i need a sunday kind of love...

so begins the holidays. november holds both my parents birthdays, my husband's birthday, unpacking from move 10, getting my cast off, driving again, approaching the end of semester 3 of grad school, and moving along in life.

or not?

i don't know what 'successful' means anymore.

the religious will give you one answer; the people in NA a different answer; the "educated," something else; philosophers will merely mock asking a question without bothering to define your terms.

and what is success to me? tagging along after this she-bitch Authenticity and attempting to continually move onward and forward even when every piece of me hates who i am.

i feel like a disempowered woman, like a flower ripped from the ground, still alive, but wilting, and not a root in sight. i could go into a good samaritan story here, but i'll refrain.

i've been what i call sober for over two months. i say this sipping on a divine mixed drink that grant concocted. sober to me means not drunk more often than not, and not blacking out. it feels pretty nice. alcohol can be a very destructive drug.
so can i.

quitting is for pussies.

next monday is the last day of two of my classes: family therapy and ethics in psych. i have a fairly intense 30-plus page pre-comp due come new year (rough draft turned in the 16th), but aside from that i'm essentially done.

next semester is the 'easy' semester, with classes from the more chill, more human teachers, and just the final, heinous comp to worry about. but each day comes full of its own worries...

my worries lately have been larger than smaller. i feel like statistically i will make it through my program, if i can get funding for one more semester. i feel like i will go through graduation with a smirk on my face and a little pride in my belly, and end up smashed and singing karaoke come nights' end. i feel like i will have a place to live (i hope) for the rest of my days' regardless of how humble... i hope that my ankle will return to previous functioning, that i will lift weights again, and feel healthy again. i don't foresee any DUIs or drug charges in my future.

i am a little concerned about second year placement, but must trust that i will be okay. worst case scenerio, i will need a second job, but i won't be in school at all anymore, and i can easily work two jobs if necessary.

i'm a bit concerned about my tendency to idealize people,and then to detach when i feel rejection. call me borderline if you must, but i have refrained this long from cutting so fuck you! nah, trauma begets certain personality tendencies, and i show some of my colors when i feel threatened, or unappreciated, or disposable.

i've been pretty disposable over the years.

which gets me to the place i am most comfortable, yet tormented: alone.

that i managed eight years of marriage is pretty impressive considering the loner blood in my veins. and as holidays, cold nights, and a future with no guarantees alludes me, the ghosts of my past haunt me.

i am a quasimodo, detached, but longing, kind-hearted, but distant, hopeful, but full of doubt. i walk through crowds feeling different, but chill in the group, content. it's a strange conundrum i find myself in.

after giving myself the gift of a most abusive relationship following my marriage, it makes sense that i avoided any emotional connection, sans vic.

i poured myself into friendships, into my bar, into friends, and for the most part have felt satisfied with the outcome. i feel disconnected from my cohort for the most part, from my professors, from my family, and i have yet to even consider grieving my old job.

and now i live with two new roommates, downtown no less, in my own room, in my own bed. i'm no longer, "a 29-year-old, alcoholic, who sleeps in a loft bed above someone else."

a breath away from 30, no addictions to speak of, highly educated, witty, street smart, unbreakable...
suicidal more often than not, but with no plan, and no intent. no mania, no hallucinations, no delusions, no religion, not even any politics right now.

maybe this is why i feel stripped from myself? i barely write, i barely read, i don't work out. if i had no connection to music right now i'd be completely void of myself.

been thinking about relationships lately, if that will be the path for me. i do walk a lonely road, and i do know how to be a pretty amazing little wife. or lover, or girl on the side, or secret, or friend with benefits, or whatever i've been.

and i don't know what i want to be anymore.

i can tell you at this moment i anticipate a certain death alone, misunderstood, crotchety most days, with moments of kindness, looking into the eyes of nonblood relatives if i'm lucky enough to have health insurance as sweet death takes me.

i'd rather get nice clean morphine than have to hustle black tar heroin as an old ass bitch. lol.

or i'll find that certain somebody, and have a polyamorous bisexual life.

or i'll find someone particularly amazing and go back to monogamy.

when you are me, anything is possible. but any possibility includes cancer and certain death, dying alone surrounded by cats, or something in-between.

at this point, i think i've got at least one more relationship in me. and i just might get knocked up in the next 10 years, although i think i'd sooner adopt a kid.

if i have kids.

is 30 too late to ask these questions?

a better question- am i attempting to make plans again? HA!

"and the tears that i cried for that woman, are gonna flood you big river, and i'm gonna sit right here until i die!"

well, at least today is the last day of november. i get to look forward to christmas alone and turning 30 alone.

awesome.

i'd rather be by my damn self than with people who fake the funk though.

it's almost LOTR season!