Sisyphus

I am determined to have a good week, starting off with today.  J had to leave for the airport before 6am this morning for a new assignment, and it is dark and rainy.  It will be that way all week.  As tempted as I was to go back to bed, I stayed up and got my day rolling, dishes washed, laundry going, showered, healthy breakfast.  After last week, I just don't believe I can have another crappy week.  Yes, I still hurt almost everywhere, my plantar fasciitis alone kept me up all night and wearing my stupid foot brace today has left me lurching along in distress.  

But I am not going to let it get to me this week.  If the power of suggestion has any real weight, then I will force away the blues and the pain and the self-loathing for a few days.  It was so bad last week that I couldn't even get through my physical therapy session- meant to exorcise the worst of my pain- and after just twenty minutes into my hour I had to jump off the table and admit I just couldn't finish.

We had a good weekend, J and I.  Right away on Friday, as much as I tried my best to hide it from him and smile through it, he could tell I was very much in a bad place.  He whisked me away to dinner at my favorite Lebanese haunt- there's nothing that a platter of fresh baba ghanoush and hot pita bread can't fix. Then he took me shopping for supplies at the craft store, and when I hemmed and hawed over things, undecided, he put them in the cart for me.  The man does know me only too well.

He knows how to soothe my aches, both physical and spiritual.  I can't imagine my life without him at my side.  The next night after a day of chores, when I was still tired and worn down, he made me get dressed up and made reservations at a "fancy" restaurant, and said he thought it was important for us to still have dates and get out of the house.  He said sitting around on the couch and watching TV on a Saturday night was not healthy.

So I'm going to continue on this week.  The pain sucks, the depression sucks, it all sucks.  But my life doesn't have to suck.  I will do the things I'm supposed to do, the things I want to do.  I know my body and my mind are going to hurt no matter if I'm sitting like a lump on the bed watching mindless reality shows, or if I'm busy with housework and pottery and pricing items for our March show.  I might as well spend my days doing something worthwhile.  I might as well clean in the basement.  I might as well dust my bookshelves.  I won't feel any better just lazing about wishing Hazel would miraculously show up at my door.

At the end of a day, at the end of the week, I might be swallowing a handful of something-anything for the pain, but I'll look back and say, well at least I accomplished this or that.  For 2016 I splurged and bought myself an expensive planner for a change, no more of those dull vinyl-covered things from the office supply store. I fill each day with notes and to-do items and what I ate and how the weather was and where J was at and how many steps were on my activity monitor and what book I'm reading and little sayings to give me hope or strength and colorful stickers.  Okay, maybe that's very preschool of me, but it works. It's actually helped me get through the bad days.  Even on a truly shitty day, I can still find things to fill the empty spaces, even if it's just my thoughts about having a truly shitty day.

I do have a lot of good things on my horizon, things to look forward to, things to make plans for.  Yes, some of it will be work, but none of it is anything that's being forced on me.  Any undertaking on my agenda, is always one of my own creation.  J even asked me to do a favor for him this week, and I'll be damned if I'll let my sweet husband down.

Last week I let it all get to me, and let it get me down.  I am going to spend this week fighting back against it.  I know those weeks will always come, but they also always go too.  So today I will trudge uphill and make it as close to the top as I can.  Tomorrow I may be starting back down at the bottom again, but that's okay.  That's tomorrow.  Today it is still today!

MISS GEE

When It Sucks To Be Me

I can't believe I am writing this post today, and with the way I feel, it may take me a few days.  I have been doing so well lately, it's a crushing blow to have to post about how awful I am feeling this week.  The last two or three weeks, I have been a dynamo, the person that I always aspire to be.  This week, I am haunted by the old shadows that do their best to pull me under.  This is one of those weeks that I wish I would go to sleep and not wake up.  I know it's temporary, but when I'm in the middle of it, I have trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I keep hoping instead it's an oncoming train to flatten me. So I wanted to post, because talking it out seems to help.  I get going on here and sometimes, I keep writing and writing and it makes me see that everything is going to be okay again very soon.

Last week J and I had an amazing vacation, I can't believe how full of energy and joy and excitement I was.  We were up with the roosters and kept going until late at night.  My little activity monitor had me clocking 17,000 steps a day, yes really!  We played in the sun, ate gourmet meals, shopped, strolled historical neighborhoods, went to museums.  We even went out on a boat for one whole day.  It was amazing.  Our last day there was spent scheming on how soon we could retire down there and what we could do to make a living to support ourselves.  Just a fantasy, but fun to talk about the future.  The two previous weeks before we left, I was a madwoman cleaning up the house, packing, and working on jewelry.  I was able to make about a dozen new necklaces and as many bracelets for the upcoming craft show season.  I can say that for those few weeks, I was proud of myself and happy and looking forward to each and every day. I felt like a normal person for a change.

Then this week hit.  We got home from our trip on Friday night.  I tried to keep up my energy level over the weekend, running errands all over town with J, doing housework, lunches out, enjoying Valentine's Day, etc.  But I could feel the blackness slipping up on me, I could peer over my shoulder and see the dark tendrils creeping along the ground, trying to catch me by the ankle and trip me up.  By Monday morning, I knew I had been caught.  J left out shortly after dawn to catch his flight, and I was alone with my monster.

I don't know why or where it came from.  I always have what I call "vacation letdown", where it's hard to adjust to being back in the real world after such a dream week in the tropics.  I went from extreme sun and warmth, to the crappy weather of this week- gloom, cold, dark, rain.  I went from a week of being with J to being home alone again.  I would like to blame it on all of that.  It may play a part, but it's not the root cause, because I get this way even when vacations are not on the calendar.  I've posted before about the link between pain and depression, and which one triggers the other.  I don't know.  For me, they both seem to strike out as a tandem team.  I don't get one without its partner showing up, and I don't know which one arrives first.  I guess that's why so many of the depression meds out there help with physical pain.  To me, it seems like the pain comes in the first wave, and the depression attacks me once I'm already feeling down.

This week the pain has been almost unbearable.  I can't function, at all.  It's everything this week, every joint, every muscle.  Literally from my feet to my hands to my head.  I don't know why I get this way.  If it was just one small thing, I could pinpoint it and say, it's this or that.  But when it's everything everywhere all at once, I just can't stand it.  Even my fingers hurt so badly I can't hold a book to read.  I can't navigate the stairs in my house, I can't use my tools to work on pottery, I can't get to sleep but once I do then I can't get out of bed.  Quite frankly, I can barely walk from room to room this week, my feet are in excruciating pain. My body hurts so much that even the act of taking a breath, brings incredible pain to my ribcage and back. I don't even really want to be on here today but I feel as though I need to talk it out.  Last night on the phone I was telling a friend I was in so much pain, I had to hold onto a support just to get up and down off the toilet- I tried to make a joke out of it but it's not fucking funny at all.  How can I be like this, when a week ago I was jaunting happily down the beach!

My energy level is somewhere south of zero.  Yesterday I was so tired, I couldn't even cook something as simple as soup, so I ate popcorn out of a bag all day long.  My house is a wreck, I am a wreck.  I think I've gone three days without even brushing my teeth.  I know there is cat vomit on my rug but I just keep walking by it, turning a blind eye.  I have dishes overflowing the sink because I physically can't pick them up, and I can't bend over to load the dishwasher.  I can't fit one more thing in the garbage can, but I do not have the strength to take the bag out and put a new one in.  I can't get beyond the aches in my body, and of course, then the mental anguish starts because I beat myself up about how useless I am, what a waste of space, how fucking lazy I am. I am disgusted with myself.  I don't deserve this beautiful home, I don't deserve my incredible husband. I don't even deserve to be alive. I feel like a phony and a liar to the outside world.

I know that's not true, I know that's just the pain talking, and in a few days I will probably feel better, I will start to move around more, the cobwebs will start to clear away.  I have physical therapy tomorrow, and I usually leave there feeling a bit better.  Then J will be home Friday afternoon, and when he's here I have a tendency to pick myself up and dust myself off, because I don't want him to see what I've been going through this week.  J doesn't understand, he never will, as much as he loves me he thinks that I can lift myself out of the doldrums and hold my head up high and carry on.  He puts too much faith in me.  It's both a blessing and a burden.  I am thankful I have a husband who loves me enough, but the idea of ever disappointing him is a heavy weight that remains on my shoulders, even when he's not home.  He tells me to do this or that fun thing for myself, make friends, find someone to talk to, to exercise with, get out there in the world.  But it has nothing to do with that, I know he thinks I'm depressed because I'm alone, but I was going through this when I was working full time and surrounded by others and always out of the house.

This is not the person I want to be.  But it makes me wonder, who IS the real me?  The one who slinks along in misery and pain, hiding herself?  Or the creative bright loving woman who wants to make art and enjoy every day?  Can I live a successful life if I am both of those people?

He doesn't understand that it's not where I am, or what I'm doing, or who I'm with.  It's inside of me, and that's the one place no one else can get to, to fix.  It's all on me, and I'm pathetically incapable of working on myself.  For today, I'm just hoping that tomorrow I will wake up feeling a little better, and the day after that a little better again.  Hoping is about all I can do right now.  And sometimes even that hurts.

MISS GEE

Images of Me

I don't think anyone reads this blog, but if they do, I just want to state that anything I discuss on here- depression, weight, marriage, life- is only my point of view and only about me.  My struggles and issues are my own.  And I don't pretend to understand what others go through.  Whatever I say on here, I'm talking about me, and not you.  I never intend to offend or pass judgement or condemn anyone else.

So before I start launching anymore posts about weight issues, I want to say this first and foremost and get it out of the way.  I do not have distorted body image issues.  I don't cringe about the way I look.  I don't think I am gross.  I don't hate my body.  My body is strong, my legs are strong.  I can walk miles on the beach, I can run up the stairs, I can go hiking, I can hold a yoga pose.  I am not wanting to lose weight so I can look better, and I don't hide myself away because of my weight.  True, I don't wear tank tops and micro skirts, but I'm also almost 50 years old.  I had my flirty youthful days in the sun of short skirts, high heels, big hair and huge earrings, a great tan.  Yep, back in the late 80's when I was in my early 20's.  I'm not looking to recapture that again.

So I'm not ever going to say that I hate myself because I'm fat.  I do, however, hate being fat. I hate how it physically makes me feel.  I probably shouldn't even say the word fat, I know people think it's offensive.  But I'm just telling it like it is, at least in my situation.  I am barely 5'5" and I weigh 210 pounds.  This morning I leaned over to pick something up and split open the bottom of my pants.  That would be my flannel pajama pants.  Yeah...

My sister recently told me I'm the Queen of Selfies, because I have perfected the art of tilting my face at just the exact angle to make myself look 50 pounds lighter.  I took it as a compliment.  She said a mutual friend saw one of my better selfies and wanted to know what diet plan I was on, because I looked amazing.  Hah!  Thank the universe for filters on Instagram, that's all I've got to say.  Poor J, when we go out he takes photos of us and he knows without asking, I have to "approve" of the way I look in them before he can post them online.  I've lost count how many times I've told him "my face looks so big in that, you can't post it".  I think the only reason he bought me a newer phone the other day, is so I can be in charge of taking all the photos myself.

When I go out of the house, even when J and I go into town to run mundane errands, I am always dressed up.  You won't find me slouching through the garden section at Lowe's in a plain T-shirt.  My mascara and earrings and cute shoes are always present.  I don't dress to blend in, or to disappear.  I may feel like a slob on the inside, but I won't ever dress the part for the public eye.  Sure, my hubby sees me at home looking a hot mess, but he's that special kind of man who loves me no matter what.  And that includes the version of me that is no makeup, hair in a ponytail, and glasses on.

But under the beautiful blouse I'm always wearing, I have on jeans with an elastic waistband because anything else is too tight on me.  Trust me, I would love to be able to grocery shop in a cutesy T.  I don't "not" wear them because I don't like them.  It's because my body is so lumpy I feel as though I have to cover it up in big fancy shirts two sizes too big, so it won't cling to any of my rolls.  My mother has more than once tried to gently tell me that by wearing clothes SO big, it actually makes me look bigger than I really am.  But that message hasn't gotten through to me.  I don't want anyone to be able to see the muffin top.  So I wear large shapeless flowing blouses so they can't even find the muffin top, much less be able to measure it from twenty feet away.

I can make fun of myself here, but of course deep in my heart, when J or my family or my friends look at me and see a pretty woman, I see an overweight woman.  And that's how I think of myself.  I am not going to jump on the bandwagon that it's society's fault that women have body image issues. I have never ever believed that I will ever look like a super model, and I've never wanted to or tried to fit that image.  My body isn't built that way.  I wasn't blessed with those genes, and probably less than one percent of women around the world fit into that shapely statuesque mold.  I'm not tall, I will never be slim, my nose will always be big and Italian.  But I'm okay with that.  I'm even okay with being a bit chubby.  I am not okay with being my current size and weight, because of my health issues.  It's not because I think I have to "look" a certain way.

I read something recently that said "Your perceptions become your reality" and I want to change my own perceptions of myself.  Sometimes if I feel low on energy because I'm simply tired, I instead tell myself I'm lazy and it's because of my weight.  I beat myself up a lot about my weight.  If clothes don't fit or I eat until I'm stuffed, the little voice in my head says very negative things about my behavior.  It's easy to tell yourself to just simply change that behavior, but most people who are overweight have an emotional relationship with food that isn't so easy to cast aside.  I have an extremely difficult time viewing food as just fuel.  I attach significant emotions to eating- boredom, loneliness, celebration, stress, comfort, happiness, anger.  I know I choose foods based on how I'm feeling emotionally at the time.

I've never had self-esteem issues because of my weight.  Any of the worthlessness I still feel, stem from the years of mental and emotional battering I took from my ex-husband, feelings that I still have trouble shaking off.  And yes, he did use my weight against me during his tirades, but I never felt low and pathetic and stupid because of the extra pounds.  His abuse took in all of my flaws, not just my weight.

So while I continue to discuss my weight problems on the blog, please do not feel as though I am passing judgments on ANYONE else who struggles with this. The only person I'm pointing a finger at is myself.

MISS GEE

Little Pockets

I feel as though things have been good lately for me.  I wish I could say all my days were spent screaming with elation and joy, but no one should dare to be that happy.  If I was, I think I would break.

I do still struggle with my depression, but for awhile now it seems that the better days outweigh and smother the bad days.  I still have small moments of depression that hit me out of nowhere, but for once in my life I am fighting back.  I used to just give in, shrug, tell myself everyone has the occasional blue spells, that it's normal, just let it come and deal with it.  I don't want to continue to be that person.  I can have depression, but I refuse to feel depressed anymore.

In the fall I had a nonstop landslide of bad stuff envelope me.  It lasted perhaps two months. One kitty got very sick and died, then I had a grueling surgery, then another kitty had a surgery.  I felt as though I spent every day for weeks on end bounding from one doctor visit to the next, either for myself or for my babies.  The rocks tumbled down the hill on top of me one after another, until I was trapped under the pile.  I let it all overwhelm me and interfere with my life.  I cancelled two craft shows I had already paid for, I tried desperately to renege on a visit with family (J forced me to go, saying it would be "good" for me), and I went on a vacation that should have lifted my spirits but instead I spent it wallowing in my gnawing pain.

Then wham, here came the holidays and all of the family obligations.  I would play my part, do my thing, smile when I had to, speak when appropriate.  But I felt dead inside.  At night, when I could finally collapse, I would cry.  My bed, a hotel bed, alone, with J, in the mountains, at the beach.  It didn't matter if my husband was there to comfort me or not, I just cried.

So after yet another utterly miserable, boring, useless Christmas with the family, something clicked inside of me.  I don't know what.  But I realized that no matter how I was feeling, no matter what was going on inside my head, the rest of the world moved on.  Life moved on.  People moved on.  My family, my husband, friends.  They didn't stop because I was feeling low, because I was feeling like shit.  They didn't cancel their plans, they didn't mope beside me.  They could empathize, offer help, present solutions to problems, be supportive and loving.  But in the end, they kept marching forward with life, leaving me in their dust.

And I have to do the same, I have to keep moving in the right direction.  I cannot continue to let the depression drag me down, hold me back.  The more I do, the greater the chasm grows between me and my inner circle.  I am tired of talking about my depression, it doesn't seem to help.  I've been yammering away about it for how long now on this blog?

For the last month, I have been fighting it.  I can no longer just "let it" happen to me.  It's not fair.  It's not fair to my true self to let the chemical reactions firing in my brain, keep me from having a good day, keep me from making new friends, keep me from finishing a project or starting a new hobby.  I'm tired of it.  The depression has been winning the battle for so long now.  I've spent too long content to sit in the shadows on the sidelines, because that's where I felt I belonged.  But I have a right to a happy life.

So now lately I have been feeling "good", with little pockets of "bad" here and there.  But I am NOT going to let the one bad hour wipe out the good fourteen hours of a day.  I am not going to allow it to define me anymore.  It is time.  And I know I've posted this all before, but sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that it IS going to be okay, that it's going to turn out fine.  I am so tired of being tired, I am so through with feeding the sadness like it's a cute puppy.  It's not, sadness sucks, every day sadness for no real reason is a bitch.  Today out my window it's clear and sunny, blue and green, beautiful, flawless.  Why do I hide from it?

I am a strong person, and I am stronger than the depression.  My dreams are stronger than my fears.  My passion is stronger than my apathy.  My today and tomorrows are stronger than my yesterdays.  My healthy body is stronger than my weaknesses and illness.

My goal for 2016 is to kick depression in the ass, beat it upside the head, punch it in the nose, and leave it dying in the street behind me as I drive forward.  I won't even peer in the rearview mirror to check on it.

Life is full of amazing, wonderful, gorgeous moments.  I deserve to have them all.

MISS GEE

Resolute

Okay, I had started a post about the new year, resolutions, goals, blah blah blah.  But I quickly realized it was a lot of bullshit, and a lot of crap I've already talked about many times.  Making your dreams come true, that stuff.  So I deleted the whole thing.  2016 is going to be a year of brutal honesty, I think that's what I need more than anything else.  I can get on here and share anonymous banalities about my life, my marriage, whatever.  I can talk about my depression. I can continue to whine about why I can't seem to get my shit together.

At least a dozen times over the years I've tried to blog about the real issue, my BIGgest problem, my blackest shadow.  I try to put it into the right words.  Every time I've abandoned the posts, they are still sitting out there as drafts.  So with a new year, it's time to tackle it.  And it's nothing shocking, it's something that way too many people deal with, it's so common that it doesn't even really deserve a discussion.  But for me, I need to talk about it. Not to my husband, not to my friends, not to my mother.  Not even the repetitive conversations I have in my own head.  I just need to put it in black and white here.

I am overweight, and I have been as long as I can remember.  The older I get, the harder it is becoming to live with, the more issues it has caused.  I am at a breaking point right now.  I will be 50 this year.  I've spent my 20's, 30's, and 40's dealing with it.  I do not want to spend the second half of my life fighting this battle every day, it is wearing me down.  Killing me slowly.  Crushing my knees and back to the point I have days where I can barely walk from room to room. I don't want to turn this into a weight loss blog, but I need to spend more than one post on this.

It is critical for me at this point.  I've only ever managed to lose a significant amount of weight once in my life, and I couldn't even keep it off for a year.  And I didn't even get down to what would be considered a healthy weight.  I know that most of what I complain on here, is due to my weight.  My lack of energy, my aches and pains, and probably even my depression.  I know my weight hasn't caused my depression, but I understand that it doesn't help it, and it more than likely makes it "severe" on days when it could potentially only be "mild".  All the prescription medication I'm on, could be tossed out if only I lost weight.

Hours and days tick by.  Date book pages get flipped over.  And I do nothing.  I commit to nothing.  I weighed the same on December 31st of 2015, as I did on January 1st of 2015.  And January 1st of 2014.  What a fucking waste.  I have weighed myself every single day for about five years now, and tracked it on a calendar.  And I've saved those calendars.  I am not sure why.  It's torture, to keep around such a reminder of my failure.

You would never know it to see me on Facebook, I always look my best, I always pose, I always smile, I'm always dressed up.  But in private, I feel like a vile creature who could turn any admirers to stone when they see me.  And it's because of my weight.  I don't hate my hair or eyes or face or smile or whatever.  It's just the fat that surrounds all of it.  But that fat IS me.  It's all I ever see.  If I had to write one word to describe myself, it would be FAT.  I will say that here.  If anyone asked me in real life, I would say something stupid like ''happy" or "grateful" or what I think they would want to hear.

I would love to sit here and say I've tried everything.  I laugh to myself when people say that- I've tried to lose weight but I can't.  Well I'm here to tell you that's a load of utter crap.  If you are truly "trying" then that means you are "doing".  If you are "doing"- eating the right foods, exercising- then you are going to lose. 100% honesty here.  I talk a good game, but I am not trying.  That's as real as I can state it.  There is no action behind my words.  I know there is a mental barrier between our brains recognizing the need to lose weight, and our bodies actually getting up and doing something about it.  It's NOT easy.  It's the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with.  It is my greatest failure in life.  Unlike all my other issues, this one is with me from the time I wake up until I go to bed at night.  And even then, in the middle of the night, it is there- making it hard to get comfortable, giving me acid reflux, causing me to get too hot.  It's all my weight.  All of it.

I have fallen into this ridiculous cycle of overeating on the weekends and barely eating anything all week long.   I could throw up my hands and say "I don't know how to stop" but of course I know how to stop.  I will gain 3 pounds over the weekend, and lose 2 during the week.  But the excess keeps piling up.  I have weighed over 200 pounds for about twenty years now.  I have vowed to myself that this year- if I don't accomplish anything else- I am going to be a healthier version of myself before I enter my 50's.  And it's just not my life, it's J's too.  The more I indulge, so does he.  If I am the strong one, if I say "no" to the overeating, he will too.  On the other hand, if I keep going at this rate, he will either be forced to take care of me more than he already does, or he may end up a widower too early.  Yes, it really is at that point for me, at least that's how I feel.  That's how I need to think of it.  It's beyond just being the chubby girl.  Now I am a fat woman entering the last decades of my life.

So I need to talk about my weight for awhile I think.  If you don't want to read my blog, that's okay, I don't think anyone is reading it anyhow.  This blog is still therapy for me, not a social outlet to find friends.  And I need more than one or two posts to do this.  I have to.  More to come next week.  You can jump off this train now if you want to.  I won't even know it.

MISS GEE

Temporal Conundrums

It's the end of the year, and like most everyone else, it's a time to reflect on life.  It's been 2 1/2 years since I stopped working outside the home.  It's been 7 months since J started working on the road full time.  All in all, things feel as though they are getting better.  And that worries me.

When I was working at the office, I used to think of my life in terms of hours.  Watching the clock, waiting for lunch break, waiting for time to go home, at home waiting for time to go to bed, in the middle of the night eyeballing the alarm clock waiting for it to go off.  The minute by minute stress was unbearable.  Once I started my "retirement" at home, I started thinking of my life in terms of days. J and I would get up then he would head to work at 7am and he would get home around 8pm- so I had "all day" to accomplish whatever it was on my daily to-do list. Mornings and early afternoons were bliss, but the stress started after lunch when I would rush around to finish housework or get dinner started before J got home.  Suddenly each day the later hours felt as though they weren't really "my" time- they belonged to the house, the husband, the pets, the chores.

Now that J leaves on Sunday or Monday, flies away to his latest assignment, and comes home on Friday- my thought process has expanded to think of my life in the form of weeks.  I have all week to work on a project, I have all week to shop and exercise and paint, blog or read or watch TV or bake, walk in the neighborhood or plant flowers or have lunch downtown.  I have all week to do laundry and vacuum and clean toilets and mop and dust.  I can get up at 6am then go to bed at 9pm, or I can sleep in until 8am and stay up until midnight.  If I cover the kitchen table with clay and glazes, it can sit there for days, and I don't have to worry about it or get it cleaned up.  If I spend an entire day slumped on the couch with my nose stuck in a book, well, so what?  I don't ever take naps, but that's not because I think it's wrong, it's just because my body doesn't ever want one. I have days when I never so much as turn on a TV or radio for the whole day.  I have days when I flip on the TV with my morning coffee and it never goes off again until I go to bed.  I no longer keep my eye on the clock at 3pm, 4pm, 5pm.  No one is coming home, no one needs dinner, no one is going to be there to see what I did with myself all day long.

And it's okay.  All of that is okay.

And I confess, I feel better now.  Still feeling guilty that I never "do" enough, but feeling better that, you know what?  I don't really have to do more, do different, do whatever.  I am getting over that pressure that society puts on women who stay at home.

I was worried when J took the promotion and started traveling full time.  We actually both worried about how our lives, together and individually, would change.  J was deeply concerned that I would fall into my old spiral of depression, and I would allow it to get the best of me.  In my 49 years on this earth, I've only lived alone for a little over two years of it.  That was the period when my ex-husband and I separated, and before J and I married.  Before I lived with my ex, I was at home with my parents.  So I didn't know how my new life would be.  Would I be scared, lonely, depressed, sad, bored? Surprisingly, none of the above.

True, I don't really live alone.  I have a husband.  He's home on the weekends, and he's here to take care of the lawn and the house and the cars.  He's here to whisk me away on a Friday night date, or a weekend in the mountains.  He's here to pay the bills and plan vacations and celebrate holidays.  He texts all day long, he calls for quick chats at least three times a day, if not more.  He is constantly sending me photos of his current location.  And in an emergency, he's only a plane ride away.  So in that respect, I am not truly alone.

But four nights a week, I do go to bed alone, eat dinner alone.  Four mornings a week I wake up alone, I make coffee by the cup and not the pot.  I know J is going through the same thing during his work week and hotel living.  And it's been okay, for both of us.  He is busy with his job, and for the most part he's working the same long hours as before, just in another city.  He has little time on the road to do anything but work and eat and sleep, which is what he was doing here anyhow.

If I had a different type of marriage and husband, perhaps I would worry.  I am not the overly bored, under sexed housewife of the soap operas or reality shows.  I'm not complaining about my husband never being home, never spending time with  me.  I'm not going to go roaming around out there "looking" for companionship.  And I do have complete and total confidence I am married to a man who would not do that, either.  So I don't sit around feeling jealous or worried or freaking out or having terrible thoughts.  And I know he's not sitting around feeling resentful or ignored or suspicious.  We're not trying to check up on each other or control each other's movements.  If he wants to go out to dinner with some of the guys from work, I am happy for him, not sitting at home wondering if he's flirting with a waitress or whatever.

On the other hand, it concerns me that we are both SO okay with being apart all week long.  I don't know if I should look at it as a good thing, that we both really are very secure in our marriage and our relationship, that the time apart is not going to cause any issues.  Or should I be worried that I like my time alone TOO much?  Does that mean I'm not cut out to be a wife?  I know, we've been married a decade now, but instead of sitting around pining for my husband and boohooing every time he leaves, I confidently pack his suitcase and kiss him goodbye and go about my life.  I enjoy the following days at home and about town, doing my own thing, working in my craft room, reading on the deck.  I look forward to J's calls and texts and emails.  Then I am happy when he returns home every Friday so we can have a fabulous weekend as a couple.

Maybe it's just because I'm a pessimist at heart, that I think because I am okay with our new arrangement, something must be wrong with me- instead of just saying I'm an adult with a healthy marriage and we're both mature and stable and happy and content.  I remind myself of one of my friends who works days, and whose husband has worked third shift their entire 25 year marriage.  They literally never see each other, until the weekends.  I have friends with airline pilot or long haul driver husbands who are never home.  I have friends with husbands who work on offshore oil rigs who are gone for one or two weeks at a time.  I have friends with husbands in the military who are stationed overseas.  It's just life.  Am I a shitty person, a terrible partner, a crappy wife, for being OKAY with my husband now being gone all the time??  It's not forever, he will retire eventually I know.  When he leaves on Monday, he will be home in a few days.

J is enjoying the new position as well, and he's finally starting to like the travel and the perks and his actual job of helping out the company's many locations with their issues.  The more he enjoys the work, the more I enjoy him having this job.  He's been able to make new friends, he's been able to go do fun things with other guys.  Dinners out with other people who can talk shop with him.  He's gone to baseball and hockey games, museums, even a zoo.  Hell, sometimes he even goes shopping to kill time in the evenings, and loves to surprise me with little trinkets when he comes home.  As long as he is content with this new job, I am thrilled with it too.

Being alone and being lonely are two different critters.  I am certainly not lonely.  And yes, of course I miss my husband when he is gone, but I am not a wretched lump while he is not here.  I don't have to have someone in my face 24/7 to enjoy my life.  I am actually very pleased with how things have turned out since J started traveling.  I feel more creative, I feel more centered, I feel more productive.  I feel independent, but with a safety net.  J feels less stress, he feels more appreciated by the company, and he feels more empowered in this new job.  I think it's been a win-win for us both.  Being more satisfied in our individual endeavors makes us a much more happier couple when we come together.

So I'm hoping for much more of the same for 2016, I like the current trend of life getting better for us both.  And more than that, I'm hoping to stop feeling guilty for NOT being miserable and sad while my husband is not here!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

MISS GEE!!!

Driving While In Neutral

Once this week is done, it will all be downhill.  And I mean that in a good way.

This week I am decorating the house for Christmas, alone.  J brought the tree up, and we slogged all the heavy containers up from the basement, and now I'm going through decorations and ornaments and lights and Christmas-themed coffee mugs and dishes.  Trying to decide what to put out or box back up.  Trying to decide what to put in a yard sale pile, and yes, even what to throw away because it's so old and beat up it's virtually useless.  My front entry looks like a thrift store exploded, as I unpack and unwrap it all.  I know this is the time of year that puts even the hardiest of souls through undue stress.  You can both love and hate the holidays simultaneously.

Thanksgiving is over, and that's a big one for me, because it's lots of miles on the road (800), lots of time (7 days) with both sides of our family, and time away from the comforts of home.  I don't hate Thanksgiving, I just dread it because it's always completely out of my control.  My family rents a mountain cabin, his family gathers at their childhood home.  We just show up at doorsteps with bags in hand.  I always feel a bit like an autumn leaf falling from the tree, gyrating to the whims of the wind.  I always feel out of place, even though it's family.  We get together to eat a meal that takes fifteen minutes, then I'm sitting around in a stupor and thinking, if only I was back at our house. Thanksgiving is fun, but with the typical strained episodes and uncomfortable conversations that happen in all families. Admittedly I'm always glad when Thanksgiving is over, so I can shed the unwieldy mantle of being a daughter/sister/aunt and come back to roost in my own castle.  And be my old miserable, cranky self.

Having said that, the last few years, Christmas has been more of a chore than a joy.  Maybe because I try to do too much, and do it all by myself.  Too big of a tree, too many strands of lights in the shrubs outside.  J and I do not exchange gifts anymore, and I've told my parents to stop bringing us unwanted gadgets and gizmos, just for the sake of giving gifts.  In fact all the adults in the family have agreed to stop exchanging gifts, and the younger nieces and nephews simply get gift cards from us.  I don't bake.  We don't have parties, and we don't go to them, even the ones we get invited to year after year.  Ignoring most of the names in my big address book, I send out only a select few Christmas cards to those people I honestly care about.  But I do enjoy Christmas, don't get me wrong- I am a sucker for blinking lights and shiny ornaments and parades and hearing carols from a choir and watching Rudolph pull Santa's sleigh across my TV screen every December.  I just prefer my holiday moments to remain the same as the rest of the shorter daylight hours of winter days- quiet, calm, private, uneventful.  And quite frankly, with the time change, my days wind down earlier and earlier.

This year of course, J is working on the road.  Normally I would decorate all day long and at night, he would come home from the office to help or to motivate me to get off the couch and do just a little bit more.  I would be equally as vexed as I would be grateful- loving the help but annoyed at his prodding me on when I was tired and wanted to clock out for the evening.  But the sooner we get it finished, the sooner we can sit back and relax and enjoy it all, that's his philosophy.  So this week I am trying to do just that.  I've placed little snowmen here and there all over the house (I'm not a Santa person), I've found a few treasures that I don't want anymore but will list in my Etsy vintage shop, and I've been sitting on the floor plugging up every strand of lights to make sure they work before I haul them out to the bushes.  And boy, it's sad and strange how many lights that were bright and happy last Christmas, seem to die alone in the dark of the basement throughout the year, without anyone there to witness it.  (Maybe that's a metaphor for life, I don't know.)  So I just sigh and resign myself to buying more, instead of spending hours trying to figure out which cancerous bulb is causing the entire string to stay unlit.

The tree is always the biggest obstacle to getting the house all decorated.  But it's the most rewarding as well.  I don't care what anyone else says, I think my Christmas tree is the most beautiful tree ever.  I might flip through glossy magazine pages and admire professionally tinseled trees, or ooh and aah when we see the trees decorated along little town main streets.  But they are not as pretty as my tree, the ten foot tall behemoth J bought for me our first Christmas as a married couple.  When we travel, I always buy ornaments as keepsakes, and every year when I put up the tree I can remember exactly where and when each glass memory was purchased.  Putting up the tree is a pain in the ass, because it's so big and it takes so long.  But it's also my favorite part of the holidays, and hanging ornaments gives me a reason to pause and think good thoughts and be grateful for the years I've spent with my amazing husband.  But I don't decorate the rest of the house too fancy, I just have a lot of doodads that I wander around with from room to room, trying to find a place in which to display each one.

After this week is over, it should all be complete.  J will come home Friday night and the inside of the house will be done, and then together we will do the outside of the house.  My old back and worn out knees will make their best effort to get the boxes cleaned up and carried back downstairs before he returns home.  It sucks because it's warm here, in the 70's this week, and it's been zapping my strength.  Warm winters are an unfortunate side effect of living in the south.  Yes I said unfortunate, because I want the weather to match the season, and everyone knows that Christmas should be all snowflakes and mittens and hot chocolate. Me, I'm in shorts and sweating and running my AC right now.  Hopefully we will get a nice arctic blast soon.  Maybe it's just me, but I always feel safer engulfed in a gigantic sweater.

My family won't be here for another three weeks, so I will get through this week and after that, I can have a bit of a breather.  I made J cancel our mountain trip that was planned for this upcoming weekend.  We just got back from the mountains with Thanksgiving.  So he pushed the reservations off until January.  I feel as though I'm just coasting along, and that's okay.  I do not envy those folks with full social calendars for the month of December.  I am okay with sitting by the fire and reading a good book in the evenings, wearing cat-shaped slippers and enveloping the house with the scent of sugar cookie candles.  When I get sleepy, I will close the pages on my homemade bookmark- a long slip of paper covered with a photo collage of our smiling faces from vacations past, cleverly laminated with packing tape.  Many of my acquaintances will gnaw their fingernails to the nub as they pencil in one more office party on the calendar, add yet another gift to buy to a growing list, and try to hurriedly get just one more batch of cookies in the oven.  There is nothing wrong with all of that.  It's just that I don't have to do any of that, so I don't.  Instead I can take a leisurely hot soak in my tub at the end of my winter day.  There is no one to disappoint, no one to notice my absence, no one who needs my attention.

And I have even more reason to be happy this year.  Normally J works through every holiday, always letting his guys with families have the time off while he mans the fort.  Every year J would slog home late on Christmas Eve, have only Christmas Day off, then slog right back to the office again the next morning.  This year, with the travel job, he comes home on December 23rd and doesn't have to go back to work until January 4th!  That, in itself, is the best holiday present I could ask for.  Right now I don't have to use the fake smile.  I actually feel real happiness.  And that's a good thing, because the previous months were soul-crushingly harsh and I didn't think I would ever get through them or get over them.

I plan to blog again next week, about non-holiday related items in my life.  But right now, I still have a bare tree staring at me from the corner of the living room, and I must go tend to it.

MISS GEE

Maybe

Yes yes yes, I am still here.  Every day I think about getting back on the blog.  I have a long list of things to talk about.

Right now my life feels like an out of control roller coaster, one that I am strapped to against my will.  It's the old cliche- one minute I'm up, the next I'm down.

My face hurts from forcing the smiles every day.  I see photos of myself on Facebook and think, WHO is that?  Not me!  Not the real me anyhow.

I will be back soon.  I have to get through a painfully long, claustrophobic Thanksgiving.  Then maybe I can get my thoughts together enough to sit here again.  

Maybe.

Until then, I am still --

MISS GEE

I Give Up

Despite having a lot of happy moments and fun experiences over the last few weeks, I find myself still floundering and desperately trying to find my way back on track with my days.  I am coming to the conclusion, I think, that after all the moaning and groaning on here, there really is nothing wrong with my life or with me.  I am normal.  My life is completely normal.  There is nothing to fix.  Everyone goes through this journey of endless rolling hills and deep chasms.  That in the end, this really is how life was meant to be.

I don't know if I'm happy or sad with this realization.  Perhaps I thought I was special, with my self-inflicted misery and moodiness.  Perhaps I thought I was supposed to achieve bigger and better things before my final days on earth, and I was simply a failure.  I have contemplated the meaning of my reality for so long now, I had convinced myself that there had to be a larger purpose, one I couldn't figure out.  I thought if I could, that would be the secret to my happiness.

I guess lately I have paid more attention to others instead of just what's going on in my own head.  I'm seeing that, maybe not to the extreme that I feel it, but absolutely everyone has a bout of blues now and then.  Everyone has doubts, everyone gets pissed off about things, everyone wants to just lay down and say "I quit!" every so often.  I suppose I always knew that rationally, but I think it made me feel better, made me feel like a rare marvel that I was the only one who was ever aching so deeply.  That is fucked up logic, I know.  The miasma of my daily existence is not extraordinary.  There are thousands of me out there.  My life is not a drama.

I have made my life all about struggle, I have defined myself by it.  Struggling to find my way, struggling with my depression and heath, struggling to achieve goals, struggling with all the insane thoughts in my head about why I am the way I am.  And dammit, I just AM.  That's the bottom line.  It's not anything- or anyone- that happened to me, it's not any chemical imbalance, it's not where I live or what I do.  It's just fucking life.

I know I am not making sense to anyone else, I'm not even sure I understand what I'm saying.  I sat down to blog about one thing, but this is what's coming out of me.  So, I give up the struggle.  Life happens, and from now on I shall let it flow over me instead of wearing myself out by holding up a shield.  I have been fighting against it for so long, trying to change myself, change the way I think and feel.  There is nothing wrong with me, or what's inside my head or my heart.

Everything I feel has value, everything I feel is normal and not unique only to me.  Guilt, anger, pain, love, anxiety, hate, sadness, loneliness, remorse, boredom.  They are not my exclusive emotions, I can't lay claim to them.  They've been around since the world started turning, and they will be around well after I'm ashes.  If I am angry or lonely, guess what?  It's a good bet that a million people around the globe are feeling the same thing at that moment.  So, I need to accept it, get over it all, and let it go.  And I am free to do just that!  I am NOT special.  I am normal!  It's a letdown and a release all at the same time, to say that.  Now I have to just believe it, and live it.

I want to spend each day knowing that whatever choice I make, that whatever I do, is neither right nor wrong.  It just IS, and that's the way it's supposed to be. There is nothing to analyze, nothing to fret over, nothing to "work on".  I don't have to feel extreme joy with every little move I make.  I don't have to beat myself up when I'm so down I can't see daylight.  I don't have to feel guilty if what I'm doing brings me pleasure even if it's not on a daily to-do list.  If I don't feel like smiling at you today then I won't, but tomorrow I may feel like hugging you for no reason so I will.  I am tired of faking what I do in order to get along with the rest of the world.  Hell, those people are probably just faking it too.

I don't have to do anything but be me.  I have held onto this spurious, broken identity of myself for way too long now.  It's time to forge ahead without that protective cloak to hide over my true face.

I hate that silly overused catchphrase of living your authentic life, but I suddenly see that it has merit.

MISS GEE!!!

Hearts Grow Fonder

I am having a better than average week right now, for me at least.  I decided to take the week "off", which is not hard to do since I stay at home all day anyhow. I decided that other than my simple weekly chores, I was not going to do anything this week.  No art projects, no pottery, no making jewelry.  No photographing or listing anything in my Etsy shops.  No working on our upcoming yard sale or my next craft show. I haven't so much as looked at a paint brush or glass bead or price tag this week. It's hard to admit you need a break from something that, in reality, is fun and not stressful.  But I just wanted to not do any of it.

This week I've just been sitting and reading.  Keeping the TV off, nose stuck in a big fat 25-year-old paperback, trying to drink lots of water and eat plenty of fresh fruit.  And I feel okay.  It was a good week to kick back- after about a month of infernal drought, we've had rain for the past four days.  When it's dark and gloomy out, I like to sit on the couch with the lamp on and listen to the heavy raindrops plinking on the metal of the chimney.

After ten weeks at his first assignment, J's second assignment is going to stretch out for at least five weeks that he knows of, and maybe more.  He's working nights again, but at this location they don't have as many issues and so his "night" is less grueling at 9-10 hours instead of 12-13 hours.  He's getting more sleep, and he's sounding a lot less frustrated when I talk to him right now.  He'll be home this whole weekend.  After that, he heads back out for two weeks straight, without coming home on the weekend.  Instead, he's booked a flight for me so that I can come out there and spend three days with him over that next weekend.  He's already lined up a baseball game the first night, a football game the second night.  My husband, gotta love his energy and desire to experience all of life.

I'm finding that my time, my life, is now compartmentalized into "with J" and "without J".  I know you expect me to write that I'm always happier with J.  No, I'm finding that's not necessarily true.  When I'm down, I'm down. When I'm up, I'm up.  I certainly enjoy life more and have more fun being with my husband, but I find my moods are controlled by the depression and the chronic pain.  They both dictate how I'm going to feel, how I'm going to behave, how I'm going to relate to the world around me.  If I'm home alone, if I'm out with J- it doesn't matter, the pain doesn't care.  When it takes hold of you, it doesn't give a crap where you are or who you're with. I always try to resist it, and I promise you that fighting against it will wear you down even quicker.  Honestly, J doesn't let me sit around and miss out on the weekends, he wants to go do things so I'm at his side.  I know if I were to say, honey I am just in too much severe pain today, I can't- he would be okay with that.  But since I never complain to him, he encourages me to not let the aches get in the way of our life together.  I'm madly in love and appreciative and utterly exhausted all at the same time.

J told me this past weekend that when he gets on the plane on Fridays, all he can think about is getting back home to me as fast as possible.  J is very physical in his expressions of love.  He is a hugger and a kisser.  Even out in public he loves to grab and rub and pinch and poke and tease, he is always wanting to touch and to be touched.  When we sleep, he even has to have his foot nudging my leg all night long, or a hand on my shoulder.  I've never had to beg for a back rub, he's there happily doing it.  I confess that on days when I'm down, when I hurt, when I'm feeling like shit, I am not as receptive to his wanting me to sit close to him or wanting to cuddle or wanting to hold me.  I am not as receptive to his affections.  I'm not talking about saying no to sex because I'm not in the mood, I'm talking about a wonderful caring man who revels in my presence and only wants me to scoot over towards him just a little bit more on the couch.

I'm an ungrateful bitch, I'm sitting here almost complaining about a husband who likes to snuggle and who enjoys giving me a foot rub while we're watching TV.  I'm talking about shrugging off the loving touches of a man who still wants to be with me even though I'm fat and old and grumpy.  What is wrong with me? I am married to the type of man that many women will never know, can only dream about, and some days I have to tell him to take a step back because he's too close to me.  It's like I anticipate my pain, and in essence I'm pushing away from him.  J never never ever causes me pain, it's my body, not anything he does. But some days, I hurt so much that even when he helpfully rubs the sore places, it's too much and I have to ask him to stop.

I know it's just the pain and depression.  It's not a true version of how I feel about my husband.  In some ways he understands, he will say "are you hurting today?" if I pull away from him when he hugs me too tight.  Other times I can tell he feels slighted and rebuffed.  This last weekend, at red lights he kept leaning over in the seat to kiss me, and after a few kisses I would just smile at him but not lean towards him.  I could tell he was sad.  Quite frankly, even leaning over that little bit in the car hurt my body like a mother fucker, and I'm not kidding.  I wasn't saying I didn't want to kiss J, I was just in so much pain I couldn't move that way anymore.  And I get sick of telling him so often that I'm in pain, and surely he's got to be tired of hearing it too, although he would never say that to me.

I don't know what we'll do this weekend.  He gets home super early Friday morning, although he will have to sleep for awhile after working all night.  Then he doesn't head out until Monday morning.  I'm sure we will find plenty to do since we are always such go go go people.  By the end of the weekend, I'll be feeling it in my back and shoulders and feet and head.  I'll get cranky but do my best to hide it, but those of you with perceptive spouses know you can never really hide that kind of stuff from them- they always know.  After this weekend, then we are out of town on trips the next three weekends.  I am unbelievably thankful that I have a husband who wants to spend time with me, who works hard so we can travel and be together and have a great time.

I try to put on my best and brightest happy face for J, I try to be cheerful and enthusiastic and adventurous whenever I'm with him.  But sometimes the pain just wipes all of that out of me.  I have got to work on this.  Now that he travels full time, I'm only with him 2-3 days a week.  I have the rest of the week to sit around and feel sorry for myself and mope in my misery if that's what I want to do.  When I'm with him, even if it hurts my back when he holds me tightly to him, I've got to suck it up.  For him.  I love it when he wants to wrap me in his strong arms and give me a great big hug just because, and I've got to pretend that it doesn't light every nerve ending in my body on fire.  I'm just so damn tired of that pain and how poorly I react to it.  I'm so afraid that one day, he will be tired of my reactions too.

I guess it's just been bad lately, but luckily I am not always in this much pain, not every day, not every weekend.  And besides, J is the best medicine in the world, no doctor could do more for me.

MISS GEE

Even My Toes Hurt

I have been in so much pain the last few weeks.  If you are a real life friend and see my Facebook or Instagram, you would never know it.  I'm still in that habit of pasting on my pathetic fake happy smile.  I still jump up and go whenever and do whatever anyone wants to.  Starting in September we have three major vacations, several holiday trips, and multiple mountain weekends already booked for every month through February of next year.  It makes me exhausted and ill at ease just to think about it all.  I love to travel, but right now, I dread it instead of anticipating it with excitement.  To sit in a car for hours, to deal with a two-hour plane ride, seems like torture instead of a fun adventure.

This has been weeks now of absolutely everything hurting, from head to toe.  Normally it's just one thing or another, but right now it seems to be a cascading failure of my entire body.  Migraines, my lower back and hip, my knee, the arthritis in my hands.  Everything.  Even my feet are hurting right now, which is weird because I don't do anything that would trigger that and I've never had problems with them in the past.  Right now I can barely walk on them in the mornings and evenings.  It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand, it hurts to walk, it hurts to lie in bed.  The pain even overwhelmed me into a crying jag yesterday afternoon. The only time I feel better is when I'm floating in a deep, super hot bath filled with salts and herbs.  I'm not a fish, I can't stay in the tub forever.

I have an appointment on Monday morning with a new doctor, another specialist, for my female/menopause issues.  I don't think any of those problems are causing pain, it's just annoying symptoms that won't go away and are causing minor but irritating complications to my daily life.  I'm sure this will turn into several appointments- doctors rarely if ever can do it all at the first visit.

These days I don't take anything stronger than over the counter pain relievers.  And even with those, I have to be at an unbearable ten before I reach for the bottle.  If I took ibuprofen every time I had an ache, I would be taking them around the clock and who knows what my kidney and liver would look like.  So my choices are- eat my insides alive with Motrin or just suffer all day with pain.  Not much of a choice.  It's been a terrible cycle lately.  I know I need to go to yoga or get on the treadmill because it will make me feel better, but I feel so awful right now I can't get myself to go back on those routines.  All I want to do is sit on the couch with a heating pad on my back and a cold cloth on my head.  It sucks big time.  The resentment that I'm letting my life pass me by starts to dig away at my already delicate mental balance.

I spent too many years walking around in a zombie state, driven by all the prescription pain meds my doctors kept me on.  They never worked.  I had to keep taking more pills a day, at higher doses.  Nothing ever worked, nothing ever offered a single sliver of relief.  Pills like oxycodone, shots of morphine at the hospital, patches stuck on my body soaked with lidocaine, repeated epidurals in my back at pain clinics.  For years I took pregabalin, a drug with a normal dose of 300mg a day- my doctor had me up to 1500mg a day and it still had no effect on my pain whatsoever.  In 2009 when I went to a new doctor, she said she couldn't give me anything stronger, couldn't raise my dosages.  So slowly I just got off everything, and as prescriptions expired I didn't ask for renewals.  I decided that if none of it was going to help, why the hell was I going through all of that shit?  The money, the time at the appointments, all for what?

Frankly, I don't hurt any worse today drug-free, than I did back then when I stayed loaded up on them.  The pills never helped me feel better physically, but they made me just not care about anything, including the pain.  I was dull, depressed, and hating myself when I stayed drugged.

I do understand people who get addicted to pain killers.  I have a cousin who did time in a federal prison for it.  I guess it never happened to me because they never worked, so there was really no point.  No craving, no urge.  There was nothing to crave!  I always took my medications in the way that the doctors prescribed them.  I never took too many, I never took them too often.  I was more worried about how the drugs might destroy my internal organs if I overdid them.  So once I was off everything, I just shrugged my shoulders and said "eh" because it was over.  I think if the prescription pain meds ever DID offer relief, I may have been one of those people who needed them to survive.

My physical therapist, who I see once a month now- down from twice a week- wants me to try her acupuncturist. I'm not against it.  I just have little hope for it so I haven't decided yet if I want to embark on that path.  I do believe in alternative health care.  I don't blame my primary care physicians for throwing pills at me, because that's what they're trained to do.  I know so much of it is in my control.  Losing weight, moving more, eating better, taking vitamins, going to yoga, changing to organic foods and chemical-free products in my pantry.  I get "Mother Earth Living" and "Clean Eating" and "Vegetarian Times".  I just don't bother to take all the steps I see easily spelled out on the glossy pages.

The pain gets into my mental space, because I start to really get down on myself.  I'm lazy, I'm not taking advantage of my free time and easy life to make the changes I need to.  I have access to everything I need, J has given me the whole world in order to take care of myself, and it's like I'm slapping away the helping hand of fate.  Why?  Because I'm that person who sits on their ass watching Project Runway marathons, hoping for a pizza to magically appear at the door- with extra cheese and dipping sauce.  I must take control of my own health!  Can I get rid of all of the pain?  Maybe not.  But I do know that sitting around feeling sorry for myself is not the path I need to be on.

MISS GEE

Back To Good

J had to head back to the airport again today for another two weeks on his same assignment, and those should be his last weeks at this place.  I hated that he had to leave today.  He literally had to get up in the middle of us watching a movie, to go catch his flight.  One minute we were on the couch laughing at a cute comedy and relaxing, and the next minute I'm walking him and his big suitcase out the door.  I watched the last half hour of the movie, but without him there, I don't think I laughed or even smiled at it again.  I'm glad for the extra time off his boss gave him this last week. I did have to share a lot of it with his family, but I got good quality time with him as well.  It will end up being ten weeks total at this particular office once he's done, and he is SO ready to move on.  This place has depressed him, made him question taking this promotion in the first place, and he said it's starting to suck any joy or happiness out of him.  His boss told him, this will probably be the worst assignment he will ever have, so J said well that's good to know- it can only get better. I hate that this "worst assignment" had to be the FIRST assignment!

Next Saturday I have another show to work.  Yesterday we spent the day putting up the tent and banner, a "trial run" if you will, because I haven't set any of it up yet at the previous shows.  But it's hotter than crap down here right now, and on Saturday I will need the tent over the booth just for the shade!  I can pay extra for electricity hookup, and I thought about it just to have a fan going, but the show ends by 2pm, so I can sweat it out that long.  J stays at the shows with me, but he hangs out a little ways away.  So far we keep getting the same spot for our booth, because I request it, and J can sit up under this gigantic old oak tree.  Once a "real" customer approaches me (not just a looker or casual shopper), J comes over and helps with the transaction.  Usually he makes change while I wrap and bag, because I totally SUCK at quick math that I have to do in my head.  Yes, I know, that from someone who did accounting for almost 30 years.  Plus I need J to help me with the setting up and breaking down of the booth, the tables, displays, etc.  I could do it alone if I had to, but no way do I want to.  I hate it that this weekend, he is only home for Saturday, and I'm going to use it all up.

This week I will be busy making a few more things, and working on new displays.  Why do I wait until the last possible moment to do these things?  That seems to be the way I have approached major tasks my entire life.  I'm sure you know someone just like that in your own life.  Not to say that I work best under pressure, but it seems that's the situation I always put myself in.  On top of that, this weekend when we went to visit his aunt and uncle, they filled the back of my SUV with books.  They are helping their elderly neighbor pack up and move and she had a few hundred books to get rid of.  It sounded like a good idea in the beginning, but once we got home and I started digging through them I realized they are mostly junk.  Nothing worth selling online.  I mean, things my regular used book store won't even take for trade.  Looks like a lot to go to charity.  Right now the garage is full with the boxes, and J couldn't even park his car in there, so I have all week to get them all sorted and carried down to the basement before J comes home on Friday night.  Nothing really to gain with bringing them all home, just a lot of work for me.  Last big task for this week is clearing off the dining room table.  J and I went to a few really nice estate sales yesterday and all of my goodies are strewn about the table.  I always buy small things for my online shop.  Many people hit up estate sales on the first day, and that's great if you are looking for the most valuable items.  But we always go on the last day, because almost all sales reduce the prices by 50% or more by then, because they are wanting to get rid of things.  This is where I can find my deals.  I am not running an antique store, I'm just looking for little trinkets I can buy for 50 cents and sell for $5.00 on Etsy. This weekend I found a lot of neat stuff to add to my inventory, but I know J doesn't really want to still see it all in the same spot when he gets home on Friday.

As for J and I, lately all our talk has been the same old back and forth- do we want to move or do we want to stay.  We don't know, but it feels like it's all we ever talk about anymore.  We both change our minds every week it seems.  As much as we hate this town, we are just really in a good area and in our heart of hearts, we know it.  Maybe we don't like the "lifestyle" of the neighbors next to us, but if we move, who's to say we would get neighbors that were any better. At least this group, having lived next to them all these years, we sort of know what to expect and we're never surprised by anything that goes on over there. Frankly I just want this conversation to stop for now. We've already agreed and decided together that we will make NO decision at all until probably 2017.  But there I am, always online, looking at other houses, other cities, filling my Zillow account with "saved favorites".  I drive myself crazy with it, and probably J too because I'm always emailing him links to houses that are out of our reach- either physically because of location or financially because of price.  We talk about instead of moving, just buying a vacation home- a condo on the beach or a cabin in the mountains.  But I like the vacations that we take, I don't want to be locked into ONE location for the rest of my days simply because we put all our money into a second home.  A quiet cabin in the woods sounds like heaven and a great investment, but don't tell me I can't take my trip to Bermuda next year because of it.

So other than taking one of the cats Monday morning for his annual visit, I have nothing on the books this week other than getting ready to set up my booth this weekend.  I am not going to let myself get stressed about a single thing at all!  I am going to remind myself that even though I have tasks to accomplish this week, they are fun and simple and none of it is so important that I need to get in a tizzy over it.  No one out there cares if I don't make any new jewelry this week for the show.  Hell, J wouldn't even know if I did or didn't.  So yeah I've got a lot of stuff to do in the next few days, and yeah today I am having back spasms so bad it's all I can do to sit upright and sort through my newest beads.  But it's still a great day.  It was a great weekend with my husband.  It will be a great week.

I will post again shortly, I have something else on my mind.  Today I just wanted to keep it light.

MISS GEE

Short

I am coming off a bad few days, and I'm still trying to shake it all loose.  I really don't even want to blog today but I thought it might help unload some stuff.  I don't know why, I've had some anger well up inside of me lately.  No reason.  Nothing happened, nothing set me off, nothing at all.  My anger is like any of my other emotions, my depression, my anxiety.  It happens out of nowhere a lot.  It started last week and trailed me around over the weekend.  It's still sitting inside of me right now.  Nothing that I do has lessened its grip on me.  I'm not mad at anyone in particular, I'm not angry about any one thing.  It's just the feeling inside my chest.  It's overwhelming right now.

J's boss recognized that for the last seven weeks, he's worked six days a week and has only been home one day a week.  So he let J have off this last Monday and this coming Friday.  We were able to have a nice long weekend, where I was hoping we could relax and reconnect.  But he wanted to go drive the 250 miles to visit his family.  Normally I am okay with that, but for some reason I didn't really want to go this time.  I adore his family, even with all their ordinary human flaws.  Yet my head was in that bad space this visit.  Things annoyed me more than usual, and while I always keep my comments to myself, this weekend I pointed things out to J that bothered me about his sisters, his parents.  I was even slightly rude to his mother, although she deserved it for making some disgusting homophobic remarks. Not that J disagrees with me, but it's one thing for your husband to complain about his own family.  It's an entirely different animal when I do it.  J didn't seem to really notice my comments or attitude.  He could just tell I was in an ill mood and out of sorts. I apologized and just chalked it up to being tired, easy enough for him to understand because he was tired as well.  It's a long drive just for a short visit.

I had the stirrings of a migraine start on Sunday, then Monday I was at that stage where, if it got any worse I was going to be bedridden.  But it stopped just short of that level of pain.  Even so, I still had to ask to have lamps turned off and voices lowered.  Perhaps that is why my tolerance of everyone and everything is so very low right now.  I've even been irritated with my beloved cats, yelling at one for his constant meowing and pushing another one away when he kept jumping up in my lap.  You know it's a shitty day when you get mad at your sweet kitties for showing you affection.  Instead I simply felt smothered and overcome.

I'm glad I have a short "alone" week, with J only being gone for three days.  After that, it will be a few more weeks of him traveling Sunday through Friday.  I decided that for this week, I'm taking a break from trying to be the perfect housewife.  I spend every Friday cleaning the house from top to bottom and planning an extra special meal for J's return.  He certainly doesn't request or even expect that, but I keep trying.  This week I said screw it, I'm not even sure I will be up to vacuuming.  This weekend we have to go see his aunt and uncle who live about two hours away.  They ask us all the time to come and see them, and since he has Friday off we decided to go.  Being around them is not quite as stressful as being around his parents.

I've been trying to find distractions to get me outside of my head this week, but nothing is working.  Even pleasant tasks like reading or loading my kiln, have me desperately trying to find my breath, trying to settle my thoughts.  I am simply finding it difficult to focus on anything, to be present in the specific moment at hand.  I can't sit still or find peace.  I bounce my knee, I repeatedly sigh, I close my eyes to shut out the world for just a second.  I concentrate on the negative, not even seeing any of the positive.

When I'm home alone, I sometimes wish I had friends or family up the street I could spend time with.  When I have to be around people, I sometimes can't wait until I am all by myself again.  I miss J when he leaves.  I feel relief when he leaves.  I don't know.  Maybe I'm really just pissed off with myself, because I can't seem to get a handle on my stupid life.

I know I should be trying to figure out where the anger comes from, but this week it has me beat down, and I'm instead just burying my head in the sand waiting for it to subside.  Alas, I know it will return without warning soon.  Maybe I'll work on the issue the next time around.  This week, I just don't give a damn.

MISS GEE

Filling Negative Spaces

Well I'm back to my old stuck self this week.  I am feeling lost, and once again stumbling.  I don't want this to be my permanent modus operandi, but the wheels are spinning uselessly.

I think more than anything, I'm trying to get over the idea that I HAVE to be doing something at all waking hours of the day, for my life to have any meaning.  I just really have trouble with that concept, and letting it go.  Sure there are things I want to do, and goals I want to accomplish, but if I don't spend 14 hours a day working towards those things, am I a failure?

My head says yes, my heart says no.

More than ever, with J not coming home every night, I am putting pressure on myself.  You should see my dining room table right now.  It's covered.  Not just with one project, but three, and I'm multi-tasking so much that I am actually hating each thing that should instead be bringing me joy.  I have frustrated myself. I am trying to do so many things, that I'm not accomplishing anything at all.

Perhaps the biggest frustration is that I'm forcing myself to do things, not taking the time each project deserves.  I actually tore up some of my art today, because I was disgusted with the outcome.  What did I expect?  I was working on watercolors at the kitchen counter at the same time I was making my lunch. Seriously. What the hell was that all about?  No one can create a masterpiece with one hand on the paintbrush, the other hand holding a dish towel.  I've got to realize that I have the rest of my life to create just ONE masterpiece, and if that's all I ever do, then so be it.

Why am I in such a rush?  I am not on any timetable, I am the maker- and keeper- of my own schedule.  And do I really even need a schedule?  Why?  I have plenty of time, in fact that's pretty much all I have these days.  Why does every minute need to be crammed with an activity?

When I start to feel guilty in the mornings because I spend the first hour or two watching TV and having coffee, let it go!!  No one on this planet knows what the hell I'm doing at any given moment, unless I am posting it on social media.  No one knows or cares if I'm still in my pajamas at 10am, so let it go!  When J calls me from the road, he doesn't ask for a rundown of my day.  He asks how I am, did I have a nice day, how am I feeling.  If I tell him I'm having a wonderful day- and all I've done is sit in my bedroom chair and read- he does NOT care that's all I did for the afternoon.  I shouldn't care either.

Sure I'm like everyone else, I have certain commitments I have to attend to.  But I don't have to complete a gigantic to-do list every day to feel alive, to feel important.  I am already important- to myself, my husband, my friends, my family, my pets.  Even if all I ever did for the rest of my life, was spend every afternoon reading some old paperback, there is nothing wrong with that.

My anxiety levels have been high this week.  I have put pressure on myself to accomplish certain things.  No one else cares about the things on my list this week, but for some reason there is this little voice in my head telling me I'm a worthless sack of shit if I don't get them done.  Oh I will take care of the housewife duties like laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning.  And when J comes back on Friday he will be glad to see me, glad to be home, glad to eat whatever meal I cook him.  But the other duties I've dreamed up for myself- as an artist or writer or gardener or organizer or weight watcher or whatever- I've got to realize I can't be all those people and do all those things at one time, in one day.

I have to pick one task per week.  Yes, I said week.  Bouncing around from multiple projects hour to hour, day to day, has been ridiculous and has almost obliterated my muse, my creativity.  When the more pleasurable pursuits become too much like work, then what's the point?  I need to have one work area, and only the tools for that one project out for that week.  Right now I've got crap scattered all over.  I'm trying to paint and to journal and to work on my old manuscript, while trying to list new things on Etsy and organize my old magazines and work on my tan.

No one can be all things at all times.  I've got to slow down, to understand that life is not a race.  And even if it was, I've got more free time on my hands than anyone else I know.  If I want to spend those hours watching cooking shows all day, WHO CARES!  Relax.  Breathe deep.  Sit and be quiet.  And throw that damn to-do list away!

But I know how my screwed up brain works.  If I slow down this week, next week I will be on here whining about how lazy I've become...

MISS GEE