I feel ugly. Even when I was in school and everyone would make fun of how I looked I never felt ugly.
I’ve gained more weight, which doesn’t usually bother me, but right now I just feel so large and uncomfortable. I’m nearing 40, and even though I don’t have wrinkles (because I’m so fat), I can see my skin sagging on my face and it looks gross. I shaved my head a few months ago, and while I’m glad I did it and I loved it, my hair growing in is still so short and it makes me feel ugly.
Things are doing well. I’m feeling well and I think am finally used to this house. Right now I’m waiting for fall to hit with the cooler temperatures and crisp air and all the things I love about fall. It’s by far my favourite time of year.
I’m starting to feel it now. We have cool days mixed in more with the hot and the hot doesn’t seem so stifling.
I made short ribs the other day cause it was cool enough to have my oven on for three hours. They were delicious. I forgot how good they were. I’m excited to be able to actually cook in my kitchen. And bake! I haven’t baked in ages!
So I guess it’s getting better. We’ve been here almost a month now and are starting to feel settled. We fixed the problem we had with the cat getting into the basement and crawl space. The noise went away. The weather has been fantastic and rainy all month. This house has its issues but I suppose it’s just something you get used to. This week we have roofers coming to redo the roof, and hopefully after that, we’ll be able to fully relax and settle.
So we’ve moved. It didn’t go great. The cat did much better than expected. I did much worse. I feel like I’m in mourning for the old house.
I loved it. I was so happy there. Finally, happy. I didn’t want to move, I just wasn’t ready when it was time. I’m still not ready.
The new house is nice. It has more things about it that I like better, but it’s new and a big change all around. And above all I wasn’t ready.
All I can think is since we had to move in a certain amount of time we couldn’t be very picky. We had to take one of the first ones that hit most of the boxes, and now we’re locked in for a year.
One year. I’m giving it that year to see how much I like it here. I don’t want to move again but I’m giving it a year.
I’ve thought many times about having Pumpernickel as an emotional support animal, but after the other day that has gone to the wind.
First off, we bought her a harness so that when we had the doors open to cool the house off in the summer, we could put her on a leash. That’s not needed now. I did put her in it however, to see if she liked being outside. She did great in her harness! Even with the leash on it! When I took her outside though she did a full nope and walked back inside the house. Twice. So now I don’t have to worry about her trying to get out.
Second. She had diarrhea for just over a week, and being to worrying mother I am I took her to the doctor. (She had had too much dairy at once and it basically killed the healthy bacteria. She got some antibiotics and probiotics and within 24 hours she had nice hard poops again.) She wore her harness wonderfully, but she hated the car ride. I felt so bad for her. She was in such distress until she got back into the comfort of her own home.
After those two things I realized she would never be able to come with me places. And that’s ok. I don’t go out often anyways, and even though I do miss her when I do go out, I look forward to her cuddles when I do come home.
And now our bubble has burst. So far we’ve had a fantastic year. That was until we were told yesterday that we have to move again.
I was actually happy. For the first time in years, decades even. I was content and happy and had found joy. All that has crashed down and gone away.
We have just under four months to find a new place, so hopefully ample time to find somewhere with what we need, but time crunches are always fretful. To put it lightly, we’re a bit devastated and I’m still processing.
Pumpernickel has found her voice. She lets us know when she’s upset with us, or when she needs something. It’s usually as simple as demanding a blanket to lay on when it’s all bunched up or not there. Sometimes it’s when we’re taking too long to go downstairs in the morning, or when she’s offended that I won’t let her sniff and taste my food. Whichever reason it is, I’m glad she’s finally being a little bit vocal, and I hope she’ll eventually start chirping and having conversations with me.