Wazzup?!

Hey, peeps, out there in the world somewhere . . .

I've been gone for some time now, mostly because I really felt confused over what I could safely write about. Allow me to explain, as briefly as I can. My husband works in television, and although there are dozens of stations around the country and my blog is so seldom read, the community is actually very small. It wouldn't take much for someone to put pieces together and determine his identity. So, when the biggest news in my life has to do with clandestine job interviews, a possible interstate move, secret freelance work for competing networks, there isn't much I can blog about. I could easily get him in trouble at work, sabotage his work relationships, and other consequences I haven't even considered. While I think the risk is small, my husband isn't comfortable with my big mouth and the internet, and when his job and our livelihood are at stake, I suppose I can understand that.

So, as life became more stressful, I became more and more withdrawn. With my family hundreds of miles away in San Antonio, there weren't people I could easily confide in. That's where my blog would fill in the gap, or the playgroups my son and I have joined, but since I couldn't blog and I felt like an alien among the moms in the playgroups here, I didn't feel like I had anyone to talk to. No one could help. So I went to therapy. My medications were tinkered with. But to no avail. I've just been bummed and stressed. 'Nuff said.

The biggest news of all is that I will finally be getting out of this place, this tiny backwater of a town, this ultra-Conservative haven, this boring contradiction to the word "wonderland" I call Fort Worth-less. I really haven't liked it here. I do NOT like living in Fort Worth. True, you can live well here on less income. But when all there is to do here is eat mediocre food at mediocre restaurants, go to bars and listen to country & western music, and possibly attend a NASCAR event, I get BORED! Yes, BORED with all capital letters! I visited my family after my husband left, and slept happily (if awkwardly) on the floor of my mom's tiny apartment in San Antonio, ate great food, tried new things, and introduced my son to some of the fun places in the town where I grew up.

So, where are we moving? It seems strange to me in some ways, and not in others. Since he's in television, my husband got a job in Los Angeles! I'm excited to be leaving Fort Worth, but nervous about the impending culture-shock of moving to California. There are mostly stereotypes I'm worried about, which I know a person can't and shouldn't rely on. But the snobbiness, the self-importance of Angelenos, the flakiness, the smog, the congestion and traffic, the rudeness . . . Those are the things I am nervous about. I don't normally fit in among materialistic or conceited people. I hope it's only a stereotype and not a truth. We'll see, I suppose. So neither I nor those in my family are thrilled over Los Angeles as our future home, but it has seemed inevitable for some time now. In television, you end up in Los Angeles or New York eventually, if you want to reach higher points in your career. You can find exceptions to that rule, but not often.

It's strange, but visiting there a long time ago, in my early 20s, I didn't really like it much. I was only there for a short time. But driving was frightening, people were rude, and it seemed dirty. I didn't like it. But I remember saying to my sister that I thought I would end up coming back there someday. Who knows? Maybe I foresaw this part of my life. It's weird that I would have a premonition like that about I place I didn't even enjoy vacationing, but I did.

My hubby C is already there, been working for about a month now. Our house now has an offer on it and we're looking for apartments or houses we can rent reasonably for all three of us and our little dog. Hopefully we'll be together by the middle of April. In the meantime, I'm wearing a path in the asphalt between here and San Antonio, taking care of my son more like a single mom, and gaining weight on my newly discovered love of gelato, and hibernating in my home dry from all of the wet weather, putting minutes on my stupid pay-as-you-go phone . . . But hopefully it's all for a good cause, a better future for our family, better pay even with the higher cost of living, and opportunities galore. Maybe I'll finally get an iPhone! :)

Well, I'll have to post more later. I've typed a novel already. Should anyone know to read this, I'll write more about it later. Should be interesting to see how a Texan makes it in the urban jungle of Los Angeles. Culture shock. Yeah.

Take care, all, and I'll blog ya later!
R

OK to Blog?

Using the term "blog" as a verb here . . .

So when is it okay to blog about your life when it involves someone else? That's the question on my mind at the moment. There seems to be a line that must be invisible, because I swear I can't see it sometimes.

For example, I'm sure it's okay to blog about my grandmother, if she falls down and breaks her wrist, as she actually did last week. It's one of those things that happens, maybe that person is upset but not embarrassed about it, and it is an event or happening that is on my mind. I worry about her, worry how her surgery went, how she'll heal, how she's handling the anxiety afterward. It doesn't seem to be something in the "gray" area, although I'm sure if I really thought about it, there would be some reasons not to mention it.

What if I'm worried about someone? What if those worries keep me up at night, make me feel depressed and helpless, but involve things that other person may not want to make public? Even if I don't say who it is I'm worried about, that person might feel uncomfortable or even feel betrayed that I discussed them on the internet. I'm guessing that situation is just one I have to bear, since that really isn't fair to someone to discuss their personal business, even if it's an all-consuming anxiety-fest for me.

But here's what I see is a gray area I'm not to clear about. What if, for example, I've done something that affects someone else, but the other person might be embarrassed? What if they've done something to me, but wouldn't want it discussed? What if something someone else does affects my own life, but is really their own business? When are those topics mine to discuss, or off-limits?

I can use the example of my son. I know this is a motherhood blog, in part, and there will be times when I blog about him. But I know I have to protect his privacy as well as his safety, as a parent, and to think about his future. My own mother never had to worry about the details of my life floating about in cyberspace to come back and haunt me in my adulthood. But this is a new century and a new era of technology and communication. How can I bond a public life with a private one? How am I supposed to know when it's acceptable to discuss potty training, for example, a subject that might help other moms out there who might be reading this, and when it's really something I ought to keep to myself? Would my son want me to write about this? Probably not. Should I? Could I? Would I? I don't know. If it might help someone else, maybe it should be all right. But am I wrong?

Of course, my therapist has a way of putting things that simplifies my life to a nutshell at times. Bookended by numerous "qualifying" statements, he said, "You tend to think too much." I think he's right, no pun intended! Then I can drive myself crazy trying to figure out when it's okay to think to much, and when it's not . . .

R

FYI

If you've never had a colonoscopy, let me tell you a bit about what goes on. Just a little heads-up from Your's Truly.

The day before the procedure, you don't get to eat--the entire day! That is, you DON'T EAT AT ALL the day before the procedure. Whew. That was a tough one to chew, no pun intended. Then you basically overdose on laxatives and spend the rest of the afternoon wearing a path in the carpet toward the bathroom. No food or water the morning of the procedure, and you get an IV line (which hurts because you're dehydrated), warm blankets, and a faded hospital gown. The doc says hi and then you get sleepy, then you wake up in the recovery room feeling like you were abducted by aliens. Memory gets fuzzy after that. Lots of sleeping, and voracious eating to follow, which may continue the next day as well.

And guess what I found out after all of this? Nothing. They just say it might be IBS, or irritable bowel syndrome. Seems like a catch-all diagnosis to me, like they don't really know what's wrong. The pain seems better, though, and the doctor said stress could have brought on much of the symptoms, too. So, I guess it was worthwhile for that reason.

I haven't felt like blogging for a while. I've had some energy lately, and I finally spent it doing some housecleaning. The house was getting ready to beg me for it, I really think so. But now it's done and looking almost like new again. And I got to shop for some shoes for my boy, who was almost walking on the soles of his feet instead of shoes by now. So I've been using my energy for other things, I guess, and not really blogging. Sometimes it feels depressing to blog, mostly because my life seems so dull sometimes, and also because I don't think anybody reads this. It almost seems pointless. But I'm usually glad once I've done it, so I guess I'll try to get back into the habit. It's a small way of making connections with the world. So, here I am.

Anyone want to learn 100 things about me? It's coming up, once I can think of 100 things to say about myself. I'm finally into the 70s. That was already pretty tough. But I'll keep working on it.

Ah, well, I guess that's it for now. Thanks for reading, for anyone who's still left out there. Thanks. Bye for now.

R