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What Had Happened Was...

Moving up to the idea of a Christmas morning without my children opening presents in our home, or apartment, was dealt with little by little. In reality, my family and friends attempted to make it less than horrible.
I made cookies with my best friend’s 3-year-old (one of Conner and Chase’s besties), ate Christmas Dinner with my family, and grabbed the children at the stroke of 12 p.m. on Christmas day.
I’d begun a new job with and found an extra week or two to devote to extra hours while the boys were away. And by extra, I mean that I could only claim 20 hours, so I worked here and there. Having not been a reporter in a prior life - or in my current one - I threw my writing abilities into a tiny box in attempt to fill my job requirements, but also get my voice peppered throughout. In other words - I wanted to write the same way I’ve been writing since day 1, but per assignment and with quotes that begin with:
“The council needs to make up it’s mind,” said Mr. Daughtery “because soon that red light is going to get on my last damn nerve.”
And that’s about as exciting as it got aside from being the first “in the know”.
I like being the first to know things.
We went to Disney World.
I did a gallery on Christmas blow-up yard decorations.
Chase’s birthday.

As you can image, January was cold. Conner went to school daily and around this time, Chase moved from “just not ok” to “no way in hell I’m attending daycare” and my part-time job became a full-time job, but still at part-time pay.
Plus a child all day with needs. Like staying alive.
And another that was dropped off at 8 and picked up at 12:30.
How on earth was I going to do this whole “travel around the city & do interviews” things with two kids in tow? How does one properly pay attention to the children, provide enlightenment and guidance all the while editing, uploading and managing content?
One doesn’t.
Our apartment was tiny - nice - but nonetheless tiny.
Because I felt alone when the boys were away on their visitations, I got a cat. And because I love this one murderous sociopathic killer on Showtime, I named said cat ‘Dexter’.

Ahhh, the short month. And also that month with the sequin coated micro-commercialized holiday. Humbug.
I worked my tail off. My mom would come down one day a week so I could manage to squish all of my work that required me to leave into one 5 hour period. Which is probably where everything became crystal clear - I couldn’t stay in Montgomery any longer.

The month of my birth, my mother’s and my best friend. I even did a vlog about it - a vlog that my computer scrambled and thusly was unpublishable. Due to my inability to bend time, by the end of March I was no longer working with
I began searching for another job on the day after my birthday.

In the Land of the Obvious, I semi-lost my marbles. Life was less stressful as far as the boys were concerned, Conner had a great year with school, but April meant I went several days at a time with a few dollars to my name. The boys never went without, but we did spend a LOT of time between the (free) playground and the (free) inside of my apartment.

Days ran together. I tried to get out of my lease only to run into a gigantic roadblock known as “my apartment complex is a bunch of blood sucking bitches”. Not working began to creep into me and whisper things like “you just aren’t good enough” and “you’ll never survive”. I leaned on friends, but from 2 hours away. My apartment became my jail, my depression - my sentence.

Conner’s birthday. 

I left Montgomery for the last time. Well, the last time as a resident. My heart grew a thousand spaces the day I entered Birmingham knowing full and well I was finally heading to a place I could call “home”. I gained a job. I started to come back to life.



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