WWBBD?

Living in the culture I do, it is (unfortunately) not uncommon to hear of injuries and sometimes even deaths occurring during outdoor adventures. It seems that at least a couple of times a year, the community is affected by a hiker who disappeared, a skier caught in an avalanche, or a climber who fell to their deaths. It is a sad fact of life, but it never occurred to me that the subject of one of those headlines could be one of my people. Until it was.

Shortly after I turned twenty-one, I became a regular at my local mico-brewery. I still am. Over the last eight to nine years, I have developed many wonderful and cherished friendships through this tight-knit establishment. Only a few as bonded as my friendship with Big Bro. Big Bro was quite a few years my senior and had already experienced much of this world. He was married to a beautiful wife and a new dad to a bright little girl. He was a professional inventor, author, photographer, climbing instructor, traveler, and all around bad-ass. He was so much wiser to the world and always so happy and in love with his life. I very much looked up to him as a big brother I never had. I gained insight and life lessons from him over many IPA's and even took his rock climbing courses for my college Phys Ed credits.

On one particular three-day climbing trip, we scaled a massive and long route. Being the only girl (and smallest in stature) amongst our group of seven, I was determined to not be the weakest. But the climb up was never really the scary part for me. Sure, my skills are always at a beginner level, but the grunt part of a climb was never fearful. It is always the rappel. I have always found it mentally challenging to let myself walk backwards off the side of a mountain. (Imagine that?) After the long climb up and anchoring in at the top, Big Bro knew I would struggle and encouraged the others to go ahead. He was right. I was paralyzed. I saw this rap from down below and I knew it was a large over-hang. No wall to allow my feet to steadily slow my drop. It would be a free fall. On top of the fear, I was exhausted. The climb up had left me bloody from the stabs of jagged quartz crystals into my knees, thighs, and shoulders. My knuckles were in a sad state of their own.

As I hyperventilated while sitting next to Big Bro in the strong wind, I prepared my harness for rappel and tried to prepare my mind. I "practiced" several times. I walked the few feet to the ledge, turned back to face my instructor and crouched down. But I couldn't let go. Each time I crawled back up, with tears in my eyes and took my seat next to Big Bro. He was patient with each attempt but when it got to the point I was only psyching myself out even more, he looked at me and said "Well, you can't stay stuck here forever. You can go back through the pain of the way you came. Or you can push through the fear and go forward." I looked down at my wounds, now a swirl of blood, dirt, and sweat. I walked back to ledge, crouched down and this time, I let go. I wasn't just thinking too much into Big Bro's micro-lecture. He knew exactly what he was saying to me. As my friend, he knew of my struggles and the way I let myself get in my own way of accomplishing my goals. I will never, ever forget those words.

On today's date, three years ago, I got the call. I was busy packing up for a week-long vacation to my family's cabin. When I answered my phone in a cheery "Hey girl!", my friend broke down in sobs. She knew from the sound of my voice, that she would have to be the one to deliver me the crushing news. Big Bro had been on a mountaineering trip up North. He was on lead when a large chunk of ice fell out from beneath and took his life with it. I dropped the phone and screamed a noise unrecognizable as being human. Hours later, I zombie-walked to our micro-brewery to exchange the embraces and camaraderie of being shattered. Our friend, teacher, mentor was gone. Most devastatingly, there was now a young family left without their loving husband and father.

Oddly enough, the last time I can remember being truly at peace in my life was during the first year after Big Bro's death. Though the pain was crippling at first, it was fresh. It was always on my mind. Just as he had been a big brother to look up to, I wanted to be a little sister he could be proud of. I didn't have any demons to distract me. I focused on my work and my health. I set and attained many little goals. I continued to climb, while picking up new hobbies. I was happy, healthy, and comfortable in my skin. If I ever was stuck in a difficult situation, I would ask "What would Big Bro do?" and I would feel guided into making the best decisions for myself.

If Big Bro were here today to have observed the last couple of years, he would look at me with his zen-like expression and tell me to pull my head out of my ass. I have let myself once again get stuck on an exposed ledge. I down climb a ways into the painful route behind me, then back up to where I can be temporarily comfortable. Until recently, I haven't been moving forward. He would likely be glad to see me making some progress and evolving. He would likely encourage me to keep the forward momentum. To not let fear or insecurity determine my actions. To enjoy each morning like it is my last. To love the ones I love like I might not see them again. To spread the joy and compassion to every creature around me.

That is precisely what Big Bro would do. 

Progress?

Perhaps.

During the beginning of my self induced hiatus, I had a four day weekend from work. I originally requested vacation time to attend a trip out of state to celebrate a friend's birthday. Unfortunately, that was the first of many sacrifices I made when deciding to distance myself from my current spending and consumption habits. I did conclude however, that four days away from my regular responsibilities might do me some good so I decided to not retract my time-off request. However, the first half of my stay-cation went catastrophically out of plan.

That Friday, I somehow managed to get myself stuck with babysitting a relative's two kids. All fucking day. For free. By the time Sister came to relieve me of my duties, all of my friends were already out and about. And at one point, I felt down-right, intentionally excluded from the opening party of a friends' restaurant. I moped around my apartment, alone and feeling quite sorry for myself, yet looking forward to the early morning hike I had planned with a friend. Unfortunately, that friend just didn't show. I had gear packed and ready, a picnic prepared, fresh gas in the car, and sat outside. Waiting. And waiting. Finally, an hour after our agreed upon meeting time, I resorted to taking My Boy on an angry walk around my neighborhood.

Two full days of sitting on my ass, alone to wallow in my self-destructive brain was not how I wanted to spend the first half of my time off work. I knew that would be a dangerous place to be. I sat around thinking how I wish my life were different. What pieces of shit my friends can be. How if I made more money at my job, I'd be out having a blast with them. How I work too hard for such little money. How due to how hard I work, how precious and minimal my time off is. I began to panic. My life was slipping out of my hands, wasted, just as my four day weekend was. Over the course of a few hours, my thoughts became more cryptic and dark. I had a Mental. Fucking. Breakdown. At some point, while laying in the fetal position on my living room floor, I managed to push one speed dial button on my cell. After the voice on the other end answered, it took a few moments to catch my breath between sobs before I said the words "Dad. I need help. Please."

I have called my Dad crying many times in my years. He still, is sometimes the only person that can brush off my scraped knee and help me get back up. But something about the desperation he heard in me was different this time. He knew it was serious. This wasn't just a "I've had a bad day and the world is unfair" type of phone call. He knew what I knew. My depression has come to an ugly head and I can no longer fix this on my own. He agreed to help me get the professional help I need. Luckily, Dad has also been calling and emailing me to check in on a more consistent basis. I am ever grateful for this. I can feel abandoned by everything else in the world. But so long as I have his support and have him to stand behind me, I know everything is going to be okay.

Day Three of my four day weekend, I woke with a bit of a brighter outlook. At dawn, I took My Boy on a very long and slow walk all over our town. That evening, I met up with my neighbors to host a home cooked meal. The meditative state of cooking, the companionship of friends, and the sharing of delicious food helped bring my spirit back to life. By Day Four, I pushed my physical abilities on a strenuous alpine hike. As My Boy ran free in the tundra, my heart found a freedom of its own. I found myself laughing and acting silly with companions as we soaked in the UV rays of high altitude.

That hike brought on another interesting positive twist. I have started to develop a great friendship with one of my hiking partners from that day. I have known The Beast for a few years as a casual acquaintance among mutual friends. While I have always enjoyed our sporadic conversations and friendly banter, we hadn't known each other all that well. In the last few weeks, we have become great hiking companions. I am comfortable in my head while I am in the presence of The Beast. As we spend longer and more challenging days in the woods together, our conversations are filled with substance. I have opened up to him about my "Turning Thirty and Wasted Twenties" anxiety. Turns out - he's been through the exact same thing. When The Beast reached this pivotal point in his life, he too retreated into a walkabout to find himself. He simply "gets" that there are just some things in our hearts that can only be healed from being in the mountains. In turn, I have found hope in knowing that though I may feel abandoned by some of my closest friends, I am building a bond with a new friend who not only knows what I am going through, but also supports me without judgement.

Of course, whenever two people of the opposite sex spend time together, the Gossip Wolves get hungry. And while I may be in a dark place and have zero business getting romantically attached to someone, I would be lying through my sad teeth to say there are no flirtations exchanged between us. He is kind, funny, smart, ambitious, healthy, smoking hot, and most of all - happy. Our hikes have slowly started to be followed by beers (in moderation) and dinners at my house. The time on the clock when he heads home gets a little later each time. If the nature of our friendship continues to evolve, I would welcome the advancement. Yet at present, I am most happy to have a consistent and reliable friend to share my tundra with.

In recent days, my smile has become little less forced and my eyes have regained some of their twinkle. It could be the increasingly regular time spent with The Beast. It could be the lack of drinking, binging, and frivolous spending. It could be the quiet in my heart that is found from removing the things that hurt. It could be a combination of it all. Today, at this moment, it is good.

On Being Grounded

My family very much values strength and a certain level of toughness. All of life's problems are made out to be simple with very simple solutions:

• You just had your heart broken? Meet someone else.
• You're depressed? Get over it.
• You're broke? Work harder. Make more money.
• The dog's sick? Shoot it.

Hell, even when I had a miscarriage years ago - While sitting on my bathroom floor, losing so much blood I thought I'd need a transfusion, I called my Dad first. He told me to NOT go to the hospital. That it would be a waste of money. Issues or problems in my family are simply considered a weakness. We are able to fix everything ourselves, so to acknowledge any different is pointless.

I don't really know how to ask for help. And I feel that all the times I have, help has been rejected. Which is precisely why I talk to myself, write on this blog, and neurotically lean on my friends to help me sort things out. There is one thing that I have been so ashamed of that I have kept it buried for over a decade. No one knows about it. Not Sister. Not Bodhi. Not Robo. Not Trinity. And definitely none of the demons. I have a binge eating disorder. It started, as pretty much all of my other issues did, after the accident. For the last thirteen years I have dealt with my paranoia, depression, loneliness, and anxiety by stuffing my face with whatever bad-for-me food I can find. I will literally clean out my refrigerator in one night. And if I don't have what I am craving to satisfy the binge, I will get in my car at 3am to go find it. Two nights ago, I ate two (whole) frozen pizzas, three large bars of expensive chocolate, and twelve slices of Kraft singles, finished with four ice cream drumsticks. In the time it took to watch two hours of Ted Talks.

But I don't purge after a binge. I punish. When I am finally so full, I cannot fit anything more down my throat, I go weigh myself on my bathroom scale. Then I lay in bed, telling myself how fat, ugly, and undeserving of love I am. I then proceed to "counter" the calories consumed during the binge by starving myself for a day or more. I will get to the point I am so weak, I cannot get out of bed until I either binge again out of hunger, or attempt to drown my emotions with beer. (Which of course, leads to getting black out drunk from drinking on an empty stomach). These "episodes" usually occur a couple of times a year. Depending on my mental state at the time, they can be a one-off misstep that happens one time and I get over it. Or, it can be a cycle that goes on for a month or two. This time, the cycle started somewhere around the time I lost My Girl. For a few months, I had been losing weight at a steady and healthy rate (as well as staving off any binges), through closely monitoring my diet and exercise. I was regularly finding myself in the hills, hiking with consistent partners, and my spirits were high. Then, life just happened and the spiral down to binging followed.

As I have said before, the beauty I am finding in this blog project is I am forced to face the ugly and horrible truths I keep buried and hidden from view. By posting these intimate details to the universe, I have to acknowledge that it is real. I also have to release it and let the burden start to slowly leave me. Life is not happy for me because I don't let it be. Face it, my life is a cluster fuck right now. I have so much negativity inside of me, there is little room left for happiness, joy, or love. I have less than five months left in my twenties and if I am going to begin my thirtieth year with a more stable foundation as I set out to do, I have to get to work. Professional help may be out of my reach, so the only person I can count on to fix me, is me.

I recognize that at this moment in my life, my biggest depressor (and instability trigger) is my lack of financial stability and what it is doing to my social life. My friends and loved ones work very hard to afford their luxuries and should rightfully enjoy them. But while they are attending concerts, music festivals, mini-vacations, movies, brewery crawls, yoga workshops, dinners out... I am alone. I work very hard too, and in a fair and perfect world, I would be joining them. But as we all know, the world is not perfect, and certainly not fair. Often times, friends will offer to spot me. But this generally makes me feel even worse about my situation. Pride is something I have little of, but shame is something I am have in excess. I find that I generally have two choices: Have a social life and go broke, or save money and be lonely. I almost always choose the former. I now realize I will never reach my goals continuing on this path.

I have to buckle down for a little while, perhaps even a few months, just to build some better habits within myself. I have to get my eating disorder under control. The emotional toll is becoming worrisome. The hurtful things I tell myself become more brutal the longer it goes on. I have also got to get my finances in order. Sure, I don't make the salary I should or deserve, but I have to figure out how to live comfortably and securely with what I have. I have re-enlisted in my diet and exercise plan and I have started to track my daily spending. So far, my research has proven I can look forward to missing out on most (if not all) of the "extra" activities with my loved ones. I just hope that when I come out the other side, they will not have forgotten who I am.

A Hard and Heavy Shell

As long as I can remember, I have loved turtles.  I find them to be soothing. For years, friends and family often pick up little turtle figurines for me to collect.

Years ago, at a souvenir shop in the desert, I was eying a piece of turtle jewelry.  Attached was a tag detailing a Native American tale of how the great turtle is thought to carry the weight of the world on its back.  The turtle is carrier of all things in the world.  I have no idea if that tag accurately described the legend, or if it was some fabricated bullshit to entice tourists.  But it stuck with me and it is something I have always remembered.

When we were kids, Mom was kind of a piece of shit.  Being the older sibling, I put myself in charge of Sister's safety and well being.  When Mom took off on a bender in Reno and left the two of us girls alone (at ages 7 and 4), I was responsible for getting us to school every day.  Thankfully, a concerned neighbor notified our elementary school and Dad was awarded custody of us.  I still feel I failed in protecting Sister.  She had some serious shit happen to her and I couldn't stop it.  As we got older and Sister went through hard times, I had no choice but to not fuck up.  The burden was on me to be "the good one" and make Dad's life a little easier.

When it came to saving our relationship, it was not up to The Wrecking Ball to curb his cocaine habit.  Instead, it was my burden to learn to accept and live with his cocaine habit.  His vice resulted in mood swings.  He loved me in the morning and loathed me at night. He once showed up to meet my relatives an hour late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night.  Of course, I would tell myself over and over "If I try really hard to be a better girlfriend, he will love me so much that he will want to stop."  We all know addiction doesn't work that way. Yet, the fall and demise of us, was somehow my doing. My begging and pleading and ultimately standing up for myself, even if it meant fighting for us, was responsible for the end. 

These are only a couple of ways that I take on the responsibility for the failings of others.  I surely inherited this trait from my father. I see how this has affected him and I know that I cannot continue to take on the world this way.  The burden has been too great.  My back will not hold the weight for long.  As my body ages, I feel the impact of the stress.  The chronic headaches, the anxiety, the bouts of depression. For once, I want someone to be my rock.  I want someone to face the burdens with me, not let me carry them alone.  I want someone I can count on to be there.  To have my back when the shit hits the fan.  I long for camaraderie.  Fucking hell, it is my turn.  Well meaning loved ones often say to me "Patience Grasshopper.  It happens when you are not looking for it." 

While I wait, I will continue to admire the beauty of these strong and patient creatures.  I will reflect on the weight I have carried and recognize that it is a testament to my loyalty and devotion to the world I live in, and the people in it.  It is proof of my nature, what I am capable of, and the type of person I am.

I Have an Addiction.

To being needed.  To nurturing, saving, rescuing.

I have a new dog.  Adopting My Boy wasn't the intention, though I am not surprised how it turned out.  My aunt (who is practically my own age) is recently divorced with two kids and lives an incredibly busy life.  Last winter, they adopted a companion for their old and very mellow Collie.  The puppy they got was absolutely adorable, a big ball of fluff.  He is a big breed too; likely German Shepherd / Malamute mix.

Well, as time went on and My Boy outgrew his cutesy and cuddly puppy stage, he started terrorizing their home.  He is now huge and requires a lot more training and exercise than they were providing him.  He repaid them by eating nearly every single personal belonging, then shitting it out on the dining room floor.  Naturally, when I had to put My Girl down, my aunt said "Hey, you wanna borrow him?  I think it'll be better for you to come home to a dog every day and as a bonus, he will get some much needed discipline."  Of course, big and hairy is how I like 'em so I agreed.

I am proud to say that in our short amount of time together, My Boy is doing great with me.  He gets adequate exercise and he actually seems to truly enjoy our training sessions together.  He repays me with lots of snuggles and affection, while even being the perfect amount of protective over me.  Recently my aunt, her kids, and I have decided his new and forever home is with me. 

He is certainly not My Girl.  In fact, he is the polar opposite of her.  He counters her boldness and bravery, with shyness and curiosity.  I like to think of that as a beautiful thing.  As I drove My Girl to the vet on that terrible day, I thought to myself "My life is about to change.  Drastically."  And it has.  My Boy shows that.  He is a different dog and I feel like a different me.  I am grateful to be back to Dog Mommyhood.  It is where I am most comfortable.

Got My Robo Mojo Back

Last night, I had a wonderful time with my girl, Robo.  Like Bodhi and Trinity, Robo is one of  my wonderful friends that I simply cannot live without.  Robo too, is beautiful and bright.  But I would have to say her best quality is how genuine she is.  While kind and warm, she has this amazing "fuck it" attitude about her.  As a good Midwestern girl who is ever confident and secure in her own skin, Robo never tries to be someone she's not.  Her feet are planted firmly on the floor.  She is also the most honest person I know, and never sugar coats the truth.  Robo tells it like it is.  If someone is offended by hearing the truth or if someone has a problem with who she is, Robo says "Fuck 'em."  To Robo, life is just too damned short to worry about silly and superficial things.

Because of this, I feel most like myself when I am in Robo's presence.  She has the ability to make me relax and feel at home in my own mind whenever I am around her.  Many young couples, (understandably) value their privacy in the early stages of cohabitation.  Robo and her boyfriend, on the other hand, have a home that is warm and inviting.  There have been countless times the two of them have offered me their guest room, simply so I don't have to be alone.  I know that sometimes when I get down, I can be downright exhausting.  I can work myself into such a giant frenzy that I'm not even thinking clearly.  My words ramble the random jibberish going on in my brain.  Robo and her boyfriend never seem to tire of me.  And when they do, they certainly don't show it.  I love them for that.

When Robo returned after a two week visit with her family, I may have been just as excited to see her as her boyfriend was.  I needed some time with her.  To catch up and talk about what life has dealt each of the last two weeks.  But mostly just because I needed to feel more like me.  Few things can help me get there, than seeing this great friend of mine.  I feel so incredibly blessed to have her in my life.  I am so glad she's home.

Confession...

I am and old snob

I think I may be the only one of all my friends, not currently having a blast at my dear Trinity's keg party tonight.  Because I wanted to have dinner and play cards with my parents.  And I feel like an awful friend for it.  With the difficult times I have faced lately, Trinity has made a great effort to be present for me and to be a good friend.  I feel horribly guilty for not supporting her by being present at her party.

Now don't get me wrong.  If this party were for a birthday, graduation, house-warming, or otherwise monumental life milestone, I would be there.  But this is a theme party for the sake of having one.  And for me, that would turn into drinking for the sake of having hilarious stories to tell. Which is fine; it actually sounds like a lot of fun, and their theme is a beyond-great idea.  I just seem to be gaining different priorities these days.

I will be first to admit that I frequent my favorite beer establishment more than I should.  And I sometimes have more pints than I should, more often than I should.  One thing I have realized in this reinvention of myself is that evolving as a person, isn't about becoming Amish and never drinking or letting lose again.  It's more about finding a balance among health, responsibility, luxury and happiness.  Within that balance, I can't always do everything I want to do.  I can't go balls to the wall from 6pm on Friday to 11pm on Sunday anymore.  I have to be selective with when I allow myself to imbibe or have some "fun".  And when forced to make a choice with when I'm going to allow myself a little irresponsibility, damn straight, what I want to do, is going to be what I choose.

I guess this goes back to wanting to be a little selfish while insisting on doing activities that reflect me and my identity.  I am starting to discover that after years of neglecting my truest needs, it is time to to hone in on what is important to me and what makes me happy.  Tonight, what makes me happy is playing cards with the parents, coming home to read The Hunger Games, while knowing I will wake up tomorrow, without a hangover and capable of spending the day as a functional adult. It seems the older I get, the higher my family is on the priority totem pole.  I have felt fragile and vulnerable with life's recent events.  I desperately needed some time to hear the wisdom from my parents minds.  And feel the unconditional love of their hearts.

So it may be, that I have to be a shitty friend once in a while to keep myself on the road to where I want to be.  Does this personal evolution mean I am any better a person than my friends who are having a ball right now?  No.  Absolutely not.  But it does mean that I am a person than I used to be.

Lonely Girl

It has taken me a long time to write this post.  Over and over, I keep coming back to it because I find it hard to not only articulate everything into fluid sentences, but also just understanding for myself, what the hell in going on in my own head.  And every time I think I am about ready to publish, something else evolves that changes the story a bit.  Mentally, I am in a very weird position.  Spring has shown her pretty face. It is easy to be optimistic and positive.  And dare I say, downright fucking cheery with the warmth of the sunshine and smell of fresh life.

I'm also terrified.  Here is a little secret: I am afraid of being alone.  Which is interesting, as I am a person who very much values my solo time.  As I get older, it becomes much more important to get a good night's sleep and run a functioning 1-person household.  Just this week, I turned down a handful of social invitations because I truly wanted to do laundry.  It's the thought of being forced to be alone that scares the shit out of me.  In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I would probably just off myself.  Those big screen movies, where the protagonist  searches for other living humans the first forty minutes?  Yeah, that would never happen for me.  Upon learning that my comfort of companionship was gone, I would lose all "survival" instinct and find the quickest and easiest way to end it.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see how this fear formed.  Growing up, my mom wasn't really around in the way one would expect a mother to be.  Sister and I basically felt "abandoned".  Given the shit she put us through as vulnerable and impressionable kids, abandonment issues is the best we could hope for.  Sometime in high school, Sister went off to boarding school and Dad traveled for work.  My last two years in the nest were pretty much just me in a huge house on a mountain top amidst forty-five acres of wooded property.  As soon as I could get out and live on my own, I moved in with eight of my friends, where it was impossible to be lonely.  In my late teens and early twenties, I did everything I could to make sure I had a posse.  I hardly ever came home from work to spend an entire night to myself.  Eventually, I got a dog.  Surely I can't be lonely with a K9 partner with me at all times.  Somewhere along the way, I decided to be a functioning adult and embraced my alone time to take care of responsibilities.  I started finding the importance of enjoying the simple act of chilling the fuck out with a cup of tea in silence.  For years, I have lived alone.

Three days ago, my little apartment became a nursing home.  Perhaps "hospice" is the better word.  My sweet dog has been getting old for quite some time and it now seems our time together is slipping by at a rapid rate.  A quick trip to the vet to check up on some bladder control issues sent us home with five prescriptions, two of which she will need to be on the for the short remainder of her life.  In my experience, vets are not necessarily in the business to save you money.  Nor, do they ever advocate not vaccinating your pets.  So when he responds to my inquiry about renewing her shots with "I don't think you should worry about the vaccinations.  It would probably just be a waste of money.", that leaves me to believe even the vet doesn't think the dog is going to live much longer.

The last few weeks with The Writer have been very tense.  He has landed some new gigs that have significantly increased his work load, while I have been trying to really aim my focus on my own professional and personal goals.  This combination has left us with little time to spend with one another, and when we do get the chance, it becomes a battle of who goes to who's:  His place so he can keep catching up on work and we can rage it in the city?  Or my place so I can properly take care of the dying dog and we can play outside in the mountains.  This predicament has unfortunately, led to some bickering and resentment.  Things came to an ugly head last weekend but for now, we are working through the fragile state and trying to tough it out.

I am so proud that Sister is about to graduate college, and she is applying for jobs in her field.  One potential employer seems to be very interested in her.  In a far away city.  I would never for anything in the world, desire Sister to not pursue her dreams.  But the thought of her moving far away, and only getting to see her and my nephew a couple times a year, is heart-wrenching for me.  She may be a mom and a little more behaved than me, but she is still my baby sister.  And I still feel a need to fiercely protect her from all the evil things in this world.  I have also come to lean on Sister, particularly this last year.  She has been with me through every bit of heartache and turmoil.  The thought of her not being here when shit hits the fan again, terrifies the hell out of me.

Though they (for the most part) live less than twenty miles away, I rarely see or have much contact with my parents these days.  Our weekly phone chats and / or dinners have dwindled to more of a monthly occurrence.  My dad busted his ass all his adult life to provide for Sister and I.  My stepmother has graciously and lovingly risen to the challenge of being Mom and Grandma to a family she probably never expected to have.  Together they deserve nothing less than the chance to travel, renovate their vacation home, and relax with friends.  But in many ways, I miss them.  I still don't feel completely independent from them, at least in the emotional sense.  I'm not sure that grown children ever do.  With all their exciting adventures, enjoying the fruits of their labor, and getting Sister's future going, I guess one could say I feel a little "forgotten."   

As my anxiety about turning thirty builds, I cannot help but feel lonely and a little left-behind.  Many of my friends are getting engaged and married, or living with a significant other.  At the very least, working on long-term, healthy relationships.  I can't seem to outlast a relationship longer than a year.  Some of my peers are having children, and while dogs may be more my speed, these friends are welcoming new life while I'm saying goodbye to life of my "baby". I am rational enough to know that we will likely always outlive our precious pets, not every relationship is built to last, and loved ones often relocate for wonderful opportunities.  It is all just part of life and learning to cope with these realities is simply part of being an adult.

But what happens when the dog dies and Sister moves away for work?  What happens if The Writer and I decide to go our separate ways?  I fear that I will be alone, in my little apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, with some familiarity on the other line.  I hate the very thought of it.  I feel like I'm once again the blonde little girl who's Mommy doesn't want her and who cries when Daddy calls home from his business trip.

Now that I'm grown up, what happens to the Dog Lady with no dog?

The Mother Load

Last night, after my weekly happy hour with my usual buds at our usual place and time, The Writer came over for dinner and a sleep over.  Upon his arrival, I made it clear that the usual beers had hit me exceptionally hard - I blame it on my new diet.  When I get a bit tipsy I tend to talk.  A lot.  And I'm all over the place talking about completely random subjects.  And many times, the conversation turns a little dark and I verbally vomit about my childhood.  Which is precisely what subjected The Writer to while I burnt our dinner.

As I presume most people did, Sister and I had a difficult childhood to say the least.  Our parents divorced when I was 4 and she was less than a year old.  We went back and forth, living between our mom's and dad's houses.  Eventually, we settled in at Dad's and came to call that "home".  We are to this day very much Daddy's Girls.  I love our mom and we have a unique, albeit complicated relationship.  But that relationship is without a doubt the root of many of the issues that usually lie dormant in my brain.

I'd say it started sometime in high school.  Sister and I were pretty much settled at Dad's.  Mom lived on the other side of the city.  Once I got my own car, I would visit her about once a month.  Our youngest sibling (our half brother) would have been about 5, a young and demanding age.  Slowly, Mom's attention drifted away from Sister and I as she understandably had to make the little one her priority.  Yet it still seemed that Mom only did the bare minimum when it came to being a mom. At one point, Sister went to boarding school in another state.  Even with his busy schedule of work travel, Dad made it a point to be highly involved in her school and visited her at every opportunity.  While still making sure I had plenty of time with him as well.  Mom visited Sister once and I'm not sure she ever made the 20 mile drive to hang out with me.

At my high school, we had the traditional "walk with your class" graduation ceremony.  But there was another, more important and more special ceremony.  It was a private meeting with my adviser, my closest friends and my family.  It was at this meeting, that I was actually presented with my diploma.  Screw the "graduation"; this little meeting was the big deal.  The morning of, Mom called to tell me she had a doctor's appointment and would be unable to attend.  (After-hours at 5pm?)  When I cried and begged her reschedule, she said the only other day the Dr. had available would conflict with my little brother's school recital.  She threw in the little-brother-guilt-trump card.  Still, who chooses a kindergarten recital over their firstborn's high school fucking graduation?  I cried and cried and cried some more.  She finally gave me an ultimatum and said "Okay, I will go to this but if I do, I will just call your grandparents and the rest of my side of the family and tell them to not bother with the big graduation on Saturday."  That stuck with me forever.  I will never forget the cruelty of her voice on the other end of the phone.  I gave up and dropped it.  The mood during that meeting was somber.  And everyone in the room could see the sadness and feeling of abandonment in my face.  She came to the big school-wide graduation ceremony.  She did the bare minimum.

In the last decade, Mom has moved out of town to a little farm community a few hours away.  I rarely go to visit, but why would I?  She maybe comes to visit Sister and I once a year.  The rest of the year is filled with empty hopes when she says she "might come down this weekend."  She rarely calls and when she does, it is conveniently during my work hours or Sister's school hours.  The next week is spent trying in vain to return her call.  These phone calls are the bare minimum.

She is coming to visit today.  She called me two days ago to say she "might come down this weekend."  As even grown children do, Sister and I have been hoping and getting excited for her visit.  Mom called Sister four hours ago to say she is definitely coming to town today.  She wants to do a lunch with us but it has to be in the heart of the city as she doesn't want to go out of her way.  Her and our brother are getting a hotel 40 minutes from where Sister and I live. Screeching brakes.  So Mom is coming, but it must not be to see us.  A quick lunch is the bare minimum.

It is times like this I am ever thankful that I have met The Writer. He luckily, doesn't think I'm completely bat-shit crazy.  Yet.  And later tonight, I can run my abandoned self into his big arms.  And forget about this shit until a year from now when Mom comes to visit again.

Happy Birthday To My Bodhi

"Those who have the courage to undertake the profound change of attitude required to develop true compassion are called Bodhisattvas."

Today is Bodhi's birthday.  Bodhi is my dearest friend.  She is one of the most incredible and amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  She is my biggest fan and supports me in all that I do.  She encourages my craziest ideas and dreams.  Unless they are completely fucked up and would in some way, devastate me.  Then and only then, Bodhi kindly tells me to slow my roll.  In short, I would be completely lost and life would suck balls without her. 

Bodhi is stunningly beautiful inside and out.  But I know much of her beauty comes from her cracks.  She has suffered each ring of purgatory and fought tooth and nail to find her way out.  These cracks and scars are a testament to her strength and determination.  Through the compassion she has found for herself, she is able to spread her compassion and wisdom to everyone else she meets.  This is why I call her Bodhisattva.

As morbid and pathetic as it may be, I cannot be certain I would have survived my 28th year without her friendship and support.  The darkest moments in my life happened last spring.  I once even rushed myself to the emergency room, fearful of doing something stupid.  You all know what I mean; the details need no elaborating.  The point is, it was Bodhi's wisdom and courage and her ability to talk me off my ledge that saved me.  She helped me to realize I am not alone in this world.  We all have our demons.  And we all have the ability to pick ourselves up and fight.

Thank you Bodhi, for everything you do.  I love you more than words can tell.  Happiest of Birthdays to you, my dearest friend.

Mad World in a New Year

Happy 2012 everyone!

I am not big on the cheesy New Year's Resolutions thing.  I find that I will get on a kick of something then let it drop off the face of the Earth.  Of course, I then feel like shit about myself.  I find it safer to keep expectations low by not making any promises to begin with.  However, this blog project is all about getting my shit together before I turn 30.  In just a few days I will begin the last year of my 20's.  So hell, now is the best time to list my goals.  Call them New Years Resolutions, Birthday Resolutions or Life Resolutions.  In no particular order, here they are:

Be a better friend, sister, aunt, daughter, granddaughter, niece and coworker  
I firmly believe that all of us, even the Dalai Lama himself, can improve upon the way we treat those we love.  I live an incredibly lucky life due to the people that are in it and they all deserve the best of me.  With this comes:

• Keeping in touch via cards and handwritten notes, phone calls and face time (basically forms of communication other than Facebook.)
• Helping my coworkers without first giving the evil eye.  I am not actually a bitchy person, but I am sometimes certain I put fear into my coworkers.
• While I'm at it, I resolve to stop freaking out in general.  I can get very snappy when irritated.  Like a bomb.  Poor Sister probably gets the worst of it.  

Be a better Dog Mom
My sweet dog is getting up in years.  As of late, she has not been receiving the amount of attention she needs.  Sure, she is generally spoiled fucking rotten and her disposition of grumpiness and laziness part of her charm.  Still, she has been my best friend and the one to greet me every single day for the past 9 years.  Adopting and caring for her may be my proudest accomplishment of my 20's.  Sadly, she will not be with me forever.  It is my duty to return the favor and give her the best last years (or months) I can.

Take Better Care of My Body
Approaching 30, I am not exactly a spring chicken myself.  My physical health requires a little more upkeep than it did at 21. 

• Keep up on running, hiking and yoga routines.  I absolutely love these activities but one pull of an IT Band is enough to bench on my bed in front of Netflix for 6 months.
• For the love of all that is holy, FUCKING SLEEP!  My sleep routine (or lack of, rather) is much the root cause of many of my issues.  In all my 20's I have never slept enough.  I am finally too physically fatigued to enjoy life beyond the minimum.

Fuel My Passions
Full of great ideas right here!  Yet, also full of unfinished projects.  I just always find great excuses to not make them a priority.

• This blog project.  I simply love to write.  Staying current on this blog is important to me.  Having the whole wide world see my failure to do so is not an option.
• Finally starting the process of a foodie blog or some form of food writing.  Along with writing, I love food.  More than every contestant of every season of The Biggest Loser combined.
• Picking up books again.  I enjoy reading. Yet I have not made it a priority in quite some time. I was gifted with a beautiful new novel and indulgent bedding for Christmas this year.  I'm taking it as a sign the library gods miss me.
• Staying current and organized on my crafts and hobbies.  I rented my current apartment for the sole purpose of the bonus craft room.  That I hardly use because I have yet to organize it to it's full efficiency.  

Build a Small Financial Cushion
I am sick of being a broke ass.  When concerts, small trips and even just dinners out come around, I usually cannot attend due to lack of funds.  While most of us can't have everything we want, it is nice to afford small indulgences now and again.  Not having to choose between attending a friend's wedding or paying my rent would help to give me that sense of accomplishment I have been lacking these last 10 years.  

That is it.  Not too bad.  Like I said, I am not one to make the standard resolutions so I perhaps I am going easy on myself.  But it is a start to the last year of my 20's.  If I can do at least one of these things every day, I will feel my foundation getting stronger with each day.  Already writing this post, I feel a new found optimism and peppiness about this new year.

Night Cap Re Cap

Whew!  Now that I have had a little cheese to go with my wine, I will let you in on a little recap of some happier occurrences. 

The last week of work before Christmas was a breeze and bountiful on the gluttonous holiday office eating.  Biggest news of all: I recieved a HUGE end-of-year bonus.  It is no exaggeration to say it was ten-fold what I have ever recieved before.  Though the money is gratefully accepted, this is huge for reasons beyond the cash.  My company means the world to me and this is testament that we are finally succeeding in our fourth official year.  Furthermore, I am finally feeling compensated for my work.  This certainly helps to partly ease the almost-thirty-freak-the-fuck-out.  Though I promise; I'm still bat shit crazy enough to keep you entertained.

That bonus?  It was given to me about an hour before I left for an eleven day vacation.  Yep, hate me now.  This is the most consecutive days off I have taken in almost three years, so much needed, and deserved if I do say so myself.  I am currently sitting on a couch in my family's beautiful mountain cabin.  Yes, I know, I was just bitching about them.  But damn, do I love these people.  The last few days have been all about playing cards with my cousins. Frolicing in the snow with our dogs.  Cooking and eating insanely delicious meals.  Sleeping in next to a cozy fireplace.  If there is an afterlife, I sure as hell hope it looks something like this.

Last but most certainly not least, there is The Writer.  Oh boy.  This man may have me in for a doozy.  Last I time I gushed, I shared with you the events of Date #3.  Since then, we were able to spend a little more time together before we each left town to celebrate Christmas with our families.  Our most recent "date" was really more of a movie night at his aparment.  Of course, neither of us wanted the night to end so I stayed way past my bedtime.  At one point, he looked me dead in the eye and said "I really like you" then proceeded to rattle off ten reasons why.  Really?  This kind of romantic shit does not happen to me.  It's like my own real life version of Love Actually. We have continued the tooth-rottingly-sweet converstaion cross country via text messages and phone calls.  Thank god for my unlimited everything plan.  He is also my confirmed date for New Year's Eve.  Christ on a fucking stick.  I think I might be falling for him.  And yes, I have kept my panties on.  Yay, willpower!

The Kids' Table

I know I have sucked at blogging this week.  My sincerest apologies as I have been just itching to write. I certainly hope everyone has enjoyed their holidays thus far.

The main reason for my lack of posting has been a lack of material.  My other excuse is I am currently on vacation in my family's mountain cabin where the bandwidth has been in short supply.  Which brings me to this current post for your reading pleasure.  Looking back at my very first post, this whole blogging experiment is to help me sort out exactly what I have done with the last decade of my life while preparing myself for the next.  And yes, I am in a bit of a freak out knowing my time in my 20's is running out.  My family certainly doesn't help with that anxiety.

Let me firstly say, I love my family.  I abnormally love my family.  We are all amazingly close to where even friends have commented it's a little freakish.  Just last night, some cousins and I were joking that we are perhaps more accurately considered a cult than a family.  The blessed life I have had would be impossible without them.  But here's the thing, I am almost 30 years old. (I know, I'm beating the dead horse with that one.)  Yet, although I am the oldest member of my generation in my family, I am still treated much the same as the other members of this generation.  My family is young.  I have an uncle less than 10 years older than me.  His wife is only 4 years older than me.  An aunt of mine is the same age as my last serious boyfriend.  However, they are in The Grown Up group.  And I am left somewhere at The Kids' Table.     

Yeah, it's unfair when I don't get offered a glass of wine because the host or hostess "forgets" I am 7 years over the legal drinking age in our state.  And yes, it's unfair that I don't get introduced or included in meetings and conversations with adult family friends and neighbors. I must admit though, if I were to tell my parents how I feel about this issue, they would hammer home the following:

•  You didn't finish college so you aren't a grown up.
•  Because you didn't finish college and get an engineering job, we still have to help support you so you aren't a grown up.
• You don't have a mortgage so you aren't a grown up.
• You aren't married so you aren't a grown up.
• You don't have children of your own so you aren't a grown up.
•  If you were a grown up, you would be paying for this cabin. So you aren't a grown up.

Fuck!  No wonder I have a complex and insanely major anxiety about turning 30!  What about 40?  Will I still be at the Kids' Table at 50?  Am I required to have a high paying job, husband, home owners insurance and children to finally be considered an adult member of this family? I feel stuck somewhere in limbo.  In a parallel universe.  Alone amongst my own people.  Truly, I feel like shit about myself.  This is just more proof at how much I suck at life and what a failure my 20's have been.