My Real Life

There are friends who know me "in real life" who read this blog. Mainly, they do not read to know my lastest opinion. They read to find out what is going on in my life. This post is for them and for you, if you are interested. If you're not interested, that's okay too.

This is the kind of post in which I have no interest in literary style, spelling, logic, or even being interesting. You have been warned and may proceed reading at your own risk.

I've been avoiding blogging here for months, mainly because I'm suffering from the unability to articulate what is actually happening to me. Sometimes, I feel that I have no idea what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. I'm not sure if I hate my life or am really enjoying the best portion of it. I alternate between earnestly wishing that everything associated with this portion of my life would change and change soon and fearing that when change does come it will be for the worse. I don't know what to say to anyone and thus I avoid talking to people as much as possible.

I'm not depressed--I have been in the past and I know the difference. I'm not exactly unhappy but I would say I'm happy either. My spiritual life is dull, but not entirely dead. When I pray, God still answers me. (Imagine that.) When I read the Word, I am usually encouraged. But if I am making any progress in my spiritual life, it is hidden from me.

Having made a few friends here, I now try to avoid them as much as possible. Recently, I truly loathe going outside and seeing any human being at all. Mostly, I just feel too tired to see and talk to people. Not physically tired. I do get enough sleep. Emotionally tired. I cannot put on a nice face or a light heart. Just the thought of trying to pretend to be a pleasant person makes me want to run away.

My dear little son is with me all the time. Watching him, especially trying to let him play in public places, drains me so much that I cannot do anything else. He is exceptionally active and enthusiastic. Trying to have a pleasant conversation with anyone while watching him is like trying to wrestle with the Tasmanian Devil while drinking hot tea from fine china.

My knowledge of Korean has improved greatly, but my ability to speak lags far behind. I think I've only spoken to one person in Korean in the past two weeks. I was more immursed in Korean when I lived in the US and worked in a Korean setting. Now, there is nothing that forces Korean people to associate with me or I with them. In the past, almost 100% of my relationships were through a mutual workplace, school, or roommates. I've always been terrible at maintaining friendships without some activity in place to keep things together--with the exception of two or three very close friends. But here, I have to make unceasing effort to keep up with people. I hate making phone calls and scheduling appointments. I wish I could see people through a workplace or some previously scheduled arrangement. There is nothing I hate more than "just seeing how it goes" or last minute plans or erratic schedules. I want all my plans chiseled in stone, notarized by an attorney, and penalized with jailtime if broken!

It is very hard for me to build relationships while watching my son, even with other mothers. Some mothers seem less than open to me. In fact, certain people have seemed positively hostile and suspicious. "Which certain people?" you ask. Well, I'm thinking of people in churches. Not the church I attend now, but a number which I have visited. Perhaps they just don't know what to do with me. Maybe they think I'm a prostitute. A lot of people, men actually, ask me if I am Russian. Seemed like an innocent question until my husband told me that there are Russian prostitutes living in our building. Now I don't like that question anymore.

My husband and I have been going though stressful times but our relationship has improved tremendously in the past month or so. We are beginning to understand and sympathize with our mutally different approaches to child rearing. My husband is realizing that he is not solely to blame for every problem that we experience. I am realizing that his grumpiness is not directed towards me but towards his work.

My sister is hoping to visit in the next few weeks. I look forward to her coming everyday. It is hard trying to raise a very active boy in a small apartment. Maybe when she is here, we can play with Buggy Boy together. He loves to have company. He is even thrilled when door-to-door salesmen come by.

This is enough rambling for today. More rambling to come later.

UPDATE: I feel compelled to add that while I complain about not wanting to go out, I actually do go out an average of twice per day. Usually, I go to one of the nearby bookstores or parks. And I spend an average of two hours per day outside my own apartment doing something in a public place. And I did call my friends yesterday and I do meet people rather frequently. So, no, I am not a recluse; I just feel like being one.

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