The “Buck Moon” Supermoon Sans Cape

Tonight is a full moon. Called the Buck Moon, it’s not simply a full moon but also a supermoon (alas, no cape), meaning it will be a bit more intense than a typical full moon because it will be closer to Earth and appear brighter and bigger. Fun fact, the technical term is called “perigee,” which I kind of love.

Full moons typically deal with conclusions, completions, and endings, necessary ones, although necessity doesn’t mean they won’t hurt. It’s a time to clean house of things that aren’t working for you – with or without your permission. The supermoon takes it up a notch and also emphasizes your hidden emotions, ideas, and thoughts (forcing you to confront hidden agendas and bad habits) along with a heaping amount of extra energy to help you manage all of the actions you need to take and changes coming your way. And clarity. Lots and lots of clarity and answers.

Now that we’ve set the foundation with a refresher on what full moons and supermoons mean, let’s talk about this particular supermoon: the Buck Moon.

There’s an interesting tension to this supermoon because it’s Cancer season astrologically but the Buck Moon is occurring in Capricorn. Cancer is about the home, love, private life, nurturance and emotion. It’s a murky, sensitive water sign. Capricorn is an earth sign, extremely focused, hard working, the public life, career, goals, responsibility and accountability.

Sounds like an epic clash could be underway, right? Well, “more things in heaven and earth, Horatio” holds true here. Cancer, with its inward focus, represents the origin – possibly even unconditional love – while Capricorn, with its outward focus, represents the goal – perhaps conditional love in a way. And you must have both and not neglect either area. To do so will make you unbalanced and result in unbalanced energies.

This supermoon invites us to think about our commitment to our public and private lives, career and families and seriously ponder if there is an imbalance and how we can restore balance. All that increased focus on hidden things will help bring truths and imbalances to light and the extra energy and clarity will help us fix it. And in many ways, this introspection is non negotiable. It will come out. It will be released, whether or not we want it to be. So the solution is to take a deep breath and prepare for some deep soul searching. Prepare also for emotions to be released, and they may not be pretty or refined but inchoate.

As the Buck Moon rises today and its influence continues to be felt over the next two weeks, admire its beauty and transformative power and as Madonna said, “Express Yourself.” The cosmos demands it.

***

I learned a lot while putting together information about today’s Supermoon. It’s been an emotional few days, and I can feel the tension and imbalance in my own life. And those who have been on the receiving end of them could definitely vouch for how rough and inchoate my feelings are. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I still have much more to think about. In some ways, it helps knowing that it’s all going to bubble up and out regardless of whether I want it to or not. I never want to make excuses for my behavior or feelings, but the message of the Buck Moon Supermoon resonates with me.

May it help us all to find the critical balance we need and require (there is a Force joke that practically begs to be made, but I’ll refrain)

.

Songs in the Key of…Something

She’s imperfect but she tries
She is good but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won’t ask for help
She is messy but she’s kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up
And baked in a beautiful pie

Sara Bareilles, “She Used to Be Mine”

I’ve mentioned before how music has re-emerged in my life to be something so important to me. I have hundreds of songs favorited and saved. I’ve gone through three sets of Air Pods. I listen constantly – even when I’m in the shower (no, my phone is not in the shower). And it’s interesting how songs take on different meanings depending on where you are in your life. And this is no ground that hasn’t been explored before, but I’m indulging my navel gazing.

I can be a bit pithy when I create and name playlists. I have one named “Ire and Rage.” It’s full of songs that make feel better when I’m angry. I guess a sort of reverse therapy?

I’m a grunge girl and no apologies for that. Hard not to be one considering when I grew up. But I like many different eras and genres of songs. My father loved music, and I credit him with why I love 60s music and just enjoy music in general. I love it all, and I’ll listen to it all. OK. Confession: I’m not a huge country fan, but I do like some songs, and I also enjoy quite a few hip hop songs.

I’ve been told in the past that my tastes are pedestrian. Well, isn’t music meant to be enjoyed? Maybe I’m not rocking out to some obscure song that 5 people know, but I like what I like. Isn’t that the point? I never suggested I was “cool”, whatever that means.

What I love about music is that you can always find something to fit your mood, your situation, your stage of life. That moment when you completely identify with what is being expressed as if they had been in your head…

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words

Roberta Flack, “Killing Me Softly”

It’s that moment when you realize you aren’t alone. Someone else has felt the same way you have and they have expressed your feeling, whether it be love or happiness or hope or sadness or despair or anger, so perfectly that you feel seen. You are validated. You aren’t ridiculous.

So, yes, as I cycle through various moods and seasons of life, I turn to music. I admit to being slightly embarrassed when Spotify revealed my most-played song in 2022 had been “Malibu” by Hole. I was never a big Hole fan as a teenager (we’ll talk about the fact that I have a “doll part” from a Hole concert senior year another time). There is a rage to both “Malibu” and “Violet” that speaks to me. Because I have a lot of rage about a lot of things. And it’s cathartic. Sometimes I do feel like some are trying to take everything (metaphorically). I have previously mentioned that I also suffer from anxiety, and it turns out anger helps me drown it out, so listening to angry songs helps me to focus and keep the anxiety at bay. It’s been funny watching Daniel start to sing along to some of these songs. And, truly, my playlists are eclectic. I have enjoyed being exposed to different music by many friends, and I can always find something to fit a particular mood.

A year or so ago, a new friend commented that they didn’t think a song had been written yet that described me. For some reason, that popped up in my head today. Probably because in my slightly anxious brain, I was trying to keep it all together and listen to songs as I drove into work today.

I know that statement was meant (I think) to be a compliment on my uniqueness. It was meant to be flattering. But. Today when it popped into my head, it struck me differently. Who among us does not want to feel…seen? Reflected? Included. Maybe that’s what it is. Included.

The thing is that I spent – well, still spend – so much of my life being told how different I am. And I’m not saying that to compliment myself. Sometimes…you want to fit in. Who doesn’t want to know a love song makes someone think of you? Or that rage-y anthem makes someone say, “this makes me think of you because you take no shit!” Or, as embarrassing as it might be, “this song makes me think of that day you cried in theater class because that guy broke up with you and we all kind of stared.”

I guess what I’m getting at is that there would be a sense of being recognized. You belong. You feel the same things we do. Or, maybe, someone else recognizes that you feel the same things regular humans feel. What’s wrong with me that out of thousands of years of music, there isn’t ONE song that could I could be seen in? I have become Other.

And I know that’s maudlin and likely overthinking (something I am also guilty of). But as I’ve said before, I make no apologies for how feelings hit me.

I’m not sure if any readers have noticed, but I’ve tried to append a few lyrics of a song that reflects my mood to my posts. Maybe I really am stunted emotionally at age 15, but they all reflect where I am at a particular time. And I admit that I tend to the darker stuff and wallow in my feelings and internalize and should probably use commas correctly for items in a series.

But that’s where I am. That’s who I am. And no worries…next song may very well be Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell.” I love that song. Makes me dance around my kitchen.

A few weeks ago, I went to a local music show with a friend and the music was great – very eclectic – all over the place. What I loved almost as much as the band was the “youngsters” dancing at the front to the music: headbanging AND moshing. I had the biggest smile on my face.

The kids are alright.

And so am I.

It’s a Cold Moon

“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to”

Carl Sandburg

Tonight or rather yesterday is the final full moon of 2022, but one of the things that makes this moon so special is that it will still appear to be full Thursday. And it’s appropriate that in a month that celebrates juxtapositions and extremes such as beginnings and endings, longests and shortests, birth and death, loneliness and love, this moon will be visible longer than it might otherwise be due to the sun setting earlier.

It has been fascinating this year to learn about how each monthly full moon has a name and was given a meaning. And I admit to taking joy in seeing the moon in various places and significance this year: over the ocean at the beach, in an eclipse at 5:30 AM, the end of my driveway just now. There was something about the finality of 2022’s full moon that I needed to witness.

This moon is called the “Cold Moon” and the Mohicans called it the “Long Night Moon”. I like that. It wasn’t exactly cold or even cool when I went outside, but it was quiet. It was breezy. I could imagine early humans looking up at the sky in wonder and marveling at what magic this was that made the moon increase in fullness over the course of a month and then appear to disappear. It doesn’t take much of a mental leap to see how they concluded offerings needed to made to bring back the moon and from there, religion takes shape.

Astrologically there is a meaning to this moon too. It takes place in Gemini (ruled by Mercury) and symbolizes receiving information – could be a simple answer or resource that comes at the right time or a perspective you had not considered. Full moons are culminations, completions and endings and letting go, which all sounds quite appropriate for this time of year. And sometimes like holidays themselves, there is a feeling of bittersweetness about so much sturm and drang, preparation, giddiness, excitement, and then…it’s over. At the same time, Mars retrograde is here and since it takes place in Gemini, it could be unexpectedly easy to feel tense, anxious and say harsh words. Try to fight the urge to do too much. I know I myself have experienced these feelings this week and owe a few apologies and have a need for more rest.

Maybe I’m feeling overly introspective and possibly maudlin (probably just tired and worn out myself), but I feel the year creeping towards its end. There is a darkness about the holidays that we choose to overlook. There’s a huge amount of forced levity and merriment and almost a threat to be happy or else and by god, you better be happy for your blessings. And the other side of that is fatigue and exhaustion. It’s hard being the sole Magic Maker. It’s hard trying to keep all the plates spinning. And it’s hard trying to have nice things for yourself when the tree is half decorated and the cat keeps climbing it and everyone at work is just as surly and tired as you are and what the fuck is for dinner.

It’s hard when the holidays come on the heels of Deathiversary and all you really want to do is stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head (but don’t forget to wash the sheets and comforter!). I’m feeling some endings acutely and some beginnings coming faster than I might like or prefer.

I am grateful for all of my blessings. I’ll have my pity party here and make magic and sing carols through the neighborhood. And I’ll enjoy it.

And hopefully I’ll find a little magic of my own and return refreshed like the new moon.

…But even when the moon looks like it’s waning, it’s never actually changing shape. Don’t ever forget that.

Ai Yazawa

Rough-Tober

I tried so hard and got so far,

But in the end it didn’t even matter

Linkin Park

It’s Deathiversary month (technically 11/1). I…have given myself permission to feel and do what I need. If I don’t cook? Fine. If clothes are left in an unfolded pile: fine. As long as D and the cats are taken care of and bills paid, that’s what matters.

OK I am terrible about folding and putting away laundry normally, so I shouldn’t use this month as an excuse.

But emotions and experiences are funny things. I can feel them pulling on me. And in my last post I referenced the one decoration I pulled out.

I feel so depressed. And it’s OK! I am OK (and quite medicated). It’s like a weight on top of me. It truly isn’t as bad as last year, which caught me off guard. D is 13 now and being, well, 13. It’s normal life stress, but it feels bigger? Maybe because I am the only one?

And I am trying so hard to be a good employee and leader at work. I have a team depending on me and frankly, work is my respite. Even when I wish I could spend all day in bed.

A friend texted yesterday and extolled how pretty the day was and asked if I would get out at all.

I probably misinterpreted it, but my first thought was, “wow…is that the impression I have given? That I refuse to go outdoors? Do I come off as that slothful?”

I replied something about vampires and sun, but it smarted. D and I went to get pumpkins and then I sat on the front porch for a bit. And I received a mosquito bite for my effort.

Believe me. I know I have lots of things to work on. No one knows that better than I do. Painfully self aware. My therapist and I discuss it on Mondays.

I’m just trying to get through this month and the other whammys life has decided to gift me recently.

And I never expected Hole and Linkin Park to be the soundtrack to my widowhood, but here we are. I have a Spotify playlist entitled “Ire and Rage.” Oh well. One foot in front of the other. I will get by.

Fall and Decorative Gourd Season

And you just don’t get it, you keep it copacetic;

And you learn to accept it, you know you’re so pathetic

Local H: “Bound for the Floor”

I smiled after I typed “Fall” because of the dual meanings. Autumn! and also, literally falling. Which I have felt like with my legs. I think the two vein ablation procedures have helped some, but the doctor was adamant that it would not be a cure: at best a partial improvement. I understand that. And despite doctors saying this isn’t a thing, I can tell certain foods spark irritation: no more tortilla chips 😦

But there are lots of things to fall about and fall because of.

This is a rough time of year for me now. And I hate it because I LOVE Autumn. It started last Sunday with J’s birthday. And some other tough conversations. And it will continue for all of October.

And then I was sick this week. Not Covid (tested negative) – I think just a good, old-fashioned cold after a work trip to Chicago and a busy August and September. And I just feel exhausted. In every way possible. I’ve boarded cats, moved furniture, overseen contractors, given 4 presentations, travelled for work, vacationed…there has been a lot going on.

I said last year that I call this season “Deathiversary”. It is. I don’t think it will be as acute as last year, but there’s a lot focus on. To dwell on. To deal with. To feel.

And I don’t ever want to pretend that it isn’t fucking hard to try to do all this by myself. I’m trying very hard to be so good at everything but feeling like I am failing at everything. And failing everyone. And overall not feeling good enough.

I did some good things this year: I hired a handyman to do some painting and other improvements. I hired people to fix some things on the back porch. I hired floor people to do some major improvements. And I’m proud of myself for that. I can do this! Plenty more to do. But it’s hard. And often I feel like my decisions are second guessed and I need to run the gauntlet of how not to offend this or that person. And D is 13, and isn’t that pleasant? And be at minimum, a competent employee at a leadership level. Oh and maybe try to have somewhat of a social life – even simply hanging out with the neighbors. I keep rubbing my “Relax” stone.

I should probably delete all of this. It’s a vulnerable moment for me, and I dislike that. But. The entire point of this post actually was that I don’t think I’ll be able do my usual fall decorating: because of the floor stuff, I have no furniture in my living room. My furniture is in storage and I’m trying to decide if I want to bring it back or buy stuff *I* like. And you know what? I think I’m fine with that. But I did bring out one item, and I think that will do for now.

So thank you to my dear friend, Erin, for this. It was a birthday gift last year, and I laughed my ass off when I opened it. It will be a staple of my Autumn decorating for years to come.

Each day, I try to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do while also dealing with recalcitrant children and needy cats. And coworkers. And sometimes family.

Also I need to buy a new Christmas tree, but that’s a post for another day.

Also I got another tattoo. I will post about that too.

Thank you for bearing with me.

Musings and Makeup and 45

Darlin’ don’t you go and cut your hair

Pavement

I was talking with friends about makeup tonight, and we were all gently teasing each other. For example, my thing is lip color. I think we all need lip color. And I’m not necessarily meaning lipstick per se…just that if you make up your face, make sure you put something tinted on your lips.

But that was also pre COVID. These days my beauty ritual is about 5 minutes. At most, you’ll see me in concealer, eyeliner and a tinted lip balm (because my lips are also dry).

When I thought about that, I felt a bit weird. Shouldn’t I do more? I’m going to be 45 at 11:19 PM on 9/9. Well into middle age. Shouldn’t I try harder?

I watched my mother and other female relatives of the same generation spend so much time with hair in rollers and putting on full faces of makeup before they deemed themselves acceptable to go out. I don’t deny they looked great. But the time! The effort! The expense!

I’m not like that. I am certainly no beauty and have my flaws, but I just can’t do that. And COVID has helped (or not?) with that. I just don’t care. I’ll wash my face, put on moisturizer and concealer. Possibly eyeliner but definitely tinted lip balm. Five minutes. Done.

I LIKE having such a pared down beauty ritual. Maybe it shouldn’t technically be called that. I don’t know.

I’m going to be 45 tomorrow. I feel like if someone doesn’t like me because of how I look at this age, then it’s their problem. And I don’t mean to leave you with the idea that I make no effort; I just make very little effort.

And that is very freeing!

We’ve learned a lot since March of 2020. And if you don’t like my face as it is, minimally made up, then chances are you won’t like what I’m going to express or have opinions on.

And it is perfectly accurate to inquire: “shouldn’t you put your best face forward?”

To which I reply: “why?” Why do so? What does it matter? If you wake up with me, you’re going to see me in all my 45-year-old glory. How my face looks does not at all detract from my brain or my ability to think and express myself. “

This does not mean that I do not dress or carry myself appropriately. I just…I’m going to be 45 on Friday, and I’ve gotten used to a very pared down beauty ritual, and I like it. I’ll never say that I look as good as I could, but I don’t care. I look good enough. And that’s very freeing. I like that I can be ready in 5 minutes. No, I don’t look as good as I could, but I don’t care.

And maybe that’s the time of Covid. Maybe that’s my age. Maybe I’m just tired of it all. This is who I am. I’m 45 and say, “fuck it.”

Happy Birthday to me.

Roe

And I wonder day to day

I don’t like you anyway

I don’t need your shit today

You’re pathetic in your own way

I feel for you

Godsmack “Whatever”

Like many, I am appalled, devastated – choose your adjective – about today’s ruling by SCOTUS. And I wasn’t surprised. I read the released draft ruling and I knew how this court was going.

But I am still appalled. I’m appalled as a woman and for other women who will need to navigate a labyrinthine series of which states allow what and assuming they can afford it as well as how to get there.

I’m disgusted at justices who seem to think that women deserve no bodily autonomy. And let’s be clear: if you are pregnant and don’t want an abortion, that is your choice. That is kind of the entire fucking point of choice. You do you and someone else will make their own choice.

And let’s not forget that legislators in this country care a lot about a clump of 8 cells but god forbid when it is born, and you could actually use services. At that point it is pretty much, “fuck off. We’re not taking care of your freeloading self.”

I happen to have five frozen blastocysts. The way things are going, will I be arrested and charged with a crime? That seems silly but honestly, given today’s ruling and the gleeful way Justice Thomas (ugh) mentioned other targets, who can say?? I never want to hear Susan Collins say another fucking word about any of this. We knew this was coming. We knew. I am so angry.

And you might be thinking, “but KeAnne, you are infertile. Aren’t more babies good?”

No. No it is not. Babies are not commodities and adoption is painful and difficult for all involved. It is not a “simple” solution for infertile couples. And while we are on that topic, in many ways, abortion and reproductive technologies are related. The same people who want to ban (and who have!) abortion feel the same way about many reproductive technologies. Many want to restrict them.

I would not be a parent without that technology. I believe in science. I have been through a lot – more than people who just had five minutes of sex to reproduce – know. I KNOW how babies are made. I have the scars from shots to prime eggs. I know the stages. I have seen a dead fetus on an ultrasound. So don’t you dare fucking preach to me about the sanctity of life. i have the scars and bills to prove it.

So fuck you, SCOTUS. Fuck you and all of us who enabled this to happen.

So, yeah. A little pissed.

Worry Stones

I used to be so big and strong
I used to know my right from wrong
I used to never be afraid
I used to be somebody
I used to have something inside
Now just this hole it’s open wide
I used to want it all
I used to be somebody

Nine Inch Nails “Down in It”

I mentioned my affinity for astrology in an earlier post, so I’m not going to feel bad (much) by telling you that I have become devoted to worry stones. I have a primary one that is by me daily. It says “Relax”, and I bought it for myself in Asheville in 2019. I liked the sentiment but put it into my nightstand drawer for almost two years. This year, I finally took it out and placed it next to my laptop so I could see it. And then I started picking it up and rubbing my fingers across the letters etched on it. And now it has become comfort.

Truthfully, I have found myself taking it with me everywhere when I need the reassurance. And it is reassurance. I never thought a rock with a word etched on it could help, but it does. But then there are a number of things in the last few years I never thought about, so maybe I shouldn’t be too surprised. Comfort can come from the most surprising places or things.

I’ve bought worry stones for others. I don’t know what they really think of them, but I hope, at least, they know that someone out there is thinking of them and that these stones bring them some small comfort.

I can’t remember if I talked in detail about the anxiety I have developed the last few years. I, well, I have. I’ve always been a somewhat anxious person, but it has become worse. Worse to the point that when it is at its zenith, I can’t leave the house. And now that I am the sole caregiver, that anxiety is heightened. That’s the fun thing about anxiety: anxiety begets anxiety. And couple that with preparing to return to the office, hiring, busy work times, workers in the house doing a variety of much-needed jobs…I could go on, but you get the point. It leads to a lot of anxiety. I have always suffered from depression, but I have told many that with depression, I can function. Anxiety has brought me to my knees, and that’s a terrible feeling.

It has not been a few good weeks for me. I could feel the anxiety building, and as I said, anxiety begets anxiety. And believe me, I am medicated and therapized. It’s also incredibly humbling. You feel so out of control, and it is difficult to talk about, especially to those who don’t experience anxiety. There is this odd dance of “I’m still competent, yet I cannot do this thing.” And “sometimes I may overreact to things that seem small and insignificant.” I feel under a lot of pressure, and I’m trying SO hard to make it look like I have my shit together or at least keep my shit together. I will acknowledge it, but I do not wish to be debilitated by it.

I know a lot of that pressure is self imposed. No one is perfect. It’s a difficult lesson to learn, especially when you are possibly least able to do so. Last time I checked, though, life doesn’t consult you on a fucking thing. It is what it is. But I am trying.

And…my body has decided to let me know it has needs too. I developed dry eye syndrome two years ago and have been wearing glasses for all this time. My eyes have a regimen to treat them that is impressive actually: drops every few hours, eye exercises and warm compresses for 20 minutes a night. I haven’t seen much improvement yet, but I’m not fond of my glasses, so I’ll be seeking follow ups.

And then there’s lymphedema. Apparently I have developed it. Most of the time, cases are caused by cancer treatment – which I have not had – but it turns out there is a small subset of people who are genetically predisposed and primarily women in their late 30s and 40s. It’s – I’ll be frank – utterly humiliating and certainly not attractive and also painful and irritating. Swollen feet. Swollen ankles. Sensitive feet and ankles. And there really isn’t a treatment for it other than massage, compression garments and elevation. And on top of returning to work and trying to do everything else, I’m dealing with this. My shoes don’t fit. I’m already anxious. Can’t wear my cute skirts. Guess who never thought at 44 she’d be researching compression hosiery?! Lose 40 pounds, now require compression hosiery. On the plus side, I did ask my occupational therapist to try to identify compression items made in NC. Might as well, right??

It’s not all doom and gloom, though. I have beach trips planned for the summer. I’m talking to friends about other trips. I’m having my hardwood floors refinished. I’m making improvements around the house. I am trying to continue the march forward even though some days it feels like it’s happening against so many constraints. I’m trying.

April was a good month. I bought myself a ticket to see David Sedaris, and I bought a good seat. Center section, fourth row. I’ve decided that if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right. It was an excellent seat, and Sedaris was hysterical and awesome. I’d wanted to see him for years. Then, on April 28, I attended my first concert in decades. I went to see Nine Inch Nails (row X, center section). It was a great concert. I have seen them before. In 1995, I saw them with David Bowie. Then I was, “oh, I’m seeing NIN and David Bowie is there.” Now I’m like, “I saw Bowie!!!”. It was a good show, but I definitely couldn’t stay for all the encores although I did drink wine out of can. That was weird.

So I’m trying. As always, some days are harder than others, and I feel empathy for Atlas, Sisyphus and Prometheus. But I also try to give myself – and others – grace. This life shit isn’t easy. Not at all.

Marking This Anniversary

Today is two years exactly since I took home my work laptop and prepared my spot at the dining room table as a “temporary” office. And prepared myself for Daniel to be home for “two weeks” as we were told.

Well, here we are. It’s 2022. Daniel is back in school physically, but I am still here at the dining room table in loungewear, Crocs and (hopefully) fun t-shirts. I’m shocked. Stunned. I never – like most of us – thought that something like COVID would happen in my lifetime despite devouring books and movies on pandemics and knowing it was simply a matter of time (theoretically).

And Daniel has not been immune – ha ha – from the experience. His concerns about cleanliness and germs have been heightened to an alarmingly and frankly annoying degree.

I used to mark each pandemic quarantine week on the wall calendar, but sometime last year, I stopped and never resumed. But I keep the paper calendars (from Biltmore, naturally) and they are a nice time capsule. I marked today as “two years exactly since quarantine.”

It’s…it’s been a rough two years as I’m sure most of us could say. There have been some highs but mainly a lot of lows. I wasn’t prepared for this. None of us were prepared for this. I have gotten through it via humor from YouTube, reading, memes, and well…interacting with as many of you as I could. And work. Work helped a lot.

I know I’ve had quite a bit of personal tragedy during the pandemic, but sometimes it becomes difficult to extract one from the other. Jimmy did not die from COVID, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to separate his death from the last two years. It’s all tangled up together and part of my pandemic experience and memory.

And as I acknowledge this milestone of two years exactly in being impacted by COVID, I’m also preparing to return to the office. No more time at my dining room table and my less-than-ergonomic dining room table chair. Starting 3/21, we will return to the office once a week, working up to more days in the following weeks.

I have a lot of mixed feelings about it. A lot has changed for me personally. And I love my loungewear and dining room table. But getting back to the office and seeing people – sans mask – could be very good. Also, I am craving the pho near my office. I’m not going to lie, though. I feel a bit like the people emerging from Plato’s allegory of the cave. And I also hope that COVID doesn’t continue to smack us in the face with “surprises” like the variants of the last year, but it has been a wily foe.

I did not have pandemics or spousal death or Russian invading Ukraine on my decade Bingo card. But here we are. It’s…a weird time. Weird.

But I might also be able to buy some new work clothes?!?! I haven’t bought new clothes in two years.

Still a weird time. I thought last year that maybe there would be return to normal. Now? No. We will return to…something. But it will not be the normal we have been used to. It will truly be a new normal, whatever that means. This pandemic has changed us. And I’m equally curious and trepidatious about what this new normal will be. I thought this article from The Week summed it up well.

Happy COVID-versary. What do you get someone for two years of a pandemic??

A Case of the “Uns”

I promised myself and I think you all that I would try to be honest and open about feelings and situations as I navigate through this new reality.

Or maybe I promised only myself. I don’t know.

So this week, I have accomplished a lot on some major items on my to-do list. I hired a handyman to make some much-needed repairs around the house. And it looks great! Is it perfect? No. But it is much improved and much needed. Benign neglect eventually shows. Hopefully these improvements will change that. I have other people coming out next week to do a few things, and then the week after next, I have people coming out to repair the screens on my back porch that children and asshole squirrels have torn.

Squirrels really are assholes. In addition to my screen, they like to nibble on wood and dig up and eat my flowers. Assholes. Don’t let their adorable appearance fool you. They are assholes.

But.

Despite all the good things that occurred this week, I am having a rough night. Maybe it’s fatigue. Maybe it’s just the busy-ness of the week getting to me. Maybe it’s fucking perimenopause because why not??? I’m teary. And emotional. And feeling sorry for myself. I’m having a case of the “uns” as I call it. Think of any adjective: pleasant, intelligent, attractive, loveable, etc. and put “un” in front of it. That’s it. That’s what is going on with me. I feel UNpleasant; UNattractive; UNloveable; UNintelligent; UNimportant. UNremarkable; UNworthy…you get the point.

Why?? Again, I don’t know. I’m sitting here marking items off my to-do list like crazy. I’ve been on calls with district offices trying to help ensure our program is portrayed as well as it can be. I’m planning a retirement party for a dear colleague and team member. I’m wearing real shirts and lipstick every day!

But. I feel the “uns” in the back of my mind. And there is a loneliness associated with it, maybe because I have only myself to talk about these feelings with.

The truth is that I have always had a case of the “uns.” They have always been there as I was growing up. I tamped it down, subjugated it, pasted on a smile and went on my way. I’ve mentioned before that I feel as raw and vulnerable as I did when I was a teenager lately. Well, the “uns” were a part of that time of my life too. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. 44 going on 15. That’s pleasant. Give me acne, and I really am back at 15.

But, at the same time, maybe there is a purpose to these feelings. Maybe they are part of the same forces that are helping me to crack the shell that has been around me and hindering me from feeling. It’s true that these aren’t feelings you necessarily want to feel, but they are feelings. I am feeling something. And it’s acute enough to make me cry through 5 kleenexes on a Friday night.

It’s cleansing in a way. I feel better. Sad, but better for letting these feelings manifest. And I get to realize that I have primarily myself to count on. There is no one riding in on a horse to banish these feelings and take care of things. And that’s good. I need to rely on myself. I need to trust myself. Having feelings and crying on a Friday night is not a bad thing. It’s both discovery and healing.

I’m an only child, and in some ways, there is an inherent loneliness that comes with that. Or maybe not – I have only my experience to go on. But I did and do feel lonely as an only. Lonely Only, right? But at the same time, it’s familiar. I have only myself to count on. To rely on. To depend on.

I can do this. I’m up for the challenge. Me, myself and I. We’re strong enough.