Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream

Doggy!

Out of nowhere, last night I had the strangest dream...

The dream was from my point of view, but I was this other woman, someone I don't know. I/she was at a bank or some similar public building, like I/she worked there, and in the middle of the day a masked man all in black with a gun came and shot up the windows. Everyone ducked and no one was hurt, but it felt like the man was after me/the woman. The man also had a dog with him, an all black pitbull who was ferociously barking and would have attacked once the glass windows fell, but the man was chased off by sirens or a cop. 

That night I/she was at home, shaken, looking through the glass door to the back yard. Suddenly there were these lights shining right into the house from the dark yard. I/she was scared, but then these three cops came out from the shadows and told me/her that they were assigned to watch over the house and make sure the attacker didn't return for me/her. I/she was relieved, but then the cops showed me/her the dog from earlier, the all black pitbull. She had been cowering under a tree, her mouth gashed open probably from the broken glass. One of the cops asked what I wanted to do with her, as in would I keep her or did I want her to be euthanized. The cop didn't present the question that way, but a pitbull that was kept by a bad man and would have attacked people? There's no way anyone else would have been responsible for her. I/she was really nervous about the idea, but didn't want to condemn the dog to death. It wasn't her fault she was owned by such a bad person, and deep down I/she knew a dog like that could be rehabilitated. Reluctantly, I/she agreed to keep the dog. But just then, the dog came up and put her mouth on my/her arm and gave just enough pressure to cause me/her to panic. What if the dog didn't let go? I/she tried to call the cop's attention to the situation, but right when the cops turned around to see the dog loosened up. All my/her fears slipped away and I/she believed the dog would be good.

Later on, I/she was in an indoor farmer's market with the dog, who was now healed and wearing a bright pink harness to show off her girlyness. I/she was still a tad shaken over the attack and not really interacting with too many people or making eye contact- just focusing on picking veggies. The dog wasn't leashed, but was staying by my/her side the whole time like a good dog. Then this couple with two leashed dogs came in to the market and the pitbull took off after them. But for some reason not a single person was concerned, least of all me/her or the couple with the other dogs. The pitbull ran up to the other dogs and they all sniffed each other and romped for a few seconds before it just became too chaotic with three dogs in a farmer's market. Everything was fine and turned out well.

Strange dream. I think I might like having a pitbull one day.

I Get By

Maybe it's being American, maybe it's just me, but it's really difficult to be truly happy unless I'm doing something I love, or at least believe in. The majority of Americans hate their jobs and slave away because we have mortgages and dependent children (or at least rent and car payments and a princess cat) and it may be because we're told from a very young age that we can do anything we want, that all we have to do is figure out what we want to do and sure enough we'll find a way to make a living doing it. We hear stories of people who teach dogs to surf for a living, people who review restaurants and clubs for a living, people who find their niche, find a product or company or idea they can get behind and end up not just making a living or getting by but doing well. These people exist as a shining example to the rest of us that our mediocre jobs and mediocre paychecks don't have to be forever, that if we want something bad enough all we have to do is go get it.

But what it really feels like is a taunt. These people just show us that we will always be miserable because we did not luck out- we did not meet that eclectic investor who took a fancy to us on the beach and funded our start-up dog surfing company, because someone else was slightly more qualified than we were, because someone's niece or cousin was applying for the same job we were, and perhaps most of all because at the end of the work day the last thing we want to do is think about the jobs we don't have.

I recently met with a trainer at the gym I joined to discuss my goals, which is to run my next half marathon in less than 2 hours. I said that on a scale of 1 to 10 as to how committed I was to this goal I was an 8. I have no idea why I put that. I'm really more like a 5, as in I do really want to beat that time but I don't realistically think I can do so. Why? From 730 in the morning to about 7 at night my time is work or work related: getting ready in the morning, commuting, working, lunch break (in which I sit in my car), cleaning my lunch box, and preparing food for the next day. Add stopping at the gym on my way home for strength training and some treadmill time and I'm a solid hour plus stretching plus changing time, plus showering once I get home, and that time is only going to increase the more I do street runs that are 6+ miles. By the time I make and eat dinner after a typical day it's at least 9pm and I should be in bed by 11 to get the amount of sleep I want (ha, yeah right).

So, when do I look for that perfect job that I'll do well in, that I care about and that pays enough? The weekends are great, but again that's when I need to be doing those really long runs, when I can see my friends, when I can get some good writing in (I know this blog should really be the last thing I spend time on, in addition to puttering about on the internet, which has slowed to a trickle, but I hate not writing for myself after all day of writing for work), and when I can catch up on the sleep I inevitably miss during the week. Job hunting, tailoring your resume and a cover letter for each position, takes a long time. Plus, my resume needs an overhaul. It's overwhelming.

Every now and then I regret my educational choices and wish I stuck with biology like I planned in high school. Then at least I'd be in a field I was passionate about and could still be writing for myself, maybe with an animal blog. There are three things I'm highly passionate about: animals and the environment, social equality, and food. I want to get my Master's in sociology, but part of me still thinks that won't be enough. I miss working with (or at least among) animals and want very badly to get back to that. But schooling is a very unlikely option because it would require me to essentially start over, making my 4 years in college irrelevant and my 4 years of professional experience completely useless. Plus, by the time I would be ready to get the job I actually want I'd be in my mid 30s with tens of thousands of dollars in debt working in a field that will never pay that off. Knowing that feels hopeless.

There are other things I want that make it impossible for me to take much of a pay cut for that perfect job. I've been frustrated for so long that I still, 4 years out of college and with all of that professional experience under my belt,  have to watch every dollar I spend. The only reason I did the Hot Chocolate Race last week was because a bonus paid for it, but those bonuses are small, very rare and should be going to things like my car. I'm more than ready to be financially set, to stop thinking as soon as I finish paying for this one thing I'll be OK, I desperately need a new computer (and unfortunately only want a shiny, very expensive one), really need a new bed, and really want to take a community college class. Oh, and save for our road trip at the end of summer, start my personal savings so that I'll one day live in a nicer place with a dog, and have a night out every now and then that doesn't involve me picking the cheapest thing on the menu. It feels like a lot, but I also feel like I was promised that going to college would mean all of these dreams coming true, and I don't see how it's going to happen. Those I know who've made some of these things happen are either married and benefitting from their husband's incomes or had a lot of parental financial support. I had/have/wanted neither. But life this way can get frustrating.

A lot of the frustration in all honesty is coming from the current political situation. Every goddamn day I hear how one party is wanting to cut Americans off from health services (don't get me started on the current war on women), how all we need is a good Republican in Washington to clean up the mess, which is the same exact thing the Democrats said 4 years ago to clean up the previous Republican mess, and it's really fucking annoying. Seriously... I've only been paying attention to politics for about 8 years and this will be the third presidential election I've participated in, but I already think nothing is ever going to change. As long as one party is in office the other will blame it for everything that ever goes wrong and will be totally uncooperative just because it can, just because it's jealous that it's not in control. What fucking children. And we elect these people. We elect them because they call themselves Christian, because they play a wonderful game of  us versus them, because they make every promise in the book from January until November and then forget about us completely. It makes me not want to live here anymore so that I don't have to be governed by the most immature people in the world. Cutting school funding so people like me can't help themselves, cutting social services so people worse off than me can't learn to be independent, and giving presents to people better off than me to they can buy Ferrari's (the trickle down idea is behind it all, but who does that really help besides luxury car mechanics?). Unfortunately it's April and we've still got 7 more months of this bullshit to go. I just hope Obama wins and will take some dramatic measures during the next four years to make things a little better without worrying about reelection.

I know this climate isn't going to last forever but I really want it to be over soon. If it's this hard for me it's got to be murder on a lot of other Americans.

A Decade

Sweet girl.

I've written before, many times, about my cat Milo. Today was the tenth anniversary if his death. It may seem silly or crazy (let's not forget I'm both silly and crazy) but that was the first thing I loved and he's still the love of my life. Had he still been alive he would turn 18 this year, which is a pretty unlikely age for a cat, especially one that goes outside. But that doesn't matter.

It's so weird to think of someone being dead longer than they've been alive. Milo died ten years ago, a few months before he would have turned 8 years old. Two nights ago I dreamed our dog, Tipper, was with me on an intense hike with a group of strangers. She was the only dog and she was a real trooper, even though she was older. Everyone loved her, she hopped up onto the rocks like a pup, and swam in the water with me, even though in real life she was a little afraid of water. I gave her a big hug, like I was just realizing how great she was, and it felt so real in the dream. I woke up pretty happy that I had that experience with her, even though it wasn't real. I miss her a lot; she was a great dog.

The behbeh.

Part of the problem with loving animals is they don't live very long. That means I'll love, and lose, a great number of animals in my life. On the other hand, I've been lucky enough to not have had to experience the loss of people in my life yet. But I feel like I can have a stronger connection with animals than I can with most people, so maybe their losses have more of an effect. But that doesn't matter either, because that's something I never want to change.

Struggles

A bridge. Literal image, metaphorical idea. Also one of the coolest bridges.

An interesting part of humanity is that we have the ability to hide our feelings. When an animal is scared he either cowers or fights back, when an animal is pleased or content he is relaxed. A person can appear one thing on the outside and feel the opposite on the inside. The struggles people carry with them on a daily basis can very often be completely hidden from all but those who know them best.

This makes me happy. <3

I started my new job carrying a good amount of anger (completely unrelated to work), and that anger combined with a few very unexpected obstacles caused me to break down on my second day. No one in my office knows of the anger I carried (carry?), but it doesn't matter. I know they carry their struggles, and sometimes those struggles are hidden just beneath the surface. I found out about this when one person's struggles came out; I have no idea what each of them carry within their heads or hearts, just like none of them know what I carry. We, all people, are just trying to get through the day and get to whatever it is that makes us happy. The good thing is I know what makes me happy, I know what I want now and in the future, and I know that I value those things so much I can't be apart from them.

This makes everything seem better.

There's a dream I have of my hopefully not too distant future: to live alone in a beautiful, spunky apartment by Balboa Park, with my kitty, to run in the park every day, to have my debts paid off and to not worry about how I'm going to pay for the things I need, and to do work I can feel good about. This dream hinges on one or two decisions, so my life should have the direction I want in a couple of months. If everything goes according to plan I may have to put off that small dream for a few years, but I know it'll be way worth it, because the big plan will be in the works.

Kissing A Stranger

I was on a date, of sorts, with this guy. It was maybe the third or fourth date and we were just hanging out at his place, some of his friends were over, and it was a pizza-beer-movie kind of evening. He had his arm around me on the couch, in a kind of compulsory way. But suddenly he turns, looks at me with confident eyes, and kisses me. He kisses me deliberately, securely. It lasts a few seconds, then he pulls away leaving me speechless, almost even breathless. We stare at each other for a second, then he turns back to the movie, grinning, and I look around the room, seemingly for the first time. The friends are laying sprawled out on their stomaches on the floor, chatting about what's going on on the TV, this guy's arm is now comfortably around me, holding me close, and I'm just accepted into this group of people without question, all because I'm with their good friend. We're all lounging in sweatshirts on a weeknight, entirely unconcerned with dress code. I relax into my date's arm, at once contented and excited at my new place in this group. That kiss, the deliberate way in which it was delivered, the confident no-questions-asked attitude, roped me in.

And then I woke up.

On the up side, I woke up in a really good mood. If reading into dreams means anything (which, after the earthquake dream the other night, I hope not), maybe it means I'm going to meet a handsome stranger in grad school. When I looked at this guy after the kiss I felt amazed– not that we kissed like that but that I knew this was something. Not it, but something meaningful. And that was exciting. Waking up with that feeling still fluttering around inside me reminded me that that exists– I may not have been waiting around hoping my boyfriends would ask me out, and definitely never thought my relationships would last more than a couple of months or be even remotely serious (boy was I wrong), so I never got that really excited "I hope this works out" feeling. I'd certainly like to think that I'll have that feeling, or something similar, if I ever get married. I'd also like to think that if there ever is anyone I want to marry that I'll know, even if it doesn't work out or he doesn't want to marry me; the thought of being in a ('nother) serious relationship for years but still having that "how do you know it's right?" feeling lurking around seems depressing.

Though I have to say I did know, in my two relationships. I knew they weren't right, I just may not have been quick to admit it (ok, ok, it took me years to admit it, and then 6 months after admitting it to ending it... so I take my time, alright?). Half the battle is working up the courage to get along on your own, but the other half of the battle is working up the courage to break some poor guy's heart. Nobody really looks forward to either of those battles.

I like that my dreams take on hopeful themes as well as terrifying ones (simultaneous earthquakes are scary as shit, apparently, but in my dream everyone was physically and mentally OK). My dreams, combined with some real life positivity, make me think things are gonna get good quick. I'm ready for change.

For now, it's off to Nyquil land for some more drug-induced adventures.

Anne Frank

Just finished reading (re-reading?) Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Anne Frank had to be the most intelligent 14-year old girl in the world. She was insanely smart for her age, well wise beyond her years, and so articulate and able to easily express the most basic feelings that people have struggled their whole lives to express. It's a huge shame on our species that she had to die at the hands of an evil, racist authority.

Anne was in hiding in a warehouse with her family and 4 others for over 2 years during World War II. During that time they did not leave the warehouse, did not breathe fresh air, came close to starvation, came close to discovery multiple times, and had restrictions on when they could run water, use the toilet and even get up and move around. Their lives depended on extreme secrecy and security measures. Annes only solace throughout this whole ordeal was her dependency on the privacy of her diary. She wrote about quarrels between the tenants, being chastised by her parents, her longing for her friends, her lack of anyone to confide in (except her diary, which she named "Kitty"), the goings on in the world, being terrorized by air raids, the pains their friends took to bring them food, their near starvation... all before age 14, young Anne experienced and documented a life none of us can imagine. And she took it all in stride: every so often when she became depressed, Anne would bring herself back out of it by remembering how lucky she was to be in hiding when her friends suffered unimaginable fates in the outside. Starving, alone and terrified for 2 years, Anne pulled her own chin up, even when the adults couldn't do so.

In her diary she wrote about her dreams for the future, after the war. She saw the life of her mother and knew that was not for her. She wanted

"to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to... to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I’ve never met. I want to go on living even after my death!"

Oh, Anne. You have no idea.

Unsurprisingly enough, this part of her book resonated with me. I've looooong known that the housewife life is so not for me. Granted, I'm glad my mom did it, and I don't think less of women my age who want to do it, I just couldn't do it or even imagine doing it. Anne had considered having her diary published and wanted to become a journalist. She also laughed at herself, wondering who would ever read the dumb whinings of a teenage girl. In the mid 1940s, Anne started to struggle with the notion of doing things differently. It was expected that a good Jewish girl would marry and have children, but Anne wanted more. Things aren't so different now.

Sixty-plus years later, women are still expected to marry and have children. It's more acceptable to also have a career (or hobby or part-time job or volunteer) but the question of getting married and having children is ever present. Telling a curious asker that you have a husband and child(ren) doesn't require further discussion. Telling a curious asker that you have a cool job prompts questions of who you're dating and if you want to have his kids. Having a job is not an acceptable answer unless you also are at least engaged.

What is it about the older generations that want us to bear our own children and become a family so badly? Why is it not OK to skip that step in life? We are not animals in the sense that we bear young every year in order to ensure the survival of our species, and since it's such a HUGE deal to raise even one kid in this world why is it not acceptable to opt out?

Answer: They sacrificed happiness and freedom for the good of the younger generations and now it's our turn to do the same. People who marry young are, for the most part, viewed as more mature and responsible than those who marry late. We equate marriage with maturity and the later you do it the less responsible and more selfish you are. I suppose it could be said that marriage can force a couple to become more mature and responsible, and that having kids forces people to make decisions for the best of the child rather than what sounds fun, but is that really the path we want most people to take? Force someone, in the midst of learning to handle life, to become something completely different? This will only force people to suppress certain feelings until something happens (like divorce or the kids growing up) to make those feelings resurface. And now we have rampant 40- and 50-somethings back on the dating scene trying to just be happy. Maybe if they'd had the opportunity to do what made them happy in their 20s they'd have made better life decisions and wouldn't need to deal with the sudden resurfacing of emotions not dealt with in decades.

A New York Times article ponders the state of the twenty-somethings. Because we obviously have a problem if we're not graduating, finding a life-long job and partner, marrying and popping out kids ASAP. The article is very long winded and goes into the psychology of 20-somethings (including brain development and cultural expectations) but it also spends a few pages discussing if "emerging adulthood" should be the newest recognized developmental stage in life, which I'm not really interested in. Do we really need to recognize it as a stage? Can't we just settle with a continuous cycle of the older generation criticizing the younger generation for being different?

My mom has been unhappy with her job (and state of being, really) for the better part of a decade. She tried taking classes at community college but couldn't finish a whole semester. Her job offers stability, health insurance and a flexible schedule. She tells me she made sacrifices in order to obtain those things, for the kids, and suggests that maybe it's time I do the same. But why should I? I have no need to make those kinds of sacrifices. Sure, it'd be nice to have health insurance, but I'm young and in good health, so it's not something I'm willing to sacrifice happiness at work for. I'm 24 and living on my own, supporting myself fully, and am not looking forward to marriage or children. This is the time to deal with the issues my parent's generation ignored for the sake of starting a family, and dammit I'm gonna take my sweet ass time.

So, Anne, your thoughts are just as relevant and resonating in women, at least this woman, today as they were in the forties. I'm just glad the privacy of your diary allowed for the kind of frank opinion that is absent in most other books. And, of course, I'm excited to see you live on decades and decades after your death, untimely as it was.

Pay My Bills!

Though it feels really good to see my credit card statement below $3k, my savings over $1k, enough in my checking account to cover rent and another paycheck on the way, I do sometimes wish I wasn't spending my nights working a second job. Sometimes I wish I had parents giving me money every month to live. Sometimes I wish I had a boyfriend who paid my rent.

I've made choices the last few years that got me where I am now. If I moved back in with one of my parents when I graduated college I could have lived rent free until I found a job and built up savings. Or if I moved in with The Ex (not that he would have agreed...) when I was laid off I could have lived cheaply. Or if I found a full time job at a desk somewhere I could have a consistent paycheck and probably have my card paid off by now.

I chose to stay in San Diego when I graduated. I chose to live alone. I chose to work at a non-profit, outside, doing something I love. But when I'm working nights driving students to PB or downtown, when they're all dressed up and smelling nice, to go have fun is kind of depressing. I've never really had the cute clothes, nice perfume, or sexy shoes like other girls have, and rarely did I ever have the money to go out drinking and dancing. Oh, there was a time when I was working a lot at shuttles and went out and bought fancy foods, but that was a short time that seems so far away now. And it's not that I really care about dressing up and going out every week, because I don't. I just want to not count every dollar I spend on the rare night I can go out. I knew when I graduated that I wouldn't be making much money, and now I know it's more important to my overall happiness that I enjoy what I do for a living rather than be able to buy nice things. I just hate the worry and the penny pinching.

Since Blogger decided about an hour into me having ads that I abused the privilege (before the ads were even up... thanks Google) I'm not making any money from this blog. So, I am accepting cash donations to My Personal Fund. Money will go towards paying rent for myself and the kitty, providing us both with sustenance, fueling my car so I can continue making my own money, and maybe occasionally buying a pair of jeans (I have 2 that fit) or a t-shirt that hasn't been through the wash ten dozen times. Leave me a comment and I'll direct you to my bank account. Thanks!

Speaking Of A Million Dollars...

"One million dollars!"

My loveliest of lady friends asked me recently what I'd do with a million dollars. This is a great "getting to know you" or first date question because it opens up a person in a way you can't really get to with "what made you want to be a proctologist?" It's also an interesting way to discover what you really want to do with your life.

So, if I had a million dollars, I'd put half in savings and use the other half first to take care of a few things: a new car, some help for my family, and a fat down payment on a house with land. The rest will be divided between:

Donations

Education

Traveling

Setting up a wildlife rehabilitation center

It's this last one that's been a desire of mine ever since I found out that people can do that. What could be better than watching a hawk fly free again after injuring a wing? Or releasing a raccoon or deer back into the wild and knowing it will be able to take care of itself? I want to know what to feed all these creatures, the proper formulas for abandoned litters, the best way to splint a leg, the best way to keep them wild during rehabilitation, and the best way to socialize young wild animals. And actually, I'm stoked for next weeks' first aid class in which I'll learn splinting (people and animals aren't so different, right?).

There are so many things I want to do before I die: learn sign language, get an advanced degree, travel the world, write a book (or two or three), become fluent in Spanish, learn photography, see elephants in the wild, study culinary arts... The more I learn about the world the more I want to experience. It's a never ending list; just like now there is a dozen unread books on my shelf, there will always be something else for me to learn, some other life goal to accomplish, some other job I want, some other thing to do when I grow up. I think my next life goal is conservation: study conservation and maybe my PhD thesis can be on how elephants and people can peacefully coexist. Lofty? Maybe.

Lies. All Lies.

From the time I was in preschool until I graduated high school every adult in my life told me I could do anything I wanted in my life, I could be anything I tried to be, I could have any career I loved. All I had to do was get a degree.

Now it sounds like a get rich quick scheme.

The truth of the matter is a bachelor's degree doesn't mean squat anymore. The bachelor's degree is the new associate's degree- a little something to make you feel like your time in college meant something. A bachelor's degree lives up to its name: the preliminary certificate you get before you start your adult life, before you get a master's or doctorate, the jumping off point to the serious stuff. Women used to get bachelor's degrees just to attract an man who was looking for an educated woman so she could stop working and raise his kids.

And you know what? With the economy as shitty as it is I can see why women might still do that. Don't like your job? Marry your boyfriend and start popping out babies. Not finding something satisfying in your field? Marry someone with a well paying job and work on your post-baby body.

Then there was the "there's money in what you love, no matter what that is" lie. They told me about the man who moved to Maui and started a business teaching people and their dogs to surf. Fantastic, but he had to have some money in order to actually move to Maui and start the business. He had to know about starting a business in the first place.

My last job was originally supposed to be temporary- redo the training program in a year and move on. My current job is temporary- drive for the summer while there's work to be had. My next job? In this economy I don't see the trend moving towards permanence anytime soon. The Mad Men days of growing 30 years with one company are dead and buried.

It also doesn't help me that I don't have a clear idea of what I want to do: do I be practical and stay my writing course and hope it works out in the end or do I stray and try going for my first dream? I'd love to be a magazine editor. I also want to build a sanctuary for elephants. Maybe I should marry rich after all...

My Dreams While Sick

I had disturbing dreams today. I'll blame it on being sick.

Dream #1: Just before I woke up this morning.

My family was at some sort of government holding facility. (Think Tijuana border meets work camp meets Biblical consensus.) My immediate family is at this holding pen thing that has a line resembling the wait for X at Magic Mountain. 

Not worth a 30 minute wait... Definitely not worth the 3 hours I waited.

The ground is mud and there are hundreds of people just standing about. For some reason (as is common for my dreams) I have an aerial view of things. I see my littlest sister running for dear life around the perimeter of the compound and some men chasing her. It's obvious they want to hurt her and are trying to chase her out of the compound so they can take action. She gets to the border fence barely ahead of the men, but at the last second makes a sweeping u-turn and heads back into the thick of the crowd, where the men won't be able to touch her. At this point I'm back on the ground and she comes running right into my arms. We're both sobbing at the thought of what very nearly happened.

We return to our family, who knows what happened and are shaken up. We continue to wait in the line, which is apparently a line for sandwiches. We pay the mandatory $5 per person, receive a tuna sandwich (with lettuce), and they watch us eat it. 

I don't know where the tuna sandwich comes from.

My mom takes a bite and says, "Well, I'm making a peanut butter sandwich when we get home."

Dream #2: Nap time.

I go to the grocery store with my boyfriend and someone who resembles a devil in motorcycle gear and a cape. I do not like this devil person, but something has happened that makes me feel sorry for him, and he seems injured. At the store I come upon some shifty guys hiding themselves and toying with something. Being suspicious, I try to get a good view of the group and see they have a butter knife and are practicing voodoo with some garlic.

Not just for vampires anymore.

The devil person screams out in pain and has a visible stab wound on his shoulder. Though I'm not a fan of this devil person, I also don't feel he should die at the hands of some voodoo shoppers, so I grab the knife, which is now bloody. The devil person runs screaming from the store, jumps on his motorcycle, and drives off into the night. The voodoo shoppers shout victoriously, saying, "He's weak and driving a motorcycle at night. It will be easy to finish him off!" They pull another butter knife and I run out the store trying to find the devil person, but he's gone. I felt determined to put a stop to the voodoo shopper shenanigans.

But then I woke up.