Best Year Ever?

I’ll drink more water. Start there. Take your vitamins everyday. Sleep. Stretch. Read. Go outside. Maybe let that timed electric toothbrush make it the full 2 minutes. If you add all of that up does it mean I’m doing it right? I’ll turn it into a clickbait top 10 list, BUILDING THE NEW YOU. I’m fine with the current me (you), I’d like to just treat this person right.

I am starting this year in a completely different place. I have a new-ish job, that in the 6 months since I’ve started has turned into one of the more rewarding and stable aspects of my life, some of that is by virtue of comparison (to previous jobs, to other facets of my life) and some is because there is not enough I can say about working within a culture that rewards intellect and skill over being the appropriate shaped “peg” to jam into a corporate setting. Being freed to stop dressing up like someone else (a normal cubicle jockey) and being allowed to focus instead on the work itself rather than the personal drama of the workplace is so fundamentally liberating it pains me to think of going back to an environment that diverts so much energy to the bullshit of office politics over the actual work of contributing to the business. Oh, and working for assholes < — never again.

So as far as my professional outlook, 2017 is already kicking 2016’s ass (unless you count landing this job as a 2016 accomplishment and let’s just call that an even split.

I’m living solo for the first time in… forever. Roommate-less, legit solo. On the couch in my underwear, dishes piled in the sink if I want (ew, no), hey I should take that trash out, a-l-o-n-e.  I cut my hair differently.

I’ m still making pottery, three years running now. I think I’m finally in a place where I want to start pushing myself to try harder and more complex projects. Bigger, more intricate, more focused. I’ve considered upgrading my status in the studio from student to community artist but I’m going to hold off a bit longer while I wrangle with some financial items. (see the whole…  living alone thing – it’s a bit more expensive).

I had dinner with a friend a couple of weeks ago and she said that she’d read a “resolution” challenge that suggested you find three specific words to define your goals or motivations for the coming year and she’d thought about it and opted for one word instead. A part of my brain spent the remainder of that dinner ruminating on what that particular word would be for me. Everything I come up with sounds like a word a stupid college girl would get tattoo’d above her ass but it seems inescapable so fine, passion. That’s what I choose.

This year will be the best year ever, if only because it will be about both the things I want and don’t want. What I don’t want is to waste my time on anything that I don’t feel passion for. Hobbies, activities, people.  Life is achingly short, this is true if it lasts until you’re 25 or 50 or 100. If you’re doing it right, it’s never going to be enough time.

So yes, this is the year that I’m getting divorced and turning 40 and possibly having to sell my house and the first time I will likely owe the IRS money (fuck me). And I live alone and I’m starting over and I’ve spent the last three months running around not taking the best care of myself (exercise anyone?). But I refuse to let any of that bog me down. I have spent a lot of time in pain, doubting myself and wondering what idiot lived inside me that thought I had anything figured out, for the record I don’t, and neither do you.

But I started the year in a good place. I traveled to California to visit my best friend. I have a job I that I enjoy. I get to make art. I fell in love with someone. And so fuck the milestone birthday and the taxes and the reboot, the year will be good because that’s what I can control, how I deal with it, what I decide. So this year will be about music, and art, and travel, and books, and food, and the amazing people in my life, all the things that make me feel better about being alive, hideous-facist president, rapidly-dying cultural icons, total life-upheavel be damned.

This year I will (want to)…

Hike, go outside, walk, spend time in nature whenever I can.
Read. Put my phone down for fuck’s sake when I could have a book in it instead.
Travel  – near and far, whatever makes sense
Push myself at work so I feel better about what I’m contributing (classes, conferences, what else?)
Art – view, witness, create. Go to exhibits, plays, events. Make pottery, take more photos, find ways to combine my interests (getting my tattoo finished this year makes me feel really good about this too)
Music – shows, shows, shows.
Self-care – exercise, food, sanity, (also omg this is dumb but I’m going to start carrying a knife again). I’m good about these things but they’re the first to be neglected when routine is stretched. Find a new hobby (yoga studio?, get a bike?, start walking literally everywhere haha)

 

 

 

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So You’re Getting a Divorce?

The heart wants what it wants. Ha. I googled it – Emily Dickinson. That’s something that no one tells you. That it can happen. That you can be perfectly content or distractedly content, or in some sinister state of utter denial –  too busy, or dishonest or scared to stop and clean off the lens so you have an accurate picture of where you are. And then something will happen.

You will be standing in the shower and realize that you’re about to initiate a conversation that you’ve had before but it feels different, truer somehow. You’ll send another email, you’ll both agree that while you’re happy that things are not perfect, and actually they’re far from ideal. And you’ll agree that you both want things to change and that the impasse is because you’re both stumped about what to do, which feels true when you say it, but another part of you that is sort of slowly waking up … is calling bullshit on that. That’s only part of the truth. The other part of the truth is that there is a solution but it’s utter destruction. A truth that’s existed far longer than it’s been acknowledged as viable. Ofcourse that’s always an option. Start over. But you can maintain what you have, and part of you really wants to sustain that, solve it, refine it and continue to believe that it’s something that can survive. You built your life entirely around one other person. They’re your family and interwoven through every element of your life. Why would you change that? Deliberately inflict so much pain, invite chaos, alienate yourself, leave yourself without the family you chose, quite possibly end up alone. Who does that?

You do. That’s you. You took the lid off this Pandora’s box and it was this uncontrollable unraveling. Could not un-do it. You wanted to lie. To yourself, to him, to everyone. Because it would have protected you and meant you weren’t walking away from the life you’d built to completely start over.  You knew you would do it. You just had to slowly turn around and face it.

It’s been like tearing apart the worst onion. Ripping off layers. Yes, your marriage is over. And when you’ve been with someone for nine years you’re breaking up with everything. Your spouse, your life, your routines and comforts. Ripping off an endless series of bandaids. Tell your family, tell your friends, wait to be judged, hated, pitied. Relieved because work is new enough that you can hide there, smile, try to just enjoy being in a good spot with smart and interesting people. The previously perceived source of stress (new title, new responsibilities, surrounded by brilliance and intensity, trying not to fail) is usurped by the utter insanity of the complete unfamiliarity of the rest of your life. There is nothing to prepare you for waking up every day and feeling this crushing sadness, panic, resignation.

You go home and realize that no one is coming back. You don’t own a hair dryer any more. You gave up your car. You really need to remember not to take the trash into the alleyway at 11 p.m. because there’s no one there to look for you if you get jumped and you’ve been gone for 30 minutes. You stop wearing your wedding rings. You realize you have a fridge full of groceries for two people and a life that no longer exists. For awhile every day you have these moments of abject terror. It’s been weeks since you’ve been able to eat normally, waiting until you’re starving to even try because you’re not sure you can choke anything down. You’re already full… of this pulsing sense of anxiety. What the fuck are you doing and each day that passes you realize that it’s harder and harder to go back, to undo the path you’ve put yourself on. Until you realize that your worst fears, that you got it wrong, that any smug sense of success you felt about how you’d “won” your life was delusional. That the thing you thought was the worst possible thing, your permanent partnership ending, was already happening, and you weren’t so broken that you couldn’t continue. You realize that you knew that there was no permanence to anything, that you, like everyone else were measuring something with a set of rules that made no sense at all. Success was not, IS NOT, finding a single person and making it work forever. The cultural and social forces that sold the entire western world on that notion are assholes.You feel vaguely foolish for ever thinking you got anything right.

But you feel guilt for feeling brave. It’s not really confidence if you truly feel that you have no option save for starting over. That’s where the reality lives. You can want, to want something, but there is no bridging the gap to make that true if your heart has already decided it’s not about the work. It’s not that you wouldn’t work, if there was something to work for but it’s like a fire that’s already gone out, you can’t bury it in more fuel if there’s nothing left that will ignite. You have the memory of the warmth and the feelings of all of the experience that existed before it went out, you remember that it had kept you warm but not anymore. Not because someone stamped it out, or dumped water on it.  It burned up what was there and turned it to ash and before you knew it that blaze you already carried around was chewing through fuel you didn’t realize you were feeding it but it was a completely different fire.

Oh hey.

I realize running in the middle of the brutal heat of the day is not the BEST idea but really it’s not the worst either.  I need to exercise. Yes I miss the gym, yes I miss the sportsing but that’s neither here nor there.

Your heart is a muscle, if you allow it to sit unused and atrophy you can expect to live less or not as well or hey maybe you will have a myocardial infarction (that phrase makes me laugh, it sounds like a joke a kid might make. infarction) and die anyway, but at least you were doing something about it.

I read something, somewhere… Buzzfeed, twitter, a generic inspirational article generator that you need to view certain things (dishes, exercise, your damn laundry) as one of those things you just _do_. You don’t have to love it. Brushing your teeth, drinking water, getting enough sleep that you don’t feel weepy or homicidal. Exercise is one of those. It’s a thing to complete as a human being who is making an effort to live a decent life.

I made myself a Google checklist that is going to pop up every day. It reads like a weird haiku or the worst and least explanatory list ever made.

Stretch
Write
Exercise
Declutter
Art
Snuggle
Hydrate
Read

And I feel like any day I can do ALL of those things, is a good day. So today when I had time because I am lucky enough to work from home I turned my bad mood into a really good day by getting the fuck over myself, ignoring my hunger and going outside to run at 12:30 and I’m halfway through that list for today and it’s already better.

Just Another Day

I squeezed the tip of my left thumb mercilessly before I remembered that I had spent the previous day elbow deep in Old Bay coated crustaceans. It was not a splinter, it was a small crab-inflicted puncture. Oops. My hands take a lot of abuse. Relentless washing to fend off large-scale office cooties. Hours coated in clay. Dishes. Keyboards. Scrolling. Flipping pages.

Friday Happy Hour, dinner on the town, home in a stranger’s car for an early night. Two glasses of wine flattened me. Why do people drink? It’s fun for an hour and then I just want it to go away. Up early, breakfast, hours of pottery. Someone delivers decent tacos to my house now. It was hard to leave. Took a nap, played video games, watched a movie. Lazy days at home with the Mr. are some of my favorites.

Sunday we slept in, made breakfast, went for a short hike in the nearby park we’ve never managed to visit in nearly 3 years since moving into our place. We grabbed salads, showers, I chopped fruit, sat outside in the woods with friends and future friends to eat crabs and drink beer and hang out. Happy summer. Man, I wish I had a yard. Spent a good 30 minutes looking up into the trees at a bard owl. So cool. Got to pet lots of dogs, talk to  people, eat more food than is reasonable. Bailed on the second party, too tired. Again with the drinking, I really don’t like it. Trying not to fall asleep at 9 p.m. is a real thing.

Monday! A bonus day. To clean and relax and wonder if I can fit an entire apartment of stuff into our bedroom for a new floor. Popcorn for late lunch was totally unintentional, trip to the grocery store, sorting through books, killing monsters on the xbox. I could relive this day several times. It means a lot of time in my pajamas with my forehead pressed against his making stupid jokes and hanging out. I already know I will miss things like this at some point. My personal anxiety is trying not to preemptively miss them.  Sad for things that will be gone that have yet to occur.

It’s been two months since our bedroom water explosion. Sorting through stuff feels not unlike moving, but we’re not going anywhere. I hammered people with email this morning. Waiting. Waiting on the insurance company, waiting on the condo association, waiting on the flooring guy(s). It’s going to cost more than the insurance company will give us for what we want. How much more? At this point the pain is less about the money than it is about the status of purgatory. Stuck. It’s exasperating to send email after email and hear, I’m sorry I’m so busy, etc… these are all people who are paid, people I pay, condo dues or insurance I’ve invested money for a service that right now, is fucking useless to me. I don’t even necessarily expect to hear good news, I just need information. It’s been two fucking months. I can’t put anything away. My bedroom smells like mildew. I have a bunch of crap that I need to rent a truck to haul off to a dumpster. Speaking of which, if my insurance company didn’t suck they should probably be paying for that shit.

My stomach is pissed, fucking alcohol and fucking wheat. Why did I eat that shit. My knees hurt. Garbage complaints. Remember. No one is sick, or dying. Enjoy that nice car and the hipster office and your husband. Go home, do some yoga and make some dinner with your overpriced groceries. Try not to let this petty shit eat at you. You have no real problems. You had free lunch today courtesy of work. Crank some Slayer in those earbuds on the bus and keep moving. Write your stupid blog post on your laptop. Consume. Obey!

Meat suit.

I sat on the floor last night and my knee ached. I can’t sit cross-legged with both legs equidistant from the floor, it’s like a wire pulled taught. It’s not always the case but I think the 7 miles of hiking the previous day may have had something to do with it, or the cheeseburger. Wheat and I don’t always get along. Joint inflammation, bullshit.

When I was 19 I drove around in my first car, empty Mountain Dew cans rolling around in the back seat, smoking menthol cigarettes, sleeping 6 hours running on stimulants at 120 lbs of furious energy. I was tiny and intense. Like a thin wire vibrating with current.

Before I get in bed I try to remember to smear a thin layer of vaseline over my eyes so this tiny spot of rogue eyelid eczema doesn’t reappear. It’s not on both eyes but why tempt fate. The non-steroid medication I have from the dermatologist makes my skin burn like it’s on fire from the inside. It’s a great sensation so close to your eyes. Eyes that randomly water, so once every few weeks I’m holding a steaming hot washcloth to my eyeball to make sure my tear ducts do what they’re supposed to. Maybe it’s the lasik? Or hey, apparently the warm memory I have of my grandfather always carrying around a handkerchief was not because it was a classic gentleman thing to keep in your pocket but was, in part, because he had perpetually watering eyes. I wonder if no one told him about the washcloth trick. I remember he and my Grandma used to sit on the floor with us, I’ve seen it in old family VHS tapes. I wonder if he ever got old enough for that to be too hard. He died right after his 65th birthday so I hope not.

Suddenly 65 seems so young I want to grasp my entire life with both hands and never let go.

Waking up every day knowing that some part of this body will ail me, a twinge in my neck, a slightly upset stomach, an aching knee. Never anything intolerable but like a quiet pulse of mortality. My body is wearing, irreversibly. Another day older and closer to death. Is it fucking scary to read that? Sure it is. But only because it’s like a bucket of ugly truth water in your face. We are dying. By tiny degrees. Slower, less efficient. The peak of your physicality behind you, it’s where that lovely sardonic expression “youth is wasted on the young” comes from. That learned knowledge of just how fleeting and ephemeral everything about being human is. You change the oil and maintain the tire pressure and wax the whole thing but it’s still going to fall apart, require tune ups, eventually be a still hulking rusted shell. Parked.

I try to get 8 hours of sleep, if I don’t for more than a few days I start to feel broken. Emotional, unable to handle the more complex mental tasks that involve working, living, acting like a sane functional human being. I gave up sugar in my coffee with the occasional deviation. With my weight the highest it’s ever been pushing me from medium to large in clothes in a sick combination of vanity sizing and actual sizing reality, I try to be selective about where I throw sugar into my face. If I got to choose where that extra padding went perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. If I eat poorly for an entire day my lower abdomen inflates like a balloon and my digestive system typically stages a riotous protest for 12 to 24 hours. It makes me tired and hungry and annoyed. Vegetables, they’re friends.

I try to drink 2 liters of water every day. Sometimes that water comes from coffee, or kombucha or flavored mineral water. If I’m being evil it’s ginger ale or strong sugary tea but that’s rare. Alcohol in anything more than tame dinner party quantities has the potential to eat into both the quality or mere existence of the next day. An actual hangover is a punishing and frustrating affair that feels like throwing my precious and most valuable commodity into the toilet, my free time. The relief only truly arriving after 24 hours of “system” processing and another round of blissful sleep.

Sometimes I have issues with sciatica, usually if I’ve forgone exercise for too long. I’ve had the same knee surgically repaired twice, by and large it feels good. Sometimes I really miss soccer but the prospect of yet another surgery and the trauma of 6 months of rehab is just too significant of a hurdle, it’s humbling to realize that something you once enjoyed is beyond your reach. I guess age does equal wisdom in this instance, thinking about a third major ligament injury feels like inviting long term disaster. I like hiking and walking and running and generally being able to use my legs. I take the stairs whenever I can, two stints of crutches really drive home an appreciation for mobility that I try to be mindful of.

Mercifully I still sleep well and without difficulty. Camping in insane weather with my beloved but loud-snoring spouse notwithstanding I can sleep when I want to and insomnia is a demon that has never visited it’s suffering upon me.

When I’m outside exposed I coat my entire body in sunscreen, repeatedly. Skin cancer is not an obscure punchline anymore. I’m glad my forays into the land of the tanning bed were short lived, now my idea of color is just more tattoos. As my skin texture changes the incentive to decorate grows, it’s my party and I’ll color it if I want to.

Before I go to bed every night I eat two biotin gummies, who knows if it’s working but they’re like candy and I like having thicker hair, my nails are an afterthought because I’m always hacking them off to keep them out of my way on the pottery wheel. I dissolve a sublingual b-12 under my tongue and swallow: a capsule of turmeric, probiotic, vitamin d, fish oil and just introduced magnesium into the mix. If I add anything else I don’t think I’ll be able to get the whole lot down in a single mouthful.

Last month I finally had a troublesome tooth dealt with: root canal, temporary crown, permanent crown. It was creepy to feel that tooth ground down to a little nub and the permanent crown is this smooth alien object in my mouth, like a polished stone that I can tell is foreign when I run my tongue over it. My original equipment has started with small failings. It made me uneasy when I thought too hard about it … but like most changes it’s already faded to a footnote in the larger narrative of living.

When I wake up the idea of leaving the house without concealer is no longer an option. Being told you look tired gets really old after the 4th or 5th polite inference. I get it. Thanks. So I shower and shave and pluck and moisturize and perfume. Generally unless it’s freezing or special I don’t bother to blowdry. Special leave in conditioner for my hair so it’s not a scratchy pile of hay and now I’m up to three products to fill in my thinning eyebrows so I don’t look like a sleepy mole-faced ghost.

Beauty is fleeting and time consuming. And less and less meaningful. The chase is on. Hopefully with age the appetite for vanity wanes and my gaze shifts farther outwards and inwards. To what’s inside and to everyone else. House of cards, castle on sand, etc… No sense is driving yourself into frustration for a thing that will be increasingly elusive. Appearance pales in favor of function.

I just want to FEEL well and BE HERE and holy hell FUCK ALL THE REST. I know so many beautiful unhappy people.  I just want to be engrossed and enlightened and engaged. How I look doing that is a currency I don’t want to spend too much time managing.

I refuse.

I don’t know – but that’s ok.

I don’t know where it’s coming from. Actually that’s inaccurate, it’s always kicking around upstairs, it’s just a matter of taking time to giving voice to what I’m thinking. I want to tread the careful barrier between usefully “blowholing” and thinking critically and writing as a useful form of self-evaluation and analysis, versus turning garden variety normal human stress into a giant mountain of oppressive bullshit.

Transition does this to people. It’s normal. Talking about it is normal. Thinking about it a lot is normal. Notice I didn’t say too much because really what is too much if you’re not walking face-first into a legitimate self-inflicted disorder.

I am in such a heavy engineering environment. I am out of my element but with each new job I guess I sift through the contents of my professional career and ask myself, what is my element? I mean how am I rounding the bend towards 40 and still completely up in the air about what I want to be doing. I have a decent length of professional continuity but in hindsight it feels like an accident. “And you may ask yourself, how did I get here?”  I feel like I’ve done things “right” atleast in protecting myself from ruin or having too disjointed of a resume. I put myself through school. I made what I wanted professionally happen. I used my skills and experience and education and found a way to marry those things into a path that so far, I have enjoyed. In hindsight it’s kind of amazing to me that I was able to actually do this. It seemed really abstract and complicated when I graduated 7 years ago. I feel like I decided to do something and was actually able to exert my will over the outcome. It’s kind of a big deal to me when I stop to savor it.

So without rehashing all of the crap I was rambling to M about last night basically I find myself in a new situation. It drives me to a lot of questions about the things I’m learning, what the motivation is, if I’m wired correctly for the type of environment I find myself in, if any of that even matters.

At times I miss my old job, but not because it was good AT ALL (parts of it were good, I feel like I did make the best of it and learned a lot…), only because it was familiar and I felt capable and confident about what I was doing, what I knew and my ability to contribute. It’s just that outside of the actual “work” it was a totally poisonous, negative, terrible environment. I am *very* glad to find myself in a situation now where the vast majority of my energy and thought and the stress I deal with is related to the “work” I’m learning about and how to do things and NOT on the mountain of politics and personal bullshit that seemed to completely overtake my last job. It was so unbelievably exhausting to be in that environment and have so little of your time spent on the work that you were supposed to be doing.

I guess the “key takeaway” from this ramble, for me ….is to stop beating myself up for not knowing what I don’t know. The people who hired me knew this. I did not falsely represent myself, my intelligence or my abilities. Not knowing how to code or the lingo or having the same background as the technical people here does not make me dumb or less capable. It has nothing to do with me being an intellectual equal. I am a smart capable person who has always found a way to thrive in any job I’ve found. I make friends, I make a point to be an asset, I learn things quickly (yes even on this large and varied of a scope) and I will be a useful and valuable member of the “team” so to speak once I have a better idea of what I’m doing. It does me and the people around me a huge disservice to spend any time disparaging myself for not knowing things. There isn’t anything wrong with that and I have got to stop thinking of it that way.

I have NEVER been the type of person who would want to waste time lying about my abilities or knowledge to save face, because I wanted to look knowledgeable, that’s stupid and unhelpful and will only be a wall between me and actually learning anything. What a sad self-defeating way to operate.

I can only be patient with myself and with the so far, really friendly and helpful people around me. The rest of all these large existential questions can wait. I’m enjoying it, I will learn things. There may be no massive lightbulb moment of “this is what I want to do exactly” and that’s ok. It’s ok that I don’t know. Everyone has to start from somewhere.

The Joys of Adulting

Tuesday   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First day of summer it’s like the DC Elder gods heard us. It’s the kind of oppressive heat that starts early early in the morning and is only appropriate and pleasurable if you’re in a caftan with a good buzz anticipating a visit to a body of water within the near future.

Walking to get coffee, riding the bus to work, being outside FOR any reason that is not to travel between air-conditioned boxes is so unpleasant. I can’t even. But here it is. Season of my birth, which hey when I don’t have to worry about my appearance (by worry I mean not be a sweating nasty mess) is fiiiine. Otherwise this is when moving to Norway or Iceland or Maine seems like a swell idea. So that’s the small talk out of the way.
I feel better than yesterday. In fact I didn’t even feel bad all of yesterday, it’s rare that a single mood dominates an entire waking day in my life but I imagine that’s true for anyone. Work being slow and not keeping me occupied but at the same time requiring that I can’t tune it out to tackle other things leaves me in a weird limbo.
I started back on reading the book I’ve had (took a break over the weekend), it’s Joe Hill’s latest (the Fireman) and so far I’ve really enjoyed it. It’s end of the world stuff, one of my favorite genres. I think largely because that sort of scenario creates such a fertile landscape for the best and worst of people and resonates with my constant thoughts about focusing on things in life that really matter. Death, chaos, and hardship serve as irrefutable elements to forcing people into shedding whatever bullshit they surround themselves with and get to the core of who and what matters to them, or they unravel like poorly made dolls but it’s a thought-provoking spectacle in either case. 1984, Anthem, Oryx & Crake, Dogstars, The Stand, Hunger Games, Brave New World, The Road, The Girl With All the Gifts, Blindness, Hyperion and on and on and on.

Riding the bus to work today was the variation of experience where I am calm about being in the middle of the diverse crush of humanity. Sometimes it’s less than thrilling.

Today (Wednesday)

Things went slowly downhill yesterday. I left work on time and got home and got everything moving for my ideal evening. Sweet potatoes in the oven, cleaned up a bit, found the yoga series I wanted to start doing on YouTube, sat down on the couch to read and wait for M to get home.  He calls and let’s me know at almost 6 that he’s just leaving work… I’m disappointed but it’s not a big deal. The rain kicks in for a real show and then the fun begins. Water starts pouring through the existing hole in the ceiling and walls from our first major issue back in the first week of May.

I scramble to get the sheets and blankets off our bed. Email our HOA president. Grab pots and pans and towels. We ended up sitting on the floor picnic style to eat dinner and just chill. Nothing else happened. No yoga, no little household chores. Stupid bullshit with this condo eats up another evening.

Today we already had an appointment to have the leak source assessed and I’ve been planning to work from home. M took the day off and the damage assessment guy is early but really nice. Says to him the cause is obvious (gutter and downspout and masonry issues.) You can even see the dark streak along the building where the water has been permeating the masonry. I can’t help but feel that our condo people and insurance spent all this time delaying because they were hoping it was a cheaper problem. At this point I don’t care. It’s been almost two months. Now I have ANOTHER insurance claim open because these additional damages have to be dealt with separately. The water mitigation people came back and I have industrial fans in my room and MORE missing drywall and insulation. At least this time they were able to just tear off the pieces of nasty smelly carpet that were damaged.  Now we’re out $1000 so far in insurance deductibles.

And to top it off the tasks I’m getting into at work now are more complex. I am feeling intimidated and overwhelmed with the amount of new things to learn. I feel like I should have been a developer for the last 10 years to understand half of this. I know my current negatively swayed emotional state is not helping matters but this entire day has felt like an enormous trial.

I just want my apartment put back together. Keeping things clean an organized here lends itself to my overall feeling of sanity and control. I realize it’s fake and illusory but not having it is really making this entire shit show worse.

Devil’s in the details

I had a great weekend. Somehow psychologically I have a weird need to do a variety of things to feel like my weekend was useful. Type A weirdness variety but between pottery and errands and then spending the evening visiting with friends. Sunday was an early morning to meet my Mom and my nephew for breakfast and a hike and then stopping for groceries on the way home. Suddenly napping for two hours afterwards didn’t feel wasteful and indulgent because I felt like I’d spent the time so well. It’s a stupid set of rules to impose on myself but I can’t seem to help from doing it. Ever mindful of the passage of time and wanting to feel like I’m spending this finite and invaluable currency well. It’s an admirable goal, I just want to avoid cultivating some sort of anxious neurosis.

Today I’m working from home. Admittedly because as I’m still learning things at my new job I am in a place where I’m not terribly knowledgeable or productive so I knew today would be slow. I feel this weird guilt gnawing at my thoughts because I want to be doing more but I’m not great with abstracts in this context. I could “read up” on the topics related to my new gig but that seems … sort of like time wasting. Which I’m not a big fan of. So I try not to actively worry too much that I”m not pulling my weight and also try to steer clear of being pointless defensive about being accused of not doing anything. I’m proactive about asking for work and offering to help and beyond that I can’t do much more, I don’t want to be a nuisance about helping. I’m often left wondering how many PTSD symptoms I have from my previous gig. Such an epic heap of paranoia and negativity I imagine it will be months before I finally shed the full weight of the baggage.

If I spend too much time thinking about it, atleast right now it feels weird and potentially cyclically damaging. Like… my life is great overall. I had an excellent weekend, I have a great job, spending all of my time wondering about the impermanence of this job, my life, my overall existence is quite literally HELPING NOTHING. It changes nothing. It accomplishes … NOTHING. So I shouldn’t do it. What I should do is be grateful and try to enjoy my life. That I’m at home in pajamas and I’m not super busy. That will come. I am smart and capable and even if the absolute worst thing happens and I get fired because they decide I am stupid and useless and unnecessary (which typing it out here seems ridiculous) I would STILL be ok.  I would live. I would find another job and journey my way back to sanity and stability. I can only do what I can do.

This weekend I spent great time with friends and family. I called my Dad. I bought a gift to thank a neighbor that’s been really helpful.

I am safe and healthy and can quite literally do anything I want. I think I just need somewhere to say it outloud and remember. And oh YEAH I went running and my knees and legs hurt but I didn’t die. So there.

Let me go back to sucking it up and not being such an enormous dumbass about everything.

It’s never “just…”

Bubbling up from the well of the fitness and nutrition aware, I spot this snack I grabbed from a local cafe once. I’m still hungry for reasons I don’t comprehend. It’s “just” five grams of sugar. Really “just”?

Like the article I read earlier decrying the environmental perils that industrialized animal farms inflict on the land and it’s unsustainable… I agree… but my body and my hours of reading suggest that my animal product heavy diet is healthy. I silently thank the universe that I am comfortable in my station as a non-reproducing human. It’s JUST the planet, but what about the diet I view as healthy for myself, for a kid… it’s JUST your kid. I spend the next half a block wondering how quickly I might make myself insane with internal debate about what a kid could survive, I’ve seen 3 year olds clutching sodas and hot fries on the bus, that would make me feel cold with nausea. That word doesn’t work anywhere.

I realize that grey area inhabited by “just” is the field of madness, where an overpowered brain may just work itself into a frenzy and push a typically camouflaged sane person into the realm of medical emergency. Madness.

I feel like that a lot of the time. Like I’m just one unexpected experience away from Sylvia Plath. I should then feed myself some misguided ego trip about the border between inspired genius and insanity. In the scheme of things I’m comfortable being dull, so fine I have no problem saying it.

I think honestly it’s my aching tooth but I dreamt last night, the main arc of the story is lost but in it I was dealing with fatigue and some unnamed illness. As the narrative progressed (I have foggy memories of it just being a dream about me living my ordinary life) I found out that I had some fatal auto-immune something or other and 5 years to live. I was immediately preoccupied with what the average quality of that remaining time would be and my husband cooperatively drove me to the studio so I could make pottery.

The obvious lesson about the fragility of your health and unknowable duration of your life aside, I think as far as art goes I’ve found a true love (third time’s the charm) with ceramics.

Caution, this may be habit forming

Or you hope. I’m sure out there in the wide world of the interweb there’s an article on some helpful self-improvement themed website that tells me how long I have to do something before it becomes second nature. Or wait is that a Japanese cultural thing that I read about somewhere

I think lately I’m attempting that with so many things they were getting diluted. The financial, the nutritional, the psychological (and massively personal) and the fitness.  IMPROVE ALL THE THINGS.

So the financial is rolling. There’s nothing to convince me of (for myself) or the audience (if they’re participating). We are trucking along, honing our grocery shopping skills, getting better at packing lunches, not eating out, but still every weekend feels fun and busy with cool things and we’re 16% of the way through a year and it’s not easy, but it’s no longer something I’m psychologically obsessing about at every turn. I knew that our transition to spending less money wouldn’t be that challenging since we’re surrounded by a derth of kick ass people who share our interests. It’s just keeping the momentum going.

Psychological is obviously more nuanced and multifaceted. I will say that part of the momentum for staying on top of getting the fuck out of debt is that being financially free, untethered to bills leaves so many other possibilities open. You don’t owe anyone anything, so you can theoretically *do* whatever you want. The consequences of becoming a gypsy are less dire. It’s a real driving influence sometimes. Like this weekend, when we managed to get out of town for a few days, to eat and sight-see and just be. There’s no groceries to buy or laundry to fold, and I can spend two hours walking around outside in a cemetery taking photos. It’s liberating. Not just to break out of the routine but to be reminded to force yourself to do so in every day life when the opportunity presents itself. It’s kind of an unnatural tendency for most people, to push yourself to chase after new things, but it really helps strip away the bullshit most of the time. The rest of the facets, eh… I’m not sure I’m game to expose all of those parts here. But it’s more deliberate upheaval, all with positive changes in mind, so things just to evaluate rather than to lament. Onward, upward, etc…

And finally… nutritional. After a mini vacation that included three days of unadulterated gluttony, I’m back at work and back directly on the wagon. No coffee (I can’t drink it w/o diabeeeetus level sugar), no sugar, massive vegetables, water and fats/protein. Minimal to no fruit – mainly berries. Maintaining around 50g of carbohydrates, get into ketosis and get rid of this extra bullshit fat weight that has insidiously added itself to my person. A 1000 mile journey begins with a single step, yadda yadda, so fucking grouchy.