Feeling South Dakota Blues

I've been feeling a bit lost lately. I can see from some past entries this is not uncommon. I feel like I have lost my mojo once again, and I'm not really sure I ever had it back to begin with.  I get excited about something and then... the excitement dies one way or another.

I recently found an amazing thing... sort of my dream home. but it's about 400 miles from here, and would be about 180k to buy and then there are moving costs. Now, the 180k isn't all up front. we would need at least 30k up front, plus whatever it would cost to put in a bathroom and a kitchen, plus electricity and a generator. Then the other rooms could be built in as we go. But of course we don't have that kind of money. And if we sold the condo, we'd have enough, but no where to stay while it was going on.

And the hubby doesn't even know that he wants to move there. He's about 70/30 against it. I'm about 70/30 for it. but he's the one making the money right now, so my vote really doesn't count so... I just have to force myself to accept it isn't going to happen and try to be okay with it.

I am having a hard time being okay with it. Because I have the feeling that it is something I have to do. The same feeling that told me I had to take Sam home. The same feeling that told me we needed to get Jack, and Gypsy. The same feeling that told me I needed to buy a condo and get out of renting when I did. This feeling has never steered me wrong. So it's very painful trying to ignore it.

And it's making me very depressed. Because I know we can't afford to do it, even if I could talk him into it... We'd need benefactors. People to gift us money to do this. I'd need a sizable lotto win. Something remarkable would need to happen. And I'm just not that lucky.

The Pink Tax

Today I shared a video in Facebook about the Pink Tax. That mysterious extra amount we women have to pay for our products because they are made for women. The way the women's razors cost more than the men's or the way our deodorant is more even though everything is supposed to be the same.

Well... The manufactures say they are "different" and the people in the video say they are the "same".

I started thinking about this. When I was in high school, I bought men's deodorant because the women's did jack shirt for me. I sweated like a whore in church in the middle of a summer heatwave out in the Sahara desert. Women's deodorant died about 30 minutes into my day. Men's at least lasted until gym class when I could reapply, and that lasted until I got home.

I never had a BO problem. I didn't smell. I just sweated constantly. I run hot. Always have.

So I was already buying men's deodorant back then, and didn't notice the price difference. I bought guy's jeans too, because they fit better in the ass. I picked up the cheapest razors I could find so I was probably buying men's there as well and didn't know it.  So most of the cost difference in high school would have been lost on me.

Fast forward to college. I got on a hippie kick and went into natural products and recycled things. So my clothing and shoes came from second hand stores and my products from the natural shops. So I was saving money in one place and blowing it in the other. Because natural products were WAY spendy.

Fast forward to today. I still get my clothes from second hand places. I should probably point out that under garments have never been 'clothes' and were always bought new. Socks, underwear and bras all come new, unless they are special socks, like costume socks or thick winter wear socks that are mega expensive and were only worn once. I make exceptions for those.

My beauty products I get mostly from the devil itself, Wal-Mart. Makeup I order from overseas via Wish. Asian makeup is really amazing. And oodles cheaper, even with shipping.

I have also discovered Dollar Tree, and buy a lot of things there. Bath products mostly. Some other things. Razors are a pack of 6 for a dollar. Blue or Pink. They don't discriminate. Same with the shave gel.

So there are ways to get around the PINK TAX these days, if you know how to do it. You have to know where to look, and be willing to shop at various stores. You won't be able to get everything in one place.

Just my thoughts.

Surgery, and the waiting game

My husband just went into surgery. He has a cyst on his tailbone about the size of my hand. He is nervous because of the possible complications  with anesthesia. Of course, I am telling him he will be fine, but he keeps saying "just in case..."
I don't want to hear that. No one does. He is being practical  of course. He is being the adult. The conversations in the waiting room are all groups of people being adults. Being practical. And I want none of it.
I have to wait 2 hours. That it how long this is going to take. 2 hours without knowing what is going on in there.
My mother can tell you, I am no good at waiting. For anything. I would make myself sick waiting for things; from Christmas to birthdays to tests to vacations, if I had to wait for it I got sick right before it.
Which is why I pushed this out of my head until this morning. Which is why I didn't eat anything solid to throw up later. Which is why I am sitting here with my stomach twisted in knots and refusing to go potty because if I leave they will come looking for me.
I hate the waiting game. I wish they would have let me go in with him.

The flames.

Being a housewife again means I have house work. And I am getting back into that habit. The cooking part is harder. I want to cook but I have issues eating things lately so cooking seems out of sorts. All I want to eat is pretzel sticks or bread sticks. Why would I want to cook things if I don't want to eat them? But I know I should be cooking, because my husband needs to eat and so do I. I really cannot live on pretzel sticks and bread. It just doesn't work that way. If only my tummy would agree.

I am trying to find passion again. The flames. I love making things and love when I am working on something. However lately it seems I am in a creative dead zone. Like my inability to eat means I can't create either. I have so many things pinned on Pinterest that I want to just make. I could probably do some of them with what I have at home, or even with a few minor purchases, but I start looking at the project and something just clicks off and the interest dies out and I close the page. I think "Why bother?" or "I don't really need to make that" or "Why do I want to make it? I have no use for it..."

There are several other projects but I need others to make them work. I need something I can do on my own. I can't depend on other people. I have to be able to do something on my own. I need to stop waiting on other people for my life to begin or have meaning. I rely on others, and usually it only ends up biting me in the ass because they never come through. Then I get depressed or angry.

I can't expect others to be at my becon call either, and I know that. But I have a fear of doing things alone. I need to get over this. I need to just bite the bullet. I didn't used to be this way. There was a time when I was independent and free. There was a time when I was able to just go out and do stuff.

But I lived in a small town then. I was closer to nature and more connected to myself. None of that applies anymore. Even if I go to a park here it feels fake. It feels like a zoo for nature. When I went home for my aunt's funeral I could feel real nature and I realized how much I missed it and how removed I am from it.

I don't know if I can find myself again here in the city. I have to try, because my home is here and my husband is here. But it is so hard. I wonder if the slow dying old me is why I can't eat or why I am not feeling creative lately. The thought is there.

Another Death, another Sorrow, another heartbreak.

So, it is 2am.
Yesterday evening, my Aunt JoAnn passed away.
This is a little over a year after I lost my Auntie Mel.

I think only my Uncle Joe is left from that generation of the family. The rest have all passed. So many of them, so many gone.

I know logically, that this was probably the best for Aunt JoAnn. That still doesn't make it any easier. I can only imagine the sorrow her kids, grand-kids, and great grand-kids are feeling. I say this because when my grandmother passed, there was a sharp moment of pain where I realized... I didn't know her anymore than she knew me. She'd suffered from Alzheimer's disease since before I was born. Any part of the woman I did know was debatable that it was really her. Ther was a period of about 10 years or so that I didn't even see her because my mother put her in a nursing home and thought it best if I didn't go visit. She tried to protect me from seeing the shell of a woman her mother had become.

My cousins knew their grandmother. As I told my cousin Trisha, Aunt JoAnn and Auntie Mel were like bonus Grandmothers for me, since mine was never there. I felt very close to them both, and though they weren't my grandmothers, I ache more from their loss than I ever did from losing my Grandma. They took her place. They stepped in for their sister. That was what family did.

I learned a lot about family, kindness, the type of person to be, from both my Aunts. They'd take me for a few weeks in the summer, and I'd get to spend time with each of them. I was probably a very difficult child...being an only child to start with, and having a lot of emotional issues to work with. But they handled me perfectly, I like to think, because along with my parents and my Dad's side of the family, I think I turned out okay.

My Aunts are the ones I remember talking to about things I wasn't sure I could talk to my parents about. Aunt JoAnn used to let me just play with the cats, Fluffy and Blue Eyes, or with Rocky the dog. They had rescued them, and it was part of what drives me now to want to help and rescue other animals. I know that I wouldn't be who I am without either of them.

Losing Aunt JoAnn is hard. As I said, it's probably the best. Like my own Grandmother, she developed Alzheimer's disease later in life. I cannot imagine what it must be like waking up and not know the people around you, where you are, or even who you are. It can't be easy on her family, going through it either. My Grandmother forgot who my mother was, and I believe more than once thought I was my mother. I know that when I was little she was living with us and tried to go "downtown". Only she wanted to go "downtown Trinidad, CO" and we were living in Oklahoma City. I have very little memories to draw upon, but I know it was hard on my mother, and on my Aunts and Uncles seeing their sister this way. I can imagine the same goes for my cousins.

Still, it does little to take the edge off the loss felt. Even if she didn't remember, she was still there. In some way... She was still her. She was alive. Now, she is gone. There is a finality to that which is irreversible.  That cutting of the thread which you cannot take back or undo. Any glimmer of hope has gone with her. She is at peace... but the agony of her family has not ended.

I don't know what to say to my cousins at this time. I'm bad with words and emotions when I'm so close to them. It always comes out awkward and wrong. The two sides of my brain don't talk to each other, and so it's really hard to either not sound like a self centered brat, or a robot. The emotional side, if you haven't guessed, is the self centered brat. It tries to assure others I understand because I've had similar feelings... so everything some how comes back to my life. The logical side is the robot, cutting out all the emotion and just saying that she's free from the disease, and they are free from the pain of the disease, and time will heal the broken hearts... and really sounding like an uncaring bastard.

Neither of which is the full or correct picture. I do care. I feel at odds with my feelings because she was "just my Aunt"... and they are grieving a mother, grandmother, or great grandmother. Who am I to intrude on their sorrow, even if I felt closer to her than my own grandmother? How can I offer them sympathy, when I feel anything I say makes it sound as if I either hurt just as much as them (which feels like it isn't allowed) or makes it seem like I'm a callous bitch (which I really am not).

My grief feels alien, and my position in the family once again feels alien. I can't logic my way out of this, and I certainly can't allow my feelings to guide me. I want to let them know I feel their pain, but I feel like maybe it's better to be the outsider again. There's too much going on in my own head, and heart, that maybe it is for the best if I just remain the black sheep.

Trying to tell my husband about it, through the bouts of wailing, and choking on my own tears, there is one phrase that stuck into my brain. So many are gone... I've lost so many of them... So many graves.

It feels like my whole past is being buried, that any of my happy childhood memories now traces a line to a gravestone. We have buried so many... buried the past. What hope do I have for the future? This, I know is the emotions delving too deep into the depression. The well of sorrow overflows and trips the circuits for the mental problems to begin again. Depression, my old enemy... I will never be free of you until I myself am in one of those graves. That is where our battle will end. But not today,... You can't own me over this. As deep as the sorrow runs at losing my Aunt, there is not enough grief to drive me to the cold earth as well. Because she would have wanted me to fight you. She would have wanted me to be strong. Tears may fall, and my heart might crack and break a thousand times, but my Aunts expected me to shoulder things like this. Family comes together when there are bad times. Family comes together when there is grief. Family stands together, and I can't do that if I'm letting you win.

If I have learned anything from these strong women in my family, it is that even when there is pain and sorrow, even when there is heartbreak, you pick yourself back up. Family picks you back up. And even just the thought of Family can pick you back up. They watched their brothers and husbands go off to war. They waited, worried, and still went about their life trying to smile and be happy, no matter the worry or sadness. They leaned on each other.

It is times like this I regret growing up an only child. No siblings to bond with, or lean on. My cousins have each other. They have a strong support system. They were raised by these women. My Aunt JoAnn raised my cousins everyday with the lessons and messages I only learned a few days out of the year... I have faith they will band together and pull though this. They don't need me mucking things up.

And I? I will soldier on as I can. I live my life trying to be the person all my family raised me to be. My parents, their parents, my aunts and uncles... everyone who had a hand in shaping how I grew up. Most of them are gone now. Passed on to the other side, of whatever awaits us after death. The best I can do, is be the person they helped me become, the person they wanted me to be.

Aunt JoAnn, I will miss you terribly. I know you are with Auntie Mel, Uncle Ivar, Uncle Pete, Uncle Albert, Uncle Robert, Aunt Ogla, my Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Phillip... and possibly my Grandpa Lyle and Grandma Helen, my friends Valerie and Dawn.... I hope that you are free, and that you are happy again. You were a brilliant light here on earth, and I hope that you will be just as brilliant a star in the night sky, for every one of your family to continue to look up to. Your's is a light that cannot die, or be dimmed.

Until we meet again, on whatever other side there is... bless you for being there when I needed you. Thank you for teaching me what you did. I love you, and will miss you.

Rest now.

Deeper Reflections

Part of the Phoenix mentality is that you live, you die, you are reborn. This makes looking back on life important to me. Because even in one life you can be reborn several times.

People naturally do it all the time. Think about the person you are right now. Are you the same person inside, spiritually, morally, ethically, interest wise, intellectually, financially, etc, that you were 10 years ago? 15? 20? More than likely, no. As you look back on your own padt you can see places where you changed. Sometimes we mark these with time stamps like "elementary", "middle school", "high school", "college", and then our "30s" and so on. Maybe for you it was "pre-event" and "post-event".

For me, there is "Oklahoma" (birth to 13),
"High school" (13 to 18), "pre-first marriage" (18 to 25), "first marriage"(2004 to 2011) [notice how I switch to years instead of age? Age stopped mattering around 25 when I turned a quarter of a century old and freaked out... ]
"Divorce" (2011-2012), "post-Divorce" (2012-2015) and "second marriage" (2015-present).

Even in these timeframes I can point out places where who I am evolved. Mini-events that shaped who I became. Like points on a timeline during eras. So are the days of our... Well, you probably know how that goes.

Diaries, or Blogs, can help us look back at events. It doesn't feel like 6 years since I wrote about my mother's donkey dying, but I can look back at the blogs from 2010 and find it. Reading it again I can recall how I felt at that time. I know my writing well enough to pick up on the tone and cues.

I know there are people who come into my life and change me. I learn from them. I adapt. I pick up phrases or habits. I don't realize it until I catch myself repeating something in the same tone or with the same words. And then it becomes part of me. And then sometimes it gets replaced by some other phrase or tone.

It is like reinventing yourself without thinking about it. And as time passes you evolve. But you forget how you evolve until you go back and read things. Revisit your own words.

Reflections

I am a creature of pack nature who is also an introvert. This makes it very difficult for me. I am happiest when left to my own devices, but I need others around me to feel comfortable. I work well in places where there are lots of people leaving me alone to work.

And I live best with others. I have tried living on my own begore and was miserable. So miserable that I spent more time hanging with friends and sleeping on sofas than at my own place. I should have saved money and just had a storage unit and couch surfed.

I also tried living with one other person but if I was home by myself and they were at work, it was the same issue. Double issue if I was alone at night. So I was always up at night and asleep during the day to ease the stress. But it didn't get rid of it.

My first relief came when I had several roommates. My parents were against it but I was finally in a happy little nest. Everyone had different schedules so someone was always around when I was. I never got bothered because everyone was doing their own thing. I had found bliss.

Fast forward to today. I am married. We own a mortgage on a condo. Just a 2 bedroom thing. But there are four of us here. Two couples. One set to each bedroom. And again I am happy. Everyone does their thing, but we also do some meals and double dates together. I am never alone. I am happy in my nest.

Some people are happy in a nest of one. Others in a nest of specific members (spouse and children). I would be happy in a house of 30 friends and family just doing their thing and maybe sharing a few meals and some event nights (movie night, game night, ect)

It is a good life, when you find your nest. It is something worth holding on to.