"Life's Too Short to Waste Time"

A Confession or Two

There are a few things I want to confess as we begin this post. First, I originally promised myself that I would not post stuff about my dating life. I didn't want to use this forum to whine and moan over being single. I've been single for a long time now. I'm ok about that for the most part. Wait, rephrase, I can live with being single for the most part. Ok may be too strong a word. The point is, I didn't want to make this blog something that all you millions of readers look at and say, "Oh, Jess is flailing around about how she's single and and lonely again." Anyway, now I'm about to break that original promise. I would have continued my silence in this matter, but the story I'm going to share is just too funny. 

Secondly, I confess to having joined a dating website, OKCupid  last week. I did this because a couple of people mentioned it as some place where they'd met some pretty cool guys who weren't axe murderers or head cases. This is a big deal to me because I'm sort of terrified of online dating services. I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm going to be the user who draws the axe murderer who has been hiding on the site for years under the name "sweetgeorgiaboy" and who has been waiting for someone just like me to add to his list of women hidden beneath his staircase at home. Anyway, I like OkCupid because I can talk to people without having to pay a fee (there is nothing more frustrating than joining a dating website that is supposed to be free and then discovering to communicate with prospective dates, you have to pay a fee. Why should I have to pay a fee to talk to a stranger?)

"hello I'm bobby care to talk"

This evening, I got a message from this guy calling himself "bobby." He wrote a quick note, "hello I'm bobby care to talk".  Now, in all fairness, I generally am not motivated to talk to people who can't do basic grammar, but I figured he was using a phone and maybe he was a bit shy. So I messaged him back and told him that I'd talk to him. The conversation was a bit stilted at first. I'd write fluid answers worthy of a writer, and he'd write single sentence answers written as though Captain Caveman were behind the keyboard. 

First he was curious about my size (I reference this as one of the first things people usually notice about me): "What do you mean people notice your size?" he asked. This was interesting to me because (1) it was the first time he actually used punctuation in his writing and (2) it immediately made me nervous (I struggled with mentioning my size in the first place, but decided that honesty was in order. I'm now questioning my sanity in this decision). 

He admitted to liking women under 5'3". I asked him, "Why do you prefer women under 5'3"? There isn't a huge population of us around." Of course, in my head, I'm immediately thinking of all the reasons some guy (who is 6'3") really likes women my size. Now, before all of my beautiful over 6 ft guy friends who read this come crashing in and defending your love for us smallish girls, let me remind you that I love you and know that that many of you have wonderful, loving, sweet, and understandable reasons why you think we are awesome. We are perfectly awesome. Still, when I read that, I heard Jim Kirk in my head raising all systems to yellow alert. (I'll bet Jim Kirk likes small women too...wait...he likes all women...nevermind). I think it was the specificity of his comment. I immediately thought to myself that he must like us because he felt like he had more power over a small woman. 

His response: "Idk maybe I find taller women intimidating" (back to no punctuation).

The man is 6'3" and finds women taller than 5'3" intimidating?! Really? Really?! Has this man never been with a woman smaller than 5'3"? Has he never faced the wrath of an angry under-five-foot? Does he think smaller women are easier to control?

God help this poor man.

At this point I probably should have just said something over the top mean and blocked him, but I had time to kill before Grimm, and I was bored, so I kept the conversation going. 

He wants to know what I'm looking for on okcupid, which is pretty much like asking "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" By now, I've read his profile, and he, like most of the guys on the site are looking for a "woman who is affectionate, honest, and has a loving heart." Let's focus on being honest here because, hey, that's what he's looking for, right?!

I said up front that I wasn't looking for anything serious. 

Soon, however, it became obvious that my definition of "serious" and his definition of "serious" were miles away from one another (damned connotation). 

He jumps to "I'm going to be honest, I'm misunderstood a lot. [could be your run-on sentences, m'dear] What I'm looking for is an loving honest open mate" 

I'm learning that "loving honest open mate" usually means "I want to sleep with you as soon as possible. Hope you understand and don't care about building a real relationship."

He goes on: "When ever I describe what I'm looking for in a relationship and I get to the part about the physical part of a relationship, women somehow get the impression that its all I'm interested in" 

I asked him to explain misunderstood, and then observed that it sounded like he was looking for a wife. I then gently explained that I was not interested in getting married. 

Sidebar [not said to 'bobby']: Now when I say I'm not interested in getting married, let me make it perfectly clear at this point that marriage is not something I don't think about. Being married again could be good. It might even be the best thing ever. Who knows? What I do know [and this is what I said to him] is if I married again, it would only be if the guy was someone who totally knocked me off my feet, took my breath away, and was absolutely someone who I wanted to be with the rest of my life. I'm not saying that I want a perfect man. There are no perfect people (chose that word purposefully). David Tennant is married anyway (joking, joking--David, if you're reading this [doubtful], I wish you and your beautiful bride all the best). Anyway, I'm not looking for the perfect man or mate or whatever. I just want to be happy and my mate to be happy.End of sidebar

It's then we see where his being "misunderstood" begins. He replies, "Okay number one I am not looking for a wife a lot of women are uncomfortable with a live in long term relationship but that's what I'm seeking to start out with" 

Uh. What?! Let's rewind this a minute... "that's what I'm seeking to start out with"

I know. This is the place where I should have stopped the conversation. It's obvious that he is a man who in search of something very different than what I can offer him. Instead, I took upon myself to clarify why women my age (but I meant  women with any sense at all) misunderstand what he wants. I explained that most women my age are cautious at best and aren't going to just move in with a guy they've just met. He, however, continued the discussion with reasoning that a physical relationship is important or the two people involved are just friends.

Friendship is usually where good relationships start, bud. Just saying. He then told me that "life's too short to waste time."

After that, it became clear, as my friend Thomas later observed, that "bobby" was thinking he was a lion and I was a wildebeest on the arid plains of okcupid. What he didn't count on is me turning him down and making him justify himself for me. I had to tell him twice more that I wasn't the girl he was looking for [he failed the nerd test I planted in that statement too...he didn't laugh at my Jedi mindtrick joke...]. He told me he was sad to see me leave the conversation as I was an "exciting and challenging woman." It's good to know I can evoke those feelings with guys. 

He did say that he'd have liked to take me to dinner and have face-to-face time. He felt that most women cut off that part too early and there was no way to figure out if we had chemistry. It's sad that he doesn't get that he's killing himself right in front of women who might date him if he'd dial it back from eleven. 

"Life's Too Short to Waste Time"

I am in my mid-forties. I totally get how some people get this attitude of not wanting to waste time growing into a relationship, physical or otherwise. It's hard to be alone. It's hard to wait and be patient to grow into a relationship or to find one at all. One of the things he kept pushing in the conversation was that moving in was a perfect solution because (a) it meant everyone was in one place, so no dashing between houses and (b) if the relationship didn't work, no harm, foul, or legal ties.

As Amanda observed, this guy must have been burned badly.

I have to flip this around a bit though. Life is  too short to waste time and jump into living with someone you only barely know only to have to leave the situation in a few months. Life is too short not to want to take your time and end up with something better that will be long term.

Interesting AND Educational

So I told Amanda that while this conversation was disturbing, it was interesting (he kept me engaged for an entire hour) and educational. I felt like I learned a few important things here:

• My word definitions are sometimes different from others. Clarity is important, particularly when discussing relationships. "Serious" to you may not be reflective of "serious" to your conversation partner. Ask questions and be clear. 

• I know more what I want than I first thought, and I'm able to express those wants pretty clearly, even if the conversant in question doesn't want to acknowledge those desires.

•  If I guy says he's looking for a loving open relationship, he's probably looking for something sexual. That's ok, but not if that's not what you want, that's ok too.

I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this "little experiment." Who knows? It might be fun to have one "OkCupid" post a week here, just for the comic value. Life's too short to waste time not laughing about this stuff. 

Striking a Balance

I want to apologize for dropping off the planet for the last week or so. Last Monday, I reluctantly returned to work (land of the whining and desperate student), and quickly found myself turning energies toward things like dealing with students and other matters. Then Gina called me Tuesday night, and we began talking about how much she loved some of my writing (it means a great deal when your children value your writing or creative activities). She pushed me to pull out a play I wrote in grad school for a playwright class. It was a one-act play and she'd pretty much watched me as I developed and pushed out a version of the play back in 2009 (at least, I'm pretty sure it was 2009...still not sure about that). I spent the evening finding the play on one of my old flash drives, putting it on my laptop and on my Google drive and Dropbox, and then going back over the play because it was a long time since I'd visited with these characters. I was shocked at how well the play read after all this time. 

In all honesty, I always am surprised by my writing. I'm not sure why. I know I am a competent (maybe even talented) writer, but I still read my work and am not sure how that person who is representing on the page (or screen) is the same person I see in the mirror every day. It's a mystery. Still, the play was strong---until the last page. 

The ending was missing!

I freaked out. I texted Amanda. I probably would not have freaked out so much if I hadn't decided to enter the play in a contest where the deadline was less than a week away (the deadline was today). I remembered the ending I'd originally written for the piece. I also remembered that the readers in the class gave it mixed reviews. The general consensus was that it didn't work. At the time, I was frustrated. It was a perfect ending to me at the time. I was attempting to avoid something that would be too sentimental. I guess the consensus is what made me leave the piece so long. Maybe that's why the ending was missing too. I vaguely remember trying to rework the end, and getting frustrated and deleting it. 

Then I had an idea. I would let a few friends read the play, get comments, and while that was going on, I'd think on how to reconstruct the ending. I sent it to Amanda and Thomas, my game master, who was a real comfort when I first started freaking out about the ending. Then another friend popped up and asked to read as well (by then I'd posted an "OMG" sort of status on my Facebook account), so I sent Terry the Preacherman a link as well. I also added Gina to the Dropbox link because I figured since she'd prompted this madness, she should get to read my work too. 

I got several kind comments and one "Do it," from Gina. Thursday rolled around and I still had no ending. On top of this, I was EXHAUSTED!

Let me explain something at this point. I am not a nocturnal person. I never have been. This has curtailed much of my ability to become a party girl or to have many late night adventures (ok, that's not completely true, but it's pretty true). If I'm awake till midnight or beyond, there's usually a good reason---like my brain can't sleep, or, like last Wednesday night, I am gaming (BTW great game and a shout out to my fellow members of the Order of the Wednesday Knights). Last week, I had two nights of not going to bed till well after midnight. Tuesday night I was awake because my brain had started going strong after I found the play on the flash drive. I couldn't sleep. By Thursday night, I'm not really sure how I was functional. In spite of this, I managed to bounce ideas around with Thomas (you will get credit for this, I promise, man. Please don't kill Mezzy. Remember you love her.), and the ending scene was born. I say born. It was more like it sizzled right out of me in an amount of time I'm not sure I can even measure. It was totally different than the original ending. 

It made me cry. 

I never, ever cry over my own work. 

I passed around the completed version of the play for comments and help. I was not about to send something that didn't work to a contest where $600 was on the line. People were kind and helpful, and I am thankful for their help. Saturday morning, I sent it on its way. Now I wait. 

This post, however, is about striking a balance, right?

I find that I have a hard time striking balance, especially when my creative energy goes all over the place. This is why I spend some weeks knitting like there is no tomorrow, and then bounce over and work like a madwoman on my novel, and then work on this blog and post several times in a week, and enter contests, and tweet. I bounce a lot because I am engaged by several things. I am always impressed by people who keep an almost daily blog. I did it myself for a few years with Cult of the Invisible Woman (seems like a lifetime ago). It's difficult to manage being consistent that way when your brain goes a lot of different directions. 

And no, I do not have ADHD. I'm just interested in lots of different things and fill my life with those things.

I've worked for years to balance out everything, and have come to the general feeling that balance is not possible. Maybe that's okay. Just do things as you come to them and as you feel them, and as long as there is no deadline, you're fine. I've found that if I approach my life that way, I'm a lot happier and less stressed. I do have certain things I do at certain times, do not get me wrong. I am on a schedule of sorts. I grade at certain times and accomplish things on time (note me getting the play into the contest before the deadline). Still, I am working on not letting my many possibilities for creative activity overwhelm me. I'm just doing it. 

Maybe that's the key to everything. 

My Very Special Spring Break: Day Two

Invitation

A few weeks ago, Kathy asked me if I wanted to take a trip to Berry College during Spring Break. We have a mutual friend, Mark, who teaches literature there, and he had extended an invitation through her to come up and sit in class and then tour campus. I had no real plans, so I said yes. Even though I'm a Georgia native, I'd never been to Berry and thought it would be fun. 

Beautiful Berry College

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Berry College, it is located in Rome, Georgia, which is north of where I live. My only real connection to the college at all were via other people. My friend, Ed, attended and graduated from the college in the eighties. I once worked with a woman who was related to Martha Berry, founder of the school,and wore that relation as a badge of honor. Finally, Mark, who teaches there. 

Visitation

I have a love for college campuses. They are a place of comfort and home for me. If I could live on a campus (not my work campus...it's comfortable but not liveable), I would do so. Berry is everything I would want in a home college. 

As Kathy and I arrived, after an hour or so on the highway, I was struck by the rural, pastoral feel of the place. The long front drive lead us past fences where cows grazed and huge trees and green...lots and lots of green. 

We found our way to Mark's class...late. I found myself entering his classroom the way I used to enter classrooms when I was late. I was quiet, respectful, and made every attempt to slip in the back and not be seen. As the lecture and discussion proceded, I was reminded how much I lived for literary discussion, and how much I missed it. 

Then we visited his office, and then we wandered onto campus. 

When I say this place is full of magic, I mean this in the most serious way. There is so much beauty on this campus (it's the largest campus in the world...I mean, wow, right?). 

Chapel Window

Berry has the feel of what I imagine an English college would feel like. I think that's what Martha Berry must have had in mind when she dreamed the college and the campus and it shows. 

I found myself wanting to have an office that looked out over the campus. I'd open the window, which would look out over the green and the beautiful pools in front of the ancient looking buildings. I would write daily, teach daily, and then walk to my house on campus and have supper and maybe entertain friends. I could do this life. 


The paths beneath our feet were stone, and not smooth at all. It was very charming. I began taking pictures, mostly because some of the buildings reminded my of the city the novel I'm working on is partly set in. I snapped pictures for Melissa, sending them to her immediately with "OMG" and comments telling her what I was seeing through my fictional filter. 


We visited several chapels, and also the what is known as the Mountain Campus, which is 

Mill on Mountain Campus

three miles up a mountain. There is yet another chapel, and a pond. There is also so a mill that was built by students. It actually functions, and is used to grind corn once a year now. 

What struck me was the sense of peace and belonging I had there. The campus embraced me or I embraced it and I felt no sense of urgency, no pressure, not anything like that.

Instead, I felt energized. Maybe it was the sun or the spring warmth or the walking in nature. All I know is that when we drove away, I felt a sort of contentment. A contentment of having been there, and a contentment in being me in myself. The writer was happy and the woman was happy. 

We ended our visit gazing through borrowed binoculars at an eagle's nest, waiting to see one or both of the adult inhabitants rise from caring for their young. We were surrounded by people who had been there pretty much all day. They had picnics and camp chairs and cameras with high powered lenses, and they were waiting. I think they have something right here. They were happy and chatting about the eagles. There was no complaining. It was a party...over something natural.

Coming Home

The entire day was so worth it. I'm glad I decided to say yes and I'm glad I followed through and went. As we made our way back to 75 and to the world of Metro-Atlanta, I came to the conclusion that I need these sorts of adventures, especially since I'm in the process of transitioning from childhood mom to adult mom. It's moments like this that help me figure out and redefine myself. Maybe we all need to find those trips and those places and those people who can help us when we have to make transitions and relearn our way around ourselves. 

First Official Day of My Very Special Spring Break

Finally...Well, Not Exactly

After a long semester mixed with stress and bordom (yes, you can have both), I have made it to the ever-longed for, always highly anticipated Spring Break. This means that I am allowed to sleep until 7:30 in the morning instead of the customary 6 am that I normally faced with Monday through Friday. I choose the word "allowed" with intent, as my mother (superhero codename "Sleep and Eat Nazi') actually knocked on my bedroom door this morning and said rather loudly, "Breakfast is ready." 

As Dave Barry is wont to say, "I am not making this up." 

Now, in fact, I was already awake thinking of my day, reading Amanda's latest message on my phone with a David Tennant article and pictures (we are both HUGE fortysomething fangirls)--I was looking at the pictures, of course, and feeling a bit secure right there in my bed. 

Of course, my mother had been up since probably around 4:30 this morning. 

It would be really easy to get really frustrated with mom because of her desire to raise the entire household no later than 8 am. I work hard, pay bills, and sometimes, I just want to luxuriate in my own bed with no time constraints. I also want someone to bring me coffee and danish whilst I luxuriate in my own bed. 

Stop laughing, Amanda. I can hear it all the way over here. 

One morning, it dawned on my why my mother wakes us up no later than 8 am.

She's bored and hungry and lonely. 

Now most logical people would enjoy this pre-family time. They would make coffee, have a cup or two, read the paper, have some breakfast on their own, and be done with it. My mother, however, does not work this way. She reads the paper (if it doesn't come on time, it's a whole new drama--her day is in shambles by the time I'm up) and messes around in the kitchen some. Then she makes breakfast, usually while I'm up at 6 attempting to make Stuart's lunch for school. 

 I try to not complain much. She makes us a real breakfast every morning. Every morning. She likes having us all at the table even if all we do is sort of grunt while she rambles on about the weather and what she read in the newspaper before we were awake and what she thinks we should do during the day ahead. It's a nice thought, and I respect this choice of hers. Really. 

Just not on the first official day of my very special Spring Break. 

Spring Break: The Dream

Spring Break would be a lot different if I didn't live with the "Sleep and Eat Nazi." I would probably still be in bed writing this instead of on my couch fully dressed. Stuart would still be in bed,but he'd be snoring (yes, son, you DO snore. Don't kid yourself. I have video evidence.). Best case scenario, I'd have someone to bring me coffee and danish in bed. I'm not sure who that someone would be. It would be really nice though, and since this is MY dream, there would be someone (to be named later) to bring me coffee and danish in bed. 

My window would open onto a small patio where I could see the ocean and smell the salt air. This patio would have a hammock and a papasan chair. I might decide to get up out of my bed and drink my coffee and eat my danish on the patio while still wearing my pajamas. I'd read, take in the soft sun of the rising morning, and generally take my time. 

Maybe that someone would bring me more coffee. Yeah. That'd be nice. 

I'd work on the ever growing novel that is currently stored in my now slightly outdated MacBook (2009, late spring. Still runs like a top). 

No one would knock on my door, bellowing, "Breakfast is ready." No one would care how long I stayed in my pyjamas or that "things have to get done." 

Spring Break: Reality

Those of you who know me, know that I love my mother. She is the bomb. No one makes cakes, pies, and bread like my mom. No one sews like my mom. No one can love me the way mom loves me. No one is like my mom. I have this dream of a different Spring Break only because I just want to do things differently. I know some of my millions of readers will want to post, "Oh, you shouldn't whine about your mom. One day you won't have her around."

I know this. Believe me. I remind myself of this every time I want to snark or throw something at my bedroom door when she wakes me at 7:30 with "Breakfast is ready."

Still. It's Spring Break. I just want to meander into it if that's ok. 

A Prank a Writer Should Never Pull on Those Who Love Her

What Not to Say When Pranking on Facebook

So about two hours ago, this is what I posted as my Facebook status:

I turned in my resignation this morning and will commence Operation First Novel immediately. This is a huge step for me, but my patron (who will remain unnamed at this time) has assured me that I need to take this step. This patron has also provided me with my own house and has paid off all of my bills. Thank you all for your support in this endeavor.

At the time, I thought it was pretty outlandish and funny. Looking back, I probably should have said "Sugar Daddy" instead of "Patron" because (1) the term would have been exceptionally out of character for me and (2) at least one person would have gotten a huge laugh out of me using the term since it is his theory that when I say "Patron," I mean "Sugar Daddy." Even using the term "Patron," I thought that most people would read and respond as my dear friend, Jennifer, did by saying, "Sure you did." 

Now please (especially those of you who responded differently), do not think that I believe that my friends are not smart. I have exceptional friends. Surprisingly, however, people responded in a very different way that caused me to rethink this whole idea (or at least the prank part of the idea...the rest is still pretty cool). 

How My Friends Responded

1. "Awesome! I am so excited for you!"

2. "And what a great day to make a fresh start!"

3. "Wow! I need a patron like that!"

I sat in the parking lot of Firehouse Sub on Powder Springs Street and watched my phone blow up with well-wishes and greetings. As the comments started piling up, I began to feel sort of bad. This wasn't people just being naive. No. These people really want me to do well, and thought I'd finally found that person, that one person who would help me do what it took to climb to my dream. My friend, Crystal, called me on it, and reminded me that while it was a day for pranks, maybe this one was a bit too close to people's hearts. 

What was meant to be a moment where my friends giggle and roll their eyes, turned into a moment of "Oh God. These people...they believe in my little dream."

I was stunned.

How I Responded

So I posted a new status:

Ok, folks. I know that some of you are buying into the Patron/writer post I made earlier. 

It's not real. It's an April Fool's Joke. I wish it could be real (and yes, [add friend's name here]...I know...Patron is really a Sugar Daddy...I know), but for now, I'm still teaching, still living with Mom and Dad, and still writing when I have spare moments. Still, your kind encouragement and responses have been very cool to read. 

Please don't hate me. ♥

I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to tell everyone that their words help me know how much I need to do this project. Their love helps me continue to believe when I have nothing left inside of me and stare at a blank screen trying to nudge the novel forward. I want them to understand that as much as we writers like to pretend that writing is a solitary act, if we are honest, we have to admit that for our writing to transcend, it has to be supported and encouraged by people who are honest and honestly love the artist and his or her work (by honest and honestly, I mean that the people are supportive but truthful when a work is really awful as well being kind when a work has merit or is really amazing). I also wanted to tell them that those moments when they say simple words like "I'm going to pray that this happens," really mean a great deal because I know that when certain friends say this, they will do as they say. 

Emotional Crowd Surfing

Amanda Palmer (who is such the stuff...you should read her blog...amazing woman) talked in her TED talk last month about how she loves crowd surfing. She puts herself in the hands of complete strangers and trusts that they will not drop her or hurt her. It's really cool.

I know most of my friends in real life on Facebook (not all of them, but most of them), so this is not exactly the same, but the principle is the same. When people extend that sort of love and support over my success (and my failures or weakness...I post about both or all), it feels like I'm crowd surfing. The kind comments and prayers, the moments spent in private messaging, the laughter and the condolences lift me up and let me know that I'm not silly in my belief that my creative endeavors are important. All of this reminds me to believe and trust and work harder and try again and again.

I don't write to please my friends or anyone but myself. Let me say that. My creative energy does not depend on praise. My creative energy does, however, thrive on positive support and input and lots of love. 

So all of you who commented on my posts---THANK YOU! I may still be living with my parents and teaching by day and writing in the margins, and I may never get that Sugar Daddy Patron( ;-p , Jon), but I feel the love. That's pretty cool.