Nothing says “you’re old” like getting ready for a statistics test and realizing your calculator is older than HALF OF THE REST OF THE CLASS.

My mother-in-law sent me the cutest e-card this week.  I’d paste the link except then you could see her email address and I may not have learned much during my time on the Internet, but allowing strangers access to family that is allowed to hate you because you’re not blood related is a no-no.

Especially when she’s painfully aware you don’t plan on coughing up grandkids.

The card is a little animation of two…bunnies?  Cats?  Small, simplistic creatures with big eyes.  One green, one pink.  They chant and hooray for me.  And my favorite part is when they say, “You did some good stuff…we don’t know what it was, but it was good.  Do more.  More Good Stuff!  More Good Stuff!  More Good Stuff!”

What I love is that is pretty much sums up what the congratulations is for.  I got a new job.  How?  By doing some good stuff.  And the assumption of my new boss that I am capable of doing more of it.

Starting February, I will be working for the sanctuary.

Oh wait, I already do that.

I mean, I will be PAID by the sanctuary for doing MORE GOOD STUFF.  Specifically, administration/computer stuff.  We don’t have paid staff for animal care - that’s my volunteering position.  But we have a vast world on this here Internet and someone needs to corral parts of it.  And make spreadsheets of it.  And add to it.

I am very excited and frightened.  And of course, I don’t feel I can share any of that here.  Blogging credo # 1 - No blogging about work.

In fact, this is the second thing put in motion do to the idea that I can do MORE GOOD STUFF.  I have put off talking about because I wasn’t sure how.  But a month ago, I was asked to join the committee that runs the volunteer program.  (I guess I’d better do MORE GOOD STUFF, or else - as a committee member - I’m going to have to give myself a stern talking to.)

Some sanctuary people are aware that I blog.  One has even admitted to looking for the address.  For all I know, everyone from there reads because I haven’t looked at my site stats in months.  (Dear Sanctuary People, especially those not quite-so internet saavy, I can see your IP address.  Love, Jessica)

I don’t think I’m ready for this to be a public place where “In Progress” is replaced with my true last name.  While I always blog with the intention of being funny, or sweet, or nice, I would not say that I always blog with the idea that everyone in my real world is reading.  I’m not sure it would be any different, but I have too much other shit to figure out right now to give it deep thought or a test run or just let it fly and see what happens.

So, please bare with me as I get used to several new roles in my real life.  I may not be able to talk about all of it, but I promise I will try to be up to MORE GOOD STUFF.

Or at the very least, MORE EMBARRASSING SHIT.  Because that I can blog about. 

No regrets has kinda been my thing.
 
Especially during and after the divorce.  No regrets.  When you decide that despite the “til death parts us” vows, the carving station at the reception, the nearly empty registry, the social security card with a strange hyphenation, that you want to end a marriage – you’d better have no fucking regrets.
 
Of course, you’d better have no regrets over the man you smooched while you were technically still married.  And at the same time, no regrets over the marriage itself. Because if you did, what did that say about you?  What kind of person gets into a marriage they regret?  It’s marriage.  Not a car loan, not a too-expensive suit.

 
So yeah.  I said I had no regrets a lot.  And in time, I learned that I believed it.
 
Sometimes I think of how old Tom and I are and I wish we had met earlier in life so that we could spend more time together.  But…if we knew each other earlier, would we be the person the other fell in love with?  No regrets – we met when we did so we could be the person that we are so that we could be together.
 
However…I went to a musical last night, at the TBPAC.  And it led me to think of a certain situation.  And while I will hold fast to the “no regrets” until I die, I do believe I have a time or two in life that I wish I could call, “do over”.
 
It had been many months since we’d broken up.  And I say, “many”, because even then I was over the relationship enough to not count them.  Yes, it devastated me in the beginning – for many reasons (I’ve lost count of those as well) that perhaps did not have to do with the actual man and the actual relationship – but I was over it.  I had moved on.
 
Specifically, I had moved on to a second date with a man who looked much better in his match.com picture than in person.  Another writer.  Another theater fanatic.  Another momma’s boy?  I seemed to attract these.  But it was a second date and what did I know?
 
Actually, I knew a lot.  Too much.  I knew from the minute we pulled into the TBPAC parking garage that we were parked across from my ex.
 
I also knew that my date, this second date, did not have the confidence and moxie I required to strut in front of the ex.  So what did I do?  Made us run for the elevator and push the two-inward-arrows button until the doors closed in my ex’s face.
 
The second date was a fine man.  A kind man.  But he was not a confident man.  He had braces.  He hadn’t dated much.  He kissed like he hadn’t kissed much.  Although perhaps I hadn’t given him enough time – doesn’t it seem like everyone hasn’t kissed much the first few kisses?  The first time Tom kissed me, I thought he was trying to choke me with his tongue.
 
At any point, I knew I would be embarrassed to introduce him to my ex.  And so I didn’t.  I completely ignored, in an entirely non-ignoring fashion, that my ex was seated exactly one row in front of us.
 
Thank God it was an interesting play.  I could get lost in it – the acting, the direction.  I love a good night at the theater.
 
So when the second date asked at intermission if I wanted to leave I said no.  Because I didn’t.  I wanted to be the bigger person.  I wanted to say hi.  I wanted to see the rest of the show.
 
I ended up doing one of those things.
 
The rest of the show was wonderful.
 
I emailed the ex the next day, making fun of the situation and using a Shakespearean reference.  I mentioned I had tickets the next weekend.  He said he did too, but wasn’t sure which day.  It turned out it was the same day as mine – he bowed out and so I got to say hi to his entire family while on the arm of another date.  Although it wasn’t a second date. Perhaps the third or fourth.  With TG.
 
If I could have a do-over, I would confront him that night.  I would have been proud of my second date, not ashamed.  I would leave no doubt in his mind that I was over him – even if I hadn’t found (at least for another week) a better replacement.
 
But then would I be the woman I am today?  The one who got to meet Tom on-line?  And have a second date turn into a third and fourth and sixteenth and until death parts us?
 
I guess I have to stick with no regrets.

Number of dog poos I have cleaned up in the house: 3

Number of cat vomits: 3

Care to wager how many bottles of wine I will consume before Tom makes it back home?

(One of the reasons I did not attend the funeral is because he made it into a work trip, stopping at one warehouse on the way up and then continuing on to a second one to work the rest of the week.  I had the option to come along, but it would have meant skipping class all week, canceling my sanctuary commitments and stressing over everything I couldn’t get done from a Days Inn in LaGrange, GA.)

Sometimes, I am very glad for time to myself.  All the pillows.  More elbow room.  But I’ve found that my life really doesn’t work without him around.  I knew it was a possible pitfall of marriage, but I never really thought it would happen to me.

Me:  I hate to miss another funeral.  You’re family is so close.

Him:  Is not!

Me:  You have some vague idea of where all of your cousins are right at this moment.  I am not entirely sure what contitent one of my cousins lives on.

Him:  Point taken.

(I still did not attend the funeral; other scheduling commitments prevailed.  Lord know what perceptions this is leading to.  At the other funeral?  Tom was accused of making me up.  An imaginary wife.  Which seems to be a running theme for me.  Do you think being imaginary could get me out of doing dishes?  Perhaps I could call in imaginary to work?)

Not really sure what the title has to do with anything.  This is almost a free-write, but not really.  I decided I would post and then remembered a topic I thought might be sweet to share so at some point I will get around to that.

At some point.  We all know I require three paragraphs before I have ANY point.

It’s Monday and so far it’s been pretty good, which means great since anyone who sat in as much traffic as I did this morning and can still call their day “good” is either insane or lucky or both.  I always hear the traffic and wonder, “What street is that?”  I mean, I travel a long ways every day and on some pretty congested streets, but it’s been a long time since I hit as many accidents as I did today.  Three.

My boss, the only other person in the company who works from this office, is out sick so far today.  Since I remembered a few things I’d let slip last week, it was nice to get caught up on that without feeling the pressure of the real start of the week.

Things slipped past me last week because it was the first week of classes.  And the first week of “real” work in quite a while.  (I’ve been mostly working from home since Christmas).  I struggled quite a bit to find a class schedule I liked.  I’d come to really enjoy having some days where I wasn’t required to be on campus.  I finally settled on a statistics class that meets two evenings a week.  I’m not too thrilled about getting home so late, especially since the other three nights of the week I will feed at the sanctuary and not get home until late also.  But it seemed to be the best fit for flexibility in my schedule.  Now twice a week I can schedule myself at the sanctuary, or have a day to do chores, homework, etc.

In my 2008 goals, you’ll notice I wanted all of our pets to stay alive.  I didn’t mention our family.  That’s because I am still aware of the laws of science.  Both our families contain people elderly and fighting diseases.  Despite prepared for the inevitable, I was stunned when Tom lost two uncles in the space of two weeks.  I had met neither, and one can possibly be chalked into the “inevitable” category, but it’s still a rather gruesome start to the year.

Which brings me to my grandfather.  I haven’t mourned him much, in part because our relationship was a bit tricky in the end.  For one, he had been in pain and on pain medications for a good long time.  Most of when I saw him, he was irritated - either physically or with the limitations placed on his life.  Another reasons for our distance was because I believe he did not approve of my life change.  Quitting your job was a stupid thing to do in his opinion, and I respect that.  I guess I had reached a point in my life where my grandfather’s approval wasn’t the be-all-end-all, because it didn’t bother me that much when he was alive.  But now that he’s dead, I wish I could know that he’s proud of things I’ve done since.  It’s a vague wish; I don’t think I’ve made much progress in areas he’d focus on.  But I do wish he knew I was married.  It’s not a title or goal I desired, and it means little to me because I did not need the piece of paper to know I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Tom.  But marriage is something that my grandfather would understand as a way to judge my happiness and stability in life.

Almost every time I visit my grandmother, I come home with something.  Sometimes it’s something she just wants to get rid of and I can use.  But often it’s things of my grandfather’s that need a new home.  I try to find the right way to divest myself of them, although to be honest one or two things have simply gone in the trash.  (I did not see a used eletric razor, which apparently did not actually shave anymore, as something worth anyone’s time.)  Right after I post this, I’ll be heading out to mail his earing aid as a donation to Hear Now.

One time I took his old cameras.  I pretty much knew my father would like them - he’s worked in the photography world (both behind the lens and penning for photographers) off and on all his life.  I was able to give them to him in a fancy, 3,461 zippered bag last August.

In the back of my closet, there is another bag.  It’s an old leather camera bag, with just one compartment and one zipper.  I managed to put all its contents in the other one, so it is another item that will go just in the trash.  The leather is cracked and the zipper sticks and no one else would want it.  But everytime I take a whiff, it smells like my grandfather.  I almost wish it didn’t; that I could be free of it.  But it does.  And I can’t be free of it quite yet. 

What level of hell do you get sent to if you plan to seduce your husband with a mix tape given to you by an ex?

“So I checked on my beer, and some of it is carbonating very well, and some of it not so well.  It says to carbonate for a minimum of 7 days…I think I will let it carbonate 10-14 days.”

“At 7 days, why don’t you drink one of the most carbonated ones and one of the least and then decide what you like best?”

“You do realize you just suggested I drink 2 liters of beer?”

“Well, you married me for a reason, right?”

“True.”

I can’t really tell you how I feel about 2008.  I don’t think I was really ready to let 2007 go, but not for any particular reason.  The year was pretty shitty, July 13th aside.

I’ve been very happy lately.  And it’s freaking me out.  I was convinced for at least the past four years that I have mild SADD.  Now it’s looking like maybe I’ve been just in a foul mood for months on end?  Or perhaps the days upon days of ever-lovin’ sunshine are doing their job?

(Although if I had any say in it, I’d endure a little meloncholy if it meant Florida would see rain.  We are eating dust at the sanctuary every tour time as people drive up the road.  Ick.)

While I am only making one resolution this year*, I do have a few hopes for 2008.

For one, I would like a little more stability.  I know I would like to move on from the condo at some point in the future, but I don’t see 2008 as the best time to do it.  The real estate market is horrible, and we’re just not that desperate.  After moving to the apartment in 2006, then back to the condo in 2007, I’m done with labeling boxes, “Pillow, Bathroom Cabinet, Steak Knives, DVDS, Cat”.

2008: The year when all of our crap stays in one place.

Not to be hypocritical in my 08 dreams, I am also looking to shake things up a bit this year.  I feel the part-time job, part-time school, part-time volunteer gig has run its course.  The trick is, I have no clue which direction I want to take myself in.  I could look for full-time work.  I could just as easily decide to bite the bullet and apply for real-true school - a graduate degree - and focus on that.

Usually being undecided about shit like that drives me insane.  But strangely, I have a feeling that in the next few months things will take place that will make the decision a no-brainer for me.  

2008:  The year when I stop having to bring out a flow-chart when people ask me, “So what do you do?”

I would also like 2008 to be the year of better health, no dead pets, and dusting off my passport (weak dollar be damned!).

*My only true resolution is to recycle more.  In December I came to a boiling point with my local recyling center where they had changed around all the bins - excluding several key elements I had in my car at that moment.  I was so mad I did not let my doctor take my blood pressure 30 minutes later.  After Christmas, I went online searching for the end-all-be-all of recycling in Pinellas County and received a pleasant surprise.  The county is adopting new recycling methods.  Now there will be just “Countainers”, to include the previous-not-accepted tin cans, and “Paper”, which may be defined as cardboard, mixed paper, newspaper, what-have-you.

I have not actually returned to the center to see this grand idea in action.  But I decided that since they were making an effort, so would I.  This year, I resolve we will have less trash.  We will even save glass and recycle at the center down the road a bit since our center still doesn’t.

It may sound small, and perhaps too granola-y for some, but I’ve always recycled in that lazy when-the-bin-is-full-I-just-put-it-in-the-trash-because-hey-at-least-I’m-recycling-SOMETHING kind of way.  It’s something I want to change.

What are your resolutions?  Your hopes? 

Made you read!

Ok, so I have no euterus-shattering way to usher in 2008.  I had half-assed thought that maybe one of my resolutions would be to write more.  That of course would allude to a quantity of writing I was currently upholding to which I could add “more”.