When I was in elementary school, I couldn’t wait for summer. The closer to June, the more impatient I became. I loved summer, not just because the pressures of school eased, but because summer in Portland was much better for a person with undiagnosed S.A.D.
The balance of my life has unfolded pretty much the same way. Couldn’t wait to graduate from high school to get to college, couldn’t wait to abandon college and leave Portland for California sunshine, couldn’t wait to quit the tedium of sewing for a living to go back to college. It’s a series of couldn’t waits. Couldn’t wait to leave one relationship and start another. Couldn’t wait to leave the teaching job after ten long tedious years, couldn’t wait to finish my doctorate.
Couldn’t wait for my mother to die. Couldn’t wait to leave Portland for Arizona sunshine. Couldn’t wait to escape the cockroach-infested, homicide-plagued apartment for a safer living situation, couldn’t wait to leave the financial burden of the safer living situation for the adventure of van life.
I could go on, and I will.
Couldn’t wait to find safe, stable, affordable housing, until I finally found it. So, what’s my next couldn’t wait? Today, I can’t wait to leave Arizona for my new apartment in Oregon. My next couldn’t wait will probably be can’t wait to leave this stupid apartment in Oregon for sunshine somewhere else.
The pattern is obvious. I’m not present. I’ve never been present. I’ve lived in the wreckage of the future my entire life, and I’m still doing it. I’ve learned nothing.
The Hellish Handbasket Blog has existed since 2012 as a Google Blogger site. I started blogging when I was an instructor at a shady for-profit career college (I outlasted you, all you fake educator/administrators, bwahaha).
Since then, I’ve ranted about surviving graduate school, slogging through my mother’s decline and death, regretting my move to Tucson, and last year, making the dubious decision to downsize into my car. It’s been a ride, and I guess it’s not over. Through it all, this blog has been my patient albeit silent therapist.
Who am I? Thanks for asking.
In case you are new here, I’m Carol B., previously known as Carol B., the Chronic Malcontent. I always thought I was a pessimistic fatalist. Addicted to fatal pessimism. Something like that. Then I took a test. My results showed I was actually a hopeful optimist.
What do they say about knowing thyself? Clearly, I didn’t.
I came from Portland, Oregon, spent twenty years in Los Angeles, moved back to Portland for twenty-four more years, and then made the colossal four-year mistake of moving to Tucson. It took a while for me to see the light: Tucson was not my home, and if I didn’t take drastic action, I was going to run out of money.
Hence, the nomadic lifestyle. Now I live everywhere and nowhere, not by choice, but by necessity. I am old, my income is limited, and the rents are too damn high.
Why do I write anonymously?
I chose to write anonymously for a few reasons. First, I was employed, and much of my whining involved my employer. I wanted to stay employed. Second, I wrote a lot about family. My sister didn’t want to be outed. Third, while I was still employed, I enrolled in graduate school. If anyone at that school had Googled my name, they would have discovered my disdain for for-profit higher education. Considering my dissertation was about academic quality in for-profit education, I didn’t think it wise to attract that much scrutiny. Gatekeepers can be ruthless.
Finally, possibly most important, I needed someone to listen to me.
I don’t feel embarrassed about that. After some years of counseling and a gazillion years of something that might pass for recovery on a good day, I have accepted the reality that I just need to be heard. I think most people just want to be heard. In fact, I believe listening deeply to others is the greatest gift we can offer.
Whoa. Back on track.
This blog has been my therapist since the beginning. It took me a while to find my voice, but eventually I figured out what I wanted to say and how to say it. If I ever write a memoir, I have a boatload of content.
If you are one of my regular readers, I hope you will bookmark the new site.
If you want notifications of new posts in your email inbox, you will need to enroll the site in your favorite RSS feed app. There are many. You probably know more about all that than I do. For obvious reasons, I don’t have an option to subscribe to this website. I’m not interested in building traffic, driving engagement, or selling products. No merch here. I just want to express myself anonymously without fear of retaliation, rejection, or remorse.
Just the unabridged, uncut rantings of a former chronic malcontent.
I believe you can add comments, though. The former blogsite allowed comments as well, but after the first year, nobody ever left any. (I blame Google.) The only way I knew I had readers was if someone called me after reading a post to ask me how I was feeling (subtext: are you really going to [ram your head against a wall / drive your car off a cliff / march on Washington and self-immolate in front of the White House?])
But Carol, what about the art?
If you are a regular reader of The Hellish Handbasket, you are familiar with the format: text plus a drawing. I have attempted to duplicate that format on this new platform. I’m still learning the new WordPress interface, so don’t be surprised if I screw it up. It’s how I roll.
I still have a thousand or so drawings that you haven’t seen. Plus, I have lots more to complain about. I could keep this up for years.
