My iPhone in my purse, capturing a rogue photo of my shopping trip to a fantastic local consignment store.
I’m about to live completely alone [with my guard dog] for the first time in almost 22 years. I am beyond excited.
I have several projects I want to complete during this, my first-ever bohemian period. At the store, I found the perfect couch – on sale (a sign).
My new place, an apartment, has everything I need; 1st floor location, full-sized washer and dryer, a bathtub (not JUST a shower), and a large walk-in closet (the dream and necessity of every woman).
It all feels so meant-to-be.
My years as a corporate executive… traveling constantly, unable to have a pet, and returning home to dead flowers planted the week before… those days are clearly over. Both by choice and not by choice – but the right choice, nonetheless.
Also pared down significantly: my once-high housing standards. I no longer “need” 4500 square feet, a media room, multiple bedrooms, 19ft. ceilings, or a huge, upgraded kitchen. Because frankly? I’ve always hated cooking and have avoided it by being hopeless in the kitchen. I’m sure both of my ex-husbands would wholeheartedly agree (were they willing to be interviewed).
As for me, I can eat food prepared by other people 25/8. From the 24-hour drive-through Mexican place, the sushi place, Pizza Hut, Amazon Fresh, and H‑E‑B curbside come my meals. Everything fully prepared.
The only one in our next chapter who will require some structure is my 4 year old Maltipoo. Solely for him, I’m paying more for a first floor apartment – as well as for enhanced safety features since it IS a first floor apartment.
What this 648sq ft. apartment feels like to ME: very long-overdue Freedom. With enough responsibility for my dog to keep me from becoming completely unhinged and/or indulging in the “wild and crazy” adolescent behavior I don’t remember indulging in, I think I’ll stay tethered to the ground. I expect to be placed on an endless leash if that’s the case – and a weightless one, at that.
I can’t go black
to being blue.
I can’t do nothin’
I hurt so much,
my heart will burst.
That is in case
I don’t die first.
Being able to cry, laugh, get mad when necessary [but not too long], feel nervous, feel excited… in the moment (not rehearsing past crap I haven’t dealt with – because it’s been dealt with and is being dealt with) – basically to FEEL at all.
That + Karaoke + Freedom +The Ability to Laugh at Myself = Happiness (for me). For now. Everything is always subject to change, and I don’t know what [imagined] happiness looks like 3 months from now. I can only say, in this moment, I am happy and excited about my future. Something has shifted, and change is afoot. I believe we have seasons of action and seasons of re-gathering our strength. I have been re-gathering my strength for while now. I know the tide is turning because Hope has returned to me (cautiously and non-committally, but returned she did; I literally cried when I saw her!). All this drama and “new”, in the absence of a romantic interest; frankly, it surprises even me! But I have become so strong, so it’s unavoidable now. In other words: for the first time in what feels like an extended “fallow period,” I am ready to grow some crops!
I can imagine a future of open doors, new adventures, wonderful conversations, and moments of joy unspeakable. All in my future. Just for me and only for me. Only because my spirit and I never gave up, though we wanted to plenty of times. Probably more than plenty. But we never gave up and it’s our time to shine❣️
Your presence here today is equally miraculous. When you add the incredible odds of conception (which are miraculous to begin with) to all you’ve overcome and avoided but never knew it… the odds that someone with your exact DNA would have lived the exact life you’ve lived to be here today, well, I apologize: but that’s awe-inspiring to me.
And today, I am so grateful that my path has put me on one that intersects with yours.
P.S. I guess this is my “annual holiday letter”; I never wrote them myself, but there’s a first time for everything❣️
P.P.S. I aware I’m preening in the photo, but I like it anyway.
Why is that when I feel joyous, I’m always reminded of how fleeting it is, but:
When I feel sadness, I’m NEVER reminded of how fleeting it is?
(Thank you for the use of your photo,
I’m the absolute best of everything and the absolute worst of everything- all in one beautiful, messy package.
It takes patience, fortitude, and good vision [because mine is awful] to tolerate – even enjoy? – my presence.
I’m fond of wounds, scars, and brokenness. But too much scar tissue places you out of my reach.
Even with my long arms.
I’ve got fire in my belly and ice in my veins.
I’m hot-tempered and [sometimes] cool under pressure.
I’m grandiose and self-deprecating.
Naive and suspicious.
Gullible and paranoid.
I can’t change but I want to.
I want you to love me but I set the bar impossibly high, desperately hoping you’ll try to surmount it.
I don’t know if Paradoxes are forgivable,
and I don’t even know if I care.
But I hope I do.
And I hope we are.
I hope we’re all forgivable.
At this point, at the very least, I have to forgive myself,
even if no one else does.
I am equal parts body, soul, and spirit.
I have everything I need.
Next to Love, Hope is the most vicious and potentially dangerous state of mind.
Sorry, once again I can’t figure out how to share this from one platform to another (so clueless…).
Looking at these WordPress “View Stats,” I’m reminded of the stamp collection I started when I was eleven years old…
P.S. Why aren’t Germany, Spain, and France part of the “European Union?”
I feel like I’ve been in the fortunate (?) 98th percentile or the [very, very, VERY] unlucky 2% for the entirety of my life.
What does that middle 50% feel like, I wonder?
My gray matter isn’t graying well into this age of so many shades of gray.
So I break laws (take my mother’s estrogen patches) and defy the universe to even try to fuck with me again on that lame old score (breast cancer).
Cause that bitch done already been paid over and over and over again. In a million different ways. She owes ME at this point. Besides, she wouldn’t recognize me anymore.
Why? Oddly enough and without trying, I think I’ve mastered [and all inaccuracies and ignorances are mine here, especially since I’ve never read it] “the subtle art of not giving a fuck.”
Isn’t it a little presumptuous of anyone to assume ANY of us will be here tonight, tomorrow, or 3 months from now? In fact, I nearly laughed out loud just now making a 3-month follow-up appointment with my migraine doctor.
I don’t know what kind of/if any philosophy my views might reflect. I only know this is how I feel/what I think: who knows, I’m always getting the two confused, anyway.
At least this is what I feel-think today. That could change tomorrow. I can’t commit to much of anything at this point, you see. So I’m sorry/not sorry. You’ll just have to deal with it.
What does this look like, practically speaking? I can (of course) only speak for myself. But…
I do stupid things like: I go off and leave personal belongings at the doctor’s office, then have to drive THE WHOLE WAY BACK to retrieve them. Yeah…why weren’t they the kind of personal belongings I wouldn’t have been allowed to exit the building without? If I’d left my mask, I know I wouldn’t have gotten far.
I’ve also become a terrible judge of character, turning Ignorant Assholes into Prince Charmings with NO DATA WHATSOEVER TO SUPPORT THESE CONCLUSIONS!!
Thank goodness I seem capable from learning from my mistakes in that department. This week at least.
I sing karaoke too much, smoke weed too much, forget to feed myself, refuse to clean my room, and spend far too much of my discretionary income on my hair [because I intend to look good for the duration].
Maybe I’m a little fixated on my hair because I’m so glad it grew back? I don’t know if this theory holds water because I also spend money on my sexy fake fingernails.
So… no news to you, my friends, but I’m not being particularly responsible these days. [Visitors: don’t get excited thinking you’re going to scam me; I’m not a sucker anymore, sucker – and even when I was, you couldn’t squeeze me.]
For my subscribers, who have suffered through at least one of my posts, we need to collectively face reality: I suck at karaoke. Yes, it’s true and I know it’s true. Y’all are just being sweet, but I know I suck.
Yet… I still don’t care!! Maybe because there’s no one left to embarrass but my mom, and no one would dare inform her of her adult daughter’s colossal lapses in judgment (out of respect for my mom).
I don’t know if it’s the weed or an existential crisis or even a POST-existential crisis. I only know I’m both a Total Flake and an Utter Mess.
At least that’s the look I’m shooting for.
How am I doing?
You kept me on a heavy, tight leash my entire life.
I bear the deep scars around my neck to prove it.
Of course they healed over after I gave up,
no longer bucking against your imprisonment.
By confining me early, you confined me for life;
or at least long after you broke me.
You didn’t break me, though, did you?
I learned to venture out and live again.
I still bear the scars, but I finally escaped when you turned away.
Now I’m bouncing back high, higher, highest…
weightless to the point of cresting Heaven itself.
Any second now; I’m so close,
I can almost feel it…
This is “It” and I at our absolutely most annoying, irritating, and obnoxious. And our most intoxicated (to the point of forgetting we were recording at multiple times during the evening).
Yeah, I wouldn’t introduce me to your kids, either! I’m a terrible influence on everyone around me. And It is just as bad – if not WORSE‼️
Only if you like eavesdropping on two people who can’t keep their mouths shut for more than ten seconds could you even potentially find this video entertaining…
P.S. It [the video] has a false finish, like all of my favorite karaoke songs. This one’s not over until we’re finally “parched.”
Until you’ve met my ghosts in person, would you please quit seeing the Devil?
On our best behavior at this point...