I haven’t had power for over a week. Ice Storm 2022 can kiss my ass.
I don’t generally take selfies anymore. I feel dumb when doing it. Vain I guess. I do take a lot of pics of me with the kids or sometimes me with my mom, but that’s mostly to prove we were together. So I’ll have memories when I get really old and forgetful. The last time I saw my dad before he had his heart attack I just happened to take a group selfie of me, him and my mom. It was an unusual action and the last photo I took of him. I’m grateful to have it even if it’s blurry. After that, every time I saw my mom I’d make us take a selfie in case it was the last time I saw her. Once she moved in next door I stopped, because I get to see her with my own eyes every day and that beats putting our faces on the screen of my phone.
But back to selfies, I used to take them to send to people. Like little advertisements. Here’s me in a car, here’s me in a park, here’s my new shirt. But who do I have to send them to now? So I stopped taking them. Except I took one for my return-to-tumblr post. Figured that was allowed, expected even. Proof of life or some such. But I haven’t done anymore and I just wonder why. Do I think I’m ugly? No. Am I afraid I’m not pretty enough? No. Do I not grok the point of them anymore? Perhaps. I’m legit curious, sometimes, when I look back at years and years of selfies, what changed? Did I change or did the type of people I let into my life change? And now where will my family get recent photos to use in my funeral slideshow? I don’t take my picture often, no one else takes my picture (why would they) and so my death show will taper off with selfies from 2016 or so. Oh well. That’ll be someone else’s problem. My problem is remembering to do a GPOYW on Wednesdays. Because that’s a Tumblr holiday of sorts and surely I shouldn’t feel bad participating in it. You are gonna see my face.
I don’t have a dream. I have very limited goals. I manage my life by running away from what I don’t like. I’m leaving this job because I don’t like how it makes me feel about myself. I’m not leaving for something better, I’m just hoping I don’t get any worse before I get away.
Of course leaving without a new job lined up is dangerous and risky. But to my way of thinking staying in a job that’s breaking me down is the bigger risk. I’ve got enough money to survive for a few months without a paycheck. Of course I’d rather keep those savings for something more “fun” but honestly not being miserable daily will be fun enough for a while. And I’m employable. I will find a job. But it’s a slower process when I’m not looking for a new role so much as looking for a new place to plant myself and do, just, whatever, for a few years.
But I suppose I should have dreams and goals and secret longings. I’m not very good at “should” however and the longer I live the less i give a fuck if others approve of my choices. My dad is dead, so he doesn’t get a vote. My mom loves me and is much too kind to criticize me unless it’s something utterly ridiculous so I’ve always got her support. Who else’s opinion matters to me? My nieces & nephews want me to be happy but they don’t care about the details as long as I still have time for our weekly Just Cara Day. Others that I might listen to: exhuz, puhleez, he doesn’t care as long as I’m not risking death. My little brother probably worries about me but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt very cared for and concerned about from him. I feel a few years ago he accepted I was self sufficient and stopped actively caring for the most part. Sure he cares, but not enough to want to discuss things with me. As long as I do my part to take care of our widowed mom he’s mostly gonna let me be. The secret is I want him to care, to talk, to share, to give advice. With my dad gone my little brother is the smartest man I know. But I know he can’t be my replacement for my dad, so I tend to just not spill anything on him at all. Unfortunately he doesn’t seek me out for much either so instead of a close sibling relationship we have a perfectly pleasant but unfulfilling war of attrition, neither of us wiling to get closer to the other.
My therapist says I’m doing great. She reassures me that I’m not sabotaging myself, that I’m thinking out my decisions and that if I would just be nicer to myself I’d see that I’m doing great too. So good in fact my dad would totally be proud of me. Therapy is weird. I pay $100 to get a real hug from her and for her to look at me with sympathy when I cry “I miss my dad” every session. And she tells me all the ways my dad is still with me and makes me tell her all the ways my dad would be proud of me and I feel better for a little while. Almost all my crying about my dad is done in therapy b/c I don’t want to worry or work up my mom and I don’t want to be that vulnerable with my brother. I don’t cry with the kids if I can help it but I do talk about him with them. Remind them how cool he was and how much he loved them. Help him stay in theirs little memories for as long as I can. He deserves to be remembered.
My dad died and then 3 months later the pandemic came and there’s no telling how many ways my response to either of those crises was distorted by the other. That’s worth a whole post on its own. Now that I’m “back” maybe I’ll write it. Mostly I’ve just been reading and hearting and following along with your lives and realizing how much life actually happened in the year I was gone. I didn’t live so much as exist in the 14 months I avoided tumblr. I’m not sure if I’m living again. Maybe if I am I’ll fucking write about it
Some people have adopted the “jump and build your wings on the way down” idea without thinking it through, because before leaping they don’t bother to gather enough feathers, glue, blueprints or any other crucial needs prior to their irrevocable commitment to gravity.
My CEO literally admitted to “building the wings while the plane was in the air” and that’s why I’m quitting. I gave my notice 6/28, last day is 7/26.
reblogged from misteranthrope
I miss tumblr. It’s been over a year. Lots of things are different. But I miss reading about your lives and showing you mine. I’m afraid all my friends are gone by now and I won’t feel comfortable or welcome anymore. Tumblr used to be my home, where my friends knew all about me and loved me anyway. And I loved to root for my friends’ lives and stories and struggles. I miss you all.
I miss who you let me BE here.
I just turned 45 my dad has been dead a year and a half. My mom has lived in the house next door since November. Good things worked out after the single biggest loss I will ever suffer
couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name:
I got a lot of beef with the concept of dust. absolutely no reason for something to get dirty just because nothing has touched it. bullshit.
reblogged from squidificati0n
I’m not worried about my finances yet. I got my bonus right before the lockdown and since I was saving it for non-essential things (specifically 2 dental implants so I can eat crunchy foods again) I still have that cash on hand to pay my bills if something goes wrong.
I say something “if something goes wrong” because I currently still have my job and they say business is fine (because farmers gotta farm) so in theory employment isn’t an issue for me. Except working is an issue. I have the computer, I have the temporary desk and the desk chair. But I don’t have the strength to make myself concentrate on anything. I can’t do a work task without losing focus. I can’t do anything without losing focus, so I don’t finish most news articles, I don’t follow through on food cravings, I can’t even concentrate enough on sleeping to go to sleep.
Blah blah blah all pretty common problems but also MY DAD IS DEAD and I was not ready to feel responsible for the health and safety of my mom. I’m fine. But she’s at risk and she’s three hours away and she’s lonely and I’m lonely and freaked the fuck out because you guys I can’t lose another parent. Not now. Not yet. I just want to cry all the time.
I’m fine. I’m objectively doing fine. I’m paying my bills, getting a paycheck, I have food and meds. But I’m not coping well even with all these blessings. I’m not strong enough for this. I didn’t recover fro the dog face attack before my dad died. And I’m not recovered from my dad dying and already there’s this new trauma to be coped with. I’m trying to be flexible and change and grow with these challenges but it’s too much. And yet it’s less bullshit than other people. I get it. I’m privileged. But I’m still suffering. I try desperately to be kind to myself. But it’s so fucking hard.
ETA: crucial update to an earlier post: I’ve done all my laundry. ✅
I just cried about going to the grocery store. About the fact that I don’t HAVE to have milk & bread to survive. About the fact a tumblr SJW post reminded me tomorrow’s the first of the month. About the fact that I don’t have anything remotely mask like to wear anyway.
I didn’t talk to people in the before time and I’m not talking to people now. I’m slightly jealous to read about online meetings and online games and online parties - but there’s a slim to none chance I’d take advantage of such socializing even if I were invited. I live alone so I’m used to being alone. I’m fine with the lockdown bc I still walk Archie every morning before “work”. We’ve started taking an evening walk too now that spring has sprung. The only food I’m worried about is bread (mine has expired) and milk. But then again I assume it’s way easier to feed one uninterested Gen Xer than it is a whole family. Some days I eat nothing but instant oatmeal. I have done no extra cleaning or organizing. All my mental energy is spent on doing at least one real work-related useful thing a day (since they are paying me). Mostly I’m staring at the screens trying to not to cry because my dad is dead and my mom is all alone 3 hours away and I can’t see my niece & nephew bc their dad (my brother) had a coworker test positive. So just making it through each day takes all the effort I can muster. I’m working hard on being kind to myself for doing my best in the situation, but I do get a nice self-guilt burn going when I stare around my house at all the projects and things I could do. But I’m not doing things that aren’t the bare minimum. I shouldn’t be ashamed of that but I am. I haven’t even made myself do laundry, and that’s not a special chore, that’s a normal chore.
reblogged from somethingwendythiswaycomes
Proof of life
