So we moved to Phoenix and I promptly shoved everything my kids and I own into a 10X15 storage locker, never unpacked my bags, and flew off to Northern California for seven weeks.
Perspective aside: Every time I get mad that everything I own can fit into a 10X15 storage locker, I try to remember to go look at this post of where I was the last time this shit happened, and then I thank the flying spaghetti monster that I am blessed enough in this life to have 10 feet by 15 feet worth of possessions, even if none of them are a couch.
You see, we were actually supposed to move to Northern California, seeings how* my job is there and stuff, you know? Except I don't think Soon To Be Ex (as he shall henceforth be named on ye ol' blog) was every really totally into the idea of moving here - though he agreed to it before I ever even took this job that is, oh, you know, BASED IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA.
The plan was, we drive to Phoenix, stay the night with family, and then leave for The Bay the next morning without him, just until he felt grounded enough to come up there, because I have absolutely no interest in splitting our children and him up again. We went to a therapists for the first time ever in the 17 years we've been together, to get advice on how to tell the kids we're getting divorced, and that's when he told me he wasn't coming to the Bay with us, ever.
One step forward, two steps back.
Sorry, or You're welcome, aside: This Paula Earworm was brought to you by my eternal love for Zombyboy. (Who just moved his blog. Subscribe, if you like awesome, albeit wrong not exactly what I agree with totally, things.)
But the lease was already ended and the truck was being rented and the kids had already said their goodbyes so we still had to leave Houston (and man, did we ever have to leave Houston) so I had a decision to make. I try to explain to my kids every single day of their lives that the right thing is usually never going to be the easy thing. This has all turned out to be living proof of that. Moving forward for everyone else, in this instance, meant moving backwards a little bit for me; it means putting my career ambitions on hold a little while longer and going back to Arizona, where everything started the first time I came here in an attempt to leave him.
Arizona seems to be both my third realm of rebirth and my ninth level of hell. It's certainly warm enough for it.
So we got to Arizona and had a few days to hunker down with our family (who is, in reality, his family, but we're going to have to come up with some sort of shared custody, because mineminemineminemine) before I left for California. We have, oh, five weeks *twitch* before we throw a massive conference for like 4,500 people and I really just can't keep doing this through Google Hangouts (which? are the bomb), nor do I want to.
So I'm not. I'm living in the basement of my kids' godfather and failing in every way to take the Caltrain into work every day.
You see, I happen to have a pre-existing train condition, partly because I don't even like the forward momentum of a swing on the playground, but mostly because my aunt used one to, um, well, there's no nice way to say it. She used one to chop her head off. There.
I also have this fun thing about myself that allows me to channel all of my chaos into objects, making me a Totally Functional Lunatic. When my life goes awry, I will lose/break cell phone after cell phone, until the phone company won't give me more replacements (see: five blackberries in three months. Not kidding). Or I'll leave my purse(s) on the hood of my car, like every day, for a few months, even the one and only Gucci purse I've ever owned. Don't get me started on the hamsters.
So I'm getting divorced, moving somewhere I really don't want to, living in someone else's house temporarily in both California AND San Francisco, and five weeks out from Bloggerpalooza. That's pretty awry, yo.
And then I have to ride trains. Ask me how well that's been going for me. I DARE YOU.
Day 1 on the train: I got on the wrong train, the reaaaally wrong train, and after a detour to a part of California I've never heard of, a frantic phone call to my bestie for directions, some crying, and a three mile walk, I got to work on my first full day an impressive hour and a half late.
Day 2 on the train: I got on the train, bought the wrong kind of ticket, got asked to show my ticket, and got a citation for stealing public transit and now have to go to court in San Francisco to Face Charges That May Go On My Permanent Record Or Something.
Day 3 on the train: Overslept on the morning of an 8am meeting because I was up all night, um, what is the opposite of sexting? I was doing that, with Soon To Be Ex. I overslept by 15 minutes which meant I missed the one train that came that hour and so I had to take a cab into work.
In San Francisco.
In morning rush-hour.
You can get seven professional sexual services for less than that cab ride cost.
But I still feel like I am making some progress on the Treadmill of Crazy. I'm here, in the office with the most amazing team of people I've ever worked with, doing what I need to do even though Soon To Be Ex doesn't really like it, and I miss my kids so much it burns, and I'm a uber private person who doesn't actually share space well with others. I'm starting to come to the point in my life where I am doing that which *I* need, and balancing that with the needs of the people around me, rather than the other way around.
A year ago, I never would have left for seven weeks. A year ago, I never would have checked myself into the hotel I'm typing this from because I needed one night of absolute solitude. A year ago, I never would have done a lot of things I am doing know, because I was always convinced that if I didn't get everyone's oxygen mask on, they'd all crash and burn.
Because I am a control freak. Because it's easier to put on everyone else's mask than my own. I am trying really hard to knock that shit off, and just deal with mine.
And if you're skimming this and looking for a picture to sum of the point of the post, here it is:
Everything can be used, except what is wasteful. (Audre Lorde)
(Or, if life hands you a treadmill of crazy in 105 degree heat, let your kids walk your dog on it.)
*Seeings how may be the most excellent #grammarfail known to man, and I ain't nevah givin' it up.