Being a Working Single Mom and Separation Anxiety

The phrase "working mom" is complex in itself. Moms work. Nonstop. From sons up to sons down and later still because some things can only get done after they are down. For most of my marriage I stayed home or went to work or school a few hours a week. For the most part I was home with the kids doing chores, finding hobbies, baking, crafting and carrying babies as a surrogate when I wasn't earning scholarships as a student. Most of this was concurrent multi-tasking.

Life for my 10 year old hasn't been okay since the separation started two years ago. All three still haven't smiled like they used to. I can see it in their eyes and the way it feels forced and fake. It's not obvious unless you have known what it is to fake happiness for someone else. I just had another talk about depression the other night and Kid2 admitted he still struggles.

For Kid3, his identity was the youngest in a family of five. When the family of five shifted to four, who he is became a fluid identity in a sea without a stable anchor. Add Mom and Dad living differently and having new relationships and he hasn't felt safely attached for a while. Not safely enough.  He's been struggling since then with what is normal.  He's seen a therapist.  I try to do things with him around the house. Actually, projects and catching up on housework on weekends because I spend most of my week at work or driving are my new normal.  I leave at 7:30 in the morning and don't get home until around 8 at night.

My latest project was to update my pond.  Pictured is Kid3 several years ago. As for the pond, it's still evolving.

Yesterday morning was a hard one for Kid3.  Honestly, it was a rough continuation of my day before.  I left for work at 7:30 a.m..  I left work early at 3:30 that afternoon, then drove through traffic so bad over about 20 miles that I didn't get home until 5:45 where I picked kids up for an Awards night at my older kid's school, not arriving there until 6:15.

We sat through the ceremony, took a few pictures, dropped the boyfriend off at home where he could decompress, then drove around a little more before landing at a new family favorite ramen restaurant. We got home and the meltdown started.

There's a pattern.  On days when school starts or they're going back to their Dad, my little one's separation anxiety ramps up and he refuses to go to school, begging instead to stay home with me.  Yesterday morning I was trying to rush out the door and take a phone interview on my way to work (yay me! I'm over qualified for this entry level position and he'll keep me in mind if any senior positions open up that will pay more).

Kid3's tantrum was so bad that I was now 40 minutes late for work, but I had him sit in the car as I finished the interview and hung up.  Tearfully, he told me he didn't want me to work. He wanted to get me fired. He was willing to leave because calling his Dad for support resulted in a threat to go back to court for custody.   As tight as money is when I'm not working, he wants me to stay home with him.  It feels good to be that wanted.  At the same time, this tells me I'm neglecting his emotional needs and his separation anxiety is a symptom of him not feeling safe enough attachment to me to want to be independent.

That's heavy.  That last sentence is full of density and I'll unpack it.

When my kids were little, their needs were simple.  Help them rest when tired.  Feed them when hungry.  Keep them clean enough to be comfortable but dirty enough to have fun.  As they're getting older and more physically independent, their emotional needs are shifting and they need more support.  I need to help them feel so surrounded by my love that they feel it even when I'm not around.  My youngest doesn't feel that right now.

A couple of years ago I read the 5 Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman.  It explored the five ways we can express or feel love.

1. Gift giving - He often asks me to buy him things.
2. Quality time - He likes playing board games or being with me to watch movies or throw a ball around.
3. Words of affirmation - He needs to hear that I love him and that I value what he says when he's telling me about his day.
4. Acts of service - He often asks me to brush his hair or help him with personal hygiene. When he's happy, he's willing to do things for me.
5. Physical touch - He likes belly massages and bear hugs.

He actively asks me to do or engage in these things on a regular basis. So basically my son has shown and told me that he needs all of his emotional love needs met and he's starved for love.

The greatest lesson about the book is that it taught that the way you show love isn't necessarily the way others need to receive that love from you and love means finding out how to fulfill the needs of someone else, rather than assume what works for you is good enough in the way most of us selfishly do.

In doing projects I choose and having him join me, I assumed he was getting enough love in the time together, but over the last few days he was showing me that he was not.

At the end of the day, my relationship with my son is a relationship.  I can't assume what I've always done will always be enough because as he grows and walks in independence, his needs change and evolve.  I want to be the parent he is willing to talk to. It's a relationship that needs time and attention to detail . . . Just like any other relationship.

Startup Culture as it Relates to Motherhood

I've been temping at a web startup in Santa Monica and I love it.  Mostly it feels like slipping on a comfortable glove, but only because I have the perspective to see it. It looks like the push and hustle that comes in the early days of motherhood when all you came to expect as normal is shifted for the little one that flips things around for you.

Identity

All startups want to first define who they are.  What are their values? What matters and how will they make their impact? As a new Mom, I had to figure out who I am.  Do I copy the mothers I watched on television? What do I want to take from my parents and grandparents? What is something I want to distance myself from?  How do I identify as a mom, or as an individual? What about my children's identity? It took many years to accept that my children were separate from me.  They had their own personalities and ideas.  They were going to need to do things their own way and all I could do is guide them from where I sat as Mom.  It was about defining us and setting boundaries that were flexible enough for who we were and wanted to be.

Relationships

There’s a lot of gentleness towards co-workers and inclusion through activities in a startup.  There are company-wide meetings and training with applause and congratulations.  There are company provided weekly meals and happy hours.  There are ping pong tournaments, though I've never seen anyone touch the Foosball table. The point is we want to like each other and I really feel we do.  In mothering, I want my boys to get along with each other.  One day when I’m gone, I know my kids will only have each other.  I often remind them that when they end up in therapy as adults, the only people that will understand exactly what their parents put them through is each other.  Without relationships, you can’t rely on others, and being unreliable and unwilling to trust is a weakness.  Relationship matters. This is taught and encouraged and part of the fabric of startup life.

Collaborative Environment

We work together.  Every opinion matters and we keep asking for it. This isn’t reflective of all mothers, but it’s how I run my house.  I try to get my kids to tell me what they think, know and feel.  If I don’t encourage them to see and understand the value within them, I can’t expect them to stand on the security of who they are.  If I don’t trust the boys I’m raising, how can I expect them to trust themselves?  Startups try to hire the right people so they can trust them with their ideas and know they’ll try to make the company successful.

Communication

Documentation and communication are everything in a startup.  It’s how we track progress and see where we came from.  Everything is written and talked about and brainstormed.  It’s about sharing what is in our heads so we can create something bigger together.  Mothering requires diligent communication.  Specifically, you have to be able to read your child’s language as well as their silence.  You have to understand how their bodies move so you’ll know when they aren’t moving normally.  It’s not enough to speak but to listen actively.  As a special needs mom and advocate, documentation is what gets the services you need. It's a skill that flows fluidly between motherese and Salesforce.

Self Care and Care of Others

I’ve noticed that those in startups rarely take care of themselves.  Give them a job and they’ll do whatever it takes.  There’s a fluid ability to flex your reach into things outside of what was originally defined for you.  Give a person a problem and they’ll analyze several possible answers into solutions.  It’s a gift that is part of mothering.  You do whatever it takes for your child, but with both, there’s an inability to take care of yourself.  In these startups, you’ll have fully loaded kitchens to nourish your body, machines to keep you caffeinated, games to keep you agile and relieve stress and drinks to take the edge off in a grown-up way. In the office I’m currently in, there are even dogs that sit with their people and follow them to meetings. These people consistently put others ahead of themselves.  They are natural at caring for the world outside of themselves.

Focusing on the dogs . . . They are so loved and pampered.  They have neat haircuts and trimmed nails.  Their coats are glossy and well groomed.  They go on walks throughout the day. These dogs make their people go on walks and care for them.  (Much like children.) On Fridays I’ve noticed far fewer dogs in the office.  Their people work harder and will work through lunch or run to the bathroom because they have put their workflow ahead of their bladders.

It’s like being a Mom.  We’ll do all we can to care for our kids and our self care often looks like putting their needs first and getting the latent benefit of our sacrifice.  It’s that same drive and personality.  Self sacrifice and hard work is the default setting. Self care is secondary.  But unnecessary.  If your company wants to make you happy, they understand and want to honor your commitment.  They also understand the value of your contentment means they can pay you less but make you feel like they want you to stay because of the many perks. It's like the harder exchange that comes in chasing toddlers and changing diapers.  It's exhausting and hard work but the rewards of a happy child make you forget the frustrations.

Growth Strategy

As a startup, the goal is to grow and be so amazing in the world on it's own that other companies will want to buy you.  So maybe it's terribly creepy if you are trying to sell off your child, but really, the goal is independence and that comes from exponential growth and secure development. In that way, startups are exactly like motherhood.

Self Care and Who is Taking Care of You if You Aren't?

One of the best perks of working through a temp agency is you get placed in really amazing companies.  I'm offered opportunities I would never have on my own because my placement means I'm disposable.  They can bang out a project and send me on my way without the work involved in a typical onboarding process. Company hopping means I have had cubicles but I've also worked in open floor plans with sparse desks that lack personality.  I've had standing desks that lift with the touch of a button. (I miss that desk. We were friends.) Right now I have a laptop computer that opens up with recognition from my fingerprint.  I've had touchscreen laptops, dual monitors, touchscreen phone systems and noise cancelling headsets.  I've been to kitchens that were stocked with healthy free foods and insane amounts of junk to gnosh on.  Some companies regularly cater lunch on some days and others offer free products that they work really hard to sell to the public. They stock half and half next to the almond or coconut milk. There are touchscreen coffee makers that use Starbuck's coffee or machines that will brew a triple shot espresso and in the next cup you can have a mocha latte or vanilla coffee.  On the way to my desk I've walked next to ping pong and foosball tournaments, full indoor basketball courts and dogs that go to work everyday.  I've been offered margaritas on the work patio or kombucha and beer on tap.  I've avoided monthly emergencies with a bathroom fully stocked with feminine products for free and unlimited Bath and Body Works soaps and lotions.  I've been next to co-workers on balance ball chairs that bounce and move as they type or handle calls. I've seen showers and a lactation lounge and heard about Summer flex days where 3 day weekends are expected and paid.

These companies treat their employees like they want them to stay.  They remind them to take breaks and stand and snack or relax.  Consistently, I have been in conversations with people at all of these companies where I wonder, if you're not going to take care of yourself, who will?

I see (usually younger people) working through their lunch and forgetting to eat.  On a great day, I do it too.  There's a zone where purpose meets drive and productivity babies don't even need to be burped or changed. But I also make it a point to take care of myself.  I still treat myself like I love myself.  I act like I need to care for the toddler in me.

In my first week with this new company, I kept hearing complaints about the snacks.  The company was moving toward healthier snacks without bothering to focus on internalizing the ideals of healthy foods.  The masses revolted and complained.  I was on the elevator one day, and laughing at the outrage.  I mean, I used to love rolling out of bed for a cold Tommy's chili burger for breakfast after several hours of too many drinks, too little water, and feet that were tortured in pumps on a dance floor all night.  A few years ago wheat sensitivities changed my ability to eat anything crusty, flaky or relatively cheap.  Earlier this year my gall bladder was taken out, changing my ability to handle fat.  My age has made changes necessary, and they were complaining about food I can no longer eat, while sitting in the same spot at their desks all day.  It was almost funny.  They were abusing their bodies, not knowing that age will take care of the rest one day.  I mean, if you refuse to take care of yourself, who will take care of you?

Self care is so important.

Rest when you need to.  Eat when you need to.  (I only put in my mouth what will make me insanely happy. Good food is a necessity.) Eat foods that will make you feel good.  Play.  Enjoy sunlight and laughter.  Cry when you need to.  Scream when you need to.  Say, "no," when you need to. Commit to what will make you happy.  Take care of your body and your heart.

Seriously . . . If you refuse to take care of yourself, who do you think will do it?

What Financial Abuse Looks Like

When I was married, financial control didn't look like abuse.  It looked like fairness.  It was only fair that all the money went into a joint account.  It was fair that we went over the bills together, even if he made all the decisions and set all the budgets. I had to discuss major purchases and it was only fair because he was the primary breadwinner.  The majority of our money came from his paycheck, not my financial aid and scholarships, surrogacies, or benefits our kids with autism were entitled to.  He was the head of the household, so he made the decisions.

Avid readers can tell by now that I'm a bit rebellious.  Secret checking accounts and student loans happened.  I was still mom, so much of that went to groceries because the budget he gave me, but never shopped for himself was hard to stick to. It resulted in arguments with my shoulders rounded and my gaze at my feet.  It was a time for me to resort to being a sulking teenager, not a wife or equal.

I applied for credit cards with terrible credit and no job and when I got them, he would help me max them out.  When the bill came, we could never afford to pay the bill I created.  Credit was a bad idea because you have to pay it back with interest.  (At the same time, my individually improved credit has opened a few doors for me, starting with my car.)

It didn't look like abuse at the time.  It looked like equity based on his rubric.  It looked like power and our actions against each other became cyclical and damaging to us both.

Personally, I was frustrated.  I had a book addiction, and often bought Amazon gift cards for my habit while grocery shopping because hiding the purchase amongst groceries sometimes worked.  I hated feeling like I needed permission to spend my allowance.  I would scour clearance aisles and freak out about how to hide it later. I wasn't big on purses, shoes, or jewelry.  I bought things for the house and worried nervously about the fight I would cause by the new dishes, or trash can I brought home.

As I found other ways to hide my acts of rebellion, he found ways to investigate my actions and uncover my lies.  There was no trust and it looked like a power struggle where dominance wore the farce of fairness.

In 2014 I had pulmonary embolisms.  At the time I had a car that was a danger on the roads.  I could only drive it in a lower gear, the brakes were faulty and the seat belt didn't always work.  I would drive it half a mile to the train station, but take the train to work at my part time job, and walk.  I was newly discovering a gluten free diet and avoiding sugar because my doctor scared me with pre-diabetes.  Walking seemed healthy.  I walked 5 miles and that night woke up with leg cramps only to find out the next day that my birth control pills tried to kill me and walking so much didn't help. The greater question that I didn't dare ask at the time was, why couldn't I drive the safer car to work? Where was the equity when I was taking the train late at night alone, worried about my safety the whole way?

Having that relationship end, different articles and stories found their way to me.  It was through friends and online.  The concerns my sisters voiced for years finally landed in ways that I couldn't deny.  Mine isn't even an extreme case.

Some people are battered in their relationships but the abuse is more than physical.  If there is physical violence, there was certainly verbal, emotional and financial abuse before during and most definitely after it. The most invisible form of abuse is financial.  It's about an abuser having control over their victim.  In that way I suppose you could say my rebellion was abusing my ex and calling it control. Money is used to isolate and control victims.  A victim can't always move out or leave if they don't have the means to.  It's about not being able to do anything because you completely depend on someone else.

I was allowed and even encouraged to work, but I found a balance in staying home for my kids, and going to school for myself.  He often told me what kind of work I should do as a suggestion, but it felt like control. It felt like I had his permission to be a teacher, even if I hated being in the classroom.  Even if I did work, I knew I wouldn't have control of my paycheck.  Now I enjoy work.  I'm much better at making money than keeping a clean house. (I'm okay with this.  You should make peace with it too.)

In my last relationship, I had a hard time asking for his financial advice or support.  I didn't want to give him control or cooperate with what he felt was best.  He didn't want to blindly throw money my way to help out because he didn't trust me, even if we were living together. We didn't trust each other. Money and control became a problem and rather than do what he asked, I stood my ground.  Other relational situations shifted the balance in what made a relationship worthy of growth and our relationship didn't continue. He was intelligent, with a background in finance, and an ability to get and keep my attention.  He was and is special.  At the same time, I couldn't in any way relax into a situation where I couldn't control my finances.  Strength or weakness, it's who I have become.

I have a purple purse charm I have kept on each of my purses for almost two years now. Allstate has ways to support women that are financially abused. I didn't buy it for them, although my purchase supports them. It has become a symbol of hope and strength for me. It has become a reminder that I don't need permission to buy my kids clothes. I get to make choices and create the life I want to live. I'm not a tree with deep roots. I'm free. My tassel sways with the freedom I feel in every step I take. Even if I'm not financially stable as a funempolyed single mom, I am free.  And I am in a much better financial situation than I was under someone else's financial control.

I am not affiliated with Allstate or the Purple Purse Charm and I have no monetary investment in this (or any of my posts to date), but if you would like to support their work, or at least learn more about financial abuse as domestic violence, please click here.

Dating Advice

I don't have real dating advice.  I'm not sure how seriously I'm taking it.  It's company that feels better than being alone and that hasn't happened yet.  Actually, I spent the weekend taking Kid3 on dates, and even with his tantrums and meltdowns, he's a better date than most of what I found online.  And I paid! I'm still wading through the messiness and I'm just sharing gold nuggets from some of the men in my life that are not interested in me because they know me too well, or their orientation means we share an interest in the same men. I'm out of practice and very impulsive in some ways. The men in my life are straight shooters and when I'm comfortable, you'll get that from me too.  They love me.  They know me.  They don't want me. What am I looking for? So far he's monogamous, physically attractive, well groomed, intelligent, cultured, patient with children (he may be a gay man), and only has eyes for me.

You need someone on your level.

Yes! I'm well read, relatively sharp (how much sleep are we talking?) and I can take care of myself and my boys.  I'm generally happy and I don't need attention as much as I want it.  I'm looking for a match that I won't have to make up for.  Well, looking is a strong word that I keep using for the meandering I actually do.

Some things should only be admired from a distance.

But sometimes they are so pretty and shiny.  I want to touch and obsess and learn every detail.  Then I remind myself I'm not a puppy and I can put the toy down.  But I don't want to. Call it sweet.  It may be a touch stalkerish.

Don't date at work.

You can't shit where you eat.  (Crude, yes, but the exact way it was said to me.) I tend to look for someone doing just as well as I am, or better, and it's hard to shut my eyes when the men parade so innocently past me when they don't know I was looking through my lust colored lenses.

Set your rules and don't break them.

I had stiff rules when I was online dating.  No delivery drivers but that is more about me than anyone else. I have issues.  They end up here where I can be followed and shared and bookmarked. No one younger than me, but that one is flexible in relation to how much drool we're dealing with.  He has to be smart enough that I'm constantly in awe of his huge ideas and observations.  He has to look better than I do.  I'm looking for beautiful but I'm shallow.  I own it.

Don't lead anyone on.

I have this tendency to start flirting when I get comfortable.  That doesn't mean I'm into anyone outside of the reactions I get.  A simple lunch can mean much more to the man in front of me than it will ever mean to me.  I won't do it on purpose.  I go from purely polite and slightly indifferent to lioness on the prowl, looking for a chew toy. It's not good, but it's rarely intentional.

You're such a dude.  Not everyone you conquer needs to be femme.

Gender normative isn't a dirty word in the dating world.  I'm supposed to soften my ability to be dominant in my home and with my sexuality.  I had never seen the men I date as femme, but coming from a gay man, I have to believe there is truth in the way I portray them when I go into juicy detail.

Don't you know spooning leads to forking?

Flirting is never innocent.  Don't do it unless you mean it and are willing to follow through.  Craptastic because that is my way of being.

Walk away and let him come to you. Keep giving signals that you're interested but don't pursue.

This is too twisted.  I don't get it.  I haven't played this game in decades. I was interested and all over it, or not interested and polite with an edge.  I often ended a mean streak with, "I'm just messing with you."  I never said I was nice and the men I dated were never high on emotional intelligence or otherwise.

Baby steps, Ma.

When I am into someone I can get a bit carried away.  I'm not planning a wedding and moving in and puppies together. It's more like I'm free, let's go out. Some boys need to take it slower than that.

Forget to text him on some days. Send generic messages that don't show an interest in his life or that you're expecting conversation.

Have a great weekend! Enjoy your day! Happy 4th of July!

I'm here.  Think of me so we can keep playing this game that really secretly annoys me.

Poop already, because there are other people waiting for the pot.

(I think I was trying to go for being the Shit, but ended up as a toilet. Don't flush!)

You want owners, not the help. If he ain't the highest up on the totem you're not interested. This is no longer high school.

This should matter more because I'm frequently told to think ahead, but I'm not there yet.

A woman with ink is hardcore to a guy without ink. Honey, your level of pain is more than his.  He knows you're a freak and knowing that makes him wonder if he's sexually adequate.

I've given birth.  Many times. All of my ink is meaningful design that hurt less than a crowning child and the contractions that helped me kick 7 babies out.  It was easier than the angry uterus that had no problem with beating up an infant on the way out of my womb.

Where to go: church groups, book readings, events at parks, lounges, community service, the humane society needs volunteers.  Library, museum, coffee houses, cafe's.

For fun: the grocery store produce section.

"Hey, how ripe is that peach? I bet it's juicy."

"Are these melons ripe?"

"How do you pick your papayas?"

Do we really need to go there with bananas?  I think you get it.

Happy Days

Usually a new job interview means I arrive super early so I can check out the neighborhood.  I want to know how safe I’ll feel leaving work after the sun goes down.  I want to see what my lunch options are and how close my nearest bank branch is.  I chose a brick and mortar bank with the highest APY I could find.  That means fewer branches are available.  I get to the job and the first two things I look for are the break room and bathrooms.  You can tell a lot about a company by the way it treats its employees in places unseen. I’m no longer funemployed and job hunting at the beach on phone apps. Honestly, if I had not landed this job, I would have been happy with the 40 minute interview. My supervisor is phenomenal and every ambition I've ever had danced a jig during our conversation. I have a desk and not a view but the people are nice.  The bathrooms are huge with many extra supplies in plain view.  They not only have girl products available, they’re free and each sink has Bath & Body Works soap and lotion bottles.  The coffee bar is insanely huge and stocked and while it isn’t as beautifully designed as my last job, they clearly love us here.  I walked in and was given a mug, pen, and notebook with my onboarding signatures.  They’re pretty sly.  My marketing swag also helps them cut costs and save the earth in not needing to provide paper cups.

I’ve learned my lesson and can’t afford another workplace crush that will keep me distracted and giggling, so I’m keeping my head down.  I still think about him and that's insane. The job I’ve been waiting for is here, and the greatness I experienced on my first day made me appreciate what waiting means, and I got home and let go of someone I was trying to make worth my time. I needed yesterday's work lesson to sink in to get that it translates to dating too.  I can wait for the right one and I don't need to settle in the mean time.

Online dating is amazing and funny and insanely crazy.  I’ve had the bad.  I’ve had a creepy man not notice when I flinched from his lean in to kiss me.  I had one tell me about wanting to live out a rape fantasy and needing me to fight him to excite him.  I’ve had the ones that wanted to dominate and the ones that wanted to be dominated.  I’ve had the ones that wanted me to want them, knowing they were happy sleeping around with anyone willing.  There was the one that keeps checking in with me to see if I’ll give him my banking information. But there’s good too.

Yesterday was my first day, and throughout it, I had 4 to 5 men check in to see how my first day was going.  There was my first kiss in over a year and the first kiss I willingly gave to someone other than my ex in the last 16 years. There was the one that is too young, and too far, but I wanted to bend my rules for him.  He's beautiful. There was the one that is willing to teach me computer coding.  He's kind. There is the business man half way around the world that texts me at random moments.  I'm on his mind and he keeps telling me he wants to shower me with his love, but I'm skeptical. He may be catfishing me, but that’s okay too.  There’s the one that isn’t that cute, but determined to show me a good time. He gets that he comes after my boys. And of course the deployed men that I’ve turned down, but haven’t had the boldness to tell that my Dad’s PTSD ruined their chances with me.  They get turned down, but don't seem to read or hear my rejections because they think an email will change my childhood.

These men are clearly only interested in how I can make them feel and not me, because my blog name is in my profile and I can always use a boost in my stats.  I can see how many hits I get at any given time.  I’m really not worried they’ll read my words.

The best moment was after work last night. I was dealing with co-parenting issues on my way home and when my anger was peaking, I got a call that made my ride home special. He is beautiful and has a really thick Italian accent.  I can’t understand half of what he says, but it sounds so sexy that I don’t think it matters. I can hear him tell me I'm beautiful and he wants to spend time with me.

I’m having fun.

I Can't Keep Playing Hide and Seek

"The man who thinks a thousand dragons sufficient to watch a woman, when her inclination takes a contrary bent, will find all too little; and she will engage the stones in the street, or the grass in the field, to act for her, and help on her correspondence." - Pamela, Or Virtue Rewarded by Samuel Richardson

I'm really trying not to hide lately but hiding has been my default.  In new relationships I was so driven by who I wanted to be with, that I often shifted their perspective of me so I would fit, not giving credence to the fact that my value from beginning to end would always end up more meaningful to me in the end. So far they have all left my daily life, and I'm still here. I lied because I didn't believe in the value of my thoughts or feelings.

I'm a bookish broad.  I love a good story with romance and magic and very little sex.  I'd rather read through loads of build up in angsty infatuation than literary porn without satisfaction and a set up for real life disappointment.  Besides, not every author's idea of kink is a good fit with mine.  I used to buy Amazon gift cards to hide how much I loved new books.  I'd spend an extra $25 on a grocery store receipt to hide the books I was buying. I loved reading and losing myself in novel after novel, but felt that was something to be ashamed of because it brought pain to the ex.  I made him jealous because I spent so much time with my favorite authors in my head that his value was then in question.  It was like going on a date with your face glued to your phone.  It was very rude of me. The insidious irony is I still believe that no matter how much I believe in the freedom to read.  There are people that have died for that right.  (Are the gaslights dimming, or is it me?)

I wanted to print out pay stubs for the job I had earlier this year.  I set up a password for the Paychex system they use and I saved it on the computer, but the computer I saved it on was the one that stayed at the company I no longer work at.  As I was explaining this to the person on the phone helping me reset my password, I was laughing about never working for that temp agency again.

I told her about the last interview I went on for this agency.  I didn't want to go to begin with.  It was farther than I would want to work. I got there and the people I was interviewing with had this really strong dislike of people in general and I didn't like being there for the little while I was there.  It was like that spidey sense we all get when we are sitting with someone that means us harm.  You feel it in raised hairs and tingling at the back of your scalp.  You know it without having words to nail it into finality.  I bombed the interview.  It wasn't on purpose and maybe it was just my personality.  Either way, I was okay with not working there.  The agency rep ripped me a new one like I was a child.  I took it because that is what you do when you need a job, but we hung up and I decided I don't want a job where my boss would send me somewhere I told her I didn't want to be and have her pitch a fit because I wasn't grateful for her lack of interest in my needs.  It's not servitude I'm looking for but service to a company I want to retire with.  The actual company I was at would have fit that bill, but I'm looking forward to the open possibilities before me. I'm okay with the idea of waiting for a company that suits my needs and not just a paycheck.  I hit a few beaches that day because it was a day for  Beach Days and Bombed Job Interviews. I decided I would no longer go on interviews that I didn't want to go on and it was a liberating feeling.  That was another way I was hiding.  I was hiding in looking to take jobs that wouldn't fit my needs because that's what family and friends and society as a whole thinks I need to do. It felt good to decide the needs of my children and myself are most important to me. I need to send my boys off to school in the morning and have dinner with them at night.  I can't spend most of my night in traffic and give away the little time I have with them in shared custody.  I can live with crock pot dinners, but I will not only see my children as they sleep and every other weekend. My last job showed me that I could find passion in what I was doing.  I could wake up excited to go to work.  That's the bar I've set and I don't want to stumble below it any longer.

For so long I hid behind my marriage.  I fell into the idea of fate and destinies and I knew I married the right man, so it was so hard to let go even after he left me.  It was hard to see that I was wrong.  He left and I hid behind the ring I still wore and the marriage license that is still valid.  I was hiding behind a vow he broke and a covenant he walked away from.  I was hiding behind scriptures and ideals and refusing the norms that are part of who we are as a society.  My turning point was in a nonchalant admission of "I'm dating," and a leg kicked out in petulant defiance that made me feel that dating wouldn't destroy me.  It's been blogging about past loves that remind me he wasn't the first forever I was willing to commit to.  I've had 2 long term boyfriends I would have given forever to, and 3 other boys that strung me along because I was willing to be walked on for the forever I saw in their smiles.  There were also many, many Mr. Right Now contenders that aren't worth an individual mention. I never took statistics, but if that could happen in a span of 8 years before dedicating the next nearly 16 years to someone else, that tells me he might not have been the one, especially when he was happiest with me when I was hiding myself from him.  I can accept being wrong because it's better to have been wrong than to admit that my forever destiny is to be let go.

I'm not hiding today but a lot of times I need the reminder not to. Sometimes the effort for transparency is more difficult than I like to admit, especially when it involves conversations with my parents.  In stepping out in other uncharted territory, I'm learning that in doing, I am more capable than I imagined in my fear.  The past week has been filled with unfounded terror, and there have been specific moments when my doubts were crippling. I was letting my insecurities harden into bitterness and it was stealing my joy.

Yesterday was a really good day.  It was a day of unexpected blessings and encouragement. It was a day that reminded me I can't be intimidated in a corner if I'm busy being the greatness I choose to live. I'm not hiding today.

Silver Linings for a Jilted Wife

Being a jilted wife hasn't been without its blessings. In the beginning, I needed some form of hope to cling to, and it was consistently provided. My greatest hope was for a reconciliation.

I had a friend tell me about her parents separating and reconciling after 8 years.  Another friend's parents did the same after 3 years.  My sister's brother in law divorced, then remarried his wife.  I was doing a bathroom and kitchen remodel and the guy doing the construction work told me about the 3 years he had left his wife and that they had just reconciled and with all of them, it was better the second time.  With all of these stories, the leaving husband was going through the same script that detailed the happiness he deserved.

There were times when I needed a financial miracle and with perfect timing, one would fall in my lap. I had a bunch of returns and purchases to make one day, and I accidentally dipped into the red in my primary checking account.  The exact amount of cash I had from the returns was able to get my account positive by pennies.  I anticipated a debit for my car insurance and when it wasn't deducted, I called and was told my account was current and not due for another month.  I still don't know how that happened. Some of the women who had told me their stories of being left for some nebulous idea of deserved happiness offered money for gas or money for frivolous Christmas gifts for the kids. I was replacing a missing toilet auger at Home Depot when I ran into my Mom and she bought the auger and a Christmas tree when I had no idea how a tree was going to happen. I've had people I didn't expect to help me buy me groceries.  My sister had my cousin bring her a pair of Uggs from his trip to Australia, and when they didn't fit her, she gave them to me.  My parents have been unceasingly generous, helping me in the most unexpected ways.

I've spent nearly 16 years being a stay at home mom and sometimes student.  My wardrobe reflected that. As a wife, I very rarely went shopping for myself. I love designer purses, but all of them have been gifts from other women or hand me downs.  I wore everything until I was forced to throw it away.  When my husband left, I was forced to look much more seriously for work, and I chose to look for something that would challenge and inspire me. I had wardrobe donations from a cousin I had met twice, and a friend of my mother's that I still have never seen.  Everything they gave me fit perfectly and I was able to be picky about what I wanted to keep.

The biggest miracles seemed to involve my car.   For most of 2015 I was driving a 1989 Ford Contour. Paying for a used car in full is what we usually did.  We'd run it into scrap, and buy another used car.  It was almost an income tax time tradition. It had problems. Lots of problems.  For most of the problems, I lucked out in having a cousin in school to become a mechanic.  They're always looking for cars to work on and it usually just cost me parts.  My Dad helped with the rest.

The night before Christmas Eve I was driving to my sister's house, 20 miles away.  After I got off of the freeway, my car started to sound funny.  Just as I was pulling into a parking space on the street near her house, the power steering went out.  I went inside and we made tamales.  When it was time to leave, I was able to drive to the gas station about two blocks from her.  I pulled into a space and added power steering fluid.  When I tried to start the car, I heard the clicking that tells you your battery is dead.  I was safely parked in a space, and my sister called to check on me.  She was walking toward me when I was talking to my roadside assistance.  They covered 10 miles. Because Dad's AAA covers 200 miles, I spent the night at my sister's house.  She had a house guest for a few months that happened to be out that night. I had a comfortable bed to sleep in.  She gave me a pair of polar fleece pajamas.  She doesn't wear contact lenses but her husband does, so I had a contact lens case and solution.  And a fresh toothbrush because she practically stockpiles those. I felt so protected and so grateful that this didn't happen on the freeway.  Facebook and the tow truck driver helped me troubleshoot.  It was the serpentine belt pulley system.  My cousin fixed it, but the problem came up again in January.  He repaired the pulley for me, but it was time to replace it. I recognized what was happening and was able to safely pull over to park on the street and have it towed.  He didn't have a way to fix it quickly this time. My Mom would normally let me borrow her car, but her axle was broken from a car accident her car had just been in. My niece gave me a ride to a dealership and I walked in with a prayer and a smile.  I drove home in a 2016 Toyota Camry.  I'm sure it helped that I decided separate checking accounts meant I could improve my credit without permission. The license plate came on my birthday in mid February and the down payment was made later that week.  Yesterday my niece passed her driving test and registered the Ford Contour I just gave her.  She's driving her first car the day she got her license.

Right now I'm stressed.  I'm joyful, but not peaceful.  There is a heaviness in deciding to end a marriage.  My husband left, but the decision to divorce him has been left to me, as he hasn't started by filing yet.  The weight of that is heavy.  At the same time, I feel a freedom I didn't expect.  There is a lightness in being able to do what I want when the mood strikes. I'm excited about hitting the beach and getting lost in ocean waves this summer. It's been years since I've done so because being Mom means I was more worried about my kids than anything and I didn't want to get in the water where I could lose a child.  I was the one hoping to restore our family, and our kids will see me differently when I destroy that hope.  There is a burden in that. I'm more worried about my kids than a life of dreams I have released.  Job hunting has become a job.  I wake up and it occupies my every thought, and most of my actions.  So there's stress.  Today I needed to remember the miracles I walked through and refocus on new goals because the old ones have shifted and getting a divorce isn't a goal. It's a thing you do when you decide to close the book.

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Beach Days and Bombed Job Interviews

It's a bad sign when you go to a job interview with more excitement about the beach day you plan afterward. I knew it was too far.  I knew it wouldn't allow the home/work balance that is so important to me.  I didn't know that parking would come at the student rate, without a discount.  I didn't know the main part of the job is to be a gatekeeper for the more antisocial folks.  That was probably the worst part. I have antisocial moments sometimes.  Sometimes I can be snarky and a little mean.  But to make it clear that it was an office that doesn't like people . . . I couldn't see it as a good fit.  I interviewed badly.  I don't think it was on purpose.  I think I was being myself, and for some people that's the last thing they want to be around. So I drove to Manhattan Beach.  It wasn't a mental breakdown moment.  It was a mental health day. It was a moment of being in the moment and spontaneous. If I had prepared, I would have brought warm clothes and stayed much longer. I think the idea of walking along the shops was my original plan.  I checked the weather. I wasn't planning on walking in the sand or touching icy water. I wanted to check out the cute shops and restaurants I used to love.

The clouds kept filtering above.  I felt warmth and freezing cold, with the constant coastal breeze.  I keep a waterproof blanket in the car, but I didn't really plan anything, so my beach trip was in my suit jacket and skirt.  I didn't mind.  I did notice an esoteric coincidence.

The left one was at Manhattan Beach.  The one on the right was at Will Rogers state beach.  I noticed in both shots I was leading with my left.  It wasn't on purpose, but again, I tend to look for meanings where there might not be any.  I came across something I had read before saying that Egyptians and Greeks often created art with a leading left foot because it is believed the left side is the side ruled by the heart. It's about leading with the heart and emotions.  It's about life and new beginnings.  Whether or not it's an unrealistic stretch, it seemed significant, and relevant.

I took the streets north, and drove along Dockweiler State Beach.  I continued as the road I was on headed inland through Marina Del Rey.  I remembered a date taking me to the jetty where he held my hand as we walked on jagged rocks, and he laughed when I flinched at the scurrying rodents.  I remember wanting him to kiss me so badly and I remembered that he never did. I wasn't following a map.  I was just driving, so I saw Venice and turned left.  A few blocks from the ocean I decided I wasn't in the mood for crazy.  I ended up in traffic on Pacific Coast Highway and turned left on Temescal Canyon Road.  It's the first time I've ever been to the beach during daylight hours.  I loved the many rocks I was able to pick through.  Every time I go to a body of water, I look for rocks.  I love igneous rocks, and will pick through interesting colors and shapes.  One day my youngest niece handed me a rock.  I was so deeply moved.  I don't think she understood how much her rock meant to me.  But it was huge.

I walked along the shoreline, stepping through waves and picking up rocks.  I sat on boulders and felt the sun warm my skin where the breeze chilled it.  It was so clear at Will Rogers with the sun warming my skin and not even a little cloud cover. Manhattan Beach was freezing in comparison. I watched the sunset and with the descending sun the chilled ocean air blew right through my jacket. With frozen hands and feet that were pretty numb, I walked to my car and drove home.

I took the streets home.  I drove up Temescal Canyon Road to Sunset. I love the curves on the winding roads of Sunset Blvd. near UCLA. I took Sunset until it changed to Cesar Chavez and turned left on Broadway.  I drove through Chinatown and then home to Lincoln Heights. I love that it's literally 3 street names to my favorite beach.  The name change doesn't count.  Not really.

All job hunting misadventures should end up like today.

Job Hunting and Optimism

 

I'm job hunting and some days are more stressful than others.  I'm not worried about finding a job.  That will happen.  I'm constantly reaching out to three recruiters from different agencies. This morning I called, then emailed a fourth. When I say I'm reaching out, you can read that I'm harassing.  I am harassing them with ritualistic consistency every few days.  I'm also trolling craigslist, Monster and LinkedIn, applying to at least 10 positions a day, but usually more.  It's what I was doing before, and falling back into it is fairly easy.  I'm even sharing and liking things on LinkedIn.  This is a new step. I'm still a little iffy about it.  It's still a lot of unreliable fluff, and irrelevant puffery.  But it'll happen.

My main goal is to look for the right position.  I spent my entire career (when I wasn't birthing, butt wiping, or going to school) taking whatever job I could get, and selling myself at a discount for way too long.  I'm capable of teaching.  I was often requested as a substitute.  It's not what I was passionate about.  I don't want another job where I'm watching the clock so I can make an exit.  There was a day in January when I was lying in bed with my son.  I woke up and I didn't know if I was more excited to go to work, or be in bed with my child.  This was before I even laid eyes on my crush. I loved that feeling.  I had days where the work I was doing was interesting enough that I forgot to feed myself. One day my hangry moment was handled with pho, and someone walked in on me saying, "pho fo life," because my food joy was being gangster.  I love that feeling.  That is what I'm searching for.  That is why I'm passing up driving, and call centers, and sales.  I can handle front desk responsibilities but I'm happier when I'm not being paid to wait to fix customer problems and people drama.  I've done collection calls, but I didn't love it.  I've advocated for my kids.  I can do it for others.  But I don't love it. It's like doing laundry.  We don't love it, but it has to get done. I received many scholarships as a student, but I don't see myself being in a development office.  There is too much bowing and scraping involved for me to be passionate.  I can close a sale, but only if I really believe in what I'm selling, and lately I'm over the commodification of human existence.

The stresses come from well meaning loved ones that ask if I'm doing enough.  They tell me what I could do, what I should do.  I'd be a great teacher.  I should do sales or marketing.  I should . . . I could . . . "insert company here" is a great company and you could grow.  They mean well, but the weight of their anxiety makes it hard to breathe. I find myself really debating answering certain calls, but I haven't started avoiding people yet.  I don't want to be that person.  I'd rather be brave and fearless.  One day my voice will be louder out of my mouth than the sound of thoughts hitting stony walls inside my head.

I'm looking for growth, but more than that I'm looking for a company I want to grow with.  I want culture and values that I can believe in. I want to work for people that make the right choice, even if it's not the easiest choice.  The well meaning people in my life don't seem to understand that you tend to get hired to do what you've already been hired to do, and I didn't like what I've done enough to want to go back to it.  As much as I like writing, I don't think I want to get paid to listen to Alanis Morrisette and just write all day.  I need diversity. I need quantifiable results.  Writing for my college newspaper and being an English major taught me the quickest way to diminish your word joy is to add an editor without your passion or vision and make their word the final say in your final product. Reading and writing what you don't care for is equally destructive. I don't really want to give someone that authority over my craft. Not now, and maybe never.  I don't mind deadlines. They keep me focused. As far as work/family balance, I want to be able to get my kids off to school in the morning and have dinner with them.  When they're with their Dad, I'm okay with long hours.

Once this is posted, I'll be back to job hunting with coffee in hand, on my sunny front porch with pond sounds trickling to my left and two dogs on my right. My cat sits in a cardboard box right next to me, batting at my elbow for attention. Clawzilla loves my reactions. Her name is actually Socks, and it was cute when she would do that with socks while I folded laundry.  She's not cute right now.  I'm letting go of the weight on my shoulders that doesn't belong to me. All of my music is cycling on shuffle, so there's Depeche Mode and Morrissey followed by TLC and Fiona Apple.  Sip with me a while.  Feel the sun and soak in the vitamin D.  It does good things for us.  Watch the bees enjoy little yellow flowers and listen to birdsong from flat recesses and hidden behind points of the yucca trees, while squirrels play tag in the canary palm.  It'll be okay. I promise.

My Transparency, part 1

This blog was meant to be anonymous.  I was sharing more with this audience than I do with people I actually know.  I had another blog that had a link on my Facebook and Instagram.  It was even linked to my Google+.  I have a Google+ account, I just don't get it.  I didn't expect this blog to become so easily found and letting go of the other one was about privacy.  Those that know who is writing this blog were meant to know and I will accept that things happen as they're supposed to. This blog is not linked to me, and I write it as Jane Doe.  It's not that I have a thing for unidentified bodies.  My very first crush-turned-obsession used to write me letters and sign them as John Doe.  I was Jane Doe in my letters to him and I was paying homage to him and hiding at the same time.  The blog names are similar.  I didn't expect anyone to be so sleuthy, but I also didn't intend to send a bad link to my other blog to people I really wanted to share my redacted self with.  Actually, I'm thankful for all of the shares.  Last night I headed to the job I just left to join a few people for after work shenanigans, with a dash of debauchery.  But the good kind. There's always a good version and a clean version but the clean and good version are rarely the same.  There are many names for the shades of gray.  This was a night of drinks, laughter and enough self deprecation to make us all human.

I was early because being late gives me anxiety, and I was excited to get out.  I stopped at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf first to sip a Mexican Hot Chocolate and enjoy the brisk night air. I was people watching.  I was wearing jeans, a zip up hoodie and a pair of Uggs, so I was comfortable.  There were a couple of girls that walked into the coffee shop wearing what I might have worn a couple of decades ago when I tried my best to be weather-proof and needed to be seen in the flesh by anyone willing to look.  I waited there, and strolling out of the front lobby is a leggy blonde with a heart of gold.

This super sweet friend sat with me a moment when I greeted her, and she let me know she shared my blog.  This blog.  The blog that details my pulse racing crush with her Facebook friends which includes a few people we worked with together who really didn't need detective skills to see me through my words or my obsessive object.  First, I'm not angry.  Just really embarrassed, but I can own that. I put it out there.  It's my truth and I won't run from it.  It's part of this post on transparency.

As the night wore on and more familiar faces joined me at the Well, I was complimented about my writing and as great as that felt, I was still in shock that my world would collide so majestically in the coming days or weeks.  It's not entirely the crush.  It's more than that.  This situation has pushed me past my comfort zone and I've since shared this blog with my Facebook friends. I've exposed parts of my life once kept hidden when there are pieces I've withheld from people I know because I don't always have the energy to make others feel better about what my life goes through or how I feel about it.

In my embarrassment and shock, I was continually trying to reaffirm a determination to enjoy myself and I had a shot of Patron. There was something so familiar about it.  Four of us did a shot together and it was like old times, except I didn't have this feeling like I was being watched and people were waiting for my crazy to escape.  I didn't feel it right away, but I eventually got too loud and not one person pointed that out to me.  It was a night full of awesome sauce.

When we left I felt sober.  I had a few random burps that reminded me of what I had just put inside of me, but I was fine to drive. I drove down Sunset to Temescal Canyon Road.  My mood demanded a playlist of Everclear and Third Eye Blind. I drove through the Sunset strip and lost in my own thoughts, I didn't see much more than bright lights and traffic. In my late teens and early 20's, there weren't street signs restricting parking after 10 on Temescal and the last couple of times I went to my life guard tower, I forgot this detail. I keep forgetting this detail. I drove north a bit, then turned around.  I stood atop a granite boulder and watched the waves crash. I tasted the salt air and felt the damp cold numbing my hands and stinging my cheeks. I decided to start heading home, but I realized my head wasn't clear enough to process the night. I pulled into the parking lot at Santa Monica Beach.  I walked up to the ocean with one of the waterproof blankets I keep in the car.  I laughed because I'm single but I don't keep spare clothes in there and that is different.  Couples dotted the sand, and there were people in the water.  Young families were still playing in the surf at 10. The smells in the air told me there was at least one 4:20 club member lighting up along the beach somewhere. Small birds raced along the water, digging for nibbles in the sand as soon as the waves raced back to the ocean.  And I sat alone.  The low lying clouds blotted out the stars, but the light pollution from the pier did as well.  The last time I sat there was in June after my husband and I met with our pastors and it was clear there was nothing he wanted to save in our marriage. There were a million stars that night. The sound of the crashing waves was insistent and calming.  In that moment, I was reminded of how small I am.  In all of the drama of life and the things I can't predict or control, I'm small and much of this doesn't matter.  Rain began to fall around 11 and I was grateful that I only slapped conditioner in my hair and didn't actually style it, and I headed home  while Katy Perry, Meghan Trainor and Taylor Swift sang to me.  If I had known that the rain would've dissipated further inland, I might have just grabbed my umbrella out of the car, or even sat in the car for a while in my cocoon of contemplation.

I'm breaking out of who I was. I've exchanged numbers with people I worked with and invited them to read my words.  That's not really my thing. I'm accepting that they're getting a stronger visual than I planned.  I usually don't disclose all of my issues to everyone so vividly, but I did and it was accepted.  Part of my freak out was about Mr. Hot (and out of reach) and the fact that they know who he is.  It's the idea that he may one day be given a link and his curiosity would slap reality on this little fantasy world I've enjoyed.  Right now I hope that if anything, I've given him an ego boost and everyone can use one of those. I'm okay with that, but it would suck if I embarrass him as much as I've embarrassed myself.

I reconnected with a prom date not too long ago.  I told him that sometimes people can't handle not being part of, or the reason for the success we reach in spite of them. He told me that there's a cost to the life we get to live.  (And that is one of the many ways Facebook has once again delivered.) I get to be who I am with the highs and lows that are uniquely mine.  My joys are exponential and I'm blessed in positivity.  I won't edit out what I value.  That would go back to being ashamed of who I am and I'm not that person anymore.  I take ownership for what I think and how I feel.  I get angry at times.  I'm not proud of that, but it's the cost to the passion in me. I will adopt full disclosure or silence depending on what I'm ready to share because I refuse to lie anymore to hide who I am.  And the really special parts are held and play back in my mind and are only released as carefully cloistered rays of hope, brightening my darker days until I can feel the warmth of the horizon. It's an island, but there's always room on my hammock. Bring your sunglasses.  You're going to need them if you keep a steady watch with me.

A Fond Farewell in Hollywood

Today was an epic farewell to a time of personal growth and transition and to the office with people that didn't even know they helped me through it.  I have a feeling what was picked up and examined today will stay in my mind in a very happy place for a long time. The picture was tonight's sunset from the office I loved for two months.  The city is covered in a blanket of fog.  I remember the 1980's, so I won't call it smog.  There is a difference.  The ocean isn't visible and it looked like layers of thickness that increased to the west where the cooler ocean air can hold the moisture in low lying clouds of ice crystals.  Farther inland where it is warmer, the crystals melt into humidity and that is your meteorology lesson.  Thank the teacher later.

Above the darkness you can see the pink and yellow clouds that were still kissing the sun's rays.  It reminded me of right now in my life.  I'm funemployed until my next assignment.  The optimist in me sees something happening next week. It's in the pink and gold above the darkness.  Realistically, I won't breathe in relief until I have landed a job because this single Mom has 3 kids to raise and they depend on me.  That's what's right in front of me. If I keep my eyes above the darkness, I can bathe in the colors and feel the warmth.  I'm keeping my head up and something amazing is right around the corner.  It always is.

For tonight there is joy and peace and butterflies still buzzing in my belly.  For tonight there's Hulu and some housework.  I was heading to the beach for a drive along the coast to clear my head, but I had crazy butterflies in my belly, the look on his face in my mind and the naughtiness in my head still warming my skin and I went on autopilot and ended up at home, driving a little too fast and hugging the curves where I found them because my happiness was overflowing.

Saying Goodbye To An Epic Couple of Months

I was off of work, but sat at the desk that I probably should have claimed when I first started.  The sun filtered through the haze that settled over Hollywood all day.  The pale pink sky didn't quite reach the red and flaming cotton candy look.  It was muted and ethereal, unlike clear evenings that can't hold the colors painted by a fading sun. I started my goodbyes today.  There were some people that I wanted to say goodbye to in person.  There were others I emailed.  One of the girls that started the day I did gave me a candle and probably has no idea how close to tears I was at her generosity and warm heart. It hits me in waves that ebb in hope and flow around me in moments of panic.  There could always be something better. The biggest loss in the job I'm leaving is the visual joy I have had.  The views of Los Angeles from the heart of Hollywood were the best views I've ever had from a job. I think I'll miss them the most.  I loved watching the water fountains in the courtyards around our building.  This past week I've seen sunbathers lounging around pools and stood in the window, feeling the heat of the southern California sun, touching me as I stood in sweet adoration.  The sun was starting to set in the west and it was an overcast day when I started writing.  The haze of cloud cover over Hollywood must have been a respite for the workers bustling around the Cinerama dome red carpet as they prepared for a premier that I really didn't care about.  I had spent yesterday and today slowly removing the pictures and pieces of paper that identified my desk as mine. I had post its and notes. My favorite was from something I scribbled that I saw online.  It reminded me of my husband and said, "I understand the spark is gone and I'm ready for the next step. Let me charge my stun gun." Not a direct quote, but that was the spirit of it.  I had my name spelled out in cardstock to help others remember me.

I'm not angry about the job ending but I am sad.  The company was an answer to prayers, but I believe there are more answers waiting for me.  It put me in a different place than I was and in ways I couldn't imagine.  I found myself in a job I loved and was eager to go to.  I have only had that experience once before and I'm sure one day I'll be matched with a company that will offer more of a challenge and less repetition. I loved the challenge here at first, but I could see the monotony start to take its toll in ounces of boredom that would tip my hand toward chocolate and excuses to watch the skyline, with several surreptitious glances toward his office. Because it's his office and he's usually in there doing office work things. In fairness, I was there for a specific task and I did only what I was meant to.

At this job I've started wearing dresses and heels and putting on make up and taking care of my hair.  I owe that to a woman who is also preparing to depart into the unknown with a dream, a vision, and bravery.  She was the feminine image I wanted to emulate.  Today I wore a low cut dress for the ego boost. I was feeling emotionally bottomed out and wanted to be looked at.  The men I didn't work with had no problem admiring my dress.  The men I work with avoided looking at me or specifically saw only my eyes.  Perhaps it was too low cut.  Last night I fought my sheets most of the night until I woke at 3 and couldn't shut off the worries running through my mind until 5.  Then my inner clock goes off at 6 every morning, so I'm running on too little sleep and lots of peanut M&M's.

At the end of the day I'm a temp with an agency.  Working temporarily and moving on to the next assignment is the nature of what I do. At the risk of gross cultural appropriation, part of me would like to think of myself as a gypsy.  There's a lot of bad in it, but I only see the mysterious seductress that stays for a while until the next job comes along.