Tag: adventure

Don’t chase rabbits.

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When I officially resigned from my last job, I had a big plan to write a long entry about why I would do such a thing.  That was weeks ago, and I did start writing.  That entry is currently 4 pages long, single spaced.  It’s emotional – not just sadness; there is a respectable amount of anger and frustration – and possibly not appropriate for public sharing.  It’s not finished cooking.  It’s still too raw for human consumption.  If it is ever actually finished, it probably won’t be shared.  I didn’t write it to be ugly.  I wrote it to process my feelings and to try to make sense of what happened.  I’m not certain that it is ugly, but that is something I consider about anything I write to share.

I’ve been trying to write this story for weeks.  When I’m not staring at the Word document, I’m thinking about it.  What should I write?  Can I even share this?  What is even worth sharing?  Did I really quit my job?  

I still feel like I had to quit the job.  Nobody asked me to, but I was having a difficult time.  I was burned out and out-of-touch.  I could not get the work completed.  Even knowing I was burned out, I was still trying to give.  I had progressed past “give until it hurts,” into “give until numbness sets in,” territory and beyond.  [. . . . ]   The week that I learned I needed to quit the job, I had two court hearings.  A co-worker was sent to the first one (Monday) to observe me, because that co-worker needed some extra education regarding testifying.  He was sent to court to observe me testifying that day.  That indicates that, at some point, I was doing okay (at the very least).  Two days later, I was trash.

I have told a condensed version of “what happened at work” to various people and nobody – not one person – has said, “You really fucked up and should not have done that.”

Recently, I had a “lightbulb moment” while obsessing about what to write.

I can tell you that someone questioned my concern for the safety of my community and that hurt me.  That was a good reminder of why we, as human beings, should not kick other human beings when they are down.  If I did not care about the safety of my community, I would never have taken that job seriously.  I would never have burned out.  Another term for “burn out” is “compassion fatigue.”  I’ll repeat that for the people in the back: compassion fatigue.  That someone would question my concern for the safety of the community was deeply insulting.  I have worked not to ruminate on that question.  I haven’t forgotten that it happened, and I doubt that I will.  It helped me remember some important experiences:

During the past 3.5 years, I’ve had had three different people identify, to me, as survivors of childhood sexual abuse and thank me for the work I did.

After a particularly difficult hearing, during which I cried (sitting in the back row of the gallery after I had testified), a victim shook my hand and thanked me for being there.  Her dad thanked me for the work I did that led to the hearing and said he appreciated it (even though we did not get the result they wanted).

After a hearing in October, a victim’s mother mouthed the words, “Thank you,” to me as we were all leaving the courtroom.

In 2017, a CSO from a different county ended up mixed up in some stuff with a person on my case load at that time.  The mother of his granddaughter was also involved – the granddaughter was in an unsafe situation.  That officer thanked me for the work I did with that case.  That was especially meaningful because he is an officer who supervises sex offenders.  He knows.

I’m no stranger to the phrase, “I don’t know how you do that, but I’m glad you do.”

****

Recently, during a yoga class, I was most dissatisfied to find that inside my head, I was inside the district courthouse, just about to relive the chastising that changed my life.  I pulled my mind away from that, but I felt angry about it.  So much of the self-care I’m doing now, including yoga class, is meant to put distance between myself and that day, if not that entire week.  As a society, we often joke about Wednesday being “hump day,” and the rest of the week is downhill from that day.  If that was not 100% accurate for me in that week, then it never is.

The good life.

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We’re coming up on my 8-year anniversary of being a resident of Texas.  Every year that passes, I feel surprised that I’m still here.  After making the choice to move, I created some vague back-up plans: I could move back to Ohio, I could move in with family in the San Antonio area if San Angelo didn’t work out.  I didn’t have a timeline or a solid plan beyond: move to San Angelo, start job, see how it goes.  So, I moved to San Angelo, TX, by myself.   

In early August 2010, I started my job at the San Angelo State Supported Living Center.  This feels like a good time for a flashback:

 I finished my MSCJ in 2009.  As soon as I had my diploma, I started looking for jobs outside of Ohio.  I focused on Virginia/DC area and had some thoughts about Texas.  But Virginia – that was IT.  I wanted desperately to work for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.  I still do.  They have a branch in Austin.  I wasn’t good enough for NCMEC in 2009 and have never felt like I am.  I check their available positions every once in a while.  That’s right, NCMEC!  I’m still coming for you!

 I hope you enjoyed that nostalgic tangent….

 I eventually gave up on Virginia/DC.  I went out there one time for a pre-screening exam related to a position for which I applied.  They called me to return to interview.  I cancelled that.  I started looking for work in Texas.  I visited family in San Antonio and looked around for places that seemed to fit me, job-wise.  It was a wash.  Nothing came from that.  Back in Ohio, I expanded my search somehow.  I have no idea how.  I applied for a position for the SSLC in San Angelo.  Why not?  I have no memory of applying, why it was enticing – nothing.  I got a call from a man who worked there.  He told me some of the basics about the facility, asked about my interest in working there (they had a sex offender population!) and arranged a telephone interview with the person in charge of hiring staff for a certain department. 

 I participated in that interview while sitting in my little red Dodge Neon in the Holzer Medical Center parking lot in the dead, humid heat of July in Ohio.  I tried to hide the fact that I was sitting in my car.  I remember not being able to answer some questions.  I remember referring to Tristi and Kristi because I didn’t realize Dr. Dunham had introduced her as Tristi.  I remember trying to be casual and joke around a little bit.  Worst case scenario: I wouldn’t get hired, but I would still have my job in Ohio.  I knew nothing about San Angelo and had zero attachment to the idea of working here.  I knew it was Texas, and I wanted to find work in Texas because of the weather (no joke).  It was an opportunity to work with sex offenders which, at that time, was just a hope.  I hadn’t already worked with that population and didn’t know what I would be getting myself into.  I just wanted to try it.  I was sure I blew that interview.  The heat in my car was sweltering.  I couldn’t answer some of their questions.  I was nobody. 

 I have no idea how many days passed before I heard from Dr. Dunham to offer me the job.  I don’t remember that conversation, but I think I probably said, “Really?”  because that’s who I am, even now. 

 I called my dad and asked him to stop by my apartment on his way home.  He did.  We sat on a bench on the sidewalk and I told him I was offered the job in Texas, and I was pretty sure I was going to take it.  He was 100% supportive.  I think I had decided, before he left, that I would take the job.  In a seemingly brief period of time, I decided to move, alone, from my all-too-familiar homeland to an unknown city full of strangers in Texas, about 1,500 miles away.  I decided it was time for an adventure.  I mean, I wanted to find a job in Texas, right? 

 Not too long after that, I made a trip to San Angelo to see the new workplace, meet my future co-workers and search for an apartment. 

 So, I moved to San Angelo.  I think we started driving from Ohio on 07/23/10.  We spent one night somewhere in Arkansas where there was a shit ton of enormous mosquitos and a restaurant that had killer onion rings.  The town name was two words and the second word was “Forest.”  That’s all I got.

 The next day, we made it to San Angelo, to my first apartment in Texas, located on Sunset Dr.  Dad and Charlene helped me unpack, spent one night and drove back to Ohio.  Then it was just me with very little furniture in an unfamiliar city.  I didn’t have any living room furniture other than a side table and the television on top of it.  That apartment was great.  There were two big windows in the living room, a pantry, 2 bedrooms, a walk-in closet in the master bedroom.  I loved it.  After work, almost every day, I would get something to eat, go jog at Kirby Park, go home and watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.  I lived there for about 3 months while I waited for something to open at Wellington.  

 Wellington seemed great.  The complex looked nicer and I could have laundry machines inside the apartment.  Things went okay there, but the rent went up every year and it was ridiculous.  I got engaged while living in that apartment.  I got married while I lived in that apartment, and I also separated from that partner while living in that apartment.  After close to 4 years of me living there, it was time for a change.  Over the next few months I made some serious changes.  I moved, and I got divorced.  I had that 3rd apartment to myself. 

 I really enjoyed my time at the 3rd apartment.  I was there for 2-3 years.  I even had some friends over.  Once.  I grew a lot while I lived there.  I started taking better care of myself.  I started to really be myself while I lived there.  I even had some adventures, outside of the divorce, although that one was a highlight.  I took a selfie the day I went to the hearing with Judge Gossett to get everything finalized.  He said, “You’re ready to be done with this, aren’t you?”  YES, SIR.  Fun fact:  I started my job with probation while still living in the 3rd apartment.  Judge Gossett swore me in.  That’s some full circle business, folks.  As a side note, while I grew to loathe the first job I had in San Angelo, it was an excellent stepping stone and if I had not had that job, I would not have my current job.  

 After that, I had a very brief stint in a charming, one-bedroom apartment behind an office on Concho Ave.  I loved it.  I could get on the roof and though it wasn’t high, it was a great view.  Since it wasn’t an apartment complex, it was always so quiet and relaxing.  That apartment was a sweet blessing.  Also, built-in book shelves.  That apartment was a blessing at the best time.  I miss it sometimes. 

 If you’re playing along at home, you may already know I live in Todd’s house.  I have been here over 2 years…. I think?  My math skills aren’t great (if you’re checking my math in this, please stop.  You’re missing the point of this entry).  I like to tease Todd about my lack of my own space here (I do have space, but I also lack space).  This is Todd’s house.  He lived here for years before we ever met.  It’s a truly great house.  For a while, we talked about moving and even looked at a few houses with the intention of moving.  However, at the end of the day, this is a great house.  If we moved, I’d be pissed off about someone else living here.  We’re going to add on a little bit.  It’s going to work great.  I want to hire someone to paint a portrait of a serial killer for my room, because that’s much kinder than posting a GTFO sign.  An added bonus about Todd’s house:  I’m not sure if there’s a library inside this house or if we live inside a library. 

 I have been in Texas for 8 years.  I’ve gotten engaged, married, divorced and engaged again.  I’ve had 2 jobs.  I’ve started working on another master’s degree.  I’ve made friends, lost friends.  I’ve run 2 half-marathons and one 5k.  I did Crossfit for a couple years and quit doing it.  For the past 2 years, I’ve been a member of a gym that is an absolute fucking dream – enough of a dream that I willingly go to class at 5:30am.  That gym is working for me in so many ways.  I’ve seen all kinds of different places.  I went to SXSW.  I’ve been to Marfa Myths twice.  I’ve gotten two new piercings.  I hiked at Big Bend State Park and Big Bend National Park.  I’ve visited Galveston.  I’ve seen scorpions, armadillos, tarantulas and Javelina, and I never get tired of chasing lizards I will never catch (I just want to be friends!). 

 Regardless of how cheesy this sounds, it is absolutely true:  I found my voice in Texas.  I don’t think I can articulate just how much I’ve grown since moving here.  I have no problem telling anyone that when I was still living in Ohio, I felt terrified that someday I would commit suicide.  My family is there, and I have friends there, but in some way there was nothing there for me.  I don’t believe I would have ever flourished there the way I have here.  Could I have found my voice just anywhere?  Possibly.  I can tell you that it happened here, but maybe it would have happened in Virginia or Pennsylvania or Indiana or even Columbus, Ohio.  Maybe.  But none of that matters now. 

 I understand that San Angelo is not a huge, glamorous city.  I understand I do not live in Austin or Dallas.  I know there are other places that are, in some ways, better.  When anyone talks about how terrible San Angelo is, how small it is, how there’s nothing here, I think about my homeland: an entire county with a population of 23,257 in 2015.  While San Angelo isn’t San Antonio, it is something to someone like me. 

 Before anyone thinks I’m getting too down on my homeland where I still have family and friends, people can flourish there.  The people I know there have flourished and continue to do so.  My point is, that I wasn’t flourishing there and don’t believe I ever would have.  I never regret moving.  I do feel homesick sometimes, especially when I know I’m missing something important like my nieces going to prom and my nephew playing little league baseball.  I am missing all of it.  That’s the price I pay for not being able to make it work in my homeland.  I experience an element of envy for people who could make it work, because they get to keep their front row seat with their families.  I get pictures on my phone, text messages, pictures and messages via social media.  I’m not complaining.  Imagine how disconnected I’d feel without all this technology.  But it’s not the same as being in the front row.  My Cool Aunt status has suffered.    

The temperature reached 111* in San Angelo today.  Getting into my car around 1pm felt awful.  This heat happens every summer, and every summer I wonder, “Was it this bad last summer?”  We’re always in danger of running out of water.  We have an atrocious meth problem (I think the heroin is coming slowly but surely) and nearly 400 registered sex offenders in this county alone.  The traffic is ridiculous around 8am, 12pm, 1pm and 5pm, M-F, but nothing like Austin – just ridiculous for a city this size.  When it rains, the water just stands in the road creating hazards because this city on the fringe of the desert just cannot deal.  I have lost my skills for driving in rain.  The people who have grown up here never had those skills.  San Angelo has it downsides, just like anywhere, but looking at the past 8 years of my life, being able to live here has done so much more for me than I ever hoped or imagined. 

 Life is good.

Numbered Words: 2017

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I’m back in Texas, which means I can share my “Books I Read in 2017” List. I’ll warn you: there’s no need to hold onto one’s hat.

1. The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood)
2. The Lovely Bones (Sebold)
3. The Heavenly Table (Pollack)
4. Secondhand Souls (Moore)
5. Adulthood is a Myth (Andersen)
6. It (King)
7. Under the Banner of Heaven (Krakauer)
8. Predators: Pedophiles, Rapists and Other Sex Offenders (Salter)
9. Motherfucking Sharks (Carr)
10. The Ghost Box (Hingston & Olsen)
11. Heart and Brain (Seluk)
12. Point Your Face at This: Drawings (Martin)
13. The Evil That Men Do (Hazelwood)

I don’t feel proud of this list, but I am sharing it because I strive for authenticity. I don’t remember why I chose to keep a list. I can tell you that keeping this list has forced me (thankfully!) to evaluate how I spend my time. As I wrote in the previous entry, I do not do resolutions. What I do is self-care. The older I get, the more I realize how important it is to take care of myself and to devote time to those activities that feed my soul, those activities that truly bring me joy. I am looking forward to more reading in the coming year. Today, I have nearly finished reading 2018’s first book: Difficult Women (Gay).

If you kept a reading list in 2017 and read less than you hoped, please do not feel discouraged. I am a self-identified book worm. I love books. I want all of the books. For the first time, my checked bag was over 50# on the trip back to TX from NC. I moved my toiletry bag and a new book – problem solved. It’s a big book – a crime writing anthology edited by Harold Schechter – that I cannot wait to consume. But, I feel embarrassed by my 2017 list. It’s a new year. I will do better this year, and so will you, if you want.

2018

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Hopeful Highlights for 2018

I’m starting school (again) in mid-January. I’m starting a Master’s program at ASU. I’m currently registered for 2 classes – one is online and the other is an evening class. I feel anxious. When I was last in school, the kids were still taking notes with pen and paper. Do they still do it this way? I don’t think I want to type my notes. I used to handwrite during lecture and type later. It helped me study. As it is, I’m planning to take my laptop with me and decide when I get there – when I get to the class. I have not attended an academic class in quite a while, folks. I got past my concern about my age before I applied. That was a significant hurdle for me. It’s going to be an adventure, folks.

I desperately want to write more this year. I hope the blog will be updated more regularly, and I hope I can provide more thoughtful, meaningful content. I am always hopeful for a larger audience and more feedback, both positive and constructive criticism. I have considered limiting my writing to certain topics. I have considered not writing as much personal content. However, at this time, that is what I know best. I feel that personal content is what I am most able to make creative and meaningful and maybe even entertaining. Considering I am going back to school, I may provide content about the adventure of returning to school as a 30-something who has been working FT for several years; the adventure of creating a home office; content about what I’m studying/researching. I just hope to write more and share more.

I hope to read more. I kept a list of all the books I finished during 2017, and while I do not know how many are on the list because I am currently in North Carolina and the list is in Texas (and it’s not complete because I finished a book after arriving in NC), I know I did not read enough. I keep telling Todd and whoever is within earshot that I did read It (Stephen King) this year and clocking in at 1,200 (approximate) pages, it should count as more than one book. In the end, I will only count it as one book – one huge accomplishment of a book. I will keep my list honest. In 2018, it will be a longer list.

I’m holding out for international travel in 2018. We have some plans made. Todd has made plans. I have just consistently reminded him that I will go almost anywhere, which has been not at all helpful to the planning. We have reservations for lodging, tickets to a symphony concert and tickets for a Lars von Trier play that will likely not be performed in English. The current plan is to visit Sweden and Denmark in the same trip.
I got a passport in 2015 with the possibility of visiting Canada during our PNW trip that December. We didn’t visit Canada. My passport is coming up on 3 years of age without having been used. I hope 2018 is the year I leave the country.

Todd and I are engaged. I don’t know who of the readership knows and who doesn’t. We’re not ones to make a big scene. This is something that occurred in 2017, but we’ll likely get married during 2018. Again, we’re not ones to make a big scene.

I would like to get to Ohio during 2018. I have not been there since Oct. 2016. There is a lot going on up there, and I avoided it during 2017. A lot of that avoidance was about self-care, and it still is. Additionally, with everything else I have going on that generally equates to building a life, a trip to Ohio isn’t affordable or even realistic. I feel a little guilty about admitting that, but it’s true. I live in Texas. It’s not cheap or easy to get to Ohio. Similarly, it’s not cheap or easy for my loved ones to travel to Texas from Ohio. Life is hard. It’s good (like, so good), but it’s not easy. Today, it’s my understanding that my loved ones are well and in good places (both figuratively and literally). This knowledge goes a long way.

I am planning to buy a planner for 2018. Last night, while waiting for midnight, I browsed online and wrote a brief blog entry about my experience with planners (an entry not likely to be shared). You can imagine that this experience has not been good because I am not an organized person. I don’t recall keeping a planner since I was in college – not my last stint at grad. school, but college. After writing this entry to this point, I feel more interested in having and keeping a planner. It seems like 2018 is going to be a busy year. I’m not making a resolution to get more organized because resolutions are too much pressure for me. I think I will try the planner route again. I will be open-minded and realistic. I will use the experience to exercise kindness toward myself, if nothing else.

So, at the end of this entry I am sitting in a ridiculously beautiful 3-story house in the Beech Mountain region of North Carolina with my partner and many members of his family, which will soon be my family as well. There is snow on the ground and the trees; snow like I have not seen in years. Picture perfect snow. Ever since we arrived here on 12.27.17, I have been overwhelmed by questioning, “How did I get here?” To be fair, I asked myself this exact same question throughout 2017 – in good times and in not-so-good times.

No clever title today.

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I do not trust myself enough. I’m also too hard on myself, but I guess that is true of most people. I am constantly trying to find the group into which I fit.

I have been lusting after a tshirt that has an image of Albert Fish on it with the text, “Full of Grace.” Now, you have options: you can Google “Albert Fish” and “Grace” and thank me later (hint: you’re not likely to thank me later), or you can contact me via Facebook, Twitter (@commonmaggie), Instagram (commonmaggie) or leave a comment here for me to ask, “Hey, what does that shirt mean?” So, I have had my eye on this shirt for months. A few things are stopping me: I don’t need another tshirt; I shouldn’t spend money on something I don’t need; I’m not sure how often I’d wear it. I mean, it’s an Albert Fish tshirt. If you Googled what I instructed you to Google, you know it’s inappropriate. Also, is this shirt ME?

I am simultaneously lusting after a sweater blazer – among other items – from JCrew. It is my favorite clothing brand. I cannot help myself.

What group is that? The group of women who cannot pass up a good serial killer pun tshirt but who want to wear a JCrew cardigan over the serial killer tshirt (I have a great emerald green cardigan that I want to wear over ev-er-y-thing). While actively thinking about this, I have told myself that if it is just me – which is unlikely – that’s okay. If there are only 4 of us in the world, that’s okay, too. If there are thousands, and they all live in Scandinavia while I live in Texas, it’s still okay. I like to think I will get to “the others” some day. But, if it’s just me or if I never meet others, it is okay.

As cheesy as it is, I often give myself pep talks about being myself. Some days, I do it more than once. Other days, being myself and owning it come so easily. I am not 100% sure of every single thing. I probably never will be. But I know myself better and better all the time.

I can tell you what I like: serial killers, preppy clothes, expensive purses, Converse, blankets, disturbing stories, horror movies, mysteries, silly socks, puppies, bookstores, music stores, comedies, puns, crossword puzzles, books, cardigans, boots, hats, my Honda Fit, the color green, my glasses, ice cream, Italian food, brunch, art, skylines, the tall green trees of my homeland and the unbelievably wide sky of west Texas, rainy days at home, soft fabrics, wandering around with Todd, road trips, holding babies (Yes, I like holding babies, especially the part when I hand the baby to someone else), watching football, swearing, writing, working out, sleeping in, yoga, warm weather, the beach, the mountains, the Pacific Northwest, people watching, the smell of books, shuffling cards, scarves, hoodies, reading about surreal horror films I may never get to watch because they exist in such a small space, trying to understand what “surreal” means, finding a new author to love, being an Introvert, telling people I’m an Introvert, poetry, playing games, finding one more thing to love about San Angelo, getting dressed up, the physical act and physical sensation of writing, fresh notebooks, Ramona, movie lists (ie The 50 Scariest Movies of All Time), never having had to stop listening to an episode of The Last Podcast on The Left (I want all the gold stars!), fundraising for MS research, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, vampire lore, learning about sex offenders, being assertive, helping someone “come around,” things that could likely be described as “fucked up,” surprise flowers, desperately trying to find an NFL team to support (how long ago did Peyton Manning retire, and I still have no clue), buying things from school fundraisers, and on and on and on. The list may never end.

For some balance, here are some things I don’t like: butterflies, the color pink, Metallica, science fiction movies, boxing, lima beans, beer, the NY Yankees, Alabama football, peep-toe shoes, face tattoos, chevron pattern, deciding that every person who has committed a crime is a bad person, elitism, being interrupted, mansplaining, being treated like I can’t handle things, eating meat off of the bone, spicy food, the idea that addiction isn’t a disease, people who argue that sexual contact with children should be permitted if the child consents (a child cannot consent), people who wear dark clothing while jogging around Santa Rita in the dark, not being able to read all of the books at once, not having a window in my office, how difficult it is to find shirts for work that are stylish but not low cut, and on and on and on.

I really did begin this entry focusing on my lack of feeling like I belong in a group. In a way, I have found “my people,” but they aren’t my people in that I can say I am a certain type of person and they are the same type of persons. I don’t think there’s anything concise I can say about myself that would give a person an idea of who I am. I don’t have a category, like goth, that would right away tell someone what to expect from me. I don’t identify as a feminist (see previous entry) or a yankee. I’m not a Texan. I’m not a buckeye (2-4-6-8 who gives a shit about Ohio State?), and I’m not an athlete. I don’t identify with a certain religion, at this time. I didn’t go to a big, well-known college (it I’m not an Aggie). I’m not an English teacher. I’m not a Steelers fan.

So, where does one belong if her first heroes were Daria Morgandorfer, Sylvia Plath and Elizabeth Wurtzel? I wrote high school research papers about the Manson family and euthanasia (I support the Right to Die movement). The only moderately decent stories I’ve ever written were “horror” stories, but I’ve written some poetry that wasn’t total trash (probably 98.5% trash). I want to spend the rest of my life working with and researching sex offenders and sex offender treatment. I love to watch Bob’s Burgers. Hannibal Lecter is my favorite fictional character and I love the Harry Potter series. Reading The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor changed my life. As did The Handmaid’s Tale and Anatomy of Motive.

When we were in California, the same day we visited The Huntington, we also visited The Museum of Death (LA), and I really enjoyed both. Both were important to me on that trip. On a different day, we made a quick stop outside of Jim Henson Studios so I could see the Kermit the Frog statue. Then we went to Amoeba Music where I almost bought a Texas Chain Saw Massacre tshirt (wish I had). None of this seems to add up to anything logical.

Maybe all of this rambling is a lesson, for myself, in not being able to put anyone into a group; not being able to have any expectation of anyone based upon a group with which a person may choose to identify. It would be nice to come away from this topic having lost the feeling that I should fit in a group, because the reality is that nobody does.

MuckFest MS Austin

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Before we get into MuckFest MS, I need to tell you about the day before and the AirBNB where Tristi and I stayed. It was a little apartment-type place in Bastrop. Super cute; more than what we needed for just one night, but great. By the time we got there, it was dark (we shopped out butts off in San Marcos). I read the host’s instructions a few times. It all sounded easy enough.

We get to the place and get into the driveway. We enter through the gate, like the instructions instructed. Once in the backyard, we could turn left and enter a house or turn right and enter a house. We turned left. That was the wrong turn. We turned left and entered a home. Creaky screen door – creaky like creaking is its job. We enter the home and are two rooms deep before we realize THIS IS NOT WHERE WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE. WE ARE INSIDE SOMEONE’S HOME. So, we backtrack and exit through that god-awful creaky screen door. At this point, we have a perfect view of the apartment where we are supposed to go. Good grief, people. We were inside a stranger’s home without their permission. It was dark. I maintain that we were lucky not to be shot.

We settle into the apartment-type place and find a place to get grub. We drive to Roadhouse for food. We eat the food and each leave with a Salted Caramel Cupcake because you do not resist the cupcake that is advertised on the door of the establishment and on the chalkboard inside the establishment. Not gonna lie – it was a good cupcake. I ate mine for breakfast the next morning. Speaking of the next morning….

On 10.15.17 I participated in MuckFest MS in the Austin area. I had this image in my mind – beforehand – of myself crying intermittently through the course. I expected to spend a lot of time remembering my mom and feeling the weight of her death. I expected the emotional weight of completing the course for her to be in the front of my mind all day. While I could feel her with me and I did draw courage from that when an obstacle was particularly daunting, I didn’t cry once. I literally slithered on my belly through muddy water for my mom because she died from complications related to a disease that robbed her of the ability to move or even speak. I climbed over things without thinking about how high they were. I slid down a hill of mud. I slid down a wet slide that threw me right into a pit of muddy water. I went through 2 obstacles that I shouldn’t have gone through because I lack swimming skills. I got into water over my head and struggled my way to the other side of those pits for my mom.

While we were at the starting line waiting for our start time, the MC asked us to recognized all those people who have MS who were participating. I learned during registration that persons who suffer from MS are given a special bandana to wear to indicate that they are “mucking with MS.” There were several of these participants in our heat. I did get emotional about that. If I had not been trying to get myself ready for the course, I probably could have just sat down and cried about them. It’s my understanding that, even fore someone who suffers from MS but can still function independently, a 5k would be tiring and trying and stressful. But, there they were, and not just in our wave. While on the course and afterward, I saw more people wearing those bandanas. I’m not sure exactly what I felt. I was happy to see them there. I was happy to see them on the course. I just wish I could take all the bad stuff away for them. I wish I could have hugged all of them. They kicked ass that day, just like they do every day. End of story.

I assume it comes across as being very cheesy to others to learn that I think of my mother when I am trying to do something that is physically demanding. In my past, I have completed 2 half-marathons (13.1 miles/each). I thought about mom during both of those. In the gym, I often think of my mom. I know I’m not serving her by doing difficult, physical activities. What I watched her endure keeps me from taking my physical health for granted, even if we’re talking about something as simple as walking up a flight of stairs. I can do it. Not everyone can. In addition to completing all of the obstacles at MuckFest MS, I also walked the course with some of my team members (Go Lucky Muckers!). We talked. We laughed. We enjoyed seeing the horses on the grounds (the course was on a horse farm – pretty rad). The point is, I was physically capable of walking the course. I’m grateful for every day of that.

After completing the course, rinsing off, changing clothes and having a drink and a snack, I wrote about mom on the shoelace display. I don’t remember what it was for, but it was an opportunity to tell “the world,” this is why I’m here. I also wrote about mom on the official MuckFest MS orange backdrop doo-dad. Mom, her name, the year she was born and the year she passed.

I used to think I would get a tattoo in memory of mom. I had this great idea that I would get that tattoo when I was the age she was when I was born. That ship has sailed. When it was close to “go time,” I realized that I’m never going to forget mom. I’m never going to forget what she went through. Why get a tattoo for her? I have shared about her here, and I will continue to do so, but you’ll never get the whole story. You’ll never get the details that I struggle to choke out when I need to tell them. That story is so personal to me. It’s not entertainment. It’s not a way for me to get attention. It’s a part of my life and my life story, but I only share all of it with important people. While I appreciate your readership (I truly do; you are incredible), the full story about mom is in line with sharing my deepest, darkest secret. It’s not for you.

Let’s address MuckFest in another light: It was FUN. I have never done anything like it, and I will do it again given the chance. I will recruit a team and hopefully do better fundraising. I feel genuinely excited to do it again next year. I want to try to raise enough money for my team to have a tent and maybe our own changing area. I want to have a larger team. I want to be bigger and better next time. I think we will keep the same team name. It served us well. I had a great team. Everyone was so nice and we brought in money for the cause. I am planning to write notes to everyone to thank them. I wish I could do something for them or give them something, but I’m not particularly wealthy. Nor am I particularly social. I hope a nice note will do the job. I’m not even sure how to express my appreciation, but I’ll figure out something and hopefully not cry while doing so.

We came up short on photographic records. Tristi, Aubrey, Austin and I got to the course site with just enough time to check in and get our bags to the bag check area before we had to be at the starting line. So, no “before” photos. We didn’t have a spectator to take pictures everywhere. We have some photos from event photographers, but I wish we had more. Next time, we’ll plan better, arrive earlier and have someone traipse around just to take pictures.

I am going to write notes to my donors. People really went above and beyond, and it is so meaningful to me. MS hasn’t effected everyone’s life or hasn’t effected their lives the way it has effected mine, but they gave anyway. I guess they gave for me, in a way. At any rate, I am still feeling the love. I know some truly caring, generous people. I’m thinking caring and generous people are the people who get things done, or at least help propel things along.

Swing 1
This is me on the Swing Set obstacle (with Tristi in the background): the first obstacle that required me to jump into water that was over my head and propel myself to the other side of the pit. Later when a teammate asked me how I did it, I said I just tried not to die. Success!

Muck Group 1
This is the team: Lucky Muckers. This was during the course, but we were slowed down by a line that had formed at the Flying Muckers obstacle. We did good.

Finish Line Group
This is part of the team after crossing the finish line. You can see the Crash Landing obstacle in the background. The photographer said something about us being “done,” so we tried to pep it up. Just so we’re clear: you bet your ass I rang the bell at the finish line.

Click here: My MuckFest MS Fundraising Site to read a little more about how MS has impacted my life and to donate to the cause if you’re feeling like you might want to do that (fundraising continues until 12/13/17).

To learn more about MS, MS research, MuckFest and how you can help:
National MS Society
Official MuckFest MS Site

Georgia boys.

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10.02.17

I recently received a special message from Todd’s friend, Zach M. I guess I received it on 09/24/17, and I have been sitting on it. I have read it over and over. I have tried to respond. And it brought me to writing a blog entry about it. If that’s not some weird circle of thinking and action, I don’t know what is.

I feel like I have endless support for my hobby of writing. Poor Todd gets stuck proofreading for me, which includes reading to reassure me that I’ve made sense and am not terrible at writing. Ever since I started sharing my blog, I have gotten compliments from surprising sources. I have had people encourage me to maintain my blog. They want to read more. I have gotten weepy over the feedback for my writing, whether it’s a blog entry or a Facebook post. It’s touching to me to have a person reach out to me to tell me they like my writing. Nobody has to do that. I would still keep a blog. I would still keep a journal. I would still want to write.

I have never met Zach. He and Todd have been friends since their time at University of Georgia (go dawgs!). Zach M. is the Editor of the Madison County Journal in Georgia.

10.8.17

I still haven’t addressed the message I received from Zach. I can’t even finish a blog entry about it (obviously)…. It’s too much, I think. A person who writes at a professional level cannot compliment my writing. I can’t handle it, folks. Lesson learned. When I told Todd that I still haven’t written back because I haven’t figured out what to write, he said that I just need to say, “Thanks,” or something to that effect. He’s right. I know that. I just need to thank Zach, and I will, but not until I am done obsessing about it. Maybe I will write back that I don’t know what to say. Like I said, it’s too much.

That I have never met Zach is a factor. I didn’t seek him out to read my writing. He found it because Todd posted a link to my MuckFestMS page on his own Facebook page. It never crossed my mind that he’d read it, and it definitely never crossed my mind that he would appreciate it. He’s under no obligation to compliment my writing.

I also need to tell you that Zach’s dad, Judson Mitcham, is the poet laureate for Georgia.

Yeah, I’m going to have to be honest when I write back to Zach. I’m going to have to admit that I don’t know what to say because, in this situation, “Thank you,” doesn’t seem sufficient.

Flashback Entry: 7-29-17

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7.29.17

Today I participated in hardcore self-care. I took the day off from work – a sick day. I woke up with the worst headache I can ever remember having. I was briefly awake when Todd left for work. I drank some water, took some Tylenol and went back to sleep. I woke up again when Todd was home in the afternoon. I stayed in bed; texting with friends, perusing social media, checking email. In bed. I stayed in the comfort of the sheets and all of the blankets (3) for so many hours. With Todd away, I also had all the pillows. It was soul-cleansing to just be still and quiet.

I finally got out of bed around 3:30pm. Then I only did the hygiene I truly wanted to do – shower, teeth brushing, hair brushing, deodorant. No shaving of any areas. No eyebrow tweezing. No perfume. No make-up. I pulled my bangs out of my eyes, but no hair-drying. I put on jeans and one of my new favorite t-shirts. When I leave the house later, I’ll slip on some Converse. Bare minimum.

Are you wondering about me leaving the house on a day like this? I had a plan that was made in advance. With the almost-but-not-quite-gone headache, I’ll keep my plan. But you took a sick day! I don’t see any way that I could have spent 8 hours in front of 2 computer monitors. I don’t see any way that I could have done my job effectively today, even with minimal computer use.

I feel extremely lucky to have been able to spend the day in bed being still. I know it’s a luxury not everyone has. A person who has dependents can’t stay in bed. A person who doesn’t have sick time at work would struggle with the decision to take a sick day and lose pay for that day. Gratitude is a part of self-care. Today, like every day, I am so grateful. Today, like every day, I am lucky.

“California. California, here we come.”

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I realized this morning that we leave for LA in less than 2 weeks. I have never been to California. I feel like I have been looking forward to this trip for years, but it’s only been a few months. Several months? Todd ordered our tickets, but I’m really not sure when. At different points in time, I have forgotten that we are going. It’s kind of a big deal, though, going to a place I have never been. I don’t take any of my travels for granted, but going to Marfa is more regular than going to LA. Man, I love Marfa. We opted not to go in 2018 so we can plan for a trip to Europe. I’m going to Miss that trek further into the southwest of Texas, but…. Europe.

I will be excited until it’s time to board the flight for DFW (layover town). Then I will feel anxious until we are off of the plane in CA. I will go back to feeling anxious again after we collect our luggage. I have never met Thad’s wife, Caroline. I have never met their daughter, Maddie, either, but 2-year-olds aren’t as scary as adults. aren’t as scary

Also, will LA be crowded? Is the traffic as bad as they say? Will I see any celebrities? How much is “too much” money to spend at Amoeba Records? How much is “too much” money to spend at the Museum of Death? Am I making the right choice in choosing NOT to go to the Harry Potter theme park? I mean, it will be right there, and Todd said we can go…. But there are so many other things to see….

We need to start looking for restaurants and making a REAL game plan. Less than 2 weeks. I hope to have a lot to share after the trip.

Hustlers grab your guns // Your shadow weighs a ton // Lookin out for number 1 // California, here we come // Right back where we started from

One night, Todd and I were sitting in the original Kerbey Lane – Central (Hail, ATX) when we spotted a guy who looked a lot like Jason Schwartzman. We ordered a ton of food for just the two of us (I know I ordered a poached egg dish, but we also had pancakes because it was Kerbey Lane and we are not androids) and spent a lot of the time trying to decide, Is that him? I remember looking him up to try to figure out where he lived, did he have any connection to ATX, etc. I read that he was a vegetarian. Not very helpful. In the end, we decided it was not him. I was tempted to approach the guy and explain why we kept looking in his direction. I don’t think we were staring, but we may have looked that way often enough to seem weird. Of course, maybe he’s used to that kind of thing.

I feel bad that I can’t remember what show we had just attended. It had to be Kurt Vile or Cold War Kids…. I’m leaning toward Kurt Vile. I think we went to a Kerbey Lane branch after CWK.