rents it out as a vacation home.  The house was spectacular - so cozy, and perfect for this workshop.  Upon our arrival, I was met by another Zona Rosan, Jill, whom I had never met but her warmness made me feel immediately like I was in a good place, a happy place. 

I spent Friday night there with Kathleen, Jill, Rosemary and Alpha Babe Pamella, the legendary Zona Rosa chef who prepares the scrumptious meals for most of the workshops.  Saturday morning I woke up really early, but so did Jill, and I ended up having the best conversation with her about everything that has been going on in my life recently.  It was so therapeutic; she had an amazing perspective on everything I shared. 

The other workshop attendees started to arrive a little before 10:00am, and staked out their seats for the day.  As they trickled in, I realized I was the youngest by at least 15 years, most of them having grown children, and even grandchildren, and I started to feel overwhelmed that most of them have really lived, and have had far more interesting stories than I could ever share.  (Not to mention that I was sitting in a room chock-full of MILFs - so many gorgeous women!) I felt embarrassed being there, humbled to be in what I presumed to be the presence of writing greatness. 

The first exorcise (also called Pilates on Paper) was "What three things are you a genius of?"

1.) Making efficiency easy.
2.) Finding goodness in every situation.
3.) My sense of whimsy, childlike wonder. 

It was difficult, especially given that lately, I feel I'm not a genius of much of anything, except keeping our house clean. When I read my answers, Rosemary said they described me perfectly.  After hearing some of the other responses, I also added "research" to my list, reminded that my friend Nadia has said this to me on many occasions, given my insatiable need to Google everything.

The second was sizeably more difficult - "What are 3 negative beliefs that hold me back?"

1.) I do not write eloquently enough to write anything worth reading.
2.) I don't offer anything new to the world that hasn't already been said.
3.) An overwhelming fear of judgment from others.  (Which is weird, given that I blog).

As I learned, my fears are pretty common.  Rosemary chose me to share first for this exorcise, and many of the women that shared after me had the same fears, which made me realize it doesn't matter how good you really are, the fears of rejection and judgment are still there. 

The last exorcise Rosemary had us do was a stream-of-consciousness using the word "you" instead of "I" - sharing fantasies, experiences, ideas, feelings, senses, memories, etc.  Mine really reflected how I was feeling right then, and my fears became evident:

You have never been around such an amazing group of women in your life.  Their experiences, goals and feelings are things you fear you’ll never feel.  The world is so new to you, how can you sit down and write what you do not know.  You are a novice and they are skilled craftsmen, and you try to soak up every word.  When is your life supposed to start, you wonder.  Did it start when you finished school, when you got your first job, when you got married?  You thought it did, but hen realized you still have much more growing up to do.  Things to learn and see and do, how can you possibly fit it all in, and good gracious, you’re already 25.  You should be in grad school, you should have figured out what you want to do, you should want to hold off on having babies, because once you do, there’s no turning back… But yet, you can’t help but feel like you’re letting someone down for wanting the normalcy so many others run from. 
Here you sit, in your black leather desk chair, staring into your blank computer screen, silently begging for words to come, for something powerful, something true.  And you have nothing.  Paralyzed by fear, you can’t put anything on paper for fear of judgment.  Judgment is keeping you from truly living the life you want to live.  Maybe these wonderful, beautiful women can help you figure out what you want to say, what you need to say. 
You want to be proud of yourself and you just haven’t tapped that inner freedom of living free of judgment.  People don’t understand that you’re not running out to find a job you don’t care about because you have a job – and it’s learning to write your truths.
You want to make your grandfather proud.  He was a writer, the strong silent type, and you wish you could have taken advantage of hearing his writing life stories before his other life was over.  For some reason, you worry he only saw you through to your bratty teenage years, and you wished he could’ve been proud of you, of your own writing life.  Sadly, there’s nobody in your family that shares your need to create something.  You’re a loner, a creative black sheep… But you feel your connection with him, and you’re filled with thoughts like flickering lightning bugs, lighting up the darkness of your otherwise murky vision of who you are what you want for yourself. 

Knowing full and well that I’d probably have to read that to the group after I wrote it, I panicked, thinking I should try and write something else in the time I had left, because here my insecurities were, all splayed out on the page.  Cheap words hussied out, spilling out of their so-called undergarments.  But, I read it anyway, and when I did, I got emotional, and started to tear before I got to the end.  They praised me for being so honest and were humbled by my admiration.

The rest of the workshop was spent reading manuscripts, and I couldn’t bring myself to offer up anything I’d written, I just listened and responded to others’ writing instead, taking it all in.  For every manuscript read, I gained a newfound appreciation for the world (as cheesy as it sounds), and felt my heart swell. 

Saturday night I went to sleep easily, emotionally exhausted from the workshop, and before leaving Sunday morning, Jill said something to me that really resonated – “You need to make sure you give yourself time to relax when you get home.  It’s emotionally draining when you go through these workshops, and you need to give yourself some time to take it all in.” 

Truer words have never been spoken, as I came home yesterday afternoon and took a 2-hour nap on the couch with the dog.  I came home feeling creatively refreshed, and had a deeper appreciation for everything and everyone I have in my life.



*The Prologue to Secrets of the Zona Rosa.

Rerailing the train

Today wasn't supposed to be any abnormal kind of day.  It's raining (again).  It seems awfully ironic that it feels like Georgia has gotten nothing but rain for the past month, when we needed it desperately for so long. 

Anyway.

Another rainy Monday.  This morning I had an interview that I shouldn't have bothered with in the first place.  The reason I even accepted is because I have the inability to say no to everyone except Oscar and the dog.  Plus, I need to show I'm trying to get a job for my record of work search in case my unemployment claim gets re-opened. 

The interview was nothing special. Thirty minutes, and I was back on the road, en route to Barnes and Noble to look at GACE practice exams and to ask about their holiday hiring schedule (and there isn't one this year, as I found out).  After perusing the entire store, I stopped at a table that was promoting the new Where the Wild Things Are movie, and I picked up a copy, deciding that one day, little junior Velez will need a copy of this in their library. 

Except, I didn't stop there.  I walked over to the Libros en Espanol section and picked up a Spanish copy of Mike Mulligan and his Steamshovel, and got teary-eyed, blinking back the tears right there in the children's section.  I didn't mean to, and of course, it got worse as I flipped through the book, reading to myself the words I have practically memorized in English from when my parents and grandparents read it to me over and over. 

Then, I picked up a copy bilingual copy of Are You My Mother (one of my favorite books), added it to my stack, and kept moving.  I was running around the children's section, "I can buy them all, I can buy them all, I can buy them all."

Before I knew it, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs and Tikki-Tikki-Tembo also got added to my stack, and it was about that time I realized 1.) That I needed to get ahold of myself, because I was picking up books for a library belonging to a child that hasn't even been conceived yet, 2.) I felt slightly guilty about buying books of any kind while I'm currently unemployed. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

My friend Mark came over last week and we split a bottle of wine and played catch-up.  During our chat, he asked me if I think I'm so focused on getting pregnant right now because I'm not working, and I said, yes, probably.  It's especially hard because I don't want to just get a job "just anywhere" and be underemployed, but I'm starting to feel the guilt rise up again (particularly because I'm not getting unemployment help right now), and I focus on all the negativity surrounding that.  And then, I focus on the idea of becoming a mom, and it consumes me.  It's a vicious cycle because I'm not pregnant, and it just gets added to my "negative" list. 

I really, really need something to pass the time/make money/keep me from buying up everything Scholastic has ever published, and I've signed up for my first two GACE tests I need to take in order to begin my certification process, but those aren't until January.  So I have 2 1/2 months before I can even take those. 

And what's worse, what causes my stomach to knot up like an angry coiled snake, is that I don't even have it that bad.  There are people out there who can't make their house payments, who are getting their possessions stripped away from them because they lost their jobs, people without medical insurance who are thousands in debt, and so on.  I should feel lucky that I don't have any of that resting on my shoulders, and it's just guilt from buying up half the children's section at Barnes and Noble.  I'll be ok, and I know that.  Oscar and I are doing just fine, and I'm on the verge of making a life-altering and hopefully rewarding career change, we are blessed with the best families anyone could ever ask for, and I have a steady group of friends I can call just about anytime.  I just get derailed sometimes.

Step aside, Freud*

You know what?  I've decided that this whole trying to get pregnant thing is beneath me.  I kinda don't like the idea of having something attached to me 24/7.  I like being (somewhat) independent.  I have personal freedoms that I'm not sure I want to give up yet. 

In no particular order, some reasons for reconsideration:

- I love having two cups of coffee in the morning.  I don't have to worry about how many miligrams of caffeine are in each one, if I've had too much and what it's doing to the baby in my belly. 

- Ditto for my love of merlot.  I want a glass of wine, I have a glass of wine.  Or another margarita.  Or two beers if I want. (I hope that doesn't make me sound like I have a drinking problem, ha)

- The only person that follows me around now is the dog.  And she's not as nearly as needy as a child would be.  If she needs to pee, I open the back door.  Worst case, I clean her muddy paws when she comes back, but I don't have detect if she has to go, help her go, or clean up after her when she does go.  She just goes.

- I have travel plans that I'm really looking forward to, and I'd hate to give those up.  Two weekends from now, a whole weekend in High Shoals for a writing workshop, and then a few weeks after that, I'm going to San Francisco for a few days to visit a friend.  Don't have to worry about who's gonna take care of junior when there's no junior.

- We currently have nice things that aren't covered in mashed Cheerios and/or puke and/or God knows what else.  Granted, they're covered in animal hair, but take a vaccum to the furniture every now and then, and we're good to go.

- If I want to run errands, I can without worrying about a babysitter or getting the stroller/diaper bag/toys/bottles ready.  I get myself ready, I grab my keys, I pat the dog on the head and tell her to guard the house, and I'm out the door. 

- Cankles.  I'm not sure if I'd be subjected to cankles given my petite size, but it could happen, and I like wearing pumps.

- One word: episeotomy.

- Breastfeeding a teething child sounds like a pain I'm not really sure I want to endure.

So maybe one day, I'll give it a second thought.  Maybe.  If I'm going crazy with boredom and decide I no longer care if I'm wearing clothes with baby food smeared on them or that I haven't washed my hair in 3 days or that my car has turned into the abyss where pacifiers go to die.  But for now, I think I'll go finish off my pot of coffee, because I can.  


*(At least I believe it's Freud.  Google failed me.)

Our Anniversary Beach Trip

This will be a picture-heavy post, mostly of the adorable beach cottage we stayed in.  It was 500 square feet, but the perfect size for two people.  I fell in love with the decor and their yard (wait til you see).

My Mom is friends with the couple that gifted us a weekend in this cottage for our anniversary, and when we were down in Florida back in August, they invited us to come up.  We happily obliged.

This couldn't come at a better time for me (although the paid vacation days would've been nice), and Seaside is just so charming.

 The front as seen from the side gate.

The right side of the cottage.

Behind the cottage (I loved the little birdhouses!)

The outside shower in back (had hot water!).

Part of the living room area, and Oscar what he did a good portion of the trip. (love the red floors)

Obviously, this is the bedroom.  This picture captures pretty much the whole size of it.  Tiny, but inviting.

Half the kitchen and the living area.

The cute little kitchen.

We definitely ate well on this trip.  We arrived Friday just before noon and had lunch at Barefoot Barbeque in Seaside.  The "restaurant" is just a silver bullet trailer, with little tables outside.  I ordered pulled pork sliders (HUGE, not sliders at all) and the best damn macaroni and cheese I've ever.  had.  It tasted like Velveeta was smothered all over it, but it wasn't, because this barbeque place was organic/hippie-friendly.  Seriously, see below, because Oscar ordered it too, along with his ginormous turkey leg. 

Friday night we checked out Cafe Rendez-Vous and I ate a complete vegetarian meal.  Not on purpose, I assure you, but I think I hit my meat quotient for the day at lunch.  Saturday and Sunday were equally fattening, but I didn't take photos of any of that, so you'll just have to trust me.

Here's one of the two of us to prove I was actually there.

Lastly, after having our anniversary brunch Sunday morning at the Red Bar, we went across the street to this artsy-fartsy store called Zoo Gallery, where I picked up this piece of art/big 'ol piece of plywood depending on who you ask to commemorate our one year anniversary. I'm not sure what picture I'll put in it, but I think it'll hang at the base of our stairs.  Mainly to remind Oscar that e.e cummings "makes no sense" and that he "could've made that." 

All in all, it's been a magnificent first year. It's gone by fast, and I know everyone says that, but it's true. The first year is supposed to be the hardest, and we've managed to make it unscathed, so I say bring on the rest. 

It's Tuesday and most of you are at work. Suckers.

What a morning.

I dropped applications at Barnes and Noble and a local coffeehouse, and tried to stop by the unemployment office three times this morning, only to be thwarted by So. Many. Cars.  It was busier than I've ever seen it, and as many times as I've been, I didn't want to stand and wait in line for a couple hours to hear that I'm ineligible for unemployment, which I very well may be due to a lack of hours at my previous temp job. 

Before the third attempt, I went by Garden Ridge to kill some time.  While moseying through the mirror aisle, I became uncomfortable and completely self-aware (walking through an entire aisle of your own reflection can do that to someone).  I couldn't help but look for a moment, and I realized that I finally look like an adult.  I also happen to be having a pretty killer hair day, if I do say so myself, and that helped a little.  Overall, I'm pleased with how I look, I guess, but I'm so overwhelmed by the adult I'm quickly turning into. 

I left Garden Ridge empty-handed (a good thing), and headed over to the unemployment office for the third time.  Still packed.  So I left.

Fine.  I chickened out.  But you have to understand, losing job number two in a matter of months doesn't do much to plump the ego. 

I stopped by my favorite local bookstore (Foxtale in downtown Woodstock) to ask if they'd need some temporary help for the Christmas season and the lady behind the desk told me unfortunately they're still so small that they can't hire anyone.  I told her about Literally Efficient and was able to namedrop Rosemary (which felt amazing, by the way), and she told me to consider hosting a writing group of sorts there if I wanted to.  If I can just think of something, I'll totally do that, but that doesn't put the cash in my hand, and all I can think of is How Will I Buy My Christmas Presents This Year??, even though I know it has nothing to do with that, really. 

I thought I was done with the stress of being jobless.  I accepted that second job thinking it would get me through until I (finally) get pregnant and can stay home for a while.  It's tough to try and keep an open mind, and keep thinking happy thoughts when everything around me feels like it's going to shit. 

I came home and our house smells musty (If you ask me, like animal pee, although I don't know that for sure), so I opened every openable window, and now I'm just enjoying the fresh air sweeping in.