A year ago today, Memorial Day, I went to upstate NY to my boss' weekend house so I could turn in my notice. He seemed relived. I was relived. And everything ended on good terms - mainly because I think were both very, very happy not to see each others faces again for a long, long time - and I spent the train ride back to the city with a weight lifted from my shoulders. I felt like Jerry Maguire passing out my manifesto. GOOD THINGS WERE COMING! I worked a few days after that getting everything in order for my replacement, who is still there an seems to be doing a kick-ass job. Better than me, I'm guessing. He's apparently not a goblin, like I, and I'm doubting they've made him stay behind to clean instead of going to events. And he's able to handle the stress in ways I couldn't. So good for him. Good for both of them. Good for everyone. Yay.

After I left, I did what I thought I was supposed to do in order to get my shit back on track. I went back home to Texas for a few weeks. I helped pack-up my grandparents house, one of the most stable, comfortable places in my life, and got it ready to be sold. My Great Aunt spent time teaching me how to make the family recipe for chicken and dumplings. I drove out into the pasture to take pictures of the cows and fed the farm donkeys milk-bone treats. I sat on the back porch during thunderstorms and drove around the backroads of my youth, listening to Garth Brooks. I hung out with my childhood friends and their kids. I gardened. I scanned in old family photos and made sure every single recipe my grandmother had written down was scanned in, too. Ensuring that her handwriting and ice box cake would live on with the rest of us. Then I went back to NY. I shook things up. I dyed my hair white. I turned down job offers that were for more of the same - high net worth individuals who wanted me on call 24-7. Oodles of money. Absolutely no personal life. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. So, I did the other thing I thought you were supposed to do when you needed to regroup and recharge, thanks to a life reading novels and growing up on movies where the women had to retreat before they could expand their horizons. So, I watched "Baby Boom", drove to Vermont and rented a house. I did all the "right" things you're supposed to do when getting your life back on track. I paid a stupid amount of money for trainer and worked out Monday - Friday, every day, every week for months. I forced myself to try and sleep, even when it never came. I took melatonin. Drank stress tinctures. I bought an insomnia workbook. I remixed rain sounds like I was fucking Calvin Harris in order to try and lull myself into slumber. I didn't give up. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I started this stupid website even though nobody reads it. I made myself go to the cafe and the pub and start up conversations with the locals in the hopes I'd make some friends. And when it didn't happen day after day, I kept going back. I didn't let my inward embarrassment show on the outside. I reminded myself I'm an interesting woman and this is just how it is when you're in a new place. I read so many books about self growth, self love and self care. I read about codependency and loving your flaws and reaching for the stars and living in the moment. I read Ram Daas and the Dali Llama and the Bible and Carl Sagan and Jane Austen and childhood favorite thats I had hoped would wake up my soul and childlike wonder. I put myself out there. I joined tinder and went on so many dates. They were all only first dates, by the way. None of the men every reached out or called me again. I kept my chin up and kept going. The doctor who took one look at me and stopped talking (we had met for a meal so I struggled through an hour of him not engaging). The young law student who made fun of my age. The divorcee who said I wasn't his type but he'd love to try and get me some friends (never heard from him again). The farmer who lied about his height, but was super rad and I actually thought could be fun to hang with and then he disappeared off the face of the earth. But, despite that I kept on. Thinking I just needed to really try. I randomly met someone from the West Coast online and became fast friends over the phone. I developed a stupid crush that I knew would amount to nothing once he saw me in person, yet I went for that, too! How did that end? If you guessed: NOT GREAT AT ALL!! BINGO! We have a winner. And the cumulative effect of all of that let me know it really was me not them. I was the common denominator. But even with that, I pushed onward - like a doomed Pioneer. Sure, I knew I'd probably end up dead in a river after my wagon overturned. Or scalped. Or with diphtheria, dying under a pecan tree while the rest of my family rides to the Oregon territory, leaving me to succumb to my sickness alone with nothing but the coyotes lonely howl to keep me company. But I really felt like all of THIS *gestures to the empty husk of my life* was some sort of signal from the Universe. Like a Legends of the Hidden Temple situation. If I could just answer Olmac's riddle and make it through the obstacle course, well this Purple Monkey was on her way to the good life, baby! And I did it, or I thought I did. I worked hard and tried to keep my head up. And instead, I found myself being collateral damage when a former boss got, rightfully, dragged through the press for truly heinous behavior. I had to get lawyers and wade through legal fees and inappropriate comments from people claiming I was complicit in his narrative. I tried to get back to LA, only to have every job lead dry up. I got a job here working for a lurker doing manual labor. Then I took another job for another large personality that is slowly draining what energy I have left. My trainer basically owes me $2,000 worth of more training but has gone MIA, because I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me. And that dude I had a crush on, well he's lovely but my dumb ass bought a shutter stock membership to do graphic design for him and I didn't realize I was locked into a year. So I'm still paying on that. A monthly reminder of my overall stupidity. And yet, I keep plugging ahead. Why? I HAVE NO IDEA. What is the point of any of this? What am I even moving toward? I've found myself recently throwing my hands up and screaming Nancy Meyer's movie titles into the heavens, "SOMETHINGS GOTTA GIVE, UNIVERSE!!!!!".

And yet, my life isn't really a Nancy Meyers movie. No matter how much I will it to be. And my story apparently isn't something that gets wrapped up neatly at the end. Imagine if Reese Witherspoon's character in THE WILD just had to keep hiking and doing introspection that lead to nowhere and only dredged up more self loathing. Imagine if Julia Robert's character just kept eating and praying but never found love due to carb-loaded weight gain and mild dementia from praying so much. There's no closure in my story. There's no true happy ending. Or maybe this all takes more than a year to correct. Maybe it's going to take a long long time to get back in the green after such a long time living in a deficit. Or maybe it's all a payoff. Maybe I'll never lose this stress weight or feel comfortable in my skin, but I'll have a really incredible left hook to show for it all. Maybe I'll never get my sleep back on track, but I'll be able to get through my days without pouring over every misstep and career mistake I've ever made. Maybe I'll never make any friends, but I'll find a contentment in being alone and will embrace the weirdness that comes with it. Maybe the point of me writing this down isn't for it to somehow sell and be made into a hysterical dark comedy, or for people to find enjoyment from all of this nonsense. Maybe its for me and me alone to chart my journey. To try and find any signs of life coming back inside my soul. To track the seasons. To realize that sometimes you can do everything "right" and it doesn't fucking matter. For whatever reason, your path isn't one of rainbows and puppydog tails. You're not going to have a defined turning point or ending. Jake Ryan isn't going to show up and give you back your undies. You're not going to meet a handsome vet that makes you rethink leaving Vermont and selling your applesauce company. You're just you. And "YOU" isn't a leading lady. Or a box office movie. Maybe you're just supposed to live your life like a Bonnie Raitt song BEFORE she finds love and everything turns around. Maybe you're a cautionary tale.

I think Tom Cochrane is an underrated genius - because, if we're being honest, Life truly is a highway. Only in my life, its the highway from SPEED, and every day is like trying to jump that giant chunk thats missing. And despite it all, despite the fact the odds to whatever epiphany I'm looking for seemed stacked against me, I'm going to keep revving up that busses engine, not letting it drop under 55, and gunning it across the giant chasm. Odds are, I'll probably crash and burn. Again. Or, I'll make it across, and for a fleeting second I'll think - maybe THIS is the moment it all changes. But like Sisyphus, I'll have to jump and jump and jump again. But, what can ya do? Welcome to my life.