I look stoned here, but I assure you it was just the 90s.
Oh man. I came across some tucked away my wedding photos the other day and I all I could think of was how IMPOSSIBLY young I look. How fucking naïve my face is, and how miserable I know I was that day. And then, immediately following that, how I wish I could go back and tell that Amie not to do it. To skip out before we went through with it. To leave when my mom asked me if I wanted to back out.
Anything. Everything. To stop me from taking that leap. But, I did it. I went through with the traditional vows and had my first dance and watched all my friends and family be merry and get drunk and congratulate us.
Your past is part of makes you who you are. But I think it’s REALLY important to recognize that it doesn’t need to define you for the rest of your life.
Did I make a mistake marrying that guy? Probably. Did I know it at the time? I think I recognized on the honeymoon that it probably wasn’t the brightest idea I had, and I know for sure I stayed with him wayyyy longer than I should have because I didn’t want to branded a “failure”, but honestly, on that day? I convinced myself that I thought I was doing the right thing. Continue reading
Sunday meltdowns are always the most fun.
This morning I was determined to clean up the kitchen, which I stupidly thought would involve just wiping the stove down and emptying the dishwasher. Then, after I made 6 trips up and down the stairs taking out recycling, garbage, and the WORST litter box mess ever and realized there were a shitload of dishes to wash and counters to clean and the floor to sweep and the cat was all up in my grill about his litter box now being clean and me not standing next to him while he ate out of his dish, it was all a little too much for me and I had a mental breakdown while making us yogurt parfaits. Something like, “Here is your coffee! And your motherfucking parfait! EAT IT AND LIKE IT” – which I tried to laugh through, but it so didn’t work. Instead, I broke down into giant sobs and cried on my too-good-for-me boyfriend’s shoulder while he listened to me try to tell him all the things I was stressed about, including having a dream that Eddie Izzard was torturing and killing our dog. (my brain doesn’t make a whole lot of sense most of the time)
So this is how almost three months without a FT paycheck, piles of bills, and still not feeling 100% decided to break me around 9:15am this morning. Who knew?
I feel like I don’t say this often enough, but I really, truly don’t know what I would do without all the amazing support I have, the experiences other people (like the awesome Bloggess who created Ms. Juanita the weasel) share, and even my stupid dog — who thankfully didn’t get suffocated by Eddie Izzard in a plastic bag and is just fine.