here i am.

beautiful things

I’m in kind of a weird emotional zone now. (I promise I’m not, for once, down in the dumps. I am okay. I am fine.) I think this is what my sweet friend Becky calls “feeling sideways.” I just…AM. The good thing about this is I feel a certain calmness now. My anger is contained, at last. I have been so angry, for so long. So full of indignant. I have no idea how many people I’ve alienated. I am sorry if you are one. It’s not an excuse, just an explanation: work stress + life stress + getting stalked stress = a big ball of fury named Amy. The saddest part is the stalker, I think – had he handled that situation with any amount of sanity, I probably would have let him back in knowing the kind of person I was back when that happened. He did not. And it changed me, and I’m just…now I’m just sideways. (But also pretty certain I will never ever put up with that kind of bullshit ever again. EVER. Try me, world.)

I am not the person I was at this time last year. At this time last year, I didn’t recognize so many things about myself. For instance, I did not realize I have thorns. Or how deeply I need silence. Or that I am REALLY not a morning person – like I should not have any kind of contact with people who don’t understand this until at least 10 AM. And now I know I can no longer be allowed near credit cards but this also means I have to account for every single penny I spend. I’m bleeding money every month, and I’m pretty sure it’s dinners out (because by the end of a long, crazy work day who doesn’t feel like cooking?

->THIS GIRL <- that’s who). So. I’ve decided to pull cash savings out every month. If it’s not in there, I can’t spend it (is the theory). Going 1920s Depression era on the bank. I’m also looking into interest-free credit cards to transfer my current balance to,  so I can pay it off faster. I found a good one, but I have to pay down my current credit card because they won’t take credit transfers that high (yes, Internet, it is THAT bad. When I just typed: “I can no longer be allowed near credit cards” I wasn’t joking: I’m like an alcoholic in a rum warehouse).

At any rate. Where I am at now (and who I am now):

I am no longer as trusting (but I still love people).

I no longer give people as many chances (but my heart is still soft).

I have thorns now and I pounce faster (but I still know how to forgive).

I don’t spend as quickly (but I still have champagne tastes on a beer budget).

I’ve figured out how not to let social media take over my life (it’s called putting the phone down and picking up a book).

I am brutally honest (even when it’s scary) (except if your haircut is hideous, I’M not going to tell you that).

In other news:

I’ve started running again. When I write “running,” what I actually mean is: fast walking, building up to belabored jogging. My body hates me right now, but I got it on a weight lifting regimen last Thursday when I had to move my classroom with the help of friend, so we’re going to keep plowing through. (I moved my entire classroom last Thursday. Five thousand books, 500 lb boxes, 400 tubs of crap, and various and sundry other items that I will most likely place in a storage cabinet when setting up in July and promptly forget I have for another 10 years and/or until I have to move again). Had I known, when getting my teaching degree in 1995, that I was actually becoming a teacher, a psychotherapist, a judge, a police officer, a nurse, a foster mother, a data entry clerk, a secretary, AND a burly mover of large and heavy items, I probably would have just gone into marine biology like I’d originally wanted to so I could sleep with dolphins, eat shrimp, and not have as many bills or stress.

C is off fishing this week. When he comes back, we have plans to sit down over lunch and talk about What’s Next. I will bring enormous amounts of tissues, and I’m not really sure why we’re doing this over tummy-upsetting food. I think I will order a large draft beer, though. I will probably need it. I thought last year was hard, and this fall and winter. But nope, this is going to be harder, I sense. He’s been my safety net (and he acknowledges this could have been one part of our many problems – he was constantly trying to fix me, and to rescue me) (I will talk to him about how I needed a safety net that didn’t try to fix me, and that this may not be possible for him when it comes to me…that he will one day meet someone he won’t feel a need to fix, and that this is my deepest wish for him – that C be happy and not constantly trying to fix anyone but himself. But mostly my deepest wish for him is happiness.)


I’m working on a poem and a story. The poetry is horrible, and I confess I don’t really know why I’m compelled  to write it. I think because…I read both Emily Dickinson’s and Mary Oliver’s simple but esoteric poetry a lot. I so want to be like them (I suppose I should take more walks in Nature, then, and be more Transcendental). And the story I’m writing is just a realistic fiction kind of thing. Not based on the stalking, if anyone reading this is elated or alarmed. Just something to help me refocus and start writing something other than these weird, navel-gazing pieces of dreck. Something to make me write. Every day.

And Miss M and I are overdoing it with pool time – we were out there for 3 hours yesterday, slathered in sunscreen and I still have a slight sunburn. I’d go see my dermatologist but I can’t afford medical attention these days. Thank god I can afford wine and beer.

That’s it. That’s all. Except I figured out what I want (finally). All I want out of life is THIS:

Okay, fine. I also want to tell stories for a living, go to at least one red carpet premier, win a billion dollars, and watch Donald Trump be publicly shunned. (Except I bet I’ll feel bad for him, and so I guess I just want to make sure he loses the election and crawls back under his rock – THAT’S what I want for Trump.)