BUT I have new adventures to tell you about.

Just hang on a little longer.

Some of them are for specific outfits, some are just ones I bought because they were sparkly and I didn’t think about the damage that I would be doing to that month’s rent money. Some are just cool rings that struck my fancy at some funky boutique. It is a nice collection. So nice that those rings sit there and look at me longingly every time I go to grab a pair of earrings or a necklace.

They sit there because there are only two rings that I leave the house wearing anymore.

The first is a gorgeous 2 1/2 carat ruby that is my engagement ring. Since I proposed to him, we went to pick out my ring together. Not to say that I have anything against diamonds, the traditional choice for a wedding ring, it’s just that I am not a traditional girl. The fire of this ring spoke to me. It says to me passion and loyalty and something deeper. I look at this ring and think all of those things about the man I will marry. I am so happy with my choice that I chose a red wedding dress to go with it, not to mention hassling the manicurist to get the perfect shade of red that doesn’t clash with my ring. (I can be a little high maintenance when it comes to my nails.) Thank god the lady at the Chanel counter was able to find the perfect shade of red or there would have been No. 5 flying all over the place. 

But I digress.

The ring I slip on my right hand before heading out into public was a gift given to me by a good friend on my 40th birthday. It is funky and gorgeous and just like her. Every time I look at it I think of her and the wonderful birthday dinner I had surrounded by people I love. It represents her, but it is also something bigger to me. It is a hallmark for all of my girlfriends and how much I love them.

It is about balance. On each hand (literally), I carry two different loves. I have one symbol that speaks to the enduring love that I will have for my husband. On the other, I have the love of my friends and the camaraderie that brings. Both are meaningful, significant loves, and I never want to live my life without either one. 

Now if I can just get my manicurist on board, it’ll all be good.

Cliche? Absolutely. True? Yup.

I am in a place right now that is less than ideal. I wish I wasn’t here, but I am. I can blame it on a million things, but the one thing I can’t make excuses for is for leaving it behind. All of it. The shit that I put myself through every day is unacceptable to me, yet I don’t do anything about it but make myself feel worse.

That stops now.

It’s not as simple as flipping a switch. I have a long road ahead of me to do the things I know that I should truly be doing. But neither is it as complicated as I make things out to be.

I was talking with someone this morning, and I said about a good friend, “I love her, and I think she really likes me too”. He replied, “Most people like you...save one.” I responded, “Who doesn’t like me?!” 

“You.”

Ouch. That was a rough one to hear and even rougher to know that it’s true. I have been suffering from such a major clinical depression for so long that I spend all of my energy hiding from other people. Putting on a mask so no one knows my dirty little secret. How very tears of a clown.

But as I talked to another friend this morning (the one I said I absolutely loved), she said something to me that hit me like a ton of bricks. “Who are you to decide that millions of people don’t get to hear your voice?” I have been coming up with every excuse in the proverbial book (that I don’t write) to ... well, not write. Not share my real voice with people. That part is the one that I have to take responsibility for, that I can’t blame on the depression. Hell, most writers are either drunk or depressed or both. I’ll fit right in.

I have led an extraordinary life. I have lit Snoop Dogg’s blunts. I have posed naked with 3,000 people in public. I jump in the lake every year on New Year’s Day. I have had some amazing people who have called me friend or lover. I have been published in a real live book you can buy in the bookstore. I am blessed with a wonderful family. I paint, I knit, and I try to bring beauty into everything I do. 

I have some shit to say. And by god, you’re going to listen.

The Boy: Yeah, he's kind of a pain.

Me: No, not a "pain". He's a tool. There's just no better word to describe him. I mean, when you say his name, I think, "cocksucker", "asshole", "fucker", "shithead" ... but when it comes down to it, he's just a fucking tool. And not the good kind like Craftsman. One of those shitty tools that you buy at Walgreens that breaks in like 5 minutes. Tool. 

This past weekend as I was out and about I hopped into a 'Bucks to warm myself.  

I grabbed the Sunday Trib and stood at the counter wondering what to order on this sunny cold morning. I opened my wallet and saw the coupon that I had put in there a week back. Needing massive amount of caffeine to get through the day, I decided to order two triple espressos, both with whipped cream. I handed over the coupon with my order, and the woman ringing me up said, "Oh! You and your friend should be awake all day!" It was then that I did the mental calculations, and laughed. She asked me what was funny. I said that I wondered if this was the point where I just nod and smile or where I confess that they were really both for me. Her toned changed slightly when she yelled over to the kid at the espresso machine...

"You can just go ahead and put those in one cup. It's just her."

It wasn't until after I downed the six shots that I was awake enough for that to sting a bit. 

This in contrast to my current city, that has so many Starbucks, you’d be safe to say you could pass one every minute if you were walking at a brisk pace.

This is one of the things that both overwhelmed and delighted me about the city that I have called home for over two years now. Yes, there were certainly some adjustments that came with moving from Cleveland/NE Ohio to one of the world’s largest cities, to be sure. There were the people, the taxes (highest sales tax in the nation until just recently at a whopping 10.25%), the sky-high rental prices...

But there were all of the upsides too...the museums, the restaurants, the bars, the theaters...the sheer volume of choices to, well, choose from. Want Ethiopian food at 3:00 a.m.? I know a place for that. Want to find the funniest shows on earth? We have a laugh for that.

It took a while for me to “get it”. The public transportation system, the neighborhoods that run one into another, the impossibly great shops, yarn stores (7 and counting of my favorites), and the people. So many talented, energetic, fabulous people who have stories to tell and friendship to share. I wondered for a while if I would ever be able to feel even slightly at home here, despite the fact that I instantly loved it.

About 3 months after I arrived, I was leaving work for the day and headed up the stairs to the EL. I heard the train coming and picked up my pace, swiping my Chicago Card that I pulled out of my pocket without stopping at the turn-style, and jumped on the train, just as the doors closed behind me in a movie-style-esque entrance. I stood there tall and proud in my requisite Chicago uniform (oversized sunglasses, summer scarf knotted around my neck, laptop bag casually slung across my body), thinking that yes, I had finally become a City Girl. I felt a pride and sense of self that only one who has reached an elusive goal can feel. Goodbye small town Coffee. You’ve made it. You are a part of this place now.

That elation lasted approximately 15 seconds...until I realized that I had jumped onto the Green Line, not the Brown Line that would take me home. I had to wait three stops before I could change trains and get myself moving in the right direction.

At least there was a Starbucks when I got where I was going.

What struck me the most was nothing individual. But the whole of it overwhelmed me. It was a lot of writing, and it was probably only a smattering of what I had written since I was old enough to put pen to paper. I used to type up articles that I made up on this old Smith Corona, cut them out, and carefully glue them onto a larger piece of paper, so that my dad could take them to work and copy them for me. I passed them out to everyone I knew, which in my small world at that time consisted of a circle of maybe 15 people, most of them related to me.

Since as far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to be A Writer. 

What I didn't realize until right this moment is that I have always been a writer. So, I will do as writers do, and I will write.

I'm back, baby.