what's the point?

one of the most fascinating things to me is the way the universe delivers messages.

who knew that my 28 year old going through a break up and yell-crying at me on the phone about what’s even the point? and being alone forever! would rattle loose the same issues i’ve been fighting with since…well…1980? maybe that’s dramatic. it was probably closer to 1990 before those thoughts hit. 

what even is the point? to all this? is it just to survive one shit storm before the next hits and hope there’s as little overlap as possible? is it just to make it through two weeks of work to pay your bills before the next two weeks and the next set of bills is due? what even IS the point of any of this??? ESPECIALLY when it’s all on fire and terrible anyway?

is alone the forever answer? is it? i’ve known it was my path since the late 90’s. some of us aren’t meant to be part of something more. some of us are solo fliers for this incarnation. some lessons you can only learn alone.

so, i don’t know dude. maybe it’s hereditary. maybe it’s bad examples. it is my journey this time around. i don’t know if it’s yours.

i thought i had dealt with those questions a long time ago. i thought i had made my peace with the uncertainty, the fear, the pain, the desolation of those questions.

maybe not so much.

i blame the moon.

more specifically the eclipse.

can’t and don’t wanna lie- having those questions reintroduced to my brain, especially from an apple that came directly from my tree? it fucked me up. i know those questions VERY well. i have stacks and stacks of journals from trying to deal with those questions.

especially from my 20’s.

especially after my divorce.

picking those questions back up in my 40’s is painful. painful in a new way, painful in the old way.

i remember EXACTLY what it felt like when those thoughts used to crush me. sitting alone with two kids from two different dads. sitting alone with no family, no support system. sitting alone with a very mean brain and a LOT of trauma and emotional abuse. whew. that pain came FLOODING back. that absolute chest cracking emptiness. that deep, dark, vicious blame of brokenness and wongness and too muchness. that need to contort and shift yourself into something, ANYTHING acceptable but you have no idea what that even is or how to even do it. that shame and blame when you see everyone else around you partnered up and settling down and having purpose and drive and success and you’re just…not. the analyzing. the self flagellation. the debilitating criticism and critiques. HATING yourself because someone really mean taught you the common denominator theory and YOU are the only common denominator.

whew. it flatlined me. literally. flat on my floor, face down in the dark, flatlined me. 

i know that loneliness. when you go home after work to an empty apartment. when you go through a breakup and lose the person you thought MAYBE THIS TIME with. when friend groups shift and you lose the friend and the people around the friend. when family just doesn’t include you. when you’re profoundly alone. 

HOWEVER, the messages around this eclipse have been very clear: let go of what’s not working for you. old habits, old people, old situations,

OLD HARMFUL THOUGH PROCESSES THAT AREN’T TRUE OR REAL.

and, as real as all those feelings are, or were, as hard as that hit me, as much as it hurt, as much as i thought i had dealt with them…

I HAD.

and i remembered.

what is the point to all this?

LOVE.

well, isn’t that ironic considering the second half of that question? am i going to be alone forever?

maybe.

probably.

that doesn’t mean i can’t love.

THOSE WHO CAN, DO

THOSE WHO CAN’T, TEACH

i might not have some grand mighty purpose. i might not have the epic love story. i might be alone and drifting with no goal in sight.

BUT I CAN LOVE.

love is the point. love is the purpose. the reason. leave the world better than you found it: THAT is the point. help others not feel this way. that’s the point. if you can’t find it, BE IT.

BE WHAT YOU NEEDED WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER.

i know this.

it just took me a minute to remember.

and maybe a half a box of kleenex and a not insignificant amount of weed.

i know how much i want love. i know what i want love to look like. i know how many times i’ve walked away because that’s NOT what i wanted love to look like.

side track: did you know you can do that?

you’re allowed to say THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT LOVE TO LOOK LIKE and leave.

they say i love you but constantly disrespect you? lie to you? emotionally harm you? nitpick and tear you down? they love you but ignore your needs? they love you but don’t listen to you or hear you?

you’re allowed to say THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT LOVE TO LOOK LIKE.

i personally want love to look kind. funny. supportive. financially responsible. emotionally safe. sexually exciting. i want love to look like I GOT YOU, not figure it out. i want love to look like you fascinate me, not holy fuck you’re too much.

i digress, or, more accurately, can’t walk two idea lines at the same time, even if they are parallel.

yes, i am alone. yes, loneliness is hard. yes, maybe i’ll be alone forever, because i know what i want love to look like and i won’t settle for less.

AND ALSO, circling back, it hurts because even though i know i learned my lessons and maybe just needed a refresher course, my kid is learning those lessons NOW.

he hasn’t learned how to be comfortable being alone. he hasn’t learned how to turn down the voices in your head yet. to be fair, i still can’t turn them off either, but i’ve learned to turn them down and tune them out. those are HARD lessons. they took me into my 40’s and a global pandemic locking my ass in a studio apartment by myself to learn. 

it’s a particular new hurt when i realized the apple didn’t even fall off the tree. that poor kid got a damn carbon copy of my shitty brain. they really just said copy + paste + add cancer emotions. at least i’m a cold heartless virgo. that poor little water sign gets alllllll the emotions. it’s hard watching someone else go through a pain you know inside and out. it’s hard when there’s only so much i can help. i’m still mom. i’m still don’t know anything. small bits are starting to crack through. some of my intelligence is returning. some of my hard earned sage wisdom is appreciated, but at the end of the day, i’m still mom.

and so it hurts. in new ways. in old ways.

AND ALSO: i’m ready to let go of that hurt. one of the messages today: what if the miracle is finally being free? walking up and realizing the thing you cried over, prayed over, almost lost yourself over doesn’t have power over you any more?

i’m glad the universe brought this back up. i’m glad i was able to remember AND see how it’s changed. i’m glad i can let that thought go. i’m glad i can let that hurt be healed. i’m glad i can look back at the pain, love it for reminding me that i do have feelings. i always have. i’m glad it showed me how much i’ve grown. i’m glad it showed me that i can let it go. completely forever. i fought that battle. i have MY answer. 

i’m glad i can recognize that my son’s pain is not my pain AND i can be there for him through it. i don’t have to let it hurt me anymore and i can help him learn how to ease that same hurt. i can help him find HIS answer. 

WHAT’S THE POINT?

love.

if you don’t have it, BE IT. if you can’t find it, CREATE IT. if no one has said it to you, say it to every other person.

i don’t believe in jesus but i do believe in dolly parton and miss mona said: “if i see someone without a smile, i just give em one of mine.”

then she sang i will always love you and rode off into the sunset with ed earl and i cried an ugly cry even though i’ve seen it a hundred times. ANYWAY.

BE THE LOVE.

that’s the point.

the hardest breakup

i have to break up with my bar.

i know that sounds like a stupid sentence, but when it’s been the place you go, FOR YEARS, it feels like a pretty big deal.

i’ve been going to the same bar, off and on, for dang on forever. i’ve said it before, i’ll say it a thousand times: as a single woman, when you find a good bartender, you stick with them. to be realistic, there have been some gaps over the years- when i moved to the valley, the covid shutdown, some mental health hermit phases, but for the most part, same bar. same ass. same barstool. years. 

it started as therapy- i was required to go out where the people are at least once a week. two hours at the bar is two drinks, then i can go home. my therapist thought it was weird i had to come up with a whole plan and a math equation to be able to do it, but I DID IT, so that’s what counted.

as the years progressed, some nights i ended up staying out and talking to people. some nights i took people home. some nights i barely stayed for a shot, some nights i knew better than to take that last shot. i’ve been there at opening and i’ve closed down the bar.

i know the bartenders. i know the regulars. it’s got the good patio with the good traffic to watch. it’s got good art and 90’s music from high school. it has great fries and it had good burgers (pulled from the menu, sad days). it’s comfortable. it’s familiar. it’s my living room away from home.

and it’s time to say goodbye.

there have been warning signs popping up over the last few months that i’ve been diligently trying to ignore: then nights when there’s not a single familiar person and i feel like a stranger. the nights when the energy is so wrong i can’t imagine how i ever felt at home.

i remember one night after a work on a sunday a few months ago, nothing special, no chaos, no drama, nothing strange, but i just sat at the bar and felt SO EXTREMELY OUT OF PLACE. three people. one bartender. sports on the tv. nothing. literally nothing. not a comment, not a side eye, not a weird conversation. nothing. just me, sitting in the quiet thinking WHY AM I HERE? this doesn’t feel like me. i should have walked out then, instead i convinced myself the feeling would pass.

spoiler alert: it hasn’t passed.

there’s ways the universe lets you know.

nights when the whole bar is an eskimo village. nights when your tab is triple because they charge you the wrong price but you don’t want to argue. nights when you listen to people go on unhinged transphobic and homophobic rants that make trans patrons cry. nights when you notice everyone going to the bathroom two by two and you don’t remember signing up for a ski trip. the moment you realize that even though 90% of patrons are gay, they won’t put up a pride flag because they “don’t want to be known as that.”

nights when you just realize- this is no longer for me.

i’ve been in my head a lot lately; filled up most of a journal in just the last month. there’s been a lot of signs that change has been coming. i didn’t know from where. tried a job interview. tried going out with new people to new places. tried looking for new clothes online. i’ve felt it coming, but honestly didn’t expect the universe to take aim at my bar.

MY BAR?

really?

last night the hammer dropped pretty hard.

the word DISCERNMENT has been the sesame street word of the week at my house. discernment is one step beyond intuition to me. intuitions is the knowing; the deep gut knowing. you can’t explain it, there’s no proof, there’s no evidence or examples, but you KNOW. discernment is what you do with that knowing. is it important? is it relevant? what is it showing? how does it impact you? discernment separates and asks the question: now that you know, does this still belong here? discernment is the space between who you are, and who you are being. between the life you want and the life you’re maintaining.

while that message has been coming through, loud and clear, over and over, last night took the added step of adding to the message: what are you not letting go of? what no longer belongs? there’s something you’re not letting go of, and it’s obstructing you. OBSTRUCTING. not just blocking. not something you can work around. straight up OBSTRUCTED. do not pass go. something you’ve been using as avoidance and escapism. people who don’t have your best interest at heart. toxic people and backstabbers. you can’t be in those circles and settings any more. the longer you grip onto it, the more decay it will bring into your life.

ummmmmm…well. fuck.

i mean. jesus. do you have cameras IN THE BAR? well, i mean, i know there’s cameras in the bar. i just didn’t know my guides were…always…watching…and…like…

oh shut up.

of course they were watching and saw it all, even the things i didn’t or haven’t.

it’s a pretty clear message: let go or decay.

it’s a silly little change. it won’t be noticeable to anyone but me. my two hours on tuesdays and occasional saturday afternoon won’t be missed. i know i can go out where the people are without an assignment now. i know i’m not going to backslide to hermit mode. there’s no ripples in the pond from this decision. there’s no cataclysmic collapse of anything. i’ll get off the bus one stop later. i’ll walk home one block north. i’ll buy vodka lemonade seltzers to keep in my fridge and maybe a lawn chair to sit out front and watch traffic. life will go on, maybe even move forward.

how long can you hold your breath?

it’s anniversary season around here.

not the good kind, the other one. the kind that supposedly “get better with time.” you know all those cliche’s? “time heals all,” or “grief eases with time,” or “light at the end of the tunnel,” all the trite shit people say to you when bad things happen.

it’s been 17 years since all the death happened.

cliche’s are gonna cliche and i guess things are better. or healed. or whatever. time and life have both continued on.

seventeen years is a long time.

especially when you’re holding your breath.

have you heard of 27 forever? jimmi. janice. jim. kurt. amy. steve.

that last one not familiar?

my brother chose to be 27 forever in 2009. he suffered a TBI in july and he chose to be 27 forever in october.

there is no arguing with his decision. i can list a thousand reasons i’m mad at him for checking out early. i can also list a thousand reasons i understand why he checked out early. whether or not i agree or disagree or land somewhere in the million acres of grey area betwixt the two, at the end of the day, a decision was made. that subject is long closed. no amount of arguing either side of the debate will bring steve back. the genie in aladdin taught me that.

there’s all sorts of statistics about suicide. there’s dissertations. textbooks full of research and studies.

i’ve spent my fair share amount of time thinking about suicide, from all sides. i’ve fist fought death itself sitting under my kitchen table sobbing wanting to die but not being able to because there were dishes in the sink. i’ve made the award call to bosses when coworkers have threatened self-harm while working remote during covid. i made one really awkward call to a fire chief once when a firefighters not only told me they were thinking about it but had an entire plan mapped out with specific dates.

and, seventeen years ago, I sat front row at a full catholic mass for my baby brother being lectured to by a priest about the sins of suicide and how it keeps you from heaven forever. REALLY? AT THE FUNERAL YOU ABSOLUTE FUCK? closest i’ve ever come to punching a clergy member.

one of the statistics about suicide floating around out there: the risk of suicide greatly increases if there’s already been one in the family.

well. fuck you steve. now i can’t do it because you already did it and if ONE increases the risk of others, TWO certainly can’t be good, so now i HAVE to stick around. jesus you asshole. ugh. FINE. whatever. then they have the gall to question me about wanting life insurance at 30.

so.

as it happens,

i am not the only one in my family.

my oldest, my darling, brilliant, funny, creative, sensitive, water sign first born got my brain. gremlins and all.

it was a topic that came up.

more than once.

there have been some REALLY, REALLY dark times in the last seventeen years. like being born to me wasn’t enough of a challenge for this lifetime, the universe decided to start punching him square in the face when he was barely a kid: all the death started barely a few weeks after his 11th birthday. that’s just fucking mean.

with my very unkind brain stuffed in his already too smart head and a newly minted family legacy of suicide, there have been more than a few times over the years that had me more than a little worried.

“you know, uncle steve…”

last week he turned 28. we made it. we did it.

27 forever can fuck off. it claimed one generation, not two.

it’s not logical that i’ve been holding my breath this whole time.

*technically* just this past year should have had me tied up in knots.

naur. i’ve been holding my breath for 17 years.

right up til the whistle blew at 12:34 pm on my crabby cancer’s birthday.

right up until the final whistle.

i’m not sure which is harder: listening to your kid tell you they’re thinking about death, or listening to your kid tell you they wish they’d been aborted. that last month before 28 threw a few solidly landed stray punches my direction. oof. 

like, my dude. i have done everything in my power to keep you alive for 28 years. some of the hardest decisions i’ve ever had to make or will ever have to make were to keep you alive. i just…

but we did it. we made it past 27 forever. i can let out the breath that i, very much aware, have been holding. 

and i know the 27 forever window closing isn’t the magic everything is ok forever now window.

hell, i’m 45 and still have days that death stops by to see if i still think of them. so narcissistic, those grim reapers. walking around thinking we’re obsessed with them all the time. it’s fewer and further between now bitch. take that. AND, super dirty secret: i’ve actually caught myself being EXCITED about being alive lately, it’s bizarre and strange.

Dear State Farm,

it’s been a minute since i’ve been this hot.

ok. well, i got pretty toasty last october towards the property management at my last place over no heat. but it’s been a few months at least.

state farm has decidedly ruined that streak.

look, i don’t like to be mean to people. there’s a mean, MEAN, severely toxic, very mean little beastie at my core. if she comes out, it’s not good. i try to keep her nice and mellow and tucked in her cave with a blanket and snackies and plenty of cannabis. a nice smoke haze helps keep some of the assholery hidden and takes the edges off the assholery that does break through the thiiiiiiiiiick tch cloud.

state farm broke through my nice hazy cloud and i’m LIT.

background: i’ve had state farm FOREVER. there was a small blip when i was married and they couldn’t insure the ex where i had to switch to progressive (THE WORST) but since at least 2004 i’ve been bff with jake.

home, life, auto. bundle discount. good driver discount. cool.

had a door to door salesman injury when i owned my home around 2012. called state farm once and they handled the whole thing.

had a parked car get totaled by a hit and run on a residential street around 2016. called state farm once and they sent me a check.

never, NEVER had an issue with my life insurance. just. had it.

like a good neighbor, state farm was there and we didn’t talk to each other. 

the BEST type of insurance. like politics used to be: just there working in the background, i never had to think about it.

oh, how i miss those days.

a few weeks ago i got a message from my agent: my former agent had retired, was my life insurance doing everything it needed to do, why don’t i pop by the office, meet the new agent, make sure my policies were doing what they need to do.

sure. fine. whatever. i have no idea what life insurance is “supposed to do” besides pay out when you kick off, but sure.

scheduled as late in the afternoon as i could, left work early, headed to the appointment.

same office. haven’t been there in person since 2010ish. new agent. apparently she took over for her father, the former agent, who retired. cool. i had no issue with him. i dig it. family business. cool.

NOPE.

first thing when she introduced herself:

“...so, you work at the bookstore? i’ve noticed recently they have…a lot…they have a lot of gay books.”

SAID IN A WAY THAT CLEARLY INDICATES SHE IS LESS THAN EXCITED WITH OUR LARGE SELECTION OF GAY BOOKS.

you know the white bitch karen tone.

MY GAY ASS, clocking it immediately: YUP. we sure do. my buyers work really hard to make sure we have a wide, diverse selection of books for all our customers. but yes, we are very proud of our LGBTQIA+ selection, especially in a time when a lot of those books are being banned or challenged. we like to have them available for people coming to town from places where they might not be able to get them. we like to have them available for people in our community that need to be seen; representation matters. we’re very proud of our selection and we’ve had so many customers from all over the world tell us how much they love it and they wish they had an inclusive bookstore near them. (ALL TRUE THINGS).

lumpy sack of warm mayonnaise: “oh, well i guess that’s ok.”

YOU. GUESS. THAT’S. OKAY????

who in the ever loving fuck asked you??

not a great start, but we all know people like this exist, especially in this town. one small section of town turned purple in the last election (guess where i live and work), the rest is VERY red, we know this. just shake it off.

we sit down in her office. she’s incompetent at best trying to navigate her computer programs. girl, this is literally your job. how are you so bad at this? sure. computers are difficult at times, but this was just pure incompetence. no glitches, no freezes, no restarts, just pure incompetence and inability to navigate screens.

*eye twitch*

then the questions start:

shapeless, colorless sack of seven seasons ago ann taylor sadness: oh, 30 is young for life insurance. why did you get life insurance so young?

me: i don’t know. probably for the home/life/auto bundle discount.

brassy, choppy, unevenly cut, bad blonde bob: well that seems really young. most people aren’t thinking about insurance that young.

me: i honestly don’t remember. that was 15 years ago. i’ve just kinda always had it i guess.

round-as-she-is-tall leaves the room to get something off the printer, i start doing math and trying to figure out why DID i get insurance at 30?

OH. THAT’S WHEN EVERYONE DIED.

double digit deaths between 2009 and 2010. that’s right. everyone was dying and insurance seemed like a good idea.

homophobic hippo tromps back in the room and i tell her i figured it out: all the death.

lady who probably puts raisins in potato salad: oh, that’s too bad. what happened?

me: tries to quickly explains: child birth, TBI, suicide, house fire, cancer, drug overdose, a lot of things. it was a pretty rough year. but the insurance pay out from my brother and dad helped with things and it seemed like a good idea, so i got my own life insurance (and policies for my kids). 

sad sack susan: *follows up with so. many. unnecessary. questions.*

eventually she convinces me to re-up my life insurance policy 5 years early. seems logical: get it done before 50 and it should be smooth sailing for another 20 years. same cost, new policy, sure. whatever.

some of you may remember this story from the melt down it caused when i realized i have to figure out what to do for the next 20 years. i didn’t plan on making it to 45 and now i have to think about 65??

but i answer all the questions, policy goes in for review, finish up the appointment, get ready to leave and she drops:

“well, it was so nice meeting you today. i hope you’re able to get some counseling soon and deal with some of the unresolved trauma from all the deaths.”

BITCH.

WHAT.

DID.

YOU.

JUST.

SAY.

TO.

ME??

YOU demanded detailed answers to questions i tried to politely vaguely answer because it was none of your fucking business. YOU kept asking, demanding to know. i tried to gloss over it as much as possible BUT YOU KEPT ASKING. and sure, i teared up for a few second because it was out of the blue and i wasn’t prepared to go IN DEPTH about things from 16 years ago, but sure, my issues with unresolved trauma.

FUCK YOU.

YOU LUMPY, CRUSTY, LEFT OUT IN THE SUN, NO PERSONALITY, BASIC WHITE CUNT BOB, TACKILY CLOTHED SACK OF WARM MAYONNAYSE.

what a fucking inappropriate parting shot. YOU dug, then you want to get “concerned” after YOU went poking around somewhere you never should have been?

you absolute fucking diseased mad cow.

fuck you all the way to BFE and back with a rusty fork.

that should have been it.

i should have started shopping for a new insurance agent then.

but whatever. i figured it would be another 15 years before i had to go into the office again for anything. i could go back to forgetting insurance existed.

or so i thought.

this week i got an email notice that the new life insurance policy had been approved, but there’s amendments to the policy i signed in office. then i got a call: she wanted to discuss the changes and have me stop by to sign and approve the increased cost.

the changes are an additional $20 PER MONTH because of:

1. height/weight

2. drug use (i openly talk about cannabis use because it’s a legal state)

i’m. fucking. livid.

december of 2021 my state farm bill was $78.82. same 3 policies. same car. old apartment.

as of this month, my bill is $167.13.

same 2014 car. no claims. no accidents. no tickets. driving less miles monthly/annually.

better apartment: newer construction, fewer units, cinder block materials, less crime, better EMS response time. again, no claims. no accidents. no issues. 

my height and weight are BETTER than when i signed the original policy. well, height is the same. weight is better.

and drug use? REALLY? do you *REALLY* want to go there?

a government tested, highly regulated, completely LEGAL product sold over the counter in stores with no prescription needed? that “drug” is the one you have a problem with?

REALLY??

how about we talk about all the doctor prescribed, insurance approval required, limited access, controlled substance medications i had shoved down my throat after all the deaths that made me want to add my own death to the list? the countless anti-depressants and birth controls doctors put me on that sky rocketed my suicidal ideations? how about we talk about that, LIFE INSURANCE. those drugs are ok? the drugs that almost made you pay out a $100k policy countless times? THOSE DRUGS ARE OK?

but the legal, natural, safe plant that i consume, the product that safely helps me treat my AUTISM (not depression), that one you have issue with? the one that has made me excited to be alive again? THAT ONE is a problem?

so, cunty mccunterson called me yesterday: “i’ll try to talk to them and see what i can do.”

BITCH SAYS THIS LIKE SHE’S DOING ME A FAVOR.

you magnificent waste of humanity, YOU ARE THE ONE THAT CONVINCED ME TO CHANGE MY POLICY EARLY.

YOU ARE THE ONE THAT FUCKED THIS UP. i could have kept my other policy in place *JUST FINE* for another 5 years. but you convinced me this was a good idea, save a few dollars, lock it in til 65.

FUCK YOU.

FUCKITY FUCKING FUCK YOU.

i already have an email out to the local gay chamber of commerce and i will be finding a new rainbow family friendly agent ASAP.

fuck i’m mad.

AND WHO WANTS TO SPEND THIS MUCH ENERGY BEING MAD ABOUT FUCKING INSURANCE??

fucking insurance.

i hope all her overly stressed thigh seams all give out on her in the middle of a crowded grocery store. i hope all her shoes cause blisters forever. i hope her office is always cold and she never has a sweater. i hope her printer jams every third page and her toner smears on every document. i hope her computer crashes every time she asks an inappropriate invasive question. i hope she gets flat tires when there’s no roadside assistance. i hope every gas station is 5 miles too far and she runs out on the side of the road at the most inconvenient time possible.

fucking insurance.