Motion Masquerade

I would like to thank Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Friday Faithfuls for the inspiration responsible for this post.

Every piece of my life is liminal space at the moment. It’s as if I’m wrapped in a chrysalis that’s slowly fossilizing and I can’t breathe; because I know once the process is complete I’ll be trapped in this infernal cocoon forever, and I have no idea how to break free.

Being a Non-Traditional Student Means Time is of the Essence

I’m technically a Senior now at my university because of the number of credits I’ve accumulated, but really, I’m a Junior in my degree program. (That’s what happens when you switch majors. 🤦🏻‍♀️) I’m also forty-six-years-old; and, going at this part-time is a slow journey that is becoming increasingly soul-crushing.

If I could go to school full-time, without having to work, I could probably finish in three semesters. Unfortunately, I’ve recently hit a financial roadblock that’s going to make that highly unlikely. So, I’m looking at part-time enrollment for another two and a half years… at least. That means, best case scenario, I’ll be receiving my undergraduate degree just shy of my fiftieth birthday.

I really want to go to graduate school too; but, the more I look at the time involved — and how old I’ll be when all is said and done — the more absurd the endeavor seems.

I mean, sure, technically people can’t refuse to hire me based on age; but, we all know how the actual world works. Sixty-year-old women aren’t at the top of “desirable hire” lists.

I’m also not sure what the hell I’m going to do when I graduate. I don’t know if I’m going to teach or if I’m going to write. (I’m dual majoring in English Literature and Creative Writing.) Both fields interest me; and, according to my professors and employers, I excel at each. But again, we don’t know how the “real” world is going to respond to my age.

I took a huge risk by going back to school and I’m starting to wonder if it was an idiotic one — especially considering the fact that I haven’t secured the funding yet to return in the fall (and am not confident that I will).

We Don’t Own Anything

Michael and I rent our home. We’ve never owned property; and, I live in constant fear that our landlord will either drop dead (he’s an elderly gentleman) or decide to end our lease.

The average rent in Tucson (according to the most recent Zillow report) is $1,650/month — more than twice what we’re paying now — and we can barely make ends meet as it is.

I adore our little house. In fact, I’ve adored almost every home we’ve ever lived in… but, because we’ve never owned any of them we always have to leave and I’m so tired of leaving.

In a perfect world, we’d find a way to buy this place… but I’ve never had that kind of perfection in my life.

Warning! The Addict is Trying to Destroy You

I’ve been sober for more than six years; but, the higher my stress level rises, the sweeter the siren song to return to self-destructive behaviors becomes.

Just the other day I found myself thinking, I could have just one drink. What would it hurt? Uh… duh, ding-dong. It would destroy everything. That’s what your alcoholism does. I know this; but, the addict part of my brain would like to convince me otherwise. It would like me to think that I could have a drink or two with my brother when he returns and there would be no negative consequences. I could just relax and enjoy the freedom from mental anguish. NO! No, no, no! That’s exactly how a relapse starts. I have no desire to return to active addiction; but, the fact that I can hear that voice whispering its dark, insidious lies inside my head means that I’m much closer to the madness than I’d like to be.

I got a text from Chase at 6:08 this morning: Tell me it’s going to be ok. I’m now coming down off a mean drunk. Keeping my heart rate in check. Sip by sip. Bill can kiss my ass with his make believe. [This is a reference to my affiliation with AA, which he thinks is for “bullshit quitters.”] I deal in physiology.

This is the chaos that’s headed my way. It’ll be here in fifteen days — there’s no escaping it — and I haven’t been to a meeting in months. I keep in touch with my Anonymous people; but clearly, I need to get back to AA.

The Borderline Bunny-Hop Into and Out of the Rabbit Hole

Thursday evening I refrained from asking my husband to pick up some e-juice for my mod because I thought he was going to be home on Friday per his usual schedule; but, as it turned out, he had to work due to extenuating circumstances. When I explained this situation to Michael on Friday morning, he said, “Well, if you’d stop trying to manage my schedule, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Knowing that I wasn’t trying to manage his schedule, that I had only been trying to keep him from having to run an extra errand after a long day, I was hurt — and angered — by his offhand comment, but said nothing in reply.

Then after he left for work, I inadvertently ended up selecting a new series where a married couple has a lot of sex with one another. This, as I have mentioned before, is something that is lacking — and something that I desperately desire — in my own marriage. So, of course, my ire and feelings of isolation increased. (Thus, the reason for my theme song selection yesterday afternoon.)

But, around seven o’clock in the evening, I had a lovely conversation — full of joviality — with Chase, and my spirits lifted.

When Michael called, at eight, to say that he was still stranded at work (and was not going to be able to make it to the smoke shop) I had forgotten all about our tiff and just felt bad that he hadn’t yet started his hour-plus commute.

By the time my husband did make it home I had fallen asleep (without eating supper) and he graciously offered to run out and get me something. We had a nice evening watching a baking competition together, and I fell asleep wrapped in his arms.

So, by the end of the night, my theme song was more like this:

“Never Leave” by Bailey Zimmerman

I give great credit to my husband who also lives in continual liminal space — trapped between the woman who is constantly disappointed and the one who worships the ground he walks on. I know I’m not easy to love nor to live with… but he has steadied on for more than twenty years.