A co-worker of mine told me the funniest story yesterday. She is nine months pregnant and she went to see her OBGYN yesterday morning. As she was getting out of the car, the baby pressed on her bladder so hard that she knew the pee was coming and there was no stopping it. In order to save her skirt, she just squatted in the parking lot and went! Her husband was mortified. I laughed so hard I was shaking.

My sister and I watched "The Two Towers" last night. Such an intense movie. Near the end, I said, "I can't take any more of this! Turn it off!" But we managed to finish. Whew.

Trying to decide whether to apply for a different job in our company. I HATE making decisions. I need to do it today, because I have to ask my bosses' permission to apply for it. I hate that too. If I worked somewhere else and was applying for it, I wouldn't have to do that. Erg. I know he's going to be disappointed in me. That's the worst. If he yelled at me, I'd stand my ground and be defiant. But being disappointed in me....that's the worst. That's how my parents kept my sisters and I in line. They never yelled. They never spanked. They'd just look at you with those disappointed eyes and tell you they wish you'd done better and we'd be in tears. Double erg.

One time, I tried out for some band thing with my french horn. I put off practicing until the night before, all the while my mother is "disappointed" in me. So I try out and make all "1"s, which is the top score. My mother actually says, "But think how well you'd have done if you'd have practiced." .....HUH?

Oh well, such is growing up.

Feeling much better about life today. Had a good talk with an old friend of mine last evening, got a good night's sleep and nobody has bugged me today at work. If they do, I'll just hiss at them. My cubicle mate does an excellent cat hiss impression, and I've been working on mine.

I'll write later if anything interesting happens.

Bad work day. It's just me. Well, no. It's not just me. It's the Grand Manipulator. But I should be able to suck it up and get on with it better than I am. Enough of that. Either I start looking for another job or stop complaining about it.

It was a hard weekend. We dogsat a very large wiggly lab-mix type dog. Sonny and Squirrel did not get along so well. There was alot of growling and snipping over whose chewy was whose. I feel very tired today.

August in Arkansas is miserable. It's like a sauna. I feel the life power sucking out of me just walking from my car to the front door. Yesterday the bank temperature registered 112, but I know that can't be right. It feels right, but it just can't be.

I just feel tired of life right now. Jason and I were driving to Walmart and I was spacing out, looking at my town. "Do you ever get sick of where you are?" I said. "Not really," he said. Jason really likes this town, but he didn't grow up here. I just feel tired and frustrated and hot. I watched "A Room with a View" last night. Very romantic and British. Helena Bonham Carter has awesome hair. Part of it takes place in Florence, Italy, where I used to live.

While watching it, I thought, "Why am I not there?" What happened to me? I used to be a world traveller, with the long flowing Helena Bonham Carter hair. Now I feel old and tired and middle-aged. I know alot of it has to do with my job and my growing distaste of it.

How do you keep passion and whimsey in your day-to-day life? How do you still keep the sparks flying with your husband, who you see day in-day out? How do you still embrace the mystery of life while you are scooping cat litter? How do you stay a world traveller when you have that house payment every month?

I put another picure of Orlando Bloom up in my office. Yow. My cubicle mate (a guy) teases me about my crush on Legolas, calling him a GirlBoy. I used to have a crush on Lance Bass of N'Sync. (who am I kidding. I still do.) But I have moved on to Orlando.

I think the reason that I have serious 13 year old girl tendencies is that I was never a real 13 year old girl. My depression hit in full force around that time, plus I was always afraid of letting my parents down. Deep down, I thought that included being a normal silly Bop!-reading teenager. So now I am free to return to my secret teenybopper roots. I love boy bands. I am attracted to Hello Kitty products. I want one of those little tiny pink backpacks that say "Princess" on the back of them. I wear headbands. I even have a pair of PowderPuff Girls panties.

And if I have a girl someday, I will let her buy Bop! magazines.

Regret. My co-workers and I were just discussing it. One co-worker is trying to get into the FBI, so he was lamenting the fact that he didn't go for this sooner than now. He actually wished that he had been more of a go-getter while in the Army and done alot of special forces training, so he would have been able to make a career out of it. My other co-worker wishes that he would have joined the military after college, instead of pursuing his floundering art career. I kept my mouth shut but thought about it for awhile.

I guess I don't have any regrets, but I do wish that my "career" in life would start. I'm not sure what that is yet. Maybe it's a mission or a goal or profession. I feel like my "professional" life has been on hold since college ended, while my personal life got itself started and situated, which I feel it has. I don't worry about my personal life like I did in college. I was always worried-or thinking- about who I would marry, where I would live, who my friends would be, yada, yada, yada. Well, guess what. I'm there and I am pretty satisfied.

The profession stuff took a real back seat while all of that was getting in place, which amazingly, I was fine with. I didn't have enough energy to fret about my wedding AND the fact that I am going nowhere in my job. Well, now I am getting anxious and wiggly, as are alot of people around me right now, it seems. Maybe I just notice those people more when I am feeling that way myself.

No, I suppose I don't regret anything.

Well, Squirrel pooped on the bed this morning. I hate that dog, and love him to death at the same time. He drives me crazy. Sometimes I secretly want a hawk to swoop down and grab him, then sometimes I am petrified that that will happen.

I just keep telling myself that I have got to give my carpet to God. Give up the control. I would rather have pets that I love, than perfect carpet.

Went to church on Sunday. I like this church because they do communion every Sunday. When I was a kid, I would walk into church and groan when I saw the little wine glasses out because then church was even longer. Now, though, I love communion. I crave it. I am willing to sit through the worship songs being repeated fifty billion times if I get communion. I am not a worship song girl. I like hymns, or nothing at all, truthfully. I really dislike worship leaders. All that, "Stand up! Sing to God! Sing like you mean it!" They are so bossy and demanding. It's like cheerleaders at a football game. I especially dislike worship songs that are filled with all that "Christian slang" like:

"I lift my hands to praise you" (of course, at this point, everyone realizes that their hands aren't up and staggeringly pops their hands in the air)
"We are living in the time of Ezekiel" (what? No, we aren't. We are living in the time of the internet.)
"I'm coming back to the heart of worship" (what if the person singing it was never gone in the first place?)
Anything with "jubilee" or "lamp unto my feet" or, even though I have grown to appreciate the songs of Rich Mullins because of my husband, I really dislike the song "Awesome God"

I wish we could sing songs from Godspell at church. Those really speak to me. "Day by Day" is a great song. Or U2 songs. I have gotten more out of "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" than most churchy songs.

Am I going to burn in hell for saying this stuff?

I just wrote a long post and it got deleted somehow. ARGGHHHHHH.

I'll try to remember what I said later. I am too mad right now.

grrrr.

My husband made a blog! Check it out!

Sorry for the meltdown yesterday. I'm feeling better, and I think I'm taking a personal day tomorrow to have some Ellen Time at Barnes and Nobles.

In other news: not pregnant. Not to get too graphic, but it's definitely official today, if you know what I mean. I'm okay with it, mainly because I prayed about it and God is helping me get on with it today.

Poll: Does anyone out there actually like their job? I mean, REALLY? I am counting you stay-at-home moms too. I really want to know, because maybe I am incorrect in assuming that everyone secretly dislikes their job, and maybe I should be seriously considering getting off my butt about finding something new.

Do you ever go through times when you feel like you just need to get away from everything in order to make changes in your attitude? I guess this is just my "bitch" week, but I am having trouble with my attitude this week. Especially at work, but I feel like I'm always here, and I can't get away.

I just feel really overwhelmed, like everyone needs a piece of me, and I'm about to explode. I just got another project dumped in my lap, by The Grand Manipulator. Usually, I just sigh and get the project and do it, rolling my eyes. This time, though, I feel like I'm going to cry angry tears. Sometimes I just want to slap this person. And that's a very rare feeling for me-- usually I get along with even the jerkiest of jerks.

The thing about burnout is that you feel that as bad as it is, nowhere else is any better, so why bother.

Vomit City. That is what my house was last night. We ate at Mazzio's, Jason had a salad and I (unhealthy as I am) did not. Well, guess who didn't throw up from midnight until six in the morning? Me, that's who.

Poor Jason. He's so miserable and he looks awful. I went home at lunch and babied him. He liked it. He grew up with a "Suck It Up" Mom, whereas I had an "Awwww Poor Baby" Mom. And I prefer the latter. I think he does too.

I also went home at lunch and took a sneaky pregnancy test. I just didn't feel like telling Jason about it while he was curled up on the couch. It was negative. I'm only 12 dpo (days past ovulation) but the test is supposed to be sensitive enough to detect three days early. I expected it to be negative, but I guess I'll try again on Friday. Mindy made me take one last Saturday because I told her about my Pathetic Scene and she said, "That's what happened to ME when I was pregnant!" It was negative, though. I knew it, though, because it was way too early, but it was sort of fun giggling about it together.

You know, whether I chart or not, "try" or not, worry or not, pray or not, I just think about babies and pregnancy all the time. I guess it's just the way it's going to be. I don't think I'm a freak. I think I'm just a woman.

Well, Volcano Ellen just erupted in our category meeting. We had another dumb meeting about how to plan birthday parties, birthday lunches, birthday cards, weekly meetings, baby showers and wedding showers. It just about made me want to vomit. I have had to fork over about 100 bucks since Christmas on showers for people at the office and had to help plan half of them. I'm just so sick of getting suckered into helping out with every little event in this office. So I said it. A little nicer than that, but filled with quite a bit of venom.

I felt bad afterwards, but honestly, give me a break. I have a life outside of this office and I don't feel like spending all my money towards people that I just work with. We have one girl who is a bit of a manipulative bully when it comes to this stuff. She always manages to get money out of me. Another lady pulls the ole' "Ask Ellen's 'opinion' a thousand times until she just gives up and helps plan the damn thing."

No more. I am not giving another dime and I'm not planning another shower. I am asserting boundaries. People hate Boundaries Ellen, because she's not the usual pushover.

They can just bite my butt.

I almost had one AGAIN. Another Pathetic Scene. We were out on the boat with the Grusings yesterday and stopped at the marina for air for the tube. Ducks. I saw ducks. I had bread. So excitedly, out I jumped to feed the ducks. Happily, I fed the ducks until Old Marina Man tottered out of his hut and said, very condescendingly, "Could I ask you a favor?" I turned around and said, a little embarrassed, "Don't feed the ducks?" Then he launched into a little speech about the ducks not being housebroken and they make a mess and blah blah blah, talking to me like I was four years old. I felt humiliated, like I was going to cry, sort of like I was outside my own ill-fitting skin. My friends and my husband were staring at me and I apologized again and walked toward the boat. He said, again, like I was four years old and not 28 years old, "You can come and feed the carp!" I said, "No" and tripped into the boat. The final humiliation. Tripping onto my butt into the boat while everyone stared at me.

I never EVER cry and I sat there fighting back tears for fifteen minutes. What is WRONG with me?

I just added another chapter to the Pathetic Scene File. The PSF is what my friends and I call it when you have a pathetic breakdown in front of complete strangers (and sometimes not strangers). Stephanie's infamous PS was when she was alone in New York at the Met and realized how lonely and scared she was in NY, whilst standing in the middle of the Egyptian wing. She leaned her head against the glass in front of a big mummy and cried. Shelley had one at a Writer's Conference at Baylor University when she had no friends to eat with and sat by herself at lunch.

Well, I just had a PS. At lunch, I took the stray chow chow to the shelter and decided to tell Joe, the director (who is also a pastor at church nearby), that I was taking a break from volunteering so we could start going to church regularly on Sundays. That was supposed to be it. Then he started asking really pointed questions at me-- "What is it about the church that you don't like?" "Is it you, or the churches you have attended?" "What is your mission in life?" "Do you want to be a full time mom?" "What are your gifts?" All of a sudden, I start crying my eyes out. And my friends can attest to the fact that I NEVER EVER cry. I cry when animals die and during sad movies, and that's about it.

I felt like an idiot. I said, between sobs, "I NEVER cry. What's wrong with me?!" I ended up pouring everything out to this guy that I barely know. My job. My longing to find a church family. My desire to have kids. I went through three Kleenexes. I said, "I really don't want to quit at the shelter, but I just feel like I'm supposed to..." And he assured me that God will provide for the shelter, not to worry. He also said that God led me to my job and I might not be able to see why until years down the road. Finally, he prayed for me and I left. He's a good pastor.

It was a total pathetic scene and now my eyes and cheeks are all blotchy and red.

I am having a bad start this morning. I just feel down. The thought of coming in to my passionless job just depressed the heck out of me. Plus, my stupid dog pooped on the floor, yet again. Goodbye, carpet, I will miss you.

I tell myself, "Nobody likes their job." But is that the truth? My husband likes his job...he dislikes parts of it, but on the whole, he likes it and fills fairly fulfilled by it. I just feel rather hopeless with it. Am I ever going to be doing something that I look forward to, in the morning? Am I ever going to feel fulfilled by my job? Well, it isn't this one, that's for sure. But I have no idea where to begin looking. I have no concept of what else it is that I would rather be doing.

The jobs that I've had in my past, that I found fulfilling, were camp counselor and preschool teacher, although both were tremendously exhausting. I loved being a counselor and tucking my girls in at night, braiding their hair, making sure they had their sunscreen on. I loved playing Marco Polo with the little boys in the pool, playing foozball. I also loved my little preschoolers...blowing their stuffed up noses and solving minor crises. Other things about these jobs bugged me, like preschool parents and bad attitudes and exhaustion, but the true job, I loved.

And I really do not love this job. It's BORING. I look around and think, "Am I making any difference at all in the world? Couldn't a trained monkey do this job?" I push around papers. I do a little design work, which I thought I would love, but I actually hate the stress of it. I return phone calls. I organize my boss's office. I try to look busy. I have to deal with marketing people, for pete's sake.

Bleh.

Jason and I had a really great weekend. We went shopping, ate Red Lobster, rode MANY MANY roller coasters, sat in a jacuzzi, went to my friend's wedding out in the middle of BFE (that's "Butt F***ing Egypt" for you non-hillbillies), watched "Comedian" (really good documentary starring Jerry Seinfeld), ate a very large funnel cake that make me want to vomit (then perhaps finish the rest) and made fun of Branson billboards. It was a good time.

In other news, we have yet another animal reject at our house. My friend who works at the camp that Jason and I met at called and said, "There's this pathetic dog out here and they're going to shoot him if someone doesn't come get him!" So we went and picked him up. He was the most pathetic dog I've ever seen. He's a Chow-Chow (blue tongue and everything) but he was completely and utterly matted up. I've never seen such matts. His whole body was one big black matt with twigs, leaves, burrs and TREE BRANCHES sticking out of it. We worked on him for four hours on Sunday. We finally got down to the skin and tried to shave him, but he doesn't like his hindquarters touched, so he's still poofy on the back. Boy is he ever ugly. Uglier than my foster cat, Lazarus, who, by the way, is quickly becoming the favored cat of the household.

Anyway, if anyone wants a pathetic looking Chow-Chow, let me know.