Well, checking in once every blue moon just isn’t cutting the mustard!
I am truly very busy with school. This class is taking a lot more of my free time than I thought it would. I have to attend tons of plays, as well as class every week and writing papers. I’m so not complaining though…just trying to give you an idea of where I’ve been. The last play I saw was The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui and it was the best thing I saw all season. Really amazing. I’m going to make this play the focus of my final paper, so next week, when I don’t have the Dude, I’m going back to watch it again and again. My mom may try to see it as well. I want everyone I know to see this play. I want the Dude to be old enough to see this play. Amazing. If you are in the vicinity of the University of Delaware, get thee to the REP box office and score some tickets. Oh, but please wait until after I’ve bought all mine, okay?
The X finally removed himself from my auto insurance, so I gladly called the office to see what my new monthly payment would be. Well, first they wouldn’t give me the new payment until I gave them my new checking account number, then they said they had to call back with the info I needed. My insurance payment went up! I paid off my vehicle, moved to a safer area in the city; stopped parking in the street, and my payment was increased. Oh, hell no. I called MetLife and got a completely charming representative who helped me get a new policy drawn up. Because my company has an associate discount plan, they quoted me literally half of what the unnamed bastards wanted to charge for the Exact. Same. Policy. Thank you, Stephen. Thank you, MetLife. Smooches!
The divorce looms; papers get filed the first of July. It seems to strange that so much time has passed. I looked over the EZ divorce packet, and my head was swimming. I think I may have a mental block or two going on, so thank heavens I have an attorney uncle to walk me through.
That’s it for today, but I promise regular updates from now on! Things are in motion, so I should have much better stories for the future!
TTFN, K.J.
05 May 2010
01 April 2010
A simple case of mistaken identity.
I like Facebook. I'm not crazy about Facebook, spending my time farming animals and shooting gangsters, but I like to meet up with people I went to school with and see what they are up to. Anyway, I added this guy I went to high school with. He was so much fun and we used to hang out all the time. He taught me how to pack my cigarettes and french inhale. He wore Birks when guys didn't wear Birks. Yeah, I had a little boy-crush, so what? Moving on. His kid sister went to school with us and would sometimes come to parties. I always felt bad for her because she had really bad acne and a great personality. Basically a dating death sentence for a high school girl. Sometimes she would tag along to parties but never really got into the party scene. I always figured she would turn out great, much more together than, say, my "inhaling" funnel-slamming self. After I friended this guy, naturally I went looking for his sister to see what she was up to. Found her! She looked great! She had traveled all over the world, let her hair grow out, fixed up her skin, moved out of Delaware. Everything I thought she would do. I was so proud.
Until last night.
When I noticed someone commenting on old high school pictures of my friends. This person had a surprisingly familiar face. Oh, dear. THIS is the girl I thought I had friended months ago. I had been sending a complete stranger winks, "likes," and comments. The other girl had been so gracious, never once saying, "Umm, who are you?" I never knew. And, while I'm glad to have the actual girl added as a friend, I'm going to be sad to remove the wrong girl. You see, the actual girl hasn't traveled all over the world, let her hair grow out, or moved out of Delaware. It's kind of like I'm hanging on to what I think this girl should be. I am completely hung up on someone I have never met.
I may need therapy. Or to get laid. Most likely both.
Until last night.
When I noticed someone commenting on old high school pictures of my friends. This person had a surprisingly familiar face. Oh, dear. THIS is the girl I thought I had friended months ago. I had been sending a complete stranger winks, "likes," and comments. The other girl had been so gracious, never once saying, "Umm, who are you?" I never knew. And, while I'm glad to have the actual girl added as a friend, I'm going to be sad to remove the wrong girl. You see, the actual girl hasn't traveled all over the world, let her hair grow out, or moved out of Delaware. It's kind of like I'm hanging on to what I think this girl should be. I am completely hung up on someone I have never met.
I may need therapy. Or to get laid. Most likely both.
04 March 2010
The Intimidation Factor
I have a paper due on Tuesday. I thought I had a topic and I thought I would be able to jam it out, like in the good old days, but I'm beginning to think I must have made those days up because I am struggling. It's pretty bad when I am looking around my room thinking of something else I can clean rather than write. I also have to do my nails. And clean my truck. Oh, and fly to Chile and help with the disaster relief.
I sat here for over two hours last night trying to write an outline. All I accomplished was a burning sensation that my topic was just awful. The pits. What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be able to write this kind of paper in between classes and parties. 30 minutes, max. Three pages, bang it out, a few editorial changes, turn it in for the A...or at the very least, a B.
I've been trying to figure out my major malfunction all day and this is what I came up with. I'm intimidated. I am so preoccupied with writing a grad level paper that I can't focus on the paper itself. I have to come to terms with the fact that I could do really well on this paper, or I could do terribly. This is the first of many and there is no way to know what I'm doing right or wrong until I get this first paper graded. I really hate that. I need to know what to expect. I don't want to take a bad score just because I don't have a feel for things yet. This sucks.
To hell with it. I'm just going to get it written and do the best I can.
I sat here for over two hours last night trying to write an outline. All I accomplished was a burning sensation that my topic was just awful. The pits. What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be able to write this kind of paper in between classes and parties. 30 minutes, max. Three pages, bang it out, a few editorial changes, turn it in for the A...or at the very least, a B.
I've been trying to figure out my major malfunction all day and this is what I came up with. I'm intimidated. I am so preoccupied with writing a grad level paper that I can't focus on the paper itself. I have to come to terms with the fact that I could do really well on this paper, or I could do terribly. This is the first of many and there is no way to know what I'm doing right or wrong until I get this first paper graded. I really hate that. I need to know what to expect. I don't want to take a bad score just because I don't have a feel for things yet. This sucks.
To hell with it. I'm just going to get it written and do the best I can.
19 February 2010
Thoughts while waiting for the play to start last night.
These student seats are just terrible. I had no idea the front row of orchestra seating meant I would be sitting under the stage.
I am the oldest person in this row.
I am no longer the oldest person in this row. Grandma Moses and I make up the entire adult ed population.
The two kids sitting to my left keep looking for Paul. Paul's dad has an apartment in the city that he only uses when he has to work in the city that would be perfect for a party. Paul is supposed to be bringing his girlfriend. Paul is finally spotted, in a balcony seat. I would really like to meet Paul.
The girls sitting to my right skipped dinner. They are eating a little bag of Cheez-Its like fugitives so they don't get caught eating in the theater.
The play begins....It is magnificent.
Intermission.
The kids to my left have decided not to stay. They are only here for extra credit after all, and they have already seen the required six characters.
The starving girls to my right have abandoned the Cheez-Its bag on the floor. I wonder if I should say something.
The Cheez-It girl just took out her birth control pills and took one. What a strange time to be thinking about birth control pills. Then again, the lead actor is gorgeous.
The play continues...Act two is even more magnificent than act one.
The evening ends with Q&A with the actors. The lead actor is not as hot without his Victorian ponytail. Disappointing.
On the ride home, I reflect on a few things. I love this theater company. I should never try to do this on a work night again. I will pay the extra money to stay out of the student seating.
I am the oldest person in this row.
I am no longer the oldest person in this row. Grandma Moses and I make up the entire adult ed population.
The two kids sitting to my left keep looking for Paul. Paul's dad has an apartment in the city that he only uses when he has to work in the city that would be perfect for a party. Paul is supposed to be bringing his girlfriend. Paul is finally spotted, in a balcony seat. I would really like to meet Paul.
The girls sitting to my right skipped dinner. They are eating a little bag of Cheez-Its like fugitives so they don't get caught eating in the theater.
The play begins....It is magnificent.
Intermission.
The kids to my left have decided not to stay. They are only here for extra credit after all, and they have already seen the required six characters.
The starving girls to my right have abandoned the Cheez-Its bag on the floor. I wonder if I should say something.
The Cheez-It girl just took out her birth control pills and took one. What a strange time to be thinking about birth control pills. Then again, the lead actor is gorgeous.
The play continues...Act two is even more magnificent than act one.
The evening ends with Q&A with the actors. The lead actor is not as hot without his Victorian ponytail. Disappointing.
On the ride home, I reflect on a few things. I love this theater company. I should never try to do this on a work night again. I will pay the extra money to stay out of the student seating.
11 February 2010
08 February 2010
She’s got legs; she knows how to use them.
Dear Fellow Office Employees,
What is up with the leggings trend? It has to stop. Well, it has to stop in the office environment where no one wants to see exactly how many squats you do in your spare time. Furthermore, we really don’t want to see how few squats you are doing in your spare time.
I knew when our dress code was altered to include jeans and sandals that we may have a problem. The very next day, someone showed up with skintight jeans and Pam Anderson boots. While I am all for self-expression and I love freedom of speech, this does not belong in a corporate office. If you feel the requirement to wear clothes that fit is restricting who you are inside, then you need to consider a different career. Let’s not even discuss what careers encourage your current fashion statement.
Heart cutouts that run down the sides of your jeans are no longer in style (if they ever really were), and the stiletto booties you are wearing with them make you look cheap. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but it looks like no one else has the cajones to tell you that you look like a walking felony.
And I don’t want to see your boobies. I’m just saying.
A side note to the fellows: Gentlemen, a polo shirt under your sports team sweatshirt does not make said sweatshirt acceptable office attire. I know the dress code indicates that you must have a collared shirt under your sweater, but we have to draw the line somewhere. And stop tight-rolling your jeans cuffs so you can show off your awesome hiking boots that are in no way the sneakers that you’re not allowed to wear (wink, wink). In fact, while we’re talking about shoes, stop wearing ankle high white sweat socks with your dress shoes. Ankle high black sweat socks are also not okay. While we’re on the subject, is it really that hard to put on an undershirt? I don’t want to see your chest hair peeking through your white dress shirt. YOUR TIE IS NOT HIDING ANYTHING.
In conclusion, let me say this; I know how hard it is to get up in the morning and face the world without something in your life to make you smile. I realize that, as corporate office employees, sometimes we rely on that new pair of shoes or the occasional mall binge to bring a little sunshine into a dreary, vitamin D deficient existence, but please, please consider what you are showing the world. Make sure the pants fit in the butt, make sure the shirt buttons flat over the chest (or belly, I mean really, EWW), make sure the socks match the shoes, and make sure the shoes match your ambitions in life. If you have to get creative why not give exciting panties a try, and no one else has to suffer.
With Love,
KJ
What is up with the leggings trend? It has to stop. Well, it has to stop in the office environment where no one wants to see exactly how many squats you do in your spare time. Furthermore, we really don’t want to see how few squats you are doing in your spare time.
I knew when our dress code was altered to include jeans and sandals that we may have a problem. The very next day, someone showed up with skintight jeans and Pam Anderson boots. While I am all for self-expression and I love freedom of speech, this does not belong in a corporate office. If you feel the requirement to wear clothes that fit is restricting who you are inside, then you need to consider a different career. Let’s not even discuss what careers encourage your current fashion statement.
Heart cutouts that run down the sides of your jeans are no longer in style (if they ever really were), and the stiletto booties you are wearing with them make you look cheap. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but it looks like no one else has the cajones to tell you that you look like a walking felony.
And I don’t want to see your boobies. I’m just saying.
A side note to the fellows: Gentlemen, a polo shirt under your sports team sweatshirt does not make said sweatshirt acceptable office attire. I know the dress code indicates that you must have a collared shirt under your sweater, but we have to draw the line somewhere. And stop tight-rolling your jeans cuffs so you can show off your awesome hiking boots that are in no way the sneakers that you’re not allowed to wear (wink, wink). In fact, while we’re talking about shoes, stop wearing ankle high white sweat socks with your dress shoes. Ankle high black sweat socks are also not okay. While we’re on the subject, is it really that hard to put on an undershirt? I don’t want to see your chest hair peeking through your white dress shirt. YOUR TIE IS NOT HIDING ANYTHING.
In conclusion, let me say this; I know how hard it is to get up in the morning and face the world without something in your life to make you smile. I realize that, as corporate office employees, sometimes we rely on that new pair of shoes or the occasional mall binge to bring a little sunshine into a dreary, vitamin D deficient existence, but please, please consider what you are showing the world. Make sure the pants fit in the butt, make sure the shirt buttons flat over the chest (or belly, I mean really, EWW), make sure the socks match the shoes, and make sure the shoes match your ambitions in life. If you have to get creative why not give exciting panties a try, and no one else has to suffer.
With Love,
KJ
04 February 2010
I'll show you mine...
I had a really interesting conversation with a coworker yesterday. She was divorced last year and is really struggling making ends meet. Now, granted, she has a seriously bigger fish to fry than I do, what with having to raise three kids and make a mortgage payment on her part-time salary. These were bills that were paid with her husband’s two jobs and her salary before, and now she’s making it on her own. He pays child support, exactly to the penny of the court order and nothing more. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that she is paying for cheerleading classes, gymnastics, daycare, orthodontics, and medical benefits. What a prince.
Anyway, it occurred to me that we really aren’t open to each other as women in this society. I mean, this has been going on with her for at least a year now, and I have had my troubles for a few months, we have been workmates for three years and never mentioned our trouble to each other. Yesterday I was discussing medical bills and just came out with the information that I am a credit nightmare and it’s going to take me years to rebuild…and out came her story. Amazing that we never thought to share with each other and seek comfort and guidance. This morning it was like we were two different people. We had stories about ex-spouse drama, bills, and the most diplomatic ways to handle terrible situations. (Well, when we can hold our tempers long enough to be diplomatic. Admittedly, this sometimes doesn’t happen.)
I wonder sometimes how much better we would feel if we just let it out. I think this must take a huge amount of trust, though. I mean, what if I spill my guts about some crazy thing that is going on in my life…and the person I share it with doesn’t tell me anything about herself? Instead, she makes mental notes about my suffering and decides to make me the next big gossip topic or looks down on me for the rest of our friendship? There are people that would do that, people who use your trouble to make themselves feel superior. When do we start to trust each other? Or do we keep paying a c-note to our therapist for the privilege of getting something off our chests?
Anyway, it occurred to me that we really aren’t open to each other as women in this society. I mean, this has been going on with her for at least a year now, and I have had my troubles for a few months, we have been workmates for three years and never mentioned our trouble to each other. Yesterday I was discussing medical bills and just came out with the information that I am a credit nightmare and it’s going to take me years to rebuild…and out came her story. Amazing that we never thought to share with each other and seek comfort and guidance. This morning it was like we were two different people. We had stories about ex-spouse drama, bills, and the most diplomatic ways to handle terrible situations. (Well, when we can hold our tempers long enough to be diplomatic. Admittedly, this sometimes doesn’t happen.)
I wonder sometimes how much better we would feel if we just let it out. I think this must take a huge amount of trust, though. I mean, what if I spill my guts about some crazy thing that is going on in my life…and the person I share it with doesn’t tell me anything about herself? Instead, she makes mental notes about my suffering and decides to make me the next big gossip topic or looks down on me for the rest of our friendship? There are people that would do that, people who use your trouble to make themselves feel superior. When do we start to trust each other? Or do we keep paying a c-note to our therapist for the privilege of getting something off our chests?
24 January 2010
Totally worth it.
Holy myrtle, do I have a cold. The good news is I only get sick for about a day or two, so I should be just fine tomorrow. The bad news is I have to live through today to make it to tomorrow. I've been planted in my bed all day watching movies I always wanted to watch but never got around to. They have been disappointing, but it's better than cable.
I figured I was in trouble last night when I took enough cold medicine to heal a horse and I still was feeling bad. Don't get me wrong, I was feeling fine until midnight-o-thirty, so I still had a blast, but towards the end of the night I knew that I was going to have to sow exactly what I reaped by prancing around the city in the middle of January. I was a little concerned when unholy rattle in my chest was loud enough to wake me up this morning. I took a little more tussin, drank about a gallon of black coffee, and settled in for the day. My chest seems to finally be clear so now I drinking the largest bottle of yellow Gatorade manufactured so I can stay hydrated and not go into work tomorrow looking like Magda.
I did have fun last night. It was unusual to me to just have fun chatting and laughing with my friends. No curfew, no attachment, no hitting on guys. I think I may have more fun the next time I go out because then I will be able to have a few drinks without the danger of a chemical reaction to my cold medicines shutting my liver down. I thought I would feel lost, like that one time senior year when the X and I broke up for a couple months. I went out some, but always felt like a boat floating without a tether. I felt lost and vacant, laughing too loud, drinking and smoking too much, on the prowl for another guy to anchor me down. I was worried that my instinct would be flirting and meeting guys, but that wasn't the case. I felt pretty comfortable to just be me, wearing a cute top and heels, and chilling out. It is like I am my anchor now, I can trust myself to make good decisions, get myself home, look after my friends and myself. No more tether, but no more drifting at sea, either. Taking control of my own life, for once and for all.
I figured I was in trouble last night when I took enough cold medicine to heal a horse and I still was feeling bad. Don't get me wrong, I was feeling fine until midnight-o-thirty, so I still had a blast, but towards the end of the night I knew that I was going to have to sow exactly what I reaped by prancing around the city in the middle of January. I was a little concerned when unholy rattle in my chest was loud enough to wake me up this morning. I took a little more tussin, drank about a gallon of black coffee, and settled in for the day. My chest seems to finally be clear so now I drinking the largest bottle of yellow Gatorade manufactured so I can stay hydrated and not go into work tomorrow looking like Magda.
I did have fun last night. It was unusual to me to just have fun chatting and laughing with my friends. No curfew, no attachment, no hitting on guys. I think I may have more fun the next time I go out because then I will be able to have a few drinks without the danger of a chemical reaction to my cold medicines shutting my liver down. I thought I would feel lost, like that one time senior year when the X and I broke up for a couple months. I went out some, but always felt like a boat floating without a tether. I felt lost and vacant, laughing too loud, drinking and smoking too much, on the prowl for another guy to anchor me down. I was worried that my instinct would be flirting and meeting guys, but that wasn't the case. I felt pretty comfortable to just be me, wearing a cute top and heels, and chilling out. It is like I am my anchor now, I can trust myself to make good decisions, get myself home, look after my friends and myself. No more tether, but no more drifting at sea, either. Taking control of my own life, for once and for all.
23 January 2010
Do I look fat in this?
I am going out tonight. An actual night on the town with the ladies. Tapas and cocktails then drinking and chatting.
I'm trying to remember the last time I went out. I can't do it. I honestly cannot remember a fun night out in the past ten years. The X went out plenty, more and more in the twilight of our marriage. He would disappear for days at a time, ignoring phone calls and text messages. I'm not really that angry about that, because things were so much more peaceful when he was gone anyway.
So back to my original point. It has been so long since I went out that I don't really know what's the it thing to wear. I've looked around on the web and it seems like I should wear dark skinny jeans and stiletto heels. I may have to go shopping. Speaking of shopping, I also can't remember the last time I gave a hoot what people thought of me. I can't remember the last time I cared what I wore or if I was wearing makeup. I think going out may be good for me if I can pull it off. I'll try to take a purse big enough to get photos and update you all on our fun time!
I'm trying to remember the last time I went out. I can't do it. I honestly cannot remember a fun night out in the past ten years. The X went out plenty, more and more in the twilight of our marriage. He would disappear for days at a time, ignoring phone calls and text messages. I'm not really that angry about that, because things were so much more peaceful when he was gone anyway.
So back to my original point. It has been so long since I went out that I don't really know what's the it thing to wear. I've looked around on the web and it seems like I should wear dark skinny jeans and stiletto heels. I may have to go shopping. Speaking of shopping, I also can't remember the last time I gave a hoot what people thought of me. I can't remember the last time I cared what I wore or if I was wearing makeup. I think going out may be good for me if I can pull it off. I'll try to take a purse big enough to get photos and update you all on our fun time!
18 January 2010
Walls and walls of boxes.
The bedroom is still full of boxes. The Kid's room is done, but I lost the schematics to his train set and have to figure out how to put it together by memory. Hah.
I'm alone this week. I have a couple hours to kill before my dentist appointment and I am so completely, utterly alone all I can stand to do is talk to you, my readers, and watch movies. I should clean up the Kid's room, vacuum and empty the trash, then close the door for the next seven days. I should start emptying boxes. I have an empty house and it won't disturb anyone to run the washer and dryer, drop boxes, and go in and out of the basement...but I can't bring myself to do it. What is wrong with me?
Why can't I get myself together enough to clean my room? Why did it take a disconnect notice for me to figure out I needed to make a payment on my phone? Why does it take everything I have to get a shower, face people, go to the grocery store? I want to scream at all the people watching me buy a single TV dinner, one roll of paper towels, one roll of toilet paper, "Yes! It's me! Single lady! No kid in my cart! No piles of wipes and diapers! Take a good long look! We go to grocery stores too!"
Maybe I'm being a little over-sensitive, but those stares are there. Watching someone my age, in mom clothes with a mom haircut and no child. No wedding ring. Are they piteous or jealous? Do I have freedom they long for, in the night while children scream and hubby blanks out in front of the telly? Or do they think, "Thank God I found him. Without him I would be her."
I'm alone this week. I have a couple hours to kill before my dentist appointment and I am so completely, utterly alone all I can stand to do is talk to you, my readers, and watch movies. I should clean up the Kid's room, vacuum and empty the trash, then close the door for the next seven days. I should start emptying boxes. I have an empty house and it won't disturb anyone to run the washer and dryer, drop boxes, and go in and out of the basement...but I can't bring myself to do it. What is wrong with me?
Why can't I get myself together enough to clean my room? Why did it take a disconnect notice for me to figure out I needed to make a payment on my phone? Why does it take everything I have to get a shower, face people, go to the grocery store? I want to scream at all the people watching me buy a single TV dinner, one roll of paper towels, one roll of toilet paper, "Yes! It's me! Single lady! No kid in my cart! No piles of wipes and diapers! Take a good long look! We go to grocery stores too!"
Maybe I'm being a little over-sensitive, but those stares are there. Watching someone my age, in mom clothes with a mom haircut and no child. No wedding ring. Are they piteous or jealous? Do I have freedom they long for, in the night while children scream and hubby blanks out in front of the telly? Or do they think, "Thank God I found him. Without him I would be her."
13 January 2010
Double standards and all that goes with them.
Here we are, halfway into the first of fourteen months, and already I have been told at least a dozen times that The Right Guy is out there waiting for me. Well, I sincerely hope not. If The Right Guy is out there waiting for me I feel really bad for him, because it’s going to be a long wait. I am not thinking about him right now. I haven’t even unpacked my bedroom, for crying out loud. I have applied and gotten an interview for a Master’s degree (yay!), I have a little man to take care of, I have a ton of financial woes, and I still haven’t even filed for divorce. I have far too much going on to worry about The Right Guy.
Now look, I am a woman who works in a professional field, I have a college degree; I am well-read and can have intelligent conversations about anything from Sports Center to St. Augustine. I am fairly artistic, I have hobbies, computer skills, and a wide range of friendships that cover just about every demographic out there. I do not hesitate to go to a good movie or a delicious dinner alone, and I don’t really like long walks on the beach.
Why do people feel like this is the thing to say to the divorcing female? Why do they think this is the wisdom I am looking for? Is it because I am a woman? Are The X’s guy friends telling him that The Right Girl is out there waiting for him? Maybe, but I doubt it. They are most likely toasting his single-hood and trying to find him a good lay. No one has offered me any of that yet; they have only offered me consolation that my next marriage will be a good one, with The Right Guy.
Now look, I am a woman who works in a professional field, I have a college degree; I am well-read and can have intelligent conversations about anything from Sports Center to St. Augustine. I am fairly artistic, I have hobbies, computer skills, and a wide range of friendships that cover just about every demographic out there. I do not hesitate to go to a good movie or a delicious dinner alone, and I don’t really like long walks on the beach.
Why do people feel like this is the thing to say to the divorcing female? Why do they think this is the wisdom I am looking for? Is it because I am a woman? Are The X’s guy friends telling him that The Right Girl is out there waiting for him? Maybe, but I doubt it. They are most likely toasting his single-hood and trying to find him a good lay. No one has offered me any of that yet; they have only offered me consolation that my next marriage will be a good one, with The Right Guy.
12 January 2010
Time to Go.
The move is complete.
No more moving.
Done moving.
I am treating myself like someone getting over the flu; tentatively eating healthy foods, drinking gallons of water, and sleeping ten hour nights. The last week treated me bad. After the X took the living room TV and the computer, I spent most of my nights in my bedroom, eating takeout and watching basic cable. The little guy was gone for the week, so my dark and silent house tormented me with piles of stuff that needed to be sorted, cleaned, and packed. The X wanted the dryer to give his mother. I acquiesced. I don’t need a dryer, and I sure don’t have the storage space for it. What I didn’t know is he was planning on taking it while I was still living in the house. So, there was dirty laundry included in the move. Allegorical? Perhaps.
My niece arrived Thursday morning to help me pack and prepare for the horde to arrive on Saturday and move me out. We made some good progress, but not really good enough. I just couldn’t get through the stuff. It really felt like the house wouldn’t let me go. My brother, his wife, her brother, my nephew, my sister, and my mom and dad (told you it was a horde) were there first thing Saturday morning. I had been holding it together pretty well, except for a good hard cry Friday night, but when they all walked in I lost my shit completely. I spent the morning alternatively sobbing and sorting, packing boxes and gunning cigarettes. Thankfully my sister-in-law Sue and her brother have truly analytical minds, so they were able to assess, organize, and implement. At one point I walked into the kitchen and said, “I can’t find my coffee,” and started bawling. Sue’s eyes got real wide and she said, “Here, drink mine!” I love that woman.
The house is empty now. I have to go back this weekend to give it a little cleaning and make sure it looks presentable, but that’s it. I’m not in that house anymore. I feel bad for whoever rents it next. I think that house took us down. Every person who lived there before has left on bad terms. People consistently lose jobs, get in trouble with the law (thankfully we avoided that), and divorce. Can a house have bad energy, or is it just the inevitable finally catching up with families when they move into that innocent-looking little rental cottage?
No more moving.
Done moving.
I am treating myself like someone getting over the flu; tentatively eating healthy foods, drinking gallons of water, and sleeping ten hour nights. The last week treated me bad. After the X took the living room TV and the computer, I spent most of my nights in my bedroom, eating takeout and watching basic cable. The little guy was gone for the week, so my dark and silent house tormented me with piles of stuff that needed to be sorted, cleaned, and packed. The X wanted the dryer to give his mother. I acquiesced. I don’t need a dryer, and I sure don’t have the storage space for it. What I didn’t know is he was planning on taking it while I was still living in the house. So, there was dirty laundry included in the move. Allegorical? Perhaps.
My niece arrived Thursday morning to help me pack and prepare for the horde to arrive on Saturday and move me out. We made some good progress, but not really good enough. I just couldn’t get through the stuff. It really felt like the house wouldn’t let me go. My brother, his wife, her brother, my nephew, my sister, and my mom and dad (told you it was a horde) were there first thing Saturday morning. I had been holding it together pretty well, except for a good hard cry Friday night, but when they all walked in I lost my shit completely. I spent the morning alternatively sobbing and sorting, packing boxes and gunning cigarettes. Thankfully my sister-in-law Sue and her brother have truly analytical minds, so they were able to assess, organize, and implement. At one point I walked into the kitchen and said, “I can’t find my coffee,” and started bawling. Sue’s eyes got real wide and she said, “Here, drink mine!” I love that woman.
The house is empty now. I have to go back this weekend to give it a little cleaning and make sure it looks presentable, but that’s it. I’m not in that house anymore. I feel bad for whoever rents it next. I think that house took us down. Every person who lived there before has left on bad terms. People consistently lose jobs, get in trouble with the law (thankfully we avoided that), and divorce. Can a house have bad energy, or is it just the inevitable finally catching up with families when they move into that innocent-looking little rental cottage?
01 January 2010
Moving along.
Christmas is over, fa-la-la-la-la.
The holidays were, for the most part, a pleasant experience. The Kid and I spent four days in the Land of Happiness and Delight, aka: Mom-mom and Pop-pop’s house. My parents took their time spoiling him this year, starting small with a fire truck that drives itself, has sirens and lights, and plays a very C.Hi.P.-like theme song. They moved on to bigger and better prizes like a new wardrobe and a trip to the beach throughout the course of the weekend. Me? I got exactly what I asked for: a tin of flavored popcorn and a bright red bathrobe. I have been asking for this for literally years but have never received it. I think when you ask for something so simple and inexpensive people don’t believe that you really want it. They think you are kidding and you must want something bigger and better. A bathrobe, really? Yes, really. This year something snapped and when my mom and dad asked me what I wanted I just flipped out and said, “I have told you for years that I want a tin of popcorn and a bathrobe. Will someone please make my Christmas wish come true?” And they did.
The X was jerky. He delivered his usual routine.
I’m getting my storage unit next week and will be moving out of my house on the 9th. I made a few calls to find the best rate on a unit, and the only person I could get to answer the phone was Bill. We discussed rates and his location (which is only a few blocks from my house, joy!), and then he explained that he was actually in California visiting his son. He told me all about his trip, how his flight was delayed three days because of the weather, and when he was able to finally fly out his layover was delayed because the plane went sideways on the landing and had to take off again…people were screaming, luggage was flying…then he had to run to the next plane…he and his wife loaded the plane, they shut the doors and took off, that’s how close it was…Keep in mind that I have only known Bill 5 minutes and he doesn’t even know my name. He told me to show up on the 6th with $60 cash and a driver’s license because he “don’t take checks no more.” I think Bill and I are going to get along just fine.
I have a ton of helpers, my family is driving two hours to get to me and get me through this. I haven’t decided yet if the fluttering I feel in my stomach is excitement or fear. I have pretty much shelved emotions for the time being. I think it is best to push forward through the physical move, map out my financial recovery plan, and then let emotions come on back, one at a time, to be dealt with severely and then told to move on. I’m not going to hang on to my negativity, my anger, my fear, or my sadness. Those have a time and place, and then they need to go away. Period. I have seen so many people swallowed by their sadness. They have health problems, weight problems, and poor self image. I know that as tempting as it may be to hide in my grief it can also be consuming. No way. I’m going to get through this. It helps to know you all are with me every step of the way.
TTFN,
K.J.
The holidays were, for the most part, a pleasant experience. The Kid and I spent four days in the Land of Happiness and Delight, aka: Mom-mom and Pop-pop’s house. My parents took their time spoiling him this year, starting small with a fire truck that drives itself, has sirens and lights, and plays a very C.Hi.P.-like theme song. They moved on to bigger and better prizes like a new wardrobe and a trip to the beach throughout the course of the weekend. Me? I got exactly what I asked for: a tin of flavored popcorn and a bright red bathrobe. I have been asking for this for literally years but have never received it. I think when you ask for something so simple and inexpensive people don’t believe that you really want it. They think you are kidding and you must want something bigger and better. A bathrobe, really? Yes, really. This year something snapped and when my mom and dad asked me what I wanted I just flipped out and said, “I have told you for years that I want a tin of popcorn and a bathrobe. Will someone please make my Christmas wish come true?” And they did.
The X was jerky. He delivered his usual routine.
I’m getting my storage unit next week and will be moving out of my house on the 9th. I made a few calls to find the best rate on a unit, and the only person I could get to answer the phone was Bill. We discussed rates and his location (which is only a few blocks from my house, joy!), and then he explained that he was actually in California visiting his son. He told me all about his trip, how his flight was delayed three days because of the weather, and when he was able to finally fly out his layover was delayed because the plane went sideways on the landing and had to take off again…people were screaming, luggage was flying…then he had to run to the next plane…he and his wife loaded the plane, they shut the doors and took off, that’s how close it was…Keep in mind that I have only known Bill 5 minutes and he doesn’t even know my name. He told me to show up on the 6th with $60 cash and a driver’s license because he “don’t take checks no more.” I think Bill and I are going to get along just fine.
I have a ton of helpers, my family is driving two hours to get to me and get me through this. I haven’t decided yet if the fluttering I feel in my stomach is excitement or fear. I have pretty much shelved emotions for the time being. I think it is best to push forward through the physical move, map out my financial recovery plan, and then let emotions come on back, one at a time, to be dealt with severely and then told to move on. I’m not going to hang on to my negativity, my anger, my fear, or my sadness. Those have a time and place, and then they need to go away. Period. I have seen so many people swallowed by their sadness. They have health problems, weight problems, and poor self image. I know that as tempting as it may be to hide in my grief it can also be consuming. No way. I’m going to get through this. It helps to know you all are with me every step of the way.
TTFN,
K.J.
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