December 25, 2017: My -0 Birthday

Tomorrow we’ll be six months away from my -0 birthday.  You know that birthday where I finally turn ummm… another year older-ish-esque! Happy Birthday to Me?

You’re probably wondering: 1) Why do I need to worry about it now, and 2) wait, if she’s writing about it, does that mean it’s another present grab? Dear Lord, is she three? I get it. You were born on Christmas. Bummer for you. I’ve got a family to think of! I’m out of town!

Well, 1) if Hobby Lobby can have Christmas stuff out already, then I’m actually a little behind in mentioning it, and 2) YES! You guessed it! It IS a present grab. You’re a good guesser! Also, I’d like to point out that you can see your family any time. I only turn -0 once! (…a decade. Err… bygones.) Go ahead and book your flights. No, book them to Austin. Why do you have to act this way?

So, remember 10 years ago? That other -0 birthday? There was you, me, some other people, and someone MAY have had a dramatic boo-hoo? Then someone’s friend had to hold up each subsequent present and grill the giver with a, “is this going to make her cry?” only handing the gift over only if she was assured, “ummm no? I don’t think so?” Remember? The birthday girl then gave that amazing speech (ok, that was a test – if you’re claiming there was a speech, then you’re now just pretending to have been there, and the bobbing of your head in agreement with all of my words right now is kind of hurtful. Way to be hurtful. This is why I actually cried.)

So, this birthday will be a repeat of the one held 10 years ago – same restaurant (maybe) – same rules. I’m going to ask for something that represents you. If you’ll recall the previous -0 birthday, I received an assortment of stories, photos, poems, comics, drawings, homemade bread, and CDs. I loved all of them, and I’ve saved each item, because it’s a tiny time capsule of who you all were 10 years ago. Ok, I lied. I didn’t save all of them. I totally ate the bread. Hey, it’s not fruitcake people. It wouldn’t have lasted. Don’t judge me. What if I “promise” (no reason for the quotes, nope – move along) not to devour any more presents (well, unless that’s what they’re intended for)? Fine. What if I just promise to try? We good?

Loot

Anyway, back to the present grab. This can be anything at all as long as it’s an expression of you.  It should be something that when I look at it, I see my amazing friend, or my beautiful family member – an item that says something about you in this moment in time.

The reason I’m announcing my request so early is to give you plenty of time to think. You guys are rather think-y sorts.

A quick note: There will be only one person whom I’ll ask for something very specific – the rest of you can go nuts – for that person it’s an idea I want them to play with (see quote below). (Anyone else is welcome to play off of this, too if you really want – create a picture of you? you in warrior garb? a sketch? a puppet? finger paints? whatever inspires you when you read it, but that also represents you).

Fate whispers to the warrior, ‘You cannot withstand the storm.’
The warrior whispers back, ‘I am the storm.’

I’m going to shoot for the weekend of December 16th (which is also my beautiful niece’s birthday, and I will be mindful of that so it may  be Sunday the 17th).

Oh, and before I run off. This blog post also serves as the even earlier announcement for my upcoming reverse quinceañera in a year and a half – so, start thinking about your hoop skirted dresses, your perfect tiara, and of course your sari, because Bollywood style dance, y’all! (I feel the “y’all” really sets that sentence off. Wow, I think my Dallas is showing.) I already have a fabulous stylist I’ll be coordinating with (thank you, Mere!), and think Beth + hair extensions. I KNOW! FABULOUS! (That was the adjective you chose, right? RIGHT?!?!?! Again, HURTFUL!)

I look forward to seeing you guys there. Here’s to another decade with you amazing people. I’m looking forward to many more!

 

An Anniversary


Anniversary Card 2016

How long were you married?
Nine years.
Oh.
But we were together almost 17…
OH!

As if the length of time is a measurement of how much sympathy a person should garner. “She only knew him 1/5 of her life – one can hardly form attachments in such a short span. Oh, about 1/3 you say? How very sad. That explains the tears.”

Just a friendly reminder that when dealing with the bereaved, empathize if you can, sympathize if you’re not a sociopath and have an IQ over 30, but don’t ask how long the deceased was known. In fact, don’t ask about the relationship. Loss for a first cousin once removed may be just as sad as an aunt, a nephew, or a brother. I’ll also throw in, don’t ask how it happened, because you’re not a ghoul and this isn’t your wreck to rubber neck. You’ll know if you need to know.

This has been your latest installment of: How to Deal with Death

Today is my anniversary. My first anniversary without Jay.

Ten years ago today we were in Las Vegas – me in an overly feathered top, and Jay dressed like he walked off the set of Miami Vice. Hey, it was Vegas, baby! We’d dressed for the occasion. A few friends had joined us – Kendra, Jeff, Lynn (Ravenhex), Jen (Aunt Mahgs), Harry (Uncle Fel) and he who shall not be named out of fear of one of my guests. April had been headed that way, but the car gods were apparently angered. It was one of those beautiful and great days. A ridiculous day, as we started out at Quark’s being teased by a Klingon and were carried off to some Elvis chapel where apparently some of our other friends have been married (forget Bon Jovi – who cares? Meredith and Jerin where there once! I think Brandi and Ed were, too!).

Jay’s family weren’t told about the wedding where mine were. Jay had said he wanted to “elope”. I asked him about that decision at the time, and then later. It’s something I still don’t understand and can only offer that I think he liked the idea of “eloping” despite us having my friends there and despite my family also knowing.

Jay kept many things to himself, and he didn’t always explain himself. You just had to accept that it was a Jay thing.

Just a few thoughts I wanted to share on this day – my take away from being with Jay for nine or 17 years, depending on how you want to consider it…

Love isn’t always neat. It’s not a movie. It’s sometimes inconvenient and hard. Sometimes you have to fight for it. You have to take risks. Sometimes you have to yell when you’re being told your relationship isn’t ok in someone else’s eyes. Always keep in mind it’s not about them; it’s about the two of you. When you know it’s right, it’s something to fight for – to strive towards.

I met Jay at the worst time, but he was worth every risk I took, the sacrifices I made, and the lines in the sand I drew. He was worth every verbal scrap I got into. I knew he was the one. That he would love me absolutely despite a mountain of flaws, which he did.

Today I want to challenge you that when it comes to love take risks where you can. Remember, you only have one life. Live it deliberately. Worry less about the noise from others around you especially if they’re holding you back. You get to decide. If what you want is inconvenient for someone else, isn’t harming anyone, and they’re preventing you from moving forward, well too bad – screw them and screw that. Your life isn’t about them. Your happiness is not about them. Live for you. You only get this one life, this one shot. You are responsible for your happiness. Know and believe that you absolutely deserve to love and to be loved. Who cares what other people thing? What do you think?

Today I challenge you to love someone. Let them love you back.

Happy Anniversary to my best-friend, my love, and my favorite person. You were worth it.

(Disclaimer: Relationship risk advice excludes taking those risks with anyone who is related by blood, anyone whose spouse might have an uncontrolled anger issue and who also possesses firearms or is related to/belongs to a “club” with anyone like that (unless you can counter with court orders/law enforcement), anyone who dresses in a onesie whose last name ends (begins) in “Kim”, and anything involving animals. Basically, if you can be arrested for it, you shouldn’t do it. However, mirrors are ok. Go on and freely love yourself, you narcissistic little monkey!)

My Private Island

I’ve mentioned this before, and that is if you ask me to estimate how many people read my blog without thinking I would honestly say around 10-12. I’ve recited that figure on numerous occasion, because 1) I can’t imagine anyone outside of those 10-12 people (friends and family) whom I’ve bullied into reading my blog would be interested in reading it, and 2) truthfully, only having a few readers is a little liberating, and it kind of allows me to be a bit self-deprecating.  I have permission to express things more freely.  Hey, I’m only writing for friends. And it allows me a neat excuse when I’m outted as a blogger who doesn’t have the notoriety of say a Patton Oswald (or any number of bloggers).  “Well, really only a few friends and family follow me, it’s not a big deal.”

Ostensibly, I post as a way to practice writing since language is not my strength.  Growing up, I was the toddler that hit or destroyed things while my more precocious relative of an equal age bedazzled the adults with words.  I would often hear, “why can’t you be more like him?” as I grew up. This probably lead to more hitting of the things and a fair amount of stink-eye. Writing helps me compose my thoughts and use my words, which is especially good on days where I’m actively trying to set fire to things with my mind. Through my blog I get to post my ramblings, my rants, ridiculous anecdotes, and my heartbreak – noise inside the brain of an extremely ordinary person. I also use my posts as a way to send mass letters to friends an family announcing, “this is where I’m at right now. This is who I am right now.”

Having only a handful of readers also takes away a certain measure of accountability, “hey, only 10-12 people will read this so it’s ok if I lose my mind over some issue.” This false belief has lead to some carelessness on my part. There’s nothing more humbling than being told, “I read your blog,” wait, what??? “and I only realized how affected you were by something that was said when you wrote a particular rant” (paraphrased a ton) by someone whom you didn’t realize knew you had a blog, and whose dear friend it was  you wrote a scathing piece about. Err… whoops. Not my finest moment.  Or you get an email from your Jr. High bully asking, “hey, is that me? Oh yeah, I remember you now” where you learn a lesson in the power of the internet, and why using full names maybe wasn’t your finest moment.  These experiences have made me more keenly aware that this isn’t my private island of 10, though I admit it more often than not still feels that way.

Someone recently told me in regard to this space, “you don’t know how your words affect people” which was extremely humbling. So, this is a shout-out and a thank you to all of those other readers whom I sometimes forget I have.  To Melissa, Jenn, Heather (you are strong, and amazing – though we haven’t met, I hope you know I think you’re great; I believe in you), Drew, Jerry, Jim, Julie, Heather B., Denise, Roanna and David (actual gifted writers), Lynn, Tori, Gail, and Irina (thank you for keeping me sane in the real world and for allowing Buddy to talk politics openly – sorry about Marine le Pen, Buddy). To Brandi who is one of the toughest people I know with a heart of pure gold, and Meredith who makes me laugh more than she knows. To Lori (I believe in you, too. You got this.)  To Karen (I may not always comment, but I enjoy everything you write). And to Dale, you’re a PITA, but you’ve kept me grounded through some dark times (by being a PITA – I think that’s your secret).  To the 10ish: Anna, Jonathan, Dad, Charla, Seth, April, Aunt Philis, Kim, Tony, HRH DeAnne, Kati, and Shari – you’re troopers to survive all the years of my blog nonsense, and for encouraging me (and for once asking me about t-shirts – I did look into it, but the image was too small to work with).  To everyone else who follows me along this bumpy ride of life, I may not know your name, but I appreciate you and thank you.  And to Scott and Carolyn,  whom I miss more than words could ever express – thank you for your encouragement – for suggesting I was funny, for cheering me on all those years. This world is a little less bright without your beautiful and gentle light.

All of you make for one amazing set of 10 on this island of mine.

An Introvert Walks into a Conference

I joined the board of a professional organization, which I mention only as a way to explain why I went out of town this weekend.  First, let me start with a story of personal disappointment.  I had my ticket to Galaxy Quest Vol. 2. I had it for over a month, and when I heard I had to give up said ticket to dress like I was going to work over an entire weekend, and sleep on an uncomfy bed in a haunted hotel my brain nearly imploded.  Suddenly GotG vol. 2 (yes, I’m way too lazy to retype the title, and too lazy to cut and paste; however, I’m apparently not too lazy to type all these words explaining it) became THE most important thing I ever wanted to see. Two things had to happen once I heard that news: 1) I had to convince myself this was not a meltdown worthy event (every disappointment post Jay’s death teeters on being meltdown worthy, and many tears have been shed over some very small things), and 2) I had to not actively stink-eye the person who told me this out-of-town regional meeting was this next weekend. (The 5th is not the 12th, person!!!!) Both of those became challenging. Keep it together, Beth!  And despite promises that this really wasn’t a great movie, or suggestions that I could easily wait for it to come out on TV, I still feel I missed out on having a shared experience with that group of folks, enjoying the badness together, laughing over everyone’s humorous yet scathing reviews. No business card can replace those missed moments.

I arrived at the hotel a little early and prepared for my first session – a “new board members go here, try to get out of your comfort zone, and meet new people” session. I took this quite seriously, and despite being both an introvert, and also very shy (yay, double-whammies) I decided I had to make my best effort. You see, I’m also a rule follower, and they said “go forth, meet people” so I had to suck up how much I dreaded it to do as told. I sauntered into the room, mostly empty, and plopped right down next to two folks, donned my best smile (which in hindsight must be way creepier than I thought), and said, “Hello, I’m Beth! Is it ok if I join you? I’m from Austin!” The woman next to me literally picked up her chair and moved closer to the gentleman she was with. Wow. In fact, now that I think about it, she never said anything directly to me. The gentleman and I exchanged some pleasantries. I learned they were both from Dallas. I shared that my family was also from Dallas, but you could tell the whole exchange was painful for everyone. Then they literally both got up and moved somewhere else. Awkward. At that point a former supervisor of mine, who had sat down next to me in the middle of this conversation, looked at me rather surprised, and just said, “ok….”

There was a mixed bag of really good exchanges, and bad.  My favorite being with a gentleman from Little Rock who said, “Beth, wow me.” Ummm… I have a pretty low wow-factor score. I couldn’t think of any wow-iness I possessed, but finally settled on, (while he waited patiently wondering if I might be the dullest person he’d ever run into in his 60+ years of life) “I’ve done improv, sketch writing, performed in sketches, and lately those performances involve hard living/foul-mouthed puppets.” You know, the things you take credit for doing when you’re attending a conference focused on business professionals where most conversations involve ROI’s and Tourette-ing out things like, “SCRUM!” and “AGILE!” Nothing quite says, I’m a professional adult who should be taken seriously like declaring you spend your free time with your hand covered in felt and googly eyes. Right?  Points because he remembered my name throughout the conference. Not sure if that’s a good thing to be remembered by. Although,I will say he started our initial conversation by pronouncing himself a hermit, and saying that he and his wife were retirees who actively tried to avoid people. His pronouncement of not enjoying people helped me feel safe with my improv/sketch confessions.

Another exchange that really stood out occurred when I sat down at a back table. The seat next to me had a conference totebag in it, a clear sign it was being saved, and that I’d likely meet someone new. I was following the rules, and obviously on a new person meeting roll! GO ME! Then beyond that empty seat sat a young woman named Kimberly. It turned out that we both serve in the same areas of our various boards, and our personalities meshed fairly well.  We chattered away as I flung conference materials around in front of me before digging around for my lovely conference logo-ed pen. You know the kind where the ink is destined to dry out by conference’s end? (In truth what I thought looked like I was cool and neatly laying out the things I needed probably looked like my conference bag exploded on the table, but I like to pretend.) The missing person arrived, and stood there between Kimberly and myself, eyeing us uncomfortably, then finally said in a defeated manner, “if you two want to talk, I can move somewhere else – I don’t want to get in your way.” Ummm… soooo… that was awkward… shockingly awkward.  We were all supposed to network – meet new people – the rules said so.  Anyway, there was a lot of reassurance involved to get her to finally sit. I may have then politely mocked her, like I do, because well… what a ridiculous question.  Yes, we are here to network, but… oh dear, not with you. You’re the one exception. Who would ever say that? If I felt that way, I would have done what any normal person would do – you know, awkwardly move my chair away, and then tap the person next to me so we could silently flee to a different table.

After two full days of solid networking by shaking countless hands, enthusiastically saying my name like I was announcing an exciting ice cream flavor or your favorite sports team (GO BEARS! (FYI – Tori shout out #2)), and passing out business cards like I was a Vegas dealer, I was done – like super done. My introvert battery was drained, and the battery that keeps me from acting shy was rocking slowly in a corner sucknig its thumb. So, at the evening function with drinks and heavy hors d’oeuvres, I did the only thing any normal introvert would do – I abruptly got up and wandered back to my hotel where no amount of coaxing could convince me to re-open my door. I didn’t even mind that it appeared rather spectrum-y (an adjective) on my part.

On the last day at the last session I found a table by myself. A personal coups! Of course, this victory was quickly followed by concerned texts from my extroverted friends in the room, “Beth… why are you sitting by yourself? Are you ok?” “I’m an introvert. I’m totally owning it today.” And just as I thought I might actually sit alone, and likely be invited by the speaker to join another table, two quiet sorts made their way over. Ahhh… my tribe. We found each other at last.  If you sit there, they will come. We continued to sit quietly, listening to the speaker, and then parted ways. (Well, ok… not before THEY betrayed me and started passing out their business cards. Their action led to my final awkward moment whereby I went running around trying to discover where I’d stashed mine. Treacherous tribe. Couldn’t just quietly nod to one another and dissolve into the crowd. Pfft.)

That was my weekend. Now I need to sit quietly in the dark for a few days.

PS. Huge thanks to April for pet-sitting. I admit that every time I leave, I am actually convinced something bad is going to happen, that texts of “everything is fine” are only written to keep me calm until I get home and the bad news can be shared.  Thanks for making sure everything was actually fine.

Did You Train?

The MRI results are in, and I can now proudly boast a complete rupture of both my MCL and ACL in graphic terms that involve an overuse of the word “gross”.  I say “boast,” because I was getting a certain amount of flack from the torn ACL’ers who poo-pooed my injury with a dismissive, “oh… only an MCL? In my day we tore our ACL and wore our patella’s like fine tibia necklaces and dragged the useless limb behind us. You just have a flesh wound” That may not be an exact quote. I thought having completely torn the ACL I’d finally get a certain amount of knee-props, but instead it’s more a, “well, you didn’t tear your meniscus, you must be some sort of sissy.”  I’ll take it, I suppose. Not like I can chase them down (yet).

Now most people who have seen me are a bit curious, “what did you do?” and I tell them about the Warrior Dash, the mud, the splits, Jean-Claude Van Damme, no Enya (it’s my bit), and in turn they politely wince a bit especially when I get to the word “popped”.  It’s a lovely dance repeated numerous times, and typically ending with well wishes.

Which leads me to a rant…  Hey, I’m me.  It’s what I do!

A few times I’ve ended the story and received a, “did you train for that?” usually accompanied by the up-and-down eye-balling as my body is sized up. Ummm… if you mean did I train for walking in 3.2 miles of solid slippery, shoe-sucking mud that’s had 100’s of people sludge through it previous after its rained for 7-8 hours, then no. I did not train for that. Maybe the 100’s of other people, almost all who fell multiple times, did, but you caught me.  I had no business on that course. Silly me, I just trained for obstacles. Did I mention I made it through two before being taken out on the mud?

Here’s the thing about training in today’s gyms – they lack a mud pit. I know, I know, I looked for a place that included a mud pit, but instead I was told they had pools, a basketball court, saunas, and some kind of cardio and strength training equipment. Whatever. One gym boasts an outdoor water slide, while another has “lunk alarms” and pizza – yet none of them really have the foresight to offer a really solid mud pit. Way to let your clients down, gyms! In that sense my gym and my trainer clearly failed me. She was so focused on training me for the obstacles, and trying to convince me that there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do if I believed in myself that she dropped the ball.  Her super narrow laser focus on obstacles, cardio and strength led to her failing to train me for long hours in muddy creek beds during thunderstorms. Way to go, Jenn!  Lesson learned! Judging by the number of ambulances and more serious athletes breaking things, it’s clear their trainers let them down, too.  Whew, I’m not alone! There should be a study on this. We should all demand mud pits at our gyms! (For fun, you can Google injuries during Warrior Dash and Tough Mudder events to see all the failures of people to remain upright; they clearly should have also trained. Sad little “athletes”; they probably had it coming.)

(Note: All of the above is written in heavy sarcasm font.  Jenn is amazing. To think or say otherwise would end with me hobbling over to you, and giving you a very very stern look while thinking a host of ugly things I’d do if I got the drop on you, and had zero fear of 1) retaliation, or 2) bunking with a nice lady named Bertha who wanted to trade me for a pack of cigarettes. Bertha, you’re my #1 bitch, am I right? Fist bump? Don’t leave me hanging, Bertha. You’re my lady!)

So, let’s talk about what’s really being said, since me training for slipping in mud is ridiculous.  The subtext of what’s being said is, “you’re fat, and you hurt yourself because you shouldn’t have been out there.” Right and wrong.  Right, I’m a big girl, but I’m strong(ish) (strong-light?).  I have a decent amount of muscle under my “fluff” layer (as we lovingly call it).  Am I the strongest? No. But I’m stronger than what you think you perceive when you see me. Did I get hurt because of a lack of training? No. I got hurt because I was on really slick mud, and one leg was planted while the other got out from under me sending me into the splits where I hyper-extended my knee. A fun fact that I learned from Tae Kwon Do (I have my blue belt) – it takes approximately 10 lbs of pressure to snap someone’s ligament like the LCL (easiest to get to), which incidentally makes it a fantastic soft target if you want to drop someone. Most adults weigh more than 10 lbs., another fun fact. (You learn a lot when you visit my blog.) I could have been 100 lbs lighter, in the world’s best shape, and still torn my ACL and MCL.  Armed with that knowledge, there were really only two things I see I could have done differently that would possibly have had any effect on that day: 1) Not gone on the trail in those rainy conditions, and 2) walked on the left side of the trail where my strongest leg was on the more stable ground, and still, had I done all of that, I could have fallen in the backyard, going down the street, etc. Life doesn’t have guarantees.  Playing it safe is not a guarantee.

So, to answer the question. Yes, I trained. Thank you for your supportive question.

I recently told a friend I was pissed about the whole thing, and she said something I loved: “Beth, don’t be pissed for choosing to live your life.”

I chose to live my life. An accident happened. The sun rose the next day, and I moved forward.

How Do You Do It?

When someone passes away, amidst all the love, a lot of questions come out.  I thought about ranking them in the degrees by which they annoy me, but that seemed a tad harsh.  People are curious, you can’t fault them for that (well, you could), and for the most part they’re not trying to be annoying (although sometimes I wonder), but by golly they’re curious.  Some of that curiosity comes from knowing we’ll all be impacted by death throughout our lives, and there’s this hope that the person can shed some little pearl of wisdom that maybe we can use if we’re in a similar situation. Some of the questions come from having never been in a particularly unique situation, and they feel like they’ve pulled up to the world’s best car wreck, and screw the rest of traffic, they’re going to take their nice long look.

Let me start by addressing a few of those questions/statements by offering some advice when it comes to someone who has died by suicide.  (Now followers of my Facebook feed may feel this subject looks somewhat familiar.  I like to think of my feed as a micro-blog (because that’s a thing, right?) at times, and my followers as a focus group.  Err… I think of them as good friends, that’s what I meant. Good friends.)

Don’t ask how it happened especially of the immediate family. Ever. If the person chooses to share that information, that’s one thing, but what has happened is deeply personal, and fairly traumatic. Each retelling can open up some really large wounds, because it’s not a “story”, it’s a life.  It’s lives.  You don’t have a right to know.  Yes, I get it’s a wonderfully dramatic story, and you can’t help but to slow down and try to drink in the drama, but do that from as far away from me as you can possibly get.

Don’t run around asking if any of the immediate family (or me) is suicidal.  Yes, something bad happened, and you may be worried, but your worry seems more like gossip when you flitter from person to person planting that little seed.

And whatever you do, don’t go up to any family member (for example: me, again) and make this request: “Please don’t kill yourself.” There are no words that can ever properly convey how wrong I find that statement.  I could start with “you clearly don’t know me,” but that just lightly begins to air kiss how deeply angry I am at your words.  If you are genuinely worried, you’ll figure out a better way to approach that conversation.  As it stood, I nearly said “well damn, there goes my Wednesday plan. I guess I’ll just watch TV now. Fingers crossed wrestling is on tonight!”

Then there’s this other question I’ve had thrown my way that while I find annoying isn’t meant so. It’s mostly annoying because I’m asked it a lot, which means someone who reads this blog (maybe a few) is (are)  going to say, “oh hell, I didn’t meant to step in it with Beth.”  You didn’t.  But since you asked, I’ll answer.

How do you do it? How do you get up in the morning?

I can’t give you a silver bullet answer – something you can apply to your own lives.  I can tell you some key things about me and my situation.  The biggest thing that gets me up and moving is I was literally just born this way. I’m a “happy” person.  In fact, I’m a borderline (and sometimes not so borderline) airhead.  I’m goofy. I’m silly. I’m the kid who at five was told by other five year olds I needed to grow up. (To this day we feel sorry for any five year old that feels they need to grow up.) When it comes to a happiness ceiling, mine is really high.  I’m a whole lot like one of my aunts who when we get together, we just giggle.  Now that said, that doesn’t mean I (or my aunt) can’t be brought down or that I don’t get angry.  I actually have quite a temper, but my fuse is exceptionally long.  You just don’t want to be around when the fuse is gone. Jay would point out, when I did finally blow, that I was spending a lot of energy being really mad about a person or thing, and the object of my anger couldn’t see how angry I was – that I was wasting a lot of energy.  I can blow up like the best and most uncomfortable fireworks display.  Thankfully something shiny will usually appear, and I’m chasing it down again.  Unfortunately, that shiny thing may not appear for a day or two, but it will always appear.

Another key thing is that no one left me alone, not even when it was really all I wanted. I longed to go shut the door to my bedroom after Jay passed away.  I didn’t want to do the things that needed to get done.  Dad had me make a list, and on a normal day the list was something I could have accomplished in a few hours. On that second day after Jay left, I had only managed to do two things, and the process was absolutely the most  mentally exhausting thing I had done.  Dad then helped me make the plan for the next day and the next slowly showing me how to walk in the world again.  During all of this, I didn’t want to interact with anyone, and yet they kept appearing at my house forcing me to be here.  When you combine that with another inherent trait I have – wanting everyone else to be ok, you have a situation where I felt forced to come out and to try and make everyone else feel better. I would tell stories about Jay, and while I wasn’t fully present, it kept me present enough.

I remember when Mom passed away unexpectedly, I tried to cheer-up the hospital chaplain by telling him stories despite desperately wanting him to leave the room so it would just be the two of us.  I once fell down a staircase trying to get a bag of glass bottles to a recycling station, and when  the glass and I landed at the bottom I saw a little boy looking on in horror, and so I did what I do – I talked to him, laughed about being clumsy, got everything together, and then fell apart behind closed doors. Part of who I am is a less polished version of my grandmother. A woman who when presented with any group of people would go immediately into hostess mode.  This is what I do.

To this day, some six months later, I am still not left alone over the weekends.  I have activities through the middle of March and beyond. They’re rarely anything I’ve planned, but are things people have brought me into.

So, in short: How do I get up every day? I can get up because that’s who I am. I don’t know another way (and as one friend “gently” put it: “…because you’re not a pathetic piece of shit,” (no intended offense to those who can’t), and because I have an amazing support group in my family and friends. They don’t let me make any other choice … and I try to remain open to new situations; I try to still live and experience new things/new and interesting people. I don’t have a silver bullet.  I only have me. And the truth is I’m not always sunshine and lollipops. I still get sad, and when I do I get a tissue, and I start over again.

To my friends and family (and new/amazing acquaintances), and of course the Phalanx: Thank you for continuing to help me walk through this world. I love you more than you’ll know (because I’m apparently keeping that a secret? Who says “more than you’ll know”? Why is that a saying?) Bah, you’ll know how much, because I say I love you in awkward ways that make you feel uncomfortable, so suck it up.

You’re welcome!

Thanksgiving

It started out with what I thought was a really great idea (the fact that I bother to have ideas I feel is “great” at this point, so no judging, please). In fact, this sums up where my brain has been most of this last part of the year (and may explain why “great” really isn’t part of my world, and only tip-toes around my moods) : (Strong language warning. The video may be offensive to many.)


(Start about 23 minutes in, or heck, watch the whole thing; it’s worth it.)

The downside to my really great idea, or what is probably in actuality just a meh idea, is that I decided to get it together a little late. My idea was to send Thanksgiving day cards to express how truly grateful I am to various folks in my life. You know, like you send Christmas cards, (because nothing says “I appreciate you” like a stamped out Hallmark greeting – this is fact)  I really wanted to just buy a box of identical cards, maybe support a charity if I was lucky, and then write a little message and call it good.  An aside – I’m not sending Christmas cards this year. It’s not that I don’t wish you all a very Merry Christmas and all of that, but I don’t have it in me.  I used to make Jay sign each card, because I actually find it cheesy and a bit dishonest to sign for your significant other, and this year writing “Beth &” hurts a little too much.  Anyway… It’s also my birthday, and maybe I’m tired of having to send people a card on my birthday.  No one else sends me cards on their birthday.  Also, I may be cranky at the world. (See offensive video above)

Y’know, you’d think finding Thanksgiving cards in bulk would be a bit easy, but when you actually start trying to hunt them down you run into a huge wall of “Thank You” cards. Ok sure, “thank you” is giving thanks, but it lacks the oranges, browns and harvest golds of my 70’s childhood. Were we living in a Thanksgiving card back then? Yuck. I was only asking for some cartoonish turkey looking hopeful for a presidential pardon, and maybe a pilgrim pun.  I wasn’t asking for much.  Well, apparently I was. (Hallmark, you need to step it up.)

That left me with creating cards, and there I thought “I know, I’ll upload a picture to some site that allows for custom cards, and then I’ll get them out the Monday prior to Thanksgiving.”  In truth, I ordered these in plenty of time, and was quite pleased with myself.  I won at the internet! Except I forgot that PayPal and my security software are at odds, and I got a note from the company from which I ordered my cards saying, “hey, did you want to complete your order?” days later. Crap. I shook my tiny fist at PayPal, the security software that protected me from the evils of getting my cards ordered in time, and  then I shook them at life in general. (Play the video above again, assuming you weren’t completely offended the first time.)

So, Thanksgiving day I sent out my weird little emails thanking the people I’m closest to, and probably left a lot of people feeling weird.  To that I offer a tiny snippet of a story – my trainer and I were talking about how people give and receive love, and I realized that for me it’s through words (and quality time).  It’s how I show you I love you (or like you, or check off the YES box in the note I passed back to you.) The other part of the “why” is that if something happens to me tomorrow (I run off to join a circus, I slip into the Upside Down looking for Jay, or I suddenly become mute and can also no longer type), I don’t want anyone to ever wonder how I feel about them.  A gift Jay left me before leaving was letting me know he loved me, and it’s the one thing I never doubt.

All of those above words to say to my Phalanx – when you get a card and feel like I already thanked you, I really wanted you to have something personal… handwritten.  If you need to, just chalk it up to goofy June failing at the internet and also wanting to rid herself of all these corny cards.  Also, a heads-up guys, since I did order so many you “may” get them again as birthday cards, Texas Independence Day cards, Memorial Day cards – you get the idea.  Blame the company that said “minimum order of…” for forcing my hand into purchasing too many.

For the rest of you whom I didn’t get a chance to thank, let me do so now.  Thank you for being a part of my life.  Thank you for your love and your words of encouragement.  Thank you for continuing to bring beauty and warmth into my world. Thank you for putting up with a ton of crazy from one deeply flawed human being.

I love each of you.