Events, emotions or epiphanies

I find that all blogs are about one or more of those three things. In most blogs that I read (a precious few), each writer describes their life in a very real way--using their real names, posting pictures of the kids, identifying hometown names. They use this medium somewhat as a dear diary recap of the days and years, in which to look back later and watch the kids grow up. Needless to say, I do not do this in the least, and never will.

That's particularly funny to me, since I'm supposed to be of the generation in which online privacy has no value and online piracy is a norm. For the most part, I'm locked up pretty tight in here and I don't disclose the name of my neighborhood in DC, or where I'm from, what it is I do, what my last name is, etc unless I email you directly. I know all too well what can come up on a google search, and I don't want the whole wide world privvy to my thoughts.

That being said, I've based this blog solely on my emotions and/or epiphanies or my epiphanies that then lead to said emotions. It amazes me that anyone reads my blog at all, since I rarely comment on anyone else's, I don't invest much time in this, and it can't be all that exciting to tune in and hear on an alternating basis how blessed I am, how lucky I am vs how lonely I am or how overwhelmed I am with sadness or grief. Most of the blogs I read are full of phenomenal writing, and I feel lucky those people even stop by here for a glance.

So I guess on this day before Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that YOU are here, if you do read this brain dump of emotions and bit of my life.

I'm going through a rough patch. I'm still on the crutches, and it's working on my psyche as I round into week NINE and still in pain with every step I take. It's making me falter emotionally, triggers woe-is-me emotions, and it makes me feel weak instead of strong in a very literal sense.

Today, I'm okay. I expect I'm always going to go through periods of loneliness, the holidays will always be a trigger, etc, because I am starting to think that I need to fully expect my life to remain the way it is for the foreseeable future. I'll have a family, someday, because I'll create one either through single parent adoption or other means, but I'm not sure a family will come to me naturally. I'm not sure I will end up with a partner, in any sense of the word. My life has been spent alone, in alot ofways. I grew up every other week in two different families of five, taking my suitcase back and forth. I lived together yet separately, with my large and jumbled family -- and maybe I'm just destined to do that for the rest of it as well.

I can lash out and get angry, and at the same time feel so petty and small for being that way because I KNOW damn well people love me. For fucks sake, I had a total of six friends drive or fly all the way to DC just to fix me sandwiches and help me to and from the shower. All four of my parents were there, and I wasn't alone for seven straight weeks. Does that sound like a recipe for someone to be wiping away tears because no one loves her? I sound like a child, and sometimes, I frankly feel like one. All my ages are still wrapped up inside me, like the rings of a tree, and sometimes the six year old ring comes out to the front to take over, and remembers that her parents have transitioned into new families, and while they took me along for the ride, it was sink or swim, baby, these are your new sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and cousins and....

And. So, I sit here on my father's couch. I'm working from Kentucky this week, as he drove 10 hours on Saturday to fetch me from DC, and we drove back together on Sunday, so that I could spend Thanksgiving at home. Naturally, my two families are holding Thanksgiving dinners at the exact same time, so I have to choose. I have to be at Mom's, wanting to be at Dad's, or be at Dad's, wanting to be at Mom's. My contribution to the table this year is a side dish of hot, steaming guilt.

I was texting with Mom yesterday and said that I felt horrible about having to choose--that it made me feel like I was having to pick who I loved best, or something. It's been a long time since I've had to actively choose an event over another; typically, we all work together to try to squeeze one another in to a time that works best for everyone. But sometimes, shit just happens. She showed up at my dad's doorstep with a large unsweet iced tea from McDonalds (my all-time favorite), and my childhood bear that I call Muffin, since she decided I was being a little too hard on myself and needed some comfort.

Tonight, I'm going to my sister's house. I have seen her youngest son only once in his four-month old life, and I can't wait to see him and her two daughters. My other sister's son is spending the night, so I'll be running around after a five year old, two four year olds, and a four month old. Or rather...sitting, and whacking them with my crutches if they act up ;) I can't wait to crawl into bed with my two sweet nieces, snuggle up with them and just sleep.

I'm home. Wherever that is and whatever that means. I'm starting to feel like whoever stated the phrase "Wherever you go, there you are" is a damn genius.

Here I am. There you are.

Thanks for being here.

Disappearing

Publishing for Mel, who saw it before I took it down, and took the time to write. Thank you, you wonderful woman!
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Tonight I am tired of borrowing.

I am tired of borrowing other people's families, other people's lives, other people's holidays. All the talk is of Christmas...my sisters want to have Christmas Day with their own families. The families they've created. Well, that's awesome and all, but I have to fly back to DC the very next day. So -what? I'm flying home for no reason? To sit and have Christmas Day alone or with my parents, who I love dearly, but I've seen an extraordinary amount during the past few months.

Oh sure, I guess it would be "okay" if I stopped by one or both of their homes for the day or for a few hours. But I can't help but feel banished, kept away from the sacred time. Time kept tucked away for the people we love the best.

I hate that no one loves me best. I hate that I am no one's "most special." I hate that everyone probably pities me, I hate that I am *that* pathetic woman who lives alone.

I am sad, lonely and frustrated, and tonight I want to just walk away from it all. Just disappear.

Maybe everyone would be better off.

Maybe I would be.

I'm so tired of living this way.

Beauty

I've noticed a blogging theme lately. It's in all the blogs I've read throughout the years, including my own. Periods of dark, gloom doom, alone, grasping, waving and drowning. Then -- light! Counting blessings, letting everyone in the whole wide world know how blessed you are so that you can finally feel it yourself. Listening to the rain and realizing that you have every single thing you need; watching children play while reflecting on the circle of life.

Thus, culminating a blog entry in the perfect way a television show concludes with a song. Something that strums softly, with smiles and laughing kids in the background. Something that shows that through adversity, there is hope.

I do this myself. I veer from lamenting to luminating; scattered to centered.

And in between, there is the every day. The heating up of hot dogs for lunch, the pain in your back, the damn bills that seem to come at the absolute worst times. Laundry. Dishes.

My best friend from childhood until now spent the weekend with me. We didn't take a single picture, but we drank alot of wine and made brownies and she did my laundry and cooking. She was my very last "helper" in this long journey, which has seen all four parents and a grand total of six friends in and out of here altogether.

I told her goodbye, and an hour later I began to walk. No more crutches. I am walking awkwardly, but I'm up.

It hurts like a bitch. Muscles I haven't used in so long are stretching and yelling at me, and I'm beginning the countdown to going into the office. I'm taking off my walking boot and staring at my foot like it's something new that's recently grown.

"Hello,' I say. 'Are you strong enough to get me the hell through this day? This night? This year?"

I'm growing stronger, the nights are growing longer, and there is grace, yes. There is adversity. And I sit, in red plaid pajamas, writing it down to add to the words collectively thrown to the universe that all jumble together. Saying the same things, over again, until we find each other -- each saying the words that we already know, in harmony.

It's like a song I know. I've heard it before.

I already know the words.

Alone

I took a bubble bath tonight. This may seem awfully basic, but for me, it represented something HUGE. I took one almost every night before the cast (my own version of b.c.) and tonight, I lowered myself in, keeping weight off my right foot, and sat. I had my first glass of wine in...3 months? Or something like that. Just for the hell of it. I'm ba-ack in a lot of ways. I still can't walk all the way, but I can stand. I can take little bitty steps on my walking boot.

Mom left this morning. She walked out, keeping her distance from me, after 22 days here (by her count). She was trying not to cry. I was in the middle of my "work" day from the couch, so I had to be quick in my goodbyes, and I think she wanted to get out before she had an emotional time of it. I know she feels fine about leaving me in this condition--I am much, much, much better than how she found me! But still. I'm her baaaby. She reminded me of this many times :)

I'm alone. It's quiet. Getting my life back is bittersweet. I'm looking around my apartment, at these walls, as though I don't recognize the place. The place in which I've been stuck for the last two months. I am seeing ME again...finally. Me, on my own.

Look blog...no hands.

Yesterday was six weeks post-op. I start 'sort of' walking next week. My mom and stepdad were here at the beginning, and she's back again. My dad came in between, and my best friend, and two college friends. I stayed at a friends place across town after that, and then Mom came back. My best friend from childhood comes next weekend, thank god, and gives me a parenting break...then Dad comes to take me back to Kentucky for a week. I absolutely can't wait to get my hands on the little kiddos.

The last 10 weeks have been absolutely surreal. The last 3 have seen me gainfully employed from the couch and they are working me to death. This is going to be my eighty hour a week job. This is going to be my introduction to senior management. I'M senior management. Me! Holy shit!

One thing I'm really glad about is that I don't have anyone reporting to me. I'm barely keeping my head above water, and I don't want to have to manage employees...I'm 30. I'm not ready. I'm barely ready to be doing what I'm doing.

Mom is still here, and is cooking and going on walks and watching me work with a look on her face that says she doesn't like how hard I'm pushing myself. It's been really strange being "DC, Professional Me" with Mom sitting on the couch with me, thumbing through the newspaper. Talk about worlds colliding.

I keep trying to think of chilling metaphors and flowery words to describe all of this as Mom helps me in the shower, helps me out of the shower, wraps and re-wraps my walking boot. Hands me a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of milk, while I pretend not to be as old as I am -- while I'm on the phone with clients, pretending that I'm not as young as I am. I don't know how to be 30. Just 30. I've forgotten how to live this little life I've set up for myself here -- forgotten how it will be without my Kentucky connections here with me.

Did I really put on suits everyday? Did I really actually start a new job? Will this paycheck bounce?

This is so surreal. All of it.