Hey...sorry, not sorry about the absence. Sometimes you just have to figure shit out.

Hello?

Hello?

Tap. Tap.

Anyone out there?

I got home from work tonight and I just felt like blogging.

It started with a post on facebook from another blogger about it being National Infertility Awareness Week. And I composed a really long comment on a blog I have never read before and thought....huh. I feel like writing.

I doubt anyone is reading anymore. And I suppose that is ok too.

My last post was very negative. And things continued to be negative for a very long time after that. To some extent, it still is.

At some point the elation of not being unhappy wears off and you sit in a tiny, shitty apartment with no money and S.W.A.T. making an appearance more than once in a year...isn't once too many...and you think, I can't do this. This isn't me. I have never lived like this. I can't do this.

And that statement is not entirely true either. I guess it was two equal reactions to one situation. There was the sheer happiness of feeling, well, free. Of finally being out of a relationship I honestly don't believe I should have ever been in from the start. We were never suited for each other. But we liked each other well enough. And we got along for a while. And we made each other less lonely. But it wasn't happiness and it was stifling.

Getting away from that was extremely freeing. So, I was just so thrilled with EVERYTHING that was different and everything that allowed me to be me.

Then the reality of none of my friends and family ever wanting to come visit me because they were scared hit. And instead of sticking up for the neighborhood I love, I started to hate it. I started to get down on myself for being 33 fucking years old and not doing better, not being better.

Both of these feelings were wrong for me. Neither exactly fit me, despite how much I wanted them to.

And during all of this I was trying to figure out a very intense, very fast moving relationship with the only person I can honestly say knows everything about me.

So, yeah.

We got a new apartment just down the street. It's much nicer and not embarrassing, despite being tiny, with the promise that we were going to use this time (OUR RENT IS ONLY $485) to save up a lot of money and to DO things. And put ourselves in a position to actually have some place we are proud of in the neighborhood we love.

I got a new job. A big girl job. Like, for real this time. It is for a fine dining restaurant chain that has restaurants in 33 states and is projected to make $500 million dollars this year. Just to give you an idea of how much money they are paying me....I am eligible for $5000/year in bonuses.

My thirties taught me something very important. I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHO I AM. And for a while I was embarrassed about who I was. I was embarrassed and I don't know why.

I had to dye my hair back to "natural" colors for this job. I have to wear sleeves to cover my tattoos. I will never make friends with any of the people I work with because they aren't the kind of people I want as friends. And you know what, that is ok. I have a job to do and I am fine showing up and just doing it. There are multiple reasons for that...one of them being...WORKING EXPO ON THAT LINE DURING A RUSH WILL MAKE ME FEEL LIKE SUCH A BAD ASS. Seriously. I watch the chefs do it now and am like, fucking shit. That is going to be me. I am going to control that kitchen like a fucking violin. It gives me this insane high I can't explain to even imagine doing that.

Right now I am doing front of house and busing tables and feel like an idiot. But, you know, I will get there.

Somebody asked me....do they make you feel bad about your tattoos? And your purple hair? And the neighborhood you choose to live in?

Yeah. They kind of do. Which makes me all that much more motivated to prove them wrong. To prove that I am just as good as them, if not better, at being a chef.

I'm sick of being made to feel like I am not as good as someone else because my lifestyle choice is not the same as theirs.

My body will be covered in tattoos one day. My hair would be purple again if I could. I will always live in my little hood that loves and embraces me because, frankly, the diversity of people I meet on a day to day basis make me happy. The thought of living in the suburbs makes me cringe. I am not saying there isn't some level of diversity, but it is generally the same income level with similar values and similar lifestyles. I meet conservative republicans covered in tattoos and talk politics with them. I meet former meth addicts that have turned their life around and own their own home and have a great job and are often buying me drinks at the bar. I meet people like me, who just didn't know where they fit in.

And somehow we all fit in here. In this fucked up kind of crime ridden neighborhood. And they all love me for exactly who I am.

I just have to teach myself to feel the same. Because I am awesome and bad ass and can do anything I set my mind to.

It just took me 5 months to figure that out. Or maybe 33 years. But it's true. Insecurities are one thing, but doubting my entire identity is another. And I refuse to do it again.