This weekend is when it all finally happens.  I’m moving back into my own place, going back to work full time effective Monday, and gaining some semblance of sanity once again.

I hope that I’ll be blogging more often once I’m settled in, but if you’ve been around this long, you know that I tend to get easily distrac…

Ooooohhhh SHINY!!

This thinking led to a very simple concept in my mind.  I simply don’t give a damn.  There’s nothing that important that I have to hold on to it and let it poison my own mind or heart.  I’ve attempted to move through the world with an open heart, but sometimes I would get bogged down with the details.  I can’t seem to do that these days, the details are just… meh.  The negative details, that is.

Sure, there are days when I wake up and my leg is screaming and all I can think is, “You know, this didn’t have to happen this way!”  But then I curl up with my teddy bear and remind myself that it hurts because it’s still a viable limb, and I’m still alive to feel it.  I’ve come to accept the injury for what it is, and while I may push myself a little too hard every once in a while, for the most part, I’m just going forward the best I can.

However, I didn’t get to this place of clarity on my own.  No way, no how.  Left to my own devices, in the beginning, I may have very well killed myself.  I certainly wanted to.  I figured out what a fatal dose of Vicodin was for my body weight and spent many days and nights counting them out and wondering how I could take that many without getting sick to my stomach.  I woke up in the middle of the night many times and wondered if I snuck down the stairs and out the door, would anyone hear me?  Could I manage to actually drive to the highway and throw myself over an overpass?  Or drive my car to the same spot of the accident, but at 110mph?  Every single one of these thoughts crossed my mind on an almost daily basis.

Having my independence taken away from me has been a dramatic blow to my psyche.  This has been a very trying period.  Being dependent upon others has been one of the most difficult things to do, and I fully admit that I have not always done it gracefully.  Most of us, in the worst of times, are not the most graceful creatures.  However, I have always striven to be graceful, and grateful.  I am also a firm believer in public acknowledgment of gratitude and humility.  The words “thank you” are not said often enough.

With that, I give you all the following bits of thanks and gratitude.

To my immediate household:

Drew and Stephanie, thank you so much for all that you have done.  The trips to the store, bringing me lunch and dinner when I couldn’t get down there to get it myself, sitting and talking with me when I was down.  I love you very much.  You will both always have a place in my world, no matter how far my journey takes me, or you.

My darling Crickett, I know coming home from summer vacation and having to immediately start running errands for your messed up mom was not fun.  Thank you for helping out, for helping me with chores, and for being an all around great girl.  I was really afraid that we’d continue fighting when you came home, and was very happy to see that wasn’t the case.  You are a phenomenal girl and I love you very much.

Jim, I will never be able to thank you enough for all that you have done.  Thank you for giving me a soft place to land when my life went to hell in a hand-basket.  No matter how far apart we may find ourselves, I will always have your back.  Anytime, anyplace, anything.  All you have to do is call.

My family so very far away:

Drew and Zach, you are the most awesome sons a mother could ever ask for.  Thank you for making me proud and for calling and checking on me.  I love you.

Dawn, I miss you so much.  Thank you for being there and making me smile.

All my cousins (you know your names) thanks for the words of encouragement and the love and prayers.  I love you all.

To my two oldest and dearest friends:

Stephanie and Lucy, no matter how many miles apart we are, you have both remained an integral part of my life.  I’m so glad we found a way to reconnect and keep in touch, I would be truly lost without you.  I love you both so very much.

To my very cool and totally awesome  J gang:

John K, thank you for doing what needed to be done.  I know it was hard and stressful, but we are moving forward now.  Thanks for the encouragement and the friendship.  You will always be The Dude in my book.

John T, thanks for the giggles and laughs.  You always have the right thing to say or show me when I’m down.

John B, thank you for stopping in to see me and check up on me.  I miss hanging out and can’t wait till we can all get together and play trivia again.  Hopefully soon!  And the venison stew?  So totally rocked!

The other John K, well, you are the new guy in this insane world of mine, but I’m happy to have you as part of the group.  Thank you for coming and picking my gimpy self up and taking me out of the house when I need it.  I wish we had met in person before I got all messed up so you would have had a chance to know the independent girl who once got stuck on her own roof because she’s so stubborn.

Jen, I miss you babe.  Thanks for the texts and phone calls.  I can’t wait to see you again.

Non J gang members who deserve special notice:

Bill, who is not a J but was with us when the name was coined, I can’t thank you enough for the rides and the company to the doctor all the time.  You are the best!  One day I hope I’ll be able to repay you for your kindness.

Chris, it’s hard to believe an email thread from RnR would produce such a wonderful friendship, but here we are.  Thanks for listening, for being there, and for coming all the way from West ByGod Virginia to drive my crippled butt around!

Tina, I know you won’t see this, but thank you all the same for coming by and checking up on me and reminding me that even stubborn and willful women need help sometimes.  I truly miss you.

To my girlfriends, without whom I’d be crazy:

Sherry, you totally rock my world.  I know you’ve been going through a tough time, but you still manage to cheer me up whenever I see you.  Thanks for being a good friend.

Jeannie, thank you for the compassion and understanding.  You are probably the only person who truly understands what I’m going through, and you’ve been a great friend and shoulder to lean on.

Melanie, thank you so much for the surprise package and the unwavering friendship.  Mostly, thank you for reminding me how much worse my life could be.  I giggle every time I switch channels now and see those crazy talk shows on.

Fran, thank you for always checking up on me and making sure I’m alive and haven’t gone completely insane yet.  When I finally get back out your way, we are grabbing Jeannie and tearing the town up!

Penny and Louise, the package you sent was really just amazing.  Thank you, thank you!  The post it note on the Cosmo was a riot!  I miss you both and can’t wait to get back to the office.

To the numerous people online who have sent me encouraging emails, texts, and even phone calls:

Kathy, Dave, John W, Dawn, Joe, Meagan, Melissa, Christopher, Matt, Tess, Larry, Peter, Steve, Shannon, and far too many more to list… thank you all for your confidence in my recovery and consistent words of encouragement.  I’m grateful for all of you.

If I missed you, it wasn’t intentional, I promise.  It’s important to me to acknowledge each and every one of you, because without all of you, I would have never survived this mess.  Some of you are too far away for me to ever hug and thank in person, but know that you are always in my heart.  For those of you local to me, don’t be surprised if you are tackled with hugs when I can finally walk again.

Looking over this list, I realize how truly blessed I am.  The sheer number of people who have shown compassion and encouragement is mind boggling.  If wealth is counted by the number of people who care for you, I am a wealthy woman indeed.  I love you all so very much.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

A quick update… I’m still not able to walk.  My leg simply can’t hold the weight up yet.  I return to the doctor on the 23rd and hopefully he’ll clear me to start using weights so I can get the muscles back into shape.  I’m still pretty swollen at the top of my thigh, but closer to the knee and calf is now uber skinny.  I would not have minded losing a few pounds, but several pounds of much needed muscle is totes not cool.

I have been able to get out on occasion, but leaving the house requires massive planning and coordination.  There’s the one crutch/two crutch game to get down the stairs - one going down the steps inside and getting to the door, two on the landing, one going down the outside steps, and two once I hit the sidewalk.  Then there’s the wheelchair game - can it fit into the car?  Is the person taking me strong enough to lift it up and get it back out?  Did the leg things get knocked out of alignment again?  And, inevitably, there’s the “oh hell, I forgot my painkillers” moment as I realize I’ve been gone longer than I thought I would be.

All in all, it beats the hell out of sitting in the house talking to Teddy and trying to keep Enzo from eating him.  And seriously, there is only so much television I can handle.  Especially daytime television.  I now remember why I hardly ever had that thing on.  My brain, it hurts!

I only receive a few comments here and there, generally from people I know, and only one that I know of was caught in the spam filter.  This round there may have been more.  I blame the pain killers.

I had thought I would blog about my experiences in the hospital, and made note of such on my previous blog.  However, I have found that discussing said experiences is harder than I realized.  Perhaps in an anonymous format where no one knows me, or as I oft day dream of, in a courtroom.  Yes, it was that bad.

In the twelve days since my accident, I have been out of bed a handful of times.  I can put no weight on my right leg at all, which makes moving about somewhat difficult.  In that short amount of time, my thigh muscles appear to have gone to sleep and I have to struggle to do small exercises to keep them from atrophying.

I have applied for short term disability, as I will not be able to put weight on my leg for another seven weeks.  And because it is my right leg, that means no driving.  I am a virtual prisoner in my home.

I am dependant upon everyone around me for the simplest things.  From refilling my water to helping me get out of bed to maintaining some form of cleanliness.  It stings my pride to ask for help, but I have no other recourse.

I have twice daily injections of a blood thinner, so I have to be careful that I don’t cut myself.  My legs haven’t been shaved since before the accident and my physical therapist advises that they stay that way until I’m off the blood thinner.  Needless to say, I itch.

My right thigh is quite swollen still, although it is smaller than it was.  At one point it was more than twice the size of my left and I was wearing extra large draw string pants because nothing else would fit.  My knee was a large shapeless blob and my ankle resembled an elephant’s foot.  Good times, indeed.

Since coming home, I have discovered that I have more friends that I realized.  And I’ve also found out which ones were never really my friends to begin with.  It’s been a painful, and pleasant, experience all in one.

I’m fortunate to be alive.  I’m also fortunate that circumstances recently put me in the middle of another household and I do not have to go through this alone.  I feel very grateful for what I have, but in all honesty, I’d rather not have found out how fortunate I am in quite this fashion.

It will be some time before I am out and about, but I will be out there eventually.  At first I was positive it wouldn’t take as long as the doctors said, now I’m just hoping it doesn’t take longer.

I am going to try to post more, but I’m not making any promises.  Right now I sleep a lot.  And when I’m not sleeping, I’m trying to work through all of the emotional fall out from all of this.  It is, hands down, the most difficult experience of my life.  And while I’ve been through some things, as this blog will attest to, nothing ever prepared me for this.

It’s a damn good thing I’m tough, huh?

In the wee hours of Saturday morning I was in a bit of an accident and have been in the hospital ever since. I will be posting a minimum of two blogs regarding some less than stellar experiences I’ve had since my arrival in hell.  And, naturally, I’ll post at least one or two poking fun at myself.  In the meantime, you can find me posting daily updates about the gourmet meals I’m being served over at Facebook.

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Misogyny: hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women.

You don’t think about it, you never do. The subtle little ways that they let you know that they hate you. You accept it as normal, the status quo; it’s so much a part of your every day life that you simply don’t see it.

Except when you do.

And then you struggle with yourself. Do you call it out? Or do you keep silent? If you call it out, you become one of them, those women, the ones who hate men and just can’t take a joke.

Because, really, it’s funny. You just can’t see the humor because you are so damaged, so broken, that you just take it all too seriously.

Sort of like you don’t laugh at the gay jokes, the black jokes, the hispanic jokes, the blonde jokes. You, dear, are way too uptight and just looking for a fight. Now what say you run off to the kitchen and make me a sammich? I mean, seriously, the hell is wrong with you?

So maybe you keep silent. Maybe you smile, give a little giggle, and think to yourself that at least they weren’t talking about you. You weren’t the slut in the joke, you weren’t the dumb blonde, you weren’t the stupid female driver.

Except…

You are.

One wrong step in the wrong place, one slip of the steering wheel, and you are them. All of them, all rolled into one. There is nothing that will save you from the brutal onslaught of misogyny.

We know it, we all know it. We were raised in it, live in it, and we damn well know it. But somehow, some way, we keep telling ourselves that it doesn’t apply to us, isn’t about us.

So we tell ourselves the lie that our grandmother’s grandmothers told them: they just can’t help themselves. They are, after all, just men. They have no control. They are, after all, just animals.

…

And fuck that.

The concept that women are less, and men are more, based upon genitalia astounds me. Men are expected to be nothing more than brutish animals, seeking their next conquest. Women are expected to be perfect, home and waiting, for the brute to arrive and conquer.

We are not the enemy.

Misogynistic concepts fueled by a patriarchal society are.

Too bad this guy didn’t know and didn’t care.  He killed because he hated women, even when he moaned and complained that they wouldn’t pay attention to him.

One of the things you pick up in Anonymous groups (I’m not talking about the Internet Hate Machine, don’t start hatin’), is that you are supposed to submit your will to God.  God, god, Goddess, goddess, whatever, the god of your understanding.  Sort of difficult when one is for all intents and purposes an atheist, wouldn’t you say?

The other day I realized my fabulous underroos were a bit, shall we say, snug.  I complained to the Pseudo Hubby that eating late at night was not good for my body.  He pointed out that maybe it had less to do with what and when I was eating, and more to do with the fact that since moving in here, the only exercise I’ve gotten has been transporting my ever growing ass up and down the stairs.

Well, hell, my equipment, outside of a couple of sets of dumbbells, is in storage.  Along with most of my life.  Including over half my shoes, but that’s really just an excuse to go buy more.  My weights?  That’s been somewhat distressful.

I like to work out, by myself, watching the news.  I get myself all worked up with righteous indignation and work myself to the breaking point.  Being one to not join a gym, that’s obviously not going to happen for awhile.

As I contemplated my shrinking underroos, I decided that perhaps I could just take advantage of the fact that the river is not terribly far away and begin going for walks in the evening.  And perhaps convince myself to actually run again.

The other day, after a particularly annoying day at work and a very annoying commute home, I came in, changed my clothes, and decided to go for a walk.  I went down to the garage with my iPhone in hand, and then realized I didn’t want the damn thing.  I had taken the time recently to download a pedometer application, but I just didn’t want to carry it.  So I set it on Pseudo Hubby’s work bench, told him I’d be back later, and headed out.

I started out at a decent pace, minding my breathing the whole time, and attempting to clear my head.  As I came to an intersection, I realized there was a car waiting for me to go, so I started running.  And I kept running.  Not forever, not even for a long time, just long enough for my sad lungs to begin burning and my head to feel a little woozy.

I eventually slowed to a brisk walk again, and kept on my merry way.  I had a vague idea of where I was heading, but completely unsure as to how far it was or how long it was going to take me.  I kept my mind on my goal of just getting to the river and wandering through the woods.

At about this point, the Pseudo Hubby pulled up along side of me in his pretty little red car and inquired if I would like my phone.

“For what?  I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Just in case?”

“In case of what?”

“I don’t know, just in case.  Do you want it?”

“Thank you, really, but no.”

In hindsight, I should have grabbed it, started the app running, and stuffed it in my pocket.  But at the time all I could think about was that I’d be annoyed if it rang, annoyed if I got a text, annoyed if I heard the familiar ding that tells me email has come in.  I wanted absolutely no part of society, I wanted to be completely alone.

I made it to the park, sweaty, a little sore, and feeling seven sorts of proud of myself for having alternated walking and running a couple of times.  I hit the trails and meandered through the woods, weaving my way in and out, sometimes hitting the river, sometimes not, for about an hour.

As I wandered up and down the trails, sometimes running, sometimes walking, I kept my mind open, but idle.  I wanted to listen to the world around me, feel for my place in the universe, and open myself up to whatever it is that makes me a part of everything else.  That, and only that, is the god of my understanding.

You feel the rhythm of the universe and assimilate yourself to its beat.  You fall into it, and out of it, listening to the sounds of life around you.  The slow gentle lapping of the river against the shore, the various critters living their lives unnoticed in the trees, the breeze rustling the canopy.  The rhythm of life, a life that neither loves you nor hates you, but simply makes room for you if you play by its rules.

I noticed it was beginning to get darker, and while I’ve never been lost in the woods in my life, I decided that since I was adamant about not taking my phone with its fantastic GPS, perhaps I should head out.  On the way home I once again alternated running with walking, and by the time I reached the house, I was calm and content with life.

I apologized for not taking my phone, explaining that I had just wanted to commune with god for a little while.  His reply?  “I didn’t see him out there.”

My thoughts?  Perhaps you just aren’t looking in the right place.  God isn’t some magnificent being sitting on a throne judging your life, but rather the small intricate weave of the universe that ties us all together.

As you’ve no doubt heard me grouse about before, my previous residence had two major issues.  One being that it was pretty much a given that any time it rained steadily for several days, my family room became the indoor swimming pool.  The second issue was the lack of response or concern on the part of the landlord.  Even an independent woman like me can only take so much before she contemplates tossing herself off the side of the American Legion Bridge on the way home from work.

Being somewhat lacking in savings (oh, big shocker there, I’m sure), I had very few options available to me.  I had once joked with the Pseudo Hubby that if it all kept up, I was packing up and moving to his place.  He made the foolish mistake of saying, “Fine with me.”  The joke became reality at the end of June.  Goddess Sabre, with the help of some very good friends, put the vast majority of her belongings into storage and moved to Leesburg.

LEESBURG.  Christ on a pony, the hell am I doing out here?

And that leads us to my well being.  Mini-Me was not, is not, happy about this relocation, as temporary as it may be, and was stressing me to the breaking point.  It was becoming a point of mine to stay at work, or out with friends, as long as possible to avoid the daily confrontation of how much this all sucks.  Miss Mini-Me is currently in TN visiting friends and then will be heading to FL to visit family, so that little piece of stress is gone.

On the job front, well, let’s just say I’ve been happier.  There are things in motion outside of the office though, and I’ve got the feeling that my current unhappiness, much like this new residency, is also temporary.  Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open and my horizons far.

Not much is happening on the dating front, but that has less to do with a lack of suitable dates and more with my disinterest right now.  My living situation is somewhat complicated, and I really don’t think I’d like to complicate it even more.  Although, that is not to say that if Keanu Reeves showed up and asked me out, I’d turn him down.  I’d be out the door faster than you can say, “There is no spoon.”

As to my complicated living situation, well I’ll leave that for you to decipher and figure out.  It is all of what you think and none of what you think at the same time.  And although I’ll probably go hang myself for spouting these words, it is what it is.  (I feel unclean now…)

I haven’t been online much for a few reasons.  The biggest being that I’m just so damn tired all the time, I can’t work up the energy.  I’ve tacked on an additional 20+ minutes to my morning commute and another 30+ on the evening commute.  By the time I get home, being online just doesn’t sound very appealing.  However, because I love you all OH SO MUCH, I’ll try to make a better effort.  That should at least take care of the “oh my god are you alive?!?” emails and IMs I am getting.

In all honesty, I’m having fun in my current situation.  Things are not ideal, they never are, but I’m looking at the bright side and contemplating what tomorrow will bring.  And when I do get caught up in the “oh my fucking god what the hell am I doing?!” moments, I’m trying like hell to keep that to myself.  There’s no point in talking about it, it’s not changing anytime soon, so I’m taking a bit of my own advice and having a good, strong cup of shut the fuck up.

There are some pretty heavy changes on the horizon, but I’m not about to jinx anything by talking about it just yet.  There’s a few very interesting possibilities for my life taking shape, and I’m still contemplating which direction I want to go.

Which was, actually, part of the point of this whole relocation anyway.  To give me a little time and leeway to plan and build a future I could sustain without killing myself.  Pseudo Hubby is effectively supporting me while I get my act together.  It’s a bit strange, because I’m used to taking care of myself, but once I got past the initial distaste of relying on anyone, I’m finding it oddly comforting.  I don’t have to stress and freak out about all the usual adult things.  All I have to do is straighten out my finances, get myself back on track, plan a future I want, and make it real.  And I am fortunate enough to get to do that without having to deal with landlords, leaky foundations, overpriced utilities, and trying to figure out what bill I’m going to pay late this month.

There’s no big push from him to get it done now.  There’s no pressure to hurry up.  Which is not to say that there’s no internal pressure.  Believe me, no one pressures me the way I pressure me.  But I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to do everything all at once.  I don’t have to run around with my hair on fire trying to conquer every little damn thing.  I’m still having to force myself to stop staring at my savings account and stop obsessing over how and when I’m going to be ready to move on.  But I’m getting there.

I’m getting there.

And so, here I am, in a different place now, or rather, preparing to be in a different place.  A bump in the road, perhaps, but a steep little bump at that.  The things I dreamed about, believed in, I realize are gone… again.  Today is where I exist; this place, this time.  With all the anticipation and dread that comes with it.

I find myself staring into a vast unknown, filled with more unease than I have felt in a great many years.  I’ve been through hell and back again, I’ve survived so much, and there are days when I am so tired.  But this latest adventure, if I can call it such, I have no one to blame but my own damn self.

I relaxed where I should not have, believed where there was nothing worthy of such faith, and allowed myself to get far too comfortable in a life that was never truly mine.  Again.

I’d say that I’ve learned my lesson, but the truth is, I haven’t.  I’ll do it again.  Over and over again.  I’ll believe in the happy ever after, because in this world, honestly, that belief is all I have left.  I’ll trust that the world won’t be so brutal, and when it is, I’ll sit quietly and lick my wounds and dream of better days.  And then I’ll get up and do it all over again.

I will giggle and laugh, I will find humor in the oddest places, and I will survive this newest change.  Perhaps I may not laugh as loud for awhile, and perhaps you might notice my eyes a little shinier than usual (it’s dust, I swear!), but I will land on my feet.

I will still believe in happy ever after when I come out of the other side of the rabbit hole.  There is nothing that will ever take that away from me; but for now, happy ever after seems so very far away.  Sometimes I resent the hell out of that, but this time, I did it to myself.

I’m walking into this thing with eyes wide open; maybe there’s a shimmer of belief left, maybe that shimmer just got up and walked away, but either way, I think I know exactly what I’m doing.  I think…

Several of my friends have expressed concern about the move I’m making, knowing me as they do and knowing how fragile that black little thing in my chest truly is, but I’ll remind them again of the promise I made to myself…

I’m going to love like I’ve never been hurt.