My Condition

How does she do it? Sophie Kinsella penned "Confessions of a Shopaholic" with me in mind, and I have never even met the woman.

It was a spontaneous purchase. I devoured the Sookie Stackhouse series in a little more than a week, and my to-read bookshelf didn't quite intrigue me as the preview of the new movie of a young woman in complete denial of her condition. As a habit (although most would disapprove) I decided to absorb the novel before watching the movie (dinner and a movie girl's night out, Jill?). I tell you, the first chapter captivated me, not necessarily for the writing (although it is very good, in my humble opinion), but because of my similarities to this girl! I am a shopaholic!!!

Sure, I would never get caught dead in a Denny and George franchise forking over the arm and leg for a scarf. The labels and price tags need not apply. My Denny and George is Target...pronounced tar-zhay if it makes you feel more sophisticated. My 200 quid is the thirty US dollars I so begrudgingly swiped off my debit card for this deep magenta long-sleeved shirt I didn't need. But, nevertheless, the theory and practice are identical!

There are many a time my spirits sink and settle into a funk, and it seems, the only way to alleviate this momentary depression is through a long leisurely bout of therapy...retail, that is. Hey, they didn't coin that expression for nothin'. There is absolutely nothing in the world that can raise me up like some shiny new gadget and the crisp sound the plastic wrapping makes when I tear it off the bad boy...or the solid snap of the tag as I pull it apart (no, I don't use scissors...too lazy) from the soft new sweater I'll definitely wear before washing since I'm way too excited to wait the time it takes for it to go through a laundry cycle...you get the picture, right? Yep, that is moi in a material nutshell.

I love new things. I love researching product reviews for them, looking for the best bargain for them, and finally experiencing that bliss of dropping it into the conveyor belt knowing with utter excitement in just a few moments it will be truly and solely MINE! Greed, greed, greed, greed, greed. It seems I am one of the seven deadly sins during my bouts of depression.

Let me interrupt this tangent firstly by attempting to redeem myself in your now-lessened opinion of me. (ha!) I have cut down. My lifestyle does not allow me the luxury of spending on a whim (although at times my dad with his hard-earned dough likes to indulge me from time to time). I have been conscious of my actions for the most part. I'm proud to say, I have wheedled and dealed with all of our service providers to nitpick and cut down on monthly bills. (Although, of course, I have only done that so I can have more spending money. So, I guess that doesn't count, does it?) But anyway, yeah, so, it's not that bad.

...And on with my never ending soliloquy...gotta love it. Anyway, I accomplish my zen through this activity...identical to Rebecca (the book's heroine)...who goes to the store to buy one thing...(in my case, a gallon of milk)...and gets distracted way too many times, and goes home with more shopping bags than originally planned with matching justifications as to why those items were necessary.

A gallon of milk. An hour later: a gallon of milk (hey, at least I didn't forget), a bag of chips, a new box of cookies, a pack of hair ties, a bundle of lip gloss(Sophie's), a couple new books, the new Real Simple, US Weekly, People, and Rachel Ray magazines, and $70 buckaroos later, I am astounded to the number of plastic shopping bags I had to carry in from the garage. But I was only going to spend $2.64!

So is my life. Anybody else share this addiction to the material world?

This Dream Will Self-Destruct in Three...Two...One

Much to my family's disappointment, I am notorious for harboring a basket of unfinished projects. Up until now, I credited this disposition to fickleness and a short attention span. I quickly lost interest in whatever skill or task I learned to master and moved on seamlessly to another new endeavor. I once had a friend who even attributed this to my astrological assignment. A Gemini, as a pair of twins, quickly loses focus and requires varied stimulation.

Recently, however, with all this empty time at night without the hubster, I have been afforded ample opportunity at introspection. Through this, I have discovered my subconscious self-destruct button.

Apparently, I am a victim of my own self-sabotage.

Tucked away in the recesses of my brain, comfortable in its niche between aspirations and fears, therein lies that blazing red knob my mental finger automatically switches whenever I come close to what most people consider as "achievement."

There are the minor things like Thomas Kincade cross-stitch projects (lame, huh?), half-pieced jigsaw puzzles, summer employment opportunities in high school, incomplete scrapbooks, and oh so much more. But there are larger issues affected also.

I was fully aware that I was in contention for capturing the valedictorian title in high school. I was a whole grade point ahead of my closest competition. What did I do? Pushed the button! I refused to submit homewok for an advanced placement calculus class for a whole three months. Salutatorian, it is.

An exciting acceptance at the Stern Business School of Business' Honor Program at New York University held limitless potential. What did I do? Pushed the button! I passed it up to study in the Philippines.

Even that prestigious school (also in the Honors program) couldn't satisfy me. What did I do? Pushed the button! I let myself get knocked up during the first semester. Yep, I let it happen knowingly. Talk about screwed up.

Then here's this novel I am writing. I had an agent so uncharacteristically enthusiastic about the piece that she offered me an advance after reading the first three chapters. What did I do? Pushed the button! Turned away from her and my family's dreams of having a published author as kin.

And most recent, I am one class...ONE class that is so EASY...away from my Associate's Degree in accounting. What did I do? PUSHED THE DAMN BUTTON! Last night, at 11:59 was the deadline for my final project. I waited and waited and goofed off ALL day until about 9:45 P.M. at which time, I opened the syllabus to see what was required of me. Can you believe this?!?!?!? Needless to say, I was able to submit my work at 11:58:30. 30 seconds to spare. But only because of this bout of self-realization.

What can be the root of this? Am I afraid of success? Does the pressure associated with such achievements intimidate me? Or am I just plainly satisfied with being second best? Who knows? I haven't been able to mull this over enough. But then again, I may just lose interest right before I get my answer.

Absence and the Heart

During a two hour heart-to-heart with one of my fave cousins in the PI last night, it was mentioned how this blog provided a refreshing insight to my life and the person that I am. Apparently, according to Ms. Liza, this has been the first time I have opened myself up as far as my feelings, inner demons, and such. I guess I have presented myself as more guarded in the past? Hmmm. The more I pondered this thought, the more I have come to realize that this particular development of my persona did not reveal itself until after I met the hub. This realization has then led to an epiphany enumerating the other changes that have arisen from this relationship.
Pre-Och, I had a reputation as a crass, un-filtered, and outspoken cynic. I had my share of early heartaches and road bumps, much of which had contributed to that identity. I could pick and win a fight before the other knew it was coming. Faith in love, destiny, and the like just belonged in fairy tales. Now, it seems the boy had the power to turn me into a big glob of mush. Winnie...mush?...uh-yeah, I guess so. Now, all I do is wax eloquent on my gooey feelings and dreams and hopes.
And, much to the old W's chagrin, my current pulpy and softened personality has only been amplified by this separation. And I am only about to add on to the ick factor. (Talk about an intro, huh?)
Everyone is familiar with the old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder." I prefer to believe in "absence only magnifies the true nature of a relationship." Why? Well, for one, I had a relationship pre-Och that came under fire from my own doubts and resentments once a physical distance became established. It wasn't difficult at all to pull the plug on that. Now, in this case, with this enormous distance yawning between us, my feelings for my soldier remain constant.
And so although I have dreaded this, and I am still struggling to put myself to sleep at night, I am THANKFUL. That's right, folks...thankful. I am GLAD for this time when L and I are apart. (Okay, so don't you guys start putting in bets for how long we have until divorce papers are drafted...lemme 'splain.)
I see this now as a re-affirmation of what our marriage stands for. With him gone, I am able to note all the little things I have taken for granted while he was here. I am able to tally how much I want that man in my life. I am able to look past the grievances and complaints I had prior to his departure and see instead all of his redeeming traits. I am able to look forward to the promise of our future together. And I am THANKFUL for that opportunity to see my partner in this light.
Y'all may think I'm nuts, but I highly recommend this. Ship your hub over to a place in which his life is constantly in peril, leave him there for half a year, and see how you'd do without him. If you don't come out closer and stronger than ever afterwards, no amount of counseling will save you. Amen.

Fears

It's not the actual separation that gets me. Really. This is our fourth time being apart for more than four months. Routines can be made, schedules filled up to take time, and then there's that anticipation for the reunion. I miss him. I'm a touchy feely type person, and it is quite different not having my snuggle buddy around. BUT, it's all good for the most part.

It's that fear of losing him. It's bad enough during the every days. I'm a worrier when it comes to him and the kids. As a mother, I am cursed with "worst-case-scenario-thinking" in which I actually conjure images in my mind of anything and everything that can go wrong that could hurt or kill them. Usually, I don't torment myself with this type of paranoia when it concerns the hub when he's nearby.

It just doesn't help matters much when I am handed updated general and special powers of attorney along with his last will and testament before he leaves. It's the smart thing to do, of course. But that particular stack of documents make the danger SO real for me. Along with the dicussions of how we'll communicate throughout this time, and the vacation we'll go on when he gets back, we also have to talk about other morbid details should he not come home breathing. It's the most difficult thing accepting although it is just a slight possibility.

During the goodbye today, I tried to just memorize every little feature of his face and his smile and his wonderful laugh...fighting to keep that frightening thought off that it could be the last time I held him.

Okay, I got that out of my system! I HATE thinking that! AAAGGGHHHH! Now that's outta the way...Time to start drafting my task lists and thoroughly cleaning the house. Off to work!