…since I have updated my personal blog. I miss it. I don’t know if anyone still reads this. Back in the day, and wow, I guess the Pajamas and Coffee blog day would have been 15 years ago, I used to come here all the time to write. I don’t even really write anymore, unless you count Instagram captions. God knows I can write those. I wrote professionally for over a quarter century, more than a thousand paid pieces, three novels, three nonfiction books.. I think I just ran out of things to say for a bit- but mainly I stopped writing because of the migraine prevention medicine I take. It seems to silence not only the majority of the killer migraines I have suffered most of my life, but also the part of the brain required for creativity involving words. I feel it’s temporary, that I have lots more to say regardless of who is going to listen, and that I will return to writing at a point where my life is more quiet.
At the moment I am suffering from some heartbreak. A friend I considered one of my best ended our friendship via text message. At the time she sent the text, I was in therapy discussing strategies to deal with our somewhat unhealthy relationship. Although I knew it had issues, I was willing to work on it because I don’t believe in giving up on people, in walking away- or especially running. I feel this way to a fault, and even when it would be to my own benefit to do so. I have never experienced anything quite like this hurt. I had already been reading so many books and articles about my tendency to remain in codependent, toxic, dysfunctional relationships that served only to continually hurt me, and the end of the friendship was not completely unexpected but it shattered me all the same. I had tried and tried to be the kind of friend I always wanted, to make her happy, to create this Lucy and Ethel, Laverne and Shirley, Thelma and Louise world in my mind that was irrational, unfair and unreciprocated, serving only to create disappointment. I had to learn a bunch of lessons the hard way- mainly to lower your expectations so you won’t be disappointed, that you can’t change or fix people, you need to accept them for who they are (which I tried to do but only ended up getting hurt), and that “best friends” with matching anything is a concept perhaps left for middle school girls. I wanted one my whole life, and apparently it just wasn’t meant to be. I have read a lot of self-help shit about being your own best friend. Like any other loss, I will need to mourn, try to deal with all the reminders of her that surround me, the pain of how she just goes on to post sea glass on Instagram the next day as though nothing changed, I guess I am supposed to do that too and one day I’ll learn to be like her and just care less.
But see, that’s the thing, right? I am not the kind of person who cares less. I’m the kind of person who cares more. I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder, a form of depression, and I shared that info with the friend a few weeks ago, she knew I was in therapy. I am working with an amazing therapist. I own my shit, I am working on my past, my present, my future. I want to be better, be healthier for the people around me, for me. When she ended the friendship in the text she said she did not want to deal with my “emotional rollercoaster.” She also said she was tired of hearing me talk about candles.
I am a candlemaker now. At first, when some local young women started a cool candlemaking business early in the pandemic, I turned in some beach-found containers to them and listed them in my online store, deciding it would be cool to include a hidden beach treasure in each one. But that idea sort of took off, and I went from my first batch of 24 candles made by them, to trying out candlemaking on my own at the holidays to meet demand, and I am now shipping over 500 candles a month. I love it, but yes, things got crazy fast and maybe I do talk about the industry I had to learn very quickly a lot. Friends who support me have been happy for me, and I am grateful for them. I am working harder than I ever have in my life. I can’t meet demand, I just do my best to make as many candles as I can. I get so many incredibly kind letters from people around the world who have so much fun discovering the hidden beach finds- maybe they can’t get to the beach themselves for some reason- but the candles bring joy, and that makes me happy. I love the creative side of decorating them. Stop by whenslowtide.com if you’d like to check them out.
Anyway I guess I am rambling. It is a busy year. My oldest daughter is turning 27, bought a house in Arizona and is getting married. My 22 year old daughter is in veterinary school, also getting married when she finishes school. My third daughter is turning 18 and graduating this spring and my son is a high school freshman and taller than I am, and I don’t know where any of those years have gone.
I guess this blog is like a diary now. It doesn’t matter to me like it used to if anyone reads it. It’s like watching people care about followers on Instagram- so meaningless. It’s just a good place to get a few thoughts out of my head: better out than in, I always say. It occurs to me that we shouldn’t have to change who we are for other people. She told me to be more low key, that I was “over the top”, and (God help me), always pointed out that I was her one non-Trump voter friend, but you know maybe there’s a friend out there for me who would embrace the fact that I am a “libtard”, bisexual, loud, passionate, over the top, high key, proudly non Trumper friend who talks about candles because I fucking make a lot of candles. I’m too old to pretend to be someone I am not anymore.
Thanks for listening, even if you are the one person out there who did.