I didn’t want to let this be the first month where I’ve posted nothing in three years, so here I am.
What have I been doing these past weeks, you ask? So many things!
I got a promotion and a somewhat significant raise at the end of February. I’ve been trying to figure out how to quickly pay off my debts with this extra money, because I’ve seriously had enough. Of course, I ended up screwing up my first big paycheck by paying the wrong bills, and I’ve been living on $6 for the past week and will be until Friday. Times like this are when I’m not too mad about still living at home. I would not have the equivalent of the Chopped kitchen in my own apartment/house. My family are lifesavers.
I’ve also been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life as a career. My job isn’t all that bad, but I know that I don’t want to do it forever. I recently came across a quote by Frederick Buchner that defines vocation as “the peace where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” I just don’t know what my deep gladness is. I’ve been captioning a lot of Oprah lately, and this has been a recurring theme. I don’t know what would make me exceedingly happy. Being an adult is hard. I know I want to go back to school, but I want to go back to school for EVERYTHING. I’ve halfway applied to probably 20 different Master’s programs now.
My hypochondria has been on overdrive the past month, probably from my grief-related anxiety. Off the top of my head, I’ve had meningitis, stomach cancer, endometriosis, dysentery, several brain aneurysms, and TMJ, all on top of the daily multiple heart attacks and strokes, and the diabetes and hypothyroidism I usually think I have (I don’t and I know I don’t. I’m just nuts.) I probably should get back on medication until this all blows over, but the stuff they had me on when Brittani died made me feel like the world was made of jello. I don’t know which feeling is worse. The constant worrying or the constant heaviness. Blah.
Today I also went bowling and got a 77. With bumpers up.
Oh, and, had my insurance stayed the same, I would be getting gastric bypass tomorrow morning. Probably. We were shooting for St. Patrick’s Day. It’s weird to think about. I know that if I had it, I’d be constantly afraid of starving to death or getting a blood clot or dying on the table or dumping syndrome or every other bad thing that could happen. But, God, it would be nice not to be reduced to tears while trying to find a dress for a friend’s wedding because there are zero fat-size stores around here, and the places that do carry fat dresses just have a lot of horrible things. (I did well, though!) My sister had her first encounter with trying to find nice plus-size clothes. She’s always been able to find things on the higher end of the straight-size stores. It was sad to keep hearing her say how she just needs to lose a bunch of weight every time she tried something way too old for her on. I kept telling her that the industry is the problem, not her body. I was reminding myself, too. There is absolutely no reason why there aren’t affordable, nice clothes for fat girls considering we make up a huge (yup) part of the market in Western society. That’s a rant for another time, though.
So, there we go. It was nice to see you today, blog. Maybe we’ll chat again soon. I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.
(Here’s a picture of a sloth because I love you. Have you ever watched a sloth poop? Here you go. You’re welcome. I captioned the version of this that was on Animal Planet and it’s the absolute highlight of my career so far.)