Running with Scizzors

“The hair is the richest ornament of women.”   --Martin Luther

I had the most amazing experience last week. I was perusing the ‘receptionist wanted’ ads on one of the job search engines and found one that looked very interesting. The owner of Scizzors Hair Salon in Shrewsbury was advertising for a full time Customer Care Service Provider (front desk receptionist) with “a dazzling personality”, among other qualities. (Yep - that’s me!) The slightly unconventional wording made his fun, gracious personality come through loud and clear, and that really appealed to me so I decided to apply even though I don’t have any experience working in a salon. (I may not have salon experience, however I’ve been a client in many different salons {not to mention that I routinely watch “Tabatha’s Salon Takeover”} so I’m well aware of what to do to make clients feel welcome and comfortable, as well as what NOT to do.)

The day after e-mailing my cover letter and resume, I had the thought that I should check the place out from a client’s perspective. If I didn’t like it I didn’t have to say anything, but if I did, maybe there’d be something I could say to someone that would make me stand out from the pack a bit. Plus I really did need a trim, so the timing was pretty fortuitous.

I called the salon to see if they had any openings for that day or the next. They had two appointments available the following day; a 4:00 pm appointment with Michael, and a 2:45 pm appointment with Bledi. I said that I’d take the 4:00 o’clock with Michael and I gave the woman my information. I was going to hang up then, but something inside nudged me to take the 2:45 appointment. Feeling a bit flaky but wanting to go with my intuition, I asked the woman if I could switch to the 2:45 with Bledi instead. Without missing a beat or making me feel the least bit silly or uncomfortable, she replied warmly, “of course!” and switched my appointment time. Hmm. Very friendly, upbeat and professional.  So far they’re starting out heavily in the plus column. I started getting a little excited about this job opportunity.

It only takes Frank thirty-five minutes to get to work from our house, so I thought that giving myself forty minutes would be plenty of time since they were only a minute or two further up the road from where he works. Unfortunately I didn’t know to take Friday afternoon traffic into account, (plus I swear every single traffic light turned red as I approached!) so I wound up running almost fifteen minutes late. Good grief! Definitely NOT the first impression I wanted to make at a salon where I was hoping to get a job, even though I called from the car to inform them I was going to be late. Knowing I already had one large strike against me with my lack of experience, I was pretty deflated as I approached the building, feeling like I had just added another giant checkmark in the “reasons not to hire Lauren” column. Walking up the steps though, I gave myself a mental shake and said, “You’re not a negative person – don’t let this get you down. Go in there, smile, and show them what you’re made of!”

It’s interesting how the current circumstances in my life have made me more sensitive in my interaction with other people. For example, I’ve become much more aware of the truth to the saying, ‘It takes two to make a smile’. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I have gone into a store or restaurant in the past few months and in my initial encounter with one or more employees, my smile was answered back with either a blank, unsmiling expression or a phony, quick, little half-grin they shot back in a failed attempt to appear friendly. So the few times recently that I’ve been on the receiving end of an authentic smile have stood out to me.

Upon opening the door and stepping up into Scizzors, I was met with not one, but two women whose faces beamed “welcome” before the words even came out of their mouths . A happy, relaxed feeling spread through me right then and soothed the butterflies that had been fluttering in my stomach, making my own smile grow brighter in response.

They greeted me warmly, brushing aside all apologies for my tardiness. I was invited to sit while they informed Bledi I had arrived, and was offered coffee, tea, water, or wine while I waited. Although my throat was feeling a bit dry, I politely declined; sure that Murphy’s Law would go into effect since I wanted so much to make a good impression. Instead, I used the time to inspect my surroundings and absorb the atmosphere of the place. The salon was elegant without being pretentious, it was fashionable yet comfortable, very clean, and judging by the looks of the product shelves on the wall opposite the front desk, extremely tasteful and well organized.

Noticing they had quite an assortment of Moroccan Oil products, I got up to see exactly what they had (and if I could afford to get any of them). Money being a bit tight at the moment, I saw that the only thing I’d be able to get that day was the hair spray. I turned to ask one of the ladies at the desk about it. There are no hair products in existence that smell as heavenly as Moroccan Oil does to me, so I wondered if the hair spray smelled the same as the Oil. However, when I turned, standing behind me was a tall, stylish, handsome gentleman that I (correctly) assumed from his bearing was the owner, John Palmieri. Opening my mouth to say, “Hi! I applied for the front desk position you have available!” I said, “Can you tell me if the Moroccan Oil hair spray smells like the Oil itself?” Yeesh! Coward much?

He didn’t present an intimidating figure, nor did he seem as though he were in a great hurry. In fact he was very friendly and answered my question in such a way that I didn’t feel as though I were imposing on his time a bit. Still, I didn’t say anything about applying for the job. (I was feeling a bit tongue-tied right then) He told me to ask Bledi to use that hair spray on me when he was finished with my hair so I could smell it. (He said it smelled like perfume – and it does!)

Almost as soon as I thanked Mr. Palmieri for his help, Bledi came out to bring me back to his chair. Here was another tall, stylish, handsome gentleman and he had one of the warmest smiles I’ve ever seen on a man. His kind, gentle eyes crinkled at the corners as he got me settled into the chair at his station and asked what I was looking to have done with my hair. I explained what I wanted done, as well as the problems I’ve had with the way other hairdressers have interpreted my requests in the past, hoping that by doing so he wouldn’t have the same trouble. Asking intelligent questions while examining my hair, he inspired confidence that here, at last, was a hair stylist who could deliver on my vision. Having gotten that out of the way he said, “And how did you find us?” Oh boy. Well, I was hoping for an opportunity and one was presenting itself. So I took a deep breath and told him I’d applied for the front desk receptionist position.

I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but his reaction had the effects of both surprising me and inducing a mild panic attack. He waved to someone behind me and I turned to see the owner standing with his back to me, working on a client’s hair at another station. I felt my eyes widen as the rest of me froze momentarily and I said, “no, no, no!” to Bledi. He just smiled and said, “Yes!” He waved again and called to Mr. Palmieri to get his attention. When he had it, he said, gesturing to me, “Lauren applied for the Salon Coordinator position.” (I think that’s what he called it) I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Salon Coordinator? That sounds like it would require so much more experience than “Front Desk Receptionist” or even “Customer Care Service Provider”. However, still pretty confident that I’m the right person for the job, I told my doubts and the beginnings of the panic attack to take a flying leap and I chatted with Mr. Palmieri for a couple of minutes. He knew who I was right away when I told him I was the fruit loop who mentioned Tabatha Coffey in my cover letter/email. (Do I know how to stand out or what? The guy got 50 responses but he remembered mine right away – I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or not.)

He told me at the end of our conversation not to take it personally that I didn’t hear back right away;  he’s leaving in forty minutes for the airport to go to Atlanta with his family for the holiday weekend, but he’d be back on Tuesday and he was planning to tackle the resumes next week. It didn’t hit me until later, but if I had taken the 4:00 o’clock appointment I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to speak with him the way I did. I’m really hoping and praying that I made enough of a (positive) impression that despite my obvious lack of experience, he’ll call me in for an interview.  (From my lips to God’s ears!) I honestly believe in my ability to do a fabulous job for them, so all I can do is hope I’m granted the opportunity to tell him that.

After he and I finished chatting and I explained to Bledi about my cochlear implants, I took off my processors and he led me over to the shampoo area. He got me comfortably situated in the chair and ever-so-carefully put my feet up on a stool. Then he proceeded to give me the world’s most incredible scalp massage. Seriously.  I-n-c-r-e-d-i-b-l-e. I need to add here that I’d had a migraine a few days before. I can’t even remember the last time I had one (I don’t get them often at all) but this one was particularly nasty. Even though it was gone for the most part, I could still feel it hanging around a bit in the background, like it wasn’t entirely certain whether or not it was going away or if it was going to make an unwanted reappearance. Well after Bledi’s scalp massage (which included my neck and the top of my shoulders) the last vestiges of the headache disappeared completely. Ah, bliss!

He shampooed and conditioned my hair after that, then brought me back to his station so he could cut it. Even without my glasses on I could tell that although he was quick, he was also very precise; he checked and double checked to make sure he was keeping the layers and ends even. After he blew my hair dry, I looked at myself in the mirror with astonishment. I looked fantastic! He gave me exactly what I asked for, but it looked even better than I envisioned it. No joke. Better. When I told him this, he looked so pleased I almost started crying. He actually cared whether or not I was thrilled with my hair. Sure, I know it’s his job, but his pleasure in my delight was genuine.

I had a question then about the color of my hair so he called over one of their colorists, Amy, to answer it for me. (I colored it black in October and although much of it has faded and grown out, it’s still darker on the bottom half than on the top half) I’ve never had it colored in a salon, so I didn’t know if it would be easy or even possible to go from a darker color to a lighter one, or what to expect as far as damage to my hair or how much it would cost. Amy very nicely answered my questions to my satisfaction, so as soon as I’m able, I’m going to make an appointment to go in so she can fix my color. (Yippee!)

When I got up from his chair, Bledi told me that someone would call in a few days to make sure there were no problems with my haircut. He said that if there was a problem, I could come in and they’d be happy to take care of it for me. He smiled that warm, engaging smile again and told me he hopes I get the job. (He could have been saying that just to be nice, but I hope he actually meant it – everyone is so genuinely kind, I know that going to work there every day would be a pure joy) When he walked me back up front, he introduced me to the women behind the desk and told them I applied for the job. (I’m ashamed to admit that I was still so entranced from my scalp massage that I didn’t take in their names) We chatted for a minute while I paid for my haircut, and they very sweetly wished me luck with the job. (Again, they could have just said it to be nice, but I would honestly consider it a privilege to work there, so I can’t help hoping their well wishes are genuine.)

I walked in there not feeling especially great about myself (due to the whole “my husband is divorcing me” thing), but I walked out of there feeling cared about and genuinely special. I know they treat all of their clients the same way, but my collective experience with the staff members I interacted with, combined with the cheerful, refined, yet comfortable atmosphere of the salon itself, served to make me feel as though I was their most important client. What a precious gift that is! To have the ability to make people feel so pampered, so special... I want to work there more than ever now. I want to be a part of that. If I could play even a small role in helping others to feel the same way, I’d find my job to be incredibly rewarding and fulfilling. Doesn’t everyone dream of working a job like that?

When I got in my car I just sat there for a minute, and several tears ran down my face while I basked in the glow of my extraordinary experience. It may sound melodramatic, but truthfully I’m just not used to such kindness from strangers; even if I am paying them for a service. Plus, that kindness was like a balm to my wounded soul. I really needed that.

Whether or not I get the job, they now have a loyal customer in me.

It's a Dog Eat Dog World, and I'm Wearing Milkbone Underwear.

“Some days you’re the dog; some days you’re the hydrant.” –Unknown

You ever have one of those days? (or one hundred twenty-six in a row?) Yeah, me too.

Volunteering at the Worcester Animal Rescue League (WARL) is going to save my sanity, I think. I hope. Today being Patriots Day means Frank had a three day weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with him, but given our present circumstances it can be a little tough to do sometimes. So late Saturday morning I took off to spend some time at WARL. When I’m there, the rest of the world just falls away and I lose myself in doing what I can to help make the dogs’ lives just a little bit better. (I can work with the cats too, but my heart lies with the dogs, so I spend most of my time with them)

Saturday is always their biggest adoption day, so if they need help in the kennels any day of the week, it’s definitely then. There were people in and out of the kennels all day, asking about particular dogs, wanting to take dogs out for walks to try to get to know them a bit, and then there were the people who argued with me. Yep. Argued. Wait ‘til you hear this.

There is a sweet, small, female AmStaff mix named Tuesday up for adoption. She cracks me up - in her kennel she bounces up and down like a Jack Russell Terrier that’s had a few too many Red Bulls. Gosh, if I could bottle and sell half her energy, I’d be a VERY rich woman. But I digress. There's a bio sheet that hangs on each dog’s kennel with a description of their basic personality, known history, along with recommendations (if there are any) about what kind of home would or would not be best for them. (e.g. maybe one needs a home without other dogs or cats, is nervous around lots of people, etc.) Well there was a couple who had seen Tuesday on WARL’s website, fell in love with her pictures, and decided “that’s the dog for us!”

Now I’m not even going to get on my soapbox and start preaching about what a ridiculously idiotic idea it is to make an important decision about which dog you’re going to add to your household (hopefully for the rest of the dog’s life) based on photographs instead of basing the decision on the dog’s personality, whether said dog would fit your lifestyle, and whether or not you and the dog even like each other. (ARGH!) Well anyway, Tuesday was recommended for a home without small children due to her frenetic energy level. Small children are just way too at risk for injury with a dog that is off the wall excited simply being around people.

So this couple was asking about Tuesday. I can’t always remember every detail about every dog, so I quickly scanned her bio sheet. “Due to her high energy level, it is recommended that Tuesday goes to a home without small children.” Each of them had a toddler in their arms and then the woman’s mother walked over with another one! So I had to tell them that I was sorry, but I couldn’t take Tuesday out for them. When I explained why, they argued with me telling me that grandma’s sixty-five pound pitbull is always jumping on the kids and knocking them down, but they just get right back up again and start chasing the dog. (I wanted to whack these folks upside the head with a brick at this point – this is one of the main reasons pitbulls have such a bad reputation! IRRESPONSIBLE OWNERS!!) Sorry, I keep digressing.

Anyway, they stood there insisting quite adamantly that they were in love with Tuesday (based on her looks, mind you) and even though I told them that the dogs are all evaluated by experienced trainers and behaviorists, they simply HAD to have her and that was that. So I had to resort to getting the Dog Adoption Coordinator, who took her turn telling them that they simply could not, in good conscience, go against the trainers advice and adopt her out to a family with small children. (three of them, to boot!) They eventually left looking thoroughly disgruntled with the lot of us, but the important thing is that they left without Tuesday.

I just don’t understand some people. Although this family was definitely the pushiest, I have had to have similar conversations with other people. There was the one I had two weeks ago with the guy who was interested in taking a young Chihuahua mix out for a walk to see if they liked each other (with the intent being he’d adopt her if they did), except that it said RIGHT ON HER KENNEL DOOR that she couldn’t be adopted into a household with a male because she’s terrified of men. Come on now! Seriously? Don’t people read anymore? Yeesh.

So there’s lots of interesting stuff happening down there to provide me with loads of temporary distractions. (Speaking of interesting, I got to play ball with a six month old pittie pup for half an hour that afternoon. Total funfest!)

Frank saw someone a couple of weeks ago wearing a t-shirt with a paw print on it and next to the paw print it said, “Who rescued who?”

I think the dogs at WARL are going to rescue me.

Of Socks and Men

“A man speaks only when driven to speech by something outside himself - like, for instance, he can't find any clean socks.” –Jean Kerr

Frank and I both take vitamins every day. It’s easier for us to remember to take them when we put them in those pill containers with the days of the week marked on top of each compartment, and put the containers somewhere in the vicinity of the coffeemaker where we’ll see them every morning. I’ve been filling both mine and Frank’s ever since we started taking them, but yesterday he filled his own. I was standing there in the kitchen talking with him before he left for work, so I watched him do it and it made me feel a little sad. It just reminded me that it’s one of many little wifely things I’ve been doing for him that he’ll soon be doing for himself.

So as not to give in to the melancholy that was sitting on the edge of my awareness threatening to move in and ruin my day, I joked with him about it. I said (in mock awe of his accomplishment), “Wow. So I guess you’re not helpless after all, huh? That’s great! You’ll still be able to take your vitamins after I move out.”

He chuckled and said ah no, he wasn’t helpless, that he was perfectly capable of opening tiny plastic compartments, inserting a pill in each one, and closing the aforementioned compartments.

Then he went on to say something I found quite interesting that I thought might be useful information to pass on to any women out there who may be reading this. (If you haven’t felt inclined to share this blog with your friends, at least copy them on this entry – we really need to spread the word, ladies!)

He said (and I quote), “Guys feign helplessness.”

“Oh, really?” I said.  (Like it was a big surprise or something)

“Yeah,” he went on. “When a guy says, ‘honey, I don’t know where my socks are!’ he’s full of it.” He leveled a serious look at me. “We know where our socks are.”

Ha! So there you have it, girls, right out of the horse’s mouth. Men aren’t anywhere near as helpless as they make themselves out to be. I’m sure each fella’s reasons are different though. Some may know (or think they know) that their woman needs to feel needed, some may like the feeling of being taken care of, while the rest are probably just out-and-out lazy.

However, regardless of their reasons, I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s good information to have. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to entertain myself by hiding Frank’s socks. (“Oh come on now. Didn’t you tell me just yesterday that you know where your socks are?”)

I said I’m not being spiteful. I never said I wouldn’t have a little fun.

Life on Planet Htrae*

"Us do opposite of all Earthly things! Us hate beauty! Us love ugliness! Is big crime to make anything perfect on Bizarro World!" --Bizarro Code

I kind of feel like I live in my own little Bizarro World because the most important events in my life seem to happen backwards.

I wore a bra long before I had anything to put in it.

I left high school, then got my diploma.

I had a baby, then got married.

 When I had my son, my water broke hours before the first contraction.

Frank and I didn’t really get to know each other until after we were married.

(“Hey! Who the heck are you and what are you doing in my wife’s/husband’s body?” Eep! Not the best foot on which to start a marriage.)

Oh, and I eat dessert before the main course. (ok, so I just made that one up - but it sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?)

So continuing the trend, I found an apartment today. I didn’t mean to – it just happened.  Yeesh! I don’t even have a job yet.

 I want the apartment very much though. It’s perfect for me. Not too big, not too small, very nice, clean, bright (bright = happy), the landlords are pleasant and attentive to the premises, the rent is very reasonable (and the rent includes heat!!! VERY important in New England), there’s storage space in the basement, a coin-op washer and dryer on the premises, the location is great - it’s right off the highway and less than 10 minutes from the Animal Rescue League where I plan to spend a lot of my free time, and (this is the best part) one of my all-time closest friends lives in the apartment right upstairs! We’d be able to run up and downstairs in our pj’s! *squee!* (can you say ‘perpetual pajama party’ three times fast?) So I’d have the benefit of having a close friend who has also been through a divorce on hand for extra support, while still enjoying the privacy of my own apartment.  The whole scenario is just chock full of win.

The only drawback (and it’s a rather large one) is that they don’t allow pets. I volunteer at an animal shelter. I am a huge advocate of people saving lives and adopting rescue dogs instead of spending $1,000+ on a purebred puppy, and have been champing at the bit to get a young rescue dog of my own.  As badly as I want a one though, it’s not a deal breaker for me. After seeing the apartment and thinking about it for about two seconds (yes, it’s that nice) I decided it’s more important to be in a nice place where the price is right and I feel comfortable and safe, than in a place where I might need to pay more and don’t feel as comfortable, but can have a dog to feel safe.

Why this deep seated need to get a dog? Well I’m glad you asked! Completely aside from the fact that I’m a dog NUT (unconditional love, butt wiggles every time you walk in the door, face-washing-doggie-kisses, warm- furry- tv-watching-snuggle-companions… what’s not to love?), as a single woman alone, living with a pooch would go a long way to making me feel much safer than I would living by myself. However, I wouldn’t need a dog for safety purposes for the time being if I get this place. My would-be neighbor across the hall is a police officer. Yep, just one more check in the ‘chock full of win’ column. Gee, those are really starting to add up. (I REALLY hope the apartment is still available when I'm ready to move!!)

Speaking of the job I don’t have yet… (well, I was thinking about it at any rate) I’m pretty bummed that I haven't heard back from the place I interviewed at last week.  They must have found someone more qualified for the job. I refuse to entertain the possibility that they simply found someone they like better. I don’t have lots of experience, and we’ve already established that they can’t really know just how intelligent I am or how incredibly hard I’d work for them, so that just leaves my likeability factor.

Oh, that and my fashion sense. I wore simple, sensible, yet not unattractive square-toed black leather flats, black dress pants, a white, grey and black pinstriped blouse, and a black blazer. I wore medium sized plain sterling silver hoop earrings, kept my makeup simple – a little eyeliner, a light hand with the mascara, barely there blush and very light, neutral eye shadow, with a quick swipe of clear lip gloss. My past-shoulder-length hair was down and blown out – simple but stylishly pretty waves framed my face. I smiled, was warm and friendly while being careful not to cross professional boundary lines, and I thought my answers to their KAH-RAZY questions were pretty darn good. *melodramatic groan* So where did I go wrong?

In light of all that, I’m thinking maybe I should go to my next interview dressed for slopping hogs (complete with dirt-smudged face), put one leg over the arm of the chair, light up a cigarette, hack up a lung (since I don’t smoke that'll be easy), and pull a bottle of JD wrapped in a paper bag out of my purse, offer them a swig, take a hefty gulp myself, wince as it goes down, then slam my hand on the table and say, “Whoo! That's the ticket! Now let’s talk turkey!” Since I’m obviously an orphan from the planet Htrae, maybe this is what it will take to land me a job. Ya’ think?

*Htrae is a fictional planet in the DC Comics Universe. The planet Htrae (“Earth” spelled backwards) is also affectionately known to Superman fans as Bizarro World.

The beginning of the end...

...or just the beginning? It depends on your perspective. Personally, mine changes by the hour.

My whole world came crashing down on December 13, 2010. That was the night the love of my life, my husband of 18 years, told me he wanted a divorce. He had intended to wait until after Christmas to tell me, but I knew something was wrong and I pressed him to tell me what it was. So needless to say, Christmas sucked big time this year. This was made (much!) worse by the fact that we mistakenly chose that day to tell our son. We decided to do it that day because we don't see him very often (he lives an hour away and spends his waking hours either at work or with his girlfriend) and we knew we'd have some time alone with him. Plus we were getting antsy. We didn’t want to take the chance that the news would somehow make its way back to him before we could tell him ourselves, so we hadn't told anyone else. Keeping this under our hats for two weeks, especially during Christmas season with all the family gatherings, etc., was especially difficult for me. Knowing that this was the last Christmas I’d spend with Frank’s family just about killed me. Looking back, I don’t know how the heck I kept myself together. I really needed to talk to some friends and family to get some support. Still… telling our son on Christmas Day? Egad! What were we thinking?! *sigh*  Contrary to popular belief, parents do make bad decisions sometimes. That was definitely one of our worst.  

To the outside observer it may look like he wants a divorce just to get a divorce, but that’s not the case. I play a large part in his reasons for wanting one and take full responsibility for that part. And although it’s ancient history between us, the fall-out from the past has been affecting him/us for a long time. I don’t feel comfortable delving too deeply into his reasons here because they are his reasons, and his (deeply) personal thoughts shouldn’t be fodder for my blog. I’m very grateful to be able to say though that there's no one else. (thank you, God!) There's no infidelity on either of our parts and there never has been. Just a plain old, run-of-the-mill, garden variety divorce is difficult enough thankyouverymuch. Let's suffice it to say that he doesn’t love me. He says it's not my fault. I haven't done anything horrible to him and I'm not an awful person to live with. We actually laugh together a lot. He loves me very much as a friend - we're best friends in fact (he'll tell you the same thing) - but that's as far as it goes. He doesn’t love me the way a husband should love his wife. His feelings for me are more brotherly than anything. (which is, of course, exactly what a woman loves to hear from her husband – good grief!) I am, however, head over heels in love with him. So, yeah. Mucho pain here. Crazy as it may sound though, I wouldn't be able to get through this without him. He's been my closest friend and most trusted confidante for almost 20 years, and even though he’s technically the cause of my pain, he’s also been a really good friend through all of this. I am slowly learning to turn to others and to God for my primary sources of support and  encouragement, but it's tough to break a habit many years in the making in just a few months. Turning to Frank when I feel bad about something, have a problem and need some advice, or just need a hug is as natural to me as breathing. Changing how I think and act on that score is going to take a while, I think.

That's made a bit more difficult by the fact that we're still living together. Yep. He told me in December and here it is 4 months later and we're still living together. (so it's a darned good thing we get along so well!) Neither of us has the $$ to move out just yet. I am searching high and low for a job I can do that will pay me enough to live on so I can save for a couple of months, get an apartment and move out, and for the time being he has a mortgage and mortgage-sized bills to pay. I haven't worked outside our home for a l-o-n-g time, so although I'm fairly intelligent, it's become practically a full time (difficult, frustrating) job in and of itself trying to convince people who don’t know how intelligent I am and how hard I’d work to be successful at my job, to want to take up their valuable time and energy even interviewing me when there are so many other more qualified people that are out of work. But I'm not giving up. Somewhere out there is a bank that needs a Lauren-rific teller, or an office that needs an organized, brown eyed, warm, friendly receptionist (bonus points if it's a Vet's office!), or even (from my lips to God's ears!) a periodical of some sort that can use someone of my particular writing, er... talents. However, although we do get along well and are doing what we can to make the best of an uncomfortable situation, it's not easy on either of us. If you're of the praying type, prayers for a good job for me (quickly!) would be very much appreciated.

We're filing an uncontested divorce together. I'm not going to fight him. What would be the point in that? I know him well enough to know that he thinks things through long and hard before making a decision. Especially given that he knew full well how incredibly difficult this would be emotionally and financially, I know it’s not one he made lightly or on the spur of the moment. Fighting about it certainly wouldn't endear us to each other, and it sure as heck wouldn’t change his mind. So the only other reason to fight him would be spite, but I just don't have it in me to do something like that to him. I love him. Being spiteful is no way to say, "Hey babe, I don't want a divorce - I love you!" He knows how much I love him though, so it's been really hard for him to hurt me like this. I know many people won’t have any sympathy for him, and that’s fine. For them. I am not anyone else. I’m me. And this ‘me’ feels VERY strongly about the course of action I’ve chosen, which is, in essence, to do my part to make sure this is as painless as possible for both of us.

I am going to counseling, as well as doing everything I can to surround myself with people who believe in, support, encourage and just generally love me, so as to give myself good, solid emotional resources instead of drinking my way through this, which, I'll be honest, held a not terribly small amount of appeal in the beginning. The knowledge that if I postpone dealing with my feelings in the present means that I’ll still have to deal with them down the road, plays into my keeping aqua vitae at arm’s length when I’m going through a particularly bad time. (I discovered fairly quickly that numbing one’s feelings with alcohol is equivalent to temporarily placing them in a cryogenic freezer – when they thaw out they’ll still be alive, vital, and ready to kick one’s collective butt) Plus too much alcohol is fattening and renders optimum brain function fairly useless. As Dean Wormer from Animal House articulated so well, “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son.”

I know I still have some bad days/hours/moments ahead of me, but I'm really hoping and praying that the worst of them are behind me. Every day that light at the end of the tunnel is starting to look just a teensy bit brighter. You know what though? It's true what they say: "Adversity does teach who your real friends are." -- Lois McMaster Bujold.  So to all of my real friends out there, thank you. I am more grateful than I can begin to express for each and every one of you.

               Tá grá agam duit.  ("I love you" in Irish)