I hope it won't bore you too much to read once more that I am in love with the perfect man for me. He puts up with my shenanigans. The mocking is kept to a low even when our house begins to look, smell, and taste like a pastry shop. (No, this is not just because he wants to eat the tasty treats that I feel compelled to make.) He even deals with my frequent (probably chocolate related) mood swings. Sadly, all of this makes me realize all over again what a terrible string of friends I have had.

From constant demands for attention (including suicide attempts, alleged loneliness, and health scares) to unwarranted claims on my money, I have had more than my fair share of people who claim to love me but only love themselves. Of course, when I mention this to any of them, they can think of someone else who must be doing this before proving their own selfishness within the same five minute period. Do we really live in a world where compassion, selflessness, and unfeigned love are things of the past? I fear that sometimes, and then I look up and see my husband looking down at me, and I can't help but be thankful that I found him. It may have taken longer than either of us expected, but he is worth it.

Despite my constant, and merited, grousing about people, he tries to be the voice of kindness and reason that reminds me even jerks need to be loved. Look at Steve Martin. He is willing to give his time and resources to help other people. And the key to why this is so wonderful is that he expects nothing in return. For instance, we were talking about a charity who received a donation from him. They called to offer him a tour. I made a comment to the effect that they could save themselves the effort and use whatever resources would have went into that tour to help the people their cause supports. He beamed at me and said that was exactly what he told them. Priceless! Yes, he is.

Even as I type, he is holding down the other side of the couch for me (otherwise my fat butt would cause it to tip over) and reading the Book of Mormon. He is trying to better understand what I believe so as not to upset or offend me. I have to love a man who respects me enough to respect my religion. Which, thankfully, he has done from the start. You' be surprised how many people knowingly tried to challenge my beliefs (and, in a few cases, our beliefs). It's regrettable that more people in this world doesn't listen to that soft, wonderful voice echoing in their breasts. Why? Because if they listened, they would hear the most wonderful advice our creator could ever wish for us to have:

You are my beloved child. I will always be here for you if you will just sink to your knees and pray. Have faith and what you truly need will become what you desire and you will realize what happiness truly is.

This stranger before you is your brother or sister. I know you can not see what lies beneath the surface but don't pass judgment. Place your faith in me and help them as you would willingly help me if I appeared before you.

No matter what you are going through, you can make it through. I didn't make you to do it alone. You have brothers, sisters, parents, friends, and even strangers who will help you if you need them and you let them. More importantly, you always have the previously mentioned power of prayer.

Small reassurances like that or big things such as reassurance that the choice you have made is the right one, no matter how far away from your expectations it is, are worth more than all the gifts of gold, fabric, or sugar that we may have coveted over the holiday season. How do I make people (friends, family, whoever) realize that before they completely alienate me? That is the question. The answer, sadly, is not 42, but maybe if I trade 42 kisses with my husband, I'll figure it out. *peeks around her monitor at her innocently reading husband*

My mouth has an interesting mix of cheese and chocolate. I should probably lay off of the sweets (the wii agrees), but when I find something I like, I just can't stop. This would definitely explain why my pants are not quite fitting the way that I want. I may have to spend more time with the elliptical and less time with the pile of candy that seems to be continuously growing in my kitchen. Now that I have bored all but the most determined reader, I shall regale you with the boredom of a day in my life.

I slept in again today. When I finally woke up, I was happily snuggled up to my husband. He provides much more warmth than my cats. This could be because he is a tad bit taller than they are. I am voting that this is a result of how hot he is. I know I am biased, but he likes it, and that is all that matters.

When we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, we made ourselves some yummy waffles with imitation maple syrup for breakfast. I know people mock getting a waffle maker as a wedding present, but I do not intend to complain. Then we had to work off some of those calories so we went on a little shopping trip. Sadly, we were unable to fulfill our elfly calling of locating Christmas mugs and plates, but I found some beautiful glass ornaments for our tree, and some gifts for some lucky recipients for next year. I like to plan ahead, and I adore a good deal.

The rest of the day was spent watching television and searching the web. This doesn't give one much to type about. However, we did have dinner with some friends. Two of these friends were little people. This means there was much talk of how dessert would not be forthcoming to those who didn't finish their dinner. Said dinner became a face mask on the little boy. He was having fun though. He also was upset by the fact that he was not allowed to have a knife. I think we may have a future hunter in our midst. Now it is time to go back to the Wii and then prepare for bed and church in the morning. Sweet dreams.

Before retiring to bed last night, a thought, a very novel thought, danced across my brain and sent my fingers typing over the keyboard. Sadly, it was not a masterpiece in the making. I realized that my new ward shares the building with two other wards, so our meeting time changes every year. Having not officially joined that ward yet, I found myself lost as to the hour I should arrive at the building. Being dutiful, I went to the website and looked. I evaluated carefully. I dredged my mind for the name of the appropriate bishop and found the required time. We arrived promptly at eleven. We soon discovered we had no idea what the people around us were saying. This was not due to any fault in their speech. We don't speak Spanish. We were then informed our ward meets at one. Well, after a bit of hanging around, we got this information, so we went home for a little bit and came back.

Of course, I only made it through the first hour of meetings. The weather may be getting me down. I didn't fall asleep, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. I can't get sick right now. I have a five hour drive in the morning and delicious ham or turkey (I don't remember what I requested) sandwich awaiting my arrival at the library. I also have a few books to return, and a baby to visit sometime in the evening.

This also means I will have a hiatus from the Wii fit. I am sure it will through a fit-astique tantrum when I next step onto its balance board. But I have a passive aggressive method for dealing with the absence of snowball fights and yoga. I am going to paint, clean, pack, and then visit Wendy's for a Frosty. If you have no idea what this means, you haven't been reading. Shame on you!

I am trying to motivate myself to post some of my creations on etsy. I make beaded jewelry, quilts, notebooks, cards, and could be motivated to make other items by the right monetary incentive. I need to capitalize on this brief hiatus in order to clean out some of my craft items. Then I can justify buying more, right?

My long neglect of this journal has apparently lead to the inevitable. The one person I thought might still be holding out hope and checking in on my ramblings actually asked me if this journal was still receiving my thoughts. He seemed quite surprised when I assured him that I had even been updating it with some frequency. This entry, however, deals more with why this conversation even came about than the conversation itself.

Today was, as mentioned, the end of an era. About twelve and a half years ago, I walked into the library and made it my home. I had known for years that I wanted to work in a library, and I lucked into getting assigned to one through the workstudy program (I am tempted to digress about studying not being the operative part of this word, but I won't.) I even believe I almost had some people convinced that I slept in a hammock on the tenth floor. I was the chick in the cloak and the chick in the library. I worked my way through many departments and finally found a home nestled among barcodes and microfiche. Today, I left that world to enter the great unknown.

It is not all unknown, of course. I know that I am going to be with the man I love. I know that he would appreciate me somehow making the huge piles of fabric and paper disappear. I know that I make beautiful things worth people paying for, even though most people get upset when I tell them it would be nice to be compensated for my time and effort. I also know that I love to string words together. I am pretty sure that you have noticed even if you are just tuning in for this entry.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am sad. I don't like leaving my workplace and my coworkers. It was nice and comfortable, like home. I could count on my boss to keep me supplied with projects, so I was never bored, and I was always accomplishing something. I cataloged all of the government documents microfiche we had from 1975 to 2003 (and then some). I helped analyze a vast number of books so that patrons could better find the exact information that they needed. I provided (this is someone else's words) morale, good cheer, and a cozy refuge. I also provided cookies and other treats. I'll miss that, but I have known for a while that I needed to finish up and move on.

I am also excited. I am moving on. I could find a new library job. In fact, I have already found one just like the one I had but I won't apply. I am not willing to drive an hour to work every day (because I have to drive an hour back). So what am I doing? My husband doesn't seem to mind that I want to take some time to regroup and figure out what I want now. I wanted to work in a library, so I found one and I fought to work there. Some of my readers may have even been there with me, in the trenches, trying to convince HR that I should get a job that I was beyond qualified for. Now I may want to explore other avenues. Who knows if I have poems unrhymed and novels unwritten that the world is in need of?

Wish me luck, as I wish you luck, dear reader. I shall speak again soon. I hope it is good news of discovery.

Well, I wrote a song this morning. I thought it was pretty good. The rest of the world will probably never get to weigh in on that. It was written to someone who probably already writes "songs" about themselves and had nothing to do with what I was thinking about ten seconds before it came out of me. This is typical of my brain, so no worries there.

I finally made the journey to the social security office. They have been informed that my name has changed. I found this journey to be very interesting. Upon entering, I was greeted by a security guard. He told me to turn off my cell phone which made perfect sense to me. Then he asked if I had any weapons. In typical diva fashion, I replied, "I hope not."

This led to him explaining what constitutes a weapon. Luckily, chapstick and credit cards weren't on the list since those are the closest things to weapons that I had with me. My husband explained to me that these security precautions are probably related to recent events. I pondered this briefly and responded, "Guns don't solve your problems, chocolate does."

If I ever run across a problem that I can't resolve with chocolate, I may cry myself to sleep. I wouldn't want to wake up either. Who wants to wake up to a world that doesn't appreciate the power of chocolate. This may be where some readers question whether chocolate is a euphemism for prayer. It could be, couldn't it? Think about it.

My first week of unemployment makes me feel overworked. I've been packing and unpacking, cleaning and trying to figure out how to help some more materials out of my possession. When I get that figured out, I hope people will help me by purchasing items from etsy. I've also considered paying for gas on my trips back west by offering to bring people cookies, candy, and crafts for a small fee. Think it would work?

What I really need to do is work on my novel. It has been neglected for a very long time. I shall have to do that after I unload my car again...and clean some more...and...

I have to be grateful for a tolerant husband. Despite the fact that boxes are still piled everywhere and the coffee table is starting to look like a mini trash heap. I should work on this. In fact, I have been working on this, but I seem to be running out of nooks and crannies for my random scrap paper and fabric. Etsy beware.

In my attempts to make my massive quantities of stuff fit into my new home, I have been slowly dealing with pieces of paper. Many of them are bills that desperately want my attention. I also found a piece of paper that had probably been buried for more than a year. Apparently, at one point, I tried to fix some previous errors in this journal. I fixed them which meant I had to meander through my archives. This made me realize that I have been plugging away at this journal for over nine years. Are we excited yet?

The other piles of paper are being turned into notebooks. Some people have seen these. I think they are rather special. My husband described one as, "neat", but he is probably biased. I am still trying to figure out a reasonable price to sell them. This would definitely clean up some of the piles in my house, and, perhaps, keep me from feeling super poor instead of marginally poor.

In other news, I am beginning to feel like a 1950s housewife. My husband is going to come home one day to find me in a nice dignified skirt and blouse combo, wearing pearls and heals and holding a beautiful cake. This isn't likely to happen since I have not yet mastered icing the icing instead of the cake. He may, however, come home someday to find that I have rearranged the whole house. I might be related to my brother after all. I would explain that, but I find it is better to let a little mystery stay in this journal.

Today's reading led me to an article about a phenomenon that it calls frenemies. These are people that you truly care about who tend to make you feel like you're constantly at war. As I had just discussed this with another friend, I decided to take a quick peek at the article. This just verfied the wisdom in trying to distance myself from my own frenemies. It states: “Our friends can be our best allies and our harshest critics,” said John Cacioppo, president of the Association for Psychological Science and a University of Chicago professor who was not involved in the research.“This research demonstrates that a more sophisticated conceptualization of our social relationships provides richer information about their impact on our health.”

I have more than my fair share of frenemies and always have. It might be because I have grown up around people who feel they need to cut me down to feel better. It could also be because I tend to let the people I care about be total jerks to me instead of risking hurting their feelings by pointing out their flaws. Either way, this study suggests that continuing to be too involved in these friendships is not good for my health. Would it be wrong of me to distance myself a little more? I am not referring to spatial distance. I am referring to emotional distance for those who may be confused by why my recent move hasn't resolved this issue for me.

The highest excitement of the day thus far was when the electric cut out in the middle of one of the many cheesy Hallmark movies I have taken to watching while my brain is not functioning. Most of the time, it seems that my brain is not functioning. This means I am probably spending too much time on the couch watching shows that make me want to cry or slap stupid people. I realize they aren't real people, but I guess I am the kind of person who begins to associate with characters in shows or books. Sometimes that can help when one is trying to make other people love the characters who have come to life in our heads. I need to remember that. Maybe it will help me get my muse back.

In the meantime, I shall have to continue to spend time being told I am fat by the Wii, making notebooks, and peeking at this website and thinking I need to update it sometime. I guess I need to make more time for such important tasks, but the Hallmark movie keeps sucking me in...

I am still trying to finish the nanowrimo I started in 2008. I have found that my mind is awash with word counts, page numbers, and a sense that I may be neglecting some important plot point as I try to push through to 50,000 words. The problem I have come across most recently is that I have to write transition chapters. These are chapters without a lot of action, but they have to have a lot of meat to them. The reader needs to sink their teeth in and chew to get the flavor and see how the characters got from point A to point C. Sadly, point B isn't always interesting until you see how it got you to the excitement of point C.

Now that I have confused or bored my readers, I can go on and on about statuses. Facebook has them. MSN has them. We've been posting them over and over on instant messengers for years. Some days, I really wonder about the information people give out for free. I wouldn't wonder so much if I hadn't noticed a related phenomenon of people adding people they don't like or even know to their friend list before revealing their secrets. The other status phenomenon is the pass it along status. I have given up on keeping up with all of the "do this and change your status" demands that are circulating these days.

If you have to ask, I probably am criticizing you. I wish it was easy to get a job as a critic. I have opinions on everything. For instance, I think Fox needs to stop cancelling Joss Whedon's shows. I was confused by the last episode of Dollhouse because he rushed through to the ending. If you haven't seen it, you are probably just as confused as I was when the episode started. I actually had to check to make sure that my DVR and I had not missed an episode or two. The next question is what next for Miss Eliza?

In other news, I went to the movie theater today. I saw some defenseless old man who was dressed as a tooth fairy. He didn't look like he was enjoying his required outfit for the day, but all I couls say was, "Wow." I wasn't there to find out what the Rock was cooking (and putting under the pillows of little children), my love and I had decided to go see When in Rome. We had seen a scathing review, but I found myself laughing quite a bit. In fact, at a couple of points, I laughed so hard that I was sure the people around me probably thought I was having a spastic fit. Maybe I was having a spastic fit. I blame Danny Devito. It was him or Judge Reinhold, but Judge wasn't in this film. That's all the spoilers I am giving out today.

Unlike many of my fellow ward members, I didn't get subjected to the snow day confusion. I didn't give it much thought since the sun was shining happily by the time I was supposed to be headed to church. Apparently, other people had received conflicting phone calls. The initial call said that church was cancelled. Some people received the follow up call telling them church was actually going to happen. I received neither. This didn't bother me at all. I find myself more bothered by conversations that go so completely off topic that they waste time, but that is another story.

Anyway, when I returned to my house, I had one of those interesting experiences that dot my life. I stepped out of the car and heard a sound that made me think of a cat freezing to death. I stepped backwards and heard the sound again. I took another step and it was repeated. I looked under my feet to make sure I wasn't stepping on a poor baby creature.

After some careful footsteps toward the sound, the hubby pointed out a squirrel to me. The squirrel was making the sound. Being a mature adult who doesn't do anything that makes people think she is insane, I began talking to the squirrel. He squeaked back at me. When I took a step closer he twittered in such a way that I knew he would have been hissing if he were a cat. Then he skittered away squeaking. Who knew squirrels made noises when they weren't crunching on an acorn?