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I’ve been away, elsewhere and not here since 2015. Or the last time I was here, the calendar year was 2015.
And now I must re-familiarize myself on how to even post an entry. Learn all of the new fancy bells & whistles of the blogging world. Who am I kidding? The most I will probably do is figure out how to add an entry. At least for now, unless I re-commit to daily (or almost) posts.
While being not here for the past two years I have been a busy bee & much living & multiple adventures have washed under the proverbial bridge or down the river & multiple new moons have transitioned to full ones. The most significant changes & life events have been moving out of state & then back again within a 12-month cycle. Beginning a new job, accepting a promotion & then immediately resigning from said promotion within a month & returning to the ‘home’ state. Within that 12-month period, I also lived in three different rentals, committed to the last rental & began putting down roots. Literally. Succulents were purchased, repotted & ultimately re-homed. Furniture & home furnishings bought & assembled as needed & within three months, released.
Yes. The Big Purge of Material Possessions took place, AGAIN.
Another very long Road Trip happened, AGAIN.
My daughter’s medical emergency. She needed her mama. My daughter needed me. And so…
And seven months later, I remain a virtual stranger in familiar surroundings & homeless to boot. Not in the literal sense of the word I suppose as I have had a roof over my head & even my own bathroom as I have been existing (aka living) in my ex-partner’s whom I am still legally married to, condo. I have not worked or earned any money for the past seven+ months. My biggest accomplishment has been surviving the last seven+ months.
Huge. This accomplishment. Very large. Being still alive. Humongous. Weathering grief, winter’s frigid darkness.
Today I can believe spring has arrived or at the very least is well on its way. I can believe that Old Man Winter cannot & most importantly, will not, last forever. Today the return from a long long hibernation continues, fueled by renewed energy & long daylight hours. Ahhhh, yes. The light has returned to the Far North Land. Finally.
And I begin the preparations for or at the very least the hope of leaving ‘home’ once again. Yep. Yup. Affirmative. Yes. This tumbling tumbleweed is hoping to move, to blow this pop stand, to relocate, to begin anew, to head down the old highway. AGAIN.
A second job interview, this one in person, is scheduled in three weeks in a faraway place. I am on the path to a new adventure. AGAIN.
Oh my gosh, I have been absent for far too long from my beloved blog. My absence has not been due to laziness, lack of interest on my part, being in a pissed off mood at the blogging community or a churlish attitude in general. Here is the true unvarnished, un-spun, authentic deal ~ I have been ill, very ill, for a very long time. For over two years now. I have shared about my Unwanted and Un-invited Bastard Buddy Vertigo (BBV) who swooped in for an extended visit and decided not to depart, right? Well, nine months ago a new uninvited health hazard Bastard arrived on my doorstep and the BBV invited him into my home and my body.
All of this is to say, that I have been fighting, literally, for my ability to remain in my physical self on this Earth plane. However, when I finally hit the lowest of my low a couple of months ago, I chose to re-claim my healing and to stop looking outward to supposed “experts” such as Western medicine and naturopaths, etc., who were not helping, to say the very least. I also made the decision to place the focus of my energies on my spiritual practices and return to my creative writing and visual art, both of which spark my will to live and make the most meaning in my life. Throughout this entire journey, I have continued to work and provide psychotherapy services to adolescent youth and their families.
I have missed my little blog. I have missed being a part of the blogging community and the connections I have made here. I maintain a Facebook account using my legal name, however, due to the nature of my professional life, am not comfortable co-mingling the two worlds. What I am hoping is that now that I have taken this step of writing a post today that I will be more active once again with my little blog. Most likely not daily but more frequently than once every quarter.
I am thrilled to report that my creative writing is on fire and there is much movement in that area. There is goodness in this world and even though my faith and spirits come and go and I am a fickle creature, I do believe that my struggles are not in vain. Sending out love, compassionate caring and peaceful energy in these early morning hours this Saturday morning.
50 shades of grey. 50 ways to leave a lover. 50 episodes of whodunit. 50 ways to lose a life.
50 megawatts of power. outage. ongoing. no end in sight.
50 methods to one’s madness.
Mad for the series Mad Men, that is. And I suppose if the truth be known, mad as in pissed. Off. Sort of. Kind of. Every now and now or then. Then there is the full on rage, mad. Slow simmer ~ full boil ~ lid blown off the pressure cooker, mad raging through me and all over the damned place. Just every once in a decade or day.
I wonder what the odds are that I could get Don Draper to come over and knock the everliving shit out of this mad.
A snowball’s chance, you say? Okay.
Back to mad.
My spirit and mood have been vacillating, wildly and erratically at times, between gratitude for life and wishing to be finally done with this journey. Folded in among this particular ping pong game of emotions there burbles nostalgia for what never was but wished for anyway, moments and times. Like say, the throb of deep connected love with the same person for a long period of time and the resulting imagined passionate lovemaking. And let me not forget to write of the fear, dread and anxiety brought on by considering medical procedures, tests and surgeries meant to return to me my health and maybe, may I hope, my sanity.
Where does one go when the well is dry. Bone dry. Yet the body still thirsty and the spirit weak. Prayer feels too hard. No, not hard, just not for me. Not now. I suppose I feel undeserving somehow of asking for help. Hard to do this earth journey; seemingly impossible to bridge the worlds or universe.
For now, I dwell in the land somewhere in between.
All hands on deck.
Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions.
we I have am the situation.
Multiple choice. Correct answer ~ all of the above.
Maybe I am unemployable.
Maybe I am incapable of working for someone else; for very long. And maybe I am not cut out to be a government worker.
Today has been an exercise in watching and listening to people whose main priority was and is to cover their own asses, thus ensuring proper coverage of their government employer’s ass, which by the by is a very large ass. Meaning there is a lot of ass covering to ensure.
Meanwhile, my ego and self-worth both became larger and more trampled on as the day progressed. Funny thing how wanting to be ‘right’ and its accompanying desire of wanting others to acknowledge one’s own rightness creates a big brouhaha. Inside one’s own head, at least. The one in this case, is me. Time to deflate the old ego mania; to take off the eyeglasses of judgment and inhale a big cleansing breathe.
Oh yeah. Reminder to self ~ remember to exhale.
These past few weeks have been an exercise in cravings, delayed satisfaction, impulsive choice making, setting aside, procrastination, misplacing my mojo, re-discovering my mojo, percolating, marinading, and popcorning ideas, thoughts, theories, plain silliness, deep convoluted thinking meanderings and missing my blog.
What I have been up to and the revolving re-occuring topics in my head have included, but have not been limited, to:
the hour and minute combination of 11:11 and the significance I have ascribed to this time
Spring Fever, which morphed into Sunshine Fever, which changed to Restless Life Syndrome
loving my job, total dissatisfication with the same job, searching for new job, applying for new jobs
retirement preparedness, freaking out that I have failed, as in utterly, to formulate any such plan,
vesting, vacillating between commitment to stay for 3+ years to wear this retirement vest, back
to freaking out at the thought of such a long term commitment
health issues, tipping over, milestones in sleeping upright, off low sodium plan, back on,
yo-yo eating plan
poor body image, hating, shameful feelings, attempts to embrace my physical self
vacations, destinations, monetary commitment toward vacations, gratitude for abundance
Setting aside, walking through, moving around, navigating life’s detritus, waking up, being amazed,
feeling flummoxed, groaning disappointment, side-splitting hilarity, tears of pain and surrender,
loving and receiving affection
Man alive! No wonder I have been absent. That there is whole hella lot of living.
Do you remember those little label guns? The kind with the revolving alphabet and the colorful strips of label tape? You would spin the alphabet to the desired letter and then press the trigger, which would cause the letter to be stamped onto the tape. The letters would be raised and felt all bumpy when running your fingers over the finished product. Once you had spun and punched out the desired word or words, you would pump the trigger a couple of times to make the tape long enough to cut without spoiling your last letter.
Then came another part, the part of peeling the backing from the tape, leaving the adhesive so you could then position the label wherever your heart desired and then press it into place where the label would live happily ever after. Or until you decided to replace it with another label or somebody rubbed the bumpy little ridges too much and dislodged the brightly colored identifier.
That is when the fun would come to a screeching halt or if that sounds a little too dramatic when discussing the life of a label, that’s when the adhesive hell would begin. The hell of removing the sticky white-ish adhesive residue crap that the once merry and useful label left behind. You see that is when the polish remover would come galloping in to the rescue to make the world right again or at least less sticky.
This morning I was thinking about labels. That human need to categorize most anything and everything that comes down the pike, around the bend, over the hill and in our dales. I think naming, labeling and categorizing serves to help make sense of our lives, our worlds so to speak and in making sense then we feel safer, less vulnerable to the largeness of life.
What I am pondering today is whether the labels I have chosen ~ spelled, punched and stuck to the walls of my psyche ~ whether they are helpful or harmful, clarifying or stigmatizing. What labels might need to be re-named, revised or simply done away with. The worst that could happen would be some sticky residue left behind, right? And I know where I keep my polish remover. Truth be known, I always had a little crush on the label gun and those bumpy little letters so even if the revised label ends up not fitting, there can be as many do-overs as needed.
Where I work there is a department called the Transitional Services Unit (TSU) that helps incarcerated youth return to their communities. I understand that it was not that many years ago that this unit did not exist and that youth who had aged out of the juvenile justice system were simply released. Set out on the curb so to speak. Now each departing youth has a team who works with them and on their behalf to help them navigate the numerous changes and challenges.
This morning, I realized that I need one of these TSUs of my very own. Now whether or not I would make good use of their offered services, I do nots know for sure. But I cannot help but think that there might be some comfort in just knowing I had this team of humans who were looking out and ahead for me, even for a little while.
Because where I am today is a familiar place. Familiar but full of danger and darkness. This place where I end up after the ground opens underneath me and I experience the free fall into depression, a cavern of great depth. This time, I did what I used to do many years ago, I pretended I was not falling ~ for a while. That is until either the invisible tether securing me to the landscape of life, separated or the growing velocity of the plunge forced me to admit I was in this place, once again.
I must snap out of my funk. Create toe and finger holds to climb, pull and grunt my way to the surface. Pronto. Today is my middle grandson’s 14th birth day family celebration. I love this boy, dearly. I am to bring the cheese bread. Cheese bread ~ his Grammie’s cheese bread ~ is one of his most favorite foods. To not show up, cheese bread in tow, is not acceptable. I love this boy.
So I must figure my way out of this quagmire of self indulgent angst once again in order to leave my home, get in Buster Blue, drive to the grocery, purchase the ingredients, return home, make the cheese spread, drive to my daughter’s home, participate in the family birth day celebration and be part of my life ~ part of my middle grandson’s life.
Where are the TSU personnel? Hello? Can you hear me?
With or without other human help, I must assist mine own self. I have been in this place before, many times in fact. Surely I must know the way up and out. I will look for some markers and familiar signs pointing ahead.