I haven't written here in more than seven years.  What's funny is if you'd asked me I'd have said it was 10 years ago, a thousand.  I can't believe I was ever a "mommy blogger," but it was such a huge part of my little life back then.  It was my life preserver in a life where I was invisible, discounted, and disliked.  Who was I back then? 

Ignored, neglected, sad, looking for something.  I didn't even know I was beautiful or sexy.  Turns out some people think that.

I can understand why I faltered and stepped away from this space.  What was I going to write about exactly? 

How my ex-husband's loving and sweet face morphed into one of seething, writhing disdain?  Pure rage at what he perceived as entitlement at my need for child support?  Or how he  made a series of decisions that irrevocably destroyed our post-marriage relationship and despite me fighting mightily to save it because he wasn't capable  it all went to shit and now my little baby -- "Rooster" as my ex insisted I rename him for this blog -- suffers on a bi-weekly basis. 

Or arguably, every week. 

Life is fucking hard, but one thing I've learned is that I have control over exactly NOTHING.

Not my fucking weight, not my fucking life, not my fucking child, not my income for a very long time, not my fucking anything.  My friends and family do whatever they like because they're not in charge of much either. We're all just bouncing around this planet, this space, and doing the best we can.

Losing my old life, losing my baby, changed me.   I've been to to mother fucking war.  I am hardened, dead inside in some parts I think sometimes. 

I dunno.  I doubt anyone ever reads this anymore.


I'm not dead.

Day in the park.

I haven't written in so long because I feel lost here.  This is Worthwhile used to be about my life as a stay-at-home mom and now what is it?  About a post-divorce woman who only has her kid half the time?

I'm not going to talk about my dating life here, or my loneliness, or my general angst at life.  That seems boring and sorta like a given.

But I can update you on some things in case anyone's even still interested.

  • I am still volunteering at a local agency a couple of days a week, I pay for professional memberships and supervision, which essentially means I pay to work each week.  
  • I have no income and am living off of savings -- don't worry, I have at least a year's worth in my stash.
  • My schedule hobbles me - don't even get me started on everyone's great ideas of what I could do to earn money.  Trust me, I know what I can and can't do.  I have Hawk every other week and I cannot and will not work on nights or weekends when I have him.  Missing out even 4 hours with him on a weekend is tragically too much as little as I see him in an average "work" week. 
  • I have problems putting myself to sleep and then wake up at 4, 5, and 6 am mind racing about my money and job situation.
  • Getting the dog was mostly a mistake, though things are getting better.
  • My back pain has increased to an all time high, though recently it's improved, too.
  • I love my work and feel like I'm on the right track.
  • I've made some wonderful new friends and have maintained and cultivated old ones.
  • I am ready to find someone to love me.
  • When asked if he thought I was cranky a lot, Hawk said yes.  I apologized and have made a concerted effort to improve my attitude.  It's changed a lot for me, most notably it's made me sadder and happier simultaneously.
  • The boy is doing spectacularly.  He's well settled into the routine of our lives.  School all day with lots of playing and socializing, then I pick him up and we spend the evening together watching My Little Pony, read, and snuggle.  Wednesday nights, Rooster or my parents pick him up and take him to dinner so I can work till 7.  Every Friday, whether he's with me or his dad, my folks keep him overnight.  Saturdays and Sundays are filled with running around and possibly my friends coming over.  
  • When I'm kidless, I'm miserable.  
More than anything, I feel old.  Like old-old.  And I'm sick of Blogger.  If I keep doing this, I'm going to move it to WP.  Fuck this noise.  I hate it.  And then I'm going to restart TIW to reflect my life and I'm going to let loose with all the bullshit.  I need an outlet.  I will likely talk about dating, job hunting, post-divorce emotional wastelands, and mothering only half the time.

I think I love my life, but I think something is missing, too.  I just can't quite put my finger on it.


Of puppies, divorce, and moving on

In November of '08 I lost Levi.  My companion, my first attempt at adulthood, my anchor.  I was reasonably devastated, but I had a 1 year old, a husband, and a life to manage and he'd turned autumn with age and faded away as I was nurturing new growth.

A lot has happened in the last 3 1/2 years and I wonder if he'd even know me anymore.  He probably would, actually, my life is much more like it was prior to Rooster and Hawk every other week.  I go out, I have friends and men over, I am raucous and debauched, I dictate my day based on the weather and my energy levels.  It's not all bad.

But it's a weird life I have now.  I have officially opened my private practice and I have a client on the books.  A real live paying customer.  I have a dozen or so clients at the agency where I volunteer and my heart sings as I provide a safe and loving environment for hurting souls.  I am basically financially secure, but eager to make more of a living and I have slowly been thawing after more than a year of gut wrenching heartache.  And so it's come to pass that I have a new creature in my life.  Little miss Hazel Higgins.

The addition of a puppy into my life coincides with the decision to be real again; to own up to my hurts, to be a big girl and face my pain and my fears, and to be held accountable for more than two weeks out of a month.  When Hawk is with me I am balanced and safe.  I am Mommy, I am pal, I am teacher, I am a kisser of booboos and explainer of all things.  When Hawk is with his father I am Jessica, I am raw, I am visceral, I am pain.  This puppy will bridge the gap, I know.

Divorce is not anything I wish upon anyone.  I keep meeting people going through what I did and it's a rude awakening to all at just how deep the cut goes.  To the bone doesn't even begin to describe it, the sense of loss, failure, and despair are so great.  So many say, "I will never get divorced," but honestly, how can you??  How can you really know?  I was once one of those people. 

Rooster used to say to me, "You are my soul mate, Jess.  I see us as old, wrinkly people in rockers somewhere someday."  I believed him despite my surprise that anyone would want that with me.  My heart soared at the thought, my secret wish answered by another.  But, look.  It didn't happen.  And I am alone again.  And who do I have, really, if I don't have myself?? 

So, this dog, this little pound puppy with crooked ears and smeared-mascara eyes, will remind me to be me again and to remember that I am always here.  Midnight wake-up calls to let her out and all. 


Top 5 reasons Valentine's Day can go fuck itself

  1. The expectations.  When you're coupled this is especially relevant.  Nothing says romance like an industry pushing you to express it. At what point are your hopes of a grand romantic gesture (or a mini gesture) justified?  After a week?  A year?  What if one of you forgets?  And you're either into it or totally against it and wouldn't everyone enjoy something nice on a day "set aside" just for something like that?  So all the people who hate it (yes, like me) would of course love something sweet, but we loathe having the expectation.
  2. The contrivance.  Are you feeling romantic towards someone?  I remember a V Day in which I groaned outwardly at the dozen yellow rose my boyfriend gave me.  I dumped him two weeks later after suffering through a stilted dinner for two.
  3. The reminder.  I know what my relationship life is like whether I'm in one or not.  I don't really appreciate the magnifying glass in the middle of winter regardless of my status.
  4. The gall of hijacking an entire day's activities.  I'd like to do something where wearing red or the auspice of romance isn't involved.  Really.  Like hang out with someone I dig.
  5. It's stupid.  It just is.

Ok, so, I'm pissy - obviously - and it's not because I'm single or don't have anyone who cares about me (I'm sure I do, but that's not really the point).  Today is so much more than just some stupid mid-winter holiday, but I can't seem to figure out how to shake its love-sappy shadow.

Today is the one year anniversary of passing my NCE (National Counselors Exam).  It's the day that announces that I set a goal and achieved it, surpassed it with flying colors, and got the ticket to the rest of my life and career.  But no, I have to be bombarded by a forest of red balloons and roses the second I walk through the grocery store doors if I want to buy another bottle of wine for my cozy night at home.  Alone.

I am as romantic as the day is long, I swear it, but I like to keep things on the dl so things happen naturally and with easy flow.  I like for niceties to come my way because the giver thoughtfully put it together in his own head, not because I was part of some passive national pressure.  Thinking of this as NCE Day is immeasurably better than expecting a card from someone.

As a giver, I don't really mind the day, but as a receiver, I hate it.  I'm sure someone did lots of nice things for me on Valentine's Day once, I'm certain of it, but for the life of me my anxiety over the whole day has clouded my memory.  How is that even remotely cool? 

I know a lot of you are probably thinking that I'm just bitter and I am.  I'll own it. So what? But it's more than that, too, I guess. I suffer from a legacy of having stupidly high expectations and this is a day for rumination.  I'm proud to say I've come down from my ivory tower in many, many ways, but it's a humbling experience nonetheless and therefore bittersweet.

I'm still gonna hate this idiotic "day for lovers" because honestly I wish every day could be a shade of expressing love and appreciation and sex, but I'm also gonna think about how I felt a year ago when I gave myself the best Valentine's Day present ever: a future.  So, yeah, FUCK YOU, VALENTINE'S DAY.


By the way, this is the shit:

♥ worth celebrating.