Archive for January, 2016

Life is Good

I knew it had been a minute since I blogged, but seeing August 6th at the top of my last post was sort of shocking. I have an idea about where I was and what I was doing for a couple of months–you reach a place where family drama pisses you off to the point that no fucks are given and one day blurs into the next–then I went on vacation early October. I’d only been back at the day-job for two days when my world spun sideways, and it’s taken a bit of time to right itself.

Lemme stop and cut the dramatic music that’s trying to que up, because it’s not all bad. In fact, most of it is astoundingly great, but it’s not all wonderful. And it’s not all over.

I took a phone call, listening to a looooooong-not-spoken-to friend while shoveling chocolate covered pretzels in my mouth (because I’d become a stress eater, and can’t seem to shake that) and changing into jammies, but I only half grasped what she was saying. A job? Doing what? I wasn’t comprehending what she was saying. I hung up with her and started to go about my evening because I just didn’t get it. I was missing something. Did I hear her right? It was nagging at me. I thought she had been talking to me about a job, but the state of mind I was in just wasn’t clicking the whole thing together. It all came out of nowhere, seriously, and I wasn’t prepared. So. I called her back a few hours later and was like, “I’m sorry I’m a dork, but whut?”

Fifteen days of agony later–do they want me? do they not? what’s the hold up? have they changed their minds?–I  gave my extended notice (I may be a bitch, but I am not an asshole) at a job I’d held for twelve years.

Oh, boy. That was scary. I was about to turn forty-nine and I was turning my back on a guaranteed paycheck, but I did it. I left.

One month and ten days (of even more agony because ANXIETY DISORDERholy hell, if only people who don’t have it understood…) after that long-not-spoken-to friend called me, I started my new job Thanksgiving week. My birthday week. I don’t think, even then, that I fully understood what that job was until I spent that first week at my desk. You have to imagine, I suffered from Stockholm Syndrome for a decade and it did not register in my brain that I was actually being offered a great job with great people because I just might be worthy of such.

I am in love with my job. Wait, let me change that. I am in love with my career. You will never hear me call it “the day-job” in all that phrase’s derogatory connotation.

The phone call that changed my life came October 13. I didn’t get a phone call October 22, and I’m thankful for that.

What I got when I came home that day was my husband looking at me like he was searching for something on my face because he had been the one to get the call. I gave him my trademark six-heads look and he asked me if I’d talked to my aunt? Only one aunt of mine has his number. Any other day, it may have registered immediately. Not this day, because I was knee deep in the ungodly stress of waiting to see when I could turn in my notice. We, my family and I, had arranged it that way–don’t call me, call Hubs, because I won’t be able to handle it if I’m off by myself somewhere.

I’m big on words–words have power–and yet I don’t remember how my husband told me, the words he used to tell me that my grandmother had passed away.

I don’t know what it is about me and October–my first trip to Nola, my best friend’s birthday, my daughter was born, I was married for the second (and last) time, saw my first dolphin in the wild as I watched the sun set over the Gulf, Kal passed away, among a billion other things–but October has always been good, and awful, to me. One memory it won’t carry for me is attending my grandmother’s funeral. She didn’t have one, and I didn’t go up there, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the new career. My job has actually been my lifesaver. I’m glad I had it to occupy my thoughts at the time because I may have just fallen apart, otherwise. Or ended up in prison.

There’s some amount of closure with my father because he’s with me every day. There is none with my grandmother, and I’m not sure there ever will be. I don’t know that I will ever forgive what made it this way. I don’t know what to do with that, so for now, I do nothing. I will deal with it all in my own time, in my own way.

Pretty much the only thing I know these days is we’re planning on moving to a bigger house, which makes me happy. When we move, I think I’ll hang some of my grandmother’s paintings in the new house. I don’t look forward to moving all my books and the shelves I built for them. I’m happy to get up and go to work every day where I had not been before. I finally added three hours work time to my dollhouse last weekend by staining the roof. I even glanced at my manuscripts with that heart-flutter they once gave me. My daughter is doing so great and I could not be more proud of her. I won’t say life is returning to normal, because normal for me, personally, had been sort of shitty.

So, I’ll say life is good. If I don’t blog for another few months, life is still probably good. I’m just moving house.







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