Today I did something I don't normally do. I read the article about a dying dog's last day on Earth that showed up in one of my feeds today. I don't normally read those articles because they make me cry. Then I feel weird. And my mind floods with thoughts of special people in my life who have died and those who are still alive and how I'm going to feel when they and then when I die and what on Earth am I doing with my life because I'm going to die. It's a little exhausting. I've been struggling a lot lately with thoughts about how short life is and calculating how many more years I have left if I make it to certain milestones. I compare this to what feels like the great wasteland of my 20s and 30s. (Seriously, what HAVE I done with my life other than work and navigate difficult marriages?) It's a bit macabre, I know. So I decided to make a concerted effort to find something each day that makes me feel alive or grateful or just happy. I'm not sure...

There's a huge part of me that wants to post a screenshot of my Blogger dashboard just to prove to you that I haven't entirely forgotten my blog. No, really. I've had my fair share of ideas to write about, including what I think are rather insightful pieces about empowering women, mental illness and body issues. I've started them and failed to finish them, usually because I fall asleep mid-post. I fall asleep a lot these days. On the couch. In the rocking chair. Face down on my computer's keyboard. It's a combination of a solid three to four hours of sleep each night, working ten to twelve hour days and a thyroid condition that's wreaking havoc on my body. But anyway. I've recently decided that I need to spend SOME time doing things I enjoy, and I do enjoy writing about my life and how I see the world. That's why I'm taking a break from writing an enchanting piece about kitchen islands to post a quick update in the hope that we can pick up...

This post has been sitting on my computer for the last few weeks. In the wake of this week, the message seems even more appropriate. *** For several months now, the service engine light has been on and off...mostly on. I've taken it to the mechanic several times, and he's pulled the code and checked out all the usual suspects before calling me to pick it up. There have even been a few times that it goes off on its own. And then comes back on. It's a bit of a waiting game, as I'm waiting until someone finally figures out what's going on. I was thinking about the service engine light this morning on the way to work and comparing it to how many times in life we talk about missing the warning signs. It's a convenient response, kind of like, "stay strong" or "she's in a better place now." Those empty words that fill an uncomfortable space and are usually best left unsaid. The truth, which sometimes seems to be messier, is that warning...

In 20 minutes, the hour will turn into another day, and it will officially be Christmas American-style. I'm supposed to be earning money right now by popping out a few more pieces for the projects I'm working on. I could also be cleaning the kitchen so it's not such an eyesore in the morning. I could go to bed, too, but I just took the dogs out for the final time tonight and put them all in their crates. Midnight Christmas mass is on t.v., and even though I'm not Catholic, I am intrigued by this story I've heard so many times in my life told through a new lens. It's Christmas Eve, and the best I can say is that I'm intrigued. There was a time in my life when Christmas was a big deal. As a sophomore in high school, I wrote an essay for English class all about how excited I was for Christmas that year. I don't have that essay anymore, and neither do I have that same sense of anticipation. There was a time when I excitedly pulled down all my decorations...

I hesitate calling myself an overachiever because I'm really not. The quality in me that gets mistaken for overchievement is actually impatience. I don't have an innate drive to do more and be more. I'm just usually in a hurry to make it to the next step. And the part of me that loves to prove people wrong. In the electricity and water-less days following Irma, I repeatedly said, "The electricity will be back when it's turned on." I followed the updates from the electric company, but I knew that until I saw trucks on the road, any worry or impatience or complaining was a waste of breath. This is a lesson that I hope is finally seeping through my impatient, thick skull. Perhaps my perpetually high cortisol levels will also finally start to drop. Maybe I'll be able to trade worry for sleep. I don't know.  But I do know this. There are only certain things I can control in my world, and they all point to me.

This post-Irma life is still a bit stressful and unsettled. I'm still trying to get in touch with my insurance company. I'm still waiting on FEMA. I'm still living in a slightly damaged home with broken windows and doors. But there's electricity and running water for now. My new routine includes spending an hour or so at a laundromat after getting in my long run for the week. It's frustrating, but it's livable. It has to be. My credit union offered a low interest loan for hurricane victims. The maximum $2500 would have been just enough to take care of a few things I really need to take care of. The monthly payment was doable. It was a long shot, but I kept hearing that people with bigger financial problems than I have were able to qualify. I didn't. I asked them to review my application again and offered to let them do an automatic payment withdrawal from my paycheck. They looked again. I didn't qualify. And.That.Was.It. I said...

The power finally came back on late Thursday. The DSL line came back today. The borrowed generators are ready to go back to their owners. I finally washed off the streaks of dirt and filth that accumulated on my skin over the last week. I shaved my legs. I scrubbed my scalp and conditioned my hair. There's still some debris to clean up in the yard, but I think it's safe to close the door on Hurricane Irma. Irma wasn't my first major hurricane. I was without power for two weeks after Charley cut a path through Osceola County. Those days are a blur to me now, hazy visions of picking up free ice, sleeping on the tile floor in the bathroom and using the solar lamps from my garden for heat-free light inside my house. I held on to those fuzzy memories in the wake of Irma. In the aftermath of a hurricane, there's a bit of comfort in knowing that even the most desperate feeling moments eventually fade. But here's the thing, some of what felt so desperate to many peop...

The last thing I expected to do today was clean out a closet filled with stuff that doesn't belong to me, but that's what I did today. It was also what I needed more than anything else. Not only was it cathartic to see those shelves break free of the clutter that bound them, but the chance to goof around with one of my dearest friends--and the inevitable laughter that springs forth when we're together--was just what my soul needed. I needed the steady stream of inside jokes (Camembert) and knowing looks and friendly jabs and spontaneous songs that are part of us. I also needed the acknowledgement from someone else who got to see the magical blend of electricity and concern that we've built this friendship on. I deal with enough crazy on a daily basis that the validation of my own perspective just felt good. Even though you will never read this, thank you my dear. Thank you for every nod and smile and eye roll. Thank you for loving me...just me...even when my decisio...

I'm on repeat right now. It's after 10. I'm half paying attention to the television while the rest of my brain is berating me for not doing the writing work I need to do and hoping I don't burn the dinner that no one will eat. I just checked the rice. It looks okay. I'm miserable. Sad. Melancholy. I'm a walking checklist for depression. Without any obvious trigger, I start to cry, sometimes small trickles of tears and sometimes gasping sobs. I spend most of my waking moments wishing I could just go to sleep and much of the night watching reruns that don't make me laugh. I'd love to laugh. I'm late for work every day. My house is a wreck. Most of my conversations--even with my best friends--consist of me nodding and filing away in my head some really mean things I want to say. It's been a long time since I've felt this way. A really long time. I'm almost to the point that I want to ask the doctor for meds, but making an appointment ...

Way back in July or August I signed up for the Gasparilla 15k race thinking it would give me something to train for and get my feet back on the running trails. I put together some very reasonable training plans and even went out for a few long runs early on Sunday mornings. Then December and January bitch slapped me with fury, and running was the last thing on my mind. I planned to go ahead and do the race anyway. After all, I did my first half-marathon even though I had never gone longer than 6 miles. It's still my best time. I'm definitely not in the same shape now that I was then, but I'm determined and willing to give it what I had. My annual check-up changed all that. I had a ridiculous swelling in my ankles and feet that was the result of my thyroid gone wild again. Basically, I had proteins building up in the soft tissues of my body. I asked the doctor about the race, and he told me I would most likely have a heart attack on the course because what was happenin...

After any sort of loss, there's a series of firsts that mark the path through grief. I've already been through a few of them this week, but today's is a little bittersweet. It's raining outside. It's the first rain that I haven't had Winnipeg here freaking over the sound of drops striking the roof. She would pace the house looking for some place she felt safe. The process was often infuriating because nothing seemed to calm her, and I would watch her wander into the bathroom and close the door behind her or try to cram her body under an end table. This past summer, I finally bought her a Thundershirt, and it made a world of difference. She wore that thing pretty much every day during the summer, and although it didn't stop the panic, it calmed her enough that she could at least stay in the room. Today it's been raining most of the morning, and there's Winnipeg wandering around the house. The only dogs here are quietly sleeping, and I'm not sure...

Today was the first morning I prepared for and left for work without Winnipeg here. Another first. It was also the first day I came home from work knowing that she wouldn't be here to greet me. But that wasn't entirely the case. I pulled up in the driveway and sat in the car for a minute and she was there on the other side of the gate. That damn dog. I went inside for a minute and then left again to fill the water tank, and there she was. So I talked to her for a minute and realized that she's been having a lot of fun doing all the exploring that I never let her do. I guess life is different when you don't have to pay attention to fences. The beautiful part is that I know she's no longer hindered by the lameness that was affecting her the last few weeks. It was rough watching her stumble on the floor and drag her leg behind her...to know that she could no longer go for the rides she loved because she couldn't jump up in the SUV anymore. But no more. I ha...

I knew this morning would be difficult. For the first time in 10 years, I did not have Winnipeg here in the morning to take out and feed. There was no call, "Come on, Winnipeg. Let's go inside." Okay, there was, but she didn't come back inside. I've cried several times. I've retold the story of how she and I both knew yesterday morning that January 1 would be her last day...how that dog lived her life on her own terms and she died on her own terms. At her own home. In my arms. In the light of the sun. I also noticed her presence very clearly when I went outside this morning. I've always had a sense of spirits around me. In fact, when our mother died, the first thing my sister asked me to do was walk around my aunt's house to see if she was around. She wasn't, and we were a little angry with her for not sticking around for us in those early, painful moments. But not my Winnipeg. Her spirit is very much here. It's like when she would go out...

Ten years ago, I welcomed a tiny gray bundle from Marianna, Florida into my life. She was a beautiful blue Great Dane with a silvery coat and big floppy ears that I later had clipped. When I made the move to south Florida, she was my traveling companion who rode shotgun with me between Kissimmee and Fort Myers every week. After my divorce, she stayed with me and we formed such a strong bond that leaving her to travel was one of the hardest things I ever did. I could walk her without a leash because she never left my side for too long. I even had to hide suitcases from her because she knew that it meant I was leaving. She ran with me, leaned against me, slept with me, rode in the car with me. She lived through several other dogs here in the house, always by my side, I said good-bye to her today. I've had a feeling for the last few weeks that she was slowing down. Last night, she started throwing up just before midnight. This morning she wanted to walk the entire length of the pr...

The final week of 2016 is proving to be quite challenging as everything decided to run amok and go awry all at the same time. I woke up Tuesday morning feeling like the desperate sailors on the ship Jonah was on, and my endless stream of phone calls, lists, budgets, and text messages is my own version of casting lots, a tool proving as useful as other forms of divination. Most of the answers are still blowing in the wind. Basically, all I want to do is curl up on the couch under a blanket and watch Roseanne reruns for days. I turned to the sitcom following my mother's death, and it's the one thing I crave when I need comfort. You know the yule log video of a fireplace that gives you the feeling of sitting in front of an open flame? Having the Connors on my television is like sitting in their living room, and it all feels so familiar to me. I guess that's the point of comfort, huh? It's a piece of familiarity that grounds us in the midst of the unknown. For me, ri...

I've been feeling rather reflective these last few days as I've watched life and death work its wonder. I'm sad. I've been sad for a while, but I've been afraid to admit it to myself. Admitting this means so much more than fessing up to the emotion underlying all the complaining and hiding I've been doing. Admitting to the sadness means letting go of something that I let define me...something I've let define me for more than 20 years. Yeah, we go way back, and letting go of something that's been part of your life for so long is really tough. Yet, I've been in enough therapy to know that until I acknowledge and deal with the emotions that connect me to this...this...thing, moving forward will be difficult. Honestly, I think my failure to deal (whatever that means) with this is the reason so much of my life feels stagnant. My thyroid. My weight. My creativity. But today is Christmas. I ran out last night to return a shirt, and the clerk asked me if...

The elevator door opened to a simply furnished lobby, and a kind man greeted us. I explained that we had a 4 p.m. appointment, to which he replied that the appointment was for 3. As soon as I could, I checked my phone to see the text message I sent immediately after making the appointment. It was for 4. I knew it was for 4 because there was no way we could have made it there in time for a 3:00 appointment. This was an interesting experience for me because I didn't feel the need to prove I was right. I didn't berate myself or question myself. I know the time of the appointment I set. End of story. Unfortunately, this isn't always easy to do when someone presents information different from what you know to be true, In fact, sometimes it's really difficult. There is a term in the therapy world called gaslighting. Named for a movie in which a husband keeps a gas light burning all night yet tells his wife that it's not on. He essentially convinces her that she's ...

Last week NPR interviewed one of the writers from Amy Schumer's show. I have never seen the show, and I know little about the woman apart from her appearance on Saturday Night Live. I did, however, hear the clip played during that interview. It involved a group of pregnant women talking (and on-upping each other) about their birth plans. The punch line was that everything was "better for the baby," and I laughed loudly at comments about giving birth as far away from medical intervention as possible and opting for a sand birth like the sea turtles do. As I finished driving home, I thought a lot about that sketch, and it amplified my sadness at the way we interact with each other. It bothers me greatly the way we compare ourselves with others, especially out of a need to feel okay with ourselves--our lives and our choices. Quite honestly, I'm tired of it and by it and the way these little shaming techniques strike at us. Ten years ago when I was working with a therapi...

I read this blog this morning as I searched for answers to how to set boundaries with a spouse. The idea of boundaries is not new to me. I still remember my aunt telling me YEARS ago about her favorite part in This Present Darkness, when the lead character is running through a field looking for the fences. She told me that this scene is symbolic of the fences in our lives, and that as long as we know where the boundaries are, we free to act as we wish within them. Setting Boundaries with a Cheating Ex: My Story We need to know the limits of what we can say and how we can act toward other people. Sometimes this is very easy to do. Sometimes it seems impossible to do. Yet, the issue, I've found, is not in setting the boundary or knowing when someone has crossed it. It's following through. When my first husband had a friendship with his secretary that was troublesome to me, I told him. I said that to me, it was not appropriate for a married man to talk to a married woman at al...

I decided to peruse some of my friends' dormant blogs tonight, and one post resonated with me. It was an open letter to anyone going through a difficult time in life, and the advice was to remember a time when you felt like you were awesome instead of sucky. I needed that message tonight. I've needed that message for the last year, and that is why I decided to post something new here. A few years ago I felt awesome. I felt like life was a journey of opportunity. I was going places and doing things and celebrating the things that I love. I do love going back and reliving those moments here, and I want to start recording all the busy-ness of my life right now because one day I hope to go back and fine a few awesome moments here. I'm a little tired right now and still have a disaster in the kitchen to clean, a ton of writing to do to pay for some surprise car repairs and want to get a little sleep before I wake up to start a new day at my summer job. Good enough? Let's...