omg, wtf already?!

i’m not complaining, not by a long shot. this is what i want. exactly what i wanted. the fear of paying bills, the sudden waterfall of money out versus the trickling of money in, the cold terror of covering my own ass (which frankly seems a shame: i’ve heard i’ve got a rather good looking ass).

my ass, large a target as it is, is not the point here (more of a rounded curve really), the point is me, sitting here in some strange apartment across the hall from my parents (with whom i eat the majority of my meals), learning how to live life on my own (sort of, if you can consider scooting a walker in front of you to be ‘on your own’, which i do. have you ever seen one of those old ladies pushing a walker? five words: get out of their way.)

shit, i’ve lost my train of thought. shocking, right?

so where was i? here. that’s right: here i am, mildly freaked out, but sipping a small glass of kaffir lime vodka as i open and sort months worth of mail and bills and pay stubs and retirement accounts and new checking accounts and car dealership slips reminding me i have to get the car’s oil checked (don’t get me started now, i’m on a roll**) and i watch the ever dwindling difference amount in the difference cell of my expenses versus income spreadsheet and “mildly” freaked out suddenly doesn’t apply as i edge closer to full on panic attack, but here’s the cool part:

I AM ENJOYING THE SHARP TANGY FRUITY LIMEY DELICIOUSNESS OF MY VODKA!!!

ok, technically it’s my husband’s vodka since we bought it while he was paying the bills, but it’s here now and he’s not. plus he’s a god-damn sweetheart.

this is such an incredible break through I can hardly believe it! look at what happened! I just capitalized “I” and I did it again! and again! and AGAIN!! OMG, WTF!!!

it seems kind of sad, right? pathetic little ernestine living across the hall from her parents, working for her parents, eating with her parents (whoa, i hope this turns around soon, i’m feeling a little iffy on my progress…)

but it’s not sad. it’s part of my journey. my weird twisted internalized nepotistic journey.

and i’m ok with that.

washing down metamucil with beer**

well hello there acquaintances i used to call friends but would not dare to assume such familiarity at this time!

i keep meaning to send you an email to apologize (really? apologize?) for not staying in contact more. i don’t expect you still like me, even though i hope so.

i’ve been sad. and sad. and busy. but mostly sad. with short bouts of ‘what the fuck am i doing’ followed by sad. there have been brief moments of OH GOOD HEAVENS THANK GOODNESS and WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING? but for the most part, i have been glad when it’s foggy and cloudy; confused and a bit irritated when the sun came out.

and then i saw this really great guy. and he was all “rules? have there been any rules so far?” and since he is my husband of eight years, the last five months of it on the opposite coast as me, and since he said it with such honest sincerity, i actually feel better. shockingly so.

on therapy tuesday (how i wish i went on thursdays!), i shall overly discuss whether this means we are meant to be together, if we have too much invested to not work everything out immediately, or if it is just relief i feel at finally being truly honest with the man i’m married to. (he thinks i look into things too deeply.)

not the first time i’ve heard something like that.

speaking of, can we talk about how much dithering i have done over whether or not i should publish this particular bit of inconsequence? christ on a crucifix. i do over-think things.

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**does this title have anything to do with the contents of this post? only if you drink a beer after a metamucil dose…after a beer…before a glass or two of wine…after a vodka tasting…with tequila. meaning gets very fuzzy at this particular point in the cycle.