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Pink Robes and Zoloft

Let’s try this again. Sometimes I’ll write a whole post just to scrap it. I should outline first, and then write.  But, I really like writing as if I’m in a conversation that’s unedited and authentic.

So here I am again. I am convinced life is just like a calendar or racetrack that just makes the same rotation of situations continually. The naïveté of my early twenties assumed I was conquering my little personal challenge and done.

There I was two years ago meeting with a physician to get on anti-depressants, moving across the country to switch jobs, heart-broken, and a little unsure of who I wanted to be going forward. But then, a few dark posts later, a bit of  yoga and riding a horse, and some prayer warriors and good friends, I made it out. And if I may boast, I think I made it through pretty well. But to happen again?

A week back on the medication I knew so long ago, juggling work with a horse whose requiring more time and funds than I have to give, trying to move forward with relationships, it’s like I’m back on square one. And today, that was a little hard to process. Had I made all of these mistakes and errors or was it by fate and bad luck  and bad timing that I’m faced with these similar challenges?

Maybe its an accumulation of all of the above.

But rather, this time. I do feel so much better equipped. I came into my apartment tonight to collapse with some chicfila and a funny episode of Parks & Rec. I eventually retreated to unpack from a beautiful but long wedding weekend which turned into a late-night dance party of one in my underwear.  With the blood filling back into my face as I danced to my favorite Elle King rock-fest, I couldn’t have wished to be anywhere else. I’m equipped, and fine, and I have things to do.

So now, I’m sitting here in my favorite little feminine silk pink robe, listening to my Victoria Secret model radio station (because that exists), and just at peace with who I am and what I need to do.

When I decided things weren’t right, really almost exactly two years ago a short and rare phone call with my dad ended with a stern but earnest response, “Pack up and bring your ass home.” In my Dad’s very blunt but loving way, you just get to work and do what you have to do. And at that time I needed to pack up my belongings and move twelve hours back home.

Now? Right now, I need to prep my little horse for his first show at the preliminary level, work hard at my job, and get things accomplished.

And on this positive note, I’ll share one of my quickest rebuttals to a rough day. You need three songs during a rough period: a soul-filled song, a corny sensual pop song, and a bad-ass, middle-finger rap song. Click the links to enjoy my current faves.

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