It's 1:26am, do you know what your new neighbor's up to?

I live in a duplex. I've lived here for over 6 years now; I hate moving. The duplex is actually a two-story house which was (I'm assuming) converted into a duplex sometime in the 60's (at least based on the dark wood paneling, gold counter-tops and hanging lamps serving as ceiling lights in the bathroom). I live in the bottom half of the house, with the other half of the duplex above me.

During the 6 years I've lived here, I have had several neighbors; however, since mid-2007 I've basically had a vacant airspace above me. I've grown used to hearing nothing upstairs. I could listen to music 'til all hours of the night, let the kids scream at the top of their lungs and not be concerned when my 10 year old drama queen wanted to scream about my "murderous" ways because I took away the cable tv.

Then last week my landlord mentioned he had rented out the upstairs apartment. I immediately began to mourn the loss of my "solo" existence; I was going to have to deal with the noise intrusion of another and curtail my own explosions of sound from below. I warned the girls an upstairs neighbor was imminent and tried to mentally prepare myself for her arrival. I did take heart in my landlords description of her: "She's a cute little old lady who works at Wal*Mart in the Valley." Little old ladies aren't loud, right? And maybe she has the "grandma" trait which allows kids to do no wrong so she'll understand my kids occasional squabbles. I tried to tell myself it would be ok.

This afternoon I got a text from my landlord that the new neighbor was going to start moving in today; sure enough, when the girls and I got home for the day, there she was sweeping out the garage upstairs, with a jam packed u-haul out front. Being neighborly, I figured I should go introduce myself and the girls; so the three of us walked up to say hello and welcome her to the house.

Ok. I admit it. I also had an ulterior motive. See, I forgot to tell you one thing about the upstairs half of the duplex. Upstairs, instead of wall to wall carpeting, there is wall to wall hardwood floors. When the unit is full of furniture, it's tolerable (more things for sound to bounce off of and fade out), though still loud; but when the house is empty (like it is just prior to move in) it's downright deafening. I figured if I let her know up front how well we can hear the goings on up there (you can often hear casual conversation) and introduced her to my obviously still in bed before ten children she'd realize she shouldn't move around loudly after a decent hour. I thought she'd get the hint and cease the moving in process after say 9:30pm? Certainly no later than 11.

Ha! Tricks on me. I've been working on this blog now for 30 minutes and in that time I've heard my new neighbor move several large items into the house (clomp, clomp, clomp, screech, thump - "Damn it! I scratched it J-"). I've heard her break something; judging by the sound, this something was rather large. I've heard a vacuum, the sink run 4 times, and I'm pretty sure she's currently dancing directly over my head.

I'm concerned about the future of this relationship between us. She hasn't even lived here 24 hours yet and I'm already irritated. I really freaking hope this is an anomaly.

LOST, Failed

Ok, I admit it. I was a Lost junkie. I watched it every week, re-watched the seasons during the summer, spent time on forums reading fan theory, and just generally went overboard. I was looking forward to the end of the series last night, too. I didn't think they'd answer all the questions (they posed too many of them for that), but I was expecting a bit of closure.

So, did I get it? Did I get the resolution I was looking for? (Hint, if you're unsure of the answer, reread the title of this blog.)

Talk about a copout. That finale was atrocious. I was looking for a continuation of the incredible story-telling; instead, I got a pathetic excuse for an ending. They were all dead?!? The whole time. But it was real, but not real. And the island was purgatory, but not purgatory. Yet there is a sub? Or is there no sub...ARGH. Even 24 hours later I'm still pissed off. They never even explained what Eloise had to do with anything. Or why they had to all get to the concert. Or why they had to be busted out of jail...it makes no sense. That's ok though, because it was all in Jack's head anyway.

I. Demand. A. Do. Over.

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It's headlines like this which make me smile. Why can't all the news have such fun headlines?

Words for no reason

I'm sure I'll get busted for this grumbly blog; but frankly, I just don't like doing this, and it's hard to come up with things to talk about. I've never been good at forced creativity. I don't like formulaic type things, either. This whole blogging process has pretty much irritated the hell out of me. I can't wait until the quarter is over and I've hit my prescribed posts for the year so I can stop this nonsense.

I have no intention of posting my poetry here, and I don't want to run a blog someday (I'm going for my MA in Lit next year and plan on going for the PhD after.) This is just a means to an end, nothing more. I wish I could figure out things to say which would be interesting to read. It'd be much easier if I had a list of epically awesome ideas floating inside my head. I actually contemplated if it would be acceptable to type the alphabet repeatedly, or recite nursery rhymes backwards; I decided that probably wouldn't count. Instead, I'm just going to post this rant of whining. It may not be entertaining to read, but at least it's not a pirate translation of Paparazzi.

Stressed spelled backwards is Desserts. Too bad I hate that crap

You know what I hate? Feeling guilty for being overwhelmed. I hate that I can't say what hell my life is like right now without knowing that someone's going to say I'm doing it wrong. Or even worse, saying "don't worry about it girl; you always figure it out somehow." Because when you do it all on your own for so long, people get used to you relying on you. They expect that you'll figure it out. It sucks to be dismissed.

Being a student in this economy is hard. Being a single mom in this economy is hard. Being a single-mom who is a student in this economy is exponentially harder. 

Let me give you an idea of my typical schedule:

• Wake up 6am
• Study 6-730am
• Get the girls up and off to school 730-830am 
• Carpool to campus 830-930am
• Tutor: 9:45-10:45am
• Study/Gym 10:50-11:50am
• Class/PLUS Group Facilitating: 12-220pm
• Pickup Kids 3pm
• Homework, Housework, Dinner, kids, etc: 3:15-8:15pm
• Study: 8:30-11pm
• Sleep: 11pm

Sometimes, this schedule is thrown off by other things, such as meetings, counseling appointments for the kids, extra activities for work, school, etc. I don't get every other weekend off when the kids visit their father (because they don't ever see their father); I don't receive child support (if I were to receive a lump sum payment of back child support owed, I could buy a Subaru, for cash).

Someone once asked me how I do it. I said "I don't know. I do it because I have to." And that's true. I do it because I only have one life; I only have one opportunity to get this shit right and I know what I want to do. I want to write poetry, and I want to pass on my joy for literature and the exploration of language to other people by teaching. That means I need to get a bunch of acronyms and attach them to the back of my name. It means I have to go to school and work my ass off. It means I have to make sacrifices (often including my sanity) so that while I'm working on my educational goals I still have time and energy to devote to my kids. It means sometimes I operate on 3 hours sleep because my girls want me to volunteer at field day. 

Thing is though, sometimes, I also realize I'm overwhelmed. I'm not superwoman afterall; I'm just highly motivated and determined. I'm also not stupid. I know when I need to delegate; I know when I need to take a deep breath; I know when I have to get a few minutes of quiet solitude where I do nothing but vegetate. So it really sucks when I reach one of those points and get faced with reproach for poor planning, or praise at my greatness and the face-slap compliment: "you'll figure it out, you always do" when I ask for help.

I could understand if I was a lazy bitch who never helped out anyone else. If I was a slacker who failed all my classes and never got my work done, I'd totally get it. But I'm not a slacker. And I do help people out. I'm the mom who always lets the girls classmates spend the night when their parents need a break. And I don't just take one kid, I take them all. And I always help my friends when they ask for help on an assignment, or need someone to bounce ideas off of. I complete my work in group projects and never let the group down. I help my family out even when I can't afford to or don't have the time; I make the time appear.

It's ok though, really. Cause they're right. I will figure it out. I always do; I do it because I have to. And I'll still smile when I see you and say don't worry about it. It always works out.  It will work out this time too. I'll do it. Don't sweat it. I won't even need ice cream or chocolate to get it done, either. I'll find some other way to destress, eventually.

You have got to be kidding me

Well, now I'm just irritated. I just spent an hour writing up a post, went to hit post, and stupid blogspot swallowed it. I even saved the stupid thing while I was writing with that save now button. Apparently that doesn't work. As a result, this post is the nitty gritty instead of the wonderfully written awesomeness that it was going to be. Sorry to let you all down.

Governor Gregoire is speaking at graduation.

• Politics don't belong at graduation.
• How is this not a political stunt?
• Who the hell thought this was a good idea?
• Why can't we have someone who graduated from EWU speak?
• Can someone tell me the positives of this idea?

The end.

Is it Me, or Not-Me, That is the Question...

An interesting idea was brought to my attention in regards to this whole blogging question. A good friend of mine was tasked with evaluating my blog here, and said that the voice on this blog is that of a character outside of myself. You know, like someone who is me, but not-me. This statement got me thinking. Am I portraying someone outside myself when I write this blog? Are the thoughts I post here just some fabricated reality; a person outside myself I've concocted to protect my true self from being seen?

My knee-jerk reaction is to say "What the fuck?" Of course this blog is me. It's coming from inside my head, and the stuff I spew out here is unadulterated Aubra mind-vomit. I'm not some wishy-washy fakesy-foolout person. Why the hell would I create a character? That doesn't seem like something I'd do, does it?

But then, I thought about it a bit more; I wondered, was this friend onto something? I mean yeah, the things I write here are my thoughts and ideas; but, I do check myself a bit. I know that there are people reading this thing, and regardless of how open and honest I set out to be I am protecting myself - at least a tiny bit. I know that if I were to say what I'm really thinking on a regular basis, there would be a huge potential for a riot.

Ok, maybe not a riot. I'm just some random person typing words on the interwebs; I'd be delusional if I thought I'd cause a real riot. But, I do realize that my honest thoughts can sometimes come off as caustic and a bit bitchy. Ok, a lot bitchy. And I also know that beyond the random interlopers who stumble upon this blog and actually read it (hello, are you out there? Why don't you ever comment damnit! I'm lonely) there are people from my class who I see on a daily basis who read this, not to mention that Professor person who is going to give me a grade at the end of the quarter. These are people who are my friends, people who I truly care about, and I don't want to offend them. So I do guard my thoughts, just a bit. And I check myself before posting the truly terrible ideas (not terrible for me, terrible for them), so that I won't inadvertently hurt them.

So I guess this friend of mine who evaluated my blog was right, sort of. Not in the sense that the person writing this blog isn't me; it's more that the person writing this person is a part of me. The part of me that I am comfortable sharing. It's the part of me that is cleaned up and approved for public viewing.

I'm wondering though, am I doing myself and this blog a disservice by doing this? Should I be talking about the things I really want to talk about? I mean I set this blog up for the world to view annyomously; I did it so I could spout the true feelings in my head. Yet, because it's posted on the classroom discussion board with my name attached to it, its lost the annoymous nature within my classroom. This, of course, lead me to protecting my friends from being hurt and myself from being screwed - academically speaking. It has caused me to think about topics I want to blog about, then toss them because I don't want to be offensive. (If you're wondering what sorts of topics, the one I'm thinking could be the most troublesome for me is my thoughts on religion, and my lack of it.)

So I ask you, readers, does it bother you that I'm only sharing a tiny bit of me here? Am I dumbing this shit down by only talking about the safe stuff? Or, am I doing the smart thing in protecting myself and my friends. I really do want to know.

Btw, to my friend who pointed this out when you critiqued my blog, I hope I didn't offend you with this post. I appreciate your feedback, and you really got me thinking, so thank you.

Ido

Blisters, Bloomsday and Bitching...Coherence be damned

Yesterday was my third year completing Bloomsday (www.bloomsdayrun.org if you're unfamiliar with the race or want more information.) I spend loads of time training each year, working out both on the road as well as in the gym on the treadmill; my goal is to always beat the finish time of my previous years run and this year was no different. My first Bloomsday, I finished the race in a terribly disappointing 2hours 31 minutes. I had planned on going much faster, and had in fact posted faster training times in the weeks leading up to the race. Unfortunately, I broke a cardinal rule of walking/running prior to that first race: I bought new shoes and wore them straight out of the box on race day. I learned that day why I also have a secondary goal of finishing the race without a blister. By the time I finished the course, I was in so much pain I couldn't hardly stand myself. My feet were full of bloody, gucky blisters and each step was pure agony. It took over a week for my feet to heal. I did however learn why they say you should break your shoes in.

The second year I did Bloomsday (last year) was just about as disastrous, but for slightly different reasons. I  didn't make the mistake of wearing new shoes; no, this time I made the mistake of wearing the same shoes I wore the previous year. I figured they must have been broken in since I'd worn them for an entire year at that point. Thing is, shoes don't last forever, so instead of getting blisters from new shoes, I got blisters from old shoes. Go me! Additionally, I did the race a mere two days after having surgery to break up some kidney stones. The doctor had said walking would help me pass them, so I figured why not walk 7.46 miles! Of course, I probably shouldn't have done it, but in my vicodin induced haze, I thought I could rule the world. Instead, I spent half the race dizzy and lightheaded from the drug, and the other half seeking out a toilet. Quite an interesting experience. Still, I beat my time of the previous year (by a whopping 5 minutes) and I felt a sense of accomplishment.

This year, I made some changes to my game plan. I decided I wouldn't wear brand new shoes, and I wouldn't wear super old shoes. I went out and bought new shoes a month prior to the race and spent the time leading up to it breaking them in. I also went to a running store and got advice on new socks, and I got some of that super cool glide stuff I'd heard so much about. I set out with the goal of not just finishing faster, but finishing the race without a single blister. I figured that the new wicking socks, coupled with shoes which fit properly and had been appropriately broken in would make all the difference in the world. HAH! Seems my feet had other plans. I actually got my first blister before passing the one mile mark. By the third mile, I could feel the familiar squish which signals that a blister had exploded, and by the 5th mile I was in so much pain I could no longer carry on a conversation with my friend. Each step was so painful all I could do was bite my lip. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that even through all the pain I was ahead of my previous years time. When I crossed the finish line, I had beat my previous years time again (this time by 9 mins.) and finished in 2hrs, 18mins, 45 seconds. I almost didn't care though. My feet were (and are) currently more closely related to hamburger than a human appendage suitable for mobility. I was actually considering amputation last night. This morning isn't much better. My right foot is oozing fluids and the idea of walking to the kitchen is liable to send me over the edge. Thankfully the girls have no school so I'm forced to stay home and wallow in my own self pity and pain.

So the question then becomes, why do I do this to myself? What is it which drives me to put myself through so much agony? I wish I could say I know for sure the answer. Unfortunately I don't. I just know that regardless of the pain I go through, I have to finish it. I set the goal each year and I refuse to give up. Kind of like everything else I do in my life. It doesn't matter how much it hurts or how hard it is, if I want to say I did it, then I actually have to do it. Blisters and bitching be damned.