July 4, 2018

Independence Day… There are so many things to consider. My political opinions and leanings aside, I would normally ignore today because I’m not that into fireworks, red, white, & blue cakes, themed parties, backyard BBQ’s, matching theme outfits, crowding onto the beach, and trying to figure out which restaurants are still open so I can order take out and sit in my house.

Except I’m REALLY into the last one. I ordered take out with two of my closest friends and while we shoved Thai food into our mouths, we sat inside in the AC and played Trivial Pursuit and Phase 10. I turned 80 last night, apparently. Who knew? But I really do love me some board games. And card games. (Competing gives me life!)

And then they left and it became hard again. It’s hard, man. Life is hard. Do you ever get through what you think is a good day – or as good a day as you can imagine – and then the sad thoughts creep back in and it crashes your day? That happens to me all the time. Like today. Friends, food, escape room, more food, laughter… Then they leave, and I listen to fireworks from my couch and think about the years I spent as a kid with my family and it has that nostalgic glow, that rose color that memories can take on, and I get deeply sad. Sadder than I was happy, it seems.

It can also happen when I think I’m having a good day and then something “bad” happens – anything from a driver flipping me off to someone telling me I’m doing a bad job at work to actual tragedies – and it crashes back down. Ever experienced that? It sucks. It’s too bad I can’t hang on to that good feeling the whole day. Like the entire day. Start to finish. Sunrise (10 AM when I wake up) to sunset (3 AM when I go to bed). Don’t get me wrong, there are lots of times when I get to live happy moments, but I look forward to the day that they are more than just moments. Wishful thinking…

Day 24 – Happy sad.

June 30, 2018

I did my best today. I left the house. That’s big, you guys. I took an actual shower with water and soap and everything. I washed my goddamn hair, people. It’s probably the most effort I’ve put into anything in a while.

I put on pants. Well, no, I put on a dress (that was actually a nightgown but I don’t think anyone could tell… or at least no one said anything, which is the same thing in my opinion). So I put on my sleepwear and some booties and I threw my hair in a bun (effort was done) and I walked out the door. Seriously the most I’ve done in a long time.

I got dinner with a few friends, but they refused to seat us at first because we didn’t have a reservation (they had more than 20 tables open – yes, I counted because I’m petty and then complained about it to my friends until they sat us because I’m really petty). We finally ordered, at which time they brought me the wrong food, then forgot my new order, then spilled coffee on me/the table, then charged us for drinks we didn’t buy, then told one of my friends there weren’t nuts in his dessert (he’s severely allergic) until he’d already eaten part of it, then they came back and said it did have nuts, did he want a different one NEVER MIND HE’S DYING – and still charged us for it.

I almost gave up then because I ALREADY DID SO MUCH but I’d told another friend I’d go to a birthday party with her. I went at 9 PM because I am not waiting in lines nor am I going out past midnight hello I’m not 20. So we got there and chatted before it got too loud to do anything other than say “what?” 1,000 times and pay too much money for watered down lime with ice. It was amazing, actually, to spend time with this friend. I felt like I’d made an alright choice…

Until the place filled up and I started sweating from all the nasty body heat and still the birthday girl wasn’t there and by the time she showed up THREE HOURS LATE – AT MIDNIGHT – I had done my due diligence so I left and had a nice chat with my Lyft driver on the way home. Honestly, I normally believe silence is the best policy in a ride share, but he was really cool plus I’d had such a social evening I figured I’d get it all out tonight so I don’t have to talk to anyone again for another month.

Day 20 – Saw other humans and was social. Big day.

June 25, 2018


The day has arrived. I am home with my mom. It is…really here. I am really here. This will be quite the week. But let’s start with what I told you I was going to look into –

Denial. I am beginning my grieving process at Denial, or so says the 5 Stages of Grief. Denial has been my constant survival technique. I know this step well. I am very comfortable here.

According to the always trustworthy Internets, the stage of Denial exists because it “helps us to survive the loss.” True, Internets. True. I have been on this stage for two years now.

I surprised my mom for her birthday. When I walked in through the garage door and into the kitchen, she jumped up and down and hugged me, then she pulled back and looked at me carefully, saying “I thought you’d at least do your hair.” (I had just done my hair for a wedding…it’s as “done” as it ever will be.) Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she has a lot of opinions. After I gave her a tolerant smile and said, “It’s nice to see you, too,” I pretended she didn’t say that. Denial.

I proceeded to eat some take out I found on the counter before she abruptly said, “It’s possible to have a real job, you know. You could still get a normal job. You could work. It is a possibility.” I ignored this, as well. Denial #2. After she said that, I started chewing on my nails because what else could I do? She immediately smacked my hand away from my mouth and said sarcastically, “well that’s attractive.” I told her that I didn’t care about being attractive, but she said that I should care and I should “stop cannibalizing myself.” I asked her, “then what am I supposed to do?” She didn’t have a good suggestion…

Then the opinions/questions/judgments progressed to “when are you getting married?” and “aren’t you going to have a wedding?” and “are you just going to end up alone?” And this was in the first hour and a half of being here. I told her I plan to end up with my dog. So, needless to say, it’s going well.

I don’t know why anyone moves on from this stage. Except my fingers hurt a lot from biting the nails down below the quick.

Day 15 – Denial is in full swing and also my mom

June 24, 2018

I ran into the bathroom to hide the fact that I was crying (I also had to pee). I stood up after a while, when I thought I was done (crying), and dropped the bottom of the long dress I was wearing right into the toilet. The only good thing about it was that it turned sad crying into tears of “of course I did this” and “why am I always so myself.”

When I left the bathroom, I was asked if I wanted to change. Apparently the toilet-dress combo was obvious. I declined because I was rocking that dress before and I would rock it after. Also, I don’t have any class or standards. Just stay upwind of me.

I am doing a terrible job of grieving. Someone told me today that I’m just coping, not actually dealing. I thought I was dealing. I thought I was 14 days into the grieving process. He told me I am skating along, coping, firmly in denial. I denied this. But in the dark of night (while watching TV alone), I’ve thought about this and realized that maybe I am. Tomorrow I will look up the 5 Stages of Grief (I’m sure you all know them, but I don’t, so whatever) and I will see if I can actually move through them.

I’m just afraid that if I grieve, it means I’ve moved on from the person. And I will never, ever move on from them. I will never, ever be the same again. I know I’m supposed to go through the grieving process, but I don’t know why.

I also lost $300 in a casino, got puked on by a drunk guy waiting to get on a school bus, fought with someone about a hypothetical scenario so loudly we were hushed by the DJ, spilled a drink on myself, ripped the dress I’d rented, and got a bad sunburn on my elbow. An overall successful wedding I would say.

Day 14 – Haven’t grieved yet, dropped my dress in my own pee.

June 14, 2018

I wrote a story for the first time in a long time today. No, not a story. The beginnings of a musical. That was cathartic. I haven’t felt that good in a very long time. I also wrote some comedy, but it wasn’t funny. Sort of defeats the purpose, I guess. I tried to make it funny, but then I just ended up rambling about nothing – story of my life – and instead just saved the document as it was and went to get a coffee. Like any dumb Millennial, I buy my coffee at $6/cup instead of making it at home.

I’ll tell you a little story about something that happened today. I hate purses, so I carry everything in my hands, pockets, or sometimes a backpack. I don’t have anything to carry my stuff in today, so when I walk my dog, I have my keys, wallet, phone, headphones, leash, water bottle, sandwich – you don’t bring a sandwich with you on a walk? Weird – in my hands. My dog, Emma, decides that she doesn’t want to walk like a normal dog, she wants to sprint ahead, and then stop suddenly and pull both of us backward into a plant to smell pee (her) and trip over the sidewalk (me). But I jump ahead…

So. I have my hands full, literally. We’ve made it out the door and down the steps without a problem. I immediately start thinking how impressive I am for having successfully navigated that. We get a little way down the street without a problem before Emma yanks me backward. I trip trying to catch up with her and run smack into another dog owner, who thinks I’m just being friendly and proceeds to let his dog sniff mine as she tries to pee while telling me that he just “found this dog on Thursday” and he “seems friendly.” This “friendly” dog keeps knocking Emma over with his nose. After the third time, I make up an excuse to leave, but he and his dog just follow me. So now I speed walk away without trying to make it obvious, which I’m sure I do. But Emma takes this moment to stop suddenly and pull me backward again into the bushes. I trip a second time. She looks up at me, MAKING EYE CONTACT, as she squats and starts to poop. You’ll remember that I have my hands full. I wait for her to finish. As soon as she does, she pulls at the leash back toward that guy’s dog while I simultaneously try to get a poop bag out of the container attached to her leash. When she yanks at the leash and because my hands are busy trying to get a bag, I bumble a bunch of my stuff and drop EVERYTHING smack dab into the fresh poop. Phone. Headphones. Keys. Worst of all, sandwich. It’s all poop. Everything is poop.

The guy with the friendly dog helped me separate my stuff from Emma’s stuff and clean it off. I may have been wrong about him…

I grieved the sandwich. Does that count? Baby steps?