If I could go back . . .

Just a little more than three years ago, my life fell apart because I discovered I was married to a sex offender. If I could go back to that day in ghost-like form, like Scrooge with the Ghost of Christmas Past in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, what would I whisper in the ear of my past self?

As a ghost, I would watch myself in the morning, caring for my 3-week-old, Sabrina, and my 2-year-old, Elise. I was happy that morning. It actually hurts to think how happy I was because so much pain was about to follow.

I can see myself making lunch and I know the phone is about to ring. Jake is about to call and tell me that he was sent home from work. He's going to come home. He's going to sit at the table and lie to me. For his sake, I will be calm. For his sake, I will hug and reassure him while he sobs over the injustice of it (as he makes it out to be).

But, no, the phone hasn't rung yet. I still see myself in calm, happy oblivion. I would like to stand close to that past self of mine and say,

 "A storm is coming, but you will be okay. 

Just be the honest and upstanding person you always aim to be. 

You will make it to the other side, I promise."

As the phone rings, as I watch myself reach out to pick up the receiver, I want to give myself permission,

"It is okay to doubt him. It is okay to question him. 

It is okay to be mad at him. 

Trust your gut that he is not innocent. 

You don't have to stand by him."

Mere hours after that phone rings, that past version of me will fear that she will lose her children. I want to reassure her,

"The few who doubt your good motherhood will quickly reverse their opinions. Everyone will agree that your babies belong to you and you to them." 

As she shivers in bed with one arm wrapped around each baby, afraid that if she lets them go or closes her eyes they might disappear, I'd like to say, 

"Sleep, sleep, you are safe, they are safe. Years of happy mothering are still ahead of you." 

As she finally falls into a restless sleep, I would like to send her one last message:

"You fear losing your partner in life, but he never was the man you hoped he was. You will suffer pain and loss, but the hidden blessings will outweigh it all. In return you will gain self-confidence and strength; you will see friends and community more clearly; your connection to your children will be amplified; and you will find second chances for career and for love. 

You will suffer and struggle, but you will also survive and thrive. 

Each year will bring a stronger sense of gratitude for the fruitless life you were rescued from and the amazing life you were gifted with. 

I just wish you could know this now and let it reassure you as the storm passes over."

Please share what you would like to whisper into the ear of your past self.  Comment below or email evie.pruett@gmail.com

I don't like men or sex = FALSE

I'm rather vocal about my opinions on appropriate sexual behavior, especially regarding behavior between adults and children (I wonder where that came from). I'm also pretty vocal on issues of gender stereotypes and rape culture, which I believe are all closely related and deeply rooted flaws of our society concerning sexuality.

I feel like people who don't know me very well and who hear my opinions on sexual/gender matters tend to make two faulty assumptions about me:

 #1  I don't like men.

I mentioned in my last post that I don't easily trust men. That could confuse people into thinking that I don't like men. I actually think that men and women are not very different. I think we are made of the same stuff and have very similar potential for character. I also think that from an early age we are bombarded with messages that we are different. I think most of us get brainwashed before we hit puberty by all of the gender stereotypes and sexual messages. I like men, but I don't like what media and society tells them to be. And I really hate when men believe those messages, which most do.

I wish boys growing up could receive more positive messages about their emotions and ability to nurture. The good men out there are often described as being "in touch with their feminine sides", but instead, I believe, they are just awake to their own natural abilities to be a decent human despite the lies they were told growing up. This is why I protest gender stereotypes and balk every time someone says, "You think that way because you're a woman!" Or "Only a man could understand." My eyes roll every time I hear this crap - and they roll A LOT. 

#2 I don't like sex

This past week, a man in the writing group I've been attending (I will be quitting after this) concocted a story in which a 42-year-old man developed a romantic relationship with a 17-year-old girl. His story line was full of deception and twisted logic. It disturbed me greatly, but when I spoke up about my issues with it he declared me puritanical and implied that I'm lacking in sexuality. I just nodded. I've heard that before said by different people in different ways. Inside my head, I was thinking that I've probably had a more interesting and healthy sex life than him - sadly including my long relationship with a sex addict and sex offender, which definitely has marred my sexuality, but I still think I'm healthier than this guy!

My real problem with sex right now is that I'm not getting any because it is really hard to date as a single mom. My options kinda suck at the moment, but don't let me digress . . . I have one more story on this topic.

A male friend of mine recently went into a rant about how he can't get laid. I laughed because it was awkward, but I was totally sympathetic! I'm lonely! I'm sexually frustrated! But I don't say it out loud. Just because I don't talk to everyone about how much I like sex doesn't mean that I don't like it.

I've thought a lot about that conversation since then. I think society taught my friend as a male that it was okay to talk about his sexuality. It's okay for him to be overtly sexual. But as a woman, I was taught to hide it. I completely sympathized with him, but I couldn't tell him that. This is sad for both of us. It makes both genders lonely and divided. I can see why men say that women are confusing. He internalized it as a problem with himself, but so many men might as easily turn it around as a problem with women. Men find women confusing and women find men brutish. Maybe if we stopped promoting the differences between the sexes, maybe if we paid more attention to our similarities and tried to use a little sympathy, (maybe if men weren't brainwashed into thinking they need to take sex from others) maybe then we wouldn't have so many problems. 

Another thing, I keep the details of my previous marriage pretty quiet because I don't want to be judged by it. I don't like when people say, "You feel strongly about this because of what you went through." That's a load of BS. I've been awakened to the issues of society because of what I went through. Everyone should care about protecting children from sexual exploitation.

You shouldn't have to be a certain gender to appreciate healthy sexual activity or to recognize unhealthy sexual behavior. There are real reasons for why there are more male sex offenders than female, but I think only a small part of that is due to natural differences of the genders. I think society has produced most of the monsters I fear. I think the best way to fight it is to talk about it . . . although there are days when I'm sure that I'd get more dates if I'd shut up. But I don't really want a man who is scared away by a woman who is willing to stand up for what is right. Right?

Trust - what's that? (ideas on child safety and romance)

Could there be a more complicated thing than trust? I find love much easier. I can love many more people than I can trust. I can love people without fully trusting them. I can forgive many trespassers in my life, but it is likely I will never trust them again. To me, that's just logical.

But you have to give some trust to some people, especially when you have kids. The hardest person to trust is the one you don't know. But then, the most dangerous person is likely the one you think you really know - the one who you already trust. Anyone who has a close connection to a sex offender has experienced this phenomenon.

It is natural for us to have trust issues. All my trust issues are centered around my children. I can get very paranoid about the people I leave them with or allow them to have contact with. I'm not just worried about sexual abuse, I'm worried about any caregiver in any way not cultivating a healthy environment for my kids, whether it may be physically, emotionally, or socially. I have spent many hours in the middle of the night fretting and crying over these things. Here's the thing, though, I don't think I'm wrong in worrying about these things. I don't think I'm crazy, even though I feel crazy sometimes. What I do think is that we live in a society of people wearing rose-colored glasses, giving trust away undeserved, because, well, it's easier that way. I think I know better than most people that I SHOULD worry about how our flawed society is affecting our children, especially in sexual ways.

Let me back up, though, to shortly after Jake was first arrested. My emotions were torn apart and my sensibilities about the world were confused. Everything I had known seemed false and my whole self felt like a raw wound. Everyone I looked at, from family to social worker, I considered as a possible sexual predator. How could I know? Momentarily, I even had doubts about my own family. I reassured myself many times that if my parents and my brother didn't sexually abuse me as a child - and they didn't - then I didn't need to worry. But the sad truth is that sex offenders might pick one child and not another, one generation and not another. You never know. Not knowing had me paralyzed as a parent for a long time. I didn't feel like there was anyone other than myself that I could trust with my kids. I was a prisoner of distrust.

A strange thing started me on the road out of that funk. I was asked by my social worker, Umbridge, to go to her office and watch an educational video. Grooooaan. She tried to make if more comfortable for me by inviting a bunch of her coworkers to watch it as a training exercise. That actually made it worse because they all treated me like the leper of the group. The video, however, was very helpful. It was called Darkness to Light and discussed steps to prevent sexual abuse. It was good to learn the statistics on child sexual abuse and it was good to be given some guidelines for prevention. There was something more though, something about it that gave me a sense of empowerment. It planted ideas that worked on me slowly. How it changed me was so subtle, that it's hard to describe. I started putting a context and structure to my fears, which was important because then I could decide what was within the realm of my control. Guess what? A lot of things are in my control as a parent. Those are my kids, damn it. Mine. I get to say who takes care of them. I get to pick the conditions. If I don't like it, then I get to point that out and ask for a change. If that caregiver can't change, then I get to pick another caregiver. That video helped me realize that I had been giving so much of my parenting control away because I thought that was how things worked - you know, like saying okay to a dentist that won't let parents into the exam room because the parents' anxiety might upset the kid - but I woke up to the knowledge that I can keep my parenting control. It's mine, after all. And I can be vocal about it without being rude or obnoxious. I won't lie, it has led me into a few uncomfortable moments I wished I could have avoided, but better my discomfort than my kids being led into abuse, right? Mostly though, I am respected for being an advocate of my children's safety. I get positive responses when I make my expectations clear. A good childcare provider who has had the right training will be happy to show that they know how to create a safe environment and cultivate healthy attitudes.

Of course, a sexual predator will hide behind the same things that we trust and give us false reassurance. I believe in choosing environments that have open layouts and multiple adults to minimize the chances of anything being hidden. I also believe in surprise visits. You should always be able to drop-in on the place where your child is being kept - I don't care if it is grandma's house, your best friend's house, or the babysitter's. But really, the most powerful thing is communication with your child. You have to wait until your child is three-years-old or more before you can ask them about their day, but it is such a great tool once you get there.

Even then, talking to your child can be tricky. Establishing the conversation early helps. My 4-year-old, Elise, and I talk every couple weeks about body parts, privacy versus secrets, respect, and anything else I can think of that will introduce safe ways to navigate life. It's valuable. Today Elise told me that some boys at preschool were talking about "private things". My stomach turned, but at least I knew she would be able to answer my next questions: What private things? Were they talking about private body parts? Were they keeping secrets? Her answers were clear: Pee and poop, no body parts, and no secrets. Whew. It sounds simple, but if I hadn't given her the knowledge of body parts or privacy how could she answer? If I hadn't explained that some secrets can be dangerous then she might not tell me if someone asks her to keep one. I don't know if this works with every kid, but I feel pretty confidant that it works with her. Hopefully the conversations can grow with her so she'll always feel safe to come to me. Trust between myself and my kids is probably the trust I care about most.

My anonymous commenter who turned me onto the subject of trust was probably thinking more about men - the ones we might be romantically interested in. Alas, I have no words of wisdom, only empathy. I find it extraordinarily more difficult to trust  men than women. I feel this is unfair and discriminatory of me, and yet, it is how I am now. I could not leave my kids at a daddy daycare or let a man babysit, other than my father or brother. When we were still dating, my ex-boyfriend asked me why I acted weird whenever he volunteered to babysit. I explained to him that after each time I leave my kids with someone I ask my kids questions to make sure nothing inappropriate happened and I didn't want to have to do that with him. It really upset him. He thought I was doubting his character without reason. I wouldn't say I was doubting it, but I was playing it safe for the sake of my kids. And isn't that my job? I can trust a man again with my heart, but I'm not sure I can trust one with my kids. Maybe in the future we should all discuss methods of dating for single parents because right now I feel like the safest method is to wait until both kids are 18!

By the way, anonymous, I would love to read more about your story and thoughts. I would love to read anyone's stories about their relationships and dealings with sex offenders, even if they feel and act differently from myself. I think we need a community. I think we need to learn from each other and have each others' support. The more vocal we are, the better recovery will be. And if someone outside of our situation reads it, the better they will sympathize. We also have an opportunity to make our society a safer place for kids through our unique perspective. But first we have to start talking out loud. I hope to hear more from you. 

P.S. I was working on this while my girls were in the tub. I was just about to hit publish when Elise dropped the bar of soap and it slipped between Sabrina's legs. Elise reached to get it and it made Sabrina giggle. Elise didn't find the soap, but she reached between Sabrina's legs again to make her giggle again. I had to pull her out of the tub and have a talk - again - about private body parts and respecting other people's bodies (even when they giggle). Obviously, it is an ongoing conversation. Sigh!

After Divorce

Ah, anonymous commenters, you bring me back every time. The latest comment reminded me of how long it has been since I posted - three months! And so much has happened.

WARNING - BITTERNESS BELOW

My divorce from Jake was finalized in April. It was such a strange process. We worked though our lawyers to come up with a separation agreement. It was incredibly awkward since he is in prison and has very limited ability to talk to his lawyer. He wouldn't agree to let me change the kids' names to my maiden name - no surprise there. He also wanted me to pay off one of his debts as part of the divorce. This sent me through the roof with anger. I recently had to file bankruptcy because I couldn't afford childcare, let alone credit card payments left over from my destructive marriage. I feel like my unfortunate financial circumstances all lead back to him. I don't want to be childish, but in all fairness, HE owes ME money and great apologies. Instead, my lawyer talked me into appeasing him by promising that if he is ever taken to court and forced to pay off the credit card then I will forgive him from having to pay a portion of child support. This is all quite laughable - and I laughed like an insane person gone manic when my lawyer came up with it because: A) the state of Colorado doesn't believe that incarcerated persons should have to pay child support, B) the debt is so small that it is unlikely any credit card company will care enough to take him to court, and C) even after he is out he will never pay me child support as long as he lives because he has a knack for wiggling out of all responsibilities. Basically, I got nothing out of the divorce except my freedom from him and a huge lawyer bill.

At least I have a few years before he can get visitation with the kids. I fear the time when he will have access to them. How will he con them? Will it be for sex or money? God help me that I have to lay awake at night worrying about these things. Well, before he can see them he has to be out of prison and through a certain amount of sex offender treatment. Any visitation will be supervised. There is a little comfort in that, I suppose.

I thought I had six years to prepare for the time when the kids would be exposed to him again. Six years was what I believed his earliest release date would be with good behavior. However, when I looked Jake up in the prison system, they have his first parole hearing listed just three years from now. My heart sank when I saw that. Just three years. Do I dare hope that they routinely deny parole for a few years? I am terrified for my kids. They don't deserve to have such a father. They really don't deserve to have him reintroduced to their lives while they're too young to understand his manipulative ways. How can I protect them?

Well, I am thankful that the divorce is final. I have a second chance to choose a better life for myself and the kids. It's been hard. We're poor. But we're often happy despite everything else. In terms of the future, I'll just have to hope for the best.

A Happy Father's Day (except for . . . )

One would think that Father's Day would be a bummer around our household. I certainly thought it would. The week before, the daycare teacher told me that they were making something special for Father's Day and asked who Elise should make her gift for. I instructed her to make it for Grandpa (Jake's dad). I asked the teacher if that would be weird, but she said, "A lot of other kids don't have dads either." The idea that my kids aren't alone in their fatherless state is sadly comforting, but it still haunted me the rest of the week.

Understandably, Elise talked a lot about Daddy all week. She asked me again and again where he was and when he would come back. I used to tell her that he was on a trip or working. A while back she had commented on how long his "trip" had been, so I decided it was time to let the truth start creeping in. I told her that Daddy had gotten in trouble. I told her that he had made bad choices and because of those choices he couldn't come home. She parroted back something like, "Being in trouble means you can't come home . . ." I didn't want her to think that she would be banned from our home when she got in trouble next time, so I tried to clarify that it was only the kind of trouble that grown-ups can get into. She didn't care, she just wanted to know when he'd come home again. I told her that he was the only one who could make that happen by making good choices. She seemed to accept that and stopped worrying about it. I just wish I knew what she was thinking.

Anyhow, the week before Father's Day, Elise made up all sorts of sweet stories involving Daddy. She would tell me almost every day about things she did with her Daddy and absolutely none of them were true. But they were all happy stories, like how Daddy gave her a pet frog. I let her indulge in the stories because it made her happy, although I secretly worry that someday she'll think those are real memories and hold it against me for taking her away from such an awesome dad. If only she did have a dad that good.

Well, the weekend came. One of Jake's sisters brought her family to visit and we planned a big dinner on Sunday. I expected Jake's parents to be real downers because we just haven't gotten along well lately, but they really were fantastic. They came over to my house Friday evening just to help me inflate a kiddie pool. They didn't have a "shopping list" from Jake or any other motive to come over other than to help me - I almost cried with happiness! They even kept mention of Jake down to minimum all weekend, although they just had to brag about how great his wood carvings are. And on Father's Day there was just happiness among all the family.

It was a really good time and I am very thankful. It felt so good, in fact, that it made me think twice about keeping my divorce plans a secret from his family. I don't want to alienate them with this horrible surprise. I started thinking that I was probably being paranoid in thinking that Jake would ever try to hurt us. So that night I prayed that God would give me some reassuring dreams about this whole situation and set my mind at ease. Instead, I had really disturbing dreams in which I was living all alone in a very different life without my kids and without any purpose - depressing, but not scary. I started coming out of the dream, just enough to know that I was dreaming, but not quite awake. Then I heard a truly frightening sound that had me awake in an instant. It was the sound of someone walking through my house and into my bedroom. My eyes flew open and my heart was pounding in my throat. I stared at the foot of my bed a few long moments, trying to see who was standing there because I knew - I KNEW - that someone was there. Not having any better idea, I decided to turn on the light and face the intruder. No one was there. I was really scared the rest of that night. I was scared the next day, too. I don't have any weird notions that it was a foretelling of the future or even a sign from God, despite the prayer that led to it. It was just enough for me to have my subconscious reaffirm its fears.

So, the weekend as a whole was truly wonderful, except for that night. I will keep my plans to move as stealthily as possible toward this divorce. Simultaneously, I will try to indulge in the family love that really does exist here and hope that those ties are lasting.

Weekend Blogger

As the title suggests, I think I will now become a weekend blogger. Working a full week just does not allow for any extracurricular activities. In fact, I barely have time to cook supper and clean the kitchen each night before it's bedtime. I had the day off today (Good Friday) and I almost screamed when I opened the bedroom door this morning because the house was so disgusting. Toys, dirty clothes, and other clutter covered the living room floor. The dining table was piled with unopened mail from the week. And the few loads of clothes I had managed to wash during the week were still in the basket getting wrinkled. I feel like a whining wimp saying these things because I know there are moms that handle multiple jobs and still keep the house clean, but that's just me. So I spent all day cleaning and you can hardly tell - mostly because the kids "helped" with everything.

I've already decided that weekend blogging sucks because during the week I had so many things to blog about, but I've now forgotten half of them.

Ah yes, I wanted to tell you all that I have lingering guilt over my last post about my friend who returned to her unfaithful husband. She called me the next day and, as I saw her name appear on my phone, I was prepared to give her a piece of my mind. But the instant she greeted me and I heard the happiness in her voice, I lost all my nerve. This may be a huge risk that will end in disaster, but I can tell she really wants to give it a chance. Who am I to judge her? Her situation is different from mine. Her husband is not a sex addict or a child molester. I don't even know their situation well enough to know if he has cheated more than once. Maybe there is real hope for them. Maybe a few years from now he'll have tears in his eyes as he explains to his son that cheating on the one you love is the biggest mistake you could ever make. Maybe they'll have a long, beautiful marriage. One can only hope, right?

I, however, will only have weird relationships for the rest of my days - either with a man who is sexually disturbed and can't ever be a part of my life as a normal spouse again due to restrictions of the law, or with someone else who will have to help raise the children of that sexually disturbed man, which will definitely be awkward. (By the way, one of my great character flaws is that I try to think too far ahead.)

I don't know if I've ever mentioned before that I write a column. It's very local, small time. It's a funny thing to be a columnist because I'm never surprised when complete strangers know who I am. For instance, my new office mate knew me from my column before we worked together. In my column, I recently revealed that my husband is not in the picture any more. For a full year, I had carefully concealed it, but it was getting too hard. Besides, most people had connected the front-page articles with Jake's mugshot to the columnist in the middle of the paper anyhow, so I figured I wasn't really going to reveal anything shocking . . . But in the last few weeks I have been amazed at the number of people who have NOT connected me to Jake. They must just flip to the columns without really reading the front page. Or maybe they don't think too much about two people having the same last name. Well, anyhow, my office-mate Sandra (who is very cool) is one of those people who haven't made the connection. I realized this one day when I stuck my foot in my mouth. A customer walking through our office heard my name and stopped to say, "Aren't you . . ." She looked so serious that I thought she was going to connect me with Jake, but then she smiled and continued, "the one who writes that column?"

Like an idiot, I replied, "Yes! I'm glad that's where you know me from!" She gave me a questioning look and I quickly said, "Oh, just joking." She nodded and waved good-bye, but my coworker continued to look at me strangely for a few more moments.

You know, I've skated along the last year and few months without a lot of social damage from this whole affair. Outside of his job, Jake wasn't very involved in our community and people hardly saw us together. That turned out to be a blessing for me because people who just know my face and my first name don't usually make the connection. For those that did make the connection, they've been completely charitable in their consideration of me as a person independent of my husband's wrongs. I grew quite comfortable with this situation and thought that I had grown past the fear of his crimes hurting my reputation. But now I'm feeling the fear because in two weeks he'll appear for a court hearing and, like clockwork, our local paper will print an update of his case on the front page with his mugshot and our last name in bold capital letters. Will everyone at work suddenly realize who I'm married to? Will they whisper behind my back? Will they treat me like a leper? I wonder if I should forewarn my boss. Would that help at all or just guarantee awkwardness?

One more story: I was at a thrift store yesterday and was juggling Sabrina alongside several shirts on hangers as I headed toward the fitting room. A woman noticed me struggling and offered to hold Sabrina while I tried on clothes. I said no thank you. She replied, "You can trust me, I'm a social worker." I repeated my answered as I tried not to make a face at her. You see, having a sex offender as a husband invites Social Services into your life, and not in a good way. I would have loved to tell her that her title only lowers my trust for her, but I didn't (because I'm nice). But really, isn't that a stupid thing to say. You know who else says, "You can trust me . . . " KIDNAPPERS!

. . . and sex offenders . . . and cheating husbands . . . 

Oh wait, I've got one more thing and then I'm done for the next week. Jake called today. Until today he hasn't called unless I've invited him to, which I've only done once. I answered, thinking it might be an emergency or something. He just wanted to talk. I did my best at giving him the I'm-not-that-interested-in talking-to-you attitude, but it's not like I hung up or anything. It just left me wondering about my boundaries. Obviously, they aren't very strong. The biggest problem is that I want to talk to him. I want to have him in my life. I struggle with the idea that this man I love to talk to is also the person who has hurt me the most. I know that I can't trust him, but I don't feel it in my heart. Damn it, just answering that phone made me feel like an idiotic. I think I'll have to tell him in my next letter that I'm not ready for phone calls. I may convince myself some days that I'm not a mess, but I really really am.

Now, let's all go celebrate the season of rebirth! Even in my un-Christianly spirituality, I love Easter and all it represents. I can't help it because it means hope. Hope that stems from nasty, dark death scenarios must be the best kind, right?

Shoveling shit and feeling depressed

I was really affected by the pastor's wife suggesting I needed anti-depressants. When she said it I thought, That's funny, I don't feel depressed. But now I feel depressed!

I just had one of those funny days where I was having a good time while the sun was up, but now that the sun has set and I see the time creeping toward bedtime I'm getting really down. I find myself sighing a lot and thinking negative thoughts. The majority of those thoughts are about money and how I'm not making any. I seem to work, work, work, but have nothing to show for it.

When my mother was visiting, she witnessed this constant "work" I'm doing. A lot of the things I do involve sorting out bills and obligations that Jake left hanging. It involves lots of phone calls and research on the internet and sorting his junk to sell online and the like. At the end of one exhausting day, I couldn't think of a single thing I accomplished. I asked my mother why I was so worn out and she said, "Because you're shoveling shit. And it's not even your own shit."

It was sort of a surprisingly crass thing for my mother to say, but it defined my life right now so well that I think of it at the end of every day. I'm shoveling shit. I pour myself another glass of wine and raise a toast to all the shit I shoveled each day!

That brings me back to depression. I was trying to think of what was making me depressed. The shit shoveling.  The lack of alone time. The lack of parental support . . . Yeah, yeah, but those are old news that I thought I had gotten used to. The stress of a new job? Sure, but that is equally balanced by the promise of a paycheck. So that brings me to the wine. Yes, I think I will blame the wine that I started drinking again when my mother visited.

It relieves some pressure to have something to blame, even if it is an unlikely one. It gives me something to change - something within my power - with the hopes that I'll feel better in a few days. So tonight I had a cup of my favorite tea instead of my usual glass of wine. Cheers. And here's to a brighter tomorrow.

Down Day

Sabrina spent most of last night puking. She's doing better now, but we're both weary. My body still hurts from work last week and I start again tomorrow. I was saddened after hearing several of my coworkers having a very racist conversation on Friday and it is still bugging me. The pastor's wife suggested I need anti-depressants. My confidence is very low right now, so maybe she's right. I called my in-laws this morning and stuck my foot in my mouth several times. Then I called my own parents who had to reassure me that they still like me after I burst into tears when they gave me honest criticism.

This is not my best day ever. And it's not even noon.

I'm going to make a chocolate cheesecake:

Crust
1 1/2 cups chocolate wafer crumbs
1/4 cup butter, melted
2 TBS sugar
1/4 cup chopped almonds (optional)

Blend ingredients. Press into bottom and sides of a 9-in pan.

Filling
3 8-oz packages cream cheese, softened
3/4 cup sugar
3 eggs
1/3 cup strong coffee
1 tsp vanilla
3/4 unsweetened cocoa
1 cup chocolate chips (optional)

Beat cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Add eggs, beat on low speed until just combined. Stir in coffee and vanilla, mix well. Beat in cocoa just until blended. Stir in chocolate chips. Pour into prepared crust. Place pan on a baking sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 40 minutes (mine seems to take longer) or until center is almost set. Remove from oven. Increase temperature to 425 degrees. Combine topping ingredients (below). Spread over cheesecake. Sprinkle with nuts. Bake for 10 minutes more or until done. Cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edge. Cool for 1 more hour. Chill overnight.

Topping (optional)
1 cup sour cream
2 TBS brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup sliced almonds. 

Alternative serving method: Cool as long as you can stand it and then start munching on warm cheesecake while drinking chilled white wine. That's my plan.

Getting a Job

I have a graduate degree in science and I'm a successful grant writer and columnist. I'm tech-savvy, have great customer service skills, and make good first impressions (on future employers, at least). So aren't you dying to know what my cool new job I got with my stunning resume? I'm a temporary, part-time, office assistant. I file. All. Day. Long.

I'm really happy to have this job - no joke! Back in my single days - before I had kids and before the economy tanked - I had never gone to a job interview and not been offered the job. No wait, a restaurant wouldn't hire me as a waitress one summer because I didn't have any waiting experience. But other than that, I've NEVER been turned down for a job after the interview. So why did I get turned down after three different job interviews before I got this current position? I have a few theories. First, I live in a small rural town. They don't have a lot of high-paying science or writing jobs for me to apply to, so I applied to everything and anything. Second, I'm over-qualified for every job I applied for, which employers don't seem to like. Third, I was competing with at least ten other over-qualified people for each job. My conclusion is that it's not me, it's the job market. Right now, the economy is down which has pushed good people out of jobs and pushing otherwise non-workers back into them out of financial desperation. Now everyone is competing for meager pickings.

It was difficult to apply for jobs that I didn't really want at wages that were dismally below what I need. But Jake really left me in a financial bind. I put off serious job-seeking for a year and scraped by on miraculous tax refunds and gifts of money from anonymous donors at church. Right at the beginning of the year, I decided to take a serious stab at building a writing career. I really threw myself into it and felt like I was starting to understand the writing world when Jake was arrested again. It took away all my confidence. At least when he was on probation there was a chance that he could help with the bills. But with him in jail, I'm the sole bread-winner and my "writing career" wasn't ready for that pressure. So I applied for every job under the sun and finally got one.

All last week, I filed my little heart out! I have multiple paper cuts on each finger. My children went to daycare full time, but they seem to be handling it well. I must have made a good impression while I was tucked away in the filing room that they've nicknamed "the dungeon" because they invited me to work more hours in the coming weeks. I get to set my own schedule, so I'm thinking of working four full days filing and one part day writing. Maybe I won't have to drop my writing dreams after all . . .

In case you're wondering if my spouse's ugly situation is the reason I didn't get some of those jobs, I don't think so. As far as I know, only one employer knew about my family history and I'm confidant they didn't hold it against me because they're my church. My supervisor and all my peers at this new job commute into our town every day and don't read our paper, so they are blissfully unaware. I'm sure they will figure it out in a few months, but by then I hope they know me well enough to only think less of him and not me. What a sad way to face the world, right?

Dreams

I am putting off writing the next part in the February 16, 2011 story. It is more painful to recall than I thought it would be. I'll get to it this weekend, maybe.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share some of the crazy dreams I've had lately. It seems that the recent drama mixed with Valentine's Day and too much T.V. really stirred up my imagination.

First, I had a dream that I went on a date with President Obama. That's weird, right? Even in my dream I was wondering how I ended up on a date with the President. I think I said something to him once, like, "Gosh, you're kinda old for me . . . and aren't you married?" It didn't phase me at all that he was the leader of our nation, but then I've always aimed high (which is how I ended up with an unfaithful, sex addicted teacher in rural farm country).

A few days later, I had a very convoluted dream that I was both Anna and Ethel from PBS's Downton Abbey. If you haven't watched this show, go check it out. A quick explanation: Anna marries a man who is accused of murdering his ex-wife and she stands by him through the trial. Ethel gets knocked-up by a soldier and abandoned with the baby (this is the early 1900s when no one would give a job to an unmarried mother). I don't think it takes much imagination to see why I identify with these characters. I take more to Ethel (in all her self-righteous stupidity) than I do to the purely devoted Anna, mostly because I've been in Anna's shoes and got burned. I want to scream at her, "HE DID IT! HE KILLED HER! RUN AWAY!"

Lastly - the craziest one of all - I dreamed that I was spending time with a man who was devoted and loving. He put his arm around me so naturally and adoringly. He was relaxed and simple in his manners. He was just content to be with me, without the need for a sexual goal. Just a good man, imagine that.

The dreams themselves can be shrugged off and forgotten, but the greater meaning comes from the theme: relationships and dating. For the first time since all this started, I'm thinking about my relationship with my husband in the past tense. I'm identifying with women who have been separated or abandoned by their mates. My imagination is playing with scenarios of how to start a new romance. Up until now, I haven't thought about leaving or divorce or anything along those lines. It's strange to have my self-conscious working ahead of me. Is there really a part of me that is ready to move on already? If there is, then it is the minority because most of me feels a little nauseous at the thought of any kind of romance (and downright opposed to anything sexual). But then, I also feel like these dreams are a signal of where I might be heading . . . Strange.

Or maybe it was just the Valentine's Day subliminal messages that infected my colorful dreamscape.