Tag Archives: friends

I am….I am….I am….

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I am….I am….I am….

Every time I have ever doubted; every time I have ever wondered if what was happening or happened in my singular, seemingly meaningless life had a purpose and questioned every decision I make, I am reminded that it all works out.

It all has meaning.

It all is what it is.

I have recently made decisions that make me question myself in the wee hours of the night, was this the right choice, was that the right action, should I have said this, revealed this….

And the Universe responds with a resounding “YES.”

It’s nice.

I really, really like my job; despite it not being what I had envisioned doing.

In addition to really, really liking my new non-social work job; I really, really like my co-workers despite the apprehension I felt upon meeting them and the nervousness I felt just sitting next to them taking a 3 hour test.

There is nothing wrong with the fact that I get a long best with military, law enforcement, and/or firemen. They aren’t all the same. It’s true. It’s just who I get and who get me and who I seem to attract into my world… Which leads me to the next epiphany:

I like being alone, except when I don’t :)… In which case I have friends again that can fill that void willingly, without any sort of romantic enmeshment.

Speaking of that *Mercury retrograde aside* I can totally have male friends again without eventually thinking they are “the one.”

I AM THE ONE.

Ergo; I can live totally independently again/still, despite what I may have been led to believe by weaker others in recent years.

I kinda fucking kick ass. ‘Tis true.

I am the muthatrucking queen of making lemonade out of bitter ass lemons.

*The secret is in the vodka 😉

Huzzah, muthatruckas.

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.” 
― Sylvia Plath

I love surfing.

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I love surfing.

I can’t help it. I really, really, really love the bitter and the sweet of my life; the “l’amaro e il dolce”. Even when things seem so incredibly fucked up things always get better and because of the fucked up stuff, I appreciate the good times so much more.

You gotta learn to surf or you die.

And I’m digging the ride, man.

I fall in love, I fall out of love.

My car breaks, I buy a new one.

I finish a job, I start a new one.

I lose a friend, I make 3 more.

It’s all about letting go and just experiencing it.

I love the moments of grace when I remember this and am able to tell myself:

“Back off, Warchild…seriously.”

Thanks to all of you who help me experience this.

❤ xoxo

Gratitudinis

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Gratitudinis

I have apparently been not counting my blessings recently and being a little bitch. So I figure I need to put them somewhere so that whatever powers that be can stop punching me in the ovaries.

Rather than feeling sorry for myself re: my effing car sitting on the side of the road with some sort of electrical malady, I must thank and appreciate that I have such amazing friends that they would leave a Father’s Day dinner with their parents who came from San Fran, just to help me out.

Rather than freaking out about the nonrefundable plans I have this weekend and my potential inability to follow through on them because of said mechanical maladies; I must thank and appreciate that those same friends have offered me their extra car to make it happen for no other reason than it is important to me: no questions asked.

Rather than become a hysterical and stereotypical female because I start work tomorrow and my car needs some acupuncture; I must thank and appreciate the fact that my awesome neighbor friend is letting me use their extra car to get to work.

Couple this with the following facts:

  • I didn’t get creamed by a Peterbilt on the side of the road,
  • I have a job,
  • I just got my masters,
  • my health rocks,
  • my kids health rocks,
  • my friends and family came and hung with me for a few days from 120-753 miles away,
  • As if that wasn’t proof enough, they all proved they still love me despite my obvious social ineptitudes at hosting >5 people at a time,
  • Ergo, they kept me liquored up and fed….while leaving the remaining spirits at my house,
  • All of my bills are paid and I have a wee bit of money left over…if this car shit was going to happen, better now than 2 weeks ago,
  • I no longer have the responsibility of an animal I never wanted,
  • I have a nice home and I can afford it,
  • I still have the ability to find humor and hope in my otherwise ovary punching life,
  • I have friends that have secret skills I didn’t know about like being hobby mechanics and owning diagnostic code scanners,
  • Many of my friends own more than one car and trust me enough they allow me to borrow one,
  • I own a car that has never stranded me until today in over 8 years including when I almost totaled it…It still drove away and ran for over a year while I saved up my deductible,
  • I missed my redneck friends and realized I have new ones ;),
  • My car wasn’t injured whilst being towed,
  • I don’t have any problems that aren’t fat white american first world problems,
  • I have pretty fucking amazing friends and family,
  • I officially feel like I have a social support system in this town.

Woo-fucking-saw.

It will be ok.

In fact, everything is already ok.

It’s pretty fucking awesome right now.

Isn’t it interesting…

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Isn’t it interesting…

…that somehow, people I barely know seem to be more receptive and understanding of my feelings. Classmates and almost strangers are like “you seem off, is everything ok?”” How was your break? you alright?” etc.

I’m dealing with something that is not a new thing for me but is just as painful perhaps even more so than it has been previously. I have received (from people who are supposed to be my friends and/or love me) comments such as:

“oh come on, after so many times it becomes a joke right?”

“I really think you did this to yourself and don’t know what you want from me.”

“You have vast experience in this, I don’t.”

“You can’t honestly expect people to help you through this again, do you?”

etc.

First off, regardless of how many times something sad happens to a person or how many times they experience something traumatic and heartbreaking doesn’t necessarily mean it diminishes in pain.

Second, stress, trauma, pain, grief, etc. are cumulative. It’s not a practice makes perfect thing.

Third, fuck you.

I think I need some new “friends.”