40.

It’s a thing. I don’t care where you are in your life, how you feel about yourself, or the  level of your self esteem. Turning 40 is…a thing.

Get it. Get your head wrapped around it. Get on with living.

Today starts the few days a year when my best friend and I share the same age.

She’s being properly launched into the new decade down in New Orleans, surrounded by the man that she loves and the friends that complete their foursome. She’s soaking up the sights and the sounds, being approached on the street for some girl lovin’ and eating up the flavors she’s dreamed about for years.

Everyone needs a launching like this.

She deserves it.

We’ve been through a lot, she and I. We’ve seen the boys come and the boys go. We’ve seen births and deaths and marriage and divorce. Through Julia Roberts movies and inside jokes…we’ve kept time.

There are people in your life that sustain you. Whether you talk every day or every six months. They are the connection, the thing that keeps you from forgetting who you were when you were becoming who you are.

We are a witness to life.

For the last 26 years, knowingly…unknowingly…a witness. A backup. A force.

I cannot possible imagine what the next 26 will hold.

Happy Birthday my friend.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today I had a breakthrough. It came in the middle of a breakdown. But I think it counts.

Quite a bit of my work consists of researching.

The advent of technology changed the way research is done, especially since I last did any in 1997.

So on my “homework days” I sit and I read. I make notes. I peruse databases online. I write a bit. Mostly I read and I peruse databases and read other works that have been published.

Reading.

Surfing the net.

My brain does not aknowledge this to be Real Work. True Work. Productive Work.

That’s when the panic starts up and it get’s really crowded with the voices chanting and the crazy begins to swirl at my feet. Because those voices don’t think I’m doing anything real or valid. And I should BE doing something both real AND valid, and progressing and checking things off the list.

I recognized the panic signs. They’ve been coming on pretty frequently these last few weeks. I took a half of a xanax. Yes. It was the middle of the day. But I did it. Just a half.

I came back and put in an episode of West Wing and just sat on the couch doing some deep breathing.

Once I got it together, I took another look at the thesis I was trying to write, threw it all away, chose another author and wrote the thesis in two minutes. I changed the author and set the tone and now, now that I have that I know where I’m going. I then perused more databases, took some time to really look at how to use the search engines on these things and BAM. There. There in the prologue of the book A Burnt Out Case by Graham Greene, were the words spoken about him upon his death.

I’ll have to go back and trace my research path, but that assignment is essentially finished.

I’ve decided to designate specific time to work on specific classes and papers. I think that will help me not feel quite as overwhelmed.

Also…I vacuumed my carpets. I took out the trash and recycle. I called a doctor and finally got an appointment with a lady parts doctor. (I’ve got a list of things to speak to her about one of which is the panic attacks.)

I actually was productive today. Just a few steps forward. Just a car length ahead.

The calm has remained.

Audra bought me a card, many moons ago, that suggested it not be inappropriate for adults to participate in scream therapy.

After this week. I concur.

If you cracked open my head there would be the entire army from Braveheart rallying and screaming and painted all halfway blue and wielding swords.

It’d be nice if they were on MY side.

Bright spots of the week:

Family dinner celebrating my girl’s 40th birthday that is Saturday. It’s always nice to gather around a table and share jokes and eat and ohh and ahh and laugh.

I got a break through from my professor yesterday on the major author bibliography assignment. I’m going to get a goodly amount of research down on paper today. That’s a relief.

I have no idea how to research my Atlick Problem. Here it is:

“what public figures gave statements to the English Press on the Occasion of the death of Graham Greene in 1991.”

I’ve cruised several databases. Searched the London Times. I know it’s an easy thing…or not. I just have a block as to how and were to even begin.

Perhaps research isn’t my strong suit after all.

I’ll be at the library Friday night, Saturday, Sunday as well I’m sure. I’ve also got four sheets of about 30 objective questions to finish for my mid term exam in YA Lit. Also I have got to finish the Anne Frank diary. I have a mental block on this book. I’m halfway through it, and I’ll review the objectives…but I need an A on this test and I’m pretty convinced my professor grades purely based on her body temperature that day.

I lay all of this out here not to whine and moan. But to kind of get my brain wrapped around my to do list. And to show proof that when I say I am flooded and cannot be social and just up and go…I MEAN IT.

 

So. Here we are at Wednesday. And that’s pretty much all I’ve got. I hope you’re good and happy and rockin the week along.

 

 

Well yesterday was a bitch. I got my review of teaching back and did NOT get the full 25 points. She claimed I/we–and yeah…it was supposed to be a joint project but I was gone from class for Joe’s fathers funeral so had to rely on her emailing me first…and she did sometime Thursday night and finally sent me what she had on Sunday at 9pm…so F that…anyways the professor said it didn’t look like we worked together so she took off for that. She also said we didn’t bring any history of the book into the class. I argued that the history element was brought in with the documentary and oh yes, remember how I also gave historical and background information when I INTERVIEWED THE DIRECTOR as well as printed off information and made handouts for the class???

She gave me an extra point. And did say that at the end of it all, if the other point is a make it or break it for me that she would give it to me.

Disappointing.

On to the next class where I got my research problem paper back from last week. It was one that just was hard. But apparently I did the research and writing quite well. Citing websites is where I completely threw away my grade. Daily grade of C+ with margin notes “review how to do a works cited page”

Citing databases and material found online is just awkward. Nothing I ever had to deal with in 1997 which was the last time I cited anything official other than my opinion. No excuse. I failed. Time to go back to the handbook and get on the MLA website and learn it.

I felt the anxiety in my chest during class. Anxiety about money. About my clients. About keeping my head above water. I could feel my chest tightening and my heart pounding and tears welling up in the back of my eyes, all the while I’m furiously taking notes on “A Brief History of Literary Criticism.” I did some deep breathing and pulled my focus and compartmentalized like a fiend and got through class. Our major authors assignment came last night, a 2 part bibliography, the last part annotated. I chose Faulkner. Because I’m drawn to Southern writers. I hope I didn’t shoot myself in the foot…but that’s another blog post. Class was over. I made it. That C+ though, was my final straw. Walking to my car in the dark, tears running a marathon down my cheeks…I looked up and saw the moon.

And immediately flipped it off.

Same song. Full moon.

It’s a new morning.

I have coffee. I have an appointment with my advisor for November 2nd to get my plan of study on record. I’m about to head out to class with homework complete and readings finished. I’ve packed the backpack with everything to work on after class…

It’s a brand new day.

 

 

Sidebar: Yet one more reason I love the social networking…and my life. This morning after class, as I’m setting up in the library, forwarding my mail here, making arrangements for the cats while I live here, my friend from high school Stewart Brower sent me an email. He’s a library genius. Tulsa area I believe but would have to stalk his FB to be sure. His mother was our librarian at El Reno High School, and a friend of my mothers. Lot’s of connections. He sent me an email with sites to check for help on Works Cited. He sent me a name of a friend who is a reference librarian here. On my campus. He sent a lifeline. And even though I KNOW I can figure out the whole MLA stuff, and that I will do much better on this assignment…man. It’s so nice to know that there are people watching…at the ready to help and lift up. *sniff. tears. damned full moon.*

Angles watching over me. Every step I take.

So I almost lost my temper yesterday in class.

I can’t remember how long it’s been since I really REALLY unleashed my temper.

It’s been on lockdown for years.

It’s the class with That Girl. The one that’s been in school all of her life. That knows more than everyone in the class as well as the professor teaching the class. She hogs discussion time, is abrasive and at times downright offensive.

She is the girl that eschews all things conventional. Uber Femminist. Rails against the institution of marriage. Has said many times how she does not want children. . . and there is absolutely nothing wrong with making these choices in life…but when you pronounce them to the class with an obvious tone of disdain to anyone who makes different choices…it’s offensive. She can be described as the stereotypical femminist who is single, plain in appearance, slightly overweight, and collects both degrees and cats. (there’s irony in the stereotype, eh?)

But she is educated. She is really really educated. She is in the minority…

That knows better.

We’ve been looking at poetry this week. Gwendolyn Brooks for one. (I do love me some Gwendolyn Brooks poetry.) Other works by other women authors. Jewish authors. African-American authors. Lesbian authors. Married, mothered authors. It’s delightful.

The poem More of a Corpse than a Woman by Muriel Rukeyser was up for discussion yesterday.

“…all of them alike, expensive girls, the leaden friends, one used to play piano, one of them once wrote a sonnet, one even seemed awakened enough to photograph wheatfields–the dull girls with the educated minds and technical passions–pure love was their employment, they tried it for enjoyment.”

Ok.

She is certainly referencing a specific stereotype. We all know women that fit this description. And certainly, in 1938 when this piece was written, it was the majority, not minority of women who followed this path in their lives. The educated female writer was in the minority.

Now. Our professor makes this point. That we all know this type of woman.

That Girl, then commandeers the class. Tells her story of how she only looked at all girls schools when she was looking. That she was a legacy in the Pi Phi house at OU and just wanted NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT LIFE.

This turned into a vocal lynching of all things sorority/fraternity and while we’re at it let’s throw in the Junior League too.

“those girls”

“vapid. stupid. empty.”

“I cant imagine wanting that life”

“ugh. and when they grow up…the jr league..just as bad…”

I was gritting my teeth, clenching my fists, holding my breath.

THIS is what we’ve come to? It was nothing more than a grown up game of  dodgeball by a  sanctimonious group of people that for some reason or another chose a different path than that of a sorority, or any charitable women’s organization.

It was offensive.

My sisters, my friends, my people have a long history with sororities. My PseudoSis1 is in the Junior League. I know what work and good comes out of groups like this.

Are there snotty white girls with their pearls and pointy shoes and their plastic surgery scars tucked neatly behind their I-Know-My-Husband-Is-Cheating-smiles?

You bet.

Do you think they are exclusive only to the Kappa Delta house or the Junior League? Have you not seen them at church? Sitting in the library? Teaching grad school? Working at the bank?

Pull your head out sweetheart.

I don’t remember much of the remainder of the class.

I was equal parts pissed and heartbroken.

My professor was beating the drum just as loudly as That Girl, and everyone else on the bandwagon.

Aren’t we…ESPECIALLY those of us in this class who are studying themes like “women finding a voice, and women writing and fighting social issues”. . . aren’t we supposed to lift each other up? Aren’t we supposed to look at where we’ve come and sound the trumpet for the fact that we GET A CHOICE in our path? Shouldn’t WE be the ones to set fire to the stereotypes and dance crazy on the graves of our suppressors?

 

• We COULDN’T VOTE UNTIL 1920! (the 19th Ammendment)
• We didn’t have the right to chose what happened to our own bodies until 1973! (Roe v. Wade)
• In 2006, nearly 13 million children under 18 years of age lived in households with incomes below the poverty threshold ($20,614 for a family of 4 in 2006); (www.hrsa.gov)
• Women make 75.5 cents for every dollar a man makes. (http://usgovinfo.about.com)

 

Don’t we have more important things on our plate?

 

I am not a sorority girl.

I didn’t ever have that option.

I am not a member of the Junior League.

I am a member of the League of Amazing and Indefinable Woman***

And like the women before me, I stumble. I get back up.

I want the best for all of us.

I want to know and to do…better.

And the next time That Girl starts talking trash on a group of people that I love…well…I want to be able to stand my ground and curb the instinct to pull out her voice box with my manicured nails. . .

but I’ll be sure to wear my pearls on that day…just in case.

***Membership Open To All!

“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery—always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What’s this passion for?”-Virginia Woolf

I found this gem while researching possible topics for my Women in Literature paper.  Turns out Virginia Woolf had the crazy voices too. And the days of great productivity with the days of complete exhaustion.

She called herself “mad”

I wonder what she’d call me.

 

 

 

My voice was clear and energized.

I made eye contact, made a few silly comments that immediately eased the group into a mindset that we were all on the same page, though I was behind a podium and they were in their seats.

We dove into discussion of my favorite book and looked at it from all corners, all points of view.

Each question seamlessly moved into the next one, prompting discussion and exploration. . . between myself, the teacher and perhaps 4 students.

out of 20.

One girl smooth out went to sleep.

Handfuls had not even read the required portion of 114 pages.

One girl had only read about 20 pages, but decided to try to commandeer class with her analogy of Jem, Scout and Dill to the Rugrats.

And ya know…perhaps it was a valid analogy. But I don’t know a Rugrat from real rat so it was lost on me. I just smiled, and let her continue to smack her gum and twirl her cinnamon colored hair extensions.

The girl that commented on how “i just really hope that doesn’t ever happen again” regarding the Holocaust was happy to talk about how sad she was that the dog got shot.

As for the rest of the class…blank stares.

Flatline.

Seriously. I was expecting Billy Mahoney to show up any minute and start kicking the living crap out of everyone.

(twenty points for the Flatliners/Keifer Sutherland reference. BAM)

There were a few, however…that were engaged. They smiled. They enjoyed the information in the packet I prepared. They watched the documentary and learned a few things. My professor was encouraging, which was nice considering she started the class by chewing out a few students and then telling us that she had no sleep due to personal family issues.

Class was over, students filed out, I was left with the extra handouts and a raging headache.

Just like a real teacher.

 

I’ve said before…this life I’m living is more about time management and planning than it is about moment to moment flying by the seat of my pants.

It’s an adjustment.

I’ve always had an element of spontaneity in my life and have loved that. . . required that.

Welp.

Spontaneity has left the building.

Oh sure I’ve got some play time. I can go watch a tv show during the week. I can play on the weekends if I have my homework finished, or like Sunday, if I leave the movie theatre and go directly to the library and work until I’m finished. Sure. I’m not chained to my desk every moment I’m not at work. I have from about 3pm on Saturday until 2pm on Monday that are available for fun/travel/playtime. That’s pretty much it.

But I miss being the Giddy Up Gypsy Girl.

I’m sad that I don’t get to go to New Orleans with Audra and Joe and Steve and Alex. I’m jealous of that trip happening without me when all along it was supposed to happen with me. I’m annoyed that I can’t just “miss class” and go. Or “miss work” and go. I’m annoyed in that part of my life.

I’m sad that a trip to NYC isn’t on the books. I tossed the idea of going over the Thanksgiving break. That’s my first time off from school and the salon is closed. But while I have money set aside for a ticket, really, if I can’t go to NOLA, then I really can’t go to NYC. And while a trip to Arkansas is almost as pricey with tolls and gas prices…it is closer. And my sister and I do love that day after shopping.

I keep focusing on the reality, and the endgame.

There will come a day when time to play will be at my discretion. But right now, in THIS moment, it’s about the choices I made when I leapt into this adventure. My focus is on this and doing the best I can. My excitement and joy is funneled into assignments like today’s when I get to teach my favorite book. Or when the Universe gave me the chutzpah to call the director of the movie and ask her some questions. That’s what puts a smile on my face these days.

My joy comes from weekends like this past one, when I had clients in my chair like JC and Layne that I love with my whole heart, had lunch and got caught up with them. When I was invited to the PseudoFamily’s house for burgers and beers and laughed all night, and then because the burn ban had been lifted we sat outside with blankets and watched the entire town shoot off fireworks. It was meeting friends Sunday for a movie and enjoying time with them. It was spending the rest of the day in the library, and finally, FINALLY having a breakthrough in the research and everything in my brain starting to click and groove again. It was coming home and getting all of my lesson plans finished for the afternoon’s class.

Navigating this thing…it’s difficult. But I’m still me. I’m still here. The gypsy part is riding this one out for awhile…the committed responsible one is driving the bus.

I look forward to the rest stop when they trade places.

Yesterday was a gold star day.

I got to class and got my test returned…I only missed 3 on the matching so I got an A! There were great margin comments in the essay portion which was just icing on the cake.

I did some research in the library, then came home to work on my lesson plan for TKAM in next weeks class.

I rewatched the documentary on it and then called the director and did a quick little phone interview with her.

WHAAAAAT????

Yup. Here’s how that went down.

One of my clients was listening to me wax poetic about TKAM and getting to lead class on it. She mentioned that she ordered this documentary about it and how great it was. I ordered it with my student Amazon Prime account that Chris hooked me up with. I saw that the director could be followed on Twitter, so I tagged her in a tweet praising the movie. She tweeted me back. I got the idea to have her answer some questions, like maybe I’d send her an email and she’d answer them and email me back. All she could say was no, right? She said yes. She sent me both of her phone numbers. I made some notes then got up the nerve to call her…seriously…I typed the numbers into my phone and then hung up about 3 times. Then I just said, LEAP GIRL! and so I called and we talked and I typed furiously notes and quotes and whatnot and we hung up and it was amazing. What was even more amazing is that the first few lines of my notes for class discussion that I’d already written…she said almost word for word when asked what prompted the project. SO COOL.

Earlier in the day, while I was in the library the Pilot sent me a text asking if I could talk. I said I’d call him when I left and when I did, he said he had an extra ticket to the Night Ranger/Foreigner/Journey concert at our outdoor venue and would I like to go.

Ya’ll.

If I had a bucket list, I would have been able to cross off “hearing Sister Christian live”. It was a perfect night. We sang. We danced. We shook our fists in the air. We laughed. The weather was absolutely perfect. His daughter and her friend were with us. She’s a sophomore. So cute to watch them. It was their first “real rock concert” —fitting, in that Journey was my “first real rock concert” too. I was a sophomore as well. Full circle. It was perfect.

Yesterday was one for the books. I give thanks for it, I acknowledge the preciousness of it, and I’ll remember it forever.

I just said goodbye to my family. Packed them all up with their new things and my old things and the child that was busy telling us how he needed ONE MORE COOKIE. They drove off, I walked inside.

And immediately burst into tears.

I miss them so much.

And they left their hearts in this house this weekend. Seriously. Worked like hired help. We did a last minute re-arrangement of my living room this morning and seriously added another 200 square feet to the place. It’s amazing.

My focus is shifting now to the day ahead.

My dear friend Joe…Audra’s love…he lost his father this past week. Today we gather to celebrate a man who gave us the man that we all love as our own. I cannot imagine what he’s feeling. I’ve stood by several of my friends as they’ve gone through this. The pain must just be endless. I’m thankful though, that the suffering is over, that he is no longer hurting, and that somewhere he is reunited with the sweet woman that helped give us the man that we love today.

Joe is the most precious of souls. He is a true friend. I hope today, he is a witness to the love he has in his life.