A Brighter (Storm-filled) Day

Okay, so as I knew while writing my last entry, though could not fathom in my conscious thought, being put on the waiting list is not the end of the world.  There are other plans, other options, other paths my life my take.  I will go on.  It still hurt, but it is not the end of me.

My 15-year-old cousin was in a terrible car wreck, head-on highway speed, a week and a half ago.  Miraculously, all three occupants of the car are alive, and more miraculously, Lori is home and walking and talking.  She's got a long road ahead of her, but she is a living miracle.  She is a fantastic runner, and earned a varsity letter and attended state last year, her first in track.  She was looking forward to this year's cross country team with excitement.  She's now been told that she can't run for six months.  A small worry when you've just survived something everyone thought should have killed you, but disappointing just the same.  Instead of being upset, this amazing girl is planning to volunteer with the team, and go with them to meets to cheer them on.  A true team player, a person whose Plan with a capital p was torn to shreds, yet still sees life as a journey to be enjoyed.

I'm searching job sites, combing hospital openings, seeking out possible apprenticeships.  I've applied for several jobs and looked into other avenues to become a nurse.  I might be down, but I'm not out.  I'm too good for that.  Life is a journey meant to be enjoyed.

Wanted: A New Plan

Warning:  this entry is rated R due to offensive language.  Please avert eyes if that sort of thing offends you.

I've been waiting for June 30 for a long time, ever since my phone interview with the nursing school a month and a half ago.  The 30th came a day early over here, and...not good.  

I ran to the mailbox like I do every day lately, just to check.  Today, and envelope!  From UW-Oshkosh!  Yay!  Then, fuck.  This envelope is skinny.  That's not good.  Tear open to flap, skim the skimpy little letter with a desperate hope that this was just the first of two or something.  No such luck.  "Thank you so much for applying...the program is highly competitive, blah blah blabbity blah.  Waiting list." 

So that's that.  The fucking waiting list.  Accepted applicants have until July 9 to secure their spot.  After that, they might offer entry to someone on the waiting list.  Only, how many are on this sucky-ass waiting list?  How many usually get accepted after being on the waiting list?  Does being on the waiting list give me any sort of benefit for future attempts, or is basically a 'it's not you, it's me thing, where everybody knows that "waiting list"  is code for NOT FUCKING ACCEPTED, stop wasting your time and your hope.'

What now?  

This has been my Plan with a capital P.  This was going to save me and my family from poverty, give my life meaning, propel me forward.  I had a Plan.

Now I'm floundering again.  I'm almost 30 for crissake, and I still am applying to and getting rejected from jobs where the only requirement is 'high school graduate.'  

I spent a lot of time this afternoon feeling sorry for myself, and am currently drowning my sorrows in a glass of red wine.  Tomorrow, I have to start anew.  Apply for jobs.  Update the resume.  Search.

What do I do now?  What the fuck do I do now?

and...one more time

It's a new year and a new chance.  Right?  I get a second chance at this blogging thing?  You know, with actual posting of actual ideas and thoughts and shit?  If I have any of those, that is.

So.  Not much has happened since my last post, and I haven't been able to think beyond tomorrow and how we're going to eat and survive.  I spend each minute trying not to fall apart and wrestling with that knot in my stomach which so far, I haven't untied.  

It might be looser.  I may be closer.

We are losing the house.  We can't find jobs here, we can't make mortgage, and we owe more than the house is currently worth.  We are signing with a realtor and hoping for a short sale which should leave us clean and avoid foreclosure.  And if we have to foreclose, we foreclose.  Being a grown-up sucks donkey balls. (Grown-ups are allowed to use that phrase still, right?  Please tell me grown-ups are still allowed to use that phrase, because if not, I give up right now.  Yes?  Good.  Continue on.)

We're planning on a move.  Two possibilities, one more likely than the other.  It is scary, thinking of starting over again, this time with a child.  I want things to be perfect, right here, right now.  But they aren't.  There are problems beyond just the job thing.  It isn't like a move will leave all the troubles here behind us, but there are advantages to the new location that might help.  

There is the possibility of school.  I'm hoping to go to nursing school sometime in the next two years.  I've been waiting for my vocation since I graduated undergrad, and just haven't felt it.  Nothing seemed right, nothing called to me, so I remained stuck in my mundane, go-nowhere job letting life slip me by.  I think I've finally found it, though.  I've heard the voice telling me that this is my path.  

So.  I guess this post doesn't qualify as thoughts and ideas so much as catch up.  I'll get there, I promise.  Right now, I just need to keep on swimming, keep on swimming.  Even if that swimming doesn't seem like much, it just might take me where I need to go.

Filler

I don't have much to say.  Truly.  Bad news gets boring quickly, and unfortunately, we're very boring over here.

There have been bright spots, when I can ignore the elephant in the room.  Christmas is coming, after all, and a certain tot needs to know the magic of the season.  

So, I promise I haven't forgotten about my blog and my writing ambitions.  They are just on hold until my brain can think something other than "DOOM!"