When I started writing at the beginning of the year, I found that I did not have something to say every day. The effects from shingles continue and I started sleeping later. This was self care for me. But then I had gotten out of the habit, lost my built in time, and now things have started piling up.
Where do we go from here? Every time I think of this phrase, I think of the song from Evita. I don’t know who wrote it. Please hold.
Tim Rice, performed by Madonna for the movie Evita, written in 1996, and that’s how long I have been listening to it. The song is about the wife of Juan Perón, Eva Duarte Perón, who gets sick and is no longer useful to him as a politician, yet he stands by her side. She realizes that he loves her for her and not what she can do for him.
Where do we go from here? The song has meant different things to me over the years. I think I used to sing it to myself when I let someone down. These days I sing it to myself when I let myself down.
“Where do we go from here? This isn’t where we intended to be. We had it all. You believed in me. I believed in you. Certainties disappear. What do we do for our dream to survive? How do we keep all our passions alive, as we used to do?”
“Deep in my heart, I’m concealing, things that I’m longing to say. Scared to confess what I’m feeling, frightened you’ll slip away. You must love me.”
Before we get all excited, I want to state how much I love myself these days. So nothing major has happened like it might have in the past. No one drank, no one lost a job, or a car, or custody; nothing like that. I just haven’t been myself lately and I need to start talking about it again.
The first two years of my sobriety, I had a routine where I got up in the morning and read my prayer and meditation books and wrote on them. I decided to try something new this year by writing daily, but then discovered that was quite a challenge. I just didn’t have that much to say. So now I am not journaling, and not writing.
If we add this to life, which continues to happen, I have lost some of my processing power, a tenet of my self care. So I sit here, staring at the blinking cursor, a little dumbfounded, because I do not want to go back to journalling daily just yet, but I don’t want to write BS in my blog, and I need to keep blogging. Processing.
Before complications from shingles, I would read an actual book when not writing. And I really enjoyed the quiet house to myself in the mornings before the world woke up. If I could get back to getting up sooner, I could read, then write when I needed, and publish whenever the hell I want because it’s my blog. Ha!
The morning inspiration, however, appears to be in remission. Where do we go from here?
Coming off my first writing drought of the year so that’s over and done with and we can move on.
Hello, it’s me, shingle girl. Ending week 6ish with some good news: I wore a bra to work two days this week. It hurts like hell to move but the girls are strapped in. Baby steps. Why the hell is everything baby steps?!
Anywho, new person at work says to me, oh I’m sorry you have shingles but you should have seen how sick I got from the vaccine.
‘Scuse me? Worse than like, actual shingles? Wonder how long that lasted? Nice you got it since you are eligible. And other grumbly stuff.
I headed out for lunch hell bent on finding out, on my own (I wasn’t gonna ask her) how damn long she might have been sick from the vaccine vs actual shingles. I decided to ask mother google for just “how long you are ill from the shingles vaccine vs the shingles disease?” Short answer is like a week, but my snark subsided. I got lost in the internets, as one does, and I found this!
“Postherpetic neuralgia (post-hur-PET-ik noo-RAL-juh) is the most common complication of shingles. It causes a burning pain in nerves and skin. The pain lasts long after the rash and blisters of shingles go away.” ~internet
I am not one to search the rabbit hole for reasons why I feel the way I feel or any of the other feels I may be missing or ways to treat it or which celebrity had it last or any of that crap. But since I wasn’t looking for this, I figure it’s legit. I didn’t go out to prove an existing theory.
It hit the nail on the head: burning, stabbing, hurts when anything touches it, etc. New info explained why I still have all these symptoms long after the shingles rash went away. Treatment isn’t much more than time, but the team is gonna double check things for me. Worse case scenario is it lasts forever, but that’s the rare of the rare.
So I wait. And go slow. Keep going slow. Keep taking care of myself. Pray it’s gone before the wedding, that kind of thing. It’s so random, truly. I just had a physical as a follow-up with all the blood works: and guys, I’m fine. Everything in normal range except my weight. But even with the weight, no high blood pressure, no high cholesterol or any of that crap. Healthy as a horse. One of the reasons I got sober, my beloved grandmother is 94 and counting. She’s still got it.
Look at the physical: check. Look at the mental/emotional: Stress seems to be one of the causes of shingles (the one everyone knows, btw). After several people mentioned stress, I took a look at myself. I didn’t want to be missing things that were causing me stress, and manifesting in my body that I was completely unaware of.
We had court. We had thanksgiving. We have a wedding. We now have Bella every other weekend. Work. House. Winter. And what I found in the end, or if this is still the middle, is that it doesn’t matter if it’s stress related or not. I don’t have anything huge hanging over my head. I am present in my life. I suit up and show up for myself, my person, my kiddo, work, friends, family, life. It is also possible that things are a little more difficult than I realize, and admitting that changes nothing. A closer examination hurts nothing. Commitment.
There is this tail chasing in my head like maybe Ang is gonna get sick of me sitting around or not pitching in as much with the house. Or that our intimacy level is suffering. Or that work is going to stop letting me work from home. Or that things are piling up quicker than they are getting checked off. Or, that my mental health is suffering. Maybe the rest is just a cover for my own mental and physical health concerns. It all comes back to me. I am responsible for me. I love me. Commitment.
So I stay aware. Spot check the routine. Prioritize and let shit go. Be kind to myself and my beloved. Ask for help. Light a fire and wait out the winter. Oof. I can actually just sit and wait. Wat.
As I lay in bed last night, in pain, starting my sixth week of shingles, something wonderful happened. A god moment, if you will.
I started feeling this strange back pain at Christmas. We were over at some of Angie’s in-laws house and I just could not get comfortable. I was in a dull pain, nothing terrible. I wanted to sit and rest, but couldn’t find a comfy spot. I was tired for no reason.
A day or two later in the shower, I noticed something on my skin. One glance from Ang decided shingles. I went to prompt care, got a prescription, and started working from home.
Two more doctor visits, and hundreds of dollars later, despite insurance, here we sit. The physical rash is all but got. The internal pain remains. My brain protects me in a way that I don’t remember what the last phase felt like. I am really only aware of where I am with the pain.
I am grateful to remember how it all started, so I can be vigilant if I feel that again, but the in-between phases are a blur. The current phase has me googling things like, what does nerve damage feel like? And, what does nerve damage from shingles feel like? I live in a very visual world with computers and emails and gifs. It felt strange to try to find something that probably didn’t have a picture and a meme to go with it.
So last night, when I was laying in bed, feeling this burning stabby internal pain that happens in waves like contractions, this experience pops into my head. When Isabella was very small, probably toddler age, she got some kind of bump on her butt that was causing her a lot of pain. Today I don’t remember what it was, some kind of little infection, maybe kind of like a spider bite. We saw it and she complained about it, so we took her to the doctor.
At the doctor, they were going to drain it or pop it or something. They knew it was going to be painful. She was young enough that they didn’t think she would lay there on her own. I was tasked with laying on my back on the exam table and holding her to my front. I’m laying there, holding her to my chest, telling her everything is going to be okay. When they did whatever they did, her whole body shook like an intense shiver in pain. She yelped out and then started crying.
I held her tighter as she squirmed. I cooed and hushed her and said things like, it’s over now. Or, there there, that’s better. It’s gonna get better now. I held her till she started to calm down. It was a very intense experience as a mother to be that close to my child and feel that kind of raw pain. I was experiencing her pain as well as my own holding her through it. My poor baby.
One of my therapists one time told me to talk to myself as if I were talking to my daughter. I instantly burst out in tears. I was not talking to myself anything like I spoke to my daughter. I would never speak to her the way I spoke to myself.
Last night laying in bed, I dialed in to that feeling as a mother, holding my child on the exam table, only the child I was holding was me. I remembered the shivering intense pain and the ability to hold her tighter and tell her everything was going to be okay. I remembered those words from the therapist. Everything is going to be okay. This can’t last forever. There there. Shhhhh. I know. I know.
I’m so tired of this pain. I went back to the doctor this week for a physical. I have gained weight as a result of my inactivity. I can’t be out and about for long before the pain creeps in more and more. And I haven’t worn a bra since Christmas! I hate it. I miss my frickin’ bras. I am certain that my boobs will sag more after this experience and I don’t want saggy boobs! I have worn a bra my entire life to prevent that before it’s rightful time! Bah! I can’t even have my therapy cat on my chest without pain!
There there. Shhhhh. Everything is going to be okay. I have you. I am holding you. I feel your pain and I will not leave you through it. I will help you take care of yourself. I will speak kindly to you and help you continue to ask for what you need. I will advocate for you at work and be gentle with you at home. I will not call you lazy. I will be patient with your recovery. I will not make excuses for you but help you stand in your truth. I will be frustrated with you but I will not let you lose heart or hope. I will help you cut back on spending to rebuild your financial cushion. I will help you reel in the crazy with the upcoming wedding. Finances, planning, details, and I will help you remember to enjoy the process. I will help you manage the stress, not deny it. I will see you through your recovery process and help you back into an more active life when you are ready. I will hold space for you. You are doing a really good job with something that you have never been through before. I love you with my whole heart.
Pretty sure I fell asleep quite quickly after that.
Well we talked about the Badge Man, so let’s talk about the real love of my life, Samuel Muse Brown.
2023.
Sam was a gift given more than 10 years ago. For many of you who don’t know the story of my life with cats, I had a cat curse for many years. All during my 20’s I could not keep a cat for more than three years.
In the course of the 20’s I lost maybe close to ten cats! One got into some poison under the sink and died howling in my arms on the way to the vet. One was hit by a car in a parking lot. One was taken from my front yard. One got a blood clot above his back legs and had to be put to sleep. Several were donated to a friend of mine so I could get help for my substance use disorder. In my 20’s I never had a cat that got to age four.
In 2012, Ex-spouse got me a cat as a surprise. I guessed it before she even had a chance to give him to me. She mentioned quite casually, I got you a surprise. The first words out of my mouth were, is it a kitten? She was shocked. Who guesses kitten right out of the gate, she asked. Me. It’s me. At the time, I was living with two mangey dogs.
Sam around 2012-2013 making his needs known.
I am a huge fan of farm cats and ex-spouse had someone at work that had a litter of farm cats. And so Sam came into my life. I named him after my best friend’s child. Upon hearing the name from Facebook, he called and asked directly, did you name your cat after my kid? Yes, yes I did.
2013.
Sam has been a rock over the last 11 almost 12 years. He has been fostered twice in the name of recovery. I could not be more grateful to those that cared for him. At one point, he was named an emotional support animal by my therapist and waived of all rent and pet deposits. He’s pretty special.
2014.
Our bond is amazing. He truly is the emotional support animal that I have needed and continue to rely on. He is a cat after all, so he does his own thing, but I do not think there is a day that goes by that I don’t find him in my lap once or twice.
2015.Arrival of the two-legged pet in 2015.Moving into The 1505. 2021.
He loves the outdoors. He goes outside daily and has most of his life. He absolutely loves the sun and the heat. He will lay outside in the direct sun until the temps reach close to 100° before he moves to the shade. He loves getting dirty. He lays right in the dirt and rolls around scratching his back on the earth. He often comes to the back door covered in dirt or dried grass.
Outside working with mom, filthy and not giving a shit. 2021Assisting with water removal from the crawl space. 2021
He is a hunter as well. He has presented me with several birds over the years. One particular time at a First Thursday Fellowship Fire, he came around the corner with a live bird in his mouth, only to be scared by one of the guests, lets the bird go, and it goes flying away. We all stood there dumbfounded going, what just happened?
Tolerating Badger at The 1505. 2022.
He loves cuddling and sitting in almost anyone’s lap. He loves being outside with us when we have fires. He will wander around the fire and hop into anyone’s lap that has settled in. He’s black and quiet, so hard to see at night under a camp chair by the fire. He has scared the crap out of me more than once by jumping in my lap or rubbing against my leg before I had visual.
Helping mom work, obviously. 2022.
Sam has boundary issues and I like to think that I made him that way. He loves laying on heads when we are in bed. He loves getting right up in your face. If it is therapeutic to put your face in cat fur, then Sam should get an award for all the therapy he allows.
Boundary issues to my delight.
Sam has taken his show on the road at least once. Many years ago, ex-spouse worked at a retirement center for mentally disabled adults. She thought his presence would bring them joy, so we strapped him in and took him down to the retirement center. Once he got his bearings, he allowed anyone and everyone to get a pet. At one point he was in the lap of one of the animal lovers and stayed there for some time. She was beside herself with joy.
Unlike most cats, Sam is down for pets. He will fall over on his side and expose his belly if you are around him outside. He allows scratching of the back, and loves anything near the head, neck and shoulders. He lets me pet his belly when he is in our bed and sleeps dotingly at my feet every night.
He is outside with my just chillin’ anytime I am out there.
I cannot believe how long he has been in my life. The only souls in this world that I have spent more time with, are my family of origin in my first 18 years. He’s on his way to outlasting that time as well. What an amazing guy. I love you, Sam Brown.
The final Transformations was held this weekend. It was full of emotion for me and many others. I competed in Transformations in 2016.
Opening number outfit. (2016)
For those of you who still don’t know what Transformations is, it started as 10 women, then later changed to 10 men, competing as female impersonators, or drag queens, in a pageant style event for the charity of their choice. I competed for DCCCA Women’s Treatment Center. There are an evening gown, talent, and onstage question portions. Each contestant has a consultant who is an active drag queen. The consultants helped with everything from costumes to makeup and wigs to talent.
Just the start of the makeup. (2016)Mostly finished makeup (2016)Me and Miss Priscilla, my consultant. (2016)
For me, and I believe many others, Transformations was an incredibly intense event that led to extreme bonding with those in the same experience. As I attended Transformations over the years, there was an instant connection with those that were fans, audience members, other participants, and other consultants. Many of the contestants bonded deeply with their consultants.
I was among those. Miss Pricilla MC’ed and performed at my wedding reception in July 2016. Another consultant from my year in Transformations altered our wedding dresses. I stay connected with other contestants and consultants via Facebook. It also changed the Kansas City drag scene for me. When I go to Kansas City for a show, I usually personally know at least one of the drag queens performing.
I got 10th out of 10 contestants in 2016. I wouldn’t change a thing.
In 2017 I performed as a backup dancer for two other performers. It was a thrill to be on the stage again. The creator/director of the entire 12 year event is Brandon Eisman and he is a joy to work with. I can only imagine wrangling 10 seasoned drag queens and 10 men and women who may have never performed before in their lives. Not to mention backup dancers, stage crew, friends and family, and Brandon always ran the show as Deja Brooks herself.
After 2016 and 2017, I was always on the lookout for tickets to the event. The event changed from men to women and sells out rapidly. As most of you know 2017 is when I hit a tumultuous time in my life. I missed Transformations 2020 due to relapse. That is something I will never get back and it stings.
Transformations 2021 was a redemption year for me and a living amends to my person, who had bought the previous year’s tickets. 2022 was just gravy. I was emotional the whole night. I was able to bring my kiddo with me and show her the love I and many others had for this gift to the community. Over the course of the 12 years running of this show, Transformations donated over $120,000 to local charities, and, like I said, brought so many people together.
We dressed up, did makeup, went out to eat downtown, and made it a real Lawrence, KS night on the town. From the moment we arrived, Isabella was on the hunt to get her picture taken with the drag queens.
Isabella and Deja Brooks. This moment was spectacular. This red carpet spot was swarming with people. Isabella has attended Reading Rainbow hosted by Deja Brooks for years and was on the lookout for Deja. The moment we saw her and asked for a picture, she took us to the red carpet, dispersed all the people for this one on one shot with Isabella. Then waved her hand and the crowd was back. Isabella and Daisy Bucket (pronounced bouquet). Daisy hosted a KU drag show in 2015 that I attended with Isabella strapped to my chest. Baby’s first drag show with Daisy Bucket. (2015)Isabella and The Whore of ‘84, Genewa Stanwyck. Ang and I are huge fans of Genewa. Raven Waye. L’Oreal.Red carpet.Family red carpet moment.
For me, in recovery, with moments from my past that have led to broken relationships, there were no less than three people in that audience that I owe amends to. None of those three people are interested in hearing my amends. That is hard. They were once part of a strong tight knit village. I ran into one of them, who was thrilled to see how much Bella had grown. One of the tenants of amends is that we do not cause more harm, so if someone has cut ties with us, we do not force the amends. So it’s something that just sits with you. Well, it’s something that sits with me anyway.
On this final night of Transformations, I was thrilled just to be in attendance, and amazed that I had my beloved and my kiddo by my side. I can be proud of the life I have built and still be sad of the collateral damage that I have caused. For me, the emotions ran the gambit on Saturday night at Transformations 2023, The Finale.
It was a long show. Someone didn’t quite make it. Transformations wasted.
I picked the moon up at the post office yesterday. Her other mom just shipped her from KCK. It seemed easier than driving.
Pause for laughter.
We actually met to sign paperwork for the moon to get her first passport. I think this could have been done without me, so I was thrilled to be asked. We sat in their little room, her other mom had done all the work of picture and documentation and money order, all the stuff. All I had to do was stand on the side and then sign under both of their names. It was pretty cool. Bella and her other mom have a trip planned later in the year. Traveling was one of the things that brought us together so I am glad that is being shared with our kid. Not that it matters what I think about their time together, it’s none of my concern. It was nice to be included.
We hit the library after that, my shingles doing their back and forth of screaming at me and then going dead silent. Screams. Silence. And so on. There is a quick burning stabbing pain, and then it’s gone and I am fine. Then another quick stabbing pain, and it’s gone. One of these pain moments, I said audibly, ow ow ow! And then it was gone. I maybe did this once or twice more in the library.
When we got back to the car, I did the same thing as I got into my seat, ow ow ow. Almost instantly from the back seat I hear, ow ow ow. I thought the moon was making fun of me. What? What’s happening, I say. She says, my throat hurts. I barely held it together. She cracks me up. Hears it twice and then boom, ow ow ow.
After the library, we headed home for some outside time before it got dark. We had some great fun.
This jump was as high as Belly’s armpits!Nice distance here. Different camera view.
We took turns filming the puppers do tricks and I chopped wood while she set up and higher jump and a higher jump. We got good and muddy. The attention and running around was good for Badger as well.
Shoes removed and back in the house, I wanted to test out my new seed mat with some started seeds. Yes, I know it’s still January, but there is no wrong time to play in the dirt. I got out a seed tray from last year and some recycled pots from our failed fern experiment, and we planted leeks, green onions, cat grass, and marigolds.
Ang came home at that time and started dinner. By the time our project was done, it was time to go see some art that Ang had at two Final Friday locations. It was so much fun! We caught a lively show at the America Music Academy right down the street where people were buzzing about, and live music was being played. There was art all over the walls including Ang’s pieces. Bella took an impressive tour around the place spending some good time at several pieces.
The next stop was the Lawrence Art Center where Ang was a contributor in a print exchange called Edible Art. She made a beautiful recreation of a menu from 1867. As part of the project, she will receive a copy of all the other prints that were done so we took some time to see what new art would be in our home. Bella found a few pieces that she thought she might like in her room.
It all seemed so lovely. What transpired after that is unknown to me. We returned home, got ready for bed, someone announced she was hungry since she rarely eats what we do. I suggested she make some toast since I was done with dinner for the night, so I settled in at the kitchen table to read a chapter from our book while she ate her toast. It was way past all our bedtimes at this point. She wanted to call her mom to say goodnight, and just as I was about to go to bed I hear, I want to go home.
‘Scuse me? It’s 10pm and this a’int our first rodeo. She had spoken with her mom and wanted to go home. Pretty dead set. I ask what happened on the phone and she stated nothing, but that she doesn’t get enough time with her mom, she missed her, and she wanted to sleep with her. I had a nice calm inquisitive nature about me while silently rolling my eyes out of my head.
We talked some more about time with her other mom, and time with us, and logistics of the rest of the weekend. She remained set. Her other mom said she will come get her. I am right in the middle between oh hell no and how important is it? For every definitive parenting decision I make, there have got to be ten questions that go unanswered. I want to err on the side of kindness and love and grace. I also don’t want to raise a spoiled entitled ass. I also know that what little control I have, it only exists when she is physically with me. That’s what, like 72 hours every other week including sleep time. Roughly 48 hours of awake time every other week.
I want her to feel supported. I want her to know she has a voice. I want her to feel heard. I want her to advocate for herself. All the things. I also was not driving to Kansas City at 10pm.
Once I said yes and let her other other mother know, we both turned our phones on and laid down. I don’t know if she would have fallen asleep without the yes. But once she got it, she fell fast asleep. As did I. By the time her phone rang, we were both in dreamland. But she got up and went home.
I didn’t want to make a huge deal of it. We arranged to pick her up at the place where her horse is kept the next day. I didn’t personalize. I observed. I don’t want to make a habit of this malarkey. This was the first time this had happened. Time will tell.
She came back the next day and we continued our amazing weekend. More to come on that.
Let’s add a nice phlegmy cold to the shingles and see how it changes the numbers. I don’t know why I thought my recovery from these blasted shingles would be linear. I adore linear for about 75% of my world and the above graph for the other 25%. Since I like to control things, I’d like to choose the 25%.
But I started feeling better! I chopped wood! I tried going back to work and then found a great excuse to quickly get the hell out of there. I got so frustrated that I actually did the math to calculate how long till my retirement. Spoiler alert: it is not close.
I know that I will do myself no good if I stress about recovery or missing work or working from home or my participation level at home or how well I am performing as a mother or looking towards upcoming events.
I was just thinking this morning, how can I wrangle my boobs for Transformations so I am comfortable and still look nice. I want to make a big deal of this last Transformations but anything more than a T-Shirt is painful and, at best, very uncomfortable without a bra. I also tried a bra on Monday and it was a hard pass. Gen Xers don’t freeball.
The very last Transformations is coming up this weekend. We have the moon and I want to take her out and show her a lovely Lawrence, KS evening. I want to do makeup and all that girly stuff that she loves. I have pictures of me in jeans and a hoodie as well as a nice dress from past Transformations.
It all just makes me tired and anxious. I hate anxiety! I’m sure anxiety loves that.
It feels like I have been sick forever. I added a cold to this ball of awesome this past weekend. What is my body trying to tell me? How can I better serve myself? What is it that I need in this moment? Use your training, Holly.
A quick google search on recovering from shingles only tells me to steer clear of people as long as I have open wounds. I have not had open wounds for a month. I still cannot move without pain, cannot wear my trusty over the shoulder bolder holder, and don’t know if I am supposed to ignore the pain and press on or rest. I am frustrated. I am tired. I am grumpy and worn down. And I am sick of all those things as well.
The new routine with the moon lends itself to less down time. I am so grateful to my person who has been taking art classes and exercise classes and generally doing her own thing. She has been taking care of her while shingles and joint custody have taken my time. It’s very inspiring to watch. I am so grateful that we have built this life together. It is, and I pray it will always be, the backbone. If my recovery is my foundation, then this life with my person is the ground level, the cornerstone.
Thanks to all who continue to show up in physical life, digital life, spiritual life, and mental and emotional life. I dig you all. Love, Holly.
Author’s note: this is the latest communication I am sending to a friend. I am putting a digital stamp on this one because I think she will be tickled to be contributing to this blog.
Double note: THIS DOES NOT WORK IF YOUR ONLY COMMUNICATIONS ARE TEXT. Get out your pencil and a stamp.
I am a little old school when it comes to formal communication. Let’s put it this way, last year, I ordered something like 500 or 1000 thank you cards in bulk from Amazon. You get the idea. It’s not the damn card, it’s what is inside.
Dear Goddess,
Thank you for your latest communication. This may or may not have been your intent, but I could not get the glitter off my fingers for the rest of the day after reading your card. It was beautiful.
It was nothing compared to your words. Why are you so good to me? You know I love that support and I pray that I give it as good as I get it. I’m so glad you love the blog. I am thrilled to make it a part of my new morning routine. Almost one month in, and I feel like I am more in touch with myself. Luckily, I love writing, so the outcomes were not planned, as it should be. It’s been fun just to see where this goes. No destination, just the journey.
If I haven’t already, I’d like also thank you for the Christmas card. It gives me such joy to see you and your person’s joyful faces on our Christmas card wall. We put all the cards up over the walkway from our kitchen to our front room, so I see your joy every day. One new thing that we did this year was put our own Christmas card on the wall. It’s such a great reminder to love myself with all the others who send their love.
I also want to thank you for the wedding present. How did you even find the registry? Ang and I were just figuring out how to put one together at the request of another guest that can’t attend, and here comes this giant box on our porch. We were baffled for several moments. It added extra joy to the gift itself.
We opened it with Isabella and placed it in her room for the time being. She has been using the mirror that goes with the dresser in her room which is currently on the floor. I can’t find the darn hardware for it! And who wouldn’t love a full length mirror in their room but a stylish 7 year old? I watched her fix her hair in it Tuesday morning before school. Such precision.
I am so grateful for our friendship. It feels like it continues to grow despite our physical distance. Speaking of growing, thank you for continuously sharing your journey with me. It has been an absolute pleasure to watch you grow and flourish. I follow you on the social media as well. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see you so happy.
What I know is that, like so many of us, this has taken work. Not only have you put in the work, but you have been open and honest about it, and shared what worked for you. I have been privy to the lengths you have gone to find yourself. I know from experience that you didn’t find the love of your life until you found the love of your life in yourself. Sometimes I wonder if people who have not experienced lows like us really know what the highs feel like.
Anyway, thanks for being a part of this morning and unknowingly contributing to this blog. If I know you, I think you will be tickled. I shall close and continue with my morning routine. I am finishing “Quit like a woman.” The book that you gave me last year, “How to do the Work,” is actually going to get read with this new routine. I’ll let you know how it contributes to my life, since it helped you.
Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you. I love you.
I’m sitting here staring at the Honey-eyed Noodle Boy. He’s just checking me out before he settles down in his big fluffy bed by the fire. Does he need anything?
Handsome Honey-eyed Noodle Boy.
Dogs (and cats for that matter) instinctively take care of their own needs. They drink when they are thirsty and poop when they need to poop. But what if I forgot to fill the water bowl? Badger wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think he would go to the water bowl and start pushing it around. I mean I don’t really know because I don’t think the water bowl has ever been empty. But if it were, and for a significant time, he could die.
Dial it down a bit from needs to wants. Do you think he gets frustrated that he can’t tell me that he doesn’t get walked enough. “Mom, I would really appreciate it if you changed your routine a little and took me for a short walk every day. Even a short walk would be so awesome. It would really contribute to the quality of my life.”
Or, “I favor the rope toys. They make the day so interesting trying to untie those knots.”
Or, “Like if it isn’t too much trouble, that one bone you got that one time, oh I loved that. I chewed on it for hours while you worked.”
Or “I’d rather stay inside if it’s below 50 degrees. I can’t get warm if the sun isn’t out.”
How do we know what they need? How do they tell us? Does he get bored as shit when we leave him in the kennel for 4 or 8 hours? Is that tortuous for him or does he just chill?
Badger is such a good boy that he just does what we tell him. If I say, kennel up, he does it. He doesn’t throw a fit or whine. I know that he doesn’t like sirens, he loves chasing squirrels, he loves it when I come outside and chase him around threatening to steal his toy. I like to think we bring each other joy.
Playtime in the yard.
He is very affectionate but also good with boundaries. He does not lick mine or Angie’s faces but he will lick a face if you let him. He stops every morning when I let him out of the kennel for a hug and some pets before he goes to the door for his morning pee.
He is very receptive to “good boy” and “bad dog.” It’s hilarious. He does naughty things at times, like eat the cat food or get on the front room couch when we are gone, or dig holes in the yard. But if you show him the cat food dish or the hole and ask him, “What did you do? Or “What is this?,” he will cower and walk away while still eyeing you for the okay that he’s not in trouble any more. We never yell. We speak to him in a normal voice when asking him not to bark or “What is this hole in the yard?”
He’s innocent, ornery, smart, and a moron all at the same beautiful time. He’s my boy.
Bella, “I wonder if I have kissed Badger more than you have kissed Angie.”
He only poops in the edges of the yard where we don’t walk. He has never pooped or peed in the house. He has anxiety when we leave him at other people’s houses. Or even if he has to stay outside at a house that we are at. Maybe separation anxiety or fear of being left behind? We got him when he was about a year. I am not sure what he went through in that first year nor the impression levels of dogs in infancy or adolescence.
He does not bark. Hardly at all. If he does bark, he stops when you say, no bark. The only exception being if there is a possum in the yard. He doesn’t bark when the doorbell rings or someone new comes to the house. He is shy when he meets a new person, especially men, especially with hats on.
Wrapped up by Bella at Christmas.
He is higher maintenance than Sam by far. He has bigger feels than Sam. Sam is fine just fine on his own for days at a time. Sam usually comes for affection at least once or twice a day, Badger could have it constantly. He’s usually underfoot following one of us around. He goes nuts when one of his favorite people arrive, like Bella or Atticus. But his version of nuts is wagging his tail right off and squirming to get close when Bella is trying to take off her coat.
Therapy cat.
Sam all out yells at you if his food bowl goes empty but Badger eats twice a day and never goes to his food bowl to ask for food or anything like that. He will take a treat or food scraps at any given moment though. 4
It is no secret that I am not a huge fan of dogs. I am a cat person through and through. I never met a cat I didn’t love. I have never loved another cat more than my Sam cat. Badger has changed my opinion of dogs, but mostly it’s just him. I have become one of those dog moms like the kid moms who still really don’t like kids, but they love their kid.
My kids.
Sam and Badger are both very good pets and contribute greatly to our quality of life. I just hope that I am doing them both as much justice and love as they do me.
Pets anyone?“Um, you stopped petting me. Why?”“Heller, may I come in please?”Bella’s jacket.
After all that talk yesterday about how awesome I am, let’s humbly visit the flip side.
The masses are telling me that the shingles were caused by stress. Yet I am not cognitively aware of the stress. I want to be careful how I word things here, because I don’t want to convince myself of something that I already believe (I’m fine) and not be open to what the team is telling me.
So stress. Shingles. Apparently stress can lead to shingles. Check. I have had a significant case of shingles since Christmas. Now I also have shingles and a cold! When I spoke to one of my support team yesterday, they suggested that the long drawn out court case had maybe worn on me.
I agreed it was possible, but that I had taken the court process one task at a time. Mediation. This went no where and I was frustrated. Very frustrated. The next step, I looked briefly at filing things on my own. That overwhelmed the shit out of me so it was quite quickly abandoned.
Ok, so get an attorney. Secure funds and a plan to start a payment plan. Feasible and done with humility, consistency, and grace, not just by me. The greatest losers here were Amazon and a savings account that never existed before 2020.
Once those main things were done, I followed the advice of my attorney with gratitude and peace. I set her payment into my monthly budget and haven’t given it another thought. Nope. That is not true. There was an initial retainer and I knew that once that was gone, there would be another bill at $300/hr. This wore on me but I still knew that I had done the right thing for me and my kiddo. When the second bill inevitable came in, it was handled in the same manner. I couldn’t be more grateful and my actions link with my words. This is so important for me. For a very very long time, this was not a thing.
I went through the long drawn out court procedure. It is amazing to me how quickly I forget things. I forget things while they are happening. It’s my brain or, more likely, my higher power protecting me. I don’t know how long the case went. I did’t realize that I had done a step up visitation for months into a year until Isabella’s other mother asked for a step up plan in court proceedings and my attorney came back with, that’s what we have been doing for the last year. So she fought that. Her job, not mine.
My job was me and I enacting my sponsor like some kind of decoder ring or Batman device. Engage shields! Firepower on! I had called my sponsor every morning for the first year and a half or so. Since then, I had settled into my own routine only calling her as needed. I reengaged her to call every morning. I also set up individual counseling.
Between meetings and back and forths, I stuck to the routine. On the big day, I sent out the flare. I called in my parents who drove in from Ellsworth the night before. I called in my sponsor. I called in my beloved Angela. I called in my dear friend that was mentioned at the beginning of this story.
The judge awarded me joint custody and more parenting time. I had the moon every other weekend from Saturday at 10am till Sunday and 2pm, and the following Saturday from 10am-2pm. Then it bumped up to longer weekends, Saturday 10am-Sunday 6pm. And finally, after the first of the year, Friday after school at 3pm till Sunday at 6pm, and the following Monday after school to Tuesday morning at school.
Homework time.
When this gets laid over a calendar, I have her Monday evening and the following Friday. They fall in the same week since the Monday is after every other weekend. Follow? Yeah, I had a hard time as well, especially when I looked at my work schedule. I would have to bounce from work at 230pm twice in one week and the following week wouldn’t be affected at all.
I went back and forth with Isabella’s other mother on this, trying to find a better compromise, but she was dead set on sticking with the exact order from the judge. I humbled myself, grabbed my vulnerability underwear, and went in to see my boss.
Last year in February, in preparation for this order, I took a different position at work. Instead of answering the phones at the call center, I train the folks that answer the calls. This removed my weekend shifts. Now I needed to tweek my hours to accommodate the early days. I was very open with my boss. When it comes to the administrative stuff, she excels and I am grateful. She helped me navigate extended hours and PTO hubaloo. I don’t think everything is set in stone yet, and hell, it’s only the fourth week of the year, so we haven’t had but a single rotation.
Reenter my wise friend from the beginning of the story: “You may not be experiencing stress as another would, but can we at least agree that there has been a lot of change?”
I am thrown back to that 18 year old that had just moved out on their own. My parents were strict, I had just moved out of their house, and I was going to start having some fun. I didn’t need a schedule; I didn’t need routine. Life was a day by day thing. And this was before I discovered alcohol or drugs! I worked two jobs, got my own apartment and did whatever the hell else I wanted. Visualize negotiating both jobs so I could go see my grandparents for the weekend and help my grandmother clean her house. Yeah, I was a bad ass.
Shortly after I did discover drugs and alcohol and there was definitely no routine, unless you count work, drink, work, drink. I met girls, well quickly one girl, pool on Wednesday’s with $1.50 pitchers, weekends at friends’ and bars, you know, 20 something’s stuff.
We moved to New Mexico and the party got bigger and the drugs changed. Maybe it was it’s own routine. I got in my first real trouble there and we eventually moved back home. There I had my first long term job at the moving company and the routine was a 40 hour work week and “partying.” I did this quite steadily for 4 years in Wichita.
After that, there would be no real routine for 10 years. Even with reaching my first bottom, entering recovery, losing my first wife, moving to Manhattan and finally Lawrence. Even with meeting my second wife, getting married, going to college, having a kiddo, relapsing, losing said kid, and a second divorce. School was a big contributor to this. A semester schedule is never longer than a semester. I am not that 18 year old kid who wants to get out from under the thumb of my parents anymore either. I also hadn’t changed much from that kid.
I went to rehab three times in 2019. There, in my early 40’s, I discovered my love of routine. I knew exactly what to expect. From the moment my eyes opened until they shut at night, I knew the schedule. I had little freedom over my own schedule. That was a learning curve all it’s own. As soon as I would leave rehab and try things on my own, something was still there that caused the return to the bottle.
So I went back to rehab. And back again. Then to the most strict sober living house in Wichita. I finally got a job. I had to report my work hours to the house so they knew when I would not be at scheduled events, and work was the only thing you missed scheduled events for. That house, that routine, that accountability, saved my life.
When the stars aligned for me to return to Lawrence, it felt easy to get a job and my current employment fell into my lap. This is the best job I have ever had. I learned in this job that customer service is a noble career. I found other people that love routine and knowing what to expect. I had never really had folks in my life like that before. And if I did, I shunned them for it or I flat out didn’t understand.
I set up a life with my beloved now fiancée. We lined our schedules to fit each other to maximum benefit for both. And we built this big beautiful life. We built in work, and play, and spirituality, and growth, and peace, and love, and hobbies, and fellowship. We built in things we do together and time alone. We got a dog. We bought a house. We lived happily ever after.
The one thing for me that was missing was still my kiddo, so I went to court. And that big beautiful life has been serving as the backbone for the last year. I won that court case. I killed it. It has been challenging to my newest love, routine. Change. Gosh I hate to admit that. This is why I foster relationship with the village. Y’all can tell me things that I cannot see alone.
The biggest stressor with this change in routine has been work. I love my job. I have never had this kind of stability in my life. Never. I have been riddled with fear that I will lose it. This month long shingle sickness has come in sideways as it seems to jeopardize one of the things that I fear losing. But I have done the work, gone to the doctor, got documentation, and worked from home.
I never did any of this for legitimate reasons in the past. If I was “sick” or had gone to the doctor to get time off work, it was because I wanted to drink for a week without consequence. I have rarely lived in the light quite like I do today.
So I will be patient with myself. I will acknowledge that this is a brand new hard fought and won routine. I deserve this addition to my big beautiful life, my beloved moon. Everything else will work itself out. I have a dear friend that says, don’t push the river. The only constant in life is change. Oof.
The Isms of the Ic 