Monday, July 6, 2015

Dealing With It

There are things that are not going spectacularly well at the moment.

Part of me thinks that's okay. This is the more enlightened part of my brain, the part that really and truly believes in the lesson and the journey and is saying encouraging things like, this is teaching you how to be a better human being and you are really discovering where you live... Where you do your real living... Right now. Right in this moment! and this is such an opportunity for you to grow as a person!

Thise are all true and accurate things.

Another part of me thinks the previously mentioned part is an unrealistic asshole and that I should clearly eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's so as to distract myself from feeling things and then take about one hundred and seven naps.

Things are okay. They will be okay. There is just a thing that is going backwards when I want it to go forwards and I'm frustrated and depressed and anxious and I'm letting it eat up my waking hours and devour my sleeping ones. I'm being hard to live with because I have this giant bag of unhappy, don't know what to do that I am lugging around with me.

I guess I have to be patient and open and willing to talk and willing to listen. I need to let The Fella help me. I need to accept hugs and open ears and open my own heart a little more.

It's just hard.

Sunday, July 5, 2015


There are friendships that happen all of a sudden. One moment you're driving along alone, singing with the radio all by yourself, and the next you have a partner in crime riding shotgun. It's not planned. You didn't intend to pick up a buddy. It just happens.

Sometimes, just as rapidly, your co-conspirator finds that this ride, in this car, doesn't work anymore. The periods between songs are filled with tense silence.

You try. You try to fill the uncomfortable quiet with stories and "remember that time" and "what if we" but the truth is that while you're talking, your friend is looking at a phone or a map and thinking of the places that might be more enjoyable; she's telling you that you're going the wrong way, reminding you that you're a terrible driver and need to make different, better, friend approved choices. Like the ones she would make if only control of the wheel belonged to her.

That's when you realize that you do have a choice, but it's not the one that your friend means. Your choice is to keep talking and trying and hoping that something will change and things will go back to being the way they were, or you can stop at a convenience store and fill a bag with things you think she's going to need and then let her go with some grace.

Because the truth is that she's not always right and you're not always wrong. The truth is that it's not that either of you didn't try as hard as you knew how, you were just trying in different directions. She stopped understanding why you always drive exactly five miles over the speed limit and you stopped being okay with the way that she fussed with the radio.

The truth is that letting someone go doesn't negate the good times you had. It doesn't take away from what your friendship was. Letting someone go -- with grace, with kindness -- preserves those times and keeps harshness and bitterness from destroying everything.

So you pull over.

Your friend reaches for the door.

And you let her go.

Friday, July 3, 2015



"They're so sweet they make my teeth hurt. That's why I can't eat them. Like, um, oh! Cadbury Creme Eggs!"

"Blearrgh no! Gak! I hate those!"

"Seriously, you have no idea how much I love you just for that."


"He keeps saying I remind him of the blue haired fairy in the Sparkle commercials."

"Let's think about this: slightly manic? Unusual hair shade? Obsession with cleaning?"


"Yes, the comparison mystifies me as well. Doofus."


"And that's when I realized that maybe he was being a dick because, well, he is a dick."

"So the dickery wasn't aimed at you, specifically."

"Right! He just suffers from general and pervasive assholery!"


"I need to return this product."

"And the reason would be?"

"It makes me sad."

"Excuse me?"

"Looking at it makes me sad."

"So there's nothing ... Um ... Wrong with it?"


"Ooooookkkkaaaaayyyyy... I ... Um. Feeling sad upon observation of item isn't a reason I can accept a return. But, uh, I hope you feel better soon?"

"Ooooooh! Pretty dress is pretty!"

"It's purple."

"So pretty!"

"You only wear black, white, and grey, unless we're talking Chucks."

"Pre-- oh. Yeah, that's true. I would never ever wear that."

"You could try it if you wanted. You clearly like it."

"Maybe I could just get some purple socks and see how that goes."

"Baby steps."

"Purple ones."

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Fight, Part Two

So here’s what happened.

1.       I managed to keep my cool. (translation: though emotional, I did not cry. VICTORY)

2.       I stated my case well.

3.       I was able to get the person with whom I was speaking to understand my point of view.

What will the outcome be? I don’t know, exactly. It’s too soon to tell.

Here’s what I do know:

It’s easier for me to advocate for and stick up for others than it is for me to do it for myself. I will be FIERCE on behalf of other people and silent on my own behalf.

That needs to stop. I mean, I guess it did stop, sorta, but it needs to continue to stay stopped.  You can’t count on other people to recognize what’s important to you if you don’t talk about it. You can’t expect anyone to swoop in and save your day if you’re not at least making an effort to save it yourself.

I don’t know if I saved the day, but I know I didn’t NOT save it.

That’s something.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


I have to have an unpleasant conversation today. I was up all night thinking about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it, and convincing myself of how important it was that this happen.

As I drove into work I could feel my resolve slipping away.

I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to advocate for myself. You can’t expect someone else to announce your awesomeness to the room as you enter it, like some kind of herald. (Although that would be the coolest: “And now entering: Her Yellieness, the Magnificent!”)

The first person who stands up for you needs to be you.

It’s just so stupidly hard.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Teeny. Tiny... Oh, Wait.

I'm obsessed intrigued by the tiny house movement for a number of reasons.

First: everything is cuter when it's little. Think about it. Baby critters. Tiny stuffed animals and toys. Cupcakes. Baby shoes. The smaller the more adorable. Even teeny spiders somehow manage to be cute. I'll still squish 'em, but they're cute. Tiny houses are SO CUTE.

Second: I like the notion of scaling back and having less. (Except for books, but I'll get to that in a minute.) I like the idea of taking up less space and trying to meet your needs in a way that makes sense and is sustainable instead of surrounding yourself with ALL OF THE THINGS.

(Again, unless the things are books. Because you should totally surround yourself with books.)

Third: Cleaning it would be a snap. It's a tiny house! How dirty could it get?

I keep seeing teeny, tiny, minuscule, incredibly awesome houses on social media, and I keep thinking:    I want one.

And to be honest? I think the Fella and I could pull it off. Our apartment is teeeeeeensy (studio! One room!) and has one functional closet and we're making this work. We could completely live in a tiny, sweet, cozy little house.

Well, we mostly could live in a tiny house. We would just have one, not insignificant problem.

The books.

I know what you're thinking: Just get an e-reader!

We have e-readers.

We have two, in fact.

And yet, despite that, we also have seven shelves full of books in the house and about eleven crates and bins of them in storage. (There are also several shopping bags in there that I suspect hold books, but at this point I'm afraid to look, because I think that might mean that we have the kind of problem that calls for a twelve-step program and anonymous meetings that ABSOLUTELY cannot be held in libraries.)

Our love of books is a speed bump on my personal tiny house highway, but despite this, I don't -- we don't -- stop getting books. We're book people, you see. We love them. We need to be around them. We need to be able to see and touch and open them.

I'll figure this out at some point. I will.

And when I do? The tiny house will have a not-so-tiny library.

Friday, June 26, 2015

If You're Feeling Alone

You're not alone.

I've been where you are. There has been more than one time in my life when I didn't know how to say that things were fucked up and that I was lost, and afraid, and that I wanted to hurt myself because I didn't know how to cope with the pain that simply waking up in the morning caused.

You are NOT alone.

My friends -- who are wonderful people -- kept holding out their hands and begging me to take them. Come on, they said. We've got you. Come on.  Sometimes I was able to grab hold and they would pull me close. Okay, it's okay, they said, we're right here. You're not alone.

Neither are you.

I know sometimes it feels like you are. I know sometimes those outstretched hands seem impossibly far away. But I also know this:

I will never stop reaching out to you. I will never not love you. I will never, ever, not hold on if there's a moment when you wrap your fingers around mine. If you need me? I will be there for you. If you want to talk, I have ears to listen. If you want to sit quietly, I have a chair. If you need a hug, I will offer you my arms. If you need a drink, I'm buying. Whatever you need.

You are not alone.

What I learned, what I know, is that an offered hand is the most valuable thing in the world. That feeling alone is not the same as being alone.

I am here. My hand is outstretched.

You are not alone.