My pets are the loves of my life. But especially Dante. But ESPECIALLY Cormac.

Corms is getting old, folks. He’s not goblin up everything like he used to…actually his appetite is quite poor, and it hurts me to watch him LITERALLY TURN AWAY CAT FOOD. I’ve been feeding him anything he wants to eat, and maybe it’s my imagination, but he’s just not feeling it. He’s slow, so slow, getting down the stairs at the new apartment to go for walks. (we take the elevator up to the 3rd floor but walk down every time.) He sleeps most of the day, unless it’s walking time, and it’s all I can do to lay beside him and listen to him breathe. I love my dog, and I don’t see him being here for much longer. What have I got left with a 14.5 year old dog? maybe a year? less? it splinters my heart and I can assure you writing this is making me cry hopeless tears.

Well, fuck.

So anyway, I’m taking him to the vet pretty soon, he’s due for his yearly checkup and his appetite is really worrisome. If they tell me bad news, I honestly cannot throw money back at them to fix it, and that hurts too. I’m not going to fundraise, which I think can be unsavory at the best of times, and would be kind of a dick move in the midst of a financially and emotionally crippling pandemic. I do not want your money, loyal reader. I really don’t.

What I want is to give my beloved puppy an end to his life that honors who he was to me, who he continues to be. I don’t want him to suffer, and I don’t want him to be in pain. If I do ask for help, it’ll be for an in-home euthanasia, which is something I’ve always hoped I would be able to do for my babies.

Fuck, why do I feel the need to blog this? (I know why) Why am I sobbing at the possibility I knew was coming? Maybe they’ll check him out and give me a magical and fixable reason why he WON’T EAT.

Maybe they won’t. Probably that.

Well, until I know anything for sure, loyal reader, I appreciate you for listening/reading. I’m going to spend the evening with my puppy and the kitten, on the couch, watching something stupid and cuddling him while he dreams.

(Dante is fine, by the way. He had French fries this weekend. THAT dummy will eat anything.)

A year ago tomorrow, I left my marital house, after I told my ex husband that I had obtained a lawyer for the divorce. He said he was ‘saddened’ by my choice to follow through with the divorce he had asked for. He told me I had to leave immediately, and access to the house could be only through legal representations’ permission. He was in Portland with his girlfriend, and had no leg to stand on, legally, but I was mostly packed already, so I took my pets and left. The women above as well as countless others showed their support in so many late night text rants, and sweet messages of encouragement, and countless brave and wonderful acts of kindness. Thanks, everyone.

Tomorrow, I get the keys for my new apartment, the one I’ve been hoping for since I started shopping over a year ago. Break Up apartment is packed and mostly ready to go, although the big move doesn’t happen until next Saturday. I still have to:

1. switch out the shower head I installed (well, a kind friend installed) for the original, since that shit ain’t cheap and I’m taking it with me.
2. switch out the faucet for the sink in the bathroom, same deal.
3. Pack my kitchen so that I have access to food and coffee (mostly coffee) for the week while I move.
4. Pack my fridge, same.
5. move my work stuff to my new apartment via my car, due to confidentiality and privacy concerns. No one else can transport that stuff.
6. Pack my bedroom and tape the box with my personal stuff closed prior to the move.
7. take down my curtains.
8. measure each piece of furniture so I can…
9. Print out my floor plan and plan so that everything big, that I can’t move myself, goes in the right spot during the move.
10. Fix the chair to my vanity so that the seat doesn’t wiggle or come off.
11. find some way to donate/sell/get rid of everything that’s not going with me.
12. Completed-hire a cleaning crew for the old apartment.
13. Completed-hire a moving crew for obvious reasons.
14. Completed-forward my mail starting on the 15th.
15. Get the money order for the first prorated month, storage, pet deposit, etc.

I have a busy week ahead of me. I should be sleeping in today, since it’s the weekend and I have the chance to do it. There’s going to be a lot of work to do in the next two weeks, and I really need to mind my self-care for the times I’m straining my body/brain/soul.

But instead I’m writing to you, loyal readers, because I feel feelings about this move, and I want to share.

I am so grateful, first of all, for my family and all the acts of service and expressions of love they have given me this year. I’m grateful for the friends I’ve kept and who have nurtured our relationships to keep them healthy and vibrant. I’m grateful for my career and the people I’ve met, clients and coworkers, doing something I’ve wanted to do for years upon years.

I am grateful for Dante and Cormac…I hope Moro is cared for and loved.

I am proud of myself for doing as much of the move myself as I am able. Sure, I’m hiring movers for the the big stuff, and I’m happy to do it. Certainly my family and friends here are helping, some of them helping a whole bunch, and I do not feel alone. Being alone and doing things on your own are two totally different concepts in my mind, and the former would be horrible, the latter is a source of pride. I’m proud of myself, as well, for looking up how to do things instead of hoping someone will come along and get them done for me. Old Jady may have done that, New Jady can handle her shit, mostly.

I have a flower vase full of rose petals from my old house. I bought the roses in purple, to make a garden bed specifically to remember my sister Ashley, and those petals have been in my Break Up Apartment from the first night I spent here, crying myself to sleep. My good friend suggested I crush them up and mix them into the potting soil of a new plant for the new apartment, which is a delightful and witchy idea. I love it. I’m thinking something purple, maybe lavender. So that’s on the list for today as well.

Wish me luck, loyal reader!

 

Good evening, beautiful and loyal readers! I’m 35. can you believe it!

34 was an incredible, transforming year for me. Things I did: start my new career, left a toxic relationship, made and kept and rekindled friendships, moved out on my own. Things I kept include the Cat and Dog, family, loved ones, and my sense of humor. Things I left behind include accepting abuse/toxic ‘friends’, my old hopes and dreams…although not all of that last one.

I still plan on being a mom, although for the first time in a long, long while, I’m glad a baby is not yet on the radar. I have things to do on my own to be the best possible mommy. I’m willing and able to wait, although some days are easier than others.

I’m excited for the year to come, and with excitement comes nerves. I took off work this past Thursday, since my workplace gives a day off for people’s birthdays, and I certainly wasn’t going to let that pass me by. Taking off a day of work seems nice enough, although honestly it sent me up the wall, since we’re getting a new therapist starting Monday, and we had two big days of treatment in a row, but I was non-optionally told to stay off my work computer and take the day off, dammit, by manager and coworkers. Sadly, part of being passionate about one’s job is that there’s never truly a ‘day off’, there are just days you don’t go into the office (or on the work computer), but there’s a small bit of your brain on the clock no matter what. I’m happy, sure, to have a job I love. It would be nice not to worry over my clients on my vacation, however. It probably would have been easier if I had physically distanced myself from town, which was the original plan, but coronavirus killed that possibility, so I staycationed instead. (so many buzzwords! the archeologists who read these texts 500 years from now are going to have a hell of a time translating. Sorry guys!)

I spent Thursday-Sunday gathering my thoughts, getting oodles of birthday flowers, and spending time at home. I wanted to be ready to speak mad wisdom about the first 1/3 of my life, when I managed to still myself long enough to write. Not sure about the wisdom, to be honest, but there are a few things I’ve learned about myself and my life that I certainly want to get on (digital) paper.

1. I love so, so hard. My family? the best ever. My friends? Die for them in a heartbeat. My pets? Oh, well come on, we all know I’m obsessed. I love deeply, and that’s only been a problem when the ones I’ve loved took advantage of my emotions and used them selfishly. That’s no excuse not to keep on loving like crazy. Doubtful I could stop it if I tried.
2. I am a creature of creation…if I’m not making art, I don’t feel good. Blogging is fine and good, but it’s not the same as making a dazzling painting, or writing for real. I need to take the time to do these things or I don’t feel right.
3. My self care is service. When I’m doing kindness for others, I feel infinitely better than I do without. Having a non-profit job is a nice way to do this and still make rent, but it’s just not enough. (So is it selfish to be selfless because it’s rewarding? Good question, Jady. Good question to keep you awake all night. way to go planting that seed.)
4. My body is a temple, and I’m a natural agnostic. So I could talk about how it feels better to do physical stuff too, but I haven’t found the work out that I love enough to commit to my schedule. I should do it quick, though, because part of my 5 year plan is being a smoking hot mommy. Bikram yoga has come the closest, and I have to admit my 30-day yoga challenge was incredible, remember that? In any case, I need to find the true believer in myself and clear out the crap on the (extended metaphor) altar. I walked two miles today, for example, and it felt good, and wasn’t that bad when I was doing it. So it’s an attainable goal. I’ve got a great body…in a fine layer of apathy, lately, and I’d like that extra weight to drop away. The literal only way to do that is eat better and work out. So I better find a way to love doing it.
5. I like what I like. I spent a good decade in a relationship with someone who consistently shit all over my tastes in music, movies, whatever you can think of, and it made me feel like I was a wierdo and a freak. Now I listen to my music when I want to, and watch what I want to watch, and you can come along for the ride or drop off the side, and frankly if it’s the latter, peace out, I’ll toss you a float.

 

So there’s my wisdom. Love hard, make art, do good, work out your demons, and dig who you are. Seems easy and obvious, no? Took me 35 years, and I’m a quick study, so no worries if you need to catch up. Oh, and also, my confidence has improved. I’ll spend a few (billion) hours worrying over that and whether feeling good about myself means I’m a monster, so don’t worry, Jady’s still Jady.

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes, by the way, and I love your faces!

So. The world ended. What’s next?

It’s been a long springtime, but I’m sleeping like a champion lately, and that’s pretty amazing. Normally, and before I adjusted my meds, I wake up bright eyed and annoyingly bushy tailed every morning in the springtime. I stay up until about 2am or later (earlier?) and then I wake with the dawn, no alarm required. This year there is no poison in my household, so I can do all the things I need to do to get to bed reasonably. I’ve been using my mouthguard to help with sleep apnea. I’ve been putting the phone away earlier. I’ve been stopping myself from eating that midnight snack despite the ungodly urge to binge on terrible decisions. I’ve insisted to myself that, although I’m not tired in the least when I go to bed, if I lay down and close my eyes it counts as rest. No matter how long I lay there thinking about every tiny infraction I have wrought on mankind and myself for half an hour, I’m still resting, and I need that. I will wake with the sunlight no matter how late I go to bed, so there’s that…no sunlight in winter equals sleeping until whenever my alarm goes off. Springtime and summer are some of my favorite times of year (autumn is cool too. Just winter can suck it.) so getting up early is only a problem when I don’t get enough sleep to begin with. Full disclosure, my mouthguard is a pain in the ass, but it does help, I’m told.

What else has been going on this past week, you ask, most loyal and wonderful reader? Well, two big things. I got the apartment I’ve been trying to get for the last year and change, and also my grandfather died. It was a mixed bag of emotions, so let me unpack that for you.

Worst first. My grandfather died Thursday morning, and while he was in his 90s and lived a hell of a life, it’s a sad passing for my family, especially my mom and grandma. The grandparents were together, like literally every day, for over 60 years. They had 13 kids together. They open-mouth kissed, after grace, before every meal (so gross). It’s a goddamn legacy and legend of a relationship, and grandpa left first, so grandma is being cared for by her children and grandchildren, but I can only imagine the feelings of loss. I don’t personally KNOW what I believe, but grandma and grandpa’s faith were of upmost importance to him, so I’m happy to know he received last rites, and died fully absolved to his god/himself. It’s a comfort those of us with wavering faith are rarely afforded, knowing you’re on the right side of the universe, and I’m glad he was where he was.

My mom is doing ok, she’s very busy with multiple projects and the continued staggering task of making school work for the student body, and I hope she finds moments of peace and reflection when she is able. It is a kindness to your loved ones to care for yourself, and caring means feeling the pain of loss in a manageable and healthy way, but god damn…deaths in the family have simply terrible timing. It’s hard to be with your family in spirit and yet only able to hug one or two close family members, especially right now. So I’m giving her extra hugs, because I can.

Good news next!

The apartment building I wanted to go live in (since May 2019) finally had an opening starting in June 2020. That means that I chose to undertake the task of Moving in the Time of Coronavirus, which will be a stress-ish little adventure. I am up to the task…because the results are so very, very worthwhile.

Here she is, my lovely new apartment, with balcony, W/D in unit, all hardwood floors, pet friendly (obviously a dealbreaker) and 80 more square feet than my current place, which is all (needless to say) sexy as hell. I’m certainly not going to California this Memorial Day, sadly, but I have the resources to get a few new things for the apartment, happily, and I’m just thrilled to be moving on up in the world. On top of being an amazing space within my budget, it’s an apartment building that caters especially to those of us who are artists. It was part of the application process and it’s incredibly gratifying and validating to know they consider me as such. The building itself is mixed use, with offices and retail on the first floor and apartments above. It’s incredibly difficult to get into the space at all, because according to the rental company ‘no one ever moves out’, but thank my lucky stars, someone did, and I will be taking their spot.

The lease begins June 8th, and my old lease runs out on June 30th, so for a half a month or so I’ll be double-dipping households, but this just means I can move most of the smaller things myself, and pay minimal fees for movers for the heavy stuff. I’ll have time to rent a carpet cleaner, patch the holes in the wall I made setting up my art, and pretty much bring my old apartment back to her pre-move-in state of being, so I’m hoping to get most of my deposit back. HOPING. Even if I somehow do not, I feel in my bones the rightness of making my old apartment clean and proper before I leave it entirely, and I’m feeling good about having the time with both apartments to get that done. There are a few things I’ll be dinged for; the laminate in the living room has a few dents and a tear, but the least I can do is make sure there’s no glaring messes left behind. Thankfully (?) most of my stuff is either thrift store finds or hand-me-downs, so anything that doesn’t fit into the new space artistically or literally can be sold/donated. Then I can use the profits to buy things that fit. I’m itching for a new platform bed (with storage) and a new couch (with even more storage), but these things happen slowly on a social worker budget. Cruising the classifieds is a common pastime these days. There are diamonds in the rough. The trick is, I don’t want to move anything I don’t use, so sorting through my things and getting rid of the crap is first and foremost in my mind when I look around my place. I’m a bit of a packrat, but not nearly a hoarder, and if I had my druthers I would absolutely employ a friend or two to tell me what I don’t need…but there will be a purge, great and terrible, one way or the other.

Lastly, my birthday is coming up, and in less than two weeks, I will be 35 years old. I have feels about that. They’re emotional. ten days from now will mark the 1 year divorciversary, and I have feels about that too. Expect more blogs to come as I set off on my summer adventure; forgive me if it gets to be a bit much and I forget to write it all down. Now, who wants a nice dresser drawer? Mine is huge and I don’t think I have the wall space. Taking barter and cash.

On March 16th, I opted to work from home for the following two weeks, and then the world went mad and I’m definitely not going to be going back to the office tomorrow, as originally planned. Been stressed, been very lucky to maintain a job. Been busy.

I’m not going to talk work at the moment, however, but rather the social distancing that directly relates to the job of being an outpatient therapist. I’ve socialized in person with about 4 people, including my parents, for the last two weeks. I’m healthy or at the very least asymptomatic, virus-wise. It turns out that working from home is not a dream come true, and I miss people. Lots of people. Crowds and hugs and going out. I miss all that. Wouldn’t it just take the end of the world to realize you’re a prosocial extrovert. I’m drained and restless, and I want to go to the office tomorrow like normal, but I can’t. This entire debacle has been exhausting.

However, with everything going on, and with springtime happening, I’ve had a very hard time sleeping. It’s fine for work, since I clock in around 11am and out around 9pm, but I’ve been staying up without tiring until well after midnight, and waking without fail around 8 or 8:30 in the morning, which isn’t ideal. Nothing will drive you crazier faster than not getting your sleep. There’s a reason it’s a very effective form of torture.

The totally selfish silver lining is that I’m not alone, online at least. There’s a lot of people stirring at almost any hour, including a large portion of my friends either unemployed, working from home and struggling with sleep schedules (like me), or ‘essential’ and thus being run into the ground. Stress is high. Burnout is happening. It’s not over yet.

Still, I’ve been fortunate to rekindle some older friendships and work on some newer ones. Good conversations, even a hug or two. Loads of chatting online. Video calls and, if you can believe it, actual, old-timey phone calls. Pure audio. (In fact, I’m calling each client in my caseload every workday, so no shortage of that modality.)

The sleep thing is getting to me, though. Now is not the time to be insensitive to my mental health….but I don’t even set an alarm at this point, I just wake up early. Bright as a daisy. For my loyal, over-a-year readers, this is old news, but springtime is not the easiest time for me. I wouldn’t say I’m hypomanic YET. But I can feel my brain buzzing a bit louder than it really needs to be. Little bit too perky for my liking.

I went to the doctor on the 23rd, and I’m waiting for a call back regarding my usual labs, and I’ll probably ask for a boost in meds when he calls. We had a chance to talk about alternatives to the anti-anxiety meds I take now, and he was surprisingly supportive of lowering the amount of benzodiazepines I use. I think we both low key loathe having them in my system at all. So we’re discussing other ideas to work with my anxiety.

Loyal readers also know I have a therapist of my own in addition to medical management of symptoms of bipolar; she’s also working from home lately so we’ll be having a Skype chat soon. In the last year, she lowered her case load dramatically, but I made the cut into the elite few she’ll still schedule regularly. I have mixed feelings about that, but I did divorce, leave my home, adjust to living on my own income, graduate, start a career, and come to terms (ongoing process) with my former abusive relationship in the last 11 months, so I can understand her keeping me. We have a good rapport and she doesn’t take bullshit from my brain. She also knows what it’s like to be a therapist with a difficult population (if any could be considered ‘easy) and she’s a good role model for me too. Very good with establishing boundaries and yet maintaining empathy. Private practice doesn’t seem like a terrible idea in the future. Something to consider.

All things considered, I’m doing ok. I’ve always maintained this blog as honestly as possible while protecting the privacy of my family, friends, and my clients, but without naming names, I’m pretty sure a few of you could use a little extra attention these days. Whether you were already gifted with mental health ‘curiosities’, or whether this social isolation is suddenly making things crop up, I see you and I would like, if nothing else, to remind you that everything will be ok. It’s a strange and confusing world out there, but we have each other. The greatest thing you can do for your loved ones is take care of yourself, because they worry and you matter to them. I’m trying to take my own advice on this one, and I’m sharing in the hope that maybe my story helps a bit.

Writing this all down also helps me remember where I am, which is helpful too.

Finally, yes, you spotted it, I’m bored enough to dress the pup in a kerchief. So there’s that. Enjoy.

to get the L for my LCSW, I have supervision; meeting with a non-manager, not-directly my boss, wonderful LCSW for an hour a week. This will continue for another, oh, say, 15 months, give or take, and then I’ll qualify for the magnificent L. I have a great supervisor with knowledge and experience, warm humor and absurdly familiar anxiety, and I’m so glad to have her. However, I cry during supervision sometimes. Sometimes this job hurts.

Now I mentioned the job last week, and I don’t want to rehash things, ever if they still apply to my life. So no x talk, no job talk, not today. Except for mentioning that I will be taking off the last day of this week to take an overnight trip down south to get my head together, and I’m counting the hours. I really need to write some fiction. I’m good at it, and you should practice what you’re good at and also love. Trite, I know, but doing good feels good. Feeling good is not selfish. I write these things to remind myself.

Ten things post!

1. The place I’m visiting next week is the same place I’m going for my birthday, if you recall, dutiful reader. It should be about 55 degrees and stormy, just my sort of weather, just perfect for relaxing in a hot spring/ writing in a gypsy wagon.
2. I’m debating working on a new story, or working on the long awaited Book. I really haven’t had much inspiration for either. Stephen King says that writing isn’t something you do when you’re ‘inspired’, it’s a damn job and you work at it. Of course, I write mostly for fun, but damn does the man make a good point. You don’t practice the piano ‘only when inspired’ and expect to get that concerto sounding presentable. Practice is required no matter how much talent you’ve got. I’m getting off track. New story or old? Hmmm.
3. Did I mention I auditioned this weekend, and it didn’t further cripple my confidence? I went to a big improv audition, and I did great! Good enough that even Jady had a hard time arguing that Jady sucks. Which is impressive and feels….what’s this feeling? Oh, right, competent. Of course, shit-talk Jady would point out that after nearly 2 decades of improv, I should be at least adequate. But shit-talk Jady is a notorious sandbagger. Don’t listen.
4. I got cold cream. I have no idea how it works but I think I need a washcloth too? I’ll look it up on YouTube. The important thing is, this means I can remove makeup AND feel like an old time movie star. It’s the little things.
5. Made chili again this weekend. I also bought oodles of vegetables and am attempting to eat heathy, or at the very least, homemade food this week. My diet app has made it very clear that I don’t do anything towards reaching my weight goal. Partially I accept that….partially I’m disappointed in myself. Partially I’m annoyed at the universe that created a person who was thin for so many years without effort, and then gained weight, and now can’t lose it without extraordinary effort. It’s not fair. whine cry bitch moan.
6. There’s a new hot yoga studio in town, with a $20 for 20 days special going on right now…if it’s open yet. I messaged them on Facebook to inquire as to the schedule. I love my Bikram studio, but the classes severely clash with my schedule. I have a treadmill in the clubhouse as a last resort; I’d much prefer to go to a class and get my ass motivated by someone I can pay for enthusiasm. Did I mention I’m carrying weight I don’t enjoy? Does that mean I can make myself work out? It’s harder than my skinny healthy friends make it look.
7. I’m also cutting down on smoking, for no other reason than I want my mouth to taste good.
8. In short, I’m feeling pretty confident, and that’s the time at which one should make decisions for their body and health, much as I enjoy rage-eating sugar cookies and cheese….and have good reasons for bad choices….I’d like to feel better.
9. Part of feeling better is enjoying micro victories, like finishing all ten things when I said I would, instead of deleting this less than stellar post.
10. God damn, Shit-Talk Jady is in full swing. must be Sunday. Fuckin’ Sunday Dreadfuls.

 

 

Can you believe this baby punk-ish little weirdo became a therapist?

Yeah, me too.

I don’t talk much about my job, apart from the stress it gives me on the weekly, because in my position, not only is confidentially ethical, it’s a goddamn legal mandate. Not to mention that I work with a fairly prominent organization in SLC, and I’d rather not have my clients read my stuff…not ashamed at all, mind you, but personal expression has its place. Of course, this is a public blog, but one of those pesky little ethics include not making clients your friends on social media of any sort, so I don’t. Wouldn’t if I could.

So after crying during my manager’s meeting, which we do weekly (and believe me, talking with your boss for an hour a week is just fodder for the anxiety monster), I decided to take off Thursday next week, possibly plan a trip, and get my head screwed on straight. Because I’m burning out hard and fast, and never let anyone tell you social work is an easy, carefree job. I believe the expression ’emotional prostitution’ came up at one point during the last week, and that’s not terribly far from the truth.

It’s an incredibly hard job, and I keep trying to convince myself that I could have taken an easier route than substance use counseling, but it turns out that clients lie, and clients don’t listen to good advice, and clients aren’t always ready to make healthy changes in their lives…on a good day, for any therapist ever. On a bad day, it feels like the world is ending and it’s all your fault, and you go home to cry and eat quesadillas and sugar cookies until you’re regretful and miserable and then cry some more.

I get now why Deanna Troi is so very fond of chocolate. it’s all she can do. I’m aware that there’s no money in the future, but that lady is almost certainly underpaid. Because who would properly compensate someone in a position where the emotional dregs of the human experience are an expected and constant part of their job? No way. Pay the lawyers! Fuckin’ America.

So yeah…I don’t talk about my job that much. Unless you ask me, in which case, grab a floatie, the floodgates will open.

(10 minutes later)

Hot Springs getaway booked for next Thursday night, thank you very much. it’ll be cold but I’m bringing the Puppy with me to cuddle, it’s only 1 night so the Kitty will be fine at home, and no-one is invited because I need to forget how peopleish people can be.

February came and went, and the little girl inside me who hates winter barely had a chance to mourn. February was spent in little itchy segments of growth, cutting ties with old so-called friends, pulling the stitches that tied me to my old life. I took the Roommate off my instagram, I deleted old text barrages from the Bad Friend, and I dreamt dreams and dreams of the X, unfortunately. 

 

Bad Friend’s daughter caught me idling, asking me in a short sweet email if she could see me when she visited for spring break. I told her I couldn’t speak to her father. “No fair”, she replied, and indeed it is not, but I just told her I loved her and I was sorry. You lose children in divorce sometimes, in my case a very roundabout way, but lost nevertheless. I feel selfish and cold, but I cannot speak with the person who knew the situation the entire time it was happening, and chose not to let me know I was being played for a fool. I hear about him from time to time, I saw his face online when scanning over social media, that’s how I chose to delete Roommate from my feed. I don’t need to know what’s happening at my former house. I don’t need to see my former friends gathering. I certainly don’t need reminders that they moved on so easily and effortlessly from having me in their lives. 

 

Dammit all, I still dream about X, he’s replaced ‘losing all my teeth’ and ‘being caught barefoot and lost’ as my stress dream, and this last month was stressful. March hasn’t yet had the chance to be anything but a slow Sunday thus far, but February was fast and difficult. Growing is a jagged pill to swallow, one expects it will be linear and positive, but I’ve found it to be deeply unsettling. I was growing when I did my Master’s program, and that was uncomfortable as can be. I grew when I left the X, and that was mightily miserable. I’m growing now, and finding that cutting tethers to maladaptive people, places, and habits, is still painful. Even, or especially, when they’ve grown so stagnant that all you’re doing is trimming dead branches, it hurts and feels however briefly like a part of you is dying. 

 

Don’t worry, Loyal Reader, I’m aware that this is a good sort of pain, I’m just sore and heartsick with the knowledge that the people I loved most for a good few years were and continue to be poison. It scares me to think that I trusted them; it makes it nigh impossible to trust new people and situations. I believe it’s affecting my friendships and my job. I feel an impossible loathing for the people who lied and omitted the truth when it would have saved me months, possibly years of myself. 

 

And the anger. Oh my goodness, the anger. I was going to have a baby. I was happy to think that I loved and cherished the father of this child, I valued our relationship to the point of blindness to the fact that he really didn’t think much of me. My cup overflows with biting rage at this notion, this idea I let myself believe. Now I make snide remarks about how much easier it was to get divorced without a child in the mix, and the words taste rather bitter. I have no room in my life, as it stands, for the family I thought I was building and nurturing, and I have no words for the fury that comes from realizing that. 

 

So forget baby-crazy jady, forget dutiful wifey, forget finding my soulmate at any cost. This winter has been a test of survival and blossoming in the snow, only to be cut down again and again by the cold. I don’t trust the way I used to. I won’t love that way again for a long, long while. Thank goodness for old friends and family who are grandfathered into my good graces, because it’s going to be a trial for the ages when I feel someone is worth vetting for a place in my heart. 

 

Keep in mind, before you lose all hope, I’ve made friends in 2019, and they’re a few good eggs in the lot. I’ve dated a bit, and I’ve spent time with nice people, and I don’t think everyone is out to ruin me. I just have to maintain high standards for myself or I’ll have no-one else to blame if things turn out the same as before. I’m aware that I’m not to blame for the bullshit of the past, either, but damn was I young and dumb. I swam in a crimson sea of some truly epic red flags, but i just kept treading water and assuming it had to be that way, for love. 

 

So I have learned the hardest possible way, short of a threat to my own life, that such things are not love, are not romantic, are not tragically beautiful. You are worth more than a person who abides you killing yourself for them. You deserve better than spiteful words and deeds. You are beautiful whether or not that person, whom you think you love, will ever tell you so. This applies not only to me. 

 

Damn, though, I wish trusting and meeting new people was fun again. I miss that more than I can say. There are a few exceptions, but mostly it’s been a long, cold season. But I’d rather be cold than warmed by hell.

 

 

Good weekend, hard week.

A certain someone didn’t do what he said he would do in a certain divorce decree, and he’s got a letter ever-so-kindly inviting him to do so from my legal counsel. We’ll see.

Also, did you know that people lie to social workers? Lie to their own therapists, no less? what is this world coming to. I…I fail to be surprised, but I am disappointed.

Also, also, I got a sewing machine, and I already made an octopus out of a pair of jeans, so don’t you worry about that project getting done.

I am planning my birthday weekend at my favorite hot springs, and if you don’t understand why I’d go to Monroe, Utah for a vacation of my choice, observe this miracle-in-real-life hot spring tub:

 

I’d like to write more, but I got caught up making pickled onions, and I want to get to bed.

No seriously, PICKLED ONIONS. They’re amazing.

 

Let’s start with the good stuff.

1. Cleaned and redecorated the entire house, living room/kitchen shown above (with Puppy photobomb).

2. Made some nice art. (anyone who says you can’t create texture with multicolored Sharpies is LYING to you)

3. Cuddled with the kitten and puppy and made even more art in the form of a scarf. (Yes, that’s the biggest crochet hook they had.)

4. Headed on an adventure next weekend to Wendover with a friend, thus bypassing the entirety of Valentines Day. (No fucking thanks, Hallmark).

5. Quit Chantix after 8 days due to the oft-touted side effects of being moody, irritable, and having viciously vivid dreams. (Still on nicotine. Judge me)*

6. Was ultimately extremely productive this weekend due to having a life-rending therapy session preceded by a heart-rending week. (People don’t ‘rend’ enough these days)**

7. Bought houseplants and set up seeds to sprout on the windowsill in their cute mini homemade greenhouses (read: tape, plastic wrap, potting soil, pots.)***

8. Got a wicker coffee table/storage box, upon which I placed my portfolio album, and is currently Kitten’s favorite place to sleep. (everyone’s a critic).

9. took a hot, lavender-salt bath with accompanying salt scrub that made my skin silky and fragrant. (I am nothing if not salty).

10. Had early dinner with family traveling through town, and now have a veritable VAT of extra molé in the fridge for later (or right now. It’s gonna be now.)

*These ‘vivid dreams’ mostly centered on the never-going-to-actually-happen eventuality of getting closure and even peace from my marriage. Not something I care to ruminate on for hours while I’m attempting to rest from a day of feeling as if the world was caving in. Fuck. Chantix.

**My therapist is a lovely human, and very good at her job. However, I kinda want to throttle her neck for pulling my surface bullshit away and digging out chards from my wounded and broken heart. It has to happen, (ever tried to heal AROUND a sliver? that’s just asking for infection) but it hurts, and I hurt, and I was raw and tender all weekend. If I want to hold the majority of humanity in contempt for their cowardice, isn’t that my call? No? That’s literally what I pay her to not let me do? Dammit.

***’Oh, Jady got plants again. let’s see how long those poor bastards survive.’ well, assumed haters, they’re on my window ledge and on my fridge, so I can’t avoid them and still eat/look out the window. I think we all know I’m not going to stop eating. Like a big ol’ bowlful of leftover MOLÉ. We could squabble all day about how the only reason puppy and kitten are alive are because they’re incredibly loud when they need something, but that’s no reason to think that silence will be the death of these plants. I mean, it’s incredibly astute of you to put it that way, but not my point, dear reader.

 

So when you asked me how I was doing, did you actually care to know? Or were you just making conversation.