The Agreement

Being taken care of, provided for, isn’t what I signed up for, and neither did he. I’ve been off work for an extended mental health break since the end of July. It’s been restorative, and I’m not quite where I’d like to be, but my mental state has equalized, somewhat.

Money is a concern, but I’ve been told “we’re fine,” but I’ve known there is resentment there. It has been confirmed. I feel embarrassed, I feel stupid and useless, I feel like a failure. There are no jobs for me in this small town. I’ve applied for two jobs about 40 miles away. I’ve already been rejected for one, so we’ll see how the other one pans out. I’m not telling him I’ve applied. It’s too hard to admit the rejections. And plus, I’m vindictive when I’m pissed.

At least now I don’t have to make any decisions about schooling or what to do with my life. What to do is to get a job.

I’ll eventually find one. I’ll be commuting, which is fine. I don’t have small children. I don’t have anything I need to be home for.

It’s just about money. I really, really hate money, but love to spend it. It’s the only thing that excites me and brings me pleasure. Well, except birds. I saw a Stellar’s jay in the tree out my kitchen window. Birds make me gasp. I may or may not have said that spotting that gorgeous bird was…yep, stellar. And it was. I think jays are magic.

But other than that, not much else makes me gasp except finding the perfect cardigan, especially at a bargain price.

So I’ll get a job, and I’ll keep quiet, and I’ll just trudge through, because that’s what I do. Until I fall apart. And I’m sure that will happen again, too.

But, whatever.

I don’t think it matters all that much. I’ll keep going to church (I’m truly finding comfort there again), keep reading, journaling and monitoring my triggers (this has really helped me go longer in between severe emotional highs and lows–thank you Dialectical Behavior Therapy workbook), and watching Dressing Your Truth videos (I love Carol Tuttle’s energy profiling system, and just joined her Lifestyle group).

I’ll keep being the best mom I can. I’ll do my best to keep the house presentable.

I’ll bake banana bread when the bananas go black.

I’ll keep going. Trudge through. Keep my chin up. Tough it out. Snap out of it. Hang in there. Stay here.


Rave on.


Until We Are Fine

Last week, I was taking too many pills. Not purposefully, but also not by accident.
This week, I’m more solid, starting somewhat anew. Still tired and afraid, but possessing a bit of momentum. Not quite hope, but an expectancy.

I’m trying to move ahead, and have several supportive friends and family members who have helped me unburden. There are moments I feel adrift, propelled by the winds of pointlessness. Then I remember others, and decide to finish buttering the bread, get the dish from the sink to the dishwasher. I decide to answer a ringing telephone. Pretend. 

It will get better, at some point. It already has. But I’m still tired and can’t sleep, still sweaty but freezing. This isn’t going where I meant it to go. 

We have to ask for help. If we don’t ask, no one knows. They just think we’re mean or shy or FINE. But we are not fine, are we?

We are not fine. 


Eat the bread. Drink the tea. Hug the child. Pet the dog. Write the poem. 

Until we are fine, or a facet thereof.

Going Back

It’s the depths of winter here in rural Wyoming. It’s draining. It’s disheartening. And it seems never-ending. It’s a strange, isolated place. And oftentimes, I feel like a strange, isolated interloper who has gotten a bit lost and just planted myself here, perhaps because there’s nowhere else to go.

I miss being able to see the ground.

I’ve been writing on a different blog for the last while, because I felt like I needed to do something different, go off in a new direction, even if the movement only took place online. It didn’t help at all. I still feel a little bit stuck, still wonder what I’ll be when I grow up, and still am not sure what series of events has led me to being who and what I am at this point in my middle-age.

I’m not miserable. Just somewhat bored, restless, a little stir-crazy. But, truly, everything is fine, with maybe just a tinge of blah.

There’s a really creepy little place a few miles out of town, called Teddy Bear Corner. No one knows its history, but for decades, people have taken old teddy bears and stuffed animals out to Teddy Bear Corner, and strapped them to a post.


People think it’s funny. Endearing, even. I find it to be hideously bizarre, bordering on macabre. The way those stuffies just hang there, bleaching in the sun, gives me the absolute heebie-jeebies. This is a strange, strange place. That photo is a summertime photo. I didn’t take it. It’s from the news. Teddy Bear Corner is a regional curiosity-slash-atrocity. At this very moment, Teddy Bear Corner is probably, literally, buried in six feet of snow. Literally. I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that.

So, I’ve addressed the facts that it’s snowy and it’s strange. It’s also cold. It’s so cold, that many weekends, when the roads aren’t closed due to drifting snow, we escape to Salt Lake City for some warmth. And Salt Lake City in winter isn’t exactly a tropical paradise. But it’s usually about 20 degrees warmer than my front yard, so I’ll take it. And it also has about three feet less snow…

So by mid-June, all of our snow should probably be melted, and I might be able to plant a few flowers, which the deer will promptly eat. This will annoy me, but it will be fun to see the deer, so I’ll just replant with deer resistant salvia. I know I should just plant the salvia to start with, but I love planting flowers of all colors and varieties, so I’ll plant my deer food anyway, and take pictures, so that I have record that my yard was pretty once, for about five minutes in June.

Wyoming has the coldest summers in the continental United States. This is something I actually like, because extreme heat makes me faint. I don’t know of a single home in town that has central cooling. It just doesn’t get warm enough to justify the expense. I have a little portable air conditioner on wheels. I used it three afternoons last summer, not consecutively. Summers are sublime, but Seriously-So-Short. Tomatoes have to be shipped in from Utah. We can’t grow tomatoes here. We have to grow things from Siberia like turnips. Turnips under little mesh tents, so that the deer don’t eat the greens.

I’m bound and determined to grow a tomato plant in a five gallon bucket this year. I’m going to lug that thing outside for some July sunshine, and pull it back inside at night. If I’m successful, and get a tomato or two, I just might cry. I’m actually certain I’ll cry. I cried when I saw the first tip of a tulip leaf last year. I actually said out loud, “Holy Mother of God.” And then I promptly took a picture, and later that day…yep…deer.

Now, I do count it as a “blessing” (Oh, how I HATE that word…but anyway…) that I live in a place where deer frequent my yard…frequently…  But dammit, I’d like to be able to eat my own lettuce, see a Columbine bloom, and have my LED-lit fairy cottage and its matching furniture and pink flamingos not be trodden on by so many little feet.

It’s probably time to stop whining now, and just finish my herbal tea. Oh, but before I go, I must just quickly say that I have no TV channels (we don’t get them here), and my little Hyundai has been parked in the garage since late October, because it can’t navigate all of the snow. It has to hibernate all winter, and I have to drive a way-too-big pick-up truck.

But at least we have Internet. And Teddy Bear Corner. Wanna come visit? 😉