As court proceedings for the insurrection 53 weeks ago continue, I wish the media would stop calling them the name they chose for themselves (oath keepers) and start calling them what they really are, terrorists. Oath Keeper sounds like a sacred duty, not a bunch of ignorant, white bread, brainwashed qanon idiots trying to kill Nancy Pelosi (and Mike Pence for some reason, although I would not have been sad about that) at the behest of a narcissistic cheeto dressed in a suit.
A lot of the last 5 years feels like a bad dream.
But this isn’t about that, not exactly. Actually, not even remotely.
I could pull off a smooth transition paragraph about how I never call anyone by their name. But I do sometimes. Mandabear called Darkling by his given name yesterday and I just let it slide. Things are definitely different lately. And I am not mad about it.
I finally had my job interview on Wednesday and good god, dressing
1. Professionally in business attire and,
2. for my age
is not a strong suit.
I am the adultier adult, just in ripped jeans and sundresses.
I did good. But my closet looked like it threw up in my room before I was finished.
I was still me, a long sleeved bodysuit I used to wear at work (in the winter when we were stripper burritos and meat popsicles) underneath a pair of fitted dress pants. And my witch boots that make a very satisfying clack on tiled floors.
The initial interview went great (who knew high functioning anxiety would be a selling point…) and then the head of a different department came in and interviewed me for a second position. So basically, I have A management job with the company, just not sure which job. I will know next week.
I sat down to write this and I don’t really know what it’s about yet. But I didn’t write yesterday and I am trying to be better.
In the continuing saga of Sarah adulting, I conquered the closet of doom yesterday.
My mom gave me a bin labeled “Sarah’s memory box” and the first thing I pulled out of one manilla envelope was a typed out letter from my mom to me when I was 15 or 16 maybe, explaining why I couldn’t live at home anymore. It was cold, clinical and I suddenly remembered standing in the hallway between the laundry room and the kitchen, holding that letter and the ground swallowing me whole. I shut the box up and jammed it in the closet to be dealt with later.
Later was yesterday.
The rest of the contents were slightly less toxic. Old report cards, art submissions from the annual fall fair and weirdly 2 book reports. One about Newfoundland and one about the aboriginal tribes of Australia. Which means nothing unless you’re me. Just weird little karma markers in a rubbermaid bin. I saw a lot of “Sarah would be a better student if she applied herself and focused.”
They didn’t have a word nor diagnosis for ADHD back then. I was just a girl, sitting in a classroom fidgeting in my seat while my brain was a million miles away.
My high school report cards were pretty much abysmal. I went from pulling 90’s to 50’s or worse real quick.
I threw a lot of it out, kept a few things.
There were cards from relatives who have passed away, Valentine’s day cards from classmates in grade 2 and every school and family photo for the first 15 awkward years of my life. Good god I was a homely child. They were all taken before someone told me I had an ugly smile and I stopped showing my teeth. I was ugly, my smile wasn’t.
I also purged 7 bags of linens and clothing, reorganized my stripper gear into categories and got that contained. And I packed 2 years of Wolf into a small wicker box. I finally got around to putting all my plane tickets into a cigar box. I doubt I will ever do anything with them but they do serve as a reminder that for a couple of years, I lived and I was free. And as I go barreling towards the land of Adulting, I am not ready to give them up just yet.
There was a box of keepsakes from Newfoundland too. Most notably ticket stubs from the week and a half when Solo, Endgame and Deadpool 2 came out and we made several pilgrimages to the theater for matinee showings. Solo was on my birthday, it was a good day. I miss pre plague life. I miss rollercoasters and movie theaters.
Speaking of rifling through the past. I found a note from Giant. I sent a pic of it to him and we chatted briefly. He asked about my new person. I said ‘he is a nerdy soft dom and I am happy’. He then asked me if I could sum up everyone I knew in 3 words or less. I had to think about it before I replied. ‘Technically, yes, yes I can. But the longer I know someone the wordier I get.’
Giant is my soulmate from another realm.
“I think I am in the wrong realm and I think everyone can tell.”
It’s true. And looking through all of those old things from my childhood up until last year kinda made it hit home. I feel constantly out of place. I always have, even if I didn’t recognize it. My teachers saw it.
I do that with relationships too, or I did up until recently.
I think I got attached to the fisherman in Newfoundland because I wanted a reason to stay and be somewhere. He wasn’t ideal, and I knew that. He wasn’t viable and I knew that too, he made himself sound that way, but somewhere not too far below the surface, I knew he was full of shit. And honestly, it wasn’t fair of me to put all of that on one person. I did like the idea that he would be away for chunks of time, it meant I didn’t have to change too much of who I am to fit.
Things are different now.
I didn’t come back here defeated. I came back because I wanted to.
I stopped trying to figure out where I am supposed to be and now…
I just am where I am and it’s actually okay. Feels good to stop running from and/or running to people, places and things.
My mind can still wander a million miles away while I sit in my immaculately clean room and talk to you fine folks. Or, and this is new, it can be exactly where I am enjoying the moment.
This job, whichever one I get, signals some semblance of permanence.
Even going on Tinder in December was a kind of acceptance about where I am instead of looking ahead to the next thing.
I can see myself finding a cute apartment in town, close to the stadium and just being here for a while.
And I am not mad about it.
Not excited about the dress pants portion of adulting, but the rest is pretty okay.
