Day Two: Out there

I don’t like to jinx things, at all, but I just wanted to say, as a public statement to the universe, that I would really love for something wonderful to happen for my birthday, just this one time.

If not, I’ll know there’s something else in line for me, somewhere down the line, but hey, a girl can ask.

Day 1: Am I Nuts?

There has been a sharp drop in posting on this blog. I’ve been busy, I haven’t had much to say, and honestly, I’ve been okay with that.

This month is NaBloPoMo AND NaNoWriMo for me. Yes, I know, crazy, right? Not really. My logic is that, since I’ll spend most of my day in a caffeine-induced stupor, contemplating the ellipse in the third paragraph, it’ll be nice to have a place to release all of the other debris that collects in the corners of my mind.

My goal this month?

Win both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo and the internet.

Wish me luck!

To the Hills

So, about this moving thing. It’s not that complicated. It’s something that, personally, has been a long time coming. No one is forcing us to move (not like last year around this time, thank the gods, that was so much stress) but we’re not really packing our boxes and house hunting. Here’s the deal.

I’ve never felt like I truly belonged in Austin, the city I was born and raised in. I had hoped to escape when I started college, moving to the north where the seasons actually changed and cold could be felt in October. I planned to apply to colleges along the eastern seaboard as well as the University of Washington. I wanted cold, I wanted rain. When the whole “moving away to college” thing fell through, Fil moving here and such, I decided that staying in Austin was best for our family. Monster wouldn’t have to readjust to a new city again, he would have grandparents and great-grandparents who adore him, and cousins to play with during vacations and weekends. It was perfect, I guess.

It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I am not happy here. I’m going about my life, waking up early on the week days, getting ready, taking Monster to school, going to work, coming home, doing the dishes, reading a book, taking a shower, going to bed. I’m doing the same thing every day, every weekend I spend with my best friend (which is a nice respite, I must add), every weeknight I try to catch shows I use as an escape. I’m miserable. I know a large part of that is the difficulties I face every day, my partner is still battling cancer, which seems to be winning more every day, and the stress of working a full time job, being a full time care giver, and taking care of a 12 year old boy is getting to me. I feel my body weak with exhaustion, but I just keep plowing forward. I also know that part of this comes from my home.

I will always say I’m a city girl with small town inclinations. I love the city, correction, I love my city. I can’t stand any where that’s bigger – Pittsburgh, Chicago, New York, especially New York. But, I feel like I’m suffocating. My urge to flee the city for the refuge of a quiet, clean country life is intense, and that is never good, in my opinion. Most days, my dreams of living in the quiet of a Pennsylvanian forest are so intense, I have to force myself to read a book so I can get my mind off of the real urge to escape.

I’ve worked this over in my head, moving out of the only state I’ve lived in, moving so far from my loving family, from my only close friend, from familiar streets and the throbbing pulse of a city I know so well. I would miss the great expanse of the blue Texas sky. I would miss languishing on the porch in late September, the luxury of a faintly cool breeze and a cold soda the only company I need. I would miss the soothing sound of cicadas and crickets that herald in the summer every year.

But, I would miss my mother and my father the most. The two people who will always love me the most, no matter where I am, who I’m with, or what I’m doing. The thought of leaving them for college made me sick with worry. I cried some nights, the stress of school, planning for my future, and leaving everything I knew behind, made me twist with agony. Some nights, when I think of moving to Massachusetts or Pennsylvania, I get so emotional I almost start to cry. Is that immature, to be so unsure of walking away from your first family, to find a better life for your new family? I want my children to grow up with grandparents who are there for them, who love them and aid in their growth as people. I want my son to learn how to shave from my dad and watch my mom teach my kids the secret family bean recipe. I don’t know how I would cope with parenting my children if we were on our own. I could manage, of course, but my parents have already played a huge part in Monster’s adolescent life, and he loves them so much. How hard will it be to rip him away from the first real grandparents he’s had, how hard will it be on my parents to say goodbye to their first grandson? Are these things I should even contemplate?

And then there are the other worries, will any other place feel like home? How hard will it be to continue our vegetarian lifestyle? How do they feel about urban farms? What is the stance on gay marriage? Could I actually be with my partner on paper, not just in our hearts? Would it be harder or easier to start expanding our family?

These are just thoughts, questions, bursts of drama from my brain. We’re in no shape to move out of the state yet. I want Fil to be cancer free, or at least in remission, before we do anything drastic. We would need to move somewhere she could have an oncologist on the books, as well as a pain management specialist, rheumatologist, and a great primary care doctor who is gay friendly. I would need to have my transcription certificate and a job that is not tethered to one location, or a for-sure job in our chosen city. We would need to save so much money, thousands more than what we saved to move a grand total of 20 miles south. We’d need to sell our furniture (the big stuff) and save enough to refurnish a new apartment or rental home, as well. It’d have to be during a time that Monster isn’t in school. I won’t do that to him again, make him pick up in the middle of the school year. It would all be so delicate, hinging on the kindness of my family and our mutual dedication to relocating our family for the last time – because, whether we say it aloud or not, this would be our first and last big move as a family. We may move houses, but if we pack up and leave Texas, we won’t be looking back.

This clearly isn’t on the books for next month, or even next year. It will take a while for Fil to get healthy, it’ll take at least a year (come January) for me to finish my certificate program. And then there’s the whole fact that we haven’t really talked about this, I just loaded it all onto Fil’s shoulders – via text! go me! – and she simply said “It’s up to you.” Because it is up to me. I’m the one who would be saying goodbye to everything and everyone I know. I would be making the toughest choice (yes, more difficult than moving out of my parents’ house, dropping out of college, staying with Fil through cancer – those were a piece of cake!) of my life. I know Fil wants to leave. She gets distant and dreamy when you mention Massachusetts, thinking of crisp autumn days and bearable summers.

I can’t say I blame her.

Change change

I might be moving. Not blogs. Not hosting sites. Not to my own domain. Physically. Not to another house, or another city, but another state.

More on these confusing, tangled emotions later.

Silence Breaker

I had to break my silence for this. What a beautiful way to end my day. First California, next the U.S. A girl can hope.

Unnecessary

A habit of mine, picked up in childhood I’m sure, is to always have a reason. I say reason instead of excuse because, I’d say, about 95% of my excuses are actual reasons. I.E. “I can’t pay the full amount of rent on the 1st because I don’t make enough to cover that and my past-due cable bill.” When I was a kid, maybe 40% were valid, 20% were to shimmy out of “things” for another reason (like, going to a pool party on my period, or not going to a sleepover in favour of, say, a Charmed marathon) and the other 30% were just outright lies. “I’m sorry I was late, my car broke down,” when I simply over-slept or forgot.

I don’t like to burden blame. I fully believe this to be one of those pesky human conditions, so I try not to worry to much on the fact that I do do it, and more on stopping.

One instance is, for example, with state assistance. Not with the people at state assistance, but when referencing a low-income status that has been validated by the state. For example, today I had to call about summer school for Monster (story for another post) and was fully prepared to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Monster deserves some discount since he receives free lunch and is on state assisted medical care. And I was ready to wave his Medicaid forms in their faces, if need be. I didn’t seem to realize that there was no need. I didn’t have to explain to some phone jockey why we can’t pay the exorbitant fee for summer school when we can’t really even afford gas. She flat out said, “hun, there’s no need to explain yourself, we understand.”

These things always knock me off my feet. I suppose I forget that there are probably hundreds of parents who have no money and are on welfare that have to enroll their kids in summer school. These parents probably have the same concerns about prices, and will their kid get fed? The school district probably braces for these questions, and someone nearby always has the right answer.

So, why do I feel the need to justify and anonymous inquiry? Guilt. I feel guilty for asking, for taking up someone’s time. I feel ashamed of being poor and having to beg for handouts. I feel like a terrible mother because I cringe at paying full price for summer school, which my kid needs to move to 7th grade.

My biggest concern is how do I change this? How do I stop explaining myself to others when it’s my knee jerk reaction?

I think my first step is to stop blaming myself for everything. I need to remember that I’m doing everything I can to keep our family afloat and there’s nothing more that I can do, miracles aside, to help our situation. Secondly, I need to learn and review situations. It’s not the end of the world if I’m late to a friend’s birthday, so there’s no reason for an excuse, just a “Sorry I’m late, happy birthday!” However, being late to work definitely warrants an excuse. And so on and so forth.

I guess the biggest thing I should take away from all of this introspection is that I have to relax. There are far too many triggers in my life, far too much stress. (That, if you care to know, has caused a 19 day lapse in my cycle. Jerks.) Knowing that, I still have no idea HOW to let go. But, I’m getting there.

Finding the Words

For the first time in many months I have found myself dreaming of a baby. It’s been a while since I’ve discussed TTC, at length or in seriousness. It’s mostly frivilous girly chirping with my best friend, usually as we coo over knitting patterns for baby booties and such. And then, this weekend.

I went down to the Greenbelt with the above mentioned friend. We waded through bone chilling water, watched dogs frolick in the foam and skipped rocks along the glassy surface. We sunbathed on a rock that jettied out from the river bank and I burnt my poor shoulders and calves to a lobster-y colour. Rather than retreat to the BF’s house, we trugged onto the mall. Our last stop in said mall was at Janie & Jack, the most horrible, evil store any mall could have. I felt little parts of my heart wither and die as we cooed over gorgeous girly dresses and painfully cute boyish jumpers. I suppose that was enough to force my sun stoned brain into dreaming of babies, of pregnancy, of a little life Fil and I forge within my body.

It’s hard to come to terms with the realization that my heart is not willing to move on from TTC. My brain rationalizes, tells my heart what everyone knows to be fact – we’re too poor, our relationship is not strong enough, we don’t have the room, what about insurance. My body protests, saying that it’s not ready, not strong enough or healthy enough yet. And my heart… well, she just keeps dreaming of tiny wrinkled feet.

I have mastered the art of pretending not to care. Of never speaking about babies to Fil – I simply gush in the general direction of my best friend, who reciprocates with so much excitement it’s almost shocking. I wonder if I were to bury this for so long, would I forget that the desire even exists?

Maybe this is all due to the sun, which has made me a very sick Att.



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