Tag: TheBassist

home is where the…i have no bloody idea

(This piece is longer than I had intended so grab a cup of coffee or beverage of choice.)
Dear Internet,
I’m taking a break from working on the “How To Write Fiction” MOOC, and oh boy aren’t I in for a treat.
In the pre-week comments I stated I wanted to strip everything I knew about fiction and if the critiques I’ve received on my first draft are any indication, I’ve got a long way to go. (However the general underlying response was my first draft was intriguing, so I’ve got that going for me.) If I would have taken this class even a year ago, I would huff my work was perfect and the cleansing was not necessary. This time, I am not so angry that I’m throwing insults about “how dare they” around the cabin.
(Or maybe I’m still sedated from the Klonopin I took the night before.)
This is all prep work for NaNoWriMo, which I’m hoping will allow me jump start my novel, get a rough draft done, and so I can feel accomplished. I have plotted out some of the work, wrung my way through other;  fingers crossed I’ve not created a hot mess.
 

I’ve started using marginalia from the British Library’s collection again in the featured image as it is in the public domain, it’s pretty, and because I can.

I’m still sick because my body is an asshole and has nothing better to do. I’ve started week three of a cough I can’t shake, which I think has more to do with quitting smoking and getting rid of the crap in my lungs than being actually sick. Whatever the case I sound like death’s rattle when the coughing fit starts with the bonus of learning how to spit like a man.
Sexy.

We’re now inching towards the end of week two of TheExHusband’s jeep still indisposed. It’s sitting in a parking lot of the local mechanic who, it turns out, is the only mechanic on duty. TEH is adamant of giving the guy business since the shop recently did super minor work for free. It’s frustrating and endearing at the same time, with the lean towards frustrating than endearing. All plans have been canceled as we wait to find out the status of the damned thing, so goodbye East Coast, I still love you.
I’m championing selling the piece of shit for scrap and buying a new/used car from a dealership in Louisville rather than some shady garage (as he did this money hole a few summers ago). It’s a good shot I’ll be driving him down to Louisville once we find out the status of the Jeep (which I’m betting is a goner. If I’m repeating myself it is because it is my every desire the thing is beyond repair).
In the meantime I’ve had TheBassist ship me my winter things because it’s dropping into the low 40s and high 30s. There is a good chance if I’m still here by the end of the month or early November, there will be snow. Literally, winter is coming.

I’m 80% doing okay, taking into factor the most recent meltdown (that was three weeks ago? Fuck. It felt like yesterday.), the sickness, the Jeep bullshit, and other maladies. I’m anxious about the right things instead of jumping off the ledge about others.
It’s lovely to be at Throbbing Cabin in the summer and early fall for a week or two. I could handle a month, but we’re now closing in on two months in late fall and we’re getting close to becoming batshit crazy. The nearest villages are 10-12 miles away and the big city of Traverse City takes 30-40 minutes to get to. Three of the closest villages are tourist traps and after a while you get tired of $15 burgers and trunk slammers from Florida. I often go walking around our area but without a proper coat it gets a little chilly and I can only walk in certain areas thanks to the big hills and little valleys (and the goddamned golf courses).
I’ve completed 98 straight days of meditation. Tada!
Throbbing Cabin is 1000 sqft and surprisingly we’re not killing each other or fighting (just crazy from lack of things to do), which I consider with all the circumstances to be a small victory. TheExHusband turned on internet the first week I was up here, brought up a TV from the old house; which coupled with my Roku means we’ve got loads of things to keeps us entertained. He works all day in the second bedroom which we flipped into an office for him in the summer of 2014 while I work on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. We are more or less out of the other’s hair.
It’s cozy and we do not lack for anything. I have my coffee maker, there is a working regular stove and apartment sized fridge. The closest of all the villages has an all in one gas station / deli / pizza place/ grocery / video store. They even sell Lisa-milk and GF food stuffs. The village also has a post office, two resturants, a free library inside the bank, a meat shop, a knitting store, and a local art gallery. For laundry and weekly groceries, out to TC we go. The area is pretty much perfect except for the location and the so dark you can slice it with a light saber which does not make even a dent into the denseness. However, lack of light pollution does make for a pretty sky.
The cabin is well heated from several space heaters. While there is baseboard heat, the first winter we were here, and only for 2.5 weeks, the electric bill was $500. For 2.5 weeks. Two space heaters heating up this entire place will run TEH, for a month, around $150. The baseboard heat will only come on when it dips below freezing so the pipes don’t freeze, which if the weather is any indicator is going to be end of this week, early next.
(And my rush to get the fuck out of here is compounded by the storms of 2013-14 bought 240″ of snow to the area. That is not a typo.)
(I know I keep flipping between “we” and “his” when discussing about Throbbing Cabin because of all the work I’ve put in to it, it still feels like “mine” even though TEH got it in the divorce. I declined his offer of ownership as so much work needs to be done, such as $15-20K for a new septic tank and drain field. It’s lovely to visit but I don’t want to own this place. At all.)

I’m 1100 words in and I haven’t even touched the main point of this piece which is “home,” what it means, and how I want to achieve it. (This is inspired by Theodora Goss’ piece on a similar topic on crafting a life.)
Which is a very good question and the apex of my problems since I was born and one I keep struggling with it often takes over my life.
The original plan was to move to the East Coast, retreat for a few months, look for a job, and get a place of my own, preferably with TheBassist. The plan changed. Then it was to Grand Rapids for six months while I healed emotionally and mentally which turned out didn’t happen and it was suggested I couldn’t, shouldn’t, live alone. Then it was to Louisville, then CT. Now it’s at the cabin, then more than likely Louisville, then who the fuck nows. If I end up in Louisville longer than two months, it’ll be the first time I’ve stayed anywhere longer than 1/6th of a year since October 2014.
For all intents and purposes, I am homeless. My possessions, what is left, are at TheExHusband’s house. Some of my things are at TheBassist’s. I’ve pared down my car goods to between 1/3 – 1/2 of what I took to The East Coast last October. I’ve been living out of two small bags and a bag full of toiletries since the first week of September when I arrived at the cabin.
During all of this whiplashing around, the goal and my greatest desire has been a job, financial independence, and a place to call my own.
I’ve applied for, between writing and librarian career tracks, 150 jobs since February of 2015.  I’ve made a grand total of $150 off my writing since August. My day to day living funds ran out in July (TEH has been supplementing me since August). My mental health, while mostly stable now, still has it’s downsides (mostly brought on by pre-menstrual hormones these days). I’ve taken my crazy pills daily since November 2014. I’ve racked up (and half way pared down) nearly $40K in credit card debt within the last year.
These are the facts.
I’m not revealing the minute details for sympathy, understanding, or a handout. This is what it is. This has been the apex of my life since forever and a time ago.
What am I running from or who or why?
I’ve been moving house every two to three years since I was 13. Throbbing Manor, where I lived for four years, has been longest place I’ve lived on my own since I was 24. Prior to that, my mother changed our living locations every 2-3 years from ages 13 – 24. So insofar as actual living space, I do not know what home means.
(When I’ve been at TheBassist’s or TheExHusband’s, even if room was made for me in their space, it still feel like “their” space, not mine. I was just a temporary boarder who happened to be cute. (It should be noted that was never their intent to make me feel uncomfortable, they went above and beyond to make me comfortable, but that is how I often felt.))
It’s been remarked numerous times over the last 20 years I’m running from something because of the shifting or it’s a pathos of my disease. I’ve never known physical space as mine, it was always someone else’s, even when I’ve had roommates. I’ve always felt like a visitor instead of a primary occupant.
(Which is why if you’ve ever visited me at any of the places I’ve lived, there has hardly, if any, decoration to showcase my personality. Decoration was in the form of my clothes, which are cheap and easily disposable.)
I know I’ve romanticized where I want to live. Do I want an adorable apartment in a big city? A home of my own in a quaint little village? A flat somewhere in Europe? This parallels the kind of life I also romanticize. Jet set traveler? Famous writer? Raconteur around town?
I want to be everything, live every place, and be every person.
This, obviously, throws a wrench into daily life plan and reality, most which seems to blur together into one grey line.
If home cannot be about a place, then what about being with a person? If i could not feel at home with the two most important relationships in my life, TheBassist and TEH, then how does that bode for me? What does that say about me? I’m too frightened to forge a relationship with anyone, romantic or platonic? Why do I destroy everything that should be the best of my life?
If home is not about a place, or a person, what about the material things? I have my cases and cases of books, 50-60% I’ve now donated. My clothes, shoes, and accessories which I’ve significantly pared down and donated the rest. Personal objects or things I’ve picked up over the years, donated.
I’m cast adrift with no thing, person, or place to call my home.
If it’s not a place, or a person, or things. Then what is home and how do I get there?
xoxo,
Lisa
P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!
 

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2010, 2001

sunday nights are full of telly

Dear Internet,
How is it October already? It’s cord season (fwap fwap), cider, plain cake donuts, decorative gourds, and of course, all the pumpkin spice things. Wasn’t TheBassist and I just having our New Years Eve ‘do the other week?
Fall is the time of knitting, of which I have a large collection of skeins and needles, except I cannot knit one purl two as my knitting stuff is currently buried in a box, which box I have no fucking clue, at TEH. So I can either go splurge and buy a set of needles and a few skeins or just wait. At this point, I’m in the just wait category.
This year, especially when you’re traveling from house to house, has flown by fast. I specifically hate calling myself homeless, even though that’s exactly what I am. I do not have a place of my own, I’m bouncing between two locations, my stuff is either in my car or at TheExHusband’s / TheBassist’s. I’ve been day dreaming about cleaning my own toilet, that’s how bad my longing is for a place is getting.
As I’m heading (90% sure) to the east coast in a few weeks, and with the weather turning, I’m now in a scramble to make sure I have winter clothes to get me through until the spring. Of course all my heavy coats are packed at, you guessed it, TEH’s so I’ll more than likely be flying to him sometime in November for a short weekend to get my winter stuff.
Or not. Who knows. Stay tuned.
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2003, 2003, 2001, 1998

time: 1:06

Dear Internet,
When you start wiping tears off of your phone, while playing solitaire, you know shit just got real.

I don’t feel good.
Well, what does that mean exactly?
It means the following conversation with TEH, TheBassist, and Kristin (roughly the same conversation, individual times.).
“Having a hard time getting out bed, sleeping 10-12 hours a night, and barely eating.
“(Anything else going on?)  The only things that have been going on is increased stress about being homeless, jobless, moneyless.
“I thought it was related to my period but it’s not – that tends to be mania and BPD. I am just incredibly paralyzed right now and often feel sick to my stomach.
“And this isn’t throwing up sick, it’s the pit of my stomach feeling.
“This feels differently.
“I told TEH I really dont have much left in the tank. He argued I must have something since I am hustling on the (writing) job front. So I conceded I have 1/8th if a tank left. I just don’t feel emotionally any more. I just dont. I cry all the time because I need to protect myself.
“(From what?) The world.
“I cry, it gets rid of whatever feeling I have left; then I can crawl back into myself.
“(Why?) Stay safe. I protect me and me alone.
“I don’t know. I am often too tired to check. I keep my bear close. I read. Sometimes i shower and get dressed.
“All I know is I am really scared. And tired and emotionally exhausted and drained. Something has to give and I think it’s me.”
(Meds changed? No. Dietary habits, etc changed? No. Are you smoking? No (mostly). Are you drinking? No. Are you doing drugs? No.)

This has been going on for months.

I am not suicidal.

I can trace back to January, of this year, when I was hysterical on the phone with TheBassist. He calmed me down, we made plans for me to come out to the East coast, things in my brain cooled to a smolder. In February, much was the same. March was the epic road trip of 2771.7 miles in less than two weeks. Same month the #teamharpy dismissal came. I survived that; it would reckon I could survive everything.
No.
April, May, June, July, August, and now I flipped between the East coast and the south. Four weeks here. Six weeks there. When I was in Michigan, I couldn’t bear to be in my apartment alone. I couldn’t bear being apart from anyone, seemingly specifically TheBassist. I was chainsmoking (when I could) and when I was home, it was jimjam and no shower time.
I put up a pretty good facade.

I have a friend or two who live near the cabin, whom I get in touch with immediately when I get into the area. The other day we went malling and lunch, which turned out not be that great of an idea — at least for me. As we walked around the mall being basic bitches, I watched my reflection in the mirrors as we passed. My friend looked great, hair perfect, make up on point, outfit cute. I on the other hand looked frumpy, my hair was out of control (It’s not been cut or colored for months). No makeup on, even mascara. I was slumped like a semi-colon.
I felt horrible and looked even worse.
I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror.

Earlier this week someone inferred I was a hack. Boy howdy, it didn’t take much. Tonight I rocked in my bed, in my head calling myself every terrible thing even remotely possible in the English language. “Hack.” “Untalented.” “Lazy.” “Worthless.” I could go on, but I think you see the point.
When will this ever end?

Malling friend said I put so much shit up on the Internet, I am asking for comment. I could see her point and I think I even agreed with her. But now? No. I create this space to navel gaze, operate, and exorcise my life. I make it public because I’m not ashamed of who I am and I’ve never been one for keeping things bottled up. So what if I keep regurgitating the same #content. When was the last time your life was picked neat and clean? Yeah, I thought so.

I climbed into bed about midnight and it’s going on six. I spent most of the night/morning playing solitaire with the requisite tears and staring at the slant of the A-frames ceiling. I cried some and sniffled, then cried some more.

These are not big fat ugly tears, this are small baby tears that just keep leaking from my eyes. Talking to TheExHusband was painful because my eyes immediately welled up as soon as I opened my mouth. He said it was good I was doing that, I was letting my emotions open up and be honest. I felt like a fraud standing there because nothing seems to be real anymore.
I felt the same talking to TheBassist. To Kristin. To anyone who asked.

I’ve meditate for 79 straight days. When I could be arsed to put clothes on and go outside, I walk. I am happy for a few months and it all comes crashing down. Again.

Will this ever end? I hope so. But honestly? I have no idea. All I do know is that I’m having an attack of The Sads.
And I want my teddy bear.
Lisa

in the woods, late at night

Dear Internet,
Everything is delightful at the cabin.
The tree guy came out and 10 trees need to be removed either for some tree disease, growth problems, or were hit by the storm. TheExHusband (TEH) is here to chainsaw and chip away at the pieces that are easily chippable and chainsawed. He brought up a TV, the argument being if he wants to rent this place, there are things that renters are going to expect: Like a TV with some kind of DVD appliance and a working upstairs bathroom. I think TEH’s goal is to get most of the reno and repair work completed by the end of 2016 with renting beginning 2017. So if anyone wants to rent a cabin in Leelanau Peninsula, mere minutes from Lake Michigan and cute as balls towns, just let me know.
I’ve been doing all kinds of writing while I’m up here. I woke up the other night with two lines stuck in my head, ending with writing 1K words on paper before falling back to sleep. When I transcribed it the following day, it wasn’t half-bad. Not awesome, but not too shabby for half-asleep notes.
One of my problems is organizing the ideas. I get it, I’m a librarian. I’ve been known to organize my underwear. But this is a hot mess. Here is what I’ve been doing AND is working for me: I’ve created a project in Scrivener that tracks stories in progress, stories completed, pieces I’ve sold, and so forth. I use a Google spreadsheet to track markets/submissions/payments. But ideas themselves, fiction and non, live everywhere. I originally bought my Filofax as a proper planner, finding I could not keep track of things digital (strange, no?). But the calendaring was insane (putting the same event on paper and digital), so I ripped out the calendaring pages and turned it into a one stop project/writing book.1 Once I organized the beast, trascribed the ideas and notes from all the other places into the appropriate sections, my writing life is much more manageable and easier to transport.
My non-fiction work has been selling, which has been awesome, but to non-paying/token markets, which has been frustrating. I am keeping to my guns and not submitting to markets I would not personally read. It’s a weird balancing act: One group proclaims: “Get your name out there, submit everywhere and everything” and there is my side which is to submit to only places you would read or want to read. I’ve been told it’s about building a  personal “brand,” which makes me squeamish. Dude, all I ever wanted to do was write not worry about this “branding” bullshit. I am tenacious but also stubborn as hell about such matters.
My fiction has been a struggle. A big struggle. It’s not for lack of ideas or writing the beginning but for getting past the beginning and finishing the damned thing. My novel is so stalled right now, I can’t even joke about it anymore.
I can create pretty great flash fiction, but anything beyond 2K words is eluding me and it, unsurprisingly, frustrates me.  Because I’m broke as fuck, I’ve signed up for the free MOOC from U of Iowa, How Writers Write Fiction. The two big writing cabals to hone your chops are the U of Iowa’s MFA program for fiction and Clarion SFF, both of which I cannot afford, so this MOOC has been a benediction from the gods. (There is a whole argument on whether to get a MFA. Or not. I wobble back and forth on what to do but for now the idea is just shelved.)
Other MOOCs of similar ilk are more generated, I found, on teaching people the inner workings of writing, such as how to construct a sentence and so forth. Stuff you find in high school composition class. I was/am not opposed to heading to a community college (cheap, local) but I’m not in a place long enough to actually attend the classes. Internets for the win.
I’m traveling again at the end of the month and as I said to TEH this morning, what I am taking with me keeps getting smaller and smaller. When this whole journey began, Jeeves was so jammed there was barely room for TheBassist: And he was driving. Now the amount of shit I’m carting around is 1/3rd of that. In fact, for the last two weeksish, I’ve been living out of two, medium-sized, bags for clothes, two baskets carrying my books to read and other writing miscellany and lastly messenger bag which holds my laptop, cords, and Filofax (see above). Teddy is always in the house with me; what more do I need?
I can easily answer this question: A home, a place for my books, and a world to call my own.
I am exhausted.
xoxo,
Lisa
1. How I organize my writing/projects: Front matter is that week’s-ish TODO list, the tabs (stories, books/freelance, jobs/classes, misc) bought from Etsy, extra paper also from Etsy, and last but not least, my beloved erasable gel pens.
P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2000

catastrophic

Dear Internet,
There is a before before to this story.
I’m currently wrapped up like a mummy at the cabin where it is currently 60F outside, prepping it for winterizing for TheExHusband. I stopped by a local village to have dinner one night when I saw TheEx. Remember TheEx? Oh, I sure as hell do. My rage against him may have subsided but the idea of cutting off his member and dissecting his testes still tastes warm and fresh in my mouth.
So there I was, having dinner, and I see him with a woman and some kid. Maybe his wife? Why else would he be up in this area? His parents have a condo in a large ski/golfing resort that is so full of white privilege, you may contract hives. Why else would he be up here if not with his (current) woman? Why do I care so much?
Because I’m nosy as hell and all of my questions must be answered.
He saw me; of course he saw me. How could you miss me and my overly obnoxious laugh? We played peek a boo through stranger’s shoulders. I forced dessert down my throat to prevent leaving before him. I won the fake war of insolence.
And of course we didn’t say a word to the other! What kind of heathen do you think I am?
Once when we were together, actually many times, his road rage almost killed us. As I said in the above piece, he would beg, cajole, and plead his apologies; me forgiving him as a woman (then) rightly should. I was blinded by everything — he was the (then) closest substitute to TheBassist and I was hungry for that connection. TheBassist and I had been broken up for 1 1/2 years – the thought that I found someone so much like him (but not him) was too much to ignore. I was blinded by the probability. Lusted after the possibility of a TheBassist lesser.
Boy, was I glamorized.
Seven years later, TheEx and I are side-eying each other in a restaurant.
TheEx left me a gift all those years ago, not that you swine, but a new anxiety that causes a fear of driving. Specifically on highways.
It’s called catastrophic thinking, and I had no idea it had a name until a clinician recently asked me a few questions as I spoke, giving a name to the demon.
I run scenarios in my head, while driving, from getting decapitated by a semi getting out of control to careening into cement barriers to having my car going dead in the middle of a major construction area. This despite all of the assurances I give myself such as if Jeeves broke down every 1000 miles, you have bigger problems to there are others who are sharing this anxiety with you right this very second (thanks meditation!). No matter what I do, short of taking drugs, I can’t shake the thoughts of something happening while I’m driving.
To illustrate the point of the ridiculousness of this thinking, last week I drove a thousand miles from the east coast to ThrobbingCabin to help TheExHusband out. I wasn’t getting any job offers, or even interviews, I was going stir crazy, so I left. Again. I figured the sojourn to the cabin would do me good (true), help me think clearly (true), save on finances (also true).
I drove alone.
The only hiccup was getting lost because fuck a Ohio turnpike and their terrible directions!
So I drove a thousand miles, nothing happened, and I’m more or less (more) driving a thousand miles back at the end of the month.
Rationally, RATIONALLY, I know what I’m thinking is irrational. I know that the likelihood of a fatal car accident is .0103% or 1 in 10,000 for every 100,000 people. The likelihood of getting into a car accident at all is 1.76%.  I KNOW THIS. I know this, but I cannot stop thinking about what that less than 1% means to me.
(This thought process exploded last night as I came back from the city to cabin; 20 miles of unlit highway. Me with my Xenon beams and assholes with their brights, in front and behind. My eyes ached and I had a headache for most of the night after my driving escapade. Tonight I’m heading back to the city and I’m nervous, ALREADY THOUGH IT’S HOURS AND HOURS AWAY, of coming back here. Fuck a duck.)
I talk myself down. I remind myself I have driven across these United States with nary a thought, TWICE. I’ve driven from Michigan to the east coast at least six times in the last year. Some of it alone. I’ve driven to lots of long places, by myself, and I come out fine. So why the freak out?
With me, anxiety can be drilled down to a singular incident which builds upon itself into this catastrophic thinking. TheEx’s road rage has finally manifested itself all these years later, which causes me even more irritation than anger because I just want to be done with him. This hold over me is paper thin but it ill not rip. It’s annoying and in some ways, it’s fucking with my life.
Because it’s paralyzes me. It paralyzes me to the point I often cannot leave the house, enjoy my time socially with other people, or even enjoy a nice car ride.
My therapist says most anxieties can be worked through, controlled, and often cured. I am too impatient to get rid of the driving one, I want it to begone! But it’s something I have to control and work on, slowly and methodically.
Something that only I can deliver myself from. And lots of Klonopin.

xoxo,
Lisa

P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 2010, 2008, 2008, 2000, 1999

I need to be in the town where they know what I’m like and don’t mind

Dear Internet,
It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve done a serious update, thus it’s time to keep everyone abreast of what’s happening in my little world.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

First up, I’m moving. Again.
I’ve been holed up in Kentucky these last six weeks, staying with TEH, as I’ve run out of day to day living money.The GR apartment was pre-paid for a year and I received my refund for the remaining six months, but that would only cover monthly expenses sans rent/food so it was time to go. The plans is I would be responsible for paying my bills and TEH would cover food/housing/gas. (We have the weirdest divorce, ever.) One of the conditions of me living here was keeping up daily chores and job hunting, which I’ve been doing with aplomb.
TEH decided to head up to the cabin for a month or so, starting in the first week of August, in which I would fly to CT to stay with TheBassist as I could not take a break from job hunting. Then TEH decided he was going to go up later than planned after which my open return ticket had been purchased. Since we’re now looking at me being out in CT for roughly two months now, I decided to cancel and swap the ticket over to TheBassist, whose flying out here on Sunday with planning on driving to CT that day.
Follow that? Okay good.
Right now my packing is skilled enough that it’s frightening. If you ever need help to pack for a trip or a house, I’m your girl.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Speaking of jobs, as of July 30th I am up to 113 applications from everything to librarianing to content curation and (now) retail (bookstores). I’m also heavily looking for positions as a tech/copywriting/content. No stone unturned and etc.
My interview rate is about one in ten, which is above average. I often get second interviews and then! Rejection. One place rescind an offer 24 hours later after extending said offer exclaiming I did not “show enough interest in the job” though I drove an hour one way for a 30 minute interview. So yep, totally not interested. I was shopping for apartments in Lexington, KY when they called to rescind the offer. Was it because of the case?
Probably.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Speaking of writing, I sold my first writing piece to a web ‘zine and I’m super excited about it (natch). I cannot publish the piece here nor do I know when it’s going to be published, but I can tell you the title is, “How I Divorced My Mother in Three Easy Steps.” It is non-fiction and clocks in at about 1800 words before editing. My beta-readers said, “It’s impossibly dark.”, so that should give you an idea of the atmosphere of the content. As always, I keep it real.
In other writing news, I’m doing reviews for No Flying No Tights, mainly in adult graphic novels. I assumed I had spread the word for this but apparently not! This is not a paid gig, but it will help with my bibliography (or clips) page. I’m super excited about this possibility.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Flipping back to the job thread, I am using Udemy.com to build my own education, concentrating on front end web development, content, and SEO to extend my skills. TEH and I purchased bundles from them over the years as well as taking advantage of free classes is allowing me to do this on the cheap. I know, I know. I KNOW. I was on the defense war path that coding was not the only technical thing and yet, here we are! I do apologize deeply to those who got tired of that schtick. It’s pretty clear a lot of jobs require some if not all of these for the typical unicorn they are trying to catch, so why not?

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Mentally, things have been more or less okay. Last week was awful with the mania where I was hopping off the walls while crying for entire days. The only recourse, at the time, was to drug up on Klonopin and sleep with Ted E. Bear.
Things came to a head when TEH and TheBassist both insisted I up my Lamictal to the last dosage as approved by doctor in Grand Rapids and take myself to the free clinic to talk to someone.
The free clinic in Louisville is designed mainly for the homeless and those on their last hopes. As a walk-in, I was told they could see me when first available slot came open. Four hours later I requested more info to discover the therapists were all at lunch and they closed at 3:30. Would I liked ot make an appointment? Sure, why not. Okay, we can fit you in two weeks. Two weeks? Yes. What if I came back tomorrow? You’ll have to start the waiting process all over again.
(…)
I called six places in Louisville and every single one was booked out for weeks and months. If I was suicidal, which I wasn’t but I was in crisis, I could check myself in at the local emergency room who could throw me in a locked ward for 48-72 hours. THEN I could get help.
(I don’t know if I told you all this but I was stuck on the east coast during a massive blizzard back in January with an appointment with a medicating therapist in GR the following day. I called and canceled and explained why, they said they couldn’t fit me for another five months. This is an emergency I insisted. Doesn’t matter they said. When I finally say said medicating therapist and told her about the run up, she said they had policies in place and times open for just things. It should not have taken me five months to see her.)
Thankfully I had an appointment set in CT JUST IN CASE if I happened to come back that same time, so I’ll be okay in CT. I’m also set up in CT with a local bipolar support group.
I’ve, and others, have said over and over again the state of mental health wouldn’t be this tenuous unless the pain was physical and obvious. It’s frustrating, anxiety inducing, and pointless. But that is a rant for another day.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

That’s pretty much it for me at this time and juncture. Sunday is the 12 hour drive day so it might be a few days before I post here again. Happy weekend everyone.
 
xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2014, 2014, 2012, 2012, 2008

Collection of Cunning Curiosities – June 6, 2015

Johann Georg Hainz's Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

A weekly compendium of things that delight my fancy.

Dear Internet, You can follow this collection on Pinterest. x0x0, lisa

Fanciful Delights

♥ Hot Date is a game that you have a speed date with a pug. If that isn’t adorable enough for you, you have a cold, cold heart. The rounds are fast, the retort to your questions are mainly hilarious, and you can spend hours figuring out how to get a pug to go on a date with you. Don’t worry, this isn’t beastiality in a cartoon form, but a fun way to wile away some hours.
♥ Shameless is the US version of the Channel4 British version of the show with the titular name. If you haven’t been keeping up, it’s about “…single dad Frank Gallagher is not at the bar spending what little money he has, he’s passed out on the floor. But his industrious kids have found ways to grow up in spite of him”. I’ve been mainlining this show for the last few weeks and while the premise sounds cheap, the stories built around the Gallagher are not. You grow to love them despite their troubles and foibles. The show is available on Showtime for free or streaming on Amazon.com.
♥ If watching an octopus carry two coconut shell halves before curling up inside of them isn’t adorable, you’re beyond help.

♥ According to MIC, these are the little things that we think are sexy. I have a very defined type, and I’ll use my last two paramours to prove it. TheExHusband and TheBassist are both 6’7. They both have incredibly flat asses. They each have very strong and well defined hands and both have glorious heads of hair. The eerie part? Though neither have ever met the other, there are times when they the exact same things within a very short amount of time. I’ll admit I think there are times when they are colluding, but this only serves my point more that they each complement my ways in various degrees.

This day in Lisa-Universe in: 2009, 1999

good morning Europe, good night lisa

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

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2011, 1999

2771.7/divorce

Dear Internet,
The last few weeks have been jammed pack with excitement and drama, so let me catch you up.
Epic Trip
Couple of weeks ago, Kristin and I drove from Michigan to DC to see Angela Lansbury in Blithe Spirit. But to add even more excitement to the trip, we drove up to Connecticut to take care of my stuff in storage, got caught in a mini-blizzard and ended up crashing at TheBassist’s house, then the following morning we drove to New Jersey to see our friend Val. Then we came home. The epicness of this? We did this over five days.
If that wasn’t enough, I was home less than 24 hours before I drove to Kentucky for a job interview at a $museum and came home that weekend.
Over the course of 13 days, I drove 2771.7 miles. I am not leaving the house unless I have a REALLY compelling reason.
Next week I’m flying (thank fuck) to the east coast for an in-person interview with $college, which will be my second interview with them. Fingers crossed.
Then I come back in time to head to Chicago with Kristin, again, for our yearly mecca to C2E2. She scored us a photo op with Jason Momoa, so if you never hear from me again, you know why.
The Case
While I was in Kentucky, our retraction of #teamharpy statements went live and a few days later, I posted the essential case facts to get everyone up to speed. I know I said that I wasn’t going to comment on it, but I think what happened after the retraction is fascinating. Namely,

  • No one reads or listens. After the plaintiff publicly accepted the retraction and asked for people to stop trolling so that we can move on to heal, after I wrote a follow-up to the retraction explaining the outcome in curt facts and posted it publicly with permission for others to copy it to their sites, speculation and trolling are running rampant. Within the librarian community, on larger community sites, even after the “this is what happened” post went live, people are still running their mouths on what they think they know. Only those involved in the case know, but suddenly everyone is an expert on Canadian law and apparently received their JD by sending in two box tops and a dollar. It’s just fascinating how the mob just turns even when those involved are like, listen here are the facts that we can provide you.
  • Nearly everyone is a troll I wasn’t privy to the trolling of the plaintiff, but allegedly it was bad. #teamharpy was trolled on a pretty regular basis, and I know that got worse with time. Once the case settled, the trolling of everyone involved boomed through the roof. It wasn’t just librarians in our online communities, but nearly every MRA and GG realsie and sock puppet accounts. Here are some of the examples:

troll4 troll3 troll2 troll1
I RT’d most of the threats, abuse, and harassment I received. People were shocked, but, having known that regardless of how the case was going to end up this was going to happen, I am not.
If you’re curious to the extent of the harassment, here is a complete list of every tweet about #teamharpy archived.
The trolling wasn’t just about online comments, but attacks on my life. EPbaB had several hundred malicious exploits attempted, which were blocked by TSTBEH as an example.

  • Safe spaces are slowly becoming unicorns I know a lot of people are working tirelessly to end this, and this is not disregard their work (and I am not being passive aggressive here — just so we’re clear), but (isn’t there always), a lot of folks told me privately they don’t feel safe coming forward if they have been harassed by someone, regardless of who and where, in any manner. It didn’t matter how the case ended up, the backlash by humanity at large is still forcing those who are oppressed, suffering, and etc., to not move forward. We’re being stripped of our humanity, even as I write this, because if you put forward your voice on $x, there are those who will denounce you and silence you until you are metaphorically beaten. I’m not even referring to the case, but being a woman in general, my voice has been silenced in lots of ways because I’m willing to show the world that I am human.
  • Support comes in unexpected ways Thank you to everyone who came forward with hugs, kindness, and public support during this crazy time. You are very much appreciated and beloved.

The Divorce
As of March 31, 2015, the divorce is now final. TSTBEH is now going to be referred to as TEH. It was a bittersweet moment in court, even more so after seeing those who went before me. I cried last night, threw up this morning, but handled it pretty well. Thankfully. TEH and I are still very close and amicable, so as it was said to me today, I am very lucky that this pain is not going to be so much anger as it is heartache.
Now how have I been feeling? Surprisingly pretty zen. Accepting how things were going to be (the case, the divorce) and what to expect in the realm of emotions, I’ve been doing pretty good at keeping myself together. I haven’t had any breakdowns in the last month (other than some anxiety which is typical for me regardless of the bipolar) and that is also to say, when I have had breakdowns they have been less frequent and much shorter time span than before.
Here’s to moving forward.
xoxo,
Lisa

the end of the affair

Dear Internet,
I wrote the below on September 9, 2014, a week after TSTBEH and I had split up. What I was so sure then has changed dramatically over the months that what I’m so sure of now doesn’t look like below.
But if you’re curious as to the demise of a marriage and why, here is where you begin.

I’m sleeping on the couch we bought for $3K and imported from Italy, which is doing a fine job of jacking up my back and hips. I thought after decades of being poor and making less than $12K a year, the trappings of having a big girl job and disposable income would cure most of my ills. Because that is how it works. You get your degrees and your post-new-American Dream life, and your world comes easy. Because NOW you have money.
Except, they forget to tell you your friends find it awkward to hang out with you in your fancy house (or you lose friends because now that you’re “successful” you apparently wipe your ass with $100 bills). The same friends who were with you when you were poor, ditched you when you’re rich. The same friends whom after you announce your seperation, with the exception of 2, did not offer you any kind of help.
That your soon to be ex-husband wouldn’t take a vacation or go on vacation with you since your honeymoon 4.5 years prior because it would eat into his aggressive plan for retirement savings. And if you can only hold out 15 more years! We can live in Europe — that’s what is really important. We do not live for today, but for 15 years hence.
The same person who stopped having sex with you two years after you got together because they had already been down that road before, so why bother? Then claimed to be asexual, then told you you could have lovers on the side but knew you wouldn’t because you wanted the big love, not the casual fling. (But through all of this, still found it appropriate to touch you in a sexual manner and was, teehee, just joking and really Lisa, we’re both just too fat to have sex.)
But on paper, everything was grand! You were walking around with 0 balance $30K in credit in your purse, driving a $40K car, and owned two properties in beyond desirable locations. And so what if your husband wouldn’t fuck you, or go out with you, or meet your friends, or who told you after you tell them you are getting sued for standing for what you believe in, “Oh fuck, we’re going to lose the house!” OR a myriad of other things — life could be a lot worse.
I had big love 9 years ago and it went away. I swore to myself I would never go without again or settle. But I compromised and settled. Because we’re adults and that’s what you do. Big love is for Romeo and Juliet, not aging alternative hipsters. Then big love came back, with book in hand, and quietly tells you it’s only been you all this time.
There was never anyone else but you. And you know this is true because you’ve found big love’s notes, piling up for years, across the internet. Searching for you. Waiting for you, for when you’re ready. Figure your life out, big love says, and come to me when you’re ready.

xoxo,
Lisa
This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2014, 2014, 2012, 2010, 2003, 1999