The beginning.

Hi.

I don’t really know where to begin.

I’ll do my best to begin at the start, or start at the beginning, or whatever (wherever?), but I’m not sure when or where that was, or even how to do that because let me tell you: these past few months have been years

*shrug*

Basically: 2017 hasn’t exactly gone the way I planned, although that’s not saying much because I didn’t exactly waltz into the new year with a shiny set of goals or resolutions or an Epic Plan For Revolution. I woke up on January 1, 2017 in a puddle of sweat, aching my way through the first of three weeks of the flu, harboring exactly zero actual plans other than to not get fired, not get evicted and not get dead, which weren’t even plans at all but survival tactics.

I guess, then, a more accurate statement is this: 2017 has been…unpredictable; full of uncertainty. Which means it’s also been emotionally exhausting. It's been liberating though, too. More about that a different day.

So far, the year’s Most Notable Big Life Events: Two sudden breakups that I did not anticipate or initiate or want (one with you-know-who, the other with one of my two best friends (on my birthday, because of course)), and two moves (one that, thank the Baby Lord Jesus, did not end up happening, and one that, by the grace of the Baby Lord Jesus, *should* happen at the end of the summer). 

There’s been a shit-ton more shit, of course. All the little pieces in between, the dramatic and chaotic consequences of those two (or is it technically four?) Big Life Events — pieces I badly (SO BADLY!) want to share but won’t because they’re pieces of the stories that aren’t mine to tell — paired with the Regular Shitty Life Stuff, like jumping spiders in my motherfucking house and overdrawn bank accounts and flat tires and showering with ripped calluses and broken iPhones and utilities mistakenly being shut off and not realizing the ice cream or beer is out until after the kids are in bed, and clogged drains and dog shit in my yard (we don't have a dog...) and more stains on the carpet and six fucking cavities. And the daily struggle to not start smoking again because holy goddamn shit all I have wanted for the last six months is a motherfucking cigarette. 

It hasn’t all been shit, though. This year has blessed me with a lot of tacos and enchiladas and fajitas and nachos (like, A LOT), which was a gloriously guilt-free indulgent way to live for roughly four entire months while I worked on gaining back the THIRTY POUNDS I lost (at a pace of more than a pound a day) after I became single. But I’m pushing the top end of my weight class now so the sad reality is that I have to reintroduce things like moderation and vegetables into my daily dietary routine. STUPID.

Speaking of health stuff: I’ve been training — fairly seriously — at a new gym for the last month-ish. Depending on traffic it’s at least one, maybe two entire episodes of the “Serial” podcast away from my house, but the facility is the shit, the people are cool and my coaches are amazing: I have one coach who is a CrossFit Games athlete who programs for me, and two others who are nationally-ranked Olympic weightlifters and who take turns watching and critiquing my lifts and drills. In person. In case it is unclear how rad this is: Having coaching of that caliber readily available in person is RAD AS FUCK. 

Also rad as fuck: I’M BUYING A HOUSE ALL BY MYSELF LOL WUT HOW?! My home is currently being built with fancy A Real Adult Lives Here ingredients like hardwood flooring and granite countertops and energy efficient appliances and soaking tubs and a deck and even a garage, and it faces SSW which means I’ll have all the natural light my heliophile self requires to not die. So far everything is on track for closing to happen the week before school starts. FINGERS CROSSED. Because then I will live only four miles from my gym, which is important for the most obvious of obvious reasons: #gymislife. 

I’ve been reading a lot lately too, which, because I am a lonely nerd, has been bliss. I picked up my first book of the year in mid-March (well, there was that one self-help book from February that was the least feelings-y self-help book I’ve ever picked up (from a sample size of maybe four) but still dumb and a complete waste of my time) and since then I’ve read 22 whole books (and have tossed about seven boring ones to the side). I also started listening to music regularly again after a decade of not, which is an oddly monumental thing that is personal and really difficult to explain; one day that is not today I might try.

I’ve made friends with a couple Real Adult Women. You know, single women in their late 30s and early 40s who own their own homes and condos in the city because they have their shit together and Real Adult Jobs, and who have Real Life Experience and who invite me to do Real Adult Things like spend a weekend on their boat, or visit museums or attend the symphony. Yes and yes and yes. I WILL RSVP YES TO EVERYTHING. PLEASE INVITE ME TO BE YOUR FRIEND.

Also: I’ve finally scheduled an appointment to start my sleeve on my left arm; I’ve been spending, per usual, a ridiculous amount of time at the pool; and, yay!, I found last weekend via years of Internet sleuthing condensed into a last-ditch-effort, four-second Twitter search a long-lost friend from high school who I actually legit thought was dead (un-spoiler: He’s not!).

And, most importantly, I have finally found mom shorts that 1) I like, and 2) fit. CAN I GET AN AMEN?! I’ve been on a three-summers-long mission to find a good pair of mom shorts because I hate short-ass shorts that my actual ass hangs out of so this is obviously a massive win. Did I mention they're from Target, were 20% off and I got to use RJ’s 15% discount on them? I have no shame about how ridiculously happy this good fortune has made me. Hint: I've worn my new mom shorts literally every day since buying them, even if only around the house. 

I’ve also been writing this entire time. A lot. Upwards of 40,000 words over the last few months, most of which are a jumbled, rambling, stunted, disorganized mess of incoherent word vomit. BUT STILL. I’ve been writing. I’m still writing. And I think I’m ready to begin shaping and then sharing those jumbled, rambling, stunted, disorganized piles of incoherent word vomit here. 

What that actually means:

I'm blogging-ish again.

What’s staying the same:

I’m writing, and also sharing.

What’s changing:

Everything else. I don’t know how often I’ll post here, or what I’ll share when I do, or what the tone or topic or pace or perspective of each piece will be. Realistically, this space will likely consist of a random ass collection of shit from my life that we’ll call eclectic for optics: completed short vignettes and longform essays, behind-the-scenes writing stuff and probably a few pieces related to things that have helped me overcome the emotional and psychological turbulence I’ve experienced this year. Basically: I will be using this space as a place to practice my writing on you in hopes of one day publishing an actual real book. Because it's impossible to get a book deal without an audience or an archive of work. REAL TALK.

So welcome. Or welcome back. Thank you for being here.

While you’re waiting for the next post:

 

PS:

I don't anticipate to be blogging now the same way I was blogging before. Meaning: I anticipate this space being used for Serious Writing, not posts full of photos from the weekend. I'm toying with the idea of sending a biweekly "Hey, here's a quick and light life update"-slash-"Here are some things I'm into lately" newsletter, but I'm not sure yet. WHAT DO YOU THINK? Let me know.

PPS:

The newsletter signup I had here before is gone. Obviously. I will no longer be sending out that monthly-ish newsletter because I will be sharing my writing here instead. Thanks in advance for sticking through my constant vacillating about how and when and where to begin sharing bits of my life again. I for real appreciate you being here/reading.