just

The last couple of days, I’ve been dead tired and lazy.  SO lazy.

I blame the stress of this past week and Friday’s exploits in traffic Hell.

I won’t get into the week’s crap because it’s every week’s crap–and who cares?  I had some personal hiccups along the way, but then again–more same as it ever was.  On Friday, I had some personal stuff to deal with and arranged for the day off.  I decided to get up really early, drop my roomie off at work, and head up to Boulder.  I brought my camera and a change of clothes.  My thought was I’d have a nice morning, taking photos of flowers and Boulder neighborhoods–maybe getting a Green Buddha from Pekoe–sitting next to the creek or finding some squirrels to harass.

I was a giant stress-ball when I dropped off the roomie.  I’m not even sure why.  So stressed that I didn’t slam the passenger side door hard enough–so the first 15 minutes of my drive was spent listening to an alarm alerting me to my sorta-open door. I had to find a pull-over spot to slam said door, but was in detour Hell.  There’d been a massive water main collapse, which sent torrents of water onto 25 the night before, so I was a bit nervous about the whole thing.  I had decided to avoid it altogether and take Federal to 36.  A good plan.  25 makes me really nervous.  Non-city driving makes me nervous.  Not sure why.

(I’m a good driver, really.  Well, unless it’s on multi-lane highways.  I’m too cautious).

Door shut, I got the show on the road–though I desperately needed coffee.  And that need only intensified as detour after detour made a quick mile trip to Federal take 30 minutes.  I got on the highway, accidentally got off the highway–ahhh–and got back on again.  What the hell, construction?

I had plenty of time–hours–so I was fine.  I knew where I was going, and had driven around the whole shebang the previous weekend, so I felt confident I wouldn’t get lost if I ever made it to Boulder.  Still, Boulder driving is stressful to me.  I always end up stuck on a dead-end somewhere.  Or I accidentally end up back on 36, going back home.

It happened.  Of course, it happened.  But instead of getting back on that hellish highway, I did one of my roomie’s crazy maneuvers–probably quite illegal–and went back on-track to right turn my way into the central business district.  Go, me.

That’s around the time I noticed my tank was nearly empty.  So, instead of grabbing the spot in front of the building I was supposed to go to–off I went, in search of gas.  That went fairly well.  (Usually, it doesn’t).  No gas on me at all.  No tripping.  No accidentally leaving the gas cap off.  No forgotten debit cards at the pump.  I stopped for the Green Buddha.  Had a lovely chat with an extremely odd woman and went to park.  Only someone had taken my spot.  No worries.  This is Boulder.  I can find parking.  I find parking all the damn time when I’m in Boulder.  I found a spot around the corner, got out to pay–and the damn thing was broken.  Now, I wasn’t going to get towed.  So, I’d just find another spot.  It’d be fine.  I had an hour.  I could do this.  So, I drove.  And drove.  Cursed at giant trucks blocking the turn lane (second this week for me in Boulder).  After a significant amount of this, I realized there wasn’t any parking within a mile of where I was headed–even in the residential areas.  In normal circumstances, I would have walked up.  But I was not quite dressed to do so, and couldn’t change anywhere into the clothes I brought–and wouldn’t be able to change back.  So, yep–fairly screwed.

And so began my day of ridiculousness.  Things worked out, I guess.  (Rather painfully, but they did).  I then spent my afternoon up in RMNP, by way of Nederland.  I had planned on doing this anyway–because Trail Ridge had just reopened–which meant I could visit Mama again.  After all of the crap of the morning, I needed a break from civilization.  Ned hit the spot.  I sat by the reservoir for a while and then went to the carousel.  It was such a windy day, so being outside wasn’t the best idea–especially in a skirt–but I managed to walk near the water and take some photos.  Got dirt and sand everywhere.  Messed up my hair.  Took self-portraits to commemorate it all.  And went on my way.

I like this route much better than the 36 alternative we usually take.  Fewer people, no cell connection–no one on the road for miles.  I went down some private drives.  I waved to Long’s Peak.  Saw more animals. And sang my heart out.  No one riding my ass or giving me shit for pulling over.  No bicyclists to worry about.  Just me, mother nature, and some bodies of water from time to time.  Worth the extra few minutes.

I got to the park around 1 pm, bought an annual park pass, and chatted with the ranger lady.  Asked about Trail Ridge–was told it was too nasty and was closed after Rainbow Curve.  Which meant no Mama.  But I was tired anyway and had promised I’d be back downtown by 5.  So, I drove….walked around a lake…saw some elk.  And went on my way.  Oh, and then I kinda trespassed and saw holy-awesome big elk–just outside the park.

As I left, I had no idea what was ahead for me.  But–man–when it came–it was like apocalypse traffic.  14 traffic jams. 3 1/2 hours on 1/4 tank of gas.  I detoured so much–had no idea where I was half the time–and somehow made it–quite late–to pick up my roomie who was set to hack for Colorado or something.

So, yep…kinda tired.

###

I did edit some photos yesterday, but only made it through–like–six.  I thought about posting them and then didn’t (later, maybe…probably).  I thought about posting a music thing–but then just organized my music and bookmarks instead.  I dreamt about trying to convince my Mama and auntie to move with me to Santa Fe.  Which, given they’re both dead, was kinda funny.

I watched lots of comedy specials and a favorite movie, too.  Which ended up being a good thing.  And surprisingly…topical.

Y’all probably remember Greg Behrendt as that Sex & the City dude who wrote that book called He’s Just Not That Into You.  Well, I do anyway.  I was obsessed with that book the year Mama died.  Let’s just say I was having some relationship issues.  Namely, I banished an ex from my life for good and then ended up in some bizarre relationships that set me up to adore that book.  I loved it so much that I used to loan it to friends.

Now, the book isn’t that interesting or ground-breaking.  Commonsense, really.  Just the idea that a person who cares will act like it, and one that doesn’t won’t.  If someone’s meant to be yours, they’ll find a way to be yours.  And if they don’t, well, it’s not really worth mourning.

It changed how I thought about relationships and set me up for what I call the Nun phase of my life–which was not really all that lonely.  In fact, I never had so much male attention in my life.  Lots of near misses during that time, and then I met someone who I spent a while with.

Anyway, one of the comedy specials I watched this weekend was Greg Behrendt’s.  I needed a good laugh and was shocked I got one.  His thing on John Krasinski made me cry.  I laughed that hard.  I then ended up watching Breaking Upwards–which wasn’t as good as I remember it.  But it brought up some good thoughts on a few topics I’ve been working over in my head.

###

Since my surgery, I’ve been grappling with some issues related to the self.  Namely: trust, respect, and worth.  I’ve been attempting to figure out how I got to the point of needing emergency surgery.  What self-destructive crap pulled me in that direction?  At the same time, I’ve been dealing with my own choices.  I’ve noticed that, in the past several months, I’ve chosen to indulge people and things that put me back in crappy patterns or that take away my joy.

Friday was a big reminder of that.  My whole reason for being in Boulder that day was to fix a crappy choice I made–one that’s brought me daily misery.  It’s taken lots of awful feeling for me to figure out why this thing that seems so benign is just rubbing me the wrong way.  And, now that situations have changed slightly, I have the luxury of living without the fear I had just a few days ago.  So, I could actually honestly make decisions about it and what I really needed.  And when the situation changed, my solutions for fixing it were actually options–and not more sources of stress.  It was a little like the Universe saw my struggle and knew my solutions were the best for everyone.  And it supported me in every way.  Now, I just had to be fearless and go for it.  So, I did.  And the world responded.  But not without some tests.  Because, c’mon, it’s never that easy.

The whole thing was one big exercise in putting myself first–maybe, especially when things didn’t go so well.  And I met the challenge.  I took care of me without overly thinking about it.  By the end of the day, I had a super-sweet voicemail that made me think, “Huh.  There really are people out there who will let you be human.  They will honor you and support you.  They will value and respect you.”  It was so odd to me because this doesn’t really happen that often in the worlds I navigate every day.  It’s been the hardest part of recovering–being forced to be human–because I fucking am–and being told, daily, that it’s wrong.  Trying to make choices to honor that humanity and being told daily that I can’t.  Which causes the very thing that landed me here.  And knowing I just can’t do that anymore.  And that no one should ever ask me to.

There was a feeling, that night, that came over me.  A peace with the Universe–with my situation–even that crappy situation that drove the need to change.  A knowing that what has been doesn’t have to be, and that I have much better things coming for me.  And that feeling that–being valued and respected shouldn’t be a rare thing.

Behrendt’s special reminded me of that book and that feeling.  The movie reminded me of that feeling.  It reminded me of how I view most things.  I try quite hard–and often fail to execute it–but my intention…every day…is to be excited to do what I do.  My intention is to light up when I see people I love–and strangers, too.  My intention is to care far too much.  Which is why I can be neurotic sometimes.  The times in my life when I felt that from another person?  Those times keep me grounded.  Those times help me keep going.  No matter how shitty the rest of it was–in that moment–there was no faking it.  No matter what happened later, I knew who I was in that moment.  At least to that person, in that second, of a hard day.  And that’s–honestly–all I want from my life.  More of that–in every moment.  No wishy-washy, I’m not sures.  It’s why I broke up with my last boyfriend.  I couldn’t bring myself to light up anymore, and I didn’t know why.  And anything that was happening came down to not being in it.  And I don’t ever want to be sitting on the sidelines of my life.

I feel like I’m fighting to be in the game right now.  I feel like I’m surrounded by spectators, and that I’m stuck on the bench of my own life.  And I just want someone to be excited that I’m still there.

You learn about your friends and your life when you almost die.  Some of it isn’t pretty.  Some of it is stuff you knew.  All of it is stuff you’re capable of changing.  But it hurts.  And no one really has anesthesia for it.  Unless you count booze, and self-medicating doesn’t work well when you’re missing a gall bladder.

I’m stronger than I’ve been in months.  I’m finding bits of myself every day.  Reinterpreting what that means and where they fit–if they still fit–has been a challenge.  I’m finding new dreams and different interpretations of same old/same old.  And I’m learning that I had a very limited view of my life before–full of self-limits and personal judgments.  Namely, the old me didn’t value herself–she didn’t light up a room for herself.  She wasn’t happy to see herself in the room.

I’ve been mad at friends for not being what I hoped they’d be.  But how could they even begin if I didn’t start it all to begin with?  I’ve caused myself a lot of pain by being self-pitying and isolating myself from them.  I’m finding it’s easier to just accept them for who they are and who they can be.  And to move on.  To focus on how I treat myself instead…to focus on who I allow to share my time.  And from now on, I’m choosing to surround myself with people who value and respect me.  Those who don’t just don’t need to be here.  They’re just not that into me.  Whatever.  Some things take longer to fix, but I know–deep down–that my recent choices truly reflect an attitude of self-love.  So, whatever move I make next will lead me to better things.  I know this, and the actions of these people reflect this.  And I’m brave enough to take bigger steps if I truly need to.

It’s just sad it took me this long to realize this needed to happen.

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