Stalemate and cohabitate

I am in the process of trying to buy a house. I can think of nothing that is quite as frustrating and humbling than putting your life on paper.

I thought I had saved a lot. I guess that's a relative term when you start factoring all the other hidden costs in the process of home ownership. There's inspections and closing costs and no matter what you have in the bank, it's not enough.

So I found my budget (tiny) and what I wanted in a house and away I went. I found one! But now I'm in a tug of war with the bank over a foreclosed house that I love for the low end of my budget but I think I might lose this one. I guess another hurdle in the process is that the home needs to be in 100% working order for the loan I qualify for.
I'm starting to think that home does not exists.

Still at little apartment but staying at my sisters all the time with this nagging feeling that my life is stalled.

I've also been thinking perhaps this -do what you love- mantra for choosing careers isn't such a great idea. If you like cooking, does that mean you should pursue a career working in the back of a kitchen, 60 hours a week, every night and weekend with no paid time off and an angry owner barking at you all the time? If you like making jewelry, who can tell if you will actually make your money back as you follow your dreams? Does anyone actually make money doing what they "love?"

I wonder what makes people chose what they do or if they just fall into it. I understand the inheriting a business, but everything else doesn't make any sense to me.

Maybe I'm just frustrated at being broke and sad I can't find something that I'm good at that will pay me well. And I can't find a house I can afford that I like.

And my poor kitty's back legs went paralyzed. I blame the scratching of the fleas. But really she was getting old. I didn't know how attached I was to her until I had to make the decision to take her to the vet. After a bit of googling, I knew the prognosis was not good, but I also wanted a professional opinion on what I thought was inevitable. A couple offers to take her out back just solidified my decision. I don't think getting shot is a nice way to go after she had given me a long life of service in the form of actually coming when called, making me smile, and warming my lap. She was entertaining and quirky, the way I like cats that are just there without being in your face but perfect for sick days when she was happy to share the couch with you.
Animals getting old is a somber reminder of mortality. Our companions lives are so short compared to ours but usually the perfect amount of time to add a punctuation in the timeline of our longer lives. Like -remember when we lived in that city at that place in our 20s with that crazy cat who had bow legs that made her look like a bulldog? Or the family dog that helped you through middle school but didn't make it to see you graduate high school. But every time it comes to an end, it's heartbreaking.
I guess for however gut wrenching putting a purring kitty on the vet table is, it makes me reassess why I keep things that in the end will die. Chickens are getting a lot easier. Their faces are turning into blurs and while some of them have very standout personalities, the life span of only a couple of years just leaves a slight bitter taste in my mouth when they come up dead. It's the few animals that curl on the couch with me that I expect nothing else but companionship out of that really wiggle into my heart and wring it dry.

This time of year they don't sell trees in Ohio, except the live Christmas variety. But my little kitty deserved more than just a hole in the ground with dirt on top. Even if I didn't pick her out, she just kinda wandered into my house and setup camp on my couch like she owned the place. All I could do was admire her assertiveness and shrug with the bewilderment of -I guess I have a cat now.
I think with all cats, you don't really "own" them. You cohabit. They tolerate your oddities and you tolerate their constant hairballs, box they shit in inside your house, and the occasional dead thing on the front doorstep like you really wanted to see the chipmunk/mouse/bird they just killed.

So there's a nice alcove filled with tulip and daffodil bulbs and some irises as well. Daffodils are tenacious as she was and will remind me for years of that bulldog kitty that helped ease the transition from job to job to crappy apartment from my 20s to my early 30s. And no, I don't want a cat to replace that cat. I don't look for cats. They just kinda find me. And I love them back.

Barrel Smells and Silent Screams

My car is in the shop. My evening job cut my hours and my pay so saving up for a house has come to almost a halt, but it's nice having a bit of down time now, even if I do fill it with gardening and other projects. My apartment is infested with bugs, getting bug bombed every couple of days so now I'm sitting on my sister's couch in my old house with one dog that ran away and the other curled up next to me. My cat is locked in the basement getting heavy doses of flea treatments.

I am somehow content though. It's been pleasant sleeping weather at night and I have goat milk on my cereal that's fresh and delicious. I borrow my mom's car while she's out of town and I literally ran into an old friend with my car who happens to have worked 10 yrs at a scrap yard and is going to help me clean up a bit. I have been saving all my herbs, freezing goat milk, and plodding along through the growing season, trying not to beat myself up too much over what I don't have planted or projects I haven't finished.

It's been one year since I lost my job and I'm starting to get my bearings readjusted.

There still is this sinking sense in the pit of my stomach that I don't think will ever get resolved. It comes up heaving every time we work with barrels.
My days are so frustrating sometimes working with retired -other jobs- guys who just do my job for fun. They think themselves into holes constantly. And I know what to do, but get pushed aside because they've worked there longer. I have these embedded ticks and ability to see different movements, but it seems like they don't believe me or they like doing the opposite of whatever I say.

So I fall back and keep one hand on my steam machine and wait for the barrels to come out of the barrel room. I dare not go inside.

I want so badly to share where I have been and what I know, but that brings questions that I cannot answer and bridges that have been burned. I feel this black mark I carry around like a pariah.

Or perhaps I don't want to step in and assert myself for fear that I will just get used up and tossed aside again.

I guess heartbreak is for the ones you've loved and lost, so it's logical to avoid if you never try at all.


....but that's not who I am. Reassessing and returning armed with articulation. Let's see what I can do.

Repeat

I can't stop listening to the same song over and over again. Like one more play will solve the magnetic mystery of its hold on me. Like a crazy obsessed puzzle master trying to put the pieces together.
The voice, haunting in its melancholy and I feel the freight train running through the middle of his head is stuck on the same tracks rumbling over and over in mine. The effortlessness of distain. Again. Listening to catch the drum stick clacking on the side if the snare, the plunk of a muted guitar chord not allowed to voice it's full breadth and width. A howl responded with a minimalist synth two note as though that would stop the pull of the heart strings. Again.

I am just finishing a vacation to the ocean.  Usually the pull of the tides calms me but this time around did not cool my desire. The ocean was angry. The tides whipped hard ad the fear was lingering heavy in the salty thick air. I sank into the sand, catching crevices I would rather not, sinkin into myself deeper as the gulls circled and I tried to immerse myself into a book to wander my brain.

But now back in ohio I find myself still sinking deeper, falling into the odd cloudiness this land is beautiful with. I drew my finger nails over freshly reddened skin, scratching at first for an itch and then out of a twitch and now continue to scratch out of compulsion to the point of raw skin.

Repeat. The click of the snare. Muted picking guitar. Something nagging my brain that I can't put my finger on. Clawing at me.

And the rain follows the clouds. Two days before back to work. Two days to sink into myself. To claw, explore, repeat. And repeat.

Keeping warm in the kitchen

A half day off on a cold Saturday afternoon lends well to a quick and much needed regrouping. I know I have to go to work in a few hours, but I still took the dog to the park where the wind stung our faces as we worked up a sweat under our winter coats. I still took advantage of free gas at shitty little apartment with an all day boil of gallons of walnut and maple sap, window open with fan blowing out to try to get as muh steam outside, although the leak in the ceiling laughs that my efforts are a moot point in a moldy apt. I'm transferring some zin into a carboy and a small batch of Sangiovese should be blended in as well, more to cut headroom than for flavor, but I'm sure they will cohabitate nicely.

I still had time to clean an rearrange, which is similar to playing Tetris with a tiny piece of space and trying to organize all the books an project stuff I can in the tiny space. I put the dog crate away and found a corner for my keyboard but couldn't find the cord for said keyboard, which is unfortunate as now it's callin my name but is mute. I'm catching up on reading the pile of magazines that came to my mailbox once the giant patch of ice thawed and the mail started coming again. So many missed articles about grunge makeup techniques, olive pasta combinations, anal sex, and what country collectables are worth collecting. I also found a stash of dog toys that fell under the couch so the pup is entertained too, other than just strategically placing herself where I'm trying to sweep in order to collect some affection.

The browser on my phone pretty much encapsulates what my day have entailed: goat milking and cheese making techniques, wine fining methods, homes for sale, craigslist jobs, legitimate ways to make money from home, my album on amazon, and my credit union tips and tricks for saving money. I'm still not sure how people who make $10/hr survive. Splitting the cheapest one bedroom possible and barely spending any money, workin two jobs has me baffled. I keep track of what I spend. I think I just don't make enough money.

So I guess I am sitting back and not worrying about putting things together anymore. I'm just trying to improve myself and do the things I want to do in the meantime. Oh, and cutting back on drinking so I can go to Asheville, nc on vacation in a couple weeks. I guess I'll just take things as they come an stop pushing for something more.
Yeah, typing that hurt. I'm not sure if I believe myself. But I guess being unhappy working towards a goal so far away isn't a way to live either.

I look at both my grandpas as engineers and wonder why I didn't get a nudge in that direction. Even now when I think of a career change, I imagine teaching or school counselor. Taking apart valves at work had me thinking I really enjoy more hands on figuring thigs out. Although I don't foresee myself taking over my grandpas machine shop anytime soon, I guess it's something I shouldn't rule out.

My old job finally hired a manager to replace me. It's been running on autopilot for awhile. I have some old regulars who still meet up with me and relish telling me horror stories of how terrible it is now that I'm not there. Kinda like hearing your ex is now fat and unhappy, it's just a shoulder shrugged for me now. Nothing I can do. Not worth my effort or worry. They didn't want me. So if everyone is now going to other wineries and complaining about my old place, I can't help it. Maybe the new girl will take the bull by the horns and turn the place around again. But more likely than not, she will hit the same obsticles of inherent business model flaws that I did, where the only thing to really do is just keep plowing forward through the growing pains, cutting costs when possible and trying to gather return customers where possible. Mine have followed me, but I refuse to put myself in the position I used to be in. I love to cook, but don't want to be tied to another owner oh treats me like an idiot. I'll cook for my self and my family. And I'll cook damn well and with love.

I have discovered I really like to milk goats. I know. Probably not that shocking. But noteworthy none the less. And I cooked the best short ribs I've ever eaten. And now I'm curled up on my couch with a book at a sleepy dog, which is pretty much an ideal day for me. In a half hour I'll suit up and watch someone else stress out about cooking for a restaurant as the new chef flounders himself through a full service as he focuses on the garnishes and I will day dream about finding my fuckin keyboard cord and writing a song about minced chives on shrimp scampi. Mmm. Maybe the weather will break and I can grill coconut key lime shrimp.

Whistling rage and wages

After two days of being sick, I come back to work to find the kid that I replaced was back. For a tiny staff, it's always a big shift when anything changes.

I found my busy work being diverted to him. And my motivation just dying.

I guess I never thought of where the bar was set before I started. I just run around like a border collie, in circles doing a bunch of things until I can't find anything to do and then I get bored and find something else to do or I beg to go home.

This kid worked as slow as could be but looked like he could pick up heavy things. Bathroom breaks took 15 minutes off of each hour and another chunk of time was spent texting out in the open, which was ok by me because it freed up the bathroom for what the bathroom is actually intended for.

And to top it all off, he was a whistler. Oh my god. What audible onslaught is this? Invading my serene workplace and taking my busy work tasks, making me more bored than scrubbing the back of a tank could render me. High pitched noises to coincide with every task where there had been no noise before.

I got sick again. Not out of annoyance, but that kind of sick that moves through your entire body in waves of sickness through your body and I figured it was probably from working 60+ hours a week between my two jobs. So Christmas was spent on a level 2 of energy scale. And New Years I dragged my butt to my second job, got sick at work, but then kinda felt better having purged something from my stomach so I finished my shift. I fought for getting tipped out and wasn't about to look like I was skipping out. (I know, it's dumb, but that's how my mind wraps its head around itself.)

I think the core of my annoyance lies much deeper than bathroom habits, whistling, or this perpetual sickness I can't shake. It's the idea that this kid makes more money than I do. Or the same amount as I do.


It's a nagging feeling for a girl in any industry seeing as how numbers always slip out that the wage gap is alive and well. It's systemic, all the way to the recent Sony hack showing female costars making millions less. For some reason, guys can negotiate better salaries and benefits. It's something I fear I'm terrible at as well. I usually find that I hold myself back from getting much needed raises for the good of the company... or something.

After one fiery argument with my brother and boyfriend on this topic, one in which they told me that at least I wasn't getting mutilated or sold as a sex slave, I guess I was able to wrestle with the root of this inferiority complex.
It seems like that argument -at least you don't have it as bad as____- is a way to get your head down, stay in your lane and not complain. I don't think that guys have that idea built in. But for a girl, you're usually second guessed every turn along the way, especially in an industry where you have to use tools, machines, and pick up heavy things.


This fucking kid looked like he could pick up heavy things. And here he was in my workplace, not really working.


I liked being a girl boss as the way I think problems through, navigate staffing issues, and can orchestrate ten things at once is something that I completely delight in. I also don't really care to do things the hard way or pick up two cases of wine at once to out piss someone else. I work efficiently by myself or with a group and I know that I am worth my pay and then some.


So I guess I'm looking forward to my yearly review so maybe I can get a bump in hourly so I'm not working so many hours and making myself sick from being run down.
And they're right. At least I don't have it as bad as some females in the world, but that doesn't mean that wage gaps can just keep going on because they aren't as bad as other problems in other places. And racism in America isn't too bad, I mean at least they aren't getting shot for being black like all the time. We all should stop complaining. Sigh...


In other news, I paid off my last credit card and am now high interest debt free. Wohoo! All the long hours are starting to be worth it as I'm done digging myself out of a hole.
I'm now reorganizing my life and filing things away where they belong. I'm budgeting with cash, paying for the things that I really need and writing it all down in the meantime.
I am probably not going to switch careers but rather, I'm going to make this one work best for me. Or find a place similar that will pay me well for what I do best.
I do not want to get back into a high stress job, even if it's more money. It's not worth feeling stressed and then spending money to make myself feel better.


I get rid of things every day. I can't believe I still have anything left, but the purge continues. My TV broke and while it was getting repaired, I didn't miss it. In fact, I was way more productive with it gone and so it hasn't been back since. My yarn collection I  haven't touched in years got pared down. My wardrobe continues to be just the same tshirt a million times and I've expanded to the same three sweaters rotating through the laundry and got rid of all the jeans that didn't fit perfectly.


The only thing that has grown has been my kitchen pantry and gadgets. I now have a crab claw cracker, a new coffee maker and French press, and some new containers that are see through to hold all my canning and beer brewing stuff. My car is still clean(ish) and I'm going to start paying hard on that and putting some in savings next.


I also NOW have health insurance! Yipee! Commence getting sick again. Super high deductible, but hey, low monthly payments means more to put into a health savings plan instead of low deductible that I (hopefully) won't use anyway.


I now more than ever want to make a home somewhere. I want a mate who will stand beside me through anything. I want a fenced yard for the dogs and with the same voraciousness, I will work towards and achieve these goals.


But for now, I sip tea and work through budget calculators and look up roasted potato recipes while the laundry finishes. I watered the sheep, watched as they selected their favorite strands of hay, safe from the wet snow as they nestle inside the barn which last held sheep a half a century ago. I halfway contemplated naming them shallot and potato, but opted for keeping them nameless. Found some old gardening books, enjoyed the chill, meandered a bit, and enjoyed my half day off. And now I'm googling black walnut syrup with my sick dad.


The whistling kid is gone now. And somewhere along the lines of wrestling with my own frustrations, I started to actually listen to the whistle. I would try to figure out what song it was or where he was exactly, what his mood was based on what he was whistling.
I started to love the sound. It's very creative and he was actually quite good at it. He would improve through some of the oddest medleys of songs in quick succession and the echo was even more haunting when he was far away. I stopped watching him blatantly text, I would just do my job and listen.
Oddly enough, I kinda miss it. And I have no idea if he made more money or less money or equal. Guess that's something I'll have to keep working through.


... and I should ask for a raise.