Our Lady of Hot Librarian Fantasies

In the old Irish stories, the time between dark and light was considered a time of magic. It was a between time, twilight and pre-dawn, when the sun was not in the sky but there was enough light to see. Between times, whether they are between day and night or between seasons or even between sea and stone are times and places of magic. These are where the veil between the worlds is thin, where the Fae Folk can slip through, where possibility is endless if you are willing to take the risk of grabbing it.

I'm in a between time phase of life.

Several months ago, I lost my job with no warning. My husband and I were in a strange town where we had moved just for that job, so we decided to pack up and come the 1000 miles back to family. Along the way, our RV broke down on the side of the road. Since we didn't have any income, we weren't able to retrieve it from the police impound before it was sold to cover the bills. At the same time, I couldn't make the payments on my storage unit, where nearly all of our furniture was kept.

We lost pretty much everything.

Right now, we are both working. We can stay fed. But we're living on the good graces of his parents, and the commute to get me to and from work (in a single car family, with a car I can't drive) is about 100 miles per day. A lot of our paychecks goes towards gas. Then there's keeping our phones working, and paying my child support for my son (although my ex has decided to sue me for contempt of court for not paying while I was unemployed). There have been a few times where my husband having an argument with his mom has resulted in me getting a panicked text about not having a place to stay that night.

It's not where I expected to be at 46.

This is a between phase.

We're trying to save up to get into a place of our own again. We've discussed whether it would make more sense to get another RV rather than an apartment. The initial outlay would be about the same, with the long term costs being less in a more mobile housing situation. We've talked about using this time, this space, to save up to leave the country since neither of us has confidence in where the US government is going. His job is entirely online and can be done from anywhere, and there are places where his paycheck would go a lot further than it will in Georgia.

We are starting from nothing, so we have nothing to lose.

The possibilities are endless if we have the courage to reach out and grab the life we want.

This has been my Week 11 entry for The Real LJ Idol. I had to do it in a hurry since I'm about to go sit in a court room all day tomorrow.

I'm using this week's topic to work through some of my polyamory issues, so expect Terry Pratchett levels of footnotes and digressions (and if you haven't read the Discworld series, you really should. The man was one of the best selling UK authors of the 90s for a reason). Going into the disconnect between logic and feelings has a tendency to be a rather Gordian knot of issues.

Last February, I broke things off with Nate. I had done something that betrayed a basic level of trust in our relationship, snooping in his phone, and the consequences of that act were more than I could bear. Not from Nate; we established I was beyond wrong to betray his trust, I promised not to do it again, he changed his password (I know what it is, but it's more complicated than my arthritic fingers can handle) and that was that. I haven't even thought of doing it since. No additional comment needed.

The consequence I can't deal with is what I found. For a poly person, it's things that would be no big deal. For a monogamous person, it was heartbreaking.

One thing I found was a note to his other long-term girlfriend. I had made a FaceBook post sharing an article about easy hiking trails to waterfalls in Georgia, with a note to Nate saying I would like to visit them with him. He had sent the same link to her via Messenger, stating that even though I had posted it, he would rather do that trip with her. I haven't asked him to go hiking with me since. I don't want to be walking with him with the shadow of another woman holding his hand.

The other thing I found, and the reason I went snooping in the first place, was he was sexting another woman that I didn't know about.¹ I lost it at that. To know that while I was laying in bed next to him, he was engaged in a sex act with someone else, was more than I could handle. We discussed why I felt that was a violation of the rules of our relationship and theoretically moved on. It's still a stumbling block for me.

When I am with Nate, I am with him 100%. If something is worrying or distracting me from being with him, I discuss it with him until I can move past it.² The thought that he could physically be next to me and so focused on someone else makes me feel... extraneous. Unwanted. Unneeded. Just a distraction. So now, every time we're together and he starts paying more attention to his phone than he does to me, I wonder.

I know he doesn't see me that way. My logic centers do not doubt that at all. But my emotions latch on to those feelings of abandonment³ and run with them. I see my husband as an incredibly gifted man who has overcome some of the worst obstacles life can throw at a person. It is so hard for me to understand why he would want to be with someone as old, fat, dumpy, boring as me. No matter how often he reassures me that he doesn't see me that way, I still do. I see that I'm too old to give him another child after he was denied raising the one we have together.⁴ For the last three years we haven't used any form of birth control. The longest I carried a fetus was just over two months before miscarriage. I'm 46, a grandmother and very unlikely to naturally conceive again.⁵ I see that I have hangups and issues that hinder him from having full expression of his natural sexuality (hence why I'm whining here). I see all the things that he could accomplish if he wasn't having to placate my issues, and I don't understand why he chooses to stay with the mess that is ME.

Logically, I know there are parts of his heart reserved for other people. I know that he has close relationships with them that do not affect the relationship we have. Emotionally, I feel threatened by those other close relationships. The more threatened I feel, the more I act out in inappropriate ways -- and often I don't even realize that I'm doing so until he calls me on it.

I've been doing a lot of reading on Attachment Theory as it deals with adult relationships. I'm a pretty textbook Anxious Attachment Style. I've been working on exercises that are supposed to help me move to a more Secure Attachment Style. The books caution that can take years. I hope I can hang on to this relationship long enough to accomplish it. I just don't want to keep hurting Nate because I'm so broken.

This is my LJI Week 8 Entry. See, I promised lots of footnotes!

*****
¹As someone who has been cheated on many, many times (my ex Andrew had 14 affairs in 8 years of marriage), being completely faithful is a hot button issue for me.

²There have been many comments made about my need to talk things to death and difficult tendency to return to an issue we've already discussed when I start re-worrying over it. My memory was permanently affected by the years of opiate use and I frequently forget conversations we've had about topics that pop up again later as "unresolved" in my mental file. This is understandably very frustrating for him.

³I was temporarily "abandoned" with a series of relatives as a child and I'm still working through those unresolved issues.

⁴Nate is the biological father of my daughter. Andrew told Nate that the baby was his, citing a paternity test done in utero (that never happened). Andrew also told me that Nate didn't want to have anything to do with the baby. I ended up married to Andrew.

⁵I know that he wants to raise a child, and I am terrified that if one of the other women he dates got pregnant, he would leave me to have a permanent role in the child's life. Honestly, if he did father a baby with someone else, I would encourage him to go be a dad rather than being my husband. I feel rather strongly about the importance of a paternal influence.

There I was. A newly-minted college graduate, with a degree that allowed me to be grammatically correct when I asked customers if they wanted a lap dance and no real prospects for a more stable job. I had gone for a few extra semesters on the hope of getting an Education degree -- only to find out I had been left off the student teaching roster and would have a 3 YEAR wait before I could even think of getting a job.

Stripping paid well - it was how I had paid for most of 6 years of college - but it wasn't what I wanted to be doing for years to come.

I had worked for a while in the University library. I was in the bindery department, collecting periodicals and preparing them to be bound into volumes for archival storage. Sometimes this was rather disturbing, like every time I had to go into the men's restroom to recover Sports Illustrated and Playboy and Epoca. Some of those issues were biohazards, and yes I wore gloves to handle them. I also had the luxury of flipping through back issues of Asimov's Science Fiction (where I made my first professional fiction sale) and the Journal for the American Society of Psychic Research. I loved it. I loved being surrounded by articles and stories and so much knowledge. I loved when people would ask for help and I could direct them where to go. I loved the quiet camaraderie of the bindery office when we were all carefully applying gold leaf call numbers to newly bound dissertations.

The obvious solution was to become a librarian.

Turns out, librarianship isn't an easy thing to get into. To move up from a student parapro to a full librarian, I needed a Master's degree in Information Science. Science? I wanted to work to with words, not numbers! But still, you have to meet the needs of the job you want, so off to grad school I went.

Eighteen months later I had my Master's degree - also paid for in large part by savings from my stripping days plus the stipend of being a student worker.

Twenty years later, I am still a librarian. Never did make it back to the University library that kicked it all off, but I have found talents I never knew I had. I've learned a lot that they probably should have taught us in grad school. I've dealt with armed and irritable patrons, fecal matter smeared on walls, teens that were not getting enough structure to know how to stay out of trouble, overflowing urinals, petty tyrant Board members, insect-infested returns and a live kitten put in the book drop. I've helped people recovering from natural disasters like Katrina and man-made disasters like the recent Gatlinburg fires. I've been the point of information for people diagnosed with devastating diseases, directed the newly-homeless into the shelter system, rescued abused children, helped people start businesses and buy their first homes.

I still love it.

LJ Idol, Season 10, Week 4

I really didn't think there would be a Season 10 for LJ Idol. I am so, so glad there is! I know it mostly seems like just silly scribbles from the outside, but writing for LJI has helped me so much over the years. It's been my confessional, the safe space for analyzing the dissolution of relationships, and where I came to terms with discovering my disability. The people involved have helped me stay sane(ish) through years of utter hell and through some of my greatest joys. I can't thank y'all enough for being there for me, whether I needed a cheering section or a swift kick in the pants.

So, for those who don't know or remember me -- hi. I'm Marna. I am a newlywed, a librarian, a grandmother, a witch, a gamer chick and a certified nerd. Right now, I'm between jobs and looking, so that is taking a lot of the extra processing space in my brain. But hey, I can write in between job applications! Honestly, with things being what they are I'm putting in some applications in countries other than the US. I have a feeling I'm not the only one doing so today.

Momentous events since the last time I wrote for LJI:

• I GOT MARRIED! In June I married a guy that I've been in love with for 18 years. He's the father of my 17 year old daughter, and the man I should have married back then (and I'm sure the explanation of why that didn't happen will be a future LJI entry). After just over 2 years together and 5 months married, we're still remarkably cute and sappy together. Be careful or you may get cavities.
• Gained and lost a few jobs. The latest loss was rather traumatic, so there's sure to be more on that later.
• Moved around a bit. Right now, I'm just outside of Atlanta, GA, staying with my in-laws while waiting to see where the next employment adventure will take us.
• I lost custody of my son. My daughter had moved in with my ex-husband about a year and a half ago. This past summer, he got her to lie in court and had me ruled an unfit mother. Yep, there's trauma to spare to work through this season.

The long and the short of it is, it's been one hell of a ride. Some days I want off; most days I just hang on tight.

The Real LJ Idol is a combination of writing competition, reality tv show elimination contest, and wild roller coaster. I'll be writing entries roughly once a week or so until eliminated, so don't be surprised if I beg for votes to stay in the game!

It's no secret that I paid my way through college as an exotic dancer.That's me, back in the day. The picture is a crappy cellphone shot of a Glamour Shots photo from over 20 years ago. It's the only picture I still have from back then, courtesy of my former mother-in-law throwing away my photo albums during the divorce. Yes, I really did have the Distressed Poodle Perm. It was the early 90s; you had to be there.

Every day, I went to my classes. I socialized with my friends, played hands of Magic, rushed out papers, general college stuff. At work, though, I changed. I stopped being the shy, dorky, nerd gamer girl. Instead I became a smart, confidant sex goddess who bent men to her will. I teased and tantalized and manipulated men left and right. I danced under the name Faith. I told guys that the name Faith was because I was always faithful. It worked like a charm to open wallets.

I took a Women's Studies class while I was dancing. One of the girls went off on an "all sex workers are exploited" rant. I told her what I did for a living, and that if anyone was using people, it was me. That still holds true. In the club, I was the one in complete control of the interaction with a client. I was the one who walked away with an average of $400 each night, as well.

What I didn't say was that part of what I was doing on stage was reclaiming my sexuality. I am a rape survivor. The trauma of that had a pretty severe impact on me. I went in a depressive spiral, and more often than not I was at the bottom of a bottle trying to escape from my hatred of myself. When i started dancing, I was in a situation where I could be a sexual being in safety. The club had bouncers on staff whenever we were open. There was no chance of a customer forcing himself on me. the one time someone did try to touch me while I was on stage, the bouncer broke his fingers before escorting him out the door. I was escorted to my car every evening, and called in to let the club know I'd made it home safely. There are few places I've ever felt safer.

I miss the character I played when I went onto that stage. I miss her courage, her certainty that was beautiful, her strength and agility. I'm older now, maybe a little wiser. There are times when I'd still give anything to feel like Faith again.

LJ Idol

There's a lot going on in the world that I want to talk about, that I should talk about...

Then there's the fact that my daughter is due on Saturday.

Guess what's uppermost in my mind?



This is my favorite shot from her maternity pictures. It captures a timeless "earth mother" vibe, I think.

She's younger than she looks, only 15 years old. I will love her son unconditionally, of course, but I still wish she'd waited a few years before having him. I grieve for the teenage freedom she won't experience. It's hard to be wild and free when you have a baby needing his mother, and a sense of responsibility for him. The father doesn't want to be a part of the picture. His main response when she's tried to talk to him has been "Whatever."

Doesn't matter. This baby has a mother who adores him, a grandmother who loves him already, and an uncle who is ready to teach him the finer points of GTA V. We may not be the traditional family, but we are all family none the less. We will scrimp and we will save and at times we will do without, but this baby will never doubt that he is wholeheartedly loved and accepted. That matters more than all the toys and fancy electronic doodads in the world.

I love you Baby G. Can't wait to meet you.

My mother turned 40 a month and a half after I was born.

"So?" you say. "That's no big deal."

Except when it totally is.

When my mother was a teenager, WWII was going on. There are family stories about the POW camp near her town and the German soldiers that would walk in to her father's store to get odd treats and chat up the pretty girl. She was in college when she met my father. They had a grand total of three dates before they married in the 1950s -- Daddy was in the Navy, so most of their relationship was carried on by correspondence, both before and after the marriage.

Mom was every inch the military housewife. She ran things when Dad was deployed -- which was 19 of the first 27 years they were married. She had three sons, and one surprise baby girl just as the youngest son was gearing up to turn 13. She smiled and had bake sales and ran the PTA, was a member of both the Enlisted and (later) Officers Wives Clubs, supervised moves for herself and others. She's lived in Italy and Japan and on both coasts of the States. Behind the scenes, she always Got Things Done, whether it was a birthday party thrown together days after an international move or "arranging" for a cheating wife and family to be transferred to another base.

That was the woman who raised me. June Cleaver from a distance, Lucretia Borgia when she needed to be. She raised me to be a 1950s housewife just like her. I can sew, cook, clean and make it all look easy. I know how to handle a surprise "Honey I'm bringing the boss home for dinner" call with less than an hour's warning. I can golf and dance and mix cocktails and hold my own at any Country Club party. I can change a baby's diapers while making sure the toddler isn't peeing in the fireplace or covering the dog in mayonnaise.

Those skills are not exactly relevant in today's society.

You see, between when my mother became a housewife and I came along, this little thing called the 1960s happened. You may have heard of it. Suddenly women weren't expected to be Susy Homemaker any more. We were supposed to have jobs and careers and fulfilling lives outside of the family. Trophy wives were no longer The Thing To Be. The world changed, without my mother's permission.

She didn't see a need to change with it.

When I went to college, it was with firm instructions to "find a nice boy to settle down". I was told to hang out at the fraternities on campus because the "nice" boys would be there. Following that advice landed me in a world of trouble and hurt. So I turned my back on her vision of my future. I found a passion for knowledge, followed that through undergrad and grad school and into the working world. I refused to be the 1950s Trophy Wife my mother wanted me to be.

I'm not sure she's ever forgiven me for that.

There's still a little of the 1950s upbringing in me. Just a touch -- and that touch is enough to often make me feel like part of me is living in a different era. Sometimes I still fantasize about the life envisioned for me, about being the Trophy Princess in a castle on a hill.

Til fantasies come true, I'll be just fine in the castle I've built for myself.

This is my entry for LJ Idol Season 9, Week 3, In Another Castle. Thank you for reading.

Yes, I'm really doing this. Again.

A lot has changed for me in the last few years. Since I haven't been very good about keeping my LJ friends up to date, this is as good a time as any to recap what's been going on.
( Background for the new folks )
( And what's going on now )
Me, I'm just trying to get this all to work out, one way or another. My life has been many things, but boring has never been one of them!


One last Tassie pic, because puppy. :)


LJ Idol entry, Season 9/OMG THE END, Week 0. The topic is "Introduction"> Any questions?

It's pretty common knowledge that people come to the public library to ask about everything. I do mean everything. Want to know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop? Screw the owl; ask a librarian. How many neck vertebrae does a giraffe have? Do these cognac-colored shoes go with camel slacks? When does a movie start three towns over? What's the square root of pi?

Librarians have the answer.

Sadly, it's not uncommon for people to come to the library when they have a medical issue. It wasn't that surprising when one grey-haired lady showed up at the reference desk with an obviously ill little girl in tow. This child was miserable. Her face was flushed, her eyes were red, it was obvious she had been crying and she had this odd rash on her cheeks. The woman marched up to the desk and said "The doctor said my granddaughter has Scarlet fever. Says she needs to be quarantined. I think he's nuts. Does this look like Scarlet fever to you?"

First off, librarians are NOT medical professionals. We may be smart, but years of medical school aren't part of the library master's degree curriculum. Trust me on this one. We'd get paid a lot more.

Secondly, if the doc says a kid has a highly contagious disease, parading said kid through a busy public building full up with other kids probably isn't the best idea. Really.

I did the only thing I could do - gave the woman a CDC printout on Scarlet fever, told her to follow her doctor's advice and asked her not to bring a sick child into the library again. Once she left (in a huff, of course; how dare ANYONE suggest she put the best interest of both the child and the public ahead of her own indignation!), I wiped the desk down with antibacterial solution, let the Branch manager know what had happened, and hoped no one else would catch it.

What would you have done?

This has been my entry for this week's LJ Idol. The topic was "Does this look infected to you?" Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

I'm not sure who all remembers this, but I recently spent a bit of time using a wheelchair. Nearly four years, actually.

One thing about being a chair that no one ever mentions is the havoc it plays on your circulation. Sure, it makes sense when you think about it -- how often do your legs fall asleep from sitting too long, after all? It's just not something most people bother to think about. Wheelchair, really? How often will your average person deal with that?

More often than you'd think.

Once you're in a chair for a bit, though, you start to notice the circulation problems. Sure, there are foam and gel and air mattress cushions to ease the symptoms, but nothing changes the fact that you're sitting All. The. Time. Humans just aren't made for that.

It starts off with the tingly, pins-and-needles feeling. Then you start to notice the swelling in your feet and ankles. Over time your toes resemble little Vienna sausages and get a little purplish from the blood pooling in your feet. You develop a little bonus condition called Reynaud's phenomenon, which leaves your feet extra susceptible to frostbite, even when temperatures aren't particularly frosty outside. Your feet start to feel cold all the time, even when the rest of you is sweating.

There's not much that can be done about this process once it starts. Elevating your feet helps, but only on the short term. The longer you use the chair, the worse it's going to get.

In February 2012, I was told the damage to my legs and feet had progressed to the point I'd never walk again.

I made a choice not to use the chair any more. Actually, I gave up on Western medicine entirely. All the drugs that have been extending my life at the cost of the quality of living are gone. Fifteen months after hearing the doctor's doom on my mobility, most people can't tell I've ever had a problem with walking. I'm a little slow, particularly on stairs, but I'm upright. My toes aren't purple any more.

I'm chill. My feet aren't.

This has been my entry for Week 1 of LJ Idol. This week has been a pairs week; I'm partnered with the lovely cheshire23.