I feel myself falling into a funk.
The big thing: when moving, there was just SO MUCH that I couldn't handle it all, I couldn't cope. In the end, I took a bunch of things that I wanted to keep but didn't feel that I needed right away, put them in boxes, and put them in the storage shed.
After being in Chicago for a while, I remembered them, and asked my mom about them, because part of my inability to cope was an inability to talk much with my parents (but that's fairly par for the course with my relationship with them). So I finally asked her about them (via email), and she said that they had cleared out the storage shed to make room for the chickens they recently got (Gods know why), and they got rid of all my stuff that was there.
There was a rain stick Nick had gotten for me as a present (that I hadn't known how to pack) that he'd gotten from this fair trade store that I really loved, along with a rainstick I'd made myself at a Pagan thing. There was my staff that I had made and decorated myself; I learned how to draw knotwork for it, and inscribed it with the Ogham symbol for Rowan. It was one of the big things that still sort of conencted me to my Druid group. There were photographs, godsdammit. Photos of me as a child, back when I still thought I was cute. There were TONS of photos. There was a really nice pot that mom gave me. I'm still remembering what was there, because I can't remember it all.
And mom probably didn't even glance through them. She just fucking threw them away.
It's slightly better now. I knew I had to mourn my things, the loss of so many objects that meant something to me, but I couldn't.
I have so much trouble feeling, I'm so fucking numb all the fucking time, that I couldn't mourn that loss. Writing this has helped slightly. Also, I'm visiting myRECOVERYspace account for the first time in a while, and that's a good impulse, too.
I've started attending CoDA meetings. And I was feeling so dead inside, so unable to think about anything because of how it made me feel, and I was sitting there thinking, what the hell can I do? Go to a meeting? It's not like I'm an alcoholic. There are AA meetings all the fucking time. Hell, I'm just lucky there are two CoDA groups within walking distance of my house (and more all over the city), as opposed to one fucking group in the entire fucking valley, like in Utah. (And on the same night as the one thing I wasn't going to give up, my writing group.)
That is, of course, a big reason why I moved to Chicago.
Oh--and speaking of my dear mother: Hi mom! Welcome to my blog! I say the word FUCK a lot, and I talk about a lot of inappropriate things--I think it's due to my unhealthy boundaries. If you haven't checked out my on-line portfolio, where I post Artistic Nudes, you really should. (Too bad you can't see them without having an account with dA) There's a list of all of the things I do and care about to your right.
That's right; apparently, my mom Google'd my name (my legal name) and found my Facebook account (the only thing that my name leads to, I'm pleased to say, excepting a forum I was part of in high school, where I, with no worries at all, posted my legal name and my age, which would have been enough for anyone who wanted a nice, trusting little 16-year-old girl). My Facebook account, for some reason, had a link to this blog and my deviantART page. (Well, it was because I wanted my coworkers to be able to see my art and stuff, because they were cool--they were, in fact, the only reason I signed up for Facebook, and the only reason Facebook is in my legal name.)
She told my sister that she was sending me an article that she found in the Reader's Digest about how one should keep one's blog, email address, probably voice mail, etc., completely impersonal, bland, drone-like, and Appropriate, because apparently there's this outbreak of potential employers "Googl'ing" their potential employees, and as my mom said to my sister, "I saw her blog, and I don't think I would hire her."
Good thing for me I'm not trying to work for my mom. Good thing my mom is not the original mold for humankind.
I don't know if she'll come back to see this, though. She might, she might not. (Yes, that's how well I know my own mother.)
But in case she does: Don't worry, mom, I changed my Facebook account so now only people who are my "Friends" can see the link to my blog and dA account. And no "potential employer" is going to be my "Friend". (Also, I'm just curious, did you hijack Tyler or Brooks' Facebook account? (Does Brooks even have a Facebook account? I know Tyler does.) Because you couldn't have seen those links without being logged in, and I know you don't have a Facebook account.)
I'm also thinking about getting those links off for good, or getting rid of my Facebook account for good. Because honestly, I don't really like Facebook that much. And also, I have a bit of a problem with the collision of my legal name and my chosen name, like that, especially on-line.
In other news, I have a job.
I haven't started yet, my new boss is going to call me this week about setting up a training schedule and all that, but it's a job. And the pay isn't that great, and the (amount of) hours aren't that great, but it's a job.
So that's decent-ish. (And of course I'm going to be still looking for another job.)
Oh, and the interview was AWESOME! We sat down in her back room, and she asked me a bunch of questions that were on the application (because she'd lost the application in rearranging the store), like, "So, have you read Harry Potter?" "Which was your favorite book?" (No shit, those questions were on the application.)
And then she proceeded to tell me things about the Harry Potter world that JK Rowling has apparently released, but not put in the little Epilogue at the end of #7--like that Harry is Head of the Auror office, and that Ron is also an Auror (and that neither of them had to go through the training, etc., having gotten rid of the most powerful Dark wizard ever), and that Hermione is some kind of magical lawyer (or does something with the law), and that James' middle name is Sirius, and that Neville Longbottom married Susan Bones.
And then she would ask me about my gift-wrapping skills (also on the application). Then she would tell me (like it wasn't an interview, but rather a mini-training session) that commercial gift-wrapping is more difficult than normal wrapping, because the wrapping paper is thicker.
After we chatted about the fact that she, the assistant manager, and myself were all Cancers, her dog, her partner (whom I met, she interrupted the interview, and recommended books for me to read), and the fact that she was doing a Tarot reading at three, and that way why she kept looking at her watch, she said, well, I'll call you sometime next week to set up a time for you to come in for training. If I don't call before Wednesday, then I've lost your application again, and you'd better call.
It was like she had decided before I ever got there, or maybe shortly after. Maybe it was because her asst. manager liked me, or because I came back to check on my application and left a note because she wasn't in (Hi, I came in to check up on my application. How's it doing?). Or whatever. But she knew she was going to hire long before we started talking about Harry Potter and gift-wrapping.
Anyway, this is getting long enough. So I'll sign out for now.
Love you all!!