Almost two years ago, I came here and posted all that and wow, what a difference almost 46 months can make. What a difference.
No more Frankie.
A new granddaughter who straightened my daughter out (and who still graduated early with honors instead of being a statistic and owns her own business)
Ex-husband contracted herpes. Can you say karma? I did not. Since we never got back together, even though he asked, and since I am still germaphobe, it seems unlikely that I will.
I live with someone now. My childhood friend named Michael. My childhood best friend. We met at the age of 4 and were fast friends since we both loved power, robots, and crazily enough, Hitler. (We did not understand at all what the man was about, mind you, he was just someone Moe of the Three Stooges imitated)
Life is very ... looking for adjective to push together chaotic, uncertain, not super, etc., etc., but coming up short. I still live. I still like vampires although I'm happy I won't be living forever.
I miss my Blogger friends and if you come upon this, I hope it finds you well.
Well, in new news, husband and I are still working out divorce, but not at each other's throats. I let all the bad feelings go. Hell, they were only dragging me down anyway.
Still with first love, Frankie, but things have been bumpy. I have this tendency of being rather ... hmm, clingy, which I call, "just wanting to spend time with the person you love." I don't understand seeing someone about 1/10 of the time you could. You all knew I'd always want more. Or at least fair. I say it's fair.
Have decided as much as I love my job, it started to become like. I'm fickle. My company will pay for me to go back to school and become an RN. I'll only have to work an 8 hour work week and they'll pay me for 40. Is this an offer I can refuse? I think not. And I am not. So, in January, it's back to school I go. I wish every young person knew the importance of getting a degree, but so many are like me, "they'll be time," blah blah blah.
Main problem now is mothering a wayward 17-year old daughter who is dating literal psychopath. Daughter began taking on every single one of his traits (including threatening to kill me) until I kicked her out of my home. This was on the advice of a psychiatrist and now I'm wondering, "Did I do the right thing?" Her behavior wouldn't change no matter what I did and the psychiatrist says this is shock treatment. Yeah, for me!
Just visited everyone who visited me last time. It's comforting to see those friendly faces.
(Oh, and I love the books plus the show "True Blood," hence the picture. Eric Northman is a particular favorite.)
I work as a CNA now in a rehabilitation center (fancy term for old folks' home) and I love it. As one of those residents would shout, "I love it all." And yes, I really do.
I think I found my calling, which is a scary thing because I never would have picked this for a calling. Rock star, ruler of small kingdom, school teacher of tiny tots, the queen, but poop cleaner upper extraordinaire? Nah.
I love the elderly. I love the stories. I love the people. I don't mind the messes and I feel happy when I leave for work a bit before 11pm 5 days a week. Happy. That's a word, which has eluded me for some time.
Then there's the divorce. Turns out, hubby had someone almost the entire time. Hence, his personality transplant where I was a monster and couldn't I just leave him alone and OF COURSE, he had to work hours and hours late (he was shagging her in the office after everyone else left). I caught them together. I freaked out a bit, calmed down and started a divorce action. (Funny bit is, their amazing, wonderful "we belong together" romance ended with her dumping him. There's something so right about the universe, eh? Karma is a bitch after all, but a best friend. A bitchy best friend. Yeah.)
So, since in addition to losing this tramp who was also married, he's about to lose his shirt and probably pants, maybe some shoes, he wants to agree to most of my demands if I call off the hellhound (my lawyer ... who really isn't a hellhound at all, but a lawyer ... they don't get sent from heaven). My husband doesn't have the thousands to fight (but agrees to support, spousal support, giving me the house, my car, on and and on) so looks like first, second, and third round may go to me.
Lastly, not leastly (cut me some slack), and certainly unexpectedly, I am back with my first love. Really back. Back back. Back as in as I type this, he sleeps besides me and I thank God for this end result. If I needed all the pain to end up here, I would have gladly doubled it. I love a man name Frankie and he loves me. He makes me wonder if in 24 years, if I ever knew what love really was ... or good sex.
I've worked hard to be a complete person again. I'm in therapy. I'll continue to work hard, but I have love, gratitude, and the unbelievably comforting sense that everything is going to work out just fine. It usually does. I'll make rounds soon. I miss all of you very much.
I took a class to become a certified nursing assistant only to begin working at a hospital and will be working to become an RN. The hospital sponsored me so everything is free, free, free. Life has changed tremendously.
Husband still lives with me, but I am very much not a married woman any longer ... and I like that fact. I reunited with the first love of my life and am very happy. Life is strange and good and full of surprises, but ultimately always what you make of it.
I'll be stopping by to see those old familiar "faces" now.
Well, maybe. Life is definitely getting more stable. I'm doing okay. Fitness-wise I'm doing fantastic. I look great and I think my body looks great too.
I'm seriously looking into having my dream career instead of a job I really don't like at all. Not just looking, but pledging to have it. Thankfully, my dream career isn't like astronaut or prima ballerina so it's attainable.
Marriage front? Well. It still exists, but not forever. My husband's mental illness has just won out and you can't talk depression out of anything, especially when you're tired of talking.
I really don't know what the future holds. I just know somehow, some way, I have to keep holding it together. All this cleaving to a man thing is for the birds. If he doesn't cleave to you, you're holding onto a ghost. I've seen too many cling to men who didn't want them to know I don't want to be in the line-up. My husband says he loves me, he likes me, he finds me beautiful, but that we just don't work. This makes me laugh now. Laugh and cry. I can't wait until it's just all laughter.
Hey, everyone. I've been working super hard (even losing more sleep than the sleep I lose working overnight) and look, it's pretty good. It teaches you how to save money, how to budget, how to de-clutter, and to go green at the same time.
I'd love it if you all would subscribe through e-mail. A very helpful male set up my feeds, so now if you visit www.thriftybif.com, you can click on e-mail on the righthand side, stick your e-mail address in, and anytime I write a new post, you'll get a new e-mail.
Tell you friends. Tell your family. It's getting hard working so hard and wondering, where the heck is everyone? What am I doing wrong? Don't people want to save money during the recession?
Just heard Darla on "Angel" yell those words at the main character ... so decided it would make a great title for the blog. Eh, not bad.
As most of you know, I work at the local big box store. The one purported to eat up all the other businesses and shit them all out of its ginormous backside. It's convenient, close to home, and oh yeah, after 15 years of being a stay-at-home mom, the only place who would employ me. And when you have a nutso husband getting ready to leave you after 23 years of being together, getting a job is pretty important.
First, I was part of the rebuild crew. The people that take a small store and make it SUPER. Very hard work, heavy lifting, monotonous, unskilled, and rather painful. Then I got the call last Saturday night -- an offer of a permanent position and off the rebuild crew. A position I actually wanted.
I started this job last night and it's better. No more building the store. Now I'm in the command center ... okay, they call it the back room, but that's because it would make the other employees jealous. "I'm in the command center, where are you?" Okay, that's how I see it anyhow. So, I'm in the command center ... basically pulling inventory, putting it on carts for the stockers, taking their inventory back in the morning, and putting it back up on "the steel." All this needs to be done electronically. Every single piece needs to have a special place and needs to be recorded or ... total chaos. Seriously. TIME WOULD STAND STILL. Speaking of time, my job is timed, on a ticking click. Like that hit show "24." You don't get the first part (the pulling) done by 2:30am and a bomb goes off. Well, all right, not literally, but you are screwed because all the intel gets wiped out of our handheld scanners ... and the boss, he'll have your ass because you didn't do your job.
I'm a donkey, a pull horse ... perhaps even a goat at times. And there's always the feel of the whip at my back and the screams of FASTER FASTER.
Still, I got a raise and I know it's good that in this bad economy, I'm making a few more dollars than minimum wage when I haven't "worked" in over a decade, but there's still this nagging thing, this voice asking, "Is this really for you?" Or worse, the one that asks, "Are you happy?" Or more terrible still, "Is my brain replacing all the information that makes me, well ME, and replacing it with this junk? Will I someday not care how I look, lose a few teeth, about 50 IQ points, and live alone with like 50 cats?"
I guess change is like this and if it didn't hurt sometimes, you really wouldn't change at all. The one thing I've learned more than any other is don't get comfortable. The minute things get nice and cozy, here comes major upheaval. And ... if you're a woman who relies on someone else for a living, make damned sure you can get a career in case he leaves, dies, or disappears. But love, like life, is forever taken for granted and so my warning will go unheeded.
Maybe it's just more important what I tell myself. Like, "You did good, Beth. You're doing this all on your own with no one's help and you're actually thriving in your own humble way. Even with a broken heart, you're holding it all together instead of crumbling into a billion pieces. Job well done."