Last night I had trouble sleeping because every muscle in my body was aching, thanks to Billy Blankety-blanks and his dang Boot Camp. I made it 15 minutes into the Basic Training DVD before collapsing in sheer physical exhaustion. Yesterday I was sore. Last night I didn’t sleep well. This morning I can hardly move. Liz doesn’t want me to do this DVD again. I disagree. I think that if I do another 15 minutes tonight that will help get the muscles loosened up a little bit. I’m not going to do it every day until I can make it every other day through the whole workout , but I am going to do as much as I can every other day. I am not going to spend the rest of my life being a miserable, fat, unhealthy woman. I’d rather be a miserable, slim, unhealthy woman! The clothes are cuter, and cheaper, and they look better.
I think the events of yesterday also contributed to my difficulty in sleeping. Here’s what happened yesterday:
I was working away when the HR person called. “Faith, do you own a white Rodeo?”
“There are two men here who want to see you.”
Oh-kay, so what’s going on? I couldn’t remember running any red lights, and doubted anyone would track me down at work just for that anyway. So I go across the hall where I am met by two police officers from the Bedford PD. It turns out that there was a hit-and-run accident that allegedly happened in my work parking lot, and the police officer was asking how I got the damage to my car. I explained that I was backing out of my driveway at home and accidentally hit my husband’s work van. He asked when it happened, what color the van was, etc., and then said that the car that was hit has white paint on it, and my bumper has maroon paint. Could I explain that? Well, no, but I can promise you that I did not commit a hit and run. I would NEVER do such a thing.
By the time they left, I was shaking and just a nervous wreck. I called Joe, who exploded. He got in said work van and drove up to my office and walked around the parking lot to see if he could identify the car to see if the damage matched my bumper.
I have to stop here and point out that I work for a non-prime auto finance company, and they do a lot of repos. It was break time when Joe got here. Back to the narrative.
Joe was talking to me on the cell phone and I heard one of my co-workers approach to ask if he needed any help. To my horror, I heard Joe say that it was none of his business. Then I heard Joe get a little more belligerent. I was practically yelling into the phone for him to chill out, but he didn’t hear me. I hung up and sat at my desk and sobbed. In less than an hour, I’d had the police show up to ask me about an accident that I didn’t cause and had my husband show up in the parking lot and make a scene.
A few minutes later, Joe called me back and said that he was going to go talk to the police, and that everything was cool with him and the guys in the parking lot. He said they knew who I am and they like me and think I’m hysterically funny (huh?). He called back in another half hour to say that the police had looked at his van and agreed that the damage on my car was caused exactly the way I said it was, and that they had known all along that I didn’t cause the damage to the other car. Why they didn’t tell me that to begin with I can only chalk up to acute sadism.
The two guys that Joe got ugly with in the parking lot wandered into my office at various times, and I got to apologize to each of them. Fortunately they both have a good sense of humor, and can also appreciate that Joe is fiercely protective of me, so no harm was done.
My day was shot to hell and back, though, I have to say. I tried to get Liz to meet me for lunch, but our monster (a term of endearment, I promise) had to get her car serviced and had already snared Liz’s services. So Liz and I made plans to meet up at my place at 7 p.m.
When I got home from work, Joe and I went to Olive Garden for dinner. I hate Olive Garden. Yes, the food is good enough, but it’s overpriced, and it’s just not my favorite place to go. But I got a good smoked mozzarella fondue and ate some salad, so it was fine. All Joe wanted to do, though, was rehash the events of the day. He insisted on showing me in great detail why I couldn’t have caused the damage to the other car, even though I obviously knew I hadn’t.
Liz and I went out for some retail therapy. I didn’t have the best karma in the world, but did end up coming home with one outfit and some junk jewelry. I then came home, finished the edits on a book, and e-mailed it to Live Oak House, who is publishing it as an e-book. It’s an LDS novel aimed at girls aged about 12-15. It has been unceremoniously rejected by every publisher I’ve sent it to on the grounds that they don’t think the market for that age group would substantiate the publishing of the book. I think they’re full of beans. Every girl of that age who has read the book has totally loved it and asked for more. I did have one publisher want me to pay something like $3K and they would publish it. I chose not to do that, if for no other reason than that I don’t have $3K to throw away. So it will be an e-book.
I’m not going to write any more novels for the LDS market. It’s too small a market, too competitive, and I think it’s too limiting. I will finish up the infertility book I’ve started if for no other reason than that being an infertile woman in the LDS culture is like living in a unique hell. It’s bad enough if you’re able to otherwise fit into the culture. But if you’re a complete misfit, as I am, it’s just insanely unbearable. I used to hate going to church because of the stupid things people would say to me. I hate going to church now, but for different reasons.
One of my sisters came to live with me and Joe for 6 months a few years ago. She allegedly learned she was pregnant just before I flew out to Utah to drive back with her, and told me that she was going to let us adopt the child. Then she told me that she was going to keep the child. Then she told me that she was going to place him with LDS Family Services. Then she told me she didn’t know what she was going to do. Through all of that, I was supportive of her and told her that she needed to do what was best for her child and her family. She moved back to Salt Lake a few months before the baby was born and I didn’t hear anything more from her. On Father’s Day 2004, I called my stepfather in SLC and was greeted with the news that (a) Alicia had given birth a few days previously and (b) placed him for adoption with a couple IN MY WARD!!!!!!! That was the most thoughtless and insensitive thing that she could possibly have done. To add injury to injury, the baby’s new father was mine and Joe’s home teacher, who knew that we had, at one time, been hoping to adopt the baby. I’ve made my peace with the situation to a larger extent than I had originally ever thought would be possible, but it still just kills me to go to church on Sunday and see this child who’s not my nephew, not my son, not any relation to me. I wish they would move to another stake so I’d never have to see them again. I realize that’s a selfish thought on my part. So I’m selfish. At least I’m honest about how I’m feeling. I hope that I can learn to deal with it better in the future, but for right now it’s raw and painful.