My skin is already itching. My head is ready to explode. I just yelled at the dog because she licked her lips, and the sound made me want to rip my skin off my body. I hate May. So please forgive me for not writing more, but I have typed and erased and typed and erased for 15 minutes now. Not even the words from my heart are satisfying.

It seems that my latest crisis is my very limited wardrobe. When I made the decision to only wear skirts, I failed to account for the forgiving nature of the fabric. My lower body quickly picked up on that fact that it can easily hide beneath the layers, and now I have 3 pairs of pants that fit them. Two of them are sweats that I attempt to mask as casual pants. It's a little sad, and I'm ashamed to admit this. It's true, though. I decided to start working out again. My schedule lately has not allowed much free time, so I made the deal with myself to just do whatever I can. The rest will follow in time. Last night, a friend of mine and I decided to go to our long abandoned Zumba class. I'm still surprised that I actually suggested it, but it just seemed to work better last night. Here's the thing. I don't really like Zumba. The instructor is entertaining, and the crowd is friendly and non-judgmental. We laugh at ourselves in the mirror and  I'd much ...

I just returned from a week in the Dominican Republic. Each time I am there, I get a chance to do something I never get to do at home...SLEEP. My darling loves his sleep, and although I will never understand anyone's desire to waste more time than necessary in a bed, I do give in when I am with him. That means I get my traditional 6 hours of sleep and spend the rest of my time watching the incredibly peaceful look on his face...and thinking. I think a lot when I'm there. I've been struggling lately with the whole concept of "meant to be", and I think I have finally discovered what it is that bothers me so much about it. It's another situation in which we ascribe different criteria to different situations as a way to justify our own prejudicial ideas. Lately, this has manifested in some well-intended advice from others to "let God handle it". I did...but what happened wasn't what they expected God to do. Ergo, I clearly have not let God handle...

The other day I discovered that one my favorite comedies, Trailer Park Boys, is going to be leaving Netflix on March 1. Since then, I've been frantically watching the entire series. There's something about the ensemble of people and the raunchy antics that makes me feel a little nostalgic. I grew up around those kinds of people, and while I don't agree with their life choices, I do understand that people do desperate things when they're in desperate situations. It's life. So I decided to see if I could find my childhood best friend online. In the process I stumbled upon her brother and his family. I still remember their wedding at a little independent Baptist church. Fresh in my memory is the day they moved away and the time they ate in the restaurant where I once worked. A lot of life has passed by in those 26 years, and they're still together. Everything indicator was stacked against them...and they defied them all. What stuck with me is that we really hav...

And yet...      it almost didn't happen. In the end, though...      it was perfect. Santo Domingo...      holds my heart. Now hand in hand...      en buenas y malas.

I've been thinking a lot about faith lately. My sister has been going through some serious soul searching for the first time in her life. The other night she stumbled across Charles Stanley preaching on anxiety, and this turned her to the Bible which she has now been devouring. It seems to have slowed the rash of thoughts plaguing her. If you've ever spent days or weeks in that seemingly never ending cycle of obsessive thoughts, you know how relieved I am for her. She's not alone in this. I've not had the obsessive thoughts waking me in the wee hours of the night or hijacking my day, but I've been going through my own little drama in my head. A little over a year ago, I met a man very much by chance. You probably don't really know this story. He had messaged me online through a social media site, and we chatted a little through messages and the phone. He was considerably younger than me, but seemed sweet enough--a nice change from the other men who had been ...

It's 3 a.m. on a school night. I'm still awake. I'm still writing. I'm still trying to figure out if I have another pair of pants I can wear to work tomorrow so I don't have to take the time to shave my legs. Therein lies the problem. I can't seem to find any clothes. Over the last year, my hindquarters have swollen like they've been eating too many pretzels and peanuts. I own two pairs of pants that somewhat fit me. I really don't want to shave my legs. This is not a new problem. I've been aware of my decreasing wardrobe for a few months now, but until I faced this leg shaving dilemma, it just didn't seem like *that* big of a deal. On top of that, I've been trying to get pregnant for the last year, so losing weight wasn't a huge priority for me. So here I am. Naked. Childless. Alone. And unhappy. I know that we're supposed to look on the inside and cultivate gratitude for our lives, but the truth is that I just don't fe...

A few weeks ago, in a "I just finished writing that final paper for the class from hell" euphoria, I put in a bid for a writing project. They were providing the research, and I figured I could knock it out in a weekend--or at the very least in the evenings when the mid-term exam schedule freed me from my usual evening duties of paper grading or lesson development. It's been an interesting project and WAY more than I ever anticipated. The research they provided me was virtually useless. (It's difficult to turn 150 words on a topic into 400 words without sounding like one of my students ostentatiously using adjectives to cover their lack of understanding.) So I've been parked on my sofa for what feels like the last ten years of my life, taking mini breaks to do laundry or wash dishes. The worst part, though, is that the process of writing--even writing these silly biographies--has sparked my creativity that seems to have been dormant for the last year. I've ...

I'm sitting here crossed-legged on a bed with the sounds of the city quieted by the Christmas celebrations and Spanish-dubbed television. It's a bit strange to me to realize that this is simply my life now. Despite the fact that my friends have pointed out that at least I'm doing "nothing"...it is in another country. What I realize, though, is that ordinary is ordinary no matter where you are. What a beautiful Christmas this has been. In the Latin cultures, Christmas Eve is the more important day, and we had a delightful feast last night of lasagne, a variety of potatoes (sweet, salad, casserole), Dominican-style tamales, an amazing dish of plantains and ground beef (like a shepherd's pie), bread, and sweets. We all dressed as nicely as we could and listened to the Christmas story in Spanish before devouring the feast. Then all the gifts were brought out to the living room and left waiting for the morning. Apparently, the children tore into the gifts while...

Last night I went for a walk. There's always been something about being outside under the night sky that allows me to connect...to slow my mind...to process the tidal wave of thoughts that often wreak havoc on my brain. There's so much there right now. This is the perfect time for me to pray, and I meander along the sidewalk with occasional glances up toward the stars. This is also when I find that odd little phrases spill out of my mouth. I've learned to pay attention to them, as they have often proved themselves true. Last night? "I just don't like myself right now." Instantly, I heard the words of Brene Brown in my head: shame happens when the way we are does not match up with the way we want to be perceived. I want to be perceived as intelligent. Lately, though, I've made some seriously stupid mistakes. I am skipping sleep and not taking care of myself the way I should. I think people are looking at me and thinking, "How can...

I've been like a mad woman lately cleaning out my house. In the last six years I've managed to accumulate my fair share of extra possessions, and like trying to run with this extra twenty pounds on my body, I feel like this stuff is just weighing me down. It's suffocating. So I'm cleaning. In the process of this cleaning, I came across some old pictures. They are the first pictures that I have of my "new" post-divorce life. The one that had me running half marathons and traveling to other continents and feeling for the first time in a long time that my life had a sense of excitement...and purpose... ...and life. Seeing those pictures stoked some long dormant feelings in me and left me longing again for those moments when I felt like the rest of my life was waiting for me. I started to say here that I don't feel like I'm lacking anything, but the truth is that I am. In some ways, I have never felt this fulfilled. In others, I've never ...

Last April, I bought a table-top grill with plans to grill my own steaks and chicken and pizza. I even planned in my head a small brick lined spot outside in which I would use this grill. When I arrived home with the grill, I removed the instructions and left the rest of it in its box in the back of my car. I read the instructions...and left the grill in the car. Needless to say, the small canister of propane that is supposed to power the grill is sitting untouched on a shelf in my kitchen. I showed my love the grill in the car, and he immediately brought it inside. We found the instructions, and he set to work at the table sorting through the screws and handles and whatnot that accompanied this piece of equipment. As I watched him and listened to him reading the directions (necisito un eme...un eme), it occurred to me just how much I love this part of a man's psyche. I may be a strong, capable woman, but I love the way a man just instinctively knows how to read i...

Journal Entry... Santo Domingo Airport I'm sitting here in the airport attempting to drown out the cacophony that lives only in the souls and bursts forth through the mouths of Latinos. I love the boisterous sounds of the laughter and stories, but I have papers to grade, and listening to the Spanish while reading in English is too much for my exhausted brain to handle right now. So I am ignoring what I am compelled to explore. What I realize here in this moment is that I am addicted to the chaos. Anyone with a psychology degree would say it's pathological, and in a way that is true. For this reason I am drawn to the chaos that my dear love brings to my life. He's not perfect. He's irresponsible and reckless, and one day I may berate myself for this. But I also love him in a way that I cannot explain. I love the drama that he brings--the kind that I cannot seem to deliver for myself. He gives my life something that is pathological only to those who live in the sh...

I've received enough comments on Facebook asking about my whereabouts to make me realize that my online--and honestly, offline--presence in life has been slacking lately. Right now I feel like that guy who goes out on a great date, smiles as he talks, calls every night, and then suddenly becomes "busy". We all know that no one is *that* busy, so I won't insult your intelligence. It's just that...well...I haven't had much to say lately. This really hit home with me tonight as I sat down to work on my short story, "The Road to Macchu Picchu." I finally know how to wrap up the story, but when I sat down, the words just didn't seem to flow like they should. The same has been true of my running schedule. It's a slow adjustment. Suffice it to say that I am back in the States after spending the summer in the Dominican Republic. The highlight of the experience was a brief trip to the mountains where we went exploring and found a fantastic spot ne...

I am in the middle of writing a paper about the practical application of storytelling for literacy and learning, and I checked the calendar to see how many days I have before this assignment is due. That's when it dawned on me. Today is year 3. Three years ago, I decided that I wanted to wake up every June 23 in another country. I've organized my traveling around this date. The first year I wandered around Machu Picchu in Peru. Last year I spent the night on the beach celebrating with the people of Spain the longest day of the year. This year I woke in the Dominican Republic to my favorite smile in the world. This has been the most challenging of my trips because I have not spent it alone. I'm not complaining about that fact. The last two weeks have been a flurry of Spanish and cuddling new kittens and hanging out with my new niece. It seems that no matter where we are in life, merging two lives carries its own learning curve. He's been asking me a lot, "Ma...

I had to make a few difficult decisions this week. At least, they were difficult for me. I wish I could be the kind of person who completely makes decisions based on his/her own needs and wants and boldly moves through life with unabashed freedom from how our choices affect others. But I'm not built like that. I had placed an ad for my former stray. I felt like it was time to find her a more permanent home because so much in my life right now is uncertain. One person answered the ad, but she did not seem like a good fit, and I gave up further thought. This week I received another response. As long as this person is telling the truth, it's an ideal situation for the dog. Yet, I had a strange feeling and could not sort out whether or not it was my intuition kicking in or that fact that I actually like the dog and don't want to see her go. In the end, I decided that it was in my own (and my Winnipeg's) best interest for her to stay with us through the summer. (I seri...

My countdown is now narrowed down to one of my hands. In five days, I'll board a plane and will not return to U.S. soil (save for one week of mandatory training) until the end of the summer. I will be living abroad...in another country...soaking up all the mangos and plantains I can get my grubby hands on. It's exciting and intimidating. Leaving behind the solitude and comfort of my home and my dogs. Adjusting to a slower pace of life and system of rules. There's nowhere to run there. I have no place to hide when my life overwhelms me. My phone won't work there. Seven weeks is a long time to be away from everything familiar. I remember the first night I traveled alone to another country. After making my way through the airport in Lima and checking in to my hotel, I sat on the bed and turned on the t.v. Of course, it was in Spanish. Every channel was in Spanish...even the programs I recognized. At the time, my conversational skills were much more severely limited ...

I just finished viewing a photo slide show via text message. My love spent a weekend with the boys in a remote location, and he excitedly shared with me his photos of the excursion. They are a lovely collection of sunsets, mountain vistas, and colorful houses that look ramshackle by any American definition. You already know how much I love the way he catalogs his life through photos. One photo, in particular, caught my attention. It's the side of a house and its makeshift work table. There's a mop leaned against the house, a giant washtub on the table, buckets on the ground, and another tool covered by some clothing. This is the kind of shot that self-respecting Americans--especially those in gated communities--would be ashamed to have sitting outside their homes. Homeowners associations across the country are currently bemoaning the state of a world that allows such a scene to be visible by others. I'm sure a well-meaning retiree is currently writing a cease and desist...

While I was in Santo Domingo last week visiting my love and meeting his family, we hit the streets one day to explore the Cuidad Colonial. This is the oldest part of the city--in fact, the first city established by the Spanish explorers in the fifteenth century. It was a delightful day, despite the rain that started to fall not long after we left the house, and we walked hand in hand and talked all afternoon. My carino takes many pictures. When he was here in the States, he always had his camera or iPod with him and snapped photos regularly and randomly. Watching his process was an interesting experience for me because I have in the last few years turned into one of those photographers always looking for the perfect artistic shot to capture my moments. Armed with my limited photography knowledge, I'd agonize over the lighting and texture and make mental notes about which shots I would later adjust. The result is a collection of interesting and beautiful photographs. Yet, I also no...

I've said a lot of goodbyes in my lifetime. I've absorbed the shock of lives lost too soon and settled into the soberness that follows the dissolution of relationships, both platonic and romantic. Goodbyes are never easy for me, and I find that I still shed tears in those first moments of solitude (just like I did as a child leaving my grandmother's house). Last night I drove with my love to the airport--our fingers interlaced and my head resting on his shoulder. We spent the weekend alternating between questions like, "What's going on? Your face! Your face!" and answers like, "Let's not talk about this now." I watched him tenderly share his sentiments with the dogs and the walls of my house and the air in the front field. Time was not on our side, and the sun slowly made its way toward the horizon. We checked his bag and retrieved his boarding pass. Then we stole our final moments together randomly chatting about things serious and not so seriou...