Jasmine Eloise — Escape Artist

jazzyI’m $65 into cat harnesses.

Cat. Harnesses.

$65 is what I spend on food per week.

My cat is so much a part of my life, I want to take her places with me and give her some much-needed stimulation.  (We share four rooms, counting the bathroom and storage alcove).

Cat harnesses are not very good.

Or, my little Houdini is very good.

She can wiggle out of nearly anything and I end up chasing after her with grocery store cooked chicken saying, “Jazz-E…chicken.  Chicken.  Jazz-E, chicken.”

She immediately dropped in the dirt wearing the harness above and scrunched her shoulders up and out of that collar.

Disclosure:  This harness is made for a dog, but look at it.  You’d think it would container her, but no.

She has also sprung herself from a harness of straps and buckles made for cats, but not before she caught a mouse after 15 seconds outside.  Did she spot it from the window?!

But, I think I have found a good one.  It’s called a Kitty Holster.  I don’t have a picture of it, but it’s more like a vest and has Velcro fasteners.  My cat does not have the patience for buckles looking for their docks and my fussing with the snugness of the straps.  She says so by biting me.

One of my Facebook friends says I post way too much about my cat.  If everything I post is about my cat, then yes, I post way too much about my cat.  I was telling another friend about this and I concluded, “I guess I’ve turned into a cat lady.”  She said, “So?  What’s wrong with that?”

Yeah, other Facebook friend — what’s wrong with that?

If I want to buy cat harnesses I can use just once instead of food, I can.  Besides, you post way too much about baseball.





Gut Checked

isHe gave me a card, as he does once in a while out of the blue, about how I see him happy, and grumpy, and sick, and silly, and thank you, for still choosing to love him.

He let me take custody of his grandmother’s rocking chair indefinitely because I said I missed having one.

He told me to take my time getting over my divorce — to be true to my own timetable.

He called me a “lovely woman.”

It was a good weekend.




I’m having a gut check…

thDo you want to have lunch at the Thai restaurant?

No, let’s just grab a sandwich at our usual.

How are you?

Ok.  I had bad dreams…You left me.

Do you want to come over on Tuesday nights and watch Genius together?

I could do that.  We sleep better in my bed, though.

Do you like my new purse?  I decided it was easier and cheaper to just buy a new bag instead of searching for new handles for my old one.

Well, it’s not a Dooney & Bourke, is it?





I HEART my therapist

two women talkingShe’s a woman.

We are from the same (gentler, slower) part of the country, which is not where we live now.

I’ve seen her off and on since our family had a sailboat accident when my daughter was very young and she got caught under the boat when it capsized (in an air pocket turns out).  I was wracked with guilt that I couldn’t get to her and it would have been my fault if she had died.

My therapist thinks “–” is clinical, as she puts it.

She thinks I’m “gifted.”

I know that first assessment sounds right.

I learn something new every time I see her.

Today I was telling her that I feel like I’m getting through this very, very, TOO slowly.  People are done asking me how I’m doing, and definitely done hearing about it when I spontaneously share.

She said it’s taking me so long, which isn’t that long, really, because I’m “deep.”

My son had just told me in a text recently that I was deep.

Meaning, I have got to turn over, and thoroughly examine EVERYTHING about it — the obvious, the things that hurt the most, the things only seen in hindsight — etc.

This is my way.  Funny, I thought I was just a “bad transition-er” like a kindergarten child who doesn’t want to switch to something new, and then doesn’t want to switch from the new thing, to the next new thing.

No, she said.  I’m not that.

Well, I’m buying what she’s selling.  That reframing changes everything, from thinking negatively about the way I am to thinking positively about the way I am.

She also said that she would tell me the truth now — that it will likely take someone like me years to turn over all the rocks.   Two years ago she told me it would likely take two years — so I could survive the beginning, most likely.  I am definitely over some things, but not nearly over ALL the things, and I have to go through them all.

It’s a deep thing…



I’m all shook up

Elvis dancingAs in shaky, not in a “Feel so good, gotta shake it” way.

And not an ice cream way.  shakes

My fingers are shaking.

My head shook when I belted back that can of diet pepsi.

That happens though.

My head shakes back and forth when I’m angry mad — angry is too open and vowel-y — so does the rest of me but well-meaning people point out my head shake.  As in, “Are you aware that you’re shaking?”

HepburnProzac up-ed dosage, weird blood sugar, or my usual essential tremors.  Who knows.

Maybe I scared the sh*t out of myself.  All the time.  All day today.

If I wasn’t me, I’d ditch me. I suck.

But it’s my one job, to get myself through life, no matter how much of a mess I make, like…

Drink too much

Surf the net

Find a picture of the new Mrs. at a ball game

Text and email it to people, including my kids and their dad — the Mr., pointing out how ugly she is (Don’t take any shiny red apples from her!) (Where did she park her broom?)

Then tell Mr. I hate him and when can I plan on him dying?


thI would have looked down my nose, and shunned someone else by now, who behaved this way.  But I don’t have that luxury.

I’m stuck with this petulant, sarcastic, mean, me.

It does give me LOADS more empathy for similarly situated people.  Taking the high road is…well, it’s damn near impossible…for me.

The reason for my behavior is hard to describe.  I don’t want him back.  I don’t want to live in the past.


I cannot get over being betrayed.  I don’t deserve it.  And for her.  (She really is ugly and I’m not.  I used to think I was kind, and she is very aggressive and self centered).  My son said that it didn’t make sense like that.  Well, how does it make sense, then?

So, I troll around hoping to find clues that Karma has shined her light on them for collectively hurting me.  I look for changes on her Facebook page.  I drive by their house every once in a while.

Nope.  No signs.  They are either living happily ever after, OR, their hardships are hidden away from Facebook and the outside of their house.  Like my hardships were.  Like people’s hardships are.  I want them to have hardships for being such shitty people, and fast.

But, that is none of my business.  Karma has her own timing, and maybe, somehow, in some way, they don’t deserve “bad” Karma.  And, I’m over here racking it up.

I can grasp that.

Until the cycle starts again.

God I’m sick of my immaturity; my inability to learn certain lessons, no matter how many times I’m put through them.  It’s not a good look on this middle aged woman.