better late than never

God, I miss this blog sometimes.  I think about it and tell myself, just post something.  Just do it.  Who cares if months have gone by, if you’ve forgotten how to write anymore, if you have nothing to say.  If you miss it, do it.  But I get scared and embarassed and lazy and put things off and more time goes by and the burden of not-writing gets heavier and heavier and I push it off to the side, where it gets covered with dust, and my analogy got really messed up there.  Suffice to say, I miss my blog, I miss my little piece of the internet, I miss my own words.

Oddly enough, I am back because we are getting kicked out of yet another apartment.  Like once wasn’t enough, yet again we are being removed for no reason.  There’s not even an excuse this time, like the loudness last time.  Now it’s just this sudden “you have a month to be out” – no explanation, just an argument between our landlord’s evil mother and my husband (one-sided – hers) and some unfixed windows and now we’re out of another home.  We’re going to end up living with my parents.  I feel like an utter, complete failure and keep tearing up, because I’m 29, I have a six and a half year old son, I am almost done with my bachelor’s degree, I have a steady job, my husband is almost 30, and we’re still doing this shit, we’re still having to take over excess parental bedrooms and …. I just can’t handle it.  I mean, yes, there is the plus of being able to save money and buy a  house, finally, and never deal with asshole landlords again.  My mom and I can take yoga together again.  My son gets to see a LOT more of his grandparents and auntie.  There will be a dog and a yard and a pool and space for much more garden.  But the failure is always looming there.  The wost is E’s extreme guilt because he can’t work, he’s applying for disability (and rightly so, I’ve been trying to get him to do so for  years now)  – but he feels like he is The Worst Husband and Father Ever.  Despite the fact that he is 100% doing the right thing.  Despite the fact that he is an amazing husband and father.

We came back from our Grizzly Bear and beer filled weekend in NYC to the landlord fight phone call, so at least we had this last nice rosy weekend.  New York is amazing.  And we both got new tattoos.  I now have a pink cartoon octopus named Emile on my left wrist, which is so utterly awesome.  I couldn’t be more thrilled with him, and he makes me smile every time I look at my arm.  This is the best time for smiley cartoon creatures, because he is talking me down off the ledge with his cute eyes.

Anyway…. I should be in bed.  It’s so late.  I had to write something, though, I feel so scattered and squished and weird and hollow and full and all these odd, disjointed things at once.   I feel slightly better now, though.  More smoothed out, less rough-edged, less on the verge of tears and more like I can sleep.  Hopefully.  Last night I lay awake thinking of Things To Say to Our Useless Asshole Landlord and couldn’t sleep because I was so enraged.  I did yoga tonight, though Rainbeau Mars is not as good as my new favorite Kabbalah Yoga.  I feel not so blissed out, but I will stare hard at my octo-wrist and drink some milk now, then get to bed.  Husband is there and warm and I will tuck my hands around his thighs to help me sleep, and another day is gone and hopefully tomorrow will bring something really awesome.