Attention

There are many issues I have with attention.

Issue Number One -- I am needy. Duh. The end.

Issue Number Two -- Span.

My attention span is incredibly short. For someone who can literally read books over and over and over again, and can dedicate incredible attention to the television shows LOST and West Wing, I am lousy at focusing on anything for a long period of time. I very rarely sit and do one thing. I always have to be texting/reading/watching TV/on the laptop, often all at the same time. Since entering my working life, I am really examining my attention span and how it affects my career.

For starters, I will say that my career is frankly, phenomenal. It is also a miracle. A phenomenal miracle, if you will. My best friend Andre'a (chime in and confirm this, buddy), will tell you that I did almost no homework in high school. Ever. I spent much of my time dancing around her room while SHE did homework, doodling on her homework pages, roaming through her house looking for chicken nuggets. You know - the important things.

Even in elementary school, my schoolwork left alot to be desired. I kind of half-assed my way through, and I really don't remember middle school in the least as far as academics go. I never had "homework time" or any kind of structure in the house other than doing math homework with my dad (while crying, so that's probably the only reason I remember that). I am terribly bad at math.

Side Note: Once, when I was having a hard time in Geometry or some shit, I don't know, my mom just sighed and said "Oh honey, it doesn't matter. Just get your C and get out." I guess that acorn didn't fall far from the tree.

Here's what I did in class: daydream. And I'm not talking about your normal daydreams, I had immense elaborate daydreams all about when I was an adult. Looking back, I realize how little control I had over my own life (obviously, as most kids do, but I had even less so) and I guess all that fantasizing about my future life was a comfort. I had all these children in my daydreams, and I had their names and outfits, and whatever, all picked out. I would play little scenarios in my head about things we were doing/places we were going/etc. I did this all.the.time. School? Eh. I absolutely could NOT care. My mind just skipped and wondered and jumped.

Sure, I rallied enough to pass and be average. But honestly, I thought I wasn't altogether that bright. My parents refused to tell me my IQ, and I wasn't in any of the honors classes or anything. I just skipped along, right up til graduation day, when I walked out with a solid 3.0 average thanks entirely to a senior year class schedule that had consisted of Parenting (yes, that was a class), office aide, and drivers ed. Oh, and English.

I got into a good college, probably only because I know my entrance essay was good. My parents always expressed a little surprise whenever I did things that were good, academically (see why I thought I was a bit dim?) My dad actually voiced that he didnt think I'd do as well as I did on the ACTs, and my mother voiced that she was surprised I got into the private, liberal arts college that I attended.

I did better in college. Pretty good, actually. But I very, very rarely did more than what was required.

What did I like? Working.

I started working at the chamber of commerce when I was a junior in college, as a paid intern to track legislation, do the menial stuff, etc. This job, while very basic, blew my world open. By 20 or 21, I was sick of college. I was sick of the sorority house, sick of the classwork, sick of my friends. Most of them graduated when I was still a sophomore, since I (then, now, and always will mostly likely) tend to gravitate toward people older than me for my friends. I majored in Sociology. I drifted around Denmark. I didn't have any career aspirations in the slightest, but I liked this. Government and politics suited me.

So, I kept going.

I interned at 3 places before landing my first job here in DC, and my career took off like a lightning bolt because of one lucky break. I was handed an issue (a particular piece of healthcare) that was in its infancy, and then Congress allocated nearly $80 billion to make this little issue into a big one. I'm not being coy (well, maybe a little), but I'm also saving you enormous amounts of time by not going into detail. I had already gotten into a graduate degree program by this time, separate from health but related to government and advocacy work. I was working at a great job, with this as one of my bigger issues, among others I was working on.

Then, the bill passed. Ka-boom.

All of a sudden, I was hot real estate. I was back in Kentucky at the time, but two years ago I was yanked back to DC and landed a fairly senior level healthcare position at 28 years old. Without ever having taken a healthcare course in school, received healthcare policy training, or any kind of training beyond three years of writing issue briefs, etc, on my little slice of the healthcare pie. All of a sudden, I was having to take big bites out of the other pieces, and in some cases, I had absolutely NO idea what I was doing. I spent a lot of time giving myself a masters in public health on my own since my own masters degree was basically useless.

That was overwhelming. A few short months on the job, healthcare reform (Obamacare, for all the Fox News watchers) passed. I actually cried. Cried. Not only was I going to be learning how things were going to change, I still hadn't figured out completely how things already were. That job sucked on many levels and spiraled me down into a lovely bout of depression, made my self esteem plummet and I honestly don't know if I ever should have taken it.

But luckily, I got out.

Even more overwhelming? My new job.

I'm now responsible for things that are almost entirely new. I was glad, in a warped way, that I worked for the first several weeks from home so that I could start wrapping my brain around these incredibly complex issue areas without having to worry about office politics or where the bathroom is. But, that's changing now (and that's a good thing). I went into the office for the first time this week, and am settling in okay. My commute is longer, but that's okay. My ankle is holding up well. I'm in the boot for another week, and then I can throw it on the burn pile. I have an office that has scratched up furniture, but I have a TV and that makes me feel like a very cool person :)

When they sent me the job description (I knew some of them over here already, and I'm not sure they interviewed anyone else for this job), I initially turned it down. See, I have absolutely no experience in alot of ways for this. Yes, I've been around this stuff for years. But now I'm doing congressional and federal affairs, and it is an entirely new ballgame. I'm expected to wear a LOT of hats, and I'm frankly feeling like I'm in a sinking boat in some ways because I'm constantly trying to scoop water out of it with too many buckets. I have five aspects to this job that are each at least a part time job in themselves. I'm working late. I'm thinking about work at night.

Until I'm distracted by a shiny object, that is. I am finding it almost impossible to sit down and do many of the aspects of my job--of course I'm doing them, but I feel like it's not good enough. It's all still so new to me, and requires me to do a ton of reading, and alot of thoughtful analysis that I'm expected to provide. I'm worried that I'm going to let my boss down. I'm worried that I'm going to let my clients down. I feel like I'm already screwing up seven ways to Sunday, and I resort to navel-gazing and wondering how in the world I managed to charm these people into offering me a job for which they knew I wasn't the ultimately qualified candidate.

I'm making it. Faking it til I get there, I guess. But damn. I am overwhelmed and scattered and I wish I could just focus. Just stop leaping from one thing to the next, sit down, and read the damn bill or analyze the damn report, or whatever. Stop procrastinating. I'm applying these school habits now to my work (since that's how much learning I feel like I'm doing) and it's not a good thing. It's like I never learned study habits or study skills -- and now I need to study at work. I need to do it fast. I need to be doing it instead of updating this blog, but hey, I needed a distraction.

Time to buckle down. Can I take a nap now?

Take 'Em Away

"Take 'em away
Take 'em away, Lord
Take away these chains from me
My heart is broken 'cause
my spirits not free
Lord, take away these chains from me."

This song has me smiling on this sunny Friday afternoon, even though I feel like I've been drug through hell and half of Georgia (as my stepfather is fond of saying).

What's taken away? My CRUTCHES! Gone, gone, fucking gone.

Two more weeks in a walking boot, and then I'm done with this for good. Except for, ya know, that metal that will always be in my ankle until the day I die. But I can WALK, and on Wednesday, my parents left again after driving me back here to DC, and I'm officially company-free. I have no one on the way here. I have no plans to go anywhere until Christmas. I have been on my own before, for a few days at a time, but this is it.

I'm better. Much, much better. The pain was horrific for about two weeks -- right up until Thanksgiving -- as I tried to re-learn walking. Then on Friday after Thanksgiving, it just...went away. I mean, it still hurts with nearly every step. Just a little bit. A little. Not the horrible "oh shit, what if I re-broke this ankle and didn't realize it?" pain.

I also have a lovely cold that seems to be working its way out my system very slooowly. I guess 3 months in virtual quarantine and then slammed with all TEN of my nieces and nephews in one weekend (one DAY) was not exactly a recipe for a fine immune system response. I gave it to my bff as a parting gift, and we've been calling each other to compare coughs everyday. I coughed and hacked through a presentation I gave via conference call to all the company VPs....impressive, I am certain!

Whatever.

I can walk. Things can't be too bad if I can do that.

I finally go into the office next week. I'm going to get dressed - every day! - and go be professional and leave my house every day. What a concept! I'm so ready.

Here goes nothing. And maybe everything.

Events, emotions or epiphanies

I find that all blogs are about one or more of those three things. In most blogs that I read (a precious few), each writer describes their life in a very real way--using their real names, posting pictures of the kids, identifying hometown names. They use this medium somewhat as a dear diary recap of the days and years, in which to look back later and watch the kids grow up. Needless to say, I do not do this in the least, and never will.

That's particularly funny to me, since I'm supposed to be of the generation in which online privacy has no value and online piracy is a norm. For the most part, I'm locked up pretty tight in here and I don't disclose the name of my neighborhood in DC, or where I'm from, what it is I do, what my last name is, etc unless I email you directly. I know all too well what can come up on a google search, and I don't want the whole wide world privvy to my thoughts.

That being said, I've based this blog solely on my emotions and/or epiphanies or my epiphanies that then lead to said emotions. It amazes me that anyone reads my blog at all, since I rarely comment on anyone else's, I don't invest much time in this, and it can't be all that exciting to tune in and hear on an alternating basis how blessed I am, how lucky I am vs how lonely I am or how overwhelmed I am with sadness or grief. Most of the blogs I read are full of phenomenal writing, and I feel lucky those people even stop by here for a glance.

So I guess on this day before Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that YOU are here, if you do read this brain dump of emotions and bit of my life.

I'm going through a rough patch. I'm still on the crutches, and it's working on my psyche as I round into week NINE and still in pain with every step I take. It's making me falter emotionally, triggers woe-is-me emotions, and it makes me feel weak instead of strong in a very literal sense.

Today, I'm okay. I expect I'm always going to go through periods of loneliness, the holidays will always be a trigger, etc, because I am starting to think that I need to fully expect my life to remain the way it is for the foreseeable future. I'll have a family, someday, because I'll create one either through single parent adoption or other means, but I'm not sure a family will come to me naturally. I'm not sure I will end up with a partner, in any sense of the word. My life has been spent alone, in alot ofways. I grew up every other week in two different families of five, taking my suitcase back and forth. I lived together yet separately, with my large and jumbled family -- and maybe I'm just destined to do that for the rest of it as well.

I can lash out and get angry, and at the same time feel so petty and small for being that way because I KNOW damn well people love me. For fucks sake, I had a total of six friends drive or fly all the way to DC just to fix me sandwiches and help me to and from the shower. All four of my parents were there, and I wasn't alone for seven straight weeks. Does that sound like a recipe for someone to be wiping away tears because no one loves her? I sound like a child, and sometimes, I frankly feel like one. All my ages are still wrapped up inside me, like the rings of a tree, and sometimes the six year old ring comes out to the front to take over, and remembers that her parents have transitioned into new families, and while they took me along for the ride, it was sink or swim, baby, these are your new sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and cousins and....

And. So, I sit here on my father's couch. I'm working from Kentucky this week, as he drove 10 hours on Saturday to fetch me from DC, and we drove back together on Sunday, so that I could spend Thanksgiving at home. Naturally, my two families are holding Thanksgiving dinners at the exact same time, so I have to choose. I have to be at Mom's, wanting to be at Dad's, or be at Dad's, wanting to be at Mom's. My contribution to the table this year is a side dish of hot, steaming guilt.

I was texting with Mom yesterday and said that I felt horrible about having to choose--that it made me feel like I was having to pick who I loved best, or something. It's been a long time since I've had to actively choose an event over another; typically, we all work together to try to squeeze one another in to a time that works best for everyone. But sometimes, shit just happens. She showed up at my dad's doorstep with a large unsweet iced tea from McDonalds (my all-time favorite), and my childhood bear that I call Muffin, since she decided I was being a little too hard on myself and needed some comfort.

Tonight, I'm going to my sister's house. I have seen her youngest son only once in his four-month old life, and I can't wait to see him and her two daughters. My other sister's son is spending the night, so I'll be running around after a five year old, two four year olds, and a four month old. Or rather...sitting, and whacking them with my crutches if they act up ;) I can't wait to crawl into bed with my two sweet nieces, snuggle up with them and just sleep.

I'm home. Wherever that is and whatever that means. I'm starting to feel like whoever stated the phrase "Wherever you go, there you are" is a damn genius.

Here I am. There you are.

Thanks for being here.

Disappearing

Publishing for Mel, who saw it before I took it down, and took the time to write. Thank you, you wonderful woman!
____
Tonight I am tired of borrowing.

I am tired of borrowing other people's families, other people's lives, other people's holidays. All the talk is of Christmas...my sisters want to have Christmas Day with their own families. The families they've created. Well, that's awesome and all, but I have to fly back to DC the very next day. So -what? I'm flying home for no reason? To sit and have Christmas Day alone or with my parents, who I love dearly, but I've seen an extraordinary amount during the past few months.

Oh sure, I guess it would be "okay" if I stopped by one or both of their homes for the day or for a few hours. But I can't help but feel banished, kept away from the sacred time. Time kept tucked away for the people we love the best.

I hate that no one loves me best. I hate that I am no one's "most special." I hate that everyone probably pities me, I hate that I am *that* pathetic woman who lives alone.

I am sad, lonely and frustrated, and tonight I want to just walk away from it all. Just disappear.

Maybe everyone would be better off.

Maybe I would be.

I'm so tired of living this way.

Beauty

I've noticed a blogging theme lately. It's in all the blogs I've read throughout the years, including my own. Periods of dark, gloom doom, alone, grasping, waving and drowning. Then -- light! Counting blessings, letting everyone in the whole wide world know how blessed you are so that you can finally feel it yourself. Listening to the rain and realizing that you have every single thing you need; watching children play while reflecting on the circle of life.

Thus, culminating a blog entry in the perfect way a television show concludes with a song. Something that strums softly, with smiles and laughing kids in the background. Something that shows that through adversity, there is hope.

I do this myself. I veer from lamenting to luminating; scattered to centered.

And in between, there is the every day. The heating up of hot dogs for lunch, the pain in your back, the damn bills that seem to come at the absolute worst times. Laundry. Dishes.

My best friend from childhood until now spent the weekend with me. We didn't take a single picture, but we drank alot of wine and made brownies and she did my laundry and cooking. She was my very last "helper" in this long journey, which has seen all four parents and a grand total of six friends in and out of here altogether.

I told her goodbye, and an hour later I began to walk. No more crutches. I am walking awkwardly, but I'm up.

It hurts like a bitch. Muscles I haven't used in so long are stretching and yelling at me, and I'm beginning the countdown to going into the office. I'm taking off my walking boot and staring at my foot like it's something new that's recently grown.

"Hello,' I say. 'Are you strong enough to get me the hell through this day? This night? This year?"

I'm growing stronger, the nights are growing longer, and there is grace, yes. There is adversity. And I sit, in red plaid pajamas, writing it down to add to the words collectively thrown to the universe that all jumble together. Saying the same things, over again, until we find each other -- each saying the words that we already know, in harmony.

It's like a song I know. I've heard it before.

I already know the words.

Alone

I took a bubble bath tonight. This may seem awfully basic, but for me, it represented something HUGE. I took one almost every night before the cast (my own version of b.c.) and tonight, I lowered myself in, keeping weight off my right foot, and sat. I had my first glass of wine in...3 months? Or something like that. Just for the hell of it. I'm ba-ack in a lot of ways. I still can't walk all the way, but I can stand. I can take little bitty steps on my walking boot.

Mom left this morning. She walked out, keeping her distance from me, after 22 days here (by her count). She was trying not to cry. I was in the middle of my "work" day from the couch, so I had to be quick in my goodbyes, and I think she wanted to get out before she had an emotional time of it. I know she feels fine about leaving me in this condition--I am much, much, much better than how she found me! But still. I'm her baaaby. She reminded me of this many times :)

I'm alone. It's quiet. Getting my life back is bittersweet. I'm looking around my apartment, at these walls, as though I don't recognize the place. The place in which I've been stuck for the last two months. I am seeing ME again...finally. Me, on my own.

Look blog...no hands.

Yesterday was six weeks post-op. I start 'sort of' walking next week. My mom and stepdad were here at the beginning, and she's back again. My dad came in between, and my best friend, and two college friends. I stayed at a friends place across town after that, and then Mom came back. My best friend from childhood comes next weekend, thank god, and gives me a parenting break...then Dad comes to take me back to Kentucky for a week. I absolutely can't wait to get my hands on the little kiddos.

The last 10 weeks have been absolutely surreal. The last 3 have seen me gainfully employed from the couch and they are working me to death. This is going to be my eighty hour a week job. This is going to be my introduction to senior management. I'M senior management. Me! Holy shit!

One thing I'm really glad about is that I don't have anyone reporting to me. I'm barely keeping my head above water, and I don't want to have to manage employees...I'm 30. I'm not ready. I'm barely ready to be doing what I'm doing.

Mom is still here, and is cooking and going on walks and watching me work with a look on her face that says she doesn't like how hard I'm pushing myself. It's been really strange being "DC, Professional Me" with Mom sitting on the couch with me, thumbing through the newspaper. Talk about worlds colliding.

I keep trying to think of chilling metaphors and flowery words to describe all of this as Mom helps me in the shower, helps me out of the shower, wraps and re-wraps my walking boot. Hands me a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of milk, while I pretend not to be as old as I am -- while I'm on the phone with clients, pretending that I'm not as young as I am. I don't know how to be 30. Just 30. I've forgotten how to live this little life I've set up for myself here -- forgotten how it will be without my Kentucky connections here with me.

Did I really put on suits everyday? Did I really actually start a new job? Will this paycheck bounce?

This is so surreal. All of it.