DW

I met DW at a party at my friends' house. We spoke only brief introductions before more people arrived, but I thought he was cute and I wanted to talk to him more. Unfortunately, his boss cornered him before I had a chance to get back around and talked shop with him the rest of the time he was there. When I looked for him again, he was gone.

DW turned out to be one of my friend's colleagues, and we hatched a plan to invite him round for the new year celebration so we would have another chance to talk. My friend told me a bit about DW, though, and what I learned probably should have steered me clear to begin with. The stats:

39 years old

History professor

Ph.D.

Published author

(here's where it gets tricky)
Never had a girlfriend

Very close with his mother

When he couldn't make it for new year, friend gave DW my number. He phoned the next day, all excited to meet up. A week later, we met for coffee. He was full of odd questions and revelations, and you could tell he had not done the dating thing much. One of his first questions was to ask how I react when I am angry. Okaaaaaay. Weird. Then he went on to tell me he had not dated much and that he's a selfish asshole - his words.

Unfortunately, he was sometimes awkward, moody, touchy and strained. Even more unfortunately, I loved talking to him - when he wasn't being awkward, moody, touchy or strained. What an interesting person who is obviously well-read and is into great music and can talk about anything. I mean anything.

Such a shame.

Because
he
is
indeed
a
selfish
asshole.

Well, maybe not really. He just obviously was never that into me. Because at the end of the second meeting a week later, he declared that weekdays are out and that he could only meet on Saturdays and only for coffee and only for an hour. He said he had feelings for some girl who didn't even know he was alive and that he'd need to get over that before he could even think about anything - or anyone - else. Plus, he's just plain busy.

Since those two meetings in January, he has phoned me a few times. We had nice chats, a half-hour in length each. At the end of each chat, he would make vague noises about meeting for coffee on Saturday or soon. But it never happened. After all, he's a very important person with a very demanding job and gets interviews with the BBC when he gives a lecture and all. And when he's not going to see this friend in a play or going to visit that person in London, he is just so enmeshed in his teaching and his planning and his researching and his writing that he simply can't be expected to remember that poor, old me even exists.

So. To recap. Met in January. Went out for two coffees in January. A few phone calls in February and March. A couple of texts in March. Have not heard from him at all in at least two months.

My exciting love life.

Next: CF

I should write the fucking sequel

I’ve amassed a fair amount of information on this side of the Atlantic now, and I think it’s fair to conclude that, on two continents…and counting, it seems he’s just never going to be that into me.

It’s been exactly one year and one month since C* moved out of the house and exactly one month since I have been legally allowed to file for a divorce in Scotland, and I have recently found myself getting kinda lonely. In my recent quest for some fresh male companionship, I created a profile on plentyoffish.com and have been proactive, as they say, in finding male friendships in other ways.

When you jump in the ocean headfirst, you take the risk of landing on a big pile of jagged rocks, but I don’t really know how to do things any other way and have never been one to sit on the sidelines waiting for something to come along. Perhaps if I did, I would have longer-lasting success. In any event, either I am doing something horribly wrong or three out of four guys are so repulsed by me that they can’t even bring themselves to have an ongoing conversation with me or to, gasp!, hang out. No pressure. No drama.

In an attempt to unburden my burdened psyche, I will be spilling the beans on my unfruitful adventures. I want feedback.

Missing mojo

I came on here looking for photos of myself to steal for the dating web sites I recently joined and, instead, found 300-odd spam comments to delete. I swear, you don't come on here in forever and this is what you get! Oh, and when you have an anonymous blog, you're not going to find many photos of yourself, are you? Not really interested in putting the pregnancy/birth photos of myself on a dating site, either. Might scare a few guys off.

Dating web site, you say, maarmie? Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you DID meet your husband on the Internets, and you don't want to go down that road again, do you?

NO!

Not looking for marriage, folks, and not really into committed relationships, either. I'm basically looking to make male friends for some fun and/or flirting. This (single) mommy needs to get out of the house more when baby's away. I've been chatting with a few nice fellows for the past week or so. We shall see. We shall see.

Elliot's third birthday comes on Friday. She's at daddy's house for her birthday this year. This makes me very happy as I am not interested in throwing her a birthday party this year. For the last two years, I have hosted parties, and, while it was nice celebrating her birthday with our closest friends here, it was a lot of effort that I don't feel like expending this year.

Since she can't yet read, I guess it's safe to talk about her gifts. This year, I got her a bicycle



complete with basket for the front and sparkly things you attach to the spokes - and a Playmobil family camper as well as a couple of DVDs. Seems pretty over the top as far as birthdays go - especially considering that, for my 10th birthday, my dad got me a 10-speed bicycle and I had to pay for half of it myself! But I tend to spoil her with gifts. Trying to make up for giving her a broken family and all.

I was reading back over old posts today, and I realized how much I miss writing. More frustrating than my lack of a creative outlet is that when I HAVE written lately, I feel like that spark, that thing that made my writing once interesting, has dulled or has been extinguished altogether.

I know writing is something that needs to be constantly practiced or else the shiny edges tarnish. Can I get it back? What is missing from my life that helped feed my talent?

My writing seemed so monochromatic with all my talk of Elliot, Elliot, Elliot. I always feel, lately, like my life is just so uninteresting.

Clever girl

After watching a DVD of PJ Harvey in concert:

Elliot: Mummy, I like PJ Harvey. She's a clever girl!

I believe in yesterday

Things are getting so much better all the time.

Elliot and I have settled into a fantastic routine of day care/work, fun activities either alone together or with friends and plenty of picnics in the back garden while the weather is decent. I love spending time with her, and I love being a single mother.

The veggie seeds I planted in the yard have sprouted into lovely plants these past few months, and I'm already enjoying two types of lettuce and enough radishes to choke a horse. Still waiting on tomatoes, peas, courgettes and brussels sprouts to make an appearance and looking forward to growing even more produce next year.

I had a fabulous chat with my brother the other night that turned into a huge conversation that lasted until 3 am. I had not been awake that late in ages, and I paid for it dearly the next day, a full day of work and mommy duty. So tired! But it means everything to me that we get along so well and have enough to talk about to fill a five-hour time slot.

The parents are another matter, entirely. But I'll not bore you with that.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but it seems my creativity and writing flair have just gone right out the window. Seems my brain has ceased to function as well as it once did, or maybe I'm just boring now. Possibly, though, I just have other things to focus on right now and am woefully out of practice where writing is concerned. It doesn't help that I am completely out of touch with anything going on in the world as I seem to watch mostly American sitcom reruns on TV.

A recent election here brought the conservatives into power, and I don't really know what that means. I 'm sure I could write all kind of scathing/sarcastic/angry things about the people who are now in charge and what they plan on doing to this country, but I just don't know enough about it all. I couldn't vote, so I purposely didn't learn anything about anyone or their policies. Shame on me.

Oil in the Gulf: bad.

That's the extent of my knowledge about current events. I will try to do better in the future.

In the meantime, let's come together, right now, over me.

When pigs fly?

I seem to be out of the dark woods now and am simply treading water while crocodiles wait lazily on the riverbank licking their chops and hoping I get a cramp.

Tax credits came through almost a month ago, and child care is all paid up. Unfortunately, even with tax credits, I am bringing in just barely enough to pay all my monthly bills and buy groceries. I seriously need a better job, and I need it now.

I registered with an employment agency that reiterated what I already knew: I will not be finding a job in my field in this godforsaken backwater of a town. I might get some slightly higher paid, full-time secretarial job if I'm lucky. That's if I'm really lucky. Because there are hundreds of other skilled and educated people out there who are un- or underemployed and applying for the same jobs I am.

Seems to me that if I want good employment I'm going to need to move south, at least as far south as Edinburgh. I'll probably be looking into doing that in 9 months at the earliest and three years at the latest. Doing it sooner rather than later would obviously put me in a better financial position earlier. Doing it later has its advantages as well as Elliot would be in school full time, thus making the childcare burden a little less burdensome.

I'm still battling an on again/off again depression and these horrible voices in my head that tell me I don't deserve love, a good relationship/marriage, a family or friends who care about me. Some part of me feels that I'm continually having to pay for some past misdeeds by being continually mistreated and screwed over by those I care most about. But maybe everyone is in the same boat as I am in some way, shape or form. Maybe everyone has important relationships that aren't the way they want them to be, important people in their lives who don't give them the consideration they feel they deserve. A crappy boss? Mouthy kids? Friends who disappear? A family that abandons them in their time of need?

Do people suck, or are my expectations simply too high?

I don't think I'm going to make it

I've been on my own with Elliot for only a month-and-a-half, and I don't think I'm going to make it. Public assistance isn't being very cooperative, and I'm actually beyond broke. Luckily, the daycare Elliot goes to has agreed to let me slide on the actual paying part of the deal for now. I applied for public assistance nearly two months ago and...nothing.

C* and I had a joint claim for what are called child tax credits and working tax credits. The working tax credits have a separate part for child care, and, if you qualify, the government pays up to 80 percent of the child care bill. C* and I were getting this together, but, when he moved out, I had to cancel that claim and file individually. Since C* was a UK national, there was no problem with claiming these benefits together. But, since I'm not, the government is deciding to take its sweet time with processing my claim.

A full four weeks after submitting my initial application, I received two more forms and a request for my passport as proof that I am not subject to immigration control. I sent these in three weeks ago and not a word. I phone the office every week asking for an update and get the same spiel: We are working on your claim which may require additional checks, blah, blah, blah.

Any idiot can look at my passport and see that I'm not subject to immigration control in five seconds. Why has it taken nearly two months? To add insult to injury, my council tax and housing benefit can't be processed until the award letter for tax credits is produced. It's a neverending circle of despair.

I'm down to my last bit of money, and I owe day care three weeks' payment. My monthly pay covers just the rent and just barely. The rest of the bills are being paid using child support money at this point, and there's very little left over for food.

I know I need help, but I don't know who I can ask. C* has said he can do no more for me. I don't know how long I can stay here on my own with Elliot. I don't know what to do. I need monetary help from my family, but I don't feel like I can ask. No one - except for my grandmother who said we could come live with her - has offered any kind of help, and I think everyone knows what kind of situation I'm in. Does anyone care?

Is it really a scarf?

My good friend, Jane, started teaching me how to knit today using the big needles and thick wool she bought me for Christmas. I did a few rows for a scarf but must have dropped something somewhere along the line because a huge hole opened up in the middle of what little I had already created. Unravel. Start over. My wrists totally hurt!

Good news! I am going on a mini vacation this weekend - without baby. Three nights and four days in a suburb of Glasgow without Elliot. Bad news: I will miss her. This is the first time I will be away from her (besides a day at work) and I'm sure I will be imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to her every day that I'm away. It will be so great to hang out with my friend and sleep all I want and relax and do what I want without a screaming toddler hanging onto my leg, though. I've been needing this for so long.

Here I am (but they don't care)

I'm still working at TK Maxx part time and reading a bunch and spending lots of time with my daughter but I'm not doing anything else.



Christmas was OK (not great or even good - chalk it up to circumstance) but I spent WAY, WAY too much on Elliot. In the end, I set aside six of the gifts to give to her on her birthday in February. I have been eating WAY, WAY too much as well and have gained back some of the weight I lost when I started my job and began walking almost two hours on working days. It is the coldest winter since I've been here - lots of snow and ice now - and I can't even walk around outside without the threat of tumbling down these days.

Elliot is talking more and more and more and is getting more and more sweet and lovely and conscientious. Her afternoon naps are slowly becoming a thing of the past. Here's hoping she decides to potty train real soon. I've got a plastic toilet ready and waiting for her. I could look at this photo for days:

To the Maxx

Three to four days a week, I will be putting on my uniform for work: black pants, black shoes, a white shirt and a tan sweater vest.

It seems I graduated from high school and university and got a decade of experience in the communications field to be a checkout girl at TK Maxx. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to have a job. They are hard to come by these days. Employers have their pick, and my fabulous bosses at TK Maxx didn't have to take a chance on an overqualified American whose visa expires in a month and who has a baby and can only work when her husband is home. Lots of people applied for the positions, and they picked me and a few others.

On the bright side: a 10 percent discount and not having to put my daughter in child care. That's got to be worth something, right?

18 months old today

A friend and I were going to take our daughters to Nairn Beach today and have lunch at a cafe afterward, but the weather was nasty. The boys came back from a two-day camping trip this morning and shared photos and stories - mostly stories about the midges that make camping in Scotland a nightmare.

Elliot is 18 months old today. While she might be a little behind on her verbal abilities (she can say about 15 recognizable words - do animal sounds count? rowwwwwrrrrrr!), she's forging ahead where her motor skills are concerned. She loves to run and climb and kick and throw and is proving to be quite a handful as well. She wants to do what she wants to do, and if you tell her no, she does it anyway. If you physically remove her from what she wants, she screams and puts on quite a show. I was told that's how I was when I was young. Bullheaded. Willful. Strong minded.

I'm still looking for a job. The latest round of applications have all been sent to the local hospital, the biggst employer in town. We'll see...

Cymru

Wales was pretty cool. The language might seem weird and all, though, with its many consonants and not very many vowels in any given word and all the double consonants and unlikely consonant combinations. Exactly how does one pronounce bwrdd, anyway?

The four of us and C*'s mother stayed in a three-bedroom caravan for a week on the grounds of a golf and country club in Llanrhystud (pronounced lan RYE sted) near Aberystwyth. The town in which we stayed contained a small grocery, a gas station, a post office and a pub, all we needed for a quiet vacation in the country. We toured Aberystwyth, went to a local beach, walked in the woods, swam and played a bit of tennis. C* and The Boy brought their bikes and went on some rides. Best of all, though, were the sheep. There were millions of them.

Millions.

And millions.

Everywhere.

Dotting every field.

Wales is nothing BUT fields!

So many that it made Scotland seem sheepless.

I'm talking a major amount of sheepage.

And all I wanted to do - really wanted to do - the whole trip was to pet a sheep. Just one. Just walk over to it and pet it. One of the cute little sheep. Not a big one. Not an ugly one. Not one with a black crust of shit matted under its tail. A nice, clean, white, smallish, cute one. Only once during the whole trip did I ever get anywhere near in petting range of a sheep - and that wasn't until we were back in England. But the sheep, they don't like people much. And they ran, and they ran.

No sheepies for maarmie.

Bwah!

Elliot really liked the caravan and the toys that granny brought her. Ruben liked the chocolate and cakes every day and made a few temporary friends at the caravan park. I liked the few times that C* and I got out alone together to play tennis or a few games of billiards down th'Black Lion.

The drive back home took a few days because we stopped for a couple of nights at C*'s friend's house near Carlisle. We drove a bit through the Lake District on the way. Beautiful, beautiful.

I didn't get many photos, unfortunately. It was all over in a blur. Here's the best of what I got:

One of the lakes in the Lake District. We had a picnic dinner here.


C* and his mate and our kids in a sheep pasture near Carlisle.


Most of the gang. Missing two mothers and two more kids.


Only the coolest bus I have ever seen. Near the caravan park in Wales.


Elliot braving the rough terrain on a steep and treacherous hike in Wales.


Kids on stone. Lake District.


Elliot running free on the grounds of a stone circle, Lake District.

Crops

We've had a bit of warm weather lately, up in the mid 70s! I've been cursing what I have come to see as hot weather, but a run of cooler weather and rain put me off my bitching and moaning. Better to have it a bit hot and sunny than cold and rainy.

The sunshine has been good for our veggies. We're growing courgettes (zucchini), broccoli, little gem lettuce, carrots, peas, beans and rocket. I made a rocket salad to go with our dinner last night, and it was delicious. Here's a photo of our little patch of heaven:

Life in the UK!

I read the chapters, and I studied the material for hours and hours and hours and hours. I worried and worried. And studied and studied. And, yesterday, I passed my Life in the UK test. Woo!

There were six of us there to take the test: four white women - including myself - a man from India and another man from Iran. The test was 24 questions long, and we had 45 minutes to complete it. I was done in 4 - and that included checking it over three times! Easy peasy macaroni cheesy. I studied so much for nothing, and, as usual, worried so much for even less. That was the easiest test I ever took in my life.

Am I really that different?

I was just reading over some old blog posts, and I'm shocked at how different my life is and how different I have become over the last two years. Used to be that I would write semi-interesting and somewhat funny posts about anything...nothing...and now? I go to play group, bake cheese scones and write about my baby.

Gone are the posts about adventures. Gone is so much of the spontenaity and vitriol. Where has my sense of outrage gone? It's still there, inside me, isn't it? Just kind of pushed to the back as I concentrate more on what's in front of me than on things I cannot see? Is it?

Now I feel so old. So boring. So deflated and hollow. Maybe things that annoyed or outraged me in the past just don't carry the same weight now that I am a mother. Maybe I can see there are more important things in life than some asshole in Minnesota who yelled at me or some dickhead in Tallahassee who couldn't fuck? Really, what was I fighting for?

Was I more interesting then? Am I more myself now? Do I have a better perspective on life? Or am I just in a holding pattern? Has my brain turned to mush? My creativity sapped? Am I more empty - or am I very, very full?

Not a nut girl?

I got my first rejection letter today from a job for which I applied and interviewed. I'm not too broken up about not getting the job, a six-hour-a-week gig selling nuts and candy out of a not-quite-a-stall-but-not-quite-a-store in the mall. But I really, really need some work.

The way the minimum wage works over here is ridiculous and pretty much makes it attractive for employers to practice age discrimination as often as possible. The minimum wage here is dependent on the worker's age. People 22 and older get £5.35 an hour; people 18 to 21 get £4.45; and people 16 to 18 get £3.30. If you are younger than 16, employers can pay you whatever the fuck they feel like, because there IS no minimum wage for that age category. Considering people are allowed to work if they are 14 or older, that leaves a lot of kids open and vulnerable to the whims of greedy employers.

The only reason I can think of for this tiered minimum wage is that the government wants to discourage youngsters from dropping out of school at 16 and maybe wants to encourage traditional college-aged kids to go to university instead of settling for some really low-paying job. Dunno, but I'm quite sure the nut kiosk is wanting to hire a younger worker that will be forced to accept one to two pounds less per hour of identical work.

Bogus.

Yesterday, I had a two-hour activity marathon that counted as an interview at a fabulous baby store at which I have often shopped. Seven contenders showed up for the first of two sessions where we did activites and exercises that assessed our personalities and how we acted as part of a team. I showed up dreading it, but it was actually very fun - and the manager was right: It lets them actually SEE what the applicants are like. As usual, I was very gregarious, maybe too much so. Not sure if that's what they are looking for, but time will tell.

The only thing I know for sure at this moment is that I am not a nut girl, and, for that, I am very grateful.

Edinburgh

I have to start this post by saying that my recent vacation near Edinburgh was both more fun than and not as fun as I thought it would be. We didn't see as many sights as I thought we would (plans to go to an aquarium, the Edinburgh Zoo and a festival in Edinburgh all crashed and burned due to tiredness, poor planning, lack of time or crappy weather), but Elliot and I grew closer than ever and it was neat to see how a different environment taught me things about Elliot and her capabilities that I either wasn't aware of or hadn't been appreciating.

A friend of mine here in Inverness - one who happens to be an American from Seattle - was going to be staying at her husband's parents' home in a suburb of Edinburgh (South Queensferry) for nine days while her husband was on a field trip for school. She knew I desperately needed to get away for a while and invited me along with her 2 1/2-week-old daughter. I was happy to be going but kind of knew it wouldn't be all that exciting what with a newborn and very tired mother in the mix, and I was nervous that Elliot wouldn't settle in the new environment.

I almost pulled out of the trip at the last second. I texted my friend saying that I was thinking of not going even as she was on her way to my house to get me. But I ended up going in the end, and you know what? I was right. Overall, it was a massively tiring hassle. But I'm glad I went. Here's why.



Halfway down, we stopped at The Taybank, a pub known for its many varieties of hash. Not the Amsterdam type, mind you, but the corned beef variety.



The Taybank had a lovely menu, outdoor seating and a fabulous beer garden with a good view, the nicest beer garden I've seen since I've lived here.



After sharing a delicious meal of some kind of seaweed-stuffed chicken breast, roasted potatoes and summer veggies, Elliot and I walked across the road to the beer garden and visited with another family. Unafraid of dogs, unfortunately, Elliot chased after the family's pet and made a new temporary friend.



When we got to our temporary home in South Queensferry, I saw that I'd have my week cut out for me as far as the house is concerned. There hadn't been a small child in that house for decades, and there was stuff everywhere. Pins, scissors, all manner of books and CDs, knick knacks, stacks of papers, all within easy grasp of a very curious 15-month-old. To her credit, though, Elliot didn't mess with much of their stuff. I was beyond shocked that she wasn't constantly digging through all the things she could have potentially destroyed while we were there. I was also shocked by how well she adjusted to her temporary sleeping quarters, a travel cot next to a single bed in a small bedroom I shared with her for the week.

She's used to a very dark room, however, so I blocked out the light by covering the windows with black garbage bags. Oh, and I had to let her sleep in the bed with me a few of the nights. Oh, and she screamed and screamed most nights when I put her to bed. And when I put her down for her midday nap. But she was pretty good. I guess.



The three adults and two kids went for a nice walk the next day in this really wooded area near Linlithgow. It was really beautiful, and I wanted to go back the next weekend. Sadly, we never got back there. I'd like to, someday. Elliot would, too.



My friend's husband left us for his field trip, and, while he was gone, my friend holed up in one room of the house with her baby and barely came out. I remember those days, when you're up every two or three hours feeding, burping and changing baby and you feel like you've been hit by a truck. While I could sympathize, it didn't make us being largely on our own in a small town any easier.

I suppose I could have taken a bus to god-knows-where or figured out the train to Edinburgh, but I didn't want to go on my own. So, Elliot and I took walks and played in the backyard. One of our first walks was to the old part of town, the town's city centre boasting not much more than a few shops, a few restaurants, a store and a pub. But the water was there, and Elliot liked the view. This rail bridge connects North Queensferry and South Queensferry.





Here's Elliot showing off her new hat.



And here's her beautiful smile.



I eventually made my way to Edinburgh a couple of times, the first time with my friend to meet up with a friend of hers for coffee and the second time just with Elliot. The first time was fun. Elliot likes making new friends in any coffee shop I go to, and I let her walk around on the sidewalks near the coffee shop. So! Many! People! To! Make! Friends! With! This photo is in the coffee shop. As you can see, she's nearly always eating.



When Elliot and I went to Edinburgh on our own, I returned to the park C* and I went to the first time I ever came to Scotland - before marriage, before baby, before all the complications of life had a chance to set in. C* and I had ice cream then, and I bought an ice cream this time for Elliot and me to share. Elliot had a lot of ice cream and sweets on this trip, a huge departure from her very very low-sugar diet. I figured a little indulgence on vacation would do no harm.





Elliot is a great traveling companion, and I can tell she loved having new things to see and do. She had a lot of smiles that week and quite a few first-time experiences. I feel she grew as a person in more ways than one on that trip - or maybe I just saw her in a whole new light. There are many more new experiences to come for us, my daughter and me. My little bebo, my little love.

Vacation?

Tomorrow morning, I'm off for 8 days to Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, with Elliot, a friend and her newborn. Is it going to be much of a vacation? Elliot will undoubtedly be unseltted most of the time we are there, and my friend is craving a lot of help with her newborn. This vacation is gonna suck. I can feel it.

Homesick

I've been really homesick lately, and I don't know what to do about it. There's no money with which to travel, and noone in my family is going to be coming here anytime soon.

I've been trying to get in touch with my parents. I write e-mails and don't hear back for ages. When I do hear back, it's only a one- or two-sentence reply, and they haven't called since Christmas. I've been calling them over the last few days, but there's never any answer, and they don't call back. I guess I'm good and truly well an orphan now.

Readers might say that I haven't spoken very highly about my parents on this blog, so why would I be so upset at not hearing from them. Well, the answer is simple. I speak on here out of frustration, a desperate thwarted longing to have the kind of relationship with my parents that I have never - and likely will never - have. Instead, I continually feel rejected, like they don't think I'm good enough or don't want to waste their time talking to me, don't want to hear when things aren't going well, don't want to be burdened by a daughter who needs emotional support when things aren't working out as planned.

I love and need my parents just like anyone else. But what's a girl to do when her parents don't seem to love or need her in return? I don't know what else I can do. I don't know what I did in the past to cause this. I don't know who I could have been to have made things turn out any different.

Depression sucks

I probably shouldn't have stopped taking my meds months ago, because now I'm in the middle of a serious bout of depression. It was all I could do this afternoon to take Elliot to the park so she wouldn't be cooped up in the house all day. It's not helping that I seem to have some sort of illness that, combined with immense stress, has given me a perma headache and made my stomach all queasy.

My visa expires in October, and I am on the verge of applying for indefinite leave to remain, a status that would allow me to stay indefinitely whether I apply for citizenship or not. The stress of the past couple of years combined with recent depression combined with recent and not-so-recent not getting along with my husband is causing me to pause and figure out if I want to take this next step or just go back to Florida, daughter in tow.

I love my husband, but both of us can be hard to live with. I think he's harder to live with than I am, though, but perhaps that belief is what makes me hard to live with. Also, my attitude towards his son has been appalling at best. I don't know what to do to be a good stepmother. I don't know how to act. I don't know how to get closer to my husband's son while getting rid of my jealousy over always feeling like the odd man out when my husband and his son are together. I don't know how I can fit into their lives, but, more than that, how to become my husband's best friend and how to make it so that we will finally show each other the respect we each are due. I feel like my husband has built a wall around him and that I'm on a trampoline on the outside always jumping, jumping, jumping.

I hate the constant nitpicking, the constant feeling that I'm living with someone who resents me, the constant wanting of more time alone with my husband - more attention and more love. Life seems to hold little joy for us right now. It's just one day after another of going to work, taking care of baby, trying to keep the house in some semblance of order and trying to keep the bank account out of overdraft.

Don't we all want more? Is it around the corner? Do we have to live through the bad to get to the good? Or is this all there is?