The last post to this blog was in 2013.
After friends poking and poking me, I think I'll try to take it up again. The whole blogging thing. At least then someone will get the happy thought they can go somewhere and read the bullshit I have to say and be done with it.
Maybe that's why I can't read anymore. Because I need to write.
In fact, I'm not even going to go back and try to see where I left off, other than that month and that year. Um, so around 2013 to about now in a few lines....or...you know, as the first blog entry, I guess.
I went to trucking school because my husband said I couldn't do it. Did it for three months, rolled a rig on it's side 180* and laid it gently on the side of the road (unbelievably glad that it didn't rip the arm off my co-driver, who I adore, but her cat totally shot out the broken window when the truck came to a halt and we never found it, which broke my heart. He was a beautiful tuxedo cat and was sweet - lost somewhere on I-10 right shy 3 miles of the Florida boarder - named Rio). Did some recovery and dropped LSD (an analogue, don't judge) about every weekend for a solid four months (which is probably why I didn't wind up with PTSD in regards to getting in a big rig again....I think I could still drive...they never called me back....the official reports said that it was mechanical failure...I waited and basically my CDL expired....whatever). Walked into a head shop looking for a pipe for my friend's birthday and wound up with a job behind the counter. Worked for a month there as a clerk, became a store manager. Worked solidly for four months straight without a day off and became the purchasing agent/warehouse manager for the chain (5 stores), helping out the general manager because she had her IUD ripped out of her body, got pregnant with twins, and was all-round miserable the entire time (which, that was a funny story too, the 'Hey, I'm pregnant' thing, but that's for another blog) and at some point in that first few months, had to take a week off because I had fibrous growths on my uterus and a cyst on an ovary so bad it was encapsulated (I think everything was taken. She did leave me an ovary, which, the first 'period' I had after....holy shit, was it pissed off that it was doing the job all by itself...it HURT....). Learned more about weed and drugs than I ever did in high school in the duration of 1 year. Got 'laid off' because I took the time off to get gastric bypass surgery. Got a job as a dispatcher at an AC company. Office was quiet, folks were nice and down-to-earth country livin' types.
A year into that, life went to hell in a handbasket.
In October of last year, my dad died. It was a paradox of thought - I cannot say it was unexpected, but it wasn't expected. I knew he had a bad heart and I imagined a heart attack would eventually take him out. I had just hoped that he would live long enough to see both his granddaughters graduate high school. I loved my father so much and I even though we did not see eye to eye on religion, we had a good relationship. I just didn't get to see him enough. So now it just leaves me, my mom (three half-siblings which live literally on the other side of the world), and my stepmother.
A couple of weeks before my dad died, my husband and I had been talking a lot about my need to sleep more. It's gotten to the point where he wanted me to seek medical attention, so I went to see a shrink. Who wound up giving me an anti-depressant, an anti-anxiety med, and a sleep pill. Two weeks later, my dad drops dead of a heart attack.
That was perhaps the only reason why I could stay and still stay relatively calm about the whole affair. My emotions are chemically castrated. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. In this case, I don't know how I would have made it through the past few months without it.
A week after my dad died,, my husband got laid off. Breadwiener of the family at the moment (Bread Winner - title given to the majority payer of the bills.... Breadwiener - same diff, save for the fact that we can tease each other about it from time to time), this was Really Bad. At least in my mind, adjusting to meds. Within the week after, he gets it into his head we need to do what we talked about years ago, right before my sister died. We needed to move to pursue our spiritual side.
Um, okay. I had thought earlier that we'd hacked out a sort of four year plan to get our youngest daughter out of school and then us move out there, but sure. If that's what he wants. I am really in no condition to be making life decisions two weeks after my dad died, but hey, we're a partnership, and at the moment, he's more than welcome to take the captain's wheel while I go starboard and hurk my emotional guts out.
So, the kicker was that we moved to Kentucky to learn witchcraft. No shit. Specifically, British Traditional Witchcraft.
Who had any idea that Louisville, KY, home of the Derby, housed so many traditional witches in the US?
But during all of this whirlwind of insanity, there had been a plan. There was a plan kicking around before I got laid off from the head shop gig about going to Thailand for at least a month. That plan had not changed and it was for January of this year. That actually was several blog posts worth of shit, but if you're not on my facebook then you missed it. I will, however, give you one picture (because, you know, thousand words):
|(If you want to know more about this place, look up Wat Rong Khun (see? Isn't it spiffy of me to provide you a link to the wiki for easier access?).)|
Anyway, amazing lifetime adventure, get home, flight of the bumblebee packing, head towards 'home'. When I get back into town, I get generics for my meds. This....was okay from the one I was taking, the mail order that does three months at a time? I don't think it works the same.
Husband's insurance hasn't kicked in yet, so I'm into the last month of what I've been prescribed and I gotta find a shrink. All the while, I've been looking for a job since the beginning of February. I think I found one.
Having been an assistant manager with Walmart kind of gives me a little street cred in the retail arena - it's not an easy job, you really kind of get paid dick for the amount of stress involved, but because you can handle that, you can handle just about any kind of middle management hell they want to stick you in.
So...uh, the first gig I've gotten a good response from is a singing fudge factory. And that's not some sort of euphemism for anything else. Literally, your job is to sing and make fudge. As an assistant, it just includes key turn, deposits, cash flow, and supply chains. 'Supervising'.
I keep telling people....I really just can't make this shit up.
So right now, my life is compromised of domestic tranquility of sorts (I try to keep shit clean, my cooking hasn't poisoned anyone yet, and maybe the laundry isn't folded, but it's been washed and put in the general vicinity of where it's supposed to go). I'm fucking around on the computer, waiting for all the paperwork and red tape to put me into the candy-making store in a highly 'entertaining' part of town, trying to keep the cat from tossing it's cookies everywhere and diligently taking meds, trying not to worry about when they're gonna run out if the insurance has kicked in or not. Occasionally, practicing some spiritual stuffs. I watch my 14 year old kid (almost 15, she keeps reminding me) walk through the house painted in grey body-paint with white out contacts (Not as Goth as you think - she's a coplayer who refers to herself as Homestuck Trash....some sort of web comic where there are quads of feelers.....you'd have to read it. But everyone that IS Homestuck Trash advises against it. My husband works second shift, so things are just a bit weird so far.
Other than the coven we'd joined prior and the politics involved in having so many covens so close, I don't really talk to anyone or haven't made any 'friends', save for this nice burner fellow that likes to breathe fire and kind of fancies himself a circus kid - all good. Somewhere in the above paragraphs of what I've been doing, during the time I was working at the AC company, my friend introduced me to a local Houston group that fancy themselves by the name of 'Burners', a collective of artsy people who lifelong goal is to party at the feet of the Burning Man effigy at Black Rock City. Nice people. Did some arting with them. So when I came out here, I tried to find a few....Zootch is the only dude I've met so far.
I'm sure it's just going to get weirder. Or more normal for me, anyway, even though it seems lonely. I keep telling myself I just need to give it more time.
Anyway, my fingers are out of practice. I'll just try to write more stuff tomorrow.