Today was my last class at the University of Edinburgh. I would say that it is my class ever, but I won’t know that until next week. The exciting part of this is it marks a new phase in my journey. I will no longer be categorizing these posts as “school days”. They will now need a new classification (I’ll decide on that tomorrow).

 

The mighty group of Research Methods III students. The last class of my career here.

Now that I am moving into the research and study phase of the program, I am also entering the research and study phase of my recovery process. Now that I know how much love and support I have from the outside (and let me tell you, I cannot ever begin to thank all of you for the kind words, the jokes and the offers to take care of my problem. All I can say is that I will always be here for you guys, whether it is as an ear, or if you need a laugh, or need a paper edited and I hope that one day I will be able to help you guys as you have helped me) it is time for me to get shit straight on the inside. This is something I am going to do on my own, and that part of my journey will probably remain private.

On a complete side note: Today was a post offer tour day for the campus. Anyone who received an offer for next semester could come and get a tour of the campus. I enjoyed seeing all the fresh faced youngsters checking out the campus and seeing what the city has to offer. Even with the few interesting classes and lecturers that I have encountered here, I hope that those little doe eyed babies find the same joy in the school that I did.

In the last couple of days my choice to publicize my break-up on my blog has come under attack. There are those who have felt the need to contact me and tell me I am publicly shaming David and how dare I do that. I was told I should grieve in private. I was made to feel like I am a bad person for the choices that I have made. There was no respect for my process, or my feelings.

None of that was my intent. I am not trying to make David seem like the bad guy. I am by no means saying that I was an angel in the relationship and that my actions, words and the like in no way contributed to this falling apart. All I am doing is telling the truth. The good, the bad, and the messy. When I started this blog a year ago, it was with the expressed intent to chronicle my life here and everything that happens. I was making the choice to become an open book. I’ve written about my stress over money, how horribly I handled living near the undergrads, how scared I am of the future, and I told the world that I was suffering from depression. I’ve admitted mistakes, admitted defeat, and I think, given my readers a glimpse of me in my truest form. When I wrote about what happened, I was not publicly shaming David, I was publicly shaming myself. I admitted to the world that even after I heard that, I was willing to try and work it out. I was admitting to the world that I got so wrapped up in him being my happiness that I now feel worthless and empty. If anything, I am showing people that the constructed image most people have of me as a tough, strong girl who can handle anything goes out the window when it came to the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

What I don’t like is that I actually was upset and felt guilty about my choices and what I was doing with this blog. I’m choosing to make my grief public because this is where my support system is. The responses I have gotten from people are what helps remind me that I am not empty, or horrible, or the monster that I am being painted as in some camps. This helps me cope. I also like to think it helps others. So many people from all areas of my life have reached out to me, and shown me the value in my words.

My mother sent me a card that says, “Sometimes the prettiest flowers grow from the biggest pile of shit”

I shared my pile of shit so that everyone I love and value, and that love and value me can watch and be a part of the flowers that grow.

That said, if you have a problem with what I write, don’t read my blog…..duh.

This is a story I heard today and felt the need to share.

We have some really great housekeepers here that clean our rooms and the bathrooms. The two on my floor are super amazing women who love to chat and like to look after us. They also have the lovely task of cleaning the third floor, and hear all of the good gossip that goes on with the undergrads. Today she told us that one of the knuckleheads stopped her one day convinced that there was a dead rat somewhere near. When asked how he knew this, he answered, “I can smell cheese.” He was convinced that dead rats smell like rotting cheese, and because he could smell cheese, there had to be a dead rat somewhere. He didn’t understand why the housekeeper laughed so hard, now he has become a really good joke among the cleaners. I hope that I ride the elevator with him soon so I can make a comment about it smelling like cheese.

Seriously….I can’t make this up. I wish I could write a book about all the stories these women hear and all the things they see while working. It would be enough to entertain people all over the world.

Wednesday is my last official class of my program here at the University of Edinburgh. I can’t believe it. A year ago I made this blog public so that my world could be part of my adventure. Now this adventure is coming to an end. It hasn’t always been glamorous, but it has taught me a lot about myself. This adventure has showed me that I can handle being on my own, and I can survive pushing myself outside my comfort zone. I will always be grateful that I was able to do this.

School is not the only thing that came to an end this week. My relationship with the boy I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with also ended. I suppose I was the only one who didn’t see this coming. I have been driving myself crazy trying to fight for him and trying to fight for our future. He let me do this, let me blame myself and think I was alone in this. Turns out he has been dating someone since my birthday and slept with her because he was mad at me. He didn’t want this to be put into the blog, didn’t want this part of the adventure to made public, but it sickens me how hard I fought when he had already given up. Even after he told me he said he loved me and saw a future with me and wanted to make things work. The thing that makes me sick to my stomach is that I considered it. I thought we could work it out and work toward a future together. I spent the last year building and planning with him in mind. I let him become my happiness and I let him make me think that I don’t deserve better. I feel so stupid for falling in love with someone like this. I feel so stupid for thinking that he was going to be part of my future. I know that I will never get an apology and people around him will continue to think he is a great guy, but I wanted people to know the truth. Part of sharing my adventure is sharing the messy bits.

Now I have three assignments and a schedule for my dissertation to settle before I can come home and really start to heal. I have no idea what my future holds now, but now I get to figure it out what will make me happy.

Today the roll of birthday’s continues. Today my brother-in-law celebrates his day of birth. He has only been our lives for a short time, but it feels like he has always been there. He is totally comfortable with the Wilder-Davis weirdness and has been a really great ear and virtual shoulder for me to cry on these last few months. He checks in with me all the time, offers to mail me one of his kids, and has even offered to come and get me when my time here comes to an end. He owes me nothing, yet he gives me everything. That’s just the way he lives his life. He is like that with everyone, and doesn’t think twice about it.

Here are some of my favorite moments with Mondo:

 

Kelly and the Mondizzle married in June of 2011. He let Kelly plan the wedding that she wanted and never told her no…they even had a Disney cake!

 

He is the master of the photobomb (It is clear that David still has a lot to learn about how photos are taken in the Wilder-Davis household)

 

He gets along with Matt way too well.

 

He stops at nothing to make Kelly happy.

 

He gives up a day off to help make sure this little guy is taken care of. (I think he likes the male company in the house though to be honest)

 

He lets me try out ridiculous recipes and he likes to make sure I have home cooked meals when I am around. He has become an expert at latkes.

Basically, he is one of the best people that I have the pleasure to know. I love him, and I can’t wait to go home and hang out with him again.

Today is my brother’s 28th birthday. He is by far, one of my favorite people on the planet. We weren’t really friends until I turned 18 and moved away, but we have been pretty good pals ever since. He has introduced me to some great books, some amazing podcasts, and some fantastic ways to waste hours on the internet. He makes me laugh, and at some point in life he became really good at giving advice. He’s helped me out a lot the last few weeks….and just because he offers to make me brownies that will cheer me up.

 

The Matt, in his natural habitat.

 

This is the best picture of us ever.

 

 

Seeing him get a bow tie around his neck was priceless.

 

 

He loves hawking. He made this friend in Ireland.

 

In honor of his birthday, I will share some of his favorite  things with you.

I imagine at some point today Matt will listen to this song while drinking Jack Daniels and being ridiculous.

 

hopefully his night ends like this one did. This was a good night for him.

Since I know that he is working today, I imagine that he will go through his usual cycle of podcasts. One of the firsts ones he made me listen to was Joe Rogan. That is where I learned of the magic that is Bert Kreischer. The following video is one of the best stories ever told.

Matt also introduced me to Joey Diaz. Now, Joey is not for everyone. The following video is very crude, drops a lot of f bombs, and is not suitable for the younger members of this audience, but it deserves to be shared.

 

 

I hope that however he decides to spend his birthday that he enjoys it, and knows how much we all enjoy him.

Happy birthday asshole.

 

 

 

As many of you know, about a month ago I admitted that I was struggling and needed some help. To be honest, I felt rather stupid doing it, and was worried that people would think I was weak. I have always prided myself on being a strong independent person, and always thought I could tackle anything that came my way on my own.

The response I got though has blown me away. My best friends here take me out, keep me busy and make sure that even though I don’t want to, I eat. My friends at home have sent me care packages and cards, and many of them text or email me to check in and make sure that no first years have died by my hand (more than one of them has joked that I need to stay on the straight and narrow because they do not want to have to come bail me out of jail). Today I got a care package full of little things that made me smile with a note from one of my oldest friends telling me she will always be there if I need her. It made me feel good, and reminded me that I do have value. Most importantly my family has been amazing. They have let me cry to them, they let me vent my frustrations, and they remind me that despite my best efforts to convince them otherwise, my world has not stopped turning just because I am going through a rough patch with someone I love.

My recovery has barely begun, but thanks to the amount of love and support I have gotten (and a really great Scottish woman with Hipster glasses and a nose ring), I feel like I am ready to tackle it one day at a time. If all goes according to plan, I have about 67 days left in Scotland. I have a lot to do in that time, papers to write, towns and islands to see, people to visit with, and I know that all of that will aid in my recovery. I will start tackling my future one day at a time and hopefully get it back to the path I want it to be on. In the meantime, I say a big thank you and an even bigger I love you to all of the wonderful people I am surrounded by and remind myself:

Today my grammy would have turned 75. I say would because she was killed in a car accident in 1996. She would never start her car until all of us had our seat belts on, but she herself refused to wear one. That choice ultimately cost her life.

While she battled many demons (drugs, weight and addictions) I was too young to know any of that, so to me, she was just my grammy. She was fun, told the best stories and had zebra print carpet in her TV room.

 

Frances Ann was only 20 when my mom was born. I’m not sure if it was hard for her or not, doing the single mom thing before she married my grandpa, but pictures like this make me think she did the best she knew how.

 

That adorable little creature is me circa 1988. It is clear that she loved being a grandma. Some of my favorite memories as a child involve swimming in her pool in Palm Springs or having milkshakes at Hamburger Hamlet. She was a horrible secret keeper and she used to ask Kelly (who is also a horrible secret keeper) to trade secrets about Christmas gifts with her (it usually worked).

 

I think this picture best sums up how I remember her. She never took that necklace off, she was always wearing big glasses, and she always smelled like Red Door. For awhile my mom had a garment bag that belonged to my grandma. I used to open it up because every time I did, it smelled like her. My mom finally got rid it when it stopped smelling of her.

One of my favorite memories of her was one weekend we spent in Palm Springs I got a horrible ear infection. While we were waiting in the emergency room, she drew a picture of me getting a shot in the butt with a very large needle. She had my brother and sister rolling, and had me in tears scared to death. I don’t know what happened to that picture, but I wish I still had it.

On the 15th anniversary of her death I got a showgirl tattooed on my back with her initials. My grammy loved Vegas, and loved to gamble, but the tattoo had to be a showgirl. One of my favorite pictures was one that she took on a weekend trip. It is a picture of her head superimposed on a showgirl’s body. She loved that photo and used to joke with people that that was her in a former life.

I spent the day eating a club sandwich, drinking a Coke and watching Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. It is a tradition that my family shares every year on this date. It is a tradition that I take comfort in, no matter where I am or how I am feeling. She may not have been perfect, but she was my grammy and I love her.

This day is hard for my mommy. Those of you that know her, give her a hug, or send her a text reminding her how amazing she is and how proud her mom would be of her.

The day was good and merry, but some things are better left in the moment. I had an amazing time with my friends, and hope that I can sweet talk the boys into throwing more parties so we can have more ridiculous nights before we all must go our separate ways.

Instead, enjoy one of my favorite songs to sing on St. Pat’s Day

Tomorrow starts a week of research and prep work for my classes, and a meeting that will  decide the fate of my dissertation and my return date to the U.S. I’m hoping for May, but preparing for the scenario that keeps me here longer.

If I have to stay, how many of you can I sweet talk into coming to visit?

The rain is thwarting my plans for today. I had gifts and things that I wanted to send, books that need to be returned to the library, and I really wanted to go for a hike.  Since I am stuck inside, I have decided that it might be a good idea to start working on some of my final assignments. The first paper due is for the children’s literature class. I’m looking at various versions of the Three Little Pigs. I feel that spending the day reading the different versions will be a good use of my time.

The most recent class looked at YA fiction and how it has changed. I pretty much tuned out the million and one slides in the lecture, and when I did tune in, the only word I heard was “fangbang”.  Apparently this term is used to describe people in love with vampires.  Yep. My tuition dollars hard at work. The lecturer put up a cover of the book that I read a few months ago about teenage sexual relationships with your first cousin. I was the only one in the class who had read the book, so I was asked to give my thoughts on it. I didn’t really know how to respond to the questions considering the lecturer prefaced the question by saying it was one of the best books ever written for children. I don’t even know if I answered the question. I’m not even sure if I could.

I will now go back to the safe world of children’s fairytales where no one is having sex with their first cousins and there are no fangbangs to speak of. In two weeks the class will be over, thus ending my classroom career at the University of Edinburgh. I can’t believe the time is almost here. I’m starting to think about the next step. I have a vague idea of my dissertation topic, and hopefully after next week I will have a solid return date.

Of course I am thinking of joining the circus. That may prolong my return date.