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.

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.