Christmas is gross but I Do Love My Family

The tarot card reader said about my chakra layout that in my heart chakra I'm guarded with the Greek. The two of swords. She said that I let him in but then close myself off, perhaps because I don't really trust the whole thing.

It's not always him I don't trust. It's me. I don't always trust that I will want this. I feel sometimes like  I just want to be alone, as if this is just a bit too much work. Mmm, perhaps work is not quite the right word. It's a bit too much work of being open to it and then not open to it.

It's too much work imagining how it will all play out (every day, day after day)
Maybe we'll live in balanced and in an independent lovers bliss and I'll never have these thoughts again
Maybe he'll tire of this and move on 
Maybe I'll tire of this and move on
Maybe I'll look too old soon
Maybe he'll meet someone his own age and fall in love
Maybe he'll want to have kids
Maybe he wont like who my past has really made me
Maybe he hasn't really seen who I really am
Maybe I'm too tired for this... 

This is why I pull back from us, all those questions.

So just stop doing that, right? It's just that I always feel like I'm on the precipice of an answer to any one of those.

What if I just let him in and accepted myself as a bit too independent most of the time to be lovey-loverson and trusted him on his word that is kinda sorta one of the things he values about this relationship - that I'm independent enough that it doesn't impede his social life.

I guess I just don't trust that. I start to fall into "the trap" of trusting it, but then things start to fall apart:

I stop caring about having sex
He's becomes a pal not a lover
I start day dreaming of falling in passion love
I desire passion all over again

blah-ba-blah, blah, blah

I just don't want to think anymore. I don't know how to do that.

I don't know how to fully accept him when it feels like our time is so limited.

Which is funny because that's why he didn't want to get into this relationship, because the end was so clear on the horizon and it was just going to hurt.

and then I just had to force it, didn't I?

For the record, I don't want to end it. I'm just finding that not be able to really relax in it is fucking exhausting and I don't know how long I can do whatever the fuck it is that I'm doing in my head.

Dude.

I should write. Enough has happened recently that writing out my thoughts should be a good thing. However, I feel spent.

It's odd that my mind should think that I have some sort of audience that I should update, lest I leave them on the edge of their seats with the big season finale cliffhanger.  I wonder who that audience in my mind is; if I could give them all names, how many would there be? Let's tell the story first, shall we?

Our protagonist has just moved into a nice house with her younger, full of life, man-friend. Their life together has finally hit that sweet plateau. We've watched them struggle as both co-workers and lovers. We've watched them fight for and against the passion neither of them can resist. After 3 years together and a month backpacking in Europe, they know they're committed, they're ready to surrender to their unconventional love and reap the rewards. 

But, two weeks after settling into their new home they learn that the protagonist's 11 year old niece, who was recently removed from her mother's care, has now been abandoned by her father, too. There's no where left for her to go and nowhere our protagonist wants her to go but with her. Enough is enough.

So, before they have a chance to sing, "Looks like we made it" to each other and perform wild adult gymnastics in every part of their new house, their lives are forever changed; they're parents?

On the bright side, maybe, just maybe, everyone gets the opportunity to be something they've always wanted to be. 

Awe, isn't that sweet?

So yeah, that's it, that's the season one cliff hanger of [Super Awesome Title]. My life dressed up as a rom com. Seems like a quaint Love Actually kind of event.

Sure, why not

I guess I just want to say that, "Dude, my heart is fucking tired."

Look at the date (lookatit!), it's five, FIVE, days before Christmas. I have one daughter I've barely started shopping for (oh my god, I just heard my first-world-woe there, that's embarrassing) and now I have to shop for my niece, and not just for Christmas. The (ugh, here I go) girl has been living with dysfunctional messy/hoarder types (great people and I love them dearly...) for forever and she just has nothing. We have to get out there and get clothes and personal items and fast.

Also, work is still moving fast and complicated. I want and need to be there.

These are high pressured times.

But here's the thing: after some initial bumps and bruises for all us, by the end of January my niece and I will be strolling down to the bus stop where she will hop on the city bus for short trip down the road to her new school and I will return to my routine of walking to work, getting my headspace. She'll get her self home and have snacks. One day a week, she'll go to an extra curricular drama class (because the girl belongs on the stage and, well, who doesn't drama class save? ).

Both of us have the support the social worker, counselling, programs, camps...

And if it gets too much for The Greek, I know we will both be graceful.

I just want, with all my heart, to give this girl a chance.

Perhaps, there's still time to sing:

Volume

I accidentally turned up the volume on our culture, and perhaps I came unglued from my north star voyage at the same time, returning to old habits of fearing decisions I made. 
I feel overwhelmed and disconnected from life.

I miss my daughter or I miss being a more consistent part of her life. My expectation for me as a mother is that I am always there, I am a constant. Having moved an hour and a half away has completely distanced me from that.

However, if I moved back there I wouldn't be in the same home as her. I would see her as much or perhaps less then I do now (given that when I do go to stay there, I stay at her house). So, why do I feel so much  guilt and why do I refuse to let go of that guilt?

In order to continue to be relevant in my job, I needed to move here. There, work is scarce and unfulfilling. Here, there is opportunity to earn the level of income I want so that I can retire one day.

I don't know if I'm just unhappy with my decision to move in to a house with the Greek, as if that makes it look that I left my 18 year old daughter with her dad so that I could have a relationship (not that's even that bad - I think?) . That is not what I did. If I didn't have this job - or a job of note - I would be back there in a heart beat.

I feel stress. I feel sad.

Other potential factors: I'm moving in 2 weeks and my pal's brother is staying in our living room for 2 weeks (one week left).

I just want a home my daughter can and does come to. A home where we can connect easily and naturally.

Other potential factors: Work is fucking huge and I'm loosing the strength to meet the challenges we face. We're growing and bringing in professionals, I have the opportunity to expand my skill set to match theirs, but I have a niggling sense that I will have to fight for this a bit. Perhaps it's just an internal struggle, I don't know.

I'm sad and disconnected from my source. I feel like I'm lost in a forest and my energy stores are low. I feel like there is nobody to talk to about this. No one that could help me forward, because my experience is that I don't know anyone that knows more than I do in this kind of discussion.

So I just made my first counselling apt through my EAP.... fingers crossed.

I do feel that perhaps if I was stronger about my position to live here, it would help my daughter be stronger about it, too. As it is, I'm giving her reason to doubt that she doesn't need me or that I did the right thing.

I just don't like the distance I feel.

So, it was a bad time to turn up the volume on philosophical thinkers which led to opening twitter which lead to intensely loud volume on political stupidity that, for a second or five, makes you feel that if you don't witness it, you're part of the problem. Ugh, the ugly stress of watching people invest 100% of their heart into self righteous hatred. Ouch.

In other news, I don't want to do yoga today. I'm too sad.

Artist: Adam Hall (looooove this guy)

Day 1: Back to Work

Ooooo. Pretty.

It's a slow crawl out of my vacation head, and I think I made a step towards better yesterday. I stayed inside all by myself, read my book then watched crap romcom movies on TV until late afternoon. Finished my last 3 cigarettes and felt sick about it. It was magical.

Then, I went out and bought a new Bodum coffee pot, a double walled, drip filter,  glass deal that I looked at before we left. After considering it for 26 days and then using the espresso style Italian maker  the whole time we were gone, it was a happy purchase. I like it, it's pretty and makes coffee.

The beginning of the day started with nerves and questions and confusion. Coming back, I jumped into us looking for a place together, but only because amazing places started showing up. I found this one, it was the only one that really worked out for us to go see (a bunch of others just didn't line up). The owner asked for a introduction letter about who we are - and boy, did she get it - she loved it. We met her last night and she said she was we had her at the letter, it was so good and detailed and personal. She's looking for harmony. So am I.

I was about to put a stop to the move, but as this one was booked from the day we were leaving Italy, I figured we would go and see it through but not take it.

We're taking it.

She was great. Down to earth, totally chill, smokes the weed; and the place is gorgeous and pretty damn perfect. While the ad said no pets, when asked, she said she wouldn't say no to us for that. It's warmed by firewood. It's been renovated. The main bedroom has two big closets. Theres a big second bedroom. It's sweet.

I just. just.

The universe road seemed so aligned and clear. We're taking it. And I'm happy.

Today is, well, it's back to work day. I'm going to sneak into the gym at 7, stretch ever so slightly, maybe pump a weight or two. I'm going to be kind to me.

Then I'm gonna zoom into my job with blinders on.

Wish me luck.

I am here (and I don't particularly like it)

I can't go backwards, which is to say I cant (don't want to) run back to my marriage and hide behind the "sweat pants, dirty t-shirts, and bad hair" that is the metaphor of what my oh so comfortable relationship was - with a man that so safely stagnant and asleep that he didn't notice me and left me alone (something I realize now that I valued) and, right now, forward is scaring the fucking hell out of me.

fake smile

Right now, forward means getting a place with the Greek - which actualizes this relationship into something harder to flee from should it infringe on my leave me alone desires. 

I do feel a bit like a pretty, caged animal sometimes. I don't like that. It makes it hard to breathe. I am actually experiencing that can't get a full breath thing. I've come to understand that that is my version of anxiety which is usually pointing to something I don't want.

I'm not sure that I don't want it though. I'm not sure that I'm just afraid of it. I'm afraid of inviting him into my whole life and I don't know why. Because it will resemble a marriage too much? That's what I concluded whilst on vacation, right? And we talked about it and he said he also wanted independence. It's just that his behaviour suggests otherwise. He seems nervous, like he's going to lose me so he's holding on - a little tighter. 

I don't know. 

Also. This returning from a long vacation fucked up-ness. It's a real thing. I am disorientated and confused at the feeling of culture shock that I have. I feel like an alien. I don't like any of these people, they're all living fake lives. 

I need to mediate and accept that about them. I guess until I fall into the same slumber again myself. 

Also, my foot hurts. 

Day 0: I'm Fucking "Home." Thank Christ! Jesssus. Holy Fuck and Shit

I slept at the Olbia airport, if you can call that sleep. We made our flight to Rome and I slept for the 3 hours to Amsterdam. I did not sleep for any of the 9.5 hour flight to home. Instead, I just started going slightly buggy, buggy lite, about halfway in. That was a bizarre small jail cell that at least gave me movies, Tetris, and free booze. I want to put it behind me forever.

My first thought this morning, after getting home last night and entering hours of deep dreamless sleep was: I'm want my own place. Fuck this moving in together thing. I need my independent space.

But then again.

 I just spent an hour looking at rentals up island and where I am. Meh, meh, meh...

If I commit to a place up there - what and who do I really have? My youngest is wholly engaged with her own life and very happy. I would see her minimally.

Here, I could build a life and have a second bedroom.  And, I wanted to get involved in the theatre stuff down here.

What I need in Nanaimo is an Airbnb that I become regular at that is totally affordable.

Ugh. DECISIONS!

Whatever. I just want to feel like I have my own place. The place we're in feels like a place where my things are, not my place. It's home enough, but... .

I need some magic. Sweet, sustainable magic.

A place with

good movement and flow
independent space
creative space
invites family
invites friends
invites cats
warm
light
love and soul
freedom
joy
sustainable
sweet magic
growth

Universe, I am ready and I ask for your assistance

Day 24 (of 26)

Can we just go home now?

We've seen the things, we've exhausted the trip. All that's left if waiting it out in our little bnb, which for those purposes, isn't great. No internet (I have to tether to my phone data), no movies, little space, and shitty couch. Let the thumb twiddling begin. We have today and tomorrow, after tomorrow, we have to wake up to catch a 4am ferry to the mainland, ride an hour bus to the Olbia airport to catch a 7am flight back to Rome, where we need to meet up with our 10am flight home.

Me thinks we've cut it a bit tight.

I'm looking forward to being home. I want to visit my kids and hang out with  friends and drink wine. I want to go see a movie and eat popcorn. I want to sink into work  and solve puzzles. I love my job.

I want to sit in a bath and read, lay on my couch comatose and staring at the ceiling, drive my car, see my mom. I want to not see the Greek for a good coupla days.  Yeah, those things sound so nice.

Today I will ask the gift goddesses to help me locate sweet, meaningful gifts for my kids and look for a bag with which to carry all my goodies home comfortably. I will shop.

I will also be fabulous and work on my novel ('s outline) at a cafe, fulfilling a dream I've imagined. I will read silly books. I will... vacation.

That is all.

Day 24: La Maddalena

Including today, we have 4 days left. The wind is supposed to pick up today. We have biking planned and want to visit some, hopefully, more quiet beaches.

We have 6 days here in total, the hope was that it was 6 days of rest, beach, and sun after running all over Italy like madmen.

I have to say, I'm proud of myself on this trip. We essentially backpacked around Italy. I'm not sure what I thought that would be like when all my friends were backpacking the world after high school. I guess I imagined they were sleeping in dirty alleyways and hostels, if not sleeping in pretty hotels.

The only difference, I believe, is that I've done it in Airbnb's where I have the whole apartment. So, not shacking up with a slue of other travellers and sharing dorms in hostels. Small difference I think. So, I can say that I have backpacked across Italy. Not too shabby.

A place came up for rent at home, via a work contact. It appears to be the place I have been manifesting. It's a 2 bedroom with a large loft/den and it's on the fucking beach, with steps down to the beach. Pft. It's also only a 10 minute bike ride to work AND happens to be on my/our preferred bike ride route. So, that's weird.

I expressed interest but as it's actually available for the day after we get back and the work contact is actually an investor (that I have met and chilled with), perhaps it wont be "the one," so, we'll see.

As well, I signed up to volunteer at a local theatre a while back and they've finally reached out to gather volunteers. Their orientation takes place a restful 4 days after I get back.

I'm excited about this. I love acting and being on stage. Volunteering gets me back into the community and lets me dip my feet into the world of small theatre without making commitments I will regret. I've always had some issues with the people in the community, they can be so snobby and ridiculous, but I think I'm better prepared for that now. Perhaps I can be a props person until I get comfortable. Perhaps, opportunities will arise for some fun improve moments that will get me relaxed and back into acting.

All and all, heading home has some new promise to it. I still feel weird about committing to a place with the Greek, but it's tough to not consider given the prices of places. Living on my own would mean a teeny tiny studio perhaps - which would be just fine, too.

I'm amazed that we've gotten on as good as we have. I expected it to be fine, but perhaps not this lovely and easy going. He's a lovely, weird little soul. I do look forward to us both getting back to our lives and doing our own things.

I have not missed work - whatsoever.

I have not decided what and how to write as a result of my time off, but perhaps I've made progress (even if that means blowing it up to an unwritable story just to whittle it back down again).

My kids. My kids! I'm proud of them, they seemed to have made some interesting progress not having me around for a month. I'm really so very proud of the women they are. They are strong, intelligent, loving, and beautifully genuine. They're adults, albeit young ones. They are perfect.

I feel good. I'm looking forward to returning. I'm looking forward to returning to work having not missed it whatsoever, not thought of it or our big massive project. My perspective is settled and relaxed. I'm a clean, refreshed slate, ready to slay.

Off I go to bike off ALL THIS FOOD. Ugh

actual me on an electric bike ;)

ps: I think I might start trying to draw so I can illustrate my story - comic style. Just thought I would put that here for safe keeping. 

Day 18, Crisis Averted

After figuring out what was on my mind yesterday, I, as I do, immediately spilled my brain to the Greek - as he was waking up.

It sounded, even to me, that it was the prelude to we're gonna split up because even I thought that could be the case (albeit, not what I wanted).

How could I have my single self independence and be in a relationship? But what it came down to was just that that was/is what I need.

I need to know I can turn off this relationship and be a sexless mature single minded 47 year old woman that meanders around her life: rocks her job,  focuses on her family, and chills with friends.

Then, I can have those times where I am a romantic with my lover and we have endless sex, ride bikes that end in picnics, movies nights, and on and on.... I just need to be able to turn this particular one off for, I don't know, a week or so at a time? Maybe?

I need the Greek to know that this is a need and want of mine should we continue, and that I haven't been voicing it. I've just been being scared that I'm losing it.

Being in a romantic journey with him is such a gift, but I can't keep up with it. I'm someone different when I'm with him, and I enjoy it, but it's not my default and it takes some effort. Some of that effort is, somehow, being in a younger than my version of young, mind. It's exhausting.

A lot of the above, most likelyish, turns out to be more in my mind:  what I think I have to keep up with. And perhaps allowing an official version of turning off the romantic self will help me see that it is the same as what we have now and that I've just been in my head about how I don't actually have the default version of me on hand. And that weird thought that, if I let my guard down and relax in myself, he will see me as old? I think I think that, and perhaps he already sees that and loves me still.

I suppose we'll see.

We talked about all of this and he was/is on the same page. He also wants his independence and wants to see me feel free and happy. So, we'll go with this for now.

Having that conversation has allowed me to relax and be present on our trip. I was really getting silently afraid of trying to keep up with a version of myself that I thought I had to be, and that we were moving into a couple, whatever that means.

I just want us to be ourselves. I don't want to write a story of who we are. I just want to be me.

I want to contribute to his happiness without being responsible for it, which is where, for whatever reason, I was feeling we were headed.

And I suppose a big part of that comes from my time with my husband, where I wholly accepted responsibility for his happiness. I tried, time and time again, to raise him up and be his bridge to the world, and I don't want that. Luckily, this is truly something that the Greek does not need from me in the slightest.

I feel better and more engaged. I feel promise for when we get home. I feel free. Oh, thank god I feel free.

Six days in La Maddalena, here I come.

Day 17 Kythnos Island, Greece

In hindsight, it guess it would have been cool to blog from each location. Going from Bologna to Greece seems like a lot of missed opportunities .

It's just after 6am here on this amazingly beautiful Greek island, where we have a mind boggling view of the port from our picturesque BnB. It's still dark like night. It's the stuff day dreams are made of. All of it.

Speaking of day dreams. I am just... struggling... to put words to this somewhat different? feeling I am having. Incongruent. It's an incongruent feeling. I suppose it's something like feeling beside myself: is this really happening, who the fuck am I, or better yet, who the fuck have I become? kind  of thing.

Day 17, essentially 9 days left of a 26 whirlwind trip around Italy with a jaunt over to (amazing) Greece with my boyfriend, partner, co worker, lover, whatever-you-call-it person.  It's been more than perfect, we even managed sleeping in a single bed together at his Aunt and Uncles, and I persevered around solely greek speaking people. There so much to write about it all, perhaps I will save that type of recounting for when I get back and it can be steeped with reflection. Now, I just want to write about all this stuff inside me, these inconsistencies.

My life with this man. What the fuck? I don't understand it. On paper, as it stands right now, it's lovely and perfect. It has ups and downs, space and togetherness, but I'm missing something for me - and I think it's more space. More independence.

Leaving my marriage, I never wanted to walk into another marriage. I didn't want to be one with someone else; and here I am, one with someone, living in a one bedroom apartment just steps away from our shared place of employment.

We talk about whats next,  because I was very upfront that the living at this place thing was a means of saving for this trip (which I barely did, btw). I have been upfront that I would be moving after. So, we discuss getting a larger place for us. And sometimes, I really, really want that.

I think back to when I had my own place and it was somewhat exhausting not just cohabiting the same place. It was like never ending dating. Living together seemed like it would be easier to just do our own things and come back at the end of the day. However, that started to seem like marriage. As if somehow, we started to lose that loving feeling, that urgency to see each other.

So, maybe, it would be better for me to just have my own little bachelor space?

But, a two bedroom space also seems idyllic, with an art/guest room. But, it would come at a cost, we would become a working relationship.

Perhaps the version where we get a real place seems like an attempt to "play house" and be a certain type of couple that I've written a story for in my head - and those never end like you expect. But I can't help but write the fairly tale story of happily ever after.

As I write this, the sun is slowly rising while I sit on this amazing white, beautifully furnished, deck on a greek island. One has to wonder how one could possibly be conflicted. 




I love him, but sometimes it doesn't seem real. It seems like a story book that I'm reading, not living.

And it's a fault in me. Somewhere inside me, I'm not allowing myself to accept this (and then, not accepting that I'm not accepting it). I'm not saying this in a oh I've lived such a traumatic life that I can't allow myself to accept something good boring kind of way. It's like I'm not allowing myself to accept it because I know where it's going to end and... well... I don't want that journey. I've had that journey.

I don't want the happily ever after  story. I just want the hey, look at you waking up and living your life each day where I am, potentially, someone different on different days. Somedays, I'm independent me who is not in love and is an empty slate (aka a grown-ass woman). Some days, I'm in love and joy and sex with my friend and lover (a grown-ass woman enjoying herself on her terms). Other days, I'm a mom and women, gracefully/joyfully getting older, sharing my soul with my adult children, family, and close friends (a woman truly in love with her life).

It's conflicting - maybe - but I think that's what I want. Those three things.

Day 10. Bologna

We stopped over here because I messed up on the check in/check out times on our way to Ravenna, so we needed another night somewhere else and decided to go half way and get some of this Bologna food. We were tired and grumpy, the food here was like all spaghetti here, it tastes like what I make at home - which if you knew me, you would laugh. 

So - realtalk - for a relationship that has a large gap in years and started at work - a relationship that I don't think many people would have given it a lot of time - we're doing really very good.

I question this relationship a lot. How long will it last, how long will he be attracted to me (and my aging), how long will I be attracted to him (his inexperience overall), and I just can't escape the fact that we just work well together.

We work together, live together, and now we're travelling together. These strains really test people, and here we are: respecting our space, adjusting attitudes when we're feeling assholey, picking up our shitty moods so as to respect the others experience in Italy.

I keep wondering what will show the holes in our facade and what is always left is that it's not a facade.

Neither of us know the best before date of this connection. All we know is that today, we love each other in the way that we do.

We've had a lot of fun so far. The longest we've stayed anywhere has been 3 nights in La Spezia; our BnB sucked and the town was meh, and we still managed to enjoy it. Florence was the best - our place was the bomb and the sites were close and easy.

Today, we're off to Ravenna for another 3 nights. Going over the reviews for this BnB has left me a little concerned that we're going to get a lemon. I hope it's not. I hope it has soul. I'm really looking forward to being in Ravenna.

After that... it's Greece to visit the Greek's Aunt and Uncle. After that... it's Sardinia for 5 days. 5 relaxing, do nothing but beach and explore islands days.

I'm surprised and not surprised that this is working out so well. I'm also glad, happy, and at peace. I don't think I would have had near as much fun taking a trip like this with anyone else.

This has been and is an amazing experience. Oh... small obscure de ja vou.

ps: this is only day 10 of 27 days and we've been to: Rome, Siena, Florence, Pisa, La Spezia + Cinque Terra + Portovenere, and now Bologna. Shit, that's a lot.

Ciao, bella!

I'm going to Italy. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'm going to Italy.

It's kinda odd funny,  a that's weird, how did that happen to you kinda thing. Whoda thunk?

I keep having these images in my mind of me as a younger person, arriving to class for the first days of grades 2 and up, cracking open the atlas to Italy and circling my name - making some sort of silent threat that one day I would go there.

It was as if, in those circling moments, I dared to imagine it, rather mischievously, too.   I was defacing every school atlas I touched after all. "One day I will get myself there," and I would circle it with a snide little take that world laissez faire approach. You know, from that small, down-trodden 1% of my spirit that had a little spit and vinegar slowly brewing (despite the very inhospitable environment for spit and vinegar). 

So, considering that act would have been my earliest manifestation for travel abroad, one could say it makes sense that I am headed there first.

It's a little weird that I'm going there with a man who, especially since the latest hair cut, possesses the qualities of two of the men I've created and deposited in stories, Ian and Loris. I mean, it's weird in an obvious way, too. I get that. I was obviously attracted to those physical traits - but I mean to find it, get a long with it, and love it? I don't know, those seem like low odds if you don't believe in a little bit of magic to help it along.

Any hoo - time to get my shit together.

Until next time (which could be when my travel companion is driving me crazy and I have to vent AND/OR when we're so in love that I have to share...)

Every Now and Then it's just One of Those Days

I don't know who that last post, or last few posts, was. Apparently, I had a political moment. Meh. I'm glad the zeal is over.

Now, back to our regular scheduled programming: 

Everything is nothing. 

I leave for Italy in just a wee-hair under one month. I am still living with the Greek. It is still going really well, especially considering the odds that would have seemed, to me, to be stacked against us.

Now and then though, I feel those odds. Today is both now and then.

The odds include (but are not limited to):

• The age/experience gap
• Working together closely full time

There are times where I long for: my individuality, my free relationship with my daughters, having a home for my daughters, connecting with my origins, and building a community that is gracefully forward moving. 

I've put some of those things aside, which is fine and okay (and perhaps even important). But, I miss them. 

So, yeah, Italy at the end of August. 

I know you can pick it up in my tone, but just in case, I really am totally excited. 

The Greek and I in Italy, side by side, for a month. 

I think work can really mess with the nice part of us. I think that I possess my position at work in a way that stunts his growth, and that makes me sad. But also, that age/experience gap? Well, it's what gives me the chops to do this job and it's why I have it and not him. This is something that, while I've alluded to it, I have not and will not say to him - because it would be a game changer for us, I think. Also, given the way in which he processes information, I don't think it would stick in a meaningful way. 

Which is to say that I don't believe I am the person that will shed the right amount of light on it for him. I'm a piece of the puzzle, but not the last piece that brings the picture together. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

The rubbies are next door to me in the park, they've been up and at it since around 5am. I find that I am happy for them that it's summer and they can enjoy life, having coffee/beer with their community. It makes me think of my sister. Also though, shut the fuck up, already.

It's like having a gaggle of college students living next door to you that insist on living a constant party in their backyard 🙄. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Today: today, I'm going to go to the gym this morning and surrender to this want and desire for the things I set aside. Then, depending on the Greek...

because I think deep down somewhere in his heart he is butt sore from a meeting we had yesterday in which - it seemed to me - he felt he had uncovered gapping holes in my work which was sufficient evidence that he should be leading the project, not me, only to find that he just made some massive assumptions on my process. This appeared to have left him once again with the sense/feeling of a lack of belonging. 

What he really wants to be doing is what I am doing. He doesn't have a title because I have it. Rinse/repeat adnauseam.

So, depending on the level of his MAYBE (because I could be wrong about the above) butt soreness, perhaps we will do something? If not, I will surrender to my lastest sculpture - because it's got to be bone dry by now. sigh. 

Then, at 5, I have dinner plans with old work friends, yay!

Today: it just feels like one of those days where you leave an old skin behind. You learn something you can't unlearn, see something you can't un-see. 

I Mean, I Don't Know...

Exhibit A

I'm tired.

Right this second, I'm tired of hearing myself pontificate. I'm tired of feeling it (also, I drank some wine over discussion with a friend last night. This may be a contributing factor).

But, like, I love Bret Weinstein. I fucking love him. He makes so much sense. And there are so many other people who make a similar amount of sense and have varying degrees of my affection and/or agreement.

I want to talk about it, I want to shout it from the mountain top, I want to join this discussion... .

But, dude, in order to do that properly, there would be so fucking much I would have to read, discuss, learn, internalize, contemplate, listen to. And, well, I give you Exhibit A.

The fact that I used a fucking bitmoji for that should suffice in disqualifying me. Not to mention a bitmoji that says "I can't even." I'm embarrassed for me.

Only - I'm not really. And, it's not enough to disqualify me. I am a layperson.

I think there is a sweetness to entering the discussion from that humble perspective (for the record, sometimes I disgust myself).

I guess I'm feeling that I sense that I have a lot to offer and that, perhaps, it is my moral obligation to not be afraid to speak my mind.  But I'm just tired and slightly hungover, and I don't want to argue with people that, as it appears to me, are so far up their asses that they're too embarrassed to admit that there's shit all over their face. They're willing to die in denial to save themselves this humility. How do you deal with that?

Product Manager puzzle solver and solution finder me feels in her gut that there is a way. But like my friend Bret Weinstein says, we have to find the z axis in our evolutionary-knee jerk  two dimensional thinking.

It feels like I/we would need to cut through time. As in, we're going to need to use some quantum physics type shit to see what we aren't seeing.

So, yeah.

Whatever. Don't look at me... . 

Work I Manifested

I had a vision, and I set some personal goals. Those goals appeared to just be hopes and dreams at the time, but still the visual of it was in front of me; I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Now, I am here.

I am a software Product Manager. We are a small/medium sized company emerging out of our start up shell.

We have technical debt.

Having started with this company from the beginning as support, I had some really good feels about what customers needed this app to do.

As the Product Manager, I have applied that knowledge (along with a host of other research/designer tools - don't get excited, it's not just me) within the conceptualization of the new foundation of the app; the foundation that throws out the workarounds, leaves the barge sized ship of technical debt behind, and allows us to emerge from our start up cocoon shiny, new, and powerful for our users. 

It's a lot of responsibility. Most of the time, I feel pretty good about what our product team has put together. Lately though...

We're starting production; the wave of developers digesting our (my) ideas, interpreting them, blowing them up, resolving them, and changing them is all Lions and Tigers and Bears - oh my.

I wonder sometimes how I'm going to keep up? How will I rein them in when they're taking complicated liberties over product decisions? How will I stand my ground? How the fuck will I document each step of the fucking process so that we have a trail - this thing is ginormous, even its broken-into-milestone parts.

A friend of mine and I have this inside joke, this project and a different one (that is ready for release) appear to have ended up as versions of what the product team intended. Versions that we lovingly refer to as:

Le Sigh

For those not in the know, I introduce you to Bitch Stewy and Bitch Brian.

So, there's that.

Now, we're a pretty young product team, we're working some shit out. But, man... this shit is fucking hard.

AND... it's rewarding. 

Work I manifested: To be challenged and feel successful.

I can only hope that manifesting feeling successful is the same as being successful. I mean, I can't imagine the gap would be that big.

Either way... I am here.

Let's Be Honest, Shall We?

I have NO idea if my errant mood is a result smoking/not smoking followed by more smoking/not smoking, but I've just about had e-fucking-nough.

I just can't listen to people. Their ignorant platforms genuinely hurt my soul. It's like everyone's just being loud, arrogant, and opinionated just to hear the sound of their own voices.

I thought I had weeded out my Facebook so that it was safe to go on, but the people complaining about the bike lanes that have gone in to our little downtown core... I just don't get it. It hurts my heart and mind to see people's dark side like this.

I have to go clean my soul.

Same side of a different coin: It appears I'm having some issues living with a boyfriend/roommate in a small, overheated one bedroom apartment (sans silverfish). It appears that I have moments of fierce independence and become absolutely incensed when his routine fucks up mine (and I'm too polite or agreeable to assert my own prior to the mighty clash). I mean, I think a lot of it is the smoking, tbh.

I watched an older woman getting into her car the other day and, get this, I saw the day I would be a single, invisible to the mainstream, grandmother.

It looked so peaceful. 

I mean, I don't know...

Cartoon me is back. Fun!

Sometimes being alone, without a full time relationship that is, seems pretty inviting; being one of those women, mature of-a-certain-age women that are just good with being single for probably, most likely, the rest of their lives just doesn't seem that bad.

Obviously I want friends, close friends, community, and ... lovers. But maybe I would prefer to live on my own.

Don't get me wrong, everything here with the Greek is great, but I feel as though I've lost some level of autonomy. In the words of people who's words make my skin crawl, me no likey.

Love can inspire romantic illusions that are just so captivating and delicious. They beg to be devoured. And perhaps today, I feel... full. Maybe even a little stuffed?

Now, I don't know about that...

Oh. And, the tickets to Italy are booked. We're going to Italy.

I feel a "fuck me" is in order

Other things I've been a little glutenous about, Jordan Peterson.  Like many other sensible people in the world (or North America), I've become a little obsessed with the guy. He's dangerously almost perfect.

I've never been one to engage with social politics, because I just don't want to donate my time and mental real estate to people who appear to be stuck on a path that is, well, beneath me. I figure, they'll either catch up or live out their lives in a semi-miserable dysfunction that, in the end, they were comforted by.

I did JP's personality assessment, I scored low on compassion which then sums up my above statement pretty succinctly. BUT, when the clamouring intellectually and emotionally under evolved people start freaking the fuck out at each other, panicking and asserting, suddenly stepping on each other's heads to get out of the hole that was in part dug for them and that they then dug deeper, the affects of their actions start oozing over onto my side of fence. Now, I've created a very nice garden for myself and when I start to see that it's in threat of being overrun by mass hysteria disguised as left/right political correctness - the road to hell is paved with good intentions - bullshit.... Well, now I gotta get involved.

The Lord of the Flies kids are getting outta hand and somebody needs some grownups to come in and make some sense of this before the kids choose a volatile leader that promises order but provides or promotes, I don't know, genocide and,  because the tribes can't get along, a let the strong survive mentality.

Having said that, this really only results in me reading, reading, and more reading - and probably, at some point, stirring a pot somewhere. Not really my cup of tea, but neither is letting something that seems dangerous to my children's world, grow and evolve.

Don't fuck with my kid's shit. And DON'T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!

So, yeah, passive, compasstionaly lazy me says, "we'll see where that goes."

Gentle, gentle, gentle

The period train is slowing down these days. I've approached that station. However, my state as of these last few days would suggest that this missing period of mine is right around the corner. So emotional. Sheesh.

I'm here, living with the Greek, and sometimes it's like waking up from a bout of amnesia, looking around me and saying, "What the fuck? This isn't my life."

And last night, when I was despondent because a) I don't recognize my life and 2) I didn't prioritize sculpting  when I really wanted to start a new project, he asked why - he probed even.

I'm feeling out of sorts, living in someone else's home - no matter how you slice that, it takes some getting used to - and I don't have my own flow. I feel a bit at the mercy of his lifestyle. And it's not that he makes it that way, it's just the natural results of moving into someone else's home/life. It's weird.

And so I was awkward - didn't want to turn the TV on in my boredom (because he is one of those that "rightly so" hates it), which I would have normally done, didn't have a book to read, didn't start the project I wanted to but it was too late now, didn't have a fucking thing to do, didn't want to write or blog, didn't want to surf and endlessly scroll the fucking internet....

So I sat there, despondent. Then he put a blanket on me when I didn't ask for it and said, in that cute voice, "look at you, you're so lazy..." to which I responded (rightly so), "are you fucking kidding me?"

I'm not LAZY, fucker. I'm LOST. STRANDED. AND LOOKING FOR DIRECTION. I was fucking thinking.

Ugh.

Anyways.

After wistfully averting my view (which was, from my prone position on the couch, the ceiling), by resting my chin on the couch and staring out the window, followed by a ladened sigh, he asked, "What's wrong?"

AND I really tried to sell the "nothing" as if there was really nothing wrong, because nothing was wrong, I was just out of sorts.

But he did that thing where he is curious and probed and asked questions and we talked in the way that I always make people talk. In that way that no other partner has done with me.

And the days before, we had spent away on a tug boat B&B and had dinner with other guests and chatted with folks and walked in forests, played mini golf - and it was lovely. All of it was lovely.

And then tears well up around my eyes as I recall this feeling that I keep having, which is:

This wasn't supposed to last, but I keep falling more in love with him. This keeps working, so much so that I imagine a home that we share. I imagine the symmetry that we build, and it's beautiful.

And then I think, "but this is exhausting... how long can I keep this up?"

I don't know what this is. I suspect I'll find out one day. It very well might be joy and not knowing how to let it be a normal thing. Instead, it feels like a thing thing that requires thought and attention and a clear divergence from my past life which was struggle, struggle, struggle.

Also, it has something to do with this amnesia - waking up, seeing my new self, and then thinking about parts of the old me that got left behind - I miss those pieces. I think.

Time to go to work now - to that tech job that I would have only dreamt of having, that tech job where I'm pretty sure I'm doing some good stuff - time to go live my best life. Oh, and there it is, what's exhausting is clinging to this constant wonderment of, how the fuck did I get here? 

Well, I can tell you this FOR SURE, I worked very hard to get here. I just never anticipated it working so well in return.

This... this only proves out the rest of the journey.

Work. Pray. Breath.

This is where I ask the universe some stuff.

I need some help. I need you to come through me now. Now is the time. I feel the creation inside of me and I need your help to give it form. 

Universe, Gods and Goddesses, please help me find the divine and pull it out to see the light of day.


Focus.
(that's the word I heard)

That Day I Moved In With the Greek

I'm at my old home, my matrimonial home. I come here a couple of days a week to be able to visit/live with my youngest. I come here to create some level of mom/daughter normalcy in her last years of living at home.

Her dad and I live our day to day lives so differently. The home he creates by way of not creating anything is cold and lonely for her. I don't want that for her. I'm happy to have this time with her when I come up. I'm happy to remind my former life partner that life can be a little bit more warm and inviting, too.

This trip up has been a little different. I've been here for a week while he's away. I'm really living in my hold home. I cleaned up some stuff that was beginning to border an echoing, dirty state of neglect. I made it clean and loved until it sang (this is the stuff my daughter is used to living in. I get that she feels like she went from a garden to a grave). And boy did it sing. It felt nice. For a moment.

My last day here and my daughter has been a way at a concert. My kids are growing up and they are off living their lives most of the time. My last day here and I remembered how lonely I was when I lived in this house and in this town.

I made a house sing with love and joy and shared it with someone who wanted to be no one, and then with no one at all.

I'm here and I'm alone - most of the time.

In the other half of my life, I've moved in with the Greek. The road just naturally curved that way.

I'm going to take the dog for a walk.

Day 13660

Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't seem that long.  Which, for me, begs the question, what was I thinking that made me see that my age in days seems positively small or early... or something.

I just couldn't come up with a title and was going for Sol 42 kinda sci fi feel. Suddenly, I'm perked up because 13 660 days seems like nothin. Forty-seven years apparently comes with a lot more stigma - that I am laying on thick while being in total denial that I am.

My body... hurts. I can't remember it hurting this much, this consistently in my thirties. And apparently, I'm still really young so it sucks to have this much discomfort - upon wakening.

I'm noticing that I'm doing that thing lately, where I never feel like I can get a full breath. Which means, I'm stressing out and not telling myself that I am. I'm watching my life from the sidelines because I can't believe that what's happening is not weird. But my body self seems to be okay with all. As if it knows the future of "it's gonna be fine" and I don't.

The people that live above me, the woman, when she's home, what the fuck is she doing? It sounds like she's arranging rocks, and then, oh I don't know, shredding small shrubs in a industrial blender? She's fucking loud.

Right, and her walking about the house: it seems to me that she walks about, from room to room, repeating to herself, single-mindedly, "I'm as heavy as an ox, I'm as heavy as an ox, I'm as heavy as..."

Luckily, she  travels a lot for work and is gone for long stretches of time. When she is gone, her husband-dude-guy is as quiet as mouse. It's like he's not even home. That must be why they got the Roomba, so that he would remember her and feel comforted by the noise. Fucking Roomba.

I remember what I wanted to write about: I'm sick of myself. Also, I'm sick of myself being sick of myself.  Enter Dissonance.

I want to write but I hate who I look like as a writer. I don't like how my words sound, they sound like I'm trying to be someone other than who I am and I can't seem to locate true north. OR... or, I'm not accepting who I am as a writer. I suppose my first exercise can be "accept yourself as the writer you are today."

I can't change those things if I don't get them out of me enough so that I can see the pieces and then rearrange them. I need to shut the fuck up.  All this languishing on what a douche bag I am is simply self indulgent. Write and re-write.

And every time I have a thought, I must acknowledge it as what it is, a thought, and return the goal of true north.

This morning, I opened a link from Bored Panda, some look at these every day photos that make you think twice accidental optical illusions post. I anticipated seeing 7-10 images but there was 17 pages of images, 5-7 images a page - a fucking forever of fucking cool, weird images - and I could not stop going to the next page EVEN THOUGH I WANTED TO STOP.  Just one more page I could hear my brain say.

It was like gum. The way I feel when gum is in my mouth and it demands I chew it.

It's like cigarettes when they're close to me, dancing about saying "smoke me, smoke me."

It's that feeling of doing things when I really, really don't want to do them.

These actions feel like little sandpaper razor blades cutting the skin above my heart. I can't stop cutting. And then I look up and am confronted with the house plants I refuse to water.

I am unhappy with my un-doing. Although, as far as the house plants are considered, perhaps I no longer want to have the responsibility of those - that's fair.

There is nothing else to be done but to get out my compass, find true north, and not be pulled from the path by thoughts (or stupid Bored Panda posts) that only offer blackholes of brain gum and cigarettes.

And bad feelings are often only negative thoughts masquerading as truth.

STOP YELLING!

actual cartoon version of me

Who do I present to the internet? The fun me, the intellectual me, the spiritual me, the I'm-all-those-things-at-once me? Who is the cartoon version of me and why do I need that?

The internet you is a cartoon version of you. Maybe your cartoon is a New Yorker kind of cartoon or maybe it's a Anime/pop culture super hero cartoon. Or, a Ready Player One video game avatar cartoon (also, if anyone wants to make a grown up version of that book into a movie, please call me). OR... or a Andy Warhol painting cartoon.  Whatever your genre, the internet highlights reel version of you is a fucking cartoon.

The fact that I can not escape this is driving me nuts. And that people are wholly blind and/or absorbed by this is freaking me out.

I don't want to be the cartoon version of me, but I still want to exist in this new world.

Everything internet is about manipulating the user down a path. Glitz and glam. Pretty magazines of information everywhere, connecting you to everything. Scroll! Scroll, SCROLL BITCH, SCROLL. Muhahahahah.

No, I didn't just figure this out. Until now, I accepted it, enjoyed it even. Then, I decided to accept it 150%: yes, market to me, listen to everything I say, because maybe you can curate decent content to me. Maybe you can show me local businesses that I, in return, feel self-righteous about supporting. Great! Feeling superior is exactly what I wanted.

Only, it ends up feeling like I'm wearing jeans that are way too fucking tight.

Because the fucking internet tells you what a super mo fo you are if you support local businesses. Now my super power is being a comfortable do-gooder... of shopping? 

It's all so painfully vacuous.

And every time I open my browser and visit a page that I think is going to entertain me - it feels like walking down a very noisy street of venders, artists, intellectuals, journalists, "stupid" people shouting their opinions and making me judge them,  screaming at me.

They're all fucking screaming.

My computer and phone have become a portal into a vortex of screaming animals. All foaming at the mouth mad to get my attention. That's all I see and I can't un-see it.

I don't want to be political, intellectual, or beautiful. The internet is killing my desire.

Perhaps it's simply the difference of living in the city and then deciding the city is just too fast and too loud, so you move out to the country.

But if you don't know that your suffering from living in the city every time you open your fucking computer or phone then maybe you feel like you're going crazy and have lost control of your insides. And then cartoon version of you is always attempting a take-over so that you can keep up the pace.

It's telling you that if you post a quote about being quiet and moving to the country, everything will be okay. Just make a country bumpkin cartoon version of you and everything. will. be. okay.

Reject progress and chill

When I searched for my bitmoji for country or bumpkin, there was no match. Cartoon me apologizes for this inadequacy.

Side note (because I'm totally judging my own drivel and want to beat you to the punch): Yeah, I know that a lot of people just aren't affected by this and simply turn off the internet. I guess, right now, I wish I was a bit more like them.

And! I know a million people have written the exact same bullshit as this and I'm late to this party. I'm just taking my turn. Okay?

Did you catch that that was cartoon me admonishing me-me for being a late blooming internet hater? It never ends.

The Struggle

Two lives that, in fact, are one. FUUUUUUCCCKCKKKKKKKK. YOU.

I'm sick of myself. I truly am. I'm sick of thinking. I don't want to do it anymore. Contemplating can fuck itself.

Sometimes I smoke, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I'm a mom, sometimes I'm relieved of that duty. Sometimes I am upstanding employee that gives 100+%, sometimes I'm a woman. Sometimes I'm a woman with a lover, sometimes  I'm a woman wearing her flesh inside out.

Why must I think about any of those things?

I don't want to think about meditating and the benefits of being a more present version of me.
I don't want to think about how I can change the world from the inside out.
I don't want to think about wearing my flesh inside out.
I don't want to think about the weight I'm gaining.
I don't want to think about who the cartoon version of me is.

Thinking is hurting me.

Devil-May-Care

I used to wake up, get coffee, and then come to my blog and write. Until Facebook's feed changed that? I was, of course, an early adopter of Facebook - eager to get a glimpse of all my old classmates. I remember it being just that, search for old friends, look at them, get bored, move on.

I don't recall when the feed came in; it was apparently 2006. So, whatever, I lied. I would probably would have probably would have also looked at the feed. However, I'm pretty sure I didn't spend the hour+ that I spend now. I would come to my blog to write, because I had so much drama to say.

I don't have much to say today, but I've throttled my feed using News Feed Eradicator for Facebook and I just don't feel like undoing that action - so I came here instead. I should be writing. I enjoy writing. I don't have to publish it.

Oh right, I'm shackin' up. For at least 5 months. With the Greek. We're going to go to Italy. ...the fuck?! So, there is that.

I am surprisingly relaxed about all of this, even though the move is happening within the next two weeks. I have a bit of a devil-may-care attitude. It's refreshing.

I'm at this place where I decided, fuck it. Que sear sera. It could be a big mistake, but if it is, I'm the only one it's affecting. It's a miracle, I am not directly affecting the lives of little humans. Well, at least not with this action.

My momness overall is a thing still. The guilt and pain of having abandoned my youngest too soon is prevalent in my dreams. Ugh. Make it stop. It rips at my heart.

I'm throwing a bunch of shit in storage and moving into his place (staying part of the week there and part of the week with my child - because !I'M A MOM, DAMNIT!). We're saving by sharing his rent and then we're going to Italy in Sept.

So, we'll see how that goes.

Oh, ps: my body seems to be refusing to poop regular like, even though I be eatin' my flax. It seemed imperative to share that here, as if I'm calling my bowels out, publicly shaming them. That'll get them working, right?

There's your cliff hanger. You're welcome. Tune in next week!

Goals.

Breath, stay focused on the heart. Find the quiet.

So, Oh-my-god, I Have Kids.

Also known as: it's all my fault or oh my god, I think it's all my fault

My daily writings have never been about my kids. Anyone following this blog (not that they do) would maybe have a vague sense that I have children along the journey of  my dissolving marriage and transition into age-gapped relationship with a co worker.

I do, in fact, have children. Two of them. Females that are now young women and are nearly fully independent.

The reason they never frequented pages such as these? Probably because, up and until now, I Mom'd like a mo-fo'. I come to this place to search for the answers to questions I have. Answers that alluded me. As a mom, answers didn't allude me. They came to me like a I was a savant: relationship challenged and  mom genius.

For some reason, once they're out in the world as individuals and they're asking me (because we created such a good bond and I was good at advice) life decision things as if their lives depend on getting it right, right now, I panic along with them.

Inside voice: Oh my god, I don't know, do you want to go to school for that? School is a lot of money. Why don't you just work for a while? Oh wait, working and suck hole customer service jobs causes you social anxiety to a point of panic - and you had those traumatic experiences and I brought you up with dad that was unavailable and can't give you love and then I let you lean on me too much - I made your decisions - shit, I fucked you up. Ummmmmmm, I don't know? What do you want to do? Shit, you don't know either? Ummm, maybe we should go see a tea leaf reader? The latter because, you know, you're a witchy, earthy, gypsy mom who's smart AF and digs science but also believes in spiritual woo woo.

And the tea leaf reader tells them exactly what they want to hear, but then it doesn't happen quite like that or it doesn't happen soon enough and a black hole forms in the middle of their soul, into which they begin to sink.

And it's all.your.fault. Way to go, Mom! 😒

I think the only one thing true that I told my youngest (current experiencer of the pre life crisis), and finally told her (after many pep talks looking for the solution that would immediately set her free!) was that, "I think this is your battle. I can't fix this one. All I can do is be here to help, offer words to help you build strength and give you tools along the way. I will always be here, coaching, supporting, but the actual fight is inside you - so I can't fight this one for you."

And it fucking sucks. That is the truth that revealed itself to me. Outside of being there for her (as I can, because, you might recall - I ABANDONED MY 18 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TO LIVE WITH HER DAD SO I COULD MOVE AN HOUR-AND-A- HALF AWAY FOR WORK, AND YES! LOVE. ugh. it really is all.my.fault.

Anyways, outside of being there for her (physically, 2 days a week) there is nothing else I can do. This is out of my control.

Oh, there it is. Did someone just call Bingo?

My eyes are starting to see (except for the massive influx of guilt that tells me to quit my job and move back, because, really, that's the least I could do), this is part of her journey, not mine. It is my job to 1) let go 2) listen 3) support her decisions without advice.

Tru Dat

I'm in a weird place of too much introspection. Yes, that's what this is. Way too much introspection.

Likely because I am perceiving cross roads that come with the threat of life altering decisions. I do not want those feelings right now.

Should I live with the Greek?
What will that do to us?
Do I want that?
Do I really love him that much?
What does that much really mean?
Could it mean something simpler than I am thinking?
What do I want?

Do I really like this job?
Why are these people screaming at me?
Why am I letting them?
Am I happy here still?
Do I yearn for something more inline with my heart?
I think I want what I feel a yearning for - but is that real? Or fantasy?

Can I continue be the mother I think, thought I am/was with this distance?
Should I fuck everything there and move back there?
Really? Should I?

It's not the time for these decisions.

Now is simply the time to allow roads to effortlessly show themselves to me. I have no other tasks but to allow simplicity and beauty.

I surrender to the truth.

Roar.

A billion or so years ago, I had a blog called Mantramine. It was cool, I guess, if you like that sorta thing. If you were to look now, you would see its remains. It looks like shit. Like a ghost city's amusement park - the ferris wheel standing like a tall, lost child - abandoned.

I stripped it of its original glory and replaced it with meandering content that just reeks of inept searching.

All that to say, I think I want to start a podcast.

Are you laughing? You probably should be.

I think I'll call it Roar? Ugh, god, maybe not. That didn't sound so stupid in my head. Fine, whatever, I might steal DB&B. Phew, that feels much better.

So, yeah, I gotta move. It's time.

I was with the kid's dad today, the ffl, you know, the one I left, we were talking, catching up and I told him I think I have about 2 years left at my current job before I'll want to move on. And he said "What? Really?"

And I'll just cut to the chase here - I said, YEAH - BECAUSE I'M AMBITIOUS, not because I can't stay still.

It's true, all my working life I've been looking for the next up, but not because I can't commit. Because I WANNA KEEP GOING. Apparently in women (who aren't already tycoons and/or Martha Stewart) this appears to be lack of commitment or focus. In men, when they exhibit this early on, it's called... wait for it...

AMBITION

I mean, whatever, it probably looks less like ambition for me because it's been a really slow and made of incrementally small steps. I'll give him that. He just hasn't picked up on my slow-mo ninja life moves.

Should I find myself there, I imagine it will start a lot like that first blog did - with a strong desire to speak and share one-day-at-a-time.

I need to break free.

cUkf

I broke, or flipped, or fell, or tripped. I feel. I feel stuff.

I feel like I might have made a parenting misstep by leaving my 18 year old to live with her dad while I moved an hour away (fine, an hour and a half) for work. I feel guilt.

I, somewhat, realize that that reads pretty weak, but that doesn't shake the feeling. If she feels in her heart that I left her alone too soon - then I've broken my heart.

I feel sick to my stomach that my older sister is struggling so hard right now with alcohol. She's dragging the bottom of the family poverty line and her disease is oozing from her pores. I feel sick that she and her eleven year old need me.

I feel sick that my eighteen year old needs me.

I feel sick that the Greek wants me.

I hate that Christmas demands a picturesque family - even if it's inauthentic, forced,  and 9 months away - it makes me feel sick.

I think I have eczema fairing up on my hands. I've never had it before, and I think it's from the intensity and stress of work. I'm allowing them to pound and wring everything out of me because here, in this forum, I don't know better - yet.

It's March. Spring is beginning. Maybe that will help.

It feels like I can't breathe. It's likely because I'm holding my breath. I keep catching myself thinking, "Oh hey, I'm not taking breaths" while the pulse in my stomach bleats strong enough that I start feeling it in my chest.

I'm not ready for any of this. I need to pray.  I want to surrender. I want to be free, comfortable, and even.