Dream

You should see how many times that word appears in the lyrics to the songs in the soundtrack to You've Got Mail. I was trying to figure out which song from the movie I had in my head, but to no avail because I think every song has that word in it. So.
Interestingly enough, it is that film that has birthed one of my greatest dreams. I want to own a bookstore. Preferably a children's bookstore. Preferably one that does not get eaten alive by Fox books or, in this case, Amazon.com.
I thought this was a cheerful little dream to have. I would get married, have some kids, stay at home, get a part time job, and then with all the money that my husband made (since we would have already stashed plenty away for our kids' college and our retirement) we'd open a bookstore in some little shop/university district. It wouldn't have to make money, it would just be on the side for mental and emotional health.
Problem. The dream is haunting me. Before I was even out of college the children's bookstore I always wanted to work at came up for sale. My English prof/adviser insanely advised me to buy it. He even had a business partner in mind for me-- a fellow alum, a business man, a shop keeper... But I was so young! And in debt! No way. I let it go by. Instead I went to work for the new owner after graduation. Worked there for three years and treated the store like my own.
In the meantime, a well-established children's bookstore near my sister's house in CA announced that they were selling. Well. What could I do, but inquire? So I did, along with my brother-in-law who would be my financial backer if anything actually happened. I inquired. And I thought about it. A lot. Painfully. And then I let it go by. Then I moved to California. I work in a different bookstore now. (I almost worked in missed-opportunity #2.) Yesterday I was whining to my brother-in-law about how I still wanted a bookstore. But the economy is in a nose-dive. It's awful. Not the time to go into business, if you ask me. Especially a business that's hard to keep afloat when the economy is great. Then today I was talking my college roommate's father. I needed advice on something in his field (insurance) and he basically asked me out of the blue if I had ever wanted to buy a bookstore and if I wanted to that he would like to be an investor in something like that. Sheeeeesh.
Here's the thing.
I don't really think I'm a business woman. I pretty much know it. I don't want to ruin relationships over business. Also, I don't want to handle the financial side of things. I want a business manager to handle all that, and all the legal stuff and whatnot. Licenses, rent, all that crap. I don't want to deal with it. And there's so much stuff I know I haven't thought of yet, I can see myself broken down crying every night for months. And that's before I get the business up and running. Let's not talk about when I go out of business! And people want to invest in this! Like, they want to make money. Ummm... this is not a make money kind of deal. Oh boy.
Do I go get an MBA? Will my dream keep popping up if I put it off again? Neither store has sold yet... dare I hold my breath? Dare I think another one could appear?
And Loans?! I'm still paying off college. And what about getting married? How much debt should a man be expected to take on? But then, I keep thinking about waiting for my life to start, and I can't do that. This IS my life. And I don't know what else I'm doing with it. Right now I'm working in a bookstore, which I actually really like. So why does it feel like I'm supposed to be doing something more? Because my favorite teacher told me anything less than a Masters degree was a waste of my mind? Because I live in the land of Overachievment? Because my aunt asked me if being a clerk was really what I was going to do with my BA? Because I make basically no money? Because I am not an engineer or scientist like every other person within a 200-mile radius? Am I supposed to continue on the elementary-school librarian track I started? Should I move back home? How can I afford to do other life-enriching things that I want to do, as mentioned in the previous post? And what about this husband?
Before my ex (ugh, I hate saying that) and I were dating I said to him "Do you want to know something? Oh, I shouldn't even tell you." And he said, "Don't then." But I told him. That a movie had inspired a dream for my whole life. That it had directly influenced the fact that I had worked in a bookstore after college and thus am currently working in a bookstore. I just thought I would come across as so ridiculous and shallow. But I'm not. And his work is video games-- so really (I'm not saying that it's shallow, just- what was I worried about?)
Stupid bookstore.
Stupid movie.
Stupid dream.

Status: Me.

I was just thinking about status messages. It's the thing now, with facebook especially but on gmail too. I always have to set my status. And because I'm so complicated I have to reset it every ten minutes. Furthermore, I can't be honest. I can't write a status as to how I'm really doing because I will only be scolded by some relative or friend for either a) feeling that way in the first place or b) giving a negative impression of myself. My mother complains that my status messages are cryptic but that's because I can't say what I really mean. I say "your turn" to imply that it's someone else's turn to ask me to hang out. I don't want to be the one to start every social engagement. Yes, absolutely some of my friends ask me to hang out. Some of them don't. And it's their turn. How else will I know if I'm forcing myself on them or if they actually want to spend time with me? I say "I can't afford it" instead of "I can't afford online dating sites" because who needs to know that? But I'm frustrated about that at the moment, so that's what goes up. Anyway, I can't afford most things, so it works. But I need a place where I can say how I really feel. And for some reason my journal and my prayers are not enough. Some place that someone else might see it gives it more validation. The unposted status that prompted this particular rant was: Imploding. And no, I'm not spiraling into deep depression. I'm suffering from mild quarter-life crisis depression. And the fact that it's after 11 pm.
I want hot buttered rum and pumpkin donuts and good books and a cat and a fire. And a man. A good man. The right one.
And voice lessons. Guitar lessons,piano lessons and lots of other instrument lessons. Photography class and a little point and shoot camera, a laptop, an editing program, to write, to learn to draw, to take walks, to jog or something, to want to go to the gym, also to eat whatever I want, to buy lots and lots of presents, to get letters in the mail, to be a perfect hostess, lots of animals, a bookstore, to travel, to be thin, to go to the dentist, to dance, to love myself, to love others, energy, naps, Christmas, snow, to read my Bible with enthusiasm, to pray more, to commune with God, to have my long hair back, to visit home and have people visit me, to have friendships, to be loved--truly, to have my friends want to go home with me, forgiveness incoming and outgoing, closure, to be kissed, to live for the glory of God and be honestly happy in my heart.
You know, it's not so much to ask.
And here's the thing about this whole post. I know it looks like it's asking for something. It's why I can't post this stuff other places. It looks too much like I'm asking for something. My blog is the most private/public place I have. I'm not asking for anything. Please don't feel like this is a "please tell me how wonderful I am and how much you love me" post. It's not. It's just a this is how I feel right now post. Half my journal entries look like this. Now there is a matching blog post.

I would like to add one tiny note: See how, since it is midnight, I'm not going back to fix all the grammar things that are driving me crazy?! And oh, there are lots! Quotes, commas, capitalization, not to mention plain bad writing! But I shall resist because the point of this is not to be judged, nor liked, especially based on my English skills.

Anyway, sometimes I'm a size 10.

Alright, Kirsten. I know you want me to update already. So I'm here. Typing. The question is, where will it all lead?
There's nothing in my head but ranting. I feel discouraged and unsatisfied and unresolved. But I don't particularly feel like carrying on about that.
So...
Instead I could make a list of my blessings, but I always feel like that gets a little out of hand and that I'm leaving too many things out, so I will just do that in my head.
Um...
See why I never update? It's complicated.

I could tell the world (or the three people that read my blog) that my party was, in fact, wonderful and I'm done stressing about it (almost). And that you have a gorgeous baby girl that I wish I was (were?) holding right now. And that I am indulging in some guilty-pleasure chick-lit murder mysteries-- a guilty pleasure I didn't even know I had. I just read "Size 12 is Not Fat" by Meg Cabot and have moved on to the 2nd in the series. Too bad size 12 is fat.
I'm going to be a teapot for Halloween because it requires no costume. I am short and stout. Done. A little annoyed that no one is fighting me on this, especially since I've lost at least 10 lbs. Oh well, I guess I keep losing weight before I get to go as a champagne flute.

Sorry, Kirs, I just don't have a lot to say right now! Maybe it's the headache. Or maybe it's the guilty-pleasure book sitting next to me calling my name. "Size 14 is Not Fat Either." There is a reason women pick up these books.