Pajamachievements: Burnout Revenge on XBL

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Homecoming

It’s been over six years since my last visit here. What can happen in six years? So much. You can end a relationship. Begin a new one. Finish a degree. Change careers. Lose a dog. Find a dog. Get engaged. Get another degree. Get another dog. Buy a house. You can turn 30. Go to therapy. Work through trauma. Pursue another degree. End an engagement. Lose a house. Find a home. I’ve missed writing here, but the idea of returning has loomed, intimidating, ever on the horizon of next month, next year, when I have time, when I have purpose. I’d like to try again, if you’ll have me. Six years ago, I asked for change. I asked to be brought “the new, the challenging, the adventurous. Give me opportunities to grow, to learn, and demand more from me than I’ve ever put forth.” I don’t remember writing those words, but regardless of my faulty memory, the universe has delivered. Having now gone back to read through the planned posts that never made it publishing, I realize that some things ...
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Get to Work

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Just want to share this article by one foul-mouthed badass via another . It's aptly-time, not because I'm blogging teary-eyed from a Kmart parking lot (I'm not) but because today I did reach the end of my rope. Tolerance for bullshit is shot, patience and resources waning, and faith in people at an all-time low because lately, they've proven to be a royally disappointing bunch.
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Introductions

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I’ll be spending the next few weeks culling through old posts, removing some that were contrived, forced, posted for the sake of posting something. In the meantime, I think it’s important to make some introductions. Six years and all. Meet Frankie and Sasha. These girls currently live with me part-time, as a matter of custody arrangements (more on that later), and I get the joy of spending every other week spoiling them with hikes, swims, and way too many baby carrots. My sweet, loyal, neurotic, too-smart Carmen passed away in November 2013 at 5½ years old due to kidney disease, which she had battled most of her too-short life. Just three weeks later, I came across a scraggly, injured, smelly black puppy aimlessly wandering the mean streets of Beaumont, TX. She was worse for the wear and looked like spare parts, but she was the epitome of friendly. We wrapped her in a towel and she promptly fell asleep in my arms. I dubbed her Frankenstein’s dog, which was shortened to Franki...
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