Depression sucks

I can’t pinpoint the start of it, but depression and anxiety took over my life.

To be fair, anxiety has always been a big part of my persona and I’ve battled with is successfully for over a decade. Depression on the other hand is a tricky and sneaky little monster. I suspect the failed IUIs back in 2013 is where it truly started. That third failure destroyed me beyond words. More than I’d ever admit to. The subsequent requirements to try again (weight loss, hormones, pills) also destroyed me. There’s a well-known connection between infertility and depression, but I wasn’t convinced that was it. I’m not exactly sure I’ll ever be able to pinpoint it because my body has been through hormonal hell for a very long time and that wreaks havoc on my mental status. It becomes impossible to tell why I’m crying… am I PMSing? Am I sad? Is this stress overload? Am I just exhausted? Is this yet another birth control effect? I never fucking know. Just when I think I have a grip on it, I lose my shit over something else or we switch meds or life gets in the way and the line blurs again.

The thing is, there’s nothing I can truly do about the hormones. Having finally found the right doctor for my lady parts, I’ve been given a diagnosis, some hope, and some final answers. The long and the short of it is that because I’m trying to have a baby and have many abnormal reactions to hormonal meds, I can’t take anything and I can’t have anything permanent done to my body yet. There was a lot of progress with my diagnosis and having a good cry with my doctor (who hugged me a lot) has allowed me to truly have accept that no treatment part of it, but I still had to figure out how to deal with my head. So I tried a lot of vitamins and supplements and they helped a LOT with so many things, but there was still this lingering thing I couldn’t identify.

After a few sleepless nights here and there morphed into several sleepless nights a week and eventually into no sleep unless I took OTC meds – then maybe 3-4 hours a night, I knew I had a problem. Lack of sleep does so much harm to your body. You can eat very little and still gain weight, you’re stressed out constantly, and you’re exhausted ALL THE TIME. But there was no end in sight and doctors have never been good to me. EVERYTHING gets blamed on my weight and ignorance takes hold so after two of them told me to exercise to sleep better, I gave up. Never mind the fact that I was showing a million signs of mental illness. No, no. It must be the fat cells in my body. Fucking doctors.

If you don’t deal with your problems, they will eventually manifest elsewhere. That much stress and lack of sleep for months on end took its toll on me and a previously managed and maintained anxiety disorder took a sudden and painful leap into the forefront of my existence. My coworkers realized something was wrong long before I did. My mom noticed too, but she has a 6^th sense about her babies. Dean did not. He was the one person I could briefly control myself around him because I spent the least amount of time around him. We have 2-4 hours a night together depending on when he gets home and when he falls asleep and since I would go to bed with him but be awake all night, it was easy. I’d been hiding my anxiety from Dean for a while and he had no idea my heart raced daily (which will also exhaust you) and I felt on the verge of a panic attack every day. It’s also very likely I was in denial of it as well. I had managed very well to keep it hidden from Dean until our anniversary surprise trip to Las Vegas. We had a blast and truly enjoyed our anniversary. We made some great memories and were very happy. Inside I was having a hard time in the casinos and then Halloween night there were SO many people I was starting to lose it, but he still didn’t catch on… until the flight home.

Everything I’d kept hidden was forced out of me like a volcano. My claustrophobia went from tolerable to deadly, my heart was pounding, I was sobbing, and I felt like everything was closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe, I was suddenly feverish, and my skin was swelling from edema. 30 minutes into the flight I just wanted to be knocked unconscious but there was no relief. That flight home was the worst flight of my life. (I am STILL having nightmares about it.) When we landed, I had to get out of there and into the open air, but of course we sat longer and then people moved slow. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown and land in the hospital. It ended up taking almost an hour to taxi in, get off the plane, and get to outdoors, but I finally got outside while Dean grabbed our luggage and truly breathed for the first time in almost 5.5 hours. Then the parking lot shuttle showed up immediately and it was boiling hot in there so I started to panic. I couldn’t breathe again. Thankfully our stop was first so when we got out, I literally sat on the ground and cried.

Imagine how shocked Dean was to see me suddenly falling apart and not knowing how to deal with it at all. I think his head imploded on some level. Then a few days later we had dinner with friends. I was dragging my feet about it and trying not to go which shocked him further. I finally went and then a political conversation happened and I exploded. I ALWAYS hold my tongue with political conversations but this time my brain could not control my mouth. Even worse, the shit I was saying made zero sense at all and I had this great point, but I could not connect it. All they saw was a crazy woman losing her mind. Eventually I stormed out. We drove home and Dean was flabbergasted. I couldn’t made the words come out of me even if I tried. By the time we parked the car at home (10 whole minute drive) I had a full blown panic attack that went on for almost an hour. I couldn’t leave the car.

The next day I finally admitted I needed help. Whatever was wrong with me wasn’t going to heal on its own and I was tired of the constant exhaustion and perpetually feeling on the verge of a panic attack every day. I was tired of not understanding myself and feeling stupid all the time. For me to not have control over myself is one of my worst nightmares and here I was not even able to form sentences. Naturally everyone around me could see it by then, but very little was said because everyone around me knows how fucked up my hormones are and how hard I struggle with them. It’s a sensitive subject to say the least. I had to decide it was time for a therapist. It took a few weeks to get in, but I did and ended up with a REALLY good match. She cuts right to the point and doesn’t bullshit around. She encourages me to cry and let things out, but also gives the most sound advice to me. I love it. She is exactly what I need in a therapist.

After the first real session (initial one is a consult and decision if we fit together) she sent me to the psychiatrist on staff for a medication discussion. It took a few weeks to get in (since I started therapy around the holidays) but I got on a cancellation list. Diagnoses were confirmed and medication was prescribed. Zoloft for my anxiety and depression, Trazadone for my insomnia and depression, and Xanax at a new higher dose for my panic attacks. I picked up the meds that evening after work and started them right away. I then proceeded to have my first 8 hour sleep night in almost 8 months. I cannot begin to explain the relief that comes from suddenly having a restful night’s sleep after so much deprivation of it. It was heavenly.

Since then I’ve had several sessions with my therapist, slept through the night almost every night, the daily anxiety has stopped, and I feel like there’s hope again. I’ve still got an uphill battle to get through and I know there are other things happening that are complicating it, but I have clarity in my brain again. I can process most of my thoughts and identify some of my emotions.

And for the ones I can’t figure out and for the ones yet to come, I have medication and therapy.

Semi-Annual Update – 2015

My truck is in the shop so I’m doing this on my phone. Forgive errors, please.

State of the Tootz Union – August 2015

1. We’ve owned our home for 1 year, 2 months. In that time we’ve made small improvements like switching out every light fixture in the house (only to discover missing junction boxes behind more than half of them so we had to hire someone to put those in), switched out all the faucets except the kitchen one (because future reno) and the two bathtubs (because holy shit those are complicated!), painted two bathrooms (one of which is going to be re-painted), organized the laundry room into a laundry/linen closet/first aid cabinet, turned the second bedroom into an actual bedroom with some baby stuff tossed in for good measure, and converted the closet in the second bedroom into my own personal craft haven.
2. My brother moved in a month (or 2? I have no concept of time anymore) ago and I have limited access to my haven. But I have access so whatever, it works. Only one real fight since he’s moved in and it wasn’t even that terrible. It was mostly just bad timing and hormones.
3. I’m still a fucking fat ass, but the fatness is reducing. I FINALLY found a vitamin combination that helps me maintain some sort of normalcy and I’m off all medications thanks to a wonderful doctor who actually gives a shit. My brother, spousal unit, and I all joined a gym together and while I usually end up going alone, I’m pretty muchokay witht his so long as I have a good book or a movie downloaded. It turns out I can crush it on the elliptical if I have a book that sucks me in. Seriously – I went from 30 minutes and dying to get off to 50 minutes and “damn, I should probably stop before I turn to jelly” and then I stop and feel like I’m high as a kite. I just need to up this routine to more than 3 days a week which is my current regime. I need to up my game because it’s taken 2.5 months to lose 10 pounds. This shit is annoying. Meanwhile Dean and my brother are going 3-4 times a week and Dean has dropped almost 25 pounds in 6 weeks. Fucker.
4. I’m making baby quilts as a form of infertility therapy. It’s an expensive hobby (seriously, batting is fucking expensive!) but it’s very therapeutic and I’m getting better at it as I go on. I’ve posted the ones I’ve done alone and the ones I’ve done with a friend (she’s the one who taught me) and they’re here if you’re interested. Baby quilts are expanding to lap quilts for adults in my life, but I’m not there just yet. I have the fabric for two more (one baby, one lap) but I got all hormonal and periody and my kitchen is small and ARGH! So they’re on hold for another week maybe. My brother also wants me to make him a t-shirt quilt. That’s gonna take a little more effort than I’ve got in me at the moment. Also: space to do it.
5. Money continues to be a source of frustration and joy. Every time we pay something off, we get another round of debt. A few months ago we took a chunk of savings out to pay off a good chunk of them only to rack it all back up when Dean had his foot surgery. His surgery, by the way, was a financial fucking nightmare. His entire leave was unpaid AND we were expected to pay his insurance premiums while he was out of work at the full rate, not the normal portion he pays. Essentially, we went from “we will barely squeak by without your income” to “oh fuck me sideways, we’re $5,000 back in debt because I need to pay the bills, feed us, and pay the mortgage” because I forgot one very crucial week of no pay. I had it in my head as 2 paychecks but it was actually 3. That’s a big hit. Eventually his employers took some pity on us and did what they could to make it easier, but the damage was done and we were right back in debt with a now somewhat depleted savings account. So here we are a few months later and I had to take a loan out to consolidate our credit cards once again! We also financed some new well made and expensive furniture because all the cheap stuff we’ve bought has broken. Literally broken and warranties have not been honored for the STUPIDEST reasons so seriously FUCK YOU Ashley Furniture. Upside: new furniture is 0% interest so yeah, awesome!
6. Part of that debt was because we’ve got our annual trip to the beach that is 2/3 paid for already (because I plan like a motherfucker) but then I added a surprise anniversary trip for my spouse (again, planning like a motherfucker) that is also partially paid for. I feel like this is the shit you’re supposed to be in debt for. Life is too damn short to not enjoy parts of it. Yes, it sucks to work our asses off to have a fun week here and there, but this won’t be forever. We’re getting better and better with our money and one day I hope to be totally debt free.
7. I’m finally going to get my leg tattoo finished next month. I started this in February 2014 and will finsih it in September 2015. I hope. I have waited for months to get this scheduled and long story short, there was a mix up and I got fucked time-wise because of it. Oh well. At this point I just want to be done with it. I’ve abandoned the background idea so I can finished the centerpiece and get the details I want. The background can be done by another artist at another shop for all I care because its 90% shading anyway. The details are in the centerpiece and that’s the important part to me. Yet another thing to set money aside for, but I have to have this finished and settled before IVF begins so I’ve got a few months to lose more weight and let ink settle.
8. I’m in another reading phase again. I go months (or even years) without picking up a book and then one day pick one up and devour 2 dozen in a month. Recently I got totally sucked into paranormal romance and action romance novels. I blame having a kindle and free previews of books for this. You know what though? I’m totally okay with this and I don’t care who judges me for it. I don’t like the books most people love. I hate the majority of “the classics” and my Goodreads list is weird and has all sorts of oddball books and that’s fine by me. I don’t like to read stuff just because EVERYONE is reading it. Every now and then I will to see what the fuss is about and sometimes I end up liking them (Gone Girl is a perfect example – thought I’d hate it, not the type of book I usually like, and then I ended up enjoying it.) I’m the same way with movies too. odds are if it’s a critics choice or critically acclaimed, I’m gonna hate it, but maybe once in a while I’ll like one or two.
9. Possibly related to the romance novels, but more likely related to a new regimen of vitamins (no more meds, hormones, or birth control for me AT ALL), exercise, and mental health improvement, my sex life is also improving. The spark in my loins is slowly returning and my libido has made an appearance. Perhaps the hibernation is over? It’s too early to tell, but I can say that July was a very eventful month… we went from once a month (maybe) with big 8 -12 week gaps to 4 times in 3 weeks. We’re both initiating, my body is actually responding, and the fun part of it has returned. The pressure of baby making is gone and it’s just sex for the sake of sex and intimacy.It’s refreshing and I hope it lasts because it’s made a big difference in our marriage.
10. Nola is still showing high alkaline levels. In fact, they’ve jumped up 550 points since her visit in January so more blood work was ordered. They still don’t have an answer so a more intensive ultrasound with an internist is the next step. Then who knows what. Dean and I weighed out the pros and cons of doing this ultrasound and ultimately we decided we need to know one way or another. I’d never forgive myself if we didn’t do this and something serious developed that caused her agony. That being said, this ultrasound could reveal something serious now and then THE decision would need to be made. I also took Lily in for a check up since she felt like she’d lost some weight and we’re also considering getting two more kittens. I wanted to make sure my little Bunchkin was in good health. Naturally her blood work came back all sorts of fucked up and the first worry was feline leukemia so I spent an hour in the bathtub crying with a bottle of wine while she walked around the tub perimeter. More blood work was done and… nothing. They have no idea why she’s lost so much weight other than the move to the new house could have caused a lot of stress. Her blood work showed all sorts of oddball results so she could just be a little oddball. At least now we have a baseline. End result: we’re waiting on the kittens until we know what’s going on with Nola, are done traveling in October, and can get a little more cash together for adoption fees, spaying/neutering, and some more cat things like a litter box and toys.
11. My mom is moving in a few weeks/months. Not sure the exact date because the house has taken a long time to work on and fix up for selling and she’s doing almost all of it herself, but it will likely be in the middle of all my traveling so I’m hoping to use the rest of my PTO to do that. She’s currently shifted gears to start packing the house and figuring out what goes to storage and what goes with her so she can finish the house with less shit in it. The packing suddenly made it all very VERY real to me. I’m simultaneously heartbroken and supportive. I want her to be happy, get away from her clingy co-dependent family, get away from her ex, get away from the house, and find herself again. I want the artist in her to come back out and maybe she’ll even write a book. The point is, I want this for her because I know she needs it. But I’m sad because I’m so fucking close to her that I can’t even think about her moving without losing it. She will only be a few hours away, but it will be another state and require a road trip when I want to see her. The upside: many road trips to the beach in the off season and alone time with my mom. Simultaneously supportive and devastated.
12. Work is kicking my ass. Next month is my official 10 year anniversary (unofficial was May because I started as a temp working for an agency and then got hired on permanently a few months later in September) and I’m not sure how I feel about my job anymore. Part of me LOVES what I do and part of me hates that I’ve hit a wall and the internal politics have fucked me over in so many ways. There are several reasons for me to keep trudging along and working my ass off and then there are days when I want to walk out and never look back. That being said: ten years! Holy fucking shit. I never thought I’d last this long or that there would continue to be projects in my area to keep me here for so long, but here I am and here I’ll stay until I can’t anymore.

I’ve got nothing else at the moment and my truck is ready to be picked up. Thus concludes the semi-annual State of the Tootz.

Nola the Wonder Dog

Once upon a time I really didn’t even like dogs and all the ones we ever had were family pets that I didn’t have a bond with. I swore I’d never have one of my own, but then a few weeks after my cat (my only real pet that was just MINE) was put down, this weak little malnourished 7.5 month old bag of terrified fur and bones fell in my lap and I could not in good conscious NOT take her. On the ride home from her rescue, I decided on her name. I would call her Nola because my brother was moving to New Orleans and the abbreviation NOLA was in my head. Somehow it just fit her perfectly.

So I did and I spent the first 3 months regretting that decision because this furball had so many problems both physically and emotionally and I was ill-prepared for this type of caretaking. Explosive diarrhea almost every morning at 3am because she’d never had proper food (not even puppy food!) and her stomach couldn’t adjust well. Eating anything she could find (see previous sentence) and barfing it up everywhere. Not knowing what a water dish was and not knowing how to even drink the water so she’d pick a mouthful up and try to carry it somewhere only to dribble it EVERYWHERE so the floor was always wet and slippery and I slipped so many times. Not knowing what a leash was or that peeing OUTSIDE was the way to go. For a brief moment in time I couldn’t handle it anymore. It was too much work even though I worked with my dad and worked from our shared home and was with her all day every day. I even tried to re-home her, but I swear the minute I found a possible new home this little furball who’d spent 3 months cowering in the corner afraid of me suddenly licked my hand and wagged her tail and POOF! I fell in love.

The next few years we evolved and grew together and after a lot of trial and error, we found our groove. It was an imperfect groove that had a lot of flaws, but it was OUR groove and it worked. She went from sleeping in a cage to sleeping on the floor next to it to sleeping on the bed with me. She became my shadow then she became my companion. This fucking dog who challenged me and peed on everything and ate things I didn’t want her to eat had weaseled her way into my heart and my life changed.

Eventually when Nola was about 4.5 years old I brought home two kittens: Lily and Anubis. After several weeks of teaching her they were not in fact appetizers to a main course and a serious bite in my hand, she suddenly had two siblings and she became protective of them. Once in a while she’d forget they were not food, but overall they were her buddies. I had a family in those 3 furballs and my heart was finally full. When Dean came along, they all loved him and my family became complete. When we lost Anubis last year, she and Lily helped refill the hole in my heart he punched out when he died.

So here I am, 10.5 years later with a dog about to turn 11 and she’s having a health problem and my world is falling apart.

Earlier this week I took Nola to a new vet to check out this little growth under her eye. Not urgent need to remove, but could get worse later so I decided to have it removed now so they do the pre-op bloodwork and THEN give me a cost estimate. After I try not to shit my pants at the cost of anesthesia, removal, and biopsy, they tell me to take my time and think it through. I go home, think, and decide against it for now.

Yesterday, before I can call and tell them I’ll be putting the growth removal on hold until it changes, they call me back with results of her blood work and something is abnormal.

She start’s telling me that Nola’s alkaline levels are really high and a couple other things are off and tells me the exact wording but I can’t hear it. My brain shifts tracks and I suddenly remember 2 years ago going through this with the old vet and how he was kind of concerned so he ran other tests but found nothing and just said we’d monitor it. Suddenly it’s an issue because this is an otherwise very healthy dog and the levels have gone up 200 units.

It could literally be anything causing the spike – from a mass (likely benign) on her liver to her adrenals pumping overtime to Cushings Disease which I was warned is extremely expensive and not the best quality of life and a lot of people elect not to treat it so it’s essentially a death sentence… and then my head started to disconnect. I tried to stay calm, but my voice was wavering. I scheduled an ultrasound for a day when Dean will be off work next week because I know based on this conversation I can’t handle bad news if it happens and will need him there for me, and then immediately called my mom.

It wasn’t until this conversation that I realized the true depth of my love for that dog. With Lily and Anubis, they came into my life and instantly loved me. There was no struggle to get them to accept me or trust me. I’ve always been a cat person as well and these two were little cuddle bugs who loved to sit on me and be loved. Nola has never been like that and although I knew she was locked into my heart, I hadn’t fully comprehended the depths at which she was embedded until this conversation where her life was suddenly in question. She’s an airhead who eats my anniversary cards, pees on my carpet out of spite, begs for food with a high pitched whine that could break glass, sheds everywhere year round, is a TERRIBLE road companion, and is generally a needy pain in the ass, but she’s my pain in the ass and for every rough moment there are a dozen beautiful and sweet moments.

Suddenly I realized that I love her so much I can’t even describe it and THAT is when reality hit.

I get that I’m prematurely freaking out over nothing. I know there’s no way to know what’s wrong with her until they start testing. I know this could be as simple as taking a pill and she’s fine. I KNOW ALL OF THIS. Does that stop me from getting upset? Does it stop me from going down the dark path of thinking negatively and worry about cost? Does it stop me from making plans for the worst? Absolutely NOT. You know why? Because if I don’t accept the possibility of the worst case scenario now then it will destroy me if it really happens. If I get it in my head now that this could very well be the end of my dog’s life then I will be able to make the tough decisions later on. Unfortunately that means I’ve been crying a lot thinking of every bad thing I’ve ever said about her, feeling guilty over yelling at her, wanting to buy her a steak for dinner for being such a horrible parent, etc., but I HAVE to do this to myself so I can process it all. It won’t lessen my pain, but it will help the decision process and make me sure of my decisions rather than question it down the road. If I don’t prepare myself for the worst now, there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to make treatment decisions later.

Once I finish processing the worst, I’ll begin to focus on hoping for the best. I’ll feel better having put myself through this and I will let go of it. I’ll love my dog for however long I have her and just accept whatever life is shooting at me next. In the meantime, I’m gonna cry a little bit more.

my awesome life

1.) The spousal unit cut his mom (and majority of the family) off after one too many fucked up things happened. It was a minor infraction, but it was the straw the broke his poor abused back. I support him 100% in his decision. I never fully understood how he could ever even allow his mom back in his life after all the shit she pulled in his childhood but it wasn’t my decision to make, only to support it. Here we are now at the holidays and guess what? NO DRAMA! No fighting over who’s house we’re going to for whatever day! NO BULLSHIT! Happy fucking holidays to me!!!!!!!!
2.) Following that line of thinking and realizing my mom is moving out of the area soon, I asked for a small and tiny Thanksgiving at our house. Wish granted: just me, mom, my brother, and my husband. And the dog and cat. I really need to erase last Thanksgiving from my memory banks and this is just the trick to do it. We went grocery shopping on Saturday and there’s now a 14 pound turkey in my fridge.
3.) I cut my own hair following a pinterest posting last weekend. I liked it the first day and then it didn’t live up to the first day’s awesomeness so I got sad. When I got out of the shower this weekend I just decided “fuck it, I’m gonna cut another 4 inches off” and I did it and holy shit, I could have been saving myself so much money over the years! I can also keep it this length very easily or let it grow out. I’m insanely happy over this revelation and insanely happy that I have control over this.
4.) I normally hate people who decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving (there’s a person across the parking lot from us who’s had wreaths up in their windows since November 1st!) but having my own new home now I kinda want to decorate early. And then I realized that Chanukah is almost always earlier than Christmas and DUH, I have to get a jump on the lights because it’s the Festival of Lights!
5.) I still haven’t finished my fucking tattoo. its like 75% done and I can’t live with it the way it is. The problem? I have to cram all 25% of the rest of it into a final session and take a whole day because I can’t afford another staff infection outbreak. I’ve got a prescription for antibiotics to take before I start the next session to help prevent that but I can only take these meds a few more times before my body develops a resistance to the meds. Keep in mind my infection was about 2 steps down from MRSA – it tested resistant to 95% of everything that MRSA tests for. I also have to finish this before I start IVF but seeing as I’m still 25 pounds from my required IVF weight, I think I have a little window of opportunity to finish.
6.) Dean told me that while he loves our dog and his dog (that lives with this dad), he would be absolutely fine never having another dog when Nola moves on. He’s a cat person and would be happy with a few of them in the house. It was in that exact moment that I realized how perfect we are for each other because despite the love I have for Nola and how much it will kill me when she’s gone, I never was a dog person. She turned me into a Nola person, but I’m not sure I’m fully converted to canines. I don’t think I will know until there isn’t one in my house – I’ve never lived without dogs or cats. Just knowing my husband could live without ever having another dog warmed the cockles of my heart.
7.) The honeymoon stage of home ownership hasn’t faded yet. Yes, I say that despite discovering 6 of the 10 light fixtures were lacking junction boxes (fire hazard), living up 3 flights of stairs, having a parking lot where NO ONE knows how to park, not having dumpsters for trash, and hating the paint job in 50% of our home but hating painting so much myself that I refuse to do anymore. But you know what? I’ve done so much work to our place so far that it’s already home. It’s already warm and comforting and makes me feel very peaceful. I don’t think the honeymoon stage is going to fade until we start doing the big renovations. I have a huge soaking whirlpool bathtub for those moments though.
8.) We went to “a honeymoon retreat” aka sex hotel a few weekends ago and the entire weekend revolved around sex. On the ride up we talked about our pasts and I FINALLY got my spouse to break his jealousy issues over my sexual past to the point where he was actually making making jokes about my past until I literally peed my pants laughing. We had such a good time there and such amazing sex that we’ve decided to figure a way how to pay for it a few times a year. It was worth every goddamn penny.

the same old thing

I used to love to blog. I used to have a lot to say though. Now I feel like there isn’t much to say. It’s all kind of the same thing over and over again. Or something big will happen and I get so overwhelmed that I can’t write about it. By the time I feel like my head will explode from not speaking, the issue resolves itself. Then there are other things you just don’t feel like talking about. Like my sex life.

I don’t know what happened to me. At one point in time (for many years actually) I had this crazy sex life that involved doing anything and everything I felt like doing. I fucked anyone, any time, any where I felt like. I went a maximum of 3 months without having a man inside of me. That’s it. I had one person in my life who was sort of my “book end” for relationships. I couldn’t ever have what I fully wanted with him though. I could have the crazy passion and the all nighters, but I could never have his heart. In the end it turned out I DID have his heart, but there was so much complication that it wasn’t worth it and ultimately he never would have been able to give me what I wanted.

Then I met Dean and I got everything from him I couldn’t get from my book end. in initially we even had this crazy awesome sex life. Then I don’t know what happened. Things changed. We slowed down. We fought more and had more of life get in the way. There were deaths and accidents and blah blah blah.

Maybe it’s because we tried for a baby almost from day one. There is a LOT of romance that just fucking LEAVES when your only reason for sex is to procreate. You’re there for one reason only: fertilize! Except it doesn’t happen and years and years of trying result in an empty womb. Then you go through fertility treatments and every hormone in your body holds you hostage to mood swings from hell. And then one day you have to stop what you’re doing because it’s not working. Now someone else has control of your fertilization and it’s going to cost you tens of thousands of dollars AND you’re stuck on their terms (ie: weight limits) so you feel trapped.

And then one day you realize that your sex drive is dead. In fact, it died a year ago but you didn’t really notice because of the hell you’ve been putting yourself through. You cry. You cry a LOT. You wonder why you’re such a failure and despite everyone telling you that you’re not a failure, you don’t believe them because the evidence (empty womb) says otherwise. Suddenly nothing feels worth it anymore. You can’t even get up the tingles enough to masturbate. Seriously… it’s been months since I even had a momentary tingle enough to even WANT to find a vibrator, let alone use it. Why bother to have sex? It doesn’t end in orgasms anymore. It’s a lot of work just to get going and then it hurts or it’s over too quickly anyway because it’s been so long in between. The vicious cycle begins and repeats over and over. The gaps in between get farther and farther. Before you know it, it’s been a month since you last had sex with your spouse.

Furthermore, while you’ve gone through hell, your spouse, who’s never been much of an initiator anyway, becomes even less of one. Before you know it, you feel uglier and uglier because your husband doesn’t EVER try to initiate sex. If he does, he goes about it all wrong and sends mixed messages to the point you have no idea he was even trying. So now he feels defeated. Cue arguments.

Oh the arguments. They’re awful. The resentment that builds from not having sex is palpable. You blame him. He blames you. Neither one of you own up to your fucked up faults. You want so badly to be wanted because above all else you still feel like a colossal failure for having a broken body so you just need that reassurance that your sole purpose isn’t just to procreate. You need to know from your husband that he wants to have sex with you just because he wants YOU, not because he wants a baby. You need him to make the moves because you’re terrified that you’re not only broken reproductively, but that that you might be completely fucking broken sexually now. But he doesn’t initiate. When you complain he throws it back on you because he also wants to feel wanted. It’s a valid point, but he’s not the hormonally broken one so why is it up to you to fix it? So now it’s been a month, you feel broken and unwanted, and now you feel angry. Angry because what the fuck, dude? Can you please just be a stereotypical man and be obsessed with trying to get into my pants, please?????

Now you need him to man up. It wasn’t bad always initiating in the beginning, but lately you feel like you do everything even though you actually have everything split up pretty evenly as far as workload goes in your home. In fact, everything is ridiculously fair and balanced in your mind. There’s nothing to fight over other than this gigantic fucking elephant in the room that is your non sex life. It’s not that you do everything… it’s that you’re the failure so you make excuses. Still, you need him to man up and you say as much. He makes the effort a few times, but his timing is off, or you finally feel like maybe there’s potential for sexy time, but then you get sick or the period starts and your body just completely revolts against you. The effort is there and it’s exactly what you’ve been asking for, but your body just isn’t cooperating. Your head can’t seem to shut off either. So fucking cruel.

Maybe I hate myself. Maybe I can’t forgive myself for not being a mom. Maybe I need to get off of birth control and go back to having the worst periods on the planet. Maybe I need to just let go of everything and let my body do what it’s going to do. I’m starting to feel like a zombie anyway so maybe it’s time to go off this medication too. I can’t really win in the uterine department. I either end on birth control that makes me a rage monster, suicidal, or a zombie. OR I can forego the birth control entirely and have horrendously bad periods that leave me taking days off of work because I have to sit over a toilet and just fucking hemorrhage for hours at a time. And the mood swings. And the pain. Oh God the pain that goes with those. But you had something resembling a sex drive when you weren’t medicated or taking fertility shots. Your brain wasn’t quite so cloudy. What is worth it in the end? Intimacy with your spouse in exchange for physical pain, or a physically pain-free existence that causes immeasurable emotional pain? I’m sure it seems obvious to outsiders, but it’s actually one of the harder decisions to make.

So round and around we go. The one thing fucked up in our lives is the lack of fucking. Everything else is remarkably golden. In fact, on the scale of things, you are still winning the husband lottery… but that lack of sex enough to destroy the marriage.

Now what?

home owners

So yeah, that home I mentioned in the last entry? WE GOT IT! We’re officially home owners!

From offer to settlement was exactly 27 days. Because of the rushed schedule on closing, we had to wait till the last minute to make it official, but we did. Thanks in part to our phenomenal Realtor and her amazing networking skills, she hooked us up with some great people. Our amazing lender (another one of the Realtor’s connections) was able to make it happen quickly and the sellers were delighted with our offer and that we could settle so fast. They even left us a sweet note on the kitchen counter and sent an email to follow up. All in all, it has been the perfect first time home buying experience from start to finish.

And then the packing began. I’m only about half way done and we’re moving in a week. Because this was all so fast paced, we couldn’t fully do anything until we signed. That’s why we couldn’t even schedule movers until we were sure so that puts our move-in date a week from today. It’s kind of weird to own something and not live in it, but at the same time, I’m having MEGA separation anxiety from my mom. It’s bordering on ridiculous because I’ve left the nest before! This is not a new thing for me! The issue is that my mom is different. Ever since rehab, she’s become the mom I always knew she was underneath the exterior bullshit. She doesn’t have a sloth of a husband weighing her down anymore either. I can’t explain it to anyone other than to say that yes, I’ve moved out before, but this time it’s just different. Completely different. Just accept that.

To compensate for my melancholy state of mind, I’ve been going through retail therapy. I figured if I bought stuff for the new house I’d be able to see myself there easier. (It’s working, by the way). As a result, we’ve been on some what of a spending spree trying to get the condo fixed up and pretty. The condo is in great shape, but the previous owners never upgraded anything so it’s just a little outdated. We’ve been putting small touches in like lighting, faucets, drawer knobs, etc. All small things that really make a huge difference. The big thing we have to do? The kitchen. Oy vey is that gonna be a project. We’ve already started shopping around to figure out our budget for it. I’ve got grand plans to pay for this new kitchen as well. But none of it will happen until we get through IVF.

IVF is another thing I’ve been putting off. Between all the shit that happened in the last few months with my family and buying a new house, lets just say that I’ve gained a few pounds. I think I’ve also been terrified of the IVF process so part of me sabotaged the process. (Cant start till I lose 25 pounds? Okay, let me gain 10 more to make it REALLY difficult on myself!) But whatever. When we move, our food budget shifts dramatically and we’re both going to be going up and down 3 flights of stairs at least 8 times a day (10 depending on who’s turn it is to take Nola out on her late night walk – we alternate). Anyway, shit’s gonna change because hello mortgage!

Either way, I’m done beating myself up over everything. The fact of the matter is that aside from having a baby, I’ve managed to live out every other dream I’ve ever had. I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to do in my life so far. I’ve busted my ass and set goals and done it. I don’t know too many people who have done that other than a few close friends (which is why we’re close friends) so part of me has to toot my own horn for doing what I’ve wanted to do and being happy with it. Yeah, the baby is the last real obstacle and goal, but I think it’s really just the next step in the process and I’m happy to start it soon enough.

In the meantime, I have a split level condo that feels like a small townhouse and I get to make it our home. If you ask me, that’s pretty fucking stellar.

house hunters

The roller coaster that is house hunting continues to roll us around. We have basically decided that condos are all we can afford right now. What I didn’t know what that multi-level condos are extremely uncommon outside of this region so trying to explain it some people is really hard. It’s really rather perfect for us though. We get the amenities that come with paying large condo fees, have zero exterior or grounds keeping work to take care of, but we still get full reign over the interior. Its like a mini townhouse stacked on top of another mini townhouse. I’m not fully ready for a real house or even a large townhouse – its a lot of work I’m not ready to deal with. But this condo lifestyle? I think it’s perfect.

So we’ve been looking and in this region, (especially during this spring time market) housing flies off the shelves. Anything that remains on the market for more than 30 days is considered to be priced incorrectly. A massive chunk of housing is put up and taken off the market within a week or two. That’s how it works out here. Because of Dean’s foreclosure, we had a waiting period before we could sign any contracts and make any offers. (We wouldn’t have the loan paperwork to back it up which essentially made our offers useless so why bother). So for a few months we looked online and scouted things out. Most of what we liked would be gone within days. A few weeks before our determined house hunting day, I started finding a few more 30+ day homes. I made a spreadsheet for our realtor (whom I LOVE) and she set the showings up.

In less than 2 weeks, we’ve managed to find out home and start the closing process. This has all flown by in such a whirlwind that I need to timeline it because it’s just fucking crazy how fast it’s moved:

Sunday: Dean’s birthday so we spend the day viewing homes then have a little birthday dinner and gifts with just us and my mom
Monday: discuss with realtor what we liked and what to do next and start making decisions
Tuesday: realtor pulls together numerous ideas and we pick one to submit the offer on
Wednesday: I panic over our choice, look up more houses, ask to see a second option, and fall equally in love with option 2
Thursday: submit offer on option 1, receive counter offer, get upset. Decide to see option 2 with Dean this time (he missed first viewing and was scheduled to be off work the next day)
Friday: 10am view house #2. 11:30am submit final offer on house #1. 12:30pm receive rejection of final offer and then find out why* they rejected. 3pm talk to realtor and write up new offer for option 2. 3:30pm find out some information about option 2 that changes our offer a little. 5:30pm e-sign all contract documents on our offer and officially submit it. 10pm: find out there’s a second offer on the same home and do we want to change it? I say no. 10:20pm message from realtor “congratulations, you’re home owners! they accepted your offer”
*it turns out they’re upside down on their mortgage and can’t afford to take less than what they have it priced at which is why it’s been on the market for almost 3 months. They seriously overpaid for the place because of what the market was that year and then it crashed immediately afterward. I feel for them, but I’m not paying for their mistake so we graciouslypulled out of the bidding war.*
Saturday: sign the small changes the seller wants to make on our offer (all agreed to by us)
Sunday: start “window shopping” online for ways to renovate and decorate on the cheap
Monday: begin the finalization of our pre-approved loan to make it official loan
Tuesday: receive loan paperwork, title paperwork, and then get incorrect information on HOA restrictions with pets so I panic and start looking at other homes. Commence nausea
Wednesday: receive HOA docs, clear up all confusion, sign all paperwork, more nausea
Thursday: home inspection and brought my mom along. She loves the home and our realtor and I think she found the right person to sell her house once we move out officially. Seriously, our realtor is the BEST.
Today: waiting on the official inspection report then going to the sellers for the required fixes (very few) and then finalize that. There’s no turning back now so we’re taking a much needed break and saying a lot of prayers that everything works out and that we get this condo
Tomorrow: window shopping and actual shopping for goods for the home (like new lighting, paint chip samples, and looking at granite counter tops for the kitchen so I can start budgeting!)

So right now I’m looking at home goods and if I find anything I love I’m going to get it. I think I need to call movers soon and start getting something set up. I’m terrified that something will fail, but at the same time I don’t want to miss any opportunities so I’m trying to visualize myself living there and start acting like it’s our home. I’m honestly not sure what the smartest thing to do is, but this is how I keep myself from spinning out completely. We just have to play the waiting game now and find the balance of planning and overplanning and figure it all out.

More to follow as we get more information, but that’s where we stand on the house thing at the moment.

house hunting, vikings, baby quilts, and tattoos

House hunting is a motherfucking ORDEAL.

I did this once before when Chet and I were on the brink of failure but I decided I wanted a house and he could move in. Oh man was I stupid. It was only a two week hunt in which I saw 1 possible meth den, another with a flooded living room and a hole in the wall where he pipe was leaking (excellent staging!), and then a house older than my grandfather. Then there was that miscarriage the day I was going to put an offer on a split-level condo that I didn’t truly want but was the only one that seemed half-way decent and I had to have my mom call the realtor for me because I was a mess. Suffice to say, it wasn’t meant to be.

So here I am many years later with the spousal unit hunting for a new home. I know this will only be a 5 year house. I also know that use the term “house” loosely because everything we look at is either a condo, split-level condo, or town house. The distinction between the 3 is vague and this whole split-level thing seems to be extremely common here but not so common elsewhere. Go figure. I have “realistic expectations” according to my realtor and the more I search, the more I’m willing to compromise. The areas I will NOT compromise on: must be 3 bedroom -OR- 2 bedroom plus a third space for office/crafting/turtle abode, must have a newer kitchen, must have 1.5+ bathrooms, and must have a soaking tub. All that for the low low price of $250,000 or less. I think our realtor was shocked at how low maintenance we are. So far she’s been a gem and I love her because she’s all about going with your gut feeling. If the house doesn’t feel right then don’t bother. Same with the lender she works with. All that for the low low price of $250,000 or less.

Reigning my husband’s searching in is another story. The man is NOT grasping that $250,000 is the absolute maximum and it’s getting frustrating. I’m the one in charge of money and dude is either being a stubborn mule or just not getting it through his head. Then he finds one that’s just under $260 and it’s perfect on so many levels… except the cost. Dude, we only have so much for a down payment. There’s closing costs and mortgage insurance on top of that. The realtor thinks she can get the price into our range. I’m less than confident of this because we’d be asking them to drop the price AND eat the closing costs. That being said, in an area where houses fly off the market shelves in 24 hours, to have your house still be on the market for 2 months means you’re doing it wrong so there’s a wee tiny fraction of hope for us. I’m not holding my breath. I’m looking at houses much closer to our range and mentally building organizational shelves and moving our furniture around.

Moving on… you know how I mentioned Chet above? Yeah, that guy has been in my head way too much lately. I had this awesome dream where we met up and talked about what happened and why we failed, had a good hug and kiss, and then decided to be friends. I woke up feeling like a chapter had closed inside. Turns out it wasn’t quite closed though.

A few weeks later, we started watching Vikings and holy fucking shit does that lead character look like a younger somewhat thinner version of Chet. It’s something in the way he twitches one of his eyes when he smiles and something in his crazy head-cocking motions that’s just WOAH! THAT’S CHET! Plus the mostly bald head and crazy blue eyes that get crazy bright blue in certain lights. There are also the luscious lips they share. It’s ridiculous how similar they are. The thing is, while the character Ragnar is rough, barbaric, tough as nails, brilliant, and has a hell of a strategic mind (exactly like Chet), there are two big differences between him and my ex. Ragnar is incredibly spiritual and devoted to the rituals of his gods. He also openly loves his wife and adores his children. He openly loves and openly emotes. He even cries once (or twice) in the show and then it hit me. This Ragnar dude is what I believed in my heart (and what I held out for) that Chet was capable of and there’s this piece of me that’s a little sad over it. And conflicted because I ADORE the character and want to be hot for his Viking body, but then the sadness.

Being in an extremely open and honest relationship with my husband means he is fully aware of this. I can’t hide shit from him even if I tried. Sure, we fight like monsters sometimes, but there are no secrets with us. When a TV show has me conflicted about something from my past, I tell my husband so I can process it and move the fuck on from it.

Meanwhile, I fucking LOVE that show. Holy shit! I’ve gotten myself sucked into many shows in the last year that have left me feeling many feelings. It’s nice to conclude some (Walking Dead, The Blacklist) and move on to another others (Game of Thrones, Vikings) and let them fill in each others gaps. It keeps my brain busy.

Also keeping my brain busy? I’m quilting again. I made one for my mother in law then made 3 elaborate pillows… and then stopped. Then there were many pregnancy announcements at work and suddenly quilts to be made and my coworker is a quilting genius so she’s been tutoring me. Now I have 3 lined up to make and I just started one. I have fabric purchased for about 3 others too because I see fabric and have to have it despite the cost. (Seriously, don’t even get me started on how much money I’ve spent in the last year.)

And lastly, I started a massive leg tattoo about 2 months ago and it’s Legend of Zelda themed (specifically Twilight Princess). I LOVE this thing, but it’s killing me. First session was outlining and my entire leg blew up into a red swollen nightmare. I was also very sick at the time so when I went to the doctor and got antibiotics and steroids, I didn’t even mention the ink and sure enough, the meds for the bronchitis and such ended up making my leg calm down. So session number 2 was two weeks later and we only got a small area done because holy details, Batman! This healed quickly and smoothly. Session number 3 was 3 weeks ago. We got a huge portion knocked out. Alas, I made rookie mistakes (too much A&D, not enough air exposure, wore leggings to soon after, and shaved too close before the ink session) so I broke out into massive ingrown hair zits. They ended up morphing into boil-like beasts and holy fuck, the PAIN. A couple ruptured and eased up the pain and all but one healed 2 weeks later so I cancelled session #4.

Session #5 (which is now #4) was set for this weekend, but I’ve got a new monster on my leg that has surpassed the size of a grapefruit and now actively hurts my entire calf. Something is definitely wrong so I’m going to the dermatologist tomorrow. I’m mad at this. I get the first round of bumps and pain, but this new one developing out of the blue and now hurting my calf and up into my knee? FUCK YOU, SKIN! I just want to finish this thing. So now I’ll wait to see what the dermatologist says, but then I’m postponing session #4. Meanwhile I have a half-way completed tattoo on my leg. Such is life.

So there you have it. House hunting, Vikings, ex-boyfriends, baby quilts, and tattoos. That’s me in a nutshell I think.

this is where my head explodes

I don’t like writing about my life when it’s miserable because I hate reading whiny shit by other people. Plus, by the time I get to writing it out, it’s usually resolved so what’s the point? Except right it’s not resolved and I’m not okay and I’m hanging on by a fucking thread right now. That thread is only there because I have an amazing husband supporting me and I’m back on Xanax… double the dosage.

Since Thanksgiving, my life has fallen apart. My dad moved again, my brother was in torment with his relationship, my stepdad bolted (literally packed a duffel bag and took off) and left my mom, my mom fell off the wagon something fierce and nearly died so I had to check her into rehab which had so much drama around it I can’t even comprehend it all, and one of my two cats ran away. Add to it the ongoing struggles of infertility, some major stress at work and not being sure how I even feel about my job anymore, and a little pinch of “oh fuck, we have to move in 6 months” and I’ve basically fallen the fuck apart.

Should I focus on the positive? Dismiss the last 6 or so months of depression that threatened to swallow me whole which turned out to be a side affect of my building and soon-to-explode anxiety? Should I detail how fucking hard it is to be a grown up? Should I sit here and re-hash everything? I don’t even know anymore. I miss my fucking cat. I can’t believe that asshole left me. I can’t begin to explain how much I miss that fucker, but I do. So so so so SO much.

I’m constantly torn between being forced to make such hard choices. Why do I have to PAY $30,000 for a baby AND put a down payment on a house? Why can’t it just be one? Will I ever get over this? Do you have any idea how badly I want to put that $30k into frivolous spending? Or to invest it in something other than my uterus? Do you know how badly I want to take a vacation way the fuck away from here? Or quit my job and live off that savings for like half a year and maybe find my dream job? Or send Dean to school with it? But I can’t. I keep trudging along, forcing myself to deal with reality and take care of everyone else.

It should come as no surprise that between my mom’s stunning binge drinking ability and subsequent stepping up to take care of her, the house, her dogs, the bills, and deal with dickhead stepdad, etc. That I got MEGA sick for a whopping six weeks straight. And when I get sick, a depression creeps up over me (which has never made sense to me) and takes me down the rabbit hole. Keep adding it all up. Keep throwing it all on me.

Now add a fiesty husband who decided the roughest moments of this entire kerfuffle were perfect moments for him to vent too and KABOOM! Epic fights! Amazingly we got through them and continue to grow and learn from them, but there are times I wonder if we’re really supposed to be married. I keep wondering if the universe is trying to break us up because holy fuck has it thrown a lot at us. Like A LOT a lot. Like “when is the rain gonna stop because I’m starting to think I should build an ark” a lot. Are we just being tested to see if we’ll survive the storm or are we pushing through all our karmic debt NOW so that when that baby does come along we’ll be out of the storm and stepping into the light? This is as philosophical as I get. The odds are against us in so many ways but we keep pushing. And then I come home and find him folding my laundry and I look at my gentle giant and think “this is the man I love more than life itself” and everything is okay.

And since life isn’t insane enough, let’s add buying a house to the mix. Let’s have a constant conflict over the needs versus wants and force ourselves to make this a 5 year home, not a life home. Guess what? It costs WAY more to rent here than own. How’s that for fucked up? Owning a $250,000 3 bedroom condo costs less than renting a 3 bedroom apartment. And you know what? I can get two-three levels, possibly a garage, maybe a wee back yard, and a LOT more square footage if I buy. So guess what we have to do because we can’t afford to rent? Yup. The biggest frustration is the commuting and how much it costs. However, after weighing out geographical options plus the cost of commute, it actually makes more fiscal sense for us to stay in this pricey area than to move anywhere else. We would literally spend just as much on gas and tolls if we moved out west as we would on a mortgage and wee commute here.

This came to be a revelation because I was looking at houses in Maryland (like a fool) and dreaming big. Then I did the math and the maps and say “oh fucking hell, it will cost us $400 a month in commuting alone. It’s the same as a fucking condo here!” Or if it isn’t the financial cost of the commute, it’s the mental cost. I will lose my mind if I spend 3-4 hours a day just to get to a job I hate. I can’t even fathom that with a rugrat sitting in the backseat. I’d drive off a cliff. Yes, but we’d have a yard and room for a family, and shitty school districts. If I didn’t hate Maryland so much (seriously – tried physically looking at houses there and SOBBED – full on ugly cry – over the prospect of living there so yeah) we could have a fucking palace. But at what cost?

And do I even want a palace? Hell to the fuck no. I want a nice, new, small space with a few amenities that I’ve been living without for oh, 7 years? And my husband could make any rathole look appealing so steering him away from that is hard work. Equally hard? Steering him away from houses out of our price range. I’m starting to think $250,000 is too high, honestly. Stomping on his dreams because I’m the money drill sergeant is SO much fun. In the end he respects me reigning him in, but I always feel like such a dick telling him no.

And seriously, don’t tell me about the cost of living where you live. I already know this area is something like 200% higher than pretty much anywhere else that isnt’ a city. This is fucking suburbia but it’s in the Silicon Valley of the East so a $250,000 condo is considered “a great bargain”. Don’t even ask me about houses.

So its no wonder that my heart rate started going up up UP and my sanity was slipping farther and farther away. One bad panic attack may have put me in the hospital, but it became a choice of shoving the baby off longer or not so I kept picking the baby over medicinal help. Things got worse and worse and I knew I was on the edge of falling apart. I kept covering it up on the outside but on the inside it was a daily spiral and lose of control. Inside my head it was a non-stop roller coast of this kind of thought process: “We could pursue a house and I could get through my currently hell-on-earth job and during this I could force myself to lose weight and jump into IVF. But wait, I am scared shitless of IVF and afraid my husband will leave me if I can’t give him a child soon and hey, here’s some grandparent pressure to add to it and okay, I can do this. I can keep pushing through it all and just force myself to smile despite this growing panic in my chest. I have to choose IVF over Xanax. I have to give everyone this baby they want, mevermind the fact that I’m falling apart and this would be a dangerous body to grow a baby in right now. I can’t do IVF on Xanax because it has terrible affects on the fetal units so I’ll just keep pushing, but oh my God, my heart is going to explode soon and I can’t calm down and nothing is working and and and and and…”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

This is when I had my meltdown. A big meltdown. A “why do I do this to myself?” meltdown of epic proportion. I finally chose Xanax. I say “chose” but the reality is I was on the floor crying and my husband and my mother kind shoved me in that direction. Still, it was MY decision to make the appointment.

There’s no way I can do anything anymore without help. The irony being that just having the prescription in hand made my heart rate go down because I knew I had emergency aid at my disposal. But now it was doubled in dosage and wow just that shit WORK! After a week of taking them daily, I slowed it down to 1/2 a day, and now I’m down to “as needed” so it’s been about 3 days since the last one.

There’s also this very real reality that there’s no way I can gestate a human being under this stress. And don’t tell my mom this, but I kind of want to be alone doing this. I want to have my own spot on this planet so I can go through IVF in peace and come home to MY family and MY house. I love my mom, but it’s my turn to have my life. So when I made the decision to go back on Xanax, it gave me a chance to focus on this little dream of owning a home and setting up shop for a wee bundle of joy. The pressure is off.

And so begins the next great adventure in my life: buying a house and building my nest. OY the fuck VEY.

inked again and it feels so good

I made the decision to get a video game tattoo. This is from Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. I will post a better picture when it’s finished, but right now it’s red, swollen, healing, and I’m resting it and I like the angle of this one.

One day this will be an entire leg piece that wraps around with multiple characters, but I can’t fully decide on who and where so for now I’ve got this stand alone piece that will take up between 1/3 to 1/2 of my calf when the background is done.

Yes, I’m almost 33, and no, I don’t have to explain it to anyone. The fact is that I’ve loved this game franchise since the 80’s and I will never not love it. This one game in the series is my favorite for dozens of reasons. It speaks to me on many levels. It was my decision to do this, but I took opinions from those that matter: mom, dad, brother, and spouse. You know what? They want me to be happy so they support it. That’s all I need.

Round one’s work: the outline. It hurt like hell and will hurt for two more sessions, but you know what? It’s worth it.

I’m so excited about the finished piece that I could pee my pants!