Maybe?

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I'm trying to decide what to do with my little corner of the cyber world. Blogging - consistently and with any amount of interest - is more work than most people realize. I'm running out of motivation to do it well ... assuming I ever did.

I miss taking photos.

I still do not have an IEP, nor placement, for Cam for the coming school year.

I'm not giving Band Back Together the attention that I feel it deserves.

After 5 years of incompetence, my bookkeeper in Arizona was finally let go. Her work is being redistributed (I'm getting about 25% of her daily work - 100% of the problems she left behind) and I am buried ... deep ...

I need to get a second, part-time job.

It's time to prioritize and this blog currently has a negative return on investment.

Not sure if I will let it go entirely, or just take an extended break.

Time (and priorities) will tell.

You can still find me (if you are so inclined) on the twitter and on tumblr.

See ya when I see ya!

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Anxiety is a Bitch!

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There! I said it, but it might surprise you to learn just how much anxiety has taken over basic functional parts of my life.

The new ink? There are two stories behind the ink, one of letting go (to be told on Band Back Together) and one of overwhelming anxiety - anxiety that, if it hadn't been for the insight of Aunt Becky, would have kept me from getting to letting go.


The trip with Aunt Becky to The Tattoo Factory had been planned for a while. I was her support, but I had ulterior motives. I knew I was ready to have some ink done. I picked out the Tolkien quote quite some time ago. I decided that I didn't want a flagrant ink memorial to Alan, but rather something subtle - something that wouldn't SCREAM, "Ask me about this important person in my life who died!" yet would still have significant meaning to me.

I don't want to tell Alan's story to strangers - I ... I just don't.

We got to The Tattoo Factory and I started to lose it the minute we walked through the door. I had my printed out Tolkien quote with me - there was clearly an artist who had the time to do it - and I could NOT walk to the counter to speak with him. My ass was firmly cemented to the wooden bench by the window.

My heart was pounding.

My hands were shaking.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes just thinking about walking up to that counter.

It wasn't the ink I was anxious about. I wanted the ink. I was ready for the ink. I could not get past walking up to that counter and talking to a ... a stranger ... and I cannot give you a single logical reason for that very overwhelming physical reaction to such a non-threatening situation.

I can tell you that I deal with anxiety multiple times, every day. Sometimes it's a phone call. Sometimes it's placing an order at McDonald's. 9 times out of 10, I am able to get past the moment where the anxiety becomes debilitating. This day I was not.

Aunt Becky's artist called her back. As it turned out, Aunt Becky hadn't prepared well for this visit (imagine that - *giggle*). Although her "Shut Your Whore Mouth" t-shirt was appreciated by the staff at the shop, it made inking her impossible. I offered to run to Target and pick her up a more "ink appropriate" garment.

It gave me an excuse to flee the anxiety.

A chance to breathe.

An opportunity to slow my heart rate.

When I got back to the shop, Aunt Becky had taken it upon herself to talk to Phil about my ink - giving him the printed out Tolkien quote so that he could work up a drawing for me.

She knew.

She's been there.

Getting inked is cathartic for me. The discomfort of the pain takes me to a place where all outside stimuli is muted. I crawl into the very dark crevices of my emotional self and I feel - I really feel - something I don't allow myself to do very often.

That day? I felt the joy of having a friend who not only likes me, but has many shared life experiences and has developed a keen sense of empathy, and I felt the relief of being able to trust a friend enough to tell her the truth, even though I knew how irrational my truth was at that moment.

It was a good day ...

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