Counseling

I guess I need it.   I was urged by my sister to seek grief counseling.  She attributes my hardship to losing my aunt.  I think there may be something to it.  Or it may be something else, who knows.

This last week I have felt sad inside, I don’t know why.  And I haven’t been able to cry.  Like there is a weird detachment inside between the feeling of sad and the expression of sad.

Today at counseling I cried.  I started talking about the potential split with my husband and I cried.  I know my life would be easier if I only had to support myself and only deal with my own responsibilities.  But the thought of splitting up makes me sad.  Not the division of property.  But the thought that I would be losing something I have been a part of for so long.  For all the good times.

I called my husband after the session to tell him that I actually cried.  I told him what we were discussing.  I also told him that lately I haven’t been able to cry.  And his response just turned my emotion switch right off.

“What are you sad about?”
I don’t know what is making me feel sad.
“You are never home.  I hardly see you and you never see Andy.”

Well so much for sharing my therapy and the fact that I actually cried.  I cried at the prospect of not being married.

I suppose he feels that I should have nothing to be sad about.  He is the one hurting so why would I be the one crying, right?  Is it that hard to think that maybe we are both hurting in our own way?  I know I am the one that has done some fucked up shit.  I know I hurt my husband.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t have hurt too.  Maybe my hurt is just selfish.  Maybe becoming as resentful as I have hurts.  Maybe the thought that I am sabotaging my own marriage hurts.  Maybe knowing that if the stressor of Andy is removed, things won’t change between my husband and I is causing me hurt.  Maybe I am hurt because at round 2 of trying to have a successful marriage I am failing.  And I am not a loser!  Maybe losing is what hurts.  Maybe knowing that I am not part of the population that should wed hurts.

Ultimately I think I hurt because I feel removed from wanting to feel human but want to carry on the facade of being one.  I don’t know why exactly but I need to reconsider my therapy time cause coming back to work with tears in my eyes is sure to raise suspicion.

Finally

I started taking the Trazodone 2 weeks ago.  Much later than I should have.  Weighing in right now, the doc said it could take anywhere from 2 weeks to a month to feel them working.

I can tell my quality of sleep has improved.  I was supposed to stop drinking while taking the meds.  And I have fudged twice on that.  The first time I had 2 beers, the second time… well I lost count.  It was a few beers and shots.

I assumed some of my behaviors were due to depression.  I read that certain behaviors can be attributed to depression.

If anything the meds are assisting me in not feeling as volatile regarding my situation.  On the other hand, I think they are also helping me not stress out about things I probably should worry about.

Maybe the meds are working, maybe I truly am a beast of a human.  Maybe I am an uncaring jerk.  I don’t feel as torn.  I don’t feel guilty.  I don’t feel bad.

The last time I took antidepressants, I didn’t feel at all.  I am feeling right now.  Though I wouldn’t call my feelings positive, they are definitely not unbearable and crushing.

I have a feeling of freedom I have not felt in a long time.  There is a little demon living inside of me, taunting me, encouraging bad behaviors.  That little monster doesn’t scare me right now.

I am worried that I should be afraid but I am not.  I am a little worried that I can look within, see my demon and smile back at it.  It’s quite the devilish grin that is smiling back at the demon inside.

I probably should be scared.

Heavy

Pride is something that isn’t given up easily.

Pride is something of a trophy.

Pride can put you in a bad place.

I am at an impasse.  I have put myself there.

I have so may hopes and dreams.  I have ideas of how to be the handyman of a dilapidated home.  I have plans on how to repair the damage done.

 

 

No one has plans for the handyman; not now, not when he finishes.  But at this moment, the handyman has grown weary.  The handyman is tired and aches.  The handyman seeks panacea.

The handyman continues; building and repairing.  The handyman knows a job well done is never spoken of.   But a job poorly executed will be the talk of the town for centuries.

The handymen of old, they had a breaking point.  The handymen of old, they met with a young demise.  The handymen of old rarely saw the fruits of their labor.  Victims of their trade; poor souls.

There is a handyman; tradesman if you will, that curates the future for us all.  It is a shared responsibility.  There are some; handymen, I mean, that were never up to par.  There were many that were quick to pass the duties that were their own.

A good handyman is one that is never in search of work; right?  If you are good at what you do, the work comes to you.

The work has come, the work never seems to stop.  The handyman is expected to take on all tasks without signs of fatigue.

 

 

I’m fucking tired.  I wed and became the mother of two children.  Both; inept, unwilling, unfruitful and exhausting.

I have become the product of my own choices.

Those that were to curate, care for, enrich: failed.

Failed, left it for the next unsuspecting human (handyman) to pick it up.  They failed.  They failed and  yet, judge.  They judge.

I don’t even know where do to draw the line before the ocean wipes it all away.  Again.

Where is the line?  When is it enough?  Why is it so difficult to sever dead-weight?

Excuses

We’ve all made them.

But, at some point in our lives, we gotta own up to our own bullshit.

I’ve got a lot of bullshit.  And when asked for explanations, it’s best to pony up and flat out accept the outcome of your fuckery.  Lame excuses never worked.  What ripe old age do you have to reach to finally realize that?

This is my first semester back at school taking academic classes.  One class is Ceramics 1, it’s a transferable class that fulfilled a requirement for me.  It is also one of the very few clay related classes I have yet to take.

Previously my clay classes were not transferable and the attendees were primarily middle-aged through retired.  These people were attending class because they wanted to enrich their lives with a hobby.  It was not often a younger person would enroll and if they did, it was short lived.

Last week, our class had their mid-term.  The mid-term involves setting a table display with all of the pieces created up to that point, a notebook with notes on lectures, a self-evaluation and a check list for the instructor.

Out of the entire class only one-fourth of the class had completed the amount of pieces expected and had all components of the mid-term ready.  The other three-fourths, the portion of the class that was not prepared for the mid-term, came prepared with a multitude of excuses.

“My sleep is more important to me than this class, so I didn’t come to class several times because I was sleeping.  That is why I don’t have everything.” – That was the most honest answer I heard out of the entire group that failed to come prepared for the mid-term.  Granted this also comes from the girl that rudely burps (loudly) in class and thinks it’s cute.  She also rudely was playing games on her phone instead of doing the class critique activity that is part of the mid-term.  No fucks given.

“I didn’t finish because I have had anxiety.”
“I have a job.”
“I have to wake up early.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”
Excuse after excuse as to why their work was not completed.  Did they assume that since it is an art class they could just not do the work?  This is a transferable class, the grade follows them to their university of choice, if they even get that far!  Do they also give these mealy-mouthed excuses to other instructors?  I am guessing they have tried these excuses with other instructors, for academic classes.

Is this what has become of America’s youth?  Is this the outcome of helicopter parents insisting their little booger is a special snowflake?  Is this what happens to adults when you don’t keep score in Little League?  What the fuck happened?!

I was told once that I am a bad parent because I told Andy to stop using his ‘disability’ as an excuse.  Often times he tried to use the excuse of, “It’s because I have ADHD.”  Or, “It’s because I didn’t take my medicine.”  No, it’s not, you are choosing to make bad choices and not owning up to them.

I was the queen of excuses as a child, I know how the game is played.  But at a certain age you have to realize your excuses are weak, they always were.  It’s time to own up for your fuck ups or just stop fucking up!

Incidentally Andy was a B shy of  straight A’s his first quarter of junior high.  Not because I hassled the teachers because my “son” deserves good marks.  Not because Andy was allowed to feed a line of bullshit to teachers and they accepted it.  He did it because we pushed him.  He did it because we aren’t taking excuses for an answer.  He did it because he worked for it.

That is as it should be, kids should work for success.  Kids should suffer failure.  Otherwise we end up with these weak little adults that I just want to punch in the face every time I walk into class.  I could go on but I think I’ve made my point… or just got what I needed to off my chest.

Trazodone

It had to be done.

It’s been a long time coming and there is just no denying the white elephant everyone wants to ignore, staring them in the face.

My aunt always said, “You have to be willing to help yourself first.  You can’t get the help you need unless you really want it.”

Off and on through life, I have had times where I feel down in the dumps.  And during those times, I either have to pull my head out of my ass, revamp my entire life (translated to run away) or see a professional.

I would like to say that I am pulling my head out of my ass and visiting a professional.  I would love to say I saw the warning signs and acted swiftly.  Unfortunately, I let the beast within get the better of me.

I have been ignoring all the tell-tale signs of depression.  Dangerously binge drinking, risky behaviors, mood-swings, lack of interest in those things I once loved, piling too much onto my plate in an effort to ignore my depression.  I feel like shit.  Not just my depression, my behaviors towards life, my health, everything feels shitty.

So I decided to do something about it, the doctor prescribed Trazodone and Lorazepam.  Have I taken them yet?  No.

Why?  I wanted to talk to my spouse about it first.  Give him a heads up about being on meds.  Also, I can’t drink while on those meds.  I thought being upfront about it would be good.

Well, it turns out, he isn’t very supportive of me taking these meds.  Which is all sounds like some sort of double-standard.  Or maybe it’s a denial?  For him,his son ‘needs’ to be on meds.  Though I was resistant at first, the meds have helped the kid.

How is it hard to believe that I may need something of a crutch to get through a rough patch?  He says, I am being a drama queen.  If only I could have him walk a mile in my shoes.  I don’t think he would care to and if he did, I am pretty sure divorce proceedings would start asap.

Well, as much as I don’t have his support, I am going to take the damn meds.  It helped get me out of the rut I was in before, I am sure it can help again now.  I don’t want to reach the point where I was last time.

Last time I found myself running through the streets in my pyjamas, crying, holding a bottle of vodka.  How I managed to escape arrest is beyond me.  I was seriously entertaining ending my life.  I made a phone call, talked and was urged to get help.  And I did.

Before it comes to that I am going to take the damn meds.  Damned be what the husband thinks!  The kid already has one mother that is off her rocker.  I don’t need to be a repeat of what he moved away from.

Games

I am sure it has been seen:  What 3 fictional characters describe you?

I would like to think I should have chosen some fancy-free, fun characters.  Some people describe me as such.

But maybe I took it a little darker than it needed to be.  Or did I?

I think most folks are their own worst critics.  I am not excluding myself from those folks.  I am part of that group, even as I call “them” those “folks”.

When you look in that mirror, what do you see?

When you look in that mirror, is it today?  Is it tomorrow?  Is it yesterday?

Let me back-pedal if you will.  I have a sibling that has a very sick fascination with the Myers-Briggs.  I am not going to hot-link it because its all the rage online.  Just Google.

My sibling is obsessed with the results, but as such, finds a deviance in them given the day she obsessively retakes the test.

Maybe my choice in fictional characters will change, on a brighter note.  But they are fairly true to character despite the deviance in day-to-day character.

Hamlet:  I chose the Ethan Hawke version because, well, the leotard skull holding old guy just wasn’t doing it for me.  Wasn’t the best performance, but far from the worst.  My primary reason for choosing Hamlet was: selfish.  I am not going to lie, I am one selfish motherfucker.

Hamlet is also a bit (maybe a lot) off his rocker.  I hate to admit, but maybe it is a sign of quite the opposite: I may be quite mad.  I might not be; who admits such a thing?  Well I know crazy never admits and always denies being crazy right?  And crazy is subjective right?

I read somewhere, “Ignorance is bliss.” Is that a taunt?  Before I go saying things I might regret (I should ctrl+A and delete NOW!!!) I have noticed that those who don’t fret or ponder too deeply seem happier.  Maybe this is another case of the “grass is greener”.  Maybe.

I do know that I am quite selfish.  I will not be the first to admit it, for looking bad, but really I do matter the most to myself.  I am a full-fledged jerk.  In the long looks I have in the mirror, in the long runs I take, in the quiet still of the night when I can’t sleep; only I matter the most.  And I know my thoughts take me to where I need to be; where I am on top.  To where my happiness matters the most.

In my mind I have already calculated how I will survive future hardship.  I have already built callouses where they do not belong, where they may never well rest.  My aunt’s death-iversary just passed.  I don’t feel much about it.  I think I should cut this hair I was growing for a woman that might have needed a wig.  It’s not going to give me closure.  I don’t think I needed it.  I recall the moment I knew there was no return for my aunt.  And I feel like a dirty Peeping Tom for it.

Those papers were on the side stand and I picked them up and read them.  Had it been a lay-man those papers would have meant nothing.  Those papers described a death there was no going back from.

Shame on me for reading them, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way: selfish!  I am not going to say that the reason I chose Hamlet was because of my aunt’s death.  I could name so many reasons.  So many reasons not connected to my aunt in any way, shape or form.

Which brings me to my favorite character: Bender.  How more off the cuff could one get?  Hates humans?  Can I not attest to my hate for breeding any louder?!  Has it not caused some rifts, detachments or resentment in my current situation?  Bender has also been known to be a womanizer.  Yes, though I am a woman, I can ize!  And I have.  And quite frankly it has felt amazing! No, get your head out of the toilet.  It feels liberating for a woman, to pursue and for lack of a better term: conquer.

No, I don’t mean I need to conquer like a warlord.  No, I don’t mean to conquer like a feminazi.  I don’t actually feel I have conquered at all.  I have enjoyed the carnal pleasures.  When I wanted, with whom I wanted, and for as long as I felt the enjoyment needed to take place.  If that makes me a female version of a “womanizer” so be it.

Bender, much like myself is an avid drinker.  To the point of no return; if you will.  And I am an avid drinker!  Maybe it’s a problem, maybe it’s a problem for everyone else.  But at this point I feel it may be a problem for some but not for all.  Here is where the conundrum begins:  I have one faithful, we will call them associates, associate telling me that #2 associate does not care to deal with me because of “their” fear of my drinking.  Associate #1 is a daily drinker that can get quite grumpy when not drinking. Associate #2 has had to be saved due to overindulgence.

It’s like an algebra problem: how do you save associate 2 while keeping associate 1 happy while going west at 50 miles an hour?

From where I am standing, remember I am quite selfish and will let my(Hamlet Style) friends tank before I do, which associate shall I represent?

Which brings me to Begbie (rather Francis).  I am not going to lie or beat around the bush:  my “friends” hate me.  There, I said it.  Those who don’t hate me don’t see the ugly I really am.  Francis is really a  loyal to friend; as am I.  However, unlike Begbie, I know that my friends don’t like me.  I have no qualms with this as long as it does not get in my way (selfish).  No, I don’t like what you are wrapped up in.  Yes, an addiction of sorts.  No, not anything of major importance.  But it has become important in our lifetime.

Letting go has been the easiest thing in my life to do.  It doesn’t get easier than this.  The friends( or enemies) did all the hard work for you.  As easy as it has been to slough off the old and put on the new; you got it wrong.

I still, foolishly, will care and represent my “friends”.

All of this, a rouse, an unexplained problem.  And now I am just rambling.  Maybe a different day will yield a different set of answers for the question posed.  Maybe Myers-Briggs isn’t too bad an obsession to be had if it helps people realize that no one is static.  Day to day who we are and how we are changes with our daily experiences.

 

Balls

So many times we have had to reprimand Andy for playing in the shower.

At 13 I can only assume the long showers are related to changes in hormones and self exploration.

Before now, I would find little slits in the shower curtain because he thought the razor in the shower was a bathroom toy.  That’s a no-no and we worked passed that hurdle.

Later we come to find he is shaving his arms.  It’s a no-no to use another persons razor.  Gross, you don’t share toothbrushes and wash cloths: don’t share something that another person uses on their body.  PERIOD.

We thought we were over the bathroom habit of playing with things.

“Andy, why they hell is there a new razor in the shower?”

“Umm, because I was shaving.”

“We’ve had this discussion before.  I know it’s a new razor but they aren’t cheap and you don’t need to be using up your dad’s razors.  You don’t take without permission.  What the hell are you shaving?!”

Looking at him I could see his little dark peach fuzz mustache is still there.

His sheepish reply, “My balls.”

Balls.

Since when do 13 year old boys find the need to shave their balls???

I was at a loss for words.  “Your daddy is going to be upset that you are using his razors.  And when your ball hair grows back your balls are going to itch.”

That was where the conversation ended for me.  I passed the torch to Joey so he could talk to his son about manscaping and not leaving adolescent pubes stuck to the shower wall.

My question is, who is seeing his balls that he needs to shave them?  Where the hell is he picking this shit up?

As it turns out, it’s a thing.  Young adolescent boys have taking to shaving off their pubic hair.  I had to ask another mother of a teen if this was something she had to deal with.  She said her boy, who is in baseball, feels left out because he is the only one that ISN’T shaving his pubic region.  All the other boys on the team shave not just the pubic bone region but also their balls and even beyond that.  Wow, news to me!

I always connected pubic hair maintenance with sexual activity and an older crowd.  Not little boys that barely have hair to shave and have yet to even kiss a girl.

Times sure are different now than they were when I was a teen.

Depersonalization

This can’t possibly be my life can it?

It is, it is.

Sometimes when it rains it pours.  And though I have a few positive things to blog about there has been a whole bunch of crap happening lately.

My German exchange student returned to his home country.  I got to meet his parents.  They were really cool people and even offered to host Andy when he is older.  If, Andy desires to visit Germany as a guest in Justus’ home I will have to say no.  What little improvements Andy displays, only remain while under my militant guidance.  More on that later.

Over the summer I had to chance to host 2 girls, one from Austria and one from Italy.  They were truly great, smart and funny.  Both Joey and I really enjoyed hosting them while Andy was away for a month.  More on that Andy later.  Both of the girls have invited us to their respective countries to show us around.  I would love to do it, but it seems like it may have to wait a bit.

My mom is planning on retiring next summer and she really wants to visit Hawaii again.  After losing my aunt so quickly to cancer, I am prepared to put my travel desires on the back burner.  I will help my mom get to any place she wants to go while she still has her good health.

As you can see there have been highlights over the summer.  Hell, I went to Disneyland and got a hug from Chewbacca!  I went to Magic Mountain and gave myself whiplash, all with a smile in 100+ degree weather, while the hills of California were on fire.  But for the most part I feel like if I was not the driver of my body.  I was there for the ride but I am not the driver.  Like that weird John Malkovich movie.

The shitty parts, well for starters the podiatrist put me on a month log running hiatus.  My run times had been improving and then I was told to stop.  I guess having a high pain tolerance can do bad things when you can’t tell your body is hurt.  Bad case of plantar fascists; had to do some physical therapy and a cortisone treatment.  The one thing I turn to when I feel shitty is the one thing I was told not to do.

Andy went to visit his grandmother for a month, which sounded like a great idea at the time.  Grandma was going to take him to a few museums and such.  Well, it was all a lie; a facade to have Andy live with his mother for a month.  In that one month the hard work of 3 years was destroyed.

We planned a secret trip to Disneyland for Andy, he hated it.  And it was also disclosed to him prior, by his grandmother, so it turned out not to be such a surprise.  Not only did he revert back to his old ways, his mother or grandmother didn’t do shit with him.  He basically sat around in her house not showering, brushing his teeth or adhering to any sleep schedule.

I got the taste of child-free life again and I loved it.  I knew Andy would be back and life would go back to normal and that I was prepared for.  What I was not prepared for was rudeness, foul-behavior, poor hygiene and ingratitude to the nth degree.  Even to my nephew!  My nephew is the same age as Andy and they were playmates.  So I brought him to keep Andy company to Disneyland.  He was awful to my nephew.

I don’t care what anyone thinks but I truly feel hate, desperation and I want my old life back.  I know I can be a selfish person, I know I can walk away from all of this.  But that will only teach Andy that it is okay to run from a bad situation.  It would be unfair to Joey because as a couple we made a pact to work through life’s hardships.  I really don’t want to be on this life ride right now but I have no choice.  So I feel like I am watching this depressing, sinking ship with no way to steer the damn thing.

I am really looking forward to running again.  I can’t wait for ceramics to start back up.  But I know that is only my defense against being at home around something that truly makes me unhappy.  Andy wants to live with his mother and she says she wants him to live with her too.  But we all know it is just lip service so her son is made to feel like WE are keeping them apart.  Joey and I are the “bad guy” in all of this even though we are trying really hard to do the right thing.

Some days I just want to cry and when Joey asks what’s wrong, I don’t have the nerve to tell him anymore.  I just make something up:  headache, missing my aunt, catching a cold.  I know he doesn’t want to hear me say I am upset because of the life I am living right now.  He knows it.  He is upset.  During the month Andy was gone Joey didn’t wake up screaming with night terrors.  The first night back with Andy, the night terrors came back.  He screams in his sleep at night.

I just don’t feel like myself anymore.  I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize who is looking back at me anymore?  Who is this tired, sad woman looking back at me?  I don’t see the me I saw a few years ago.  I feel like a robot just going through daily motions, it’s awful.  What’s even worse is at the back of my mind, I hope Andy thinks we are so vile from keeping him and his mother apart that he will run away.  Then he can go be with his mother and I can have my life back.  But another niggling thought in there is also telling me that if he does run away, his mother will just send him back.  Or worse he will realize that it is his mother not wanting him and not US keeping them apart.  Then what?!

Closure

DSCF7110

This weekend I drove out to Bakersfield for Cory’s funeral service.  It was a very long, dreary, desolate drive from the coast but I felt I had to go.  I needed the closure and I wanted to share some photographs with Cory’s mother, whom I’d only met once close to 10 years ago.

Shortly after my first divorce, I was in need of a place to live.  I was introduced to a young, funny, charismatic kid that was renting a room.  I took the opportunity because I needed a place, any place, that was not the streets or my car.  I am sure a lot of people that go through divorce can attest to the financial uncertainty that happens in the first few months.

Cory wasn’t even of legal drinking age when I first met him, I was pushing 30.  I took to him like a younger sibling, offering pearls of wisdom (not that I had much), sharing stories of when I was his age.  Not having had a history with Cory, I found it easy to talk about my split with my ex-husband.  He helped me work through a lot of my feelings during that time.

I in turn was able to help him when he and his long time girlfriend split up.  I took him out to cheer him up.  Kept him company at home when he needed it.  Listened intently when he needed a listening ear.  I got to see a layer of Cory that not a lot of people got to see.

Most people that knew Cory saw a talkative guy, funny, charismatic, energetic, silly person even.  I saw the introspective Cory, I saw him brood, I saw sadness, I saw the smart guy that hid behind jest.  I saw the helpful side of Cory that few close friends got to see.

I was sick with bronchitis, so sick my ear drum had popped in my sleep.  I didn’t have the help of a friend or spouse but I had Cory.  He was awesome in my time of need and drove me to the doctors 15 miles away when my ear was bleeding.  He skipped out on late nights out with friends to play monopoly at home while I was sick in bed.

For his 21st birthday, I took him out.  His friends, for the most part, lived in Fresno and Bakersfield.  The few friends he has made where we live were not yet of drinking age.  So I took Cory out for his 21st birthday.  I got to meet his mom, she drove out for his birthday and spent the day with him.

Cory and I became close, good friends.  Even after he moved back to Bakersfield we still kept in touch.  I knew he was troubled but I also knew he was able to rise above his troubles.  This last year had been hard on him.

Poor choices and bad influences are a dangerous cocktail in life.  And for Cory, that mix with added substance abuse is what finally did it.  I am deeply saddened to hear about his passing.  And I will miss our late night conversations.  I spoke to him a week before he had passed and though I sensed something was wrong, I didn’t know he had become a substance abuser.  I am really going to miss having such a caring guy around to talk to.

Obit

Changes

First and foremost, Andy has announced he has started puberty.  It was an abrupt revelation which we kinda figured it was getting about that time.  He turns 13 in August, my nephew that is the same age already has his voice changing.  After a few months of battling the lying and stealing it looks like Andy’s behavior is improving.  Our exchange student mentioned before that Andy reminds him of his older brother.  He says that as his brother aged and matured some of the “behaviors” died down.  That is not to say Andy has matured over night, far from it.  But he has become more open with us which is good.  He confessed to us that he has no friends.  We kinda gathered as much…

During the lying/stealing phase we worked hard at trying to find Andy help.  We assumed that maybe he needed counseling again.  We tried it before and it wasn’t working for him, he just had no interest in talking or working with anyone aside from his favorite answer to all questions, “I don’t know.”  It’s still his favorite thing to say but we actually got him in to see a doc and he is being reassessed.  It’s about time too since his diagnosis was from when he was 4 and lived with his mother.  A lot of a diagnoses for a 4 year old depends on what parents report.  It’s high time we have him reassessed because aren’t going to lie regarding his behaviors and he is old enough to answer questions on his own.

Speaking of the mother, I think she is finally realizing that she needs to let go.  Since we have had Andy both Joey and I have gone on trips abroad.  Not together and definitely not as a family.  Andy has no passport.  His mother has been quite the shit in regards to that until recently.  I don’t know what Joey said to her or what Andy may have said but it’s a good thing she has finally realized that she needs to help us help him.  Right now he is in the position to go on trips abroad because we can afford to do so.  His mother does not have the means, money or motivation to take Andy places.  And who knows maybe now is the only time in his life he will have the freedom to travel abroad.  She finally gave in and signed the forms for us to get his passport issued.

As for myself, I am still depressed about my aunt.  I thought I was working through it okay but I had to take a good hard look at myself.  I am not ok.  Being prepared is nothing because you still have to go through the grieving process.  I am sad to say that in my time of need for comfort from friends I did not get it.  I know everyone has their own life to live but if your friends do not have concern for your well-being, who does?  Joey has been there for me and luckily this depression has really made our relationship stronger.  But it has left an empty feeling; a hurt in my heart from the people I used to consider good friends.  People who I was there for in their time of need, just turn their back when I have need.  My aunt always said, “Friends are good for nothing.”  I still don’t think there is truth in that statement but the fact that I am hurting because of friends really stings especially since she passed.  Maybe I am finally learning the lesson she did in her youth that sometimes pain come come from the least expected people.  Maybe she wanted to keep me from the same pain.

So I have changed up the way I view life.  I am not going to be bitter like my aunt and say that friends are good for nothing.  If anything, they taught me a lesson.  Not everyone you count as your friend is truly a friend.  During hard times not everyone is willing to reciprocate when support is needed.  Sometimes people only want to be around for the fun times and when it’s any other time; they have no time.  This has helped me rethink my time.  What is valuable to me?  What do I want to do with my precious time?  How do I want to spend my days?  I want to spend them doing what my aunt said; no, not the friend part, the part where she said to live life to the fullest.  That being said I have some plans hammered out for the future.

My mom retires next year, I want to take her on another vacation (I’m thinking Cancun for a week).  I want to take my uncle along this time so he can enjoy “having the kids foot the bill” for a change.  We are planning on taking Andy to Disneyland for the first time, before the magic dies down and he becomes a jaded, know-it-all-teen.  I want to visit the Maldives with my husband.  We never had the chance to have a honeymoon and I think it’s time we took some time together.  My sister and I are still planning on our trip to Australia/New Zealand/Fiji but we both are focused on giving mom and my uncle a good time while they can still enjoy it.  Even if it means we don’t get our trip in 2017.  We have plenty of time for adventures still.  I am also hoping to pay more attention to my other blog.  I have so many adventures to write about and share, I need to pull myself out of my slump.