Devastated

 I am completely wrecked right now and I have no idea how to start to put myself back together. I'm not sure what shifted, where I went wrong, what's missing. I cannot get my head right and I'm trying so hard to figure it out. 

I'm doing all the things for a reset. I'm trying to pull back, write, straighten my head, workout, run, walk, go into nature, get out of my fucking head but I can't. 

Obsessive thoughts are rough. I keep circling around and around and there's no way to stop it. 

I'm not even sure how it happened. Was I manipulated? Or was I being manipulated? Why did I sink so far down a mind fuck rabbit hole that I got so turned around. Is it the stress that's beating me down? Desire for someone to protect me? Want for attention? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can't stop thinking about what ifs and questioning why I do the things that I do. Wondering where I should go from here. My mind has created this entirely complete fantasy and I realize it's not real but I'm still stuck in it. Is it the tension from not knowing? Or is it something else. 

I feel like I'm unraveling. How do I stop and put myself back together? Can I stop and put myself back together? I'm pushing just a little bit to see where I could go, the feedback has been minimal which means it is all in my head. And would I even want to make any big changes right now. Am I just self-sabotaging? What is missing that I am creating alternative worlds in my head? What am I trying to escape? Or is it about something else?

Church Loss

 It's the quiet light blue time just before the dawn where the crickets and cicadas are the only ones up and causing a racket. The slow swoosh of the Sunday early morning cars is quiet and they don't even hint at a hurry. I am awake, struggling to quiet my mind and I realized there is an overwhelming grief I cannot shake. 

After 2020, I was very hesitant to go back to church. The loudest voices of those who opposed my viewpoints on the whole -do something that minimizes risk to others- seemed to be from church goers. I'm not sure if that's just because they like opposition or believed the right-wing rhetoric or don't like being told what to do or what. But it was frustrating that people who are supposed to be all about God could be so hateful and not care about others. So it left a bad taste in my mouth about the church

But then I thought about raising kids up in the church and I want a community, so I started to pack the kids up and go. 
I loved the people. I loved the slow pace and talking, sharing about everyone's week, coffee, and seeing my family. The kids loved having somewhere to go and look forward to, kids to play with, and the music. The energy was lively and friendly and welcoming. 

But then the pastor retired. An interim pastor came in, ok, everyone still in good spirits. But then they hired a pastor and everything started to sour. 

I don't know how churches work. I know I show up and people smile and everything seems fine. But everything didn't seem fine. The sermons were fine. The congregation wasn't. The community felt off. And people slowly trickled away. My friends were leaving. My brother came less and less. And my motivation to get out of bed on one of my two days off per week waned. 

I can pray anywhere. I feel more connected to God while sitting in the middle of a forest or floating down a river. I go to church for the community and to feel connected with others. And that was slowly eroding away. 

When my parents left, it was a shock that I didn't think I could feel. They had been going to that church since I was young. They loved the people. But something was off. They spoke up but were pushed aside so they left. 

I didn't know I could experience this weird, confused grief for a place or a time. It's kinda like college when it's over but you know from the start that college isn't going to last forever. You look bad, yup, good times but now what. This is more like feeling completely lost. And the people I saw there, the friendly faces who I grew up with all kinda scattered to different churches. And now I'm left not sure what to do. Starting over feels like too much. And I've church shopped enough to know what I like and I don't like. My parents picked a baptist church that my sister goes to. Uh, that's a no for me. I do not need hellfire threats and dichotomous thinking to keep me looking to the Lord. 

I feel alone again. Not like I don't have family, but that's different. A lot of people are quitting at work. It sucks. Makes me question what's next. 

Now what

 There is this intense feeling of pressure and weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe most days. I don't drink anymore, but I think this is one of the reasons why I would before. It's like the atmosphere is too dense, like I'm swimming and I can barely breathe. Maybe it's humidity is so high that I can feel the water droplets or the barometric pressure. 

I'm trying to figure out how to brain dump in order to relax and calm down. I carry weight of the most difficult cases right now that I find at the end of the day, my brain cannot process any more information. I'm so "on" all the time, listening and inquiring, curious for hours on end and when I have back-to-back to back cases, the pressure in my chest and my throat gets worse.

I don't fear work anymore like I used to. I'm calm when I'm there as long as someone is in front of me. It's the extra stuff that makes me crawl the walls. 

Someone recently said I'm never happy, no matter what I do. That hurt. I feel this intense push forward to keep going, learning, be better than yesterday. But I can see where that may seem exhausting to someone on the outside. I'm constantly questioning the state of things and why they are how they are and how to improve them. Usually, I'm within the confines of someone else's vision and all I see are the flaws. 

I know I need to get back in the dirt. I know I need to find a way to stay active and learning but not day after day with the same repeat at work, but I'm not sure how I can balance that with bills and house and child care and and and the pressure comes back. 

I've been trying to focus on no buy challenges or budgeting, but sometimes I get so overwhelmed that all that goes out the window and I say -fuck it- and go down some rabbit hole that I think is going to make me feel better. Right now, I want a cuckoo clock. It's fucking ridiculous. I don't remember what it was last week, maybe custom leather bags or the perfect tshirt. Some magical thing that is going to make me feel better or at least ok... until I look at my bank account and I fucked my budget again. 

I can't. I'm frustrated and stuck. Gotta take the dog to the vet, clean out the basement, put away laundry, spend time with family, meal prep, be a good mom, a good daughter, a good partner, a good employee. 
I wonder if I hit the limits of my brain. Like I've found the max cap that I can hold and I'm just riding the line most days to try to make it through. And I don't know how to cut back, or maybe I do but I'm too scared to take the jump. 

I think the spending is self-sabotaging to keep me where I am. Fuck. I hate journaling and putting things together. Cause then I get stuck with the -now what?

Another dead dog

 My dog died. A quick but terrible death. 

There’s something about quick and bloody deaths that really stick with you. The moment replays over and over like a gory loop of helpless that you cannot stop. It feels like time is flying in the moment but then it stops and repeats like a squeaky tennis shoe. Squeak, step, squeak, step, over and over. 

Work is ungodly hell right now. The workload is unbearable. I cannot collect my thoughts. I have too many things swirling around in my brain at all times and I can’t catch a break to catch a breath. I’m drowning. Day and day again. 

It’s funny cause for all the altruism that gets someone into the helping field, it all gets beat out of you one wah or another. Another lie. Another broken story. Another no call no show. Another productivity email. Repeat. Add in a squeaky shoe on squeak, step, squeak, and there is no rest. There is no break. Even days off are too short and the people and the stories stick with you. The forgotten notes or to remember lists or progress reports that need sent are neeeeeever ending. 

And then a fucking coworker was mean as hell, trying to be funny at the end of a long day and I just about lost it. My brain is already so full my head is splitting and aching so the last ducking thing I need is a snarky ass coworker hopped up on anger and altruism and burnout that she thinks it’s fucking funny to shred me. And it sucks because while she’s mad at others, I always was nothing but nice to her. So when she turned on me, I was shocked. I guess I shouldn’t be but when I’m dodging lies and people trying to get what they want all day long while trying to maintain productivity, the last fucking thing I need at the end of the day is someone being snarky who should be on my team. 

I gave away my class. Tonight was my last night. I love teaching but I’m done. I’m spent. It’s too much. I can’t chase cats anymore. I can’t get my dog dying out of my already fucking full head. Squeak. Step. Repeat. And all I want to do is rub her little face and tell her I do love her, even on the most annoying days. I do love her. I did love her. Even when I was so angry at the dumb shit she did. I did love her. She did love me all the time. Even when she would stare at me and pee on my bed right in front of me. 

I got to get my head right. I can’t keep up like how I am much longer. Idk how people do this long term. My brain is full. And I don’t have time for any of this other shit. 

Time

 Time goes by weirdly in sobriety. It has weight and density. It takes up space and energy. It feels like a responsibility and some days it’s great. Others, it’s fucking awful.

I just went through a pretty intense training at work and I’m still a bit disoriented from the whole thing. Part 1 was a few months ago and was amazing. I was able to connect different parts of things that were in my brain for better understanding and I felt strange for a week. Part two was kinda a wash, more just practice.

I don't know how to relax. I started drinking when I was 13, on and off until college. Then it was party hard one night, rest the next for a bit. Weekends were long and grueling, but so many laughs with friends. I don't remember where I was some nights. It's all kinda a blur.

I kept drinking a lot when I was around family functions, holidays, events, weddings, funerals, and fuck, towards the end there were few times when I wasn't heavily drinking. I remember having some beers before going to a church event. That was awkward as fuck but I kept thinking I should go out to the car to drink more to make it less awkward. 

I'm at this weird point now where I'm happy with how I feel physically, mentally, emotionally. I just feel a bit distant. Like I'm not "fun." I don't know how to have fun. I catch myself sometimes almost having fun but then the wind goes out of the sails and I'm kinda just back down again. 

This training was the same way. I felt like I found my calling, like it meant something. But then part two happened and I was less so. It felt like fucking work. It felt like it didn't make sense anymore. I felt like I was back not knowing what I'm doing. Ugh. Time is going so slowly. 

soft ears, tail wags, broken heart

 I had to put my dog down. She was 13 years old and the best dog I could imagine. 

Watching a dog get old is a sneaky thing. She would follow me around and play as hard as she used to, but as time went on she was around less and less, sleeping a little bit longer or lingering on the couch when I half heartedly offered a walk. She went deaf so she sometimes didn't meet me at the door when I got home, but I always knew when she saw me, she would jump around and dance. 
My preschooler always made a point to pet her or miss her dog food bowl and cover the floor when feeding her. She lost bladder control and he would help me make sure she was on her bed or pee pads when she laid down. I still remember her last walk where she reluctantly but obediently followed him around.

I hate how the harder you love something, the more it hurts to lose it. 

She loaded up in the car with a wag and I'm not sure if she knew and she was just ready to go or if she really just liked car rides. I told her she was a good dog, the best dog. She stuck her head out the window. I cried. 

The decision is always second guessed. I don't know why dogs live so much longer than different parts of their body can function. She was deaf and her kidneys were shutting down, but still I thought maybe I should wait a little longer. I'm not sure for what. Maybe just to not have to say goodbye or have these feelings like -what if- and -I should have- that linger around any decision with such a finality as death. 

My preschooler still won't talk about her. I don't think I've cried this much in a long time. Something about the intersection of post partum hormones, losing my best friend, and having to return to work is really making me feel like I'm in emotional freefall. I can't stop crying and crying. I feel like I'm sliding backwards down a muddy slope, trying to catch my footing but falling as I claw my way forward.

I almost followed her pawprints in the snow from the last time she wandered out of the yard, down the block, and down the hill past the neighborhood. I don't know what I was looking for, maybe clinging to a little part of her odd decision making or what she wanted to do or maybe looking for clues about what shut down her kidneys so that I can be mad at something in particular like the final clue that would make me feel better as I swear vengeance against some concrete enemy. I drove to where the pawprints became untraceable and cried some more. And today as the snow pummels down, her iced up pawprints are slowly becoming erased by the fresh snow. And I cried. 

I thought taking her in while I was on leave would be easier. Like I had all this free time to clean the carpets and set things straight, but now all my free time is just absorbed in sad remembrances and second guessing myself. 

There's something about the dogs I've had that mark different times in my life based on the decades that I had them during. I had my teenage through 20s dog; the dappy but loveable floppy eared friend who listened to all my different heartbreaks through the years, lived through the college years and couch surfing after, the apartment fire, breakups and break ins and break downs in crappy cars. Then there was this dog, the last 20s through the almost 40 when I thought I would have a farm, trained her to herd sheep, bravely took on an attack pig, traveled through harvest season after harvest season, went on camping trips, played in the ocean, and took on my kids as though they were the most important thing in her pack. When I went into labor I couldn't find her anywhere in the middle of the night, but come to find her cuddled next to the bed of my sleeping kid. She could sense when you needed cheered up and she always seemed like she was trying to guess what would make you happy. We got rid on the sheep as she got older and she didn't mind. I left my farm job, moved to an apartment, stopped training foster dogs, got a house, and she came along for the ride. 

Time slows us all  down. Family grows, changes, branches die. Our saturday morning routine changed so much through the years. She used to sneak into bed in the morning and sneak out just as quickly if she was discovered and given attention. She was a working dog through and through. I hope she didn't hurt or suffer. I wonder how long I will hurt me to miss her. 

Treading water in an overfilled aquarium

 It's the end of 2021 and the cold rain continues outside. I'm glad it's in the 40s or else we would have more snow than we could manage. I notice every creak in my body as if it's held together with glue and string and one wrong move throws off the entire delicate balance. I'm hoping to make some grand sweeping resolution to grow stronger in the new year, but honestly, I am barely able to make the resolution to get these thoughts rambling in my head out into words. I wake up and grab onto the day but it feels like I'm holding sand as it flows downward and leaves me holding nothing at the end of the day.

I'm on maternity leave. I love staying home and getting baby snuggles all day every day. Baby has a stuffy nose today and my anxiety ridden brain has self-diagnosed COVID as of course it's the worst possible scenario and not just a snotty nose from winter time. It's impossible to sit down without thinking of what is going to go wrong. 

Elderly multigravida is what my discharge paperwork said. I feel so old and wise, but really my body is falling apart and it took me so long to realize the warm fuzzy feelings from having family... which I equate entirely to hormone imbalances that evolutionarily discourage us from leaving our young in the woods due to lack of sleep and completely irrational demands of motherhood. My brain feels like it's glitching and I can't connect the dots or I'm staring at something but I can't find the word for it. 

There is one thing for certain - at this moment I am sober and so happy to at least have that. 

It feels different, less highs and lows. More stable. Less chasing my tail, feeling like crap, mental fog, wishing I was at a different state of mind. I'm doing that thing that everyone who takes a step back from the rat race does - evaluating whether I want to go back. My pay isn't the greatest and some days is really stressful, but some days I put the stress in there where it doesn't really belong. I try too hard or push more than the clients are ready to go. The courts push hard in one direction and the client is running in the opposite direction. My confidence is low but I kinda muddle through some of the toughest conversations of my life thinking -how the fuck do most therapists continue to know what to say- or -am I doing this right?

I am holding so many things in my head like an overstuffed aquarium that needs cleaned out. I need to write. I need to talk. Need to process. And within all of these fears is this sense of dread that baby is growing and getting bigger and I will forget. I don't want to forget. I want to hold on to everything. And my 4 year old is demanding as ever and I try to be everything for him too, but I'm on 1 hours sleep at a time and physically falling apart. 

So no grand sweeping gestures. No resolutions to run a marathon. I do want to slowly build my strength back up, take care of myself, let out these thoughts, sort them, catalog them with these pictures, these snuggles, these wild hormones that make me feel like all the world is so full of love but so full of destruction and disease at the same time. I think I need to make a list. More for myself than anything. I don't want to hold myself to weird, impossible standards, but I do need to figure out what I'm trying to do and how I can get there. I'm splattered right now and treading water. 

Supervisor Exit

 I am 4 months pregnant, still feeling the long haul, and I feel like a worm on the sidewalk drying out in the sun. 

I keep thinking things will get better, but they stay the same. The muscle soreness is still there. The joint pain, brain fog, trouble climbing stairs without being winded.. all still there. I curl up in a ball on my bed most days and try not to cry. I wonder if I'll ever be normal again. I wonder if walking will be as effortless as it was in the past.

And I can't help but wonder if things would be better or worse if I still had my super physical job. Forced exercise may help strengthen, but if I collapse after a day when I work second floor, I cannot imagine pulling pumps and hoses from tank to tank, picking up case after case, scrubbing tanks, lifting barrels. 

I was so sad after losing my last pregnancy that all I could think about was another one. Then I got COVID right around Christmas and thought -oh, I'll be over this in two weeks and be fine. Then the shot became available and I thought -oh, I should get this when it's available because I don't know when I will be able to have this offer again. 
I'm not sure if the symptoms never subsided or got worse after each dose. Then I got pregnant so I guess all those infertility conspiracy theories are out the window based on my personal case study. The stress of the virus delayed my period after COVID so when I was late the next month, I assumed it was the vaccine. the tiredness got worse and then when I felt nauseous when brushing my teeth, I knew I needed to take a test.

I stopped therapy after 2 expensive sessions. I fucking know self care bullshit. I don't need someone telling me that I should take warm baths and do things to take care of myself. I fucking know that. This is different than that. This is a visceral hurt that is stressing my entire system. This is wondering if I'm annoying everyone by complaining of being sore constantly when they ask me why I'm curled up in a chair instead of doing something. I can't move.

I started eating an anti-inflammatory diet. It helps a bit with the joint pain, but not the breathing or brain fog and headaches. I'm second trimester so I got all excited when I read my energy should return. It's half there. My mind woke back up a bit, but my body still feels like a dried up worm. 

My supervisor at work quit. Super mixed feelings about that. I know she was often frustrated. But now I have major fears of the unknown as she was the only supervisor I knew. My classmates had either great supervisors or horror stories. One of the horror stories may be my new supervisor. 

So I'm still in limbo. I'm between two different programs in two different offices throughout the week and I'm not sure if I stayed at the one office to stay with my supervisor. I just want to do a good job. I feel more pressure at this job than I ever have before. 

And then chuck some pregnancy hormones and irritability on top of all that stress and nerve pain and that's pretty much where I'm at right now. I have a super cute, nearly 4 year old that is the best part of my day. But some days when everything gets to me, I just isolate and cry. 

I wonder what "better" looks like. I'm not saying ideal. But just better. I got a smart watch and a symptom tracker to see if there's any day to day change. But work stress is the icing on the shit cake right now. The good clients I have are the best parts of my day. The court ordered, non-compliant, shit clients who don't want to work or listen or even be there are the shit part of my day layered on top of feeling like a pile of garbage. And now I don't have the support of my supervisor, so I'm standing alone in a shit storm wondering how the fuck I got here and where to go now. 

Transfer

 I am being transferred again.

I kinda knew my office wasn't that busy and the lead doc was kinda gutting what few staff we had. I kept jumping up and down in attempts to get my clients to show up, to trust me, to work with me, but most said they had a new counselor every few months so they weren't interested. Oh, I thought, -but I'm not going anywhere. HA! How naïve. I have been moved 5 different times in less than a year with this community nonprofit. I should have known better.

My supervisor told me during our weekly supervision that I was moving in one week and they did not have a counselor to transfer my caseload to. It seemed very haphazard and not thought out. I tried not to, but I cried. 
The counseling relationship is one where you both establish trust. And now I was to just leave, some clients I wouldn't even have a chance to say goodbye to and that stung. I understand some things need to happen, but this seemed unnecessarily jarring and difficult to swallow. 

I guess I could go into office politics now. I'm still trying to figure it out. I did not know that so many in the helping profession could be so different and at times toxic to one another. At times I feel like I'm just pretending to play doctor. Like it's not real because it's just a conversation. It's just me. And why the fuck would anyone want to sit down with me and chat. And how the fuck am I supposed to help them.

I enrolled myself in therapy. It's stuuuuuupid fucking expensive because my insurance does not take it and I'm worried I will know what she is going to say or she is not going to say anything helpful. At first, I thought it was to process my health issues lately, but now I can't sleep and my mind is racing from this work stuff and my boyfriend is tired of hearing about it.

I applied for other jobs but I don't feel comfortable leaving yet. There are still so many things that I do not know but need to learn. And -in these uncertain times... you know. It's hard to walk away from a sure thing. 

Do you ever talk to someone and wonder if they are great or they are the problem? Or maybe there are so many broken parts that there is no one specific problem but everything is just broken and ductaped enough to make it work, but barely. 

In good news, I held it together for the most part. I have learned to bite my tongue when I don't know who to trust. But it is not how I want to work. I wish I could be open and build something positive that would not keep me up at night. I wish I could speak my mind or collaborate instead of not know who to trust or what not to say. 
I feel these waves of stress emotions that are overwhelming and I cannot let them go when I come home. I may fall asleep, but I wake up in the middle of the night and can not shut my brain off. I keep going over different scenarios and wondering what I should say and how I should say it. I appreciate that my brain is in problem solving mode, but I really want to shut it off and get some rest. 

So I guess now I'm taking my own advice- write things down. The difficulty is when I'm not sure what others are going to say, I expand the scenarios to these infinite amounts where I'm about to articulate perfectly what I want to say. ---but in reality, it doesn't really work like that. 

COVID and lost love

 The past week has been rough. I go to work, get exhausted right after lunch, then come home and collapse. In fact, the past month.... or few months have been rough.
In November, I went in for an ultrasound and found my baby had stopped growing 4 weeks prior. One pill and a few super uncomfortable days later I bled and cried for a week. 

Then in December, I woke up with a tickle in my throat and just to be safe, I called off work. But you can't just call off for one day with COVID so I went out and got a test, 3-5 days for the results right before Christmas and I imagined all the things I would get done in my quarantine time. The next day, I felt weaker, and by the third day my joints started seizing up with screaming pain. I tried to cancel Christmas with family, my brother was furious and still wanted a "normal" Christmas at his house with no masks. I declined and hunkered down with a very energetic 3 year old also in quarantine just to be safe. By day 4, the muscle aches started and all I could do was lay around. Day 5, my taste became dull and I could barely smell. I would chug coffee and eat Tylenol in the morning and hobble around to get to the basics before completely falling out in the afternoon.

Two weeks recovery was not long enough and searches online provided bleak outcomes for others recovering from the virus. Thankfully, no one else in my house tested positive, but they got quarantined as well so we all hung out watching Super Wings and doing a ton of art projects while I watched from the couch or went to bed. I made it my goal to drink all the tea in my giant tea drawer that was overflowing. I made it through about half before I had to go back to work.

My sick time was through and I got back to seeing clients, but I ached so bad I could barely move. I kept a heater by my chair and wore three layers and a scarf that doubled as a blanket. My appetite didn't come back, I couldn't taste anyway, and I kept chugging tea. I got down to the weird loose leaf green teas and the bagged ginger and kept going. I let the leaves bloom straight in the cup in hopes that some magic green tea energy would activate something in me that would stop aching so much.

My second week back at work the health dept came with the first round of the shot. I never want to get COVID again so while I may have been hesitant before, I definitely had decided to get it. But I read immunity and waiting and blah blah blah so I asked. They said it should be fine, but my reaction may be more severe since I just had COVID. 
I felt so proud of myself for being brave. I didn't pass out. I barely cried. I just talked to co-workers, saw the head boss, chatted with the nurse that COVID tested me into a bloody nose, and I took my shot. 
It took a few hours before the soreness really hit. The fatigue had clenched down on me by the evening, and the following day I woke up crying. My symptoms had come back with a vengeance. It felt like the worst of my COVID days when I was fighting the virus. I would go to work, limp through, and then go home and crash. I slept from right after work until the next day for work, waking up for an hour or so to eat dinner and then go back to sleep. And I wouldn't feel rested after, just tired and sore. 

I think between the miscarriage and the corona, my body has aged 10+ years in just the past few months. I ache. I am winded walking up stairs. I worry when I wake up that something new will hurt. But I am so grateful at how healthy I am because there were times when I was trying to breathe that I thought -if this gets worse, I can see why people don't live. I could feel it. I am a mass of sinew and bone with skin stretched over as my brain pushes my flesh to turn the head, to move the fingers, to pull air into the lungs. I could feel the immune response and the attack as it would rest in one of my joints for a day, holding that joint captive in agony until migrating to a different joint or vertebrate in my upper or lower back. I try to feel the air as it passes through my windpipe, down into my lungs and I wonder if I'm getting enough carbon dioxide out in order to keep my brain functioning. I wonder if walking would tax this body to the point of breaking and I may pass out. 

I take a lot of baths now. I try to relax or stretch, but nothing changes. So I cry a little, I let myself feel it and I let my mind wonder to -what if this never goes away. And then I set that thought down and walk away. 

Spending 2 weeks at home and not going anywhere is not something I would have ever thought to do. That time helped me realize I need to take time to not do anything. I do wish I could have had that time off and not felt like a steaming pile of garbage, but maybe not being able to do anything was an extra vacation on top of not going to work. It was a way for me to forgive myself for not vacuuming or for learning every character on my kid's favorite show. It was ok for me to have all my projects that I started just sit there and not get finished. 

I'm still recovering. I hope I'm on the mend. The pain is in my left shoulder and my right foot right now. Maybe in the morning it will have migrated and set up camp somewhere else. I am not sure how long I will feel this way. I do know that I hope that vaccine works cause I never want to feel this way again. Well, except for the second dose....... ugh.  

I Miss You

It's been awhile since I've had obsessive thoughts about something or someone. I used to fall hard for people who didn't return the feeling and my brain would repeat over and over events that happened as if there was something I could unlock and figure out how to make them love me. I would repeat a song over and over again in a sad attempt to unlock the secrets behind the hook, the beat, the tone, one part of the quiver in the voice that could free me from my obsession on repeat. I found the only way to get a song out of my head is to play it. But then sometimes that song needs played over and over again to fully process and push through that feeling. 

Right now I am pushing through a super sappy song that reminds me of heartbreak from forever ago and for you readers who would like to fall along and perhaps get it stuck in your head too, it's I Miss You by Incubus. It's pretty much 1999 sappy rock ballad to the max, with that masculinity that is fringed with a twinge of heartache without having to go into the typical rap rock to get the point across. There's a part that pulls between the chorus and the verse that drones on with voices and then falls away that just solidifies that longing feeling of walking away from something or someone that you love but still holds on. 

And I'm fairly convinced that I've completely lost my mind. I feel like someone took pruning loppers to where my spine is in order to separate my head from the rest of my body. Or maybe it's just pinched and my body is numb but my brain is stuck on repeat in the sappiest point I've been in forever. 

I can't even describe what I am missing. It's just this overarching feeling of floating through my days completely detached or in shock and I feel like my feet aren't even on the ground or the ground doesn't even exist.

I need to put a seed in the ground and watch it grow. I need to look forward. I am pulling myself back into this slow moving, slightly distorted, guitar driven whispers of something that I thought I had. When life splinters and branches into a different direction, it's hard not to think of the possibilities if life had gone right instead of taking a sharp left. 

It's funny how I sit down with people and talk through their obsessive thoughts like I know what the fuck I'm talking about. Perhaps if I had someone to talk to, I could process these irrational thoughts. I'm not even sure what I miss other than that feeling of security, like I know what I'm doing or where I'm going. I can't explain. I'm 5 months sober. Maybe I'm shifting again. Maybe life shifted and I'm having trouble keeping up. Maybe fucking mercury is in retrograde. Maybe I need to let go of thinking I have my shit together and be honest with other people that I don't. Maybe I can say my head has detached from my body but I'm still walking around like I know where I'm going. Maybe I'm jealous of people who don't care. Maybe I'm getting too much sleep and my dreams are wandering far into the depths of places I don't want to go. 

I don't fucking know. I do hope I finally hit the point where I can listen to something else. I hope I can unlock the puzzle of what is bothering me enough to make it stop. I want to make it stop. I need to move on instead of missing something that I cannot go back to. 

Devastation, but Maybe Cautious Optimism

 It has been a rough few weeks.

I thought I had my shit together. I got thrown into an internship that I had been studying for but still felt ill prepared at a site that seemed a bit low on staff. I took on as much as I could and LOVED the work. I was given a lot of freedom and I ran things the way I wanted, meeting with my supervisor once a week just to make sure I was on the right track.

Our numbers kept going down and then suddenly all staff get pulled in and told our site is closing. I was devastated, but wearing masks is helpful in situations such as these. The paper ones aren't as good at hiding tears as the cloth ones, but I tried to hold it together. We were then instructed to go out and put on a solid front for the clients who would have to merge with a different site. They were devastated. I was devastated. I was told that HR would talk to me within the next few days.

I'm not sure how to articulate the stress of having 3 years of classes hanging over my head with required hours to graduate in December being linked to where I was hired on for health insurance for me and my kid. It's a lot of debt to lose my internship now. I was also hurt and worried for the girls. One client came into my office who was in her final few weeks and broke down that she couldn't finish without me. My boss said she can't say much, but can share that I'm not leaving and I'll be around to help.

It was a quick move, two days later I was sitting on a couch in a different residential setting after teaching my final group therapy session at the old site. It was like the first day on the job but with 5 scared people looking to me for guidance when I was still adjusting to the change as well.

The new site was a different from a theoretical standpoint. It's weird to know this and look back at the times I was in counseling and guess what theoretical standpoint each of those counselors was operating from. This site is big into AA. I come from trauma based supervision. The clients that moved from my site quickly noticed the difference.
AA and 12 steps seem to be more methodical. Trauma based dives deep and asks why or "where did this idea come from?" I learned to dig and find the source. When you use drugs for so many years, you don't really think "why do I use?" It's a valid question and one of my favorite to ask. I found that once I pulled out as many reasons that kept them in active use, I could start knocking them down with facts, brain chemistry, assertiveness training, and thought-feeling correlation through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) but they had to come up with their list first. 
12 step programs walks everyone through a series of questions and pushes going to meetings and reading the "Big Book." 

Anyway, I worked my way in and was so nervous the first few times I led group. My previous supervisor just let me go and said she would let me know if I was doing something wrong. These supervisors are much more involved, which of course makes me anxious. 

What I learned is that over the past few months and feverishly reading, I've absorbed a shit ton of material and can lead 3 hour discussions easily without having to rely on handouts as much. I learned that engaging people is an art, some people who initially hate you may eventually change their mind, and an easy way to make friends at a new place is to take the most hated job from all your coworkers while not complaining. The only problem is that once I took the most dreaded job, they started to expect it and HR called again and placed me at another site.

Now was my turn to be devastated. I had my few clients left from the other site, but I had been running about a group per day with the other residents. I adjusted to their program and worked my way into it. My new site director paid me a compliment which really helped reaffirm that I like working in this field and especially with women. 

My last day at that site was so perfect. I got to run music therapy with my 4 favorite songs and then go into how to meditate before bed to let go of the day. I did notes, chatted with residents, chatted with staff, tried to hide my tears, played volleyball with staff and clients, and then sat in the living room with a client I am very close to and had such a good conversation while other clients came and sat around and listened. 

My heart is breaking right now. I wish I could have stayed. I didn't know I would like working with that population so much but the pain from their stories and how they were trying to get through it by destroying themselves is so amazing to work through. 
I walked away from there with part of my heart still with them. And I thought that maybe I'm not a good fit for this job because I'm too much of an empath. But fuck, that's a hard way to leave someone after I've invested so much mental energy into figuring out where they are coming from and how to help them stop destroying themselves in spite of their own best efforts. I have this fear in the pit of my stomach, this dull ache all over like walking away was not right or that there was something more I could have done to fight to work at that site. 
But I got transferred. I picked the available position within the company and in a few days, I get to see how things go. It's going to be different, but maybe I'll learn different things. 

I think one of my clients was poking at me for leaving her. I wasn't sure what she wanted from me and she is the one I warned about only being around temporarily. I don't know how I'm going to go from seeing someone every day and having such long talks about everything that is going on in her world to...  nothing. 
I'm struggling with what I can and what I cannot control. I know she needs to stand on her own two feet, but this is like telling her that and then taking the rug out from underneath her. I understand why she was poking at me. She was wondering if I was still alive and in there and trying to help her. It's just making me miserable now, but I know the other staff at that site will be fine. She is a bit dramatic at times, but her life has been pretty turbulent so I understand. 
I just want to reach out but I'm not sure how or why. She has a long way to go in recovery and I was only one tiny piece of it. I cannot hold her hand all the time, but I feel like I'm walking away far too soon. 
I only hope that she falls back and regroups. 

I guess I look back at the people who made a huge impact on my life and I see them in different time zones of my life. I look back at the good and the bad events like time stamps and scars I hold onto. I hope she keeps the good parts and builds on them. I hope she stays well. 

I prefer when clients graduate out of the program. I've been able to better walk away knowing that I've done everything I could to work through things that were holding them back. I don't feel like I was finished and I had to walk away. 

I wish them all well. I'm not sure what my next chapter looks like. I am trying to stay optimistic. 

Step 1: I Quit

 It's been awhile. I don't know where to start. But I know I want to keep going, keep moving, keep writing. And so this small corner of the internet seems fitting place. 

First, I quit drinking. It's been several months. I don't count days. I'm not in AA. And quitting drinking  wasn't something that I planned. It just kinda happened. I guess major tectonic shifts may all start out like small rumblings of subtle movement beneath your feet foreboding of things to come. 
It started with that weird feeling that something isn't right. That -I should be doing something better, something different- feeling that usually a drink would quiet and make go dim just for a bit. 

Drinking used to quiet my mind. It stopped me from trying to do so many things all the time. And somehow, drinking found its way into every facet of my life. I thought people who didn't drink were weird and not to be trusted. Fun times all involved alcohol in one way or another. But then something shifted where all times involved alcohol in one way or another and the fun kinda wasn't there. And then most days somehow became excuses to drink or waiting to drink or lying to get out of a situation in order to get more to drink. And it wasn't fun anymore. But I couldn't stop.

I had my first baby a few years ago and quitting drinking while pregnant was a no-brainer. But I felt like I was missing out. I, the child bearing mother, wrecked myself while creating another human while the father would bring home a 6 pack of "good beer" and sit it on the table, enjoying it with dinner and commenting on how much longer his alcohol lasts now that I wasn't drinking half of it. 
I had quit drinking, which made me think I sacrificed sooooo much for this child that I put beer on my baby registry because I couldn't wait until I could drink with a good conscious again.
But with breastfeeding, there is no good conscious. 
I would be at home with a baby all day, not sure what the fuck to do with said baby and stressed out just thinking and planning and waiting to feed and hope my baby wouldn't be hungry again so that I could have a drink. No sleep with an infant. I wanted my trusty -shut my brain off- drink, but even the timing on that was stressing me out.

Once the kid was weaned, I had some catching up to do. I drank. And I drank a lot. It was the father of the kid's turn to drive me around now while I drank to catch up on the past couple of years. I wanted to find the fun, stress relief I had known before having a kid. 

I worked in the alcohol industry. I made wine for years, but I'm not a big wine drinker. I could explain the subtle notes and all the other bullshit that the industry flaunts to make those "in the know" feel important and the people who admit they only like it to be fruity, sweet, and cheap to feel less than. Oh honey, with enough practice, you'll totally learn to appreciate a dry, tannic, full bodied red wine. It just takes time and a lot of drinking... er, I mean practice.

But then my work added a distillery. I love learning. I love working with my hands and putting things together, so I was very proud of myself when I took the pieces and parts of the equipment and help put together vessels, piping, and orchestrated where the crane operators would place different pieces. I like puzzles, and building two stills from pieces was a fascinating puzzle to assemble. 

And then I learned how to make hard liquor. 

It's not difficult. It's just another skill that takes time and a mentor. I do not have a nose for it. All the distillate smelled gross and I couldn't tell the heads and feet and tails or whatever shit makes you not go blind from the stuff that people actually want to drink. The cuts are made for the "hearts" of the run, but it didn't make much of a difference in my nose. It's all pretty fucking disgusting. The only good part about whisky that I liked so much usually was what was extracted from the charred oak barrel  and the fact it warmed me up and got me pretty drunk. Honestly, vodka smells like it will kill you. Gin, I love, but I could probably make juniper tea with some citrus peel and be just as happy now. But I will admit, gin recipes and production are fascinating. It ties together my love for botanicals with my former love of separating my mind from my body for some fleeting moments.

I share my experience in the booze industry for context. I say this because I'm sitting here and I can not believe that I got out of drinking. It was what I did for a living. And then I came home and drank some more.

Now I'm not going to tell you that drinking on the job while working at a winery is the norm. It's not. There's plenty of people who work in the alcohol industry who do not drink at all. Most days I was respectable. But most people in the industry drink and want you to drink with them. Most customers are having fun and they want you to have fun with them. And in production, liquor seeps through your skin and so on bottling days with short sleeves, anyone working the line was bound to get a little tipsy by the end of the day. Blend trials are another industry pitfall where it's the opposite of a drinking game - you have to drink a lot (you can spit, but who would do that?) and you do not want to get drunk.

And there's something about being surrounded by booze and people who appreciate booze that just makes going home and drinking seem almost second nature.

I tried to cut back. I tried to drink only on the weekends. I tried to drink only 3 drinks per night (fucking laughably failed at that on so many nights) or switch what I drank in order to get all the happy, relaxed feelings and none of the bad effects. But I could tell something wasn't right. 

There is a general hum when you're dependent on a substance that is like a cricket or a cicada, an uncomfortable noise you just kinda get used to hearing. Or like living next to train tracks -where it's sooooo fucking loud and annoying that you don't even notice it until the trains aren't going for a few days and something just feels off. At first the noise is unsettling, but then you accept it and it's weird when you don't hear it.

The corona virus hit and I get laid off from my job. I had already started an internship at an alcohol and drug treatment center to finish up my master's degree. I saw myself as different, as high functioning and able to keep it together more than the patients, even when I came in with a hangover or would feel like garbage from being up at 3am again.
Then my best friend quit drinking. She was my drinking buddy, the person who was always way more drunk that everyone else, which made me feel not so bad. 

But I think what really shifted was when I realized I fucking hated myself. I hated falling asleep on the couch at 7pm or was so lazy or cranky that I couldn't bother to help my kid brush his teeth. I was tired all the time, my stomach hurt, and I always felt fuzzy in the head. I either couldn't fall asleep or couldn't keep my eyes open. And then every night at 3 I was wide awake but ravenous for sleep. I would drift back into sleep around 6am with my alarm going off at 6:15. I would swear up and down that I was not going to drink again because I wanted sleep, but being tired just makes me want to drink and once I made it all the way through work, I deserved a drink. 

So on my birthday, I quit. I remember drinking friday night, going to work with a hangover on saturday while trying to walk patients through a stages of change discussion and thinking, ugh, I need a drink. I came home and drank in a frantic search for the "fun" it used to be. My newly sober friend came over and I snuck beers when she wasn't looking and tried to talk. I fell asleep early, house was a mess, I felt like garbage, the garbage needed taken out, and I was up at 3am again. 

But then I woke up on Sunday and didn't want to drink anymore. So I stopped. I just couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't fun. I wasn't sleeping. My guts felt inside out. My head felt fuzzy. And I wasn't sure if it was mom brain or just my brain going mushy but my words were getting garbled up in my mind and my memory was really dull. I knew I wasn't being the best version of myself. I wanted to stop, not just cut down like I tried before. That failed. And those failures stung. I didn't want to beat myself up. 

I was done. I quit. But I had no idea how hard the next step would be....

Growing a lot.

My jasmine releases its fragrance at night. Last night as I was getting off from a long day of harvest and crush I rounded the corner towards the back door and the fragrance was overwhelming. I walked by the $20 grill I got someone for father's day, by the fig cuttings and tiny herb garden around my mailbox and got greeted at the back door with dog tail wags so extreme the tails appeared to have a mind of their own, ruddering the dogs to back and forth in front of me. I peer into the living room and a tiny man toddles around the door frame and once he realizes it's me, the smile melts across his face, grinning so wide that his jaw drops open to reveal an epic partially toothy grin.

I'm broke but I'm happy. I started grad school awhile ago, so if caring for a newborn and working a full time job wasn't enough, I'm taking classes at night, writing papers and reading these insane textbooks in my "free" time. I download podcasts to listen to when I'm out in the field and I feel a new depth of understanding on the human condition. I'm in addictions counseling now and the dichotomy between that and crafting new recipes for gin at work is a new level of ironic.

My house is still standing. The water heater broke in the dead of winter as I was already limping by, but a grandmother stepped in who didn't want her grandson to take cold baths. This summer, the other grandmother jumped in and bought us a big room air conditioner because she didn't want her grandson to be too hot... which was funny cause she was fine with her pregnant daughter being miserable the previous year.
But if I've learned one thing about having a kid its that the entire whole of my being is now focused on this adorable little human. All I want to do is teach him things and protect him and cuddle him. I thought the newborn stage was amazing, but as he grows and his personality comes out, these days are getting more and more amazing.
He's just over one now and has my car keys in one hand, trying to start his toy motorcycle with them. He has learned that his grandmother's golf cart doesn't work without the keys so he will find any key and try to put it near the ignition so he can step on the gas and make us all jump.
And now he is throwing the ball to the dog, which is a double game of fetch as he throws it, she retrieves it but doesn't want to go near the hair pulling tiny human so he has to chase her down to get the ball back. I fear my wallet he was walking around with earlier might be filed in a toy chest somewhere or under a couch cushion or whatever his new favorite hiding spot is today.

It's Saturday and raining, but we might walk down to the farmer's market. I really like my town for the most part. They try to do community things and bring people together. Every week in the summer, they shut down main street for some sort of party or concert or hawaiian bbq. And now that my youngin is an eating machine who loves car shows, we meander through town quite a bit. Hopefully peaches are still in season. My garden may be small this year, but I sure feel like I'm growing a lot.

My corner in an old steel mill town

I get up early and pay bills while doing the multitasking version of yoga.  I guess it's more like focused stretching than anything as I try to get the kinks out to be able to stand up straight without saying ouchie out loud.

I finally found my voice at work, guiding them through whatever expertise I have gained in growing and making fancy grape juice turned to alcohol. Growing grapes is not that hard. I can't believe how many different ways you can not understand basic plant biology. But here I am, explaining leaf mass to fruit ratios and why the plant can't ripen clusters if it keeps getting defoliated. It's odd, but a stable income and I keep hoping to eventually get paid more and do less grunt work. But don't we all.

I bought a house. It's a crazy feeling and I love the quiet of having my own space, even if I do share it with my mate. It's a late 1800s house set back in trees on a half acre in the corner of an old Ohio steel mill town. I can see a few houses but only have one neighbor right next door that I can hear his conversations if I listen hard. I have a front porch swing and gardens that are filling up with all kinds of perennials and fruits because now, whatever I plant will stay with me.
I still keep succulents on my porch in pots and most of my furniture is hand me downs from people trying to help make this new house a home. The walls have swatches of different paint colors trialed on the walls. The carpet is brand new and the driveway needs fixed. I bought a push mower, although the yard is just one big hill and pretty well impossible to mow. I'm working my way across it with red raspberries and squash and shasta daisies, wondering if it will help or hurt the resale value to have such extensive landscaping.
My back porch has a little concrete patio with weeds poking up that I have designs to make an arbor turned makeshift greenhouse for the winter. The kitchen is a cheery yellow that I have come to accept and I wonder why the toilet is leaning a little towards the outer wall, which causes it to run all the time.

My coworkers seek me out for advice and guidance at both my jobs, even though I'm not a manager at either. I never really noticed how easy some things are that I take for granted, but how difficult they are when someone else isn't planning and thinking ahead. Everyone's job goes more smoothly when management plans ahead. So now my manager looks to me to plot the week, although I'm starting to get annoyed at the lack of salary increase in exchange for my assistance.

Sigh. I guess the time has come to get up and go to work.

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.