Grief and moving on

During my divorce my mother in law explained how small losses in life are actually beneficial.  These are just stepping stones for the constant crushing blows that we face in our adult lives. With the exception of my divorce, my beloved Cecil and my step dog I have actually never really experienced any real significant losses.  In fact with the exception of my unfortunate derby injury this past little while I have been met only with wins and gains and I'm practically farting rainbows all over the place.

                                                              Until this morning

 Stage One-Shock and Denial

No.  Nononononono.  This is not happening.  I can't...I just...NO!  It's ok.  I can fix it!  Totally fixable!

Stage Two-Pain and Guilt

Why didn't I appreciate it more when I had it.  The glorious weight.  The way it held the perfect amount of coffee.   Oh the colours. Did I leave it carelessly in the sink, underneath all of the dishes??  Oh god....it hurts...my tetris mug.   All of my other mugs sucks.  It's not the same.  I hate itttttttt. Ack!!!!

Stage Three-Anger and Bargaining

Who the FUCK used my mug and left it in the sink!?!?!   Seriously.  WHO DID THIS.  LOOK AT THIS AND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!!!  You have destroyed meeeeeee.   Meeeeeee....  You know what, think geek?  Go fuck yourself for no longer having this mug.  FUCK YOU.  You have destroyed my happiness.  Ok. It's going to be ok.  If I can find this mug elsewhere I will totally bail on buying skiis and I will bail on the European skiing adventure the winter will bring.  Besides, who am I kidding, I might hate skiing but I LOVE this mug.  Come back.  I'll love you better.  I promise.

Stage Four-Depression

 I can't do anything.  I can't figure out how to remove a wipe board.  I can't keep a mug intact.  I don't even know that a wipe board is actually called a white board.  I just keep buying shit to remove the wipe (white) board because I don't even know what this fucking wipe (white) board is made of because I can't even google properly.  I can't google, remove a wipe (white) board, keep a mug from breaking, t-stop, or knit a pattern on a hat.  Sniff...this mug was the last thing my ex ever gave me.  Now that this mug is broken I'll never be able to go to Europe.   I'm just going to sit here in bed, all unshowered, miserably drinking scotch from a sub par mug thinking about how much better it would taste if it were in my beloved tetris mug.  Someone who carelessly breaks a beloved mug doesn't deserve to use a snifter.  Poo....I don't even own snifters.

Stage Five-The Upward Turn

I guess this Halloween mug is ok.  Festive, really.  

Stage Six-Reconstruction and Working Through

I refuse to work through.  Pity and rage is better.  I want to crawl in a hole and diiiiiiiiiiie

Stage Seven-Acceptance and Hope

It's gone.  Look on the bright side, I could be in a refugee camp.  That might actually be worse.   And  I don't have cancer!  The only thing I don't have, besides herpes and a million dollars is a tetris mug.  That's pretty good.  I actually have it all any super amazing 36 year old wants.  In fact, if the ONLY criteria for true success and happiness is NOT having a tetris mug but having everything else I'm rocking in a free world!  I'm practically superman!    I'm not certain but I'm willing to bet the farm that lots of people live without tetris mugs.  Maybe they have a kitten mug, or a shark mug?  Maybe even a paisley mug.  Maybe it's ok to learn to love a new mug.

I love you, Muggy.  You were the best.  I will forever hold you in my heart and while it might hurt and it might be hard I will no doubt learn to love again.

Giddy up, Soldiers.

Talk about upgrading from awesome to spectacular!

This upgrade brings so many advantages.  Jobs are better, men are better,  Christ, even CHEESE is better.  I am practically Kim Kardashian, minus the looks, figure, personality, money and class.  But totally just like her.

The area I haven't managed to bring this most coveted upgrade to is derby.

Fucking derby.   

While I totally appreciate that I didn't join a knitters guild I honestly had no idea how goddamned hard it would be to give a hit.  My sisters schooled me well in the area of senseless brutality so I'm actually ok taking the hits as they come.   A few bruises here and there but no real problem.  Giving a hit?  HAHAHA!!   First there is this whole idea of  MAKING contact with my target and not just skating by them, missing by a good two feet.  Second, there is this silly notion that after executing your amazing hit that you actually stay on your feet.

Falling is part of the game.  I am not sure that even the most seasoned of vets can play a game without a single fall.  Falling isn't the problem.  It's doing it properly.  You have about half a second to decide what fall you're going to execute and about 2 seconds to get yourself back up and skating before you are fuuuucked.    I think a drunk monkey would be more confident on skates than I am so you can only imagine that the delicate knee tap falls are out of the question.  This leaves suicide and baseball falls.   Suicide falls I am surprisingly good at....during drills....where there is no risk of 10 other skaters rolling over my hands.  Baseball slides?  Well, let's just say that I have left the rink with countless wheel babies on my ass.   I have almost developed an affection to them.  I expect it.  I prepare for it.

But nothing could have prepared me for...the dreaded anal skate rape.

This is where my upgrade from awesome to spectacular is questioned.  A spectacular person ( I can only speculate at this point) hits clean and well and proceeds through the pace line, systematically knocking down their fellow freshmeats.    A lowly awesome person hits, starts to lose their footing and foolishly opts for a baseball slide, only forgets the slide part, land on their skate......a wheel, penetrating their beloved cornhole.   

The good news is that 15 hours later the bleeding has stopped.  The bad news is that I was just brazillianized and I don't want my super conservative and old doctor thinking I'm a hussy so I can't seek medical attention. So it's just me, epsom salts and my frozen bag of peas.  Given my penchant for  the old "wait and see" and making bad situations worse I have a slight fear that this will ultimately result in a colostomy bag.  

Derby is hurty.  But sooo soooo good.

Ah those heartbreaking pets.

I've been thinking a lot about Cecil these days.   Everything was kind of unravelling at the time of his death so I never really sat down and allowed myself to really process it.   So, it's been two months, my mind reset to normal and everything is exactly how it was and should be.

Except there is no Cecil...and that is making me pretty flipping sad.

For the most part I find animals, specifically pets, to be far better people than most humans.  I will never fully understand how folks can go through life without ever having any connection to an animal, however, I also realize that I am a giant suck when it comes to our four legged friends.

So, Cecil.   I'm not delusional.  I realize that he was a giant prick.  But I respected him.  We had a really great cohabitation going.  He was the one constant in my ever changing adult life and I am not certain I'll ever know a better feline.  This guy OWNED the world.

I often have a hard time letting go of things.  There is not one single shitty thing I have said and done that I don't revisit in my head and regret.   Where I can't forget I just try and forgive myself and be better next time.  While I KNOW that the choice to euthanize Cecil was the most humane and loving choice I am still, two months later, crippled with guilt.  I hate that I am still in a place where I can't allow myself to think about him.  It's still too hard and two months later I look at his picture at my desk and start crying.

My coworker asked me why I still had these pictures of Abbie and Cecil at my desk but no picture of Gary

 I didn't really have an answer.  I suppose it's because I go home to Gary every day.  I can't forget him.  Every morning I see him, every day we walk together.   Every night we cuddle and every day I tell him I love him.  Abbie and Cecil?  I just have the memories that frankly, I am not yet willing to let go of.  I find myself coming home and bracing myself to find garbage about the house, only to find a clean floor and no Abbie.  I literally still hear Cecil's meow in the distance and find myself looking to make sure there is water in his bowl, only to find no bowl.  Abbie and Cecil, while terrible in their own ways, were two little spirits who somehow managed to weasel their way into my heart, for better or for worse.  And even though my black cold shrivelled up heart still hurts for them, I'm not ready to forget how nice it was when Abbie groaned when you rubbed her ears or the look on her face when she was in trouble.  Or how Cecil always seemed to know the wrong time to come lay on my head.  

Two furry bastards who are gone forever.  That shit still hurts.

C'est l'Halloween..almost

Oh Halloween parties...how I love these.

While there is nothing this girl loves more than having breakfast in bed made for her it just wasn't enough to get myself out of a Jamison's aftermath and on to the rink.

Here I am, all Comic Girl'd up

And holy hell...a magician.   Like an attractive, herpes-less Chris Angel.  Mind repeatedly blown.

The best.

Innnnteresting

I have noticed some changes since this whole derby thing.  The first one being that for the first time in, well, ever, I'm totally comfortable with my body.  I think I'm heavier now than I have been in a very long time but for some reason that might be ok.  It might be my age and the whole "maturing" thing and realizing that it really just doesn't matter.   It might be because my legs are hard as rocks. It might be that I am grateful for the added padding for when I go down and make sweet sweet wheel babies on my ass.   It might also be that BECAUSE of the weight my tits are absolutely spectacular.  In any event...it's neat not to be so preoccupied.  It lends more space in my brain for real concerns such as world peace and what colour to paint the laundry room.

The second, more concerning thing is my driving.  And my walking about.  I seem to find myself viewing cars and unsuspecting pedestrians as jammers.  Targets that, if I can't hit, I need to at least put them off track.  Everything has a big ole star on their heads.

I was at the pharmacy today buying even more makeup for my costume for this evenings "CB's Fifth Annual Halloween Party" and I found myself dodging racks and people. Getting ever so close only to transition around to narrowly escape contact.  One shitty little kid was giving me stink eye so I ever so cleverly scooched around her, throwing her off track. It was exhilarating!  It is also far less hurty than locking your skates and going down hard.

The driving thing?  Along with the loss of toenails this is something I really hope passes.

Ruh roh

I just got BBM for my iphone.

Not too long ago I had exactly zero in the way of technology.  I'm not gonna lie...it's kinda awesome. It's like MSN meets google chat meets texting.


See ya never!

Roooooooooooad Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiipppppppp!

One obvious benefit of quitting smoking is the sweet extra cash you seem to have in your pocket.

What's a girl to do?  Save wisely?  Fuuuuuck that.  I'm a-hauling my arse to Louisiana.

I would LOVE it if this could be the year I go to New Zealand, however, I do have to be semi responsible and breaking the bank just isn't within my means this year.  That said, I still have that itch to get away for a week.

For me, a super boring old lady, packing into my car and driving 20 hours seems so fun and juvenile and something I missed out on.  That said, once you factor gas and hotels and blah blah blah....well, it might be cheaper just to hitch a ride on one of them big ole flying machines.

Either way, I have 4 months to scrimp and save and plan and get a boob lift should I end up in the middle of Mardi Gras with my shirt off.

God.  Goodtimes!