Lucid? No, but I feel better.

Feelin' kind of scattered tonight. No, not scattered really. The few things that do have my attention I'm very intent on. Ready? Feel free to fast forward. Some days I wish I had that option.

New church: I tried out a new church this last Sunday. Bethel somethin' or other down in the south part of town. Sparkycus is going to confirmation at a Lutheran church, but their way of doing things didn't speak to me. I grew up in an Assemblies of God atmosphere (I always tell people, "You know, speakin' in tongues, clappin' and such. We were THIS close to foot washin' and snake handlin'!" That usually gets the jaws dropping and amuses me to no end.) Anyway, as I walked in to the sanctuary, there was a statement carved in the stone above the entry with a (and I have to paraphrase here) "Worship all nations" message. Now this got my attention. I don't know if I've ever talked about it here, but one of my most not favorite things about Fargo is how friggin' white and uppity it can be. Here, when most folks see someone of a different color, they plaster on their fake smile face and glance away. It makes me ill.

The music coming from the sanctuary made me tear up just listening. There was a choir. An honest-to-Pete 40 or 50 person choir, voices lifting in worship. I have no idea what they were singing, but I can tell you that in 10 years in this area and having visited a few different (albeit Lutheran) churches, I hadn't heard anything like it.

The sermon was multi-faceted, but the thing that pleased me most was that they directly addressed the area's ambiguity toward new Americans. Did you know Fargo is one of the top 10 places folks from war-torn countries in Africa and Europe escape to? You'd be surprised. I felt at home and will be returning. I even filled out the little, "I'm new here, yes please contact me" card. I described it all as best I could to Sparkycus, but he considers his church his own personal sanctuary and doesn't want to visit mine just yet. I told him that was fine and that his relationship with the Lord is his and that I support his decisions in that area.

I'm going to counseling. A head shrink even! I enjoy my time with her; we connect pretty deeply and I feel like I'm in good hands. I know I have quite a bit to work on before I'm ready for another relationship. With my marriage winding down (what a weird way to say it, huh?) I look to the future and realize I don't possess the skills or knowledge about myself to have anything resembling what I know deep in my heart exists. Logically I think true love is bullshit, but somehow, in some part of me, I believe it's real. Someday.

Work is ... work. I have a serious case of "the grass must be greener" yet found myself turning down a recruiter from a competing agency earlier this week. I adore and dare I say respect the people I work with and have no desire to cause damage in such a manner. Forget the money, I love my peeps.

Speaking of my peeps, we're going out tomorrow night and I plan to tie one on. I haven't done that in years, but know that I'll be well taken care of. Sparkycus is going to Castaway Camp for the weekend with church, which is referred to as "Sex Camp" because it's where they separate the boys and girls and explain the religious and spiritual side of sex and it's consequences. I wonder how much I'll have to reprogram when he gets home? I don't think you should wait for marriage to have sex, but I do believe you should be much, much older than thirteen. Like 19 or 20. Sparkycus is embarrassed beyond belief because I called the lead counselor and explained Sparkycus' asthma situation, then wrapped up with, "and you understand that by my explaining this to you that you're accepting full responsibility for my child's welfare while he's in your hands, correct? And that should any preventable asthma-related issues arise because someone such as yourself or someone in your employ fails to recognize a potential situation as I described, there will be repercussions, correct?" It was all my child could do not to rip the phone from my hands and stomp on it. I explained that I'm doing my job and that when I'm in Mama Bear mode he should probably just stand back. I think he was too taken aback to argue, which is just fine by me. Furthermore, the child believes that he'll be enjoying this particular 1.5 hour bus ride with a young lady we'll call "Mary." Which is fine ... but what he doesn't know is that I remember what I used to do on the bus and that his father, by way of example, received his first, erm "digital manipulation" by another in the backseat of a church bus. I am SO ratting him out before he can even get close.

Where was I? Oh, yes ... tying one on. I'll report back on what taxi fare is in the booming metropolis this weekend!

Update from two days ago: it friggin' snowed. Of course, the local paper says it's going to be 432 degrees in about a week, and I say at least it's going to warm up. (yes, I really said four hundred thirty two ... I can't make this stuff up.)

I've joined the gym and hired a trainer. What I didn't know is that trainer boy was going to be hot, hot, hot and we were going to hit it off. He's like six years younger than I am and has already loaned me a copy of his favorite movie on DVD and burned me a copy of his favorite CD ... and we've only worked out together three times. Is that weird? Do boys who are just wanting to be friends do stuff like that? I'm just going to keep him at friend-arm length and see what happens when the big D is final in the spring. Right now I get all giggly when anybody pays attention to me, so I'm sure I'm reading in to it.

I need to make more money. The other agency offered me almost $12k a year more, but I just couldn't do it. I'd rather uproot Sparkycus and the feline trio and move into an apartment than not be able to look myself in the eye. Besides, I really don't ever see myself working in an agency environment after this one. Advertising isn't good for anybody. I don't mean financially ... I mean there is no socially redeeming value in it. I don't do a darned thing that makes anybody's life better. Funnier, maybe. Better? Probably darn not. My counselor, (her name is Lisa, btw) says I am making someone life's better ... my son's. By supporting him I'm contributing to society. I buy into it for about 4 seconds a day and then an account exec will shit themselves sideways because they haven't seen their ad for some damn women's magazine yet. BARF!

I'm paying someone to deep clean my house for me. I sold my elliptical machine (remember when I got that?) but it turns out I do much better actually going to a gym. I'm using the money I got from that to pay someone else to do my job. Then again, it is completely and entirely only my job. We have a four level split and no one else really pitches in. All it does is make me angry. So instead of paying any of OUR bills, I'm cleaning MY house. Grrrrr. Let's not forget that the furnace's pressure release valve had been spewing for WEEKS before I finally had to call the repair people myself. For the love of Pete ...

OK. Enough.

Tomorrow is Friday. May your end of the week wrap things up and give you a sense of excitement about tomorrow. And the next day.

Be well.