Take # 549
I'm, uh... I'm not going to say "back," per se, but I am here. today. tonight. what have you. I read my last ten entries and, wow, life has certainly changed. in drastic, ridiculous ways. but my punctuation and lack of actual coherent sentences has not. sadly.
Matt and I are no longer together. This is not happiness pie. I've actually been somewhat of a spaz over it. But I finally talked to him today. I gave him back his keys and told him everything I needed to and don't feel at peace, necessarily, but maybe this is a start of Jackie "getting over it." I'm just trying not to hold out, waiting for him, for us, to be right. A lot of us not being right was my fault, my hypocritical nature and penchant for trying to live up to ideals, and a lot of it was his fault, law trouble, drinking trouble, in general disappointing your woman in ways she never thought she would be disappointed.
You'd think I'd have a whole lot more to say after all this time, right? It's a little bit Princess Bride right now, "There is too much. Lemme sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less than half an hour..." I don't know what stories to tell or how to bring you up to speed, particularly when I'm a little lost these days. Not a little. Very, very disappointed with myself, lost.
Well, I'm living in an entirely different part of the state. Somewhere I've never lived before. Somewhere at least forty-five minutes to an hour away from anyone I would die to go for coffee with when you need to go for coffee, you know, when life as you know it is ending. But it's nice down here and pretty and the people drive slow, and I'm coming to enjoy that. It's made things much more difficult emotionally than anticipated, though.
And part of the reason I moved is because I was living at my grandfather's while he was in South Carolina and he was coming home May 6th. I love my grandfather. Yes, this deserves a preface. But he's a very depressed man who wears his slippers all day, makes a shrine of his little house to my dead grandmother, and watches TV into all hours of the night without his hearing aid in. I, being emotional already from breaking up, getting back together, breaking up, ad infinitum, with Matt, could not handle such a situation. And so I had to find a place to live.
I had considered buying a house. My mother was going to help me with the down payment. As I was looking, my employer informed me that I would be moving down to another location quite far away from where I was looking for houses. And I had very little time to get it all straightened out, so I just up and rented a place. It's cute. It's large. It's costing me a fortune. It's an in-law apartment that's wheelchair accessible so I have the largest bathroom I've ever seen outside of a mansion. It, sadly, does not come with a larger tub, just a regular one in which you have to squiggle around in to keep warm, seeing as boobs are buoyant. I bought a couch, a grown-up's entertainment center, a coffee table, and a rowing machine instead of a down-payment on a house. This was my trade-off. Jack's material happiness. The couch has a chaise built-in. What's better than that? But it comes at a price. And the rowing machine has yet to arrive.
Meanwhile, Matt had asked me to come home, several times. And, well, you see how that turned out.
My work, though, is my passion, and like all passions, it's going to burn me up and dental records will not help identify my fragile, mortal body. I'm now a "Project Manager," which gets confusing to people in the Construction industry because I don't know whether I'm looking at an air handler or a roof-top unit, hey, it does stuff to the air, so I always have to explain that I handle internal projects. Like, for example, implementing a CRM company-wide. That's CRM, Customer Relationship Management, for those in the not-know. I'm practicing for training, you see, which begins Monday. Holy Hey-Zeus. And I'm doing a lot of programming, which I learned by listening to Pete yammer on at Jevon for years, and kicking around in SQL myself when I made the mistake of telling my boss I knew a little Access. I'm actually getting pretty good at it for not being an IT professional. I probably shouldn't have said that before Monday, though, because that is a huge, ulcer-inducing test.
I'm quilting like a banshee to work through some stress but it still leaves me too much room in my brain to think inane thoughts about relationships, my behavioral patterns, my bad choices, my missteps. which is why I'm here, really. Because I'm too afraid of what a therapist would find in my skull and I have to not depend upon my in-the-state friends to be emotional grounding-points, and so I have to talk somewhere. So I'm single, mildly manic-depressive, and a shut-in. Now we're caught up for the most part.
Matt and I are no longer together. This is not happiness pie. I've actually been somewhat of a spaz over it. But I finally talked to him today. I gave him back his keys and told him everything I needed to and don't feel at peace, necessarily, but maybe this is a start of Jackie "getting over it." I'm just trying not to hold out, waiting for him, for us, to be right. A lot of us not being right was my fault, my hypocritical nature and penchant for trying to live up to ideals, and a lot of it was his fault, law trouble, drinking trouble, in general disappointing your woman in ways she never thought she would be disappointed.
You'd think I'd have a whole lot more to say after all this time, right? It's a little bit Princess Bride right now, "There is too much. Lemme sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less than half an hour..." I don't know what stories to tell or how to bring you up to speed, particularly when I'm a little lost these days. Not a little. Very, very disappointed with myself, lost.
Well, I'm living in an entirely different part of the state. Somewhere I've never lived before. Somewhere at least forty-five minutes to an hour away from anyone I would die to go for coffee with when you need to go for coffee, you know, when life as you know it is ending. But it's nice down here and pretty and the people drive slow, and I'm coming to enjoy that. It's made things much more difficult emotionally than anticipated, though.
And part of the reason I moved is because I was living at my grandfather's while he was in South Carolina and he was coming home May 6th. I love my grandfather. Yes, this deserves a preface. But he's a very depressed man who wears his slippers all day, makes a shrine of his little house to my dead grandmother, and watches TV into all hours of the night without his hearing aid in. I, being emotional already from breaking up, getting back together, breaking up, ad infinitum, with Matt, could not handle such a situation. And so I had to find a place to live.
I had considered buying a house. My mother was going to help me with the down payment. As I was looking, my employer informed me that I would be moving down to another location quite far away from where I was looking for houses. And I had very little time to get it all straightened out, so I just up and rented a place. It's cute. It's large. It's costing me a fortune. It's an in-law apartment that's wheelchair accessible so I have the largest bathroom I've ever seen outside of a mansion. It, sadly, does not come with a larger tub, just a regular one in which you have to squiggle around in to keep warm, seeing as boobs are buoyant. I bought a couch, a grown-up's entertainment center, a coffee table, and a rowing machine instead of a down-payment on a house. This was my trade-off. Jack's material happiness. The couch has a chaise built-in. What's better than that? But it comes at a price. And the rowing machine has yet to arrive.
Meanwhile, Matt had asked me to come home, several times. And, well, you see how that turned out.
My work, though, is my passion, and like all passions, it's going to burn me up and dental records will not help identify my fragile, mortal body. I'm now a "Project Manager," which gets confusing to people in the Construction industry because I don't know whether I'm looking at an air handler or a roof-top unit, hey, it does stuff to the air, so I always have to explain that I handle internal projects. Like, for example, implementing a CRM company-wide. That's CRM, Customer Relationship Management, for those in the not-know. I'm practicing for training, you see, which begins Monday. Holy Hey-Zeus. And I'm doing a lot of programming, which I learned by listening to Pete yammer on at Jevon for years, and kicking around in SQL myself when I made the mistake of telling my boss I knew a little Access. I'm actually getting pretty good at it for not being an IT professional. I probably shouldn't have said that before Monday, though, because that is a huge, ulcer-inducing test.
I'm quilting like a banshee to work through some stress but it still leaves me too much room in my brain to think inane thoughts about relationships, my behavioral patterns, my bad choices, my missteps. which is why I'm here, really. Because I'm too afraid of what a therapist would find in my skull and I have to not depend upon my in-the-state friends to be emotional grounding-points, and so I have to talk somewhere. So I'm single, mildly manic-depressive, and a shut-in. Now we're caught up for the most part.