Spirit, spring, and other assorted stuff

I have this tattoo on the thumb of my left hand. It's an icthus, the little fish symbol used in Christianity. I got it a few years ago, and half the time I actually forget it's there. So today I was at this awards breakfast thingee, sitting next to a colleague who's known for being pretty open about his spirituality (and fairly conservative ideology). And I'm plowing into my lemon-poppyseed muffin (Six WW points, can you believe that crap?) and he notices the tattoo and starts chatting me up about its meaning. "Wow," he says, "You're a pretty spiritual person! I never had any idea." He seemed fairly astounded. I guess I'm known for many things around here--my politics, my passion for diversity, my impatience, and my pessimism, of course. But not my spiritual life. There are some (maybe even my breakfast buddy) who would probably argue that my politics contradict my beliefs--let's face it, I'm a Christian who isn't afraid to talk about God, but I also support gay marriage, Planned Parenthood, and the separation of church and state. I'm all for women in the clergy. I think the new Pope's dedication to conserving the sacred and ancient (and outdated) ideology of The Church is a bum deal. I don't think abortion should be criminalized. And, oh yeah...I vote Democrat! So I can see how I don't exactly fit the mold. To be honest, I'm perfectly okay with that. What bothers me, and what my friend made me starting thinking about, is that I think I've separated myself more and more from the spiritual part of my life since I came up here. I don't focus nearly enough on being at peace with myself, with what God has planned for me, with my shortcomings and strengths and challenges. I've always had trouble keeping my spiritual focus, but I used to have chapel every Sunday night, when I'd reconnect, and sing, and never feel judged. I haven't found that place up here yet. And I feel like I'm constantly fighting the forces greater than myself instead of letting them be, and accepting my total lack of control over every aspect of every minute of my life. I am a pretty spiritual person. At least I was. As my family continues to face the biggest challenge of our lives--watching one of us whither away because of a terrible disease called ALS--I desperately need to reconnect to that great life force, what I call God, and understand that I don't have to fight him anymore. That I'm better off sinking into the uncertainty and finding happiness in each day, instead of holding out for my whole world to be fixed and perfect.

So it's a gloomy day, cold and rainy and generally gross. Spring has left the building, and I don't know where the hell it went. I'd give anything for five days at a condo on Port Aransas, Jack Johnson on the stereo, and an Absolut screwdriver. And boy, am I feeling out of it. A two-hour conversation with The Boy on Monday night has me reeling with uncertainty, anxiety, hope...Do people really change? Have I really changed? Is it possible to move beyond so many mistakes, to have a new beginning? It's hard to focus on the pile of paperwork on my desk when I've got all of these Big Questions on my mind. I can't wait for Saturday, when I can let my mind wander. And sleep in. And shop (payday tommorow!) Although it will be hard to check out the strappy sandals and skirts when I just had to break all of my sweaters out again. They keep telling me that when spring and summer REALLY get here, it will be worth all of these miserable winter leftovers. I hope so. I want to get a tan this summer, and check out the hike trails at the park. And sleep in. And relish two long months without a single incident report, one-on-one, judicial hearing, or Hall Council meeting. It can't come soon enough...

Misunderstood

I haven't posted in over a week, and I hate to come back with a downer, but today is just not working out for me. Everything is crooked or backwards or isn't coming out right. Even the weather is confused--it's 40 degrees with melting snow outside. In late April. I guess it goes along with my mood.

The weekend was wierd, for one. It was a rare situation, but an unpleasant one anyway--one of those times when everybody has a place to go or a visitor or a set of plans that doesn't include me. It's bound to happen from time to time; there are things to do, homes to visit, old friends to bond with. Sometimes we need a break from the everyday crowd. And it's nobody's fault that I chose to move so far away from home that I don't have a real backup plan for times when my friends are otherwise occupied. In a way it was an opportunity...I caught up on sleep, did a lot of reading, cleaned my apartment, watched Sex and the City, cooked...all the while telling myself that this is what a single woman with no weekend plans does. I kept repeating to myself: It's not pathetic to have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than watch a four-hour documentary on FDR on the History Channel. I mean, I'm a single professional woman, not a college sophomore! But at some point on Sunday afternoon it dawned on me that I hadn't interacted with another human being in over 48 hours. Had I fallen and knocked myself unconcious, days would have passed before anybody found me. It's one of the bummers about living alone, one that I'm willing to live with, but it sucks all the while.

So I'm feeling a little reflective, a little grumpy, and a little alone in the world, and then comes Monday. There's this big incident going on in my building right now that I'm trying to puzzle out, and it seems to have taken on a life of it's own, and people are really starting to misinterpret what I'm trying to do. I'm sick in the pit of my stomach, knowing that someone thinks what I'm doing simply by virtue of the fact that it's my job and I care about the safety of my students is in some way meant to hurt or oppress them. The worst is that I can't do anything about it! I can't sit the student or students down and explain what's going on, because they won't come to me directly. I can't solve the problem that this whole thing stemmed from, because the investigation is out of my hands. I'm feeling so frustrated and so defeated. I know that I'll draw some wisdom out of this mess when it's all over, and that's the only consolation I really have. That and the realization that I'm probably being overdramatic and making work way too personal, yet again. One day I'll develop one of those "teflon" personalities--nothing sticks, it all just rolls off while I go with the flow without reading so much into everything.

The upside of all of this complaining (all I do is complain, I know, I'm sorry, faithful reading public) is that at least nothing majorly horrible is happening in what I sadly try to pass off as my love life. Nothing really good, but again, nothing bad. And I know why I'm alone right now. I'm so busy trying to do my job and adjust and be happy and bury the ghosts of old relationships that I don't have the emotional stamina to pour into making somebody else happy, too. I guess I'm all set to recieve, but I don't have enough in me to give at present. I need to deal with my own crap first.

So I wish I had happier things to blog about, and I promise to keep an eye out for them--so I'll post more often and be less depressing. That's the goal. Hold me to it!
-pg

That wacky Uncle Sam

So I waited until today to file my taxes. Shame on me. I suppose I have an excuse...one of my doomed romances was an accountant who said he'd do my taxes for me. After the demise of the "relationship," I held out hope until the last possible moment, hoping he'd reappear--not because I was interested anymore (he's the "Shallow Asshole!" from one of my scarier posts), but because I was praying he'd take a gander at my return and find some more deductions. Alas, it was not to be. I forked over the $30 to TurboTax for my state return (bitch all you want about Texas, but at least we don't pay a state income tax!), which cancels out the $22 I was supposed to get back. I know, I'm a liberal, and we're supposed to LOVE taxes so we can do all of that crazy "help the poor, feed the hungry" stuff we're so into. The taxes aren't even what piss me off. It's the paperwork. I'm a slob! It's a lot to ask for me to get together reciepts and W-2s and 1098-Ts and student loan interest statements...and being the bleeding heart I am, I have charitable contributions so I can't do the easy form that takes 10 minutes over the phone. See? I need an accountant boyfriend.

Enough about taxes, there are other causes for excitement today. I found out that Iron & Wine is going to be in Cleveland Heights this weekend, and nevermind the fact that half of my friends are on duty, and the other half either doesn't like concerts or doesn't know who the hell Iron & Wine is. I'm going, even if it's alone! If anybody in the northeast Ohio area is reading this and willing to come with me, let me know--otherwise I'll be the nerdy girl in the back looking out of place amid the sea of shrieking, drunken 18-24 year-olds, many of whom will surely be my residents, thanks to the fact that a nice pretentious article about the show was in our obnoxious campus newspaper yesterday. Maybe I'll wear a disguise.

So, in good news...my ass is getting smaller! Yep, portion control, long walks, and water consumption (paired with paying $12 a week for the humiliation of being weighed in public) are all starting to pay off. Don't worry, the curvy peacegrrl you all know and love certainly isn't going anywhere--I will always adore chocolate and pasta and cake...mmm...and let's face it, I'm not wired to look like Gwenyth Paltrow, and really, who'd want to have all those sharp edges?--but I'm happy to say that there's a bit less of me these days. I am still and always will be a proud member of the Chubby Girl Brigade.

Here comes the weekend...good weather, big plans for sleeping in and doing as little as possible. Off to finish some work so I can actually enjoy it!
-pg

Moments in time

It smells like spring today...the sun is out, the sky is a mind-blowing blue without a cloud in sight. It's Friday and the weekend is stretched out in front of me without too much to clutter it up. It's a nice feeling, knowing there's nothing to do, after six days of running.

Nashville was a good trip. I spent a lot of time (some might say a bit too much time) with coworkers who have become friends...some of the people who have made Ohio my home over the past few weeks. I got all kinds of spiritual fuel from Mitch Albom and Beverly Tatum (and I have a signed copy of this book now...am I cool or what?) and sort of reconnected with what I love about my profession, even though I don't always find it in my job.

The rhythm of my life is a little screwy right now--the pace has been disrupted. I'm trying to settle into a new cadence...rethinking how I treat myself, how I treat the people around me...figuring out how to help my family through hard times when I can't be there every day to give hugs, wipe away tears, listen. It seems like the last three weeks have served as some kind of turning point, and I can't see around the bend. Not to sound uncharacteristically or cheesily optimistic, but I kind of have the feeling that things are going to be okay.

"from lost and not found, to run and not hide
my hand inside your hand
losing my grip, falling so far
my hand inside your hand
I hear your voice and follow
so hard to believe, and still I go"
-joc

Yee Haw!

So I'm blogging from Nashville, standing at a cyber cafe with people crammed on both sides of me, but it's daylight so I don't think anyone is surfing porn. So far the conference I'm at has been pretty cool, although I have yet to actually go to any programs! I did get to hear Mitch Albom speak last night. To tell the truth, I didn't really think it would be anything special--I hadn't read Tuesdays With Morrie, and I imagined it was going to be one of those one-size-fits-all inspirational speeches that a lot of famous authors will spin out when they're in front of some organization that they don't understand. Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Mitch's speech was about the value of relationships, about not wasting time and energy on things we won't be able to take with us, and I guess that gets to the heart of what I do for a living. Why is it that I always have to go to some convention eight hours away to get energized about my job again?

Big news...I talked to The Boy last night. Of course I was a wreck, babbling and doing my best to appear nonchalant, while inside I was shaking. This version of The Boy wasn't the same one I talked to six months ago. This guy was mature, contrite, and very hesitant. I want to believe that he's grown up a little. Or maybe that I've grown up a little. I want to think that we'll meet up for a drink in a few months and be able to reflect on our shared history without regret or silences full of all that we never had the guts to say. The thing about love, though, is that it doesn't get any less intense just because you walk away from it. Or maybe I'm just not ready to be over him.

Whew, that's too much profoundness for eight-thirty am...time to get a caffiene fix and head to the next session. More later...