Another Year, Another Life

I really did mean to write.

I thought of it often.

I even wanted to sometimes, so much.

But there was the love affair that ended with a broken heart.

There was the job that pushed me to burnout–I’m still there, both the job and the burnout.

There was the devastation of the election.

There was the slew of questionable decisions made by Hope that took her down a challenging path.

Last year was a lot.

But isn’t every year.

I’m still working at the same job, though with the new administration, the core of my work, the stuff I’m most proud of, the shit I feel in my bones is now seen as “illegal.” I’ve had a few White folks give me sad eyes and say, “It must be so disappointing to see 20+ years of work just vanish like this….”

Nearly was blinded when I rolled my eyes around the world. Please stop.

Hope…needs help. At nearly 24, she refuses to seek help.

It’s really hard to watch, and it’s even harder to live with. Living with a loved one with mental health challenges that include constantly threatening some level of self-harm is…a lot. And while I do truly believe some elements of the threat are real, I also know that history has shown that a well-timed threat when discussing decision-making and accountability can end that line of conversation quickly.

I’m incessantly worried about Hope, but I’m also hip to the con. I don’t even think she knows this is a pattern for her. I’m not sure what the future holds for her, but I’m concerned. And sad.

So after a year, long story short, it’s still hard.

Only now, I’m increasingly anxious about the insanity with US government. If you follow me and that guy…well, I’m not sure how we got here, but if you follow me YOU. ALREADY. KNOW. Keep it cute in the comments.

I even had a meltdown because Hope’s birthmother indicated on her documents that she held citizenship outside the US. And while I know that there are no questions about Hope’s citizenship…just knowing there is a document out there that could allow this administration to question her actual right to be in the US took me way, way, way out.

I’m genuinely afraid for US (Americans) and us (me and Hope and my entire family). I’m in touch with my financial planner often to make sure that I have enough on hand if I need to get my folks out of the US. I’m already locking in networks just in case they lose social security or healthcare. I want to retire, but I also want to be sure my parents are safe and given access to everything they need in spite of what’s happening here.

Yappy, you’ll be happy to know, remains generally unfazed by the craziness of our world. I had to start cooking for him almost a year ago because most foods on the market gave him terrible reflux. He’s a treat whore, and I’m his pusher. He has about 30 buttons he uses to communicate–usually demands. But every night, he snuggles next to me and offers cute little doggy snores.

I’m relegated to the edge of my bed because OF COURSE his little oblivious self is asleep smack in the center of the bed. Total main character energy.

And that’s where things are, at the corner of Ugh and What Now Streets.