Empty Wine Goblets and Drained Souls

I had a phenomenal weekend. I feel rested, emotionally-fulfilled, nostalgic, and torn to shreds.

So I probably owe you a story if I'm going to use that many descriptive words, right?

One of my very best friends, Bewley, visited me in Chicago this weekend. She was my roommate in Ireland, we traveled Europe together, and we just "get" each other. We have such similar personalities that, at times, we don't need words and can rely solely on reading each others' facial expressions. I noticed last night, after having taken one of those cheesy self-portraits at arms-length, that our faces are even similarly shaped. Yep, we were cut from the same cloth.

Because of these similarities, we fought like sisters in Ireland and often competed against each other for the best grades (shocking, right?). She's now a PhD and can out-argue me in almost anything. I'm okay with that, because I can still verbally spar with her regarding human intuition and Kant's Transcendental Aesthetic or morality judgements in light of the Categorical Imperative. She understands and challenges me when I get on my Aristotelian soapbox and spout off managerial theories that I extrapolate from Nicomachean Ethics.

I picked her up on Thursday evening from the airport and we talked until 2:30 in the morning. It was the stuff of legendary girl sleepovers from years (decades!) past. We always had a habit of talking well into the night in Ireland (or I used to barge into her room and jump on her bed in the early morning after she got in late from a hot date), so this shouldn't have surprised me. We were hoarse when we finally went to bed.

On Friday, we reveled in the 70 degree temps, sipped wine on my deck, noshed on hors d'oeuvres, traced a nostalgic path through the history of our friendship, and relived our favorite memories from having backpacked Europe together. The best memories are from Scandinavia, Italy, and Wales! As the afternoon cooled into the 60's, we donned our best and went downtown for some Chicago flair. I took her to sushi in the Loop and we walked several miles around Chicago. After ducked into several places along the Mag Mile, we ended our evening at the Signature Lounge (where else?) on the 96th floor of Hancock. It's touristy, but it's a cool touristy spot!

Then on Saturday, she begged me to take a BodyCombat class in the morning. I obliged, but I foreshadowed the aching muscles that were sure to follow. They did! We enjoyed ourselves; what sort of long weekend is complete without beating up imaginary rapists and burglars? Jack joined our girl party on Saturday afternoon and we went to the Carraig that night or some awesome Irish atmosphere. The music wasn't traditional Irish, but it did create ambiance!

I was so sad to drop Bewley back off at the airport this morning. Her shining presence just served to remind me of my languishing loneliness in Chicagoland. With Jack living in SB and me out here in Chicago all by myself, well, it was just depressing to drop her off at the Departures Terminal and get back on the highway...

Jack tried to rescue me from my depression by taking me to mass and lunch. It sort of worked until we decided to tour several of the local condo/townhouse complexes nearby. It unhinged my soul, as I suddenly didn't feel ready to sell my house in SB and start a new life in Chicagoland. The condos are fancy. They look expensive and sterile. And they're not Home.

It was then that I realized that my house is a very expensive security blanket. During this fellowship, I had the option of quitting my job, returning to SB (tail between my legs), and starting over. While it was a minute possibility, I still had the option. If we formally move to Chicagoland, that security blanket will be whisked away like a magician yanking a tablecloth from beneath a stack of delicate and ornate dinnerware.

Returning to the Chicagoland bachelorette pad, I dissolved into a puddle of uncertainty and fear, unsure of where to look next. I had a wonderful chat with Elvis on Thursday; he asked if I'd be interested in managing several hospital departments in Bob the Builder's absence. This is completely wonderful. I need to get this experience. It helps crystallize the job situation, as I will most likely end up at St. Fozzie's. However, I still haven't received the formal, written offer with salary negotiations. It's also completely feasible that I spend a month or two past the end of my fellowship at St. Fozzie's and then get moved to another hospital within Muppetville.

There's no sense of stability. While I'm trying to view the silver lining of adventure and optimistic opportunity, it's scary to know you don't know where you're going to land.

While the job situation is fantastic and I still cannot believe the opportunities laying before me, at the end of the day, all that matters is that Jack and I get to live together again. Our marriage is wonderful, but it's time to move back in with each other. We MISS each other. Y'know, hence that whole married bit!

So we made our decision. Living together again is our highest priority. We are going to do whatever we need to do to make that happen. Every Sunday, when one of us must pack up our bags, say goodbye, and drive an hour and a half, it's horribly depressing. We need to know that our Sunday's of leaving each others' sides are about over...


*By the way, I'm pretty sure the image at the beginning of this post is the exact image from my Discover card. Good thing I cannot see a credit card number embossed on it!

Quote Journal: (Loud) Notre Dame Fan

My quote-for-the-day on my calendar (you know, the tropical one that always makes me sigh when I remember I'm in a concrete jungle in a not-so-safe area of Chicago and can't even walk on short breaks between meetings) is great:

"In our leisure, we reveal what kind of people we are."
-Ovid.

First of all, who's Ovid? And second, what is leisure? I've had sparse "leisure" time, unless you count rocking out to my ipod while I'm on the train or walking downtown (the jury is still out whether walking with earbuds is safe). I caught a couple of movies this past weekend, but it was only because the other administrators at St. Fozzie's highly recommended them and I wanted to be understand the inside jokes. Other than that, my "leisure time" is usually spent doing yard work (oh wait, I hire that out now), reading leadership literature (but I asked for that and used to complain when my former boss didn't give it to me), exercising (I forgot I even joined a gym, for stressing out must surely sustain maximum caloric burn), and sleeping (does sleep even count as leisure time?). Do you consider it an absurd luxury when you wake up in the morning and can actually relax in bed without having to immediately coax yourself up, to the coffee pot, and into the shower? (I do.)

Now you know my weekend plans…to figure out what the heck "leisure" means and how I can get better at it. Well, that and partying, since the ND home opener is finally upon us. I'm excited to tailgate and to yell my head off (since we have Row 7 seats and might as well be sitting on the field). They better win or QB Jimmy's going to have a riot on his hands (I wonder if they'll scalp him like in the ol' Cowboy and Indian movies?)

So, according to this quote, my leisure defines what kind of person I am (a loud, obnoxious Notre Dame fan)? Hmm.

PS, I like parentheses in this post (obviously!)

Seashells by the Seashore

All blogs are pretty self-centered, but this post is purely Dorrie-centered. I took a brief handwriting analysis yesterday morning (hey, I was between meetings and had already checked the weather.) I thought it was interesting and weirdly, spot-on.

They have you write the sentence, "She sells seashells by the seashore" in cursive. They look at how pointy your letters are, how "loopy" your "L's" and "E's" are, how big your writing is, its spacing, how it slants, etc.

This was my result:

You are open to new experiences and sociable. You are well-adjusted and adaptable to new situations as they arise. You are versatile, ambitious, and intellectually-probing. However, you restrict yourself as you are skeptical of emotional and illogical arguments. You practice rational thought and decision-making and expect others to do so, too.

It seems a bit contradictory, the part about being open to new experiences but guarded against emotional arguments. Many of these words apply to 94% of the population, but I thought it was pretty cool because it echoed my Myers-Briggs results (ENTJ)!