Hi Darling Ones,

The Shitty Anniversary I didn’t think I’d remember the specific day of is today*. Thanks, TimeHop! Thanks nonstop tweeting past-self who couldn’t help remarking on John Prine’s death on the shittiest, toughest day of my life. Thanks, life for being ceaselessly difficult sometimes.

Today it is officially one year since Cade left and I’ve had any contact with Sister #3 and The Tibbles. I hope it gets easier from here.

Much to my surprise, today has not been as emotionally wrought or difficult as I would have expected. For that, we can thank thunderstorm-induced insomnia and early-meeting-tomorrow-induced anxiety.**

While I feel a little emotionally wobbly, I’m trying to be gentle with myself. I took a nap when I was tired. I ate some green-bag Starburst Jellybeans because I wanted them. I’m listening to Grandpaboy/Paul Westerberg’s “Mono” because it’s soothing to me right now.

Most of all I keep reminding myself I did my very best for Sister #3 and The Tibbles, and I can’t do more than that. I did not fail when there was no way to win. I did not do anything wrong. This was on them, their mental health issues and their addictions.

I know the love I have for them still exists in my heart and is out there in the universe because it doesn’t disappear. I also remind myself it’s probably not the worst thing that Sister #3 exited my life, because she used me for years and is frequently mean for the sake of meanness with a history of being specifically cruel to me about everything from my body to my creative hobbies.

What I’ve learned from all of this is you cannot love someone into loving you back or even treating you well. Not even me, despite how hard I try. It’s not a fun lesson to learn. Zero stars. Do not recommend.

Thank you for helping me survive this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year. This next 365 days will be better than the last. At some point I’ll get vaccinated, I think.*** There will be crushes and unrequited love. There will be orgasms and ice cream. I’m gonna listen to a lot of records and read some books. There will be Sadness Garden II:The Bleakness Boogaloo. Things will for sure happen and some of those will be good. The COVID Diaries will end, but I’ll keep on writing, maybe even in this letter format. Who knows? This blog will turn 21 in July and you can start picking out fine whiskey and gin to send our way. I might even get my hair cut by a professional at some point.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I do not take any of this for granted.
Jodi
 
*That is one awkward sentence. I tried to make it less awful and did not succeed.
 
**You should know, for the first time since like 2009 I have had a meeting four out of five days. I’m not a fan. Meetings take a lot of brain energy — ramping up for them, meeting and having to turn thoughts into words that come out of your mouth and make sense to other human beings, coming down from the meeting. All that energy leaves very little leftover for actual work. Zero stars for meetings. Do not recommend.

However, I am a big fan of working. If that involves the occasional meeting, I’ll do it.
 
***This morning I had a call with one of my favorite clients (all my clients are my favorite because I only work with rad people and in the dozen years I’ve been freelancing I only fired two clients) who reassured me I’m not the only person who is struggle with finding a vaccine appointment and feeling like a total fucking failure in the process.

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Hi Darling Ones,

I did not intend to take a three-day hiatus from the COVID Diaries, but Sister #4 came up from South Dakota for work-related reasons and that took up all my time. I probably shouldn’t be writing now because I’ve had very little sleep over the past three days and that tends to make me more melancholy than usual. So, why not write about some of the ways a heart can break?

The First Way

Beverly Cleary dies.

I was in the middle of making of all Sister #4’s coworkers hobbies (she was reading from the company employee directory) when I spied The Washington Post alert on my phone and immediately burst into tears. “BEVERLY CLEARY DIED,” I shouted. Then I typed it in all caps in our Wedding Party group chat.

After that, I warned Sister #4 that I was going to cry for awhile. The news of her death shattered me. I knew she was old and wouldn’t be around forever. Hell, I wrote this appreciation of Beezus & Ramona in 2009 in honor of her 93rd birthday. I’ve written about reading Cleary as an adult, about Beezus & Ramona being the best literary siblings, and there’s even a COVID Diaries entry from October about Beverly Cleary after I read a Willie Nelson memoir.

She meant more to me than any other author. Beverly Cleary’s books are the foundation of my personality. Who am I if I had never discovered Beezus & Ramona? Who is Jodi Chromey without a life-long love of books and words and writing? Would you even be reading these words without Beverly Cleary’s existence?

The Second Way

A dog can hate you so much she spends the night howling in despair. I had to dogsit Dolly while Sister #4 did her work stuff, which involved an overnight stay at a hotel. Dolly: not a fan. Not only did Dolly cry for 10 hours straight after my sister left, Dolly proceeded to wail/howl when I put her to bed in the bedroom she and Sister #4 share when they’re here. I had to close the door on Dolly at bedtime so my poor Vengeance Demon, Wendell, can use the facilities and eat. Whenever Dolly’s here, Wendell spends the entire day in my bed, quaking under the covers. It’s all a nightmare. I hope I never hear a dog wail from a broken heart, because that was a lot.

The Third Way

Yesterday was the 16th birthday of the youngest Tibble. You should know by now that the loss of my relationship with The Tibbles hurts me so much that I don’t like to talk or type about it. Again, I try to stay away from the piece of glass in my heart and for the most part do a pretty good job of it. But, you know, birthdays.

The Fourth Way

Uffda! March is rife with shitty, painful anniversaries. Every day my TimeHop is filled with punches straight to the heart, not only is it filled with memories of last year at the start of the pandemic when Supergenius HQ briefly became Aunt Jodi’s Home for Wayward Nephews, but also years and years of Tibblesitting during Spring Break. It’s so bittersweet. And then today this fucker popped up.

Ugh. Ouch. Barf.

Thankfully, along with that picture TimeHop also served up the Internet being kind to my broken heart, which did make me smile.

This one still pokes at my sore spots, and not just about the person who broke my heart, but the loss of my relationship with FFJ who came over to tend to my broken heart that night. I miss her a lot, but it still stings how she threw me over for a boyfriend like we were fifteen. I don’t have the capacity to do all the emotional labor it would take to incorporate her back into my life in a meaningful way, and I’m not even sure she’d want that. The last time I saw her in 2017 or 2018 she was salty that I hadn’t told her how sick my dad was in 2016 and how close we came to losing him after his stroke.

That’s all for now, Darling Ones, more tomorrow,
Jodi

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I suppose it was the very definition of hubris. My cocky self-assurance that Cade was going to thrive here at Aunt Jodi’s House for Wayward Nephews. I thought all he needed was a safe, secure, steady home removed from the trauma and substance abuse at home. In my magical thinking all he needed was all the love in my heart, a ton of of therapy, and a plan — then he’d be fine.

Nope.

What people don’t tell you about tough love is that tough is just about the understatement of the century. I don’t know what’s tougher than tough. Whatever that is, that’s what I was feeling when I had to tell Cade he could not stay here any more.

Things spiraled pretty quickly after I busted Cade for what I thought was shoplifting the day Wendell escaped. Turns out he didn’t steal those things. Instead, he snuck out of my house that night and returned to his house to get a bunch of energy drinks, some cigarettes, a few cans of beer, a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of Maddog 20/20. I didn’t realize any of this until the day after I said he couldn’t stay here.

It’s hard to say what happened when. Was it only Monday that the cops were here because Cade was shouting in the front yard about killing himself because I found a pack of cigarettes in his pocket? Was it Tuesday where I had the ugly confrontation at my front door with Sister #3 because I did not want Cade to go with her? My plan was to bring him to a home for traumatized teens where he could get serious, constant help and then maybe transition to a sober living place. She did not agree, and instead took him away and I have not heard from either of them since.

Cade left Tuesday and my stomach is still in knots about it, though I have stopped crying. I cried so much from Sunday to Tuesday I was constantly dehydrated. Today after after sleeping 10 hours last night is the first day I don’t feel like I’m dying.

You can laugh, but I really I thought if I wrapped Cade up with all the love in my heart it would be enough. If I told him he was wanted and loved that I could start to fix his problems.

I was wrong. Addiction is a beast. I am not an addiction specialist or a mental health provider. I’m a naive spinster aunt who foolishly thought love was enough.

Occasionally, I get angry at all the lies both Cade and my sister have told me, but I try to stay away from that because it gets overwhelming. I try not to be too hard on myself for being so stupidly trusting, but that’s not easy either.

I always think I’m so cynical and pessimistic, but then something like this happens and it shatters me. I’m shattered and probably will be for a long time.

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Here at Aunt Jodi’s Home for Wayward Nephews we had a pretty quiet and mellow weekend, which was a fucking delight after the high drama of of last weekend. The only thing that would have made the weekend better would have been getting a break from work.

I am not complaining, because I’m grateful to have work, but it’s really very busy and working seven days a week in the middle of an apocalypse while also trying to acclimate a traumatized kid to you house has been a lot. I’m behind on all my hobbies. I haven’t finished reading a book in over a week and my temperature blanket? Whoo.

It’s just been stress on top of stress on top of stress and oddly — knock on wood, cross myself, thank my lucky stars — I have been sleeping like a muthafuckin’ champ. This surprises me to no end. Every morning I wake up and I’m all, “DAMN, I slept the whole night without waking up at all.” It’s nice and I think it’s the sleep that has helped me keep my shit together for the most part.

Another thing that has helped tremendously? Watching live-streaming performances from my favorite musicians. This weekend I got to watch Wolfdogg twice. As my friend EM, who joined the Twitch stream today said, “That just filled my heart up.” Mine too.

I’ve also been joining Amanda Shires’ “I So Lounging” YouTube live thing every day at 5 p.m. (central) and basically low-key weeping for about a half hour while she and Jason Isbell sing songs and riff with their friends. Both the nephews know to leave me alone while I’m “watching my show” and they don’t question if tears leak from my eyes and for that I am also grateful. Because I can’t really explain the weeping because it’s not joy or happiness, but maybe it’s just the relief of the momentary absence of dread that makes me cry.

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Well, it only took me seven days to utterly lose my shit. I silently cried for about an hour today while simultaneously working, because of course. I feel a little bad that I freaked out the nephews, but damnit I’m human.

If you’re wondering, it seems as though I lost my shit over paprika. We’re out of it, and Cade thinks it’s a necessity we must immediately run to Target to get. He’s not doing well with quarantine and wants to go out at any opportunity. In fact, when he calls in to see if he has to go in for random drug testing (as mandated by the court) he’s bummed when they tell him not to report today.

So when he was bugging me about getting out of the house and getting paprika so he could make deviled eggs, I lost it. I cried for an hour and then explained to him how even though he doesn’t care if he gets the virus, I care if he does, and I especially care if I get it.

I told him and made sure Maxwell, who is flippant about the virus and still going to hang out with friends at their houses, was listening that if I get it it’s going to be a huge, big deal. That if I don’t work, I don’t get paid. I don’t have the luxury of sick time nor do I think I’ll qualify for unemployment. I tried to express that it’s in all of our best interests that I stay healthy. And if I get sick, it’ll probably be because they exposed me.

I suspect they think I’m being irrational and controlling, but fuck man, I don’t know how to get through to them that they should stay home and away from people.

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