Catching Up -- And Down

Hello again, trusty old blog. It's been a while.

I struggle with consistency and keeping up with promises to myself, so I drop hobbies often, even productive ones or ones I am passionate about. Writing is definitely one of those things, but I always come back to scratch out a few semi-coherent thoughts in times of turmoil or isolation. This past year I had a few moments like that where I turned to Twitter, but now I'm back here. Here, to make sense of all my pinball thoughts pinging around my dusty quarter-cent-a-play brain.

This past year has been a roller coaster, with rickety-slow progress to incredibly high peaks, heart pounding moments when you never know when the floor will drop out from under you.

This time last year I was free-falling into a deep depression, unemployed and renting a room from a friend that became a toxic living situation. I still worked as a House Manager at the theater, but work there is never consistent enough to bank on as primary income. Eventually, I got a job as an after-school programs art teacher. And then I was offered an office job, a temp position that was promised to become permanent in a few months if I did well. I juggled all three jobs for about a month before I finally admitted that it was too much. I left home every morning around 7 to take the bus to the office and after I got off, I would take another bus and a quick change to work as an art teacher until 8 pm. I loved the kids and I thrived being surrounded by creative energy, but when I got home every day I was tired and cranky and drained. Weekends went to the theater, so I often worked 6-7 days a week with no time to rest. So I decided to refocus on only working at the office on weekdays and weekends at the theater. Things were good, I felt myself get comfortable in the lull of working a steadily busy 9-5. Months passed and I began looking forward to converting to a permanent position with benefits and all, the low-standard millennial dream. But when the time came, the firm decided that even though they liked my work and liked having me around, they couldn't afford a permanent person in this role. Okay, back to square one.

There was one small hitch though - we had just bought a house. I know, I know. In anticipation of what I was led to believe would be a salaried position and because we were exhausted by the idea of getting another short-term rental at the nearing end of our lease, Nico and I were under contract for an under budget cute-with-potential townhouse. I know this shouldn't be possible at our current pay level, and how we pulled it off is a post for another day (hint: we got incredibly lucky), but it was what it was. So we chug-a-chug-chugg-ed our way to this high point, with a brief moment to look out at the view and share a celebratory Facebook post, and then we plunged through a drop of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety about whether we could still do this with reduced income until I could find another full-time job. We are making it work and I don't really have regrets.

No regrets, but a lot of damn anxiety.

In the past month or so my physical health has been declining and my mental health isn't so hot either, so I've been withdrawing from the few friends I have and staying home to rest any time I'm not working. I think this might be the part of the roller coaster where we twist and turn sideways until we're not sure which way is up, until somebody next to you pukes and gravity shows you which way is definitely down.

My writing tends to the dramatic, pessimistic side, but I promise it truly isn't as bad as the picture I paint. We have been so lucky to have this incredible house with an affordable mortgage and a sense of stability through everything and I can never, ever forget that privilege. Nico has gone back to school to get a nursing degree and my heart bursts with pride for him. I've been thinking about going back to school as well, since my tentative plan was to work for a few years and then go back for my PhD, and somehow a couple years have flown by already since graduation -- and my last post on this blog, sheesh. I am still working on just about every resolution I wrote about two years ago on that post to boot because some things, like a leopard's spots and the ubiquity of tired idioms, don't change.

But I thought I did. I change so much and so frequently that I look back and think that I am a different person than I was six months, a year, five years ago; that with each shedding of my skin I am closer to my true self. I don't know what my true self is, and I'm not so sure anymore though that I have changed, really changed. It feels more like every few years someone takes a paperclip and hits a tiny reset button that's tucked away somewhere and I cycle through my old habits, feelings, and wishes all over again. I am not changing, I am cycling. Recycling. My personal roller coaster never stops and never lets off, it just slows to a crawl and starts climbing again (what twisted sonuffabitch is running this thing anyway?) I suppose I'll see you all again on the next climb.