Krissie: Farewell to Ohio Tour

That’s Krissie still looking a little sick and depressed, but as Lani said, “wahoo!” Getting to NJ was turning into such a mess that I was going to have Richie drive me down, and then Lani called to say they were putting it off a week, and I burst into tears. Because I can’t stand the thought of being here another week.
But then we came up with me coming out there, and I was able to find an affordable flight with Richie driving me three hours to one airport and Crusie and Lani driving 2 hours to pick me up (the usual airports are a lot closer).
So I’ll get away, and we’ll do a farewell to Ohio Tour and a Come to Goddess meeting and an election night celebration or suicide pact (not really). But we’ll be going to Steak N Shake and Jo-Beth bookstores and Jungle Jim’s and Hobby Lobby and all the usual suspects. I may even see if I can talk someone into taking me to Teresa’s treasure Haven, which is way the hell and gone, but I think they’re safe because I don’t have money to spend.
And I’ll write, because NANOWRIMO begins today, and I don’t care what I write. I’ll write what I want to write and not worry, I’ll keep up with my meds and being good to myself, and I’ll come out the other better and stronger than ever.
I did a tiny bit of sewing yesterday, and I’ll do a bit more today. I’ll pack, and I’ll vote.

I’ll be on the road tomorrow so I may not be able to post — I leave the house around 6 am and don’t get to Crusie’s till around 8 or 9. And it’ll be chaos, and I’ll sleep on an air mattress, and it will be glorious.

And I’m taking my inner Dresden ballerina with me (and I think I need a real one). Angelique. Marguerite. Margot (as in Fonteyn). We’ll see.

Krissie: Somedays You Eat the Bear

I’m inside today. It rained.
My favorite minister had a saying. I think it was based on a joke about someone talking to a man with a performing bear act in a circus, and he asked how hard it was. The answer was, “somedays you eat the bear, somedays the bear eats you.”
Yesterday the bear at me. After a marvelous afternoon with the Avengers and dinner at Olive Garden, things came crashing down with a vengeance. My child had a crisis, my son was blowing up at home, yelling over the phone at his GF for an hour while Richie just kept out of the way, and I fell apart at this end. We have a real, intrinsic need for Jenny & Lani & I to go to the aquarium together, plus i simply couldn’t face packing. Couldn’t face moving. Even a rewatching of Simon Baker in “Something New” couldn’t do it for me.
So I’m a mess. I was too worn out to make up my mind when to fly out — Thursday or Saturday or Monday. Monday’s the cheapest. I hate like hell to leave Richie on the front lines but he told me to take as long as I need (and was surprised when I said I’d come back on Thursday — he encouraged me to stay longer. Richie is the finest man in the universe).
So. Like Martin Luther, here I sit, I shall not be moved. (Jenny and I both grew up as Lutherans). I need to stop crying all the time. I need to calm down and sort myself out today, figure out a plan, etc. Sweetness graduates today so I think I’ll hunker down and work while they go to the graduation. I’ll get the proposal finished and then start in on the new book, I’ll lose myself in my world. And I’ll figure out how the hell to deal with my world falling apart around me.
When children are little they want to run away from home but they don’t have the wherewithal. Richie and I really really want to run away from home. From our kids and responsibilities — we just need to get the hell out of Dodge. But we can’t. Because somewhere along the way, when we weren’t looking, we became grown-ups. We can’t run away.
So I’ll look at cheap flights and see what I can do about my meds. And soldier on.

Krissie: All About Me Tuesday

This is my hair when I crawl out of bed and have had my cpap machine on. I kind of like it.
Okay, as Warren Zevon would say, send lawyers, guns and money, the shit has hit the fan. The on again off again relationship between my son and his fiancee is kaput. Seriously. She moved out. He moved out. They’re both grieving, but they can’t live together any more.
And this is about them, I know it. But you know, fuck that. Today it’s all about me. Continue reading