"It's been 7 hours and fifteen days..."

 (Sinead O'Connor)

So, it's been a week since he broke up with me. Or rather, said, not in a cute Billy Crystal voice, "I would not be good for anyone right now."

And I've been doing a lot of thinking. And a lot of reading. Watching Friends. Thinking about hooking my DVD player up so that I can watch Bones and SATC.

And here's the problem I keep butting up against: I don't think the boy is right now "leading man" material. I want to be "leading lady" material, but it I'm really honest, the boy would be a two episode guy, like the new neighbor that Rachel fogged out with pesticide in the basement and then went on a date, but it turns out he had a really inappropriate relationship with his sister.

And I want him to be like Chandler, who knows that he loves Monica. He actually does remind me of early days Chandler. He also reminds me of Mr. Big, the good, the bad, the ugly.

And the fact of the matter is this: RIGHT NOW, he is not available for anyone. (Which is actually sort of comforting.)

And right now, neither am I, as I grieve what was. We had two amazing months. Because I am a romantic at heart, and because I loved him, I can't, not right now, say "NEVER AGAIN, MR. BOY." I cling to the stories of my mom breaking up with my dad again and again over nine years. (Now happily married for over forty two years...)

This post is full of me writing things and then erasing them. But it just takes time. I've been listening to the audio of "It's called a break-up because it's broken," which was helpful when my high school best friend said she didn't want to be friends anymore. (Because there are no good books about what to do when your best friend breaks up with you.)

I vacillate: is he Mr. Big? Or is he Berger? Or is he that two episode guy? Right now, he's the guy who broke my heart. And I'm the girl who needs to heal. 

And comments are closed. I don't need advice right now. I just need cupcakes. Where I need to get? I will get there. I'm right on time.

Bossy bosses

So I'm still sleeping AT least a full eight hours every night, twelve if you really tire me out. And I'm not working full days at work yet.

But my boss needs me, so I'm working a full day on Wednesday. Yes, 10-6, which includes the manager's meeting (thrill! I've never been to one!) (yes, I am a geek.)

She didn't say in as many words, but I think Weds might be the day her husband has his heart surgery.

I had a beer last night with dinner, partially b/c I didn't want iced tea (to keep me awake) and partially b/c it was happy hour and so it was half off. I came home and dozed and woke up for my dad's phone call (they are on their way to a family wedding). I fell back asleep, so I guess total sleep for last night is in the 12 hour range.

I work at 1.

I've been hibernating in my bedroom, watching Ugly Betty, instead of moving forward with this day. And I just got the "low battery" balloon, which means I need to finish this quickly, since the power cord is now over by the desk (instead of the bed.) It is better to have my laptop live on my desk than by my bed. It is no longer first thing in the morning, last thing at night. Which feels good.

Oh, and the DVD player just went off, which means I'll have to fast-forward to get back to the scene where Hilda tells Tony that she can't see him anymore, he's married. WOO HOO!

So, on goes life. One step, one step, one step.

on little cat feet...

for C, because I've been thinking about you.

This morning has drifted into the afternoon. So, since I was freezing, lallygagging around in my nightgown, I finally got dressed.

What have you been up to this week, Sarah Louise?

Well, I've been hither and yon, thanks for asking.

The "big snowstorm that wasn't" caused much drama yesterday--I was late to work (10 min.) not because of the roads, but because I kept putting stuff in my "if I have to overnight it" bag. And then mid afternoon the snow turned to rain, the temps went up, and I drove home.

On the way home, I stopped at the State Store for some rum, as I knew I needed a drink (rum and Coke, please!) after an afternoon of working hard and being in the office all by myself. (Alone again, naturally.) (No, it was the snow that made Jane stay home--she lives North, near Zeely, and couldn't get out of her driveway.)

And who was at the front register at the State Store? A woman I had looked up to most of my short career as a bookseller in Pittsburgh at Fox Books. Her name was Dee. I thought, oh, we'll have that conversation as I purchase my $13 bottle ($1 off!) of Bacardi, where are you working now (she'd ask me), as I would look at her hand to see if there was a ring. But just as I was moving toward the registers, a line had formed, and a manager came out of one of those offices you see in stores, where the floor of the office is about two feet above the floor of the store. I demurred that the people ahead of me should go next, but they weren't budging, so I went to his register, this man with pattern balding and some white hair around the back of his head. So he rung me up, and out I went, back into the cold, the rain. And I thought about it, because in my life, my father, the gregarious, never hesitates to reestablish a relationship. But what good would have come from talking to Dee? We were never friends, just colleagues, sometimes competitors. She didn't look like she was happy, and the grumpiness would have been contagious. At one time, a long time ago, I wanted to be her. Keyholder,* she had been, and then Assistant Manager. And while seeing a woman one time after not having seen her for at least five doesn't give me a clear vision (at all!) into her life, at that moment, it was better to just walk away.

(Oh, look, it's snowing!)

I drove home, listening to Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, which is amazing, and as soon as I walked in the door of my lovely third floor walk-up, I made a rum & Coke and watched the special features to the movie du jour, Broken English. (Which is wonderful.)

I watched Friends, then did some social-networking a la Twitter, Facebook. And then I went out, to Kelly's house. She was having a party where the main attraction was beer milkshakes. It's from Cannery Row, by John Steinbeck. Chocolate ice cream and Guinness? Oh yeah.

The fog, this I don't know what, is a sort of melancholy that has tied me inside even though I should take a walk and start making something for our church dinner (with Steelers game).

This week I've twice had occasion to talk about my life, and how I lived part of it overseas. I actually got to talk to someone who has been to Warsaw and totally laughed that I see it as the most romantic place in the world. I laughed with her, because I know it's crazy too.

I can't seem to get started on where I want to go, so I'll just dive in. The year was 1989. It was October, a month that seems to always be trouble, and now I know why, as it is a difficult month for depressives, waiting for the light to stabilize from fall to winter. I didn't even know I was depressed then. I just knew I needed out. I was a freshman at a small Catholic women's college in Pittsburgh, where all my fellow students were nursing and education majors. I was an English major, one of three slated to graduate in '93. One wasn't talking to me, and the other was a grandmother (as Carlow had many returning "non-traditional" students, students who had either never gotten their degrees before they got married or had delayed graduation after getting married.) My roommate and I weren't exactly getting along, but we weren't talking about why. She moved out after Thanksgiving. I had started visiting the career center on a regular basis, as the woman who ran it had nice comfortable chairs and she listened to me. She was my first counselor, though I didn't realize it at the time, what our relationship was. I actually was a paying client of hers in my mid-twenties, when I worked at Fox Books.

I was lonely, I was homesick, I wasn't meeting people who "got" me. Most of my peers were from Southwestern Pennsylvania who went home to do laundry on the weekends. I was from suburban Maryland, and my parents were six time zones away in Warsaw, Poland. And try as I might, I could not convince them to let me take a semester off. Eventually, I stuck it out, transferred to a school in Maryland after my sophomore year, and graduated in May of 1993.

It hurt me deeply that my parents were so far away. I felt alone, abandoned, and a bit like a motherless child. (Sometimes I feel so reckless and wild--red is the color that I like the best) And it wasn't until my late twenties, when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and went to live with my parents for three years, that our relationship was restored.

The myth: some people seem to glide through life, hitting all the stops on the way to adulthood: graduate high school, go to college, get married, have kids, work at a fulfilling job, retire, and become grandparents. (Seem being the operative word, because looks are deceiving.)

I am not one of those gliding people. Am I stuck? No, I don't think so. I'm just taking longer in between stops, and deciding which stops I want to take. Taking a class my freshman year at Carlow on the Four Gospels with women my age and women my mother's age helped me to see that there is not one way to navigate the stops. You miss one? You go back, if you can.

This week I've gone out three nights. I feel an awakening in my heart and mind, a desire to engage in conversations, a desire to be with people, and like a beautiful dream, there are people to be with! It's Winter, but I am finding that there is a Spring happening in my heart.

* * *

Was there ever a time when you took a detour from the linear stops along the way? Was there a time you wanted to but couldn't?*
_______________________
*Keyholder was the next step in the hierarchy at Fox Books: bookseller, then supervisor, then keyholder (who was responsible sometimes for opening the store), then Asst. Mgr, then Manager.

on little cat feet (Carl Sandburg, Fog)
Alone again, naturally (Gilbert O'Sullivan)
Sometimes I feel so reckless and wild (Shawn Colvin, The Story.)

*do you think the questions at the end are dorky? (It's something I'm trying on for size.)

Sarah Louise tries to stay solvent...

My dad has this saying: If your outflow exceeds your inflow, then your upkeep will be your downfall.

I've been living the downfall part since I graduated with my B.A. in English, 1993. I had three great years. They were the years I lived with my parents as I figured out my bipolar diagnosis. So I know it's possible. But not easy. And when gas is $3.95 and more a gallon...

So I've been trying a few things. Mint.com is one. Except that they really stick it to you--right now, there it is, on the screen: I'm not in the black. I'm solidly in the red.

Another thing I'm trying: to eat in more.

So tonight, after I called my friend and she was already making her dinner, I thought, oh, I should go out to Gullifties or something and then I thought NO! I want to make this solvency thing work. (I do want to write a post about being a single woman eating alone at a restaurant. That's another post.)

So I ate my leftovers from Mad Mex (Wednesday) and watched Love Actually, which is such a wonderful movie. Rough around the edges in the sense that the people are really real, which, you know, is sort of shocking.

******************

And I WAS on the radio this morning! (After making several illegal U-turns because part of 579 is shut down and there are no marked detours.) There were 9 of us librarians. It was a lot of fun. We had brunch at Panera afterwards and it broke into talking about how crazy different people's bosses are.

There's a Pittsburgh job--Kiki on the phone yesterday, "But I didn't think you were looking in Pittsburgh." Um, well, I wasn't. I'll spare the details just because, you know, it's the Internet, and you never know who's reading, but it's a kind of cool job. You should have seen Marian's face when I told her I was going to apply. Look up "grin" in the dictionary and you'd see Marian's smile.

Of course, if I were to stay in da Burgh, no one could visit me in NYC, I'd still be at my church with all its imperfections, and I'd still be living in the third floor walk up with Max on the first floor.

So...I don't know. It's all fantasy until I send the resumé, and even then, you know, the interview...

If I did stay, I'd ask my landlord for new floors, and I'd get a paint job. Maybe have this room pink. Not bubblegum pink, something soft-ish.

*************

My dad took my mom to a MLB game, the Senators against...um. The Senators won. (I think.) Anyways, it was an exciting game, in the way that Game 5 was exciting for me. So it was fun to talk to my dad about it, even though I don't get baseball and he doesn't get hockey, we could share the excitement we experienced.

*************

So, SATC-TM (Sex and the City, the Movie) of course has caused a hubbub. No doubt. And being that I have always grappled with being a red blooded Christian woman and my love for Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte, I thought I'd pass on a few links of some folks and what they're saying. And let me say how much I respect Christianity Today for
a) giving Camerin Courtney, a single woman, the job to review the movie
and
b) coming clean with the fact that a lot of people couldn't believe they reviewed it at all. "You reviewed WHAT?"

Camerin did not love the movie. I did. For me, it was a perfect mix of escapism and the reality of what happens when relationships break and how you try to repair them.

But here's a quote I liked from from Camerin's review (and really, if you're not sure if you want to see it, read Camerin's review, she lets you know what you'll see, just so you're not shocked when you get to the theater.)

Most of the few Christian voices speaking to the growing single segment of the population offer ten easy steps to find our soulmate. As if it's that wondrously simple. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, however, show how challenging it really can be for intelligent, accomplished, and admittedly neurotic women to find lasting love. They, unlike many Christians, don't insult my intelligence. Instead they speak to the complexities of relationships in a postmodern age—addressing baby lust, the mommy wars, sexual temptation, dating outside your "class," commitment-phobia, the reluctant desire to be rescued by a man, and the simultaneous fear that you'll lose your own hard-won identity in the process. Yes, materialism and hedonism abound. But so does a messy wrestling with complex new realities of life that I wish I saw more of in Christian circles.

That one line: They...don't insult my intelligence. Yes. Yes. YES. Because love on either side of the wedding is not easy. And American Christian culture doesn't do a good job of communicating that. Or, if they do, they speak only to those that are on the wedding band side. If there was a book called: So, you're single? Finding your Christian soul mate in 36 excruciating steps that may not work for your personality or situation, I'd buy it. Because at least it would be honest.

Because, honestly, I have no idea if I want to get married. Kids? I'm sorry, having something inside me for 9 mos and getting bigger does not appeal to me in the least. Plus, I'd have to change my psych meds. It's not that I don't like kids (hello, I'm a children's librarian) or that I don't think there are any great men out there (but they're all too young or married...) Okay, this is one of those train wreck paragraphs.

And possibly one of those train wreck posts. Here's another reason I blog anonymously: there isn't pressure for every sentence to be poetic, or funny. And inevitably, the posts that I think are lame are the ones that get comments, and the ones that I think are brilliant get none. I allow myself, in the words of Natalie Goldberg, to just write trash. I can't find my copy of Writing Down the Bones at the moment to find the quote. And in blogging, I allow myself to publish drivel. Because I just want to connect. Yes, I should be using my writing energy to write a novel, or work on my 15 year old novella, but I'm not ready yet. And just like trying to stay in and not eat out (as much) and doing things like trying to keep track of where my money goes are small steps, so is blogging.

Okay, I think I'll go make a cup of hot tea. Or gargle. Or something to be healthy.

GAH! (three letters--say it with feeling)

So I'm trying to juggle a million and one things:

• de-clutter so as to make it easier to get the sofa out
• talk the talk, walk the walk
• work on getting the day bed--with the weather changing, it is not good for the twin set to live in the basement for very much longer.
  
• work on getting it de-cluttered so landlord can put in a/c units.
  
• (and that's not even half my list...)
  

Progress:

• Three bags of books/records/shoes, ready for Goodwill
• talked to Marian, she gave me her blessing with one condition: I can't change my sports affiliations (as if! Go Pens!)
• LAUNDRY
• went for a 45 min walk after work
• did my Beth Moore homework before work

Can't tell if Mr. FF is practicing and talking to himself or giving a lesson. Either way, it sounds like he might have gotten a real piano and sounds lovely, as I hung my wet laundry on the clotheslines (the basement/laundry area is right up against the first floor.)

This post brought to you by the letter H: I feel like I must Hurry hurry hurry. HELP!

What I'm looking for...

A rough draft after watching "How to lose a man in ten days." Chick flicks can be very empowering...

I love Pittsburgh, therefore, I am looking for people who love Pittsburgh. (Or wherever it is they live.)

I love my job, therefore, I am looking for other people who love their jobs.

I know where I stand spiritually when it comes to the basics, etc.

I am not sure a man or a relationship or children will "fix" where I am right now, so I'm not looking for people who think that going out to find people "my age" to date will get me out of the dumps.

I ask for a lot, YES. But I have a lot--everyone said you can't get a library job in Pittsburgh, guess what, I got one, in six months. And I have a lot of great friends who also got library jobs in Pittsburgh, some of them AT the library where I work.

Pittsburgh is not Manhattan. If you want Manhattan, move there. Pay rent for a few days. We'll still be here, paying our medium cost of living.

Relationships are great--YES. But if a man is what I need to get me out of the doldrums, then I must be depending too much on outside stuff to nourish me.

If it's so hard to find a relationship in Pittsburgh, why did I go to five weddings this summer? (Um, they were all IN Pittsburgh.)

If I'm looking for someone to listen to me, to give me guidance on how to move about my life, then I want them to know that they solidly believe in something.

These are the ins and outs of Sarah Louise. This is what I'm looking for in a friend, any relationship, and yes, a therapist.

When I told Marian that my therapist was leaving, moving on to another job, she said, "What do you do to them?" which we laughed about later. But in the past few weeks my therapist has shown a few things that I could have ignored if we were still going to be therapist and client--she was unhappy at that particular practice, told me her pay structure and benefits. So does that make me think I want another therapist at that practice? I would want to know if that particular therapist was happy, or biding her time. I am currently in a depression, due partly (but not only) to the fact that my boyfriend dumped me a few months ago. I'm not sure I want to get married, have kids, the whole kit and caboodle, but I haven't been able to share this with my therapist because her advice to me is get out there, meet people my age, and yes, you have a challenge because you're looking for someone with similar beliefs.

I am having problems with my car. So I don't need to know (after I have been told by my therapist to face my car problems) that she, herself, is trying to figure out how she's going to handle the issue she has with the guy who sold her the car she is currently driving.

It's time to get real. It's time to cut the crap. Yes, I'm angry. But anger can be a driving force.