Me

So, I'm trying to land a job and I'm supposed to blog. I find this completely unnatural and difficult; though, I am an English major and former teacher. I've always thought myself more a technical/analytical writer. Give me a piece of literature to dissect, and I can work wonders on it even if I hate the selection. Give me a random topic and I can pull a decent five-paragraph essay out of it in no time at all. But ask me to write creatively or about me and writer's block ensues.

I guess to start I'll tell you about my past. I'm the oldest daughter of three of very young parents. My parents quit school as teenagers to get married, and I was born fourteen months later. They survived the odds and are still married which is more than I've managed to do. They are simply wonderful people! Having quit school and witnessed firsthand the struggles of working without a full education, my sisters and I were always pushed to succeed in school. When I graduated from high school, I was the first girl to graduate on my dad's side of the family. I am currently still the only person on either side of my family to have a Bachelor's degree; though, my youngest sister is currently attending college and will hopefully follow suit.

I am the epitome of the oldest child syndrome. I thrive on pleasing people. I will work extra hard to succeed to keep from disappointing people. My expectations are always much higher for myself than others and I think in the end I tend to disappoint myself more than anyone else. I'm working on recognizing I'm human and will make mistakes. ;-)

I won't lie. I feel a little lost right now. The last six months have truly knocked me on my rear and sucked any self-confidence out of me. In September, My spouse and I separated. I knew it would eventually come, but the timing threw me. I didn't see that coming. So I moved out, a Separation Agreement and Property Settlement and Child Custody Order were made, and I ventured out to live on my own for the first time. (I married young at twenty and went from living with my parents to living with a spouse). Just when I was beginning to feel comfortable with the new arrangement, I lost my job suddenly and with no warning in early December. It was bad enough that I was having to admit defeat in marriage. I didn't care for my job, but it was keeping me going and giving me a reason to get up mornings. Losing my job so soon after losing a spouse, that was the kicker that 2011 wasn't my year. I felt beaten up.

I am a mom. I have two lovely children- a ten year old boy named Matthias and a two year old girl named Vivien. They brighten up my world. And while I'm still struggling with being newly separated, when I look at them I can't regret anything about my marriage. It was meant to be so I would have those two perfect children.

I was a stay at home mom for some length of time with both children. During both I knew that it would be temporary. I was meant to work outside the home. I'm happier, more organized, and a better time manager when I have a job. I'm naturally introverted and won't seek out companions when staying home. Having friends at work are necessary for me. And I love the sense of purpose having a job then coming home to enjoy quality time with my kids.

As such, I want to find a job that gives me a purpose- that makes me feel like I am helping people and perhaps makes a difference in this world. I want not to get rich, but just make enough to provide a decent way of life for myself and kids. I want to *want* to come to work because I love the people who work with me and they appreciate what I do. If I can find those things, my life will be one step closer to being back on track and allow me to find the new me.

Elizabeth Edwards

I wish the weather had been nicer. I felt a bit guilty lugging the kids to a protest on a cold, rainy day, but honestly, I think I'd have felt more guilty later had I not. Something about the Edwards clan always touched me from the moment I first heard their names back in 2004 during the presidential election. Quite frankly, I thought the ticket should have been reversed and if it had, I think things might have gone differently, but who knows? Nevertheless, Elizabeth impressed the hell out of me. I was already considering law school. She helped finalize my plans. I'm not saying the family's perfect. Clearly there were issues, but who among us doesn't have issues? They were dealt some hard blows and lived not only to tell about it but tried to make things better for others so I respect that. So not to go do what I could to help the family of a woman who influenced my life just never really was an option.

It was a balmy 39 degrees and drizzly when we arrived, and the energy in the air was intense. Almost immediately, I could see Matt was pretty interested in the events. I had tried to explain what we were doing and why on the way. Seeing it himself helped a lot. Some kind strangers helped me hoist Matt onto a pillar so he could get a good view of why we were there. I have a nice shot of him perched on the pillar with a gal holding a nice sign behind him. We walked around a while, people and sign watching. When people drove by, they would shout or beep their horns at us, and the crowd would clap and cheer. Vivi joined in on the clapping. Essentially the goal was to be louder than the Westboro group to drown out their hateful words. I think that was achieved.

Shortly after, the bottom dropped out and it simply wasn't feasible to hold a baby, push a stroller, keep a hand on a nine year old, and hold an umbrella to keep us dry so we ducked into a nearby museum to dry off, change a diaper, and have a snack. Unfortunately when we came out, everyone had dispersed. But we were there. We saw those hateful people firsthand. We outnumbered them by the hundreds. And I think that says a lot.

What hit home was when Matt saw the sign "Thank God for breast cancer!" He looked at me and said, "That is the meanest thing I've ever seen." I replied, "That is why we came. We wanted this family to know that most people don't feel that way. We are better than that." Later we saw the equally incredulous "Elizabeth Edwards is in Hell" sign. To that Matt replied, "I know that's not true, Mommy." I know it isn't as well.

Bullies

All this news coverage of recent bullying suicides has stirred up a lot of emotions for me. It doesn't help that my lovely niece is dealing with this issue as a sixth grader moving up to middle school. It's so severe she's had bruises on her arms and she's scared to go to school. Bullies suck! It doesn't matter the reason why a person is bullied; the end result is the same. The victim feels helpless and hopeless, and that is a terrible feeling.

I was a victim of bullying on two separate occasions in high school. Both left me feeling hopeless and inferior and likely led to my issues of low self-esteem which I still grapple with today. Like my niece, the first incident was after leaving behind a comfortable previous school to go to a bigger, scarier school only mine happened in the ninth grade. It couldn't have occurred at a worse time for me. I was already dealing with vast changes in my life. To no longer feel safe at school was like the final straw for me. The girls bullying me made fun of my clothes, my hair, called me a goody-goody tattletale, blamed me for something I never did, and threatened to beat me up virtually every day. They were older- juniors and seniors- and unfortunately in my chorus class so I had to see them on a daily basis. It finally came to a head the day someone threw gum in my hair during the middle of class; I broke down in tears, and a friend had to cut a chunk of my hair out to get rid of the gum. I never told the teacher (or anyone really because I was scared); though, I trusted the teacher implicitly and know she would have helped. Such is the pattern for the victim; they're just afraid to speak up.

The second incident was far more traumatic to me because this time it was friends. To say I was a serial crusher and dater with no long-term relationships in high school would be the understatement of the 80s where I am concerned. But when I fell, I fell hard (for a very brief period of time). After a crush fell through in a particularly ugly way, alliances were created. The ones who turned against me turned hard. They were vicious. Ugly notes were sent. Threats were made. They routinely called me a cow in the hallways- once again, fueling weight/body issues which linger today. They called me other names- like airhead (arguably true but hurtful nonetheless), stupid, ugly, etc. Since, I was a fairly meek person, I rarely stood up for myself. I was truly scared someone was going to beat me up. I suffered from stress-induced asthma and missed school because of it. In addition, I also faked asthma attacks just to get out of going to school. I hated, absolutely HATED, walking the hallways. I never knew when someone might come up to me threaten me or call me names. For a long time, that three-month period was the worst experience of my life. That is no longer the case, but yet it's still a vividly painful period of my life.

So with that, I'll simply say this. Bullies suck ass! It's that plain and simple. If you have children, I hope you teach them that bullying is unacceptable- that they should never do it nor play any role in it. If you know someone is being bullied, staying silent and doing nothing is part of the problem. The only way to end this is to stand united against it.

The Power of Words

I've always known words were powerful. This isn't hard to grasp as a child. I would venture to say that most children learn it on the playground at some point. Oh, there are those special few who stay above the fray and get to do all the taunting, but I think most fall victim to words at some time or another.

Over the course of adulthood, I would see things that reminded me of that power, but it was mostly fleeting. There was the occasional "I wish I hadn't said that" or "God, why did I push ______ into saying that; I didn't really want to hear it," but generally it wasn't harmful to my well-being in any long-term way.

Thanks to the Internets, I became reacquainted with the power of words when I joined my first message board. This was a real eye-opener! I learned a lot about the power of anonymity, trust, and myself. I never thought I 'd be the sort to get sucked into drama, but boy I did. And in the process, I crashed and burned. Perhaps it was partially the timing of it all. It coincided with my law school debacle, and I wasn't exactly in my prime (to put it mildly). I did a few vicious, under-handed things, trusted the wrong people, and got blamed for even more under-handed things I never did. But still, I came out of it smarter, unscathed though with a bruised ego perhaps, and with even more on-line friends than I ever imagined I'd have so it was all for the good.

Lately, with the popularity of Facebook, I'm finding a new power in words, and it mostly has to do with syntax and choice of wording. I am amazed by the authority with which people brand others and things. It's made me even more careful in how I choose words. I think I was pretty considerate of others' feelings before, but I am definitely more so now. I don't know if it's not caring, thoughtlessness, or what, but I find myself having to just ignore the groups people join, the things they "like" or the posts they create or it would truly get to me. Perhaps I care too much about what people think, perhaps I give others too much power, or maybe I expect better and routinely find myself being disappointed by people. Or maybe it's all three. And now, I'll give you a few examples.

I would never ever, EVER, join a group condemning all Republicans. In fact, I am overly careful in making sure I only join groups mocking elected officials or people in the public eye. I have no problem voicing my complete and utter disdain for Sarah Palin. Likewise, I think it's funny that groups like "can this pickle get more fans than Barack Obama?" or "Can this poodle with an aluminum hat get more fans than Glenn Beck?" (I joined that one, heh heh) exist. What gets me is the number of my FB friends who have joined a group (or liked) called something to the effect of "Democrats are stupid." It's not referring only to politicians. I am a Democrat. You are talking about ME when you become a part of that. Likewise, I have never ever been so disappointed in so many people than when I saw people joining or liking that group that prayed for Barack Obama's death. That was insane. Yes, I remember who joined. I doubt I could ever forget. And yes, it forever changed my perception of the kind of person he or she is. I hope the "joke" was worth it. I am an opinionated person when it comes to politics. But I can safely say that I believe I am a better person than many I see on FB. I never once wished for George W. Bush's death even though I couldn't stand him for most of his presidency, nor would I even join anything proclaiming all Republicans are dumb.

Which brings me to my next point: debates. I *love* a few of my more outspoken conservative friends who can stay above the fray and debate me on issues. It has gotten more than a little heated a few times, but it's generally polite. I love that they counter me with facts and reasons for their beliefs and usually don't turn to ridiculous talking points. Conversely, there are at least two that I won't even bother with any longer. They are rude, condescending, and simply not worth my time. For example, during the healthcare debate, one wrote a lengthy post of their views. I countered with a polite view of mine. I wanted a good debate. I got a inane Fox News talking point du jour "Someone's been drinking the Kool-Aid." Ooohh, burn.... There is really no use in even attempting to talk to such people. Their minds are so closed a chainsaw couldn't open it. I know I have better people to talk to anyway.

Lastly, opinions... Everyone has them. What bothers me is the visceral ferocity of some. I don't like ZZ Top. It's really that simple. One day I might have reason to state this on FB, and I will do so just as I just did. What I won't say is "ZZ Top is the crappiest, most worthless group ever created." Why? Some of my friends may like them. Maybe I shouldn't care, but it bothers me a great deal when someone goes off on this diatribe condemning something I like. It makes me feel irrelevant or more importantly stupid because I do like them. But maybe, that's my problem. I don't know... Maybe I shouldn't care. But I do.

Sucker-punched by Song Lyrics

Have you ever had a song that just moved you beyond words? I have one that has haunted me for several years now. The first time I heard it, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Each and every time I hear it, I still think about this one event/person. I remember it like it was yesterday and have never gotten over it. I replay that evening in my head and try to imagine how different things might be if I had reacted differently. I froze. It's that simple. I froze and did nothing. I play the "what if" game in my head. It's not exactly about not being happy where I am now or anything like that because in some ways, I know I am where I need to be, and I mightn't have my beautiful children if I had made a different decision. The song just symbolizes a lost moment and the what ifs that resulted from it. It is simply one unforgettable moment in time. I know Linda Perry, the Dixie Chicks, et. al. had one event in mind when it was written, but wow, they nailed me as well. I wasn't exactly a kid as the song starts, but I was young and naive. This will forever be one of my favorite songs, and I doubt I'll ever escape the meaning it holds for me. Does anyone else have a song that gets to them as this one does me? I'd love to hear about it...

Voice Inside My Head

I was only a kid
When I said goodbye to you
Ten summers ago
But it feels like yesterday

Lost, scared and alone
Nothing I could give to you
I tried, I really did
But I couldn't find another way

And I want and I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down, I wonder
What would it be like with you around

So I, I made my way
Cold and roaming in the wild
I'm forever changed
By someone I never knew

Now I've, I've got a place
I've got a husband and a child
But I'll never forget
What I've given up in you

And I want, I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down, I wonder
What would it be like with you around

And I want, I need
Somehow to believe
In the choice I made
Am I better off this way

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down
I wonder what would it be like with you around
What would life be like with you around...

Paul McCartney

When I saw Paul in concert in 2002, I cried. When I say cry, I mean truly broke down in tears. After a myriad of concerts totaling at least 30 shows, he is the only one who has ever brought me to tears. I imagine there are two reasons, the first being I have loved Paul and The Beatles since I was old enough to understand music. I grew up with my rock-n-roller dad listening to music every Saturday morning. I didn't always appreciate his selections, but any variation of The Beatles or subsequent solo careers got a thumbs up from me.

The second reason I cried was my dad, and this will require some background history to understand. My disclaimer is you may not believe this story. It seems far-fetched. My grandfather ruefully told me this story when I was quite young. I was skeptical until I asked my dad and saw his reaction. Over the years, the story has been confirmed by my uncles, the facts have never swayed, and my grandmother told me about fifteen years ago it was one of her biggest regrets. So I have no reason to doubt the veracity. My dad was a Beatles fan from day one of their U.S. invasion. When he heard they were touring and coming to Fulton County Stadium in Atlanta, he was an ecstatic thirteen-year old. He listened to the radio for days upon days, won two tickets to the concert, and intended to take his cousin, Carl. On the day of the concert, no one would take them. He ripped up the tickets in anger and never got to see his beloved group. I think he always held out hope he would one day see them. I distinctly remember my dad walking into our living room after the evening of December 8, 1980. He could barely speak. He uttered these words through tears, "John Lennon was shot and killed last night." There was a defeated look to him, and I later realized it was twofold- he had lost his hero, and his dream of ever seeing his childhood idols was forever gone. Then December 1, 2001 less than a year prior to this concert, the world lost George Harrison as well. As I sat next to my dad at the concert and Paul walked out, I saw him crying and knew this was the closest thing he would ever get to realizing those Beatles' tickets lost long ago. Every emotion and memory he held of The Beatles came out at that culminating moment. And I felt it for him because I probably understand his love for this band as much as he.

I cannot define how much music and particularly The Beatles fuel my life. Seeing Paul McCartney for the first time with my father was my destiny. It was a bittersweet memory forever etched in my brain. Last night, I walked into the concert with my husband on my arm. Instead of tears, I had a ridiculous grin on my face as the show began. There was no regret- just excitement. And it was an incredible show- better than the first. However, I get the impression if I ever see him again, it will indeed be better. I think it's the nature of the beast that my rabid delight in all things Beatles will always find the most recent event the best. And trust me, if the opportunity arises to see him again, I will.

Song of My Life

I was listening to some Jimmy Buffett music last night. I ran across an oldie but goody "The Wino and I Know." I often forget how wise and philosophical the man can be when I’m listening to his more whimsical tunes, but he can be quite profound. The chorus contains the lines "It’s a strange situation, it’s a wild occupation. Living my life like a song."

That got me to thinking. What is the song of my life? If I had to narrow it down to one single song, which song would most represent what I stand for and how I’ve lived my life? It’s quite a daunting task! My mind immediately ran through a list of my favorite tunes- songs I can listen to over and over again while never tiring of them.

A myriad of artists crossed my mind: The Beatles, of course, which is no surprise to anyone who really knows me, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Dixie Chicks, James Blunt, Eric Clapton, Billy Joel, Jimmy Buffett...

While all of those artists definitely qualify as favorites, none had a song that shouted ME. I had to keep thinking. Then while considering "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" by Elton John, a single moment played back in my mind. I was nineteen and in my first year of college at West Georgia College in Carrollton, GA. I randomly signed up for a psychology class since I have always had a love of the subject. I had this interesting, off-beat professor named Anne Richardson. I found it telling that her name instantly came to me after all these years. We did a lot of writing in her class so I, of course, loved it! Once a week, we met in small groups for more intimate contemplations. My group leader, Becky, had us each bring in our favorite song, and we had to explain why we chose it. I brought in that Elton John song I mentioned above. Becky brought in a song I had just become familiar with- "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls. Upon listening to it more closely that day, it became a favorite of mine as well. I immediately went out and bought the CD and promptly loved the entire album. Well, actually, I believe it was a cassette tape, but the inadequacy of my media of choice at that time is completely irrelevant to the topic at hand!

I’m trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
The best thing you’ve ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it’s only life after all
Well darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable
And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I’m crawling on your shore.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.
To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend
I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I’d been the night before
I went in seeking clarity.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

We go to the bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout
There’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

This song screams ME! I’m the person never satisfied with what I’ve got or what I’ve achieved. I’m always searching for the next big thing to make me "better." I’ve spent a great deal of my life looking for something that was in me all along. I’ve looked through education, reading, religion, careers, many, many things. I wanted to be a teacher so I got my B.A. in English Education and started teaching. Then after figuring out that teaching wasn’t my calling, I dove head first into being a stay at home mom. While ultimately a great idea for Matt, I was freaking miserable and unstimulated intellectually on any level. Law school caught my eye, and I jumped feet first into that fire which ended disastrously and expensively. In my life, there has always been something calling to me saying "There’s more. You can do more than you are doing. You can be better. You are meant for more than this." It’s actually quite exhausting to be constantly searching for the single thing that is going to finally make me feel like I have gotten somewhere important, that I am finally somebody important, that I have made my mark on this world.

Jim fits well into this song for me, too. He is the goofy, kind man who above all else has always made me laugh. "The best thing you’ve ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously. It’s only life after all." He has spent a lot our marriage trying to convince me it’s okay to be goofy, silly, even strange and that it doesn’t matter at all what other people think. I’m the person worried about social norms and not calling attention to myself while he’s standing behing me walking like an ape trying to make people look. It’s pretty ironic really.

And in reality, the kicker in this blog is that it’s all completely meaningless. The source of my happiness is, of course, controlled by me, and no amount of success, money, or stature can guarantee happiness. Ultimately, I have decided that my time will be best spent figuring out what I can do that will satisfy me and make enough money for us to live comfortably and then spend my extra time doing the things that move me. Life is about passon and happiness- not stature. As the song goes, "The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine." That is I- getting closer to fine.

Law School

Candor is not my typical strong suit. I'm generally tight-lipped about personal stuff, but for the sake of my sanity, I am attempting it. I have never truly discussed what my year of law school was like or how it affected me. I can now safely say while looking back on that year of hell that it was the absolute worst year of my life yet it was also one of the most thrilling years of my life. It is hard to wrap my brain around these paradoxical feelings and figure out how to sort through them in order to completely move on with my life. I have been in almost a holding pattern while moving about my daily life since that day I learned my fate. It robbed me of my self-esteem, and in doing so I let it rob me of life; though, I am just beginning to see how much I have missed.

To back up for those unaware of my year of hell, let me explain. First and foremost, I am not trying to insult any of the incredible people I met while attending California Western School of Law. I am not knocking the school on the whole since I have fond memories of (most) of the professors and of the courses I took. Indeed, you are among the best things to come out of there for me. I still adore you all. In particular, meeting Rachel has changed my life. She is my best friend! I trust her with my dogs, my child, and my life! ;)

So where to begin… While staying home with my son almost three years going stir crazy, I realized I liked working and school! How strange! I am not the stay at home mom sort, and I admire anyone who can do it while maintaining her sanity. I searched my brain, soul, whatever, trying to decide what to do. I knew returning to teaching wasn't the answer. Something led me to law for likely all the wrong reasons; yet it oddly worked for me. Going against my non-adventurous personality, I dove head first. I picked up LSAT books, took God knows how many practice tests, signed up on the LSDAS site, picked a LSAT test date, the works, without ever having looked into law school in my life. Two months later, I took the LSAT and earned a perfectly average score. I was satisfied. I applied to all three law schools in the San Diego area. I was rejected by USD as I expected. I was accepted by Thomas Jefferson and California Western. I chose wrong!

Three weeks into my law school experience already struggling with being a mom and maintaining the vigorous full-time schedule and depth of reading, my son's daycare provider took him to Mission Bay to play with two other children. He wandered off crossing Mission Bay Drive, a five lane highway, so he could check out Belmont Park. He was two weeks shy of his third birthday. He was unharmed, but it was not exactly a great start for me. The next three weeks, I muddled through while searching for a new place for my child to attend and grew further behind. But I found the subject matter to be the most intellectually stimulating thing I had ever done with my life. I was conversely stressed out beyond anything I had ever experienced while equally mentally invigorated. It was an overwhelming feeling.

I felt I was playing catch-up the entire semester but dove into finals. With the infamous "law school curve," I came out with a low C-average a 73.5/72.75 (with legal writing/without legal writing). Seriously, Campbell's criminal law exam killed me!! Again, I was okay with being average. I never expected Law Review. I was aware of Cal Western's first year grade policy, and I did give it some thought. However, I never could have predicted what second semester would have in store for me.

Two weeks into my second semester, on my birthday no less, I learned my grandmother was dying. I went home to say goodbye. So once again, I began the semester by getting behind. The same evening I learned my grandmother was terminally ill, my husband informed me he didn't know if he wanted to be married any more. I didn't realize it then, but he was spirally towards a mental breakdown that wouldn't hit rock bottom until my finals week. So I was a shambles. I was mourning the impending loss of my grandmother while pushing maddeningly forward with school out of fear I might be a single mother in the distance future and needed a way to support myself. Needless to say, second semester was terrible for me. In March, I learned my husband was unexpectedly going to sea on two weeks notice (for five weeks) leaving me at home completely alone during finals with a three-year old and two dogs. That was the breaking point for me. I almost lost it. I dropped a class to lighten the load. In hindsight, I should have dropped two or more, but I received truly bad advice from a Dean, who up until the last time I spoke to her, denied she ever spoke to me or gave me such advice. I ended my second semester with a 73.8/73. I raised my GPA despite great odds.

Herein lies the problem. CW, in some absurd attempt to raise its rate of students who pass the Bar on the first try, found a thin correlation between grades and passing the Bar. This correlation shows that students with lots of grades below a 74 tend not to pass the first time. It in no way shows an inability to practice law. Anyone in law school has heard the saying "A-students become judges … C-students become trial lawyers." CW had in place a rule that any student ending his/her first year with below a 74 would be academically dismissed. As such, I was dismissed and to this date have no credit for the work I completed. Had I attended either other school in SD, I would have been allowed to continue in my studies.

The irony in all this is that law is a living document changing as times change which considers the particular circumstances surrounding an incident before offering a ruling. In a subject area which offers countless elements in order to prove crimes or torts as well as defenses and affirmative defenses, you'd think a school would be willing to allow a student one affirmative defense stating, "Yes, it is true I didn't meet the cut-off, but here is why…" Apparently "substantial justice and fair play" doesn't apply in the very place teaching the concept. CW allows absolutely no exceptions to this already unfair rule. It never took into account what I accomplished despite numerous obstacles. It is patently unfair that a person can do the work, pass the courses, and then be denied the opportunity to stay. In another ironic twist, I also knew I never intended to take the CA Bar so I never would have disturbed the school's precious bar rate. I knew I'd be moving very soon after graduating.

I left law school completely devastated, feeling completely broken and unsure of my intelligence for the first time in my life, and with absolutely no back-up plan of what to do with my life. I jumped into a paralegal program which I aced proving that I did indeed learn something in law school. However, that didn't fix the problem. I still felt like a failure. To some extent I still do. I want so very much to go back yet I am terrified. I have no self-confidence. I have spent the last five years beating myself up for doing my very best under extraordinary stress. It makes it doubly hard to forget when I pay the student loan bills for that year every single month as well. I can't get past it! Deep down I know I actually did not fail but that is little consolation. I was denied the chance to do something I desperately wanted and still want to do. It is a very lonely, empty place to want to do something with all your heart and be told "No, you passed, but you are not good enough for us." And that it exactly where I still sit today. The bigger issue is how to finally be released from that lonely place. Perhaps, writing this is a start…

Back to Jax

The hubby and I lived in Jacksonville, FL for six years- seemingly six long years. The early part of our marriage was riddled with problems. One might say stubbornness, persistence, and/or a general lacking of wanting to admit we made a mistake kept it going. We left Jax behind with very little looking back purely because it held so many raw memories for us. I left behind a few good friends whom I still miss dearly and some good memories but for the most part, it was rather ugly.

I have only been back on one prior occasion which was into Jacksonville airport on our way to a wedding on Jekyll Island. After the wedding, we drove back early and spent an evening in the city checking out some of our old haunts along the way. It was nice to revisit; yet having been only a couple of short years since the move still fostered some negative energy.

Now, I have had the chance to return yet again over twelve years later and found the experience to be far more pleasant. Driving down certain streets, I could see all the changes that had occurred immediately; however so much seemed the same. In a moment of simply clarity, I realized it was like looking at myself. In many ways, I can't even remember the person I was when I first got married and moved to Jax. I feel like a completely different person. And then there are the parts of me in which I feel haven't changed a bit and probably won't no matter how hard I or anyone else tries. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life when I got married at the ripe old age of twenty. It is rather nice to be able to look back and see how I've grown as a person while still maintaining many of the unique qualities that make me me just as it was nice to go back and see how the city I once resented looked so very different yet still seemed liked home.

Revolutionary Road

I just returned home from seeing this fabulous movie. Fabulous doesn't touch the surface. It was perfection. Inarguably, the best movie I have seen in years. I would even go so far as to say Sam Mendes is a fucking genius and surpassed the brilliance of his American Beauty- one of my all-time favorite movies. However, I am much puzzled by the extreme response I have had to seeing it. Now crying during or after a movie is no shocker to me; it happens all the time. I cried a few weeks ago at the end of Titanic after seeing it for the umpteenth time; I cry halfway through "Little House on the Prairie" episodes because I know what's coming; I am a crier! No doubt about it.

My issue is the amount of crying and the lapse of time which has passed without my having truly composed myself. I am still tearing up as I write this. It was a sad movie- no doubt about that. However, I don't think it's any sadder than, let's say, Million Dollar Baby, Juno, or The Prince of Tides, all of which brought me to tears by the ending. I seriously lost it during one scene in the movie and again at the end. I thought I had myself composed enough to leave the theatre. I was wrong. Walking towards the exit, I felt the water works coming and ran out the door to my car. I cried, no bawled, the entire drive home (a good 25 minute drive). The hubby called on the drive and I could scarcely pull myself together enough to talk to him. I had to brave a store to pick up dog food knowing I looked like hell. Now, here I am typing this an hour later, and I am not yet myself. This movie knocked me like a ton of bricks!

Okay, so I get that having had some marriage issues over the years that this movie is meaningful to me on many levels. I also get that the baby issues (I won't give anything away) are poignant to me having a child and one on the way. All that makes sense to me. However, I am still baffled by the extraordinarily over the top reaction I am having to the movie. This is so not me at all...

Anyone out there who has seen the movie, I am open for thoughts and suggestions. Or anyone out there who has ever had a seemingly strange reaction to a movie, I'd love to hear about that as well.

The Bitch of Insomnia

Here’s my disclaimer: If you are easily offended by language, stop here! If you are uncomfortable with the topic of sex, stop here (though the sex stuff is brief). This is my attempt at describing the rushing thoughts that come to mind as I am desperately trying to get to sleep. IMO, I have reason to use expletives in my brain as all this is happening, lol; if you disagree, so be it.

Oh, and before I forget, this is written from rote memory! I am in no waying proclaiming that this occurred verbatim, lest I become the latest James Frey crying on Oprah’s couch as she announces how disappointed and betrayed she feels upon learning that A Million Little Pieces wasn’t entirely true. This is the truth as I recall it! And by the way, A Million Little Pieces is a brilliant book regardless of accuracy so James I still love you! It is a poignant read for all- particularly anyone who has lived through addiction or knows somehow who has. And really now, who doesn’t fit into one of those categories these days??

But I digress... on with the rolling dialogue...

Okay, so it’s been a pretty shitty week, but it ended better than it began. That is something to be thankful about. Matt hasn’t had a fever since 6:30am. That’s good news. We all took the dogs for a walk which is great family exercise and pleases the dogs too. I just had great sex so I’m all relaxed; that’s a good thing! Aahhh, really great sex, can’t complain about that at all... Dr. Oz recommends how many times a week?? Is it three? I wonder how many people actually do that... I’d like to see the stats on that one... I wonder whether my sex drive is normal? What the fuck is normal anyway?? Dammit, Jim is asleep already!! How in the hell does he do that so quickly?!? I truly am envious of that! Envy- one of the seven deadly sins. Hey, it could be worse. Which one of The Canterbury Tales stories involved envy. The only one I can remember is The Wife of Bath at this moment, but that was a different sin. Okay, so anyway, I got a little exercise, I had really great sex, and I ate pretty good today. They say those are important- whoever "they" is! Maybe "they" was Dr. Oz too. I like him! And he’s totally hot too- nice-looking and smart just the way I like ’em! He is definitely my favorite part of Oprah’s shows! Maybe I’ll buy his books. LOL, I surely don’t have enough books yet! Yeah right! So back to food... Well, I did eat Totino’s pizza rolls for lunch- BAD idea. I was burping the damn things they whole time I was sitting in B’s waiting room while Matt was in therapy. I had grits and turkey sausage links for breakfast, Matt’s idea of course. For dinner, hhmm, leftover spinach and a Subway sandwich. My utter disgust in anything white and creamy comes in handy here. Mustard has far less calories and fat than its gross white counterparts. Is a disgust in most anything white and creamy considered a phobia? I do fear accidentally eating them. I compulsively check my food for it before eating anything, and I can’t even make a sandwich with mayo for anyone else. Anyway, can’t complain about the calories and fat grams I save myself! Dammit, I should have had turkey instead of roast beef, but well, I wanted a change. I did put almost every veggie on the thing. I wish she hadn’t put so much oil & vinegar on it; I asked for "a little" and she poured it on. Oh well!

Okay, quit stalling! Start the sleep techniques you got in therapy. I can’t believe I have a therapist! I never would’ve expected that one, but she’s cool. Seeing her calms me. I need that. Anyway, on with the toes doze! The paper said the average person gets to the knees. The last two nights I have given up after I made it all the way to elbows- not a good sign! Maybe practice makes perfect...

Concentrate on your left toes- only the toes. Let everything else fade away. Don’t move the toes. They’ll start to tingle if you concentrate hard enough and don’t move em. Cool, I feel it! On to the right toes.

Did we close the garage door? I’m pretty sure we did after the walk. We’ve left the damn thing open twice this week. No, I KNOW Jim closed it tonight.

Get back to the toes. Good, still tingling. Keep going. Left ankle. Still your mind. Only think of the ankle. Tingling... Good, right ankle. You can do this! Only the right ankle.

Did you pay the bills. It’s payday time again. Okay, Kathy you know fucking well you paid the bills yesterday, and not only that, but you double-checked today to make sure you didn’t miss anything! Stop it!

Right ankle. Good everything is still tingling. Keep it going. Left calf. Only the left calf. Okay, good. Right calf. This is starting to move along quicker. Maybe that’s good.

Uh oh, I haven’t given Doppler her incontinence meds the last two days. That’s not good. Poor girl has to have that regularly. These carpets are already shot to hell. We don’t need anything else on them. Whenever it rains, I can already smell the prior dogs who lived here. That lady was gross! The carpets definitely need replacing. That is the biggest obstacle to getting this house into awesome condition. Wait no! The fucking wallpaper is the biggest obstacle in this house. I abhor wallpaper!! Whoever invented wallpaper should have ended up shipped off to the Dry Tortugas with Dr. Mudd. Now there’s a man who got a bum rap! Poor guy didn’t know he was helping the man who assassinated Lincoln! And his poor ancestors still have to live with the phrase "Your name is Mudd" as part of our standard lexicon. That sucks. But Mr. Wallpaper inventor- for him I have no sympathy. LOL! Speaking of the Dry Tortugas, we really need to go back to Key West. It’s been way too long. What was it? 1994! Good Lord, we had only been married three years then. Wow!

Anyway, yeah back to the house: Get rid of all wallpaper, new carpet, new hot tub cover (or preferably enclose the whole thing so I don’t freeze my ass off getting out of it in winter), and get rid of paneling downstairs. This house would be practically perfect! It could use some landscaping too... It is still my favorite house we have ever owned. I do love and miss Pensacola, but I love this house. Hell, I love Raleigh too. Man, I really miss San Diego. If I could have that weather and way of life here with this house, it would be perfect. I had great friends in SD. That is the best part of my law school hell! I have so many regrets about law school, but I can’t regret the people I met. Rach, Morgan, Tejal, Deborah, David, Shannon, Jay... I wonder how they’re all doing? LOL, I know how Rach is doing. I talk to her everyday! But dammit, I wish they’d transfer out here. I swear I’d drive to Jacksonville every weekend just to eat lunch with her- a worthwhile two hour drive! I also miss my orange tree in my backyard and my neighbor’s lemon tree. I made really good marmalade from those! I wish I had some of my marmalade left...

Dammit, that was a rough tangent! The tingling is all gone. I’ll have to start over. Left toes. Right toes. Left ankle. Right ankle.

I’m going to make some cakes this weekend. I’ve never made red velvet. MawMaw makes her with less red food coloring and it turns out looking pink in the spring. That is perfect! What a wonderful idea for Easter. I can take one to work. I’ll make one for Jim’s work. Maybe I’ll bake one each for B and S to thank them for all their help so far this year. Seriously, I don’t know how I would be surviving right now but for them. They definitely came around at just the perfect time- serendipity perhaps?? Hhmm, I’ll have to make a practice one to make sure I can handle it. Surely I can. The base cake mix is the same as the yellow cake and the chocolate, and I’ve got those down cold. I can’t wait! I love a new baking challenge!

Oh shit, I did it again. At least the feet are still tingling. Where was I? Right ankle. Good. Keep going. Left calf. Right calf. Left knee. Right knee. Left thigh.

Oo, ee, oo ah, ah, ting, tang, wadda, wadda, bing, bang. What the fuck?? I am singing the Chipmunks’ "Witch Doctor??" What the hell is wrong with me? What time is it anyway? I have been lying here for over three hours, and I am suddenly singing a Chipmunks’ song. Dammit, I give up.

Just so you know, there is much more. I don’t believe I ever went to sleep last night. I really can’t see the clock without getting out of bed since the IndoGlo is dying in the thing, and I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and check every time I felt the urge. These are just a few of the things floating through my brain early in the night when I still had some sanity (open for debate) left in me. I don’t even want to think about what might have happened later on in the night! Heaven forbid!