Swamps of Sadness

I've found myself stuck recently when it comes to writing. I know a good writer just writes. But sometimes I am not a good writer. I find it more and more difficult to be swept away by my own imagination as the world around me becomes more real. I used to have friends who would build stories and characters with me—usually based on our favorite shows or video games. But those friends are gone.

I try to embrace the melancholy, to use it, but I fear more and more the sheer exhaustion that keeps me from doing so sucessfully. I know that the only way out of it is to keep trudging through.

I feel like Atreyu in the Swamp of Sadness.

Must keep writing, even if the Nothing devours all my hard work.

So lets get back to it. Lets finish something for once.

Coming Soon! AKA: Some Honest Talk about the big P

Hello Alice,

It has been some time since last I wrote. I've found a middle ground between the awful job I hate and the one I love. Through some trials and tribulations I am now working from home for the admin job, while continuing at the bus company.

But that is not the biggest news I bring you. Today I offer this: I am pregnant.

14 weeks pregnant (that's 3 1/2 months for those of you who hate the 'weeks' measurement)

It wasn't planned, but we're not unhappy about it either. Hubby is actually super excited which is utterly adorable.

Personally, I am scared. About a lot of it. But it's something we want. And millions of woman do it everyday, so it can't be that bad, right? Please let it not be as bad as I'm afraid it is.

But even my fears are tamed by the fact that I just don't have time to wallow in doubt. Because I'm too busy trying to balance work with morning all day sickness. I never knew it could be this bad.  All I keep thinking is "how did women in medieval times deal with this?!" Specifically the poor ones, who didn't have cooks or take out. I suppose that's one reason mother-in-laws were commonly staying with young couples.

And the hardest part is that most of my family doesn't understand. My mom (and my aunt from what she tells me) were both the "luminous" pregnant ladies. You know them. The ones who have tons of energy, whose hair and skin improve and who GLOW.

I was 10 when my mom was pregnant with my sister, I remember. She was beautiful and energetic, she never complained about any pain (other than the baby kicking her kidneys sometimes). She says she had bad heart burn at night, but that was about it.

So far into this pregnancy, I am miserable. I'm consistently nauseous, throwing up at least once or twice a week (once ever day on the bad weeks), I'm dizzy, light-headed, have migraines, (which I can't take anything for, because meds + baby =bad) I'm breaking out, can't stand eating some of my favorite foods, and I'm tired ALL THE TIME.

I keep trying to tell myself to hold on. the sickness should be over soon —it usually ends in the beginning of the 2nd trimester, which is what I'm in—some women have it much worse. Some of my friends had preclampsia, or prenatal diabetes, some were on bed-rest for the last 3 months of their pregnancy. It could be worse.

But all I know is myself and how I feel. And I just want to crawl into a hole and die—preferably while devouring mounds of food. I understand why Victorian ladies went into "confinement". I don't want to see people or talk to them. I'm especially sick of being asked constantly, everyday, in the most condescending tone of fake care "How are you feeling?"

I feel like I want to die, thank you for asking.

I've actually stopped being nice or polite in my answers. No more ambiguous shoulder shrugs, or "I'm fine". No. Now when you ask me how I'm feeling, you will hear how I'm feeling.
"Hi, Amber, are you feeling any better?"
"Nope, still nauseous and dizzy and miserable, all the time. Thanks for asking!"

"Hey Amber, how are you feeling today?"
*indecipherable groaning*

I'm sure when I see the kid I'm going to love it to bits and be super happy. But right now, I just want this shit over.

The Dream and the River

I had a dream, about 2 years ago now, which was so terrifying and emotional it woke me and kept me from sleeping the rest of that night. And unlike most dreams, which fade as the waking mind resumes the helm, this dream remained vivid over the months, and now years, since.

I dreamt that my (now) husband and I had found the perfect house. It was tucked in the woods near a stream and it was quirky and beautiful and everything we wanted. We had signed all the paperwork and stood in front of it holding the key. Our key.

Suddenly we were both swept away by a flash flood, away from our new home and into the river. We were carried away with the current, no matter how hard we fought to get to shore. We clung to logs and tree limbs and floating debris when we could, but we were eventually tumbled back into the cold murky waters to choke and sputter and fight. We never lost eachother though. We clung to eachother and took turns fighting the tide.

The river was long and winding, carrying us with it though we always kept fighting the current. No matter how the rivers path changed it always brought us back past our house. we would fight to get to shore, the water would bring us within fingers reach of the bank before swallowing us up again. Everytime I felt I could take no more, that I would break from the heartache of coming so close. But we kept trying. We kept swimming against the current. For months. Years, we swam. The water rushing us past the banks too quickly to catch hold.

Our families would stand atop the bank shaking their heads as they watched us drowning and fighting the tides, Though we would cry out for help they all turned their backs, telling us this was what growing up meant. That we had to pull ourselves out.

So we continued on, facing the rapids with nothing but eachother. Until one day my husband caught hold of the shore. He brought my hand to the bank and we climbed it together, slipping in the mud as the bank grew taller. When we finally crested the top, cold and soaked and out of breath, there was our house. Just as we had left it. Waiting for us.

And in the yard was a beautiful white dog with blue eyes. He looked to us, smiled and said "You've earned it."

Second Thoughts: Money vs. Happy

Hello Alice,
You know that old adage, the one about money not buying happiness? We all do. And at some point in our lives most of us are poor enough to think it is a load of horse manure.

Let's start this story at the beginning.

For the past few years I've been working part time—but for a very nice hourly rate—as a school bus driver. I have Administrative Assistant experience, but at the time all I could find was the bus company.

And I honestly loved it.
I loved working with kids without all the headache and bureaucracy of being a teacher. I loved the free time in the middle of the day to prep dinner, or work on crafts, or dedicate to my writing. And I brought in just as much as I had working full time. Sure I didn't have benefits, but once I got married that was solved. I didn't mind getting up and going to work, I looked forward to the new school years and loved the idea that when I had kids I could bring them along with me—and that makes my dream of homeschooling my kids closer to a reality. My bosses made me feel appreciated and needed.

We were still struggling, but no more than before. And loving your job goes a long way.

About a month ago my Mom called me with an offer. The company she works for was expanding and needed a new Admin Assistant. Full time, with benefits. My per hour rate would go down, but my yearly would go up. And I would just have to work in an office.

More money! And it's an admin job, which I have experience in. So I said sure, without a second thought.

Then the problems started gathering, before I even started.

Travel. I would have to travel across the state every week, taking a huge chunk out of that pay upgrade, and taking me away from my husband (and any future children) at least 1 night a week. I also would have no access to a permanent office. (My first day I spent at a table in an empty activity room, my second in a closet.)

Hours. There would be no normal office hours. Most days I would have to stay until 6:30pm—meaning I won't get home until 7:30-8:30pm. Which takes away any concept of dinner.

Clients. I was originally told I would have no contact with the clients—lets just say these people would fit in on an episode of SVU, and not on the cop or victims side. As someone who was a victim of a sex crime, I was (and still am) uncomfortable with this. But, the money is good, so why not try and face my demons? They're human too, and statistically they were all victims at some point.

Locations. I was told in my original offer that I would not have to enter the Prison, as this was an out-patient program. This was also changed. Twice. First I was told I would just have to go into the Administrative building. Then I was told I would have to go into "the belly of the beast" to do filing. The stark, clinical, hospital-like prison. To it's belly. By myself.

Fun Fact about me: I'm TERRIFIED of Hospitals. And a prison is like a hospital I couldn't even step out of to get air. Everywhere there are cages. You are trapped. (more reasons I will never commit a crime).

My first day in just the Admin building of the prison I nearly had a panic attack. I cried the whole way home because I was so anxious about having to go further into that place.


What makes all of this worse is knowing if I want to quit I have to tell my mother. The person who got me the job. She will forever see me as a failure (not that she doesn't already) because I wasn't "smart" enough to suck it up and do the hard job so I can make the money she thinks I need to be happy.

But the more I think about it the more I realize, I was happy. My etsy business was starting to take off, I'd started selling at craft shows and conventions. What if I could have made up what's lacking in my income by dedicating my time to my craft? I was finally getting inspired again by my writing (after about a year long schlump). I just handed up my dreams—for money. For numbers on a screen. I gave up my opportunity to have kids.

I sold out.

And I want to return it. I want to go back. Fuck money.
I want happy.
I want poor and crafting and dreaming and building a family. Because no one ever regrets following their dreams.