If you wouldn't mind..

Today, in Washington DC, I have two friends I love dearly who are struggling. Both are quite protective of their privacy so I won't go into detail. They're on the verge of ultimate happiness and have encountered a speed bump the size of Ireland. I'm asking that each of you who read this send up a special prayer or thought for them. Of all the things I believe in, I believe in answers to prayers the most. And I know this will help.

If there was a way to blush in a headline, insert it here.

Mike's Mom reads the blog.

Oh yes. Yes, she does. Good heavens, the things I've said here! Happily, a quick (and by quick I mean a very through review of every word) skim of my former posts makes me glad I started a new blog! Far fewer manifestos on, say, make-out. Which, of course, I have never, ever done.

Ever.

But I shall not blog about that (Hi, Marcine!).

I'm going to gush a bit. And you're going to have to deal with it. Tonight I was talking to Mike, as usual (we talk, like, every moment we can), and we were discussing money. Yes, money. We talk about stuff like that. And how we manage it. And I didn't freak out!

To give you some background here, I'm not great with money left to my own devices. I'm not like heroin-addict bad but I'm not good. I am, however, worlds better and getting better (which I am so proud of) every year. But when it comes to talking about it, I have an instant reaction of extreme anxiety. Probably because every time I have to vocalize about it it's been to ask for help or receive some scolding. It's been years since that's actually happened (the scolding, that is, the help part played into my last, jobless year very much) but it's still a topic I can't even broach with my Mom. And that's saying something.

Something about Mike, however, leads me to believe that whatever I throw at him he'll just react rationally, calmly and it will all be fine.* It's truly astounding! When I discuss funds with him I still go to a '2' on the anxiety scale but it's about eight points less that usual. And that's just...astounding. He knows about my financial behaviors of the past, we share our present and we plan for what the future may hold. It's so nice! And it's a financial discussion!

If you had asked me four months ago if I'd be here today, blogging this, I would have laughed you out of my apartment. There is something so basic about the calm Mike gives me, so stable about our connection, that I can't imagine that I ever existed before it. It's both scary and the greatest feeling I've ever felt. And, I tell you what, it's something I'd get a little gushy (even on my blog or--astoundingly--in real life) about so that everyone (Hi Marcine!) has a chance to know how I feel.

Icky? Yes. But so true.



*That is not to say he's always a Zen master. That man can be ...um...passionate about things like, say, idiot drivers or just stupidity in general. But, let's face it, I couldn't live with bland. I'd go nutso.

Back from fishing.

I have so many excuses about why I don't blog regularly. Mostly they're crap. But they feel so valid! For instance, that every weekend since I met TheBoyfriend has been spent either on the road or with a guest. Then the days we're not together, I'm working.*

And the other usual clean/shop/bills junk. But that's all a non-issue. It's mostly the I-don't-want-to-move-or-stop-this-conversation moments that are killing me.

I swear, if I didn't love that man so much it would be way more efficient to just break up with him. Alas, not going to happen. In fact, quite the opposite. We've decided that, come the end of January, I'm going to relocate to Utah in order to further our relationship. 8 hour drives after 12 hour graveyard shifts is fun, I won't lie. But it may be nicer to have a bit more 'normal' in our relationship.

But then, who am I kidding? :)

I can't help, realizing that I will only be in my dear apartment a few more ...weeks, really, wanting to be here as much as I can. I love Montana, this apartment and my life here. It's such a beautiful place--ethereal and physical--that I almost can't fathom living elsewhere. In fact, I planned my life here I never would. But this new adventure is too compelling. I must follow my heart and right now that's going to mean Utah.

So! There it is. The blog of excuses and pleasant exhaustion. Now, after my first day off at home in eons, I'm going to fall into my clean bed in my clean house and just rest for the upcoming upheaval.




*Not that he's not, he is. He just has a normal schedule compared to my 3-4-4-3 of 12 hours--madness! But I do love that schedule.

I'm, like, all over the internet today!

My friend Erin wrote a blog post about lunch with me last week. If, say, you're easily shocked by her opinions of my opinions I wouldn't go the article.*

Also, I just finished dying my own hair for the first time since high school. And I don't think I did a horrible job! I blogged about it on the blog I share with Amber.

And now, I'm off to do laundry, drop my car at the shop and do all manner of other grown up things!


*Hello, Mike's sister. I would like to, right here, refute that I talk about sex as much as Erin says I do. Totally untrue. I have no idea at all where she'd get a notion like that. I'm shocked and appalled. It's possible I'm considering legal action. Or some other such thing. I need this foot note to establish plausible deniability. Just wanted you to know in case you do to read that before meeting me. And if it were true, well, I've changed. I am an angel, pure as the driven snow. Just for the record.

Existing

It's a good thing.

Some of you may know about my new job, some may not. I've avoided going public with the nature of my work because it's one of those jobs, you know? The kind where everyone is a bit fascinated but no one wants to hear the real answers to their questions. It's turning out, however, that I can't vent without revealing why I'm venting--I'm no good at veiled.

So, here goes. At the moment I am a 9-1-1 operator. I spend my shifts answering all kinds of calls, helping dispatch officers and fire/medical assistance. My particular county is huge and, in places, remote so the job has a high degree of variety. I love it. More than I've loved just about any other job. Totally high stress when I'm there and then I can walk out the door and leave it all behind.

Most of it anyway.

The thing that stays with me is the people and my occasional inability to significantly improve their lives. Most people call for something and I can get help there pronto. That's an excellent feeling. Some people call me for help and there is not a dang thing I can do. Less good. The worst?

When people call, there is something I can do, and they don't allow me to do it.

The. pits.

Suicidal calls are rare, of course, but terrible. Tonight we had our yearly quota. I won't tell you about them specifically, I can't. And I wouldn't, really, because there is no reason for you to have to have that in your mind. But I will tell you that there is nearly nothing in the world that can't be overcome. I mean, really. When you're feeling like it's all too much, that there's no point? You're wrong. There's a point. And you're making a difference. There is no way you'll ever know how deleting yourself from the grand scheme of things will effect and affect other people--there's always someone who will miss you, who will feel the loss and the pain if you're gone.

I hope you'll believe me. And if you don't? If you're at the moment you can't take it any more? Seriously, call 9-1-1. Help is always available.

Dark side of the moon

I think that 0500 blogging is going to be my new norm. Most of the world is quiet and I'm fighting to stay awake. Clearly all of you must suffer because of that.

Fa-nter is officially here in Missoula. We had some snow, it melted but stayed cold and gloomy. I anticipate I won't see the sun again until..oh..wait. I'm going to Utah on Sunday. I suppose I can't whine about the weather when I'll keep going South for as long as I can over the next few weeks.

Speaking of Utah, it turns out the guy I'm dating, let's call him 'Mike', has some parents. Who knew?! And since we're progressing in this process he's proposed* that I meet them. I managed to eek out an 'ok' before I fell to the floor in the midst of a panic attack.

Ok, it's possible I'm overstating.

But really, is there a more uncomfortable phase of wooing than parental meetings? I know it's not always that way nor, truly, do I expect that this time will be bad. It's just such a delicate time and, often, I'm not linguistically delicate. It makes me worry that something I say or somehow I tease Mike will be misconstrued. I suppose, however, that one must trust the judgement of their significant other, especially in this matter. After all, the SO is the product of those parents and I like him!

That meeting, for the curious, will be taking place the week of Thanksgiving. Which is a week I also work my 'long' set of shifts (4 12-hour shifts from 7pm to 7am). I know I'm not going to get much sleep but I'm sure it will be worth it.

And there it is. The occasional relationship update that may eventually lead to a change in the blog name. Tragic, I know.

*ha ha! Gotcha!

Karma, and I don't mean my mother or grandmother.

Besides, their names are spelled 'Carma'.

I have a confession. I'm on the border of the land of 'sappy happy' and I have every intention of continuing on my current route. The only problem is that I've mocked the residents thereof for years, and I do mean YEARS, and I'm not sure I'm enjoying the karmic lesson.

I told that to the guy I'm dating. His reply? "I love you. Deal with it."

I'm totally entranced by his confidence in this matter. I know it's not human to be perfectly confident in all areas, of course, but in this thing he's so sure! I don't know if I've mentioned his profession but he's a programmer. I keep joking with him that this isn't love, I'm simply aligning w/ the parameters of his 'relationship' program and not throwing too many error messages. He rolls his eyes and says, "It's so clear you work in HR."