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Friday, January 30, 2015

It's been a week

So much has happened and changed in just one week's time. And I would  have loved to have Shayne to email and gripe about it. But he is gone. He has been gone a while with a lack of health and ability to type without pain. I gave him permission to go a few months ago. So I think the recent distance was just getting used to the idea. Please don't think that I gave up on him. I simply took one look at what he was posting on facebook and knew from the pictures there was very little time left. He needed it for people who would not be able to wrap their heads around his passing. I get it. And I knew I'd see him when he was free. Since his passing so many things have happened that I can not write about. For one, I don't have my head wrapped around it. For two, it isn't my story to tell and I am under strict orders not to discuss it. So I have spent the week in reflection.

It looks like some of you have too. The posts that Blogger tells me you are reading are old but from roughly this same time of year. Posts about dealing with my brother, work, the struggle of being an artist and standing up to your inner critic. In fact, there is a distinct pattern to what you guys are reading. And of course, having little to do with randomocity, your interest has made me paranoid. Is my brother reading this now? Am I going to get into trouble for my interpretation of events? Is someone from work reading this? Who is so interested in the way that things were working in January and February of years past?

Since I couldn't remember the posts by the titles I read each of them. I'd forgotten a few things that I am glad my curiosity over your curiosity helped me to remember. I remember why I like my boyfriend and how kind he was to me last winter when the cold and the frustrating amounts of snow nearly crippled me from the hamstring incidents (both 1 and 2). I remember why I sought Verta's help in the first place. I remember having hope in gofundme. I remember how it is to have to deal your heels in so as to not lose ground. I remember thinking how close I was to the end of my job.

I'm glad that I read them so that I could see how my second and third reactions to a situation are often lesser degrees of dramatized panic than the first reaction. Apparently I will need about 7 or 8 thoughts on a matter to have a balanced idea of what is really happening in my life. I am still with the job that I was so worried and frustrated over. And now I have a promotion and enough pay to make the reduced hours hurt less. Oh... I'm still knee deep in the cycle of Winter debt and Summer Digging out. But instead of the thousands that I have typically been in debt it is hundreds. So there is a step in the right direction. But I am not waking up every morning wondering if it is going to be the last day they put up with me or I with them. Of course when my body objects to the physical abuse of an active job couple with blinding cold I do start spinning around the rim of the rabbit hole. But I don't fall in anymore.... well, haven't yet.

I've switched counseling and keep with the light work very rarely because I have been surrounded by people who don't get any of that sort of thing. And now that I am in a home where these things make perfect sense and the Association of Dead Relatives is something akin to a Cherry Festival Parade on a weekly basis, I am rather passive about it still. All in all though, I have fewer crazy thoughts about running away and joining a circus, being collected by my real alien parents (don't think I will see Jupiter Rising), or just dropping off the planet. I have a better support circle than I ever have. We all agree that the most important choice to make is the one that makes me/lets me feel safe. And that still means having nothing to do with anyone who is in any degree emotionally or physically abusive. That is until they stalker follow me home from work because a year of not talking to them isn't a big enough clue that I want nothing to do with them.

After a year with the boyfriend I find myself in a weird place because reality and expectations don't match, things have changed as far as plans and schedules go and then there is always the saying that familiarity breeds contempt. The more you know the better prepared you are is how I like to roll. But sometimes the more you know the more you wish you didn't know. All it means right now is that I have to reign in some of the bullheadedness that I was born with and have worked so hard to cultivate and let him participate in life with me. That means nothing will happen on my time table. And it means I can't go off and make shit happen without him and think that the relationship will last. There has been a lot to get used to with my job and him being in school so there is a huge shift that has to happen and the gear box is a bit sluggish.

All in all, I would have to say that things are on a generally positive track though going a long at a painfully slow clip. And I still hate my birthday. Too much bad crap happens around the day that I just can't look forward to it anymore. There is a black forest cake languishing in the fridge because no one is interested in eating it since the Thing Which I Can't Name has happened.

And as much as I am trying to live in the light, since that is my business, I am also surrounded by people who associate so heavily with the Christian faith that they despise that having any joy about the lengthening of days feels like a sin. It was like pulling teeth to get anyone to want to do anything remotely Christmassy. And then I listened to people who complained mightily about the whole fuss and bother about it. I guess I just have to be satisfied for the moment that I am free from abusive persons (mostly) and will worry about the sympatico people later.

Well, I am about to launch into my last day of work before vacation. I wish that I had scintillating plans. But all I want to do is rest. My body is rebelling against the old damage and the deep cold. It needs the rest; I need time to properly mourn.

It's going to be quite a week.

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