the pushback

pushing through fear SOM

This is going to be a bit of an astrological post, but one that has been seven years in the making.

Today, I texted the owner of this house with a bit of exasperation. I have sent her daily texts, as I promised I would, about the creep who is smoking inside his room.

Currently, I have taped a towel over the vent, which thankfully isn’t blowing air because it’s too cold for the a/c. I have a towel under the door. My air filtration system sits by the door.

My first text to her, after she asked me about rent, was detailing how the creep was lowkey stalking me in my own house. That was on Sunday.

No response.

So I told her on Thursday about the smoke I was smelling and have probably been smelling for a while. This guy is just lazy and doesn’t want to go outside, which is why he was stalking me in the backyard in the first place.

I’ve texted daily about this smoking situation, as promised. So this is text #4 with no response. I’m using her millennial methods, and yet!

Maybe I’ll need to switch to Gen X methods. Right now, I don’t smell anything, so maybe she did get to him? He has no phone, so I don’t know how she would have contacted him. Maybe through the other tenant?

The stalking, actually, has stopped (at least for now). I’ve been using protective magic (yes, magic) every day and now even if I see him, neither of us shudder in fear. I just go about my business. But I rarely see him.

I bring all this up because it takes so long for me to get to a point of righteous anger, and it was bothering me. I didn’t know what to say to this woman to get her to act.

Should I just keep pestering her? Should I start insulting her? What is going to move her? I don’t like spending my precious time fighting over this, or pondering what to say.

But then I recall what was basically my first astrological reading from my friend–and this was back when I still used AIM!

It takes others trampling on your needs and boundaries to get you to stand up for them! That’s part of what’s been going on with your relationships. These conflicts are pushing you to a place where you will hopefully respect your own emotional needs.

This was about my sun and rising signs being in Capricorn, but my moon being in Cancer. They are opposite on the zodiac wheel. Capricorns are quite confident and competent, but on the inside, I’m a mushy, yet still kinda tough, crabby Cancer.

One things about Capricorns–they are very patient people. But once you have taken advantage of their graces, they are done with you, forever. I’d say that it’s same for Cancers as well. So my home situation is definitely reflective of this phenomenon. I’m patient until I’m not. And when I’m not, you will have hell to pay.

But it takes a lot for me to get there.

So here comes even more astrology. Uranus, the planet of disruption, innovation, instability, and sudden insights, has been impulsive and innovative Aries since March 11, 2011 (as of this writing, that will be seven years ago tomorrow!).

And honestly, until I had written the owner about how insane it was to live here, I didn’t really understand what Uranus was trying to do.

It’s been a nightmare.

I’ve called this transit, in my 4th house of home and family, a thug. Uranus in Aries has been bodying me this whole fucking time.

And why? Just to torture me?

I had so many people take advantage of me when I had to leave my apartment going on 5 years ago.

The classmate and her awful roommates.

The crazy Pisces lady with her ridiculously spoiled Capricorn daughter.

The paranoid, Capricorn attorney from church

And now here I am with these lazy, greedy owners.

Granted, I tried to stand up for myself (feebly?) in each occurrence, but it always seemed in vain. And that was triggering, and I talked about that in my last post.

wait that's it

But maybe Uranus in Aries in the 4th house–maybe that was part of the point. A lot of this instability has to do with poverty, so I don’t want to overspiritualize the financial, emotional, and social sacrifices to get my master’s degree.

But part of the point may very well have been to have been triggered. And in this case, I don’t think triggering is something to resist or avoid, but to lean into to obtain some overdue healing.

This goes back to being a highly competent Capricorn. Uranus really checked me about that. My needs to be respected and valued always seemed to take a backseat to others’ needs.

And this is a theme.

I don’t know if my parents really planned on being like this towards me, but sometime this month, it really dawned on me how I deserved to have parents who stuck up for me emotionally–and the sorrow and grief that comes with not having that.

My being tough all the time has been an effective but dated coping mechanism, and Uranus brought me low, to shameful levels of abasement.

I really needed help, a lot. And it’s been a journey to ask and accept that help.

And ironically, this need for help made me feel more isolated. It’s only been recently (*coughs* This past fall when Jupiter, the planet of expansion and MORE, moving into deeply intense Scorpio, which is in my 11th house of friends and community *coughs*) that I have felt like I am not my problems, that there isn’t this massive wall of poverty keeping me away from the life that I want.

Deeper still, though, has been the wound of not being heard, which, again, if I had to go the astrological route, that can be shown with my Mercury retrograde in Sagittarius placement in my 12th house of healing, secrets, and endings. It’s like screaming into the void, many times over.

Can you hear me? Do you even want to hear me?

I won’t even go into how having this communication chip on my shoulder warps every relationship I have. This is really about how the wound was formed and how I’ve really not fully dealt with it.

There’s this Capricorn tendency to be conservative, to not do things unless the ROI is at least 100%. That can turn into laziness, but also it can turn into fear and inertia.

My Mars retrograde in Leo in the 8th house can also contribute to this–am I going to be willing to risk it all, or risk at all? My friend and I were talking about this yesterday. Lots of profound insights about that placement…

So, texting this owner every day seems pointless. I didn’t want to do it. It’s not even about my reputation or standing in this house.

I know she’s checked out and doesn’t care–because that’s what her lack of action shows. She just wants rent. She wants to see herself as a nice person, not as someone who ignored her own clinical training as a licensed clinical social worker to let someone completely inappropriate live in her home.

She’s in denial, and I am the wake-up call she doesn’t want to take.

But, I have to keep calling.

Why? Because, as my therapist told me, I deserve to be a fierce advocate for myself, just like I was with my clients when I was a social worker.

This may end up nowhere, the texting which may lead to calling and emailing. I promised I’d text every day until this resolved.

Beyond the promise to her, there’s a promise I made to myself to keep sticking up for myself, even if this is all for naught. It’s hard for me to understand to do something like this out of principle.

It just keeps bringing up inside of me some screaming little infant who is not being picked up.

So Uranus keeps pushing me in the chest, trying to pick a fight, so I can address this very old wound, the one where I seemingly didn’t feel safe and wanted as a baby. It’s something that keeps coming up for me when I think of my relationship to my mother and how I still don’t feel bonded to her. I’ve been pondering about this lack of connection for years.

Me sticking up for myself is the needed pushback. And it takes so much. Yes, there’s the astrological explanation–people have to get through two layers of Capricorn for that emotionally deep Cancer gooey center.

But, there’s also just how I grew up. I’m a firstborn girl with two narcissists as parents–one of which is mentally ill–who had a younger child who is developmentally delayed. As another friend stated so eloquently, from an old saying: the cobbler’s children have no shoes.

Every day that I’m here in this house, I feel like Uranus is pushing, asking me–“Are you going to take this shit? You think you deserve this? You just want to keep the peace, huh? Can you hold still with this shit? Do you want to?”

No, no, no, no, no.

This is so painful, but it’s not debilitating. It’s just…frustrating, even when I know what part of the purpose is. It’s to toughen me up in the right way.

I shouldn’t be concerned about anyone’s feelings in this house except mine.

Out of frustration, I called out the owner’s lack of responsiveness today. It felt good, but it also was perplexing.

Why is she not taking care of this? Why is she slow with everything?

Why doesn’t she care about me?

And that question echoes back to my birth. It’s a nagging, rhetorical question that I have asked my whole life. And it’s a very sad one that no child, young or old, should ever ask.

I care about me. And that matters, a lot.

Back to the shame and abasement, though…I keep forgetting that I don’t have to stay there, that I can ask for and deserve divine assistance. The protection work I do every day has made me happier, so I am already tapping into it.

But I can do more, and I will.

I just keep forgetting to ask for help. This is a common Capricorn’s plight–helping others without thinking of ourselves enough.

Our own inner children are barefoot.

So that’s my call now–to continue to seek guidance and assistance from on high, as well as from within. To tend to my barefoot inner child. To make her some shoes.

Uranus in Aries, thankfully, isn’t going to last forever. It’ll leave Aries for luxurious, sensual Taurus on May 15th. But until then, I’ll try to learn whatever is left to learn in these last two months before the head-butting ram turns into the resting bull.

I’ll keep pushing back.


scooped out

clean up SOM

I’m not sure if I forgot to write last week, or if I didn’t have much to say, or both.

I’ve been writing a lot for work, which is a good thing, but it also short circuits my creative spark.

The only thing on my mind worth to talk about right now is that lingering fear that I’m not doing enough to make my life better.

Heavy weather, heavy shit.

I just talked this out with a friend today, and between that conversation and another conversation we had earlier this week, I feel like I’ve been emotionally scooped out, empty and clean.

My current housing situation is swirling down the drain of time. And that’s a good thing, even if looks scary and feels uncomfortable.

The creepy roommate that I didn’t think I’d write about again got creepier. All last week, as I was going out more and more for a number of reasons, he was always around on the porch, or lingering in the living room watching TV.

The climax was when I went outside to take pictures of the orange blossoms on the in the backyard. The scent is intoxicating, a heady perfume, and it’s amazing that this is the first time I’ve really smelled it.

I turned to go back to inside, and there he is, picking up cigarette butts from outside his open window.

(So this asshole is still smoking in his room. I’m sure I still smell it every once in a while. While looking outside my window one day, I saw smoke curl on the wind. We’re under a red flag advisory so I hope he doesn’t end up causing a fire with his errant ashes.)

When I walked back to the house, I said loudly, “You’re a CREEP!”

After the owner asked me for rent on Sunday, I told her about the stalking and that although I will give her the (undeserved) 30 days notice, living in this house was insane and that I would be looking for a new place to live.

That felt good and right to do. I needed to see myself say, this is insane. I need to leave.

I never heard back from her, just like last time, just like many times.

The effort to handhold someone to a path of decency and respect. Right now, I don’t have the strength. And I’m not sure if that’s conditioning or the conditions.

This old house has triggered so many old wounds I thought I had healed from childhood.

There’s something primal in me that didn’t get her needs met, something non-verbal, something like a newborn’s withering cry, still reverberating inside of me.

And then there’s the obvious parallel of living with someone who has an untreated mental illness, like I did for most of my childhood.

The repetition of being in the same old scary place of not being heeded and heard.

Why don’t I just leave? 

To where? And how?

There are some options that are popping up, and my finances are opening up.

But I’m still a bit stuck here.

I need a little more grease, a more monkey grease, a little more time…

A little more patience with myself, with the process, with the becoming…

I know that I have been called to call in my own power, to inculcate the idea in my being that I do have power, here. Now.

And surprisingly, that has helped.

The creeping has stopped…for now. I’ve had to improve my spiritual hygiene, do things on a daily basis that creates protection.

There are other things–well, really just one thing–forming that I wish I could publicly talking about. It’s been interesting to see how the Universe has been bodying me into this new place, a place that I don’t really want to go, but I am open to explore…

In the meantime, as I’m welcoming this new idea of place, I have been letting go of another idea, another one I really have wanted for over a year.

Or, at the very least, I’m putting it aside.

As things have improved in my life, I’m wondering if this was just a life preserver, not something permanent? I’d like for it to be permanent, but…so much in my life has not been permanent.

If I misunderstood things…well, I can’t take the disappointment right now.

Have you ever hedged your bets like this? Put off taking life-changing risks because the chance of failure is so great, you’re unsure you’ll be able to pick yourself up again? Or if you are able, it’ll take months to put yourself back together again, even with all the king’s horses and all the king’s men?

I’m strong in so many places, but I’m oh so fragile right here.

To have hopes dashed, again, in this desolate, barren place…

…now is not the time for a broken heart (is there really a good time for that? 🤣)

And it’s OK to wait until I’m OK to take the blow of defeat, or even to ride the waves fear and regret.

Although I was drowning in a lake of self-loathing over my loquaciousness, I’ve realized that I’m thinking more clearly lately.

It could just be that not being broke makes me less stressed out. But even when I was making more money, I was still stressed out. So as work satisfaction and financial stability are growing, my home life is soon to follow.

So as I ponder if I’m doing enough to improve my life, it seems easier to do, to examine myself more critically.

So here’s what I’ve come up with.

I haven’t left this house because there aren’t the right options open to me right now. And I’m trying to tie up things from my past which is tying up my money.

And all of that is OK. All of this is about getting to the life that I want.

It seems the climate and locale and people that life will be filled with–all of that is changing.

But there’s still a gap between what I am capable of, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and where I want and need to be.

And honestly, the bridge will be made of miracles.

‘Cause there’s only so much that I can do…

Here’s a song from Sia, from the Fifty Shades Freed soundtrack, “Deer in Headlights.”

It really sums up how I feel, especially since words are failing me now…


Hoping for a miracle
I’m not equipped for this
But I can’t move until I choose
I need a crystal ball
I’m falling apart
And I can’t take anymore
Standing at the crossroads
There’s no right answer
No one’s brain to pick
Under the spy
There’s no escaping, I’m a deer caught in headlights

I am hoping for a sign
Something bring me right here
Not in a drink, not in a drift
Please see me through metaphors in blue
I’m holding on for dear life

Ego, I am a slave to you
You’re running the show, my confidence is bruised
Dumbstruck, I’m falling for his act
Down a shame spiral, I am at the news

I am hoping for a sign
Something bring me right here
Not in a drink, not in a drift
Please see me through metaphors in blue
I’m holding on for dear life

Something bring me right here
I am dreaming, I’m in a drift
Please see me through metaphors in blue
I’m holding on for dear life

Spirit, please don’t abandon me

the past future

the future

Last Memorial Day, I went to Cassadaga and spoke with a medium. Even reading that post, I missed some things that I didn’t had forgotten. But I had been looking over my notes that I came across as I was looking for something. I really wish I could have recorded the conversation, but her energy just shorts that all out.

Most of these notes haven’t really come to past. She was able to see my pretty fucking useless Gem crush (damn you, Millennials) from work last year. She thought I was close to real love.

Beyond that, here are some more highlights. I wanted to see how close I was to these predictions coming true.

*Underestimating myself

I put the asterisk when I wrote it. I’m not at all close to where I should be. That’s probably my core struggle and frustration. It’s probably a Capricorn thing. Goals on goals on goals. There’s so much stuff that she listed that was great about me. I know there is so much within me, untapped, unused, unseen. I need to ask my angels and guides to open that shit UP, like right now.

Counseling/”Not enough hands-on time with people”

Being currently car-less, this will be tough to do, but maybe I should be volunteering? I really love just having in-depth conversations about people’s lives. With Cancer season, I feel like I’ve gotten really opinionated but also very much about relating. The medium mentioned me being a counselor. I’m like, meh, I don’t know, STILL. She felt like my voice will be used to heal.


Well, I’ve taught before, but it seems like whatever gifts I have, they are not being used yet. I need to write another book. Apparently, I will be writing textbooks.


Just like last year, this year children and family keeps coming up in oracle card readings. Just by being in a child’s presence, I can change their lives. And, with it being Cancer season right, it’s about nurturing. I really do hope I get to have my own kids, but like my Cancer friend in Atlanta, with her youngest Gemini girl, I’d love to be nurture a lot of kids.

“So serious, but need joy”

I think that sums my life. I don’t even have anything to add. Damn.

And here’s something beautiful, like a song lyric: “someday will be bright and blue.” I’m not sure that even means. I think it means it’ll be really clear what my future life will look like.

The medium gave me a lot of book titles for me to read. My last note: “twists and turns, left turns, right turns, not straight.”  That is so true, still. So there’s that!

I feel like I’m so close to real love (yes, like right now and I can’t really talk about it–although if anything come of it, it’d be kinda cool to talk about because it’s so immaterial right now), to those seemingly mythical kids. Yet, of course, I feel really far away. Kids keep coming up for me, for years and years, and yet now I feel even further away from this future.

But tomorrow, everything could just change. I could have one meaningful conversation. I could find an amazing client. So many things that I don’t even know could happen. It’s hard for me to live in the world of possibility, but that medium saw so many wonderful things for me.

I guess I’m just making those left and right turns…

The Wonders of Worry

This post started off in about May 2015, so I want to come back to it.

I want to posit that, within reason, worry does some effective work. This isn’t necessarily woo-woo, but I do hear in woo-woo circles about letting go, not being afraid, etc. etc. etc. Much more easier said than done.

I won’t go into the reptilian brain, fight-flight-or-freeze, our ancestry, or any of the cool science we already know about stress, cortisol, and fear.

Last night, I had been fretting about the end of the semester, but also my career path. I was pretty sure I wanted to be done with teaching. I have a very volatile love/hate relationship with teaching. I currently teach English composition at a community college, but it’s been fraught with mistakes and worries (how many times can I revise a syllabus? why can’t I seem to get to the details sooner? why is my tongue tied? why do I still have stage fright anytime I lecture? why doesn’t Blackboard ever seem to work?!) Sometimes, I love how I can get through to a student, when I can see them learn. I had a couple of students tell me last night that they enjoyed my class. But sometimes, I’m dealing with freakouts from them as well as just sheer disrespect (why aren’t they reading my emails? why don’t they just do what I say?).

Part of me wants to give it another shot–although with so many students who withdrew, I don’t know if I’ll be given that shot. The pay is abysmal–it comes with no benefits, but there’s something about transferring knowledge, wisdom, and experience that as a nerd, I really like. I have learned a lot about what to do and what not to do, so I want to try again. At least today, I do.

And today, I’m at peace. Well, the thing I was worried about was whether I was doing the final right (it seems like I was, but if not, then I’m sure I’ll hear about it). But it was also the worry of whether I’d be making the right or wrong decision–do I stick it out, knowing that I deserve to be paid better? But why am I so miserable? Is it because of a lack of confidence? Even though these questions have haunted me all semester, today they aren’t as bothersome.

Worry, in my eyes, is something that you do because you feel like you can’t do anything. It’s like the being on the treadmill of your mind, working off fear.

Almost two years later after I first began this post, I still think this is true, that worry can be useful. A recent study showed that worry is linked to a high IQ. Additionally, people who are happy and cheerful, of course, aren’t the ones who brood over problems. But that very brooding can be used for problem-solving–and guess what? Happy people are worse at problem solving.

Earlier this month, I had a freakout moment about money, one of many I’ve had over the past six months being underemployed. But this one almost crippled me. I couldn’t go hang out with my friend as planned because I had erroneously thought that I’d have enough for an outing. So I had to cancel.  I really started to brood–how could I get myself out of this situation?

A friend gave me a quick writing job that I did in a couple of hours, which he was impressed by. Another friend gave me some writing work and many ideas to help me find work. All that worry actually created some money.

Would I say I’m neurotic? Definitely not. I’m definitely hyperaware of my environment, of people around me, and how people perceive me. I’m sure I had to learn how to do that living with my father who increasingly became mentally ill. It’s a survival tactic.

Whenever I think everything will work out and just leave things alone–I’m always caught off guard by my optimism. It’s like the Universe gives me a #WellActually and wakes me up.

Of course, though–there needs to be a middle way. I was physically upset from the money stress, and no one wants to have elevated levels of cortisol if they don’t have to. But I don’t want to walk around blindly in a bubble of bliss either.

How I can really believe things will work out without becoming spiritually lazy? I want to put in my effort. When does concern morph into worry which can become a disfiguring anxiety?

I’m still trying to figure that out for myself. I know that anxiety can simply be prolonged worry that you can feel in your body, that you can see shut down your mind. I’ve had my share of that.

Right now, I’m concerned that I will go into a third month of not being able to pay for my car while paying for everything else. And today, I woke up with that dread. How will I get out of this hole this time? I basically need like $200 (although to catch up I’d need about 4 times that)

Last night, an obnoxious but I guess necessary writing job came up and I completed it. There’s $20 dollars. A writing professional organization got me off of their waiting list last night and it’s only $4.50/month (a huge discount!) for me to have access to all these writing gigs and employers. I bid for two jobs today and I also applied for a contract technical writing position after a recruiter asked me to apply. The money is good and it comes with benefits.

And maybe, metaphysically, Spirit has been taking some pity on me, as I worry. So maybe these opportunities are now become visible? This month really seems to have taken a shift, and I’m not sure if it’s me that has changed (probably) or just life as I know it (probably), or a combination of other things that I can’t see or perceive (most definitely).

Not to laud worry too much, there is a dark side: stress can make you so stupid. You can’t think clearly for solutions, if worry’s stranglehold starts to choke you out and make you see stars. No one wants that.

So, I’m not going to push worry to the side and say that it can’t solve problems. Think of the scientists who brood over diseases, searching for the latest cure. That’s just one example of worry in action. Worry has its wonders and its drawbacks, and we have to learn to find the middle way of this important part of the human condition. It textures our world and our perspective, and it can be the spark of imagination and inspiration to solving our problems.

We just can’t let worry rule us.

a six of swords journey

This may actually be a short(er) post, for once. God, who am I kidding?

It’s been a tumultuous week for the United States with our new president whom I call Tainted Tangelo. I’ve rage tweeted and ranted about the assault on the truth and immigrants. It’s been a blinding blitzkrieg of utter bullshit.

As the day has gone on, chaos has erupted at our airports, of refugees and green card holders being detained and sent back to their home countries. It’s just starting to abate because the ACLU came and saved the day with getting a U.S. District Court judge to grant a stay on this ridiculous “Muslim ban”–at least for those stranded. Some may have been deported anyway, despite the ruling.

Alas, I didn’t come to write about that, although my head is full of these horrific stories. There’s been so much news just today, I can’t keep up. My immigrant’s daughter’s heart is  wrenched with anguish. To think about my own mom’s green card waiting for her at the airport when she arrived here in 1970s, and how family friends of mine had green cards before even leaving home…and now how so much has changed since then, and before then. It deserves a whole blog post. Maybe some other time when my head isn’t  being gripped with a vice grip of a headache.

So. My struggle continues, and there may be an upturn.

It’s time for “Unemployed Capricorn seeks…duh, work.”

This past Monday, I had a phone interview that was an actual interview. That was a surprise, actually, since phone interviews are usually like screeners. It was with this small business that does a lot of high tech stuff. It was hostile–I believe it’s called “behavioral interviewing.” I felt micromanaged before I even started the job! I never have anyone asking me specifically how to do things that I’ve already proven to be able to do. Oh well. I need a security clearance and my credit is crap. So, I’m probably not going to move forward with them. And I’m relieved.

I had a little chat with another possible employer later that day. This was for a managing editor position where my cover letter I had a ton of typos (!!!!!), and it was the first serious job I applied for, back in October.

Yesterday, I just finished this extensive writing exercise that stressed me out a bit. I’ll be talking to the CEO and my possible future boss next week sometime about what I wrote, and then maybe I’ll go in for a face-to-face interview. The future boss seems really nice and was clear about what he wanted. I am probably older than him, but he seems competent–a rarity.

THEN, on Thursday, the old gig, like the gig with the engineer (whom I haven’t heard back from (weary face emoji)), called back for a longer contract and more pay. Same manager, too. Actually, at the same time my old agency emailed me, I got a random call from a recruiter. I applied with my same agency. I know the old manager loved me, so we’ll see what happens.

It’s honestly more of a back-up plan because the managing editor position is what I need to move forward. I’d have control of everything that goes out of this company–and they have 3 offices globally. Yes, power, authority, control: three favorite words of a Capricorn! It really feels like the adult job that I have worked hard to obtain. Even that failed job interview would be similar in terms of authority.

The only way I could see that working out better than the managing editor position is if I was able to find work for myself, sustainable work, during that time. That’s a toughie–at least right now. So, at least right now, I feel like I’m to explore all options and then see what develops.

And then, the downturn. Yesterday, I got a very nice and sadly somewhat expected rejection letter from this environmental group. THEIR LOSS. Seriously, it is. That’s my ego talking, my heart talking, my body talking, my everything talking. I’m passionate about nature. I’m an excellent writer. I have the experience they needed. THEIR. LOSS.

But, just as I said about the old gig calling back–which, by the way, felt like the last Mercury Retrograde shadow burp (Mercury got back to where it started prior to the retrograde motion yesterday)–this job would have been nice if I was able to move across the country. But I bet they were looking for someone younger (read: less expensive).

They also really tried to soften the blow of the rejection by putting in the last sentence of a very long paragraph. Gutless. Tell me upfront, then butter me up. So, not the place for me. I’m still waiting to hear back about another position at another old job. Maybe I’ll hear something next week.

But, back on the upswing (for not that much money, but hopefully it will improve), I have a tiny social media gig on the side. I just completed a little bit of it my tasks today. It’s nice to use a little of my creative side, to create “memes”–I’m just going to call them inspirational posters.

On a non-work note: I have gone to a Meetup two times in a row, meeting with local women, as I have wanted. It seems miraculous at times, when I found this group, and even the name of it.

I still hear my inner critic say: “You’re too much.” “You’re not listening enough.” “You’re trying to be the leader, aren’t you?” Despite the lies from this frightened part of myself, lies that are meant to keep me safe, I’m still glad that I have a space where I can be. Granted, it’s not diverse, so I can’t fully be, but it’s still pretty OK for now.

So, yes– my orange season may be ending soon! I am able to see glimmers of hope on the horizon, like I’m in the tarot card of 6 of Swords, rowing my boat to the other side of whatever this wide lake of an odyssey has been.

It’s been almost 160 days, one-third of a calendar year, of not working. It’s been…strange. Bewildering. Surprising. Devastating.

Really briefly: I do feel that I’ve strengthened (my soul, my spirit, my mind) through this long waiting period. Maybe because the waiting makes sense now. I say that partly because of how this managing editor process has gone. But, I also say it because I finally feel some relief–no, more relief. It’s not the financial relief I was hoping for–as in all bills paid on time. As of this writing, my fundraiser has stalled. It’s disappointing. But, even in and through those thick clouds of disappointment, I’ve received what I have needed, as it was the last time I was in such a dire situation, just a couple of years ago.

Maybe I’ve gotten accustomed to my circumstances. Maybe it is meeting with people weekly–like how I used to when I was a regular churchgoer. Maybe this brave new hope is actually solid, actually real–not like magical thinking or merely wishing for things to be better. Maybe I can feel OK knowing that this season is finally coming to an end.

I don’t want to be good at this, though–at just might can make it. Instead, I want to be good at being grateful for all the good, especially when life really gets good. But it seems I can only do that by going through weird, disorienting shit like what I’ve recently been through.

So yes. The only way to the good is through.


OK with everything 👌


No, really! It will be!


A Week in Review

A lot has happened last week, but in front of the backdrop of unemployment, they all seem really banal and boring. It’s kinda hazy

I’m still avoiding #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I wrote 22 words for it and somehow think I’ll come up with 50,000 words or more by the 30th. I don’t want to do it because the subject matter is a little too tender post-election. Being broke is distracting me from the joys of writing. I don’t even want to write this blog post, but it’s becoming a Sunday tradition to write. As a Capricorn, it seems like a distraction from the work of trying not to be broke. I really don’t like writing fiction. I tip my hat to anyone who does it well and enjoys it because it’s very hard to create a realistic world, a decent plot, fleshed out characters, and keep all those balls in the air.

I wrote a couple of articles. I applied to a few jobs. I reached out to some recruiters who never got back to me. I had a phone screen/interview where I got defensive about my last salary because I don’t think it’s anyone’s fucking business.

I finally paid the rest of my rent–very grateful. Still dreading the other bills that are languishing, like my phone bill. I hope it stays on this week.

I got groceries from Target and saved over $32! I looked on the Cartwheel app and found that I could have saved a couple of bucks more. Oof.

I applied for SNAP, again. This time, I didn’t feel any shame about it, even when my last employer had to verify the separation. They faxed over the form within the hour, which I really appreciated.

Sidenote: Shame and despair are to be avoided, at all costs. It’s one thing that I learned the hard way last month, as well as this month. Being beat up from my ongoing financial upheaval down here, I really started to take on a broke and beat down, despairing persona. Last month, I was exhausted from the hypergrind, but I was also cowering. Ironically, I really wasn’t taking care of myself, of the business of myself, because I was way too optimistic of how things would work out for me.

Moral of the story: find the middle path and find a healthy way to face your stuff.

I launched my Patreon site for this blog. You should join!

I looked up a friend who has passed on who “lead” (I guess he’s a spirit guide now) me to a blog post written by another friend of his. And this has really messed me up. He deserves a whole separate post. I’ve written about him before–and you can read that if you sign up at Patreon. It’s really intriguing and sad to read another friend’s point of view of a loved one. It was also very freeing and enlightening. I was going to write about him for this post, but it’s still too fresh, too raw, too messy. Grief is so weird and not confined to time.

I caught up on the second season of The Royals. I love that tawdry, cheeky show.

But really, overall, I really felt good last week, despite how my life isn’t going the way I want, as fast as I want. That’s really all one can hope for in life: to have one’s emotions to be separate from circumstances.

The Week Ahead

It’ll be more of the same above–talk to recruiters, apply for jobs, write a couple of articles.

I will try to sell some more clothes. Finally saying goodbye to my Chicago cold weather persona.

We leave the dark depths of Scorpio season and pack our bags and passports for the wide lands of Sagittarius season. And we thank God.

*heavy sigh*

I’m not doing anything for Thanksgiving. Beyond it being really a commemoration of genocide, I don’t have any family, “framily,” or anything like that near me. This year, I will resist self-pity imposed on society that claims I need to be with people on Thursday. I don’t need to do anything except take care of myself and not be an asshole.

But since Halloween, as we slowly dip, minute by minute, into the darkness, after we ended Daylight Savings time, it’s been a slow death march to social obligation and forced connection. Last year, I traveled a lot to see friends. This year, I probably will go to the beach for sunrise. Before that, maybe I will buy some pumpkin pie with French Vanilla Cool Whip. Perhaps, I’ll try the Publix turkey sub (holiday sub?).

Still, I may cry, because fighting loneliness isn’t a fun or fair fight. I may cry because this year has been transformative and has left me broken in more than my bank account. I may cry because I’m still so very tired of living, living like this. I may cry because existential loneliness is a constant companion that I’m still not comfortable with. I may cry because there going to be weeks and weeks of this and Thanksgiving will kick it off. I may cry because even though I had a great week last week, I’m still stuck in this house, with the guy whose coughing sounds close to vomiting, in this redneck neighborhood, in this frustrating, stifling holding pattern.

And if those tears form and fall, they will be welcomed. If the only thing I can be thankful for is crying, then I will be thankful for that. I will be thankful for being able to embrace my suffering.

I will miss the Thanksgiving spread. A lot.

Still, the freaking featured image here says “Everything Is Going to Be OK”–and the caption says, “No, really! It will be!” So, um, gotta address that.

That image comes from a book I bought some time ago. I wish I remembered when or where. The whole book has a lot of crafted images of hope and encouragement. I haven’t opened it in a while. It’s just on my bed, as a reminder.

The caption is how I feel like my own oracle and tarot card readings are affirming and reaffirming. And this is where faith lives–Spirit’s waiting room. Spirit’s womb. Spirit’s cocoon.

(OMG that rhymed.)

And this is where faith is planted, sprouts, grows, and lives–between what I see and what I can’t see. One message I keep getting this month is about a financial windfall, or a job promotion. I laugh when I see these messages, like how Sarah from the Bible laughed when God said she’d bear a son in her very old age. Inconceivable! I look at my bank account balance: $2.34. My five loaves and two fishes.

But I am reminded that life has been so much worse, though.  I’m still housed. I still have my car. I am clear-headed and strong. I’m stubborn as hell.

Still, my laughter is heavily laced with incredulity.

I’m also befuddled. Show me the money, honey? Where is it? These messages of golden opportunities are also coming from other people, people I don’t know. YouTube videos of people giving tarot, oracle, and crystal readings. Readings I have requested from friends.

I don’t need to do anything differently. I just need to keep on, keepin’ on.

I need to hear this, and yet I laugh. When I don’t hear those messages, then I wonder if I’ve been abandoned by the Universe.

Another is that everything will be OK. It’s hard to hear. I feel like I’m being teased still. When has everything been OK? Then I have to ask, what is “everything?” It’s clearly not my bank account, my employment status, my marital status, my home address, the number of local friends I have–all the things that I wish were better, that I work on every day to change.

Even though I’ve written some really sad stuff here, I say this as an observer. One thing a friend mentioned to me while we were talking about Mercury Retrograde (which starts on December 19th, but you may start feeling some of those effects soon) is this great quote from the Dalai Lama:

If a problem can be fixed, there’s no use worrying. If it can’t be fixed, there’s no use worrying. –The Dalai Lama

Maybe, circumstantially, things will get worse before they get better. The darkest before the dawn. Impaled in the back by 10 swords like the 10 of Swords tarot card. Or, at the very least, I won’t get what I want when I want (hell, NEED) it. Maybe I won’t work until the New Year. Maybe my phone will get shut off. I’m scared, also, that I’m going to write this same sort of post for the next few weeks–I hope not! It’s all to say that although I’d welcome a miracle, usually life is a second by second unfolding. That requires patience that I usually don’t have. It is being worked in and through me.

I’m scared, also, that I’m going to write this same sort of post of holding on for dear life for the next few weeks–I hope not! It’s all to say that although I’d welcome a miracle, usually life is a second by second unfolding. That requires patience that I usually don’t have.

I wish I could be on a spiritual Neptunian cloud and just transcend this. I wish I could just automatically trust that things will be OK. But you know how I am about this journey through the mud. It’s one step at a time. I can’t think beyond today, and not in a fun “Oh, I can’t wait for this to be over!” way.

So. It’s probably going to be that I am going to be OK with everything, to be able to accept life as it is. Can I trust that the Universe has my back? For a few seconds at a time, yes. I know that this has been the ultimate lesson in my time down here in Florida, and with my whole life. I am sure that as I was being born, I had to rely on the Universe to bring me into the world safely (long story short: mom passed out due to a funky epidural, so she wasn’t even awake for my birth).

As an observer of my life, I can sit in the cozy knowledge that I’m doing the best I can, even if the circumstances don’t instantly change. I’m learning not to take them personally. I can watch it happen without getting as emotionally involved. Going through this financial crisis a third time, I feel different. This is a different time, a different season of my life. If I hit rock bottom again, it won’t crush me like it did the last two times.

I won’t let it. It’s like I turned a corner, into the light, and

I turned a corner, into the light, and this post seems to crystalize when and how that happened.

Hope isn’t a lighthouse, and I’m miles away from shore. It’s being stranded alone on a dark road and finally seeing headlights a few hundred feet away.

And I’m waving my arms like crazy, hoping that help has finally arrived.

If you want to help me out during this time, you can donate to  or Thank you in advance! If you’re interested in how I can help you with your writing needs, let’s talk really soon.

Be careful what you wish for…

A gardenia from my backyard

A gardenia from my backyard

I took the above picture in a prolonged fit of rage. I was practically screaming on social media, but it almost felt like I was watching myself rage. Still, I had a student from my comp class lie and go to the dean’s office complaining about his failing grade. I never knew how much lying would make me angry, though you couldn’t hear it in my voice on the phone. I was ever the professional, calmly explaining myself. After the phone call, where I was on speaker with the student and the dean’s administrative assistant, I went outside and took some pictures of the flowers. Some of them I knew, like my favorite fuchsia bougainvillea, purple morning glories, and the gardenia above. And a couple them, I didn’t know. Grounding myself in nature, I was able to semi-reset and go back to my other job of technical writing.

Since August 2012, I’ve moved five times, and where I live this time is closest to work and, for the most part–besides a landlady who likes to visit at unannounced times and pilfer things–it’s drama-free. Even how I just minimized this current landlady’s foolishness shows me how much I’ve changed in the almost three years I’ve lived and endured down here in Florida.

It’s not that bad.

When I was going through the emotional and financial upheaval that I wasn’t really counting on to happen because I had decided to “follow my dream” and write my memoir about growing up…somewhere along the line, I didn’t like who I was becoming. Embittered. Brittle. Rigid. Dry. Some time in there, I had asked over and over to be more grateful. Maybe because I was tired of hearing my own long-winding song of woe. Maybe it was to spare others of the oft-repeated refrain.

And then things got worse. Much worse.

An eviction. Horrible roommates. School drama: betrayal, an extra semester, and more student loans. More horrible roommates. A job loss. Homelessness. A landlady who nickel and dimed me. No more car.

When I was thinking of blogging about gratitude here, I had either just come back from Target after I had gotten a ride from Uber, or I was making toast in the toaster oven, and then spreading the soft, spreadable butter (with 50% less calories) and sprinkling cinnamon sugar. I wish I had written this in that warm moment, because I felt like I was overflowing with gratefulness, like a honeycomb being peeled open with a warm knife.

And maybe that list of compounding disasters is all it was: a hot knife flaying off the wax of my life.

As pretty as that picture looks, it was a lot more painful and ugly than the picture connotes.

Yet theres is no other way I could be so full of gratitude over things like cinnamon toast (I had some today, too) if I didn’t start on the ground floor of my hierarchy of needs–food, shelter, transportation. This excruciating stripping process is not anything I would wish on anyone, though–especially for myself. All I was trying to do was desperately looking for a silver lining, some cord of hope to hang onto until all these storms passed.

But this is where I am now, still on the ground floor, looking for the elevator to take me up a floor. It almost feels luxurious to be mad about a student’s lies and to actually go take pictures of flowers to decompress. I look forward to being upset about a bird crapping on my car, of not being able to find a shoe I like in my size, the restaurant being out of my favorite wine, a flight being overbooked, a concert that I can afford being sold out, going with my second choice of fabulous places to live, impatiently waiting for an amazing guy that I just met the night before to call me, having to reschedule a doctor’s appointment…

Although I am grateful now, I look forward to being normal again. Yet with all those losses and heartbreaks, etched indelibly into me, it will not be like how my life was before I moved down here. It will be a new normal–one I hope not to ever take for granted and one that I am already welcoming in, one flower petal at a time.