When this blog first began, it was going to be a way for me to write about the transition from a life of adjuncting to graduate school and my move up North. Well, life happens and things change, so this blog is now a reflection of those changes.
I don't like this blog.
I think one of the reasons I'm not very happy with it is because I started out with a set agenda, "This is what my blog will say. This is the purpose it will serve." I tried to model it around other academic-like blogs and tried to really put my 'academic' perspective on things. I tried to hard to be witty, to comment on things I thought I should comment on because they were academic-ish and to make this a place that was going to be intellectual.
Well, when you set out with an agenda it becomes difficult to make it always fit. Or at least for me, because I have a tendency to not want change or to not flow and be like water (Bruce Lee- what was that quote he used...).
So, inevitably, the blog's role had to change because I changed, but my mind was still fighting for this to be an 'academic' space not mommy/preggo central, or a place to complain and whine, or a place to post random snipits of my life. I think that's why here lately I've been avoiding it and not wanting to post. I don't want to post because I don't like what this blog has become, me. And I'm not always very happy with myself. Usually, I'm never very happy with myself. I am my worst enemy and critic. And I know most people would argue the same, but its different for me. I come from a family where my father is a perfectionist and as much as I'd hate to admit it, I am too. So, when this blog didn't turn into a hot trobbing place to discuss rhetorical analysis, or teaching, I became soured.
The other part of the problem is that I also have a tendency to compare myself with others. Big time. What is Sally Joe's blog about? What does Petey have to say about comp theory? Whats the hot topic at Four C's? How does Coco Joe tell a story? Blog's serve many purposes and it does give you a bit of space to focus on your self (for better or for worse) and when you read how things are grrrrrrrrrrreat for others and their moving and shaking and doing er-thing you wanted to, if you have a perfectionist personality and compare yourself with others, inevitably you began to doubt yourself and feel like a failure. That's just the way it is, for me.
So, a month or so ago, I really started hating my blog. I felt like I wasn't focused, committed to the purpose of why I started one in the first place (to record thoughts/emotions about transition). I also think that not having an audience was affecting me also. Most folks don't blog just for themselves, for some it might be that this is trully a journal, a private space, but I find that hard to believe. If you are posting on the net, you have to realize there is a chance someone will read what you have to say, and I think most bloggers want that. That's why you ask questions in your post, that's why you have a comment section, or a blog role. Because you seek a community. Well, I don't really have one, or rather I should say I feel like I'm on the outskirst of lots of different communities: mother to be, former adjunct, former phd to be, stay at home mom to be, full time 9-to-fiver, wife, writer-wanna-be. In some of these communities I fit perfectly, while in others I don't really feel like I belong. And much of that is my own fault, or rather my own perception.
So, with all that said. I'd like to announce that this blog is going-bye-bye. I'm changing. I am allowing myself to change and not feel like I have to stay with this form. I'm going to be like water. (Where the hell is that Bruce Lee quote!?)
Monday, March 20, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Top 10 Reasons why I love living in the South
1. Southern style sweet iced tea. (You ain't had tea until you've had it down here, its ice-box cold as my granny would say, and syrupy sweet)
2. Warm winter days. (This past weekend I've been able to sun myself because its been in the 80s)
3. Random small talk. (People, most of the time, talk to you like they've known you for years and are always ready to offer advice)
4. Food. (Mac and cheese made with REAL cheese and milk, fried everything, mashed potatoes, and the fact that we can serve gravy with every meal)
5. Sweet iced tea.
6-10. Sweet iced tea.
Ok, so I couldn't get to 10, but these do sum up rather nicely how I feel. I usually always have something negative to say about living down here, but this weekend I was trying real hard like to come up with some of the good points to being where I am.
I guess I could add family down there too.....
It would be easier for me to find reasons why I disliked it down here, but I won't even go there. Not while I'm sipping on my sweet tea.
2. Warm winter days. (This past weekend I've been able to sun myself because its been in the 80s)
3. Random small talk. (People, most of the time, talk to you like they've known you for years and are always ready to offer advice)
4. Food. (Mac and cheese made with REAL cheese and milk, fried everything, mashed potatoes, and the fact that we can serve gravy with every meal)
5. Sweet iced tea.
6-10. Sweet iced tea.
Ok, so I couldn't get to 10, but these do sum up rather nicely how I feel. I usually always have something negative to say about living down here, but this weekend I was trying real hard like to come up with some of the good points to being where I am.
I guess I could add family down there too.....
It would be easier for me to find reasons why I disliked it down here, but I won't even go there. Not while I'm sipping on my sweet tea.
Friday, March 10, 2006
So much...
The past couple of weeks have been nothing but constant activity. I've felt like I was on some sick ride that just wouldn't stop. Like when you go to those cheap carnivals and you know that the people running the rides are murders and stuff, just using the carnival get up as a way to travel from town to town, but anyways...I digress.
The activity started when I stayed home from work one day last week, I was not feeling well and my ankles were swollen. The only real remedy anyone could offer was for me to keep off my feet. So, I thought I'd have a relaxing day at home. WRONG. I settled in to take a nap when the dogs began barking like there were cats on parade in the house. They could smell the smoke. An arson investigator knocked on my door and told me to come out of my building. Apparently, someone had tried to set fire to the building in the basement. Yes, fire. Flames. Fumes. Smoke. Fire. In. My. Building. Where. I. Lay. Sleeping.
I of course had a panic attack and immediatley began the ever-so-dangerous what-if-game: What if I hadn't gotten up? What if my floors would have burned? What if this had of happened when I wasn't at home and the dogs couldn't have gotten out? What if this happened once the baby was born? What if there is a crazy pyromaniac in the neighborhood?
Once H came home, which felt like it took forever, but was actually only 10 or 15 minutes after I'd been asked to come out of the apartment, I just melted. We decided instantly that come hell or high water we were moving out.
Now enters next chaos, where are we gonna live? We've got 8 weeks until the baby comes and only 12 weeks in a lease.
No, that's not all of it. The next day I return to work, trying to catch up and get a phone call from my cousin. My grandma has been taken to the hospital. She's blacked out while driving and they don't know whats wrong with her. I panick again. Rushing out of the buildign and to the hospital I start the what-if-game again: What if she's not conscious? What if she had a stroke? What if she can't see forever? What if she isn't breathing on her own? What if I can't get to the hospital in time?
I make it to the hospital about 30 minutes later to find her wide-awake in the ER. Smiling and reassuring me she's just fine. The doctors say that want to keep her for observation, but they can't figure out what made her black out the way she did. She stays over night, more tests, more blood more, more waiting. And the next day I go back to the hospital to visit her and she's been told that they've found two suspicious spots on her scans. They can't say for sure what it is, but they do say the dirtiest word-cancer. They have to say it, or at least thats what they tell us, they have to warn us. It will be 5 days before we know for sure. She is in the hospital all weekend and dreads every moment of it, we all do. Our granny is the most active person I know and its hard to see her sit in a hospital bed, even harder to see her not know whats coming next. Finally, there is relief when the biopsy results come back and she's released, no cancer.
Now, a cooling down moment, I'm feeling better for us. But then, alas, the ride is not over, no, the carnival man has decided I should go yet another round. At my doctor's visit this week he announces that he thinks I have hypertension and that I could possibly be induced. Induced. In other words, a scheduled deliveray. My blood platelle count is also low, possibly another sign that I have hypertension or it could be thats my norm. More tests to come. I heard these words and yet again started the what-if-game: What if the induction doesn't take? What if it means I have to stay in bed and can't move around and do my yoga? What if I bleed and can't stop? What if the baby doesn't respond well to the induction? What if my uterus explodes? What if I can't take the pain? What if something happens to the baby?
The doctor reassures me that the baby is just fine and that there is still a chance I could go into labor on my own and not have to worry about any of this. I also learn that platelles dip a bit when you are pregnant and that if mine were severly low, they'd have but me on bedrest. Relax, everyone says, you are in good hands.
What if....to me, these are two of the most dangerous words in the English language when put togther. They can rip your brain and heart apart in seconds. Moving from one emotion to another was hard for me, but I think even harder because of the pregnancy. But there is something I realized through each of these events. I've got to let go of the what-if-game. I don't have any control over any of the above situations. All I can do is let God take care of us. Really, not to sound preachy here, but thats what I'm learning. As much as I'd like to think I'm in control of everything, I am not. I repeat: I AM NOT IN CONTROL OF EVERYTHING. I feel like I should write that 100x over.
So now, whats on my agenda:
Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.
The activity started when I stayed home from work one day last week, I was not feeling well and my ankles were swollen. The only real remedy anyone could offer was for me to keep off my feet. So, I thought I'd have a relaxing day at home. WRONG. I settled in to take a nap when the dogs began barking like there were cats on parade in the house. They could smell the smoke. An arson investigator knocked on my door and told me to come out of my building. Apparently, someone had tried to set fire to the building in the basement. Yes, fire. Flames. Fumes. Smoke. Fire. In. My. Building. Where. I. Lay. Sleeping.
I of course had a panic attack and immediatley began the ever-so-dangerous what-if-game: What if I hadn't gotten up? What if my floors would have burned? What if this had of happened when I wasn't at home and the dogs couldn't have gotten out? What if this happened once the baby was born? What if there is a crazy pyromaniac in the neighborhood?
Once H came home, which felt like it took forever, but was actually only 10 or 15 minutes after I'd been asked to come out of the apartment, I just melted. We decided instantly that come hell or high water we were moving out.
Now enters next chaos, where are we gonna live? We've got 8 weeks until the baby comes and only 12 weeks in a lease.
No, that's not all of it. The next day I return to work, trying to catch up and get a phone call from my cousin. My grandma has been taken to the hospital. She's blacked out while driving and they don't know whats wrong with her. I panick again. Rushing out of the buildign and to the hospital I start the what-if-game again: What if she's not conscious? What if she had a stroke? What if she can't see forever? What if she isn't breathing on her own? What if I can't get to the hospital in time?
I make it to the hospital about 30 minutes later to find her wide-awake in the ER. Smiling and reassuring me she's just fine. The doctors say that want to keep her for observation, but they can't figure out what made her black out the way she did. She stays over night, more tests, more blood more, more waiting. And the next day I go back to the hospital to visit her and she's been told that they've found two suspicious spots on her scans. They can't say for sure what it is, but they do say the dirtiest word-cancer. They have to say it, or at least thats what they tell us, they have to warn us. It will be 5 days before we know for sure. She is in the hospital all weekend and dreads every moment of it, we all do. Our granny is the most active person I know and its hard to see her sit in a hospital bed, even harder to see her not know whats coming next. Finally, there is relief when the biopsy results come back and she's released, no cancer.
Now, a cooling down moment, I'm feeling better for us. But then, alas, the ride is not over, no, the carnival man has decided I should go yet another round. At my doctor's visit this week he announces that he thinks I have hypertension and that I could possibly be induced. Induced. In other words, a scheduled deliveray. My blood platelle count is also low, possibly another sign that I have hypertension or it could be thats my norm. More tests to come. I heard these words and yet again started the what-if-game: What if the induction doesn't take? What if it means I have to stay in bed and can't move around and do my yoga? What if I bleed and can't stop? What if the baby doesn't respond well to the induction? What if my uterus explodes? What if I can't take the pain? What if something happens to the baby?
The doctor reassures me that the baby is just fine and that there is still a chance I could go into labor on my own and not have to worry about any of this. I also learn that platelles dip a bit when you are pregnant and that if mine were severly low, they'd have but me on bedrest. Relax, everyone says, you are in good hands.
What if....to me, these are two of the most dangerous words in the English language when put togther. They can rip your brain and heart apart in seconds. Moving from one emotion to another was hard for me, but I think even harder because of the pregnancy. But there is something I realized through each of these events. I've got to let go of the what-if-game. I don't have any control over any of the above situations. All I can do is let God take care of us. Really, not to sound preachy here, but thats what I'm learning. As much as I'd like to think I'm in control of everything, I am not. I repeat: I AM NOT IN CONTROL OF EVERYTHING. I feel like I should write that 100x over.
So now, whats on my agenda:
Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.
Friday, March 3, 2006
Week 32=8 months?
8 months. I just figured out on Tuesday that I am now entering my 8th month. How did I just figure this out? Well, with so much going on, it seems like time has just slipped through my fingers.
I don't feel horrible, but I am slowing down and feeling tired again like I did during the first trimester. My ankles swell a bit, and I waddle when I walk and need help getting myself up and down. My heartburn had subsided, but has now returned and wakes me up with a burning fire during the night.
But...I only have about 81/2 weeks to go until my daughter makes her grand arrival. And I'm sure it shall be grand. I'm doing yoga twice a week now and H and I attend birth classes every Friday evening. Its just hard to believe that this is almost over. Just when I was getting used to it, lol.
But what we have to come is even more spectacular I'm sure of. H sings and talks to her now, and she does thump and move in response to her father's voice. Sometimes I tap my belly and she taps back, we haven't started teaching her any intricate drumming rhythms or anything, but I'm pretty sure she's well on her way to being the SMARTEST KID in the WORLD.
I don't feel horrible, but I am slowing down and feeling tired again like I did during the first trimester. My ankles swell a bit, and I waddle when I walk and need help getting myself up and down. My heartburn had subsided, but has now returned and wakes me up with a burning fire during the night.
But...I only have about 81/2 weeks to go until my daughter makes her grand arrival. And I'm sure it shall be grand. I'm doing yoga twice a week now and H and I attend birth classes every Friday evening. Its just hard to believe that this is almost over. Just when I was getting used to it, lol.
But what we have to come is even more spectacular I'm sure of. H sings and talks to her now, and she does thump and move in response to her father's voice. Sometimes I tap my belly and she taps back, we haven't started teaching her any intricate drumming rhythms or anything, but I'm pretty sure she's well on her way to being the SMARTEST KID in the WORLD.
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