You Go, Bitch!

I am living in my new home now. It's a basement apartment on the same side of town, but well removed from the scene of the crime. I have caring, compassionate landlords, ditto for my friends, and am singing in the opera chorus right now, so I have a job I love. Life is definitely looking up - slightly above the horizon. As I mentioned before, I'm in a much better position than I was the last time I slogged through something like this.

However, I'm nowhere near out of the woods yet. I still have bad dreams about him from time to time. That surprises me. I didn't think the residual filth from that unfortunate breakup was stewing in my psyche like that. Ah well, as Shrek would say, "Better out than in!" If that's the case, then given how many people have heard my sob story, I should be well on the road to recovery. I wish that were actually true. In all honestly, this one's going to take a fair bit of time. I don't know yet whether I'll need a therapist, or whether friends and family will be enough. I suspect if I did need professional help, I'd feel it in my gut, and that's not happening right now. I have taken a little time away from the tourist-industry job, which is allowing for more sleep and exploring the city. And blogging. That's helping.

I do have to get some practical things done, like taxes and the final financial negotiations. As soon as I finish typing this, I'm going to have to be stern with myself and pull out the basket overflowing with my tax folders from the last three years. I get cold shivers just thinking about it, but the time has definitely come. The bathroom re-do has got to wait.

Must. Put. Up. Towel. Racks. Now.

Nooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

I stumbled upon Heartless Bitches International today. It's a site I had read about many years ago, but never followed up on. It's spearheaded by a gal from Ottawa, and has members from all over the world. Best of all, it has some great writing. This 'discovery' resulted from an article in the Toronto Star about the notable decline in completely anorexic-looking models in most of the NYC fall fashion shows. That this should even be news is a sad statement on the horrible, artificial pressures in that business. One commentator included a link to a column in HBI by a woman who calls herself Morrigan. From what I can gather, she's been an HBI member for a hella long time (in Internet years), since at least 2000. In bouncing around her posts, cherry-picking from the list, I found a fierce, brave, funny, extremely articulate, strong-minded woman who has weathered a marriage, a high-pressure law career, and, now, a devastating illness (although I didn't see it named directly, it's certainly epilepsy).

She is such a good writer. So good it's tragic. Tragic, because her mind and body are under constant assault either from the drugs she has to take to manage her illness, or the seizures that stop her in her tracks. I can feel the intense willpower it sometimes takes for her to wrench words out of her consciousness and enter them into her computer. Not only that, but, despite her ferocity, she has enormous compassion for others, especially those who are also dependent on drugs to give them some control over the everyday (I'm thinking of my mother, here...and K... and T...). She posts advice and encouragement based on her own experiences. I would say "doles out", but her written voice is far more strident and insistent. She doesn't just dole it out, she bangs it down on the table, insisting the reader pay attention.

A person like that would shame me if she weren't so inspiring and admirable. She would probably dominate the shit out of me in real life, but if she's that honest, I think I'd be able to stand up to it, to some extent. It's the people who bluster who I can't stand. 'Telling it like it is' only really works for me if it's not a front for ignorance or insecurity (in which case, it's usually grossly unfair, blatantly untrue and/or needlessly harsh). I may not be a true, card-carrying Heartless Bitch, but I'm definitely rooting for them. Besides, if someone like Morrigan can still find purpose and meaning in such a plagued life, then surely I can find the strength to make it through my own, comparatively mild struggles.