A decade of honesty & self loathing – my journey with sobriety

It does not feel like ten years.

Just the other night I was “reminiscing” with friends about parties we went to and different events we somehow managed to crash and it felt like it was a LIFETIME ago.

No, it definitely does not feel like ten years.

People will ask me from time to time if I miss drinking and I’m like… “LOL YES?? I’m a fucking alcoholic….”

To me, being an alcoholic means admitting that I am powerless over drugs and alcohol. It means that I have a serious problem with moderation. It means that I cannot remember a time I drank that didn’t involve me getting sick, fighting or both.

For me, personally, it is not a daily struggle. Anymore. The first 3 years were the hardest and then it kind of became second nature.

I’m not going to lie and say there haven’t been triggering moments where I’m craving, wanting or even NEEDING a drink (a whole bottle, I never did “a drink”..) because those moments happened when I least expected them since day one.

It was more frequent in the beginning – like, everything triggered me wanting a drink.

  • Car won’t start? DRINK
  • Late for work? DRINK
  • Got yelled at? DRINK
  • Bills are late? DRINK
  • Short on cash? DRINK
  • Lonely as hell? DRINK
  • Someone said/did something you didn’t like? DRINK

And then it was just petty shit…

  • Woke up? DRINK
  • Went to work? DRINK
  • It’s the weekend? DRINK
  • Bored? DRINK
  • Saw booze? DRINK
  • STLL ALIVE? DRIIIINK
  • LIFE SUCKS ASS?? DRRRRIIIIINNK DAMNIT!!!

Somehow I made it through most of all that unscathed and I lived to tell the tale.

The hardest part of my recovery is the loneliness. I almost wrote “crippling loneliness” but it’s definitely not crippling, I’m just dramatic. It’s a very lonely world when you are not completely submerged in “the fellowship” – which in my experience is mostly a cult but maybe I haven’t found the right one……?

It’s hard for people to relate and they think you’re some boring ass-hat who doesn’t like to have fun. It’s like NO! I’m the epitome of fun! I know how to party, believe me!! I’ve been court ordered to rehab… TWICE! They don’t do that for people who DONT know how to party! Please be my friend! LET ME LOVE YOU!!!

Beyond the loneliness factor – I do have a SOLID group of friends who I wouldn’t trade for the fucking world. These are friends who keep me on my toes, engaged with the world and they love and respect me.

These past ten years have been so incredible. Mostly because I can remember most of it! I hate remembering it all but at the same time I don’t. It’s win/lose, you know?

Lose because the bad sticks with me forever until I have enough therapy sessions to let it dissolve and float away.

WIN because I have DONE and SEEN and EXPERIENCED some amazing shit in these past ten years. Things I never could have dreamt of, things that were never a possibility when I was active in my addiction.

Well, here I am… doing all that feelin’ shit.

Lol why are my neighbors screaming? Like, I know they are from Virginia but it’s NOT the first time it’s snowed and they are on the front steps yelling… athe snow. They do drugs. It’s fine, they smoke weed and I can’t judge them because they are older and they’ve lived their lives so if they want to get stoned on a Sunday afternoon and yell at the snow who am I to say shit?? But my WALL neighbors (the ones I share a wall with) are annoying as hell. Mostly the girlfriend that just moved in last year. The guy isn’t so bad and he’s hot but her voice echoes through these walls and penetrate your eardrum like a needle poking through a thick cloth. I want to slap her. I’m going to sleep with her man. Whatever. I’m a bad bitch.

ANYWAY – here is a journal entry I found from 2009 shortly after I sobered up:

“Leah and Mandi are drunk now, talking to these men as we sit under an umbrella in an already enclosed patio space. As I stare into the skeletal structure of this massive umbrella, the crisp static of conversations around me barely making its own at into my thoughts, I’m wondering how such an ill conceived idea as umbrella-d tables in a covered smoking patio came to be when I noticed a hand caressing my knee.

Not in a sexual advance kind of way, more of a friendly way, but he was no friend. Not even someone I could call an acquaintance. Just some tired old guy in a tired old gay bar trying to regain my attention.

The night was just a bunch of brief encounters full of compliments, insults & derogatory remarks (mostly from Leah and the man who eerily resembled Chris Frank).

I don’t know how we managed to break ties with these guys we were smoking with but I do remember Leah’s booming laughter trailed by “there’s too much estrogen here, let’s go to Pi”…

I chuckled nervously, she always knew what NOT to say. I look at my nails judging. They’re too square and I hate that. I always ask for round and for some reason they always make them square. I hate square. Square nails are gaudy. Square nails are for women without class, tact or grace. I don’t want to be at the bar anymore.

When I was younger I thought that sitting in a bar with a cigarette lit in one hand and a drink in another was the epitome of greatness.

In reality it was as me sitting slouched over a mug of rail vodka & dry ass cranberry juice listening to bad remixes of already bad songs… standing outside to smoke a cigarette while fat sweaty men hang all over their fat sweaty girlfriends.

I went to bars to drink away my problems at home. I drank at home to forget who I was.

I started drinking to be cool and have fun. I quit because I wasn’t cool and I wasn’t having fun.

I don’t know where I’m going, I barely know where I’m coming from. But… finally, I feel like I’m beginning to know who I am.”

And that’s that. I’m going to buy a pack of smokes and enjoy this beautiful snowy day.

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Life Since September: A mini-memoir about finding an apartment, love, deceit and my neighbors inability to get their laundry washed in a timely manner

Ah, being alone. Alone alone alone. When you say it enough times the word seems to lose all meaning, as with any other word.

This is a short story of my life, from September 2016. A short story of about 3,800 words that sums up my experiences this far. I felt like I had to write it, I have been so angry lately that I needed some sort of release. Painting has NOT been working, so this is the next best thing.

September, 2016

So, I had been out of Reeds place for what, a month? I found an adorable apartment, 2brs, 1ba, $750/mo with a claw foot tub. NICE.

What was not advertised: holes in windowsills, urine caked on the toilet and walls in said 1ba, lock bolted onto fridge door because its broken and won’t stay shut on its own [lol, what?!], cockroaches. I could have lived with all of the above but cockroaches? NO! Do I even have to explain myself with that one? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, I tried to get out of the lease [that I so stupidly signed BEFORE inspection – it was my first time on my own, I had no idea what I was doing or that I was being duped!] and the property managers were fucking rats. Worse than rats… cockroaches! Email after email, call after call, no response, fighting and badgering for days, they wanted to keep all my money [first and last month’s rent] and be a bag of dicks.

I spent two weeks back and forth with the attorney general, city of MPLS, legal aid, and finally a lawyer. These people were iron, but they did not know that I am the flame that melts the iron. I was not going to walk away with this big of a financial loss! I mean, I just had my heart broken, I was displaced, essentially homeless, and they were taking advantage of me! NO WAY, JOSE!

I smeared them on facebook, yelp, google, and every other social media site I could think of. I felt like I was channeling a 38 year old PTA mom with bad highlights and a Xanax addiction whose husband struggles with intimacy issues.

Finally, they agreed to “settle” and give me back 75% of my deposit. Cool.

Still on the hunt. Still living in my old boss’s guest room… my entire life condensed to Rubbermaid bins stored in a 5×7 storage unit and a cold basement.

Winter was coming. Rentals were hard to find that time of year. Everything had been rented by gremlins of the U – absorbing my potential housing like the sponges of society that they are. Fucking college kids. Go fuck yourselves.

I met a guy. Or rather, he found me. Exciting! Not my type, really, but intriguing nonetheless. He wanted to meet up. We had been chatting off and on for a while. I was nervous as hell. Why me? I am damaged goods, I am gross and unlovable, why me, dude? Oh well. Maybe I will maybe I won’t.

Focusing on work is damn near impossible. What the fuck. I was tired all the time and felt that even getting out of bed was a challenge. Showering… what is that?

New guy, we will call him *James*, attempted to meet up with me. I was so nervous and tired, and just sad still, that I ditched him. Twice. What a bitch move, Martini! Just tell the guy that you’re not ready. But, what if he’s different? He says he is… what’s the harm? It’s not like you’re going to fall in love.

He got me a birthday present – ouch. Said he would mail it to me since I didn’t want to meet up with him. Yikes. I am a bitch! What to do besides agree to meet him at this point?

Man, he’s tall, and cuter in person. Still not my type but there is coffee involved. We talk for hours, laughing and smiling, and I had fun. I kind of like him but he didn’t try to kiss me. Does he just want to be friends? Am I reading this alllllll wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time I read the signals wrong. This is going to be trouble. I went home to Rochelle’s and flopped on my bed. Coffee date at night, giggles and chain smoking in a garage. He got me a present before he even met me, I mean, he has to want to be more than friends, right?

I spend the rest of the night replaying the “date” over and over in my head, questioning my analysis of the night. I fall asleep fully clothed and wake up late for work the next day.

BAM! Lovely rental on Tyler Street, right by my favorite neighborhood of all of NE MPLS, waiting for me! ME! Way out of my price range but I was desperate. So, I put my blarney skills to the test and sat down with my laptop armed with nothing but the property manager’s email and my own determination. I needed the price to drop, a bit. I couldn’t afford my current [or previous] lifestyle with rent near $1k a month. That is stupid. I deserve to shop at LUSH Cosmetics, Sephora & every thrift shop in a 5 mile radius every week. THAT’S MY RIGHT, I earned that! I couldn’t give it up!

Two days with no response. I was feeling defeated. I figured, if I can find a place before thanksgiving life would be good. I could be on my own for the first time, decorate a cute place, and hunker down for the holidays. I had this idea that if I found my own place and was able to be on my own that it would somehow cure my broken heart. Finding my own apartment was the only thing I needed to heal. I wasn’t even thinking clearly, I at one point considered draining my savings and 401k to buy a house… lol, okaaaay, Maria!

Beep.

Email.

A response! Its him, Landlord Jon with the Tyler Street apartment! He spoke with the property owner and they had agreed to come down on the rental price, over $100, to fit my budget! GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. It happened! My dreams were coming to reality! Now, I would be able to be free and could focus on living again. Focus on myself, my “career”, my friends and family, life. Fuck. This was good.

–              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –

Moving sucks and is exhausting. Complications with the apartment being move-in ready on time put a wrench in all my plans. I am a planner. Very anal, like things to be done my way, on my timeline. So, naturally my anxiety was flying high – I felt like my blood pressure was so high that at any point one of my arteries would just explode and I would die, bleeding out in the vitamin isle at Target. That never happened.

It was kind of sad seeing all my belongings stuffed into the back of an empty cargo van. Is this what I am? Are I the sum of all of my possessions? I mean, as I packed and look through all my things I wondered what people would think of me if they were clearing out my storage unit. I have watched a few episodes of that show where they auction off abandoned storage units and have a super anti-climactic reveal of the contents inside. I would try to make up stories about the people who left these items behind. They all had different reasons, of course, but who were they? You can’t really judge a person based on the things they left behind… but, would people judge me? A dresser. Cheap storage cubes. One plant stand. Three old paintings curated from Savers. A Christmas tree stand. A kitchen aid mixer. But no one would get the chance to judge me, or make up a story about me because I was taking my life with me.

I fought with Comcast for two days. They attempted to charge me for internet that I wasn’t even able to use as I didn’t even have the modem… what? Go fuck yourselves, too, Comcast. I was not charged, although they continued trying to overcharge me for three months following, each month I called and berated the agent on the line, knowing full well that they were just doing their job. I broke the Call Center Employee Code by doing that, but whatever, it was necessary. I do not regret what I did.

Now I have internet. WOoo hooo!

My first night in the apartment wasn’t sad or lonely. It was chilly, and I was tired from moving for two weeks.

New guy is still around. It’s been about a month and he’s definitely interested – in what, I am not sure. He’s a flirt, seems like he could really be trouble. We’ve gone on a few dates.

He asked me what I was looking for in a partner one night after he brought me home. We sat in his truck, chain smoking, talking politics. I was almost stumped, I couldn’t really think of a solid answer. I made it easier and told him what I wasn’t looking for: dishonesty, cockiness, dick heads, cheaters, mean guys. He wanted passion, love, a partner, someone to have a family with.

I told him I was crazy. I know he didn’t believe me.

We sat there together, for an hour maybe, parked under a streetlamp, staring into nothingness. Just chatting about love and romance, loss, dreams, hopes… a potential future… together?

He wanted to be my boyfriend, but I just wasn’t sure about that. He promised me the world. I was game.

–              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –

CHRISTMAS TIME! Snow is falling in big fluffy flakes, dusting the great state of Minnesota with a shiny white layer of cold dreariness. I love it. Christmas is my favorite time of year. It’s the holiday season!

I dig through my two giant bins of Christmas décor and spend hours outfitting my apartment into a winter wonderland, like the Macys 8th Floor display vomited a bit into my home. It was great! James volunteered to take me to get a tree. How sweet! Things are going okay, with him.  I like him, a lot! He is sweet, and taking me to see A Christmas Carol! We set up the tree, he kissed me goodbye, and I sat in the glow of Christmas cheer.

It took a day for the tree to settle enough to put ornaments on it and I was able to fashion a nice cover for it so that Elton wouldn’t get sick drinking out of the basin. Good thing I kept that damn tree stand, huh?

I’m not so lonely, anymore. I am settling too, like the damn tree, and it feels really good. I don’t feel like I am such an unlovable pile of shit. I feel like life is finally agreeing to stop punching me and is trying to be my friend. I am happy. Work is going a bit better, I am feeling alive. I am eating, I am sleeping… wow, this is kind of cool.

And then it hits me, in the face, with a brick. He is trolling Instagram for other chicks. Wow. I guess maybe he wasn’t so swell after all? What does this mean? Were the past couple months all a lie? What the fuck? Is there something wrong with me? Why is he doing this? He swears up and down that he’s not looking for another woman but how can I be sure? He found me on Instagram, that’s how our relationship started… he wouldn’t be the first guy to use it as a pick up instrument… yikes.

I’m hurt and angry and he promises to stop, after a couple weeks of arguing about it. Weeks. Yes. Red flag one. I should have known.

He never stopped.

For months, he was hooking up with other chicks and lying to me about it. His solution to the problem of his infidelity was to just block me, and tell me to get over it. He just wanted me to get over it. One of those “what she doesn’t know wont hurt her”. He just continued looking for other women for months, lying to my face and telling me he loved me, all the while hooking up with other women. Ouch. He had no intention of being faithful, he expected me to be alright with being used.

So, I am still hurt, and angry. Why? I mean fuck, I am sure it was the chase, he took my “I am emotionally vulnerable and not sure if I can handle another heartbreak” as “I am playing hard to get, please use me and throw me away like a piece of trash”… not okay, but what the hell am I going to do about it?

My friend read an article about women just. Like. Me. Used, abused, damaged. We attract the same type of men over and over again, we don’t ditch when we see the red flags because we so desperately want love that we are willing to believe that people can change… pathetic. I don’t want to believe it but deep down I really do. I don’t like thinking of myself as pathetic, or desperate, but based on my actions, my thoughts, my feelings, I pretty much am. It’s okay for now. I am working on it. It takes time to become a stronger person.

–              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –              –

Sunday: I wake up to my neighbor playing his guitar. Look at the clock. Its 7:30 am on Sunday. Okay? He doesn’t seem to understand “quiet hours” etiquette. He is usually jamming on that thing at the worst time. Midnight on a Tuesday. 7:30 am on a Sunday.

I get out of bed and stomp to the kitchen to brew ungodly amounts of coffee. I stomp to be passive aggressive so he can hear that there is life outside of unit 2, but also partially because I have had exceptional pain in my right foot for the past week.

I hobble down to the basement. I need to do laundry, I’ve had to do laundry, and I want to check to see if my bum neighbors took their clothes out yet. Nope. Still there. Both washer and dryer are full of clothes, after two days. Inconvenienced. I slam the washer lid three times like a dick because I am irritated and I want my oblivious neighbors to know. Why is there one washer/dryer in this building?

I’ve got my coffee now. Staring out the window at the gloomy Sunday that I was given. Okay, really, for a day off. I’m lazy so it’s not like I had any intention to go outside and enjoy life in any way. The window is good enough, my portal to the living, breathing world around me. LIFE! EXUBERANT LIFE! OH, how I don’t envy thee! I am perfectly content sitting here, presuming life is bullshit and terrifying, that no one can actually be as happy as they claim. Fuck them. Liars.

I am upset. I thought I was in love. Yea, AGAIN. Whatever. I mean, I knew that I was moving too fast. I knew I needed time from the last relationship… but he was nice. He seemed nice. He was an asshole. A lying asshole.

Now I am even more upset. What do I do? I mean, I have been texting and calling him non-stop for a week with absolutely no response… why am I doing this? So pathetic. I send three more lame “please tell me why” texts before my blood is boiling and I feel my palms start to sweat. What to do with the anger? DUH – break shit.

Alright.

Sit down. Light a candle. Put on some music – downtempo dinner on Pandora is my go-to lately. Close my eyes. Deep breaths. Super deep breaths. Sigh. Let it out. Stretch my neck. Ready.

I’m sitting awkwardly on the floor with my stupid cripple-leg propped up. Somehow I have my favorite stationary out with my charcoal Pentel Sign Pen… I write him a letter. WOW, I am crying, tears are weird. I feel abandoned. He said he loved me, that he wasn’t like all the other guys, that he wouldn’t hurt me… liars lie, you know?

He gave me a lovely black cat print for my birthday. I get up and I take the frame off the wall and gingerly pull it out. I caress the paper. How pretty, the cat is so cute. It was such a great gesture of affection. I remember him giving it to me. How I felt butterflies. I wanted to kiss him but we weren’t “there” yet. I set it down. I’m not sobbing, but it’s more than a couple delicate tears. How sad is this? Why did he do this? I am holding the print, ready? Am I really ready? Do I keep it? NOPE. Tear. I tear it once, I tear it twice. Three times. Four times. It’s practically shredded now, little bits of inked paper scattered across the floor.

What else? We were together for such a short while so I don’t have much but I still feel this incredible need to destroy every memory of him.

The alarm clock. He gave me a pretty fantastic alarm clock for Christmas. It would light up like the sun to help you wake up. Yep. That’s gotta go!

I grab some kitchen scissors, the ones made to cut through chicken bones. I cut the cord. Once, twice, three times, good, that’s good! The alarm clock itself was a little difficult. I was able to snap the base into pieces no problem. The “face”… that thing was sturdy. I grabbed my cigarettes & my car keys.

Flash-forward the 3 minutes it took me to get down the two flights of stairs… cigarette lit, car running, in reverse…. Alarm clock placed perfectly… under the rear drivers side wheel. YES BITCH! Back and forth, four times. It’s smashed now. I’m not sure if my neighbors saw, if they did, would they even care? Do I care if they saw? Nope. They can suck my dick.

I decide I want to bag all of this shit and throw it at his front door. Good idea, Martini. Feed the crazy.

I made it two blocks before I realized this was not a good idea. Am I growing as a person? Turn around, go home. Leave the bag of broken dreams in the back seat of my car with the piles of shit I cleared out of my OTHER ex’s home last week. I’m too tired to haul it all upstairs. I guess there is no better place to store all the memories of my failed relationships.

Hobble to the basement… it’s been an hour [plus two days] so they might have cleared out their shit by now. Nope. Still in there.

My foot hurts. I should have breakfast. More coffee will do. I rummage through my cupboards for something easy, chocolate will do.

Sprawled across the couch. I throw my sketchbook across the room. The sight of it annoys me. A reminder that my creative juices have stopped flowing. The only thing flowing these days are tears and rage.

Netflix! That will save me! Netflix, coffee, chocolate and more painkillers. There is a show called “Girlfriends Guide to Divorce”… I’m not going through a divorce but a breakup is like the same thing, almost. Can’t hurt.

I text him, again. I wasn’t expecting a response, it’s been a week since he’s acknowledged my existence. I tell him what I did, smashing the clock and tearing up the picture. HE RESPONDS!

Maria: So, I went crazy and smashed the alarm clock you gave me for Christmas. I tore up that adorable black cat print for you got me for my birthday. I wrote you a lovely letter and I planned to bag it all up and throw it at your house but I can’t feel my foot, so I got high instead. You won again, Devil Man.

James: I think we should take a break from communicating for a while.

Not satisfying, in any way. What a loser. Him. He is the loser. I mean, yea… I am a bit neurotic, emotional… but he’s a liar. A lying loser who manipulates women to get what he wants before he tears their hearts out and shits in the void that he created. Pig. Pig man. Why am I so upset?

I guess, really, I am so upset because I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I allowed myself to believe him, even with all the red flags. I just hopped on the “manipu-train” and let him lead me on for months. That’s why I am upset. Not with him, he doesn’t know better. This is how he was raised, to be a lying man whore. He doesn’t know any better. But, I do, and I let it happen. I am upset with myself.

Sigh.

Martini, get your head on straight, girl!

Work.

I don’t even want to go there.

Call Center Manager. Sounds simple enough. If I were working for a company that wasn’t 10 years behind the technology game. My boss said it best… “we are working with string and duct tape”… I always compared the company I work for to the Red Green Show… you know what I am talking about, and if you don’t, google it and watch a couple episodes on YouTube and then you will understand.

I am “project manager” for updating to a new phone system that will integrate with our current [shitty] CRM. What the fuck for? I have literally NO experience with any of this shit.

This is my first time working in an office setting, 7 years here, and everything I know I learned from this business. How am I supposed to know what a DNIS or FTP is? Excuse?

We are on a super tight almost unreasonable timeline to get this integration and training completed and I am basically shitting myself. I feel so overwhelmed! How the hell am I going to pull this off? How the hell did I even get this job, with no training and no experience?

That’s kind of impressive… I made a place for myself with no education or experience. I was a bum, chain smoking and painting bedrooms for rich bored housewives and all of a sudden I have a salary and a 13 day European adventure booked for August.

Life happens like that for some people. I forget sometimes that I have to take a step back and appreciate what I do have. Where I am, what I have accomplished. Appreciate my friends and the people who do love me, unconditionally without exception, people who hold me up when I feel like I am drowning. I have to love that I have a juicer now. I have to remember that I have a fluffly, adorable cat who chooses to cuddle up with me every night and hold my arm while we fall asleep. That, my friends, is the truest love I have ever known.

I want a sandwich.

They say that breaking up is hard to do

Its not the breaking up that is hard. No. Its the inevitable hurricane of emotion that follows that is “hard to do”.

After my recent break up I was left feeling completely devastated. Confused. Lost. Sad. Angry. All of those swirling, icky feelings that are associated with breaking up. I was consumed by depression and a belief that “I’m worthless. I’m not good enough. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not”

In my heart I clung to the idea that perhaps it wasn’t real, that it was just a thing, he wasn’t serious, he would come around. He didn’t just fall out of love with me. That stuff was all just some bad dream and any second now he’d be here, wanting me, desperate to take me into his arms and love me forever.

Wow.

My head knew it was all too real. My head knew that it was the end – I had lost my love. All the dreams we had, the future we had created for ourselves, it was all gone and I knew it. I just didn’t want to believe it.

I lied to myself for weeks. I told myself it’s not real! It’s not happening! I continued living in this deluded world where he was my soul mate and that he knew this, he felt the same way, and that he was dying to be with me, too. 

Why did I continue this lie for so long?

Part of it was sheer embarrassment. Do people see me as less than? Do they think I’m a loser? Here I am, pining over a man who kicked me out – booted me to the curb and said he was no longer in love and I am crying over him. Pathetic. No strong woman would be feeling this way! No strong woman would be laying in a pile of used tissue, sobbing over her phone and the worthless text messages he had sent.

I felt like an idiot. Was it all a lie? Was the past 5 years just some fucking joke? Did I make up this happy relationship just like I had made up the idea that he still loved me? Holy shit. Why did all of this happen? What did I do wrong? Did I not see the signs? Were there signs? I bet there were but I was too lost in love to notice that he was just lost? What could I do to change, to make it better? I begged him to love me. I went there. I said I wouldn’t and I did, I caved and I actually begged him to love me. That was low, so so so low.

Most of it was sadness. So much incredible sadness – I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning – trapped in a pit of endless despair. I felt like a soaking wet rag being wrung out by a really aggressive person with strong hands. I was being twisted and life was escaping me. He was my love. My future. He just… was. And then he just… wasn’t, and I didn’t want it to be happening. I loved him so deeply. I never imagined a life without him because he said I didn’t have to, and he changed his mind.

Holy shit.

This whole amazingly crazy awesome cool part of my life was ripped away from me all too suddenly. I didn’t focus any of my time to really process what was happening. I started reading shitty blogs highlighting the top 8 things to do after a break up, the top 15 songs to listen to after a breakup, the top everything related to breakups that are supposed to help you feel like less of a worthless piece of shit. It was all garbage. I didn’t want to read shitty poetry and listen to shitty 90’s R&B and shitty shitty shitty.

It was all shitty.

And then. THEN.

I wanted to beat the shit out of him.

I wanted to drive my car directly into his fucking house.

I wanted to destroy his life.

Those feelings were fleeting, lasting a quick day, and then I realized it was just another dumb ass part of the whole grieving process. Whatever. Anger felt right. Anger always feels good on me. I look good in rage.

Acceptance. Sitting in my grungy pajamas on the guest bed in my old bosses house, watching Sex and the City wondering what I will do next. According to Charlotte [I think I’m a Carrie/Miranda hybrid] it will take me approximately 1/2 the time we were together to get over the loss of the relationship.

5 years = 2.5 years?! I mean… interesting. Right now it seems almost quite realistic. I still have trouble sleeping. I think of him throughout the day, I still hope for a call. I’m not still hoping but I am still hurting. Even though the relationship dissolved without me noticing I still love the man. 2.5 years seems so excessive. This is just silly.

2.5 years to accept reality? That sounds insane.

I feel like maybe some great pizza, friends and a shopping spree will help immensely. Will it take 2.5 years? I fucking hope not. Will it be quick and easy? No, and I am slowly becoming kind of OK with that.

Now… now I just have to keep on keepin’ on.

 

Ice cold!

Today was partially spent deep cleaning my bathroom. Then I ate and ended up watching Property Brothers & Love it or List it for about 2.5 hours.

I decided that I can’t decide if I hate it if people “love it” or “list it” more… depends on the episode. I can tell you that the nasty people with super unrealistic expectations when it comes to home renovation and budgets drive me batty!

How can you be that daft? I mean, really? How do you not understand limitations? I found myself arguing with the TV and making snide remarks about the guests on the shows. Seriously. Start thinking people! You simply cannot expect a brand new home without dropping a dime!!

sigh

Today is definitely -3 degrees and I haven’t left the house. I smoked my last cigarette last night and haven’t even left to go buy more. So, I’m either quitting or becoming exceptionally lazy. Both? Is that an option? Probably. I don’t know… obviously I understand the health risks associated with smoking, it’s just that I am not ready to quit. It has been said that the more attempts you make at quitting smoking the more likely it is that you are to quit. That’s good, because I have attempted quite a few times. Someday.

This is my view from my craft station. I kinda love it!

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My glorious first day of 2015

Hello, world!

Today was magical in every way. It is now the year of the sheep! Baaahh! Here is a brief description of my day since I know all of you are insanely curious:

1. Woke up at 9:30
2. No one else was awake so I brewed coffee for myself & spruced up the kitchen
3. Brushed my teeth, then my hair
4. Went out to brunch with cool people
5. Napped for 3.5 hours
6. Went to the gym & killed it with my boo-thang
7. Scrubbed my butt in the shower (and other parts, too, naturally)
8. Made and then ate a super tasty salad
9. Crafted my “resolutions”
10. Watched Salem on Netflix
11. This!

I hope everyone else has had a deliciously relaxed and happy first day of this new year.

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