...and then...

well, they’re not innocent, but i’ll change their names anyway.

this story isn’t even about them. it’s about me. because, well, it’s about time i became the main character in my own damn story.

as egotistical and narcissistic as that feels.

ANYWAY

last july, i had the cutest little romantic conundrum, a quaint little triangle as it were:

the recently graduated/unemployed, slightly roguish navy veteran who cooked and took me on adventures?

or

the kind, generous, very gentlemanly millionaire who has been a dear friend for 10+ years and could provide the world?

PLOT TWIST

i didn’t choose either of them.

well, IN THE END, i didn’t choose either of them. the first one, you can read the blogs. the second one, well, it turns out the item is not available and there is no expected restocking date.

so, in the end, for them at least.

let’s take a long little loop back to where we are:

time travel back to the 2012-2017ish era with me. i was working for the mechanical/electrical firm. we had a client job: completely rework an equestrian arena to turn it into a grow farm. pot legalized in 2012, farms were going crazy popping up everywhere, everyone needed electricians to wire farms and clean rooms and stores. BIG job. big. turning a horse stable into a pot farm. biiiiiig bill.

that dude dipped on. or tried to at least.

my boss at the time loved difficult clients. he LOVED the people screaming at me on the phone. he loved the people that tried not to pay their bills. he lived for angry people. he’s also a stand up comedian and those clients provided endless material. it all works out in the end.

so, the boss makes a deal with no pay dude: small, manageable weekly payments until it’s paid off.

so, WEEKLY, i received a check in the mail.

literal checks.

now, in the beginning of the legalization world, it was a lot, A LOT of the boomer generation. legit, they knew everything about pot and business. but, they are old school. i mean, OLD SCHOOL

there’s a weird thing with the boomer (and older) generation that when they mail checks, physical checks for payment, they don’t trust the mail and they wrap the check in a sheet of paper and put it in the (secure) envelope and mail the payment to you.

the literal and proverbial check in the mail.

weekly checks. WEEKLY. with a piece of paper wrapped around it for safety.

may god bless the boomers, the rest of us are befuddled by them.

i, a giant nerd, cannot waste a perfectly fine piece of blank paper. it’s only job was to wrap around a check and keep ner-do-well’s from stealing information from the mail. mission accomplished, but it doesn’t deserve to just be thrown away. 

in no time i had a STACK of tri-folded papers. all different colors, blue, yellow, white. some legal size, some note sides, some top tear, some spiral bound.

what on earth did i save them for?

well, an idea came to me: a collection of short stories, each limited to one page, each either starting or ending with …and then…

…and then we joined the story already in progress

we leave the heroine at the clutching climax and then…

you get the idea.

now, pivot one degree to the left: the recent life insurance review and renewal.

what DO the next 20 years look like? what do i want the next chapter to be? what energy am i taking forward? what energy am i leaving behind?

i was writing in my journal working out bits of the break up, bits about the friendship, deciding neither was really a great fit for me.

i asked myself: what kind of ending is it when the lead female doesn’t choose the rogue or the gentleman but instead chooses herself for the next 20 years?

and it was literally the bottom of the page in my journal, and at the top of the new page i asked…or is this a beginning?

which side of the …and then… am i on?

for the two male characters, this is the: and then…. ending for them.

she released them, each unto their own, and then…

i don’t know where their stories go. it’s up to them. they get to choose their own and then…

for me, i think, it’s looking like a beginning

…and then she set off to conquer the world

…and then she discovered her own company to be the most rewarding and lived happily ever after

…and then she realized her ideas and her stories are worth being shared

…and then she stepped into the great unknown to do whatever the fuck she wanted

shake off the dust

well. it's been a minute since i've been to this particular corner of the internet. may of 2022 to be exact.

i had to look back through my iphone photo gallery to even remember may of 2022. for the record, that was a particularly rough part of the mullet phase. if i ever have to remember anything before either my iphone photo gallery or my facebook galley, lord help me. if it existed before facebook, did it even really exist?

this week is a local literature event. i convinced myself to take a day off to attend some of the writing workshops and events and whatnot. maybe even the book fair...if i leave my debit card at home.

time to crack the old knuckles (no, really, they're old. they hurt. they need cracked to function) and attempt to regain any remnants of any literary prowess i ever flailingly attempted to claim.

occasional bolts of singularity strike in a time and space where i can manage to scratch them down on paper or make a note in my phone only to be forgotten and lost to the realm of...did i think that or was it something i heard once?

the occasional cheeky phrase or pensive though cracks the surface. not nearly enough to string together in any attempt at publication to date.

missives such as:

"i am wholly convinced that my words would be of offense to those that know me and completely inconsequential to strangers. but to truly speak my mind would result in a hold of the medical kind versus that of compassion."

"a superior inferiority complex freezes my pen, both convinced and terrified, equally, of success."

brief snatches of character descriptions: "i have never seen hair that so desperately wanted to be somewhere else."

brief  plot points: "this is the kind of night memories are made of. those bright vibrant flashes of experience to look back on. the "i can't believe we did that," the "do you remember that time..." the "whatever happened to..." glimpses of future changing history. when, ten years hence, you sit up all night remembering, closing loops, retrospecting and reliving."

rare moments of truth: 

if i ever sat down to think about all the things that make me sad in my life, i don't think i could ever get up again.

so i set them aside and keep moving. it may make me cold and heartless, but it's required to survive.

instead of allowing them to swallow me whole, i cover them up.

with tattoos. with inappropriate jokes. with distance. with a callous attitude and a plethora of dirty words. i distract myself with netflix and fall asleep with the noise on to block the sounds in my head.

i don't invest in relationships, as much as i want to, because no one sticks around during the hard stuff  and what is life besides a string of hard stuff?

bizarre to think that last one was from the great before. june of 2017. before the last child left. before the world changed. before so many things. before so many more hard things.

moments on moments, nothing coherent or cohesive or concise enough to send out into the world.

even moments that explain my absence:

"what's even the point of writing? a blog? screaming into the void in a random corner of the internet? nothing important. nothing impactful. nothing lasting or virtuous or inspiring or enlightening. just drivel. whining. lessons from the universe the basic toddler had a full grasp on before even understanding words. maybe it's best to just keep NOT writing. what is it they say? don't contribute to the conversation if you can't improve it? and holy roller skating jesus knows i'm not improving it."

whew. no one can ever be as mean to you as you are to yourself. i had a friend call me on that the other day. she said "you know, if i heard anyone else say the things about you that you say about yourself, we'd have issues."

but. here i am. again. shaking the dust off. returning to the thing that bites and scratches and draws blood from the inside. like a siren song, the words call out. to write. to be written.

maybe this weekend will relight the flame. incite a riot of thought. reignite the passion literally carved into my skin.

i don't know what i want to write, but the last few years of relative silence have built up a flood of words behind a damn of isolation. i need to say things. i need to get the thoughts out of my head. i need to stop worrying about who or if will read. stop dreading criticism and rebuttal. stop dismissing and doubting before the ink even has a chance to stain the parchment. write first, reflect later.

so. here is to a return. not grand, by any means. but a return none the less. perhaps even more the less. a few words. a few sentences. a few thoughts. less is at least some. and some is more than none. 

worst case scenario game

 one of the best and worst parts of having a writer's brain is the creativity. the imagination. the ability to think of 100 different scenarios and possibilities.

when you're trying to problem solve or trying to find the right words or having a discussion with someone, the ability to see a thousand different possibilities is an amazing thing.

when you're alone, and left to your own devices, however, as with any gift, it can turn into a curse.

there's things in life i'll never have the answers to. dates who have never showed up. people who made vicious comments out of nowhere. communications that have ended without resolution.

when you can think of a million different reasons and plot lines and scenarios, your ability to think of all think of all those possibilities quickly becomes...it's worst case scenario game lightning round.

it's been 10 years since my dad died. national news level died. there were a lot of questions and investigations and a gag order on the case and then it just...went away.

i never found out what happened.

there were so many questions, so many theories, so many different ideas- was it gang activity? was it something related to the governor? was it something to do with the union? was it the guy that had threatened to kill me after he was deported following a traffic stop? was it an accident? was it intentional? what started the fire? how did all three NOT make it out? medical reports didn't match what people were saying. timelines didn't match up.

maybe they all did in the end. maybe there was a completely basic boring answer in a report no one bothered to tell me about. i'll never know.

and when you have a brain like mine, that's hard. it's been a lot of work to not become obsessed or turn into a gerard butler movie.

 

 

 

 

i had to come terms pretty quickly. i didn't have the time or energy to be curious or worry about getting a real answer. i had kids to raise. i had to make sure there were groceries and sports equipment and a "normal life" after a year long campaign of trauma.

it was a LOT dealing with so much death in such a short time. 

suddenly, here i am 10 years later. 

i think the biggest lesson i'm still learning is how to wrangle that worst case scenario mindset.

yes, the ability to create a all the different possibilities and options and choose your own adventure avenues is amazing.

but of all those scenarios and options and paths my mind has wandered down about my personal life, what's going to happen, all the time and energy i've spent worrying and letting anxiety wreak havoc in my mind, NONE. absolutely NONE of them have been true or real. i could have never thought up the path my life has taken in the last 10 years.

i've spent so many hours. SO MANY HOURS. so much energy. so much time worrying. playing the worst case scenario game. 

and i have had so many completely different absolute worst case scenarios happen anyway.

all the worrying and imagining did was take away the energy for when i actually needed it. i was so exhausted worrying about what was going to happen that when something DID happen i was already drained.

this year in particular i think has been a little bit of that for everyone. the news stories are so outrageous and world events are things writers all over are laughing because they know their script or plot with any one of these events would have been rejected as "unbelievable."

i didn't expect to be fired in the middle of a global pandemic for standing up for mental health care because 5+ months of self-isolation mixed with nationwide social unrest due to police brutality led to massive widespread brutality and the government is being dismantled right in front of us and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it for MONTHS and we just have to...yeah...you get the point.

that is not even a possibility i could have dreamed up 6 months ago.

and yet, here i am, one week in to being unemployed.

i am terrified.

my brain has moments of not being my friend right now.

that worst case scenario lightening round is right there. i've spiraled a few times already.

it's a real quick trip some really, really dark places.

when you start wondering if it would really be so bad to hope maybe you're one of the bad/quick virus cases...it's time to take a moment and step back a little bit.

i'm learning to not listen to that option. that's all it is, one of the thousands of options.

and just as quickly as i can spiral in the positive direction, maybe i'll find a million dollars on the street tomorrow...

but that's wasted energy too.

i'm learning to just take a breath, and do what i can right now.

 

right now i can apply for jobs. right now i can follow up on financial aid paperwork. right now i can have a dance party in my livingroom. right now i can practice yoga and meditation and work on helping my brain be kinder and not do those exhaustive spirals in either direction.

 

i can channel that energy into writing. into creating, but i need to stop letting that energy run me down and dominate my thinking.

funny how it keeps coming back to writing. it always does. you'd think after 40 years on this earth i'd quit fighting the thing that has been a part of me since the beginning. 

BUT, my extremely slow learning curve aside, the point is that i am learning. i am recognizing behaviors that don't work for me anymore. i'm working on changing them.

it's hard. that anxiety spiral is right there. a six shooter on each hip of terrible things, locked, loaded, always ready to go. 

well, isn't that a particularly interesting analogy for someone who does not like guns, at all.

the thing that is the worst for me, my most dangerous behavior, i just compared to an object i strongly regard as dangerous and deadly.

i'm sure a shrink would have a field day with that.

i think it's time to retire from the worst case scenario game, at least personally.

how long have i been saying i'm tired y'all? 

maybe it's time to stop exhausting myself.

maybe it's time to just focus on today. today i can do what i need to do and that is enough.

if you build it...

so.

the world is trash and i hate everything.

but.

the world does keep turning and the sun does keep fucking appearing every morning, so i guess i need to knock the dirt off my boots and just keep fucking going.

so. fine. you fucking win universe.

i'll actually do the thing that i know i'm supposed to do when everything turns to shit: i'll fucking write.

FINE.

i'm so fucking annoyed right now.

fine. i'll do the thing that helps. 

AND WHEN IT WORKS AND IT DOES HELP...

what?

i'll be better?

YEAH. I GET IT.

fine.

i'll fucking write.

so.

the world is shit and i hate everything, and when that happens i like to dream about a better place. shocking, earth shattering information right there.

i'm sure i'm absoluely the only person that does that.

for, well, forever, my dream place has been a little single wide trailer on a little piece of land.

i'm still mad i passed up the opportunity to buy a trailer and a 1/4 plot for $2000 back in 1998 because my mom convinced me it was trashy.

damnit.

i dream about it all the time. a little air stream, a little singlewide. just a little place on a little piece of land. that's it.

having kids, it was never practical. we had to be in town near schools so they could walk home or to daycare while i was at work.

we had THE BEST set up for years when we first moved to spokane- school was 4 blocks one direction, daycare was 4 blocks beyond that, work was less than a mile the other direction and the grocery store was only two blocks past work. it was a DREAM. little stand alone house, fenced back yard, washer and dryer, enough bedrooms that i was able to have a live in nanny/friend for a while.

then the landlord forgot to pay his mortgage and we got kicked out 2 weeks before it went to auction. 

fast forward to now and it's just me.

my studio apartment is tiny and perfect. 

and now tiny house living is a thing.

holy.

fuck.

ya'll, i have a serious pinterest addiction to tiny houses.

i. am. OBSESSED. with tiny house living.

dirty little secret: i applied to go back to community college to get an interior design degree so i can design tiny houses.

long story short i was accepted! yay! but applied to the wrong school that doesn't have the program and now have to start again and then depression and then here we are and i haven't applied again.

BUT.

tiny house living.

omg.

my dream is to buy a trailer park or a piece of land and make a tiny house community.

a tiny house every other lot, the buffer spaces are a shared community garden, a pet area, a shop/garage for oil changes/auto repair/wood working/whatever, one is an open shared yard area, you get the idea.

AND, step further, the intentional community is for kids aging out of the foster system. provide a place for them to learn to build a safe, stable home in an intentional community of shared experience. rent would go toward hiring local people from the community to come in and teach classes available to help the community to learn how to start out a stable adult life. cooking classes, budgeting classes, yoga classes, oil changes, change a tire, how to make doctors appointments, time management, how to apply to jobs, how to interview, basic home repairs...again, you get the idea.

just, a safe place to help fill in some of the gaps that may have been overlooked because i don't think it's any big secret how chaotic and challenging the foster system can be and how some of these kids age out with no where to go.

they say: be the thing you needed.

i needed help when i started out. i was a 17 year old kid with a kid.

i didn't have a lot of room for mistakes.

i could have used a safe place.

so, how amazing would it be to help make that for someone else?

in a gorgeous little trailer park of tiny houses.

so.

there. i did it.

i wrote.

i focused on something that energizes me and excites me.

and i fucking feel better.

ARE YOU HAPPY UNIVERSE?

still here

i'm still here.

i'm WAY behind on weekly posts.

but i'm still here.

still frustrated.

still scared.

still bored as fuck.

still hate everything.

i'm particularly frustrated this week by finances.

who isn't?

i know. everyone is stressed about finances right now.

i'm jealous of the ones who are worried because of covid. at least there's an eventual end in sight.

i'm just straight up fucked.

i found out last week that no, my shiny new insurance doesn't pay for ANY mental health care.

as in NONE.

as in you have to reach your $5,000 deductible before they pay anything. that's 50 weeks of $100/per appointment.

there's only 52 weeks in a year...and i only go every other week

i'm sure it's my fault. i'm sure i didn't read the packet close enough.

i'm used to insurance that only requires a $20 copay or, for the short time i was on state insurance, fully covered.

but nope.

absolutely nothing.

besides a bill for services not covered.

i changed jobs, i changed careers, for NOTHING.

i completely fucked up.

and also, the child support i thought was on pause? not so much.

so between the pay cut and having medical deducted from my paychecks i'm bringing home $600 less per month. then throw in the $1k drop per month adjustment for no longer receiving child support AND now paying $423 per month for outgoing child support.

so. in the last year i've had to adjust for $2k less per month. when my total monthly income was only $3800.

so.

granted, i'm not the best at math, but that's...*sigh*

i was getting ready to adjust to this BEFORE everything with the lockdown happened.

i thought i had a reprieve, and now...

and, if you didn't know, child support is VICIOUS. or i'm just scared of everything. or both.

because of how long the case took to mitigate, i started out the initial judgement with 5 months of back support which means there are liens out against me, the IRS has been notified, there's a STACK of mean and threatening letters about losing my license, jail time, etc. for not paying the debit. THAT I JUST ACCRUED. literally in the same week as the final judgement papers i received a notice of lien.

funny (not funny) how it took them YEARS to track down my ex and make sure he paid child support but it took only 5 months to obliterate me.

it's just...

i feel like i try so hard to fight for myself only to be smashed down.

oh, you want a job where you're not groped every day and there's not constant hate speech? $5 hour less.

oh, you want to be able to sleep at night and not have to worry about being murdered by your own child? here's a support order and a notice from the IRS.

oh, you want to work on your mental health so you're not thinking about dying every day? ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...MONEY PLEASE.

none of this is because of the stay-at-home orders, but the lockdown hasn't helped.

i was doing fine for a while but it's been WAY too long since i've interacted with another human which, even for me, is extreme.

and it makes being single that much harder.

yes, i know being stuck in stay-at-home with a partner/family/roommate/whatever isn't sunshine and lollipops for everyone. i get it. and i honestly can't imagine sharing my itty bitty space with someone,

but there's also something to be said for having someone to talk to, maybe hug if it gets really bad. 

aside from the 30 second interactions with employees at grocery/target pick ups, i haven't talked to a real human being in person in a while.

well, aside from the neighbor that knocked on my door last week which was...awkward at best. no, i'm not going to invite you in, neighbor who isn't actually a neighbor and is the boyfriend of a neighbor (that i don't know at all...i *think* it's the lady with the yappy little dog).

but that's just...

no thanks.

at least most of my work clients/vendors are being very polite letting me chatter a bit before getting down to brass tacks.

i'm still trying. i'm meditating almost every day (sorry saturday).

vitamins. food. water. sunshine (through windows). music. showering.

oh, and i very, VERY quickly remembered why purple is a particularly mean color to pick when your hair maintenance isn't on point...

ahem.

i'm still trying to muddle through. reading still is impossible. writing...i've moved my notebook/pencil around with me every day for weeks without writing a damn word. crafting/art? ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. 

crappy shows on hulu that i don't actually watch are about all i've accomplished.

it feels like i'm stuck in this weird space of waiting for stay-at-home to end but knowing it won't fix anything for me when it DOES end.

i still won't be able to afford to go anywhere.

i'm frustrated.

i'm scared.

i'm bored.

i'm lonely.

i'm angry.

spin the fucking feelings wheel and no matter what it lands on i'm sure i've felt it this week.

i tried to clean/purge this weekend only to realize there's nothing to do with the stuff once you do that. so. everything just went back where it started. and entire weekend completing an exercise in futility.

at least all my plants are still alive.

and i've only gained 3 lbs.


fuck it.

FUCK. 

fucking fuck.

ok. this whole writing project is supposed to be me being honest and talking about everything, even the scary stuff. not just the whiny bitch bullshit.

so.

fine.

FUCKING FINE.

LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH.

i'm terrified of dying.

i know that sounds weird from someone who has thoughts of death on the daily (yeah, again).

but fuck am i scared of dying.

what would happen to stella?

how long would it take for anyone to notice if i died in my apartment?

who the fuck would be stuck cleaning up my apartment and all my bullshit (thus the attempted purge this weekend). i've been the person doing the clean up. it's fucking terrible.

i need to update my will. my life insurance is decent and i want to make sure it doesn't go to the wrong people.

should i try to make amends with anyone?

who gets stuck dealing with my ashes?

how fucking frustrating would it be to die not mattering? no accomplishments. no reason for people to remember you ever existed. if my life was coco, i wouldn't even make it to the underworld village.

i don't have an in-case-of-emergency, i have a brother that lives on the opposite side of the state who doesn't like to talk about heavy things and i'm pretty sure death is one of the heaviest things.

although he did do well at handling my dad's estate. so. at least maybe that part will be taken care of.

it's a lot.

i was doing check-ins with people last week and found out one of my first responder friends was at home in isolation due to a cough.

he was in the waiting time between the test and the results (thankfully negative).

with all the news and new statistics coming out it really made me stop and think.

more and more it's sounding like WHEN, not IF you get this virus. the effort to flatten the curve was never to get rid of the virus, just an effort to mitigate the resources required to care for people. everyone would need a hospital at some point, just hopefully not all at the same time.

and now, beyond the WHEN, it's a matter of how bad, and no one seems to know how to predict that.

only old people.

well, old people plus compromised people.

well, old people, compromised people, regular aged people.

well, old people, compromised people, regular aged people, and kids.

well...

FUCK. JUST SAY FUCKING EVERYONE AND NO ONE KNOWS HOW IT WILL AFFECT THEM.

now they're showing "young" (aka anyone under the 65+ category) are getting strokes after recovery.

so, here's this thing that's evolved so rapidly (well, our knowledge of it has anyway) that now is basically inevitable, with a scale of sick to DEATH.

and i get that it's not really different than the majority of death anyway. you never know when you could trip on a sidewalk and die.

all it takes is one toilet seat from an international space station.

but someone who thinks about death on the daily, i really don't like thinking about death.

i don't have my own ISBN number in the library of congress.

i've never had a successful partnership.

i haven't accomplished a single damn thing in my life.

my kids haven't even taken the necessary classes to be able to property dance on my grave (although peeing on it shouldn't be too difficult to figure out).

for being very caviler about death, i really don't want to die yet.

and i know i'm a fucking raging cunt.

i can still pay my rent. i can still buy groceries and toilet paper. i still have a job to clock into at 7:00 every morning.

i know there's 26.5 million people that can't say the same thing this week.

i know there's 50k+ people that would love to worry about anything right now.

all my therapy tools are SCREAMING at me in my head right now.

stop comparing. stop wallowing. find a positive. make a change.

YEAH.

CAUSE THE LAST SEVERAL CHANGES I MADE WENT SO WELL.

AND ALL MY HARD THERAPY WORK HAS TOTALLY PAID OFF. OBVIOUSLY.

anyway.

i'm still here.

week: who the fuck knows

i haven't written in a few weeks.

it seems like with everything going on in the world, EVERYONE is writing a think piece or how this is impacting them or any of the millions of articles related to the current state of the world.

the main thing i've seen in response to the deluge of writing is people saying the last thing they want is another think piece.

so.

i've just...not.

well, that's half of it.

the other half is bad habits kicking back in.

today is not a good day.

and like all my other bad days the first thing i do is tell myself to shut up about it. no one wants to hear a whiner. everyone is having a hard time right now. suck it up buttercup.

all the usual players are here- shame, guilt, anger, fear, judgment, insults, insecurity...

BUT.

the whole point of this writing project was to be honest with myself. stop hiding from the hard stuff. write it out.

i've been monumentally stupid in the last few weeks.

for about a month i was accidentally forcing myself into a terrible postpartum depression. i mixed the wrong supplements under the idiotic thinking that "if they sell it at target, it can't be bad for you."

i researched evening primrose oil as a natural way to help skin and pms among other things. i researched the shit out of it, like i do everything else. a few minor side effects listed: headache, digestive issues. no big deal. first few days my boobs HURT but digging a little deeper showed one of the "side effects" was breast growth. huh. weird. whatever.

then i started noticing my skin getting WORSE. way worse. painful cystic acne worse. but, you know, things take a minute to adjust. maybe it's just purging the bad stuff out of my system then it will all clear up.

OR.

maybe i'll randomly mention something to a friend (an herbologist) who lets me know: btw, it kinda tricks your body into thinking it's pregnant. oh, and also that other supplement you take can also be used as an abortificant.

THAT'S RIGHT.

i'm dumb enough to mix supplements that simultaneously made my body think it was pregnant AND trying to abort causing a postpartum like depression. because that's what i need. MORE DEPRESSION.

on top of that i've been in the middle of a rent strike at my apartment.

since all this covid bullshit has started, my building management has refused to provide any kind of rent relief OR clean the building. after repeated emails to them asking to have common areas cleaned, the finally sent a (nasty) notice with their cleaning schedule (fake), the areas cleaned (still visually dirty) and the products used (i would love to see reports on how a swiffer cleans covid).

i'm at a loss. technically they provided what i asked for. they state the cleaning is being done. it would be my word against them if i complained (if i even found someone to file a complaint with). they're being absolutely terrible up to and including threatening eviction. yes, i know they can't evict right now, there's a 150 day moratorium. it's still massively blows though. i have NEVER not paid rent OR ever even been late on my rent. it's been a point of pride in my 21 years of rental history. i'm furious that there's nothing i can do. i'm furious that they're lying. i'm furious that the building is dirty and unsafe, especially as most of the other tenants are older. but what can i do? i'm shouting into the void. it's my tiny voice against a corporation who has zero interest in doing what's right.

the same thing is happening at work. i've heard the "you should be grateful to still have a job" line so many times and it's so abusive. the company didn't let us keep our jobs out of a magnanimous gesture. they did it to keep making money. they didn't "let" us all work from home out of goodwill. if that was the case, it would have been available YEARS ago. they did it because they need to keep money hitting the accounts. they sent out a corporate wide email about how they're not paying out 19 billion in shareholder payments right now to "help the company" during this time. YOU WANT TO HELP THE COMPANY? use some of that 19 billion euro to provide full medical and living wages to your employees. stop pushing productivity right now. let people adjust to the entire world being a fucking dumpster fire. say "people should have adapted to work from home by now..." ONE MORE TIME YOU FUCKING ASSHATS. it wasn't a one time thing. it's a continuously evolving trauma that gets worse the deeper we get into it and as patience and mental health erode.

again, just screaming into the void.

that's the frustrating thing for me. so many things are changing. people are coming together. communities are finding ways to support each other. but the fucking over keeps happening. and that's not going to change any time soon.

why are we all trying to pull each other up by our boot straps?

that meme about how we're all just passing around the same $20 on venmo?

it's not fucking funny because it's REAL. we're all worried about each other when the people who can make a difference are fighting over who gets the credit and money.

it's just so fucking defeating.

in addition to all this, my poor little puppers is in heat again. she's extra needy, extra smelly, extra disgusting, extra potty accident prone. my apartment is disgusting right now. i've tried every different type of puppy diaper on her and nothing works. so. all the blankets and rugs are in desperate need of washing. my whole apartment reeks because there's no amount of cleaning i can do right now to make things clean. i open the windows when i can, but my radiators have never worked right and the weather is still fucking COLD more than not. it just feels gross.

and then today (TMI WARNING: LOOK AWAY) i started my period (periods during a pandemic should be illegal) so now we're BOTH feeling miserable and gross.

two bitches in heat.

social distancing is for YOUR safety right now.

(not stella)

in the middle of all this i meditated for a few days and came to the difficult decision that i had a friendship i needed to step away from for a bit.

spoiler alert, it did not go well.

not the first time. won't be the last. but it did make a difficult decision even harder. i spent a great portion of my life, adult and child, not speaking up because of the fear of backlash. it took a long time after getting out of domestic violence to be able to speak my mind again (yes, me, the loudmouth).

the reaction showed that it was the right decision, but it was still a terrible ending.

and it's hard to let go of one of your people when you only have a few people, in a time when you can't have ANY people.


*sigh* so. that was a lot of whining and complaining.

it's been a lot.

i feel myself shutting down.

i feel myself withdrawing, which, when you're home alone...is weird.

i've been trying to do the things. i'm still taking my daily vitamins. hopefully no longer poisoning myself while doing so. i'm trying to meditate (you can tell you're not in a great headspace when meditating makes you angrier). i'm trying to stick to a regular sleep schedule. i'm trying to shower daily (only missed 1 so far!). i'm still ordering/picking up groceries and basics. i'm still eating(ish). i'm trying to read but i can't focus on anything and end up reading the same sentence 6 times and still not reading it.

i'm sure some of it is still my hormones trying to sort themselves back out. most of it is just my own shitty behavior and thought patterns.

i'm tired. i'm tired of fighting for my mental health. i'm tired of working so hard to string together a few good days just to get derailed again. it's fucking exhausting having to fight with my own brain every single day. i know it takes a lot of time and hard work to change behavior patterns. i've worked really hard, for years, to recognize and interrupt the bad crap and replace it with the good.

i haven't had a therapy appointment in a few weeks. i forgot to schedule another session after my last zoom session. partly because i'm TERRIFIED of the bill. i haven't seen a bill since i started going again back in december. i KNOW my insurance doesn't cover all of it. hell, my insurance might not cover any of it until my deductible is met. i read through all the documents several times but it's so fucking confusing. that means...let's see...9 appointments, probably at least $100 each means...i'm fucked.

also, i'm 98% sure my therapist is as exhausted from talking about the same bullshit over and over as i am. every time she gently reminds me "we've talked about this before..." i just want to scream I KNOW. WELCOME TO MY BRAIN. i get so mad at myself for being stuck on the same fucking issues over and over. i know it's annoying as fuck on her end. it has to be, because it drives me fucking insane. I KNOW THE ANSWER. I KNOW THE WORK. I KNOW HOW TO ADJUST THIS. and then i just get stuck again.

i'm trying to...i just need a win, you know?