I had an internal goal of getting a job offer by my birthday and having a salary coming in by the time my husband finished this leg of his business trip. He has two weeks to go. I start February 13.

I am not the same person I was on August 23, 2016. I look at work and life differently now. In most ways, it's a good thing and change that needed to happen. I was 22 when I got my first real job, so I'm just starting the second trimester of my career now. If I want to demolish the metaphor, perhaps the queasiness and uncertainty will abate now so I can focus on what I know I can do and what I hope to learn next.

Yesterday I bagged up about one-third of my wardrobe for donation. I've worked from home for seven years and so most of my clothes were procured through clothing swaps and Goodwill in good neighborhoods. I didn't buy or get as gifts as much as I bagged up, but the luxury of office-worthy clothes in my closet feels quite indulgent. I hope I never forget what that feels like, the gratitude for the chance to fulfill a road I once thought a master's degree would let me take for granted.

This world is not that world. We all feel it.

More and more I read that world, the one our parents had after WWII, wasn't actually real, either, but an anomaly in human history. Regardless, right now is the time to be thankful for a job and focus on the abundance that can be found in human relationships regardless of everything else. Dappled light through trees. The smell of living things.

My daughter had asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I got it. All I wanted was a job, the ability to provide for my family and move forward into the next chapter. I got that, and I wish I could tell my 22-year-old self how important the ability to work would become later in life. How low and yet high my expectations would become. How good health would seem like the ultimate prize after losing access to a prescription for months, causing my body to stop absorbing vitamin D. How much easier it would be to get out of bed when the right medicine came back.

How awful true fatigue feels.

How much of a gift "normal" really is.

For my 43 birthday, I wanted to feel normal.

🎉

I just watched the last episode of season 2 of The Man in the High Castle. At one point, a character is rightfully freaking the hell out, and as he leaves, her husband just says, "I love you."

Everything's about to hit the fan. He really should explain himself. But he doesn't.

All my life, I've been an over-explainer, a justifier. If I've learned anything in the past few months, it's that most people neither need nor want the whole story. If your story is bad or scary, it makes them uncomfortable, because if they respect you, what happened to you could happen to them. I've seen that fear on many faces in the past few months in my daily interactions. I don't care to scare people, only to survive my own challenges.

Sometimes underexplaining is a gift to all parties.

I came up in blogging in an era when raw truth was in fashion, and I am quite adept at that. As I've grown older, my taste has gone, perhaps, from raw to cooked. I now wish to see what will happen first, and as such I've felt less inclined to write anything but fiction. Because, well, fiction is really truth reframed and less personal, right?

I'm at a point now at which I feel less sure of who I am than I have been since high school. I suppose it's my midlife shift. I choose not to view it as a crisis. However, I'm curious as to who this evolving me will be and what she'll care about. Certain things -- integrity, kindness -- have not changed. But others have.

Onward.

I woke up this morning feeling bad about splatting my negative feelings all over, so now I'm going to end 2016 with the good stuff.

I made a full recovery after breaking my leg and went on to get a personal best time in a 10k this fall. So far, no arthritis, no pain at the surgery site.

The little black cat made a full recovery after the freak blockage that was not supposed to be possible after his surgery and has been doing really well on all prescription wet food. He is still alive, and he's nearly died so many times every day that feels like a blessing.

We spent much of this summer in the lake, much more than we have in the past. I have memories of a lot of Sunday afternoons floating on rafts and in life jackets just making up stories about the ducks swimming around us.

After my car got totaled, my parents graciously gave us their old CRV. With new tires it has been very reliable so far and I didn't have to make a big car purchase right before a lay-off, which has been a huge relief.

The barn where my girl takes riding lessons let us go down to half-time so she was able to continue to ride for several months before we took the winter off. We look forward to going back to full time once things resolve themselves.

We paid off the credit cards right as things got tough, so we don't have any credit card debt hanging over our heads right now. That has made cutting back that much easier.

My family is all in relatively good health.

The weather this year has been quite lovely. I've had a lot more time to be out in it, so I know this for a fact.

All four of our birdhouses have little bird families in them.

My husband hasn't had to travel for work much this year. He ramps back up next week, but he's been here when I was going through the toughest parts initially.

I had time to redo my daughter's room. She turns thirteen in 2017, and it was time for a teenager paint job. My parents bought her a mattress to go with the grown-up bedframe we've been keeping in the basement for this time in her life.

This Christmas brought a lot of gifts of time and effort in my family. We're all going to band together to clean up my grandparents' old garage for my dad to use. My grandfather used it as a shop for his metal art when we were kids and it's fallen into disrepair, which makes all of us sad. We gave that promise to my dad. My sister lives in my grandparents' old house and the wallpaper bugs her. I promised to scrape it off this summer. I am actually quite adept at home destruction. Making people's lives easier is a good gift.

I have been forced to find things about myself to identify with that don't involve work accomplishments for maybe the first time in my adult life. That was eye-opening and harder than expected.

I have had the most sleep of my life. And I.Love.Sleeping.

I read 72 books.

I'm nearly done with another draft of THE BIRTHRIGHT OF PARKER CLEAVES and I have a new beta reader who found me through my newsletter.

So yes, there was a lot to hate about 2016, but there was also a lot to be thankful for. I am very hopeful 2017 will bring a lot to be excited about into my life, and yours. Happy New Year.

My phone is telling me Typepad needs to update its currently unavailable app. So apt.

A friend asked me recently if I was participating in something all the bloggers do, and I recoiled in surprise because it's been almost a decade since I really identified as a blogger. I'm talking to myself at this point.

I started 2016 by getting a plate and six screws put surgically in my leg. By March, I could run again. In July, my cat almost died for the fifth time. In August, my convertible got T-boned and I got laid off from what was once my dream job. I finished paying for the cat's emergency vet about the same time unemployment kicked in. It maxes out at $288/week after taxes and lasts about 20 weeks, if you've ever wondered. I'll run mine out in 8 more weeks.

Then, Trump.

Friends, 2016 has been the biggest test of my life.

I'm scared.
I'm frustrated.
I'm so pissed off.

This is what you realize after you survive double maternal cancer, an eating disorder, being valedictorian, bungee jumping, graduating early Phi Beta Kappa, moving to Chicago, flying to Australia, moving to your parents' basement, long months of loneliness in Kansas City, falling in love with your husband, grad school writer's workshop fever dream, Internet bubble, bubble bursting, husband lay-off #1, marriage, downstairs neighbor found dead, house purchase, pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum depression, start up #2 falling apart, vacations, vasectomy, move before housing collapse, husband lay-off #2, massive credit card debt, cats, trips, I'm an author!, dream job, another acquisition, lay-off, five months of low-level terror.

And I am pissed.
And I am scared.
And I am still here.

Please, 2017, be better.

This song was created with sound therapists in order to reduce anxiety. I took my pulse while listening and it did actually slow. Try it.

When my husband was unemployed, he regaled me with tales of the unemployment office. When my letter arrived last week instructing me to report today, I envisioned long lines of people (some smellier than others) based on his experience.

Some things must have changed in the past three years, because when I arrived, hardly anyone was there except the employees. I was immediately directed to a group of chairs facing a wall. I sat and read my library book for about fifteen minutes until I was joined by another woman about my age who would snurfle every few minutes in that way that indicates she got something up. I was busy being annoyed by that noise when the world's most enthusiastic job center employee burst upon the scene and invited us into a small room full of more chairs and a white board listing available seminars and recommended hot industries, such as healthcare and coding.

The man proceeded to act out everything he was saying with special voices, gestures and wild facial expressions while maintaining steely eye contact with me. Describing people who had worked for the same company for 25 years before they got laid off and didn't know how to interview? Looking at me. Discussing blind people who also have bills to pay and need jobs, too? Looking at me. Sharing about the two full-time representatives who are there specifically to help veterans? Looking at me. And every two or three minutes, the woman next to me would snurfle. She spoke up once to say she forgot her job sheet, which was the entire reason we were there. To show them the job sheets.

It was a little surreal. Like at one point during the presentation, I actually felt high from the combination of the room temperature, the direct eye contact and the awkward.

After the presentation, we were led to computers. Another guy cleared out the screen for me and told me I was going to take a test to see if I was smarter than a fifth grader. It was fourteen questions long. It turns out I am, indeed, smarter than a fifth grader, but I wonder how I would've felt if I had failed. I mean, hey, you're already unemployed - why not have your intelligence insulted at the same time? After my test, I had to go meet with the same guy who told me how he told all the guys who had been in manufacturing that the times are changing. How it's going to be just like when all the farmers stopped farming and went to build Ford trucks. How everything, EVERYTHING, was going to be in the coding, robotics and solar panels. Those manufacturing guys had better go back to school and learn to code or they were going to be left in the dust.

Did I know anything about solar panels?

No, I did not.

I tried to imagine what it would be like if I had just been laid off from my manufacturing job and this man told me I had to learn to code. Images of Donald Trump lawn signs floated through my head as I watched his mouth move.

After he was finished with me, I went to visit a woman who looked at my job sheet they'd sent in the mail and complimented me on my use of dates next to the entries. A lot of people don't put those in, she said. She pulled up my file and asked if I still had my S corp and verified my master's degree and took in the vision of me in ballcap, fleece and no makeup.

I asked her why my name had come up, if everyone's name comes up. She said yes, everyone comes up once, but she didn't know if I would come up again.

"What's the longest you've ever worked for a company?" she asked.

"Seven years," I said.

She looked back at my resume.

"You know, you need to make sure the next one is the right fit," she said. "Trust me, I know, I've been where you are, but make sure it's the right fit. Be patient. It will be okay."

She was the sanest person I'd talked to all day.

"Thank you," I said. "I really hope I never see you again."

"I hope not, too."

I walked back out into the autumn sunlight and tried not to think about solar panels.

When I was in my early twenties, my paternal grandparents died. It was the first time I suffered a great loss far away from my nuclear family. I lived in Chicago and received the news over the phone with no shoulder nearby to lean on.

I remember quite clearly sitting on my bed the night I learned about my grandfather, wrapped in a blanket they'd given me. It was a soft blanket. As I stroked it, I remember thinking I was off the hook from my usual worries, because not even I could hold myself to my schedule when this thing had just happened.

Back then only the death of a family member could make me give myself a break, let me live in the moment and admire the softness of a blanket.

Since turning forty two years ago, I've finally begun to let myself feel the blanket without first extracting a pound of flesh. This period since my lay-off (8/23/2016, FTW!) has introduced that thing I've always assumed would be the beginning of the end: losing my job. I've been steadily employed except for 12 weeks of maternity leave since 1996. Normally my mind would go straight from lay-off to bankruptcy to eviction. But somehow, because of the softness of a blanket, there have been three freelance projects and ten interviews and an upcoming reading and conference panel appearance. I haven't nailed my next step yet, but I haven't felt like a failure. And it's because of the blanket.

Mindfulness is a buzzword, for sure, but it is shockingly effective. My only regret now is that I suffered through so many years thinking if I stopped listening to my repetitive thoughts I'd somehow forget to breathe. I feel bad for the me of then. That time totally sucked.

And I thank God I didn't lose my job then. And to some extent that my husband lost his three years ago, giving me proof we could pull through a loss of half our income without losing our house. A dear friend told me then all I'd remember in the end was how we treated each other, and I really tried to set aside my worries and be supportive then, and I'm getting it back in spades now.

I know this period of changing seasons will pass. I'll find a new job. I'll end the era of working from home, an era that perfectly bookended my daughter's elementary school years (I'm grateful for that). I'll probably wish I'd worried and freelanced less during this time, but to some extent, that's just who I am.

But here I sit, wrapped in the blanket my sister bought me to replace the lost one from my grandparents.

And just now, I was thinking how soft it is.

Since I last posted, I've had a lot of tumultuous change. Suffice it to say my car was totaled, among other things. I'm fine, though, and will continue to be fine, because I'm the protagonist in my own story, and protagonists with no obstacles are boring and nobody likes them. I'm so not boring this month!

Here's one of the reasons! I was chosen as the Missouri chapter of the Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI)'s September featured author. This is a huge deal for me, as I love everything SCBWI does and so appreciate their efforts to provide education, networking and exposure for their members.

Here's an excerpt of the interview:

Where and when do you write?

There are two bits to writing – the actual writing and the thinking about the writing. When I’m really stuck somewhere in the physical writing, it becomes difficult for me not to think about it incessantly.

I do my actual writing in my local library one night a week after my day job. I usually bring my daughter along so she can do her homework while I write. I’ve tried writing late at night, in the early morning, on road trips, in cafes on Saturday afternoons, and I can’t focus unless I’m in the library and still relatively fresh mentally. This means I don’t get very far very fast, but thinking about writing a lot when I’m not actually in the library helps me to be very ready when the opportunity finally arises.

To read the rest, go to Missouri's chapter page.

Another reason! I'll be speaking at KidLitCon in Wichita, Kansas, in October. And I'm bringing my daughter to a conference for the first time. Moments. Come and see me if you're in the area -- I've seen the tentative schedule and it's fabulous.

Onward.

In my last post, I talked about how my cat Kizzy has been a dick lately. Shortly after I wrote that post, I took Kizzy to the hospital for a week. Last year he had PU surgery because he kept getting blocked -- he couldn't pee -- which can be fatal within 48 hours. After the surgery, I thought he couldn't get blocked again.

I was wrong.

So we took him in last Monday and he was blocked and they catheterized him and kept him for an entire week in the hopes that he would heal after being unblocked and flushed before the catheter was removed and thus would not form so much scar tissue. I went and picked him up this Monday after we got back from #BlogHer16. He's on a completely wet food diet, he has a new water fountain he won't drink out of, he's offered only bottled water out of various containers. We are trying everything we can.

I'm trying not to be pessimistic, but I'm not feeling like he's out of the woods yet. I'm feeling like all I can do at this point is try to manage my fear and anxiety about my cat, and I'm struggling. If he blocks again, even on the bottled water and the wet food diet and after the surgery, there's nothing more to be done. It's only been a few years since the epic struggle of Sir Charles Buttonsworth with megacolon, another fatal and impossible condition that we couldn't do anything about.

This is weighing heavily on me.

Also weighing heavily: I thought he was just being a dick instead of trying to tell me in the only way possible he didn't feel well.

So I take this away: When people or animals are assholes, consider first whether they are in pain before you get mad.

Over and out.