My Supervisor has the IQ of a jelly donut.

Trash. Donate. Keep.

I've been busy -- more so than when I use that phrase as a simple excuse. Honest to goodness busy. The kind of busy where you don't even know what the date is or what is happening in the next few days; you just wake up and tackle whatever is coming your way with no planning.

The kind of busy where you look down at you legs and swear up and down that you JUST SHAVED THEM but realize it's been more like a week since they've been anywhere near a razor.

My entire life has been reduced to boxes in a storage unit, and it's oh-so-wonderful. My house is now empty and uncarpeted, and I've taken refuge in what was once the ferret room, with only my mattress and laptop to keep me entertained. It's a bizarre waiting-for-the-future-to-get-here-already feeling. I am very ready to get to Davis and do my school thing. I am tired of working in the corporate mess that my animal hospital has become -- and I'm tired of working directly under someone who is, well, stupid. There's no other way to put it. My supervisor was promoted due to seniority rather than intelligence or common sense or TACT and everyday I try to keep my eye on the prize and not get supremely irritated. Ah, the mediocrity. I will not miss it. I will miss the dear friends that I made there, especially Chrissy. You don't really meet people like her very often because they just don't exist in great numbers.

I am very thankful that I've been in the workforce for 5 years with only a high school diploma as my highest level of education. I've been fortunate to nab jobs simply because I nailed the interview; I really have nothing on paper that gives me any intellectual credibility. I know the reality of what difference an education can make, and I'll never take that for granted.

It's also been a lonely past few months... my ferret and my grandmother died in the same weekend, Mark went back to school, and I sorted through an entire house and lifetime of memories. Trash. Donate. Keep. That's been the summary of this transition. Danielle is in Brazil, and I'm secretly jealous that she got to start her new life before me, and that she's in the middle of what will become my favorite chapter in her memoir.

I'll probably talk more about the grandmother's death in more detail as the emotions hit me. I'm so removed from it all right now that I haven't gotten past the initial shock of it all. I know that once I get to school I'll really want to tell her all about it because that was something that would have made her incredibly happy. I'm really not sure if I'll go to Mexico again, because she was my reason for going. I do have other family there, but it would just be odd. The 1000 miles to get there would pale in comparison to the emotional journey I'd be facing. We'll see. I'm trying not to think about the fact that the three people that were instrumental in my upbringing are all dead now... and I'm not really done growing up. It's a constant feeling of WAAAAAAAAIT don't go just yet there are more questions and I need your answers.
Luckily, even if the answers aren't there in real-time, I still hear them in the back of my mind. That's really the best reassurance there is.



I found this when I was going through my dad's old tax paperwork, and it made me really happy. My father was as new to grief as I was when my mother died, and yet he was such a pro when it came down to it. He listened, he was honest, and he got me through it. And finding this -- the fact that he held onto it -- just reminds me of how remarkable he was.

And that pretty much sums up my grief at this point in life: Uggggh they were so great why the hell are they gone? (insert sounds of frustration here)

And... that's about it.
I'm just standing here,
smack in the middle of a tight rope walk,
suspended between where I was and where I'd like to be...

but without the urge to jump.