How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It wasns’t exactly a vacation persay, but it’s as close to a vacation as I’ve taken in years. I actually took some time off for myself……. kinda.

OK, let’s just start at the beginning, shall we?

I have worked two jobs throughout this entire COVID situation. While one of the jobs is from home, and is a bit more relaxed in my duties, the other has been essential retail this whole time. Some weeks I was working 40 hours on top of my at-home job training, but more recently I’ve been down to around 25 on top of the 40 I’m now working from home and in office. Basically, I’ve been running myself ragged while getting screamed at by entitled dickwads who think that somehow I’m the one who decided they need to wear a mask in my store.

The last few weeks have been especially rough for me. I was transferred to a new store, my anxiety skyrocketted, my insomnia came back, I stopped working out, started drinking a ridiculous amout (well, for me anyway), and was eating like absolute crap. I haven’t been able to concentrate or create, have had zero drive, and even caught myself snapping at Bowser Kitten.

He was pretty pissed about that part, too.

I could feel a breakdown of epic proportions coming on. I haven’t even had a relatively minor one since moving into my own place, save for the few hours once after my birthday when I got really weepy and wine drunk. Back when I was living at Castle DumpsterFire, my breakdowns were quite regular due to the bizarre living situation I was in. I would have had 3 or 4 breakdowns in the last 5 1/2 months, and twice as many epic screaming matches with The X. But here? I’m not about to put myself through the torture I was under there, let alone all by myself.

So, I did the unthinkable: I took time off from my booze job. Five shifts totally 32 hours, to be exact. I go back tomorrow night, after not being there since the first of the month. I still have my day job (which is a contract position, so I’m not about to take a week off from that, especially so close to possible renewal time), so I wasn’t about to go taking a week-long road trip anywhere. But I did do a few things for myself.

  1. Now that restrictions are lifted and members of my family are getting COVID tested when they’re not well, I went to my parents’ place for a BBQ. We busted out the old NES, let dad mess around and clean it out (30 years of gunk was nasty!), and took turns playing Super Mario 3.
  2. I took a day to go wandering downtown looking for my buddy Strength. He had been doing so good the weeks before this, and then he kinda hit a wall. I didn’t end up finding him, but I did do my old “talking to random people and accidentally walking 15km” routine I miss so much.
  3. I went and got a little tattoo. Ok, it’s not exactly little. I spent 5 1/2 hours laying on my side to get a big owl perched on a log with the Black Lodge symbol in it’s eyeball. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to watch The Simpsons because it would warp my fragile little mind, but Twin Peaks was perfectly fine for a 10 year old. Let’s just say it made a big impression.
  4. With my new Saturday shifts always being at 7am now, I was able to sleep in a little bit and make it out to the farmer’s market a few blocks form here. Sure, I only bought some peppers and a bunch of popcorn. But now that I know the layout, I can go back on a Saturday when maybe I start a bit late (or just take a day off, which I will need so badly). I went a bit later in the morning, so most of the stuff I wanted was gone. But now that I know what’s there, I have no problem getting up early on a rare Saturday morning off to pick up 9 different types of mushrooms and a few tubs of flavoured popcorn.
  5. For funsies………… I went to my old store. I was just going to show the bestie my tattoo, and instead wound up staying a few hours. I got to catch up with some old coworkers, hang out the beautiful security man, buy a bunch of wine… you know, just girly things.
  6. I took one entire day to just go with the flow. I slept in a bit, scrubbed the entire apartment (it’s not that big, so it doesn’t take too long), meal prepped for a few days, did like 5 mini workouts, restarted Umbrella Academy……… you know, just girly things.
  7. I had a breakthought on Saturday afternoon, and started seeing myself and my life in a different light (as cryptic and strange as that may sound).

I know it’s not the crazy excitement some people want from their time off. I didn’t jet off to another country, or take a road trip north, or go out throwing axes (only because that place is still closed). But I did some things that I needed done in my damn soul.

I took some time for myself, without deadlines or screaming customers or 8 hours in a damn facemask. I looked at what all these long hours and 7 day work weeks are doing to my brain and my self-worth. I looked at the type of people I have been inviting into my life, versus the ones who came in organically who I want to stay in my life.

The X always had some reason why we needed to keep in touch, why we needed to be friends. There was always an errand, or a book he found in his things, or I was the only person he could trust. If I didn’t answer my phone when he called, he would call 7 more times until I finally picked up. This week off, I finally got the clarity of mind to see through the last of his bullshit and just block his number.

With my mind clear and my confidence high, I began to look at people and see them for who they really are. I had a strange mix of people telling me their secrets and letting their true selves show. Some people I couldn’t get away from fast enough, others I was captivated and wanted to hear more, one I just wanted to hug. I was finally able to see what trash needed to be gone, and who I need more of in my life.

Somehow all of this made those stupid online dating apps better. Before, I would swipe left on 99% of profiles. “He works out too much, he’d never like me. He likes to travel, he’d never like me. He’s too young, he’d never like me.” It was never about what I liked, but always about what my stupid brain was telling me they wouldn’t like about me. Even that changed after everything I saw and felt on Saturday (twas a messed up day full of random encounters and someone else’s breakdown, btw).

Mostly, though, I got to have a real weekend. I could make plans (even though most things I wanted to do were closed), I could sleep in, I could watch Netflix and bake and drink and write and doodle and just be. And as much as I am a workaholic, as much as I thrive on my 60+ hour work weeks, I need more than a few hours here and there to myself. I need a weekend sometimes, I need a plan, I need a chance to cleanse my aura and sit in the moonlight in my damn lace nightgown and just burn incencse and stare at the stars.

Maybe what I really need is a change. Like a major, earth-shattering, mind-blowing change. Maybe I need to start setting some wheels in motion, get a few things lined up, start looking at both my long-term and short-term existence. And maybe I need to finally finish watch Altered Carbon.

Do They Make Business Casual Underpants?

I’ve been working from home for one of my jobs since all of this started back in March. Actually, my first day at this job was the day the office shut down, so I’ve been working from home most of the time I’ve had this job. I still go into the office at least once a week, but the majority of work takes place in my livingroom.

This has presented me with a challenge I had to idea I needed to prepare for. For some background, I’m not exactly what anyone would call “fashionable”. I don’t have a “summer wardrobe” and a “winter wardrobe”. I wear tank tops under pretty much everything, from work uniforms to dresses, and would wear boots with everything too if I could.

How bad is my fashion? A few weeks ago, my old work shoes were ripping apart my feet. I had an old pair of Docs in the car in case my feet hurt too bad, so I ran out to throw those on. Problem was, after work I was going to go do my laundry and visit my old store. In my rush to leave that morning, and with my aching feet already on my mind, I had packed a sundress to change into but forgot my sandals.

Now, most people I know would’ve run home (it’s not far) and just threw on some sandals before heading out for a visit, especially when they want to look super cute on that visit for reasons. But me? I just said fuck it, and threw on my favourite ripped cardigan over my sundress. Was it a look? Well, it was something. But apparently I somehow pulled it off, getting told I looked like a hair dresser (long story there) and a ‘sad weird hipster’ (which is a close to a compliment as I get from this guy).

Point is, I don’t know how to dress myself. I can manage to look somewhat professional in the office for my weekly trip in, but that’s only because I have like 2 dresses and a pair of flats I can rotate, and the dresses even have pockets. Other than that, I need some kinda of flow chart to get dressed without looking like I rolled out of bed and fell into the reject pile at Value Village.

Working from home should be a dream for someone like me. I can roll out of bed, work in my pj’s if I wanted to, don’t have to put on my makeup or do my hair. Hell, at home no one cares what colour I dye my hair ( a mix of the old red and some new purple, as it’s a work in progress), or if I even have eyebrows. I can throw on a face mask, put my hair up in a bandana, and still be totally professional since no one sees me beyond my email signature.

I can’t just do that though. I tried, in those first few weeks. I rolled out of bed, made my coffee, pulled back my hair, and sat around in a ripped t-shirt and old workout shorts. An hour into this, though, I’d be anxious for a shower and some real pants. There’s this little part of my brain that just demands I at least try to be professional, even if it only means that my yoga pants match my tank top.

While the bulk of my work from home uniform is still yoga pants and tank tops, I’ve been stuck on one part of my wardobe and it is driving me crazy. For some reason, I don’t know what underpants I should be wearing while I work.

Picking out underwear in the morning suddenly turns me into Jenna Marbles trying to pack a suitcase. What if I want to go out later? What if I fall down and paramedics have to rip off my pants to fix me? What if I feel like getting dressed up later? Do I want formal underpants? Lacey underpants? Period panties? Boy shorts? Thong? What if there’s a zombie apocalypse and I have to flee? Are these the underpants I want to wear while running for my life? What if I want to work out later? Are these appropriate for squats? Or naps? Or a Netlfix marathon of Black Mirror? What colour am I feeling today? Do I want to match my bra to my underpants? Sports bra? Front closure? Push-up? That bra with the stupid wide straps that is comfy as all hell, but the straps are so wide I can’t find a tank top that covers them?

And this is just to sit around the house and work! On days when I have to go into the office or the store, it’s much simpler. What underpants work with this outfit and don’t give me visible panty lines? What bra works best under this top? Aaaaand…. we’re ready to go. For whatever reason, actually having to leave the house with underpants on is so much easier than picking out underpants to just sit around the house in.

It’s gotten to the point that I’ve completely Monica Geller’ed my underwear collection and categorized everything: period panties, regular normal underpants, a bit of lace, everyday lace, fancy lace, thongs, complicated underthings, super fancy stuff, that shit that is supposed to make you look thin and not lumpy, stuff that I would like a boy to someday see. I even have a separate drawer for loungewear, lace camies, extra super fancy stuff, and weird things that are somehow kinda sexy but kinda complicated. And that’s just the underpants, don’t get me started on the bras.

It’s not like I’m sitting around working in my underpants. I matched my tank top to my yoga pants (easy when your wardrobe is mostly black), and pulled out the good fuzzy socks for my training modules today. I have no audience, my only coworker here is the smartly dressed Bowser Kitten in his new watermelon bandana collar, and I don’t even go near the windows without pants on these days. So why are my underpants so important to me in the morning?

I knew that working from home would present certain challenges to me. I’ve never been one to completely self-motivate myself without deadlines, and most of my work is of the “at your own pace, do it eventually” nature right now. My desk chair sucks and hurts my back, but working from the couch makes me sleepy. Seeing Bowser sleep all day makes me want a nap. And it’s so much easier to order pizza and eat that at my desk than it is to get up and make an entire healthy mean, which results in the longing for a cheese nap. Basically, I spend my day trying to work hard enough to not want to nap. It’s exhausting, makes me want a nap.

I wonder what underpants I should wear for my nap……..

I’m A Dumbass

I’ll just get right to it. I’m a dumbass.

There’s two things you need to know about me. One, is that I have a very hard time giving up on people. I totally believe that people can change if they want to, that they can acheive their dreams, that they can become whatever they see to be a better version of themselves. I don’t have it in me to just cut people out of my life because of their behaviour, unless they choose to cut me out as well. My brain just refuses to say “well, there’s no way they can ever change, so you may as well walk away from them.”

The other thing is I can be a little too trusting sometimes. It’s not like I’m walking around giving out copies of my credit card to people to use in emergencies or anything. But if someone I know needs to borrow $10 and I have $10 on me, I’ll more than likely lend it to them even if I know I’ll never get it back. I won’t let a stranger use my phone, but former friends or partners who have wronged me more times than I can count on my fingers and toes combined? Ya, I’ll let them make a quick call home if their phone is dead.

And that, my friends, is why I am a dumbass, because I did just that.

I let someone into my apartment recently because while unpacking boxes or something, they had found a book of mine. While they were in the neighbourhood they wanted to return said book, maybe have a beer, chit chat for a few minutes, use the bathroom, and charge their phone a bit because it was dead. And since their phone was dead, they also asked if they could use my phone to make a quick local call.

I was just finishing my day working from home for my day job and had to finish up an email so I unlocked my phone, watched them dial the number they needed, and asked them to step into my room to make that call while I finished work. I didn’t really think much of it because the entire time they were in the other room, I could hear them talking on speaker phone and could hear the other person replying. After maybe 5 minutes, they were done on the phone and I was done my email, so I got my phone back and forgot about that call completely.

Until this morning.

You see, I woke up today to get ready for work and I checked my phone before hopping in the shower. An old friend I haven’t seen in years messaged me during the night, and that’s where this starts to get infuriating. Apparently in the 5 minutes my phone was not in my sight, a bunch of my social media was being used. “I” had gone through my friend’s Instagram, liked some pictures from almost 2 years ago, and then went through the people who liked her most recent pictures and liked random photos these strangers had posted. As far as I know, “I” didn’t send out any messages or anything like that, “I” just did things that I can’t really track right now.

As of right now, I don’t know what else was done. I don’t know if “my” activities were limited to her profile or if they went beyond that. I don’t know how many people “I” creeped in those 5 minutes. All I do know for sure is that the person who was using my phone got into my Instagram and went deep diving through at least one profile (but probably more, knowing them). They got into the Twitter account I hardly ever use and made some bizarre tweets (which I deleted before my shower, because they were too strange even for me). I don’t see any messages in my Messenger or Instagram, but they could have always deleted anything they said I guess. And I haven’t had a chance to go through this blog yet, but it has been targeted by this person in the past. They really hated this thing!

So, if you’re reading this and got any strange messages from me, or if I suddenly liked your mother’s sister’s ex-boyfriend’s daughter’s Instagram post from 23 weeks ago, just know that it wasn’t me.

And I really should have dropped them down the stairs when I carried their sorry ass out of here when they crossed a line with me. Lesson learned!

Death By Sofa Bed

I’ve been cleaning the apartment a lot lately. It’s just little things here and there: sorting through empty wine bottles (keep some for crafts, toss some); getting rid of the ridiculous amount of cardboard boxes Bowser has been hoarding; sorting through old linens and bath products. I’ve found a few things here and there that I had forgot about, including a small box of cat treats and toys that were a housewarming gift for Bowser from his “fuzzy brother” Sketch.

I pulled out that box today to sort through, and tossed a few toys on the floor for Bowser to explore. He could still smell Sketch on some of them I think, because he went nuts over them. One in particular, a small fuzzy blue ball, he claimed as he new favourite. He ran around the apartment all day with that thing, following me with the little ball hanging out of his mouth. He followed me to the bathroom with it, watched me cook with it, and even brought it into his carrier to nap with.

But then, it was suddenly gone. I looked all over where he had been playing with it, and couldn’t find it. He laid down next to the sofa bed and just started yowling. He would stretch his little paws out under the sofa, yowl a bit, and then look up at me with these big sad eyes.

So I did what any cat mom would do. I grabbed a flashlight and a broom and tried to look under the couch for it. Problem is this couch is at least 20 years old, and the bed part is sagging to the floor in the middle. He was yowling even more, so I decided to move the table, pull out the bed, pull back the mattress, and look under it.

That’s where the problem started.

I got everything moved away from the couch with minimal problems, just a frantic Bowser Kitten running around my feet. I pulled out the bed just fine. It was when I reached forward to pull the matress back, that’s when I slipped just a little bit. I fell into the partially open sofa bed…… and it started to close with me inside it.

I didn’t realize what was going on at first. I figured that I would hit the matress, stop falling, and just get back up. But instead as my elbows hit the matress, my legs came up and the matress started folding in on me. I was pinned from mid-calf up, with my arms bent so that my hands were up near my boobs. I tried to push forward, but the matress wouldn’t move. I tried to shove the matress up with my butt, and it wouldn’t move. I was legit trapped inside a sofa bed.

To add insult to injury, Bowser sat on the arm of the sofa at one point and licked my ankle. Little fuzzy bastard.

I was trapped for at least 20 minutes. I had been watching old episodes of Unsolved Mysteries while I cleaned, and could hear Robert Stack droning on about King Tut’s curse and some old-timey robbery. I tried pushing the matress, and nothing happened. I tried moving my head, and it was completely stuck. I couldn’t reach the floor to make a racket and maybe alert my downstairs neighbour that I was in trouble. And at the angle I was at, I could barely breath, let alone scream.

Then the panic started setting in. I was sure that I was going to be trapped in that sofa bed, and die there, and Bowser was going to eat my feet. I cried, and I started squirming around. I couldn’t move the mattress, but I managed to twist my legs a bit. Little by little, i was able to pull my legs up against my body. I still don’t know how, but I managed to use the force of a twist to move the mattress just a tiny bit, enough to get my legs in a slightly better position, and was able to use my legs to push the mattress open again.

So there I am, still in tears, glasses laying inside the matress, hair all over the palce. I wiped my face, put my glasses back on, and saw Bowser sitting there next to my shoes, looking at me like I was crazy. And what does the little fuzzy bastard do?

He shoves his face into my shoe, and pulls out the toy I had been looking for.

I need some damn wine right now.

Maybe I Just Need a Fish

So when all of this isolation stuff first started, a single friend and I decided to join a bunch of dating websites. It seemed like the perfect time; everyone was stuck inside, we could take our time getting to know people since there were no date-type places open, and we could share pictures and messages of failures in this type of dating with each other. It seemed like the perfect way for me to meet some people while everyone is trapped behind closed doors.

Don’t think I could’ve been more wrong.

I really don’t think I’m cut out for this online dating thing.

I really don’t mind filling out the bios, or finding pictures of me that I like, or any of that other weird and tedious stuff most people hate. I just don’t think I know what I’m doing here. It seems like there’s certain key elements of this whole “dating” thing that I just seem to lack total and complete knowledge of.

Like, I don’t have any pictures of me holding a fish. It seems like half the guys’ profiles that I see, there’s a picture of him holding a fish. I don’t know if all single guys like to go fishing, or maybe these guys have some sort of check list they pick and choose from when they get pictures of themselves.

Fish picture. Picture flexing in the mirror. Group picture in suits. Group picture at a sporting event. Group picture at a restuarant, with everyone leaning towards the middle of the long-ass table. Picture with a child that will be labled “not my child”. Picture with ex/female friend that I can crop out in a way that still shows how hot they are/were. Dog picture. Topless picture. Horrible MySpace selfie. An old picture that looks nothing like me.

It seems like everyone has some sort of combination of these picutres, and somehow I didn’t get the check list when I signed up.

But seriously, what’s with the fish? I used to love fishing when I had friends to fish with, but we didn’t sit around checking for the best lighting so we could take fish selfies.

Even if I did have the required fish selfie, everyone seems so damn interesting online. If you’ve read like anything else I’ve writen on this blog, you know that I have a thing about being boring right now. It’s like every single guy out there between the ages of 26 and 42 has somehow climbed Everest, opened a thriving bodega in Thailand, visited 37 states, lived in a sloth sanctuary, learned three new languages, and started a non-profit that helps quinoa farmers ethically source their labour. And that’s just what they’ve done in the last 18 months!

I don’t even have a fish picture, let alone my own non-profit organization run out of my front closet.

I think the worst thing for me with all of this, though, is the entire “communication” part of things.

I’m not one to message anyone first, and if I do it’s not just going to be “hello”. I don’t know why, but I actually read people’s profiles before I message them, and try to find something to ask about their pictures or interests. But after that, I’m lost.

Seriously, anyone out there who’s talked to me for reals online knows that I just kinda jump in and out of conversations. I rarely, if ever, sit down to have an actual full conversation with anyone. If you have ever had a conversation with me, like actual back and forth about any topic at all, that lasted more than three messages right in a row on my part, then there’s a good chance that I was actually trying to flirt with you and failing miserably.

I just don’t do the whole forced social thing.

So many of the guys on these sites, though, seem to think that after one message I should be wanting them to have full access to me 24/7 so that we can just constantly talk to each other. They want to spend hours on the site getting to know each other, and then want my phone number so we can text and call each other all throughout the day until we’re free to just sit down for hours and talk to each other again. And they want to do this daily.

I can count on one hand the number of people I willingly talk to every day. “Random dude from dating site” is not on that list. It’s basically my mother and three friends, that’s it. And I don’t even talk to them every single day.

Everything seems so forced, so strained, so artificial. I know my friend has had some success with these sites, and I know quite a few people who are married to people they met on these sites. That’s all well and good for them, but I just don’t seem to be cut out for these things.

I can’t tell much by reading a paragraph about a guy and looking at half a dozen pictures. I can’t get a true vibe off of you that way. I’m weird and picky, and totally believe Napolean Dynomite was right when he said girls like guys with skills. I can’t judge your vibe or your skills through pictures. I’ve gotta get that feeling from a guy that I can just relax and feel at ease around them, and you can’t get that feeling with this method.

Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s my needs, but I need to meet people in person to get to know them. I’ve got to feel things out with my aura, or some weird hippy witchcraft like that, before I know if we mesh. I just want to find someone I’m comfortable enough to do nothing with, just hang out with, and maybe even sing along to the radio with (bonus if he hears me attempt to rap, that’s true comfort right there). I can’t tell from some quick messages whether you could help me with my car (no mechanic has been able to yet), or if you could chill and draw pictures for me, or if you’d be willing to help me indulge my obsession with Ridiculousness and random skateboarding videos, or if you’d be cool with actually grabbing a blanket and just laying in a feild at night and staring at the stars. People say they’re down for this shit all the time online, and two messages in it’s all lies.

I still have a few months left in my subscriptions I have to wait out. Maybe I’ll have some fun with this, throw out a few more raccoon messages (those on are my Insta, if you’re curious). Or maybe I’ll just ignore the sites and get back to my Unsolved Mysteries marathon this week.

Thoughts From A Dye Job

Took a sadness bath the other day to mope and feel too much of my feelings. Towards the end, the ever concerned Bowser Kitten hopped up on the very tiny side of the tub and just start meowing at me. We sat there, him meowing at me, me meowing back, for a few minutes before I started wondering if I was insulting him.

That’s when I realized I had just wasted prime bathtub thinking time moping because a boy was mean to me.

So today, when I woke up entirely too early for how late I stay up most nights, I thought “well a bath isn’t in order. But I do need a little something to get the old brain-words flowing…….”

So purple it is!

So in the grand tradition of Jenna Marbles’ “Thoughts from a Bathtub” and “Thoughts from a Couch”, I bring you the random-ass crap that enters my mind on my Beauty-Making Thursday.

-certain music just works better depending on what colour you’re dying your hair. Metal obviously works for black hair. Throwing lemon in your hair, sitting in the sun, and calling that “highlights” is more of a Greatful Dead kinda vibe. Green, no matter the shade, has to be the Buzzcocks for the full Ghost World feel of it. And apparently a mix of The Monkees, Killswitch Engage, and the soundtrack to Empire Records works best for purple.

-who decided that ducks would be the ideal bathtub companion for kids? You ever go down to the park and accidentally get between a mommy duck and her baby? I mean, you may as well have a Canadian Goose in the tub with your kids, and they have freakin teeth on their tongues!

-I think about the word “yeet” too much, yet I have yet to use “yeetable” to describe something I wanna yeet.

-of all the rooms in the house, why aren’t bathroom equipped with speakers and disco lighting? Random shower dance parties of one to Bjork would be so much more fun with rainbow lighting and enhanced bass.

-who decides state/country/city names are acceptable as people names? You see people named Washington, but never New Hampshire. I’ve seen Paris, but never Kalamazoo. What if I want a child named Litchenshtein? I could call her Litchy for short.

-I really need one of those waterproof writing pads and pens for my shower.

-on an unrealated note, I should put some sort of curtain up in my hall window so the neighbours don’t see me running naked and dripping wet through the house to grab a notebook and pen mid-shower

-why does everything have to be a phase? Goth phase? Emo phase? Cutting your own bangs in the bathroom while crying into a bottle of cheap whiskey phase? Can’t we just keeps parts of those times inside of us and let them out from time to time? Maybe sometimes I want to listen to Dashboard and drink whiskey in the bathroom while wearing a corset top and too much black eyeliner. We should just embrace the things that made us happy during these “phases” and keep them in our lives.

-does Tony Hawk ever listen to Goldfinger’s “Superman” and think “dammit bitches, I MADE YOU!”?

-sometimes it’s ok to cry. Sometimes it’s ok to let things go. And sometimes you just need to grab some purple hair dye and spend a day just doing random beauty shit to rejuvinate your soul.

-apparently when they test the building’s fire alarm while you’re in the shower washing out hair dye, your cat will jump into the tub to hide/make sure you’re ok.

-showering with a cat is REALLY not fun!

Well, apparently adding more purple dye to the purple dye I was already using does not make my hair extra purple. So in like 6 weeks time, I may have to resort to some somewhat-drastic measures to get my hair looking right.

Now, to go find something to quiet my overactive mind for the day. Maybe I’ll get a bag of burgers.

Healing in the Time of COVID

Hey there friendship. I’m just sitting here reading up on more ways to just totally fuck up my hair. Because if you don’t wind up with either fried hair or a shaved head, can you really say you survived isolation these days?

Honestly, things are a little weird here with me. Mi Casita still is without a name, and apparently, I speak random bits of Spanish while writing. The X and I are still trying this friendship thing, and it’s mentally draining. He’s in the middle of moving, and I just can’t take his move any more! I took one whole day off to get my move done. He’s on week FOUR of no work just for this move, and has to constantly talk about it and ask my advice.

Dude, if you want to talk just to feel self-important and heard, start a blog like the rest of us already!

The weirdest thing here is that my brain is totally against me. I was talking to a friend today about some guy she met on a dating site. I said that if things didn’t work out with them, at least she made a new friend. She told me that she has enough friends that she barely keeps in contact with, she doesn’t need any more. And I totally get that. My Facebook is primarily people I haven’t actually talked to in years. We make the odd comment on each other’s posts, or sent the occasional “haven’t talked to you in forever, what’s up” message. But that’s about it. During things with The X I pretty much cut myself off entirely from my friends, partially out of embarassment from having to bring him to events with me, partially because I just didn’t have the time for friends when I was constantly trying to take care of him.

And man, has that ever fucked me up!

After a few hours of random drunken messages from a man (who in my mind is) far too beautiful to ever be talking to me, I had to take a step back and wonder why I had never just messaged him to hang out. I had to actually sit down last night and use everything I have here that forces me to look inside myself to try and figure out why I never just opened messenger and said hi. And the real reason is…… well, it’s complicated. It’s trauma, it’s recovering from my past, it’s the hit my self-esteem has taken from trying to evaluate my life up to this point. I’ve never really been good at keeping in touch with people, and I’ve never been one to feel comfortable just inviting myself over to see someone. But my need to have someone else make that move to socialize just grew deeper and darker in the last four years.

I always just saw myself as something like a phoenix over the years. Shit happens, some part of you dies; that’s trauma. Fuck the trauma, be reborn, become stronger than before. There may be a lot of things I don’t do right in my life, but I’ve always been a survivor, and I’ve always bounced back harder and stronger than before. So seeing that a part of me that I need hasn’t bounced back at all, well that just scared me shitless. And, it’s made me take a much harder look at how I see myself and why.

So the flat out honest truth about me? I think I’m just too boring and dull for someone to want to spend time with. I know, there are people who actually know me who are reading this and thinking “you’re shittin me, right?”. (Yes Sam, that’s pretty much directed right at you) Thing is I put off doing pretty much anything I really wanted to do for years, either due to work or because of The X. I skipped ever concert, every movie, every random night out. Hell, I didn’t even go to the petting zoo as much as I wanted to so I could hug every single goat there! There were times walking with coworkers from my book job when they would invite me out for a quick drink at one of my favourite bars, and I’d have to turn them down to rush home to The X or else I knew he’d take a fit about me not appreciating him slaving over a hot stove to make boxed mashed potatoes and bagged chicken yet again for dinner. I blew off having a life for years, and when I was finally able to have a life again the world shut down for COVID.

So when I look at myself, I really don’t see anything exciting. When I look at someone I want to spend time with, someone I’m comfortable around, all I can see is them getting bored of me real fast and ghosting me. I can’t for the life of me figure out what I could bring to the table when it comes to…. well… anything. When I look at someone who had such a full, interesting life before all this I can’t help but think that they’re going to figure out really quick that there’s really nothing much to me. Sure, there were a tonne of things I had planned on doing before everything shut down. I was even going to go to a concert for the first time in years, on my damn birthday, with a friend who had won tickets. But I never got to do any of this stuff, and now I feel like just wanting to do these things isn’t enough.

So now I’m at this weird crossroads in my life. It’s like I have interests, I have things I wanted to try, I had like this whole “life” thing ready to go, and then everything shut down. So this “life” thing is basically just some little blip in the back of my mind, and I feel like what I was before this is just….. nothing special. And now I feel like I just keep rehashing the same thing over and over again, but it’s the thing that jumps to the front of my mind every time I want to message someone or hang out with someone. But then I catch shit for not messaging, even though I’m sure that if I did they wouldn’t want me to message them again because I’d bore them…….

Yeah, so TL:DR my brain is all kinds of fucked up at the moment. I guess I didn’t realize just how much this whole COVID/isolation thing was impacting my healing.

And now on top of figuring out all the stuff going on inside my own head that’s been alluding me thus far, I also need to figure out how to momentarily get past it long enough to gift an absolutely beautiful man a glow-in-the-dark football for reasons.

Life Needs More Switches

I’m blogging from the phone tonight because I have no laptop,  and I’m obsessively marathoning old episodes of Unsolved Mysteries on the desktop tonight. So this will be short and have horrible grammar, most likely.

I think our brains should have more switches inside them. I really think we should have evolved by this point to be able to just flip something in our heads and turn off an emotion or a memory for a while.

I know we all have to deal with whatever the hell we’re going through. Its not healthy to just bottle things up, push them into the back of your mind, and drink until they just stop mattering. Believe me, I minored in Emotionally Induced Binge Drinking in university and have been am avid practitioner ever since.

But every now and then, wouldn’t it be nice to just turn off a stupid feeling? The ability to just turn off crushes or attractions or intrigue at the drop of a hat? I mean, if the switch is in your head you probably would have to remove your hat to get to it anyway.

You could just hit a switch and not have any sort of feelings for someone. You wouldn’t forget how to talk momentarily when they look at you. When you try to message them, you wouldn’t get to nervous that you’d scare them off or they’d ghost you again that you just never message. You would never have to tell yourself over and over again that you’re so over a crush on someone, just to see them come into your store and start thinking “wanting to just cuddle with him is still being over him, right? Like I can want to just spend a whole lot of time with him and stop my thoughts just at cuddling, and that’s still fine”. Angry drunk messages in the middle of the night that come off as strangely jealous would have no affect on you.

And you’d never again try to make a vague blog entry and have it come out way to damn specific. I blame the bag of tacos, and the bottle of rosé I’m working on.

Today’s Breakdown Is Brought To You By The Colour Purple

When the hell did I last update this thing?

True to form, I am doing about six things at once here. I have my last cast iron pan on its first round of seasoning the oven. Laundry is all gathered up for a trip to The X’s place later (he’s letting me do laundry if I help him make To Do lists for his big move, since I make lists in my sleep). I have my French lessons going on my phone, and a new playlist in the making on my desktop. I’m updating this with the keyboard in my lap, so that I have room for my new work laptop on my desk so I can start familiarizing myself with some of the systems and procedures I’ll be working with. I should probably hydrate at some point too?

I feel like I’m light years behind everyone else at this point in the game. I’ve been watching people on my Facebook feed the last two months, seeing how they’re handling isolation. So many people are doing so many amazing, creative things! I’ve seen more loaves of bread on my feed than I’ve probably eaten in my life (and carbs are my favourite food). People are creating music, writing books, painting rocks, creating YouTube channels and podcasts and amazing works of art.

And I…….. well, I sewed some pillowcases together to make a folding cushion for Bowser and I.

Honestly, a lot of this isolation has felt like a competition, one that I’m seriously losing.

It just seems like everyone else out there has either been working full-time at (at least) one job, or they’ve gone into overdrive with projects. I was fully onboard with both of these, and was fully expecting to do both of these at the same time. While picking up shifts at the store on top of my regular schedule and doing random bits of training as it became available at my new job, I had a huge list of projects to work on around the apartment. I was going to learn to knit and crochet. I was going to write a book. I was going to fill my walls with art, mend some old clothes, take up yoga, learn to make healthy meals in my tiny kitchen, and completely clean and organize the new apartment.

Well, none of that has happened. I haven’t even binge-watched Netflix, really.

Truth be told, I hit a massive funk in all of this. After being so excited to be living alone for the first time ever, being totally and completely alone has thrown me for a bit of a mental rollarcoaster. I love the fact that I’m not forced into a living situation with people who aren’t taking this whole islation thing as seriously as I am. But at the same time, this whole isolation thing is going to kill me.

Because of my job at the store, I can’t go se my family. Both of my parents have heart conditions AND auto-immune disorders. Since I’m working directly with the unwashed masses, I’m the most likely person in my family to be exposed to the virus and pass it along to others. My brother and his boyfriend work a drive-through, so their exposure is minimal. My sister is working from home, and her husband works in a shop that takes good precautions to protect its workers. They all feel safe seeing my parents, even from a distance while visiting their home. But me? There’s no way I could risk that. I can’t imagine them getting sick from this, and knowing that it was probably me who passed it on to them.

We’ve tried to find ways manage this, but it hurts so much sometimes. My birthday was last week. While my parents did drive over to bring me a card (they passed it through their car window, and then I stood at least 6 feet away from the car), I spent the rest of the day completely alone. I threw on some old episodes of Bar Rescue, curled up on the floor with a tonne of art supplies, got more than a little stoned, and just created all day. But I was totally and completely alone here. Then this past Sunday, we did our weekly video chat. In the middle of telling my mother something, she grebbed her iPad and ran to the front door, putting me down so I was facing the door. My brother and his boyfriend were coming up the walk, and we all had to sing Happy Birthday to his boyfriend while my dad stood there holding a cake for him.

I spent my birthday alone, and then had to sit and watch my family sit around together and celebrate someone else’s birthday over video chat.

That just totally broke me. Aside from being at work, I have been all alone except for ONE day when I hung out with my neighbour (shut up, we were already exposed to each other at work), which I most likely ruined in the end due to a stupid crush I was sure I was over. ONE day of social interaction in two months, while I have to sit here and watch everyone else celebrate things together. If that doesn’t lead to a full-blown meltdown in a person already on the edge of their sanity, nothing will.

Needless to say, my hair is now purple.

SO far I have started an outline for that book I want to write. I have done a few sketches, made a nice little Pollock-inspired piece for my walls, painted a few decorative boxes. But everything is still a mess, inside of my brain included. And with me starting up full-time at the new job again soon (while working weekends and odd nights at the store), I don’t know what’s going to become of my mental state.

This is a strange strange time, Sunshine.

This Wasn’t Even A Move From Hell….

Right before society just stopped everything, I moved into my new apartment. Me being me, I couldn’t just get a truck and move everything in one go. I had the movers take the furniture and heavier boxes, and then I moved everything else by car. I had the entire month of March to get it done, and I still probably forgot a few things there. I also still have a trunk full of random things from my final trip back to that house.

Now, I did it all this way for two reasons. One, I still had the entire month of March left on my lease. I didn’t see any point in rushing things if I had an entire month to get things done. The other reason was that moving things bit by bit allowed me time to figure out what I had, what I need, and figure out what’s most important to get first.

Well, it was a good plan to start. The Monday, the movers took my heavier things and I got possession of the apartment. I spent that first week moving as much of my things as possible with just my car. Friday, the newly lonely Bowser Kitten came to check out his new home. And on the Saturday, I had a friend over who helped me figure out some of the more important things I’ll need here (like a damn table).

The thing is, it’s a little hard to go out looking for a bargin and hitting up thrift stores when everything is closed. I have no tables, no art on my walls, no recycling bin, not even new bedding. Basically all I have is what I was able to grab at the dollar store before all this got so bad.

There’s always online shopping, but I dn’t want to do that for furniture or art. I already decided on some art I want to buy when this is all over (just need to find the time to sneak over and get it once everything is open again). And I love to find older furniture, maybe paint it or change it up a bit, make it my own.

Maybe I’m trying to make up for that, but I got in an online shopping spree the last few days. Bedding, doormat, crystals, lights, stickers (because I’m a grown-ass woman and can buy what I want), and art supplies. I know it won’t make up for the fact that I still have practically nothing here, and without tabels I really have no where for some of this stuff. But it’s a start, right?

How are you supposed to create a home in a new apartment, first time totally alone, not only on a strict budget, but while all the stores are closed?