First, a disclaimer. The day was not entirely horrible. My co-author, Melva, sent a delightful card, and the lovely and talented Sue Ann Porter and Mr. Porter took me to dinner at a cozy pub. We almost left a few times before our food arrived, but we are glad that we stayed. I had a bleu cheeseburger and we all shared an order of hot Bavarian pretzels. They made me get cake.
What Sue Ann didn’t know is that I had been writing in my journal earlier that if Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate were still here, I would have gone to Red Robin for their fondue burger, basically a burger between a pretzelly bun, with cheese sauce for dipping, and that’s basically what I got, at a new to me local place. I still felt the loss, but being with friends and being celebrated was very much welcome.
Gentle Readers, this might be a good time to go get a snack and pet a furbaby. This is where we get to the crappy part. Sue Ann is also helping me navigate the job search, which I greatly appreciate. Thanks to the library system and Libby app, I get to listen to audiobooks when I can’t access internet at home. That part is super hard, as I am the sort of neurospicy that needs voices so I don’t feel abandoned. Since I currently live alone with Storm, that is pretty much all the time. I miss playing Sims, both 3 and 4. Honestly, also 2, since I technically have that game on an old computer. I am chomping at the bit to watch the new A Different World and King of the Hill, but no internet means no streaming, and your gal is feeling it right now.
Once I am working, those things will come back. Right now, I am mostly surviving and that is not comfortable or easy, but it is where I am, and I need to find a way to deal with that. Basically everything I need to do depends on three other things I need to do first, which need the other thing done first, and I have really had it with this part of life.
I am completely over the storage units. I imagine myself throwing journaling supplies at our library’s maker space because I have become highly emotionally allergic to clutter and I want stuff GONE, and GONE NOW and the “but you could sell that” people are welcome to sell it for me and take their cut. I am one bad day away from becoming a minimalist. Storm stays. My favorite things stay. The rest, GTFO. I’m serious. What the FLUFF did I accumulate all this stuff for? Do not answer that question.
Okay, time to put something less grimdark in here, because I am walking that edge. I did not authorize turning sixty. Nor being single 2.0. Where, exactly, am I supposed to meet men when my entire life is damage control and frantically treading metaphorical water? I will confess to turning to the empty chair next to me when out with the Porters and asking an absent RLRH his opinion of this or that. Knowing him well enough, I can guess, but it would have been nice to have the input. Storm has strong opinions about the current bed arrangements and I can only do so much in one day, so it’s not as much falling asleep ss flipping a coin over whether it will be a stressy sleepless night or total central nervous system collapse.
Overall, I do not recommend widowhood or friends being dead, especially when they were the account holders for important things like leases and utilities. Good things, though. There have to be some. I have learned I can make a mean chili dog for pennies, which is good, because reference the job hunt thing above. I may see if the same thing works with meat sauce (the NY kind, not the marinara kind. They are different, and only one belongs on hot dogs.) There is a new Nicotine Dolls album. It is almost Halloween, which means almost November first, aka discounted spooky everything day. I am not so much shopping this year as reverse shopping. Come close enough to me and I will make you take stuff. Seriously. I will. I have done it before. Nobody is safe. I am thisclose to handing things out on street corners.
Yeah, this is not a chipper post. I am not a chipper person right now. I am thankful for libraries, for Panera, for public transport. I am also lonely and frightened and depressed and anxious most of the time. Melva asked on our weekly chat, if I am writing. Yes? It’s hard and it’s the only thing keeping me as sane as I am. Sane-ish. I poked Her Last First Kiss with a stick. Melva suggested I work on Discovery Draft, a contemporary romance inspired by current personal events. I journal. A lot. Like more than usual. I am not looking forward to the holiday season, but it’s coming whether I want it or not, so may as well roll with the punches. Housemate said this year we were going to go all out, to make up for the hell of last year’s holidays, and she was right in a way. She did go all out. Of everything, dying in August. Honestly, 2027 has to be better merely because the bar is in hell. I do not say that lightly.
Final attempt to bring this around somewhere good, and that’s the reason I am talking about this part of my life the way I am. I don’t want grief to have to be hidden. I don’t want to have to swallow the unpleasant stuff because it might make somebody else uncomfortable. I do not owe anybody that. Grief and anxiety and lossnd depression and PTSD and CPTSD are real and part of life for many of us. If the are not part of your life, I am glad, but they are part of the life of somebody you know, maybe love. If you can’t think of anyone, hi. My name is Anna. Life stinks right now. Sometimes, hanging on is hard. I am done being quiet about it. Going into a holiday season filled with death anniversaries, illness and accident milestones, and a quiet apartment that used to have conversations and clatter (not clutter!) and friendship and family is hard. Every day is hard. Storm has decided that the best way to respond to a crying me is to bite my elbows. I do not want to investigate her motivations. If I am talking while crying, she wants to headbutt my mouth. Specifically my mouth. She’s a good girl.
How’s your week going?
