Giving Notice

I just sat here a minute and read through my last blog post.

I had no idea that within a few hours of hitting "publish" it was all going to change.

The first thing that happened is that Brendan and I decided to separate.  While this may be *shocking* news to you, it felt like 8 long years in the making to us.  I'm not going to detail all the reasons, but we had the best of intentions when marrying on that gorgeous May day in San Diego.  

Like two puzzle pieces that just don't fit, we tried and tried and tried and tried.  The fighting, constant bickering, and general malaise of the situation affected not only both of us, but one certain little boy who had taken to yelling at us to "Stop fighting!" even if we were just having a lively discussion about something fun or interesting from life. 

Brixton, a sensitive little soul from the start, has anger issues.  You know what causes that in a 4 year old?  Adults yelling.  Adults fighting.  Adults with grumpy faces. 

Sure, we could have stuck it out for 5, 10, 15 more years.  More bickering.  More fighting.  More tension.  More anger.  It didn't make sense.  For us or for him. 

And that's all I'm saying about it. 

That happened on a Friday night. 

Friday afternoon, in a homesick, unhappy fog, I randomly went to the website for teaching jobs in California and searched for jobs in Orange County.  There were none.  Then I searched Butte County, where my hometown is.

And there were jobs.  Two jobs, in fact.

Whatever, I thought.  I'll just apply because I should update my info on here anyway.  It's not like I'm going to actually get a job or anything.

So I applied.

Long story short, I got interviews.  And I got jobs.  Two job offers. 

One of which I accepted.  In my hometown.  In a middle school. 

Then I got a place to live.

Meanwhile, I was packing.  Talking with Brendan about how all this would work.  (He's moving to the Bay Area very soon--just about 2.5 hours away).  We did everything as amicably as we could.

On Saturday, August 15th, Brixton and I left Illinois, towing a small trailer filled to the brim with boxes, beds, and anything else we could cram into the space.  Barely enough time to say good-bye to friends.  There were tears.  Confusion.

Side note: driving on the 80?  It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen.  Sorry, Wyoming.  You're ugly.  Salt Lake City?  You have potential, but get rid of that smog.

Three days later we crossed the border into the Golden State.  It's been a whirlwind of unpacking, setting up utilities, getting ready to start teaching, and dealing with an unexpected gut-punch of loneliness and sadness so profound I can literally feel it on me. 

Brendan's coming for a visit this week--staying for 5 days.  Brixton can't wait and I know Brendan can't either.  Our house is up for sale come Monday and we're praying it sells quickly, so Brendan can get out here sooner rather than later. 

The Dirt

Sometimes I wonder if my life is a candidate to end up on a Dateline Mystery show in some capacity.  It's not that I make entirely bad choices, murder people, or steal money in cancer schemes, but yeah.  Maybe in my head I hear that guy's voice, the host, narrating my day.

That's not normal, is it?

I'm on hour 27 of some pretty strong depression right now and no, this isn't a cry for help, it's just a blog post so let's not make this more than it needs to be.

I love California.  I can't help it.  Drought or not.  Lame laws or not.  Even hippies or not.  I love it.  And I was there for 10 days.  Home.  With family.   Little nephews.  A beautiful sister-in-law.  My goofy brothers who I love more than they'll ever know.  And my parents.  Who can get enough of their parents?  Not this gal.

I love where I grew up.  Red dirt.  Pine trees.  Miles and miles of nothing.  People missing teeth.  It's just the way it goes in a little mountain town.  My brother took me in his 4x4 up into the mountains.  You know you're going far out when it's 45 minutes on a paved road and then about an hour on dirt roads.  And toilet paper is referred to as "Mountain Money."  And you can't even post a selfie to IG because there's no cell service.  Like, wha????

I went to California hoping to reminisce about some good old memories at my 20th high school reunion and ended up making loads of new ones, laughing way more than I have in a long time, as well as making some new friends out of people I grew up with forever, but didn't really know.  There's  just something about being with people who you grew up with that gets to me.  I'm so nostalgic like that it almost hurts.  

I got to hang with my bestie, a girl I met at an ill-fated slumber party when we were both 13, played Barbies with her at 14, and held her hand in the car on the way to her wedding when she was 20.  We don't get together often due to geography and some other factors, but wow.  We make the most of it.  (Chuckle).

So, yes, after a week of excitement, a week of being at the creek, a week of listening to sappy country music that stirs emotion, I landed in Chicago with all my luggage and a big lump of sad in my heart.  I curled up on the couch, called my mom, cried, then took a few happy pills which made me sleep, which equals happiness, so I guess they worked.

 He literally had just told me (in a brat voice) that he wasn't tired. 

Emerald Lake, Mt. Lassen.  I love that this is so close to where I grew up.  Next time I'm camping.

 Love these two.

 Brixton: Aiden, I have something I need to tell you.

Aiden: Look!  There's a ding ding!

Might be a few years before communication really sets in between them.

 On the airplane on the way there--the whole trip before us. Brixton looking fresh.

Perfectly acceptable creek attire.

Sometimes it all just comes together.  Sorry for the boobs.  #sorrynotsorry

My mountain man little bro.  Apple Kurt

Couldn't stop catching polywogs.  Or frogs.  Or frogwogs.  I don't know what my deal is, but I love catching animals.  Remember the chicken?  Also, I'd like to point out that after a lifetime of being a nail biter, I think I've kicked it.  Those are my real nails.  *so proud*

This got bad a few seconds later.

We stayed at a hotel and when we checked in we were being so goofy.  "We're going to our high school reunion" we told the snarky front desk clerk.  I'm pretty sure he just thought we were going to smoke drugs in the room all night, but here's evidence JEFF D. that we did go to the reunion.  

 My best guess is that this is circa 1994.  I'm wearing a pajama top a la Kurt Cobain.  The vacant look?  A la Vicodin.  (Totally kidding.  I didn't do drugs until I was much older.  Mom. I'm kidding.)