May 29, 2016


pickled jalapenos circa sometime 2016

I'm 39 now. This happened in April, mid-month, the changing of the KB calendar or birth year, however we might name it. And I'm happy. For the first time in maybe an entire life of breathing, doing things I *thought* I loved, moving through motions as they were dealt to me and stabilizing, losing footing, proving myself, discrediting myself, never telling lies but sometimes being told them by outside sources, emptying my bank account only to fill it again, eating extravagant lunches on my own in Midtown during work weeks, dancing foolishly or singing like a dying cat, painting, nurturing my handwriting through its lifelong gestation period to its absolute endgame (I love and will never alter it again), holding hands with someone I thought I loved in a hot tub in Florida all the way to finding the real thing, the love that urges my every foot forward...I'm happy.

Happiness is a completely foreign experience for probably everyone. It comes in waves, crashing, to be completely cliche about the feeling of it (in comparison to the ocean, of course, which has always, always been lost on me...every single exposure of mine to the ocean has been a bit of a disappointment...I see it do its thing, tides, waves, sprays of salt water...but it's ultimately boring. Maybe its greatest feature, to me, anyway, is its sounds?)...and when we feel it deeply, that happy moment or span of hours of happiness, we are aware, yet we come down, and happiness in its purest state dissolves. 

Then it returns like a splash. And departs. And arrives again, on our doorstep in an arrangement of flowers, or in a kind smile on a deserted street, or blended in an especially wonderful cup of coffee.

I've had an insufferable 2016 thus far.

I say this with the complete understanding that staking a claim as such requires back up evidence. 

I provide the following:

My boyfriend turning 40 escalated that he believes he has every single health issue published in every single anatomical journal plus everything else plastered on the Internet, and he attends repeated doctor visits to have blood drawn and why not, next time, limb removal??...exaggerating...therefore we are in a constant state of, "Yes, I woke today, but I am definitely dying." I love him endlessly anyway.

My work place is brimming over with seeming teenage high school students who feel as though gossip is what sets them ahead in profession, and life. Grow up, children. I've had enough of the incessant "she says/he says" and deliberate eye rolls at who is wearing what in the office. Grab your sticker books, rookies, and hope yours are cooler than the kid's in the locker next to yours. Also: try turning 39. See if that makes any semblance of difference in how giving a *fuck* about what someone says about you means to you. Trust me. You'll stop losing sleep over it.

My family is so far away from me that at this juncture, I don't even know if they'd recognize me if I showed up one day. But I juggle the guilt. "I am a bad Auntie." (Today my first nephew is being baptized in Indiana, and I'm sitting on a couch in Queens blabbing First World Problems.) But...where have they been, too? 

This is unfair to assert about my mom or dad, both whom have been pillars in my existence in these handfuls of troubling, wayward years. But the others...I feel such guilt...cousins, uncles, aunts, relatives in general...but where have they been, too? Why do I beat myself up over not attending graduations, birthdays, blah, all of that...when I've opened a multitude of construction projects that none of them have ever seen, much less heard of?

Closing that guilt door promptly. 

In different life spheres...

Making the decision to become a best friend to a 7 year-old that isn't my own child: likely the best decision I made in mid-2015 and on into 2016. I was going to keep going with the tragedies of my sacred life (none of which are that horrific) but I decided to switch gears and re-focus on being happy.

Fitz is brilliant. I'd like to mention how impossibly awesome his mother must be, given how unbelievable he is. His dad is pretty great, too. (Shameless boyfriend plug.)

These boys bring sunshine to my day, my every single day. 

And when a day winds down, if we have love in our hands, in our arms, and if we are able to see it come to fruition in the form of palpable reality...we're actually happy. Right?

The photo above depicts an extremely simple, happy moment for me. Jon was taking Fitz upstate to his mom's and I decided to pickle jalapenos. 

Simple joy. Simple life.


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