Daily Archives: February 9, 2018
The things you learn when you have kids… Read More Dog Balls Feel Funny…and Other Shit You Learn When Trying to Talk To Your Kids
My apologies for making you schlep over to my blog’s new home. I hope you go check it out and let me know how you think I can rise above my PETTIFOGGING!!!! Yes, there’s a word called PETTIFOGGING! pet·ti·fog·ging ˈpedēˌfôɡiNG/ … Continue reading
I am getting a preview of life after graduation. My friend Katrina is going to finish this spring and is starting to kind of panic about what she is going to do when she finishes. We were just talking on Facebook on what opportunities might be out there. I hope she can find something good to do that still allows her to write because she does it so well. ANd she is a lot more savvy with computers and social media than I am; I would think someone wanting to innovate their program would be glad to have her. But we will see.
I have run errands today–grocery store and Goodwill. Had the bug man out to spray and talked with him a bit. Bob came home for lunch and he is having a good day. It’s raining here but that’s just the way it is in February. But March is coming up fast and it should warm up by then. I’m looking forward to it.
(My G key is skipping. I have to hit it hard to make it type. I have no idea what the deal is. It’s been doing it for several days now.)
I have gotten a lot of good feedback about this blog lately. Apparently I am a good advertisement for the W’s program because some of the new people told me they found my blog and liked the writing they saw and thought well of the W’s program because of it. I am glad to be inspiring people to write. I wish I could do more like in the classroom but who knows if I will ever really be able to do that?
Anyway. Hope everyone has a good weekend and stays dry–we’re looking at a lot of wet weather this weekend. Hopefully it will ease up by Sunday.
I mean, good news?
I’m going back to therapy.
I haven’t been in over a year, and I was irrationally proud of that. Like, “Look at me! I’ve been successfully handling life all by myself for a YEAR! Look, Ma! No hands!” (As I then hide in the corner and hork down a handful of pharmaceuticals).
I’ve been struggling lately, so I decided to go back. I was initially frustrated with the decision and told Andy that it feels like a relapse. “I’ve been off therapy for a year,” I said. “It seems a shame to break my record.” Like therapy is some illicit drug that I went to rehab for and am now one-year clean.
“You’re not relapsing,” Andy said. “You’re leveling up.”
He went on to explain that when I first went to therapy, I was extremely suicidal and was literally trying to survive. This time around, when I’m not suicidal, I can work on Level 2 therapy problems, which focus on how to deal with life now that I’m committed to living it.
Look at me! I’m at Level 2! That sounds way better than “relapse.”
Super Mario Brothers is the only video game I’ve ever played, but I think level 2 is the one underground with the blue turtles, right? Yep – this one:
I get fireballs, y’all. Who’s gonna hate on Level 2?? I’m a brick-smashing, coin collecting badass.
So I contacted my dealer (oops, I mean therapist) and asked if she would see me again. She said yes. Phewf! So at least I’m not going to have to start over with someone new.
Bring it on, Level 2!
This is no big surprise, just annoying.
I found out the movers will pack everything (I don’t even have to empty out my drawers), get it on a truck and be on the road in just a few hours. Shane, the boss, kept saying, “You don’t have much. Shouldn’t take more than an hour to pack.” The benefits of minimal living.
With that weight off my sizzling brain, I gave my sister the green light to start our apartment search in earnest. My nephew had already alerted her to a townhouse (I’m so verklempt that he’s involved), that turned out to be everything I want and more for a very reasonable rent price. Still three bedrooms and two baths seems HUGE, so sissy and her realtor friend will look at a few more places next week for due diligence, but I’m guessing it will be townhouse living for me.
Now, all I have to do is manage my heebie jeebies and prepare for my trip to Taos where I’ll spend a week with my favorite spiritual artist, Orly Avirneri, and a conclave of painty-fingered friends. Part of doing both tasks has been making a journal for the workshop. I found these disemboweled book covers at an antique mall a while back, intending them for just this purpose, so it felt good to put a couple to use (and focus my scattered attention). I’m out of waxed thread, though, so have to wait for that order to come before I can bind the signatures in place.
I can’t sit still long enough to enjoy my magazines, which is my GoTo for mind balm. So, I’m just doodling in my new journal, which seems to be doing the trick—at least for now. I’ll have to take my gimpy knee and hit the pool this weekend to burn off some of this excess adrenaline.
In the meantime, pass the Xanax, please.