Monday, March 30, 2009

Duck and Cover

So CCO wrote me back. Sent me a link to his blog which is really just an extension of his other marketing endeavors. It's nothing like this angst filled whiny one. He's a graphic designer. How neat-o. I wish my brother, who had what I think was a fledgling interest in designing some t-shirts was around so I could get the two of them together. Something tells me they would get along. Not in a 'I'm-making-plans-for-this-guy-to-be-a-part-of-my-family-way,' just because I like seeing creative people appreciate one another's work. I love CCO's designs. It is so cool to look at all these random logos and know that it came from his head. I dig creative people.

The post title was chosen because I'm tummy rumbling and gassy with fear at inviting him to give me a call if he wants to get together for a drink/coffee sometime. If I hit send, I will go from looking for him everywhere to hoping I never see him again. But one of my essentially abandoned determinations for this year was to ask a guy out. I don't think I could scream loud enough for how freaked out I am right now. It's not just because I'm afraid that he'll have a girlfriend or not be interested. It is because once I hit send my interest in him becomes real and if he's not interested, the daydream ends. Right now, I can be excited that I might see him and I can take every gesture out of context to possibly indicate mutual interest. If I actually do something about it, he doesn't get to be CCO anymore. That I'm asking a guy out over e-mail is lame enough. I could wait until the next random time I see him and see if it all comes together but I'm pretty sure I'll find a reason for it not to come together. I'll go for a walk and if I see him, I'll either give him my phone number and suggest we get coffee/drinks/hang out sometime or I will throw up on the sidewalk at our feet and my dog will once again abandon me.

I'll keep you posted. I look a hot mess today. I'll probably see him.

Grow the F@&k up

I'm cool now. I sent the e-mail. Took a walk, collected some poop, got a grip. We'll see what does or doesn't happen. I'm not even sure I like him anymore.

Oh, I totally admitted to him that I had to wikipedia Beer Pong. So there's that.

Yea, single girl staying single.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Heads up: God is doing a new thing

That's what one of my oldest friends just wrote me via the chat function on Facebook before abruptly signing off with promises to catch up soon. Apparently God's new thing is going down imminently. That phrase irritates me. I'm not sure why. Anyone else find that annoying?

PS on BS

I actually had an interesting session with BS yesterday. I spied the blue sweater in the corner, possibly shed in light of the mild weather. I might have to take a picture of the blue sweater before our time together is over. Maybe it is his Linus sweater. Anyway, what made the session interesting is that I unintentionally stumped him. I'm still delighted about it. He's puzzled because things that he thinks should be upsetting just aren't. I personally think he's stumped because he's used to dealing with white people (no offense). The caricature of black parenting has some truth in it. Sincerely believing that certain transgressions could be reasonably punishable by death, that spanking (which was straightforwardly referred to as beating) was not abuse, and that lip or attitude could certainly get you smacked or choked, was just the way things were. It wasn't done in secret with multiple trips to the emergency room, blackened eyes, broken bones, strange bruises; it was done upstairs while company was over, in the bathroom or hallway at church, in the car-a threat to take you out to the car made good. Observation of an out of control child is almost always observed with the comment, 'that child needs a good beating.' A conversation about dealing with a child like that inevitably provokes a mention of wishing that one could 'snatch' the child up. When I used to teach, I relished the challenge of a kid that didn't know discipline or beatings. They were difficult but they were also easy to shock. I loved wearing them down into accepting boundaries for acceptable behavior. I couldn't (and wouldn't) strike them but I sure could provide some immediate and non-negotiable consequences for non-compliance. I digress.

I guess what I'm getting at is that black parenting for me means that your parents nurture you in the sense that animals nurture their young. The objective is to get you safely into adulthood where you can take care of yourself. It is not to make sure you get to 'express' yourself or develop and nurture your passions. Activities are designed to keep you busy and out of trouble and work best if they are inexpensive (or free), aren't logistically complicated (i.e. picking up and dropping off) and require next to no parental commitment. The first time you complain about going to ballet is the last time you go (true story). No one is dragging you to anything even though it is generally understood that kids don't usually have the foresight to appreciate the long-term benefits of anything and will complain at least once about everything, especially when they are 5.

So against that matter-of-fact style of parenting that I think imbues me with a certain mental toughness* it was a challenge for BS because he just couldn't understand that I don't have any sadness or angst related to growing up with that kind of discipline. I don't see the links between that and my opinion of myself as not worth anything outside of what I can do for others. It's not the same set of emotions. I wasn't the kind of kid who needed much disciplining so I don't have a ton of reference material to draw from there anyway. So, I left satisfied that I had intrigued and challenged him. Yay for being interesting. We'll see what he comes up with.

*My father actually sent me off to military field training with an assurance that I would do fine because no one there could say anything worse to me than he ever had. He was absolutely right. In one of his more famous family quotes, he sent me off on a road trip with friends with the reminder that there "was nothing but death out there."


Sometimes I use the "next blog" button on the blogger page to see what random bloggers are up to. I came across a blog this morning that had a link to a blog catalogue with a subsection on blogs for women (whatever that means). For this site, it meant blogs about menopause, being lesbian and brown, being a middle aged married woman who discovers she is a lesbian, shopping, sex, and one random blog written by a guy who promises to dole out advice that will make the man your bitch. Naturally, I had to know more.

It was a poorly written blog with grammatical errors that annoy me. He didn't share anything particularly insightful or even entertaining but he's already written one book about nutrition and is working on a book based on his 'master dater' (his words) blog. If that swill is being bound and printed for consumption, I should probably at least self-publish something just because. Perhaps I'll be the Betamax to his VHS but people (who probably still didn't buy my book), would argue into antiquity that they knew I was the better of the two.

In other news, I took my dog to the groomer this morning and, I'm still incredulous about this, found out they make dog shampoo to bring out the color of dog's coats. They have one for black dogs, blond dogs, brunettes...just like the shampoo they make for people. My dog is already a shiny black coated dog but this is the only shampoo they use at this groomer so we'll see when she dries if she has salon-quality shine. I guess I could see a shampoo like that if you plan on entering a dog show but for my dog, who just turned around to bite her hindquarters and is now alternating between licking her blanket and her still damp paws, such vanity seems ridiculous. Seriously.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Seriously body, WTF?

So I'm sick again. Temp an even 100 degrees, throat feels like someone punched it from inside but all other systems ok. No cough, no runny nose, just achy, feverish throat punch. The scene at the back of my throat has progressed from red and angry to somewhat whitish but I'm not sure yet if that isn't because of the large bowl of vanilla frozen yogurt I ate in a futile attempt to soothe the throat punch. All the websites suggest strep so I will try to get an appointment tomorrow, miss yet another day of work, and try to figure out what the hell my body needs me to do to stay healthy for one whole month. I have been so sick since I moved here. I've been a regular Calamity Jane, twisting ankles, throwing up at friend's houses... One bright spot that would restore my faith in pretty much everything if it was repeated at our wedding was that I had another encounter with cute guy with dog, hereafter referred to as CCO (perhaps there will be reason to explain that later). Because I felt like crap, because I walked the dog late, and because as soon as I walked the dog, I headed straight back out to buy ice cream, I ran into CCO on my way home. I was dressed in two coats with two hoods and I'm sure resembled the unibomber. I didn't even see CCO but he said hi and I got to see him for the very first time without a hat or beard. He's pretty stinkin' cute in the dark. I'm not sure if he noticed I was ridiculously overdressed for the fairly mild conditions. He was on his way to play drums in his band and I said I was interested in hearing them play. He was clearly in a hurry so we had an awkward moment where people would normally exchange phone numbers and I said aloud 'I don't know how we do this.' He gave me his card, explaining it was his side business and told me to e-mail him to say hi and he would get back in touch. So yay on all that had to line up for that to happen, including my nth infection.

But wait for it, you know I court strange like no other, his side business is designing Beer Pong tables. I'm so lame, I actually had to wikipedia Beer Pong. I will never tell him that. I was afraid looking at his card that it had something to do with bongs so I was relieved that it was just a drinking game. So from the website, it looks to be a big deal and has been going on for years so that is kind of neat but certainly unconventional. I'm curious what his main business is if this is his side business. We shall see. Light a candle for me somewhere. Light two. One for health. Once for CCO.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

An explanation

I was in line at the store this evening, clutching 3 winter coats and sweating, eyes bloodshot and focused on the next available register when this young tall thin Indian guy with long hair, hippy clothing but holding a suit started talking to me. He was so friendly, I'm still wondering about him and need an explanation for his friendliness. Weird...

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Batman; how not to let down a superhero

Passive-aggressive avoidance--man, I could write a book of vignettes on how to pull this off with panache. Batman, who no doubt suspects me of being one of those girls who play games, called me several times trying to find out if I was up to hanging out with him decked out in his Batman inspired regalia. I couldn't simply pick up the phone and say no, I had to wait for him to leave increasingly annoyed messages, and waited until the next to last minute to call and give my regrets, getting quickly off the phone to take a fake nap. I'm hoping he'll be done with me now, disgusted and annoyed so that I don't have the untidy task of avoiding him or worse yet, telling him I'm not interested. I suspect we have not heard the last from Batman, but a girl can hope.

Working myself out of tight spaces

I spend a lot of time wishing. Creating with my imagination scenarios where I can see myself from the outside, looking like a million bucks, and beaming comfortably in my element. I make up fortunes on the spot; if the dog pees twice in one of the next three woodchip piles, I will meet my husband this year; if the elevator goes up without stopping, I will have a great day; if, if. I'm childlike enough to be excited when the elevator goes up without stopping but pragmatic enough to forget it happened or didn't happen as the day unfolds. I know that magic will seem possible for anyone if it ever happens for me and I do believe that something unknowable and intangible makes Britney Spears a star and that handsome and ridiculously talented guitar player I listened to in a 40-seat venue, known only in the smallest circles. A line from the David Foster Wallace book of essays comes to mind; "...people tend to be extremely similar in their vulgar and prurient and dumb interests and wildly different in their refined and aesthetic and noble interests."

I missed yoga this week because my tummy made me nervous and I was just wiped. I missed it not only as an opportunity to capitalize on the weight loss an intestinal virus will bring but as a opportunity to hear positive messages and reminders about dwelling in the present. It is physically impossible to be anywhere else yet my mind pulls me back and forth and that creates a figurative hour glass in my life, all processes hung up and stalled trying to reconcile the incompatible programs that are running. A shutdown is almost always the only way to get going again. It's so disruptive to keep shutting down just to get started again. I was thinking about and dreading work, thinking about all the other things I'd rather be doing and I realized, if I didn't have to leave the house at all, I probably wouldn't. Work isn't keeping me from having some fabulous life, it just doesn't add much to what is already a poorly developed life. I don't like having plans, I don't like having demands on my time. I like to wake up and decide what I'm going to do that day and wait to want to do something before doing it. The problem is that 90% of adult life falls outside of these parameters. What I'm essentially looking for is childhood.

When I'm not bending space and time, thinking on what I wish I'd done and what I should do tomorrow, I have been dwelling in this piece. I haven't found all the words I have for this but I think about this concept of love as a punch clock, love as doing time, the relationship between love, passion, and guilt both in how it relates to my relationships with others and in how it relates with my relationship to myself. I look at what I know of the love between some people I know and it is so perplexing to me, I think it either is not real or that I might be from another planet. I understand that it is not for me to understand or aspire to anyway, it is theirs and theirs alone. I know I shouldn't use their relationships, the innards of which are unknown to me, as a measure or goal for mine. I'm most fascinated though, with how they love themselves. How they punch the clock for themselves, taking care, but not out of vanity or selfishness. Maybe it doesn't run that deep, perhaps I'm stretching the analogy too far but there are some of us who are never doing enough, working hard to deserve something we can never earn, and there are those who seem to understand grace and love intrinsically, know they don't deserve it, that they can never earn it, and simply dwell in it. BS should be helping me with this, I think but I'm not sure our relationship will extend past this Friday's planned session. It is not his work to do anyway. It is mine.

Friday, March 20, 2009

A series I would have rather skipped

Right now my torso is gurgling and rumbling with lingering resentment over the abrupt disruption of the circle of life that keeps our digestive track healthy and productive. I'm not sure if the troops are still fighting or if this bloated discomfort is a rally but I am quite ready for it to be over so I can venture into public spaces with confidence that I won't have to leave abruptly for reasons best left to the imagination. What I regarded as found time upon the last minute cancellation of my planned trip, my body took as a cue to break down. A funny moment from the onset of symptoms was the clearing of the room of animals when I started throwing up. I was staying with a friend and 2/3 of the dogs in the house had taken up in my room for the night. Until I started hurling. They cleared out promptly. It kind of hurt my feelings and honestly, I think damaged their reputations of providing comfort to the the sick. I know who's got my back and it's not a certain black lab whose vomit I'd been removing from my rug for a week before I got sick.

But before all that I made time to go into work for a day that pushes my 'f@%k-you' meter closer to seeking a new job to be frustrated with and spent entirely too much money on a underwhelming vacuum cleaner. Batman called while I was away and it turns out he's found an excuse to dress up in one of his costumes for a superhero costume thing-y at a local university. He told me he doesn't expect me to dress up but doesn't plan to go or dress up unless I come with him. I did not commit to walking around a university campus alongside Batman (who plans to dress as The Riddler) so that he can get $2 off of admission and take advantage of an opportunity to wear one of his costumes on some day other than 31 October. Dear God.

You all are probably convinced I'm a jerk but Batman has this other weird 'Johnson has lost his marbles' kind of vibe that coupled with his quirkiness makes me want to handle this carefully. He reported today that he finally snapped and freaked out on a couple of his students and that he hasn't been picked on since. I hear something like that I see myself blinded by a camera light making cliche comments about Batman seeming like a nice quiet guy while everyone else tries to make sense of the carnage. He seems like a delicate soul. I don't know. We'll see.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Magic moments

The story of how a thing came to be is often more magical than the thing they are or become. I'm thinking specifically of the story of how my dog and I came to be and all that had to come together for her to be in that shelter at that time, to resemble a dog that I had loved in the past, and to plainly solicit us to take her home (she literally picked up some random collar in the cage and tossed it at us twice while flat out staring at my sister and me). I like the story because she chose us. When considering a dog, I had it in my mind that I would get a beagle. I considered it a sign that my then next door neighbors had two beagles. But fate clearly had other plans for me. What has followed from that wonderful fated moment, especially this last week, is far from magical. There are some decidedly un-magical things about managing relationships following the supernatural that brings and binds two beings together. There are many things that would be markedly easier to accomplish without one another and time apart is usually refreshing. Still, I've built a life around 65 pounds of fur and flesh and I really wouldn't have it any other way.

I wonder if that is how married people feel.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Shits and giggles

Forgive me, faint of heart for the crudeness of the last few posts. When last we left our heros, non-food objects and general anal retentiveness threatened health and humor. Looming deadlines and pending travel added to the stress. I am happy to report that movement has occurred for all of us and serindipity continued in the postponement of our travel plans. It truly is the little things.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Freudian shits

So the dog has a blockage in her lower colon. Something non-food. Ironically, so do I. Literally and figuratively, I feel like I have a stick in my ass. Her rhythm is off, my rhythm is off. I was counting on this week to get stuff done and now it is Friday. There is a phantom smell of dog vomit coming from somewhere I can not find. I've been tired all week but now I can not sleep. I need to cancel my appointment with BS tomorrow afternoon because I simply do not have the time. An hour of this evening was spent dodging the crap of other dogs, walking every patch of grass within a mile of our house, frustrated nearly to the point of whimpering that she just would not or could not poop. I was already unhealthily consumed with her bowel habits, now I'm literally walking on my tiptoes and holding my breath hoping that she is winding up to deliver the goods. Not sure what that says about me. Pretty sure I don't want to figure it out.

If she doesn't pass something tomorrow morning, we're supposed to check in with the vet for perhaps another set of X-rays to see if the blockage has even budged and to discuss what we need to do next to break up the logjam. Surgery is a last resort option that begins to tip the benefits vs risk scale as time passes without foreign object passage. The good news is that it made it so far through her digestive tract. The bad news is that it refuses to move on. It would be funny if it weren't potentially life threatening and scarily expensive. We've spent over $300 this week and she still has a problem. I can't imagine how much money it would cost to actually fix something. They didn't even charge me for an office visit today and it was over $100. I'm scheduled to fly out on Saturday, adding a sense of urgency about this movement and a sense of anxiety about leaving her in the care of others. I can't fathom the mechanics of a dog enema but I am probably going to google it when I finish this post. Don't even get me started about work. Something has got to give. This has been a very shitty week. Pun absolutely intended.

Dog Mom

Before we get started with this post I want to acknowledge that I do understand that human children are different from dogs. But even those who have dogs and children can appreciate that the perpetual childhood of a dog can be taxing at times. With children, there is a point when they start to take themselves to the bathroom, fix themselves some basic sustenance, and manage some self-care when they are ill. They also usually learn how to get to the bathroom in time for however they are going to be sick. Not so with dogs. Even if you strategically place multiple large towels across your nearly new and terribly expensive wool rug, you will still rise to find your sick and pitiful looking dog resting on one of the towels after disgorging the contents of their stomach on to the rug. It's been a week with this throwing up thing and I finally took her to the vet yesterday. Over 200 dollars later, we came home with Pepcid. F&@king Pepcid. And she's still throwing up. Predominantly on the newer and more expensive of the two rugs in the living room. I'd bet good money that even if I switched the location of the two rugs, she would still throw up on the new one. Dogs have a sixth sense about these things. It's a hateful sixth sense but a very accurate one. So I sit here waiting for the next round of gagging so I can rub her belly calm and she can wait until I leave for work to desecrate our living space.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Batman, glitter shirts, and theme suspenders

Batman was a lovely man, a grown-up Urkel, if you will. Theme suspenders. Check. Theme tie. Check. Black and white wing tips. Check. Very large retro glasses. Check. He was right out of central casting. He mentioned at some point having shopped for glitter shirts when he was going to clubs. He’s the guy in the club with the glitter shirt ladies, and he is rock-in’ it. He knows he looks good too. Glitter shirt. Christ. I was inwardly wincing at the sheet music tie and suspenders. I would have blushed the entire night with embarrassment if he had showed up in a glitter shirt.

He was entirely too nice of a guy for me to mock and far too earnest to go out with again. Still it was nice to feel my power. It was nice to be sure a guy liked me. I definitely had hand. I knew before we went out that I was unlikely to be attracted to him but I still wanted him to be into me. Had he been underwhelmed by all that is me, I might have considered impaling myself on one of the beer taps. I would have taken an unnecessary vow of celibacy and completely given up.

I’ve been thinking about the date today because I can. In this space, I’ve documented my fixations with Mr. Coffee, IBC, and now cute guy with dog (more on him later) and none of these guys were/are ever into me. On paper, Batman is great; music teacher, loves all kinds of music, plays guitar (one of my Achilles’ heel), and he’s into me as is. A little too into me for what little he knows but into me nonetheless. I wrote a friend recently who was giving me unsolicited dating advice telling her first to please stop. More importantly, I told her that I recognized that I have questionable taste in men. I don’t think there is anything wrong with anyone I’ve liked necessarily. It’s just that I can and routinely do pick the least interested/available man in any room to become fixated with. I told her that until there is some shift in me that allows me to like people who like me instead of being drawn to guys who aren't interested or just like having someone into them without returning the favor, I think things are going to be about the same as they ever have been.

6 more guys to be rejected by on match until that expensive and ego-deflating experiment is over.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Some things are cool just because you get to say you're doing them

Example: I've got a date tomorrow. It doesn't matter that it's not with someone I'm really all that excited about seeing. It's just nice to be able to tell people I'm doing it. Makes me sound desirable.

Example: (off camera question: What did you do this weekend?) Oh, I went to stay with some friends at their family cabin in West Virginia (okay maybe the WV part doesn't sound as cool and honestly, as a person of color, most similarly hued folks-including my parents-questioned my judgement in being out in the middle of nowhere in WV. But it still sounded cool and I think they were secretly impressed).

Example: We went shooting last night after work. (I mean, how bad ass is that? p.s. I'm a pretty decent shot--among people who don't do a lot of shooting)

Example: (off camera question: What did you do for Valentines Day?) We had a girls night out; went to see a movie, had pizza, then when to a desert place. (It was fun but I called it a night early. I had a screaming headache and had my fill of estrogen laced conversations seeking/giving advice about dating and guys in general).

With just a few more data points, the uninformed would plot out something that looked like a fun single girl having a fun single life with all her friends and dates and weekend trips and miss all the dead air in between when I sat in one of my two chairs surrounded by general chaos and (today) carrot colored dog vomit on my throw rugs. The delta between the data points and real life is wide and deep.

In other news, it turns out Batman was an apt moniker for my would-be boyfriend. He's really into Batman. It amuses and troubles me equally. Not because I have anything against Batman or comics; I do not hide my own love of cartoons and know that I'm pretty much a nerd. But I'm a cool nerd.

I know, even I laughed.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Batman returns

I got another e-mail from Batman...I suppose I should just answer it. There is probably something wrong with me that I consider the upside of this eventual meeting is that it will be blog worthy. I'm sure of it.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Low Self Esteem: self fulfilling since 1 BC

A few things I hate about me:

1. That I'm keen on the relationship status of artists that I like and am a little bummed when they are married or in committed relationships. That is absolutely ridiculous. I don't talk to guys I actually see everyday. I can't figure out what kind of f*@^ked up chemistry allows me to actively lament my lost shot at an even modestly famous celebrity. If they could weaponize estrogen...

2. This list seemed like a good idea at the time...

In other news, a co-worker of mine that would be easily hate-able if not so affable was enjoying more professional good fortune and made a comment about how much he loved his job and couldn't imagine how people who hate their job, who struggle to get out of bed and drag themselves in everyday, do it. It was all I could do not to pipe up and tell him how we manage. The man is a study in the adage of success coming when you do something that you love. But it would shortchange him to not highlight his professional acumen and political astuteness. There is also something I catch from time to time that suggests that he can affably tell you to f@%k yourself. Something hard and selfish.

In still other news, I was pleased that BS had kept things fresh between us by not wearing a blue sweater on our third session. I did however, leave the session thinking that either a: BS and I probably won't last past another session or b: BS and I probably won't last another session and therapy may not be necessary or even helpful. I thought this would be challenging and instead I kind of feel like I'm running our sessions. I find myself thinking of bringing an outline or agenda and it has so far ended up just using him as my accountability buddy. I told him during our last session that I was kind of embarrassed that we were using his time and expertise to do that kind of stuff. We spent 20 minutes setting up a goal for tackling my room of shame in 15 minute increments. WTF? In his defense, he sorta brought up the 'why' in the 'what' of the things I do in our last session and I blocked that shot. But I expect him to challenge me, I'm not the doctor, I have no idea what works. He wouldn't be my chore-buddy if I had any idea what works. I left last Friday feeling like a fraud. I don't need help, at least that kind of help. I need to get off my ass and stop making excuses for not living the life I want. And it seems BS can't help with that or help me unlock the motivation to do so.

I think I understand why I do what I do, I think I have stellar insight many of the random events, non-events, and circumstance that have shaped who I am. I think I can nail with pinpoint accuracy what my hang-ups are with men. I'm pretty sure I know why I keep ending up jobs I don't like too. I know that few things are less attractive than low self-esteem. I annoy myself with that but I still reflexively don't like myself. Mostly (I think) because no man I ever wanted, wanted to be with me. I also understand that I have questionable taste in men. I have epiphanies and revelations on a regular basis. I'd be very surprised if BS said something that surprised me. Is that the most arrogant I've ever been in public? Possibly. The point is, no matter the reason(s) why, I still have to do something about it. So I'm a little ambivalent about exploring the nooks and crannies of how the stupid guy in 7th grade who said I was ugly carries forward into today.

Earlier this evening, I was thinking of the move here and remembering how enchanting it all felt, how I filled with hope whenever the skyline came into view. I was confident that I was here for a reason, and that my husband was here. Random people bought me dinner, everyone was super nice, and I was charmed by the city and excited about my work. And now I'm over it. I really don't have much patience or staying power. I hope one day they sell Ritalin OTC. I would be mad focused. It would be awesome. I think it's horrible but I totally get the moms who do meth. It's hard to do it all--it's physically impossible. But if you don't need sleep, you can get so much more done and with a pep that honestly rarely happens naturally in the body. And bonus, it keeps you skinny too!

I digress. The point is, in the Alchemist, at the beginning of each major step in the protagonists' journey, the universe is audibly saying 'yes.' Things fall into place, you are confident you are where you should be. But then the honeymoon is over and you wonder at times if you missed an exit or perhaps misinterpreted the universe. There is a crappy confusing lull as the universe has you treading water until the next current. So basically, I'm either where I'm supposed to be and this just sucks, or like Gob in Arrested Development, "I've made a huge mistake."