Happy Place

I've allowed this blog to devolve into... I don't know the word.

I used to carefully craft postings. I used to try to be funny, witty, insightful.  But I don't have the time, I don't have the energy, I don't have the space to do that anymore.

So now I just... belch an emotion onto the computer.

Pardon me.

I used to live in NYC.  I loved living in NYC. I fit there, as anyone and everyone fits in NYC.  It is a big tent, and there is room for all. (As long as you realize that "room" is a metaphor, and frankly there's not a lot of space).

I live in a small suburb of Atlanta now.

I do not fit here.

We're living with my father now.  For those of you keeping score, I used to car-give for my mother in law, I now care-give for my father.  Not that Gramps is in the same shape as Mama (who could be?). But, let's face it.  When you are living with someone in their late 60s/early 70s... you're a caregiver.

My father is a moody sumbitch (yeah, I said it). And he loves and hates the fact that we've come to live with him, in equal measure.  Don't get me wrong - he asked us to, he campaigned for it (careful what you wish for...). But now that we are here, I can't honestly say that he's happy. Of course, he might be freaking delirious about it (moody sumbitch. Did I mention?), I just don't know.

Spunx is happy, I guess.  It's a source of tension that he is the way he is.  H and I are used to it, but Grandpa doesn't get it. "Make him talk," Grandpa says, "paddle his behind." Yeah. Not at all helpful with a hyperlexic autistic child. But Spunx is embedded in a mainstream school, has friends (of a sort) and is performing well enough.

My husband (H) and Grandpa are having the usual adjustment issues.  But for all that, H who loves the universe and who the universe loves, is finding his footing.  The neighbor and he have become pals. A work acquaintance has invited him to Bible study.  He loves this little church we found. And he is so mind-blowingly angry at me you can feel it through the walls. (But that's not new).

And I am in search of my happy place.

Taxes

I haven't filed. No, I don't mean the 2013 ones - heaven's sake, it's only the first blush of March. I can be forgiven for not quite having them together.

I haven't filed for 2012. And, ahem, 2011.

I've got excuses. Lordamighty I have excuses.

But. With all excuses, they don't really matter.

My 2013 taxes, one of my erstwhile employers has not sent out a W2. And, oh yeah, my husband refuses to locate any of his W2s and send them to the tax preparer.

Success

 

I saw this graphic that has stuck with me.

As I read through it, I realized I haven't kept a journal - a REAL journal - in years.

But. I have occasionally spat words in this general direction.

So I though I would give it a try.

I thought I would try to be more successful. Or, heck, successful at all.

We'll see how that goes...

Love to you all. (No, really).

Let's See

Today I was looking at Craigslist.  Not for furniture nor housing nor even a job (and I need a job).

I was looking for friend postings.

Because that's where I am...

Five Years On

Spunx, five years on.

With Mama, at two months old.

I will be back to whine later.