After Two Years, It's Over

So long, so long

Effective today, I turned my keys back into what I've affectionately dubbed, "The Soul Suck."

Two years ago, I'd moved to Maine without a place to live. I became a snowboarding instructor and my manager blatantly said, "We don't pay well, and your hours will be variable. You'll need a second job to survive the winter."

I put in an application, and after a rather extensive background check, I started working for Rite Aid. Because of the mental state I was in, it did not go smoothly for a long time. I fought with managers, I dropped stuff. Eventually, I was promoted to a Shift Supervisor, which is where I've been for the last year and a half.

One of the things I'd hated:
You load the cart up....

I spent two years putting my life back together after it felt apart. Rite Aid helped fund my travels to Michigan, to writing conferences, for a snowboard, for housing, for Bax's vet bills, for clothes. It was a safety net that I'm letting go of, and as I counted down the register for the last time last night, I was kind of scared. What if I fail at my new job? What if something happens?

And it'd all fall...

Every time.

But I guess that's part of life, isn't it? We don't know what'll happen. We're just along for the ride.

So after three pairs of ripped khakis, four navy blue shirts that are permanently stained, five name badges that were chronically lost, countless scrapes and bruises, and far too many energy drinks, I say goodbye to the place that helped put me back on my feet.

Goodbye, Rite Aid. Thank you for the last two years.


There are things I won't miss like, the marquee board that caused me to scream and curse and hope there were no customers around. mean customers to scream at me regarding the fact I'm IDing them, taking the trash out....and having it fall all over the parking lot, etc.

To My Little Mouse Friend

I've been living in my gingerbread house for the better part of a year now. While it has its charms (like snow coming in the walls), it has been a pretty okay place to stay. Plus, I haven't been moving every three months, and my landlord rocks.

Meanwhile, while we've been here, each night, there's a scratching deep within the walls that clearly says, "Something lives inside here!" When I sit on the couch, I can hear it run over top of my head and it scares me to death.

A lonely sugar wafer. Our little friend
loved sugar.

A few weeks ago, my roommate told me he'd found two mice nests with little babies inside. He put them outside, checked on them the next day. They were gone. I assumed that their mama found them and now they're living somewhere happy. He maintains they were probably eaten.

Then one night, I was sitting on the stairs chatting with my roommate while Baxter and Kyla played tug-of-war. From my right side I saw movement. Sure enough it was a tiny mouse going after my mint oreos. I screamed, he screamed, he ran, I screamed more. 

My roommate and I more fully began discussing getting a live trap so we could catch the little guy and send him packing without killing him. A few mornings later, however, I woke up. Fed the dogs, and just before I went to leave, I remembered I hadn't checked their water. 

I stood on my toes, and there, in the water bowl was a floating mouse.

Needless to say, I couldn't stop screaming and my roommate had to take care of our little dead friend.

I'm sad because I hate finding live mice in the house. I know they'll die in here and I'll have to deal with their small adorable bodies. Realistically, I just don't like things dying because it makes me sad.

So here's to my dead little mouse friend: may you rest in piece with as much sugar and oreos as you can stand.

Ten Years, Three Years, Two Years

My best friend passed away October 1, 2003. Her anniversary was doubly difficult this year because it was the 10th anniversary. It's amazing to think that I was only 15 and can still miss someone that much.

I frequently consider the person who I've been since she passed, the experiences I've had without her.

October marks many anniversaries for me. Most of them involve my decline in mental stability (three years), but through the years I've pushed on, become stronger, and am grateful, each day, to be alive.

Two years ago is probably my most difficult anniversary. October 19th is my half birthday, and two years ago, it was the date I had planned to kill myself until a friend begged me not to. HERE is a link to my Facebook author page if you'd like to see the video of me addressing a public policy and health committee last night.

I am alive today because after her, several others stepped in. Because I frequently reflect on who I was verses who I am now, here is a small list of reasons I am glad to be alive and kicking:

Two of my very good friends :)

*Baxter. He was one of the big things keeping me in motion at that time. With how sick he's been over the last few months, I'm glad I stuck around to take care of him.

*Becoming a snowboarding instructor. Words cannot express how grateful I am for this experience.

*Working at the "soul suck". This retail job taught me a lot about who I am, what I'm willing to put up with, and helped pay the bills for the last two years.

*Coworkers, friends. I moved from North Carolina to Maine. I didn't know anyone here, and now it feels like I know everyone.

*Happiness and drive. Some days, I feel as though I cannot fail.

*Kyla. I wouldn't know her, I wouldn't own her. Though she's a butthead, I'm blessed to have her.

The list could be endless really (things I've tried, experienced, accomplished, etc) but I'm really just writing this post to remind you that if you're struggling, things can and will get better. Have faith, hold on, and remember that even if it hurts, smile.

A Puppy Update

I look like a goober

In April, Baxter got really sick and ended up costing me $3,000 in five days. More recently, Kyla got heartworm and cost us another couple hundred. Then yesterday, Baxter got seriously sick and I had to call out of work and rush him to the emergency vet's. The bill was yet another $700+.

The good news: Baxter was able to come home this morning at 7:30am (!!!!!) and has been recovering nicely. The reunion between him and I resulted in him knocking me on the vet floor and us knocking over the Caution Wet Floor sign. It's true love. When he got home, we reintroduced him to Kyla. They immediately ran around.

I'm so incredibly grateful that both pups are doing well, and seem to be getting healthier every day.

Because I'm a Huge Nerd

In honor of Cassie Mae's book bloghop, we're here to celebrate!

The question posed for this blog hop is: What is the nerdiest thing about you?

It could possibly be that secretly, I'm a gamer. Recently my household has gotten a Sega system (which I played growing up), an Atari, and my Nintento DS's.

I aspire to soon own a Wii so I can play Just Dance whenever I want. (You can come play, too!)

I've spent many hours in front of the TV these last few weeks.

Outside of those things, I'm also obsessed with my dogs (I did the entire A to Z Challenge about Baxter), and I may or may not have a small obsession with The Hunger Games. (Which means, yes, I do have a Mockingjay pendant as well as a District 12 bracelet.)

I would love to also add that I'm a book junkie and laugh out loud at parts, and sit crying on my couch at 2 a.m. sometimes, but I feel like I'm not alone in this.

Kyla

I'd been considering getting another dog for Baxter for awhile. He loves other dogs, like a lot. Then I was with Damien, and he wanted a dog, and he pulled into the parking lot at my job and I met this little brown pit bull.

Kyla (front) and Baxter (standing)

She was so beautiful, the wind literally slipped from my chest.

Because we weren't sure how Baxter would handle her, or her him, we agreed it'd be a trial run and took her home. They met outside in a field, they sniffed, then continued to pee on the surrounding bushes.

In the next couple of days, Kyla ended up with a puncture wound in her ear from a fight, and she continued to try to eat Baxter randomly. Because it wasn't consistent fighting, I didn't worry. They seemed to get along (one would lay on one side of me, the other on the other). Finally, I got brave, went to my landlord, and she said, "You're a good tenant. I trust your decisions, even if it's a pit bull."

Damien and I broke up about three months ago. Though Kyla was to be his dog, he left her with me without any of her medical history.

I refer to her as the little tramp, as the red-headed-step-child, as the bad dog, etc. But she sleeps on my bed every night, and though she's the smallest person in the household, she manages to take up a majority of the bed. Baxter has been demoted to the floor (though pressed up against the bed, and my arm slings off the bed around him).

I finally had some extra money, and took them to a vet today. I had to respond "I don't know any of her medical history," and was almost immediately frustrated.

They like to lay together.

"What are you here for?" he asked.

"A heartworm test and vaccines."

I held Kyla as he drew blood. Because I haven't known her long, I wasn't sure if she'd try to bite either of us, but she just stood and allowed it to happen. Within minutes, we got the test back.

It was positive.

It was hard to breathe.

In two weeks we're getting the medication to try to start combating the heartworms. The treatment could kill her. Running could kill her. Moving too quickly could kill her. She could very well die before the treatment gets here (I'm hoping this statement is an overreaction).

I'm bracing for the following weeks hoping that everything will turn out okay. I'm bracing for the chance it may not, and my little family may be back down to Baxter and me. I'm bracing for how Baxter may respond if things go wrong. I'm bracing for the risk that Baxter may have also been exposed.

She really loves guarding the bathroom when I'm in it...
Weirdo.

It's doubly hard because in all the ways Baxter is a really good dog, Kyla is a really bad dog (he doesn't go potty in the house, she does. He doesn't steal food, she does, etc). And in the ways Baxter is a really bad dog, Kyla is a good dog (She always comes when calls, he wags his tail and continues ignoring me. She plays in the water, he stands to the side, etc.) The two balance each other out. They've stopped separating their food and water and started drinking out of the same dishes, sometimes at the same time together.

I don't know what's going to happen and it terrifies me.

At this point, I'm just praying for the best.

The Day I Stopped Being Afraid of Victoria's Secret Employees

In case you've forgotten,
this is what I typically wear

On Thursday, July 25, I traveled to Portland to go to the DMV for the third time that week. It turns out, to be a journalist, it sometimes requires driving. As such, I need a working car, and a driver's licence. Only, mine had been expired since my birthday...in April.

The first time I'd gone, I'd needed a birth certificate. (Hard to do because my mother is unreliable, etc.) So I got my birth certificate, and went back a few days later with a co worker. This time, because I don't have a lease, and haven't registered my car to the town I'm living in, and all my mail goes to my PO Box, I don't exist as a person....so I was rejected again and handed affidavits for people to fill out stating that I do, in fact, live in Maine.

Finally, at my third time at the DMV, I got my picture taken, proved my vision is worthless without my glasses or contacts, and boom! I now have a temporary licence while I wait for mine to come in the mail. (For those keeping count, I've now had licences in Michigan, Massachusetts, and now, Maine!) In celebration of FINALLY being a real person again, I went to the mall to buy a new bra.

I have this thing with Victoria's Secret. I love their bras and undies, however, I'm always SUPER awkward about going into their store. As always, I stood outside for an extra second, took a deep breath, convinced myself I'm an adult, and walked through into the land of pink.

Somehow, though I'd been waiting for it all year, I'd managed to miss the semi annual sale. There was still a small bin of bras left, so I looked at them and went to the fitting room. (Ladies, if you've never tried on anything at Victoria's Secret, you need to. I am not kidding. Their mirrors just make you want to take off your clothes.) So I took off the dress I was wearing and tried on the bras that were the same size as the one I had on...only...something didn't feel right.

In the fitting rooms, they have service buttons, and the woman who'd opened the door for me told me to push it if I needed "sized". Well, it turns out I did. After about a minute of debating with myself (I didn't have any pants on, I'd only worn a dress in...etc) I pushed the little button, panicked because I was literally standing there in a bra and underwear, and then she came in and agreed, I was totally wearing the incorrect size. Not only the band size, but cup as well. I had to go down two band sizes and up a cup.

From that moment on, she came to my fitting room several times with different bras to try on, a tape measure, etc. She didn't look at my body like I was disgusting. She didn't shame me or make me feel like an idiot for being uncomfortable in my own skin, or not truly understanding how to pick out a proper bra even though I'm 25 years old. She was professional and incredibly helpful. She even went so far as to find me which bras I wanted to buy.

And on that day, I bought two new bras :)

I understand that for many women, this sort of thing is easy, but for me, it wasn't. I'm not used to wearing girl clothes. I'm not used to talking about boobs, or bra sizes, or allowing strangers to see me mostly naked. But the woman who helped me never once made me feel like an idiot, or some sub par female for needing/asking for help.

I'm not going to lie, it felt pretty empowering to finally get a bra that hugs me rather than hides me.