Author: Sarah Brewer

Today is Tu B’Shevat, which is a Jewish holiday that celebrates the New Year for Trees. Jewish culture dictates that you’re not to eat fruit from a tree that is less than five years old. So, today was created to celebrate another year of life for our dear friend, the tree. I suppose today could be seen as a Bat Mitzvah of sorts for the world of Dendrology, as long as the subject that is celebrating has achieved at least five years of growth.

I really don’t have much more to say about that. See, I’m still waiting to celebrate my own Bat Mitzvah. I’ve been waiting a long time to become a woman. Had I been born a Jew, I could have celebrated this milestone when I turned 13. However, being a Protestant of sorts, there is no age requirement – or limit – on when one becomes an adult. So, I’m still waiting. In fact, the only “growth” I’ve experienced recently is the hair on my legs. THAT forest, my friends, is VERY mature. In fact, if you fell one of my leg hairs, the rings will dictate that they’ve been around since the birth of Jesus. I have no plans to cut down Sarah National Forest. At least not until summer. I guess I’ll use today to celebrate my leg hair since, unfortunately, I’m not a Jew.

This week is also International Friendship Week. I do have some International friends. One of my dear friends is currently sailing around the world with her husband. She’s American, but she’s currently International. That counts, right? My college roommate recently moved back to the States from Singapore so I guess I can’t count her any longer. Hmmm. Who else do I know Internationally? My friend, Wendy, is moving to Alaska. That’s pretty close to Russia, which counts according to Sarah Palin, right? Never mind. I guess I’m not as worldly as I thought. I know God, though. That’s International! Heck, that’s Intergalactical. So, I suppose I’m “other-worldly.” How very “X-Files” of me (YES, James. That was just for you. The truth is out there. Your tapes, however, are probably not.)

Actually, I just watched a movie called “Letters to God.” It’s about an eight-year-old boy who has cancer. I usually steer away from these movies because they are very rarely accurate. I like a good fantasy picture now and then but since I’ve lived this experience I can be very cynical when it comes to depicting this particular topic. “Dragonfly”, for example, was a piece of garbage. Another Lifetime movie had a little girl who needed a bone marrow transplant for her cancer therapy. Her dead-beat dad abducted her because he wanted a ransom for her AND his stem-cells that would save her life. She would occasionally cough and say “I have the cancer.” It was ridiculous. I usually get disgusted and bitch about how inaccurate the portrayals are, yet still watch them through to completion. I guess I ultimately like to complain. Anyway, this “Letters to God” movie was VERY realistic. The little boy was without hair. Check. He even lost his eyebrows. Check. His brother was mad at the boy for being sick and felt like he wasn’t as loved as his brother. Check. The mother was struggling with her relationship with God and how could He possibly be doing this to her son. Check. And all of his school friends rallied around him, yet one classmate made fun of the boy for having cancer. Check. It was extremely realistic. The family even went to Give Kids The World for a Make-a-Wish trip. We did that. It brought back a flood of memories. Anyway, the little boy maintains his faith in the Big Guy Upstairs and even writes Him letters talking about his thoughts and feelings and fears. The mailman, who is going through tremendous personal crises of his own, doesn’t know what to do with the letters and ends up reading them. He eventually becomes very close with the family and his relationship with the boy transforms his life.

I bawled my eyes out. Trust me, I wanted to be cynical. I wanted to say “that’s not how you do it.” I wanted to throw it out as an unbelievable piece of garbage that has nothing to do with the world of pediatric oncology. But it does. It was beautifully – and accurately – portrayed. I highly recommend the movie, even if you don’t believe in God.

I used to keep a journal that was dedicated to my writings to God. I recently re-read them and was fascinated to find that my struggles then are very close to my struggles now. The situations may have changed but the feelings have remained the same. I came to realize that this life is just a long dress rehearsal for a story that is never going  to be aired. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I don’t know why I’m just not getting on with it already. The situations will change. Sometimes they will be better.
Sometimes they will be worse. And as Andy Dufresne said in the “Shawshank Redemption”, you gotta “get busy living or get busy dying.”  I’m choosing the former even though I sometimes feel like doing the latter.

Life is hard. Right now it’s really flipping hard. But I’ll think about that tomorrow. After all, (as stated by Margaret Mitchell’s character Scarlett O’Hara) tomorrow is another day. In the meantime, I’m going to go inventory my leg hair. And maybe write a letter to God.

His name was Eli. The little boy who lost his life here early Wednesday morning. We didn’t know him. We had never met him. But we were here. Here at the hospital where he died. In the same area where he had received treatment. Where he had cried out in pain. Where his parents held him through his suffering.

All I knew on Wednesday was that a child had died. As I mentioned in my prior post it was clear that the staff were struggling with something tragic. The air was heavy. People were moving as if they were existing in a surreal state. I didn’t ask any questions but I heard enough throughout the day to garner an idea of what had happened.

As Ben slept through his treatment I sobbed. Even though I didn’t know this child or his family, I felt so many intense emotions. I imagine it’s like how many of you feel for Ben. A lot of you don’t really know him. But you rejoice when he does well and your heart is heavy when he struggles. Personally, I’m grateful for that. I love that Ben has so many supporters. I adore all of you who are pulling for him, praying for him, rallying around him. It’s made the journey easier.  And I’m happy to say that our journey continues. We’re still going strong and Ben has an excellent prognosis.

But not Eli. His earthly life is over.

When Ben and I got back to the Ronald, we went downstairs to the playroom to meet up with Justin. Ben immediately took off to play video games with his buddy. Justin’s mom, Lori, was hanging out with two moms I hadn’t met before. She introduced me to Sara(h) and Chris and I just kind of listened in to what they were talking about. All three of them are in different stages of a new treatment protocol for their kiddos. They’ve all done the 3F8 protocol (been there, done that) and now they are on to yet another treatment plan. I can’t imagine the exhaustion they must be feeling. But worse yet, they all knew Eli and his family. They filled me in a little bit about what had happened.

Apparently, Eli’s therapy had intensified over the last few months and they had been in NYC quite often. I can’t remember where they’re originally from – I want to say some mid-western state. Anyway, there’s a younger sibling involved, so the mom left to go back home on Monday to care for the younger child. Dad stayed here in NYC with his son.

Eli was not expected to pass away.

So, when Sara(h) found out that Eli had passed away on Wednesday morning, she bolted over to the hospital to support Eli’s dad. He met her outside of the room and explained that Eli was still in there. She hugged the dad and then said that she was going in to hug Eli, too. She told us that this was the second time she’d had this experience. Two times that she’s held a kiddo who had passed away. I could not imagine how overwhelming this would be. How tragic. How beautiful. How painful. How monumental.

Sara(h) said that Eli’s dad was well taken care of. Someone had swooped in and was there for him for the aftermath of losing his son. He had a place to go other than back to the Ronald where all the painful reminders of losing his precious son would be staring him in the face. The average person might not realize this, but when you stay at the Ronald, your kiddo is inundated with “stuff”. You get a toy when you check in. Usually, each night, someone hosts a dinner at the house and often times there are “goodies” that come with that… more toys or balloon animals or treats of some sort. You almost always come away with more than you came with. It’s hazardous to that pesky 50 pound weight limit the airlines put on luggage.

But this time, when Eli’s dad goes to the airport, he’ll just have himself to get through security. He won’t have to be stopped and asked to open every single bottle of liquid medicine required to get your kiddo through cancer therapy. He won’t be lugging the 50 extra pounds of goodies that his kiddo picked up at the Ronald. He won’t have to keep that watchful eye out for his son while in the airport. He won’t have to do all the things he might have originally found to be a nuisance but is oh-so-longing to do now that his son is gone.

And his mom. She left here on Monday most likely NOT expecting that she would never see her son alive again. To not be with her son in his final moments. To not hold him as he drew his last breaths. To not cuddle him and sing to him and just simply be with him as she watched the life leave his body. I just cannot stand it. It makes no sense. This has to stop. I’m furious. Heartbroken. Crying. Exhausted.

But we’ll keep going. Despite the loss and the heartache and the pain and misery, we just keep going. Because there are silver linings. There are stories of survival. There are beautiful moments interspersed between the ridiculous. We find ways to cope with the tragedies and push the rest of the bullshit away.

Life is so short, friends. Unfortunately, we’re reminded of this simple fact all the time because cancer keeps death so close in this world of pediatric cancer. But every single one of us is in the same boat. Life is precious. And we need to make the most out of it. If you can’t stop wasting it and start living it, you’re only cheating yourself.

What a fun holiday today is because I LOVE words!  Today is Peter Mark Roget’s birthday. He was the author of Roget’s Thesaurus. He started writing his collection of synonyms in 1840 and finally published his work in 1852. Since then, it has never been out of print! So… I don’t feel so bad not having finished my assortment of short stories. If it took Dr. Roget 12 years to amass his synonyms, I can take a bit of time for my compilation. I need to get going though. My 12 years are nearly up.

I’m currently at the hospital in NYC with Benjamin. We’re doing day three of round 10 of antibody therapy. Monday stunk pain-wise. Tuesday was very “hive-y”. Today is a mixture of pain and hives – neither of which have been too terrible to handle. It’s nearly four pm (EST) and he’s still sleeping. I’m hoping we get out of here in the next hour or so… he’s got friends to play with back at the Ronald (namely his good friend, Justin).

I’m looking forward to a change of scenery, this little room gets really old after sitting here for hours on end. I did try to pass the time by taping a couple of videos for my new blog project. I taped them on my iPad and uploaded them to youtube but am having a hard time connecting them here. I know I can’t do it from my iPad so I’m going to try from my laptop. Wish me luck.

Today’s vid-log (I don’ t know what you really call them, weblog? vlog? webbyvideo? wideo? I dunno.) was actually hard to do. I kept crying during initial takes because I found out that a kiddo died here this morning. I don’t know who the kiddo was – I didn’t see them – but the air upon our arrival to the hospital this morning was very heavy. The staff was clearly struggling with something. I later learned that a kiddo passed away (the walls are thin here… it’s easy to hear everything, especially when our room is directly in front of the nurse’s station). And it broke my heart. Ben was already sedated and treatment was underway so I broke down and cried my eyes out. I cried for the child who lost their life. I cried for the family that lost their pookie-pie. I cried for the wonderful fact that my son is doing well. It’s so difficult balancing between the dichotomy of heartbreak and elation over the same damn disease. I hate cancer. In fact, I have a big, white butt that it can kiss. After all, I’ve never heard of butt cancer. Colon cancer, sure. But “butt cancer?”. No. It can get as close to my butt as it wants. Kiss away, cancer. You deserve a big “ass-sandwich.”

So, if I ever get my vid-log/wideo/whatever-it-is, to load you’ll see some tears at the end. I’ve decided that I don’t like the facial expressions I make when I cry so I’m just not going to cry anymore. Ever. I’m done. Yeah, right. I’ll probably cry starting in five, four, three, two….

And there I go.

Love to all of you. Take a moment to spread some love, especially to someone who might feel really unloved right now.

Three Kings Day commemorates the biblical story of the three kings who followed the bright star of Bethlehem to bring gifts to the Christ child. But since this story gets a lot of press already, let’s talk about Little Kings instead. You know, the delicious cream ale.

Actually, I’m just kidding. I don’t want to talk about that either. The alternate holiday for today is BEAN DAY! And you KNOW I want to talk about that. My Bean. Bean is my nickname for Benjamin. I don’t really know where it came from but one day I called him Bean and it stuck. He went through a small phase of rejecting it but now he fully embraces it. For instance, he’ll state something like “Let the Bean show you how it’s done.” He’s just so stinking cute.

So, hackers did a number on my site recently. Some revamping has had to occur, which is actually a good thing because I haven’t made any changes since starting this blog in 2009. One of the things that I’ve done is write an “About Ben” page that people can click on to learn more about Ben instead of having to read every single entry of my blog. Now, I think it’s a good idea for people to read every single entry, but it’s not fair to newcomers to have to weed through the site to garner information about my fine young son and his battle with cancer. So, the “About Ben” page was born. I sat down and wrote it yesterday. It was exhausting. In thinking back over the chain of events of the past eight years I get a bit misty. Oh, what am I saying? Sometimes I just flat out break down. It’s heartbreaking to relive all that he’s been through. The beautiful thing, though, is that he’s still alive. And he’s doing well. I cannot complain about that.

One of the other things that I want to begin is a video component to my blog. I’m working on that today and hope to have something to post soon. It will be a short entry – about 1 or 2 minutes in length – but I thought it would be fun to mix it up a bit. I love to write but something else that I love to do that I never really realized until recently is do some public speaking. I’m not just a writer. I’m a storyteller. And while I believe I’m a good enough writer to convey emotion and all that jazz in my written posts sometimes it just has to be told. 

So, here’s to a new phase. A new year. A healthier web site. New challenges. Being stronger than we look.

And that’s that. Think about the Bean today. Right now he’s finishing Math at school – his least favorite subject – but I know that if he can get through cancer, he can certainly get through long division.

I don’t love whipped cream. Many of you know that I’m not a big fan of dessert so since whipped cream is traditionally a dessert topping, I suppose it goes into the dessert category. Now, I should state that I kinda like it if it’s being shot out of a pressurized can straight into my mouth, but I’m not the kind of girl that asks for it on top of my brownie or ice cream or hot chocolate.

I did have a dog – Stella – who would come running from wherever she was if she heard the top of the whipped cream can come off. I don’t know how she could distinguish that particular “pop” from other lids coming off, but she could. She was a maniac when it came to whipped cream. I would hold the can up high and start a slow, steady stream flowing from the can straight to her mouth. Her puppy lips never touched the nozzle – I can assure you of that – but she would stand underneath the drizzle of sweet, white confection and furiously lap it up. It was quite comical to watch. Oh, how I miss that dog.  She was a super star.

While I don’t love desserts, I’m convinced that it’s a totally appropriate analogy to use in my current situation. My life can be equated to a frivolous dessert. I’m recently divorced, which I’ll call the bowl that holds my delicious concoction together. Being single again holds many freedoms and yet just as many insecurities. We were married for 10 1/2 years, which in dog years equates to nearly 77 years.  So, to get used to all that comes along with being divorced, well, it certainly is an adjustment period. I think I’m absolutely fine from a relationship standpoint – I’m not mourning that, but it is tough to figure out all the logistics of being single again. But I’m building a new life now, one that is suited for me and the children. Bowl=New Life.

Next, I’m moving. I found a SWEET apartment that is close to the kids’ school, has its own garage so I can still do my picture framing, has a dog park for my crazy little pups to run amok in, and then the extra amenities like a swimming pool, work out facility, etc. I’m actually pretty excited about moving and so are the kids. New Environment=Ice Cream

And that’s all I’ve got. I’ve got the bowl and I’ve got the ice cream. Oh, wait. Ben is back on track with his treatment so we’ll call that the butterscotch. Now I’m waiting for the hot fudge, whipped cream and cherry. Actually, I’m working diligently on the hot fudge (an awesome job opportunity) and I’m pretty confident I have the cherry (which I can’t really discuss at this juncture).  I’m definitely going to forgo the nuts. I’ve had enough nuts in my life and have decided that I have a nut allergy. So, no more nuts. I’m still, however, in search of the whipped cream. I know what the whipped cream is… I just have to make it happen. And it will. Eventually.

So, that’s my dessert. It’s coming together. It might not be at the pace I want it to happen, but I know that the timing will work out the way it’s supposed to.

I’m just hoping that my ice cream doesn’t melt while I’m waiting.

Every time I turn on my computer it says that I’m running low on disk space. I’m not quite sure what to purge so I just leave it, knowing that my computer is getting slower and more tired and wishing it could just lie on the couch and watch an Arrested Development marathon. Oh, wait. That’s MY wish.

I’ve been doing a large amount of purging lately, not because I’ve decided to become bulimic, but because I’m getting ready to move. The kiddos and I have just a few days left before moving to an apartment down the street. It’s been challenging going through everything and, I have to admit, I’m overcome with waves of emotion. I’ve found old pictures and memories that have opened the floodgates causing me to cry copious amounts of tears. I found some old journals that expressed issues that I was “scared about”, and interestingly enough, they are the same issues that I’m currently “scared about”. Finding a job. Maintaining healthy children. Living life to its fullest. Seems I’m still not settled on the things that were bugging me a few years ago… when will that change? When will life be a dull, boring, gloriously wonderful NORMAL? I suppose if that were truly the case I would have nothing to write about.

So, in the meantime, I’ll just live each day knowing that I’ll somehow make it through. And that I’ll be better for it eventually. I am proud of myself today… I joined three writer’s groups. All three of them are local so I can take some time out and get to know the industry that I’ve been longing to be a part of. I decided that 2012 is the year I get published. My good friend, Joe, said that 2012 is “THE YEAR OF THE SARAH”. Who am I to say no to that? It’s technically the Year of the Dragon, but I’m totally okay with changing it to the Year of Me. And to be a published writer? That would be awesome. The next step will be to be a “well-received published author”, followed by “National best-selling author”… and so on. I’m looking forward to my new life. It’s gonna rock.

Some of you might be wondering, “Hey! What’s going on with the Bean?” Here’s a quick update: The chemo that Ben received did its job and knocked down his HAMA to a point where we can resume treatment in NYC. The next trip will take place in two weeks. We haven’t been since August so it will be a small challenge getting back into the swing of things.

This will be a bittersweet trip because we just lost another dear friend from the Ronald McDonald House a couple of days ago. Her family lived there for as long as we have been traveling to NYC. Her name was Ashlynn. We did visit with her on our last trip in August. Ben and I went to the Jersey Shore with her and her mother. We played on the beach all day. She was a beautiful, sweet soul and it’s so hard to wrap my head around the concept that they won’t be there when we go back. This has happened way too much over the past year – so many little friends have died. And, unfortunately, there’s always another family ready to take their place. Cancer doesn’t care. It just keeps taking. And while I look forward to meeting new people, this is never the right circumstance. All I can do is be me. Continue to make the bonds with these families. Love them like they love us. Mourn when there’s a loss. Move on as each day begs us to do with the memories that we were so wonderfully given. The lesson of learning to LIVE even when we’re so blatantly faced with death. It’s so not fair. But, unfortunately, even though it is The Year of the Sarah, I cannot change any of it.

The Year of the Sarah should come with a special set of super powers, but, alas, it did not. For now, we just have to live with cancer being a yucky old bastard. Hopefully, eventually, it will run low on disk space. It will grow slow and cluttered and not have the energy to consume any more lives. Especially the kiddos.

Good night, sweet Christmas Tree. Time for another season of hibernation. All the ornaments have been removed and all that needs to occur now is to dismantle you. While I wish you could have enjoyed a more festive Sarah this holiday season, at least you got out of the confines of your thick plastic bag for a month.

I think as you came out of your bag, I went in. I was suffocated by the lack of family. The disappointment of loss. The heartache of death. And fear of the unknown. How things have changed since you last came out, dear Christmas Tree. And I have to wonder, what will be different when you are awakened from your slumber next November?

I hope that I’m back on track. That I’ve let go of a lot. That I’ve moved forward instead of backward. That I’ve forgiven and have been forgiven. That I’m healing. That I’m remembering with reverence. That I’m loving like I’ve never loved before.

Yes. Next Christmas, dear Christmas Tree, every little thing is gonna be all right. Or I’m throwing your sorry ass in the trash along with the cremains of my holiday spirit.

Today I decided that I was through with my funk. I said “Funk off, funk, I’m over you already.”

Really though, I decided that since I cannot change anything that has happened in my life I should just go ahead and embrace it. Oh, okay. I’m not going to embrace it. But I’m through letting it slap me around. So, in preparation of moving on, I ate a Totino’s Party Pizza, drank a Mtn Dew, and now I’m ready to go (cracking knuckles as I type…). Bring it. I’m coming out swinging.

I’ve also decided that I’m not going to tone down my writing because I’m afraid of offending someone. I’ve edited and re-edited millions of words since beginning this blog and I’ve come to the conclusion that the purpose of my writing is to express MY feelings. And then, sadly, I realized that I’ve never been “ME” before. I’ve always edited myself for an audience. For family. For a spouse. I have had this strange need of gaining everyone’s approval. And despite trying to make everyone happy, I always manage to piss someone off. So, that being said, since I’m going to make someone angry anyway, I’m just going to be myself. This means that I’m going to say some swear words now and then. I LOVE words (well, except for the word “moist”) and there are times that the true experience of a situation cannot be expressed without dropping some foul language here and there. I say swears. There. I’ve said it. I am proud of who I am, potty-mouth and all.

Besides, I have a FABULOUS story that I’m going to tell in the next month or so that is fraught with naughty words. I cannot tell the story without them. I cannot insert “BEEEEP” instead of the actual words that were spoken because it would detract from the story. And to alter this particular story, well, that would be a tragedy, because it is the story that is going to make me a STAR. Bet you can’t wait, right? I know, me neither.

Okay. So now that I’m done being in my holiday funk, I’ve been thinking a lot about what Christmases were pivotal in my young life. What stands out to me were all the years my mother added to my dollhouse furniture collection. I was obsessed with Lundby products. Lundby is a Scandinavian company – I suppose they were the IKEA of the dollhouse world – and I was the only kid I knew who had any of it. It was soooo awesome. The lights really worked, the cabinets really opened, the toilet seat went up and down… it was uber-cool. I played with it for hours on end and every holiday season I poured over the latest catalog searching for what had to go on my “most wanted” list. I’d circle my choices with a big, black marker and pass it on to my mom, who would use her lunch hour perusing the toy department of Lazarus in search of my holiday treasures.

Gosh. This picture brings back memories. All my Central Ohio friends have to remember how awesome Lazarus was… it’s a tragedy that they are no longer around. I worked at this particular Lazarus many moons ago. Remember the Talking Tree? Man. What incredible memories. 

Anyway, Christmas morning, I would wake up and creep down the stairs, knowing that mom came through with the goods. She would watch with anticipation as I opened them one by one and cried out with great joy. She once told me that she really looked forward to  finding those furnishings for me. I cherished them so much. Fortunately, I still have most of them. And, true to Scandinavian design, the stuff that was made in the 1970’s (when I was an avid collector) is still in style today. The 70’s never got stale in Sweden. Just ask ABBA. 

Now, my sister owned the actual doll house, I just owned the furniture. And when we went our separate ways, she took the house and I took the furniture.

Funny how the same thing is about to happen in my current world… my ex-husband is now the sole owner of the house I’ve lived in for the last five-and-a-half years and all I’ll be left with is the furniture I brought with me. It’s okay, though. I got an apartment nearby and am truly looking forward to doing my own thing. Everything is going to be okay. Deep breath. Again. It’s gonna be okay.

So, it’s the last Christmas I’ll be celebrating in this particular house. The tree is up. I’m ready for the kids to come home Christmas morning and open their gifts. I think I’ve obtained the items on their most-wanted list. Maddy has been anxious to add to her Monster High doll collection and I was fortunate enough to find two of the “hard-to-find” dolls a while back. My joy bubbled over the top as I greedily swiped them off the shelf, knowing that Mad is going to flip her lid when she opens them Christmas morning.

This must have been what mom felt like when I opened my beloved Lundby toys on Christmas morning. This simple parallel brings me that much closer to her – the first Christmas we’ve had since she died. I didn’t appreciate the levels she went to in order to ensure that I had a Merry Christmas. And I’m sure that Madeline won’t cross that threshold until she has children of her own.

Just as I’m doing now.

To help me through my holiday depression I’ve been watching a fair amount of movies on television. I’m currently watching “White Christmas” on AMC. Since this particular network is geared towards airing “classic” movies, it is often fraught with ads for senior citizens – like the constantly running ad for AARP insurance. “Let’s leave a little something for the kids,” the advanced-aged actors say. And it makes me sad because if I were to die tomorrow, my kids would have absolutely nothing monetarily to gain from my passing. Oh, and probably hate Christmas because they would be reminded of my demise each time the holiday rolled around.

For the past eight years I’ve depended on a man to cover me on his insurance and now that we’re divorced my life is literally worth nothing. This makes me sick. Sure, I have a few things to pass on to my children like beautiful silverware and a few other tidbits that my mother has given me over the years. But, if I were to die tomorrow, well, that would suck on so many levels.

I’m not meaning to be morbid here. It is a fact that I’ve lost many people this year so death is sorta on my mind. And aside from these deaths, I’ve experienced a tremendous amount of loss. I had a miscarriage. My marriage, which was WAY broken, finally died a very fitful death. Even though we were not very financially secure throughout our marriage, losing any sort of income is cause for hyperventilating. I’m starting over. And right now, I’m worth nothing. At least in a fiscal sense.

So, what does one do when faced with this situation? I’m 43 and I have nothing to show for my life with the exception of two beautiful children. I’ve not been anything but an excellent caregiver to my children, especially over the past eight years. And, unfortunately, this is difficult to convey on a resume. I can hear it now: “Oh. You’ve been a mom for the past several years. Good for you.” Re-entering the workplace is gonna be a bitch.

I recently took a test on what my ideal line of work would be. It turns out that everything I’m trained for is something that grates on my last nerve. I don’t like tedious work (like benefits administration, filing, or running reports). I don’t like conflict. I don’t like negotiation. Basically, what this test reported was that I should be a writer. Yeah. Okay. I’m on it. Easy Peasy, right?

I’m certainly not lacking for material. I know my posts have been few this year, mainly because of my “mental health” vacation, the ridiculous amount of loss I’ve experienced and divorce proceedings, but I have to say that I’ve garnered more material in the past 12 months than I’ve gathered in my entire life. In other words, this year has sucked big monkey balls. I’m working on writing about all of these events but many of them have just been too painful to write about. I’m not quite ready to rip off the band aid. I just got the bleeding under control and am not sure I’m ready to start hemorrhaging again.

I know it will come with time – that time heals all wounds – but this year has nearly taken me out. I’m tired. I’m cranky. And so ready for this year to be over. And you know me, I have to find the humor in things. Until I can do that I’m not ready to share.

Too bad I need a paying job right now. Maybe Santa will bring me an agent this year.

So, I just returned from watching the movie “Young Adult” with Charlize Theron. It’s brand new in theaters today and since I love her and I love quirky stuff, I thought this would be an excellent option for spending a night by myself.

Boy, was I wrong. It made me dissolve into a big old mess. Basically, this character is so unhappy with her “life in the big city” that she goes back to her hometown and makes an ass of herself. It was so uncomfortable to watch and while I initially LOVED her character (a diet Coke guzzling, small dog owning, writer) I ended up thinking that even though she had gone through some major trauma/drama with her friends and family, she didn’t take anything at all away from her experience. She was going to go back to the same old life that made her miserable. She was going to remain the same narcissist that she’d always been. The final line in the movie was her narrating “Look out, world. Here I come,” but the expression on her face was – I don’t know – disdain? Disgust? Disappointment? I couldn’t decipher it. It made me so sad.

Why don’t we learn more from our mistakes?

I know that I’ve often wished for a chance to start over. To make things different. I’ve had several moments in my life where I’ve had that very chance but instead of feeling relief and excitement, all I can feel is fear. I feel so small in the face of a new adventure instead of grasping it for the breath of fresh air that it should be.

Oh, I always look back on these “new beginnings” and can nearly always pull out some sort of comedy that will make the pain of change seem less threatening. It’s always easier to look on it in hindsight. But here I am, facing another gigantic change and while I’m trying to grasp it for the new beginning I’d like it to be, I have to admit that I’m scared.

I know everything will be all right. I know that ultimately I’m going to look back on this and find the humor in it – like I always do. But 2011 has been blow after blow in the emotional turmoil department. And I like to think that I’ve learned some things about myself – that I’ll be able to take away some good life lessons from my experiences.

And if not, I’ll be revisiting this post somewhere down the line.

But in the meantime, Look out, world. Here I come. And I’m saying this not with disdain. Or disgust. Or disappointment.

But with determination.