Janie is currently car-less and she lives a ways away so it was harder for her to make it over to clean all the things.  I spent night after night coming home from work and doing things.  So many things.  I did so many things in those weeks that there shouldn’t have been more things to do BUT THERE STILL ARE.  I could still do things if I gave a shit anymore which I don’t.  I’ve done too many things to care about doing more things.  I THINK YOU UNDERSTAND ME.  NO MORE THINGS!

One of my final THINGS before listing photos were taken was to clean up the yard.  It was still winter and cold and there was a lot of rain and snow and other reasons I didn’t want to be outside, but those things don’t matter or care about your deadlines and dreams. And by your deadlines and dreams, I mean mine.  Obviously.  I met with one of our agents after work and then set out to pull weeds, scoop poop, trim some bush (heh heh), mow the lawn, etc.  You know what I’m getting at…yard work!  It’s all the same!  The only hitch was that is was now 7pm and pitch black out.  The patio lights, though functional and bright, only illuminated the patio, not the yard beyond.  So I had to get a construction light, plug it in and carry it around with me as I scooped dog crap into a baggie and pulled weeds and cut a bush back with scissors from Ikea because WHERE THE HELL ARE THE CLIPPERS!?  Up until then I don’t think any neighbors noticed the creeper wandering the yard with a construction light but then it was time to mow.  And weed whack.  And I couldn’t do those with the light in my hand so I did them under the cloak of night.  If anyone looked out they would have seen a shadowy figure running an electric mower over the two sprigs of grass  and were probably thinking – SHE HAS FINALLY LOST HER MARBLES.  To which I say – HA!  THAT WAS SO 2010.  When I gave the condo keys to the agent the following morning so they could get in for photos, I warned him…If it looks like I weed whacked that grass in the dark it’s because YES I DID.  They only used one outdoor photo in the listing and in it was not one stitch of yard.  Whoopsie!

The good news is that after only a weekend we got an offer, and then we negotiated a counter offer because we are adults doing business.  This is exactly what I thought being an adult would feel like when I was growing up…talking with people and saying no not that BUT HOW ABOUT THIS?  And then we win and everyone gets ice cream.  I guess the only difference is that selling a home is lose-lose and I ate that ice cream out of the container while sitting in my bed and crying.  You lose your home and then you lose all your money because the market is crap and people lied when they told you that you can’t go wrong with investing in real estate!  People lie a lot more in adult real life than they did in my vision of adult life.  Also, not as much stamping papers and I don’t have a briefcase.  This is all to say that we have potentially sold our condo, and I say potentially because we need to make it through the appraisal process and an inspection.  I feel less worried about the inspection than the appraisal, not because I think it isn’t worth it, but because how can a stranger know what makes this condo worth it?  Yeah, sure, put a price on property and upgrades, on landscaping and location – but what about my heart and soul, spilled out in every room?  The tears I’ve left in that bedroom the last two years should be worth at least $10,000 to some black magic voodoo wizard.

On my last night of cleaning, I had a minor meltdown.  I was keeping Ducati locked in the back bedroom, away from our freshly and expensively cleaned carpet.  It was late and since I’d been up until two every night for a couple weeks and my foot was killing me because I have developed a case of plantar fasciitis (which is probably one of the worst things ever to have happen to you physically INCLUDING DYING) I was reduced to limping around and dragging my disabled foot behind me.  I imagine myself to have looked somewhat like a zombie, with the glazed eyes, the non-functioning limbs, the tired, mindless wandering into and out of rooms because I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.  Now that I think of it, in those weeks I was either in this slow-moving zombie-like state or else running around like a crazed squirrel, trying to do a skrillion different things and feeling o overwhelmed by the enormity of the task list that I would run from room to room half-finishing one thing before moving to another, then later coming back to do more work until everything was, not even nearly finished.  SO MANY THINGS.  But I digress.  I was keeping Ducati away from the carpet because he has a habit of throwing up on wherever is most difficult to clean.  Carpets, rugs, upholstered dining room chairs, my shoes, etc.  He doesn’t like being locked away like a ghoul, but we are all suffering, Ducati. We all have to make sacrifices.  I opened the door to get in so I could change some light-bulbs and as I did he CAME AT ME LIKE A WILD ANIMAL and purred and brushed up against my arm, and in the middle of this melee I dropped a fluorescent light-bulb that shattered all over the floor and the new area rug, leaving tiny shards of glass all over.  He ran out of the room and Gus, knowing something dangerous had happened and needing to play with his toys in the middle of it, came trotting in.  I locked them both out so I could sweep up the mess, because the vacuum was out of bags and the one I have is apparently so RARE that they don’t sell the proper replacements in the store.  FANTASTIC.  I swept up the shards and sat on the bed for a good cry.  Gus was scratching at the door and I called out to him – Please come back later! – because my dog is fully capable of comprehending my complex emotional state.  After I gathered myself and invited Ducati to come back to be locked away again, I decided that I couldn’t take another minute of consciousness so I went to sleep.  And when I woke up the next morning, feeling fresh and new and full of hope for a better day, I discovered that Ducati had thrown up all over the new rug.  ALL OVER THE NEW RUG.  I will be honest with you.  I considered, in that very moment, whether or not the roughly three-months worth of anti-depressants I had stored away for “just in case” would be enough for me to handle ALL THE FEELINGS I WAS HAVING RIGHT THEN.

While selling the condo is exactly what I’d hoped for, it’s also a really difficult experience for me.  This condo is the first place that I ever really considered my home…a place I had made my own and felt a kind of safety and belonging I didn’t ever have anywhere else.  In some ways, this condo is also a large reason for my being alive.  I know that sounds dramatic, but in the darkest days of my depression, when I couldn’t get out of bed or off the floor, when I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, when I could only tell myself I was the worlds biggest disappointment and failure as a human being, when all I felt was like there was a huge black hole in my chest sucking my life away, when I was hoarding and hiding pills to take and end it all, it was my obligation to Janie and this condo that kept me from letting go.  I didn’t want to make things harder for her by leaving before it was sold.  It was probably the only rational decision I was capable of making in that moment and so I feel grateful for the burden of this building, of the rooms and halls that housed me in that moment and the years before.  Letting go of that is scary both because I’m not sure where I go from here and because the one thing that kept me here in a time when I wanted to badly to leave isn’t going to be there to keep me from doing it again if I ever get back to that place.  It’s ridiculous, I know.  I’m not in that place anymore and I’m healthier and better able to recognize the signs before I get there. And I know there are other things and people who are aware and savvy enough to keep me from finding that place again, but there is still a certain sadness in letting go of this place.  I will miss the walls and the safety it provided for the six years I’ve lived here.  I will miss the memories, some more than others, and I will miss how much I loved having a home I owned and how proud I was to invite people into it.  Some of my life’s biggest lessons happened here and I will always be grateful for those.

If all goes well, I have to move all my belongings out by April 16h.  I don’t have a place to go yet so I’m going to put everything into my car and live on the streets.  Gus, Ducati and I are going to form an inter-species gang and if you want to join us there is a rather brutal initiation involving an ostrich, a potato and a lighter.  We don’t have an official name yet but we’re thinking about FUCK YOU THIS IS OURS or SHANK YOU.  Anyone not involved in our gang is forewarned that the area between my car’s trunk and  front bumper belong to US and any breach of our perimeter will be met with cat scratches, dog kisses and hysterical crying.  Friends will be treated to the smooth sounds of Celine Dion, a Diet Pepsi from 7-11 and a bag of Skittles.  WELCOME TO OUR GANGLAND.

]]> http://uncouthheathen.com/2012/03/27/night-mower/feed/ 2 http://uncouthheathen.com/2012/03/07/moving-on/ http://uncouthheathen.com/2012/03/07/moving-on/#comments Wed, 07 Mar 2012 18:22:04 +0000 heathen http://uncouthheathen.com/?p=5625 I have divorce on the brain.

On the 24th, Janie and I had a court date to finalize the dissolution of our partnership.  Three months ago I finally got around to filing the papers to get this process rolling, postponing the inevitable out of laziness or disinterest, and I am proud to say that we have crossed the finish line.  DIVORCED.

You should have been there the day I told Valerie I was, technically, still married.  AWKWARD!

The truth is that I felt not-married the moment I sat on the couch in the living room late on a Sunday night in May of 2010 and told Janie I couldn’t do it anymore.  That makes it sound so much simpler than it was at the time.  There was a lot of sobbing and heaving and saying I’m sorry again and again while Janie tried to console me.  I remember not really being able to stop saying THIS IS SO WEIRD.  Then there was this moment where it almost seemed like nothing had happened.  We drove to McDonald’s and got milkshakes and french fries.  We went to sleep in the same bed, like we always had, but in the morning when I woke up she was not there and things were very, very different.  Quiet. And then angry.

So much time has passed since then, and so many strange and difficult milestones have come and gone.  I have talked so very little about it here, beyond the depression and medication and sadness, because I didn’t know where to start or where to end.  I wanted to respect privacy, I wanted to respect feelings, I wanted to give space and time to some things that seemed delicate.  Sometimes the things that are going on aren’t the kinds of things that can be written about.  I guess that is to say I’m learning when I need to just keep my head down and do the work that needs to be done.  It doesn’t make it easy, especially considering that writing is something incredibly therapeutic for me, allowing me a way to express what is going on inside when it is otherwise hard to figure it out.  Sometimes the only way to understand what I feel is to put it down on paper or type it into a computer, to let it pour out so that I can make sense of it that way.  The last several months have been hard, because I’ve not been doing a lot of that kind of writing and I’ve been keeping many things to myself and then ranting wildly about them to my therapist.

Last spring when I went to visit Leah, I got a tattoo on my foot of a dandelion being blown by the wind.  I wanted to stamp on myself a reminder to let go of the things that I didn’t need to hang on to anymore. As a friend of mine recently and so beautifully put it,  “I am closing the door to what doesn’t support, respect, love, nourish, and care for me.”  And what better reminder to let go than having a permanent mark on your body that looks like a third grader drew it.  You guys, IT WAS SO BAD.  THAT TATTOO WAS HORRIFYING.  But I had it covered expertly once I got home, with a phoenix.  This phoenix is not only a reminder of letting go, but of how something ugly can turn into something beautiful and then, ultimately, how I can rise up and soar.  With this beautiful reminder in place, it was time to do the work.  Medication.  Therapy.  Therapy. Therapy.  I have never worked so hard and been so proud of who I am and how far I’ve come to heal.

In therapy I’m still learning that one big lesson of letting go.  I’m not to the actual letting go part yet, but I’m working hard on not reacting and building up some immunity to certain situations and experiences.  I’m being thoughtful and I’m being emotionally healthy.  In that way I’m better than I have ever been.  Stronger.

As for what life is right is all about right now – the condo is going up for sale, again.  It’s the last of the things that tie Janie and I together and it’s time to cut that and move on.  I’m praying for a quick and easy sale because I am so ready for what comes after, the life that will open up beyond this moment.  It feels like that second just before the Kentucky Derby starts, the horses all lined up behind the gate, so ready to burst out and run full speed.  I’m there, in that moment, and any minute that gate is going to open and the finish line isn’t even the point.  I just want to run.

In light of that crap news and some other bullshit I’m dealing with, I decided I needed to do something to lighten the mood.  Inject a little levity into my life.  So I did what anyone who is awesome would do, I built a fort in the living room out of blankets, pillows and a queen-sized blow-up mattress.  I decorated it with Christmas tree lights and not only did it make it look awesome, but it smells like Christmas and who doesn’t love the way Christmas smells!?  If you don’t, then you’re dead to me.

Not only did I build this amazing little fort between the bookshelf and the dining room table, but I also hung out in it and slept in it and as I type this I am sitting in it and I’m listening to No Doubt and thinking thoughts and trying not to worry so much about everything.  It’s sort of working except everyone else thinks this is their fort, too and FUCK THAT SHIT.

I’m going to keep this up until the end of the week and I’ll spend all my free time in here reading and writing and meditating and trying to do these things called LETTING GO and GOING WITH THE FLOW and trying to focus on good stuff that needs my attention and leaving behind crappy stuff that doesn’t.

Here are photos of my fort.  You should be jealous because it’s fucking awesome and it smells like the baby Jesus.

]]> http://uncouthheathen.com/2011/04/06/fort/feed/ 3 http://uncouthheathen.com/2010/08/20/motherfucking-international/ http://uncouthheathen.com/2010/08/20/motherfucking-international/#comments Fri, 20 Aug 2010 10:21:16 +0000 heathen http://uncouthheathen.com/?p=4356 In one week Janie and I will be on a plane from Los Angeles to Melbourne, Australia! We’re going to spend 15.5 hours sitting next to one another and doing our best not to talk about our feelings because when we talk about our feelings we end up in a fight and the last thing we need is to be arrested for rolling around the aisles of the jet punching and kicking one another in a fit of divorce-rage.

We’ll spend two weeks in and around Melbourne including a weekend road trip along the Great Ocean Road that Monica told me is a terrible, terrible idea this time of year because IN AUSTRALIA IT IS NOT SUMMER. It’s winter and rainy and bullshitty.

WINTER.

I know, right?  What IS UP with that?  I have no idea.

We’ll finally meet Monica and Donna which will be super fun even though we’ve been fighting like crazy – which is a bit of an understatement but WHATEVER.  I feel pretty certain the moment I walk out of customs I’m going to get the shit kicked out of me and I’ll spend the rest of the two weeks in the hospital while the three of them enjoy themselves and make jokes at my expense and eat pizza and candy.  The whores.

Did you see when I pushed her down?  DID YOU HEAR THE NOISES SHE WAS MAKING?  What a bitchy little girl.

I can’t even begin to tell you how fucking weird it is to be making this trip after everything that’s gone down in the last several months.  It’s just completely retarded crazy that Janie and I are in a space positive enough to be doing this together.  I can’t quite wrap my mind around it.  It’s been such a whirlwind of chaos here -  trying to get the condo ready for listing (which happens on Monday – OH MY GOD SHIT FUCK!)  and dealing with an intense wave of emotional shit from this divorce that the only plans made are hotel reservations and a car rental for the world’s most ill-advised road trip.  Janie bought a guide book but I can’t even remember what is in it.  I have no idea what exactly we’re going to do, which is pretty nuts considering I usually tend to have a strict Excel spreadsheet of plans made well in advance.  You probably do not recall that when I started this blog Janie and I were on a road trip to California.  We strayed from the spreadsheet near Pismo Beach and I COULD NOT HANDLE IT.  I lost my mind and cried in the parking lot of a strip mall while on the phone with my sister as Janie and her friend Shaelah ate sushi and wondered why I was so retarded.  Well, this is a new me!  This is me in therapy!  This is me on herbal anti-anxiety medications!  This is the new me smoking cigarettes to cope with the crippling pain of losing my wife and best friend in the span of several months!  THIS IS THE NEW ME WHO CAN DO ANYTHING BECAUSE IT CANNOT POSSIBLY BE WORSE THAN MY LIFE HAS BEEN SINCE MAY. I can plan or not.  Sure thing.  Do I want to go to the park?  I don’t know and it’s okay because three months ago Janie told me I was a terrible person* and it can’t feel worse than that!

(* She didn’t exactly call me a terrible person but it felt the same)

I’ll blog several updates while we’re away so you’ll know how things are going in that strange land I know relatively nothing about except that there are obscenely large spiders all over the place, some dingo ate Meryl Streep’s baby and they have a shit ton of crazy delicious candies the likes of which I have never seen and I plan to eat them all.  I’ll also blog about my thoughts and feelings about life and love and divorce and how to travel like a badass mofo.  Maybe there will be photos:  Photos of Janie ignoring me BECAUSE SHE CAN now that we’re divorced.  Photos of Janie and I drunk enough to do karaoke to the tune of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5 (we’ve agreed on the song ahead of time, yes.) Photos of me with a hangover, puking and peeing my pants uncontrollably (yes, hot ladies of Australia, I AM SINGLE.)  Photos of Monica and Donna beating me into a coma. Photos of me in a coma crying why why why but only on the inside where no one can hear my silent wails of pain on account of the paralysis and traumatic brain injury caused by enraged Australians and Janie who just had to get one good kick in.  Photos of Janie with her top on.  Photos of Monica calling me a fucking asshole idiot cunt whore.  Photos of me trying to drive on the wrong side of everything and dying in a fiery car crash.    GOOD TIMES, EVERYONE.  Good time ahead.

I promised Carrie I’d bring her a Bindi Irwin.  Who else wants a present from Australia?

TOO BAD.  We’re broke, son

Then we do about 8 million other things and then we paint some more.

I didn’t write a post about this because it’s another depressing situation that we’ll likely never get over, but a few weeks ago we had to take Harlow and Carson to the Humane Society so they could be found a new home.  Awful awful, awful day.  And when we got there I went inside to the office and it was filled with happy people talking and volunteers helping people find pets to adopt and take home.  Then there I was, crying, asking about where I go to drop off two cats and suddenly the volunteer who cheerfully and loudly greeted me would only speak in hushed tones.  She hunched over and pulled me aside and we sat crouched in the shadows, hiding from the happy adopters and she told me…NO NO NO…the next building is where you drop off animals.  This is for adoptions.  YOU ARE TOO SAD TO BE IN HERE.  GET OUT.  So we found the drop off site and after some paperwork, we walked out the door and drove away.  I miss those two fuckers every day.  Even Carson and the constant peeing.  I wish wish wish that they’ve found a good and happy home.  So now we have Gus and Ducati,  who keeps looking around the place and meowing.  If you listen closely you’ll hear him mumble to himself,  “What happened to all our hos? WE ARE MISSING SOME HOS.” Gus doesn’t care…it’s guys only now.  GUYS ONLY.  Guys time all the time, and that’s the best time.  GUYS GUYS GUYS. Sledgehammer!

In other news, I have contracted the plague from my sister who was selfish enough to comfort and hug me when I was crying in the middle of her yard sale a few weeks ago, therefore passing on her hideous germs and infecting me with the worst cold the world has ever known.  My good friend XUP likes to make light of my hideous affliction but she doesn’t know!  SHE DOES NOT KNOW THE HORRORS OF WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME EVEN AS WE SPEAK.  Disgusting things.  Snot the likes of which you would not believe.  This weekend I coughed so much that I threw up in the shower.  Earlier today I coughed so hard I peed my pants.  THIS IS A SICKNESS OF THE WORST KIND. Luckily Janie and I no longer touch, so she’s safe from the horrors, but I know that if she makes me mad enough I can cough on her toothbrush while she’s at work and GOOD DAY TO YOU, LADY.

In other news, I’m thinking of getting one of these for Ducati:

Hmmm…I think that’s about all.  It’s all house bullshit all the time around here until we get this place on the market.  Keep your fingers crossed that we sell it fast and for 8 million dollars because I would enjoy having millions of dollars.