It’s been over a year since I have made a post. Not because I haven’t thought about it… I’ve just been somewhere else and couldn’t find the willingness to sit down with a keyboard. I check in a few times a week and see that some of you are still hanging around, posting occasionally and I am thankful for those even if I don’t take the time to comment.
I was teaching skiing full time when the shutdown came in March. I walked to my car with my supervisor that afternoon, worried about the corona virus spreading but also looking forward to the next two days off, I had skied 10 days in a row (2 days in Colorado) and I was tired. He said, my supervisor, “See ya Tuesday!” and I am sure I said, “ski ya later!” as we got in our cars and drove down the canyon on a clear, warmish evening. Later that night on Facebook, it was announced that the all of the resorts would be closing, effective that evening. I found out on Facebook that I no longer had a job and we had 6 weeks left of the season. Crazy times. What ensued after that, well, everyone knows… we are still in it. I wish I would have filed for unemployment but I didn’t. I am lucky to not have a lot of bills to pay and I had savings. Somewhere I believed I didn’t deserve it but I put it under the guise of dealing with the government was a pain in the ass.
Salt Lake had a big earthquake and thousands of aftershocks the following Monday morning. And so started the endless days of all day living with my mom. We binged the Tiger King, Homeland and Breaking Bad at first because we were so bored and unsure/scared and didn’t leave the house. It’s been seven months, going on eight and I have finished a few sewing projects, there is one still on the dining room table. I have read two books, watched nearly every single episode of the 90 Day Fiancé franchise, plus too much Real Housewives and home improvement shows, went camping once for a night, been on a few hikes and drives, went up to Idaho to visit my brother who lives in the middle of nowhere for the first time since he moved there 15 years ago, had a sewing job where I actually left the house each day for about two months but that ended weird a few weeks ago and now, I sit with my TO DO list.
The week before George Floyd was killed I had signed up for a journal writing class via zoom with my old writing co-op in Nashville but I only went to one meeting. I couldn’t do it. I was so overwhelmed by what was happening in the U.S. I deactivated Facebook for two weeks. I bawled my eyes out watching the funeral, I walked my dog and tried to eat. I couldn’t take in the noise of what was going on and I felt that I shouldn’t add to it either. I minored in African-American Studies at the University of Utah and I knew too much. It was what I have been waiting for since 1996 but when it got here, I had to sit down and just not. Not be mean to my mom, not watch the President on the television, not read any white person’s opinion on social media about what was happening. I did listen to the Black Lives Matter voices, I did have some alcohol, I did spray everything that my brother touched when he came over with Lysol after he left.
Dopey. I found Dopey while I had my sewing job and listened to podcasts all day. If you don’t know what I am talking about, do yourself a favor and give it a go. Actually, listen to This American Life episode 667. (I am not smart enough to add a link.) I am going to join the Patreon and stop all of the other people I pay to talk to me about sobriety. I am not saying anymore about that today. SSDN and FTFC.
Where I am at with my sobriety is better than it was, not as good as it was before but still trying. I haven’t spent the day barfing since probably July, perhaps early August. I may have thrown up a couple of times. I only went to the sewing job hungover once and every minute of it felt like an hour so I didn’t do that again. I called out which sucks. I was on the verge of a drinking brown out when I met the lady who hired me and later I slept out on my friend’s trampoline that night because I didn’t want to drive and didn’t want to sleep in the house because of the virus. I haven’t had any alcohol for 5 days as of now, right this minute. I nearly completed 30 days September/October but the eating disorder took over and I couldn’t deal. I cried in the car after the therapist and vowed not to see her again, but I did, now I don’t see her until election day. I also did another thing, called Change Your Story but I am still working on my opinion about it so I don’t want to say too much there either.
I did get super sick and went for two Covid tests because the first one was taking too long for results. I had a severe summer cold/flu and was sick with worry. I binged Nurse Jackie, all seven seasons. Both tests were negative.
They say the ski resort will be open on November 20th. It’s rained 3 times this summer and not any clouds on the horizon. I am delaying turning in my season schedule because I am unsure of what I want to commit to this season. It’s going to be weird. Are cases going to surge? Everything is going to take place outside and on some days in January, that sucks. It’s cold. No locker room, no breakfast in the lodge.
I bought a new car. The twitch in my eye lasted for two weeks. I guess it was a good idea, I drove my last one for 27 years. It was time.
One of the books I have read (My Fair Junkie being the other) is Chanel Miller, Know My Name. Brock Turner’s survivor. We do say survivor and not victim these days, right? She is a lushes writer, she holds your attention and keeps it moving with succulent descriptions. I am a ME TOO-er and I have noticed something intangible popping up in me. An awareness of how I have been trained to think about myself as a female.
And as I end this post, I will leave you with this:
They tell you if you’re assaulted, there’s a kingdom, a country house, high up on a mountain where justice can be found. Most victims are turned away at the base of the mountain, told they don’t have enough evidence to make the journey. Some victims sacrifice everything to make the climb, but are slain along the way, the burden of proof impossibly high. I set off, accompanied by a strong team, who helped carry the weight, until I made it, the summit, the place few victims reached, the promised land. We’d gotten an arrest, a guilty verdict, the small percentage that gets convictions. It was time to see what justice looked like. We threw open the doors, and there was nothing. It took the breath out of me. Even worse was looking back down to the bottom of the mountain, where I imagined expectant victims looking up, waving, cheering, expectantly. What do you see? What does it feel like? What happens when you arrive? What could I tell them? A system does not exist for you. The pain of this process couldn’t be worth it. These crimes are not crimes but inconveniences. You can fight and fight and for what? When you are assaulted, run and never look back. This was not one bad sentence. This was the best we could hope for. “Chanel Miller, Know My Name
I know, what a bummer. Sorry. I will bring some hope next time.