Two Kinds of People

There’s two kinds of people.  That’s what we always say, right?  So let’s have an experiment.  Let’s boil this whole mask debate down to, instead of an argument between two large groups, let’s pretend it was a conversation between two people.  And let’s pretend those two people are intelligent and reasonable, and they respect and care for each other, and wish each other well.  Because how great would the world be if we all felt that way? Let’s call them Dick and Jane.  Bear with me for a bit.

Jane: Hey Dick, can we talk a minute?

Dick: Sure Jane, what’s up?

Jane: Well, here’s the thing.  You know how every time I go out anywhere, you’re there?

Dick: Yeah, crazy right?

Jane: Right.  Well, see, the experts are saying that, even if you have no symptoms, you could have COVID-19.  And even though I wear a mask whenever I’m around you, if you have it you could still give it to me.  But those chances are drastically reduced if you're also wearing a mask.  So it would really mean a lot to me if you’d wear a mask when you’re around me. 

Dick: Well, Jane, here’s the thing….

Karen: Excuse me…

Dick: Wait what?

Jane: Who the hell was that?

Karen: Excuse me, I have something to say…..see I CAN’T wear masks.

Dick: Where’d she come from?

Jane: Fuck if I know.

Dick: Ok hi, What’s your name?

Karen: Karen.

Jane: Ok Karen, I get that some people can’t wear masks for medical or emotional reasons.  And I respect your right not to wear one, because you can’t.

Karen:  Thanks.  I’d also like to point out that I don’t ALWAYS ask to speak to the manager.

Jane: Ok, duly noted. Now Dick, you were saying?

Dick: Yes, thanks…so I was about to say…

Steve: IT’S A CONSPIRACY

Dick: Sigh….

Steve: THEY’RE TRYING TO CONTROL US.

Jane: Um….what?

Steve: IF THEY TOLD YOU TO GET IN LINE AND GET IN A TRAIN CAR YOU WOULD JUST DO IT.

Dick: What the actual fu….

Steve: YOU’RE SHEEP. 

Jane: Ok…could you lower your….

Steve: BUT THE BAKERSFIELD DOCTORS. 

Jane: Ok, we’re trying to have a respectful conver…

Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!  PLANDEMIC!!

Dick: Can you please leave if you’re not going to discuss this reas….

Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!!

Jane: Oh!  Look!!  The government found UFOs and didn’t tell us.

Steve: WHAT?  WHERE?

Dick: Slams door.

Jane: Ok…..so can we just assume Steve's in the “no mask” group and move on.

Dick: Do I really have to claim him as one of mine?

Jane: ‘fraid so.

Dick: Shit.

Jane: Ok….so you were saying.

Dick: Right….so you’re saying if I wear a mask it’s not to protect me, it’s to protect you in case I’m sick and don't know it.

Jane: Yeah.  Except it's not really what I'M saying.  It's what the experts are saying.

Dick: Yeah, I don’t believe that. 

Jane: You….you what?

Dick: Yeah I don’t believe it.

Jane: Ok.  Are you a doctor?

Dick: No, but I read an article.

Jane: Oh…ok.  Well see these people who went to medical school for years and years say that if you have the virus, and you wear a mask, it drastically reduces the chance that you will infect someone else, especially if that someone is also wearing a mask.

Dick: Well you understand that it’s my right not to wear a mask in public.

Jane: Yep, I absolutely get that. I'm just asking you to do me a favor. 

Dick: But....wait how about this!  Since you’re afraid of the virus and I’m not, you just stay home and that way you don’t have to be worried about catching it if I have it.

Jane: Well, sure, I’m trying to do that as much as I can, but my dog can’t see past the fur in his face anymore and he’s old and sliding all over the floor from the overgrown fur on his paws and the groomers are finally open so I got him an appointment for tomorrow.  So, maybe you can come pick him up and take him for me?

Dick: Nah.  I mean I’m sure I’ll be there, because I always am, but I’m not going to pick your dog up and take him for you.  That’s your responsibility.

Jane: You’re absolutely right. It is.  And, you know, I need to go get groceries anyway while I’m out.

Dick: Well you should get curbside pickup, because you know I’ll be in the grocery store, breathing and stuff.

Jane: Yeah I’d love to do that.  That would be awesome.  But the stores here aren’t cooperating with that idea.  They list necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap as out of stock for online shoppers as a ploy to get you into the store. 

Dick: Oh, wow, that sucks.  Ok, what about delivery?

Jane: Yeah, I do that when I can, but between delivery fee and tip that costs an extra $8-$10 per delivery plus the stores that participate in that service are either out of everything (or so they say) or they’re the more expensive stores.  So Instacart costs me about 30% more than, say, Marc's.

Karen: Cough cough…sorry, my asthma.

Jane: Oh yeah!  I forgot about Karen..So Dick, Karen CAN’T wear a mask.  So if you have it, and you’re not wearing a mask, and you even walk past Karen in the store, she’s even more likely to get it. So can you just be a pal and wear this piece of fabric over your nose and mouth when you’re in the stores?

Dick: But it makes my glasses fog up.

Jane: Sigh….ok.  Yeah, me too.  It sucks.  So what you’re saying is that Karen and I should have to pay 30% more for groceries, and confine ourselves to our homes so that you and Steve don’t have to wear a piece of cloth on your faces while you’re around me.

Dick: Steve again?  I don’t want him in my group.

Jane: Sorry bud.

Dick: Ok so yeah, if you could just do that…that 30% thing and just stay home.  That’d be great.  Because my rights….

So yeah, sorry, I tried.  But I can’t seem to make this about two people who care about each other.  Because if they actually did care about each other, there would be no need for this conversation. 

Also, and it goes without saying, don't be a Dick.  Wear a mask.  

My Trip to Buzzville - A Message to My People

Last weekend I buzzed off all of my hair.  In a matter of minutes I went from 12" locks to 1/4" buzz.  Why?  Because I wanted to.  But the trip to buzzville took me through some very dark corners of my mind.  Some super deeply rooted beliefs were visited repeatedly.  There were detours and roundabouts and u-turns.  But I got here.  This post is a sort of road map of the route I took.  Just in case you're lost on the same journey.

I had a friend a while back who buzzed her hair.  She was thin, with big eyes and good bone structure, and a zero fucks given attitude.  And I remember being jealous of her nerve, and the fact that she could "pull off" the look.  The idea of not having to wash, condition, leave-in condition, dry and flat iron my hair to look presentable was so appealing.  But that kind of convenience seemed about as attainable to me as the ability to fly.  Because I'm not thin, or young.  I don't have great bone structure, and I tend to give way too many fucks about what people think of me.  So I gave it very little thought beyond "I wish I could do that".

Then came COVID-19, insidious fucker that it is  And, like many companies, mine sent us home to work.  One of my coworkers, a single mom on lockdown with a toddler, working full time and pursuing her degree, buzzed her hair.  And the craziest thing happened as she debuted her new 'do on our weekly Zoom meeting.  My boss' head did not explode!  Nor did his boss' head!  And right about then my thoughts very slowly started to turn from "I wish I could" to "What if I did?"

And when I say slowly, I mean really, REALLY slowly.  Because what right did I have to do that? (Seriously, brain, WTF?).  Sure, my coworker could do it because she's young, so on her it's "edgy".  Plus she has the kid and the school work and if anyone deserves simplicity in her life, it's her.  I'm 54.  I can't be edgy.  I live alone.  I have no excuse.

But....what if I did?

I could blame it on the lockdown!  Yeah, that's the ticket!!  I could say I went Corona Crazy.  I could do something I had always wanted to do, and blame it on the Rona!!!  What an opportunity!!

Ahh...who am I kidding?  I could never pull it off.

But the weeks went by.  And while I don't believe the lockdown clouded my judgement in any way, I do think it gave me a lot more time to think about it.  And think about it.  And think about it.

And the weeks went by.

Bruiser needed a haircut.  Bad.  And the groomers were all shut down.  So I borrowed a set of clippers from a friend.  And they sat there, on the kitchen counter, taunting me.  Whispering "What if you did?"

Ok maybe the lockdown got to me a little bit.

I started talking to friends about it, trying to get honest opinions.  And, almost unanimously, the opinion was one version or another of "Don't do it".  It was stated in well-meaning ways ranging from "You're crazy" to "Girl, leave your hair alone" to "You'll look like a cancer patient or an inmate".  And for a while I convinced myself that if that many people, people who I care about and whose opinions I generally value, think I shouldn't do it, maybe I shouldn't do it.

But, dammit, I really wanted to.

You know how you can be in the grocery store and there's music playing but you don't really hear it until a song you actually like comes on?  That's how that thought slowly wormed its way into my consciousness.  It was there in the background and then suddenly I was tapping my foot and humming along.  I really wanted to.

But still....should I?

I Googled "Women's buzzed haircut", looking for validation that I might actually NOT end up looking like Uncle Fester.  And I don't mean 90's Christopher Lloyd Uncle Fester.  I mean fat, hollow-eyed, 1960's Jackie Coogan uncle fester.  But what I found were images of beautiful women, not a one of them over 25.  Not a saggy jowl or crooked jawline or wrinkle or double chin in the bunch.  My people were nowhere to be found.  And I wondered why.  Do my people not buzz their hair?  Do they not post pictures of it?  Or are we just not pretty enough to show up in the Google searches?

And I thought, "What if I was my people, for my people?"  Maybe, if I actually had the balls to do this, someday a 50-something woman would be trying to screw up the courage to do what she really wanted to do to her own damn head, and she'd see my picture.  Maybe just the right search string or hashtag would bring her to Blog Over Lunch and here I would be, saying "Here I am, Sister.  I did it, and the world didn't end.  So if you want to, go for it!  Because I'm here for you.  Just do me a favor and drop a pic in the comments."

So here we are.  I'm six days in to having buzzed hair.  I've learned a few things along the way, but that's for another post.  For now I'm just here to say it's your hair and it's your head and you deserve as much or as little simplicity as you want.  If you want to spend an hour a day perfecting your tresses, girl, go for it.  But if you want to take it all off, please don't let anyone talk you out of it.  I can almost guarantee you won't regret it.  And if you do, it'll grow back.  Feel free to blame me.  Either way, the world keeps spinning and the people who love you will still love you and the ones who don't, well they'll find some reason to talk shit about you anyway, so you just be you.

#buzzcut #shorthair #shorthairdontcare #buzzcutgirl #buzzedhair #girlswithshorthair #girlswithbuzzcuts #coronacut #coronabuzz #quarantinecut #lockdowncut

A Six Year Old Pretending to Rob a Bank

Today I went grocery shopping.  Like legit, in the store, grocery shopping.  This isn't something I do under even normal circumstances.  I got way too spoiled by the convenience of Walmart grocery pickup back when I had shoulder surgery and if I was tempted to go back, a broken bone in my foot would have put that idea to an end real quick.

But times, they are a-changin'.  And even though the powers that be recommend shopping online and arranging curbside puck for whatever you can, the stores themselves are not cooperating.  Walmart, specifically, is limiting pick-up orders to a fraction of the norm.  The two times in the last month that I've been lucky enough to get a slot, the pickup lot, normally full of 15-20 cars at a time, held only two.  And instead of having 3 or 4 people filling orders, there was only one.  I'm not sure of the logic behind this.  I thought it was to keep workers a safe distance from each other, but my trip into the store today made it clear that employee distancing is not a priority, at least at Walmart.  People are in there stocking shelves practically on top of each other. Without masks.

So yeah, spots are hard to come by.  But not impossible.  If you're persistent, willing to check and refresh often, and willing to take any spot any time, you can get the job done.

But what I noticed was that in spite of certain items being consistently unavailable on the app and website, people were posting on Facebook that they were finding the same items in the store.  So today I went shopping.  And I found MANY items that have been "sold out" online for a month, in full stock in store.  There was no shortage of toilet paper, laundry sanitizer, butter, cold medicine or Tylenol.  Even silly things like the specific flavor of iced coffee I prefer, out of stock for a month online, is fully stocked in the store.  Why?  Surely it's not that Walmart wants to get people into the store at any cost.  Because if I come in for laundry sanitizer I'm going to impulse-buy something else, but if I shop online I'm only going to get what I need.  This can't just be "smart marketing" at the expense of public safety.  Can it?  Surely not.  Because that would just be wrong, and make me want to shove my now-throbbing foot up some CEO's ass. 

But...I'm not here to just rant about evil big business.  As angry as my shopping trip made me, it also made me grateful.

Because y'all, if you haven't figured it out yet, wearing a mask sucks ass!  Seriously.

First of all, I look like a six year old pretending to rob a bank.

This was my first real shopping in a mask experience.  I wore it for all of about an hour and was MISERABLE.  I can't imagine wearing one all day.  Or, for those who are lucky enough to have an N95 mask which literally can leave bruises on your face, how they deal with that for a 12+ hour shift is beyond me.  Not that I was ever lacking respect for medical professionals but that respect is now multiplied by a thousand.  Because I couldn't do it.

So THANK YOU to everyone on the front lines of this situation, helping the sick and keeping the most vulnerable healthy.  I can't tell you how humbled I am after experiencing just the tiniest fraction of what you deal with all day every day.  I'm in awe.

#healthcareheroes #walmart #covid19 #maskssavelives #inthistogetherohio

Legos

I’ve started this so many times.

I’ve written that sentence so many times.  Then hit file>close>don’t save.   Then I go back to work.  Doesn’t matter if it’s 10:29 on a Saturday morning, or 8:30 on a Thursday night.  

I want to write, I have so much in my head, but it’s so hard to sort.  It’s like dumping a giant bucket of Legos out on the floor, really WANTING to build something, but the steps between dumping the bucket and having anything resembling…well anything…it's just too much. 

But it IS 10:29 on a Saturday morning.  And instead of file>close>don’t save, I’m closing Outlook instead.  Because maybe building something, instead of putting out fires for a change, will help.  And if nothing else it will leave me a snapshot of 10:29 Saturday morning.  

It’s been a month since I’ve seen the inside of my office.  I see my coworkers via Zoom every Monday morning, and next week I’ll start going to the office for a couple of hours every Monday.  Alone.  We’re all taking turns.  That will be kind of weird.

But it'll be two hours during which I don't have to say "Rue, shut up".  So that's something to look forward to.

I love working from home.  I thought I might get cabin fever, but I’m not.  At all.  I might be one of those people who is cut out for working from home full time.  Going back to the office will not be, for me, the cause for celebration that it will be for many others.  I know that's what so many people are looking forward to.  It’s the light at the end of their  tunnel.  I'm not really dreading it but I'm definitely not looking forward to it.  

The lights at the end of my tunnel are hugs from my son, dinner and drinks (lots of drinks) with my friends, the ability to by fucking Clorox wipes online.

It’s the little things.

Yesterday I ordered a gallon of hand sanitizer. It won’t be available for two months.  And I’ll have to drive about 40 minutes to get it. 

I’ve discovered that Xanax can reduce the urge to sanitize the entire house for the tenth time in a day. 

This is the world now.

But here’s what I want to say today, if nothing else:  Please.  For fuck sake.  Be nice to each other.  Not everyone is going to do life the same way you will right now. 

Some of us are anxious as fuck, don’t make fun of us.  Some of us still think this isn’t that big of a deal, don’t burst our bubbles. 

Some of us are getting takeout, don’t criticize us.  Some of us are cooking at home, maybe leave us some goddamned ingredients at the store instead of buying them all. 

Some of us are sleeping all day to pass the time, don’t look down on us.  Some of us can’t sleep, so cut our tired asses some slack. 

Some of us won't get dressed today, don't laugh at our Stewey pajamas while we're getting the mail. Some of us will do our nails.  Complement us when we post pictures.  

This virus is not being nice to human beings.  So human beings should maybe be extra nice to each other for a change.  Can we please just fucking do that?  For a little while? 

Am I perfect at following my own advice here? No.  But I’m trying.  The number of times a day I remind myself I’m not the idiot whisperer, the number of times I backspace over a snarky comment, those numbers multiply faster than confirmed cases.  I keep reminding myself it’s not my job to tell people how to live. It’s just my job to get myself through this.  And I feel like if we could all just try to be a little kinder to each other, this might not suck so much.  

There are still so many Legos left, but that'll have to do for now.    

Rue, shut the fuck up.

It'll be Better in the Spring

I have clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder.  It’s typically well managed with medication.  Except when it’s not.

When it flares up, I never stop questioning my feelings.  Never.  Every feeling comes with a disclaimer.  A little tag in my head that says “…but this may not be real”. 

Do I really care that I was left out, or is it just the depression?  Do they really not like me or is that just the anxiety?  Was the look on her face really annoyance? Am I sleeping too much? Are they busy or just annoyed with me? Is it just because it’s winter?  It. Never. Ends. 

When freedom turns to loneliness, and blessed quiet turns to deafening silence, and confidence turns into self-doubt, how do I know if it’s real or just the illness? Because I really want it to be just the illness.  

And because this may not be real, I don’t say anything.  I mean how do I say “I’m sad” without worrying anyone?   Because I’m safe.  I really am.  I’m just sad. 

How do I say “What you did hurt my feelings” when even I’m not sure if I’m not just being too sensitive? 

How do I step over the giant block of anxiety that is always right in front of me, to say “You hurt me”, when I don’t believe you meant to?  But how do I not say it?  How do I get past it? How do I not be hurt?  And don’t I deserve to not be hurt?

I’m asking….because I’m not sure.

When it's like this, feelings hurt more than they should. It’s like living in Ohio in the winter.  Sometimes the air hurts my face.  Except that it only seems to hurt MY FACE.  And I can’t just avoid air. So I try hard not to lock myself in the house.  I try to pretend the air doesn’t hurt.  And I try to remember that someday it won’t hurt.  It’s just winter.  It’s just February in Ohio.  And sometimes there’s sunshine and I think “Oh…..this will help”…but it doesn’t.  It’s still fucking cold.

It'll be better in the spring.  Right?  Right!  My depressed and anxious friends, say it with me......it'll be better in the spring.

Old Porn and Eyebrows

Cable TV came to my neighborhood when I was in my early teens.  The cool little black box with the twisty knob that had, like, maybe 20 channels instead of the six we had since the dawn of time.  Thus began the brief era when MTV played music and movie channels played movies.

No, seriously.

The movies they showed weren't like anything I had seen.  Not that my life was all that sheltered but at that point I was still a bit young to be going to R-rated movies.  But my parents didn't care what I watched on TV so, there in my living room in the late 70's, I clearly remember thinking "Wait....is that what boobs are supposed to look like?"

Up until that point the only breasts I had seen were my own and my mom's.  I attributed the difference between hers and mine to the fact that she was "old".  Later, I don't remember if I asked or if this was one of the many, MANY pieces of unsolicited, personal information she insisted on giving me, but I learned that it was my fault they were that way.  They were long and low because she had me.

My bad.

But back to cable TV.  After that first questioning "is that what they're supposed to look like?" thought, I got my answer.  Over and over and over again.  Yes.  Yes that is what they're supposed to look like.  And yours are weird.

Years went by.  And I went along my merry, weird-breasted way.  .

Then one day, and I don't even remember how, I saw an old porn movie from the 60's.  As soon as it came up on the screen everything changed.  This lady on the screen, with her unshaved you-kjnow-what and her ever-so-slight hint of a human being's stomach, slightly disheveled hair and super long eye lashes....her boobs were like mine!  Because, guess what!  Her boobs were real!

Now for those of you wondering how I could go for YEARS not know movie boobs were fake, please understand that this was long, LONG before the internet.  And the terms 'boob job' and 'plastic surgery' were not part Midwestern '70's or even '80's vernacular.

So I guess that's something kids today have going for them.   But still I worry.

I mean fast forward to today.  I look at the eyebrows of almost every 'pretty girl' on TV.  They're all the same.  Dark, identically shaped, meticulously filled in and dense, with razor sharp edges.  Is it really possible that every girl born after 1995 has Kardashian eyebrows?  Is it something in the water?  No.  It's just how you're "supposed to look" now.

This is obviously just a new expectation in a line of expectations as old as time.  But does that make it ok?  As society is finally starting (ever so slowly) to embrace the idea that all bodies don't have to look the same, can't we maybe start to make it OK to face the world with the hair and facial features you were born with and evolved into?

As a woman of "a certain age" (ugh) I am faced every day in the mirror with a woman who I know will never again be considered pretty or cute or sexy and trust me, I've made my peace with that.  And while I admit to silently judging women my age who fight the aging process with every fiber of their being, at the expense of their dignity, I try to remind myself "you do you".  If grasping at any last threat of youthful sexuality makes you feel good, then honey go for it.  We should all do what makes us feel good FOR OURSELVES.

But what bothers me is society's (or is it the media's?) insistence that ANYTHING NATURAL is not normal or acceptable.  Most recently, this article came across my news feed.  The headline reading "35 Incredible Transformations That Show How Ordinary People Can Dramatically Improve their Looks".

Oh dear God no.  How dare they be ORDINARY?

The "before" pictures all show people who had the audacity to wake up, presumably shower, put on clean clothes, a minimal amount of make-up and then inflict their faces and bodies on the rest of the world. The horror.

The after pictures erase any trace of gray hair, about 90% of wrinkles, any sign of natural brow or skin-tone.  Natural hairstyles are replaced with dyed or highlighted, razor cut, flat ironed or curled masterpieces which I'm sure would add at least a half hour to their morning routine.  In almost every case flat, comfortable-looking shoes are replaced with high heels.  Glasses are replaced with contacts.

In one instance a 36 year old woman's shoulder-length, wavy hair is cut in a short pixie, with the color deepened from a natural-looking brown to a deep chocolate.  Her already beautiful skin-tone is replaced with that of a department store mannequin.  Tasteful eyeliner has been added, along with blush, mascara and a glossy lip.  And someone commented "I love how natural she looks after the change".  Really?  This woman was naturally GORGEOUS.  But she looked like a human being.  And we can't have that, can we?

What is the purpose of an article like this?  Is it to show that you, too, can throw off the burden of looking like a living, breathing person?  Are women rushing out to salons everywhere with anguished, tandem cries of "Help!  I look ALIVE!"?  Because I feel like too many are either doing that or feeling bad because they don't have the money, time or bone structure to permanently masquerade as America's Next Top Model.

And really, it may be the unattainable nature of that new "standard" that has me throwing up my hands in surrender.  I'm never going to look like a Kardashian.  I have wrinkles and jowls and more than the factory standard number of chins.  So why try?

What I find especially disturbing, maybe because I have a son, is that this trend seems to be spreading to men.  Videos are cropping up now where men are having their cheeks (along with the INSIDES of their nostrils...OMG no thank you!) waxed to provide a perfectly defined, curved line between cheek and beard.  Their eyebrows are being plucked and shaped and trimmed (but, thankfully, not Kardashianized yet) and their HAIRLINES are even being sharply defined with straight razors.  Now, I'll admit that when I first saw this I thought it was about time they felt a small measure of the pressure women have endured for centuries.  But then I started to feel bad for them.  When does it stop?  When can we just...BE?

I have friends who like to wear makeup.  They consider it fun and creative and I'm happy for them that they've found something they enjoy.  I see that choice as no different than my choice of having tattoos or sparkly nails.  That's not what this is about.  This is about the fact that I don't feel worthy of going out to a restaurant or a bar unless I put on at least foundation, powder and mascara.  It's about the fact that I spend $100 and two hours twice a year applying a keratin treatment to my hair because otherwise I'd have to spend a half hour a day blow drying and straightening it in order to appear even remotely professionally acceptable.  These are things that men have never had to worry about.

Well not yet.

I know style is a constantly changing thing, and I thank my lucky stars that I don't live in the time of corsets or crinoline.  But I really do feel like we're going in the wrong direction the last five years or so.  I worry about the little girls that will be teenagers soon.  The ones who would rather play in the dirt than with dolls, or play softball instead of cheer.  Because no matter how much natural beauty they have, inside or out, NOBODY is born with the features that are popular right now.  I'm afraid it will take more and more work and money just to look "normal".  Because normal is getting farther and farther away from what's natural.

Avert your eyes......

Unfiltered photo of an actual human being.  

Ahead may lie shit.

It's been over a year since I've written more than an email or Facebook post.  I'm a slacker.  I'm uninspired and I'm blocked and I'm all of those excuses that writers pull out when they're not writing.  And it's bullshit.  Well I mean it's all true, for sure.  But it's still bullshit.  I need to be writing.  Writing makes me happy and I have the time.  Dear God do I ever have the time.

They say there are two things writers do consistently.  They read and they write.  I've been doing neither.  So today I will start reading in the hopes that I can write some non-shit.  Because I've tried to write a few times over the past year and before clicking that scary "Publish" button up there I've decided it wasn't fit for public viewing.  I'm stuck in this weird loop where what I'm writing isn't good enough so I just...don't.  As if that solves the problem.  If the end goal is to write then how is not writing getting me any closer to that goal? 

I'm a real dumbass sometimes.

So I'm telling you now.  Ahead may lie shit.  Don't say I didn't warn you. 

I'm not going to sit here and say I'm going to write every day, because.....well let's get real.  This is not a New Years resolution.  It is honestly pure coincidence that it's January 1 at all.  I'm just saying it's time for me to start banging on the keyboard again for me.  And if something worthwhile comes out of it, great.  If not, well then what have I lost? 

So even though the timing of this semi-declaration has more to do with the fact that I'm not working today than it does with the date on the calendar, I'm going to talk a little bit about 2018, bitch that it was.  It definitely wasn't my favorite year.  It was pretty painful to tell you the truth.  But some great things have come out of it too.

For most of my life I've had only one or two close friends at a time, and I've been happy with that. I've never been one of these people who intentionally didn't let people in, but I also never really put myself out there.  Well in 2018 I discovered what it's like to have a group of friends.  And while it has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, I also found out what it's like to discover that I let someone in who I shouldn't have.  Now I understand why people put up walls.  It's a hard thing not to do when someone you trusted turns out to be batshit crazy.  But I'm choosing to value the new friends I gained in 2018 rather than focus on the ones who turned out to be toxic.  I love my new-found tribe and I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Cutting the crazy out started a domino effect that led to one of the most important parts of my life being taken away from me.  And I've been sitting around stewing in my anger about that for a couple of months now.  Don't get me wrong...the anger is very much still there, and I don't see it going anywhere soon.  But the upside is that I now find myself with about 20 free hours a week that I used to devote to dog rescue.  I need to fill that time with something that doesn't involve alcohol, cigarettes or Netflix.  And while I've resisted the urge to wall myself off from people, I will never again pour my heart and soul into something that can be taken away from me by someone who would, dogs be damned, just because she can.

Nobody can take this from me.  So here I am.  Looking at that damn Publish button.  To push or not to push?  Here we go.....