If only the most successful people take risks...

The feeling of knowing I'm about to consciously change my life's direction has empowered me with a devil-may-care, like-it-or-fuck-off kind of attitude.

Suddenly now that I know what I'm going to do and the pieces are falling into place, I just want to leap forward and make it so. My all-consuming thought lately has been about working for myself. I'm just so ready.

I'm going to work for myself.
I'm going to homeschool my daughter.
I'm going to pursue my artistic interests and creativity.
And I'm going to be damn successful.

Why, I wondered, should I let something as relatively minor as health insurance stand in the way? I'll just manifest the income or the opportunity. Have I not proven to myself over and over that life takes the shape of whatever I put my mind to? I'm so passionately certain it's not a problem, I'm not going to let anything hold me back from achieving success on my own.

I don't need a company, and when I think about it, no company needs ME. Maybe it's generational, or maybe it's the reality of watching so many good people get laid off these past few years, but I'm pretty sure anyone's expendable these days.

And, do I really want to work in an office when I could be doing the exact same thing for myself? There are so many ways to make money, and so many ideas I want to pursue.

If I wanted to go for a morning run, answer emails in my pajamas, or sit and type all day in a coffee shop, there's no one but myself to stop me. That kind of freedom is beautiful. I struggle to see a real downside to the plan, minus the obvious: a steady paycheck and employer-sponsored benefits. But if people before me have done it, why would I hold myself back from doing it too? The rewards (financial and otherwise) stand to be a lot greater.

I heard a quote this weekend, that only the most successful people take risks. Well, I'm stepping up to the line and declaring it: I'm ready to be one of those people. I'm so ready to go. So ready to make it happen.

Meanwhile, on the work front

Lately I am absolutely addicted to the idea of working for myself.

It may have started with the idea that Hubby has a pretty sweet set-up. Working a fraction of the amount of hours for at least the same amount of pay? Yeah, he puts in late nights sometimes on projects, but I could do that too if it meant being my own boss and staying home with my bebes.

The thing that has held me back for so long from breaking free and doing my own thing is the worry about giving up stability: health insurance, a steady paycheck, 401k, etc..... But when I really think about it, surely health insurance can't be that hard to obtain; and even if I didn't know when or where my next project was coming from, I have the faith that it will. I feel like if I really threw my heart and soul into making it successful, it would be.

Top benefits in addition to being my own boss and making my own hours:
I'd get to stay home with my daughter and homeschool like I've always wanted to, PLUS, it leaves me free and open for new babies so I can be a stay-at-home mom......I want babies sooooo baaaaaaaddddddd.....

Every day I've been playing just a little bit more with the idea of putting in my notice to work. I'm thinking a nice long nine-month lead time is a perfect amount, given I could finish out the year and all our 2011/2012 projects...and plan a nine-month lead time for anything, or anyone, that should pop up.

Today's Sick Day

So my stomach hurts worse than a Haitian with cholera. And I don't say that lightly. I empathize completely.

I called in sick today, given that I had a slight fever, body aches and chills, on top of a--shall we say--too intimate a relationship with the ladies room.

But, being that I hate staying indoors unless I absolutely have to, I decided to suck it up; take an Immodium, and hope for the best. I dropped Lil Miss off at her first day of her new preschool class and head to Starbucks to get some work done.

I headed to Kahala Mall in search of both an Apple Store and free WiFi, and am currently sucking on a soy-decaf-mocha-frappuccino-thai-coffee-blended thing and hoping it doesn't wage war with my fragile digestive system.

I found my midday journey to the mall so entertaining that I decided to chronicle it all with a photo narrative. (That, and I want to play around with the functionality on my brand new MacBook.) More to come when I actually get a connection cable to synch it up.

30 Days of Lists begin... now.

The List: A few things about yourself

 

So there's a group online now called 30 Days of Lists. 30 days, 30 different topics. And, in an effort to analyze and potentially over-share, I'm jumping right in. Today it seems like the right thing to set me straight.

Day 1: A few things about yourself

• I'm not good at being on time
• I love being a mom
• I drink at least a cup of tea a day
• I rarely wear much jewelry
• I'm fascinated by world religions
• When it comes to emotional intimacy, I'm extremely insecure
• I like to work
• I always think of businesses or ideas I'd like to start
• I love riding motorcycles, but I'm too scared now that I have a child
• I like to argue - if it's a matter of principle
• Dancing makes me happy!

What was interesting about this list was how easily the negative stuff came to mind. I can think of a million critical things about myself, but the positive attributes come harder. I'll take this as lesson #1 that I'm a little too hard on myself and chalk it up to a successful Day 1.

On the cosmic scale, I'm losing big-time.

So today I lost my dog, a $3000 check, and pretty much my mind. Each is still outstanding, leading me to wonder what's going on this week and if these are the bad things that euphemistically happen in threes, or if there's some more phenomenally bad karma coming my way.

It kinda started yesterday with a workday so stressful, I had a headache and developed spasms in my back from what was probably the tensed muscles. It was a day in which I briefly considered shutting my office door to cry, only to realize that taking a couple minutes to do that was a couple minutes taken away from the insane pile of work in front of me. (Plus, the red eyes would have given me away.)

Deep breaths...positive self-pep talk...one thing at a time...made it through the day, and on to a martini, a run, and cuddles with the kiddo and husband.

I just feel exhausted, burned out and overwhelmed right now, and the fact that my dog and my money is floating through the streets right now is too much to bear. The check has been canceled, but extenuating circumstances dictate that I won't get another until Saturday. My dog, on the other hand, is another story.

Much like the check that--in the short distance from my car to my front door--disappeared from the pile of papers in my hand, the dog pulled the same sudden vanishing act. Ironically, while I was on the same fruitless search of my yard, my car, and the streets surrounding my house.

I suspect there's a parallel between this and the perceived loss of control of my environment and emotions lately, but the real question is: How to get back on track? Because I really don't think I can take much more.

Wish it I had it as easy as a chicken.

This post might as well be titled "Adventures in Fertility, Phase 2" because I feel like I just plunged headfirst into a whole new level.

I arrived at the doctor simply looking for confirmation via ultrasound that the fertility drugs had gotten my body prepped and ready for the (other) "big O," only to get the news that they were going to give me an injection to make sure I actually release the egg.

My stomach churned at the idea, but I'd come this far, I knew it could help, and well, I wasn't going to say no. And while shooting a needle straight into my stomach wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined, it was still an unpleasantry for someone like me who faints at the very thought of such a concept. And, something I hope not to repeat.

I'm now on the "36-hour Ovulation Watch" which, while convenient, really takes the surprise out of it. Yes, I suppose that's the idea, but it kind of blows my mind that they can actually do that.

I left the doctor's office with a big smile on my face and the promise of babies running through my head.
"Mark your calendar," I told my husband. "We're getting a sitter." It's on.

My expectations, despite knowing better, are sky-high and optimistic. Sure I've been counting on this for, let's see, god, almost two years now, but I've got modern medicine firmly on my side--odds must be good this time. Surely this will work, right? ...Right?

Meanwhile, my 4-year old, who has absorbed more than her fair share of ovulation talk, ultrasounds and readings aloud from "Taking Charge of Your Fertility," is now on the junior path to fertility specialist. She's fascinated by the reproductive charts on the wall of my doctor's office and can trace the path from ovary to uterus, if only in concept.

The funniest part is how she's deduced that a human egg must be similar to a chicken, and commented, "When you lay an egg, I hope it's a girl."

New year, new me

I'm not sure how or when I became so antisocial, but I really started to notice it after a period in which my three best friends all moved away, one friend (mentioned in previous blog) got crazy on me, and another moved to the other side of the island. Suddenly there was no one I could automatically call, no one I could expect to see on the weekend, no one to make spontaneous plans with.

My life, which had seemed so full and rich with happiness suddenly seemed devoid of friendship. I started to reassess.

My job makes it difficult to find new friends or hang out with people because the vast majority of my waking hours are spent there. That may be why I've been hanging out with essentially the same crew for the good part of the last decade.

As I started contemplating the idea of trolling for new friends, it also became apparent to me that while most people at least socialize occasionally with their coworkers, I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone to lunch with other people in the nearly three years at my company.

I'm not sure how I became so protectionist and closed-off, but I suspect it has to do with a combination of factors: that the other people in comparable professional positions have at least 15 years on me, and because the only people my age are in different departments or lowly coordinator roles. No to be a snob, I just don't know how that would work to be managing people I socialize with.

Then there's the fact that I've been burned more than once by people who used me or lied to me to get ahead (or get in good) at work. Talk about a blow.

Although I know most people aren't so devious, I'm not quick to make the same mistake when it comes to people in an office environment.

But after a whole lot of soul-searching and a whole lot of what has lately amounted to loneliness, I've decided maybe it's time to give it a try, if only out of necessity. What would happen if the few good friends I have left or moved away too?

So here I am one month into the new year with a resolution to make an attempt to find (real) new friends.

I'm happy to say, so far, so good. I've eaten lunch with more people in the last month than in the last year. I've struck up conversations with parents on the playground. I've gone out of my way to talk to new people, and I've made a habit to introduce myself to neighbors on the block. I'm even going to great lengths to strike up new conversations with people on Twitter, as banal and antisocial as that sounds. At least, I figure, I'm talking to people. That's gotta get the wheels turning.

Its weird to be in this position and I struggle to fight the urge to clam up and keep to myself as I usually do, but I ask myself: what's the worst that can happen by putting myself out there? I'm older, I'm wiser, and if someone tries to stab me in the back again, I hope the overall benefits of my new resolution outweigh the risks.

It feels funny to act like "the new kid" all of the sudden, but the fulfillment I'm getting is, so far, worth it. Here's to keeping it up.

Three's a Crowd.

Sometimes I feel there are three very different and very distinct sides to my personality. Triplet alter-egos who each adapt and thrive in totally different environments.

There's the side of me that's dedicated to work. "Work hard and shine," is my philosophy in a nutshell. I like to work, and I'm competitive enough to always want to succeed at whatever it is I'm doing. I honestly love spending long hours at the office, partly because I love what I do, partly because it fulfills me, and partly because, I'll be honest, I like to be seen as a hard worker. I value tenacity and a strong work ethic in myself and my peers, so to be seen as such is one of my most fulfilling purposes.

Then there's my "mom" side, which provides me the single most happy moments in life. Being with my daughter makes me realize why being a mom is a job - and the one I want to succeed most in. I value everything about her and our relationship and take my responsibilities very seriously. I want to teach her everything, I want to help her grow into the best person she can be, and I always want her to feel secure and loved.

Then there's the side of my personality that seems at odds with these two personas: my "party girl" side that seems firmly, stubbornly, rooted in my 20s. The side of me that made my best friend declare: "When Mama parties, Mama parties."

The side of me who absolutely struts in sexy leather boots, who doesn't even have to be drinking to want to jump up on a bar and dance.... The one who convinces people to go topless while floating on a boat out at sea... Who practices at home to look like one of the go-go dancers I so admire. Vegas? Forget about it. I thrive more reveling in debauchery than the fated residents of Sodom and Gomorrah. I left my last trip about as guilty as the "What happens in Vegas" commercials (To the delight of my husband.) and find myself absent-mindedly fantasizing about our next trip.

For as withdrawn and introverted as I can be with people in professional situations, I am the complete opposite out on the town, which seems odd to me. Why can't a take a pinch of my outgoing self and give it to my other self? Be a little more well-rounded and social in professional situations, and quite a bit less shy? I question sometimes if this is a problem - these distinct and very strong sides, seemingly at odds with each other. Should I be more one than the other? Should I tone one down?

My major breakthrough was realizing that I'm always afraid in some way. I'm afraid of judgment. I'm afraid of not being successful. Or maybe what's more accurate; I'm afraid of not being perceived as successful or responsible by others. That allowing people to know the full me; strengths, faults, weaknesses, and full personality, will lead to pain somehow. That I'll somehow be taken advantage of.

Knowing that is probably half the battle, because the rational (and fearless) side says "So what if they don't like you? Let go and stop worrying so much."

But the harder part--the much harder part--is learning how to get over it.

And maybe growing up a little bit.

Getting off the Treadmill of Misery

"You're never going to be happy with someone if you can't be happy on your own," I told my friend. She was going through the approximately seventh (and supposedly final) break-up over the course of her two-year relationship and was, again, using me as a stand-in therapist.

I'd been listening to her wax philosophical about the reasons for the break-up, the traumas that prevent her from letting go and enjoying life; general "unresolved issues from childhood" with a daddy complex to boot. I may sound unsympathetic, but I'm not. I'm just kind of tired to listening to her complain because it's always the same: "I'm a victim, I'll always be a victim, and I'm never going to do anything to change it."

I know I've done the same annoying moaning and complaining when I've been through heartbreak, I've just never taken two tumultuous years and zero personal accountability to get over it. I lose my patience with people who aren't interested in improving themselves; the attitude that it's everyone else's fault and it's better to sit around feeling sorry for their selves than do something to change their lot in life.

It's not that I don't want to be there for my friend, and don't get me wrong, I have been. I've just been listening to the same old thing... over, and over, and over, and over, and nothing ever changes.

Sometimes I think people come in and out of our lives for a reason. Whether it's karma or fate or luck or destiny, there's always something to be learned from the situation, and always something better around the corner.

My optimism is deeply rooted in the fact that life has always continued to get better for me. Through the darkest, saddest, or scariest times in my life, I've always tried to keep the faith that I could get through it and come out stronger... Tougher... Smarter. And though there's been a battle to fight the fear of repeating past mistakes, I've finally realized that doesn't have to be the case for me. I can make my own life - and I can make it anything I want.

If I hadn't gotten rid of the negative people, negative situations, I never could have made way for better. Whether I knew it or not, something so much better was always coming my way - and fairly quickly. When I think about how scared I was to get divorced, to become a single mother, to change careers, to move across the ocean and start a new life... it's always been hard, and ultimately I've always come out ok. In fact, waaay more than ok.

Maybe I simply choose to live life thinking that way, I don't know. But in my friend's case, she's letting her past hurts disrupt her present and future - and is ready to bury herself in another guy just so she can ignore her loneliness, fears, and feelings of abandonment.

Yes, been there, done that. I know the feeling. But not having the self-identity to realize it shouldn't happen that way is another situation entirely.

"You shouldn't be afraid of being alone," I told my friend. "You shouldn't be afraid of anything." And it's true. But even I need a reminder to keep the faith from time to time.

Not my problem, but...

This morning I witnessed what may be the most depressing thing I've seen in a while.

Two people whom I know have already said their marriage is over, but are staying together for their child's sake, fighting a fight that was about nothing and everything. It deteriorated so quickly into an ugly scene of negativity and ominousness, I can't shake it. The saddest part to me, was when the wife said "Well at least you know the truth about this family."

No!! I just want to stick my head in the sand and pretend everything is fine! Like any argument, it wasn't about anything particularly important, but watching the dialogue digress into a mutual attack, followed by the assertion that they're only still together for one reason was just...sad doesn't begin to describe it for me.

I'm letting it affect me more than it should. I know that. It's not that I didn't know (secondhand) that they've got problems and whatever they decide to do doesn't affect me anyway. But witnessing it is an entirely different level, and, not something I ever wanted to see.

How do people get to this point? From "happy and in love" to living like two strangers who don't even seem to like each other?

I have enough fear of marriage tearing apart the insides of my brain, I don't want more. I don't want to see what can become when love dies. I don't want to think about it. I don't even want to know what that looks like.

I want to believe that it doesn't have to be this way: it's just that sometimes you never even see it coming. One day, sunshine and roses and the promise of tomorrow; the next, a bitter, abrupt end you never would have fathomed. No one foresees a bitter divorce on their wedding day...but if everyone starts out blissful in the beginning, how do so many end so badly?

I just want to cry, but it's not over them - it's for myself. For all the fears I can't shake and can't stop from taking hold. For the fact that I can't even give life a chance because I'm so paralyzed by the scenarios running through my imagination. For the fact that this isn't fair to my husband...and not knowing how to change it...

Tonight, the only thing I can do:
I'm saying a prayer and going to bed.

If I combined every love song on the radio...

It's a telling sign when a smile spontaneously springs to your lips. When thinking about someone so wonderful makes you break out into a grin you can't hide, can't put away. When you feel like you're living a Disney movie and it's only the middle of the day.

I couldn't have resisted any harder when my husband and I got together. I was adamant: "There's just no way I will ever be in a relationship again." I fought so hard not to fall in love with him, I commend him for having the heart to keep trying... and I'm forever grateful that he did.

I remember the first day I started to let myself begin to fall in love. I suddenly heard the birds chirping around me, felt the sun shining brighter, the flowers grow cheerier and the skies become bluer. I was living a technicolor rainbow of happiness that only grew more intense the more I felt myself relax into the arms of love.

For the longest time, every time I spoke about him, I would blush and break into a smile that I couldn't keep inside. I'd never had an experience like this - I didn't get giddy about guys, let alone the fact that I'd sworn them off indefinitely - and was certainly not used to people pointing out that I lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of his name.

Whereas once upon a time, divorce had me worried that love could run out - as in, you're given only a certain amount of love and a certain amount of years with someone, and you'd better enjoy it while it lasts. But even after the years that have passed since we got together, I've been surprised and amazed to discover that's not the case at all.

How wondrous and amazing, in fact, that I've found love can grow in new ways every single day. That I can find something new to love him for, and somehow my heart grows that much bigger to fit it all in. The simplest things he does, or the sweet way he smiles, or the way he shows me his kind heart, makes me fall more in love. I didn't know it was possible--and I had no idea it would feel so good.

My friend recently told me that she could see a sparkle in my eyes when I thought about him. I love that, knowing that my love is so big, so all-consuming, it comes shining through. And for as much as I already love him, I can't wait to feel how much bigger it can become.

If this was a movie, there would be an awfully spooky soundtrack.

In what may have been the eeriest Sixth Sense-type moment I've had in a while, my 3yo started talking to me while lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. "I'm sad...."

"Why?"

I'm sad because my sister died.... She told me she died and she's in Heaven. With all the other people who died--they're ghosts."

"Who?" I asked incredulously.

"My sister; she died before I was alive. I miss her. She was in your tummy before I was," she said. "She said her mother's name was Lisa. That's your name too."

I was sort of dumbfounded by the situation. Was she pretending? Making this up? Is a three year old even capable of creating a scenario like that? Does she have an imaginary friend, and if so, where did she come up with this dialogue? Was it something she saw in a book or movie? Should I be alarmed by this? Uhh...?

On the other hand, I also totally believe in the idea of spirits, ghosts, and energies. Aren't kids supposed to be more receptive to that type of thing? I think anything's possible. If she is communicating with past spirits, good for her. 

Taking the "I'm kind of curious as to what she'll say next" route, I asked if her sister was happy in Heaven, and when she said yes, I told her that if her sister isn't sad, then she has nothing to be sad about.

She was quiet. Then she asked me when I would be getting another baby in my belly. I told her I wasn't sure.

As I watched her lying in bed, she said the sweetest words my heart could ever hear, "I'll pray for you," then after a moment, "Mommy, let's pray together."

In so many amazing ways, she is a blessing to me in every sense of the word.

So, let me guess, you were born in the Year of the Entitled Wench.

In what may be the most anti-cilmactic end to a friendship, I finally texted a friend whom shall hereafter be known as Colossal Drama Queen, or CDQ for short. "So do you want to be friends anymore?" With nary a response in well over two weeks, I'm taking it for what I assumed it would be, and cutting her loose.

Oddly, I don't regret losing this friendship. It was a convoluted, unending cycle of madness with this girl, one that I don't want or need. This is definitely a "better loved and lost" situation--emphasis on the loss.

Someone who needed constant validation and reassurance, her demands on a friendship became too much for me. If I couldn't join her for some random something-or-other that she casually invited me to over text message, it became a personal offense. If I said, "I have other plans but I'll let you know if I can make it," (which to the other 99% of the population means "If you don't hear from me, I can't come"), she would lord it over me with a guilt trip and unspoken accusations of abandonment. "I never heard from you!"
Meeting up with this person became a calisthenic endurance exercise. I would literally sweat, worrying about being late, knowing she'd throw a fit and/or throw another marathon silent treatment (to which I'd amuse myself by pretending not to notice). This meant disobeying traffic laws and cursing at the top of my lungs to be on time, as she holds people to a higher standard than a high school tardy bell attendance policy.

There was the time we were shopping for bridesmaid dresses for her wedding. She said we could all ride together and would leave at 1pm. Arrive even a minute late, she threatened, and she'd leave without us. Another bridesmaid and I were so worn out by her demands, we said we'd ride separately. We just didn't need to worry about busting our asses to get there and be chewed out if the clock said 1:01.

You'd think we took the smarter, drama-free route by meeting her there. You'd be wrong.

She told us we weren't real friends if we weren't riding with her. Said her fiance couldn't believe we were riding separately either. Then she berated us. Threatened us not to be late for her fitting. Was essentially ready to throw in the towel on our friendship because we had the nerve to take another car.

We drove well over the speed limit, checking Google maps' traffic to make sure we took the fastest route. We got there a good 10 minutes before her fitting was scheduled. She showed up... 20 minutes later. No apology, no remorse, just a weak excuse about traffic.

Had the tables been turned, we would have endured the fiery wrath of the Princess Bride. Instead, we're expected to blow it off because she feels entitled.
As angry as she makes me, there's a compassionate part of my nature that thinks this girl has been so cast out and rejected by others in her life, she's retaliating against the whole world for it. 'Reject them before they can reject you' out of self-preservation. But as a one-sided fair-weather friend, who did anything but act like one, I'd had enough of her. You can't give all the time.

Her actual wedding was the final straw for me. She berated me for my flight time (of which I was taking unpaid leave from work to fly out), not RSVPing for a bachelorette party I wasn't even invivted to, and a whole bunch of other nonsense such as, "You never responded to my text that your bridesmaid dress was ready for pick-up!" She had me so stressed out about attending every last, little thing she demanded, I was ready to skip it, nevermind the thousand-plus dollars I'd invested in the trip. Then, when she was not only late to her own rehearsal (which I went through hell and earth, a 6am wake-up call, and a whole bunch of public transit rides to arrive on time for), but also to her wedding (leaving me and the other on-timers out in the frigid weather for 90 minutes), no apology, of course, I was livid. There's a lot of words that come to mind, but insensitive and self-centered immediately spring to mind. Hypocritical bitch isn't far behind.

Post-wedding, she was giving her usual stony-silent treatment for whatever insignificant reason or other. She ignored me and wouldn't respond to my invites to hang out (nevermind that the reciprocate would be met with death threats) until the day she needed a favor. Then she bugged me (and my husband) all day long. At that point, I'd had it. "You can hang out with other friends for fun, but as soon as you need something, you call me? Uh-uh. Not anymore."
I called her to straighten out the situation--she ignored my calls. Then she texted back that she was hanging out with some other friends because she "hadn't heard from me." A line so typical, if she was a doll with a pull cord, that would be her catch phrase. At that final breaking point, I sent her the aforementioned "So do you want to be friends anymore?" text message and haven't spoken to her since.

Laying it all out, I ask myself what took so long to cut her loose. Sure, we used to have fun - drama aside, she's an entertaining, witty person with a big heart. But it's so taxing going through endless rotations of annoyance - I've gone through this with her. I know what happens. I know it won't be long until it happens again.

It's just not my duty or obligation to put up with a shell of a friendship. As I put a lock on that area of my life, I tell myself I'll save my time for someone better.

"Surely, she bathes! Let's buy body wash!"

If there's one thing I can't stand at Christmas, it's being forced to buy obligatory gifts for people I barely know and certainly know nothing about.

It's not the money that's an issue, it's the time investment. It's the fact that I'm dragging myself from store to store in a vain attempt to please someone whom I haven't called or hung out with since the previous Christmas. The fact that, really, I have no idea if they'll appreciate it beyond the gift-giving gesture, and the fact that I'm stressing myself unnecessarily when I have much better things to think about.

I find myself locked into an endless mental repertoire as the minutes tick by: What do they like? What do they wear? Is this too cheesy? Do they already have this? Am I the only one who thinks this is cute? Is this going to be relegated to the junk drawer or re-gifted to some unsuspecting recipient?

I suspect retailers like L'Occitane stay in business over quandaries like this. When was the last time you thought, "I really need some fruity-smelling lotion and coordinating body wash!" Chances are, never. Why? Because of the stockpile in your bathroom closet, a trove of sweet pea and lilac-scented gifts from Christmases past. Gifts from people who don't know anything about you, so they resort to the lowest common denominator - "Surely, she bathes! Let's buy body wash!"

If only gift-giving etiquette allowed for a ceasefire of sorts. "Don't get anything for me, I won't get anything for you." Time saved, stress saved, and a whole lot less lotion and bath products on the horizon.

Caught between a blog and a hard place.

In a self-exercise better left to those who obsess about personal "branding," I have just spent roughly the past, oh, four hours linking my Twitter account to my blog and coming up with clever means of self-promotion.

This futile effort is stymied, of course, by my desire for complete anonymity. I don't want people to know who I am - I just want them to read what I write... and like it.

Inadequacy and insecurity

If you were to create a Movie of the Week about the current state of my life, it would be titled something like "Ultimate FAIL: The Chronicles of the Trying-to-Conceive."

I used to blithely claim that I'd start thinking about kids when I was 30. "For now, I just want to make money and invest in my career." What I'd give for that same arrogance now.

While it seems easy enough to just turn on the ability to pop out a kid at will, the sad truth is that it just doesn't happen like that. Not for me, anyway. Now that I'm at the threshold of 30, with one magnificent kiddo in my life and the desire for many, many more running through my mind, I wish I could just snap my fingers and be pregnant. Get on the Pill, get off the Pill, and poof! After all, everyone else makes it look so easy.

Instead, I'm sifting through my year-plus recollection of failed attempts and lost pregnancies and struggling on a regular basis not to break down and cry about what could have been.

At my high points, I remind myself, "It'll happen." At my low points, I abandon all hope and cry myself to sleep. I've gone through the hopeful stage ("Is this the month?!"), the gratitude ("At least I have one."), the bitterness ("It's not fair!"), the envy ("I want one too!"), the superiority ("I'm a better mother than you could ever hope to be - why do you get to keep popping out children?"), the prayers and bargaining with God, and the eventual realization that maybe it's time to start considering other options.

Part of me - the rational part - knows I'm still young and I can't give in to the negative thoughts. After all... it could happen. It will happen. Right?

The other part of me stares at a stack of medical records thick enough to start a campfire and hears the layers of insurmountable diagnoses running through my head. "Recurrent pregnancy loss... polycystic ovaries... endometriosis... ovarian and fallopian cysts..." 

Ambivalence was so much easier when I didn't even know whether I wanted kids. Now, at times, my desire for a baby outweighs any other thought in my head.

Fast-forward into the future

It has been so long that I posted to this blog, I nearly forgot it existed, along with my desire to write. Whereas I was a once (if not more) a day blogger, my time and desire to write suddenly dropped off a cliff, taking with it my most beloved creative outlet and form of stress relief.

Lately though, I've been back in the mood to write and I want to share it with anyone who will listen, if only because it makes the ranting in my own head seem quieter when I let it out.

So picking up where I left off - and zipping ahead about three years into an entirely new place and time in my life - let's begin...

Player Haters Anonymous

We have a temp in the finance department. I normally wouldn't take notice, but this one's different: He's young. And hot.

I saw him preening himself in front of the admin assistant whom I've privately taken to calling "The Burlesque Dancer." Her wardrobe consists of low-cut blouses and Moulin Rouge-style miniskirts, and she talks in this deep, throaty pornstar stage whisper. The fact that she's 300+ lbs only adds to the allure, because it gives her that much more cleavage.

But enough about her.

The Temp watched me walk past the reception desk. I looked up to admire such a fine piece of work, flipped my hair over my shoulder as I sauntered to the elevator, then silently asked myself why I must always flip my hair around hot guys. I chalked it up to nervous energy and a bit of my own preening, and kept walking.

As The Temp bid goodbye to The Burlesque Dancer and joined me at the elevator, he introduced himself and engaged in casual conversation.

Aside from appreciating his exterior beauty, I was quite taken by his charmingly secure level of self-confidence. I could tell without a doubt, however, that he is most definitely a Player.

I know that Players are inherently no good. I was taken in a big way when it came to my ex. And yet, still, like a moth to the flame I'm all over them when they cross my path.

My guess is: it's the exterior. They have this inpenetrable self-esteem that sucks you in like, well, some kind of sci-fi alien analogy. More often than not, they don't even have a real job or net worth, but act like they own the world. (Ahem... Temp in the finance dept.)

I want to like the underdog. Guys like The Doctor whom, for all he lacked in the self-confidence department, more than made up for in roses and treating me well.

I don't like Players... and yet... at the same time; love them.

Funny things and baby barf

My daughter cracks me up.

She sucks her thumb when she's tired, but not in a normal way. She dangles her thumb from the corner of her mouth like a cigar, and sticks all four fingers up in the air like a rooster.

The best part? She often sticks it too far in and gags herself. Imagine a six month old in pajamas, yawning, sucking her thumb, and dry-heaving in my arms. It's hilarious.

Now that she's eating solids (a deliciously boring array of rice cereal or Okinawan sweet potatoes), she likes to illustrate the phrase, "Gag me with a spoon." She grabs it from me and as I'm wrestling with her, she jams it down her throat and gags.

The thing is--she doesn't seem to mind because she keeps doing it until I take it away.

Then she got the idea that she could chew on her Johnny Jump-Up like a horse bit. I can't help but laugh listening her bounce-bounce-bounce, pause to chew, loudly retch, then start over again.

She took it a little far the other morning. After the 10th or 15th, "Stop gagging yourself," she puked. I took her out of the seat after that.

Let her find something else to induce vomiting for a while.

As much as it makes me laugh, I can't help but wonder if my little bulimic started internalizing all the fat jokes we make about her.

I'm back.

My other blog was too difficult--no, wrong word--too finicky, to post to.

Half the time, I was struggling with technology that wouldn't play nicely with me--I'd write a blog, only to realize it hadn't posted. Irritating. So, since Google seems to have their act together, I've converted.

Plus, I think I can post pictures for free, unlike the other site. Visual stimuli. Excellent.

This blog promises to be more of an exercise in freewriting and experimenting with new styles. Here's to hoping you have as much fun as I do.