Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

It’s been a hot minute since I went to the psychiatrist. Doc went on vacation (is she allowed to do that??) last month and I knew I had scheduled something upon her return but it wasn’t until a text reminder arrived on Saturday that I remembered it.

Reply “C” for confirm. Hell yeah, I’ll be there. I need refills! Also – did you read my last entry??

Love Bomb used to snap at gently encourage me to see a psychiatrist whenever I’d get upset about virtually anything, unreasonable or not. Okay, so that time I got into a physical altercation with the lawnmower could have been construed as “unreasonable”, but it’s not like I was hurting anyone besides that self-righteous asshole mower. It’s no secret that I have a hot Irish temper (thanks, ma!) and fairly high expectations that are often unsatisfied. No, it’s not an “anger management issue” (quotations inserted on Love Bomb’s behalf) – it’s just one of those charming things that makes me an exceptionally passionate human. My passion makes me a better being, not inferior nor in need of repair.

I rolled out of bed at my typical slothful 10:15am. Why yes, I am generally expected to be to work by 10:30am, but you know what? I have a 2 minute commute (woo!) and time-clocks working the way they do with a built-in 8 minute grace-period, I most often arrive quite on-time by 10:37am. And yes, it’s also true that I sometimes resemble a recently unwrapped mummy complete with sleepy creases still embedded in my cheeks and I’m just fine with that! I work in an animal shelter, not a beauty salon. Besides, most everyone I work with knows better than to poke this bear before I’ve consumed at least one very strong cup of coffee, and the ones who don’t learn quickly.

Have I mentioned my temper?

Truth be told, I do realize that my sleeping habits tend to be excessive and that is something I discuss with my psychiatrist. I also have Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, so if you’re feeling judge-y about my sleep schedule, just don’t.

I had every intention of heading in to my appointment and having a reasonable adult conversation with my doctor, but it became pretty clear on the 20 minute drive to her office that that wasn’t happening. The sun was shining bright warming this February day to a whopping 70 degrees, windows open, sunglasses on, playlist, set to random, was choosing awesome tunes, and then there was me: ugly-crying all the way to Vienna.

By the time I arrived, I decided I no longer wanted to go in the office for the whole 15 minutes I had reserved. I had finally pulled myself together and I just didn’t feel like crying anymore. Fortunately, it’s clear I’m not the only one who does this by the two boxes of tissue within arms reach of that familiar soft, leather chair. Still, at 8 months into our work together, I hoped I had improved enough to avoid accruing a small mountain of soggy tissues, that, despite their strategic placement, I couldn’t find a trash can to deposit them in, so I wadded them into my hand, one after the other after the other.

Doc: “So, what’s been going on? How were your Holidays?”
Self: “Well, you know, every solitary first is tricky, but I got through it.”
Doc: “I’m glad to hear that. And more recently? It sure is a beautiful day outside!”
Self: <sob>
Doc: “What is it about a pretty day like today that makes you sad?”
Self: “It just kind of reminds me of last spring, and all that happened last year.”
Doc: “I see. You’re coming up on a year now since your breakup.”
Self: “Yeah, I mean, it’s only February, so this is gonna be a long spring, but April 6th was pivotal, April 23rd was too, and then May 13th was when she officially did away with me.”

She nodded some more and reassured me that what I was feeling was okay and normal; Every first is a struggle and that may also be true of seconds and thirds. GREAT!

Suddenly, fifteen minutes didn’t seem like enough time to cover all the topics I felt needed covering, i.e.: all the things that have contributed to my recent crap-ass mood. My birthday two weeks ago. Valentine’s Day. Even the fact that my bank information was recently stolen and just how vulnerable that makes one feel, not to mention all the work involved in fixing it while also making sure the bills get paid.

Doc: “So, it’s been almost a year. Have you started to consider dating? Does that interest you?”

I put myself out there on a couple of dating apps because, apparently, that’s how a lot of singles do this. For the most part, I’ve been discouraged. The dating pool, in my opinion, leaves a lot to be desired at the geriatric age of 43. Isn’t there some theory that men get more distinguished as they age? Lies!

That’s not to say that I’m perfect. Here’s what my profile should read:

Age: Too old for this crap
Sexuality: Somewhere on the spectrum
Body type: Not terrible, but definitely enjoys tacos

It’s entirely possible that I need to lower my expectations when it comes to finding a suitable partner-in-crime. Perhaps I should reach out to the guy I met for drinks a couple of weeks ago — the one who sort of reminded me of my pop. Maybe he’ll appear less dad-like dressed casually … ? Then again, I may just put this whole dating thing on the back burner for a spell. After all, I don’t require someone to fill my heart or my bed to make me whole.

It’s never about finding the one. It’s always about becoming the one. -Sylvester McNutt
img_6798
Your bed is still warm from us and your mouth still tastes of mine. I hope she likes the warmth I’ve left. I hope she likes my second hand taste. @thedominantpoet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I could say that the 15 minutes I spent with the doc fixed all my woes. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t work that way. I wish it did. Although I’m not actively suicidal, I flirt with passive attempts at self-destruction like not wearing my seatbelt. And so, a tweak here and a tweak there of those morning meds that make my life more tolerable, and check in next month.

I may wake up late and ruminate, I may stick my head in the sand some days, but I will keep getting up (eventually) and showing up (in due time). There’s no way around doing the hard work when you’re left behind, and so I will.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop…

@decoratuscurious

Shit-list

I had planned to be on a date tonight, but apparently, I musta offended the other half of the arrangement because I’ve texted a few times … <chirp> <chirp>.

I don’t like to be on anyone’s shit-list, but honestly, the girl was already clingy and we hadn’t even met in person, yet. When I wouldn’t respond to her texts, like, immediately, she’d get sensitive – “Are you ok”? Uh, I am at work, it’s a Friday afternoon, calm down. She sent texts and photos of the event she was attending all weekend. When we discussed her return to the area, she suggested we have dinner together on both Sunday and Monday nights. I brushed that off and leaned in to Monday. Random texts kept coming in, topics ranging from “do you like leather?”, to “is it snowing where you are?”, and finally, last night: “May I call you?”, to which I didn’t reply. I texted this morning, apologized, and explained that I hadn’t been feeling well last night, followed by another text about where we should meet for dinner. It’s 6pm now, and nada.

In that case, I’ll go ahead and pop open a beer now.

If you’re going to be that weird about an un-replied-to text on a Sunday night, well, I don’t need that sort of drama in my life.

Perhaps she already rented the U-Haul. Fucking lesbians.

So, now, here I sit, conflicted and sad. Maybe this whole dating thing, even this being partnered thing isn’t my deal, at least, not anymore. There’s no doubt that I’m lonely, but I’ll admit that the thought of sharing time and space with anyone isn’t terribly appealing these days either

It’s a conflict, for sure. I sit here alone so often I’ve actually worn a solitary indent into the couch.

It’s hard all the time, but tonight feels worse than most. I sit in my crevice and wonder if I simply deserve this pain, and why … because I wanted a baby? Was that not painful enough? Can we call it a fucking draw, now?

I wish I could vaporize, I’d turn myself into a pink haze and disappear. No more pain. No more hate. No more jealousy. No more sadness. No more. Going. Going.

Gone.

#annas43rdyear

I am having a hard time with this blog thing lately.

I start something, then decide that it’s not interesting or engaging to anyone besides myself. There are currently three “drafts” sitting in limbo, I can’t decide on a direction for any of them.

So, I’ll try again. It’s not like nothing has happened worth mentioning: I went out on a date – a real date, with a boy, at a restaurant. I celebrated my 43rd birthday, complete with a small gathering of some of my dearest friends and a head-sized margarita. I sent a letter to my landlord and asked if I could buy the condo unit I currently rent from him. It’s been an eventful week!

Mostly, I’m struggling with which direction I ultimately want to go with this blog.

“… Engaging with other bloggers is so important. I didn’t realize until I started engaging more with other people that that’s what blogging should be about. It should be about community and people, not writing about yourself and hoping someone will listen. It’s a way of helping, educating and making a difference.” -Giles Jordan, Giles Meets World, The 10 biggest mistakes I made in my first year blogging.

How can I engage … uh, you (are you out there? anyone? anyone?) … when I’m not even sure how I feel about just about everything these days? It certainly won’t be my witty writing or fantastically funny jokes. Right? Right. But that’s one of those things I’m here to work on – improving those writing skills, telling a story, drawing insightful conclusions, so on and so forth.

Okay, so I’m just going to go for it.

Date night. So, I’ve been using a dating app called OKCupid for a couple of months now. I like it better than Tinder, which seems to be a full blown fuck-fest. OKC has the option to answer questions related to things like ethics, lifestyle, and yes, even sex, which are used to “match” you with this person or that. It’s kind of nice to know at a glance whether or not you and the person who pops up have things in common and/or if you’ll be at all compatible. I gravitate to people who are low on the ‘conservative’ and ‘sexperienced’ scales, and high on ‘compassion’ and ‘giving’. What does my profile say about me? Well, OKC describes me as ‘nerdy’, ‘adventurous’, ‘progressive’, and ‘thrifty”. Three out of four ain’t bad … I don’t see myself as particularly adventurous – BUT, I did meet someone and join them on a date! Some might consider that adventurous. I’ve been known to struggle with anxiety, especially when it comes to places where I feel quite stuck, like restaurants and stylists chairs once the dye is applied. Considering how far I’ve come from my “she who faints in breezeways” history, you might conclude that going on a real date was not only adventurous, it was downright brave.

The guy I met is fairly fascinating. He’s a refugee from Romania, and grew up in New York. He has three sisters. He works for the man. He’s a devout Buddhist – he teaches mindfulness and goes on mindful retreats. He said and did all the right things. He listened intently to everything I said and made lots of direct eye contact. We match at 93%, according to OKC. There’s just one thing … I’m not sure I’m attracted to him. Which makes me feel like a jerk. I mean, it’s not what’s on the outside that counts, right? On one hand, I feel like a certain chemistry or spark is really important in a relationship. On the other, I feel like maybe I need to look past those receding hairlines now that I’m <gasp> 43 – and so is my dating pool.

43. So, that happened on Wednesday. It wasn’t nearly as depressing as I anticipated. (I hope I can say the same for Valentine’s Day – it’s coming right up.) It rained like a mofo all day, but I like the rain and I found a nice rain jacket at the house when I went to pick up the last of my things. (Thanks, New Girl – I needed one real bad!) The day flew by (despite the fact that I did virtually nothing) and I was treated to dinner and margaritas with some of my very best friends. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the people who came to my birthday party were the same sweet af humans who came to my housewarming, and yet, I was tickled when I noticed this consistently faithful crew in this photo. I get what I need. And these be my peeps…

bday peeps
I’m the one in the green jacket gettin’ her buzz on.

The official celebration didn’t stop there; Thursday, I joined another friend (she’s gonna need an alias – let’s call her “Kate” from now on) for dinner and drinks. And tonight, dinner will be served by my squirrel rehab mentor and her sweetie. I get what I need from these kind people who surround and support me. Imma lucky girl!

And as for my cute condo? I put it on my landlord’s radar that I’d like to buy the joint. I’ve been there for over 6 months now, but I’ve really only just started to feel at home. I finally put some things on the walls and although I still have plastic bins for nightstands, I DID purchase some cute end-tables for the living room. Progress! I dread the thought of moving again and I can’t see myself leaving my job (I am so lucky to be where I am, doing what I love, with people I adore) anytime soon. It makes more sense to pay a mortgage than rent, and with the new Harris Teeter / shopping center that’s going in just a few blocks down the road, I imagine property values are going to increase in the next few years. I should probably get in on that.

As you can see, it’s been a pretty good week, overall. I don’t know that I have any specific guidance or insights for a reader, but eh, whatever. I was actually chatting with another OKC match (a girl this time) (91%) who is an active blogger. She says that a target audience is not necessary and encouraged me to “write what makes *you* tick – to hell with everyone else, pay no regard what anyone thinks”. So, for today, I’m going to run with that. And so, I’ll hit “Publish…” and clear this hurdle.