Saturday, August 31, 2013

We Are ND

Its the first Notre Dame Home Football Game of the Season and over Eighty Thousand Fans have poured into South Bend, honking their horns, adorned in Blue and Gold, many of whom are staggering drunk by now.  In response, I am hiding out in a Starbucks as far away from Campus as I can possibly get.  Yeah, I'm killjoy.  But then again, you would be too if you'd spent over six years as a Graduate Student as ND.  The fans are weird.  No, really.  Its not just game weekends.  People bring their children to site see on campus.  These families walk around speaking in hushed tones as though they've entered hallowed ground, an Irish America Mecca.  Aged Alumni come sit in the middle of campus in the spring with their oxygen tanks wearing looks that say: "Dear God, take me now on Notre Dame soil."  I don't get it.  I really don't.  Its just a college campus and not the prettiest one around.  Actually, when I visited Oxford a few years ago, I realized that Notre Dame's Irish Americans were merely aping their English Counterparts in their architectural style. They'd have done better to come up with something all their own.  But that's Notre Dame.  Pretentious.  Wealthy.  Entitled.  Unimaginative. We are ND.

Friday, August 30, 2013

Better Than Xanax?

Because Yours Truly is stressed out, I want Xanax (I yearn for Xanax).  But I fear overusing the drug so...I'm switching to another vice.  A Hot Toddy should do just the trick and send me off to sleep.  If you feel like it, try this out.

Hot Toddy
  • 1 oz brandy, whiskey, or rum (I used bourbon)
  • 1 Tbsp honey
  • 1/4 lemon
  • 1 cup hot water
  • 1 tea bag

Preparation:

  1. Coat the bottom of a mug with honey.
  2. Add the liquor and the juice of the lemon quarter.
  3. On the side, heat water in a tea kettle and add the tea bag to make hot tea.
  4. Pour the steaming tea into the glass and stir.

Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams

So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the cold moon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh-fallen snow, with the myriad sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, to the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And does not smite me down.”~Sylvia Plath (Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams)

It is a Crazy Day.  A Sylvia Plath day.  A Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams Day. One of those days when I  am fighting tears.  In reality I've been fighting tears since yesterday. But, somehow, I thought today would be better.  It's not.  Negative news on a Chapter Draft.  Still stinging from Thursday's blow.  And even though I'm up to eleven job referrals none have called.  My therapist says that's normal.  That at the beginning of a new semester, things are crazy.  Applications take more time.  But I'm worried about bills.  Worried about life.  Worried about everything.  Part of me, a weak and scared part, wants to give in and talk.  But, I won't. Because, like Plath's Johnny Panic, the lines between good and evil, creative and destructive have blurred for me in that relationship, personifying the "darkness" with my attachment to something I "believed to be good."  So instead of talking to him, "I shall talk every night.  To myself.  To the moon....its so much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever."  So I will walk "talking to the moon," a "neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being.  And does NOT SMITE ME DOWN."

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Low Blow

Yours Truly has been referred for ten, count em,' ten positions at the University of Kentucky.  And that's good.  Because just when you think the hits have slowed down some asshole decides to go for a low blow...like unfollow you on twitter.  Not that it matters, and I hate to say it.  It hurt.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

A Retraction: The Bus Thing Was Harsh

Writing in Starbucks is somehow easier than writing at home.  Not sure what it is.  Especially because I understand that the place is engineered to encourage me to spend my hard earned cash on lattes or, in my case, iced black teas.  But, in defense of Starbucks, its close to my apartment, there's lots of natural light, friendly staff, and, out in public, its harder for me to get lost in the stuff that sends Yours Truly spiraling into depression.  Yeah...  I produced yesterday's post at home.  Now allow me to say: I stand by most of what I said, but, I probably shouldn't have said it.  It hard when someone you loved hurts you without remorse.  But, at the same time, I want to stay true to who I am.  Not let that anger take me too far.  No matter what my therapist says.   So, here is my retraction: The bus thing was harsh.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Purging: Clean Slate

Yours Truly has never been a patient soul.  Nope.  When I want something, I go after it with a type of enthusiasm reserved for zealots and Gideons (same thing perhaps), and then I wait with bated breath for whatever I desire to magically unfold, like a job in Lexington for instance.  Thus far, the hiring gods have referred me to various departments for eight different positions at the University of Kentucky.  And if you're me, and you're not so be grateful, in the interim, you purge your apartment and pack up your belongings in anticipation.  Purging you say?  Of what pray tell?  Well, unwanted clutter for one...but, also, anything that reminds me of him: a thank you note, pottery I made, music I listened to, something I had saved for his birthday, etc.  Its all going in the trash.  In fact, it even feels good to pack away the books he recommended.  Now, they aren't sitting there mocking me in some strange way I don't understand.  Because the thing is, sometimes I still feel like less because of the way he treated me, but the truth is, I'm not.  I'm still who I was pre-the Mess.  A clean slate.  That's what I need, Guys.  Everyday, I work to find a job, pack a few of my things, trash a few more, then pray to God something opens up.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

"Well, technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but it's on par with a night of heavy drinking.  Nothing you'll miss." (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

 "I'm a vindictive little bitch." And after last night, I am willing to admit, lately, the stress of my life is taking its toll.  Take the job searches, a tiny class this 8 weeks (which means an even smaller pay day), a more general dislike of South Bend, combined with the damages he dealt with no apologies and what you have is a recipe for a Broken Jenni Cocktail, shaken well and served over ice.  Its been a long time since I've been in that much pain. Today, despite the lack of actual alcohol, I feel hungover and sick.  What's the fix for this?  Where is the cure? Because here is the deal: You may not think so, but I've had to struggle to hold my tongue on this blog.  Not to say cruel things.  Not to lay things out very neatly in way that leaves no room for imagination.  But gawd, I'm so tired.  I don't know which is better anymore.  Not saying those nasty things or the catharsis I imagine that saying them would bring.  I dunno.  I do know I gotta get outta here, and if I could take it all back I would.  Redo my life.  Skip ISU and that cold Bastard all together.  Life is short, Dude.  I do not look kindly upon the time he wasted.  "I'm a vindictive little bitch." (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.)

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Two Xanax and Nite

I took two Xanax to ease the sting, emailed my best friend, and talked to my brother.  Maybe, I'll sleep now.  Nite Blogger.

Cruelty...or a Lack Thereof

Cruelty would be delicious if one could only find some sort of cruelty that didn't really hurt. ~ George Bernard Shaw

I want to say nasty things...but I can't.  Not without hurting myself and hasn't he already done enough of that?

Talk A Good Game

I've been rereading some of my posts.  And while I much appreciate the kind comments, this Jenni Nicole is willing to admit to being under extreme duress of late.  The truth is nothing hurts more than cold indifference.  My brother says I'm being unfair.  That reticent is the more objective adjective here.  That I need to move on with my life.  Put this behind me.  And I'm trying.  When my friends see me in person its clear my walls are slowly going up.  But what is also clear is that my defenses are still fragile.  A few misspoken words, like tonight, and I dissolve into tears.  Sometimes you have to talk a good game until you believe what you are saying.

Jack in the Box

Yours Truly has parked herself inside the Indiana Historical Society (time to do some research for the dissertation I'm not entirely sure will be finished), and while I'm waiting on a compiled set of courthouse records...which seem to be lost somewhere...I start thinking, fretting, and hurting again.  Its funny how that happens.  You think you're past something and then it pops back up like a freaky little jack in the box.  Guess its time to lock those demons and hurts away.  Because if someone doesn't spend time thinking about you, why waste your time thinking about him?

Saturday, August 17, 2013

A Fresh Start

Last night, a friend looked at me and said: "I know why you are leaving South Bend.  Its not about running away.  Its about a fresh start."  I think she is right.  I'm looking for untarnished ground.  Because even if L.M. Montgomery was correct and tomorrow is fresh with no mistakes in it.  Nobody tells you what to do when you wake up in mistake-covered clothing and stare at your mistake-stained life.  Just leave the marks there as a painful reminder?  Or buy a Tide-Tidy Pen and try to scrub away the Tears and Grime?  I don't know.  But I do know THIS: I do not intend to spend the rest of my life bemoaning my mistakes.  I intend to correct them and move on.  So I fell in Love with a Couple of Asshats?  So Started a Career I do not Want?  So I put on some Weight?  I'm only 30. There's still time.  Dump the Dicks.  Find a New Career.  Lose the Weight.  Its that Simple.  Start fresh and Keep Moving Forward. 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Two Years: Not Me

Two years.  For two solid years I have been wondering what is wrong with me.  What part of me is so inadequate that I'm just not worth the effort?  Let me tell you, that's a rough question to wrestle with, Folks.  I'd cry, grieve, pine.  Rinse and Repeat.  Then, one day, quite suddenly, I stopped.  Not sure why.  But like automatic lights, I shut off.  But despite the darkness or maybe because of it, those questions still plagued me. Until tonight that is. Tonight, the answer came to me: Nothing.  Nothing is wrong with me.  Not to be obnoxious or anything, but I'm pretty fucking smart, kinda cute in my own way, and extremely gregarious.  Despite that fact, one person devaluing me made me lose sight of those strengths...for two years. No more.  Whatever the issue is, it has nothing to do with me.  

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Cart Before the Horse

Sometimes, when I get really excited, I get the cart before the horse.  Example: I do not have a job yet, but, despite that fact, I have:

1.) Picked out a number of homes to rent in Lexington
2.) Begun packing up my things
3.) Chosen my New, Celebratory Dog, a German Shepherd (cuz little dogs suck!)
4.) And Scheduled my days for the imaginary job that I don't have

Yeah...  In my defense, I have applied for 17, count em', 17 jobs at the University of Kentucky, 6 at Eastern Kentucky University, 2 at Georgetown College, an unknown number at Kentucky Technical College including online courses, 1 at Amazon, and 2 with the Kentucky Commonwealth.  Every morning, I wake up, throw on my clothes, and stalk the Lexington area University employment sites searching for anything I am remotely qualified to do.  Bed Clerk, Administrative Assistant, Research Coordinate, Director of Grant Support.  You name it.  I've applied for it.  And every afternoon, I check my phone for possible messages, search my email for updates, and, upon finding nothing, pray something happens tomorrow.  I am ready, Folks.  I love my Friends here.  I do.  But on the whole, South Bend has brought me a lot of tears and heartache.  Let's get this wagon train a movin'!

Monday, August 12, 2013

Driven: Setting the Bar

Sometimes the only way to get clarity is to first get distance.  Example, for the past two years my closest friends have been saying: "Jen, he treats you like shit.  There's nothing to miss."  And now that I am fifty odd days out, I realize its true.  No one wants strung along.  And here's the deal: When I was sick, I didn't believe I deserved to be treated well.  Now that I'm healthy again, I know that I AM!  What's more.  I know what I want again.  I want my equal.  For a long time, I lost sight of that fact.  Because here's the deal:  Most days, I am driven.  When I want things, whether its a degree, a job, or a friendship, I go after them.  Furthermore, I find that sense of purpose and ambition attractive in other people.  Gawd, what's wrong with standards?  Nothing that's what!  Set the bar high, Folks.  During my illness, I lost sight of how sexy I find those characteristics.  No more.  I know what I want.  Time to go after it.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Won't Break Down Here

"Someday I'll wish upon a star.  Wake up where the clouds are far behind me"

Guys, its time for me to leave South Bend.  I can feel it.  The yearning to move on, to restart someplace new, get stronger every day.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I've made some wonderful friends in here, Adam, Leslie, Paula.  I will always love them both for who they are and how they supported me through such a difficult period in my life.  But the fact remains, I associate this place with being sick, with getting hurt, with tears.  There are things and people I want to leave behind.  Because right now my life is still a Julie Roberts song:

I'd sure hate to break down here
Nothing up ahead or in the rear-view mirror
Out in the middle of nowhere, knowing
I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rolling
God help me keep me moving somehow
Don't let me start wishing I was with him now
I've made it this far without crying a single tear
I'd sure hate to break down here

But each day it gets easier.  Each day I move a little farther away.  Each day, I come a few steps closer to getting my life back together.  And it is possible to get my life back.  Be thin again.  Be happy again.  Be confident again.  Each day I get a little closer. And today, I found out I made past the first elimination round for a job I want in Lexington, Kentucky, and that puts me just a little closer to my goals.  Someday I'll wake up where the clouds are far behind me.  Just not today, but I won't break down here.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Bluck: Just Keep Swimming

One by one I drowned all the people I’d been.

Sometimes I wonder why there is such a thin line between adoration and nausea.  Lately, especially since the meds have kicked in and I am getting healthier, I've been experiencing this phenomenon. Things I wanted so badly.  People I'd have given anything to get a little affection from.   They're fading.  And in their place something akin to disgust is growing.  What the hell was I mooning over?  Was someone, anyone?, really worth that type of self-torture?  What did I get back for my investment?  Hard fast answers?: No and Nothing!  In my defense, I fall the hardest when I'm really ill.  I was unable to shield myself from the hurt that kept on coming.  But now the old Jenni is returning (notice I've dropped Jennifer.  That's significant, Folks).  I'm Jenni Nicole.  The use of Jennifer marked my loss of identity.  But no more.  So what do I say to the past: Bluck!  Like Dori the Fish, I intend to just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Weight Watcher Scale Gods

Yours Truly is giving both her life and her body a major overhaul, and to the latter end, today, I joined the Dreaded Weight Watchers.  Eek!  What was it like, you ask?  Was it awful  Well...a little.  I am willing to admit a certain amount on defensiveness on my part as I pulled into Heritage Square, crawled out of my car, and shuffled toward the Weight Watcher Store.  Not sure what I was expecting but, whatever I thought would happen, didn't.  Rather than a cheery atmosphere, I pulled open the door and stepped into a rather sterile looking room with lots of chairs and a lone man standing at the desk.  His presence was a problem.  I mean he was very nice.  He was, but he also made me step on a giant scale and stand there awhile which I found a little humiliating.  Yes, I knew I would be weighed but I somehow thought a woman would be doing the weighing.  It wasn't his fault that he's a man and maybe I'd have been just as humiliated with a woman.  I don't know.  But I faulted him for his gender nonetheless.  Of course, upon further thought, I am pretty sure the whole corporation runs off of humiliation and shame.  No, I'm not being cynical here.  Let's be honest.  Why join Weight Watchers?  I can buy a scale and count calories at home for a lot cheaper.  So why bother?  I'll give you two reasons.  A.) Money Factor: I am PAYING these people $42.95 a month to weigh me so I WANT to see results.  I understand those results largely come down to my own actions.  Nothing motivates you like a hit to your wallet.  B.) Humiliation Factor:  Do you smell the fear on me yet?  Listen Guys, once a week a total stranger will weigh me and then either offer praise or give me so called "encouragement." I want to be praised not embarrassed/encouraged.  If those two factors aren't enough, I'll earn stickers for weight loss.  And I like stickers because they only have meaning when they come from those in authority, like the Weight Watcher Scale Gods. 

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Fuck You: To Bang or Not to Bang?

Good news, Guys.  Yours Truly is mildly attracted to almost everyone.  Why is that good news, you ask?  Why does my toying with the idea of screwing my friends and neighbors mark a step forward?  Because, I've been hung up, Folks.   And while I'm not off the hook yet, my sudden desire to bang everything in sight is a good sign that I'm working myself free.  And why not?  This past week clarity finally hit me like a ton of bricks.  Sure there are things I miss in the prolonged silence, but what I've miss most, what I've been missing for two years, isn't something anyone else can do for me.  Its keeping a clean house.  Having confidence in myself.  Taking care of my responsibilities, and having fun with my Friends minus the nagging fear clawing at my throat.  Its knowing I am WORTH the time and effort.  And FUCK YOU if you don't think so.