The Barber training is well underway now, looking into learning about sanitation and implements, and I've been told to start gathering my equipment together with the quickness.

The wildest thing about all this is the sheer amount of info you need to learn. Anyone who's actually looked at the textbook (all $100+ of it) will see anatomy, physiology, histology, chemistry, electricity, history and more. Fifteen hundred hours of training go into learning how to cut hair, as a MINIMUM.

If you want to be amazed consider this. To cut someone's hair, you need 1500 hours of training. To respond to an actual life-threatening emergency as a paramedic, the most anally retentive county remotely around here demands a very very thorough 410 hours of training.

More than 300% more schooling, just to cut hair.

Bid adieu to my home church for a while. Going to check out some other denoms, not to switch sides, but just in the spirit of understanding what other churches are like and how they do.

In the interim, since this is just a journalling rambling log:

STOP FUCKING TELLING ME I'M FINE. If I apologize for going past you, I'm doing you a courtesy. There's literally ZERO need for you to comment on this telling me how fine I am. "Oh, you're fine." Am I really.

 

The field lay fallow as the fellow texted for a hanky.

No leaves were turned in the space between us, not that you would have noticed either whey on toast or glue fact or ease of use, if meaning could be made to mean anything otter than the average scare.

The clinch refused to clink.

So, no shit, there I was. Again.

Late last night I returned from yet another mid-June trip to Oregon to visit karma debt and mordel. And, like last year, Auspice guest-starred in the adventure. But, unlike last year, I brought my girlfriend with me. She was very glad that I did, as was I.

Also unlike last year, the house was different. KD and mordel certainly traded-up on housing. The adventure included awesome things I did not see last year, but did not include a few awesome things from last year that I'd hoped to do. It's all good, though. It was still an awesome mini-vacation with two of the kindest, most generous, gracious souls you could ever hope to know. And dogs. So, yeah, there was no super-awesome arcade nor strawberry-picking. But Oh Emm Eff Gee, Mount Hood and the Multonomah Falls shortly after arrival, Portland, the trip to the coast and the Haceta Lighthouse, a million wows! The breathtaking scenery we experienced during this trip just made me want to move to Oregon that much more. Damn, I wish I wasn't so anchored to Missouri.

But I have to mention the food again. Holy shit, the food. You just cannot get food like that in Missouri. The variety and flavors are astounding. I could go on and on about it, maybe do a whole write-up about it. Maybe for another day.

The best part was experiencing the wonderment of Oregon and seeing my good friends again was sharing it with RS. It worked out so well, I'm so glad that now my Oregon friends are now hers as well. That was maybe the best part. Maybe the worst part was kd and mordel getting us hooked on a show, Outlander, that we can't now watch the rest of unless we buy it or something. CURSES!! Another thing that sucked was seeing one of my friends suffering from a shitty injury. I wished I could Harry Potter that shit away.

I don't have much time for this composition so I'm going to now wrap it up. All in all, it was a wonderful trip and I'm certainly going to do whatever I can to make sure it becomes an annual thing, around the same time, every year. I look forward to next June!

It was also awesome to have WiFi on the plane! I maybe took and shared waaaaayyy too many plane pictures on Instagram and Facebook! INTERWEBZ... ON A PLANE!

Today I am halfway through June and halfway through the money I've allotted for myself. I realize now that I can't think of money in so much per day because I run into things like grocery shopping where I need several days worth of money all at once. I did some Googling for budget hacks, but what I really need is a book or person to walk me through exactly what I need to do to create a realistic budget. I remember listening to a CD long ago where the guy said you had to write everything down. I've tried that in the past, but maybe it's time to revisit that strategy so I have a better idea of where my money is going although I feel like I have a good handle on where my weaknesses are. I was going to get a pad of paper or a notebook to write things down anyways, I just haven't gotten around to doing that yet. Maybe I'll take the girls down to the dollar store later on today although that place isn't my favorite. The one twenty minutes away is much nicer, but that means an extra trip I don't need to be making and I might feel like spending other money there and elsewhere.

I slept in today and I'm really glad that I did as it is still raining here. Fortunately we don't have any water in our basement although later on I'm going to have to go walk around the house and check that the downspouts aren't clogged. The girls are going to Great America on Wednesday, they spent last night at the condo and I had a couple teary moments after they left last night. Kids are resilient, I'm really happy that they were excited about sleeping on a futon mattress, but I miss them which is weird because the other day I couldn't wait to kiss them goodbye. One of the hacks I found yesterday suggested painting hideous flooring that was still in good shape. I'd like to do this in the bathroom, but we have a design in the linoleum that will show through so I have to think about how I want to handle that. I would also like to paint my patio and benches. Paint is relatively inexpensive and it's fun to get a bunch of people from my family together to help with things like this.

It was disappointing to realize that this house is now pretty much my sole responsibility. I'm trying to figure out how much I would be expecting from a different landlord. I've mentioned a couple of things that need to be addressed, not things that I want, things that really need to be taken care of for the benefit of the structure, but those things are no higher on the priority list than they were when I was married and have probably sunk even lower now. It isn't my house any longer, but taking care of it is still important. Feeling powerless is a terrible way to go about life. There are things I can do and things I don't have the skills or money to do. I'm back in the - I can't do this myself and I can't hire anyone else to do it either - situation I have been for years. It's not cool, but there's not a whole lot I can do about it except for doing the things that I can as well as I can. I'm sure he would say that he's really busy and I know that's true, but that's not an excuse. Other people who are busier find time to maintain their rental properties and homes whether they do it themselves or find ways to get others to help when it's needed.

When he said that he wanted the girls to spend his weeks at his place I thought he would be getting things ready for them to be there. Sunday morning he was late for church because he went out to eat with his dad and his dad's wife. This is the kind of thing that I really don't understand. I can't for the life of me figure out why he wouldn't have invited Jill and Jane to go along. I didn't say anything to them about it, but it struck me as very..., I don't know the right word for it. I felt bad for them inside and tried to be extra nice to them at the grocery store and while we were going out to eat. The girls wanted to go to the custard stand here in town. I'm not wild about that place, but I went because that's where they wanted to go. He paid for my meal which was nice. I didn't appreciate his comment about sticking to our budget when we've been working so hard to control expenses. It's funny how I'm picking up on so many subtle digs I would have overlooked before. I'm not fantastic with money, but if there was a more frugal person in the relationship, it wasn't him. 

The way that he treats me is not okay. He isn't planning on moving his stuff out so I'm going to have to pack it up for him if I want it out of here which I do. My guess is he hasn't thought about where he's going to put things given the fact that he couldn't even get a bed up for the girls even after I told him he could take the one that they have set up in the room they're using now. I don't really care for that bed, but he told me repeatedly that he loved it so I'm really confused about him not wanting it now. He wants a bed frame that I bought. I told him he could have it, but it's still sitting in the spare room I'm not really using. My plan is to get rid of almost all the furniture in the bedrooms, redo the flooring, that's another thing I'll probably have to do by myself unless I want to live with the peeling paint splattered oak. When we moved in I was all for using the hardwood floors, but he wanted carpeting so he said it didn't matter that we didn't put anything down when we painted.

I am really angry today. I'm not being totally fair to him in the sense that he has since apologized for the carpeting fiasco, but every time I walk into one of the back rooms and find bits of polyurethane flaking off I get mad all over again. It's more than just the flooring though. It's how he has these grandiose ideas that require action and completion. I can tell you one thing, if I ever do get married again I will absolutely not marry anyone who starts projects and doesn't finish them. I have a bit of this in myself so I understand how easy it is to get very overwhelmed despite your best intentions. The difference is my projects tend to be much smaller and I try very hard, and am usually quite successful at working with what I have here at home before I go out and buy anything. I spent twenty dollars at Goodwill for chairs that I love, twenty-five dollars for barstools that I like, and ten dollars for chairs that I have in my bedroom that need to be cleaned and possibly reupholstered. I tore apart our back hall closet, but I didn't spend anything on it as I don't know exactly where I'm going to be at with money later on in the month,

It would be great fun to take everything out of there, clean and paint it, and put in what I want, but the money part aside, I need to draw it out, measure, and make sure that what I want to do is going to work in there before I invest actual money in the project. Today I found a DIY shoe rack that I would like to try and build if I can find someone to help me with it. These are the kinds of things that I would love to do with a partner, maybe I'll see if the girls or my sisters can help me. My mom would be a great resource, but she's also very busy. I have an uncle who could help, but he's in a bad place so I'm not even going to ask him. That blog I read yesterday warned against just sitting around at home and I know what they mean. My ADD and Romance book talks about people hyperfocusing and I can tell that some of this stuff is gnawing at me because I don't have other projects or interests. I need to find things to do that don't involve him, and sometimes don't involve the girls. 

Sometimes he reads these posts. I could stop writing or find another name to post under or join another site, but I am so fucking sick and tired of having to tiptoe around him. He's a computer guy, he's the guy people call when they're locked out of their accounts and he knows every scrap of identifying information about me so I'm not even going to try and do anything subversive or sneaky. That's really not in my nature anyways. I found a notebook he kept while I was cleaning and as soon as I saw what it was I set it aside. I really don't need to read more shit about what a horrible wife I was and how he is the true victim in this relationship. The truth is we were both very immature, very irresponsible, neither of us communicated well and we both cheated on each other with other people in emotional and physical relationships. I am owning my part in this. Every nasty word, the time I threw a scissors. It might have been at him, I don't remember anymore. He threw a phone at the wall, refused to come to bed with me, put me down in front of my children and my friends, and I'm sure he could come up with a long list of my legitimate offenses as well.

The time for accusations is past. The plan on Sunday was to go to church and then out to eat before we bought groceries. I'm not buying groceries with him anymore. I was so stressed out and upset that I way overspent and I'm really not sure why he even wants me there since I tend to be critical of his purchases. I am not a slob and I'm not going to tell myself or others that I am from this point forward. Yes I sometimes get in over my head when I'm cleaning and organizing and go too deep into a decluttering project, but for the most part I am a relatively tidy and organized person. I run into trouble with time management which I am much better at now that I plan to be fifteen minutes early for everything, but it's a process and I'll probably always have some glitches since my brain doesn't see this Friday and June nineteenth as the same space. I look at the clock, but the numbers don't always prompt me the way that they do other people so sometimes I'm scrambling around in a manner I didn't intend. 

I knew this day was coming. I'm glad it's here. For too long I have bottled up resentment and let hatred fester. You get to a point where you're so good at shoving emotions down and bottling them up and pretending that things are okay because it helps you cope with the day to day minute to minute bullshit and never ending drama that you don't know how to escape. You know you need out and every opportunity seems blocked. You're addicted to the lifestyle, you probably don't know anything different even while people around you are shrieking and screaming as you slip deeper and deeper into your smaller and darker hole where things are limited to the few good things in your life that you hold onto until you start letting those go too. I have a book on anger, I should be mad about what happened, but I don't have to stay angry forever. I don't ever have to let another person treat me that way and take things from my life that I worked so damn hard to preserve. I want to run away, to cry on the beach, to disappear and never have to face him again, but for now, this is where I'm at. Hooray. 

Today I trolled some facebrook comments, this ensued:

You called for the the Grammar Police?

For starters, Kathy;
It would be, "They >gave< out loaves of bread all weekend.
Secondly, Rebecca;
The proper tense would be saw and the sentence would read; "Yeah, I saw people with bread too.

You two ladies are doing just fine, pay a little more attention next time you converse in the written medium, and I will have no need to talk to you two again.

Have a nice day!

Yep, I did good. Not rude, but educational. Firm and direct yet squishy and... and indirect?

Every thing reminds me of golf.
I rather be golfing.

Seeya!

*Hangs his gone golfing sign, grabs his shoes and bag and leaves.*

I've kept what I'm about to write to myself since it happened. On September 19, 2013, I attempted suicide by acetaminophen overdose. There, I said it. I'd been keeping it a secret for a variety of reasons, mostly involving it not being important enough to share with others.

I chickened out about halfway through and called for help, after having ingested about 15 grams of store-brand Tylenol, to be followed by a fifth of Skyy Blue vodka, which I never got around to opening as I sat dejected in my car at the parking lot of a local community college about ten miles from where I lived at the time. I was being crushed under the weight of trying to buy a house and all the stupid fucking bullshit that comes with it. I'm still traumatized by it and hope I never have to buy another home or sell one. Anyway, on that day, I got home from work and called my real estate broker to find out what was causing the latest delay. By this point, we were about two months into the process of buying our current house. Two months. It's not supposed to take that long. And as every single day of those two months passed, each day was worse than the last. It sapped my will to live and I didn't have all that much to begin with.

And so on that fateful day, I'd had enough. I drove around for an hour or two, trying to think of what to do. Every option lead to suicide, according to my judgment at the time. I went to a big-box retailer and got the Tylenol, the vodka and a couple bottles of water with which to swallow the pills. I also bought a notebook and wrote a suicide note in it, which I burned immediately after. I don't really recall what I wrote there, only that it was very jittery, sad and dark. Perhaps a bit vengeful as well, but suicide as revenge is a lose-lose situation. You die and then whatever opposes you now has you out of the way.

I ended up spending four days in the hospital following hours in the ER and consuming a lot of activated charcoal, which was cherry-flavored and had the consistency of cake batter. Not a mental hospital, but a regular hospital ward. I was put into a room with the loudest, most obnoxious old man in the history of loud, obnoxious old men. I think they put me in there with him because there was no doubt I'd be in a constant state of annoyance. I asked to be moved and was rejected. Anyway, his TV was on 24/7, he made constant calls to the nurse to complain that his scrotum was swollen, and endless repetitions about how when he was admitted, he weighed 300 pounds and now he weighs 360. He also brought his home desktop computer with him and often played Whitney Houston songs at top volume, which none of the staff ever asked him to stop doing. Ugh, it was the worst. In fact the whole experience turned me off of hospitals. I used to enjoy being fussed and fawned over, but not anymore. When you're admitted to a non-psychiatric hospital after attempting suicide, you don't get much sympathy from the staff. I had a guard (actually an off-duty nurse clocking up some overtime) sitting at the foot of my hospital bed the entire time I was there to ensure that I didn't attempt to hurt or kill myself again.

Anyway, I was a model patient and caused no fuss for anyone. I never had to summon a nurse or did I need assistance relieving myself. By the third day, the staff had me walking around the floor I was on, escorted by a nurse, just to get some exercise and movement, as I towed my IV staff behind me. I saw a door marked "SHOWER" and begged to use it (I'd been three days without bathing by this point) but was denied. That was merely a speck of dust in my eye, metaphorically, because the rest of the stay consisted of almost no sleep (thanks, neighbor!), nothing to do or read until the second day when my girlfriend brought me my phone, and even then there's only so much you can do on a phone in a day.

If you attempt suicide and fail, it's most likely that things will keep getting worse for you. Almost two years later and despite steadily maintaining an optimistic attitude even when things are bad, I am, at my core, a fundamentally unhappy person and I'm pretty sure I always have been. I'd contemplated suicide daily since I was about twelve years old. It was only that day that I finally got around to giving it a try. Of course, I failed, but I still think about it every day. I probably always will.

The whole experience was the worst thing I've ever experienced, along with the house-buying shit. It confirmed again and again my belief that people are inherently evil, though that mostly involved the real estate experiences I was forced to endure. The hospital stay was profoundly boring, but I knew not to make my situation worse by acting out (which I never do anyway) or they would send me to the psychiatric ward on the third floor. Luckily, I was able to convince the attending doctor and the psychiatric nurses that my suicide attempt was just a cry for help. It was, in a manner of speaking, but I'm not sure anyone heard that cry. I didn't tell my family and I have no local friends, so I kept it bottled up inside, sinking back into that feeling whenever things go wrong, or when I'm being talked down to (although I'm old hat at that after a lifetime of being bullied), or just when I'm in bed and trying to get to sleep. Chronic suicidal depression is no joke. Nor is it any fun and there's no glamour in it whatsoever, despite what you've read in People.

After all that, nothing really changed. The house was finally purchased about a week after I was discharged from the hospital, which improved things—the previous house had been filled with pets allowed to run amok—I feel safe here and at times I feel the illusion of happiness. But I'm still where I was when I did this, despite the life changes that have happened since then. That being the case, I feel really bad that I have no advice to offer to people in similar situations: people standing at the edge of a cliff or tall building, people standing on chairs with ropes around their necks, and all the rest of the ways one can kill themselves. As I write this I remember my line of thinking while I was in the hospital: I have nothing. I am nothing. I'm a nanoparticle floating around the universe and I know for sure that the universe doesn't give a shit about anyone in particular, so I also expect nothing. Removing expectation from your life can slightly improve it—that way, you'll never be let down.

In closing, I guess I should say something positive, but I've got nothing. You have problems but so does everybody else, and everyone handles them in different ways. I urge you to choose the least self-destructive way to handle them. After doing this for a long time, maybe you'll find yourself a little higher up than the bottom, where I was, sitting in my car and swallowing thirty 500mg Tylenol tablets and crying. Crying because I was at the bottom. Because I had no idea about what to do. Since then, I've had that "just-about-to-cry" feeling in the back of my throat whenever anything emotional comes up. I cried like a baby while being admitted to the hospital, which seemed to take forever but still felt quick.

Have a good day, whoever reads this. Try to have as many good days as possible. Don't follow my example here.

Why doesn't anyone ever believe me when I say that something is wrong with me?
Most people seem to think that I'm making it all up; especially my family.


Some suggested (and relevant) listening for this writeup:

ArtistSongYearGenreRelevance
Swans"Failure"1991NeofolkI'm a failure.
Suicidal Tendencies"Nobody Hears"1992Heavy metalNobody hears because I
don't speak of this.
Slowdive"So Tired"1993ShoegazeI'm always tired.
Catherine Wheel"Heal"1995Shoegaze/rockUnlikely hope for the future.


By total coincidence, on June 15, 2013 (exactly two years ago), I quit drinking alcohol. I never had a problem with it other than some extremely embarrassing drunk-dialing incidents, but ultimately I find that the task of drinking is not worth the outcome, whatever the situation. I've seen it destroy people and I've been victimized by it. I want no part of that.

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