Dear Internet,
It’s some ungodly hour here in Kentuckiana (should I be worried that word is not coming up misspelled?) and TheExHusband is snoring so heavily, I’ve lain awake for hours waiting for him to, well, not snore so I could get to sleep. It doesn’t help that I took a nap on the couch from 20:30 – 23:00, so I was wide awake for a bit regardless.
The sun is starting to make its ascent.
I’m here because I’m in the last throes of sorting through my shit from the stuff was shipped down here from the east coast. The deal made with TheExHusband was he could have my furniture (the purple leather couch and living room suite) if he paid for the shipping from east coast to him. As he reckons, that bill would be significant lower than buying all new furniture. Worked for me.
In this need to purge since I’ve been here, I’ve gotten rid of three big black bags of clothes, a big box of toys and trinkets I’ve collected over the years and have remained packed for longer than I care to admit, three to four boxes of books, and some other odds and ends.
This is in addition to the purging that happened when we separated last fall.
Lisa the minimalist.
I am noticing some stuff missing like my Chucks collection, the only shoe I’ve been able to wear since my ankle surgery three years ago. I left a few pairs unpacked but the rest, including black high tops and Aquaman high tops, are now missing. I had nearly a dozen pairs. Also missing are other shoes, mainly spring and summer, that when packed last fall, as I had assumed I would be in my own permanent place by now. So at some point, those need to be replaced when I’m more flushed with cash.
I’m also missing my Swatch collection and a few other things that ARE packed somewhere and I haven’t found them or were stolen at some point. My Fiesta Ware collection surprisingly remains unbroken, which is important because that shit is expensive.
Once I leave here on Friday, I’ll be heading back to Grand Rapids for about three weeks. TheBassist will then be coming to town to be my date for a friend’s wedding and then we start the drive back to the east coast. The plan is that the stuff in Grand Rapids (of which is not much, mainly furniture) will stay, over the summer, in a storage pod. The rest of my stuff will remain here in Kentuckiana. I’ll be shacking up with TheBassist as I continue my job hunt from a singular location (if none of the current positions pan out). Once job is acquired, everything will be shipped to me at the new location. If job is not acquired by, say, Labor Day weekend, then I’m more than likely have to head back to Kentuckiana.
Then, who the hell knows.
I wish I could say I’m desperately trying not to have panic attacks as I flip around the US due to familial concerns, but that would be lying. I’ve been pretty zen as things have popped up and surprised me, I’m not stressing about money too badly (though I am beyond broke), and while I’ve gotten to the point airport security knows my name, the traveling hasn’t worn off just quite yet.
With no income coming in, this is obviously not the way to continue living. My landlord made a half-joking proposition to buy Jeeves. I was tempted because as not long before I jokingly said to a few friends that I should sell him (and he is paid off) and float around Europe for six months. But I would be in the same position then as I am now, just even more heavily in debt.
I’ve been noticing patterns in my writing in that during the headier days this past fall of the mania, I barely wrote. You’d think with all of that bloody energy I would be cranking out a million words a minute and even more poignantly, working on my book.
That answer would be a, “Fuck no.”
The book is stalled as it is, and again, I am zen about it just as I am with everything else.
Obviously the lamictal is working.
When I think about the long road of mania that lead me to where I am at right now, what pushes me forward is to NOT go through that again. I’ve always prided myself up to that point on not doing many stupid things when off the drugs That’s what makes me atypical as a bipolar: I have no drug, alcohol, or sex addictions. My spending was minimally excessive (not an oxymoron). I’ve held down jobs for long periods of time, finished my education and all of this (mostly) without drugs.
This last early fall/winter just broke that streak.
I have started referring to this past year as my long nervous breakdown, though I wasn’t hospitalized or put into out patient care other than my weekly shrink appointments. But the best way, even if it is glib, to come up with an explanation of my train wreck of a life is, “You lose your dog, your job, your husband, your home, AND get sued for $1.25M in the span of seven months and see how you handle the situation.”
Amirite or am I right?
I could see how that statement was pushing the responsibility of my actions onto others but recognizing I’ve made some very bad decisions about a host of things and since the fall, the repercussions have been coming fast and furious. It’s a combination of bad luck, timing, and bad decision making.
Along the way, I’ve noticed that numerous people, local and far, have cooled towards me. It’s hard to repair relationships when you’re not sure what went wrong or that you know because of your train wreck of a life, they’ve cooled against you. It’s sad, it’s diappointing, but I can’t blame them.
What I’ve accepted is I have a wonderful opportunity to completely rebuild my life from scratch. There is nothing tying me down to one place or even one profession. What I need though, more than anything, is a break. A sign. Anything to at least point in some direction so while I mentally may never be lost, physically I’d like not to be a whirling dervish.
But right now, I’m sitting in a darkened room eating tortilla chips at nearly 06:00.
xoxo,
Lisa