Another Way to Buy My Middle-School Book

I wanted to quickly post a link to my friend Tammy's website. Tammy runs a self-publishing business, and it was with her help that my Confessions of a Mixed-Up Weasel Hater saw print. Also, if any of you want to self-publish, Tammy is a really great person to work with. So explore your options at http://www.fameseternalbooks.com/. Click on "e-shop" to buy my book, and/or look at the others Tammy has published. Civil War buffs may be especially pleased.

Excuses, Excuses

Just wanted to quickly assure you that I am not giving up on blogging. I am going to have to concentrate for a while on my articles for Suite 101 so that I do not get kicked off. I have a quota to meet--8 more articles before September 28th or so. Plus, September 20, I start my class--one of my prerequisites for the nurse practitioner program. So bear with me!

Happy Birthday to Me

Two days ago, I turned 47. I had a great birthday. My co-workers prepared a "graze" for the day, because Tuesdays are often busy, and they didn't know how much time we'd have for lunch. It was a kind of breakfasty graze, with marvelous homemade cinnamon rolls that had chocolate chips in addition to cinnamon and walnuts; there was also plenty of cheese danish for everyone, tiramisu wafer cookies, and wonderful French roast coffee with a choice of caramel macchiato creamer or half and half. Plus, I got lots of gifts--cards for Starbuck's and Amazon, a lovely Celtic candleholder, lotion, and shower gel.

Driving home, I got phone calls from Jeanne, Tammy, and my parents. Throughout the day, I got lots of greetings on Facebook, and even a text (and later another gift card) from my ex-husband. Forgot, too, that I started the morning with an e-mail from Diane. Went to dinner with my kids (and is it too tacky/weird/optimistic to call Nathan my kid-in-law?) and had shrimp and lobster. Came home to the cake Lisa made me--chocolate with chocolate frosting, and candy-store peanut butter cups busted up and sprinkled over the top. Made a wish, but pathetically missed one of the two numbered candles. (Shall have to go back to praying, P! It's certainly not as though I'm giving up...besides, with any luck, I'll have more birthdays, and further shots at the candles...) Lisa got me a CD and a gift certificate to Torrid; Joe got me a lovely cameo bracelet and some black rose earrings. Got an E-card from P with lovely carnations on it. (He gave gifts on Sunday, and actually some before that.) Of course, Mom and Dad sent a check--I can't help being happy I'm not too old for checks from Mom and Dad. The check helped pay for part of my gift to myself. I got myself a brand new desktop computer--the first I'd ever gotten without Mark's help. (Nothing against Mark--he has always been generous about keeping me in computers and tech support. But it is really great to have something brand new!)

Thanks to everyone who helped me have such a wonderful birthday. I feel like the most fortunate person I know.

Career Goal Announcement

Besides wanting to become a successful novelist and playwright, I mean. Just wanted to briefly let you all know that I have decided (at least for the moment--who knows how quickly I might become discouraged?) to go back to school in order to become a nurse practitioner. More money, more autonomy, and the power to prescribe medication--what's not to like? I can't apply to the actual nurse practitioner program until next year, but I am going to be taking a prerequisite or two at Austin Community College this year.

P is for Pseudoboyfriend...

...and other things that are personal, but I assure you not intentionally for anyone's private parts or any alliterative euphemisms thereof. Not to disparage those in any way--but I digress.

I call him a pseudoboyfriend, because it's not really a full-fledged relationship even though I certainly consider him my friend. And yes, I have enjoyed carnal knowledge of him. Really enjoyed it, on several occasions. But it is especially not a full-fledged relationship lately, because his nonagenarian father came to live with him in November. Even before this happened, things were not normal. So not normal that I lost patience and went off and tried to have another relationship. Assuming anyone is reading this, I know what you're thinking. No, he is not married. He was married and divorced long before I met him, and had another live-in relationship, also long before I met him. I've been to his house, and there is no feminine influence, no womens' clothing anywhere on the premises. In fact, aside from the first meeting in a public place, I've only ever been to his house--oh, and then most recently at the writer's conference hotel, but that's another story. Anyway, I came to know him when he was going through a phase--a not-wanting-to-go-out-in-public-places-much phase. He likes to shop--no, trust me, he is not gay--but he always wears his mp3 player when he shops so that people don't approach him and try to talk to him. And having his father around has really cramped his style. In his earlier life, however, he was a world traveler, and went to operas in a tuxedo. He is still witty and urbane, if reclusive. He makes me laugh. For instance, when I told him I was starting a blog, I asked him if I could call him Mr. __(first letter of his last name--which, coincidentally, is NOT P...) in it, he said: "I prefer just P, like a Bond villain." I don't know why I found that so hilarious. For now, though, I think I'll close. I'll talk more about P another time.

preliminary

I am on the verge of writing about the gentleman I am somewhat involved with, and I feel the need to explain a few things first. It is possible that an old boyfriend could see this blog--frankly, I hope not--and get his feelings hurt. I did have a boyfriend who was kind to me, wanted to be a big part of my life, and told me constantly how wonderful I was. And it was nice, for a change. If he does see this, and the subsequent post about the other gentleman, he will wonder what the hell is wrong with me. He will conclude I exemplify every negative stereotype about women--i.e., we don't want the GOOD guys, the NICE ones. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm an idiot. My only defense, if there is one, is that the heart wants what it wants.

A secondary defense, I guess, is that I've never been good at blending my life with another human being's. My kids still need me, and probably will for at least a few more years. I don't really feel comfortable inflicting other people on them. My old boyfriend wanted to share everything, including the members of our respective families. I wasn't ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, with anyone. It didn't work out in my marriage--was probably even a contributing factor in that marriage's failure. My ex-husband didn't particularly suck, either. Or, as Lisa (my daughter) would say--"at least not for free."

Already

I am already having to apologize for being a lazy blogger. I am experiencing one of those dark Sundays of the soul. Sometimes I have difficult Sundays, knowing Monday is coming and I have to go back to work. I'm grateful for my job. But what started out as the cushiest nursing job I'd ever experienced has turned into a situation where I feel like I am always rushed and that the powers that be are trying to get as much work out of me as humanly possible. Of course, Lisa would ask right now if I wanted to order a cake for my pity party. Yes, chocolate with ice cream.

I also have writing deadlines that I don't feel like meeting. Just feeling generally recalcitrant. Which, Lisa assures me, sounds like "something they give to people with bad bones." Lazy bones, maybe. Am also gearing up for some decisions, and to write something fairly personal in the next blog or two.