Wednesday can lick me where I pee, too.
Electric shut off at my apartment till tomorrow, pending past-due payment of $750 for the last two months. Who would have thought about putting the electric bill in my name and that it would have cost that much?
Oh yeah, and don’t I have to pay two rents tomorrow, too?
God, please stop laughing at me. I give up, Dude!
Tuesday is not only so very fired, but I’m emasculating that bastard with one swift steel-toed shit-kicker swat to the balls. Die in a fire, Tuesday.
I found a rhinestone in my belly button midday. Turns out that someone had her gutchies on inside-out. Joy.
Actually finished working at a reasonable hour. (Ask me how I define reasonable. Wait, don’t. It’s all relative, anyway.) Went back to the old apartment one last time because Mom wanted to go to the pool. I thought I’d be nice. But all she did was talk. And talk. And talk. I was so very over it.
Took my last load of crap to the dumpster. Also took my brand-new vacuum cleaner and was banging the filter off the sides of the dumpster. Had my laptop and all kinds of other shit on my shoulder so I was barely balanced.
I was just contemplating the $80 curtain rod I was throwing away — never used — when the filter broke free from the lid and went inside.
The dumpster was empty save for the metric ass-load of dust I’d just deposited in there. (Old cat hair. The last remnants of Maddie, save for her faded shit streaks on the carpet. *sniff*)
And guess who went in after it? Just guess. I have dirt and dust in every crevice of my being, and I smell like someone else’s unwashed ass. *squick*
I stopped at a fast-food place to get dinner for Mom and me. (Between her rent, bills, allowance and meals, I have so precious little left over for myself. Why oh WHY did I think that was a good idea?) I did have antibacterial wipes in the armrest, so I gave myself a good ‘ho bath before shoveling in my very naughty, tasty dinner on the highway.
I was just lighting up a post-heart-attack smoke when I saw a cop with flashing lights at an intersection. I realized that the power was out in that part of town and he was at a non-functioning light. Genius went from 60 (in a 40) to a dead stop in the intersection.
I started up again and that cop tailed my ass for two miles. Whoops.
The way I figured, I just hauled my pudgy pork roast ass out of a dumpster. A moving violation seemed so trivial in comparison.
He ended up doing a fast U-turn and went back under the rock from whence he came. And I lit up another cigarette. Because, really. Wouldn’t you?
I do have one more story, but it’s kind of TMI. But then again, this IS me we’re talking about here.
So, OK, after my half-assed, hurried swim, I got dressed. In a hurry. So I just got home and put on mah jammies and noticed that I must have turned my gutchies around to be on the proper way. Problem is, since I take Midol 30 days out of the month because I’m a raving bitch, I don’t know when the fuck my cycle should be. So I usually do the pre-emptive pantyliner thing.
Which, fine, I probably need to go to Narcotics Anonymous to wean myself off the anti-bitch drugs. But genius thus had her pantiliner on the wrong side of the gutchies during the dumpster-diving excursion.
(To my peeps in Rockville, you’re welcome. I can hear you laughing from here!)
Oh wait, there’s more!
So I’ve had a leaky roof because I live in Amityville. The ceiling is damaged in two rooms. So instead of replacing the rotting ceiling, the apartment monkeys came in while I was gone and PAINTED THE FUCKING CEILING. You know, so it’s not water-damaged-looking anymore. FUN! Guess who gets to fall asleep to the smell of paint tonight?!?!
I just WISH all my stories weren’t true, you know? I can’t make this shit up. …
I remember when Elisabeth Kubler-Ross died. (She was known for identifying the five stages of grief.) I was working in the mental-health field, and things felt like they did when Michael Jackson died this summer.
Anyway, I realize it took me five years to go through the five grief stages, from ages 30 to 35, on missing out on stuff.
(For the unfamiliar: Denial –> Anger –> Bargaining –> Depression –> Acceptance.)
South Florida is full of people in recovery from alcohol and drugs. It’s also full of bars. The dichotomy is laughable — everyone is either sober or stoned. But while they’re busy working their 12 steps, I’ve mastered my five steps in just a few months. I’m a pro!
A friend from D.C. was in town this week. And I just couldn’t break away to see her. I tried. Believe me, I tried. (And I’m gonna plug my ears and go “la-la-la” while you mention the other times I didn’t see my old friends this summer. How is it nobody ever traveled to D.C. but everyone seems to come to Miami?)
*la-la-la*
I just saw a Facebook post on the wall of the friend who was JUST HERE, saying another friend of hers passed away suddenly. (Dude, we’re 35, yo. Scary.)
Well, it was sudden to her was the point I’m making … that regular communication with our friends is critical so that we aren’t blindsided with bad news about people we love when we’re focused on everything else.
I find I’ve gotten too familiar with, and subsequently comfortable in, the acceptance phase. I’d go nuts otherwise. But I’m thinking that it’s finally time to start planning a visit back to the nation’s capital. I don’t want to find out that the people I love so very much aren’t going to be there for me to go back to.
So, anybody want a visitor? 😉
In the case of Goddess v. Thursday, the plaintiff submits the following evidence against the defendant:
1. Started working at 7:30.
2. Web links didn’t work.
3. Web links started working but videos wouldn’t play.
4. Electricity went off but came back. Minor time delay in restarting the works.
5. Reams of edits made to very valuable files.
6. Documents previewed, links tested …. and the Web page goes down and redirects to something wrong…
7. … with four minutes till deadline. (Read: Just as I’m about to communicate with tens of thousands of people.)
8. Aaaand, the power goes out. For good. Because some schmuck hit an electrical pole and wiped out the whole damn island.
9. But did all my edits to the second broadcast get included before the power went out?
10. The home team at the ranch fixes everything and saves my butt.
11. Traffic jam on the A1A.
12. Team member needed for Very Important Project tomorrow morning calls to say they can’t participate. I’ve already advertised otherwise.
In the defendant’s favor, however:
1. Coffee was freshly brewed upon arrival at the ranch.
2. Yummy quiche and spanikopita awaited my consumption.
Due to the overwhelming evidence, I hereby declare Thursday FIRED, but he will receive severance for bringing in breakfast.
CASE DISMISSED!
Every once in a while, it will come up in conversation, “Who would you want to have dinner with (alive/dead/historical/popular figure)?”
For me, the answer became clear. I want to have dinner with myself at age 22, when I thought I knew everything and when I was fearless and ready to conquer the world.
I wouldn’t want to have dinner with me at 35. Sure, I have more stories to tell now. I can tell you what I’ve seen and done as opposed to what I want to do. But I definitely don’t have as many forward-looking statements as I once did.
And that’s why I want to meet the person I was — to see if she can’t inspire me a bit.
I remember thinking that once I had a job, a car, a life partner, whatever — that my problems would be over. That once I surmounted those huge problems, it’d be smooth sailing from there.
As we all know, they’re all just means to an end and cause their own set of challenges. And that there’s so much more to conquer than those “basic needs.”
I’ve been consumed with living life for other people that I tend to forget that I’m on this planet to please the one who put me here. Of all the relationships with others that I’ve neglected over the years, I realize I’ve always put off my relationship with God, thinking that, well, I’ll meet Him someday — we’ll chat then.
But I realize now that even though I wasn’t much of a believer back then, I still had faith. I still thought things would work out right. And despite the fact that I’ve at least managed to open a line of communication to God, my faith is nowhere near as rock-solid as it once was.
I was very fortunate to connect with my old pastor yesterday; she reached out at a point when I was feeling like I didn’t have a friend left in the world. I acknowledge that it’s my choice to isolate myself. I don’t want to be isolated — it just seems to be less problematic in the end, that I don’t have to remember what I told to whom and whether an innocent remark would get mangled and passed along. Life never stops being like high school in that regard.
But I often think about how holding myself back, not sharing myself as I am, does such a disservice to me and maybe even to the world. Whose mold, exactly, am I trying to fit into? Why do I feel the need to apologize for things I think and feelings I have? I understand showing restraint and refinement. But at what point do you stop being yourself entirely, and how do you retain that person?
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. My apartment has been a source of financial and emotional stress because everything broke within the first week and everyone took their sweet time getting me my mailbox key, fixing my dishwasher/washing machine/sink/refrigerator and whatever else went kaput.
Mom’s apartment was another source of aggravation. I had approved another apartment for her, only to be moving in and signing the lease (while the moving guys held on to my credit card and my cell phone) and being told, no, you’ll take the one next door. We had agreed on a price, and they didn’t honor it. But when your shit is sitting in the middle of the street, your choices are limited.
My health has been better. I have these occasional bouts of anxiety, and I am having one right now. I had a tooth break out of my mouth and I am running a fever and getting headaches. Good times, yo. Good times.
I don’t like to talk about the bad stuff because it always feels like it multiplies. I would rather keep quiet, deflect questions, and count my blessings. Like, most of the apartment crap got fixed (minus the leaky roof. They’re clearly waiting for the rainy season to end to do something about it). The view is beautiful. My church is nice. I’m doing more interesting things at work.
But then I realize, now that I actually am starting to have a relationship with my mom again (having two apartments has helped greatly), that maybe I was wrong in getting two apartments. Her health is in rapid decline. I should have used the money to get her health taken care of. Instead of beating her up because she doesn’t have a job, I should be helping her to get to a point where she can actually sustain one.
It’s in those wee small moments where I start to get scared. Like, at least she has me to take care of her. And if I live to be old, I’ll be the crazy old cat lady or will be by myself in some government-run facility, left to rot because anyone who meant anything will have forgotten me because I wasn’t smart enough to at least keep up my friendships with people who actually cared about me.
And that’s where I want to meet the 22-year-old Goddess again. The girl who could see past the problems and into a place where things were better. I find myself very wrapped-up in the here-and-now. I also seem to have this complex where I think I *can* fix everything. I fall into a pattern where I’d rather hang onto the old problems than get new ones.
I met a guy on the A1A yesterday; he asked if I’m from around here and I said I live across the street. He cocked his head and said, “You aren’t from around here — you’re a city girl.” I said yeah. He said he splits his time between Florida and Chicago. I swooned that I LOVE Chicago, and he said, “If you spend all year living here, you’ll kill yourself. There’s nothing to do here. I hope you get to spend time in ‘real’ cities.”
I laughed and said I’m here to stay. We chit-chatted about how many older people wait their whole lives to get to Florida, and how so many younger people probably can’t wait to leave if they grew up here. I said I was hoping the slower pace would calm me down, to put life into perspective for me. But, we agreed, it’s a good home base to come back to — just as long as you can escape it from time to time.
It’s funny because, before I left the house yesterday, I asked the universe for a life-changing encounter. Just, put me in a conversation with someone with an outlook that can spark my imagination. And how funny that within an hour, I met John from Chicago.
I don’t know that there was any life-changing information exchanged. But to remember that the world is bigger than the space I take up in it was huge to me.
I guess what I take out of it is that we have myriad chances to get it right. And I’ve been focused on what I’ve seen are my “one chance” opportunities — that I have to get it all right on the first try, to live with what I didn’t get right, and to not look at the “greener grass” on the other side of whatever.
Maybe the grass is greener in other people’s yards. But what’s to stop me from kicking off my flip-flops and frolicking through their foliage and returning with a renewed outlook on mine?
Perhaps living in Washington gave me a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of paranoia, but I’m finding you never regret things that never come out of your mouth. Of course, whether words unspoken can poison your insides, remains to be seen.
Right now I’m trying the route of, “If you don’t have something nice to say. …” Hence, radio silence! 🙂
I finally started sleeping again. Too exhausted not to, really. But to get me to my happy place, I have a secret little thought that I pull out like a security blanket, that I wrap around me tightly and put away the moment I open my eyes.
I won’t let myself have it during the day; I shouldn’t let myself have it at all. Even just thinking about it now seems sacrilegious.
But it serves its purpose. I can’t make sense of why it’s in my head and what else to do with it, but it’s my touchstone.
For once in my life, I don’t have to make sense of everything. I want to. I maybe even need to. But I’m giving it all up to God and the fates and saying, OK, You put me here and you gave me these things and You took away these other things and I know You didn’t leave me here to figure it all out on my own.
Clearly I need church, and more often than once a week. I suspect I need therapy just as frequently. Or, at the very least, I need to find my wine bottle openers, because I’ve got plenty and I can’t get to it!
I’m so very spent. Just got home. Made a quick stop on the way to grab cat treats. Oh, about $30 in human treats later (no real food, of course), here I am.
It’s been a very intense week. They all are, though. This one particularly so.
After not eating for most of this week, I went out to grab some lunch today. I was unexpectedly joined by a colleague. The food order somehow got lost and we decided to take it as a sign that I needed to take a bona fide break already.
We had a long time to talk and it was actually very nice. I try to keep to myself for myriad reasons, most of which involve the fact that people take my outbursts seriously and that I am not overly good about faking it when I’m truly out of sorts. But I spent this week locked in a borrowed office, writing my little heart out, and even though I barely saw daylight, I was actually pretty happy.
My colleague asked whether I wrote poetry. I said I used to. He asked if I ever share it with anyone and I said oh God no. But then I realized I lied. It was circa 9/11 when I was told by my then-company that, as an executive, it was mandatory for me to get a master’s degree.
I was in social work at the time (my undergrad is in journalism), and I didn’t want an MSW because, I mean, really. I’m a bleeding-heart, tree-hugger kind of liberal, but as a lifelong career? No thanks. But I did apply to two prestigious schools to pursue a master’s in creative writing with a focus in poetry.
My theory was that if I HAD to spend all that time and money pursuing a degree, why not REALLY get something useless?
Luckily for me, I got rejected for both programs. Nevermind the excellent grades I’d gotten as an undergrad. I don’t know whether it was the poetry that sucks or that I got crappy scores on whatever standardized tests I had to take. I didn’t really care either way. It was a sign from God to get the hell out of that company, which I did about nine months later.
But my friend was really adamant about it — what do I do in my free time? What did I do? What made me give it all up?
I started working, that’s what. I never just did a nine-to-five schedule. Everywhere I’ve been, it’s been an around-the-clock adventure. I don’t know whether I chose to become a workaholic or, after coming from a line of women who ran households, I decided to have a life vastly different from theirs.
I’m having my midlife crisis early. Between the adjustment to a new state, losing my precious kitty, moving to the Amityville Horror of apartments and just enduring a general state of malaise and detente, I’ve been pretty unbearable. I own that right, though. It’s been a shit summer.
I started thinking about all the writing I haven’t done … writing for me, that is. The blog, Twitter and Facebook feeds are too public. I never pick up a phone or return an e-mail anymore. I just don’t have it to give. I’ve had so many half-assed friendships in my day in which I was pulling the load, that I don’t want to be the asshole who calls everyone for therapy and then hangs up because I don’t have the wherewithal to reciprocate.
I was just reading the e-letter from my old church tonight, and my beloved pastor was speaking of the greatest hurt in the world — the feeling of absolute insignificance. That struck a nerve in a way nothing else has of late.
As Pastor Mark said,
“In fact, it’s my observation that most of us will do just about anything to protect ourselves from that pain. We fill our schedules with appointments and deadlines so that we stay busy enough to avoid it. We read and study and try to learn new tricks so we convince ourselves otherwise. We amass new toys, gadgets, shiny things and stuff as trophies in an attempt to prove to ourselves and others that we matter.”
Is that my problem? That I’m so afraid I won’t have a legacy (family-wise) that my relationship is with my career?
Now that I’m *gulp* 35, I’m really re-evaluating my life choices. I never really wanted kids. I never wanted to be dependent on a man like all the women in my immediate and extended family. I never wanted to marry young and find myself having to start over with a brood of rugrats and try to make it on my own.
I always figured I’d have an amazing career and then shit out a kid and maybe have a stay-at-home husband. That was my definition of “having it all.”
I also always figured I’d have a nice loft in a big city, and maybe a little beach house on an island, where I’d write my novels “someday.” So here I am, living on an island smack between the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic Ocean, and where is everything else?
Don’t get me wrong, I never thought I’d get my island life at 35. I’ve worked damn hard for it. I’m OK with having it now.
But is that it? Did I miss all the other milestones that were supposed to come in-between?
I don’t think this is necessarily an existential debate about the “white picket fence” fantasy. Never really had that picture in mind. But when my friend reminded me several days ago that this is a special time in my life and I need to take time to celebrate it, I kind of laughed it off. I’ll celebrate when I have a chance to unpack. In fact, that alone is worth celebrating!
Pastor Mark went on to conclude that
“What if you could stop running scared and live your life with a deep conviction that, not only do you matter, but you matter in an extremely significant way?”
Indeed.
I’d told my friend today that, in 10 years, I’ll pick up that book series I started when I was a wee lass. What’s funny is that I don’t give a shit if I sell a manuscript or whether I publish it and nobody buys it. I want to do that for me. That’s my contribution to this world. Take it or leave it; doesn’t bother me either way.
Of course, he asked what if I got hit by a bus in five years. Which, judging by the fact that I destroyed my vehicle between two incidents in six days and lived to tell, I ain’t going anywhere. 🙂
Why God WHY did I crack up my car AFTER Cash for Clunkers ended?!?!
I’ll take a wild guess that I had to keep denting the car to remind me to get my head out of my ass. I spend my driving time lost in thought, trying to solve problems and get inspired for projects. I thought the second (and worse) damage was to punish me for the first, since I did leave a note on the car I scratched up but they never called.
I’ve tried to slow down more this week. I’m listening to music again. I haven’t listened to my iPod in six months. I have no music in me, no rhythm and certainly no song. I found my mood has improved threefold since I brought the music back. I figure, I’m always drinking coffee, chainsmoking, texting and oftentimes eating behind the wheel; why not get mah groove on, too?
It’s weird to have such a small change be such a big one.
I guess the moral to the story is that I was convinced I’d have my shit together by now. And nothing could be further from the truth.
I always figured I didn’t need the happy family, or the illusion thereof, to make me happy. But as the midlife crisis sets in and the clock starts running out, I wonder whether I’ll be even-crazier if I didn’t give it all a whirl. Although at this juncture, I wouldn’t even know how to slow down long enough to meet someone and even contemplate having a “normal” life.
I wonder whether everyone who told me I was so extraordinary did me a disservice, making me want to live up to that concept. I guess, in my twisted little heart, I just want an excuse to slow down, and that seems to be the most-logical way of doing so.
Perhaps the bigger issue is that I’m afraid that even if I do have an opportunity to slow down, the things I want still won’t be able to catch up to me. Maybe because I want them for the wrong reasons.
I guess I just look at sites like Facebook and wonder how people with half the IQ points got it right. Maybe they did or maybe they didn’t. But I guess I’m wondering why I can’t have it all, and what I have to do to get it, when I have tried my best all these years and I still feel like I’m not grown-up enough to get it right.
Well, if you weren’t already aware that Mercury is in retrograde, see Example A: my life.
I had a post up here earlier about the superb smash-up I did with the car this morning. Second in six days. It’s not pretty.
I also got locked out of the office tonight. No laptop, purse, phone, nada. I will, however, count my blessings that I had my keys in my pocket and access to my banged-up jalopy.
It’s been a very long day with the end somewhere in sight. Tomorrow will be another very early one. But, as I just realized, my phone IS my alarm clock — how am I going to wake up at the crack o’moi? I suspect falling asleep in front of the computer is an option!
“There’s a lady in the city
And she thinks she loves them all
There’s the one who’s thinking of her
There’s the one who sometimes calls
There’s the one who writes her letters
With his facts and figures scrawl.”— Joni Mitchell, “Cactus Tree”
In relationship news, or lack thereof, your humble Goddess found herself with a crush very recently.
I didn’t know what to do with it. So it’s filed away under “Har De Har Harr.” But it’s been a long time since I’ve felt the stirrings of something other than apathy toward the other gender — a year, to be exact. It’s nice to know that, even though my heart might need a trampoline on a good day, it still knows how to leap.
Speaking of that “year ago” thing, I had a premonition a couple of weeks ago that he got engaged. I made myself a promise long ago to be happy if I ever heard about it. I’ve heard nothing. I just feel like something’s up. He’s conspicuously absent from the flood of e-mails I never get around to answering.
I’m OK, if so. I’m OK, if not. Besides, more married men seem to find me attractive than single ones, so who knows? 😉
In any event, I think I’m about to embark on another new journey, so maybe the love of my life won’t be a man but instead what I do with my life.
But, if the universe might actually send me a good man, I won’t complain!
“She will love them when she sees them
They will lose her if they follow
And she only means to please them
And her heart is full and hollow
Like a cactus tree
While she’s so busy being free.”
It’s Mom’s birthday, so I took her out for the day. I had to start some projects, so I exiled her for a while, but I requested she come visit right now because I bought a bunch of gourmet cupcakes and I’m in dire need of a cupcake break. 🙂
We went to the old apartment to pick up our mail, as no one’s been in a real rush to get me my mailbox key here and I haven’t forwarded the mail yet. The grass isn’t really greener here but the water is bluer, so that’s a start.
It was very sad to walk into the old place — I kept feeling Maddie’s presence there. She’s everywhere. I kept waiting for her to bounce out of one of her dozens of hiding places and greet me. No such luck. Nothing is there — and there’s nowhere she could even hide. But still, I will always look for her there. I’ll look for her everywhere, really.
I found myself really missing my grandparents more than usual today, too. My grandfather’s loss is more recent (almost three years), and what I wouldn’t give to have him telling me that everything will turn out right. He always said it would, and it always did. It’s just times like this when I’m not so sure that I could really use his absolute faith in me, since I’m having a major crisis of confidence and faith right now.
My grandmother’s been gone 10 years now. I remember less about her, but days like this, I really want to hear her telling me how everyone’s a fucking moron and not to worry about their stupid shit. I can clearly hear her in my head telling people to go “sit and spin,” and “fuck them if they don’t like it. And even if they do, fuck them anyway!”
This is why it’s so important to heal my relationship with my mom. I haven’t told her I loved her in two and a half years. I haven’t hugged her in almost as long. So when I hugged her and wished her happy birthday today, and told her I love her and I believe in her, she cried. She thought she’d lost me completely, and all it took was kicking her out to make it come back. 🙂
I realize now more than ever that all you really have is your family. Whether by blood or by bonding, nobody else in the world cares about you more. In a world where nobody gives much of a damn about anyone but themselves, it’s good to remember those who would do anything for you, and reward them accordingly with the love they deserve.
So, happy birthday, Mom. And prayers of love for Maddie, Gram and Grampy. Wish you could all see me now. Hope I am doing you proud. Watch out for me and help me through these scary times. And I’ll never forget who you were and how you live on in me. And fuck everyone else if they don’t like it. 😉
Church has been awesome the past two weeks. I mean, it’s usually good, but it’s been knock-your-socks-off these past two weeks.
Today they talked about retaining your contentment when you’re living the single life. I like to think that I’ve been just fine and dandy on my own, but lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m the only one not in on the joke in that regard.
In fighting my whole life to define who I am, I realize when you take away the one thing that defines me (usually work-related), it’s like there’s nothing discernible left.
I forced myself to do a whole lot of nothing yesterday, minus taking Mom to lunch and to buy her groceries. And I was a nervous fucking wreck all day. I haven’t sit still in months. I tried moving furniture and unpacking a bit, but it didn’t capture my attention. I retreated into my head and worried about why I wasn’t worrying enough!
So today’s church broadcast was good for me, in that I’m reminded that we’re all in a season of waiting for something. And that this something might not be meant for us now or ever, so what are we doing with this time to be productive and get closer to God … what are we doing to fill up our lives and not come to resent Him for what we don’t have?
I want to write again. Fiction or even a diary. (One in the same! LOL) I want to paint. I want to pontificate. I want to volunteer. I want to get my pudgy pork roast butt back to Weight Watchers (three months without it and I haven’t lost a pound. Go figure).
I find that I drop everything that means anything when my stress level rises. And that’s the absolute opposite of what I should be doing — I should schedule time for mandatory fun or, at least, mandatory dreaming time. Because without it, that’s why the stress level rises further.
I do thrive on adrenaline. I get wrapped up in the excitement of whatever’s going on. I drop everything to be available. But even though I want to give 100%, all the time, I know I can’t. I need to recharge. I come across as a taskmaster but I don’t bring an ounce of creativity to the process when I haven’t allowed myself to stop in my tracks and regenerate it.
Maybe I do it as a distraction from the things I don’t have — the things that I’ve always said were unimportant, even if my heart might have felt otherwise.
I caught myself blurting out the other day, “God I miss D.C.” But I really don’t. I mean, of course I do — that’s my adopted home. But I didn’t enjoy it enough while I had it.
I’m where I’m supposed to be right now, and I don’t want to make the same mistake and neglect to form and sustain a real relationship with my surroundings. I hope I never lose my sense of wonder at the beautiful view from my balcony. I hope I never forget to breathe it in and feel as lucky as I am to be surrounded by water.
I hope I can get better about reminding myself that I am lucky to have my mom. A lot of people don’t have their mom. I have one person on this earth who thinks I walk on water. Even those who’ve supposedly found their soulmates might not even have that.
I have so many more talents and ideas than I ever let on. I try so hard just to work through life challenge after life challenge, problem after problem, task after task. That’s not the right outlet for creativity, although it helps. 😉 I’m very much hoping that my pretty little place (leaky roof and all) with the inspirational view will wake up the sleeping Goddess and I’ll soon unleash everything she’s been waiting to give to the world.
I don’t wait around well. And as I was reminded today, waiting and worrying does nothing to add hours to your life. So you might as well get off your ass and make every hour count. Maybe it’ll make the time go faster till my season of waiting draws to a close. …
