Found On Road Dead

If it wasn't for bad luck, I swear I'd have none. The clichest of cliche's. I know it ad nausea. Like the back of my hand, like a childhood story read to me over and over I could recite it in my sleep.

In the past week, I became jobless, my car broke down not one but three times, and I was again reminded why I had chosen to walk away from a once very important person in my life.

My last week at work was sad, mellow. Oddly enough Administrative Professional's week, which I just so happened to be. And I didn't go unappreciated. I got beautiful flowers on Wednesday, I got a lovely handmade scarf. On my last day I got taken out to a fantastic lunch.

It was just, sad. 2 years I spent there with those people. 2 years of getting to know people, to know about their kids, their families. Know their day to day personalities. It's been 5 days now, and I miss them.

The car, a whole other can of worms.

Not just worms. Flesh eating, mind-numbing, science fiction kinds of worms. Set out to destroy the planet. Well maybe not the planet, but me. Little by little. Slowly but surely by removing pieces of sanity bit by bit.

First, my belt goes. Yes, sounds nothing enough, but no, it wasn't. The entire thing vanished into thin air. Magically. As though abducted by aliens.

I go to the gas station on Thursday morning, on my way to work, my last Thursday mind you. Fill-er up. GO to turn on the car again, and the battery light is suddenly on. Weird. Now the wheel is impossibly hard to turn. What the deuce?!

The gas station attendant hasn't the foggiest what happened in the say, 5 minutes since I had pulled into the station. So I struggle with the wheel, like what I imagine turning an entire steamship by myself in the early parts of the century was like.

I get to Dylan's school, drop him off. I pull into yet another gas station. I explain the issue. Mechanic is on vacation. Stellar. They tell me I can leave it until Monday. Are you fucking nuts? It's Thursday you idiots and I have shit to do!

They top off my power steering fluid, and again I trudge off, all the while making a plethora of phone calls to my triad of car gurus...the boyfriend, the brother and the pseudo brother/neighbor...to see who will answer first.

I someone make it to my mothers. Apparently my belt had vanished, and I was running on what little voltage I had left. I was almost dead. Who knew? (ok apparently the "car" people knew, but me the vehicularly challenged not so much)

My wonderful boyfriend drove an hour from his house to my mother's on his day off, kids in tow (as it was still school vacation) to fix belt. Stopped on the way to pick up the belt at Auto supply store.

Yeah, about that.

As he gets about done with the belt install, he realizes the morons at the Auto store gave him the wrong belt. Poor bastard has to UNDO the entire thing he has just struggled to install, and go BACK to the store, return it and get the right belt. Yes, my car is apparently Satan.

SO now, new belt in hand, he returns, puts belt on successfully. YAY!

6 days later I am about to get on the highway, and I hear a squealing sound. Hmm. That's not good. A squealing sound them followed by slapping. I pull over, open the hood. The goddamn belt, the 6 day old belt had SHREDDED. Yes that's right.

Problem all over again.

Are you fucking serious?!

So since I was on my way to meet my boyfriend to actually help HIM by meeting him at a dealership to pick him up as he got HIS car fixed, he now had to leave, drive 40 minutes to come get me by the side of the road, then go to Auto store, again get belt and put another one in my car.

This time in the rain on the side of the road.

Um, can we say how much I love this man by the way?

So now, car has new belt, and am gingerly on my way...again.

Only to have the starter in my car DIE the next day in the parking lot of my best friends hair salon.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

Car is officially out to get me. Wants me to suffer severe anxiety and cry. Ok so I DID cry.

Had car towed to my house and is literally being worked on in my driveway as we speak (type) by pseudo brother.

If anyone ever had any doubts of the Evil Vortex that lived in my driveway and was out to get me and kill all my cars, it has now found me at my new address, and it has a serious vendetta.

Bastard.

End of an Era and Yesterday's Garbage

Today is the beginning of the end.

As I drove in this morning, I started the last leg of my commute to work. My last Tuesday here. It would have been Monday oddly enough if it weren't a Boston holiday and the masses (mild pun intended) weren't off to celebrate Patriot's Day/Marathon Monday.

I came in a little later, since it's also a school vacation week and my boss won't even be here for my final week. Sitting in bumper to bumper traffic on the Southeast Expressway, ranked 14 worst for commuter traffic in the country. I should be a little happy to not have to sit idle in my car, playing merge and dart with carious other vehicles also trying their damndest while only mildly caffeinated to get into work at a reasonable hour in the morning, but I am saddened.

And so I started to sort through my belongings. The stuff I have all over my desk that makes it a little more personal. Photos of Dylan, pictures he drew me. A pair of glasses that had been lost that I taped eyes inside to resemble the Geico commercial "Somebody's Watching You".

This entire weekend has been ends of era's as it were. My 2 years here are no different. I love my job, and am sad to leave. The people I work with have been wonderful to me, and they too wish I were able to stay. Of course, if it weren't for corporate red-tape and policies sent down from offices afar, I likely would be, but alas, that is clearly not how the new Corporate America operates.

It's mind boggling the detachment that exists. A single mom now jobless, searching for a way to support her child. Working with 4 staffing and placement agencies, using every online tool in existence to find new employment to no avail. Tossed aside, all business. Cold and calculated.

And this weekend, another detachment was witnessed that made me sadder still. The only grandfather I have ever known, my neighbor my entire life, who's blood and mine are not the same, but he is family nonetheless. A man who I would go to the ends of the Earth for, is now in assisted living. His home of over 60 years, a home I grew up in essentially, is being picked apart by his biological children and things are being thrown away so callously. His lifetime of memories and hard work, nostalgia tossed into dumpsters like garbage.

I did my best for stays of execution. Tried to save what I could. Me, being the sentimentalist. I could save it all if I could. Archive it in some sort of Grandparental Mausoleum if I could. My own memorabilia placed exactly had it been in the home that was my second one for as long as I can remember.

I recalled every story I had of that house, of the contents. Of my grandfather (and you will NEVER hear me refer to him as anything but) and the things we did. Of his antiques, of his garden. Of watching him build his model ships every day after school, or listening to the stories of him being a professor at Northeastern University.

Stories of surviving the Great Depression. The wars. Countless sessions of him correcting my grammar as I spoke. Making iced tea on the stove with my grandmother before she passed so many years ago. Planting flowers in the yard and listening to Big Band music.

I was there every day as a child. The slight incline on their side yard, a HUGE hill we would sled down in the cold New England winter's when covered in snow. Riding in his 1930 Model A Ford in parades around town, reveling in all the other kid's jealousy as we whizzed by them.

And his son's, just tossing out his life. Thrown away like yesterday's garbage. Not wanting to be daunted by his stuff, by his memories. Completely detached and complacent. It sickened me they could do such things while he was still alive. He, being kept away like a prisoner surrounded by people ready to die, people who have given up. I get the methodology of it, but it hurts nonetheless.

He hasn't given up, he is 91 years old and still fighting. He is in fair health and perfect mental clarity. It makes me so upset to hear him so downtrodden about leaving his home, his life. To know the disappointment he feels in his children about the handling of his things, to hear it in his voice, defeated. All that the man has left.

His closest friends are dropping like flies, as they do when you reach 91. He only recently stopped driving, and only because he was ill, not because he could no longer do so. He is no longer close to his friends, to all that has been familiar to him his entire life. The place they put him is near to them, and he hates it.

He didn't want to be a burden. It angers me. The man has never been a burden in his life. Has never once put himself first. He spent his boys youth working his ass off, and yes maybe they resent him for not being there, for not being that "I'll play catch with you son" dad, but times were different back then. He loves his family, and I am blessed to be a part of it.

I know that losing my job of 2 years is nothing like losing your home of over 60 years, but I feel like he's lost. I know that I am. I am lost and I am scared. I don't know what's next, I don't know where the road will take me, what I am going to do. I can only imagine that my grandfather, in his solitude an hour away from all he has ever known is far more lost than I.

It's the end of an era, and I think it’s happening too soon.

Feed Me, Seymour

Keith Urban has a song called "Tonight I Want To Cry". I feel like taking some creative license and changing it to Today.

Nothing necessarily happened really. I just feel over-wrought with emotion I guess. Something that has become fairly common-place as of late. The floodgates have been opened, and now that I have allowed myself to feel for the first time in eons, I am overly doing so to the point I can't control.

Maybe not everything is justified to other, but to me it is. After holing up in cynicism and blankness for so long, just knowing I am able to feel even the tiniest iota of anything is like pouring acid into a paper cut.

Sure to the average person who has adapted over years to these day to day occurrences, I am like a foreigner. Like Madison in Splash, learning it all as if it were new and vulnerable to it for the first time.

I keep finding myself subjected to things I hadn't felt before. Or to things perhaps I never knew I was able to feel before. Things I didn't realize would affect me, hurt me. And I feel like I am belittled slightly for it.

It's not fair really. To go from Super Bitch to Super Sensitive with no happy medium and no modicum of understanding from anyone else. To have no one even try to see things from your perspective. To try to see how it could be affecting you, even if they don't understand really, they don't even try.

You're just crazy, or unjustified in your emotions. But they are YOURS and they are valid. And you want to scream sometimes. And sometimes you DO. And sometimes you don't but are accused of it nonetheless and it upsets you and you long to be that callous uncaring person again because there wasn't that hurt there, that vulnerability to be subjected to.

I found myself this morning driving to work and completely lack-luster. The day after my birthday and sad. I just wanted to call my father and knew that I couldn't. To reach out to him and have him make me feel better and be made to remember I celebrated yet another year without him.

I spoke to a friend on my birthday who had recently lost her mother. She visits her grave every weekend, and this made me feel horrible. I felt like a bad daughter. Like a bad person. I haven't been to my dad's grave in so long. His cold stone forgotten and all I want is to go there, to throw myself down and apologize to him for abandoning him.

I feel bad I haven't done anything to make him proud. That nothing has changed since he passed away. I am still horribly in debt. I am essentially careerless at 31 years old. Losing my job in a week, but really all I have done is go from job to job. Inconsistently consistent.

I can't do anything right. I am a perpetual failure. I am afraid of driving away the love of my life. Afraid something about my fragility or imperfections will make him run, will take the one thing I finally have that made me minutely happy and turn my world upside down.

That even though he has known me, known who I was for years and loved me as such, that now he wants to change me. That now I won't be good enough. Now things will be different. And it scares the ever living shit out of me.

I have opened myself. I fell. Deeper than Alice through the rabbit hole. Into a new and awkward existence of myself and I have no idea how to get back to who I knew I was for so long. No idea how to be that strong and callous person I once was. Hard-nosed and un-wavering.

And all this emotion, all these feelings, I don't know what to do with. I am afraid will eat me alive. I feel them. I hear them chanting, calling me out.

"Feed me Seymour, feed me."

Womb Emancipation Day

It's a bitch to get old.

NO really, it is.

Today marks the 31st year of my life. (Go ahead, I will pause as you belt out "Happy Birthday".) 31 years. I am officially IN my 30's now and not quite sure how I feel about it.

It hasn't been all bad really, today I mean.

Woken up by a cutely apologetic phone call by the boyfriend at 7am. Apologetic that he fell asleep and wasn't able to call me at midnight, being the first to wish me birthday tidings the very first moments of the actual calendar date change.

Follow this by an exuberant 5 1/2 year old (who had made his way to my bed somehow in the night due to yet another nightmare) bounding up and grinning ear to ear "Happy BIRTHDAY Mama!" accompanied by a huge hug, and my morning was off to a fairly pleasant start.

Then off work. Naturally, my morning commute was worse than usual since as of yesterday they started construction on a bridge that is between where I start and where I finish. Which makes the highway awful, and the optional back roads route I could take no longer an option. Stellar.

Upon arriving at work, my computer decides to tell me my account has been disabled and I get to wait an hour and a half for IT in Costa Rica to figure out the problem, get me back in business, while I sit idly like a bump on a pickle. Wheeee!

Inundated with enough Facebook messages to make me feel like a pimping rock star, my phone is naturally dead by 10:30am, so I have to now borrow a Blackberry cord (mind you I do not HAVE a Blackberry) to charge it from someone else or suffer phoneless for the rest of the day. And let's face it, I can't have that.

WHY did I have to borrow one you say? Oh that's because MY charger had been yoinked off my desk sometime last week one day after I had left for the night. Good times.

Then I got to have lunch with my fellow co-workers, ones who share my position. Supposed to be my "Farewell" lunch since my last day was slated for Friday. (although I may have a few days next week now, but I digress) And they bust out a fantastically delicious birthday cake and a card they had gotten me. Perked me up right away.

So now I sit here, waiting at work. Not much on the horizon as my boss is traveling. Not much anyway since the end is near.

I am 31 and in limbo.

I am finally happy in my personal life, and professionally it's going to shit. I guess that's always the way isn't it? You can't really have it all? Fuckers, how is that fair?

This past weekend I got whisked away for a romantic getaway to Martha's Vineyard. Local and yet far away at the same time. It was sweet. Not enough time gone if you ask me.

My ever thoughtful love replaced my formerly stolen GPS with a newer better model, and then friends and us went to a wine expo, which then turned into a pub crawl, which then turned into a shit show.

Sometimes there should be a limit on the consumption of alcohol over a certain age I believe.

Yup, I just said that.

I am officially old, I told you.

Well, as a friend had already told me, Happy Womb Emancipation Day to me!

Ol' Blue Eyes and a 3 Hour Tour

I should listen to Frank Sinatra.

Not listen in the sense I should sit back and lose myself in the smoothness of the Chairman of the Board as it were, but actually listen. Take heed in what Ol' Blue Eyes was actually trying to tell me. Subliminal messages from The Voice himself, beyond the grave.

I've always been a fan of Frank. I swooned when I heard that velvety voice crooning through my radio way back when. I watched, eyes glued to my TV old black & white and Technicolor movies, he and various co-stars dancing and singing away along the Silver Screen.

But if you think about it, there are some serious lessons to be learned coming from that man.

"Accentuate the Positive". Prime example. Frankie flat out telling me I need to stop being Debbie Downer for crying out loud! I need to focus. That's right Apryl, you heard me right, focus!

"You've gotta accent-tcu-ate the positive, eli-my-nate the negative,
Latch on to the affirmative, don't mess with Mister In-between.
You gotta spread joy up to the maximum, bring gloom down to the minimum.
Have faith or pandemonium's li'ble to walk upon the scene."

That Frankie I tell ya, he sure had a way with words.

"Button Up Your Overcoat". Another gem. Common sense really, it gets chilly outside! Good old Frank always looking out for me! Doesn't want me sick, reminding me to take care of myself. What a guy!

"Button up your overcoat,
When the wind is free,
Oh, take good care of yourself,
You belong to me!"

"Cheek to Cheek". A little trickier to get his message, but he's such a romantic that Frank. And a dancing fool! I mean, he did quite a job over the years keeping up with the likes of Gene Kelly. And to think of losing himself in a dance...just reminding you to focus on each other...so sweet he is!

"Heaven, I'm in heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancin' cheek to cheek"

"Everybody Has the Right to Be Wrong". Ah Frank. You make a girl feel so special, so loved. Reminding us that we can't be right all the time, that we are allowed to make mistakes, that we're human after all.

"Everybody has the right to be wrong at least once
Everybody has the right to be dunce-like, once-like
Not being too smart is, is no disgrace
What sets you apart is smilin' with egg on your face
It’s naive to make believe that you're right, it's not bright
Only fools go walking on thin ice, twice
You and life can skip the strife and you'll both get along
All it takes is simply saying you're wrong when you're wrong
And everybody has the right to be wrong"

"I've Got You Under My Skin". Oooh we've all been there. That one person who gets to us. That we can't get enough of. Who we could eat, drink or breathe if we could. That one we tried so hard to resist, out of fear maybe that you cared more than they a little. But they GOT you. Frank knew it. Damnnit he's good.

"I've got you under my skin.
I've got you deep in the heart of me.
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.
I've got you under my skin.
I'd tried so not to give in.
I said to myself: this affair never will go so well.
But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well
I've got you under my skin?"

"Luck Be A Lady". We've all needed luck in our lives. We've all crossed our fingers, we've all had some sort of good luck charm, or rubbed something to get some sort of positive energy out of it at some point. We never wanted luck to shun us, to be a vile and evil spinster. We wanted it to be kind, demure. Lady like. Frank you did it again.

"Luck be lady tonight
Luck be lady tonight
Luck if you've been a lady to begin with
Luck be a lady tonight
Luck let a gentleman see
Just how nice a dame you can be
I know the way you've treated other guys you've been with
Luck be a lady with me"

"Make Someone Happy". Obvious really. Not a seemingly difficult task. The Karma Gods will likely pay it forward. You make someone happy, they in turn will make you happy. A non-vicious circle. Frank, you're like Gandhi.

"Make someone happy, make just one someone happy.
Make just one heart the heart you sing to.
One smile that cheers you, one face that lights when it nears you.
One gal you're everything to.
Fame, if you win it, comes and goes in a minute.
Where's the real stuff in life to cling to?
Love is the answer, someone to love is the answer.
Once you've found her, build your world around her.
Make someone happy, make just one someone happy
And you will be happy too."

"Pick Yourself Up". Wow. It never ends his advice does it? He's got an answer for everything! You're down in the dumps, you're down on yourself, and there he is. Ol' Blue Eyes himself getting you back on life's horse. I tell you, the man's a pillar. A beacon.

"Nothing's impossible I have found,
For when my chin is on the ground,
I pick myself up,
Dust myself off,
Start all over again.
Don't lose your confidence if you slip,
Be grateful for a pleasant trip,
And pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.
Work like a soul inspired,
Till the battle of the day is won.
You may be sick and tired,
But you'll be a man, my son!
Will you remember the famous men,
Who had to fall to rise again?
So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again."

"My Way". Pivotal. You need to be yourself. Figure things out for yourself. Make mistakes, have regrets, but learn from them. Be your own person and never back down. Do things in a way that is purely your own. Make your own mark on the world. I mean, Frank did right?

"Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way
Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way"

"Red Roses for A Blue Lady". Fella's, not rocket science from Frank on this one! If someone's feeling down, you cheer them up! A little bouquet never hurt anything. (especially if it was in fact you who made the mood, well sour) But ladies, if it was you, a little pick-me-up on your end isn't out of the question either.

"I want some red roses for a blue lady,
Mister florist, take my order, please.
We had a silly quarrel the other day,
I hope these pretty flowers chase her blues away."

"Summer Wind". Ah sweet summer. Everything is better. The air is warmer, the sun shines brighter. Moods are lighter. Love is in the air. (likely because we wear a lot less clothing but I digress) Summer brings out the best in us all. Makes us remember being kids and doing fun and outdoorsy things. Sitting on beaches doing nothing, just enjoying each other's company.

"The summer wind, came blowin' in from across the sea
It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind"

"That's Life". Ok so it can't be great all the time. Good Ol' Frank bringing me back to reality. But saying you know what? It's ok. There's nothing you can do about it, that's just the way it is.

"That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say
You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top, back on top in June
I said that's life (that's life), and as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks stompin' on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around"

"Young At Heart". You're only as young as you feel, and if in your heart you hold onto your child-like innocence, then Frankie say's you'll be young forever!

"Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart.
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart."

"Sit Down You're Rockin' the Boat". Ok ok. Now this one resonates. THIS one hits me Frank. I get it.

"For the people all said
Sit down, sit down you're rocking the boat
Sit down, sit down you're rocking the boat
And the devil will drag you under
By the sharp lapelle
Of your checkered coat
Sit down!
Sit down!
Sit down!
Sit down you're rocking the boat!"

You're sailing along your life, trying ever so hard to not tip over, to stay balanced. Even keeled. (Boat...keel, get it?) And it happens, an imbalance, an inability to compromise. Maybe not just from you, because let's face it, most boats have more than one passenger these days. So it's lopsided and teetering. You're ready to go overboard.

But they're yelling at YOU to sit down. YOU are rocking the boat. But how do they know it's you? You are not in it alone after all. Not the only one paddling this vessel. It could be them. It could be all of you.

Maybe everyone needs to sit down. Maybe, just maybe a squatting compromise is needed by all parties aboard to avoid some Gilligan-esque catastrophe on the boat. It takes a whole crew to navigate a vessel these days, one person sitting shouldn't be the obvious or fair solution.

I'm thinking Frank needs to come back and throw me a life preserver and save me from this 3 hour tour.

I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

My blog saved my life.

Quite Possibly in the literal sense.

There are few things in this world that have been consistent loves to me over the years. Things that have been able to make me happy, even if only for a little while, during my life battling depression.

Sure my son is a given. There is nothing greater than hearing the fruit of your loins look up at your and tell you he loves you for the first time un-provoked. Or hear him call you "Mama". Watch him grow, walk, learn. Just this Sunday on Easter, he looked at me, gave me a huge hug and said "This is the greatest Easter ever, you're the BEST". Made my freaking day.

Other than the obvious, there have been a few inanimate. Shoes for example. They give me innate pleasure. I can smile and revel in their structure and beauty. In their differences and style. Casual, elegant. Chunky and streamlined. The true cornerstone of every outfit. When you're feeling fat or down on yourself, a shoe shopping trip always helps. Shoes, unlike clothes, ALWAYS fit. They can make you stand taller, feel thinner, walk prouder. They are their own stiletto little miracle.

Music has always been a release as well. Listening to it, singing it, playing it. I have been a musician of sorts my entire life. Belting out music makes me feel whole sometimes. I feel connected to rhythms and notes. My entire body swarmed with emotion. Lyrics become my lifeline, a chorus the beat of my heart. I get lost in it. I could listen to the same song for hours repetitive at times, cathartic.

But writing, writing has staved off the madness. Has been my life's ambition. My calling. Kept the White Coats at bay. In my world of ups and downs, of manic and madness, desperation and despair, it was my solace. My escape. Like "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" I feared Nurse Ratchet was coming to take me away.

The only reality I know. It's my raw and uninhibited feelings about everything inside me. All that you would tell to a therapist, yet without judgment. Without recourse. Freeing.

I write what I know, what I live. I started young and never stopped. Stories, poems, essays. I wrote from my heart, I flooded pages upon pages of journals and diaries with thoughts and questions about people I intertwined my life with, how they affected me. I sorted out everything. It became my greatest confidante.

When words failed me, which never seemed to happen often, but happened often enough ironically, they were found on pen and paper. They were there, in front of me with a few key strokes of a keyboard or a typewriter. There in front of me, everything I felt, everything I needed to say, express.

I felt so alone in what I felt so much of the time. I felt isolated. That if the words I penned were said out loud, I would become a pariah. That society would look upon me like I was insane. And maybe I was a little. The thoughts I had sometimes didn't always feel rational, but they didn't have to after all, they were thoughts. MY thoughts. Feelings swimming in a huge ocean of confusion and hormones in my mind. Overlapping the shores of expectations of others and what I was supposed to think.

At 16 I had a breakdown. All the thoughts in my head could no longer be contained and I broke. I broke because I wasn't able to say what had to be said. I held back my feelings. My life. I shut down everything I felt and kept it inside. What I felt about others, what had been happening to me. All of it, drifting inside the head of a pubescent teenager who had no outlet, no release.

I wrote poetry then. Dark and desperate. Plath-like and seemingly unsuitable for a girl who was popular on the outside. A cheerleader. I played the role so well, but inside, inside I was drowning.

Naturally the therapist they sent me to (as doctors of young people in these situations do) recommended I write. EVERYTHING. I had journal after journal. I wrote essays and stories and articles for my school newspaper. I was good at it. I loved it, and I started to heal.

Whenever I wasn't writing, I was miserable. Well, more miserable than I if I wasn't able to express my misery. Off and on I'd be medicated for depression over the years. Zombie like and lacking personality under the guise of self-improvement. The pills never seemed to make me ok, they just sort of made me blah.

There were so many times when I thought I couldn't do it anymore. When I would be driving and envision myself letting go and heading straight into the guardrail. Almost daily. When I would be taking my medications at night and wonder how many more I could take to just not wake up. It's scary to think I ever had these thoughts, but I have. More times than I can probably should have.

But getting it all out on "paper" is my way of being ok. Like standing atop a mountain and screaming and crying at the top of my lungs until the point of complete and utter emotional exhaustion until I collapse. Collapse into a peaceful and comforted sleep. Awakened rejuvenated, like Sleeping Beauty after years of rest, the past entirely behind her.

When I started to blog, it was for me. A place I could go to where ever I was, no matter what to be able to get that help, to feel that release. Then a magical thing happened. Someone read it. Not only read it, but related to it. I wasn't alone after all. I wasn't crazy, what I was going through wasn't a solitary event.

I felt a connect to people, people all over the world. And for the first time I felt invincible. I felt like I was a part of something. Something bigger than me. That by sharing MY life, MY feelings I could actually help someone else. Someone else realize they too could be ok. That they could not feel alone.

Sure there are a few creative license moments. A few turns of phrase that are a little more for the sound of the way I write than they were when they may have been said or happened, but it's my life. My emotions nonetheless. With a little help from my lovely college background in journalism and Creative Writing.

Nothing is done from malice. Nothing is meant as a blotter to the world as an actual play-by-play of my daily routines or daily life. "Some names are changed or omitted to protect the innocent" kind of thing. I write about everything, my life, the people in it, mostly about how I FEEL about the previous two. It's just how I am able to survive on a daily basis. You take it away, you take away my lifeline.

So there may not have been a defibrillator involved. No mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. No actual knocking a razor out of my hands so to speak. But blogging has saved my life, no doubt about it.

"New-To-You" Pre-Owned Jalopy's and JP's

I was never the marrying kind.

I never as a young girl had those bright-eyed fantasies of me clad in white in a huge overly expensive hullabaloo ready to give my life and give up my last name all in the sake of looooove.

I never thought I'd get married. I never thought I would have a relationship period that lasted longer than a year really. I couldn't fathom spending day in and day out with the various characters who littered my romantic (and I use the term very loosely) past.

Hell, even IN most of those relationships I couldn't spend that much time with another person. I needed my space. I wasn't a cuddler or into PDA (public displays of nausea affection). I had my friends, my life, my routine and screw you for disrupting me!

I wasn't an avid hand-holder or even a person who acted like I knew who they were half the time in public. Seeing them once a month was fine by me in fact. I had no qualms of not talking to them for days, weeks even.

Often when I did I was bitchy. Likely because I couldn't stand the fact of being in my current situation, but either too lazy or sympathetic to do anything about it at the time.

I was doing what I thought I was supposed to I suppose. Auditioning people. Trying them on for size in a sense. Nothing seemed to work. No one fit the criteria I knew might have been out there.

So over this blatant disregard for marital bliss, came Cynical Bitch. My lovely alter-ego I came to know so well. (as did a lot of unfortunate other people, but I digress) I just stopped caring, trying. I was never getting married or even thinking it was a possibility so why bother?

So now here I am. All this time later with visions of Sugar Plums dancing in my head. With hopes of a pretty white dress someday and all that I know and love there to wish me well and share it with me (or to show those who never thought it would happen a thing or two while mockingly laughing like Nelson from the Simpsons...).

I find myself staring at everyone I come into contact with's left finger. What kinds of rings they have, if I like them, if they're tacky. Mentally doodling my name and his on an imaginary notebook like I was back in junior high.

I don't even know who I am anymore really. I thought once my dad had died, any hopes of a possible anything for me would have been completely kyboshed. He was no longer there to give me away. After all, a large majority of weddings is for other people. The food, the cake, the miscellaneous photo-ops.

I keep finding myself saddened. Day after day that my father isn't here to see this, to know him. That someday should the fancy strike he wouldn't be able to have a "Mano-A-Mano" chat with dear old dad and ask permission to make me his. That I'd never see the gleam in my dad's eye as he walked me down some elusive aisle and washed his hands of me in a sense that I would now be "taken care of" by someone else.

I think of all he is missing and I cry. I cry because after all the heartache my father witnessed, after all the trials and tribulations I dealt with, I am happy and he isn't here to see it.

He isn't here to see that he is a sweet and funny and generous man who loves me regardless of my faults. That he is a great dad who busts his ass to give his kids everything, and includes my son in all of it as if he were his own. That he does things he doesn't want to do (which I can tell) yet does them anyway, without (much) complaint because he knows it will make me happy.

That mythical man I thought never existed, who was smack dab in front of my face for so many years. Blinded by fear, by cynicism and a little by stupidity and yet this would turn out to be one of the greatest things to ever happen to me.

So now I have these thoughts. Songs to dance to, sparkly things for my finger all dancing in my head ad nausea.

And he's sorta on the fence.

Oh sure he mentions he loves me, and Vegas and blah blah blah. He tells me he wants to marry me. (and HE mentioned this before I ever did mind you) He's just seemingly anti-wedding.

I did weddings for 8 years (insert ironic laughing here, I know you want to). It was something I was damn good at and I knew a lot of people. I helped pull off a gorgeous 200+ attended wedding for about $5,000. I know it can be done. I know it can be frugal.

(Not to mention the gifts and money you get, but really now that's just shallow...for shame)

Not that I am planning right this second the bash of the century or even am remotely close to having any bling on this there finger (although one was offered...a donation of sorts), I feel like I am being met with a whole lot of "yeah right" on the other end.

That a JP and a used car are a better idea for a marriage. Wow THERE's a romantic notion. Let's just sidle on up to the courthouse in our "new-to-you" pre-owned jalopy and get hitched. Stellar.

Ok so maybe that's a slight exaggeration (well except the car comment...men try to be so practical) but still. Nothing like killing a girls new found dreams with your lack of enthusiasm. You can't have champagne wishes on a beer budget, but when you want something bad enough, you save and make things happen right? You cut corners, you scour the planet internet and wheel and deal your way into the perfect situation for you.

I may have never been married, but I am not new at being cheap and getting what I want. I am the Clearance Queen afterall. That's what I do, what you learn to do when you are Ghetto-Fabulous like myself.

Good thing I was never the marrying kind...

Arks and The Notebook

Anyone, well any adult really, who watches the nightly news as of late knows that the entire New England region is pretty much under water right now.

Though the rain has ceased, the rivers have crested and record rainfall this past month has left monumental damage. Uncanny really.

Places that you wouldn't think would be flood-ravaged are consumed by water. Roads pocketed by worse-than-usual potholes. I mean, potholes in this area after a horrific Massachusetts winter are bad enough, but this is ridiculous. Sinkholes to rival a bad Armageddon movie.

Bridges swept away, homes and basements sump-pumped like you read about. People have lost so much. Memories locked up in countless basements and cellars water-logged and ruined. Finished basements that were once refuges from a long day, now an eyesore of wet carpet and musty smells.

Back in May of 2006 we had rains that came close to this Ark building type rain. I was living at the beach still then. Had been there a few months. In a basement apartment mind you. (I bet you can see where I am going with this)

So I was sitting at my desk one day, and get up to do something. SQUISH.

SQUISH?!

My horrible mauve 70's shag carpet now had a soggy imprint where my foot had just been. Now THIS was not good. I walk the perimeter of my apartment and notice SQUISH all around. My apartment was flooding!! I contacted Satan my landlords and let them know.

I had my best friend' wedding that weekend. (wow that would make a great movie title...) I didn't know what to do! Alas, I erred on the side of caution and went to the wedding and got drunk, I was in it after all!

So, tipsy at 2am I come home...to find ALL of my furniture in the foyer. Windows open fully, rug replaced by new neutral burber carpet (yay, no more 70's mauve shag!)

My bed was COVERED in 100's of picture frames and nick-knacks.

It was 2am and I was drunk. I stacked them on the floor, closed the windows and passes out on the bed. It would be dealt with in the morning.

Now I was grateful it got dealt with in a seemingly timely fashion, but I wasn't home OR notified people would be in my house when I wasn't home. (this would become a common occurrence and a major reason I would leave said evil place residence later)

Gets me thinking about how much I could have lost then. How much worse the flooding is here now. And how miraculous I live in a house built in the 1800's and may have the only basement in Massachusetts that DIDN'T get water during the storms.

And also about other little things you tend to eventually take for granted. Like being in the shower last night (get your minds out of the gutter you dirty birds) and smiling over the fact that his razor is now in there all the time.

The extra toothbrush that now sits by the sink. The scent of that other person that lingers on a certain side of the bed long after they've gone that helps you drift off to sleep a little more peacefully.

Little things. Memories that so many people lose over time. That will likely get locked up in boxes and put into basements all over the world. Boxes that could just as easily have been swept away by raging flood waters.

Just saying.