Dear Bitchez,
Time for my tri-decadely Christmas letter. What, Christmas is over, you say? Huh, funny that...people bitch at me for taking my decorations down the day after Christmas, but I try to extend the season by putting out a Christmas letter three days late and all of a sudden I've suggested the equivalent of torturing nuns and drowning puppies. I'm trying something new, bitchez, as apparently I definitely can't be arsed to do anything on any kind of regular schedule. Or even in a timely fashion anymore because late for me is now the new on time. Which is incredibly anxiety-provoking for me and super awesome for my mental health.
I am still working two jobs, but my new practice is picking up more so now I am in the awesome position of not quite being able to reduce hours at the first practice but needing more for the second and therefore working all the fucking time. Being a business owner is awesome...if you are a business person. I am not so it pretty much sucks monkey balls. Thank God for people who invent electronic health records that pretty much idiot-proof the whole process of insurance and billing. I never would have been able to figure out how to open my own practice before the Google was a thing. I also decided that it would be super fun to occasionally teach a crafting class at a local wine bar, which then led me to being asked to teach a crafting class at the Senior Center. Oh, and don't forget that I am trying to get EMDRIA certified for my practices which entails occasional (expensive) consultation and that I am trying to get Roman certified as a therapy dog which requires (expensive) training classes. I also recently slipped and fell and gave myself a concussion, which forced me to take off work so now I get to try to make all that time up somehow. My therapist tells me that I am running away from my crazy because I keep myself so busy. I then tell her that I don't like her very much sometimes, and we laugh and laugh because a.) we know that's not true, and b.) we know she's right. It might be time to up my meds, perhaps pursue that imaginary Xanax prescription...or, you know, learn to say no...
Charles only has three more days left in 2018, and has thus far avoided any kind of surgical procedure. Go Charles! He briefly had a stint with a very entertaining albeit incompetent HR lady at work, but alas his employer only enjoys rewarding incompetence in dangerous situations, like while using a crane to lift metal parts that weigh thousands of pounds or whilst handling a machine that melts wire at thousands of degrees. She was soon let go, so no more entertaining stories of someone potentially more insane than myself. Now he is back to having that look of desperation in his eyes, and as I've said many times before, this may or may not have a lot to do with to whom he is married.
The girls are all doing well. Elizabeth continues on at school and working for the same practice I do. She has been faced with a lot of adult shit this year, like friends with seriously ill mothers, a best friend's pregnancy, (and my resultant becoming a grandma, named Gigi. Delilah picked the name out as she smiled when I asked her if that was what I should be, and had no reaction to Lala or Mimi. No more GmaL #itspronouncedjamal), and lots of car repairs and the resultant crippling debt. Oh wait, that's from her student loans...She has handled it all well and as far as I can tell has not resorted to utilizing substances to make her forget how much being an adult sucks. At least not on a regular basis. Alexis continues to dance and grow at an unacceptable rate. She appears to have adjusted to middle school and we do occasionally get her to look up from her phone to interact with us, so all is well there I think. Charlie's teacher wants her tested for the gifted program, which is OK as long as "gifted program" does not entail throwing more busy work at her like some schools do. Charlie has also decided to expand her dance repertoire to include tap and hip hop, as well as the acro and ballet, and is now on the Company team for dance, which performs locally. Charles got upset a few weeks back as the studio owner posted the fees for the competitions in a place he could see them...he said ignorance was bliss and now he can't unsee those numbers. I say I am looking at this as an investment in our future...if nothing else, to guilt the girls into putting us into a really nice nursing home because of how much we spent on dance for them growing up.
The animals are all cool. Asher the chinchilla has gotten a new cage and is doing well. Maximus recently ate 2.5 dozen Christmas sugar cookies and was on my shit list for a while. Lucky for him they were undecorated. Fucker also managed to get the lid off the tupperware container without destroying it. Roman continues on in puppy classes. We've taught him to fist bump because we need a dog who is cooler than we are, natch. Deogie could also benefit from a prescription for Xanax, but also does not have one. The rabbits just kinda chill and do rabbit-y type stuff. They are pretty unexciting.
We ended up NOT selling the house and discovered that our realtor was the WORST EVER. Like, not showing up to show us a house worst. Like lying about showings coming over worst. Like having paperwork done incorrectly worst. Needless to say, we ended up not getting the house we put a bid on and did not renew our contract with her, nor will we be using her in the future. Back to the plan of building. That is, if we ever get out from under MY crippling student loan debt. 2018 did nothing but show me how much fun it is to be an adult while not being independently wealthy. Yay for no surgery though?
Happy Holidays, bitchez! Looking forward to a 2019 wherein I continue to not be rich and remain just as crazy as I am poor, effortlessly.
Love,
Me
