Bitter...

I am absolutely the last person in the world to be bitter or unhappy… but at the moment I feel totally beat up. Perhaps it’s a lack of steam as my sleepless nights increase, or perhaps the overwhelming anxiety has eclipsed my bull headed persistence that anything is possible. But at the moment, I feel totally unqualified, completely baffled, utterly frustrated; when all I really should be feeling is excitement and blessed.

For the second night in a week, my eyes shot open around 3 am as if my internal clock shouted, in Uganda it’s 11am! For two hours, I laid there, growing more and more frustrated and bitter at my inability to sleep. I thought of all the blessings I have as I laid in my soft comfy bed hearing only the hum of our bedroom fan and faintly feeling the steady breathing of my peacefully sleeping husband.

My dreams have always fascinated me. Much more vivid than most, from what I gather. I dream in color, heart palpitating dreams that leave me breathless or filled with joy. Others dream these vague, fuzzy dreams they don’t fully remember, and part of me feels bad that they don’t get to experience the emotional ride it is when you’re dreaming. Lately, my dreams have been filled with kids. Children from who knows where all in danger and I’m always running to their rescue. No real big insight is needed to dissect my dreams of late, but when I wake, I become exhausted pleading in my heart that my journey is mindful and that of an observer, there to learn, find needs, help in appropriate ways and not be the reckless American who jets off to a developing country to “fix” their problems.

More often than not I am uncomfortable when someone acknowledges “my great work” or passion, or efforts. To me it’s silly because to me, I’m just doing what seems right, what I’m called to do, what I was created for. However, recently, I’m bitter. Not only bitter but an exhausted bitter that creates pressure in my eyes as if the great well spring will bust open, but it doesn’t… so I’m bitter. I want to cry and simply cannot.

A few weeks ago the school newspaper contacted me and said they wanted to do a story. I paused at first, then recalled one of the things I desire most is that the people who I feel drawn and compelled to advocate for have a voice… and if I’m their voice box so be it. I agreed. A week goes by then it’s time to arrange our interview. I reply with availability only to receive a note back saying the journalist was very sorry but the story had been cut and she has now been assigned to write a different piece. Okay I thought… moments later, an e-mail goes out to the college asking for faculty who have a hidden talent. Hmmm… I thought – that’s noteworthy in comparison to millions of children, orphaned by a war many don’t even know is going on, parents killed by diseases that are treatable, scared kids, vulnerable and alone. Yup, if I had my choice I’d surely want to read about faculty’s hidden talent of yodeling. Bitter.

Over the past several months I have applied for a number of grants and scholarships to help finance the cost of this upcoming trip so I can work in Uganda. Today I went to an award ceremony where all nominees had to go in order to learn if we had been awarded the modest scholarship. The committee chair went on at length about the stellar applicants and all the good works they were doing. An hour and a half later (when I was should have been participating in a job interview looking for a candidate to fill my position), the winner was announced. The student who won, a girl who has worked in a soup kitchen for 4 months. Please don’t misunderstand, I am huge fan of public service and definitely have a heart for the homeless… but 4 months… that’s it…. And my application boasted of my experience working with the homeless in Portland and Boston, talked about my time in Sierra Leone and what I am about to do in Uganda, spoke of all these great things and I was beat by a resume listing 4 months in a soup kitchen?!?!?!? Bitter…

I was going to stay late at work today as I want to leave things as neat and clean and wrapped up as possible and have only 3 days to do it. I was so frustrated by the time I got back to my office I just packed up and left. Aimlessly, I walked from my office, across the train tracks, over the river (but not through the woods) to the street I live on. I thought I’d keep on walking then realized walking 4 miles in uncomfortable shoes would probably lead to more bitterness so I jumped on the train. In a daze I walked into my house, opened my cupboard to pull out my vice… sour candy. Sour candy always fixes everything.

Opening up my little hand a hoard of sour starburst jelly beans tumble in. I plopped down on the couch to begin devouring them… Plah! Yuck! Ugh… who ever said tangerine or watermelon were good flavors for candy.?.?.? Bitter!!!

I’m just feeling rather heavy and weighed down by everything at the moment so I know all these small and insignificant things are simply blown out of proportion. I’m so sick of a world, where getting the job of your dreams is not dependent on your resume or experience, and especially not your passion or ability, but it is simply based on the person you know.

For two years now I have worn off the tread on my tires doing everything possible to get involved with a very well known organization here in Boston. Not because of who they are (I could honestly care less) but because of what they do. It’s so perfect ... it’s frustrating… and … on Monday I learned that the internship I had applied for was not given to me… big stinking surprise I suppose… I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m walking into a closed door all the time only to bounce off and head straight back for it.

I know, this coming out of a girl who has cried far too many tears sharing her hearts fire to return to Africa and work… and now… in 8 days she jets off to do just that. See, I told you I’m the last person to be bitter but at the moment I am.

Well I guess if you’ve read this far you deserve to end on a happy note (since I do always try to see the good)…

By the very generous donations of many, a little more than half of my program fees have been raised, an astounding amount of supplies have been donated, and as of 9:30pm tomorrow, my research paper in Africa will be all that stands between me and a Masters degree.

Well, have a good night. I’m off to grab some cheese for my whine.