Sleepless in St. Paul

Please, Sleep, wherever you are, please come back to me.

Spending time on hold for unemployment screwups is not my idea of a good time; especially when my payments are getting delayed and I'm sleep deprived.

Working on tiny details and remembering every little thing for everything I have to do in the next two weeks: not easy when sleep deprived.

Bah.

Things That Made My Day

First:
From Cheryl, a person that I've known since high school, and we've reconnected online (sometimes the internet really can be a wonderful, wonderful place, can't it?):

Cheryl is funny, kind, a responsive reader (we all love comments, don't we?), honest, and creative. If you haven't checked her out before, you should.

Some bloggers that make my day?
I"m going to have to say Doahleigh, MarisKris, WeezerMonkey, Nanette, and Wan! All these ladies are just fun, funny, smart, gorgeous, and genuinely good people....and how many people do you know you can say that about? They lighten my mood, offer advice and support, are always up to good adventures, and I've come to call them friends over the blogging adventure. They are wonderful for many reasons. Recent example: It's not often you hear someone say something nice behind your back. Bbut the other day I clicked on Cheryl's comments, and Nanette had commented, and said she was jealous we knew each other! It made my day that someone would say that. Nanette, I'll come babysit!

But that's just one example among many, many, many.

Other thing that made my day: Dooce's post today. Consider this piece of stunning Prince genius. I could listen to him sing the phone book. Creep, as done by Prince. Just too good. Tooooooo good. Reminds me of the last time I saw him though I didn't get to hear this gem. It won't let embed this for some reason... that is not making my day.

Ok, back to work.

Full Time Freaking Out

Yesterday was 30 days until our ceremony date. We'll be in Hawaii in less than 25 days now.

I have more than enough work to keep me busy for many, many extra hours this week. I spent most of the weekend working.

My bank account is nearly empty; freelancing is great, but although you work, work, work, there's no check, check, check until publication or acceptance of the story. Once I get into a rhythm, I know I'll be ok, but I am broke right now.

Less than two months until our reception.

Oh, so much to do, so little time. I didn't sleep last night.

33 Days

Invitations have gone out. They are arriving in people's mailboxes, or already have. RSVP postcards will be coming back to us soon. We've got a contract for our tent/table/chair rentals for the reception. Two bridal showers down, a bachelorette to go. I'll pick up my tailored dress in a couple of weeks. My wedding sandals are somewhere in a UPS truck, on the way to my parents' front door. William's outfit is ready, his wedding band is sitting in a box on our dresser. I have begun thinking about what I'm packing. I leave for Maui in 29 days.

Everything is real, now. Invitations are arriving. That's the final-final for me—people are officially invited on fancy, letterpressed paper. Finalizing the fine details is now our realm, not pulling magazine pages or figuring out next steps.

I have enough work to keep me on deadline through May 12. I have an overabundance of work, which I hope continues.

I'm overwhelmed, in the best possible way, with change. I have never been much of a risk-taker or instigated a whole lot of change in my life. Mostly, things have happened to me along the way. Now, suddenly, I am on the brink of gigantic life changes, some of the largest I know of, career and marriage. I am surprised at the lack of freaking out, melting down. This tells me, partly, how static I've been, and also how much I must have been craving change, despite my inertia. This is the not the first time I've stepped off the edge and held my breath, made a freefall into something new, but it's definitely the biggest embrace of that tummy-drop feeling I've had, and certainly feels like the first. I almost feel like I could be on one of those makeover shows. . . combined with This Is Your Life. . . the thing is. When it's over, and I'm married. And I'm still writing and editing. It will feel like my every day, like I've never really changed at all. I'm still me and love the same things and strive for the same achievements. What a strange combination.

Today is rainy and dark and I'm stressed about getting a bunch of tasks completed. Two months ago, it would have been a recipe for a terrible, brooding mood. Two months ago I would not have had the tools I needed to lighten my psychic load.
Today is rainy and dark and I am stressed about getting work done. But my energy is different than it used to be. I'm giggling at my sweet, lovable, Muppetish dog, who's snoozing loudly next to me, her paws twitching, her chest heaving as though she is barking, she is sniffing and running in her mind, every once in a while the almost-imperceptible wag of her tail. Surely if she is able to access those good feelings in her mind, so can I. I have all these plans, all this future to think about.

It won't last forever, this high, and I know that. But I only have 30 more days to plan one of the biggest events in my life, this great happiness culminating in forever promises.

I'm riding that wave as long as I can.

Happy Surgiversary

Two posts, one day! Will wonders never cease?

I haven't blogged about a very important anniversary that took place just three or so weeks ago.

Two years and three-ish weeks ago, I was still living at home. I came home from work to find to my dad on the phone, looking very concerned. I was on my way out of town, and sort of in a rush, but I had a feeling, that kind of thing that stops you in your tracks. I get this feeling occasionally, sometimes and it's wrong, but this time I was right.

My dad hung up the phone and told my mom and I that he had lung cancer. I almost can't describe what happened to me next. I felt like someone took my stomach and turned it inside out and brought it through my throat and squeezed the oxygen out of me. My knees felt weak. I came uncorked. Suddenly and instantly, the three of us (and more, once the news had spread) had a new wound, nerves exposed, something that would eventually scar with time, but never disappear—most literally, my dad's.

My dad quit smoking that day. He had to detoxify before they took half of his lung, two weeks from then.

I went to William's house, mostly because my mom told me to still go, and we left the next morning for our weekend trip. I cried. That's an understatement. I cry a lot. It's easy to make me cry. If I'm mad I cry. If I'm sad, I cry. I cry if I hear happy news or I get a nice gift. I cry at fictional movies, talking animals, Pedigree commercials, the national anthem, and even sometimes when reality TV people win awards. But this cry was so different. I could not stop. Completely unhinged. I barely knew his parents at that point (he was also living at home). I know I must have looked a hot mess. I acted, I hoped, like nothing was wrong. Clearly, something was wrong.

Then I went into his bedroom, and I sobbed. We had to run an errand to the bookstore. He told me I could stay there but I thought I'd stop if we went somewhere public. Nope. I cried through the bookstore looking completely insane. Then we went back to his house. I sobbed on his bed until I passed out. It took a long time. I managed to chap my face.

William was my rock during that time, he really was. I learned I could trust him with my emotions and that he loved me no matter the news. William allowed me to cry in his arms and then celebrated the victories that came our way as my dad underwent his surgery and recovery.

Eventually, I determined that I would not carry on this way. I couldn't. I had to keep going, despite the fact that I felt like I was wading through cement. I decided that I wouldn't mourn the situation—and more importantly, my dad. He was alive and had gotten the best possible news when you hear you have cancer. That it's contained, that it can be taken out, and that you may not even need radiation or chemo.

One thing that helped was the fortitude of my friends. Kilipino told me how my dad was a superhero, Superman, and that he would fight off the evil forces of cancer. She would carry on with it until I laughed, sending me emails midday at work, knowing full well I was sitting at my desk, eating my lunch, trying not to be morose. She brought my dad a gigantic mylar Superman balloon, which still resides in my parents' front closet, deflated but standing watch. My friend A. would send me emails—we could commiserate, as her mom had been diagnosed with a different kind—and I felt she really knew how it felt, which is really important when you are facing such a trial. There were also many other people who contributed thoughts, prayers, well wishes, and kindnesses during this time. To be honest, I was sometimes numb, lost in my head, and I hope I have acknowledged them all at some point.

I moved in with William in April, two years ago. Probably, actually, this week two years ago. So that's an anniversary in itself. But in 2006, spring turned to summer turned to fall. My dad managed to get away with no chemo or radiation, just a very painful and slow-healing surgery. He definitely has the strength of Superman. Truly.

Today, I was out for a walk with William and Mo—it was gorgeous here today and so we walked down by the mighty Mississip—and my mom called. It was loud where I was, so I let it go to voicemail, planning to call her back in about 15 minutes. She said, in her somewhat neutral voice, "I have some news, so could you call me back?" I knew that my dad had had a check-up scan a couple of weeks ago; he'd told me about it. I had been worrying, of course, as I always do, in this lopsided way of mine. I'd put it out of my mind. Then I'd start worrying about possibilities and when we'd hear results. Then I'd quickly shut off the worrying by saying to myself that he was FINE and only positive thoughts were allowed. No worrying. Only reinforcing.

I called my mom back, forgetting about the wind and traffic. He got his letter. There have been no changes in his scans. No cancer growths, no weird spots or darknesses or blurry areas. Unchanged. Unchanged as when he left the hospital two years ago, when cancer had been forcibly removed from his chest, open from chest to back, all the way around his shoulder blade, a scar like the trip around Cape Horn on a map. I was about two blocks from home as my mom told me this, and just like that first day when cancer became a household term for us, tears, uncontrolled, streaming down my face. William held out his hand, first thumbs-up, then thumbs down, with an inquiring look on his face, as my face and my words were not exactly matching.

I had celebrated silently a couple of weeks ago when my dad's surgiversary came up, when the doctor had told us he could be hunting and fishing still twenty years from now. But I had held my breath because I knew he had another check-up scan coming soon.

Thumbs up. My dad is healthy. Two years running. Hawaii, here we come.

Wake me up before you go-go

I think it's pretty well documented that I am not a morning person. I blame this squarely on a combo of my parents' night-owl genes (neither of them are much for mornings, or weren't) and thyroid disease. Once I developed thyroid disease, my sleep was never the same. I often feel tired, and when I hit the pillow, I'm down for the count. I rarely remember my dreams.

But I think the anticipation of this wedding has taken a fierce hold. I often feel pumped with adrenaline, wanting to be productive, wondering what I can conquer next. In the mornings, the alarm goes off for William, and trained like a cube prisoner that I was, I roll over and hit the sleep button. He always gets out of bed before the second alarm goes off, but I never realize it. I roll over to tell him to get up with the second alarm, only to find a rumpled mass of covers and the hear the sound of the shower running. I often doze while he gets ready, but he wakes me before he leaves, gently chiding me, "Wake up, love. Time to make the big bucks!" While my body-clock MO feels like I could sleep for hours more, once he closes and locks are door, all sleep bets are off. I'm usually out of bed 10 minutes later and planning my day. I can remember dreams, laced with anxiety: books I forgot to bring to class, running late for the ceremony, not getting my sandals in time.

Two Saturdays ago, I had a shower thrown in my honor at my future mother-in-law's home. It was so lovely. As soon as I get photos, I will post more details. I set my alarm that morning to make sure I'd be up early enough to get ready and not be rushed.I didn't need the alarm. I think I was bleary-eyed but awake around 7 am. I laid there for a while but eventually the butterflies propelled me out of bed. The following Saturday was a little more subdued and both William and I slept in til 11—super late for us these days. It felt heavenly. that might be my last sleeping-in until after the wedding.

Sunday I had my bridal shower thrown by my two best girls, Cindy and Sooz. Ding! Awake at like 8. This is just not ME, people. (Again, more shower details when I get photos). I was over there an hour early, just hanging around at my sister's house, because well, I was driving myself crazy at home. I was nervous. I never used to mind attention, but the older I get, the more I'd like to just show up at the party, and enjoy it, than be the guest of honor. Not that I don't appreciate the effort—I really and truly do, and they did an amazing job. There's just a lot of pressure, being that person.

Freelance work is also keeping me busy and creating a certain amount of anxiety—to get it all done in time, to have it done well, to hit the deadlines, to keep myself focused. Since I have been busy with invites and guest lists and rental stuff for the backyard, it makes it even harder. And with boxes lying around with shiny new appliances and electrics and nesting bowls and everything else, I couldn't even concentrate yesterday. I have another two or three freelance jobs lined up. They aren't glamorous but they are good and steady and a paycheck and a way to support myself a little while longer. I also had a big opportunity come through for some regular freelance work that I am pretty excited about, so we'll see how that goes. I'll keep you posted.

So today, after all that sleep talk—I'm exhausted. I can't seem to wake up from the dream-sludge state, despite my invigorating shower and grapefruit aromatherapy and tea and everything else. Again, this morning, as soon as I heard William's voice—I was up, even though we were up until midnight planning the backyard layout for the reception and talking budget for the wedding. I was so keyed up when we went to bed, I had to read to calm down. In the words of Penny Lane from Almost Famous—it's all happening. And I don't want to waste time sleeping, in case I miss it all.

43 Days Until I Do

In less than 40 days, I will be flying through space and eventually touching down in Maui—paradise—with my fiancé at my side.

My luggage will not get lost. They will let me bring the dress on the plane. We will get an upgrade to first class. There will be champagne.

Right? These are my dreams. We will have a non-turbulent, smooth flight and I will be Xanaxed out and feeling strangely fine, anticipatory, excited and scared, as I have been feeling lately. I will tell everyone who will listen that we are getting married. We will get off the plane and get lei'd, we will get a car, and we will spend our first (second-trip) night in paradise with William's parents, as they were kind enough to offer their lodging for our first night's stay.

Friday morning we will rise with the waves, get some breakfast, and head over to the licensing office for applying for our marriage license. We will not get lost on our way. We will sign all the forms and giggle over the absurdity of becoming adults, of doing adult things like apply for licenses and vow to be together forever. We pick up my family that night from the airport, and make our way to the house they have rented in south Maui, near the beach where we will be wed.

We will spend the sunsoaked weekend with cold, sweaty-glassed mai tais, our happy families, the salty taste of the ocean in our mouths, the sun on our very sunscreened faces. No one will get burned before the wedding. Or they will, and it won't matter.

Monday night, William will go sleep at his parents's place. I may have to take another Xanax. I'll get everything ready for the next morning, bring out the dress, steam it if needed, make sure all the details are taken care of. Hopefully we'll still be on Minnesota time, because we will be wed at 9:30 a.m. the next morning. I will rise early, probably leaping out of bed like the first day of school, except it will be the first day of the rest of my love life. I will manage to get fake lashes on. We will make it to South Maluaka Beach on time, everyone in tow, happy, ready. I will not cry too hard when my dad lets go of my arm. I will say my vows and mean them.

Afterward, there will be mimosas and food and swimming and joy. Joy joy joy. Family and close friends and hugs and tears and huge smiles. All this anticipation has led to this, this celebration, these words, these feelings and I will be a married woman, waves crashing and tropical breezes scented with ocean and plumeria, and warm sand scratching our feet. And William will be my husband, not any more my groom, not any more my fiancé. He will be my husband and I will be his wife. It will be the first days of the rest of our joined-love life.

It's Off To Work I Go

So I finished assignment number 1 today. 14 hours of work logged on it, so that's a pretty good check! Hooray! I have three assignments to go, nearly 7,500 words to write by the end of the month. That is a lot of writing and reporting, for reals.
But I'm still worried about lining up future work. I've sent out several applications for freelance, paid, blogging jobs and I have ideas to send out as pitches or queries to magazines. I know I'm armed with the information I need, but coming from the other side of the desk is somewhat disorienting and scary. I have to send out more letters, too, and those take time.

There are moments, too, where it's thrilling and the world seems full of possibility, and those feelings are becoming a little more frequent than three weeks ago, but now that I'm underway with work, and excited by the work, I'm scared that when it's over, it's over.

I'm hoping to set up a website for myself in the next couple weeks (God help me) as well as do some resume revamping and such. On top of everything else. So there's a lot to do, plus I started looking at a to-do list for the wedding. Eeek! Appointment with the tailor next Monday for some alterations. I think I've found the shoes I want but they've been waitlisted in my online order for a couple more weeks. I've made my hair appointment for cut and color for right before I leave for Hawaii. 48 days until the wedding, 44 days until I'm in Hawaii. That is CRAZY. Just CRAZY, people. I am getting married in a month and a half!!!!! That gives me chills and also makes me want to jump off the couch and get everything done today because it will be here before I know it, here and gone. There are still some things to accomplish for the reception too, pretty significant ones, so we need to get going on that this weekend.

And maybe I will have worked enough for these assignments that I can coast until the wedding and I start getting some acceptance letters for more work.

no postage

you will have to excuse my lack of postage (and lack of capitals in this post) these past couple days. i have been WORKING on some FREELANCE jobs. :) it's enough to keep me going until wedding-ish time... so that's good. next couple of weeks will be really busy because i probably took on a bit much, hence the reason i'm still editing at 9:16 in the evening.
but that's ok! i'm making money! on my own!

down side: what is UP with my skin? i am so broken out.

flying friendly skies, finally

That's right people, I am my own comic book character. Art done by William, taken from a photo he loves of me (I cannot figure out why he likes it so much.) Nonetheless, I love the comic book look he did to it. :)

And I deserve it today, people. I deserve to feel like a comic book character. Yesterday, my sister called me in a panic. Apparently ATA airlines had gone of out of business, suddenly and abruptly, leaving ticketholders stranded. I put two and two together pretty quickly . . . "Who's on ATA?" I ask. We leave in like . . . 50 days.

"Mom, Dad, Grandma, Chris, and Sarah," she says, effectively naming off all my immediate family besides her and her family.
I said something along the lines of "You have to be kidding me."

"I can't get a hold of Chris," she said. "I don't know if they know yet." (Chris is my brother; Sarah is his girlfriend; they booked their tix on the same flight but separately from my parents and grandma.)

Luckily I was on the way to my parents house as we spoke, so I arrived in a panic and immediately logged on to the grand ol' interwebs. My family was scheduled to fly the first leg through Northwest, then transfer to ATA for the rest. If that was the case, the website said, call the first airline you booked with.

I get on the phone with Northwest, expecting the worst.

I explain what has happened to the woman on the phone (the very nice, super accommodating, woman of my year hero). She puts me on hold and is gone for at least 20 minutes. My level of freaked-outed-ness is rising with every moment that passes.
She returns.

"We can refund your money entirely (whew, that's a relief, at least it won't all be lost, I'm thinking), or we can offer you seats on a different flight, but it will [effectively double] the cost," she says.

"Double?" I say, scared.

My mom says, "Take the refund."

I'm too scared to take the refund—what if we don't find seats later? What if they get even MORE expensive? But I grudgingly say, "I guess we'll take the refund."

I can't remember if this was the point where I mentioned something about it being my wedding yet or not. I think maybe not. Maybe it was the tone of my voice. She says "OK, let me start the process. I have to put you on hold."

Another 20 minutes passes. Now I'm really nervous. What is taking so long?

She returns. "OK, actually, I can get the three people on the flight for the lowest price. So that means status quo. But that might change in the next five minutes, so you have to decide now."

"OH MY GOD! You mean like no charges no nothing, same price, done deal?" I ask.

"Yes," she says.

"Oh my God, thank you so much, this is for my wedding and is like my whole immediate family and yes we'll take the deal, oh my god, thank you so much," I realize at this point I'm gushing like an idiot and having one of those bridal moments, but I don't even care.

"Oh congratulations!" she says, her voice warming over the phone. "How exciting! I'm so glad I double checked some things!"

"Oh wait," I say. "There's one problem. My brother and his girlfriend are also on this flight and I want them to be able to get the same deal but they booked separately . . . is there .... any . . . any chance at all that could happen?"

I'm figuring flat "No" at this point since security and all and I don't have their flight info or credit card or even if they know what's HAPPENED yet.

I start furiously texting Sarah as she puts me on hold yet again to check on the possibility.

She comes back, as I'm getting a text from Sarah, who's a little confused but hanging with my hastily typed (misspelled, vague) texts anyway.

"Well, ma'am, we'd love to, but they've already been issued a refund for their tickets."

Nooooooooooo.....

"Well, um, I KNOW that they would want this deal," I say, praying they haven't rebooked elsewhere yet. "I just KNOW." She puts me on hold again.

Minutes pass. I hear about the frequent flyer miles program for the eleventy millionth time.

She returns, "Ok ma'am, I think we can do that. Just hang on here while we transfer all this around." Then, a few moments later, "Ok, you can check out your itinerary online already, everything is all fixed up for you."

I fall all over myself thanking her for her help and the awesome rates and all that.

She cuts me off.

"I'm glad I could help! Now, are you getting married on the beach?"

The wedding privilege has kicked in, people. I swear that was the key. I honestly just mentioned it, not trying to get any special deals. But how else can you explain her letting me change someone ELSE'S flight, after they credited a significant sum back on their credit card? With airport security issues? And all she really wanted to know was the details of the wedding.

Aw, yeah. The wedding card got whipped out!

In other news, I saw Jessie Spano on the Today show the other day, and m'lawdy, she's had Botox! Talk about permanent surprise, but otherwise total lack of facial expression.

First bridal shower is tomorrow with my future mother-in-law! I'm excited!

Four freelance jobs lined up that should take me through this month, so that's good news, too. They're all things from people I know or had connections to, so we'll see what happens with cold applications and pitches and the like. That will be a big moment for me, if it happens.

And it's gonna be 58 degrees today! Nice way to head into a weekend, despite my blinding headache, second day running. I actually had those floaty stars yesterday and couldn't look at my computer. It was crazy.

Totally Excellent

Wow, I'm so flattered. First a wonderful recap of my capers over at Doahleigh, and then I hit up Nanette's blog to see what's shakin' in LA, and she's awarded me an Excellence award! And I haven't prepared a speech!



I'm so honored. I've been reading Nanette for . . . well, pretty much as long as my blog has been in existence. I first saw her when she submitted some photos of her on the set of The Office. I was in love from that moment. Nanette also helped build my reader base a little—so thanks to you, darling!

This blog has been so good for me in so many ways. As a writer, it's therapy and practice. As a person, I've been able to meet people, both in person and online, who have provided advice, supported me, and been there to listen/read, not to mention I've read so many new people that I just love. I laugh and cry along with all the people I read, and I feel like I really KNOW them.

So I guess then what I get to do is forward the love onto 10 bloggers that I read. Now a few have already received theirs, so I took them out of the running to make my choices easier.

19 Reasons to Live Alone: Sharp commentary, funny and touching moments alike. From a fellow twentysomething.

Better Now: Writing that stops you in your tracks. Can break your heart or make it bigger.

Bookish Bent: For literary satisfaction, and great recommendations, head over there--I know her in real life, too.

Da Potato: I love her Potato-Head theme, and her writing.

Found Out About Me: A high energy blogger I know in real life.

Kirida [formerly Hello Insomnia]: Laugh out loud, achingly funny.

Married Not Buried: Cali sweetheart.

My So-Called Wedded Life: Always herself, her observations—sometimes touching, sometimes cutting—ring true.

Oltremare: Artsy blog from another Katie. I so relate to her, except I'm not artsy.

Sundry Mourning: One of the rocking-ist, funniest, most touching bloggers in the entire blogosphere.

Springtime Jam

Typical Minnesota. Yesterday it just snowed and snowed and snowed, for all the hours I was awake, trudging and blowing and swirling like winter didn't know it was March 31, and it was time to go out like a lamb. There was no light in the sky, and the flakes that fell were huge clumps of wet, heavy, plus-sized flakes, almost turning to slush before hitting the ground. And then today, April 1, it's like yesterday was an April Fool's joke a day early, with the sun shining as hard and as brightly as any day so far this spring, melting the snow off the roof of my building in loud, clunky, flailing chunks.

And here I am, at home, listening to R.E.M.'s new album, and I'm feeling so good. Even though I am jobless and trying to assemble some freelance and I have no promises or paychecks, the new album is so good that I feel like if I got out of my chair and jumped around that I might stay suspended, midair, because that is the power of R.E.M., especially with this new album which feels so much like old R.E.M. plus the best parts of new R.E.M. (and here I am talking about Berry-era and post-Berry-era) and "Supernatural Superserious" just makes me want to write notes in class and giggle. And that, my friends, is the transformative power of music, because, good God, this is otherwise a dark time in my unemployed bubble.

In another way, though, I feel more superserious than ever about my career. For example, I am now the proud owner of my very own copy of the Chicago Manual of Style, and come on, they're not cheap and usually you can get them at work and expense them. But this big ol' orange manual, with the dust jacket still shiny, is mine all mine. All unedited texts are shaking in fear. Fear this pen, text! Or you know, I went to OfficeMax today and it was actually because I needed office supplies, and really I've only ever wanted supplies, not needed them. And I can be a grownup and write them off on my taxes because, hello, I am now like Willikat incorporated, sorta. Now I just need clients. Binder clips? Check. Jobs to use them on . . . Let me get back to you.

Photos to come.