"What a Future!"

This is a paper I wrote in college. The task: to compose a humorous essay. Not easy. I wrote from my viewpoint. I look back now and laugh out loud. I had a nice boss but I had many crazy times. It was very Office Space for the most part. About two years ago, I met one of my bosses for lunch and thanked her for the experience. She offered me a job starting at about $10 an hour. I declined cheerfully since I was already teaching full time. But, we had a cordial lunch and cheerfully talked about old times. 

But, back then, things were different. People were ridiculous about trying to protect their jobs. And, the live-TV world is crucial and every bit like the movie Broadcast News. One moment I was told with a middle-aged man to “watch” the Odetics machine. It’s an automatic juke box for Beta tapes. Two of us, two chairs, we sat watching the machine, as if it was going to move or break.  People walked by and laughed. It was a ridiculous panic.
 
Then, there was another time the big boss had lined up the 9 by 9 room with cheesy black frames with the network names to impress the big bosses. John H and I typed up ”Shunshine” for the Florida network and put it in the frame- -hoping no one would notice. When they did, we died laughing- -quietly.

Here’s the tale. An average day at Cable Network Net. The name is changed to protect the image or, to be polite...or to be, as honest as I can. As of now, only four people have read this.

                                                            “What a Future!”

Today is Saturday. It’s time to go to work. I work at an unusual place. It’s not the typical part-time college job. In fact, here, 40 hours is “part-time.” You just work 40 hours and you get benefits, but it’s still considered “part-time.”  It’s not my dream job, but it has it’s moments. Well, I thought it was THE job when I started. But, I think everyone else did too.

As a member of the “Program Resource Center,” I am instructed to work together with a team of five to ten other librarians. We gather videos to prepare them for air. Today is different though. Beverly, a woman in her fifties, is training three new video librarians to replace the others that have been promoted or fired. It will take six weeks to train the new recruits.

Three recruits waddle like ducks behind their instructor. So far, two of the three recruits are fine. It’s become an assembly-line learning class. The third duck, however is lagging behind. He has been separated from the others. He will get hands-on attention away from the crowd. Rumor has it our supervisor doesn’t want the big chief to know the third duck seems to have a learning disability.

Our job, as part of the existing team, is to buckle down and carry the extra load. On Saturdays a "select" few will be responsible for pulling shows for three networks. When most of us first applied for the entry-level $9-an-hour position, we were told we’d be responsible for getting “two networks on air.” We are told that this is a deed that is unheard of in most television networks. It is also our ticket into the world of motion picture making.

With this experience, we can transfer to any cable network facility and be a star. With the CSN network on our resume, we will be untouchable. For many of us, that was enough to accept the job. We wanted a piece of the pie.

The road to glory starts with pulling the programming for various regions of the country. There are twelve “networks” as we refer to them. One is Middle East or World. World feeds to places like Australia and Singapore. The other networks are South, Detroit, Arizona, Northwest, Pittsburgh, Midwest, Rocky Mountain, Sunshine, Southwest, Network and Auxillary. Basically it’s like twelve television stations in one building. At the top of every hour the countdown to air echoes throughout every network and hallway.  With the technical gadgets going it’s a little like counting down the new year or expecting a shuttle to launch toward some unknown galaxy all of the time.

Walking into work this Saturday morning I was scheduled to work South, Rocky Mountain and Midwest. I explain walking into South to the master controller, that “If I am not here, it’s just because I am pulling shows for three networks instead of two.” He smiled and nodded. Almost animal-like. Grunting like an ape.

I check to make sure all of the shows are in the network and then check Midwest and Rocky Mountain.

Alice, the master controller in Midwest, welcomes me happily. She asks me how I’ve been and proceeds to tell me about her men diliemmas and what it is like to still be living at home at the age of 23. She complains about her parents trying to marry her off to a doctor. She invites me to come to the movies with her and a friend.

I finish up Rocky Mountain, checking to make sure the appropriate shows are filled for the day. Hampton is all too happy to have me keep him company. We talk about school, about infomercials and how tired he is. He complains when I turn the lights up. He howls like a vampire in the sudden light. He also whimpers when I leave the room.

The master controllers were told that if they needed to leave the room for any reason, they are supposed to call a supervisor to sit in to watch their programming for them.

If they must leave the room for any reason, they must ask permission. Sometimes walking down the hallway, I can see them hanging on doorways with their arms stretched out to brace their hands on the sides of the sliding glass walls. They shout their words to companions across the hall. Sometimes they speak to each other over the mics in their rooms. Sometimes I can hear them singing to each other. They sing commercial songs, tap their feet, jump around to release all of their energy it takes for them to sit eight hours straight. They have the coveted jobs. They make $28,000 a year. They may work 12-14 hour days, but they are loaded.

After filling in the shows and updating the commercial spots, two hours have passed and it's time to start pulling the programs for Sunday.

I first have to put the commercials from Friday away. I take all of the three carts and pile them inside the commercial library. Carlos walked into the room and asks, “What if staring at someone was sexual harassment? Then none of us would look at each other. Everything is harassment these days."

Zach, a teen-face comedic newer librarian, takes a sheet of paper and puts it over his face and like an Indian dances around the room. Lurched over, he talks to us through the white paper muffling the sound of his voice.

Carlos, a Hispanic middle-sized man, always scared he will lose his job librarian, laughs and leaves the room.

I continue to put up my commercial spots. Crystal, a head librarian, is full of confidence.  She finishes putting up the southwest spots. From where I am standing, I can see her climbing the moving shelves, She has braced herself up to the very top.

Climbing up the shelves is a definite problem with the supervisors. I remember my first day. I was taught to ONLY climb the shelves when a super wasn’t around. I climbed very carefully. I asked to be warned if there was a chance at being caught. Walker, Crystal’s husband, said, “Tip toe!!” I guess I didn’t get the code. The super over the librarian, third in the chain of command, walked by and then called me to speak with him.

This super’s name is Joe. He’s middle-aged, but he looks young and he talks with a girl kind-of voice. He later dates a girl in Poland that he meets on the internet, but after a year-long engagement, they break it off.  He’s insecure- -dangerously so. He's always worried about how things look. He is the kindof guy that can have your back...then watch his own very carefully too.

Joe,  whose voice mimics Barney, pulls me aside. He is certain to let me know we are not peers.  I give him my best dumb look.  To smooth things over, I compliment the hole in his jeans. He did not take the compliment very well though. The funny thing is, I was being genuine. He called me into his office later to talk to me about my problem with authority.

But today is Saturday and no authorities, no "supers" are present.

Carlos asks, “Who’s going to get breakfast?” It’s Saturday so there’s no breakfast truck or "Roach Coach" outside as most would refer to it. I squirm and say, “I'm not hungry.” Crystal, who just had a baby girl, says she doesn’t "need it". Carlos stares, waiting for someone to give in and then pouts. He leaves quickly to get his own breakfast.

Half an hour later he returns. He finds all three of us still putting away spots. He calls us, “Slow.”

I finish putting away all of the commercial spots and roll one of the carts to the beta tape library. To get there, I have to push the cart down the hall and through the copy and log administrator’s offices, past the master control supervisor’s room, past the International headquarters, past human resources and then around the hall again. When I get there Crystal has some sort of teenage Saturday morning sitcom on the tube, our “illegal” cable tube. She is working on her show list.

Carlos joins us and Zack files in a little later. Crystal comes in and out like she owns the place. About half an hour later, the new security guard meanders to the back with the rest of us scrubs.  He sneaks up on Carlos and I. We both jump at his sudden appearance.

He asks us what we’re up to and then takes a look around the screening room- -as if he’s looking for loot. His coiled hair reminds me of the rap star Coolio, yet Coolio, though I’ve never met him, seems friendlier. The guy is always coming into the room about the same time on Saturday mornings when he’s supposed to be manning the front desk- -about a half a mile away from here.  He always asks me the same question. He asks me when I’m getting off of work.

Sometimes I muffle up my words and act stupid. Other times I say coldly, “Six."  He always makes me feel guilty. It’s as if he’s just looking for trouble.

When he first started working here he wasn’t even this refined. He spoke with more of a ghetto slang. It was hard for people to understand when he was paging us. A lot of people took advantage of him. They would call him at the front desk and ask him to page people. Mostly on the weekends, they’d ask for “Al Coholic” and other distasteful names. And it was especially funny because it took him a long time to learn. It took a week before the other officers began telling him he’d have to sometimes write the names down on a sheet of paper before announcing them out loud on the intercom.

After mumbling a few words, he leaves the screening room as ghostly as he came. I scribble a note to Carlos, "He scares me.” Carlos says simply, “Me too.”

We suddenly hear Nelson’s voice. He’s the big wig that runs this place. He is king. Carlos jumps a hundred feet. He’s usually not around on the weekends.  Or, at least he’s not back with the scrubs. Seems he’s showing off the new master control area currently under construction (i.e. our baseball field when no one is looking).

Carlos runs over to turn off the TV. He then leaves the room to take a peek down the hallway. He whispers, “It’s Nelson.” I question his paranoia. He explains, “The cable is illegal back here. If they find out, they will take it away.” On a typical 8-7 schedule, to be honest, when you have 3 hours of actual work to do and the rest of the time to “look busy,” the illegal cable really is the only source of sanity.

I explain to Carlos that all of the On Air Programmers have cable TV in their rooms. He says “We’re not O A P s!” He waits a while then peeks down the hallway again.  He then turns the TV to the Spanish station and begins to bop to Spanish music. He narrates and sings under his breath while he jots down notes for his networks. He asks me if I understand the song and then explains the dances and asks me if I dance.

I tell him I am shy about dancing. He says, “Most Americans are shy about dancing.”

The day is broken up around lunch time. One librarian is listed for “lunch duty.” This means he/she has to stay until the rest of the crew comes back. Today it is my turn.

The rest of the day is simply pulling shows and updating the tapes. It’s about an hour’s worth of work.  I screen a couple of fishing shows. You know, small boat, middle of the water, catch a fish, throw it back.  Zack turns up the television. We watch the better half of White Men Can’t Jump. 

Between commercials he screens a Rugby game. He explains the details of the game to me. He says the trick is to pass the ball between another player’s legs. He says that this is the whole point of the game. He and I watch the players topple over each other, grabbing one another as if they were part of a wrestling team.

He laughs out loud, sticks his thumb in his mouth and giggles. He then pauses the beta player and swivels the chair around to catch the next movie segment. Crystal comes back to take a break. She watches the movie with us commenting on the commercials and she said she was watching a bit of “Baywatch.” She says it’s nothing more than soft porn.

The show starts again. Zach laughs out loud- -leaning back in his seat, covering his mouth to muffle the laughter. The security guard pops in again. I leave for a moment and return to see he has taken my seat. He can tell that I am annoyed. You see we get the left-over chairs back there. And, if your seat isn’t falling apart, it means you fought for it.  I explain, “Back here we always fight over the seats. Some lean way back and some just aren’t tall enough to reach the screening booth.” He gets up.

I finish screening the shows. It actually takes more than one hour. I am distracted by the movie.  Carlos comes in from his lunch break and sees that I am still screening the same show. He calls me “slow” again.  He says “What a future!!!” In his Hispanic accent. “I could have screened those shows in seven minutes!” This reminds me of when I saw him last, he told me "not to get lost" (aka don't be a stranger).

Carlos leaves to find a few missing shows.

The security guard asks if the show just started. He returns to the front of the building. Before leaving he comments on how easy we have it.

I start updating tapes. Three hours later it’s time to make copies of the runsheets. Run sheets show the problems in the air. They call them “p-sheets” or “problem” sheets. My job as the "p-sheet" person on Saturday is find the all of the copies, separate them and distribute them. It’s very Office Space. It’s tedius work, but if you don’t do it exactly “right” you get a memo.

It’s now five minutes to six. Zach is still screening the Rugby match. He asks me if there’s anything he can help me with. I decline the offer. He announces he’s planning to stay. He explains the golf game comes down late. He brings in his CD player from the car and sets up camp. Carlos and Crystal have vanished. I walk down the hallway again, thankful to see the evening shift security guard. It’s time to go home.

I look at the clock, and it’s only three minutes til six. If it were a weekday, I’d be expected to stay until the top of the hour. I sit on the couch and wait for the clock to change.

One minute til six. I figure it’s okay to leave. “Close enough." I say. The guard says, “Yes, go home and relax. You’ve earned it!”

I smile and nod, exit out the front doors, surprised it’s still daylight.

Drizzles of miracles

I'm happy. I am blissfully happy. And,  I don't know why...

I think one of the reasons I am happy is because my husband is finally done with grad school. He's beginning to realize that maybe he spends too much time focusing on work... It's been five years of me praying and venting to my friends about this..He's seeing it in his heart too. He WANTS to be home too... An answered prayer.

Drizzles of miracles falling all around me...

Last weekend, I was sick and he did the dishes (maybe the third time in ten years), went grocery shopping (maybe the fifth time in ten years) and he said, "You know I'd clean the kitchen more if it'd stay that way.. this is your job.. this is my hobby... Why should I go to all the trouble to clean it up if it's not going to stay cleaned?"

I didn't react my usual blow-up way. I, instead laughed, and smiled sweetly.

I said, "Yep. You got it."

He smiled and said, "Oh." And, I let the layers settle in for a bit.

Learning how to not react is a good thing.  And, I let God do the talking. He's better at it anyway.

I am also happy because since I am feeling better the house is cleaner, yet, I'm doing less. I am finding more time for me and doing less. DUH! I wished I'd figured this out years ago.  Yesterday I painted my nails pink, dyed my hair red (why not?) and even washed my own laundry first. I have clean clothes to wear. Imagine that.

Today, when I walked my son into preschool the director noticed. She said, "See, you DO have another long-sleeved shirt."  Yesterday I complained about the cold weather because I only had one long-sleeved shirt...I smiled and laughed and said, "I did the laundry!" She laughed and cheered me down the hallway. I heard the Rocky theme music in my head clamoring.

It's nice to feel better too. After a week of being unable to MOVE, I can finally breathe. Really, just being able to breathe makes me happy. Having a cold and taking care of three kids is unthinkable.

And, then, there's another miracle inside me.

As the week went on and I let more stuff go, I saw how much I did as a mom. I saw the glue that I am to my family. I saw the importance of making lunches. I saw how they depend on me, need me and really do love me.

They got along without me just fine, but not really. When I'm not really there, they miss me. I saw the value in what I do.  I also saw how quickly they are growing.  Several of Mikey's pants are an inch too short now. I blinked and he grew into a first grader.

I am happy. Okay with being glue. And, okay with being stuck here too.

And I'm not perfect, but don't put me in a Box!

I am not perfect. Though, sometimes I expect myself to be...why isn't anyone else being as hard on themselves as I've been on myself?

Or, does everyone else also rage within themselves?

I told my friend today at the gym, I felt fat and I had a muffin top. She said, "Gag!" and she didn't take me seriously. She said I'm "Skinny" and I felt crossed over when she ignored my feelings. I wasn't encouraged but rather discouraged by her lack of concern for how I was feeling. She put me in a box.

I suppose I am like that a lot with my friend with one child. She drives me nuts. I have three children. We are miles apart these days. Two languages. For her, bed time is an hour-long process. For me, all three are down in twenty minutes. She, works on the schedule constantly. I see it's more about flex time.. More like "Guidelines" as the Pirates would say. pirates clipSo, I am probably pretty callous when it comes to her. I can work on that. Another box.

I would say I am a little rough around the edges.  Socially, I don't always fit into the box. When you first meet me, you won't get my sarcasm. You won't get my dry comments. You may assume the worst of me. You may not know that underneath the layers, I care almost too much about everyone I meet.

For one, I am terrible at interrupting. I have so much going on in my head some days, I can't wait to talk. I am comfortable when we can both talk at the same time. I want to yell "Catch up!" some days. 

And, I have a tendency to try to control the conversation instead of listening. Maybe it would be best if my tongue was where my hands are so that I could sit on my tongue. 

And, when I workout, I don't take it seriously. I am trying to, but mostly to be honest, it's about having the kids in childcare and watching HGTV on the treadmill for an hour. I'll use the three-pound weights instead of the fifteen-pounders to work on my "form." 

It's sanity time.  Stop judging me. Hey, I showed up right?

Also, I am very impatient. I have a hard time with slow people. I am a mega-multi-tasker. This means I will do things as mom calls them "half-a**" but it's done.   People that take the time to lay out all of the ingredients one at a time drive me bonkers.

I can be impatient with change and hard on friends. I can expect too much and ask too little all at once. I am all too willing to put my friends ahead of everything in my life, and when they don't do the same for me, I can be a jerk.

I realized today after reading my son The Giving Tree, that for most of my life, that has been me- -willing to give it all away. As I held back tears with each word, I had to ask my son if he liked the book. He said, "Nope. It was stupid." And, perhaps the story needed some adjusting. Like me. I feel sorry for the tree. He gives up too much and it's not fair. 

The Giving Tree

But, now, after reading Boundaries and now reading Boundaries in Marriage and Boundaries with Kids, I am changing, growing and putting myself first for a change.

Trying to see myself less like less-than. And, not like a child, with overgrown humility and sticking up for myself more. Which all at once, makes me feel like my evil twin. Thus two blogs. One for nice PC me and one for me. Just me. So tired of the censored box.

Tired of all of the boxes people put me in. Some friends won't let me change. Maybe I need new friends. 

I've stepped out. Yes, I am imperfect. But, this is me. This is me. And, I am stomping on the box.

Advice to women thinking of having children

1. Once you have this child, you will never be alone again. Some days I am giddy when I can JUST get in and out of the car alone. It takes 3-5 minutes to get all three kids buckled in and packed to go anywhere. Plan to be 15 minutes late to almost anything.  Also, if I go to dinner, I am the most kind person to my waiters. Someone is taking care of ME for a change? It's like a day spa.

2. Once you have this child you will care about the child- -a lot. I left my journalism career classroom crying like a baby. I planned to stay home just because I thought I should, but I never ever thought anything or anyone could compete with the job I loved. But, a few weeks after my son was born, I was glad I had planned to stay home. I didn't think I'd care that much. Plan to work part time if you can from home, as long as possible. Don't go back before you are ready. I tried to go back, I was a broken-hearted soul of an employee.

3. There will be days you may feel melancholy. Taking care of a child takes all of you 24 hours a day. You won't even sleep without the monitor next to your head. It's like you are "on" all the time. You can't ever let go. At first, they need you every two hours. If you are nursing, that can suck you dry literally. You continue to eat for two even after the baby is born.

4. Your body will never be the same. Sure, you get actual boobs, but you also have extra skin everywhere. Sure, you gained 50 lbs, but you don't lose it all when the baby is born. It takes almost a year and you are still not the same.

5. Your friendships change. Your marriage changes. You change- -forever. You can't completely commit to anything, because all of a sudden there are a thousand variables. It's like you change by growing 10 years in a day. People you knew before don't seem to speak the same language anymore.

6. Your days are prioritized. Work suddenly is just work. You have to get home because someone is waiting on you. There is very little room for spontaneity.

7. For the first three months, you'll be lucky to get BOTH legs shaved. If you have an hour to yourself you decide like it's an emergency: Shower, Food or Sleep? Sleep is good for your mood and your soul. Food keeps you and baby alive. Shower makes you feel human again. Small goals.

8. Kids bring out the best and the worst in you. It's like they were created to test you- -thoroughly. I've had shouting matches with my five-year-old son. He gets under my skin like no other. I mean I worked in two tough high schools. I had 180 students. But, being a mom is still the hardest job I've ever had. It's a job of endurance with lasting effects.

9. You'll be poorer. Your money won't go to YOU, it will go to doctor visits, baby toys, baby clothes, baby things you never thought you'd need. You'll leave the house in your best Ann Taylor outfit feeling cool, only to learn later you had crap on your shoulder the whole time. You'll never carry off cool again like you used to.

10.  After baby, very little will gross you out. Before my first baby, I attended a shower where the women passed around dirty diapers filled with chocolate, chili powder, etc. And we were supposed to smell the diapers and make a guess of what was in them. I was mortified. Now, as a mom, very little surprises me. I've cleaned poop off of walls and doors. I've been peed on more times than I can count. I've been spit up on, thrown up on and bled on. Very little phases me. I've become part doctor myself, part child psychologist, teacher and dentist.

11. After baby, your modesty well goes out of the window. Nursing numbs you. And, epidurals and second degree tears are just part of the game. Especially after the delivery when every nurse checked you, took you to the bathroom, took care of you like you were an elderly patient and 10 months (not 9 months) worth of pelvic exams.

12. After baby, you feel culture shock just sitting through dinner or going to a movie. A grocery store trip alone or a trip to CVS could make you giddy- -especially if you haven't been out of the house for six weeks (They tell you to stay indoors during the first six weeks of baby's life. You'll do this with the first child. Second child, it lasts a week. Third child, three days tops.).

13. After baby, you are stronger. You can multi-task. You are a better employee. Your relationship with your parents, your mom and with other moms changes forever. There is a gulf between moms at home and moms that work. You will do anything to protect the child, like a momma bear to a cub.

14. After baby, no care giver will be good enough for your standards. I know. I checked out 12 day care centers and settled on sharing a nanny that STILL drove me nuts. I wanted Mary Poppins, but she wasn't available.

15. After baby, you will appreciate life more than you ever did as you watch it grow. You will be humbled by time. Angered by exhaustion. Cluttered with wrinkles. Filled with more love for someone other than yourself than you could ever dream. It's agonizing. It's like loving your cat (I used to sing to my cat) times a million.

16. After baby, you will never be alone. But, you won't look back. Well, maybe just once or twice.

A date with Sting...well a concert with a few others..

Anticipation built up. Husband stuck at meeting with long-winded speaker. He's coming from an hour away and he's already 15 minutes late. The plan is to meet husband at theater parking lot. But, anticipation is building, and I'm beyond ready and starting to lose my patience.

Tonight is the long-awaited Sting concert- -my favorite performer of all time. My soul onstage.

I wait. I want to pull out my hair. I talk to myself aloud in frustration. I consider calling Brittany and letting her hear me vent before I LOSE my mind.  I'm sitting under the light in an open area in my car at the theater. No husband. It's 15 minutes past the time I wanted to leave.

I'm going NUTS. It's like I am the dog stuck out in the rain with a warm meal teasing me through the window and I have to, have to, HAVE to,  get inside and my owner won't let me in. Or, I am an anxious teenager and my parents are driving too slow to my beloved date. I'm in absolute agony.

Then, I see my husband walking and trying to dial his cell phone throughout the parking lot. Relieved. He said he texted and called. No cell reception. Then, we drive. Three turns later, I receive all his texts and voicemails.

Traffic is lighter than I thought. Red lights still blaze together and my night vision still stinks, but I'm grateful we are not stuck in a parking lot on the South bound side. Headed North on I-45, we can at least drive ten under the speed limit.

In 30 minutes we arrive. I can't believe it. Parking isn't even a problem. I am giddy. I watch people park. Watching Sting fans pile in. Thinking about all we MUST have in common. Wondering, if in a state of emergency, how would we all cooperate? Sting fans look intelligent, slightly older, stable, creative and classy. The type that SEEM to have it all together. I bet we could unite and do something awesome.

I take down my hair. It is 55 degrees. Perfect night for good hair. We dabble about the parking lot, lost between the Wortham and Bagby Place. It's almost fun. It's like an airport lot and the final destination is an adventure.

My teeth are chattering because I forgot a jacket, but I don't care. Hubby says let's take the elevator. I command "Stairs!" and I don't even look back to see if he's following. I said, "I have to MOVE!"  I didn't realize how rationally irrational I was at the time.

Bubbling up the stairs the city emerges around us and I am transported to the location under the theater destination immediately at ease. It is like suddenly I can feel a sense of reason again and I can finally breathe without agony. I have arrived. I exhale with a sudden sense of accomplishment.

I am, in fact, so excited that stopping to sip for coffee casually and "cool" isn't my destination now before the show. I just want to GET there.

So, we check into the the Verizon theater. I excitedly give the man my purse to search with so much enthusiasm he's almost afraid to open it.  And, once we are inside, I settle for hard, stale nachos with bright yellow cheese ooze for dinner. The bubbly sweet African-American lady with glitter painted nails at the checkout line is lost at which button to push on the register. She pushes almost all of them while the older lady behind her says things like, "Baby come on!" and directs a group to form another line. Dr. Pepper oozing over the sides, I worry about spills and the cashier lady says the right top sizes for our drinks weren't ordered.  It's a swanky audience meeting for drinks inside a 711 store set up.

Downing lukewarm nachos and watered-down $8 sodas,  we then head toward our seats which are within walking distance just behind the mysterious black curtain. GREAT seats.  It's the size of a small gym. The seats are very close. Connected padded fold out chairs  like pews almost. I am amazed that seats in front of me cost $50-$100 more.  It's an inch of space, literally.

I watch the "VIP" badge people walk ahead of me. They wear their canvas bag totes with VIP messages on the outside.  They look kindof silly and cheesy actually. I'm not jealous; they don't look even cool. And, for me, the ultimate tourist to say that, is saying a lot actually.

I chat with an older couple next to me. They've never seen Sting before. I balk. They are enlightened that someone 20 years their junior would be so in love with their generation's music.  Her hubby has dark eyes and silver hair. He's donning a black leather jacket.  She has bright blond thick hair and bright blue eyes. She's playing a mega game of Solitare on her phone. This lady is geniune. She's so sweet in fact that, me the girl who worries about others first all the time, can't obsess over stepping over her to use the Loo before the show. Yes, The English man is rubbing off on me.

When the first song "All This Time" rang out, I whispered to my bright blond "This song is about his dad. He doesn't like to sing it because it reminds him of his dad and he feels that his dad is somehow in the room when he sings it." She nodded and passed on the information gingerly to her husband.

I stopped and said to her, "I won't lean over for each song, I promise." She smiled, actually appreciating the informational trivia.

It was like Sting was the only person in the room. I think my husband was next to me and a few others ... maybe 3,000, but it was just me and my favorite songs performed live. And me clapping for them and appreciating every single moment.

I got a little annoyed when people got up to get drinks or arrived late because Sting could see them. It seemed disrespectful. The seats were so close and the aisles so long that if one person needed out, the whole 15-person row had to stand and bend into themselves to let them pass. If I had to go during the concert, I held it. Don't want to miss a thing, though standing up was fun because I think Sting could see me. If I had room, I would have curtsied.

It isn't too long before I realize I am probably the youngest in the room. And we are all seated and I desperately want to dance, yet everyone sits. I feel grounded. I am entranced inside every single drop of lyric. As if it's water in a desert. His lyrics are my Desert Rose.

Second song in I realize, "Crap, I wore non-water proof mascara." Already in silent happy tears,  I am home. It's been too long.  At last. First three songs are dead on. If he changes a lyric I laugh, slap my knee and say aloud, "He changed it. I LOVE it! I LOVE it." I wonder to myself if anyone around me saw the humor in that moment.

Light shows, blazing fiddle and drums. It's a light show, then solo glory.

My favorite song was Ghost Story, a song I'd never heard before. It's fantastic when you first hear your new favorite song. It reminds me of how Sting describes his first meeting with Trudie. He knew his life was going to be different forever.  It's an awakening of the soul. It's a sudden feeling of "I get this." Like sinking into a warm bubble bath that's just for you...away from the kids and the cluttered remains of the day.

The song was about the triumphs and failures of Sting's relationship with his father. Enough lyrics to unpack and stay there for a while. Honesty. My favorite lines, "I must have loved you. I must have loved you." Spot on remarkable. Glorious.

Then, there was the Sacred Love song set. Former club songs became rock songs with a fiddle. Then, the country set gone rock. Nothing was lost in translation. It was just a new beginning. A story told by another narrator.  Then, the folksy flair of the fiddle. Remnants of his symphony orchestra tour. Almost as if all of the tours build on each other. Like the way a folk story changes with every generation's finger prints.

Then, bright white lights like florescent fire crackers fill the stage. Sadly, I think, "Oh, gosh, this must be the finale." The crowd cheers as Sting bows, musicians in the band take a bow in sweet gracious humility.  The blond looks at me for a cue, "He's coming back right?" I said "Yes, he always comes back."

I read he was going to sing Dessert Rose, so I knew he would. A couple of encores.  The brilliant beginning at the end was this part. At the encores, everyone stood up.  I thought to myself, "I can FINALLY dance!" It was liberating. I might as well be one of his backup singers. It is DIVINE.

After the show I wanted to stick around. I felt too loyal to leave him there. We had bonded yet again. Not like I'm a crazy stalker woman. But, it was like two war heroes spending hours trading old glory stories and then it's time to go already. I wasn't ready.

I actually care about this performer too. I  wondered mid-way if he had enough water and if is throat was okay. Yes, he seemed to be a little off at one point. His voice was a little scratchy. Having memorized every note, I can hear a difference easily.

I loved the band because three new members were there. A young John Mayer on the guitar and a string artist that rocked the violin.

I felt right at home there. It's like when I see him perform, I come in contact with my soul again and everything that makes sense about me. It's not about worshipping the performer, but about appreciating the writer within.

The night ended with an encore or three. One lady ended up on stage kissing him and I was appalled. I thought she was selfish for interrupting his evening and taking something and making it about her. Sting was classy about it and danced for a minute with her. He even kissed her on the cheek. A nice large gentleman then escorted her off the stage.

He closed with SOS with acoustic guitar. Classic. Perfect. Like a warm fire on a cold snowy evening.

Still, I was sad to go. Leaving home is never easy, but you get to go back.

And, that's what makes it worthwhile.

And I drove away

Monday my MIL showed up and I did something I wouldn't ever do to anyone. She wasn't invited and she was doing the wrong thing and breaking yet another boundary. She did this when she took my cat to the pound and left it there and then lied about it. She did this when she broke into our house with a key we forgot we gave her (sneaking in when she thought we were not home) after we asked her to stay in the hotel. She DOES this stuff and it's just not right.  She does things I would never do- -to anyone.

You can look at something from the objective view and think maybe I am not as nice as I should be. But, lately, I am learning that even laying down flat and giving everything away doesn't get you anywhere either.

I feel badly because I've grown cold to her temper tantrums. I've grown cold to her tricks. I've built a fence so high that I'm clinging to it to preserve myself. It's scattered with barbed wire. 

But, I didn't start out that way. I was like Deborah on the TV showWhat About Raymond? I was the sweetest thing, but little by little I've learned that something's JUST not right.

It could be about little things like her taking the sugar bowl when we asked her not to, or literally lying about things. I can't trust her.

Also, since she showed up, I wig out when I see a white car that looks like hers. I flinch. I don't feel "safe" in my own house. 

I DO feel guilt for not telling her when she came that we had plans. It crossed my mind to leave the kids with her and continue with my plans, but then, that would be telling her that it was okay to drop by unannounced on a day when we specifically said we were not available.

She did this with her son Christmas day a year ago. She drove from TX to CA and then got to CA and called, "Can we come early? Because we are here now."

She did this when the kids schemed to get together a day early in DC years ago without her. She somehow drove 1500 miles in a day because she didn't want to be left out.

I don't know how to reason with it. My mom says to never talk to her again. I can't do that with my kids. And, I know if I'd never known my own grandparents (which was possible because of divorce and family issues), I would have missed out on something big.

But as a person, this isn't me. If any of my friends dropped by, or a family member, I would normally stop everything I am doing to be with them. 

I am watching "Spy Kids Game Over" now and the scientist just said, "How is he?" The other answers, "His brain waves are normal." I just feel like something is off here with her. I don't feel like her brain waves are normal.

It makes me feel off too.

Like, it went through my mind to give her the kids and continue to my Yoga class, but I called my husband and he said to keep driving, to continue driving. I left her in the driveway with her husband in her car. I didn't even leave her an explanation. Maybe I should have said, "Nice to see you, and thanks for driving all this way, but we have plans tonight. We can't see you tonight." But, I don't know how I would have handled her arguments. Looking back I wished I'd have said that even if I had to do it without looking into her eyes. If I'd done that firmly and left without giving her time to argue that might have been better.

But, that day, my boldness was letting my husband do the calling with her shouting into the phone. And she called and left a message as soon as she saw me drive off, but I didn't answer.

I was shaking with nerves and anger. I didn't understand what she was doing and I really wish I hadn't stopped to check the mail and read it. My GUT said something's not right. I even said it out loud. 

And, I saw her car. 

And now she's calling everyone I know and telling them different lies and stories. It's like she needs the tug of war to keep her "close" or talking to her family. She NEEDS to make people mad to keep the attention on her. Or she needs constant attention to feel validated. She creates this drama.

I remember hearing years ago that she drove 10 hours to see her brother and he didn't answer the door. She told everyone the story and I thought, "What an awful thing to do to one's sister." But, I realize there was more to the story. Her brother must have felt driven to that point.

I can't cut her out of my life, but it really makes me want to move...FAR away.. so I will be kept accountable for not depending on her.  It makes me fear that something may happen to John or me and I'll need someone to help us and it will have to be her living here and it will slowly drive me insane.

I've thought about laying down flat. Giving her my home. She could teach me how to clean in ways that make her happy or happier when she's here. My BIL says just give her her way. But he sees her 3 days a year, we see her 4 weeks a year easily (3-6 weekends a year).

I could give her all of me. This standing ground is exhausting and its not me. It's cruel to leave her in that driveway. Without explanation, I just DROVE off with the grandkids. 

I am surprised she didn't follow me. I don't know what I would have done if she'd done that.  Also, the kids were confused about why I was driving away.

It's like I can't give her an inch because she takes it all and I'm not dealing with normal here. And it's making me almost not normal too.

I am learning how to be cool these days, like at the bus stop with the other moms. I learned to bring a book so I don't appear needy for conversation. Oddly enough more moms approach me when I appear to not care.

And, I know I was approached by the neighbor when I didn't care and when I cared more, she walked all over me. That relationship is lost.

I've gone a zillion rounds with my MIL. From letting her talk for hours on the phone, pretending to listen to her, listening to her, believing her when she said she had cancer and not to tell anyone. It was "our" secret to be kept from her husband. That was 12 years ago and no sign of cancer.

And she spoke about religion and odd things and wouldn't let me off the phone. Or I'll ask her about the most easy thing to talk about and there's a long pause. Conversation won't flow.

I have laid flat when she's here. Letting her clean and tell me how to clean. Letting her coming over drive me to NERVES. It was easy being with her when I took antidepressants for those few months after baby and it was easier when she stayed in a hotel- -but she had a FIT when we had her stay in a hotel. She confronted me for 8 solid hours about that. I was 6 months pregnant and she cornered me a dinner, at breakfast, in between and around the entire day. 

But I can't handle the lies anymore. I can't handle the backstabbing feeling when she doesn't get her way. I am ready to go out to dinner with her and sit where we want, not wherever she argues against the waiter to sit.  Last time we found a seat it was perfect. A long table in a corner- -perfect for nursing a baby ( I thought maybe I'll get to actually eat too) and she didn't like it. As soon as we were seated, she said she wasn't happy and we had to tell the waiter to move us across the restaurant. Grabbing ten minutes worth of kids stuff, I told the waiter, "She's the mom and we do whatever she wants. I am sorry." It made me angry. Later she went on to tell the waiter her food wasn't right either.  Which is okay, but it was hard to watch the abuse.

I am ready to not have holidays with her because they tie my stomach into knots. Something's not right and I can't pinpoint what it is. I DO know that people I love won't be in the same room with her. My mom and stepmom, close friends too won't be with her after just one visit. So, maybe it's not just me. I don't like confrontation. I am a peace maker, but there is no peace here.

Also, I don't want her misfits to change me or my children.

Family is complicated- -especially when they don't feel like anything familiar. It's not me. It's far from the best of me. I drove away. She sat there yelling into the phone. She didn't get her way. I was numb, angry, shaking at the boundary she knocked down. Now, the four-hour drive from her house to mine doesn't feel far enough. It has shaken my security.

She called my BIL and is calling and on the attack. 

I feel nothing, just guilt and a little sad that I'm different now with her.  And I can feel her anger from four hours away. I dread the confrontation when I have to see her again. But, now I welcome to cold space of comfort.

 And I can't go back. I drove away. I drove away.

Boundaries

Reading the book on Boundaries again.. This time I am studying it like its the first course of a master's degree. I am devouring it completely. I am highlighting. I am taking notes. I am stopping to reflect like there's a test tomorrow and I've got to pass it to get my degree.

Every line is significant. I am taking my time. Third time's a charm.

After being so strong with the dog, obedience boundaries and working daily to not care about my neighbor's infliction on me, I was doing okay, then my mom came and then just soon after my MIL came in and tore all the walls down. Both of them bullied me in the same way. Within a day I was doing things their way and only their way, as if they really knew what they were doing.

It makes me angry, but the book is calling me to own my choices. I can't change their behaviors if they are doing something wrong. I can't expect them to change (and they can be really really bad. In fact my MIL doesn't even have friends, just family members that MOVE FAR away from her and people that really are disturbed by her. (It's really bad) ). I shouldn't be writing this. Maybe I should erase this part.

But, the book says I can't change her, but I can change the choices I make around her. I can change the thoughts I listen to when she's around. She doesn't have to control my thoughts or my choices. I can say no. I can disagree with her. I can move away in location, emotionally and mentally. I can also make sure that when she does come, I am not stuck alone with her. 12 hours one-on-one with my MIL was too much. I mean, after she left, for about a day, I was in a haze. I actually curled up in a ball and cried. She manipulated me. She took over my home. She abused me by putting me down for two solid days by corrected every thing I did. It was like the first five hours were normal. She was humble.

But, the second day was mental and verbal abuse, let me choke you with how I raised my kids and how to better do things MY way day. I found myself hiding. I didn't even clean my kitchen because she was coming through and cleaning around me, sweeping the floors and sending us to the bus stop alone so she could sneak around and vacuum my house and then subtly tell me the dog needed some "fresh air" outside.

I feel repressed, like a deflated inner tube when she's around. My mom does the same thing. She puts me down (see recent bully post). And, I ignore it because well, it's easier. She wants power. She wants to pretend she is in control, she wants to be the center of attention, etc etc. And, it's easier.  But, it's not easier on me. It KILLS me. It makes me uncomfortable. It represses me so much that when they leave, the worse of me comes out. I BECOME the bully. I spitfire gossip. I lash out for DAYS.

The book says I get to OWN my life, my decisions. The book reminds me that some people are gifted at manipulating people to give more than what they want. It is my job to set limits on what I give and set limits on what people can take. Biblically, I am not even supposed to give a gift without true joy.

It's a cruel form of honesty for me. But with my giving, very loyal "lab like" personality, I have a tendency to overgive. It's my nature to love with ALL I have. It's both wonderful and not-so-wonderful at times. It means letting go for me can take years. It's a steady job for me.

My goal this time is to say no and observe when I start to have those deflated feelings. When things were wonderful those first five hours, before the takeover incident, I invited my MIL back for Thanksgiving. I felt like I owed her for her graciousness. After all I was getting to see Sting because of her. She as being so nice. My hubby won't let me un-invite her. And, I've thought about trying to catch a stomach bug, but everyone tells me that's a little drastic. But, it does tell me something about how much she effects me and that I need to start respecting my own spirit.

My goal is to write down what I am feeling while she is here. I am even doing to try doing hash marks to the side quietly (because I know she'll be following me the whole time. Even when you are on the computer, she comes by to ask what you are doing. She asks if you are grading papers or "just surfing."

She expects the whole family to be together mostly the whole time. No space.) for every time she says something emotionally abusive and for every act she does that deeply disturbs me. My goal is to start to identify what she does, objectively let myself feel what I feel, and to stand up for myself either by speaking up or taking the situation back under my control by leaving or simply changing directions or planning a quick get out of the house activity.

One way, I'll have to figure out the mornings. Husband sleeps til 11 or so every holiday and that leaves me one-on-one with her from 7-11 and it's too much. So, I'll come up with a plan for that. I am not sure what. But the smothering she does is a great disturbance to my soul.  It's been four days since she's been here and I'm still shivering with agony that she's coming back. And, I am a very loving person. I don't even like to kill a fly.

So, I am learning to kills those flies that come about when someone comes that tries to 1. take over. 2 passive aggressively tell me that I am not mothering "like she did" (and her way was better) 3. avoiding the still moments when the conversation gets craftily changed to a position that disturbs my personal boundary. She's not my friend. She can't take or have all of me. This isn't easy because I love to give of myself. I love to help people. I love to share.

It's a large daunting task. Ironic but do I read the Boundaries book in front of her or do I cover the Boundaries book with another book cover so I don't have to discuss it?

Yes, fences can be confusing. But, permanent, once they are established. Digging up the new ground to plot them in is the toughest part.