Dare I say?

I might be happy...


You have to promise not to tell anyone.
It has been my observation in the past, that bragging about one's own happiness is a sure fire way to invite a karmic smack-down.
I can not emphasize this enough, people... I'm good with smack-downs for a bit. MKay?

It is rather amusing to me that I admit this grudgingly, but the recent tweak to my medication has worked wonders. I'm full on manic, but it is controlled... and manic, under control is like its own drug all together. How many years has it been since I had control? Four or five... how long has it been, really?

It's easy to confuse blame, but the truth is, I have not been functioning like my true self in the better part of a decade... or maybe even longer.

I thought it might be age. 

Disappointment. 

Regret. 

Exhaustion.

Boredom.

Each of which comes with its very own set of concerns, as to how to move forward in a productive way. Each of which could have been attributed to a 'situation'. Easily mistaken for a reaction, rather than a treatable medical condition.

I was calm-ish the summer of 2012. After leaving Narci. That's six years. I was compromised after that job. It took things away that I needed. I worked there for eight years. 

That makes fourteen.

Before that, I was a new mother and a relatively new wife. My focus was on growing the humans. My whole chemical make up was different in those years... just the lack of pot and alcohol, alone... never mind all the 'mommy' hormones... I don't know that anyone would have noticed 'manic' behavior in me, then. Myself, included.

Depression? Yes. I have always fought with depression. Just like I fought with my weight. 

Wait... have I ever been happy?
Surely, I have been happy.

How can I not know that?

I was ecstatic when I had my babies. I felt like I finally had some reason for being. That has to qualify. When I finally won my Hubs over. I was pretty happy for the next few years. Through buying and renovating our houses and raising our girls. We focused great amounts of time on them when they were little. They are seriously not little anymore. Getting them to do anything is less fun than dental surgery lately.

Speaking of, one of mine needs braces. I haven't found an orifice from which to squeeze 'braces money' to date, but if anyone knows the fairy that makes braces happen for kids who's parents 'kinda fucked the dog on their finances' , I'd really appreciate a reference.

In the meantime, it is Sunday evening.

I am out on my deck with what is now a very cold cup of tea, my water bottle, some great tunes playing on the stereo just inside the open patio door... and I am writing.

Life is good.

The weekend was productive.

I'm always happy when we get stuff done. My bathroom is getting closer. It's been a painfully slow process, changing that bathtub - but it's worth it to have the new one.  I've been using it for weeks, unfinished. Hub's put the facing underneath the front of it today - and he finished up the cutting/installing part of the gyproc yesterday. Just need to mud, sand and paint... and I guess the floor. I'd really love to do the floor.

I spent my day yesterday in the basement... and today in the kitchen.

My oldest has determined she needs more privacy in a bedroom, and wants to move to the basement.

There is a room finished down there, but you have to walk through a partially finished basement with two open doors - and the furnace room. It's creepy - I get that.

We have piles of storage crap down there. Christmas decorations, sentimental stuff, camping gear, crap we can't seem to part with, and old toys. I got the bright idea to move all of the bins into one spot to see how large of a storage room we would need - essentially building said room around the crap. It will also encompass the water softener closet and the furnace room door.

I spent the day culling more crap. Setting 'give away' stuff aside and throwing out all that old 'stuff' that we've been dragging all over hell's half acre. It feels incredibly cathartic. As my favoritest character of all time; Parry (played by Robin Williams - in my all time favoritest movie, The Fisher King) would say: (I may be paraphrasing slightly) 'you know when you are having a really satisfying bowel movement... and you strain and strain and in the relief of the moment, you look up... and all around are the cutest little fat people...'

Like that.

Little fat people, cathartic.

I'm good. I feel strong. In control of myself. My life...

I know full well of course, that entire thought is a fallacy - but it's nice to have a little cockiness back.

It's beyond amazing to go to work every day and be quite happy in doing so. That is so novel to me. I've never made it longer than six months in a job without unearthing a magnitude of things I detested about (what was usually) my boss. I've enjoyed most of my jobs as far as the actual work went.

I have been there now for seven months.

Don't get me wrong - there are irritants, but I still look forward to going every day. I'm not feeling any apprehension about the weekend ending. Of course that could have something to do with the fact that my hubby has already gone to work for the week. Perhaps I would have a slightly different perspective if I got a second chance at what should have been my night last night.

Seriously, though. I am looking forward to the Monday morning chat and then diving back into my current project. I'm tackling the data base. It will be like tiny orgasms, every time I delete superfluous information, or amalgamate the many duplicates into one file, or organizing recently purchased companies under their proper parent companies... with the up to date contact information.

...pardon me for a moment whilst I compose myself. I'm just a little lightheaded.

*Acts out lighting a cig*

Okay then. We'll save that thread for pulling another day.
For now, I need to... how does Bixby say it again? Oh yeah...

Reeelllaaxxx

D-Out