and of course it's leap year

I have always hated February.
Maybe it's just Michigan, but February sucks. Most years, it's not still winter, but it's not yet spring. Christmas is a vague memory, and spring break seems like an eternity away. It's cold, grey, and even the snow is brown. And bad crap always happens in February.

Let it be known, 2008 is no exception.
My husband's unemployed, my best friend's brain's been swollen for four weeks, my cousin died, my grandma has cancer, and my sister-in-law, her husband, and my unborn nephew are leaving for the other side of the world next Friday (not exactly unexpected, but it sure happened quick).

As this is my outlet to say such things, I'm here to say ENOUGH!

Creepy start to the week

Nothing like 369 pages printing themselves that say nothing but your name, from some phantom source, to make you want to turn around and go right back to bed on a Monday morning, eh?

Answered Prayer - the irrereverent kind

Working with "creatives" has its perks.
From my inbox yesterday:

Sweet dear toddler baby Jesus,

We thank you for creating days with those tiny, cute little fingers of yours that are attached to chubby little baby fat arms wrapped in cloths with a ray of sunshine mysteriously emanating from behind your head. We appreciate the decision to make days 24 hours long. It gives us more time to work our fingers raw, pull our hair out, scratch the retinas of our eyeballs, and generally put sweat equity into everything we do. But if there is anyway to make this day go faster, like with a magical mystical cute baby sneeze, or cute baby Jesus giggle, we'd greatly appreciate it. We desperately need a Friday cute baby Jesus.

In your name,
Amen

feminism - the angry kind

I don't consider myself a feminist in the flaming liberal sense. But there are some days where I think if I were, I'd probably be in jail. Like today.

Went to see the new doctor today. No more driving to GR, time to find a local.

So there I was filling out the contact information form.
They ask about me, then my spouse (including SSN), then my emergency contact information.

So I filled K's details in as the emergency contact and went to the window and said, "You don't really need me to repeat all this spouse information, do you?"

"Well, yes - we need it for insurance."

Umm... no you don't.

Oh! Is the insurance in your name?!

The shock! The awe! It was dumbfounding.
And why doesn't the form ask me for the insurance holder's information, rather than just assume it's my husbands?!

Fast forward to the lab.

"Still live at your house?"
Yep.
"Married?"
Yep.
"Is he employed?"
Pause. Well... actually, as of Friday... no. Wait. Why does that matter?
"Are you employed FULL time?"
Yes.
"So you have insurance, then??"

Why the hell is this so hard to believe? Do you really think that if my dear husband hadn't come and swept me off my feet to care for my every need that I wouldn't have insurance?

I'm sure the lab tech saw the fury in my eyes and instantly regretted her line of questioning. And I'm pretty sure it won't change a dang thing.

And to be perfectly honest, I'm pretty sure it won't bother me tomorrow.

And another thing

A wall isn't security, either.

Security

I remember the first time my sense of security was actually truly rattled. I was in elementary school and I walked in on my parents talking - my mom was in tears and I heard her say, "Sure, but not in my own backyard!" They were reading the newspaper.

I snuck back to the stash of papers later on and tried to read about something that happened on my street. But as I found no article or police log with my address on it, thought it best to just drop it.

But it stuck with me.
Am I really safe? If not, can my parents really protect me? They're not actually superhuman, after all.

The next time my security blanket pealed away like an onion was when I got my driver's license. I considered myself a good driver and hitting the road still carried with it the sense of freedom every 16 year old feels. But it was also the first time I ever felt truly alone. I remember thinking "I could die in this car, alone." The thought didn't terrify me or keep me up at night, but it made me aware that as long as I was driving, there was no one else taking responsibility for my well being.

And then I went to college. Aside from junior high, I would consider college the most insecure time in my life. It's not just about body image, it's about what's next? what matters? who am I? who do i want to be? is it too late to be that person? will people love that person? I could go on...

Up until I graduated from college, I felt like life was a process of peeling away all the layers of security I thought I had since birth. Everything from giving up the Linus blanket to dad telling me to "deal with it yourself" after my first speeding ticket. Life is about learning to deal, make it on your own, work it out.

Post college, I stepped up.
I got a job. Take that, security-robbers. I have a paycheck.
I had friends. Booya. People love me.
I got a husband. Even better. He promised to love me forever. Now that's security.
And a house - a roof, a yard, neighbors - they're all mine and they're there to prove I matter.

I was wrong.
Security is none of these.
It's not parents, or husbands, or people for that matter. It's not status or belongings. It's not even blankies with silk on the edges.
It's faith.
It's confidence that things are under control because I am not in control.
The rest of that crap is just smoke and mirrors.
And I was right about the peeling away part - that stuff all has to go so we can see security.
And security doesn't mean being sure of tangible things at all. It's a lot scarier than that.
But it's much, much more real.