You Make Me Merry, Make Me Very, Very Happy, But You Obviously, You Didn't Want to Stick Around

I haven't heard from Goose in about a week. Typical. He'll talk to me every day for a week, then disappear for a week.

The sting of his hot-and-cold routine is dulled somewhat by the fact that I'm making more of an effort to meet other guys online. Unfortunately, I'm once again encountering the issue that the guys I'm interested in don't seem that interested in me. The website I'm using cruelly allows you to see that people have read the messages you send them and also tells you if your message has been deleted. Is that necessary? Wouldn't it be nicer just to let people think their messages hadn't been read? Anyway, there is one guy who seems interested, but I'm afraid he might be...well, a fucking moron. He confuses homonyms like stair and stare and wood and would. I have never seen anyone mix those up before.

Gone Fishin'

My most recent efforts at online dating are already going better than any of my past efforts. I've been called a "cutie" twice in 24 hours, which is a pretty good sign. Suck on that, Goose.

Good Times Never Seemed So Good, And I've Been Inclined to Believe They Never Would

With a loud sigh, I decided to dip a toe back into the waters of online dating. It has never really worked for me in the past, but I'm not sure where else I can meet a large pool of available men interested in dating. Mooning around over Goose is getting to the point where even I notice it's pathetic.

I don't know what Goose's deal is. We talk often enough that I know he is interested in keeping up some kind of connection, and I highly suspect (based on his previous statements and the amount of effort he expends on me) that his interests go beyond mere friendship. Even assuming that is true, he still has a girlfriend, and he still can't get it together to see me again until at least 2010. I have yet to read any dating advice books that suggest that this behavior on his part indicates that he is into me.

My expectations for online dating are so incredibly low this time around. I'm not really looking to meet anyone worth dating long-term or even anyone I particularly like (though it would be nice if that happened). Basically, I just want the sense that I'm doing something to meet someone other than Goose. I don't think I'll meet anyone I like more than I like Goose, but maybe I'll get really lucky and meet someone who makes Goose jealous.

Don't Harbor Love Like It's All Your Own

Lately, I've been getting rid of stuff like there is no tomorrow. I've taken so many bags of stuff to the thrift store that they probably think I'm moving in, and I have half of my possessions listed on Ebay.

Part of the reason for my liquidation of assets is financial. Even though I'm working, have refinanced my mortgage and talked sense into my student loan companies, I still have to use part of my savings every month to make ends meet. Seeing the amount of money in my savings account decrease makes me panicky because once that money is gone, it's gone. I'm obviously drawing on it more slowly than I would be if I were living off unemployment, but I still like to keep as much of a cushion there as I can since I don't know how long my temp job will last or when (or if) I'll find a permanent position. (There is something that really chafes about working for a living and still needing to live off my savings. Like, I can accept not being able to save money or even work on paying off debts, but I should at least be able to cover my basic living expenses. I mean, damn.) Simply put, I have more stuff than money right now, and I figure I can help out some people who seem to have the opposite problem.

The other part of the reason is more difficult to explain, or even to wrap my own mind around. I feel like this is a significant time in my life -- like when I look back from the end of my life, I will note that this was a time of great change for me. Obviously, some big things have happened to me recently. I lost my job, and I changed cities (again). Beyond that, losing my job has made me think seriously about whether it's time to abandon my previous career path and strike out in a new direction. A lot of the stuff I have -- both in nature and volume -- is suited for a life I don't have anymore. I used to imagine my ideal future as one with a lot of wealth and nice things. It's not that I don't want money and nice things anymore, but now I see my ideal future differently. I see it as one with simplicity, happiness and more time for things other than work. (While we're being honest, I also see it with Goose, but that's not something I have much control over.) Getting rid of so much of my stuff feels like shedding a skin, like I'm letting something new come to the surface.

Got Me Out Here in the Water So Deep, Tell Me How You Gon' Be Without Me

I need to meet some new people. By "people," I mean "mens." Sadly, I don't expect that I'm going to meet anyone that I love as much as Goose, but that's because I still believe Goose is the one for me. "The one" means the one. The only. That's it. But Goose is not available to me at the moment, and he might never be. It would be nice to find someone to pal around with at least.

It's an Echoing Empty Room Until Your Love Pours In

If I could have one superpower, I would want to be able to see the future. In some ways, it would be a terrible ability to have because you would see everything bad that would ever happen, and you would be powerless to stop those events from happening. At the same time, at least you would know. Not knowing what's coming is always the worst part for me.

I miss Goose so profoundly. I wish I knew if I would ever see him again. I wish I knew if he misses me. I wish I could see if we're going to be together in the future.

Young Teacher, the Subject of Schoolgirl Fantasy

I'm going back to school! It's nothing major, but I enrolled in a course to become certified to teach English as a foreign language. I was uncertain whether I should pursue this, but now that I've officially signed up, I'm really excited. Basically, I'm doing the course part-time (two nights a week, plus six hours on Saturday) for about nine weeks. Each session is supposed to be half receiving instruction and half practicing teaching. At the end, I'll receive my CELTA certification.

Since I was laid off, I've spent a good deal of time thinking about what I want to do with my life. I don't think I want to go back to practicing law at a big firm, nor do I think that is a realistic option anyway. Most of the big firms have cut way back on staff, and I seriously doubt they'll be back up to the kinds of numbers they were at before this recession for at least another five years. Besides, I hated it (except for the money, which was undeniably excellent). It's possible that I could stomach practicing law in another type of environment, such as a smaller firm or an in-house legal department, but I don't think I like law enough to make it worth my while to practice if I'm not earning mega-bucks. That said, I'm not in a position to foreclose possible career paths (especially those for which I'm qualified because of this expensive degree I'm toting around), so I'm still open to applying to jobs in those areas.

Anyway, a friend of mine from college had been working in Washington, D.C. for a few years. He tired of it, and he decided to teach English in Vietnam. He's been there for about four or five months now out of his six-month contract, and he loves it. He's taking a five-week break in November and December to tour India, and then he thinks he'll sign another six-month contract with the school where he currently teaches. He thinks I would like teaching English as a foreign language too.

That makes sense to me. I am good at grammar. I received perfect scores on all my standardized English tests in high school (IB, AP and three SAT tests in a row), so I must have a decent grasp on it. I also love to travel (a droll understatement), and this would give me a chance to incorporate work into travel and possibly stay in places a bit longer. Based on this year's romances (e.g., The New Guy, Goose), I think it's fair to say there is a decent chance I'll end up married to some foreigner, so it makes sense to have some kind of job skill that allows me to work outside the United States. I also think that if I choose to go back to practicing law, I can point out my public speaking skills have improved from teaching. So, it seems like a good move for me at this point, and I look forward to it. It'll be a good chance for me to learn something new and make some new friends.

You See Through the Dark, Right Past the Fireflies That Sleep in my Heart

Goose and I are back to talking. I missed him so much.

Clean Sweep

Since I started watching Hoarders on A&E, I have become fascinated by the topic. I have done as much online research as I can in the past few days on hoarding, and the more I learn, the greater my "a-ha" feeling becomes.

I can state with certainty now that my father (and my paternal grandmother) are hoarders. It's a mental illness that is just starting to be more understood. Right now, it's grouped under the OCD umbrella, but some article I read suggest that it might be re-categorized. It might sound strange to be happy that my father is mentally ill, but I can't describe the feelings of relief it brings me. All my life, I have carried around feelings of shame about myself that I wasn't good enough for him to love and feelings of anger toward him for not loving me enough. Now, I can accept the fact that he does love me, but he is also mentally ill and therefore unable to express those feelings in a way that made me feel like he loved me as much as I needed him to. It's not my fault. It's not his fault. And that makes me feel better because it removes the blame from the situation. I don't have to be angry at my dad anymore or beat myself up. I can just live my life.

The Shape of Things

A couple people recently recommended I watch the A&E show Hoarders because of my passion for de-cluttering, organizing and generally throwing shit in the trash. After watching two episodes online, I wish I could inject the show intravenously or at least huff it.

Despite my own aversion to accumulation, I come from a family that includes hoarders. My paternal grandmother (may she rest in peace) hoarded. She lived in a shack, and I remember it being full of junk. According to my mother, it was also vermin-infested, which is horrifying. My paternal grandmother died when I was eleven, and family lore has it that it required three visits from the sanitation department to haul away all the trash my dad and his siblings removed from her shanty. She kept things like empty compacts. (Heartbreakingly, she also recorded every cent she ever spent in notebooks, which, while not a sign of hoarding, makes me want to cry my eyes out. She had nothing, but she died with something like $30,000 in cash in a battered suitcase.)

My father also hoards. The man lives in a spacious home with a two-and-a-half car garage that has never had a car parked in it. The cars, which cost actual money, stay parked outside where they are exposed to the elements. The garage is reserved for coffee cans full of screws, nuts, washers and other assorted hardware items and bric-a-brac my father has liberated from other people's dumpsters and trash heaps. He has several boxes of stuff in the attic from my great-grandmother's house, and I guarantee you that while she may have been a lovely lady (I never met her), she was way too broke a hillbilly to own anything worth saving.

Watching Hoarders, I saw the most bizarre relationships play out among family members. In one episode, a woman's children had been removed from her home by Child Protective Services because of the vile condition of her home. She professed to wanting to get them back, but she was unable to throw away even a plastic cup that she probably got with a Big Gulp. I wanted to reach through the TV screen and strangle her for choosing a piece of cheap plastic over her two children. In another episode, a man's female life partner tripped over one of the numerous stacks of magazines piled on the stairs and broke her arm. This did not motivate him to purge his collection (or even move the piles), so his wounded mate told him that if he did not stop hoarding, she was throwing his ass out of the house. His daughter glared at him throughout his segments with ill-disguised loathing. This gentleman could not complete the purging process and was unable to make progress. His partner foolishly did not follow through on her ultimatum to kick him out and suffered a heart attack within six months of filming the show.

In essence, the hoarders chose things over people. Cheap, shitty things, no less. It's not like they were choosing a pile of diamonds over their children. It angered me to watch, but I also realized that the people on the show were sincere about their love for their families. The problem was that their mental illness prevented them from making the kinds of rational choices most people think are obvious, such as choosing people over things. There is not a single thing in my house I would not throw away without a second thought if someone told me I had to do it to continue having a loved one in my life, but I am not mentally ill (with this particular disorder).

Watching the show and realizing this about the participants gave me some insight into and perspective on my dad. I have always felt like he prioritized stuff and money over me, and I still think that's the case. However, I also believed that this ordering of his priorities meant that he didn't love me or didn't love me enough, and I now think that isn't true. My dad does love me, but he is also profoundly mentally ill and damaged, and he does not seek any help or treatment for it. He grew up stunningly poor in a home with an alcoholic father and a hoarder mother (there seems to be some link between alcoholism and hoarding, based on my informal and scant observations). His adult life has been all about establishing the control that was wholly absent from his youth and making himself feel secure. He defends vigorously against any threats to his illusion of control and security, even when those threats come from his own offspring.

For the first time in a long time -- maybe the first time ever -- I feel forgiveness toward my father. I wish he had recognized his problems and sought help, but I can now appreciate that he did the best he could considering he was parenting with a significant mental illness. (My mom always explained my father's shitty parenting by saying that he had no role model. I think this is poo-poo. Plenty of people can figure out how to be halfway decent parents without having had a decent same-sex parent themselves.) It would be like hating my father because he was schizophrenic to continue to hold a grudge against him.

At this point, I'm not ready to re-establish a relationship with my father. I'm not sure I ever will be. I'm also not sure I can empathize with his situation, but I can at least sympathize a little bit with it. At any rate, it's progress to go from thinking of my father as an unfeeling monster to recognizing that he does love me but has suffered from mental illness that made him unable to prioritize the way I think he should have.

He Blinded Me With Science

Holy crap. That is one hot nerd.