Sunday, October 17, 2021

Pinch Me....

 It's finally happening. 

I'm in escrow. I'm buying a house, a forever home for my son. Which means we're apparently getting a dog as well. A boy and his dog, who am I to deny him his childhood fantasy of playing with his dog in his yard?

It feels like it took forever to get here, and I had some mental hurdles to get over while making this a reality. I have looked at home buying many times over the last handful of years, and one of the last times I was looking I had a boyfriend. It was strange because /I/ was looking to buy a home for my son and I, and the boyfriend was living with us, but it was very clear that it wasn't his home as well. Because he was living with us his input was valued, and having another adult to bounce decisions off of was nice, but we had multiple conversations about how he would pay rent but when/if we broke up there would be no question on who was leaving. 

Obviously, I ended up staying in rentals and he is long gone, and it's not that he wasn't a decent guy, it really boiled down to if we stayed together my dreams would never have a chance to come true since he was hyper focused on his own dreams at the cost of those around him. And I mean, who can blame him? He had a taste of fame, and who would want to stop chasing that level of high from that success and become a math teacher instead? Not many people, that's who. 

So this time around, it was just me and The Monk, going from house to house. Putting in offer after offer, finding a home and then minutes away from sending off my earnest payment that it wasn't eligible for the loan I have, then having to start the process ALL OVER AGAIN. I have put in so many offers I have lost count, but the place I'm buying gave me zings so I'm over the moon. 

When I was waffling over whether or not to try the home buying thing again, I was talking to a couple of my friends about how buying a home alone feels like a nail in the coffin of my romantic life. I've been jokingly calling myself "retired" for the majority of the year, just because I needed a break from the disappointment my dating life has been the last couple of years, but I wasn't really expecting it to be  forever break, just a long enough break to not feel obligated to say yes to every guy who asks. One of my friends took strong offense to calling myself retired and told me I'm not allowed to call myself that unless I really and truly am forever done with dating. 

My other friend pointed out that just because right now I'm not dating anyone that doesn't mean that someday I might find someone who is worth making a change for. Her husband bought a home before they met and after they married they ended up selling it and getting a home together. The Monk is 11. He has 6 years left until he's a high school graduate. That's a lot of life to live, and who knows what'll happen in that time. She seems to think me living my life as it is doesn't shut any doors for the future, and so I'm going to try to hold onto her optimism.


My heart is floating, my son is making weird noises of excitement and we're moving into what really feels like my dream home. It's really hard to feel like something is missing when my heart is this full.


Ok, so that's a lie. Movers are missing. Just a year ago I moved into my 3 story condo and there is no way in hell I'm doing all these stairs again. Well labeled boxes moved by pros is 100% what I need. 


Wish me luck?

Monday, June 28, 2021

Becoming a Lifer

 You know how whenever things seem to be going absolutely terrible and then something small, but amazingly joyful happens and it takes some of the sharp away from all the bad? (Or you know, the exact opposite) 

The fortune cookie response is that how someone handles themself in these moments of extreme distress or blessing shows you just the sort of person someone is. And, I guess that’s true. I mean, it /feels/ true, at least when talking about anyone who isn’t yourself.

Two weekends ago was my best friend’s baby shower in a different state and within 50 miles of being back in town, my car decided that it was done running. Forever. 

I was at work when I found out, and I had 4 coworkers poke and yell at my car with me for almost an hour before a 5th one took me home. The next day, one of the original 4 picked me up for work, and within an hour of my workday, one of my bosses offered me her car for the weekend. 

Of course, while I had her car the tire tread ripped itself to shreds and I had to buy her a new one, but whatev. Stupid Megan luck can’t overshadow her kindness. 

The same day my boss loaned me her car, my other boss (who I refer to as my Big Boss since he could fire me if I sneezed wrong) came to me and started talking to me about a car in his possession that needs to be driven. Presented in a way like /I/ would be doing /him/ a favor by using it while I figure out my long term car plans.

Of course, this conversation happened literal hours after I signed the forms to take a loan out of my 401k so I could put some extra money down towards a new car, but that just means I’m now deciding if I’m paying it off immediately, or I dunno, paying off some bills early or maybe even buying a new kitchen table (my old one was too big so I’ve been sans table since the move). 

I interrupted myself, sorry self.

But that’s 7 people, plus the 2 others who helped me when the tire went stupid on me and I didn’t know what to do at first. Who have absolutely no reason whatsoever to do anything for me except be polite and friendly to me while we’re on the clock, who went out of their way to help me. Like, a ridiculous amount out of their way for a couple of them.

Why? When this all went down I couldn’t get my mom on the phone for a total of 5 minutes over the course of a week, and she kept leaving my text/voice messages unanswered for uncomfortable stretches of time when dealing with someone who can anxiety spiral. 

But, I guess, because of the people I work with, I was never given a chance to stress out, or give the anxiety a chance to show itself. What should have been a major obstacle has been nothing more than a blip. While the miracle vehicle has gone to the shop to get repairs I'm not at liberty to ask about, I’ve been thrown in loaner trucks from the fleet, so, with the exception of the very first night, I have had no issues getting myself and my son around. 

I still don’t understand. Lucky doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. If someone told me that losing my dream business and going to work for someone else would have led me to living a life filled to the brim with this sort of peace, I would have laughed. Hard. 

But here I am. Just over 2 years into this new, career, I guess. Naw. That’s wrong. My job title and responsibilities have morphed so much since I started, and I fully expect that to continue. And I’m gonna keep growing and morphing with it. Because when you land somewhere filled with people who give actual shits, you stay and care right back. 

Sunday, April 11, 2021

Passing as a Washing Machine Setting

 You know, "normal". I am neuro-atypical, but am very lucky in the way that unless you are paying attention, you won't notice. At least, nowadays this is the case, for a lot of my life I was constantly struggling with the fact that I was noticeably different from the majority of people around me, and not in a fun way. In a very problematic way. I remember being told may times not to worry about it, because "Normal isn't a real thing, except on a washing machine", and I like my weirdness, mostly, so being normal was not ever the goal, blending in was, and eventually, I learned how to do that.

Today was a day where I spent the entire day with other neuro-atypical brains which means for the first time in a long time, I was able to fully relax without worrying about my  brain doing something "wrong" and "offensive" to the other people because our brains fire differently than most, and than each other, but we know what it looks and feel like so there's no judgment, just love.

So, in that vein of thought, sort of, things aren't real to me, unless I've written them down. Plans, ideas, feelings, they all are jumbled vague things in my brain until I (ideally) put pen to paper, or (less ideal) type them out. To myself, to one of million group chats, social media even, unless it's written down it's not a thing. 

It comes off as stubborn, but that I'm pretty sure I'm just also that. 

For years, I have written no less than 15 drafts in attempt to write a fictionalized version of the dramatization also known as my childhood.  BUT thanks to the amazingly talented brain of my BFF, I'm back on it. Instead of telling a story in a typical start to end format, I'm writing each individual story as a stand alone "short story" and once I have them all accounted for, organize them in some semblance of chronicle order.

Bonus is I don't have to stumble on the parts that I usually get stuck on, and since I'm writing from the narration point of view, the me shaped hole ideally will be clear without the magnifying glass on me. I hate the magnifying glass on myself, it's my least favorite part about trying to become a better person all the time. ;)


SO. Now I've "said" it. It's a thing, and I have to finish this draft version before giving up on it.  It's a real thing. /shrug/   :)

Wednesday, January 27, 2021

My Mother’s Daughters

 Are 3 very different versions of train wrecks. 

Her oldest is a divorced single mom who keeps finding men who want to be taken care of instead of doing the taking care of and ends up bleeding herself dry trying to take care of everyone around her, even at the cost of her own well-being. She doesn’t know how to take a break, mainly because every time she relaxes another thing falls apart and she has to race around and exhaust herself to keep everything in some semblance of order. 

Her middle is a self centered, cruel person who has spent her entire life using her many disabilities as excuses and crutches for being plain awful to people. She is completely dependent on her mother, and multiple different agencies, always talking about how independent she is, while never once having actually been independent in her entire life.

Her youngest is a single mother of 4, also divorced, but not to either fathers of her children. Mostly raised by the oldest sister, her experiences of the world were very discolored and slanted. All she has ever wanted is a happy home with someone to build a family with. She also finds herself in relationships with people who want to be taken care of, but unlike the oldest, she has enough hope in the world to believe their pretty lies. 

And how did we all become such flawed humans? Was it the various forms of abuse and torture we went through as children? Or the fact that our mother cared more about making sure she looked good to outside forces than about our actual wellbeing? Or how about the fact that she straight up gave up on us for most of our childhoods?

I don’t really know why, and at this point, I’m not even really sure I care anymore. All I know is that I am sick and tired of constantly being dragged into my past and expected to clean up the mess other people are making. I have done all the things you’re supposed to do to not have your past define your future, but here I am again, buried neck deep in the mistakes of the people I love, working to unbury us all.

It’s what I do. We all have roles to play in each other’s lives, and mine is the fixer. Minus the cool mob outfits. With as often as I have a headache, I should def get cool outfits. Or at least, the apocalypse of 2020 (now 2021) should end so I can take a real vacation. Mhm. That’s what I need. One where no catastrophes are waiting for me when I get back.

Please and thank you?

A Little Blasphemy as a Literal (and Figurative) Sign of Progress

 Hello there, it’s been a while, and in true returning from ghosting fashion, I am here to either share something vapid and meaningless, or ...