jazzminarino

I realized it had been a very long while since I had updated. There have been times where I have wanted to write, but then the motivation left me. I purposefully packed my laptop for this trip so I could sit in the quiet and update this journal.

Many things have happened since I last updated. Indeed, Pop passed, and we're planning for the memorial this Saturday. It continues to make me sad and I miss him greatly. I did not bake for over six weeks because whenever I went to turn on the oven, I'd have this overwhelming sense of grief. My parents' birthday packages were late because I couldn't bake- I'd always make goods for Fidget and myself, then a little for my parents, and then a few set aside to take to Pop the next time we saw him. Not having to take them to him made me stop in my tracks. I was finally able to bake, but I still grieve occasionally. I filled out post cards and mailed them yesterday, but had a moment of loss because I wasn't sending them to him this time.

Our friend moved in with us in mid-January and we've been adjusting to having a roommate. I'm happy we are able to help her, but occasionally I struggle with her behavior because I cannot relate to what she is going through. It's helped having another person in our struggle, though. And an extra pair of hands to help with household chores.

I feel as though we kind of bounced into Rehoboth, which is where I am now and how we planned to spend a portion of our vacation. Since Fidget actually gets a Spring Break, I decided to use leave from Volcano Harbor and actually force us to take a vacation. Originally, it was going to be this elaborate trip, getting a cabin in Tennessee, then seeing my parents in Florida and swinging through Georgia to see Bluejay. The whole thing would have been tiring, but the more valid concern was for Onyx. I didn't think a minimum of 2,000 miles would be good for him when parts are somewhat rickety and plane tickets would not have been an option. So I found this little hotel in Rehoboth, a place I've always wanted to go to but never been, and then we started trying to plan around it. I bought four groupons; ironically, three of them have now been refunded.

I guess my ability to plan has been somewhat compromised.

I left the office really late Friday amid an argument that had continued to brew between myself and Fidget. We were stressed out; he is experiencing a lack of structure with the classes and internship and I felt as though I had no home support. Onyx decided to flare up and we argued about who was taking him to the shop before we drove to Delaware. I felt nasty and hurtful and though a small thing, I felt as though things were finally coming to a head. Something needed to change. I had been planning for this vacation, trying to find things to do and putting out money. After a very intense conversation, I saw private clients, tried to go to a planning thing with Mimosa, and ended up back at home, trying to figure out how we're going to move forward. Sunday, after having a particularly low mood, we loaded up Onyx and gallivanted East, checking into a very nice hotel and a ghost town of a beach being off-season.

Since my groupons have continued to fall comically through, Fidget found us a restaurant just up the street. We drank too much and ate too much, buying a case of PBR for the kitchen staff because we were feeling generous and then taking a bottle of wine back to the hotel. In itty bitty hotel cups, we drank that wine while contemplating where we're going together. This eventually turned into my requesting an appointment at a spa since habitually, I do not do these things. Money is always a problem, and I couldn't see spending double a car note for a day spa. But I put in the request and we went to bed in too-white sheets and fluffy blankets.

I awoke around 0615, which was just rude of my body. I couldn't get back to sleep, so toddled around our little suite and occasionally went outside. Then the phone calls came; first, the research center wanted to reschedule Thursday, so I would not have that on my calendar. Then the spa called and they could get me in on Monday!

I spent over four hours at the spa, being pulled and pushed by various women and snoring occasionally. I emerged a bit oily and discombobulated with blue nails and toenails. We went to dinner at the one place I hadn't screwed up Groupon, then picked up snacks from Wawa. We spent the evening relaxing in bed while I read something from the local library; my muscles still didn't know how to work yet from all the pushing and prodding.

This morning, we're relaxed. We've heard each other's concerns about this trying time in our relationship and have been trying to brainstorm our way around it. Maybe it's more communication. Maybe it's more massages for me. Though we're no longer in this perceived state of financial crisis, my desire to hustle and make money and keep us afloat is still there. I'm downright miserly with money traditionally, so spending money on myself becomes frivolous. I rebel against the concept of being a Millennial with everything in the news: my bills are paid before I am paid, and a massage is not worth my mental health. I do struggle with black-and-white thinking, and need to incorporate more grey into my life. Fidget, ironically, works entirely in grey. Counseling is also a world of grey. But when I'm in crisis, it becomes the do's and the do not's.

After all of my flesh was rearranged yesterday, I looked at Fidget and said, "We've maxed out that credit card." It carries a lower balance, but there has never been a time where I have maxed it out on a vacation. Sure, it's been close with needing groceries or something happening with the car, but never a spa day. And I realized that with how I work and move around funding, it will be cleared in a short period of time. It's not a panic anymore; I don't think Volcano Harbor is going to fire me outright. I have reasonable consistent money coming in from the private practice. We've started paying back other debts and keeping things moving forward. If my plans were dashed from planning around groupons, we can do other things and see other attractions. Or not...

... we can just sit here in the quiet and be together without the hubbub of typical grown-up life.

I'm home today, having canceled my clients. It looks like we're having our first snow, the soft, powdery kind that covers everything and isn't bothersome when you stand in it. I canceled them immediately because I couldn't be a therapist today, I couldn't listen to people's grief.

I'm suffering my own.

Originally, I wanted the first post of this year to be celebratory. I began 2017 in normal fashion, surrounded by Kayrin, Otter Bucket, Polynesia and Mr. Amish. We brought in the new year, barely seeing the announcement on TV. We had our new tree up and sat at the dining room table, playing a card game amid various drinks. We ordered pit beef the next day, then they gallivanted back to Pennsylvania. Fidget and I were quiet, doing laundry, spending some reflective time. I sat with my planners and planned a new year, reflecting on the cacophony that was 2016. Even though everyone seemed so damned mad at 2016, I was thankful our lives were beginning to stabilize. We paid off our credit card debt (!). I made plans to read books and attend a book club, attend some sober support meetings for work, and do papercraft.

I called my father on his birthday, the big 7-5. He enjoyed my song. I had a bit more pep in my step.

Pop was continually to be ill, but went out with Fidget on Wednesday for groceries. I called him Thursday, asking how he was feeling, and did he want to go to the reunion today since we weren't going to be able to go.

Yesterday, Fidget was going to take Pop to his PCP, a follow up and maybe something to finally kick this cold. Instead, Fidget found him passed away in his condo. We think I was the last to talk to him.

Fidget put me on the phone with the cop so I could give his DOB and his PCP's information to sign the death certificate.

My supervisor put me on a train and I traveled way out into the county, somewhere I had never traveled before. I called Caterpillar, as she and Trips discovered they would be having a daughter. I tried to be happy, but instead delivered a wracking sob. I called various people, my parents, then Fidget retrieved me and we went back to the condo where both his father, his girlfriend, and the body laid quietly in the condo.

We waited for the funeral home to come retrieve the body. I saw the Christmas card we had gotten him on the table. I found his extra keys, laid in the den under pictures of when I was inducted into Psi Chi or New Year's last year with Sadie.

I can't properly express this grief. I lost my own grandparents in 2001 and 2002. From March 2001 to fall of 2001 is pretty much a blur; I've seemed to black out most of that time, having suffered my own grief with the lost of my grandmother. I grew closer with my grandfather after I moved to PA, spending weekends with him and listening to his stories. Then he passed in the summer of 2002.

I've sporadically picked up other grandparents over the years, but Pop definitely was the one I was most involved with. I'd take him to the doctors' offices, he'd call me when he lost his keys, we'd gallivant to PA to see his sister. We'd share stories about Fidget, or when Pop was a young man of the Greatest Generation. Pop would ask about my mother, inquire as to how my father was doing. I'd bring over muffins and corn chowder; he'd send me home with a frittata.

There's no rush now, no funeral to be had. He'll be cremated, then will rest with his wife who passed almost six years ago to the day.

There won't be any card games between Pop and my mother once they move North. I won't be taking Pop to his doctors anymore. He won't sing at the medical assistant, saying I'm his "granddaughter-in-law elect" or thanking me for helping him as often as I did.

I know he's not blood, but I'm grieving in a way that says he was. I know his daughter will probably call me crying; the other has texted me to ask how Fidget is. We'll have some type of memorial when the other daughter can return from overseas, and I know I'll cry. I've been crying. My teeth and heart hurt.

I feel like I've lost someone who was soundly in my corner. And now, that side of his family will disintegrate. His father and girlfriend will move out West, and we'll probably never hear from them. His sister will probably not come over. It'll just be us.

When they first said they were moving, I started to experience my own loss because of them taking Pop. I was on the phone with his daughter, trying to figure out moving and end-of-life care and what Fidget and I could continue to commit to with his health. I didn't want them to take him. He is the only person on that side which made me feel like we were right and loved and appreciated.

I never told him which diploma frame to buy me for my Masters degree. He wanted that to be my present.

He never met Socks, but asked about the "old man cat" and how he was adapting to our lives.

I know there will be things that come up which will wrack me again. I know losing him is a hard way to start this year, but almost fitting. He won't move to New Mexico. He won't call me upset with the change. He won't die in a desert.

He died in his home that he had shared with his wife, the home he bought for them 20 years ago. The home where he took care of her when her Alzheimer's got so bad, she didn't remember him anymore. The home where he'd make frittatas and watch Ravens games. The home where the phone would ring and he'd say, "Hi, lover" and tell me grand stories of his son, his grandson, and how thankful he was to me...

... then hang up after saying, "I love you, too, sweetheart."

This year's Christmas was much different than last, or even those that had come before it. We were alone this year, just Fidget and myself, along with our two cats. His family was seemingly MIA and mine were still in Florida.

I toddled in the morning, trying to sleep in to no avail as both cats desperately needed feeding (according to them). I aimlessly walked around, knowing I had no place to go but antsy to do something. We hung curtains, watched football, and make a delectable dinner. I couldn't track my mother down for awhile, then finally got a hold of my father who is in the hospital due to problems breathing. I catch up with my mother some hours later, laughing about how the holiday has turned out and how we can't fix the whole not-breathing thing. We later watch A Christmas Story, which always makes me think of both my parents. I drink two glasses of wine and fall asleep.

We had cards this year, which we normally do for each other, but for the first time in two years, there were presents to be unwrapped under our new tree. Mr. Fidget's new girlfriend gave us a 7.5ft fake fir tree which is glorious in our too-small ceiling-ed house, but it stands with five years of couple ornaments and the few I came into the relationship with. There's the ceramic alligator, the Lego characters, the locket from our first year. This year, he was gifted an ornament from his university, this whole year having been spent in classes. He gave me an ornament this year too, a Star Wars character which makes me squeal at times even though I'm not a Star Wars kid. He gave me pairs of fluffy socks, which are finally keeping my feet warm without the holes.

It's amazing to me how much can change in a year. While friends of mine are hoofing it to the new year, telling 2016 to unceremoniously suck it, I'm relatively happy with how this year is ending. My mother is still alive, albeit in Florida. I finally earned my license and am gainfully employed. I went from having no jobs to having three. We've finally cleared the credit card debt we racked up during the periods of un/underemployment. We have a sizable chunk set away for a vacation that we may be taking in January (depending on the weather). We are paying in cash (debit!) for food, gas, pet supplies, and booze. I'm still recovering mentally from the period of crisis. I know I can't undo two years of strife in six months of steady income. However, I'm more excited about thinking to the future, of updating my wardrobe or buying more gym classes or buying a new bed. Previously, and still somewhat recently, I panicked at the thought of unallocated monies, not quite sure if I should splurge on myself or sack it away into an emergency fund hidden from myself.

I've looked over past entries and the pain in there is palatable. While I haven't fully recovered from all of it, we're much more stable than we were. I've spent most of today toddling, finally hanging shelves, nailing up pictures and trays, and generally organizing from Christmas. There's less static in my brain, which makes me hopeful that I'll be able to manage whatever comes our way.

Tonight, I sit with new fluffy socks, my two cats cautiously pawing through the house amid less clutter and a sparkling tree. It's warmer now in our living room, new thermal curtains hung over the drafty windows. The cold is no longer falling on my face. I have a freshly-poured glass of wine and my partner is with me, and we'll settle in for the night. I'll go to the store in the morning, anew, refreshed from my two days off. Maybe my days weren't filled with extended family or in-laws, and maybe we didn't make a turkey. Maybe I didn't sit for too long, taking care of home improvement tasks. But for the first time in a long time, this Christmas holiday feels like a celebration and more home than it has in some time...

... for the first time in a long time, I'm excited what the new year will bring and gracefully bow as another year passes.

My brain has been a bit spinny lately, but in a good way. The Volcano Harbor has seemed to settle down considerably and we're working through this schedule of continuing to see at-home clients and private clients on Saturdays. We're slowly paying off the debt we've accrued, but still able to have a nice meal or go to a local function. It's not always survival mode anymore.

I finally went to the dentist yesterday, first time in over a year. They did a deep cleaning, which knocked all sorts of things out of my mouth. I was grateful we had the supplemental insurance and it only cost me $58 for the visit. I go back for a polish in a couple weeks and they'll refinish my silver filling that finally cracked from when I was young. I go to the eye doctor next week, finally to get a new prescription. I remember I last went to the eye doctor when the insurance was still good from the Starship, so that was in July of 2014.

Over two years ago; it's still amazing to me how much chaos can truly happen in two years. And now we're working on getting back to where we were before it all went spinny. Sure, we took on some debt by him going back to school, but overall, we're doing quite well. I know logically it was the saving and scrimping from previous years that kept us afloat in that time of struggle. And I've been working on learning to be more patient with where I am and how far I've come since the seniority date of June 20, 2016. I think that's one of the main reasons I keep this journal; I definitely look back and reread the entries, remembering the strife and struggle, as well as the celebration. It's definitely interesting to read, both this journal and my planner, and see how things have slowly and surely been progressing over the past five months.

Those goals I loftily wrote on a stickie for the following month? We bought that dental plan. We paid for books. I'm going to the eye doctor next week.

We're getting closer to being free of the credit card debt we racked up. It's still mind-boggling that we're living off of my salaries. I can't even fathom what will happen once Fidget is gainfully employed again.

He's excelling in school. I'm spinny in a good way. I'm not frantic about his progress and laser-focused on making him okay so I can keep working, keep helping, keep trying to bring those bills back into the black.

Something that has come to the forefront of my mind is the utter need for self-care and how lax I really had been previous to my 30s. I am forcing myself to take naps when I come home Saturdays because it just makes me a happier person once I wake up. I also have finally started going to spin regularly. After a weird cold and body things put me down for two weeks, I've been going to my Sunday class. When my one client decided to go to a monthly rotation, I made the decision to rearrange clients and attend a spin class in the morning. It's a tight schedule, and today was my first day of doing it. I found that I didn't need as much coffee as I normally would and arrived home somewhat still functioning, even after seeing two at-home clients and three private clients. I did decide to sequester myself briefly to read and nap a little, and now am enjoying Only Child Time while Fidget is out with his best friend for a movie.

There's been lots of snuggles and purrs with the cats.

Instead of panicking because I'm using up my class pass, I'm logically planning when I'll be able to buy another one, which should come at the end of the month. I finally found a place that pays for classes piecemeal instead of dropping $80/month at a gym I can't attend. By buying in bulk, it's coming to $7/class. I can get down on that.

I get excited when I see what has happened in the past five months: how I used the last of our savings to pay July's bills, the very last bit of it and now we're religiously putting somewhat large sums of money down on credit cards. Once that debt is gone, which may be the end of December (!), we'll start aggressively building up emergency savings. It's somewhat fascinating that the money I'm outputting may finally be mine again instead of already being spoken for, and I'm curious as to what that'll look like...

... I'm excited to look forward in six months and see what's happened the past five.

I've been sitting on this couch, off and on, for hours, first trying to do budgets then finishing reading library books. I've been sick since Tuesday, still went to Bad Decisions for his journal article on Wednesday, then held out since Thursday. I did some cleaning when I wasn't hacking with every ounce of my being. I woke this morning, worried about Hurricane Matthew, knowing my parents had decided to stay to see what the fuss was all about.

He left again tonight, another house party with new friends. Logically, I knew there was nothing for him here. A quiet night at home without him in it sounded nice, but I was cranky and full of mucus. And I hadn't heard from my parents who were expecting a surge to have their home be waterfront property.

The emotions swelled in me, this logic tamping down the emotional turmoil. I was congested and hacking. He wanted to leave. Sure, he could stay and he said he would have, but I didn't want that. I took advantage of my graduate school time and ended up in bars and sausage factories and late night escapades. He just wanted to go to a house party on the other side of the county.

So he left.

I hunkered down, then my cell phone rang. Momma. Momma was calling from her cell phone to let me know they had no power, but they were okay. Despite a fruit tree falling over and something about gate hinges, they had pretty much survived this big hurricane. Texts had been flooding in from friends in college, asking about my parents. "ARE THEY OKAY?"

My friends from high school knew they'd be fine in their house on concrete pillars.

We're very lackadaisical about hurricanes when you grow up with them.

There's a picture of me in seventh grade (I remember, because hello permed bangs!) that shows me standing knee-deep in water. It was a block from our house on the ocean.

I remember when the pier washed away when I was in high school. And I packed my dog and my cat, drove 14 hours to Alabama, and we all slept in Kermit.

After confirming my parents were alright, I loaded their local video feed. I saw the water come surging in from the ocean- was that 11th Avenue? 12th? And washing the next two blocks over away.

The fish shack's pier is gone mostly. The one where I met up with Dippy, with Bluejay and her family a few times. Its pier is gone.

My parents are fine, yet another hurricane in Florida. I'm better, mentally. I sit with my rented library books, sporadically sneezing. Sadie is by my head, and Socks snores on my leg. I did into the remaining ice cream to cool my throat. I've already finished the tale of someone's alcoholism, so I dive into a story about Catholicism and feel the familiar tug with being queer in the Church. Yet still having the urge for it.

The cats will continue to snore around me. Eventually, there'll be no more ice cream. I'll finish another book. But I take solace in the fact that my parents are fine, if without power. And that Fidget is across the county, making college friends...

... it's turning into an oddly relaxing Friday evening, even with the sickness.

He went out for the first time, I think, ever. Was invited to a classmate's birthday party so got all dolled up and ventured out into the city. I stayed home, looking around my house. I can't remember the last time that happened. He'd go out with his best friend, but I was typically working, so I couldn't enjoy a night at home by myself. I sat here in our home with our two cats, finishing a season TiVo had recorded over the summer and eating his leftover Chinese food.

I've still purposefully maintained that pocket of self-care and decompression on Saturdays, which is what cumulated into last night. I came home after seeing clients, promptly took off my clothes, and crawled into bed. I went through some articles and pet Sadie a lot, then woke up around 2030 as he was about to get ready to leave.

I finally went to a spin class this morning, the first time I've gone in over a year. I did my best to not pass out and to not fall off the bike, both of which I accomplished. I've finally found a studio that I can financially make peace with, buying classes piecemeal and registering for a bike versus paying $40/month for a gym pass I physically cannot go to. With the Sunday morning class at 1000, it'll fit perfectly into my little schedule. I can honor that hour.

I sit here, having finished off some of the frittata Fidget's grandfather sent over and drinking just-this-side-of-hot hazelnut coffee. Football has started. I feel like I am finally coming back into my own. The bills are being paid and the savings accounts are slowly rebuilding, and now I'm in a place where I can buy a spin pass. I started watching football again last weekend and realized how much I had missed it. I needed to put more self-care back into my life, and it seems like things are finally shaking out in our benefit.

There's harder weeks than some. September was particularly rough for us. Between Pop's appointments coming due and a slew of MRIs/blood draws/research studies, and then his birthday and our anniversary, it was a Very Busy Month. I'm looking forward for October. We'll finally get into our attic and pull down the Halloween decorations. Maybe we'll go to a pumpkin farm one weekend and carve them one night.

It's been an amazing unbalance, which I am realizing now. The further I move up into Maslow, the more I see why we were so bad off previously. If I operate under the idea of energy, then I need to redirect energy into myself, my practice, my relationships, and my home. And maybe the planning to do it all is actually productive; helps me figure out what exactly I want to accomplish and how to move forward.

Today's spin class? Was something in the works for several months. And I finally went today. And I'm going to go back...

... it's good for life to finally be getting into a pattern, a routine, and successful.

It's our anniversary weekend and he's gone to bed early, tired from a ridiculous week of school. I've focused more on having some Only Child Time and purposefully putting myself away when I come home Saturdays. The private practice is slowly growing, so I'm seeing both private and in-home clients during the day Saturday, getting home usually around 1700. I blearily look at him, give a quick kiss, then hustle upstairs into bed to either read, pet a cat, or sleep until he wakes me up at a determined time. It's difficult at time balancing this Adult thing: three jobs, care-giving for his grandfather, trying to go to research studies to make some extra cash. We get poked and prodded, asked various questions about drug use, then give more and more blood.

It's fine; we'll make more anyway.

I had to have another conversation with yet another supervisor about the ridiculousness that is my parents, a four-day stint of going-into-coming-out of hospitals, threatening nursing homes, thinking of renting RVs, and purposefully compartmentalizing my life so I can attend to my clients. I'll call tomorrow to receive the newest update. Maybe this will finally prompt them to come north, maybe it won't. It's a callous feeling, but I am just so, so tired of the crisis and chaos that my father produces. Though my mother will flail and almost passed away, she usually pulls me out due to actual crisis. My father, on the other hand, wants me to take emergency medical leave to come to Florida. And watch my parents do what? Sleep?

I've been trying to focus more on myself, having started to run again this month. I took some time at the beginning of the month and spent some time in the Valley to just spend some time in the Valley. I slept on friends' couches, catching up on life goals and trying to reconnect how we were still friends 15 years later. I ate good home cooked food that I didn't have to prepare, sitting around fires or making s'mores off a gas stove. I brought old planners, trying to figure out how I used to prioritize my own health amidst the full-time-work/grad-school/partner cacophony and realized that I just kinda, well, did it. So now, doing more planning, I've set aside times to run.

I realize I hate to run, but an hour is only an hour, so just get over yourself.

Energy indeed begets more energy. I walked 1.4 miles from one job to another on Thursday instead of taking public transportation. We walked down to a breakfast spot Friday morning for Fidget's birthday breakfast, the first time we could do it in two years. I toted my bags back to work and received flowers.

I got a little teary-eyed.

I tried to explain to my coworker that it wasn't that he sent me flowers. Fidget used to sporadically get me flowers frequently. Additionally, he sends flowers to work to make other partners look bad. I understand that aspect.

But for the first time in two years, he could send me flowers. Not only did that signify that we might finally be recovering from this past two-year ridiculousness, but I also had a place he could send them, which hasn't happened in over two years as well. A place I've been employed roughly three months that just offered me a 5% temporary raise to mentor an intern.

It's not that I'm crass or unappreciative; I feel as though those roses signify much, much more than just his love for me. Signifies a change in office scenery. Signifies some capital coming into our home. Signifies six years of hard ass work in communication and patience. Signifies that six years later, he still wants to send me flowers and make my coworkers' partners look bad.

We've had rough moments here and there, where I get a bit spinny and realize I'm not caring for myself. It helps for me to accept the circumstances and realize it's only a day of chaos, that thankfully, this will be over in one hour/day/week. Working in addictions has given me that peace: One Day at a Time. One second, one minute, one hour. The mantras I repeat to my clients and hear them repeat to each other has finally started to sink into my own head.

So, I started running again, putting in more energy. Hearing one of my clients competitively run motivated me to come home after the tedious bus ride home and don my own sneakers, then trudge along on my treadmill. I'm still concerned about my shoulder, and fear lifting weights, but I'm thinking more cardio can't be a bad thing and am interested in doing spin classes at a local studio. There's a little money saved up and an hour on Sunday is still just an hour, especially when I need to pay someone to yell at me.

I ran the other night, pushed myself, trying to run past the interludes of the station. Ran solid for two minutes, something I didn't think my body could do. And yet, it amazes me that even though I haven't had a consistent work out schedule in almost three years, my body almost remembers how to keep pace, to push itself, heal itself, and keep moving.

There is so much overall healing that is happening lately. I'm working on healing myself, both by putting in more physical energy, but mostly more psychological energy. Yes, I need to work, but I also need to practice mindfulness and being in spaces, and fully understanding what I am doing. I need to plan more and accomplish more, but also plan to give myself time and namely space away from Fidget in our home.

There's healing in our relationship, where we joke more and try to do activities together. We've seen more movies this month than probably the last few years. We've walked more places. We're trying to incorporate more physical energy also into our relationship, walking more to our farmer's market and library than simply driving. It helps to be present with each other.

There's healing with my parents, than despite the chaos, I'm still able to put forth my boundaries and not drop my life to fly to Florida for another non-emergency.

There's healing in my cats, how we snuggle and pet and I focus on putting energy toward them. Then we nap.

The Universe appears to be slowly healing me. When I gripe and complain about a ridiculous week with morning appointments and no chance to sleep in, then a friend from Dippy's wedding texts me randomly about sock puppets. We celebrate in new lives and being Adults and how we've been able to maintain these five/ten/fifteen year relationships. How I was finally able to go clothes shopping this month for the first time in years and buy myself a new purse, especially since the old one was older than Bluejay's marriage.

Big Things are hard to accomplish. So, as therapists, we write small, achievable goals that accumulate to Big Things. I forgot this somehow. But in three months of hooking a new job, I've bought myself a new purse and finally some new work pants, paid down half of a credit card balance, kept Fidget insured, and started running again. We're still on track. Our cats are still alive. Sometimes our house is clean; sometimes I spin into a tizzy and we have to do dishes before I'll calm down, but mostly, I'm more stable and more centered...

... it really is about self-care first, then handling those around me, whether they be furry, walrus-y, or in Florida.

In the past week, I've made two batches of deviled eggs, which makes me horribly miss my mother. I think our recipe came from her mother, and I distinctly remember being a little girl and my mother teaching me how to both boil and then peel the quickly cooled eggs. As I bent over my sink and dunked my hands into the eggy water, I remembered the deftness her hands had, and now that mine do.

A lot of my friends cannot peel eggs for the life of them. Hunny and Kayrin are two that come to mind. So if I need to bring eggs to a party, they'll boil and cool them, but I'll peel them when I get there.

The act of peeling eggs seems mildly meditative, trying to smoothly break the membrane to pull the shell away from the hardened white. Beat the egg three-ish times on the well of the sink, then slowly peel away parts of the shell until the membrane finally lets loose.

Or it doesn't, and you're left cussing with a rubbery egg that you have to get the yolk out of anyway. So you eat the rubbery egg deviled with the leftover filling since you surely can't serve these to guests, so you might as well eat it.

A new coworker of mine was amused that I had an egg plate, and then I told him I not only have the ceramic one, but also another one, plus a Tupperware transporting container. Clearly, deviled eggs are family srs bzns. Because of the rubbery egg scenario, I didn't have enough for the ceramic plate, which holds an impressive 20-22 eggs! I decided to break out the transporting container, especially since we would be gallivanting to a family picnic/pig roast thing with most of Fidget's family.

After dusting it off, I looked at it. Easily from the '70s, this thing is what Tupperware is known for. I made the remainder of the eggs, and placing them in the container, I was transported back to being around six years old, as Momma arranged the eggs in the same container for yet another function. Was it an union function? A baby shower? A regular potluck on the floor? It didn't matter, but she still had to make her eggs. And that container would go with her to downtown Baltimore with her last name blazoned across the top and the bottom so folks would not steal it.

I found it oddly appropriate that I would take this container to Fidget's family function, seeing as her last name (which is half of mine) would properly distinguish my Tupperware from the rest of the plentiful Fidget clan. I artfully arranged the container, took a picture, then sent it to my father, whom lamented he wanted some, but also remembered the container. Momma had sent it to me about two years ago when she stated her egg-making days were over and it was my task to pass on the tradition.

As I finally peeled the eggs and stowed them away, I thought of my and Fidget's future children. I would sit my daughter (and maybe my son?) on a step stool and teach her to peel, being sure to spin the egg first to make sure the yolk was solid. Then she would beat the egg against the sink, slowly and with purpose. Using her itty bitty kid nails, she'd peel off some of the shell. I'd show her the membrane, how to deftly separate the light membrane from the white and carefully use to to follow the egg and remove the shells. She'll probably destroy quite a few, as I'm sure I did, but she'll learn the trade.

We'll pop the yolks into a bowl after carefully slicing the eggs in half. (We'll do this "stupidly" by cutting them in our palms with a knife, but maybe we'll use a butter knife to do it.) The halved whites will sit on a paper towel-lined plate to get all of the moisture out, while we'll assemble what's needed for the filling. After chopping the yolks up with the butter knife, we'll throw in our family's ingredients, randomly sticking our fingers in to see if it needs more salt or is still too dry. Then we'll quickly use a metal spoon to restuff the eggs, sprinkling them with paprika after we place them in whatever dish we deemed appropriate.

The irony is that Fidget doesn't like deviled eggs, but he likes that I bring them to functions. And I'll teach his children how to boil and peel the eggs, even if he won't eat them. And eventually, maybe I'll pass on all of my egg paraphernalia to my daughter (or son? They can fight over it!) and my egg-making days will be over...

... but that Hurt tradition will live on, and they'll dazzle their friends with the deftness with which they can peel eggs.

Now that my law test is passed and I'm officially not studying for, well, anything, I find my mind is going back to those DIY projects I have had strewn about the house for years. I did buy the brackets for shelving in the bathroom, and was able to use some of the negative energy into wallpapering the bathroom wall with cookbooks. It looks really cool, and also smells of old books right now! I need to seal it and also finish the last pieces at the bottom; I just ran out of umph and my butt hurt from sitting on the tile, so I'm hoping to finish that this weekend.

Another plan I had was to take another board from the bookcase and make it into a frame for the mirror in the bathroom. For some reason, I forgot how to cut wood. I realized I needed some type of work bench, clamps, scrap wood probably, and a speed square- and I have none of these things. I dutifully loaded them into my Amazon cart and will move things around to accomplish the task.

It's refreshing that my brain is going into DIY and creating mode versus being terrified about where bills are coming from and how things will be paid for. I see us in this home for at least three more years, so it would make sense to slowly work on finishing rooms and decorating how we want in order to fully enjoy it before we leave. I think of some of the things I've (we've? HA) done since we've been here. Yes, we finally got blinds throughout the house. Yes, I repurposed a dresser into an open pantry and used the drawer fronts for shelves. Yes, I did the wallpaper in the bathroom. While I continue to bat around ideas for new rugs or painting or doing a statement wall, I'm happy with the little things I've accomplished, like making no-sew curtains for an upstairs bathroom and installing a decal in the laundry room.

I find myself randomly cooking or wallpapering rooms. There's still mood swings and energy that comes out, which is in need of being regulated. I find myself working with my hands keeps me focused and on task, giving me enough space to address those thoughts later. (I just randomly walked away, leveled a painting we have hung in our dining room, and then packed Fidget's books to return to Amazon.) My process is that when I start to feel overwhelmed or bored or just like general blah, I can start brainstorming what to do to this house. Maybe making a to-do list with price points will put things finally in perspective to pull it all together.

I'm really looking forward to the outside, though. Fidget has made it his goal this month to finish the outside and finally use up the mulch we've had sitting behind our house. I thoroughly do not enjoy outside work. While I felt productive when I planted some perennials earlier this year, they're already dead and gone. So Fidget's goal to finish the mulching makes me very, very happy. Maybe next year I can start thinking about painting our front door or putting in planters, but it'll be nice to have a clean slate to go to. I just do not enjoy gardening at all.

Inside stuff, I'm pretty good at. I have a vision to complete things and enough DIY-er mentality from my parents' upbringing that I can make it come to fruition. I have had power tools my entire life. I am quite handy with a power drill, so I need to work on my sawing prowess. I'll make those projects that I'll become fond of, like my open pantry. I've always been particularly proud of how that project turned out. We needed more storage in our kitchen, and Kayrin's mom just happened to have a teal set of three drawers in the garage. Between myself and MFNJ, we pulled out two drawers, got a piece of wood cut, and that piece become the open pantry with all of our noodles and rice in glass jars. I also knew I need actual shelves in our laundry room, so using the two drawer fronts, I drilled in some brackets and threw them up on the wall, finally giving myself some storage and getting stuff out of our utility sink.

I did that with my brain. There was no Pinterest involved at all!

Eventually, we'll probably paint. Between wallpapering the bathroom and conceptualizing paint, I realized I've never done these things in my childhood. We moved too often, so I always had beige/off white walls while growing up. But now that we're going to be here for awhile, it would probably be awesome to just actually decorate and put down some real roots in our home.

Even if we don't get the rug or I can't quite figure out curtains yet, I can still buy a $10 bookcase off Craigslist and turn it into various projects in the house.

Fidget can keep gardening and mowing the lawn...

... I'll do the rest of this.