Home’s where you go when you run out of homes. -John le Carré

This couldn’t be more accurate. I’ve had a lot of homes. More than I’d like to admit. Not in a bad, no family situation kind of way. I’ve just moved a lot. I never feel at “home.” I never get that cozy, warm, home feeling that we all know about.

Until I leave.

First, I’ll start by saying that yes, my parents house feels most like home. I think for a lot of people, young adults especially, this is probably true. This isn’t about home “home,” this is about making life your home. I’ve moved to a different apartment in the same city, I’ve moved to different cities, accepted different jobs, met different people. But it always seems like every day is like the last, everywhere I go.

I don’t know if I’m expecting some kind of grand entrance to the next level of life or what but the days so easily and so quickly become monotonous.

Home. What is home? I have a Pinterest board that feels like home to me. The décor, the space, the ideas, the wonder. The laughs around a dining room table playing games, the comfortable bed snuggled up next to my kitten. The warm fireplace, hot cocoa, and Christmas cartoons on repeat. I imagine home much more than I feel home.

I have this grand gesture of an idea in my head. I’ve been planning my “home” for as long as I can remember. I’m going to buy a beautiful house, paint, and decorate. Fill it to the brim with my home-y style. Invite those people over to play those games. Light that fire and drink that cocoa. Snuggle and smile and enjoy my home.

But that kind of home, that dream home seems so far away. There are so many variables of life that make home feel impossible for a 20-something. Credit scores, income, education.  Needs verses wants is probably the biggest mountain to climb. I don’t need a lot but I don’t want garbage. I have high hopes and medium expectations when it comes to home.

With that being said, my current “life” feels so far from home it’s not even funny. I know apartments never feel like home; at least I don’t think they do. But I miss my old home. I miss certain parts of living in that shitty ass trailer in Thief River. I miss the upstairs apartment that we lived in TWICE. I kind of even miss my downtown, hole in the ground apartment in Grand Forks. I miss West Ridge which was, hands down, the best place we’ve ever lived.

Now that we no longer live in those places, they seem like home more than ever before. I fanaticize about what my life would be like now, if I would have given it just a little more time instead of always jumping and running away when things weren’t just the way I wanted them.

I want to get past this hump of “Why’s.” We keep questioning if we’ve made the right decisions. Was it right to move to leave Thief River nearly 4 years ago? Was it right to leave excellent paying jobs and people in Grand Forks? Did we give Bemidji enough time? Why are we in Fargo? What are we doing?

Home never feels like home until you leave. It’s true. Everywhere I’ve lived, I couldn’t wait to “get out” thinking that my next move was going to be my last move until the big buy (a house) but then I move again. What am I running from? What am I chasing? Each of those places we’ve left always seem to call me back asking the question “Why?” I miss my home and wherever I am now, doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be home. It never does.

Anger Doesn’t Look Good On Me

I think my patience is wearing thin. Depending on the situation; I’m a pretty patient person. I think that my immediate family might disagree which is valid but in general; I’m very patient. Well, I used to be.

Lately, my patience has been worn thin. I get frustrated with people very easily. Maybe my “moron” radar is through the roof or something. I feel like I don’t have time to deal with assholes or dick weeds. I don’t give a shit about your perfect children or how you would do this or how you would do that. You’re not hilarious, clever, or nice. You’re a creep, a smothering moth, and a know-it-all that doesn’t quite know it all.

I used to be a window. I used to have the patience to deal with people who didn’t get it or varied in opinion to me. I used to have an open invite to challenge me. It would go in one ear and out the other. I’ve always understood that I might need to change my direction in order for others to understand or to validate my stance and I’ve always been able to adapt accordingly but lately, it hasn’t been so easy.

I’ve turned into a sponge and not in a good way. I hold on to everything certain people say and by the time I’m done just want to throat punch them to the ground. My patience is gone and it’s making the days more and more difficult to deal with.

And I should probably stop there. This is why I hate blogging but love writing. I’ve pondered pausing blogging in the writing sense for some time now. I don’t feel that I can truly express myself or say how I really feel without totally going overboard. I don’t know who’s reading this. On one hand, I want to reach the masses. I want others to know that I’m out here too. I know how you feel. I want to share my happy days and my throat punch days but I don’t want to risk my career or personal life by doing that. There’s no happy medium is there? Go big or go home?

Getting Things Done

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a total couch potato. When it comes to my personal (non-work) life; I’m perfectly content hanging out at home every evening catching up on the latest shows, surfing the internet, or reading. This usually means that I procrastinate at getting things done that need to get done.

This will probably sound absolutely absurd to those that do stuff every day, all the time but for me, what I’m about to say is a pretty big deal.

Today I woke up early. Woah, what! I made healthy food choices all day and cooked all of our meals. I “fall-cleaned” which included the dishes, laundry, sweeping, PUTTING MY CLOTHES AWAY and a few other random things that I put off every week.

I went grocery shopping, balanced my checkbook, got Frank some new toys. Which means that of course, I made some time to play with the cutest kitty in the world. I went for a walk, edited photos for a couple of hours, and now I’m here writing this.

Successfull day in the books if you ask me. The only thing I didn’t do was sit in front of the TV for hours. I think I watched whatever Channing was watching when I ate my breakfast but other than that; I totally accepted my boost of energy and took advantage of it.

I wish I could get things done like this every day but most days I just want to vege. Since I’m already working on getting healthier, I plan to for sure keep the walk thing a top priority. I used to be much more on top of things but I think with 2 big moves in less than a year and a busy summer of going going going; it took a toll on the organizing and prioritizing portion of my brain. It feels good to be in control.

Time for bed. I’m exhausted.

Sometimes…

I haven’t been inspired to write lately. I have a lot of things to say but nowhere to put them. Some things I want to be read and some things I don’t. I have days where I want to throw people under the bus and vent my lungs out. I want to tell the world how it is and let people know that they are assholes but I don’t because I don’t know who’s reading this. And other times, I have something really awesome to say, so awesome that I can’t find my words. Or I don’t have time or I figure that no one is even reading this so what’s the point?

I have questions without answers and things I struggle with on a daily basis. Sometimes I want advice and sometimes I want everyone to be quiet and sometimes I want people to tell me it’ll be okay. I want to brag, I want to wallow, I want to be excited, I want pity, and I want to cry. I want to hate, and love, and inspire, and motivate. Sometimes, I have so much to say that I can’t say anything. Like I’m stuck.

My 9/11 connection or lack thereof.

I was debating on if I should post anything or not but then I figured; this is my blog. So, sure. Why not? My original post was the usual mile and a half long but I condensed it down into a few short paragraphs. I think at first I felt like I needed to explain myself for why I feel the way I feel but I decided that I don’t. I can’t change how I feel. It might be an unpopular stance but so what. Here it goes..

I don’t feel like September 11, 2001 really impacted me.

Ouch.

What I mean is: The events that day, the people’s lives that were lost, the buildings that were destroyed, the city that was damaged, the hearts that were broken; it didn’t directly change my life. I lost no one. I didn’t know what the “Twin Towers” were or what a World Trade Center was when it happened. (Even now, I don’t really know what operations were going on other than a bunch of businesses, at least one bar, and a couple of art studios.) I’d never been to New York City or on a plane. It didn’t give me the chills when I saw the news unravel on the television in my classroom or make me stop what I was doing.

Every year, I try and “get it.” I watch endless amounts of programming on TV; countless documentaries. I’ve read the news articles and the statistics. I know the story. I’ve educated myself on it. I feel empathy towards the families that have lost loved ones. I sense the pain when I watch or read anything surrounding the date but I also get upset when I watch a Lifetime movie.

I’m not trying to be the asshole here. It would be so much easier to feel the same way everyone else does, honestly. To raise America up on some kind of high pedestal like we’re the only ones that have lost people is obnoxious. We’ve killed just as many if not more after the war than on that day. We are supposed to teach our children to stand up for themselves and not bully one another but the country we live in can’t do that. War and murder is not standing up for ourselves.

And I don’t agree with the argument: “9/11 is about the people we lost. You don’t care about the people lost?” Of course I do, I’m not a sociopath. But the thing is, America’s 9/11 isn’t about the lives we lost. Our society pretends it’s about the people we lost, but it’s about a bigger issue. Getting back at whoever did us wrong.

I’ve found over the years that it’s best to keep my mouth shut because if 9/11 didn’t directly impact you and you voice it out loud (God forbid) than you’re the bad guy. I really never mean to be insensitive I guess but it seems like in the land of opinions, everyone that has an unpopular one isn’t entitled to one.

The only reason I remember exactly where I was, wasn’t because I was in shock. It was because my teacher told us to remember where we were because we’re going to need to know where we were for the rest of our lives. Like it was some kind of test. No explanation, no moment of silence, no nothing. Just remember where you are. Or else.

I’m not completely cold-hearted, I promise. I am capable of compassion. I wish I could pray the pain away for those who’ve lost loved ones that day; for them to find closure if they haven’t and comfort when they need it. I wish for the families of the firefighters, paramedics, and police to know that their deaths were not in vain. For the civilians that had nothing to do with the World Trade Center and were merely just civilians; the people on the planes (who, by the way, I feel are very rarely mentioned) I pray for their souls and for their families.

But I’m not sorry that I can’t fully grasp the “never forget” symbols spread nationally each year all over social media. I don’t disagree with it but I also can’t fully stand behind it or I’d be lying. Pretending that I gave a real shit. This goes back to me stepping on hot coals but I feel like people blast social media these days with 9/11 pictures to just prove to each other that they “never forgot.” And maybe that’s what my issue is: People who act as if the tragedy really meant something to them when it didn’t. You posted a picture, that’s all. Did you actually participate in a moment of silence? Did you pray for those lost? Did you lose someone? Did it change your life?

There isn’t a huge gathering for my classmate each year that committed suicide a couple of years ago. There isn’t a yearly prayer service for my grandpa who died when I was a baby. I don’t expect people that didn’t know the people I’ve lost to mourn for me. To “never forget.”

And I hope that those truly effected by the 9/11 attacks do find comfort after 14 years to know that their loved ones are still with them, just in a different form. I just think (obviously my opinion only) that just because you post a picture and say “never forget,” are you just doing that because it’s 9/11 and you’ve been instructed to never forget or were you impacted? How is 9/11 connected to you other than by a tv screen?

Again, as I stated from the beginning of my post. This isn’t meant to be insensitive or stir up trouble. I was in 6th grade when the planes hit the twin towers. I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t know anything about New York City or their significance to the country. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s a lack of education on my part? I don’t know. And again, this isn’t meant to offend or insult anyone who was directly impacted by the attacks.

A (Cat) Mother’s Instinct: Frankie’s Bad Day

Please Note: I wrote this with it all fresh in my mind. Everything stated below is based on my opinion of how I felt, my point of view, and my side of the story. I hope through research that I will be able to be connected to the appropriate people to determine if everything that happened to Frankie was right or if we were taken advantage of financially/emotionally. I also submitted this to Jazzy & Mumbo’s Thrift Store. They are a 100% volunteer run non-profit thrift store aimed at helping pet owners when they need help with unexpected vetrinarian bills. My submission to recieve financial help with this bill has not been accepted yet. I would like to encourage anyone and everyone that can to please bring items you no longer need or want to this thrift store, make money donations to the cause, and spread the word. The more people that come into the thrift store to buy things, the more people they can help.


11011104_10153417489118363_3003056300087072152_nOn Wednesday, August 26th  my kitten, Frankie, went in to be neutered. He is just about 6 months old and the doctor okay’d his health for this procedure. His records are up to date. I brought him there at 7:30 AM. Later that morning (8:43 AM), I received a phone call from Dr. Crystal Meganau. She stated that Frankie had a severe reaction to the sedation medication they gave him.

Within 3 minutes of giving him the medication, he began vomiting, convulsing, and his breathing was strained. At that point, she wasn’t able to give me any kind of outcome nor did she let me know what the treatment plan would be. She just called to inform me. (Which I appreciated given the circumstances.)

A couple of hours later (10:33 AM), she called with an update. At this point, she still was unable to confidently say that he was going to be “okay.” She let me know that they did a series of chest x-rays and found fluid in his lungs. They hooked him up to oxygen and a catheter and noted that they are giving him fluids through IV’s. She also noted that they gave him reverse medication (something to do with reversing the medication that gave him the reaction) and a steroid shot. During this call, she noted that he hadn’t vomited in a while.

I then called Dr. Meganau over my lunch hour (12:19 PM) to check in on Frankie. This call was much more optimistic but we weren’t totally in the clear yet. She let me know he was still on oxygen, fluids, and the catheter. He was doing better and sleeping. During this phone call, I asked about the cost of today’s events given that I figured I’d need to address it at some point. She said she didn’t have that information available.

The doctor called me later that afternoon (2:26 PM) to let me know that he is now doing well. They had taken him off of everything that they put him on and gave him a 2nd chest x-ray to make sure there was no longer fluid in his lungs. She noted that he was playing with a cat toy they provided him. She also noted that the total for everything that happened today was going to be somewhere in the 600’s. (She gave me an actual total at that point, but I can’t recall what it was.)

When I went to pick Frankie up, the doctor again went over everything that had happened that day. But, they wouldn’t let me see Frankie until I paid a portion of the bill which totaled at $637.08. (This is the final total. It was higher but I believe they removed a customer copy of the x-rays to bring it down to that.) I asked about discounts and asked if I was going to be charged for the medication that initially caused the reaction, ect. Discounts are not available and I am being charged for the medication that set off this whole reaction. They also noted that everything listed on the bill was necessary. At this point, I didn’t have the energy to argue because I felt as if I was pushed to my limit and had to “trust” that everything done was absolutely necessary throughout the day.

The receptionist that day was Tonya Fliflet. She was very rude during the check-out process. I had gotten bad news after bad news all day so I was an emotional wreck. Up to this point, I still had not seen my kitten and just wanted to go home with him in hand. I let Ms. Fliflet know that I only had $200 cash because I had intended on paying for the neutered appointment today so I gave her that. I don’t have a back up stash of money to pay the remainder at that moment. (Who would?)

She noted that I could either set up an account with them or apply for a credit card on her computer. I wasn’t comfortable doing either and knew that I needed to discuss this information and the charges with my boyfriend. I did not want my personal information stored on her computer, nor did I want to take out credit for something like this.

11902442_10153516622378363_8242090617302064252_nShe reiterated that she would not release my kitten to me without one or the other and asked for my bank account information and my social security number. I again noted that I wasn’t comfortable providing my information on a piece of paper. (It wasn’t an official document of any kind).

I ended up putting my information down because I was on the verge of tears and wanted to see my kitten. I felt incredibly violated. It was clear that Mr. Fliflet was used to playing with the emotions of a pet owner. She was incredibly unprofessional.

Additional Notes:

Frankie never did get neutered that day.

I was pleased with Dr. Meganau keeping me informed and explaining things in a language that I could understand. I am thankful and appreciative that he was taken care of and he is okay.

However, I do not know, because I do not have the knowledge in the field, if all the steps and charges taken were necessary to Frankie being okay nor if all the steps taken were protocol. (Should I have been asked if they can do x-rays and oxygen? Should I have been notified of prices prior to action being taken?)

I asked repeatedly the morning of, what could happen if things don’t go right? Would he be in pain? What kind of complications could arise? Would there be issues with the medication? I was reassured that “this is a routine procedure” and was not told of possible complications even when I asked.

I think that upon the very first visit at a new vet, payment options should be discussed in the event that something catastrophic happens. It is incredibly unfair and morally unjust to “hold” a pet from the owner after the pet and the owner suffered what Frankie went through.

My mom and boyfriend can both attest that I didn’t have a good feeling about this procedure going into it. I was worried that something would go wrong and was frustrated when everyone told me it’ll be okay. I usually am pretty good with listening to what my gut instinct tells me. I would encourage anyone that doesn’t feel right about a situation, to take your own word on it because you’re probably right.

Thank you for reading, thank you for the Frankie prayers, and thank you everyone that put up with me that day and the days following. Frankie is doing okay. He is still very tired and not himself yet. He’s on medication through next week. I’m confident that he’ll be back to himself in no time.