Silver and...cats.

Alright. Exciting stuff. Ready? Here we go!

First, I've gotten a job offer. Not just any job offer but a dream job offer. I've been offered a job with the jewelry store in town, Paxton's. I was in there and Adam and I were talking to Kim, one of the sellers, about how we're going to stay around for a few more years if he gets this job. She said if that happens, I should apply when they have a spot open. I said that would be great and then she went ahead and moved it forward to give me an application. While I was there the manager from one of their branches in Spencer was there as well and was chatting with me. I'm feeling really good about this. Who wouldn't love a job where one of the first questions they ask you is "Do you mind travel?" because we all have the opportunity to travel across the country a couple of times a year to conventions and big time sales.

You may be wondering why I'm spamming this post with kitten pictures. Here it is, the second awesome/weird thing that has happened to me:

I'm officially a stray cat magnet. We manage to find homes for two cats, Steve and Dominique, and another one comes along. She doesn't have a name yet but she was found while a few friends and I were out drinking. I couldn't leave her so I brought her home. Thank God Adam loves cats otherwise I would for sure be in deep shit. She doesn't have a name yet though some of my friends have been rooting for Pixie since she's so tiny and delicate. I wanted something like Circe because her eye markings seem witchy to me...but that plan is full of failure. She's too little to carry such a big name.

The funny thing? I asked the powers that be to send me a sign. But it couldn't be just any sign so I asked them to send me a cat. The next day a black cat was sitting on our porch. We had never seen her before and never saw her again after that. I thought it was too much of coincidence so I challenged the peeps up in the air and said, "Bring me another one". Couple of days later there was an orange tom sitting right next to Adam's car at work. Never saw him before, never saw him again. So (and I don't tell Adam this part because he'd probably shake his fist at me for taunting fate) while out and about with friends last night, having a few drinks, hitting the latest bar in town, partying it up with a hot tub, I was dared to ask for a cat again.

And that's how little bratling came to be. Go me. Tempted the fates just one time too many. Now we have a new, yet nameless, friend. She's really charming though. She came with the typical stray kitten deals. Gunky ears, sticky-outy ribs, and fleas. Fleas have been murderized through baths, she's working on the ribs by being a complete pig with her soft food and KMR (her teeth are too little to handle kitty food), and gunky ears have been mostly cleaned but will most likely need mite medication. That's it folks. My life's just another step towards maintaining my reputation as a crazy cat lady. At least I have a social life. That's probably the one thing saving me.

Tired.

I wish it were socially acceptable to have a doctor induce comas. I could use about a week's worth of catch-up sleep. Between the shitty mattress we have, sharing a borderline queen-sized bed with five cats, and Adam's tendency to snort and kick in his sleep, I just feel like I don't get enough of it. Adam teases me about sleeping in late when he goes to work but what he doesn't know is that its not so much a continuation of sleep but a start. The few hours of sleep I get between the time he leaves work at 7-7:30 till whenever I wake up (usually close to noon) is about the only few hours of decent sleep I get. Its sure as heck the only real deep sleep I get. During the night I toss, I turn, I cross my fingers and hope to God my hips won't flare up in shattering pain like they tend to, I get too hot, I get too cold...I'm a terrible sleeper. I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't see the doctor about getting some prescription sleep-aids. The Equate sleep-aids don't cut it and Tylenol/Nyquil ends up making me loopy well past the noon hour. As in I've apparently driven Adam to work some of those mornings and have no recollection of doing so.

I get really tired of being a zombie. I'm tired all the time. Everything makes me tired. I don't know what it is. I just want to curl up and sleep. I daydream about sleeping, as sad as it is. My parents believe its depression, only I'm not depressed. Mentally I feel great. A little taxed from minor things but I'm not going to be wanting to or actually jumping off a bridge anytime soon. I feel more settled than I have in a long time. Adam's got a job interview on Friday and once we find out of he gets this job with the University, I can start looking for jobs. Yeah, I'll be staying around Storm Lake longer but I feel really good about it. Being financially stable enough to actually get our lives started is better than starting our lives and having them be miserable because of money troubles. I'm really kind of excited for it. Its good stuff. I have my different hang-ups but in general, I feel better than I have in a long time. Depression isn't the reason. I'm not overly stressed; no job right now to worry about, family is all doing good.

Its like I'm missing some key factor that allows people to get a full night's rest. I've tried meditating, watching my food/drink intake, and I've even tried not having my before bedtime cigarette. Nothing seemed to help. I still sleep poorly. I feel like the night is just a time for my body to prep itself for when I finally fall asleep in the morning (exhausted from rolling about the night) or for when I finally collapse in the middle of the day and take one of my four to five hour marathon naps. You think that I would be used to Adam's night rhythms and to our mattress. I don't know why all of a sudden these things prevent me from sleeping. There must be something internally wrong.

Maybe its because its storm season and if I'm not awake paranoid that a storm will come, I'm having bad dreams about them. Or maybe I'm going crazy and not even knowing. 1 AM this morning I phoned my parents because as I was finally drifting off, I swore I heard my mom's voice in my ear, yelling at me to call. Me being the superstitious person I am decided it was better safe than sorry and woke my poor dad up only to be told all was fine in the house and it was time I get back into bed. Being the good daughter I am, I did go to bed...only to have shitty sleep due to some really effed up dreams.

Go me.

I'd like to take this time to state that it is quite possible that my lack of sleep contributed to the fact my outdoor stairs completely pwned me this morning. Slippery stairs versus zombie me in flip flops? You shouldn't have to ask about the outcome. If you really want to, I'll be more than happy to show off my skinned elbow and badly bruised back/hip/thigh. Landed in the middle of my back on the first stair and skidded down the other three. It was a fun time. Then in typical Megan fashion, I yelled at Adam for asking me if I was alright...at the time it seemed liked a stupid question considering I was sitting on the stairs, gasping with teared-up eyes (none of them actually fell our of my eyelids so I don't count it as crying), and had a silly quivering lip. I then brushed myself off (after Adam carefully helped me up), and limped my way to the car. A fruit smoothie from Grand Central helped my injured pride but didn't do so much for the ominously sprained feeling in my back.

Ouch.

Phobia.

I have an unusual phobia. I'm terrified of thunder. You can throw hail, wind, rain, or whatever else at me and I'm not bothered. As soon as the thunder comes though, I turn into a little ball of quivering goo. Its not a good phobia to have especially when living in the Midwest, further, a town aptly called Storm Lake. The more I think about it, the more I realize I really chose a poor place to live in. One would think I would have taken the name of this place as a warning.

Caution: If there is a breath of stormy activity within seven states, Storm Lake will most certainly be hit.

Its very frustrating to me when people laugh at it. If I were terrified of swimming, flying, or sharks would they laugh as much? I don't go around pointing the finger at people who have phobias of snakes or bats, two creatures I'm particularly fond off. I don't tell people who have claustrophobia to simply get over it or yuck it up at people who are too frightened of the world to step a foot outside. I don't taunt people who might be paranoid of the texture of cotton, who have a deathly fear of getting their haircut, or the people who can't stand the sight of fire. I'm not scared of any of those things. I love to swim and it would be ultimately a dream come true if I could swim with a shark. I love flying and its never made sense to me why people don't like to...you're a thousand times more likely to die in your car than in a plane. I have had pet snakes, wait anxiously for dusk so I can listen to the resident bat, find comfort in enclosed spaces, love adventuring to new places, live for a good cotton men's t-shirt, enjoy haircuts, and I'm a bit of a pyromaniac. That doesn't mean I ridicule people who have phobias relating to those things.

It seems that people have a hard time equating their phobias to mine. Somehow their phobias are more important or more likely to happen. I know thunder can't hurt me. That's where the definition of phobia comes into play. Phobias are irrational fears that, in the most extreme cases, interfere with life. My phobia is no different than anyone else's. When it storms, I go into panic mode to the point where I come close to or might actually hyperventilate. My heart races and in some very bad instances I actually felt the urge to kill myself just to get away from the fear. That's how bad it is. I can't do anything if there is thunder sounding around me. Even thunder on TV, movies, or CDs is enough to set me off. I have a weird sense for storms; I wake up before they hit in a near state of absolute panic. I know what's coming and it doesn't make it any easier. It does affect my life. Today I couldn't drive home to Okoboji not just because of the zero visibility 15 minutes south of Storm Lake, but because I saw lightening as well. I'm not scared of lightening but most people know that where there is lightening, there is thunder that follows. I didn't even hear it. It was just the fact that I knew it would be there.

Right on the the road I had a panic attack. I had to turn around and come back to Storm Lake. The closer I got back to the hazy sunlight of this place and further away from the weird black/green color hanging over Spencer, the better I felt. But it doesn't go away. I know its going to storm tonight so right now, and most likely the rest of the day, I'm in a state of anxiety. I'm on edge. I feel like I'm going to be bouncing off the walls. My pupils won't return to normal size and my mind is working faster than my fingers. Its horrible. I hate it. When I'm in this state I feel a lot of self-loathing. I feel picked upon; its not like I asked it to thunder and storm. I feel mad at everyone. I hate Adam for the fact we don't have a basement to hide in. I hate my parents for not getting me proper counseling on this fear. I hate God because he keeps bouncing storms off of my head. I hate the weather, I hate Iowa, and most of all I hate myself for being a coward. I have promised myself over and over that someday I'll stay up through a storm and convince myself there's nothing to fear. Instead the same shit happens. I lug my computer and headphones into the bathroom, deafen myself with Mindless Self Indulgence, choke down enough sleeping pills to kill the average person (not me; I've become a professional at pushing just how many sleep aids I can take), climb into the tub with a towel for a blanket and hope to every higher power that I'll just pass out.

That's what its like for me. Its hard. I wish I could change it. I don't even know how I would. I've considered hypnosis if I could find a reputable person to do it. You have it now. Brontophobia might be a stupid phobia but its a phobia nonetheless. Think about all the phobias you might have, the fears that make you want to crawl into the ground and never come out. Then pretend you're me, someone who gets taunted for the fear they have. Others don't understand, don't want to understand. Its painful. I can't stand being me enough when it comes to my fears. I want to jump out of my skin and into someone else's. Being frightened of something is bad enough but to have people mock you for it makes it worse. I have to stifle it, hope to God someone doesn't see me flinch and cover my ears at the tiniest rumble, or even worse, hope that I'm not in a public place when a storm strikes because then the world will be party to my emotional melt down.

Its not easy having a phobia.

Cheesy title ahoy.

I decided to start another blog. This blog is more for thoughts, writing, etc. (funny that these two would go together) while the other one will be devoted to one of my huge passions, jewelry. I can't say that anyone could expect a refined dissertation on stones, the gold market, or how to properly clean a sterling silver piece. I could, I suppose, if I wanted to. Honestly though, its just to delve into the fact that jewelry is more than jewelry. My jewelry is more than just pretty things. Yes, all my pieces are beautiful to me but even more importantly they are all deeply meaningful.

It's called Life in Jewelry for lack of a more creative title. Sometimes the simplest things are the best and really darlings, I don't think the title could get any more simple than that. I'm exploring my life through my jewelry. Its amazing the things I remember when I sit down and look at a pendent or ring. That's really important to me. Rings, earrings, bracelets, pendents, etc. are more than just items. If they're just items to you then I truly believe you are doing something wrong. I don't buy jewelry spontaneously (with a few exceptions) and I very much believe that certain pieces call to you. Anyone who spends a lot of time in jewelry stores will understand that sometimes there is just something that attracts you to a piece. For example, I'm in love with a little white gold pearl ring with accent diamonds. It's cheap as the band isn't very heavy, the diamonds are tiny, the pearl isn't necessarily jaw dropping. But there is just something about it that pulls at me.

There's nothing more exciting than feeling that pull. Its thrilling to walk through several jewelry stores and not see a thing that strikes me and then suddenly be drawn to one piece. There are many mystical stories about jewelry in the world. I have to say that some of them are hard for me to not believe. There are inexplicable reasons that cause me to be drawn to one ring or another no matter design or price. I don't know why I'll suddenly be drawn to a piece with a gemstone in it that I've never liked (for example, my ruby ring). My family does heavily buy into some things are meant to be. Some jewelry pieces are meant to be with you.

Again, if you consistently find that the pieces that "call" to you are the most expensive, fabulous, and most 'in fashion' rings, you're probably doing something wrong.

Have at it. I'm hoping to update it daily. I do have quite a few pieces and a good bag of loose stones (from settings that were old and damaged) that will have pictures taken of them and then have their back stories delved into. Might not be interesting for people, but its something I thought heavily about doing. Once I run out of mine, I would like to go through the people I know and love and tell the stories of some of their most treasured pieces. I've already gotten most of my pieces photographed. Please don't expect anything exciting with the pics...I've got cheap Nikon I'm working with. Until I can get something better, the stones won't probably be shown in their best light.

Knock, knock!

Whose there?

Sword.

Sword who?

Sword in the gut, that's who!

Its a sad state of things when one has to rely on jokes to express how they feel but there it is and that's what I'm doing. All my life I've been with the understanding that my birth father didn't care for me. And now I've come to find that I was apparently the light of his life, that this man would come home from fourteen hour shifts and spend the rest of the night playing with me, that he would come home during lunch break and return to work covered in my baby drool and dog hair all the while smiling.

I've spent many, many years being angry at this man, hating him for what he put my mother through. I'm beginning to think that I've hated him for the wrong reasons. I was hating him for what happened in his relationship with my mom. Where to go from here? How do I find him and express to him the injustice I've done him? My whole life I've bought into my mother's views knowing that she was skewed in her opinion of him. I will never discount the pain she went through with him. Now I know though that she was unequally as unhealthy for him.

What do you say to a person you've labeled nothing more than just a dark figure in your past? I'm more terrified of ever contacting him now than I ever was. Its been so much easier for me to believe that he was some cruel man who cared nothing about me. I think that's why I never questioned it. It's been easier to face that then consider the fact that there is another man out there that would want to be a father to me but for whatever reason wasn't.

I don't even know where I would begin. I'm 21 with the body of a worn-out 40 year old. I'm not interesting in saving humanity and I'm not even sure I would if I could. I spend my days browsing random articles of interest, complaining about my stretch marks to a friend who is nearly tens years older than me, watching my bettas, swiftly becoming the crazy cat lady on the block (currently Michelle holds that title but there's still hope), and I'm the one idiot in the world who is the proud owner of a Super Uterus to whom birth control makes not an iota of difference.

I obsessively watch GemsTv, and when I can't watch it on my aunt and uncle's big screen, I watch it on the internet. The only things I know how to talk about are cats, bettas, and gemstones. I'm moody, downright neurotic at times...the list goes on and on. I know my dad is proud of me, though I've fucked up my first shot at education, got knocked up, and torn apart everyone who has ever had the heart and patience to get close to me.

Jesus Christ, he's never going to want to meet me. Why is it that I want to impress a man I've never known? I feel like some adolescent attention seeker crawling into the lap of the nearest jailbait hunter, hoping to get at least some sort of attention. There is something wrong with me.

I would pity purchase myself from GemsTv but I already have a silver Lapis Lazuli ring on the way and a lemon citrine/white topaz pendent on the way. Anything more and Adam might toss me out the nearest window.

Irregular Choice.

I love it. One of my friends sent me to their UK site because I was bitching about a lack of fun shoes. I have my awesome rainboots but since then I haven't found really any shoes that are ridiculous and full of win.

Until now, obviously. I really love shoes that are different. I've been stuck in the same shoe rut for about as long as I can remember. I love boots. I love high heeled knee/over the knee boots. Who doesn't? There are few things finer than a nice pair of boots. Yet I find myself wondering if I have too many boots. I really do have a pair for every occassion. My slightly dressier suede brown boots with the strap. My flat-soled browns for casual wear. My killer 4 inch spike heeled blacks for when I want to feel (not necessarily look) sexy. They're all there (and more). Adam claims I have an addiction to boots. Perhaps its time I branch out.


So there it is. If I can justify to myself the cost of shipping from the UK as well as the actual cost of the shoes, I would bring numerous new babies home with me. It'd be nice to branch out a little. I've worn my rainboots so often now that they've lost their impact. I think it might be time to end my boot addiction and branch out to other heels. My black and brown Mary Jane pumps are getting lonely being the only regular heels in my box o' shoes. Too bad Payless has been such a disappointment lately. I suppose I'll have to cough up the extra cash to get some good lookers.

Now if only my addiction to nice jewelry could be so easily ended. If you're reading this, Adam, take note. That green amber ring might come popping out of no where. I promise, it followed me home.